by Roxanne Carr
'You've been relieved of all your duties for the time being.'
Maggie rubbed at her bleary eyes and stared at him, uncomprehending.
'What do you mean, for the time being?'
'Until your training is complete. Now eat up, there's a good girl, we've a busy day ahead.'
Maggie gaped after him as he left her with the tray, her appetite gone. Her training. Of course, what had happened yesterday was just the beginning. Fleetingly, it occurred to her that there was still time for her to back out. She could get up out of this bed, get dressed and walk out of the door into the normal world.
She bit into a warm, crusty roll, spraying crumbs all over the tray. Melted butter trickled across her tongue and she closed her eyes for an instant. Who needed normality? If she left here now she might never find out where the outer parameters of her own nature lay.
'I've run you a bath,' Antony told her when he came back to collect the tray.
Maggie meandered into the bathroom and sank down into the warm, oily water. It embraced her in its all pervasive fragrance, rippling over her blemish-free skin and coating it in moisture. If this was part of the 'rules' she figured she could manage to summon up the appropriate show of obedience!
Antony was waiting for her when she emerged, still damp, wrapped in a towel.
'Come over here, Maggie,' he called.
She padded softly to the big, white leather couch. On the glass-topped coffee table in front of it, Antony had spread a pristine white towel. On the towel he had laid a large bowl of clean water, a cake of soap, a small glass flagon of oil and, mostly alarmingly of all, a pair of long-handled silver scissors and a cut-throat razor.
'What . . .?'
'Hush, don't look so worried. Have you never shaved your pussy before?'
He held out his hand and beckoned her forward. Reluctantly, she lay down on the sofa, on her back. The soft hide felt cool under her bare skin as Antony pushed towel covered cushions under her hips, raising up her buttocks until they were level with his eyes. She kept her knees pressed demurely together as he stroked the soft curls of her mons absently with the back of his hand while he reached for his equipment.
Antony frowned slightly as he turned back to her.
'Now, that's no good, darling, is it?' he chided gently as she stubbornly kept her thighs together.
'I . . . I feel stupid!' she confessed, hot colour suffusing her cheeks.
It was all so clinical, somehow, so . . . cold.
'Think of me as your doctor,' Antony suggested, inadvertently making her feel worse, 'I have seen it all before, you know! Come on – open up for me.'
Reluctantly, Maggie parted her thighs, presenting herself to him. She was rewarded by his smile.
'That's better. Wider now – put one foot up, on the back of the sofa and rest the other on the floor.'
Maggie obliged, feeling horribly exposed as he picked up the scissors. She closed her eyes as he began to snip, pulling her hair between the first two fingers of one hand and trimming, as a hairdresser would.
'Try to relax, darling. I'm really rather good at this!' He stopped cutting and began to work up a lather with the soap. Maggie had to admit, he seemed to know what he was doing as he worked up a lather in her foreshortened curls. He avoided touching her vulva, concentrating instead on the more densely covered mound of Venus.
She flinched at the first touch of the cold metal of the razor against her skin.
'Hold still!' Antony commanded impatiently, 'I don't want to nick you.'
Maggie hardly dared to breathe as he carefully denuded her of pubic hair. After each scrape of the razor, he cleaned it in the water and ran his fingertip across the naked skin, testing the result. After a few minutes, he rose and went to change the water.
Stealing a glance down at herself while he was out of the room, Maggie saw the pink, tender skin of her mound, denuded now of its protective carpet of hair. It looked strange, curiously vulnerable. She bit her lips nervously as Antony returned.
'Now for the best part!' he said, his voice floating like silk across her raw nerves.
Maggie held her breath as he carefully parted the outer labia. There was a small frown of concentration between his brows as he systematically lathered the sparse hair, working the creamy substance into her shrinking skin. The razor felt cold as it rasped over her tender skin.
Her exposed vulva felt unprotected as the edge of the blade moved slowly along its edge. She breathed a long, jagged sigh of relief as Antony laid aside his equipment.
'Lovely,' he murmured, continuing in a more businesslike tone, 'go and use the bathroom now, before I oil you.'
Maggie rose obediently and went to do as she was bid. Once she had finished, she paused to study herself in the floor to ceiling mirror tiles. Where before there had been a perfect triangle of tangled curls at the apex of her thighs, now there was only pink, tender skin. The crease in the centre was clearly visible, barely concealing the hood of her clitoris which peeked through.
Slowly, Maggie shifted her feet apart a few inches. Her labia hung down a little below the protective outer lips, her most private, inner flesh exposed. If she bent the knees, oh so slightly, and tilted her pelvis forward, the entrance to her womb came into view, dark and inviting, shockingly accessible.
She jumped as Antony called her, squeezing her thighs tightly together as she went back into the living room.
Back in position on the couch, Maggie gave herself up to sensation as Antony began to anoint her freshly-shaved pubis with heavy, fragrant oil. She sighed as he worked his way down to her vulva, feeling her lips open and swell, anticipating his touch. Smiling to herself, she reflected that the slippery folds of her labia had not needed to be depilated, yet Antony seemed to be concentrating his attention there.
Gradually, her skin grew warm and slick, her own musky fluids mixing with the aromatic oil. Her legs felt heavy, weighted, as he described a circle around her awakened bud. It quivered, anticipating his touch on its hard tip. When he did touch her there, Maggie knew it would be seconds before she came.
She groaned, her eyes flying open in dismay as he suddenly stopped. He smiled regretfully at her as he dried his fingers on a towel.
'Not yet, my darling,' he told her. 'Not for a long while yet.'
'But—'
'Hush! Lie still now while I fit your restraint.'
The blood rushed in Maggie's ears as he reached down, under the table, into a box she hadn't noticed before. He seemed to consider for a moment, before selecting from its contents. The contraption he withdrew made her gasp.
'This should be about right. Will you stand up please?'
He gave her his hand and helped her to her feet. She stood before him, dazed as he fastened a thin black leather strap, hung with metal rings, around her waist. He smiled up at her almost whimsically as he clipped something onto the ring at the front of the belt. Another leather strap, but this time it was attached at the other end to a small mesh pouch, similar in shape to a cricketer's box.
Maggie's eyes widened as he held it up for her to see. The flexible frame was covered in soft rubber which clung to the skin of her groin as Antony eased it into position. Another leather strap hung from the bottom point of the inverted triangle and this was passed between her legs, fitting snugly across her perineum and along the deep cleft between her buttocks.
Once this was fastened to a metal ring at the back of the waistbelt, Maggie's sex was completely confined.
'What on earth is this in aid of?' she demanded, wriggling ineffectually against the straps.
'The pursuance of your better nature, Maggie,' he replied infuriatingly.
He hadn't finished yet. Maggie watched, appalled as he strapped two wide leather bands around her wrists, her mouth opening in shock as he linked them together behind her back.
'Antony—'
'Quiet. Have patience.'
He gave her out-thrust nipples a playful tweak and, in spite of her growing unease, Maggie
felt an answering pulse throb between her legs. The next strap was fastened to the same ring by her navel which held the chastity belt in place. Only this had two wide banded circles of leather attached which slipped over her breasts like a brassiere and fastened at her back and in a halter round her neck.
Antony ran his finger lightly underneath the straps which outlined her breasts and tightened them slightly, from behind, so that the two firm white globes were squeezed slightly.
'Is that comfortable?'
His warm breath tickled her ear as he murmured into it from behind. Maggie's throat and mouth felt dry as she whispered,
'Yes.'
No sooner had she spoken than Antony tightened the breast restraints, pushing them closer together and squeezing them forward.
'And now?'
'Th-that's a little uncomfortable, Antony – oh!'
He pulled tighter so that now her breasts were held in tension, on the brink of pain. Maggie bit down on her lower lip and concentrated on not letting the tears which had sprung to her eyes to overflow.
'Now, let's have a look at you.'
Antony stood back to admire his handiwork, his eyes lingering on the distorted outline of her breasts. Stepping forward, he rolled her nipples between finger and thumb until they stood out, two hard, treacherous little pebbles.
'That's better. But we mustn't forget the shoes – Antony brought them especially for you. Wait there.'
He disappeared into the bedroom and came back with a shoe box. Inside were the highest heels Maggie had ever seen. Antony helped her step into them, steadying her by a hand at her elbow as she teetered wildly in them.
'Come see yourself,' he pushed her gently towards the bedroom. He had left the bedroom door open and Maggie could see herself, as she walked, in the mirrored doors of the wardrobe. She hardly recognised herself as the trussed, wild-eyed creature who swayed seductively in the impossibly high heels.
'Beautiful. Alexander will be pleased. Over here, on the bed.'
Maggie did as she was told, partly because she did not know what else to do and partly because, she had to admit, she was intrigued as to what would happen next. She sat, compliant, as Antony brushed out her long, thick, dark hair, arranging it about her shoulders like a glossy cloak. He brushed it until it shone, then he smoothed it back from her neck and kissed her.
His fingertips played, featherlight, down one side of her neck as his lips caressed the other. Maggie closed her eyes as he stroked the tender skin at her throat. She moaned softly as she felt the kiss of fur against it and realised that he had slipped a lined leather strap around her neck.
A feeling of inevitability overtook her as a chain was clipped to the back of the necklet and she was fastened by it to the tall, ornate bedpost. The chain was long enough for her to lay her head down on the pillows, but not for her to get up from the bed.
Antony was winding a black silk scarf into a blindfold. He kissed both her eyelids before trying it firmly round her head. Maggie struggled to see even a chink of light and little tremors of panic fluttered in her stomach.
'Don't worry – I'll not be far away. I'll bring you lunch, later.'
Antony kissed her lingeringly, lovingly, on the lips. Then he left her. Maggie sat rigidly, trying to penetrate the sudden still silence. She was glad the room was warm, but wished Antony had stayed with her, or at least left a radio on. She had never felt so utterly alone.
Easing herself gingerly down the bed, she lay her head on the soft pillows and prepared to wait for Alexander.
17
Alexander didn't come. Maggie dozed lightly, waking with a start as Antony touched her shoulder. He removed the blindfold, but did not untie her hands, instead he fed her, bite-sized pieces of tender steak au poivre, crisp, green salad, doused in heavy, fragrant oil.
She sipped at the full-bodied red wine with Antony patiently dabbing at her chin as it overflowed. When she had finished, he carried her, still bound, to the bathroom where he unclipped the snug-fitting box so that she could relieve herself.
Maggie felt a blush stain her cheeks as she perched on the lavatory, conscious of Antony's persistent presence. When she had finished, he washed her with a warm, soft flannel and made her bend her legs apart so that he could massage in some more of the perfumed oil.
As before, he teased and tantalised her until her flesh was slick with moisture, her limbs suffused with heat. Then with a quick, regretful flick at her yearning bud, he quickly strapped the device back on and carried her back to the bedroom.
In all this time, Antony had barely said a word to her, except to ask her to move this way or that. When he left her again, Maggie could have wept for loneliness. At least he hadn't re-tied the black silk scarf around her eyes, but her arms were tired from being held in the same position, behind her back. And the moist, tender flesh of her sex pulsed and throbbed, aching for fulfillment.
She lost track of time, dozing lightly every so often. Something about the quality of the silence told her that night had fallen and still she was alone. They weren't going to sleep with her then, not tonight.
Maggie imagined Antony and Alexander together in the big bed in the flat downstairs. Had they forgotten all about her? She had anticipated humiliation, maybe even pain, but this isolation was far, far worse. At least when Alex was using her she had his full attention. Tears of self-pity welled in her eyes and seeped out from the corners, running down the sides of her nose and into her mouth. At last, she slept.
At the breakfast time, she pleaded with Antony to release her hands.
'Please – just while I eat breakfast, while you're here! It's not as if I could do anything while you're watching me!'
He had ignored her questions about his whereabouts last night and he ignored this outburst too. Patiently, he spooned warm, creamy porridge between her stubbornly resisting lips and helped her wash it down with strong coffee. Once again, he carried her to the bathroom and washed and oiled her, making sure she was teetering on the brink of orgasm before he strapped her back up.
'This isn't fun any more!' she complained in a small voice as he laid her back down on the bed.
His lips brushed briefly across the top of her forehead.
'It isn't supposed to be fun,' he murmured softly.
Maggie heard his footsteps reach the door, then it closed behind him with a click. She couldn't bear it. Her arms and legs began to tremble, her restrained breasts quivering with emotion.
'Antony! Antony come back!'
She waited, listening for the sound of his footsteps returning. When he had not responded after several minutes, a red mist of impotent fury overcame her and she began to yell, 'Let me out of here! Antony! Alexander! You miserable bastards – come back here now!'
Incredibly, the door opened and Antony reappeared. He was carrying a suitcase and didn't so much as glance in her direction as he marched over to the wardrobe and began stuffing her clothes in it.
Maggie watched with increasing dismay as her suits and blouses, her skirts and jumpers were all shoved carelessly into the case.
'What are you doing?' she asked in a small voice.
Antony paused and flicked her a cold glance.
'You wanted to leave.'
'No! No, I just don't like this . . .'
'So you don't want to play any more?' Antony sneered. 'Are you going to take your ball home, then? Grow up, Maggie – this is an adults' game. Either you play by the rules or you leave, right now. What is it to be?'
Maggie stared back at him with wide eyes, feeling foolish.
'I'll stay here,' she whispered.
Antony regarded her intently for a few moments, then he nodded once, satisfied.
'Good,' he said curtly.
Maggie watched as he re-hung her clothes and left without so much as another glance in her direction. When he had gone, she crawled underneath the duvet and curled herself into a ball.
She must have fallen asleep for she was woken by the sound of voices in the next
room. Scrabbling up clumsily, onto her knees, she strained her ears, listening. It was Alexander . . . and Antony and a woman. The door opened and her suspicions were confirmed.
'Oh!'
The woman seemed to pause in the doorway, obviously having just seen Maggie trussed in the corner.
'It's all right, Camilla. Maggie is being taught how to please me,' said Alex.
The woman giggled.
'She must be very stubborn!'
Antony strode across the room and, without a word, he lifted Maggie and took her through to the bathroom where he performed the usual ritual of washing and anointing her. He traced the tracks of her tears with the pad of his thumb and tutted. The warm flannel was wiped gently across her face. Then she was carried back to the bedroom.
This time, though, she felt, not the familiar duvet under her bare buttocks, but the cold, hard surface of the sturdy modern dressing table. Antony looped the chain over the back of the mirror.
Alexander's unsmiling face swam into view. He was admiring the straps which criss-crossed her body, emphasising her breasts and shielding, though not fully concealing, her sex.
'Beautiful,' he announced. 'Maggie, you are a sight to behold.'
Taking her chin firmly between his thumb and forefinger, he forced back his head and covered her mouth with his. Despite her discomfiture, the kiss melted her insides, making her arms strain against their bonds as they tried to respond to her instinct to hold him. She opened her eyes as he pulled away, opening her mouth with his thumb and caressing the soft, wet skin inside her lower lip.
His other hand closed over one straining breast and squeezed and kneaded, tweaking her nipple into hardness before affording its twin the same treatment. She moaned softly as his hand roamed the soft, undulating curves of her stomach and hips before coming to rest on the mesh box which covered her sex.
Suddenly he stepped away.
'Very good,' he said coolly, totally unaffected, it seemed, by touching her.
Maggie watched with dismay as he turned his back on her and went over to the bed where Antony and Camilla were slowly undressing each other.
