by Laurie Mann
It was my first experience of real submission outside my fantasies. It felt good.
The car slowed, then turned and I heard the sound of tyres on a gravel drive. It was a long drive and as I imagined a huge country estate, I became acutely aware of my heart thumping. I was about to meet the woman who had invaded my life, even before I’d met her.
Who is she? What does she look like? What new experiences does she have planned for me? Growing suspense and excited anticipation combined to make the driveway seem an intolerable length, but eventually the car slowed gently and stopped.
The cooling breeze felt nice on my face, which felt flushed with excitement and the discomfort of the journey. A scent of flowers reached me, mingled with fresh cut grass. Countryside nature scents, exotic in their naturalness. Someone gripped my elbow, tighter than necessary, as though confirming escape was impossible. Before I could do more than gasp, I was dragged from the car. My guard, for that’s how I imagined the owner of the vice-like grip, had to hold me up as I stumbled. The door shut behind me and a second hand gripped my other elbow just as tight.
Military strides frog-marched me across the gravel, feet barely touching the ground as I struggled to keep up with the brisk pace. I pictured myself sandwiched between two enormous uniformed guardsmen. The moan escaping my lips was due as much to pleasure as the extra strain on my shoulders as I was lifted clear of the ground to negotiate steps, presumably leading to the entrance.
Suddenly we stopped and I was left standing, listening to the heavy steps retreat across what sounded like bare floorboards. I strained my ears but only my own heavy breathing and pounding heart broke the silence. Wax polish, flowers, richness of wood, deep emptiness of absence of people. Hard to put my feelings into words, they were so mixed: fear, apprehension, excitement, lust - it was all there.
“Hello, is anybody there?” Still silence. Blindfolded, I could only stand and wait. Time dragged as I fidgeted, shifting from one leg to the other, wriggling fingers and wrists against the bonds. I was still more excited than fearful but the way my hands had been secured was scary. I’d always had the feeling that I could escape, if I wanted, from the scarves used by boyfriends, but this was different. Whoever had tied me knew what they were doing - this wasn’t love bondage, it was real. With boyfriends there had always been the safety word and they always seemed more concerned about comfort than secure bindings. I had always been in control, only in dreams had I relinquished that. Now there was no safety word, definitely no escape and captors certainly not concerned about comfort. It was scary but never in my wildest imaginings had I felt such potent energy coursing my veins and pussy.
Despite the chill in the room, I was hot and flustered, trying to calm a thumping heart by visualising the surroundings. Everything suggested a large mediaeval room with cold stone walls and bare floors, probably with large plain wooden furniture and huge stone fireplace.
Mediaeval houses had dungeons. Does this one have one? What waits if I am taken to it? My thoughts were not calming my nerves. Imagination had been heightened with my other senses as sight had been taken away.
I became aware of the unmistakable sound of stiletto heels on bare boards. As they drew nearer, the hair on my neck stood up and goose pimples rose on my arms. The tension was unbearable. The footsteps halted and I heard her voice. I almost came with excitement.
“Francesca Mildmay.”
“Y ... yes.” I stammered. The voice was the one on the phone and tape. I had finally met her and wobbled as excitement almost turned my legs to jelly.
“Yes MADAM.”
“Yes, Madam. I’m sorry, Madam.”
“Your journal was most enlightening.”
“Thank you, Madam, but who are you? When can I see you?”
“Interesting. You’re more concerned about who I am than what I intend to do with you. That’s good, the right attitude is so rare at such an early stage.” Her voice seemed thoughtful, not much more than a whisper, but as I struggled with the gravity of her words she resumed her authority.
“I am Madam. I have your journal and while I have that I have you. My clients will pay handsomely for your services.”
“Does that mean you’re making me a prostitute?” Where did that horrifying thought come from?
Cold words chilled me to the bone.
“No. Prostitutes get paid. You will have only the security of knowing your journal is safe with me. You are a woman of means with a successful business and I’ll not interfere with that, your income will be maintained. You don’t need the money, unless of course you fail to please - then your journal will be used to destroy you and you will end up a prostitute, nothing more than a common street whore. You forgot to call me Madam. That is the last time you do so. Be warned.”
“Yes, Madam.” My heart sank as I absorbed the meaning of her words. It was obvious I was no more than a business acquisition as far as she was concerned. Excitement had drained away to be replaced by fear. Tears welled in my still covered eyes.
The click-click of heels prowled around me. My head turned, following the sound and then I tensed as I waited for her next move.
When I felt her hands lightly on my shoulders, I jumped and held my breath. The jacket was pulled down my arms to hang on my, by now, lifeless wrists. Hands slipped round to the front and started undoing buttons. I stood frozen, mind still numb from her callous plans for me. The blouse joined the jacket. I was jerked to my senses by the touch of cold steel between my breasts under the expensive underwired uplift bra and instinctively stepped back. My left cheek took the full force of her palm, twisting my head sideways and stopped me short.
“Keep still. You weren’t told you could move.” Her voice contained no anger; just calm authority I was compelled to obey.
Scissors cut my bra in two, it slipped off my shoulders to rest at my wrists before her delicate fingers undid my skirt fastenings. It was allowed it to slip into a crumpled heap around my ankles. Cold hands hooked into my equally expensive black lace panties and with one swift movement slipped them down.
The untidy way my normally immaculate clothes hung from my wrists and lay around my feet only added to the utter dejection. I was bound and naked, standing before this woman whom I’d never seen but who had taken control of my life. My cheek burned, pain making my eyes water and nose run which made me snivel, further adding to my torment. But despite, or perhaps because of my humiliation, I felt the stirrings of desire once again between my bare legs.
Fingertips brushed my thighs and flanks, sending bolts of electricity through me.
“A bit flabby, but the shape’s good. The ropes will dig in nicely. Clients like that. No more sunbathing, though. Clients like pale bodies. The marks show better. Still, you’ll fade by the time you’re ready for work.”
My face burned with embarrassment as she continued to stroke and comment as though I was no more than a piece of horsemeat. A hand cupped a breast, weighed it, squeezed it, then pulled it up by the nipple, producing a squeal of pain, before letting it fall and wobble to add to my humiliation.
“What are they, thirty six or seven?”
“Thirty six D, Madam.”
She rummaged around behind my back.
“Yes, that’s right. Most of my stock are prone to exaggeration; until they learn the error of their ways, that is.” I guessed she’d read the label and I made a mental note of how easy it was to be caught out by her.
“Mark easily, do they?”
The question took me by surprise and I hesitated while searching for the answer.
“Come on. Answer. Quickly.”
“I don’t know, Madam.”
“You don’t know? You’ve written about them being tied and whipped often enough and now you say you don’t know?” She sounded incredulous.
Before I could answer there was a loud swishing noise and wind
brushed my skin an instant before a line of searing pain spread across both breasts. The agony was made worse by the speed and surprise of the blow. I howled and staggered blindly as the second and third strokes landed with equal ferocity.
“Tender, aren’t they? Obviously you write from imagination and not experience.”
She must have seen I was unable to hold myself steady and grabbed my left nipple, holding me tight. My convulsing subsided to a gentle sway as I desperately tried to reduce the intolerable pain being inflicted on my swollen bud.
“I suppose this is the same.” I heard through the fog of confusion and pain that had taken over my mind and was only half-aware of the hand caressing and squeezing my buttocks.
“Bend over!” Before I could respond I was bent double as my nipple was tugged towards my knees and immediately the first of turned out to be six excruciating strokes blazed across my cheeks.
Jerked back upright, my screams took on a new intensity as fingers were plunged deep into my pussy.
“So you enjoyed it, despite your screams, did you? It’s a long time since I’ve encountered one as juicy as this. Not too loose, either. Maybe it’s not been used as much as your journal would have us believe? Not frigid, are you?”
She released my nipple and I collapsed in a heap on the floor, pain and frustration fighting for supremacy, rendering me totally unable to answer. It was the final humiliation; a woman I’d never even seen had stripped and beaten me, invaded my sex and finally cast aspersions on my sexuality.
For a long time after her footsteps had died away I sobbed my heart out, so deep was my despair. I longed to be able to soothe my burning cheeks and breasts, cursing the tightness of the bonds cutting my wrists. Worse than the physical pain was the anguish and confusion. It was all so new, so frightening, so utterly different from anything ever written in those old journals, now long gone!
The sound of approaching footsteps wakened me from my thoughts. Someone dragged me to my feet and roughly dressed me.
“Remember, Francesca Mildmay, until you no longer serve my purpose, you are owned by me. You will be collected at the same time next Sunday. Be sure you are ready. Take her away.”
Who she spoke to I didn’t know. I was dragged across the floorboards, steps and gravel before being pushed unceremoniously into the waiting car. Sitting on the ribbed leather seats re-ignited the lines of fire still tormenting my cheeks, especially when my weight shifted as the car swayed round corners. Unsupported breasts grew ever more sore as fabric rubbed against their gentle wobble. Despite my obvious discomfort the guard, was it the same one who had collected me? made no effort to help or save me from further torment.
Eventually the car stopped and my hands released. Before I could massage life back into them, I was pushed headlong out the door, rolling onto a grassy area. I lay there, winded, waiting for the numbness in my fingers eased enough to let me remove the blindfold. Blinking away tears, dazzled by the bright light, it took me a while to work out where I was: in a small park only a few minutes from my house.
Next day I phoned Andrea to say I wouldn’t be in and asked her to drop any important mail off at home. I hurt and needed time to reflect on what had happened. I still could not believe that I allowed a person, whom I still had not even seen, to take such control of my life. The police were considered but discounted in view of the damage Madam would undoubtedly do to my business.
It’s true that reality is far scarier than imagination but - waves of euphoria surging through me at night, alone with a dildo, were much more intense as well. Nothing in my imaginings had prepared me for the thrill and intensity of actually being owned.
I still don’t think it is possible for me to properly write down how I felt, how excited I was under all the hurt, humiliation, anger, outrage and all the other emotions charging through me like mini tornadoes. I just know I felt them all, every one, but the lust was the biggest of all. Only my journal need know that.
Saturday 23rd May
By the time I returned to work the weals had gone. Only faint bruises were left across my breasts. The tightness in my buttocks had gone. Memories made me twinge at time and staff asked if I was really well enough to be back at work. Their concern was appreciated but only added to the guilt I felt with the cause of my ‘illness’ still fresh in my mind. I desperately hoped nobody noticed the scent of my sex, which seemed to constantly hang in the air. I tried to mask it with extra perfume. No one gave me any funny sideways glances so I could only hope my own self-consciousness had heightened my awareness. After all, they had no reason to suspect my knickers were permanently sopping wet, despite frequent visits to the ladies, which I hoped they would interpret as a result of the ‘tummy bug’ that had kept me home for a couple of days.
I tried keeping my mind on work by arranging a constant series of meetings. When Lisa came into my office it was immediately obvious that she’d lost none of her initial enthusiasm.
“I’ve prepared the deals for the fleet.” She passed a sheaf of papers across the desk, keeping some back. “The contract hire deal from County Commercials seems the best. They can supply the entire fleet, including the trailers. With contract maintenance our monthly costs will be fixed. They can’t include a replacement vehicle in the deal because of the specialised bodies we need, but have agreed to add a vehicle with suitable body to their hire fleet, which isn’t ideal but the best offer available. They’re local and will do servicing at night and weekends, which will minimise downtime. I’ve spoken with Charles and he agrees that their deal looks the best all round and all the details are in the report.”
She was getting carried away, so I had to slow her down. There was too much to take in at once, especially when part of my mind was elsewhere.
“What are they, Lisa?”
“These are from other garages, but nobody else has been able to quote for the entire fleet. Some from finance houses, but whichever way you look at the figures, the complete deal from County still looks the best. They’re only for comparison, really.”
“Well, that’s no reason to keep them to yourself. I’ll need all the information you’ve got before I make up my mind.” Her enthusiasm was infectious but it seemed like a good idea to appear lukewarm to the idea, encouraging her to provide all the facts, both for and against. I knew I’d trust her judgement, especially when backed by Charles, but she was giving the impression she was in charge and I was only needed to rubber stamp her plans. I admired her attitude, but I needed to exert my authority. I was still wary of her enthusiasm clouding her judgement.
“It all looks very impressive, Lisa. You’ve done well, thank you. I’d like you to collate all the information into one report and arrange a presentation for all the department managers for next Wednesday. I’m well aware of your enthusiasm but remember, make sure the report is balanced. Don’t gloss over the negative aspects, there’ll be managers who’ll need a lot of convincing about the benefits of any change, so be well prepared for any questions.”
“Thank you, Frankie, I’ll be ready, don’t worry.”
Again I was impressed by her self-belief and increasingly saw her potential to be a great asset to the company in a senior role, so as she reached the door, I called her back.
“Lisa, if you need any help, my door’s always open.” I wanted her presentation to be a test, but also I wanted her to pass it.
“Thank you, Frankie.”
For a while there was nothing pressing, no more meetings, letters all done, calls returned, everything in order. In short, journal, nothing between me and the thoughts of Sunday.
Monday 25th May
Another day of experience! Church bells signalled both the end of another 15 minute wait in the fresh morning air on a beautiful early summer day, and the arrival of the black limousine. My heart skipped a beat as its presence confirmed that, for the second consecutive Sunday, my l
ife had been planned and was controlled by somebody else. Excited anticipation had replaced the trepidation of the previous week and I had the presence of mind to commit the car’s registration number to memory. At least now I could trace who owned it. If I needed to.
A blindfold was dropped over my eyes immediately I slipped into the car, and I crossed my wrists behind my back. Thin cords tightly secured me; this time it was excitement and not shock at their tightness making my bosom heave.
I braced myself as the car sped away, determined to concentrate on the route. Pretty silly of me, we all know how difficult it is to remember directions, how quickly we forget how many left and right turns there are. I followed the progress of the car on the map I’d tried to imprint in my brain but, although I succeeded for a few minutes, natural inability to remember it all in the midst of such overwhelming excitement and anticipation made me lose the thread of the journey. It was growing steadily hotter, the rich wealth of the car made itself known in a variety of aromas to dissect, smell taking over from sight. Through what must have been an open car window was the sound of rushing air as the car sped along, hum of tyres on tarmac, occasional sound of other cars and once a fast powerful motorbike tore by. No doubt the biker had a visor on, no doubt he looked as blind as I was, but he could see through his visor, I could see nothing, only hear and smell and touch and feel. That last sense made up for all of them, the sheer pulsing excitement pounding blood through the veins as hard as it could, arousing every nerve I possessed and alerting every brain cell to the possibility of sexual overload ahead.
With so much going on in my mind, it was sooner than expected that the tyres crunched their way over the gravel drive, the powerful engine stopped, the door opened and the strange strong hands lifting me out. I was again frog-marched into the unseen house.
It was cool in what I still thought of as the grand stately home, all panelled walls and cold bare floors. With practised silent efficiency, my hands were untied, I was stripped and fitted with a stiff broad collar. As I shivered in the coolness, my hands were re-tied, this time to the collar, forcing my wrists high up between my shoulder blades. Something was attached to the front of the collar; there was the loud click of a clip snapping shut. A gentle tug and I blindly followed, guided by the shifting pressure as the whatever it was attached to me was pulled left and right. Boards underfoot, then thin rough carpet, then boards again.