Date: Fri, 10 Jun 2011 19:29:39 -0400 (EDT)
From: Calandria
Subject: Abigail's Abduction

Abigail's Abduction (M/F, F/F, D/s, BDSM) by Calandria
================================================================================
Abigail's Abduction Chapter  1
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First a bit of background:
==========================
People have been  telling me, for as long as I can remember, and far too
often, that I `was born  with a silver spoon in my mouth.' Quite right, I
suppose; Daddy is `Something in  the City' and I was brought up in a large
Tudor house, set in wooded gardens, in  rolling Sussex parkland. We always had
a cook, a maid, a gardener and a  chauffeur, and Mummy did charity work, if
she did anything at all. (except, I  grew to suspect, fuck the chauffeur)
I was packed off to boarding school  when my older brother James went up to
Cambridge, and it was there that I  learned more than the `three R's.'
Sarah, who slept next to me in the dorm,  showed me more about my body than all
the dry lessons in human biology could  begin to show me, and together we
explored the delights of masturbation whenever  the opportunity presented
itself. I knew instinctively that sex was going to be  a major influence in my
life.
During the long summer vacations, spent  wandering about the house, the
gardens and
woods, I met Mark, the gardener's  son, on leave from his first year in the
army.  I gave myself to him  readily, none too anxious to retain my
virginity. He returned to his ghastly  duties on Salisbury Plain immediately after
that first, rather unsatisfactory  union, but I wore my new status with
something akin to pride when I went back to  school, and soon had a rather more
fulfilling -- if brief - liaison with a young  policeman who came to lecture
us on traffic safety.
I was recruited into  Daddy's company, and hated it roundly for two years --
 the boredom, the hours,  the false people -- in short, it wasn't for me. I
decided to go to university,  and Daddy was a gem, paying all my bills as I
progressed to a modest degree in  economics at Sheffield. I won't bore you
with details of the sexual encounters I  had -- suffice to say there were
several, of little importance. When I finished  there, I was promised a nice
job in Paris, but a year on. There was nothing for  it but to do what a lot of
young people (mostly a bit younger than my 22 years)  do, backpack around
for a while. Australia came first, and a dalliance (nice,  old-fashioned
word, that) with a muscular guy who, if he wasn't called Bruce,  should have
been. There was, I was starting to realize, something missing from  my life,
something I couldn't put my finger on.  The sex was fine, but I  found myself
faking orgasms too often -- not really getting out of these affairs  what I
felt I ought to be. Was there something wrong with me? I really didn't  know.
But I left Australia, when Melbourne got too cold, and flew to the  USA, to
have a look at the Big Apple -- that's where this story has its true
beginning......

Although Daddy continued to be  generous, Manhattan hotels weren't for me,
and I found a nice enough small hotel  in Brooklyn, just a few minutes on
the subway from the fleshpots of Times  Square. A week into my stay, having
done most of the touristy things, I was  mooching around Greenwich Village,
trying to decide whether I really wanted  another coffee or not, when I felt a
tap on my shoulder.
Looking around, I  found myself face-to-face with my old school friend,
Sarah. I could scarcely  believe it, and we talked over two or three coffees
and a long lunch. She told  me she was sharing a fourth floor walk-up in the
Village with three more  girls.
`Suit you!' I remarked.
`Catty!, she rejoined, `but part true -- I  go both ways these days,
darling, and you?'
I didn't know how to reply.  `Straight, I suppose,' I said, hesitantly.
`You don't sound too  sure.'
`It's just that....no, it's silly really.'
`Hey, I'm Sarah,  remember, your old friend!'
`I was going to say that there's something  missing from my life, and I can
't begin to tell you what.'
`A woman's touch?'  she suggested.
`No, I don't think it's that.' She looked a trifle  crestfallen, so I
elaborated:
`It's not that I couldn't respond to...to  another woman -- I'm sure I
could, but there's more. Oh, I can't explain.'
She  laid a long-nailed hand on mine, and said softly, `Then don't try,
darling.
Look, we're going to a party in Queen's tomorrow night -- please come!'
`I  don't know,' I said lamely.
`There'll be lots of hunky guys there,' she  said.
`You've talked me into it, but what to wear?'
`None of your  backpackers' gear,' she replied, `strictly sexy, eh?'
`But I've only got  jeans and shorts and stuff.'
`Then go cane your credit card,' she  said.
Before we parted, I gave her the address of my hotel, and she told me  she'
d get a guy called Ben to collect me there at eight the next evening. We
parted with a kiss.
Next morning I set out to Hiy Fifth Avenue in a big way,  and, after a lot
of trying on, plumped for a backless mid-blue mini-dress in a  material that
looked and felt like silk, but wasn't. I tried it on in the  cubicle with
my bra on, and realized it would look quite different when I wore  it for
real, as there was no way I could wear a bra under it. Whilst musing on  that,
I took a good look at myself in the big mirror. A raddled backpacker  looked
back, hair like rats' tails, make-up so-so..... I decided there and then
on the next punishment for my credit card, and found a ruinously expensive
beauty salon just a few doors away.  With a silent thanks to Daddy, I
slipped inside and booked a `full treatment package' for that afternoon.
I  filled in the intervening time buying shoes (strappy stilettos, suitable
for a  party) and some costume jewelry, as well as some make-up items I had
been  neglecting for months. When the time came for my appointment, I was
almost  nervous, but the pretty young assistants set me at ease, and I was
soon enjoying  being pampered. They shampooed, cut and styled my long black
hair so that I  hardly recognized the glossy mane I saw in the mirror, praised
my long  eyelashes, to me I needed no false ones, and made them up
expertly. Turning  their attention to my long-neglected nails, they tutted a little,
then suggested  a set of porcelain ones. I was soon fitted up with
awkwardly long,  silver-glossed nails, which were going to take some getting used
to. After  treating my skin to a long, lingering massage with scented oils, I
certainly  didn't begrudge the cost.
Back in my hotel room, I rested until an hour  before the appointed hour,
then
started to get ready. I stripped off my  customary jeans and tee shirt, bra
and
panties, and took a long hard look in  the mirror. My half-Italian mother's
legacy of jet-black hair and big brown  eyes were my best features, I
thought,
but the exercise I had been putting  myself through, trudging around with a
massive rucksack, had hardened my  already lean body, so that what I saw
was a
flat stomach, firm breasts with  nice, puffy nipples -- which always brought
memories of Sarah sucking on them  and muttering about how nice they were --
and a
tight but nicely rounded  arse. Before I dressed I took a razor to my black
bush, and trimmed it back  to the nice little triangle I had kept it to
when I had been used to wearing my  bikini in Aussie.
`You'll do, girl,' I said, to the mirror, `some lucky  bastard may get
this view -- who knows?' But the truth was that I wasn't  anticipating the
usual selection of chat-up lines, the inevitable groping,  awkward fumbling
undressing, the equally inevitable premature ejaculation, with  any pleasure.
When I dressed in the new mini-dress, however, I took  narcissistic
pleasure in walking towards my wardrobe mirror, and watching how my  breasts
jiggled ever so slightly under the silky material, the jut of my nipples  obvious
through the soft material. I wore nothing under the dress but a pair of
white silk panties, and stepped into my new stilettos, clipped a little gold
anklet I had bought around one slim ankle, and put in a pair of large gold
hoop  ear-rings. I felt ready.
When I went down to the hotel's reception to await  my lift, the
middle-aged receptionist, who had never before seen me in anything  other than a pair
of jeans, did a double take, and I smiled sweetly at  him.
Ben turned out to be a slightly overweight young man with thick  spectacles
and a crew-cut, but he seemed pleasant enough, and kept glancing  sideways
at me as I sat beside him in his Taurus. It only took us about forty
minutes to negotiate the heavy city traffic and arrive in front of a big,
clapboard house, from which music could be heard issuing long before we drew up  in
a line of cars.
A big room had been cleared of furniture, and was already  full of people,
so early in the evening, though nobody was yet dancing. I caught  sight of
Sarah, dressed in a long, shimmering gold sheath, with  spaghetti-straps, so
low-cut that her nipples were only just covered. Her blonde  hair was
swirled up on top of her head in an elegant style, making her neck look  long and
swan-like.
`You look lovely, darling,' I told her.
`So do  you....what a transformation!' she replied, and started to
introduce me to more  people than I could hope to remember.
We drank from the free bar, and, when  everybody started to dance, as if
some secret message had been passed and  understood, I danced too -- with a
variety of partners. The noise level being  high, and the dancing of the disco
variety, my partners didn't seem to matter  all that much. But then, the
music was interrupted and somebody made an  unintelligible announcement. I
asked Sarah what it was all about, and she told  me that we were having a
half-hour break for food. I was grateful, as my stomach  had started to rumble. As
I ate the usual party fare, I looked around at the  assembled gathering,
and decided that there was absolutely nobody there that I  fancied in the
least, except possibly Sarah, which made me grin to  myself.
Just then, though, I turned around, balancing a paper plate with a  portion
of quiche, intent upon heading for the bar to get myself another glass  of
merlot, and found my way blocked by the tall form of a guy I hadn't seen
before, wearing an immaculate cream linen suit and an open-necked black shirt.
 He must have been about forty five. There was a slightly sardonic
half-smile on  his aristocratic face, as he looked me up and down, with unashamed
curiosity.
`And to whom to you belong?' he asked. I thought it a very odd  question,
and bridled somewhat at its lack of political correctness.
`To  myself,' I replied, `and if you'll excuse me, I'm going to get a
drink.'
`Allow me,' he said, `merlot, isn't it?'
`Yes, please,' I replied,  wondering immediately why on earth I had let
this stranger get me a drink, then  deciding that it didn't matter anyway.
I watched him walking back with my  drink and his, perhaps a gin and tonic,
or a vodka, I thought. He was really  very handsome, greying hair slightly
longer than was fashionable, and a lithe  grace about his walk which
promised a still-hard, athletic body.
When he was  beside me, handing me my drink, he said, `I was being slightly
disingenuous. I  already know who you are, Abigail.'
I looked up at him in surprise, and found  his grey eyes regarding me
intently.
`Who...?' I began.
`Your friend Sarah  has told me about you.'
`Why would she do that?' I wanted to know, more than  a little angry that
Sarah had been discussing me with a complete  stranger.
`She thought you would interest me,' he said.
`And do I?' I  asked, a trifle more coquettishly than I had intended.
`Your odd mixture of  evident good breeding and a synthetic dress is
fascinating,' he said, tweaking  the hem of my dress between finger and thumb as
he did so.
I made to pull  away from him, feeling insulted, and he laughed, taking my
arm lightly but  firmly. `Stay and have a drink with me, at least. I have a
feeling you are much  more interesting than most of the gathering here.' He
indicated the swarm of  people now starting to dance again as the music
obliged him to raise his voice.  `I think we can go and sit out on the terrace --
 it isn't cold.'
Meekly I  followed him out through double doors, and we sat and watched
night fall as I  found myself relating my trip around Australia to this
stranger, without finding  out anything about him. When, finally, I asked him his
name, he said, `You can  call me Bruno, for the time being. Later, we shall
have to see.' I thought that  a very odd answer.
`Would you like to dance?' I asked him, much  later.
`No,' he said, `I believe I should like to take you to my home now,  where
we may
enjoy
some privacy.'
My God, Abigail, I thought, as I  stood in the driveway waiting for Bruno
to get his car, what is all this about?  I had agreed to go to the home of a
perfect stranger, old enough to be my  father, with a slight foreign accent,
and a direct, even insulting manner. No  `come for coffee' even -- no -- `
we may enjoy some privacy' -- shit!
After a few  moments, a flaming red Ferrari drew up, and the passenger door
was flung open  for me. I was impressed, and then by his driving skills as
we hurtled away from  Queens, past JFK, and out, I thought onto Long Island,
though my local knowledge  was very limited. I had imagined he would live
nearby, but we drove fast for  more than an hour, arriving in an area of
large suburban mansions, set in wooded  gardens.
After driving in concentrated silence for the entire journey, Bruno
touched a remote control console, and pair of huge iron gates opened onto a long
gravel drive. At its end, we pulled up on a circular space in front of a
well-lit brick-built house, not much smaller than my father's, with at least
six  windows on each of its two stories, flanking a big, pillared portico. He
got  out, and came around to open my door and hand me out of the low car, a
maneuver  which I tried to accomplish as gracefully as possible.
He led me up the  steps and opened a big, varnished door. Waiting beside
it, standing at a  respectful distance, was a very pretty girl, with short hai
r as black as mine,  wearing a short dark blue pleated skirt, embroidered
peasant blouse, fishnet  hose and high heels.
`Good evening, Sir,' she said to Bruno, and he nodded  perfunctorily to
her, without making any introduction. Taking my arm, he led me  through into a
large, comfortable-seeming lounge, with at least four  sofas.
`Ana, fetch us a bottle of the Merlot `76, will you?' he called, and
gestured for
me to sit down. No sooner had I done so than the maid had  returned with a
silver tray, two glasses, a plate of assorted nibbles, and an  open bottle
of wine.
Bruno sat beside me and poured, then raised his glass  and waited until I
mirrored his action. When I did, and clinked mine to his, he  said, `I think
we may drink to the start of a new direction in your young life,  my dear.'
I looked at him in surprise, not even beginning to know what he  meant. His
grey eyes had a hypnotic quality, and I was seized with an  insuperable
desire to kiss him. I even felt wetness starting to build between my  legs. I
put my glass down on the coffee table, having taken only one sip of the
smooth liquid, and, my lips slightly parted, leaned towards him, but he swayed
back as if in rejection, and said, `No, my dear, your lips are too precious
for  mine.'
Gently, he put one hand to my head , whilst, with the other, he  deftly
unzipped his fly. He must have been wearing no underpants, because an
impressive shaft sprang proudly erect, into his hand. Rounding my lips, I fell  upon
it, and took his crown softly into my mouth, teasing the very tip with my
tongue, taking a tiny drop of pre-cum away, and looking up into his eyes as
I  did so. His tool seemed to swell and grow, pulsing as I licked its whole
length,  massaging his balls with my hand, and when I finally allowed him to
plunge his  great length deep, deep, into my throat, he groaned and arched
his back,  quivering with passion as he pumped his cock hard into my mouth.
I sucked in a  way no-one had ever taught me, and reaching down below his
balls as I did so, I  found his arsehole, and thrust my forefinger deep into
it. He came in huge, hot  gushes, right into the depths of my throat, and I
swallowed every salty drop,  then licked him clean. He let me do it in
silence, then, without even tucking  himself away, he picked up his glass and took
a deep draught, then called,  `Ana!'
She came clicking in on her high heels, seeming to ignore completely  the
sight of his flaccid cock, which lay there in the opening of his trousers,
to my embarrassment, but seemingly not his.
`Did you do as I asked?' he  queried.
`Yes, sir,' she said.
`Then kindly take Abigail to her room, will  you?'
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. `But...but...I'm not staying  here!'
 I protested, `I have a hotel room -- I must go, Bruno, please take  me!'
`Your hotel has been notified,' he said, `and a room has been made ready
for you. I'm sure it will be to your liking.'
`But...I can't possibly stay  here,' I insisted.
He fixed me with those grey eyes again, which bored right  into me, saw
into my very soul, `Yes you can,' he said, `sleep well, and  tomorrow we'll
talk. Now go with Ana.'
Obediently, I followed the maid up a  broad carpeted staircase, to a
polished wood corridor, and into one of the many  rooms which led off it. She left
me alone in the room as soon as she had shown  me where the light switches
were. It was beautifully furnished, with a big  double bed, a couch and a
dressing table, and there were mirror-fronted  wardrobes, which seemed to be
full of someone's clothes. There was an en-suite  bathroom, which appeared to
contain all manner of toiletries and cosmetics. I  raised the shutters and
tried to look out of the window, but all was darkness,  so I gave up the
attempt, and decided that I had had enough for one day. It was  almost two o'
clock and time for bed. When I turned to the bed, I found a long  silk
nightdress and negligee, lace-trimmed and luxurious, lying across it. They
appeared to be for my use, so I undressed and slipped into the nightie, then
climbed in between satin sheets and slept immediately -- a dreamless sleep, which
lasted until sun found chinks in the shutters.
I glanced at my watch -- it was  nine-thirty -- shit! An instant realization
of my situation hit me and I slipped  on the negligee, intent on going in
search of Bruno, to put an end to this  nonsense. The door was locked! I was
locked in!  What was going on? No  answer was to be found by looking out of
the window, which looked out over empty  woodland, but just then a key
turned in the lock, and in came Ana, with a tray  of coffee and hot rolls, which
she placed on the dressing table.
`Why was the  door locked?' I demanded, `what the fuck is going on?'
`You can ask the  Master yourself,' she said, and left, almost at a run,
leaving the door ajar,  but, before I could follow her, Bruno was stood in
the doorway.  Fuck, I  fancied him! He stood there in a paisley dressing gown,
and as I faced him, my  knees turned to jelly, and the protest that was
about to spout from my lips died  a horrible death, in the face of this
fascinating figure of a man, unlike anyone  I had ever met.
`Sit down and drink your coffee before it gets cold,' he  said, `and I'm
sure you're hungry. While you have breakfast, I'd like to put a  few things
to you.'
`Did you need to lock me in to talk to me?' I managed to  ask.
He smiled. `I needed to be sure of your security, my dear,' he said
smoothly, and passed it off as a matter of no importance, as I tucked into a
delicious fresh roll and drank deeply of the freshly-ground coffee.
`Now,' he  said, settling himself on the arm of the couch, `I should like
you to listen to  what I have to propose. Please do not interrupt -- you may
ask questions when I  have finished.' He looked at me hard to see if I was
attending well, and,  satisfied, continued:
`Our mutual friend Sarah Beaumont, whom you may not  know practices as a
psychologist here in New York, has directed you to me, to  answer both of our
needs, as she sees them. She has identified you as a  submissive, and knows
I have need of one, since my last one met with a tragic  accident last year.'
I could scarcely believe what I was hearing. Me, a  submissive -- and Sarah,
my so-called friend, discussing me with strangers. I  stifled a protest,
remembering what he had said about interruptions. He saw my  mouth opening and
closing, and held up his hand.
`You must search your mind,  Abigail, and see if it isn't true that your
real wish is to be dominated, to be  humiliated, even tortured, by your
master. Dwell, if you would, for one moment,  on an image. This image is of you,
you, Abigail, tied naked to a post, being  whipped, flogged cruelly, raising
red welts on your pale flesh. What effect does  that image have on you?'
I was unaware of the dichotomy of my response. `It's  revolting,' I said,
but my voice wavered, and as he had painted the picture in  words, my mouth
had fallen open, and I had squirmed, my legs rubbing together  unbidden as
moisture welled up in my pussy.
`Right,' he continued, as if I  hadn't commented, `my proposal is simple
enough.  You stay here with me as  my slave. You will have no onerous
duties, as all housework is carried out by  Ana and another girl you haven't yet
met, Clara. You must decide now whether you  will accept my conditions or
not. If not, you are, of course, free to leave. If  you elect to stay, you will
become effectively my possession, for a minimum  period of six months.'
`But what are your conditions?' I asked.
`I have  them written down here. Please read and, when you have done so and
are
prepared to either sign or reject them, ring and call for Ana.' He
indicated  a
bell-push I hadn't seen before, beside the window, passed me a typewritten
sheet
and a pen, and left me with it, more than a little shocked. I  read:-

CONDITIONS FOR ABIGAIL
======================
1. You will be the  possession of the Master, who will do with you as he
pleases, loaning you to  whomsoever he wishes, whenever he wishes.
2. You will always address him  as `Master' or `Sir' and never look
directly into his face unless so  instructed.
3. Your body must be kept completely devoid of hair at all  times.
4. You will wear only the clothing which is provided in your  room.
5. When the Master returns home from any journey, you will greet  him at
once dressed in a transparent gown, your ankles shackled.
6. You  will undergo `special training' to enlarge your anal passage and
ensure your  Master's pleasure.
7. You will consent to be whipped at least twice a  week, at your Master's
request.
8. Your Master may wish to have your  body permanently marked in some way.
You will consent to this.

I agree to the above conditions,
signed:.........................................(Abigail Trent)

I read it through twice and shook my head in disbelief. Wow! What was I
letting myself in for? But then, I realized I was really going to sign! I was.
 The truth was, I was damp again just reading the conditions. I scrawled my
 signature and rang for Ana, who quickly appeared, smiled at me knowingly
and  scurried off with the paper.
Minutes later she was back, and said, `Come on,  I've got to help prepare
you for the Master.'
She pulled me gently into the  bathroom, and helped me off with my negligee
and nightdress, then told me to  take out the ear-rings I still wore from
last night.  She got the shower  running for me and I climbed into the
cubicle to enjoy the hot jets playing all  over me, only to find that Ana had
suddenly joined me and was soaping me  thoroughly, her nice, tight young body
slippery against me. It was a lovely  feeling.
`I could get used to this,' I told her.
`Mmmm,' she replied,  rubbing her firm breasts against my back, `I'm glad
you consented to stay,  though I'll hate to see you whipped.'
`Is it so bad?' I asked.
`He'll hurt  you,' she said, `but maybe that's what you want?'
`Maybe,' I agreed. We left  it at that -- I really didn't know what I'd
let myself in for, and preferred not  to think about it. I only knew that the
thought of life as a `slave' to Bruno  excited me beyond belief.
`I've got instructions to shave you,' Ana was  saying, as I dried myself,
and I submitted meekly enough as she lathered my  pubes, while I sat on a
plastic stool, and took infinite care in taking off  every vestige of hair,
asking me to lift my legs up so that she could work her  way all around my
labia, right back through my crack to my anus, finally  removing all the tiny
hairs that grew around my little puckered arsehole. As she  did so, she poked
the tip of her finger into the very start of my anus, and  said, `My God,
Abigail, you're so tight -- you're an ass-virgin, right?'
`I've  never had anal sex, if that's what you mean,' I said, stuffily -- I
knew very  well what she meant.
`I'll get you a little plug, if you like,' she said,  `it'll make it
better later.'
I nodded yes, while Ana smoothed oil around my  pussy and on my mons. It
actually felt rather nice to be clean-shaven, I had to  admit, but I knew I
should have to maintain myself like that, as any growth of  stubble would be
intolerable.
Ana wanted to show me my wardrobe, and I let  her get dressed while I dried
my hair.
I was staggered by the quantity and  variety of clothes all neatly arrayed
on hangers -- evening gowns at one end,  many of which appeared to be at
least partly transparent, whilst at the other  end were day-outfits, dresses,
skirts and blouses. Below were shoes, all of them  with ultra-high heels. I
opened a big drawer, and found several corsets and  garter belts, together
with packets containing stockings. There were also two  bras, both platform
types, designed to leave nipples exposed.
`There are no  panties,' said Ana, `because they are prohibited -- for us
too!' To emphasize the  point, she lifted her short skirt, and I saw that
she was, indeed, naked under  it.
`I've been instructed to dress you now,' Ana said, `the Master wants to
take you out to lunch.'
I was faintly amused at the idea of `being dressed' --  I had always
managed perfectly well by myself -- but didn't have much option now  that I had
signed, so let Ana pick out the clothing and accessories I was to  wear.
`The Master particularly asked that you wear a corset today,' she said,
and had me stand in front of the mirror and button a whaleboned black corset
up  the front. It fit very snugly, my breasts resting on top of the lacy
frill which  formed its upper edge, its bottom cut high in the back, so that my
buttocks were  totally exposed, long garter straps hanging down my legs.
But just when I  thought it was a comfortable fit, Ana came around behind me
and tugged hard on  the laces which tightened the garment fiercely around me,
cinching my waist to  tiny proportions, and causing me to gasp out loud as
she tied it off. The  tightness also had the effect of thrusting out my
buttocks and pushing up my  small breasts. Ana had found me a long sleeved black
nylon blouse, which  buttoned up the back, and was completely transparent,
so that my nipples could  just be seen as they poked through the lace at the
to of my corset. She rolled a  pair of seamed black stockings up my slender
legs, and had me step into a very  tight, knee-length satin skirt, which so
restricted my movements that I had  difficulty in walking. She completed my
outfit with a pair of extremely high  patent leather heels, and helped me
put in some very long, heavy silver  ear-rings.
`Your first time in restraint clothes?' asked Ana.
`Yes,' I  replied.
`You look nice,' she said, `come on!'
She led me downstairs -- I  was mincing along in my extra-tight skirt, a
touch uncertain on the heels too,  so that I practically ran into Bruno in the
entrance hall, where he was waiting  for me.
`Oh,' I said, and he smiled as he looked me up and down. `Very nice,'  he
said, `just one more thing, for now.' He took from the pocket of his
velvet  jacket a beautiful, diamante-studded silver collar, with a thick silver
ring set  in it, and put it around my neck, fastening it at the back. It was
a perfect  fit.
`That is a symbol of my ownership of you, my dear, and you may not  remove
it at any time, is that understood?'
`Yes,' I replied.
`Yes,  master,' he corrected.
`Yes, master.'
`Right,' he said, `now we're going  to lunch; come along.'
He led me outside, and got into a different car, a big  SUV. Bruno
explained:
`Although I can be cruel, as you will no doubt  discover, I am also
considerate, and I thought the Ferrari would be  uncomfortable for you, dressed as
you are.'
`Thank you, Master,' I said,  humbly.
He drove for no more than ten minutes and we pulled up outside a  Country
Club, parking alongside an array of expensive cars. Again the perfect
gentleman, he helped me out, and escorted me in to the stately entrance, where a
maitre d' met us an led us to a table, where another couple was already
installed. A more ill-assorted pair it would have been hard to find. She might
have been a fashion model, blonde and willowy, with an aristocratic air,
wearing  a silk dress which gave an ample display of her perfect cleavage. He
was like  the `missing link' -- hairy to the point of repulsiveness,
overweight and  altogether gross -- and, when he spoke, his voice grated on me
horribly. A more  revolting human being I had yet to meet.
`This is Marcus, and his wife Jane,'  said Bruno, `Jane likes me to fuck
her from time to time, don't you,  darling?'
`Yes, you ravishing man,' said Jane, and Marcus doesn't mind, if  you lend
him your latest slave. Who is this lovely creature, may I  ask?'
`This is Abigail,' he said, `and I haven't yet had time to train her,  so
you'll need to be careful with her, Marcus.'
Marcus laughed, a horrible,  guttural chortle, and when he kissed my cheek,
his ample black stubble grazed my  flesh repulsively.
We all sat down to a delicious meal, spoiled for me not  only by the acute
discomfort I was feeling from the restriction of my clothing,  but by the
feel of the gorilla Marcus' eyes boring into me, greedily taking in  my
nipples, which peeked coquettishly through the lace top of my corset. I was  also
conscious that Bruno was busily fondling Jane under the tablecloth, and
drawing faint gasps from her as his hand reached the top of her slender  thigh.
When we had finished, we were invited to Marcus' service apartment,  which
was on the premises of the club itself, and the last word in luxury. We
were soon installed in a huge lounge, Bruno and Jane holding hands on a long
low  couch, whilst I tried to shrink from our host on a big sofa, and get as
far away  as possible. When a maid had brought us drinks, however, Bruno
called to me;
`Behave yourself, Abigail -- do you think I have brought you here to play
games?
Take your skirt off -- now!'
His tone brooked no disagreement, so I  stood up, and unzipped my skirt,
and wriggled out of it, stepping out of the  satin pool it made on the parquet
floor, and feeling more naked than I had ever  felt in my life, displaying
my shaven pubis in front of not only my new master,  but these two
strangers. And I refused to believe that the hirsute brute sat  watching me intently
was actually going to fuck me.
What happened next  surprised me. Jane, whose lovely breasts were now
uncovered, as Bruno was  kneading them, teasing her nipples to erection, said to
me, `Take off your  blouse, then sit back on the sofa, darling, will you? I'
d like to see you  masturbate.'
I looked at her for a moment, then unfastened my blouse and  slipped it
off. I was now naked except for the corset, stockings and heels. I  did as she
said, but hesitated before letting my hands go to work in my  pussy.
`What are you waiting for?' asked Bruno, `you heard the  lady!'
`Yes, sir!' I said, and spreading my labia with two fingers of one  hand,
I sought my clitoris with the other, the unaccustomed length of my nails
grazing it into life and causing me to suck in breath sharply. As my clit
burgeoned and grew, I lost myself, as I always did when I masturbated, and soon
 was plunging two fingers deep into my wet cunt, already moist before I
started,  after the excitement of the restraint clothing and the nearness of my
master. My  breath now came in ragged gusts, as I neared a throbbing
climax, and I saw that  Bruno was now kneeling on the floor between Jane's legs,
his cock -- MY cock! --  spearing her arsehole, whilst Marcus had dropped to
his knees in front of me and  watched my fingers working at close quarters as
I was finally overcome by a  shuddering orgasm, and squirted my vaginal
fluid liberally over him, causing him  to laugh his horrid, gurgling laugh.
If I had thought I should have time to  lay back and recover, I needed to
revise my thoughts, as I realized to my horror  that Marcus had his trousers
open, and, in his hairy hand, he held the biggest  prick in creation! It
must have been close to a foot long, and as thick as my  wrist, sprouting from
a dense forest of black hair which covered a pair of  prodigious balls.
He shoved me back on the sofa, clambered up between my  legs, and I felt my
poor cunt being stretched as if I were having a baby in  reverse. Somehow
he got the dreadful shaft inside me, and I screamed with the  pain, feeling
sure he as tearing me as he pounded, animal roars coming from down  in his
throat.  Thankfully he couldn't last long, and stiffened suddenly as  he
roared even louder, and released a flow like hot volcanic lava, which seemed  to
fill me to bursting. I squirmed out from under him as he laughed his awful
laugh once again.
On the way home, Bruno saw I was crying, stopped the car,  and cradled me
in his arms.
`Just a start to your training, my dear,' he  said, `and you did well.'
`But he was so horrible!' I wailed
`I'll  overlook the fact that you are talking about my friend, Abigail,'
he said, `just  bear in mind that he spared your anus -- for that you should
be  grateful.'
`But...but, Br..er...Master, I couldn't take him there, not  possibly!'
`I know, my dear, and I've told Ana to start work on you this very
afternoon.'
`But, Master, won't it hurt terribly?'
`No, only a little at  first, but then you will know true pleasure, and
give me much pleasure  too.'
We were drawing up outside the house by this time, and Bruno dismissed  me:
`Go now, and sleep for a while. I'll send Ana to you in a couple of  hours.
'
It was a blessed relief to shed all my restrictive clothes, and climb
naked into bed, my pussy till throbbing from the pounding it had had from  Marcus
' enormous tool.
What seemed like two minutes later, Ana woke me up  from a deep sleep. I
had been dreading the moment, my anus always a sensitive  spot, and I had
never really understood why people enjoyed anal sex.
But I  had to be resigned to this, I knew, and tried to steel myself when
Ana showed me  the plug she had brought for me. It was a smooth black plastic
cone, the size, I  supposed, of a small carrot, with a wide square flange
at the wide end, whose  width I could scarcely believe would fit where she
proposed to put it. Ana,  though, was sweet, and showed me how she was
smearing the plug liberally from a  tube of KY jelly, before telling me to get onto
my knees and spread my cheeks as  wide as I could. My position felt
terribly vulnerable as Ana now smeared some  more jelly around my little puckered
hole, tutting, presumably at its tiny  dimension.
`I'm going to hurt you a little now, Abigail, but you know I have  to, don'
t you?' she said, and I nodded. She prodded tentatively at my anus with
the greasy tip of the plug, and wriggled it gently around until it had worked
its way just a few centimeters into the very portals of my back passage.
Then  she pushed harder, and I grunted as the increased width of the cone
forced its  way into me and brought the first tears to my eyes.
`Oh, Ana, that hurts!' I  complained, then she gave me all the more reason
for complaint as she quite  suddenly thrust the whole length of the
terrible plug in, in, past my protesting  sphincter, and I moaned loudly as an
altogether new sensation wracked my body --  and it wasn't all pain. Some
pleasure surprisingly seemed to mingle in with the  agony the plug brought as it
invaded my velvet passage, and Ana kissed me  deeply, knowing what was
happening to me.
`You see, it's not all bad, is it?'  she said.
`It fucking hurts,' I said tearfully, but she knew, she knew.
We  lay together for some time, and Ana explained that Bruno wanted me to
wear the  plug full time for at least two days, when it would have to be
changed for a  bigger one, or, she said, maybe a `set of balls.'
I asked Ana what her  relationship with Bruno was, and she told me she was
merely a servant, like  Clara, who I still hadn't met, and not a slave.
`But doesn't he fuck you?' I  asked her.
`Oh yes, sometimes,' she said, `and Clara to, but we are never  punished
and never taken out with him, and we are always in uniform. You will  have
lots more privileges.'
I wasn't so sure -- it just seemed such a totally  unreal situation into
which I had blundered, that I felt like some sort of  erotic `Alice.'
Feeling very awkward with the great plug in my arsehole, I  showered,
brushed my hair, and made up carefully, then spent a long time  selecting a gown
for dinner.
After much deliberation, I chose a long sheath  of black lace, with long
sleeves, which would have covered me modestly had it  not been completely
transparent.  Before I slipped into it, I took time to  rouge my nipples, so
that they would be seen through the lace, and hung a heavy  silver chain
loosely about my waist.  That too could be seen clearly  through the flimsy
material. I still hadn't got used to my shaven pubes, and  felt doubly naked as I
stepped into extra-high stilettos and tottered downstairs  to dinner. I was
desperate to make a good impression on my Master now -- since my  arrival, he
had allowed me the privilege of giving him a blow-job; meanwhile he  had
fucked the lovely Jane right in front of me, and I had learned that he was
not averse to shagging the servants, either.
But when I entered the dining  room, dressed in a formal white jacket and
black tie, I knew I wanted him,  wanted his body, wanted him to do with me
whatever he wanted -- he could kill me  if he so pleased. As I stood,
mesmerized by his elegance, and him unaware of my  presence, a tall jet-black girl
with long, straightened hair came in and started  laying the table, her short
uniform skirt riding up so that the dusky flesh  above her snow-white
stockings was visible.  Bruno turned to her, took two  strides towards her, and
fetched her a playful slap on the arse.
`Oh, sir!'  she said, and skipped out of his reach. It was then that he
realized that I had  appeared, and started almost guiltily.
`Ah, Abigail, my dear, you look quite  stunning. You must meet Clara, who
would love to change places with you --  wouldn't you, Clara?' he teased the
black girl.
`Oh yes, sir,' she  said.
`Well, we'll just have to see. One day I may need another slave -- who
knows? Now go and get us some dinner, there's a good girl!'
He turned to me,  `I like to keep my servants in hopeful anticipation. It
keeps them on their  toes. Now how does your plug feel?' He changed the
subject and asked me such a  delicate question as easily as if he were enquiring
after a cut finger, and I  colored up as I told him that it had hurt a bit,
but that I could stand  it.
We dined companionably, like man and wife, I thought, until, as we took
coffee, Bruno turned to me and said, `I've given you an easy introduction
today,  my dear, but your appearance excites me, and you have signed my
document, which  tells me that you are prepared for what I have in store for you. I
have before  me an image of you bound and in pain -- pleasures which I
believe you are eager  to share with me, is that not so?'
`You can do with me as you please,  Master,' I told him. I could sense
that he was enjoying the anticipation of what  he planned to do to me already,
and, to be honest, moisture was welling up in my  pussy as I saw myself in
chains, and, above all, being whipped like the  slave-girl I had really
become.
He came round my chair, took my head gently  in his hands and kissed me,
with infinite tenderness', letting my tongue flirt  with his, before pulling
away, and calling, `Clara!'
The black girl came  trotting in on her heels, and gave a respectful little
curtsy.
`Clara,' said  Bruno, `show Abigail your piercings, please!'
The lovely negress took a  couple of paces, stood before me, and put her
tongue out, revealing a decorative  silver stud, not the usual bar-bell, but a
pretty knob sat flush on top of her  tongue.
`That's nice,' I said, but she hadn't finished. She raised her short
skirt, showing a smoothly-shaven pubis, below which there sat a silver ring
with  two links of chain and a little set stone dangling prettily from it. I
could see  that the ring was threaded through a piercing in her clitoris-hood.
`Thank  you, Clara,' said Bruno, `I should like you to take Abigail to be
done later  this week, please.'
`So that's what you meant by marking, sir?' I  asked.
`Well no, not exactly,' he said, `but that's for later.'
I knew not  to pursue the matter further, and I loved the idea of being
pierced -- had always  wanted to have it done, but never plucked up the courage,
no the decision was  being made for me!
Bruno was speaking again: `Now, my dear, it's been a long  day. I think
you need to rest. Go and sleep. After breakfast, Ana will prepare  you and
bring you to me.'
Alone in my room, I put on a short silk slip, which  seemed to caress my
body, in its site of anticipation, and sliding between the  satin sheets, I
masturbated myself to sleep, images of Bruno, pounding the  arsehole of the
beautiful Jane, while I was pinned down by her brutish husband,  his enormous
cock threatening to split me apart, then more imaginary scenes, of  myself,
suspended by my wrists, being flayed by medieval monks, filled my head,  and
merged into dreams. When I awoke, it was still dark, and I was soaked, with
 sweat and my vaginal secretions. I got up and showered, went back to bed
and  slept soundly.
The next thing I knew, sun was streaming into my room, and Ana  stood there
with my breakfast tray.
I drank my coffee gratefully, but picked  at the croissants, full of
nervous excitement, and was shaking with it when Ana  returned, and took the tray
from me.
`You're very nervous,' she observed, a  bit superfluously.
`I'm excited,' I told her, and she looked at me with an  expression I
couldn't read. Was it disbelief, or envy, or something  else?
While I was making up, Ana fussed around, selecting this and that, and
then came and put my hair up in a French twist. She next fitted me with pretty
ankle and wrist restraints, broad bands of silver and diamante, each with a
 large stout ring set into it, matching my collar, which I wore
permanently. They  all fitted snugly. She gave me a long white transparent nylon
negligee to wear,  with long, voluminous sleeves and a cord at the waist.
`You will always wear  this when you are to be punished,' she told me, `
the Master likes  ritual.'
Ana clipped foot-long lengths of steel chain between my ankles and  wrists
`Today, you are to go barefoot,' she said, and completed the job by
clicking a leash into my collar ring. `Come on,' she said, `you're ready,' and
led me out, along the corridor, and down to a room I had never seen  before.
`This is the library,' she said, `the Master's private place.'
I  looked around. It was a large, rather gloomy room, and cold. I shuddered
when I  saw the immense wooden pillars that held up the gallery floor at
the far end,  for into them were set ring-bolts, with chains dangling from
them, and more  chains hung from the soffit of the gallery itself. On racks on
the wall behind  were whip and canes of several kinds, all neatly arrayed.
We were alone there,  but not for long, because the door opened a minute
later, and in walked Bruno,  wearing a wine-red dressing gown.
`Good morning, my dear,' he said, as if we  were going shopping or
something. He looked me up and down, and taking my lead  from Ana, led me to a
point below the gallery, where he unclipped my leash,  removed the chain from my
wrists, and told me to take off my negligee. I did so,  and stood there,
feeling cold, naked and barefoot on the tiled floor, my ankles  still
shackled. He took my wrists and, lifting them above my head, clipped them  deftly
together, to a snap-link on the end of a chain which hung below the  gallery.
He walked slowly around me, the tension building within me, my whole  body
screaming -- `if you're going to whip me, get on with it!'
But he was in  no hurry.
`I want to do some things to you before I whip you, Abigail,' he  said,
and took from the pocket of his dressing gown two little silver clamps,
connected by a length of chain, I had never seen before.
`These are nipple  clamps,' he said, `and I want you to get used to
wearing them sometimes. I think  they will hurt quite a lot.'
I watched, wide-eyed, as he opened up the  clamps, then slipped them onto
my nipples, already distended by the cold. Then  he tightened them down hard
and I gasped at the sudden pain which shot through  my breasts as the blood
supply was cut off. He hung a silver weight on the  connecting chain, and
the pain grew worse, but my nipples were always sensitive,  and the pain had a
sexual component, not unlike the pain I was getting used to  from the
butt-plug which now felt much more comfortable in my rectum. But Bruno  hadn't
finished with his fiendish ideas, and whilst he was turned away from me,  he
had taken a small box from his pocket. Now he opened it up, and I saw it
contained several long needles, with plastic handles, like hat-pins.
He  looked into my eyes, and taking one of the needles out of the box, he
pierced  the tender flesh just above my right breast with it -- it was agony,
and I yelped  with pain.
He repeated this twice more around my breasts, once just above the  nipple,
which hurt terribly, then treated me to two more in my buttocks.
Ana, meantime, had been stood nearby, an inscrutable expression on her
face,  and I couldn't help wondering what was going through her mind.
But the time  had apparently come for my whipping, and Bruno walked slowly
around behind me,  and whispered in my ear, `I'm going to whip you now, you
little slut.  It's  what you want, isn't it?'
`Yes, Master,' I whispered.
`Louder!' he rapped,  `and you must ask me for it!'
`Please whip me, Master,' I said.
`One  thing,' he said, `I'm going to use the riding crop on you. You will
not cum  until I give you my permission. Is that understood?'
I looked at him, not  knowing if he seriously thought I was going to have
an orgasm while being  whipped.
`Is that understood?' he repeated, `And don't look directly at your
Master -- you will get extra strokes for that.'
I heard him say something to  Ana, which didn't sound very friendly, then
he strode over to the racks on the  wall and was back at once with a long,
leather crop. I closed my eyes, and  suddenly thought -- My God, all my young
life so far has been leading up to this!  It's what I'd always longed for --
a man to dominate, humiliate and even torture  me. Hurt me, please!
I heard the crop whistle through the air, then felt the  first awful,
stinging pain as its leather thong bit into my pale flesh just  above my shoulder
blades.  I gritted my teeth and remained silent, but  couldn't suppress a
small `oh' at the second vicious stroke, a fraction  lower.
`That's lovely,' said Bruno, `you're going to have some very pretty
welts. I can't wait to whip you with the singletail.'
He laid into me again  and again, each time lower, an expert at his trade,
and I squirmed and writhed  in my bonds as he struck, but managed not to cry
out. When he reached my lower  back, he felt my crack with his free hand.
`You're very wet, you little  slut,' he said, `I do believe you're
enjoying this.'
When I didn't reply, he  said sharply, `Are you?'
I couldn't trust myself to speak, and merely nodded  dumbly.
`Four across your buttocks, then you can cum,' he said, and when I  didn't
respond, he said, `did you hear?'
`Yes Master, thank you  Master.'
He returned to his labor, and fetched me four ever sharper, awful  strokes
on my tender arse, but the juices that had built up in me were demanding
release, and it took every bit of self-control I had to hold off my shattering
 orgasm until I had counted the fourth cruel stroke, then I screamed as the
 flood-gates burst and I squirted spectacularly, some of it hitting my
Master as  he returned the crop to its rack.
Ana was giggling, off to one side, and,  fortunately, Bruno saw the funny
side, and joined in the fun, as he unclipped  me, then gave Ana instructions
to tend my wounds.
`I'll see you for lunch,'  he said, `here.'
Ana proved to have gentle hands as she soothed my welts,  which were no
more than superficial, anyway, with some magic lotion she had, and  she seemed
almost envious of me when she asked me if it had hurt, and I replied  that
it wasn't as bad as the butt-plug had been. That reminded her, and she  said,
`Don't go away!' and disappeared, to return a few minutes later with a
small box.
I was already lying naked on top of my bed, and now she asked me  to spread
my legs. When I did so, she grasped the flange of my plug, and out it
came, the suction making a cute `plop.' We both laughed at that, then she
showed  me what she had brought in the box. It was a string of five silver balls,
the  size, I suppose, of ping-pong balls, with a silver ring at the end of
the  string. She had also brought with her a pink dildo, and was busily
lubricating  it while I looked at the balls, thinking there was no way I should
be able to  get those into my arsehole.
`Spread your cheeks for me,' Ana said, `maybe it  would be better if we
put a pillow under you?' I shoved one under my stomach,  and reached back,
spreading my arse-cheeks, wincing slightly as one hand touched  a crop-mark. I
felt the lubricated tip of the dildo be inserted, at first very  slowly and
gently, into my anus, then its greater width following up, as it  invaded
me, penetrated my velvet tunnel, took away my last secret, virgin  opening,
passed my sphincter, causing me to squirm and moan as the agony and  ecstasy
merged. It was much longer than the plug had been, more like a real  prick,
and I felt for the first time what anal sex really might mean to  me.
`Oh, Ana, please,' I groaned.
`Do you want me to stop?' she asked,  `it's nearly in full length!'
`Oh no, please carry on!'
She gave another  thrust, and I pulled her bodily around, while she still
had a hand on the end of  the dildo, grabbed her hair, and kissed her, my
tongue questing into her sweet  mouth. I came, for the second time that
morning, a hot, onrushing orgasm, which  swept through me like a tropical storm,
and I soaked the sheets of my  bed.
`Wow, Abigail,' said Ana, `I know what the Master saw in you, I really  do.
'
She had removed the dildo when I had cum, and I now sat on the edge of  the
ruined bed, and watched in the mirror while she was on her knees in front
of  me, feeding the impossibly huge balls into my surprisingly commodious
anus. It  was true to say that they filled me, and I felt very uncomfortable at
first,  when I walked about with the balls in place, the ring dangling
lewdly out of my  arsehole, but with corsets, tight skirts, plugs, high heels
and clamps, I was  becoming well accustomed to discomfort, even beginning to
welcome it as a part  of my new life -- there was something intensely erotic
about suffering for sexual  ends and this permanent type of discomfort was a
constant reminder of more acute  pains which would surely follow.
Dressed in a short cotton print sundress  and, of course, high heels, I
lunched with my Master, who asked solicitously  after my wounds, and was a
perfect gentleman. As we took coffee, he said, `Would  you care to come to my
bed for the afternoon siesta, my dear?'
`Oh, yes  please, Master,' I replied.
He treated me like a young lover, tenderly  stroking my body, kissing first
my mouth, then teasing my nipples to their easy  erectness, then licking
his way down to my mons, and running his tongue the  length of my crack,
opening me gently with delicate fingers, then allowing me to  guide his stiff,
rampant prick slowly into my waiting cunt. I used my vaginal  muscles to
alternately grip and release his shaft, as he kneaded my breasts, and  I wrapped
my long legs around him, pulling him deeper within me as his strokes  became
more urgent. I whispered to him as he plunged ever harder within me that  I
wanted him to cum deep within me, and to emphasize my point, I rammed my
forefinger deep into his arsehole. He came then, in a great gush, which
filled  me, not only with his sperm, but with happiness. He withdrew, and worked
my clit  the very short time necessary for me to have yet another climax. I
was fast  losing count of the number of times I had cum, and, with that
thought, I slept,  in my Master's arms.
I awoke to find my Master looking at me tenderly,  running a finger lightly
over one of the welts on my back. I wondered if he was  going to apologies
for whipping me, but he just said, `Come on, it's time to get  up, sleepy!'
and, as I slid out from between his black satin sheets, he gave a  playful
tug at the ring dangling from my arsehole. I felt one silver ball pop  out,
and presented my rear to him, so that he could poke it back in.
`That's  nice,' he said, `you should be able to take me there by
tomorrow, I think. Now  we'll go and get some exercise, then dress for dinner.'
He took me to yet  another corner of the house I hadn't seen and showed me
his gymnasium, and we  worked out, side-by-side, both of us naked, for an
hour, then took a leisurely  swim in the indoor pool. I felt refreshed when it
was time to dress for  dinner.
Left alone, I pottered around in my walk-in wardrobe, deciding on the  very
sexiest thing I could wear -- my Master deserved nothing but the best. I had
 worn lace the night before, so I decided that silk would be in order, and
found  a beautiful, long, white, flowing halter-neck gown in soft silk,
completely  backless, so that my prettily-striped back would be obvious, and the
loose top  would allow my unfettered breasts to jiggle around nicely as I
walked. Apart  from a waist-chain and my collar, I wore nothing else, brushed
my hair out to a  rich sheen, stepped into customary stilettos and was
ready for anything. I got a  surprise when I arrived in the dining room. My
Master hadn't told me that we  weren't dining alone, and the gorgeous Jane was
stood, sherry glass in hand,  also wearing a backless dress, though hers was
black, and short, with a flared  skirt. Her gross husband, Marcus, was
talking to my Master and another man,  taller than either of them, all dressed
in tuxedos, Marcus smoking a cigar. But  it was the woman stood with Jane who
commanded my attention. She was of --  probably -- east Indian extraction,
her hair longer and, if anything, blacker  than mine, her face a thing of
sculpted beauty, her body slim and magnificent,  with long, long legs. She wore
a black dress, with alternate diagonal stripes of  opaque material
transparency, beneath which I could see she had on a pair of  tiny white lace
panties, tied at their sides by huge white ribbons. The effect  was startling, and
my eyes travelled to her full breasts, naked under the excuse  for a dress,
one dark, almost black, aureola with a prominent nipple jutting out
through a transparent stripe. I thought her the most gorgeous woman I had ever
seen, and knew I wanted to fuck her, desperately. But I was also aware that
slave-girls were not supposed to have their own desires.
Bruno was at my  shoulder. `Hello, my dear, you look ravishing tonight. And
I see you have  noticed Trina; she is very beautiful, isn't she?' I risked
a glance, and he was  smiling sardonically as he said this -- he knew
somehow what had been going  through my mind. He introduced me to her, and I went
slightly weak at the knees  as I took her languidly-offered hand, its long,
slender fingers tipped by long,  long, blue-polished nails, and decorated
with many rings, then he presented me  to the man he described as her `escort,'
 -- a strange term, I thought -- the tall  guy I had seen earlier, a young
stud by the name of Jason.
When the time came  to eat, I found that a sheet had been placed over two
chairs at one side of the  table, and one at the other. The other chairs were
uncovered, as usual. Bruno  directed me to the covered chair in the centre
at the far side, whilst he took  the uncovered one opposite, flanked by the
two women, whilst I had Marcus and  Jason either side of me.
`Remove the sheets, ladies, please, then we can all  it down,' he said.
I whisked the sheet away, and saw that it was a special  chair, with a
huge, slightly curved, realistic-looking dildo firmly set into its  seat.
`I'm afraid you'll have to raise your skirts, and remove any underwear
you may be wearing,' said Bruno, and looked pointedly at Trina, who seemed to
be  the only one wearing panties, but who looked not at all embarrassed when
all  eyes turned to her as she flipped the bows on the little white silk
numbers she  wore, then let them fall.
We moved around our seats, and, at least in the  case of the three women,
maneuvered ourselves carefully into position before  sliding down gently,
accompanied by some sighing, onto our seats. I couldn't see  how we could eat
like this, and caught my Master's cynical smile -- he was, of  course, aware
that I had both holes well filled!
`I hope the ladies enjoy the  little extra entertainment I have provided to
go with the meal,' he said,  `you'll find a little button on the right arm
of your chair, which will give you  a rather interesting dinnertime, and
afterwards, we shall have further  diversion.'
I pressed the button he mentioned, and the dildo that I had  worked up into
my cunt started to vibrate -- not the normal, buzzing kind, but a  longer,
throbbing beat, setting my juices moving instantly. Glancing at Jane and  the
lovely Trina, I saw from their faces that they were experiencing the same
sensation, and then I became aware that my Master was watching me intently,
and  felt his foot touch mine under the table, in a silent incitement to cum
for him.  I abandoned myself to the sheer hedonistic joy of being fucked by
a stiff,  inhuman object, and allowed my pussy to rule me. I came,
squirting copiously, as  ever, though nobody could see more than my closed eyes, and
hear my shuddering  little moan.
`My slave cums a great deal,' said Bruno, to all and sundry,  `she's a
multiplier!'
Everyone seemed to think that was a good reason for a  laugh, though I
noticed that Trina didn't really join in -- then dinner was  served.
I turned off the vibrator, and sat enjoying my food, still acutely
conscious of the invader in my pussy -- if I moved slightly, I had to relax my
cunt-muscles to accommodate it -- but I got lost in a bit of a day-dream. What's
 a nice girl like you doing, I thought, without a deal of
originality.............I had been back-packing around aimlessly, almost ready  to go back
to an equally aimless life in England, probably marry a chartered  accountant
or something, then -- wham! Here I was, cumming half a dozen times a  day,
being whipped and enjoying it, about to lose my anal virginity and looking
forward to it -- and, on top of that, wanting another woman more than I could
remember wanting anyone in my life. Shit!
But Bruno broke into my reverie  with an announcement: `I trust you are all
well fed. We should all now go to the  library, where the evening's
entertainment awaits!'
Grimacing with the other  two women, I eased myself up from the chair. As
we made our way to the library,  I found myself beside Trina, who said
quietly, `That was once I didn't want to  leave the table -- it takes me a long
time.'
I looked into her big brown eyes,  and said, `I'd love the chance to help
you solve that problem.' There, I'd come  right out with it -- I really was
a slut! -- and she didn't look taken aback, so I  knew then that somehow, I
was going to get her in bed with me. I thrilled at the  prospect.



Abigail's Abduction Chapter 2
============================================================================
====
What to do? I had just watched my Master being led away in handcuffs, and
it  felt as if my world had come to an abrupt end. I sat on my bed, head in
hands,  and tried to think. Only the day before I had been taken to be
pierced for him,  and had been so proud when he admired my new piercings, and
shown his pleasure  by taking me in my still-tight anus, filling me with his
cum. I had lain in bed  before going to sleep, thinking about the last thing my
Master had said to me,  how he proposed to have me marked. I was to be
branded with a red-hot iron--a  terrible prospect, but I now knew that was what I
had really wanted him to do,  to assert his ownership of me. I had looked
forward to presenting myself to him,  my ankles in chains, each evening, and
to the times when he whipped me cruelly,  then loved me with a tenderness
beyond belief. I wanted my Master, right  now!
My bedside phone sounded. `Can you come down, Abigail? You're wanted,'
said Clara.
I pulled the heavy silk kimono tighter around me, had a quick  check in the
mirror that I was more-or-less presentable, and went  downstairs.
Trina stood in the entrance hall, and my heart missed a beat, as  it
invariably did at the sight of her. She looked a million dollars, her
coffee-and-cream complexion perfect, her jet-black hair tied up in a glossy  chignon,
held in place by a black velvet bow. She wore a pale blue silk jersey  suit
with a pencil-slim skirt and matching blue high-heeled sandals.
In her  slightly-accented deep voice, she said, `Hello, Abigail, I was
hoping you'd  still be here.'
`Where would I go?' I queried, realizing from her remark that  she knew
Bruno had been arrested.
She ignored the question. `You may as well  know,' she said, `he's not
coming back, at least not any time soon.'
I must  have looked shocked, because she said, `Sit down, and I'll fill
you in--at least  as far as I know.'
I sat shakily down on the leather couch, underneath a  glowering portrait
of some nineteenth century patriarch. Trina sat gracefully  down beside me,
and patted my knee, sending a little shiver through me, despite  the
seriousness of the occasion.
`Bruno, Jason and Marcus have all been  arrested early this morning.' she
began.  `As you obviously know, Bruno was  doing very well for himself--
hence all this...' She indicated the grand house we  sat in. `Marcus and Jason
were almost equally well heeled.
You don't get to  have money like that in any honest endeavor, and they
have been investigated  over a long period. I have to tell you something you won
't like me for.'
She  paused, and looked at me searchingly. `I have helped the FBI put them
away, I'm  afraid.'
`Shit, Trina,' I began, but she put up a hand to shush me. `While I
thought it was just money-laundering, and shady deals in the city, I tried to
ignore it--after all, I was enjoying some of the fruits of it all. But then I
found out--don't ask me how--that drugs were involved, and in a big way.'
I  couldn't believe it--my Master, a drug-baron, fuck!
`So now,' she said, `you  know what it's all about, except for one thing.'
I looked up and into her  lovely face. `One thing?'
She seemed hesitant about telling me the rest, but  made up her mind and
went on:
`I am not going to be popular with their  associates, to say the least, and
the Feds have offered me a move under their  witness protection scheme.
Jason put the house in my name, so I shall be well  off once it's sold, plus I'
ll get paid, wherever we go.'
`We?' I said,  `you...you don't mean you want me to come with you?'
`Yes, darling, I'd love  you to,' she said, and leant over to take my face
in her hands and kiss me  tenderly on the lips.
`But...but,' I stuttered, `you scarcely know me.'
`I  know I want you,' she said simply, `and that you need to be dominated--
and that's  something I can do.'
I suddenly remembered the sight of her lashing the  little blonde slut Zia,
who Bruno had imported for our evening's  entertainment.
`You'd like me to be your......slave?' I asked.
`Yes,  Abigail, if you think you'd be happy, there's nothing I want more
in the  world.'
`Oh, Trina,' I replied, `I'd follow you to the ends of the earth.' I
meant it, too, `but should I start calling you "Mistress?"'
`No, darling, I  don't think that will be necessary--you'll know who is
truly your mistress,  though,' she smiled, and I knew the truth of what she
said.
`Where shall we  go?' I wanted to know.
`You can leave that to me, but far away, for sure--we  don't want to be
looking over our shoulders, do we?'
We kissed again, and she  left me in a state of excited anticipation. To be
going away to live with  Trina--to obey her, be her submissive--there was
nothing, nothing, that I wouldn't  do to please her, and I found that my pussy
was wet through, just imagining my  life with her. My Master had taught me
to be a good slave, to submit to his  will, take his whip on my back, be
humiliated by him, but I had no doubt at all  that Trina could be at least as
cruel and dominant, and the very sight of her  was enough to set my juices
running.
Still in my kimono, daydreaming in the  entrance hall, I was surprised when
the doorbell rang. Ana glanced in my  direction as she hurried to answer
it, dressed, despite our Master's sudden  departure, in her maid's uniform of
a little black skirt, her long legs clad in  seamed black nylons, heels
clicking on the tiles.
Two youngish guys, Ivy  League types, in three-piece suits, followed her in.
`You are?' the taller of  the two asked, and looked as if he was
accustomed to getting an  answer.
`Abigail Trent,' I replied.
`You English?' the guy wanted to  know.
`Yes,' I replied, and, seeing my nervousness, he said, `Don't worry,  we'
re not from immigration. But do you have somewhere else to go?'
`Do I need  somewhere?' I asked.
`I'm afraid you do,' he said, `Mr. Belloti's girl....,'  he paused and
looked at Ana, who supplied her name, `...Ana, can stay for the  time being
to look after our team. We're gonna take the place apart, so you and  the
other chick will have to make yourselves scarce.'
Clara had been standing  in a doorway, and heard the end of the
conversation.
`How long do we have?'  she asked.
`Until tomorrow,' he told her.
Clara and I went into a  huddle--she told me she could stay with her sister,
and wanted to know what I was  going to do. For some reason, I didn't want
to tell her about my offer from  Trina, and waited until she had gone off to
pack before I called Trina's number.  She answered right away, and told me
she would come and get me that  afternoon.
`Just pack a minimum, darling,' she told me, `we can sort you out  some
things later.'
Before she rang off she said, `There are new  developments, by the way--it'
s just as well you're coming today, I was just about  to call you anyway.'
Intrigued, I went to my room to dress and pack hastily.
Half an hour later, I threw my grip into the back of Trina's shining silver
 Lexus.
`Nice car,' I remarked, as I sank into the soft leather seat.
`It's  something else I can sell,' she said, `In fact my sister, who also
happens to be  my lawyer, is going to sell my house and everything else. She
's coming round  this afternoon.'
`It's all happening very quickly,' I said.
`You haven't  heard the best of it,' she told me, `we're going tomorrow!'
`Where to?' I  asked.
`Brazil,' she said, `the Feebies have a place for me there, and want  me
to move right away.'
`They think you're in danger then?' I said.
`Yes.  They are mounting a twenty-four hour guard outside my house until I
go.'
When  we got to her gateway, an ostentatiously armed guard was gloomily
picking his  nose outside, but straightened up at our approach, and opened the
gate to let us  in.
I helped Trina pack. She told me she wasn't going to take very much--just
a change of clothes and toiletries, but then she decided she couldn't leave
her  toys behind, and we had a hilarious time selecting various dildos and
vibrators,  and speculating on the scandal if our baggage were to be
searched. Trina told me  she was going to take me shopping when we arrived, and that
we should want for  nothing.
Exhausted after a day of such upheaval, we ordered a pizza, picked  at it,
with a glass of wine, then went early to bed.
Too tired for sex, it  was nevertheless wonderful to get in between Trina's
silk sheets with her, both  of us naked, and fall asleep in each other's
arms.
Our plane dropped over the  ridge of green hills, down onto the hazy
coastal plain, over the seething ravels  of Rio de Janeiro, and in to land at the
surprisingly neat international  airport.
A smiling young man announcing himself as Jadel, held up a board  with Trina
's name on it as we emerged with the other passengers. He guided us  out to
a none-too-new Mercedes, and aimed it out into the racing traffic on the
coastal highway.
An hour or so later we turned inland, heading up over  thickly-forested
hills, and down into the busy town of Nova Friburgo. Trina had  surprised me by
striking up a conversation with Jadel, who had no  English.
`Where did you learn Portuguese?' I had asked.
`I was born in  Goa,' she said, and a lot of people there still speak the
old colonial  language.'
Now she translated for me what Jadel had told her: `Nova Friburgo  is a
centre for lingerie manufacture. He says they make a lot of sexy things  here.'
That accounted, I thought, for his leer as he had looked around at us  when
he said it. Trina admonished him and told him to keep his eyes on the  road.
We emerged from the town and drove another half hour into a pleasant
agricultural area of rolling fields, many with cattle, then turned up a
newly-asphalted road, coming to a halt at a sentry-box, with a red and white
barrier across the road. Jadel spoke briefly to an armed guard, and drove us
through, up a narrower road, infested with speed-bumps, took a left and drew up,
 behind a small car and beside a high wall, with a wrought-iron gate. He
skipped  out and opened our doors for us. We had arrived.
Waiting at the door of the  modern chalet as we approached was a huge,
brawny woman, who presented herself  as Rosa, then led us inside, showing us
around all the rooms, including the  well-stocked larder. The chalet was
spacious, set in a nice, secluded garden,  with lawns and a small pool. Rosa had a
few words with Trina, then withdrew  discreetly and we heard both cars
drive off. We were alone at last.
`Let's  see what the pool's like,' said Trina, and I didn't need
persuading.
I was  through the French windows, and stripping off beside the pool in no
time at all,  and I found the water agreeably warm, despite the fact that it
was early spring  there. Trina joined me in a flash, her long, lithe body
sliding up to mine as I  clung to the edge in the deep end, I turned and
wrapped my legs around her,  imprisoning her.
`I don't ever want to let you go,' I told her, `I can't  believe we're
here together.' She towed me gently to the shallow end, and we sat  together
on the tiled steps in a foot of water. I pulled her to me and kissed  her,
letting my new tongue stud run around her own, snaking, restless  tongue.
`Come on,' she said, `the swim can wait.'
She skipped lightly out  of the pool and held out her hand to me, then led
me back through the French  windows into the lounge. She threw herself down
on the sofa, not considering for  a moment that she was soaking wet, and
spread her lovely long legs wide. Her  dark brown labia were puffy with desire,
and she fingered her pussy, spreading  the inner lips wide to reveal her
glistening pink cunt. The sight of her was  enough to bring me to the brink of
an orgasm, and I quickly got down on my knees  between her slim legs,
plunging my tongue into her crack. She moaned deeply when  my stud grazed her
fast-growing clit, which emerged from its protecting hood,  and as I flicked at
it with my tongue, I drove two fingers deep into her cunt,  finger-fucking
my new Mistress furiously. But what she needed was something  else, and I
instinctively knew how to satisfy her.  I pushed a long-nailed  forefinger as
far as I could into her arsehole, and she gasped with joy, but  when I
joined it with another finger, and twisted them around, she came in an  instant,
creamy liquid oozing from her cunt as she writhed in my arms.
`Clean  me up now, darling,' she told me, a new authority in her voice,
and I licked and  licked until I had removed all her juices from her gorgeous
pussy.
`That was  wonderful, Abigail,' she told me, `as your reward, you can tell
me the things  you would like me to do to you, when we've had that swim!'
We swam up and  down for a while, and I was all the while thinking about
what Trina had just  said to me. What was it that I wanted? Her love, yes, I
was desperate for her  caresses, to know she wanted me--I was wildly in love
with her--but that wasn't  all, was it? Trina had told me, back in Bruno's
house, what seemed a century  ago, but was a mere couple of days, that she
wanted me to be her slave. I now  wondered whether she could really dominate
me, as my beloved Bruno had  done.
When we lay on sun-beds, her golden-brown skin glistening as droplets  of
water dried on it, her hair a wet rope down her long back, I decided to try
and tell her what I wanted.
`Trina,' I said, `you said you wanted me to be  your slave.'
`Yes, darling,' she said, not sounding at all the  dominatrix.
`That's exactly what I want to be, what I think I need.'
Slowly, she turned her head in my direction, and I looked into her deep
brown eyes, as she licked her luscious lips, and smiled. There was something
intensely erotic about the gesture, and I found myself getting damp just
looking  at her.
`I can be very cruel,' she said quietly, `I have been imagining some  of
the things I may do to you. Does that shock you?'
`No, because I too have  been picturing myself as your slave, Trina.'
`That's wonderful, darling,' she  said, then, after a pause, `Rosa's
taking us into town tomorrow--we need a lot of  clothes and so forth--and I don't
propose to mark you beforehand. I may whip you  when we get back; would you
like that?'
`Yes, Trina,' I replied simply, and  she nodded and turned over.
Although I had my own room, Trina invited me into  her bed that night, and
we slept entwined together. I thought I should burst  with happiness.
Next day we breakfasted on the terrace as the sun warmed the  garden,
drying the dew which had formed on the lawn. As I didn't have much in  the way of
options, I slipped on the cotton print sundress I had brought, and  Trina
said `snap!' when she saw me, as she too wore a simple cotton
button-through. I still went without underwear, the habit Bruno had ingrained in  me
holding good. Rosa was punctual, and proved amiable enough as she drove us in
her little Peugeot the half-hour ride into town.
There were lots of nice  shops there, quite sophisticated ones too, and
Trina told me that anything I  wanted was mine for the asking. She helped me
buy several dresses, skirts and  blouses, and bought some for herself as well.
We went, following Rosa's  directions, to a specialist lingerie store--an
outlet for one of the most famous  factories.
Here we bought a quantity of silk garments, admiring each other  when we
tried them on, nightdresses, slips and garter belts. When I told Trina  that I
never wore panties, she said she would try to do likewise, so we bought
none, and giggled like schoolgirls when a shop assistant watched us both strip
 off to try on corsets, and looked from one to the other of us, showing her
 surprise. We tried on several models of corset before we found the cruelly
 restrictive ones we sought, which laced up the back, pulling our waists in
 substantially, yet left our breasts perched high on top of the garment,
and  arched high at the back to expose our buttocks.
Before we had finished, Trina  ordered a new car from the Toyota
concession, and we had lunch in a pizza  parlor.
On the way home, sat in the back of Rosa's car, I whispered,  `Something I
don't quite understand.'
`What's that, darling?'
`I know why  you had me buy a corset like that, but one for you as well?'
`Maybe I want to  taste my own medicine from time to time--had you not
thought of that?'
I  looked at her, and thought how much I loved her, but how little I knew
her.  When she turned to me, she slipped a hand up under the hem of my
short dress, and slid it straight up my thigh to my naked pussy.
`Oh, Trina!'  I gasped, and glanced hastily at the rearview mirror to make
sure Rosa wasn't  paying attention. Trina brought me close to my climax
before we arrived home,  and I had to go to my room and masturbate, as was my
habit, in front of the  wardrobe mirror, until I came, a gushing orgasm which
left me weak-kneed and  soaked.
I felt, rather than heard, Trina enter my room.
`You little slut!'  she said, `you just came, didn't you?'
`Yes, Trina, I couldn't help  myself.'
`Go to my room,' she said sternly, `and undress!'
I went,  trembling with anticipation--I wanted to feel my Mistress's whip
on my back. The  thought crossed my mind that she didn't have a whip, but
when she entered the  room, she went to her still-not-unpacked suitcase, and
brought out a short  leather riding crop she had packed with the rest of her `
toys.'
`I shall have  to buy some more things,' she remarked, almost to herself, `
when I get the  car.'
I stood by her big double bed, in nothing more than my heels, apart  from
the fine gold chain I had taken to hanging loosely around my  waist.
`Kneel on the floor, darling,' she told me, `and put your hands behind
your head. You do want me to hurt you, don't you?'
`With all my heart,' I  replied, aching for the kiss of her crop on my
tender flesh.
I knelt where I  could see myself in the big mirrored wardrobe door, and
see Trina too, flexing  the crop as she stood, prepared to strike. Her face
bore no expression of hate  or violence, but of love and tenderness, despite
the cruelty she was about to  inflict on me. As if to confirm my impression,
she took a pace towards me,  pushed my hair back from my face, and kissed
me, the kiss of a true lover, then  she stood back again, and I heard the hiss
as the crop flashed through the air  before scoring my back, just below my
shoulder blades, the stinging blow making  me writhe and cry out sharply. In
the mirror I saw that my back now bore a deep  scarlet welt, and knew that
Trina was going to hurt me as I had never been hurt  before--and I wanted her
to do it!
She now thrashed me again, just as hard,  and lower down, so that I let out
a long moan of agony as she prepared third,  even fiercer, stroke.
`Oh, Trina!' I wept, as her crop drew a pattern of  bright red stripes
down my back, and I wondered what she was doing when he put  down the crop
after no more than six vicious lashes. Then I saw that she had  picked up a
flogger, a short handle to which was attached a bunch of wicked,  thin,
sharp-edged leather thongs. She now stood beside me and flogged my breasts  with
this new implement, which not only hurt abominably, but excited me beyond
belief. I felt a huge orgasm building within me, and when she brought the
flogger down to inflict more pain on my stomach, I could hold off no longer. I
screamed loudly, and came, squirting hot gushes of my fluid right across the
room. I practically blacked out then, and remember nothing until I was
cradled  in Trina's arms on her bed, my body scarred and damaged, my mind at
rest.
Next morning, Trina attended my sore back and breasts with great
tenderness, and told me to rest for the day--she was going to interview girls in  the
search for a maid--so I gladly concurred, and sat by the pool as a succession
 of young girls came and went. Trina surprised me not at all by giving the
job to  a pretty, lithe little thing with long, platinum blonde hair and
long slender  legs, who was half-American, and spoke good English--her name was
Bea.
I had  spent a really lazy day, and woke next morning ready for anything.
Just as well,  as it turned out!
Bea arrived too late to prepare a hot lunch--she had been to  buy the
clothes she needed, with the money and instructions Trina had given her.  When she
had changed into the little black pleated miniskirt, white silk blouse,
black seamed stockings and patent heels, she looked altogether different from
the girl who had appeared for interview, clad in jeans and a sloppy
t-shirt. I  knew Trina would have forbidden underwear, and felt a brief pang of
jealousy,  with the knowledge that Bea would claim a little of my new Mistress'
s attention.
As we were finishing our salad, the telephone rang, and Trina picked it up,
 replying in Portuguese. When she hung up, she said, `We've got a visitor,
a guy  from Immigration--he's coming about seven.'
`Immigration?' I queried, in some  alarm.
`It's alright,' she smiled, `they're in touch with Quantico, and he's
bringing us our new papers.'
At seven o'clock precisely, the front gate's  bell sounded. We had dressed
for dinner, not just to impress our visitor, but  because Trina had decided
we should make a habit of doing so. I was wearing a  long white silk gown,
the material soft and luxurious, with a halter neck, my  marked back
prettily exposed, while Trina wore a short, tight latex sheath,  shiny midnight
blue, which hugged her lovely body and restricted her to short  steps.
When our visitor was led into the lounge by Bea, I did a double-take.  He
was gorgeous!
Perhaps in his late thirties and a trifle over six feet  tall, he was
well-muscled, in an athletic sort of way, and moved with easy  grace. He wore his
dark hair a touch long for current fashion, curling over the  collar of the
white open-necked shirt he wore with beige slacks and loafers. His  eyes
were of the palest grey, and when he smiled, he showed rows of even white
teeth.
`Luis Silva,' he announced himself, `at your service, ladies!' He  spoke
excellent English, with an appealing accent. He gave us all the papers we
should be likely to need, including credit cards in our new identities,
saying  that our money would have been transferred to the local bank already. I
was glad  when Trina invited him to stay and dine with us, an invitation he
accepted  readily.
Bea served us with her first cooked meal, a nice roast, but when she
showed signs of pampering our guest, Trina said, `That will be all, thank you,
Bea!' and she scuttled off to her room.
When we sat down to coffee, which Bea  had left on a hotplate, Trina sat
down on the sofa next to Luis, whilst I was  opposite them in an armchair.
`I couldn't help noticing your back,' the  Brazilian said to me, `it
looks sore.
What happened to you?'
`She was  whipped,' said Trina, as if commenting on the weather, but
looking directly at  our guest, whose mouth dropped open at the news.
`But....why?' he asked, `Had  she done something wrong?'
`Oh no,' replied Trina, `don't you find it.....er,  interesting?'
`Very,' said Luis, and, quite suddenly, Trina's slender fingers  were
sliding up his trouser-leg.
`Yes, I think you do find  it.....interesting!' she said, as she located
the growing bulge in his slacks,  and stroked it lightly. `Abigail, would you
masturbate for our guest,  please?'
It was an unexpected request--order, really--but the sight of my  Mistress,
her fantastic body tightly encased in shiny latex, releasing the man's
ramrod-stiff cock from his trousers, and caressing it tenderly in her hand made
me eager to seek release. I slid the soft silk of my dress up my legs,
which I  then hooked over the arms of my chair. My eyes didn't leave the tableau
opposite  as Trina took the very tip of his long, slim tool into her lips.
I parted my  labia with the fingers of one hand, then, with the other,
opened myself as wide  as I could, so that Luis could see deep into the dark hole
of my wet cunt. Then,  as Trina took his whole length into her mouth, and
started to suck audibly, I  matched her rhythm, finger-fucking myself while I
massaged my clit with the  other hand. Luis's eyes never left my pussy.
Just when I thought our guest  was certain to cum, Trina grasped the base
of his shaft, an came up for  air.
`Don't cum!' she ordered me, `and kneel in front of your chair,  now!'
I did as she told me, and without having to be told, lifted up the hem  of
my dress, baring myself to the waist.
`Open your legs, just a little,'  said Trina, `and spread your buttocks!'
My face crushed down on the warm  velvet of the chair, I reached behind me
and opened up my buttocks with both  hands. In no time at all, Luis was
behind me, kneeling between my legs. Trina  held his cock, and guided it home,
into the portals of my arsehole.
`Oh,' he  groaned, as I sheathed his stiff prick in my velvet tube,
feeling the sensation  of a hot, living weapon, filling me to bursting.
`Oh, fuck me hard!' I told  him, and he drove as deep into me as was
humanly possible, holding it there for  a moment as I savored the ecstasy of
having my arsehole penetrated  again.
`Fuck me, fuck me now!' I shouted, and felt Trina's hands massage my  tits
as he did so.
He thrust hard into me, and I was conscious of moaning  with sheer joy,
until Trina left my side, and went around Luis's back. I  suddenly heard him
roar, and felt him stiffen and give one almighty thrust, as  he felt Trina's
forefinger go hard up his arsehole. He shot his hot wad deep  into my bowels.
At that precise moment, I came too, great gushing floods of my  vaginal
fluid running down my legs, and my mind completely devastated by the
cataclysmic climax.
When I had recovered sufficiently to speak, I said to  Trina, `I came, but
what about you?'
`Oh,' she said, `I came too,  darling.'
Luis went on his way, promising to call and see us again, and Bea  served
us with mugs of hot chocolate as we watched television, curled up  together
on the sofa.
Next day Trina's new car was delivered, and we went  shopping again. After
some hilarious attempts at asking the locals, we  eventually located a sex
shop, where Trina bought some new `toys' including  several dildos, a long
bull-whip, handcuffs and other restraint and bondage  items. She also got
from the proprietress the phone number of a carpenter who  would come to the
house and make necessary alterations, with complete  discretion--at a price.
She wasted no time in contacting him, and he promised to  start work the next
day. After buying some shoes, an expensive video camera and  tripod, and
more clothes, we went home in time to spend an hour by the pool  before it got
too chilly.
Two days later, we were relieved when the  middle-aged, overweight
carpenter bade us farewell. I thought he would dearly  have loved to try out the
work he had done most efficiently for us, as he looked  longingly at me when we
provided him with a sandwich, and made a poor attempt to  cover up the fact
that he tried to see up Bea's skirt, but he settled for the  large fold of
notes that Trina gave him.
We inspected his work, and I was  mildly surprised by what Trina had
instructed him to do. In a spare downstairs  room, which Trina had already dubbed `
the playroom' she had had a St. Andrew's  cross installed--but instead of
being up against the wall, it was firmly fixed  horizontally a foot above the
floor. At the extremities of each arm were steel  rings, to which ankles
and wrists could be attached. A whipping post had been  placed against one
wall, also with rings set into it, and a stout wooden chair,  topped by a
sybian, with a huge dildo attached, had been bolted to the floor.  Chains
depended from the ceiling in two places, with snap-links attached to  their ends.
`I'd like to try out the cross tomorrow, darling,' said Trina,  `would
you like that?'
`Oh yes, Trina,' I replied. It had been a little while  since I had been
whipped.  My welts had faded, and I longed again for my  Mistress's whip, but
I appreciated that she always gave me notice--time for  delicious
anticipation of the pain I craved. Little did I know what was really  in her mind.
At dinner, Trina was aloof, as she could sometimes be, and when  I told her
there was a lovely old film on the television that evening, she said,  `I
shall not be watching it, I have something else to do.' Then she went into
her shell, and it wasn't until we were having coffee, that she spoke to me
again, then she said, `I have told Bea to come to my room this evening. You
may  watch on the television, if you please--I can set up the video--but you
are on  your own this evening.'
I was stung and upset by what I saw as Trina's  treachery, and told her I
felt unhappy, so she stood up and came across to me,  where I sat in my usual
armchair, where I had been fucked so recently by Luis.  She bent and kissed
me, saying, `Don't be sad, darling--I love you, you know. If  Bea does
well, I'll let you have her too, but tonight she is mine.'
I cheered  up a bit at that, but was still unhappy when Bea took away the
coffee things,  and Trina said to her, `Don't bother washing the pots, my
dear, just go up and  wait for me.'
I had decided not to take her up on her offer of watching them,  but soon
after Trina went up curiosity got the better of me, and I switched on  the
telly, navigating to the communication channel.
What I saw was Bea  standing, shifting from high-heeled foot to high-heeled
foot, in her little  pleated skirt, silk blouse and stockings. Trina was
nowhere to be seen, but then  she came into view, out of her private bathroom,
wearing a gorgeous short white  nightdress, quite transparent, fur-trimmed
at hem and neckline. Her glossy black  hair, which she had worn up at
dinner, was loose, cascading down her back to her  waist. I ached for her touch,
and longed for the moment when I should be  strapped to the cross, her whip
lashing my back.
Trina sat on her bed, right  in front of the camera, and said, `Undress,
Bea!
Slowly, if you please.'
Bea shrugged off her blouse, and crossed her arms over her  breasts.
`Don't be shy, my dear,' said Trina, `let me see you.'
The maid  dropped her hands by her side, and her small, pert, firm breasts
came into view,  in contrast, I thought, to the sharp outline of Trina's
lovely tits, whose dark  brown nipples poked at the transparent material.
Bea unclipped the waistband  of her skirt, and let it fall down her long
bestockinged legs, then stepped  gracefully out of its little pool on the
floor.  She presented, I had to  admit, a beautiful sight, standing there in
very high heels, long black,  lace-topped, stockings and a little satin garter
belt.  Jealousy was a  bitter pill, and I almost turned off the television
as Trina beckoned to the  maid to come to her. But curiosity again won the
day, and I watched, horribly  fascinated, as my Mistress sat back on the bed,
lifted the fur-trimmed hem of  her nightdress, raised her knees, and opened
her legs, so that her glistening  pink pussy was lewdly displayed.
Hesitantly at first, then more eagerly, Bea  knelt between my Mistress's legs, pushed
her long, silky blonde hair away over  her shoulder, and ducked her head
down into Trina's waiting crack. She was  obscuring my view, but the slurping
noise which issued forth from the video's  sound system told me all I needed
to know--and more--and when Trina began to moan  and caress Bea, stroking
her hair, then kneading her young breasts, I switched  off in disgust. But in
minutes, I felt compelled to have another look, and they  were now in a full
`69' position, Trina with her face buried in the girl's  shaven pussy, the
sounds of their incessant moans assaulting my ears. I turned  off the set,
and went to bed, crying myself to sleep.
I slept surprisingly  well, and awoke as sun streamed through my window,
becoming suddenly aware of  someone by my bed. It was my Mistress, carrying my
breakfast on a tray. She was  smiling gently at me as she sat down beside
me on the bed, and pushed my unruly  hair out of my eyes.
`I love you,' she said, simply.
`But you took  Bea....' I began.
`That's right,' she said, `and it was nice, but it's you I  love, my
little slut -- no-one can take your place. Enjoy your breakfast, then  slip on
the dress I have put out for you and come and see me in the playroom.  I'll
show you how much I love you.'
Feeling much happier, I enjoyed the  coffee and rolls, then got a surprise
when I saw what she had laid out for me--it  was a black latex dress, just
like the one she had worn the evening we had  entertained the man from
Immigration. I struggled into it--thankfully it had a  long zipper under the armpit--
and it sheathed me so tightly I could hardly  breathe, the hem fitting
tightly around my knees so that I felt completely  restrained. I stood into a
pair of extravagantly high needle-heeled sandals,  which laced up my ankles,
and had difficulty bending over to fasten them. I  walked carefully down to
the playroom, to find Trina sitting on a chair in a  black negligee. I did a
double-take when I saw that she had clipped on thick  leather ankle- and
wrist-restraints, each bearing a metal ring. I looked a  question at her.
She smiled back. `I've been bad, and now you must punish me,  Abigail,'
she said.
`But, Trina, I love you, I can't... I won't!'
`Yes  you will, darling, I want you to, please!'
She had already walked over to the  big wooden, horizontal cross, and was
sliding the negligee off her shoulders,  and I now knew she meant it--I had no
option but to do as she wished, even though  I was no dominatrix, and had
serious doubts as to whether I could do it.
`You  look lovely, darling,' she told me, and ran her hand down my
latex-covered body,  `I can hardly wait for you to whip me.'
Resigned to doing her bidding, I  watched her lay down, spread-eagled, on
the cross, and slipped the snap-links  closed onto the rings in her ankle-and
wrist-restraints. I had to admit she was  a fantastic sight, naked and
vulnerable, her honey-toned flesh an invitation to  whatever I could do to her.
I stroked her thighs and her gorgeous rounded  buttocks, felt the wetness of
her slit, and couldn't resist sliding two fingers  briefly into her moist
cunt. She said nothing, just gasped faintly as I did  that.
`What would you like me to use?' I asked.
`Start with the strap,'  she told me, `then maybe the cane, if you want,
but I want you to hurt me.'
I  picked up the strap, which was, in fact, a pair of rubber thongs, about
a foot  and a half long, mounted on a leather handle. I gave her a tentative
stroke  across the buttocks.
`You're going to have to do much better than that,' she  said, `I told
you to hurt me.'
I wielded the strap and thrashed her much  harder, but she turned her head
and looked at me scornfully. `If that's the best  you can do, I'll have to
find someone else--perhaps Bea could do  better?'
Stung by her words, I lashed her with all my strength, and she  flinched
this time, as a reddening appeared on her bottom. I started to become  more
expert with the strap, and laid into her buttocks, lower back and thighs,
until they were well-reddened, but I knew from my own experience that it was
the  cane she really needed, and changed implements.
Using much the same force  with the thin bamboo cane, I immediately saw
results, and traced a narrow red  wheal across both buttocks, drawing a low
moan from Trina.
Alarmed, I asked  her if that was too hard.
`Oh no,' she gasped, `go on, go on!'
When I  lashed her hard across her superb, graceful back with the cruel
switch, she  squirmed and cried out loudly--I knew she had cum as her agony
turned into the  ecstasy that only pain can truly bring. I carried on whipping
her several more  times, listening to her tortured moans, and now enjoying my
work, so much that I  too was on the verge of an orgasm. I stopped and
squeezed the handle of the cane  up my skirt, until I encountered my pussy,
bringing myself immediately to a  shuddering climax, and leaving my legs too
weak to stand. I sat on an extremity  of the cross, and began to unfasten Trina'
s bonds. Her back and buttocks were  criss-crossed with red stripes, and I
wanted to tend them, make her better. She  allowed me to rub in some cream,
but said, `I understand that rubbing salt in is  very painful indeed--I don'
t think I could stand that, but perhaps we'll try it  out on you some time?'
I blanched at the idea, but felt myself nodding my  assent--my God, I
thought, I am a real pain-slut, no mistake!
Later, we lay  beside the pool, idly watching Bea swim lengths--it was her
free time, and she  liked to keep in trim.
`You caned me well,' observed Trina, `I came on that  cross, you know.'
`I knew,' I said, `and I came when I had finished whipping  you.'
`I love you,' she said, `let's both take Bea to bed tonight, shall  we?'
`I'd like that,' I replied, `but I'm still waiting for you to whip me
again.'
`Then I will,' she said, `come to my room after lunch, in a long silk
nightdress, please.'
This seemed a strange request, but I knew better than to  question Trina's
orders.
After a cold lunch, during which I was suddenly  quite nervous, I went to
my room, stripped naked, and slipped on a floor-length,  peach-colored silk
nightgown, soft and luxurious, caressing my skin as I walked  along the
corridor in a pair of high-heeled mules.
When I got to Trina's room  she was waiting for me, still dressed in the
tight black cocktail dress she had  worn at lunch.
`Go into my bathroom!' she ordered, and followed me there. I  started to
take off my nightgown, but she stopped me.
`Go and stand under the  shower,' she said, and I stepped into the big,
open, tiled shower space, feeling  strange, still wearing the nightgown and
mules.  Trina clipped handcuffs  onto my wrists, and lifted them up to attach
me to the shower-head, high above  me. Then, without warning, she turned on
the cold water tap, full-blast.
The  ferocious, icy-cold jets stung me, even through my nightgown, the soft
silk  immediately saturated, clinging to my body like a second skin. Trina
reached  through the torrent and turned off the tap, and when I had the
chance to breathe  again, I looked over my shoulder, to see her stood there,
riding crop in  hand.  Without a word, she slashed the crop with all her
strength across my  back, and the sting I instantly felt was all the worse for the
wet silk between  my flesh and the cruel, braided leather. I cried out, but
that inspired my  Mistress to greater effort, as she landed another vicious
stroke, lower down  than the first.  I groaned with the agony of the awful
whipping, as again  and again the crop gave me a new insight into the
searing pain it could  inflict.
`Shall I stop, darling? Had enough?' Trina asked, and someone--it  must
have been me--said in a tiny voice, `No, please hurt me more!' The truth was  I
craved the pain my Mistress's whipping brought to me, and my desire for her
 built to a peak as she continued my punishment. When finally she put down
the  crop, I was sobbing, not only with the agony she had inflicted, but
with emotion  at my love for her, and in the aftermath of the orgasm that had
shaken my very  soul.
She unfastened my cuffs, helped me strip off the soaked nightgown, and
turned me about, so that I could see the new red welts on my back--nowhere near
as serious as they had felt, but a pretty ladder of stripes I was going to
be  proud of for several days--or until my next whipping, I thought.
After lunch,  I was stretched out, face down, on a lounger by the pool,
enjoying the warm  spring sunshine, when Bea came to tell Trina the bank
manager was on the phone.  When she went off to answer the call, Bea lingered, and
said to me, `Did it  hurt?'
A bit sleepy, I replied, `Did what hurt?'
`These marks on your  back--you've been whipped, haven't you? I heard you
scream this morning,  anyway.'
I turned to face her, and smiled. `I can't expect you to understand,  Bea,'
 I said, `but I live for the time when my Mistress will next punish  me.'
`My God!' she exclaimed, `it's certainly hard to understand, but  it'
s.....er....  exciting, though.'
She traced one of the wheals on my  back, a fingernail lightly touching my
injured flesh, suddenly bent over and  kissed the place, and then scampered
off, looking embarrassed, towards the  kitchen.
After dinner, Trina invited Bea to join us for a drink, and when we  were
all settled down with glasses in our hands, me in my armchair, Bea next to
Trina on the sofa, Bea said, after a couple of false starts which made us
laugh,  `Miss Trina, I want to ask you something.'
`Go ahead, my dear, what is it?'  said Trina.
`I don't know how to put this,' started Bea, `but I wonder if  you'd be
prepared to....Oh, I don't know!'
`Look,' said Trina, `if there's  something you want to ask me, then out
with it!'
In a tiny voice, looking at  her knees, she said, `I think I'd like to be
whipped, like Miss  Abigail.'
`You don't know what you're asking, girl,' said Trina, harshly,  `you
haven't thought about it, have you?'
`Yes, Miss Trina, I have,' said  Bea, `please don't reject me!'
`I'm not doing anything of the sort,' said  Trina, `its just that I think
you're too young.'
`No I'm not,' she pouted,  `I'm nearly twenty, and...and, well, it's
what I want -- at least it's something  I'd like to try.'
Trina looked at me, `What do you think, Abigail. Do you  think she should
be whipped?'
I didn't know what to think. I didn't want Bea  taking my place, and I
hesitated, but Trina saw my reluctance to reply and  laughed softly, saying, `
You have nothing to be afraid of, darling--I love you,  you know, and if I
agree to punish Bea, you will be at my side. I may even let  you whip her
yourself.'
`Then if she is sure, yes. I think she's very pretty,  and it would be
very exciting to see her chained up and whipped.'
`Then I  agree, Bea. You have tonight to decide if that's what you really
want.  If  it is, I shall whip you tomorrow, after breakfast. Now, would you
like to come  to bed with us tonight?'
`Oh yes, Miss Trina,' she replied.
Half an hour  later, we lay together on Trina's huge bed, Bea between the
two of us. Subdued  light from the bedside lamp made the maid look more
beautiful than ever, her  soft, platinum blonde hair fanned out on the pillow,
pert young breasts pointing  at the ceiling, where Trina's carpenter had
installed a big mirror. I kissed one  breast while Trina teased the other, biting
the erect nipple with her white  teeth, so that Bea gasped. I explored her
crack with my fingers--it was beyond  moist, so I transferred my mouth down
to her waiting pussy, sought her clit with  my tongue-stud, then licked the
whole extent of her slit, pushing apart her  labia, before forcing my tongue
into the dark promise of her arsehole.
`Oh,  Miss Abigail!' she cried, `oh please!'
`You want me to stop?' I asked.
`Oh  no,' she said, no, please go on!' It was obvious she was no `anal
virgin' and  moaned with pleasure as I tongued her velvet tunnel, her orgasm
coming quickly,  as she writhed, then stiffened, cried out something in her
native Portuguese,  then was still. Trina pushed her gently aside and
concentrated on me, our  tongues entwining rapturously, as she provoked my clit
with her long sensitive  fingers. Suddenly she thrust the tips of all her
fingers into my wet cunt,  twisting hard as she sought entry.
`Oh!' I called, as the point made by her  fingers widened into her fist,
and then she was inside me, and I couldn't hold  back any longer, my climax
coming at me like an express train.
`Go to your  bed now!' Trina ordered me, `I'm having Bea to myself.'
I was put out by  this, but did, of course, as she told me, casting a
backward glance at the two  of them, in time to see Trina grabbing a handful of
Bea's fine hair, and pulling  her had down between her long legs.
In spite of what I saw as a rebuff, I  slept well, and woke to find Bea
standing by my bed with my breakfast  tray.
`Did you enjoy your night?' I couldn't resist asking.
`Yes thank  you, Miss Abigail,' she replied, `but most of all when
you.....when you er...did  that to me, you know.'
`When I tongued your arsehole, you mean?'
She  looked away. `Yes.'
`I want you to do it to me, too,' I told her, `perhaps  when you've been
whipped, if Miss Trina doesn't mind?'
`Oh yes, Miss  Abigail,' she said, `and can I ask you something?'
`Of course.'
`Does she  hurt you when she whips you? You see, I've never been whipped
before.'
`Yes,  it hurts,' I said.
`But you still want her to do it to you?'
`Yes, Bea, I  do.'
She left me then, but was unable to resist another look at the stripes  on
my back, as I sat up naked on the bed.
Bea had been told by my Mistress to  put on a long silk nightgown, and I
wondered if she was going to punish her in  the shower, as she had done me,
but realized that the gown was, in fact, a part  of the ritual Trina had
formulated. She herself was clad in a severe long black  latex skirt, so tight it
must have been very uncomfortable, and a whaleboned  black corset which
left her gorgeous breasts uncovered, perched above it. She  had affixed
weighted nipple clamps, unconnected to each other to her protuberant  nipples, and
wore her long black hair piled on top of her head. Black patent  heels of a
prodigious height completed her ensemble. I wondered if I was  correctly
dressed, having also selected black, a tight, backless cocktail dress  which
showed off the pretty pattern of stripes on my back.
When Bea arrived  in the play-room, just after I did, Trina ordered her to
strip,
and I  watched as she slid the white, virginal nightgown off her shoulders,
and
let  it whisper to the floor around her mules. I knew my job, and when
Trina
passed them to me, I clipped the restraints around Bea's ankles and wrists,
 and
pulled her gently towards the horizontal cross, where she was soon
spread-eagled,
her beautiful hair falling down over her face, her round  buttocks an open
invitation to be whipped. She was trembling noticeably.
`You  are frightened, aren't you?' said Trina, as she selected a short
riding whip  from the rack.
`Yes, Miss Trina. P-please don't hurt me!' stuttered the  maid.
`It's too late for that, my dear,' said Trina, `of course I'm going to
hurt you.
It's what you wanted, isn't it?'
`Yes, Miss Trina,  but....'
Trina, stood close to Bea's head, grasped a handful of her hair, and
pulled sharply.
`Be quiet now!' she ordered, then, to me, `Feel the little  slut's cunt,
Abigail darling, will you. I'm sure she's ready.'
I obeyed,  noticing that her anus, which I had probed the night before, was
now more  dilated, and I knew that Trina had penetrated her with one of her
huge dildos  during the night. Her pussy was wet, little droplets of her
vaginal fluid  glistening on her labia, and I couldn't resist opening her, and
looking at her  inviting pink cunt, which it was all I could do not to fall
upon and  tongue.
Trina impatiently tapped the whip against her latex-clad thigh, so I  stood
back, as Bea started to whimper, having seen the whip.
`I'm going to  give you twenty strokes. Count please!' said Trina, as she
tested the cruel whip  through the air, then she touched it lightly to the
soft flesh of Bea's  buttocks, drew her arm back, and there was a swishing
sound as the leather thong  flew through the air, and a crack as it struck Bea'
s lower buttocks. Her scream  filled the air as the whip's vicious sting
drew a thin red line across both  arse-cheeks, but Trina yelled at her, `
Count, you slut!'
`One,' gasped Bea,  just in time for another violent stroke to surprise
her by landing in the small  of her slim back, where I knew it would hurt
terribly.
`Two!' sobbed Bea, but  the whip was already on its way again, this time
slashing
into her  shoulder-blades. Trina was expert in making the next stroke land
where
it  was least expected, and Bea's slender form was wracked by her sobs as
the
lash drew a brutal pattern on her. She squirmed and struggled against her
bonds,
and when Trina paused half-way, and nodded to me, I went up between  the
servant's legs and put my hand to her crack. It was soaking now, and I
could
tell that she was on the verge of orgasm-
`Don't cum yet!' ordered  Trina, ferociously.
`Oh, Miss Trina!' wept Bea.
`I'll tell you when you  can,' said my Mistress, and lashed the girl hard
over her upper  thighs.
`Eleven!' she managed to mutter, just before number twelve rained  down on
her lower back.
When Trina reached the seventeenth stroke, she paused  and went to Bea's
head, lifted her hair from her face and said quietly, `You can  cum now, my
dear.'
As the next fierce stroke bit into her buttocks, Bea's  scream was louder,
more agonizing, and I knew her release had come--that she had  climaxed.
Milky fluid trickled out of her cunt, and dripped to the floor as  Trina
belabored her with the last two strokes. Bea had taken her first  punishment.
`Thank you, Miss Trina,' she said, as I released her from the  cross.
`Take her to her room, Abigail,' said Trina, `and tend to her back,  will
you?'
When I had finished soothing scented oil into her superficial  welts, Bea
showed her gratitude by going down on me, sucking my clit, her sharp  white
teeth teasing it unbearably, then she transferred her attention to my  anus,
pushing her tongue as deep as she could into my ready velvet tube. I came
in a gushing torrent, soaking her face and neck.
`Oh, Miss Abigail,' she  said, `I've never been so happy in my life!'
Later, at lunch, Trina told me  she was keen to have me marked. I r
emembered that Bruno had talked of having me  branded, what seemed like a century
ago, branded with a red-hot iron. I had  agreed then, and now my beloved Trina
wanted to mark me, to give me her seal. I  told her she could do with me as
she pleased, that I would die for her, and she  came round the table and
kissed me.
We discussed the project as if we were  having a room painted--Trina told me
she had a contact, through someone back in  New York, who would arrange it,
and have a brand made, with Trina's family  crest. We coolly discussed the
location of my mark, and Trina decided it should  be on the small of my
back, where a lot of girls got tattoos. `A lot of people  will see it there,'
she said, `whenever you swim in a public place, or when you  wear a backless
dress. I trembled a little as I imagined the terrible pain I  should surely
feel, but Trina reached across the table and took my hand,  stroking its
back with her long-nailed fingers, soothing me like a dose of  valium.
`So then, it's decided,' she said, `you'll be marked as soon as the
brand is ready.' She licked her lips in a characteristic gesture at the
prospect.
When we made love that afternoon, I gave myself to my Mistress  completely,
surrendering to her every whim.

============================================================================

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