5 comments/ 63207 views/ 19 favorites Sara's Silken Ladder Ch. 01 By: Calandria2 This story features nobody under eighteen. My childhood was a mess. The daughter of a career serviceman, I was flitted from airbase to airbase until I was thirteen, when my dad, whom I had worshipped, upped and left. It dawned on me then, as had clearly been discovered by my father, that my mother was a slut, and little more than the 'camp bicycle.' Before then, the succession of 'uncles' who had appeared whenever dad wasn't home had seemed a friendly sort of arrangement. Dad went to his Section boss, and requested a posting elsewhere, and we were left in our rented house in a nearby fenland village, my mother working as an admin. assistant on the camp. My 'uncles' continued to pay us visits. One day, mum had been given unexpected overtime, and Uncle Tony (a bit like my idea of a fifties 'cad'- all ginger moustache, Brylcreemed hair and a shiny Jaguar) showed up to find just me in the house. I won't go into the sordid details, but I lost my cherry at that point, and mum came home to find me crying and bloody on her bed. She wouldn't (couldn't?) press any charges, as 'Uncle Tony' was her boss – great! As soon as I could, I left home, scraping through 'A' levels, and going to a second-rate university, more for the escape than for any burning desire to study. I graduated with a crap degree in sociology, and had two highly unsatisfactory affairs along the way, one with a fumbling nerd of a geology student, the other with a married tutor, who could only get it up if he was half-pissed. This story really starts, then, when my grotty degree got me a job as trainee buyer in a large department store in the city, where I found (with difficulty) a bedsit, up three flights of stairs, with a shared bathroom. The work I was given, as a new recruit, was intensely boring, checking off numbers of household goods, for the purpose of ordering. But the store's uniform suited me, a navy blue suit, with either a straight skirt or a pleated one, and a sky blue blouse with a bow at the neck. With my long dark blond hair brushed out straight and shiny, nicely made up, I thought I looked nice. My legs, too, benefitted from the heels I now wore for the first time in my life. I suffered agonies every evening when I had been walking around in them all day, but I gradually got used to them, and they certainly made my slim ankles look good. Jason thought so, anyway. He was a junior Departmental Manager, all charm and gelled hair, and I accepted when he asked me out. On the way home from the disco-pub we went to, he was all over me in the taxi, pawing my firm young breasts, and, simultaneously it seemed, sticking his hand up inside my short skirt, so I had to push him away, but not without feeling that nice tautening of my nipples. 'Not now,' I said, and he lapsed into a sulk in the corner of the seat. I felt sorry for him then, and asked him up for the ubiquitous 'coffee,' when we arrived at my flat. If truth be known, I wanted him to fondle my breasts again – men seem to think you are doing them a favour when you let them play with your tits, whereas I, for one, love to have my nipples tweaked and my breasts kneaded. Once inside the flat, he looked disapprovingly around my cramped room, but I let him kiss me and responded with my tongue, feeling his hardness against my stomach when he pulled me close. Perhaps it was going to be alright after all. Jason was panting with urgency as he unfastened my blouse, and I helped by reaching behind me and unclasping my little black half-bra, so that he could massage my breasts. I found myself rubbing the bulge in his chinos, and he moaned, 'Oh Sara, go easy, or I'm going to have an accident!' I took him to mean he was close to spurting in his trousers, and took my hand away to give him time to recover. I shrugged off my blouse and bra, led him to my little bed, sat down and unzipped his trousers, while he stroked my hair. He was really quite sweet, and I now wanted him inside me. His erection was nice too, even if he lacked a little in length, I thought – though my experience was very limited. His cock was hard and straight, and I fondled it gently, mindful of his warning – I didn't want him to cum just yet. I swung my legs onto the bed, shoved a pillow under my arse, and arched my back enough so that he could pull down the white silk panties I had put on for the evening, without – honestly! – thinking about losing them. He scrambled hurriedly and awkwardly onto the bed between my legs – it dawned on me that he wasn't far away from being a virgin – and equally awkwardly pushed his prick into me. It hurt, not because of his size, more due to the lack of preparation, and I think he took my groan for one of ecstasy instead of the pain I felt. Two thrusts and then he stiffened - and it was over. I resisted saying, 'Was that it, then?' as he rolled off. 'How was it for you?' he asked, as he pulled his pants up. 'Very nice,' I lied. 'When can I see you again?' Oh shit! 'Well, I'm starting a new post graduates' course next week, so I'm not going to have any free time, between lectures and studying,' I said, quite proud of my on-the-hoof invention. He was quite a nice guy, but there it ended. No coloured lights going off in my head, and the sex, well, I ought to invest in a nice vibrator, I thought. I spent the next few days trying hard to avoid Jason, which wasn't too hard, as my boss, Helen, a statuesque forty-something brunette, kept me busy. The other two girls on my floor were an item – one a moderately attractive blonde, the other as masculine as anyone without a cock and balls could possibly be, crew-cut and given to wearing trouser-suits with a shirt and tie – ugh! I couldn't imagine what Clara, the blonde, ever saw in the butch Jean, the sight of whom made me shudder, but they were all over each other whenever they thought nobody was watching. Little did I know, my life was heading for a change – and what a change! I came in one winter Monday, to find Helen waiting for me, when she usually arrived later than I did. She was in her store uniform, but looked somehow better groomed and made up than normal, and wore higher heels than was her habit, I thought. 'Surprise,' she said, 'we're going to a fashion show, today, tomorrow and Wednesday. Mr Goldstein says we must go in uniform today, but we have to go dressed up for the last two days, when its haute couture.' 'Wow,' was all I could say, then as an afterthought, 'but what will I wear tomorrow? I haven't a thing.' 'Oh, I suppose we can find you something this afternoon,' she said dismissively. I was instantly captivated by the atmosphere when we arrived at the Mayfair hotel and sat two rows back from the catwalk, and the models were utterly gorgeous – so slim and elegant, even though today was devoted to sportswear and business suits. To say I had stars in my eyes was an understatement, and one platinum blonde seemed to be looking at me personally as she spun on her five inch heels, her long hair in a pony-tail, her pink-glossed lips in a sort of ironic pout. She modelled a soft leather suit with a tight skirt, and when she held back the sides of its top to reveal a peach organdie blouse, the outline of naked breasts underneath was an erotic statement. I could never have believed that a business suit could be so sexy. Back at the store, I was desultorily marking up some boxes of clothes which had to be returned to the supplier when Helen came up behind me. 'Hope you like what I've found you,' she said, and laid a black dress across the boxes, 'if it doesn't fit, we've got it in some other sizes. Why don't you go and try it on?' I picked the dress up – it was as light as a feather, and there wasn't much of the silky material. I could hardly wait to try it on. Once in the changing room, I took a good look at what I had been handed. Christ! I'd never worn anything like this. It was a halter-necked, backless dress with a loose bodice. Because it was backless there was no question of wearing a bra with it, and the loose top would allow my breasts to jiggle around as I walked. The skirt was mid-thigh length and all narrow pleats. When I tried it on in the little booth, it felt soft and sensuous against my skin. I walked out tentatively to show Helen. 'Shit, I wish I were young again,' she said, 'I'd love to wear something like that. But you need stockings and heels, my dear.' 'I don't have any high heels.' 'Don't worry,' she said, and I found out that she took my size, and had a pair of stilettos to lend me. I had some black stockings and a little satin garter belt, so I relaxed, still a bit worried however, that I was going to look like a tart in that dress. Next morning, after a night which contained very little sleep, I made up with great care, and picked out pair of outrageously long silver ear-rings I had worn for a disco. I debated with myself for a time about my hair, and finally decided to simply brush it out, and leave it, a heavy mane down my back. I put on a pair of black stockings, cinched to the garter straps, and stepped into the unfamiliar height of Helen's shoes. I pulled on a pair of white silk panties. When I slipped the dress over my head, smoothed it around my hips, and tied the bow at my nape, under my hair, I turned this way and that in front of the mirror. 'You look irresistible,' I said to the mirror, 'You should be attractive to her.' Christ, I was getting an obsession about the platinum blonde – what was happening to me? I hardly dare take off my heavy coat when I arrived at the store, but Helen was ready to go anyway, so she called a taxi and we went down in the lift to await it. The hotel was alive with journalists, television cameramen and photographers, but we were early enough to get a seat on the front row, and we had to wait, Helen, still rather formally dressed in a black cocktail dress, chatting with a buyer from another store, before the loud music announced that the show would begin. I was immediately enthralled. The day was dedicated to designer dresses - the pinnacle of haute couture, said Helen – and it was very different from the day before, the models strutting in fine silks and filmy, transparent gowns, many showing more than a glimpse of their invariably firm, pointed breasts. I wouldn't have wanted to explain why, but looking at these glorious creatures was affecting me in an unexpected way – I was getting distinctly moist down below, and squirmed in my plush seat, a little worried I might be making a damp patch. This can't be, Sara, I thought; you're 'straight,' aren't you? Whilst I was preoccupied with this thought, though, on walked the platinum blonde who had so impressed me in her leather suit the day before. But now she wore her long, pure white hair loose, framing her lovely face, and falling in a cascade down her naked back. For she wore a shimmering, backless gold dress, tight around her knees, then flared out to ankle level. The bodice was filmy, translucent, and her breasts jutted proudly against the material. As the day before, she seemed to be looking directly at me, and when I returned her gaze, I could have sworn she lowered her incredibly long lashes a fraction. The small paces she was obliged to take by the tightness of her skirt meant that she was in my sight for a good long time, and it must have been my imagination, I thought, when she turned just before slipping through the red velvet curtain, and looked back at me. My pussy was now not just damp, but soaking wet. I was lost. Lost to a dream, an image of beauty so fantastic that, had she asked, I would have gone anywhere with her – and I didn't even know her name! I was in shock. Had I turned into a Lesbian? Unbidden, a picture of the two girls on my floor came into my head – the butch dyke with the crew-cut. No, I didn't see myself in the same bracket as her. After an interval, when Helen bought me a coffee, and I tried to make intelligent conversation about the clothes on show, we returned to our seats. Seven or eight girls came and went, then it was the turn of the platinum blonde again. She was even more stunning this time, in a black velvet sheath, which revealed nothing, but fit her like a glove – and she wore long white silk gloves for contrast, and white stiletto sandals too. Her magnificent hair was piled up in an elaborate style. As she walked towards me, it must have been my imagination when she seemed to give the faintest of winks in my direction – then the moment passed, and Helen seemed not to have noticed anything out ofr the ordinary, so yes, I had obviously been imagining it. Had I seen the last of her? It did seem so. But as the show came to an end, the top designers came out on the catwalk, and invited all buyers and media people to a reception, where, they said, we could meet the models. When Helen glanced at her watch, I thought she was going to drag me back to the store, but she said, 'Come on, let's go see if we can get a free glass of something.' When we arrived into the huge Reception Room, I looked all around, and, for fully ten minutes saw no sign of the platinum blonde, but then, stood at the endof the bar, getting herself a drink, thre she was – her hair brushed out straight again, wearing a tartan 'school uniform' miniskirt, a white silk blouse and high heels. 'Why don't you go over and talk to her?' smiled Helen. 'Is it that obvious?' 'Yes, my dear – you've been looking for her since we got in here.' 'But I wouldn't dare.' 'Nothing ventured.......' I made my way hesitantly towards her, and while I was still ten yards away, separated by at least twenty people, she turned towards me, and smiled. Just for me! I walked up to her, and her perfume was intoxicating. Guerlain? I didn't know. But she was smiling, looking at me in a direct, unsettling way. 'Do you like me?' she asked, a heavy accent making the almost childlike question somehow exotic, erotic even. 'Yes,' someone replied – it must have been me, 'I...I...' She reached out and took my hand. 'I saw you in the audience. You are very beautiful.' I was beautiful! God, I felt like the ugly duckling, in the company of this fabulous swan. She squeezed my hand, and I was in a dream – a wonderful dream from which I never wnted to wake up. My tongue was three sizes too big for my mouth. I opened my lips and no sound came from them. She was talking for me. 'I am Nadia Kuznetskaya. I am in England only six weeks. You are?' 'Sara Miller.' And I told her where I worked, and that I was attending the show with my boss, but then I seemed to dry up, and anything else I said was going to sound somehow silly. 'Come for a drink with me, I'll be able to get away soon,' said Nadia, and I couldn't believe my ears. I told her I'd have to check with my boss that it was alright to leave, and she nodded. When I walked back through the crush to speak with Helen, I kept looking back to see that Nadia was still there, and saw her lovely lips curved in a gentle smile as I found her. Helen said she was going home anyway, and, as a parting shot, said 'Good luck!' as I hurried off back to my new friend. We got our coats, my heavy woollen one, and Nadia's imitation fox-fur, which set off her silken hair to make her more glamorous than ever, I thought. We found the quietest wine bar possible on an evening in the West End, and slid into the upholstered benches of a corner booth, facing each other. I ordered a bottle of Chardoney. I looked at Nadia, at her aristocratic feature, her gorgeous hair, long, long lashes, her luscious pink lips, and I melted. The buttons of her blouse were sufficiently widely spaced that I formed the impression that she was bra-less. I felt as if I had only to move slightly, and a squelching noise would be bound to be audible as moisture built in my pussy, She reached over and took my hand. 'Sara,' she said, 'I think I know you all my life. I not - how you say – dyke? But with you I want to.....I don't know.' 'I don't know either. I don't think I'm a Lesbian either, but you excite me like nobody ever has – in my life!' 'Oh Sara, I...I want.....touch you, hold you.' Her knee was up against mine, and it seemed to transmit heat into my body. Looking at her, her slightly hooded eyes bewitched me, and something made me slip the very tip of my tongue out between my teeth – it was a gesture nobody had ever taught me, and one that I scarcely understood myself. Nadia stroked the back of my hand. 'Yesterday,' she said, 'and today.....I saw you watching me, then, on my second show, I saw only you.' 'When I didn't see you at first, at the reception, I felt.... desolate,' I confessed, 'but when you smiled at me, my heart jumped for joy.' Hoarsely, she said, 'Shall we go to my place?' Her eyes were cast down, as if she didn't want to look at me for fear of rejection. 'Yes, darling, let's go,' I said, and at that moment, I knew I wanted nothing more than to be with her. The black cab deposited us outside a pedestrianised Bloomsbury street, and I looked around in wonder as Nadia found her key to a smart blue-glossed front door. When we entered her nice house, I couldn't help contrasting it with my tiny bedsit. It was tastefully furnished in a minimalist way, with white leather sofas and a huge plasma television. 'I take your coat,' she said, as I shrugged it off, and she laid it down with her lovely fur. I wondered, not for the first time, what this gorgeous creature saw in little old me. But then I was in her arms. I feasted on her lips, those lips I had so admired, and then our tongues were probing, taking turns to thrust into each other's mouth, our bodies pressed together. 'Come. We go to bed,' she said, and I followed her up the narrow staircase, and into her sparsely-furnished bedroom, containing nothing more than a large bed, dressing table and bedside table. I wondered briefly where all her clothes were, then spotted a door which must have led to a closet. As I stood in the doorway, Nadia came around behind me, and, gently moving my heavy mane of hair to one side, flipped open the bow which held up the top of my dress, letting it fall to my waist. She was half a head taller than me. Her hands came around and cupped my breasts, and I moaned with intense pleasure as she took both my nipples between her thumbs and forefingers, as she nuzzled the sensitive back of my neck, and bit an ear-lobe. I wriggled around and fumblingly started to undo the buttons of her blouse, soon discovering that she was, as I had suspected, naked underneath it. Her fabulously firm breasts had large, slightly proud aureola, and she gasped when I bent and bit gently down on her nipples, one at a time. She tasted of some lemon shower-gel. Then she was leading me over to the bed, and we sank down onto it, kissing deeply as she pushed my dress down over my hips. When I kicked it off my legs, I was left in my panties, garter belt and stockings, but Nadia had impatient hands under the waistband of my panties, and soon they, too, were off. I was glad that I kept my pussy shaven – it was something I had been doing since I was about sixteen, as I loved the feeling of silk panties against my naked flesh - and Nadia made appreciative sounds as she stroked my naked pubis. 'You are very wet,' she said, as her hand found my crack. Without a care in the world, I opened my legs for her. 'It's your fault if I am,' I said, and wasn't sure if she understood. Her hand as now stroking the length of my crack, just gently easing aside my outer labia, and grazing my growing clit with each stroke. I could already feel an orgasm building, building, deep within me. I reached for the hem of Nadia's short skirt, and when I pushed it up, found she was naked under the skirt. 'No panties,' I said. Sara's Silken Ladder Ch. 01 'I no wear panties,' she told me, by way of explanation, and I explored, finding that she, too, was moist in anticipation. I wanted to look at her, feast my eyes on her most secret place, and she obligingly lay back and parted her long, slender legs, wide open, and wide open, what was more, for me! I bent down as she opened herself up with two fingers, displaying her beautiful, pink, glistening cunt, and I saw that she had a pierced clitoris, with a little silver ring inserted. From the ring dangled a silver clasp, containing a blue gemstone. I tugged the charming decoration gently with my teeth, until she moaned just slightly, then I started to lap her pussy with my tongue, as Nadia manoeuvred us into a '69' position, and returned the favour, her long tongue making little slurping noises as she licked me. I couldn't take much more, and had to work to resist cumming until I felt Nadia start to writhe, and heard her breaths coming in short gasps that told me she was close as well. I drove my tongue deep into her cunt, and abandoned myself to the sheer pleasure only a raging orgasm could bring. Later, we lay side-by-side in comfortable silence, lightly holding hands, staring at nothing in particular. It was Nadia who broke the silence. 'I want to say to you, but I can't.....don't know the words.' I brought her slim, long-fingered, beautifully manicured hand to my lips, and said, 'Try!' 'I feel like I make love for first time.' 'For me it was the first time – with a woman, that is.' 'I make it with woman one time before – in Moscow, when I was student.' 'And with men?' 'I don't like men. Many try, but I.....' She made a dismissive gesture, 'but now, I find you, Sara. I think I love you.' The words dropped into my ears like gold dust. 'Oh Nadia, I wanted you from the first moment I saw you. I just couldn't believe my feelings – didn't want to admit to myself that I had these feelings for another woman.' She threw a long leg over me, and turned to kiss my lips. 'I think we can make love many ways, Sara. I want try things with you that I have....oh, I don't know the word, like dreams?' 'Fantasies?' 'Yes, that I have fantasies about.' 'Mmmm, sounds great!' 'But now I must sleep – I'm very tired. We see us tomorrow evening – yes?' 'Oh yes! Yes please.' 'OK, I phone you then.' I could have lain with her all night, but I knew I had to go to work next morning, so I made sure she had my mobile number, then made my way home to my tiny, icy-cold flat, but I didn't notice the cold, not that night. I lay snuggled under my duvet and went over the events of the day, wonderingly. Me, a Lesbian? Dyke? Gay? None of the familiar handles seemed to fit. Perhaps I was bisexual, but then I remembered the spectacular failure of my most recent excursion into what ought, surely, to be normal sex. When eventually, I drifted off to sleep, my last waking image was of Nadia's lovely face, and the sound of her awkward, strange accent was in my ears. Helen tried to grill me about the evening before – she had seen me leaving with Nadia – but I played it close to the chest, even though a large part of me wanted to trumpet my new-found love from the rooftops. Hang on, I thought. Love? Am I really in love, in love with another girl? Whichever way I turned it, the answer came up – yes! Proof came, in that I could hardly wait to see Nadia again, and was consumed by fear – fear that she would reconsider, and never want to see me again. I carried my mobile around all day, just willing it to ring. Her call came as I was listing stock, out on the sales floor. My heart leapt. I couldn't talk for long, but arranged to meet her outside the store, from where she was eager to take me out for dinner. 'But I'll be in my uniform,' I protested. 'Doesn't matter,' she said, so it was agreed. We dined in an upmarket Thai restaurant, and when I told her she didn't have to buy me a meal, she said, 'I have much money – and nothing better to spend it on.' I started to piece together her story. She had trained in music at the Moscow Conservatoire, and taught piano for a time there, until she won a beauty competition, and accepted an offer to work as a fashion model, with virtually no training behind her. Since then, the offers had come thick and fast, and she was regarded now as a 'top model.' 'You too could be model,' she said to me, and I laughed, but was secretly tickled pink to hear her say so. We walked back to Nadia's home, hand-in-hand through the cold, damp streets, and I was happy – happier than I had ever been in my life. When I glanced at Nadia's elegant profile, I felt so proud just to be with her. This must be what love is like, I thought. 'I want to show you some things I have bought today,' she said, coyly, went we got into her cosy little house 'I hope you'll like them. Make us a coffee, while I get the things.' I obediently went into the kitchen, and rummaged around the unfamiliar cupboards looking for the coffee things, but had everything under control, when a sound behind me made me look around. Nadia was framed in the doorway, wearing the most amazing gown I had ever seen. It was black, silky and completely transparent. It was floor-length, with a high neck and long sleeves, but every detail of her lovely body was visible, and she had a heavy silver chain hung loosely about her waist – the only thing she wore under the gown. 'God, I could eat you!' I whispered. 'Mmmm, yes please. But first, it is playtime. Go and change while I pour the coffee. You'll find what I bought for you to wear on the bed.' I went into the bedroom, unable to resist trailing my hand over Nadia's scantily clad body as I passed. She purred as I did so, letting her long mane of blonde hair trail over my hand in a deliberate gesture. I was curious to see what she had bought for me, and gasped when I held up the garment. It was a peach organdie 'harem suit' – almost as transparent as Nadia's dress, with long, voluminous sleeves, and a high neckline, buttoned in the back, so that my breasts would present an uninterrupted view, when, as I realised was Nadia's intention, I wore it with nothing underneath. When I put on the wide trousers, I noticed that there was a lace-fringed opening to coincide with my crack, which ran from the top of the cleft in my buttocks right through to my mound. It was cunningly closed with an invisible strip of velcro. She had left a pair of stiletto-heeled sandals, my size, by the bed, though whether she had just bought them, or if our sizes coincided, I didn't know. I stripped and put on the suit, then twirled in front of the mirror. What a change! I was amazed, and felt that I could almost – but not quite – match Nadia's exotic beauty. I brushed out my hair, my hands now trembling with anticipation, using Nadia's silver-handled hairbrush. I was ready to be with my lover. When I walked into the lounge, she was stood waiting for me. 'You look ravishing, darling,' she said, but I couldn't have matched Nadia in a million years, her slender body displayed under its silky, transparent sheath., her long platinum blonde mane shining, as it fell almost to her waist. She stood with her legs slightly apart, and I could see the little decoration dangling lewdly from her clit. Right then I would have done absolutely anything she asked of me, but when I walked up to her, she took my head in her hands, then kissed me as she stroked my hair. 'Oh my darling,' I said, 'I don't want this moment to end.' 'We have all evening,' she replied, 'and many more.' It was music in my ears to hear her say such things, and when her hand strayed down to my crotch, I obligingly tore open the vecro there, until my slit was framed with pretty lace. Nadia's long, long nails scratched my clitoris, quickly bringing me to the verge of an orgasm, but then, sensing that, she withdrew her hand, and said, 'Undress me, my love, I want you – all of you!' I unzipped her gown and eased it from her shoulders. It fell to the floor in a soft whisper And she was naked but for the heavy silver chain. We fell together onto the sofa, and she helped me out of my skimpy outfit, then, like lightning, she had two long fingers deep in my hot wet cunt, and their movement was making slushy noises as my breathing reached maximum speed. Then, just as I was about to cum, she pulled her fingers out of me. 'I hope you like what I now do, as then you do same for me,' she said mysteriously, then, by way of explanation, rammed an elegant forefinger into the depth of my arsehole. I had never felt a pain like it – quite excruciating, but laced with something else, a deep and abiding ecstasy so intense I couldn't begin to put it into words, and when I felt another finger join the first, opening up my velvet tunnel for the first time in my life, wiggling, exploring and driving in and out at the same time, I thought I might die from sheer plesure – and pain. I came, a noisy, screaming climax which made my vaginal fluid ooze out all over Nadia, then collapsed, sobbing, into her arms. 'I'm so sorry, darling, I not want to hurt you,' she murmured. 'It's not that at all,' I tried to reassure her, 'I've never known anything like that. I love you.' 'So now you do same for me,' she said, and lay back on the sofa, her legs wide apart. Her pink cunt was open and inviting, and when she reached between her legs and stretched her lips wide, I saw the dark depths of her fuckhole, pulsing slightly as her excitement increased. I just had to lick her, and she moaned with joy as I nibbled her clit, the ring between my teeth. Then as she had done to me, I thrust a finger into the tiny, puckered hole of her anus. She groaned and squirmed as I went deeper, then said, breathlessly, 'More, darling, more!.' I added another finger, then another, and she started to buck and writhe as I fucked her arsehole with my hand. Soon she came, with a mighty, shuddering heave. When we sat, her arm around my shoulders, both of us dressed once again in our sexy outfits, she said, 'I want that you think about me – about us – when we are not with us.' You mean when we are not together?' 'Yes, oh, my English is so bad!' 'I do think about you, Nadia.' 'You must wear no panties, no bra, to remind you, and we go to have you piercing, no?' The idea of going naked under my skirt and blouse all day was a nice one, but I was less sure about the piercing part, and asked her if it would hurt. 'Hurt, yes, when I am pierced, but very exciting,' she said enigmatically. I wasn't sure about that. I went to work the next day, nothing on under my skirt and blouse. Nadia called as I was having my morning coffee. 'Are you dressed like we say?' she asked. 'Yes,' I replied. 'Good, so am I. I have miniskirt, and now go to shoe-shop.' The mere thought of the shop-assistant getting a glimpse of her shaven pussy, and the intimate decoration it bore made me start to get wet, because I knew that was in her mind, or she wouldn't have told me about the miniskirt. That evening, she confirmed that that was what she had done, and I almost felt jealous of the girl in the shop. I told her that I had simply walked round thinking about her all day, my nakedness under my uniform a constant reminder. We played with some toys she had bought, Nadia introducing me to a string of blue plastic balls we each tried out. I loved the feel of them as they popped out of my anus one by one, and the sight of them emerging from my lover's rectum was, if anything, more exciting still. She then told me that she would go with me next evening to the piercing salon. The idea frightened me, quite frankly. When we arrived at the shop, in a Paddington backstreet, Nadia surprised me: 'I have been thinking – your clitoris is little, and is hiding well. Maybe we do your tongue?' I felt relieved, but didn't know what a pierced tongue was going to feel like, either. I agreed, however, and, in the event, felt nothing when the surprisingly professional guy in a clean white lab-coat sprayed some numbing agent on my tongue, then deftly pierced it, and fitted me with a gold-stemmed coral stud. It felt very odd indeed, and I thought it made my speech sound different, but Nadia said she could hardly wait to have me tongue her cunt, when the initial soreness wore off. When, after three days, I eventually got to oblige her, she screamed with pleasure as I flicked her clit with my stud, then drove it deep into her sopping wet cunt. Life went on very pleasantly for several weeks. Nadia had taken to calling for me at the store when she wasn't busy, and once she came to collect me when Helen had sent me on a late errand. I came back and found them chatting and laughing together. Next day, Helen said, 'Your friend is very lovely, and her English has improved so much. You are so lucky to have her.' Did I detect a touch of envy there? But the very day of that conversation, Nadia dropped a bombshell on me. 'I've been invited to go and work in Los Angeles,' she said, 'the money's fantastic, and there may be a film opportunity there.' 'That's lovely for you,' I managed, but must have looked terribly crestfallen. 'Oh darling,' she said, 'we can visit one another, can't we?' Not, I noted, 'come with me!' It clearly wasn't an option. My eyes misted up with tears as I walked to the tube station, on my way home. After a rotten night, I must have looked a wreck when I got to work next morning, because Helen virtually pounced on me. 'Whatever is wrong?' I told her, and she gave me a hug. 'Look, Sara, I know it's no compensation, but I have two complementary tickets to the Festival Hall for tomorrow night. How'd you like to come with me?' I nodded glumly, 'Thank you Helen, I'd like that.' She left me alone all day after that. The next day I had a quick call from Nadia, who was going off on a photoshoot somewhere. She sounded distant, as if she had already put me out of her mind. That evening, I stood and waited or Helen in the huge, well-lit foyer of the Festival Hall, its functional fifties architecture looming above. When she turned up, I hardly recognised her – it was the first time I had seen her dressed up since the fashion show, when she had worn a simple black dress – and she looked glamorous in a long, pale green silk sheath, with a black stole over her shoulders. I worried that I was under-dressed in a simple maroon button-through, but Helen told me I looked fine. The music was wonderful, an impossibly young Korean violinist playing the Beethoven concerto, then the orchestra raising the roof with Sibelius' second symphony. During the interval, Helen said, 'Not worth queueing up for a drink – let's go for one later. Are you enjoying it?' 'Oh yes, Helen, thank you.' She reached over and squeezed my hand at that, and as I was wondering about her, never having heard her mention a husband or boyfriend, I realised that her hand had stayed on my thigh. I also realised that it wasn't altogether unwelcome! Afterwards, she asked me if I felt hungry, and we ended up in an Indian restaurant near Charing Cross. When, as we took coffees, I felt Helen's bestockinged foot run up and down my calf, her shoe having been kicked off, I looked a question at her, and, for reply, she reached for my hand across the table. 'Have you enjoyed this evening, my dear?' she asked. 'It's been lovely.' 'And I see you've enjoyed the meal. Why don't you let me cook for you – tomorrow night, say?' 'I'd like that – I'd like it very much.' And I was being honest. She was good company, and had a certain maturity, and a dominant personality that somehow thrilled me. I didn't think I was quite ready for another relationship, but what would be the harm in going for a meal? We were very busy all the next day, hardly having the time to speak, but as I prepared to leave, Helen handed me a card with her address on it - a nice Chelsea one – and said, 'Eightish? Don't dress up.' I smiled at her, 'I'll be there.' In the event, I wore a pleated miniskirt and a peasant blouse under my padded topcoat when I caught the tube to Helen's. I had continued to go without underwear, even though I was constantly reminded of my love for Nadia, but, for the cool evening weather, I had put on hold-up black stockings. I rang the bell-push beside Helen's name on a plate beside the door – there was one other apartment in the building – and the door buzzed open. I walked up a flight of stairs, and through a door that was standing ajar. Helen greeted me, and I did a double-take as she did so. I had never seen her with her hair down before, and it was startlingly long, cascading, slightly wavy and thick, down to the middle of her back. But what really surprised me was that she wore a long midnight-blue silk negligee, tied at the waist with a wide sash, but sufficiently open down to the waist to reveal that she was naked under it, and when she turned and walked ahead of me, enough of her long legs could be seen to suggest that she probably wore nothing else. 'Are you cold, darling?' she asked. It was plesantly warm in her apartment, and I told her I was fine. 'Then why don't you make yourself comfortable? I can certainly find you something, so that we can be alike.' Before I had time to respond, she had led me through to a lovely, feminine bedroom, all drapes and soft furnishings, and whisked a long white garment out of the wardrobe. I had already taken off my coat, at the door, and Helen said, 'Take your things off, and slip into this,' holding the silky garment up to show me that it was, indeed, a negligee like hers. I lifted my elasticated blouse up over my head, very conscious of Helen's eyes boring into me, then unclipped the waistband of my skirt. I was left naked but for my stockings. Helen's reaction shocked me. 'Quite a little slut, aren't you, Sara,' she said, 'no underwear, eh?' I didn't know what to say. Nobody had ever called me that before, and I made to reach for my skirt again, but she caught my arm, and laughed. 'Put this on!' she said, rather sharply, passing me the negligee, 'You mustn't take offence.' I looked at her as I fastened the sash of the soft robe, hurt that she should have called me a slut - she, who I had looked up to, and who had always been kind to me. She came up to me, and grabbed a handful of my long blonde hair, twisting it around in her hand, and pulling my head back. 'So you don't think you're a slut, then, Sara?' 'No! And you're hurting me! Please let go!' Instead of letting go, she kissed me hard on the lips, still yanking my hair viciously. In spite of myself, I found my mouth opening under her onslaught, my tongue searching her unfamiliar mouth, stud clicking against her teeth, and I pressed my body up against hers, feeling her heat, her need. When eventually we parted, I was breathing as if I'd just run a four hundred metre race. 'Yes, I suppose I am a slut,' I gasped. 'But you can be my slut,' said Helen, 'if you want.' 'Yes, oh yes!' somebody said – it must have been me. 'Let's go and eat, and then we can discuss it.' We sat at Helen's table, eating the delicious meal she had prepared, and I thought how gorgeous she was, and wondered why I'd never before seen her in this light. She had shocked me by what she had said, but awakened some inner self that must have been laying dormant within me. I had had an inkling of it the night before, when I had thought how dominant she was, and now she had proposed that I become her slut! I several times started to ask her what exactly he had in mind, but she told me repeatedly to wait until we had finished eating. When at length we were sat on the sofa with coffees, she held my hand and said, smilingly, 'I suppose I was a little offended that you wear no underwear, as that should have been one of my instructions to you, and you have pre-empted that. But first of all, I have to ask you again: Are you prepared to be my slut, darling?' Sara's Silken Ladder Ch. 01 'Yes, I am.' 'And to accept without question any instructions I may give you?' I looked at her seriously. What kind of instructions? But then I saw her lovely oval face, and, looking down, saw her long, perfectly manicured finger laced into mine. 'Yes,' I replied. 'Then you must understand that you will address me as 'mistress' when we are alone, and you will always wear what I tell you to. Any failures on your part, and you will be punished.' 'Punished?' 'Yes, darling, I expect I shall whip you from time to time, and not always because you have done something wrong, but also for my pleasure – and yours.' I was shocked into silence by that last remark. I should have been telling her to fuck right off, I knew – the whole idea was outrageous, but......... But why were juices welling up inside me? What, after all, was it that attracted me to this aloof, elegant lady, who seemed to want to humiliate me, inflict physical pain on me? I had, I realised with a start, already consented to be her 'slut.' But this 'punishment' that she so casually spoke of. When she said she would whip me, an image sprang into my mind – a girl in a long white dress, led into some medieval dungeon, there to be stripped and chained to the wall, before being flogged by a bare-chested man, her back welted and bleeding. Was I really some kind of masochist? But as I pondered that question, I saw that, having released my hand, she was slipping open the bow in my sash, so the the two sides of my negligee fell apart, and my body, naked save for the stockings, was revealed. I parted my legs when Helen's hand slid down into my damp slit, then moaned when she probed within my outer labia, finding the hard little nub of my clit, and flicking at it with long, tapered nails. She plunged three fingers togther deep into my cunt, then joined them with a fourth, stretching my membranes to what I thought was their limit, until her thumb was funneled in with all the rest, and she was wriggling and twisting her hand, working its entirity into my now soaking vagina. I groaned and bucked as she brought her other hand around to work on my clit, and, when I came, I stiffened and screamed. After perhaps half an hour, during which not a word had been spoken, Helen said quietly, 'Now it's my turn.' She undid her sash, and I slipped off the sofa, to kneel between her long legs, which she parted wide. I fell on her, loving the perfumed smell of her wet pussy, as I lapped the length of her glistening pink crack, letting my tongue-stud alternately play on top of her nice prominent clitoris, then plunge deep into the black, mysterious depths of her succulent cunt. 'Oh Sara, that is soooo good!' she breathed, 'I have wanted you to do this since the first time I saw you.' Her breathing got shorter and much faster, and my tongue tried to keep in rhythm with it, then she clasped my head in her hands, and groaned, then squirted copious quantities of her precious fluid all over my face. 'Oh Helen...' I started to say. 'Mistress, now, I think, darling,' she corrected gently. 'Oh mistress, that was so exciting!' Using her new title somehow didn't feel as strange as I had thought it would. Christ! What was happening to me? 'Good girl,' she said, 'we'll have a drink, shall we?' I got to my feet to go and get a drink. 'No darling, I'll get it,' said Helen, 'being my slave doesn't mean you're my maidservant. I'll get us a drink, then show you your room – I think you'll like it.' My room! So she had been planning this. Jesus, what was I getting into? After a glass of smooth malt whisky, she led me to the room. It was beautiful – a big double bed, huge mirror-doored wardrobe all along one wall, a dressing table, window with a view across a small walled garden, and glory of glories, an en-suite shower-room. 'If you like it, I'll attend to your wardrobe, and make sure you have all the cosmetics and things you need. You can go and get your things from your flat tomorrow.' 'But I have to give notice there!' 'I've dealt with that,' she said, and smiled at my open-mouthed astonishment. I had been manipulated completely, but I couldn't find it in my heart to be annoyed. After my grave disappointment with Nadia, here was someone who really wanted me! 'You'll find a nightie in that drawer,'she said, indicating a built-in set when she opened one of the wardrobe doors, 'I expect you'll want to get some sleep, but if you need anything, don't hesitate to ask. Tomorrow's Sunday, so no hurry.' 'Thank you, mistress.' I was indeed tired out, and slipped off the negligee, rolled down my stockings, and put on the short silk slip I found in the drawer. I got into luxurious satin sheets, and was asleep in an instant. It took me some moments to locate myself in the strange bed when I awoke, but a smell of coffee permeated the apartment, so I put on last night's negligee and went into the kitchen, where Helen was already dressed, in a nice leather suit. 'I'll help you collect your things this morning, then we can perhaps do some shopping,' she said, 'you'd better put on the clothes you had on last night, until we get you some more things.' In my tiny room, Helen looked around with distaste, as I started getting out my pathetically few belongings. She told me to get rid of all my jeans and a trouser-suit, so we parcelled them up to take to a charity shop, then she had me throw away all my underwear, except for two garter belts. My shoes also went, leaving only two suitcases full of stuff to take – all I possessed in the world, I thought. Avoiding carefully the store where we worked, we did our shopping – or rather Helen bought clothes for me, some nice dresses, skirts and blouses, and three long evening gowns – 'I like long dresses,' she said, 'they promise hidden delights.' Most of the things she bought me were silk, or of synthetic, silky materials, and two of the evening gowns were very revealing, halter-neck, backless affairs. Then we called at two stores for some shoes – three pairs of stilettos. Before we left the clothes shops, she had me try on a black skirt, knee-length, and so tight I could hardly walk, let alone sit down, in it. 'Mmm, she murmured, 'very nice!' When she had bought that, she took me around into a back street, to a corsetiere's shop. It was up a flight of stairs, and the doorbell brought a woman to the door. 'Simone, I want you to meet Sara,' said Helen, introducing me to a petite, Audrey Hepburn-like woman Helen's age, with short-cropped blonde hair and extravagantly long gold ear-rings. When she shook hands with me, I was impressed by her immensely long nails, of which one – her left pinky – was pierced, and decorated with a fine gold chain, connected to her gold bracelet. She wore a black velvet dress which didn't look as if she did any actual work in it. 'I am pleased to meet you,' Simone said, in a pronounced French accent, 'what does Helen want you fitted with?' I thought her choice of words odd, but it was clear that she and my new mistress were close friends. Helen answered for me. 'I want you to give her a corset, like you sold me for Dita.' My ears pricked up at this. Who was Dita? But Simone was twirling me around, and said, 'Please undress.' I hesitated. Naked under my skirt and blouse, I was embarrassed to be stripped in front of this stranger, but Helen rapped, 'Well?' in a tone that brooked no prevarication. I hurriedly slipped the blouse off over my head, and unfastened my waistband, then pushed the skirt down over my hips. I stood in hold-ups and heels, while Simones looked me over dispassionately. 'Hmm,' she said, 'wait there.' She went out through a curtained doorway, and the sound of her moving stuff around occupied a few minutes, while I stood, feeling very conspicuous, in the middle of the floor, Helen, seated on an upholstered bench, running her eyes over me. 'You'll have to learn to be more obliging, Sara,' she said, 'I may well loan you to Simone one day soon.' My mouth dropped open, but before I had a chance to retort, the Frenchwoman was back, carrying a box, which she set down beside Helen, and whisked off the lid. 'Yes, that's the kind of thing,' she said, 'let's see if it fits her.' Simone took out of the box a pristine white corset, which she placed around my body, buttoning it up the front. It fitted tightly, pushing my naked breasts up above its underwired top. At its lower end, another lacy fringe was arched high at the rear, leaving my buttocks bare, and long garter straps hung from it. 'It's tight,' I said, and Simone laughed, a pretty little laugh. She moved around behind me and I felt myself constricted so that I could hardly breathe as she suddenly dragged at the laces which criss-crossed the opening in the corset's back. She was stronger than she looked, and it hurt terribly, but when I looked in the full-length mirror on one wall, I saw that the corset had pulled in my waist to tiny proportions. 'You'll have to wear that with the skirt I've just bought you, my dear, I think that will be most suitable.' 'But it's so....so uncomfortable!' I protested. 'You have to suffer to be beautiful,' said Helen, then, to Simone, It's perfect. I'll take it.' When we were heading home in a taxi, I asked, 'Who is Dita?' 'It's a long story,' said Helen, 'perhaps I'll tell it to you one day.' I suppose I sulked a little at that response – I had hoped there would be no secrets between us – but I cheered up when Helen told me she was taking me for a pub lunch. She told me to put on one of the dresses she had just bought me, a silky, green, mid-thigh-length button through. 'Just white stockings and a garter belt with that, I think, and those sandals with the metal heels.' I got many a hungry look from men already seated at tables in the pub, as we threaded our way through to a corner table After we had eaten, as we sat nursing our coffees, Helen nodded towards a young couple sitting at a table just across from us. They were holding hands, but the good-looking guy had kept shooting glances in my direction all the time we had been there. 'Show him your cunt,' said Helen, quietly. I looked at her aghast. 'But.....but....' 'Do it!' she rapped, and I hesitantly turned around in my seat, just enough so that my legs were towards the guy, who surreptitiously pretended to attend to his shoelace. His girlfriend looked blissfully unaware, and was reading the ice-cream menu as I pulled up the hem of my dress, uncovering the lace tops of my long white stockings, then parted my legs jut enough to give him a brief glimpse of my shaven pussy. 'Right, let's go!' said Helen, and led me out, leaving a twenty pound note on the table, and the young guy turned to watch us walk out, his jaw dropping in astonishment. 'Poor man!' I said. 'He'll take it out on her,' said Helen, as we walked home, and laughed. Then she became serious. 'You'll have to learn to obey me without question, Sara. I think your behaviour merits a little punishment. I think I should introduce you to the whip.' 'Oh no, mistress, please!' I could scarcely believe what my ears were hearing. She was proposing to actually whip me! Now was surely the time to make a run for it – to leave behind this crazy life I seemed to be getting into, flee my job, this city, everything. So why wasn't I going? I looked across at Helen, her long black hair now swirled up in a French twist, her tight leather skirt immaculate over black seamed stockings and patent heels, as she walked elegantly along, and I knew, knew instantly. I would let my mistress do to me whatever she wished! 'Yes, better sooner than later,' she said smiling, and taking my hand in hers. It was as if she had suggested going to the pictures. 'Now,' she said, when we got home, 'go to your room and rest for an hour. I'll call you when I'm ready.' It was warm in the house, so I lay down naked on top of the bed, and fell asleep immediately. What seemed like a couple of minutes later, I awoke to find my mistress sitting beside me, her long hair, now loose, brushing my shoulder as she leant over me. She wore a transparent long black gown, under which I could see a lacy black half bra and matching panties – clearly the 'no panties' rule didn't apply to her! 'Come, darling,' she said gently, 'it's time.' I reached for my robe, which hung over the end of the bed. 'No, you won't be needing that.' Meekly, I followed my mistress into the lounge, and stood while she took two small Renoir prints down from the wall. They had concealed two sturdy ring-bolts, over a metre apart. Then she pulled out a long box from under the sofa. When she took off the lid, I saw that it contained a lot of things. She took out two sets of handcuffs, and snapped one of each pair onto my wrists. Then she took out a thick metal bar about a metre long, with leather straps at each end. 'A spreader-bar,' she explained, 'though it's not really necessary just now.' She led me to the wall and told me to face it, then cuffed my wrists to the ring-bolts. I was shaking with terror, not improved when she forced my feet apart, and buckled the straps of the spreader-bar around my ankles, rendering me quite helpless, naked and spreadeagled. Over my shoulder I watched her take a long, thin leather riding crop from the box. She came slowly up behind me, and, in spite of my plight, I thought she looked magnificent, her slender body sheathed by the black, transparent material, black hair cascading over her shoulders. 'Sara,' she said, 'You know that I am going to hurt you, don't you, darling?' 'Yes, mistress.' 'It's important that you ask me to do it.' I looked at her incomprehendingly. 'I must hear you say it.' 'Do it, then,' I heard myself say, hoarsely. 'Do what?' I understood what she required of me. It was a kind of ritual. 'Whip me, mistress, please.' There, I had said it, said words I never thought to hear come from my mouth. She lifted my long hair over my shoulder, so that it fell down across my breast, then stood back. I heard a terrible whistling noise as the crop flew through the air – it was a practice swing. But the next great swish was followed by an agonising stinging sensation as the thin leather thong fell across my shoulder-blades. I writhed in my bonds, but it was useless, and the second stroke was already on its way, making a searing 'crack' as it scored my tender flesh just below the first one. I gasped with the awful pain. The third cruel blow snaked around my flank, so that, looking down, I could see the end of the red welt it had raised on my skin. As her strokes lashed me lower and lower, the pain seemed to get worse, and my moans turned to screams as the agony became near-unbearable. But something was happening to me, and when I looked beseechingly over my shoulder as my mistress prepared to bring all her strength to bear on another fearful stroke over my buttocks, it was a mixture of pain and desire that she must have seen in my eyes, because she paused, and slipped her hand between my legs. 'Oh my, you are really wet, my darling. Just two more strokes, and you can cum if you want.' She lashed my buttocks mercilessly, but the pain for me was almost lost as the most cataclysmic orgasm I had ever known swept through me, causing me to shudder violently, and scream loudly. 'Just as well we have no neighbours at the moment,' said Helen. As she undid my bonds, I kissed her, and we remained in an embrace for a long time, before she went to find some soothing lotion to rub into the wounds she had caused. When I looked at the welts in the mirror, I saw that they were quite superficial, and would soon fade. As my mistress (how easy it was now to regard her as such) tended my welts, she told me about Dita, who had been her last slave. In those days, she had lived in big house near Hampstead Heath, and had a maid. Dita, who was an Indian girl, had, unbeknown to Helen, fallen in love with the maid, and the two had conspired to rob her of a great deal of money and all her jewellery – then they had disappeared together. That was why, she said, he now lived in this 'modest house.' Not so modest, I thought, but I thought it a sad story, and determined to be nice to Helen for as long as she wanted me. She must have read my mind, because she said, 'I know I'm vulnerable, Sara, but I don't think you'll let me down, will you?' 'No mistress, I won't.' 'I believe you my dear. Now, just to set the record straight, I prefer to sleep alone normally, so we'll keep to our separate rooms, but I should like to visit you for a time tonight, if you don't mind?' I must have looked incredulous – my mistress, who had just whipped me brutally, was asking permission to come to my room! She had the grace to laugh. 'Yes, it sounds odd, I know, but we must preserve some respect, I think.' After dinner, I found myself very tired, and soon took myself off to bed, where I slid naked between the sheets. Some while later, whilst I was half asleep, I heard my door open, and in came my mistress, wearing a fabulous silk and lace nightdress. I had already noted that she never seemed to go naked. She got into bed with me, and went immediately to my pussy, where her tongue soon got to work, lapping the length of my crack. I wriggled around until I could lift the lace hem of her nightgown, and return the compliment. By way of an experiment, I stuck my tongue in the very portals of her anus, wiggling my stud around as deep into her as I could get. She moaned deeply, and went directly for my own tender back passage. When I replaced my tongue with two fingers, plunging them way down into her velvet tunnel, she screamed, and yelled, 'Oh Sara, yes, yes, yeees!' Almost immediately she came, a heaving, convulsive climax which probably came from an accumulation of the day's excitement. For my part, I was too exhausted to cum once more. We lay together, and my mistress whispered her promises and hopes to me. How I should always be prettily dressed, but for a change she would dress me in corset and restraint clothing, so all the world would see how much I would like to suffer. How she would give me 'toys' to use and wear, that would keep me excited all day. How she would take me to parties, and loan me to her friends – only the prettiest ones though! How she would help me understand and accept pain, and show me different forms of punishment I should crave and beg for. There were more things – some that I didn't understand, but just hearing my mistress pouring out her love for me was enough. After she went back to her room, I lay quietly. I had come a long way since I had left home, and had at last found my way into my own true world, the Lesbian world, and had taken a couple of steps up the ladder – my Silken Ladder. Sara's Silken Ladder Ch. 02 Chapter 02 -- 2nd Rung This is the second instalment of Sara's story, and will make more sense if you've read the first already. Everyone in this story is over 18. * When I awoke in my new bed in Helen's house, it was a Monday morning -- a working day. Not wearing panties under my uniform skirt was no novelty, as I'd given up wearing them during my brief affair with Nadia, but going bra-less felt strange, even though I still had firm breasts, and they weren't very big. I should need to get used to it, as I was going to have to accustom myself to the much higher heels my mistress insisted upon. My mistress called to me from her room as I was waiting for her at the door. 'Just pop in a moment, Sara, will you.' I went in to find her all ready for work, but with something in her hand. 'Just bend over the bed, please,' she told me, and I obeyed, wondering what was coming. I was wearing the pleated skirt, just above knee-length, that was an option with our store's uniform -- otherwise it was the tight, much shorter one. Now Helen flipped up the hem of the skirt, revealing my naked buttocks, framed by a little blue satin garter belt and long garter straps to support my black stockings. 'Spread your buttocks with both hands. I'm going to put this into you,' she said, and as I turned my face towards her, the other cheek crushed down on the bed, I saw she was holding a shiny metal cone, about an inch and a half in diameter at the base, tapered to a point. A short stalk from the centre of the base ended in a shaped flange. She had a tube of lubricant in the other hand, and smeared some around my sensitive anus, making me gasp. But that was nothing compared to the scream I let loose when she wriggled the huge implement into my tender arsehole. I felt sure she had torn me as she forced the invasive plug deep into my velvet tube, then deeper still, until the curved flange sat flush with my crack. It felt terrible, but my mistress was speaking. 'You need to leave that in place all day!' she said, 'Now stand up, and walk acrosss the floor.' 'Oh, mistress, it hurts terribly!' 'You'll get used to it, and it will serve to remind you to whom you belong.' 'Yes, mistress,' I said, doubtfully. In the taxi, on our way to work, my mistress said, 'I've got a little surprise present lined up for you at lunchtime.' 'Oh good,' I said, 'I love surprises.' My arsehole hurt like hell as I went about my work, but my mistress was right -- I started to get used to it, and then was able to walk around with my head held high, proud in the secret knowledge that my body belonged to my mistress, to do as she pleased with. Combined with the four inch heels I was wearing, and the lack of any underwear, sex was on my mind all morning. As lunchtime approached, my mistress came up to me. 'Get your coat, we're going out.' A taxi was waiting for us at the staff entrance, and Helen gave the driver an address in Soho. When we got there, she led me up a staircase beside an expensive beauty salon, and rang the bell beside a frosted glass door. There was a sign on the door:- DECOROTIC Sexy body decor A very pretty blonde in a pale blue lab coat answered, and led us through a waiting area into an airy space lined with cabinets. I then saw what I was to be fitted with -- for the whole place was dedicated to fingernails. But I wasn't going to be allowed any choice, my mistress electing a set of false porcelain nails, exaggeratedly long, deep maroon in colour. Once they had been fitted, with great care, and I had been assured that they wouldn't easily come off, Helen pointed to my right pinky. 'That's the one,' she told the girl, and a tiny drill soon made a hole a short way from its tip. 'You admired Simone's nails, I know,' said my mistress, 'so I thought we'd have a similar job done.' 'But I'm right-handed,' I protested, knowing that I was to have a decoration placed there, and that it would get in the way when I wrote, or on any number of other occasions. 'I know, darling, but these little things will remind you -- as you will discover.' I said nothing more as the little blonde painstakingly threaded a tiny ring into the hole, and hung from it a delicate gold chain an inch and a half long, with a little gold ball at it end. I thought it very charming, and said so. I really loved things which dangled, inconvenient though they may be. 'Come on, then, we'll go through to the other room, I want you to have some more things.' Taking our leave of the blonde, we went through a door to the other salon, where th walls seemed to be lined with cases of costume jewellery. I sat in a chair to which I was led while Helen did all the choosing, and when I left, I had a big, jangling bunch of bangles on my left wrist, and a painfully tight 'serpent' amulet on my right bicep. Helen also bought more items, but didn't show me them. Now I felt everyone in the store must be staring at me, as I self-consciously tried unsuccessfully to hide my new nails, and their dangling decoration. I was still acutely conscious of the butt-plug, and the constriction of the amulet merely added to my discomfort. But I was beginning to understand the relationship between discomfort and sexual pleasure. At home that evening, I found out what it was that Helen had bought, when she got up as we finished dinner, then came up behind me as I was sat at the table. She placed a collar around my slender neck, and I heard it click shut, fitting me snugly, not too tightly. She produced a hand-mirror, so that I could admire it, and it was truly gorgeous, a wide metal collar, studded with what looked like diamonds, with a small silver ring subtly set into it under my chin. 'I want you to wear that always, darling, and, unless you are dressed in a corset or something, this too.' She handed me a wrapped package, which I opened to find a heavy silver chain, with ornate links, fastened by means of a finer chain, at the end of which was a blue stone in a clasp, at one end, and a hook-fastening at the other. 'You'll find that will leave a bit of chain dangling,' she said, 'it will look nice.' When I tried it as I was getting ready for bed, I looked at my naked body in the mirror. How I had changed! The chain hung loosely about my waist, my collar was going to be a permanent reminder of my status, and the amulet yet another change. I hd almost forgotten about the butt-plug, and now couldn't resist twirling around, and looking at its lewd flange projecting from my anus. Next morning, over breakfast, my mistress said, 'How's your butt-plug?' Before I had time to reply, she went on: 'I'd like to try your anus out tonight, my dear -- I have an interesting little diversion.' I shuddered involuntarily as I wondered what her 'diversion' may consist of. Several people commented upon my collar during the day, and I found myself the subject of some strange looks as we ate in the staff canteen -- but Helen seemed oblivious to all that, and pressed my hand in hers as we walked back to work. After dinner that evening, Helen said, 'I promised you a little diversion. I know you enjoyed it when I whipped you a couple of days ago.' 'Oh yes, mistress!' Was it only a couple of days ago? The marks of her crop had all but faded away. 'Well so did I, darling -- in fact I came, without touching myself, as I whipped you,' she smiled -- I had already confessed to an almighty climax as she had flogged me. She went on: 'I'll go and change. Just take off your dress, and wait for me.' I had on a simple white cotton button-through, so in a couple of second, I was stood in garter belt, stockings and heels, and apart from my lovely waist-chain and my mistress's collar, nothing else. My mistress returned, a black negligee swishing along the floor as she walked. She looked, I thought, magnificent. She went to the closet, and trundled out a strange-looking padded bench, which had wheels at one end for ease of transport, but was stable on the floor when she dropped the other end, carefully placing it directly under a light-fitting. As we always had wall-lamps illuminating the room, I hadn't seen the light working. The bench was slightly inclined, very narrow towards the lower end, but then widening out into a sort of padded ring. On its four 'legs' it was equipped with stout leather straps and buckles. I shuddered when I realised they were meant for me. Helen beckoned me, indicating that I should get onto the bench, but when I started to sit at the lower end, she said, 'No, darling, the other way round.' I perched on the higher end. Its width stretched my legs apart like sitting on a horse, the more so when my mistress strapped my ankles to the legs of the bench. She then made me lay down along the padded top, its narrowness lower down meaning that my breasts jutted down either side of the central strip. The edges of the ring supported my face, so that I was looking down at the ground while my mistress secured my wrists to the legs at this lower end. I heard a whirring noise, which I later learned was my mistress bringing down a chain from what I had thought was a light fitting, using a little handset. Then she walked away, and I heard her rummaging in the box she kept under the sofa. When she came back, she reached down and showed me something. 'I'm going to put this into you now, darling,' she said, and waved a bright, curved stainless steel hook, with a big knob at its tip, under my face, 'it's an arse-hook!' Before I had time to protest, I felt her grasp the flange of my butt-plug, then had the momentary delicious sensation of my own suction as the wide plug was pulled out of me. Its place was taken by the hook, the knob on which must have been about the same size as my butt-plug. But it penetrated me much more deeply, and I gasped and writhed as its length was rammed right into my delicate tube. But worse was to come, and another buzzing sound was accompanied by agony as the chain dragged the hook -- and my arse with it -- upwards, upwards, until its tension strained against the straps that bound me to this cruel 'horse.' 'Oh, mistress, that hurts so much,' I breathed, but she was far from finished. Kneeling beside me, she kneaded my breasts for a moment. 'Your nipples are hard, my dear Sara,' she whispered to me, and at first I thought she had gripped one tightly, until I realised that she was applying nipple-clamps, and screwing them tighter and tighter onto my tortured nipples. I screamed at the searing pain that coursed through my body, but worse was to follow when Helen hung a weighted chain from the two clamps. A third chain extended from the silver ball which hung there, and she pulled it towards my face. 'Put your tongue out!' she ordered me, and when I obeyed, she slipped a ring at the end of that third chain over my tongue stud, dragging my tongue downwards. I was in agony. But my mistress still hadn't finished, and returned to her handset. A faint buzz started to build into a louder noise, and I felt the tension relax as the hook lowered my arse, but then the note changed, and I felt my whole body yanked up again. Up and down, up and down, as my mistress controlled the rhythm of my torture. 'How does that feel, darling?' she asked. 'Oh mistress, it's terrible!' I cried, but rather than give me respite, she left me to suffer for a moment, and I could hear her at the fiendish box again, then, when she came back, I heard the dreaded sound of something swishing through the air. 'Just a few strokes with the cane, I think,' she said, and showed me a thin bamboo switch. Without delay, she lashed me with it across my upper thighs, as the hook raised and lowered me, and my sensitive nipples were in agony. The chain dragging my tongue half out of my head prevented me from making more than a muffled moan as the stinging cane fell again and again across my stretched thighs. Again, as when I had been whipped before, the awful pain transmuted into a raging torrent of animal desire, and, on Helen's fourth or fifth stroke, I came, in a convulsive, heaving orgasm which rent my world in two. Helen knew -- she knew! And immediately set about releasing me. Shortly afterwards, she cradled me in her arms. 'Darling Sara, I love you so much,' she said, 'what makes me want to hurt you so?' 'I don't know, mistress, but please don't stop!' 'But I punish you so cruelly.' 'Mmmm.' I kissed her, long and deeply. The next day, my mistress was on the phone when I returned from where I had been checking stock . When she rang off, she said, 'We're having dinner with Simone tomorrow night, darling. Tonight I'll run you up something I want you to wear.' I must have looked surprised. 'You didn't know I was a seamstress, then?' 'No.' 'Well, you'll see.' That evening she was busy at her sewing machine for perhaps two hours, only pausing to call me in for a moment to measure the length of my legs, then she went back to her machine, sewing what looked like white satin. It almost looked as if she were making me a wedding dress. When she had finished, we took coffee together before going to bed. 'Would you like me to try on what you've been working on?' I enquired. 'That won't be necessary -- it will be your surprise tomorrow,' she replied. Next evening, when we got home, Helen told me to strip and wait for her in my room. I duly got out of my uniform, rolled down my stockings, and unclipped my garter belt. Aside from my collar and waist-chain I was naked. 'You can take that off too,' said my mistress, pointing to my chain, when she came in, heavy white satin laying across her arm. She laid the garment across my bed, as I unfastened my chain, then helped me into the gown she had made. What she had done the previous night, was remove the lace trim from the hem of the white satin corset Simone had supplied, and neatly sew a long skirt in heavy white satin to it. A zipper opening in the skirt coincided with the lace-up opening at the back of the corset. I buttoned up the front of the corset, using its little metal hooks, then braced my self as Helen pulled the laces incredibly tight in the back. Then she zipped up the long skirt, and I was encased in its heavy, snug length, tightly enveloping my legs right down to my calves, so that I was unable to take anything like a walking step. The skirt then flared out down to ground level. The corset's tight constriction thrust my breasts up, so that my nipples, inexplicably hardened, poked out above horizontal, just visible above the lacy top of the corset. I looked at myself in the mirror as my mistress put my hair up in an elaborate swirl. When I was ready, long, heavy ear-rings hung to my shoulders, the tight amulet was uncomfortable on my upper arm, and I was, as ever, conscious of the tiny chain dangling from my fingernail. Knowing it was my mistress's true intention only heightened the feeling that she had dressed me as a sex-object. She had me wear the highest heeled, platform-soled shoe I had been bought, and stepped back to look at me. She was dressed in an elegant blue silk evening gown, and looked cool and, I thought, very beautiful. 'How do you feel, darling?' she asked. 'Very sexy,' I told her. 'Good -- that'll be Simone now!' The doorbell was ringing, and, mincing along behind her, acutely uncomfortable in the tightness of my gown and the heels, I went to be presented to our guest. Simone was as gorgeous as I remembered -- no, more so, as now she wore a shimmering silver gown, deep-cut and backless, showing a lovely floral tattoo on her lower back. Her breasts jiggled gently as she walked, nipples jutting out prettily through the thin material of her gown. As before, she wore huge hoop ear-rings. When she had embraced Helen, I stepped forward, and was subjected to her scrutiny. 'She is lovely,' she said to Helen, as if I were not present, her French accent noticeable, 'have you whipped her?' 'Just a little,' said my mistress. 'And did she er...respond?' 'She cums when you hurt her.' I looked down at the floor -- it was embarrassing to hear my mistress speaking about me this way. But Simone was studying me, and, looking thoughtful, said, 'I know you've booked somewhere nice for dinner, but then we could go to my place if you like. It would be nice to give her a little treat, don't you think?' 'That would be lovely,' said Helen. As much as I had already learned to love my mistress's punishment, I was more than a little apprehensive about what faced me at the hands of the exotic blonde. Helen handed me a chiffon stole to drape over my shoulders as we went out to get into the taxi -- at least the taxi driver couldn't eye my nipples as they peeped out above the cruel corset, but he still did an obvious double-take when we got into the cab. Once in the small restaurant, she whipped the stole away, and stopped me from covering my near-naked tits when the pretty, redheaded waitress took our order. 'She'd like to fuck you, wouldn't she?' said my mistress, smiling -- and I knew she was right. Perhaps she had picked the restaurant knowing the waitess was Lesbian. Only able to guess what was in store for me, I got both excited and apprehensive as we ate, whilst Helen and Simone talked weather, politics, holidays, just like ordinary people, treating me to the occasional polite question, as if I were someone they scarcely knew. When the waitress came to our table, her eyes were on my nipples, and she smiled shyly at me when she saw that I knew. 'Perhaps we'll invite her one day,' said Helen, who had noticed the silent exchange, 'would you like that?' 'It's up to you, mistress,' I said, lowering my eyes. Simone laughed. 'She's a flirtatious little bitch, isn't she? I can hardly wait to introduce her to my post.' I shuddered, but made no comment, despite Simone's insult. Simone had a nice detached house beside Wimbledon Common, and a slight Chinese maid, dressed in a black minidress, fishnet stockings and heels let us in, and fetched us a tray with coffee things as soon as we were seated in the comfortable lounge. When we had taken coffee, Simone stood up. 'Come on,' she said, 'let's go and change, shall we?' She led us across the entrance hall and into a capacious dressing room, lined with mirrored wardrobes. Simone helped me out of my dress, so that I was once again able to breathe normally, and I stood naked but for my heavy waist chain and collar, uuntil she handed me a long white cotton shift. I felt more than ever like some sort of medieval sacrifice when I had slipped the shapeless garment over my head, and Simone had tied it at the waist with a rough hemp cord. 'Go and wait in the lounge!' she told me, taking charge, and I left the two older women as they changed. Whilst I waited, I looked around the big room. A gallery ran along two walls, supported by big wooden pillars. I shuddered involuntarily when I saw that one of them had a ring bolt set into it way above head-height, and a loose chain hung from it, with a set of cuffs at its end. So this was her 'post.' I now knew my fate, and despite the fact that I had loved being punished by my mistress, I was terrified -- I didn't think Simone would be at all gentle with me. As I looked, wide-eyed, at the whipping post where I would surely soon be in pain, my two tormentors walked into the room. Simone came first, her legs tightly encased in a black latex skirt no less constricting than that which I had been wearing, connected to a top that was scarcely a top at all, just a strip of latex running down between her naked, pert, young-looking breasts, from a collar which encircled her graceful neck. Her pierced nipples each bore a heavy silver ring. She wore long silk white lace gloves, up beyond her elbows, and carried an awful-looking leather braided whip, the lash coiled up. She preceded my mistress, who wore nothing at all under an all-enveloping, completely transparent black sheath, with long sleeves and a high neck, exactly like one she had worn at home -- I wondered if she may have brought it with her in her capacious bag, for the occasion. My love for her transcended any fear of what lay in store for me. Sara's Silken Ladder Ch. 02 But when I shivered as my mistress led me to the whipping post, it wasn't due to the cold, even though the room was, in fact, quite chilly. The Chinese maid stood silently by the door. As Helen paused to let me take in the situation -- she was an expert in drama and ritual -- I looked at the two of them. My mistress, tall, cool and elegant, and Simone, petite and appearing much younger than he was, in her exotic costume. Both smiled at me, then Helen took my wrists and hefted them up above my head, cuffing me to the chain, which stretched my arms uncomfortably high above my head. 'Open your legs!' she ordered, and Simone dropped into a crouch, to strap my ankles into leather cuffs attached to floor-bolts I hadn't spotted. They held my legs wide apart, so that I was, in effect, completely immobilised. I had never felt so vulnerable. 'Doesn't she look lovely?' said Helen, 'I can't wait to see her whipped.' Simone came close -- close enough that I could feel her perfumed breath against my cheek. 'I'm going to hurt you, darling,' she said, huskily, her French accent now more noticeable, 'you don't mind, do you?' I shook my head. 'You must reply!' rapped Helen. 'Yes, mistress.' 'Yes, you mind, or what?' 'I don't mind, mistress.' 'Good. Please go ahead, Simone.' I was trembling now -- though whether from fear, or the anticipation, I couldn't have said. Simone took a couple of strides back, as I looked over my shoulder, then let her whip uncoil and trail down to the floor. I tried for a proud look as she wished the long, braided leather lash through the air. Then it was time, and the narrow thong whistled as it flew through the air, then CRACK! The sting was worse than I had imagined, falling across the middle of my back, the knotted tip snaking around my flank. As she prepared to flog me again, I saw that the red mark left by the tip of the whip's lash on my tender flesh was, though noticeable, superficial, and would be unlikely to do me serious damage. But, OH! How it hurt, and the second blow was much worse, as it fell on my delicate buttocks, still smarting from my mistress's cane of a couple of nights ago. I gasped, in spite of my determination to withstand my whipping in silence. Then CRACK! Again, as an agonising stroke was laid across my shoulder blades. Almost the worst thing was not knowing where her next cruel stroke was to fall. I abandoned myself to a world I was now beginning to know well -- a world of pain, when nothing else mattered except the terrible, exciting agony of the whip. As Simone continued to thrash me, not neglecting the delicate areas of my inner thighs, I saw, through a mist of unbidden tears, that my mistress had slid up the hem of her gown, and was busy fingering her wet pussy, a look of utter rapture on her face as she approached an orgasm I knew I should soon share. For my juices welled up from somewhere deep within me, and, coinciding with another vicious, stinging blow to my lower back, I screamed, stiffened and writhed in my bonds as I came, almost blacking out with the force of my climax. Amazingly, as she whipped me for several more minutes, I started to get that familiar thrill once more, and knew that I was on the verge of multiplying. When Simone dropped her whip and plunged her small hand in my pussy, and I felt her nails scratch at my rampant clit, I came once more, this time a slow, building orgasm, that felt like heaven. My mistress was slumped on the sofa, her eyes glassy, when Simone released me. 'I've told Simone she can take you to bed tonight, darling,' she said, 'you don't need to come into work tomorrow -- I'll cover for you.' I opened my mouth to protest, as I felt loyal to Helen, but neither did I want to hurt Simone's feelings, and I knew that they were close friends. When I looked at Simone, I knew that I would just love sleeping with her, feeling her slim, fragrant body, with those lovely firm tits, next to mine. And so it was. Simone giggled like a schoolgirl when I compared my fingernail decoration with hers, and then she became serious as she tended the red welts she had given me, all down my back, my arse and my thighs, gently rubbing some soothing oils into them. Then I opened my legs to her, and let her tease my clit to erection, and she used a slim silver-coloured dildo on my anus, at the same time as she thrust a short, thick, stubby vibrator into my cunt. When she turned on the power, I came yet again -- the third time in around two hours. Then it was the Frenchwoman's turn, and I brought her off easily, my tongue-stud raking across her pussy before thrusting deep into her capacious, gaping arsehole. She screamed as if in agony at that, but the hot, black tunnel of her anus was such that I had no doubt she was used to it being penetrated. We slept peacefully together, and, as Helen had given me the day off, and it was Simone's closing day, I accepted Simone's invitation to go out and lunch at a country pub. That evening Helen welcomed me back, and I could detect no trace of jealousy in her brief questions about my night and day. When we were ready for bed, however, she said, 'It's good to have you back, Sara. It excited me beyond belief to see Simone whipping you, you know.' 'Yes mistress, I know.' Sara's Silken Ladder Ch. 03 If this story is to make any sense to you, you will need to have read parts 1 & 2. You should be over 18, as is everyone in this fantasy. * Life with Helen continued without much in the way of change for a week or so, then she told me we were invited to Simone's house once again. This time, though, it was for a party, and my mistress had asked if we could take someone else along. 'Oh?' I asked. 'Yes, darling, remember the waitress who was so interested in your tits?' I did. Helen told me she had called in at the restaurant on her way back from shopping, and invited the pretty girl along. 'What's her name?' I wanted to know. 'Bea,' she said, 'her parents saddled her with Beatrice.' On the night, Helen laid out the clothes she wanted me to wear, and I saw that the long, grey, silky evening gown she had chosen was backless. 'But you can still see the red stripes on my back,' I protested. 'Oh, darling, they're fading, and anyway, I think they're so pretty.' That, then, was the end of the conversation, and if I had thought to leave my hair loose, to cover up my wounds, I had to think again, as my mistress insisted on me wearing it up. In the taxi, on our way to collect Bea from her flat, I tried to assuage my curiosity. 'Mistress, can I ask you a question?' 'Of course, my dear.' 'Will I be pun....hurt tonight?' I didn't think I'd done anything wrong, so 'punishment' wasn't quite right. 'Why, are you frightened?' 'No, mistress, just curious.' Helen smiled in the dark corner of the cab. 'No, I don't think so. But there's to be a charity caning.' She didn't enlarge on this, so I had no idea what she meant, and forgot about it when we picked up the vivacious, black-haired Bea, who was waiting on the doorstep of her block. 'Come and sit here,' said my mistress, patting the seat between us, and Bea squeezed in. Her slender legs were bare, and her shapely knees were asking to be touched as she sat beside me, and her thick woollen coat fell open, revealing the flared and pleated silky minidress she was wearing, dark green in colour. I also took in her nice high-heeled sandals. I took her hand, and she exclaimed when she felt the decoration dangling from my right pinky, and held it up so that she could inspect it in the meagre light. 'That's really lovely,' she said, 'but isn't it a nuisance?' 'Sometimes,' I said, 'but it reminds me of.........' Helen finished the sentence for me: 'It reminds her that she's mine.' 'Oh,' muttered Bea, and looked from one to the other of us, but Helen wasn't prepared to enlighten her further. She had, I thought, a charming quasi-innocent look, with her neat black pageboy hairstyle. I thought I might like to fuck her, then instantly looked at Helen, to see if she knew what I had been thinking. She looked back knowingly, and only the dim light in the taxi saved my blush from being evident. We arrived early at Simone's to find several cars already there, and Simone, in a towelling robe, directing the track-suited Chinese maid, Chi, and another Asian girl, similarly attired, who were moving furniture around in the huge lounge, creating more space. 'We're running a little late, darling,' she said to Helen, 'but we're almost there. Why don't you join the other earlybirds in the library, then I'll call you when we're ready. There are drinks in there.' Helen offered help, but it was refused, so we walked into the library. I was curious to see Simone's other guests. When we got into the big library, we met three of them. A tall, Scandinavian-looking blonde, who introduced herself as Karen,looked striking in a black velvet gown with a huge slit right up one leg, virtually to the waist. Her hair was tied up with a matching black velvet ribbon. A rather voluptuous, once-beautiful woman with died platinum hair introduced herself in a thick accent from some northern country as Karen's mother, Inge. And a quiet, slim girl with long brown hair and glasses looked as if she may not be prepared to speak at all, but got almost reluctantly to her feet, and revealed an American accent, when she told us her name was Kirsty. She was one of these people you somehow have to look at twice, and when I did so, I saw that she was, in fact, remarkably attractive. She wore a simple green button-through cotton dress over black seamed stockings and black patent stilettos. We chatted for a while, and she looked at me in an odd way when I told her that Helen was my mistress. I supposed that it sounded strange, but it didn't embarrass me. Soon another woman entered -- a chubby black girl with beaded hairstyle, wearing a blue silk blouse and a long, Indian cotton skirt. She told us her name was Phoebe. She seemed ill-at-ease, so I took it upon myself to talk to her until, some minutes later, Chi came into the room, and said, 'The room is ready now. My mistress and I are going to change, but if you would like to go in...........' She bolted at that, as If she had forgotten her lines, and we all made our way into the lounge, where space had been made for dancing, and tables loaded with food were along one wall. I couldn't help staring at the whipping post, where I had been tied up and flogged cruelly such a short time ago, and that caused me to do a slow twirl in front of the wall-mirror when I thought no-one was watching . 'Nice stripes,' said Kirsty, who had, in fact, been stood behind me all the time, 'did your mistress do that?' 'No,' I replied simply, not knowing how much to tell the American girl. 'OK,' she said, 'just curiosity, I guess.' We turned, then, to see who was entering. Chi and her colleague had changed into a parody, almost, of maids' outfits -- black minidresses, over white fishnet stockings, and white frilly pinafores. But their dresses were wholly transparent, the little pinafore barely covering their otherwise naked pussies -- their sole undergarments being white garter-belts. Neither of the girls were looking self-conscious as they led in newcomers, some, mainly attractive, young girls, but mostly older women, some still elegant and beautiful, others a little past their best, but all gorgeously attired, silk and satin everywhere. All the younger girls, however, were dressed in more-or-less revealing clothes, some transparent, others with cut-outs, backless, even topless in the case of one dark-skinned, black-haired beauty. Our host appeared, in an peach organdie harem-suit, quite clearly naked beneath, her lovely firm breasts thrusting at the translucent material. She announced that we could dance for a while, and started up the music, which seemed mainly to consist of slow rock numbers. I danced happily with anyone who asked me -- and there was no shortage of partners. I felt supremely sexy, the feminine silkiness of my gown enveloping me, my breasts jiggling under the soft, loose bodice as I moved, my nipples now hard as bullets. I was dancing with Bea when a record finished, and the lights were dimmed. A slow, romantic number started to play, and Bea made no move to separate from me, but moved in close, and lay her glossy black hair against my cheek. I pressed my body into hers, and we gyrated slowly, slowly. Then we were kissing, my tongue-stud searching, probing into her sweet mouth, as she responded by surreptitiously edging a hand between us until she had cupped a breast. 'Oh Sara, I'm sorry. I so wanted to touch you,' she breathed in my ear. 'Don't apologise, you silly girl,' I told her, 'I love it!' We danced, if that is any sort of description of what we did, for five or six numbers -- I lost count -- then the music came to an end, and the lights were brightened. 'Sorry to interrupt your dancing,' said Simone, who was standing beside my mistress at one end of the room, 'but we are about to have a charity caning.' She paused to let this sink in, and perhaps a dozen pairs of women who had been dancing stayed where they were, whilst others, sitting at tables, were all looking in Simone's direction -- expectantly. 'Some lucky lady,' she continued, 'will shortly receive thirty hard strokes of the cane, from Helen and myself. The honour will go to the highest bidder, and the proceeds will go to the fight against breast cancer. Now let's start the bidding. Who'll give five hundred dollars?' For a moment, there was silence, as the women tried to assimilate the idea, then a hand went up -- it was a slightly overweight lady in her late forties, dressed in a fabulous Armani gown. 'Thank you, Diane,' said Simone, 'who will bid six hundred?' There was no response. 'Five-fifty?' A hand went nervously up -- it was an elegant older woman in red velvet. 'But for my girl,' she said, and gently pulled a slender blonde, poured into a blue latex dress, to her feet. 'Yes, that's OK,' said Simone, 'now, come on, six hundred?' The bidding carried on in this fashion, slowing as a thousand dollars approached, then, when it appeared that everyone had finished, Simone was about to knock down the auction at one thousand and fifty, to the woman who had started the bidding, when Kirsty stood up and said, 'Twelve hundred! My mother died of breast cancer, and, anyway, I'd like to try your cane.' A round of applause greeted her announcement, and Simone asked everyone to clear the floor. I realised that Bea and I still had our arms around each others' waists as we walked off to one side, and saw that Helen was watching us. But there was no apparent jealousy in her face, just a wry smile, and I smiled back. Simone had trundled a bench similar to the one my mistress had out into the middle of the floor, and Kirsty was stood watching, having handed her glasses to Helen. 'I'm so envious!' whispered Bea. 'Of whom -- Simone?' 'No, silly, of the rich bitch, Kirsty!' 'Oh, you know her then?' 'I thought everyone did. Her father is Herbert Grange, and she has all the money in the world.' I knew that Grange was a millionaire film producer. 'But are you jealous of her bank account?' I asked. 'Of course not. But I am envious of her right now -- aren't you?' I admitted that I would happily take her place, and felt Bea's arm tighten around me, the nearness emphasised as she lay her head against mine. 'This is terribly exciting,' said Bea, as Helen tied Kirsty's wrists to the legs of the lower end of the bench, and her ankles, about a foot apart, to the other. Then she lifted the hem of Kirsty's dress up to her waist, revealing her naked buttocks above her black, seamed hold-ups. If she had worn panties to the party, she had already removed them in preparation. Simone walked across to sideboard, from which she picked up two long, supple canes. Keeping one for herself, she handed the thinner one to Helen, then bent down, and whispered something in Kirsty's ear. Next she spoke to the gathering. 'We shall each administer five strokes, and this will be repeated three times. Calls for us to stop will, of course, be ignored, but Kirsty has a "safe word." I'll begin.' She stroked Kirsty's slim buttocks with the cane, suggesting the precise target area, then, drawing her arm way back, brought savage stroke down on her soft flesh with all her might. Kirsty flinched sharply, and made an audible gasp, but didn't cry out. A second stroke fell slightly higher, drawing another gasp from the American girl, but the next was just below the crease in the bottom of her buttocks, and must have hurt a lot, because Kirsty couldn't stifle a deep moan. Even lower fell the fourth and fifth, at the tops of her thighs, just above the tops of her long stockings, and the red stripes were now evident where those last strokes had bruised her delicate white flesh. Simone stood back and Helen took her place. I was in no doubt of my mistress's ability to cause pain, and the thin switch she held looked ominous. She concentrated on the top of Kirsty's buttocks, and when she had finished her first five strokes, her buttocks showed a ladder pattern of deep red welts, and the girl was stifling a sob. Simone's second five strokes concentrated on the girls left buttock, and she was now crying out at each stinging, vicious blow, and writhing against her tight bonds. Helen took up the cane for another five, and went for the other, right side. When they had paused before the last ten strokes, Kirsty was sobbing for real, and she was soon squirming violently and screaming with each new 'thwack' of the terrible instrument. Her arse was now red-raw, great blood-blisters forming where the canes had broken the blood vessels, ranging from her upper thighs to her lower back. Finally it was over, and Kirsty turned her face towards Simone as she came to release her bonds. Simone bent down to hear what she whispered, then nodded, and went around behind her. She stood between the girl's legs and put her slim hand down into Kirsty's pink vagina, stroking her to the shuddering climax she had requested. It was a charming sight, and I felt Bea's arm tighten around my waist. I turned towards her as she did to me, and kissed her fervently. 'Kirsty's not the only one who needs to cum!' she breathed into my ear. But Helen's eyes were on us, and I reluctantly told Bea that I had to go to the toilet. I spent time in there, relieving myself after the scene I had just witnessed, and came quickly, but had to stay a while as I returned to the planet Earth. In the taxi on the way home, my mistress asked me if I'd enjoyed the evening. 'Yes, thank you, mistress.' 'I see you got on well with Bea,' she said, a trace of something in her voice that might have been censure. 'Yes, mistress.' 'I think you'll have to be punished, don't you?' 'If it pleases you, mistress.' I knew how to respond. 'Yes, darling. Tomorrow evening, then.' I was silent then, thinking about Bea's slender little body under her silky dress, and how enthusiastically she had kissed me, but when I went to bed that night, my thoughts returned to Kirsty. I couldn't shake off the image of her being thrashed, because it was what she wanted -- wanted enough to pay almost my month's wage for it. And my last waking thought was that I would willingly have taken my mistress's place, wielding that thin cane. Next morning, the thought was still there, preoccupying me as I worked. I accepted wholeheartedly that I had become a Lesbian, and a.....well, pain-slut, to give it an ugly name, but could I be a sadist too? I had always hated violence, found it mean and demeaning, but this seemed altogether different -- a ritual, somehow like theatre, but so real. Helen snapped me out of it, and invited me to lunch. I accepted gladly, and her amusing conversation made me put darker thoughts from my mind, but as we walked back to the store, she said, 'You haven't forgotten this evening, have you, darling?' 'No, mistress.' 'Good. I have something new in store for you.' I suppose I should have been frightened at that prospect, but I just nodded. I knew my mistress would never do me lasting harm. When we got home, though, my mistress was in a hurry. 'I've decided to punish you before dinner, my dear,' she said, trundling out the bench, but placing it at random, not under the false light-fitting this time. 'Just take off your suit,' she told me, 'and you can leave your stockings on.' Whilst I took off my jacket, skirt and blouse, I saw that Helen had peeled off the upholstery at the higher end of the bench, revealing a boss, to which she now screwed a monstrous polished wood dildo, slightly curved, and angled down towards the low end. I stood now in a pair of long black hold-ups, my stilettos, my heavy waist-chain and my mistress's lovely collar, and Helen, taking my hand in a gentle way, led me to the bench, then bade me get on. I lowered myself slowly onto the huge wooden prick, impaling myself on its massive thickness, so that my poor cunt was stretched to its limits. It literally brought tears to my eyes. 'Lay down on the bench!' ordered Helen, crisply, and when I did, I found the huge implement slightly more bearable. As I went through this manoeuvre, I had taken my eyes off my mistress, and she was now behind me, out of sight. 'Now, you little slut, fuck yourself!' she rapped, and when I didn't instantly move, I felt the terrible, familiar sting of her riding-crop on the middle of my back. I started to ease my whole body up and down, the dildo alternately dragging itself out of me with a pronounced sucking noise, and plunging deep, deep into my cunt, deeper now that my juices began to lubricate it. My mistress lashed me again, with all her considerable strength, this time the blow falling across my buttocks. I moved faster, up and down, up and down, then 'Crack!' as another cruel stroke cut into my upper thighs. On about Helen's fifth stroke, I screamed out loud, as I came, my vaginal juices literally running out of me in a gushing stream. But she wasn't to be deterred, and more awful, beautiful strokes stung my back and arse, then a new sensation! Helen had introduced a slim metal vibrator, already switched on, into my arsehole. I was now doubly impaled, and a second, thunderous orgasm swept over me -- I think I actually blacked out then. My next conscious feeling was of my mistress, crouching beside me, kissing me fervently, then helping me off the bench. We both giggled like schoolgirls at the loud 'plop' that announced the huge dildo coming out of my cunt. When we were sat down to dinner an hour later, my mistress asked me: 'Did you enjoy your punishment then?' 'Oh yes, mistress.' 'What do you like about being whipped, Sara?' 'It's just that moment, that delicious moment, when the pain turns... turns into...well, something else.' 'I envy you really, darling.' 'Envy me? You, mistress?' 'Yes, Sara. I couldn't take the pain, I know that -- only secondhand, through you.' 'But mistress, when I watched you caning Kirsty last night, it was you that I envied. You looked so.....' I was lost for words, and never finished the sentence, filling my mouth with food to cover my embarrassment. We completed our meal in silence. That night, Helen came to me in my bed, and we made tender love, both of us enjoying slow, building orgasms, but, as I bit my mistress's hard little clit, it was that image of Kirsty, paying to be punished, then begging for relief, that came before me. When Helen had gone back to her own bed, the last thought I had as I drifted off into an exhausted sleep was that I should have to find the American girl. I didn't, at that stage, know why, or what I wanted from her -- I just knew that somehow our paths must cross. Helen couldn't have been nicer or more attentive towards me in the next few days, and life went on as before. One night, she asked me to take off the slip I was wearing as we sat having a drink before bed, then, when I had done that, she told me to kneel on the floor in front of her, and then ran her fingers along the still-sore welts she had given me at my last whipping. 'Mmm,' she said, 'nice. Stay there -- I've something for you.' She got up and went into the kitchen, soon to return carrying a small pot. I thought she was going to rub balm into my wounds, but, immediately her long fingers touched me, I felt an awful, agonising pain right across my back, and yelled out. 'Oh, oh, fuck! Mistress, what are you doing?' I screamed. 'Just a little salt, darling,' she said, 'I thought it might be amusing.' She rubbed salt into my wheals and stripes until I was sobbing with the extremities of pain, then said, 'That will help -- it's an antiseptic, you know,' and laughed lightly as I wept. Next morning she showed no sign of having been so cruel, even fetching me a coffee in bed. I shook my head at her back as she left my room. In the store, a few days after the salt incident, I was going through some lists in the cubbyhole I used as an office, when the phone rang. I recognised instantly the voice that I heard. Sara's Silken Ladder Ch. 03 'Is this Sara?' 'Yes, Kirsty,' I said, a slight quaver in my voice, 'it's me.' 'I tracked you down through Bea,' she said, then there was a longish pause, which I eventually ended by asking rather lamely how she was. 'Fine, I guess,' she said, 'my ass was sore for a few days, you know.' 'I can imagine.' 'Look, can we meet?' I was trembling by now. Can we meet? Could I wait however long it was to be before we did? 'Why, yes, why not?' There were plenty of reasons why not -- not the least of them being my commitment to Helen. But, hell, I wanted to meet with Kirsty more, I think, than I had ever wanted anything. But I didn't really know why! I knew Helen had a departmental meeting the next day, so arranged to meet Kirsty for lunch. Nervous as a kitten the next morning, I hoped it didn't show. I also regretted that I couldn't meet Kirsty wearing anything other than my store uniform -- it would have been nice to wear something beautiful. However, I took great care with my make-up, and brushed my hair out until it shone, just as soon as Helen had gone off to her meeting. I walked around to the wine bar I had arranged to meet Kirsty in. She was already there, nursing a large glass of Merlot. I had the chance to look at her in profile for a few moments before going up to her. God, she was fantastic! Her thick mane of straight brown hair hung down her back -- I wondered if she actually sat on it. She wore a brown silk blouse that didn't come from any shop I could afford to patronise, and big gold hoops peeped out from the hair that framed her beautiful face. Her pert little nose sported a tiny diamond stud. When I slid into the booth opposite her, a lovely smile lit up her face, and I saw for the first time that a little diamond was set into one of her even, white, front teeth. After we had passed the time of day, I asked her, probably indelicately, how her arse was. She laughed, a pretty, tinkling laugh. 'My ass was sore as hell for a week, now it's healing some.' 'I was so excited, watching,' I told her, and she looked at me curiously, from under long, sexy eyelashes. 'I guess I just love.....well, you know,' she said lamely, then went on, 'It's about that I wanted to talk to you.' 'Oh?' 'I wondered if you could have a word with Simone for me. You are the only person I've met here who I feel I can ask. I want to know if she'll take me as her slave -- you know, like you are with Helen.' I was a bit disappointed. I had entertained hopes that she wanted simply to meet me, though I didn't know what I really wanted from her, but then, as Helen and Simone were close friends -- lovers even, I suspected - here could be a chance to see more of Kirsty? I agreed to have a word on her behalf. When we stood up to leave, I glanced at Kirsty, taking in her long, bare legs, white flared tennis skirt, and high metal-heeled strappy sandals. When we kissed to go our separate ways, and I was assaulted by her Guerlain perfume, I couldn't resist saying, 'You are so beautiful, Kirsty!' Was it my imagination, or did she give my hand an extra squeeze as we parted? Back at the store, I told Helen about Kirsty's request -- she remembered the girl she had caned - and she immediately rang Simone, who said she would be delighted to take on Kirsty. I passed on the mobile number the American girl had given me. Only an hour later, Kirsty rang to thank me, saying that Simone had called her, and she was to move in that very evening. 'I hope you won't regret it,' I said, 'she can be terribly cruel, I think.' 'I sure hope so!' she replied, but I had some misgivings when I rang off. I had effectively delivered Kirsty to Simone, when I had to admit I should have preferred to keep her for myself. There, I had let my thoughts have free rein, at last! But events were about to unfold which would lead to a big change in my life. A couple of days went by, and then my mistress announced that she had invited Simone to our apartment for dinner on Friday evening, two days hence. I just assumed she would bring Kirsty, but didn't know how I would react to meeting her, now that she was Simone's slave. I helped Helen get ready for the dinner, preparing much of the food, while she scurried about cleaning -- she said, rightly, I thought, that it was impossible to match Simone's house with our flat. When Friday evening arrived, my mistress made sure I dressed in the manner she required -- she had plumped for 'restraint' style, and laced me into my white corset so tightly that it made me gasp. I cinched on a pair of long white stockings, then stepped into a pencil-skirt, also very tight, and slipped on a blouse of the finest organdie, through which my nipples jutted above the lace top of the corset. As a pièce de resistance Helen insisted on my wearing silver nipple-clamps -- I was in for an acutely uncomfortable evening, right down to the ultra-high platform shoes she had me wear. My mistress herself wore a silk jersey sheath, which moulded her voluptuous curves to perfection, and had a deep cutout, revealing her long, slender back. I told her she looked gorgeous. When the doorbell rang, I could hardly wait to see Kirsty again. But she was getting something out of the car, explained Simone, as she swept in, in a cloud of Rochas. She looked fantastic, in a long pale green satin gown, open right down to her waist in front. I stood by the door, awaiting Kirsty, and she soon put in an appearance, wearing a short, halter-neck pleated red dress in some filmy material, which was deliciously loose, so that her body seemed to move more sensuously than ever. Her long hair was swept up in an elaborate style. But she looked so unhappy -- almost about to burst into tears, I thought. I closed the door behind her, and followed her into the lounge. It was then that I saw. Her back wasn't simply welted -- it was raw -- completely covered in enormous red sores, where she must have been whipped practically beyond endurance. My own back having been whipped several times now, I knew the stinging lash very well, but my mistress would never do me anything like permanent damage -- and Kirsty's wounds would be with her for a very long time. I was aghast. 'She went way over the top!' I whispered to her, as we walked through the passageway. 'Yes, Sara,' she said sadly, turning briefly so that I could see tears threatening to come. Over dinner, the conversation was inconsequential -- the prices in the shops, a forthcoming election, weather, stuff like that, but then Simone said she admired Helen's dress, and Helen took her into her room to show her some others she had acquired -- she was often able to pick up great bargains at the store, and, I suspected 'came by' a few things in a more nefarious manner. Kirsty leaned over the table to speak to me, and my heart went out to her when I saw the sadness in her beautiful face. I covered her slim hand with mine, the decoration in my pinky laying across her fingers. 'I made a terrible mistake,' she said. 'And its my fault, Kirsty.' 'No, no! I'm a big girl, Sara.' She tried for a smile, but it refused to reach her eyes, which were still brimming with held-back tears. Then her manner became earnest, and I looked around to make sure we were still alone. The sound of laughter came from Helen's bedroom. 'Will you come away with me?' asked Kirsty, and her lower lip was trembling as she spoke. 'I...I...I'd love to, but...' 'Yes, I know, you're loyal to Helen. It's OK -- forget I asked,' she said. At that moment, Helen and Simone came back into the dining room. 'I've agreed to take Simone to the store in the morning,' said Helen, 'she wants to see some clothes. I can only take one person in on our day off, so you are free to do what you like, darling.' That night, in bed, I pondered what Kirsty had said. Would I go away with her? Would I? I needed to know more, but I knew that Kirsty was special, that I wanted to be with her more than anything in the world. As soon as my mistress was out, in the morning, and I heard the door close behind her, I called Simone's house. The maid, Chi, answered. Putting on a northern accent, I asked for Kirsty. Something made me wary. Kirsty came to the phone. 'You know what you asked me last night? Did you mean it?' 'Of course. I meant it, but I quite understand that you can't....' I cut her off. 'Where would we go? How would we live?' 'You mean you're interested?' She sounded suddenly breathless. Then in a torrent: 'My father has a house in Spain he never uses, and money isn't a problem. Oh, darling, tell me you'll come. You don't need to bring anything. Do come, do!' Four hours later, we were stood in Easyjet's check-out queue at Gatwick airport, my pathetically few belongings beside me in a holdall I had 'borrowed' from Helen, Kirsty ready to check in a small suitcase. We held hands nervously and I contemplated the enormity of what I had done. I had left not only my job, but my mistress, who had always been kind to me, and her nice home. And for what? The unknown! Then I looked across at Kirsty's lovely face, and knew. Together, we would be more than good. The future looked exciting. Sara's Silken Ladder Ch. 04 Only if you've read the first three parts will this make sense. Everyone in this story is over eighteen. * I glanced at my companion as we were both eating a rather limp sandwich on our flight to Alicante, and wondered at just how little I knew about Kirsty, the girl I'd just agreed to share my life with. Achingly beautiful, she certainly was, and when she turned and smiled nervously at me, her green eyes were close to shedding tears. I realised that she was feeling much as I was. I said, 'We're going to have to get to know each other aren't we?' 'I guess so,' she replied, 'but I was just thinking about us – and how happy I am that you've come with me. If you hadn't, I think I'd have killed myself.' She reached out and took my hand in hers, giving the tiny chain hanging from my little fingernail a stroke. 'But Simone just got carried away, didn't she?' 'Sure. At first, I just loved it when she whipped me, but then she went on and on, and when I yelled out the "safe word" she had given me at the charity caning, she just laughed, and carried on, carried on until I passed out from the pain.' I gave her hand a squeeze. 'I'm not much of a nurse,' I told her, 'but I'll see what I can do for your poor back when we get there.' Don't worry, Sara, it'll heal in time,' she said, but I could see that it hurt, as she shifted around constantly in her seat, and grimaced as she did so. Like me, she had elected to wear a long cotton dress for the flight, and I thought how lovely and innocent she looked, with her long, straight brown hair framing her lovely face. 'I'll bet it's cured you of wanting to be whipped,' I suggested. 'For the moment, darling, for the moment,' she smiled ruefully, 'but don't imagine I've changed, will you.' 'But I'm no dominatrix.' 'Bea said you were very excited when you watched me being caned.' I didn't reply to that, even though I knew there was much truth in it – the stewardess collecting our rubbish interrupted, then the seat-belt sign came on, and we started our descent. It was nice and warm as we emerged from the terminal and found a taxi. The grumpy driver had difficulty finding his way to the house, having to ask directions in a village we passed through, but after an hour, we stood in front of a low rambling villa, with a light illuminating the porticoed doorway, and others shining behind two windows. A pineclad mountainside was the backdrop. 'There's someone here?' I asked, slightly alarmed. 'No. My father has a woman, Maria, who keeps the place clean, and tidies up the garden.' As she spoke, the door opened and a short, well-rounded woman in her fifties bustled out to greet us. I got another surprise when Kirsty spoke with her in what sounded like fluent Spanish. As we went in, she laughed at my expression. 'We lived in Florida in the winter – you need Spanish there.' 'How little I know you, Kirsty.' For reply, she pecked my cheek, and we set about exploring the capacious house, as Maria left us alone. A moment later, I heard the sound of a moped starting up as she sped off home. We raided the well-stocked fridge, and I found my eyes closing involuntarily as we sat at the kitchen table. 'I don't know about you, but I'm bushed,' said Kirsty, as if she were reading my mind, 'but I've something to ask you.' 'Go ahead,' I said, looking at her curiously. 'Do you want your own room, or are we going to share?' 'That's up to you, darling – it's your house.' 'Then please sleep with me, Sara. If I snore, just kick me!' In no time at all, we had slipped off our dresses and slid naked between crisp white sheets. I was asleep in an instant. I awoke next morning to find our legs entwined, but Kirsty was propped up on an elbow, and watched me wake up slowly, taking a little time to figure out where I was. She bent over and kissed my eyes, then her lips found mine, and she simultaneously cupped my breast with her free hand, and pushed her flat belly against me, slipping a long, slender leg between mine. I welcomed it by parting my own legs slightly, and kissed her fervently. 'Oh, Sara, I do believe that was our first real kiss!' she breathed, as we 'came up for air.' I pulled her towards me then, and she winced noticeably. 'I'm so sorry, darling, I forgot,' I told her, 'do we have any balm, or ointment?' 'There's just about everything in the bathroom,' she replied, and I slid out of bed to go and find what I needed. As I eased balm into Kirsty's tortured back and buttocks, I couldn't help remembering when Helen had last tended my own welts – rubbing in salt in lieu of ointment. When I told Kirsty about it, she looked at me with her huge green eyes full of love, and said, 'We're both well out of that, I think, don't you?' 'Yes, I do,' I confirmed, but the sight of all the red stripes that covered Kirsty's back was undeniably a pretty one, and I couldn't help wondering how long it would be before our urges returned. Again, the American girl seemed to read my thoughts. 'You know I really do love pain, though, don't you, Sara? I don't think I shall ever change.' 'I know, darling. Let's just see what transpires, eh?' What transpired immediately, however, was that, as I smoothed the soothing cream into the stripes on her buttocks, my hand found its own way into her inviting crack, and soon I was feeling her increasing wetness. Still laying on her stomach, she opened her legs to me, and moaned as I found her clit, which was urgently demanding attention, standing proud of its protecting hood like a little soldier. When I flicked it with a long nail, she groaned, and said, 'Oh, Sara, you can do that to me forever – and anything else you like!' I plunged two fingers deep into her hot, moist vagina, which seemed to suck me in, and I was soon drawn down to lay beside her – my love, my darling Kirsty. Before I could do more than kiss her, I felt her shudder sharply. 'I'm sorry, Sara – I just came!' she said. 'I know, my darling,' I said, as, wordlessly, she eased my own legs apart, and I felt her long, silky hair brush my thighs, then her teeth were busy at my labia, pulling them gently apart, before she thrust her tongue into my eager cunt. 'Oh, Kirsty,' I cried, 'I love you, I love you!' Then all was lost as the delicious, roaring orgasm swept over me like a tsunami. We spent the rest of the morning taking stock of our surroundings – it was a nice, big house, set in the mountains, gardens fragrant with honeysuckle, lantana and hibiscus. I scarcely dare believe my luck, but as we sat on the terrace to watch the sun go down, I voiced my concern. 'It's very lovely here, but look, Kirty, we've got no work – how do we live?' 'Don't worry about that,' she said, 'I've got plenty of money. Tomorrow we should go buy some clothes and stuff.' I looked at her, and she laughed. 'Don't look at me like that. I used to be embarrassed by Daddy's money, but I've learned to live with it.' There was a nice swimming pool at the back of the house, invisible from the road, and, after a light lunch we cobbled together, we both stripped off and swam up and down naked, even though the water was, in truth, a trifle chilly. Invigorated, we towelled each other off, then sat together on the seat of a big garden swing. I had my arm around her shoulders, and we were kissing slowly and tenderly, oblivious to all else, when I heard an attention-getting cough. Startled, we parted, almost guiltily, to see a girl about our own age, slim and darkly pretty, with long, straight, jet-black hair, and eyes that seemed almost black as well, stood by the pool, looking embarrassed at finding us naked, kissing. 'My mother send me to ask if you want anything,' she said, in heavily-accented English. 'You are Maria's daughter?' asked Kirsty. 'Yes. I sorry if I come at bad time,' she said, looking uncomfortable. Everybody in the village is going to know about us now, I thought. 'What is your name?' I asked. 'Ana,' she told me, 'I am learning English.' 'You are doing very well.' She looked at me hesitantly, then said, 'I want….' Then words seemed to fail her. I tried to encourage her – she was terribly pretty. 'What do you want, Ana?' 'That I come here sometimes – you help me with English?' I glanced at Kirsty, who nodded. 'Of course, come when you want, Ana.' 'She's lovely, isn't she?' said Kirsty, when the Spanish girl had gone. 'You noticed,' I said, then thought no more about her, as Kirsty had started to stroke my thigh. Accompanied by much giggling, we made love, there on the swing, then fell onto the lawn, still locked in a '69' position, tonguing each others' pussies until we both came, simultaneously, in a violent, shuddering climax. 'Christ, do you always squirt like that?' said Kirsty. 'No,' I replied, 'only when I've been really, really hot.' 'You've soaked me,' she said, and dived gracefully into the pool. Next day, we drove the twenty-odd kilometres into Alicante, and spent the whole day shopping. At first, I felt embarrassed at using Kirsty's credit cards for everything, but she was oblivious to the cost of anything, often never even looking at the price on the label. I relaxed and made sure I had everything I needed. We both bought skirts, blouses and dresses, sexy slips and nighties, garter-belts, stockings and jewellery, but when I saw her looking at some admittedly pretty lace panties, I stopped her from buying them. She looked at me in surprise. 'Oh,' she said, 'so now you're telling me what to wear!' 'No, darling, what NOT to wear.' 'I'm looking forward to…to everything,' she said. After buying several pairs of shoes – we could share them, as we were both the same size – all with high, needle heels, we retrieved the car from the underground parking area, and set off home. 'I've been thinking,' said Kirsty, at length. 'What about, darling?' 'About Ana.' 'You dirty bitch,' I said, laughing. 'Well, yes, I am, aren't I? I just wondered about the way she looked at us, when she saw us together, naked.' 'Yes,' I agreed, 'she looked almost envious, didn't she?' Kirsty fell silent at that, but a while later, said, 'I wonder…..no, surely not.' 'Wonder what, darling?' 'I just wondered if she may be a submissive.' 'I suppose we shall never know.' 'I don't know, but she had that look, didn't she?' 'And if she is?' 'We could….er…invite her to….' She didn't finish the sentence, but she had got me thinking. We were almost home, and Kirsty had to take care on the winding mountain roads, so no more was said on the subject, but I couldn't get the image of Ana out of my mind, even though my love for Kirsty was growing every day stronger. This was somehow different, like a consuming hobby – I knew that if anything should develop with Ana, or any other girl, it couldn't come between Kirsty and myself. I only hoped she felt the same, and, after dinner that night, she practically confirmed it. As we finished our coffees, she reached over the table and took my hand. 'You know what we said about Ana?' 'Yes, darling?' 'Well, I just want to say that I don't want anything to change between us, Sara.' 'Oh it won't, Kirsty, I promise you.' 'Because I couldn't bear it.' She had tears glistening in her eyes, and I found myself holding them back too. 'I love you so much,' I told her simply. The next morning was whiled away, trying on the clothes we had bought – we had our own little fashion parade, and as we had worked through to the evening gowns, and both wore slinky long silk gowns, mine black and slit almost to the waist, hers a backless creation in maroon, and were strutting around in our heels, the doorbell rang. 'Whoever can that be?' said Kirsty. I went warily to the door, and peered through the spy-hole. 'It's Ana,' I called out over my shoulder, and opened the door to let her in. She crept in diffidently, looking intently at me, and I realised that I must have looked extraordinary, at eleven thirty, dressed in a long black silk evening gown, and impossibly high heels. I followed her into the lounge, admiring her shapely behind, clad in tight jeans, and she stopped dead when she set eyes on Kirsty, also in an evening gown. When she walked towards us to greet the newcomer, her breasts jiggled prettily under the loose, soft silk. Ana looked from one to the other of us, but neither of us offered any explanation as to why we were dressed that way – presumably Ana thought we were always like this. 'Like a drink?' asked Kirsty. 'Coca Cola, if you have it,' said Ana. When Kirsty turned away to go to the kitchen, Ana gasped. She had seen the stripes, some still angrily red, on Kirsty's back. 'Has she been…..?' she whispered to me, not completing the sentence. I suspected she didn't know the word. 'Whipped. Yes, she has,' I said, without trying to explain. Ana looked at me searchingly, and I thought I could drown in her huge dark eyes, but remained silent, until Kirsty returned with Ana's coke. 'So you want help with your English?' I said, at length. 'Oh yes, please,' said Ana, 'and….and…' Seeing she was stuck for words, Kirsty took the girl's hand and spoke to her in rapid Spanish. Ana looked astonished that Kirsty knew her language. 'I'll translate for you later,' the American girl said to me, then they stood and talked for a long time. Ana was wide-eyed, gesticulating animatedly, and ran a finger across Kirsty's wounded back. She nodded vigorously as the earnest conversation eventually came to an end, and was smiling when she took her leave, skipping down the corridor. 'What was all that about?' I wanted to know. 'She was fascinated by my…er-welts. I told her as much as I felt able, and asked her to dinner tonight. I said we may offer her a position.' 'A position?' 'We could use a maid, couldn't we?' 'Sure, but how do we pay her?' 'I keep telling you, Sara, forget about the money, darling.' 'Well, it would be fun to have her around, anyway,' I said, 'she really is very beautiful.' 'I've told her she should wear a dress this evening.' 'Well done, now shall we get some lunch?' We spent the sunny afternoon around the pool again, taking care not to spend too much time in the sun, then I started the dinner while Kirsty went to dress. When she came back, she looked stunning, in a shimmering gold dress she must have had in her wardrobe, because it wasn't one we had bought the day before. It was very tight, fitting her like a glove, just above knee-length, and she wore matching gold sandals with needle heels. Her brown hair shone with health, its thick mane tumbling down her back to her waist. 'God, I could eat you,' I said, looking up from the stove, where I had the risotto simmering away. She donned a pinafore, and prepared to take over while I changed from the robe I had been wearing. I brushed my long, dark blonde hair for a time, then deliberated for some time before choosing what to put on. I plumped for one of the two dresses I had brought from England, a green, silky, pleated number, with a gathered neck, and voluminous sleeves, which fell loose to mid-thigh length. In it, I felt practically naked, as its soft material was light as a feather, and I had only to lift the hem slightly when I sat down to display my shaven pussy. Stepping into a pair of stiletto-heeled mules, and, as an afterthought, clipping matching thin gold chains around my waist and an ankle, I felt incredibly sexy. 'Oh shit,' said Kirsty, when I got back into the kitchen, 'and you expect me to concentrate on cooking?' I teased her, coming up behind her and rubbing my tits around her back. She turned away from her task, and said, 'You asked for it, you cow!' She dragged me across to the kitchen table, and I slid my backside onto it as she raised my skirt up above my waist, dropped to her knees on the tiled floor and pulling my legs roughly apart, thrust her long tongue deep into my moist, warm cunt. I moaned and shook convulsively as she tongue-fucked me, and my orgasm followed immediately – nobody else had ever made me cum so quickly. I had drenched Kirsty's pretty face with my juices, but while she was cleaning herself up with a paper towel, and I apologised, she said, 'No, darling, don't be sorry, I just came too, and without touching myself!' Half an hour later, with the table all set, the doorbell sounded. Ana looked sweet enough to eat, in a little cotton print sundress, flowers on a blue background. Her long black hair was, I thought, magnificent. She shifted from foot to foot nervously, and produced a box of chocolates from behind her back. She seemed uncertain whether to hand it to me or to Kirsty, so I simply took it from her. 'This is lovely, Ana, but you didn't need to bring anything,' I told her. Kirsty scurried off to finish getting the meal ready, and I sat Ana down beside me on the sofa,with a glass of white wine. She looked deprecatingly down at herself. 'I look so…so…so, oh, I don't know the word – but you two are so sofísticada.' 'But Ana, you'd look lovely in a bin-liner.' 'What is bin-liner?' she asked. Conversation was going to be heavy-going. 'Never mind, I just mean you'd look lovely in anything.' 'I am so invidiosa.' 'Envious?' I supplied, and she nodded. 'But why, Ana?' 'You are in love, and I have nobody.' A tear of self-pity ran down her cheek. I brushed it away with my hand, and she stared at the decoration dangling from my nail, then turned towards me. 'Living here, in village, all local boys and men just want fuck me, but I no like.' 'I can believe that they want you – you are very beautiful. Have you tried?' 'Yes, sometimes, but I…,' she didn't complete the sentence, just looked woebegone. I felt I had to say something nice to her. 'Kirsty says perhaps you could come and work for us.' Her dark eyes suddenly shone with luminous joy. 'Do you mean that? Here, with you? Oh, Sara, that is wonderful!' 'Wait a moment. We need to talk about it.' 'Oh, but I do anything for you. Anything. I see Kirsty's back. You can do that to me – it is that I want! Oh, please, please, Sara.' I was embarrassed by her outburst, and glad when Kirsty came in with trays of food. Worried she may not have meant it, I said, 'I've just told Ana you may ask her to come and work for us, and she seems pleased.' 'Oh, good,' she said, setting my mind at rest, 'I'll discuss details with her after dinner if you like – it may be better in Spanish.' Ana's eyes followed Kirsty as she came in and out – and she did look truly stunning in her tight gold dress, and mega-high heels. We ate a nice meal, had a fair drop to drink, then sat around the coffee table while Kirsty outlined to Ana the duties of a maid as she saw them. 'I'll translate for you later,' she told me. They were in serious conversation for some time, and Kirsty was doing most of the talking, Ana apparently agreeing, to judge by the times she said 'sí.' At length, Kirsty turned to me, and said, 'you told me you could sew, didn't you?' 'Why, yes, but what about a machine?' 'We have one upstairs. It belonged to my mother. Could you run up a couple of maid's dresses for Ana?' I suppose so, but I'll need the material – and her size.' 'The material, we can go and buy tomorrow. Her size, you can get now.' She turned back to Ana and said something, whereupon the Spnish girl stood up and fiddled with the bow that fastened the halter-neck of her dress, then, hesitantly, held the two straps for a moment before lowering them. So revealed, I saw that her breasts were mere bumps, but that they had prominent, protuberant nipples, centred on large, dark, puffy aureolas. They were charming and inviting. She was standing, now, in just a pair of cotton panties. Sara's Silken Ladder Ch. 04 'She'll have to get rid of those, if she's coming to work for us,' commented Kirsty, as I rummaged in a drawer for a tape-measure I had seen there. I took her measurements, unable to resist a little tweak on those lovely nipples while I taped her bust, and, as I was noting it all down, together with her shoe size, Kirsty told me that they had agreed that Ana should start the following week. She said she had outlined the girl's duties, mainly light housework and cooking, and that she had seemed delighted. 'But what do you think?' Kirsty asked me. 'I think she's charming,' I said. 'Will you prefer her to me?' she said, her green eyes serious. 'Of course not, darling. She will serve us well, though, I think, and we'll learn to use her, I'm sure.' The ambiguity of my words wasn't lost on my friend, and she came over to my armchair and bent to kiss me. Meanwhile, I had motioned to Ana that she could get dressed again, and she was busy doing up her bow again. She watched us kissing from under lowered eyelids. During the next few days, I made Ana two black minidresses out of soft, silky material, both with very short, flared, skirts, and another one, similar, but out of transparent black nylon – 'for special occasions,' Kirsty said – and we bought her black, fishnet stockings and patent heels, which I thought she would find very uncomfortable, as I had never seen her in high heels of any type. Kirsty's welts had now faded to almost nothing – just pink stripes which now looked really pretty on her white, straight back. When, knowing how much she had loved the whip, I asked her if she was missing the lifestyle, she said, 'Just at this moment, you are all I want, darling. Maybe we can help each other to forget, and I think Ana will provide a diversion, don't you?' I knew what she meant – we had clearly been thinking along the same lines. I had been musing on that for a while – I was changing – I had changed, and the change seemed to be continuous. I had become a Lesbian, gradually at first, then Helen had turned me into a slave, a pain-slut if you like, but I detested the description. Now I had inclinations towards domination – I felt I was on a ladder – my Silken Ladder. Thing was, did Kirsty feel the same way? And what would the arrival of Ana do for us? Life promised some interesting time ahead. The week passed pleasantly. The weather was gorgeous, and Kirsty and I spent a lot of time stretched out by the pool, or making slow, leisurely love either in the shallow end of the pool or on the lawn beside it. I was happy, but somehow knew that we should have to move on – however idyllic our lives seemed, a certain spice was lacking. But one evening, I had a thrilling indication that Kirsty was putting her experiences with Simone behind her. It was our custom by now to dress up in the evenings – both of us liked to see the other in nice clothes, and it often led to a bout of lovemaking, but this one, hot evening, Kirsty stood up from the table, saying, 'I feel so hot!' She was wearing a long gown, and I admired her as she stood there, her slim form clothed in the red silk sheath. But suddenly, she picked up the water-pitcher from the table – it was almost full. Slowly and deliberately, her sexy green eyes on me all the time, she started to pour water down her legs, instantly turning the silk of her gown a shade darker. Very slowly and incredibly sexily, she raised the jug until the first trickle of cold water ran down between her breasts, then, her eyes closed in ecstasy, she emptied the entire contents of the jug over her slim shoulders, drenching herself completely, so that her dress clung to her, nipples showing firm and erect through the wet silk. I couldn't believe how sexy this was, and, getting up from the table, fetched another pitcherful of water from the kitchen. Standing in front of Kirsty, I ran a stream down my legs, over my green satin dress, then, mimicking her, raised the jug and slowly soaked myself, loving the sensuous feel of the wet material against my skin. Neither of us spoke a word during the whole process, but then we stripped off our gowns, and made love, wet through, on the tiled floor – it had never felt better to have her long, searching tongue insisting its way into my wet, eager cunt, while I lapped her fragrant crack and pushed two fingers deep into the velvet tunnel of her arsehole. We were ready for Ana when she arrived, carrying a small suitcase, precariously seated on the back of her mother's moped. Her hair was scraped back into a long pony-tail. Her mother seemed pleased that we had given her daughter a job, and gladly accepted Kirsty's offer of a coffee. With Kirsty translating for me, Maria asked us to be strict with her daughter, saying that she needed a firm hand, and I caught Kirsty's glance in my direction, a half-smile on her full lips. Once her mother had gone, I took Ana to her room, a nice airy one beside the kitchen, with an en-suite shower room. One wall was filled by mirror-doored wardrobes, and, besides the bed, there was a dressing-table, an easy chair, and a reading lamp. 'Let me see what you've brought,' I told her, and she hesitantly opened her case. 'Take everything out,' I said, and as she did so, I set aside a trashy novel with a bookmark halfway through, a few medicaments, some creams I thought would do no harm, and a framed photo of her parents. 'Put the rest back in your case,' I said, 'and it can go into the store, together with those things, when they've been washed,' I indicated the jeans and shirt she was wearing – 'you will, from now on, only wear what is provided for you.' She looked put out at this, but I stepped over to the wardrobe, slid the doors open, and showed her the three dresses I had made, plus a few skirts, blouses and summer dresses, and a long evening dress, which she felt between finger and thumb appreciatively. I then opened the drawers at one side of the wardrobe, and showed her the collection of nightdresses and slips we had assembled, as well as a selection of garter-belts and stockings, and a black corset. Below the drawers were four pairs of shoes, all with very high needle heels. In the dressing-table drawer, we had put all the jewellery she would need – ear-rings, bangles and waist- and ankle-chains. We had stocked her shower-room with a selection of cosmetics. Ana slumped onto the bed, bemused by everything, and looked at me with huge, bewildered eyes. 'I no know what I say,' she said, 'It is so…..no, I can't…don't have the words.' I smiled and said, 'Don't say anything, Ana, just put on these things, then come to the lounge.' I laid one of her dresses over the bed, followed by a black satin garter belt and a pair of fishnet stockings. I pulled out a pair of her shoes, and left her to it. 'Will she be OK?' asked Kirsty when I rejoined her. 'I think so, when she settles in. She'll be in in a few minutes.' Kirsty made me laugh by striking a pose, stood by the stone fireplace in her pleated blue skirt and cream silk blouse, tapping a riding crop I didn't know she had against a long, bestockinged leg. 'You look as if you're going to enjoy being the mistress,' I said. 'I am rather looking forward to it, aren't you?' I admitted that I was. Ana appeared then, looking distinctly nervous, tottering slightly on her unaccustomed heels, slender legs encased in fishnet stockings, the tops of which were only partially hidden under the hem of her black dress. A frilly white apron was a reminder of her new status. 'You look fine, Ana,' said Kirsty, 'and from now on, I shall speak to you only in English. You will obey both of us at all times, and we are to be addressed as "Miss Sara" and "Miss Kirsty," is that understood?' Ana nodded. 'I said "is that understood?"' 'Yes, Miss Kirsty.' 'Good, because we can't have disobedience – we would have to punish you for that.' 'Punish me? Does that mean you whip me?' 'Probably, yes,' she said, waving the crop around to emphasise the point. But Ana didn't look at all surprised at her reply. She continued: 'Sara will have told you that you must wear only what we have provided. You will have a day off each week, and any time you want to visit your family, you may ask us. There really are very few rules.' 'Yes, Miss Kirsty.' 'Now come here,' she told her, and the girl walked hesitantly up to Kirsty, who poked the crop towards her, causing her almost to lose her balance on her heels. But she just used the crop to lift the hem of Ana's dress, revealing her white thighs, and a triangle of pubic hair, which Kirsty poked at with the end of the crop. 'Get rid of that!' she said, 'it's disgusting.' I tried to calm the girl down. 'Tell me, Ana, if there's anything else you need.' 'Yes, Miss Sara, I can't find any bragas o sujetadores in my drawers.' 'Panties or bras,' translated Kirsty. 'That's because you are not allowed to wear them from now on,' I replied, 'is that clear?' 'Yes, Miss Sara.' 'You'll get used to it – and the heels. Go now and get us some lunch – there are some chops in the fridge, and stuff for a salad too.' Kirsty again translated, and Ana wobbled out. 'What do you think?' Kirsty asked. 'I think she's sweet, and she'll do fine,' I said, and you're starting to sound like a real mistress.' 'Hmm,' she mused, 'I could just enjoy being one. But you're not doing badly yourself. I loved the bit about not being allowed underwear, darling – and I hope you practice what you preach.' She reached over and, using her crop again, lifted the hem of my skirt. 'Lovely,' she remarked, 'I feel a little something stirring.' When, half an hour later, I looked up from between Kirsty's long, slender legs, I saw that Ana was standing in the doorway. She turned and fled when she saw that I had seen her. 'Go fetch her,' said Kirsty, as she smoothed her skirt back into place, 'I think we should talk to her again.' 'Yes mistress,' I said, curtsying. 'Oh, silly, I didn't mean it like that,' she said. 'I know, darling,' I replied, halfway to the door. I stuck my head into the kitchen. 'Ana,' I said, 'come into the lounge, will you?' She turned towards me from where she had been chopping vegetables. 'Yes, Miss Sara,' she said, and I loved the sound of that. I was sat beside Kirsty when Ana came in, still a little unsteady on the ultra-high heels we had compelled her to wear. 'You were watching us make love,' said Kirsty, evenly. 'Yes, Miss Kirsty, I'm sorry, Miss Kirsty,' she said, a tremble in her voice. Kirsty turned to me. 'I think that warrants a little punishment, don't you, darling?' 'Oh, certainly,' I replied, 'I think we should punish her after dinner.' 'Yes, that's a good idea. She can anticipate her punishment until then – it's so much sweeter that way.' I nodded. 'Yes, Ana, you can go now, and carry on with what you were doing. You will be punished after dinner.' The brunette walked out carefully, glancing back over her shoulder to see us watching her. She was making an obvious effort to accustom herself to the four inch needle heels. Kirsty called her back. 'Lift your skirt!' she said, and Ana understood, did as she was told, a smug expresion on her face as we saw her completely clean-shaven pussy. She had a pronounced 'camel-toe' effect, her slit starting high up into her mound. I felt a surge of desire for her young body, so lewdly displayed. 'Very good,' said Kirsty, and waved her imperiously away. Apart from a slight tremble as she served my meal, Ana showed no sign of nervousness at the prospect of being punished, but we decided to make her wait a little longer, and took our time over coffee, then sat together on the settee, Kirsty idly stroking my thigh through the thin white silk of my long dress, Ana standing waiting with the coffee pot, in case we wanted a refill. At length, Kirsty turned half towards her. 'Ana!' 'Yes, Miss Kirsty.' 'Come and stand in front of us, and take off your dress.' She walked rather hesitantly around, stood before us, and obediently reached behind her neck, pulled down the long zipper of her little black dress, then slid it from her slim shoulders, and pushed it down over her hips so that it fell to the floor in a pool about her feet. She looked gorgeous in nothing but her skimpy garter belt and seamed fishnet stockings, perched on those exaggerated heels. Her dark nipples stood to attention on their puffy aureolas, thrusting out from her almost flat chest, but when her hands strayed down subconsciously to cover her pussy, Kirsty reached down beside the sofa for the riding crop and gestured towards it. She snatched her hands way. 'Hands behind your head,' she said, 'and kneel on this!' She threw a cushion down on the floor, and Ana looked up at me as if asking me to rescue her as she knelt. I looked into her big, dark eyes, and realised then that, far from appealing for salvation, she was asking to be punished! Her eyes held the secret – the desire of a true submissive. I could identify with that passionate longing, the need to be hurt, to submit to cruel ritual, for I had felt like that when my mistress, Helen, had whipped me what seemed like a whole reincarnation in my past. 'What do you say we each give her three strokes?' said Kirsty. 'It doesn't seem very much,' I replied. 'It's her first time.' Then, to Ana, she said, 'You know this will hurt, don't you?' Ana nodded. 'You'd like us to hurt you, wouldn't you, you little slut?' I interjected. She nodded again, and I looked at Kirsty. 'She ought to ask us to whip her,' she said, and Ana seemed to understand, because she said, 'Please, Miss Kirsty.' 'Please, what?' demanded the American girl, harshly. 'Please whip me,' said Ana, barely audibly, but when she looked up at me again, there was pride, and almost a challenge, on her face. 'You first,' said Kirsty, handing me the crop. I got up and stood beside Ana, lifting her long black main of silky hair over her shoulder so that it fell over her tiny left breast. I gave the crop a trial swish, then sparing nothing, drew back my arm and lashed Ana with all my strength, knowing that nothing less would do. The stroke fell with a loud 'crack' across the middle of her lightly-tanned back, raising an instant angry red stripe right across the width of her tender flesh. She flinched and gasped slightly, but didn't cry out, though the stroke must have hurt terribly. I traced the welt with a finger, then took aim again, and brought a second stinging blow down between her shoulder-blades, causing her to moan softly, and making another bright red line above the first one. Without delay, I followed up with a third, putting all my force into a vicious lash, the crop's leather falling now onto her lower back, and bringing a sharp, 'Oh!' from Ana's lips. I passed the crop to Kirsty. My lover fell to her task readily, and 'filled in' the gaps my own strokes had left, her three blows leaving Ana's straight, slender back prettily patterned with red stripes. Kirsty drew only gasps and a low moan from the maid, whose hand had strayed again to her pussy as the final stroke came – this time her beautiful face waas screwed into a grimace which made me think she was surely putting the final touches to an orgasm. My impression was confirmed when she shuddered convulsively and lay writhing on the floor. 'My, you really are a little slut!' said Kirsty, poking her ribs with the sharp toe of her shoe, 'in future you will ask permission before you cum, is that understood?' Ana nodded. 'I said, is that understood?' 'Yes Miss Kirsty.' 'Good, now you can go.' With that, as our new maid left, Kirsty threw herself down on the sofa beside me, and we kissed for a long time, our tongues entwining, hands kneading each others' breasts through the soft silk of our dresses, both of us inflamed with what we had just done to Ana. God, she was hot! I spread my legs when she slid up the hem of my dress, and gasped louder than Ana had when her busy fingers found the lips of my pussy, then expertly teased my clit from its hiding place, grazing it with a probing nail. Her head went down beteen my legs, her thick, silky brown hair sensuous against my thighs. Then her long tongue was thrusting deep, deep into my hot, wet cunt, and all the pent-up passion which had built as I flogged our lovely servant came, literally gushing out as I drenched my lover with vaginal fluid. Kirsty rummaged under the cushion as I came back to life after my tearing orgasm, and handed me a huge, pink dildo. Wordlessly, she parted her long, slim legs and, using both hands, spread wide her juicy, pink vagina, never taking her eyes off mine, and letting her tongue, which had so recently savoured my own juices, dart out from between her even white teeth in silent invitation. I sucked and moistened the dildo, then eased it slowly into her eager, waiting cunt. She sighed with relief as she took its whole mighty length, then I fucked her with it, matching my rhythm to hers as I worked the great shaft in and out. Her eyes went suddenly glassy, and she stiffened perceptibly when her climax came, then we lay together, quite spent, long into the night. For the next few days, we concentrated on teaching Ana as much English as we could, as well as, in my case, trying to learn some Spanish. Her wounds were only superficial, and when I got her to pull down her dress and looked at them, three days after her first whipping, they had faded to a nice pattern of pink stripes. After I had looked at them, I kissed her gently, letting my studded tongue linger in her mouth. 'Are you happy with us, Ana?' I asked. 'Oh yes, Miss Sara,' she replied, then blushing prettily, added, 'I am more happy than ever in my life.' 'Even if we punish you?' She looked away shyly, 'I like when you do that.' One hot evening, when Kirsty had gone off shopping, I lounged around before going to bed. I felt hot, and did something I had never done before – stood under the shower in my long silk nightgown and negligee. Since the time when Kirsty had poured water over herself as I watched her, then joined in, I had developed a fascination for being wet. The cool, soft jet of water made the silk cling instantly to my body, and I gasped with the erotic sensuality of it, smoothing the soaked silk over my breasts and around my body, until, as I was almost on the point of cumming, the bathroom door swung open. I thought it was Ana, on some cleaning mission, but no, it was Kirsty, back from shopping, wearing a long Indian cotton dress. 'Mmmm,' she murmured, and, without pausing to undress, slipped under the cool jet with me. The thin cotton of her dress was rendered instantly transparent, moulded to her lovely body like a second skin. As soon as she started soaping me, long, lazy strokes caressing my body through the wet silk, I came, with my customary, shudderingly violent surge. As soon as I could open my eyes, I quickly brought Kirsty to her own orgasm – I hardly had to touch her, she was so aroused – then we tumbled out onto the cool tiles of the baathroom floor, and stripped off our sodden garments, rolling around on towels to dry off, and giggling like schoolgirls. When we slipped into towelling robes, I said, 'That's just given me an idea.' 'Oh?' I told her what I had in mind, as we went in search of something to eat. 'Sounds great,' she said, 'let's find an excuse to do it.' I thought about that. After dinner, I called Ana over to me, and when she stood obediently by my chair, I lifted the hem of her little skirt and ran th palm of my hand over her mound. The tiniest vestiges of stubble had started to grow. Sara's Silken Ladder Ch. 04 'You were told to keep yourself clean shaven!' I said, harshly, 'now turn around and spread your legs. Hold your skirt up.' Again she did as she was told, and I pushed her in the back so that she bent over, then slid my forefinger into her tight, puckered arsehole. She squealed as I forced my finger deep into her. 'As I thought,' I said, 'she's an anal virgin!' 'Well, we know what to do about that, don't we?' said Kirsty, but first, I think she should be punished for not keeping herself shaved.' 'Yes,' I agreed, 'and as we decided.' 'Am I to be whipped?' asked Ana, but her eyes, rather than showing fear, sparkled. 'Yes, my dear,' I said, 'but first go to your room and put on a long nightgown – the black one, I think. We shall be waiting for you in our bathroom.' 'Your bathroom?' she repeated, incredulously. 'You heard!' said Kirsty, and Ana scuttled quickly out. We got up and went to the bathroom, Kirsty taking a set of handcuffs and a horsewhip I didn't know she had with her. When Ana walked towards us down the corridor, as we watched from the bathroom door, she looked lovely, elegant even, in a a silky black nightdress, floor-length, its tiny short sleeves trimmed with white lace, as was the neckline and hem. She still wore her heels. I took her hand and led her into the bathroom, placing her under the shower where I had so recently had such an exciting climax. Now I thought, Ana would have an even bigger thrill. She looked at me, then at Kirsty. 'Do you want me to undress?' she asked, doubtfully. 'No, darling,' I said, taking both her wrists, and cuffing them firmly together. Then I raised her slender arms, and hooked the handcuffs over the shower-head. She started to look frightened at last, but before she could ask any more questions, I turned on th shower. A jet of cold water cascaded down on her, drenching her instantly, so that the nightgown became quite transparent, just as mine had – as Kirsty's dress had, just a short while before. Ana gasped and writhed under the teeming water, her gown now sticking to her pretty body from top to bottom. Kirsty now took up the whip, and with an expertise I had never suspected, wielded it deftly, and struck Ana a vicious blow around the waist, the lash curling right round her body, the knotted tip coming to rest just below her left breast. She screamed, more with the unexpected shock than anything, though I knew it would have stung her terribly through her wet gown. 'CRACK!' Another stroke snaked around her back, and this time the tip flicked hard against the girl's small breast. She squirmed as the water fell over her, gasping for breath. I turned off the water-flow, but she was not to have any relief, as Kirsty whipped her mercilessly, raining blows down on her from her thighs to her breasts and shoulder-blades. One stroke rent a great hole in the flimsy material of her soaking gown, and an angry red welt could be seen beneath. But I knew the sting of the whip would be worse than its real effect, even though Ana was now moaning deeply. Finally, Kirsty threw down the whip, and I unhooked our maid from the shower-head, then removed her cuffs. Stripping her ruined gown off, I wrapped her in a big fluffy towel, and cradled her in my arms, as Kirsty came over and kissed her too. 'You can sleep with us tonight, if Sara doesn't mind,' she said, and I nodded my approval while I was drying her long, thick mane of glossy black hair. We lay naked together in Kirsty's big bed, Ana between the two of us, as I tended her new stripes. 'They look so pretty,' I said, and when I asked her if she had cum, she said, 'I have run very much.' I recognised that as a rough translation from the Spanish, meaning that she had had a big orgasm. But now she was in the throes of another gathering climax, as we both stroked her lovely young body. While I was soothing cream into her wounds, Kirsty was running her hands up and down the girl's thighs, lingering with each stroke around her pussy-lips, then grazing her clit, and darting two questing digits into her moist cunt. Soon she came, with a long sigh and a little shudder, then fell promptly asleep. I climbed over her to embrace Kirsty, and we made love until we were, also, exhausted, and fell asleep. In the morning, Ana made to get up, but Kirsty restrained her, telling her to wait while she fetched something from her dressing-table-drawer. She returned with a little box, from which she took what I immediately recognised a a butt-plug. It was black and conical, widening from its point to about an inch and a half, with a short stalk groing out of the thick end, topped with a wide, shaped flange, to fit snugly against the wearer's arse. There was a tube of lubricant in the box too, and Kirsty smeared some onto the plug, then made Ana kneel, her behind in the air, legs spread apart. Without ceremony, she pushed the plug hard into the girl's arsehole, drawing from her a sharp scream as the unaccustomed object penetrated her virgin anus. 'Oh, Miss Kirsty, it is terrible!' she exclaimed, but my lover was smiling, prepared to ignore Ana's complaints. 'You'll get used to it, then I'll change it for a bigger one,' she said simply. A day or two afterwards, the telephone rang, and an American voice asked for Kirsty. After a brief conversation, concluded with, 'OK, see you tomorrow then!' Kirsty turned to me, and said, 'My cousin Gaby – my father's sister's girl – has heard we're here, and wants to come stay with us for a while. I said it'd be OK. I've never met her, but she lives with her mother down south somewhere – Marbella, I think.' Gaby arrived late in the afternoon of the next day. She was absolutely gorgeous – slim and very elegant, with shoulder-length platinum-blonde hair, immaculately made-up, with red glossy lips just asking to be kissed. She was wearing a maroon skirt-suit in silk jersey, and dripped with expensive-looking jewellery. We had asked Ana to prepare a special dinner as a welcome, and told her to wear her 'special occasion' dress – the transparent black nylon one – when she served us. After we had relaxed with drinks for a while, we showed Gaby around the house and garden, then we all went to change for dinner. When we told Gaby that was what we were about to do, she said that was her custom anyway. I got the impression that her family had plenty of money and a lifestyle to match. I put on a long, halter-neck, backless dress in tangerine cotton, with lace trim, but I felt outdone by Kirsty, who had donned her favourite, knee-length, gold silk dress, which moulded her curves to perfection, so that her nipples jutted out through the soft material. But when Gaby made her entrance, I just gasped. She was clad in a long black lace shift, her small, perfectly-formed breasts completely visible, the nipples thrusting out through the mesh of the lace. Her only other garment was a brief pair of black silk panties, tied at the sides with big white ribbons. Like us, she wore high heels, and long gold ear-rings brushed her slender shoulders. I couldn't help staring at her, but she smiled back prettily. Ana came in with a tray of drinks, and also looked stunning, in her transparent dress, a little white pinafore coyly covering nothing much more than her pussy. I suddenly wished we had an audience – we must have presented an erotic sight. After dinner, while Ana was clearing away the things, Kirsty put on some sensuous music and, immediately, Gaby stood up and started to dance, weaving around, hands running up an down her lovely body. She beckoned to me to join her, and soon we were welded together as we swayed to the slow beat. It was then that I became aware that all was not as it should be – or, at least, as I may have expected. Used, by now, to the feel of a woman's body – and there was nothing more beautiful in the world to me – there was something about the way Gaby held me that seemed – off! Then I realised that that wasn't all. Pressed against my mound was something that could not be just a more-protuberant-than-usual mound of Venus. No, what was pressing into me, with increasing urgency, was, could only be, a prick! I pushed Gaby gently away from me, and looked into her pretty face. 'Gaby, is there something you haven't told us?' I asked, quietly. 'Yes,' she replied, a slight quaver in her voice, 'can we all talk?' She spoke a little louder now, so that Kirsty, who had, in any case, been watching us, could hear. The three of us sat on the sofa, Gaby between us, while she related her story. 'I was born Gabriel, which was lucky choice of name,' she began, 'as I have only needed to spell it a little differently, and I've always been Gaby anyway. From an early age, I liked playing with dolls, and dressing up in my mother's pretty things. I am lucky in other respects too – I am slim, and I think I have quite a pretty face, so when, at about fourteen, I convinced my mother to take me to doctors, it wasn't too difficult to become Gabrielle. I've had hormone treatment, which has helped my breasts grow and changed my voice. I'v seen people like me described as 'shemale,' but I don't like that very much. I think like a woman, love pretty clothes, and I think I look like a woman. The only thing different is that I have a prick. If you want me to leave, I shall quite understand.' We sat in stunned silence for a moment before Kirsty said, 'I don't want you to leave. What about you, Sara?' 'Definitely not, but I do find your story fascinating. Have you ever had a boyfriend?' 'I've had a brief fling, but the truth is, I prefer women. Male brutishness I can do without.' She looked pleased to have unburdened herself, and relaxed visibly, but then, looking at her Cartier gold watch, said, 'Look, I'm a bit tired after my long drive. Do you mind if I turn in?' 'Of course not,' said Kirsty, as her unusual cousin got up to go to her room, then, as she reached the door, 'Gaby?' She turned, hand on the doorknob, her slim form so elegant – and intensely sexual - in its black lace sheath, 'Yes?' 'Welcome to our home,'said Kirsty, 'goodnight, darling.' 'Well,' she said to me, when our new guest had gone, 'what do you know?' 'That she may have a dick, but she's as much a woman as you or I.' 'We could have a lot of fun, don't you think?' 'You dirty bitch!' I said, laughing. The next afternoon, we were again blessed with hot sunshine, and sat around the pool, Kirsty and I naked, Gaby wearing a pair of bikini briefs. When Ana served us with drinks, I said, 'Why don't you come and join us? – there's no need for you to work all the time. In just the time it took her to slip out of her dress and stockings, she was beside us, taking from us the cue to be naked, but, as she bent over to arrange her sunbed, the flange of her lewd butt-plug protruded from her arsehole. 'Have you gotten used to your plug then, Ana?' Kirsty asked. 'Yes, Miss Kirsty, but it is still hurting me sometimes.' 'I have an idea,' I said, and both looked around at me as if I had questioned the Theory of Relativity. I probably flushed. 'Perhaps Gaby could help?' I suggested. 'What a very good idea!' said Kirsty, and got up to go and whisper to her cousin. Gaby looked over at Ana, as if sizing her up, then nodded vigorously, smiling broadly. 'Tonight, then,' said Kirsty, and we all went back to enjoying the sunshine. That evening, we dressed for dinner as usual – I wore a diaphanous dress in pink organdie, my breasts loose and visible beneath the thin bodice, it skirt layered and flounced. Kirsty looked stunning in a green silk sheath, and Gaby vied with her, in a translucent ivory gown, under which she wore only skimpy panties. 'You don't have to wear them, you know,' said Kirsty, pointing to the offending garment under her gown, 'we know what you've got now.' 'I know, darling,' said Gaby, coquettishly, 'but I don't want to deny you the pleasure of taking them off.' Ana served us, wearing her normal maid's outfit, but I told her to go and change afterwards, and to come back in just a silk slip. She looked back questioningly at me, over her shoulder, as she left the room, but I looked away. We made ourselves comfortable on the sofa, Gaby between the two of us, and were very soon kissing, each of us taking turns to kiss Gaby, while we stroked her breasts and thighs through her dress. She was soon breathing rapidly and responding by kissing us both deeply and urgently. I slid up the hem of her dress, running my hand up her silken thighs until I found the tie-ribbons of her black silk panties. When I slipped them off, her cock stood impressively to attention, and while Kirsty fondled its thick base, I bent down and took its tip into my mouth, letting my stud graze its crown. It was the first cock I had had in my mouth for a very long time, and I loved it. Loved it because it wasn't accompanied by all the complications a man involves – and none of that machismo that comes with a male. I sucked the length of her shaft, taking her deep in my throat, until she gently eased me off. 'No, darling, I'll cum if you keep on like that,' she said, and I turned to see Ana stood watching us, in a short black slip. I stood and pulled her down to kneel in front of the sofa where I had been sat, got her to spread her knees apart, and pulled the black plug out of her anus. I made a loud 'plop' as it came out. 'Hold your cheeks apart with both hands,' I told her, and she did so, her face crushed down on the seat of the sofa, while Gaby came around behind her, and lowered herself to kneel on a cushion that Kirsty threw down. Without ado, she pushed the very tip of her rigid erection into the enlarged orifice of Ana's arsehole, then shoved her whole length brutally down, deep into the maid's velvet tunnel. Ana screamed in agony as her anal sphincter was penetrated for the first time in her life, but Gaby was not to be diverted, and drove her hard prick in and out the few times she could before one mighty, shuddering thrust told me she had spent her load, deep into the brunette's bowels. All I felt was envy, and knew that I wanted Gaby's cock in my own arsehole as soon as possible. The future looked even brighter than before. Sara's Silken Ladder Ch. 05 This follows on from chapter 4, of course. You will need to have read previous chapters to make any sense of this. Everyone in the story is over 18. * Kirsty and I now had the strange, intoxicating company of Gaby to entertain us, and our attention was briefly diverted from the training of our lovely maid Ana, as we enjoyed the new experience of fondling Gaby's bizarre appendage. Although she had a prick, there could be no doubt as to her femininity -- as I had said to Kirsty, 'she's as much a woman as you or I.' Although my interest in men had gone completely, the novelty of Gaby's prick fascinated me, and we made her cum regularly. One night we dismissed Ana, and sat after dinner, dressed as usual in long evening gowns. Mine was my favourite grey silk halter-neck, backless, with a loose bodice which allowed my breasts to jiggle around suggestively, falling in soft folds to the floor, with a 'train' effect. I wore, as usual, high heels, this time with lucite heels and platform soles. Kirsty, sat on the sofa beside me, looked ravishing in a red satin dress, open at the front to her navel, whilst Gaby, facing us on an armchair wore her trademark black lace sheath, little black panties concealing her exotic weapon. I held Kirsty's hand, and told her how lovely she looked and she turned around, looked at me, with her big, blue eyes, and licked her luscious lips, then, parting them slightly, invited me to kiss her, sliding her hand under my top to knead a breast. I glanced at Gaby, and saw that she had flicked open the bows which coyly peeped through slits in the side of her dress, and let her silk panties fall, exposing a rampant erection under the soft lace. In no time at all, our dresses were up around our waists, and while I was kissing Kirsty, Gaby was on her knees in front of the sofa, licking first my pussy then Kirsty's. I moaned softly into Kirsty's mouth, and soon felt Gaby push gently into me, burying her eager shaft deep into my ready, wet cunt. I groaned with pleasure as she pumped into me, and was only dimly aware that Kirsty had slipped away. Then she was back, kneeling behind Gaby, who let out an agonised scream of pain and pleasure as Kirsty invaded her arsehole with a huge, double-ended dildo, the other end buried deep into her vagina. Gaby could wait no longer, and stiffened, shuddered, and came, deep inside me, as I, too felt my orgasm coursing through me, my fluid cascading in a messy stream onto the sofa. We lay together on the sofa then, for a while, before Gaby did something she had never done before. She stood at the end of the sofa, her prick, still looking slightly engorged, in her hand, then pissed, in a huge, long, golden salty stream, all over our silk- and satin-clothed bodies, soaking us to the skin. It was amazing, and first Kirsty, then I, took up the cue, pissing all over each other and Gaby. The overall effect was incredibly exciting and erotic, and I found myself climaxing once again, as we embraced, licking piss and cum from our clothes. There were no limits to the sensuality of our relations, and new experiences had piled in, one after the other, since Gaby had walked into our lives. But at breakfast next morning, Kirsty said, 'We mustn't ignore Ana, darling. She still needs a little fine tuning.' I nodded agreement, and suggested we should think seriously about having her 'decorated.' 'Tattooed, do you mean?' 'I hadn't thought of that, but why not? No, I was thinking of having her pierced, and getting her nails done.' So we agreed to take her down to Alicante the following week, and visit a salon I had noticed. A huge hairy guy in a Motorhead tee-shirt was behind the counter of the shop, and we would have walked right out, had not a businesslike young woman, slim and petite, with short blond hair, in a spotless lab-coat, emerged from a rear door when she heard the doorbell. 'What can I do for you little darlings?' leered the gorilla, but lab-coat elbowed him aside, and smiled at us, saying, 'Is it for all of you? Tattoos, piercing?' 'No, it's just for her,' I said, gently pushing Ana forward, 'and we'd like her pierced, please.' 'Tongue, navel, nose, or what? We find that lips are popular at the moment.' Kirsty, holding the squirming maid's sweaty hand, replied, 'We'd like her tongue piercing, and her navel, then..' she glanced at the gorilla, but he had lost interest, and was studying a book of tattoos. 'Then we'd like you to do her clitoris.' If the woman was surprised, it didn't show, but she looked quizzically from Kirsty to me, and I knew she was wondering why we were speaking for Ana, rather than letting her ask herself. 'Ana is our maid,' I explained, 'I am Sara, and my friend is Kirsty.' 'Lorena,' said the woman, and shook our hands, then ushered us through the door into a big, well-equipped room, 'come with me.' Quickly and efficiently, Ana was provided with a pretty coral stud in her tongue, and a long, ornate dangling silver chain attached to a ring in her navel. Then Lorena bade her sit in a chair like an obstetrician's, and before her legs were firmly held in stirrups, she told her to take off her panties. Ana looked embarrassed when I said, 'she doesn't wear them.' Lorena looked at me with a hint of a smile, and I thought, for the first time, that it would be nice to have her play with my pussy. Something about her lab coat, and her efficient nurse's manner, was intriguing. But she was smoothing Ana's little black skirt the short distance up her upper thighs, to bare her smooth, shaven pussy. A little 'Mmm' escaped Lorena's lips and a more audible sigh was breathed by Ana, as her lips were parted by the older woman, who then expertly teased Ana's clit out of its hiding place beneath its protective hood. She soon held the nub between thumb and forefinger, and Ana's breathing had become fast and ragged. 'Yes,' said Lorena, ' she has a nice clit, and I can pierce it. It's not everyone that can be done, by any means. I often have to do the hood.' Kirsty chose a silver ring with a tear-drop pendant to hang from it. 'That will be very pretty, I think,' said Lorena, and I knew we should have to invite her to dinner when her brown eyes met mine. Added to which, I was pretty sure he was naked under that lab-coat. Ana was trembling with fear and anticipation of the pain the piercing promised, as Lorena expertly stimulated her clit to keep it from retracting, slipping a finger just into the entrance of her damp vagina, while massaging her clit gently. I was expecting some sort of sophisticated tool to be used, but Lorena simply picked up what looked like a thick needle and a cork. Ana whimpered pitifully. 'It will only hurt for an instant,' said Lorena, but that did nothing to placate the maid, who looked terrified, as Lorena located the needle where she wanted it, and thrust it through the engorged flesh into the cork, drawing a great shout, half-scream, half-groan from Ana, who writhed around in the chair. Deftly, Lorena replaced the needle with the ring we had chosen, closing it with pliers, leaving the pendant dangling prettily around Ana's neat cunt. I looked at Ana, and saw she was smiling now, her expression a mixture of relief and... and what? Pride? Yes, I thought so. 'That looks lovely, Ana,' I said. Her expression became more serious. 'Am I going to be tattooed now?' I glanced at Kirsty, who shook her head slightly. 'No, darling, I think Tattoos are a bit.....a bit naff.' 'What is naff?' I tried to explain, but Kirsty broke in. 'For now, we'll get you some new nails. Maybe some time, we'll have you marked, but that's enough for today, I think.' 'Marked?' asked Ana, seizing the word. 'Yes, darling, marked,' Kirsty said, without further explanation. But I thought I knew what she meant. I, too, had read 'O.' At a posh salon in the city, we had Ana fitted with some very long, pretty fingernails, decorated with small stones near their tips. She said they would make it more difficult to work, but Kirsty laughed off her protest. 'You have to suffer to be beautiful,' she said. I waved my own hand at her, reminding her of the little decorative chain which dangled from my pinkie's nail. It never failed to remind me of its presence, whenever I needed to do anything with my hands, but there was something highly erotic about dangling chains, be they ear-rings, navel decorations, or whatever. When we got home, Gaby insisted on seeing Ana's newly-acquired decorations, and said they were lovely. Then, when Ana had gone to prepare dinner, she said, 'Look, I've seen faint marks on Ana's ass. And your back too, by the way, Sara. Only I'm rather interested in that sort of thing, if you know what I mean.' I glanced at Kirsty, and she returned my look. She turned to her cousin. 'Perhaps you'd like to whip Ana?' she asked. Gaby licked her luscious lips. 'I'd prefer to whip you, Sara, if I'm being honest -- when I see you naked, it's all I can think about.' 'You can, if you want,' I said, my mouth suddenly dry with anticipatory excitement, a warm dampness already welling up in my groin. The moment was interrupted as Ana came in to lay the table. 'You've just been reprieved, Ana,' said Kirsty, but Ana looked baffled -- her Eglish wasn't yet up to that. I agreed to be whipped next morning; the night would give me a chance to dwell on the delicious pain I should have inflicted upon me. I masturbated for a long time that evening, bringing myself to a slow-building climax that must have taken half an hour, writhing on my satin sheets, long silk nightgown up around my waist, as my fingers found first my soaking cunt, then penetrating my waiting arsehole, and rehearsed in my mind the fierce, stinging lashes of leather thong on the tender flesh of my back, my wrists and ankles tightly shackled. Next morning I was too excited to eat breakfast, so stayed in my room until almost ten, when I had elected to be whipped. I showered, made myself up with great care, braided my long, dark blond hair so that it hung in a thick rope down my back, and slipped into a long, virginal white sheath, transparent nylon with lace trim. Under that I was naked save for my heavy waist-chain. I studied my reflection in the mirror, then, satisfied, stepped into high-heeled white mules, and walked proudly in to meet my awaiting friends. Ana, who had clearly been briefed, took my hand and led me to the wall, where Kirsty lifted down a picture, revealing a sturdy ring-bolt set into the wall a foot above my head. As she did so, I shrugged off the flimsy nothingness of my white shift, and stood proudly naked, wearing only the heavy chain around my slender waist. Kirsty and Gaby were sat on a sofa watching quietly, while Ana fixed thick leather restraints onto my wrists and ankles. There was a heavy metal ring set into each one. Now Gaby, dressed in a transparent black negligee, through the gap in which I could see her flaccid cock, took a hand, and, stepping up, told Ana that she would take over. Catching up my wrists, she clipped them quickly into a strong-looking carabiner, then clipped that, in turn, to the ring bolt, stretching my arms high above my head. Producing a metre-long spacer-bar, she then fastened my ankles to either end, and pronounced herself satisfied, standing back to admire her handiwork. I was firmly fixed with my back to her, but couldn't help looking over my shoulder at what was going on. Waiting to be whipped, to be hurt, is something I can never describe. I should be terrified, and probably am, as I know it will hurt terribly, but the certain knowledge that I shall know an incredible pleasure transcends fear, and if I trembled uncontrollably as I waited for Gaby to whip me, it was my impending orgasm that drove me. 'I am about to hurt you,' she said -- she had been schooled in ritual by Kirsty, I thought. 'I shall hurt you a great deal, darling,' she went on, you know that, don't you?' 'Yes,' I replied, 'I want you to hurt me.' She nodded and lifted my heavy braid of hair over my shoulder, so that my whole back was available to her, then stood back and took the newest whip we had -- one that I myself had recently bought on line -- from Ana. The whip was a leather coach-whip, with a thin, knotted lash. Ana let out a muffled little cry as Gaby tried an experimental swish, then, without further delay, lashed me ferociously, just below my shoulder-blades. I tried never to cry out when I was whipped, and just flinched as the awful sting of the lash bit into my tender flesh. When the second stroke came, the knotted tip of the fine thong seemed to dwell for a split second under my right breast, and I couldn't help gasping faintly. I glanced down at my flank and saw that a deep red line had been scored across it, but Gaby's third blow was on its way, and the very top of my buttocks was its target. 'Oh!' I moaned, as I felt the near-unbearable torture -- I thought the thin lash must have broken my skin -- then I allowed myself to groan at each stroke as the awful agony started to mix with wonderful, excruciating pleasure, and I closed my eyes to savour the wracking orgasm that built within me. I heard a moan which seemed to come from Gaby, and, after another fierce, stinging lash, I looked over my shoulder to see that she was breathing heavily, one hand holding the whip, the other supporting an almighty erection that jutted through the opening in her black negligee. 'C-can you take any more?' she stammered, touching the tip of her extraordinary weapon to the inside of my thigh. 'Yes,' I told her, 'One or two more, then you can fuck me.' Her last two strokes fell across my soft buttocks, and hurt like hell, but then , without bothering to unfasten my ankles, she unclipped my wrists, pulled me down to kneel on the floor, and rammed her lovely prick straight into my sopping-wet cunt. She came in two savage thrusts, but I had already climaxed, and felt a second orgasm following on as she pulled out. I fingered myself desperately, and came in an explosive, gushing fountain, then collapsed on the floor, oblivious to the great pool of cum beneath me, completely spent. Ana covered me with a blanket. I must have been carried to bed, because I can't remember going there, but what must have been a couple of hours later I awoke to find Kirsty looking down lovingly at me. She smoothed cream into my stripes, which I knew were no more than superficial -- although they had stung like hell, I had chosen the whip well, and it would never cause lasting harm. I wondered who its next recipient would be, but didn't have long to wait for the answer, as Kirsty said, 'Darling, I was so envious of you while I watched you being whipped. Do you think Gaby will do the same for me?' The next day, then, the ritual was repeated, but this time Kirsty was the willing victim, and her screams and writhing as Gaby whipped her, then transfixed her with her rigid member, were so exciting, that I came as I sat and watched. During the days that followed, peace reigned in our mountain home, and the weather turned first cool, then to real winter, which seemed to come with an unexpected abruptness. I often slept with Kirsty, but also with Gaby from time to time, then spent nights alone when they elected to sleep together. One of these nights, though, I invited Ana to join me, and we snuggled together for warmth. I quickly fell into a dominant role with the Spanish girl, having her lick me to the very verge of an orgasm, then pushing her away, several times, before making her get out of the warm bed to lay naked on the tiled floor for a while. When I thought she was cold enough, I pulled her back by her long black hair, and whispered to her of all the cruel punishments I should like to inflict on her. I think she loved me with all her heart. 'And will you really hurt me, Miss Sara?' she asked. 'Yes, darling.' 'And whip me until I bleed?' 'Yes, you'll like that, you little slut, won't you?' 'Yes, Miss Sara.' At that, she ran her tongue down between my breasts, over my stomach, then teased my Clitoris until I could bear it no longer. I grabbed her long, silky black hair, and pushed her head hard between my spread legs, so that she plunged her questing, studded tongue deep into my wet cunt, this time bringing me to a gushing, sweet relief. We lay together then, and I asked her what she most wanted. She hesitated, as if ashamed of what she was about to say, then: 'I want to be whipped many times, Miss Sara. When you or Miss Kirsty whip me, it makes me very wet.' 'You cum while we whip you?' 'Yes. Am I.......crazy?' 'No, darling. You are just a slut.' I held her until she fell asleep, happy in my arms. Next morning, Kirsty announced that she'd like to have a party for her birthday, the following week, and when we listed the people who we should invite, I suggested adding Lorena, the slim little lady from the piercing parlour. Kirsty agreed, along with a Lesbian pair Ana knew from the village, Kirsty's lawyer, and two old college friends of Gaby's, who now lived in Alicante. We pondered upon what we should suggest that our guests wear. Gaby suggested 'vampires,' Kirsty thought 'tarts' and I raised a laugh by saying 'no change, then.' Then Gaby suggested swimwear -- 'we'll probably all end up in the pool, anyway.' But I said, 'what about sexy nightwear? That'll be still better if we do end up in the pool.' So that was decided upon, and Kirsty sent off the invitations. We were busy making the arrangements for the next few days, then the day arrived, and we left each other alone to get ready while Ana and a pretty, auburn-haired friend from the village got the food and drink laid out. Ana, we decided, would wear her 'special' transparent maid's outfit for the evening, while her friend Julia said she was going home to change into pyjamas. I grimaced at the thought of Julia, in flannel pyjamas with little teddy bears on them, but said nothing. I had searched high and low for a suitable nightdress, and finally found what I was looking for, in an exclusive boutique in Alicante. Now I undressed and slipped it on. Following an idea I had seen in an old Polish film, 'The Beast' -- where a young girl is raped by a great hairy monster -- I had bought a long, pleated white nightgown, quite transparent, which fell clear from my breasts to the floor, with loose, voluminous sleeves. When I put it on, and brushed my hair out, I admired my reflection in the mirror, then couldn't resist teasing my nipples to erection through the soft, silky material. That started the juices coursing through my body, and gave me another idea. Rummaging in a drawer, I found the pair of pretty silver 'butterfly-type' nipple clamps that Helen, my mistress what seemed like a century ago had given me. Lifting my wispy gown up to my neck, I screwed the clamps on, until they brought tears to my eyes. I wondered how long I could stand the pain, and decided to leave them on, for all to see, through my gown. My nakedness beneath wasn't too obvious, as I kept my pussy shaven, but, as I stepped into my highest stilettos, I thought I had never looked sexier. In the big dining room, Ana and her friend Julia, who were dressed in jeans and a sweater, were bustling around getting everything ready. 'You are going to change, girls?' I said. 'Yes, Miss Sara, as soon as all the food is done.' I settled down to wait, with a gin and tonic, and Gaby soon joined me. I nodded my approval of her outfit -- an orange baby-doll with matching bow-tied panties, hiding her bizarre appendage so thoroughly you would never have known it was there. She wore long, long silver-chain ear-rings which seemed to go perfectly with her platinum-blond hair, and her make-up was immaculate, as ever. Sara's Silken Ladder Ch. 05 'Wow, aren't they painful?' She had spotted my clamps. 'Yes, of course,' I confirmed, without elaborating. Kirsty swept in, clad in a long, peach silk nightdress, backless, and so soft and loose that her breasts jiggled beautifully as she walked. She picked up her glasses from the sideboard and put them on to study Gaby and myself. 'My God,' she said, 'do we have to have guests? I just want to go to bed with the two of you, right now.' We kissed each other, and I too could have launched into a heavy session, there and then, had not our guests started to arrive. The pair from the village came first. Carmen was a bit on the 'butch' side for my taste, but had made an effort to pretty herself up, in a frilly short nightie and heels. Her partner Soraya, however, was drop-dead gorgeous, clad in a translucent harem suit, through which apparently rouged nipples and a neat black triangle of pubic hair could be seen. Her short black hair was professionally styled, and she looked altogether good enough to eat. Lorena had brought Gaby's two friends from Alicante, so they all arrived together, weaaring coats over their party-gear. Gaby first introduced Tina, who slipped off her coat to reveal a slightly chubby figure. She was a nice-looking girl though, with a mass of dark brown curly hair, and she wore a mid-length silky slip in dark green. Next came Pam, who was tall and slim, with hair the same platinum blond as Gaby's, but much longer, reaching down to her waist. When she took off her coat, she was wearing a white, fur-trimmed baby-doll set, and resembled a Barby-doll, I thought. Lingering behind was Lorena, doubtless the eldest present, but when she took off her coat, I gasped. She looked a lot taller than I remembered her -- it was, I realised, due to the prodigiously high heeled, platform boots she wore, which came high up her thighs, almost to her groin. But her nightdress -- if that's what it was -- was what most impressed me. She wore a long, completely transparent black shift, which had a silky sheen to it, long sleeved, with a high neck. Through it could be seen her firm, torpedo-like breasts, the nipples of which were pierced, and bore dull metal rings. From the ring hung silver chains, which looped down below her groin, and disappeared, obviously connected to a ring or rings in her pussy. She wore long black latex gloves, into which a metal ring was set at thee wrists, and a black studded collar, which also had a ring inset. The effect was quite stunning. I knew she spent all her working day playing with other peoples' bodies, and now I knew that she had nothing to be envious about. Kirsty got the music going and soon everyone was dancing. Seeing that Kirsty was dancing with Gaby, I extended an invitation to Lorena. Our breasts met as we danced to a slow number, and I couldn't resist touching her decorated nipples through the silky material. She responded by tugging at the connecting chain of my clamps, through the filmy material of my gown. When we kissed, the world stopped turning and lights flashed before my eyes, so that just then, for an instant, I stopped belonging to Kirsty, and was my own woman, intent only on the pleasures contained in Lorena's petite body, and in my own, which was melting with passion. As she was kissing me, seeming to draw my tongue into her very depths, we were startled, interrupted by a loud crash, and we turned to see Julia, dressed in maroon pyjamas, weeping, a full tray of drinks all over the floor at her feet. Ana was already busy picking up the wreckage. 'You realise you'll have to be punished?' she said to Julia. The girl nodded dumbly. 'That won't be necessary,' said Kirsty, surveying the damage, then, to Ana, 'I was planning to have you whipped, anyway, for our entertainment, my dear.' I had an idea, and walked over. 'Let's whip them both,' I whispered to Kirsty, 'just a token few light strokes for the little girl, and a good thrashing for Ana -- it's what she wants.' Kirsty nodded her agreement, and told me she'd prepared something outside. We went on dancing for a few minutes, then Kirsty ushered us all out onto the big, wide lawn by the pool. To a pole which carried electric cables to the house, she had nailed a crossbar, just above head-height, and one of the big floodlights was trained mercilessly onto it, the rest lighting up the trees, so that most of the garden was bathed in a soft light. Ana and Julia, literally and metaphorically in the dark, stood to one side as we all trooped out and sat on the grass in the warm, Mediterranean evening calmness. Kirsty went over and whispered to Ana, who looked nervously from her mistress to her friend, and back, as Kirsty undid the bow at her back and divested the maid of the apron that hid her decorated pussy under the transparent minidress. She then took Julia by the arm, and said harshly, 'I've decided to punish you, after all. Strip!' Shaking, and looking nervously around at the watching crowd of girls, she shrugged out of her pyjamas, her body milky white in the floodlight's reflected glow, small, perky breasts standing out rigid, her nipples rigid with tension. She had a lush triangle of black hair at her groin. In no time at all, she was chained to the cross, crying out the whole time, 'No, no, please, please don't hurt me, please, mistress, I can't take it, please!' But Kirsty was deaf to her cries, and handed a short whip to Ana. 'Do it!' Kirsty ordered, but Ana was reluctant to whip her friend, so that Kirsty had to repeat the order, and reinforce it with a stinging slap to Ana's cheek. That moved the maid, and she swished the whip half-heartedly at her friend, just flicking the skin of her buttock. Julia yelled as if she was being murdered. 'Be quiet, and take your punishment, girl,' said Kirsty, then to Ana, 'And put a bit more into it, can't you?' Ana gave Julia five strokes, which Kirsty judged to be enough, though they had scarcely marked her buttocks at all. 'Take her down, Gaby!' she said, and you can have her if you want.' Gaby, licking her luscious lips, unfastened the young girl's chains, and led her, still naked, and weeping, to where she had spread a rug on the lawn, pulling her down beside her. It was Ana's turn, and Kirsty dragged her dress off and chained her up, this time facing us, arms out and just above the top of her head, ankles chained to the foot of the post. She looked acutely uncomfortable. Kirsty had recovered the whip, and gave it a trial waft, then, without further ado, slashed the thin leather thong viciously across Ana's breasts, causing her to scream. Beside me I felt Lorena tense, and she pulled my hand down to her belly, my fingers instantly finding her pussy lips through the silky material of her gown. The chains which ran from her nipple-rings were clipped to a thick ring in her clitoris-hood, and the effect on me was intensely erotic. She pulled up the hem of her gown so that I could enjoy the warm, damp softness of her pussy, and this brought a lovely little moan from her, as she squirmed gently under my touch. 'It's so exciting, isn't it?' she whispered. And I could only agree, as Kirsty's whip wrapped itself ferociously around Ana's tender, flat belly, raising an instant, livid red welt. Ana gasped with the agony of it, her lovely, big eyes clouding over even as her pain was at its apex -- I knew her orgasm was close, and told Lorena so. 'Mine too!' she said, and I wasn't going to be far behind, as Lorena's mouth descended under the hem of my flimsy gown, and I could hardly wait for her questing tongue to plunge deep into my hot, wet cunt. Next morning I awoke and opened my eyes to see the tousled head of Lorena nestling against me, her arm draped across me, and our legs entwined. We made love gently as soon as she was conscious, bringing each other off with an ease which normally only comes with familiarity. When we lay, spent, afterwards, she said, 'That was a wonderful party, but I didn't expect to end up in the pool. I vaguely remembered then that we had all gone in, still in our nightgowns, and played in the shallows for a while. The sight of my gown hung behind the door brought it all back and we laughed together, until Lorena turned serious. 'I hope Kirsty won't be jealous that we spent the night together,' she said. 'I doubt it,' I replied, 'she will have slept with Gaby -- and probably Ana as well!' 'Speaking of Ana,' said Lorena, thoughtfully, 'she's fond of pain, isn't she?' 'She loves it when we whip her,' I confirmed, 'and Kirsty wants to have her branded. It's a bit extreme, but I think she can take it.' 'You could make a ceremony of it,' suggested Lorena, 'but.....' 'But what, darling?' 'But I'd love to be there when you do it.' 'You will, you will.' But it was a few days before I got around to broaching the subject with Kirsty -- I needed to catch her alone, and she was having a bit of an obsession with Gaby. It didn't, oddly enough, make me jealous. Much though I loved Kirsty, our relationship was very open, and we both understood that we were free to do what we wanted. I was happy to see them fondling each other -- anyway, I had Ana to play with, whenever I wanted, and she was so pliable and submissive, begging me to clamp her nipples so tightly it brought tears to her eyes, and happily enduring whole days with the largest butt-plug we had embedded in her rectum as she went about her duties. 'You know we're going to have you branded, Ana, don't you?' I asked her one evening. 'Yes, Miss Sara.' 'And how do you feel about that?' 'If it will please you, Miss Sara, it will make me very happy.' 'But you know it will hurt terribly?' 'Yes, Miss Sara.' I reached up under her little skirt -- she was wet through. Her eyes were misty as I looked at her, and I kissed her gently, wordlessly, then led her to my bed. So when I finally got to speak to Kirsty, it was in the full knowledge that Ana was in agreement. Kirsty was predictably enthusiastic, an we immediately started to plan the ceremony. We had to decide upon appropriate dress for ourselves and our guests, and after some discussion, we decided that we should just tell people to wear 'restraint' clothing, and leave the details to their imagination. For my part, I eventually found what I was looking for in a Goth shop in a seedy corner of the city. It was a long black latex sheath, which fit like a second skin, and was open all down my left side, the gap criss-crossed by lacing, so the it could be tightened still further, making walking normally quite impossible. We talked a little about what Ana would be branded with, and plumped for a simple entwined 'K' and 'S' -- Kirsty then drew it and faxed her drawing to a company she'd read about in Texas, which made cattle-brands. UPS delivered the finished article to us only a week later. We obtained a brazier from a garden store, and a big sack of charcoal was all we needed in order to complete the equipment. The days seemed to drag by, until finally the day of Ana's branding came around. Ana busied herself around the house, but she was clearly nervous, and trembled as she served our lunch. I took great care over my make-up, brushed my long hair to a silky sheen, stepped into the highest heels I had, black patent platform-soled ones, then stood in front of my mirror, in nothing more than my heavy silver waist-chain, masturbating gently with one hand while I screwed nipple-clamps into place with the other, and envisaged what we were about to do to Ana. I was envious, I knew, and resolved to be marked myself whenever I could persuade Kirsty to do it. I saved my orgasm for later, sighing reluctantly as I took my hand away, slipped a connected pair of Chinese balls into my wet cunt and had a new thrill when I laced myself tightly into my sheath. I could scarcely walk, and my nipples, fiercely clamped, were on fire. The balls moved around inside me as I minced along. When the time came for our little ceremony, Lorena had arrived, dressed in a short red latex dress and black thigh-length spike-heeled boots. Kirsty was stunning in a black corset and fishnet stockings -- and nothing else. Gaby, clad in a long tight black velvet skirt and transparent black top, led in the nervous Ana, wearing a long white cotton shift, tied at the waist with a hemp cord. We had gone for a sort of medieval theme. Ana herself had got the brazier going, and the coals now glowed red -- the heat from it could be felt right across the room. We had thought about playing quasi-religious music, but dismissed the idea as kitsch. Some sort of new-age stuff Kirsty had chosen came softly from the speakers. 'Kneel!' ordered Kirsty, and Ana obeyed. Kirsty then unbuttoned the top of her shift and pulled it down to her narrow waist. An a looked up at her questioningly, but Kirsty had turned away and was reaching for the riding crop. 'We should get her warmed up a little first,' she explained, and with no further warning, lashed the young maid sharply across her middle back, raising a bright red welt the width of her soft white back. Three more times the crop fell on Ana's back, then once across the top of her tits, causing her to gasp out loud -- until then she hadn't flinched or made a sound. The combination of my nipple-clamps, the balls moving fluidly around in my soaking wet cunt, and the extreme restraint my dress was imposing kept me on the edge of a mighty orgasm. 'Tie her to the post,' said Kirsty now, and I pulled the girl to her feet and lashed her wrists to the pillar, above the ring, to prevent her sliding down. Gaby then dragged Ana's dress down to the ground, so that her whole naked body was exposed, her back to us, as she looked round, eyes wide, at the brazier. 'This is going to hurt a great deal, you do know?' said Kirsty. 'Yes, Miss Kirsty,' replied Ana. 'And you still agree to be marked?' 'Yes, Miss Kirsty.' Kirsty nodded, and went over to the brazier, lifting out the iron and carefully inspecting the brand at its end. Ana was trembling visibly now. We had decided she should be marked on the inside of her upper thigh, towards the rear, so I fitted a spreader-bar between her slim ankles to keep her legs apart, then stood back to watch as Kirsty approached -- deliberately slowly, I thought, to heighten the tension, the smoking brand held out in front of her. Then quite suddenly, she lowered the terrible instrument, and plunged it unerringly against Ana's white flesh, precisely where we had decided. There was a sickly-sweet smell of burning flesh, and Ana's awful scream was the most agonising I had ever heard. I felt sure she would black out immediately, but when I looked away from the smoking, sizzling mark, red and black on her slender white thigh, and at her face, her eyes were open, tears streaming down her cheeks, her teeth clenched, as if determined to stay conscious. I stepped up to her and taking her head in my hands, kissed her luscious young lips. She responded immediately, opening her mouth to let my tongue plunge deeply in, so that our studs clashed. She must have been in terrible pain, but there was triumphant sensuality in the way she kissed -- it was as if she had come through some kind of initiation ceremony. I came, in a staggering, drenching flood, right there in our embrace. 'Oh Ana,' I said, when I had recovered, and our lips parted from each other, 'now you really belong to us, darling.' 'Yes, Miss Sara.' I stood aside as Gaby dressed her raw mark with a sterile pad, causing her to wince, then I untied her, took off the spreader-bar and led her gently over to a couch. Kirsty, who had been enjoying a breathless embrace with Lorena, came over and kissed her, tears in her lovely eyes. I had never been happier, and wanted the moment to last for ever.