Her hand ran along the smooth polished panes and grabbed the zip. Samantha clenched her thighs together as she listened to the clattering tune of the zipper lowering. The flaps of hide fell apart to expose silken skin, and Samantha had to swallow for strength as she reverently took the toe and heel.
“Careful, slave,” warned Morgana from her majestic pose.
Samantha gently eased the boot off and caught the aroma of sweat within the boot.
“Kiss,” ordered Morgana, and wiggled the toes of her raised foot.
Samantha set the boot aside and took hold of the pedicured extremity. She placed several soft pecks to the exposed toes and took in the scent.
“Now lick them. But if you tickle me, I’ll tickle you, a lot, with a cane,” she said with a firm but playful tone.
Samantha lowered her lips to the toes and embraced each one with her mouth. She applied her tongue with steady sweeps and let it plunge between the toes before risking long laps of the sole. Morgana’s head draped back and she groaned with pleasure.
“Mmmm, that’s nice. Now the other one, slave,” she stated.
Samantha carefully lowered the naked leg to the bed then moved over to accept the other boot. She took the zip down with equal obeisance then peeled the limb of its leather exterior before kissing and licking Morgana’s foot.
“Now for the rest, slave,” said Lady Morgana.
She arose to stand up on the covers with her hands clasping her hips in a most dominant display of her figure.
Samantha slid over and reached up to the zip. She dragged it around then took the material at Morgana’s hips. Samantha carefully brought the sheath down. It rustled against the skin and fell down Morgana’s legs and to her ankles. Her owner stepped from the wreath then used her foot to flick the garment aside before spiralling around to sit with her back to Samantha.
Samantha unfastened the bra and eased it off her owner. Morgana turned and placed her hands to Samantha’s shoulders. With a push she made Samantha flop back, then she leaned down to kiss her.
Samantha surged beneath Lady Morgana as she felt a tongue wind up her neck and circle around the edge of her mouth. Her own organ slipped forth and writhed against the offered tongue of her owner.
They kissed for a short time and savoured the detailed oral indulgence. Morgana then broke away and pivoted around. Her hindquarters appeared over Samantha’s face and she felt Morgana take hold of her thighs. Samantha copied the move and reached her hands around the firm legs of the dominatrix.
Without word, her owner settled down into position and smothered Samantha within her loins. When she felt Morgana’s tongue slip into her pussy, Samantha sighed and thrust herself into activity.
Morgana’s hands clenched and dug nails into Samantha’s inner thighs to continue her abiding love of causing distress, no matter what the situation. Samantha relished the added flickers of travail and made her tongue even livelier in its attempts to pleasure the woman. Samantha had to strain to stay in position and to continue working because her sensitised body was responding with increasing ferocity to Morgana’s expert manipulation.
Fortunately for Samantha, Morgana had been aroused to fervid levels by the action between her and Tobin and climax was imminent. Samantha felt Lady Morgana shuddering on top of her, her naked breasts riding against her stomach as her tongue continued to waggle within her. The orgasm that assailed the lovers was almost simultaneous, separated by mere seconds. It made their motions sporadic and prevented any dedicated use of their tongues. The corruption and delay extended the duration to degrees that had them vibrating with glorious stress.
Decelerating their passion, Morgana chose to end their exchange and rolled back off Samantha. She lay back, and after a moment for the sake of recovery, she beckoned to Samantha.
Samantha scurried over and entered the woman’s embrace. Closing her eyes, she laid her head on her chest and listened to the steady beat of the heart that ruled her. It was a soft lullaby that made the long suppressed fangs of tiredness pounce on her. Sleep charged out from nowhere and mercilessly devoured her consciousness.
Samantha felt fingers running through her hair and stirred a little. She had no idea whether she had drifted off for a moment or whether a couple of hours had passed. She stretched her body against the covers and placed a hand on the silken skin of Morgana’s stomach.
“So what was it that drove you into such a poorly chosen and bleak profession, slave?” asked Morgana.
It took a moment for Samantha to process the question. Her mind felt like it had been swathed in cotton wool. Any coherent response or input had to slowly drain through the cushioning folds.
The memories floated up into the forefront of her mind and brought momentary bitterness. It riled her that Morgana had made her recall such sour and vile events. However, as she confronted them, she found that the demons were losing their ability to harm or affect her. Dragged into the light of her erotic slavery they were deprived of their barbs and were now perishing.
The story was a standard rota of cliché events that had created her doom. That in itself had made it all the harder to bear because it seemed so laughingly false and trite. Nevertheless, it was all over now and she could talk about it as though it was nothing. It was part of someone else’s life, a person who had died under Morgana’s crop and been buried with a single declaration of undying affection and dedication. When Samantha spoke, it felt natural to tell the story as though it were from someone else’s perspective.
“Small town kid. The town’s like a smothering blanket. Secure, warm, familiar, safe, but stifling and claustrophobic. She’s got through school with a misplaced faith in her talents and ability. A part-time job and the generosity of a relative gains a few hundred bucks and a bus ticket to the “big city.” There’s a final scene with the family with rash curses. She’s disowned as a consequence. In the city, she’s on minimum wage and can’t make enough to cover the big city rent. The debts and bills start to rise. She moves a couple of times into seedier and cheaper places to try to stay afloat. She’s too stubborn to go home, then she’s too despondent, penniless, and depressed. She becomes a shell of a person, broken, lost. Eddy appears to collect for some bastard landlord she owes, so it’s broken legs and a scarred face or she goes down on her back for him.”
“Well, all that’s been tossed away now, slave,” said Morgana.
The statement confirmed Samantha’s suspicion that she was ensuring that her possession was genuinely free of her past.
“I know. Thank you so much, Lady Morgana. I owe you everything, and it’s all yours. I’m all yours for as long as you want me,” whispered Samantha as she cuddled up closer to her spectacular tyrant.
“And I promise that it’ll be for your whole life, slave.”
Chapter Eleven
Samantha vaguely detected movement but was too tired to be fully roused by it. A short time later, she processed more significant motion then a stern wash of anguish thundered through her rear. Samantha was cast from sleep and jerked up with a holler. She grabbed the throbbing streak on her rear and whimpered softly as she fought to weather the fading of the pain.
Looking around, she saw Lady Morgana standing to the side of the bed with a crop in her hand. It seemed that her owner had started the day the way she meant for it to continue.
“Up we get, slave. You have a busy day ahead of you and I want to get underway,” she decreed.
With a swish of the weapon, she used it to indicate the door. Samantha moved off the bed and took in the image of her owner with an astonished gasp. Morgana had clad her body in a halter neck leotard of vinyl with high cut thighs that let suspenders sneak down her exposed skin. The clasps grabbed the wide PVC band that in turn held a set of fishnet stockings. She also wore patent court shoes with the standard wicked heel and a set of Lycra opera gloves.
Samantha walked passed her and received another capricious swipe of the crop. The stroke made her jump a
nd spryly jog forward.
“And where do you think you’re going?” she quizzed.
Samantha tried to formulate an answer but Morgana cut her off.
“Over here, slave. You’re not leaving this room with such copious freedom available to you. As a novice we need to keep you on a short leash,” said Morgana.
Opening one of the drawers, she removed a chain link leash and stretched it between her fists.
“And I mean that literally,” she added.
Samantha moved over and lifted her chin so that she could accept the clip to her collar.
“Turn around, slave,” ordered Morgana.
The woman released the leather hoop of the lead and once again, her hands entered the drawers. Samantha’s arms were grabbed and brought behind her. Thick leather bands encircled above her elbows and about her wrists and a second set of short chain links were used to clip the pairs of cuffs together and keep her arms well fastened. Samantha gave soft pulls at the restraints and found them very secure.
Morgana strode passed her, stopped, and took up the leash. She then slowly wound the chain around her fist as she addressed her servile.
“First though, you have to take your morning punishment. Just to ensure you remember who owns you, and to discipline you for anything I don’t spot,” she decreed, then pulled downward to have Samantha bend over.
The crop swung around in a broad arc and crossed the backs of Samantha’s thighs. She jolted against the hold that the gloved fist kept at her collar then jiggled from foot-to-foot as the severity of the stroke raged through her cheeks.
The crop returned and assailed the exact same region to magnify the lingering pain to intolerable levels. Samantha struggled against the leash as she whimpered and gritted her teeth. Her fingers pawed at her back and sought to try to shelter the targeted zone.
“Keep still, slave!” snapped Morgana and deliberately placed the third stroke on the same region.
Samantha cried out and continued to wriggle despite her best efforts to try to stay in one place.
“That’s it!” growled Lady Morgana.
She pulled down even more forcefully then stepped around in front of her slave. Samantha’s head was placed between Morgana’s thighs then the flesh locked to her with vigour. Morgana grabbed the links connecting Samantha’s wrists and pulled up to increase the mayhem in her shoulders and to expose her rear even more brazenly.
The crop thrummed against the air and slammed into her rear. The leather tip rained down with pitiless haste and imparted its wicked discipline. Samantha threw her hindquarters from side-to-side while she was beaten for her lack of endurance. It was impossible to evade the lambasting, and as she stared down the legs of her owner, she howled and wailed for her to stop.
The crop stung her again then the thighs parted. With their support gone, Samantha’s legs folded beneath her and she collapsed onto the floor.
Sobbing, she felt the leash being grabbed and she was hauled back onto her feet. The intensity of her morning chastisement cast away her lethargy and left her possessed by her submissive side.
“Come on, slave. Walkies,” she said with amusement then tugged on the links to make Samantha totter after her.
Morgana led her from the room and back into the passage beyond. Samantha was taken to the adjoining chamber where she found herself facing a luxurious bathroom. The marble and golden fixtures were of the most opulent variety and the chamber offered a large round bath, a toilet, sink, dressing table, extensive mirrors, and a shower.
She was brought over to the shower cubicle and ushered in. The tiled interior was not the usual cramped interior of such a place, but rather it was about the same size as a box room. There were also some other additions that proved she was not destined for any mundane rinsing. Rings of stainless steel emerged from plates that had been riveted into the wall and the ceiling and another emerged from the central drain cover. Several of the hoops already had lengths of thin chain attached to them with clips presented at their ends to snare her form.
“In you go, slave,” snapped Morgana, then she applied another callous stroke to Samantha’s thigh.
The constant use of the weapon was keeping her dissolute acquiescence at full power and Samantha eagerly trotted in. The leash was removed and the chain that hung from the ceiling was used to capture the front of her collar. The shortness of the links kept her on tiptoe and there was no way for her to resist its effects.
Morgana turned her around so that her back was to one of the far corners. She took one of the chains from the middle of the wall and lifted Samantha’s arms out until the chain links that connected her manacles could be captured. Another chain from the other wall joined it to create a wide V of restraint and a third from the corner itself reached forward to grab the elbow chain. The three leashes held Samantha’s arms out from her back and opened more of her body to cleansing. A swirl of discomfort rapidly started to gather in her shoulders from the position.
Lady Morgana took off her gloves and turned the taps. A cascade of warm water started to pour down from above and onto Samantha’s helpless frame. The questions she had about how she was supposed to get clean were answered when Morgana appeared with a long wooden handle upon which was set a sponge. She squirted a line of shower gel along the fibres then reached in to begin scrubbing across Samantha’s physique.
Samantha was giddy from the pleasure of being so methodically controlled. She was bound and immobile, tied up like an object and refused even the most token freedom. Lady Morgana’s cleansing efforts followed across every available part of her, and it was an exquisite sensation. Samantha surrendered herself and luxuriated in the passage of the soft sponge and the flow of warm water down her skin.
Morgana’s work started to focus more diligently on Samantha’s pussy. The delicate sponge danced back and forth against her loins, and despite the added strain on her neck, Samantha found herself parting her legs to permit easier access. The masturbation was soon bringing her toward orgasm, but before she could even hope to acquire it, Morgana stepped away.
The sponge departed and she was left to rinse for a moment as her owner acquired some towels. The waters were shut off and the interior chains let go of her body.
Samantha entered the soothing embrace of the soft towels and Lady Morgana slowly passed them over the physique of her adoring property.
“Now, you know that you are mine to do with as I please, don’t you, slave?” she asked.
“Yes, Lady Morgana,” replied Samantha.
“Well we shall see. I say that because a close friend of mine is coming through town and I want to lend you to her for the evening,” she said and ran the towel around Samantha’s breasts.
“Anything you want, Lady Morgana,” answered Samantha without any real idea of what she was letting herself in for. She assumed that it was going to be a mere carnal encounter. If her time with Tobin were anything to go by, she would be performing with another female before Lady Morgana’s lustful glare. She might even find herself restrained during the event.
“Her name is Mistress Carol. She is very sadistic, slave. She’ll want you to suffer and you’ll have to endure it. If you fail to please her, it will reflect poorly on me and you wouldn’t want that, now would you, slave?”
“Of course not, Lady Morgana. I... I’ll try my best,” she replied nervously.
Samantha’s commitment was suddenly faltering as she discovered that she was going to be an abused plaything to a diabolic stranger.
“I hope so, slave,” said Morgana.
Setting the towels aside, she took up the leash and brought Samantha over to the dressing table. She sat her down, grabbed a fresh towel, and dried her hair with vigorous rubbing before applying a brush with a truculent intensity. The yanks to her knots made Samantha whimper and flex against her bonds but Morgana continued until her slightly damp hair was free of tangles.
Samantha was then taken out of the room to a clus
ter of doors at the end of the corridor. Each door was thick and had a heavy lock, an outside bolt, and a small brass plaque with neat script etched into it. The rooms were assigned to Tom, Thumper, Tobin, and the final room was listed as having been assigned for Samantha.
“Your very own room, slave. Myself, or perhaps one of my slaves can lock you in here. When you’re locked away I can be assured of where you are and that you are secure and there until I decide otherwise. I can take a great deal of pleasure in that fact as all my slaves can testify,” she stated and pulled back the weighty bolt before throwing open the door.
The bedroom was larger than any accommodation she had previously been able to afford and was equipped for various eventualities. There were rings in the ceiling, along the walls, and at some points on the bare wooden floor. A winch hung in the centre and the tiny window had bars across it to create a very dramatic effect. A small single bed was set to one side. The bed was equipped with rings that were welded to its frame and could be used to restrain her, but from the rest of the contents, it looked as though she would rarely be spending a night on its mattress.
In one corner was an upright wooden box, much like a straight-sided coffin. The wood was black and lacquered with silver studs set along its reinforced edges. A hatch with bolt and hinges existed at head and groin height to grant access. More and heavier bolts were lined opposite the hinged front door and testified that it would be a close and inescapable prison.
A much smaller box of similar design lay near this maximum-security cell of solitary confinement. This version was much like the one that she had been shipped in and Samantha instinctively shied away from it as she recalled that awful and protracted experience.
Another box hung from a chain. The container would be just big enough to encompass her head and keep her in enisled darkness.
Samantha let her eyes assess each of the various contraptions and she wondered which one of them was considered the mediation box. If every slave had the same furnishings in their room, Tobin was either stood up or crushed into a ball at the present time. Unless of course there was another, more rigorous form of bondage that the slaves had to endure. The thought of something worse than her travelling crate sent shivers up and down Samantha’s spine.
Executive Enslavement Page 16