The Stablemaster seemed to know exactly what she was thinking and was equally determined to make her squeal. She bit her lower lip, tossed her head from side to side and writhed on the mattress as the cane spread fire across her buttocks and the backs of her thighs, in a relentless broadside. Despite the severity of the punishment, she managed to keep her response to the cracking strokes muted to a few gasps and whimpers.
When his right arm eventually wearied, he threw down the cane and feverishly unzipped his trousers. Cupping Constance’s cane-scorched buttocks in both hands, he sank his cock between the dewy folds of her sex. She vowed to keep just as silent while he was screwing her, regardless of how much she found herself enjoying it.
When he realised she was doing her utmost to appear frigid, he began slapping her buttocks with the palms of both hands, in time to the aggressive plunging of his shaft. Despite the stinging pain, Constance continued to defy him. Only when she eventually felt a burst of hot semen against her cervix did an involuntary cry of pleasure escape her lips.
The Stablemaster kept her tied up for almost two hours, during which time he reddened her breasts with his belt, punished her backside with a thin lath of timber and screwed her with a soft-centred chocolate bar, which she was then forced to eat. Afterwards he crouched over her, squeezed his cock between her breasts and thrust until he climaxed again, spurting a hot string of creamy pearls around her throat.
After she had been untied and was finished dressing, he produced a photograph from the inside pocket of his jacket and handed it to her. ‘Your payment, as promised,’ he smiled.
The picture showed Constance naked on all fours, glancing over her left shoulder and pouting seductively for the camera. She studied the embarrassing exposure for a moment, then ripped the photograph into dozens of tiny pieces.
‘I thought you’d want to keep it as a souvenir,’ he said.
‘It would only remind me of you,’ she retorted. ‘If you’re quite finished with me I’d like to go home. I have work to do.’
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Thanks for another wonderful evening. I’ll be in touch again, very soon. You have eight photographs left to earn, remember.’
Constance did not believe, for one moment, that he would surrender his hold over her once the full collection of photographs had been returned. He would still have the negatives and would certainly use them. Unless she wanted to be his slave for a very long time to come, she would have to find another way to break free of his clutches.
She was tempted to tell KT, but he was likely to be less than sympathetic to her plight. Instead she decided to enlist the services of a private detective who had served her well on a previous occasion, by unearthing the identity of a member of her staff who had been selling confidential business information to the owners of a rival boutique. The first step to getting the Stablemaster out of her life once and for all was to learn as much as possible about him.
For her next stint on SM/FM, the following Saturday night, KT had devised an on-air slave auction for the listeners. Constance would be sold to the highest bidder, with all proceeds being donated to the campaign of a dominatrix who was standing as a candidate in a local parliamentary by-election. Her resistance to the idea surprised KT.
‘I’ve had my fill of sex with complete strangers, for now,’ she complained. ‘Besides, I’ve always voted for a conventional party.’
‘What’s brought on this change of heart?’ he demanded. ‘I thought you’d love the idea.’
‘If I wanted to be a whore, I might just as well stand on a street corner,’ she retorted.
KT sighed. ‘Constance, it’s a game. You sell yourself for one night and earn a few quid for a good cause in the process.’
‘What good cause? This Mistress Amber hasn’t a chance in hell of being elected.’
‘True,’ he agreed. ‘But there’s a lot of media interest in her campaign. She can enlighten the general public on S&M related issues – perhaps even initiate some intelligent debate on the subject. If nothing else, she at least adds a bit of colour to a dull campaign.’
Had it not been for the Stablemaster’s baleful hold over her, Constance would have unhesitatingly agreed to the idea. But the last thing she needed right then was to fall into the clutches of another pervert who wanted to own her. However, against her better judgement, she allowed herself to be persuaded. The mess she was in was not of KT’s doing, and she would hate to turn her back on S/M-FM and the myriad opportunities for sexual gratification it provided.
Two hours later she was pronounced ‘sold’ to an anonymous bidder, for the sum of sixteen hundred pounds.
‘I didn’t think you’d make even half that amount,’ KT said delightedly, as soon as they had finished broadcasting.
‘Thanks for the vote of confidence,’ she replied bitterly.
‘What is wrong with you?’ he demanded. ‘Your heart just wasn’t in this tonight.’
‘Time of the month,’ she lied.
He nodded sympathetically. ‘In that case I shall spare you a caning. I do hope you won’t let me down when the time comes for you to meet your buyer.’
Early the following Tuesday, a tall and slender blond man in his early thirties entered Constance’s boutique. He told the assistant who approached him that he wished to deal with Miss Brooking personally. While he waited for her to finish dealing with another client, he browsed through the racks of designer wear with the eye of a connoisseur. As Constance finally approached him, he looked up and smiled.
‘May I help you?’ she enquired pleasantly.
‘Constance – nice to see you again,’ he greeted.
She frowned. ‘I’m sorry, have we met before?’
‘The Master’s Masque,’ he replied. ‘Does the name Truelove ring any bells?’
‘You?’ she exclaimed, her face flushing. ‘What do you want?’
‘A little courteous service,’ he answered. ‘You do have some exquisite garments on sale here. A bit beyond my normal price range, but I feel like splashing out.’
‘This is a respectable boutique,’ she said quietly, scarcely able to contain her anger. ‘You’ll find plenty of alternative places more suited to your particular requirements.’
‘But I like what I see here,’ he insisted. ‘This designer gown, for example, is a tasty little number.’ He whistled. ‘Tasty little price tag too.’
‘If you don’t leave I shall call the police,’ she whispered agitatedly.
‘Be my guest,’ he replied calmly. ‘I’ll be interested to hear what you tell them when they arrive. I’m not an expert on law, but I don’t think it’s illegal for a man to walk in here and express an interest in purchasing a criminally overpriced frock.’
Constance sighed. ‘Okay, if you want to buy something, fine. But I’m perfectly within my rights in forbidding you to try it on.’
He laughed. ‘You’re becoming paranoid. Who said it was for me? As it happens, I’m looking for a birthday present for my girlfriend. This is her size and her favourite colour.’ He removed the dress from the rack, held it up for scrutiny, then nodded. ‘Yes, it’s perfect. She’ll love it.’
‘Will there be anything else?’ she asked.
‘Now that you mention it, yes,’ he answered. ‘I think I might spoil her with a complete ensemble. Let’s see what other goodies you can tempt me with.’
Constance did her best to treat Truelove, or whatever his real name was, as just another customer, though she had a horrible feeling there was something more to his visit than a mere shopping trip. Her suspicions were confirmed when he took his purchases to the counter.
‘Oh, the Stablemaster sends his regards,’ he said softly. ‘He wants to meet you at ten o’clock tonight, in the usual place.’
‘The bastard!’ she hissed. ‘He told me you knew nothing about this… other business.’
‘The
Stablemaster is a very devious man,’ he replied. ‘Not to be trusted. How much does this little lot come to?’
‘Er, seven hundred and forty pounds,’ she replied. ‘How will you be paying?’
He produced his wallet from his jacket, withdrew a photograph and placed it face-down on the counter.
‘My flexible friend,’ he grinned.
Constance glanced nervously around, before picking up the photograph in trembling hands and taking a quick look. It was another from her blackmailer’s pornographic collection, featuring her spread-eagled on the table in the clubroom, with her knees drawn up around her chin. One end of a huge double-ended pink latex dildo was buried between her thighs. Several inches of the other end were in her mouth.
‘This is outrageous,’ she said, her voice trembling.
‘I’m sure your respectable customers couldn’t agree more,’ he replied. ‘Bag this lot, if you don’t mind. There’s no need for a receipt.’
As soon as he left she had to retire to her office for a cigarette and a cup of coffee. She was trembling with rage. Being forced to acquiesce to the Stablemaster’s perverse sexual demands was bad enough, but it did at least have its pleasurable compensations. Having to stand idly by while his sneering transvestite cohort raided her boutique was another matter. Nobody could be permitted to walk over Constance Brooking in that manner.
When she had somewhat calmed down again, she rang the number of the private detective she had hired. It was time to start fighting back.
When she left home, at eight-thirty that evening, the detective’s car followed at a discreet distance. The plan was for him to get a good look at the Stablemaster, possibly even a photograph. He could then unearth his identity and as much information as possible about him. Constance’s hope was that this would provide her with some means of retaliation.
The Stablemaster’s blue Ford Sierra was parked inside the garage and he was waiting by the open door. Constance was more nervous than ever as she stepped out of her Porsche. Who knew how he might react if he spotted the private detective nearby? Luckily, there were a number of other vehicles in the vicinity and the Stablemaster’s full attention was on his slave.
‘You’re late,’ he rasped, glancing at his watch.
‘I got delayed,’ she replied.
‘That’s a dozen strokes of the cane earnt straight off,’ he replied. ‘Well, come on in. There’s work to be done.’
As soon as the garage door had been slammed shut she rounded angrily on him.
‘You told me that tranny friend of yours knew nothing about this. Yet he struts into my boutique this morning, picks up over seven hundred pounds worth of gear and pays with one of your photos.’
He sighed. ‘That wasn’t a very nice thing to do. But it could have been worse.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘He could have cleaned you out of several grands’ worth.’
‘You bastard!’ she snarled. ‘As if it’s not enough to have me at your beck and call, you have to mess with my business as well. Do you think I’m just going to take this lying down?’
‘You seem to have little choice at the moment,’ he replied calmly. ‘Okay, what my friend did was wrong and I’ll see that it doesn’t happen again. You have my word on that.’
‘Oh well, that makes me feel so much better,’ she sneered.
‘Now, now, let’s not get uncivil,’ he said, in a tone so patronising it made her flesh crawl. ‘You know what I want from you and I have no interest in stealing from your precious boutique. It absolutely will not happen again. Okay?’
Constance did not believe him, but consoled herself with a reminder that she would soon be in a position to turn the tables on him. He directed her to take off everything but her high heeled shoes, then lie face down over the bonnet of the car with her arms and legs wide apart. She watched him take his cane from the chest and flex it menacingly. In spite of the intensity with which she despised him, the sight created a sensual tingle between her thighs. The greatest injustice was that the man she was submitting to should be such a creep.
He removed his tie and used it as a gag, knotting it tightly at the back of her head. He then took off his jacket and rolled up his shirt-sleeves, leaving her in no doubt that he intended to subject her bottom to a merciless flogging. She pressed her face to the cold metal of the bonnet, wincing in response to each stroke that slashed across her tender flanks. When the full dozen had been delivered, he put down the cane and produced a martinet from within his treasure chest.
‘You didn’t think I could let your impudence go unpunished, did you?’ he demanded, when Constance began whimpering in protest. ‘A couple of dozen lashes of this should make you think twice before talking back to your master again. Now, be a good girl and lie still, otherwise I shall have to tie you up.’
The martinet swished and the three tongues of hard leather bit cruelly into her buttocks and thighs. The features of the Stablemaster were set in grim concentration as he watched her flesh turn a serious shade of sunburn. When the thrashing finally ended, he unzipped his trousers and unceremoniously speared her from behind with the full length of his rock hard cock.
Having flogged and fucked her into submission, he handed her a tin of car wax and a cloth. Her neck-tie gag remained in place.
‘Get waxing, slave,’ he commanded. ‘Unless you’re in the mood for yet more of the cane, you’ll have my motor gleaming like a mirror before you finish.’
Constance would have preferred to be tied up and ravished, but the choice was not hers to make. While she worked up a sweat, waxing and polishing the car, the Stablemaster stood right behind her, cane in hand. By the time she was finished her arms ached and she reeked of car wax. He carefully inspected every inch of the shiny blue bodywork, before grudgingly pronouncing himself satisfied.
Her final task of the evening was to kneel and suck his cock. A mouthful of semen was little enough reward for her labours. When she was dressed he handed her another photograph – a close-up of her face, with half the length of his cock between her lips. She barely glanced at it before tearing it up.
The following afternoon her private detective reported back to her with the results of his investigations. The Stablemaster’s real name was Detective Inspector Charles Mountjoy, of the CID. He was stationed locally, divorced, lived alone and enjoyed a reputation as something of a hard man.
Now that she had the information, Constance realised there was little she could do with it. The fact that her blackmailer was a senior police officer meant it would be even harder to deal with him.
Discovering the identity of his partner in crime took a little longer. Constance gave the detective the video recording from her in-store security cameras, on which the face of the mystery man appeared. The results of his subsequent investigations were anything but reassuring. His name was Gareth Whiting, a former pimp and pornographer, who had served a number of prison sentences for his diverse criminal activities. He was now the proprietor of a semi-respectable Soho strip club, though he was reputed to be still involved in various illegal enterprises. All in all, the private detective surmised, not the kind of man it would be wise to become involved with.
Constance felt as if her world was falling around her ears. All she needed now was for the man who had ‘bought’ her in the radio auction to be a Mafia godfather.
Chapter 8
By the end of the week, the cheque had arrived and KT had made all the necessary arrangements with her buyer, who was anxious to become acquainted with his slave. He telephoned Constance and told her to go to Suite 909 of the Saint Gabriel hotel, at eight o’clock on Saturday evening. S/M-FM would just have to manage without her for one night. Mr Ford was the name of the man who would be waiting for her.
‘Not another sleaze-bag, I hope,’ she sighed.
‘What happened to your enthusiasm?’ KT demanded. ‘It’s not t
hat long ago you were leaping at any opportunity to further your career as a slave.’
‘I’m under a lot of pressure at the moment,’ she replied. ‘Do you think perhaps this Mr Ford might wait a few weeks?’
‘Absolutely not.’ KT sounded appalled by the very idea. ‘He paid for you on the understanding that you would be available at a time of his choosing. I just don’t know what you’re afraid of. You’re meeting him in the Saint Gabriel, not some basement torture chamber. If you’re not prepared to play by the rules of the game—’
‘I shouldn’t be playing at all,’ she finished. ‘I know. Okay, I’ll meet this Mr Ford and give him the night of his life, for you and Mistress whatsername.’
‘I knew I could count on you,’ KT replied.
By the time she reached the chic Kensington hotel, at the appointed hour, Constance had managed to consign her woes to the back of her mind and slip fully into the role of upmarket call-girl. Her hair was in a ponytail and she was dressed in a figure-hugging suit of cream silk, the slit skirt of which ended several inches above her knees. In her matching silk stockings and stiletto heels she felt almost as sexy as she looked.
When her ring on the doorbell of suite 909 was answered, she was immediately glad that KT had not allowed her to change her mind. Her ‘buyer’ – a sandy-haired man of about forty-five – was tall and powerfully built, his boxer’s nose and ruggedly hewn features rendering him attractive rather than strikingly handsome. Constance remembered the faint feeling of uneasiness she had felt the first time she met the Stablemaster. The instinct aroused by this man was the exact opposite and she decided to trust it.
‘Well, well, this is a pleasant surprise,’ he greeted her, in a warm mid-Atlantic accent. ‘I didn’t think you could possibly be as sexy in real life as you sounded on the radio, but you surpass my wildest expectations.’
Constance thanked him for the compliment as he ushered her into the luxurious suite. Room service had delivered a bottle of Dom Perignon, just before she arrived. As she settled into a leatherette-covered armchair he popped the cork and poured two glasses.
All for Her Master Page 9