by Ian Smith
“I’ll be back to get each of you when it’s your turn,” Rosie said as positively as she could, but it did nothing to alter the girls’ panic and dread as they saw her lead their mother away.
An age seemed to crawl by. If time had dragged slowly in the cell earlier, it went far more slowly now. Mandy stared at the wall, not wanting to look at her sister or anything else. It was total misery, just sheer mental torture. She just wanted to get this over with. Rosie had said that each of them would have to surrender herself ‘in the three most basic ways’. For a woman, the most fundamental surrender was obvious. Mandy tried to tell herself it was no big deal, but she remained terribly nervous.
Time went on. There was no clock nearby; it felt like many hours, but Mandy guessed between one and two in reality. The ball gag kept her jaw stretched wide, not painfully but certainly uncomfortably and she also discovered that she needed to keep sucking saliva in to avoid dribbling - and with her arms locked behind her back, she had no way of wiping off any that escaped. Then she heard Rosie’s bare feet coming down the hall. Would it be her or her younger sister first? Rosie came round the corner and came wordlessly to her and began to release the handcuffs from the wall chain, still leaving Mandy cuffed. Mandy had hoped it would be her first, to get it over with, but all of a sudden she wasn’t quite so sure. But it didn’t matter, it was to be her first whether she liked it or not. With a despairing last glance at Charleen, who was almost physically shaking, Mandy followed Rosie down the corridor. Once round the corner, with her sister out of sight, she felt very, very alone.
They came around another corner and Mandy saw a distressing sight. At the other end of the corridor, a man was leading her mother away. Her mother was stark naked and her bottom was red and blotchy. She had clearly been - spanked? Caned? Mandy didn’t know, but something like that. She wanted to call out, but by the time she got over the initial shock her mother and the man - one of the two guards who had accompanied Proby in Africa - had gone round the next corner and were gone. Meanwhile, Rosie stopped outside a door. She paused momentarily and turned to Mandy. “Remember to be humble, address him as master and do exactly what he orders,” she advised tersely. “No matter what it is,” she added grimly and without waiting for any reaction - the gag completely prevented any verbal reply - she knocked. From inside, Proby’s voice called for them to enter. Rosie opened the door and led Mandy inside.
The room was a lushly furnished office. Proby sat behind an executive desk in a large and luxurious swivel chair, round glasses perched on his nose, studying a computer screen, ignoring both girls. Rosie went behind Mandy and Mandy felt her handcuffs being unlocked and removed. As she rubbed her wrists ruefully, Rosie removed the ball gag as well. Mandy licked dry lips and moved her jaw silently to ease the stiffness in it. Then she heard the door opening and closing behind her and became aware that Rosie had gone. She was alone with the man.
He continued to ignore her, reading some business document from the screen and occasionally making notes. Mandy stewed. She wanted to scream ‘get on with it’ but she knew she was being tested. She stood straight and waited, though it was hard. Each stage of waiting, from this morning, to being on that bench, to here and now, seemed worse than the last. To calm herself, though it was far from comforting, she ran Rosie’s last words of advice through her mind, again and again.
Eventually he closed the document and turned to her, peering owlishly at her over the glasses. “How are you finding your accommodation?” he asked mildly.
Her nerves on edge, Mandy wanted to make some acerbic comment, but she managed to swallow it, still focusing on what Rosie had said. “Not very nice, master,” she managed in a voice which sounded cracked and hoarse.
“Not what you are used to, I imagine,” he observed, still mildly.
Mandy desperately tried to find the right reply. “No, master, but ...” the answer came to her: “my circumstances are different now.”
“In what way?” he asked gently.
“I’m a slave now.” She managed to make her voice firm. He sat back in his chair and looked at her again and as he did she thought of a better comment, though an awful one to have to make. “I’m your slave, master,” she added.
“Are you, indeed,” he mused aloud.
She screwed her courage up. “Yes, master.” If only he would get on with whatever he was going to do! The waiting was agony. But he was evidently determined to go at this snail pace.
“Slave Rosie will have informed you that, if you all reach the higher slave levels, your accommodation will improve,” he said.
“Yes, master,” Mandy confirmed. “So that’s what we will have to do.”
“Do you think that will be easy?” His voice was still mild, but Mandy was aware of the steel behind it. She felt she had sounded too confident. She tried to correct the situation.
“No, master,” she said quietly. “But we’ll try. Or I will, anyway.”
“Do you understand the mentality of the three slave levels?” he asked.
“No, master,” she admitted.
“A Level One slave is entirely co-operative and obedient, no matter what the cost to herself,” he explained. “That alone is not easy for a young woman, especially one brought up in these days of rights without responsibilities. But a Level Two slave goes further. A Level Two slave considers it her duty to do everything she can to please her master and the other men here. That goes beyond merely obeying. And a Level Three slave ... I think that is beyond your comprehension as yet.”
It all sounded dreadful. “Yes, master,” Mandy managed.
“So, let us confine ourselves to Level One, which is what you say you aspire to. How would you define that, in your own words?” Mandy thought furiously. “Don’t rush to give a quick answer,” he added. “Think about it. I will ask for your answer in a few minutes.” He pushed the glasses back up his nose - clearly they were for reading - and turned his attention back to the screen, leaving Mandy to stew once more.
Trying to calm the maelstrom of her nerves and emotions, Mandy tried to formulate a reply. Several minutes went by as she tried to hone her answer. At long last he turned from the screen to her once more and again peered over the top of the glasses at her. “Do you have an answer?” he asked.
“Yes, master,” Mandy replied, trying to make this almost conversational. “I’m not sure if this is right, but ... it seems to me that, as I’m a girl and you’re a man, the main thing I have that can please you is my body. So, I need to use that to please you.” It seemed a candid, direct answer, though when she had been running it through her mind she hadn’t realised it would be quite so difficult to say to this pudgy little man who was two and a half times her age.
He considered. “Not bad,” he admitted after a few moments. “But it slightly misses the point. Shall I give you an example of how it misses?”
Still all this talk! But Mandy kept running Rosie’s words through her head and they helped. “Yes please, master,” she replied, and then added as an afterthought, “that is, if it pleases you.”
“Well, for example, you will know that most men enjoy the sight of a young woman’s unclothed charms.”
Here it comes, thought Mandy. The fact that her mother had departed this room naked had not been lost on her. She took a breath. “Yes, master.”
“So you could reasonably deduce that you could please me by removing your clothes?”
Another breath. “Yes, master.” That was tantamount to agreeing to strip for him.
“But you see the key point about slavery is obedience. For you to take the initiative by disrobing would be quite unacceptable. From today onwards for the next year, obedience is the single most important thing in your life. Do you see?”
“Yes, master.” So still the mind games were going on.
“So, what should you be doing right now?”
Mandy thought for a moment. “Nothing, master, until you order me to do something.”
He smiled. “Exactly. But then, you see, that’s still not quite the picture. A slave should not be an automaton, simply responding to orders. She needs to find ways to please without stepping over that line into initiative. So how do you find the middle way?”
Mandy again thought furiously. She suspected he was about to turn back to his computer once more and she could not face any more of this waiting and tension. She knew he was playing with her like a cat with a mouse. Suddenly she knew the answer, though it was a horrible thing to have to say.
“Could I ask permission to strip?”
“A-ha! We have a breakthrough. The brain inside that pretty little head is beginning to work.” He took the glasses off and leaned back in his chair, his eyes now fully on her. “Ask away.”
Mandy licked dry lips. “Master,” she began hesitantly, “may I have your permission to ... to strip myself naked ... for your pleasure?”
“Good,” he observed. “We make progress. For the moment, however, you may not.” Mandy had been working herself up to do the deed and now she felt crushed down once more. “Because now we need to examine the other side of the coin. Tell me, what effect will stripping have on you?”
“I don’t understand, master.”
“Well, how will you feel when you strip?”
Mandy felt she had to reply honestly. “Very embarrassed, master.”
“Good. Anything else, anything similar to that?”
“Humiliated, master.” It was debasing to admit, but it had to be done.
“I thought so. Now, is it a good thing for a slave to feel embarrassed and humiliated?”
“I don’t know, master.”
“Think and answer.”
“I suppose so, master.”
“Good. Yes, it helps you become more slave-like. Therefore it is a good thing for you to want to do, yes?”
“Yes, master.” Mandy tried to make her voice sound as determined as possible.
“So, with that in mind, you may ask permission again.”
Mandy was sure that this time was it. She took a breath. “Master, may I have your permission to strip myself naked, for your pleasure and my complete embarrassment and humiliation?” It was not a nice thing to have to say, but she managed to keep her voice firm.
“You may, slowly and one item at a time.”
Mandy felt half dismay, half relief that at last she could get it over with. She was not a virgin, but she had always undressed in the arms of the three boys she had so far had sex with, not standing in front of them and in any case they were her own age, not two and a half times her age. One item at a time? She was only wearing shorts and t-shirt, with bra and panties underneath that. She was even barefoot.
Very slowly, Mandy grasped the hem of her t-shirt, which was already outside her shorts. Inch by inch she began to pull it upwards, exposing first the flesh of her waist, then her stomach, her belly button, her upper stomach, then the lower curves of her bra. More of the bra came into view, then the whole thing was exposed. Mandy pulled the t-shirt over her head, gratefully covering her red face for a moment or two and then pulled it off her arms and dropped it on the floor.
“Turn around,” came his languid voice.
Not meeting his eyes, but very much aware of them on her, Mandy slowly rotated until she was first side-on to him, showing very clearly the contours of her breasts beneath the white bra, then carried on until her back, bare but for the bra strap, was towards him. Then she slowly turned around to face him again.
“Carry on.” Again his voice was calm and leisurely; he was in total control of the situation, whereas she was absolutely helpless.
Mandy undid the buttons on the waistband of the shorts, exposing just a little of the light blue knickers she wore. Then she slowly lowered the shorts down, being careful not to take the knickers with them. Inch by inch the knickers came into view, until they were fully in sight. She let the shorts drop down to her ankles, stepped out of them and pushed them aside with her foot. Without needing to be told, she did another slow rotation, showing her firm bottom which the knickers only partially covered and in any case were skin-tight
For a moment she paused, just within the limits of decency, but she knew she had to go on. Her hands reached behind her to unclip the bra strap. Holding the cups to her breasts with one hand, she slipped the one shoulder strap off her shoulder and down her arm to her elbow, then swapped hands, got the one strap off her arm altogether and then the same for the other strap. Now, unable to look at him, she gradually lowered the cups. The tops of her breasts came into view, then all of her upper breasts, then her nipples, then the lower half of the breasts as well as she let the cups fall away completely. She resisted the strong urge to cover her chest and instead pulled her shoulders back and put her hands on her buttocks. She knew her face was bright red and she could not look at him.
No need to do a turn this time, so she just had the one remaining scrap of protection to remove. Her head lowered, she pushed her thumbs into the waistband of her knickers and began to lower them. The top curls of pubic hair came into sight, then more of her bush, then the top of her slit, then the whole thing. She released the knickers and they floated down her smooth, shapely legs and settled at her ankles, from which she stepped out of them. Mandy closed her eyes, trying to ignore his presence even though she was acutely aware of it and put her hands on her buttocks once more, leaving her triangle completely exposed. Then after a few seconds she raised her hands and placed them on her head, feeling her breasts rise slightly as her arms came up, and gradually did a complete 360 degree turn, showing her firm bottom to him, until she faced him once more, her eyes still closed.
“Open your eyes and look directly at me!” he snapped.
Mandy made herself obey. For a moment his eyes met hers, then he looked lower down, making her look at his face whilst he ogled her body. Mandy had never in her life felt embarrassment or humiliation anything like this. Long moments passed; for her it seemed like an eternity.
His languid mood returned. “Well, that is the first of your three submissions done,” he observed. Only the first! Mandy could guess one of the other two; her eyes flickered momentarily down to his crotch and she saw an unmistakeable bulge there. She went a shade redder, knowing that she was causing that bulge.
“Do you feel more like a slave now?” he asked.
“Yes, master,” she answered with a croak. She most certainly did!
“The second submission is submission to discipline,” he informed her. “Come here.”
Stiffly and uncertainly, Mandy moved over to him. He caught her wrist in his hand and pulled her round to the side of his swivel chair, then pulled her over his lap. Awkwardly, Mandy settled herself down, feeling her stomach and upper thighs making firm contact with his lap. His one hand was on her bare back, holding her in place; then she felt the other hand on her bottom, stroking it, feeling the smooth, taut young flesh. For long moments she was fondled, adding fresh humiliation. Then the hand was not there any longer.
Smack!
Mandy had never been spanked in her life. It stung!
Smack!
Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!
Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!
Mandy felt her bottom going as red as her face. It was incredibly embarrassing, but it also hurt, not unbearably so, but it was certainly more than just a symbolic spanking. He was hitting her with some gusto.
Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!
Now her bottom was really throbbing unpleasantly, but the spanks had stopped and his hand was stroking her bottom once more. She felt herself hoping that it would carry on stroking because that was less bad than the spanking. Mandy wondered if tha
t was her future, hoping that she would be groped and fondled because it wasn’t as bad as being beaten.
“Get up.”
She lifted herself off him, aware that her breasts were in his view once more. He got up himself and led her around to the front of the desk. “Bend over and place your palms on the desk,” he ordered. Mandy obeyed, acutely aware of her bare bottom now jutting into the air and of the inevitable extra intimate exposure her position caused. He went back behind the desk and pulled something out of a drawer. It was a wooden stick which ended in over a dozen leather fronds.
“This is a flogger,” he informed her. “It is perhaps one of the gentler instruments, but the cumulative effects are reasonably pronounced.”
He swung it through the air, and Mandy felt the fronds impact on her bottom. The sting which was just starting to recede slightly now doubled in intensity. She caught her breath but held her position. He flogged her again, half a dozen times. Mandy gasped with each one as the sting grew to a crescendo.
“Spread your legs.” The voice, implacable and authoritative, reached her ears. Mandy’s mouth opened in fresh shock. As she was, with thighs pressed tightly together, she knew her vulva was winking out slightly, but with her legs opened, it would be in full view. Somehow she obeyed, and waited.
“Wider.”
She moved her legs further apart, feeling the warm study air drift around her most private areas. She was now totally exposed.
Thwack!
“Oooohhhh!”
Instead of swinging the flogger horizontally into her bottom cheeks, he had swung it vertically up between her legs. The fronds caught her vulva and all places around it, right round to the top of her mons. It was like getting an electric shock. Mandy’s legs instinctively snapped shut and her knees buckled.