She knocked on the door and he called out for her to enter. She stepped into a large bedroom decorated in a lurid shade of pink, with mirrors on all four walls and on the ceiling above the purple satin-draped four-poster bed. Late evening sunlight spilled through the open French windows, gleaming on the thigh-high purple rubber boots and matching cat-suit Gina wore. Smiling, she beckoned Constance forward.
The bare-chested figure of KT stood by the head of the bed, a riding crop tucked into the studded belt of his skin-tight faded blue jeans. Lying on the black velvet cushion of the chair beside him was a set of handcuffs and steel clamps.
‘Oh, Constance, you are so delightfully predictable,’ he greeted her. ‘Gina is none too pleased to see you, though. You see, we had a little bet. She thought you wouldn’t turn up early and do a little detective work. I was certain you would. As she lost the bet, she gets punished. But you first. Get on your knees and crawl over here, on the double.’
Constance did as she was told, her face flushing with shame. When she reached KT, he ordered her to remove her vest. Her nipples stiffened when he touched them with the tip of his riding crop.
‘I’ve been so looking forward to this moment,’ he declared, caressing her breasts with the crop. ‘Had I lost the bet, Gina would have had the privilege of punishing you.’
Constance frowned. ‘But for what, master? If you had lost the bet, there would be no reason to punish me.’
He smiled. ‘We would have found an excuse, never fear. Now, lift those breasts nice and high. I want to give them a taste of what your bottom will shortly be receiving. Come on! You’re only making it worse for yourself by trying my patience.’
Trembling, Constance lifted her breasts with both hands and squeezed them together. Gina knelt behind her and gripped her wrists firmly, obviously intending not to let go until Constance had been fully punished. She shut her eyes and whimpered in terror as KT drew back the riding crop. She heard it whistle through the air, felt the breeze as it descended past her face, then the fiery agony of its cracking impact on her breasts. A shrill cry burst from her. Instinctively, she tried to retreat out of range, but Gina’s iron grip on her wrists and her right knee pressed into the small of her back prevented her from going anywhere.
KT allowed a moment for the fire to spread through her breasts, before administering a second searing stroke of the crop.
‘Owww… Master, have mercy!’ she cried.
‘If you’re going to play big girl games, you must accept big girl punishments!’ he snapped, raising the crop for the third time.
Half a dozen resounding whacks later, the first instalment of her punishment was complete. The throbbing of the six fiery lines branded on the upper half of her breasts brought tears to her eyes, yet she could not deny the equally strong sensations of pleasure.
At KT’s command, Gina unzipped Constance’s skirt and tugged it down to her knees. The tiny panties she wore underneath were transparent pink silk. As Gina pulled these down, KT instructed Constance to put her hands behind her back. He passed the handcuffs to his slave and she snapped them shut around Constance’s wrists. She then picked one of the chrome clamps up off the chair. Constance’s cry of protest became a shriek of pain as the steel jaws bit her right nipple. Gina affixed the other clamp to the opposite bud and gave the small steel balls that dangled by chains from both a small tug.
‘You’ll soon get used to the minor discomforts,’ KT assured her as she continued to gasp in agony. ‘Right, let’s have a look at your bottom.’
Remaining on her knees, Constance bent over the chair, resting her chin on the velvet cushion. The steel balls dangling freely from her nipples exacerbated the agony in her breasts. To make sure that Constance did not move, Gina raised her right foot and planted her spike-heeled boot on the back of her neck.
‘These white cheeks are begging for the crop,’ KT mused, studying her submissively presented rear. ‘Shall we say a dozen strokes?’
‘No!’ Constance shrieked.
‘The slave seems to feel that’s not enough, master,’ said Gina.
‘Very well – sixteen then,’ he said.
‘Master, no, I didn’t—!’
‘She’s still not happy,’ Gina said, pressing harder on Constance’s neck with her boot.
‘Then we shall have to make it an even two dozen,’ said KT. He tapped Constance’s buttocks with the crop. ‘Any advances on twenty-four?’
Knowing full well what would happen if she responded again, she wisely remained silent. She clenched her buttocks and bit her lower lip in anticipation of the first burning crack of the crop. KT took careful aim, before delivering a savage lash that caused her buttocks to quiver and raised an angry furrow on the creamy flesh. Her responsive yelp was everything a master could have hoped for.
The thrashing seemed to last forever, each stroke of the crop burning more fiercely than the previous. Having administered the agreed two dozen, KT stepped back to admire his handiwork. The crimson stripes criss-crossed on Constance’s buttocks were as pleasing to behold as they were painful to endure. Gina removed her boot from the other woman’s neck. As Constance rose to her feet, blinking tears from her eyes, her skirt and panties slipped down to her ankles.
‘That’s you dealt with, for now,’ he announced. ‘You won’t be needing your clothes for the rest of the evening. Now, go and kneel in the corner while I deal with Gina.’
Constance slunk away like a chastened schoolgirl, and took up her position in the corner, facing the wall. By peeking sideways at one of the mirrors, she would still be able to see the other woman receive whatever punishment she had earnt by losing the bet with her master. For the part Gina had so willingly played in her own punishment, Constance hoped it would be exceptionally severe.
Gina paid the price of her wager without protest, peeling her cat-suit down to her hips, then kneeling at her master’s feet. After he had punished her breasts with a dozen stiff strokes of the riding crop, she fell to all fours and began licking his boots. His manhood bulged impressively in his tight jeans and Constance was delighted to see that he was feasting his eyes on her, rather than his grovelling slave.
Constance was still naked and wearing her nipple clamps when she went on air, several hours later. KT’s special game was a phone-in contest, in which his Slave in the Hot Seat was the prize. Any master who was seriously interested in having Constance as his slave for a whole night was invited to call in with a good reason why he should have her. KT would decide the winner. She had already agreed to accept his decision and give herself willingly to the winner of the contest.
During the next two hours, she took over twenty calls from men who were eager to get their hands on her. Their reasons for wanting her for a night ranged from the romantic to the depraved. Finally, KT went back on air and announced that she had been won by a man who called himself the Stablemaster, and who had claimed she should go to him because he could lick her into shape, in more ways than one.
Chapter 6
The following Thursday night Constance returned to The Master’s Masque. She was dressed exactly as KT had specified, in a narrow-rimmed black hat, a white silk blouse, a black tie and virtually poured-on black rubber shorts. Gleaming ox-blood DM’s laced almost to her knees added the finishing touch to her striking outfit. The approving looks were far more numerous than she could have attracted in the most expensive ensemble from her boutique. She hoped the Stablemaster would show due appreciation.
Constance knew absolutely nothing about the man who had won her for the night. Psychopath? Gentleman? Pervert? She would just have to wait to find out. In the event of something untoward occurring, KT would be on hand to rescue her.
She was glad to see that Gina had been given the night off. Old-fashioned jealousy was the principal reason behind her increasing dislike for KT’s slave. After all, compared to Constance, the red-haired woman was almost
plain. Why did KT keep her when such an attractive alternative was available?
Gina’s replacement on bar duty was a heavily built blonde in a studded black leather basque and fishnet tights. Constance took a stool and asked for a Bloody Mary and ‘reserved’ collar. KT had insisted on the latter, as a symbol of respect for her master and a signal to all others that she was spoken for. She leant over the bar, her nose almost buried in the barmaid’s cleavage as the other woman fastened a collar around her throat; the word ‘reserved’ was studded in gleaming chrome letters on the thick black leather.
KT had informed her that the Stablemaster would be meeting her ‘after ten’, refusing to be any more specific. If he kept her waiting into the early hours, which would not surprise her, he was liable to have a drunk slave on his hands. It was highly unlikely that he would fail to show up at all.
Constance was still sipping her first drink when a tall woman approached the bar. Her chestnut hair was tied back in a ponytail and her slender body sheathed in an ankle-length dress of shiny black rubber.
She carefully regarded Constance for a few seconds, then cleared her throat and spoke. ‘You’re waiting for the Stablemaster?’
Though the look was feminine, the voice was unmistakably male, reminding Constance that she had not yet lost her ability to be shocked.
‘You’re him?’ she responded, trying to conceal her disappointment. It was impossible to reconcile the dual images of a transvestite and a dominant master.
‘Shall we go?’ He ignored her question.
‘Where to, exactly?’
‘Just follow me.’
He waited impatiently while she finished her drink. Telling him she had changed her mind momentarily seemed like a good idea but, she decided, what the hell? Going with a TV would be a new experience, if nothing else.
When she slid from her stool, he began walking towards the rear of the club. He held open a door and she found herself facing a narrow dimly lit staircase. ‘The club have provided us with a fully equipped private room for the night,’ he explained. ‘More suitable than an hotel, I think you’ll agree.’
‘I didn’t realise you could rent rooms here,’ Constance replied.
The TV smiled. ‘Here, you can do just about anything.’
She followed him up the steep flight of steps to a black painted door at the top of the landing. He pushed it open and she followed him inside, her uneasiness increasing with every step. The room was small and windowless, a jungle of dangling chains, racks of punishment tools, and bizarre items of black furniture. The multi-coloured bulbs in the high chandelier cast an eerie, pinkish green light over the claustrophobic space. Standing in one corner, his fists gripping a set of iron manacles dangling from heavy chains, was a broad-shouldered, shaven-headed man of forty-something. He was wearing an ankle-length robe of rich red satin.
‘Good evening, sweet thing,’ he greeted in an intoxicating Scottish brogue. ‘So glad you didn’t get cold feet.’
‘I’m a woman of my word,’ Constance replied. ‘I, er, wasn’t expecting there to be two of you.’
He frowned. ‘Is that a problem? If it is, just say so. I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable.’
‘I’m just surprised,’ she said, her glance darting from one to the other.
He smiled. ‘This kinky world of ours is full of surprises. I’m the man who likes to be known as the Stablemaster. My friend’s alias is Truelove. What shall we call you?’
She shrugged.
‘How about “Prize”?’ he suggested. ‘That is what you are, after all.’
Truelove poured Constance a glass of vodka and the Stablemaster invited her to sit. She moved towards the single chair, only noticing the pointed chrome studs on the wooden seat when she sat on them. Both men smiled when she yelped and leapt upright again.
‘The fittings are rather functional,’ said the Stablemaster, a half-note of apology in his voice. ‘Perhaps it would have been better if we had met somewhere less intimidating.’
‘This is fine,’ she assured him, carefully studying each item of grimly functional furniture and mentally speculating on its possible uses. ‘I’m just not very used to meeting strange men in dungeons.’
His eyes lit up. ‘Aha, a relative newcomer! I never would have guessed from hearing you on S/M-FM. You sounded so uninhibited, if you don’t mind my saying so. You’re single?’
‘By choice, I assure you.’
‘Waiting for the master of your dreams to come along,’ he said. ‘I can well imagine you as a career woman – with your own business, perhaps?’
‘I’d really rather not discuss personal details,’ she replied. ‘I’m sure you understand.’
He nodded. ‘Absolutely. Safer to play by the rules of the game.’
‘More fun too,’ she added.
‘Perhaps we should get on with establishing the statute of limitations for tonight’s game,’ he suggested.
‘What does that mean?’
‘I forget you’re new to all this,’ he said, somewhat patronisingly. ‘As your master, it’s important that I know the limits to which you are willing to go. Are there any particular acts you would absolutely refuse to have any part of?’
‘I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t open-minded,’ Constance replied. ‘What is it about this game of yours that I might find so repugnant?’
‘It’s basically a game of chance, involving acts of S/M and bondage,’ the Stablemaster explained. ‘I am the master, Truelove my assistant, and you our submissive plaything. Okay, so far?’
She nodded.
‘What will happen to you depends on the roll of a dice,’ he continued. ‘Let me show you.’ He led her to the round iron table in the centre of the room and opened out a large snakes-and-ladders type board. There were four segments, each consisting of thirty-six numbered squares, with arrows pointing in various directions.
‘The game begins here in the red section, which is the dungeon.’ He held up a tiny plastic figure of a naked girl in chains. ‘This is you, the slave. The objective of the game is for you to get from the dungeon to freedom, via the Master’s Bedroom and the Slave Auction. The symbol in each numbered square represents a different form of punishment and you will be subjected to quite a few of these as you progress through each section. Should you land on one that throws up something you would rather not do, I can, at my discretion, offer you an alternative. I should warn you that this game is designed to test to the full the endurance limits of a slave. Once you begin, I shall expect you to see it through to the end.’
‘Or else?’
He shrugged. ‘As you said, you’re a woman of your word. I don’t see you chickening out. Any other questions?’
Constance put down her glass. ‘Shall we begin?’
Before the first roll of the dice she was required to strip down to her high heels and stockings. Emboldened by the large vodka she had hurriedly consumed, she performed an erotic striptease for her two appreciative companions, casting off her inhibitions along with her clothes. It was becoming ever easier to slip into her carefree alter ego – the anonymous, sex-breathing slave tramp of S/M-FM, who was free to be whoever she wanted to be and whatever her masters desired. When she was all but naked the Stablemaster applauded, then ordered her to raise her hands above her head.
‘You will enjoy this game,’ he promised, slipping a set of rubber padded manacles around her wrists.
The feeling of delicious helplessness when the restraints were snapped shut caused her nipples to stiffen instantly. For better or worse, her fate was now in the hands of these two men. The fittings and tools in the room around her were suddenly infused with all manner of erotic possibility. Standing on the tips of her toes, Constance had a clear view of the game board on the table.
Truelove threw the dice and moved the slave figurine onto a square numbered eleven and decorat
ed with the symbol of a coiled whip on a pair of breasts. With a satisfied grin the Stablemaster took a long thin whip from a rack on the wall, cracking it on the wooden floor as he took up his position a few feet in front of Constance. Knowing what was about to happen, she bit her lower lip, every muscle involuntarily tightening. She threw back her head as he recoiled the whip. The knotted tongue of black leather hissed through the air and licked fire across both breasts with a resounding thwack! She whimpered and jerked, the sharp after-burn bringing tears to her eyes.
The full eleven lashes left her globes throbbing and raggedly striped. After the Stablemaster had laid down his whip, his companion threw the dice again, yielding a one. Following the direction of the arrow, he moved the slave figure into an adjoining square, which was numbered six and decorated with a shark head symbol.
‘Oh dear, we are off to a painful start,’ the Stablemaster sighed.
‘Wh-what does that mean?’ Constance pleaded.
‘It would be much more in keeping with the spirit of the game if you did not ask such questions,’ he replied. ‘Besides, you won’t have to wait long to find out.’
Her eyes followed him as he took down a fearsome-looking chain from the wall. Instead of links, it was made up of small copper shark heads, with jagged teeth of white plastic. There were twenty such objects on the long chain, joined to one another by small metal hooks. He detached two sets of three and Constance realised the meaning of the number six on the board. She stifled a shriek of terror as he pulled open the jaws of one of the copper shark heads and placed it over her right nipple. The teeth looked sharp enough to bite it clean off.
Her shriek of agony filled the room as the jaws snapped tightly over her nipple. The pain was accentuated by the weight of the three metal objects left dangling from her teat. Another scream was breaking from her throat even before a second jaw was clamped to her left breast.
‘You’re doing fine, my Prize,’ the Stablemaster reassured her, patting her bottom.
All for Her Master Page 6