It wasn't just what was happening to her that aroused and excited Sarah so. It was that a woman was touching her. As with Yukiyo, she was again finding herself aroused at the thought that she was naked and was being touched by another woman. She had to admit that she was attracted to the idea of being with another woman. She hadn't yet decided just how that attraction manifested itself, but she couldn't deny it was there.
Sarah was drawn back to her situation abruptly as she felt the small feminine hands move to her breasts, cupping them and releasing them over and over. Sarah felt a sharp tug as the hands gripped each nipple, raising her breasts by pulling up, hard, on each tip until Sarah gasped.
"Very nice,” the woman murmured, as if to herself. Indeed, it was to herself. To Lynn, Sarah was only a slave. She didn't hold submission in the high esteem that Lawrence did. To Lynn, Sarah was a slut who liked to be used. End of story. There was no subtlety, no romantic exchange of power. Sarah had forfeited her right to be treated as a human being when she allowed herself to be tied here. She was a sex object, pure and simple.
Suddenly Sarah cried out, in one short yelp of pain. Lynn had twisted one of her nipples savagely and unexpectedly, laughing with pleasure at her cry. This slut was responsive! Without giving her a chance to recover, Lynn twisted the other nipple with equal ferocity. Again she elicited Sarah's cry. Lynn laughed again and slapped both breasts and then Sarah's cheek. Sarah gasped at all the stimulation. She hadn't expected such rough treatment. Where was Lawrence?
But no one seemed to be rushing to her aid. She felt Lynn's hand on her panties now. Sarah might not have been able to resist the urge to close her legs at that point, had they been free. But they were bound as surely as her wrists. She could not resist this determined woman as she pinched Sarah's pussy lips with her long nails. Sarah whimpered but managed not to cry out.
"Can we take off her panties, Lawrence?” Lynn asked, still kneading Sarah's now-pouting pussy lips.
"Not yet.” Sarah was relieved to hear his familiar low voice. But then she actually heard what he was saying: “We have all night. Give the others a chance."
"Oh, all right!” The irritation was evident in Lynn's petulant tone. As she stepped away from Sarah, she couldn't resist giving Sarah's nipple one last tweak. Sarah jerked slightly but remained quiet. She waited with apprehension for the next pair of strange hands to attack her.
After a moment, by some silent accord, the next person approached the bound young woman. She felt the hands first on her throat. They were large hands, clearly a man's. But whose? She waited for him to speak so she could at least identify who would ravage her next. But in silence, the strong hands pressed her back, gently, but firmly. Sarah's breathing quickened as she felt him press her against the ropes.
She always reacted with a primal surge of desire whenever anyone claimed her in this manner. She had analyzed it in her own mind before—it was just a throwback to prehistoric times, when the dominant member of the tribe would control the weaker ones by force. Or, as in the animal kingdom, where the leader of the pack throws the others on their backs and pins them to the ground by the throat with strong, sharp teeth. But her intellectualization of the process did nothing to diminish the sharp pull in her pussy. She moaned softly, without realizing she was making a sound. Her nipples, already erect from their recent torture, engorged even further. Sarah ached for someone's kiss—anyone's.
But instead of a kiss, the hands left her throat and went to her mouth. Long, sure fingers were prying her lips apart. She yielded and felt the invading fingers enter her mouth and grip her lower lip. They began massaging her lip sensually. She felt somehow even more naked and submissive as she yielded to this treatment. It was as if he were claiming her mouth with his hand. Again a moan issued from her throat.
Who was this person who was creating such a flame in her? She realized that she didn't even know if it was Lawrence. She had never felt his hands on her in this way. It could be he. But it could be one of the other men just as easily.
At last, the hand left her mouth. Without realizing it, Sarah did not close her mouth. It remained slack, the full lips glistening from her own saliva. All at once, she felt a hand on her ass. Her mouth snapped shut and she stiffened as she realized the fingers were touching the butt plug. A cold finger of dread seemed to drag its way through her as the merciless hand tugged at the plug. There was a moment of sharp pain as the thick base of rubber slid past her tight sphincter muscle. She gasped at the unexpected removal. Tears of embarrassment and humiliation pricked her hidden eyelids as she imagined the group of onlookers staring at the plug, all aware of where it had been.
But in fact they were not aware. It was her trainer there with her. He had removed it so quickly and skillfully that none of the guests were the wiser as to its existence. He cupped it in his palm as he stepped away from the bound slave girl. But Sarah did not know this, however. The heat in her face spread to her neck and chest and she wished she could disappear.
Before she could dwell too long on her shame, another person approached her. This time she felt long, slender fingers on her belly: the hands of a woman. They traced little circles closer and closer to her still-covered pussy. Gently, the fingers slipped past the ineffective elastic barrier and glided to her very wet, needy little cunt. Mary—for it was she—leaned forward and whispered to Sarah, “You feel so hot. I bet you taste spicy-sweet.” Sarah was embarrassed but very excited by this slave's remarks.
Mary massaged and teased her clit for a minute, until Sarah again began to mewl and moan softly. Mary leaned forward and kissed her on the mouth, forcing her tongue between Sarah's teeth. Sarah had never kissed a woman before. It was different than with a man—the soft skin of their cheeks and chins touching made the difference. She found that she liked it. She liked the idea of being kissed by a girl. She liked that they were being watched. Her pussy pulsed and throbbed at Mary's continued probing. A single finger penetrated her slick opening. Sarah let out a deep sigh of pleasure.
Suddenly the hands and mouth were withdrawn from her. “Enough, slut!” Jack barked. “I said you could touch her, not finger-fuck her! On your knees at once. You will be punished now, in front of our guests. We must show them you are repentant, miserable whore!"
Sarah couldn't see what happened next. She could only hear, as Mary cried out her apologies for her wanton behavior. She could only imagine the young woman, kneeling, her loose gown flipped up over her bare ass, as her husband smacked the full cheeks with sharp, insistent blows. With each smack, Sarah felt her own ass burn with sympathy and desire.
Soon the only sounds in the room were Jack's hard palm on Mary's offered flesh, and her gasping, panting cries. After several minutes, Jack apparently decided that his “whore” had been chastised properly. Sarah heard a scuffling sound, which she imagined was Jack pulling Mary to her feet. She realized her own panties were soaked, not only because of the attentions she had been receiving, but because of her blind witnessing of another slave being beaten. She realized she longed to see another tortured, whether for pleasure or punishment, she didn't care. She felt a strong desire to see it, maybe even to do it.
Her own dominant impulses shocked her. She had always considered herself completely submissive. Yet here she was, her mind reeling with fantasies of whipping and torturing her hostess. She could see Mary in her mind's eye, bound and naked, tethered by the wrists in Lawrence's playroom. And she—Sarah—wielded the whip that would mark her. She—Sarah—was fully clothed, in a corset and short skirt, an evil smile caressing her lips as she teased and tortured poor Mary to tears and ecstasy.
Just then, she was shocked out of her reverie by big, firm hands roughly grabbing her breasts. Her nipples were pulled and twisted, both gripped at once in the hard fingers. “Slut!” Jack hissed in her ear. She had known at once who it was. Who else would be so rough, so coarse? He let go of her now-painfully-erect nipples for a moment and she waited, with heart thudding, for the next onslaught. It came in
the form of a biting pain to her right nipple. She realized as she felt the sting and the weight that he had attached nipple clamps. They were ratcheted tighter than she was used to, and the pressure made her clench her teeth.
Before her body had adjusted to the device, her other breast was treated to the same torture. Sarah felt as if her nipples were on fire. In the silence around her, she heard herself gasping. Drawing on her memories of Lawrence's calm voice, she willed herself to relax and slow her pounding heart.
Jack stood back for a moment, appraising his victim. He saw with satisfaction that her face was contorted with pain at his treatment. Leaning over, he flicked each nipple with his tongue. He liked to see them wet and shiny, pressed in the metal grip of the clamps.
Sarah felt his hands glide around her back to her ass. He grabbed her round cheeks with both hands. Then he slipped one hand below the elastic of her virginal-white panties. Sarah shuddered and tried to move away. She knew she mustn't resist his touch—he was just an extension of Lawrence tonight, the man she had pledged to serve during her training. She stilled herself and waited with trepidation to feel what he would do to her next.
"Ow!” Before she could stop herself, Sarah had screamed aloud. He hadn't really hurt her, but she had been startled and upset by his sudden invasion. Jack had pressed a stiff finger into her asshole. He hadn't lubricated it; he hadn't been gentle. Luckily for Sarah, she was still somewhat slick from the anal plug that had been inside her until Lawrence removed it.
Before she could recover from the invasion, she felt a sharp smack to her cheek. Jack had slapped her. Now he was yelling in her face, so close she could smell the brandy on his breath. “Is this how you comport yourself, slave girl?” The last two words were uttered with disgust and condescension. “Where is your grace? Let's try it again, slut."
Sarah felt herself close to panicking. She had begun to tremble after he had slapped her. His words, his manner, his actions were all so cold, so harsh. She was near to tears. Lawrence, she begged silently. Save me!
But no one came to her rescue. If Lawrence was there, watching, he must assume that she was all right—she could take it. Well, then. She would. For him. She had said she wanted to suffer for him. As Jack rammed his finger up her ass yet again, she did suffer. The humiliation she felt was not softened by sexual desire. She wished the floor would open and swallow her—anything to deliver her from this bullyboy posing as a Master. Again and again he invaded her ass. Silently, Sarah began to cry. But she didn't resist. She didn't call out to Lawrence to save her. She endured it.
Finally Jack withdrew, removing the clamps suddenly. Sarah gasped as the blood flowed back into her tender nipples. Had she not been tethered, she would have fallen to the floor.
The room was silent. Sarah had stopped crying, but tears wet her blindfold and stained her cheeks. She was no longer thinking of impressing anyone with her subservience. She was no longer fantasizing about sexual play with any of the people present. She wasn't even thinking of Lawrence coming to her aid like some knight in shining armor. Her arms and legs ached with the fatigue of being bound. She was exhausted and humiliated. Tears again pricked her lids. How much more could she bear?
At last, the miserable young woman felt strong arms enfold her. As Lawrence held her—for now she was sure it was he—other pairs of hands quickly released her wrists and ankles from their bonds.
Sarah collapsed against him, still blindfolded. Lawrence scooped her up into his arms and carried her off the little platform. He kept on walking, past the quiet, staring group of guests, and took her down the hall to one of the bedrooms of the house. Gently, he laid her down and finally removed her blindfold. Leaning over, he kissed each eyelid tenderly.
"I am so proud of you, my slave girl. You did it. You submitted with grace and dignity. Even Jack's test didn't break you. I have seen better-trained slaves than you lose their decorum completely at his hands. But you took it. You suffered—for me."
Sarah stared at him with astonishment. She had expected a rebuke for her initial resistance to Jack's violation. She had expected recrimination for her tears and cries. Instead her trainer was gazing at her with such tenderness it was as if he were ... No! She mustn't allow herself to drift into that fantasy again. He was not her lover. He was her trainer.
He had said he was proud of her, and right now that was enough—it had to be. But she mustn't confuse pride with love. Lawrence continued to stroke and caress Sarah. She felt herself easing back to calmness. She reveled in his tender attentions, hardly daring to move lest he pull away.
"You have done well, Sarah. But the evening isn't quite over yet. Jack is saying good night to his other guests. Then we will rejoin him and Mary for a little coffee. You may dress again. Jack has said he wants to speak to us—about you. As you may have noticed, he has a different style than I do. But sometimes his remarks are useful. We will hear what he has to say, and then we will go home."
Sarah nodded. What would that dreadful man have to say about her, she wondered. But she wasn't afraid—she had Lawrence at her side. She was breathing normally now, and feeling up to dressing. She saw that Lawrence had brought her things into this room. Standing carefully, as if she were not sure of her own balance, Sarah began to dress. Then together they went back out into the living room.
When they entered, all the other guests had gone. Jack was sitting back on the sofa, a pipe in hand. The sweet, smoky smell of the tobacco wafted through the air. There was a hint of cherry and ginger mixed with the acrid smell of burning leaves.
Mary was kneeling, head bowed, near Jack's chair. She was naked, save for her large metal collar, which lay like a heavy, silver V between her small breasts. Her hands were shackled at the wrist and secured to a chain at her waist.
Jack turned and stared at Sarah head on. He looked her up and down impassively as if she were on display in a window. Despite her dislike of the man, Sarah's nipples rose perversely at his appraisal. Flushing, she restrained an impulse to shield herself from his penetrating gaze.
Turning his hard gaze from her, Jack spoke to Lawrence. “Well, what can I get you, Lawrence? A little whiskey? Port? Or just some coffee? It's there on the sideboard, ready to go.” Sarah's mouth watered at the thought of coffee. All trace of wooziness from the alcohol was gone, but she longed for a little caffeine to steady her nerves further. Jack had not offered her anything. He hadn't even spoken to her. To him, Sarah realized, she was just an object. She hadn't earned any recognition as far as he was concerned.
Sarah, used to being the center of attention, even if it was negative, was irked by his attitude. Well, she decided, she would ignore this pompous man. She would focus on pleasing Lawrence and behaving in a manner that befitted her place.
Lawrence thanked him politely and went over to the sideboard. Sarah stood where she was, waiting for Lawrence to direct her. He came over to her with a small silver tray in hand. She saw that there were two cups of steaming coffee on it. Gratefully, she took the offered cup.
"Here, Sarah, kneel next to me. You can put your coffee on this table.” Lawrence settled into a large, overstuffed chair and leaned back with a sigh. Sarah knelt beside him, trying to keep her dress from riding up. She realized with an inward smile that it was easier to kneel gracefully when you were naked than dressed. Sarah stole a look at Mary. She had been kneeling, stock-still, head bowed, hands clasped at her waist. Her face looked peaceful and serene. Sarah sipped her coffee, waiting a little nervously for whatever was coming.
Jack fiddled with his pipe, igniting a fresh bowl of tobacco with a long wooden match. After a few rapid puffs, he lowered the pipe and sat up, clearing his throat. “Well, we must thank you, Lawrence, for an interesting evening. It is always a treat to see what you are doing with your novices."
"Well, thank you, Jack. Dinner was superb, as always. Mary is an outstanding cook.” The tiniest smile escaped from Mary's lips, though she kept her head bowed.
"She is at that. I'm living proo
f!” Jack laughed, slapping his ample stomach for emphasis. “My slave is my pride and joy. I hope one day you find a suitable Master for young Sarah here. But I must tell you, I think she has a long way to go. In fact, I'm not sure she has what it takes to be a first-class slave."
"Oh?” Lawrence looked directly at Jack with a slight frown on his face.
"Oh, it's nothing to do with your training. Certainly not. I've seen your methods with many a novice.” Jack sounded almost apologetic. “It's just that—she's—easy."
"Excuse me?” Lawrence sounded almost cold now. Sarah noticed that he was sitting straighter, his hands folded in his lap. She could feel his tension. But Jack was unaware of any warning signs, or ignored them.
He continued, looking at Sarah with a cold, appraising eye. “She's easy. You know what I'm saying. She's a slut. I know her type well. She's a dime a dozen. I felt her heat tonight. I saw her passion. It isn't you she serves; she serves her own sluttish needs. She doesn't submit to your humiliation and torture—she craves it. And not because it's your attentions, but because it is attention, period. She's a pain slut. She's a humiliation slut. And she's certainly a sex slut. She reeks of it.
"When you brought Mary to me, well, there was just no comparison. From the outset, my Mary has been pure. My Mary exists only to serve me. My Mary lives to suffer for me.” Jack sat back, a smug look on his face as he appraised “his Mary” kneeling on the carpet before them. Sarah was still kneeling as well, head bowed, perfectly still.
But inside she was seething. How dare that bastard characterize her like that? What the hell did he know about her? And if she craved that which served another, was that a bad thing? Could he honestly sit there and say that Mary didn't derive any pleasure from serving him? Pleasure exclusive of just pleasing him? And did he really want that? Did he want a blow-up doll without a mind or will of her own?
Lawrence was sitting quietly, looking at the two young women as well. He leaned back, lacing his fingers thoughtfully together across his chest. Sarah held her breath to hear what her trainer would say. Would he defend her, or would he agree with Jack's damning assessment?
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