Instantly, her hips strained upwards, as if to impale herself on his fingers and her eyes bulged in their sockets while undreamed of arousal stormed through her body as her Master imposed his will and his dominance upon her.
He spared her nothing and Moira screamed her submission over and over again as his fingers sent her hurtling into a first gigantic orgasm and then a second as he taught her that her body belonged entirely to him and that there was nothing she could do to resist his demands upon her.
Spasming frantically, driven far out of control, Moira’s defeat was absolute, her surrender unconditional and she writhed and screamed and wept as the fires of her enforced lusts consumed her until she gabbled wordless pleas to be taken as the fiercely hot, utterly submissive slave he had made her.
The power and depth of Moira’s subjugation by her Master was an extremely erotic spectacle, but Hazel, too, was at the mercy of a dominant and Ellie Marston did not waste the opportunity.
Her fingers rolled and squeezed Hazel’s proffered nipples, bringing gasps of arousal from the redhead’s nose as her tawny buds stiffened into rigidity, then raced down across her belly to the velvet softness of her labia and sex, penetrating her with casual ease to bring her to the trembling brink of climax.
Where, with the arrogance of absolute power, the blonde Mistress held her hugely aroused captive, caressing her gently, keeping her passion at fever pitch but not permitting her to achieve orgasm.
Chewing on the leather gag between her teeth, her body shot through with electrifying arousal she could do nothing to satisfy, Hazel whimpered in deliciously frustrated need, knowing that her Mistress was simply enjoying herself and praying that the blonde would, eventually, give her the climax she longed for.
Just like Moira who screamed and writhed on the rack before her eyes, Hazel had no choice in the matter, for both were slave-girls and utterly dependent on their Masters to give them pleasure.
Gazing deep into the shocked eyes of his panting slave-wife, David undressed slowly, his gaze never leaving hers as he told her, “You are my slave, Moira and now I shall take you as your Master.”
He climbed onto the rack and positioned himself between her splayed thighs and Moira lifted her head with a huge effort, staring down the length of her nude, stained body to where her sex gaped invitingly.
Seizing her hips, he drove forward irresistibly and Moira’s head fell back, a wild, shrill scream of ecstasy and submission torn from her throat as his iron hard shaft buried its full length in her roiling belly.
Unable and unwilling to hold anything back, Moira came instantly, her belly convulsing beneath him and her love juices flooding over and around him as her internal muscles contracted to draw his maleness still deeper into her scalding heat until her eyes grew round with disbelief at the intensity of her own need.
Then, when she trembled and shook to the frightening power and depth of her submission, truly believing that she could take no more, her Master began to exert his full, overwhelming authority.
His muscular body thrust forward, his erection spearing into her belly again and again until she screamed in anguish, her whole being on fire, her passions vastly more intense than she had ever dreamed possible and her brain quailing before the realisation of what her slavery really meant and what extremes of submission she could be forced to give.
Utterly devastated, utterly subjugated, Moira wept tears of relief and ecstasy as she surrendered herself to her chains and her needs and her Master, weeping for the pure, blissful joy of abdicating all control and allowing herself to become what her Master had seemingly always known she had the potential to be.
A full, eagerly-responsive and willing bondage slave.
And it was as a full bondage slave that her Master took her then, his thick, hard shaft pounding into her to bring her to a gasping, straining peak of sexual delirium, her body vibrating with frenzied need beneath him.
His head bent forward, lips capturing her stiffened right nipple to suck and roll the engorged flesh. At the same time, he thrust to the very core of her belly, impaling her with massive lunges and triggering a stupendous orgasm.
Moira’s head arched back, her whole body locking rigidly as the most volcanic climax of her life exploded like a bomb, huge gushes of love juices spraying like molten lava into her belly and sex while her breasts throbbed and jiggled as if connected to a battery and her lips drew back from her gag in a silent scream of unbearable pleasure.
To her dumbstruck horror, however, her Master had not yet reached his release. She squealed in fright as he lunged again and yet again, bringing more maddened responses from her body and more waves of blistering love juices to surge and crash through her belly.
His deeply buried manhood swelled within her and Moira screamed in ecstatic rapture as it twitched and juddered then released powerful jets of his seed to mix and swirl with her juices and wring still another climax from her quaking, seething belly as she felt him come.
Sated, her Master grinned down at her, panting, “Quite superb, slave-girl. Thank you. It seems that I will not have to punish you for failing to be pleasing, will I? Not this time, anyway.” He gave a satisfied chuckle.
With her belly still pulsing in orgasm, Moira shivered.
Although her Master was smiling, she knew that he was not joking.
If he had not been satisfied, she knew he would have punished her.
He had already cropped her once, for no reason at all and she had no wish to repeat the experience.
Not that her wishes would make any difference.
She had learned that much about being a slave already and had a sinking feeling that she would have to learn a whole lot more, very quickly, if she was to avoid becoming much better acquainted with his awful crop.
As she visualised her future as a slave, Moira became aware of soft moaning sounds coming from the end of the rack behind her Master’s head and remembered that she was not alone with him.
He slid from her belly and rolled over onto his back and Moira’s face flushed a vivid crimson as she saw the two women at the bottom of the rack.
While Moira had been learning the full extent of her submission, Hazel had finally got her wish.
Fully aroused, but unsatisfied, Hazel had been kept waiting by her Mistress, both watching Moira’s enforced surrender and it was only as David completed the subjugation of his slave that Ellie’s hands recommenced their pillaging of Hazel’s available nudity.
Conditioned to respond and already nearly at peak, Hazel was easy prey for the experienced dominant and it was child’s play for the blonde to send her fingers slipping into her helpless victim’s thoroughly lubricated sex to provoke a powerful orgasm.
Moaning in climax, her belly pulsing and with her Mistress’s fingers still embedded in her body, Hazel was the first sight that met Moira’s gaze as she began to recover from her ordeal.
The eyes of the two slave-girls met and held, one experienced in the ways of slavery, the other new to her collar, but both equally enslaved by their Masters and their own desires, and as they looked at one another, a silent message was passed.
A new member had been welcomed to the ranks of the willingly submissive...and her name was Moira.
Chapter Twelve
As Hazel and Giselle cleared and re-set the dining room after breakfast on the following day, the French slave-girl was agog to hear the details of Moira’s submission and shook her long black hair in sympathy as she was told what had happened.
“I knew it,” she said, “You remember? I always said he wanted to enslave her.”
“Yes, I remember,” Hazel agreed, “You were right. I wonder how she feels this morning?”
Giselle shrugged, “Does it matter? She is a slave, like us and I do not think her Master will concern himself too much about her feelings.”
“No, I suppose not,” Hazel said slowly. “But I can’t help wondering if she regrets her submission.”
“It is too late for her. She is
a slave and must live with her decision. As we must, my friend. And we are not too unhappy with our decisions, are we?”
Hazel smiled, cheering up, “That’s true, Giselle, and if she is as submissive as she seemed, she probably won’t regret what she’s done. Well, either way, there’s nothing we can do about it, so, tell me, what happened to you last night? After you were put in the X frame?”
Giselle made a face, frowning, “With the isolation hood on, I did not even know where I was. It was only when I was spreadeagled to the frame that I realised and by then I could not move. There were two of them, I know that, but who they were...?” her voice trailed off.
“You mean...You still don’t know?” Hazel was shocked.
“Of course not,” the black haired girl retorted. “I was hooded and the only person I saw was Master, back in his suite when he removed the hood. Why? Do you know who it was?”
“Paolo de Castillo and James Marston.”
“Ah, I see. Thank you for telling me. I did not know,” she paused, then went on, “They both took me and made me sub...submit to them, you know. But the worst thing was not knowing who they were. I feel much happier now, Hazel.”
Hazel nodded sympathetically, “Yes, having to wear that hood is awful. I’ve worn it, too and I know just how...”
She broke off as the door behind them swung open, then both girls gaped at the figure who stood nervously in the entrance.
Moira Lawrence, stark naked apart from her chains and collar, a tray of dirty dishes held in her cuffed hands, her face red with embarrassment.
Giselle was the first to recover, “Good morning,” she murmured, “Slave-girl.”
Moira swallowed hard, then whispered, “Good m...morning. My...my M...Master has sent me down to f...fetch another c...cup of c...coffee.”
“Here,” Hazel went to her, “Let me take that tray and get the coffee for you.”
As Hazel took the tray, Moira smiled tremulously, then buried her head in her hands, her shoulders shaking with sobs.
Giselle hurried across and cradled Moira in her arms. “Do not be sad,” she soothed, “It will be all right.”
“But what am I going to do?” Moira cried, “He won’t let me go.”
“No, he won’t,” Hazel said gently, “And why would he? You are lovely, you know and you are a submissive and you wear his slave collar. No Master seeing you as you are would ever let you go. You are a slave, like Giselle and me and our fate is to be the prized captives of the Masters who enslaved us and who we must obey and serve.”
Moira looked up and choked back her sobs. “I...I know I’m his sl...slave really,” she gulped, “But...But...”
“Do you love him, slave-girl?” Giselle asked softly and Moira shivered before nodding her head.
“And do you like having to obey him?”
Moira hesitated, then nodded again, hanging her head.
“And if he were to free you, would you be happier...or would you kneel at his feet and beg him to make you his bondage slave again?”
Moira lifted her head slowly to look up at Giselle, then licked her lips and allowed her head to drop as she whispered brokenly, “No. No, I would not be h...happier. With him, I ...I...want to be a slave. But I’m fr...frightened. Frightened of my...myself and...and my desires.”
Giselle reached down and tilted Moira’s anguished face upwards. “You are a slave-girl,” she said softly and tenderly, “You want to be a slave, you need to be a slave and you will grow to love being a slave. Just as Hazel and I have grown to love what we are.”
“Giselle is right, Moira.” Hazel confirmed. “We are slaves and pray our Masters never release us for we love our Masters and our collars and would never willingly give them up.”
Slowly, Hazel and Giselle helped Moira to her feet and kissed her gently. “Go back to your Master, slave-girl,” Hazel said, “Go to him and serve him well. Wear his collar and his chains with love and pride and be the slave he wishes you to be. We know you will not regret it, for you are one of us and you have found your one true love Master.”
Moira stared from one to the other and her face slowly brightened. “I never knew...,” she began, “I hadn’t realised you both felt this way about your Masters and your sl...slavery. That it’s...it’s all right to just...give in and submit. But it is, isn’t it? I can choose to be a slave and not feel guilty or...or ashamed, can’t I?”
Two firm nods greeted her questions and she smiled brilliantly. “Thank you,” she said sincerely. “David means everything to me and I was afraid I could never be what he wanted. But now, thanks to you, I know I can. And I will, I promise.”
Before Hazel and Giselle’s startled eyes, Moira sank gracefully to her knees before them, lowered her head submissively and spoke in a clear, soft voice, “A humble slave-girl thanks you from the bottom of her heart.”
Smiling with pleasure, Hazel and Giselle pulled her to her feet and hugged her, then gave her the cup of coffee she had come down for and sent her on her way, reminding her that Masters did not like to be kept waiting.
As the door swung closed behind her, the two slaves chuckled together, “Well, she’s certainly happy enough now.”
“She certainly is. Let’s hope her Master doesn’t punish her for being late.”
The reference to time triggered a memory in Hazel’s brain and her face fell.
“Oh no,” she gasped, “I clean forgot. I was supposed to meet Miss Davies in the dungeon at ten o’clock.”
“Merde,” Giselle reverted to her native language for an instant. “It’s nearly ten past. Go, go, quickly. Perhaps she’ll be late.”
Hazel was out of the door before Giselle finished speaking and raced through the Hotel in a blind panic, desperately hoping that she would be in time.
She ran through the double doors into the dungeon and fell to her knees, her spirits plummeting as she saw that Miss Davies had already arrived.
And from the expression on her severe features, the tall older woman was not at all pleased.
“I’m sorry, Mistress,” Hazel tried to apologise, but Miss Davies snapped, “Be silent, girl. I am not interested in your pathetic excuses and I will deal with you later. Get over there and display yourself until we are ready for you.”
Cowed by the woman’s harsh tone and peremptory orders, Hazel hurried to the indicated spot and knelt, thrusting her arms behind her back, spreading her knees wide and arching her back to display her body to its best advantage.
“Come here, Sarah,” Miss Davies called and Hazel’s eyes widened as the woman’s companion emerged from the gloom.
Until that moment, Hazel had only ever seen the girl clad in the shapeless blue dress she had worn for her arrival at the Bondage Hotel and had not realised how small and how pretty the girl really was.
Sarah, the girl, was no more than five feet tall, barefoot and as slender as a boy, the shortness and unflattering cut of her blonde hair adding to the impression of boyishness.
But the most surprising feature of her appearance was her costume.
From neck to crotch, her slim form was encased in shiny black rubber moulded to her like a second skin, its polished perfection glistening in the dim lighting without even a wrinkle.
Even her arms and hands were hidden beneath the jet-black sheen and the overall effect was extremely sexy, as if the girl had been coated with a thin layer of glossy black paint.
As she reached Miss Davies’ side, the older woman cupped the younger’s face in both of her hands and planted a long, lascivious kiss on her mouth, the blonde responding eagerly and their tongues entwining.
At length, Miss Davies broke away and chuckled with pleasure. “That was very nice, Sarah. Now go and take a good look at our slave, but don’t touch her yet.”
Obediently, Sarah walked over to Hazel and stood looking down at her. Hazel felt a shiver of anxiety race up her spine as the blonde’s eyes glittered with barely suppressed excitement.
“Do you like what you see, Sara
h?” Miss Davies smiled at her companion. “I do hope you’re not disappointed.”
“No, Miss Davies,” the girl replied humbly, “She is very attractive.”
“Yes, she is and you have a crush on her, don’t you, my dear?”
The girl blushed, “Yes, Miss Davies. I’m very sorry.”
“Oh, there’s no need to be sorry, Sarah. I knew you were a slut when I took you in. You were a slut then and you are still an ungrateful little slut now. Aren’t you?” The tone of her voice was quite calm, almost playful, completely at odds with her words and Hazel frowned in confusion, unsure what was going on between the two women.
“I said, aren’t you?’“ Miss Davies repeated her question and the small blonde licked her lips nervously.
“Yes, Miss Davies,” she said at last, but her answer did not satisfy her questioner.
“Yes what?”
“I’m a slut, Miss Davies. An ungrateful little slut,” she said as she stared down at the floor.
“Yes, you are, but luckily for you, you are also an exciting little trollop. Which is why I let you stay with me.”
“Yes, Miss Davies. Thank you Miss Davies,” the girl whispered, never lifting her eyes and her tormentor laughed cruelly, then turned to Hazel.
“She has the hots for you, slave-girl,” she said. “And I have very kindly decided to let her have you...for a price.”
Hazel gasped as she learned why she had been summoned and her belly churned with nervous anticipation.
It was the moment she had always dreaded but had known must come eventually.
As a slave in the Bondage Hotel, she was required to serve any guest, no matter who they were or what their desires might be.
Freedom of choice was not something she or any other slave was permitted.
Miss Davies grinned coldly and went on, “Yes. You see, slave, in return for your...uh...favours, Sarah must pay a forfeit of my devising. In this case, a session with the paddle. A session which you will administer and I will supervise. On your feet, slave and sit on that stool over there with your knees together.”
Bondage Hotel Page 20
