The Story of Emma

by Sean O'Kane

  He was the calm, cruel master I had always wanted. He was always in complete control of himself and those around him and most especially of me. He took his time with me, sometimes making me wait for what seemed like hours, naked and fearful before telling me in minute detail what he was going to do with me in the dungeon or the playroom. And he always did exactly what he said he would; if he told me he was going to give me thirty lashes with that exquisite whip with which he was such an artist, then thirty it would be regardless of whether I was begging for mercy or for more. If he told me how many needles he was going to use on me in the dungeon; then I knew that it would be precisely that number. And his voice would be so calm and implacable that when he had finished telling me what my fate was to be and he reached for my arm to lead me away; the merest touch of his fingers would sometimes induce a knee-buckling orgasm.

  At the end of my first week with him he strapped me into the chair in the dungeon, my legs raised and spread in the stirrups and he shaved and ringed me. One ring in each nipple; one ring in each of my outer labia. Of course he didn’t bother with anaesthetic and when he had finished he clipped a lead to one of the labial rings and took me out into the garden to show me off to Miss Dexter before telling her to take me to the playroom and flog me. I was so proud of those rings and the nakedness of my sex! And sometimes, when we had company he would attach discs to the rings on my ‘flaps’ as he called them which had his name on them. I often used to beg to be allowed to wear them when we went out to dinner or to the theatre or cinema and sometimes he let me - at the price of doubling any discipline I was due when we returned home.

  Perhaps it sounds odd but there was, despite all I have said some degree of normality in our lives. After all, even the most dedicated slavegirl can’t take a full whipping each and every day, so although I normally carried some bruises around, it was business as usual nevertheless. I issued press releases, organised stands at various shows, liased with advertising agencies and planning authorities when a new factory was to be built; in short acted as Master Gerald’s right hand on all matters relating to the image of his companies. And as always I took a secret and tingling delight in carrying the marks of my master’s hands just under the thin material of skirt and blouse or sweater. I had my own car and frequently undertook journeys to conduct meetings which kept me away from home overnight. I hated those times, but my master had a way of keeping me occupied even so. He used me as a piece of ‘corporate hospitality’ or as a reward for services rendered, so even while I was away from him I was frequently being beaten and mistreated or just casually screwed in an office or hotel somewhere. So even though I hated being away from him, I could take some pleasure in the way he debased me with such utter authority.

  For nearly two years I existed in a dazzling world of blinding pleasure and pain. There were parties at the house where masters, mistresses and slaves mingled in erotic celebrations of SM.

  I can recall the ‘My favourite torture’ party where each master or mistress brought along something they particularly liked using on their slave and one by one in the playroom all the slaves were subjected to the chosen implements. Fortunately I was allowed to play with myself while I watched the girls take their beatings or piercings or suspensions - or all three - otherwise I think I would have gone mad with frustration. There were some beautiful sights. I remember one girl had clamps put on her labia with short chains attached to them which were then wrapped around a huge stone. While she sat back on her heels with her legs apart there was no problem, but when her master stood up and took out his cock for her to suck, then she had to kneel up and take the stone with her. Of course her hands were cuffed behind her back and so she got a rousing cheer from everyone as she dutifully took the pain of her outrageously stretched ‘flaps’ and sucked him to ejaculation while moaning quietly all the time.

  When my turn came I was suspended face up by wrists and ankles from a four cuff spreader bar which of course left my bum and everything in between wide open and spread taut for cropping. And I got a good dose of that across my buttocks before my master turned his attention to using the crop up between my legs, slapping the keeper down onto my clitoris while the shaft cracked home right between my lips. He took me to the point of orgasm before he stopped and inserted a speculum into my vagina and then opened it up to its maximum, making me feel as though he was splitting me in two and displaying the inside of my tunnel to everyone, quite plainly. I had to fight hard to restrain my orgasm as the masters crowded round to have a good look, but then my right wrist was released and I was handed a thick, lighted candle. I ignored the increased pain in my left arm - we had practised this several times in the preceding weeks and I hot waxed myself all round my sex and even inside it; howling and yelling as I did so. I made so much noise and the pain was so intense that even I couldn’t rightly tell when, or how many times I came.

  But that show was stolen by a girl who was placed on knees and elbows while her master first widened and then fisted her anal opening. When he had got it fully stretched and she was groaning loudly he screwed a bottle into her. But not by the neck. He actually managed to get the bottom of the bottle up her, leaving the neck projecting. Her face was a picture of distress by that time, but better was to come. It was a bottle of champagne and he pulled the cork before attaching a chain to her clitoral ring, running it up through a ring on her collar and leaving it on her back. Then all anyone had to do was pull on it and she would kneel up, dispensing champagne from her arse as the bottle tipped. The dominants got through a lot of bottles that night and it must have taken weeks for the poor thing’s anus to close again!

  Then there was the master’s fiftieth birthday party where Miss Dexter inserted fifty needles in my stomach, thighs and breasts, in the end of each plastic handle on each needle was a lighted candle. I was strung up by my wrists in the playroom and all around me the guests’ slaves were displayed - with me as the centrepiece in the darkened room. Then my master was shown in and I could see the pride in his eyes as he surveyed me. Of course he didn’t blow out the candles, he whipped them out with his beloved whip, and even as the light declined with the candles progressively extinguished, he never missed, and never touched my body. Not until the very last one had been put out and the room lights had come up did he turn his attention to me. And then he thanked all his guests and returned their kindness by inviting them all to beat me in turn, however they liked. Even my diary does not record the exact events which followed, and it’s hardly surprising really. For what must have been about two hours I continued as the centre of attention; I vaguely recall being suspended in a hog tie, then taken down and hauled up again by my ankles. I was bent over trestles and tables on my back and on my front and all the time there was a steady rain of blows from whips, crops, canes and paddles until I was barely conscious. But one thing remained clear in my memory; whenever I was able to see through my tears, I saw my master laughing and talking with his guests but always keeping an eye on me. And his expression was one of pure delight in me and the pleasure his guests were extracting from me. Agony and orgasm blended and blurred to perfection and I dared hope that in some small way my master returned my feelings for him.

  I was right. But by the time I found that out for certain it was far too late for me.

  He had originally said he would probably only keep me for a year or so. Consequently as the second year wore on and I bathed in his complete mastery of me I began to relax and think that at last I had found my true home. Ben sometimes came round with his new slave; a girl called Lisa and on occasions we shared exquisite sessions in the dungeon. But I never felt a trace of longing for the old days. They were gone. And I loved Master Gerald.

  It was when we were putting the finishing touches to a plan for a plant along the M4 corridor that disaster struck. Both of us were scheduled to attend a meeting with the director of a firm which had tendered for the work. My master had been dealing with him and had be
en very impressed with the tender and this was really just to tie up a few loose ends. Before we set off he told me that he had reserved a room at the hotel, and if all went as he hoped then I would be offered to this man for an hour or two. I was always told in advance when I was going to be lent out so there was nothing unusual in that.

  We eventually arrived at one of those roadhouse hotels you get by motorway junctions and entered the big open-plan lobby. My master looked around and hailed a solidly built man with fair hair who was rising to his feet in welcome. It was Guy.

  Of course I had read somewhere that he had resigned his seat in the House and taken up a directorship but he was so firmly part of my past and I was so bound up in my present that I hadn’t paid any attention to what his company was. I felt the blood drain from my face and my knees go weak as the full danger of my position began to be borne in on me. This was the man to whom I had offered myself behind Ben’s back - twice. And Ben was one of my master’s closest friends. One word from Guy… I just couldn’t bear to think of the fury and disappointment on my master’s face if he ever found out that I had put my own pleasure before my allegiance to Ben. And apart from that he would feel that he himself couldn’t trust me ever again.

  I tottered over behind my master and before I knew it he was introducing us and Guy was shaking my hand. His flesh felt cold and hard against mine, and I wondered how I could ever have wanted him as a master. The answer was simple; I hadn’t met Gerald Hardcastle then.

  Through the pounding of my heart I heard Guy explaining that he and I knew each other, and I waited for the axe to fall.

  “Oh, yes,” he was saying, “we’re old sparring partners. We used to see a lot of each other round the House in the old days, didn’t we Emma?”

  I stammered out some reply and then to my amazement the two men turned straight to business. I sat mutely as coffee was served and drunk and the deal was done bar the paperwork which would be sorted out on our return and sent to Guy.

  Then obviously well pleased both men sat back. I continued to stare at the table top, convinced that now it would surely happen but instead I heard my master offer me to Guy to play with for an hour or so and Guy accept with no reference to anything other than his previous life as an MP.

  “That would be an honour indeed, Gerald,” he said. “You have no idea how many of us lusted after her! And she really is your property? Well, well, I never would have guessed she was that way inclined! And may I er…?”

  “Of course you can beat her if you want to,” my master replied with obvious pleasure. “That big shoulder bag she’s got has a coiled up whip in it. Feel free…”

  And with that he sauntered over to the bar while Guy grinned at me then took my arm to lead me over to reception and get our key.

  “How did I do?” he whispered. “I don’t think he suspected anything.”

  I didn’t answer, just checked in, took the key and followed him into the lift. He was up to something, it was obvious from his wide grin, but what?

  Once we were inside the room I found out. He thrust me straight up against a wall and his hands began to roam all over me but I was far too tense to respond.

  “Come on Emma,” he said, still smiling, but suddenly with a real hint of menace in his voice. “I saved your bacon down there and I expect some gratitude. In fact I expect a lot of gratitude.”

  He let me go and I stayed propped up against the wall, breathless and now really terrified; I suddenly began to see how fast his mind must have worked once he had seen me walk into the hotel. I began to shake my head.

  “Oh but yes, Emma. One word from me and your master finds out how selfish and deceitful you can be. Poor old Ben. Gerald really isn’t going to like finding out how you were prepared to walk out on him - maybe even two-time him. But don’t worry, just tell me everything that Gerald is thinking and doing and I promise I won’t breathe a word.”

  “No, no I can’t,” I managed.

  “Yes you can. You’ll find that deceit gets easier the more you try it.”

  I threw myself at him, screaming insults but he sidestepped and I crashed onto the bed with his weight on top of me and his hand over my mouth.

  “Calm down, you stupid bitch! You know you have no choice if you want to keep your precious master, and it’s your own fault. I don’t care if you hate me; in fact I’ll enjoy that,” he whispered and held me until he felt me calm down. Then he let me up.

  He was right about everything of course and all I could do was nod brokenly.

  “Good. You’ll sort out a time to ring from your mobile each week and keep me up to date on everything you know; and I’ll bet that’s plenty.”

  I nodded again and tried to wipe the tears of despair from my eyes. Guy said I looked even more desirable in my dishevelled state and then added that he would have to beat me just to keep Gerald happy. “You’ll hate every second of it of course, so it’ll be a whole new experience for you. Now strip and bend over.”

  With more reluctance than I had felt since I became a slave I did as I was told, feeling his eyes crawling over me. I spread my legs, bent and gripped my ankles while Guy turned on the TV and upped the volume to mask the sounds of the beating. I comforted myself with the thought that at least I would feel nothing but pain this time, so I could experience it as pure punishment - I needed that.

  And I got it. Guy had lost none of his vigour with a whip and slashed it across my spread buttocks with enthusiasm. I blinked back my tears and fought the desire to scream as the stinging mounted but no pleasure developed. He kept it up until I was biting my lip and rocking forwards at each lash. Then he stepped forward and tried to ram his fingers into me. Even through the burning and stinging in my bottom I knew I was as dry as a bone and I cried out in pain as my lips were roughly parted with no lubrication.

  Guy tutted and came to stand in front of my head, I felt the leather of the lashes tickle my spine as he laid them lengthways down my back.

  “I can make you open up, Emma. You know it. And we both know how much you’ll hate yourself when I do.”

  I gritted my teeth and felt the lashes lift then crack down along the length of my bottom crease and bite along the length of my slit. I could even see the ends of the lashes bite into my bent stomach. Immediately I felt that treacherous tingle start in my nipples and spread downwards as the second lash smacked in. Once again it was no contest; my mind just couldn’t override my body. Three, four, five, six. I had my eyes screwed shut on my tears but when Guy tried me again, through the bitter pain at my crotch I felt his fingers intrude easily and wetly.

  He had me from behind on the bed and even as I hated him I moaned under his thrusts as the inescapable pleasure of his penetration mingled with the pain of the beating. My cries of orgasm were the final signals of my complete surrender once again.

  I was not allowed to clean myself and climbed stiffly into the car afterwards. Master Gerald was well pleased with the state he found me in when he pulled into an empty lay-by, had me get out and lift my skirt.

  “Good,” he said. “That’s a man who knows how to treat a woman like you.”

  I kept it up for six long months. Betraying the secrets of my master’s business empire every week, yet somehow still managing to stay cheerful and obedient even while my conscience gnawed at me, day after day. I told myself that I was only doing it for his sake, and that somehow I would find a way out of the mess I was in.

  To make matters worse, Guy demanded the use of me regularly. I managed to disguise the marks he left by arranging it so that I saw him after I had been given to someone on an overnight stay. So I would dress hurriedly after I had been finished with, check out and drive to Northamptonshire where he had a cottage - sometimes not arriving until well after midnight. But that didn’t stop him. The main room had exposed beams and from one of them he had hung chains. As soon as I was through t
he door I was put to stripping and buckling on restraints for wrist or ankle suspension. I always managed to take the floggings which followed as the punishment I so richly deserved, but Guy always managed to add a little extra something; nipple or labia clamps or needles; something I was helpless to resist, and he always made me come despite myself. Knowing in advance that I was going to be flogged and that I was not going to enjoy it at all was a wholly new torment; and it was one Guy played on, beating me hard and long and enjoying every agonised sound I made.

  Fortunately my master was particularly busy at that time and we worked a lot at his office in the factory near the house, and he returned home tired and preoccupied, so somehow I managed to get away with just saying that I was going through a period of pretty hard use.

  But I wasn’t just passively putting up with all this. I racked my brains for a way out. Gina was obviously Guy’s weak spot - that had to be why he always had me report to that cottage rather than his house in North London. He obviously didn’t want to lose her despite her absurd possessiveness. But that was no help; if I blew the whistle on him, he would simply do the same to me and I had more to lose. But at last a desperate plan formed; I just had to silence Guy. I began to make some trips up to London and contact some old journalist friends and slowly I made progress. I was returning from one of these expeditions in high good humour, having made some arrangements and feeling better than I had done for months when I walked into the office in the house and found Gina there along with my master and Miss Dexter.

  I stood rooted to the spot. I was too late.

  My master looked ashen and suddenly older, Miss Dexter looked stunned and Gina was triumphant.

  “Tell us again,” my master told her in a dead tone.