The Story of Emma

by Sean O'Kane

  I was delighted with his response when I let him in. He smiled and gave a low whistle before making me do a twirl for him, then sending me off with a resounding smack on my bottom to make coffee for him. I knelt beside him while he drank it and asked me about various trinkets and pictures I had collected, idly stroking my hair, running his hands across my breasts and my shoulders while he did so.

  He had brought a suitcase with him and had me open it when it was time to get down to business. Inside were a cane, a crop, a whip, restraints and a selection of dildos and chains.

  “This is just an experimental session, K,” he explained, as he laid everything out for me. The implements looked so strange, lying on my lounge carpet, bathed in summer sunshine, but even so I got the familiar tingling from nipples to crotch as I looked at them. We started with me bending over the coffee table and bracing my arms on it while he caned me. Almost immediately it became clear that that wouldn’t do. The Sshwack! of each stroke in that small room was going to attract attention even if we turned on the TV or my little hi-fi. We tried the crop with the same result and even after only four or five strokes I was beginning to give breathless little screams - the usual prelude to my full-blooded ones.

  We went into the bedroom and, as I had known he would be, he was delighted with the bed and showed me the chains he had brought. They were ingenious. Each link in them had a spring-loaded catch so the lengths could be altered with the minimum of effort simply by adding or removing links. I stretched out face down and he attached my restraints and then sorted out the correct length of chain for each limb. And with that done he whipped me. One of the great things about a basque is the way it leaves most of your back naked, so you can take the whip without having to bother with undressing. We found that the slap of the twenty lashes landing was much more diffuse than the sharp crack of the cane and crop and Ben decided that I would keep that whip so that it was always to hand when he chose to come round. He was nothing if not thorough, and it took thirty lashes before he was quite certain that he had made the right choice.

  He took a bath after that and I waited on him, soaping him carefully all over and making sure that his penis was properly clean. I made very sure of that, my back was hot and throbbing and as ever that had started the fires down below. When I had dried him we went back to the bedroom, taking with us the dildos, and while he lay on the bed, letting me watch his erect sex which twitched every now and then, he had me masturbate with each one. They ranged from a pretty standard five inch one to an eight inch one with a really thick shaft. That filled me very pleasantly and Ben allowed me to work it in myself until I came to a shuddering climax which left me barely able to stand. But there were vibrators too in the same size range, battery powered of course but one had a remote control and wasn’t a vibrator at all. It was a wicked little phallus which was designed to deliver a shock whenever the switch was thrown on the control unit. Ben demonstrated this while he had me make more coffee. We established that its range coped quite easily with my small flat, and from the bedroom he could make me spasm and stagger helplessly time after time. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling, it was just like when a doctor does that knee thing to test your reflexes, it just set my vagina twitching and clenching as it would do in the middle of really good sex. Most of the arousal it set off in me was due to the fact that my insides could be controlled by someone who wasn’t even in the same room.

  Each dildo was assigned a number and my vagina was given the letter A, while my anal passage was assigned the letter B. This, as Ben explained gleefully was so that he could ring me and give me just a number and a letter. I would then have to wear whatever he told me to until he told me to remove it. He also had me note that some of the dildos had wide flanges at their bases so that they could be safely used anally. Strangely I didn’t find that very comforting. He had also bought two long lengths of jeweller’s chain, one of which would wrap round my waist, while the other clipped onto it then ran down between my legs, back up between my buttocks and then attached back to the waist chain. It would make sure that whatever I was plugged with would stay where it was.

  Once all that was explained and demonstrated he buggered me. It was quite deliberate I’m sure. The first time he took me in my own bed he used me in the basest way of all. And I knew that I would never sleep in that bed again without remembering him forcing into my upturned backside while I groaned into my pillow. While he had been away, that passage had scarcely been used and had tightened up. He had quite a struggle to get in and caused me considerable pain which only made me reach down between my legs and rub at my clitoris fiercely once he was able to thrust and withdraw. He came at almost the same time I did and when he had finished with me he wrenched himself free, hurting me again and went to clean himself up. I lay where I was for a few moments savouring the depths of my humiliation. I was propped up on my elbows, my face buried in my pillow and my bottom raised. In my own bed I had been whipped and buggered, and I had loved every second of the pain which both had brought with them. Ben was whistling happily as he cleaned himself up in the bathroom so I had to wait until he had finished before I could clean myself. And I noticed with grim foreboding that he took the remote control unit for the shock dildo with him.

  There was nowhere for Emma to hide now.

  All my worst fears were confirmed the following week. I had a function to attend at the embassy of an eastern European country and two hours before it Ben rang to give me the number of that wretched little dildo and the letter A. I pleaded and begged but he was implacable. And so I duly turned up in a brand new evening dress which had cost a small fortune. It was my usual style, low cut neck, slashed skirt as far as was acceptable, all guaranteed to loosen the tongue of whichever male politician I was targeting. But underneath I wore Ben’s chain and moving inside me with every step and churning my stomach with fear and excitement was his wretched dildo.

  He tormented me mercilessly.

  I would catch sight of him from time to time and beg him with my eyes but he would just smile and sometimes put his hand in his pocket. If I was lucky I made it to a table to put my wine down before the bolt hit me. Mostly I didn’t though and spilt a lot of wine that night. Some people asked in concerned tones why I kept giving those odd little half skip, half jumps and I concocted a story about suffering from sciatica which caught me every now and then. It was a nightmare; I was trying to be a professional journalist but was being totally controlled by my vaginal responses, which in turn were controlled by someone else. Ben couldn’t have made me more acutely aware of my femininity and my sexuality if he had hung me up and flogged me there and then, right in front of the whole gathering.

  To make matters worse, I was so hot and moist by the time I got home that I had to use the thing by hand to bring myself off before I could get any sleep. I rang Ben the next day, something I rarely did, and swore long and foully at him. I knew it was totally against all the rules, and completely overlooked the fact that he hadn’t forced me to wear it, just told me to. It was my own submissiveness which I was furious about.

  He listened in silence and then quietly asked if I wanted him to stop doing everything he did to me.

  I sighed and thought of how sluttishly aroused I had been the previous night and how I had kept the lights on in the bedroom while I stood in front of the mirror and watched myself working the dildo up and down until I came.

  “No,” I said at last.

  “Good. Have you got any holiday owing?”

  “Yes, lots. Why?”

  “Take a fortnight from next Friday. I’m taking you away.”

  “Would I be right in thinking that this won’t involve palm-fringed beaches and cocktails by the pool?”

  “You’re a clever girl. Beautiful, clever and…”

  “And a treat to beat. Yes I know.”

  He laughed and hung up.

  Gerald

  By early a
fternoon of the next day I was standing in the hall of my new master’s house, still dazed by the speed of events. Everything had happened exactly as he had said it would. The driver had come for me precisely at eleven and I had had everything packed and ready to go. I kept three cases for clothes I thought I might need and the rest were scheduled for storage in this, my new home. All Ben’s whips and dildos I had packed separately, with a note thanking him for everything he had taught me, and the driver assured me he would get them. Once he had carried everything down to the car he came back for me and took me in the kitchen while I bent forwards on the work surface. I was quite certain that he had the authority to do it and bunched my skirt up for him, stuck my bottom out and bent over as soon as he ordered me to. And as soon as his fingers found their way past my lips and into my vagina I was lost in the tidal race of pleasure that I was now becoming used to experiencing whenever I was so casually screwed.

  From there we had gone straight to my office where I tendered my resignation to a surprised and furious editor. He assumed that I had been head hunted by a rival and paid me off immediately in lieu of notice, so after a quick visit to my bank we had driven down to the house, stopping only once for Mr Lee, as I found the driver’s name to be, to pull off and enjoy me again. And so now I waited, legs pressed together once again, a cold dampness at the back of my skirt and my heart hammering. Mr Lee had disappeared with my cases and simply told me to stay where I was. I looked around at the wide expanse of parquet flooring and the airy, modern and light hall with its huge abstract originals by artists whose names I was unfamiliar with. The modernity of the house surprised me when I first saw it. It was low and rambling under a tiled roof which was steeply pitched and which rose to high gables at certain places. The windows were large and looked out over spacious, secluded gardens and, on two sides, woodlands - all of which I later learned my master owned - and which lent themselves to some pretty spectacular outdoor pursuits, as I also later learned.

  I heard soft footsteps on the deeply carpeted stairs and looked up. A woman was descending them; she was in her mid-forties, trim and slender but with a hard face and the darkest eyes I had ever seen. Her mouth was quite full and her lips could have been sensual if they had not been pursed in an expression of disapproval which I was to find was habitual. She walked slowly towards me, her heels clicking on the wood floor until she stood directly in front of me. She was almost exactly my height and we stared at each other, eye to eye for an uncomfortable moment.

  I smiled nervously and held out my hand. “I’m Emma,” I said.

  “You’re the new slut,” she retorted, ignoring both gestures. “I’m Miss Dexter. You will always call me that, and now you will follow me.”

  So from the very first Miss Dexter put me in my place, and there I stayed.

  But on that first nerve-racking day I meekly followed her on a tour of my new home. The house was very big and every room was furnished in cool, tasteful luxury. I detected a male hand in all the decorations and furnishings which were unfussy and just sparse enough to suggest a man who had very definite ideas about exactly what he wanted. I felt very flattered to think that one of the things he wanted was me, and he had been prepared to pay handsomely for me. But the rooms which really struck me were the library where I was to spend many happy evenings with Master Gerald, the swimming pool complete with gym, Jacuzzi and sauna, and my own room. I am writing this in that very room. It has a dormer window which looks out over the gardens and the woods beyond and beneath that is the desk I am working at. My left ankle is chained to one of the desk legs with an adequate length of chain for me to walk around quite freely, it slithers and rattles musically whenever I move. Apart from those rooms there were three others which had a profound effect on me when I first saw them. Above the swimming pool was the playroom, it was every bit as big as the room beneath it and was lined with sliding patio doors along one side with a veranda outside them, and on the other with frames, stocks, whipping benches and a rack. In amongst those hung every conceivable whip, flogger, cane, paddle and tawse plus all the restraints one could want. The floor was of polished wood and our footsteps echoed as soon as we entered it.

  “You will note that there is no ceiling,” Miss Dexter said.

  I looked up and saw that the room stretched up to bare, polished rafters supporting the roof itself.

  “Mr Hardcastle likes to savour every noise a slave makes in this room. You will also note that everything is recorded on camera and can be played back in the office.”

  On many sunny afternoons subsequently my master had his tea served on the veranda with the big windows open while I was whipped for him. That way he was able to look over the view and savour my cries and the sounds of my punishment coming from inside.

  But on that day I duly noted the small lenses set about the room with a lurch in the pit of my stomach. This was where I would earn my money, I thought. This was where I fitted into the household, strung up and beaten, screaming till the room echoed nicely… I instinctively clenched my thighs together at the tingle which started in my sex. Miss Dexter must have noticed a flush come to my cheeks because she gave me a rare and wintry smile.

  “You will come to appreciate the acoustics, I promise you. In fact you will have a chance to try them out this evening. Mr Hardcastle wants you whipped in here.”

  I couldn’t help feeling that losing myself under a hard whipping was what I needed to help me settle in - a familiar experience in amidst so much strangeness.

  Next came the office itself where Master Gerald was working. He was sitting behind a very oddly shaped desk when we entered but politely he rose and kissed my hand.

  “Emma,” he said, with every sign of genuine pleasure at seeing me there. “What do you think of my house?”

  “It’s wonderful, Master. I… I’m looking forward to living here and serving you,” I stammered.

  He gave me a smile which warmed my heart after Miss Dexter’s coldly threatening demeanour. He showed me what would be my desk and I was reminded that I was here not only to serve as slave to Master Gerald but also to work professionally and I ran a professional eye over the facilities. There was nothing lacking, everything was state of the art and I felt another thrill run through me. This time it was not sexual, but was instead the thrill of taking on the challenge of a new job. However I had been standing with my back to my master and he noticed the damp patch on my skirt, which I had forgotten in all the excitement of looking around.

  “Ah, I see Lee has availed himself of you,” he said.

  “Yes, Master. I hope that was… I mean I thought he could…” All at once the sexual nature of my situation was re-established.

  “Of course it was. He will not beat you, but he has the right to take you whenever it pleases him. Miss Dexter will beat you whenever I am too busy to do it myself, or if I just want someone else to do it.”

  I looked across at Miss Dexter and saw the expression of naked hunger on her face. I shivered a little at the thought of having this strange and cold woman let loose on me with a whip. But the idea of being beaten for my master’s pleasure, without him having to be bothered with it himself, sent quite a different shiver through me. I was brought up short by the feel of Master Gerald’s hand on my bottom.

  “Now I think we should christen your desk Emma, as this is where your two roles will come together. Lift your skirt and bend over.”

  Ah! At last some comforting humiliation. I was back under a master’s hand and without any hesitation, under two other people’s gazes, I rucked my skirt up and bent over my new desk, being careful not to disturb anything. Not knowing whether I was going to be beaten, taken, or both, I stretched out my hands and gripped the edges of the desk, sighing in pleasure as I felt the master’s hands pulling my buttocks apart and his fingers begin an intimate exploration of his property.

  “Come here Miss Dexter,” he said. “Take a
look at this. Hasn’t she got a splendid arse?” I felt that helpless thrill of delight at the casual coarseness of his compliment. “Plenty of good firm flesh for the whip. And look at her cunt! Deep flesh on the outer lips and beautifully developed inner ones.”

  “Her back hole looks like it could use some stretching,” Miss Dexter opined. “And Lee has obviously had her more than once to judge by the state of the slut.”

  “I’m sure he has! And once I’ve had her as well you can clean her up, feed her then bring her to the library, after that whip her and bring her to my room.”

  Suddenly he thrust his fingers into me and he laughed as I jerked instinctively. “Try her, Miss Dexter. I tell you she’s well worth her money. Just a mention of sex and whipping and she’s creaming herself!”

  It was true - as always. I felt his fingers withdraw and they were replaced with smaller female ones which twisted and clenched inside me until I could feel myself churning around them. Then they were withdrawn in their turn and wiped on my bottom. I groaned in pleasure at the degradation and then yelped as Master Gerald’s sex rammed into me. I was driven hard against the edge of the desk and felt it cut into the tops of my thighs. But quite rightly that was no concern of his and he carried on relentlessly pulling me back and pushing me forward as he established his right to my body by using it for his pleasure. Despite the discomfort and the fact that Miss Dexter came around to stand in front of me and I could feel her eyes staring down contemptuously at me as I thrashed about on the end of the master’s shaft, I came quickly and was on my way to another climax when I felt the final deeper thrusts as he spent himself inside me and immediately pulled out. I groaned in frustration and heard him laugh softly as I levered myself up. He knew exactly how far he had taken me and where he had left me. But I was well enough trained to dismiss that as irrelevant and dropped to my knees to finish paying homage to the manhood which would now control my every waking moment. In front of Miss Dexter, and without having to be ordered, I knelt and took the still tumescent shaft into my mouth. As men always do at such times he tasted richly of my own acrid excitement and his, thick, salty issue. I licked and explored him thoroughly, enjoying the thought that this was what I was enslaved to; this thick tube of muscle and tissue which mysteriously gave its owner the right to do anything he wanted with me.