Fifteen Years
3 — Consequence
I leaned heavily on the battered stone wall, slowly getting my breath back. It had been the most intense experience of my life so far, the first time I’d been fucked by a real man. I’d promised myself for years that I’d wait until I was in a real relationship, but this middle-aged pervert claimed that using my true name he could make me do whatever he wanted. It certainly seemed to work.
“Have a rest, don’t want to tire you out too much,” Steve leered, but I could hear that he was out of breath himself. “Ten minutes, then I’m finally going to show you how much fun anal can be.”
“Finally?” I yelled as much as I could, but I was still panting too hard to carry off the angry tone I had in my mind, “I’ve known you all of one day! How long have you been waiting? And no guy is ever coming near my ass. Pervert!”
“You don’t still think you’ve got a choice, do you? I told you already, I’ve been waiting fifteen years for this and you can’t…” he was interrupted by a beeping from his jacket pocket, and continued on a different tack, “Crap. I got to go back to the future before the portal closes. I thought I’d have at least a couple of hours, oh well. But there’s one thing I’ve still got to do.”
I hastily got my clothes back in order while he was talking, and he made no move to stop me now. I wasn’t quite sure I believed in time travel, but I guessed he really did have something he had to attend to. To my surprise, he handed me a slip of paper, folded over a dozen times.
“Your first slave’s true name,” he said, and he’d told me just enough about how stuff was supposed to work in the future that I knew what that was supposed to mean. “You’ll be a great Mistress, I promise you. It would be such a shame if you have to wait until the technology actually existed to learn it.”
I didn’t know what to say. It was only when he was walking away into the woods that I wondered who that slave might be. “Didn’t you say you can only find out…” your own true name. And then my mind finally put the clues together and it made sense. I got the taped-up piece of paper open and read the name written inside. It was a jumble of syllables, and I still had no idea if this was a joke or not. It was worth trying though, because he’d clearly been able to influence my actions somehow. I shouted after him, but unfolding the note had taken a little too long, and I looked up just in time to see him vanish into thin air.
I closed the old diary, and slipped it back into the drawer in my dressing table. I looked at it regularly, reliving the excitement of those early days when people considered that a right to freedom meant that slavery was inherently wrong. But it was only on my wedding anniversary that I read through the whole story, tenderly touching myself and trying to remember just how it had felt when I was young and inexperienced.
That first time had really put me off submission, for all I enjoyed it. A few weeks later, I’d caught myself looking at my schoolfriends and wondering who would make a good slave. It took me a while to realise that Ste Queens was quite well built, and concealing a surprisingly large package in his pants. He could have had any girl he wanted if he wasn’t such a whiny nerd, but nobody ever looked at him for long enough to realise it. Then I wondered if he might be the same Steve who’d dominated me so effortlessly, introducing me to a world I’d never even imagined.
It had been partly curiosity, partly hormones, and partly a desire for revenge on the guy who’d humiliated me. Not good motives, the first time I’d spoken that name and then commanded him to go down on me, but it felt amazing. Pretty soon I had him going to the gym, his true name standing in for the willpower he so clearly lacked. For all we’d got together in an unorthodox way, our relationship really worked. Every year, our feelings grew deeper and more intense, and it was everything true love should be.
Of course, we argued at times. He seemed to have this obsession with anal sex, something I’ll still never tolerate. And when I first told him about the power of true names, for example, he laughed. Then he looked up all the sci-fi literature on the subject, and then started asking questions about the state of the art in neurology. Eventually he got a masters degree in the subject, and invented a scanner that would let anyone find out their true name, so the whole world could have the same bliss we did. From what started as a quarrel, he made something amazing.
And then on our fifteenth anniversary, I realised that this was where the time loop had to end. Erin had given us a prototype time machine. It would have been her crowning glory, if it worked. But you couldn’t change anything, it didn’t even work. She said that it should work, but that in almost every experiment there wasn’t a space in the past the right size for you to fit into. It was me who realised that if we set it for a time when I knew a traveller had come from the future, it might help resolve some of the questions in my mind.
So reading my old diaries, and enjoying the memories, for once I was on my own. I’d waved him off first thing in the morning, after dressing him up in the clothes I remembered and telling him my true name. Now it was late evening, and I was starting to wonder when he’d be back. I was sure he’d only had an hour with me all those years ago—sixteen years, by my count—but maybe time didn’t quite work in the obvious way.
“Hi Mistress,” I jumped in shock as his voice came from behind me, “I never realised how sweet and innocent you were, back when we were young.”
“It worked, then?” I asked. I was already as horny as hell, so I bent over the edge of the bed and lifted my skirt to show him I hadn’t been wearing underwear all day. Maybe that youthful encounter had affected me more than I thought, because even to this day my favourite position has always been doggy style. The same as my first time.
“Oh yeah,” he muttered, dropping his pants and taking up position behind me. I could see his pubes were still sticky with my juices from sixteen years ago; somehow that was a new kind of excitement. “I can’t believe you, though. You really made me wait fifteen years for a chance at doing your ass.”
“Oh, don’t keep on about that,” I pouted, “I told you when we first fucked that I’d never go there. Let’s just think about happy things, like fucking me when I was the helpless virgin. That turns you on, right?” I could tell it did, because his cock twitched to attention almost immediately. As he gave a brief report on how his time travel mission had gone, I stroked him until he was fully hard. Whatever small part of my mind wasn’t entirely focused on sex wondered if there was anything abnormal in fantasising about watching my partner with my younger self. I wondered if it was a popular enough fetish to have a name, even.
“I’m ready, Mistress,” he said. as much to let me know that he was bored with talking now as to indicate the status of the cock in my hands. I buried my face in the duvet, and my devoted slave came round behind me again to press the tip of his cock against my asshole. He gripped my hips firmly, holding still for just a second before he thrust into me more vigorously than I could ever remember before. I whimpered slightly, and went with the flow as we launched into a whole night of debauchery. Just like every perfect, blissful night with the slave I love most.