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Winning Ways

By: Winning Ways



Have you got all that? You can speak now."

"Yes Master, I just have a few questions but they may be best to ask when I have drafted the core document and then I can come back and work with you on the final document. It will take me about a week."

"You have two days slut and that is all."

Her face screwed up. I knew from a previous conversation she had an important corporate client to deal with. Why was I being so cruel? Because I needed it and I knew she did too.

I beat her so harshly, the crop slicing across her breasts and belly, criss-crossing as she lay back accepting this was for her misdemeanour. I was methodical now, keeping each stripe an inch from the next, then stepped to the side and came across the other way creating that 'burger' pattern. I laughed at her, insulting her as I knew would turn her on, the perverted little slut. I soon had a marvellous pattern as her tears streamed down her face and her body quivered, pain and pleasure only a fine line apart.

"Turn over bitch."

Her backside had four purple marks, but I knew they were not from me. Who cared? I didn't. I just added more stripes and instructed her to get up on all fours.

"Now, I want you to tell me all that you have been doing since we last met. Tell me about your lovers, male and female. Tell me which ones you think could help us pervert Nirvana and which you think could be good clients to send my way. You know how I like to mix business with pleasure. Incidentally, I have not intention to give up my job but I do intend to expand the company and maybe even explore partnership with yours? Think about it as I spank and fuck you..."

"Yes Master, but please, please spank me because I have been so naughty since we last met."

I raised my hand and with the fingers wide apart spanked her gorgeous firm arse, while I kept a recording going to capture the information that I would give to my trusted PA, Ms Mapledorum. Now she readers, is a woman chosen for her discretion but whom I knew (from watching her on my discretely placed CCTV) is a secret sexual minx. This tape would tease and torture her with its strong sounds of whipping and spanking; not to say rampant fucking and sucking.

Imogen screamed, but this was not with pain. It was an orgasm induced purely by my hand striking her arse cheeks. It was a small one, nothing like some I knew she would have, but I smiled knowing that I could get her off just with such a simple but cruel action. 

"Oh, Master forgive me for cumming so quickly. Please, I have been very naughty and will make up for it with my true stories...."

_________________________

Imogen left striped not so much like a hamburger on a grill, more like a fine piece of graph paper. I used the crop everywhere, and I mean everywhere. However, she did not flinch once, absorbing all the pain to get the gain. She had so many orgasms and I did not deny her a single one. I was too kind that day, but then I wanted excellent results from her and I knew that if I played her correctly, I would get them. 

Oh, was my cock sore readers. I had fucked her all afternoon front and back, had my dick sucked repeatedly and yet still managed to listen to some of her most sordid tales. I'm surprised the Bar has by now not struck her off. She has fucked and sucked her way through more clients than I have had hot dinners, but then she has so many secrets in her safe about them all that they daren't complain, I guess. Plus, she has just started a concerted effort to transfer to the bench and become a judge, so is now collecting dirt on the best of the judiciary. I had never realised, for example, that Lord Stokes of Mapworthy was a foot fetishist who had spent all of last Saturday night naked on Imogen's cold kitchen floor. She had kept him lying prostrate whilst licking her feet to a state of pristine cleanliness; cumming all over the stone and lapping it up on command. He may be 70 years old but he is still as randy as he was in his 20's and Imogen described his dick as the longest and thickest she had ever seen; apart from mine that is. 

Nor had I expected that Judge Judith Smithers was a raving dyke who had kept Imogen under the table at a dinner party for her lesbian friends. My lawyer had spent all night on her knees licking lezzie pussy whilst dressed in what was apparently 'a ridiculously short maid's outfit with no panties,' she said. However, the horny lesbians were too stupid to notice that Imogen kept her little shoulder bag with her at all times. Ms Mavis Mapledorum would love transcribing the evidence for her that had come off the micro-recording device she used and the pinhead lens camera. Just a few minutes of slurping mixed with some very indiscreet conversations top of table and jerky but explicit images below would be worth so much to further her new ambitions. Judge Judy had a marvellously distinctive mole on her inner thigh. Very nice place for a beauty spot Imogen told me. However, was it my imagination, or did bi and lesbians scream louder when they came than hetero women? Whatever, that group had been particularly uninhibited in their pleasures and now I had the evidence to share with Imogen. I would ensure Mavis made a copy. Well, you never know when I might need it readers, do you?

When I got to Nirvana's that night; I was in no mood for more fucking. I stayed for dinner, gritting my teeth as 'The Bitch' made her snidey comments whenever I raised an opinion different to hers. Then, after the meal she proceeded to hog the TV control, never asking what her mother or I wanted to watch. Yes, she was one spoilt motherfucking cow who hopefully in a few weeks would receive the shock of her bitchy little life. I made my excuses, noting the transgressions in a little notebook I'd taken to keeping since I'd started dating her mother. 'One day' I had thought to myself, uncannily confident that there would be a time when I could exact either revenge or better still some correction of her daughter's behaviour. Of course in that book I also kept thoughts on the things her mother needed to do to break out of her prissy self. I smiled that night as I felt the power my new wealth gave me.

I drove home with a cock so hard it ached inside my Calvin's.

 Chapter 2 -- The contract

"Welcome Nirvana," Imogen said, gesturing my girlfriend to sit opposite her in a large stuffed leather armchair. "It is OK to call you that isn't it?" she continued, smiling brightly and not taking her eyes away from Nirvana's. If I was not so sure, I thought to myself, I'd say she was smitten as much as I had been the first time I saw my future fiancé again after so many years. But then, my hopefully future wife and private whore was equally smitten.

Was it the deep pools of sinful darkness in Imogen's eyes so like her own, the long fingers that looked so dainty yet housed nails like talons, promising pleasure and pain? Was it the long, long legs (again so like Nirvana's except a lighter brown) that invited hands to slide slowly up that very short skirt? 

It was a scorching hot day and Nirvana's large breasts were clearly unfettered behind a bleached white blouse. Her nipples had been indistinguishable when she entered the room, but now there was something turning her on and it wasn't me. I could see two organ stops pushing and expanding the starched cotton. Also, her breathing was becoming harsh, almost orgasmic judging from the rise and fall of her bosom. 

I should have known! As I positioned myself into my own chair, I could see up Imogen's skirt. She had obeyed instructions. No panties. No hair. Wonderful. I was pleased and a light spanking later would reward her, not to say a hard fucking. I was even happier that she was keeping her legs in two time zones, a slight blush on her face, but I knew Imogen. She would be incredibly turned on. 

Nirvana was saying nothing, just staring straight ahead now; directly into the promising chasm of my favourite slut. I had found another chink in her prissy armour. Given her prissiness in company this was a complete surprise reaction. All I could do was smile behind my hand.

"What is this all about?" Nirvana eventually asked, prising her eyes away from Imogen's cunt. 

Right, trivial pleasantries over. Let's get focused, I thought to myself.

"Darling, my lawyer Imogen will explain. She is my confidant and long time friend so what she is telling you is important, serious and not a 'wind up' of any sort. You will need to consider it very carefully but let me tell you, without the conditions that will be set and adhered to there is no deal, no future involving me," I said in as measured a tone as possible. 

"What the fuck is this about?"

"Nirvana! Language, please," I chastised, still keeping my measured tone but hopefully adding the type of menace I created when at my dominant best and at play.

"S-sorry darling..." she replied, slightly breathlessly, something obviously connecting in that constrained brain. 

"Yes, you might well be sorry Nirvana, if you don't listen to what I am about to read out. At the end you will not be allowed to discuss the offer with anyone, but will be given exactly one hour in which to decide and then sign. That signature will be binding," added Imogen in a stern and sincere tone.

Oh she was good, taking control as instructed and giving some time to think but not really enough to make a fully thought through decision. Plus she now had her bum up on the desk and her feet each side of her arse and tucked under her chin. The skirt on her formal black suit was almost to her waist; its pencil shape like a corset it hugged her thighs so tight, and her glistening pussy was working its scented magic. I now knew my future wife (if she accepted the terms) was potentially capable of swinging both ways, well at least from a voyeur's viewpoint. Things were looking up or at least up at Imogen's bejewelled cunt lips. I smiled to myself.

"I am now going to read the terms of an agreement that I understand you requested if Paul here is to marry you."

Her face changed, the jaw dropping, the hands wringing and her legs crossing over and back as she absorbed this new piece of information. 

"Paul Stebbings, your lover, offers you the opportunity to marry him. He has just won £75m on the National Lottery."

Imogen stopped, her eyes lifting from the prepared speech to stare at my Nirvana whose mouth was wide open and at that moment looked so sexy. I wanted to stuff my cock straight in there, letting her drink on it, to suck out my seed and not waste a drop. However, it was what was going on with my lawyer that was even more intriguing. Nirvana was looking so intently into Imogen's eyes that I could have thought they were starry-eyed lovers. Also my cheeky lawyer's skirt was now more a belt. She had wriggled forward on the desk with the skirt staying where it was. I could see she was sopping wet and if Nirvana looked down there she would see the same. I knew Imogen had connected like me with the obvious sensuality of that mouth, so wide, so open, so full and so moist around perfect white teeth. 

Imogen pulled herself together and continued. "In response to your demand that you would not marry Mr Stebbings until he was secure and solvent, that requirement has now been fulfilled. However..."

I was watching Nirvana intently now. Her jaw was slowly closing and she was now sitting primly in her seat listening with rapt attention to my lawyer; though I did notice that her eyes were lowered almost like the slut in front of her to stare at that cunt displayed so openly now. What a contrast to the formality of the reading. I had to smile, hiding it behind my hand. I need not have hidden, because Nirvana's attention was certainly being steered away from me. Everything was going to plan.

"....The prenuptial agreement is binding to all parties. All are obligated to fulfil their parts of the bargain or no party by itself, not withstanding..."

Oh, Imogen was so good at this. Helped along by the opening and closing of her knees as her feet remained on each side of her on the desk. I watched her pussy glisten more and more, and a little pool of her squirting wetness growing on the desk. The room was filled with the scent of woman, but now it was more than just one perfume. I could detect the aroma of my partner, hers that one note of bouquet stronger than Imogen. I also noticed her legs were mirroring my lawyer. Her short pinstriped skirt was riding up too. The slut was inviting Imogen whether consciously or subconsciously I could not tell, but the legs that danced subtly in then out just a few centimetres suggested her cunt was swollen and hungry to be filled. Or did she imagine going a'licking with my lawyer? Whatever, her body said 'fuck me'. It was as if sex was not a choice, it was mandatory and she needed it at that very instant. I could tell. Whenever she made that motion at home with me, she was ready.

Imogen pretended to ignore the come-on as the legs persisted in their rhythmic open -- close -- open. She started to list the conditions...

"Number one: To receive an allowance that will accumulate to exactly one quarter of Mr Stebbings's remaining fortune after payments (of his choosing) to his children and ex-wife. Your allowance will reach a total sum of about £18.5m, allowing for accumulative interest and will be given in stages over a 15 year period."

The legs had come together. I noticed how she was squeezing her thighs against each other, but the pulsing open-close-open was subtle now. This money offer was clearly as much a turn-on as my slut! Imogen continued...

"Number two: To have your existing house mortgage paid off in full, the property renovated and then let as soon as you move into your new home with Mr Stebbings. This will be the house to which you will return should the marriage fail for any reasons, including and especially should the conditions of the prenuptial be broken.

Number three: Your daughter, Zeta, will receive a suitable allowance that will build to a cumulative sum after 15 years of £5m. However, this will be subject to conditions related to her personal development and manners."

Nirvana snapped a look at me. We had had many arguments over the lousy manners of her little Bitch. I hated the gob-open chewing, the eating like a pig at a trough (never heard a man or woman eat so noisily: from biting her spoon to chomping with her mouth open) and the rude backchat. She needed educating and putting in her place and I had the perfect solution.

"I'm sorry darling. She is a beautiful looking woman but with the manners of a pig. I have to be honest. I think with these conditions she will accept being sorted out. Under that harsh exterior is a potential gem of a woman. Let me sort her out through this agreement and we will all benefit. Trust in me," I pleaded softly, struggling with what I really wanted to say. That was, 'madam, your cunt of a daughter is a spoilt little Bitch who needs her lips sewing together until she realises that God gave us those lips to seal our mouths when we eat and to stay shut unless we have something valid and polite to say!'

"Sir, may I continue please?" Imogen interjected softly, sensing that the subtext I had shared with her might surface if a conversation ensued. I sat silently; just nodding approval then drifted off into thoughts of how I would sort Zeta out. I missed some of the reading as my mind completed the plan...

"Condition number nine: In order to receive these allowances both for yourself and for your daughter, you must agree to attend sexual therapy with the clinic of Mr Stebbings's choice. Specifically, this therapy is to commence next week. You will resign your job and Mr Stebbings will pay for any lost earnings. You will have a suitcase packed and be ready with passport to fly to the clinic in North America. This therapy will last for one month at the end of which you will return and marry Mr Paul John Alexander Stebbings. Any deviation from this agreement will make the receipt of your allowances, and those to your daughter, null and void.

Number ten: Your daughter, Zeta, is to be sent to the finishing school of Mr Stebbings's choice. He has identified a suitable one in the West of England. She must have a bag containing one toothbrush, toothpaste and one pair of clean panties ready by 18.00hours this evening. Her examinations are finished and so Mr Stebbings deems her free to start learning as soon as possible at the school. For every day that she stays there she will have placed in an account £1000 and if deemed to have competed her education successfully -- based on reports from Madam Honfleur, the headmistress -- she will receive a sum that will top up these savings to a total of £1m. It will be put into a trust fund supervised by myself. You will be responsible for persuading her to go to that school. Failure will make null and void all other offers in this agreement."

I watched her face. Nirvana looked puzzled at first, even angry in flashes (she hated that I criticised her daughter's slovenly ways -- it reflected on how much she had spoilt the only child) but as the rewards were stated so there was a softening, a growing acceptance. Good so far, but could she persuade the Bitch?

Imogen had stopped and was stretching back over the desk to the far corner of the heavy oak, her cunt open, skirt useless, and picked up the copies of the agreement that Nirvana and myself had to sign. God she was good. Clever and beautiful. The exposure had been choreographed perfectly. She was testing for me; translating the future promise for my fiancé (well, as I was convinced she would be by the time we left that room) in her own inimitable way. 

Nirvana's eyes were locked on that jewelled cunt. All other movements were peripheral to her. Yes, there was something new happening here. Or was it something I had never noticed before? I'd watched her with her daughter at home always hugging each other, ample breasts pressed to ample breasts. Also, often they would publicly kiss (not deeply but on the mouth) but had considered it just the actions of a very close mother and daughter; even if others in the street had thought it some lesbian display; especially when they got so cuddly with each other. It had secretly turned me on, even if it was my lover and her Bitch.

So, I sat silently as Imogen handed us each a copy and a clipboard to rest the agreement on. Nice pens too. Very classy, just like their owner: when she wasn't being a slut. 

___________________________

What a surprise! She signed straight away, with no consultation with her daughter. Then she sat back and after a moment's silence asked a very direct question.

"Imogen?"

"Yes, Nirvana," she replied softly.

"Where did you get that beautiful cunt jewellery done?"

I could have fallen off my chair! No discretely chosen words, straight in with such an explicit enquiry. Had all that promised wealth given her a new sense of confidence and power?

Imogen was up off the desk in a flash, lifting her skirt high and displaying herself only inches from Nirvana's face. I could tell she was pleased. Not as much as I was. She opened her legs wider and pushed her hips forward, allowing my fiancé to see everything.

"I got it done in Amsterdam at a specialist sex jeweller. She is marvellous; you must come with me. You should see my titties too."

I loved the way Imogen said 'titties' with her plummy voice, cultivated to distance herself from her Lancashire roots, but somehow sounding more snooty than those of breeding and inheritance. More surprises to come.

"Yes, show me," was the barely audible reply.

There was something terribly breathy about Nirvana's voice now. I could see her ample breasts heaving and her eyes were locked on my lawyer.

"Yes, I will," Imogen replied excitedly. Her buttons were virtually flying off, and like my Nirvana there was no bra to hinder the view. What a view! Her pert tits were ornamented with criss-crossed diamond studs. Yes, not one bar but two: one vertical and the other horizontal on each nipple. I thought about the momentary pain and then the pleasure Imogen would have felt. I was so hard.


Winning Ways



Nirvana's hands started to explore, at first tentatively but then with more enthusiasm. I could see my lawyer's titties begin to rise and fall, clearly excited. The fingers were teasing at the bars, stroking less than subtly over the hardening nipples.

"They are beautiful," Nirvana stated breathlessly. There was a silence and I saw her swallow, then she asked, "Do you mind if I feel the...er....down there?"

"N -- no," was the stammered reply, offered with a radiant smile.

I would not have thought anything other than her exploration was curiosity until I saw that Nirvana's hands did not detach to move to the pussy jewels. No, she SLID her slender manicured fingers over Imogen's exposed flesh. It was an obviously sensual gesture. I was close to creaming my underpants. Imogen was biting her lip, trying to stay slightly aloof as agreed beforehand with me, but failing miserably. That would be severely punished, but then to do so would be a reward, wouldn't it? So, I stayed quiet, mesmerised.

My God! She handled each jewel separately, asking questions so coolly about how it was done, whether it hurt, how she kept herself so clean and smooth. I could tell she loved the texture of those well-oiled cunt lips and the bareness that had such an intense sensuality about it. 

Imogen was completely breathless, her submissiveness heightened by the sheer sensuality of her situation.

"Darling?" Nirvana called, "Can I have some of these too as part of our agreement?"

I was finding it hard to speak, especially as her finger was absent-mindedly stroking Imogen's prominent clitty. I saw the blood at the side of my lawyer's mouth. She had bitten her lip, desperately trying to control her intense passion. It was delightful. I realised that Nirvana was potentially as dominant as I was and yes, that suppressed sexuality was confirmed. My new financial position seemed to be giving her permissions she had never felt she had.

"Yes my darling, of course you can," I replied, my voice breathy yet enthusiastic.

"Good," she replied, then pulled her hand away from Imogen, leaving my lawyer visibly bereft. She dipped into her handbag to find a tissue. I seized the moment. No better time than now to start her therapy, if it had not already started given the smell of female arousal that hung so cloyingly in the air and all that I had just witnessed.

"No darling, don't wipe her juice from your fingers," I ordered, careful not to be too sharp in my tone. "Use Imogen."

She looked puzzled.

"Imogen, show her."

True to form, Imogen slid off the desk, not stopping to smooth down her skirt or hide her firm breasts, and took my fiancé's hand. She bowed her head whilst keeping her deep blue eyes locked on Nirvana's dark pools that seemed to sparkle more than I had ever witnessed. Then that long, sensual tongue snaked out to lick at each manicured digit, before her wet mouth opened to suck them in. There was a smile of satisfaction on Nirvana's lips, and then a hungry flick of the tongue. It seemed to go on forever, until in impatience (and not a little jealousy I admit readers) I stopped them.

"Enough! Nirvana, you have signed a binding agreement with me. You resign your job today. Imogen advises me you do not have to give notice if you forego the salary you should have coming to you. It is a pittance anyway, and I want you on a plane to North America within 24 hours. In your absence I intend to organise the best wedding ever in either of our families, and as in accordance with other clauses in that document, you will accept my decisions. Once married, then we can work together on our future, but for now your focus is to be your sexual awakening. I know that sounds clichéd but if today is anything to go by, you are hiding your light under a bushel, or even a dark bush." I laughed at my own joke, but then stared at Nirvana with what I hoped would be sufficient authority. I realised that that was the key with her, taking control. 

"Y-yes darling. I so want to marry you and I will obey you in every way. I need to go and buy clothes for the journey and when there..."

"No," interjected Imogen, "You need to carry no more than your daughter. That is in the contract that you have just signed." My lawyer had by now brushed herself down, buttoned up her blouse and looked every bit the professional again.

"What? But..." and then Nirvana shut up, realising we had been rather clever in reading only the key clauses to her. She darted a look at me that was initially anger but then softened to a smile. I sensed she liked my deviousness. Yes, she had once commented on how my intellect turned her on and now she was the victim of it, if I said it myself. "Ok, so a pair of panties and a toothbrush is all I take."

"Essentially yes, but in your case no panties either," Imogen said, pointing to the specific clause. "In fact, please give me your panties now as they are the last pair you will wear if you are to marry Mr Stebbings."

"But..." Nirvana started again to say, then sighed resignedly and hitching up her skirt grasped the elastic of her tiny knickers, slipping them down her legs. There was no mistaking the sodden gusset and the strong aroma of arousal. I held out my hand to receive them, but instead she gave them to Imogen whom, as previously instructed, held them to her nostrils that flared with the delightful scent. I watched the slightly embarrassed look of my fiancé but then again the flick of her tongue. 

"Thank you Nirvana," Imogen said, placing the panties in her own bag, the little slut. I knew she would wank herself off later with those against her pussy or over her face. I'd seen her do it so many times for me when I had stolen them from Nirvana's laundry basket and used them in our sex play. 

In exchange she took out two travel wallets, handing them both to Nirvana.

"The blue folder contains a train ticket and contact instructions for your daughter, Zeta. The red folder gives you your plane ticket, VIP passes and contact number in America. There are also some things that you are to do before you leave and that is in this bag I have here."

Imogen bent over the desk, her firm arse cheeks high in the air and partially naked as her short skirt rode high revealing her muscular thighs that were parted (again on my preordained orders). Her little pink rosebud invited the abuse of a butt plug and her cuntlips below glistened, ready to be fucked. But not today. No, this was all for show, to tease and test. As she leaned across so she picked up the bag on the other side, taking her time to stand back up and give it to Nirvana. I saw the wink, again as agreed, and I witnessed a wide, welcoming smile in return. Yes, I had been right. Nirvana was hiding some strong desires behind all that suppression. We were giving her permission to be the slut that was hidden underneath. I knew my hunch was right. 

Nirvana opened the bag, curious to see the content. There was a razor, wax kit and shaving foam for sensitive skin. Also there was a soothing balm. That was all.

"I am instructed to prepare you," Imogen said gesturing to the en suite bathroom that was adjacent to her office. "Come with me now."

I watched my fiancé leave so obediently with my slut. Was she submissive or dominant? I was changing my mind.

It was a full half-hour before they came back out.

"Show me, as per clause 22, page 6," I ordered, having sat reminding myself of some of the most pertinent and clever conditions in the prenuptial.

"What?" Nirvana snapped, clearly showing signs of embarrassment despite the earlier display of sexuality. 

"Clause 22, Page 6...You shall as fiancé obey Mr Stebbings's instructions to the letter. Any deviation from this obedience will deem the total agreement null and void," cited Imogen, clearly pleased with her clever wording.

Nirvana slid her skirt up her long legs, the brown skin so shiny and beautiful. Then she stopped, the hem just below where her cunt lips would become visible. Was she teasing or embarrassed? It was difficult to tell as she kept her head low, only her breasts seemed to be heaving. 

"Higher," I ordered but very gently.

She obeyed, lifting her skirt high. I could not do anything but let out a huge sigh.

"Beautiful!" I exclaimed. "Beautiful."

Her cunt lips were pouting, aroused and thick. There was a slight parting, with a milky white sheen that covered the inner pinkness. Not a hair was left between her legs or on her soft pubic mound. I wanted to bury my tongue between those thighs and stab its hard tip into the crack. Instead I watched as Imogen continued the choreographed plan. 

"She has obeyed you to the letter sir," she said quietly. "Look at how beautiful she certainly is now, though it took some time to persuade her to lose her pussy hair," she continued, as she let her fingers stroke over my fiancé's mons. 

"Was there some disobedience?" I asked sternly.

"Only a little sir, she was reminded of the clauses and then acceded to the instructions you gave me."

"Good, now put your pussy away woman you need to get your daughter ready."

"Yes sir," Nirvana replied simply.

I let her get almost to the door then called her back.

"There is one more thing."

I walked up to her. The small velvet box was behind my back. She stood silently, unsure what was going to happen now. I bent on one knee and offered her the packet that was wrapped with a delicate gold bow. I saw the smile and the hands, oh those beautiful, delicate but strong hands, take my gift.

"Darling, you have agreed to my formal demands, but there is one more official thing I want to do. Please open the box."

I stood as she fumbled with the gold bow then snapped open the box. The diamonds set in platinum sparkled in the room. I took her hand as she held the ring between her fingers and helped her slide it on to her wedding finger. 

"Marry me and I will love you forever. You will never want for anything, nor will your pleasure ever wain. I promise total love and whatever we do, only one person will have my heart. That person is you."

She squatted down, wrapped her arms around me so tightly, and kissed me hard on the lips in a way she had never done before. Her tongue snaked hard into my mouth, her hands roamed on my body, despite Imogen being in the room. Then she whispered the words I had longed to hear.

"I will be your complete sex slave...trust me."

Well, how wrong I'd been about the domination, readers, but I had to test it, didn't I? I stroked my hand down her back, squeezing her firm arse on the way, then slipped it under her skirt. She did not resist. I slid my fingers round to her shaven sex and dipped one digit between her open cunt lips. I felt her welcome me and heard her sigh. 

"I trust it, but show me as I will not see you after this for some time. Fuck my finger."

And she did readers. She ignored the fact that Imogen was standing there waiting for us. She got up onto tiptoes then dropped down onto my finger, then raised, then lowered, her breath getting shorter and noisier as I rotated it inside her. The scream came after only a very short time as her head was flung back and obscenities left her mouth. Imogen had clearly got her up to fever pitch. I held her as her legs gave way and she impaled herself again, now onto two fuck fingers. 

Then I pulled away from her, giving those sodden digits to my lawyer to lick and clean. 

"Right, let's go and meet your daughter. You still have some jobs to do in order to meet our agreement before you go.

Chapter three - Daughter 

"Zeta?" Nirvana called out when we got to her house. 

She had been quiet on the way home. I'd driven her home in my new Aston that I'd hidden behind Imogen's office. Her bare arse was pressed against the soft red leather seat and her hand never left me left thigh, squeezing it occasionally with affection. I kept my hands on the handstitched steering wheel, feeling like Daniel Craig must have felt as Bond. Powerful. All I could do was smile.

There was no answer from the Bitch, but I could hear something upstairs. I couldn't pinpoint what it was but something in my subconscious was registering. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately I don't know, I did not connect with it.

Nirvana and I shrugged our shoulders, knowing how often the Bitch would ignore our calls. So, we decided to go to her, climbing the stairs hand in hand like star-crossed lovers. However, as we did so, so that sound was getting louder and now my brain was registering what it was; however muffled. I decided to say nothing. This was an opportunity not to be missed.

Nirvana knocked on Zeta's door, then flung open the door, not waiting for the "hold on a minute" that was uttered from inside simultaneously but not from her Bitch's mouth. Great! I was vindicated.

My fiancé stood there in shocked silence. There on the bed in the middle of that tip of a room was her daughter, her legs wide apart and a big black vibrator shoved deep in her jet-black hairy cunny. But that was nothing. Astride her face were her best friend Anissa's thighs, squeezed tight around Zeta's ears and with a tongue deep in her pussy; clearly leaving her on the point of an orgasm that she was not going to relinquish even if it did mean doing it in front of us. 

"Oh-o-o-my-God...I'm cumming," she screamed as she pushed the dildo deeper into Zeta and we watched as the Bitch's body shook in a simultaneous explosion of pleasure. 

So the Bitch was a dyke! Or at least might be. I wanted to laugh but realised this situation gave me a good deal of power. The negotiation about going to Madam Honfleur in the West Country would hopefully now be an easy one. 

Nirvana was still speechless. Anissa slid off Zeta, whose face was shining with the wet pussy cream of her friend but seemed to be trying to deal with the whole thing calmly even if she was still shaking with the power of her cumming. Zeta was moaning and groaning, still unaware of who was standing in the room. Her body was soaked in sweat and her thighs and the toy were soaked with her juice. Yes, she was a squirter by the looks of it. 

"Oh, fuck me honey you really made me cum that time!" she said in her Estuary English drawl. Such a contrast from her mother who spoke so well, but then Madam Honfleur would sort her out. 

"Honey, we have visitors," said Anissa, trying still to be cool about it all.

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

She lifted her head, the cum from Anissa still dribbling from her mouth and chin. It was a full minute or more before the reality struck her. 

"Holy fuck! Mom, what are you ...oh shit, oh fuck, oh....Get out of my room you horrible man!" she then shouted at me once the shock had truly set in, as if I was to blame for her shagging a friend and getting caught. I laughed, knowing she was completely at our mercy. It was amusing to see her sitting up now, big tits bouncing as she knelt up on the bed trying to dismiss me. What a complete fool she was. She didn't even cover herself up.

Nirvana held my hand tightly. She was not letting me go. No, all agreements she had made with me were going to be honoured to the letter and here was the first chance.

"Anissa, so nice to see you. You are very beautiful, naked. However, I would like you to leave now as I have to talk to my daughter whom you won't be seeing for a few weeks," Nirvana said, her voice incredibly measured in tone. She was positively pleasant to the exiled Iranian. Yes, that was it, another lever! Nirvana had spotted it too. 

We watched as the olive-skinned young woman dressed herself. I liked her shaven pussy, which was obviously wet and slowly being encased in a cotton skirt that had a strong peasant feel to it. The material glided up Anissa's legs and over hard buttocks that clearly had seen many cycle rides. Her knickers were stuffed into her handbag along with her bra. Her ample breasts were bound in the tightest tee shirt; nipples hard against the soft yellow fabric that set off that beautiful skin. She slipped on her sandals and walked nonchalantly past us. She had style, no doubt about it. 

"Mummy," Zeta began to cry, "She made me do it, honestly..."

The front door closed. Nirvana stopped her daughter in mid-flow with a gesture and a tirade.

"Be quiet you stupid girl. Don't make me believe in any way a woman with such a slight frame or who is usually so polite and mild mannered could overpower you. For months you have been rude to Paul and tried to get me to give him up, and for what? So you could have lesbian shags? Nothing about considering my happiness. You have complained frequently about not having any money yet you have clearly been buying luxuries like that fuck toy. You are a spoilt bitch and now I am going to do something about it and given that last incident you have no choice."

The Bitch's expression was priceless. The crying had stopped in a gigosecond. She knew she was rumbled, but how would she manage the next pronouncement?

"I want you to pack a small bag with your toothbrush, toothpaste and one clean pair of knickers. You can wipe that woman's juice off your face and get dressed in your most simple dress. Put on that black one you have that is sleeveless. You can go without a bra and panties now or you will spoil the line. The ones you have don't go with it. I was going to take you shopping to get new lingerie, but being without it may remind you how awful you have been. You can whistle Dixie if you think I'm buying some now."

"Why have I got to pack a bag? I'm not going anywhere. This pig here," pointing a finger at me, "Is not getting me out of my own house. I know that is all he wants to do the bastard."

She stopped or should I say was stopped. Nirvana had slapped her hard across the face. Even I was shocked and restrained her from hitting again. This was supposed to be her darling little girl. Now the Bitch was crying! 

"Shut up. I am marrying Paul in about two month's time," she said, talking over the loud whimpering noises her daughter was making as she held the reddened side of her face. "But, in the meantime, you are going to a finishing school in the West Country and I am going off to America to prepare for my wifely duties. Now get dressed as I have ordered."

This was amazing. It was so commanding, but I knew it would not be this easy.

"No, I'm not going."

Knew it.

"Yes you are, otherwise I will ring Anissa's lovely Iranian parents and tell them what their apparently deeply religious daughter has been up to this afternoon," Nirvana retorted with an icy menace in her voice. She walked towards the phone at the side of the bed; the one her bitch daughter used to hog nightly to speak to friends for hours on end. "Should I do it?"

Yes, the Coup de Gras. 

"N-n-no mother. OK, I'll pack but I don't want to go."

"Who said you did? But I want you in a safe finishing school not, not..." she struggled with the words and then they came like a volcano, "Not fucking some other slut in my house!"

"But we were only experimenting. She's not lesbian...I-I-I'm not lesbian...it's just some innocent fun."

"Oh that's ok then, so I can explain that to Mr and Mrs El Bourgrini?"

"NO, no..." she was starting to sound desperate. 

"OK, get packing. We will stand and supervise."

"But I'm naked!" she exclaimed, as if suddenly aware there was a fully clothed man in the room and she was completely nude. 

"Then hurry and put some fucking clothes on! We're going in one hour."

I'd never heard her speak like this to Zeta before. I understood though why now. Her bitch of a daughter suddenly sprang into action, dashing into the bathroom, opening and closing cupboards and very soon she was ready. Shame really as I'd enjoyed watching her titties bounce and her bushy cunt hair being fluffed with a brush by Nirvana. The black dress was a stunner, her tits struggling hard against the soft silk and bulging upwards and out as they found escape routes in the low décolletage. They had a jiggle as she walked. 




Winning Ways



"Oh, there was one last thing that I forgot came as an instruction from Madam Honfleur last night," I lied. "Given the girls are to learn how to be ladies at dinner and the ball, although most clothing is provided on site, it is advisable for all pupils to bring a very high heeled shoe."

I'd seen the Bitch's suicide heel. It was a full nine inches that made her stand tall, her hips thrust forward. That would make it harder for her to do a runner, I mused to myself. 

"Oh," said Nirvana, looking at me for some sign that I was joking, "Is that so?"

"Yes, she will need them in preference to flat ones which can easily be bought there. In fact, I will send Madam Honfleur any money she requires to help Zeta. Our priority is to get her on her way there by sleeper train tonight. Got her ticket?"

"Yes, I have. Zeta, get those red leather suicide heels you bought for the Rocky Horror Show."

"Oh mum," came the whinging reply, a plea to be excused the tortuous walking in those dramatic heels. 

"You will do as we tell you or..." she moved towards the phone again. Zeta was there in a flash, holding her hand. 

"No, it's OK, I'll wear them they are under the bed in a box."

"I'm surprised you can find them," I interjected caustically, looking around at the bombsite that needed a skip to empty. 

Nirvana dug me in the ribs. She was right. Zeta was just as likely to refuse to go and let her emotions override her loyalty to Anissa. 

"Sorry, cheap jibe. I was like this at your age," I lied. "Now can we go?"

__________________________

Zeta tottered to the car, her heels making her walk so tall and with the tiniest of steps and with her mother by her side holding her arm. I was behind, taking in the tight arses and swinging hips of them both. I could not help noticing too that no matter if Zeta's tits were held in by the dress the swell at the sides was in rhythm too and with the cut out sleeves, the bare curves struggled to stay where they were. Had Nirvana deliberately chosen this to humiliate her daughter a little? I was beginning to wonder.

Something else I noticed. Nirvana had taken all her daughter's usual array of jewellery off her, except the nipple rings that she had had done in town without her mother's permission. She was sending her as bare as she could. Was this punishment too? All I could think was 'thank God' it was hot that day and what a delight she would be for others to look at when on that long train journey to the West Country. A full twelve hours, getting her there next day on the sleeper. But that would only be the beginning of her adventures.

Besides, just to get her in the mood, I had ordered Imogen to accompany her. I had booked a whole private sleeper carriage that she would be sharing with my lawyer and whom I was sending to Madam Honfleur for a 'top up in manners' as I had called it. It was costing me dearly in credited days of debauchery, but by the time that happened I expected Nirvana to be joining us. It's a hard life being such a dominant bastard. 

_____________________

"Well, bye darling. See you in a few weeks. Remember, the more you learn and the quicker you adjust the sooner you will be home."

"I hate you. I hate you both," she cried, genuine tears down her face.

"Now darling, you don't mean that," Nirvana said, hugging her resistant daughter. "It's all for your own good, besides you have a companion for the journey I understand who will share this sleeper cabin with you, and she is going to the school too. Where is she Paul?"

"Oh, I don't know, the lawyer said she was picking her up and would drop her off here just in time for the train," I lied, keeping up the pretence, having not told Nirvana that the companion was my lawyer! My head was full of the images of what Imogen would do with Zeta. "Anyhow, we better get off the train. They've announced that those not travelling have to leave."

"Bye darling," Nirvana said, hugging her daughter again, who was standing close and still crying. Nirvana backed out of the carriage, heading for the door. I signalled I would be along soon, but wanted a word first with her daughter.

Now it was my turn with the Bitch.

"Bye Zeta darling. Be good at the school," I said loudly, getting close to her in the enclosed space and out of sight of her mother before slipping my hand round to her firm arse and squeezing it painfully hard, making her gasp as I whispered, "Madam Honfleur will give you a sense of duty and of pleasure in equal measure. There are a number of things to remember. First, that for each day you stay, you receive that £1000 to the account. But also remember that hurt to your arse, because if you disobey, Madame Honfleur will ensure that that pain you have just experienced will be ten-fold, understand?"

I smiled evilly as I left; passing Imogen who had dressed as instructed in a similar little black number and high heels; following instructions passed by text. 

"Hello," I heard her say to the shell-shocked Zeta, "I'm Isabella and I understand we are both going to Madam Honfleur's school. What fun we can have together on our journey. Oh, and look what similar tastes in clothes we have..."

The door closed to the compartment. I heard the click of the lock. I wondered what Imogen would cook up for them en route. I knew she would keep a diary for me, take pictures whenever possible and create a DVD. I looked forward to her accounts. My cock hardened as my mind imagined the scene...

_____________________________

The train pulled out. Nirvana was slightly subdued by the fact that her daughter had pulled the blind down on her carriage and was clearly not going to wave us 'goodbye'. So, I played the concerned lover, putting my arm around her and squeezed her tightly with reassuring hugs.

"She'll be fine. Madam Honfleur is the best."

"Are you sure?" she cried into my shoulder.

"Oh yes, she is a disciplinarian but very kind too. If Zeta works hard at her studies she will even let her return early. I do know she will do her best to whip her into shape."

How true that would be. I hid the smile, imagining the methods that Madam would use. The same techniques used on me as a boy and on my ex-wife in her twenties. For me it was Madam H senior, for Karen it was the current Madam, the daughter who was the tougher disciplinarian. 

_________________________

"My God! What are those on your bottom?" Zeta exclaimed as in the cramped space of the carriage Isabella (Imogen) stripped her dress off and bent facing her arse to her companion.

"Oh, those? Oh, just the marks of my Master. Before I left for Madam Honfleur's he honoured me with both the kiss of the cane and the lash of a whip. I had been disobedient and obedient in equal measure. The cane was punishment, the whip sublime pleasure. Have you never experienced them?"

"You mean you enjoy the kiss, er the whipping?" Zeta asked, her curiosity aroused despite the accompanying fear and mild horror of it all. 

Imogen smiled to herself. Ah, the inevitable curiosity of youth. She was going to be a blank canvas, ready to corrupt in the most exquisite ways. 

"Oh, I love it and the spankings. He is such a master of the hand and the cane. Surely you have felt the pleasure of a spanking and whipping? Here, feel my arse and the heat that still radiates from the punishment."

She had grabbed Zeta's hand, not giving her time to resist and placed it on her painful stripes. She concentrated on not wincing as Zeta explored, at first reluctantly but then with obvious gusto as curiosity took over. Her hands caressed and traced the stripes that my friend Eleanor had left on Imogen at my behest. I had not been able to be there for the session, but knew that such a display would add to Imogen's success as seducer. Besides, I needed to give my lawyer some rewards for her work.

"Maybe you would like me to show you how pain can become pleasure?" she asked tentatively, testing her young recruit to BDSM play.

Zeta moved her hand away as if burned. Too soon. Damn.

"That's ok, maybe later at the school you'll discover its pleasures," she said calmly, turning slowly to allow Zeta to take in her beautiful curves and the jewels on her tits and cunt. She looked up and away to ensure Zeta could scan her body and opened her legs wider, pretending the movement of the train had imbalanced her, to ensure the views were unhindered.

There was silence in the compartment, only the clickety clack as the train's wheels crossed the points to get onto the main line. 

"Wow!" Zeta exclaimed, the teenager's inability to be discrete overcoming her.

"Wow?"

"Yes, what amazing jewellery you have. All I have are gold rings through my teats."

"Have you? I have always wanted some of those but my Master makes me wear all this diamond stuff when I just want plain titty jewellery," she lied, as if the thousands of pounds she'd spent on herself were nothing. Worse, that she disliked it. She asked quietly, "Can I look?"

Zeta hesitated. She was close to pulling her dress over her head, and then had second thoughts. She hardly knew this woman and was sharing intimate secrets.

"Oh, please," pleaded Imogen, pretending to be a little schoolgirlish. "No one can come in. It's only girls together. I want to see..."

"Oh, OK," said Zeta, capitulating indecently quickly thought Imogen. And in a trice the dress was over her head and dropped on the floor in the usual style of the messy bitch she was at home. 

Imogen approached, reaching out her hands and seizing a nipple ring in her fingers. She tugged on it, not saying a word; knowing the exact amount of pressure to exert to send erotic signals to Zeta's belly and cunt. She saw the flick of the young woman's tongue. She pulled a little harder, testing the boundary and heard the low moan. 

"These are beautiful," she said, ignoring the pleasure signs. "You have such wonderful breasts too, such a light coffee colour like the rest of your gorgeous body. And your teats are huge. I bet a mouth sucking them feels wonderful given how hard they get?" She asked in a way that offered a statement as well as a question. "How do you keep them so well? Do you rub oil into them or use spunk?" Well, she thought, if she was to test then do it directly now. The girl was panting. She knew she had been fucking another woman earlier that day, so why not with her persona of Isabella?

Zeta was standing dumbstruck, but her chest was heaving. Imogen had both nipples held in her hands. She was tugging at them now, gently teasing and pulling, testing the pain threshold and enticing her travel companion closer and closer to her. Their breasts were nearly touching, bar the barrier of her hands. 

The train lurched on the track; just where Imogen knew it would happen as the final set of points linked to the main line. Her Master had taught her well. Timing was everything in this game of corruption. The two women pressed naked into each other. Imogen had pulled her hands away quickly, letting her bejewelled tits press hard against the engorged teats of her younger companion. She held her close, 'accidentally' rubbing the crossed bars up against Zeta. The inevitable happened. The pieces of jewellery locked together, just as predicted. Imogen laughed.

"Oh, we are bound as one!" she giggled, looking straight into the wonderful deep brown eyes of the young woman. "I'm sorry. I guess my curiosity got the better of me, but you are so beautiful," she continued, using a deeper, lustier tone to her voice, without releasing the girl from her grasp. No, in fact she slid her hand lower on Zeta's back, to the curve at the top of her buttocks and let her fingers grasp a little of the arse which pulled their pussies together too as they tottered and teetered on their heels. "Here, let me uncouple us," she offered, slipping her hands back round and over the marvellous curves of the young woman. They giggled, but not awkwardly, as lust was overtaking any embarrassment for the younger woman and Imogen started to take command. 

She pinched Zeta's right teat knowing there would be a little pain, but coinciding this movement with pressure of their pussies together; her smooth mound brushing against the copious bush of her young charge. She knew her Master would be pleased and yes, readers, when I read her diaries and listened to her detailed recordings later, I was. There was a gasp that blended hurt with pleasure; a confusing confluence of cunt and torment, made more obvious by Imogen sliding her thigh between willingly opening legs. A gasp became a sigh, a sigh became a moan as she twisted the nipple harder on the pretext of releasing it but timed to coincide with her thigh lightly rubbing and masturbating her young woman's sex.

"Isabella," came the breathy utterance from Zeta's lips, "Oh please, you're hurting me. Please..."

She pinched and pulled more, bringing her hand up Zeta's waist and over the curve of the firm and ample breasts, to lock onto the other nipple. It was hard, achingly so, she knew. Her own was pressing so urgently against it. She grabbed it as her thigh moved increasingly harder and rhythmically between the girl's legs, the cunt juice slicking her skin. She gave both teats a hard pinch and pulled Zeta towards her, feeling this young corruptible woman slide her hands around her and grasp her tortured arse cheeks. Imogen moaned with the pain and pleasure, remembering the earlier delights in her apartment, but never let up exchanging pain with pleasure, and pleasure alternating with pain. Her mouth locked onto the girl's, and she forced her tongue in, recognising the experienced reaction of Zeta and smelling on her the cunt juice from Anissa.

Her Master had made her aware of the events of the day, including the observation that Zeta being the slut she was had dressed but not washed. She liked the taste of this other woman and made a note to pursue her on her return in the next few days. But now her attention was on corrupting this one. To have eighteen-year-old flesh was such a treat; she stepped up the sexual teasing and play. 

Tongues now fought tongues, Zeta was masturbating hard against Imogen's leg and moaning loudly into her mouth; her pain matched by her delight. She was close to orgasm as the train, now on the main line, rocked to its own rhythm underneath them. Then, as they gathered speed on the track, so Imogen rubbed her whole body hard against her lover until her protégé screamed with orgasm into her mouth and she twisted her nipples viciously at that point of no return leaving the young woman helplessly in her clutches. And the death grip of Zeta on Imogen's buttocks was enough to tip the more experienced woman over the edge, screaming with an instant orgasm back into the other's mouth as the pain reminded her cunt of so much pleasure.

They collapsed onto the floor, hugging each other tightly, staying locked together for what seemed like hours but was probably a few minutes as the pulses of pleasure spread and then subsided, like ripples on a pond. Eventually, Imogen unlocked their nipple jewellery, sliding out the horizontal bars and replacing them from her little case with large gold rings bejewelled with diamonds. 

"Oh Isabella, I never realised that pain could bring so much pleasure."

Imogen was feeling exhausted, almost forgetting that she was using that cover name. She smiled at the young girl, finding it hard to believe her Master's assertion that the woman was an ill-mannered, etiquette free zone. Well, tonight and tomorrow morning she would start teaching her, beginning with BDSM etiquette. 

"Tell me Zeta, what do you prefer?"

"How do you mean?" she asked, sitting up against the door jam of the compartment's integral bathroom. 

"Do you prefer to be controlling or controlled?"

"I think I prefer being controlled. When you were er-abusing my titties, I felt your control and loved it. It was er- exciting. I wanted you to do to me what your Master had done to you. I wanted..."

"So you are submissive," she interrupted; pleased to discover this so quickly in a woman whom her master thought was so resistant. "Then why did you grasp my arse and hurt me?"

"I-I'm sorry, it was an accident... well I didn't mean to hurt you...I thought you liked it."

"That's more honest. You did want to hurt me," Imogen said simply, smiling at her lover while taking time to explore with her eyes the naked body presented so openly to her. She watched, as Zeta made no move to cover herself or close her open legs. There was a passiveness about her. 

"I'm not sure. I just did it, instinctively, but hoped it would make you hurt me more. I liked the pain mixing with intense pleasure that shot everywhere through my body. Do you know what I mean?"

"Yes, I do, but are you ready for what real pain, real submission can mean? Do you really know what it means?"

"No, I don't."

"You are growing up you know," she said, dangerously close to giving away her pre-existing knowledge of Zeta. "Your honesty is important to your growth. I want to give you some advice because I really like you. When you get to Madam Honfleur, then you will experience a level of discipline you have never had in your life before. If you wish to gain from it, then accept it totally. At the end of your time there, you can choose to continue or walk away from the lifestyle."

Imogen extended her long red heel between the girl's thighs, gently sliding the stiletto against Zeta's long hairy crease. The action was blatant, deliberate. As she did it, so she reflected on what her Master had told her. Yes readers, she had been well briefed by me about this bitch and you can guess it, she was having doubts about my analysis. We would see. However at least she was seeing one thing. The woman was a slut, who was creeping forward onto that high spur, willing Imogen to penetrate her cunt with the dirty heel, which my lawyer willingly did; covering it in the younger one's juices. Then her mind did a switch as she took the role of the dominant one.

"Zeta, get onto all fours with your arse facing me. Do it now!"

The order was sharp, insistent and demanded obedience. She watched for any sign of resistance. None came. Zeta presented her tight puckered arsehole, opening her thighs as instructed by Imogen. She waited, her titties swinging to the rhythmic roll of the train, her hairy pussy dripping wet. She had no idea what Imogen was going to do, but stayed patiently in her subservient position, just as she had been under the cunt of Anissa all morning. The woman she knew as Isabella slid the heel deep in her open cunt, pressing her sole against the opened arsehole. She was fucking her with the shoe, gently but insistently. She let Zeta get used to the rhythm, letting her take pleasure. Then she changed the game.

Zeta had not expected it, but the sharp sting hit her right arse cheek. Imogen had whipped her buttock with her dress's belt. The metal buckle drew an instant mark on her skin, followed quickly by more as the heel continued to fuck her cunt. More pleasure, more pain, and a sense of vulnerability that scared and yet excited her. Imogen was so accurate, missing her own leg that stretched between Zeta's arse cheeks as the foot continued to fuck. More followed, the strike timed to match the slide of the heel into her cunt hole. She could feel not only the stinging heat of her arse cheeks but the growing fire of another orgasm that this time seemed to build with a shifting intensity. She was just not prepared for the shocking subjugation that was to follow.

"Masturbate for me."

Imogen surprised Zeta with the order. For all the other things she had done with this virtual stranger, could she really do this? Her hand slipped to each side of the heel, feeling the hard surrogate cock's leather wet against her fingers. It shocked her how exciting she found this normally inanimate and innocuous object. Yes, heels were sexy, making her legs longer and her pelvis thrusting forward invitingly, but now she understood something of foot fetishism. However, as she tentatively then more strongly began to rub her own cunt and teased at her clitoris, she was unprepared for the next assault on her thoughts of what was pleasurable.




Winning Ways



Imogen had suddenly withdrawn the heel, pressing the sole against her hairy anus, then sliding her foot higher and higher on her arse and onto her back. But she was completely surprised when a cold metal touched her closed pink rosebud. She winced, feeling the metal, but then found herself obeying Imogen's orders to sit back on the heel, letting the thin stiletto sink bit by bit into her anus. There was a discomfort but also a pleasant sensation that spread out from her sphincter. She began to want more of the surrogate dick in her arse, anally fucking her as she masturbated and pressed harder against the shoe as she relaxed and opened to this new experience. Her pleasure grew as her fingers found and teased her clitoris to its thickest and most engorged state. She'd always liked her slightly larger than average little 'button of delight' as Anissa had called it. 

"Oh yes, Isabella, you are wonderful. You know so much. Oh, please...fuck my arse...fuck me..fuck me..."

There was little for Imogen to do. Zeta was rocking back and fore against the heel, sliding more and more down the rectum. And as she did, Imogen was wanking her own cunt, her fingers deep inside, taking her own gratification. 

"Cum for me," she ordered Zeta. 

"I can't just do it to order," she panted in reply.

"Yes you can," Imogen retorted. "Do it now," she snapped, beating the young woman's arse brutally.

The screams were masked by the noise of the train as it entered a tunnel, but Zeta was astonished that she was suddenly cumming with spasms following one on top of the other. Even more so given Imogen was not ceasing to whip her, creating thick painful weals on Zeta's arse and thighs as she masturbated herself close to her own peak of ecstasy. 

Close, but not fully there.

"Come here slut and lick my pussy."

The young bitch was now in her power. Obediently she turned round, struggling with the weakness in her legs, but dropped her mouth to her older lover's cunt lips. The jewels seemed to act like lights, dancing in front of her. She started tentatively, just as she had with Anissa that day, but now she knew she felt more for this woman. She could feel the sting of her buttocks but it did not deter from pressing her mouth hard on the woman's cunt. Her tongue went in deep, its pointy tip lapping and probing. Imogen was pushing harder and harder against her face, smothering her and not caring. She felt subjugated and yet so happy to be in this state. It was both humiliating and pleasurable; even when her older companion began to lean across her back and spank her already tortured arse. Then, as she felt her face awash with her lover's juice, she knew her new companion was going to cum. Imogen's body seemed to shake, first gently then uncontrollably and her crotch ground into Zeta's face.

"Ahhhhhhh! Yes!!!" Was all that was heard before Imogen fell asleep, exhausted. 

"Isabella, Isabella?"

Imogen awoke to her new young lover gently shaking her. How long had she been asleep? She stretched her naked body, which had lain on the floor for God knows how many hours. Her companion had carefully wrapped a blanket from the bunk above around her and placed a pillow under her head. For a bitch the girl had been very caring.

"What time is it?" she asked.

"It's nearly 07.00hrs. The stewardess will be bringing breakfast in about 15 minutes. Would you like to shower? I have taken the liberty of removing your shoes and cleaning them." She lowered her head, aware of the implication that her own shit may have been on one of the heels. There was a certain embarrassment but then a perverse joy in having been subjugated so much that she had accepted being fucked in the arse, even if it was by a shoe.

Imogen was aware too, regretting having fallen asleep. Her directive had been clear; she was to place the Bitch in a position of subjugation. What delight her master would have taken from knowing she had been made to lick the heel that had been inside her arsehole. [Yes, readers, when I read her accounts later I was disappointed, but I understood she had had a tiring day. I only caned her a dozen times for her disobedience]

"Put that card outside the door, instructing the stewardess to leave the food outside."

"Ok," replied Zeta, reaching for a blanket to wrap herself in.

"No, you must stay naked," Imogen commanded in a sharp voice.

Her protégé dropped the blanket to the floor and walked to the door, opening it tentatively, just as a stewardess was passing. Her naked breasts, complete with nipple rings, would be on show if she opened it further. 'Ok, in for a penny...' she thought to herself and continued to open the door, being deliberate about placing the note. She noticed the stewardess staring at her, so decided to act.

"Er, stewardess, I don't know your name?"

"I'm Irena," said the Polish-sounding woman who was somewhere in her mid-twenties.

"Irena, we want to take some showers. Can you delay breakfast for 30 minutes please?"

"Yes, certainly madam," replied the woman, her eyes roaming not only Zeta's breasts but the full naked body still clad in those suicide heels. There was a soft sigh from her lips. Was Zeta mistaken? Instead of being ashamed she felt exhilarated. Another woman found her attractive. Then she realised the woman was still speaking. "Is 30 minutes enough? I can arrange for it to be in an hour if that would help?" she asked, winking as she said the last few words.

What was happening here?

"Yes, that would be much better, thank you."

She closed the door, still thinking about that woman. She was older than she was, tall and very slim. Her breasts were not very large, but her hips were childbearing. She imagined her naked, bent across a table and her buttocks striped by a cane. A hand was rubbing between her legs as more stripes were laid across the prone body. She was there to be used and abused, no more. And that was what she realised she had allowed herself to be; used and abused. Her hand went subconsciously to her cunt lips, parting the outer to touch her clit.

"So sexy, is it fixed up?"

She took her hand away from her cunt like it was on fire. Imogen's question brought her back to reality and she felt embarrassed; inexplicably given everything that had happened between them. 

"Come and shower me," ordered Imogen, "And give me a good morning fingering."

Soon they were in the cramped shower compartment together, once the young woman was out of her shoes. Zeta accepted that she was pushed onto the cold back wall, allowing her lover more comfort. Their breasts were pressed against each other and with soap and a little imagination they brought each other off to some quick but satisfying orgasms. The relationship seemed a little more equal that morning. 

Once their pleasure subsided, and they regained their strength, they chatted loudly. Imogen quizzed Zeta about her parents and her partners. It was clear that Anissa was actually her first real lover and even that had been a purely physical thing. Paul had been wrong that she fucked everything in sight behind her mother's back. In fact, she was turning out to be not at all worldly wise. She knew how to swear but so did every 18-year-old. However, about fucking she was naïve. A virgin as far as cock was concerned. It was going to be so good taking that away from her. 

"Tell me, does your mother have anyone in her life?"

"Yes, she has Paul. Paul Stebbings is his name. He has sent me to Madam Honfleur as part of some deal with my mother before they marry."

"Is he a nice man?" 

"I thought he was a prick until today. He could have really been a nasty bastard when he found me with my er...my...friend...Anissa. He did puzzle me by giving my arse a hard squeeze and telling me something about Madam Honfleur just before he left the train. I missed what he said as my arse was on fire, but not with the hurt I have to admit. I got a funny feeling down there. When I look back on things he has tried to help me, but I was jealous of mummy. She had always been close to me and then he came along...stupid really."

"Yes, but we are all stupid when we are jealous, aren't we? What is he like though...you know," Imogen was pressing, as ordered, to know what she thought of him physically as well as mentally. She made gestures to indicate this as she kept up her informal chatter.

"Well, I did sneak in one night and see mummy fucking him in the lounge. They did not know I was there as they fucked in front of the fireplace. I was so jealous of all the love he was giving her..."

"I can understand, but I'm sure he has no desire to reject you or take over. But tell me...what was his cock like...and what did your mother look like?"

"Oh, he is huge ...I have not seen many cocks except in magazines but his is like a fist. It may have been the play of the lights but..." Imogen was nodding, possibly a little too enthusiastically, as she knew its large girth and length, craving it at that very moment. " I saw my mother's face at the instant he impaled her on him. It was one of sheer ecstasy if not a little pain. I understand her now, though would be fearful of one so big. His big shaven balls I could imagine taking into my mouth, just like in those porn movies, but that cock..."

"It seems you observed your future father well! Ah yes, but by the time you leave Madam Honfleur's you will know the correct etiquette for dealing with such a monster."

"At Madam Honfleur's?"

Imogen realised she may have said too much. She looked away and added, "Yes, the women talk and give each other advice." She smiled, knowing that when Zeta met the man they called 'the Horse' she would know real fear of a man and discover what it meant to please someone of such girth and length.

There was a knock on the door. "Breakfast ladies".

"Ah good, I am famished." Imogen opened the door, despite the fact they were both naked. Zeta giggled, forgoing any attempt to cover herself up. They both enjoyed noting how the stewardess studiously tried to avoid looking at their nudity, but was sneaking peeks at every opportunity. She was particularly taken by Imogen's jewellery collection. 

"Oh I am sorry miss, I've left my stuff all over. Here let me help," offered Imogen, deliberately taking her time over moving their dresses and shoes that had been placed on the table on papers for the night. She brushed her full naked breasts against the woman and then as she turned again having put down the tray made sure she was in her path. As she got out of her way so in the narrow compartment she bumped into Zeta who was joining in the game. They saw how her white skin was flushed and her hand did that subtle 'checking' gesture that women make when anxious or unsure. Her hand stroked the back of her long, graceful neck and her ample bosom was heaving like an actress in a melodrama. Imogen took her hand, holding it longer than necessary, and planted a £20 note in it. Her thumb, unseen to Zeta stroked the back of the woman's hand and she whispered, "Come back when you have served the others if you like."

"She is curious now isn't she?" asked Zeta.

"Wow, you are quick and gaining a 'gaydar' as they call it you little minx!"

"I just...er...sensed it. Maybe it was the way she reacted before when I put out the note completely nude. I saw she had a wedding ring, but her eyes said there was something..."

Imogen took a step forward and kissed Zeta full on the lips. Her hand slid down her body, clasping her young cunt roughly. She slipped a finger inside without a by-your-leave then raised it and shared the wet cunt juice, smearing it on their faces as they kissed. Just as quickly as she had made the assault she broke away. 

"Now, when she comes in," she said breathlessly, "We will both give her a greeting kiss with the smell of your cunt on both our faces. Then we shall see if she can resist her curiosity."

It was only ten minutes later when their ample-breasted stewardess knocked, but readers that is a story for another time. My faithful slut had a mission to get Zeta to Madam Honfleur's. 

_____________________________________________________________

Chapter Four -- Madam Honfleur's Finishing School for Boys and Girls

They arrived at the station exactly on time. Imogen was a little disappointed because she knew Madam Honfleur would start her discipline at the slightest excuse and a late running train was a classic beginning for a visit to Madam. However, as a novice to the place, Zeta would soon get a measure of what the finishing school specialised in. An evil smile crossed her lips, followed by a sickly sweet one as Zeta climbed down from the train and held her hand.

They waved to Irena, their stewardess, who was standing brushing back her dishevelled hair. Her soaking wet panties were in her pocket and her tits hung that little bit lower as her bra was located in her other one. She would not forget that journey in a hurry and had arranged out of earshot of Zeta to meet Imogen on the return train in three days time, but as a passenger and guest of the lawyer. Some quick arrangements on the Blackberry© had seen to that. 

Imogen turned round again to face the huge frame of Marcel, Madam Honfleur's son. His shoulders were broad and his chest was obviously incredibly muscled. One look to his crotch suggested a manhood that could split a virgin. Everything about him was colossal, including a wide mouth that gave such a pleasant greeting to them both.

"Welcome, Ms Zeta and Ms..er..."

"Isabella..." Zeta said, speaking for her new friend while her eyes stayed transfixed on the tight apex of this hunk of a man. She estimated that even sleeping his cock was enormous. All her brain could think about was 'how big must it be when erect?' It made her shiver with excitement and fear, and left her with a lot of wetness between her naked thighs. 

"Follow me," he said, escorting them to a limousine in black with equally blackened windows. For Imogen it sent a shiver of anticipation down her spine. For Zeta, the fear returned as they opened the door and stepped inside.

"Greetings darlings," came the slightly accented voice from the far end of the long American car.

It took a while to adjust to the dim light, but then Zeta made out the figure of a woman in about her early 50's with a body so slim and graceful looking judging by the way she sat. 

"Hello Madam Honfleur," Imogen replied, "So good to see you again. I presume you would like us to take the position that all good ladies of Honfleur adopt?"

"Of course"

Zeta watched astonished as her friend slipped to the floor on bended knees, sat back on her bright red heels and crossing her arms over her body pulled her little black dress up over her head. She then carefully folded it and placed it at her side, sitting back on her heels again, naked and with her head bowed as if in homage.

"Now you," she whispered to her companion.

"Me?" the young one replied indignantly in a sharp whisper, " I don't know the woman. It's not like Irena and ..."

"Is there a problem my darlings?"

"No Madam, no...just Zeta is not..."

She gestured to Zeta, almost pleading, willing her to join her. If she didn't she knew what would happen next.

"Horse, take charge."

'Too late', thought Imogen, at one instant regretting this and at another relishing what would happen next. Ah, some discipline.

Madam Honfleur's son, who to this point had sat silently at Zeta's side smiled at her, then in a flash reached out at the front of her dress. His hands scooped inside the delicate silk, his knuckles skimming over her sensitive nipples, grasped the material firmly in his hands and ripped the dress from top to hem like it was paper. In seconds Zeta was naked bar her red shoes.

"Kneel, slut," he ordered the speechless bitch to do.

Zeta silently but quickly slid onto the plush carpet, assuming the same position as Imogen; hands behind her back, sitting on her heels, and head bowed. She felt suddenly so vulnerable, so exposed. Yet there was pleasure in this position of humiliation and obedience, even if her rebellious brain chose to resist. She blushed profusely, the heat of embarrassment spreading and because she was naked, reached over her entire body. 

"Now that is better, isn't it?" Madam asked, in that soft, almost caring voice yet with a hint of something else. It was the way she asked the last part; with menace cutting through the reassurance. Zeta shivered involuntarily.

"Cold dear? Or afraid?" she asked, and then laughed. "You have been sent here to learn some manners and the ways of a young woman. Our methods are, er, unorthodox, but from what I have learned already about you, I think you will do just fine here. However, when we get to the house, you will have some preliminaries to attend to."

The car started up. She could not see the driver, fearing for some reason to look up but stayed rooted to the spot, only adjusting the width of her knees to ensure she did not fall over. Her body would not stop shivering, but was it fear or anticipation? Did she crave humiliation or did she want to avoid this? Her mind was racing, remembering the debauched night before, the fucking on the heel, the corruption of the stewardess and the words of Paul, who must have been telling the truth about the place they were heading to. So, if she was afraid, why was her pussy dripping with excitement?

"Darling, follow what your cunt tells you to do," Madam advised softly, "The wetness of your sweet young pussy never lies."

How could she know? How could she tell being so far down the car?

"I have CCTV installed honey," she said sweetly, answering the unspoken question. Then a bank of screens flipped open on the sides and came down from the ceiling of the stretched car. Her pussy was displayed in perfect, beautiful Technicolor, its copious bush on show for everyone to see. She glanced up at the monitor, then back to her bowed position. What shame, but what beauty! She liked the long lips of her cunt.

"My God, mother," Marcel exclaimed, "She has far too much hair! They hide a sex that has such promise."

"Yes my beauty. That fur will have to come off as soon as we arrive." She spoke as if Zeta was just a prize animal that needed grooming.

Then there was silence as the car slowly wound its way through country lanes for what seemed an eternity as the two naked women sat obediently. This part of Britain Zeta knew only from the news. It was an area of outstanding beauty but nothing happened quickly. Even the way people talked was slow and roads were inadequate for large vehicles. Every summer the news showed the traffic jams in the small towns of the West Country. 

___________________________

"Ah, we are nearly there!" Madam exclaimed, excitedly. Strange for someone who lived there all the time, Zeta thought. Or was the excitement more to do with their current state and what was to happen to them? Her mind was whirring with thoughts, thoughts that had become more distorted and twisted as the silence had become almost endless in the car.

Madam's statement coincided with the rumble of the wheels as they crossed something. First the front tyres, then a silence, then the rumble again at the back. The car was climbing as Zeta sneaked a look out the side windows. They were on some sort of private estate, surrounded by sheep and fields. It must have been a cattle grid. Ironic, she thought, as the last conversation about her was like some farmer appraising their new cow. She was damned if that was going to happen. Submissive or not she was a person, wasn't she?

Within about another minute they stopped. She heard the whirring of what must have been gates. Yes, there was a clatter as the heavy iron doors swung back and they proceeded again. Then, they stopped once more.

"Look up now, child."