Tucked in her Master's pocket, her tiny doll's face streaked with tears and her scalp still smarting from being dangled by the hair, she gradually calmed herself and thought about how fortunate she really was-- unlike many other members of the Inner Circle, her Master did not kill for pleasure, but only out of necessity. Some of the Others went through slaves like popcorn. Master felt that murder was, at best, a waste of good material... at worst, a sign of incompetence on his part. This philosophy carried through to his dealings in the Organisation... He felt that there was no art in simply killing an enemy or rival... better to eliminate all options available to the victim and watch with amusement as they realize the trap that they've blundered into, and then to leave them, twisting slowly in the wind... destroyed... a living testament to the folly of opposing Him. It was no matter that many of his victims took their own lives after he had eliminated every other option...as far as He was concerned, it just confirmed that they had been weak and unworthy opponents.
With a tiny sigh, she leans against Master's thigh, her cheek on the warm pocket fabric that separates her from His bare flesh, one hand laid next to her face, as if she was settling down to sleep, and He rewards her with a few pats of His Hand outside the pocket.
Soon the pocket opens, His giant Hand invading her warm little cocoon and curling firmly around her narrow waist, pulling her quickly out of the pocket and setting her inside a little brass birdcage that sits on his nightstand in the Master Bedroom. This was his inner sanctum... He kept all of his special toys here, or in the room hidden behind a pivoting bookshelf along the wall. her place was typically curled up on the floor, at the foot of the bed... leashed to the bedpost and allowed to come up for cuddles at His discretion... unless she had misbehaved and was being punished with shrinking. During those times, she was kept in the little cage and expected to perform for him when he wanted to hear her exquisite singing voice, or to amuse him by masturbating herself to orgasm, worshiping Him while she did.
As soon as Master's Hand releases her inside the cage, she walks to the center, turns to face Him, and 'presents' herself as she had been taught-- her long lovely legs spread slightly apart, arms relaxed and clasped at the wrists behind her, breasts pushed slightly out, and a smile on her tiny doll sized face.
"That's my good girl", Master praises quietly, rubbing the back of His Finger along her cheek and down to tickle her pinpoint nipples... "you know it won't reduce your punishment, but it certainly won't make it any worse." He closes and locks the cage door with a metallic *click*.
Master peers into the cage, His handsome Face smiling at her through the bars... "you can relax for now love... I have some things to set up before we can start the correction", He informs her, then moves off to the nearby writing desk.
she walks to the cage door, holding the bars in her tiny slender hands and watching him across the cavernous Bedroom as He sits down and starts taking things out of the desk drawers and setting them up on the desktop, his activities blocked from her view by his broad shoulders as he makes His preparations.
she feels the lightest touch of butterflies in her stomach... wondering what Master has in store for her this time. He could be devilishly creative with what he referred to as His 'corrections'... she knew that whatever He had planned, she would probably survive. Master preferred subtle torment to the grosser expressions of displeasure employed by some of the other Members. she would never forget the time at an Inner Circle dinner party, where reduced slaves, herself included, had been brought to serve and entertain the Membership at the table while They ate and chatted. One of the Mistresses (the Organisation never discriminated on the basis of gender or race-- intelligence and psychological profiling were the coin of its realm) had conferred with Master, then the Mistress ordered her reduced slaveboy to fuck Master's toy for Their mutual amusement. The boy, a young french guy in his mid-twenties, was a fairly new slave who had been reduced for the first time, and he was petrified that he wouldn't be able to perform. As the two doll sized slaves coupled, she could feel the tension in him, and had done her best to put him at ease... curling her hands around his head and caressing his hair... gently whispering encourgement to him as they fucked on a Dinner Napkin for the Guests... but it was no use... his performance was desperate at best, and he groaned in spite of himself as the harshly obtained orgasm flared, bitter and brief.
"Congratulations boy... that was _the_ most artless fuck I have ever bore witness to!" his Mistress exclaimed angrily as She munched a fondued fish fillet. "you have misused my Associate's property and disgraced me in front of my Peers."
The boy had whimpered, preparing to turn around and face his angry Mistress, but instead his eyes grew wide, and he looked down with an almost comical expression of horror as the double tines of a Fondue Fork emerged from his belly. Before she could react, he was lifted away from her, screaming and wriggling like a fish on a spear, and dunked in the boiling fondue pot by his Mistress. The screams came to an abrupt halt and the pot boiled furiously, but it was quickly removed by the inscrutable servants that the Organisation always seemed to employ (some said they _grew_ them... a bizarre rumor that sounded too fantastic, even by Organisation standards)...
That she had managed to somehow maintain her composure, avoiding Master having to publicly kill _her_ as well, was a minor miracle in itself. But later, in private, she was given a rare glimpse into Master's psyche when they discussed the incident.
"you did well at the party love... I was very proud of you...", He told her as she lay with her arms and legs wrapped around his spent Cock, her chest and belly still tacky with His seed. "That lazy bitch always brings her untrained slaves out in public...", He continued, "...and delights in discarding them when they can't perform. She needs an audience for her conspicuous consumption, and I tire of her excesses."
It wasn't long afterwards that she heard through the slave grapevine-- the same Mistress had been found dead of choking, her eyes open wide, mouth taped shut, wrists and ankles bound, and the body of Her favorite slave, reduced and lodged in her trachea.
While it wasn't quite Master's style, she had often wondered... but dared not to ask.