Gemma

by Charles Graham

  Her whole body seemed to glow with pleasure as she heard his answer and his thin lips curved into a wide smile as he saw her reaction to his praise, "I should have made your contract for life, rather than just one year," he told her and Gemma's belly kicked visibly as she imagined a lifetime of slavery.

  She sank to her knees before him, displaying her body in the graceful pose of a slavegirl's submission, "I would have served you well, Master," she said softly and Roxwell chuckled.

  "Oh, you still will, slavegirl," he told her firmly, "Your contract does not expire until midnight and I have plans for the next few hours."

  Gemma shivered in arousal, but held her pose, "Then, Master, may a willing slavegirl be allowed to please her Master?" she asked humbly.

  Roxwell pulled her to her feet and unlocked the chain to her collar.

  "You are an obedient slave, are you not?" he queried.

  "Yes, Master."

  "Then you will obey, without question?"

  "Yes, Master."

  "Leave this room, turn right and enter the last room on the left. There, you will find your shoes and a large gag. Put them on and then go over to the right hand wall. Place your back to it and spread your arms and legs, locating them into the manacles built into the brickwork. They will close automatically, securing you as I desire. I will join when I am ready. Go!"

  Gemma looked up into his eyes and felt a spurt of love juices dampen her groin.

  "Yes, my Master," she said as firmly as her dry lips would allow, "I will obey exactly, Master," and rose gracefully to her feet, went to the door and turned right, leaving him alone.

  Thoughts of escape never entered her head and when she reached the last door on the left, she went in without hesitating, her belly churning with a delicious heat.

  The square room contained nothing but the items he had told her would be waiting and Gemma did her best to ignore the shining steel rings to her right, concentrating on obeying his instructions to the letter.

  The shoes and gag lay on the tiled floor and her arousal increased as she knelt on one knee to fit the first gleaming, patent leather shoe, its needle sharp, impossibly high, six inch heel warning her standing, let alone walking, would be extremely uncomfortable and the buckled strap passing underneath the arch of her foot, indicating that removal of the shoe would be impossible without the use of her fingers.

  And her fingers, of course, would be kept well away from the buckles.

  It took Gemma several minutes to fit the shoes to her feet and when she stood up, she wobbled alarmingly atop the towering heels, forcing her to stand exaggeratedly upright and move with the utmost care.

  Slowly and cautiously, she bent down to pick up the gag and gave a little gasp as she appreciated for the first time its size and solidity.

  It was huge, a hard, dense mass of black leather on a broad strap, shaped to fit snugly under her nose and around her cheeks and she knew at once that whatever else she might be doing, she was not going to be making any intelligible sounds doing it.

  Inch by inch she raised it to her lips, savouring the smell and texture of the heavy leather and the wonderfully submissive knowledge that she was about to gag herself on the orders of a Master who was not even present in the same room.

  Her jaws opened wide and then wider still, but even then, she had to prod and squeeze the giant ball to get it past her teeth and into her mouth, where it flattened her tongue, filled every inch of space, bulged her cheeks and lodged solidly in an immovable mass. Her fingers fumbled at the heavy buckle behind her neck and as she tugged, the shaped leather strap began to compress her cheeks.

  One notch, two, then three moulded the strap to her face and Gemma quivered with undeniable excitement to the uncompromising grip of tight leather from her chin to her nose.

  Gagged, and gagged extremely effectively, she experimented for a few moments to see what, if any, speech was left to her. Finding, to her secret satisfaction, that she was completely mute, the only sound possible, a faint, wordless hum of no practical use whatsoever.

  Pleased with herself, Gemma tottered over to the right hand wall and gazed at the manacles embedded in the stonework.

  Ten hoops, leather lined, hinged open to receive her body, glittered in the light and she felt her nipples stiffen as she saw that eight of the hoops formed a large "X", clearly designed to hold a captive spreadeagled, while the ninth and tenth were for the neck and waist and would prevent even minimal movement of the hapless victim.

  Once in the grasp of those hoops, there was no hope of escape and as Gemma visualised her body as her Master would see it, held open and defenceless, freely available for any torments he cared to inflict, her sex oozed with desire, instinctively preparing her for the pillaging to come.

  Gemma delayed no longer, turning around and easing her ankles, knees and waist back into the waiting restraints. As her flesh pressed against the leather lined metal, there came a soft hiss of compressed air and the hoops swung closed, confining her firmly, but not uncomfortably so.

  Gemma stared down at her hugely spread limbs and swallowed convulsively, but it was already too late to change her mind, even if she had wanted to. She sucked in a deep breath and raised her arms. Again, the soft hiss and she twisted her head to left and right as her wrists and elbows were clamped in inescapable steel.

  There only remained her neck, held forward uncomfortably and Gemma saw little point in resisting the inevitable. With a wry chuckle into her gag, she raised her chin proudly and thrust her head back against the wall behind her. With a brief hiss, the final hoop closed, completing her bondage.

  Spread like a human starfish, her naked body pinned immovably to the cellar wall by bands of steel, Gemma was as completely helpless as it was possible to be. As helpless and as intensely vulnerable, for, as she tested her bonds, she found, as she expected to find, that she could move no part of her body except her fingers.

  There was, quite literally, nothing she could do to protect or defend herself and her sex glistened with the juices of her arousal as she waited in delicious anticipation for the moment when her Master would arrive to sate his lusts in her so-available body.

  She did not have to wait very long, but it would have made little difference to Gemma how long the wait was, for the deep, visceral excitement of binding herself into such utter helplessness stoked the fires of her lusts into a blazing inferno which grew steadily fiercer and hotter.

  Her taut breasts throbbed, her belly seethed and ripples of desire fluttered her sleek skin as every one of the millions of nerve endings in her entire body became acutely sensitised.

  Master Roxwell strode into the room and Gemma whimpered into her massive gag, her belly kicking hugely as he stood directly in front of her and his hot eyes drank in every inch of her displayed nakedness, without making any attempt to touch her.

  At last, he nodded, "Yes. Very satisfactory, slavegirl," but then he turned and walked back out of the door.

  Gemma couldn't believe it. After all her efforts, all her hopes, he had not not caressed her even once! He must know how she felt, how wildly aroused she was, yet he had deliberately chosen to ignore her! In her brain and belly, resentment fought with arousal, anger with submissive lust, until she trembled with frustration and her eyes sparkled with tears.

  Then, with Gemma at her lowest ebb, he returned and the roller coaster of her emotions zoomed skyward once more.

  In his arms he carried a tall, rectangular mirror, covered with a dust sheet and set it down directly opposite her, then moved to one side.

  "Behold," he announced dramatically, "A true slavegirl," and with a theatrical flourish, whipped the sheet away.

  Gemma gaped numbly at the image before her and felt her belly begin to churn with overwhelming excitement. Could he woman in the mirror really be her? Those soft, pleading eyes, those slim, firmly muscled limbs, those tautly thrusting breasts and sensually flared hips and thighs, those coffee coloured erect nipples with their barbarically erotic pi
ercings, those delicate pink folds of flesh between her straddled legs, all glistening with the juices of arousal.....was that what Masters saw when they looked at her?

  The woman in the mirror was beautiful. Far more beautiful than Gemma had ever dreamed of being, the gleaming steel on her limbs and throat and the black gag hiding the lower half of her face contrasting dramatically with her creamy flesh and yet complementing and enhancing her beauty to create an indelible image of a woman delighting in her captivity, revelling in her bondage, and accepting willingly and with grateful thanks, the helplessness which set her free to live the life which she so clearly desired.

  The life of a slavegirl!

  Gemma stared at the woman in the mirror...at herself...and her belly jolted violently as she climaxed to the power of the reflected truth she saw there.

  As one, Gemma and her reflection spasmed and pulsed in orgasm, fingers clawing at the empty air, muscles flexing vainly against obdurate steel fetters as scalding waves of love juices crashed and surged into her belly and sex, spattering her thighs and pubic hair with droplets of the silvery outpourings of her body's surrender.

  The climax, powerful as it was, served only to intensify Gemma's white-hot need and she raised her eyes in mute, impassioned appeal to her Master.

  Roxwell knew when his moment had arrived, tore his clothes from his body, moved forward and plunged his long, rigid maleness deep into Gemma's receptive warmth, wringing a quavering shriek of rapturous welcome from her throat as her belly squeezed and sucked his shaft into the very core of being and explosive pulses of heated juices surrounded him as she hurtled into a second tremendous orgasm.

  Helpless to assist in her own ravishing, Gemma moaned in ecstasy as his lunges increased in speed and power, her body shuddering to the hammer blows of his lust as he built towards his peak and her eyes widened in anguish as his fingers captured her nipples, rolling her erect and throbbing buds and tweaking her rings to add still more painfully pleasurable stimulation to the tornado already engulfing her body.

  Shuddering in pleasure, her brain swamped with ecstatic sensations, Gemma's belly convulsed in gigantic contractions as Roxwell's deeply embedded shaft twitched mightily and jetted his seed into her to send yet another devastating climax tearing and raging through her pinioned body in response to this ultimate exertion of his Mastery over her.

  Racked by near-continuous mini-explosions in her belly, Gemma sagged limply in her bonds, her exhausted body hanging from her manacles as Roxwell, drained, withdrew from her and dressed himself.

  "Thank you, slavegirl. That was quite delightful. Now, if you would just lift your head...Good."

  He eased the gag from her mouth, but left it dangling from its strap around her neck as she worked the stiffness from her jaws and then Gemma gazed at him as he made great play of consulting his expensive gold wristwatch.

  "Hmm. Not long to go now, slavegirl," he told her, "Just over an hour, in fact, until my contract for you expires," and he turned away towards the door.

  Gemma was still helplessly secured to the wall and called out desperately, "Master? Master, please don't leave me like this?"

  He turned and smiled cheerfully, "As you have pleased me, slavegirl," he grinned, "I shall be lenient and not punish you for addressing me without permission," and his grin widened at the sudden alarm which flashed across Gemma's face, "Don't look so worried, slavegirl. Someone will be along at midnight for you," and he disappeared out of the door.

  Bolts grated across, locking her in and Gemma stared numbly at the closed door, hardly able to credit that she was still a prisoner. Not only locked in a cell, but helplessly spreadeagled and stained with the sweat and love juices of her numerous orgasms.

  Her eyes went back to the mirror opposite and she gulped, seeing the damning evidence of her submissions all too clearly.

  Just over an hour, Roxwell had told her and she took a deep, calming breath telling herself that she had been a naked bondage slave for a whole year. Another hour couldn't possibly matter. It must be his way of honouring the contract, she supposed. He had made a contract for a full year and a full year it was going to be. To the very second.

  Gemma relaxed as best she could, resigning herself to the wait and trying to imagine how it would feel to be free again. Once released, she would be able to go to the Police and have Mike, her ex-partner, arrested. Or would she, because that would mean explaining exactly what had been done to her and she wasn't at all sure she could face that? And it would mean implicating Roxwell and her other Masters. Damn, she thought, there must be a way to get her revenge on Mike without involving the Police or her Masters. But what was it?

  Gemma was still puzzling over the problem when the bolts slid back and the door opened.

  A tall figure walked in and the instant Gemma saw the man's face, she froze in stunned shock, her brain racing madly.

  "Good evening, Gemma."

  The familiar voice cut through Gemma's paralysis like a knife and the horrified brunette wrenched wildly at the steel manacles securing her, frantic to cover her shamefully exposed nudity.

  "Aren't you pleased to see me? I'm very pleased to see you again. And there is so much of you to see, isn't there?"

  The whimsical tone of the question sent a chill of horror down Gemma's spine and she ceased her futile struggles to stare at his smiling face.

  "Mike?" she whispered, "Mike, is that really you? What..What are you doing here?"

  Mike Bowyer, her lover and business partner, the man who had contracted with Roxwell to deliver Gemma as a bondage slave, nodded and chuckled softly.

  "Oh yes, Gemma. It's me all right and the reason I'm here is that my..ah..contract with Roxwell expired at midnight. About three minutes ago."

  "Then...I'm free?" Gemma whispered, "You're here to let me go? To take me away? Oh, quickly, Mike, untie me and let's get out of here."

  Mike's eyes swept over her spreadeagled nudity, noting the damp stains between her thighs and coming to rest on the rings piercing her nipples.

  Gemma flushed redly and spoke much more sharply than she intended, "Untie me, Mike," she snapped, "Right now. I want to get out of here."

  His eyes glinted dangerously and she couldn't hide the shiver of fear they sent up her spine. "Please, Mike?" she added, much more humbly, "I'm...I'm ashamed for you to see me like this."

  He stared coldly at her, "But you're a slavegirl," he said cruelly, "You're trained to display your body for men's pleasure."

  Gemma fought for breath, her anxiety congealing into a cold lump of horrible doubt in the pit of her stomach and before she could put her fears into words, he spoke again.

  "You weren't so shy and demure the last time I saw you," he went on, "In fact, I recall that you were extremely eager to please. Perhaps you'd prefer it if I wore a hood again..."

  Gemma screamed in appalled misery as the identity of the unknown stranger who had made her submit to him and had forced her to lick her own love juices from his fingers, became clear.

  "Oh my God!" she cried, distraught, "That was you! And I..I..." she couldn't go on, her brain reeling with the horror of it.

  "Yes," he confirmed, "It was. And you enjoyed it as much as I did, Gemma, so don't try to act all coy and virginal with me! I know what you are!"

  The cold doubt in Gemma's belly grew into awful certainty and she moaned, "But I was a slavegirl, then. I...I...had to be pleasing or I'd have been wh..whipped. I wasn't free, then and I had no choice."

  Mike's voice held a silky menace that set Gemma's body trembling and her bells tinkling.

  "You're not free now," was all he said.

  Gemma stared at him and licked her suddenly dry lips, "But...But...the contract. It...It's after midnight and the c..contract has expired."

  Mike grinned wolfishly and her belly lurched, "Of course. You're quite right, Gemma. My contract with Roxwell has expired and you are no longer his slavegirl....but...." and he paused, allowing the suspense to build until Gemma gasped, "What?
But what? What?"

  "You are far too noisy for a slave," he said abruptly and with a swift movement, seized the gag from below her chin and forced it against her lips.

  Fearing for her teeth and with no way to resist, she had no choice but to open her mouth and allow him to cram the massive ball between her jaws. Silenced, she could only stare impotently at him as he buckled the strap tightly and then resumed his place before her.

  "That's much better," he mocked, "Now then, where was I? Oh yes, I remember. Well, no doubt you remember that our company, or rather, my company as it now is, after your sudden..ah..emigration to Australia, needed a cash injection to keep it going. You, of course, were the price that Roxwell demanded to give me that money, but I'm sure you'll be delighted to hear that it worked. Your..ah..selfless sacrifice allowed me to turn the company around and made me an extremely rich man, my love."