All for Her Master

by Michael O'Connor

  For the second night of his stay Sir Terence kept Constance for himself. The threesome had been a highly erotic experience, but she was still glad to have her master to herself once again.

  Before leaving, Sir Terence complimented her once more on the excellent job she was doing at the Playground. As soon as he had gone she was back in her uniform and once more shamelessly baiting the men with her self-confident poise. Rest was not one of the perks of her job.

  The following Saturday she received another pleasant surprise in the form of Jonathan Covington. The instant she saw him her heart beat faster and all the feelings he had previously stirred within her returned. As far as Constance was concerned they had some unfinished business to attend to. She had to check an impulsive urge to throw herself at his feet. If he shared her sense of lustful urgency, he managed to keep his feelings well hidden.

  ‘So, how are you enjoying the role of the Playground’s chief slave?’ he enquired when she had escorted him to his suite. ‘I like the nipple rings.’

  ‘Thank you, master,’ she smiled. ‘I’m loving it so much, it doesn’t seem right to be getting paid as well.’

  ‘Spoken most unlike an ambitious businesswoman,’ he replied, reaching for her with both hands.

  She shuddered as he teased her nipples and caressed her breasts, studying her recently caned bottom in the full-length mirror behind her. His hands moved inside her blouse. His touch was electrifying. She moved closer to him, glancing towards the bed, mentally begging him to throw her onto it and ravish her. As though reading her mind he suddenly ripped open her blouse, grabbed her hands and pressed them to the bulge in his leather trousers.

  ‘Oh master, I’m yours,’ she gasped, squeezing the throbbing outline of his cock.

  ‘I want you to do something for me,’ he said.

  ‘Anything, master. Anything you want.’

  He pushed her hands away. ‘I want you to go downstairs and fetch me a slave. Young and pretty – preferably blonde. That is part of your job, I presume.’

  ‘Uh, yes, master… of course,’ she stammered, feeling hurt and confused.

  ‘Then do it,’ he barked. ‘And in the meantime I shall take a shower.’

  She did not bother to change out of her ripped blouse before hurrying downstairs, choking back tears of humiliation. Why was he treating her like this – making her want him, then cruelly rejecting her? Had he wanted to whip her, or debase her in a thousand other perverse ways, she would have understood and welcomed it. But his particular form of sadism struck her as depraved beyond belief.

  She found a young blonde slave by the swimming pool who looked like she would fit the bill perfectly. The buxom girl was happy to accompany her to Covington’s suite. He had finished showering and was lying on the bed, his erection forming a tent in the towel around his waist.

  ‘What’s your name?’ he asked the blonde as she nervously approached the bed.

  ‘Laura… master.’

  He smiled. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Laura. We’re going to have a pleasant afternoon together, if that’s all right with you.’

  ‘I’m at your service, master,’ she answered. She glanced at Constance, who was standing by the door, her tattered blouse still hanging open.

  ‘Senior slave won’t be staying,’ he assured the girl. ‘Fix me a gin and tonic, CB. Then you may go.’

  By the time Constance handed him the cold drink he had already handcuffed Laura to the bed.

  Constance spent the remainder of the day alternately cursing him and aching for him. It was bad enough that he should reject her, but ordering her to bring him another girl had added insult to humiliation. If only she could reject him. The fact that she couldn’t had little to do with her duties as a slave.

  He might have subjected her to further torment that night, had two masters not won her in a poker game. She had no time to think about him for the remainder of the night as the two men exhausted themselves by using and thoroughly abusing her, in the manner to which she had become accustomed.

  But Covington’s particular game was far from finished. The following afternoon she was once again summoned to his suite. She thought she was prepared for anything, but instead of the expected teasing and tormenting, he took her to his bed, lovingly stripped her, covered her from head to toe with silken kisses, then made love to her with a passion that was bone-crushing. He gave his magnificent stallion cock to her in each and every possible way, not once denying her the complete pleasure she craved. When their passion was finally spent she dozed blissfully, wrapped like a true lover in his arms.

  Her romantic illusions were somewhat shattered that night when he brought her back to his suite, for what she assumed would be a continuation of their afternoon delight. He laid her out on the bed, bound her hand and foot with silk scarves, then switched on the TV. He flicked through the channels until he came to room nineteen, where a diminutive redhead in white ankle socks and tennis shoes reclined provocatively on her bed studying a pornographic magazine and half-heartedly masturbating.

  ‘I believe her name is Annabel,’ he told Constance. ‘I shall be spending the next couple of hours with her. I’ll release you when I come back. Enjoy the show.’

  He left the following afternoon without making love to Constance again. She was left wanting him more intensely than ever, which she suspected was exactly his intention. She wanted to scream, to throw herself onto the bonnet of his car and force him to take her with him. Instead, she calmly watched him depart, consoling herself with the certainty that she would eventually see him again. If only she could be so certain of his intentions towards her.

  Though there was no question of forgetting him, or even putting him temporarily from her mind, she was determined to make the best of the remainder of her stay at the Playground. In five days she would be back in the real world and facing the more mundane demands of her own business. It might be some time before she was able to return to her earthly paradise.

  The following Saturday night she returned to her post as Slave in the Hot Seat on S/M-FM. Half an hour into the broadcast there was a loud crashing noise from downstairs.

  ‘What was that?’ Constance cried, forgetting the man on the other end of the telephone line, who was lovingly detailing his favourite method of disciplining a female slave.

  KT rushed from the attic to investigate. Wearing only a black lace bra and red rubber shorts, Constance was still on air a few moments later when the first of the policemen who had broken down her front door reached the top of the ladder.

  Chapter 20

  ‘With these rings, I make thee my slave.’

  So saying, Constance’s master took the gold rings from their box and ran them carefully through her freshly pierced labia. The initial nerve-numbing pain of the needle spearing her flesh was already being replaced by a near-pleasant throbbing.

  ‘Now, we come to the anointing of the slave,’ the presiding master announced.

  Constance was taken by surprise, having thought that her piercing heralded the end of the ceremony. The bridesmaids helped her to her feet, freed her from her bondage and stripped her of everything but her veil. She was then ordered to lie on the altar with her head on the cushion, her arms spread and her legs raised with her feet pointing up at the arched ceiling.

  Her master climbed onto the altar and strapped a wooden spreader pole to her ankles to keep her legs splayed. While he was doing this, the master of ceremonies placed a longer pole under her neck and lashed either end to her wrists. The bridesmaids hooked a leather leash to both rings in her labia, then eased them in opposite directions, peeling open the damp petals. Constance whimpered in anticipation.

  ‘You will keep your legs up straight until I give you permission to lower them,’ her master directed, emphasising his words with several taps of his riding crop on her tensed belly. ‘Is that understood?’

 
Constance nodded.

  ‘The slave is now ready to be anointed with fire,’ announced the master of ceremonies.

  As eight of the slave guests lined up, each holding a thick black candle, it became horrifyingly clear to Constance exactly what he meant. He lit each candle in turn, then the slaves gathered around her.

  ‘Master, no!’ she shrieked.

  ‘Quiet,’ he ordered calmly, scoring the backs of her thighs with an effortlessly savage lash of the riding crop. ‘When have you ever been afraid of a little pain? Keep those legs up, else you’ll really have something to complain about.’

  He signalled to the eight slaves, who tilted their flickering candles over her. She shrieked piteously as scalding wax dripped onto her breasts, belly and thighs. Another crack of her master’s crop reminded her to keep her legs still. Her bridesmaids stood to either side, nobly contributing to her torment by maintaining an excruciating pull on her pussy rings.

  The anointing by fire seemed as though it would never end. The slaves holding the candles watched impassively, none of them strangers to similar erotic tortures. Finally, when Constance was almost covered in tiny mushrooms of hardened wax and breathlessly begging for mercy, her master decided she had had enough.

  The slaves stepped aside as he mounted the altar once more and positioned himself between the shapely thighs of his slave bride. Constance raised her head, a small moan of delight issuing from beneath her veil when she saw that he was unzipping his trousers. Suddenly, the fires of hell seemed worth every drop of candle wax.

  ‘What do you say, slave?’ he demanded, brushing her stretched labia with the distended crown of his stiff cock.

  ‘Take me, master,’ she responded urgently. ‘Please take me… I’m begging you.’

  For Constance, the audience gathered around the altar no longer existed. She and her master were alone and she wanted nothing but him. Gripping the pole between her ankles in both fists, he eased his gnarled erection into her slippery sex, with a slowness that was almost unbearable.

  ‘Give it to me, please master,’ she gasped.

  His shaft half-buried between her thighs, he glanced at the master of ceremonies. ‘She did say give it to her, didn’t she?’

  The thin whip in the other man’s fist whistled and slashed across her breasts, dislodging several lumps of wax.

  ‘Owwwwww…!’ she yelped.

  ‘Make sure those two don’t give her any slack,’ her master barked, glaring at the bridesmaids.

  The master of ceremonies obligingly ensured they attended fully to their sadistic duties with several cracks of his whip to their bare bottoms. The tug on Constance’s labia grew ever more excruciating. But when the full length of her master’s cock was finally inside her, the acute pain became virtually indistinguishable from the accompanying pleasure.

  Hovering only feet from the action, the camcorder captured every forceful thrust of his cock into her, every ecstatic cry that escaped her throat. She climaxed twice before eventually receiving the welcome flood of his hot cream.

  The bride having been thrashed, tortured, screwed and fully humiliated, the ceremony was finally over. As the other watching masters stepped up to shake her master’s hand and offer their congratulations, the bridesmaids released Constance and helped her from the altar.

  ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ Barbara smiled, holding a mirror between her thighs.

  Constance gazed down at the reflection of her own sex. Gingerly touching her glittering labia rings, she had to agree that it looked most appealing.

  As with a traditional wedding, the ceremony was followed by a feast. Constance’s master sat at the head of the banquet table. She crouched at his feet, now naked but for her thigh boots. Her food was served up in silver bowls, her fingers taking the place of cutlery. In between courses she licked his highly polished boots, much to the delight of the guests. At the end of the meal he rose to his feet and an expectant hush fell over the room.

  ‘Masters and slaves, I would like to thank you all for coming here this evening,’ he began. ‘Taking Constance as my wife was a great honour, but taking her as my slave is indeed the icing on the cake. As I am sure many of the men present this evening are already aware, she is not a woman who is hampered by inhibitions. I have no doubt that she will keep her promise to make me the most satisfied man on earth. She’d better!’

  He picked up his riding crop and whacked the table top to a murmur of approval from the watching gathering.

  ‘However, while we praise Constance for her beauty and dedication to her calling, we mustn’t forget a very good friend who cannot be with us today. Kenton Turley has been condemned to spend the next two years behind bars, for the crime of running a late-night pirate radio station that did no harm to anyone. Let us raise our glasses to KT and wish him the best of luck with his appeal.’

  Constance cast her eyes downwards. Mention of the man who had introduced her to the dangerous delights of bondage and submission brought back unwelcome memories of being dragged handcuffed and half-naked through her front door and bundled into the back of a police van.

  Released on bail forty-eight hours later, she had found herself transformed from a reputable businesswoman into a criminal celebrity. A beautiful blonde and a pornographic pirate radio operation was the stuff of tabloid wet dreams.

  For the first time in her life, Constance was completely powerless over the events that were affecting her. Her reputation was quickly ruined beyond redemption. It seemed as if her business was about to follow. The gutter press laid siege to the boutique, scaring away staff and customers alike. Hack journalists dogged her every move and telephoned her at all hours of the day and night, desperately seeking an exclusive on the woman they had christened ‘the Queen of Porn FM’. When she refused to co-operate, one of the tabloids found a ‘former lover’ who was only too glad to cash in.

  Lurid tales of sadomasochistic orgies and other ‘even more shocking’ activities indulged in by Constance and her perverted friends were splashed like a royal scandal over the pages of the papers. Tapes of some of her broadcasts on S/M-FM and a copy of the Slave in the Hot Seat video were produced as yet further evidence of a criminally irresponsible libido. Her tabloid CV was completed with the revelation of her ‘close friendship’ with the notorious Mistress Amber.

  As she surveyed the ruins of her life, in near despair, Sir Terence DeMille unexpectedly came forward as her saviour. Her dignity was beyond salvation, but he could still save her from financial ruin. Even if she was eventually found innocent of all the offences she had been charged with, she knew her business would never recover.

  Sir Terence invited her to lunch and made her the proverbial offer she couldn’t refuse. As well as paying her an exceptional price for the boutique, he would ensure she was defended at her trial by the best barrister money could buy.

  The price eventually paid by the Queen of Porn FM was a fine of eighty thousand pounds and a one-year suspended prison sentence. She emerged from the courthouse in the company of her master, who hustled her through the throng of waiting reporters and into his car. The registry office was booked for that afternoon. She did not even have time for a change of clothes.

  Constance’s master concluded his after-dinner speech by announcing that, as a thank you to all the masters who had attended the ceremony, his slave would be at their complete disposal for the next few hours. The men around the huge table cheered and applauded enthusiastically, leaving her in no doubt that all would be only too glad to partake of his generosity. She looked up at her master with a grateful smile. What better wedding present could he possibly bestow upon her?

  The master who had presided over the slave-taking ceremony was awarded the honour of enjoying her first. He preferred to enjoy her in private, but assured the others that she would be returned to them as soon as he was finished. Then taking her hand, he led her away from the party and out int
o the garden.

  ‘Lovely night, isn’t it?’ he remarked, slipping an arm around her waist.

  ‘The most perfect night there’s ever been,’ Constance replied sincerely.

  ‘No regrets?’

  ‘Only about what happened to KT,’ she answered. ‘I still can’t believe they sent him to prison. It makes me feel like I got off lightly.’

  ‘You lost your business and your reputation,’ he reminded her. ‘A high enough price to pay for the crime of pleasure.’

  ‘But I have my freedom.’ She laughed as soon as she had uttered the words. ‘I mean, I’m not locked up. S/M-FM has landed KT in jail and me with a whole new career.’

  He smiled. ‘So you’ve signed the contract with that satellite TV company?’

  She nodded. ‘And one with the Sunday Exclusive. Imagine me, a soft porn TV presenter and agony aunt! I’ve barely had time to catch my breath since the court case ended.’

  ‘At least now you can be successful and be yourself at the same time,’ he said. ‘It’s just a pity you won’t have so much time to devote to the Playground from now on.’

  ‘I’ll always have time for the Playground, Sir Terence,’ she assured him. ‘Actually, I’m glad I have this chance to show you just how grateful I am for all you’ve done for me.’

  Falling to her knees in the damp grass, she unzipped the older man’s trousers. Sir Terence leant back against a tree and stroked her hair as she withdrew his cock and eagerly applied her lips and tongue to coax it to full stiffness.

  ‘Oh God, Constance, I should have married you myself,’ he groaned.

  With his cock nudging the back of her throat, all she could manage in reply was a soft moan. She sucked him for several minutes, then rose to her feet again. Wrapping her arms around the thick trunk of the tree she crouched down and thrust out her hindquarters invitingly.

  ‘Are you sure?’ he asked, caressing her goose-pimpled and reddened buttocks.