Submissives of the Colonel

by Charles Graham

  At one time, she would have been horribly embarrassed by her immediate response to a man’s lips, but she had quickly come to understand that Masters enjoyed and valued such uncontrollable reactions in their slaves and had learned that she was no longer permitted the luxuries of shame or modesty, for those were the prerogatives of free women, not collared slaves. Her body belonged to her Masters, and it was not for her to decide what use was made of it.

  Fighting to remain perfectly still as slave heat ignited in her belly, she clenched her teeth to hold back a groan of intense need as her Master lifted his head from her breasts and smiled down at her.

  “Good morning, slave. Did you have a good sleep?”

  He knew perfectly well that she had spent the whole night curled up on the unforgiving wooden floor with her neck tethered to his bed and that her rest had been disturbed several times as his hands had aroused her almost, but never quite, to orgasm.

  “Good morning, Master. Yes, thank you, Master,” she replied humbly, knowing that any complaint on her part would only be met with an infuriating smile and an offer to let her spend her nights chained in the cellar if that was what she would prefer?

  Both understood that it was not, for embarrassing though it was to be leashed like a pet animal, it was better than the solitude of her locked cell beneath the house. Marginally less comfortable, perhaps, but a great deal more stimulating for her as her proximity and availability to his lips and fingers meant that she had never spent a single uninterrupted night chained at his bedside.

  Amused by her determination to remain still as he caressed her and her acceptance of the night’s discomfort he had imposed, he simply nodded and returned his hands to her body, one fondling her taut nipples and the other dipping to the cleft of her shaven sex.

  Arabella held out for as long as she could; but, as his fingers slid over the moist velvet of her labia and his thumb brushed the protruding button of her clitoris, she gave a gasping whimper and bent forward over his hands as the double arousal overwhelmed her, easily defeating her efforts to hold her pose.

  Without slowing the movements of his hands, Mayhew sighed theatrically, “You really should have learned not to move by now, slave,” he chided her. “And you know what that means, don’t you?”

  His enslaved wife trembled helplessly as her Master’s words confirmed what the inevitable result of her enforced disobedience was to be. She had earned herself a punishment; and, as her brain re-played vivid images of the many varied and ingenious ways in which she had previously been disciplined by him, her belly burned hotter still and the juices of her need oozed over his busy fingers.

  As a free woman, neither Arabella nor her husband had ever suspected the existence of her masochistic tendencies, but once collared, her true nature had soon become clearly evident, not only to Arabella herself, but also to her dominant Masters…..

  For several minutes, Mayhew permitted her to enjoy the pleasure of his fingers until her throbbing breasts and quivering belly leapt and shuddered to his every touch, and she could no longer hold back the soft moans of her passion.

  Unlocking the chain at her collar, he ordered, “On the bed, slave. Full spread-eagle. Mouth open.”

  The harsh snap of command in his voice warned Arabella that he was in no mood to be trifled with, and she sprang to her feet and threw herself on the huge bed, arms and legs flung wide, her mouth gaping open in perfect obedience to her Master’s instructions.

  Staring upwards, she could not help but see the leather crop dangling from a hook in the wall above her, and a great tremor of fear and excitement rippled up her spine to the certainty that it would soon be taken down and used on her.

  With quick, practised expertise, Mayhew clipped each of her wrist cuffs to the short chains attached to the bedposts, securing her arms in a wide, stretched “V” then took a large ball gag and thrust it into her open mouth, packing the dense leather into place until her cheeks bulged before buckling it tightly behind her neck.

  Satisfied, he gazed down into her brown eyes. “Something a little different this morning, slave,” he said calmly and chuckled as he saw her immediate anxiety. “No doubt you will enjoy it just as much as you always seem to enjoy our little..ah..adventures, my dear.”

  Arabella hesitated as she met the steady gaze of the Master she loved and served willingly, then dropped her eyes and gave a little nod, gulping as she gave him the unconditional submission that they both knew he could force from her whether she was willing or not.

  Gripping her right ankle in both of his powerful hands, he raised her leg high in the air; and, before she had time to realise what he intended and react, he pulled it back and down to her chained right wrist and clipped it to her cuff. She squealed in alarm and her long thigh muscles tensed, but the steel manacles and chains that held her were far stronger than she was and her eyes grew round with horrified understanding as she failed to make the slightest impression on her bonds.

  “Yes, I thought you’d like it, slave,” her Master grinned. “And you’ll like it even more when I secure your other leg.”

  Matching his actions to his words, he seized her free leg and, despite her most frantic struggles, repeated the process, attaching her left ankle to her left wrist.

  Folded over and immobilised by the implacable tension of her chained limbs, Arabella’s eyes bulged in shock as she found herself totally unable to move or reduce the shocking vulnerability of her position; and, as she stared helplessly upwards at the glistening folds of her own ruthlessly exposed sex only inches above her face, muffled whimpers of anguish and fright leaked past the gag filling her mouth.

  Supple though she was and well used to being bound, the extreme spreading of her legs tested even Arabella’s trained flexibility and stretched her muscles to their limits….but the immediate discomfort of her plight paled into insignificance when compared to the stunning impact of seeing the most intimate and private recesses of her femininity drawn open and displayed before her. There was nothing she could do to save herself or prevent her Master from doing exactly as he pleased; and, as she was forced to accept the sheer impossibility of putting up even token resistance to the demands he would inevitably make on her, devastating jolts of blistering slave heat swept through her belly and a warm trickle of love juices seeped from her sex.

  Her Master’s strong hands and smiling face came into her vision, and she gave a wordless cry, anticipating his touch and the utter submission she longed to give….but to her sheer horror, instead of caressing her and precipitating the climax that she needed and wanted so desperately, his fingers clipped a thin chain to one of her labia rings, passed it behind her thighs and fastened it to her other labia ring, tensioning it so that the delicate tissues opened like the petals of a flower to reveal the shadowed cleft between.

  The incredibly erotic sight of her ringed and chained belly brought Arabella to the very brink of orgasm; and, as she trembled wildly and tore her eyes from her mercilessly offered body to gaze up imploringly at her Master, he chuckled slowly, “You see, slave. I knew you’d like this….and you do, don’t you?”

  Gagged, she could not reply or even nod her head, but the quivering of her belly and the tell-tale wetness at the joint of her gaping thighs spoke volumes….

  “So now that I have you as we both wish you to be,” he continued, “how shall we begin? With my fingers, perhaps? Or would you prefer my lips and tongue?” He paused momentarily as she gave a soft whimper and shuddered in unbearable need, then let his voice harden, “I think not, slave. Later, perhaps, but first you will pay for your earlier disobedience.”

  With a slow, deliberate movement, he reached up to the hook above the bed; and, as he took down the crop, Arabella gasped in terror and her fingers clawed vainly at the chains securing her limbs.

  “You are a slave, my dear,” he said coldly. “And you must…and will…obey.”

  He moved to the side, careful to ensure that Arabella could still see him, then raised the crop
and, with a sharp flick of his wrist, brought it whistling down.

  The loud “thwack” of leather meeting flesh echoed through the room; and, as his whip etched a thin red stripe across her pale skin, Arabella screamed into her gag and her buttocks clenched to the searing heat that burst across the taut curves of her unprotected bottom.

  “That’s one, slave. Shall we say a dozen of the same?” He waited until her shrill squeal of protest died to a sobbing moan. “No? Very well then, two dozen!”

  His arm rose and fell, then rose and fell again until a stinging, burning mesh of scarlet lines adorned her flinching bottom and tears poured down her gagged cheeks.

  At last, satisfied that his thorough disciplined slave-wife had learned her lesson, he changed his point of aim to her thighs and reduced the power of his blows, using his crop to sensitise rather than to punish.

  His change of tactic brought rapid and extremely gratifying results; for, as the pain of Arabella’s whipped buttocks diminished to a bearable and, for her, rather pleasurable throbbing, her arousal built to an inferno of desperate need as he applied numerous lighter whip strokes to the soft flesh of her inner thighs, gradually working his way towards her gaping sex.

  Cruelly punished and then tormented by the crop’s inexorable advance up her thighs, the hapless brunette could only surrender to the storm of passion that engulfed her as her Master flicked his whip across the engorged folds of her ringed labia.

  At the first touch, gigantic convulsions tore through her body, and she screamed in wonderful, terrible ecstasy, wave after wave of scalding hot love juices erupting into her pounding belly as she submitted instantly and utterly to a first orgasm of enormous power and intensity.

  Without permitting her a second’s respite, Mayhew reversed his whip and thrust the thick leather handle into her sex, his eyes gleaming with lust as her internal muscles clamped the invading shaft in a vice-like grip and sucked it deep into her body, a high pitched wail almost lost behind her gag as a second, even more devastating climax exploded over and through and into the seething, churning whirlpool of her flooded belly.

  Sent spinning down into an abyss of delirious rapture that only a fully subjugated slave could ever truly experience, Arabella came and came again in huge, shuddering spasms, accepting the whip as her lover, her bondage as the natural order of things, her punishments as the source of thrilling pleasure…and her submission to her Master as the most fervently desired and willingly given homage she could ever pay to the man whose collar she wore and whose slave she unquestionably was.

  Witnessing every moment of her total and abject capitulation to his erotic dominance, Colonel Mayhew relished each gasp and moan, each frantic contraction of her belly, each powerful spasm that set fresh juices oozing from her sex…and as he watched, his fully erect maleness bulged mightily, demanding satisfaction.

  With a twist of his muscular body, he positioned himself between and above her gaping thighs and pulled his stained, sex-soaked whip from her belly, throwing it aside.

  “After discipline, comes reward, slave,” he grated hoarsely. “My reward!” And as Arabella gave a long, wavering scream, he sank his rigid erection into the slickly-lubricated channel of her heated sex, his body weight assisting the remorseless penetration of his iron hard shaft until he was embedded full length and his coarse pubic hair rasped against her shaven belly.

  Pinned beneath her Master, impaled and unable to move, Arabella screamed and wept in helpless passion as she was taken as the full slave she was, her body shuddering to the massive hammer blows of his rampant lust and jet after jet of boiling love juices spraying into her wildly pulsing belly as his merciless ravaging forced her into innumerable orgasms of incredible power.

  Reaching his peak, Mayhew raised himself above her, then plunged down with his full weight and strength, crushing her and wringing a terrified shriek from Arabella as his final, brutal thrust ploughed irresistibly into the furnace-hot cauldron of her feminine core to trigger a cataclysmic orgasm as his spend deluged her belly with torrents of liquid fire.

  Her thigh muscles corded frantically beneath her smooth skin, fingers clawing and scrabbling at empty air as volcanic detonations convulsed her whole body and huge, foaming gouts of molten juices burst unstoppably upwards to flood over her Master’s jerking shaft and mix with his seed as she screamed her surrender into the gag sealing her lips and her eyes bulged in shock to the chaotic tumult storming through her ravaged belly.

  Even for a slave such as Arabella, it was stunning confirmation of the limitless subjugation and sexual submission that could be imposed on her and extracted from her; and, as her frantic eyes met those of her Master, she could not hold back a renewed gush of love juices into her swamped belly or hide the profound truth she had finally accepted about herself.

  For despite the stringency of her bondage and the aching of her limbs and jaw, despite the painful punishment and humiliating whip-orgasm he had forced her to endure, despite his frightening and utterly ruthless plundering of her defenceless body and his imposition of the most extreme subjugation upon her, Arabella knew that she had responded to every torment with the uncontrollable, ever-increasing desire of a truly submissive slave.

  Consumed by the white heat of her own passion, she had severed the last, tenuous threads of her self-control, discarded all attempt at restraint, and embraced her slavery willingly and with soaring joy…and had been rewarded with the deepest, most thrillingly intense and overwhelmingly powerful climaxes she had ever experienced, coupled with heights of shattering ecstasy that she would not have believed possible.

  Such heights demanded a price from any who dared to venture so high; and, as Arabella’s belly swirled with barely diminished slave heat, her brain filled with alarm and disbelief as she realised that, what little control she had once been able to exert over the sexual responses of her body, no longer existed. Abandoned by her while in the throes of unbearable passion, it was gone, perhaps forever; and, as she struggled to come to terms with what such a shocking loss might mean, her Master interpreted the changing emotions reflected in her wide eyes and his lips curved into a broad, cruel smile.

  After more than a year as her Master, it was not hard for Mayhew to follow her thoughts and reach the correct conclusion…especially as he had just witnessed and participated in what he was virtually certain was her ultimate, irrevocable submission to the bondage and sexual slavery he had chosen to impose upon her…and, as he felt her belly churn and heard her whimper in anguish, he slipped from her quivering sex and rose from the bed.

  Taking his time and ignoring Arabella’s soft moans and muffled pleas, he washed and shaved then donned his uniform with precise, unhurried care, knowing all the while that his every movement was being watched by his helpless slave and that the sheer normality of his everyday, routine preparations would reinforce the stark contrast between her chained, nude captivity and his casual freedom.

  When he was completely ready, he strode back to the bed and gazed down at the tightly chained and hopelessly vulnerable body of the woman who had once been his wife.

  “Until today, slave, I had not fully appreciated the strength of your need and desire for my chains and my whip,” he told her coldly. “But I now understand what you have become and that you can be nothing else.”

  Without another word, he bent low; and, as Arabella screamed in despairing ecstasy and her sex ran with the juices of her instantaneous submission to the touch of his lips at her belly, he drank his fill of the sweet tribute that she could not help but offer to her Master.

  Inflamed with passion, she could only accept his will as he lifted his lips from her body and wiped his mouth then gave a chuckle of pure malicious pleasure. “What a deliciously hot little slut you are, my dear. A man would be a fool to even think of freeing you,” he grinned into her pleading brown eyes. “Luckily for us both, I am not, as you will discover when I return!” With a mocking salute, he went about his duties…secure in the knowledge that how
ever long he was away, Arabella would be waiting and would respond…indeed, no longer had any option but to respond…as a fully subjugated and ferociously hot sex slave.

  Chapter Twenty Three

  November 16, 1877

  Captain Philip Adams entered his Colonel’s office to find Mayhew and Sergeant Chaudry waiting for him.

  “Sit down, my boy,” Mayhew invited. “I have a great deal to tell you and the Sergeant.”

  His co-conspirators made themselves comfortable and watched expectantly as he showed them two letters.

  “I received these an hour ago,” he began. “The first contains orders from the Governor General in Delhi and contains both good and bad news. The second…” he paused and shook his head, “well, it would be best if you read that for yourselves.”

  Adams opened his mouth to speak, but the Colonel forestalled him. “It seems that the Governor was ordered by the powers-that-be in London to conduct secret negotiations in order to head off the growing unrest among the local population that we have been experiencing lately.”

  “Razak and his band of rebels!” Adams interjected and Mayhew nodded.

  “Exactly, Captain. Well, those negotiations have been successfully concluded, and the outcome is that Razak is to be pardoned for his past crimes and reinstated as the new Maharajah of Gadoor, ruling as our ally under the protection of the British Army.”

  His words were met with a stony silence, and he shook his head a second time. “I know, my friends, I know,” he sighed. “We would all prefer to hang the renegade, but orders are orders and must be carried out. For my part, I am required to arrange a meeting here, at which the new Maharajah and I will sign the alliance treaty. Absolute secrecy is of paramount importance and must be maintained, and I must, therefore, insist upon your complete discretion until a formal declaration can be made.”