All for Her Master

by Michael O'Connor

  The three slaves began shuffling forward, delicately shuffling their feet, their haunches level with their ankles. Constance managed to progress only a few feet before the egg in her pussy burst and the slimy mess oozed down between her thighs. There was nothing to do but shuffle back and have a fresh egg inserted.

  Three smashed eggs and what felt like an eternity of frustration later, she reached her designated carton, squatted over it and carefully laid her egg. The audience of masters cheered. One down, five to go. Her only consolation was the fact that the two other ‘hens’ were experiencing similar difficulties.

  Practice made near perfect. Constance managed to complete the race, breaking only two more eggs. One girl was ahead of her and she would have certainly lost the race and been on the receiving end of a stiff caning, had her rival not carelessly dropped her sixth egg on top of another in the carton and broken both. Constance could not resist throwing a triumphant smile to the man she would choose as her master, as she neatly deposited her sixth glistening egg in the carton.

  There was a sense of destiny about that second night with Covington, though he seemed far less delighted to be her chosen one than she would have liked. When he took her to his suite, still sticky with broken egg, he did not rush straight to the bedroom with her, as she had hoped. Instead, he reclined in his armchair, switched on the TV and ordered her to fix him a drink. He then stretched out his legs and told her to polish his calf-length black boots with her tongue.

  While she was doing this, he scanned the rooms of the slaves. Most were unoccupied, the masters having taken their girls to their own rooms. The middle-aged woman in room four was lying bound, gagged and blindfolded on her bed, being vigorously screwed by a master in a black rubber mask. John watched for a while, then continued his surfing of the channels.

  In seven, a blonde girl was down on all fours, thrusting a vibrator up between her thighs, while a master penetrated her anally. The girl in room twelve was entertaining two masters simultaneously and both in her mouth. The big-breasted occupant of room sixteen was kneeling before her master in an attitude of prayer, while he masturbated over her face. A master in room twenty-one was taking photographs of his dark-haired slave masturbating with a wine bottle.

  By the time Covington tired of spying on the sexual activities in the slave rooms, every inch of his boots had been licked twice over and Constance was kneeling patiently at his feet, awaiting his next command. Hopefully, this would involve contact with the prominent bulge in his leather trousers.

  If he had tormented her on the previous night before giving her what she craved, then tonight he was determined to torture her. He forced her to crawl to the bedroom with a cane gripped between her clenched buttocks. Each time she dropped it she received three strokes, then had to start again, from the front door. When she finally reached her goal he handcuffed her to the foot of the bed, then unzipped his trousers and presented his throbbing cock to her lips. But when she reached eagerly out to devour it, he grabbed a fistful of her hair in his fist.

  ‘Patience, my horny slave,’ he told her. ‘I want to hear another of your stories. One you’ve never before shared with another soul.’

  ‘Please, master, I can’t think straight now,’ she pleaded. ‘I want you too much.’

  ‘I’m not asking you to think straight,’ he replied. ‘In fact, I’d like to hear a lesbian story. So come on, tell me what you would like to do with another woman, if the two of you were alone together in this room with no masters to disturb you.’

  The glistening crown of his throbbing cock was less than two inches from her lips. Close enough to smell, almost to taste. But she knew it would be cruelly denied to her until she gave him what he wanted.

  He kept a grip on her hair, holding her greedy mouth at bay, while she made up a fantasy of herself and another girl. Whenever she faltered he gripped his cock in his free hand and brushed it tantalisingly against her lips, with the unspoken threat of denying it to her completely, unless she continued with her fantasy.

  Half an hour later he was satisfied. Constance lunged forward the instant he let go of her hair, ravenously enveloping his erection between her lips. But the torture was far from over. After only a minute he sadistically withdrew from her mouth, freed her from the handcuffs and pushed her onto the bed. Using four silk scarves, he bound her wrists and ankles tightly to the posts, leaving her spread-eagled like a sacrificial offering. Then he left.

  He returned over an hour later, completely naked, his cock gripped in his right fist. Constance was writhing on the bed in an agony of desire. Kneeling next to her, he began to masturbate, urging her to beg for his cock. She could not have pleaded for her life with greater fervour. When, several minutes later, he pumped his precious cream over her breasts, she almost screamed with joy.

  For several more hours, as Constance lay tied to the bed, he used his cock to tease, humiliate and torment her in a way he could never have done with whips or nipple clamps. The more she begged for him, the more he resisted her. Even when her frustration reduced her to tears, she was permitted no more than a few precious moments of his shaft sliding into the oozing cleft between her thighs.

  Chapter 13

  Constance had gone to the resort in the full expectation of having her life changed forever, but nothing could have prepared her for the emptiness she felt back in the real world. The boutique, once the love of her life, meant virtually nothing to her any more. Away from that place where fantasy and reality were indistinguishable, she remained in bondage, as surely as if she were still tied to her master’s bedposts.

  Jonathan Covington haunted her dreams and shadowed her every waking moment. She was still hurt and mystified by his treatment of her on that second night. The night had been one long drawn-out session of the most hideous torture imaginable. He had stroked her, teased her, penetrated her briefly, but never once rewarded her with the release she craved like a drug. Having finally tired of the cruel game he had released her and sent her crawling back to her room, whimpering like a rejected puppy. He had probably watched her lying on her bed, tossing and turning in a fever of frustration, not daring to relieve herself without permission. He had been nowhere in sight on Monday morning, when she had climbed miserably back into the limousine that would take her home, dressed only in the T-shirt she had arrived in.

  She had to see him again, no matter what it cost. No man had ever managed to make such a dramatic impression on her, or so wholly commandeered her fantasies. If necessary, she was prepared to crawl to him on her hands and knees. However he forced her to grovel, whatever the price of her becoming his slave, she was prepared to pay.

  In the meantime, there was KT. Constance had long since resigned herself to a role as his part-time plaything. He seemed to regard her as little more than a handy screw, available whenever he wished to make use of her. This was the arrangement she had willingly entered into the first time they met, so she knew she had no right to expect pride of place in his affections. Gina had the honour of being his slave and Constance would just have to live with that. However, she sensed a definite resentment smouldering below the carefree exterior of the other woman that made her suspect that Gina might not be as happy to share her master as she appeared. When she voiced her suspicions to KT, in the afterglow of a mid-afternoon soirée in a hotel bedroom, he merely laughed.

  ‘Gina and I have an understanding. As her master I’m free to have anyone I please. As long as it’s not kept secret from her, there’s no jealousy.’

  He studied Constance’s buttocks, rosy from the spanking he had administered half an hour earlier, as she leant out of the bed to unearth her cigarette packet from the clothing strewn on the carpet. She lit one, then leant back against the headboard, thoughtfully focusing on the tendril of smoke that drifted upwards. KT’s reassurance had sounded slightly less confident than he’d probably intended.

  ‘But when we meet like this, that’s
secret,’ she said quietly. ‘You warned me never to mention it to her, remember?’

  ‘She doesn’t need to know every detail of every time you and I get together.’

  Constance looked at him. ‘She knows you and I are spending time alone together, and she’s not happy about it. I can tell by the way she sometimes looks at me. She thinks I’m trying to take you away from her.’

  ‘Rubbish,’ he scoffed. ‘Have you forgotten last Sunday morning, when we went off air? Gina didn’t seem to mind you sucking my cock, or bending over for the cane. I don’t recall any force being used when you and she shared that double-ended dildo while I was giving you both a good whipping.’

  ‘It’s different in a threesome,’ Constance answered. ‘With her there you and I don’t have the same intimacy. She gets off on watching you punish me. It’s what we do when we’re alone that bothers her.’

  ‘Even if she is jealous, why should you care?’ KT demanded.

  She smiled. ‘I only care about having you, master.’

  Stubbing out her half-smoked cigarette in the bedside ashtray, she slid down along the bed, gripped his stiffening cock in her fist and lowered her mouth to it. If he was having even the slightest doubts about his commitment to Gina, Constance resolved to use every means at her disposal to nurture them.

  Constance had not had a birthday party since her twenty-first. For her twenty-ninth she received an unexpected present. A gift-wrapped package was delivered by courier to the boutique. The box inside contained a single red rose and a typewritten note, instructing her to go to The Master’s Masque club at eleven o’clock that night and be prepared for a birthday surprise. Though the note was not signed, she assumed it was from KT.

  She arrived at the club half an hour early, dressed to thrill in thigh-high black PVC boots and a matching low-cut dress, with two circular cutouts in the back which left her buttocks exposed. The pale moons peered through black fishnet tights. She turned more heads than usual as she strutted confidently towards the bar, the peak of her stud and chain-festooned black leather cap shading her eyes. She had expected KT to be waiting for her, but he was nowhere to be seen. Deciding he must be playing one of his games, she ordered a drink and waited for him to make his move.

  Half an hour later, she was still waiting. The club was becoming crowded and several pairs of eyes were indiscreetly appraising her. Sitting on a stool, with her buttocks displayed and her breasts spilling out over the top of her dress, she looked like the most available woman on the planet. It was only a matter of time before a prospective master moved in.

  ‘Playing, or just teasing?’

  She looked round. The face of the man who had spoken was covered by a dark purple hood of glossy latex. He was heavy-set and hairy-chested, dressed in tight black jeans and a vest that matched his hood. In his right fist he held a riding crop. It took Constance only a moment to conclude that he was part of whatever fiendish birthday charade KT had devised.

  ‘Playing.’

  ‘How far are you prepared to go to please your master?’

  She smiled. ‘That’s entirely up to my master.’

  ‘Then step this way, my lovely slave,’ he said, taking her arm.

  He led her to a candle-lit room at the rear of the club, in which about two dozen people were seated around a circular wooden stage. Constance was hit by the glare of two spotlights as she stepped onto the platform. She scanned the shadowed faces of the men in the audience, but KT did not appear to be among them. He must have decided to let this masked man warm her up for him.

  The stage was equipped with a set of stocks. At a nod from the master, Constance knelt and placed her throat and wrists in the grooves. The heavy wooden upper half descended with a loud thump, two steel clamps locking it into place. Cuffs of thick black leather, joined by a silver chain, were buckled tightly around her wrists. A heavy black hood was then placed over her head and the cord fastened beneath her chin. The only opening was a slit for her mouth.

  After she had been secured in the stocks, nothing happened for a few moments. Then she felt the sharp bite of the riding crop on her backside. The hood muffled her shriek of pain and surprise. She had scarcely time to catch her breath before the crop struck her again, the crack resounding throughout the room, amplified by two microphones fitted unobtrusively on the stocks.

  By the end of the twenty-four stroke thrashing, the fiery lines on Constance’s buttocks were practically burning through the mesh of her tights. Somebody tugged at her hood and a stiff cock probed the mouth slit. As she welcomed it with open lips, the hands of another man tugged her dress up over her hips. She realised, with no small delight, that she was about to be taken by several men at once.

  The man who was so eager to take her did not waste time taking off her tights. Instead, he ripped them apart at the crotch, then plunged his throbbing cock into the hot oiled depths of her eager sex. Another pair of hands peeled her dress down at the front, allowing her breasts to spill fully free. The bite of cold steel as both stiff nipples were simultaneously clamped sent an electrifying jolt through her body, the pain the perfect accompaniment to the intense pleasure of being taken by two men at once.

  Constance was almost certain that neither of the men was KT. Not that it mattered. As long as their cocks were hard and they knew how to use them, she had no intention of complaining.

  After a while she lost count of the number of men who screwed her. As soon as one was finished another was waiting to take his place. Whips licked her breasts at infrequent intervals, and fingers tugged on her nipple clamps to ensure a reasonable level of discomfort was maintained. Two masters began smacking her sore bottom with wooden paddles, keeping time with the man kneeling behind her, who was thrusting into her hard. At the point of climax, he withdrew his cock and milked it over her buttocks, his semen scalding the rose-red cheeks like molten wax.

  She had no idea how long she remained on the platform, or how many men she was taken by. When she was eventually released from the stocks two men helped her to her feet. As her hood was yanked off, the audience around the stage broke into a thunderous round of applause.

  When her eyes readjusted to the light she realised she was standing with her breasts bare and her dress rolled up around her waist, before at least double the number of men that had been originally present. She had fully expected to find KT standing triumphantly next to her, but she recognised none of the men in the room.

  Her near-perfect birthday in bondage was ruined upon her arrival home, at almost four a.m. While she was being screwed to heaven and back in the club, intruders had been busy in her home. Obscenities were scrawled in lipstick and dark eye-shadow on the walls of the hall and lounge. Furniture had been overturned, vases and mirrors smashed, and the video recorder had been hurled through the front of the TV set. In the kitchen, the contents of the refrigerator lay in a mess on the floor and the microwave was submerged in the overflowing sink.

  Upstairs, the devastation was confined to her bedroom. The ragged remains of underwear and several expensive dresses were strewn on the floor. The walls were covered in more crude graffiti, and the bed littered with the smashed remains of a mirror. It was obvious the intruders had been intent on ransacking the place, rather than stealing anything. Sobbing softly, Constance slumped to her knees among the wreckage.

  Several cigarettes and mugs of strong black coffee later, she had reached the only conclusion that made sense. The invasion of her home had been a crude act of revenge. The culprit could only be Detective Inspector Charles Mountjoy – the Stablemaster. He had probably been watching the house, waiting for the right opportunity to strike.

  This was one of the reasons she did not report the matter to the police. The presence of a radio transmitter in her attic was another. Instead, she took a day off from the boutique and set about cleaning up the mess. Throughout the day she made several unsuccessful attempts to contact KT, needi
ng the reassurance of a friendly voice. It was early evening before she finally located him on his mobile number. Like a knight in shining armour, he promised to be by her side within the hour.

  Constance was somewhat uncomfortable with the sense of relief she felt upon seeing him. Needing a man to lean on had always struck her as a sign of weakness and she had resolved, from an early age, that she would never compromise her independence in such a way. Nevertheless, the urge to throw her arms around KT and cry on his strong shoulder was almost irresistible.

  She was not sure whether to be more relieved or concerned when he informed her that the intruder could not possibly have been Charles Mountjoy. The Detective Inspector had been in hospital for the past four days, recovering from injuries sustained in the line of duty.

  ‘Then it must have been his gangster friend,’ Constance suggested.

  ‘Unlikely,’ KT replied. ‘Whiting couldn’t afford to take the risk. Besides, why would he bother? You can’t have been that important to him. Maybe it was just common vandals, after all.’

  She shook her head adamantly. ‘No way. They knew the house was empty, so they must have been watching me. They switched off the alarm system, let themselves in, wrecked the place, but took nothing. It had to be somebody trying to get back at me.’

  ‘It does look that way,’ KT agreed. ‘Where did you go last night?’

  Constance smiled. ‘As if you didn’t know. With all the fuss over the burglary, I forgot to thank you.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘For last night, of course. My birthday surprise at The Master’s Masque. I really enjoyed myself.’

  ‘I really don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he said, appearing genuinely puzzled. ‘I was in Manchester last night. I didn’t get home until early this evening.’

  ‘So you didn’t send me the rose and the message?’ she demanded.

  ‘Constance, I didn’t even know it was your birthday,’ he replied. ‘You never mentioned it. Tell me all about this surprise I’m supposed to have given you.’