by Becky Bell
‘Yes, sir.’ Again Isabel seemed to know exactly what to do. She unclipped the leather cuffs from the thigh bands and pulled off Andrea’s skirt. She took her jacket off and then the white blouse too, Andrea’s breasts quivering as they were revealed.
‘Take the thigh bands off,’ he said. ‘Bind her hands behind her back.’
Isabel drew Andrea’s arms behind her back and used the snap-lock on the D-rings to secure the cuffs together. The thigh bands were held in place by velcro, which made a tearing sound as she pulled them away.
The leather had disturbed the tops of the stockings slightly, so Isabel straightened and smoothed them, her hands nudging against Andrea’s naked sex rather more than Andrea thought was strictly necessary.
‘Leave us,’ Hawksworth ordered.
Isabel took one last look at her all but naked body, and then left the cabin.
‘Kneel,’ Hawksworth said, and Andrea obeyed with some difficulty, her knees sinking to the thick carpet.
Hawksworth levelled his blue eyes straight at hers. She was riveted to the spot by the power of them. Then he got to his feet and walked over to the bar, pouring himself another malt from the crystal decanter. He sipped the golden liquid, then put the glass down on the counter. ‘Would like some more champagne?’
‘Yes please, master.’
He picked up the champagne glass, tilted her head up by her chin, and put it to her lips. It was a tender gesture and one that made her heart leap. The look in his eyes was caring, too. The wine was still cold. It dribbled down her chin again and dripped onto her breasts. Her nipples, already erect, stiffened further.
Hawksworth put the glass down and took off his jacket. He unzipped the fly of his trousers and extracted his flaccid cock.
‘Here,’ he said, ‘suck it for me, Andrea.’
She felt her pulse racing. He had been intimate with her before, but never anything like this. Eagerly she moved her head forward. For once she genuinely wished she was not in bondage, that she could hold his cock in her hands, and cup his balls while she took him in her mouth. But she would just have to make do with her lips and her tongue. She opened her mouth and sucked him in, then used her tongue to rub his glans and the vein running along the underside.
‘Good girl,’ he said.
His cock began to swell rapidly. She pushed forward until it was buried in the back of her throat, then sucked hard on the whole length of it. Pulling right back she dipped her head lower, running her lips down underside of the shaft, sucking and nibbling. When she reached his balls she sucked them one after another. His cock, resting against her cheek, throbbed strongly.
Then her master stepped away. He tugged off his tie, undid his shirt, and kicked off his shoes.
A phone on the bulkhead rang. He picked it up, cradling it to his ear with his shoulder while he sat on the chair and pulled off his socks. ‘Yes?’ He listened for a moment. ‘I’ll call you back,’ he said. Getting to his feet again he undid the belt of his trousers, allowed them to fall to the floor, and stepped out of them. His black briefs followed.
‘I don’t really have the time for this,’ he said, but took a step towards kneeling Andrea, his erection an inch from her lips. But as much as she wanted to suck it into her mouth again she knew better than to do anything without being told.
‘Now, where were we?’ he mused. ‘Oh yes, I remember. Make it good, Andrea.’
She dipped her head until her lips were under the gnarled shaft again. She used her tongue to tease his balls, then sucked his cock back into her mouth. This time she used her teeth, nibbling the rigid flesh lightly, until her lips were against the base of his shaft and she could feel his wiry pubic hair touching her nose.
Slowly she moved back, nipping all the way along his phallus, delaying the moment she plunged her mouth down and swallowed him again. Her own sex was running with juices, the wetness coating her thighs. She remembered how she’d felt as she watched Julia being allowed to do exactly this to Hawksworth, and how she wished it was her. Now her wish had come true. She hadn’t understood what the ‘training’ he’d spoken of meant, but now she knew. It was not a question of obedience or discipline, though that was obviously important. What her weeks at the manor had done was to narrow her entire world down until it was entirely focussed on Charles Darrington Hawksworth. She cared about nothing else. Nothing else mattered.
She still cursed herself for being so stupid on her first day at the manor, and for the mistake she made, but she guessed placing her with so many provocations was deliberate. Hawksworth wanted to punish her with neglect to show her right from the beginning exactly how much she needed him and his attention, and how little he needed her. A slave is not complete without a master; isn’t that what he’d said?
She had his attention now, all of it.
She swallowed his erection, taking it right to the back of her throat, so deep she had to control the reflex to gag.
Hawksworth moaned, running his fingers into her long blonde hair and holding her head, so she could not move back. She felt his cock pulsing strongly. He relaxed his grip. She pulled back so she could use her tongue on his glans, licking it and covering it with her saliva.
‘What a sweet little mouth you have,’ he drooled, in almost a whisper.
She pushed back on him again, then began a regular rhythm, sawing her mouth back and forth, sucking hard as he thrust inward, licking with her tongue on the outward stroke.
‘Yes...’ he hissed. She could see the muscles of his thighs tightening and feel his fingers digging into her scalp. She increased the tempo. By angling her head back she could get the whole of his cock inside her mouth, and feel his glans throbbing against the tight ribbing at the back of her throat. She wanted to feel the boiling spunk erupting from him.
Hawksworth’s cock pulsed within the tight confines of her throat, his glans swelling like a balloon, and she felt a jet of hot liquid spurt from him. For a second nothing else happened. He held himself rigid, every muscle in his body locked. Then his cock jerked again and his spunk spattered out of him in a stream, cascading down her throat. Desperately Andrea tried to swallow it all, but there was so much some escaped and pearled down her chin. Hawksworth did not move. He stood there naked with his hands entwined in her hair, allowing his orgasm to wash over him. Andrea felt his cock softening, and touched it gently with her tongue, the taste of his spunk filling her senses.
Eventually he pulled away. He picked up his whisky and took a sip, then pressed a button on the bulkhead by the bar.
‘Yes, sir?’ Isabel said, opening the door from the forward cabin, apparently unfazed by Hawksworth’s nakedness. Clearly she was quite used to such incidents.
‘Get Abrahams back on the phone for me.’
‘Yes, Mr Hawksworth.’
‘Then get her ready.’ He nodded towards Andrea, but didn’t look at her.
‘Certainly, sir.’ Isabel closed the door again.
Hawksworth picked up his trousers and briefs and pulled them back on. He slipped into his shirt. A moment later the phone rang again.
‘Yes...’ Hawksworth listened, then began talking in French. The cabin door opened and Isabel came back in. She took hold of Andrea’s arm and hauled her to her feet. ‘Come on,’ she said. There was a definite glint in her eye.
The stewardess directed Andrea to the rear of the cabin. There was another small door, which she opened and guided Andrea through.
‘Alone at last,’ she said, closing the door.
They were in a small cargo compartment. There was nylon webbing on slatted wooden storage shelves, and several cases were carefully strapped down on them.
Screwed into the bulkhead between this and the passenger accommodation was a T-shaped structure covered in white leather. Attached to the crosspiece at shoulder height were six white leather straps. Another strap was dangling from the vertical compon
ent just off the floor.
Isabel spun Andrea around, released the snap-lock that held the cuffs together, then unbuckled both of them. There was a small case on the floor by one of the storage units, and Isabel crouched down beside it, put it on its side and opened it up.
‘Put these on,’ she said, standing and handing Andrea a red rubber garment, a pair of matching gloves and a packet of stockings.
Andrea examined the rubber garment. It was like an old-fashioned full-length girdle with shoulder straps and short suspenders dangling from the hem. At the front, where it fitted over her breasts, two holes had been cut. She pulled the rubber over her head and down over her shoulders. The inside had been coated with talcum powder, but it was still a trial to worm her body into it, but eventually she managed to, the constricting rubber moulding tightly to her curves. It extended down over her buttocks to the tops of her thighs, and her breasts swelled obscenely through the holes at the front. She opened the cellophane packet of stockings and shook them out. They were black and sheer with a glossy finish, a fully-fashioned heel and a seam.
‘Sit on this,’ Isabel said, moving a metal stool to her. The seat was cold, but Andrea perched on it, raised her legs one by one and rolled on the stockings, making sure each seam was straight. She then clipped them into the suspenders of the rubber girdle.
‘Now the gloves,’ Isabel directed.
Andrea picked them up and began working them over her fingers and up her arms. They extended well above her elbows, and again it took a great deal of tugging and manipulating before they were both in place.
Isabel took a pair of red leather ankle boots from the case and handed them to Andrea. They had a tapering four-inch heel. ‘Put these on too.’ Andrea pulled the boots on. ‘Good,’ Isabel said. ‘Now stand up.’
Andrea got to her feet again. Isabel took her by the arms and pushed her back against the bulkhead with her shoulders in the centre of the crosspiece of the white leather cross. She raised her left arm at right angles to her body and secured the first of the leather straps around her wrist. The second strap fitted just above the elbow and the third right at the top of the arm. The stewardess then took her other arm and secured that too, then knelt at Andrea’s feet, pulled her ankles together and bound them with the strap at the bottom of the T-shaped cross.
‘Better than a seatbelt,’ she said, smiling. She raised her hand and stroked Andrea’s cheek. ‘Look at you; you’re so needy, aren’t you?’ She ran her finger down Andrea’s throat, along her collarbone and down to the rubber girdle. She flicked both Andrea’s nipples with her fingernail, then moved down under the hem of the girdle, to her sex, parting her labia and finding her clit.
Andrea gasped as the finger pressed on her aroused bud. ‘So needy,’ Isabel repeated. She wormed her finger between Andrea’s sex lips, then lifted it to her own mouth and sucked it. ‘And so juicy...’
The skirt of the grey uniform she was wearing was knee-length and quite tight. Isabel wriggled it up over her hips, revealing that her flesh-coloured nylons were clipped into a white suspender belt. She was wearing white French knickers. She pushed her hand into the leg of the knickers and Andrea watched her fingers locating her clit, frigging herself.
The stewardess moved closer. She pressed her cheek against Andrea’s and kissed her ear, the jacket of her uniform rubbing against Andrea’s naked breasts. ‘Lovely,’ she whispered, undulating her body against the rubber girdle as she wrapped her free hand around Andrea’s neck.
The plane banked to the left and Isabel clung to Andrea for support. As the plane levelled out again she gave a tiny cry and squeezed herself against Andrea, standing perfectly still.
After a moment she pulled away, and without another word she straightened her skirt, brushed through her hair with her fingers, and walked through into the passenger cabin, leaving Andrea alone amongst the cargo.
The plane was starting to descend. Andrea could feel the pressure building in her ears.
Isabel’s attentions, as well as the master’s, had left her unbelievably frustrated. She would give anything to be able to finger her clitoris. It was alive, itching to be relieved, but yet again she was denied this comfort; which made matters worse because the constant reminder that she was a slave and could not even touch herself only increased her excitement and need. ‘So needy,’ the stewardess had said, and she was absolutely right.
There was a single porthole in the cargo compartment, but as it was now dark Andrea could only glimpse the landing lights on the runway as they came in to land, and she had no idea where they might be.
It took about five minutes for the plane to taxi to a halt and outside Andrea caught a glimpse of a black limousine, waiting on the side of the tarmac.
She heard a thud of doors being unlatched. The cargo door opened and she felt a rush of fresh air. It was balmy and scented with flowers. A man in overalls began unloading the cases from the racks, though he appeared not to give Andrea a second glance.
Isabel appeared from the passenger cabin. She began unbuckling the straps around Andrea’s arms, and the belt around her ankles followed. Then as soon as she was free she used a pair of metal handcuffs to bind Andrea’s wrists behind her back.
There were six steps to the tarmac, and Isabel helped Andrea down them. She led her across to the limousine where a driver stood with the rear door open, and the luggage was being loaded into the boot. Inside she saw Hawksworth on the phone.
The driver closed the door the moment Andrea was inside, then slipped behind the wheel, and the car drove off as Isabel walked back towards the plane.
It was a short drive. Andrea caught sight of a French road sign at a small roundabout. They were in France! In three or four minutes of winding country lanes they were pulling through the wrought-iron gates of an impressive chateau.
The car did not drive up to the front of the building, where a double staircase in stone led up to huge front doors, but right around the back, where a large conservatory had been added to the building, and was flooded with light. As they got closer Andrea could see that as well as all the exotic plants around the glazed walls it also contained a swimming pool.
The car came to a halt at a door at the back of the chateau. Hawksworth was still deep in conversation in French, and made no attempt to get out. The driver opened the rear car door.
‘Go with him,’ Hawksworth said, putting his hand over the telephone for a second.
The driver helped Andrea out of the car. He led her over to the door and rapped on it with his gloved hand.
A few seconds later the door was opened, light flooding out. A woman stood in the doorway. To Andrea’s astonishment she was dressed in an identical costume as her; a red rubber girdle, long gloves in the same material, black stockings and red leather high-heels. She even wore an identical steel collar to the one locked around Andrea’s throat from the first day. The only difference was that the girl was wearing a red velvet mask over her eyes.
‘Merci, Henri,’ the girl said, and the driver walked back to the car.
She held out a mask. ‘Put this on,’ she said with a husky French accent, then realising Andrea’s hands were cuffed behind her back she raised the mask and slipped the elasticated strap around her head, settling it on her nose and making sure the two oval slits for her eyes allowed her to see.
They walked into the chateau, along a brick-floored and well-worn corridor into a small, surprisingly intimate sitting room.
‘Bon soir.’ A short middle-aged woman with blonde hair sat in a blue armchair. She was wearing a brief white satin slip with a lace bodice, and kneeling in front of her was another corseted girl, except her garment was made from black velvet, with laces running down her back. The blonde’s legs were wide apart, one foot on the floor and the other raised, her calf resting on the girl’s shoulders. The girl’s mouth was pressed to her sex, and her head was bobbing up and down. Andrea cou
ld see her naked buttocks were crisscrossed with weals, at least six or seven and all, judging by the blotchy red colour of them, fairly recent.
In front of a stone fireplace a grey-haired man was sitting on a large sofa, wearing a white cotton robe. A girl knelt in front of him too; her costume also identical to Andrea’s, right down to the velvet mask. The whole difference was that her hands were tied under her chin by a nylon line secured to the steel collar around her throat. She was sucking the man’s naked cock, just as Andrea had sucked Hawksworth’s on the plane.
‘Welcome, my dear,’ the woman added, stroking the dark hair of the girl who knelt in front of her. ‘You’ve arrived at just the right moment, as you see.’ Her English was impeccable, with hardly a trace of an accent.
‘Come over here,’ the man said.
Andrea hesitated; was she supposed to obey them, as she obeyed Hawksworth?
‘Do it,’ said the man causing her hesitation; Hawksworth was standing behind her with a stern expression on his face. So Andrea hurried over to the man.
‘Kneel,’ he said, so she knelt beside the identically dressed girl. ‘Share it,’ the man ordered, pulling his cock out of the girl’s mouth.
Andrea did not need to be asked twice. Acutely aware of her master’s eyes boring into her back she slipped her mouth over the large cock, its shaft already glistening with saliva. As she did so the girl squirmed around and kissed the standing rod of flesh, their lips touching as they sucked and licked and kissed.
‘Hawksworth, how nice to see, you,’ the woman greeted.
‘Marie-Claire, it’s a delight as always,’ he replied.
‘She is for training, no?’ Marie-Claire nodded towards Andrea.
‘Yes. I don’t think you’ll have any difficulties. She has a real talent for it.’
‘Then that promises to be fun. Won’t you join us? Take your pick.’ She took hold of the brunette’s hair and pulled her head back. ‘This one is very talented, aren’t you Claudine? Though as you see for yourself, we have had to take her in hand tonight.’