By the time she was halfway through her quota of thrusts and lunges, her shoulder and thigh muscles were beginning to ache unbearably. Her protestations to the man towering over her that she needed a rest were met with another whack of the cane. After she had finally managed to complete the exercise, he pushed her down onto the dildo once more and ordered her to remain there while the dice was cast again and her next torment decided.
The chosen subject was art. Gripping a felt-tipped marker with her clenched vaginal muscles, Constance was forced to stand spread-legged over a stool. On the plain sheet of paper tacked to the wooden seat, she was ordered to write her name. Her hands were cuffed behind her back. At her first four attempts, the marker slipped from her slick pussy. Before reinserting it each time, the Stablemaster punished her with two strokes of the cane.
‘It’s impossible!’ she wailed.
‘That’s not the attitude of a good pupil,’ he responded, in headmasterly tones. ‘You’ll keep on trying until you succeed. Just be grateful I haven’t given you a hundred lines.’
Even getting the tip of the marker to the paper was extraordinarily difficult. With her teeth gritted in frustration, Constance clenched her internal muscles and tried desperately to guide the marker with the movements of her hips. Offered a choice, she would have almost preferred to suffer the torments of the wooden horse all over again. Eventually, when she was close to screaming point, her efforts resulted in a near illegible scrawl on the paper. Rather than make her try again, the Stablemaster punished her with six whacks of the cane to the backs of her thighs. The dice then rolled again.
‘The headmaster’s office,’ the Stablemaster declared. ‘Yet more punishment for you, my naughty girl.’
He sat on the stool and ordered Constance to bend over his knee. The square on the game board that the slave figure had been moved onto was numbered twenty-two. Eleven resounding whacks of his right palm were administered to each cheek, infusing her bottom with a fresh shade of crimson. The spanking left her convinced she would not be able to sit down comfortably for a week.
When the next throw of the dice dictated that she sit in the studded chair and take a French lesson, she begged the Stablemaster to offer her an alternative.
‘Bottom a bit sore?’ he smirked. ‘Very well, if you don’t want to sit in the chair, you can have detention for fifteen minutes. How does that sound?’
She thought it had to be preferable to inflicting any further suffering on her raw rear. The Stablemaster slid aside a panel in one of the walls, revealing a small dark closet. Constance was handcuffed, then ordered to step inside. Before locking her in, he drew open another panel at the back of the closet. She uttered a horrified gasp when she found herself pressed against a sheet of transparent Perspex, staring into a brightly-lit booth beyond. There were air holes in the top of the screen and several larger openings at strategic points further down. The sliding of the panel must have activated some form of signal, because the closet door had barely slid shut behind her when an elderly grey-haired man in a loose-fitting black suit stepped into the lighted booth. Constance was wedged tightly into the closet, the tips of her breasts protruding through the Perspex cutouts.
The man slid a door shut behind him and they were alone together. He ogled her for a moment, lasciviously licking his lips, then reached with both hands for her breasts. He pinched and tweaked her nipples before proceeding to suck, first on the left, then the right.
He then turned his attention to the hole further down the screen. It was large enough for him to fit one hand through. He wriggled a finger between Constance’s tightly clenched thighs and worked it up into her sex. Never had she felt so cheapened and humiliated. It was almost enjoyable.
The confines of the closet did not permit her to part her thighs by more than an inch, but the old man still managed to penetrate her with the full length of his finger. He resumed his feasting on her nipples as he frigged her. By shutting her eyes she found it easier to abandon herself to the pleasure of what he was doing.
Throughout the brief, crudely erotic interlude, not a single word was spoken. Constance was near the point of climax when the old man abruptly withdrew his hand and stood up. He licked her honey from his finger, complimented her with a smile, then turned and left the booth.
‘Selfish old git!’ she muttered in frustration.
Before any more visitors had a chance to enter the booth, the closet door was opened again and the Stablemaster led her back into the room. One throw of the dice later, the plastic slave was in the Freedom section of the board.
‘Just one more sacrifice for your master, and your duty is done,’ said the Stablemaster.
‘What do you mean by sacrifice?’ she demanded warily.
Truelove handed him a pack of playing cards. He shuffled the deck, then invited Constance to pick one.
‘Each card represents a different kind of sacrifice,’ he explained. ‘Depending on the one you pick, you might have to parade naked through the club, have your cunt shaved for an audience, or lie across the bar and fuck yourself with a beer bottle. The possibilities are numerous. On the other hand, if you pick one of the jokers in the pack, all you have to do is get dressed and go home a happy little slave.’
‘What if I don’t like the card I choose?’
He sighed. ‘You’ve played the game with remarkable spirit and perseverance. It would be a shame if it were to finish on a sour note.’
Constance studied the pack, dreading the prospect of picking a card that resulted in any of the abject humiliations he had mentioned. Whatever the challenge, however, she knew she would not refuse to go through with it. In submission, as in business, her word was her bond.
‘Here goes,’ she sighed, before plucking a card from the middle of the deck. She could scarcely bear to look when the Stablemaster held it up for her inspection. The card was a ten of diamonds, with a picture of a camera in the centre.
‘You have just consented to pose for some dirty pics,’ he grinned. ‘Ten, to be precise. Aren’t you relieved?’
‘Uh, yes, I suppose so,’ she replied. ‘Who gets to keep these pictures?’
‘They’ll be my souvenirs of an unforgettable night,’ he answered. ‘Don’t worry. I won’t be sending them off to any pervy magazines, or anything like that.’
Constance still had grave misgivings about ‘dirty’ photographs of herself in anybody’s collection. But the Stablemaster persuaded her to trust him, swearing that if she cared to give him her address, he would send the snaps and negatives to her as soon as they were developed.
It was a decision she would very soon regret.
Chapter 7
Late the following afternoon Constance’s boutique received an unexpected visitor. Wearing sunglasses and a conservative grey trouser suit, with her red hair tied up in a bun, Gina was scarcely recognisable.
‘What are you doing here?’ Constance demanded in an alarmed whisper.
‘Is that any way to greet a potential customer?’ she replied. ‘How are you feeling after last night’s festivities?’
‘Sore, if you must know,’ Constance answered. ‘Look, I’d really rather not discuss my nocturnal activities here.’
Gina smiled. ‘The Stablemaster got his money’s worth, I’ll bet. KT and I were at the club, you know.’
‘Really?’
She nodded. ‘We even paid you a little visit, when you were on that wooden horse contraption.’
Constance blushed at the memory. ‘That was you?’
‘Uh-huh. Okay, I can see I’m embarrassing you, so I’ll say no more on the subject for now. The real reason I dropped by is to exercise my credit card. KT and I are going to an important function on Saturday night and I want to look my best. I need something sexy, yet classy.’
‘Saturday night?’ Constance repeated. ‘But that’s…’
‘S/M-FM night, I
know. You won’t be on your own, don’t worry. You’ll have a strong master by your side, to ensure everything runs smoothly.’
‘Who?’
‘A trusted friend of ours. You and he will get along splendidly. Now, can you help me squander some money on a designer label, or do you just want to go somewhere quiet and talk bondage?’
Constance did not relish the prospect of going on air without the guiding presence of KT by her side, but she still arrived at his mansion that Saturday night. Her master for the night was a pleasant surprise – tall, handsome, in his early thirties and of Mediterranean appearance.
He introduced himself as Marlo, which made a refreshing change from the initials and pseudonyms that seemed to go with the territory.
‘You’re becoming quite a radio star,’ he said as they sipped glasses of wine in the studio. He handed her a glossy adult magazine. ‘Take a look at this.’
The page he had opened contained adult entertainment related news and gossip. One column was devoted to the discovery of ‘late night pirates of perversity and passion on the airwaves around Greater London’. S/M-FM was described as ‘essential listening for subs, doms, fetishists and anyone interested in bizarre and kinky sex’. The ‘sultry submissive who calls herself CB’ was written of in particularly glowing terms. Constance had to read the article several times before she could believe it was her that was being referred to.
‘They’ve even published the frequency to pick us up on,’ smiled Marlo. ‘I think we’re going to have a lot more listeners from now on. KT is a very happy man.’
‘I never dreamt it would come to this,’ said Constance, lighting a cigarette. ‘I thought we could only be heard by a few dozen people, at most.’
‘S/M-FM has the potential to be the pirate radio station of sleaze,’ said Marlo. ‘It’s a shame we don’t stand a chance in hell of ever getting a licence to broadcast legally. Anyway, you’re on air in less than an hour, so I hope you’re hot. I thought you could start off with one of your fantasies – the filthier the better – while we wait for the calls to come in. You’re doing the full four hours tonight: think you can keep the juices flowing that long?’
She smiled coyly. ‘I’m relying on you to see that I do. Is it okay for me to call you master?’
‘I think you and I are going to work very well together,’ he replied with a smile.
From midnight to four a.m. Constance shared her fantasies and traded pornographic conversation with a continuous stream of callers. She revelled as never before in her every second on air, only regretting that she could not stay on longer. Afterwards, she and Marlo celebrated with a bottle of wine. She did not mind getting drunk, as she had no intention of driving home.
As befitted her submissive role, she waited for him to make the first move. He did not need any encouragement. He first kissed her breathless, then spread her on the thick red carpeted studio floor and peeled off her short figure-hugging black lycra dress. The black G-string panties she was wearing underneath offered even less of a challenge.
‘Master, take me,’ she breathed, fumbling with the zipper of his jeans.
‘Wait,’ he said, gently pushing her hands away. ‘Let’s put S/M-FM back on air and fuck for an audience.’
Once he had flicked the necessary switches, he flung off his clothes and joined the wet and wanton slave spread-eagled on the floor. Remembering the listeners, Constance gave full voice to her passion, screaming obscenities as her master’s cock pistoned between her thighs.
Being on air had a similar effect on him, and he left whoever might be listening in no doubt that the shrieking woman at the receiving end of his cock was a true-blue slut.
S/M-FM remained on air until almost seven a.m., by which time Constance and Marlo had finally exhausted their animal passions. They crawled to a spare upstairs bedroom, where they slept until noon, when KT returned and demanded a report on the night’s events.
The afterglow of Marlo, broadcasting success and the compliments of KT lasted until the following Monday evening, when Constance found a sealed brown envelope slipped beneath the windscreen of her Porsche.
Inside was a photograph from The Master’s Masque, which showed her kneeling in the centre of the dungeon floor, thrusting the huge dildo in her right fist up between her widely parted thighs and performing fellatio on the matching phallus in her left hand.
She hurriedly thrust it back into the envelope before any passer-by managed to catch a glimpse. Why had the Stablemaster left the envelope on her windscreen, for anybody to pick up and open?
The question was answered half an hour later, when he called her on her mobile phone. ‘The photographs came out well, didn’t they?’ he began.
‘What the hell are you playing at?’
‘Another of my little master and slave games,’ he calmly replied. ‘The last one was such a success that I find myself wanting to use you as my plaything again.’
‘Well, I don’t want to be your plaything,’ Constance retorted. ‘I thought it was understood that what happened at the club was a one-off.’
‘Rules change,’ came the response. ‘These photographs give me a huge advantage over you. If they were to fall into the wrong hands they could prove very embarrassing for a respectable businesswoman such as yourself. Are you getting the picture – if you’ll pardon the expression?’
‘What is it you want?’ she asked, in as level a voice as she could manage.
‘You,’ he replied. ‘Whenever, however, and wherever I want. I still have nine photographs of you. Each time you do something for me, I give you one back. When you have them all, then you’re free.’
‘And the alternative?’
‘The alternative, my dear Constance, is these sexy photographs of you turning up in all manner of public places. It would be very easy to prove I’m not bluffing, if you don’t believe me.’
‘Why are you doing this?’ she demanded. ‘I played your game, did everything you asked. I trusted you!’
‘What can I say? I’m a greedy and devious man,’ he replied. ‘I want to meet you tonight. I’ll be expecting you no later than nine. Here’s the address…’
The rendezvous point was a lock-up garage, in a neighbourhood where Constance was far from comfortable about parking her Porsche. The Stablemaster was waiting for her, as arranged, wearing a tan suit and multi-coloured tie. The sight of his smug features filled her with rage, but she thought it might be wiser to contain herself, for the moment.
‘Where’s your other half?’ she demanded.
‘This is a private arrangement between you and me,’ he replied. ‘Come, let me show you our little love-nest.’
He raised the garage door and she stepped cautiously inside. There was a large wooden chest in one corner and a black rubber-covered mattress on the floor. Ropes and chains hung from hooks on the back wall. A wide metal bar dangled from two chains bolted to the ceiling, a couple of feet behind the naked light bulb that illuminated the dingy cell. Constance suspected that she was not its first guest.
‘It smells a bit,’ she observed, wrinkling her nose at the faint scent of engine oil.
‘Sorry, the cleaning lady’s on holiday,’ the Stablemaster smirked, slamming the door shut. ‘You don’t have to pretend to be impressed.’
‘What do I have to do?’ she snapped.
‘Address me as master, for a start. I know you’d rather not be here – especially under these circumstances – but we don’t always get what we want out of life, do we?’
‘Unless we refuse to abide by rules of decent behaviour,’ Constance responded icily. ‘So, master, for having made the mistake of trusting you, I am now your sex slave, whether I like it or not. Correct?’
He smiled. ‘I knew you’d understand. Cheer up. This isn’t the beginning of a life sentence. You only have to earn nine photographs and your sentence is served. Anyway, aft
er what happened when we last met, I think you may enjoy being my slave.’
‘Don’t you bet on it.’
‘Now, Constance, is that any way to speak to your master?’ he tutted. ‘I can see you’re in need of a few lessons in good manners.’ He raised the lid of the chest and produced a long slender cane. ‘Let’s have you on your back, where you belong.’
Until she devised a way out of this blackmail situation, she decided it would be best to play along with the creep. She lay back on the mattress and spread her arms wide, looking and feeling as though she was setting herself up for her own sacrifice. Her master flexed his cane as he leant over her, a victorious smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. The fact that she was a far from willing plaything obviously greatly increased the pleasure of having her at his mercy.
He hooked the top of the cane in the hem of her knee-length sky-blue skirt and tugged it gradually up along her legs, savouring every further inch of smooth, pale flesh that was exposed. Not wishing to give him any excuse to punish her, Constance obligingly raised her bottom off the mattress to allow her skirt to be pulled up over her hips. She kept her hindquarters raised as he hooked the cane in the waistband of her white lace briefs and tugged them down, baring her severely manicured pubic mound.
He pulled off her panties, sniffed them, commented favourably on the scent, and then placed them across her face. ‘You just stay as you are, my love,’ he smiled. ‘Your master will do all the necessary work.’
He tied a length of thick rope around her left ankle, slung the other end across the overhead bar and pulled downwards, until her leg was stretched at a sixty-degree angle to her body. He knotted the rope in position, then repeated the process on her right ankle. Standing between her thighs, he gazed at what Constance knew was a perfect vaginal vista.
Any hope that he would be content to tie her up and screw her was dispelled when he withdrew the cane from his belt and announced that he was about to punish her earlier impudence. She denied him the satisfaction of pleading for mercy and resolved to take her punishment without a whimper.
All for Her Master Page 8