by Leigh Turner
‘It was close.’
‘Yes. Two to one. Ideal, you couldn’t script it better. Lots of tussling, finally a queened pinfall with leg fold to Liz. I love it when they’re upside down under a bottom with their legs pulled up and back. Their fanny up in the air with just a little bit of material hiding it. Thousands of video customers gasping for more with their hot little cocks in their hands.
‘I hope Tom got a shot of that?’
‘I expect so. He’s quite adept with that loft cam. They can’t see him with the floodlights on up there. So then Fiona rallied and we eventually had Liz on her front with her arms being pulled back. We should call that the figurehead hold.’
Celia smiled. ‘The Titanic. That’s a dance move. Without the arms quite so far back.’
They both chuckled.
‘Well, it certainly sunk her. It was a wonderful pose, though. Her breasts are magnificent. Made to be on the prow of a ship!’
Celia laughed again.
‘I just thought Fiona had got her then. Tired her out.’
‘Yes. I think Liz was wise to submit when she did. Pride can be a weakness if you resist to the point of collapse. She would still have been in trouble if she hadn’t got a fanny hold on when they restarted.’
‘I know. I was just surprised Fiona wilted so quickly from it. Do you think she was still turned on from the encounter with Sally?’
‘Possibly. The mind is the most potent sexual organ and works in mysterious ways. The excitement of submission is something she’d had a taste of in the previous bout.
‘Anyway. Liz the winner. Ten points. And Fiona six for second.’
‘What do you want to do about Sally and Becky? No third place bout in the circumstances.’
‘No. Well it would hardly have been fair, I suppose.’
‘Do you want to give it to Becky as she didn’t submit quite so outrageously?’
‘Are you kidding? It looked pretty comprehensive to me. Anyway, you’re talking about Sally’s encounter with Max … That was after the contest.’
‘Of course, you’re right. So what’s the verdict?’
‘Two points each, I think. And 25 bonus to Sally for being the begging Whore of Babylon! Only joking.’ She chuckled. ‘Two points each is fine, I’m not distinguishing between them.’
‘OK. So let me see,’ said the secretary. ‘That gives us … Simon 18, Oliver 14, Greg 11. And the girls, Liz 20, Sally 15, Fiona 12, Becky 9.
‘Excellent. Let me write that,’ said Jane, moving behind her desk.
‘Here’s your leader board then.’
She turned round the piece of A4 on which she had written:
Liz 20
Simon 18
Sally 15
Oliver 14
Fiona 12
Greg 11
Becky 9
‘OK. We’ll split them according to that order. Do Fiona, Greg and Becky this morning and the rest this afternoon. I quite like the idea of splitting Fiona from Oliver, as they’ve coupled already. And you’ve got a split of the sexes there without having to juggle anybody.
‘By the way, was there any activity last night that I need to know about? Talking of coupling?’
‘Well, we had Fiona and Oliver not in their rooms until much later than curfew. They must’ve sneaked off somewhere, probably outside. I’d need to view the tapes to find out when.’
‘Don’t they know they could be penalised?’
‘They should do, I think they’ve all sussed they’re being watched. But that girl was horny as hell after Liz finished with her. And you know what Oliver’s like.’
‘Hmm. I’ll overlook it but it needs keeping tabs on. Anyone else?’
‘Not that we know of. I think they’re either too stunned by it all, or thinking of the competition. Or a bit of both.’
‘OK. Well, time to get on with it. Give the top three the morning off. Split them off one by one in the order, Becky first. I’ll be along later.’
‘With Sally?’
‘Oh yes. A lady must take her pet poodle along when she attends important social functions, or what is the point in keeping such a fashion accessory?’
Sally finished her shower. Her nakedness gave her a sense of freedom. Not merely the unfettered sensation that nudity gave, which she had experienced at home and on certain beaches, but today a more potent feeling of independence and self-assertion.
It was illusory, she knew, for it would be punctured soon enough, when someone entered this small universe in which she found herself. Someone would come through the door and this brief bubble of independence in time and space would dissolve in an instant.
She was in the bathroom adjoining Nick’s bedroom. The doors from the bedroom to the corridor and to Jane’s chamber were both locked. She had been given a precious interval to perform ablutions and freshen herself for the day ahead. She knew the freshness would not last. Some degree of sweaty degradation lay ahead, but she did not know its form.
Stretching her arms and legs, she towelled herself. Soon they might not be able to move so freely. As she brushed her long hair, she reflected on the night just gone.
After the bout which saw her conqueress in turn defeated, she had been bidden to follow Jane from the auditorium. She had done so; Max, her imposed lover, had followed. Was he imposed? She had, after all, begged.
She remembered how her mind had felt numbed, as she felt all eyes turn and follow as their small procession left the theatre. Across the open garden to the rear of the house, she was afforded no respectability whatsoever in her scant attire. The three of them arrived at the wardrobe room, going in through its outer door, inside which Max waited with Sally, wordlessly, as Jane moved among the nether railings selecting various items. Soon, Celia had joined them and helped Jane as they undid the stockings which bound her arms and substituted a purpose-made garment. It took the form of a long black leather sheath, laced along its length with a sturdy thickness of strong leather cord running through many eyelets. At the end were two gloves into which her hands fitted, yet after this her arms were held together by the sheath, which extended above her elbows to her biceps. Wider here, it nevertheless held her arms helpless behind her.
Sally abandoned herself to her insertion into the restraint. Were there a moment to try to resist and run, it would have been brief, as Max stationed himself between her and any escape route, the Cerberus at the command of the menacing goddess to whose rule she must now succumb.
She was stripped of her sweat-stained stockings and her white belt. Instead, her guardians fed her legs into complicated tights which, when pulled up fully, revealed four suspender-like sections below the waist, leaving her arse, cunt and hips utterly bare within the framework of black nylon. The apparel was completed by the addition of calf-length black leather boots. They incorporated a strong metal ring at the heel, to which a chain was joined at each foot, hobbling her to steps of no more than its length of 12 inches or so. The difficulty she would now experience in walking was accentuated by the height of the heels of the boots, a full five inches.
She teetered as they stepped back and looked. She was now at eye level with the tall Celia. As she stared into her eyes, a feeling of boldness mingled weirdly with her previous abject and anaesthetised mood. Somehow she had entered into this new status, and, against conscious and rational will, begun to embrace it.
Her reverie had been shattered by the sudden sting on her bottom. The brief pain and loud slap was caused by a wooden paddle wielded by Jane.
‘Move!’ came the command as Sally turned her head to look at Jane, whose stern expression failed to conceal a hint of triumph in her eyes.
Sally had followed. Jane and Max moved languidly without haste, but it was all she could do to keep up in her hobbled state.
Their first stop had been the kitchen, where Sally was left standing in the middle of the stone-flagged floor. The whole area extended for the length of two or three normal rooms. In the centre was an extremely long and st
urdy wooden table, a working relic probably as old as the house itself. The worktops and cookers along the sides of the room were, by contrast, gleaming and modern.
At one side of the table ran a wooden bench. Sally was ordered by Jane to kneel upon it, facing the table. Her momentary hesitation produced a quick but light slap on her buttocks with the paddle again.
Complying with her mistress’s instruction as best she could, Sally was helped with the predicament of raising her ankles individually by Max, who placed firm hands around her waist, supporting her weight. After this assistance, she perched uncomfortably, finding that by leaning forward slightly her weight was balanced a little better, giving a modicum of respite to her knees.
She then heard footsteps as the door opened. Clacking across the hard flagstones and hoving into view ahead of her was Lena, who Sally assumed to be the kitchen manageress from what little she had seen of her thus far.
Lena smiled. It is said there are many types of smile. Whatever category this fell into, it stopped short of sisterly concern for Sally’s wellbeing.
‘Do you want her fed, then?’ Lena asked.
‘Yes, please, Lena.’ Jane seemed less curt in her manner toward Lena than to many others, Sally noted. Perhaps she needed her talents too much; where, after all, would one find a catering manageress and cook who would enter a domain full of depraved exhibitionists and semi-naked combatants without so much as a flickering eyelash?
‘Send her up when you’ve finished with her. My chamber. I think you’ll find her docile. You have my permission for reasonable chastisement should you not. However, don’t forget our policy that skin should not be marked unduly, and of course never cut.’
‘Naturally, Jane,’ said Lena. Turning to Sally, she continued, ‘But do not take that to mean you will get off lightly, my little kitten,’ at the same time coming round the table.
Her palm now felt Sally’s exposed posterior. With a pincer action of her fingers, she tested its firmness as if examining a peach in the market.
‘Very nice. Don’t worry, we will look after her.’
‘Good. Half nine-ish then. Don’t tax her too much, I have plans for her later.’
With that, Jane and Max had taken their leave. Sally had inexorably adopted a manner where she felt disinclined to make eye contact with her captors for too long, lest perhaps it be taken as insolence and provoke some form of punishment. Nevertheless, her gaze was not so cowed that she did not see Lena’s bold, wide-eyed beam at Max, to be answered by a look which lingered a split second too long, before he had followed Jane from the room.
Once alone with Sally, Lena promptly ignored her and moved to the far end of the kitchen. Here were hung various smocks and aprons.
Lena calmly took off her blouse and put it on a coat hanger. Then she stepped out of her skirt and attached it to a suitable hanger. She now stood in tan stockings which contrasted only slightly with her honey-coloured skin. They were held up by a plain satin wasp-waist corset in a lilac shade. Matching briefs and bra completed the ensemble. Lena moved casually along the line of coat hooks and selected a white button-up smock.
Donning it, she transformed herself in an instant from courtesan into something more like a scientist in a lab. The look was complete when she stepped out of the pair of purple high-heeled mules she had been wearing, and pulled a pair of more practical black “flatties” on to her feet as she raised her calves behind her, leaning for support on a nearby worktop. After this she began to busy herself preparing the evening meal. Sally waited. That was her new role in this world, it would seem. To wait.
She watched as the evening’s meal was cooked. Vanessa and Peter had entered the scene and assisted Lena, having also put on white smocks for the task.
As the pots simmered and the time for serving drew near, Lena dispatched Peter to the costume room, instructing him that he needed “white suspenders, and don’t forget a pair of shoes”. She said there would be a pair to fit his small feet, and to “hurry along now, you little sissy”.
She now addressed Vanessa.
‘What’s it to be this evening? Panties off, is it?’
‘Yes indeed,’ said the waitress. ‘The next logical move.’
‘I think they won’t be too surprised by now to see the conclusion of the striptease,’ Lena commented. ‘Why do you do it? She doesn’t pay you anything, does she?’
‘Well, I get my travel and board, of course. It’s like a holiday for me. I’ve known Jane for many years; she was my colleague for a long time. Then she married Frank and moved up in the world.
‘Anyway, when she mentioned this student project for two weeks every summer, I thought, wow! I mean, I’ve had a few boyfriends since my divorce, but they all seem to come with some sort of baggage, or else it’s “wham bam thank you ma’am” and they drift away. Jane says I’m too soft.’
‘Probably,’ murmured Lena.
‘But where else do you see willingly captive, muscular young men disporting themselves so? And I’ve found I love to exhibit myself in an environment that allows it quite safely; there’s no social restriction on one’s latent desires here. I love it.’
‘Oh well. I suppose I can see what you mean to an extent. Have you shagged any of them yet?’
Vanessa smiled broadly. ‘Not yet, but I’m getting quite interested in doing something, shall we say.’ She laughed. ‘Time to get ready, I suppose.’
‘Yes. Where’s that little sissy? Ah, there you are.’ Lena looked toward the door. Peter had obviously entered on cue. ‘Start dishing out,’ she ordered him. ‘Put on a waist apron and don’t spill any bolognaise on it.’
Sally watched as Peter crossed to the wall where garments were hung. He was now more brazenly feminised, wearing a deep-waisted white suspender belt over his panty-girdle. It supported black seamed stockings. The only other things he had on were a pair of strapless high-heeled shoes; all that held them on his feet were light blue straps across the lower instep, inset with small, twinkling crystalline beads. He moved with care across the kitchen, and put on an apron, the long straps of which he wrapped behind his waist before bringing them round in front of him and tying them in a neat bow. The apron was an oval shape at its lower three edges, which were finished with ruched frills.
Vanessa, taking off her smock, selected a similar apron. Her breasts were now completely exposed.
‘I suppose I should leave the panties for next time,’ she mused. ‘Just reveal the titties this time.’
‘No. Do it now,’ said Lena. ‘I’ve got an idea.’
Sally watched as Vanessa slid her panties down. Her backside was firm and admirably rounded. A rear to rival Jennifer Lopez, thought Sally idly.
Lena held out her hand and took the panties from Vanessa. She then waited, smiling, until the two serving staff had completed their several trips to the dining area. When they returned for the last time, they each sat down with their own serving at the end of the table.
Peter’s eyes were downcast as he ate, but Vanessa had positioned herself across the table from Sally and looked on with interest as Lena walked behind the captive.
‘Have you worn these all day, Vanessa?’ asked the kitchen manageress.
‘Mm-hm,’ confirmed Vanessa, showing no sign of deference to Lena, despite her near-naked state. The boys must have been beside themselves at the dinner serving, their waitress in only suspenders, stockings, apron, and heels.
Perhaps, Sally thought, Vanessa’s status as unpaid “hobbyist” and Jane’s friend gave her certain privileges. Her musings on pecking order were sharply focused by Lena’s next move. She was further reminded of how low she had sunk when she felt the panties being placed over her head.
The inside of the gusset was positioned over her nose so that the part which had nestled next to Vanessa’s fanny was in direct contact with her nostrils. Lena then pulled the garment back and tightened it with some sort of ribbon she must have had in her pocket. The extra material which normally covered the arse had be
en gathered, so that Sally now wore the panties completely over her head, the waistband comfortably drawing itself in, fitting loosely around her neck.
The ribbon only served to tighten the excess material at the back of her head, leaving her in no danger or discomfort. She was, though, almost blindfolded by the ample gusset of Vanessa’s undergarment, only being able to see a peripheral area to each side of her. As Sally breathed, the musky odour retained in the crotch began to weave its spell. Some people were said not to respond to such an overdose of pheromones, Sally remembered from her studies. She was obviously not in this category, for her erogenous zones had begun their familiar unbidden yearning.
‘Panty bridled!’ exclaimed Lena triumphantly.
‘I like it,’ said Vanessa, munching her dinner. ‘You’re so inventive.’
‘We do our best. Now, kitten, spread!’
With that, an open-handed slap on the buttocks reminded Sally who was boss. It was fairly obvious what was required to be “spread”, and Sally moved her knees apart without questioning the order.
She gasped then as the hand came through, brushing her arse cheeks and hairy crack as it moved forward and upward. The clitty was soon located as her vaginal area became soppy and wet. Lena lubricated her middle finger with Sally’s seeping lust and used it to soothe the tormented button. Moving it more rapidly, she responded to Sally’s heavy, rhythmic breathing. Within moments, the captive creature was hers.
‘Shall I stop?’
She showed no sign of stopping, but the mere thought of it produced panic in Sally.
‘No, no, please. Please!’
‘You’ll succumb to me? Be my slave?’
‘Yes, yes, yes. Anything!’
‘But you are Jane’s slave, are you not? Are you not loyal to her?’
‘Aaagh.’ Sally could formulate no intelligible word or argument.
The finger increased the agitation, but then slowed slightly.
‘So whose are you?’
‘Oh God. Yours. Anybody’s. Finish me. I’ll do anything you want. Finish me!’