The Slave by Laura Antoniou

when
masturbating.”
    “ How sweet!” Rachel mocked.
    “ You may continue from there,” Chris
ordered.
    “ Yes, sir,” Robin whispered back. The
wetness between her legs was maddening. How often had she dreamed
something just like this, submitting to a strong man and a strong
woman at the same time? How many times had she pulled out her box
of toys to exactly that image?
    Her box of toys...

Chapter
Five
    Robin’s Story: The Soloist
     
    I have become a connoisseur of
coming , she
wrote one night, after an enormously good session of solo
sex. I am a
master masturbator. And good thing, too. Because that’s going to be
the sum total of my sex life forever and ever.
    Months later, dating seemed as hopeless a
pastime as it was during the night she gave her unmourned virginity
to the unaware Greg. There had been two more boyfriends since then,
one she gave blowjobs to, then another one she never let get past
making out. Neither one seemed to have a clue about what she was
really into, and she never managed to be as direct as she now knew
she would have to be in order to get through to them.
    Even Marty, the guy who taught her how to
suck cock (if you could call his insistently pushing her head
toward it any form of teaching), seemed utterly unaware of the
slightest possibility that she might like something a little more
than “Oh, baby, you’re the best!” in the way of encouragement. And
he was so passive, just lying or sitting back and not even touching
her, except to stroke her hair absently once in a while.
    She had tried a little harder with him,
maybe because he was an English major and she figured that words
might have more of a trigger effect for him. “I love being your
personal cocksucker,” she had whispered to him one night.
    “ Oh, I hate that word,” he responded,
looking vaguely shocked. “It’s so dirty. I mean, you say
cocksucker, and I think faggot. You’re my lover, baby, my sweet
lover.”
    And I thought that sucking cock
would make me gag , she recorded in her journal that night. She wandered into
the lesbian and gay student association on campus, but found
herself not fitting in there, either. For one, the president of the
association also played on the basketball team, and he knew that
she had dated Greg. That branded her as a bisexual, and she was
immediately viewed with suspicion. And although she was willing to
get involved in on-campus feminist activities, one day she found
herself at a meeting planning a protest in front of the bookstore
for selling Penthouse and Playboy .
    She thought guiltily about her
stash of porn under her bed, and didn’t return to the next meeting.
Hell, if these women didn’t like Playboy , which had the lamest, softest smut she
had even seen, they would just heave at the sight of one of her
newspapers.
    But one thing that she did get from the
association was a list of gay publishers and bookstores. She wrote
away for more catalogs, and discovered the world of gay and lesbian
SM. She loved it all, even the male/male stuff, and bought as much
as she could afford. The box under her bed filled, and she started
throwing out things that didn’t work for her any more. And she was
very, very careful about when and where she tossed her rejects.
    So she turned her attention sharply onto
school, taking extra classes when she could. She started running
again, to work off any excess energy, and pretended to be going out
on dates so Donna wouldn’t try to set her up with someone. And she
jerked off, whenever she could, getting better and better all the
time.
    It was a Saturday night in late winter, and
Robin had such a session in mind as she returned to her dorm after
working on a special cataloging project she had volunteered for. It
was guaranteed to get her into a special class with the professor
who headed up the arts department, and it was giving her the skills
she would need when she left. It wasn’t enough to be able to
appreciate art in order to work with it.