by Emily Tilton
Then Kevin said, “I fuck,” and Jessica gave a startled cry. Barbara turned to see that Kevin had one hand on her right hip, and his hardness was in his other hand, and then he had thrust himself home and the horse creaked under them as husband began to give wife a vigorous fucking. Jean stood with his phone a few paces away, and Barbara could tell that the angle would show both Kevin and Jessica clearly, with Cynthia beyond, and then Barbara, and then perhaps a little of Jenny’s back.
“I’m live,” Jean said, and then everything became terribly confused because there were other people there, and the torches were swiftly being put out, and the shouting had started.
Barbara heard someone say, in American-accented French, “I’ve got Herrier.” It sounded like Kevin Logan.
Someone else, who sounded like David Mancini, said in English, from much closer by—practically right next to Barbara—“Cynthia, are you okay?”
The station chief’s answer came out more as a sob than a word, “Yes. Did the video get out?”
“Yup,” David confirmed. “Kevin, do you still have him?”
Barbara tried to turn a little, to see if she could discern anything about what was going on, but clearly the only people who had the slightest idea on that score were wearing night vision goggles.
“He does, Mr. Mancini,” said Monsieur Herrier’s voice, out of the darkness, laden with disgust and disdain. “It goes without saying, I imagine, that I should like to speak with someone empowered to come to an understanding about this matter.”
David answered, “For a man who probably knows how close his chateau just came to being firebombed from orbit, monsieur, I can’t help admiring your sangfroid.”
Monsieur Herrier addressed Barbara then, his voice so calm and icy that it made her flesh tingle, “Barbara, my little whore, I look forward to learning where you—and, I suppose, Cynthia—truly came from. In any case, I acknowledge myself defeated, but secure in the knowledge that I have left my mark upon you.”
She bit her lip to keep herself from responding, but then, in the darkness, she felt Jean beside her, and heard him whisper into her ear as he began to free her from her bonds, “My mark is different, my love—but I promise it shall be both gentler and deeper.”
Epilogue
The four girls who had played Discipline that night, and the four men who actually did, with right, claim them as their own submissive wives and partners, had a very special dinner at Cynthia and David’s lovely apartment in Paris, a week after the collapse of civilization had begun.
Cynthia greeted Barbara and Jean at the door clad in her green collar and nothing else. To Barbara she handed the red collar she had worn at the chateau, with the instruction, seconded by a pat from Jean upon her bottom, to go to the bathroom and to get changed to match her hostess. Cynthia told Jean he would find his player’s robe in the guestroom closet.
“David thinks we should finish the game,” the station chief told them simply, with a look in her eyes that suggested she had, with some misgivings, welcomed her husband’s idea.
Barbara found Jenny Granby just finishing getting undressed herself in the large white-tiled bathroom. The pretty young wife called, “Come in,” very hesitantly at Barbara’s knock, and then blushed deeply when the other girl opened the door to reveal her nakedness. Barbara felt herself color, too: something about Jenny being naked while Barbara still had a nice dress on, at a dinner party, brought back a sort of modesty one might have thought lost that night at the chateau.
“Hi,” Jenny said very shyly.
“Hi, Jenny,” Barbara replied. They hesitated for a moment, and then suddenly they both seemed to decide at the same instant to hug, despite the embarrassment of the circumstances. The hug was tight on both sides, and it went on a lot longer than a standard hello hug ever did.
“Thanks,” Jenny whispered to Barbara’s shoulder, a sniffle in her voice.
“For what?” Barbara asked, though she thought she probably knew. She held Jenny a little away, now, looking down at her lovely breasts and the demure cleft of her pussy. The desire to take off her own clothes, to be naughty with a pretty friend, made her warm down below, where Jean had forbidden her to wear panties tonight.
“For... showing me?”
Barbara smiled, and held Jenny close again. She had no wish to make the other girl say precisely what Barbara had shown her: she understood, because she knew the feeling from the way Cynthia and Jessica had shown her that a strong woman could crave being bound naked for use by a dominant man’s hands and cock. She might still blush when made to undress at a dinner party—and Barbara imagined Jenny Granby would never stop blushing in such circumstances—but she would be a good deal more comfortable in her own skin, as well as readier to provide herself for her husband’s enjoyment.
“Hello, girls,” said Jessica from behind Barbara, then. The hugs became less awkward, then, and the undressing happened swiftly, with three of them there.
“You’re going to explain everything, right?” Barbara said, a pleading tone in her voice as she tugged her dress off over her head.
“Someone lost her panties,” Jessica said in a lighthearted tone, the teasing so gentle that Barbara had to smile when her face reemerged from the cloud of fabric. Jessica stood in a gorgeous black bra-and-panty set, her hands behind her about to unhook the back of the bra.
“Someone else definitely didn’t,” Barbara said. “But...” She felt determined to pin Jessica down on the matter of an explanation.
“Kevin likes me in this stuff right now,” Jessica confided with a giggle—of course giving an explanation of the wrong thing. “He lays it out in the bathroom every morning, and then he fucks me before we leave the hotel. Then in museums he’ll touch my bottom and tell me he’s thinking about my underwear. Then he takes me back to the hotel again, and... you know.” Were her cheeks a little red? “I think it’s like a celebration of civilization—baroque art and lingerie. We didn’t get a chance to sightsee before we started things at the chateau with Herrier.”
Both Barbara and Jenny regarded her now with silent pleas for a fuller understanding of what had happened that night, but Jessica only smiled. “And you two? Barbara, I have a feeling your lack of panties isn’t voluntary.”
The warmth crept into Barbara’s cheeks. “No, but... you know.” She fixed Jenny with a smiling look, and the young wife gave a giggle of her own. “Jean has been... reclaiming me. That means I’m to be, you know, accessible at all times, for spanking or sex.”
“No pants, either?” Jessica asked sympathetically.
“Of course not,” Barbara said, laughing. “But it’s France so that blends in, though when he puts his hand up my skirt on the metro...”
That made Jenny draw a little breath. “Henry...” she began, looking at both of them. “Well, he’s been pretty... hard on me.” The young wife turned beet red as she heard her own double entendre. Barbara and Jessica giggled, but Jenny continued, seeming suddenly braver, “We don’t leave the hotel room much. He says I’m to think of myself as fully in training, now, as his wife.”
“And?” Barbara asked, raising her eyebrows. She and Jessica had stripped completely now, and put their clothes on the same shelves where Jenny had clearly been told to leave hers. Their collars were around their necks, Red and Purple, and all three girls stood naked together equal in the same way Jean and Kevin had possessed them in the game.
“And I like it,” Jenny whispered, her brow crumpling and her eyes seeking the floor.
“Yay,” Jessica said. Then she spoke to Barbara quietly. “Yes, we’re going to explain.”
* * *
The explanation didn’t happen over dinner, though, a coq au vin that made Barbara think that everything good, from lingerie to country cuisine, must come from France. From those wonderful things to the man at her side, at whom she couldn’t stop looking, and who apparently couldn’t stop kissing her.
How could she ever have guessed that eating naked and collared with three other girls and
their men, clothed in special robes and very special pants, would feel right and natural even as it also felt terribly, wonderfully wicked?
Their cover at the faculty of economics seemed to have held, now that Herrier had been removed, somehow, from the scene entirely. The trillionaire’s whereabouts represented one of the things as to which Barbara hoped for some information from David and Kevin, but Barbara had gone back to her studies, with Jean now as her acknowledged boyfriend and mentor.
She had also started modeling again for Ostia, she had worked her first kinky party just the night before, with Jean guiding her through with the help of the newly implanted comm-link in her jaw. None other than Sebastian Fredricks, who remained unaware it seemed of what had actually happened that night at the chateau, had taken Barbara to a private room to give her a hard spanking over his knee. In the course of it, as he expressed his displeasure at the interruption of the game at its climax, the Englishman had revealed a great deal about where matters stood with his capital fund in the wake of the Spanish announcement, all of which Jean had heard.
Her leo had held her close late into the night, fucking her in every hole, after they returned to her little apartment. Jean had reclaimed her so thoroughly—had shown her that the life of adventure for which she had come to France and tapped the ad that started it all must have her rightful master in it—that now at the dinner table Barbara could hardly remember doubting.
“Coffee and dessert are going to have to wait,” David announced. “We have unfinished business.”
They made the girls line up facing the wall in the living room, where padded stools, one for each of them, stood in place of the vaulting horses, and ropes attached to eyelets in the crown molding represented the cuffs on the torches’ iron posts.
“It’s a reasonable facsimile of a palarium,” Kevin pronounced with evident satisfaction, when they had fastened all four of the pieces in more or less the same position where the girls had found themselves a week earlier, and in the same order, left to right: Jessica, Cynthia, Barbara, Jenny.
Barbara kept twisting her head from side to side to see what the men were doing, as she saw the other three girls doing, too. For the moment, though, all four of them, with David in place of Sebastian Fredricks, simply stood admiring their naked possessions, their robes still covering the place where Barbara knew the pants left them ready to enjoy a girl whenever they chose.
“Cynthia, sweetheart,” David said, the stern note in his voice sending a tingle down Barbara’s spine. “The four of us have agreed that before I can participate fully in this game—a privilege Monsieur Herrier, now an honored, if imprisoned, guest of the Guard, lamentably denied me—I have a bit of business to do.”
Barbara couldn’t hold back a little whimper as David shrugged his robe from his shoulders to reveal a massive, rigid cock. She heard Jenny do the same, and she thought she even caught Jessica chewing on her lower lip.
“I’ve reclaimed your mouth pretty thoroughly the last few nights,” he said, “so I’ll take that as done, but...”
Barbara watched his hand go out, seize his wife between her thighs roughly. Cynthia cried out as her husband commanded her, in surprise and then very quickly in urgent need for the hardness he held in his other hand.
Then, as David prepared his piece thoroughly for her claiming, Kevin at last began the explanation Barbara craved. The sight of her beautiful, naked boss, wearing her husband’s green collar and undergoing forced pleasure at his hand, however, made it rather difficult to follow. At least she knew Jean, her teacher, would explain it all to her, as many times as she liked and in as many different ways.
“So everyone except Henry and Jenny understood by the end of the game that Jessica and I had come to France to start the soft landing.”
Barbara looked over at Jenny, whom Henry had bound into position over a stool and against the wall just to her right. The young wife’s nose twitched as she listened to Kevin, her blue eyes fixed though on David’s hand between Cynthia’s legs. Not for the first time Barbara wondered about the struggles Jenny must have gone through that night as her ideas of what a submissive wife might be asked to undergo progressed so dramatically in so short an interval.
Henry spoke, now, and he put his hand on Jenny’s pretty bottom at the same time, so that she twisted her face around to the other side to find her husband’s eyes.
“And Kevin has filled me in, since then,” the CEO of Relicorp said, “and I’ve laid it out for Jenny, too. Our lives won’t change very much, maybe, but we have some secrets to keep now that will mean we look at the world differently. Selecta and Relicorp working together, now that things are going to change for Selecta in Washington, will help the Guard get some traction they might not have otherwise.”
Kevin nodded, and he, too, put his hand on his wife’s offered backside. Barbara felt left out, and she turned her face to find Jean standing behind her, smiling at the way she gestured with her eyes to her own bottom, asking for what each of the other girls had gotten.
But Jean shook his head, the smile on his face broadening, his manner so assured and dominant that she felt herself clench, and she bucked her hips against the stool. Seeing it, Jean stepped forward and put two fingertips just at the most tantalizing place, where thighs and bottom and, in hiding, pussy and anus, all seemed to come together. Barbara whimpered, but Jean said, “Listen carefully, nupta.”
Kevin chuckled. “There isn’t much more, except for what happened at the end of the night. When Jean shot the video, he also got a message to David and the rest of the Guard, saying that they should come and get Herrier.”
“And,” Cynthia gasped, as her husband brought his cock to bear, and rubbed it tantalizingly up and down, gently along the furrow of her bottom, “because the video had already gone out, there was no use in doing anything else.”
“Do you consent to be my piece?” David growled, then.
“Oh, my God, sir... yes... yes... yes.” The last of her affirmative answers became a cry of needy pleasure as her husband entered her and began to fuck her very hard.
Then Jessica moaned, because Kevin had picked up just where he had been forced to leave off when the Guardsmen arrived to secure the chateau, which would from now on—so Jean had told Barbara—belong to them, and serve as a European branch of the Institute.
“I think you have one more move, Kevin,” said Barbara’s leo as he continued to tease her with his mastering fingers, advancing and retreating so that she rode the edge of the stool desperately now. She turned her face to Jenny, and saw that her fellow Red piece had a face to match her collar, for Henry had begun to do exactly the same thing to her that Jean was doing to Barbara.
“Well,” said Kevin as he rode his wife with easy, restrained strokes, holding her hips still though Barbara could see that she wanted more of her husband’s cock, and deeper, than he had yet deigned to give her over the stool, “it’s a move that resigns the game, in the face of a superior performance by your opponent, and though I think I might still have been able to win, I don’t want to. I liberate. All of you go ahead and enjoy your girls.”
They did, and as Jean took his pleasure, driving her clit hard against the stool so that she came again and again, Barbara thought that if civilization had to end, and she could only make that end a little less terrible, being mastered with three other girls, by four good, firm-handed men, was the best way for it to go.
The End
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Additional Books in the Bound for Service Series
Bound and Initiated
After intelligence analyst Sarah James is sent to infiltrate an underground organization known for its ritualistic sexual practices, she soon finds herself signing a contract which gives the group permission to train her for absolute submission to the men in charge, including punishing any disobedience as they see fit.
When she fails to comply with an order to strip naked for an intimate inspection, Sarah is given a punishment strapping, followed by a thorough, humiliating medical exam while her bottom is still burning hot and sore. Then, fearful but more aroused than she’s ever been in her life, Sarah meets the handsome, aristocratic Robert Bennet, the man she will serve.
After her first night in Robert’s strong, unyielding arms, Sarah realizes that her long-buried desires for a man to master her body completely are finally being fulfilled. Though it shames her deeply, even being shared with other men at her master’s command excites her more than she could have ever imagined.
But with Sarah’s handler at the CIA due to extract her at any moment, will she betray Robert and abandon the passion he has set ablaze in her? And if Robert discovers her true identity, will he ever be able to forgive her?
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Trained by the Trillionaire
When nineteen-year-old Cynthia Hall falls asleep in the middle of an act of self-pleasure, she is shocked to be awoken by a stern, handsome man standing over her bed, scolding her for her wanton behavior. Within moments, Cynthia has been stripped bare, intimately inspected, and soundly spanked. After her punishment, she is taught how to properly show her submission to a dominant man and then taken to the Institute to be trained for her new life as a concubine.
Upon reaching the Institute, the beautiful, feisty hipster quickly discovers that no part of her virgin body will be off-limits to the powerful trillionaire who now owns her, and she is left blushing crimson as her most shameful, deeply-hidden desires are exposed and exploited.
