The following Thursday night Constance returned to The Master’s Masque. She was dressed exactly as KT had specified, in a narrow-rimmed black hat, a white silk blouse, a black tie and virtually poured-on black rubber shorts. Gleaming ox-blood DM’s laced almost to her knees added the finishing touch to her striking outfit. The approving looks were far more numerous than she could have attracted in the most expensive ensemble from her boutique. She hoped the Stablemaster would show due appreciation.
Constance knew absolutely nothing about the man who had won her for the night. Psychopath? Gentleman? Pervert? She would just have to wait to find out. In the event of something untoward occurring, KT would be on hand to rescue her.
She was glad to see that Gina had been given the night off. Old-fashioned jealousy was the principal reason behind her increasing dislike for KT’s slave. After all, compared to Constance, the red-haired woman was almost plain. Why did KT keep her when such an attractive alternative was available?
Gina’s replacement on bar duty was a heavily built blonde in a studded black leather basque and fishnet tights. Constance took a stool and asked for a Bloody Mary and ‘reserved’ collar. KT had insisted on the latter, as a symbol of respect for her master and a signal to all others that she was spoken for. She leant over the bar, her nose almost buried in the barmaid’s cleavage as the other woman fastened a collar around her throat; the word ‘reserved’ was studded in gleaming chrome letters on the thick black leather.
KT had informed her that the Stablemaster would be meeting her ‘after ten’, refusing to be any more specific. If he kept her waiting into the early hours, which would not surprise her, he was liable to have a drunk slave on his hands. It was highly unlikely that he would fail to show up at all.
Constance was still sipping her first drink when a tall woman approached the bar. Her chestnut hair was tied back in a ponytail and her slender body sheathed in an ankle-length dress of shiny black rubber.
She carefully regarded Constance for a few seconds, then cleared her throat and spoke. ‘You’re waiting for the Stablemaster?’
Though the look was feminine, the voice was unmistakably male, reminding Constance that she had not yet lost her ability to be shocked.
‘You’re him?’ she responded, trying to conceal her disappointment. It was impossible to reconcile the dual images of a transvestite and a dominant master.
‘Shall we go?’ He ignored her question.
‘Where to, exactly?’
‘Just follow me.’
He waited impatiently while she finished her drink. Telling him she had changed her mind momentarily seemed like a good idea but, she decided, what the hell? Going with a TV would be a new experience, if nothing else.
When she slid from her stool, he began walking towards the rear of the club. He held open a door and she found herself facing a narrow dimly lit staircase. ‘The club have provided us with a fully equipped private room for the night,’ he explained. ‘More suitable than an hotel, I think you’ll agree.’
‘I didn’t realise you could rent rooms here,’ Constance replied.
The TV smiled. ‘Here, you can do just about anything.’
She followed him up the steep flight of steps to a black painted door at the top of the landing. He pushed it open and she followed him inside, her uneasiness increasing with every step. The room was small and windowless, a jungle of dangling chains, racks of punishment tools, and bizarre items of black furniture. The multi-coloured bulbs in the high chandelier cast an eerie, pinkish green light over the claustrophobic space. Standing in one corner, his fists gripping a set of iron manacles dangling from heavy chains, was a broad-shouldered, shaven-headed man of forty-something. He was wearing an ankle-length robe of rich red satin.
‘Good evening, sweet thing,’ he greeted in an intoxicating Scottish brogue. ‘So glad you didn’t get cold feet.’
‘I’m a woman of my word,’ Constance replied. ‘I, er, wasn’t expecting there to be two of you.’
He frowned. ‘Is that a problem? If it is, just say so. I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable.’
‘I’m just surprised,’ she said, her glance darting from one to the other.
He smiled. ‘This kinky world of ours is full of surprises. I’m the man who likes to be known as the Stablemaster. My friend’s alias is Truelove. What shall we call you?’
She shrugged.
‘How about “Prize”?’ he suggested. ‘That is what you are, after all.’
Truelove poured Constance a glass of vodka and the Stablemaster invited her to sit. She moved towards the single chair, only noticing the pointed chrome studs on the wooden seat when she sat on them. Both men smiled when she yelped and leapt upright again.
‘The fittings are rather functional,’ said the Stablemaster, a half-note of apology in his voice. ‘Perhaps it would have been better if we had met somewhere less intimidating.’
‘This is fine,’ she assured him, carefully studying each item of grimly functional furniture and mentally speculating on its possible uses. ‘I’m just not very used to meeting strange men in dungeons.’
His eyes lit up. ‘Aha, a relative newcomer! I never would have guessed from hearing you on S/M-FM. You sounded so uninhibited, if you don’t mind my saying so. You’re single?’
‘By choice, I assure you.’
‘Waiting for the master of your dreams to come along,’ he said. ‘I can well imagine you as a career woman – with your own business, perhaps?’
‘I’d really rather not discuss personal details,’ she replied. ‘I’m sure you understand.’
He nodded. ‘Absolutely. Safer to play by the rules of the game.’
‘More fun too,’ she added.
‘Perhaps we should get on with establishing the statute of limitations for tonight’s game,’ he suggested.
‘What does that mean?’
‘I forget you’re new to all this,’ he said, somewhat patronisingly. ‘As your master, it’s important that I know the limits to which you are willing to go. Are there any particular acts you would absolutely refuse to have any part of?’
‘I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t open-minded,’ Constance replied. ‘What is it about this game of yours that I might find so repugnant?’
‘It’s basically a game of chance, involving acts of S/M and bondage,’ the Stablemaster explained. ‘I am the master, Truelove my assistant, and you our submissive plaything. Okay, so far?’
She nodded.
‘What will happen to you depends on the roll of a dice,’ he continued. ‘Let me show you.’ He led her to the round iron table in the centre of the room and opened out a large snakes-and-ladders type board. There were four segments, each consisting of thirty-six numbered squares, with arrows pointing in various directions.
‘The game begins here in the red section, which is the dungeon.’ He held up a tiny plastic figure of a naked girl in chains. ‘This is you, the slave. The objective of the game is for you to get from the dungeon to freedom, via the Master’s Bedroom and the Slave Auction. The symbol in each numbered square represents a different form of punishment and you will be subjected to quite a few of these as you progress through each section. Should you land on one that throws up something you would rather not do, I can, at my discretion, offer you an alternative. I should warn you that this game is designed to test to the full the endurance limits of a slave. Once you begin, I shall expect you to see it through to the end.’
‘Or else?’
He shrugged. ‘As you said, you’re a woman of your word. I don’t see you chickening out. Any other questions?’
Constance put down her glass. ‘Shall we begin?’
Before the first roll of the dice she was required to strip down to her high heels and stockings. Emboldened by the large vodka she had hurriedly consumed, she performed an erotic striptease for her two appreciative companions, casting off her inhibitions along with her clothes. It was becoming ever easier to slip into her carefree alter ego – the anonymous, sex-breathing slave tramp of S/M-FM, who was free to be whoever she wanted to be and whatever her masters desired. When she was all but naked the Stablemaster applauded, then ordered her to raise her hands above her head.
‘You will enjoy this game,’ he promised, slipping a set of rubber padded manacles around her wrists.
The feeling of delicious helplessness when the restraints were snapped shut caused her nipples to stiffen instantly. For better or worse, her fate was now in the hands of these two men. The fittings and tools in the room around her were suddenly infused with all manner of erotic possibility. Standing on the tips of her toes, Constance had a clear view of the game board on the table.
Truelove threw the dice and moved the slave figurine onto a square numbered eleven and decorated with the symbol of a coiled whip on a pair of breasts. With a satisfied grin the Stablemaster took a long thin whip from a rack on the wall, cracking it on the wooden floor as he took up his position a few feet in front of Constance. Knowing what was about to happen, she bit her lower lip, every muscle involuntarily tightening. She threw back her head as he recoiled the whip. The knotted tongue of black leather hissed through the air and licked fire across both breasts with a resounding thwack! She whimpered and jerked, the sharp after-burn bringing tears to her eyes.
The full eleven lashes left her globes throbbing and raggedly striped. After the Stablemaster had laid down his whip, his companion threw the dice again, yielding a one. Following the direction of the arrow, he moved the slave figure into an adjoining square, which was numbered six and decorated with a shark head symbol.
‘Oh dear, we are off to a painful start,’ the Stablemaster sighed.
‘Wh-what does that mean?’ Constance pleaded.
‘It would be much more in keeping with the spirit of the game if you did not ask such questions,’ he replied. ‘Besides, you won’t have to wait long to find out.’
Her eyes followed him as he took down a fearsome-looking chain from the wall. Instead of links, it was made up of small copper shark heads, with jagged teeth of white plastic. There were twenty such objects on the long chain, joined to one another by small metal hooks. He detached two sets of three and Constance realised the meaning of the number six on the board. She stifled a shriek of terror as he pulled open the jaws of one of the copper shark heads and placed it over her right nipple. The teeth looked sharp enough to bite it clean off.
Her shriek of agony filled the room as the jaws snapped tightly over her nipple. The pain was accentuated by the weight of the three metal objects left dangling from her teat. Another scream was breaking from her throat even before a second jaw was clamped to her left breast.
‘You’re doing fine, my Prize,’ the Stablemaster reassured her, patting her bottom.
Constance would have laughed, had her breasts not felt like they were providing dinner for a real live Jaws.
The next roll of the dice resulted in her being fitted with a red rubber ball gag, strapped tightly around her head, denying her the relief of even being able to scream. The plastic slave figure then progressed onto a square numbered twenty, with a picture of a cane. There was no need to wonder about the nature of that punishment.
Standing by the board, the transvestite master clicked his fingers in time to the beat of cane on quivering flesh as the Stablemaster administered twenty full-blooded strokes to her bare buttocks, each laying a livid red line on a fresh strip of pale skin. Constance would have been yelling for him to stop halfway through, had the gag not prevented her from uttering more than a hoarse whimper of protest.
It had not occurred to her that the sadistic board game might take much longer than a bout of Trivial Pursuit. The dice was rolled again and the slave figure moved to a numberless square decorated with an erect phallus. However, the result was not what Constance expected. The Stablemaster produced a long pink latex vibrator. He bound the two attached studded leather straps tightly around her thighs, then pushed the shaft of the object up into her sex. A pair of steel clips at the base of the phallus was attached to her labia, providing a painful counterbalance to the pleasure of the gentle palpitations when the vibrator was switched on.
Another roll of the dice earnt her two dozen stinging slaps of a wooden paddle, which toasted every inch of her already throbbing rear cheeks. She blinked tears from her eyes as she watched Truelove move the little plastic angel in bondage onto another square, depicting what looked horribly like a noose. The short length of thick rope the Stablemaster took from the wall had a hangman’s knot fashioned at either end. He draped the rope around her shoulders, slipped a noose over both breasts and drew them so tightly that the harsh fabric of the rope bit into her soft flesh.
Constance did not know how much more of this she could bear. There was no denying the pleasurable aspects of what she was being subjected to – the vibrator and arse-reddenings were particularly stimulating – but the point was surely not far off when the pain and discomfort began to outweigh the pleasure. As she was gagged, she did not see how she could let her tormentor know she had had enough.
The next punishment consisted of several round ice cubes being placed in the cleft of her tightly roped breasts and two more inserted in her rectum. The Stablemaster did at least have the decency to use a squirt of KY jelly, before subjecting her to the latter indignity.
Following the next throw of the dice a steel spreader bar was placed between her feet and strapped to her ankles. He adjusted the breadth of the bar until her legs were as wide apart as was possible without causing severe discomfort. She shuddered as rivulets from the melting ice cubes between her breasts ran down over her belly. Far worse, however, was the shameful sensation of icy droplets trickling from her bottom and their soft patter on the floorboards, just audible above the hum of the vibrator that was sensually torturing her clitoris.
‘At last, we leave the Dungeon!’ the Stablemaster announced, following the next throw of the dice. ‘I think we deserve a short break before the Slave Auction.’ So saying, he and his companion left the room, leaving Constance trussed up and the door wide open. Minutes ticked interminably by as she anxiously awaited their return.
Eventually she heard footsteps on the stairs, the sound filling her with a mixture of relief and trepidation. A young man appeared in the doorway, wearing a low-peaked black leather cap decorated with studs and chains. His faded jeans looked like they had been attacked by a razor-wielding maniac and his leather waistcoat was heavy with military medals and heavy metal regalia. A smile crossed his stubbled face as he stepped into the room, delighted by Constance’s look of wide-eyed consternation.
‘Hope you don’t mind me coming in for a minute,’ he said in a Cockney accent. ‘Bit careless of your master to leave the door open like that.’ He scanned the room. ‘Where is he anyway? S’all right, you don’t have to answer.’ He looked her up and down as if she were a mannequin in a shop window. ‘You’re a bit of a babe, ain’t ya? Wouldn’t mind ’avin’ you to meself for a while. Dear, oh dear! What’ve you done to deserve all this?’ He set her nipple attachments swinging and she winced in agony. ‘They must be hell on your poor tits. I see he’s given your arse a good seeing-to, as well.’ He smacked her left buttock. ‘Jesus, it’s hot enough to fry bacon on! You don’t look at all comfortable, darlin’.’
Constance kept her eyes on the doorway, willing the Stablemaster to return before this intruder was tempted to take any liberties with her. The coarse young man did not seem at all concerned by the prospect of being caught in the room. He stroked and prodded Constance, all the while crudely continuing to compliment her physical attributes. Eventually, much to her relief, his attention was diverted to the board game on the table.
‘I wonder what this is all about,’ he mused, leaning over to carefully study it. ‘Better not touch anything, just to be on the safe side. Wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of your master.’ He turned back to Constance. ‘I wonder how long he’ll be gone for. Long enough for me to have a little fun with you, eh?’
She whimpered and vigorously shook her head.
He grinned. ‘If I didn’t know better, I’d think you couldn’t wait to get rid of me. Know what? I think I’ll take a chance and live dangerously. If your master does come back before I’m finished with you, we’ll just have to hope he understands. I’m sure you won’t object to me taking out your gag, will you?’
She hesitated, then shook her head.
He reached for the strap at the back of her head. ‘I didn’t think so. You don’t have to worry. I won’t hurt you. Just a quick blow-job an’ I’ll be on my way. Okay?’
‘Okay,’ Constance gasped as the ball gag popped from between her lips.
The young man unzipped his jeans, then wrapped both fists around a set of manacles dangling overhead, took a deep breath and raised himself off the floor. His powerful biceps bulged as he hauled himself up, until his stiff cock was level with Constance’s mouth.
‘Better ’urry!’ he grunted. ‘I won’t be able to stay up ’ere for long!’
Opening her mouth, she thrust her head forward. The purple crown and several inches of thick cock slipped past her red glossed lips and she went hungrily to work, temporarily forgetting the sadistic Stablemaster and his cross-dressing companion. The vein in the young man’s temple throbbed as he watched her lips and tongue slide sensually over his cock.
Constance had always considered the taste and feel of a hard, hot cock between her lips to be one of life’s supreme pleasures, but under the present bizarre circumstances, it was a particularly favourable treat. She just hoped the young master could hold on until she was finished.
From his groans and breathless exclamations, it was impossible to tell whether the agony or ecstasy he was enduring was the greater. His nostrils flared, his face turned a deep shade of pink and his straining muscles were sheened with perspiration. Constance sucked him with all the urgency she could muster, almost as desperate for him to climax as he himself was.
‘I can’t… hold on much… longer!’ he cried.
Her lips enveloped him in a silken clinch, her tongue slapping the crown of his cock. He uttered a long, loud groan that could surely be heard downstairs, then a hot burst of thick semen hit the back of her throat. She ravenously gulped down the powerful, creamy flood, so delicious she wished it would never end.
‘Can’t hold!’ the young man cried desperately.
His cock slipped from Constance’s mouth, the remainder of his semen splattering her chin and throat as he let go of the manacles and fell to the floor.
She was still licking her lips when he staggered back to his feet.
‘That was… fuckin’ amazing,’ he gasped, tucking his wet tool back into his jeans. He wiped the semen from her with his fingers. After she had sucked them clean he kissed her for a few seconds, then whispered that it was time he was gone. Before leaving, never to be seen by her again, he replaced the ball gag in her mouth and secured the strap.
A few moments later the Stablemaster and Truelove returned. If they had any suspicions of her visitor, they kept them to themselves.
‘We now find ourselves at the Slave Auction stage of our game,’ the Stablemaster announced. ‘Time to free the slave from the shackles of the Dungeon.’
As soon as Constance had been released from her manacles and all her accessories removed, the game resumed. Truelove cast the dice and moved the slave figure onto a number six square and the symbol of a horse. The Stablemaster directed Constance to a crude wooden horse positioned near the table. The object was fitted with a black leather saddle, bristling with conical silver studs. When she hesitated to climb aboard, he reached for a riding crop and informed her that she could have a dozen lashes of that across her backside instead. She wasn’t certain which would be the lesser evil, but decided she might as well continue with the spirit of the game, at least for the time being.
The cold studs, though not sharp enough to puncture her skin, felt like nails gouging her tender nether cheeks. At the Stablemaster’s command, she slipped her wrists into the leather cuffs on either side of the neck of the wooden horse and he buckled them tightly. Her ankles were secured to the stirrups in a similar fashion.
The game continued with the dice being rolled again and the Stablemaster reaching for a harness from his collection of restraint devices. Cups of wet-look red latex, with nipple peepholes, were fitted over Constance’s breasts and secured in place by a strap at the back. Attached to this garment was a second strap of thick elastic. He ordered her to raise her bottom from the saddle, drew the strap down between her thighs and clipped the free end to the front of the rubber bra. The strap chafed unpleasantly in the cleft of her buttocks and between the folds of her labia.
‘Aha, a choice move!’ the Stablemaster exclaimed, following the next roll of the dice. From a box in one corner of the table he picked one from a small pile of black plastic chips, each the diameter of a two-penny coin. ‘You have a decision to make, Prize,’ he told Constance. ‘There is a symbol on both sides of this coin, which stands for a different form of punishment. You can call heads or tails and accept whatever punishment results, or you can choose the less painful option of answering a single question.’
‘What kind of question?’ she demanded.
He smiled mysteriously. ‘You won’t know that unless you first decide to answer.’
‘What if I don’t know the answer?’
‘You’ll know it,’ he assured her. ‘Well, what’s it to be, call or question?’
Constance suspected the latter would not be as straightforward as he made it sound. On the other hand, she was none too eager for another taste of whip or cane, especially with the game far from reaching its conclusion. She opted to gamble on answering the question.
‘What is your full name?’ the Stablemaster demanded.
‘Constance Elizabeth Brooking,’ she replied. The triumphant look that crossed his face made her instantly regret not having answered with a false name.
‘That didn’t hurt too much, did it?’ he smiled. ‘Throw the dice, Truelove. Constance is eager to get on with the game.’
The subsequent punishment brought yet another harness into play. Two bars of hard black plastic were bolted to the neck of the wooden horse. At the opposite end of these bars was a rubber padded iron collar, which the Stablemaster placed around Constance’s neck, adjusted to fit snugly, then padlocked at the back. A fresh set of clamps was then fitted to her nipples. These were attached to short bungee straps, which were hooked to the far ends of the plastic bars. She was now perched in an acutely uncomfortable position, unable to alleviate the painful tug of the straps on her nipples by leaning forward.
A further roll of the dice instituted yet further discomfort. A latex hood that matched the wrapping on her breasts was pulled over her head and joined to her collar by four steel clips. The tight-fitting sheath completely covered her eyes and the back of her head, leaving the lower half of her face uncovered. A strap at the back of the hood was hooked to the rear end of the wooden horse, tugging her head back and forcing her face upwards. Being unable to see what her masters were doing filled her with a greater sense of alarm than her state of near-complete bondage. They were now free to cheat at the game and administer their pet punishments, rather than leaving her fate to a roll of the dice.
For the next instalment of the game a thick roll of sticky black rubber tape was wrapped around her upper thighs and the middle of the wooden horse, binding her tightly to the studded saddle. She heard the rattle of the dice on the table top again, then the voice of the Stablemaster announcing that she had moved to the third section of the game – the Master’s Chamber.
‘Don’t leave me like this!’ she cried, hearing their footsteps as they moved towards the door.
Neither of her tormentors replied. She did not hear the door shut, so she knew they were once again leaving her exposed to anybody who should happen to peer in.
A short while after their departure she heard two sets of footsteps on the stairs. There was a momentary pause when they reached the landing, then the pair proceeded into the room.
‘Master, is that you?’ she demanded, in a trembling voice.
When nobody answered, Constance instinctively realised that she was again at the mercy of uninvited guests. As they moved around, inspecting the room and the helpless captive, she struggled in vain to free her wrists, in order to rip off her hood and at least be able to see them. She squealed when a sharp fingernail touched her left shoulder, pressed against the pale flesh, then began raking slowly down along her back, leaving a burning microgroove in its wake. The second intruder managed to work a gloved hand between her thighs from the front, burrowing into her slit with a long finger. The scent of expensive perfume caressed her nostrils, confirming that these two people were not the Stablemaster and Truelove.
She could not help relishing the gloved finger vigorously frigging her, even as the razor-like fingernails continued to rake her back, those of the other hand setting to work with equal cruelty on her sensitive buttocks. Following several long minutes of such torture, the fingernails were replaced by a silken tongue that lapped slowly over the throbbing ridges. Constance shuddered from the unexpectedly sensual sensation, unconcerned for the time being by the certainty that the person licking and kissing her was a woman. The heavy breathing from in front of her left her in no doubt that the other half of the duo was a man.
She had no idea how long the erotic torture lasted. The man continued to finger her until she eventually cried out in the frisson of a wondrous climax. When his soaked finger was then presented to her lips she sucked it clean of her juices, without the slightest hesitation.
She thought the couple might leave then, but instead of departing footsteps she heard the rasp of a zipper, followed by a soft murmur of pleasure from one and an excited grunt from the other. From the ecstatic moans and soft wet smacking sounds that ensued over the next few minutes, she concluded that the master half of the pair was having his cock sucked. Her taste buds tingled enviously.
The master moaned loudly as he climaxed. Seconds later, Constance felt a soft pair of lips brush hers. Instinctively repulsed by the thought of kissing another woman, she resisted momentarily, before lust gained the upper hand. The woman crushed her lips against hers and a warm, sticky stream of semen oozed into her mouth. Constance gulped it down thirstily. The woman’s semen-coated tongue followed and Constance sucked it as eagerly as if it were a cock. The lingering, feverish kiss was finally broken and the master and his slave slipped away.
Between the departure of the unseen couple and the return of her masters, Constance had a few moments in which to reflect on what was happening. It was too convenient that the Stablemaster and Truelove should remain absent on both occasions, while her unknown visitors amused themselves with her. She could only conclude that sharing her with other members of the club was a part of the game they had decided not to tell her about.
Upon their return, the two men set about releasing her from the wooden horse. A throw of the dice commenced the Master’s Chamber section of the game. Truelove moved the plastic slave figure onto a square depicting a blackboard.
‘Looks like I shall be playing headmaster,’ the Stablemaster said. ‘Which means you, Constance, are my pupil.’ He reached for a cane on the wall. ‘Throw the dice again, Truelove. Let’s find out what our pretty pupil’s first lesson is going to be.’
The dice rolled and the slave on the board was moved to a square numbered thirty, with a symbol that Constance could not decipher.
‘Physical education,’ the Stablemaster announced. ‘I hope you’re as fit as you look, Constance.’
He placed a thick, curved black plastic phallus mounted on a rectangular steel plate on the floor and instructed her to squat over it, her arms raised high above her head and her legs wide apart. When she was in the required position, her labia brushing the head of the dildo, he informed her that she would now perform thirty squats, impaling herself fully on the dildo each time.
Even before a crack of the cane on her buttocks signalled her to begin, her face was showing the strain.
‘Keep those hands high!’ he barked as she lowered herself onto the shaft for the first time. ‘That’s it, take it all in. Aaaand up!’
She almost lost her balance as she rose back up. The phallus slipped from between her thighs with a soft plop. She took a deep breath, then lowered herself onto it again, fervently wishing that it were a flesh and blood cock, instead of a cold length of hard plastic. A stinging whack from the Stablemaster’s cane reminded her to keep her arms straight.
By the time she was halfway through her quota of thrusts and lunges, her shoulder and thigh muscles were beginning to ache unbearably. Her protestations to the man towering over her that she needed a rest were met with another whack of the cane. After she had finally managed to complete the exercise, he pushed her down onto the dildo once more and ordered her to remain there while the dice was cast again and her next torment decided.
The chosen subject was art. Gripping a felt-tipped marker with her clenched vaginal muscles, Constance was forced to stand spread-legged over a stool. On the plain sheet of paper tacked to the wooden seat, she was ordered to write her name. Her hands were cuffed behind her back. At her first four attempts, the marker slipped from her slick pussy. Before reinserting it each time, the Stablemaster punished her with two strokes of the cane.
‘It’s impossible!’ she wailed.
‘That’s not the attitude of a good pupil,’ he responded, in headmasterly tones. ‘You’ll keep on trying until you succeed. Just be grateful I haven’t given you a hundred lines.’
Even getting the tip of the marker to the paper was extraordinarily difficult. With her teeth gritted in frustration, Constance clenched her internal muscles and tried desperately to guide the marker with the movements of her hips. Offered a choice, she would have almost preferred to suffer the torments of the wooden horse all over again. Eventually, when she was close to screaming point, her efforts resulted in a near illegible scrawl on the paper. Rather than make her try again, the Stablemaster punished her with six whacks of the cane to the backs of her thighs. The dice then rolled again.
‘The headmaster’s office,’ the Stablemaster declared. ‘Yet more punishment for you, my naughty girl.’
He sat on the stool and ordered Constance to bend over his knee. The square on the game board that the slave figure had been moved onto was numbered twenty-two. Eleven resounding whacks of his right palm were administered to each cheek, infusing her bottom with a fresh shade of crimson. The spanking left her convinced she would not be able to sit down comfortably for a week.
When the next throw of the dice dictated that she sit in the studded chair and take a French lesson, she begged the Stablemaster to offer her an alternative.
‘Bottom a bit sore?’ he smirked. ‘Very well, if you don’t want to sit in the chair, you can have detention for fifteen minutes. How does that sound?’
She thought it had to be preferable to inflicting any further suffering on her raw rear. The Stablemaster slid aside a panel in one of the walls, revealing a small dark closet. Constance was handcuffed, then ordered to step inside. Before locking her in, he drew open another panel at the back of the closet. She uttered a horrified gasp when she found herself pressed against a sheet of transparent Perspex, staring into a brightly-lit booth beyond. There were air holes in the top of the screen and several larger openings at strategic points further down. The sliding of the panel must have activated some form of signal, because the closet door had barely slid shut behind her when an elderly grey-haired man in a loose-fitting black suit stepped into the lighted booth. Constance was wedged tightly into the closet, the tips of her breasts protruding through the Perspex cutouts.
The man slid a door shut behind him and they were alone together. He ogled her for a moment, lasciviously licking his lips, then reached with both hands for her breasts. He pinched and tweaked her nipples before proceeding to suck, first on the left, then the right.
He then turned his attention to the hole further down the screen. It was large enough for him to fit one hand through. He wriggled a finger between Constance’s tightly clenched thighs and worked it up into her sex. Never had she felt so cheapened and humiliated. It was almost enjoyable.
The confines of the closet did not permit her to part her thighs by more than an inch, but the old man still managed to penetrate her with the full length of his finger. He resumed his feasting on her nipples as he frigged her. By shutting her eyes she found it easier to abandon herself to the pleasure of what he was doing.
Throughout the brief, crudely erotic interlude, not a single word was spoken. Constance was near the point of climax when the old man abruptly withdrew his hand and stood up. He licked her honey from his finger, complimented her with a smile, then turned and left the booth.
‘Selfish old git!’ she muttered in frustration.
Before any more visitors had a chance to enter the booth, the closet door was opened again and the Stablemaster led her back into the room. One throw of the dice later, the plastic slave was in the Freedom section of the board.
‘Just one more sacrifice for your master, and your duty is done,’ said the Stablemaster.
‘What do you mean by sacrifice?’ she demanded warily.
Truelove handed him a pack of playing cards. He shuffled the deck, then invited Constance to pick one.
‘Each card represents a different kind of sacrifice,’ he explained. ‘Depending on the one you pick, you might have to parade naked through the club, have your cunt shaved for an audience, or lie across the bar and fuck yourself with a beer bottle. The possibilities are numerous. On the other hand, if you pick one of the jokers in the pack, all you have to do is get dressed and go home a happy little slave.’
‘What if I don’t like the card I choose?’
He sighed. ‘You’ve played the game with remarkable spirit and perseverance. It would be a shame if it were to finish on a sour note.’
Constance studied the pack, dreading the prospect of picking a card that resulted in any of the abject humiliations he had mentioned. Whatever the challenge, however, she knew she would not refuse to go through with it. In submission, as in business, her word was her bond.
‘Here goes,’ she sighed, before plucking a card from the middle of the deck. She could scarcely bear to look when the Stablemaster held it up for her inspection. The card was a ten of diamonds, with a picture of a camera in the centre.
‘You have just consented to pose for some dirty pics,’ he grinned. ‘Ten, to be precise. Aren’t you relieved?’
‘Uh, yes, I suppose so,’ she replied. ‘Who gets to keep these pictures?’
‘They’ll be my souvenirs of an unforgettable night,’ he answered. ‘Don’t worry. I won’t be sending them off to any pervy magazines, or anything like that.’
Constance still had grave misgivings about ‘dirty’ photographs of herself in anybody’s collection. But the Stablemaster persuaded her to trust him, swearing that if she cared to give him her address, he would send the snaps and negatives to her as soon as they were developed.
It was a decision she would very soon regret.
Late the following afternoon Constance’s boutique received an unexpected visitor. Wearing sunglasses and a conservative grey trouser suit, with her red hair tied up in a bun, Gina was scarcely recognisable.
‘What are you doing here?’ Constance demanded in an alarmed whisper.
‘Is that any way to greet a potential customer?’ she replied. ‘How are you feeling after last night’s festivities?’
‘Sore, if you must know,’ Constance answered. ‘Look, I’d really rather not discuss my nocturnal activities here.’
Gina smiled. ‘The Stablemaster got his money’s worth, I’ll bet. KT and I were at the club, you know.’
‘Really?’
She nodded. ‘We even paid you a little visit, when you were on that wooden horse contraption.’
Constance blushed at the memory. ‘That was you?’
‘Uh-huh. Okay, I can see I’m embarrassing you, so I’ll say no more on the subject for now. The real reason I dropped by is to exercise my credit card. KT and I are going to an important function on Saturday night and I want to look my best. I need something sexy, yet classy.’
‘Saturday night?’ Constance repeated. ‘But that’s…’
‘S/M-FM night, I know. You won’t be on your own, don’t worry. You’ll have a strong master by your side, to ensure everything runs smoothly.’
‘Who?’
‘A trusted friend of ours. You and he will get along splendidly. Now, can you help me squander some money on a designer label, or do you just want to go somewhere quiet and talk bondage?’
Constance did not relish the prospect of going on air without the guiding presence of KT by her side, but she still arrived at his mansion that Saturday night. Her master for the night was a pleasant surprise – tall, handsome, in his early thirties and of Mediterranean appearance.
He introduced himself as Marlo, which made a refreshing change from the initials and pseudonyms that seemed to go with the territory.
‘You’re becoming quite a radio star,’ he said as they sipped glasses of wine in the studio. He handed her a glossy adult magazine. ‘Take a look at this.’
The page he had opened contained adult entertainment related news and gossip. One column was devoted to the discovery of ‘late night pirates of perversity and passion on the airwaves around Greater London’. S/M-FM was described as ‘essential listening for subs, doms, fetishists and anyone interested in bizarre and kinky sex’. The ‘sultry submissive who calls herself CB’ was written of in particularly glowing terms. Constance had to read the article several times before she could believe it was her that was being referred to.
‘They’ve even published the frequency to pick us up on,’ smiled Marlo. ‘I think we’re going to have a lot more listeners from now on. KT is a very happy man.’
‘I never dreamt it would come to this,’ said Constance, lighting a cigarette. ‘I thought we could only be heard by a few dozen people, at most.’
‘S/M-FM has the potential to be the pirate radio station of sleaze,’ said Marlo. ‘It’s a shame we don’t stand a chance in hell of ever getting a licence to broadcast legally. Anyway, you’re on air in less than an hour, so I hope you’re hot. I thought you could start off with one of your fantasies – the filthier the better – while we wait for the calls to come in. You’re doing the full four hours tonight: think you can keep the juices flowing that long?’
She smiled coyly. ‘I’m relying on you to see that I do. Is it okay for me to call you master?’
‘I think you and I are going to work very well together,’ he replied with a smile.
From midnight to four a.m. Constance shared her fantasies and traded pornographic conversation with a continuous stream of callers. She revelled as never before in her every second on air, only regretting that she could not stay on longer. Afterwards, she and Marlo celebrated with a bottle of wine. She did not mind getting drunk, as she had no intention of driving home.
As befitted her submissive role, she waited for him to make the first move. He did not need any encouragement. He first kissed her breathless, then spread her on the thick red carpeted studio floor and peeled off her short figure-hugging black lycra dress. The black G-string panties she was wearing underneath offered even less of a challenge.
‘Master, take me,’ she breathed, fumbling with the zipper of his jeans.
‘Wait,’ he said, gently pushing her hands away. ‘Let’s put S/M-FM back on air and fuck for an audience.’
Once he had flicked the necessary switches, he flung off his clothes and joined the wet and wanton slave spread-eagled on the floor. Remembering the listeners, Constance gave full voice to her passion, screaming obscenities as her master’s cock pistoned between her thighs.
Being on air had a similar effect on him, and he left whoever might be listening in no doubt that the shrieking woman at the receiving end of his cock was a true-blue slut.
S/M-FM remained on air until almost seven a.m., by which time Constance and Marlo had finally exhausted their animal passions. They crawled to a spare upstairs bedroom, where they slept until noon, when KT returned and demanded a report on the night’s events.
The afterglow of Marlo, broadcasting success and the compliments of KT lasted until the following Monday evening, when Constance found a sealed brown envelope slipped beneath the windscreen of her Porsche.
Inside was a photograph from The Master’s Masque, which showed her kneeling in the centre of the dungeon floor, thrusting the huge dildo in her right fist up between her widely parted thighs and performing fellatio on the matching phallus in her left hand.
She hurriedly thrust it back into the envelope before any passer-by managed to catch a glimpse. Why had the Stablemaster left the envelope on her windscreen, for anybody to pick up and open?
The question was answered half an hour later, when he called her on her mobile phone. ‘The photographs came out well, didn’t they?’ he began.
‘What the hell are you playing at?’
‘Another of my little master and slave games,’ he calmly replied. ‘The last one was such a success that I find myself wanting to use you as my plaything again.’
‘Well, I don’t want to be your plaything,’ Constance retorted. ‘I thought it was understood that what happened at the club was a one-off.’
‘Rules change,’ came the response. ‘These photographs give me a huge advantage over you. If they were to fall into the wrong hands they could prove very embarrassing for a respectable businesswoman such as yourself. Are you getting the picture – if you’ll pardon the expression?’
‘What is it you want?’ she asked, in as level a voice as she could manage.
‘You,’ he replied. ‘Whenever, however, and wherever I want. I still have nine photographs of you. Each time you do something for me, I give you one back. When you have them all, then you’re free.’
‘And the alternative?’
‘The alternative, my dear Constance, is these sexy photographs of you turning up in all manner of public places. It would be very easy to prove I’m not bluffing, if you don’t believe me.’
‘Why are you doing this?’ she demanded. ‘I played your game, did everything you asked. I trusted you!’
‘What can I say? I’m a greedy and devious man,’ he replied. ‘I want to meet you tonight. I’ll be expecting you no later than nine. Here’s the address…’
The rendezvous point was a lock-up garage, in a neighbourhood where Constance was far from comfortable about parking her Porsche. The Stablemaster was waiting for her, as arranged, wearing a tan suit and multi-coloured tie. The sight of his smug features filled her with rage, but she thought it might be wiser to contain herself, for the moment.
‘Where’s your other half?’ she demanded.
‘This is a private arrangement between you and me,’ he replied. ‘Come, let me show you our little love-nest.’
He raised the garage door and she stepped cautiously inside. There was a large wooden chest in one corner and a black rubber-covered mattress on the floor. Ropes and chains hung from hooks on the back wall. A wide metal bar dangled from two chains bolted to the ceiling, a couple of feet behind the naked light bulb that illuminated the dingy cell. Constance suspected that she was not its first guest.
‘It smells a bit,’ she observed, wrinkling her nose at the faint scent of engine oil.
‘Sorry, the cleaning lady’s on holiday,’ the Stablemaster smirked, slamming the door shut. ‘You don’t have to pretend to be impressed.’
‘What do I have to do?’ she snapped.
‘Address me as master, for a start. I know you’d rather not be here – especially under these circumstances – but we don’t always get what we want out of life, do we?’
‘Unless we refuse to abide by rules of decent behaviour,’ Constance responded icily. ‘So, master, for having made the mistake of trusting you, I am now your sex slave, whether I like it or not. Correct?’
He smiled. ‘I knew you’d understand. Cheer up. This isn’t the beginning of a life sentence. You only have to earn nine photographs and your sentence is served. Anyway, after what happened when we last met, I think you may enjoy being my slave.’
‘Don’t you bet on it.’
‘Now, Constance, is that any way to speak to your master?’ he tutted. ‘I can see you’re in need of a few lessons in good manners.’ He raised the lid of the chest and produced a long slender cane. ‘Let’s have you on your back, where you belong.’
Until she devised a way out of this blackmail situation, she decided it would be best to play along with the creep. She lay back on the mattress and spread her arms wide, looking and feeling as though she was setting herself up for her own sacrifice. Her master flexed his cane as he leant over her, a victorious smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. The fact that she was a far from willing plaything obviously greatly increased the pleasure of having her at his mercy.
He hooked the top of the cane in the hem of her knee-length sky-blue skirt and tugged it gradually up along her legs, savouring every further inch of smooth, pale flesh that was exposed. Not wishing to give him any excuse to punish her, Constance obligingly raised her bottom off the mattress to allow her skirt to be pulled up over her hips. She kept her hindquarters raised as he hooked the cane in the waistband of her white lace briefs and tugged them down, baring her severely manicured pubic mound.
He pulled off her panties, sniffed them, commented favourably on the scent, and then placed them across her face. ‘You just stay as you are, my love,’ he smiled. ‘Your master will do all the necessary work.’
He tied a length of thick rope around her left ankle, slung the other end across the overhead bar and pulled downwards, until her leg was stretched at a sixty-degree angle to her body. He knotted the rope in position, then repeated the process on her right ankle. Standing between her thighs, he gazed at what Constance knew was a perfect vaginal vista.
Any hope that he would be content to tie her up and screw her was dispelled when he withdrew the cane from his belt and announced that he was about to punish her earlier impudence. She denied him the satisfaction of pleading for mercy and resolved to take her punishment without a whimper.
The Stablemaster seemed to know exactly what she was thinking and was equally determined to make her squeal. She bit her lower lip, tossed her head from side to side and writhed on the mattress as the cane spread fire across her buttocks and the backs of her thighs, in a relentless broadside. Despite the severity of the punishment, she managed to keep her response to the cracking strokes muted to a few gasps and whimpers.
When his right arm eventually wearied, he threw down the cane and feverishly unzipped his trousers. Cupping Constance’s cane-scorched buttocks in both hands, he sank his cock between the dewy folds of her sex. She vowed to keep just as silent while he was screwing her, regardless of how much she found herself enjoying it.
When he realised she was doing her utmost to appear frigid, he began slapping her buttocks with the palms of both hands, in time to the aggressive plunging of his shaft. Despite the stinging pain, Constance continued to defy him. Only when she eventually felt a burst of hot semen against her cervix did an involuntary cry of pleasure escape her lips.
The Stablemaster kept her tied up for almost two hours, during which time he reddened her breasts with his belt, punished her backside with a thin lath of timber and screwed her with a soft-centred chocolate bar, which she was then forced to eat. Afterwards he crouched over her, squeezed his cock between her breasts and thrust until he climaxed again, spurting a hot string of creamy pearls around her throat.
After she had been untied and was finished dressing, he produced a photograph from the inside pocket of his jacket and handed it to her. ‘Your payment, as promised,’ he smiled.
The picture showed Constance naked on all fours, glancing over her left shoulder and pouting seductively for the camera. She studied the embarrassing exposure for a moment, then ripped the photograph into dozens of tiny pieces.
‘I thought you’d want to keep it as a souvenir,’ he said.
‘It would only remind me of you,’ she retorted. ‘If you’re quite finished with me I’d like to go home. I have work to do.’
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Thanks for another wonderful evening. I’ll be in touch again, very soon. You have eight photographs left to earn, remember.’
Constance did not believe, for one moment, that he would surrender his hold over her once the full collection of photographs had been returned. He would still have the negatives and would certainly use them. Unless she wanted to be his slave for a very long time to come, she would have to find another way to break free of his clutches.
She was tempted to tell KT, but he was likely to be less than sympathetic to her plight. Instead she decided to enlist the services of a private detective who had served her well on a previous occasion, by unearthing the identity of a member of her staff who had been selling confidential business information to the owners of a rival boutique. The first step to getting the Stablemaster out of her life once and for all was to learn as much as possible about him.
For her next stint on SM/FM, the following Saturday night, KT had devised an on-air slave auction for the listeners. Constance would be sold to the highest bidder, with all proceeds being donated to the campaign of a dominatrix who was standing as a candidate in a local parliamentary by-election. Her resistance to the idea surprised KT.
‘I’ve had my fill of sex with complete strangers, for now,’ she complained. ‘Besides, I’ve always voted for a conventional party.’
‘What’s brought on this change of heart?’ he demanded. ‘I thought you’d love the idea.’
‘If I wanted to be a whore, I might just as well stand on a street corner,’ she retorted.
KT sighed. ‘Constance, it’s a game. You sell yourself for one night and earn a few quid for a good cause in the process.’
‘What good cause? This Mistress Amber hasn’t a chance in hell of being elected.’
‘True,’ he agreed. ‘But there’s a lot of media interest in her campaign. She can enlighten the general public on S&M related issues – perhaps even initiate some intelligent debate on the subject. If nothing else, she at least adds a bit of colour to a dull campaign.’
Had it not been for the Stablemaster’s baleful hold over her, Constance would have unhesitatingly agreed to the idea. But the last thing she needed right then was to fall into the clutches of another pervert who wanted to own her. However, against her better judgement, she allowed herself to be persuaded. The mess she was in was not of KT’s doing, and she would hate to turn her back on S/M-FM and the myriad opportunities for sexual gratification it provided.
Two hours later she was pronounced ‘sold’ to an anonymous bidder, for the sum of sixteen hundred pounds.
‘I didn’t think you’d make even half that amount,’ KT said delightedly, as soon as they had finished broadcasting.
‘Thanks for the vote of confidence,’ she replied bitterly.
‘What is wrong with you?’ he demanded. ‘Your heart just wasn’t in this tonight.’
‘Time of the month,’ she lied.
He nodded sympathetically. ‘In that case I shall spare you a caning. I do hope you won’t let me down when the time comes for you to meet your buyer.’
Early the following Tuesday, a tall and slender blond man in his early thirties entered Constance’s boutique. He told the assistant who approached him that he wished to deal with Miss Brooking personally. While he waited for her to finish dealing with another client, he browsed through the racks of designer wear with the eye of a connoisseur. As Constance finally approached him, he looked up and smiled.
‘May I help you?’ she enquired pleasantly.
‘Constance – nice to see you again,’ he greeted.
She frowned. ‘I’m sorry, have we met before?’
‘The Master’s Masque,’ he replied. ‘Does the name Truelove ring any bells?’
‘You?’ she exclaimed, her face flushing. ‘What do you want?’
‘A little courteous service,’ he answered. ‘You do have some exquisite garments on sale here. A bit beyond my normal price range, but I feel like splashing out.’
‘This is a respectable boutique,’ she said quietly, scarcely able to contain her anger. ‘You’ll find plenty of alternative places more suited to your particular requirements.’
‘But I like what I see here,’ he insisted. ‘This designer gown, for example, is a tasty little number.’ He whistled. ‘Tasty little price tag too.’
‘If you don’t leave I shall call the police,’ she whispered agitatedly.
‘Be my guest,’ he replied calmly. ‘I’ll be interested to hear what you tell them when they arrive. I’m not an expert on law, but I don’t think it’s illegal for a man to walk in here and express an interest in purchasing a criminally overpriced frock.’
Constance sighed. ‘Okay, if you want to buy something, fine. But I’m perfectly within my rights in forbidding you to try it on.’
He laughed. ‘You’re becoming paranoid. Who said it was for me? As it happens, I’m looking for a birthday present for my girlfriend. This is her size and her favourite colour.’ He removed the dress from the rack, held it up for scrutiny, then nodded. ‘Yes, it’s perfect. She’ll love it.’
‘Will there be anything else?’ she asked.
‘Now that you mention it, yes,’ he answered. ‘I think I might spoil her with a complete ensemble. Let’s see what other goodies you can tempt me with.’
Constance did her best to treat Truelove, or whatever his real name was, as just another customer, though she had a horrible feeling there was something more to his visit than a mere shopping trip. Her suspicions were confirmed when he took his purchases to the counter.
‘Oh, the Stablemaster sends his regards,’ he said softly. ‘He wants to meet you at ten o’clock tonight, in the usual place.’
‘The bastard!’ she hissed. ‘He told me you knew nothing about this… other business.’
‘The Stablemaster is a very devious man,’ he replied. ‘Not to be trusted. How much does this little lot come to?’
‘Er, seven hundred and forty pounds,’ she replied. ‘How will you be paying?’
He produced his wallet from his jacket, withdrew a photograph and placed it face-down on the counter.
‘My flexible friend,’ he grinned.
Constance glanced nervously around, before picking up the photograph in trembling hands and taking a quick look. It was another from her blackmailer’s pornographic collection, featuring her spread-eagled on the table in the clubroom, with her knees drawn up around her chin. One end of a huge double-ended pink latex dildo was buried between her thighs. Several inches of the other end were in her mouth.
‘This is outrageous,’ she said, her voice trembling.
‘I’m sure your respectable customers couldn’t agree more,’ he replied. ‘Bag this lot, if you don’t mind. There’s no need for a receipt.’
As soon as he left she had to retire to her office for a cigarette and a cup of coffee. She was trembling with rage. Being forced to acquiesce to the Stablemaster’s perverse sexual demands was bad enough, but it did at least have its pleasurable compensations. Having to stand idly by while his sneering transvestite cohort raided her boutique was another matter. Nobody could be permitted to walk over Constance Brooking in that manner.
When she had somewhat calmed down again, she rang the number of the private detective she had hired. It was time to start fighting back.
When she left home, at eight-thirty that evening, the detective’s car followed at a discreet distance. The plan was for him to get a good look at the Stablemaster, possibly even a photograph. He could then unearth his identity and as much information as possible about him. Constance’s hope was that this would provide her with some means of retaliation.
The Stablemaster’s blue Ford Sierra was parked inside the garage and he was waiting by the open door. Constance was more nervous than ever as she stepped out of her Porsche. Who knew how he might react if he spotted the private detective nearby? Luckily, there were a number of other vehicles in the vicinity and the Stablemaster’s full attention was on his slave.
‘You’re late,’ he rasped, glancing at his watch.
‘I got delayed,’ she replied.
‘That’s a dozen strokes of the cane earnt straight off,’ he replied. ‘Well, come on in. There’s work to be done.’
As soon as the garage door had been slammed shut she rounded angrily on him.
‘You told me that tranny friend of yours knew nothing about this. Yet he struts into my boutique this morning, picks up over seven hundred pounds worth of gear and pays with one of your photos.’
He sighed. ‘That wasn’t a very nice thing to do. But it could have been worse.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘He could have cleaned you out of several grands’ worth.’
‘You bastard!’ she snarled. ‘As if it’s not enough to have me at your beck and call, you have to mess with my business as well. Do you think I’m just going to take this lying down?’
‘You seem to have little choice at the moment,’ he replied calmly. ‘Okay, what my friend did was wrong and I’ll see that it doesn’t happen again. You have my word on that.’
‘Oh well, that makes me feel so much better,’ she sneered.
‘Now, now, let’s not get uncivil,’ he said, in a tone so patronising it made her flesh crawl. ‘You know what I want from you and I have no interest in stealing from your precious boutique. It absolutely will not happen again. Okay?’
Constance did not believe him, but consoled herself with a reminder that she would soon be in a position to turn the tables on him. He directed her to take off everything but her high heeled shoes, then lie face down over the bonnet of the car with her arms and legs wide apart. She watched him take his cane from the chest and flex it menacingly. In spite of the intensity with which she despised him, the sight created a sensual tingle between her thighs. The greatest injustice was that the man she was submitting to should be such a creep.
He removed his tie and used it as a gag, knotting it tightly at the back of her head. He then took off his jacket and rolled up his shirt-sleeves, leaving her in no doubt that he intended to subject her bottom to a merciless flogging. She pressed her face to the cold metal of the bonnet, wincing in response to each stroke that slashed across her tender flanks. When the full dozen had been delivered, he put down the cane and produced a martinet from within his treasure chest.
‘You didn’t think I could let your impudence go unpunished, did you?’ he demanded, when Constance began whimpering in protest. ‘A couple of dozen lashes of this should make you think twice before talking back to your master again. Now, be a good girl and lie still, otherwise I shall have to tie you up.’
The martinet swished and the three tongues of hard leather bit cruelly into her buttocks and thighs. The features of the Stablemaster were set in grim concentration as he watched her flesh turn a serious shade of sunburn. When the thrashing finally ended, he unzipped his trousers and unceremoniously speared her from behind with the full length of his rock hard cock.
Having flogged and fucked her into submission, he handed her a tin of car wax and a cloth. Her neck-tie gag remained in place.
‘Get waxing, slave,’ he commanded. ‘Unless you’re in the mood for yet more of the cane, you’ll have my motor gleaming like a mirror before you finish.’
Constance would have preferred to be tied up and ravished, but the choice was not hers to make. While she worked up a sweat, waxing and polishing the car, the Stablemaster stood right behind her, cane in hand. By the time she was finished her arms ached and she reeked of car wax. He carefully inspected every inch of the shiny blue bodywork, before grudgingly pronouncing himself satisfied.
Her final task of the evening was to kneel and suck his cock. A mouthful of semen was little enough reward for her labours. When she was dressed he handed her another photograph – a close-up of her face, with half the length of his cock between her lips. She barely glanced at it before tearing it up.
The following afternoon her private detective reported back to her with the results of his investigations. The Stablemaster’s real name was Detective Inspector Charles Mountjoy, of the CID. He was stationed locally, divorced, lived alone and enjoyed a reputation as something of a hard man.
Now that she had the information, Constance realised there was little she could do with it. The fact that her blackmailer was a senior police officer meant it would be even harder to deal with him.
Discovering the identity of his partner in crime took a little longer. Constance gave the detective the video recording from her in-store security cameras, on which the face of the mystery man appeared. The results of his subsequent investigations were anything but reassuring. His name was Gareth Whiting, a former pimp and pornographer, who had served a number of prison sentences for his diverse criminal activities. He was now the proprietor of a semi-respectable Soho strip club, though he was reputed to be still involved in various illegal enterprises. All in all, the private detective surmised, not the kind of man it would be wise to become involved with.
Constance felt as if her world was falling around her ears. All she needed now was for the man who had ‘bought’ her in the radio auction to be a Mafia godfather.
By the end of the week, the cheque had arrived and KT had made all the necessary arrangements with her buyer, who was anxious to become acquainted with his slave. He telephoned Constance and told her to go to Suite 909 of the Saint Gabriel hotel, at eight o’clock on Saturday evening. S/M-FM would just have to manage without her for one night. Mr Ford was the name of the man who would be waiting for her.
‘Not another sleaze-bag, I hope,’ she sighed.
‘What happened to your enthusiasm?’ KT demanded. ‘It’s not that long ago you were leaping at any opportunity to further your career as a slave.’
‘I’m under a lot of pressure at the moment,’ she replied. ‘Do you think perhaps this Mr Ford might wait a few weeks?’
‘Absolutely not.’ KT sounded appalled by the very idea. ‘He paid for you on the understanding that you would be available at a time of his choosing. I just don’t know what you’re afraid of. You’re meeting him in the Saint Gabriel, not some basement torture chamber. If you’re not prepared to play by the rules of the game—’
‘I shouldn’t be playing at all,’ she finished. ‘I know. Okay, I’ll meet this Mr Ford and give him the night of his life, for you and Mistress whatsername.’
‘I knew I could count on you,’ KT replied.
By the time she reached the chic Kensington hotel, at the appointed hour, Constance had managed to consign her woes to the back of her mind and slip fully into the role of upmarket call-girl. Her hair was in a ponytail and she was dressed in a figure-hugging suit of cream silk, the slit skirt of which ended several inches above her knees. In her matching silk stockings and stiletto heels she felt almost as sexy as she looked.
When her ring on the doorbell of suite 909 was answered, she was immediately glad that KT had not allowed her to change her mind. Her ‘buyer’ – a sandy-haired man of about forty-five – was tall and powerfully built, his boxer’s nose and ruggedly hewn features rendering him attractive rather than strikingly handsome. Constance remembered the faint feeling of uneasiness she had felt the first time she met the Stablemaster. The instinct aroused by this man was the exact opposite and she decided to trust it.
‘Well, well, this is a pleasant surprise,’ he greeted her, in a warm mid-Atlantic accent. ‘I didn’t think you could possibly be as sexy in real life as you sounded on the radio, but you surpass my wildest expectations.’
Constance thanked him for the compliment as he ushered her into the luxurious suite. Room service had delivered a bottle of Dom Perignon, just before she arrived. As she settled into a leatherette-covered armchair he popped the cork and poured two glasses.
‘I don’t even know your name,’ he said, seating himself in the chair opposite.
‘Constance,’ she replied. ‘Do I call you Mr Ford, or master, or what?’
He smiled. ‘Larry will do just fine. Cheers.’ He took a sip from his glass. ‘I have to tell you, I find this S/M-FM station of yours an intriguing concept. How do you get away with it?’
She shrugged. ‘Just luck, I guess. It’s not my station, by the way. I just play the Slave in the Hot Seat for a couple of hours on Saturday night. It’s a hobby.’
‘A damned interesting hobby,’ he added. ‘I’d never have known such a station existed, but for a piece I read in a magazine. I’ll make sure I tune in from now on, whenever I happen to be in town.’
‘You don’t live in London?’
‘My business takes me to the four corners of the earth,’ he replied. ‘I’m lucky if I get to visit here more than twice in the same year. As a matter of fact, I fly to New York tomorrow afternoon – which is why I had to insist on meeting you tonight.’
She smiled and seductively crossed her legs. ‘I’m glad you did, Larry. I just hope you will be too.’
The swelling in the crotch of his dark grey trousers told her he already was.
From her previous experiences, Constance had been expecting another hard night of bondage, punishment and domination.
But Larry’s mastery of her was much more subtle than whips and handcuffs. He stimulated her with effortless easy conversation, until the champagne bottle was empty, then politely enquired if she would object to performing a striptease for him. By that stage she would not have objected to performing anything for him.
He switched on MTV. She moved into the centre of the floor and began peeling off her clothes, grinding her hips to the rhythmic grunge of high-volume Soundgarden.
Her master sat back and watched, entranced by the erotic exhibition. Constance performed like a professional, her excitement mounting with every garment she cast off.
Midway through the second heavy rock track, she was down to her high heels and stockings. Crouching with her legs spread wide, her luscious sex on full display, she beckoned Larry towards her. He sprang from his seat, the protuberance of his cock almost bursting through his trousers. Licking her lips in anticipation, she reached for his zipper and drew it slowly down. Her hand reached in and he gasped from the electrifying sensation of her soft fingers touching his cock. She withdrew the tumescent tool, stroked the length with her fingertips, then leant forward to enfold it with her lips.
For the next five minutes, though she crouched at her master’s feet, it was she who was completely in control. Her mouth made passionate love to his cock, teasing him with deliberate leisure to the point of blissful release. She gulped down every drop of his thick, creamy nectar, then licked his cock clean with her tongue, purring with wholehearted pleasure.
He carried her to the bedroom afterwards, where she immediately resumed her loving oral ministrations. As soon as his cock was hard again she lay back on the cool sheets and drew her knees up to her chin, presenting herself to him like a whore in heat.
‘Oh yes, master – take me,’ she sighed as he guided his lance into the hot, drooling depths of her sex.
Much later, they shared a bottle of wine in bed together and listened to S/M-FM. KT was interviewing Mistress Amber, the by-election candidate whose cause he so passionately supported.
‘You’ll doubtless be glad to hear that you are the reason our Slave in the Hot Seat is not on duty tonight,’ he told her. ‘At this very moment she is entertaining the master who, last Saturday night, bid sixteen hundred pounds for her.’
‘I hope she’s giving him his money’s worth,’ the gravel-toned dominatrix replied.
‘Our slave knows how to please her master,’ KT assured her. ‘Any master.’
‘I’ll drink to that,’ Larry grinned, his cock once more stirring to the lazy caress of Constance’s fingertips.
After a late Sunday morning breakfast in bed, they showered together. The sight of her soap-lathered body beneath the steaming jets of water inflamed his passion all over again. After the number of times he had already taken her, it seemed impossible that he would be able to rise to the occasion yet again, but his stiff cock nuzzling the cleft of her buttocks proved otherwise. Pressing against the tiled wall, she thrust her lower body back to meet him. He wrapped her in his powerful arms and slid his cock into her already pleasantly aching slit.
It was with no little regret that she finally got dressed and prepared to leave. After she had kissed him goodbye he pressed several folded bank notes into her right fist.
‘A small token of my appreciation,’ he said with a smile. ‘Thanks for a wonderful night, Constance.’
Only then did she realise that he thought she was a genuine call-girl. She resisted an impulse to set him straight. There was no need to complicate what had been a thoroughly enjoyable night for both of them.
KT telephoned her later that day, anxious for a report on what had happened. She was glad to inform him that the night had been a total success.
‘He even gave me a two hundred quid tip,’ she added. ‘Perhaps I ought to consider a career change.’
‘Perhaps indeed,’ he replied, half seriously.
A few minutes later the telephone rang again. Constance’s cheerful spirits nose-dived when she heard the voice on the other end of the line.
‘I was looking for you last night,’ the Stablemaster growled.
‘I was otherwise engaged.’
‘So I heard. Whoring on behalf of a fellow whore. How very charitable of you. I don’t like you reneging on our deal, slave. You do remember the deal, don’t you?’
‘You don’t own me,’ she snapped.
‘On the contrary,’ he replied. ‘I still have deeds of ownership – in the form of six very pornographic pictures of you. How would you like it if I sent one to a member of your staff tomorrow?’
‘That would be a very nasty thing to do, Detective Inspector Mountjoy,’ she retorted. She took a sadistic delight in the moment of stunned silence that followed.
‘So, you’ve been doing a little detective work,’ he said finally. ‘What good can it do you? It doesn’t change the fact that I still have the photographs. Should you be foolish enough to make a complaint, I can simply deny all knowledge of them. It would be the word of a nymphomaniac slut against that of a highly respected police officer. All you’d succeed in doing is making a complete fool of yourself.’
‘What if I were to mention your friendship with a certain Mr Gareth Whiting?’ she countered. ‘He’s hardly the sort of company a man in your position ought to be keeping.’
Another brief silence followed. When the Stablemaster spoke again there was a menacing edge to his voice. ‘You would be well advised not to threaten me,’ he said carefully. ‘At the moment you and I are playing a harmless little game – nothing more. If you try to up the ante, a reddened backside will be the least of your worries, believe me.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning you meet me in the usual place, at ten tonight.’ Before Constance could say any more, he hung up.
She arrived at the garage deliberately early, having no wish to antagonise him further. No words were exchanged until the door was slammed shut.
‘I’m actually surprised you showed up,’ he said.
‘I don’t like unfinished business,’ she replied, forcing far more confidence into her tone than she actually felt.
The Stablemaster smiled. ‘Believe me, our business is far from unfinished. Any more threats you’d like to make, before I tie you up and thrash the arse off you?’
‘No more games,’ said Constance. ‘I know enough about you and your friend to cause serious problems for you both, especially you. Give me the rest of the photographs and the negatives, and I’ll forget we ever met.’
‘Full marks for trying,’ he said, when he had finished laughing. ‘But you have nothing to incriminate me with. For your information, Gareth Whiting is working with me, helping CID nail down a villain we’ve been trying to get our hands on for some time. In return for his co-operation we turn a blind eye to some of his more… questionable activities. It’s common police practice, and I have the full blessing of the top brass. As for the rest, where’s your proof? Let’s face it, Constance, I have you exactly where I want you, and there’s not a thing you can do about it.’
‘You bastard!’ she spat. ‘Why can’t you just find yourself another slave and leave me alone?’
‘Because I like you,’ he replied. ‘And because I enjoy the power I have over you. However, just to show you I’m not completely unreasonable…’ He reached inside his jacket and produced an envelope of photographs. ‘Take a look. Be a good little slave for me tonight, and these are all yours. Payment in full.’
Constance opened the envelope and carefully inspected the contents. The remaining six photographs were there, along with the full set of negatives.
‘Where’s the catch?’ she demanded suspiciously.
‘There isn’t one,’ he replied, snatching back the envelope.
‘How do I know you don’t have copies hidden away somewhere?’
He smiled. ‘You flatter yourself, Constance. The truth is, you don’t mean that much to me. I’ve had my fun with you and, if you’re honest, you’ve had a little fun of your own. This was never destined to be a long-term relationship.’
She wanted to believe him, but could not dispel the nagging suspicion that he was yet again cruelly toying with her. Finally, she decided she had little option but to take a chance.
The Stablemaster had obviously been looking forward to punishing her, both for being unavailable the previous night and for having the temerity to think she could play him at his own game. After she had stripped down to her high heels and peach lingerie, he manacled her wrists to the overhead bar and placed a strip of sticky black vinyl tape over her mouth.
Watching him rummage in his trunk of tools, she felt far greater trepidation than usual. Tied up and unable to even scream, she would be completely helpless if he had decided to punish her in a more permanent fashion. It was with a feeling of relief that she greeted the sight of a slimline black whip gripped in his right fist.
Her body jerked as the first lash cracked across the exposed half-moons of her buttocks, an angry red streak flaring across the lower portion of both buttocks. He paused for a few seconds, then let rip with the second stroke.
She felt the sharp bite of the firm leather a dozen times before he put the whip down again. The throbbing of her scorched buttocks was rendered all the more agonising by the certainty that her punishment was only just beginning.
The Stablemaster stepped in front of her, gripped the bodice of her silk body-stocking in both hands and ripped it open. He ogled and fondled her bare breasts for a few moments, then produced two yellow plastic clothes-pegs from a pocket of his jacket. She whimpered as he affixed them to her stiffened nipples.
A vigorous thrashing of her breasts with a cat o’nine tails followed, only ceasing when both soft globes were covered in livid claws of fire and tears were rolling down her cheeks. He ripped off the tattered remains of her lingerie, then crouched down before her and turned his sadistic attentions to her genitals. He had six more clothes-pegs in his pocket, three of which he clamped to each of her puffy nether lips. As he tugged repeatedly on them he looked up at her face, seeming pleased by her pained expression and the accompanying muffled whimpers. When he finally tired of this particular line of torture, he picked up the cat o’nine tails again, thrust the full length of the thick plastic handle up into her sex and proceeded to screw her with it.
He released her from the bar after that, peeled the tape from her mouth and ordered her to lie on the mattress, with her legs raised at a ninety-degree angle to her body. He bound her left knee with one end of a long rope, which he then wrapped several times around her left wrist, twice around her chest, then her right wrist. The free end was then secured around her right ankle, leaving her bound in a highly uncomfortable and vulnerable position. She was still wearing the clothes pegs on her nipples and labia and the nine-tailed whip protruded obscenely from between her thighs.
‘What a picture you make!’ he leered. ‘Speaking of pictures…’ He produced the envelope again and selected a photograph of a smiling Constance standing with knees bent over an upended stool, the tip of one of the round wooden legs thrusting up into her vagina. ‘This is my favourite of the bunch. What do you think?’
She shook her head to indicate her disagreement.
‘You enjoyed it well enough at the time,’ he reminded her. ‘Look at your face, you dirty whore!’
He placed the photograph on her lower belly, then unzipped his trousers and knelt between her thighs. Watching him masturbate and listening to the stream of obscenities that poured from his lips, Constance had never felt more utterly humiliated. After he had climaxed over the photograph he carefully lifted it and brought it to her mouth. ‘Tastier medicine than the whip,’ he said, when she looked away in disgust.
Knowing that nothing would please him more than an excuse to punish her further, she opened her mouth. He tilted the photograph and the warm, thick semen drooled from the glossy surface onto her outstretched tongue. After she had swallowed the last creamy string, he ordered her to lick the photograph clean.
Shortly afterwards he untied her again and told her to get dressed. When she was ready to leave he handed her the envelope of photographs.
‘All present and accounted for,’ he smiled as she checked the contents.
‘So, that’s it then,’ she said, unable to believe he was actually setting her free.
‘Ah, not quite,’ he replied. ‘I don’t have any more photographs to blackmail you with, but I’ve been having second thoughts about not seeing you again. I’d like if you could still be my part-time slave.’
‘You’re asking me?’ she cried incredulously.
‘As politely as I know how,’ he answered. ‘After all, it’s not as though you don’t enjoy submitting to a master.’
‘To a master I trust and respect,’ she corrected, vengefully tearing up the photographs. ‘Not some sleazy, blackmailing, bent CID man.’
‘I’ll take that as a no, then.’
She flung the shredded photographs at his feet. ‘Take it as a “fuck you”, Mountjoy. Now open this door. I want to go home and take a long bath.’
He sighed. ‘I had hoped you might be more reasonable, but now I see that I’m going to have to be a bit more persuasive. You realise you’re a criminal, don’t you?’
‘What are you talking about?’ she snapped.
‘S/M-FM,’ he replied. ‘An illegal radio station, broadcasting highly illegal smut. I could have you and the rest of your Jolly Rogers put away for what you’re doing. How do you think that would affect your respectable business?’
‘I knew it was too good to be true,’ Constance retorted angrily. ‘You only gave me back the photographs because you’d thought of an even better way to keep me as your slave.’
‘Clever girl,’ he smiled. ‘You don’t have to give me your answer immediately. I’ll be in touch in a few days. I’m sure you’ll make the right decision.’
Constance did not sleep that night. Now that the Stablemaster’s grip over her was more secure than ever, she realised she might never be free of him. It was within his power to destroy both her reputation and the business she had worked so hard to build. Given the slightest excuse, he would surely take a twisted pleasure in doing just that. The fact that she was indeed breaking the law by her association with S/M-FM left her with only one possible alternative to either a sentence to slavery or prison.
She tried to call KT at three a.m., but all she got was his answering machine. It was late the following evening before she finally managed to contact him.
‘It’s finished,’ she told him bluntly. ‘I want nothing more to do with you, the radio station, or anybody else associated with it. I’m sorry, but I have no choice. Please don’t try to contact me again.’
‘Constance, hold on,’ he cried. ‘What’s wrong? What’s brought all this on?’
‘I have my reasons. It’s nothing personal, believe me.’
‘What is it, then?’ he demanded. ‘Don’t you think you at least owe me an explanation?’
‘I’ve just changed my mind about this whole submission business. It’s not for me.’
‘You expect me to believe that?’
‘Believe what you like!’ she snapped, before slamming down the receiver.
She should have known that would not be the end of the matter – that KT would not rest until he received the explanation he was entitled to. She agonised over calling him back and apologising for her rudeness, but decided that might only make matters worse. With everything she held most precious at stake, guilt was not a luxury she could afford to indulge in. At least now her blackmailer had no further ammunition to threaten her with.
Two hours later the doorbell rang. Expecting it to be the Stablemaster, she lit a cigarette and braced herself to confront him. But when she opened the front door she found KT standing on the doorstep.
‘May I come in?’ he asked.
She hesitated, then stepped aside to allow him into the hallway.
‘So are you going to tell me what’s going on?’ he demanded, taking a seat in the lounge.
He declined her offer of a drink. Constance poured herself one, then sat down. ‘Okay,’ she sighed. ‘I suppose you deserve some kind of explanation.’
He listened in silence while she proceeded to relate the entire sordid tale of her relationship with the Stablemaster, omitting only the unimportant details.
‘So you see, I have no choice but to break off all contact with you and everybody else associated with S/M-FM,’ she finished. ‘This bastard doesn’t make idle threats.’
‘Seemingly not,’ KT agreed, pensively stroking his chin. ‘But even if you do cut yourself off from us, there’s no guarantee he’ll leave you alone. He may have more photographs or bits of incriminating evidence. If you refuse to do as he says, S/M-FM will most definitely get busted and he’ll probably have you arrested anyway, just out of sheer spite.’
‘So you’re saying I have no choice but to become his slave?’
‘What I’m saying is, we have to find another way of dealing with him.’
‘Can you think of one?’
‘I will,’ he assured her. ‘Don’t worry, Detective Inspector Mountjoy isn’t going to put either of us out of business.’
Constance wished she could share his optimism, but just being able to unburden herself made her feel slightly better. At least she was no longer alone in her predicament. Some time later KT glanced at his watch and announced that he had better be going.
‘Do you have to?’ she pleaded, rising to her feet. ‘I mean, couldn’t you at least stay a little while longer?’
‘Gina will be wondering what’s happened to me.’
‘You’re her master; she’ll understand,’ Constance insisted. ‘I… I really don’t want to be alone tonight, thinking about that creep.’
‘You sound like a frightened little girl,’ he smiled. ‘You wouldn’t be trying to seduce me, now would you?’
She fell to her knees and gazed imploringly up into his dark eyes. ‘And if I were, master?’
‘Then I should be tempted to take advantage of you when you were at your most vulnerable,’ he replied carefully, moving towards her.
He cradled her head in both hands and she pressed her face to the crotch of his tight blue jeans, feeling his cock stir within. Though sex had been the furthest thing from her mind when she had opened the door to him, her body now ached for him. This was the kind of comforting she required, and KT was not going to deny it to her.
She unzipped his jeans with her teeth and freed his cock with her fingers. If he thought her behaviour pathetic, so be it. Kneeling before a master she actually wanted was a refreshing antidote to the bitterness she felt towards the Stablemaster. The tip of her tongue lashed eagerly at the eye of KT’s cock. He stroked her hair and thrust gently against her face, urging her to take him in her mouth. Constance was all too eager to oblige.
Several hours later, their mutual lust sated, he reluctantly disengaged himself from her perspiration-sheened body. She sat up and watched him get dressed, the taste of him still fresh in her mouth.
‘I have a plan for dealing with our mutual friend,’ he said as he buttoned up his shirt.
‘What?’ she cried excitedly, leaping naked from the bed.
‘Come to my place tomorrow night and all will be revealed.’
A further eight days passed before the Stablemaster contacted her again, just when she was beginning to hope he had lost interest. She agreed, without hesitation, to meet him that night.
‘You’re looking well, slave,’ he remarked, as soon as he had slammed the door of the lockup. ‘I’m glad you came to the right decision regarding our… relationship.’
‘You didn’t give me much of a choice, Detective Inspector Mountjoy,’ she retorted.
He glared. ‘Master, is the correct form of address. You’ve just earnt yourself twelve strokes of the cane. Well, don’t just stand there. Get that skirt off, and whatever you’re wearing underneath it.’
‘I had another visit from your friend, Gareth Whiting,’ she said, ignoring the command. ‘He helped himself to four hundred pounds worth of gear, warning me of what would happen if I tried to stop him. You promised I wouldn’t have any more trouble from him.’
‘You weren’t supposed to.’ He sounded genuinely surprised.
‘It’s bad enough that you should be blackmailing me,’ she continued, her voice rising. ‘I’ve almost got used to the idea of being your sex slave, but I don’t like being threatened by a gangster.’
‘I’ll have another word with him,’ he said impatiently. ‘Now, I won’t tell you again, get your arse bare for the cane. I didn’t bring you here so that we could waste time arguing.’
Constance obediently stepped out of her skirt and pink G-string panties. The Stablemaster pushed her roughly up against the wall and ordered her to spread her arms and legs wide. The hem of her red sweater reached only to the slope of her buttocks, affording her no protection from the cane. He wielded it with a grim determination, each vicious stroke cracking like a pistol shot across her quivering buttocks. Though she tried not to cry out, it was impossible to prevent a few small shrieks from passing her lips.
By the time she left the garage, almost two hours later, her buttocks and thighs were smarting violently from a combination of cane, crop and open-handed spanking. Her breasts were sticky with semen and throbbing from being punished with the cat o’nine tails. She was safely inside her car before she permitted herself a satisfied smile.
The following evening she drove to KT’s mansion, the shoes she had worn to her encounter with the Stablemaster tucked safely into a carrier bag. Planted inside the heel of the left shoe was a tiny transmitting device. The other contained a miniature sound recorder. She was not convinced the equipment could have worked, until KT plugged the recorder into a conventional tape machine and transferred its information to an ordinary cassette. Every word, every breath, every crack of leather on flesh that had taken place in the garage was clearly audible. KT and Gina insisted on listening to the entire tape, the latter seeming to derive particular pleasure from Constance’s frequent squeals of pain.
‘What now?’ Constance asked afterwards.
‘Now, I send a copy of this tape to Detective Inspector Mountjoy, along with a little warning note,’ he replied. ‘If he ever contacts you again, his superiors and any other parties who might be interested will receive their own copies. I think we can safely say we won’t be having any more trouble from him.’
Constance breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Thank God. And thank you, master. I’d still love to know how you’re so familiar with this James Bond-type equipment.’
‘I’m sure you would,’ he answered. ‘Let’s just say that I have experience in security-related matters. There’s something else I want to discuss with you, and now is as good a time as any. Would you fix us some drinks please, Gina?’
The red-haired slave, in the uniform of a maidservant, curtsied. ‘Of course, master.’
‘Unless I’m very much mistaken, you have become quite dedicated to our little broadcasting enterprise,’ KT said, settling back into a sumptuous armchair.
‘Very much so,’ Constance replied. ‘Going on air is almost as good as sex. I felt really sad when I thought I was going to have to give it up over that creep.’
‘Well, you can forget about him now,’ he said, taking a drink from Gina. ‘However, this whole business got me thinking. As it stands, S/M-FM is in a very vulnerable position. We broadcast from the same place, at the same time each weekend, so the authorities would find it very easy to track us down. We’ve been lucky so far, but it’s only a matter of time before this place is raided. We need alternative headquarters for the station, which is where you come in. Your house would be perfect.’
‘My house?’ she exclaimed, almost spilling her drink. ‘You can’t be serious.’
‘Why not? From a broadcasting point of view it’s ideally situated. And you live alone, with no nosy neighbours, nothing to interfere with the smooth running of a part-time pirate radio station.’
‘In my own home?’ Constance found the notion almost too preposterous for words.
‘You’ve seen how little equipment is involved,’ he said. ‘The entire operation could be run from your attic. It would only be on Saturday nights. S/M-FM would broadcast from a room in The Master’s Masque club on Fridays and from here on Sundays. By transmitting from three separate venues we make it harder for the powers-that-be to track us down.’
‘You’re beginning to sound like a gangster,’ she half-joked.
‘Captain of a pirate ship,’ he corrected. ‘I’ll have all the equipment within a week, ready to set up. All I need from you is your permission. There will, of course, be a reward for your full co-operation.’
‘What kind of reward?’
‘Something very special,’ he replied, with a mysterious smile.
Faced with KT’s powers of persuasion, Constance was as malleable as a lump of putty. Ten days after she agreed to his request to broadcast from her attic, the equipment was installed and her favourite radio station was right under her own roof. Even though it was midweek she went on-air for an hour, reading extracts from the collected works of the Marquis de Sade, while KT checked that everything was working properly. At the end of the test broadcast he pronounced himself extremely pleased with the strength of the signal they had sent out.
‘What about my signals, master?’ Constance asked with a smile, rising from her seat behind the radio deck. ‘Reading that stuff over the air always makes me so horny.’
‘Wait here,’ he replied.
He climbed down from the attic and she heard him go downstairs. He returned several minutes later and called her to come down. She lowered herself through the trapdoor and began descending the stepladder directly below. Halfway down, KT shouted for her to stop. She looked down and saw that he had paid a visit to the kitchen. He was holding a wooden spoon in his right hand and a wet dishcloth in his left. From where he was standing he could see all the way up her short black skirt.
‘Lift your skirt,’ he commanded, his stern voice sending a sensual shudder down her spine. ‘Higher! Do I have to tell you what to do next?’
Constance hurriedly tugged her lacy white panties down over her thighs. She raised her left foot as they slipped to her ankles, then kicked them away with her right. KT ordered her to lean forward on the ladder, so that her bottom was perfectly presented for punishment. He warmed her up with the wooden spoon, dispensing a dozen hard whacks to each cheek. He then twisted the wet dishcloth into a highly effective whip and thrashed her bright pink, from the backs of her knees to the top of her buttocks.
‘You can come down now,’ he said, when he finally finished punishing her.
She scampered down the ladder, her skirt still rolled up around her waist. The instant her feet touched the floor he seized her roughly and pushed her back against the wall. She pretended to resist, knowing he would enjoy it all the more. He ripped her blouse open so that the buttons popped and flew like bullets. She continued to fight him as he fumbled with the clasp at the front of her bra.
‘Must I tie you up before I can have my way with you?’ he barked.
Constance responded with a whole-hearted effort to escape from his clutches. She made it to the door of her bedroom before he grabbed the strap at the back of her bra and yanked her to a halt.
‘So you want to play rough, eh?’ he rasped, locking an arm around her neck. ‘Well, if that’s what you want, that’s what you’ll get.’
He kicked the door fully open, dragged her choking and kicking into the room and flung her, face down, onto the bed. Before she had a chance to catch her breath her bra had been ripped open and her skirt was pulled down over her legs. As KT flung it aside she made a renewed effort to save herself, kicking blindly out at him, before attempting a dash towards the door. She knew she had not the slightest hope of getting away, even had she really wanted to. KT leapt upon her like a savage beast and wrestled her to the floor. He pinned her down with the full weight of his body on her legs, grabbed her ponytail in his right hand and jerked her head up.
‘Ouch, master, you’re hurting me,’ she cried.
‘Shut up, slut,’ he retorted, his free hand reaching inside his brown leather jacket.
The snarled words of abuse were almost as exciting to Constance as a wily tongue on her clitoris. In the full-length closet mirror she saw herself – the helpless victim – overpowered by her brutal master. From inside his jacket he produced a thin black leather cord, with two chrome clamps on one end. She offered no further resistance, just a shriek of pain, as he fitted them to her labia. He knotted the other end of the cord tightly around her ponytail, then hauled her to her feet. She had to throw her head back in order to ease the agonising tug on her nether lips.
KT threw her onto the bed and ordered her not to move, if she knew what was good for her. Lying on her back, she watched him rummage like a burglar through the drawers of her dressing table. Having sifted through each one in turn he yanked out the top drawer, carried it over to the bed and emptied the contents over Constance.
He plucked a scarlet suspender belt from the underwear pile and used it to bind her wrists to one of the brass bars at the head of the bed. He then secured her ankles to the upper bedposts with a pair of pale silk stockings and stuffed a balled-up pair of black lace panties into her mouth.
‘You look so much more attractive when you’re helpless,’ he said, stepping back to appraise his handiwork. ‘Now, I’m going to punish you like you’ve never been punished before.’
From the dressing table he picked up a round hairbrush, dealt several whacks of the wooden handle to her bottom, then began raking the hard plastic bristles over her tender buttocks and inner thighs. Her eyes bulging, she tossed her head from side to side and struggled in vain to break free of her bondage. KT dragged the hairbrush over the backs of her legs, all the way to her ankles and back, then once more over every inch of her violently throbbing rear cheeks. The bristles scraped up along her belly, leaving inflamed little furrows behind. Reaching her breasts, he paused momentarily, as though unable to make up his mind whether to proceed.
Constance was not fooled. She knew he was only teasing her.
Who needed a torture chamber when a sadist could find everything he needed in his victim’s dressing table? After he had raked her breasts red with the hairbrush he placed it in the cleft between them, then dressed her in a half-cup bra of pink silk. When it was clasped at the front, the brush was squeezed tightly between her breasts, the bristles painfully pricking her soft flesh.
Using a set of eyebrow tweezers, he began plucking out single ribs of pubic hair, while Constance snorted through flaring nostrils and thrashed on the bed. She thought he would not stop until she had been plucked as bare as a Christmas turkey.
After a few long and hideous minutes of this he put down the tweezers and picked up a card of hair clips. One by one he fitted them to her labia, nine to either side.
He then took her sleek gold vibrator from the bottom drawer of the dressing table and flipped the switch at the base. Bliss superseded discomfort as the slender shaft was eased up inside her.
Only when he tired of teasing and tormenting her, seemingly hours later, did he finally make love to her. She remained trussed up, but he did take the panties out of her mouth so she could at least lend full voice to her passion.
Taking to the airwaves the following Saturday night, she felt exceptionally nervous. Broadcasting from the safety of KT’s studio, she had given little thought to the dangers involved. With S/M-FM coming from her own attic it was not difficult to imagine the police beating a path to her door as she spoke. KT and Gina kept her company, the latter dealing with incoming calls. KT had set up the telephones so callers reached the station’s usual number, not Constance’s own private line.
She exchanged ideas and fantasies with the customary array of night creatures, including a few regular callers who were beginning to sound like old friends.
One suggested that her master might like to tie her up and screw her on air. KT was only too glad to oblige. He described into the microphone each item of clothing he was removing from her and the method – two white silk scarves – used to bind her wrists to the rafters. She was on her knees, her rear end thrust back and thighs parted to receive him. Gina held the microphone close to the action, ensuring that the listeners heard every grunt, moan and cry of pleasure.
She was not untied again until after the four a.m. closedown.
What happened next had not been plotted in advance. It just seemed natural for KT and Gina to spend the remainder of the night as guests in her bed. However, the other slave insisted that there was a price to be paid if Constance wanted her master’s cock again that night.
Constance stood on a chair in the centre of the bedroom while Gina vengefully thrashed her buttocks with a thick leather strap. KT stood back and watched, ready to take Constance as soon as his slave finished flogging her.
‘I did mention a reward, for your dedication to S/M-FM,’ he said that afternoon. ‘How would you like a very special holiday, Constance?’
‘I haven’t had a holiday in over two years,’ she replied. ‘But I can’t just get up and go. My business needs me.’
‘But what of your needs?’ he responded. ‘It wouldn’t do to start neglecting them again, now would it?’
‘My needs?’ she repeated.
‘Your needs as a submissive woman,’ he explained. ‘You’ve enjoyed everything that’s happened to you in that area so far, am I right?’
‘With the exception of that business with the Stablemaster, yes,’ she replied.
‘So it’s only natural you would want to take your submission to the next stage,’ he continued. ‘Picture something, then tell me what you think. An adult holiday resort where all the men are masters, with all the women – staff and guests alike – totally submissive to them. A fantasy playground, free of the petty rules of political correctness that the real world forces us to observe.’
‘A club, like The Master’s Masque?’
‘Something a bit more demanding. This is not the kind of place where you can just dress up in kinky clothes, play out a few fantasies, and then hurry on home again. This playground belongs to a select circle of masters. Membership involves more than having a broad mind and the ability to memorise a password. It demands the kind of commitment few slaves are willing to make.’
‘But surely I have proved that I’m not just out for cheap thrills,’ Constance protested.
‘You’ve proved you have a fertile imagination and a taste for exotic games,’ he answered. ‘That doesn’t make you in any way unique. I’ve been talking to my fellow Chargemasters – the shareholders in this resort and the men who lay down the law. Their verdict is that you are exceptionally attractive and a young woman of obvious refinement, the kind men take great pleasure in using and abusing. I assured them you are always glad to be on the receiving end of such treatment.’
Constance nodded vigorously.
‘You won’t find this resort of ours in any brochures or tourist guides,’ he went on. ‘It’s exclusive, in the true sense of the word. I like to describe it as a university of servitude, where women such as you undergo the training that will weed out the thrill-seekers from the true submissives. Your next step along the path to slavery is to spend a weekend at the resort. During your stay you will be completely shut off from the outside world. No radio, no TV, no telephones, no newspapers. You will have to forget all about your business. You won’t be kept prisoner, but if you leave before the time is up, for any reason whatsoever, you can never return.’
‘That sounds rather harsh,’ said Constance.
KT sighed heavily. ‘I’m not trying to talk you into visiting a holiday camp. I suggest you spend a few days thinking it over. I’ll call you before the weekend, when you can give me your answer.’
‘How much does this resort cost?’ she demanded.
‘Female guests don’t pay with money,’ he replied. ‘However, before you’re allowed to visit, the Chargemasters require that you pass three tests. Fail any one, and this is as close as you’ll ever get to the resort. I can only reveal the nature of the tests when you have given me a definite answer. But be warned, they won’t be easy.’