Perfect Slave

by Becky Bell

  Betty collected her make-up bag and proceeded to do Andrea’s face and hair. Though this had occurred several times Andrea was not used to the experience; it was a symbol of how much she’d given up to her master, and as such it never failed to excite her.

  The woman piled Andrea’s hair up and pinned it there, leaving her neck bare, then left without a word. Andrea examined the clothes. There was a white bra with lacy three-quarter cups and a plunging front, a suspender belt, a white teddy with a delicate lace bodice and silky white stockings with a lacy welt.

  Quickly Andrea clipped the bra on, settling her breasts into the cups. It pushed them up and together into an attractive cleavage. She wrapped the suspender belt around her waist and then sat on the bed to pull on the sleek stockings, adjusting the suspenders to hold them tight. Rising, she pulled the teddy over her shoulders. The gusset was undone and she fastened the three poppers that closed it. It was, she realised, the first time she’d worn any sort of panties since she’d arrived at the manor.

  The blouse was cut low at the front, allowing a good view of Andrea’s enticing cleavage. The A-line skirt of the suit was just long enough to hide the stocking tops. It clung to her buttocks and thighs. Andrea slipped on the jacket. It was a perfect fit.

  The door opened. Laurie entered carrying a pair of white high-heels. She placed them at Andrea’s feet. ‘Put them on. And these.’ She laid a pair of white leather gloves on the bed.

  Once Andrea had obeyed they walked out of the stables and into the house. But instead of going into one of the rooms Laurie led the way straight to the front door, which was already open. Andrea could see the black Mercedes parked on the gravel drive outside, the chauffeur standing by the open passenger door.

  ‘In,’ Laurie said.

  Andrea climbed into the car and settled on the back seat. She wasn’t sure whether she should be excited or disappointed. She tried to work out what this development meant. Was she being taken to see Hawksworth? Or had he ordered something else for her? She would love to ask Laurie, but dare not.

  Laurie climbed into the car beside her. It smelled strongly of leather. It was sunny and the interior was warm. Andrea couldn’t help remembering what had happened last time she’d been in this car.

  The driver got behind the wheel and the car pulled smoothly off down the drive.

  Laurie took a small bottle of perfume from her handbag and dabbed the stopper behind Andrea’s ears. She dipped it into the bottle again, then applied it to Andrea’s cleavage. The smell was musky and rich. She put the bottle back and extracted a pair of cuffs. ‘Hands behind your back,’ she ordered.

  Andrea twisted around awkwardly on the seat, presenting her back to Laurie with her wrists together behind her. Laurie snapped the handcuffs in place.

  ‘That’s better. Stay there.’

  Andrea could not see what she was doing, but felt a narrow strap being wound around the top of her elbows, cinching them together. Satisfied they were tightly bound Laurie pushed her back on the seat.

  Sitting back was uncomfortable; with her arms held tightly behind her leaning on them increased the discomfort, making it difficult to keep her balance every time the car took a corner, and as they turned sharply to take the main road she was thrown into Laurie’s lap.

  Laurie giggled. ‘Well, since you insist,’ she mused, ‘you’d better get on your knees.’ She guided Andrea to the floor of the car, then tugged up her tight black skirt. Raising one leg she draped it over Andrea’s shoulder, then lounged back on the seat. She was wearing sheer black open crotch tights and black panties. With one hand she eased the gusset of the panties to one side. ‘Make it good,’ she said with menace.

  Andrea wriggled forward, dipping her face between Laurie’s thighs. As little as two weeks before the idea of doing this to a woman would have turned her off, but now she felt nothing but excitement. Laurie’s hand wrapped around the back of her head and pulled her closer. Andrea kissed her sex lips, then sent her tongue in search of the brunette’s clitoris, between her velvety labia. She heard Laurie gasp. She could taste her sweet juices.

  Andrea wondered if the driver was watching in his rear-view mirror as he had the day he’d driven her to the manor.

  Laurie slid forward again, angling her sex to meet Andrea’s mouth. Andrea could feel the wet flesh of her vagina. She moved her lips lower and thrust her tongue into the succulent channel, trying to burrow as deep as she possibly could, then circling the outer rim, lapping the increasingly copious juices.

  ‘Back on my clit,’ Laurie ordered.

  Andrea moved back to the top of her labia as she felt Laurie lift her buttocks. Then she saw Laurie’s varnished fingernails appear underneath her thighs. They moved to her vagina and plunged inward, two at first, and then three. As Andrea concentrated on her clitoris with a regular rhythm, the brunette adopted the same tempo to slide her fingers in and out of her cunt. They made a distinct squelching noise.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Laurie gasped.

  Her thighs became rigid, squeezing tightly around Andrea’s face, the muscles taut. She arched up off the seat, then gave a long, breathless groan. For a moment they were both posed there, locked in a spasm of passion.

  As her orgasm faded Laurie moved her foot and pushed Andrea away with it. With no arms to help her balance she sprawled back on the floor of the car.

  Laurie took a handkerchief from her handbag, wiped her sex with it then leant forward and dried Andrea’s mouth and chin.

  ‘You can spend the rest of the trip down there,’ she said, smoothing her skirt down over her thighs.

  It was another twenty minutes before the car slowed and Andrea heard the crunch of another gravel drive under the tyres.

  Laurie lent forward and helped Andrea back onto the seat, quickly taking a lipstick from her bag and applying it to her mouth. Andrea could see they were driving up to an impressive Georgian country house. There was a large car-park to one side and a big pink sign that declared the place to be The Grange Restaurant.

  The car came to a halt outside the front entrance and a doorman in a smart black uniform edged with gold braid immediately opened the passenger door.

  He stared into the interior, his mouth dropping open as he registered the details, the fact that Andrea was so tightly bound clearly visible.

  ‘Give us a minute, would you?’ Laurie said, calmly smiling.

  ‘Certainly, madam,’ the man said, closing the door again.

  Laurie unbuckled the strap around Andrea’s elbows, then unlocked the handcuffs. Andrea whimpered as she moved her arms and blood flowed freely again.

  Laurie lent forward and opened the door, and the chastened doorman stood to attention but made no attempt to do or say anything as the two women climbed out of the car.

  There were four stone steps up to the glass-panelled entrance. The man hurried up them and opened the door for them, saluting as they went inside. Andrea could see him staring at her, no doubt wondering what possessed her to allow herself to be treated in that way. His eyes followed her all the way down the long corridor that led to the restaurant.

  ‘Good afternoon, ladies,’ a frock-coated maitre d’ said, standing by a lectern with a fat reservations book.

  ‘Mr Hawksworth,’ Laurie said.

  Andrea’s pulse leapt as she heard his name. She was being taken to him after all.

  ‘Of course. This way please.’ The maitre d’ turned and led the way across the large and elegant restaurant. The tables were covered with pink tablecloths, and laid with sparkling silver and crystal glasses, each provided with a small vase of roses. On the plain cream walls large oil paintings depicted scenes from country life, or stern portraits of stiff lords and ladies in their finery. There was a huge fireplace where, no doubt due to the good spring weather, burning logs had been replaced by a bowl of dried flowers.

  As they walked Andrea caught sight
of herself in a large gilt mirror. She hardly recognised herself. Betty had put heavy mascara on her eyelashes and a much heavier eye-shadow than she normally used. The colours were different, too; a pink tinge to everything, rather than the subtle blues she preferred. And her hair was different; much tighter than when she pinned it up.

  Andrea spotted Hawksworth at a corner table, between two windows with a view out to the carefully manicured garden and the parkland beyond. He got to his feet as they approached.

  ‘My dear, how nice to see you.’ He took Andrea’s hand and kissed the white leather glove. ‘Thank you, Laurie, that will be all.’ Laurie nodded and walked away. ‘Please, sit down. What can I get you to drink?’

  The maitre d’ summoned a passing waiter to draw a chair out from the table, and Andrea sat down. The maitre d’ hovered. Andrea was so surprised at all this she wasn’t sure what she should say.

  ‘A glass of champagne, perhaps,’ Hawksworth suggested.

  ‘Yes, thank you, mast...’ she was just about to say master, but stopped herself. Surely he wouldn’t want her to use that form of address in a public place?

  ‘Champagne for my guest, please Ernesto.’

  ‘Certainly, sir.’ The maitre d’ left them alone.

  ‘You are looking quite beautiful, my dear,’ Hawksworth said.

  ‘Thank you...’ she looked around; there was no one in earshot, ‘...master.’

  He chuckled. ‘How discreet. But you can drop the formalities here,’ he said.

  ‘Thank you, mast...’ It had become a reflex and she found it hard to get out of the habit.

  ‘In fact I would prefer it if we spoke normally. Do you understand?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Good.’

  A waiter brought a glass of champagne on a silver tray and set it down in front of her.

  ‘Laurie is a beautiful woman, isn’t she?’ He raised his glass of malt whisky and touched it against her champagne. ‘What did she do with you?’

  Andrea hesitated.

  ‘It’s all right. She had my permission to do whatever she thought fit. Laurie was a slave once. I told you that didn’t I? She thought that was what she wanted. She knew she was missing something sexually and she didn’t know what it was. She thought being a slave would be the answer for her. Interestingly enough, it was quite the opposite of what she needed. Of course she hadn’t discovered she was more attracted to women than men, either. When she did she was very grateful. Now she can be quite uncompromising, which is ideal in most circumstances.’

  Another waiter arrived with two large menus bound in thick leather. He opened one and handed it to Andrea.

  ‘So what did she do with you?’ Hawksworth repeated.

  The waiter moved away, but not far, and Andrea was sure he could still hear their conversation. She lowered her voice. ‘She took me to her room... and made me...’

  ‘Go on,’ Hawksworth encouraged. ‘I’m interested in the details, Andrea. Were you naked?’

  She thought it was the first time he’d used her name. It sounded wonderful on his lips.

  ‘Yes. She has a bed with tall posts.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘She tied me to it.’

  ‘With your arms and legs spread apart?’ The tone of Hawksworth’s voice increased a semitone. She noticed he had a hand in his lap under the table, and was rubbing the front of his trousers.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then what?’

  The waiter seemed to edge closer, his head looking away but his ear turned towards them.

  Andrea looked at him, trying to indicate to Hawksworth that he was there. But her master took no notice. He sipped his drink and stared at her intently.

  ‘She had a dildo. It had a harness. She strapped it on me.’

  ‘Sounds interesting. I wish I’d been there. Go on. Was she naked too?’ Clearly all the details were exciting Hawksworth. His eyes were sparkling and he sounded almost breathless.

  ‘Yes. Well, she had a suspender belt and stockings.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘She knelt on the bed, and Julia was there too.’

  ‘Good. Good.’

  ‘She wanted Julia to whip me. She got hold of the dildo and put it in her...’

  ‘Pussy?’ he suggested. The word sounded strange in his cultured tones.

  ‘Yes. Then Julia began to whip me.’

  Suddenly Hawksworth lent back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling, his eyes glazed, as if he were turning the scene through in his mind.

  ‘And you came?’

  ‘Yes, master.’ The word slipped out, but he appeared not to notice. She realised that might not be a wise confession. Laurie hadn’t given her permission.

  ‘Mmm...’ His eyes closed and his body shuddered.

  After a moment he sat forward again. ‘Let’s order,’ he said, raising his hand. The maitre d’ appeared instantly.

  Hawksworth ordered smoked salmon and grilled Dover sole for them both, then summoned the wine waiter to bring a bottle of Chablis.

  He leant forward and put his hand on her knee. His touch made her quiver.

  ‘Open your legs,’ he said, exactly as a waiter arrived to offer them bread.

  Andrea obeyed, declining the waiter’s offer. She saw him give her a strange look and glance at Hawksworth’s hand under the table. It was only partially covered by the pink tablecloth.

  Hawksworth inched his way up her leg. The skirt was too tight to allow her to do more than spread her legs a little apart, but he worked his way up to the top of her stocking.

  ‘So deliciously smooth,’ he said, the tips of his fingers caressing the top of her thigh.

  A bevy of waiter’s came with the first course, putting the salmon down in front of them and serving buttered brown bread, but Hawksworth’s hand remained where it was.

  The waiters dispersed. Hawksworth’s hand crept higher. Andrea could feel it against the silk gusset of the teddy. The material had folded itself into her labia. She knew the gusset was wet. After what Laurie had made her do in the car it was not surprising.

  ‘Lovely,’ Hawksworth said softly, his finger following the line of the material up to her clit.

  ‘Your wine, sir,’ the sommelier said, pouring half an inch of the Chablis into a crystal glass. Hawksworth picked it up with his free hand and sipped it.

  ‘Excellent,’ he said.

  The wine waiter too was looking at Andrea. She wasn’t sure whether his expression registered disgust or excitement. He walked away.

  Hawksworth hooked his finger under the gusset of the teddy and pulled it outward. Then his index finger pressed between her labia and brushed against her clit. Andrea gasped involuntarily.

  The couple at the next table turned to see what had caused the exclamation. Fortunately from their angle they could not see where Hawksworth’s hand was.

  ‘Oh, master,’ she whispered. He had never touched her so intimately before. After the last week her need for him had built to such a level that she thought if he continued she would come. She felt her whole body tingling, her clitoris on fire.

  Slowly he moved his finger from side to side. She whimpered, holding onto the edge of the table, her fingernails making impressions in the thick linen. He was leaning forward with his other elbow on the table, his face only inches from hers now, gazing straight into her eyes, hungry to see her reaction. She gazed back, lost in those eyes, her sex convulsing every time he moved his finger. She was coming but she knew that was not allowed.

  She tried to distract herself. She picked up her glass of wine but her hand was shaking so much she had to put it down again.

  ‘I give you permission,’ he said. His finger pressed her clitoris, trapping the throbbing nerves. She looked straight into his eyes, feeding off the pleasure and excitement she saw there. This was
humiliating, being made to come in the middle of a restaurant while people bustled around her, but it was incredibly exciting too. She couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer and screwed them tight as the wave of her orgasm erupted through her body. She felt herself rocking back in the chair.

  ‘Oh God,’ she shuddered.

  Hawksworth withdrew his finger, then settled the gusset of the teddy back where it had been. This produced another wave of bliss as the wet silk rubbed against her clit. Andrea moaned again.

  ‘Is everything all right, Mr Hawksworth?’ The maitre d’ had returned.

  ‘Everything’s fine, Ernesto. Could you bring me another napkin?’

  ‘Certainly, sir.’

  Hawksworth was wiping his hand on the pink napkin in his lap. A waiter took it and replaced it with a new one. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked Andrea solicitously.

  ‘I’m not sure. My body’s still floating.’

  ‘Eat something,’ he said, spearing a piece of salmon with his fork.

  ‘Yes.’ But at the moment Andrea could do nothing. It had all been so sudden and totally unexpected.

  ‘Charles, how delightful.’

  A short but slender and very elegant woman had walked over to their table. She was about forty with an attractive face, her cheekbones high and her nose straight. She had piercing green eyes and short auburn hair. Her jersey dress was yellow and clinging, with a V-neck and a knee-length skirt.

  She extended her hand, so Hawksworth got to his feet and kissed it.

  ‘Georgina, how are you?’ he said.

  ‘I’m as randy as hell if you want the truth,’ she said. Her eyes were looking at Andrea.

  The couple at the next table looked around to see who had made the remark.

  ‘What about Miles?’

  ‘You know Miles. He needs a lot of encouragement. She’s pretty.’

  ‘She’s not trained. Why don’t you come to the manor? I’m sure we could arrange something to suit Miles’ tastes.’

  ‘She would suit his tastes,’ she said.

  ‘She’s not trained.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter. We’d obey the rules.’