Brought to Heel

by Brought to Heel [Nexus] (retail) (epub)

  A harsh grunt of arousal.

  ‘There is one more thing I wish to mention, Graham, before I permit you to commence masturbating as I prescribed.’

  ‘Yes, Doctor. Anything you say.’

  ‘When you come, I give you my permission, just this once, to whisper my name.’

  Annette listened intently, the phone hot against her ear. Down the line, she heard the frenzied breathing as her tele-slave gripped his cock and pumped savagely. She broke into the silence briefly, to remind him of the soft weight of her heavy peach-cheeks burying his upturned face. She described the feral tang of her acrid cleft as he tongued it devotedly – and warned him severely not to succumb to the temptation of probing her anal whorl with his tongue-tip.

  As he approached his gathering climax, Annette spoke briefly. Her tone was crisp and cruel. ‘Whisper my name, Graham, as you come.’

  She held her breath. He gasped, took a lungful of air and then groaned long and loud. Annette could picture the squirting jet of his sweet agony. Then, straining, she heard the two words – whispered in a smothered frenzy – she had calculated for.

  ‘Doctor Jane.’

  Annette let the phone slip from her trembling fingers. The whispered words had sounded exactly as they had the other night. The other night, in bed. In bed with Tom. When he had come.

  ‘Anything?’ Annette smeared blackcurrant jam on her unbuttered toast. She hoped her voice sounded natural. Natural and calm. She took refuge in her toast, biting into it.

  ‘Just the usual. Nothing much,’ Tom replied, tossing down the post by the coffee pot.

  ‘No bills?’ Annette countered, managing a forced laugh.

  ‘Nope,’ Tom shrugged, pouring himself another coffee.

  ‘Thought the phone bill was due. Need it to make out my expenses. Selling ad space on cold calls doesn’t come cheap.’

  ‘Mm? Paid it Monday,’ Tom murmured, burying himself in a software catalogue.

  Bastard, Annette thought. Still, she could always request a copy. Later, when he’d gone out. Then, when it arrived, she’d secretly check through the itemised billing. She had to know, had to be sure. Had to snuff out that tiny little spark of doubt glowing deep down in her brain.

  The copy of the phone bill came three days later. Nothing. Her tele-bitch line number did not appear in the printout.

  He’s got a bloody mobile. The bastard rings out on a mobile. And he gets so excited he doesn’t know it’s me on the other end.

  She hunted around the flat and found the mobile in a shoe box at the bottom of his wardrobe. But when she thumbed the small green button, the memory display did not feature her dial-a-dominatrix number. Still no proof positive. Nothing else in the shoe box or buried deeper down in the darkness of the wardrobe. No magazines, depicting bound, naked men kneeling to kiss the crop that had just whipped their defenceless buttocks. No men, wrists tightly handcuffed at their belly, scrabbling to protect their erections as cruel, leather-clad vixens tormented their balls with bulldog clips.

  Nothing at all to betray his desire for dominance and discipline. Was she imagining it all? She had to know.

  Four days later, her slave was once more hooked on the end of her line. Speaking crisply into the phone, Annette was being deliberately stern.

  ‘No. My decision is final. Graham and Doctor Jane are over. I will dictate the new game. The rules, the place and the players. I will be the Right Honourable Pamela Cashcallan. You are my gardener’s boy. Not head gardener. Merely the gardener’s boy. Understand?’

  ‘Yes, Lady Pamela.’

  ‘You will address me as milady.’

  ‘Yes, milady.’

  ‘And your name is –’

  Annette paused. Dare she?

  ‘Yes, mistress?’

  ‘Address me as milady.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘It is very important that you address me correctly, Tom.’

  She heard the short gasp.

  ‘We are in the summerhouse. The climbing tea roses have not been pruned. Why have they not been pruned, Tom?’

  ‘Sorry, milady. I must have forgot to –’

  ‘Then I must give you a sharp reminder, mustn’t I, Tom?’

  ‘Yes, milady.’

  ‘I will make a note of your omission in my pocket book. I write down the offence, Tom, and the punishment I propose to administer. We walk towards the greenhouse. You keep four respectful paces behind, cap in hand.’

  ‘Yes, milady.’

  ‘In the greenhouse, I inspect my peaches. You say that you sprayed them for blight on Saint David’s day. It is now June. A hot summer’s day in June. I can detect signs of blight spotting the budding fruit. See how I cup the small, swollen flesh in the palm of my gloved hand. Well, Tom?’

  ‘Milady?’

  ‘Did you or did you not spray my peaches as I instructed?’

  Silence.

  ‘Do not try to attempt to shroud your errors by concealing them in lies, Tom. Speak up. Did you or did you not spray my peaches?’

  ‘I – I think so, milady.’

  ‘I am not the least interested in what you think, Tom. I am only prepared to entertain certainties. And now I am going to punish you.’

  An excited intake of breath.

  ‘There are to be two punishments. Never let it be said that the Cashcallans are mean-spirited or anything less than generous in all we undertake.’

  ‘Most generous, milady.’

  ‘Firstly, Tom, as you failed me most miserably with my peaches, I propose to use the syringe on you. It will be an experience I trust you will never forget. Especially next Saint David’s day, when I hope you will do your duty.’

  ‘I promise to remember, milady.’

  ‘After the painful syringe, you must of course be thrashed –’

  ‘Oh, yes, milady. Yes, please.’

  Annette took a deep breath. She had to be very careful in her attempt to land her catch. Jerk the rod too harshly and she would fail to net him. She had to play her line with consummate skill, she knew, if she hoped to reel him in.

  ‘Are you bending over, Tom? Touching your toes?’

  ‘Yes, milady.’

  ‘And your moleskin trousers. They are unbuckled and around your boots?’

  ‘As you instructed, milady.’

  ‘It is so hot in here, isn’t it? The sun is high in a cloudless sky. Here in the greenhouse, insects buzz. The moist heat is almost overwhelming. See the silver water sparkling from the tap, Tom?’

  ‘Yes, milady. My mouth is parched.’

  ‘But I sternly forbid you to drink, understand. Can you feel the heat, Tom?’

  ‘Yes, milady. My shirt is wet and sticks to me.’

  ‘Keep touching your toes, Tom, even though the sweat trickling into your eyes scalds them. Understand?’

  ‘I will obey.’

  ‘You will remain in that position, bare-bottomed and bending, while I prepare the syringe. I am going to fill it with ice-cold water from the tap. Remain exactly as you are, Tom. I will return.’

  Annette put the phone down softly, stole to her door, opened it and silently trod the carpet across to their bedroom door. The door was closed. Damn. She could not risk opening it, just a fraction even, to see if her partner was bending over as instructed by his tele-dominatrix. She returned to her room, picked up the phone.

  ‘I want to hear you whimpering, Tom. Whimpering with fearful dread at the thought of my gloved hands guiding the brass nozzle of the syringe in between your buttocks. Understand?’

  ‘Yes, milady.’

  ‘Do not disappoint me, Tom. I want to hear your fear.’

  Back at the bedroom door, she knelt and listened. Tom was whining like a whipped cur. She plucked at her pussy, the labia opening its sticky lips in response. She listened as her partner whined to order – just as she had made him come on command. Rising, and sweetly dizzy as she relished the dark delights of true domination, Annette paused, her fingers at her hot pussy. No. Not now. S
he had to return to the phone. There, as the Right Honourable Pamela Cashcallan, she would be able to indulge her every whim. Including the urgent heat at her weeping quim.

  ‘No, keep still. Don’t flinch. First you will feel the cold brass spout between your hot cheeks. Do not be alarmed. It is dribbling water, that is all, Tom. There. It is now inside your bottom.’

  A soft grunt.

  ‘Now, as I plunge the syringe, the icy water surges deep inside you, swelling you painfully. But it is no more than you deserve, is it, Tom?’

  ‘It is a fitting punishment, milady. Hurt me, please, humiliate me –’

  ‘Stop that. I can see what you are doing with your hands. Keep them stretched down at the toes of your boots.’

  ‘Sorry, milady.’

  ‘What fine buttocks you have, Tom. I am quite familiar with them, of course, having had occasion to redden them frequently. Haven’t I?’

  His answer came in an excited whisper.

  ‘I thought I told you to keep your hands away from your thickening manhood, Tom. You are a disobedient, wicked wretch. My cane is eager to stripe your disobedient bottom.’

  A smothered moan of sweet sorrow.

  ‘There. I’ve emptied the syringe into you. Squeeze your cheeks together, Tom, and don’t you dare spill a single drop. I am going out into the garden, now. We will not be disturbed. We are quite alone. All the servants and stablemen are taking tea up at the castle. I have you all to myself.’

  ‘Don’t go, please, milady.’

  ‘I shall return, of that you may be certain. You will hear the crunch of my boots upon the cinder path as I return from the raspberry bushes, gripping a bamboo cane freshly plucked from the dark, warm loam. The cane is for your bottom, Tom. A dozen strokes. Perhaps two dozen. But remember this. During your punishment, if you relax your cheeks the merest fraction, the water will spill. And for every drop you spill, my cane will extract hot tears from your sorrowful eyes. Understand?’

  ‘Yes, milady.’

  ‘And when my cane is quiet, I will prise your cheeks apart and watch the silver water gush from your dark hole –’

  ‘Yes, please, oh, please –’

  ‘Then, Tom, I will take you in hand. In my softly gloved hand.’

  She cooked risotto, substituting squid ink for the chicken stock, and added stir-fried chunks of monkfish. They had enjoyed it together in Naples, where she had first met Tom. She chilled a dryish, mellow Soave and spooned extra strawberry ice cream on top of his sticky chocolate pudding. Over coffee, they talked, soft-voiced and unhurried.

  He rose, gathering up the dishes. ‘I’ll do these if you have to go and sell your ads.’

  ‘No. Not tonight. I’m for bed. Sod them,’ Annette smiled.

  Tom piled everything into the sink and followed her into their bedroom.

  ‘Would you mind undressing me?’ Annette murmured. ‘I’m a little tired.’

  He was willing to oblige. His fingers fumbled with the tiny buttons on her blouse.

  ‘Be careful,’ she rasped, a waspish sting in her sharp rebuke.

  ‘Sorry,’ he mumbled.

  He removed her bra and bent down to kiss her gently bobbing breasts, his mouth eager for her nipples. She held up her firm palm.

  ‘No. You may not kiss me yet. Not until I give you permission.’

  He was delighted. ‘When will I earn that?’ he whispered.

  ‘Not until you have undressed me properly. And I mean properly. To my complete and utter satisfaction.’

  He dropped down to his knees. She felt his hot, excited breath on her belly. She sensed the yearning of his impatient lips and tongue as they burned to pay homage to her bosom.

  ‘I’m waiting.’

  Tom’s eager fingers unzipped her skirt. Feverish, trembling hands palmed it down over her thighs. Naked now, except for lacy black panties that stretched provocatively across her cheeks and pubic swell, she planted her thighs dominantly apart, drawing her hands to her hips. He tried to steal a kiss, his lips brushing the pubic nest trapped beneath the taut black lace. She checked him, taloning his hair – gently, teasingly and then with a controlling dominance. Twisting around, she presented her pantied bottom to his adoring gaze. She released the fierce grip on his hair.

  ‘Take my panties down. Using your teeth only. Then, you may dress me.’

  ‘Dress you?’ he whispered thickly, the lace panties muffling his words.

  ‘Are you always this stupid, repeating everything I say?’

  Tom shivered with pleasure as she scolded him.

  ‘Just get those panties down.’

  Slave. She almost said it. It remained hovering in the air between the almost-naked woman, standing in triumph over the kneeling man. Unspoken, but understood. Tom bowed down briefly, elbows angled sharply, and fleetingly kissed both of her small feet. Back at her soft buttocks, he buried his upturned face into their warmth, silently mouthing his adoration, then obediently tugged the lace panties down, using his clenched teeth as instructed.

  He waited as she stepped out of them, his face pressed into the carpet. He sighed deeply as she planted her left foot down on to his head, crushing him dominantly.

  ‘I do not recall giving you permission to kiss or tenderly bite my bottom.’

  ‘I – I’m sorry,’ he gasped, thrilling to her cruel voice.

  ‘If you wish to pleasure me, obey me.’

  ‘Yes –’

  ‘If you wish to serve –’

  ‘Yes, yes. That’s it. I wish to serve my –’

  ‘Mistress. How very well matched we are, after all, for I desire to be served. And every dominant must have her slave. Mustn’t she?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She kept her knowledge of his wants and needs a secret. Keeping it a secret added to the power she enjoyed over him. She decided never to reveal to Tom that it had been her he had been worshipping over the phone. Let him live with that little delusion, she reasoned. After all, as they slowly explored their newly discovered world of mistress and slave, she would tighten the net of domination around him until she had him utterly in her thrall.

  ‘Now you may dress me. Go to the second drawer. No,’ she barked harshly, ‘stay down on your knees as you serve me. Take out the bundle of white tissue paper and bring it back, placing it down at my feet.’

  Shuffling uncomfortably, burning his knees on the carpet, he obeyed the command. Gently fingering the folds of soft tissue apart, he gasped aloud.

  ‘Before you put it on, I will allow you a brief glimpse of that which you desire.’

  Annette presented her pussy to Tom, thumbing her outer labia apart to reveal the glistening pink within.

  ‘Look. You may not touch or taste. Not until I say so.’

  He gazed longingly.

  ‘I know you want to kiss me there, don’t you, Tom?’

  He nodded frantically.

  ‘And suck and serve me with your tongue.’

  He whimpered frantically.

  ‘Put the apron on. Tie it gently.’

  His fingers scrabbled and plucked up the red leather apron. Crushing his face down into it, he sniffed the delicious hide.

  Annette snapped her fingers. ‘Put it on at once.’

  Tom, still dressed, groaned as his erection raked his bulging trousers. He brought the soft leather apron up to her waist, and tied the supple tapes carefully.

  Annette slid her fingertips beneath the soft leather scantily covering her pussy. The red hide rippled as she strummed herself firmly. Tom fisted the carpet at her feet in a paroxysm of frustration.

  ‘When I have come, and juiced the red leather, making you watch as I alone drown in the sweet agony of orgasm, I am going to take your trousers down, Tom –’

  ‘Yes, yes –’

  ‘And slowly whip your bottom –’

  ‘Oh, please –’

  ‘Until it is as red as my little leather apron.’

  He prostrated himself before her, moaning.

  ‘If y
ou are a very good slave, and take your whipping well, I will drape my apron across your hot, punished bottom, sticky side kissing your skin.’

  Tom grunted, squirming on the carpet at her feet. She gazed down, her eyes narrowing, as his hips jerked. He was coming, right there before her.

  ‘How dare you come before your mistress gives you permission?’ she snarled, rolling him over with her foot. She prodded the spreading stain at his bulging crotch with five contemptuously curled toes. ‘Now you’re really going to feel my wrath.’

  Unfastening her red leather apron, she smothered his face, slit-sticky hide inwards, tying it tightly. Dragging him to, and then across, their bed, she bared his bottom and raised her flattened palm aloft.

  ‘Suffer the displeasure of your mistress, slave.’

  Her domination of him was complete. She spanked him repeatedly with her punishing palm for almost a quarter of an hour. For the very first time since being together, they came together.

  His computer screen slowly clouded with the dust of disuse. Software catalogues found their way to the kitchen swing-bin unread. Annette worked days, selling insurance. She didn’t use the spare room after supper for her ‘work’ any more. But she often went in there, just before bedtime. Tom, sitting on their bed next door, would grip the mobile in his hot hand as they played the erotic games Annette allowed him to think he had introduced her to. That he had invented.

  ‘But I didn’t mean to –’

  ‘Silence. You have sorely displeased your mistress, slave. Stupid, snivelling slave.’

  ‘I’m sorry, mistress –’

  ‘You will be. I am going to put the phone down in a moment. Then I am going to come into that room and teach you. Teach you a painful lesson. A very painful lesson. A lesson you will never forget.’

  A whimper of arousal, of delicious dread.

  ‘Tonight, in my shiny black basque, I am going to put you into harness. Bound and helpless in my thrall –’

  ‘Bound and helpless,’ he whispered softly.

  ‘Unable to move an inch in the tight restraints. Gagged, to silence you as you plead for mercy –’

  ‘Gagged,’ he echoed, shuddering with pleasure.

  ‘Then, at my mercy, your bottom will taste leather and suffer the sweetness of my lash –’