Slave Girls, page 11
“Before you are a colorful array of the best this season has to offer. Let the silent bidding begin! Submissives and slaves, please line up here and walk the circular path. Your handler will greet you when you return for the next portion of our program.”
I stood on wobbly legs and made my way down the line with the other submissives. Ten other women and three men made up our group. As we walked, I recognized music from Isadar’s new Red album and smiled. Piano music calmed my nerves and before I knew it, the crowd faded away and there was Sergio, waiting to take me to the next stop.
“What’s next, Sergio?” I whispered as he led me down a hallway and into one of the grand suites. Ceiling to floor, the room was opulence personified and bigger than my entire apartment. Who lived here? My gaze slid over the queen-size bed, and I knew without a doubt it would be heaven on earth to sleep there.
“You are to disrobe and put yourself in the corner. Your Master or Mistress will join you presently.”
“Thank you, Sergio.”
“You are most welcome, cara mia.” He shot me a kind smile and eased himself silently back into the hall.
Showtime.
I unclasped the skirt and let it slide to the floor. The corset laces took a moment, but I loosened them and my breasts fell free, exposed to the chill of the air. Shivering in my panties, I slid them down over my hips and ass and let them fall into the pile of discarded clothes. I saw a pillow stationed in the far corner of the room, so I lowered myself onto my knees there and waited.
The door clicked open and my eyes inadvertently rose. Who would be my Master or Mistress? The suspense was making me wet. All of the things I had read about in books flooded through my mind and my pussy clenched in anticipation.
The click of a boot heel on the marble entrance had me lowering my head before I was caught trying to see.
“Stand up, slave.” The voice rolled over me like caramel hot chocolate.
I stood and waited for the next command.
“Approach me. Eyes down, breasts out.”
It was her boots that caused the rush of moisture to my pussy. Keeping my eyes down, I moved in front of her and stood, a flush creeping up my face.
“Mistress.” I whispered. “How may I, um, serve you?”
Her hand reached out and brushed along my cheek in a familiar stroke of affection.
“You look lovely, Olivia.”
“Thank you, Mistress.” I forgot myself for a moment and raised my eyes to see what I had been longing for. The leather corset encased her breasts so divinely that I reached out my hand before I realized what I had done.
She grabbed my errant fingers with one hand and, with the other, smacked a riding crop against my ass with a single stroke.
“Ouch!” I yowled, rubbing my sore bum with my hand.
“Impertinence. I will not have such a thing in a slave, Olivia.” Mistress J pulled me toward the bed, her boots clicking across the floor.
“Lie over the edge of the bed. I want that ripe, supple ass where I can see it, my naughty pet.”
I yelped as the crop came down and flicked against the same spot she had chanced to hit only moments before.
Her fingers ran along the planes of my back and down the ivory curves of my backside. Another flick of the crop and I was moaning beneath her hands, pussy gushing with need.
“You have waited for this moment a long time, Olivia. Sit up and turn to face me.”
I did as she asked, conscious of my nakedness. She was still fully clothed.
“Are you ready to make your deepest fantasies come to life?” Her voice caressed me, and I had to close my eyes to hide the tears that suddenly fell free.
“Olivia. This weekend is a test of sorts. I know you long for a life beyond the pages of a book.” She stroked my face again. “Open your eyes.”
I opened my eyes and nodded, afraid of what my voice would sound like if I spoke.
“Your safeword is red. Repeat it so I know you understand.” Her eyes bored into mine.
“Red. I understand.”
“Are you ready to begin?”
“Yes, Mistress.” My voice was barely a whisper, but she heard me.
“Good. Stand up and put your hands on the strap at the top of the bedpost. Do not let go.”
She moved behind me and I heard the zipper on her skirt coming down and the telltale sound of laces and leather. There were some other sounds that I couldn’t place, but I knew well enough not to turn around. This was my fantasy.
“Don’t move, little Olivia.”
The crop made its way up my backside, and with two flicks she had me panting.
“Open your legs.”
I moved them apart as far as I could and still be able to reach the strap. My ass was on fire and the chill of the room made the wetness of my cunt all the more pronounced as the crop connected with my clit.
I moaned, feeling the sting of the crop once again.
“Wider.”
“Yes, Mistress.” I endeavored to do as she asked.
She moved closer behind me, wrapping her arms around my body. Pinching my right nipple, her finger delved into the hot cleft between my legs. Something poked my back and I felt the bobble of a cock between my asscheeks.
I started against her, and she soothed me with her hands.
“Stay.” She pinched my nipple and ran her hand down my body, making me quiver with desire. Her thumb nudged my clit as she guided the head of the cock inside my sopping cunt.
She took control of my body, the softness of her breasts moving against my back and the wispy brush of her mons on mine as the cock plunged deep into my hungry pussy.
“Harder, Mistress. Please!” I moaned, arching my ass into the air.
She tweaked my clit, and I screamed as wave after wave of sensation tore through my body. My skin was electric. Every touch molten fire.
“What do you want, Olivia?”
“I want you to make me come,” I panted. “Oh, please!” I howled as her fingers massaged my engorged nub into an orgasm that left me screaming and trembling against the bedpost.
I sagged against her and she removed the dildo and placed it on the bed.
“Up on the bed, little slave. It’s time for your oral examination.”
As I nestled down between her downy folds, and my lips found the velvet of her inner thighs, I knew I had come home.
“Don’t dawdle; lick my slit.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
I thought of the book in my purse and smiled. Some dreams really do come true.
GREEN’S
Lisette Ashton
He treats us like slaves,” Sarah hissed.
She had whispered the sentiment into her mobile phone but the words echoed around the haberdashery shop as though they had been bellowed through a megaphone.
Monica glanced at Sarah in surprise.
Old Mrs. Higgins closed her eyes and shook her head in dismay.
Green, his eyes unreadable through his dark glasses, regarded Sarah with an expression that was thin-lipped, inscrutable and unsmiling. It was a moment that transformed the mood of the day into something lethargic and heavy with the threat of impending disaster. Each passing minute dragged like slow-motion footage of an inevitable car crash.
Monica’s chest was tight with the sense of anticipation.
An eon later the church bell chimed six times to indicate it was the end of the working day. In the stillness of Green’s Haberdashery the sound was like the champagne-cork-popping promise of a long-awaited armistice.
Monica took a step back to watch developments. Old Mrs. Higgins reached for her coat. Sarah was rushing to the doorway with unseemly haste.
“Wait!”
Green snapped the single word as Sarah placed her fingers on the door handle.
Sarah was a large girl. Monica had always used the word cuddly when describing her. Green had overheard this euphemism once. He had laughed nastily and said, “That’s a fuck of a lot of cuddling.”
Monica supposed it was an accurate assessment.
“I have to get home, Mr. Green,” Sarah said. “It’s my brother’s birthday and...”
Her voice trailed off as he walked to the shop door.
Absently, he turned the card that said OPEN so that it would have told late customers that Green’s Haberdashery was CLOSED. He drew the bolt on the door, effectively locking himself and his staff in the shop.
Monica drew a low, heavy breath.
It was going to be one of those evenings. A tremor of raw excitement rippled through the inner muscles of her sex. She could feel her nipples tightening inside her bra. She felt momentarily dizzy at the prospect of what might happen.
Green employed three members of staff: herself, Sarah and old Mrs. Higgins.
Green, a broad man, his head shaved bald and his eyes constantly hidden behind shaded spectacles, was known to be a strict disciplinarian. He shouted at those beneath him. He browbeat and bullied subordinates into submission. And he considered all of his employees to be subordinates. He had a reputation for being harsh and brutal and Sarah was not the first person to suggest that he treated his employees like slaves. Sarah was simply the first person stupid enough to say it within Green’s hearing.
Monica wondered if Sarah had already learned her lesson. Judging by the way she tried to move past Green to get to the shop doorway and make her escape, Sarah clearly had learned no such thing.
“I have to get home, Mr. Green,” Sarah said as she reached for the door handle. “It’s my brother’s birthday and I promised him I’d bake a cake. You have to let me go home now.”
Green stepped to one side.
Monica was chilled to see that he wore a smile. It did not bode well for Sarah.
“Step out of that door without my permission and you’re unemployed,” he said simply.
Sarah stopped and studied him warily.
“Step out of that door and I’ll make sure this is your last day working for me. I’ll also make sure that no one in this village will employ you ever again. I have the power to do that. Don’t think I’m lying.”
Sarah had reached out to grab the door handle. Her hand shrank away from it. She studied him uncertainly. Her lower lip trembled as though she was about to start crying.
“Mr. Green!” It was old Mrs. Higgins. She raised her voice in shocked admonishment. “You can’t talk to the young girl like that. She’s got to bake a cake for her younger brother. She’s done her work here this weekend. You should let her go.”
Green turned to glance at her.
“Mrs. Higgins,” he began carefully. “I thought you knew better than to intercede when I’m disciplining staff members?”
She opened her mouth to speak and then faltered before words could come from her trembling jaw.
“Didn’t you learn my rules the last time you spoke up on someone’s behalf?”
The old woman blushed. She placed a protective hand over her rear. When she spoke again her voice was softened by contrition. “I was only trying to say that Sarah has plans for this evening and it’s not right to keep her past her scheduled hours in the shop.”
Green nodded agreement. “That’s right. We don’t want to keep anyone waiting unnecessarily in the shop, do we? I don’t want to be accused of treating people like slaves, do I?”
Sarah blushed.
Monica, watching intently, bit her lower lip. There was something magnificent about watching Green in action. When it came to dominating subordinates she had never seen anyone better. His control over lesser mortals was magnificent. The inner muscles of her sex clenched with greedy approval.
“I said: we don’t want to keep anyone waiting unnecessarily in the shop, do we?” he repeated. “Are you going to agree with me, Mrs. Higgins?”
She shook her head. “It was an important call,” Mrs. Higgins said quickly. She clutched defensively at the pocket at the front of her uniform tabard.
Monica could see the pocket was distended by the shape of a clunky mobile phone. Vaguely, Monica remembered Mrs. Higgins taking a call earlier that day.
“It was an important call that I had to take,” Mrs. Higgins insisted. She spoke with the panicked uncertainty of someone trying to convince herself. “It only meant the customer was waiting for a moment longer than necessary.”
“The customer was waiting for eight minutes,” Green said.
Mrs. Higgins shook her head.
“It wasn’t that long.”
“I timed it,” he said sternly. “And you know the rules. You know what’s expected of you.”
He went to the cutting table—the space in the shop where he cut lengths of fabric from long rolls. The table was clear of fabric now that the day had ended. All that remained were a pair of dressmaker’s shears and a slender three-foot wooden rule. He picked up the rule and sliced it through the air.
It whistled keenly.
In the silence of the shop the sound was like a gasp of disbelief.
Mrs. Higgins placed a hand over the well-padded rear of her skirt. She shook her head with more authority. “Please, no, Mr. Green. My husband will see. He’ll want to know—”
“Eight minutes,” Green repeated. His soft-spoken words cut through her protest. “That equates to eight stripes from the rule.”
“Please,” Mrs. Higgins moaned.
Monica envied the woman for her predicament. She could feel the cheeks of her own backside reddening in empathy. Her heartbeat raced as she imagined herself in Mrs. Higgins’s position beneath the glower of Green’s furrowed brow.
“You can’t do this to her,” Sarah said abruptly. She stepped between Green and Mrs. Higgins. She had her hands on her ample hips and fixed him with a defiant glare. “It’s not right.”
Green nodded affable agreement to Sarah.
“You’re absolutely correct. It’s not right,” he said. His smile twisted to a cynical sneer as he added, “but she’s going to suffer a lot less than you before the end of this evening. Do you want to say something else to make your punishment worse?”
Sarah shrank beneath his frown. Gingerly, she stepped away.
“Assume the position, Mrs. Higgins,” Green called stiffly.
Mrs. Higgins walked hesitantly to the cutting table.
Monica held herself rigid as she watched. She had worked with old Mrs. Higgins for the best part of a decade. She was used to seeing the woman being cowed by Green. The experience was never less than exhilarating.
Slowly, glaring at him with vanquished defiance, Mrs. Higgins raised the rear hem of her skirt. She pulled the fabric up in twin fistfuls, raising the curtain of the hem to first reveal the backs of surprisingly shapely legs. They were evenly tanned and slender.
As always, Monica noted, they were unsheathed by hosiery.
As the hem of the skirt was raised higher, old Mrs. Higgins uncovered a backside hidden by a pair of huge white knickers. The brilliant white of the panties seemed shocking in the darkening twilit gloom of Green’s Haberdashery.
Sarah made a strangled gasp of surprise.
Monica ignored her and watched as old Mrs. Higgins wordlessly bent over the cutting table. She kept hold of her raised hem so that her panty-covered rear remained on view for Green.
“Granny pants?” Green snorted. There was a note of chuckling derision in his tone. “Is this your idea of protecting yourself, Mrs. Higgins? You’re wearing nasty granny pants?”
Mrs. Higgins said nothing. Her cheeks burnt bright crimson.
Monica envied the woman’s predicament. If she had been bold enough to earn such a publicly humiliating punishment, she too would have chosen to wear granny pants. She clenched her thighs tight together, crushing the muscles as her sex clutched and rippled hungrily.
“I can’t stripe your backside through granny pants,” Green grumbled. “They’re going to have to come off.”
“No,” Mrs. Higgins protested. “My husband will see.”
“If you don’t take them off now I’ll film this on your mobile phone and send the footage to your husband,” Green growled with venom. He reached for the front of her tabard and snatched the phone from the pocket.
Monica wondered if he was touching anywhere else while he pulled the phone free. She could imagine his strong hands exploring the pocket of her tabard, pressing against the needy throb of her sex and reminding her of his insistent nearness. The idea came close to weakening her knees with needy lust.
Green came away holding her mobile phone like a trophy. There was a triumphant smile on his lips. “Now take off those damned granny pants.”
Mrs. Higgins did as he demanded.
She pulled the huge pants until they slipped downward and pooled at her ankles. With the pants disappearing she exposed a large, round backside. The muscles of her buttocks were taut. Despite the fact that she was known as “old Mrs. Higgins” there wasn’t a millimeter of her legs or backside that suggested advanced age. If anything, the neatly shaved pussy lips that Monica could glimpse at the top of the woman’s clenched thighs were suggestive of youthfulness. The puckered ring of her anus was so pale Monica thought the woman could have spent her weekends at a salon for those youthful enough to indulge in anal bleaching.
“Eight stripes,” Green said coolly. “And you’re going to count them for me.”
Mrs. Higgins gripped the sides of the cutting table.
Monica could see that the woman was gritting her dentures tightly.
Sarah stood watching with bewildered dismay. Her jaw hung open with obvious disbelief. She shook her head from side to side as though she would be able to wish away the unwanted scenario.
Green slashed the rule across old Mrs. Higgins’s rear. It sang softly through the air and spat loudly as it kissed her rear. Immediately a dull pink line of burning pain blossomed beneath her buttocks.
