The gag filled her mouth completely, pressing her tongue down, tickling the back of her throat. It was phallus-shaped, and though made from black rubber was rigid and unyielding. It was sealed into her mouth by a strap of thick black leather buckled tightly at the back of her head, under her long blonde hair. The aroma of leather and rubber mixed together to create a pungent scent which she inhaled deeply. It was intoxicating.
By contrast to the harshness of the gag the blindfold was soft and silky, a mask of black satin shaped to fit over the eyes and the bridge of the nose, and padded on the inside so as to exclude even the faintest hint of light. The elasticated straps that held it in place were tight and the material pressed against her eyelids.
She was naked apart from a pair of white panties; tiny thong-cut panties, no more than a triangle of silk covering her mons and a thin gusset that had already buried itself in the rubbery lips of her sex. And high heels of course. White patent leather shoes with an ankle strap and heels so high they forced her feet into an almost vertical stance. She couldn’t have walked more than a few steps in them, but then walking was the last thing he had in mind for her.
She felt her arms being drawn behind her back. Her breasts were large and very round and this action lifted them and made them quiver. A coarse thick leather strap was being threaded under the top of her arms. She heard it being fed into a buckle. It was tugged tight, forcing her shoulders back and pushing her chest out. Her breasts quivered again. A surge of excitement made her moan. Her whole body was trembling. This was, after all, what she craved more than anything else.
Leather cuffs were being wound around her wrists. They were padded on the inside with something spongy and soft. She felt them tighten one after another, and heard the two little buckles that held them in place being fastened. She listened intently as she heard the click of a snap-lock being fixed into a D-ring on the left-hand cuff, then pulled over to the right, effectively binding her wrists together. She loved all the little metallic noises, like the sound of bridles and tack being applied to a horse. It was the same thing after all; the horse being prepared for the rider, the slave being prepared for the master.
She heard the pulley being cranked down now, and started as the cold metal ring attached to the overhead rope brushed against the small of her back. More clicks. Another snap-lock. Her wrists were pulled up slightly as the cuffs were locked into the metal ring.
He took two steps back. She imagined him looking at her, examining the way the bondage had transformed her body.
She sensed him kneeling in front of her. She felt padded leather cuffs being wrapped around her ankles. They were attached to a shiny metal bar. He had made her lay it on the floor in front of her before he’d applied the blindfold. In fact she had been made to prepare all the equipment for him while he sat in a large upright chair and watched her every move.
The metal bar and the ankle cuffs made it impossible for her to close her legs. She was intensely aware of the gusset of the panties. It had worked its way right up against her clitoris, which was swollen and throbbing wildly.
She heard him walking over to the crank of the pulley. It clicked through the ratchet that controlled its movements. Click. Click. Click. Each sound drew the white nylon rope higher, forcing her wrists up into the air behind her back. As her wrists rose the geometry of her body demanded that her head dipped. Click. Click. Click. Her arms were being raised until they were almost vertical, her torso bent at right angles from her waist. The clicking stopped.
It was perfect. More perfect than anything she had imagined. And she had imagined this for so long it didn’t seem possible that at last it was no longer just a cherished private fantasy, but a living breathing reality that was setting her whole body alight with passion. There was pain, of course. She’d always known there would be pain. And so it had proved. But it was a pain like no other, a pain striated with a pleasure as intense as anything she’d ever felt in her life. The cramp in her shoulder muscles and her back was extreme. But it was indivisible from the pleasure that throbbed in her nipples and her clitoris and in the depths of her cunt.
There was worst to come, she knew. That was why he’d made her lay out all the equipment. She’d handled the nipple clips herself, seen their sharp, serrated jaws and felt the weight of the metal pendants that hung down from them. She had laid the whip out too.
He had paused. He was looking at her again, she was sure, examining her new position. Her tight, apple-shaped buttocks were thrust upward. Her large, fleshy breasts hung down like inverted pyramids. She was sure he would be able to see that her labia, on either side of the thin creased gusset of her panties, were glistening with the sticky sap of her body. She had never been so wet.
She started as she felt his fingers touch her left breast. He weighed it in his hand, then pinched the nipple. She thought she heard the faintest of metallic tinkles as he picked up one of the nipple clips, the pendant clinking against the metal jaws. Almost immediately something cold closed around the deeply puckered flesh. She shivered. The little teeth in the spring-loaded jaws of the clip sunk into her nipple and a hot, searing pain shot through her. The extraordinary thing was that it was accompanied by a wave of pleasure that was sharper than anything she could ever remember feeling before. The second clip followed, producing the same result. She was trembling all over, unable to control her body’s reactions.
As she began to regain some semblance of control again she realised he must still be holding the tear-shaped weights attached to each clip. Now, very slowly, he lowered them, taking up the slack in the little chains until they were hanging free. The weights were heavy. They dragged her breasts down and cut the jaws of the clips deeper into her tender flesh, but she relished them. She shook her breasts from side to side, making the pendants swing so violently they knocked into each other and produced an almost overwhelming shock of that unique melange of pain and pleasure she had already come to love.
She was coming. Her whole body was on fire. How many times had she laid on her bed trying to imagine what this would be like? How many times had she masturbated, her fingers plucking furiously at her clit, the handle of her hairbrush jammed into her vagina, a silk scarf tied over her eyes so she could concentrate on the blank screen of her mind where she could imagine herself lying tied and helpless in front of her master? And the graphic reality was a thousand times more arousing than anything she’d conjured up. By means of a few straps and chains he had removed her will, her ability to say or do anything he did not wish her to say or do. She belonged to him. She was his slave. It was that knowledge quite as much as the physical excitement that was producing her first orgasm. She strained every muscle against every single bond, wallowing in the feeling of being so totally constricted and came, her clitoris pulsing violently against the thin strap of white silk tautly bisecting her sex.
But that was only the beginning. She knew that. She would come again and again. She simply could not stop herself. She had never felt so sexually alive. That was the point. The bondage, the gag, the blindfold meant that all her energy and feeling were concentrated on her sex. There was nothing else.
The nipple clips seemed to claw at her breasts like tiny hands, pulling them down, the whole breast stretched and tenderised. She heard him move. There was the lightest gust of air as he came up behind her. She smelt his musky aftershave mixed with the scent of rubber and leather. She knew what he was going to do now and she had never wanted anything more in her life. Her buttocks were tingling in anticipation.
The whip was long and tapering with a braided leather handle topped by a brass boss. He picked it up and ran the lash up her inner thigh. She moaned into the gag as it flicked against her labia.
‘So needy,’ he said. It was the first words he’d spoken since he’d ordered her to prepare the equipment. His voice sounded different, lower and more strained. ‘You want it so badly, don’t you?’
She nodded her head.
‘I knew from the moment I set eyes on you, Andrea. It’s what you’ve always wanted.’
The whip pressed into her labia then sawed back and forth. If he did this for much longer she could come again. At the back the panties were no more than a thin thong that rose from the cleft of her buttocks and joined the equally narrow strap that formed the waistband. He hooked the whip under this thong then pulled it outward, forcing the gusset of the panties even more tightly into her sex. Then he allowed it to slip out from under the silk and the thong snapped back against her buttocks.
She could imagine him standing behind her in the heavy scarlet velvet robe, braided in gold thread. She could imagine him raising the whip.
Thwack! She screamed into the gag, pulling against her bonds. She had developed a long and increasingly complex masturbation ritual for herself. Being whipped was always part of the scenario. But she had never been whipped in reality, never even been spanked, and had underestimated the withering pain. However much she had expected it nothing could have prepared her for this. Her whole body shuddered. The tear-shaped pendants knocked against each other, producing a second shock of sensation. But then pleasure; thick, sticky throbbing pleasure simply overwhelmed her. Had she not been so firmly bound she would have fallen to her knees unable to support herself.
Thwack! This time, if anything the pain was more intense. The whip had landed lower, closer to her sex. Perhaps for this reason the interval between the pain and the intense pleasure that followed was shorter and the pleasure even more intense. She heard the rustle of the velvet robe as he raised the whip again. She could feel the two weals on her bottom throbbing as strongly as her clitoris and at the same frequency. As the whip landed for a third time she came, simply unable to control herself, the searing pain and the extraordinary pleasure it produced rooting itself directly to her clit and creating wild spasms in it.
He had seen what had happened. He let her orgasm run its course then smoothed his hand across her buttocks. His touch was so soft and tender, his hand so deliciously cool in contrast to the heat the weals were generating, that she almost came again.
‘A secret slave,’ he repeated quietly. ‘You have wanted this for a long time, haven’t you?’
She nodded. She had told him nothing about her fantasies, about the dreams that had obsessed her for so long, but he seemed to know.
She heard him moving around in front of her.
‘It might surprise you to learn how many women imagine they want to be a slave, to have a master and be totally in his control. But when faced with the reality, with the pain and discomfort, with the need to obey without question, they realise it is not what they want after all. There is a stark difference between dreams and reality. In reality few women have the... shall we call it the ability... to be a real slave.’ He was taking off his robe. She heard the heavy garment drop to the floor. Her long, very straight blonde hair hung on either side of her face. He pulled it to one side then began unstrapping the gag. ‘You are one of them, child. I am sure of that now. Every slave must have a master to make them complete.’
The gag was pulled from her mouth. The rubber-covered phallus was covered with her saliva.
‘You know that is true, don’t you?’
‘Yes, master.’ She had never used that word before; though she had dreamt of using it so many times it made her shiver to actually be able to say it.
He gave a little giggle of delight. ‘So it appears fortuitous that we met.’
It was. She had never imagined her fantasies would come true. She thought of them as something she would keep secret, a private little world she did not understand, but that she used to give her mysterious delight when she masturbated or, in recent months, with a man when she found the act of sex failed to arouse. But she had never imagined that the world she had created for herself actually existed. But here with Charles Darrington Hawksworth, in his house, in this specially equipped punishment room he had brought her to, she realised that she’d found what she wanted, and that the world she dreamt of was a living breathing reality.
Charles Darrington Hawksworth was her master now.
It had started one week earlier on Tuesday morning.
Andrea Hamilton worked for Silverton Communications, a small private company that designed the software necessary to communicate with orbiting telecommunication satellites. It was very successful, and in the two years Andrea had been employed at the company it had cornered a large chuck of the market.
Andrea was bright. She had got a first at Manchester University in electronics and had been recruited by Silverton on graduation to work in their research and development programme. She liked the work and the people she worked for.
As usual Andrea had taken the tube to work from her small flat in Islington.
Silverton had a sleek and futuristic office building in North London, a circular tower with black glass windows and a stainless steel revolving door that looked as though it might be a set for a science fiction film. Andrea’s office was on the third floor.
‘Good morning.’
‘Hi.’ Pam Mitchell was short and cute. She had fizzy black hair and a rather chubby figure, and always insisted on wearing spiky high-heels in a vain attempt to increase her height. ‘Have you heard the news?’
‘What news?’
‘It was on the telly this morning.’
‘What was, Pam?’
‘Silverton. They’ve sold out to Darrington International.’
‘What?’ Andrea was astonished. Edward Highfield, the chairman, managing director and major shareholder of Silverton, had always sworn he would never sell out. It was his company and, he had told his staff on numerous occasions, that was the way he wanted to keep it.
‘He’s obviously had an offer he can’t refuse. There’s a meeting downstairs at eleven. We’re all supposed to be there. He’s going to explain the situation, apparently.’
‘Darrington. They’re huge.’ Andrea sat down at her desk. She had a sinking feeling. Any company taken over by a multi-national conglomerate was bound to suffer redundancies, and she was sure it would be a case of last in first out. With only two years’ experience not only would she be first out, but it would be hard for her to find another job in what was an extremely crowded field.
‘You’ll be all right,’ Pam said, reading her thoughts.
At ten to eleven Pam and Andrea made their way down to the big conference room on the ground floor. As they trekked across the foyer with the other employees, all expressing their views on what was most likely to happen to them, Andrea glimpsed a large black Mercedes stretch limousine drawing up at the front door. It had black windows and Andrea could not see inside.
‘Who’s that?’ Andrea said, nodding towards the car. Its doors still remained firmly closed.
‘Big wig from Darrington, I guess,’ Pam replied.
They trooped into the conference room, which was designed like a large lecture hall, with raked seating and a wooden rostrum. Edward Highfield was sitting on the rostrum behind a desk. He was making notes on a laptop computer, pointedly not looking up as his audience assembled. He looked, Andrea thought, decidedly sheepish.
At eleven precisely he got to his feet.
‘Good morning, ladies and gentleman,’ he said. ‘I am sure that you have all heard the news. I was sorry that I was not able to communicate my intents to you personally, but unfortunately the press got hold of the story. You all know what the press is like these days.’ This was intended to be light-hearted, but no one so much as tittered.
‘As you know I never wanted to part with this company, but I’ve been approached by Darrington International with an offer which I believe will enhance the prospects for all of us. The problem with a business like ours is the need for constant investment. We are at the cutting edge of technology, and unfortunately in order to keep ahead of the game we are obliged to spend more and more on research and development. Darrington offers us a chance to do just that. In addition, I have a cast iron assurance from the chairman of Darrington that all your jobs will be protected.’
This was greeted by exclamations of delight from most of the assembled company, and conversation immediately broke out, the staff all sharing Andrea’s worries about the need for redundancies.
Highfield raised his hands to calm the noise. ‘What’s more, I am delighted to tell you that as an indication of how seriously the chairman of Darrington takes this pledge, he has agreed to come here this morning and address you personally.’ Highfield nodded to his secretary, who was standing by the main entrance. She opened the door and Charles Darrington Hawksworth strode into the room.
Whether it was Edward Highfield or Charles Hawksworth who had choreographed this dramatic entrance Andrea did not know. But she did know that she couldn’t take her eyes off the man who strode up to the rostrum and turned to face the rows of employees.
‘Good morning.’ He had a firm but velvety voice, a soft-cultured English accent. ‘Your chairman has explained the basic situation I hope...’ He began to explain Darrington’s interest in Silverton and its plans to pump money into the new software it was developing, and how marketing would be a great deal easier with their considerable resources, but Andrea barely heard what he was saying. Instead she found herself staring into his eyes. They were the deepest blue she thought she had ever seen. What’s more, though he was addressing his remarks to the whole room full of people, they seemed to be staring directly at her.
She had no doubt that Charles Darrington Hawksworth was one of the most handsome men she had ever seen. He had a square jaw and a craggy face, with a straight nose and a wide fleshy mouth, very smooth lips, and thick curly black hair that was greying over his temples. He was tall and slender with a broad chest, and he had the longest fingers she thought she had ever seen, the fingernails immaculately manicured. His clothes were immaculate too; a beautifully tailored navy-blue suit, a white silk shirt and a yellow silk tie, his handmade shoes polished to a mirror-like shine.
‘...So in conclusion, I have bought this company because of its personnel, not to strip it of its assets. I hope you will all continue to work for me and that we enjoy further success.’
There was loud applause, no doubt based on the considerable relief that the employees’ jobs appeared to be guaranteed.
Edward Highfield got to his feet. Andrea had never liked the man. Though he was moderately attractive and there was no doubt about his business acumen, she thought he was smarmy and insincere.
‘Thank you, Charles,’ he said.
Charles Hawksworth bowed slightly then strode back out of the room with Edward Highfield at his side.
Andrea Hamilton found herself applauding too, though her eyes were still rooted to Hawksworth. But as the applause died away she noticed that Hawksworth had stopped at the door and looked around. Once again she had the impression he was staring straight at her. She saw him speak to Highfield, though she was too far away to hear what was being said, then nod in her direction. Then they were both gone.
‘What a dish,’ Pam said, as they filed out of the room. ‘Jesus, Andrea, what I wouldn’t give for a night alone with him. Did you see those eyes?’
Andrea nodded. She could still see them. Like catching a glimpse of the sun by mistake they seemed to have burned into her retinas.
‘I wonder how often he’s going to visit us. I want to be prepared next time. Throw myself under his car, something subtle like that,’ Pam continued.
‘I didn’t really notice him,’ Andrea lied, not wanting to discuss the real feelings Charles Hawksworth had aroused in her. ‘Come on, let’s get back to work,’ she said. ‘At least it looks as if our jobs are safe.’
It was a ritual. It had started as a routine. Now every detail had become enshrined, every moment savoured, every action adding to the excitement. But tonight there was an urgency she had rarely felt before.
She had begun to strip off her clothes as soon as she got home. She abandoned her jacket on the sofa in her small living room and headed straight for the bedroom. Everything was kept in the bottom drawer of a large pine chest. She took it all out and laid it carefully on her double bed, having to remind herself not to hurry, that the anticipation was as much a part of the ritual as the performance.
Unbuttoning her blouse she went into the small en-suite bathroom. She adjusted the mixer taps until she got an even flow of warm water, then took off her blouse and her skirt. She was wearing a black lace bra that strained to hold her fleshy breasts, tan coloured tights and small bikini briefs. As she reached behind her back to unhook the bra she looked at herself in the mirror on the wall. She stared into her eyes, but gazing back at her over her shoulder she could see the face of Charles Darrington Hawksworth, those deep-blue eyes perfectly still, the expression on his face betraying no emotion.
She allowed the bra to drop away. Her breasts trembled. She had large nipples surrounded by a narrow band of dark-brown aureole, which was pimpled with little papillae. Her nipples were already erect. They had been like that since the meeting. In fact they were so hard and knotted they had turned a deep red, standing out from the orb of flesh like cherries on a cake. Tentatively she tweaked the left one between her thumb and finger and felt a huge surge of feeling. She looked into the mirror. Charles’s eyes were disapproving, and she knew why. She was not allowed to touch her nipples this early on in the proceedings. Everything had its place.
She turned the water off, scented it with bath oil then stripped off her tights and panties and climbed in. She lay with the back of her head against the edge of the bath and closed her eyes. On the blank screen of her mind Charles Hawksworth appeared again, his expression unchanged, those eyes looking at her critically.
She could feel her clitoris, trapped between her thick labia, pulsing. The temptation to open her legs and run her finger down to manipulate it was strong, but she resisted. Everything had its place. She usually spent longer luxuriating in the water, enjoying the prospect of what was to come, but tonight her needs were altogether too urgent. She stood up, soaped herself down then washed the lather away with a big sponge. As it cascaded off her body, the water channelled down between her legs, it looked as if she were peeing.
Climbing out of the water she picked up a big fluffy towel and rubbed herself dry, determinedly ignoring the sexual feelings this aroused as the towel brushed her breasts and her sex. She dropped the towel aside and walked into the bedroom. She felt little butterflies of excitement beginning to flutter in her stomach.
The corset was made from black leather. It was tight, at least one size too small for her, and narrow, no more than a wide belt of material that cinched around her waist. Andrea pulled it into place, the leather cold against her warm body. She struggled with the hooks and eyes that held it in place, sucking her breath in to get it to do up. The constriction excited her.
Dangling from its hem was four long black leather suspenders. Andrea sat on the bed. She had laid out a pair of sheer black stockings. She picked one up and rolled it into a pocket, then inserted her foot into the nylon, rolling it up over her leg. The nylon was woven with Lycra to give it a shiny, almost wet look, and Andrea loved the way it transformed her flesh, making it smooth and silky, clinging to the contours of her calves and thighs. She clipped it into the suspenders at the front and the side of her thigh, then repeated the process with the second stocking.
She stood up. The black patent leather high heels were standing on the floor by her wardrobe. She climbed into them. The heels were so high it would have been impossible to walk for more than a few steps, but the shoes tightened all the muscles in her calves and deepened the gluteal fold where her thigh tucked into her buttocks. She had installed a floor-length mirror on the bedroom wall opposite the foot of the bed, and stood in front of it admiring herself. Again, over her shoulder she could see Charles Hawksworth admiring her too. She looked like a whore. The idea made her clitoris throb.
She allowed her hand to run down over her flat, smooth belly, framed as it was by the leather corset at the top, the long suspenders at the side and the opaque black stocking tops underneath. She had very short, soft pubic hair, shaped in a narrow triangle, like an inverted Eiffel tower, and between her legs she was virtually hairless, with nothing to mask her thick puffy labia. She could see the first inch of them now, pursed at the base of her mons.
Slowly, walking with tiny steps because of the shoes, she knelt at the foot of the bed. The ropes were permanently tied around the legs of the bed but tucked away under a valance, out of sight of casual visitors. She pulled the first one out and set it down on top of the mattress, then tottered around the bed and did the same with the other three. Knotted to the end of each was a metal snap-lock.
The shoes were already making her feet and the muscles of her calves ache, but the pain was mixed with a peculiar pleasure.
Four black leather cuffs lay on the bed. Putting her left foot up on the mattress Andrea wrapped one of them around the silky nylon that sheathed her ankle and buckled it tight. She did the same with her right, then sat on the bed again. Being right-handed it was comparatively easy to buckle the cuff around her left wrist by holding it tightly against her body, but the right wrist was more awkward. She had practised the manoeuvre so many times however that it didn’t take long.
The feeling of each cuff circling her limbs increased her excitement markedly. She looked in the mirror again. Her body was banded by black, the tight leather corset biting into her waist, the leather cuffs and the bands of the black stocking tops around her thighs. By contrast to these tight black rings her exposed flesh, particularly her large round breasts and the top of her slender thighs, seemed incredibly creamy and soft. She could see Charles Hawksworth’s eyes looking at her, examining every detail of her body.
Andrea picked up the final item of her equipment. It was a narrow black leather belt. She pulled it around her waist and buckled it tight. Another much wider piece of leather was attached to the back of this belt, hanging down at the moment, loosely between her legs. Projecting from this was a small but very stout dildo made from cream-coloured plastic.
Sitting on the bed Andrea scrambled over to the middle of the mattress, then opened her legs. Leaning forward she secured the snap-locks attached to each rope at the bottom corners of the bed to a shiny metal D-ring at the side of the ankle cuffs. She lay back, feeling a surge of excitement. She tried to close her legs but couldn’t, the bondage preventing anything but the slightest inward movement.
For a moment she did nothing, wallowing in the sensations that were coursing through her body. The dildo was sticking up vertically between her legs and she could push herself down on it so her labia were crushed against its shaft. Her clitoris was throbbing so wildly she thought she might come like this before her preparations were complete. But she managed to wrestle herself back from the edge.
Sitting up again she took hold of the dildo and directed it down to the mouth of her vagina. Before this ritual had developed, before it had become so complicated, she had merely jammed the handle of her hairbrush into her sex while she frotted her fingers against her clit and dreamt of being bound and helpless. Now she had evolved much greater refinements.
Bracing herself she slid the tip of the dildo into her vagina. A wave of sensation made her shudder. Her sex was wet and the dildo slid home effortlessly. She pushed it all the way in then folded the leather it was attached to up over her belly. It buckled tightly into the front of the belt around her waist, pressing down against her labia and holding the dildo firmly in place.
Lying back again changed the angle of her sex, pushing the dildo into new areas of sensitivity. She moaned. Again she struggled with herself, as exquisite sensation rolled over her. She didn’t want to come yet, not until she was ready.
The next manoeuvre required a little bit of contortion. Stretching herself up the bed, pulling until the ankle cuffs bit into her flesh, she reached over with both hands to the snap-lock on the top left-hand corner of the bed. She managed to clip it into the D-ring on the cuff around her left wrist. Then she rolled onto her back and stretched her right arm up to the rope lying on the mattress at the top right-hand corner. Andrea was not a fool. She did not want to tie herself in bondage so tight that she could not escape. She could have just managed to open the snap-lock with the fingers of her right hand and inserted it into the D-ring on her right wrist, but even if she could there was no guarantee she could get it open again. She had practised it several times and managed to get herself free on every occasion, but she was still not prepared to risk it. What she had done therefore, to give herself the impression of being bound and spread-eagled, was to knock the locking mechanism out of the snap-lock, leaving instead a hook-like projection. It was easy enough to get the D-ring into this hook and equally easy to unhook it again. Then, as long as she was careful not to move her right arm around too much, she could struggle and tug against it as if she were really bound.
With her head twisted around so she could see what she was doing she managed to slip the D-ring over the hook. She immediately pulled her arm down so the rope was taut and the hook wouldn’t come free. She pulled on all her limbs, wanting to feel the constriction.
It was not perfect. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew the bondage was a sham, that she could merely flick her right arm up and undo herself, but it was as near to the real thing as she was prepared to risk.
She closed her eyes. She was acutely aware of her bondage, the way the leather cuffs pulled at her wrists and ankles, stretching the muscles and sinews of her body. She loved the feeling of the tight sleek stockings and the even tighter leather corset. The suspenders were so tight they cut channels into the flesh on the tops of her thighs.
Normally she would lay like this, spread-eagled across the bed, for a long time, savouring every feeling, teasing herself by rolling her hips from side to side very slowly so the base of the dildo rubbed against her clit, bringing herself closer and closer to the brink of orgasm but never over it.
But tonight was different. Tonight Charles Darrington Hawksworth was standing by the side of the bed looking down at her, his eyes unblinking, his expression varying between indulgence and stark disapproval. Tonight she was rolling her hips wildly, rocking the whole bed, her clitoris responding with sharp tweaks of exquisite pleasure. She clenched her vagina around the phallus, feeling the juices that were running over it.
Those deep blue eyes burnt into her. She could see him examining her tits. She thrust them up towards him.
‘Do they please you, master?’
The phantom said nothing. His eyes moved to her belly. Andrea tried to spread her legs further apart. Then she felt her vagina convulse reflexively around the dildo. It did it twice in quick succession and she whimpered. She pushed her buttocks up clear of the bed. She was coming now and she knew there wasn’t anything she could do to stop herself.
She opened her mouth, arched her head back against the pillow until it was almost at right angles to her spine.
‘Master!’ she screamed as she came, her orgasm locking every sinew and muscle in her body.
It was a long time before she opened her eyes again. When she did Charles Darrington Hawksworth had gone.
‘Ms Hamilton?’
‘Yes.’
‘This is for you.’
Andrea had opened the door of her flat three days later to a tall, extremely broad, blond-haired man in a grey chauffeur’s uniform. He was holding a white envelope in his hand.
‘For me? I don’t understand.’
‘I’m to wait for a reply.’
‘Oh. You’d better come in.’
Andrea was wearing a tracksuit. It was seven o’clock and she was just thinking about what she was going to wear tonight on her dinner date with Greg Anders, her current boyfriend.
‘Thank you, Ms,’ the chauffeur said. He took off his cap, tucked it under his arm and stepped inside.
Andrea was puzzled. She didn’t know anyone who had a chauffeur. She tore open the envelope and took out a white deckled edged card. The writing was neat and italicised.
Dear Ms Hamilton,
I hope you will not think of this as an impertinence, but I wondered if you would like to have dinner with me on Saturday night. I think you know why. If you do not, merely return this invitation to George. If you do, as I suspect, then he will return for you at seven on Saturday night.
Whatever your decision I will always remain yours faithfully,
Charles Hawksworth.
Andrea stared at the note. She read it again. She felt herself blush. She hadn’t the faintest idea that Charles Hawksworth had any interest in her. Of course she remembered how he had paused at the door and indicated her to Edward Highfield, but she’d convinced herself that incident was just her over-vivid imagination and the effect of those almost hypnotic eyes. He could have been pointing out one of a hundred people, or noting something entirely different. Now it appeared that her first instinct had been right.
‘You work for Mr Hawksworth.’
‘As I understand it we both do, Ms.’
She smiled. ‘Yes. That’s right, we do. But I’ve only been working for him since Tuesday.’
‘So I understand. May I ask for your reply, Ms?’
Andrea caught her breath. She didn’t think that an hour had gone by since last Tuesday when she hadn’t thought of Hawksworth, hadn’t seen his face, and what’s more, hadn’t had some wild sexual fantasy about what he would do to her. She hadn’t the faintest idea why the briefest of meetings - indeed it could hardly be called a meeting at all - had produced such an extraordinary response in her, but there was no denying that it had. Now it appeared that this briefest of glimpses had also made an impact on him.
‘Yes. Please tell me Hawksworth I will be delighted to dine with him on Saturday.’
‘Very good, Ms. I’ll pick you up at seven.’
‘Are we going to a restaurant?’
‘Sorry, Ms, I don’t know Mr Hawksworth’s plans.’ For some reason Andrea didn’t believe him, though she had no idea why.
The chauffeur went back to the door. He put on his cap and let himself out without another word.
Andrea went to her fridge, took out a bottle of white wine and poured herself a glass. She needed it. She slumped down on her sofa, sipped the wine and re-read the note. I think you know why. What did that mean? The only thing that had happened between them had been an exchange of looks. But she had the feeling that Hawksworth had learnt her deepest secret, that he knew what she had been imagining over the last three days. And she was sure no one at Silverton could have given him that information. Even Pam, her closest friend in the company, knew nothing about her sexual fantasies. So how had Hawksworth found out? Perhaps that was not what the phrase meant at all; perhaps it merely referred to a mutual attraction which was clear from the way Andrea had looked at him. He was an attractive man after all, and was probably used to women staring at him with thinly disguised lust. That’s what it must be.
The noise of the doorbell startled her. She looked at her watch. She realised she had been sitting on the sofa daydreaming about Charles Hawksworth for half an hour, and now Greg was outside waiting to pick her up.
Quickly she stuffed the note into the pocket of her tracksuit, ran to the door and picked up the answer-phone. Greg usually waited at the front door of the building for her to come downstairs.
‘Greg, sorry I’m running late. Can you come up?’
‘Sure,’ his heavily distorted voice said cheerily.
Two minutes later he was sitting on the sofa with a glass of white wine in his hand and the bottle in front of him on the occasional table.
‘Sorry about this. It won’t take me long to get changed.’
‘No hurry. I thought we’d go to that Thai place. No need to book.’ Greg was not tall and a little bit on the chubby side, with a pleasant rather round face and mousy coloured straight hair.
‘Fine. Just let me throw some clothes on.’
She waltzed into the bedroom. She had already taken a bath, put on her make-up and laid out a blouse and skirt on the bed. Carefully she pulled the slightly crumpled note from her pocket and put it away in her bedside table, then quickly stripped off the tracksuit. She was naked underneath. She glimpsed herself in the tall mirror. The thought of Charles Hawksworth had stiffened her nipples and she was sure she could feel a slick of wetness on her labia. Experimentally she ran her hand down between her legs. Her sex wasn’t just wet. It was soaking. As her finger glided into her labia her clitoris throbbed strongly as if trying to draw attention to itself.
She went to the chest of drawers and took out a pair of white satin panties and a matching bra. She drew the panties up over her thighs, and as they brushed against her sex her clitoris reacted sharply again. She tried to calm it by running her hand down over the silky material and pressing it into her labia, but this only made matters worse. The touch of the cool satin of her bra against her breasts also made her nipples tingle. As she adjusted her breasts, lifting them slightly to allow them to sit more comfortably in the cups, this too produced strong waves of feeling.
The thought of going out to dinner was not appealing. In fact it was the last thing she wanted to do. She glanced into the mirror again. Over her shoulder she could see Charles Darrington Hawksworth’s deep blue eyes.
Calmly she opened the top drawer in the pine chest and rummaged inside. It was where she kept all her stockings and tights. She found what she was looking for, a pair of glossy white hold-up stockings with lace welts. Sitting on the bed she pulled them on, smoothing the nylon over her legs. Then she stripped off the counterpane from the double bed and lay on the white sheet on her back. She stretched her legs apart, the white satin gusset of the panties pulled tautly across the plane of her sex.
‘Greg,’ she called.
‘Yah?’
‘Why don’t you come in here?’
She wished she’d had the courage to put on the leather cuffs and tie herself to the bed first, and let him see what she really wanted. But she didn’t.
Greg opened the bedroom door tentatively. His eyes widened as he saw her lying on the bed. ‘You look great!’ he said.
‘Do I?’
He walked up to the bed and gazed down at her, his eyes roaming her body. ‘Those stockings are really sexy.’
‘So what are you going to do about it?’
She arched her buttocks off the bed, angling her sex up towards him. She’d sex with Greg a couple of times, but she had never done anything like this. She raised her foot and dug it into his thigh, moving it up until she could feel his rapidly growing cock.
‘What’s got into you?’ he said. There was a hint of disapproval in his voice.
‘You have,’ she lied.
He stripped off his jacket and began unbuttoning his shirt as she rubbed her toes against his cock. The nylon rasped against the material of his trousers. Andrea stretched her arms out above her head and spread them apart, imagining they were about to be bound.
Greg threw his shirt aside and pushed her foot away to enable him to unzip his trousers. His cock had escaped the fly of his boxer shorts and sprung out from the zip, fully erect. He hopped from one foot to the other as he pulled his shoes and socks off, then pulled off his trousers and pants.
Andrea could feel her pussy throbbing. She snaked her right hand down to her belly and ran it under the white satin of her panties.
‘Do you want to watch?’ she said.
Her fingers distended the taut white satin as she pressed one finger, then two, into the mouth of her vagina. Greg’s eyes were locked on her sex.
‘You’ve never done that before,’ he said.
‘There’s a lot of things I haven’t done,’ she purred. She moved her fingers under the white satin and forced them deep into her sex. She moaned loudly. With her left hand she pulled the gusset of the panties aside so he could see exactly what she was doing. ‘I’m very wet,’ she said, sawing her two fingers back and forth. She was sure he could see that for himself. Her fingers were glistening with her juices.
She used the middle finger of her left hand to find her clit. It was hard and swollen. Immediately she began pushing it from side to side with little subtlety. She wasn’t in the mood for subtlety. Each movement produced a huge wave of sensation. She had never done anything like this before with any man, and the novelty was exciting. But she knew it was really the thought of Charles Hawksworth’s invitation that was driving her on. I think you know why. Did he really know all her secrets?
Greg was staring down at her, his circumcised cock sticking out at right angles from his belly.
‘Is there anything you’ve ever fantasised about, Greg? Ever wanted to do something and never had the courage to ask?’
He hesitated. She saw him tear his eyes from her sex and look up to her face. ‘What do you mean?’
‘There is something, isn’t there?’ She could see it in his eyes. For a moment they had turned inward, accessing some secret thoughts. ‘Come on, tell me. I’ll do whatever you want.’ The idea that Greg had a secret fantasy, like hers, was terribly arousing.
‘Really?’ he said. She saw his cock twitch.
‘Come on, Greg, can’t you see the state I’m in?’
‘Turn over.’ His voice was suddenly flat and unemotional.
Andrea looked at him steadily, then pulled her fingers out of her sex and rolled over onto her stomach. ‘Like this?’ she asked.
Greg did not reply. He climbed onto the bed and knelt at her side. His eyes were focussed on her neat, pert buttocks, the white satin panties stretched tautly across them. He leant forward and took hold of the waistband of the panties, and pulled them down until they banded the top of her thighs, leaving her bottom bare.
‘This is what I’ve always wanted to do,’ he said. The tone of his voice sounded angry, as though he was cross with himself for allowing this fantasy to escape.
Andrea sensed what he was going to do a fraction of a second before he lifted his arm and brought the palm of his hand down with a resounding smack on her left buttock. Almost immediately he raised his hand again and delivered an even more stinging stroke to the right.
‘Lovely red arse,’ he said through gritted teeth.
His hand struck again twice in quick succession, left buttock first and then right. Andrea gasped. She had never been spanked before and had no idea what to expect. Each slap was like a symphony of sensations. Her clitoris and her vagina throbbed violently as she felt the tingling heat from her bottom radiate inward. She had never been spanked before but she had often tried to imagine how it would feel. Now she knew. It felt wonderful. She closed her eyes so she could concentrate on the feeling, and lying in wait for her there, in her mind’s eye, was Charles Hawksworth. He was smiling indulgently.
‘Oh yes,’ Andrea moaned, wriggling her bottom to encourage Greg to spank it again.
Thwack! The sound of flesh on flesh reverberated around the room. Andrea knew she was going to come. She thrust her hand under her body, into her panties and between her legs, forcing her finger into her labia to find her clit, then rubbing it up and down.
Thwack! Thwack! Each stroke increased the pleasure. There was pain, sharp prickling pain, but it was overwhelmed by the fierceness of the pleasure the spanking created too. Andrea felt her whole body tense, the physical sensations she was feeling matched by the mental ones, Greg having lighted on one of her deepest currents of sexuality.
He lifted his hand again. This time things seemed to happen simultaneously. Firstly Andrea felt the stinging slap of his hand on her already tenderised buttock. The pain and pleasure travelled straight to her clit and suddenly her whole sex exploded, her orgasm making her cry out loud, every nerve in her body responding with a chorus of pleasure. Then, in the middle time of this cacophony of feelings, she heard Greg make an odd coughing sound, almost like a sob, and felt a red hot liquid spatter over her buttocks and her back. She was too involved in her own climax to do more than register almost subliminally, that he had come too.
The stinging turned to wonderfully tingling sensations. Her body melted, her muscles relaxed.
‘That was wonderful,’ she said, rolling onto her side. She ran a hand over her back and massaged in the thick, gooey liquid he had deposited there.
Greg had climbed off the bed and was looking for his clothes, his rapidly deflating cock still dripping with his spunk.
‘What are you doing?’ Andrea said.
‘I think I’d better go.’
‘Why? What’s the matter? That was great Greg. Really sexy. Don’t you want to do it again?’
‘No I do not,’ he said with real venom. He found his pants and trousers and pulled them on.
‘And here was me thinking you enjoyed it,’ she said, astonished by his reaction.
‘I didn’t know you were into all that.’
‘I didn’t know you were either. Does it matter? We can just enjoy it, can’t we?’
‘I should never have...’ His voice trailed off. He threw on his shirt, put his socks into his jacket pocket and levered his feet into his shoes.
‘Aren’t we at least going to have dinner?’
‘No. I want to go.’
And that’s exactly what he did. He literally ran out of the bedroom and a few moments later Andrea heard her front door slam closed.
She lay back on the bed. The contact of the sheet with her buttocks made them tingle anew. It was a delicious sensation. She couldn’t understand Greg’s reaction. Obviously he had let his inhibitions down in an unguarded moment and instantly regretted it. She doubted he would want to see her again. If he were ashamed of his behaviour, of his guilty secret, he wouldn’t want to see the only woman who knew what he was capable of.
It was no great loss, Andrea supposed. They had dated three or four times and she had never felt anything more than a vague liking for the man. She had never cherished the idea that it might develop into something more significant.
Pulling the crumpled panties off Andrea spread her legs apart. She could see her labia in the tall mirror on the opposite wall. They seemed to be smiling at her, a vertical smile. She spread her thighs wider and her vagina winked open, its dark scarlet flesh glistening with its own sticky sap. Very slowly Andrea reached over to the bedside table. She took out a thick rubber dildo and brought it down to her sex.
The next twenty-four hours were going to seem like a lifetime, she knew that. She would just have to find ways to amuse herself until then.
‘I’m waiting, master,’ she said aloud. The word set her nerves on edge.
‘Where are we going?’
‘Battersea, Ms.’
‘Battersea?’
The large black Mercedes had arrived outside the terrace house where Andrea lived at ten minutes to seven. He had double-parked the car immediately outside her front door. The house had been converted into two flats and Andrea occupied the upper floor. She had been ready for half-an-hour and stood at the window, hiding behind the curtains, watching it arrive. At exactly seven o’clock the barrel-chested chauffeur got out of the car and rang the bell on the answer-phone at the front door.
‘Yes, Ms. The heliport.’
‘We’re going in a helicopter?’ She tried to keep her astonishment out of her voice.
‘You are, Ms. It’s quicker.’
Andrea hadn’t been expecting that. Though she hadn’t the faintest idea where Charles lived she’d assumed she would be driven there.
‘Where does Mr Hawksworth live then?’ she asked.
‘He has an estate in Wiltshire.’
‘Wiltshire?’
‘There’s champagne in the refrigerator, Ms, if you would care for a glass.’
The interior of the stretch Mercedes was vast and had every luxury. There was a television, a CD player and two telephones on either side of the car. There was a cocktail cabinet with double doors set into the bulkhead that divided the passenger compartment from the driver. Opening the highly polished walnut doors Andrea saw that half the cabinet contained glasses and square decanters of spirits, while the other half was a small refrigerator. It contained four half bottles of champagne. She took one out, opened the bottle and poured it into a tall flute glass. This was definitely the only way to travel.
‘Are there going to be other guests?’ she asked as she sipped the cold wine.
‘I’ve no idea, Ms,’ the chauffeur replied.
Andrea sat back in the comfortable leather seat and watched the world go by. The traffic was heavy as the big car travelled down to the embankment and along the river towards Battersea. Andrea had been determined to look her best and bought an expensive new dress, a black number with a single shoulder strap and an asymmetrical neckline that revealed a great deal of her cleavage. The material clung to Andrea’s narrow waist and shapely buttocks, its hem cut to just above the knee, though the skirt was split on the left to reveal glimpses of thigh. Glossy black nylon sheathed her legs and she wore strappy black suede high-heels. She had applied a little more make-up than normal, eyeliner and shadow emphasising her blue eyes, and had twisted her long hair up into an elegant French plait that left her long neck and her shoulders bare.
It took thirty-five minutes to drive to Battersea Bridge, in which time Andrea had drunk two glasses of champagne. The wine had taken the edge off her nervousness. She had spent every moment of every hour thinking about Charles Darrington Hawksworth. There were all sorts of rumours circulating the office about him and the vast fortune he had built up over the years, but no one seemed to know anything about his private life, not even whether he was married.
She was still unable to explain why he’d had such an hypnotic effect on her. Since he had invited her to dinner she could only assume the attraction was mutual. He’d picked her out of a room of employees, after all. But that did not explain why she had this strange feeling that Charles Hawksworth had not only looked at her, but looked through her at the same time, laying bare her deepest secrets. Of course she knew that was absurd. Other than the way she looked, and what was in her personnel file - if he’d bothered to ask to see it - he knew absolutely nothing about her.
She wondered what sort of dinner this was going to be. She imagined a huge house with glittering chandeliers and expensive antiques, but whether they were to dine alone or with other guests she had no idea. Now she’d discovered she was being flown all the way to Wiltshire she was convinced they were not going to be alone. She had been invited to a country house party and she had to confess that the idea of not having Charles Hawksworth to herself was a little disappointing.
She had been thinking about Greg Anders, too. Her feelings towards him were totally confused. He hadn’t made any attempt to speak to her since, though she’d left a message on his answer-phone. From his reaction she guessed that he was not only ashamed of what he had done, but that he regarded her as some kind of slut for not only encouraging him but having the temerity to enjoy it.
But it had been exciting. She could still feel the way he made her bottom tingle and how that had excited her; in fact the effect lasted most of the next morning, every time she sat down little prickles of sensation reminding her of what had happened. There was no doubt in her mind, from Greg’s explosive reaction, that he had harboured his fantasy for a long time, perhaps as long as she’d harboured hers; but unlike her he obviously felt guilty and resentful about it and did not want to admit to himself exactly how powerful such desires could be.
She could understand that. She’d had a great deal of difficulty coming to terms with her own needs too, and had never been able to work out where her obsession had come from. It seemed to have arrived out of the blue, like a seed blown on the wind lighting on fertile ground. And, like a seed, it germinated rapidly and grew until it dominated her sexual psyche.
She remembered exactly when that moment was, the precise moment the seed had taken root. She was nineteen and certainly not naïve when it came to sex. Andrea had always liked sex but it had never been more than pleasant, and until three years ago she was pretty sure she had never had a proper orgasm. Despite the fact that she thought she’d picked lovers who were capable and unselfish, they never produced anything more than a nice gentle crescendo of feeling, and certainly nothing like the enormous explosions of ecstasy all her friends seemed to experience.
Not until Steve Matthews. Steve had been a lecturer at university. He was a shy and retiring sort of man, who had never been seen in anything other than jeans and a check shirt, but Andrea had always been attracted to him. One evening he’d asked her to go for a drink with him. They ended up at his flat.
She decided to stay the night, and had gone to the loo. On the way back she knocked into a shelf of books in the hall. One of them fell to the floor, and as she stooped to pick it up she saw the graphic photograph on the cover. There was a girl in a tight leather corset, black stockings and high-heels spread-eagled across a bed, her wrists and ankles bound by coils of white rope. Standing by the side of the bed was a man, his face deliberately obscured by the photographer. He wore nothing but a pair of tight leather trousers. The expression on the girl’s face was one she could not forget. It was of unbelievable excitement, mixed with fear. Later she realised she was reading her own emotions into what was probably nothing more than a blank stare, imagining how it would feel to be tied like that, bound and helpless like that, vulnerable and exposed.
She hadn’t asked Steve about the book. She was too embarrassed by the feelings it generated in her. But when she got back to the bedroom, the cover still vividly in her mind, she’d been unable to control herself. She’d come almost before he entered her, not the pusillanimous climaxes of old but a rip-roaring orgasm that tore through every nerve in her body. And she came again and again, the cover photograph printed indelibly in her mind, as though it had been branded there. That was her first real orgasm.
The next day she rushed to a bookshop and found the book. She read it from cover to cover. The sexual imagery haunted her. She had no idea that people indulged in such practises. She’d masturbated twice before she got to the end, and come in seconds.
She could not work out why the photograph touched her so deeply, or what traits in her psychological make-up inspired such needs; only that they did. At first the power of it frightened her and she would admit it to no one, not even herself. Gradually she had come to accept and explore it. Whether tonight would be part of that exploration, she did not know.
The car was pulling through the tall wire gates of the heliport. Andrea could see a large white helicopter, standing on one of the pads with its rotor blades turning lazily, the uniformed crew in the cockpit, with clipboards on their knees going through the pre-flight checks.
‘I’m Laurie Angelis, Mr Hawksworth’s major-domo.’
‘Pleased to meet you.’
Laurie opened the door of the Range Rover and Andrea climbed inside. It was a relief to get out of the wind the helicopter was creating. As soon as Laurie got behind the wheel beside her the helicopter’s engines roared again and it lifted off. Andrea guessed they were going to collect other guests.
‘Did you have a good trip?’
Laurie was one of the most beautiful women Andrea had ever seen. She had long black hair, that seemed to shine with health, a rather long face with a straight nose, high cheekbones and the darkest of brown eyes and a sleek, svelte body that reminded Andrea of a racehorse. She wore a one-piece cat-suit that clung to the considerably curvy contours of her body and her impossibly long legs, its V-neck revealing a deep cleavage, and high-heel black boots.
‘Wonderful. I’d never been in a helicopter before.’
‘Good. Mr Hawksworth is waiting for you.’
‘This is a beautiful place.’
‘It is.’ The last two words were said in a tone that did not encourage further conversation.
As the Range Rover approached the tall brick wall Andrea had seen from the helicopter, Laurie operated a small switch on the dashboard and two wooden gates in front of them on the drive swung open, closing again the moment they had passed through. The brunette drove up to the porticoed entrance, wheeling the car around in a complete circle so that the passenger door was closest to the panelled front door. It opened as the car came to a halt.
‘My dear, how nice of you to come.’ Charles Darrington Hawksworth opened the passenger door. He was wearing a dark suit, a white shirt and a yellow silk tie, and held his hand out to help her from her seat.
‘It was nice of you to invite me,’ she said.
She stood on the gravel drive and faced him, her hand still held in his. He brought it up to his lips and kissed it so gently it made her shiver. Then he looked up at her. She had never been so close to him before, and the power of his eyes was totally compelling, transfixing her for a moment, like a rabbit caught in the headlights of a car. He made no attempt to move or release her hand, but just stood there, studying her intently.
‘How rude of me,’ he said suddenly. ‘Please come inside.’
He dropped her hand and led her through the front door. The house was huge and immaculately decorated, no expense spared in either the furniture or the décor. As Charles Hawksworth ushered her into a large sitting room Andrea noticed the collection of impressionists on the wall, a Matisse and a Gauguin among them. There was a large stone fireplace and a smouldering log fire. She also realised there were no other guests. Not yet, at least.
‘I’ve opened a rather nice bottle of Perrier Jouet Belle Epoque,’ he said, indicating a green bottle sitting in a Georgian silver wine cooler swathed in ice. ‘Would you have a glass?’
‘That would be lovely.’
‘You are looking quite wonderful tonight. That dress is perfect on you.’
‘Thank you.’
There were two crystal champagne flutes next to the wine cooler on the mahogany occasional table, beside a large cream sofa. Charles poured the wine into the glasses and handed Andrea one.
‘Cheers,’ he said. ‘Here’s to bravery.’
‘Bravery?’ she queried.
‘I think it was very brave of you to accept my invitation. You have no idea what might lie in store for you.’
Andrea laughed lightly. ‘That’s precisely why I came,’ she said.
‘Good.’ They clinked their glasses together then sipped the wine.
‘So why did you ask me here?’ Andrea asked.
‘Very direct. I like that. I asked you here because I think you are an exceptionally beautiful woman.’
‘The world is full of beautiful women,’ she said coolly.
It was his turn to laugh. ‘Perfectly true. Perhaps we should go into dinner.’
‘Am I the only guest?’
‘Of course,’ he said.
Andrea felt her heart thumping. She’d become so convince that she was only going to be one of many that the revelation that he’d brought her all this way to dine alone dramatically increased her excitement.
He led her through to a small, intimate dining room with scarlet walls and a circular dining table covered with a crisp white linen cloth. It was laid with crystal glasses, solid Georgian silver and a candelabrum that held four tall white candles. A maid with curly auburn hair stood by the doors that clearly led to the kitchen. She was wearing an extremely abbreviated black dress that revealed most of her shapely legs, black fishnet tights and a little white lace apron. Her shoes where black too, with remarkably high heels, which was odd considering she was going to have to work in them, but it was not the oddest thing about her. Around her neck she wore a stainless steel collar, about an inch thick. Attached to the front of the collar was a small steel ring.
‘Tell chef we’re ready,’ Hawksworth said.
‘Yes, sir,’ the girl replied, turning at once and going to the kitchen.
‘I hope you like French food.’
The meal was delicious and Charles Hawksworth was totally charming and totally attentive. He asked her about her work and about Silverton and told her, in turn, why he believed in the future of the company.
It was not until coffee was served in delicate china cups that Andrea, emboldened perhaps by the premier cru served with the meal, returned to the subject that was her major concern.
‘You didn’t answer my question,’ she said.
‘What question was that?’
‘Why you invited me here, rather than any one of a hundred other beautiful women I’m sure you meet every day.’
He smiled. ‘Would you like a brandy?’
‘No, thank you.’
‘I hope you don’t mind if I do.’ He gestured to the maid, who was still standing by the kitchen door, and she immediately left the room. ‘Do you mind if I am perfectly frank with you?’
‘No.’
‘I am a rich man, Andrea. I have been a rich man for quite a long while. And the biggest advantage of being rich is that it means I can get whatever I want. My slightest desire, my smallest whim can be catered for.’
‘I can understand that,’ Andrea said.
‘Good.’ He paused, bringing those deep blue eyes to bear on her again. For a moment the world stood still. ‘My wealth, naturally enough, allows me to develop certain... tastes.’
Andrea’s pulse was racing. The palms of her hands were sweaty and she was having trouble remembering to breath.
‘It also seems that I have an intuitive ability to know whether women share these tastes. That, in a nutshell, is why I asked you to come here.’
‘You’ve only seen me once in that conference room,’ Andrea said, trying to keep the emotion out of her voice.
‘Perfectly true. And of course I may be wrong about you. Absolutely and totally wrong. In that case we will have had a pleasant and enjoyable evening together, and that will be that.’
‘And if you are right?’
‘Then we will I hope have a great deal more to share with each other.’
The auburn-haired maid came back into the room with a silver tray, a crystal decanter and two balloon glasses. She set the tray down on the dining table.
‘Are you sure you won’t change your mind?’
Andrea needed a drink to calm her nerves. ‘I will.’
The maid poured the brandy. It was a liquid amber, like autumn leaves. She put the stopper back in the decanter and went back to stand by the door.
‘I think you should get to the point,’ Andrea said bravely. So far everything she had suspected about Charles Hawksworth was true. She was sure now he knew all her secrets.
He smiled. ‘You are aware of the expression that a picture is worth a thousand words?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you easily shocked?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Good. Then perhaps I should give you a little demonstration.’ He beckoned to the maid. ‘Julia, how would you rate your performance tonight?’
‘I spilled the wine, sir.’ During the main course the maid had spilled three or four drops of the wine on the table cloth.
‘Laurie would normally take care of disciplining such small annoyances, but tonight I would like to show my guest how we deal with these matters.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘You know what to do.’
‘In here, sir?’
‘No, in the sitting room. We’ll bring our own glasses.’
Julia immediately walked out, not by the kitchen door this time, but into the hall that led to the sitting room.
‘Julia has been with us now for three months. She’s worked out very well, all things considered.’
Andrea’s heart was beating so fast she could hear it in her eardrums. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘Bring your glass; you’ll see.’
Charles got up and came around to the back of Andrea’s chair. For a moment she thought he was going to put his hand on her shoulder, but instead he pulled her chair out from the table.
They walked together into the sitting room.
At first Andrea did not see the maid. She was hidden by the bulk of the large cream sofa. But then as they got closer she came clearly into view, and Andrea stopped dead in her tracks. She felt the blood rush to her cheeks. What she saw confirmed everything she had suspected. Charles Hawksworth knew her probably better than she knew herself.
Julia was bending over in front of the large fireplace, her legs spread wide apart and her hands gripping her ankles. She had pulled the tight dress up over her hips so it was bunched around her waist. The fishnet tights were pulled down around her thighs, her buttocks naked but for a pair of tiny black panties. She had pulled the gusset of the panties into a tight string that cut deeply into the valley between her meaty buttocks and her labia, and Andrea could see the curly auburn hair that surrounded them.
Charles walked up to her and put his hand on her back. The girl started slightly. Then he turned and looked straight at Andrea, those searching eyes staring right into hers.
‘I see I have made my point,’ he said quietly. Without a word he went to the side of the fireplace. Andrea couldn’t think how she hadn’t seen it before, but there, in an elaborate china umbrella stand, was a selection of leather whips. Charles Hawksworth extracted a short riding crop and came back to Julia.
‘Three, I think.’
Without looking at Andrea he raised the whip, then swept it down firmly against Julia’s buttocks. Her flesh trembled and she gave a little coughing sound, her fingers gripping her ankles more firmly.
‘Thank you, sir, may I have another?’
‘Certainly you may.’
Hawksworth raised the whip again. This cut was lower, almost on her thighs but clearly more painful as the girl reared up and cried out loudly before taking hold of her ankles again.
‘Thank you, sir, may I have another?’ the girl intoned through gritted teeth.
The riding crop had a thick leather loop at one end. Hawksworth wriggled this under the gusset of the panties until the heft of the whip was bisected by it. Then he yanked the whip upward, making the gusset bite even more deeply into her sex. Julia moaned.
Two bright red stripes had appeared on her big buttocks. Hawksworth pulled the whip out from under the panties then raised it again. The whip whistled as if fell. This was the hardest blow of all and the girl cried out in pain.
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘Very good, Julia. You may go.’ He held out the whip.
Andrea sat down on the sofa as the maid pulled the tight skirt down over her buttocks, took the whip from Hawksworth’s hand, replaced it in the umbrella stand and walked back to the dining room.
Hawksworth sat in a large leather wing-chair, immediately opposite Andrea.
‘That is what you want, isn’t it?’
Andrea sipped her brandy. Her hand was trembling. Every stroke of the whip had affected her quite as much as it had affected the maid. Her own bottom was tingling, her nipples were so hard they felt like little pebbles, and her sex was alive, squirming internally as if a little snake had crawled into her vagina. There was no point lying. ‘How did you know?’
‘I told you, it’s instinctive, something of a gift.’
‘Do a lot of women respond in this way?’
‘Not many. Shall we say a select few?’ He smiled again.
Andrea was trying to think but her emotions were in a spin. She suddenly realised that though she’d suspected that Hawksworth had invited her to dinner precisely because he had in some way responded to her innermost needs, she had not thought any further than that. Now, faced with the fact that she was completely exposed, that he seemed to know everything there was to know about her sexuality, she hadn’t the faintest idea what was going to happen next. Was she supposed to tear all her clothes off, kneel at his feet and beg him to whip her?
He seemed to sense her unease. ‘Don’t worry; it takes some getting used to,’ he said quietly.
‘What do you want from me?’ she asked.
‘The precise reverse of what you want from me. You have never had a master, have you, Andrea?’
It was the first time he had used her name.
‘No. I only... I only had dreams, fantasies...’
‘Of course. The question is whether you want those fantasies to come true. That is only something you can answer for yourself. I have, how shall we put it, trained several women. You are very attractive. I would enjoy training you. I can arrange for you to be released from your work for a period of four weeks. You will come here to this house. There are only two conditions. First, you must obey without question. If you do not you will be sent away. If you do, at the end of the four weeks I will give you a choice.’
‘What kind of a choice?’
‘That will depend on your performance.’
‘And the second condition?’
Hawksworth sipped his brandy, his long fingers wrapped around the stem of the glass. ‘It is a test. A simple test. There is a stark difference between fantasy and reality. It is simply a waste of my time if the reality proves too... difficult, for you.’
‘It won’t,’ Andrea said decisively. The tendrils of excitement were wrapping themselves around her heart. What she had wanted for so long was actually going to happen. She had found a real master.
‘Good. Then shall we go?’
She finished the brandy and got to her feet. Without a word Hawksworth led her through to the back of the house. They arrived at a small door at the end of a long corridor. He opened it.
‘Go inside. Take off all your clothes apart from your panties. What size shoe do you take?’
‘Five.’
‘I will be back in five minutes.’
The room was bare apart from a metal-framed single bed. Quickly, not wanting to allow herself to think too much about what she was doing, Andrea took her dress off and laid it neatly on the bed. She took off her shoes and her tights, and the black strapless bra she was wearing, then sat on the bed with her hands on her knees. She didn’t think she had ever felt so excited in her entire life.
The door opened. ‘Please take your watch off too,’ Hawksworth said. He had changed into a heavy scarlet velvet robe, braided in gold thread. Andrea obeyed. He appeared hardly to glance at her body.
‘Now follow me.’
The room next door was the same size but quite different. It was carpeted in heavy black cord, which had also been used to line the walls and the ceiling, and even the back of the doors. Hanging from three wooden beams that traversed the ceiling were a selection of pulleys, chains, and leather straps. There was a metal frame in one corner, about the size of a double bed, and a number of metal rings on one wall clearly used to spread-eagle a victim in a standing position. But most frightening of all, there was a rack on the wall behind the door which held every conceivable type of instrument of flagellation, from riding crops to tawses, paddles and cat-o-nine-tails.
Next to this rack was a large wooden cupboard, its double doors firmly closed.
‘Put on those shoes.’
There was a pair of white patent leather high heels in the middle of the floor. Andrea stepped into them. The heels were so high they pushed her feet into an almost vertical position.
‘I want you to get out all the equipment I am going to use,’ Hawksworth said calmly. ‘In the cupboard. Do you understand?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. We’ll start with a gag...’
‘So what happened?’
It had been a mistake to tell Pam that she was having dinner with Charles Darrington Hawksworth.
‘He offered me a job.’
‘A job?’
Yes. After the excesses of Saturday night Hawksworth had cut her down from her bondage and taken her back into the room next door. He’d left her alone while she got dressed, then took her back into the sitting room. He told her to go into the office on Monday morning, hand over any important work and tell everyone, including her immediate boss, that she was being assigned to his personal staff for a trial period of one month. It was almost the truth, after all.
‘He wants me to sort out all his computers.’
‘God. And I thought it was going to be something a hell of a lot more romantic.’
‘Don’t be silly, Pam.’
‘So how long will you be gone?’
‘A month.’
‘He is very dishy. I suppose if you are going to be working with him personally you might get to know him a lot better.’ Pam stuck her tongue out and wriggled it about obscenely.
‘I doubt it,’ Andrea lied. ‘Listen, I’d better go. I’ve got to go and see Gordon before I leave.’
‘See you in a month then. And if you can’t be good be careful.’ Pam held up two fingers and mimed rolling a condom over them.
‘You’re incorrigible.’
‘Ask him if he wants another assistant. I could show him a good time.’
But would you be prepared to be bound and whipped by him, Andrea thought. Pam’s sex life, as far as she knew, was extensive but conventional.
‘See you then,’ she said.
Andrea walked out of the office. After ten minutes with Gordon Plait, her boss, she walked out of the building too.
She supposed she should have asked Charles Hawksworth if she could think everything over before she made up her mind, but what would have been the point? What happened on Saturday had changed her life. It was an opportunity and she intended to grab it with both hands.
He arranged for the car to pick her up at four-thirty. His instructions had been very specific. She was to wear a plain dress with no underwear or tights, and a pair of flat-heeled shoes. She was not to wear any make-up or jewellery, or her watch. The only possession she would bring with her was the keys to her flat. Someone would be assigned to look after it while she was away.
So, standing at her bedroom window, acutely aware of the fact she was wearing neither panties nor a bra, she had watched the black Mercedes with its opaque black windows pull up at the curb at twenty minutes past the hour. At four-thirty precisely the blond chauffeur got out and rang the doorbell.
Andrea took a last look around, double locked her flat door and ran down the stairs.
The chauffeur was waiting by the car. He opened the rear passenger door for her but did not smile or say a word as she climbed in.
‘Good afternoon.’
The voice startled Andrea. Sitting in the back of the car with her long legs crossed, was Laurie Angelis. She was wearing a wrap-over white silk blouse, a knee-length black leather skirt, shiny gunmetal grey nylons, and calf-length boots with a stiletto heel. Her long jet-black hair was pinned into a tight chignon, revealing the sinews of her neck. Andrea noticed her fingernails were painted with a deep-blue varnish.
Andrea sat on the seat next to her, and the chauffeur closed the door and got behind the wheel.
‘I thought...’
‘Don’t think from now on,’ Laurie interrupted sternly, as the car pulled away. The glass divider between the passengers and the driver was open. Laurie pressed a button and it glided up with a whirr of electric motors. ‘That’s better,’ she said. ‘Now we have our privacy. Mr Hawksworth likes me to prepare all his little...’ she appeared to be searching for the right word, ‘chicks, personally. So there are no misunderstandings. Give me your keys.’
Andrea hadn’t factored Laurie into the equation. But she suddenly remembered what Hawksworth had said over dinner, that Laurie was responsible for enforcing discipline. If the ‘training’ Charles Hawksworth had talked about was conducted at the manor, it looked as though Laurie would be on hand to supervise. She handed her the keys. The brunette put them into a small black handbag at the side of her seat.
‘What are you wearing?’
‘Just this dress and the shoes,’ Andrea said. ‘That’s what I was told.’
‘Take them off.’
‘What?’
‘You heard. Get on your knees and take them off.’
‘Can’t I wait until we get to the house?’
‘Andrea, I thought it had been explained to you. You are here to obey. That’s all. If you do not wish to do as you’re told I’ll get George to turn around and take you home. It’s as simple as that. Now I will not ask you again.’
In Andrea’s mind she had seen herself alone with Charles Hawksworth, alone as they had been on Saturday night. But clearly Laurie was acting on his orders, and if she wanted to see him again she had little choice but to obey. She looked at the driver. He was paying no attention to her, but there was no doubt he would be able to see everything in the rear-view mirror.
Andrea slid to her knees. The spacious floor of the stretch Mercedes was covered in thick carpet. She unbuttoned the dress and reluctantly pulled it off, her breasts quivering. The car came to a halt at a set of traffic lights and she saw people on the pavement peering in, trying to see through the opaque black glass; if the car carried some notable celebrity. Fortunately, Andrea knew, all they would be able to see was a reflection of their own faces.
The car pulled off again.
‘Now your shoes,’ Laurie said, her voice betraying no emotion.
Andrea slipped her shoes off.
‘I want you to kneel on all fours facing front.’
Again Andrea saw no alternative but to obey.
‘Open your knees, girl. I want to take a good look at you.’
This was not what Andrea had imagined her journey would be like. She’d imagined herself sitting in the luxurious car drinking champagne and enjoying the anticipation of what Charles Hawksworth would do to her when she got to the manor. She had not expected to be kneeling naked at Laurie Angelis’ feet, being made to obey her every command.
But as she eased her knees apart, intensely aware of the fact that in this position her sex was completely exposed, she felt a strong stab of excitement.
The car had stopped again. This time Andrea could see the chauffeur’s eyes looking at her in the rear-view mirror. She wondered how many times he had seen such a spectacle.
‘Do you shave?’ Laurie asked.
‘No.’
‘In future you will address me as Ms Angelis.’
‘Yes, Ms Angelis.’ For some reason that litany produced another sharp pang of arousal. She felt her nipples stiffening.
‘Not much hair.’
Andrea heard the rasp of nylon as Laurie uncrossed her legs. Slowly she extended her foot. The black leather toe of her boot ran up the inside of Andrea’s thigh until it was touching her labia. Andrea shuddered. A woman had never touched her so intimately before.
‘Turn around.’ The foot dropped away.
Andrea turned as the car pulled away from another set of traffic lights.
‘I can see why he wants you,’ Laurie said. She reached forward with her right hand and cupped Andrea’s breast. Her dark-blue fingernails tweaked her nipple. ‘Have you ever been with a woman?’
‘No.’
‘No what?’ Laurie snapped.
‘No, Ms Angelis.’
‘How interesting. Mr Hawksworth likes to watch, did you know that? He likes me to entertain him. I think I shall enjoy entertaining him with you.’
‘What?’ Andrea exclaimed.
‘Hadn’t you thought about that? Obedience is obedience, Andrea. You have to do what you’re told, whatever it may be.’ Laurie had a sensual mouth, and it creased into a smile revealing her perfect teeth.
Andrea said nothing. But her mind was spinning. Laurie was quite right, of course. Hawksworth had made it absolutely plain to her that she had to obey his every whim. But she’d never imagined that would involve having sex with another woman. The idea shocked her, but it was not a shock of revulsion. Quite the reverse. She felt a sickly sweet excitement enveloping her and her clitoris pulsed strongly.
Laurie seemed to sense this reaction. Her smile broadened. ‘That turns you on, doesn’t it? Well I’m sorry to disappoint you, but you’re going to have to wait. Since you are, how shall we put it, a virgin in that department, Mr Hawksworth will want to watch your initiation. Come closer,’ Laurie said.
There was a large nylon holdall on the floor by her feet. She reached into it and took out a stainless steel collar. It was hinged at the side with a small steel ring at the front, and was identical to the one Andrea had seen the maid wearing on Saturday night. Laurie leant forward, hooked it around her throat. There was a loud click as the locking mechanism engaged at the back of her neck.
The brunette delved into the bag again. ‘Put this on.’ Laurie draped a red satin basque on the floor in front of Andrea. ‘Red is good with your blonde hair,’ she added.
Andrea picked it up. The garment was beautifully made, the satin silky and soft to the touch, with black lacing decorating the front panel. It did not have a full bra, but rather small semi-circular cups that were obviously intended to fit under rather than over the breasts. Andrea wrapped the corset around her body. It was a little too small for her and she couldn’t manage to fit the eyes into the hooks at the back, however hard she tried.
‘Not a very good start,’ Laurie said, clicking her tongue. ‘You better lay down. On your front.’
Andrea obeyed, the interior of the car easily big enough for her to lie flat. Laurie knelt beside her.
‘Breath in.’
Gradually Andrea felt the corset gripping her body as Laurie worked her way down the long row of fastenings, each one cinching the basque more tightly and making breathing more difficult. It was boned around the waist to give an hour-glass figure.
‘I imagine you can manage to put these on for yourself.’ She pulled a cellophane packet of stockings out of the bag and sat back on the seat. They were a light champagne colour. ‘You can sit up here.’ She patted the seat beside her.
Andrea sat on the black leather. It felt cold against her naked buttocks. The quarter bra cups of the basque pushed her breasts up, making them stand out obscenely. She took the stockings out of their packet and rolled them slowly up her legs.
‘They have a seam, make sure it’s straight,’ Laurie ordered.
As best she could Andrea tried to get the seam running in a vertical line up the back of her legs. The stockings were very sheer. They had a fully-fashioned heel and a seam right up to the wide welts that banded her thighs. Andrea clipped them into the long satin suspenders and felt a familiar buzz of anticipation. Her body knew how to respond to this treatment. In her masturbation ritual donning the corset and the stockings was always a precursor to orgasm.
‘Now kneel again, in front of me.’
This time Laurie pulled out a coil of silky white nylon rope from the holdall. She threaded one end through the ring in the steel collar.
‘Put your hands together, in front of your chin,’ she ordered.
Andrea did as she was told and the brunette quickly looped cords of the rope around her wrists, tying her hands together tightly and making it impossible for her to lower them.
For only the second time in her life Andrea’s bondage was real. The first time was in the manor, Saturday night. She tried to pull her hands apart and away from the steel collar, but the bonds gave not an inch. The feeling thrilled her. Stretched spread-eagled across her bed, though three of her limbs had been secured, there was always the fourth. She had the impression of being tightly bound but not the substance. She could always free herself. Now she did not have that option.
Laurie had taken another item from the bag. It was a black leather helmet with a crisscross of laces at the back. She quickly wound Andrea’s hair into a simple ponytail, then pulled the helmet down over her head, looping the hair through a hole just above where the lacing began. There was a small hole in the front of the helmet that fitted over her nostrils, three larger ovals for the eyes and the mouth. The brunette began to pull the laces tight, until Andrea could feel the soft leather moulding itself to the contours of her face like a second skin.
‘Sit back up here,’ Laurie said.
Andrea moved to obey. Without thinking she tried to extend her hands to balance herself, and the fact that they were jerked back firmly against the rope gave another twist to her spiral of excitement. She managed to squirm up onto the leather seat, but without her arms for support could not prevent herself falling back against it heavily. She was very excited. She was wriggling her buttocks against the leather almost subconsciously, and could feel a slick of wetness on her labia.
She glanced out of the window and realised the car had taken a different route from the last time, and was not going south to the embankment but west along the Euston Road.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked, forgetting herself for a moment.
‘You will learn not to speak unless you are spoken to,’ Laurie snapped. She slapped her hand down hard on Andrea’s thigh, making her yelp. The noise attracted the driver’s attention. She saw his eyes examining her in the rear-view mirror.
Laurie took a pair of red leather high-heels from the holdall. She bent forward and fitted them onto Andrea’s feet. They had an ankle strap, which she buckled tightly.
‘Nearly done,’ she said.
She turned to face Andrea, bringing herself to within inches of her face. ‘You love it, don’t you?’
There was no point in lying. Andrea’s whole body was throbbing with some very familiar sensations, intensified by a whole set of very new ones. ‘Yes, Ms Angelis,’ she said softly. Their mouths were no more than six inches apart and she couldn’t help imagining how it would feel to kiss those fleshy lips and feel that pliant mouth crushed against hers. The thought created another jolt of pleasure.
Laurie raised her hand and stroked Andrea’s leather-covered cheek.
‘Close your eyes,’ she said.
Andrea did as she was told. In the darkness she heard the noise of two short zips being pulled and felt tightness over her eyelids. The oval eyeholes had been closed. She opened her eyes tentatively, but the darkness was complete.
She felt Laurie moving slightly on the seat next to her. She heard a clink of a glass. Then the weight beside her shifted again. Laurie was having a drink. They seemed to have escaped the worst of the traffic now and the car’s forward progress was less halting. Its smooth suspension and quiet engine were soporific. Andrea inhaled the pungent smell of leather. It reminded her of last Saturday night. That had been the most exciting experience of her life, but it was only the beginning. What had happened to her already today was so far beyond anything she could have imagined that it left her in little doubt that Charles Hawksworth’s ‘training’ was going to be a monumental voyage of self-discovery.
In the blackness behind the blindfold she could see herself, sitting with her hands tied in an attitude of prayer, her forearms resting against her breasts, the tight red basque cinched around her body, the suspenders pulling the stocking tops into peaks on her thighs.
Laurie had effectively robbed her of her will. And that was the point, after all. She was no longer allowed to think or do even the simplest thing for herself, and that was exciting her. But she was glad she’d been dressed so provocatively. She wanted to look her best when she met her master again. He was all that mattered now.
‘Out.’
She must have fallen asleep because she woke with a start. A hand was pulling her up.
For a moment she forgot about her bound hands and got a jolt as she tried to use them to move forward. The rope and the steel collar soon reminded her she was not free to make such instinctive movements.
‘Come on.’ The voice was Laurie’s.
Hands were pulling at her body. She stumbled forward onto the soft carpeting and was virtually dragged out of the car. The air was cold but very fresh. She was sure they had arrived at the manor.
‘Take her inside.’ Laurie’s voice again.
The red patent leather shoes had heels that made her totter. She felt hands grasping her by the shoulders and pushing her forward. She could hear the gravel crunching under her feet. Then the hands lifted her slightly and the texture of the ground underfoot changed. She had been expecting the carpet of the hall, imagining she was being taken into the house through the front door, but this felt and sounded like wooden boards.
The hands guided her to the right. After twenty or thirty of her diminutive steps they pulled her to the left and brought her to a halt. The hands dropped from her shoulders.
‘Open your legs.’ This voice was female too, but it was not Laurie.
Andrea obeyed. She felt a hand brush between her legs, then something rubbed against her thigh above the stocking tops. It crept higher.
‘Move her forward.’ Another female voice, but a different one yet. It was coming from behind her.
A hand on Andrea’s arm guided her forward two or three steps.
‘That’s it.’
Andrea gasped. Whatever had been glancing against her thigh was suddenly pulled right up between her legs, burrowing into her labia. Andrea had no idea what it was but it felt like a rope.
There were some noises she couldn’t identify. The rope altered position slightly, pulled up more sharply between her buttocks and at the front of her mons. The latter brought it in direct contact with her clitoris and Andrea gasped loudly again.
‘Sensitive little flower, isn’t she?’
‘Is that tied off?’
‘Yes.’
‘Come on then.’
Andrea heard footsteps on the wooden floor and then a door was slammed. A key grated in a lock.
She stood stock still trying to hear whether there was anyone else in the room. The tight leather helmet over her ears muffled most sounds, and she doubted she would be able to hear breathing. She imagined Charles Hawksworth sitting in a leather wing-chair with his legs crossed, looking at her with that mixture of disdain and appreciation, his eyes roaming her body. She thrust her shoulders back and raised her head, wanting him to see that she was proud to be his slave. But after three or so minutes she became convinced she was alone.
Tentatively she tried to take a step forward but the rope, or whatever it was, between her legs wouldn’t budge, only jamming itself more tightly into her sex and making her clitoris zing. She moved back slightly. Though she could take two or three steps forward it only forced the rope deeper into her sex.
The short journey from the car, bound and blindfolded, had created huge waves of arousal. The idea of being taken from the car dressed like a whore, with her breasts and buttocks and her sex exposed to whoever happened to be watching, strangers she did not know and could not see, excited her like nothing else ever had. Why it should have such an effect on her she simply did not know, but there was no denying that it did. With her arms tied against her breasts she could feel her nipples were as hard as pebbles again, and there were little pulses of feeling deep in her vagina that she always got when it was wet. She was sure she could feel her juices leaking over the rope.
She tried to relax and calm herself down, but with the rope buried deep in her sex that was impossible. Every time she made the slightest movement she felt it jerk against her clitoris and the sensitive flesh at the mouth of her vagina.
With her forearms she crushed her breasts back, feeling the hard nipples embedded in the malleable flesh. She rubbed them from side to side and felt little ripples of pleasure cascade through her body. Almost imperceptibly she began to wriggled her hips from side to side, making the rope brush across her clitoris. She discovered by moving her arms and her hips at the same tempo the two feelings collided into one.
In the darkness behind the leather helmet the images came thick and fast. She saw herself tied helplessly in the punishment room last Saturday. She saw Laurie’s eyes six inches from her face and her rich, kissable mouth. And in her imagination she saw herself being pulled from the car, bound and helpless while nameless and numberless strangers gathered around to watch. She was coming. Her whole body was beginning to tremble. She jerked on the ropes that held her hands so tightly, not because she wanted to get free but because the feeling of being bound increased her excitement.
‘Master,’ she said aloud.
If she had any doubt that she wanted to be here, wanted to be subjected to whatever Charles Hawksworth had in mind for her, it had vanished. This was better than any of her fantasies. She had never been so excited in her life.
She pushed herself forward, making the rope crush against her clitoris and orgasmed, her cry of pleasure the word ‘Master...’ elongated to a long, attenuated whisper.
‘Quite a performance.’ Andrea instinctively twisted her head around towards the sound of Laurie’s voice. She had opened the door so quietly Andrea wasn’t sure how long she had been standing there.
The brunette’s footsteps crossed the room. ‘Close your eyes tight,’ she said.
Andrea felt the zips over her eyelids being opened.
‘All right, you can open them now.’
After so long in the dark the light in the room was blinding. It took some minutes before Andrea could open her eyes fully. She found herself in a narrow rectangular room with bare white plastered walls and no windows. The floor was wooden, and the only furniture a single bed with no bedding on its thin mattress.
The rope between Andrea’s legs was thick and white. The two girls who’d brought her in had strung it from metal rings set in the walls. There were other rings positioned on the walls and a pulley set in the ceiling. The wooden frame of the bed, Andrea noticed too, had leather cuffs attached to each of its corners.
‘Mr Hawksworth is waiting,’ Laurie said. She had changed into a glittery silver cocktail dress with a short skirt and a draped neck, her long legs in nylon so sheer it was almost transparent. The heels of her shoes were spiky, and finished in shiny metal.
The mention of Hawksworth’s name made Andrea’s heart leap.
Laurie unknotted the rope from the metal ring and allowed it to drop to the floor. It had become so deeply embedded in Andrea’s sex that despite the fact it was no longer stretched taut, Laurie had to come up behind her and ease it out, making Andrea whimper.
‘Follow me.’
Laurie strode out of the door and Andrea followed, feeling disorientated by her sudden comparative freedom. Her labia felt sore from contact with the rope, and prickled as she walked. But none of that mattered. The only thing that mattered now was that she was on the way to see her master.
The corridor was long, with high arched windows along its length that looked out onto a cobbled courtyard. Andrea guessed they were in the stable block she had seen from the air as she’d arrived on Saturday. There were a series of doors along the left-hand side, identical to the one where she’d been confined.
‘In here.’
Laurie turned into the last door at the end of the corridor, and Andrea followed her.
The room was identical in shape to the one Andrea had occupied, but instead of a bed it had a large dressing table and two chairs. Laid out on the dressing table were every conceivable type of cosmetics, as well as make-up brushes, bottles of perfume and a large jar of cotton balls. A chunky woman of about fifty, in a plain black dress, was sitting in one of the chairs.
‘She’s required in ten minutes,’ Laurie said. She came up to Andrea and began untying her hands. Andrea felt a rush of blood to her forearms as she was able to lower them again. The rope had left marks on Andrea’s wrists.
‘Nice figure,’ the woman commented. ‘Is she the new one?’
‘Yes.’
‘Mr Hawksworth has very good taste.’
‘Just get her ready.’
Laurie marched out of the room, leaving the door open.
‘Sit down.’
Andrea did as she was told. The woman got to her feet and began unlacing the leather hood. She pulled it off over Andrea’s head then picked up a hairbrush and began brushing out her hair. Apparently satisfied that it was neatly set, she sat in the second chair and began to apply make-up to Andrea’s face.
There was no mirror above the dressing table so Andrea could not see what she was doing. She was not using the sort of colours that Andrea would have ever used for herself. She varnished Andrea’s fingernails in a deep, almost scarlet red. From now on, Andrea realised, even the ability to do her own make-up was going to be taken away from her.
‘Is she ready?’ Laurie had walked back into the room.
‘Just the lips.’ The woman brushed on a lipstick that matched the nail varnish.
‘Mmm...’ Laurie said, examining Andrea’s face. ‘She’ll do.’ She opened one of the drawers in the dressing table and took out a pair of metal handcuffs.
‘Up,’ she said to Andrea. ‘Hands behind your back.’ Andrea obeyed. She felt the cold metal being clipped around her wrists. ‘Follow.’
This time Laurie opened the larger door at the end of the corridor. It led out into the garden. There was a pathway made from flagstones, and covered with wooden trellising draped with honeysuckle and vine, to the back of the main house.
Both the women’s high-heels clacked on the stone. It was almost dark now and a distinctly chilly breeze had sprung up. If Andrea’s nipples had not already been knotted by her excitement, this would have certainly caused them to do so.
The house was warm. Inside the door Andrea saw a small rack of brass hooks. Hanging from each hook was a metal chain, like a dog leash. Laurie unhooked one and clipped the snap-lock at one end into the ring on Andrea’s steel collar. She then led her onward.
They walked under the stairs and out to the sitting room where Andrea had been on Saturday night. The room was deserted but she could hear voices; men’s voices coming from the dining room.
‘Wait here,’ Laurie said. There was a blazing fire in the grate of the large fireplace in the sitting room, and Laurie dropped the leash and left Andrea standing by it as she went into the dining room, closing the door behind her.
Andrea looked around. She noticed the china umbrella stand with the leather whips and remembered how the maid had been punished standing exactly where she stood now.
The dining room door opened and Laurie came out. She took hold of the leash again and led Andrea forward.
‘Remember, you are not to speak unless you are asked a direct question.’
‘Yes, Ms Angelis.’
Charles Hawksworth sat at the circular table, with two other people, a man and a woman. Both the men were wearing black tie and evening dress while the woman, a bleached-blonde in her early forties, wore a slinky white silk dress with spaghetti straps. The front of the dress was decorated with little glass beads, and the woman wore a heavy gold necklace.
‘Good evening, my dear,’ Hawksworth said. ‘I hope you had a pleasant trip. I’m sorry I could not be there to greet you personally, but as you see I have guests.’ Those deep-blue eyes held Andrea’s for a moment. Every time she saw him again she was astonished at how powerful their effect was. She was shocked by the presence of the two strangers, but excited by them too. It was another demonstration, like the clothes she’d been made to wear, and the make-up, that it no longer mattered what she thought or wanted. She had gifted all that to her master.
‘Come closer,’ Hawksworth said. ‘You may leave her with us, Laurie.’
Laurie unclipped the leash from the collar and left the room without a word.
‘What do you think, Donald?’
‘Astonishing,’ the other man said. He was short and chubby with a receding hairline and a small button nose. His eyes were riveted to Andrea’s chest. ‘I don’t know how you find them, Charles.’
‘I told you old chap, it’s an instinct. There’s a submissive streak in a lot of women.’
‘Not in me,’ the woman said at once. ‘No man’s ever going to truss me up like a chicken.’ Her accent was American.
‘But you enjoy being dominant, Erica. Isn’t that so?’
‘I like dishing it out, yah.’
‘In a sense, I think that is a very similar impulse.’
‘If you don’t mind me saying so, Charles, that’s bullshit.’
‘A lot of people say that sadism and masochism are just different sides of the same coin.’
‘Well you’re not going to get me on the other side.’
‘Where did you find this one?’ Donald asked.
‘She works for Silverton.’ There were cups of coffee and large brandy balloons in front of each of them. Hawksworth picked up his glass and swallowed a sip of brandy.
‘May I touch?’
‘Of course.’
‘You lay a finger on her and I’ll cut it off,’ Erica snapped. She got to her feet. ‘I do all the touching for both of us.’ She came up behind Andrea, her silk dress brushing her back. Her hand caressed Andrea’s buttocks. ‘Nice tight butt,’ she said. Her arms wrapped around Andrea’s body and she circled her nipples with her palms. ‘What are you going to do with her?’
‘The usual training.’
‘And then?’
‘That’s up to her.’
‘If she’s going into the System we’d be interested, wouldn’t we, Donald?’
‘Certainly.’
Andrea didn’t understand what they were talking about. Once again all her expectations had been dashed. She’d expected Charles Hawksworth to be alone. She’d imagined he would want to take her up to his bedroom and fuck her for the first time, though she was sure the sex would be far from conventional. But she hadn’t expected this.
‘God, she’s making me horny,’ Donald said. ‘Just look at those tits.’
‘He always was a tit man,’ Erica said. She pinched Andrea’s hard nipples between the thumb and forefinger of both hands, then lifted her breasts by them, until the flesh was stretched taut. Andrea moaned.
‘Would you like to see more?’
‘More?’ Donald asked.
Charles got to his feet. He crossed the room and pressed a button in a console panel of wood near the kitchen door. Immediately the panel slid back to reveal a large television and a CD player. Charles touched two more buttons on the console and the television screen came to life.
Andrea saw the picture resolved into a shot of a girl wearing a tight red satin basque, her head entirely covered by a black leather helmet. It took a few seconds to realise it was her, the long white rope pulled up between her legs.
‘Look at that,’ Donald said, leaning forward in his chair.’
Erica sat down next to him and stared at the screen. Andrea’s body squirmed against the rope, her hips grinding from side to side, her breasts trembling. She was making little gasps and moans of pleasure as she moved. The camera zoomed in on Andrea’s pubis, the cords of the rope buried in her almost hairless labia. Then the lens travelled up over the red satin basque to her nipples, the dark red flesh puckered and tight.
‘She’s bringing herself off,’ Erica said. The American’s hand had slipped into her husband’s lap and was rubbing against the fly of his trousers, where a large bulge distended the material.
Andrea was fascinated by watching herself on the screen. It seemed as if her whole body was focussed on her sex, every movement sawing the rope into her labia. The extraordinary thing was that just as her clitoris had throbbed wildly then, it was pulsing with almost as much energy as she watched herself now. She could already feel a trickle of wetness leaking over the top of her thigh.
‘Do you do this to all of them?’ Donald asked.
‘No,’ Hawksworth said, with no further explanation.
On screen Andrea’s whole body was trembling. She saw the fingers of her bound hands under her chin stretch out as if trying to catch a ball, her wrists pulling at the rope that bound them to the steel collar. Her breasts were quivering. She stepped forward, the rope biting even deeper. ‘Master,’ her voice said, and then repeated the word in one long whisper.
The television screen went blank.
Hawksworth turned and walked back to the table. His eyes were looking straight at Andrea again, and he looked as if he were angry with her. She had been so engrossed in watching herself she had not noticed Hawksworth’s reaction to her performance, but he was very obviously not pleased.
‘I have some things to do,’ he said, turning his attention to Donald and Erica. ‘Would you excuse me?’
‘Sure thing. What about her?’
‘Leave her where she is,’ he said, glancing back at Andrea. The tone of his voice cut her to the core. It was complete indifference. ‘I’ll see you both for breakfast in the morning.’ He walked out of the room and closed the door.
‘Put it on again,’ Donald said immediately.
‘What for? We’ve got the real thing.’
‘We’re not allowed to have her, you know that. She’s not had any training yet.’
‘There’s a load of ways to skin a cat, Don.’
Erica got to her feet. She glanced around the room, as if searching for something. Her eyes alighted on the thick candles that flickered in the candelabra. She blew one out and lifted it from the silver holder.
‘Open your legs,’ she said.
Andrea didn’t know what to do. For some reason she did not understand she had offended her master. She didn’t want to make the same mistake again. She could only imagine that if he had left her with these people he meant for her to obey their commands, so hesitantly she moved her legs apart.
Erica pulled out one of the chairs from the table.
‘Now bend right over. Rest your forehead on this chair.’ Andrea obeyed, well aware that in this position her sex was fully exposed. ‘Legs wider apart.’
She spread her legs out further. She could feel her labia parting. They would be able to see how wet she was.
Erica’s hand touched the small of her back. She felt something cylindrical being inserted into the mouth of her vagina. Erica was pushing the candle into her body.
‘Look at that,’ Donald said under his breath.
The candle went deeper. It was not as broad as a penis, but it was longer. It burrowed into her, pressing against the neck of her womb. She felt her clitoris pulse strongly.
‘Now hold it there; grip it tight,’ Erica ordered. ‘If it falls out I’ll tell Hawksworth you refused to cooperate. You know what that would mean.’
Andrea didn’t want to think about that. Instead she used all her vaginal muscles to grip the candle. The effort produced a huge wave of sensations. She gasped.
‘Light it,’ Donald said, giggling.
‘What?’
‘Light the candle.’
‘Good idea.’
Andrea heard a match striking.
‘Now what are we going to do with this?’ Erica knelt at her husband’s feet and unzipped his trousers. She fished inside and pulled out his cock. It was short and stubby, gnarled with veins. She pulled back his foreskin and sucked the erection into her mouth.
Suddenly Andrea felt a spark of pain. The hot wax from the top of the candle was dripping down onto her buttocks. She gasped.
‘Can’t do that for long,’ Erica said. ‘You’re much too excited.’
She got to her feet, bent over the table right at Andrea’s side and pulled the white silk dress up over her waist. She was wearing champagne-coloured hold-ups, their elasticated welts digging channels in her thighs, and silky white panties.
Donald got to his feet, his erection sticking out from the zip of his fly. He undid his trousers fully, pushed them down to his knees and stood behind his wife. Taking hold of the panties he pulled them to one side. Andrea caught a glimpse of dark pubic hair before Donald grabbed Erica by the hips and drove his cock straight into her sex.
‘Oh God!’ she screamed. ‘You’re so hard!’
‘And you’re so fucking wet.’
There was no subtlety. He hammered into her, holding her hips in his hands and pulling her back onto him as he drove forward, his belly slapping loudly against her buttocks.
‘She’s... really... got... to you...’ Erica gasped, each word punctuated by his inward thrusts.
But the feeling was mutual. Andrea had never experienced anything like this. She had never seen another couple having sex right before her eyes, but then she’d never been bound before, or had a lighted candle wedged into her sex before. She had to try and concentrate on keeping it in place, and with her cunt as wet as she thought it had ever been, that was not easy. If she gripped too hard the candle was squeezed out, but if she didn’t grip hard enough it would start to topple. The constant adjustments she had to make with the muscles of her vagina were provoking her just as much as the spectacle in front of her eyes. And the wax splashing down on her buttocks was like the pain from the whip; hot tingling pain that rooted itself right to her sex, translating itself just like the lashes of the whip, to intense pleasure.
Erica was coming. She threw her head back and cried out loud, her whole body trembling, thrusting herself back against the hard phallus that was reaming into her. She looked at Andrea, as if to give herself a final push into orgasm, then came, her eyes screwed shut by the power of it all.
‘Please...’ Andrea whispered. ‘Please...’ She had no idea what she was pleading for. She didn’t want to come again; she suddenly realised that was why her master had been angry with her. She should have saved herself for him. She should have resisted the temptation of the rope just as she should have resisted what was happening to her now. But she couldn’t. She adjusted her grip for the hundredth time, tightening her muscles slightly, and felt a huge wave of sensations shoot through her just as the moment the largest splash of wax dripped onto her arse. She saw Donald’s cock come almost all the way out of his wife’s sex, its gnarled shaft wet with the sticky juices of her body, then slammed back in again, this time not pulling back but holding himself deep inside her as he yelled out that he was coming. At that exact moment Andrea came too. As her sex clenched reflexively around the candle it dripped more hot wax over her buttocks, the tingling pain serving to increase her pleasure.
Donald pulled out of his wife. ‘Come on, lets go upstairs,’ he grunted.
Erica straightened up. Her dress fell back around her thighs. ‘Pity we can’t take her with us.’ She blew the candle out and slipped it out of Andrea’s sex.
Donald pulled up his trousers and they walked out, hand in hand.
Andrea straightened up, not at all sure what she should do now. She hoped there wasn’t another camera recording what had just happened. If there was the master would know she came again. She was convinced that was the reason he looked at her with such disapproval. She knew she should have saved herself for him. And now she’d been provoked again. Perhaps, as it was his guests who’d caused it this time he would be more understanding. He left her alone with them, after all.
She longed to be taken to him. She longed to be alone with him. She wouldn’t mind if he wanted to punish her for what she’d done. She deserved it. She would welcome it.
The door to the kitchen swung open. Two maids emerged, both wearing the short black dresses and lace aprons Andrea had seen the maid wearing on Saturday night. They completely ignored her and began clearing away the table. One was short with a round doll-like face and short brown hair, while the other was as tall as Andrea, with wavy red hair.
‘What am I supposed to do now?’ she asked.
‘You’re not allowed to talk,’ the redhead snapped.
It took several trips back to the kitchen to clear the table completely. As soon as it was done Andrea was left alone again.
She was intensely aware of her buttocks. The candle wax had solidified and seemed to be pulling at her flesh. It was not an unpleasant sensation. She looked down at her body, her breasts thrust out by the shelf-like bra of the basque, her nipples still knotted into tightly corrugated buttons.
Her body ached from the tightness of the corset and from her bondage, the metal handcuffs chafing against her wrists. But she didn’t care. All she cared about was seeing her master again. It had all gone wrong and it was all her fault. She stood where she was without moving, not daring to sit down in case that too was held against her.
It was an hour before the door from the sitting room opened.
‘Follow me.’
Laurie’s expression was one of disinterest. If Hawksworth had told her how displeased he was with Andrea it didn’t show on her face.
They walked to the stairs. Andrea felt her pulse begin to race as Andrea led her up the wide carpeted steps to the first floor. Was she being taken to see her master?
The answer was clearly no. They passed the double doors that looked as if they belonged to the main bedroom, and headed up a second, much narrower staircase to the floor above. Here Laurie opened a door and shepherded Andrea into a small bedroom. It was prettily decorated with flowery print wallpaper, and had all the normal bedroom furniture including a wardrobe, bedside tables and a small double bed.
There was another door in the room which Andrea could see led to a small white-tiled bathroom.
Laurie caught hold of Andrea’s wrists and undid the handcuffs.
‘Strip off,’ she said.
‘What’s going to happen to me?’
‘How many times am I going to have to tell you not to speak unless you’re spoken to?’
‘Sorry, Ms Angelis, but...’ Andrea knew better than to go on. She quickly unhooked the basque, then sat on the bed to pull off her shoes and stockings. It looked as if Hawksworth had no intention of seeing her again that night.
‘There’s a bathroom next-door. Do not remove your make-up.’
Laurie picked up all the clothes, turned on her heels and strode out of the room. Andrea heard the door being locked behind her.
This was her punishment, she knew. Being left on her own was a thousand times worse than being bound and whipped. Even if Hawksworth had instructed Laurie to do it, that would at least mean he had thought about his new slave. But shut up in this room, naked and alone, was an indication of his indifference.
If he hadn’t called her to his room, perhaps he was with one of the maids. She’d seen the way Julia looked at him. She was obviously in training too. The other maids in the dining room might well be there for the same reason, too. There were lots of rooms in the stable block. Did each contain a beautiful woman waiting, like her, for the privilege of serving their master? That thought depressed her even more.
There was a glimmer of hope though. Laurie had told her to keep her make-up on. Could that mean Hawksworth might still call for her?
She realised then that her whole life had changed completely. In the space of a few hours she had gone from being independent with a relatively normal life, to being totally and absolutely dependent, her whole life orientated towards one man. But however much she wished it could have started differently she did not regret the change for one moment. When he gave her the chance, she would be a perfect slave.