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Pretty Woman Ch. 01

By: Calandria



If you liked the cheesy romance of the film, I can only say that this story is different! My characters don't resemble either Julia Roberts or Richard Gere. Everyone is over eighteen, and I hope you are if you are going to read on.

My history.

My name, I think, is Kate. Let me explain. My white-trash parents called me Katherine, way back in my trailer-park beginnings. All my friends, from grade school on, have called me Kate. My working name uses the other end of Katherine – Trina.  

I got the hell out of my stepfather's life, but only after he had fucked my brains out, and almost before I had grown tits. I was on the streets of Richmond, my nearest big city, in no time at all.

There, almost straight away, I met Rufous, black and beautiful. He told me he loved me, and I believed him. We did coke together, and we fucked. He taught me how to give pleasure – and head. Then, one night, when I woke up from a way-out trip, I found I was in total darkness. Casting around me in a panic, I could only touch rough timber – I was in a packing-case, being jolted around in a vehicle. How I survived the journey, I shall never know. It went on forever, and I was weak with hunger and thirst, and stiff like you've never known when the vehicle stopped, and I felt my box being lifted up, and slammed down. Then I was suddenly blinded by light as planks were ripped off one side. My legs would scarcely carry me as I was dragged out, and I sat shivering in a dimly-lit room with three other girls of about my age. Nobody spoke.

I felt better when we had been given a big sandwich and a can of soda, but then we were all led off, given skimpy clothes to wear, and put to work in a bar, where about twenty girls had to hustle the clients, who mainly seemed to be lorry-drivers, into parting with their money for a quick fuck in one of about ten bedrooms. It was bearable, and the other girls were a lot of fun, but one day everything changed. Three of us were told to go and see the boss, a big, greasy-haired gorilla of a man, who sat smoking a massive cigar. He gave us each an envelope containing airline tickets and a passport. When I looked at mine, it was in the name of Rosa Montes, but my likeness stared at me from the back page, a slim, black-haired, white-faced girl with big brown eyes. We were driven to Mexico City airport, and it was only then that I found out where, exactly, I had been working. 

We were met at Madrid Barajas airport, by two men, who led us to a minivan with blacked-out windows. An hour later, we were delivered to another club – I learned that the Spanish call them puticlubs – much more luxurious than the one we had been in in Mexico. We were kitted out with several sexy outfits and put to work. The clientele was better, and we got to keep a little money out of what we could screw out of the men for drinks. The other girls seemed to spend it all on cigarettes, but that was one vice I had never succumbed to. I stashed mine away behind the toilet cistern.

One day, I put on my 'off-duty' jeans and tee-shirt, and simply walked out. A lift from a nice old farmer, whose Spanish I struggled to follow, and then a bus into the centre of Madrid, where I did my best to 'get lost.'

It was, however, hopeless to try and find real work, so there I was, selling my pussy on the Avenida Castellana – next pitch to my new best friend, a coal-black dominicana called Bea.

My story begins there.

It was getting cool in Madrid, as summer waned, and the nights stopped being quite so pleasant. The other girls who worked in my area tended to wear minute miniskirts or shorts which tried to disappear up their cracks, and had their tits hanging mostly out of low-cut tops. I tried to be different, and, for the night when my story begins, wore a skin-tight black satin skirt, knee-length, with a long zipper down one side, or I could never have gotten into it, and a black nylon blouse, buttoned up the back and completely transparent, so that my firm breasts – of which I was quite proud – were entirely visible. Under the skirt I wore black hold-ups, and stood into patent black pumps with very high heels. I slung a white imitation fur bolero jacket over my shoulders, brushed my long black hair, and looked at myself in the cracked mirror in a corner of the tiny room in the fourth floor walk-up I shared with three other girls. The desired effect of a fifties tart was to my liking.

Bea whistled when she saw me clipping up the street in my heels. 'I could fuck you myself, darling,' she said.

'You couldn't afford me,' I quipped back. She gave me the finger.

It must have been around midnight on the quietest night in living memory when a sleek black Lexus crawled past, drawing interest from all the girls, one of whom I saw lift her skirt, showing the driver her naked pussy as he drove by.

'He slowed down right by me,' called Bea.

'Yeah, sure,' I said. Almost as soon as I had said that, the car, which must have sped around the block, drew up right beside me. I stepped off the kerb, and walked up to the passenger side window, which slid smoothly down. I found myself looking at the surprisingly young face of a surprisingly handsome guy, with longer-than-fashionable dark blond hair, and strikingly pale blue eyes.

'Can I do anything for you?' I asked – my usual opening; we had to be careful about offering any service, until we knew we weren't talking to plain-clothes cops.

'You can come along with me, if you want,' he said, reaching across and pushing the door open for me. 

I slipped into the soft leather seat, just making sure that my hand was only millimetres away from the sharpened steel tail-comb in my purse, that was my sole weapon. He started the car, and I saw, out of the corner of my eye, Bea making a note of his licence number – we did that for each other.

'Just what would you like me to do for you, cariño?' I asked, when we had turned out along the main thoroughfare. Clients normally settled for a quick knee-trembler in the back of the car, unless I got lucky and they had a nice warm hotel room, and I could take more money off them. I didn't go in for robbery, unlike some of the girls, who skipped around showing off the billfolds they had ripped off.

'Would you like to come home with me?' he said, so quietly I had to strain to hear him.

Have I gotten one of the wierdoes who wants to talk, I wondered? Or is this something sinister? Somebody with a car like this has to be loaded.

'Depends,' I replied.

'On what? I have the money, if that's what you are worried about. And I won't hurt you.'

'I charge for working a domicilio,' I said.

'That's OK. What's your name?'

'Trina.'

'Short for Caterina?'

'Katherine,' I corrected him.

Now clear of the bright lights, he drew smoothly to a halt, and turned on the interior light, turning to look at me closely.

'You are very attractive,' he said, 'and have a certain quality I appreciate.'

'Is this where you ask me what a girl like me is doing in a place like……….?'

'Ah, a sense of humour too!'

'I'll answer it anyway. I'm doing this because I need to.'

'And if I offer to change your life for you?'

'I'd say you've seen one film too many.'

'Please don't be cynical, Katherine. I'd like you to come to my home. Will you do that?'

I heard myself agreeing – you must be stark raving mad, Kate, I told myself – he could be a triple axe murderer for all you know. But what was so brilliant about my life that I couldn't do with a change. What the fuck?

As he drove, he said his name was Lars Azpetegui, his long-dead father had been a Basque businessman, and his mother, who was still alive, Swedish. Then he fell silent, concentrating on his driving, which was confident and rapid.

I luxuriated in the warmth of the lovely car, anyway, and was close to dozing off when he turned sharply into a driveway, bordered by trees, low lighting shining up into their branches.

We pulled up outside a pillared portico, and he walked around and opened the door for me – a novel experience. The tightness of my skirt made it hard to keep up with him as he strode up the three wide steps to the door of the house, which he opened with a key. He watched me walk in, letting me pass, and I could see he was fascinated by me. It seemed to have something to do with the tightness of my skirt, in which I was virtually hobbled, and could only take tiny steps. 

It struck me as a little odd that lights were on in the house, but there was no sound coming from anywhere as he led me into a comfortable lounge, and slumped down in an easy chair. I remained standing.

'What would you like me to do?' I asked, remembering that he had so far not paid me anything at all – normally, the first thing I did on getting into a car was to make sure I got paid.

'Slip your jacket off, please, I'd like to look at you,' he said. I did just that, leaving it across the back of a chair. I was suddenly aware of my nakedness under the transparent blouse, and had to resist an impulse to cover my breasts with my hands.

'You have nice breasts,' he said, then, 'do you masturbate very often?'

I flushed, reluctant to admit that I often brought myself off when I got in from a late night session – my clients usually came in quick time, leaving me 'high and dry.' 

He took my hesitance as a mute admission.

'Come here,' he said, and I walked up to where he sat. Deftly, he reached up to my waist, and unzipped my skirt, then tugged it down and off. I was left standing in just my hold-ups, pumps and the skimpy blouse.

'Sit down there!' he told me, indicating an easy chair identical to his own, placed opposite.

When I sat down, my legs tight together, my mindset was one of acute embarrassment. (So you thought whores can't be embarrassed, eh? – well, this one did.)

'Please masturbate slowly for me,' he said.

'I'd like you to pay me first,' I managed to say.

He pulled a billfold out from his breast pocket, took out – wonder of wonders – a five hundred euro bill, and put it on the coffee table in front of him, regarding me seriously as he did so. 

The big purple bill was an eye-opener, and it did the same thing for my legs! I slowly parted the labia of my neat, shaven pussy with both hands, then slipped a finger into my moistening crack, letting it linger there while I kept my eyes on Lars.  

It was far from being the first time I had fingered myself for a client – they ask you to do a lot of things – but this, I realised, was different. He wasn't jerking off, just watching me intently, his elbows on the chair arms, fingers making a steeple. I knew then that I desired him, wanted him to fuck me, fuck me hard, but he just sat there and watched. I worked a second finger into my slit, and felt my clit growing into a hard little bud, no doubt visible to him as it sneaked out from its protecting hood. Wet now, my cunt was demanding penetration, and the two fingers slid into its warm depths, bringing a low moan from my throat.

'You will not cum!' my client suddenly said, and I tried to check my rising climax, whilst still sliding my fingers in and out of my vagina, which was now making that wonderful slurping sound only a wet cunt can make.

Lars stood now, and walked over to my chair, putting one elegantly-trousered knee on the arm. He pulled down his zipper, and took my free wrist while I continued to work my pussy with the other hand. 

He guided my hand into his trousers. He wore no underpants, and I immediately encountered his long, slender cock, then pulled it free of his trousers. I held it in my hand a moment, admiring its rigidity, then licked its crown, taking a tiny drop of pre-cum from the tip. He grunted with pleasure as I rounded my lips and took his whole length deep, deep into my throat, and I sucked him as well as I knew how, encouraging him to 'fuck my mouth' as I sensed he wanted to do – this was a man who had to be in control.

'Oh, I'm cumming,' he breathed, 'and you may now cum, too!'

I plunged three fingers deep into my cunt, abandoning myself to the first orgasm I had ever known with a client, as I felt his whole body stiffen. He shot a great, hot load of creamy cum straight down my throat, and I swallowed it gratefully, then licked him carefully clean.

He went and sat back on his chair, and eventually said, 'You will stay the night.' It wasn't a question. 

'I'll have to make a call,' I said, and realised I'd agreed to spending the night at his home – and presumably in his bed – without argument. I took my cellphone out of my purse, and called Bea, who was just going to bed, to tell her not to listen out for me.

'Lucky bitch,' she said, 'I've had two tricks all night, and one of them couldn't get it up.' I laughed and clicked the phone shut.

'Come with me,' said Lars, and I followed him along a corridor. He opened a door, and showed me into a big bedroom, with a double bed. The bed covers were turned back, and there was a long peach colored silk nightgown laying on top.

'Good night,' he said, 'I trust you will sleep well.'

'Aren't you…..' I started, but he had already closed the door on me and gone.

I stood just looking at the luxurious bed, then took the five hundred euro bill out of my purse, and looked at it in disbelief. Who pays five hundred for a blow job? I shook my head, went into the en-suite bathroom, showered, slipped into the extravagant silk nightgown, and got into bed. My last thought, as I dropped off to sleep was: If he comes and murders me in my sleep, I shall die happy.

As I awoke, the smell of coffee pervaded the house, and late summer sunshine made shutter-stripes on the opposite wall. It took me a few moments to remember where I was, and I lay there enjoying the unaccustomed soft luxurious feel of silk against my skin. That was what I was doing when a quiet knock sounded on my door.

What a strange man, I thought, why doesn't he just barge in?

'Come in,' I invited. 

Then I got a further surprise, when a uniformed maid came into the room, carrying a breakfast tray. She was darkly pretty, probably, I thought, of gypsy or North African origin. Her jet black hair was tied back in a pony-tail, and she wore a black velvet minidress and a little white frilly apron. Black seamed stockings covered her long slender legs, and she clicked along on stilettos higher than mine. A 'cliché maidservant,' I thought, as I enjoyed the excellent breakfast of hot coffee, orange juice, croissants and rolls.

I'd eaten all I wanted, and was considering getting up, when another knock sounded on the door. This time, it was Lars.

'I hope you slept well, and have had a good breakfast?' he asked.

'Most certainly, thank you.'

He came and sat on the end of the bed. He was now dressed in a dark blue busines suit, with a dazzling white shirt, and striped tie – a contrast from the chinos and button-down of the night before.

'I must go to work soon,' he said, 'but I thought we may have a little chat first.'

I looked at him quizzically – all my clients up to now had just given me the money, accepted my service, and departed.

'I know you must be wondering where the snag is,' he said, smiling, 'and well you may, but will you just listen to me for a moment?'

I nodded.

'I have passed by your pitch once or twice, and singled you out. Why, you may ask? Mainly because of the way you dress – different from the other girls. For this, and the fact that I find myself attracted to you, I decided to approach you. Can I ask you something, Katherine?'

'Of course.' 

'When you wear something like this skirt, does it give you a special sensation?' He had picked up my black satin skirt from where I had put it over the back of a chair.

'You mean because it is so tight?' 

'Yes.'

'I suppose it feels…..sexy,' I said, hesitantly.

'So you enjoy restraint, I think?'

When I didn't reply, he asked, 'Have you ever worn a corset?'

'I don't need one!' I told him indignantly.

He laughed. 'Not because you need one, but for restraint, discomfort? Perhaps you would find that "sexy" as well?'

The idea had never occurred to me, and I told him so. Where was he going with all this?

'I spoke last night about the "certain quality" you have that attracts me to you. Your dress sense is some kind of manifestation of that.'

'Just what is it you want?' I asked, getting a bit tired of his deviousness.

'I said also that I could change your life – and so I can, if you want me to.'

'You don't know anything about me,' I said.

'I know that your life must leave a lot to be desired, getting into cars with strangers, risking your health, your life every night, and the nights getting colder all the time.'

'I make them wear a condom,' I said. It was all I could think of to say. 

He smiled again. 'Come and spend a week with me, Katherine. Let me introduce you to a lifestyle you may not know anything about, but which, believe me, you are cut out for.'

I looked at him hard, suspicion written on my face. People just didn't treat me like this. I had come across a succession of bastards in my life so far, starting with my stepfather, and continuing on into my present life.

'Why do I want to trust you?' I asked, 'when really I have no reason to trust anyone.'

'You will always be free to leave whenever you choose.'

'But what is it you want me to do?' – And, I thought, what are you going to pay me?

'I want you to be my willing slave,' he said. I couldn't believe my ears.

'Fuck you!' I said, 'I'm nobody's slave!' I started, indignant, to get out of bed,. I was out of there! But he laid a hand gently but firmly on my arm.

'I said willing,' he said quietly, 'you will be forced to do nothing you don't want to do, Katherine.'

I looked at him, and what I saw was something like sincerity. I also saw a good-looking guy, with a lean, fit body, and beautifully dressed. My resolve weakened. After all, what had I got going for me out there on the street?

'Just so long as you promise I can go at any time,' I said.

'You have my word. Now I must go to work. You don't need to put the same clothes you wore last night on. Teresa has gone to buy you some things – she thinks you are almost exactly her size, so you can pop a robe on until she gets back.'

My mouth fell open as I looked at him. He had been entirely confident that I would accept his proposal. He smiled back, and took a slim paperback from his jacket pocket, handing it to me. I saw its title: 'The Image.'

'Some reading matter for you,' he said, 'supposed to be by Jean de Berg, but really written by a woman, you may be interested to know.'

Then he was gone, and I was left pondering my plight. After a while I shrugged, and had a long hot shower, then slipped on the towelling robe I found behind the bathroom door. I brushed my hair, took a little time doing my make-up, then had a wander around the house. It was a beautiful home, I thought, and looked normal enough, with a nice kitchen, a bedroom that was obviously Lars's, and a small one that had femenine touches, presumably occupied by Teresa. Both, like mine, had their own bathrooms. The lounge, where I had been the night before, looked bright in the sunlight, and a door led to a big dining room. Another door was locked. There was a guest bedroom, showing no signs of occupancy, and a small, well-equipped gym. I went back to my room, and, noticing the paperback lying on my bedside table, picked it up and started to read. 

It was an odd story, which was, nonetheless, fascinating, and I found myself getting excited as I read of the gratuitous punishment that the central character, and his girlfriend Claire, meted out to their young friend Anne, who accepted their treatment of her, and came back for more. After a few chapters, I put the book down and looked at myself in the mirror. Why had he given me this to read? It was obvious – he saw me in Anne's role. Shit! I picked the book up again and read a bit further. Christ, it was rivetting, and I found my pussy moistening distinctly as I read. My hand slid down into the opening of my robe, and my breathing started to quicken as I fingered my cunt, for the second time in just a few hours.


Pretty Woman Ch. 01



Then I heard a door open and close down the passageway – Teresa was back.

She came to my room, and I got out of the chair to see what she had brought. To my surprise, she had been followed in by a young guy, helping her carry a huge bunch of bags and boxes, all emblazoned with the names of stores. She spread them all out on my bed, and my eyes widened when I started to look at what they contained. There were three evening gowns in one huge plastic bag, hanging from silk-padded hangers. When I shook them out, I saw they were all silky creations, a backless halter-necked gown in silver, a long scarlet dress with a deep, deep decolleté, and a slim, long black lace sheath, with long sleeves and a high neck. There were two long white Indian cotton dresses with lace trim, very feminine, two button-through cotton print every-day dresses, two lovely cocktail numbers, an almost completely transparent white organdie dress with lots of tiny pleats, and several skirts and blouses. I looked in the Victoria's Secret bag, and found a white whale-boned corset with a criss-cross lace fastening, a couple of little garter belts, a platform quarter-bra, two silk slips, two long silk nightdresses like the one I had worn to bed, and several pairs of stockings. No panties were to be found at all. In another bag, she had brought a lot of gold or gold-plated jewellery – I couldn't tell the difference – and there were boxes containing three pairs of shoes, all very high stilettos. One pair of strappy sandals I particularly liked had silver needle heels.

'I hope you like what I have fetched,' said Teresa.

'I'm just staggered!'

'Master Lars is a very generous man.'

I wanted to ask her more, but she turned on her heel, saying, 'The Master will be home in about an hour. I must get lunch.' With that, she was gone, leaving me gazing wonderingly at my new wardrobe.

Lunch, I thought, as I decided what to put on – better be something not too dressy. I chose a pleated, flared miniskirt in shiny dark green material, and a simple white silk blouse. I slipped into a satin garter belt and cinched on white stockings with lacy tops. A pair of long gold drop-ear-rings and the sandals I had liked so much completed my ensemble.

'You look fucking gorgeous,' I said to the mirror, as I stood in front of it, brushing my long black hair until it shone.

Lars walked in just as I was helping Teresa set the table.

'You look good enough to eat,' he said.

'You can eat me if you want,' I said, treating him to a lascivious glance.

'I know that,' he said, 'you are, after all, my slave!'

I decided this was really all a question of role-playing – I would go along with him. 

'Did you like the book?' he asked.

'Yes, but it gets a bit exaggerated towards the end, doesn't it?'

'It's a bit allegorical, I think.' 

I didn't really understand what he meant, but I nodded my agreement.

'Did you get excited by it?'

'I started to get…..wet, when Anne is…….'

'When she is whipped?' he interjected.

I lowered my eyes, and nodded sheepishly.

'Well, I hope it has done a little to help you understand the relationship between pain and pleasure?' He looked hard at me.

'Yes, I think so.' 

He changed the subject, and suggested we eat, but as we did so, my mind kept coming back to the willing Anne, and I thought I began to understand a little more. I looked surreptitiously at Lars, but he caught my eye, and an unspoken thing passed between us I couldn't begin to explain.

But when Teresa served him his main dish, she said, 'Would you like more, sir?'

'I think you too should address me as "sir,"' he said to me. 

It felt natural. 'Yes sir,' I replied.

After we had eaten, Lars sat back with his coffee and a brandy, and said to me, 'In a few moments, I'd like to start your training. Would you like that?'

'Yes, sir.'

'You will not be punished too heavily today, but I think it's important that we establish our relative positions, so I have devised a little trial, for want of a better word.'

He took a final draught of brandy, then stood and walked around behind me. I felt his hands on my neck, then a heavy sensation as he took them away. At his command, Teresa fetched a hand-mirror, and I saw that he had put a snug-fitting choker around my neck – a sparkling, gem-encrusted collar about an inch wide, with a silver ring set into it at my throat. He then handed me a matching belt just too short to fit around my slender waist, but which had a clasp at one end, and a silver chain, perhaps a foot long, at the other. 

'This goes loosely around your waist, and the end should dangle around your pussy,' he said, 'you must never take these items off.'

I got up and was just about to put my waist-decoration on, when he said, 'Not now, my dear. Come, I'll show you downstairs.'

Downstairs? I wondered where he could possibly mean, but all was revealed when he led me to the door I had found locked that morning. It was open, and Lars called down some stone steps that led down from it: 'Ready for us, Teresa?'

'Yes, sir, all ready!'

He led me down the rough stone steps into a basement, well lit by wall sconces. I looked around in astonishment. It was, in effect, a dungeon, with rough stone walls, though they looked as if they had been sealed, and the whole place was clean and tidy. Against the far wall a St Andrew's Cross had been secured to the stonework, and chains with snap-links dangling at their ends hung from a stout beam that ran the length of the chamber. A contraption like a vaulting-horse had a big phallus seated at its highest point – its purpose needed no explanation. A pillar which supported the beam had heavy-duty rings set into it at various heights. There were other artifacts too, but I couldn't see what they were. I was, however, relieved to see that what looked like a big steel brazier, with latticed sides wasn't lit, even though it looked as if it contained coal, and evil-looking irons projected from it. I looked at Lars, and he seemed proud of his lair.

'Welcome to my basement,' he said – he obviously didn't want to call it a dungeon. 'This is for you!' He indicated a low coffee table, and I now saw, to my horror, what Teresa had been doing. The surface was covered with thumb-tacks, all pointing upwards. Before I had time to think about it, Lars had unbuttoned my blouse, and was pulling it off my shoulders. 

Teresa stood and watched impassively as he said, harshly, 'On your knees, in front of the table!' I knelt on the rough, cold stone floor, trembling with fearful anticipation.

'Oh no – please, sir, you can't be going to……..' I stammered, but for an answer, he pushed my back and forced me down, down, onto the awful surface of the table. It was liking being stung simultaneously by hundreds of black-fly, as the little spike penetrated my breasts and right down to my waist. But I had barely time to scream before I was dimly aware through the excruciating pain that my skirt was being lifted, and something was poking at my anus. Then came the dreadful, tearing, wonderful sensation as Lars' stiff prick pounded remorselessly into my asshole, pushing me, at the same time, further across the cruel surface of the table, so that more pins stuck into me. 

I was far from being an anal virgin, but I had always insisted on clients using lubricant before they fucked me there, and the fact that Lars had entered me dry, coupled with the length of his weapon, would have been sufficient to make it a painful experience, but the stinging pain of the myriad tacks was enough to make me scream with each powerful thrust he gave me. Somehow, I noticed that Teresa had knelt in front of me and was kissing me on the lips, fondling my hair, as my 'trial' went on. But I had to shrug her off in order to breathe, as a monstrous orgasm welled up within me. I screamed even louder as he stiffened against me, and I felt the heat of his steaming load shoot up into my bowel as I, too, came. 

I was in a hurry to get off the terrible table, and pull off the pins that had stayed stuck to me. My whole torso was a mass of tiny pin-pricks, and blood was dotted all over me, especially my breasts. 

Lars said, calmly, 'You seem to have passed your first test, my dear – now let Teresa take care of you. She will know what to do.'

I went back upstairs with the maid, my knees wobbling after the punishment I had taken. She treated me with antiseptic lotion, and her kiss lingered on my lips long after she had finished. I needed to have a long siesta.

When I awoke, two hours later, Lars was smiling down at me. He was the most beautiful man I had ever seen, and I knew then that he could never drive me away, no matter what he did to me – I would die happily for him. I also knew somehow that he had started to really care for me, and that he would not do me lasting harm.

'Are you alright?' he asked, solicitously.

'Yes thank you, sir,' I told him, 'just a bit sore.'

'I probably overdid it a bit for the first time. I'm sorry, my dear.'

'It's OK,' I said, 'I understand.'

'Yes, I do believe you do. Anyway, make yourself beautiful for dinner, because I have to be away tomorrow, and shall not be back until the next morning. At least it'll give you time to recover.' He smiled as he said it, and bent to kiss my forehead lightly before he went out of the room.

After admiring my reflection in the mirror, with my new collar and waist-decoration in place, and the tiny wounds caused by the thumbtacks dotted all over me, I put on the red gown, and took my usual care over my make-up and hair, before heading for the lounge, where I could smell my new master's cigar smoke. He rose from an armchair to greet me.

'You look wonderful, my dear,' he said, 'do sit down, because I neeed to tell you some things about your training.'

When I was settled in an armchair opposite to him, he put out his cigar, and faced me.

'As I told you, I shall have to be away from tomorrow morning until mid-afternoon the next day, Saturday. Please rest well and relax until I return. Your training will then be resumed. I think I shall whip you for the first time when I return. You will have noticed that your clothing includes two long cotton dresses. You will wear one of them whenever you are to be whipped, nothing else. You lovely hair should be pinned up. In your top drawer, you will find leather bracelets and anklets, which you must also put on for those occasions. I should like you to connect your ankles and your wrists separately with the chains you will also find in the drawer. Then you will come to me, barefoot.

Another thing; although your asshole gave me pleasure, I think it needs to be enlarged, and some of my friends who may wish to use you are thicker than I. I have had a chair prepared specially for you. I should be obliged if you would sit on it for dinner. Then I will give you a set of little balls to play with.' He smiled, 'any questions?'

'Yes, sir. You speak of some of your friends using me?'

'Certainly, my dear. You are going to make me proud of you, I know, and I shall, of course, wish to show you – and your attributes – to some of my friends, male and female.' 

I wasn't sure I liked the idea of that, but kept quiet as he gestured for me to go through for dinner. 

I gulped when I saw my chair. Screwed down to it was an immense, tapered plastic cone, placed towards the back of the seat. At its biggest diameter, it must have been nearly two-and-a-half inches across.

'I'll never get that inside me,' I protested.

'I've lubricated it for you,' he said, 'let me help you with your dress.'

He lifted up the hem of my lovely dress, and helped spread it around me as I lowered myself nervously onto the cone. As it began to penetrate me, I wriggled around a little, and soon found the slick plastic sliding up my asshole more easily than I had imagined. I impaled myself fully on it, and its grotesque dimensions seemed to be splitting me in two at first, but the awful pain began to ease as I squirmed to get comfortable. All the time, Lars was smiling at me, enjoying my discomfort.

'How did you know exactly where to fix it?' I asked, because it had penetrated me at a perfect angle.

'I tried it myself,' he said, and laughed. It was an exciting meal.

That night, I lay awake pondering over my situation. I thought about being whipped, trying to imagine the pain as his whip fell across my naked body. It couldn't hurt as much as those thumbtacks puncturing my soft flesh – could it? Just thinking about it made me wet, and my last waking thought was of how much I had come to love Lars, how much I longed for his prick. He could do anything to me that he wished. 

When I woke next morning, my positive mood hadn't evaporated, and I luxuriated in the feel of the soft silk of my nightgown, making the comparison between it and the oversize tee-shirt I would have been wearing as I awoke on the creaky single bed in my crummy fourth floor walk-up.

Teresa knocked and brought my breakfast tray.

'Has Lars gone?' I asked.

She told me he had gone almost an hour ago.

'Why don't you come and join me?' I asked, 'you can't have a lot to do today.' As soon as I'd said it, I wondered where the idea came from. I wasn't, after all, a Lesbian. But there was something vulnerable yet erotic about the little maid that appealed to me.

'Oh, Miss Kate, that would be lovely,' she replied, 'but I'm all dirty from housework.'

'Then go take a shower while I have my breakfast.'

With that, she left me to my croissants.

When she returned, she was wearing a silk slip, and had let her hair loose from her habitual pony-tail. She looked very pretty.

I patted the bed beside me, and she sat down, bringing with her a whiff of her flowery cologne. I pulled her towards me, and she made no attempt to resist as I lifted up the hem of her slip, and laid my hands on her small, firm young breasts. Her nipples grew immediately under my touch, and she opened her mouth slightly as I kissed her – enough for me to slip my tongue in between her teeth, She moaned, a sweet sound from somewhere deep within her, and this encouraged me to slide a hand down her lithe, slender body, over her smooth mound, and into her neat, somehow secretive slit. Her breathing got shallow now, as I sought the tiny nub of her clit, which, like her nipples, responded to my touch, stiffening and growing.

'Oh Miss Kate,' she said, 'I've been wanting you since I first saw you. Make love to me!'

Apart from a little fumbling back in my early teens, I had never really had the urge to make love to another girl, and it was the very first time I had kissed another woman passionately. I liked it.

As my fingers flicked at her clit, she parted her legs further, and, without leaving off kissing me, slipped a hand between her legs, and spread her labia wide. I felt her wet warmth and slid two fingers deep into her cunt, bringing a deep groan from her. I finger-fucked her until her breathing became rapid, then topped, and finished kissing her mouth. I had another use for my tongue.

I signalled for her to flip around, and we were soon in the '69' position. She nestled under the hem of my silk nightgown, and, at first tentatively, then more firmly, she ran her tongue up the insides of my thighs, causing a delicious sensation, and the mot fantastic anticipatory thrill. I squirmed in her arms.

'Oh, Teresa, fuck me with your tongue, please!' I gasped, and she obediently plunged her long tongue hard into my sopping wet cunt. 

We tongue-fucked each other furiously, until I could hold off no longer. 

'I'm cumming!' I spluttered, my mouth full of her sweet juice, and a beautiful, drenching orgasm swept over me – I was sure Teresa came almost simultaneously.

We lay together for much of the rest of the morning, only getting up when Teresa said she had to get some lunch ready. After she had left me, I decided with a smile that I was never going to characterise myself as 'straight' – or 'gay.' I was just me.

We ate lunch together, then I spent much of the afternoon between the gymnasium and Lars' extensive library. In the evening we dressed and went out to a local bar, where we drew many an admiring glance.

Next day was Saturday, and I awoke excited, knowing that Lars would return. His collar around my neck, and the heavy belt around my waist, were constant reminders that I belonged to him, even when I was in bed alone, and I found myself masturbating quietly whenever I thought about him, and the sort of things I imagined he would do to me.

I was determined to look my best when he arrived, and, after lunch, got Teresa to put my hair up, using her considerable skill, and to help with my make-up. She also gave me, without a word, a pair of connected balls, which I knew Lars wanted me to keep in my anus.

'What do you think I should wear?' I asked her.

'The Master likes some very tight things,' she suggested – she meant 'restraint' gear.

Tht gave me a clue, and I found the white corset in my drawer. Offering it up to my body, I looked in the mirror, and nodded to myself.

'You'll have to help me with this,' I told Teresa, as I slipped off my robe.

I put on the stiffly whale-boned garment, and buttoned it up the front. It already felt tight and restricted my breathing, but when Teresa took hold of the ends of the laces and tugged hard, I gasped, as I found myself squeezed beyond belief. But then she took the ends of a strap which ran around my waist, and buckled it so tight it brought tears to my eyes. When I looked at my image in the mirror, my waist was tiny, and my breasts were lifted high, their nipples pointing above the horizontal. With difficulty, I sat down and rolled on pair of white lace-top stockings, which I cinched to the long garter straps of my corset.

'But what should I wear over this, do you think?' I asked Teresa.

'I'll get it out for you,' she said, and a moment later she had handed me a hanger, from which hung the white organdie number with the tiny pleats all around. I lifted it over my head, and the soft material whispered down over my breasts, enveloping me in its luxury. It was no more than mid-thigh length, loose, unbelted and sleeveless, trimmed with lace at the high neckline and hem. In the mirror, my corset was entirely visible under the practically tranparent dress, and my nipples thrust out at it in a highly suggestive way. I wore the highest heels I had, lubricated the pleasure-balls, and popped them into my asshole, and felt ready to face Lars when he arrived.

What I hadn't expected at all, was that he would be bringing guests! 

I ran to meet him, my heels clicking on the marble floor, acuteely conscious of the balls in my ass - and stopped short when I saw that he had brought a couple with him, my mouth falling open in surprise.

Lars looked me up and down, as he might have inspected a horse, then turned to the svelte blonde who had followed him through the door, and had still not shed her astrakhan coat, which must have cost a fortune.

'This is Katherine,' he said, 'you must forgive her mode of dress – she isn't used to meeting civilised people!' I felt as if I could crawl under the door – I wished I could be somewhere – anywhere – else.

I shook hands with the blonde, and she was introduced as Selina. Her eyes went to my nipples, and I was sure she licked her lips as she studied them, though the gesture was minimal.

Selina's husband took her coat, leaving her in a short red velvet dress, which moulded itself to her slim form. I had time to notice that she wore black seamed stocking before it was her husband's turn to be introduced. Marcelo was a good deal older than his wife, with greying, wavy hair and a languid manner. 




Pretty Woman Ch. 01



Teresa was dashing around in something of a panic, having been presented with unexpected company to cater for, and her eyes met mine with something akin to sympathy, as she held a tray of sherry-glasses out for us all to take one.

'I rather like the way your…er young lady dresses,' said Marcelo, to Lars, 'but you've been keeping her a secret from us, you sly dog.'

'Well, she's not been with me long,' said Lars, 'and she hasn't been properly, er….introduced to everything.' He finished the sentence lamely – I was sure he had really been going to say 'trained.' 

A look passed between the two guests. They were obviously unsure of my status, and my erotic form of dress had them thinking. My corset felt suddenly unbearably uncomfortable, and I was acutely conscious of my nakedness. When I turned my back to the others in order to set my glass down on the coffee table, I knew my bare buttocks would be pushing against the thin, pleated fabric, for all to see. I looked around as I put the glass down, and caught Marcelo watching me intently. When I returned to speak to them, Selina reached out and fingered my collar, running a long, elegant, manicured finger around the silver ring that ws set into it.

'What a charming thing this is,' she remarked, smiling, 'it looks almost as if it's designed for you to be put on a leash.'

I'd had enough of pretence. 'It is, actually,' I said.

Lars stepped in – I had probably saved him the trouble of bringing up the subject.

'Katherine has consented to be my slave,' he said simply, 'and is currently receiving training.' 

There was a short, awkward, silence, broken by Selina. 'How absolutely charming, darling,' she said, 'and of what does her training consist?'

'She will learn discipline, of course,' said Lars, then after a pause, 'when her training is complete, I may loan her to you if you wish.'

'We'd love that,' said Marcelo quickly, 'wouldn't we, my dear?'

'Yes of course,' his wife replied, 'we certainly would.'

We sat down and ate, but I was too nervous to eat much. I was anxious to be alone with Lars, but intrigued by the prospect of being 'loaned' to the attractive couple.

As soon as they had left, and we had seen them off in a taxi, Lars turned to me, a stern expresion on his even features.

'I suppose you realise you have let me down this evening?' he said, 'I am disappointed in you, Katherine.'

'I dressed specially for you, sir.'

'But not appropriately for this evening.'

'I'm sorry, sir, I didn't know……..'

'You didn't know? You didn't ask! You will know that I shall have no option but to punish you. Go and get those thing off, and prepare yourself for punishment as I told you to!' 

As I walked off to my room, I had all kinds of mixed feelings going around in my head.

I felt indignant that I'd been unjustly admonished, terrified of my punishment, but terribly excited by the prospect of it – all at the same time.

I tried to remember what I had been told to put on, a I felt the huge relief of unbuttoning my corset, and waited a few minutes, savouring the feeling. I took off my stockings.

Then I put the heavy belt around my waist, knowing that was required of me without having to be told. I gasped as I pulled the string dangling from my asshole, and the two balls plopped audibly out.

Then I fished out one of the long white cotton dresses, put it over my head, and found that its hem fell just about perfectly to the floor. I buttoned up the bodice, right to the top, then poked around in my drawer until I found the leather anklets and bracelets I sought. I buckled them in place, then found the two lengths of chain, clipping one between my anklets before joining my wrists with the other.

I took a look in the mirror. Looking back at me was the somehow medieval image – I shuddered as I thought I looked as if I was going to be executed. Shrugging off the thought, I shuffled off barefoot to meet my fate.

Lars was waiting for me in the lounge, wearing a maroon dressing gown over pale blue silk pyjamas. He opened the door, and led me down the steps to the dungeon. My chain clanked on the rough stone as I went carefully down.

He threw the light switch and turned to me, then did a surprising thing – he took me into his arms, and kissed me, our tongues entwining, with a tenderness at odds with what he was about to do to me. After a moment, he eased me away from him, and slowly unfastened the buttons down the front of my dress, then slid it down off my shoulders. I was naked down to the waist. His pale eyes never left mine as he took something from his pocket.

'I shouldn't think you've ever worn these, my dear, have you?' he said, and when I looked down, I saw he had two silver objects in his hand. I knew instantly that they were nipple clamps. I flinched as he took a sensitive nipple between thumb and forefinger, then the sudden pain was excruciating as the strong spring of the clamp bit into my engorged nipple, cutting off the blood supply. I groaned as he moved to the other one, and gasped with the awful shock as he put it in place.

'I imagine that hurts?' he said, rhetorically, and he saw from the unbidden tears that rolled down my cheeks that he was right.

'My experience is that you will come to enjoy wearing them,' he said, and I wondered briefly about his 'experience' despite the pain I was in. It was then that I knew I wasn't his first slave.

He led me across the floor, and had me stand under a chain which hung below the cross-beam. There, he unclipped the chain from my wrists, then yanked them up above my head, clipping both wrists together onto a snap-link at the chain's end. My arms were not fully extended, and I could stand normally.

He stood away and regarded me for a moment, his head on one side. I must have looked all right to him, semi-suspended, stripped to the waist, nipple-clamps in place, because he gave a grunt of satisfaction. I was trembling now, not because of the cold, although it was chilly in the basement, but because I knew he was going to hurt me much more than the cruel clamps did, even though their tightness tortured my poor nipples. 

'Now Katherine, I need to whip you. I have chosen the coach whip, as it will sting terribly, but will only leave your lovely skin prettily marked for a little while. Look!'

He held the long leather thong furled in his hand, and let me study it. My trembling became a visible shudder.

'I think twenty strokes will be enough for the first time, darling, don't you?'

'Yes, s-sir,' I managed to stammer, as he stood back and gave a swish through the air with the long whip. It cracked as he flicked his wrist.

He walked around behind me, and I heard the rush of air as he wielded the whip – and, nothing! I realised he was trying out his swing, and wondered for a brief moment if he was bluffing. But then there was a whistling noise as the lash flew, and I felt the awful sting as I got my first whip-stroke, just below my shoulder blades. I cried out.

'Keep quiet!' he ordered me, 'or I'll gag you.'

I didn't want to be gagged, so I bit my lip as the second vicious stroke landed, a shade lower, but I couldn't help writhing under the awful agony the whip was visiting on me.

When the third blow landed, I saw the tiny knot at the end of the thong as it snaked around just under my left breast, and instantly raised a vivid red spot on my white flesh

I soon learned to accept the rhythm with which he was inflicting the pain on me, and to concentrate on the fact that I was pleasing my new master.

When he had given me ten, he came up to me, taking a mirror from the nearby table, He held it up for me to look over me shoulder, and I saw that my back was, indeed, prettily ladder-marked with stripes that would soon go away.

'Are you ready for the rest?' he asked, and I heard myself say, 'Yes, master!' It was the first time I had called him that, and it sounded somehow better than 'sir.'

He concentrated on my tender lower back for the second half of the punishment, and I could scarcely believe it when the pain started to mingle – to mingle with something I had read about, but didn't think possible. I was taking pleasure in the whipping, even though the pain was almost unbearable, and a warm wetness was evident in my pussy. Somewhere around stroke sixteen, as I squirmed under the lash, I rubbed my legs together, desperate for some way of massaging my clit, feeling the soreness of my nipples like an exquisite bolt of thrilling ecstasy, then, on the next cruel stroke, I came, my eyes closed, as my scream rent the air. 

He knew – my master knew I had cum, and threw down his whip, even though I was a few strokes short. As he came up and unclipped me, I felt a huge erection against my buttocks. I reached into his pyjamas, took his long prick in my hand and gave him just two or three pumps before he came, in a great hot stream, over my skirt.

'Sleep with me tonight, darling Katherine,' he said, and I would have died for him if he had asked me.

We made love twice before we slept that night. Both times he took me tenderly, gently, like a young lover, sliding his rod into my wet cunt, then playing me like he might play a fish on the end of his line, pulling me in to the brink of an orgasm, then letting me subside, stilling himself as I gripped his tool with my cunt-muscles. Then he would start again, rhythmically driving in and out, in and out, until I could hold off no longer, and dug my nails into his back, screaming with passion as my shuddering climax came.

When I awoke next morning, he was watching me.

'Don't move!' he said, as he got out of bed and slipped a robe on. He left the room, and was gone a few minutes. When he returned, he was leading Teresa by the hand, still in the short slip she wore to bed. He pulled her onto the bed between us, and I knew what to do. I licked her sweet pussy, getting her ready for my master, so that when he finally entered her, his long prick drove in up to the very hilt. Then I kissed her while Lars fucked her, his finger hard up my asshole as he did so.

When he came, I did so too, and, at that moment, thought I had never been so happy in all my life.

'I will probably want to continue your training this evening, my dear,' he said, as he dressed, 'until then, get some rest!'

The future, I thought, held much promise.



Pretty Woman Ch. 02



(See Calandria for part 1)

*

Two days had passed since the morning when my Master took Teresa into bed with us. The evening after, he whipped me again, harder, if anything, than the first time, and made Teresa watch. She cried for me, but knew also that it was just what I wanted. That night he made love to me alone, with wonderful tenderness, before announcing that he would be away the next day, and not back until very late.

When I awoke next morning, he had gone. I spent my day doing things I liked – reading, working out in the gym, going out for a walk with Teresa. I asked her to tell me all about herself – how come she was a maid, when she was obviously an educated girl, and so forth. She told me she was a Colombian immigrant sin papeles (without papers) and that Lars had saved her from a life on the streets. That makes two of us, I thought, and I suspect she had guessed at my shady origins anyway.  

What she wanted to know from me was more about my willingness to be a slave, and how I could long to be punished by our Master. I was at a loss to explain to her, and I don't think I really understood it myself – I just knew that I could scarcely bear waiting

until my Master returned the following day, aroused by the very thought of him, and the speculation as to what he had in store for me. I had been born to be a submissive, but had hated myself for feeling horny when my stepfather, years ago, had forced me to take his sweaty, smelly prick into my mouth, and made me swallow his cum. Some of my clients at the puticlub had wanted to tie me up, but the owner had warned us not to let them, and there was a secret video camera in every room. I think the owner used to sit in his office, jerking off, while he watched what was happening on his monitors.

So when Lars had picked me up and brought me to his home, I was totally inexperienced so far as being a slave was concerned, but from the time when he first talked to me about restraint, then gave me the Jean de Berg book to read, I knew sex would never be the same for me again.

When I told all this to Teresa, she took my hand, and said, dreamily, 'It's so exciting, Kate. I'd like to try….you know….being whipped, I think, but I've never been very good with pain – I can't even stand the dentist's.'

We sat on a bench in warm sunshine, in a deserted corner of a wooded park, and I turned to her and toyed with a long glossy black strand of her hair. In no time at all, we were kissing deeply, while she ran a hand slowly up my naked thigh under my cotton print dress. I eased my legs apart to encourage her, and her long, slim fingers went unerringly to my clit.

'You've got a lovely clit, Kate,' she breathed, virtually into my mouth, massaging the bud as it grew, sliding its bald head out from behind the protective hood.

'Oh, oh!' I replied, feeling the inevitable orgasm burgeoning in time with her busy fingers. All it needed was for her to drive three fingers deep into my cunt, and I closed my eyes, bit my lip, and shuddered convulsively as I climaxed, there and then. A man walking a dog approached from behind a rose garden, giving us barely time to look respectable. I caught him looking speculatively at us, and looked away.

'When we get home, I'll do the same for you,' I said.

'It's not necessary – I…I just wanted to do that!'

We started walking back, arm-in-arm, and Teresa said to me, 'Would it be nice to be pierced, do you think?'

'I don't know – where do you mean?'

'I was thinking about your clit.'

'I hope it was a nice thought?'

She smiled, a little secret sort of smile that I liked.

'I believe it could be done,' I said, 'I heard some of the girls where I used to work talking about it. One said she had a big enough clit to pierce, but the other said she was just going to get her labia done – I didn't stay to find out what happened.'

'It must hurt like hell,' said Teresa, 'but I wouldn't mind having my tongue done, would you?'

I thought about it, running my tongue reflexively around my mouth, and trying to imagine the discomfort of having a big dumbell hanging from its tip.

'You just want to feel something different around your pussy!' I teased her.

'You have a point there,' she said, 'and it would certainly improve a blow-job, wouldn't it?'

We resolved to ask the Master's permission to have our tongues done, and walked slowly home. 

'This evening,' I told her, 'I'd like you to help me prepare to welcome the Master back home.'

'Of course,' she replied, and we went on to discuss what I ought to wear.

But we were interrupted when the phone rang, and Teresa answered. Then she came back to me and said, 'That was the Master. He says the meeting is taking longer than he thought – he's staying over in Lisbon until tomorrow, and won't be back until the afternoon.'

I was disappointed, but my easy friendship with Teresa was blooming into something more intimate, and I saw the chance of inviting her into my bed for the night – an appealing prospect.

I was already in bed by the time Teresa came into my room. She was wearing just a little maroon silk slip, whilst I had slipped on one of my luxurious long nightgowns. Her sensitive fingers started to caress my body through the soft silk as soon as she slid between my satin sheets. I loved her gentle stroking and kneading, and moaned out loud as her fingers started to tease my nipples, bringing them to instant erection.

'Tell me what you'd like me to do,' she said, 'whatever it is, I'll love it!'

For an answer, I pulled up the hem of my nightie, and, taking one of her hands by the wrist, directed it between my buttocks, spreading them for her.

'Only if you'll do the same for me!' she surprised me by whispering, and she began sliding a long, sharply-nailed finger slowly up and down my crack lingering tantalisingly to encircle the little hole of my ass. It felt wonderful.

'Wait a second!' I told the Colombian girl, and flipped over so that we were in a '69' position, and my face was in her pussy. I couldn't resist licking her slit, lapping her slowly, while I flicked her tiny, almost invisible clit with a fingernail. I made her part her legs wide, so that her feet were just about projecting from either side of the bed. I stretched my own legs wide apart too. Then I tongued gently the very entrance to her rectum, making a circle of my tongue, and pushing it into her, dragging nice little moans from her, which I matched as I, in turn, felt her penetrate my most sensitive place, first with her tongue, just a short way, moistening me at the same time, then with her finger, which she drove in to its very limit.

'More!' I gasped, and she understood, adding a second, then a third, finger, and fucking my asshole with them. I found her little velvet tube much tighter than mine, and she groaned with pain when I worked two fingers deep inside her. Thinking I had really hurt her, I pulled them out, but she grasped my wrist. 'No, Kate, don't stop – it's so fantastic…..,' she breathed.

In a very short time, we both reached our climax, then lay together, quite exhausted, until sleep came and washed over us.

After a lazy morning, we took an early lunch, because I had asked Teresa to prepare me for Lars' homecoming. She knew better than anyone what he liked, and I knew I could trust her to make me beautiful. Now she came to my room in her maid's uniform of a tiny black silk minidress over fishnet tights – she grinned sheepishly when she lifted her skirt to how me that the tights were open-crotch ones – with black patent stilletos and a delicate gold ankle-chain.

While I showered, Teresa put out my clothes.

'The Master likes things like this,' she told me, and when I saw what she had selected for me, I knew she was right.

I buttoned myself into the stiffly-boned red satin corset, then winced when Teresa laced it up in back until I could hardly breathe. My naked breasts were pushed up on top of the lace frill at the corset's top, and Teresa wordlessly handed me the gold nipple clamps. I looked a question at her.

'Your lovely breasts will look even prettier with those on,' she said, so I carefully clipped them on to my nipples, wincing again as they bit terribly into the engorged flesh – wearing the corset had already aroused me, making my nipples throb and grow hard. I clipped my waist-chain over the corset, while Teresa fetched my black, lace-top stockings. I rolled them on, and attached them to my long garter straps, then stood up to wriggle into the black transparent sheath she handed me. It had long, tight sleeves and a high neck. Its hem was just above my knees, and consisted of a broad leather band, which was pulled tight by means of a big silver buckle. I stepped into silver-heeled stilettos sandals, then sat down at my mirror while Teresa brushed my hair, and put me on a pair of long drop ear-rings.

She had just finished when we heard the Master's car draw up, and as a finishing touch, she clipped a bejewelled leash to the ring in my collar, smiled at me, and led me out to meet my Master. I didn't think I had ever looked remotely as sexy as this, and there was something highly erotic about being led by my maid.

Lars strode in with an executive case in his hand, his raincoat over the other arm, looking serious. He stopped in his tracks as he saw us, his mouth falling open.

'My Katherine!' he exclaimed, 'you look sensational!'

He took the end of my leash from Teresa, and pulled me to him, kissing me as if he were desperate.

'I've been eaten up with worry,' he said.

'Whatever for, sir?'

'I thought I might have hurt you too much, the night before I had to go away. I thought you might have decided to leave, after that. I've been almost frightened of coming home.'

'Oh Master,' I whispered into his ear, 'I love you so much, and as for hurting me – you must know that's what I want, what I want more than anything in the world.'

'And Teresa, she has helped prepare you, han't she?' He looked appraisingly at the little brunette, who was stood respectfully to one side, her hands behind her back.

'Welcome back, Master!' she said.

'Teresa would like to undergo some training, too, whenever it is convenient, sir,' I said.

'Yes,' he said, 'we'll have to talk about that. But first things first – I want to enjoy my beautiful slave. Come into the lounge with me – both of you.'

Once there, Lars sat down, his long, slim body sprawled nonchalantly in an armchair, and told me to walk up and down, so that he could look at me, while Teresa fetched drinks. Walking was no easy matter with the hem of my dress fastened tightly just above my knees, obliging me to take tiny steps. Lars' eyes never stopped following me, even when Teresa put a large Scotch in his hand, but then he said, 'Come on, we'll go downstairs!' and waved the end of my leash at Teresa, who took it from him. 

He got lithely to his feet, and went quickly though the door, and down into the basement, leaving the maid to lead me down. When we got to the top of the steps, I saw that he was already sitting on the couch below. He had wanted to watch me negotiating the steps – which wasn't at all easy with my legs effectively hobbled. However, Teresa helped by going very slowly, and we reached the basement without incident.

Lars got up, and walked across to a padded block, like a vaulting-horse, that I hadn't seen before. It was equipped with leather straps at each corner.

'Take your dress off!' he instructed, and I unzipped it down the back, while Teresa undid the buckle at the hem, then I wriggled out of it, so that I was stood wearing just the cruel corset, stockings and shoes. He stood in front of me, and, without saying a word, unscrewed the nipple clamps, bringing instant biting pain as the blood rushed suddenly into my excited nipples. I grimaced, but to silence me, he pulled me close and kissed me, slowly and deeply on the lips, savouring the experience, transporting me to heaven.

'I love you, my Katherine,' he said, but when he pulled away, he beckoned Teresa over, and pointed to the straps on the block, then stood aside.

In no time, I found my wrists encircled by leather straps at one end of the block, my ankles similarly bound at the other, so that I was secured, face-down, bent over the block, my legs apart, presenting my bare ass. At first I was sure he was going to whip me, and prepared myself for the thrilling, terrible, kiss of the lash, but then felt him smearing something around my anus. Before I had realised fully his intention, I was suddenly, brutally speared, as he drove his long, rigid cock, in one great thrust, deep, deep into my asshole.

'Aah!' he gasped, as he remained motionless, filling my whole body, it seemed, with his rampant maleness, then Teresa knelt before me, and kissed me gently as my Master started slowly to drive in and out of my velvet tube, giving me a sensation that transcended pleasure – ecstasy would be a better description of the sensation I knew.

'Cum in my ass! Cum into me, Master!' I breathed, between agonised moans, as his pace increased, then I lost all control, and came in what seemed like torrents, triggering off his mighty final, shuddering thrust as he shot his hot load into my bowels.

Later, we sat together, cradling drinks, and he told me about his business trip, whilst Teresa busied herself making dinner. I asked him what he thought about our idea of getting pierced, and he said he was in agreement where I was concerned, but that he would prefer if Teresa waited a while: 'We'll know when it's time,' he said, 'Now go and change for dinner, and we'll have a quiet evening – I'm a little tired.'

While we ate, Lars dressed in an immaculate white tux, me in a long white silk halter-neck gown, he said almost casually, 'I'd like to whip you in the morning, my dear.'

'Yes, Master.'

'So perhaps you'll dress appropriately after breakfast, then come to my room.'

I raised my eyebrows – surprised that he had told me to go to his room, and not to the basement, or at least the lounge.

'I have something different in mind,' was all he said.

I slept surprisingly well that night, and Teresa woke me up with a breakfast tray. 

'Can I do anything for you?' she asked when she came to collect the tray.

'You can put my hair up for me,' I told her.

'You're going to wear it up?'

'Yes,' I said, 'to keep it out of the way.'

'Oh,' she said, 'then you're going to be whipped?'

'Yes, Teresa.'

'Aren't you frightened?'

'A little,' I admitted, 'but it's so exciting, as well.'

'It must hurt terribly.'

'Oh yes, it does, but the pain is like a drug – I want more. I really believe I could die under his lash. Last time he whipped me, I came twice while he was doing it.'

The Colombian was fascinated, and kept asking me questions as she put my hair up in a French knot. I couldn't answer many of them, because I hadn't really formed my own opinions about my new lifestyle yet – I just knew it was what I wanted, that for the first time in my life I was truly happy. I was in love, and a part of me didn't want to share my Master with Teresa.

I slipped on the long white cotton dress, and asked Teresa to shackle my ankles and cuff my wrists, and clip a leash onto the ring in my collar. I checked the mirror, and again thought I looked like some medieval heroine going off to be executed – presumably that was the effect Lars wanted.

I let the maid lead me to Lars' room, then, as she left me there, and went off to her kitchen duties, I knocked the Master's door.

'Come in!' 

I went in, and he was sat in an armchair, reading, dressed in a dark blue silk dressing gown. He put the book down on the arm of the chair, and nodded to me.

'Go into the bathroom!' he told me, and I shuffled through the door, my chain clanking on the tiles. He followed me in.

'Under the shower!' he rapped, and I started to unbutton my dress, hampered by the handcuffs.

'I said nothing about getting undressed,' he said sternly, his breath hot on the back of my neck as he came up behind me. He walked round me in the huge, mosaic-tiled shower alcove, and grasping the chain which connected my wrists, lifted it up above my head until I thought he would wrench my arms from their sockets, slipping the chain over the shower-head, which was some way above my head, so that I was forced to stand on my toes.

'Hmmm!' he mused, standing back to look at me, 'very nice!'

Then, quickly, he reached around me and turned on the shower control. A stinging torrent of freezing cold water cascaded over me, taking my breath away, drenching me instantly, so that the thin cotton dress moulded to me like a second, soaking skin. After a couple of minutes, he turned off the shower, and left the bathroom, so that I was sure I should get pneumonia, suspended there, sopping wet and frozen stiff. 

But my Master was back in no time, carrying a long leather implement.

'I will introduce you to the singletail whip,' he said, 'I believe it hurts a lot, and your wet skin will enhance its effect, even through your dress.'

Without further delay, he stood back and gave the whip a trial swing, and it fizzed as it passed close to me. His next stroke fell across my drenched back, and I screamed as I felt its awful bite just under my shoulder blades. He tortured me through twenty more vicious strokes, making me count every one after the first. After ten, he paused and asked me if I could take ten more. 

'Yes, Master!' I told him, and writhed in agony as my punishment continued. A couple of brutal strokes into the second ten, I felt an orgasm approaching like an express train, and I slumped under it raging force as the next stroke lashed my ass. I think my scream must have told him I had cum, but his whip wasn't stilled. 

As soon as I had taken the twenty strokes, he unhooked my wrists and forced me to the floor, then parted his dressing gown to reveal a mighty erection. I rounded my lips and took him in my mouth, but it would be more accurate than describing it as a blow-job, to say that he brutally fucked my mouth, and after half a dozen choking, pounding slams, he shot his hot load of spunk deep down my throat.

When I had tenderly dried my naked body – and I found that his whip had actually torn my dress in several places - Lars rang for Teresa, who took me back into the bathroom, where I looked in wonder at the red wheals which he had caused, all over my back, ass and upper thighs, and which Teresa now tended with loving care.

At lunch, I sat demurely in a soft summer print dress, my ass aching, my back sore as hell, but Lars was attentive and solicitous.

'I have nothing planned for the rest of the day,' he said, 'so you'll have some time to recover before tomorrow night.'

'Tomorrow night?' 

'Oh, I thought I'd told you. Marcelo and Selina are coming to dinner. I did say that I'd loan you to them some time, so I may let you go home with them for the night.'

'Master,' I said, aghast, 'It's you that I love. I don't want to go with anyone else.' 

'If you do indeed truly love me, you will want to do as I say, ' he said, in a tone that brooked no argument.

After lunch the next day, as I was just going to my room to rest, my master said, 'Backless, tonight, my dear, I think.'

'But then my marks will show.'

'That's right!' he nodded. Looking back at him over my shoulder as I left, I went to lay down.

Later, I came down to greet our guests. I had followed my Master's instructions, and wore the silver, silky, halter-necked gown which left my back completely naked, right down to the start of my ass-cleft. When I had looked over my shoulder into my long mirror, I saw that it would be impossible not to notice the random pattern of red curling lines which criss-crossed my pale flesh, the whole length of my back. My unfettered breasts jiggled as I walked, nipples jutting out through the soft, thin material. Apart from the gown, I wore only my Master's waist-chain and collar, and a pair of extravagantly high needle-heeled sandals. I had brushed my long black hair out until it shone then braided it into a long rope, so that it didn't cover my wounded back.




Pretty Woman Ch. 02



'You look good enough to eat, my dear Katherine,' said Lars, wearing a white tux. He kissed me almost formally on the cheek, then clipped a bejewelled leash onto my collar, as we heard a taxi pull up outside. 

Teresa, dressed in a little black silk minidress and fishnet tights, opened the door to our guests, and the suave, grey-haired Marcelo, in a tux much like that my Master wore, stood aside to allow his haughty wife Selina to precede him. Teresa took her big fur coat from her, and she stood – posed, really - in transparent peach-colored organdie harem pants, and an equally see-through blouse, buttoned up the back, allowing an unobstructed view of full, round breasts. But my eyes went to her midriff, where a tattooed serpent curled around her waist, its head diving down to her shaven mound, long forked tongue clearly visible through her pants as it probed into her slit. Her blonde hair was done, like mine, in a braid, hanging right down her back. I didn't think I had ever seen a sexier woman, and she must have been well past her fortieth birthday.

'You have met my Katherine,' said my Master, 'but now her training is well advanced, and she is very obliging, as you will find.'

We ate dinner, Marcelo's hand creeping up my thigh, but my eyes were for his wife, and once she made that lewd gesture of slipping the very tip of her tongue out from between her even white teeth while she regarded me from beneath slightly lowered eyelids. I was squirming on my chair, fearful of making a wet patch on my lovely dress as juices oozed from my pussy.

'I can see you have whipped Katherine well,' Selina said to Lars, in her slightly deep, husky voice, her eyes still on mine, a faint smile on her luscious lips, 'is she as willing as Marisa was?'

I looked a question at my Master, and he explained, for my benefit: 'Marisa was my last slave. I loaned her to Erik, a friend, and she preferred to stay with him.'

'Erik must be quite something,' I said, unable to imagine anyone preferable to Lars.

'He is very strict, I think.'

We lapsed into silence for a short while, as Lars appeared to be thinking, then he looked at me and said, 'I told Marcelo that I would loan you to them, and I must keep my promise. I hope you won't want to desert me too?'

'No, sir, I wouldn't want to leave you.'

'Very well, then, you will leave with them this evening, and they can bring you back the day after tomorrow.'

I knew it was pointless to protest, although I was going to miss Lars badly, But when I saw Selina lick her lips involuntarily, my pulse quickened.

'I must go and change,' I said.

'No, my dear, we'll take you just as you are,' said Selina, and Lars sent Teresa to my room to pack me a suitcase. 

While she was out of the room, my Master said to me, 'When you return, we shall have a new maid.'

Surprised and suddenly unhappy, I asked, 'Why? Is Teresa leaving?'

'Oh no,' he smiled, 'She has implored me to train her as a slave. I've been resisting until I thought she was ready – now is the time.'

A new concern surfaced. 'Is she going to replace me?'

'You silly girl, Katherine,' he laughed, 'you can help me train her, then, when she is ready, you can help me decide whether to keep her, or pass her on to one of my friends.'

I looked at him doubtfully, but he seemed to be serious.

Teresa threw a fur wrap across my shoulders while we waited for the taxi, but the driver did a double-take when he saw me get into the back, between Selina and Marcelo, my breasts thrusting through the soft silky material of my dress. They both caressed me as we drove through busy streets, Marcelo with an arm around my shoulders, kneading my breasts, Selina with her hand up my skirt, fingering my soaking pussy.

'I can hardly wait to get you home,' she breathed into my ear, before biting my lobe with her sharp teeth.

Marcelo led me into their palatial home in a leafy suburb, and bade me wait a moment while he pressed a buzzer. A lithe, slim Asian girl who, at first glance, looked no more than a child, appeared with a drinks tray.

'This is Mia,' said Marcelo, 'she's been with us for…. how long, Mia?'

'Ten years, sir,' the girl replied, 'can I do anything else for you, sir?'

'Yes, this is Katherine. I want you to prepare her for us – you know what I require.'

'Yes sir.'

With that, Mia took my hand, and led me up a broad staircase, and into a large bedroom.

'How long will you stay?' she asked me, and as I watched her, I saw telltale lines at her eye-corners – she was probably close to forty, in fact.

'Tonight and tomorrow night, I think,' I said.

'Then this will be your room. I'll have your suitcase brought up.'

I looked around. It was a beautiful, spacious room, with a huge bed, and an open door leading to an en-suite bathroom.

'Now I must prepare you,' said Mia, and I wondered what on earth she was going to do to me. 

She told me to undress, nd all I had to do was slip the bow at the back of my neck, and my dress fell to the floor in a whisper of soft silk. She then motioned for me to sit in a chair in front of the big dressing-table mirror, and said, smilingly, 'I have to decorate you for my Master and Mistress – they like their women to be pretty.'

'Women?'

'Yes, they usually hire them from an agency, but they told me you are special.'

She stood and looked at me for a moment. 'It is nice that you wear a collar and waist-chain, but it is a shame that you have no piercings, I think.'

'I'm going to have some done next week,' I said.

Mia set to work with make-up, giving my eyes special treatment, applying long false eyelashes and lining them with heavy mascara. When she had painted and glossed my lips, she applied matching dark red paint and gloss to my aureolas, and then to my labia, exciting me terribly when she spent longer there than was strictly necessary, and teased my clit out from under its protecting hood.

She rolled seamed black lace-top hold-ups up my legs, then had me put my own shoes back on, cinching a heavy gold anklet in place. Then she gave me long lace gloves to put on, clipped extravagantly long pendants, which brushed my shoulders, into my ears, and gave my hair a final brush.

'Come, my Master and Mistress will be waiting,' she said, and led me by the hand, naked save for the stockings and gloves, downstairs. The ultra-high heels made my ass sway as I walked. After Mia's ministrations, I was more than ready to be fucked.  

In the lounge, Selina sat waiting for me. She had shed her pantsuit, and was wearing a white, fur-trimmed, transparent negligee, casually open, so that every detail of her exotic tattoo was visible. Behind me, in walked Marcello, clad in a satin dressing gown. Mia made herself scarce, but almost immediately returned, carrying a chair. When I looked at it, I saw that it was identical to the one Lars had once made me sit on at dinner, a phallus projecting from its seat. When Mia placed it on the floor beside us, I expected to be asked to sit on it, and was surprised when Selina stood up, kissed her husband briefly on the lips, and led him to the chair. He lifted his robe, and, spreading his ass-cheeks with both hands, settled slowly down on the phallus, and expression of ecstasy on his handsome face. He threw apart the front of his robe, and I saw that his big, thick member was stiffly erect, standing to attention. Selina led me to it and I readily straddled my temporary master, impaling myself on his enormous cock, feeling it sliding, stretching me, until it seemed to fill my whole body. Slowly I started to ride him, moving up and down, up and down, until suddenly I felt the sharp, biting sting of the lash on my middle back. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw that Selina had a riding crop in her hand, and had started to flog my already wounded back.

I cried out as her lashes hurt like hell, but heightened the pleasure Marcelo's prick was giving me, made even more fantastic when he bit my nipples gently, his own breath now coming in gasps as the great phallus invaded his asshole.

Quite suddenly, he stiffened, and I felt a gush of creamy hot spunk fill me to bursting as he came, simultaneously with a vicious stroke from Selina which almost made me black out as a thunderous orgasm swept over me.

Later, when Mia had fetched me a negligee, Selina told her husband he should go to bed, then she told me she would like me to sleep with her – I agreed readily.

After she had treated me so cruelly, Selina was sweetness itself, and as soon as we were in bed together, between her satin sheets, I followed the tattooed serpent's lead, tonguing her pussy, where I found that she had a truly extravagant clit, almost like a small cock. When I flicked it with my tongue, she enjoined me to bite it instead. I thought I'd hurt her when she screamed loudly, but she yelled, 'No, don't stop!' and cried out again as I teased the rock-hard bud. In no time at all, she shuddered violently, and a great gushing spurt of her vaginal fluid soaked me as she came with mighty force.

We showered together after that, then slept, entwined, for eight hours.

Next morning, Selina sent me back to my room, telling me that Mia had ben instructed to put out the clothes I was to wear. 'They are from my wardrobe, my dear,' she said.

'But I've brought stuff with me,' I told her.

'I know, but I'm taking you out, and I want to show you off,' sh replied.

Back in my room, I saw that Mia had indeed laid clothes on the bed for me – a dress, a little satin garter belt and white stockings. The dress was a very short white silky one, with a flared, pleated skirt and a deep 'v' at the front, practically down to my navel, the wide opening criss-crossed by lacing. When I slipped into it, I thought I looked very sexy, but the hem of the dress only just covered my stocking-tops, which would surely show when I sat down, and unless I was careful, glimpses of my shaven pussy would be available to all and sundry. I put on my own stilettos, and brushed my hair for a while. When I got back downstairs, Selina was waiting for me, dressed in a fabulous purple Armani suit, the skirt tight about her knees, and a brown silk blouse, her golden hair shining and bouncing around her shoulders.

'Come on, Katherine, the taxi will be here any minute,' she said, taking me by the hand as we walked out the front door, just as a taxi drew up on the gravel driveway

As Selina led me around the shops, stopping to try on shoes, and then to buy costume jewellery, I felt like a little girl, but a very sexy one – I couldn't shake off the image of 'Anne' in the book my Master had given me to read – the young girl who was possessed, dressed – and undressed – by Claire and her lover, then whipped and eventually tortured by them. Selina held my hand all the time, and soon pulled me into a swanky coffee-bar, where she seemed to know everyone, and spoke to other women – and some men – sat at all the tables as we threaded our way through. But she didn't introduce me, so that I felt humiliated. It was, of course, deliberate.

We sat at a corner table, and Selina made sure that I sat in a chair facing out into the café. A couple in their thirties sat at the nearest table, and Selina nodded to them in a familiar way. She was an olive-skinned beauty, her long, glossy black hair swept back severely and caught up in a pony tail. She wore a silk jersey-knit dress which must have cost a fortune. He was black, with a flashing smile, and wore a denim suit which only barely concealed a mucular body.

Selina leant towards me conspiratorially, then shocked me, though I had thought myelf shockproof. 'Let him see your cunt,' she said.

I only had to slide the hem of my skirt a few inches up my thigh, and surreptitiously open my legs the tiniest shade, for him to get a glimpse of my hairless crack. Knowing my role, I lowered my eyelids a little, and let the tip of my tongue slip out between my teeth as I did so. Two sets of eyes took all this in, and Selina watched them, watching me.

I sipped my coffee for a short while, then the girl stood, getting gracefully to her feet, and came over to speak to Selina. Their body-language suggested familiarity, but they whispered to one another, so I couldn't hear what was said, and I wasn't introduced. When the girl returned to her partner, however, Selina said quietly, 'Mara and Pablo have a car outside – they have invited us.'

In the soft leather back seat of a big Mercedes, I sat beside Mara, who stroked my bestockinged knee. While Selina and Pablo talked inaudibly to each other in the front. I've always had sensitive knees, and her hand was sending signals to my rapidly-moistening pussy. When I turned to ask her where we were going, she leaned in and kissed me, with infinite gentleness, on the mouth.

'So you are Selina's…friend?' she probed, when our mouths separated. 

'Something like that,' I said.

'I love the way you are dressed,' she said.

Selina, who had been listening, interjected, 'You like the way I have had her dressed, then, Mara?'

'Yes, darling, and so does Pablo, don't you, my love?'

Pablo's deep tones confirmed his approval.

We were soon in a subterranean carpark, and took an elevator-ride to their fifth floor apartment, in a high-rent part of town. It was furnished with priceless antiques in a Regency style. I looked around in wonder, but before I had the chance to see very much, I found myself being led into a huge bedroom. My eyes widened when I saw the heavy wooden St. Andrew's Cross set against the end wall, opposite the bed. It had short chains hanging from ringbolts at its extremities. I suddenly knew why I had been brought here – it had been no casual meeting, but planned!

When I looked around, I saw that Selina had divested herself of her smart suit, and stood in a short silk slip, while her friend Mara wore only a tight black corset and black stockings, and held a long leather riding crop in one hand. Pablo, on the other hand, was still wearing his denim trousers and shirt, and it was he who led me to the cross, and helped me out of my dress.

'You can leave the rest on,' he said, when I started to unfasten my garter belt.

Efficiently, he clipped my wrists and ankles to the chains on the cross. Thus spreadeagled, I had never felt so vulnerable as I watched what they were doing. Mara now approached me with something hidden in her hand, which she deftly ran around my neck. Before I knew it, she was cramming a red ball gag into my mouth, held into position by the strap around my neck, and forcing my tongue right back, so that when I tried to protest, I only heard a strangled 'aargh,' emerge.

'I'm sorry, Katherine, about the gag,' said Selina, 'but you must understand that this is an apartment, so we have to take care about any noise, and I think we may make you scream.'

My eyes widened, as she spoke – I felt frightened, by my situation, but then Mara came and caressed my nipples, then fingered my slit just for a moment, and the familiar excitement overtook my fear, even as she came up to me and stroked my tits with the crop.

Then, without warning, she drew her arm back, and lashed me, hard, stinging, brutal stroke right across my tender breasts. I glanced down and saw a livid red welt right across my left breast and curling over my right one. I shrunk in my bonds as she brought the dreadful crop down on me again, now underneath my breasts, hurting me terribly. In all, she gave me ten strokes of cruel intensity, finishing off on my belly and upper thighs, so the tears rolled down my cheeks from the ferocity of the agony I felt, but amidst it all, and in spite of myself, I had the inevitable climax that always accompanied pain.

It must have been obvious from my closed eyes, and violent shudder, because Mara paused, with a couple of strokes left to go, and felt my crack again, then raised the hand to her mouth and licked off my juices with apparent relish.

Finally able to look elsewhere, I saw that Selina, kneeling on the bed, had an enormous black cock in her mouth, but the eyes of both participants were on me. As Mara's final stroke wracked my belly with delicious pain, Pablo gave voice to a loud, animal growl, and obviously shot his load deep into Selina's throat, as she gagged and gurgled with its force.

That night, I slept – or, for the most part, failed to sleep - between Selina and Marcelo, after Mia had tended my wounds. Then I was only too ready to return to my Master. When I did so, he questioned me closely about the treatment that had been meted out to me, and seemed satisfied that my training was now almost complete.

'It remains for me to have you decorated,' he said.

'I love jewellery.'

'No, my dear, I mean rather more….permanent decoration,' he said. The future was an exciting prospect.



Pretty Woman Ch. 03



The first chapter of this story is posted under Calandria. The second under my new identity of Calandria2. (Don't ask why!) Everyone in the tale is over 18, and so should you be!

Kate is a young girl from a humble background in the States, whose adventures have brought her to Madrid, where she was 'discovered' and given a home by Lars, a handsome man with mixed Basque and Swedish parentage, who has made her his slave. Teresa is his maid, and wishes to become his slave too.

*

My master welcomed me home with open arms, the afternoon after my two nights with his friends Selina and Marcelo, but wanted to hear in detail what they had required of me. He enjoyed my account of the visit we had made to their friend's apartment, where I had been viciously whipped, and wanted to know if I had had an orgasm then. I sheepishly told him that I had.

We were sitting in the lounge, and when I asked him how Teresa's training was progressing, he rang for her, with the little bell with which he always summoned his maid.

When she came in, I gasped, because she was preceded by a dark-skinned, quite tall, Indian-looking maid I had never seen before, dressed formally in a black velvet minidress, black fishnet stockings, the tops of which could be tantalisingly seen below her hem, and black patent stilettos. Her long, silky, jet-black hair was caught up in pony-tail, but still fell to her slender waist. In a delicate little lace-gloved hand, she held the end of a leash, which was attached to a broad silver collar, that encircled Teresa's neck. Apart from that, and a matching silver belt hanging loosely about her waist, she was naked. But what made me gasp was the pattern of red welts that could instantly be seen laddering her slim body. Not deep or ugly, they made a pretty pattern from just below her pert breasts to her hairless mound, beneath which her neat and, to me, familiar pussy hid coyly from view, the start of her slit an unspoken challenge.

'You must meet Zia, my new maid,' said Lars, 'she came to me as a virgin.'

I didn't ask if she still enjoyed that status, but his use of the past tense tended to point to the answer, and Zia's face told me the rest. If her complexion had allowed her to blush, she would surely have done so.

My master dismissed his new maid, and took hold of Teresa's leash, drawing her closer.

'Let me have a look at your marks, my dear,' he said, and inspected the fading red stripes carefully, running a finger along them thoughtfully.

'Next time you are whipped, I think Katherine should do it,' he said.

'Oh, please no, Sir,' I pleaded, 'I don't want to hurt her – she has been so good to me, and….'

'You will whip her, do you understand?' he spoke sharply, then, more softly: 'It will seal a bond between you. When she is fully-trained, I may have her return the favour.'

'Yes, Sir,' I murmured, my eyes cast downwards.

'Now,' he said, 'now that is settled, we'll discuss your own next phase. You both mentioned to me that you would like to be pierced, and I have arranged for that to be done tomorrow, but next week, I shall place my permanent mark on you, Katherine. That will be accompanied by a ceremony which will mark the completion of your training. Your training, Teresa, is as yet in its early stages, and, if you are to earn your mark as well, you will have to learn to take a lot of punishment. Now you should both go and dress for dinner. Zia has been instructed to lay out your dresses.'

I went to my room, which I was pleased to see again, even after so short a break. As I showered prior to dressing for dinner, I couldn't help wondering if I should retain my precious place in the affections of my master, now that Teresa was going to share my status, and with the lovely Zia as a new complication. A lovely complication, I thought, however, and wondered what the Indian maid would look like naked, and whether I should one day see her chained to my master's whipping post, being lashed mercilessly – it was an intriguing thought.

The dress Zia had laid out on my bed was one of my favourites, a backless grey silk halter-neck gown whose bodice was loose enough that my breasts jiggled as I walked, but with a skirt tight enough to mould my buttocks, and make long strides impossible. I would go naked under the dress, apart from my waist-chain, and my collar was always in place. I slipped on gunmetal grey stilettos, and brushed my long black hair until it shone. I didn't think I should be whipped that evening, so I could let my hair cascade down my back – I knew my master liked that.

As I left my room, I coincided with Teresa, and saw that she had been dressed in a very special way. The dress she wore was black latex, and of the most extraordinary design I had ever seen. It was knee-length and skin-tight, with a buckle fastening the hem tightly around her long slim legs, much like a dress I had worn the week before. But there the resemblance ended, because Teresa's dress had a huge cut-out at the rear, so that her buttocks were quite naked, and the neckline, if such it could be called, ran below her sharp-pointed breasts. Apart from a pair of black needle-heeled, platform-soled shoes, and her metal collar, she wore nothing else.

She looked at me sheepishly. 'Do I look silly?' she asked.

'No, Teresa,' I told her, smiling, 'you look ready to be fucked.'

We went hand-in-hand into the dining room, where Lars, dressed in an Armani suit, was waiting, sitting on a sofa. He looked us both up and down, then nodded his approval.

'Katherine, come and sit beside me,' he said, patting the sofa. I did as he told me.

He next addressed Teresa. 'Come and kneel in front of me,' he said, and she knelt awkwardly on the carpet, hampered by her ultra-tight skirt. Her breasts pointed proudly at our master, who promptly took both of her long, protuberant nipples between thumb and forefinger, tweaking hard, so that she let out a sharp gasp. Zia appeared as if at some unseen signal, carrying a small silver tray, and Lars released his grasp on Teresa's nipples, and took the tray. From it, he selected a pair of silver screw-down nipple clamps, which he deftly applied to the Colombian girl's erect nipples, cusing her to writhe and grimace. But then he tightened them down really hard, and Teresa gave little screams as the awful instruments bit into her engorged flesh. They were connected by a pretty, fine, silver chain, I noticed. My master now stood up and told Teresa to bend over the seat of the sofa, giving her a cushion to rest her head on.

'Now spread your ass-cheeks!' he ordered.

'But…my skirt…..,' Teresa began.

'Zia, unbuckle it for her. She can have it done up again afterwards.'

The maid crouched down beside me and did as she was told, glancing at me for a moment with a look I couldn't read. Teresa shifter her knees a foot apart, then obediently reached behind her with both hands, her face crushed down into the cushion, and stretched her lovely buttocks as far apart as she was able. Meanwhile Lars had taken from the tray the biggest butt-plug I had ever seen, conical in shape, and some four inches long, and having a stem an inch or so long projecting from the thicker end, topped with a wide flange. It was made of blue plastic. As he smeared lubricant on the wicked-looking artifact, he said to me, 'She's no anal virgin, but she definitely needs enlarging,' 

Then he ever so slowly introduced the plug into Teresa's asshole, working it almost gently around as he pushed, but then, quite suddenly, he rammed it hard home, deep into the girl's velvet tunnel, causing her to yell out with agony as it threatened to tear her delicate membranes. 

'Oh, oh. It's awful,' she cried, 'I'll never be able to bear it!'

'You can and you will,' said our master, then to Zia, 'buckle up her skirt again, my dear.'

When Teresa struggled to her feet, the blue flange of her plug was lewdly displayed in her asshole, and Lars gave a tug at the chain of her nipple clamps, then said to me, 'Come, Katherine, we must sit up to the table. Teresa will sit on the floor beside me.' 

I almost protested at the cruel humiliation of the girl who had come to be my friend, but something told me that it wasn't going to be worthwhile, and that, anyway, she was only getting what she had asked for. Zia served us a splendid dinner of tikka masala and pilau rice, with many side dishes – I realised that she had been chosen for more reasons than one, especially when, as she bent over to place one dish on the table, my master casually lifted her little skirt with his fork, revealing naked pussy-lips, black as night!

Lars fed Teresa sparingly, giving her a forkful of delicious Indian fare from time to time, but when I looked at her pityingly, she turned away from me, introspectively.

After we had eaten, Lars wanted Teresa to walk up and down in front of us, and when she did so, she thrust her sharp-pointed young breasts out proudly, the clamps an erotic statement, and tried to walk as normally as possible, despite the twin discomforts of the huge butt plug and the restraint around her legs, not to mention the totteringly high heels she wore. I was impressed, and a pang of jealousy struck as I knew I couldn't have done so well.

Presently, my master told her to go to her room – 'but keep that plug in place tonight, do you hear?'

'And the clamps?'

'You can take them off. In fact, do it now.'

I was prepared to hear her scream as she unscrewed the vicious clamps, and the blood flowed back into her tortured nipples, and so she did, and tears ran down her cheeks as she handed the clamps back to Lars.

'Come to bed with me,' he said to me, 'I think I should like to fuck you now.' 

'Will she be alright?' Lars asked me as I slid into bed, having shrugged out of my gown.

'I think so,' I replied, 'and Zia?'

'She has distinct possibilities too,' he said, enigmatically, 'but she has a lot to learn.'

I felt for my master's cock, and found it rock-hard already – he had been affected by the humiliation of Teresa, I thought. But what the hell? I closed my lips around the burgeoning, pulsing shaft, and took him deep into my throat as he drove his forefinger hard into my asshole. In no time at all, he came, in a hot, viscous flood, which I swallowed gratefully, then licked and sucked him clean, keeping myself on the very brink of an orgasm as I did so.

'Oh, thank you, master,' I told him, 'I have been thinking about your lovely body for the last two days.'

'Even when you were with Selina?'

'Even then.'

He took me twice then, the first time showing the gentleness of which he was capable, bringing me to ecstasy as he drove his length in and out with a gradually increasing rhythm, then, scarcely half an hour later, pounding my eager but tender asshole so hard I felt he would split me in two.

Next morning, over coffee, he said, 'Get dressed now, my dear, just a skirt and blouse or something. The people are coming to pierce you at ten o'clock.' He went off to impart the same message to Teresa. 

When I looked at my dress options, I decided on a favourite, a short, green, pleated silk dress which fell unbelted from its gathered neck to mid-thigh length, with voluminous sleeves. My breasts pushed at the soft material, which then drifted loosely down over my naked body, and always made me feel incredibly sexy. After making up, I went to the entrance hall, where Teresa sat, dressed in a button-through cotton summer dress, and looking demure.

At ten precisely, the doorbell rang, and Zia bustled through to answer it. She ushered in a tall, grey-haired man who would have passed for a lawyer or an accountant, and an attractive blonde woman in her forties. Both were dressed in business suits, and carried heavy briefcases, the sort pilots carry. I didn't think they could be the people we were waiting for, but the man asked Zia where they could change, and they soon emerged transformed from the cloakroom by the entrance. They were still carrying their cases, but now were clad in white coats. Zia took them out through the kitchen, motioning us to follow on. When I took Teresa's hand in mine, I found that she was trembling. She glanced at me beseechingly. 'I don't want them to do this to me,' she said.

'Don't be silly, it won't hurt,' I said, with more assurance than I felt.

I discovered that Zia had prepared a room off the kitchen, somehow having found and installed a gynocologist's chair, complete with stirrups for the legs. Beside it was a little table, and on it the woman was laying out several gleaming instruments I didn't at all like the look of.

'Who's first?' asked the grey-haired guy. I looked at Teresa, who had started to shiver again, and stepped forward.

The woman smiled at me in a kindly way, and told me to get undressed. When I showed her what I had on, by the simple expedient of raising my dress, she helped me into the chair. As I allowed her to place my legs in the stirrups, I felt momentary panic, which wasn't helped when she buckled my ankles firmly in place.

'Is that necessary?' I asked.

'Not usually, but it helps us to know that you'll keep still.'

She was still smiling, and continued, 'We'll do your tongue first, I think – it's quite simple. Would you like to choose your ornament?'

I chose a pink coral stud with a short, fine gold wire to go through my tongue.

The guy worked deftly, first spraying something onto my tongue that made it feel numb, then, before I knew it, he was sstanding back to admire his handiwork. The woman showed me my new stud in a little hand mirror, but when I tried to tell her it looked nice, my mouth was a little numb, and I couldn't get the words out. It was a shame, because I meant to ask her if they could spray my pussy as well, before they went to work on it.

Too late! They were already poking about between my legs, their latex-gloved hands cool against my flesh, and then they exchanged glances, before the man nodded to her, and stepped back. She started to massage my clit, gently at first, then, with consumate skill, she made circular motions around my little nub, before plunging two long fingers deep into my cunt. I gasped in pleasure, and saw out of my eye-corner, that Teresa's eyes were hooded as she breathed more quickly, enjoying the scene. When I felt the beginnings of an orgasm welling up, the woman drew back, and turning to her colleague, said, 'Yes, we can do her clit – she has a nice one.'

She let him take her place, and his quick, authoritative fingers gripped my excited clit.

I found my voice, and despite the strangeness of the stud in my tongue, managed to protest, 'But what about an anaesthetic?'

A new voice said calmly, 'But that would spoil it, my dear.' Lars had entered the room, and was stood beside me. I was shaking now, as the grey-haired guy coaxed my clit out from beneath its protecting hood, and I felt the tip of his needle against my most tender place.Then there was nothing but excruciating pain – and crazy, agonising ecstasy – as he penetrated my clitoris with his cruel instrument. I moaned loudly, and came, a rushing, hurricane-force climax. When I descended, however, I was able to look in the woman's mirror and see a silver ring adorning me.

'We'll hang something on that from time to time,' said Lars, and the woman laughed. Her eyes said that she would have loved Lars to fuck her.

Before I got up from the chair, I had my navel decorated with a short length of silver chain, from which hung my master's insignia, and the woman took time off from flirting with my master to give me some antiseptic cream, and instructions for applying it.

It was Teresa's turn, and she provided something of an anticlimax. When the woman tried to get her clit to emerge, it stubbornly refused to be coaxed, and she had to be pierced through her hood, which I knew wouldn't give her much pain. She still screamed, however, leading our master to say, 'Tomorrow, I'll see you have something to scream about, my little one.'

My new decorations were going to take a little getting used to, and Lars was not going to be able to fuck us for at least four days, the woman said. 

'Not there, anyway!' he whispered conspiratorially to me, and I giggled.

During the rest of the day, I couldn't resist playing with my tongue-stud, which felt strange, especially when I ate, and I several times admired my new clitoris-ring – I could hardly wait for my master to 'hang something on it' as he had said. I knew that would keep me aroused beyond belief.

Next day, at breakfast, Lars said, in a matter-of-fact tone, 'Teresa, it is time for you to be whipped. When you've finished your coffee, you will go to your room. I have had Zia lay out your dress, and she will put your hair up, then lead you down.' He might have been asking her to do some simple domestic chore, I thought, but I found myself trembling at the prospect of punishing my friend.

'Take your time over coffee, my dear – you'll be fine as you are,' my master said. I was wearing a long, white, transparent, fur-trimmed nightdress, with spaghetti straps, under my robe, and had done little more than brush out my long dark hair that morning.

Lars led me down to the 'dungeon' and I noted that he had installed something new in my short absence. It was a St.Andrew's cross, but laid horizontally to one side of the big room, about a foot off the floor. The cellar still contained the whipping-post I knew so well, the special 'vaulting-horse,' with its immense phallus projecting up at an angle, and many other instruments of torture.

Excitement was coursing through my veins when I heard Zia's heels clacking down the stone steps. She was dressed in her uniform, as usual, and held the end of Teresa's leash, clipped to her silver collar. Her black hair was twisted up expertly into a French knot, and she was clad in the 'regulation' long cotton dress, tied at the waist with a simple cord. She trembled slightly as my master stood behind me, and slipped the robe from my shoulders, leaving every detail of my body visible through the trransparency of my gown. 

Meanwhile, he nodded to Zia, and she unbuttoned Teresa's dress, untied the cord, so that when she pushed it from my friend's slim shoulders, it fell in a pool around her bare feet. The ritual seemed to heighten the erotic tension, as Lars bade her spreadeagle herself on the narrow planks of the cross, then told Zia to secure her wrists and ankles to the extremities. The cross's shape meant that her legs were wide apart, and from where I stood, I saw her glistening, open cunt, and realised she was wet with the anticipation of her whipping.

My master handed me a long, supple, very thin cane, with a rubber grip by which to hold it, and kissed my lips, then breathed, 'Don't hold back. I want her to be hurt.'

'How many?'

'Oh, I think she can take thirty, don't you? Ten on her back, the rest on her ass and thighs.'

I must have looked dubious, because he said, smiling, 'Don't worry, Katherine, you will soon have your own turn.'

I turned to look at him, and he saw some sort of a challenge in my glance.

'This afternoon,' he said quietly, then, 'go on, whip her!'

I felt the satisfying swish of the cane with a trial flick, then standing just aside from Teresa, gave her the first tentative stroke, just below her shoulder blades.

'Oh, come on, Katherine! You can do better than that,' said Lars, from his armchair, 'she hardly felt that!' 

I drew back my arm, and lashed the small of her back, raising a dark red welt right across the lovely pale flesh of her back. She winced, and writhed against her bonds

'That's better,' he said, 'One!'

'Oh!' moaned Teresa, when I struck a little higher up, and I warmed to the task, trying not to let the cruel cane fall in the same place twice. But my master still wasn't happy.




Pretty Woman Ch. 03



'Put more into it,' he told me.

I thrashed her with all my strength, bringing a deep red line across both her buttocks, and making the girl squirm violently, tugging at her wrist restraints. On my next stroke, I heard a slight gasp, and glanced round to see Zia, her mouth slightly open, her breathing audible, a delicate, long-fingered hand straying under the hem of her tiny black skirt.

Teresa was crying now, her breath coming in short gasps as I approached her twentieth stroke. I changed position to concentrate on her slim thighs, and when I flogged her just below the crease of her buttocks, just catching her pussy with the cane's tip, she screamed.

'Be quiet, or you'll get ten more!' said Lars.

'Oh no, I couldn't, please!' pleaded the helplessly-bound young slave.

As I completed my task, my master beckoned Zia to come and kneel in front of him, and deftly drew out his stiff cock, which she took hungrily between her red lips. Although I had to watch where my final strokes fell, I was aware of the groan coming from the armchair, as Lars thrust his hips up towards the new maid, and shot his hot load of spunk deep into her throat.

At lunch, Teresa sat down gingerly, even though Zia had tended her wounds carefully, and admitted two things.

'I'm as sore as hell,' she said, 'but I came twice while……while….'

'While I was whipping you?'

'Yes.' She looked ashamed.

'It always has that effect on me, darling,' I said, and she smiled ruefully.

That afternoon, I presented myself, dressed, as had been my friend, in a long, virginal, white cotton dress. I had expected to be made to take up position on the horizontal cross, but my master simply led me to the whipping post, and cuffed my wrists up above my head. Then he literally tore down the bodice of my dress, exposing my naked back, but leaving the skirt covering me from the waist down. Zia, who had followed us to the basement, handed him a single-tail whip, and he took two strides back, tested the instrument through the air, cracking it impressively. Then he swung it expertly through a short arc, and I felt the awful sting as the thin, knotted leather thong bit into the soft, tender flesh of my lower back. I gritted my teeth, and went instantly to that other place – the place where there is nothing but pain, pain, and pleasure. But no, not pleasure, exactly, ecstasy is closer to it, but doesn't begin to describe the feeling when my mster's whip rains down on my back, and my orgasm comes rushing up to meet me, the tingle that starts in my cunt becoming a gushing cascade as I wait hungrily for the blissful agony of the next stroke, looking at my master over my shoulder with beseeching eyes.

'Oh master, don't stop,' is my only wish in the world at that moment.

I knew I should have asked his permission, but my climax, my delirious climax, wasn't going to be denied, and I almost blacked out with its force, as there as nothing else in my world at that moment, only the awful sting of the brutal whip, and my master, my master on the other end of it, the man who truly understood me, seemed to share my very soul. He knew that the tears now flooding down my cheeks were the final outpouring of my emotion, my love for him. I could have willingly died for him at that moment, and when, later, he cradled me in his arms, and told me he loved me, I felt happier than I had ever felt in my life – with something to spare.

During the next few days, my master came to appreciate my new piercings. He said my tongue stud made him more excited when I licked his shaft, and proved it by twice cumming copiously in my mouth when I sucked him deeply, then thrust a long-nailed finger deep into his asshole. I always took time licking him clean, and swallowed evry drop. He attached two heavy silver links to my clit-ring, with my amber birthstone dangling below in a clasp-setting. The constant pull on my clit meant that I couldn't walk anywhere without being almost permanently aroused, and when I went out with my master, he often had me wear short, flared skirts, so that the lewd decoration almost fell to my hemline. I was embarrassed at the thought that any breath of wind, or some irregular movement on my part, would render the silverware visible to anyone who cared to look. 

Whenever the mood took him, Lars would do a complete change, and tell me to put on 'restraint' clothes. Then I attracted even more attention, dressed in a black latex skirt so tight around my knees I could scarcely walk, my waist pulled in to tiny circumference by a cruel, whaleboned corset, which Zia laced up tight. The corset's top consisted of a lace fringe, and my nipples were tantalisingly half-hidden by this, their shadow visible under the transparent black blouse I wore. I rounded off the outfit with staggeringly high stilettos and black stockings.

But I was wearing a tiny maroon silk miniskirt and a white silk blouse when we were taking coffee one day. My master glanced around the room, and saw someone he recognised.

'José Manuel!' he called, and a young guy at a nearby table swung around.

'Lars, ¿que tal?' said the studious-looking youngster, who was alone, taking a coffee as he read what looked like a scientific paper.

'Come and join us,' suggested Lars, and the guy's gaze shifted to me as he did so, giving an almost audible gulp as his eyes took in my bare legs and ultra-brief skirt.

'Haven't seen you for a long time,' said Lars, 'how go the studies?'

'Tough,' said the young man, polishing his spectacles, 'last year at the Uni, you know.'

'You know what they say about all work and no play?'

'OK if you don't have to work hard to get a degree.'

They chatted in this vein for a while, then my master suddenly said, 'I'm so sorry, I haven't introduced you to Katherine, have I?'

He effected the introduction, then amazed me by saying, 'I noticed the way you looked at her when you came over, José Manuel. Perhaps you'd like to fuck her?'

The young student turned bright red, and stammered, 'W-well……..'

Lars smiled, and patted the young man's hand on the table. 'Don't be embarrassed. Come home with us and enjoy her. She really is most accommodating.'

On the way home, while I sat in the front next to my master, he said, 'José Manuel was a top-class gymnast until he abandoned it for his studies – I think you'll find him still in shape.'

The youngster started to protest modestly, but we were drawing up at the house, and as Zia came out to meet us, I couldn't help noticing a certain litheness in the way José Manuel got out the car, and trotted up the steps.

'Come on, we'll go into the lounge,' said Lars, 'Zia, fetch us some drinks, will you?'

When we were all seated comfortably in the armchairs, and had chatted, sipping our drinks, Lars said, 'Now, Katherine, I suppose you're wondering why I chose this young fellow, out of the many people I know?'

Before I could reply, he turned to José Manuel, and said, 'Why don't you show her?'

Hesitantly, showing signs of acute embarrassment, the student got to his feet, and stood facing me. He slipped his Ralph Lauren polo over his head, and revealed a beautifully-sculpted upper body – not too muscular, like a body-builder's, but very well-defined.

'Hmmm,' I murmured.

'Wait a moment,' said Lars, and nodded towards José Manuel, who shyly slipped off his chinos, and boxers, to show a cock of fantastic proportions. Although quite flaccid, its length and thickness were truly prodigious. My eyes widened as I took in its sheer magnificence.

'I can see you're impressed,' said my master, 'now I think you should show him your cunt.'

Obediently, I shuffled my ass forward on the seat of the armchair, and parted my legs, hooking them over the arms of the chair. Then I reached down and parted my pussy-lips with the first two fingers of one hand. With the other hand, I tugged gently at the chain dangling from my clit. I had been watching José Manuel's face as I did this, but he looked spellbound, and my eyes fell to his wonderful shaft, which had suddenly taken on a life of its own, and, incredibly, seemed to have almost doubled in length, standing out stiff and straight – and thick, its circumcised knob glistening pink. He supported its weight with on hand, and all I wanted then was that fantastic weapon to penetrate me, fill me, split me, as it surely would. 

He took the two short paces that brought the shining crown withing range of my mouth, and I obligingly ran my tongue along its great length, looking first up at its proud owner, then across at my master, who was watching intently. José Manuel gave a little grown as I worked my tongue-stud over his knob, then I stretched my lips into a wide 'O' to take him. I thought I should gag as his glans reached my throat, and he had to be content with burying half of his prick in my mouth. I tried to make up for it by sucking him vigorously, while his hands were now gently massaging my tits. I drew away, and said, 'I want you to fuck me, José Manuel. Without further ado, he dropped to his knees, and, in one tremendous thrust, drove his rock-hard shaft into me, right to the hilt, then paused, to let me feel the sheer size of him, filling me as I had never been filled. Over his shoulder, I saw that Lars had his own weapon, by no means puny, but dwarfed by the huge tool that was within me, in his hand. Now, seeing me look, he got to his feet and came up beside me, so that I could take him hungrily in my mouth, as his young friend started slowly to fuck me, driving his mighty weapon in and out, extracting almost its full length at each stroke, then driving home, right to the very neck of my womb. I sucked my master, matching the rhythm of his friend, until, with a great deal of control on my part, we all came virtually together, so that I had the sensation of being filled with their hot cum.

Later, when his friend had gone, Lars told me he had worried that I may not want him again, after being fucked by such a well-endowed youngster.

'Oh, master, how could you think that?' I said, 'I love you more than ever.'

'Then I think we can say your training is complete, my dear,' he smiled, 'it just remains for me to have you marked.'

'What, tattooed? Mmmm, that sounds nice.'

'That's not what I have in mind, Katherine. I should like to brand you. Brand you with a hot iron.' 

I was just about conscious that my mouth fell open. I stammered, 'B-but, sir, that will hurt me terribly, won't it?'

'Yes, my dear, I'm sure it will, but later, memory of that pain will serve to remind you of our love.'

I nodded uncertainly, and he took that as my assent. 'We shall have a ceremony next Monday then.'

That gave me four days to contemplate my fate, to anticipate what I guessed would be awful agony. I knew he had told me in advance deliberately, for just that reason. 

I confided in Teresa, and was amazed when she said she envied me, making me realise that her training was well-advanced. I was terrified by the thought of my tender flesh sizzling as the red-hot iron burnt its way deep into me, but my fear was mixed with a horrible fascination, and I felt enormously proud that my master was going to do this to me – it was, I supposed, something like getting married may seem to most girls, but infinitely more exciting.

By the time Monday came around, I hadn't slept for two nights, and was in a state of nervous exhaustion. My master hadn't whipped me since telling me about the marking, so the stripes from previous whippings had practically faded away when I looked over my shoulder into my dressing mirror. Zia was coming to dress me – I knew I was to be dressed in a speecial way, as this was to be something of a ritual, with Marcelo and Selina, plus two more couples I didn't know, invited to watch. Teresa and Zia would, of course, be there too. I shivered, despite the warm day, as I brushed my long dark hair to a silky sheen, then told Zia to come in when she knocked my door. She was carrying a white garment over her arm, and was herself dressed for the occasion. What she was wearing made her look like a negative image of her normal self. Her skirt was white, very short and almost, but not quite, transparent, with lace trim at the hem. Above it she wore a black silk blouse, buttoned up the back, so that her small pointed breasts jiggled and poked out through the silk, Her stockings and stilettos were white, and when she bent over, the dark olive skin of her upper thighs contrasted with the white garments.

I stood to let her dress me – it took less than half a minute. The white silk sheath she slipped over my head was long and shapeless, held up by simple bows tied in the shoulder straps. Wordlessly, she then knelt down beside me and shackled my ankles with heavy metal anklets, joined by a foot or so of chain, after which she cuffed my wrists in front of me, and, attaching a leash to my collar, led me out and down the corridor.

Unaccustomed heat surged up the stone staircase to the cellar, and I shook with terror as I negotiated the stairs into the darkened dungeon with difficulty, the stone uncomfortable under my bare feet.

The light came on when I hit the cellar floor, and I blinked at the sight which awaited me. Chairs had been provided for the guests, who had been sat around talking quietly, but hushed when I appeared. Teresa, and a huge, bare-chested man I didn't know, stood beside an iron brazier, the coals in it glowing red, and heat from it filled the room. I did a double-take at the sight of Teresa, who was clad in a long black nylon gown, over black suspender-belt and black stockings. She was turned half sideways, and I could see that the gown was buttoned down to the waist at the back, but open from there to the floor, leaving her buttocks quite naked, The big guy was kneading her ass with one hand, and his trousers were tented by an obvious erection.

I looked around, and saw Lars sitting near the brazier, beside him the lovely blonde Selina, and her husband, then two youngish people I didn't recognise. Zia led me gently to the big wooden whipping post, only a pace or two from the fire, and I obediently raised my hands for her to fix my wrists to the snap-link above my head.

Before I had more chance to worry about my fate, Lars was beside me, talking quietly, as he flipped open the ribbon-bows at my shoulders, so that the sheath fell with a soft whisper to the floor.

'I know this will hurt you a great deal,' he said, 'but regard it as a token of my love for you.' 

I looked at him. 'I love you so much, master.'

Lars nodded to the big guy, then spoke quietly to him, and indicated a place on my lower back. I must have looked surprised – I had somehow expected to be marked on a buttock.

'That way it will show whenever you wear a backless dress,' he explained, then he showed me a drawing of the mark I was to have. It was a device made of his initials, L.A., and a pair of handcuffs. 

My master nodded again to the big man, who busied himself with the irons which projected from the brazier, while Teresa stood beside him, stroking his thigh.

The anticipation of my agony was terrible, but what felt like hours can only have been a couple of minutes, then I closed my eyes as I heard him step towards me, felt the heat of the branding iron as it approached, and knew I had to get control before I fainted. Concentrating on remaining conscious, I was aware of a cool hand – it must have been Teresa's – on my shoulder, then came a pain which transcended anything I had even imagined, as the red-hot branding iron was plunged onto my back, and I smelt my own scorched flesh as it sizzled under the terrible heat.

How I remained conscious I shall never know, and I was only dimly aware of my master and Selina, I think it was, laying me face-down on a bench, while Teresa applied a dressing to my new brand.

I truly belonged to my master.