All for Her Master

by Michael O'Connor

  ‘I don’t even know your name,’ he said, seating himself in the chair opposite.

  ‘Constance,’ she replied. ‘Do I call you Mr Ford, or master, or what?’

  He smiled. ‘Larry will do just fine. Cheers.’ He took a sip from his glass. ‘I have to tell you, I find this S/M-FM station of yours an intriguing concept. How do you get away with it?’

  She shrugged. ‘Just luck, I guess. It’s not my station, by the way. I just play the Slave in the Hot Seat for a couple of hours on Saturday night. It’s a hobby.’

  ‘A damned interesting hobby,’ he added. ‘I’d never have known such a station existed, but for a piece I read in a magazine. I’ll make sure I tune in from now on, whenever I happen to be in town.’

  ‘You don’t live in London?’

  ‘My business takes me to the four corners of the earth,’ he replied. ‘I’m lucky if I get to visit here more than twice in the same year. As a matter of fact, I fly to New York tomorrow afternoon – which is why I had to insist on meeting you tonight.’

  She smiled and seductively crossed her legs. ‘I’m glad you did, Larry. I just hope you will be too.’

  The swelling in the crotch of his dark grey trousers told her he already was.

  From her previous experiences, Constance had been expecting another hard night of bondage, punishment and domination.

  But Larry’s mastery of her was much more subtle than whips and handcuffs. He stimulated her with effortless easy conversation, until the champagne bottle was empty, then politely enquired if she would object to performing a striptease for him. By that stage she would not have objected to performing anything for him.

  He switched on MTV. She moved into the centre of the floor and began peeling off her clothes, grinding her hips to the rhythmic grunge of high-volume Soundgarden.

  Her master sat back and watched, entranced by the erotic exhibition. Constance performed like a professional, her excitement mounting with every garment she cast off.

  Midway through the second heavy rock track, she was down to her high heels and stockings. Crouching with her legs spread wide, her luscious sex on full display, she beckoned Larry towards her. He sprang from his seat, the protuberance of his cock almost bursting through his trousers. Licking her lips in anticipation, she reached for his zipper and drew it slowly down. Her hand reached in and he gasped from the electrifying sensation of her soft fingers touching his cock. She withdrew the tumescent tool, stroked the length with her fingertips, then leant forward to enfold it with her lips.

  For the next five minutes, though she crouched at her master’s feet, it was she who was completely in control. Her mouth made passionate love to his cock, teasing him with deliberate leisure to the point of blissful release. She gulped down every drop of his thick, creamy nectar, then licked his cock clean with her tongue, purring with wholehearted pleasure.

  He carried her to the bedroom afterwards, where she immediately resumed her loving oral ministrations. As soon as his cock was hard again she lay back on the cool sheets and drew her knees up to her chin, presenting herself to him like a whore in heat.

  ‘Oh yes, master – take me,’ she sighed as he guided his lance into the hot, drooling depths of her sex.

  Much later, they shared a bottle of wine in bed together and listened to S/M-FM. KT was interviewing Mistress Amber, the by-election candidate whose cause he so passionately supported.

  ‘You’ll doubtless be glad to hear that you are the reason our Slave in the Hot Seat is not on duty tonight,’ he told her. ‘At this very moment she is entertaining the master who, last Saturday night, bid sixteen hundred pounds for her.’

  ‘I hope she’s giving him his money’s worth,’ the gravel-toned dominatrix replied.

  ‘Our slave knows how to please her master,’ KT assured her. ‘Any master.’

  ‘I’ll drink to that,’ Larry grinned, his cock once more stirring to the lazy caress of Constance’s fingertips.

  After a late Sunday morning breakfast in bed, they showered together. The sight of her soap-lathered body beneath the steaming jets of water inflamed his passion all over again. After the number of times he had already taken her, it seemed impossible that he would be able to rise to the occasion yet again, but his stiff cock nuzzling the cleft of her buttocks proved otherwise. Pressing against the tiled wall, she thrust her lower body back to meet him. He wrapped her in his powerful arms and slid his cock into her already pleasantly aching slit.

  It was with no little regret that she finally got dressed and prepared to leave. After she had kissed him goodbye he pressed several folded bank notes into her right fist.

  ‘A small token of my appreciation,’ he said with a smile. ‘Thanks for a wonderful night, Constance.’

  Only then did she realise that he thought she was a genuine call-girl. She resisted an impulse to set him straight. There was no need to complicate what had been a thoroughly enjoyable night for both of them.

  KT telephoned her later that day, anxious for a report on what had happened. She was glad to inform him that the night had been a total success.

  ‘He even gave me a two hundred quid tip,’ she added. ‘Perhaps I ought to consider a career change.’

  ‘Perhaps indeed,’ he replied, half seriously.

  A few minutes later the telephone rang again. Constance’s cheerful spirits nose-dived when she heard the voice on the other end of the line.

  ‘I was looking for you last night,’ the Stablemaster growled.

  ‘I was otherwise engaged.’

  ‘So I heard. Whoring on behalf of a fellow whore. How very charitable of you. I don’t like you reneging on our deal, slave. You do remember the deal, don’t you?’

  ‘You don’t own me,’ she snapped.

  ‘On the contrary,’ he replied. ‘I still have deeds of ownership – in the form of six very pornographic pictures of you. How would you like it if I sent one to a member of your staff tomorrow?’

  ‘That would be a very nasty thing to do, Detective Inspector Mountjoy,’ she retorted. She took a sadistic delight in the moment of stunned silence that followed.

  ‘So, you’ve been doing a little detective work,’ he said finally. ‘What good can it do you? It doesn’t change the fact that I still have the photographs. Should you be foolish enough to make a complaint, I can simply deny all knowledge of them. It would be the word of a nymphomaniac slut against that of a highly respected police officer. All you’d succeed in doing is making a complete fool of yourself.’

  ‘What if I were to mention your friendship with a certain Mr Gareth Whiting?’ she countered. ‘He’s hardly the sort of company a man in your position ought to be keeping.’

  Another brief silence followed. When the Stablemaster spoke again there was a menacing edge to his voice. ‘You would be well advised not to threaten me,’ he said carefully. ‘At the moment you and I are playing a harmless little game – nothing more. If you try to up the ante, a reddened backside will be the least of your worries, believe me.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Meaning you meet me in the usual place, at ten tonight.’ Before Constance could say any more, he hung up.

  She arrived at the garage deliberately early, having no wish to antagonise him further. No words were exchanged until the door was slammed shut.

  ‘I’m actually surprised you showed up,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t like unfinished business,’ she replied, forcing far more confidence into her tone than she actually felt.

  The Stablemaster smiled. ‘Believe me, our business is far from unfinished. Any more threats you’d like to make, before I tie you up and thrash the arse off you?’

  ‘No more games,’ said Constance. ‘I know enough about you and your friend to cause serious problems for you both, especially you. Give me the rest of the photographs and the negatives, and I’ll forget we ever met.�
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  ‘Full marks for trying,’ he said, when he had finished laughing. ‘But you have nothing to incriminate me with. For your information, Gareth Whiting is working with me, helping CID nail down a villain we’ve been trying to get our hands on for some time. In return for his co-operation we turn a blind eye to some of his more… questionable activities. It’s common police practice, and I have the full blessing of the top brass. As for the rest, where’s your proof? Let’s face it, Constance, I have you exactly where I want you, and there’s not a thing you can do about it.’

  ‘You bastard!’ she spat. ‘Why can’t you just find yourself another slave and leave me alone?’

  ‘Because I like you,’ he replied. ‘And because I enjoy the power I have over you. However, just to show you I’m not completely unreasonable…’ He reached inside his jacket and produced an envelope of photographs. ‘Take a look. Be a good little slave for me tonight, and these are all yours. Payment in full.’

  Constance opened the envelope and carefully inspected the contents. The remaining six photographs were there, along with the full set of negatives.

  ‘Where’s the catch?’ she demanded suspiciously.

  ‘There isn’t one,’ he replied, snatching back the envelope.

  ‘How do I know you don’t have copies hidden away somewhere?’

  He smiled. ‘You flatter yourself, Constance. The truth is, you don’t mean that much to me. I’ve had my fun with you and, if you’re honest, you’ve had a little fun of your own. This was never destined to be a long-term relationship.’

  She wanted to believe him, but could not dispel the nagging suspicion that he was yet again cruelly toying with her. Finally, she decided she had little option but to take a chance.

  The Stablemaster had obviously been looking forward to punishing her, both for being unavailable the previous night and for having the temerity to think she could play him at his own game. After she had stripped down to her high heels and peach lingerie, he manacled her wrists to the overhead bar and placed a strip of sticky black vinyl tape over her mouth.

  Watching him rummage in his trunk of tools, she felt far greater trepidation than usual. Tied up and unable to even scream, she would be completely helpless if he had decided to punish her in a more permanent fashion. It was with a feeling of relief that she greeted the sight of a slimline black whip gripped in his right fist.

  Her body jerked as the first lash cracked across the exposed half-moons of her buttocks, an angry red streak flaring across the lower portion of both buttocks. He paused for a few seconds, then let rip with the second stroke.

  She felt the sharp bite of the firm leather a dozen times before he put the whip down again. The throbbing of her scorched buttocks was rendered all the more agonising by the certainty that her punishment was only just beginning.

  The Stablemaster stepped in front of her, gripped the bodice of her silk body-stocking in both hands and ripped it open. He ogled and fondled her bare breasts for a few moments, then produced two yellow plastic clothes-pegs from a pocket of his jacket. She whimpered as he affixed them to her stiffened nipples.

  A vigorous thrashing of her breasts with a cat o’nine tails followed, only ceasing when both soft globes were covered in livid claws of fire and tears were rolling down her cheeks. He ripped off the tattered remains of her lingerie, then crouched down before her and turned his sadistic attentions to her genitals. He had six more clothes-pegs in his pocket, three of which he clamped to each of her puffy nether lips. As he tugged repeatedly on them he looked up at her face, seeming pleased by her pained expression and the accompanying muffled whimpers. When he finally tired of this particular line of torture, he picked up the cat o’nine tails again, thrust the full length of the thick plastic handle up into her sex and proceeded to screw her with it.

  He released her from the bar after that, peeled the tape from her mouth and ordered her to lie on the mattress, with her legs raised at a ninety-degree angle to her body. He bound her left knee with one end of a long rope, which he then wrapped several times around her left wrist, twice around her chest, then her right wrist. The free end was then secured around her right ankle, leaving her bound in a highly uncomfortable and vulnerable position. She was still wearing the clothes pegs on her nipples and labia and the nine-tailed whip protruded obscenely from between her thighs.

  ‘What a picture you make!’ he leered. ‘Speaking of pictures…’ He produced the envelope again and selected a photograph of a smiling Constance standing with knees bent over an upended stool, the tip of one of the round wooden legs thrusting up into her vagina. ‘This is my favourite of the bunch. What do you think?’

  She shook her head to indicate her disagreement.

  ‘You enjoyed it well enough at the time,’ he reminded her. ‘Look at your face, you dirty whore!’

  He placed the photograph on her lower belly, then unzipped his trousers and knelt between her thighs. Watching him masturbate and listening to the stream of obscenities that poured from his lips, Constance had never felt more utterly humiliated. After he had climaxed over the photograph he carefully lifted it and brought it to her mouth. ‘Tastier medicine than the whip,’ he said, when she looked away in disgust.

  Knowing that nothing would please him more than an excuse to punish her further, she opened her mouth. He tilted the photograph and the warm, thick semen drooled from the glossy surface onto her outstretched tongue. After she had swallowed the last creamy string, he ordered her to lick the photograph clean.

  Shortly afterwards he untied her again and told her to get dressed. When she was ready to leave he handed her the envelope of photographs.

  ‘All present and accounted for,’ he smiled as she checked the contents.

  ‘So, that’s it then,’ she said, unable to believe he was actually setting her free.

  ‘Ah, not quite,’ he replied. ‘I don’t have any more photographs to blackmail you with, but I’ve been having second thoughts about not seeing you again. I’d like if you could still be my part-time slave.’

  ‘You’re asking me?’ she cried incredulously.

  ‘As politely as I know how,’ he answered. ‘After all, it’s not as though you don’t enjoy submitting to a master.’

  ‘To a master I trust and respect,’ she corrected, vengefully tearing up the photographs. ‘Not some sleazy, blackmailing, bent CID man.’

  ‘I’ll take that as a no, then.’

  She flung the shredded photographs at his feet. ‘Take it as a “fuck you”, Mountjoy. Now open this door. I want to go home and take a long bath.’

  He sighed. ‘I had hoped you might be more reasonable, but now I see that I’m going to have to be a bit more persuasive. You realise you’re a criminal, don’t you?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ she snapped.

  ‘S/M-FM,’ he replied. ‘An illegal radio station, broadcasting highly illegal smut. I could have you and the rest of your Jolly Rogers put away for what you’re doing. How do you think that would affect your respectable business?’

  ‘I knew it was too good to be true,’ Constance retorted angrily. ‘You only gave me back the photographs because you’d thought of an even better way to keep me as your slave.’

  ‘Clever girl,’ he smiled. ‘You don’t have to give me your answer immediately. I’ll be in touch in a few days. I’m sure you’ll make the right decision.’

  Chapter 9

  Constance did not sleep that night. Now that the Stablemaster’s grip over her was more secure than ever, she realised she might never be free of him. It was within his power to destroy both her reputation and the business she had worked so hard to build. Given the slightest excuse, he would surely take a twisted pleasure in doing just that. The fact that she was indeed breaking the law by her association with S/M-FM left her with only one possible alternative to either a sentence to slavery or prison.

 
She tried to call KT at three a.m., but all she got was his answering machine. It was late the following evening before she finally managed to contact him.

  ‘It’s finished,’ she told him bluntly. ‘I want nothing more to do with you, the radio station, or anybody else associated with it. I’m sorry, but I have no choice. Please don’t try to contact me again.’

  ‘Constance, hold on,’ he cried. ‘What’s wrong? What’s brought all this on?’

  ‘I have my reasons. It’s nothing personal, believe me.’

  ‘What is it, then?’ he demanded. ‘Don’t you think you at least owe me an explanation?’

  ‘I’ve just changed my mind about this whole submission business. It’s not for me.’

  ‘You expect me to believe that?’

  ‘Believe what you like!’ she snapped, before slamming down the receiver.

  She should have known that would not be the end of the matter – that KT would not rest until he received the explanation he was entitled to. She agonised over calling him back and apologising for her rudeness, but decided that might only make matters worse. With everything she held most precious at stake, guilt was not a luxury she could afford to indulge in. At least now her blackmailer had no further ammunition to threaten her with.

  Two hours later the doorbell rang. Expecting it to be the Stablemaster, she lit a cigarette and braced herself to confront him. But when she opened the front door she found KT standing on the doorstep.

  ‘May I come in?’ he asked.

  She hesitated, then stepped aside to allow him into the hallway.

  ‘So are you going to tell me what’s going on?’ he demanded, taking a seat in the lounge.

  He declined her offer of a drink. Constance poured herself one, then sat down. ‘Okay,’ she sighed. ‘I suppose you deserve some kind of explanation.’

  He listened in silence while she proceeded to relate the entire sordid tale of her relationship with the Stablemaster, omitting only the unimportant details.