“Please-”
“Shut up!”
“Don’t beat me, Mistress Blackheart, p... please.”
“Shut it!”
Out of Cindy’s line of vision, Ali went through to her bedroom and collected two Indian silk scarves from a drawer. Selecting a riding crop from a wall rack in her bedroom, where all kinds of whips, paddles and other paraphernalia were neatly rearranged daily by Jurgen, Ali returned to the frightened girl in the sitting room. Bunching up one of the scarves, she stuffed it in Cindy’s mouth.
“As much as I’d love to hear you scream, it’s past three in the morning and I don’t want the neighbours complaining. In time, I’ll have this whole place soundproofed, but for now we’ll have to make do and mend.”
Ali tied the other scarf across her mouth to keep it in place, then took up a position behind her. She cast her critical eyes over the swell of the small buttocks. Temptingly presented, there wasn’t a great deal of flesh on them but they formed a rather nice heart shape, with a deep, inviting valley between.
Ali’s breasts tightened. She always got turned on at the prospect of a good beating, and right now she was so turned on that it burnt her insides.
“Ok, where shall we begin?” Using the palm of her hand, Ali struck the girl’s bottom and raised both an instant patch of very satisfying red, and a muffled cry into the gag, “here or...” she slapped Cindy’s taut thigh, “here?”
Smiling at the stifled sobs that followed, Ali ran her eager fingers gently over the reddened flesh of Cindy’s buttocks as if soothing away the pain. A frisson of heat set her pussy juicing at the mere prospect of inflicting even more pain on that sweet, tender flesh as she repeated the process with Cindy’s thigh.
Standing with her legs apart, Ali tensed them for stability. Then, with lightning speed and a power to match, she brought the crop down, causing a line of fire to blaze across one cheek of Cindy’s bottom. The small amount of flesh quivered pleasingly.
Ali’s free hand sought out her own nipple. Rolling and squeezing the brown morsel of hardened flesh, she raised the crop and mentally measured the distance of her swing. She pinched her nipple harder, bit into her lip and then, with a force that drove chair and captive across the floor she struck again, this time across the other cheek.
Warming to her theme, as hard as she was able Ali squeezed and pinched her brown nipple excitedly and, before the young girl at her mercy could get her breath back, Ali had laid another vivid stripe over the first, followed in close succession by another across the other buttock.
And so it went on, strike after terrible strike that brought frenzied, stifled screams into the gag, and angry red weals to the soft, delicate skin. Hot rivers of tears cascaded down Cindy’s face, hanging like diamonds from her chin before falling to dampen the chair cushion.
“Cry all you want,” Ali told her as she found her rhythm, all the while squeezing her own nipple so much that it hurt, “but if it’s sympathy you’re after, you’re in the wrong place.”
***
It was morning before Ali returned to the playroom to check on Jurgen.
Standing in front of him with her small hands clasping a much-needed mug of coffee, she lifted it upward so that the aroma wafted towards his nose. “Tell me, how do you like the company?”
Still tethered to the wall bars, Jurgen flicked his eyes across the playroom to where the unfortunate Cindy was compelled to stand on tiptoe. Stark naked, gagged, and positioned facing him so that he had a perfect view of her small breasts and shaved pussy, her arms were stretched tautly above her head.
Shiny, metal handcuffs around her wrists were fastened to a black, metal beam that could be lowered from the ceiling by means of a pulley system. Extending from one side of the room to the other, it had been cleverly designed to be fixed in place by bolts at each end, which slotted into corresponding fixtures on the walls. Great care had gone into the design and construction of the room so that all such manoeuvres could easily be managed by Ali alone. And since she was only of average height, to make life easier there were step ladders tucked away in the corner.
Jurgen’s considerable cock jerked involuntarily. As a horny male with red hot blood rampaging through his veins, it had been bad enough, as Ali had known it would be, to hear the activities from the adjoining room last night and not be able to watch, let alone participate. But now, the proximity of the delightful Cindy made things a hundred times worse.
“Please, Mistress,” he pleaded, “don’t beat her again.”
Ali turned to admire her work. Weals of fiery red patterned the front of Cindy’s thighs in a close-knit weave, as indeed they criss-crossed the back of them. Her small, heart-shaped bottom also had a network of angry weals to improve its appearance.
Ali smiled briefly, then turned back to Jurgen with her black eyes flashing.
“Don’t be a sentimental fool! You know she deserved it. The girl was clumsy and useless. How am I ever going to get obedience from her without dishing out the discipline? You’ve seen girls beaten before at the chateau; what’s so special about this one?”
“She’s young, Mistress.”
“Of course she’s bloody young! She’s nineteen, what difference does that make? You’ve seen them when they’ve been whipped until they couldn’t stand, and still you’ve bayed for more.” She narrowed her eyes, and there was an unflattering twist to her lips as she continued, “I know, Jurgen... I know your secret!”
Jurgen’s head jerked up in response. The blood drained from his face as the reality he’d tried so hard to forget rose like a spectre to stare him in the face. The shame of what he’d once been, coupled with the humiliation of what he’d since become, was almost too much to bear. And the cold-hearted bitch knew it. He could see in her face how much she enjoyed his degradation.
“You dare to beg for mercy on her behalf! Hypocrite! You were one of the cruellest bastards alive until Chantel found and tamed you.” She raised her black brows mockingly and twisted her thin upper lip. “The famous Jurgen, adored by thousands in your homeland for your feats of strength, were as sadistic as they come. A whip-wielding master who enslaved young girls, not much older than this one, and kept them in chains. I’ve heard about ‘the wheel’.” White-hot arousal tugged at the very root of her as her mind displayed the image, “a cruel, circular device to which you’d chain your young victims, spread-eagled like spokes in a wheel, before whipping them.” Oh, if only she had the means to do the same! “Then you’d have the thing slotted between the shafts of a cart and wheeled around your grand estate for the other girls to see- until you lost your nerve. Now look at you. You’re nothing! You’re a wimp, half a man that can’t stand up to a woman half his size. The lash tamed you...” she jabbed her thumb over her shoulder, “and it’ll tame her!”
Jurgen hung his head as the heat of shame swept over him. It was true, all of it. After all this time, images of his girls still filled his head during the quiet times. If those girls could see him now, no longer a sadistic master but a humiliated slave like themselves, beaten for another’s pleasure...
He hated to be this way; to long for Ali’s words of reproach; to crave the strike of her cane on his flesh; to need her cruelty as much as he needed to breathe; to belong body and soul to Mistress Blackheart.
She took another sip of coffee.
“Poor Jurgen. You’ve been stuck there all night. I bet you’re so bloody thirsty you think your throat’s been cut!” She gave him that sneering smile. “Ask me nicely, and I might give you a sip.”
Jurgen’s fingers clenched into tight balls as the cord held his wrists fast, and he imagined it was her pretty neck that his fingers closed around. The bitch knew he was thirsty! His full lips were dry and his throat arid.
“Please, Mistress Blackheart, allow me a sip of your coffee.”
Her harsh “No!” eru
pted on a cracked laugh.
While he looked on enviously, she finished what was left of it, holding the mug in one hand while she toyed with his cock with the other. She delighted in the way it stiffened to its full potential under her ministrations. Clasping it firmly, she scraped her long fingernails tantalizingly from its base to its crown. Slowly, she circled the weeping eye in its centre before running her fingers back down to its base. Clutching his balls, she gave them a spiteful squeeze that made him yelp like a dog in distress.
“Still thirsty, Jurgen?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
With one quick flick of her wrist, she emptied the coffee grounds down the front of his magnificent chest. For a moment their eyes locked in battle - hers coal black and haughty, his clear blue and resentful. Then, slowly forced to submit, Jurgen lowered his gaze to the floor.
Tossing the empty mug over her shoulder, it smashed into several pieces as it landed on the gleaming white floorboards.
“Clean it up later,” she instructed
Gripping hold of his shoulder, which still smarted from the cigar burn, Ali raised her leg and rested her booted foot on the wall bar, beside his chunky thigh. Then, she released his shoulder and made a grab with both hands for the bars on either side of his head, hoisting up her other leg. With a foot on either side of him, she began to climb upward.
Now, with her feet either side of his head, she used the spiked heels of her boots to dig into his shoulder blades, forcing him to ease forward to try and evade the discomfort. When she was satisfied with the result, she hooked her legs over his shoulders. Easing them down his back, she sat with her musky, naked crotch pressed firmly against his neck so that her dark thatch, glistening with beads of moisture, tickled the underside of his chin.
She eased herself back a notch. With the sharp command, “lick my cunt!” she gripped the bars tightly and leaned backwards, stretching her arms tautly, before lifting herself slightly off his shoulders. She raised her hips and presented her open, moistening vagina to his mouth, crossing her legs behind his back. Her hands let go of the bars and she hung like a rag doll, supported by his shoulders.
Hungrily he fell upon her, flicking his tongue over her desire-hardened clitoris. Swirls of thrilling agitation made her body tremble, engendering a wild, fiery excitement that made her cry out.
His cock twitched as his own excitement increased. She was a bitch, a wicked witch of a bitch - and an angel - black hearted but an angel nonetheless. He thrust his tongue past her inner lips, deep into her tight depths and tasted her sweetness, like fruits in a musky coating. God how he hated her- and worshipped her- and revelled in the licentiousness of it all.
Her inner muscles clamped tightly around his thick, hot tongue, trying to milk it as she’d milk his cock. A frisson of white hot arousal built up to feverish need. She tensed. She screamed. She almost fell.
As her second devastating orgasm within hours shook her to the core, Jurgen’s hot sperm fountained across the room to form another puddle.
For a few moments they remained like that, mistress and slave locked together in a moment of understanding. Each knew their place and the invisible line that separated them remained intact.
Once she’d fully recovered and regained an upright position, still sitting on his shoulder, she worked to release his bonds.
“Clean this mess up, Jurgen, then get a couple of hours sleep. I want her -” she jerked her head toward Cindy, “fed and watered. Afterwards, clean her up and ring to have her collected. I don’t want to see her again until next week.” She looked over her shoulder and addressed Cindy coldly. “Next time, I’ll teach you what real punishment is.”
Chapter Six
“Good morning, Leigh.” Dr. Rankin flashed her a smile.
Leigh flashed a leg in return as she swivelled round in her chair to face him across the cramped office. Sitting with her back to the reception desk behind the glass partition, she treated him to her sexiest smile, like a kitten at play.
“Good morning, Terence.”
Her light, musical voice belied the anxiety behind her smile, just as the mischief that danced in her pale, grey-green eyes belied the dread in the pit of her stomach. The thought of seeing Owen this morning had given her a bad taste in the mouth. She’d even considered calling in sick, but with the other receptionist still off, there’d have been no one to mind shop. Besides, if she had taken a sickie, it would have meant that Owen had won. She’d just have to grit her teeth and get on with it.
Perhaps things might not be so bad, she thought as Terence Rankin sifted through a pile of patients’ notes; maybe there was fun to be had here this morning after all. Her lips curved into a smile of anticipation, and she ran the tip of her tongue over her front teeth. Of course, what she’d really like to run her tongue over was the shiny helmet of his cock.
Terence replaced the notes on the shelf and turned round to face her again. She sat back and opened her legs just a touch. Though barely enough to make her short skirt ride up, it was enough to bring a sparkle to his eyes and a thrill quivering through her.
“How are you this morning, Terence?” Her voice, once again like that of a younger girl as she flicked the mischief switch, was light and tinkling.
“Better for seeing you,” he laughed.
In his fifties, friendly and with a pair of gold rimmed specs perched on his hawk nose, he was probably the most considerate, kindest of the three doctors. He was married, with two grown-up children. Leigh had been at school with one of his sons, who’d suffered terribly at Ali’s hands but had always seemed to come back for more. And Leigh had had a brief fling with his other son last year, before sending him scampering back to his newly-wed wife.
Terence watched as Leigh wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. As if trying to ease a pain in her chest, using her open palm she stroked her right hand across the front of her flimsy blouse. Opening and closing her fingers, she rubbed back and forth, making sure she ‘accidentally’ caught the engorged nipple of her left breast with her little finger. The performance wasn’t lost on Terence, whose Adams apple looked as if it had stuck in his throat when he tried to swallow.
Using her other hand, Leigh stroked her inner thigh through the fabric of her skirt. She batted her eyelids a couple of times for good measure, then treated Terence to her wide-eyed look of innocence. She flicked her eyes downward, focussing on his crotch. To her joy he was clearly getting the message. How on earth was he going to hide that bulge from his patients? she thought wickedly.
The idea of a shocked patient excited her even more, and the devil in her prompted her to prolong his agony. She gave a wistful sigh, then opened her lips and made a show of running the tip of her tongue back and forth over her top lip. Her breasts tightened beneath her blouse, and that made her nipples stiffen even more.
Delighting in the sweet sensations of arousal that fluttered through her, it gave her a real buzz to see Terence fidget with the collar of his shirt as he tried to keep from giving in to his very apparent needs. He wanted her, just as he’d done since she’d first come to work at the practice. And she wanted him, but only as long as he was off-limits.
Terence cleared his throat. “It’s nearly nine o’clock. You’d better open the gates to the hordes. Don’t forget that Dr. Proudfoot’s gone to a conference in Blackpool.”
“Ok, Doctor.”
How could she, since she was the one who’d waved him off at 6.30 that morning?
“By the way,” Terence’s hand moved surreptitiously to the front of his trousers as he endeavoured to rearrange himself more comfortably, “Owen rang me to say he’s going to be a bit late this morning.” Lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, he winked as he added “a bit of domestic trouble.”
“Oh, right,” she said, noncommittally, thanking God for small mercies.
She pushed back
her chair and eased herself to her feet, watching as Terence made for the safety of his consulting room at the far end of the corridor. Giggling, she called after him.
“The other receptionist is still off sick - there’s only you and me here. Who knows what mischief we could get up to?”
“Quite. Open the doors, Leigh.”
Still giggling, she walked across to the front entrance and stooped down to undo the bolt at the bottom of the door. Straightening up, she silently lamented the fact that Owen would be in at all, and ruin any chance she had of slipping into Terence’s consulting room after surgery. From the look of his bulge, it was her guess that he had a pretty good piece of equipment tucked away.
Reaching upward, she drew down the second bolt. She swung the door open and stood aside to let the first of the patients inside.
“Ali!”
***
Nina Brand looked down at her husband with an accusatory gaze. She didn’t hate him, nor did she love him. She wasn’t sure when it had happened, but love had moved out at some point during their marriage and had been replaced by a nondescript feeling that had left her dead inside. So she was surprised at the sudden depth of feeling his latest infidelity had inflicted upon her. It shouldn’t matter, not now that she had... she smiled inwardly... interests of her own. But it did matter, and she wanted him to pay.
She didn’t know how she knew there was someone new on the scene, she just did. It was a kind of sixth sense, she guessed, that she’d honed to perfection. It was this sense that had first set off the alarm the other day, when she’d met Owen after morning surgery.
She rarely met with her husband socially. Other than the necessary, periodical rounds of bank managers, solicitors and other officials, they were seldom seen together in public, except for some evening engagement for which Owen needed the extra appendage of a dutiful wife.
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