Unconventional

         Anita Blakely thumbs carefully through the 8 by 10 art prints, ignoring the hustle and bustle of the crowd around her. Even on her generous allowance, her budget was limited, and the art was expensive. She'd already spotted a dozen pieces she'd like to take home, and there were still hundreds to look through. The choice was going to be tough. Pushing a lock of curly auburn hair behind her ear, she pauses at yet another picture, and adds it to the 'maybe' list. Drawn in black and white, it showed a hapless, mostly nude woman in chains, helpless at the feet of a strong warlord in horned helm and fur loincloth.
         It's only after she's flipped through several more pictures that she senses somebody watching her, and looks up.
         He is standing perhaps six feet away, but once he sees that she has noticed him, moves closer, flashing a grin. "Hi there." He sends a nod toward the artwork she's looking through. "Good stuff, isn't it?"
         Her eyes check his convention badge- his real name is Kurt Sawyer, but he goes by 'Foxer'. Whatever that means. Anita shrugs, blushing slightly, and lets her gaze drop back down to the portfolio. "I suppose so. If you're into this sort of thing."
         As if she's not, he thinks, amused at her dissembling. "I am." He sticks out a hand. "Kurt Sawyer. Nice to meet you."
         To avoid being impolite, she shakes his hand briefly. "Anita Blakely." And she pretends to turn her full attention back to the art, though she's very aware of the young man's presence.
         Kurt moves to the very edge of her personal space, a miracle in and of itself in this crowd that he isn't shoved even closer. He watches her eyes, mentally times the pauses as she peruses the artwork for sale. Almost every picture of a woman in scanty clothing earns a brief pause. Those with imprisoned men get a closer look. But it's the drawings of women as helpless prisoners that earn a careful perusal. His own glance shifts sideways, looks Anita up and down. She's shorter than he is, perhaps five foot seven, with eyes like star sapphires and a cloud of bright, golden red hair. Like many others at the convention, she has donned a costume- she's dressed like Xena the infamous warrior princess, and she's got the body for it. Yes. She's worth a try.
         "Excuse me..."
         Anita reluctantly meets his gaze again, and tries to keep her voice cold. "Yes?"
         He points toward another table. "There's some good stuff over there you might want to check out. Better than this."
         Despite her misgivings about this very forward young man, Anita's curiosity is aroused. What the hell, her shrug says, and she turns to skirt through the crowd, toward the table Kurt indicates. He follows at a companionable distance.
         After just a moment of looking through a folder of artwork, Anita is forced to concede that Kurt is right. Every one of these pictures makes the heat in the pit of her groin grow. She jumps, though, when she catches his whisper right in her ear; she'd forgotten his presence.
         "I'm surprised you're not wearing something like that." Kurt points to the picture she's looking at. The woman in it wears only a leather thong and not much of a bikini top, and kneels with her head down. A conquered Amazon, perhaps?
         Anita quickly shakes her head. "No, I could never... I mean, I wouldn't even know where to get such a thing."
         Kurt gives her a grin. "I do. C'mere." Boldly he takes her hand, and pulls her through the crowd. The tables full of fantasy clothes are several yards away, and though Anita resists the pull for a moment, once her eyes light upon the available merchandise, she presses forward eagerly. He laughs, and lets go her manicured hand, sharp eyes noting the pieces of skimpy clothing that make her face light up.
         Anita even holds a few pieces up to her, guesstimating fit, before she takes a glance at a price tag. Her face falls, and she sighs, pushing a hanger back onto its rack. "I don't know... "
         "I tell you what." Kurt folds his arms across his chest, and nods toward the clothes. "You let me buy you dinner, and I'll help you buy these clothes. Deal?"
         Her mouth drops open. "Now why would you do such a thing?"
         "Cause then I get to ogle you." Kurt winks. It's that gesture that makes the wall crumble, and Anita nods her assent. "Oh, alright..."
         The pair spend the next couple of hours picking over attire, most of it involving black leather, before Kurt checks his watch. "Ack. Dealer room'll be closing in a few minutes. We got everything?"
         Anita is loaded down with packages, and can't stop grinning. "I think so. I should go back to my hotel and drop these off..."
         But he is wagging a finger. "Oh no you don't. I'm not letting you escape. Why don't you come up to my suite and change clothes?" Kurt holds up his hands as she starts to protest. "You can use the bathroom. I won't peek. Promise."
         The offer is rather tempting. The convention spans both hotels, connected by a walkway, but it's still a hell of a walk back to her own room. Anita considers Kurt for a moment, before giving in with a nod.
         When she emerges from his bathroom, Kurt applauds, making her smile sheepishly. She's clothed in fishnet and leather, a tight bustier turning modest cleavage into something substantially impressive. He knows she chose a high-cut thong, but it's hidden by a skirt of thin leather, its folds spilling halfway down her thighs. They didn't have time to choose footwear, but perhaps that has something to do with the fact that Kurt put an effort into steering her away from it.
         Anita twirls, not really realizing how much the skirt flares out as she does so. "What do you think?"
         "I think you're going to be making guys faint at the party."
         "Party?" she inquires, checking herself over before the full-length mirror provided on the closet door.
         "Yeah, there's usually a big party in the lobby Saturday night. Tonight. I thought maybe you'd like to go. Preferably with me."
         It only takes a second for her to decide. "Sounds good to me!"
         Another nail falls into place. "And," Kurt grins slyly, "I have the perfect accessory for that outfit." He flips off the bed, digs through the packages, and turns to show her his find.
         Anita blinks, and falls into laughter. When they were shopping, he'd playfully pulled a leather band around her throat. She'd pulled away with a laugh, but it had sent a shiver down her spine. A shiver she wasn't sure she disliked. Apparently he'd bought it when she wasn't looking. He also has leather bracelets and anklets, each with a large D-ring attached.
         "Did you see, there were a few couples around the con where one was leading the other around on a leash?" Kurt approaches her, and sure enough, he has a length of light, brightly polished chain in his hand as well. "I thought maybe you'd get a kick out of us doing that too."
         She smirks, but privately she admits to herself that it might be fun. "Oh, alright." Anita holds her mass of red curls up and out of the way, and Kurt wastes no time in buckling the studded leather around her throat. The chain is already attached, and a glance in the mirror shows her that a clip at one end is hooked onto a metal ring on the leather band. The other end has a leather loop, like any leash you could buy in a pet shop.
         Kurt's eyes twinkle. "We could get a real good show going, you know."
         She's definitely intrigued. "What do you mean?"
         Over the next half hour, he explains carefully. Within five minutes, Anita is giggling madly, nodding her assent. This is going to be fun...

         Anita has to fight down a grin when Kurt leads her into the hotel lobby that evening. It's not easy pretending to be the meek little slavegirl, but it's certainly fun. Especially when people start doing double takes and taking a closer look. Oh, it's not that she and Kurt are truly dressed in any unique manner; it's how she acts as they mingle. When Kurt stops to get himself a beer, for example, she kneels quietly at his feet. Those who can hear them conversing can't miss her addressing him as 'Master'. She drinks at his whim, generously offered a sip from his bottle. Before long, Kurt is spinning tales of their life together, with Anita as his willing slave. It's really just as well that part of the act is her keeping her gaze on the floor; otherwise the other partygoers might notice her struggling to keep from laughing.
         The night might go perfectly, but then, after a few hours of the act, Anita gets careless.
         Her thoughts straying as she kneels on the floor, Anita doesn't notice when Kurt moves a few feet away. Abruptly, she's sprawled, as a drunken stranger trips over the slack leash and goes flying. The man is up in a moment, advancing angrily on Kurt. Of course, Kurt noticed the jerk on the leash, and for a moment, his disapproving frown rests on Anita. She cringes slightly as she pushes back up to her knees, praying he won't cut short their night out. Kurt notices, but his attention is suddenly pulled away from her as the man gets in his face, yelling. A crowd starts to gather.
         "What the fuck are you doing?" The man wobbles on alcohol-affected legs. "You do that on purpose?"
         "Of course not." Kurt holds up his hands, trying to placate the man. Since he's still holding the leash, it catches the man's gaze, which follows the chain to Anita.
         Amazingly, he laughs, leering. "Your little pet's fault, huh? Maybe you oughta punish her for that when you get home."
         Kurt stares at him for a moment. "Actually, I find that immediate punishment is much more effective." He gives the leash a pull, and says quietly, "Stand up, Anita."
         She blinks up at Kurt, then fights down another laugh as she rises. Well, if you're going to do an act, do it all the way, eh? She tries to sound meek and fearful. "Yes, Master."
         Kurt leads her to a table a few feet away, ignoring both the tripped man and the crowd gathering, and instructs her in a quiet but firm voice when the tabletop touches her waist. "Bend forward. Put your forearms fully on the table."
         Anita obeys, amused even when she sees him pull a short little flogger from his belt. She already knew of that part of his costume- a six-inch leather handle, with a dozen strips of leather a foot long attached. She'd even held it- it was rather heavy. But she knows that Kurt wouldn't actually hurt her.
         She senses, more than sees, as he swings the flogger back. "I think a dozen lashes should be sufficient," he considers. Anita wonders if she can convincingly fake the pain of a whipping, never having experienced it for real.
         The whip whistles through the air, and fire explodes in her ass. Anita lets out a shriek and jumps up, hands flying to her rear. Laughter erupts from the crowd. Anita's shocked gaze meets Kurt's very stern one, and her back meets his iron-hard hand before she can move more than a few inches.
         "I haven't given you permission to rise, girl," Kurt notes, his frown deepening. "Or to cover yourself." He pushes her back down firmly, setting the flogger aside for a moment. Each of her wrists is taken in his hard grip, and the leash threaded through the D-rings on her bracelets. The loop on the end is placed over his right hand, which presses down between her shoulder blades. Anita struggles, her hands drawn up to the small of her back, but she's as immobile as a butterfly pierced and pinned into a showcase. "No... please..."
         Kurt ignores her whispered pleas. "Perhaps this will teach you the folly of trying it." His free hand slides between her belly and the table, and she feels her belt being unbuckled. A slight jerk makes the leather skirt fall to the floor.
         Oh God! Anita knows what the crowd can see now- the leather thong she wears hides absolutely nothing from anybody behind her, and the cool air wisping across her bare bottom confirms the nightmare. The skirt hadn't been much protection, but at least it had been something. She can feel herself turning red with embarrassment.
         "I'll have to start over, of course." Kurt reaches for the flogger again, and Anita knows there would be no use in begging for mercy. Maybe he won't hit as hard now that my ass is ba-
         The first lash of the little whip drives that hope out of her. If anything, he must be swinging it even harder now. A strangled sound leaves her throat, but before it's all out, the flogger lays in again mercilessly.
         At the fourth blow, she starts to cry. She prays that Kurt will realize that although she's trying desperately to remain still, her body is trying to dodge of its own accord.
         At the seventh, she hazily realizes that the crowd is chanting, counting each stripe of the whip.
         At the ninth, she begins to babble, begging for mercy.
         Kurt pauses after the eleventh blow, resting the leather of the flogger against her bottom. She probably doesn't realize it, but Anita's ass is criss-crossed with dozens of welts, and she's probably going to have difficulty sitting for a few days. By now she's weeping softly, but she's not trying to get away. Neither is she begging for help from the nearby security personnel. Satisfied, Kurt makes a decision. "Are you going to be more careful in the future, pet?"
         She nods wildly. "Yes, Master! Yes, Master! I promise!"
         Kurt wonders idly if she realizes how she's addressing him, considering that she's probably forgotten all about the act. "Good girl." He releases the leash, letting her hands fall to the table. "One more and we're done." Kurt can see her bracing herself, hears her whimper, watches her hands curl into her mouth to block a scream. The twelfth and final blow is the hardest, and her body arches, her head thrown back, then she collapses over the table, gasping for breath.
         Kurt prods her leg with a booted toe. "On your knees, girl."
         Anita lets herself slip backwards off the table, shuddering and fighting to stop crying. Yes, Kurt decides, Anita looks very good on her sprawled knees, at his feet. He bows to the applauding crowd, and when it begins to disperse, gives Anita a moment to pull herself together. Then he gives the leash a steady pull. "I think we've had enough partying for the night. Let's go." Shakily, in a daze, Anita starts to rise, and he shakes his head. "All fours, Anita."
         She drops to her hands and knees instantly, cringing, and he sets off through the crowd toward the elevators, slowly enough that she can easily keep up even while crawling. Still, she scrambles, making sure there's no bit of leash slack between them to trip an unwary drunk.

         By the time the door of Kurt's suite closes behind them, Anita has regained her composure somewhat. She can even find a little humor in the night's events. There is no way anybody else at the party even came close to putting on a show like they did. Still, she's just as happy knowing she can drop the act now, and rises to collapse on the bed, sprawling. "Well. That was certainly an adventure." She laughs weakly. "Next time, warn me you might do something like that, okay?"
         There's a brief moment of silence, then he speaks in a curt tone. "Slaves are not allowed on the furniture without permission, and when given permission, kneel there." She looks up at him, startled, as he continues. "However, you were not aware of that, so I shan't punish you for it." Kurt pauses. "You may remain on the bed."
         Oh! Anita giggles. Okay, so he still wants to play. "Oh, thank you, generous and forgiving Master!" She gets her knees beneath her, wincing a little when her butt rests on her heels. "I'm going to be feeling that tomorrow. Remind me to get some lotion..." Her voice trails off as she notices his gaze travelling her body, and the gleam in his eyes. She knows that expression. She also realizes that he's not smiling. He doesn't show even a glimmer of amusement for her overly dramatic thank you. The lust that's apparent doesn't bother her. Let's face it, I knew we were probably going to end up in the sack together.
         Two long steps, and he's directly in front of her, his strong hands grasping her arms, lifting her to his lips. Anita is taken by surprise at the abruptness, but she melts at this show of power, and gladly opens her mouth to his probing tongue, her arms sliding round his neck. Kurt's knee finds the bed, and he bends her back onto the bed, his hands busy, exploring. Anita moans into his kiss. It's not just her ass that's on fire now
         He pulls back abruptly, and stands, leaving her sprawled on the bed. His face is intent- there's just one thing on his mind now. With amazing speed, his costume is stripped and discarded, and he lunges to remove hers. She's just as eager, lifting herself and twisting to assist in her disrobing. In less than a minute she wears nothing but leather- the collar with its leash still attached, and the bracelets and anklets. She's startled, however, when he reaches down and flips her onto her belly. His hands find Anita's nude hips, and he pulls her back roughly, onto her knees. Then, as his knees push her legs apart, he reaches to push her chest to the bed.
         Ah, he likes to do it from behind! Anita certainly has no problem with that. A tendril of alarm rises like smoke, though, when Kurt pulls her ass cheeks apart, and what must be his hard organ probes at the rosebud of her anus.
         She struggles to push herself back up. "What are you...? No! Kurt! It'll hurt too-"
         An angry growl interrupts her. "You're not a fast learner, are you, girl."
         Her ass cheeks slap together as he lets go, and she feels the bed bounce slightly as he moves on it.
"Oh, c'mon, Kurt..."
         He, sitting on the edge of the bed, takes her by surprise yet again. Kurt seizes her, and tosses her effortlessly over his lap, face down, eliciting a startled yelp from the girl. He grabs her hand furthest from him, and pins it behind her back. One of his legs flips over both of hers, holding them firmly in place.
         Anita barely has time to realize what is about to happen before he begins to spank her with his free hand, hard and fast. The first several smacks punctuate his words. "You. Do. Not. Address. Me. By. Name. You. Call. Me. Master. You. Do. Not. Tell. Me. No." They're not in public. She shrieks, she wails loudly, as the whipping continues with no further narration. It isn't long before she's sobbing, spluttering pleas for mercy, to please stop, she'll do anything if he'll please just stop! He ignores it all, and keeps spanking her even after she's reduced to hiccups and continuous crying.
         Although she has lost all sense of time, Kurt knows that the spanking goes on for well over ten minutes before he stops. Probably five hundred or more sharp smacks. He rubs her back gently, letting her cry herself out. When she's quiet again, limp over his lap, he asks softly, as if she'd pained him, "Why do you make me punish you, pet?"
         A tremor runs through Anita's body, then her head drops even further, if that's possible, in shame. "I don't know! I'm sorry! I'm sorry... Master..."
         Kurt's lips turn up in a slow smile, but he keeps all traces of it from his voice, keeping it low and firm. He releases her hand to stroke her hair. "That's my good girl."
         Gently, he gathers Anita in his arms, stands, and turns to deposit her- on her belly- on the bed. She whimpers softly, but only moves to resume the position he had her in before- kneeling on the bed, legs spread, her chest to the coverlet. She hears the creak of the bed and feels the heat of his body between her legs, and trembles.
         His voice is that of a very pleased man, and he leans forward over her back to kiss the nape of her neck. She knows better now than to complain about the pain when his groin presses into her sore cheeks. "Wonderful, pet," he murmurs. "Such a very good girl is my Anita." His arm wraps around her waist, and she is startled to feel his fingers press into her crotch. Kurt releases a low chuckle. "You're wet, my dear."
         He's right, she realizes, and she buries her face in the bed. Yes, she's aroused. His masterful demeanor, his punishing her, his using of her in whatever way he pleases... But she doesn't have time to reflect upon it. He straightens, and again his strong grip spreads her bottom. She gulps in a quick breath when the head of his cock finds her anus.
         Kurt pauses, allowing the suspense in her mind to build. Then he enters her with one smooth, hard thrust, burying himself to the hilt.
         Anita screams, hands flailing at the bed. She was right- it hurts. It hurts a lot. "Please! Oh please! N... Master! Please! Mercy!"
         "Shhhhh," he admonishes, and Anita falls silent immediately. Kurt grins, knowing she can't see it, and begins to use her, sliding out and in, out and in. He knows that she's crying, sees the coverlet bunching in her clenched fists. It doesn't matter. He makes himself last, the better to impress upon her that she is, simply, only a vessel for his pleasure. When he cums, Kurt impales her fully, pulling her onto his organ until she feels as if she's going to split in half.
         When he's finished, he pulls out as roughly as he entered, with no consideration for her discomfort. Anita sways, shaking violently. Kurt pulls her to him, rolling onto his side. For a brief second, she struggles against his arms, but he doesn't let go, just strokes her hair soothingly, whispering in her ear. "That's a good girl. You pleased your Master very much. You did very well." Abruptly she collapses against him, curling into his embrace, taking great measures of comfort from this man who has used her and hurt her so. This man who raped her brutally for his pleasure. This man whom she is desperate to please. Her emotions roil like thunderclouds, confusion overwhelming them all.
         Kurt knows this. It's hardly the first time he's seen, or overseen, this process of transformation. He shifts slightly, to wrap himself around the girl. Instinctively she snuggles into him. "It's alright, pet," he whispers. "It's alright. Rest now. Sleep."
         It's not obedience that makes her drop into slumber, but exhaustion and the knowledge that he expects nothing more from her for now. It wouldn't do, after all, to fall asleep when he's expecting more use from her. She shudders. No, it wouldn't do at all...
         Kurt lies awake for a long time, making sure that she's fully, deeply asleep, before he carefully rolls her onto the bed, and rises. Yes, she'll do. It'll take some time to tame her fully, but it'll be worth it. Making very little noise, he unzips his travel bag, and withdraws a syringe from its depths.

         Cold. That's the first thing that comes to the girl's awareness. She awakens, very slowly, her mouth feeling fuzzy. Ugh. How much did I drink last night...? She lets out a groan, lifting a hand to rub at her eyes, then she opens them. She blinks. Another rub, then she springs to her feet with a speed she wouldn't have thought possible a moment before.
         It is the cement floor of her current surroundings that is cold, and even now chills her feet. Utterly nude, she is in a cage. The ceiling and three walls are constructed from cinder blocks; the fourth is wire fencing, with a door in its center. The space is perhaps six by six by six feet. She can hear noises. Clangs, low voices, crying off somewhere in the distance.
         She screams, flying at the front of the cell, grabbing the fencing and shaking it with a rattle. "Help! Help me! Where am I? Is anybody out there? Help!"
         She hears footsteps, and suddenly realizes that attracting attention might not be in her best interests. As the steps near, she shrinks back to the rear of the cage.
         But it's Kurt Sawyer who appears, accompanied by a man she doesn't know. With a gasp of relief, she relaxes and starts forward, but his words freeze her in her tracks. "Kneel," he snaps. "You should know that by now, girl."
         Shocked, she drops to her knees, abruptly sick with the knowledge that this is not a game, was never a game or an act as far as Kurt was concerned.
         Kurt turns to his companion. "She's not likely to give you too much trouble, but if she does, a bit of discipline will straighten her out. No permanent damage, please, but anything else you deem appropriate would be fine." The man scribbles on a clipboard with a nod, never even glancing toward her. "Alright then, Mr. Sawyer, I'll just go get this paperwork filed."
         When he's gone, Kurt turns to survey his new property. "You'll have to stay here for a few weeks, I'm afraid. Newly imported slaves must be quarantined for thirty days."
         Her jaw drops. "... Imported?..."
         He nods slightly. "Don't worry, you won't be bored during your wait. You'll get a bit of training while you're detained here. Then we'll get you home where you can be properly branded and collared."
         She stares at him in horror. "Collared..." Her hand goes to her throat. A metal band encircles it, some sort of pendant hanging from the band. She knows without testing it that it's locked on her neck. "Branded?"
         "Yep. I prefer my slaves marked. Oh, you'll be marked in a few minutes here to satisfy the slave registration laws, but I prefer something more visible and more... personal on top of that." He pauses, graciously allowing her time to ask questions or comment, but the girl has been rendered speechless. "I don't want to find out that you've been nothing but trouble when I come to pick you up." Kurt flashes a quick, warm smile. "Make me proud, pet." Swiftly, he turns and heads down the corridor.
         His last statement makes her melt, and he's gone before she find a response. Then the girl hears more footsteps, but they're not those of her owner. Somebody else is coming. Somebody is coming to mark her, she realizes. Oh lord, what have I done? They're very near now. She straightens, her knees wide, in the position he taught her. She will not fail him. She will make her Master proud.