by Sean O'Kane
I was only wrapped in a short silk dressing gown and was slumped in a chair reading the papers, beside me I had a bowl of tepid water with a flannel in it, and every now and then would pause to stand, spread my legs and press the flannel against my throbbing sex. At least by then I felt no permanent damage had been done, but I hoped no-one would want to use it for a few days. I groaned when the front doorbell went.
Once I saw it was Janet though, I opened the door for her quite eagerly and then gasped in surprise as she entered. She was dressed in a simple cardigan, which strained across her breasts, and tight jeans. Not only was I astonished to see her at all but to see her, a slavegirl, dressed in jeans really took me aback. Ben didn’t mind me wearing them if I wasn’t with him, although I very rarely did, but I knew that Madam chose what Janet wore every single day and didn’t approve of anything other than skirts. She laughed at my expression and walked in with a stiff legged gait.
“Madam’s off playing with Scarlet somewhere so she said I could come round,” she explained. “She said she thought you’d be sore so she sent me to ‘lick the slut’s cunt better and teach her more about being a slave’.”
I blinked at the obscenities being so calmly uttered in my cosy sunlit lounge.
“Look Janet,” I began. “You’re a great girl but I’m not in slave mode just now. I’m tired and…”
“Sore. Yes I know, but girls like you and me are always in slave mode, K. We are slaves. It’s not what we do, it’s what we are. Look here…”
She was right, and it hit me like a ton of bricks. Just because I was at home didn’t mean I wasn’t a slave, it just meant that no-one was currently flogging me or using me. If Ben or Madam had walked in, ordered me to bend over and caned, whipped or paddled me, I wouldn’t have made a murmur of protest. I had given them every right to do so. They simply hadn’t done it up till now. While these thoughts raced through my mind, Janet had unbuttoned and discarded her cardigan.
“Bloody hell!” was all I could say. Her wonderfully full and hugely areoled breasts looked as if she had slept face down on a basket weave bed. They were covered in a criss-crossing mesh of narrow, livid stripes. They were just like the ones I was sporting but Janet had taken far, far more than I had.
She looked down proudly, hefting and cupping her boobs with her hands. “Pretty good eh? Bet you thought I was being a right little tart last night, rubbing myself up against Danny and giving him the eye.”
I had the grace to blush while I stared at her lacerated boobs and ribs.
“Listen K,” she sent on seriously. “There’s nothing Madam likes better than to see me getting a seeing-to from a slaveboy. So by flaunting myself at him I knew she couldn’t allow it. No master or mistress can let a slave set the agenda, but that doesn’t mean we can’t pull a few strings here and there. It was worth missing out on the action you got and getting all frustrated, so as to get a really good punishment this morning. And that was what I really wanted. Madam knows perfectly well what I was up to, but she’ll never admit it of course and that made the punishment all the harder - so everyone’s happy.
“Now what you’ve got to do is stop being such a mousy little goody two shoes. Make the buggers work for it. Be disobedient every now and then. They love you for it; it keeps them on their toes - gives them a break from having to invent ways of making you fail, and a real punishment stops either of you getting bored. Understand?”
I did. In the space of a few minutes I had understood that I was a slave wherever I was and that K (how very unlike Emma!) was too meek by half; but mostly I had understood that submissiveness itself could be used to exert some control over dominants and provide a slave with some pleasure on her own terms as well as ensuring her master’s attention was fully focused on her for quite some time.
But while I absorbed all that I was still staring at Janet’s breasts.
“How many lashes?” I asked.
“I lost count after fifty and two orgasms.” She giggled. “So it was worth the wait.”
I laughed with her; it felt like we were two schoolgirls who had got one over on a feared teacher.
“Now take my jeans off, K. She always makes me wear them after… well just do it.”
They were very tight and after I had undone the stud, she had to breathe in sharply so I could slide the zip down. I had to kneel down to pull while she wriggled her hips but when at last they slid down her thighs I gasped at what stared me in the face.
Madam had been at work with that bootlace whip again. And this time she had worked it across Janet’s inner and outer thighs, hips, stomach and her sex itself. Bright red lines crossed the pubic thatch and the plump labia themselves. I helped her get the jeans off her feet, one at a time, while I imagined the harsh denim material and especially the seam pulling tightly up into the crease between those tenderised sex lips.
“Madam’s always furious with herself when she’s had a good time with a man - and they don’t come any better than Danny.” She grinned at her own pun. “So she had plenty to take out on me. ‘Tits for punishment, cunt for pleasure’ she said. But what she meant was ‘tits for my bad behaviour, cunt for hers’.”
I really could understand why she sounded so happy with her appalling treatment. For a slave, offering herself up for a punishment which she has in no way deserved, but which the master or mistress will enjoy inflicting, is taking submission to its extreme and is better than getting a deserved punishment. And those weals really did suit her generous, curvaceous form very well.
I felt an overwhelming affection and admiration for Janet who understood and accepted so much more than I did. I leaned forward and gently kissed the tops of her thighs as she spread her legs apart and then let my tongue begin to lick and soothe the hot labia, then delve between them to explore the complex folds of her fleshy inner lips.
She groaned in pleasure and then whispered that she wanted me to take her to bed. And I did for four, slow, soothing but passionate hours. I flung off the duvet and made love to her in broad daylight, no longer caring that I was caressing another girl orally. We made each other rise to orgasm very gently - the complete opposite to how our dominants did it, and a welcome change. We dozed in each other’s arms for a while after a series of sixty nines had brought gasps and cries of sheer delight from both of us. But when we woke we knew it was not enough, pleasure on its own might be enough for some, but slaves need more. We rubbed our boobs against each other’s and then Janet kissed me hard.
“Hurt them for me, K,” she whispered hoarsely. “Make my tits burn all over again.”
“Yes.” There wasn’t a second’s hesitation in my response.
I found a thin leather belt in my wardrobe and Janet held onto the bedhead while I whipped her. My heart thundered in pure joy as I looked down on the rippling, shuddering flesh I was lashing. I finally understood the ecstasy of whipping such vulnerability, extending the pleasure of caressing to the point where pain had to be inflicted in order to satisfy the fierce passions such vulnerability aroused.
And even as I whipped the groaning twisting girl beneath me, my other hand was between my legs and I couldn’t wait for my turn to have my breasts lashed.
When Janet left I didn’t bother with even a short wrap. I was so proud of my welts and loved the feel of the air on them. We kissed deeply before I let her out.
“Don’t forget, K,” Janet said as her parting shot. “Don’t be too bloody obedient. Make yourself a little bit of a challenge every now and then, you’ll get the best out of them that way.”
I assured her I would and we parted, but I was sure I would see her again sometime.
But then it was polling day and despite the government’s defeat Ben came back victorious. Madam and Janet vanished as suddenly as they had appeared. I did indeed see Janet again; she still belongs to Clair and always will. I envy her, though I think she hate
s me now.
With the sitting of a new parliament, work was overwhelming for a while and K just had to twiddle her thumbs while Emma got on with business. But she no longer had it all her own way. K’s desires were becoming ever more strident and when Ben and I finally managed a dinner date, I was determined to move things along quickly. K was impatient to be back under the sway of her master.
Ben had made a rule that although dinner dates were outside ‘sessions’ and I would be Emma, I would always dress either smart business or smart casual, that meant skirts of course, but nothing too obviously tarty. The stockings and suspenders, and now my basques, would be discreetly hidden until we got back to his house. Ben always had to be careful. But that night I tore up the rulebook.
We had agreed to meet at a restaurant in a quiet North London suburb - an Indian one which had a reputation which attracted quite a lot of rock stars, but not many journalists. We like to hit our expense accounts a bit more heavily! They are too rich to care. But it was perfect for what I had in mind.
I booked a taxi for a time which would get me there about half an hour late. And when I finally arrived, Ben, seated in a dimly lit alcove as I had known he would be, was plainly furious. By the time I had sauntered over to the table, he was coldly enraged. For a minute I felt a knot of real fear in my stomach; I had never seen him so angry. But it was too late to go back now; I had to play it all the way.
I had deliberately worn the biggest, gaudiest, jaw bashing earrings I could find; my makeup was well over the top, dark eye shadow and bright red lipstick with a layer of lip-gloss. I wore a blouse knotted up under my breasts so that my stomach was bare and I had stuck one of those temporary tattoos just below my navel so that the dragon it depicted disappeared down under my black leather miniskirt. I was bare legged - and showing a lot too - with strappy high-heeled sandals on my feet. In short I looked outrageously tarty. But I didn’t stop there.
I really was so glad to see Ben again that the next part wasn’t too difficult. As soon as I reached the table I bent down and kissed him full on the lips - a real tongue plunging, minute-long smacker. Everything was designed to be the exact opposite of what Emma would want to do or what K would be permitted to do.
And when I slipped into my seat I could see that if we had been on our own I would have been slapped from here to kingdom come before anything else. That settled me, that was what I wanted and so I just cocked an eyebrow at him flirtatiously and asked if he was pleased to see me, while underneath the table I shamelessly ran one foot up and down his leg.
He made no response until he had ordered me a gin and tonic and it had been served.
“You know Emma,” he said at last, “when I left London I had a very docile slave by the name of K.”
Docile!? Janet had been right, it was high time I made him work a bit harder. “What do you mean by ‘slave’?” I asked innocently.
“A girl who lives to be beaten and abused by her Master. A girl who will literally do anything to please the man who dominates her, but who most of all obeys him in all things.”
Good, he was playing along.
“Do such girls exist Ben?”
“Oh yes. And after the meal I’ll tell you what I would do with her if she were here now.”
We locked gazes and smiled at each other. Game on.
The food was good but I’m afraid we didn’t do it justice. We both wanted to get it out of the way and get on with the main business. Ben ordered two cognacs and we got down to it.
“This K, does she really do anything you ask? Or are you just having wet dreams?” I asked him.
That got him. I saw his pupils contract in fury for an instant. Crotch whipping I thought; no way I was going to get away with less than that. Oh well.
“I assure you Emma that if K was here and I told her to expose a lot more cleavage than you are doing; she would obey me.”
“What a tart!” I feigned deep outrage. “But would it turn you on if I did that?”
He made a so-so gesture and then grinned as I reached down and undid two buttons of my blouse. That didn’t leave many left and really only the extremities of my boobs were covered, the upper and side curves were on full view with only Ben between me and the rest of the room. That thought made my nipples swell into almost instantaneous erection and further heightened the effect of my décolletage. Ben sat back and considered the view.
“Your tits are as nice as hers,” he decided. “But if I told her to take them both out and press an ice cube against each nipple - she wouldn’t hesitate.”
“Anything that slut can do…” I carefully didn’t look to see if anyone was watching I just watched Ben. I pulled the blouse apart, completely baring my areolae and nipples, reached into the water jug, took out two ice cubes and applied them in my cupped hands. It was impossible to hold back a gasp as they made contact with the hot, engorged flesh. I closed my eyes and drank in the feeling; absorbing the shock, as I would a cane strike, ‘freezing fire’ was all I could think. Meanwhile down below, having my boobs out in a restaurant was having an effect which was just plain hot. I held the ice pressed tightly against me until I could open my eyes and look squarely at Ben again.
“Not bad,” I said at last, taking my hands away but leaving my boobs on full display, I dumped the ice on my side plate and then calmly reached into my bag for a tissue, dried my nipples and then shrugged the blouse back just enough to cover them. “But I expect this K, or whatever her name is, would chicken out after that.”
“Certainly not. It would only serve to encourage her to put her hand up her skirt and masturbate to a climax under the table when I told her to.” He waved a waiter over and ordered more cognac, for which I was grateful. I hadn’t expected that order; I was thinking more of dropping another cube down my skirt and into my knickers.
Ben read my mind.
“After that of course, you have an advantage over poor K. She is forbidden to wear knickers, so at least you will be able to cool yourself down by putting an ice cube in yours. That is if you have the same courage as K does.”
I was too busy working out how I was going to cover the noise I always made when I orgasmed to argue too much. Eventually I grabbed my napkin in my left hand and held it over my mouth while I jiggled about in my seat until I could reach up under the tablecloth, under my skirt and get the gusset of my knickers out of the way and start rubbing at my already erect clit. I could only get one finger up inside myself with some difficulty at that angle but I let Ben know whenever I did by making little grunts of pleasure. I had to stage a real coughing fit to cover the orgasm which overcame me pretty fast. I was flooding down there and thanking Janet over and over again. I was getting the best out of Ben all right and we still had the whole night ahead of us.
Once I had finished and was amazed to find that I hadn’t attracted any attention, I patted my hair back into place, composed myself and reached for the iced water again. But Ben grabbed my wrist and held it in that strong grasp I had missed so much.
“I think you’re very hot down there so if it were K, I’d tell her to take her time, rub it up and down the crease of her cunt and savour the cooling effect.”
That put paid to dropping it down and making a quick run to the Ladies. He was working well.
“And this K tart would thank you for that would she?” I tried to rally.
“Oh, yes.” He smiled his most irritating smile. “But then of course she’s just a scrubber and wouldn’t think twice about it, whereas you’re…”
“Whereas I can do what any cheap tart can do!” I was getting into this. Not only enjoying the exhibitionism but also letting the Emma and K sides of me slug it out.
It was not easy getting my hand down the front of my skirt. I had to shift my bottom forward in my seat so the tablecloth would cover my hand going down there then lean back and breathe in sharply
to make room for it. I gasped again as the ice made contact with my hot, tender flesh. I had trouble breathing for a moment, just as if I had dived into cold water. It was delicious torment and Ben beckoned a waiter over at that precise moment.
I was leaning back and slightly to one side to get my hand down to my crotch, the tablecloth barely covering the action, and I was gasping and wincing at the shock of the cold. Ben ordered another cognac for himself and the waiter looked at me.
“Is Madam all right?” he enquired.
I tried to get my hand out but couldn’t and clung to the tablecloth to cover my predicament. Ben frowned and leaned over.
“Are you okay dear?” he asked, oozing concern.
“Y… yes… fine!” I managed to stutter.
“I expect it’s just a touch of indigestion,” he said to the waiter. I nodded furiously and he left, while Ben looked at me, suddenly hard and authoritative again. “Move it up and down, and make sure you rub it on your clitoris… hard!”
I gritted my teeth and went for it, doing exactly what he had told me to while he smiled at the grimaces I was making. He wouldn’t let me stop until my whole vulva was numb with cold and soaking wet. Icy water was trickling down the cleft of my sex and puddling under my bottom. Thank God the skirt was black leather and lined, I thought, it should help to mask the damp patch.
At long last I got a terse nod from Ben and was able to extract my hand and sit up again.
“If this bloody cow K was here, would she be allowed to go to the Ladies now?” I asked bitterly as I dropped the depleted ice onto a plate.