She smelled the dry heat of the coal- stoked fire and bristled with fear. He promised he would mark her but she never believed that it would be in the form of a brand. She was tied down, her heart thumping madly as she waited. In those long minutes, she was so close to backing out. But then the brand came down against her ass and seared the skin. Every muscle in her tightened. Her skin was irrevocably altered by the act and she believed that red fire had changed her soul as well.
His Slave Queen, Marilyn Hayworth, 2007
Jackson….
Grant Ryan’s estate glittered that night. Rachel was on my arm, smiling. I’d picked out the blue backless dress for a purpose. Since Italy it had been too long since she’d been taken down. It wouldn’t come as a surprise this time. I gave her fair warning as she dressed at the beach house.
“Woah!” Her response to the dress. Then she looked up at me with big question marks in her sultry brown eyes. I’m sure she had a hunch. “You have something in mind, don’t you?” she asked.
“I do. And it might be very public, I’m not sure how it will play out but…”
“But I will behave myself for you, Jackson,” she jumped in before I could finish. “I promise.”
“Okay then.” I smiled and walked away to finish adjusting my tie.
“You know I’ve decided to quit my job,” she said as she looked in the dressing mirror and patted her nose with powder.
“What! What made you decide that?” This had taken me by surprise, especially after she’d spent weeks refusing to even consider the idea.
She swiveled on the chair and looked up at me earnestly. “I know that you’re not going to stop taking me to the edge of my fantasies…way out on those erotic limbs. Eventually Rachel Linney will be found out for who she is, especially if she keeps getting toyed with in public. It would be an embarrassment for the school, and I don’t want any part of that. I think I can be very happy as an erotic writer and your girlfriend, sex-slave, party toy, whatever it happens to be that night.”
I gazed at her, still a little in awe of the announcement. “You forgot wife in that list.”
“Wife?” she smiled. “That will take some getting used to.”
“But you will.”
“I’m sure I will get used to it…just let me get used to what I already am.”
I shrugged. “Maybe. I rather like surprising you.”
She was wistful in response, a soft and sensuous face I loved to see.
“But go ahead and quit your job if you like. You can be a kept woman.”
“Kept woman!” she objected. “I plan to write up a storm and earn my keep, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind at all. Your erotic writing just gives me plenty of fantasies to choose from.”
“What if I write serious fiction?”
“You write whatever you please. I’m just happy when you’re smiling…and when you’re shivering in your shoes.”
“Like I’ll shiver tonight?”
“Yes, most likely. But that’s all the clues you’re going to get.”
Included amongst Grant’s party guests were some of my most intimate friends. He and I had a few things in common which made this party perfect for what I had in mind for Rachel. Strange how I’d found sadistic bastards like myself almost everywhere I went. For Rachel this would be a fresh experience of submission. A new environment. New people. Most of them strangers to her. A real chance to test her. Italy had not gone so well, though it did instigate some changes in our relationship that we both wanted. The fact that she was going to quit playing professor was not the least of those changes – it was about time as far as I was concerned. I’d have less reason to be cautious with her now and that proved inspiring for me. The other changes were more in her attitude and mind. She’d wavered less, and accepted the drama I created without so much vacillation. And she didn’t walk out on me when she got scared. As for me, I allowed myself to love her more openly and to be kinder when she needed me to be kind.
In both of us there were other more subtle shifts in attitude that brought us even closer and gave Rachel the security she needed.
We arrived at Grant’s party and circulated through the guests, maybe fifty or so were there. There were a few who were new to me, but the crowd seemed like an easy one to manage. There might be a “Henrietta” or two attending, but that type of woman was something that my submissive Rachel would have to learn to manage.
In a circle of about eight chatting friends, my plot was set in motion, with a pointed comment that Grant made to Rachel. Grant was a large, very imposing man. Grey-haired, clean-shaven and classically handsome with a square cut jaw, deep-set eyes and a commanding manner that was far more polished and old school than mine. With that alone, he had a diabolical way of setting submissive women in their places.
“You know your disgraceful behavior in Italy is still being talked about, Ms. Hayworth,” Grant suddenly challenged my girlfriend.
Her eyes bugged out. “Sir?” she questioned him.
“The incident in the restaurant…in Venice?”
“Yes, well,” she blushed. How could she forget, although she never expected this man to know about that.
“I told Jackson that there would be an opportunity tonight for you to get right what you’d failed so miserably with there. That is, if he’s so inclined.”
Rachel was trembling in my arms, and those in the group – all men but Rachel and one other woman – seemed fascinated by what was being discussed.
“If it had been me in Venice, I might well have stripped you naked right there in the restaurant rather than just raise your skirt. Protocol can’t be taken lightly. For the record, the fact that you are looking me in the eye right now is a bit brash and certainly against the rules for a submissive.” She immediately looked away.
“Yes, you may quickly retreat back to submissive form once your failings have been pointed out, but it seems that you’ve already committed a dozen breaches in proper protocol tonight. I find it appalling.”
Grant was just getting warmed up, and as he did, his voice seemed to rise and draw the attention of a few who were conversing in other groups nearby. Rachel was tensed up, clinging to me, her head still bowed, her entire beingness in retreat – as if there were somewhere she could hide, if not physically, then mentally. Although Grant would not let that happen.
“Don’t you find it appalling, Ms. Hayworth?”
“Yes, sir,” her quiet voice came back.
As my hand dropped from her waist to her ass, I gave the plump cheek a hard squeeze. It was the only support I would give her until the incident was over.
“A little louder,” Grant prompted. “And look at me when you speak.”
She looked up, baffled. “I thought I was supposed to keep my head bowed, sir.”
“What?” he laughed, and looked around to draw those around us into the mockery. “You’re going to tell me you’re confused now. You really do need a short course in protocol. I assume that Jackson has taught you what is expected?”
Too flustered to speak, she didn’t reply, which was a big mistake.
“My, you are really too much.” Grant looked at me. “You mentioned that she might need correction. I think now would be a good time.”
“Now would be a perfect time, Grant,” I gave the nod.
“In my study then,” the man announced. “Those of you who want to witness, please feel free. For the rest of you, this won’t take long.”
About a dozen of those throughout the room followed us into Grant’s study, where a petrified and very much humiliated Rachel soon stood alone in the middle of the room, facing a pair of wrist cuffs that dangled from the center of the ceiling.
And yes… she was Rachel, Rachel Hayworth now, not Rachel Linney, or Marilyn Hayworth, but a compromise that we had come to that seemed to bring the two sides of her personality into one. She could still keep Rachel Linney for personal business, but Rachel Hayworth was the woman she’d become to me and the one she had been accepting for herself.
“Turn around and remove your dress,” I ordered her.
I saw her quaver for just a moment, then finally turn, her eyes cast down, her being submissive and breathtakingly beautiful. All she had to do was lift the thin straps of the blue dress off her shoulders, and let it slither to her ankles. Her feet were still tucked into the stiletto sandals giving a sensuous shape to her lovely legs and raising her ass high and firm. That sensuous bottom had been turning heads all night, especially when she walked and the dress indented to show her anal cleft below. Her pussy was glistening with her dew, while above it her breasts shimmered in the dim light. As a roomful of eyes lingered on her nakedness, her nipples seemed to stiffen into hard knots. I saw that her lips were parted, as she maintained perfect protocol now.
“Hands behind your head,” I ordered, “elbows wide.”
I had much to introduce her to in the Dom/sub world in which we wished to travel. Seeing her obey this new command, seeing the worry in her eyes, feeling the nervous flutter in her belly reach out and attack me, had me charged once again. She couldn’t have been more perfect. Even her flaws in form were the fuel I needed to take her even deeper into submission.
“Let them see you, Rachel, turn around, slowly.”
This she did with some grace. And when she had her back to the room, I had her bend over. “Spread your feet wide, let them see all of you. You are a submissive, my slave in this house, and whenever you are with me there is nothing sacred about you that is not mine to exhibit. You are here to serve at my pleasure and for the pleasure of those I allow to enjoy you. If I offer you to this room as a sex slave, you will give yourself without objection. There is no command you will not follow. No excuse for hesitation. Is all that understood?” I raised my voice so she was sure to hear.
“Yes, sir!” she called out loud.
“Very good, now raise up and turn back to us…slowly,” I emphasized.
She was shaken, so the trip back was difficult in the mean stilettos. Still, she managed so she was once again standing before us with her hands laced behind her head and her elbows wide.
“Grant is going to whip you, Rachel. It’s punishment. You have earned every stroke. I should not have to remind you that these are measures you agreed to. It should come as no surprise and you should receive it with a surrendering spirit. You flunked this part of the course the last time you were reprimanded in public, let’s not do that again.”
“Yes, sir,” she said without being prompted.
I turned to Grant, knowing he was eager to get on with this – although he would never show it in his behavior.
He moved forward quickly, and turned my slave around, locking her wrists high above her head. She was nearly on tiptoe by the time he gave the connecting pulleys a good yank.
I could feel the measures she took to calm herself, but I also knew that there could be no preparation for what would come. I’d authorized the punishment in advance. It would be severe, maybe the hardest she’d ever taken—and not one I could do myself. Maybe I’d gone soft in my advancing years, or maybe it was just love that allowed me to hand off the whip to Grant. We needed it painful and shocking, but with some artful finesse. Grant was one man, probably the only man I trusted to do it right.
Taking up the whip, he ran the end of it under her nose and allowed her to drink in the scent of the leather. The simple act seemed to calm her some. Then he stepped back and with a practiced skill from nearly thirty years as a Dominant and very accomplished sadist, he reared back and let the whip fly forward and land across the beautiful expanse of Rachel’s back.
She cried out and her body buckled forward only to be snapped back by the wrist cuffs. There would be no way for her to contain the trauma of these painful blows. Not after that first strike, nor the ten that followed. The crack of the whip, the strike against flesh. The cry of a wounded woman.
The room was flying with exhilaration, wild, brutal savage excitement that rifled through the crowd, that dropped jaws and made crotches squirm and breathing difficult. Rachel’s screams added to the chaos of emotion and on any other occasion, I might have gazed about the room to gauge the reactions – that in itself quite a high – but this time, my eyes were transfixed on her. From the first slashing cut that left a deep red slash across her back to the very last in the series of cuts that left her with nearly a dozen painful looking welts across her back. My eyes were riveted not just on the wounds that were enough to arouse any sadist, but on her entire submissive being, on her spirit, her sexual arousal, and the very essence of the woman I loved.
I knew that she would be okay. That she had surrendered, that she accepted this, and it had gone to that deep place within her that thrived on such things.
Finally over, the screams stopped. Some of the audience fled quickly after the whipping was done. The few who stayed watched as she was released from the cuffs and her body dropped submissively to the floor at Grant’s feet. She was paying homage.
I wasn’t sure what my friend would do with her. He had every right to use her if he liked – that I’d granted him before this started. For a moment, I thought he’d just walk away, but then his hand quavered, and I watched as he picked her up by the hair and dragged her to a nearby chair, thrusting her over the back. He spread her ass cheeks, squirted a little lube down her cleft and then unceremoniously planted himself inside her ass. She whimpered because it was a hard ass fucking she had not expected. I’m sure it hurt as Grant had a decent sized penis. Her face contorted woefully in a mostly silent scream. Thankfully, the fucking was quickly over. She was tossed to the floor afterwards, like used goods, then Grant moved off to the bathroom to clean himself. The others in the room lingered only briefly, then exited with some haste.
I walked toward Rachel and gently brought her to her feet. I kissed her lips, and knew that she was still hurting and still dazed. “That was for Grant – and for me, I suppose. But more important for me, I want you to put the dress on and join me in the other room.”
I tenderly brushed the hair from her face and ran my thumb along her chin. “You’ll do that for me?”
“Yes, sir,” she tried hard to smile.
“Good, girl.”
Our lips met and I held her just briefly, then for a moment inspected the welts on her back. No broken skin, though some of them would take a bit of time to heal. I finally gave her a parting kiss and turned to leave, saying, “You come join me once you’re dressed and ready.”
“Yes, sir.”
Rachel…
When I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror I saw the same woman who’d begun the night at Jackson’s side. From the start, I knew this was going to be a special night. I had a feeling that it was about redemption for my failed night in Venice. But it was much more than that. A coming out party, the moment when I signaled to my master that I was ready to be a fulltime submissive, that I was ready to give myself to him with little reservation. I can’t say no reservations because I was quite sure that there would always be those moments when I would vacillate, when I’d want to run away and hide, when I’d pray for Jackson to take off some place like he used to do and leave me alone for a while to ponder my choices. But there really were no other choices I could make. I’d come to that realization.
I’d dressed, the beautiful blue gown now framed the shocking welts from Grant’s whip. It was obvious to me why Jackson had chosen the backless dress. He wanted everyone to know. I would march into Grant’s elegant party and show that tiny world the woman I was. I’d be on Jackson’s arm, pulled around the room to meet his friends and associates. I’d forget what my physical body told the crowd. I could not dwell on that. But I would not forget that I was Jackson Brandt’s submissive, that I was Rachel Hayworth, that I was a writer of erotica and more important than all that, I was the woman I had longed to be my entire life.
One last glance in the mirror and I was able to smile, to take a deep breath and brush the hair from my face. It was a little disheveled, but I thought the look was appropriate and very sexy. I was elegant, beautiful, and even a little proud of who I was. I giggled a bit with that last realization. Yes, I was proud of myself.
Another deep breath and I turned around and made my way to the door, allowing myself to fit confidently in the stilettos that were often so difficult for me to wear. With that confidence guiding me, I opened the door and walked back into the party, looking to find Jackson amongst the guests. I think there was a sigh of relief on his face when he spotted me. But he shouldn’t have any cause to worry now. I had no intention of disappointing him again.
More Erotic Fiction by Lizbeth Dusseau
Slave Ranch
House of Slaves
Fear No Evil
Naughty Niki
Against Her Will
21 Sins
Betrayal of the Virgin Bride
Her Latest Acquisition
Sexual Mischief
Bounty Hunter
The War of the Remingtons
Stained Sheets
The Truth About Marianne
Master For A Desperate Slave
Poor Little Rich Slut
The Humiliation of Hannah
The Scandalous Demise of Lily Lake
The Secret Sins of Lizzy Barton
Pagan Dreams, Lesbian
Affairs of A Wicked Heart
Outer Island
Into the Dark Wilds
Force Me To Obey
In Chains
These titles and many more!
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