“I am now in the happy position of being able to pick a winner. You, Philip, will take joint responsibility for Miss Object’s further training and instruction. I am convinced that you are up to the task, having seen the way you handle her. Congratulations.”
Philip was the councillor. Councillor Trewin. He was also a local entrepreneur and property developer, in the paper on an almost daily basis with some new scheme or other to “put Goldsands on the map.” He had been a handsome man in his youth, though the effects of luxury living were beginning to tell on him. All the same, Michelle could have drawn a worse result—the chamber of commerce man was very ugly indeed, and the magistrate had very cold, purplish hands that always made her wince. She had often wanted to suggest a remedy for poor circulation, but of course, giving advice was far outside her remit.
“By way of celebration, I have organised a little ceremony. A marking of the event. Philip, step forward and join me.”
The councillor was eager in his movement towards the spotlight, coming to stand as Charles directed, opposite Michelle. In her subservient position she could only see his shoes and the hem of his trousers, but the memory of his kind eyes and genuine smile heartened her.
“Kiss his feet, Miss Object.” She bent and put her lips to the leather, once, twice. She was instructed to stay in this pose of obeisance, breathing in his shoe polish, while Charles made a speech.
“Miss Object lives to obey and to serve. She has promised me complete submission, and today the real test of her resolve begins. Service to two masters is a different and more difficult proposition than anything she has yet had to face, but today she undertakes to begin her lessons. I have no doubt that they will be arduous and demanding, but as her taskmasters, the councillor and I will be fair, firm and consistent. Should she fail to satisfy, or find that she cannot succeed, she will be released from service.”
Michelle listened to all this carefully. As usual, the suggestion of failure caused her spine to stiffen and her heart to race. I will not fail. I will perform as well for two as I do for one. I am certain of it.
“Miss Object, you have this one chance to make an objection to the proposed joint ownership scheme. Do you wish to take it? Remain in position if you do not object.”
No. I will not object. I am still half Charles’, and that half will have to do. It is still better than living in suburban suffocation with my ex-husband. Charles has changed my life and I will always be in debt to him for that.
“Good. Well, then. Part one of the ceremony. Miss Object, please place yourself on the whipping bench.”
She knew this bench of old so it presented no challenge to her. It was almost comforting in its familiarity, and she knelt on the padded leather, placing her wrists inside the restraints and making sure her bottom was high and straining, peeking out from beneath the abbreviated white slip of a skirt.
“Councillor, as Miss Object’s new part owner, it falls to you to prepare her for this ritual.”
The councillor appeared at her flank. He tugged the skirt sharply up to waist level, then untied the floppy black bow at the rear of her knickers. As the bow unfurled, the knickers fell away, floating silkily down to the floor. Now her taut white bottom was on show and, after the councillor had pulled apart her ankles to clip them into their cuffs, so was everything between her thighs.
She pictured the six beady eyes in the darkness, as well as those of her masters on either side of her, homed in on her shameful bareness, anticipating a swift change of skin colour from pale to deepest red.
“Now, this is not a punishment, of course,” murmured Charles, close to her ear, his hand resting on one of her shoulders. “This is a demonstration of your submission to us. Of course, it must hurt, but it will not be…excessive. We will, however, expect you to receive it with due decorum.”
“Due decorum” meant in silence, with the minimum of wriggling and gasping. She considered asking for a gag, but she knew that would disappoint him. Instead she gritted her teeth, clenched her fists and imagined that her flesh was iron.
Each man took up a strap, identical strips of black leather, slit into a trio of tongues at the end.
“We shall take turns,” decreed Charles. “As the new owner, you may lay the first stroke.”
The councillor was more tentative than Charles. He did not have the diabolical flick of the wrist with which Michelle’s master intensified each crack of the strap, and he seemed to be going deliberately gently. When Charles was sole administrator, she could breathe through it, knowing that he did not hold back, knowing that she needed every sense at full alert, but this two-handed bottom-warming was harder. It made her want to cry out to the councillor, “Harder. Don’t hold back.” but, as you might imagine, topping from the bottom was quite strongly frowned upon here. So with every other stroke she pushed out her bottom in a vain attempt to convey that it needed to fall with a louder, fatter slap, then she tried to regather herself for the searing artistry of Charles. But she could not. Her breath was all over the place, and despite her usual expertise, she began to squeak and pant. After fifty strokes, the straps were laid aside, and Charles cautioned her that she had earned six with the cane for her unseemly squirming.
She took these six in an almost joyful spirit, knowing that they came from Charles and would be suitably punishing—six burning stripes to remember with fondness every time she sat.
“Don’t think you are doing her a favour by holding back,” Charles advised the councillor, fiddling with Michelle’s cuffs to release her. “She needs it hard, and she won’t learn from a simple tap.”
“I’ll try and remember that,” said Trewin, and she wondered if he had taken offence at Charles lecturing him on disciplinary technique. But then she felt a hand, not Charles’, thicker and rougher, on her seared behind and she was too busy wincing for further analysis.
Charles helped her to her feet and commanded her to remain with her back to the audience and her hands on her head while he and the councillor lifted the whipping bench and carried it out of the spotlight. She watched, longing to slip her hands down to her bottom and rub it, but not daring to, as they wheeled the medical examining table into its place.
“You will, of course, want to take a thorough inventory of your new acquisition’s attributes,” Charles said, smiling broadly as the table rolled to a halt, with a slight squeak, beside Michelle.
“Oh, I should certainly think so,” agreed Trewin.
“Up,” ordered Charles, and she hoisted herself onto the table, hissing as her sore flesh made contact, even though the coldness of the leather was welcome.
Lying flat, she had to shut her eyes against the penetrating glare of the striplight, but that was okay because she enjoyed the consequent heightening of her senses. She gasped with pleasure as hands of indeterminate ownership snapped her wrists into cuffs, then lifted her legs to bend at the knee, then spread wide, before her ankles were similarly secured. Footsteps echoed around her, then there was some tutting.
“She is not exposed enough. We need to pull back her knees.”
They uncuffed her ankles. Then her knees were retracted almost to the level of her ears. A rubber loop was placed around each one and clipped to her wrist cuffs. This placed her in the position of maximum exposure, her pussy and arsehole both spread wide and open for viewing. It seemed odd that she was still wearing the white lacy basque, but she was soon made aware of their intentions for it, hearing the soft shearing sound of sharp scissors cut it in two from cups to frilled hem. It fell to either side of her, releasing her breasts and belly to the audience’s gaze.
“What do you think of her nipples?” asked Charles, and strong hands cupped her tits, squeezing and pinching the yielding flesh.
“Nice ones, aren’t they? Not too small to bite, nice shade of red.”
“Even nicer after clamping,” noted Charles.
“Oh, yes, we’ll have to try that.” The fingers began to roll and pull at her nipples; sharp, stabbing pain s
treaked down and tickled her crotch. Then there was the point of a tongue, flicking from one side to the other, the wetness produced making the pinching hurt more.
“Ohh,” she moaned involuntarily, and was rewarded by the insertion of a large rubber ball gag into her hungry mouth. For some reason, Michelle always found the gag the most humiliating touch of all—perhaps because it spoiled her face and made her drool out the side, which was undignified. As if lying there with everything on show wasn’t…She knew it was irrational, but she bit down on the scarlet sphere obediently and tried not to let it get to her.
Evil metal clips were placed on her nipples, but her urge to vocalise the pain was stifled by the gag and all she could do was try to wriggle her restrained hips and clench her fists.
“Let’s leave them on for twenty minutes,” suggested Charles, and she knew that he was setting his watch alarm as he spoke. Timing was important to Charles. Timing and observing the formalities. Those were what Charles was all about.
Now the hot flush of pain was spreading in ever-larger circles, out beyond Michelle’s nipples then joining into one red rush that flooded her pussy. She knew that Charles and Trewin would have noticed this, and, true to form, it was commented upon immediately.
“See her cunt. It’s soaking wet. The strap and the cane and the clamps have worked their strange magic on her.”
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” said Trewin reverently. There was a band of brightness at Michelle’s eyelids, and she realised that Charles was shining a spotlight on her pussy for the benefit of the seated members of the audience.
“Touch it. Feel it.”
With his fingers, he prodded and slid through the slick coating, finding her clit, then her hole. A big finger slipped inside, then two, then three, poking around and making the most of the sucking sounds his explorations produced.
“You could fill a cup with the juice she’s putting out,” he said proudly. “This little slut wants it, doesn’t she?”
“Badly,” agreed Charles. “Try her with a dildo. Big as you like. She’s been stretched enough in the past.”
Michelle chewed manically on her rubber ball as Trewin began to introduce what felt like one of Charles’ larger dildoes into her ever-ready pussy. The hard, cold plastic was soothing, but it took a while for her protesting lips to adjust to the girth. He pushed it slowly, inch by inch, until it occupied the vacant slot completely.
“She can take a lot.” Trewin was impressed.
“I told you. And yet she is wonderfully tight. She is under instruction to perform six sets of one hundred pelvic floor exercises daily. It pays off. I recommend you continue the regime when she is under your sole ownership.”
“I think I will.” Trewin’s hands were squeezing her arse cheeks together now, feeling the smooth bulk of the dildo through her flesh. Her pussy convulsed around the fat cock substitute, wanting to come, but knowing that punishment would be earned if she did.
“You know what you haven’t inspected yet,” Charles prompted. “Leaving the best till last, are you?”
Trewin guffawed. “Something like that.” Now he pulled the bottom cheeks even farther apart, though they were considerably strained already. Michelle knew from his breath fanning her crack that he was leaning down to take a closer look. “She looks clean.”
“She’s always clean. She knows how to prepare for a session.” Yes, she did. Before her bath, a warm soapy enema, something she really didn’t much enjoy, but knew better than to avoid. “Try her with a finger.”
There was the sound of bottles tipping and glugging, and when Trewin’s finger arrived at Michelle’s most private place, it was thoroughly lubricated. She was an old hand at this now and her sphincter muscles yielded easily and without complaint, allowing her violation with submissive enthusiasm. Now the rubber ball soaked up her groans of pleasure at this favourite sensation of hers—double penetration. It would take some force of will not to come before he took his finger from her bottom, but she had plenty of practice and she set her mind to it.
“Plug her,” said Charles, and although it was a suggestion rather than an order, Michelle sensed hesitation from Trewin, and a quiet bristle at being told what to do.
“I might want to put my cock in,” he said.
“Oh, you’ll get to put your cock in,” Charles assured him. “But this is just the inspection. It’s part of the ceremony. Excuse me, Philip, I did not mean to sound overbearing.”
She giggled into her gag at that. Charles had never made any effort not to sound overbearing in his entire life. A slap landed on her left arse cheek, reminding her of how the earlier whipping had tenderised it. The giggle expired in her throat and she moaned anew as the greased tip of a butt plug appeared at her rear.
Inside it edged, widening gradually until, at the broadest point, just as she was beginning to struggle and suffer, Councillor Trewin held it still, watching her exertions, and turned it in a circle, once, twice, three times, then shoved it in so that only the wide flange was visible, signalling its presence in her arsehole.
Now with her body double-filled, her muscles twitched and fluttered uncontrollably. Charles began to torment her with the dildo, pulling it ever so slightly up and then back again, enough to madden her, enough to make her beg him to just fuck it in hard, hard, hard, if only she wasn’t gagged.
“Do you think she deserves to come yet?” he asked Councillor Trewin politely. “I’ll leave the decision up to you.”
He snuffled gleefully, his hands all over her bottom, enjoying its warmth and fullness. “She obviously wants to,” he observed. “And she has been a good little whore. What say we let her come, then we take turns to fuck her arse?”
And this is what they did. Charles manned the dildo while Trewin flicked her clit and tugged at the little chains on her nipple clamps, combining pleasure and pain to that degree of perfect unison she always needed. She screamed into the gag, coming all over the dildo and the butt plug and Trewin’s fingers, hearing from a distance Charles’ laconic running commentary. “Slut…needs it constantly…comes up to eight times a day…never known a whore like it…”
Then she was untethered, unclamped and bent back over the whipping bench while first Trewin and then Charles sodomised her. For a finale her pussy was fucked by the other three while she lay back on the examination table with her legs over each respective man’s shoulders.
And finally her exhausted body was wrapped in a soft woollen robe and permitted to kneel at Charles’ feet with a glass of brandy while he stroked her hair and talked business with his cronies.
“So it’s Tuesday night, then?” he asked Trewin. “In the council chamber?”
“Yes,” said Trewin, yawning. “I don’t think you’ve anything to worry about. The license is yours for the taking.”
“Our opponents?”
“Paid off or persuaded to accept the decision. There’ll be letters to the local rag, no doubt, and a few religious types might protest. Nothing we can’t handle.”
“Planning committee?”
“In hand. Look, Laura’ll be wondering what’s keeping me so late. I should get going.”
“Of course. Do you want to take the slut home, or shall I?”
“Well…” He hesitated, looking down at Michelle, though she knew better than to meet his eyes. “Yeah. Okay, I’ll drop her off. Fairview, yeah?”
“Fairview,” confirmed Charles. He helped her to her feet and led her over to the office, Trewin following them while the other three chatted among themselves.
“You did well tonight,” he told her, putting the trashy plastic mac over her sore and naked body. The unlined PVC was cold against her throbbing nipples, bringing both pain and relief from pain. “I am proud of you.” He kissed her forehead, then turned her over to Trewin and retreated silently back into the main room.
“Well, come on, then,” said Trewin briskly, heading out and down the stairs. He noticed that she was slow to negotiate the steps, a combinatio
n of stilettoes and muscular aches, and doubled back to take her hand. “You know, I don’t even know your name. I suppose you have one?”
“Michelle,” she told him, knowing that the part of the night she dreaded most was coming up.
The long walk past the punters and the girl in the change booth, who stared unabashedly, was as bad as ever. I know they all think I’m a prostitute. Perhaps I am a prostitute. Perhaps it’s right that they should see me as such. I could always comfort myself before with the idea that I was Charles’ exclusive call girl, on his payroll and also in his heart…but I can’t think that now, can I? Trewin is my owner too.
Back in her suite at the top of the Fairview, Trewin made Michelle suck him off before he bade her a polite good night and returned to his six-bed detached villa on the best road in town.
Chapter Four
“You have a family crisis.”
Flipp’s heart switched modes, from the flush-inducing hammering Rocky’s sudden appearance had produced to a high jump into her mouth. She stared, somewhat manically, at his figure on the other side of the Perspex.
“What…I don’t. What do you mean?”
“If you don’t have one now, you need to make one up. I’m serious. Cordwainer is going to offer you double time to waitress at an event tonight. You need a good reason why you can’t do it.”
Flipp floundered, unsure of whether to be pleased to see Rocky again or alarmed at the gravity of his manner. Before she could decide, the office door was open and Cordwainer strode purposefully in their direction.
“Shit, I’m so sorry to hear that,” Rocky said loudly, his face transformed to a mask of sympathetic agitation. “You’ll want to go and visit her tonight, then.”
Flipp flipped her glance between Rocky and Cordwainer, wary of both, wondering which to be warier of.
“Uh…”
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