by Leigh Turner
‘Oh.’ A weak and ineffectual response. She was caught off-guard by the gambit. Lena was really saying, “I don’t have to have a reason to be here. I’ll do what I want.”
‘Yes. I’d love to have a go in it.’
‘I didn’t think you drove, Lena.’ Another poor move. Saying, “Perhaps I’ll give you a ride in it sometime”, or suchlike, would have been far better, designating her employee in the role of passenger. Instead she had opened the debate to the topic of driving, an act of control and mastery. Even if Lena didn’t drive, the assumption that she wanted to get behind the wheel would have flattered her.
‘Oh yes. I passed my test last year. First time with no faults. The driving examiner was eating out of my hand.’
‘Oh. I’m impressed.’ Jane could see that Max had a more cynical view as, behind Lena, he smiled broadly and stifled a guffaw. She entertained the thought of ordering him to strip and tanning his arse for his insolence and sexism; but the hypothetical act opened the door to a fantasy of a threesome, herself and Lena vying to take advantage of the naked chauffeur. This she could not countenance.
‘Something to say, Max? About female drivers?’ she challenged him.
‘No, madam.’ He paused. ‘Perhaps about Miss Lena. Not about female drivers.’
Lena, stung, stepped toward him. Her voice was strident within the enclosed space of the garage.
‘Are you calling me a liar, Max?’
With that, before his lips had fashioned a reply, her hand moved with an assassin’s speed and delivered a resounding slap on his cheek.
The act seemed to stun all three of them. Moments passed in psychological paralysis as each contemplated the change in interpersonal dynamics that it had brought about. Jane felt things sliding out of her control.
‘That’s enough, Lena. Max, apologise to her. I won’t have you accusing my staff of lying because of some sexist whim.’
‘I am sorry, Miss Lena.’
The ritual phrase, whether he believed in it or not, served its purpose of enabling them all to move forward. Jane wanted to pretend the change in status between her two employees had not occurred.
‘Lena, I want a word with you about Oliver. He’s on his own at breakfast. Should you not be supervising him?’
‘On his own?’ Lena seemed momentarily dazed, not quite her usual forthright self.
‘OK, Inez and Simon are there. But I wonder why you’ve left him. He can be rather an uppity customer.’
‘Don’t worry, Jane. I’ve got him eating out of my hand.’ An afterthought occurred to her. She smiled. ‘Just like the driving examiner.’
The uncharacteristic foray, on Lena’s part, into light humour, caused Jane to laugh. As they both chuckled, the ice was melted a little.
‘Well if that’s the case, Lena, then well done. But make sure he is ready for the event at 10.30. I can’t have you out here talking about sports cars all day.’
‘OK, I’ll get over there in a few minutes.’
A few minutes for what? thought Jane. The girl was still determined to challenge her, to push the boundaries. Odd that she thought of her as “the girl”. Lena was, after all, nearly thirty years old. Jane felt a pang of middle age, if middle age could be described as a condition.
It dawned on her that they were at an impasse. Lena had once more played cleverly, like a chess player engineering a situation which restricted her opponent’s options severely. Jane could challenge her, or accept the stalemate and take her leave. The former option could result in an unpredictable confrontation, a shouting match that might leave her weak and damaged in the eyes of any who might hear or witness it. Even if she emerged victorious, it would no doubt be at the cost of losing her cook; Lena was too proud to accept a semi-public dressing down.
‘See you later, then.’
She turned and walked from the garage. It was perhaps a drawn game, but felt like a defeat. She had been on the back foot much of the time. Jane was a fighter and did not enjoy the way she felt. She thought of turning and confronting the girl; the nuclear option of giving her the sack would probably be the result.
No. Her rational mind won the decision. There would be another day.
As she crossed the gravel yard between the garages and the gym, she was confronted with a welcome diversion. Around the corner from the stables there appeared a figure, shuffling along. It was Becky, who was completely naked apart from a short bar some 18 inches long which was cuffed at each end to the girl’s ankles.
‘Well, now. What have we here?’ said Jane as they met. ‘Why are you on your own?’
‘Mistress Celia has sent me to the showers, madame. She said she had to deal with the other girl. She said if I tried to escape I might find it difficult to explain what I was doing naked and chained.’
‘Indeed. Indeed. Would you, though?’
‘Er, would I what, madame?’
‘Try to escape.’
‘No, madame. Of course not.’
‘Good. You are my slave after all, are you not?’
‘Yes, madame.’
They stood motionless as Jane paused for thought. Then a whim prompted her and she put her hand upon the girl’s shaven fanny. Her middle finger rested against the outer labia, teasing the victim with a tantalising aperitif of what might follow.
‘Yes, you are my slave. Do you enjoy it?’
The girl gasped, then gave an answer which seemed far deeper felt than just a play for credit.
‘I embrace it, madame. I submit fully.’
‘Excellent. Did you enjoy fucking my husband back in town when I wasn’t there?’
Becky gasped and grimaced. The finger moved slightly. With her legs slightly apart as they were, she could not defend against its gradual intrusion, even had she wanted to.
‘Tell the truth. You enjoyed him?’
‘Yes, madam.’ She had reverted to the Anglicised form of the address in her anxiousness. Jane noted that the French form, Madame, seemed associated in the girl’s mind with moments when she could luxuriate in abject surrender. Such subtleties pleased her.
Now, the servile wench had fear in her mind as the questioning continued.
‘Tell me all about it. Why did you think it all right to fornicate with someone else’s husband?’
‘I’m sorry, madam.’
‘I’m not interested in apologies. Tell me what happened.’
‘He was good to me. Kind. He was attentive in bed, he made me feel better than any of the boys I had been with. I was flattered. I suppose I rationalized it. He told me nothing about being married, really.’
‘Really? I find that hard to believe. He said nothing about me at all?’ She pressed somewhat harder with her finger. ‘Speak. Speak or I shall leave you high and dry, crying for satisfaction.’
‘He said you weren’t that close. The magic had died. Typical male bullshit that I fell for like a fool.’
‘Now I believe you. And where did you fuck? Did he take you back to our house in the suburbs?’
‘Yes. I’m so sorry.’
‘No, you’re not or you wouldn’t have done it. And how did he fuck you? Tell me.’ Her voice was cold and demanding, the slight rise in tone at the end of the sentence indicating that an answer was expected without delay.
‘He did it all ways. He particularly liked bending me over and doing it doggy style. He said you didn’t do it like that with him very often. I liked to suck his cock and then splay myself on my knees on the bed like a bitch on heat. He fucked me long and hard and he fucked me slow and easy. I’d never had it like that before. He reached round and played with my clitty and drove me into a frenzy. Oh God …’
Becky had become highly aroused and speech now deserted her. Jane allowed her finger to linger and probe a while longer. Then, easing her actions so as not to leave the girl too frantic, she desisted.
‘Right. Get showered. Don’t frig yourself, as you will be put to the cock shortly and I want you to be ready.’
She he
ard gravel crunch. The sound was coming from Lena’s leather boots as she left the garage and headed in their direction. Jane seized the opportunity. Two birds with one stone.
‘Lena, supervise this tart in the shower. Make sure she doesn’t wank herself off, I want her primed for the event. I have things to do.’
Lena could not reasonably refuse the request after the leeway she had earlier enjoyed. Sure enough, she jerked her head sideways in a silent command to Becky to get into the gym.
Jane moved toward the stables. Celia must be somewhere thereabouts.
She entered, but found no sign of Sally or Celia. Nick and Peter were there, back in their large cubicles, tethered by the ankle chains.
She spared a moment to study Nick in his predicament. He must have stood as the sound of her boots prefaced her arrival, for his gaze met hers as she looked over the small wooden door. She moved closer, taking in the sight. He was once more in the pink waspie and black stockings, though the high-heeled mules lay to one side. Clean and washed with hair slicked back.
Had he put up any resistance to being shackled after his shower? Tom would have been able to get Peter to assist him in the deed if necessary, for the young transvestite’s obedience was assured. Or had he acquiesced to the inevitable, accepting his new role in her grand design?
She looked at him and he continued to return the gaze. Plaintive and sheepish for the most part, she decided, with perhaps just a small spark of fire and pride still burning. This pleased her, as she took more interest and pleasure in dominating those who were not fully crushed. While the attentions of someone like Peter were welcome and relaxing, she enjoyed the challenge of a little resistance, which always made the submission, once secured, so much more satisfying.
She watched, pleased, as his cock rose. She continued to stare at it, an act which seemed to encourage it in its growth. Soon it was in full tumescence. His hand strayed toward it and grasped it. He must know what a sight he looked. Had he no self-respect? Evidently not.
‘Jane …’
She continued to stare, coldly.
‘Hasn’t this gone far enough?’
She let several seconds drip by before favouring him with a reply.
‘Not really, Nick, no. Or, shall I say, it’s gone as far as I want it to for the time being? But you are never going to be able to pay enough to redress your transgression, are you? Not really. Not when you shagged her in our house when I wasn’t there.’
She noted the surprise that registered in his eyes. He sank to his knees.
‘Jane. I’m sorry …’
‘Shut up.’ She hated apologies; they were worthless. Have faith in your deeds or don’t act was her motto. His act of abasement and contrition disgusted her. As if in empathy with this, his cock shrunk back.
‘I’m going, Nick. Don’t fucking wank yourself, I might have use for you later.’
She turned on her heel, not wanting to see the effect of her verbal salvo. It was rare for her to swear, and she had fairly spat the word at him. Yet she had left him with the slight hope of being able to perform later. Enough to keep him on tenterhooks, she hoped. Yet he could wank or not, she thought, and it would concern her little.
The marriage was as good as over in her mind. She found herself dismayed, more than she wished to be, as she walked across the courtyard to the house. He had been good fun for a long time at first, but faithlessness true faithlessness behind her back she found almost impossible to forgive. It was not the first time, she was certain.
But it would be the last. Thank goodness for the pre-nuptial agreement. She would not want him to benefit from the wealth Frank had left to her. He would not be destitute; lecturers were absurdly well paid for what they did. After a few years, when they had their patter rehearsed, it was money for old rope, she thought.
Not that she hadn’t enjoyed her time as a mature student, toward the end of which they had fallen heavily for each other. She recalled parties in academia: middle-class lecturers so far up their own arses that the real world was on another planet; raucous students immersed in recreational drugs and cheap red wine; summer days with no responsibility except to oneself.
So. How would she fare if she wished to continue without him? The logistics of recruiting eight students for these annual sojourns might prove a little more difficult.
She resolved to think about it later. Pausing at the back door, she wondered whether to continue to the walled garden. Inez and the two youths might be still at breakfast, watching her from the French windows. She did not wish to be observed in her solitude.
The decision was made for her as the back door opened. She was confronted with the sight of Sally, naked, about to come forth. The door had been pulled back by Celia, who stood one pace behind the girl, her face a mask of severity.
Sally’s hands were behind her. As she advanced, Jane stepped aside to inspect her progress, seeing that the hands were cuffed. The only other things the captive wore were her boots, the same precarious skyscraper heels that had hobbled her on previous occasions. Now, there was no chain latched to the back of each boot. However, the young woman proceeded with great care, mindful of the teetering devices which induced such a precarious gait.
Celia carried a tease whip, three feet long. A backhanded twitch caused it to contact the slave’s left buttock, and she winced at the sting produced by the thin, flaccid end piece as it flicked upon her flesh.
Jane was surprised somewhat by Celia’s outfit. She was fully clad below the waist, though the tightly fitting black leather trousers she sported could not do other than ooze sexuality as they clung to the wearer’s prominent and well-rounded buttocks. They were encased at the bottom by calf-length high-heeled boots, also in black, ensuring a smooth silhouette which did justice to her long, well-proportioned legs.
It was by the sight above the waist, though, that the eye was ambushed. Here she had dispensed with any blouse and wore only a black bra. Substantial in its construction, it needed to be, for Celia’s breasts were abnormally large. Nevertheless it retained a lacy femininity as it cupped her, accentuating a milky-skinned chasm of cleavage.
The brazenness of it gave Jane pause. Was it not a little early in the morning for this sort of thing? She greeted Celia with an observation.
‘You look stripped for action. What’s going on?’
‘I’m sorry Jane, but it is rather hot.’ The day was indeed already warming significantly, continuing the run of good weather they were enjoying. She continued, ‘I found this slut in the stables wanking herself off. So I’ve decided to punish her. She will be placed upon the special pommel in the small stables. With your approval, of course.’
‘I see. Yes, that’s fine. You needn’t worry about the Rebecca girl; I got Lena to supervise her in the showers. As much to keep Lena busy as anything else.’
‘Quite. That’s good. Well, we must get on. Did you wish to see?’
‘D’you know, I think I might. There’s no mad rush to get going, is there? Yes, let’s put her on to stew for a bit.’
With a stroke of the whip, Sally was propelled forward. Celia pointed out the direction that was required, and the tottering captive was corralled into the part of the building on the far side of the quadrangle, at 90 degrees to the site of her overnight incarceration.
Within here were smaller cubicles, again with the half doors. They seemed newer than those in the other stable block, purpose built. No horse would fit within them, though; they were too shallow in depth, too narrow in width.
They passed these doors and arrived at an open area used to store various items of equipment, most notably two sets of padded wooden stocks for the restraint of head and hands. It was to an adapted piece of gym equipment that Sally was guided, though. A pommel horse such as gymnasts used for their routines, with the twin grab handles protruding upward from the body. But the four legs had been shortened, and it was most prominently adapted from its previous purpose by the addition of a large, black dildo at the centre, sti
cking up between the two handles. A carefully engineered arrangement of webbing straps ensured it remained imperturbably erect, and it was on to this implacable phallus that Sally was guided.
The shortened legs of the pommel horse enabled her to straddle it with relative ease. The two older women watched intently as she manoeuvred herself above it and positioned her haunches with care and concentration until she was ready to descend upon it, having captured its tip with her wet and willing labia.
There was no hint of protest or rebellion. Rather, Sally seemed to embrace the humiliation, rolling her hips like a stripper as she sought optimal contact with the phallus.
She lowered herself upon it, her leg muscles flexing as her cunt gradually accommodated its intrusion. Wet and ready, she soon found herself with it completely embedded, every inch. Her face contorted into a rictus grin of irresistible pleasure as she accepted the impalement.
She nodded her assent as Celia explained how she would stay there a while, cuffed, her clitoris denied that last bit of stimulation she so craved. With no protrusion other than the long cock, she was unable to manipulate herself upon the apparatus into any position which offered ultimate relief.
Grasping the hand rail behind her with her cuffed hands, she ground her hips for a time as they watched. Gradually strength deserted her and she realised that she must stay more still upon the tormenting construction.
Celia and Jane stayed long enough to make sure the girl’s initial strength had been sapped by her pleasure. Her grinding movements had weakened her, and now she sat still. Her own weight upon the phallus conspired for it to dominate her being, and she sat, stuffed and spellbound, as Celia and Jane, laughing, sauntered away.
Chapter Fourteen – Country Pursuits
It was some time before Sally’s sojourn on her perch was interrupted. She was vaguely conscious of chirruping birdlife celebrating the bright sun outside as it climbed in the early summer day. The only other notes she discerned were those of footsteps clacking across the paved square at intervals, together with, she thought, perhaps the faint sound of straps or whips contacting flesh amid the indistinct vocalisations of command she thought she could hear.