Perfect Slave

by Becky Bell

  ‘Yes, Ms Angelis.’ It was clear that the master had company. Of course she’d hoped he would be alone, that he would give her his undivided attention for once, but that was up to him. This was another opportunity to prove herself to him, and she felt a now familiar excitement at the prospect.

  Laurie knocked on the door.

  ‘Enter.’

  She opened it.

  The room was a large dining room with a huge oval mahogany table surrounded by at least thirty chairs. There was a large fireplace that matched the one in the sitting room, and several more impressionist paintings on the walls. Five men sat at one end of the table with Charles Darrington Hawksworth. And what’s more, Andrea recognised one of them. It was Edward Highfield, the chairman of Silverton Communications.

  Laurie led Andrea into the room by the leash, then dropped it so it hung between her breasts, and left without a word.

  ‘She’s gorgeous,’ one of the men said.

  ‘Stunning.’

  ‘I don’t know how you do it, Charles,’ Highfield added. He gave no sign of recognising her, though they had often met to discuss various work-related matters in the past.

  ‘She’s not yet been trained, you say?’

  ‘She’s been here for four days,’ Hawksworth confirmed, ‘and her training has already begun, hasn’t it, Andrea?’

  ‘Yes, master,’ she said quietly, bowing her head.

  ‘And what does this training consist of?’ This came from the smallest of the men, a chubby man with a bald head and a small nose. He took a sip from the brandy glass on the table in front of him. There were cups of coffee too, and Andrea noticed that Julia was standing on the far side of the room, obviously waiting should anything else be required.

  ‘Andrea is required to perform a number of tasks. If she doesn’t perform them to my satisfaction she has to be punished. The punishment can take many forms.’

  ‘And she agrees to this?’ Highfield said, sounding astonished.

  ‘Naturally. So, shall we proceed? Or is anyone in a rush to leave?’

  None of the men moved. Their eyes were riveted on Andrea.

  ‘Very well. You all understand the rules?’

  The men nodded.

  Hawksworth beckoned Julia to his side. Andrea saw she was carrying two velvet bags with drawstrings. She handed one to Hawksworth, then moved around the table with the other, pausing while each man dipped his hand inside and drew out a numbered black ball.

  ‘I’m feeling lucky today,’ the bald man said, extracting the number three.

  ‘We’re all feeling lucky, Andy,’ Highfield said, taking out the number five.

  The other men drew numbers too. Julia returned to Hawksworth’s side and deposited the empty bag on the table in front of him.

  ‘And now I think it’s only fair to let Andrea choose her partner.’

  It was fairly obvious to Andrea what was going on, but this confirmed it; the men were drawing lots for her. She was to be given to them like an object, a prize in a raffle, and was not expected to express her preferences. But however horrified she was at the idea, she realised it was just another test of her obedience. Two of the men were pretty unattractive and she would never go to bed with them in normal circumstances, but these were not normal circumstances. She had gifted her ability to choose, like everything else, to Hawksworth, and the idea that he would stretch her obedience to such limits excited her. She thanked God that it did.

  Hawksworth handed Julia the second bag. She tottered over to Andrea on her high-heels and opened the drawstring, slipping the bag over Andrea’s right hand, where it was strapped to her side.

  ‘Pick a ball, my dear,’ Hawksworth instructed.

  Andrea grasped one. Julia pulled the bag away then took the ball from her fingers, and delivered it back to the master.

  ‘Number five,’ he declared.

  Edward Highfield grinned. He accepted the congratulations of the others, who reached across the table to shake his hand and told him he was a lucky man. He was large and tall, but he was slimmer than any of the others, and perhaps the most attractive of the bunch with a craggy, open face, and large green eyes. His hair was wiry and beginning to turn grey at the temples.

  ‘Well you better claim your prize, old man.’

  ‘I knew there was a good reason I sold to you,’ Highfield said.

  Andrea remembered how the man had always said he would never sell his company. Had the opportunities the manor offered been the reason he’d changed his mind?

  Highfield got to his feet. He picked up the leash and led Andrea to the door. ‘I hope you all have a very pleasant afternoon,’ he said, grinning broadly.

  He closed the door behind him and led her down the corridor. He appeared to know his way around. She remembered where they were. It was the part of the house where Hawksworth had taken her last Saturday, though it now seemed more like a lifetime ago. He opened the door to the small room where Andrea had been so helplessly bound.

  ‘Well that’s more comfortable,’ he said, closing the door after them and bolting it. ‘I must say I didn’t expect you to be here, Andrea. Quite a surprise. It’s all right; you can cut all the “speak until you’re spoken to” crap with me.’

  Andrea was astonished. Highfield certainly hadn’t given the slightest clue that he’d recognised her.

  He laughed. ‘This is your idea of sorting out Hawksworth’s computers, is it?’

  ‘Is this the reason you sold?’ she asked.

  ‘Of course. That was part of the deal. You know what my wife’s like, Andrea. Her idea of sex is three minutes in the missionary position. If I take longer than that she complains and tells me to go and finish myself off in the bathroom.’ Highfield grinned broadly. ‘I suppose, as you still work for me, this could be considered sexual harassment.’ He took hold of the diagonal zip across Andrea’s right breast and pulled it down. Her breast sprung free, her nipple already hard. ‘Now look at that. I always fancied you, Andrea.’ He undid the other zip, then took hold of both her nipples and pulled them so more of her breasts were exposed. Then he caressed them both. ‘Isn’t this fun? I can’t imagine anyone else I’d rather have as my slave. That’s what you are, isn’t it? My slave?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He laughed. ‘I’m really going to enjoy this.’

  He moved behind her and stroked her buttocks, the leather that covered them stretched tight.

  ‘The question is; what are we going to do with you? I’ve been quite lucky at these little raffles. I had a nice little piece in here a couple of weeks ago. She was really into pain. Let’s see now.’

  He walked to the rack of whips and picked up a riding crop. He came back and flicked the leather loop at the end against Andrea’s nipples. She felt a stab of pain. Instinctively she bent forward, trying to protect herself.

  ‘Stand upright,’ he snapped.

  She did as she was told.

  He raised the whip, then brought it down forcefully against her right breast. She cried out, but the pain was short-lived. She felt all the familiar pulses of pleasure setting her nerves alight.

  Thwack! The whip landed on her left breast, cutting right across her nipple. Again the pain transmuted into intense pleasure. She looked down, her breasts squeezed out obscenely through the tight leather, the metal zips digging into her flesh, two red stripes already beginning to appear.

  ‘Look at me,’ Highfield ordered.

  She looked up, watching him raise the whip again. He cut it down across her right breast. Her flesh quivered. She felt a huge surge in the depths of her cunt.

  Thwack! The next blow fell on her left breast, each being given equal treatment.

  ‘Now bend over,’ he said. The smile was gone from his face, replaced by a lust that made his eyes look slightly glazed and his mouth loose.

  Andrea bent over
. There was a table there, and he told her to rest her forearms on it. She felt a hand groping the leather over her buttocks again.

  ‘What’s this?’ he asked. His hand found another zip, which ran between her buttocks, down between her legs and up to her navel. He found the tongue of the zip and pulled it all the way open. The leather parted, revealing Andrea’s sex.

  ‘I always wondered what your pussy would look like,’ he leered. ‘And now I know.’ She felt his fingers prodding into her labia. One, then two fingers thrust rather awkwardly into her vagina. ‘I see the whip makes you randy too,’ he said, her wetness betraying her feelings.

  He stood back. She heard a rustle of clothing. He took off his shirt and jacket and hung them on the back of the door, then pulled off his shoes and socks. Quickly he removed his trousers and pants.

  ‘Too good an opportunity to miss,’ he muttered, almost to himself.

  He took her by the hips and pulled her back against him. She felt his hot cock slide between her shamefully wet sex lips.

  ‘Christ, I wonder if I can get some of the other girls to volunteer for this place,’ her chuckled. ‘What about that friend of yours. Pam, is it? I’d love to get her in here as well. Perhaps I could have the two of you together.’

  He thrust forward. Andrea felt his cock plough deep into her vagina. She was very wet, the bondage and the whip having the usual consequences. This was a new low in humiliation, but it was precisely that, she realised, which made it so exciting. Her total submission, her obedience, was being tested to the limit. She knew why Hawksworth had selected her, instead of Julia or one of the other girls, to be the ‘prize’. She even wondered if the draw had been rigged so she was sure to end up with Highfield. It was all a test. If she wanted to be a slave, to truly serve her master, the more extreme the test the more she could prove herself to him. The psychology might be twisted, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t absolutely appropriate.

  But it wasn’t only that. Highfield’s cock was rigid and large, and almost despite herself Andrea found the penetration welcome. Her cunt had been neglected since she’d been at the house. After last night, after the softness and subtlety of a woman’s mouth, the hard, unsubtle shunting of Highfield’s cock was exactly what she needed.

  ‘Christ, I wish I could have done this to you over my desk in the office,’ he said between gritted teeth. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you’re into all this, you little bitch? I would’ve tied you up and fucked you every fucking day.’

  Suddenly he stopped. He pulled out of her. ‘Kneel,’ he said. He spun her round and forced her to her knees, his large cock bobbing in front of her face. He clamped her head in his hands and fed it deep into her mouth. She tasted her own juices.

  ‘Come on, suck it,’ he said crudely.

  She did exactly that. She sucked hard and Highfield moaned. She pulled back then pushed forward again so the cock would saw in and out of her mouth, but with her hands still strapped to her sides it was difficult to maintain her balance.

  ‘Faster,’ he demanded, pushing and pulling her head back and forth until she achieved the rhythm he required. She felt his erection beginning to pulse. As he forced her head forward and his cock was driven right down to the back of her throat she used her tongue to lick the ridge at the base of his glans.

  ‘You little bitch, you’re good at this.’

  She sucked hard again as he pulled her back, then ran her tongue over the top of his glans. His cock jerked violently and he stuffed it back into her mouth, just as his spunk began sputtering from the tip, gobs of thick liquid pearling down her throat. He clamped her head still, his fingers suddenly as hard as steel, and made a little mewing noise as he shuddered and filled her mouth again.

  Andrea swallowed earnestly. His spunk tasted salty.

  ‘Your turn,’ he said, grinning wearily as he pulled away from her.

  ‘What do you mean?’ she asked.

  ‘You’ll see.’

  He went to the corner of the room. What Andrea had thought to be part of the wall was in fact a flush-fitting cupboard door which was also covered in black carpet. Highfield pulled it open, then dragged a strange looking frame into the middle of the room. It consisted of what looked like a barstool, but instead of a flat surface the sturdy legs supported a leather saddle, complete with stirrups. It had an American style pommel in the centre at the front.

  ‘Climb up here,’ Highfield ordered, slapping the saddle a few times.

  ‘What are you going to do to me?’ After four days of training herself not to response spontaneously it felt strange to be able to talk freely again.

  Highfield grinned. ‘You’ll see. Or rather, you won’t. Sit on the saddle.’

  With her arms bound it proved difficult to climb onto the stool. Highfield had to help her put one foot in a stirrup, then lift her leg over the saddle as though mounting a horse. As she did she noticed there was a series of holes in the centre of the leather.

  The stirrups could be adjusted, and Highfield pulled them higher so Andrea’s legs were bent up and her heels were tucked under her buttocks. Straps were provided to make sure the occupant remained in this position, and Highfield buckled them tightly around her ankles.

  ‘That’s better,’ he said, standing back to admire his handiwork.

  He went to the cupboard on the other wall. Andrea heard the door open. When he came back he was carrying a long black strip of black silk. Without a word he placed it over her eyes then bound it tightly around her head.

  ‘Lovely hair,’ he said. She felt his hand stroking it.

  The blindfold intensified her excitement. Deprived of one sense all the others overcompensated. She was able to feel all the little trills of arousal that were coursing through her body.

  She heard Highfield moving again. The cupboard door creaked. Then she thought he was kneeling in front of the stool. She felt his hand touch her leg, then something was pushing up through one of the holes in the saddle. It butted against the top of her labia, pushed, and then retreated again. A second later it re-emerged through another of the holes, this one immediately under the opening of her vagina.

  ‘That’s the one,’ Highfield said.

  The object thrust and Andrea gasped. It was a phallus, hard and cold and large. It filled her completely.

  ‘Like that, do you?’

  Andrea had to admit to herself that she did. Her sex reacted violently, contracting around the dildo. It was so large it stretched her labia apart and exposed her clitoris, which began throbbing with pleasure. This was after all what she loved. She was bound and helpless. A slave, an object to be used in whatever way her master saw fit. Giving her to Highfield was part of his largesse.

  In the darkness she could see herself mounted on the horse, in tight black leather, her arms tied to her sides, the black silk banding her eyes, her legs tucked up under her. The image excited her intensely. She found herself pushing down on the phallus, grinding her hips from side to side so her clitoris rubbed against the pommel of the saddle.

  ‘We’ll warm you up a bit.’

  She knew what that meant. Another surge of excitement swept over her. He was going to whip her. She could hear him crossing the room again. She held her breath.

  Thwack! A leather whip landed hard against her leather-covered arse. She bucked up on the saddle as much as the bonds on her ankles would allow, pulling up off the phallus then sinking back down again. God, that felt good.

  Thwack! She rose again. It was like riding a horse. The pain from the whip transmuted to pleasure. She dropped down onto the dildo again, using her weight to force it deep. It wasn’t going to take long to come like this.

  ‘I have to have permission,’ she told him urgently.

  ‘I told you this is your turn. I want to see you come.’

  That was all she needed. As he cut two more blows down on her buttocks the stinging pain
routed straight to her sex, and she rode the hard dildo buried so deep inside her, the wonderful feelings she was experiencing combined. Like a wave roaring onto a beach her orgasm gathered all its strength, mounting higher and higher before finally crashing down on the shore, making her moan as she squirmed down on the saddle, spreading her legs apart as far as she could to get the dildo deeper, and crushed her clitoris against the leather, a stream of juices running down over the phallus and the saddle.

  Andrea had been taken to the bathrooms to shower. Her hair was pinned up in a tight chignon and her make-up retouched, then she was given something to eat.

  Ten minutes later Laurie arrived. As usual she placed clothes on the bed. ‘Put those on, quickly,’ she ordered, then closed and locked the door again.

  Andrea wasn’t sure what time it was, but she had the feeling it was early. That was heartening, she thought. Before the master had called for her in the middle of the night, if he wanted her now it was possible he wanted to spend more time with her.

  Highfield had left her tied on the saddle in the punishment room, with the blindfold still covering her eyes and the dildo firmly in place. Laurie had removed it and unstrapped her, and she’d then returned to what she thought of as her cell in the stable block.

  She had plenty of time to think about what had happened. That afternoon had been one of the most humiliating experiences of her life. Before she could pretend that her extraordinary responses were caused by Hawksworth and the almost hypnotic effect he had on her, but that afternoon he’d not been there. She had been used. Totally used. And yet she still responded with a degree of intensity that astonished her. It appeared that as long as she was bound and helpless, and was required to be completely submissive, her body responded with unquestioning arousal. She had no idea why. There was something deep in her psyche that yearned for such treatment. And she was only grateful that Charles Darrington Hawksworth was there to provide it in spades.

  She picked up the clothes Laurie had left. There was a red strapless tube dress, a white strapless bra, a pair of flesh-coloured but shiny hold-up stockings, and a pair of red shoes with gold heels and a little gold motif on the toe. Again, there were no panties.