Tighter and ever tighter became the basque, constricting her waist and deforming her inner organs. The slave felt her breathing become shallow and her beleaguered innards pressed down to create stress in her sex. She felt as if she might burst. She felt as if she could climax at any second. And yet still, she tightened, and tightened… her core aching for contact with every tug. Another orgasm drew close, teasing her flesh, then quickly bloomed.
While she stood, still shaking and wet from her pleasure, she attached long black suspenders to the lower edge of the corset and then slid sheer black stockings up her smooth, waxed legs. The last preparations were another pair of high-heeled shoes and the silver-and-onyx clips, as specified.
The slave hissed between her teeth as she tightened the clamps. Her nipples were in torment, and the tips were first squashed then dragged on by the heavy, weighted chunks of onyx. But it was her master’s will, and the dark pain had a strange yet familiar allure…
When she was presented to her master again, he smiled narrowly but otherwise appeared to barely even look at her. He instructed her to stand beside his desk as he worked, leafing through papers, referring to notes, and occasionally tapping at the keyboard of his laptop, which was set to one side. Despite the fact his attention seemed elsewhere, the slave was acutely aware of the way her breasts and belly bulged because of the constriction around her waist, and she was pretty sure her master was fully aware of it too. Her bottom felt twice its normal size, and the remaining tenderness from her switching seemed to pulse in time to the thrumming of her blood in her veins.
She’d been instructed to look straight ahead and stare at nothing, but she could not resist studying her master. He went about his work silently, in total absorption, his reading glasses giving him a delightfully donnish allure. He studied documents and tomes of research, glancing to and from at his laptop screen, and occasionally making jottings. The slave was bewitched by the way his elegant, thinfingered hands held the barrel of his silver pen. His grip was light, yet controlled, and the nib skimmed across the paper. She imagined his grip on a cane or a whip, just as graceful, just as efficient.
For about an hour, her master attended to his paperwork, and during that time the slave’s nerves were stretched and stretched. Today’s game was that she was just a thing to him, a living accessory, attractive flesh that he could dispose of as he so wished. The thought of being his, totally his, excited her. She became so agitated that she rubbed her legs together in a vain attempt to stimulate her aching sex.
Just as she was beginning to feel a slight tremor of pleasure, her master looked up from his papers. He said nothing, but his eyes were gently reproving, cool yet distinctly playful. The slave shuddered once, then fell still, hiding a small triumph. He liked to project this chilly disciplinarian act, and he was mostly superb at it, but sometimes he slipped a little. He was human.
Maintaining his silence, her master pushed his chair back and rose from his seat. Taking her by the arm, he led her to the prie dieu, the very one they’d chosen together as a special shared indulgence. It stood in the corner of the room, and by means of a series of cool, controlled gestures, he bade her lean over it and offer up to him her bare rump.
The slave heard a drawer in the desk being opened, and then there was a long pause while, presumably, he selected an implement with which to punish her. After what felt like a minute, the drawer was quietly slid shut again.
“I’m going to beat you now,” he said quietly. “I’m going to give you ten strokes with this strap, and I want you to remain silent throughout.” He lapsed into musing thoughtfulness for a moment, then continued, “I shall be pleased with you if you can keep quiet. Very pleased. But if you cry out, I may have to send you home.”
The slave clenched every muscle in her body and braced herself. She wouldn’t give in; she wouldn’t make a single sound.
The pain of the first blow was excruciating. Squeezing her fingers into fists, the slave fought the wild urge to scream. For the next stripe, she clapped her hand across her mouth, churning her bottom in an attempt to dull the suffering, but at the third, she was forced to gasp out loud.
“Have a care,” murmured her master, then he went on to apply the remaining strokes.
The slave managed to stifle her groans, but when it was over, she wasn’t sure how she’d achieved this. Her bottom was pounding, glowing, pulsating, each marking from the strap a band of fire.
“Stand up,” ordered her master quietly, then he waited while she staggered to her feet, her knees threatening to buckle at any second.
“Turn around. Kneel before me. Open your mouth.”
When she obeyed, swaying, he unfastened his trousers and pushed his penis between her lips, then thrust roughly until he ejaculated down her throat. The slave swallowed every drop of his thick, salty fluid.
“And now, the final test,” he said as he covered himself again. “We’re going for a drive. Go upstairs and put your coat on.” His voice was curt and tight, as if he were controlling himself stringently. The slave knew better than to linger and almost staggered from the room, her bottom flaming and the taste of his semen on her tongue.
Before he put her into his car, he gagged her, slipping a black rubber sphere into her mouth and fastening it there with narrow straps behind her head. When that was in place, he covered her hair and her face with a loose leather hood, plunging her into darkness as he carefully adjusted its fit, making sure the breathing holes were aligned with her nostrils.
“There, that’ll make things easier for you,” he said and she wondered exactly in what sense he meant “easy.” What was easy and what was hard in these games might have puzzled an outsider, and sometimes she wasn’t quite sure of their definitions herself. But with her hood in place, he helped her into the spacious back seat. Instead of sitting beside her, he took the chauffeur’s usual place behind the wheel, then put the car into gear and set it rolling.
They drove for some time, her master not speaking and she, because of the gag, unable to. The night was windy, and she could hear the lashing of the trees on either side of the road. It reminded her of the stormy drama of being whipped.
Will I be beaten again tonight? Surreptitiously she fingered the stripes and soreness of the last beating and wriggled her bare bottom on the leather of the seat, making the heat from that previous punishment flare. She wanted desperately to reach beneath her coat and stroke her sex, but she sensed that, like his chauffeur before him, her master would be monitoring her, his eyes scanning the rearview mirror from time to time.
They drove for a little while, cruising along familiar country lanes, she sensed, although in what direction she had no idea. Her master parked the car, and then with a firm, guiding hand on her elbow, he led her forward. They paused after a moment, and she sensed a gate being opened before he ushered her along a gravel path. Blind, she stumbled on her high heels, but he caught her easily in his arms and supported her before urging her forward again.
“Here we are,” he said softly, and she sensed an enclosure of some kind. Roofed, perhaps, but open at the front. She imagined a park shelter, perhaps, or a summerhouse or gazebo. Despite the roof, the feeling was of being exposed, on show, exhibited. Any passerby might see her and wonder at her hooded state.
“Remove your coat,” her master instructed, swirling the garment away as she shed it.
Half-naked and shivering, the slave allowed herself to be bound. Her wrists were fastened securely together in a pair of cuffs and then attached to a hook that seemed to have been screwed into the wall, quite high up. There was play in the chain that connected the cuffs, but not much. Next, her ankles too were secured, strapped into cuffs attached to separate hooks, spread apart, close to floor level. Were these features something new the master had arranged to be added to this unknown structure? Or had they always been part of the gazebo’s fittings? Either way, it was positioned so she was stretched and couldn’t move. Wearing only her tight corset and her stockings, her we
ll-whipped bottom in particular was totally vulnerable, and she gasped behind her gag in apprehension.
“I’m going to leave you now,” said her master. “But first…”
With his lips pressed against her bare throat, the slave felt him touch her weeping sex from behind. He caressed her swollen folds perfunctorily, then without warning thrust a finger into her vagina. When she squirmed, he smacked her defenseless bottom. One, two, three fierce spanks, and then, just as suddenly as he’d kissed and spanked her, he was gone, his footsteps echoing crisply on the gravel.
The slave had been apprehensive before, but now her every nerve jittered. She was helpless. She was blind, almost nude, and completely unprotected. Anyone could come into the park or wherever she was, and anyone could touch her. They could examine her, or play with her, or worse. She was so exposed and available that she felt her sex flutter, roused to readiness and to openness by her plight. She was anybody’s now; her master had abandoned her. He’d made a gift of her to whomever wandered by.
Will someone come?
She trembled, imagining strangers reaching for her, groping her, defiling her. What if some man out for a late-night walk was to see her vividly striped bottom and decide to add to its heat? What was another spanking to add to her redness and her pain? Her silky juice ran down her thighs just at the thought.
The slave’s sojourn in the gazebo was tense and unrestful. The day had been long and full of intense sensations, yet even though she’d slept in bondage before, she was too uncomfortable and too excited to doze now. Time passed strangely, and it could have been hours or even a scant few minutes before she heard first footsteps, then heavy breathing, close by her. There was another long moment while she stood there with her heart pounding so hard she was convinced she could hear it thud, thud, thudding in the night air, and then strong hands settled upon her, careful and warm.
Fingers that felt elegant and narrow rested against her skin and then began an exploration of her hot, naked bottom. The squeezing and pinching was painful and deliciously insulting, rousing her desire. When she was gasping behind her gag, a hand slid around her front and fingertips dove crudely between her legs, working her with rough, turbulent strokes, just the way she liked it. In moments, she climaxed heavily, but her unknown caresser spoke not a word throughout this process. He could have been anybody, a handsome, desirable lover or some thug or lowlife who’d just wandered by… But his cologne was distinctive and familiar, and she’d smelt its spicy citrus tang recently.
Was it her master who’d sent his chauffeur to touch her and use her, or had the servant simply come of his own volition? She hardly had time to wonder before the hand that had given pleasure landed stingingly against her bottom, spanking hard.
The strikes were unremitting. Again and again they landed, turning preexisting heat into a raging inferno and making her squirm and struggle and rock in her bonds, uncouth noises issuing helplessly from behind the gag in her mouth.
And yet still the punishment stirred her. Her sex screamed silently for more contact, the imagined, phantom sound louder in her head than any real cries of pain and anguish would have been if she could have uttered them. Even when the blows ceased, her body twisted and turned of its own volition, filled with a mad energy, trying to dissipate the fierce sensations even while she relished them.
“Be still!” The voice was low, gruff, barely more than a growl. The hands that had been both gentle and cruel slid over her body, swooping down, and in quick, deft actions, her unseen companion freed her ankles. A moment later she was turned and forced back against the unyielding wall. Then, even as she groaned at the wall’s hardness against her boiling bottom, she felt her assailant fall to his knees again and press his face between her thighs. He parted her bare labia with his fingers, then plunged at her clitoris with his tongue, alternating long, velvety licks with fierce suction, pulling hard on the sensitive little organ.
Again she soared, and again. New delicious orgasms—one, two, three… more. He was as ruthless in conferring them as he had been while beating her. He consumed her. He exalted her. He annihilated her.
Then, sagging in her bonds, not really sure whether she was still coming or just dreaming that she was coming, she heard the sound of a zipper, the sticky tussle of fingers and stiff flesh… and then a gasping shout of pleasure, not her gag-muffled outpourings this time, but a clear and telling cry from his lips.
A most familiar cry too, as semen spattered across her belly and her thighs.
*** *** ***
The room was warm and cozy, and Mary-Anne felt supremely pampered and comfortable, even though she did have to lie naked on her belly on the crisp cotton sheets. Her bottom simmered quietly now, not really painful any more, just deliciously and glowingly hot still.
After he’d climaxed over her, her master—her beloved Benedict—had half staggered away from her and sat on the garden bench for a few moments, getting his breath back and regaining his composure. And then he’d returned to release her, folding her lovingly in his arms so she didn’t collapse.
“You’re magnificent,” he’d whispered as he so often did, helping her into her trench coat again, even though it was but a few steps up the back garden path and into the house.
Squirming against the mattress now, although not with pain, Mary-Anne grinned to herself. All that driving about… they’d doubled back along the country lanes around the periphery of Little Marplethorpe and returned to exactly the place from where they’d started. The scary gazebo of dangerous exposure was actually tucked away in the secluded rear garden of Benedict’s small but luxurious country getaway.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs and the landing, and as Mary-Anne twisted around to greet him, her master appeared in the bedroom doorway. Handsome, smiling, and completely and marvelously naked, he was carrying a silver tray, bearing Moët on ice and a pair of elegant, exquisitely cut vintage champagne flutes.
“How are you feeling, sweetheart,” he asked, setting down his burden on the adjacent sideboard and then perching on the bed beside her. “Do you want some more ointment on your bottom?”
“No… it’s fine, thanks. I’d love some of that fizz, though.”
Barely noticing any discomfort at all, she twisted on her side to share their celebratory toast.
“You’re magnificent,” her lover repeated, a soft smile lighting his narrow, beautiful face. “I really don’t think I can say that often enough, love.” His attention settled on a small item on the bedside table, and the smile broadened. “Do you want me to wear it again for you? I will, if you fancy me in it.” He lifted up the small, dark, carefully crafted false moustache and held it against his upper lip.
“Oh, I think I fancy you just as you are for the moment.” Mary-Anne glanced down at his penis, which was starting to rise again, stirred no doubt by the reddened curves of her bottom. “But maybe we could play another scene soon that requires you… er… in disguise? Your fantasy this time… Something from the backlist… or maybe something new?”
He’d done it all so cleverly. Hiring the limo, intercepting her at the station, playing his roles to perfection. He was her master, but although he was an excellent driver, he wasn’t usually a uniformed chauffeur.
“I’d like that,” he said quietly, and when she’d drained her glass, he took it from her and lay down beside her on the bed, looking into her eyes as he faced her. Resting his hand on the curve of her waist, he went on, “I love you… you do know that, don’t you? Whether we play games based on our stories or whether we don’t, I feel the same.”
“Me too,” said Mary-Anne, her heart swelling with happiness as she leant forward to kiss him. “Me too.”
Benedict’s pale, intense eyes grew serious for a moment, lambent yet also somehow slightly nervous. Which was so not like him at all.
“There is one scenario I have in mind, sooner or later, if you’re amenable. A new one, not yet written…” Leaning in close, he whispered in her ear, describing it.
Mary-Anne’s heart pounded even harder than it had in the gazebo or during any part of the fantasy adventure they’d just enjoyed. “But… that’s a bit elaborate, isn’t it? I mean… it’s just a story this time, isn’t it? We’d need a cast of dozens for that one, wouldn’t we, to make it seem real.”
“Not a cast, my love, just wedding guests and a vicar…” He hesitated, serious again, but with hope in his eyes. “And it wouldn’t have to seem real because it would be real. Will you marry me, Mary-Anne?”
She didn’t hesitate. She couldn’t wait. It was everything she wanted, the final perfect jewel in their relationship.
“Oh, hell yes. Of course I’ll marry you! I love you, Benedict.”
He inclined forward and kissed her softly.
“Very well, then, I’ll have to devise a plan again, won’t I?” His pale eyes glittered, bright and happy. Mischievous now.
“Please do… the sooner the better.”
He laughed, a familiar thrilling huskiness coloring the sound. “Are you trying to order me around, sweetheart?” He was trying for stern, but somehow it didn’t quite come out that way this time. “You know what will happen if you do that, don’t you?”
I do… Oh, how I do…
She held his gaze and then half sat up, pushing hard on his shoulders and making him fall back on the pillows. This wasn’t the time to hide her grin of triumph. She beamed at him as she swung her leg across his body, ready to ride him.
Another Appointment Page 2
