by Monica Belle
‘Hold still.’
Laura’s mouth came open in an O of surprise as the butter was wiped off between her bottom cheeks, the still firm tip pushing into her anus.
‘Charles!’
‘Sh.’
‘But …’
‘Sh, I said.’
‘Oh God.’
She hung her head, trying her best to surrender to her fate in the way she wanted to, and felt she should. Already the piece of butter had begun to melt in her bottom hole, a sensation both rude and full of promise, but more than a little frightening. He took hold of her around her waist, keeping her firmly in place as he began to rub the butter in with gentle circular motions, pushing occasionally until his finger slid into her body without pain. Laura had begun to shake, fully aware of what was about to be done to her and both expectant and scared. When Charles spoke his voice was full of consideration, but also firm.
‘Are you virgin behind?’
The blood rushed to Laura’s face.
‘No. Sorry.’
‘There’s no need to apologise. I prefer a little experience, and besides, only the weakest of men resent a woman’s previous partners. You can even tell me about it, if you like?’
He had worked his finger deep, and was using his thumb to rub her sex as he got her ready, making Laura gasp and sigh as she struggled to answer him.
‘It … it was Tommy Fuller. We used to play cards for … for forfeits. I always lost, and … and ended up naked, having to do rude things for him, and suck him, until … until one night he said he wanted to put it up my bum, and I … I let him.’
‘Just the once?’
‘No.’
‘I bet he used to cheat, and I bet you used to lose on purpose, didn’t you?’
‘Yes.’
Charles gave a soft chuckle.
‘An enterprising young man, this Tommy Fuller, by the sound of it, and a good judge of women. Did he bend you over, or prefer you to sit in his lap, or take you from the side?’
‘He always bent me over. He … he liked to see it go in.’
He gave a full throated laugh.
‘A man after my own heart! Now then, I need to be ready too.’
Laura’s face was burning as she watched him pull out his cock and balls, but her arousal had come back as high as when she’d been made to play with herself in the woods. Her mouth came open as he offered her his cock, to take him in as far as he would go. She sucked eagerly, thinking of what was about to be done to her and the absolute surrender of bringing a man to erection in her mouth so that he could enjoy her bottom.
Charles took her by the hair, easing his cock in and out as he continued to prepare her. She could feel the warm butter trickling down her sex, and an open helpless feeling behind, familiar from the times Tommy had treated her the same way. He’d been even bigger than Charles, but that did nothing to reduce her apprehension as the now stiff cock was finally withdrawn from her mouth.
‘Be gentle, please, Charles. Do it slowly, and stop if I say.’
‘I know how to bugger a girl, Laura. Now just relax.’
She did her best, hanging her head in submission once more as he got behind her. His finger left her bottom, her cheeks were pulled open and she felt him push. Her mouth came wide as she began to fill, and she was already panting and wriggling her toes as he took a grip on her hips. Slowly, carefully, he eased his full length inside her, until she could feel his balls pressed to her empty sex.
‘Is that good?’
‘Yes.’
‘Tell me, Laura.’
‘Yes … yes, it’s good. It feels good to have your cock up my bottom, Mr Latchley. Thank you.’
‘That’s my girl. Now, I expect you’d like your treat?’
She wasn’t sure what he meant, until she felt his arm snake in under her belly to find her sex and realised that she was to be masturbated while he was in up her bottom. He’d begun to push as he did it, adding to her overwhelming sensations of surrender and of pleasure. In just moments her muscles had begun to contract and he was pushing hard inside her as her orgasm rose up, to explode in her head, a screaming, panting climax so strong that her legs went beneath her. Charles snatched at her hip as he felt her body start to give way, supporting her as he thrust deep and hard, with Laura’s body jerking helplessly on his cock until he too came, holding himself deep up her bottom as he took his satisfaction.
Laura lay face down on Charles’ bed, naked and feeling content and completely in love. All her adult life she had craved a man who would make her feel not only wanted, but looked after, or, as Charles had put it, cherished. Tommy had never even come close, obsessed with sex and delighted by her body, enjoying her feminine reactions to his abundant, almost grotesque masculinity, but not protective at all, while he had neither expected her to be faithful, nor promised to be faithful himself. No other man had even come close, despite several who had been merely possessive.
Charles was downstairs, preparing lunch, which was something he insisted on doing himself, much to her relief. One of her concerns about his philosophy of owning her had been that as his property she would be expected not only to be his sexual plaything, but also his skivvy, cooking and cleaning while he took his ease and also beating her if he was unsatisfied with her work. He plainly had no such intention, although she was unsure if that was through a sense of fairness or because he was too controlling to let anybody else make choices that affected him. Certainly his attitude to cooking suggested the latter, with every item in his kitchen spotless and in its own place, right down to an alphabetised spice rack.
In fact, she reflected, his chosen role for her was not so much that of a girlfriend, or even a slave, but a pet. The idea was rather appealing. He would treat her as she treated Smudge, providing food, shelter, company, and looking after her health. The only difference would be that Smudge provided Laura protection, while with her and Charles it would be the other way around. She would be his, completely, and in a way she found increasingly arousing the more she considered it.
She jumped up from the bed, enthused and pleased with herself for coming up with the idea. Charles was cutting a square of blue cheese into precise cubes and looked around as she entered the kitchen.
‘We’re nearly ready. The wine is in the fridge, if you’d care to open it?’
‘Of course, and I’ve come to a decision. I don’t want to be your slave girl. I want to be your pet.’
‘My pet? What sort of pet?’
‘A pet pet, like Smudge, only of course, I’m a girl not a dog.’
Charles didn’t answer, immediately, leaving her to extract the cold bottle of wine from the fridge before he spoke again, slowly and evenly.
‘It’s an interesting idea, but we would need to have rules.’
‘Of course, and if I break them, a smack!’
‘That goes without saying, but there would need to be house rules, about what you wear for instance …’
‘I’d be nude, all the time.’
‘I prefer you in stockings, and there would also be absolute rules, such as no peeing on the carpet.’
‘Of course!’
‘And it wouldn’t be an excuse for laziness or misbehaviour.’
‘Even a teeny bit?’
He paused to consider.
‘I need to think about this, Laura, and so, I suspect, do you. If we’re to be together we need to reach a mutual agreement, and put it in writing.’
‘A sort of contract?’
‘Exactly. In an ideal world it would be possible for you to simply declare yourself mine, to do with as I wish but knowing that I will cherish you.’
‘That seems reasonable.’
‘It should be, and that will form the basis of the contract. However, we live in the real world, so we need a little more detail. I’m beginning to see that while you are naturally feminine and appreciate how a man and a woman should interact, you are not, at heart, a slave.’
Laura felt a sudden emptiness.
‘Is that a problem?’
He came towards her and kissed her.
‘With any other woman, yes. With you, no. For you I will compromise, just so long as it is absolutely clear who is in charge.’
‘Yes, Mr Latchley. Would you like me to suck your cock, Mr Latchley?’
‘I hope that wasn’t intended as sarcasm, Laura?’
‘No, I promise.’
There had been amusement in his voice as he spoke, but she was left feeling a little uneasy, desperate to please and yet defiant in defence of her needs. He carried on as he began to mix the cubes of blue cheese into a bowl of salad.
‘The thing is, Laura, that I had expected your deepest need to be to serve me, but while I can’t fault your obedience or your need to please, it seems to me that your deepest need is to be protected. After all, you never ask how I wish you to dress, you haven’t suggested that you strip for me, you didn’t offer your bottom to me. I could train you to do these things, yes, but I prefer it to come naturally.’
‘I prefer to be told to do it, and anyway, I probably would have offered if I’d known you liked that sort of thing.’
‘Laura, it would take a saint not to bugger you, if given the opportunity.’
‘I’m not sure about that. Not many men are that dirty.’
‘Dirty? As in dirty pig?’
‘Oops! Sorry.’
‘I’m sure you will be, presently. For now, if you would pour the wine, we’ll eat.’
The table was already laid, and Laura poured their glasses as he put some of the salad onto plates. As she had expected, it was delicious, and she ate a few mouthfuls before speaking again.
‘I get spanked now, don’t I?’
‘Yes, after lunch.’
‘I’m sorry if I’m not your ideal slave girl. You can punish me more severely if you want to, even cane me, or use one of those vicious looking leather straps, or whip me.’
‘I will choose when you are punished, and how, but don’t worry about not being my ideal. Attitude adjustment is an essential part of your training.’
‘Oh.’
‘Besides, there’s really no such thing as an ideal. I adore the rich brown of your hair, but I would be equally happy if you were blonde, or a redhead, or had a green Mohican three feet tall. I’d also be perfectly happy if you were black, or shorter, or had a fuller chest, or taller with tiny breasts. The same is true for your personality. There are limits, both physical and in your character, but you fall well within those, as I trust I do for you?’
‘Oh, yes, absolutely. And you’re right about me wanting to feel protected, but it’s more than that, because I like you to be wicked with me as well. I suppose you could say that you’re halfway between my ideal hero and my ideal villain.’
Charles laughed.
‘You have a very romantic nature, Laura, in the old-fashioned sense.’
‘Yes, only for me the hero always arrives a little too late.’
‘Or not at all, if he is also the villain. You said you liked the idea of being a captive even before you thought about spanking?’
‘Yes. That was my favourite fantasy for years.’
‘Good, because you’re spending this afternoon in the cage.’
21
‘THIS IS NOT a punishment, more what the Americans call a time-out, an opportunity to calm down and reflect.’
As Charles spoke he closed the heavy padlock, leaving Laura trapped inside the tall metal birdcage. She was naked, but warm enough even in the shade with flecks of bright sunlight marking the concrete floor of her prison.
‘How long will I be in here?’
‘You won’t know. The passage of time very quickly becomes hard to judge. When you wish to be released, call out, but I expect you to last at least an hour. Should you fail, you will receive one stroke of the strap for every minute you are short of your target. That will be after the spanking you have earned for referring to me as a dirty pig, again. Is that clear?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good.’
A casual wave and he was gone, leaving Laura to her thoughts. She knew she was supposed to contemplate her attitude to him, her role in their relationship and what it would mean to be completely in his control. That was all very well, but she was helpless, imprisoned, something she had fantasised about more times than she could remember, and better still, when she was released she was going to be spanked.
It was much easier to think of Evangeline Tarrington, trapped in the harem, kneeling on a bench with her gauzy pants pulled down and her wrists tied behind her back, one of a line of four bare-bottomed girls awaiting punishment. Yet that had been very different, much more public and with the real restraint not her bound wrists but the scimitar-wielding harem guards. She had read other, more suitable scenes, but she was supposed to be thinking about Charles.
Laura sat down, the concrete base of the cage cool and hard against her flesh. Gripping the bars, she let her eyes flick to the padlock. It was heavy duty, too strong for her to break even had she had tools, while the cage itself was no less formidable. She was genuinely helpless, completely at Charles’ mercy, and it did feel good, but still the sense of reliance he had told her to expect wouldn’t come.
She tried hard, picturing herself as his slave girl, put in the cage to learn what it meant to be a man’s property. He was older and wiser than her, she told herself, and understood her personality better than she did herself, but he had already admitted she was different. There was also a crucial element to her fantasies of captivity that he seemed to have overlooked: defiance.
A heroine who gave in and accepted her lot was no fun at all. Evangeline Tarrington had still been proud and defiant even tied up while her bare bottom was smacked in front of laughing girls and prurient guards. Laura wanted the same, to be caged not in order to reflect on what Charles felt should be her true nature, but in an attempt to break her spirit before she was taken out, spanked, strapped and fucked.
The punishment was one thing. It would hurt, and she deserved it, but to submit to discipline was part of her. So was reliance on a man as her protector, her hero, but he also had to be something more, the sort of man who found it amusing to make her go bare in public or to butter her bottom, a wicked man. Charles was that man, without question, and with that thought Laura reached an epiphany. For her to be happy, there would have to be certain things she was made to do, which made her the perfect foil for his natural cruelty, something that would be lost if she became completely subservient.
She almost called out, only to realise that she had probably been in the cage no more than ten minutes, which would mean fifty strokes of the strap. If it was anything like the cane, that would be unendurable, although if she was tied down over the whipping bench, gagged and blindfolded she would have little choice. The thought sent a sharp thrill through her, but caution prevailed and she went back to her thoughts.
Another scene she had often enjoyed in the darkness of her bedroom was a lot closer to her current predicament than anything from Taken to Turkey. In The Marquis of Montauch the brilliant but insane Human Chameleon had kept the heroine, Eloise de la Tour, in a sort of display case in his cellar, making her earn her meals by removing a piece of clothing each day.
Greatly to Laura’s disappointment, Hugo be Montvilliers had rescued Eloise when she still had her camisole to cover her modesty, but it had been easy to extend the fantasy, imaging herself in the case, stripped naked, made to exhibit herself, to touch herself in front of her leering captor, to suck on his cock through the bars.
Laura shivered, imagining Charles coming back to tell her she would only be released once she’d satisfied him in her mouth. He’d push his cock through the bars, already erect, and she’d have no choice but to suck him, all the way as she knelt naked on the hard concrete floor. Better still, once he’d come he’d simply walk away, laughing, to leave her in a state of helpless consternation in her cage, cheated and exploited but unable to keep her fing
ers from between her thighs in response to what he’d done to her.
She stood up, clutching the bars as she wondered if he would comply with her fantasy or take her straight to the necessary room for her strapping. The answer was easy. This was Charles Latchley, the Devil. He wouldn’t take any nonsense. She’d get strapped, one stroke for every minute under the hour, exactly as he’d promised, and with that thought came a new, more powerful thrill. Charles was not a man to be manipulated, and she could only ever hope to relate to him on his own terms.
Now feeling thoroughly confused as well as aroused, she began to pace the cage, turning at every second step in the narrow space between the bars. She wanted to call out, but didn’t dare, to talk to him in an attempt to explain feelings she didn’t understand herself, to take the punishment she feared so badly and end up trembling against his chest with her hot bottom thrust out behind and her fingers busy between her thighs.
She had to bite her lip to prevent herself from calling out in her frustration, sure that he’d hear and assume she wanted to be released. That would mean the strap, but he had been right about her sense of time. She was no longer sure how long she’d been in the cage, whether it was even as long as the ten minutes she’d guessed earlier, or twice that, three times even. It had not been an hour, of that she was certain.
Once again Laura sat down, determined to achieve the state of calm reliance Charles had told her she would go into. Closing her eyes, she began to chant quietly, a mantra she’d taught herself in order to help face exams. It wouldn’t work, her head full of urgent thoughts, of her own condition, of her fantasies, of Charles and the strap, of his reaction to her request to be made his pet.
In a sense he’d done it already, because anybody who came across her in the cage would get a fine view. She was naked, her legs up, the lips of her sex on plain show, no more hidden than had she been some caged animal to which modesty and intimacy had no meaning. That felt good, and she imagined herself not at the back of the secluded garden where nobody but Charles could possibly see her, but in a public zoo, paraded nude in her cage for everybody to see, to laugh at her, to feed her bananas through the bars, the men to feed her their cocks through the bars.
