by Argus
Chapter Twelve
O'Neil established an exercise routine for Hannah which was a kind of sexual yoga. It included shifting into a variety of positions, many of which were taken straight from yoga texts, but when done naked assumed an entirely different sort of mentality. After them, she would do other exercises on the machines, altogether doing about an hour of exercise. She would be required to do them every morning, then shower and waken him, usually with oral sex.
She would kneel by his seat during breakfast, usually naked, and he would feed her by hand from his plate. Then she would drink milk from a bowl on the floor.
After that, her day varied depending partly on his whim, and partly on what he intended doing that day. He might leave her tied up somewhere, or in the cage for hours. Or he might dress her in the leather dress, or something similar, and have her spend time around him while he met with others or worked alone in his office.
Lunch would be spend on her knees, again at his side, while he fed her.
Usually he would have sex with her at some point during the day, either before or after lunch, but that again depended on his schedule and who, if anyone, he was meeting. Then in the late afternoon, before dinner, he would put her through her paces, which involved instant obedience to a variety of positions he'd have her place herself. He was quite free with the riding crop to encourage her to very quick and very energetic obedience.
In the evening, she would normally be entirely naked save for the shackles, and lay or sit at his feet while he talked on the phone, watched TV, watched a movie in his theater, or read a book.
After two weeks she was given a room, though she never slept in any bed but his. The room had a closet with a number of dresses, as well as a makeup counter. The dresses were all, needless to say, extremely provocative, for evening wear, and he would choose the one she should wear to whatever affair he was holding, then leave her to make herself up.
The first time she was alone with all the makeup, her eyes skimmed over the various bottle, lipsticks, powders and oils, and she recognized the lipstick and compact Smith had once shown her. Just to be sure, she picked them up, and twisted them in the ways she'd been shown, looking guiltily behind her as she confirmed what they were.
She hesitated for long minutes about what to do. Yet, there really could be no choice. The purpose behind her being here was saving her family's estate, and that could only be done by following through on her agreement to provide Smith and his people with information. Not that she had a lot. They clearly knew she was here, and had someone inside, at least someone capable of delivering a couple of small, seemingly innocuous packages.
And now they had her. Just as O'Neil did.
She sighed forlornly. If only things could be back the way they were. She thought bitterly of how her father's foolishness had destroyed all that, and wondered if she would ever get her old life back. She also wondered just how much she could trust Smith.
She used the recording device as she'd been shown. She quickly said the names of those who had come to meet with O'Neil and why, insofar as she knew, then pressed the button for it to transmit.
Then she used the makeup for its intended purpose before donning the dress O'Neil had laid out for her. He was having some sort of dinner party, and she was to attend.
It was a deep blue, which went well with her hair and eyes. The ankle length dress was was silken and shimmering. It had a narrow, pencil skirt that was slit up the side to the hip, and squeezed tight around her bottom and waist. The back was open, and the front might as well have been. It did not show any cleavage. On the contrary, the front of the dress rose to her neck, and circled it. But it was so thin and tight that her breasts might as well have been bare.
Still, it was a very expensive, designer gown, and it certainly looked good on her. With the bare shoulders and back it really did cry out for her hair to be put up. She knew how to do that quick and easy, for she'd had to do it on many occasions in the navy, even if only to put her hair up under her caps. Of course, her hair was longer now, but it took little effort, and the results were perfect.
She wore white, elbow length gloves, and white high-heels with the outfit, but no underwear. That would mean she had to walk carefully given the huge slit in the side of the gown, and of course, the movement of her breasts under the thin, light fabric would be quite noticeable. But then, it wasn't as though nudity was an issue for her any more.
In fact, her mind and body were becoming so sexualized that almost any kind of sexual service now had her feeling a sense of dark hunger. It might be embarrassing, or even painful, but that no longer seemed to matter. In fact, sometimes that seemed to make her even more aroused.
As she gazed at herself in the mirror, she had the flicker of a thought that O'Neil might not like her showing initiative in doing her hair up. He had not, after all, told her to. For a moment, her hands moved to lower it, but then she halted, for the thought of being punished did not hold the fear it should have. Instead, her chest tightened and her stomach fluttered a little as if she were out of breath. She felt a pulse of hunger between her legs, and then lowered her hands.
She wondered how he would punish her, and how nasty it might be.
When she was done, she sat carefully on the bed to wait. She was not given any directions in how to move around in the keep, and it was not a small building. Nor did she think he would appreciate her exploring it on her own.
The door opened – he never knocked, of course – and O'Neil stood there wearing a black tuxedo, tailored, of course. He looked handsome, masculine, and powerful, and she felt a further tightening in her chest as she stood up.
He examined her and nodded.
“Lovely,” he said. “I didn't tell you to put your hair up.”
“No, master,” she said serenely.
His hand cupped her bottom through the thin fabric, and she felt his fingers reaching under her buttocks to check for the butt-plug she was routinely required to wear.
“Bend over, slave, and spread your legs,” he ordered.
She obeyed, of course, bending over the nearby dresser as he swept the skirt up and open to reveal her. She felt his fingers at her sex, and then something like a thick pen pushing up inside her. She recognized it, or thought she did, then was sure when she felt the clip part sliding up across the top of her sex and over her clitoris.
He pulled the skirt down and drew her back upright.
“Let's go, slave girl. I'm sure the night will be quite interesting for you.”
The clip was firm against the top of her pussy, squeezing in against her to hold the longer part up inside her. It did not vibrate or buzz, but she felt herself growing wet anyway as she walked along behind him.
They went downstairs and through the main broad corridor of the keep to the ball room at the rear. Her heart was thumping somewhat faster than normal with the breathless anticipation of what was to come. For she was certain that, no matter what happened, she was going to wind up naked with someone between her legs that evening.
She hadn't been told how many were to attend. She'd imagined anything from a small dinner party of a few couples to some sort of huge gathering. It turned out to be a group of about three dozen people, both men and women. The men tended to be older the women younger and universally beautiful.
The men all came up to greet O'Neil as he moved slowly through the room, and give her the once over. None spoke to her, and she wasn't introduced. Nor were the women with them. The women gave her more than the once over, and Hannah wondered if any of them was a slave, or something similar. She tried to remember the names of the men for her next report, and kept her ears open for anything they spoke about that Smith might find of interest.
Yet the conversations were, for the most part, what she had encountered before at parties, a mix of gossip, politics and sports.
The room was about a hundred and fifty feet in length, and half that wide. The ceiling was at least thir
ty feet overhead, with four large, crystal chandeliers hanging in a row down the middle of the room. Six huge windows overlooked the ocean, and music played in the background from a string quartet. All the men were in tuxedos, and the women in gowns, though none quite as sexy as Hannah's.
Some of the women broke off to talk together, but O'Neil had told her to stay at his left and a little behind, so she did so, following him slowly as he moved around the room. The only conversation of interest was when a man named Sanchez asked him about a deposit he wanted to make, and O'Neil somewhat curtly told him to speak with Mister Hampton.
Hannah filed that away for future reference, and wondered when she might have a chance to look around somewhere and take pictures. She knew where O'Neil's office was now, at least, and a little more about the layout downstairs.
Then the little vibrator thing started to buzz. It startled her, at first, and she inhaled sharply, before looking nervously around. No one seemed to have heard or noticed anything. She looked up at O'Neil, whose back was to her, but he gave no sign he'd done anything. Hannah tried to do the same, but felt her lower body starting to hum in tune with the little vibrator.
Her nipples stiffened, but they seemed almost perpetually hard anyway, and given the coolness of the air and thinness of the dress, they had already been quite visible. As the vibrations continued she felt her stomach fluttering and her breathing becoming rougher, though she strove to control it. She kept her body from moving with effort, and licked her lips nervously, looking around as she felt the heat deepening within her.
She had no idea who these people were, whether they were 'regular' people, or a bunch of perverts like O'Neil. But until she did she certainly wasn't going to allow any kind of evidence of her arousal to become known to them.
It became harder, though, as the vibrations continued. She felt a flush spreading up her body as her pussy warmed and became wet, and her clitoris began to throb hotly. She felt moisture growing on her forehead and upper lip. The sexual pressure began to build inside her, and she felt a panicky worry that she would have an orgasm, a loud, obvious orgasm, in the middle of a very proper dinner party gathering.
Then the vibrations ceased, and she felt a wave of relief sweep her. The sexual pressure slowly eased back until she could relax a little, and pay more attention to what was being said around O'Neil again.
Until it started buzzing again. It took less time to arouse her now, and the intensity become more unbearable... until it stopped once more.
O'Neil obviously had some sort of remote control, but she had no warning or indication when he was going to turn the thing on or off. She became flustered and anxious as she moved slowly around at his side, her body moist with hunger and heat, and her mind either fighting the hunger, or nervously waiting the thing's next activation.
Finally, they were all ushered up a corridor to dinner. The table was enormous, though she'd seen its like before. Her family had a dining room not very dissimilar, after all. She again sat on O'Neil's left, a little surprised he hadn't sat her on the floor. She decided that meant the people around her were 'respectable' and would have been shocked by such a thing.
It was not long after sitting that the vibrator began buzzing again, however, and she spent the dinner, as she'd spent the time before it, in a flustered, pulsing heat of sexual desire, desire which rose quickly, then sank slowly over time.
She hardy did more than nibble at the food, paying it little attention. All her efforts were concentrated on keeping control of herself, of not breathing too loudly or raggedly, not moving in her chair, and not making any sounds when the device turned on or off.
She made it through dinner, somehow, and the group moved to another series of drawing rooms, most filled with art and sculptures. The library was a beautiful room, and a number of rare books had been set out for the guests to peruse. The servants served wine and liqueurs to the guests on silver trays as people found comfortable padded chairs to recline and chat.
The vibrator continued to turn on and off at irregular intervals, but Hannah thought she was gaining a measure of control over herself. She was heavily aroused, but not beyond her control, by any means. Then she followed O'Neil into his office. Again, it was a large, open room with many antiques and paintings. And there were already a several people there when O'Neil walked in. Three were men, one was a young blonde, a very young blonde barely out of her teens, if that.
Everyone held wine glasses, including O'Neil – everyone but Hannah, who had not had one offered to her by the servants.
Two of the men were sitting in a corner, while the third was examining a book on a small pedestal. The girl was looking out the window, and turned as they arrived.
“Gentlemen,” O'Neil said. “I trust you're enjoying the evening.
“Lovely gathering, O'Neil,” said the man by the book.
“Thank you, James. Glad you like it.”
“I'm sure we'll like the next part even better,” said a balding, dark eyed man sitting in the corner.
“I strive to be a superior host,” O'Neil said with a short, slightly mocking bow.
The other seated man rose and came over to stand in front of O'Neil, but it was Hannah he was looking at.
“Where did you find her?”
“This, my dear, Saunderson, is a former officer in her majesty's royal navy,” O'Neil said.
The three men looked surprised, and then Hannah saw the gleam of hunger in their eyes. She wasn't sure why that information would excite them more, or why O'Neil hadn't told them she was a stripper. Maybe they liked the idea of a 'proper' girl being a slave rather than a whore.
“And was she an obedient officer?”
“One assumes so. She is obedient enough now.”
“And will she obey anyone, or just you?”
“At the moment, just me, and anyone I tell her to. Though I wager by the time I'm done with her she'll obey any man who talks to her.”
“Particularly if she gets a stiff cock inside her,” the man said.
“All most men would care about would be getting her to allow a stiff cock inside her,” said the bald man.
“All women crave a stiff cock,” O'Neil said. “It's simply difficult to get them to understand that sometimes.”
Being the center of attention was making Hannah nervous and anxious, but she was also feeling even more aroused as the prospect of her seeing some of those 'stiff cocks' they were talking about became more pronounced.
She was not surprised when ordered to kneel, but felt that flush moving up her body as she settled onto her knees before the man, aware of all eyes on her.
“Unzip his trousers,” O'Neil ordered.
Hannah felt a rush of heat at the words, and reached up with her gloved hands, unzipping the man's trousers. Then she waited.
“Reach in and take his cock out, and show him what a good little oral artist you are,” O'Neil ordered.
And with all eyes upon her, Hannah obeyed, bobbing up and down on the man's cock as the buzzing between her legs began anew. She grunted as the man reached down and buried his hand in her hair, twisting and jerking on it to pull her in closer. She slid down to the base of his cock, taking him into her throat, and in seconds he exploded.
The bald man remained seated, and she sucked him there, then moved to the third man, crawling across the floor. Her hair was somewhat mussed by then, and was further mussed when he too gripped it in his thick hand and pulled her face into his groin.
All the while she remained dressed, which felt distinctly odd to Hannah. But when she had finished the third man O'Neil ordered her to stand. Then he moved behind her and slid his right hand in through the slit in her dress, rubbing at her clitoris as the others looked on. Hannah felt her insides turning to mush, and breathlessly ground herself back against O'Neil's cock as her breathing became more and more ragged.
She felt O'Neil drawing the narrow vibrator out of her, and as his hand came free, she fe
lt his other hand behind her neck. The front of her dress collapsed to her hips, baring her breasts, and then, as he drew his hands back, she felt him tug the zipper at the small of her back, and the dress slid down to the floor, pooled around her ankles.
“Over there, slave girl,” he said, pointing at a low, narrow coffee table.
A little frazzled and breathless, Hannah stared uncertainly. Then O'Neil walked over, reached to the shelf under, and pulled out a thick black dildo, a very lifelike looking cock with a suction cup on the bottom. He pressed it against the table near the end, and grinned at her.
The other there men grinned too. The girl just looked on with wide eyes.
Heart thumping, Hannah straddled the table facing them all, then gripped the head of the dildo. Her body burned at its touch, and she sank down, feeling it against the entrance to her sex, then sinking further. She could not repress a moan of pleasure as it penetrated her, and whimpered at the hot rush of nearly overwhelming sensual pleasure as it pushed up into her belly.
As with the men on the airplane, these men were fascinated, as well, watching as she rode slowly up and down, accompanied by many gasps and moans as she adjusted to the thickness and length. Her fingers began to rub at her clitoris, heedless of the fact O'Neil had not instructed her to do so. She knew this would probably cause her to be punished, but in the face of such heat, nothing else mattered but easing the incredible sexual tension squeezing down around her mind and body.
She noted the bulges in the trousers of the men across from her, feeling a sense of dark, excited smugness at how quickly she had aroused them once again. She wanted them aroused, wanted them to be hot for her, wanted them impressed, wanted them thinking she was a wild sexual creature. Now flushed and overheating, she felt herself reveling in just such a persona, in the thought of herself as a sex slave, a wild sexual animal.
A hand gripped her hair and she cried out weakly as she was all-but dragged up off the thick black cock. Her hands instinctively reached up to grasp the hand, to ease the pressure, but the hand released her only to grasp her wrists and pull them together behind her back. She felt the link in one of the restraints snapped into the ring in the other to pin her wrists in place, then the hand was in her hair again.