by Henry Morgan
‘Don’t be nervous,’ he soothed. ‘You do want to serve your husband, don’t you? You are prepared to undergo this training?’
There was a definite edge to her voice that implied more than ‘yes’. It said: ‘I’m scared, I’m excited, I want it, but I’m not sure what it is’.
David spread the papers and took up his pen.
‘Before we start, Emily, I must ask you to sign this contract. It excludes me from any legal action you may consider at a later date – an indemnity. Not that you’ll ever consider it,’ he laughed. ‘It’s just a precaution.’
Emily signed.
‘Now,’ he continued. ‘On this sheet is a contract granting me total control of you in any and every way I decide.’ He turned to Simon. ‘You do understand that I shall have penetrative sex with Emily throughout the period of the contract?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. The moment you sign, Emily, you will forfeit all rights to what you do, say, and wear. All rights, in fact, to everything.’
The pen hovered, and for a moment it looked as if she would balk.
‘Do you want to be a good wife, Emily?’ David urged.
‘I do, yes.’ The pen lowered and with a flourish her signature was on the contract.
David blotted the ink and passed the paper to her husband.
‘Now for you, Simon.’ His signature joined hers and a cheque was written for half the fee. The papers were then locked safely in the davenport.
‘That’s the awkward business over,’ sighed a relieved David. ‘Let’s get on with what you’re really here for. We’ll discuss your requirements as we go along, Simon. But first I’ll tell you what will happen in the next few weeks. Stand up please, Emily.’ She did as he said. ‘Take down your wife’s panties please – just to the knees.’
Simon ran his hands up the inside her dress and pulled her knickers down as David had instructed.
‘Good, that’ll be fine.’
‘Shall I lift her dress?’ he asked.
‘Emily can do that – you sit back down. Emily.’
Quivering hands gathered the hem and slowly eased the material upwards until the soft golden triangle of her mound was fully exposed. David studied her, then ran his hands between her legs, following the extent of the velvety down.
‘She’s quite a hairy young lady. It’ll have to come off, of course. I don’t like anything to obscure my view of beautiful feminine lips. Besides,’ he continued, ‘it would spoil the sight of her labial restraints.’
Emily’s eyes widened and she bit her lower lip. ‘I – I don’t know about that,’ she stammered. ‘I don’t know if I want you to do that.’
‘I’m afraid you have no choice in the matter,’ said David. ‘I have a contract signed by both you and your husband giving me the right to do whatever I please. If Simon wishes you to be pierced between your legs then I shall do it. I insist on nipple pins as a matter of course, so you can look forward to that regardless.’
Emily looked at her husband for help. ‘No Simon,’ she pleaded. ‘Not that; I don’t want rings between my legs. They might show through my clothes when I’m on the beach or in a changing room or something. What will people think?’
‘What they will show,’ put in David. ‘They will be the mark of a woman who is subject to her man’s will. And you, Simon, will be the envy of every man who sees her.’
His words, however, didn’t satisfy Emily. She pleaded again for no rings – beseeched almost – but Simon clearly knew he had to be strong.
‘Pierce both lips,’ he directed.
Emily stood shaking her head, with her dress held up and her knickers around her knees.
David nodded his approval. ‘It’s always best to have everything done,’ he said. ‘It looks so much better that way; more complete. The Venus rings will really set off the nipple pins, and vice versa.’ He ticked the piercing section of the sheet and moved on.
‘Do you have anal sex?’
‘No. I’ve asked often enough, but she refuses.’
‘Would you like to enjoy anal sex with her?’
‘Yes. Yes I would.’
Another tick in the appropriate box.
‘What about fellatio? Is she happy to give you pleasure with her mouth?’
‘She’ll do it, but with little enthusiasm.’
David shook his head and tutted. ‘It looks like I have my work cut out with you, young lady.’
Emily swooned slightly and looked as if she might sit down.
‘Stay as you are,’ David ordered firmly. ‘You will sit only when I say you can.’
She obeyed immediately. The atmosphere in the room had changed.
‘Now, bend over the table.’ David’s voice was insistent, leaving Emily in no doubt that her training had already begun. She nervously obeyed, laying over the edge of the table and supporting herself on her elbows. The two men stood behind her displayed bottom. David tugged her knickers down and off, throwing them on the table close to her face. He then folded her dress up her back and left it tucked beneath her armpits.
‘Have you considered your mark?’ he asked his client.
Simon pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. ‘In your letter you suggested the family coat of arms, but I’ve had second thoughts. A friend of mine drew this for me. Will it be a problem?’ It was a drawing of a knickerless pixie sitting cross-legged on a phallic toadstool. David wondered at the significance. ‘I just like it,’ Simon said, seeing him study the sketch quizzically. ‘It reminds me of Tinkerbell out of Peter Pan. I loved that film from the age of eight. Do you think you can copy it?’
‘Yes, I can’t see a problem with that. Where do you want it? On her bottom? Or her thigh, perhaps?’
‘I don’t know, I can’t make my mind up.’
‘What about her shoulder?’
Simon studied his wife thoughtfully before choosing the right buttock. David marked the position in his notes.
‘That’s about it,’ he announced, ‘unless you want to stay and watch her being shaved?’
Simon shook his head. ‘No thanks; I’d better go before I lose my nerve and change my mind.’
‘I wouldn’t let you change you’re mind,’ David smiled. ‘I have a contract, remember?’ He led Simon to the front door. Emily remained where she was over the table. ‘Now,’ he said as he opened the door. ‘You know the rules. Absolutely no telephone calls, letters, or visits – no matter what the reason. I’ll see you in a month.’ He patted Simon reassuringly on the shoulder. ‘And don’t worry.’
As Simon neared the top of the pebbled path David closed the door and returned to the sitting room, where he was greeted by Emily’s welcoming bottom. He touched her gently between the legs, caressing her lips and the wispy hair that covered her pudenda.
‘Come and sit, Emily,’ he said gently. ‘I want to talk to you.’
Emily stood up, allowing the dress to fall back into place. ‘Here?’ she asked.
‘In the easy chair; that’ll be fine.’
She sat down and waited while David poured them both a stiff drink. He passed her a glass, and then made himself comfortable on the sofa.
‘Over the next month,’ he began, ‘I will show you how to behave in front of your master, for Simon is just that, your master. Until his return I will take his place and you will address me as such, and unless I specifically order it, no other title is acceptable. By the time Simon returns you will know how to address him and satisfy his needs. You will accept his command without question, and more than that, you will willingly carry out his every wish. Do you understand?’
She took a large gulp of her drink and nodded her head. ‘I’ll try my best. I’ll try to please you, and Simon.’
David gave her a reassuring smile. ‘Whenever I come into the room you are to stand, back straight, eyes respectfully
lowered, legs slightly apart. If I tell you to do something, no refusal shall be tolerated. Absolute obedience is expected at all times.’
He set his drink on the coffee table. ‘Now let’s get you shaved.’
‘Ah,’ said Emily. ‘I was going to say to you about that, and about piercing my labia. I’m not too sure about it. In fact, it’s probably best if I don’t have it done – you understand.’
David rose and went across to a cabinet fixed against the wall. ‘Let me show you what I understand.’ He swung open the doors to reveal a collection of canes and whips, including a prized sjambok he managed to obtain from a friend in South Africa. ‘I understand your husband brought you here for lessons in submission. I understand that you signed a contract. And I also understand my role in the matter. So get your backside out of that chair and up the stairs! Now!’
He swiped the beautiful and intricately worked rhinoceros whip ominously through the air. Emily, sufficiently persuaded, jumped instantly to her feet. The whisky slopped over the rim of her glass. She placed it on the coffee table, and then grew even more flustered when she realised it had left a ring on the polished wood. ‘Oh – I’m sorry.’ She looked around for something with which to wipe the mess. ‘Oh dear, I—’
‘Do as I say!’
The sjambok guided the agitated girl up the stairs and into the bathroom.
‘Remove your dress,’ ordered David, his voice having regained the composure lost during the earlier tension. ‘Then sit on the corner of the bath.’
The light cotton dress dropped from her shoulders, leaving only her straining bra to protect her modesty. Her inviting breasts heaved and swelled with her nervously excited breathing. She stepped into the bath and sat facing him, her pubic mound exposed to his glare.
He left the room for a moment to collect a spreader bar from a display case on the landing. He had several such cases in various rooms around the house. To a visitor they resembled a collection of medieval oddities. To the initiated their pristine and well cared for condition indicated their true purpose as modern day implements of restraint.
His return brought a gasp of alarm from Emily as she caught sight of the rubber pole with cuffs attached to either end. ‘What’s that for?’ she cried.
David lowered himself to his haunches and connected the cuffs to each dainty ankle, spreading her legs wide. ‘We don’t want any little nicks on our first day, do we?’
Emily didn’t answer; she stared open-mouthed at the cutthroat razor and scissors he removed from a locked vanity cabinet. ‘Pluh… please,’ she eventually managed to stammer.
David ceremonially placed the razor on the side of the bath, and then set about snipping the soft hair away from between her quivering thighs. With his fingers he pulled and teased any loose strands that escaped the cold blades.
Emily’s breathing increased as a searching finger probed and explored in a way normally reserved only for her husband.
Once satisfied that stage of the task was finished, David rinsed away the loose hair and began the pleasant job of soaping her mound. He performed the task conscientiously, massaging her thoroughly between and underneath. Very slowly he felt her relax as his firm and rhythmic fingers soothed away her trepidation.
‘I promise I’ll be careful,’ he assured her while taking up the razor. She stiffened until the chilling steel had completed its first pass, leaving a sweep of smooth, delicate skin where once there had been hair. Confidence in his own barbering skills grew with every stroke of the blade until she was finally left with a slick pink quim, totally bare and exhibited. He applied a cool balsam, and suspected that the gel on his fingers had not all come out of the bottle.
When the unguent was totally absorbed into her skin David removed the spreader bar and told her to dry herself. He then guided his newly shaven slave through to her dressing room. He stopped her in front of mirrors that ran the whole length of the wall. She was still wearing her black bra.
‘Let’s take this off,’ he said, releasing the clasp. She was now totally naked, and David spied her glancing admiringly at the reflection of her denuded mound. He cupped her polished pudenda in his palm. ‘You’re halfway there already,’ he said. ‘Now lets get you dressed for the evening.’
The various wardrobes contained a massive collection of underwear and suitable clothing for a slave. ‘First of all, you must wear these at all times.’ hanging in the wardrobe was a collection of fetters, manacles and collars, a set of which David strapped to her ankles and wrists, and a wide leather band was strapped round her neck. Sewn around the straps were ring after shiny ring, onto which various belts and leads could be attached. ‘Remember, they must never come off unless you’ve been given express permission. If you remove them without it, you will be punished.’
Emily nodded, and then glanced again in the mirror. She looked good. The broad black leather bands accentuated the slim line of her ankles. The collar stretched her neck beautifully, lifting her chin, forcing her shoulders back, and thrusting her breasts out.
‘Put these on,’ said David, handing her a pair of suspenders and seamed stockings, a half-pleated heavy rubber knee-length skirt, and a pair of shiny black stilettos. He could see her inquisitive excitement growing as she pulled on each new and unfamiliar item. The look complemented her figure immensely. The tightly waisted skirt hung heavy and stiff. The sheer nylon stockings and high-heeled shoes added even more inches to those already created by the collar. The final items of her attire were a black rubber bra to match her skirt, and a white top which scooped deep at the neck in order to display her straight shoulders and pronounced cleavage. His desire for her seriously threatened to undermine his air of authority.
He could see Emily was stunned by her own transformation. In only a few short hours she had changed from a demure and loving wife into an extremely sexy femme fatale.
‘I think you’ve forgotten my panties,’ she ventured to mention. ‘I’ve nothing on underneath except my stockings.’
David smiled and shook his head. ‘It’s almost time for dinner; you won’t be needing any panties. I’ll prepare the meal, you see to your make-up. There’s every cosmetic you can possibly need on the dressing table. When I’m ready I’ll come and collect you. If you finish preparing yourself before then you may read one of the many books.’ He left her to explore what was going to be her new home for the coming month and went down to the kitchen.
The house was large enough to have a separate dining room at the rear, although most of the space in it was taken up by a very long oak table. There was a large sideboard, and the walls were adorned with countless paintings of all shapes and sizes, so that hardly a gap was evident between them. There was also a lack of electric lighting, hence the number of candlesticks on the table and sideboard. During the day the only other light came from the French doors. Tonight, heavy curtains drawn over them would complete the seclusion of the diners.
When David returned to her dressing room, Emily was sitting in front of the mirrors, wearing perfect make-up. Mascara had teased extra length from her lashes, rouge blushed deep pink on her cheeks, and all led down to her pouting cherry-red lips, their voluptuous shape emphasised by the use of dark lip-liner.
‘You look remarkable,’ David exclaimed. ‘Wonderful. If you come with me I’ll show you to the dining room.’
She followed him down to the rear of the house, and was genuinely pleased to see such a well-laid table with candles to lend a gracious quality to the proceedings. The sjambok running between the two flambeaus, however, did offer a reminder of why she was there. Wonderful smells emanated from a waiting serving trolley. The place settings were at opposite ends of the table. David guided Emily to her place and graciously pulled back her chair. She was in the process of tucking her skirt beneath her bottom in order to sit down when she noticed the large wooden carving attached to the chair. She corrected her posture immediately, and in the
flickering light of the candles tried to study the object. It was a perfectly carved phallus, about seven inches long and incredibly smooth for something made of wood. Its flawless, silky length rose from the seat to terminate in a bulbous hat. Emily blushed charmingly.
‘Hence no panties at meal times,’ said David. ‘If you would care to sit we can begin dinner.’
‘I don’t know if I can,’ she breathed.
David lifted her skirt, enjoying the creak of the folding rubber. He licked an index finger and traced the curve of her bottom-cheeks until it glided between her legs. She was hot from the heavy skirt, a natural consequence of the erotic material. The dampness she now felt was perhaps the result of sexual anticipation. Only taboos and an archaic social etiquette prevented her from sitting herself on the instrument of delight. David brought his glistening finger up in front of her face, trailing her womanly scent in its wake.
‘I think you can manage it,’ he encouraged softly. ‘See?’
Emily’s coital lubricant was clearly evident on David’s finger, the slippery translucent fluid sparkling in the candlelight. It meant she could accommodate the phallus without fear; only the indignity of the act prevented her from sitting. David tried to ease her forward in front of the chair, but she braced herself against the table. It looked for a moment as if the persuasive qualities of the sjambok were required, when she suddenly relented and allowed herself to be manoeuvred above the spike. With her gathered skirt in one hand David lowered her gently towards the rigid priapic. Slowly the cap of the vehicle travelled towards the split of her bare sex, brushing its entrance but prevented from docking by the clenched walls of her vagina. David ran his hand beneath her, and with two fingers eased her moist lips either side of the assailing appliance, helping it inch further into her passage. He let go of the skirt and gently but firmly eased down on her shoulder.
