by Becky Bell
For a moment she forgot about her bound hands and got a jolt as she tried to use them to move forward. The rope and the steel collar soon reminded her she was not free to make such instinctive movements.
‘Come on.’ The voice was Laurie’s.
Hands were pulling at her body. She stumbled forward onto the soft carpeting and was virtually dragged out of the car. The air was cold but very fresh. She was sure they had arrived at the manor.
‘Take her inside.’ Laurie’s voice again.
The red patent leather shoes had heels that made her totter. She felt hands grasping her by the shoulders and pushing her forward. She could hear the gravel crunching under her feet. Then the hands lifted her slightly and the texture of the ground underfoot changed. She had been expecting the carpet of the hall, imagining she was being taken into the house through the front door, but this felt and sounded like wooden boards.
The hands guided her to the right. After twenty or thirty of her diminutive steps they pulled her to the left and brought her to a halt. The hands dropped from her shoulders.
‘Open your legs.’ This voice was female too, but it was not Laurie.
Andrea obeyed. She felt a hand brush between her legs, then something rubbed against her thigh above the stocking tops. It crept higher.
‘Move her forward.’ Another female voice, but a different one yet. It was coming from behind her.
A hand on Andrea’s arm guided her forward two or three steps.
‘That’s it.’
Andrea gasped. Whatever had been glancing against her thigh was suddenly pulled right up between her legs, burrowing into her labia. Andrea had no idea what it was but it felt like a rope.
There were some noises she couldn’t identify. The rope altered position slightly, pulled up more sharply between her buttocks and at the front of her mons. The latter brought it in direct contact with her clitoris and Andrea gasped loudly again.
‘Sensitive little flower, isn’t she?’
‘Is that tied off?’
‘Yes.’
‘Come on then.’
Andrea heard footsteps on the wooden floor and then a door was slammed. A key grated in a lock.
She stood stock still trying to hear whether there was anyone else in the room. The tight leather helmet over her ears muffled most sounds, and she doubted she would be able to hear breathing. She imagined Charles Hawksworth sitting in a leather wing-chair with his legs crossed, looking at her with that mixture of disdain and appreciation, his eyes roaming her body. She thrust her shoulders back and raised her head, wanting him to see that she was proud to be his slave. But after three or so minutes she became convinced she was alone.
Tentatively she tried to take a step forward but the rope, or whatever it was, between her legs wouldn’t budge, only jamming itself more tightly into her sex and making her clitoris zing. She moved back slightly. Though she could take two or three steps forward it only forced the rope deeper into her sex.
The short journey from the car, bound and blindfolded, had created huge waves of arousal. The idea of being taken from the car dressed like a whore, with her breasts and buttocks and her sex exposed to whoever happened to be watching, strangers she did not know and could not see, excited her like nothing else ever had. Why it should have such an effect on her she simply did not know, but there was no denying that it did. With her arms tied against her breasts she could feel her nipples were as hard as pebbles again, and there were little pulses of feeling deep in her vagina that she always got when it was wet. She was sure she could feel her juices leaking over the rope.
She tried to relax and calm herself down, but with the rope buried deep in her sex that was impossible. Every time she made the slightest movement she felt it jerk against her clitoris and the sensitive flesh at the mouth of her vagina.
With her forearms she crushed her breasts back, feeling the hard nipples embedded in the malleable flesh. She rubbed them from side to side and felt little ripples of pleasure cascade through her body. Almost imperceptibly she began to wriggled her hips from side to side, making the rope brush across her clitoris. She discovered by moving her arms and her hips at the same tempo the two feelings collided into one.
In the darkness behind the leather helmet the images came thick and fast. She saw herself tied helplessly in the punishment room last Saturday. She saw Laurie’s eyes six inches from her face and her rich, kissable mouth. And in her imagination she saw herself being pulled from the car, bound and helpless while nameless and numberless strangers gathered around to watch. She was coming. Her whole body was beginning to tremble. She jerked on the ropes that held her hands so tightly, not because she wanted to get free but because the feeling of being bound increased her excitement.
‘Master,’ she said aloud.
If she had any doubt that she wanted to be here, wanted to be subjected to whatever Charles Hawksworth had in mind for her, it had vanished. This was better than any of her fantasies. She had never been so excited in her life.
She pushed herself forward, making the rope crush against her clitoris and orgasmed, her cry of pleasure the word ‘Master...’ elongated to a long, attenuated whisper.
‘Quite a performance.’ Andrea instinctively twisted her head around towards the sound of Laurie’s voice. She had opened the door so quietly Andrea wasn’t sure how long she had been standing there.
The brunette’s footsteps crossed the room. ‘Close your eyes tight,’ she said.
Andrea felt the zips over her eyelids being opened.
‘All right, you can open them now.’
After so long in the dark the light in the room was blinding. It took some minutes before Andrea could open her eyes fully. She found herself in a narrow rectangular room with bare white plastered walls and no windows. The floor was wooden, and the only furniture a single bed with no bedding on its thin mattress.
The rope between Andrea’s legs was thick and white. The two girls who’d brought her in had strung it from metal rings set in the walls. There were other rings positioned on the walls and a pulley set in the ceiling. The wooden frame of the bed, Andrea noticed too, had leather cuffs attached to each of its corners.
‘Mr Hawksworth is waiting,’ Laurie said. She had changed into a glittery silver cocktail dress with a short skirt and a draped neck, her long legs in nylon so sheer it was almost transparent. The heels of her shoes were spiky, and finished in shiny metal.
The mention of Hawksworth’s name made Andrea’s heart leap.
Laurie unknotted the rope from the metal ring and allowed it to drop to the floor. It had become so deeply embedded in Andrea’s sex that despite the fact it was no longer stretched taut, Laurie had to come up behind her and ease it out, making Andrea whimper.
‘Follow me.’
Laurie strode out of the door and Andrea followed, feeling disorientated by her sudden comparative freedom. Her labia felt sore from contact with the rope, and prickled as she walked. But none of that mattered. The only thing that mattered now was that she was on the way to see her master.
The corridor was long, with high arched windows along its length that looked out onto a cobbled courtyard. Andrea guessed they were in the stable block she had seen from the air as she’d arrived on Saturday. There were a series of doors along the left-hand side, identical to the one where she’d been confined.
‘In here.’
Laurie turned into the last door at the end of the corridor, and Andrea followed her.
The room was identical in shape to the one Andrea had occupied, but instead of a bed it had a large dressing table and two chairs. Laid out on the dressing table were every conceivable type of cosmetics, as well as make-up brushes, bottles of perfume and a large jar of cotton balls. A chunky woman of about fifty, in a plain black dress, was sitting in one of the chairs.
‘She’s required in ten minutes,’
Laurie said. She came up to Andrea and began untying her hands. Andrea felt a rush of blood to her forearms as she was able to lower them again. The rope had left marks on Andrea’s wrists.
‘Nice figure,’ the woman commented. ‘Is she the new one?’
‘Yes.’
‘Mr Hawksworth has very good taste.’
‘Just get her ready.’
Laurie marched out of the room, leaving the door open.
‘Sit down.’
Andrea did as she was told. The woman got to her feet and began unlacing the leather hood. She pulled it off over Andrea’s head then picked up a hairbrush and began brushing out her hair. Apparently satisfied that it was neatly set, she sat in the second chair and began to apply make-up to Andrea’s face.
There was no mirror above the dressing table so Andrea could not see what she was doing. She was not using the sort of colours that Andrea would have ever used for herself. She varnished Andrea’s fingernails in a deep, almost scarlet red. From now on, Andrea realised, even the ability to do her own make-up was going to be taken away from her.
‘Is she ready?’ Laurie had walked back into the room.
‘Just the lips.’ The woman brushed on a lipstick that matched the nail varnish.
‘Mmm...’ Laurie said, examining Andrea’s face. ‘She’ll do.’ She opened one of the drawers in the dressing table and took out a pair of metal handcuffs.
‘Up,’ she said to Andrea. ‘Hands behind your back.’ Andrea obeyed. She felt the cold metal being clipped around her wrists. ‘Follow.’
This time Laurie opened the larger door at the end of the corridor. It led out into the garden. There was a pathway made from flagstones, and covered with wooden trellising draped with honeysuckle and vine, to the back of the main house.
Both the women’s high-heels clacked on the stone. It was almost dark now and a distinctly chilly breeze had sprung up. If Andrea’s nipples had not already been knotted by her excitement, this would have certainly caused them to do so.
The house was warm. Inside the door Andrea saw a small rack of brass hooks. Hanging from each hook was a metal chain, like a dog leash. Laurie unhooked one and clipped the snap-lock at one end into the ring on Andrea’s steel collar. She then led her onward.
They walked under the stairs and out to the sitting room where Andrea had been on Saturday night. The room was deserted but she could hear voices; men’s voices coming from the dining room.
‘Wait here,’ Laurie said. There was a blazing fire in the grate of the large fireplace in the sitting room, and Laurie dropped the leash and left Andrea standing by it as she went into the dining room, closing the door behind her.
Andrea looked around. She noticed the china umbrella stand with the leather whips and remembered how the maid had been punished standing exactly where she stood now.
The dining room door opened and Laurie came out. She took hold of the leash again and led Andrea forward.
‘Remember, you are not to speak unless you are asked a direct question.’
‘Yes, Ms Angelis.’
Charles Hawksworth sat at the circular table, with two other people, a man and a woman. Both the men were wearing black tie and evening dress while the woman, a bleached-blonde in her early forties, wore a slinky white silk dress with spaghetti straps. The front of the dress was decorated with little glass beads, and the woman wore a heavy gold necklace.
‘Good evening, my dear,’ Hawksworth said. ‘I hope you had a pleasant trip. I’m sorry I could not be there to greet you personally, but as you see I have guests.’ Those deep-blue eyes held Andrea’s for a moment. Every time she saw him again she was astonished at how powerful their effect was. She was shocked by the presence of the two strangers, but excited by them too. It was another demonstration, like the clothes she’d been made to wear, and the make-up, that it no longer mattered what she thought or wanted. She had gifted all that to her master.
‘Come closer,’ Hawksworth said. ‘You may leave her with us, Laurie.’
Laurie unclipped the leash from the collar and left the room without a word.
‘What do you think, Donald?’
‘Astonishing,’ the other man said. He was short and chubby with a receding hairline and a small button nose. His eyes were riveted to Andrea’s chest. ‘I don’t know how you find them, Charles.’
‘I told you old chap, it’s an instinct. There’s a submissive streak in a lot of women.’
‘Not in me,’ the woman said at once. ‘No man’s ever going to truss me up like a chicken.’ Her accent was American.
‘But you enjoy being dominant, Erica. Isn’t that so?’
‘I like dishing it out, yah.’
‘In a sense, I think that is a very similar impulse.’
‘If you don’t mind me saying so, Charles, that’s bullshit.’
‘A lot of people say that sadism and masochism are just different sides of the same coin.’
‘Well you’re not going to get me on the other side.’
‘Where did you find this one?’ Donald asked.
‘She works for Silverton.’ There were cups of coffee and large brandy balloons in front of each of them. Hawksworth picked up his glass and swallowed a sip of brandy.
‘May I touch?’
‘Of course.’
‘You lay a finger on her and I’ll cut it off,’ Erica snapped. She got to her feet. ‘I do all the touching for both of us.’ She came up behind Andrea, her silk dress brushing her back. Her hand caressed Andrea’s buttocks. ‘Nice tight butt,’ she said. Her arms wrapped around Andrea’s body and she circled her nipples with her palms. ‘What are you going to do with her?’
‘The usual training.’
‘And then?’
‘That’s up to her.’
‘If she’s going into the System we’d be interested, wouldn’t we, Donald?’
‘Certainly.’
Andrea didn’t understand what they were talking about. Once again all her expectations had been dashed. She’d expected Charles Hawksworth to be alone. She’d imagined he would want to take her up to his bedroom and fuck her for the first time, though she was sure the sex would be far from conventional. But she hadn’t expected this.
‘God, she’s making me horny,’ Donald said. ‘Just look at those tits.’
‘He always was a tit man,’ Erica said. She pinched Andrea’s hard nipples between the thumb and forefinger of both hands, then lifted her breasts by them, until the flesh was stretched taut. Andrea moaned.
‘Would you like to see more?’
‘More?’ Donald asked.
Charles got to his feet. He crossed the room and pressed a button in a console panel of wood near the kitchen door. Immediately the panel slid back to reveal a large television and a CD player. Charles touched two more buttons on the console and the television screen came to life.
Andrea saw the picture resolved into a shot of a girl wearing a tight red satin basque, her head entirely covered by a black leather helmet. It took a few seconds to realise it was her, the long white rope pulled up between her legs.
‘Look at that,’ Donald said, leaning forward in his chair.’
Erica sat down next to him and stared at the screen. Andrea’s body squirmed against the rope, her hips grinding from side to side, her breasts trembling. She was making little gasps and moans of pleasure as she moved. The camera zoomed in on Andrea’s pubis, the cords of the rope buried in her almost hairless labia. Then the lens travelled up over the red satin basque to her nipples, the dark red flesh puckered and tight.
‘She’s bringing herself off,’ Erica said. The American’s hand had slipped into her husband’s lap and was rubbing against the fly of his trousers, where a large bulge distended the material.
Andrea was fascinated by watching herself on the screen. It seemed as if her whole bo
dy was focussed on her sex, every movement sawing the rope into her labia. The extraordinary thing was that just as her clitoris had throbbed wildly then, it was pulsing with almost as much energy as she watched herself now. She could already feel a trickle of wetness leaking over the top of her thigh.
‘Do you do this to all of them?’ Donald asked.
‘No,’ Hawksworth said, with no further explanation.
On screen Andrea’s whole body was trembling. She saw the fingers of her bound hands under her chin stretch out as if trying to catch a ball, her wrists pulling at the rope that bound them to the steel collar. Her breasts were quivering. She stepped forward, the rope biting even deeper. ‘Master,’ her voice said, and then repeated the word in one long whisper.
The television screen went blank.
Hawksworth turned and walked back to the table. His eyes were looking straight at Andrea again, and he looked as if he were angry with her. She had been so engrossed in watching herself she had not noticed Hawksworth’s reaction to her performance, but he was very obviously not pleased.
‘I have some things to do,’ he said, turning his attention to Donald and Erica. ‘Would you excuse me?’
‘Sure thing. What about her?’
‘Leave her where she is,’ he said, glancing back at Andrea. The tone of his voice cut her to the core. It was complete indifference. ‘I’ll see you both for breakfast in the morning.’ He walked out of the room and closed the door.
‘Put it on again,’ Donald said immediately.
‘What for? We’ve got the real thing.’
‘We’re not allowed to have her, you know that. She’s not had any training yet.’
‘There’s a load of ways to skin a cat, Don.’
Erica got to her feet. She glanced around the room, as if searching for something. Her eyes alighted on the thick candles that flickered in the candelabra. She blew one out and lifted it from the silver holder.
‘Open your legs,’ she said.
Andrea didn’t know what to do. For some reason she did not understand she had offended her master. She didn’t want to make the same mistake again. She could only imagine that if he had left her with these people he meant for her to obey their commands, so hesitantly she moved her legs apart.
