Perfect Slave

by Becky Bell

  ‘That’s very sexy. I like watching you do that. I’m beginning to think there’s something in all this after all.’

  She felt his hand touch her buttocks. In this position her sex was pursed between them, turned up towards him and spread open. His fingers slipped into her slit briefly, and she moaned as they nudged against her clit.

  ‘Downstairs, when I whipped that girl, I felt something,’ he pondered aloud. ‘Perhaps I inherited it from my father. Do you think that’s possible?’

  She mumbled around the gag.

  ‘So I’m going to whip you now, Andrea. It doesn’t seem fair, but I’m going to do it because I know that’s what you want. It is what you want, isn’t it?’

  She shook her head, though she wasn’t sure why. She had been whipped many times now, and it always brought pain. But there was also almost indescribable pleasure, too.

  She heard him walk away. A few seconds later she heard a tap running. He had gone to the bathroom, but why?

  He came back into the bedroom. He touched the small of her back. His hand was wet. She sensed him raise his other hand. Drops of water landed on her back. She heard a whistle of air and then a searing line of pain explode right across the rump of her buttocks. The pain was like no other she’d experienced.

  ‘We used to do this at school,’ he chuckled. ‘Wet towel, in case you’re wondering.’

  The sodden weapon landed again. Andrea screamed into the gag. She felt her buttocks quivering.

  The third blow was the strongest of them all, but the pain was beginning to turn to that hot pleasure she craved. This time the sound muffled by the gag was much more of a moan of delight than a whimper of pain. She felt her clitoris pulse and realised her body was undulating as she pushed her belly down against the back of the chair.

  She heard Martin drop the towel aside. He gripped her hips and immediately shunted his cock into the depths of her cunt. She was hot and incredibly wet, his two ejaculations adding to her own viscous juices. As he ploughed into her for the third time she strained against the bonds that held her so tightly, wanting to remind herself that this time she was not free, that she was a slave again and not able to do anything for herself. But if she was a slave again, she knew she was not allowed to come without permission.

  He held himself deep inside her and reached round for her breasts, pinching both nipples. Her body responded by clenching her sex tightly around his shaft.

  He straightened up again and pulled his cock back slowly, before sinking it in again, grinding his hips from side to side as if to screw himself into her, provoking a surge of sensations that made her shudder animatedly... and she simply couldn’t stop herself from coming.

  ‘Yeah... I want to feel you come,’ he growled, and that was all the permission she needed. Instantly her sex seemed to melt around him. Every muscle in her body seemed to soften, her body turning to molten liquid.

  Martin pulled out of her. He was still erect. ‘Well now,’ he said, as he bent to loosen the rope around her wrists. ‘I think it’s time I met one of the other girls...’

  Chapter Nine

  She had to be helped up the narrow steps into the helicopter. It would have been impossible for her to do it by herself. Her high-heels were too high for one thing, and for another her hands were bound to her sides so she couldn’t use her arms for balance.

  Laurie pushed her forward into the cabin, then settled her in one of the seats, doing up her seatbelt for her.

  Andrea was wearing a black suit and a white silk blouse. The skirt of the suit was a rather unusual design. There were two small slits on each side that to a casual glance looked like pockets, but they weren’t. Small metal links attached to leather cuffs that were buckled tightly around Andrea’s wrists, passed through the slits and were secured to leather bands wrapped around Andrea’s thighs. The bondage made it impossible for her to move her hands from her sides. Another clever piece of tailoring allowed the cuffs of the jacket to hide the leather wrist-cuffs, the metal link covered by a vent in the sleeve.

  The helicopter engine began to increase in pitch. The same steward who had served her what seemed a lifetime ago, ducked into the cabin through the internal door. He was holding two pairs of headphones. He fitted one over Andrea’s head, barely giving her a second glance, then handed the other pair to Laurie.

  ‘Can I get you anything else, Ms Angelis?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Off to town?’ he said politely.

  ‘Yes.’

  He disappeared as Laurie fitted the headphones over her ears.

  Andrea hadn’t seen Martin since the night before, or her master. She hoped she was being taken to the latter now.

  The helicopter banked and rose over the house. It headed east, soon tracking alongside a motorway towards London. It reached the city in less than fifteen minutes, and then turned north. After another ten minutes it banked again and began to head for a tall building, its windows made from opaque black glass that reflected the sun.

  As it got closer Andrea saw a circle painted on the flat roof. The helicopter hovered over it for a moment, then landed with a gentle bump. The engine noise dropped to a loud hum. Andrea felt a thrill of anticipation. Darrington International had its headquarters in a large office block in North London.

  Laurie took off her headphones and undid her seatbelt. She leant across and did the same for Andrea. ‘Up.’

  Andrea got to her feet. Laurie descended the steps first, then supported Andrea as she climbed down too. She took her by the arm and led her over to a metal staircase, which led down to a lower platform and into the main building.

  Once inside the noise of the rotor blades dropped to a gentle hum again. ‘That’s better,’ Laurie said.

  They were standing in a small hallway in front of a single door, elaborately carved with an art deco design of wavy lines. Laurie took out a key from her small clutch bag and unlocked it.

  ‘Follow me,’ she said. Beyond was a much larger corridor with two banks of lifts. The floor was polished ash and a huge abstract tapestry dominated the space, its primary colours so bright they seemed to vibrate.

  Opposite the lifts were two double doors, carved with the same designs as on the smaller door. Laurie guided Andrea over to them and opened one, pushing her forward.

  Andrea found herself in a large room. One entire wall was glass from floor to ceiling, and presented a spectacular view over London. She could see the National Westminster Building and the City to the right, St Paul’s and the Houses of Parliament.

  There were eight desks manned by female staff typing on computers. Two walls were lined by black filing cabinets, and in the third was another carved door which Laurie led Andrea to. If anyone of the secretaries noticed anything strange about her, none of them gave the slightest hint. Laurie opened the door.

  ‘Good morning, my dear. Come in, come in. I’m sorry to bring you all this way, but business must take precedence over pleasure on some occasions.’

  Charles Hawksworth was sitting behind a curved rosewood desk. The office also had a floor to ceiling window, but there was little in the way of furniture. Apart from the desk there were two chairs in front of it, and a sofa and cocktail cabinet against one wall, all in classical art deco designs.

  ‘That will be all, Laurie, thank you,’ he said. She closed the door, leaving them alone.

  ‘Come over here,’ he said, waving her forward. She tottered a little, not only because her heels were high, but also because the knee-length pencil skirt was tight and only allowed her to take diminutive steps.

  ‘Sit down.’ He indicated one of the chairs in front of his desk, then when back to a telephone conversation.

  Awkwardly Andrea managed to sit down. She watched Hawksworth as he talked, his eyes flashing as he made a point, his fingers and beautifully manicured nails making small gestures to emphasis what he said. He
had a quality of authority, whether here sitting in his office, at the very centre of his empire, or in bed commanding her to obey his slightest whim.

  The telephone call ended. ‘Well, my dear,’ he said, getting to his feet and moving around the desk. ‘I hope you had a pleasant flight?’

  ‘Yes, master.’

  ‘Good.’ He came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. The touch made her start. ‘I am very pleased with you, Andrea. Very pleased. Martin has given me a glowing report. He seemed to think you were very special, too. So I have decided to embark on the final part of your training straight away.’

  ‘Thank you, master.’

  His hands slid down under her jacket to her breasts, cupping and lifting them slightly.

  ‘First there is some urgent business I have to attend to, but once that’s over...’ He squeezed her breasts sharply, then let go, returning to his desk with the flicker of a smile on his lips. As he sat down the telephone rang again.

  ‘Yes?’ He listened, then began to talk in rapid and fluent French.

  The door opened and one of the girls from the outer office walked in. She had blonde hair, and wore a short black skirt and sleeveless blue blouse. Her legs were spectacular, slender and contoured, her calves and buttocks firmed by the fact she was wearing high-heels. She was carrying a file of papers.

  She totally ignored Andrea and stood at the side of Hawksworth’s desk, waiting for him to finish his call.

  ‘Yes, Diana?’ he said, as he put the phone down.

  ‘The French contract you wanted, sir,’ she said, handing him the file.

  ‘Thank you. Has Lloyd arrived yet?’

  ‘Yes, sir, and Mr Highfield.’

  ‘Good. Tell them I’ll be with them in a few minutes. And take Andrea in with you.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Go with her, Andrea,’ he said.

  She rose, and felt herself blushing; struggling to her feet without being able to use her hands it was quite obvious that her wrists were bound to her sides, even though the means by which this was done was not visible. But the girl was clearly not in the least bit shocked. She took Andrea’s arm and guided her across the office. There was a single door in the wall opposite Hawksworth’s desk, which she opened and led Andrea through.

  The room beyond was similar to Hawksworth’s office, with the same huge window and decorated in very much the same style. There was an oval conference table surrounded by twenty chairs, but the room was dominated by an oil painting depicting a riverside picnic; although it was no ordinary picnic. All the participants, with one exception, were female, and were all in various stages of undress, some wearing just skirts or just blouses, others naked but for stockings and frilly garters, while others wore tightly-laced corsets. Their attention was centred on the single male who sat at a picnic table being served an array of food by them. He wore a scarlet robe and had a large wolfhound at his feet.

  ‘Over here,’ Diana said.

  There was a table standing against one of the walls, upon which was a coffee machine, a variety of soft drinks, cups, saucers, large tumblers and paper napkins. Next to the table was an odd-looking metal device which Andrea had first taken to be some sort of modern sculpture. Sticking out about a foot from the wall, but attached to it by a solid metal spike, was a flat matt-black spine of metal about six-foot tall. Close to the top of it was a circle of metal. There was another larger ring at waist level too. The bottom was crossed by a horizontal bar, extending for about two feet on either side. At each end of this bar was another much small metal ring.

  The girl went to the odd contraption, and as Andrea caught her up she could see that each of the metal circles had a little lock at the front, and could be hinged open.

  Diana opened all four rings. ‘Stand here,’ she said, and before Andrea could obey she caught hold of her arm and pulled her around so her back was against the vertical metal bar. ‘Head up,’ she ordered.

  With practised ease she closed one metal ring around Andrea’s throat and locked it underneath her chin, forcing her to keep her head up, her vision immediately restricted. She certainly couldn’t look down to watch the girl snapping the larger ring around her waist, nor pulling her legs apart so her ankles could be secured into the two rings on the horizontal bar. The latter was the most difficult to accomplish, as the tight skirt prevent Andrea’s legs being spread far enough apart and the girl had to wriggle the skirt up her thighs before both ankles could be accommodated.

  Andrea was completely helpless. With her hands still secured to her thighs, and her neck, waist and ankles encompassed by steel, she could not move.

  Diana studied her critically for a moment. She unbuttoned her jacket and folded it back. The material of the blouse was thin and Andrea’s breasts were clearly visible under it.

  ‘Rather you than me,’ she said, an expression that could be best interpreted as a sneer.

  Her high-highs clacked as she walked across the polished wooden floor, her pert round bottom swaying sexily, and as Andrea watched her she realised she was feeling a pang of desire. It was the first time she’d felt that for another female unprompted, and it shocked her.

  She had no time to dwell on that, however. Almost before the sound of the girl’s shoes had died away a tall bearded man walked in carrying a black briefcase. He was followed by an older, shorter man, who walked with a slight limp, and had a shock of unruly white hair. They closed the door and walked to the conference table, glancing at Andrea briefly, very much as if she were merely an interesting piece of the furniture. They talked in a language Andrea thought might be Swedish. The bearded man took a pile of papers out of his briefcase and then set it on the floor. Both men then started going through the papers.

  The door opened again, and Edward Highfield entered. He smiled at her briefly, then turned his attention to the other two men, shaking their hands and greeting them effusively.

  Behind him two younger men came in, both in smart grey suits. They shook hands with the others and sat down at the table, and it was only then, apparently, that they noticed Andrea. They stared at her with obvious surprise, but clearly neither dared make any comment to the others.

  Diana returned carrying some files, and put them down at the head of the table just as Charles Hawksworth entered. He sat where the files we placed, and Diana sat to his left with a notebook and pen.

  ‘There’s coffee over there,’ he said, waving a hand towards Andrea and the table beside her. ‘Please feel free. Later we have lunch for you in our executive dining room, and I think you’ll find our chef to be excellent. Now, to business.’

  They began discussing a deal for the acquisition of a patent in an electronic circuit which the bearded man appeared to own. Weeks before, when she worked for Silverton, Andrea might have found the details quite fascinating, but now all she could think of was what her master had said to her. The final stage of her training? What could that mean? And was he coming with her? She yearned to be alone with him again.

  The metal frame was extremely uncomfortable, particular the collar around her neck, which was too high and dug into her chin. Her legs were cramping too. Diana had only pulled the skirt up far enough to allow her to place Andrea’s ankles into the metal rings. The hem of the skirt was still tight and bit into her thighs, just as the metal dug painfully into her ankles.

  One of the younger men got to his feet and walked over to the coffee table. He appeared to not be looking at her, but stole furtive glances as he approached. Standing pouring himself a coffee he allowed himself a longer look, his eyes dwelling on her breasts and her legs, the skirt pulled up enough to reveal a hint of the leather that banded her thighs.

  While Highfield and the bearded man discussed some aspect of the contract in detail, Hawksworth looked his way. ‘Beautiful, isn’t she?’ he said, getting to his feet. He came over and put his arm around the young man’s
shoulder.

  ‘Yes, very.’

  ‘You haven’t been here before, have you?’

  ‘No, Mr Hawksworth.’

  ‘Artists spend a great deal of time trying to create things of beauty. But women are more beautiful than anything they can create, in my opinion. Other people have sculptures in their offices, but I prefer the real thing.’ He looked at the young man seriously. ‘And like all good sculptures she deserves to be touched, don’t you think?’

  ‘Touched?’

  ‘Of course. Go ahead. Stroke her. Feel her.’ He smiled. ‘She’s in no position to bite.’

  The man’s hand was trembling so much he had to put his cup of coffee down. He was clearly intimidated by Hawksworth’s charismatic personality, and even if he wanted to refuse the invitation, saw no way of doing it without incurring Hawksworth’s displeasure.

  He moved over to stand in front of Andrea, and she watched his hand moving towards her. His fingers trailed down over her breasts, and he blushed.

  ‘Gary,’ the bearded man called, and the young man hastily returned to the table, clearly relieved to have an excuse to get away. Hawksworth ambled back too, a look of amusement on his face.

  They were soon all engaged in conversation again. The discomfort for Andrea increased. She wished she could edge the skirt up her thighs an inch or two to relieve the pressure on her legs, and tried to use her fingertips to tug on it, but it made very little difference, unable to get a good grip. She found though, that if she ground her bottom she could get some momentarily relief, transferring the worst of the cramp from one leg to the other, but it was only momentary and she had to be careful that no one noticed what she was doing.

  ‘Well gentleman, I think it’s time for lunch,’ Hawksworth eventually announced.

  The chairs moved back as the five men and one woman got up from the conference table. Still chatting they headed for the door, the bearded man leading, followed by the other three, leaving Highfield and Hawksworth alone for a moment.