A League of Ladies (Slave of the Aristocracy Book 5)

by Ashley Zacharias

  “That’s all I’m asking. I don’t want to get rid of slavery. I just want it to be a little more humane. Just a little.”

  “You said something else that’s more germane to our conversation. You said that being a pleasure slave wasn’t so bad. You mean that the sex part isn’t so bad.”

  “Sure. I like sex. I mean, it isn’t always fun. I’ve been made to do some things that I didn’t much like, but it wasn’t torture. Just unpleasant. Except when I was actually being tortured. That got pretty bad at times.”

  “So you’re saying that giving service as a slave without the torture part wouldn’t be so bad.”

  “Yeah. Sometimes it’s a lot of fun. In fact, it’s often a lot of fun. Even getting fucked in the ass isn’t so bad if you know how to do it and you prepare yourself for it. After a while, you can even get to enjoy it.”

  Linda blanched at the thought. “So that’s the worst that you get? Apart from the torture, I mean. Getting … um … taken in the … um … rear is the worst? And you can get to like it?”

  “No. It’s not the worst. Not for me. I’ve been forced to service other women. Lick them. Put my tongue inside them. I don’t much like that. But I don’t much like cleaning bathrooms, either. It’s not much different. Just something that you do because it’s part of the job. But sometimes the other woman is into it and gets off on it and that helps. There’s satisfaction in doing a job well, even if you don’t like the work. And there’s satisfaction in making another person happy.”

  “Do men want that a lot? Taking a woman in the ass? Making women service each other?”

  “Most men don’t. Less than half will fuck a woman in the ass. A lot of those just do it because they can. They don’t like it as much as a blowjob. Maybe one in five men really likes going in the back door. Even most of these men still prefer a tight, hot cunt to an asshole.”

  “And servicing other women?”

  “Same thing. Woman-on-woman is usually part of a threesome. There are ways to handle threesomes that don’t require the women to go down on each other. A little light kissing and caressing and then both women concentrate on the man. That’s all it takes to make most men as happy as can be.” Irene smiled. “A few minutes ago, you touched my hand. That was nice. It wasn’t sex at all, just being a friend. Two women with a man can be friends with each other and be sexual mostly with the man lying in between them.”

  “You make it sound like it isn’t too bad.”

  “No. The times when it was bad for me was when a lesbian was in charge of the kennels and she made me service her when no man was around. But that was a special circumstance and it isn’t likely to ever happen again. In fact, when my owner discovered what was going on behind my back, he sold the lesbian to a brothel. She’s fucking men all day, every day now.”

  “So what kind of service do you mostly give your owners?”

  “Mostly I bend over and let them take me from behind. In that position, they have their choice of holes, but four times out of five, they’ll go for the cunt. That’s the favorite position for slaves because it’s more humiliating than the missionary position. I give a lot of blowjobs. That’s probably almost as common as a doggy-style fucking. Sometimes an owner wants to tie me up when he fucks me. It makes him feel more powerful. Sometimes there’s a spanking. I can enjoy restraint and a bit of spanking as long as it isn’t so hard that it becomes a torture. That’s most of it. There’s not that much more that a woman can do for a man.”

  “Then why does my husband go to his kennels every day and only come to me once a month?”

  “Convenience, I guess. The slave is right there all the time, naked and ready to be fucked whenever her owner gets an urge. The wife is busy with her own life. Even if she’s willing, most wives aren’t happy about being interrupted. They don’t want to have to drop everything and jump into bed every time their husband looks at them. And, I suspect, most ladies aren’t as enthusiastic about giving blowjobs as their husbands would like.”

  “So what would happen if I told my husband that he could have sex with me any time he wanted? What if I did raise my skirts instantly every time he snapped his fingers? What if I dropped to my knees and gave him oral sex as often as he wanted? Would he come to me instead of going out to his kennels?”

  “I don’t know. What do you think would happen?”

  “I guess I won’t know unless I try it.”

  “The proof is in the pudding.”

  Linda stared at Irene for a minute.

  Irene wondered what was next.

  “Are you better at it than me?” Linda asked eventually.

  “Better at sex?”

  Linda nodded.

  “Yes, I am. I don’t know how good you are, but I know that I’m better than most other pleasure slaves so it’s not a stretch to guess that I’m better than ninety-nine percent of the ladies in the city.”

  “Why are you so good at it?”

  “The same way anybody gets good at anything. Study and practice. When I became a pleasure slave, I realized that I wasn’t much good at sex. I approached it as a problem to be solved. Getting a lot of practice wasn’t hard. Pleasure slaves have sex with all kinds of men all the time.

  “Learning about sex was more difficult. It’s easy to fall into bad habits and keep doing the same things over and over. That’s the Achilles heel for most pleasure slaves. They get into a rut and rely on their owners to provide the variety. They never initiate anything.

  “I have two advantages over other slaves. First, I worked hard at learning to give excellent blowjobs. I studied all the different parts of a man’s cock and I learned the differences between different cocks. Second, I trained the muscles in my cunt until they become much stronger and I worked to develop precise control over them.

  “In fact, I’ve been asked to train other slaves in some of the kennels that I’ve been in. So, yes, a year ago, you were at least as good at sex as I was and probably better than me. But today, I’m undoubtedly far better at it than you.”

  “Will you do that for me?”

  “What?”

  “Train me to be better at sex than the slaves in my husband’s kennels.”

  “If you want.”

  “I do.”

  “Okay.”

  “I think that I know some other ladies who would be interested, too,” Linda said. “Could you teach us all?”

  “As many as you can fit into a room.”

  “Plan on a dozen ladies.”

  * * *

  It was a day of errands.

  The Cranfords didn’t host as many dinners and parties as most highborn families, but they did make the effort a couple of times a month. Tomorrow night was the first dinner party that they’d hosted since Irene had lent herself to Lord Cranford. He could have directed Irene to participate in the traditional after-dinner entertainment for the gentlemen guests as was his right – that was the usual purpose for which pleasure slaves were loaned out – but because Irene had voluntarily loaned herself to him, he did her the courtesy of asking if she wanted to participate.

  She did, but only on the condition that her husband and a half dozen of his closest friends not be present.

  He assured her that none of those had been invited and recited his guest list. This was a small party that included only a half-dozen couples, mostly earls. Irene had met a couple of the men but only briefly some years earlier.

  Irene was looking forward to it. It had been half a year since she had participated in a proper orgy. Neither of her previous two owners – the professor or the consortium of commoners – were in the social class that staged entertainments for gentlemen. She was eager to get fucked all evening long.

  It would not be an elaborate event – just “here’s the slaves” and “have at ‘em”. There were going to be seven slaves to entertain seven gentlemen, so the burden wouldn’t be onerous. She would make sure that her asshole was stretched and well-lubed because there was usually a little buggery at an e
ntertainment. Apart from that she had little to prepare.

  The Cranfords were using their car and driver for their own errands, so Irene was taking cabs for hers.

  Sitting in the back, she wondered if she should use her trust to buy her own car. That made her wonder if a slave was legally entitled to a driver’s license. The answer was obvious. Labor slaves were often assigned to drive transport vehicles. Their value would greater if they were issued driver’s licenses so company owners would demand that the law permit it.

  In the end, though, she decided against getting a car. She didn’t need to get out much so it was cheaper for her to take cabs.

  Her first meeting was with Llewellyn Smith. She had been too busy to manage her trust as closely as she would have liked. Cash was beginning to accumulate and she needed to invest it to accelerate the trust’s growth. Smith advised her on some property that he felt had good revenue potential. In particular, one of his clients was thinking about selling a storefront that had been rented to a barber. It was in a good location in an upscale shopping district. When the barber had died, his widow had cancelled the lease. The baronet who owned it didn’t want to have to deal with small business any more and was eager to sell.

  Her second meeting was with Sir Dodge. She gave him the details of the barbershop and he said that he would look into purchasing it jointly with her. It was priced at a point that she could buy a fifty percent share over time. Sir Dodge would take an extra five percent of the rent as a management fee.

  If he didn’t like the way the property looked, he would find something else in a similar price range and give her the same deal.

  This was the first time that she would own more than a quarter share of a property. Her little empire was growing.

  Her third stop was at the kennel service where Barry, her first kennelman worked. The office was located on a quiet street in a low-key commercial district. Though no respectable aristocrat would ever visit the offices of a kennel service in person, the service maintained an expensively-appointed waiting room staffed by a well-groomed receptionist. It was important that the service never appear seedy or common.

  The receptionist did not look happy to be dealing directly with a slave. That was not the image that the company wished to project. Especially when the slave was wearing a collar like some kind of animal. But she was helpful because that would be the quickest way to get Irene back out the door.

  Irene was amused to note that the receptionist was squeamish about talking to a slave, but didn’t have the slightest reservation about discussing butt plugs, dildos, lube, and cunt weights. The latter was an unusual requirement but the receptionist mentioned in passing that they had received several orders for the weights in the past year. More than in the entire previous history of the service.

  Irene didn’t tell her that she was personally responsible for the sudden interest in the weights.

  Irene wrote a cheque drawn on the Lady Irene Trust for the entire order.

  The receptionist promised to have the supplies delivered to Lord Cranford’s kennels within five business days. She didn’t ask for an address. The service had delivered a lot of special orders there.

  The receptionist offered to include a free catalog with the order. She might not like dealing directly with a slave, but she knew potential business when she saw it. And, if Irene shopped from a catalog, she could phone orders in rather than sullying their reception room.

  Irene’s next stop was a jeweler. It was time to do something about the torc around her neck.

  She explained how it had been fastened on her and showed the two barely-visible seams, one on each side where it fit together.

  He was an elderly man, stumpy and pot-bellied with thick white hair and an even thicker foreign accent.

  “Yes. Yes. I see. Excellent workmanship. And you say that there’s no way to remove it.”

  “I was told that it had to be cut off.”

  He ran a finger around the inside of the collar. “You were told right, I think. I can feel no irregularity. No hidden button or latch. Let me try something.”

  He disappeared into the back of his shop and returned a minute later with a heavy metal block. “A magnet,” he said. “Be very quiet.” He worked the magnet around both seams, pressing it to the gold above and below the collar as well as along the surface, listening hard.

  “I don’t hear anything,” he said. “It doesn’t appear to be a magnetic release. It’s a pity to have to cut such a fine piece of work, but we don’t seem to have a choice.”

  He took Irene into his workshop, cleared a bench and had her lie on her back. The bench was too short, it extended only from the top of her head to her hips, so he positioned a chair with a folded blanket draped over its back under her calves to support her legs.

  She was far from comfortable.

  “Now, turn your head away from me and don’t move.”

  He inserted a piece of leather under the collar to protect her neck and then began to saw through the gold. Gold is soft, but the saw blade was fine and he worked slowly and carefully, pausing to lubricate the blade frequently.

  He was sawing at the existing seams, so the cut slowed dramatically when the blade encountered the metal latch. “It feels like steel,” he said. “Keep still.”

  It took almost half an hour to saw through both seams. Irene’s calves were aching where they were pressed against the chair.

  “Done.” The jeweler was holding half of the collar in each hand when Irene sat up again.

  Her neck felt strange. Light and free. She had worn the collar continuously for almost a year. It would take a little time for her to become accustomed to its absence.

  The jeweler shook the pieces of the collar and bits of dark steel bounced onto the bench. “Yes. It was a permanent latch. Once it was hooked into the socket it could only be cut open.” He looked at Irene. “You come back in two weeks. I need a hundred plaq deposit. You come back in two weeks.”

  Irene wrote him a cheque for the hundred plaqs and left the shop. The collar had weighted less than a pound, but free of that small weight, she felt like she was floating on her feet.

  No longer labeled as Slave Irene, she could call herself anything she wanted.

  She chose to continue to call herself Irene. The lady’s name was inappropriate for a slave, but she had become a most inappropriate slave so the name suited her.

  * * *

  Lord Cranford’s entertainment was a success. It wasn’t elaborate, but his guests were impressed by Irene’s exceptional skills. Earl Bloklas had her first and was quick to tell the others that they had to give her exceptional cunt a test drive.

  Their only disappointment was that Irene wasn’t wearing her famous collar. She laughed and told them that she was still Irene, even without her gold label around her neck.

  After the entertainment, back in the kennels, the other slaves looked irritated. “What’s so special about your cunt?” Jugs asked.

  “Yeah, and your blowjobs seemed like they were never going to end,” Tatas said. “Why didn’t you just get the gentlemen off? I can teach you how to do it a lot quicker next time.”

  “I don’t want to do it quicker,” Irene said. “I like to go slow and tease a man until he can’t stand it any more. When he’s so desperate for release that he’s putty in my hands, I own him for a few minutes.”

  “That sounds like a lot of unnecessary work for a reward that’s entirely imaginary,” Tatas said.

  “It’s not work at all, it’s a joy,” Irene replied.

  Bazooms looked thoughtful. “You didn’t answer Jugs’ question. What is special about your cunt?”

  “I exercise it. It’s stronger than other women’s. That way, I can massage a man’s cock with it while he’s fucking me. It gives the man extra sensations.”

  “What do you mean, stronger? It’s a hole, not a muscle.”

  “It’s a hole that’s surrounded by muscle. You can strengthen the muscle and also learn to control
it. It’s not hard, it just takes practice.”

  “How do you exercise it?”

  “Learn to squeeze. Here, I’ll show you what I’m talking about. Put two fingers in my cunt.” Irene bent her knees slightly and spread her legs.

  Bazooms wasn’t thrilled about putting her fingers in another woman’s cunt, but she’d done worse and she wanted to know why the lord’s guests had been raving about Irene.

  When her first two fingers were inserted, Irene squeezed.

  Bazooms’ eyebrows raised in surprise.

  “Now put them in yourself and try to do the same thing.”

  Bazooms followed the instruction and frowned.

  “Squeeze like you’ve got to pee bad and are trying to hold it back.”

  Bazooms’ frown morphed into a grimace and then a scowl. “I can feel something, but it’s not very strong.”

  “Keep working on that every day and you’ll develop your strength. It’ll take a few weeks of work.”

  “I knew a slave who claimed that she could massage a man all the way to a climax that way,” Jugs said, “but I never believed her.”

  “It can be done,” Irene replied. “I’ve done it many times. The hard part is convincing a man to stop thrusting and let you do all the work.”

  “She was called Peach,” Jugs said. “I think she said that she learned to do it in Lord Snow’s kennels.”

  “I was owned by Lord Snow last winter,” Irene said. “I knew Peach. I was the one who taught her to exercise her cunt regularly. I’m really happy to hear that she kept it up.”

  “Peach never said that anyone taught her.”

  “Well, you know Peach. She has an attitude.”

  “She sure does.”

  They talked about other slaves that they might have known in common but Peach was the only one that they found.

  It was late and they soon went to bed. Irene was still sleeping in Lord Cranford’s pleasure room while the rest of the slaves each had her own cell.