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The Mogul Ch. 01

By: sweetkarolina



She'd seen him on daddy's job site twelve years ago. Daddy had brought her on a business trip to New York. The boy was digging a small ditch with his Super Man action figure's head and paid no mind to her. Now Ginny lived in New York. She looked with one eye frantically into her locker mirror and the other eye coolly at his approaching figure. It was him again: Mason Tearing. A Junior now walking down the halls seemingly in slow motion, with an endless assortment of individuals to make suave gestures at. He was coming her way. She closed her locker and leaned up against it seductively only to watch him walk right past her without taking notice. Over the course of the next two days she watched him from afar, from closer, from a few seats over in three classes, from down the cafeteria line. She listened to his responses in history and joined the discussion, but no attention was paid by him to her. Finally, she awoke early one morning. "This will be the day," she thought. She groomed herself carefully, brushing her hair with more strokes than normal. She put on an especially frilly flower print dress and yellow pumps. She ate a breakfast of grapes, cheese, and tea and was out the door, determined. "It's the first week of Junior year," she thought to herself. "I want to make a positive impression on everyone," she lied to herself. 

She followed him from a distance for most of that day, yellow and green flower print swaying behind her over a layer of crinoline. She carefully placed her pumps one after the other, so as not to be detected but making a distinctly rhythmic and conscientious sound. She found him finally at a moment when he wasn't surrounded by popular girls and summoned the courage to confront him with her intentions. She wanted to be his girlfriend and told him so. 

"I thought you couldn't get accepted into The Academy if you still believed in boyfriends and girlfriends," he laughed. "I'm not looking for a girlfriend, I'm looking for a first concubine, sweetheart, and you haven't got the stuff." Mason condescended, pointing at Ginny up and down and turned away.

"Wait!" said Ginny. "We know each other. My dad built your house, twelve years ago. I was there."

"Oh yes. New money," he said walking towards her. "That explains the dress. Daddy got you this dress didn't he?" he asked, testing the weave of a ruffle lined sleeve on Ginny's dress. She looked away. He leaned into her and in a slow, low, even tone said, "Do you want to know what I'm looking for?" She caught his eyes. "I'm looking for a woman of her own. A woman who can stand on her own, but chooses not to... For me. I want a resilient concubine, who can handle punishment, training, recourse, and criticism. I would take the strength right out of you in one breath, whip you senseless, humiliate you publicly and everyone would know your sole purpose in life was to serve me."

Ginny listened carefully and ran off in embarrassment, not because she was horrified by what Mason had told her, but because of a familiar sensation. It began as tingling in her stomach, moving down, further down, until she could feel the wetness forming inside her and her insides quivering. She had experienced this before and it was humiliating in front of other people. His words had excited her tremendously, to the point of near orgasm and she had to run to spare herself the embarrassment of coming in front of everyone. It wasn't just the talk of the whippings that excited her, but she found the idea of an entire life in service most intoxicating. This was different from her home life. Her father did not let her mother bow down to him every day and raised Ginny not to believe in such things. Sure her parents "played" once in awhile, as they called it. But her mom and dad just had a regular marital contract, not a Master/slave contract. Her mom wasn't a concubine, but Ginny dreamed of such a life. It seemed glamorous and exciting and daddy's little girl wanted to break free and have a taste. 

The next day she had renewed determination and dressed herself differently. She wanted to be a blank slate so she wore jeans with a white tank and walked up to Mason again expressing her interest in his terms in front of a crowd of people.

"Pardon me?" he asked. "I didn't hear you."

"I am sorry for running from you yesterday. I am here to present myself in agreement to your terms." Everyone in the crowd turned to look at Ginny. Then they all looked at Mason who neither flinched nor paused. 

"The first guideline pertains to your dress, which is currently unacceptable at best." There were some giggles from the crowd. "You are to wear only the shortest of skirts. NONE of those ridiculous pantyhose of any variety. No panties. Only the highest of heels, and only the most miniscule of bras. Report to me for inspection tomorrow morning at seven thirty." And he turned away from her. The popular kids continued conversing as if nothing just happened but Ginny knew something monumental just occurred. Mason Tearing accepted her as an applicant to become his first concubine. "First Concubine of Mason Tearing," she said to herself. She said it over and over as she walked away from that crowd, no longer concerned about her status in comparison to them. Only her status with Mason mattered now. 

Ginny didn't own any clothes that fit what Mason described and she had to go shopping after school to meet her requirements. She purchased what she best thought fit his description and met him in the school parking lot at seven thirty the next morning dressed all in blue to accentuate her continuously changing eye color. She wore a light blue halter bra with bright sea blue lace trim and a navy mini skirt. She wore dark blue ankle boots which she could barely walk in and, as an added bonus, she decorated her navel with blue rhinestones. 

Mason arrived at seven thirty promptly. She spotted him walking from a distance and attempted not to stare but his physique was stunning and as she glimpsed at him from the corners of her eyes she tried to match his greatness with her own sex appeal but simply couldn't shake the insecurities stemming from being dressed the way she was. He neared, looked into her green, then brown eyes and ran his hand down the back of her head, stroking and examining her naturally orange locks as they twisted and slipped lazily in between his fingers. He ran the whole of his palms down her shoulders and arms and Ginny felt his warmth filling and melting her. He grabbed her hands and stepped back to take the sight of her in and seemed pleased.

"What is your name girl?" 

"Ginny," she answered instantly, obediently.

"Ginny. I know you went shopping last night to purchase what you are wearing. I know your father and he would never have allowed you to wear such clothing in public. Did you have any trouble getting out of the house this morning?"

"No Sir, I didn't. I live in my own home on my father's property. No one saw me leave. Besides, I wore a coat," she said, proud of her resourcefulness. 

"You are a very beautiful girl, Ginny. Although it pleases me to see you dressed in the manner in which I have instructed there is a problem with the way you carried out your first assignment." This statement startled Ginny. What had she done wrong, she wondered. When she got dressed this morning, Ginny felt like a goddess, like a sexual butterfly emerging from layers of childish flower prints, crinoline, bows, and ruffles. But now she began wondering just how difficult this lifestyle really was. As they walked to a nearby bench Mason spoke with Ginny about the importance of family and Ginny struggled to split her focus between the pinching in her toes and hamstrings and keeping the conversation lively but agreeable. 

"Family is important, Ginny, but so will be your journey with me. If you choose to continue on this path, you cannot hide who you are. I am pleased with your efforts and would like to move forward with you but I need a commitment from you that you are willing to be my applicant publicly. That means no hiding from your father. Can you agree to that right now?"

"Yes Sir."

"Good. Then meet me at my car promptly after school." He kissed her decisively on the cheek, surprising them both. They went to first period, and almost met at second, but Mrs. Walker intercepted Ginny and pulled her into her office. She sat Ginny in front of her desk and smiled in that way adults do when they're trying to "connect" with young people. She offered Ginny a granola bar. Ginny said No thanks and Mrs. Walker told her she'd noticed Ginny had been dressing differently today.

"Yeah," Ginny said.

"Is there a boy?" asked Mrs. Walker in a most decidedly not girl-to-girl fashion. 

"Yeah."

"Are you aware of you rights, Ginny?" asked Mrs. Walker.

"My rights?"

"Okay listen, here is a pamphlet that explains all of the social rights of a submissive woman, all of your contract options, and all of your legal rights. This is just basic information, but if you need more you can always come to me." Mrs. Walker was the last person Ginny wanted to go to, but she took the pamphlet because she thought she might need it and went to class, taking a seat next to Mason. He saw the pamphlet and smiled. Ginny shoved it in her purse. After school Mason spoke to her about the counselor. He said she was a "valuable resource" in case she ever needed anyone. 

"We're going to Cherry Creek," he said, mentioning the chicest shopping center in New York. They both jumped into his car and Mason spoke to Ginny. "Your parents don't live this sort of lifestyle twenty-four-seven, do they Ginny?"

"No they don't," she replied sensing she was supposed to feel a tinge of shame in this.

"I need an assurance from you, a sign of good faith, that you are willing to embark on this lifestyle as just that, a lifestyle, not a weekend play party. I know it is unreasonable for you to pledge your undying devotion to me personally today, but I intend for you to display tokens of your commitment to me and this lifestyle today. First I expect you to pierce your nipples and your clitoral hood." Ginny quivered. "This will serve three purposes. Firstly these rings will serve as an intermediary step. They will mark ownership of a less permanent status. Secondly, I simply find them attractive. Thirdly, they will serve to sensitize you, making you more aroused and more readily available to serve me sexually." Mason paused, took a long look into Ginny's face, which appeared both restrained and contorted. "Speak your thoughts."

"I fear the piercings. I know they will be painful," she confessed.

"Yes, they will be. But in a very short period of time you will come to love them." By this point they had arrive at the piercing shop. It was very high class. Mason asked her if she was ready, and after a deep breath she was. They walked in together and the woman working the counter asked how she could help. Mason turned to Ginny, gesturing at her to initiate the process.

"I would like my nipples and clitoral hood pierced today," she said, decisively and with a hint of uncertainty. "I would like plain jewelry."

"We can do that. Jen is in in fifteen minutes and her schedule is open today. Just have a seat," said the counter girl who went about her counter business and ignored the two of them. They became engrossed in conversation the minute they sat down.

"You'll have to excuse me for asking, Mason, but I can't help but wonder if you have more in store for me this evening," said Ginny, getting comfortable with Mason and getting excited about the piercings. Mason smiled at Ginny. She wasn't the type of girl he had ever imagined himself with, but something about the way she had presented herself to him that first week of school spoke to him. It wasn't who she was now, he told himself, that turned him on, but who he could make her. It was the blankness of the slate, the openness of her understanding of him, the vastness of her lack of understanding about twenty-four-seven living. She was someone he could shape to be truly his.

"I do have more in store for you this evening. And while I won't tell you what those activities are, I will tell you that the rest of our relationship depends upon our interactions tonight, in what manner you comply with my instructions, and how you present yourself in relation to me." Ginny sat back in her chair for a moment and thought. When Jen, the piercing artist, called the two of them in, Ginny allowed Mason to get up first and walk in ahead of her. 

Jen sat Mason on a stool out of the way and sat Ginny on an exam table with intimidating stirrups, the feet of which were covered in oven mits. Jen instructed Ginny to remove her bra and she did. Mason leaned back in his stool, crossing his arms and his legs, observing intently. Jen marked each nipple with a marker, one point for the entry wound, one for the exit. Then she took a special set of forceps and squeezed her nipple between them, pulling her nipple out away from her body. This alone was almost too much to bear for Ginny. After this she rolled over a small metal table with a tray of long needles on it. Ginny looked over at Mason: ankle over knee, arms crossed, eyes fixed on her, slight smile. He was enjoying this. This was the first real pleasure she was bringing him as a submissive and it was abundantly clear she must not whine. 

The forceps had openings for the marked points through which the needle pressed quickly, but with a pounding force. In a second it was over. This isn't so bad, she thought, smiling at Mason, feeling warm blood drain down her left breast. Then a shooting pain began at the entry wound, gentle at first, pulsing deep into her breast with sharper and sharper stings. The next piercing was much more painful than the first, shooting straight into her chest, causing her to sweat under her arm, in her palms, between her legs. She had never experienced any sort of pain in her pleasure zones and the degree to which she experienced it now confused her. She felt deeply aroused because of the severity of sensation in her nipples but had never experience pain as pleasure before and was feeling a somewhat spiritual experience. The final piercing was the most painful, but most briefly so. Ginny walked out of the shop on an endorphin cloud like she'd never experienced. 

"Was that the token of which you spoke?" asked Ginny.

"No. That was just a test," answered Mason. "The true symbol is permanent and comes tomorrow. Now," he said to change the subject. "Have you ever gotten to style you hair in an adult fashion?" Ginny looked away and seemed put down. "Hey. If you are going to put your trust in me, you have to understand I am not here to make you feel bad. Girl, do you want a grown up hairdo or what?"

"Yeah! I do!" she exclaimed.

"Then let's go!" he replied. They walked halfway across the shopping center, the sun going down, it getting chilly, Mason's arm found its way around Ginny's shoulders. Their first stop was the pet store.

"I don't understand," Ginny said. "I thought I was getting my hair done."

"And you will be. At a pet store. But you have to purchase one thing first, to assert yourself as my pet." Ginny understood. "Think: How will you buy this so everyone in the store knows you are my pet? So everyone in the pet salon knows you are my pet? Ginny strode along the isles looking for collars. There were basic ones. Studded ones. Colored ones. She had some trouble making up her mind until she got the cue from Mason to hurry and she chose an elegant and simple white leather one. She purchased a leash along with the collar and, after paying for it, in front of the cashier, she handed the leash and collar over to her Master and he affixed the collar. She handed him the lead to the leash and he took her to the pet salon where her single layered little girl locks were transformed into long tousled bedroom locks.

The last stop, he told her, for the evening, was Russel Bliss Restaurant. At Bliss, the men and women eat at tables but the women had the option to eat off the floor. Handcuffs are available at the front desk for added constraints. Walking through the mall, Ginny saw several students from school staring at her and pointing at the collar around her neck, chain dangling from it and leading to Mason Tearing's hand. Her head remained high. When they arrived at the restaurant it was evident it was not only classy but five star. Ginny felt distinctly under dressed in her bra top and it showed in her posture.

"What is it?" Mason asked her, sensing her discomfort.

"I don't feel dressed right for this place," she said shyly as they stepped into the restaurant elevator alone. He stepped very close to her, ran his fingers underneath her hair and through her scalp until he grabbed a section of hair, shaking her head distinctly and pulling the lead of her leash very close to his face. He spoke through his teeth again.

"I decided we will be going here. I knew what you were wearing. I decided it was appropriate. Please don't question my judgment without permission again," required Mason.

"Yes Sir," she said.

He sighed. "You look beautiful." As the door of the elevator opened he helped her out and led her by her leash to the hostess of the restaurant, who was dressed in a sexually overtly fashion but conservatively nonetheless, causing Ginny to long for her past, that is, long for "conservative but pretty." Somehow, seeing that look carried out in a modern way made her question the overtness of the sexuality with which she was currently dressed. Why couldn't she be the classy one? Why couldn't she be dignified? Why did she have to be such a whore? As she took her position kneeling on the floor at her Master's feet these questions circled in her mind and she was contemplative and thoughtful as he ordered her salad, locked her wrists behind her back, and tied her hair at the nape of her neck. As they waited for her food he spoke to her again.

"The next month will be a trial before you move in with me and may or may not resemble life with me in the long term. The demonstration I am looking for from you is a tattoo from the CR, the Concubine Registry. Any concubine may register there and no owner must be specified. I would like you to get your concubine bar code tattooed as a demonstration of your commitment to the twenty-four-seven lifestyle. If, after a month of trials with me, you still want to continue as my concubine, we shall sign a contract and you will move in with me. Anytime until graduation you may withdraw. After graduation, the contract will seal, and the tattoo will have my name added to it it. Is all of this clear?" Ginny nodded as the food came. Hers was delivered on the floor and proved to be particularly messy unless she ate one piece of lettuce at a time, which didn't bother Ginny. She was hardly hungry due to the endorphins she was experiencing but she ate her entire meal. She did her best all day to present herself as an ideal candidate for Mason. She agreed to everything, said yes to everything, did as asked. As he drove her home in silence he appeared pleased with her. 

Stopping the car at her front gate he said, "This is where you get out."

"My house is on the other side of the property," she laughed.

"When you are home you are to be naked with the exception of your heels and your collar. You may dress and undress here," he said with a smile, expecting to hear the "Yes Sir" he'd been hearing all day.

"I'm supposed to what?!" she asked.

The Mogul Ch. 02



That was an outburst. An unnecessary one. Mason had a plan. He was going to reinforce the importance of Ginny talking to her father about her lifestyle choices. But the audacity of her questioning was crossing a line he couldn't ignore. Mason got out of the car and opened the door, gesturing Ginny to get out. She got out laughing and fumbling in her heels on the gravel driveway.

"Silly, I told you my house is way over there. This is just th-"

"Take. Off. Your clothes," said Mason.

"Ginny!" called out Ginny's father from the front door of his new mansion. "Ginny who is that?"

"Hi Daddy!" cried Ginny.

"Tell him who I am," said Mason.

"Uh-um, Daddy! This is Mason!" Ginny shouted across the lawn. Her father made a grumpy gesture and went back into the house.

"I'm going to repeat my instructions to you because you appear to be hard of hearing." Mason's voice was cool, calculating. His jaw clenched. "I want you to be naked when you are at home. Home starts at this gate. You are to dress and undress here every morning and every evening so that your whole family knows you are mine twenty-four-seven... and so does the neighborhood," he added with a miniscule smile. 

"You can't be serious? I didn't sign on for some camping trip! I want to be a concubine. I want to be a sexual servant. I want to be loved! And this... this is preposterous!"

"Would you like to know what it's like to be a real concubine? Right now?" he asked, completely calm. Ginny's face changed, her eyes lightened an almost unnoticeable degree. 

"Right now?" she asked.

"Right here. But I need you to take off your clothes." Ginny complied, sensing she was about to experience something she had always dreamed of, and she was, but not this. The moment she was nude Mason pinned her over the hood of her car and whispered in her ear calculatingly. "As your dominant partner I welcome questions of any kind, given they are presented in a respectful manner." An unscheduled exhale escaped his lips. His weight pressed upon her, with exceptional pressure where his hand held her wrists together high on her back. "This ensures learning. However, your questioning this evening in the car was rude, disrespectful and bratty. This is what happens to a concubine when they behave this way." He smacked her with his bare hand, which, to Ginny's inexperienced rear felt like an oar. He slapped her hard, enough so she jerked forward on the hood of the car, engine still warm, heating her torso, Mason's hand heating her ass. For the first two hits she only made muffled gurgling noises, but she began to let out pitiful little cries. Mason let his spanking weaken, loosened his grip on her and leaned in to hear those sad sounds until they subsided and he began slapping her again. But the cry was gone and Mason felt he had made a point. Ginny began to fold her clothes and looked up at him from beneath orange strands of hair. Mrs. Johnson was standing still as death just outside her front gate three houses down and staring. 

"Because of your outbursts I cannot let your previous mistake with your assignment go unpunished. But, I want things to be right with us, so your consequence will be to tell your dad everything about us. Tell him everything you did and how you want to live." Ginny smiled, as if relieved. "This may be my body," he said, grabbing her, "and my rules. But this is his property and you follow his rules. Tell him I said that. Let me know how it goes tomorrow." He drove away. Ginny walked into the house, and shortly after she was shunned to the pool castle, where she already lived. She felt foolishly dirty for telling her folks, her mom seemed especially betrayed, but a part of her felt lighter. 

The next morning Mason watched her from across the street, as she dressed herself. He watched her humiliated posture and slow movements. The method, clothing, and demeanor with which she dressed, on the gravel filled driveway reeked of defeat, disappointment, and delicious reluctant acceptance. After the previous evening's screaming and yelling on the part of her parents, and strangely calm discipline administration on the part of Mason, she didn't know what she would do wrong today, and what sort of "consequences" Mason would dream up. 

"Did you tell him I respect his rules?" Mason asked right away.

"I told him something like that," she said. Mason sighed, trying not to seem disappointed. "He seemed to get how deep you were about it but then he kicked me out," she said. 

"Well, there's nothing you can do about that," said Mason, nonchalantly starting the car. "He'll come around. In the meantime, I have an assignment for us for first period, possibly all day long." 

"But school-" she protested.

"I'm arranging right now," he said texting, "for Amanda to take notes for you. However you have to be back for the last period of the day. Mrs. Roberts will notice your absence. Your dress code is rule number one, and needs to be discussed, however your grades need to be maintained as well. I expect an A on Mr. Feldman's History essay tomorrow."

"Who's Amanda?" asked Ginny with an obvious tone of jealously.

"Ginny. Your upbringing is clearly becoming a problem. While I neither discriminate against nor judge individuals who choose a path other than my own, I expect my concubine to be fully my property. You are still completing your application process and your training is so far from beginning you will long for the trials of today when it does finally progress. However, I must understand that you come from... a mother and a father, is that correct?"

"Yes Sir," she said curtly with full knowledge of where this conversation was leading.

"I know your parents have a marital contract that stipulates monogamy. We discussed this at the mall. How were you born a submissive girl?

"It's possible," she said in a way that could only read that she was lying to herself. Mason determined Ginny was in far too delicate of a position on this matter for him to obtain information from her directly. Other means would be necessary. 

"Your jealousy was not only apparent in your comment but uncalled for. You need to become comfortable, as soon as possible, with the idea of my having more than one concubine. Is that clear?" He asked gently.

A defeated "Yes Sir," escaped her lips. 

He drove around the outside of town and took her to a Mansion. It was his father's. Mason too lived in the guest house of his parent's property, but he didn't take Ginny there. He took her to the upper most tower of the mansion where an tremendous barrel of a man lived and worked and rarely left. As soon as the two of them walked in the man greeted Mason so warmly, Ginny thought he was going to get slapped. Ginny looked at him slyly, attempting to fix her eyes on his face, but they wandered noticing various details. He wore loose fitting tweed slacks with a vest, pressed white shirt, and a cravat. His shoes were uncreased. His hands were delicate. His face was clean shaven. 

"Ahhhh Mason. You grew, what is it? A quarter of an inch since I last saw you? You know that's too long to go without your tailor! And why aren't you in school? And do tell me: Who is this pearl of a child you've brought with you?" rambled the man. "Oh the colors I could dye to accentuate that hair..." he said, extending his arm to stroke a lock only to be tapped away by Mason. 

"Mason," Ginny said under her breath, "Who is this?" But the man heard her.

"Who am I? Who am I?! Why I am the Great Georgian. I am a world known tailor, commissioned to work here, for the Tearings." Ginny looked sceptically at Mason who gestured with his eyebrows that Georgian wasn't lying. 

"I have a project for you, Georgian," he said taking Georgian to the window and out of Ginny's earshot. They spoke very briefly, Mason clearly giving strict orders and Georgian standing at attention. "Maybe have a few designs ready by later this week?" said Mason on his way out.

"Absolutely, Sir!" responded the Georgian, who took Ginny's measurements while Mason waited outside. He's such a gentleman, she thought. After Ginny's measurements were complete they went back to Cherry Creek and went straight to the women's department store. Ginny tried silks, designer denim mini-skirts, luxurious bras. There seemed to be no limit to what Mason could buy for her, but she was always on edge, feeling, "This must be the last thing." By lunch Ginny had a new wardrobe and Mason took her to the concubine administration office where she was issued identification specifying her as unowned and complete with an official bar code. The office had certified tattoo specialists who could copy any bar-code and Ginny's was tattooed on the front of her sex. Her private parts were in a huge amount of pain by this point, still healing from the piercing, and feeling the fresh scratch of the black bar code, to be seen by everyone who sees her naked, including her father. Lunch gave them enough time to get to school sometime during fifth period. The halls were empty save for the occasional janitor or teacher going in and out of bathrooms or the copy room. 

Mason pulled Ginny into the boiler room and the door clicked behind him. There was no question as to what his intentions were, at least vaguely to Ginny. Mason's shoes clicked on the floor as he walked towards her and all Ginny could think of was the keys on the rings that hung from the janitors' belts. Mason pinned Ginny against the wall and gripped her under her short, short skirt to check for panties and grooming. All was as it should have been but his fingers lingered as Ginny took in a short breath. Unwilling to risk the possibility of her making a noise, Mason placed a hand over her mouth and whispered into her ear. Ginny's breath slowed and she appeared to calm at the sound of his cool, low, carefully placed words. 

"You are caged by my body and have nowhere to run. I'm going to remove my hand and you will be quiet, are we clear?" Ginny nodded, a tear forming in one eye. Mason removed his hand and Ginny gasped for air from within the confines of his enormous limbs and tilted head. She'd always admired his physique, and now she knew why. The sense of helplessness he gave her was overwhelmingly delicious. She would have done anything he'd asked for at that moment. She'd already forgotten about the janitors' keys, sixth period, dress code. She was his in the moment only. She was fixated on Mason's hands, one of which was still stroking under her skirt, causing a great deal of pain when it passed over her fresh piercing and tattoo but immediately afterward providing intense pleasure, teasing her, touching her only superficially. But the circumstances of the situation, the closet, his huge body, getting caught, the pain, made her so excited she called out. Mason's hand landed over her lips and with a sharp thwack he muffled her pleasure, placing the other hand over her shoulder and turning her around, holding both her wrists behind her back. He used his belt to secure them.

By this point the heat of the room had Ginny's fair skin severely flushed. Mason pressed her face up against a warm pipe, and she shuddered again. He must have known how hypnotic his whispering was. 

"Has anyone ever put anything in your ass before, Ginny?" he asked. Ginny shook her head, scared and unprepared psychologically for the experience ahead of her.

"No."

"We're going to play with your ass a little bit right now," he said. He was pressing her face into the pipe and talking through his teeth into her ears. "Spread your legs and stick out your ass," he said, and as she did he lifted her skirt above her hips and squeezed her hips, parting her, and pulling her open. It was hard to see in that room but Mason could still make out the intense coloring of Ginny's sex. Her outer labia were porcelain white, just as was the rest of her, the exterior of her inner labia were a deep pink, but her insides were a near magenta, and her asshole was nearly perfectly porcelain with just a hint of pink around the edge. Mason shoved his hands deep into Ginny's mouth, coaxing up a good deal of saliva and running his fingers across her ass, pulling at its circumference, first with one finger, then two, then three. Her ability to relax without any experience was spectacular. He put his fingers back in her mouth for a good cleaning.

"The bell will ring shortly," he said looking at his watch and putting his belt back on. "Your assignment, due this weekend, will be to prepare your ass for my cock. We have one more shopping trip after school to assist you with this." Mason left the boiler room and the passing bell rang. Ginny walked out shortly after him and everybody stared at her. Had they known what she'd done? She felt the imprint of the pipe on her hot face. She attempted to straighten her hair and while doing so she realized: What am I so ashamed of? She walked to class with a hint of self confidence that was new to her. Even though she sought to belong entirely to someone else, her sexuality never felt so much her own. 

After school Ginny dutifully slipped into Mason's passenger seat. "So what lies ahead, Sir?" she asked.

"Sinsations."

"Sinsations? Isn't that a stripper store?" asked Ginny.

"Ohhhh Ginny. It's far more than that. You won't be shopping for outfits, but you will be shopping for a minimum of five things in each of the following three categories: implements of discipline, restraints, and toys. You must be clear about what category you are placing something in. Understand?" Ginny shook her head that she did and began wandering around the store with her basket. Mason leaned against the wall and observed her behavior. At first she wandered only around the main open section, taking in the experience of the store. It was nothing like what she'd imagined, with its carpeted floors, friendly staff, and general department store feel to it. In this open section she looked at basic toys, dildos, vibrators, and plugs, reading the boxes and examining the products. In the corner of the store stood a room labeled "BDSM." Ginny quickly selected a few insertables and was pulled to the BDSM section where she found all sorts of toys. Far more than she could ever ask Mason to purchase for her, she thought, and began thinking of ways in which one could improvise. Panties could serve as a gag, for example. But some things, were to be made with the utmost care, she thought, some things could not simply be fashioned on the scene. She chose a beautiful Koa wooden paddle, and simple but elegant kangaroo hide whip. She returned to the first section and selected a vibrator, dildo, and butt plug. Those were her toys. 

As she lingered in the BDSM room there were all sorts of items that caught her attention as she fantasized about punishment, infractions, and discipline. She wandered through the isles feeling the various materials and Mason realized she was daydreaming and needed to be redirected. He approached her swiftly from behind and, looking in her basket, over her shoulder, he gripped all the hair from one side of her head to the other. 

"What have you selected?" he asked in a normal tone. He startled Ginny and worked hard at trying to hide how pleased he was with his own stealth. Once Ginny composed herself she began describing the articles in her basket with much self-involved detail about how this grove or vein or fall might awaken her senses. She was very clear that each of the items in her basket were to be in the "toy" category. The last toy was a butt plug and Ginny's descriptions of it were centered less around herself (which is what Mason had hoped for for this category), but more centered around its features, bells, and whistles.

"Ginny. Why didn't you ask a salesperson or myself to help you?" he asked.

"I wanted you to think I knew about that stuff," Ginny replied shyly.

"This morning you told me you've never had anything in your ass. I doubted it briefly because you were so receptive, but clearly I was wrong to doubt you." He grabbed her by the chin and pulled her face firmly up to his and spoke very smoothly and distinctly. "No lying. No hiding. Anything. Ever." It was as if the world shut down around Ginny. The store blurred around her. The voices and sounds melted into indistinguishable noises until all she heard were those short sentences from Mason. All she saw was his face until he released Ginny's chin and snapped his fingers. Two sales people arrived almost instantaneously and presented themselves to him. 

"I will need a set of graduated crystal anal plugs delivered to room number one please," and the two staff members disappeared as quickly as they materialized. Mason placed one finger through the 'O'-ring in Ginny's collar and tugged on it. Ginny instantly knew she was to follow and he led her to a corner to the store she hadn't noticed, behind a wall. There was a hallway of doors, and the very first was inscribed with an "M." Mason wasn't sharing any information with her, he wasn't explaining anything, he wasn't even looking at her. She knew she was in trouble. She didn't mean to lie, but that didn't really matter. When they arrived at the door another shop worker arrived with them to unlock the door and as they walked in he asked Ginny to surrender her basket.

"Do you think I don't know how all this works?" asked Mason, leaning into the employee, using his stature to his advantage. The boy ran off and Mason led Ginny in, who was terrified of what consequences lie ahead. Mason read her silence as obedience, and her behavior was obedient, but psychologically she was in a daze, rummaging through all the possibilities. What could he do to her in that little room? Had she made a selection with one of her "toys" that will undoubtedly seal her fate? Remembering the morning's spanking and the heat of the car, remembering this morning's session in the boiler room up against the hot pipe, Ginny felt her face begin to flush. She was mortified that Mason caught her in her lie so easily, she felt humbled by her failure to be less than acceptable, and she was starting to perspire, wondering if her choice of paddle would in fact be a toy or not or maybe Mason would come up with something more creative, more deviant, more twisted. Mason led her in by her collar and positioned her in the corner of the room. The room was lined entirely with mirrors, with one wooden chair in the corner, and just a few basic items hanging from the wall. The graduated plugs were laid out on a table for him and waiting. Mason took a seat in the chair and crossed his legs. He looked at Ginny for an uncomfortable amount of time during which she fidgeted but could not meet his eyes.

"Ginny. How do you feel right now?" he asked her.

"I feel... I... um. I..." No coherent statement managed to escape her lips.

"Take of your clothes," said Mason. 

"Here?" asked Ginny.

In one motion Mason stood up pulling the whip in a rounded swoop from the basket. He stepped towards Ginny, pulled her skirt down, unhooked her bra, and turned her around. He snapped the whip several times in the air, and leaned into Ginny.

"Every noise you make will cost you." The whip cracked Ginny's skin again and again. With each strike a lazy mark would emerge upon her flesh seconds later. Some marks bled, some didn't. No noise came from Ginny's mouth. When he saw her body slacken significantly he stopped and sat back down at his chair. Ginny didn't move from her position save for an occasional twitch or tremble. 

"Let's try this again. Take off your clothes," he said in a normal tone. Ginny pulled the skirt from her ankles off. She dropped her bra to the floor. "Face me. Put your hands behind your back," Ginny obeyed. "How do you feel?"

Ginny stood before Mason with her head high for a few moments as she searched her mind desperately for the correct answer. Mason watched her shoulders lower, he watched her brow drop, her posture become crooked, and her chin begin to quiver. She began to wring her hands behind her back and again, no response.




The Mogul Ch. 02



"Come here," said Mason and Ginny gestured forwards but seemed paralyzed in her distress. "Come here," he said, gesturing at her to ease her insecurities and offer his hand. As she stepped forward Ginny burst into tears and fell into his lap. "Your behavior leads me to wonder if you haven't selected your toys properly." He stroked her hair. "It leads me to wonder if you know very much about yourself at all, so I have an idea. My question to you was 'How do you feel?' I would like you to sleep on it tonight, get up early tomorrow morning and write me an essay answering that question. That is," and he pulled Ginny's chin up to meet his face, "how do you feel right now, naked, in this room, after a whipping for lying to me? Got it?"

"Yes Sir."



The Mogul Ch. 03



Mason pulled an antique silver box out from under his chair and, opening the rickety clasp pulled from it some swabs and antiseptic fluid.

"Kneel in front of me, hands in your lap, back to my face." As Ginny turned around she caught glimpses of her back, reflections upon reflections in the mirrored room and felt something different from what she expected those stripes to elicit from her. She felt shame. She knew what she had done, not just in that moment, but in the totality of her outlook. She felt a sense of clarity as the antiseptic stung her and she wanted nothing more than to please Mason, to be with Mason. She felt her jealousy slipping away, the grip on her limitations loosened, and her exhaustion was forgotten.

"All done. You may face me." Ginny elegantly pivoted on her knees, ginger locks and olive eyes stared up at him from every surface of the room. 

"Shall we continue?"

"Yes sir."

"Lie on your belly, across my legs, with your ass centered in my lap," he said. Ginny's response was immediate and her placement was accurate. Mason admired her momentarily with his hands hovering lightly over her rear and finally he touched her, massaging her for a short-lived instant until he groped her, pulling her cheeks up and apart, running his fingers from her pussy to her asshole. There was no need to waste time. Ginny gaped fast. One of Mason's fingers circled the exterior of Ginny's anus, partly with the express intent of opening her up, partly because Mason enjoyed playfully amusing himself with the barely pink and wrinkly skin above the firm surface of her opening. His amusement didn't last long and both his needs and hers escalated quickly and, using the wetness from her pussy he slid his finger in and massaged the interior, pulling at it, opening it further and further until she was ready to receive the third of the crystal plugs. He showed it to her as she hung limp over his lap.

"See this? This is the third one. You shall start with this one," and he slipped it into her mouth, then into her ass, wriggling it around, until it was in. "Get dressed. I want you to finish shopping alone, as it is clear you need a great deal of time and I have business to attend to. Give them my name when you check out. There will be a car waiting for you when you leave. This set of graduated plugs is already purchased for you and you are to use them to prepare your ass for my cock. That will be this plug," he said picking up a much larger plug. "I expect your essay first thing in the morning. You will be staying with me this weekend. We will discuss your toy purchases then. I will have three cabinets prepared for each category. Think carefully about what this life means to you." Mason left Ginny to complete her purchases.

The next morning Mason arrived across the street from Ginny's father's gate to find Ginny already waiting for him. She was nude, save for heels and collar and she was patiently standing with her clothes neatly folded across her forearms, eyes dead ahead of her. Mason stopped the car in the middle of the street and sat in it. Ginny walked into the middle of the street herself and handed him an envelope.

"My essay, Sir." She walked around to the front of the car and placed her clothing on the hood, dressing herself in a silk ensemble, a miniscule skirt of the thinnest material. The slits on the sides responded to every whim of the light breeze. Her bra was merely a strip of the same silk, in a rusty color with silk chord wrapped around her neck and draped loosely across her naked striped back. She slid into the car, one shiny white leather heel after another just as Mason folded the envelope and slipped it into his jacket breast pocket.

"Aren't you going to read it?" she asked, visibly distressed that Mason hadn't jumped at the chance to read the precious pearls she had strung together so carefully this morning.

"Not now. Is your plug in?" he asked.

"Yes Sir. I practiced all night. I'm up to the sixth one, but I'm uncertain about my ability to wear it all day."

"If it becomes uncomfortable by lunch, come see me," he said.

"Will I be able to take it out?" she asked innocently.

"No, but you will be able to feel some relief. You may no longer touch it. In fact, you may no longer touch your pussy or your breasts at all or masturbate in any fashion. Is that clear?" Ginny nodded. "Now, I expect you to refer to me only as Master or Sir, in public or private. You've done a fine job of this already and I expect it to continue. I have a test for you today. An experiment." Ginny's eyes lit up and she looked expectantly at her Master. "You are not to speak to anyone whom you haven't been introduced by me. Period. Not one word." Ginny was silent. She thought of all the friends she would have to ignore. She thought of how much people would have to hate her. All with this horrifically enormous butt plug in her. This was not what she had in mind, not this social experiment.

But Ginny's insecurities melted as she burst through the double doors of the school. Mason walked around her, hooked a short leash onto her collar, and swung the length of it over his shoulder. Ginny walked with her head high, suddenly the marks on her back weren't marks of shame, but marks of the natural process of training and ownership and she was proud. She was getting the hang of those heels, keeping her ankles and hips loose, only accentuating the flow of the garments she was wearing. Mason stopped off at his locker where conversation was light, as she had been introduced to all of his friends. Then there was a stop off at Ginny's locker. Her friends were there but she could not speak to them. They spoke to her, but she said nothing. She felt her ass tighten around the plug and she grimaced. Mason stroked her face, pulling her close by the leash and speaking to her gently.

"It's a test. You must pass. You can do it," he said.

"What the fuck is he talking about?" asked Ginny's friend. "He's using you."

"Relax," he said. "I've come to care a great deal about you. Now get your books." Ginny walked to class. Every stride moved the plug. It pulled and stretched her. It was pleasurable still, but she was filled with anticipation of the subtle moment when she thought, "Yes, it hurts now. I must remove it." But she wouldn't be able to. By the end of the day, having navigated the school via her usual routes she encountered all of her friends. By the end of the day the word had spread that she wasn't speaking to any of them and it was clear this was due to the man attached to her leash. Clearly her friends didn't view this as an exercise. But one. Lilah. She smiled briefly at Ginny and looked away.

Sixth period Mason texted Ginny.

"3:45. Car."

The teacher called on her. She couldn't say anything. She could feel Mason staring at her even though when she looked over at him he was not looking at her but texting under his desk. She knew, somehow, he was watching her. Classes were so easy for him. She didn't know why he bothered. After school they met in his car and Mason told Ginny how pleased he was with her, how beautifully she had performed today, and how carefully she had followed his orders. It seemed Mason could turn on a dime as quickly as Ginny, or maybe he was just responding to her. He wanted to reward her, he said, and handed her a large black garment box. She looked at him, then the box, she tore it open, purple tissue paper flew into Mason's face and smiling, he brushed it away. In the box was an entire ensemble with a main garment. She pulled it out, looked at Mason, and said, "Thank you."

"Tonight we are going to my club. The House of Pain. I expect you to be ready at 9pm." Ginny hastily undressed in the driveway, piled her clothes on top of the box and ran to her little girl's castle hugging her big girl's garments. She ran straight to the bedroom and laid her garments out to admire them and to be inspired as she readied her body, shaved, styled her hair, and applied her make-up. She sat at the edge of her bed and held the stiff plastic envelope in which her stockings were packaged. They were made by Woolman's and even her father couldn't rationalize such a purchase of so many 100's of dollars per pair. She stuck her fingers into the package and they felt finer than silk, stretching and wrinkling under her forefinger. The smell of leather from her fine garment was exciting her. 

As she pampered herself Mason was in his own home, being dressed, shaven, and given a trim. He wore a tailored suit, simple, and nondescript save for the fine tailoring itself. In the extra bit of time he had left he consumed a morsel of lamb as he read Ginny's essay, folded it, and placed it in his jacket pocket again.

This ensemble would take time for Ginny to get right and she arrived at the front gate at 8:30 only to dress herself in the dark. When Mason arrived she was dressed in a leather mini dress with metal boning and a corset laced back. The skirt was tight and had a multiple fold train that fell just above her knees with alternating fabrics of black leather and thick crimson raw silk which also pressed out in miniscule ruffles from her neckline. She wore a new red collar, which she also spent a great deal of time inspection on the edge of her bed. There was not a single crooked stitch to be found and it was made of a strange metallic woven fiber. Her stockings, mainly silk, had a fishnet pattern embroidered in them and were attached by six short garters from under her dress. When Mason pulled up she walked her new leather ankle boots over to his passenger window and glimpsed briefly for the first time at a reflection of herself in the window and felt overtly excited as the window rolled down silently. She whispered, "Master?" and leaned into his window.

"Yes?" he asked.

"I think my corset could be laced more tightly," invited Ginny.

"Step out of the way," he said, getting out of the car, forcefully turning Ginny to face it, hands on roof, legs slightly spread. Georgian had taught him this one following trick. He cinched minutely from each grommet, pulling ever so slightly tighter, tighter, and finally he instructed, "Inhale." She did. "Exhale," and he pulled the center grommets so quickly, so tightly the air was forced from Ginny's lungs and she no longer had a multitude of luxuries associated with bending, twisting, and reaching. She stood with her head lowered, gasping gently in a way easily mistaken for over-excitement or nerves. Mason spoke loudly enough for the passers by to take notice of them as they slowed walking their dogs, pushing their strollers, jogging. Ginny was completely unaware of them. She couldn't peel her eyes off the asphalt.

"I control your breath with this dress tonight. If you need it loosened, and weigh that term 'need' carefully, you must come to me with an impressive manner of begging for more air. You might pass out tonight if I'm not impressed. But know that even though I may hurt you tonight I will not harm you. Do you hear me?" He grabbed her chin. "You will wake up just fine in my bed tomorrow morning. Do you trust me?" Ginny looked at him momentarily and nodded with a blink.

The drive was pleasantly silent for Mason as he coolly made turns, adjusted knobs on the dashboard, and once or twice glanced at Ginny. Ginny's eyes were set on a raindrop on the windshield and again her senses were rearranged this time, her surroundings burred, but this time she felt her awareness wander acutely from one sensation to another. Her breath thundering in her ears. Her forced posture. The confinement of the vehicle, Mason's body as he laced her, of the garments, and the confinement of the entirety of their arrangement became intensely clear to her. 

It was in this dazed state that Mason pulled Ginny's plucked, shaven, painted, and adorned body past the velvet rope and into everything that would awaken Ginny's from her stupor and finally bring to life what she had been dreaming of in blissful ignorance since she was a child.

Mason had given her explicit instructions in the car as they parked in front of the club, attendant waiting on either side of him. No speaking to anyone she wasn't introduced to. She was to follow all orders, follow his presence from one step behind and to his right. There would be no leash tonight. If she needed to leave a five foot parameter from him, permission was to be asked. She was to be at her most gracious, at her most intelligent, and at her most submissive.

When they entered the club Mason mingled, wandered, talking to people, never introducing the creature behind him. If anyone asked who his "appendage" was he simply stated, "Oh that's just an applicant." This constant lip biting and inability to speak, demonstrate her intelligence, her skills, how much she'd learned grated at her in the beginning, making her feel useless and unwanted. Soon she allowed her eyes to wander the space. It was set up much in the way of an old fashioned saloon, with a large central space with a stage on it as well as two ornate staircases in the back that led up to a balcony and hallway with door openings at regular intervals. 

But instead of being made of old weathered wood, the entirety of the structure was welded out of various mixed colored metals, twisted and braided into indescribably sinister and undulating forms. 

From the bar stools, to the stair case, to the stage, from the floor to the ceiling, there were places to clip, fasten, tie, bind any submissive. Two women, attached to each other by sisal rope hung from the balcony. People walked by, looked, inspected, and walked along. Ginny heard Mason sum up his conversation and he walked over to a viewing area to sit in a stiff leather chair. The area had waitresses serving beverages and light horderves and the area seemed more social and relaxed than the rest of the space.

"Kneel." Ginny knelt and once again found herself excluded from the conversation until another person asked about Mason's property. "This is my applicant, Ginny."

"She seems a little spacey," said a woman dressed in latex, eyes fixated on Ginny.

"She's never been to a public space before," said Mason.

"How terribly exciting," said a very collected older gentleman and conversation steered away towards Mason's enterprises, namely his family's chain of clubs. Ginny did her best to appear deferential; however Mason had been so mysterious concerning his time away from her. What was he doing, she wondered, while she completed her assignments, studied, fostered relations with her father. So when the topic of her Master's so far secretive dealings came up she became more attuned to the finer details of the conversation. To her disappointment, Mason remained mysterious, answering questions vaguely and with annoyance, attempting to steer the topic to issues related to play, gender roles, and the like. Not tolerant of the prying group, and feeling a bit like showing off what was apparently quite the prize, Mason freed himself of the casual area and decided to show Ginny his club.

"Excuse me. I have some plans for my applicant," and he stood and walked towards the stairs, Ginny trailing behind to observe two dangling women in the middle of changing formation mid-air, hanging from the banister, their Master climbing up and down the ropes like a spider, having his way with this limb and that. Ginny couldn't tell who had more strength and dexterity, the man for being able to maneuver so elegantly and suspend the weight of two women, or the women, who could hold such impossible (and beautiful) positions for such an extended period of time. Mason noticed why Ginny was falling behind and instead of punishing or scolding her, he neared himself to her and watched alongside her. Ginny's experience with play was zero. She hadn't had any true twenty four seven partners of any sort before him. Just a handful of sloppy experiences. She needed to see what there was to see. Absorb, read, research, experiment. It was all part of the plan.

"You will follow me upstairs now. I need you close behind me as I will be explaining things very quickly and you must remember everything. Are you alert, Ginny?" Mason asked.

"Yes, Sir." They walked up the stairs to a square shaped hallway surrounded by doorways on one side and that intricate metal balcony on the other. Mason and Ginny leaned on the balcony overlooking people dancing in fetish gear, chains, restraints, in cages. Mason pointed to the stage and Ginny felt a sharp knife in her abdomen. What would she have to do? Would he leave her alone?

"Come!" he said and brought her to the first room. The doorway was the size of French doors so several people could stand and view. Mason walked right into the room and sat at one of the chairs in a distant corner from the bed, snapping his fingers and pointing to the area rug. Ginny knelt. A woman hung suspended face down by her wrists and ankles from a metal framed bed. A chain was attached to the back of her choke collar, the lead of which was attached to the base of the bed. No slouching for this cunt. Her top was a sensual dominant. His tools were two rattan canes which he used in sweeping motions until the woman was screaming, then moaning, then sighing, then screaming again.

"Will I be suspended tonight Master?"

"Applicant," Mason condescended, "You have not earned such satisfaction. I have something else in store for you." He got up and circled the balcony, Ginny following close behind, catching glimpses of the rooms they passed. Kneeling concubines and looming men, whips and ropes, hot tubs and undulating bodies. Ginny heard so many screams and moans she could no longer discern the difference between the two. They walked down the other set of stairs and Mason led her onto the stage and a loud spotlight flash onto it and centered itself onto Ginny making her feel self conscious, insecure, unsure, and a bit proud at her very core.

Mason walked to the back of the stage and pulled a length of sisal rope from a set of hooks on the back wall. He walked to Ginny, behind her and began, in a meditative fashion, weaving the rope around her wrists, and with every wrap of the scratchy surface of the twisted material Ginny's eyelids dropped a bit, her arms were pressed closer together, and her chest thrust forward. Once Mason reached her biceps he wove the long fibers down the center of the gauntlets to her wrists and tied them off, leaving a very long lead. Mason roughly pulled up the skirt of Ginny's dress, revealing her sex to the crowd

and Mason turned her to the side, the train of her dress covering her ass. 

He pulled a crude metal saw horse and paddle from a closet on the wall with the hooks and bent her over the horse, tapping the insides of her ankles with his shoes, signaling her to spread her legs and lifting her train over her back which incited a few yowls from the crowd. Mason tied the lead of her rope to an o-ring dangling from a chain from the ceiling, lifting her arms, chest, and head, and arching her back as much as her corset would allow. Calmly he walked around to her head and asked her to look at him as he pulled a slip of paper out of his breast pocket, unfolded it, and placed it on the sawhorse in front of Ginny's face. It was her assignment. He motioned at the disc jockey to lower the microphone which Mason took into his hands.

"Applicant," he said. Ginny raised her head. "You were given an assignment to submit an expression your feelings about lying and the subsequent punishment in writing. Yet, you lied to me again. Consider this an opportunity to edit your assignment. You may start by reading the paper before you and you will be rewarded for truthfulness, punished for anything else. You may change what you have written to a more truthful answer either when you have had enough punishment or once you have come to your senses. If you have any." Mason positioned the microphone in front of her mouth and instructed her to read. Her cracked, shaky voice resonated throughout the entire club.




The Mogul Ch. 03



"Dear Sir," she said as Mason walked around behind her and began caressing her rear, squeezing and working his way inwards to her more tender areas, all visible to anyone below stage right. "When you initially caught me in my fib I was overwhelmed with shame. I couldn't look at you and as I fixated on the carpeted floor I felt my face turn red and I wondered later in the mirrored room, how could he ask me that? He must know I am ashamed." Mason continued to grope and tease. With Ginny's piercing mostly healed she was quite sensitive, and the microphone caught every breath, every tremble in her voice, and the audience was surrounded by the sound of fearful anticipation mingling with pleasure.

"You took me to that room, and I knew I was in trouble. I was scared. You whipped me and I felt subpar. When I went home I spoke to my father." Mason removed his hands from Ginny. She stopped reading.

"Please," he said. "Do continue."

"And I asked him the truth about my mother." A harsh warm thud landed on her ass. Ginny remained silent. There was another.

"What do your parents have to do with your lying?" asked Mason and he whacked her again. An ah-ah reverberated across the club. And a grunt. Mason pounded on Ginny. "Be honest. How did you feel?"

"I wanted to please you Sir." Five thwacks with the paddle in slow succession for minimal pleasure. Mason leaned into Ginny and heard only her breath. He paddled her again, this time loosing count, paddling irregularly, paddling hard, Ginny's ass already bruising. Two crowds formed. One at stage right to view Ginny's rear and one at stage left to view her tortured face. Mason continued, hurriedly, and Ginny's breath hastened until an occasional "huh" was forced through the mic and finally she said, "I was pissed at you, okay!" Mason signaled the microphone to be retracted.

"Very good. Why?"

"Because I was trying so hard and you still got mad at me," she huffed.

"Firstly I was not mad, and will never act out of anger towards you. Secondly, this life is not about trying, it's about following the rules and getting things done. Thank you for your honesty." He untied her, helped her up, grabbed her by the back of the head and kissed her, deeply, like he never had on stage to crowds of cheers. Mason led her off stage and back up the stairs...



The Mogul Ch. 04



Ginny awoke to the smells of Earl Grey tea and hot cakes filling her nostrils. She was in a canopied bed and never felt so comfortable, warm, and was enveloped in goose down. The maid set down the teapot, arranged a few items on the tray and left the dark room. A glimmer of light shone through the heavy curtains and Ginny stared at the steam pouring upwards from the teacup, catching a single particle of dust in the morning light. She remembered the previous evening's events slowly, getting dressed, the gift, the essay reading, her confession, running up the stairs, but it was blank after that. Mason finally stood from a chair and spoke up, pulling the curtains aside, nearly blinding Ginny with the light that forced its way upon her. 

"You have two hours to ready yourself. I took the liberty of getting your items brought here, your implements of discipline, your restraints, and toys. I found nothing of value in your closet and spoke with your father," he said.

"You spoke with my father?"

"Yes. I wanted to be sure he was comfortable with my presence on the property and with my business with you," he said.

"Well what did he say?" she asked.

"He's coming around. I think he understands I don't want to steal you from him." Ginny sat quietly looking down. Mason stared at her momentarily. "As I was saying, we will have a training session in two hours. I would eat soon. You don't want to be hungry; you don't want a full stomach either. I expect total cleanliness, inside and out when I arrive at," Mason looked at his watch, "10:35. Be nude, your face and hair clean, no cosmetics. And that collar is waterproof." Ginny ran her fingers over the mesh. "Clear?"

"But make up makes me feel sexy," she said.

"I don't want you to feel sexy. I want you to feel submissive." He waited for his words to take their effect and left the room. After eating in bed Ginny explored the room finding an empty closet, empty drawers, windows which wouldn't open enough for her to climb out. She entered the adjoining bathroom to find it much better supplied with enema bags, her set of graduated crystal plugs, plush towels, brushes for teeth, hair, nails, polish remover, everything she might need and she began to realize just how much work nudity really was. 

She cleaned herself as best she could and when Mason entered she was kneeling on the floor, head down, hair dripping unscented water down her torso and temples. He raised her to her feet by means of a short leash to her collar and quickly affixed the fetters Ginny purchased. An implement of bondage. A compliment to the collar, in reddened leather. Ginny found them in a recessed corner of the store and although new, they were supremely crafted and had the feel of being old and weathered, hand stitched, and broken in. Primed for use. They felt somehow hers when she first picked them up and she cringed later when the checker scanned them, seeing their price. Mason pulled her out of the room and down a long hallway lined with portraits, busts in strange metals, and carpeted with rugs of foreign designs and exotic colors. She kept her eyes pointed down however. She felt different. Calm. She felt there was no other way she ought to be but nude, gaze down, leash leading to Mason's hand. He led her into another room which only had three cabinets and a horizontal wrought iron rod hanging above a circular rug and led her to a bin. 

"Each cabinet is for a different purpose. You have five minutes to silently separate your items. I will decide their final placement after we... play." Ginny wanted desperately to tell him all the things she thought about when she purchased each item, how she had asked the sales people for help, how she had thought of him, but he said silently. Silently. She learned in the store not to second guess him and her task was complete within the alotted time. Pleased with something Mason kissed Ginny, caressing her chin, her shoulders, the small of her back. He looked at her selections and stroked his hair finally grabbing Ginny by the wrist and pulling her under the rod which hung about four feet above her head. He closed the door and behind it was a crank, which he turned until the rod lowered and he cuffed Ginny to it. 

Walking up to the middle cabinet he said, "Flogger, whip, paddle..."

"Those are-"

"Shush!" he snapped. "It's obvious what you think. We'll see what they really are." He cranked the rod above her so she was standing upright flat on her feet but her arms were erect. "I think the first part of our session will focus on this cabinet here. While I myself am not prone to use such implements for punishment, I have been trained to use them for other measures. Let's see if you change your mind about your obvious assumptions." Ginny wanted desperately to protest as Mason toyed with her but she knew he wanted her quiet. He pulled out the kangaroo flogger and walked around her, swinging the falls, occasionally tapping her, brushing her, awakening her entire body, her sex, her belly. Her nipples and ass. 

He started tapping harder, tapping more frequently, swinging each stroke before the previous declined in intensity for Ginny. Her head leaned into her arm, her toes squirmed. There was an unscheduled exhale but for the most part Ginny maintained her entirely unspoken oath of silence. Tap. Tapping. The taps increased in intensity until Mason stopped walking around her and focused his attention on her ass, picking up stokes faster with each swing, reddening her cheeks on her rear and moistening her brow until it all stopped at once. He stepped into her and brushed her hair aside literally breathing down her neck, running his hands along the hairless, warm red skin of her ass which only leaned out to him, wanting him to continue, but he walked away. 

She heard him by the door and soon felt the rod being cranked higher until she was on her toes, straining to be somewhat comfortable. He flogged her harder and she swung in the air, completely out of control of her movements, her arms wriggling back and forth toes on their tips, feet arched at maximum stretch. He hit her once, hard and an unrehearsed, unexpected cry escaped Ginny's lungs and an unexpected, "Yes," escaped Masons. This was most certainly the voracity at which Ginny felt most stimmulated but the force with which Mason had to wail at her with his flogger began to tire his arm and finally, after a noisy period of time he returned the flogger to the cabinet and released another lever from the crank, dropping Ginny to the floor on all fours, head down not daring to look between the strands of now dried amber hair. 

Before long she felt her ankles being cuffed roughly to hooks protruding up through the rug; the rod was pinned down and her neck was clipped to the rod. From this position, ass in the air, legs spread, she didn't see Mason get the paddle from the same cabinet and slipped on a vibrating glove. Kneeling silently behind her he slapped her with his bare hand and the smack reverberated out the room and down the long hallway. The novelty of the sensation shocked Ginny and she cried out with every ounce in her lungs. Mason began tapping her with the paddle lightly on her already reddened ass, increasing in intensity as he slowly massaged her with his gloved hand, the vibrations from which were excrutiatingly painful on her rear. 

The glove itself was invented by a Swiss woman decades ago. She was a sexual servant of the lowest rank, with no rights, the most submissive of women. It was rumored that she was one of the original women from Washington DC to produce a child from her own ejaculate. There were no contracts back then, not even for married couples, and the men were still recovering from the Great War. She was a test subject in a laboratory and became attached to a scientist who allowed her to experiment in his workspace. She wasn't allowed to let her hands touch her pussy, so she designed a rudimentary rubber glove with pulsing beads. Her owner was so pleased with her resoursefulness he allowed her to use it. It was adapted over the years to have veins of lubricant and multiple speeds and variations, all controlled by the fingertips and all hidden in a seemingly inconspicous latex glove.

Mason's gloved hand currently wandered around to the front of Ginny's pussy and teased the piercing she got for him their first day together. His vibrating hand moved back and forth from her moistening pussy to an always freshly paddled ass. Pain was always coupled with pleasure and neither ever seemed to last long enough until Ginny felt his bare finger wandering near her ass, pressing into it, stretching her. She heard the sound of Masons zipper and before she knew it her ass was being used for his needs. Ginny immediately took the signal to relax and her entire body slumped save for her rear, which remained in the air. He paused paddling her as he slipped fingers into her gaping ass, enjoying the vibrations himself and lubricating his entrance. He watched his bulbous head stretch her opening as it moved almost all the way out and slid further in with each thrust until he was fucking her so hard he could barely here the faint noise above the resumed paddling, vibrating and slapping flesh. It was a strange noise until Mason was able to discern a simple and elongated, "Ohhhh," driveling from Ginny's lips. 

His hands remained firmly deligated to her groin on one side and to paddling her rear on the other. Ginny felt as if she couldn't take any more paddling, as if she'd had enough, as if all of this, this bondage, this ass fucking, this stimmulation, and especially this paddling was too much and she began to hollar out as if she regretted everything she had done up to that point, as if she wanted nothing more than to get out of there. But suddenly there was peace. Suddenly she felt a wave of calm and all she could hear was the tap-tap-tapping of the paddle, and the she could feel the cock in her ass. Suddenly she became acutely aware of the vibrating sensation on her clit. Awareness and calm turned into peak and climax as she came, shaking in her restraints, muscles twitching, voice cracking as she hollared. Her contractions slightly tightened her everywhere and Mason came too, filling for the first time the first vessel that ever purported to be his and his alone.

As Mason sat back onto his heels his hand passed over Ginny's pussy and he examined the model of glove she chose. He noticed something very strange. There was no ejaculate. He inspected Ginny and found none. 

"How do you feel right now Ginny?" he asked.

"I... There's no where else I'd rather be. No way I would rather be," she responded dreamily. She clearly came. She was clearly submissive. Mason thought about her essay, and what she said about her parents. It must all be true. That collar has to stay on at all costs. Mason asked another pressing question in hopes of revealing more information about Ginny's origins and sensibilities.

"Tell me, do you still think all those items belong in the pleasure cabinet?" he asked.

"Absolutely," she gasped. "But maybe if you use that glove a little more and we'll have to make a torture cabinet," she smiled. 

"Dinner is in three hours," he said having no patience for joking, his mind spinning in circles about this novelty of a woman he's captured. He gently unclasped her. "Why don't you take a nap?" He fastened her leash, checking its security and walked her back to her room. "Your room has been filled with clothes from Georgian. Dress formally for dinner. I expect you there at eight." As Mason left Ginny already fell backwards onto the down of the bed, her fingers, unable to wander downwards, found her collar. She ran to the full length mirror at the corner of the room and admired herself in it. Mason mentioned a special collar. Was this the one? It seemed plain from afar, but as she neared her nude reflection its details became more visible. The metalsmithing was finely wrought, creating an intricate lace-like pattern of gold and black, but mostly red. It appeared this red metal was neither painted nor stained, but was somehow naturally red, though Ginny brushed this thought aside as no metal she knew of was red. She remembered Mason's words. She should nap.

When she awoke she found a glass of water and a bowl of grapes that tasted like nothing she'd ever had. They looked like regular grapes, but tasted of flowers. She opened the previously empty closet and found it full of garments more foreign than the grapes. There were dresses and gowns, skirts and bras, but they were all sewn in several places with boning, attached by fine metal chains bejeweled with precious stones in strategic placements. There were completely sheer fabrics and there was fur. But nothing broke Mason's dress code and everything matched her collar, bringing out the natural tones of her eyes, skin, and hair. There were several pairs of shoes in her size, all seemingly hand made from various stained leathers and skins. 

Ginny showered again, cleaning herself thouroughly and found even more supplies than before, including a professional makeup tower. She readied herself quickly and dressed in a fully boned corset bra made of heavy cotton and a high waisted full length burgundy skirt that appeared to be made out of gold lamé, but was smooth as silk. It was completely sheer save for a strip in front of her sex leading to a high slit and another black strip down the back. 

When she entered the dining room it was silent save for a quiet conversation between Mason and an older gentleman who appeared to be his father. Upon seeing her Mason stood up immediately, as did his father.

"I want you to meet my father," said Mason, introducing her to Mr. Tearing, owner of a series of nightclubs, a line of S&M furniture, and she didn't know what other enterprises but they must have been extensive to pay for such a home. 

"Good evening Mr. Tearing," she said.

"Don't be silly. Jonathan will do just fine," he said kissing the back of her hand. "This is my first concubine Martha." Martha gave Ginny a dignified nod as her eyes turned downwards. "This is Paris, Mason's younger brother." Paris didn't budge from his conversation with a young girl. "And Anastasia, my first daughter with my second concubine," he finished. Upon hearing her name Anastasia jumped from her conversation and walked decisively over to Ginny.

"You can call me Anastasia," she said sticking out her hand as if she wanted Ginny to kiss it. Ginny shook it awkwardly and sat down only to have Anastasia turn her bare back and beaded ass to her.

"Hi Mason darling," Anastasia flirted hopping in his lap, curling her fingers under his chin. "Have you taken under consideration that itch I had?" Mason was pleased to ride along for this conversation.

"Why yes I have. You need only wait a few moments longer dear Ana," he said. Ginny felt an ice cold tinge of jealousy but shook it off. Not that brat, she thought. Dinner passed awkwardly, with Jonathan asking lively questions of Ginny and no one else seeming to take an interest. Paris and Ana seemed engrossed in familial gossip between themselves and Martha silently and obediently agreed with Jonathan's comments and approved of his rather eccentric gesticulations and vocal intonations. Mr. Tearing seemed very curious about Ginny's father's business, especially his furniture making entrepreneurship, but Ginny knew very little about it as her father was quite secretive about his doings. Often Ginny was left searching for an answer and Mason jumped to her rescue. After dinner Ginny was exhausted and Mason put her to bed.

"Where will you sleep?" she asked him, yawning.

"I will sleep in my building across the back yard. But first I have some business to attend to at the club," he said on his way out. Ginny was already asleep. Mason took a great deal of time readying himself for the club. He showered, got his hair trimmed, selected clothing with great care. He didn't know how things would turn out, how she would receive him. Before long it was time to go. He knew she would be waiting for him, as he left precise instructions.

If one didn't truly know him as a Master, know his intentions, his heart and soul, upon entering the room he would leave upon a submissive woman the distinct impression that they were in the presence of something abundantly sinister. Like the fresh smell of death, he brought with him an all encompassing, room filling ambiance, drizzling chills on submissive women's necks, and raising the brows of other Masters, who stepped aside and either feared him or longed to know his 'secret.'

Tonight Ana waited for him at the club with bated breath. She knelt upstairs in a concrete room with nothing but a few looming implements hanging over her on the walls. She knelt in the room for hours as Mason primped himself. She was naked save for fetters, patrons of the club could peek in on her and watch her face contort from a look of pride to a mixed expression of "chin up" to blatantly obvious pain in her knees and back, to a trance like state. Finally Mason came in and without closing the door walked directly up to Ana and gripped her by the neck, lifting her to her feet. She fumbled in a futile effort with his forearms, choking, grasping at the floor with her toes until she was set down but not loosened completely. A small crowd gathered at the doorway and she looked up at him from beneath raven strands of hair, arching her back, pressing her tits forward.

"I'm going to give you what you've been asking for so," he subtly took in the smell of her tresses, "vociferously." Ana shuddered. He spread her against the wall roughly and attached her fetters to hooks. She heard his footsteps on the floor behind her as he pulled something off the wall and slipped on a pair of gloves. Whack! He flogged her. Whack! With enough time in between impact for her to feel the entirety of the force and never roll into oblivion.

"Of all people, why do you want to be considered?" he asked, hitting her, harder this time, and the next. She didn't answer. Mason hung the flogger up and did what he called 'checking his subject.' If his slave, or applicant was too wet, his interrogation techniques were not working. Crassly he shoved his fingers into her cunt running them up her slit and in her ass. She was afraid of this. She didn't want him to know she was at the peak of her accomplishments as a concubine in training and so was quite wet. Mason didn't want her to know this didn't impress him. She didn't want him to stop. And he didn't.

He pulled the cane off the wall and landed one splotchy splat to her meaty mound, bringing a reddened flush to her already glowing face. He left mark after mark, holding her torso firm and caning her hard, leaving mark that will only make the men downstairs want to fuck her more. Goddammit, she likes this too, and he stuck his fingers in her pussy again, scooping up as much fluid as he could, and shoving it in her mouth, filling her with her own tastes and smells, the indisputable truth that she's everything her sibblings call her. Mason turned her around. He clamped her nipples with clothes pins and pulled out the whip, barely caressing her nipples with it.

"I haven't gotten an answer out of you." The whip grazed until it popped the clamps off. He pulled at her nipples, scratched them. He bound her, fucked her face, suspended her, cut her, brought in a cage for three days, coming and going between training sessions with Ginny and interrogation sessions with Ana. Ana refused to eat and Mason refused to give in. Only cruelty would do for his sister. Until finally she said, "I love you. I don't want there to be anyone else. I don't like her. I want to be the first."

"That simply can't be," he said unlocking the cage and walking away. She sat in the cage for hours dumbstruck, afraid to leave the confines of his bondage. It was the only desire she knew. Soon the crowd grew tired of watching her and she crawled out and dressed herself. Mason returned home to find his father holding Ginny's essay, sitting in an easy chair, drinking a scotch. 




The Mogul Ch. 04



"Is she telling the truth here?" Mr. Tearing held up the essay.

"Most evidence indicates that she is, Sir," said Mason. "She was quite resistant on the first day. She refused to remove her clothes. However it's likely the experience she describes was formative enough to cause the submission she craves. Having met her parents, she appears to be the female child of both of them, and I've noticed some dominant tendencies in her, but she is quite the masochist. She had an orgasm but didn't ejaculat. I can't figure it out."

"Where is she now?" asked Jonathan.

"She's at school," answered Mason.

"Why did you give her my grandmother's collar?" asked Mr. Tearing.

"Mother gave it to me," said Mason, growing uneasy. Perhaps he had broken protocol. Mr. Tearing assessed just how much his son knew.

"That was the collar my Grandfather gave her during the Roaring Twenties. There is another one," said Mr. Tearing leading Mason to the family vault. He pulled out a velvet box with another collar in it. It was heavy, but delicate. It was a single inch wide band of red metal with gold and silver inlay scrollwork. The collar hinged in the back and had a single key hole in the front. "It is rumored this metal," said Mr. Tearing, "has special properties that make a woman more submissive."

"Yeah dad, and chocolate makes you horny," said Mason.

"Don't be snarky with me boy," said Mr. Tearing. "This is a very special collar. I know homecoming is around the corner," he said, handing it to Mason. 

"Thank you dad," said Mason and he rasn upstairs to begin planning Ginny's dress with the Georgian for homecoming.



The Mogul Ch. 05



"Thank you dad," said Mason and he ran upstairs to begin planning Ginny's dress with the Georgian for homecoming. Upon leaving the room Mason unknowingly dropped Ginny's essay from the inner pocket of his jacket. His father picked it up, unfolded it, and read it again, as if committing it to memory.

You took me to that room, and I knew I was in trouble. I was scared. You whipped me and I felt subpar. When I went home I spoke to my father. And I asked him the truth about my mother. Strangely, writing this I feel more comfortable than I would telling you this in person. I asked him if my mother was my real mother. I knew she was of the ejactulating sort, as I had walked in on the two early in my childhood. My mother was making a great deal of noise and I was positive my father was hurting her. I saw everything. The liquid, the convulsions, my father standing over her, simply everything. 

You might ask, what my parents have to do with how I felt after the whipping with which you endowed me, however I feel they have everything to do with that circumstance. You see, my father assured me I am the child of my mother and he, making me a dominant woman. However, my mother tells a different story. When I was a child she began an affair. She wouldn't tell me if the the affair began before I was born or after. When she spoke she mentioned several women who were of various importance to her and after speaking to her I am unclear if I am indeed a dominant child of either my mother and father or my mother and uncle or the submissive child of my mother and another woman. 

You must be wondering, how I could be unclear. It must be obvious, you must think. I grew up during my early childhood feeling quite dominant, arranging situations for play with my friends. My friends' parents always looked at my parents, then at me and assumed I was to be dominant, but that isn't how I was raised. You know my father doesn't believe in Master/slave relations, but he did raise me in a Victorian household, strictly, punishing me harshly. Punishments always followed by doting. I grew to take comfort in the warmth and humiliation of his strap. My only boyfriend, whom I saw in secret, spanked me a bit, and timidly, leaving me to do the job of spanking him. But no one could wield that whip like you did. You cut my flesh, it felt like a poker, until the next slice. It felt like all my childhood trash was oozing out from those cuts and I was liberated. I felt free from what they've been whispering about me behind my back. I never wanted to be anywhere more in my life, your collar around my neck, your whip on my back. I was wrong, yes. 

"Yes," Mr. Tearing said to himself. "You do have a rather unique creature.

****

Part 5

****

Several weeks passed after Mr. Tearing read Ginny's letter. During that time he kept a close watch and an open ear on Ginny and Mason's interactions, knowing full well what Ginny was. Mason seemed oblivious to her circumstance, but meant to be. He treated her as submissive, and as long as that red metal was around her neck, there was no risk of loosing that submission. They trained on the weekends and Ginny studied hard to maintain a 4.0 grade point average. Her father became more comfortable with her relations with Mason and as homecoming was approaching he even threw a belated 18th birthday party for the two of them, as they were both only three days apart in age. Two days before homecoming Mason invited Ginny to his dungeon for a training session. She stood naked save for her new collar and fetters.

"Now that we have fully explored the pleasure cabinet, and I must say your pleasure was most satisfying, I want to explore what is in the punishment cabinet, one item at a time," said Mason, calculatingly as he opened the cabinet. In there sat a surprising group of items, but only four. "Where is the fifth item?" asked Mason.

"It's my nudity, Sir. I am shy. The dress you bought me was beautiful... and these clothes, and I love them. But every time I sit or bend or twist, I'm terrified of my private parts," she whispered 'private parts,' "showing." Mason was delighted at this revelation but showed no sign. In the cabinet was a pair of eight inch heels, a bra with spikes on the inside, meant to be strapped tightly, a dog's butt plug tail, no doubt as part of a public performance. The final item was most unique and Mason pulled it out. It was a toilet seat with room for someone to place their head underneath.

"This is a personal fetish of mine and we will not be using it as punishment. You will learn to play with this and you will learn to like it. It just so happens I am prepared to start this training with you now." He placed the seat on the carpet and instructed Ginny to move herself underneath as he sat upon it after removing his pants. "You ruin the carpet, you will be punished with at least one of those items." Ginny not only missed capturing many of Mason's deposits in her mouth, she quickly pulled herself out from the seat and vomited on the carpet. 

"Don't worry, baby doll," he said sadistically. "I know just what to do. Drink this," he said, handing her his bottle of water. He took a sneak peak at the bondage closet and pulled some rope from it as well as the eight inch heels from the punishment closet and instructed her to put them on. He led her, naked, to the front foyer within which was constructed a grand double staircase. Mason tied one ankle to one side, the other to the other. 

"You will stand here in those heels, nude, until my father's dinner party tonight. That's in four hours. Your hands are free and you must introduce yourself to the guests graciously. If you must urinate or defecate, you can do it on the floor. Our maid will have to clean up all of you messes today anyway. And one more thing, you must let everyone touch you as they wish." Ginny's feet were already beginning to pinch. Mason didn't have to tell her she wasn't allowed to sit down, but she wanted to. Everyone who came through the door would see her 'private parts' and she already had to urinate. After Mason walked away, leaving her alone to take care of some business, Anastasia walked by. 

Ana was very pleased by the condition in which Ginny was displayed. Ginny hated Anastasia for her comment at the dinner table a few weeks ago. Maybe she hated her for being older, mistaking effective passive aggression for sophistication. Ana walked up to Ginny and spoke.

"I heard everything Mason said. I can touch you however I please," she said. Anastasia squeezed Ginny's breast vigorously for the shock value, but once she'd felt its firmness she began squeezing them both for her pleasure. After all, Anastasia was an ejaculating woman, a breed universally bisexual. "I also heard you were to be gracious. It would behoove you to reciprocate, or I'll tell something naughty on you." Ginny slowly and in an inexperienced way began exploring Ana's breast, first over her shirt, which was later unbuttoned. Anastasia tossed her hair back and thrust her chest out. "Squeeze my nipples hard, Ginny." Just hearing her name come out of that girl's lips induced goosebumps all over her body. Ginny did as she was told, squeezing hard and exploring the feel of another woman's breasts for the first time. As Ginny was lost in her explorations Ana's intentions became more catty and her hands wandered down to Ginny's sex, squeezing her full bladder, Ginny wincing at the fear of the inevitable accident. Ana's hand stroked the exterior of Ginny's pussy, moving back and forth, slowly making their way into the interior of Ginny's labia and finally entering her teasingly. Ginny's knees buckled slightly and Anastasia responded with an, "Ah-ah-ah! Knees straight." At that moment Jonathan Tearing walked by.

"What are you doing Ana?" he asked suspiciously, unaware of any monogamous stipulations on Ginny's sexuality.

"We're making friends," she replied and looked at Ginny encouragingly. Mr. Tearing looked at her questioningly.

"Yes. Yes. We're... making friends," said Ginny as she reached under Ana's miniskirt and began to paw at Ana's sex, callowly and smiled nervously. Ana walked away and before the guests arrived an expected puddle of urine had formed under Ginny, rolling it's way to her feet. She tried desperately not to slip, not to fall, not to be caught sitting down but her legs ached, her back trembled and when the first guest arrived, she walked right up to Ginny in her finely tailored gown and asked,

"What have we here?"

"I'm Ginny, I'm Mason's applicant. Pleased to meet you." The woman laughed.

"Pleased to meet you? You can do better than that piss girl. How about a compliment?" the woman asked, turning around provocatively for Ginny's eyes. Ginny thought for a while.

"Your gown is so finely tailored it is as if you are nude," said Ginny. The woman slapped her.

"Why is Mason wasting his time," she said as she walked away. Ginny noticed Mason in the doorway, ankles crossed, arms folded, and a smirk on his face. He was enjoying this, she realized. Another guest entered. It was a man, very handsome. Ginny looked at Mason who zipped his lips and pointed at her. The man walked up to Ginny after giving his coat to the maid. Ginny arched her back, stuck her breasts out, and stood on her toes. She didn't want it to appear as though Mason was 'wasting his time.' The man stepped one step into the urine and shook off his toes. He grabbed her, everywhere, as if testing her nubility. Her breasts, stomach, pussy, hamstrings. He scowled and walked away. None of the guests seemed to like her. It was as if there was a plot to break her confidence and humiliate her in front of Mason, whom she only wanted to please. But how could she? Standing in a puddle of piss? Finally, after all the guests insulted Ginny and went off to dinner Mason untied her.

"Take a quick shower. No primping. Georgian wants to see you." Ginny showered as Mason sat in the bathroom emphasizing the importance of today's training. Expulsion was the most basic of functions, he said. She needed to accept all of him, he said. Internally and through her actions. When Ginny was dry he leashed her and took her naked up the tower stairs. It was late in the evening and Georgian was reading with his monstrously huge and elegantly covered feet on an ottoman. The ottoman was a young boy, no older than a senior in high school, nude and hairless. When Georgian saw Mason and Ginny he told the boy, "Stay put," and stood right up to greet them.

"Ah! If it isn't Mason and his fresh pearl." He turned his attention to Ginny, "I have your homecoming dress almost ready. I just need to adjust the length. Please, take a look." Georgian pulled the dress out, on a hanger and it looked like a pile of bejeweled chains with fabric stitched in. She didn't know what to say. The Georgian noticed her reticence and quickly said, "You must see it on, Pearl. It was soldered, died, and constructed meticulously by me for your body only." 

Mason made his exit, saying, "When you have finished, you may have dinner in the kitchen. Make sure you take in some protein." With that Georgian urged her to try it on. He called his boy over and she stood upon his back, terrified it would buckle beneath her but was shocked at the boy's strength. Georgian helped her into the dress and Ginny was able to see its construction. It was made of a single platinum chain up her back, that parted into two shoulder straps, which each parted into triangular shapes over her breasts. The triangular shapes had silk gauze sewn into them, only barely hiding yet still exposing her breasts, and were died to almost perfectly match her naturally red hair. 

From her chest bone the triangles snapped together and led to two chains running down the front of her body. The chains snapped shut at every link with a different precious stone of reddish color. She thought about her collar. From the back vertical piece to the front led drooping chains of small round links in alternating metals at three inch intervals and a triangular piece of silk snapped into place to cover her sex, and another to cover her rear. But the fabric hung loosely and any quick gestures would render Ginny nude. She hadn't shared her earlier confession about nudity with The Georgian, and dared not. This dress was clearly the product of Mason's specifications.

As Ginny stood on the boy's back Georgean clipped and snipped the chains that were too long. He helped her off the boy and said, "Ah yes. All that remains is the shoes and adornments." He brought out a pair of shoes wrapped in the same silk from her dress and lined around the seams with the same stones as her dress. He handed her a box. "This is not for me to put on you. Do not put them on yourself. Hear me child?" Ginny opened the box and in lay four circular red cuffs. She closed the box immediately.

"Thank you Georgian," she said wholeheartedly, taking the box and leaving the dress for finishing touches. Homecoming was nearing and although Ginny had already had anal sex with Mason, and played with him quite a bit, her virginity was still intact. Junior year students come of age legally and Junior year homecoming is often crudely referred to as the "Cherry Picking," falling on the Saturday after the last Junior turns eighteen. There is a conscious blindness to this on the part of administration and students seem frenzied all around during this time of year, choosing partners either carefully or desperately, but there is always the sense of urgency to loose one's virginity finally by homecoming. 

On the night of the dance Ginny stood in her dress, holding the box from Georgian in her hands, waiting in her room. Mason entered at exactly seven and was holding his own box. In it lay the most intricate collar Ginny had ever seen. As he removed her current collar she felt confused and distressed, but as he put the new one on she felt a sense of calm come over her, as if she was melting into her Master. This sense of calm was increased when he attached the rings to her wrists and ankles.

"Ginny. Do you know what today is?" he asked.

"I... I..." she stuttered. 

"Today is our one month anniversary. It is at this point that we must decide whether or not you move in with me and sign a short term contract that will last until graduation. I feel you have met the minimum requirements and would like to proceed with relations with you," he said. "You have until the end of the night to decide."

"Minimum, Sir?"

"Don't be put off my dear. You do require training, but you're the first girl to meet those requirements," said Mason. Ginny's hurt turned into pride as Mason locked the collar around her neck and led her to the mirror. He could tell she was trying to hide how pleased she was with her own reflection, a small smile forming on her lips as her fingers ran along the jagged edges of the stones that ran down her front seam, along the accentuated curvatures of her waist and hips. She dared not touch the silk gauze, but repostured herself proudly, as to examine it closely.

At dinner the seats were prearranged and Ginny and Mason sat with Lilah, amongst others, the only girl who hadn't shunned her for not speaking to her friends that day. Lilah arrived at the dance alone, a bold statement, and seemed to be the life of the table. Mason enjoyed her company openly, while Ginny sat, afraid to move, quietly and deferentially to Mason.

"Well he wanted me to wear this god awful thing... this dress, I guess you'd call it. But it was more like a potato sack," she said in reference to her dumped date. She was corseted in a fully boned strapless leather mini-dress. It was reminiscent of the Corinthian style with an empire waist that pressed her breasts up while cinching her waist dramatically. She must have been corset training for quite some time, thought Ginny, and she couldn't keep her eyes off all aspects of Lilah's torso.

"Why would he want you to wear such a thing?" asked another boy. "Is he afraid of another man stealing you away?"

"I don't think so," replied Mason, leaning forward, looking into Lilah's eyes. "I know Robert. We've had a few conversations at the club. He's very interested in the government's initiatives on breeding. He is afraid of the women having an interest in you, isn't he?" asked Mason.

"Why yes! Exactly!" responded Lilah enthusiastically. "He's terrified of having a submissive child. As if! As if there was something wrong with being submissive. I mean, boys? Where would you all be without us, huh?" she asked emphatically. Everyone at the table raised their glasses, Mason most enthusiastically. Ginny wondered, in her constant comparisons of herself to other submissive women, how could she get away with being so feisty? It was almost enough to take away from Ginny's charms, her beauty, but there was no doubt that when Ginny walked into the dining room, all eyes were on her. Everybody was dressed like Lilah, in your stereotypical BDSM wear, leather vests and dresses, corsets, spanking skirts. But Ginny stood out like royalty amongst commoners. She didn't have to say anything. Everybody at the table attempted to steal glances at her at every opportune moment. She basked in the quiet attention and decided Lilah's personality was no threat whatsoever. Even Mason's interest in her was no threat. After all, she was the one with the antique collar. After some lively conversation she leaned into Mason and whispered into his ear.

"I accept whatever terms you have in your contract. Let's sign it tonight."

"We shall seal the deal tonight, but the contract will be drafted with you present, along with our family's lawyer," replied Mason and he pecked her on the ear.

The dance was a formality for them both, as they were only waiting to get home. Many women asked Mason to dance and this gave Ginny a chance to talk with Lilah. Lilah had black hair, like Anastasia, but instead of wavy, interlocking tresses, Lila's hair was perfectly straight, perfectly silky and she wore bangs that were almost long enough to cover her eyes. She was slender, lean, and walked with grace. She had the air of old money about her and made her more casual appearance seem purposeful next to Ginny's extravagant full body jewelry. Lilah's differences from Ginny were somehow soothing in what was to Ginny a high pressure situation. There they sat, two equally beautiful, complimentary wall flowers. Mason had introduced Lilah, and Ginny was allowed to speak to her again.

"So how's it going with Mason?" asked Lilah.

"It's going good," Ginny responded, restrained, thinking about how much she wanted to be with him, and how little she knew about the lifestyle because of her upbringing. But that was all too personal to share, she thought to herself. Nonetheless her eyes wandered along Lilah's dress. Lilah noticed.

"Do you like my dress?" she asked. "It's vintage."

"I can see that," said Ginny. "I was admiring the... boning."

"Yes, it's very structured. I like that. I like structure," Lilah sighed. "Now if only I could find a man who could give me the right structure I'd be set. But they all say I'm too 'intimidating' or 'loud' or 'obnoxious.'"

"I don't think those things about you," Ginny consoled. "You've always been really kind to me." Ginny thought about her talk with Mason regarding jealousy. She thought about his interest in Lilah at the dinner table. She thought about how confusingly attractive Lilah suddenly was. "And I don't think Mason thinks those things about you," she added. Lilah looked at her briefly and changed the subject.

"Don't tell me your outfit was custom made. Just don't. I am too jealous already," said Lilah.

"Well, yes it was. I had to wait weeks. The shoes too," and Ginny pointed one of her toes in Lilah's direction at the precise moment Mason returned from a dance with a blond.




The Mogul Ch. 05



"Lilah? May I take your friend away for a dance. That last one was such a bore." He took Ginny's hand and pulled her to the dance floor while a harsh Tango played and led her to charge into movements she didn't know she had the faculties to create. After one dance he drove her to his house and parked the car in front of his own house. "You will stay with me now. I've called the lawyer in on a Sunday, tomorrow, to go over the various types of contracts with you. I know you are not familiar with them. You have been training to be a concubine, and that is what you will be, but I want you to be fully versed before you sign. Even just the temporary one until graduation." He walked her into the house and offered her a late night snack of cheese, freshly warmed bread, and wine. He was most definitely wooing her for the most obvious reason. It was that time.

After the wine had taken its effect on Ginny and Mason, some serious conversation ensued. Mason wanted to be sure he was Ginny's 'best choice' and Ginny wholeheartedly attempted to assure him. He was uncertain of her commitment to him because of her lack of experience. He didn't want to be her first choice simply out of the fact that he was her only choice. She was his first choice, however, and he wanted to be certain the feelings were equitably mutual. But he brushed his insecurities aside as he reminded himself such relationships were most certainly not about equality, and her lack of experience, and especially her current state of virginity proved themselves highly arousing for him. 

Although his mind was clear, made up, he was a man of restraint and allowed Ginny to ramble about her devotion to him, her desires to leave her upbringing behind. He watched her as she fingered the stones between her breasts, as she spoke, and he finally lost his patience, pulling her into the bedroom and throwing her onto the bed, her face up, nervous giggles boiling up from her belly, and insecure gesticulations arising from her hands. She continued rambling, thinking he must like what she was saying until he finally barked at her.

"Shut. Up." She quieted instantly as he pounced on her and slowly unclasped each link of her dress. During this elongated undressing Ginny thought about something she'd seen in her "History of Sex" class. She thought of the buttons on a Victorian wedding gown prolonging and heightening the participants' arousal, prolonging the moment when the woman would finally be nude. Ginny was already nearly nude, but Mason and Georgian had conspired to make her completely inaccessible in that dress and now that prolonged moment had come. Once the dress was unclasped Mason carefully unveiled one side, then the other, making it quite simple to lift Ginny from the bed nude. He took her to a rather stiff armchair and pressed her face, by her neck into it's seat. Already aroused he ran his free hand along Ginny's rear, opening her slit with each compression until he entered her slowly.

Mason moved only the head of his cock into and out of Ginny as he stood hunched above her, his hand firmly pressing her face still until he finally asked her if she was ready. A muffled, "Yes," emerged from the seat cushion and Mason pushed his way through the thin membrane that defined her as an aging child. The pleasure of the situation, the cuffs, the collar the undressing, her face pressed down below Mason was almost too much to bear and a muffled groan came bellowing from Ginny's lungs. Mason too was excited by this position but he and Ginny were interrupted by an intrusion. Anastasia skipped in and an almost indiscernible, "Ohh," escaped her.

"You have five seconds to leave," said Mason.