For Jessica Elwood (jessicaelwood.deviantart.com)

By the Muse of Caprice and Whimsy (mocaw.deviantart.com)



Disclaimer: The “Jessica Elwood” fursona and its distinctive likeness is the property of Jessica Elwood and is used with permission from the creator.  Everything else, including the Starlight setting, the characters, and their distinctive likenesses are the property of the MoCaW and may not be used without prior consent.  This story may be distributed freely as long as it is distributed in its entirety without editing, and with this disclaimer block intact.  In other words: please give credit where it is due, it’s the decent thing to do.  Thanks.


Note: this story contains BDSM themes, including but not limited to: master/slave play, whips, bondage, and abusive roleplay.  You have been warned.  If you read on and are offended, not my fault, okay?


The story takes place a little while after “The Color of the Wheat Fields”


- * -




One of the most important things in life is to always observe the proper rituals.  For example:


“Miss Elwood, would you please come up to the office?” I said into my wrist-com one day, right after lunch.


“I will be right there, sir,” Jessica replied.  “Sir,” she called me now, not “master.”  She was free now, even if she was my maidservant, and as a freedperson, she was entitled to certain rights and privileges.  But I digress.


I took a mahogany box lined with velvet from my drawer, laid out the proper items on the desk in front of me, walked to the window and looked out at the setting sun to avoid looking at her as she walked in.  These things have to be done a certain way, after all, and it just wasn’t proper for me to act too enthusiastic.  She needed to choose freely, or else it meant nothing at all.


I heard the door open and close.  There was the rhythmic sound of her shoes on the carpet, and then a pause, probably as Jessica saw the items on the desk.  The footsteps started again.


A moment later, someone tapped me on the shoulder.  “Would you mind putting it on me?” Jessica asked, holding out the black and silver slave collar.


“Sure.”  I took the collar from her, waited as she turned around, lifting her hair out of the way to expose the back of her sleek, lovely neck.  With practiced ease, I looped the collar around her slim throat, fastened the buckle, and slid the loose end through its loops so that it sat flush.  “Not too tight, is it?” I asked.


Jessica ran a finger between her fur and the black leather.  “It feels just right,” she said.


“Is that the way you talk to your master?” I asked teasingly.


“For now,” Jessica replied, smiling in reply.  She held up the ring between her thumb and forefinger.  “Until you put this on, at least.”


I held my right hand out to her – always the right, never the left – and Jessica slipped the ring onto my finger, then kissed it on the bird-and-tree seal: the same seal that hung from her old slave collar.  “What is your bidding, master?” she asked quietly.


It was the signal that the game had begun.


I let my voice take a harsher, darker edge.  “Your master is displeased, slave,” I said harshly.  I tugged at the sleeve of the modest (and practical) ankle-length frock she wore when doing work around the house.  “You dress like this in the presence of your master?  How dare you hide your body from him!”


Jessica’s wide, furry tail stopped its flirting and drooped into a submissive posture.  She clasped her hands in front of her, lowered her eyes shyly.  “My lapse is unforgivable,” she whispered.  “I am sorry, master.”


“Not sorry enough,” I replied haughtily, “but we’ll deal with that later.  You will find a more suitable uniform hanging in that closet.  Go and put it on now.”


“Yes, sir,” Jessica said, curtseying deeply.


 “What did you just call me, slave?” I asked, in a soft, menacing voice.


“Yes, master,” Jessica whimpered in response.


“That’s better.  Now go.  Come back when you are dressed properly.”  For a moment, I considered ordering her to change in front of me, thought better of it.  I’d done that the last few times, and despite how much I loved watching Jessica strip, it was better not to do the same thing over and over again.  Variety is the spice of life, after all.


I poured myself a glass of ice water and sat down at my desk. I’d stopped drinking a long time ago: it was important that I keep my self-control in these games, and quite frankly, I was a mean and nasty drunk.  It had been hard at first to give it up, but if it was a sacrifice, it was one I paid gladly.


Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Jessica, mostly concealed by the closet door, as she changed out of her work uniform and into the “other” outfit.  Her tail, I noted, was flirting back and forth excitedly: I decided to let it pass.  There is, after all, such a thing as playing a role a bit too deeply.  I started going over some paperwork instead: just because we were in the middle of a scene didn’t mean that I couldn’t get some work done, and the Director needed these done by tomorrow. 


I guess I must have gotten a bit more involved in my work than originally intended, because I didn’t even notice that Jessica had finished changing until she cleared her throat to get my attention.  I looked up from my papers to find that she was standing on the other side of my desk, her modest work frock exchanged for an outfit that was more fetish outfit than uniform. 


She was wearing black satin dress with an extremely low décolletage that revealed a satisfyingly large amount of cleavage.  The ruffled micro-miniskirt with its white lace trim was so short that it didn’t quite hide her panties, and she was clasping her hands in front of her in a vain attempt to cover up.  A snowy white apron with way too many frills to be at all practical.  Thigh-length black fishnet stockings with matching garter belt.  Black stiletto pumps that no maid with a sense of self-preservation would have ever dared work in.  Her hair, instead of its usual straw-colored cascade, had been woven into a long braid that hung to about the middle of her back, giving her a strangely appealing, school-girlish look.  She had also, I noticed idly, touched up her makeup, applying some pale blue eye shadow and exchanging her usual subtle lipstick for something a little more vivid and, well. . . slutty.


“Is this satisfactory, master?” she asked, feigning timidity.


Holy shit yeah, you’d better believe it.  “I. . . I suppose it’s the best you can do, given the circumstance,” I replied, struggling to keep up my impassive persona.  I gestured to a pile of books I’d taken down from the shelves and stacked on one corner of my desk just for this purpose.  “You can begin by putting these away, slave,” I said off-handedly.  “And be careful.  These books are important.  If you drop one, there will be consequences.”


“Yes, Master,” Jessica replied, curtseying deeply.  The gesture hiked her skirt up even further, a fact that I appreciated immensely, and I felt an old, familiar tightness building in my pants.  Already, I could tell that this was going to be a lot of fun. . . as long as I played it right, that is.


I took a moment to put my papers in my desk drawer, then turned my chair slowly to watch her at work.  She was using the stepladder, no easy task for someone in such impractical shoes.  Every one of the books had been taken from the upper shelves of my bookcase, of course, and I had a perfect view up her skirt as she stretched out carefully to put Meditations on Bio-Etheric Philosophies and Cultural Modes back on the top shelf.  I smiled as I saw that she was wearing my favorite: a lacy black T-back G-string that gave me a perfect view of her lovely, firm ass at work.  It was all I could do not to grab her right then and take her on the floor, but I managed to restrain myself. 


The best things in life take time, and I had all the time in the world.


I noticed that she was down to the last book and sighed inwardly.  Time to move on.  I gave the stepladder a gentle nudge with my toe (not too hard, I remembered, thinking back to a particularly unfortunate incident that had ended with both of us going to the hospital to get our heads checked out just in case) but just hard enough for Jessica to feel it.  She fumbled at the last book (or pretended to, at least), and it slipped from her hands, white pages fluttering in the breeze, and I heard her yelp in dismay as it hit the ground with a “thump.”


“Slave?”  I said mildly, getting to my feet.


Jessica looked over her shoulder at me, her eyes wide with fear.  “Yes, master?”


“Did I not tell you that there would be consequences if you dropped one of the books?”


“Yes master,” she whispered.


“You know what to do.”


Jessica came down from the ladder and hesitantly placed her hands on the bookshelf, bending over at the waist and thrusting her ass outwards, looking back at me with wide, frightened green eyes.  “I want to hear you loud and clear, slave,” I said, unbuttoning my cuffs and rolling up my shirtsleeves.  “If you lose count, we will start all over from one.  Is that clear?”


“Y-y-y-es, master,” Jessica stammered.


“Louder!” I barked, lifting her skirt over her waist and tucking it into her apron so that it would be out of the way as I went to work.


“Yes, Master!” Jessica shouted.


My right hand drew back.  “This will hurt me more than it hurts you,” I hissed.  My hand came down hard on her bare ass cheek with a loud, satisfying SMACK!


“Annh!!!”  Jessica twitched, biting her lower lip hard.


“Count them!” I snapped.  Once again, my open hand smacked firmly against her ass, and her tail went rigid as the sting ran up her body.


“AAAAhhhh!” Jessica moaned, twitching.  “W. . . . w. . . one!”


“Louder!”  I drew back and spanked her again.


“w. . . w. . . ONE!” Jessica whimpered.


“Too slow.  I want to hear you say it loud and fast, slave.”  I spanked her yet again, coming down nice and firm on her left cheek this time.  SMACK!




“That’s better, slave!”  SMACK!






“Th. . . th. . . THREEE!”




“F. . . four!”




“five. . .!”


“Louder!”  SMACK!






“s. . . s. . .”


“SAY IT!” I snarled.


“six. . .”


“LOUDER!”  I spanked her again, this time on the upper thigh, my hand stinging nicely with the impact.


“SIX!” Jessica screamed, arching her back.


SMACK!  I lingered a bit after this one, massaging her ass roughly, one finger slipping between her asscheeks to brush oh, so slightly, against the soft lace of her thong.


“Seven!” Jessica moaned.


“That’s good, slave!”  My hand came down again.  And again.  And again.  And again.












By the time I reached thirty-nine, my hand was stinging like crazy, and Jessica’s ass and thighs were turning a nice, satisfying pinkish-red under her fur.  I was breathing heavily, spots of sweat showing on my shirt.  Jessica was leaning up against the wall now, her breath starting to go ragged, her ass flinching with each touch.  Her panties were also soaked, but not with sweat, I mused, noticing how the damp cloth clung to her fur.


My hand came down one last time.  Smack!


“. . .”


“What was that, slave?”  SMACK!


“Ff. . .ff. . .”


“Say it!” I barked.  “SAY IT!”  SMACK!


“Ummmmn. . .” Jessica whimpered in reply.


“Say it LOUD!  I want to hear you shout ‘forty’ NOW!  Or we start all over again at ONE!”  SMACK!!!!  This one came down nice and hard on her left cheek, and I grabbed at her supple, stinging flesh hard, massaging it roughly.  “SAY IT, SLAVE!” I shouted.


“Please, stop, master!” Jessica whined. “I’ll be good, I promise!”


Oh, so that was how she wanted to play it.  I groaned inwardly, struggling to maintain my façade.  Truth was, my hand was stinging so bad, I didn’t think I could go another round, which was probably what she was counting on.  “YOU!” I hissed in her ear in frustration (not all of it feigned).  “You have got to be the most infuriating slave I have ever seen in my entire life,” I murmured, pulling off my cravat and unbuttoning my shirt collar.  “I guess we’re going to have to do this the hard way.”


I tied Jessica’s wrists together with my cravat, and she slumped to the ground in the fetal position, looking up at me with her big, tear-filled green eyes.  “Are you afraid of me slave?” I whispered in her ear, my voice low and quiet.  Jessica didn’t reply, just nodded silently, closing her eyes.  “Not afraid enough,” I whispered.  “We’ll fix that soon enough.” 


It didn’t take me long to find what I needed in the closet.  The restraints were simple wristlets made of stiff, undyed leather lined with rabbit fur: each of them had a sturdy D-ring and a loop for a padlock to keep them in place.  I fastened one around each wrist and linked them together with a braided leather cord.  I stood her up and looped the cord around a hook placed high on the bookshelf so that she had to stand face-first against the wall on her tip-toes, which stretched her out uncomfortably.  Only then did I remove my cravat from her wrists and put it aside: I had plans for it later.


I untied her apron and threw it away, undid the buttons of her dress so that her back was bare.  “Since spanking doesn’t seem to be doing it for you,” I said harshly, “we’ll try the whip.  I want to hear you count them off loudly, do you understand me?”


“Yes, Master,” Jessica whispered in a small voice.


I flexed my riding crop in my hands for a moment, then gave her a stroke high across the shoulders, where her shoulder blades could bear most of the impact.  “I can’t hear you, slave.”


“Yes, Master!” she shouted.


“Then we’ll begin.  We’ll start with fifteen and see how we do.”  CRACK!










“THREE!!”  Jessica wailed.


I started easing up after seven strokes: I knew that by this time, the previous lashes would be stinging really badly, and the sound would be enough to do it.  Towards the end, all I had to do was touch the lash firmly and sharply against one of the angry red welts that were rising on her skin to make her flinch in response.


“Fi. . . fi. . . fifteen,” Jessica moaned at last.


“Louder,” I said coldly.


“Fifteen,” she whispered softly.


“Louder.”  I touched the whip to her back firmly, and she whimpered with pain, bit her lower lip, but did not scream.  I sighed and shook my head.  “You’re just being stubborn today, aren’t you, slave?  Very well.”  “We’ll start again at one,” I said calmly, and gave her a stroke across the backs of her thighs.  CRACK!


“O. . . one!”


“Louder.”  CRACK!


“ONE!” she cried out, her back arching in pain.


“That’s good.  Here’s another.”  I gave her another stroke across the buttocks.








By the time I reached ten, my shirt was soaked with sweat, and my hair was plastered to my forehead.  Jessica was hanging limply in her restraints, the leather wristbands digging into her wrists a bit as she whimpered and flinched and twitched at my blows.  A kind of savage joy was starting to fill my heart as I whipped her over and over again, and I caught myself losing control of my strokes, stepped back from the brink, took a moment to catch my breath and fight down the rising darkness.  I was getting in too deep, I mused.  I needed to switch directions, and fast.


Jessica looked over at me, concerned, and for a moment, I thought she was going to call, but I raised my hand, nodded to let her know I was okay, and jumped back into the game.  A thin stream of cunny juices, I noticed, was leaking down the inside of her thighs, and I ran the tip of my riding crop up the stream of honey.  “What is this, slave?” I asked, pressing the whip firmly against her panties right over her sex.  “Are you actually getting off on this?”


“N. . . no, master,” she whispered, slowly getting back in character.


“You are, aren’t you?” I said, grinning evilly.  “You little slut.  You actually like it when I whip you, don’t you?”


“No, master,” Jessica said, shaking her head desperately.


“Then how do you explain this, you little whore?” I asked, resting the tip of my riding crop against her cheek.


Jessica flinched as the leather touched her face.  “I. . . it’s sweat, master.  Just sweat.”


“Sweat?”  I touched my finger to the wetness, licked a bead of moisture off my fingertip.  “Doesn’t taste like sweat to me.  Do you know what it tastes like, slave?” I asked.


“No, master.”


“No master. . . what?”


“No, master, I don’t know what it tastes like,” Jessica said, softly.


“It tastes, my dear, like a lying little slut of a slave.”  I shifted my grip on my riding crop so that I was holding it just below the head, turned her around and grabbed her jaw in one hand, pressing in on her cheeks (not too hard, of course.)  Jessica opened her mouth just a bit, and I ran the head of my riding crop along her lips to give her a taste of her own juices.  “Well?  Am I right?”


“Y. . . yes, master.”


“Tell me what it tastes like.”


“Just like you said, master,” Jessica whimpered.


I tapped my riding crop against my hands menacingly.  “Tell me what it tastes like!” I repeated.


“It. . . it tastes like. . .”  Jessica screwed her eyes shut.


“Tell me!”  I slapped it against my hand hard, and the loud, whip-crack sound made her flinch.  “It tastes like a lying little slut of a slave!” Jessica wailed, tears running down her face.


“And I think we both know what happens to lying little sluts.  They get fucked by their masters, isn’t that right?” I said quietly, putting my riding crop down on the table.


“Yes, master.”  She looked up at me meekly, and something about her willing submission sent a shiver of pleasure running down my spine.  It wasn’t just that I was in charge, I reflected, because I wasn’t, not really.  This whole time, all she’d had to do was say “Spartacus” and this would all have ended.  I would have taken off her slave collar, cut her down, and we’d have retired to the next room, to talk about what went wrong and how to avoid it in the future. 


The fact that she wasn’t calling, that she was submitting to me of her own free will as she never could back when she was a slave in fact, not just in play. . . that made it all that much better.


“Good.”  I took a penknife from my pocket and whispered, “hold very still, love.”  I knew it was breaking character, but this step was very delicate, and I didn’t want to hurt her by accident.  She nodded to me silently, so I took a deep breath, carefully hooked the knife into the collar of her dress, and slit it slowly down the front so that it fell away, revealing the black lace of her lingerie underneath.  I repeated the step with each sleeve, letting the black satin fall to the ground in a crumpled heap, then stepped back and let myself enjoy the sight of her hanging from her wrists half-naked and helpless, her soft white fur damp with sweat and pleasure. 


“Well, slave,” I said, very calmly.  “Where should I begin?”  I ran the riding crop up and down her bare fur, smiling as I saw her shiver at its touch.  “Should I have you suck my cock, perhaps?  Fuck you in the pussy?  Perhaps I should shove it up your ass and fuck you that way.”  I leaned in close and whispered, very softly, into her ear.  “How would you like that, slave?  Would you like your master to fuck you up the ass today?”


“No, master,” Jessica whimpered.  “Please, anything but that.” 


Her eyes glittered with excitement, which kind of spoiled the mood, but I decided to ignore it.  “Well, slave, I think that’s exactly what we’re going to do.”  I began taking off my clothes slowly, letting the tension draw out like a knife, minute by minute, second by second, until I stood before her naked, my erection standing tall and proud in front of me.  “Do you see this cock, slave?” I asked, pointing at my erection.


“Yes, sir,” Jessica whispered.


I slapped my riding crop against the wall next to her ear.  “Yes. . . what?”


“Yes, master!” Jessica said, a little louder this time.


“Yes, master. . . what?”


“Yes, master, I see it!” she shouted.


“Good.  I want the last thing you see to be the cock that’s going to fuck you.”  I took a scrap of her dress and tied it around her eyes, blindfolding her.  “I’m going to fuck you now, slave,” I said softly.  “There is nothing you can do about it.  I’m going to fuck you and cum inside you, and I’m going to enjoy every minute of it, you understand?”


“Yes, master!” Jessica shouted.


“Good.  Those are the last words you’re going to say until I’m finished.”  She loved to be gagged, I remembered, so I took my cravat and slipped it between her teeth, reached around to tie it.  “Remember, love,” I whispered.  “Three grunts is the safe-word.” 


Jessica nodded mutely as I finished tying the gag.  I slid my hand under her buttock, massaging her painfully red flesh as I pushed her up against the wall, so that one leg was wrapped around my waist.  The other hand reached up and pulled her bra away from her left breast, tweaking the erect nipple as it stood, pink and hard, in the cool air.  She was whimpering as I pulled her panties aside and entered her, smooth and slow, moaning as her moist warmth closed tight around my hard cock.  “Oh, shit,” I whispered.  “That’s so good, slave.  So good,” I repeated, spanking her round, firm ass, loving the feel of her velvet-soft fur against my hot, sweaty skin. 


Jessica moaned through the gag as I slid in all the way, her back arching with pleasure, a thin line of drool dripping from the corner of her mouth.  I slid back out slowly, then thrust in again, nice and hard this time, and she screamed through the gag, painfully loud.  I began thrusting into her over and over, grabbing her breast tightly, nibbling at her throat and the small of her jaw, licking at the little nerve clusters that experience had taught me would send tingles of pleasure through her body and drive her totally wild.


She’d slid up against the wall so that her feet were no longer touching the floor, I noticed off-handedly.  She was totally helpless, suspended by her wrists from the hook high in the wall, unable to see or speak, barely able to move, completely at my mercy.  On an impulse, I wet my finger in her pussy and slid it into her asshole up to the second knuckle, was rewarded with a shudder of ecstasy and another muffled howl of pleasure.  I was dominating her, filling her in every way, controlling her every movement and loving every single moment of it.


And so was she.


Jessica had told me once that the experience was a bit like flying, a kind of transcendental experience akin to astral flight: if that was true, she was really somewhere in the stratosphere right now, hanging limply against the restraints, her breath hot and bothered as she moaned over and over, head lolling back and forth.  I was getting close now, feeling that strange, desperate sensation that told me that orgasm was close at hand.  “I’m going to cum now,” I whispered into her ear.  “I’m going to cum inside you.”  She whimpered and shook her head desperately, but I just laughed in reply.  “You don’t want me to huh?  Well, that’s just too bad. . .”  my voice trailed off as I felt my orgasm approaching, thrust into her one last time.


She came hard, her back arching like a fighting fish, screaming helplessly against her gag as I gritted my teeth and spurted hot, white semen deep inside her.  Shuddering waves of pleasure overtook her as she struggled against the restraints, unable to move, unable to do anything but just cum over and over and over again until she hung there, limp and lifeless, breathing shallowly, sweat dripping off her exhausted body. 


I sighed and pulled out, totally exhausted.  All I wanted to do was curl up in bed and go to sleep, but there was still work to do.  The first thing I did was to remove the slave collar, hitting the quick-release latch and tossing it aside on top of the shreds of her maid’s outfit.  I took out my knife again and sawed through the middle of the leather strap that suspended her from the hook, caught her as she sagged helplessly into my arms.  I checked her pulse and breathing, removed the blindfold and gag, and took the restraints off her wrists.  Then I lifted her up in my arms and carried her next door to the master bedroom, where I carefully removed her sweat-soaked underwear and threw them aside.


I laid her in my bathtub, ran some warm water, and began carefully sponging the cum and juices and sweat off her abused and ravaged body.  Not for the first time, I wished that I could rub some ointment on the welts on her back.  It wouldn’t do much good, though because of her fur, and she’d been adamant about not letting me shave it off.  I did the best I could to wash her off, wrapped her in a soft, freshly laundered towel, and carried her to bed.


I took my signet ring off, put it on the nightstand, and climbed into bed next to her, laying beside her for a long time, stroking her face and neck until she finally came up again.  She smiled as she saw me lying next to her.  “That,” she murmured sleepily, “was incredible.  You were really scary.”


I kissed her tenderly on the lips.  “I’m sorry.”


“Don’t be.  I like it when you’re scary.”  She looked up at me, concerned.  “How about you, are you okay?”


“Yeah, I think so.  I was afraid I was really going to hurt you for a while there, with the whip.  You just wouldn’t quit.”


“I was okay.  You could have gone on a little more,” Jessica said, snuggling up against me and resting her head against my chest.  “You’d never hurt me, Jonathan.  You love me too much for that.”


“That is true.”  I kissed her gently.  “Still, remember what I said when we first met?  You have to take care of your body.  I know you like it rough, but I’m afraid one of these days, we’ll go a bit too far, and you’ll really get hurt.”


“We’ll talk about it,” she said understandingly.  “Later.”


“Later,” I agreed.  “For now, you get some sleep.  I’ll bring you some soup in a little bit, then we can just lie in bed and listen to the birds for the rest of the day.”


“That would be wonderful,” she murmured sleepily.  “I love you, Jonathan.”


“I love you too, Jessica,” I replied, and she curled up and closed her eyes, a contented smile on her face.


I waited until she was sound asleep before heading back into the office to clean up.  The restraints, the riding crop, her shoes and apron went back into the closet.  The leather thong that I’d used to suspend her from the hook, I threw in the trash along with the tattered remnants of her dress.  The lingerie, along with my clothes, went into the laundry hamper for washing.  The last two things I put away were Jessica’s slave collar and my ring.  I laid them in their mahogany box and put them away in my desk drawer until the next time they would be needed.



The End