‘You don’t mean that,’ he smiled, raising his hips and thrusting upwards.
His cock-tip brushed her slick labia and she adjusted her position as much as her bondage permitted, to facilitate his entry. Her eyes were on Amber, who was thoughtfully inspecting the arsenal on the whip rack. With a loud grunt, the man buried almost the full length of his shaft between her thighs.
‘Oh yes, master,’ she moaned, the ropes gouging her thighs as she attempted to push downwards.
The weapon Amber took from the rack was a traditional cane only in shape. It was a quarter of an inch thick and made of hard black rubber. As Amber took up position behind her, Constance bit her lower lip. The master withdrew his cock until only the crown remained between her pursed pussy lips. At the end of his next thrust, the cane cracked, the rubber bending like the tongue of a whip across her buttocks. A lusty cry burst from Constance’s throat.
‘Not so quiet now, is she, Amber?’ He grinned. ‘And I’ve changed my mind. I want her silent while I enjoy her. She needs to know her place. Every time she cries out she’ll get another stroke added to the total. Starting now. So that’s thirty-seven. I want you to count every stroke and thank me on the slave’s behalf.’
Amber nodded at his direction, and Constance felt another hard stroke of the rubber cane across her buttocks.
‘That’s one, thank you, master,’ Amber said softly.
Constance bit her lip to stop herself crying out. Mr W looked at her, apparently satisfied, and resumed his thrusting. He took it slowly, pulling almost out of her each time. Constance tightened her internal muscles in anticipation of Amber’s next strike, increasing both his pleasure and her own by the way she gripped his thick erection.
‘That’s two, thank you, master,’ Amber said as he withdrew.
Each time he pushed back in, sliding slowly against the oiled flesh of her sex, Amber struck Constance’s buttocks with the rubber cane. She placed the cuts neatly, laddering them all the way up the exposed moons and then criss-crossing downwards. It hurt more than Constance could possibly have dreamt – but the pleasure was there, too, heating her sex as her backside was warmed.
Each cut of the cane made her jump slightly, which in turn tugged on the red elastic ropes, sending tingling sensations through her nipples. Sensations that Mr W obviously felt in his own nipples, tethered to hers, judging from the look of satisfaction on his face. Or maybe it was the sight in the oval mirror, she thought, that pleased him so much – the sight of her striped behind.
The punishment went on and on, until Constance was sure that no part of her buttocks had escaped the cane. It had taken a great effort on her part to keep back her gasps of pain – and her cries of pleasure as his cock continued to thrust in that slow, measured pace – but finally she heard Amber intone, ‘That’s thirty-seven, thank you, master.’
At that precise instant she felt his cock throbbing deep inside her, sending jet after jet of creamy semen into her sex. Constance was amazed and impressed by his self-control – many men would have come long before then, but he’d obviously held himself back, extracting every ounce of pleasure before allowing himself to climax.
She’d already come twice, her sex quivering helplessly round his cock, almost in time to his measured thrusts and the sharp crack of the cane on her flesh.
Before he departed, over an hour later, the client thanked both women for giving him the time of his life. Even though her bottom was throbbing and there were rope burns on her arms, legs and breasts, Constance could truthfully reply that it had been her pleasure.
‘Nothing pleases me more than a satisfied customer,’ Amber said as they relaxed together. ‘You and I make a great team. Have you ever thought of going into business full-time?’
Constance laughed. ‘When I whore, it’s strictly for pleasure.’
Chapter 15
‘The Slave in the Hot Seat video is selling as fast as I can make copies,’ KT said happily.
‘I thought that was only going to be for our own pleasure,’ Constance grumbled. ‘If I’d known you were going to be selling copies by the cartload I’d never have agreed to be in it.’
‘What’s the problem?’ he retorted. ‘There’s no way anybody could ever identify you from it. You should be proud of yourself. Want to hear some more good news?’
‘You’ve found out who broke into my house?’
‘I’ve found a distributor who wants to market the video nationwide, as well as overseas. This could turn out to be a seriously profitable enterprise.’
‘I only did it for fun,’ she protested. ‘I have no wish to be a pornographic movie star.’
He cocked an eyebrow. ‘It’s not that long ago you were telling me you didn’t want to be a porno-pirate radio star either.’
Constance sighed heavily. ‘I think I’m taking quite enough risks as it is, don’t you?’
‘The video is risk-free,’ KT reminded her. ‘As are the audio tapes.’
‘Audio tapes?’
‘Extracts from hot nights on S/M-FM,’ he explained. ‘It’s taken me until now to realise the goldmine potential of this little radio station of ours.’
‘My voice will be on those tapes,’ she pointed out. ‘I could be recognised.’
‘Not getting tired of living dangerously, are you?’ he teased. ‘Speaking of which, I hope you haven’t forgotten next Friday night.’
‘The S/M-FM party,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world. But I still think it’s odd having a birthday party for a station that’s only been six months on air.’
‘Pirate radio is a precarious business,’ he replied. ‘We might not be around in another six months, so we should celebrate when we can. Anyway, it’s as good an excuse as any for an orgy.’
‘And what role have you found for your loyal slave?’ asked Constance.
‘One she will enjoy immensely,’ he answered.
Visitors gained entry to The Master’s Masque by uttering the password that had been broadcast on S/M-FM the previous weekend. Once inside the club they found a circle of scantily clad slaves at their service. Constance was dressed in stiletto-heeled knee-high black boots and a toga of transparent white silk, underneath which she was naked. Along with nine other similarly attired slaves she stood in the centre of the floor, with her legs wide apart and her hands on her head. Each of the women wore a studded collar and a gold medallion stamped with her identity number. They were tethered on long chains to a vertical wooden pole.
Barbara and Gina stood to either side of Constance, the latter looking rather less excited than the occasion demanded. Six chargehands – masters in low-peaked leather caps and black leather uniforms – were perched on nearby stools, whips gripped in their gloved fists. KT was in charge of Constance and Gina.
Each visitor was presented with a leaflet explaining the party rules for the evening. Any man who wished to take one of the slaves was required to approach her chargehand first. They could inspect the group freely, but touching or even speaking to the slaves during inspection was forbidden. To ensure that as many masters as possible could take their pleasure, each would be allowed a maximum of forty-five minutes with the slave of his choice.
Constance felt deliciously degraded as a stream of strange men stepped up to inspect her. Though her companions in bondage were far from unattractive, it was she who proved the most alluring. A bearded man in dark glasses and military uniform, wearing a riding crop instead of a sword in the scabbard on his right hip, looked her over as though she were a particularly enticing bargain in a shop window. Her nipples stiffened against the fabric of her toga and she smiled encouragingly. The man looked from her to Barbara, unable to decide which of the pair was the most tempting. While he continued to procrastinate, a shaven-headed Asian with the physique of a heavyweight boxer spoke to KT, indicating her as he did.
‘Could I take number six?’
It had taken him the length of a glance to decide that Constance was the one he wanted.
‘Certainly,’ KT replied, rising from his stool.
As KT unhooked her chain from the pole, the bearded man turned to him. ‘Unchain number seven for me, if you don’t mind.’
The Asian master took Constance’s chain and led her to one of the private playrooms at the rear of the club. Her heart was pounding and her loins were already liquid with desire.
‘Introductions first,’ he smiled, unclipping the chain from her collar. ‘I am Assad. And you are…?’
‘Just number six, master,’ she replied.
‘As you wish,’ he said, dropping the chain and stepping back to admire her in the soft light. ‘It’s a shame we can’t have more than forty-five minutes together, but we shall just have to make the most of it.’ He traced a fingertip over her lips. ‘My God, you are a beautiful woman.’
Constance smiled coyly. ‘Thank you, master.’
‘And so submissive, too.’
He pushed his finger gently into her mouth. As she sucked it as though it were a cock, he slipped the straps of her toga off her shoulders. The feather-light garment slid to the floor and she thrust her naked body urgently against him. His free hand glided down over her waist and around to the firm slope of her buttocks.
‘Take me, master,’ she breathed, the instant his finger was withdrawn from her mouth.
In response, he crushed his lips to hers. Welcoming his tongue, Constance wrapped one arm tightly around his neck, her other hand reaching for the bulge between his thighs. She unzipped his trousers and reached inside, her fingers finding a rock-hard and delightfully thick erection.
No sooner had their mouths parted than she was falling to her knees, hungry to taste this new master and impress him with her oral artistry. Whatever he might have planned for her beforehand, it was the slave who was now in control. Her fingers and tongue caressed the dusky-brown staff that reared majestically from his trousers, then she wrapped it in her mouth, moaning softly when the bulbous crown touched the back of her throat.
Lost to her magic, the master leant back against the wall, savouring the sight and sensations of her mouth sliding up and down his pulsing length. As she greedily sucked him, like a woman who had not tasted her favourite delicacy in months, she unbuckled his belt and tugged his trousers down to his knees. She needed both hands to fully cup the swollen eggs in his smoothly shaven sac. When his cock was trembling on the brink of climax she reluctantly freed it from the warmth of her mouth and looked up at him, a lewd smile dancing on her full wet lips.
‘Don’t stop,’ he panted.
She kissed his dark-haired thighs and licked his balls, before taking each in turn in her mouth, tickling it with the tip of her tongue and bathing it in warm saliva. She licked her way back up along his shaft, then once more swallowed the full length. A few moments later she was rewarded with a torrent of hot cream that gushed down her throat with such force she almost choked.
Her master still had over half an hour remaining with her, and not a minute was wasted. The narrow bed, like all those in the clubrooms, was fully equipped for bondage. Constance was slightly disappointed that Assad did not appear inclined to tie her up or use a whip on her, but the night was still young, and she was certain her bottom would be well reddened before it ended.
After she had helped him out of his clothes, they lay down on the purple rubber sheets and she went back to work on his cock with her tongue and fingers. As the thickly veined snake began to swell once more against her lips, she felt a hand between her thighs, two fingers probing the soaking furrow of her sex. He guided her gently into the sixty-nine position, tasted her nectar on his fingers, then plunged his tongue into the pink flesh directly over his face.
One minute of his tongue teasing her swollen clitoris was enough to bring Constance to orgasm. She squealed at the top of her voice, ecstatic shudders rocking her entire body. The master continued to feast, bathing his face in her abundant juices. A louder cry burst from her lungs as he inserted a lubricated finger in her tight rear orifice.
A second breathtaking orgasm later, he obviously decided to give his tongue a rest and his cock a hot treat. Constance slithered down his body, her sex leaving a dewy trail on his dark skin. With her back turned to him she gripped his saliva-sheened cock in her fists and lowered herself onto it, with a long gasp of genuine pleasure. He thrust upwards, burying himself to the hilt in her tight wet tunnel.
She rode him aggressively, wildly tossing her head and kneading her breasts with both hands, her every fibre aflame with lust. In the mirror on the opposite wall the full whorish spectacle was reflected. The sight of the thick brown cock pistoning between her thighs and coated with her juices stoked her excitement to fever pitch.
‘Ohhh… yes!’ she squealed, seeing her master reach for a slender cane on the wall above the bed.
She paused, tensing with delicious anticipation. The cane sliced the air and scored a line of fire across the centre of both buttocks.
‘Faster, slave!’ he barked as she yelped.
Constance began riding him with renewed vigour, every deep thrust sending ripples of pleasure through her body. The cane struck her buttocks at regular intervals, the acid sting of each stroke almost too erotic to bear.
‘Work, slave!’ the master barked. ‘Make me come! Faster! Faster!’
By the time his semen erupted into her, Constance was breathless and glistening with perspiration. She cried out hoarsely in the throes of another wonderful orgasm. She slumped in an ecstatic stupor against the foot of the bed. The cane fell from Assad’s grasp, and he too slumped in the afterglow. Constance only raised her head again when she felt his flaccid cock slip from her satiated sex.
Shortly afterwards, smelling of sex and still somewhat breathless, she was returned to the club and once again chained to the pole. The scarlet scorch-marks of the cane were clearly visible through the thin fabric of her toga, making her all the more irresistible to the men who gathered round to inspect her. In her absence, their number seemed to have doubled. Even if there had been forty slaves to choose from, all would have been kept fully occupied.
It was not long before she was being unchained again and led back to the playroom. Her second master – a bespectacled and slightly sinister-looking silver-haired figure in a skin of glossy black rubber – took full advantage of the facilities on offer, chaining her to the bed, face down, as soon as he had stripped her. After she had assured him he was free to use her as he pleased, there were no further questions. He unzipped the front of his one-piece suit and his stiff cock sprang free. Though it was nothing spectacular, Constance still eyed it with the relish of a nymphomaniac.
The master fitted her with a black leather face harness, secured at the back of her head with three thick straps. The device was equipped with a red rubber ball gag and enormous blindfold goggles. He then pinched a set of steel clamps to her nipples. Using the attached leather thongs as reins, he climbed between her legs and penetrated her roughly from behind. With each thrust of his cock he tugged on the thongs. All Constance could do in response was bite down on her gag and pray she would not have to endure this particular form of sadism for the full forty-five minutes.
Unfortunately for her tortured teats, the master was in no hurry to bring his pleasure to an end. The first time he was near the point of climax he withdrew and selected a broad leather tawse from the selection of punishment tools.
‘Best keep your arse good and hot, eh, slave?’ he mused.
Constance could only shake her head in reply, though she was not at all as terrified as she appeared at the prospect of a whacking. Leather smacked quivering flesh, and all the helpless slave could do was whimper. When every inch of her buttocks had been toasted, the master climbed onto the bed again and took the reins of her nipple clamps as he thrust his cock back into her.
&nbs
p; Before the party ended in the early hours of the morning, a further seven masters had taken their pleasure with Constance. Her backside was raw from repeated punishments and the rest of her body throbbed pleasantly. All ten exhausted slaves agreed with their masters that the party had been an unqualified success.
Chapter 16
Constance lit a cigarette as she waited for the traffic lights to turn green. She was not in a good mood. During the afternoon somebody had vandalised her precious Porsche by drawing a sharp object over the paintwork on both sides. It was not just the expense of a respray that was making her fume, but the certainty that the culprit was the same person who had broken into her home several weeks previously. Try as she might, she could think of nobody who hated her enough to carry out such a vindictive campaign.
A horn tooted to her left and she looked around. When she saw the driver behind the wheel of the maroon Jaguar, her look of annoyance turned to one of shock. Jonathan Covington was the last person she had expected to see.
He raised his right hand in a small wave. Constance was too shocked to return the greeting. The lights flashed amber and the Jaguar was gone, leaving her smiling inanely at his after-image. An angry honk from the car behind brought her to her senses.
Her anger forgotten, she set off in pursuit of the Jaguar. No speed limits were broken as Covington led her through the late rush-hour streets, taking an occasional glance in his rear-view mirror to confirm that she was still behind. To her dismay, she lost him at another set of traffic lights. She had almost given up hope of finding him again when, some minutes later, she spotted the Jaguar parked in front of the Royal Arch hotel.
She parked her Porsche nearby and walked back to the opulent hotel. What better place to renew their relationship? Her heart hammered excitedly.
Covington was not waiting for her in the lobby, nor did she find him in either the bar or the restaurant. When she politely enquired at reception, she was informed that he was not a guest in the hotel. She loitered for a while, then, beginning to feel foolish, decided she was wasting her time. If he had wanted her to find him he would not have made it so difficult.
All for Her Master Page 17