“While you are here, you will call me Lady Morgana. Is that understood?” she said with unwavering severity.
“Yes... Lady Morgana,” replied Samantha with an abashed whisper.
“While you are here, you are my slave. You are my property. I can do whatever I wish with you and you will accept it and enjoy it. If I wish to punish you for my own amusement, then you shall welcome that punishment,” she said.
Morgana started to continue with the more pleasant methods of stimulating Samantha. Morgana was deliberately making her utterly amiable to whatever she wanted.
“As you wish, Lady Morgana,” uttered Samantha.
Her nipples were being stroked with swirls of an open palm and gentle kisses touched her neck. Even if she disagreed with what Morgana was saying, she was not sure she could voice any dissent.
“I own you, slave,” she said softly, then began to run her tongue upon her possession.
“Yes, Lady Morgana,” murmured Samantha.
Each word was as much a source of stimulation as the physical play. The woman was saying everything that Samantha longed to hear.
“You like being owned don’t you, slave?”
“Only by you, Lady Morgana,” she said.
The exquisite ecstasy loosened Samantha’s tongue to a degree where her truthful words fell free without any consideration or distortion. Her mind just did not have time to warp them or process them before they escaped.
“Maybe I should steal you away. Keep you all for myself,” she said with a seductive coyness.
Samantha surged and mewled as the crotch rope was taken and steered with minute pulls. The soft woven length ploughed between her lips and the knot dragged against her clit.
“But you’d probably miss all those hot throbbing cocks in you,” Morgana uttered with soft accusation.
“I wouldn’t, Lady Morgana!” snapped Samantha.
Her wish to prove to her prospective owner just how much she reviled her life and profession was paramount. The intoxication of the session was making it hard to properly articulate it, but she had to convince Lady Morgana without a shadow of a doubt that she would give up everything in her life, and do so without hesitation for a chance to truly be hers.
“Since when did you change sides?” she whispered.
The steady use of the crotch rope continued and Morgana’s spare hand rose up. She dragged gentle nails across the fields of skin and rope before cupping Samantha’s chin.
“Since I met you, Lady Morgana,” she answered.
Morgana’s fingers touched her lips and petitioned entry with a slight push. Samantha opened her mouth and devoured the digits. Locking her lips to them, she curled her tongue upon them and sucked with licentious glee.
“So now you’re a little gay whore, huh? Ready to eat any bitch who stuffs some dollars into your hand,” she said then drew the fingers out. Moistened by Samantha’s saliva they reached down and began to join the rope in the teasing of Samantha’s loins.
“No, Lady Morgana!” exclaimed Samantha. The words jumped in volume as she felt a fingertip glide against her roused and engorged clit.
“Well, you’ve got to be something? You aren’t into men. You’re unwilling to take women. So what’s it to be, slave? Chastity? A life of abstinence like some fucking nun? Hurry up and let me know because I’ll have this hot pussy contained in steel before the day is out. Maybe seal you up in a dense rubber habit. Keep these hands bound. Hobble you. Keep you gagged for life so you can’t speak or even cry out as you endure a penance of bondage, suspension, and the lash. Is that what you want? Or is there something else you want from me?”
“I... it...” she stammered.
Samantha was finding it hard to concentrate or form cognitive sentences with so much pleasure and excitement raging through her system. Samantha believed that she was designed for misery and tears, not this sort of loving ownership. Her psyche was unable to handle it. She felt like she was drowning in a sea of bliss, and if it were to occur, she would have welcomed an escape into such easy oblivion with open arms. Morgana was just simply asking too much of her.
“I only want you. If I can’t, then I don’t want anything.”
The hand operating the crotch rope jumped back and generated swift applause on Samantha’s rear. For a moment, Samantha was scared that she had offended Morgana with such a declaration of absolute devotion.
“Lady Morgana,” corrected the woman.
“Lady Morgana,” uttered Samantha as the dull heat in her rear added further fuel to her burning libido.
“If you became mine you’d be my slave, my property, you’d have no rights, you’d do as you were told all the time,” said the woman.
Her tone was now deadly serious. Morgana was no longer seductively playing, no longer offering material for imagination and onanism. Samantha knew then that Morgana was speaking the truth. This was about to become something other than mere fantasy play between a prostitute and a client. Morgana was offering her true ownership. It would not be for a few hours, a weekend, even a week, month, or year. It would last forever. Morgana would enslave her and keep her, do anything that she wished with her. Samantha felt an orgasm gather through her body at the mere prospect.
“Yes, Lady Morgana,” she said, trying to put as much honesty and commitment into the words as possible.
“I’d keep you tied up. I’d punish you a lot to ensure you learn your place,” she said.
Morgana was making certain that Samantha knew what she was in for should she accept the offer.
“Oh yes, Lady Morgana,” blurted Samantha. Such things would be a pleasure to endure, and she would have asked for them as part of their bizarre deal if they had not already been explained and offered.
“I’d have my other slaves do the same,” she added.
“No, Lady Morgana, please, no one else,” stuttered Samantha.
She was appalled that she might have to share Morgana with others. The main reason for her outrage was that with other slaves, other people, there was the prospect of persons who would woo her owner away from her. Samantha found the idea of having the superlative good fortune at being delivered by this woman and then losing her to another slave who was more entertaining or beautiful even more nightmarish than never having had the experience in the first place.
“Quiet slave! If you were mine, you’d have to accept the rule of those I appoint over you. You wouldn’t be able to say no. Because I’d own you completely and you will do anything I command of you, or you’ll suffer discipline for your disobedience,” said Lady Morgana with stringent authority.
Morgana was making sure that Samantha was apprised of everything her new life as a slave would hold. She wanted Samantha to be aware of everything before she stormed into rash acceptance only to bitterly regret it later. Samantha knew all too well about the consequences of bad decisions and was not about to make another.
“But—”
“There are no buts. If you want to be mine, you’ll have to accept it or leave, because once you surrender to me there’s no going back. Your pimp and his associates are dead. I had then removed from your life so you can make this choice free of intimidation or consequence. You can take the ten thousand dollars I offered for your services this weekend and start a new life free from your past. However, if you consent to be mine and should you retract your willingness later, I’ll just keep you bound and gagged and torture you until you change that opinion,” she said with frank conviction.
Samantha’s mind was being burdened with too much input. Eddy, her hated ogre and captor was gone forever. There was no hint of a lie in Morgana’s words. He and his cohorts really were dead. It made the woman seem even more angelic and equally demonic at the same time. She was Samantha’s saviour and deliverer, but also she had orchestrated premeditated murder without any pity or remorse. She had done it simply to ensure Samantha’s thoughts would not be deviated from staying focused on the one true dec
ision she had to make. Morgana had offered her freedom and a new life, or Samantha could give it all up and surrender that newfound freedom in order to accept true slavery to the woman’s whims, perversions, and sultry desires.
Samantha pulled at her restraints and gave soft sobs of perplexed angst. She wanted this so much, but she would have to accept the risks, problems, and dangers that came with it. Nevertheless, she wanted perfection, as compensation for everything that had happened to her. Samantha felt that she had earned it. How much sour karma had she been handed in her life? Surely, she had paid her dues. However, she knew that there was no such thing as perfection. The sessions and events that had brought her here had been a dream, and if she moved the dream to reality, she would have to accept the limitations.
“Oh shit. What’ve I gotten into?” whimpered Samantha as her mind battled with the weight of her dilemma.
“Yes, you’re in real danger now, slave. You know you want it, but you’ll have to take it all or nothing, I’m afraid. I don’t compromise as you will learn if you become mine, and as Eddy learned for standing in my way,” said Lady Morgana.
“This is so unfair. You know I can’t say no, Lady Morgana,” said Samantha.
A tear trickled down her cheek from the rigour of the decision making process. It was boiling her sanity and her psyche.
“And why’s that, my little slut?” asked Morgana with a soft knowing edge to her tone.
“You know, Lady Morgana,” replied Samantha through clenched teeth as another whimsical spank caught her rear.
“Do I?” she answered with fake innocence.
“Please, don’t make me say it, Lady Morgana,” begged Samantha. She knew that if she said it aloud, the decision would be irrevocably made. If she admitted it, there would be no denying and no going back, she would have to accept everything.
“Say what?” she said with force and applied both hands to crush Samantha’s nipples in stern grasps.
“Lady Morgana, pleeeease,” sobbed Samantha.
“Out with it,” snapped Morgana.
She started to turn the sensitive teats and make Samantha jiggle and whimper with dismay. However, no answer escaped her lips.
“Right!” Morgana barked with a mixture of irritation and joy.
Lady Morgana jumped up, threw open a cupboard, and grabbed a riding crop.
“Tell me!” she ordered and flung the wiry weapon around and delivered it onto the backs of Samantha’s upper thighs. Samantha released a keening yowl of response and jerked against the ropes. Still she could not betray the secret. There was a strange need to have it forced from her reluctant lips. If Lady Morgana truly wanted to know, truly wanted it confessed so she could own and keep Samantha as her private possession for the rest of their lives, then she would have to earn it. She wanted the woman to prove through dedication in making Samantha suffer that she really wanted this information. If she had the stomach to brutalise it from her, then maybe Samantha would be reassured that Morgana would not vanish from her life the moment another pretty submissive turned her head or caught her eye.
“I’m waiting, slave!” she spat, and the leather tongues at the end of the crop clapped to her rear. Samantha cried out as the hot anguish filled the afflicted spot. Despite the distress, she was still far from ready to talk.
Lady Morgana showed no mercy as she landed her heavy-handed strokes against Samantha’s rear and thighs. When Samantha wailed her loudest, she would suddenly add a particularly mordant smack to her exposed inner thighs. Such attacks almost eclipsed Samantha’s tolerance. Several times the words rolled up her throat and gathered in her larynx, readying to emerge, but each time she stubbornly swallowed them again.
Samantha’s howls of sorrow reverberated through the room like a living entity. Her body jerked and bucked. Rivulets of fevered sweat mustered on her skin and began to run down her form in steady rivulets. The fire in her rear and thighs was mimicked in her mind as her thoughts raged and coiled in volcanic spirals, seeking a means to end this ordeal without creating a worse one in the future should the unthinkable happen and Morgana suddenly desert her.
Every few strokes Morgana would demand the answer and when Samantha gave either silence or sobbing pleas for her to stop, the woman continued. Tears flowed freely and lines of spittle hung from her agape and gasping mouth.
An upward swipe caught her inner thigh again and laid into a spot that had already been thrice struck. Her confession leapt up her throat and found a few syllables on her tongue.
“I... I...”
“Say it, slave!” barked Morgana and set the crop to the exact same spot, and by doing so, she infinitely magnified the trauma and agony. Samantha shrieked and threw her head from side-to-side in denial.
“No! I can’t! I won’t!” she yelled.
Lady Morgana marched around in front of her and altered her targets. The crop now fell onto her inner thighs and bestowed withering flicks to Samantha’s breasts. Samantha’s shrieks of protest and sobs for clemency were now considerably more energetic and poured from her throat in a garbled tangled tide of gibberish. Morgana maintained the attack and began to apply each stroke with new alacrity.
Samantha had no hope of speaking. The pain of the scourging was demanding that everything she had be spent on answering it with shrieks. The woman forced her into a tumultuous storm of pain that broke her resistance and had her wanting to confess with every molecule of her being. The rhythmic shocks of lambasting pain to her breasts and thighs were now far too horrific to bear, but Morgana was not relenting, not giving her a chance to speak. For a heinous period of time, Lady Morgana showed Samantha just how fierce and cruel she could be when the situation merited it. Morgana had to know that Samantha was ready to speak, but she was making sure that there would be no change of heart when she stopped. Lady Morgana was showing Samantha, once and for all, who was in charge.
The final chapter in her interrogation was a brief volley of spiteful swings into Samantha’s sex. The rope did little to shield her most tender regions and each strike of the leather tip brought physical woe the likes of which she had never felt before.
The crop stopped and Lady Morgana flexed it between her fists. With her sight wavering from shock and distorted from tears, Samantha looked up at the seraphic image before her.
Morgana looked divine in the soft hesitant glow of the candles. Her body was clad in leather armour and the weapon of her stern justice was still poised in her fists. The glower of dominance that ruled her features washed away the last dregs of Samantha’s reluctance. She now had the confidence to plunge headlong into whatever fate life with Lady Morgana might present.
The crop stretched out and lifted her slack chin with its tip so that their eyes might meet more clearly.
“Come on, slave. Tell me. Why is it that no matter what I say to discourage you from becoming mine you still have to accept it and comply?”
“Be... because... I... I love you, Lady Morgana,” she said.
The crop came away and Samantha’s head flopped down while she broke into a mournful sobbing fit. It was not just misery, it was a sense of exultation. The words had been driven from her with loving intolerance. Morgana had made her say it, had made Samantha her property.
The dizzying after effects of the whipping took her to the same flying sense of purging and cleansing that she had experienced before, and the savagery of the trip made the effects even more potent. Samantha felt wiped free of the stains of her past. The crop and the skilful designs of her owner had set her free of the shackles of guilt, regret, and misery. She was reborn. Samantha the wreck, the slug, the piece of human garbage in the sewers of civilisation was gone and something new and wonderful and innocent had sloughed free and emerged from that vacated husk. Eddy had basically owned her and she had hated him with all her soul. Now that she had been set free, all she wanted was to be a genuine slave, to Lady Morgana and her own recently unearthed and consuming carnal appetites.
Setting the crop aside, she knelt down with the creak of leather upon her body and embraced her slave. Samantha now wept freely with joy and elation and lost herself in the strong arms of her one true owner.
“So, do you want to be my slave? Do you want to join my household forever?”
“Yes, yes, of course, Lady Morgana.”
Without another word between them, Lady Morgana started to untie the ropes. When one section was removed, she paused to wind it back into a neatly formed bundle before continuing. Lady Morgana left the ropes that held Samantha’s hands until last. When these came away, she dropped onto all fours and sagged slowly to the carpet.
“Kiss, slave,” said her owner.
Samantha looked up and saw the pointed leather toe of a thigh boot before her. Without hesitation, she craned her head forward and placed a loving peck upon the material.
Lady Morgana moved back and finished putting the rope away. Opening another cupboard, she produced a new item and returned to Samantha with it. Morgana presented the slender steel collar as though it were a regal crown.
“As the final commitment to me, seal yourself within this collar. It is the mark of ownership I demand of my slaves and once locked into place, it cannot be removed,” Morgana formally declared.
Samantha raised herself up onto her knees and extended her hands to accept the thin metal band. She took it and looked over the simple design. The hoop opened to expose a small arrow of steel that mated perfectly with an aperture on the other side. It was clear that once the lock was closed the collar would have to be broken to get it off. It was a fitting metaphor. Should she somehow find a way to destroy the collar—it would certainly require a skilled artisan and a detailed workshop to even attempt it—then she would destroy their relationship and it could not be repaired. There was only one collar, one chance. It was more than Samantha required.
With a sense of reverence and decorum Samantha slowly opened the hoop and placed her neck within its interior. Turning it around she closed the circle of her ownership, and with a soft sigh of rhapsody snapped it shut. There was a precisely engineered click as the lock engaged for the first and last time.
Executive Enslavement Page 14
