Under My Thumb

     UNDER MY THUMB

     By Fidelis Blue and Kitten



Chapter One



Was it the car or the way she drove it? Either way, it was a statement, an
assertion of what she was. He didn't really care about cars but he knew it was
something European; bright green, the colour of the leaves in early spring, low
slung, with an open top; she said she liked the feel of the wind in her hair. He
sat beside her in the passenger seat, seeing how her short white skirt rode up
over her finely contoured knees, watching her strong knuckles gripping the stick
shift. She drove with rapt concentration, her body at one with the machine.
Conversation was impossible above the engine's throaty roar.

     She parked on the gravel outside his house, the car skidding a little
before it came to a halt. She opened the door and got out, showing him even more
of her bronzed thighs. Her heels clicked on the stone steps as she walked up to
the door. He followed, watching the firm round buttocks tighten and relax as she
strode forward.

     She went ahead to his studio, opening the door and sauntering in, looking
about her the way she did, her head tilted back.

     'Can I see it?'

     'I'm not sure,' he said. 'You know how I feel about work in progress.'

     'Please?' He was still surprised how she could do this, turn from a young
woman confident in her authority, her money, her aura, to a little girl,
coaxing, wheedling; as if she could flick a switch in her mind. She didn't seem
to see how disconcerting it was.

     'Please, Matt?' She sidled up to him, offering her mouth to be kissed. He
brushed her lips lightly, then turned away. She tried again, putting an arm
round his neck, her legs parted, leaning in to him, offering herself.

     'OK,' he said. 'But I don't want any comments, good or bad. Do you hear?'

     'Yes, sir,' she said in mock submission.

     He pulled the cloth off the picture. Across the canvas was a splash of
colour, browns, purples, blacks, a touch of red. It was unmistakably the body of
a naked woman, but the face was still indeterminate. She looked at it for
several minutes, from this side and that. He stood with his back to her, gazing
out of the window towards the trees.

     'Who is she?' she said.

     'No one you know. Just a model.'

     'Is she beautiful?'

     'She's a good subject,' he said in a tone of voice intended to discourage
further questions.

     'Have you had sex with her?'

     He turned, prepared to be angry. She was giving him her little girl smile.
He knew it was just a wind-up. He mustn't fall for it.

     'Do I ask you such questions?'

     'No,' she said. 'But you might.'

     Did she mean, he could ask her if she wished, or that it was possible he
would ask her in the future?

     'I choose not to,' he replied. 'You're a free woman, remember?'

     It was what she'd said to him when they first met. Introduced at a gallery
opening, they'd talked for an hour, then she'd asked him to drive her home. At
her invitation he went up to her apartment for a night-cap. He thought she was
making it pretty clear she was willing to go to bed, and so first he'd asked
her, in his old-fashioned way, if she was seeing anyone.

     'Maybe,' she said. 'But I'm a free woman.'

     She'd surprised him in bed with her uncomplicated eagerness, her frank
enjoyment of pleasure, and her willingness to give it. When she sucked his cock,
it was as if she really wanted to, was feeding on it, drawing pleasure out of
him. Later, when he was big again and had entered her, she called out in the
dark for him to do it hard, do it harder.

     Two days later they went out to dinner. Ever the gentleman, he suggested
she choose the restaurant. It was expensive; not that it wasn't value for money,
but he would never have gone there on his own initiative. It was then he started
to realise how wealthy she was. She told him about her business, how she'd seen
an opening in the market, a financial service no one else was providing. He
didn't really understand it; didn't want to. Money meant little to him. He got
by, never better than that. He didn't mind. But he saw how the money gave her
confidence. He saw how she spoke to the waiter; not rude, even quite friendly,
but always in control.

     He wasn't used to women like that. Mostly his girlfriends had been models,
other painters, the occasional student. All indigent, more or less. And mostly,
if not exactly in awe of his talent, deferential. They expected him to take a
lead: socially, emotionally, sexually. And he dealt with that the way he'd been
taught to. He remembered his father's treatment of his mother. The little
gestures, always opening the door, enquiring after her well-being, never a cross
word. And his mother telling him once, I live for your father, my only goal is
to please him.

     She was still looking at the picture. 'Would you ever paint me?'

     He pretended to size her up with a professional eye. 'Well, I don't know. I
have very exacting standards for my models. Physical standards.'

     'Oh really? You think I might not measure up?

     It excited him the way she played these games, leading him on, teasing;
even if he wasn't always sure how to respond.

     'I think there may be one or two imperfections.'

     'Oh,' she said. She started to undo her blouse. 'Perhaps you could show me
what they are?'

     He watched as she took her blouse off. She stood for a moment, then reached
behind and unhooked her bra. She laid it on a chair with the blouse.

     'Does this measure up?' She turned so that he could see her breasts in
profile, then turned back to face him. Her breasts were not large, but they had
a lovely shape. The nipples were small and round and he could see them
hardening.

     He shrugged. 'Acceptable, I guess.'

     Holding his gaze, she undid a button on the waist of her skirt, slid down
the zipper and let the skirt fall to the ground.

     'Legs?' She stepped out of her shoes and walked around the room. The legs
were good, no question, and she knew it. Long, lean thighs, shapely calves. And
pretty feet, he thought, she's got pretty feet.

     'Legs are OK,' he conceded.

     She stopped and turned her back to him. She pulled down the little pair of
white satin knickers.

     'And this?' she enquired.

     He stared at her bottom. It was a real woman's bottom, not the scrawny,
boyish ass of a model girl but rounded and ripe. Not plump, just swelling
beautifully outwards from the hips.

     'Not bad,' he said. 'Not bad at all.'

     She turned to face him. He saw the delicate curve of her belly from navel
to her mons, the dark triangle of hair clipped short. She sat down on the couch,
drawing one leg up, the knee bent, her arm resting on top.

     'So what are the imperfections?'

     He thought hard. There must be some.

     'Bikini marks, top and bottom.'

     She glanced down at herself, examining the patches of lighter skin on her
breasts, on the lower part of her belly.

     'I'll sunbathe nude if you like.'

     He picked up his sketchbook and a pencil. She caught his eye, then moved
her knee to one side, showing herself to him, daring him to look between her
legs. He started to draw but the hardness of his cock distracted him. He knew he
ought to exercise control, show her that she couldn't just have him whenever she
wanted.

     'I think a different pose,' he said.

     He went across and showed her what he wanted, on her knees, her head
resting on her hands, bottom raised, one knee slightly in front of the other. He
sketched away for a few minutes, but it was hopeless. In the gap between her
thighs he could just see the pink lips of her sex. She kept them shaved. He'd
never seen a woman like that before. It aroused him.

     He put down his sketchbook and stood behind her. He reached down and
stroked her bottom, pressing his thumb into the adorable little dimples at the
top of the buttocks. He slid his hand between her legs, feeling how wet she was
already. It was the work of a moment to undo himself and enter her. He tried to
hold it back, make it last longer for her, but it was like red hot magma
swelling up from the bowels of the earth, an unstoppable molten flood erupting
into her.

     He lay against her, his hand around her belly.

     'You like it like that, don't you?' she said. 'From behind? I wonder why.'

     'You have such a lovely ass.'

     'Once,' she said, 'I had a boyfriend who liked it that way. When he was
fucking me he'd spank my bottom. Quite hard.'

     When Matt was eight years old, his father had seen him hit his little
sister, and had taken him outside and delivered a stern, terrifying lecture. You
never, ever hit a woman, he said. Do you hear me? Men who do that are dirt. Do
you hear?

     'Why did you let him do that?' Matt said.

     She turned round to face him, holding his face and looking into his eyes.

     'Sometimes I do things I'm not supposed to,' she said.

     The next day he went to meet her at her company's place. They were going to
another gallery opening. He waited in the reception area, watching her through
the glass wall as she strode about her office. She wore a business suit, jacket
tightly buttoned, skirt narrow, shorter than he would have thought proper. She
was issuing instructions to a young man who sat with a notepad on his knee. His
attitude was attentive, respectful. At last she finished and opened the door.
The young man followed her out.

     'And next time don't anticipate,' she said curtly. 'Wait for instructions.'

     'Yes, Miss Lawrence,' he said and walked away up the corridor.

     'Who was that?' Matt asked, smiling.

     'That? It's Brian, my secretary.'

     'Your secretary is a man?'

     'You find that strange?'

     Matt shrugged. 'Unusual, maybe.'

     'I haven't got him properly trained yet.'

     'You'd better not try that on me,' he said.

     She looked to see if he was joking. 'Or else what?'

     He didn't answer. She drove them to the gallery. He glanced down at her
legs as she worked the clutch. Desire twitched in his groin. It was a long time
since he'd wanted a woman so badly. But there was so much about her that puzzled
him, not least the contrast between the grown-up, assertive woman and the
mischievous little girl who came out to play when they were alone. He wasn't at
all sure what she saw in him, a man possessed only of what a previous lover had
called 'crumpled charm', no longer young, hardly successful. What did she really
want from him? He hadn't figured that out yet. But he was the man; wasn't he
supposed to know?

     She strode into the throng at the gallery, greeting acquaintances,
snatching a glass of wine from a waiter.

     'Elizabeth!' cried a handsome young man, kissing her on the cheek.

     In no time she was surrounded by people, men mostly. Matt watched as they
eyed her up and down. It felt good to know that she was his; if she was. He got
distracted by a couple of old friends. When at last they moved away, he saw
Elizabeth leaning against a wall. The handsome young man stood in front of her,
talking earnestly. As Matt watched she smiled at the man, a dazzling smile. She
reached up her hand and patted him on the cheek. Then she laughed out loud.

     On the drive to her apartment he was silent. Once inside, she brought him a
drink.

     'Pensive?' she asked.

     'Who was that man?'

     'Which man?'

     'At the party. The good-looking one.'

     'Oh, Ben.' She giggled.

     'Is he your lover?'

     She giggled again. 'He'd like to be. Once when I was a little drunk I told
him I had a taste for bondage. Now every time he sees me he offers to tie me
up.'

     'And do you?'

     'Do I what?'

     'Have a taste for it?'

     Matt felt the burden of his inhibitions. He wished he were younger, less
set in his ways. He knew there were people who did things; strange things, wild
things, shocking things. But he couldn't imagine how it worked. How did you get
started? 'Excuse me, do you mind if I tie you up?' It all seemed a little
ridiculous.

     'Well, do you?' he persisted.

     She'd stopped giggling. 'I like you very much, Matt. I think you could be
very good for me. But you seem a really straightforward sort of man. I don't
want to spoil it.'

     In bed he was kissing her breasts, sucking the nipples, hard as hazel nuts.

     'Bite me,' she said. 'Just a little.'

     Gingerly he put his teeth around a nipple and squeezed them together.

     She grunted. 'More.'

     He wanted to. It excited him to think of causing her pain, if only
slightly, making her submit to it. But he was afraid he might cause damage.
Tentatively he tried again.

     'Yes,' she said. 'Please, oh please.'

     He pulled his head away and drove his cock into her, fucking her
relentlessly, so hard she came with him inside her, the first time she'd done
that.

     'Jesus,' she said when her body was still.

     'You really liked that? Biting?' He found it hard to believe.

     'Mmm. Do you think I'm a pervert?'

     'Oh, I thought that from the start,' he joked. Afterwards, he wondered if
he'd really meant it.

     The next time he went to meet her at her office he could see she was
stressed.

     'There's a bit of a panic,' she said. 'A problem with the auditors, some
money missing. I'll have to stay till it's sorted.'

     'Is it serious?'

     'I don't know. It might just be a book-keeping error.'

     They were due to dine at a down-town restaurant.

     'Look,' she said. 'Go back to my place and wait, will you? I'll join you
when I'm finished.'

     He wasn't used to women whose work came before his pleasures. But he took
the keys she proffered with good grace. He let himself into her apartment and
made himself a drink. Then he did what he always did in other people's homes.
Meticulously he inspected the bookshelves. You could tell so much about people
from the books they read. Or the books they had on their shelves for show.
Assuming they had books.

     Elizabeth had plenty. There were the usual glossy art books, though none on
his own favourite, Matisse. He'd have to do some educating. There were books on
gardening and cookery; even though she doesn't have a garden, he thought,
looking out of her tenth floor apartment window. And there were novels, dozens
of them, mostly paperbacks. She seemed to have a taste for heavyweight
contemporary stuff. Philip Roth, Martin Amis, Don DeLillo, J G Ballard. At the
end of one shelf was a collection of sex books: Best American Erotica 2002, Best
Fetish Erotica, The Sexual Life of Catherine M. One book caught his eye. It had
a black cover with the title in white: The Story of O. When he took it down from
the shelf the pages fell open at a bookmark. In the margin was a pencil line and
a series of exclamation marks. He read the annotated passage:

    

     'She was forced down upon her knees again, but this time a hassock was
placed as a support under her chest; her hands were still fixed behind her back,
her haunches were higher than her torso. One of the men gripped her buttocks and
sank himself into her womb. When he was done, he ceded his place to a second.
The third wanted to drive his way into the narrower passage and, pushing hard,
violently, wrung a scream from her lips. When at last he let go of her, moaning
and tears streaming down under her blindfold, she slipped sideways to the floor
only to discover by the pressure of two knees against her face that her mouth
was not to be spared either. Finally, finished with her, they moved off, leaving
her, a captive in her finery, huddled, collapsed, on the carpet before the
fire....

     Her blindfold was suddenly snatched away...Her hands were still pinioned
behind her back. She was shown the riding crop, black, long and slender, made of
fine bamboo sheathed in leather, an article such as one finds in the display
windows of expensive saddle-makers' shops; the leather whip ... was long, with
six lashes ending in a knot; there was a third whip whose numerous light cords
were several times knotted and stiff, quite as if soaked in water... O was
informed that when, as soon they would, they unfastened her hands, it would only
be to attach them to this whipping post by means of those bracelets on her
wrists and this steel chain. With the exception of her hands, which would be
immobilized a little above her head, she would be able to move, to turn, to face
around and see the strokes coming, they told her; by and large, they'd confine
the whipping to her buttocks and thighs, to the space, that is to say, between
her waist and her knees....

     Proud, she steeled herself to resist; she gritted her teeth; but not for
long. They soon heard her beg to be let loose, beg them to stop, stop for a
second, for just one second. So frantically did she twist and wheel to dodge the
biting lashes that she almost spun in circles. The chain, though unyielding,
for, after all, it was a chain, was nevertheless slack enough to allow her
leeway. Owing to her excessive writhing, her belly and the front of her thighs
received almost as heavy a share as her rear. They left off for a moment,
deeming it better to tie her flat up against the post by means of a rope passed
around her waist; the rope being cinched tight, her head necessarily angled to
one side of the post and her flanks jutted to the other, thereby placing her
rump in a prominent position. From then on, every deliberately aimed blow struck
home....

     Meanwhile, the man who liked women only for what they had in common with
men, seduced by the sight of that proffered behind straining out from under the
taut rope and made all the more tempting by its wrigglings to escape, requested
an intermission in order to take advantage of it; he spread apart the two
burning halves and penetrated but not without difficulty, which brought him to
remark that they'd have to contrive to make this thoroughfare easier of access.
That thing could be done, they agreed, and decided that the proper measures
would be taken.'

    

     Matt flicked through the rest of the book, finding other passages marked;
descriptions of further whippings, of forcible subjection, of humiliations. It
seemed to him to record a journey into hell; imprisonment, beatings, rape,
mutilation, and even at the end a branding. When at last he put the book down he
felt nauseous. How could anyone read such a work for pleasure? All his life he'd
tried to treat women well, and yet here was a book, apparently written by a
woman, which treated women only as the objects of depraved lust. He felt
resentment at Elizabeth, with her airs and graces, her assertiveness that seemed
to challenge him. He'd not found it easy to retain his male confidence in the
face of her success, her money, her beauty and her open, free and easy
sexuality. But he'd kept his cool, tolerated her provocations. And now after all
that to find that her secret fantasies were of submission and punishment. He
felt cheated, made foolish. Yet even as his animosity festered within him, he
was aware of other feelings, buried deep, feelings he didn't want to think
about. Why was it that despite the repulsion he felt, his cock was hard? He
forced such questions from his mind. He wanted only to feel a righteous anger.

     He sat on while outside it grew dark. At last Elizabeth came back. She
called out his name, then turned on the lights to find him in his chair.

     'I'm so sorry,' she said. 'It took ages. But it's sorted now.'

     He said nothing. She looked at him, sensing his mood.

     'What's the matter? Should I have called to say how late I'd be?'

     'It's not that,' he said. 'It's this.'

     He held up the book. She smiled. 'Oh, that. A very naughty book, isn't it?'

     'Is this what you want?' he demanded. His voice was hard and cold.

     'Well,' she said. 'it's a fantasy.'

     'I can't believe you would read such things. I thought you were a liberated
woman. You seem so confident, so strong. How can you want to be treated that
way?'

     'I am liberated,' she said slowly. 'That's why I can be free to be myself.
In the office I'm in control. In the bedroom I have other needs. You should let
me explain, then you'll understand.'

     'I don't want to understand,' he said. 'You'd better find someone else for
that.'

     He brushed past her and went out, slamming the door.

     For the next week he heard nothing from her. He expected her to call, but
there was only silence. He couldn't stop thinking about her. And about the book.
Images kept coming unbidden into his mind: a woman bound and kneeling; a skirt
lifted over a woman's naked bottom, the white skin marked by the whip; a woman
naked in a room full of men, using her... The images disturbed him. In a part of
his mind they excited him, but he refused to acknowledge it. Sex was beautiful,
clean and good, not dark and dangerous.

     One evening he heard a car come to a skidding stop outside his house. He
heard her heels clicking up the steps, then the bell rang. He opened the door.
She flung herself into his arms.

     'Don't desert me,' she said. 'Don't desert me.'

     He allowed her to kiss him, her mouth open, her tongue pushing between his
lips.

     'I'll be whatever you want me to be,' she whispered.

     He took her into the bedroom.

     'Take your clothes off,' he said.

     He watched her as she removed the expensive grey woollen dress, unhooked
the ivory satin bra. She stood in the matching satin briefs. Her legs were bare.
She pulled the briefs down and stood naked, waiting.

     'Lie on the bed,' he said.

     She lay, her hands by her sides, her legs together. He sat down beside her.
He stroked her belly, slowly, softly. He ran his fingers lightly through the
short, cropped pubic hair.

     'Open your legs,' he said.

     She wanted to be controlled. Well, then, he'd control her. See how she
liked it. He took her labia between his finger and thumb, squeezing them lightly
together. She sighed with pleasure. He increased the pressure. Then he let go
and slid his middle finger in between the labia. He pressed against her opening,
not entering yet. He could feel her warm and moist, not yet slippery. He moved
his finger upwards till it rested lightly on her clitoris. He pressed against it
lightly, feeling the little bud firm under his touch. She was breathing deeply
now. He began to move his finger slowly in a circle. She made a little grunting
sound in the back of her throat.

     He took his hand away.

     'Don't stop,' she whispered.

     He stroked her belly again. With his other hand he caressed her left
breast, letting his fingers trail over the nipple. It stood up to meet him. He
pinched it lightly between finger and thumb, then harder. He saw her clench her
teeth. He pinched her harder still, digging his nail into the swollen nipple.

     'Oh,' she said.

     He took his hand away from her breast, but kept stroking her belly. She
opened her legs wider, inviting him in. Still fully dressed, he lay across her
thighs and pressed his thumbs against the outside of her labia. He pushed them
together; under the soft folds of flesh he could feel her clitoris stiffen. He
kept his thumbs motionless for a while. After a time she tried to move against
him, seeking more stimulation. He took his hands away.

     'You're teasing me,' she protested.

     'Am I?'

     He put his thumbs back on either side of her labia and spread them wide,
opening her up. Slowly he leaned down and licked between them, starting at the
bottom, moving upwards with slow deliberation over the slippery folds of flesh.
When his tongue had almost reached the apex, he took it away.

     'Please,' she said. 'Don't be cruel.'

     'Isn't that what you want, cruelty?'

     'Please?' she said in her little girl voice.

     He bent and kissed the lips of her sex. He pushed his tongue between them,
as far as it would go, tasting the sharp flavour. He breathed in, inhaling the
musky odour, such a richly evocative smell, suggestive of ineffable delights.
This time he licked up the outside of her labia, all the way round the top and
down the other side, taking care to avoid the clitoris, now emerged from its
fold of skin, straining for satisfaction.

     He put his finger inside her. She was slick with juice now. He slid it
around, feeling her inner contours. He took his finger out and moved it up till
it rested on her clitoris.

     'You want to come?'

     'Oh, yes, please, I do.'

     'But you want to be controlled?'

     'Yes, but not now. I just want to be indulged.'

     'That's just it,' he said. 'You can't pick and choose. That woman in the
story, she had to submit totally.'

     'But that's just a story.'

     Something had come over him. He began to see what it might be like, to
control her, to make her submit. Not beat her, not do the horrible things they
did in the book. But just show her she couldn't do with him as she pleased. If
she wanted control it would be on his terms. Otherwise, it was just another way
of a spoilt rich girl getting exactly what she wanted.

     'I'm going to make you come,' he said. 'But only on one condition.'

     'What's that?'

     'You mustn't move or make a sound. As soon as you do it stops.'

     'That's a tough one,' she said. 'You know how much I writhe about.'

     He moved his finger slowly across the top of her clitoris. She jumped. He
took his hand away.

     'You see?' he said. 'It stops the moment you move.'

     'OK, OK,' she begged. 'Give me another chance.'

     He bent his head down and licked once more up between the lips of her sex,
now oozing with the lubricant of desire. He could feel her tense up, bracing
herself against the moment when his tongue should reach the top. Just before it
did he paused for a moment. He felt her relax a little, then he licked  across
the top of her clitoris. She made a strange strangled sound in the back of her
throat.

     He lifted his head. 'No sound, remember.'

     'Sorry,' she said. 'Oh god, this is agony.'

     He licked her again, his tongue gliding slowly over the trembling
coral-pink lips. He let it circle round and round the little nub, surprisingly
hard now. He felt her desire mounting, her breath coming shorter, faster.
Deliberately he slowed his tongue till its movement was almost imperceptible.
She was clenching the sheets of the bed in her fists, as if she was trying to
will herself to orgasm spontaneously. He was just wondering if he had it in him
to be more cruel yet, to take his tongue away for good, forbid her the pleasure
she craved. But suddenly she was coming, her hips thrashing wildly, a guttural
sound in her throat.

     He waited until the spasms subsided. Then he turned her over on to her
stomach and, lifting her by the hips, brought her into a kneeling position, her
bottom sticking over the edge of the bed. Standing behind her he undid himself
and thrust into her. Her cunt still quivering, she felt herself being impaled on
his cock. He drove deep into her, hammering at her buttocks. As he did so he
gripped them with his hands, digging his fingers hard into the taut muscles till
she cried out. He came violently then collapsed on top of her, panting.

     'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I didn't mean to hurt you.'

     She chuckled. 'Not even just a little bit?'

     The next morning she left on a business trip. He had a couple of days on
his own to think about things. Had he really meant to hurt her? Perhaps, just a
little. Yet he still couldn't believe she could want what happened to the woman
in the book. No woman could want that.

     He did some research, thinking at least he ought not to be so ignorant. In
no time he had found dozens of web sites in which people seemed to be spanking
each other with reckless abandon. Stories, pictures, sites that offered goods
for sale, fetters and whips and paddles, sites that offered introductions. Soon
he began to think the whole world must be spanked or spanking. Except him. Some
of the sites were in deadly earnest, detailing the minutiae of arcane rituals as
if it were a true religion. Other sites treated the whole thing as one big joke.
One thing was for sure; Elizabeth was not alone in her interest.

     And what of you, Matt thought. Are you just an uptight middle-aged man too
inhibited to play games, too narrow-minded to accept different strokes for
different folks, too set in your ways to learn something new? One thing he knew;
he didn't want to lose her. It wasn't just his physical desire for her, though
that was more intense than any he had known. She'd gotten under his skin. She
was a challenge. He felt obscurely that he was being tested.

     After she got back from her trip she invited him out for a drink to meet a
couple of her friends. He was curious what sort of people they'd be, reasoning
you can always learn something of what people are like by the company they keep.
In an expensive down-town watering-hole Elizabeth introduced him to Charlotte
and Emily.

     'I call them the Brontes,' she laughed.

     Emily was dark-haired and bouncy, Charlotte blonde, slender, more
thoughtful. Matt thought them both charming girls. The three of them giggled a
lot together. Emily and Elizabeth started teasing Charlotte about her new
boyfriend.

     'I hear he's well hung,' Emily said.

     'Like a horse,' Elizabeth laughed.

     Matt was shocked to hear young women talk this way.

     'Just how big?' Emily demanded

     Charlotte blushed and shook her head. Emily put her hands out, about six
inches apart.

     'Like this?' she asked. Then she moved her hands wider. 'Or like this?' She
moved them till they were fully a foot apart. 'Not like this, surely?'

     The three of them dissolved into shrieks of laughter. Elizabeth caught
Matt's eye. He knew she was taunting him.

     When they got back to her apartment she asked him what he thought of her
friends.

     'They're nice girls, but they've got dirty minds.'

     'You don't think women should talk like that?'

     'No, I don't.' He knew he sounded prudish.

     'Men do.'

     He was silent.

     'Are you cross with me?' she asked.

     He wanted to punish her somehow for embarrassing him.

     'If I say I'm sorry will that make it all right?'

     'I don't think sorry is enough,' he said.

     'So what is?'

     He was silent again, looking at her. Then he spoke.

     'Take your clothes off.'

     She removed her clothes slowly, holding his gaze. When she was naked she
stood, waiting.

     'Kneel,' he said.

     She got down on her knees, looking at him expectantly.

     'Now crawl towards me.'

     She crawled across the carpet till she was almost touching his feet.

     'Now say you're sorry.'

     'I'm sorry,' she said.

     'For what?'

     'For talking dirty.'

     'For what else?'

     She thought for a moment.

     'For trying to shock you?'

     'Yes.'

     'I'm sorry for trying to shock you,' she said.

     'What should your punishment be?'

     'I don't know. Something bad.'

     'Go and get into bed,' he said.

     She was lying naked under the sheet when he came into the bedroom. He
switched off the light and undressed. When he got into bed beside her she drew
near, rubbing her body against him, putting her hand down to his cock. He pulled
her hand away.

     'Go to sleep,' he said. 'Naughty girls don't get fucked.'

     She moved away without a word, curling up into a ball. In the darkness he
smiled to himself slowly. We'll see who's in charge now, he thought.

     The next day they went to the movies. Matt had a taste for films that were
different, that offered more than entertainment. When he told Elizabeth he
wanted to see a new Iranian film that was showing she made a face.

     'Must we? It sounds kind of boring.'

     'Part of your education,' said Matt. He knew he sounded like a
schoolmaster.

     There were few others in the movie theatre. Halfway through the film
Elizabeth took Matt's hand. He thought it a charmingly romantic gesture, but
after squeezing it for a moment she drew it up under her skirt. He felt the warm
soft skin of her inside thigh. His cock started to tell him something even
though his brain was trying to concentrate on the screen, where an old woman was
telling a story about chickens to a young child. Elizabeth pulled his fingers
higher, till they were touching the smooth silk of her knickers. He felt her
pulling them aside, pushing his fingers into the moistness between her legs.

     He put his mouth to her ear. 'Stop it,' he hissed, snatching his hand away.

     After five minutes she got up and went to the women's room. When she came
back she put something in his lap. He reached down and felt the flimsy piece of
silk, still warm from her body. He tried to ignore her, refusing to look
sideways. But he was aware of her doing something, her skirt moving. After a
couple of minutes she suddenly put her fingers under his nose. He inhaled the
unmistakable odour of her sex, a smell that seemed hot-wired to his cock, which
instantly began to rise. But he wouldn't be distracted in this way. He took hold
of her hand and pinched it as hard as he could. He heard her gasp as she pulled
it away.

     He watched the rest of the movie without further disturbance. As they were
leaving the theatre, two young men were standing by the entrance. Elizabeth was
a step in front of him and as she passed the men he saw her lift her skirt to
them. Matt caught a glimpse of their astonished faces as he strode by them.

     Outside the theatre Elizabeth turned to face him, her eyes shining with
devilment.

     'What the hell are you doing?' Matt snapped. 'You'll get yourself
arrested.'

     'Wouldn't that be fun,' she laughed.

     On the way back to her apartment she kept glancing at him. She knew there
would be consequences.

     'Was I very bad?' she inquired innocently when he shut the door behind
them.

     He stared at her. 'Don't push me too far.'

     'How far would that be?' she asked.

     He sat down in an armchair. 'Go and kneel on the sofa.'

     She crossed the room to do as he said.

     'No, not that way. With your bottom outwards, head down in the cushions.'

     She knelt as he told her, her back to him.

     'Now lift your skirt, right up over your waist.'

     She pulled it up, exposing her naked bottom. He remembered that her
knickers were still in his pocket.

     'Now part your legs a little.'

     She moved her knees apart. He calculated that she was expecting him to
smack her. Even though he'd not yet done so, she'd made it clear enough how she
felt about that. Well, she must learn that wilful girls don't always get what
they want.

     He picked up a newspaper from the floor and began to read it. For a while
there was silence, then she spoke.

     'Aren't you going to do anything?'

     'Be quiet,' he said. 'You're so keen on exposing yourself, so you can stay
exposed until I tell you otherwise.'

     He turned to another page of the paper. More time passed. After a while he
put the paper aside and sat watching her, looking at the delightful roundness of
her buttocks, the creamy whiteness of her skin. He let his eyes rest on the
delicate lips of her sex, slightly apart, like the petals of a flower just
coming out of bud. He looked at her anus, the rose a darker pink. He imagined
licking around it, tasting the flat, earthy flavour. One day he'd penetrate her
there. He'd done that to a woman before. But he wasn't ready yet.

     'In case you're wondering,' he said, 'I'm not going to fuck you. But since
you like the feel of yourself so much, I want you to touch yourself while I
watch. I want you to make yourself come.'

     'In this position?' she said. 'I'm not sure if I can.'

     'Take your time,' he said. 'We've got all evening.'

     'You won't stop me just as I get near?'

     'You'll have to take that chance,' he replied.

     He watched as she put her hand between her legs. The fingers moved busily,
exploring. Then they settled into a rhythm. He was sorely tempted to forbid her
to complete the act. But this time he let her go on, until she let out a moan,
her whole body shaking. She fell forward on to the sofa.

     He sat on in silence. She turned towards him

     'Aren't you going to fuck me?'

     'I'll fuck you when I decide,' he said. 'Not when you invite me to.'

UNDER MY THUMB

By Fidelus Blue and Kitten



Chapter Two



One morning she called him. 'Can you meet me in town?' She gave the name of the
largest department store. 'I need your advice.'

     He met her at the cafe in the basement.

     'What sort of advice?'

     'I'm going to buy some underwear,' she said. 'I want it to be for you.'

     They went up to the lingerie department on the third floor. Matt thought he
had never seen such a cornucopia of corsets, a plethora of panties. Silks and
satins cascaded from hangers, tables were festooned with lace and lycra.

     Elizabeth picked out a bra and knickers in purple satin trimmed with black
lace. There was a tiny suspender belt to match; it looked almost too delicate to
hold up stockings.

     'What do you think?' she smiled.

     He rolled his eyes.

     'You don't like it?'

     'Yes, I like it.' But he'd caught sight of the price tag. No one could pay
that much for underwear.

     She picked up another matching set. He saw the label: La Perla. It meant
nothing to him, but he could see the luxury in the workmanship. He put out his
hand and felt the glossy black satin.

     'Come,' she said.

     She disappeared into a changing booth, drawing the curtain across.

     'Don't go away,' she called out.

     He heard the sound of zippers and fastenings. Her head appeared round the
curtain.

     'Come in and see,' she said.

     A few yards away a female sales assistant was watching him. He slipped into
the booth, blushing. Elizabeth stood in the purple satin. He saw how the bra
pushed up her neat, round breasts. It was cut so low he could see the top of the
aureoles.

     'What do you think?' she said.

     'It's gorgeous. But isn't it expensive?'

     'It's just money,' she said. It was almost arrogant.

     She took off the bra, then put on the other one. It fitted snugly. God,
she's lovely, he thought.

     'OK,' she said. 'Let me get changed.'

     When she came out he thought they were finished. But with a cry of delight
she rushed up to a rack of red silk corsets.

     'It's me, don't you think?' she said, picking one out, her eyes shining.

     He hated himself for looking at the price tag but he couldn't help it. For
that much he could have kept himself in artist's supplies for six months.

     She found a size to fit and went back to the changing booth. Again she
invited him in to look. The corset gripped her waist and raised her breasts,
offering them. Below the line of her hips she was naked, the roundness of her
bottom accentuated by the tightness of the waist. She twirled round for him,
flaunting herself. There's something of the whore in her nature, he thought;
perhaps there is in every woman.

     As he came out of the booth he saw a middle-aged man standing across the
way, staring. On an impulse Matt pulled back the curtain. Inside the booth
Elizabeth had her back to them. She was unhooking the fastenings at the back of
the corset, her arms twisted behind her back, above her naked bottom. Suddenly
she turned, saw the watching stranger and grabbed the curtain to pull it back
across. Matt held it open. He stepped behind her, holding her arms, turning her
to face outwards, displaying her naked belly to the watching man.

     'Look at him,' Matt hissed in her ear. 'Let him see what you are.'

     She was still for a moment, then pulled away from him, drawing the curtain
across once more.

     'What the hell were you doing?' She looked at him fiercely.

     'Don't play the modest maiden with me,' he retorted. 'I know better.'

     By the time they got back to her apartment she'd mellowed.

     'Sit down. I'll give you a fashion show.'

     She modelled each set of lingerie in turn, first the purple satin, then the
black, finally the red silk corset. It had a pair of tiny matching briefs, no
more than a cache-sex. She'd put on sheer black stockings and a pair of
high-heeled shoes. If she was a whore, she was the very best, most expensive one
he'd ever seen. One I could never afford, he thought.

     'What's the matter?' she asked. 'You don't approve?'

     'It's sensational,' he said. 'I'm just not used to such extravagance.'

     She stood in front of him, her weight on one leg, her hand on her hip in
the classic streetwalker pose.

     'You think I'm a spoilt, rich bitch, don't you?'

     'Or something else.'

     'If that's what you think, say it,' she said. 'Don't be so fucking polite.'

     'Sometimes,' he said slowly, 'I think you need reining in.'

     'And you're the man to do it?' She was looking at him with fire in her
eyes. Defiant, insolent almost. But underneath there was something else. She was
daring him to seek it out.

     'The other night you wanted me to hurt your nipples.'

     'Yes,' she said, in hardly more than a whisper.

     He stood up and took off the thin leather belt around his waist.

     'What are you going to do?' she said nervously.

     He went up to her and grabbed her by the shoulders, turned her round and
pushed her hard up against the wall. She struggled but he was too strong. He
pulled her elbows together and wrapped the belt around them tight, buckling it
fast. Then he led her over to a straight-backed chair.

     'Sit down,' he ordered.

     He went into the kitchen and came back with two wooden clothes pegs. He
stood behind her and pulled down the straps of her corset. He took hold of her
breasts and lifted them up above the top of the red silk. Carefully he opened
the little wooden jaws of one peg and positioned it over her right nipple, then
let it go. She gasped with pain. With equal deliberation he placed the other peg
on her left nipple.

     'Oh, jesus,' she said. 'It hurts. Really, it does.'

     'You thought to provoke me by throwing money in my face,' he said.

     She hesitated before replying. 'Something like that.'

     'And are you sorry?'

     'No. Yes, I don't know. God, it hurts. Take them off.'

     He stood over her, watching her face.

     'I'm going to teach you some respect,' he said.

     'Yes,' she said. 'Respect. OK.'

     He put his hand out to one of the pegs and twisted it slightly. She caught
her breath.

     'I'll do anything,' she said. 'Please. Just take them off.'

     He twisted the other peg, a little harder. She gasped.

     'You want them off?'

     'Yes, oh please, yes.'

     'You have to beg.'

     She got off the chair, down on her knees and kissed his shoes.

     'I beg you. I beseech you. I'm pleading with you.'

     He lifted her to her feet. She grunted with pain as he took the pegs off,
one at a time. Then he led her over to the couch and pushed her face down onto
it, her arms still bound behind her back. He sat beside her and put his hand
between her legs. Juice was seeping out of her. He found her clitoris and began
to circle it slowly with his finger. He knew by now just how she liked it,
rubbing against the base, gradually a little harder, a little faster. He held
her back for a while, listening to her. He could tell just how close to coming
she was from her breathing.

     He began to stroke her bottom with his other hand, luxuriating in the silky
smoothness of the skin. He bent and kissed her there, first one cheek then the
other. He spread her a little with his hand and looked down at the
damask-coloured little mouth nestling between the buttocks, so prudishly pursed.
He kissed it, then ran his tongue around the edge of the opening.

     'Oooh,' she sighed.

     He pushed against her with his tongue. She was tight, but she relaxed a bit
as his tongue insistently nudged against her. He pressed harder, trying to roll
his tongue into a funnel and inch it inside her. He could feel her getting
wider, accepting him, but he was continuing to work her clitoris with his finger
and suddenly there was no holding her, as her thighs clenched and her hips
trembled and her orgasm swept over her.

     He let her rest for a moment. Then he stood up and unzipped his trousers.
He lifted her up to her knees and knelt behind her. Still her arms were bound.
Slowly he slid his cock into her sodden cunt. He moved it in and out several
times, then pulled out again. She groaned with disappointment. He put the tip of
his now slippery cock to her asshole. Nothing happened at first when he pushed,
but then the head suddenly slipped into her. He waited for a while, feeling the
incredible tightness, exulting in the mastery he felt, entering her secret
forbidden place. He wanted to debauch her, make her the slave of perverted
lusts, make her his slut. But in a part of his mind he knew it was the other way
round. She was the one who was leading them into the dark places.

     She was tight, so tight he was afraid of hurting her.

     'Open for me, Lizzie,' he said. 'Take it in, my little Beth, right in.
You've got to take it all.'

     He could feel her give a little. He eased his cock into her further, just
an inch at a time. At last he was up to the hilt. He began to slide in and out,
not pulling fully back and thrusting in, just moving the shaft up and down
inside its skin, so she could feel its strength and hardness in her bowels. It
was such a wonderful sensation he wanted it to last forever, but she was
gripping him so hard it was like it was being squeezed out of him from deep
inside, and his ejaculation poured forth in a flood.

     'You see?' she said as they lay together, her arms unbound at last.

     And he thought, yes, I am beginning to see.

     He still didn't think he could beat her. It was such a taboo, to strike a
woman. But if she provoked him again, and it seemed that indeed she would, then
he would show her he was not to be trifled with.

     One afternoon he was walking in a part of the city he rarely passed
through. Down a seedy side street he came upon a sex shop. Always before he had
shied away from such places, their air of furtive sleaziness, the garish
pictures of women with impossible breasts, the tacky, cheaply made garments. But
today something drew him through the door.

     Inside were shelves of videos and books, with a couple of men leafing
through them. At the far end were rows of sex toys, dildos eye-wateringly large,
vibrators of all shapes. Next to them was a selection of bondage gear. He looked
with a more than passing interest at the leather cuffs for ankles and wrists,
spreader-bars to hold the legs apart, leather collars and gags. In a box lined
with black velvet were a pair of handcuffs, chrome-plated, gleaming brightly in
the neon light. He picked them up. Unlike most of the goods they were well-made,
carefully finished. He looked at the price. He was glad they weren't cheap. He
couldn't have bought anything he thought she'd look down on.

     He paid for the cuffs and watched as they were wrapped.

     The sales assistant gave him a leer. 'This should keep her under control.'

     Matt said nothing. Outside, he was surprised at what he had done. But he
felt a surge of excitement in his loins.

     When he got home he put the handcuffs away. Over the next few days he
forgot about them. One evening Elizabeth offered to come round and cook dinner
for them. Matt didn't cook himself, but he wasn't averse to her doing it for
him.

     She arrived with a bottle of champagne and a bouquet of red carnations. He
took them both, thanking her. He opened the champagne and poured them each a
glass. Elizabeth got busy in the kitchen. He sat and sipped his champagne,
gazing out of the window into the woods.

     She brought the dinner in, duck breasts in a plum sauce. It was good, no
question. They ate for a time in silence, the candlelight flickering on the
glasses and silver.

     'Oh,' she said suddenly. 'Where are the flowers? Did you put them in
water?'

     He shrugged. 'I guess not.'

     She looked concerned. 'You didn't like them?'

     'Where I come from,' he said slowly, 'women don't buy men flowers. It's the
other way around.'

     'Oh, that's so silly!' she cried. 'Why shouldn't I buy you flowers? Men can
like beautiful things, can't they? Don't you have a female side?'

     'If I do, it's buried deep. Unlike your masculine side.'

     'You think I'm too in your face?'

     'So you think I'm silly, do you?'

     'Now you're being pompous.'

     'Be careful,' he said. She must learn; he might be a gentleman, but she
couldn't just provoke him without consequences.

     'Oh, phooey,' she said with a laugh that was only just short of
contemptuous.

     Matt got up and went to stand behind her. He reached down and began to undo
her blouse. He pulled it down off her shoulders and arms. Then he unhooked her
bra and drew it off.

     'Oh, Matt, you're so masterful,' she giggled.

     'Shut up,' he snapped.

     He went to his study and returned with the handcuffs. She looked at him
with surprise as he clicked one cuff on her left wrist, looped it round a strut
at the back of the chair and clicked the other cuff to her right wrist. Now she
was bound to the chair.

     He sat opposite and looked at her. Her nipples had gone hard.

     'What are you going to do?' She sounded a little nervous.

     In the centre of the table a large red candle burned brightly. On an
impulse he picked it up and advanced towards her.

     'Oh, no, god, no. Please Matt, I'm sorry.'

     'I told you to shut up,' he said.

     He set the candle down. From the floor he picked up her blouse. He twisted
it till it was like a rope, then pulled it tightly across her mouth and knotted
it behind. He picked up the candle again and held it just above her naked left
breast. He could see a gleam in her eyes. Was it fear, excitement, defiance or
all three? He tilted the candle and let a drop of wax fall. It hit her just
above the nipple. From behind the gag came muffled sounds. He moved the candle
across and let another drop fall next to her right nipple. Another drop fell
between her breasts. Each one solidified instantly when it landed. As she
wriggled and tried to call out he traced a pattern of wax across her chest, then
positioned the candle carefully for the final touch. Two drops of red wax fell
on to the tip of her left nipple. She flinched as the wax slowly cooled and her
nipple absorbed the heat. He repeated the action for the right nipple. The
handcuffs rattled as she struggled. He liked the effect, the wax making the
nipple seem extra long, standing out bright against the whiteness of her
breasts.

     He blew the candle out and set it on the table. She looked at him
wide-eyed, fearful of what would come next. He unfastened the trousers she wore,
pulled them down over her ankles. Then he removed the black silk knickers. He
picked up the candle again. With one hand he pulled her thighs apart, opening
her. He pushed the candle up into her sex till only the tip was visible between
the lips.

     He stood and looked at her. He liked the effect, a bound woman penetrated
by the thick red stick of wax. He opened his trousers and took out his cock. He
held it towards her, rigid, the head a deep purple, the skin glassy smooth. He
began to rub the shaft, at first scarcely more than caressing it, then gripping
harder, moving faster. All at once the stream of thick white stuff shot from
him, splashing her breasts and face. A large drop landed in the corner of her
mouth. She reached out her tongue and licked it, savouring the salty taste.

     He untied her, a little shame-faced at what he had done. But this was one
of the things about her he loved the most, that she always knew how to put him
at his ease at such moments.

     'I guess,' she said smiling, 'when it comes to being in your face, you're
the champ.'

     One evening they went to a party hosted by an old friend of Matt's, in a
large house in the country. Matt knew a lot of people there, and most of them he
hadn't seen in a while, so he was soon in deep conversation. Though he
introduced Elizabeth to some of his friends, she soon drifted away. When he went
in search of her he found her dancing with a young man. Matt watched from the
doorway as Elizabeth moved sinuously in time to the beat. There were only a
couple of inches between her and the guy and at points her belly, naked between
her low-slung velvet trousers and a tight top, touched his. Sensing his
presence, she glanced at Matt, smiling a little even as she inched closer to the
young man. Matt felt a twinge of jealousy and turned away.

     Later he went to find her. He trawled through several rooms, ending up in
the kitchen. Just as he was pouring himself a drink, having failed to find her,
the back door opened and Elizabeth came in, followed by the young man she had
been dancing with.

     'There you are,' Matt said. 'I've been looking for you.'

     She had a slightly dishevelled look. Her face was flushed, whether from the
dancing or the wine she had drunk or something else he couldn't tell.

     'Here I am,' she said. 'Is it time to go?'

     Driving back in the car he chatted aimlessly about some of the people he'd
met at the party. When they got back to his house they went into the sitting
room. Matt sat in a chair. Elizabeth remained standing.

     'Did you enjoy dancing?' he asked.

     'That sounds like a loaded question,' she replied.

     'Answer it.'

     'I think I decline to, on the grounds that I might incriminate myself,' she
said.

     'What were you doing outside with that guy?'

     'What guy?'

     'Don't try and be smart.'

     'The guy I was dancing with? We went outside for some air.'

     'Did he kiss you?'

     'What is this,' she protested. 'The Spanish Inquisition?'

     'Did he kiss you?'

     She was silent.

     'Go and kneel on the sofa,' he said.

     She shrugged, a gesture she knew infuriated him. She knelt down, facing the
back of the sofa. Matt stood behind her and raised her skirt. Underneath she
wore a pair of red silk knickers that covered little more than the essentials.
Matt pulled them down and over her ankles. Her legs were bare. He stood and
looked at her naked bottom for a moment, then left the room. When he came back
something clinked in his jacket pocket. From it he took out the chrome-plated
handcuffs. He pulled her wrists behind her back and snapped the handcuffs on.

     'Legs further apart,' he ordered.

     'What are you going to do?' she asked.

     'You had your chance to talk,' he said. 'Now be silent until I ask another
question. And don't move.'

     From his pocket he took a handful of wooden clothes pegs. He began to apply
them to her sex, pinching the lips together then pinning them shut with the
pegs. Soon there was a line of half a dozen, from the bottom up to the top,
equidistant. Before he applied the last peg he felt for her clitoris. He pulled
it outwards and clipped on the peg at the base. She squealed as he let go.

     'Hush,' he said.

     He sat in a chair and looked at the line of pegs sealing up her slit. He
liked the aesthetic effect, the clean white wood against the flesh-tones, the
brighter pink just visible between the plump lips.

     'Does it hurt?' he asked.

     'Damn right it does,' she said. 'What the hell is this for?'

     'It doesn't have to be for anything. I might just choose to do it. But I
will tell you what it's for. Not because you flirted, but because you only did
it to annoy me.'

     'OK,' she said. 'I accept that. I'm sorry. It's a bit painful.'

     'There's another thing. The pegs are meant as a symbol.'

     'A symbol? Of what?'

     'That your pussy belongs to me. I decide who has access to it, how it will
be used and when. You won't let other men touch it or even see it without my
permission. And in future you won't touch it yourself.'

     She giggled. 'How are you going to stop me? You can't watch me twenty-four
hours a day.'

     'It's an order. And I expect my orders to be obeyed.'

     'Orders must be obeyed at all times and without question? I'd like to see
you try.'

     'It seems you have an attitude problem,' he said.

     'Attitude? What attitude?'

     'You see?' he answered. 'You've still got it.'

     'Bastard,' she said.

     'Oh dear,' he sighed. 'You do seem to be looking for trouble.'

     He walked over to her and slapped her hard on her right buttock. She
yelped. He slapped the left one, then repeated the action, a little harder, on
both sides. He sat down again. He could see the marks of his hands on her white
skin, the fingers clearly outlined in red.

     'Did you let that guy kiss you?'

     She was silent. He strode across and smacked her once again, harder still.

     'Yes, OK, I did.'

     'What else?'

     Again she was silent. He smacked her several times, first one cheek then
the other. Her bottom was bright red now, on fire.

     'OK,' she cried. 'I let him put his hand up my skirt, let him feel me.'

     'Inside your underwear?'

     He smacked again without waiting for an answer.

     'Yes, yes, but only a little feel. I made him take his hand out again.'

     'That was all?'

     'Yes, really.'

     He smacked her again, as hard as he could. His hand was getting sore.

     'Really, I swear.'

     He'd like to give her some more treatment. The problem was, he wanted her,
wanted her badly. It seemed as though a certain amount of self-discipline was
also required if you were a dominant, but just now he couldn't resist her. He
got up again and started pulling the clothes pegs off her, one at a time. He
heard her catch her breath as each one pulled away from the tender skin. He
undid himself and entered her, fucking her quickly, forcing himself to come
before she had a chance to reach an orgasm.

     He called her two days later and invited her to dinner that evening.

     'Sorry,' she said. 'I'm dining with someone else.'

     'Who?'

     'Someone I used to know.'

     'A man?'

     'Yes.' Something in her voice made him suspicious.

     'A lover?'

     She hesitated. 'Well, yes, but it was a long time ago.'

     'So why do you still see him?' She was holding something back.

     'Unfinished business.'

     'Cancel it,' he said. 'I want you to dine with me.'

     'I can't.' Her voice trembled slightly.

     'Can't or won't?'

     'I'm sorry,' she said. 'I'll explain later.'

     'Don't bother,' he retorted and put the phone down.

     Was she trying to provoke him, or was there some secret she was determined
to hide? Either way he felt the anger rising again. He realised now how much he
wanted to control her. The thought that there was another man tormented him. He
would have her all to himself or not at all.

     She called him the next day. 'Please can we talk?' she pleaded.

     At first he was cold, distant. He wasn't sure if he'd have time that day,
he said. She begged him not to freeze her out. At last he relented somewhat. She
said she was leaving work early to go riding. She kept a horse at a stables on
the outskirts of town.

     'Meet me there at six,' she said. 'I'll be finished then. We can go
somewhere quiet.'

     When he got there a stable girl was closing up.

     'I've come to meet Elizabeth Lawrence,' he said.

     'That's OK, the girl replied. 'She's still out but you can wait inside.
She's got a key.'

     The girl left. He strolled around the stables. Horses snuffled and snorted
in their stalls. He peeped into the harness room. There was a powerful smell of
old leather. On the walls bits and bridles hung together with reins and
stirrups. He heard the sound of a horse's hooves and turned to see Elizabeth
ride into the yard. She dismounted, smiling.

     'Have to unsaddle and rub him down,' she said.

     'What's his name?' Matt asked.

     'Princeling. He's a gelding.'

     That would figure, Matt thought to himself. He followed her into the stall.
Her face was flushed with the exercise. He'd never seen her look so handsome.
She wore classical riding gear, a crisp white blouse under a tight-fitting black
velvet jacket. Her hair was pinned up under a black riding helmet. As she bent
to undo the horse's girth he looked at her rounded bottom encased in skin-tight
tan breeches. The outfit was completely by shiny black leather boots, knee-high.

     'How was your dinner?' he said, trying to sound non-committal.

     'Good. It was good.'

     'And this guy is exactly who?'

     'Just a guy.' She gave him a look that was cocky, almost defiant.

     'So you stood me up just for a nobody?'

     'I didn't stand you up,' she said spiritedly. 'I had a date with him first,
remember?'

     'And I asked you to break it.'

     'And I said no,' she retorted. She had stopped brushing the horse and stood
with hand on hip, looking him in the eye.

     His heart was hammering in his chest. Something was coming over him,
something too powerful to be denied.

     'And you think you can say no to me, just like that?'

     'Can't I?' Her eyes sparkled. She was breathing quickly.

     'I won't be trifled with,' he answered.

     'Oh, won't you?' She raised an eyebrow, as if to say, what was he prepared
to do about it?

     'No, I won't.'

     He picked up a long leather strap lying across a wooden rail. Grabbing her,
he held her wrists while he bound them tight together. He pulled her over to the
side of the stall and looped the end of the strap through a ring set high on the
wall, so that her arms were pinioned above her head. She struggled silently,
determinedly, but to no avail. Seizing another strap, he knelt and bound her
ankles together. Then he undid the belt around her waist, pulled down the zipper
of her breeches and yanked them down to her knees. Underneath she wore a tiny
pair of white silk panties. These too he pulled down, with such violence that he
tore the thin material. The horse turned its head to look, mildly curious.

     Bound hand and foot, she'd ceased struggling, but she glanced behind her
nervously to see what he intended. On a bench nearby she'd set down her riding
crop. He picked it up and advanced on her.

     'I'm sorry,' she said. 'I'm sorry. I was disrespectful, I know. Please
don't do it hard.'

     'Be quiet,' he said.

     He measured the distance carefully, tapping the crop lightly against her
bare buttocks. Then he raised it above his shoulder and brought it down hard
across the centre of her behind. She whimpered softly. He raised the crop and
struck her again, aiming at exactly the same spot. Two livid red lines marked
the white skin. Again he raised the crop. As he brought it sharply down, she
tried to move out of the way and it struck her to one side, partly on the hip.

     'Keep still,' he said curtly. 'You're going to get a dozen strokes, and if
you move on any of them they will be repeated. Do you understand?'

     'Yes,' she whispered, so low he could hardly hear her.

     The crop rose and fell. Her body was trembling now but, resigned to her
fate, she no longer tried to move away. The sweetly rounded buttocks were
criss-crossed with welts. He knew if he stopped he would not have the nerve to
go on; he steeled himself to deliver what he had promised. He could see her
tears falling now. A terrible excitement was upon him, as though his body were
humming with electricity.

     At last he was finished. He lowered his arm and stood panting. He could
feel his cock throbbing. He opened his trousers and took it out. Standing behind
her, he felt between her legs. Her slit oozed. He slid inside her, holding her
scorched, bruised buttocks in his hands. He fucked her slowly, savouring the
moment. She moaned softly as he came.

     He put his arms around her and held her as his cock slowly slipped out of
her. He untied her and pulled her knickers and breeches gently up over her
behind. He kissed her face, tasting the salt tears.

     'I love you,' he said.

     'Matt,' she breathed, holding him tight.

     He helped her finish caring for the horse. They drove away from the stables
to her house. He led her by the hand into the bedroom and undressed her, laying
her on the bed face down. Tenderly he stroked the marks he had made, tracing the
deep red lines, now changing to purple. He turned her and kissed between her
legs, circling her clitoris with his tongue, not teasing her this time, only
thinking of her pleasure, till she came with a cry of delight.

     He cradled her in his arms. 'So, tell me about this guy. If you want to.'

     She took a deep breath. 'Five years ago I met a man. I didn't like him at
first, but he pursued me relentlessly and eventually I agreed to go out with
him. I recognised that there was something strangely compelling about him, even
as I resisted him. Our love-making was intense, even violent. He never struck
me, but he often held me down. He buggered me frequently, the first man I had
ever allowed to do so. And one day he put me across his knee and spanked me. I
was outraged, at least I acted outraged. But I could not disguise the excitement
I felt. He had only to put his hand between my legs to feel it, after all.
Things progressed rapidly. He began to beat me regularly, in more and more
elaborate rituals. He told me that he was my master, that I was to subjugate
myself to him in all things sexual, that my body belonged to him. I accepted
this. In truth, I was in thrall to him.

     'After a year he moved away. It became impossible to continue our
relationship on the same basis, though we continued to communicate. I embarked
on a frenzied search for sexual satisfaction with other men, sleeping with
dozens in the next two years. But none of them could offer me the pleasure I
received from Jonathan. However much I hinted, however much I provoked and
teased, none would take me in hand.

     'I discovered with Jonathan that I have a deep need to be submissive. In
everyday life people find me confident, assertive, even bossy. But in the
bedroom I need to be dominated. I want to feel that I am utterly in the control
of a strong man who will bend me to his will; who will break me if I try to
resist. I want to be free of my own will, to have no other desire than to serve.
I don't know why I am this way; I only know it is the deepest thing in me.

     'Because I could no longer see Jonathan on a regular basis I asked to be
released from my vow of obedience to him. He refused. He said that a submissive
may never again become a sexually free woman. I could only be released from my
obedience to him if I found someone else to take his place. I have been looking
for that someone. I thought when I met you I might have found him. That is why I
went to meet Jonathan, to tell him about you and get his approval to continue my
quest to become your slave. But for a long time you refused to be cast in that
role. Now, at last, I wish to humbly request to be your submissive. Tell me that
you accept me.'

     She got off the bed and knelt at his feet. She lowered her head and kissed
them.

     'Do you accept my offer of complete and utter obedience, master?'

     He opened his trousers and showed her his cock.

     'Kiss it.'

     She bent her head and kissed it reverently.

     'Do you worship it?'

     'I do,' she said.

     'Do you promise to serve it, to prostrate yourself before it?'

     'I do.'

     'Suck me, then. And swallow.'

     She did as he commanded. Afterwards he took her into bed and they slept,
their arms around one another.

     UNDER MY THUMB

     By Fidelis Blue and Kitten

    

Chapter Three

    

The day after the episode at the stables, Matt had to go on a trip to an art
fair, where his agent had arranged for him to give some master classes in
painting. He was glad of the three-day break. It gave him a chance to review the
situation with Elizabeth, consider how it might go forward. And he liked the
idea of leaving her alone to mull over the consequences of her impertinence to
him. Would she be less assertive the next time they met?

     The evening he got back he went straight from the airport to her apartment.
She greeted him with a hug and showered his face with kisses. She brought him a
drink and then stood over him as he sat on the sofa, sipping her excellent pinot
grigio.

     'Well, sir?' She stood with hand on hip, looking jaunty in her
tight-fitting jeans.

     'Take your jeans off,' he said. 'And your knickers. Show me your ass.'

     Raising her eyebrows somewhat, perhaps to imply that she wasn't use to such
peremptory instructions, she undid her belt buckle, unzipped the jeans and
pulled them down over her hips, balancing on the edge of a chair as she stepped
out of them. She wore a pair of little black satin knickers underneath. When
they were off too she turned and stood with her back to him, again with hand on
hip.

     'Don't stand like that,' he said. 'It shows attitude. I don't care for it.'

     Slowly, with obvious reluctance, she took her hand away, letting it fall to
her side.

     'Bend over and touch your toes,' he said.

     She did as ordered. He got up and stood behind her. The bruises were
fading, but the lines of black and blue across the centre of her buttocks were
still plain to see. He traced them with his finger, then squeezed her left
buttock hard.

     'Still painful?' he enquired casually.

     He looked down and saw her wince.

     'A little. The first day I could hardly sit down.'

     'Good. Things are going to be different around here now.'

     'They are? How?'

     'You're about to find out,' he said.

     He slipped his hand between her legs, feeling the soft, smooth lips of her
shaved cunt nestling together.

     'Anyone fuck you while I was away?'

     'Certainly not,' she said indignantly.

     'When did you last masturbate?'

     'Hey,' she said. 'What is this, the third degree?'

     He pinched her lips hard, just below her clit. He heard her gasp.

     'Answer the question.'

     'I don't know, I can't remember.'

     He pinched her again, as hard as he could.

     'OK, OK,' she cried. 'It was last night.'

     'And while you were doing it what did you think about?'

     He fondled her, reminding her that his fingers were poised for a further
assault.

     'I thought about you.'

     'What about me?'

     There was silence. He dug his nails into the tender folds of flesh. She
squealed.

     'I thought about what you did the other night, in the stable.'

     'And what did you think about it?'

     'I - I thought I probably deserved it.'

     He took his hand away. 'Now we're getting somewhere.' He sat down on the
sofa again.

     'Put your clothes back on.'

     She stood up straight and turned to face him. 'Aren't you going to fuck
me?'

     'In future,' he said, 'you won't ask impudent questions like that. That's
one of the things that are going to be different. Come and sit beside me.'

     She pulled her clothes back on, then sat down with a puzzled air. She'd
expected he'd be mad with desire, want to take her immediately. She couldn't
quite read his mood.

     'I've been thinking while I've been away,' he said, sipping his wine. 'If
I'm to be your master, take over responsibility for you from Jonathan, it's got
to be done properly. So listen to what I have to say.'

     Her face was turned to him, hanging on his every word.

     'I think you know that I love you. If you don't know, well, now I'm telling
you.'

     Her mouth opened to speak. He held his hand up.

     'Don't say a word till I've finished. Then you may speak. When I say I love
a woman, it means among other things that I cherish her, care for her, protect
her, have her interests and her well-being closest to my heart. But with you
there is something else, something I have never felt for another woman. It is an
urge I do not fully understand, a desire to possess you utterly, bend you to my
will so that you no longer have a will of your own, only the desire to please me
with every muscle and sinew of your body.

     'I speak only of your sexual life. I choose not to interfere in your
everyday affairs. I admire women who are successful and independent, but I now
realise that for me their independence must be left at the door of the bedroom.
Once across that threshold you will submit to me in everything. I am a man who
likes order in all things, and henceforth I shall have order in my sexual
pleasures. I am still feeling my way in these matters. I know I have a lot to
learn. But already I have decided that we must have a strict code of conduct, a
series of rules which are to be most rigidly enforced. So listen carefully to
the rules I have so far formulated. Others will follow.

     'First of all, we must have a means of separating off our sexual episodes,
in which you will always be the sub and I the Master, from everyday life. Now,
while I was away I purchased a ring.'

     He held it up to her. It was on the middle finger of his left hand, a broad
band of silver with a curious device in the centre. She peered at it closely and
saw tiny snakes coiled together in the shape of the letter M.

     'This is my Master's ring. I shall wear it at all times. Henceforth, when I
wish you to enter upon your role as sub I shall hold the ring for you to kiss.
At that moment you accept to become my sexual possession, until such time as I
shall offer the ring to be kissed again, at which point you may return to
ordinary behaviour. Is that clear?'

     She looked dubious. Could this work? 'I think so,' she answered slowly.

     He held the ring to her lips. She kissed it.

     'Take my cock in your mouth,' he said.

     He watched as she unzipped him, brought out his cock with her hand and
knelt across him to take it in her mouth. He sat for a moment admiring the sight
of her full red lips circled round the hardening shaft, her cheeks hollow as she
sucked him.

     'I didn't say suck,' he said. 'Just hold it in your mouth, as far in as you
can. I want you to concentrate on what I am saying.'

     She looked up at him, her beautiful eyes studying his face, her mouth
filled with his rigid cock, which she had managed to take almost to the back of
her throat.

     'Now, these are the first rules. When we are in sexual session, you will
not speak unless spoken to. Otherwise, silence. If you are asked to speak, you
will always address me as Master. Your voice will be low and soft, compliant.
You will not look me in the eye, but keep your gaze respectfully cast down. Your
movements must be those appropriate to a sub. Standing with hand on hip,
lounging in a chair, leaning against a doorway, all these positions speak of a
lack of respect. In general you will stand with your legs six inches apart,
hands by your sides. You will sit with your knees slightly apart, never crossed.
Nor must you cross your arms. When you enter a room in which I am present you
will always knock first, await permission to enter and then curtsey. Nod your
head if you understand and assent.'

     Still holding his cock in her mouth, she nodded slightly.

     'Very well. Those are the initial rules concerning your conduct during a
session. There are other rules which are to apply at all times, without
exception. Firstly, no man will fuck you unless I give permission in advance. It
may be that I shall allow this from time to time, and indeed I may even require
you to perform sexual acts with others. But it will be strictly under
supervision. Second, masturbation is henceforth forbidden, unless expressly
ordered. You may think that since you are not always in my presence this will be
difficult for me to police. However, I think I know you somewhat, and if you are
lying to me I shall sense it. Second, since you have entered into a relation of
submission by choice, if you cheat on your Master you are only cheating on
yourself. And what would be the point of that?

     'Third, there will be regulations concerning your appearance. I have not
yet had time to formulate them, but they will relate to matters such as what
sort of underwear is approved, bodily modifications such as piercing or tattoos,
hair style, colour of nail varnish, lipstick and so forth. For example, at
present the style in which your pubic hair is trimmed is approved. But I may
decide to change it. We shall see.'

     Matt fell silent, watching her. Elizabeth, thinking that perhaps some
comment was expected from her, took his cock from her mouth.

     'You're going to regulate my hair style?'

     Matt held his hand up. 'You see, already you have broken a rule. Did I ask
you to speak?'

     'No,' she said, crestfallen.

     'No what?' he said sharply.

     'No, Master,' she echoed sullenly.

     'You will be punished in a moment. There are no set penalties for each
offence. They depend on my whim. But punished you shall be. Now put my cock back
in your mouth.'

     She bent to take him once more.

     'I think,' he continued, 'that in addition to regulating masturbation, I
shall impose controls on your orgasms during intercourse or other sexual acts
with me. In future I cannot allow you to come just when you feel like it, no
matter how much you may be stimulated. Henceforth, if I am fucking you or
touching you in some other way, you may not come without permission, which must
be requested in a respectful manner. That is as far as we need to go at the
present time. Signal once again your acceptance.'

     She nodded again, her mouth full of his cock.

     'Very well,' Matt said. 'Now there's just the little matter of your
punishment for speaking out of turn.'

     He thought for a moment. 'Go into the kitchen and bring back a wooden
spatula, if you have such a thing.'

     She took her mouth from his cock, got up and padded across the floor to the
kitchen. Matt sipped his wine as he admired her luscious round bottom clad in
the tight jeans. She came back and handed him a long wooden spatula, four inches
wide at the end. He swished it from side to side.

     'Should do the job,' he said casually. 'However, haven't you forgotten
something?'

     She wasn't sure if she was permitted to speak. 'What?'

     He pointed to the door. 'Knock and curtsey.'

     'But the door was open.'

     'Are you daring to argue?' he said menacingly.

     She scurried over to the door, knocked on it, waited for him to bid her
enter, then curtseyed with what looked suspiciously like an exaggerated
politeness. He let it pass, though he noted it for future reference.

     'Now pull your jeans and knickers down to your knees and lie across my
lap.'

     He stroked her bare bottom for a moment, enjoying the feel of the firm
flesh, the shapely curves. He thought the bruises not blemishes but
embellishments, the purple marks showing off the whiteness of the skin. Without
warning he brought the spatula down hard across her left buttock. She squealed.
Instantly he brought it down just as hard across the other one. She squealed
again.

     'I don't care for all this noise,' he said. 'It's unseemly. It's noise,
after all, that you're being punished for. So let's have absolute quiet.'

     Elizabeth gritted her teeth. The spatula smacked across her right buttock.
Involuntarily she grunted.

     'That's not quiet,' Matt said. He was annoyed now. He didn't seem to be
getting his point across. He brought the spatula down across her left buttock
with as much force as he could summon, then across the right again. Her mouth
opened and he heard her gasp. At least there was less sound now, if still not
none at all.

     'I'm going to spank you four more times, twice each side. If I hear any
kind of sound at all, I'll give you four more. And then if there isn't silence,
four more. You've got to learn, when I say a thing I mean it.'

     He looked down at her bottom. There were livid red marks across the centre,
overlaid on the black and purple bruises. He struck her across one buttock, then
the other, then repeated the actions. Her body was shaking but her mouth
remained fast shut. The only sound was of her breathing heavily through the
nose.

     'Very well,' he said. 'That's progress, I suppose. But I can see we've work
to do.'

     He set the spatula down and put his right hand between her legs, sliding a
finger into her cunt, already slippery. He moved it out again and trailed it
with agonising slowness up towards her clit. Just short, he stopped, keeping his
finger poised in the soft, yielding folds of her sex. She remained still for a
moment, then shifted her position slightly in an attempt to bring his finger up
onto her clit. Immediately he took his hand away.

     'Don't move,' he said. 'Don't you dare try to control things. Be quiet, lie
still and take what comes to you.'

     He put his finger back between the lips of her cunt, moving it around a
little, caressing insidiously. He could feel the tension in her body as she
steeled herself not to respond. He moved his finger a little higher, just to the
edge of her clit. He felt her take a deep breath, her bottom rising on his lap.
So slowly the movement was scarcely perceptible, he slid his finger over her
clit, then circled it. He saw her toes twitch involuntarily.

     He took his finger away. It was sopping wet from the juices that flowed
freely from her. He pulled the cheeks of her bottom apart with his left hand,
then put his slippery finger to the little pink rose between them. He circled
it, spreading the natural lubricant round her orifice. He put his finger to his
mouth, let saliva dribble on to it and put it back on her asshole. He circled it
again, repeated the action.

     'Lift up a little,' he said.

     She raised her bottom and he put his left hand under her belly. He slid the
middle finger into her cunt.

     'Down again,' he said.

     She sank back on to his lap. His finger, lodged in her cunt, was at an
angle that pressed against her clit. He moved it to press harder, then licked
the finger on his right hand again and carefully slipped it inside her ass. She
sighed.

     'Careful,' he said.

     He moved his finger around inside the tight little hole.

     'Open for me, baby,' he said. 'I want all your orifices free and easy of
access. I can feel your cute little ass is tight. I think we'll have to work on
that.'

     He felt her relax a little. He pushed his finger in further, up to the
second knuckle. Then he moved the finger of his other hand, the one inside her
cunt. He could feel them together, the two fingers finding one another through
the thin membrane that separated them.

     He slid his finger out of her ass. Carefully, so she wouldn't be aware of
what was coming, he picked up the spatula. Without warning he brought it smartly
down, full across the centre of her ass. She gave a yelp.

     'Dear me,' he said in a tone of mock solicitude. 'It seems we still have a
noise problem.'

     He struck her again. The pinkness that his earlier strokes aroused had
somewhat subsided, but now her cheeks began to glow again. The sight aroused him
and he struck her several more times, alternately on each cheek of her bottom.
At the same time he pressed the finger of his left hand even harder against her
clit. Her body trembled at this dual assault, the one stinging her so hard, the
other offering her the prospect of the ecstasy she craved.

     He put the spatula down, licked his finger and once more inserted it into
her ass, gently pushing in up to the hilt. Then he thrust all four fingers of
his left hand into her cunt, filling her. She was breathing hard. He moved his
fingers around inside her cunt, thrusting in and out, round and round, fucking
her with his hand. He thought she was not far from orgasm now; at least she
might think that, though he had other plans.

     'I wonder if you can see what I'm trying to do here,' he said, adopting
once again that reasonable, patient tone of voice, as if he were at the front of
a class instructing them on some finer point of drawing technique.

     'It seems to me that one objective in the training of a sub should be to
associate pleasure and pain together in her mind. Her own pleasure, her desire
for orgasm, must always be strictly regulated and will often be denied
completely. That of course is a painful experience for her. But at the same time
she must always see the denial of her own satisfaction as giving pleasure to her
Master, for in accepting it she is demonstrating her obedience to him, and that
gives him satisfaction. And in turn this pleases her too, since nothing is more
gratifying to the sub than the knowledge that her Master is pleased. So do you
see how it goes, round and round? The pain I cause you by beating you gives me
delight because it is the visible sign of my ownership of your body, and this
pleases you too, to know you are owned.'

     He said this with his hand still buried in her cunt, his fingers working
deep up inside her. As he moved them about, he could feel them against the
finger of the other hand, which remained pushed deep into her ass. Looking down,
he saw beads of sweat of her brow. Her jaw was clenched as she tried desperately
to hold back the forbidden orgasm.

     Once more he withdrew his finger from her ass and grasped the spatula.

     'I suppose you'd like me to let you come?' he inquired.

     'Oh, god yes, oh please,' she whispered.

     'Well,' he replied, 'I would only do that if you are prepared to suffer the
appropriate amount of pain.'

     'How much is that?'

     'I'm not quite sure yet. But the pain is going to increase at the same time
as the pleasure. I'm going to start beating you again, and each time I stop I
shall bring you closer to an orgasm. But not close enough. I shall then ask you
if you are prepared to endure a little more pain in order to increase the
pleasure. Each time you must make a calculation, ask yourself just how much more
you can bear. If you say no more, then of course there will be no orgasm. If you
say you can bear more, I shall continue with another round of pain followed by
pleasure. But you won't know if, when I stop beating the next time, you will
then be granted an orgasm, or whether you will have to go a stage further. Thus
the achievement of orgasm is within your power, but only if you are prepared to
gamble future pain against it.'

     'God, that's cruel,' she muttered.

     'Did I ask for that comment?'

     'No, I'm sorry,' she groaned.

     'I'm sorry what?'

     'I'm sorry, Master.'

     The spatula rose and fell, once against each buttock.

     'Remember, keep still, keep quiet,' he said. 'Now, shall I begin?'

     He withdrew all his fingers from her cunt except one, which he kept pressed
against her clit. He raised his right arm and brought it down hard, the spatula
striking her full across her backside. He felt her tremble slightly, but there
was no sound. He beat her regularly, first one cheek then the other, half a
dozen on each. Then he worked her clit with his finger, circling it just the way
she liked it, but slowly, far slower than she needed.

     'Feel nice?' he said casually.

     'It's so lovely,' she said. 'It's just a little too slow.'

     'Isn't it, though?' he said.

     He felt merciless now. Teasing her was such a delight, he wanted it to go
on and on. Her breathing was heavier. Her hips twitched. He knew he must be
careful or she would sneak up on him before he could hold her back. He stopped
moving his finger and picked up the spatula.

     'Well?' he said. 'What is it to be?'

     She hesitated for a moment. He looked down at her ass. It was bright red
now. The spatula had raised weals across the tender flesh.

     'Yes, go on,' she said. 'I can't stop now.'

     He struck her again, the hardest blows he'd yet given her. She squealed.

     'I must have silence,' he said.

     'Yes, but it's so hard. So very hard.' There was a sob in her voice.

     'Go on?'

     'Yes,' she whispered.

     He beat her four more times, two on each side. Then he began to move his
finger again, carefully rubbing the now tormented little clit, so swollen and
wanting. Again he felt she was near to her climax, and he slowed down the
movement till it was almost imperceptible, then stopped altogether, his finger
resting at the tip of her clit.

     'Well?' he said.

     'Oh, god,' she cried. 'You're driving me fucking crazy. I can't bear it.'

     'I don't care for that language.'

     'No, I'm sorry, oh please, please.'

     'Very well,' he said calmly. 'I'll stop altogether, shall I?'

     'No, yes, I don't know. I'm going out of my head.'

     'With pleasure or pain?'

     'I don't know. I can't tell the difference any more.'

     'I'll tell you what I'll do,' he said. 'The next beating will be the last.
If you can survive it without protest, I'll let you come. But you won't know in
advance how many strokes you'll receive, or how hard. Want to take the chance?'

     She took a deep breath. 'Can I make a request, Master?'

     'It's unusual,' he said. 'But just this once.'

     'If it's going to be real bad, I know I'll cry out. Just this once, will
you ignore that? Please?'

     He thought it might be good to hear her scream a little. 'Very well.'

     He raised the spatula and struck her, this time on the thigh just below the
crease of the buttock. He struck the other side, then concentrated on making a
pattern, raising welts at the top of both thighs and up the lower part of the
buttocks. After three or four blows, she cried out. He hit her harder than ever
and she screamed. After a dozen blows he set the spatula aside for the last
time. He licked his finger and slid it into her ass, then with his other hand he
gently caressed her clit, this time at just the speed and pressure she liked and
in no time at all he felt her cunt locked round his hand as her hips shook, her
bottom coming up off his lap in the throes of ecstasy.

     When she'd finished she rolled over and looked up at him. Her eyes were
shining. He held his ring for her to kiss.

     'That was masterly,' she said.

     The next day he called her over to his house.

     'Show me,' he said.

     She turned and raised her skirt, pulling down her knickers for his
inspection. He winced at the mass of bruises.

     'Is it really sore?' he asked solicitously.

     'Sore?' She laughed. 'You bet.'

     'I've been thinking,' he said. 'We need to formalise the arrangement with
Jonathan. I've written him a letter.'

     He held it out. She took it and read:

    

    

     Dear Jonathan

    

     First, let me say how grateful I am to have been given the opportunity to
take over as Elizabeth's Master. This is indeed a privilege. I can tell that she
has been in the hands of an experienced and practised dom, though I think it
will take me a while to achieve the level of excellence which clearly you
attained with her. I am to an extent still feeling my way, and of course she
needs time to adapt to my different personality.

     I shall do my very best to cherish her and care for her. She is a precious
girl, wayward and headstrong but one who responds so well to a firm hand. I take
my responsibilities to her very seriously and my only wish is to make her happy
and fulfilled.

     Although you have agreed to relinquish her to me, since you were her first
Master I think it only proper that you should retain some rights. I have no
objection to you using her on occasion, if you should feel the need to beat her
or fuck her. I only request that as a courtesy you inform me in advance if you
intend to perform these acts.

     With very best wishes,

    

     Matt

    

      'You're going to let him beat me or fuck me? Don't I belong to you now?'

     'Of course. And since I own your body, I suppose I may bestow it where I
wish?'

     She looked concerned. 'I'm not sure about that.'

     'Not sure?'

     'If you really love me, why would you let someone else fuck me?'

     'If you really love me, wouldn't you do anything I said?'

     She was silent.

     'It's hypothetical at the moment. But I do reserve the right to do with you
as I please. Otherwise, what is the point of being a Master?'

     She shrugged. 'OK, but I hope it's not soon. I really need to feel
confident in your affections first.'

     'I note what you say,' he replied. 'Your feelings will be taken into
account.'

     At the weekend he came round to her apartment.

     'I've been thinking about the rules,' he said. 'Especially those governing
your appearance. Which, I may say in passing, is a source of great pleasure to
me.'

     She smiled, basking in his praise.

     'So I'm here to do a cull of your underwear.'

     'A what?'

     'I've decided on what the rules are to be, governing your knickers and so
forth.'

     'Oh,' she said,' a slow smile spreading, 'and what are they?'

     'In future you will wear only silk or satin. And in a limited range of
colours: white, black, red, purple. You will never wear tights, or pantyhose,
which, like most men, I find an abomination. Only stockings, and these must be
kept up with a belt or a corset or some such, not self-supporting. As for your
bras, they must either be front-fastening, or in the balcony style, no straps at
the middle of the cups.'

     'But that rules out half my lingerie!' she cried.

     'Possibly,' he said calmly. 'That's why I'm here to inspect. Show me.'

     Looking anxious, she led the way into her bedroom and opened a drawer. It
was filled with bras and knickers in all colours and materials. He picked up a
pair of pink silk briefs, embroidered with red roses. It was an elegant and
delicate garment that would look good on her, no doubt. He tossed it on the
floor.

     'Those must go for a start.'

     'No,' she exclaimed. 'I really love those little panties. Please.'

     'Show me the next item,' he said.

     She glared at him. Reluctantly she picked up a satin bra in midnight blue.
The material had a seductive, glossy sheen.

     'On the floor,' he said.

     'It was really expensive, with matching knickers' she protested. 'Look,
D&G.' She showed him the label. He waved them away.

     'Next.'

     She sighed deeply and let the bra fall to the floor. She picked up a tiny
pair of lacy white see-through knickers, with some discreet embroidery around
the front, just enough to hide the sex.

     'Doesn't look like silk or satin,' he said.

     'Look, this is ridiculous,' she protested. 'I'll have nothing left.'

     He got up and went over to her. He held out his ring for her to kiss it.

     'Must I?' she said. 'Can't we have a reasonable conversation about this?'

     'If you were trained by Jonathan,' he said, 'how come you're so
recalcitrant?'

     She was thoughtful. 'He was a different personality. I feel I'm starting
all over again with you. I can't just slip into it the way I was with him.'

     He pressed his ring to her lips. With a look of resignation she kissed it.

     'Shall we resume?' he said.

     He told her to make two piles, one of rejected items, the other of what
would be allowed. At each garment she held up, he nodded or shook his head. The
pile of rejects grew larger and larger, till the drawer at last was empty. She
opened the drawer below. It was full of tights and stockings, many still new in
their cellophane wrappers. He made her toss all the tights, even the new ones,
on to the floor.

     'Parcel them up to be burnt,' he said.

     'Burnt? But what a waste!'

     'You've got plenty of money, remember?'

     She bit her lip, annoyed to have her words thrown back at her. 'Can't we
just have a rule that in future I'll only buy the regulation colours and
materials?'

     'How dare you answer back!' he snapped. 'I've had enough of this nonsense.'

     He began tugging off his leather belt. 'Bend over the arm of that chair and
bare your bottom.'

     Her face was pink with indignation, but she knew she had gone too far.
Nervously she lowered  herself, her face pressed into the chair cushion, her
bottom raised. She pulled her skirt up to her waist and lowered her knickers to
her knees. He began to lash her with the belt in a kind of frenzy, this time
taking no care to strike accurately but hitting as hard as he could. The belt
thrashed across her buttocks, down the back of her thighs, sometimes catching
the side of her hip. Once it caught the inside of her thigh and clipped against
the lips of her sex. She gave a series of little yelps as she wriggled, not
daring to avoid the blows altogether but trying to mitigate their force. The
heavy belt stung her badly, raising thick welts across the flesh, still not yet
recovered from his previous assaults.

     At last he lowered the belt, breathing heavily. Without a word he undid
himself and entered her, his cock piercing deep into her cunt. He fucked her as
mercilessly as he had beaten her. When he'd ejaculated and withdrawn, he picked
up the little pink satin knickers from the floor and wiped tenderly between her
legs.

     'Have I made my point?'

     'Yes, Master,' she said.

     He gave her his ring to kiss.

     'We'd better go shopping,' she said. 'I haven't a thing to wear.'

     UNDER MY THUMB

     By Fidelis Blue and Kitten

    
     Chapter Four
    

After several weeks, Matt had done quite a bit of reading around the subject of
BDSM lifestyles. He was amazed at how much stuff there was out there. The sites
he found the weirdest were those where apparently otherwise sane men and women
discussed the minutiae of daily domestic routine in a relationship where the man
was officially given the rank of HOH, or Head of Household. These people didn't
just want to play roles in the bedroom. They wanted to act out their domination
fantasies in real life. To Matt this just seemed peculiar. In a way he admired
their wholehearted pursuit of the lifestyle in a manner which ran counter to a
hundred years of social history, but he felt such attempts could only end in
tears. The fact that these advocates often quoted the bible as giving support
for their patriarchal practices seemed only to emphasise how far they were from
any sustainable reality.

     Nevertheless, he found some of their little rituals entertaining, even
ingenious. He liked the petty rules and pointless restrictions which the
dominants were fond of imposing. One man listed the various dietary regulations
to which his sub was subjected. On one day she might eat only cold food, on the
next drink no alcohol, on the next eat nothing coloured red, on the next may
employ only her left hand in eating. The restrictions were hardly arduous in
themselves, but their arbitrary nature reminded the sub constantly of her status
as one who must obey, not for any rational reason but just because her Master
ordered.

     One thing which appealed greatly to Matt was a site offering a variety of
equipment, mainly leather. There were all manner of collars, cuffs, corsets and
suchlike. Having observed Elizabeth with her horse, Matt had conceived a strong
desire to harness her in some way, and after an hour or two scrolling through
the site's inventory he made a number of purchases, which were delivered three
days later.

     The following week Matt said he would throw a party. Elizabeth had met
scarcely any of his friends, he said, and it was time to introduce her.

     'Can I invite people too?' she asked.

     'No,' said Matt. 'I don't want any of your rich snooty acquaintances
looking down on us artistic folk.'

     Elizabeth turned away and made a face, though she made sure Matt didn't
see. She didn't relish the idea of an evening solely in the company of painters
and models. The one or two whom she had already met had struck her as rather
dowdy. One was a man of about Matt's age with a straggly beard, wearing jeans
that could have done with a wash, as she had pointed out to Matt afterwards.

     'That man,' said Matt, 'is probably the most talented artist you will ever
have the fortune to meet. He's had exhibitions in New York, Paris and London.'

     'Well, I've never heard of him,' said Elizabeth in a tone of voice that
suggested hers was the only judgement that mattered. 'And if he's so successful,
can't he afford a trip to the laundromat now and again? Perhaps calling in at
the barber on the way?'

     'Your problem is, you're a snob. And you judge people only by appearances.'

     'And you don't?' she retorted. 'If I was fat and fifty you'd be just as
keen to get into my knickers?'

     'Don't take that tone with me,' said Matt. He didn't mind a discussion, she
had a right to her views on anything, but he didn't care for the way she tried
to score points off him.

     A couple of days later they met a woman in the street. She was about forty,
a little overweight, wearing a shapeless skirt of indeterminate length, and a
brightly coloured blouse over large, and to Elizabeth's mind inadequately
supported, breasts. Her face was pretty enough, but devoid of make-up. Matt had
introduced her as Cassie and conversed warmly with her, while Elizabeth stood to
one side, mentally picking further holes in the woman's appearance.

     'So,' she said when Matt had kissed the woman goodbye, 'who on earth was
that?'

     'Perhaps the best model I ever had,' said Matt.

     'Her?' said Elizabeth. 'You'd want to paint her?'

     'She was gorgeous when she was younger. Age sneaks up on us all, as you
will one day find.'

     'So you fucked her?' Elizabeth did not bother to conceal the note of
contempt in her voice.

     'I'm not sure I care to be questioned in that tone,' Matt said. 'But since
you ask, yes I did, several times. And enjoyed it.'

     Elizabeth turned up her nose. 'Well, you wouldn't fuck her now, would you!'

     'She's a very nice woman and I think of her with respect,' Matt said.

     She could hear a note in his voice that warned her to be careful.
Recklessly, she carried on.

     'Those clothes,' she said. 'What a frump!'

     He gave her a look that was by now familiar. She'd had one spanking that
week already. Well, she thought, I can take another. It was worth it to get him
interested. And he was getting more skilled with the beatings now, learning how
to pace it so that the pain turned to pleasure.

     Matt knew she was trying to provoke him. He thought about taking her
straight home and putting her over his knee, or even tying her to the bench and
thrashing her soundly. But he had a better idea. Meeting Cassie made him realise
he missed some of his old friends, hadn't seen much of them since he'd taken up
with Elizabeth. So he'd invite them round. And Elizabeth would be polite; or
else.

     Elizabeth arrived late in the afternoon of the party in an old sweater and
jeans, ready to help arrange furniture, prepare food, set out the drinks. They
worked steadily together, chattering away. Elizabeth was good company when she
wasn't being a stuck-up little rich girl. And, he thought as he watched her
bending over at the sink in her tight jeans, she had the best-looking ass he'd
ever seen. He felt his cock rising. He was tempted to take her upstairs before
the guests came, but he decided he needed to maintain a certain distance if he
was to carry out his plan for the evening.

     An hour before the guests were due Elizabeth went upstairs to shower and
change. Matt stood leaning against the door in the bathroom, watching as the
water splashed down her naked body.

     'See anything you like?' she said. She put her hand between her legs,
soaping herself more vigorously than was strictly necessary.

     He smiled. 'Behave yourself.'

     When she came down she was wearing a white silk blouse. Underneath, he
could see the outline of the lace and satin bra she had bought with his approval
the week before. She twirled around so that her full black velvet skirt flared.
Then she stood with hand on hip. She knew she wasn't supposed to stand like
that.

     'Want to see the rest?' she said.

     Matt said nothing. Elizabeth lifted the skirt up to her waist. He looked at
the matching satin knickers drawn up over the suspender belt which supported her
sheer black stockings. He felt his cock beginning to rise once more.

     'Respectable on top,' he said. 'And underneath?'

     She chuckled. 'I am what you've made me.'

     'Oh no,' he said. 'You can't blame me. I know what you were long ago,
before you met me.'

     'Maybe I was a little bit,' she said. 'But you've refined me. I'm so much
more so now - whatever it is that I am.'

     She came and kissed him. There was a ring at the door and she broke away.

     'Wait a minute,' he said. He took hold of the gold necklace she wore,
turning it round, undoing the tiny catch and putting it in his pocket.

     'Hey,' she said. 'I like that necklace.'

     He said nothing, but from the same pocket produced a collar of soft black
leather. It was about an inch wide, fastening at the back with a silver buckle.
At the front was a small silver ring. He began to attach it around her neck.

     'Just a minute,' she protested. 'I can't wear something like that in
public.'

     When he had buckled it to his satisfaction he stepped back to admire it.

     'You can and you will,' he said.

     She coloured slightly. He could tell by the set of her mouth she wanted to
protest, but he knew she wouldn't start a row with guests arriving. Her eyes
flashed rebelliously as he moved towards the door.

     Matt returned with a man and a woman, a middle-aged couple. Both were
dressed informally, in jeans and sweaters. He saw how Elizabeth looked them up
and down as they approached, judging them.

     'This is Elizabeth, my new housekeeper,' he said.

     Elizabeth stared at Matt. 'I beg - ' she began.

     'She helps with chores one or two days a week,' said Matt. 'Lizzie, will
you bring us some drinks?'

     For a moment it looked as if she was ready for a row there and then. But
Matt had already turned to engage his guests in conversation, ignoring her.
Lizzie! How dare he! Only her father's head groom, an elderly black man, had
ever called her that. She hated diminutives and nicknames. They were so
demeaning!

     In the kitchen she put some glasses of wine on a tray and brought them out.
Just as she was passing the tray around the doorbell rang again.

     'Get that, will you, Lizzie?' Matt said.

     If looks could kill, Matt was a dead man, but he scarcely bothered to
glance at her as he issued his instruction. Elizabeth stomped off to the door,
vowing she wouldn't stand for any more of this. She opened the door and a
beautiful blonde woman in a surprisingly short skirt entered. Taking off her
jacket, she handed it to Elizabeth, hardly glancing at her before sauntering
through into the sitting room and greeting Matt effusively. Elizabeth stared
after her. Surely she wasn't dressed like a servant? What made this woman treat
her like one?

     Elizabeth went into the kitchen to get the woman a drink. When she came out
the woman had her arm around Matt's shoulder, holding him close. This was
altogether too much. Dowdy frumps were one thing. She would not tolerate brassy
blondes fondling her boyfriend.

     'Drink?' Elizabeth said coldly, holding out the glass. The woman took it
with a condescending smile.'

     'Thank you, dear,' she said.

     The doorbell rang again. Matt showed no inclination to answer it. Elizabeth
admitted four people who had all arrived at once. More down-at-heel arty types,
she thought. Soon there were twenty or thirty guests, all conversing animatedly,
many of them grouped around Matt, who had so far not introduced her to a single
one. Elizabeth went into the kitchen and poured herself some wine. She stared
out of the window, wondering whether to march out, slamming the door behind her.
She knew Matt would be very cross if she did. Well, so be it, she thought. I'm
not putting up with this.

     She turned to go and saw Matt standing in the doorway.

     'I suppose you think this is very funny,' she said, 'treating me like a
skivvy.'

     'I don't think it funny at all,' he said. 'I was never more serious.'

     'Well, I'm not standing for it another moment,' she said, trying to brush
past him.

     He grabbed her arm, then held his hand up, offering his ring to be kissed.

     'No,' she snapped. 'I won't let you do that.'

     'You will,' he said in a steely voice. 'Or you'll be very sorry indeed.'

     'No, please Matt,' she wheedled, changing tactics. 'Please. It's
humiliating.'

     'Kiss it,' he said.

     For a moment she considered an outright refusal. But she feared he might
renounce her altogether if she disobeyed. She bent her head and kissed the ring
softly.

     'Go to the bathroom and take off your bra,' Matt said. 'Then bring us more
drinks.'

     'Take off my bra?' she protested. 'But this blouse is see-through.'

     'How immodest,' Matt said with insouciance. 'But you're not actually
refusing an order, are you?'

     Elizabeth sighed. With a sulky look she went towards the stairs. In the
bathroom she stripped off her blouse and removed her bra. When the blouse was
back on, the shadows of her nipples seemed all too plain to see. Elizabeth
thought if they became erect they would be unmistakable.

     When she came down again she went into the kitchen. There was a man there,
younger than most of the guests, not bad-looking, Elizabeth thought. He stared
at her, his eyes openly gazing at her bust. Instinctively she crossed her arms,
trying not to blush. The man's eyes rose as far as her neck.

     'Nice collar,' he said. He smiled slightly, as if he knew a secret, and
went out.

     Elizabeth poured some more drinks. She took them out on a tray, set the
tray on a table and stood with arms crossed by the window. After a few minutes
Matt came over.

     'You know very well you aren't allowed to stand like that,' he said. 'Put
your arms by your sides.'

     'I can't do that,' she hissed. 'Men keep staring at my tits.'

     'I'm not surprised,' Matt said, looking down at them. 'They're very nice.
But of course you're not supposed to be talking back.'

     She glared at him.

     'Nor looking me in the eye,' he said sternly.

     Slowly she lowered her glance. Matt took her hand and led her across to
some of the guests.

     'Lizzie is a little shy,' he said. 'She's not quite sure if she's invited
to the party or not.'

     'I hope she is,' said the young man she'd encountered in the kitchen, his
eyes on her chest again. She wanted to say something rude in return, but she
didn't dare. The guests continued their conversation, ignoring her except for
the man who kept staring at her breasts. She longed to cross her arms again to
keep his eyes off them, but such deliberate defiance of an order would be a
serious matter.

     Standing on the edge of the little group, she looked across at Matt,
pleading for some respite from her embarrassment. He caught her eye, but instead
of smiling encouragement he slowly tipped his glass to one side, spilling white
wine on the wooden floor.

     'Dear me,' he said. 'Get a cloth and wipe it up, Lizzie dear.'

     Bristling with rage, she went to the kitchen. She came back and knelt at
his feet, wiping the floor. As she did so, Matt deliberately put his foot over a
patch of spilled wine. Elizabeth put her head back and looked up at him,
pleading for some consideration. Matt cocked his head and raised an eyebrow, as
if to say, you wouldn't be thinking of a protest, would you?

     Elizabeth swallowed hard and waited for him to remove his foot. When all
the wine was cleaned up she went back in the kitchen. She turned to see that the
young man had followed her.

     'That collar,' he said. 'I think I know what that's for.'

     'I doubt you do,' she said. 'And anyway, it's none of your business.'

     'If I was your Master,' he said, 'you wouldn't speak to me like that.'

     Elizabeth blushed and walked back into the sitting room. She stood close to
Matt, brushing her hip against his. He didn't move away as she thought he might.
Feeling somewhat mollified, she went to the kitchen of her own free will to get
some more wine for the guests. Getting some ice from the fridge was the striking
blonde woman who had been so friendly with Matt.

     She looked Elizabeth up and down, in an inquisitive but not unfriendly
manner.

     'You're not really his housekeeper, are you?'

     'No,' said Elizabeth. 'I'm not. I'm his girlfriend.'

     'I used to be,' she said. 'But you needn't worry, it's been over for ages.
We're just good friends.'

     Elizabeth smiled. 'Glad to hear it.'

     'He's a nice man,' the woman said. 'but I always felt he was looking for
something more than I could give him.'

     'Really? What exactly?'

     'I rather think,' the woman said, touching Elizabeth's collar with her
finger, 'that he might have found it.'

     Elizabeth blushed. It seemed to be her night for blushes.

     The party seemed to be breaking up. Gradually the guests departed, until
Elizabeth and Matt were alone. He came close and kissed her sweetly on the
mouth.

     'You think I was very unkind, don't you?'

     'Somewhat,' she replied.

     'But do you know why?'

     She considered her answer. 'You thought I was snooty about your friends, so
you thought you'd teach me a lesson, make the people I looked down on look down
on me in return.'

     'And have you learned your lesson?'

     'I don't care if your friends look down on me,' she said. 'As long as you
don't. You may use me as you wish, abuse me and abase me, but I must feel that
the more I humble myself the more respect I earn.'

     He kissed her again. 'I'm proud of you,' he said. 'Never more so than
tonight. A lesser woman would have turned and run.'

     'Whatever I am, I'm not a coward,' she said. 'But I'm very desirous.'

     'Good,' said Matt. 'But we haven't finished yet. Now take off your blouse
and your skirt.'

     She did as he said, standing in the centre of the room, looking him in the
eye even though it was forbidden as she unbuttoned her silk blouse, unzipped her
skirt and let them both fall to the floor. She could feel her nipples rising.

     Matt looked her up and down. 'And the knickers.'

     She peeled off the satin knickers and stood before him, in nothing but her
suspenders, stockings and shoes. From his pocket Matt produced a long silver
chain.

     'Down on your knees,' he said.

     She squatted on her haunches. Matt clipped the chain to the ring at the
front of her collar.

     'Now,' he said, 'you're my little lap dog. We're going to do some training.
Come!'

     He pulled on the chain and walked forward. Elizabeth was dragged along,
crawling fast to keep up. Then he stopped.

     'Heel,' he said.

     She squatted, feeling a little foolish and awkward.

     'Sit,' he ordered.

     She hesitated, not knowing quite know what he meant.

     'Squat back on your haunches,' he said.

     He left her there for a moment, returned with a riding crop. Elizabeth
wondered where he'd got it; it wasn't one of hers. He flicked it against her
nipples, first one then the other. She flinched.

     'My little lap dog does what she's told, instantly,' he said.

     'But I don't -'

     'Silence,' he snapped, flicking her hard across the nipples again.

     He picked up the chain and marched off. Elizabeth scrambled after him. He
walked up the stairs. On the landing he strode along quickly, then suddenly
stopped. Elizabeth stumbled, getting in advance of him before halting.

     'Heel,' he said. He smacked the riding crop across her bottom. 'Never get
in front of your Master.'

     She got back behind his feet.

     'Sit.'

     She sat back on her haunches again, bracing herself in case he should once
more flick her nipples. Instead, he turned and marched back along the landing
and down the stairs. Going down was so difficult, and halfway she stumbled and
fell down a couple of steps in a heap.

     'Clumsy little pup,' he said. 'Kneel for your punishment, head pressed
down, bottom in the air.'

     She pressed her head against the stair below her and thrust her behind
upwards. She felt the riding crop lash across her unprotected buttocks, three
times on each side. It stung badly.

     He jerked once more on the chain, pulling her down the stairs and into the
sitting room.

     'Sit,' he said.

     He went into the kitchen and returned with a plate of food, a chicken leg,
some cherry tomatoes, some potato salad.

     'Hungry?' he said.

     'Yes,' she said. 'I haven't eaten anything yet.'

     He sat down in a chair and snapped his fingers, pointing to a spot on the
floor just by his feet.

     'Sit.'

     She got into position.

     'Now let's see my little puppy dog beg,' he said.

     He held the chicken leg in the air, just above her head. She looked up at
it.

     'Beg,' he said again. 'Lift up your hands, palms outward.'

     She did as he told her, but she felt silly.

     'Beg a little more,' he said. 'Higher.'

     She strained upwards. He put the chicken leg in her open mouth. She put her
hand out to grasp it.

     'No,' he said. 'Puppy eats just with her mouth.'

     She knelt there, looking at him. What on earth was she supposed to do?

     'You've seen other dogs eat,' he said. 'Do it like them.'

     She lowered her head to the floor, began to chew on the chicken leg. It was
awkward, it kept getting away from her. She put out a hand to steady it. Dogs
don't have fingers, she thought, so she didn't grasp it, just held it to her
mouth so she could chew.

     'Good little doggie,' he said. 'Here.'

     She looked up. He was holding one of the little tomatoes in the palm of his
hand.

     'Eat,' he said.

     She took it from his hand, chewing on it then swallowing. He put another in
his hand, she did likewise, bending her head to his hand, taking it in her
teeth.

     'Now potato salad,' he said.

     He put the plate on the floor. She knelt and began to eat from it.

     'I want it all gone,' he said, 'and the plate licked clean.'

     It was good potato salad; she'd made it herself, but she'd never thought
this was the way she'd be eating it.

     He went out into the kitchen and poured some red wine into a shallow bowl.
When he came back she was licking round the edges of the plate. He put the bowl
down beside her.

     'Lap it up,' he said.

     He watched as she tried to get the wine up with her tongue. It looked easy
when she'd seen dogs do it, but it wasn't. She could only get a few drops into
her mouth at a time. She looked up at Matt, asking with her eyes if she could
stop now.

     'All of it,' he said,

     At last it was finished. He caught hold of the chain, dragging her behind
him up the stairs again, along the landing and into the bedroom. She saw that
her stockings were getting bedraggled now; there was a hole in one, just on the
knee. She seemed to have lost her shoes.

     'On the bed,' he said. 'I'm going to fuck you. Doggie fashion, of course.'

     She knelt on the edge of the bed, bottom outwards, her head pressed into
the covers. Without ceremony he unzipped himself and pushed his cock straight
in. It was so good like this, she loved it, it went in so deep. He continued to
fuck her with a steady rhythm, holding her ass with his hands, placing her just
as he wanted. Just before he came he pushed his finger a little way into her
ass, then ejaculated. She felt it pumping into her, filling her.

     He withdrew and zipped himself up.

     'I'm going down for a nightcap,' he said. 'Puppies can lick themselves. I
guess you can't do that, but you can do something else if you wish. When you've
finished come and join me.'

     He held out his ring for her to kiss. The training session was over. She
heard his footsteps going down the stairs as she put her hand between her legs
and began to play.

     Two weeks later, Elizabeth announced to Matt that she too would be holding
a party. Her company had been doing so well that she intended have a
celebration, not in her apartment but at a down-town hotel.

     'It's a black-tie affair,' she said. 'Dust off your tuxedo.'

     Matt didn't like to tell her he didn't even own one. But he didn't want to
be shown up by Elizabeth's smart friends, so the next day he bought one, and a
fancy dress shirt to go with it. The invitation arrived, elegantly embossed on a
white card. He put it on his mantelpiece. 'Elizabeth Lawrence requests the
pleasure of your company. Cocktails, Dinner, Dancing.' Matt stared at the card.
Images were beginning to form in his mind. Elizabeth in a long gown, her hair
pinned up; well-to-do businessmen, their hair sleekly brushed, dancing with her;
and Elizabeth on her knees.... He smiled to himself. He was beginning to look
forward to the party.

     The day before he called her and said he'd meet her there. He knew she'd be
busy with all the arrangements, that she'd want to supervise everything
personally down to the last detail. He'd only be in the way.

     When he arrived a small band was playing in the corner of the hotel's main
ballroom. He thought he might be early, but already thirty or so guests were
sipping drinks, brought by waiters in white jackets who hovered discreetly at
the edge of the room. Matt picked himself a glass of wine, then went across to
greet Elizabeth.

     She looked dazzling, in a close-fitting gown of ivory-coloured satin. The
neckline was daringly low, offering a generous view of her breasts, the bodice
held by the thinnest of straps over the shoulders. The gown hugged her waist and
tapered down over her hips and thighs, outlining the shapeliness of her figure.
Matt made a note to get the back view as soon as possible. Elizabeth's ass
should look a treat in such a dress.

     At her throat was a choker of black velvet with a diamond stud in the
centre. Matt smiled to himself, remembering the leather collar he'd made her
wear at his party. Doubtless she considered herself safe from such
embarrassments at her own affair.

     Her hair was piled on top of her head, pinned up with glittering gold
clasps. Her make-up was sparing, except that her full lips were painted with
scarlet gloss. Matt longed to kiss her. Elizabeth's outfit was completed by
black high heels and, a touch he thought suited her so well in its
sophistication, a pair of elbow-length gloves matching her satin dress.

     Matt kissed her lightly on the cheek.

     'Beautiful,' he said. 'I'm so proud of you.'

     She smiled, delighted at his pleasure. She introduced him to some of her
business friends and Matt tried to make conversation, but it was evident they
had little in common. Elizabeth, by contrast, was the life and soul, the centre
of all attention. After drinks, a buffet dinner was served and Matt managed to
get near her once more, but it was hard to compete for her attention when she
was the flame to which all the moths were drawn.

     Matt eventually found himself talking to one of the waiters, a good-looking
boy who said he was an art student working his way through college. He and Matt
discussed their favourite painters at length. Eventually he felt his arm being
tugged and turned to see Elizabeth.

     'I hope you don't feel I've been neglecting you?'

     'Not particularly,' Matt said. 'Have you met Robbie?'

     He indicated the young waiter, who smiled winningly, clearly impressed by
Elizabeth's glamour. But talking to waiters was clearly not her idea of a
sophisticated evening. She nodded, scarcely enough to avoid rudeness, then
walked away. Annoyed at this demonstration of bad manners, Matt declined to
follow her, but continued talking with the young man. Elizabeth glanced back,
then found some more friends and engrossed herself in conversation. From time to
time she found herself looking over at Matt, wondering what on earth he could
have to talk to the boy about.

     Several people were dancing now, and Matt watched as one of her friends led
Elizabeth on to the dance floor. Still talking to the young waiter, Matt
observed how graceful she was, her hips moving with sinuous grace, her breasts
bobbing beneath the tight satin.

     Elizabeth danced with several men; there seemed to be a queue of potential
partners, and Matt saw how her eyes sparkled as she dazzled them. She seemed to
favour one in particular, a tall handsome man about her own age, with curly
blonde hair.

     After a while Matt went over and invited Elizabeth to dance with him.

     'You like that guy?' he asked as she swayed in front of him

     She shrugged.

     'He certainly likes you.'

     'That's evident,' she said.

     'He'd like to fuck you,' Matt said.

     'Lots of men would like to fuck me,' Elizabeth said. He could see she'd had
a few drinks.

     'I'm not talking about lots of men,' Matt said. 'I'm talking about him.'

     'What about him?'

     'He'd like to fuck you, I said.'

     'So what?' she said, staring at Matt. She couldn't see where he was going
with this.

     'Perhaps you should oblige him,' Matt said.

     She stopped dancing. 'What?'

     'Give him what he wants.'

     'You must be kidding!'

     'Am I?'

     'Please, Matt. Don't fool around with me.'

     He held up his ring for her to kiss.

     'No, please, not that. Not now, Matt. I'm having such a good time.'

     'You'll have an even better one. Kiss it. Or else you'll be in serious
breach of your undertaking. And you know what that could lead to.'

     She knew he could banish her if he felt he had to. However much he wanted
to keep her, she knew he couldn't afford to have her directly challenge him. If
it came to a choice between losing her and losing his authority, he'd choose to
lose her altogether.

     'Bastard,' said Elizabeth. She kissed the ring.

     'I'll remember you said that.'

     'But it's still my party. I can still have fun, can't it?'

     'Sure you can,' said Matt.

     He took her hand and led her across to the young man she'd been dancing
with.

     'Hi,' said Matt, holding out his other hand. 'Elizabeth hasn't introduced
us.'

     'Oh, hi. Brad,' the man said.

     'Do you think she's attractive?' Matt asked, still holding Elizabeth's
hand.

     'Well, sure.' Brad laughed.

     'Do you think she's got great tits?' Matt said.

     Elizabeth tried to draw away her hand. Matt held it more tightly. He could
see her blushing.

     'Well,' Brad hesitated.

     'No?' Matt insisted.

     'Well, sure,' said Brad. He couldn't figure what was going on. But Matt
could see from the way he looked at Elizabeth that he was going to hang around
to find out.

     'Turn around,' Matt said to Elizabeth.

     Looking daggers, she turned her back towards them.

     'Great ass, too, don't you think,' said Matt.

     'What is this?' said Brad. He was getting nervous now.

     'I'll tell you what it is,' Matt said. 'It's Elizabeth. She told me she
thinks you're gorgeous. She'd like to take you outside.'

     'Come on,' Brad said. He started to move away.

     'I'm serious,' Matt said. 'You can have her if you like. You'll never get a
better offer. Tell him, Elizabeth. You want to take him outside right now,
true?'

     Matt squeezed her hand harder than ever.

     'Right?' said Matt.

     Elizabeth took a deep breath. 'Yes, it's true,' she said. 'I said I wanted
you and I'd like to take you outside. Will you come?'

     Brad stared at her. 'There's a catch.'

     'No catch,' she said. 'I just want to do it. Sometimes the urge is too
great.'

     Matt whispered in her era. 'A blow job, no more.'

     'Please,' Matt said to Brad. 'Be my guest. Enjoy.'

     He walked away, leaving them together. He looked back and saw them in
earnest conversation. Whatever Elizabeth's reluctance, Matt knew she could
hardly withdraw her offer now. Then he saw Elizabeth take Brad by the hand and
lead him through some French windows at the far end of the ballroom.

     It was a balmy night outside. They walked down to the end of the terrace.
There were a couple of wooden chairs with cushions on.

     'Take a seat,' said Elizabeth.

     She took the cover off the other chair and placed it on the ground. She
knelt on top and began to unfasten Brad's trousers.

     'Jesus,' he said. 'I can't believe this.'

     'Shhh,' said Elizabeth. She'd heard the sound of voices nearby, possibly
other guests taking the air.

     She reached inside and found Brad's cock. It was a good size, rising and
getting harder by the second. She bent and took it in her mouth, sucking hard.
She rubbed the shaft, squeezing with her hand. She wanted this to be quick. Brad
was groaning, but to tell him to be quiet she would have had to take his cock
from her mouth, and she was afraid that might disrupt the momentum. Then she
heard the crunch of footsteps on the gravel of the path just below them.
Elizabeth continued to suck on Brad's cock, but twisted her head to see a couple
not twenty feet away. She recognised the woman, an old friend from school. Was
she too recognisable, with her head buried in a man's lap? She forced herself to
keep going. If she didn't finish the job Matt would be disappointed in her. She
kept her head down, rubbing Brad's cock all the faster. Elizabeth was relieved
when he shot his cum into her mouth. Giggling to each other, the watching couple
moved on.

     She turned and spat, then stood up and walked away.

     'Elizabeth?' Brad called out.

     She ignored him. She didn't want questions. She didn't want gratitude. Most
of all she didn't want Brad asking if she was OK. She was just fine. She'd been
appalled by what Matt had suggested. But now she'd done it she felt proud. Who
else would have had the daring to do such an outrageous thing?

     Back in the ballroom she danced with more men. It was getting late now.
Some of the guests were drifting away. She and Matt had a room booked in the
hotel for the night. It would be so much more convenient, they had agreed. They
could just fall into bed when they wanted.

     At last the room was cleared; all the guests had made their farewells.
Elizabeth and Matt danced a final waltz around the dance floor. He asked her
what had happened outside with Brad and she told him, not embellishing, but
leaving nothing out. Then the band were finished. Matt led Elizabeth up to the
room. He lay on the bed watching as she sat at the dressing table and unpinned
her hair.

     'What we need is another drink,' said Matt.

     'Surely not,' she smiled. She'd had a few already, she knew.

     'Champagne,' said Matt. He picked up the phone and spoke into it.

     'Really,' Elizabeth said. 'You are incorrigible.'

     'Little do you know,' Matt replied.

     Elizabeth smiled. 'Unzip me,' she said.

     He stood up and undid her dress all down the back. She pulled it off her
shoulders and let it slither to the floor. Underneath she wore no bra, just a
tiny satin thong and thigh-high stockings. She sat down again and busied herself
in front of the mirror, removing make-up. There was a knock at the door.

     'What?' said Elizabeth. 'Who's that?'

     'Room service,' Matt said, springing up. He opened the door. Elizabeth
turned, her arms instinctively going up to hide her breasts. It was the waiter
whom Matt had been talking to. Elizabeth couldn't remember his name.

     'Come in,' Matt said. 'Put it down there.'

     The waiter put the champagne down beside the bed. Elizabeth sat in acute
embarrassment, trying to hide herself.

     'Open it,' Matt said. 'Then pour us all a glass. The three of us.'

     Elizabeth looked at Matt in surprise. The waiter glanced at her nervously,
uncertain whether to take Matt at his word.

     'Pour,' Matt insisted.

     The waiter opened the champagne and poured. How odd, thought Elizabeth.
There are three glasses. They've planned this, the two of them together. The
waiter brought a glass over to Elizabeth. Still hiding her breasts with one
hand, she took it from him.

     'Now,' said Matt, 'a toast. Here's to sex. The more the merrier!'

     Still not quite sure what he was up to, Elizabeth sipped from her glass.
Robbie sipped too, grinning now.

     'Robbie thinks you're gorgeous,' Matt said. 'So I've told him he can have
you. I'm going to leave the two of you for half an hour. You will allow him to
do anything he pleases. Robbie, enjoy yourself, but you must be gone by the time
I get back.'

     With that Matt left the room, closing the door after him. He went
downstairs to the hotel bar. There were still a few people around. One of them
was Brad, who seemed a little tipsy.

     'Gee,' he said to Matt, coming over. 'That's quite a woman you've got
there.'

     'Isn't she,' Matt agreed.

     'You know, if ever you feel like offering her again, well...'

     'I'll bear that in mind,' said Matt, then changed the subject.

     Forty minutes later he let himself back into the hotel room. It was dark.
Elizabeth was lying in bed. Matt undressed and got in beside her, pressing
himself against her back. His cock was hard already. He placed it at the
entrance to her cunt, which was very wet, and slid straight in. Holding himself
still inside her, he reached round and put his hand between her legs, placing a
finger on her clit but not moving.

     'Tell me about it,' he said.

     'It was good,' she said. 'At first, I felt shame, that you'd just give me
away to this boy. I knew what he must think of me, that I was no more than a
whore. But then I thought about how I wanted to please you and I began to get
excited, and then I didn't care what he thought, I wasn't doing it for him but
for you. And for myself, of course. So I let him kiss me. He was clumsy, too
eager. He touched my breasts but seemed uncertain what to do after that. So I
took his clothes off and sucked his cock a little, and then I got astride him
and eased myself down on to his cock and fucked him. It didn't take long - he
was so excited. I leaned forward some and let him play with my nipples while I
moved on his cock. It only took ten minutes, and after he looked at his watch
and said he still had twenty minutes left. So I showed him how to make me come
with his finger, and that made him big again so I let him fuck me on my back,
and that time he took a little longer and I came again. And that was that.'

     'Good,' said Matt. 'Very good. There's the little matter of the name you
called me earlier. We'll deal with that tomorrow. But for now I'm pleased with
you. Well done.'

     'Can I ask a question?'

     'Sure.'

     'Next time, do you think you'll want to watch?'

     'Tut, tut,' he said. 'You're a very bad girl.'

     He began to fuck her slowly while he coaxed her with his finger to the
final orgasm of the evening.

     Under My Thumb

     By Fidelis Blue and kitten

     Chapter Five

    

     'Could you take a week off work?' Matt asked.

     They were having dinner in a cosy little restaurant, Matt's favourite.

     'Well,' said Elizabeth, 'I guess, with enough notice. Things are fairly
settled at the office right now. Where do you want to go? I hear Hawai'i is very
nice this time of year.'

     'We'd stay here,' said Matt.

     'What for?'

     'I have a notion,' said Matt. 'Why don't you make the arrangements with
your people. I'll tell you the plan nearer the date.'

     'Is it going to be sexy?'

     'It will be for me,' said Matt. Elizabeth loved the note of menace in his
voice. It gave her a tingle in the pit of her stomach.

     In the week before her scheduled absence from the office, Matt was at his
most attentive and charming. They dined out, they went for walks, he accompanied
her on a shopping trip, and he ensured she had at least one orgasm every day,
several of them induced by his now highly educated tongue. I'd better enjoy this
while it lasts, she thought. She sensed there was something coming which might
not be so comfortable.

     The night before the week was to begin, he'd cooked her supper and made her
come twice, once with his tongue, once as he fucked her, thrusting in to her so
powerfully that it would have been painful if it hadn't excited her so much.
Afterwards he had taken her naked down to his study. From a drawer he produced a
collar of stainless steel. It was hinged at the back, with a ring attached at
the front. He fastened it around her neck, snapping it shut to lock it. He
showed her the key, then put it in his pocket.

     'You will wear this the whole week,' he said. 'We're going 24/7.'

     He held up his ring for her to kiss. Then he handed her a sheaf of paper.

     'These are your instructions for the week ahead,' he said. 'Read them
carefully. Make sure you comply in every single detail. Tonight you will sleep
on your own. You have to make an early start tomorrow.'

     Elizabeth pouted. 'Can't I sleep with you? It would be such a nice end to a
perfect evening.'

     'No,' he said. 'You need to prepare yourself, physically and mentally.'

     It took her an hour to read the document and learn its provisions by heart.
It was midnight before she slept, her mind racing with thoughts of the morrow.
The alarm woke her at six. She stretched, then felt between her legs. She was a
little sore from the night before; she liked that feeling.

     Elizabeth got out of bed and walked naked downstairs. She made herself some
coffee, then went to the laundry room. She washed Matt's shirt by hand, dried
and ironed it, and the white silk boxer shorts he intended wearing that day.
Next she went into the kitchen, poured hot water and cleaning fluid into a
plastic bucket, and got down on her knees to wash the tiled floor. It took her
half an hour of back-breaking work to get it clean enough to pass inspection. By
the time she had finished beads of perspiration were running down her brow, and
in the hollow between her breasts.

     She walked quietly upstairs, anxious not to wake Matt, and went into the
bathroom. Quickly she took a shower. Under the hissing water she shaved her
cunt. The instructions said she was to be totally bare between her legs,
removing even the delta of hair that remained at the apex of her labia. As she
shaved, she felt to see if the lips and the mound above them were as smooth as
they needed to be. It was awfully tempting to touch herself a little, to slide a
finger in, to caress her clit, always so wanting these days, never satisfied, it
seemed. But if Matt should suddenly enter and catch her, she would be in serious
trouble. The document had told her she wasn't allowed to lock any doors this
week.

     She dried herself carefully, giving herself a quick surreptitious rub
between the legs. Then she walked quietly back downstairs again. Matt had told
her to wake him at seven-thirty. On the dot she opened the door to his room,
padded barefoot across the floor and set a cup of tea down by the bed. She knelt
down and brushed her hair across Matt's face, moving it from side to side until
his eyes opened.

     'Good morning, Master,' she said. 'You slave awaits your pleasure.'

     He lay for a moment staring up at the ceiling. Elizabeth glanced down. She
could see a bulge under the covers.

     'What sort of day?' said Matt sleepily.

     'Fine, Master,' said Elizabeth. 'Seventy degrees, sunny, a light breeze
from the south.'

     Matt stretched. Elizabeth saw movement under the covers. Was he touching
himself? She went downstairs and came back with the clothes she'd ironed. Matt
was still lying in bed, gazing at the ceiling. Then he pushed back the covers.
His cock was sitting straight up, hugely erect. Elizabeth stared at it.

     'Take hold of it,' he said.

     She grasped the shaft. It was rock-hard.

     'Now repeat after me: "This is the cock I worship. I bow before it,
acknowledging its power and its glory. I dedicate myself to its service."'

     Elizabeth repeated the words.

     'Kiss it,' Matt said.

     She leaned forward and brushed her lips against the tip, which strained to
emerge from inside the foreskin.

     Matt got out of bed. 'Follow me.'

     They went into the bathroom. Elizabeth stood and watched as Matt peed in
the bowl, then flushed.

     'Shave me,' he said.

     He sat naked on a small wooden chair by the wash-basin. Elizabeth took his
electric razor and gingerly began to shave his face. She'd never done this
before. As she worked, she touched her hand to his face to check how close the
shave was. She kept looking down at his cock, which if not quite as big as when
he first awoke, was still stiff. The urge to take it in her hands, to kneel and
fasten her lips around it, was almost overwhelming, but she forced herself to
concentrate on her task. At last she was satisfied with the smoothness of his
cheeks.

     'Turn on the shower,' said Matt.

     She tested the temperature and pronounced it ready. Matt stepped under the
jet of water.

     'Shampoo,' he said.

     Elizabeth took the bottle and poured shampoo into her hand. She rubbed it
into Matt's scalp, gently washing, then made him lean forward into the water to
rinse. Turning him round, she carefully washed his face, then his chest. He
raised his arms for her to wash under them. Kneeling, she washed his belly, then
his cock. It was now as big as before. She peeled back the foreskin, soaped
diligently under the rim of the glans and rinsed. She soaped the shaft, her
hands slowly, almost reverently, caressing him. How gladly she would have
brought him to ejaculation!

     She stood again and turned him round once more, washing his shoulders and
back. Again she knelt, soaping his buttocks, then parting them to clean his
asshole, gently inserting a finger just a little way, as far as she dared.

     When he was clean he stepped out of the shower. Elizabeth dried him all
over, head first. Beads of water clung to her own body, hanging from her
nipples, glistening on her belly. When he was dry she smoothed after-shave over
his face and applied deodorant under his arms, then brushed his hair. Back in
the bedroom she blow-dried his hair while he sat on the bed. His cock had
subsided somewhat, but still Elizabeth's eyes were drawn to it. When would she
have the pleasure of feeling it inside her again?

     She held his shorts for him to step into them, then knelt to put on his
socks. She did up the buttons down the front of his skirt, then on the cuffs.
Placing a hand on her shoulder to steady himself, Matt stepped into his
trousers. Elizabeth zipped them up, not without a pang of regret. She knelt to
tie his shoe laces, then stood and did up his tie. This was tricky. She'd done
it before, but only with a tie around her own neck. Facing him, it wasn't so
easy. She hoped he wouldn't get impatient with her.

     'I'll be quicker tomorrow,' she said softly.

     She held his jacket and he slipped into it. He checked himself in the
mirror and walked downstairs. Elizabeth padded naked after him, her bare feet
almost silent on the wooden floors. Matt walked around the kitchen staring at
the floor, inspecting her efforts. In the corner was a stand for vegetables. He
picked it up.

     'Did you move this to wash underneath?' he demanded.

     'No,' she said, then corrected herself. 'No, sir.'

     'I haven't time for this now,' he said. 'I'll deal with you this evening.'

     So all day, she thought, I'll have that hanging over me, the threat of a
punishment. She wished he could just spank her now and get it over with. She
busied herself making coffee and toast.

     'Would you like some eggs?' she asked.

     'Yes,' he said. 'But first the paper.'

     She went to the front door and peered through the peep-hole. She could see
the newspaper lying on the mat. She opened the door a crack, to see if anyone
was about. Then, plucking up courage, she stepped naked outside on to the porch,
grabbed the paper and rushed back inside.

     Matt read the sports pages as Elizabeth scrambled eggs. She stood in
attendance as he ate. Still with his head in the paper, he forked eggs into his
mouth with one hand while with the other he absent-mindedly stroked her bottom,
squeezing her buttocks gently. After a while his hand strayed between her legs,
pinching the lips of her cunt. She struggled to stay silent, not wanting to
disturb his reading of the paper, but biting her lip as his fingers played with
her, now sliding up into her cunt, now pressing on her tender little clit.

     At last he was finished eating. He got up from the table and went to his
study. Elizabeth busied herself with clearing the table.

     'Now,' said Matt when he returned, 'I shall be home for lunch at 12.00.
Make sure it's ready. You have your list of chores to do in the meantime.'

     'Very well, Master,' she said.

     Matt reached into his pocket and brought out a pair of steel nipple clamps,
joined by a chain.

     'Just before I go.'

     He adjusted the clamps to what looked like half maximum strength. Prising a
little steel jaw apart, he placed it over Elizabeth's left nipple and let it go.
She gasped as the sharp teeth bit into the tender flesh. Matt put the other
clamp on her right nipple. She took a deep breath. Could she really bear this
pain until he returned?

     Matt bent and kissed her in the corner of her mouth. 'Be a good girl,' he
smiled. 'Back for lunch at 12.00.'

     He'd told her the previous evening about his job. Every summer the local
art college ran a programme for the public. It offered tuition in a range of
subjects, pottery, fabric design, drawing, painting and so forth. Matt was
teaching life drawing to a group he described as 'middle-class ladies with time
on their hands'. When he added that middle-class wasn't the same as middle-aged,
Elizabeth thought she didn't like the sound of that, a lot of women hovering
around him while he showed them how to draw a nude. But this week of all weeks
she was hardly in a position to do much about that.

     'Got to look my best,' Matt had told her with a twinkle in his eye, which
explained the jacket and tie.

     The first task on her list for that day was to clear out the storage area
under the stairs. She groaned when she opened the door. Every nook and cranny
was stuffed with junk of all kinds, most of it, judging from the layers of dust,
stored there for years. She took a deep breath and plunged in, dragging
everything outside, sorting the obvious rubbish from what might be worth
salvaging. On her hands and knees she scrubbed out the cupboard, washing the
grime from the floorboards and shelves. Then she neatly put back what she
thought should be saved and bagged up the rest. She put the bags outside the
back door. Matt could look through them if he feared she was throwing away
valuable stuff.

     By the time she was finished it was eleven o'clock. She caught sight of
herself in a mirror. Her face was stained with dirt and sweat, and more dirt
smeared her arms and even her breasts. The clamps on her nipples had been a
nuisance at first, getting in the way, and several times the chain caught on
some object, giving a sharp tweak to her imprisoned nipples. But the actual pain
grew less as the morning wore on and she got used to it. She wouldn't have
exactly said she was comfortable, but it was bearable.

     She went up to the bathroom to take a shower. She wondered if she dare take
off the clamps while she did so. It would make things so much easier. There was
always the risk that Matt might come back unexpectedly. It was just like him to
try and catch her out, but she decided to take the chance. Taking a deep breath
she prised open one of the clamps, then gasped; the pain was agonising. She
stared down at her nipple, the imprint of the sharp little steel teeth still
visible. Why did it hurt so much to take the clamp away? Maybe, she thought,
after a while the skin just sticks to the metal. She gritted her teeth and
quickly snatched the other clamp away.

     'Jeez,' she said out loud.

     It was lovely in the shower, the hot water hissing over her body, the soap
smoothing away the grime. When she was clean she stood for a while, luxuriating.
She lifted the shower nozzle from its stand and directed it on to her belly. She
let it go lower and lower, until the jet was fizzing on to her clit. Another
couple of minutes and she'd come. Did she dare? How would Matt ever know? If she
waited just one more minute, she knew it would be too late to stop. She was so
wanting, her clit tingling, swelling, urging her on. Suddenly she was coming,
clenching her thighs together, her hand on her cunt pressing hard against it
while her hips trembled.

     Afterwards she felt guilty. Any sexual touching except under orders was
forbidden for the week, but Matt would never know. Or would he? He had an
uncanny ability to sense when she was holding out on him. Perhaps she just
wasn't very good at hiding things from him. She would have to be careful, very
careful.

     Quickly she dried herself. She braced herself as she replaced the clamps on
her nipples. Oh, god, it hurts worse than ever now, she thought; I wish I'd
never taken them off. She hurried downstairs to get Matt's lunch.

     He came in around ten minutes after twelve. He stood behind her as she
stirred a saucepan on the stove, stroking her bare ass with one hand, the other
gently pulling on the chain that linked her nipple clamps. It was hard to
concentrate.

     'It's ready,' she said, turning the carbonara sauce into the pan of pasta
and thence into a serving dish.

     Matt sat at the table. Elizabeth served the pasta on to his plate. She
moved back towards the stove. Matt snapped his fingers.

     'Stand here,' he said, pointing to the floor next to his chair.

     She stood naked, hands by her side, as he ate. From time to time he reached
out a hand and stroked her again, on the ass or between the legs. He was teasing
her, she knew it, making her aroused while pretending indifference as he ate his
lunch. But she glanced down and could see his cock was hard inside his trousers.
He didn't fool her.

     When he'd finished the pasta she cleared the plate away and brought him
fruit, a pear and a banana. He peeled the pear and bit into it. The juice ran
down his chin.

     'Wipe me,' he said.

     Elizabeth fetched a cloth and wiped his face. She was tempted to kiss it,
to press her lips to his mouth. But she resisted. She knew she wasn't to
initiate any physical contact.

     Matt peeled the banana. He held it up to her.

     'Know how I like to eat these?' he said.

     She shook her head.

     'Lean back against the table,' he said. 'And open your legs.'

     She did as he said. He parted the lips of her cunt and pushed the banana up
inside her. It felt cool and soft.

     'Lie on the table in front of me,' he said.

     She lay back, her legs either side of him, resting on the back of his
chair. He leaned forward and began to eat the banana, pulling it slowly out of
her with his teeth. When it was all gone he licked his lips.

     'Delicious,' he said.

     He stood up and pulled a piece of paper from his pocket.

     'Chores for this afternoon,' he said, putting it on the table. 'Back at
six.'

     She heard him drive away. She glanced at the list: clean the bathroom,
vacuum the bedroom, prepare dinner. He'd given his cleaner the week off. The way
things were going, he'd have the cleanest house in town. Yet it wouldn't take
her all afternoon. She fixed herself a leisurely lunch and lingered at the
table, reading the paper. She had an idea for something later on. Before she got
back to work, she made herself a cup of coffee and smoked a cigarette. That was
really bad; smoking was totally outlawed in Matt's house, even when she wasn't
under orders. She opened the windows afterwards to let the smell out.

     She sauntered through her chores for the rest of the day. It wasn't
arduous, really. She was beginning to see she could have a really pleasant week,
lounging around doing a little light housework. It would make a nice break from
the office. No one to bother her, no instructions to other people to think
about, just let go, do as you were told. And sooner or later Matt would give her
some sex. He liked to play tough and deny her, but he was just cutting off his
nose to spite his face. He wanted to fuck real bad, she could tell. He couldn't
hold out much longer, even if he got off on denying her. OK, he might not let
her come, but she could fix that herself.

     Midway through the afternoon she found the exercise of cleaning was making
her horny again. That, and being naked, and the constant reminder from the
clamps on her nipples. In the bedroom she tried to find the vibrator Matt kept
there. But the drawer where she thought it was kept had been locked. Damn, she
thought, what a sneaky thing to do!

     She went back down to the kitchen and looked around. There were wooden
spoons, but they weren't wide enough. A rolling pin, that was way too big. Then,
in the vegetable rack, she saw the big orange carrots. She picked one up. It was
a good six inches, probably more, and thick. She put a leg up on a chair, spread
the lips of her cunt and began to slide the carrot inside. It felt good, cool
and hard, not quite like a cock, but somehow alive even so. She began to move it
in and out. She sat down, spread her legs in front of her, wide apart. While she
worked the carrot with one hand she pulled on the chain that linked the
nipple-clamps. That felt good. Then she stroked her belly, letting her hand move
lower until it was rubbing her mons. Tentatively, she let just one finger
lightly touch her clit. It was like electricity. She forced herself to go
slower. She wanted this to last. But it was too good to wait long. She was
moving the carrot in and out faster now, and the finger on her clit picked up
the rhythm and then she was coming, her orgasm detonating like a depth charge,
rolling up from underneath and then a huge wave exploding.

     When the spasms subsided she found the nipple-clamps were hurting more. She
must have been over-enthusiastic in pulling on the chain. Could she take them
off for a while? What if Matt came home early? What if it hurt even more when
she went to put them back on?

     She gritted her teeth and tried to take her mind off the pain by making
preparations for Matt's dinner. She kept glancing at the clock. Please don't let
him be late. At last she heard the sound of his car. He came in smiling.

     'How's my little housewife?'

     She made a face. A slave was one thing; a housewife was another. Matt
laughed.

     'Drink,' he said. 'JD on the rocks,'

     She got ice from the fridge, poured in the whiskey, handed it to him. He
took it without a word and went into the living room. She heard the sound of the
television. Taking a deep breath, she followed him in and stood naked by his
chair, waiting for him to notice her. At last he glanced up.

     'Something you want to say?'

     'Yes, Master,' she said. She got down on her knees. 'May I humbly request a
break from the clamps. They really are making me sore.'

     Matt put out his hand and tugged the chain slightly. She grimaced.

     'OK,' he said. 'But they'll go back on again later.'

     'Thank you so much, Master,' she said. She leaned down and kissed his feet,
then, holding her breath, took the clamps away. The pain was excruciating, but
brief. The relief was immense. She sat back on her haunches, looking up at him
expectantly.

     Matt took one of the ice cubes from his drink and put it to her right
nipple. She caught her breath. The cold was delicious after all the pain, yet so
sensitive was she that the slightest touch was almost intolerable. Seeing her
response, Matt applied the ice to her other nipple.

     'Yes?' he said. 'Something to say?'

     She shook her head. He continued to move the ice from one nipple to the
other. The cold was generating an unbearable heat between her legs. At last he
took the ice away. Elizabeth continued to kneel.

     'What is it now?' he said.

     'Is it possible, Master, I might have a glass of wine?'

     Matt looked at his watch. 'Not yet. At 7.00.'

     'Very well, Master,' she said. 'Thank you.'

     'Go out kneeling,' he said.

     He watched her as she crawled away. Such a lovely ass, he thought. He
imagined what it was going to look like when he'd finished with her.

     Matt went to his study and closed the door. He was in there about half an
hour. When she heard him go back in the living room, Elizabeth crawled back in,
just to be on the safe side, and announced dinner was ready. While he ate she
stood by his chair, occasionally offering him more vegetables, filling his wine
glass, clearing plates. As before, he fondled her, absent-mindedly stroking her
ass, fingering her between the legs. Or apparently absent-minded; she could see,
there was no disguising it, the bulge inside his trousers. How much longer could
he go without fucking her?

     After he'd finished his dinner he told her to bring a few scraps on a
plate, little pieces of meat, some potato cut up. As she knelt in front of him
he fed her these morsels, some on a fork, some direct from his hand. One piece
of meat he let fall to the floor. Was it deliberate? She thought it might have
been.

     'Eat it,' he said. 'Like a cat.'

     She bent her head to the floor and picked up the meat in her teeth. He gave
her little sips of wine. Some spilled on to her breasts.

     'Stand up,' he said.

     He licked the wine from her nipples.

     'Kneel again.'

     He dipped his finger in his wine glass and held it for her to suck.

     'That will do,' he said when she'd done this several times. 'Do the dishes
and come into the living room.'

     He made her sit on the floor with her head in his lap while he watched the
TV. Idly he played with her, stroking under her chin as if she really were a
kitten, scratching her head, gently massaging the back of her neck. Beneath her
cheek she could feel the hard outline of his cock. How wonderful it would be if
only he would let her unzip him, slide her hand in and feel it. But she dare not
make a move.

     At last it was time for bed. Matt walked up the stairs, Elizabeth crawling
after him. In the bedroom he stripped naked while she watched. His cock stood
straight out. He saw her looking at it.

     'None of that for you tonight,' he said.

     He could see the disappointment on her face. He stood over her as she
knelt, his cock almost touching her breasts.

     'Make yourself a bed on the floor,' he said. 'You'll sleep in this room,
but not in my bed. I want to keep an eye on you.'

     He strode naked into the bathroom. She could hear him cleaning his teeth as
she spread blankets and pillows on the floor. He came back in and told her to do
what she needed in the bathroom. When she came back he was already in bed.

     'I hope I need not remind you,' he said, 'that playing with yourself will
be most severely dealt with. Just go to sleep like a good little girl.'

     He put the light out. In the darkness Elizabeth made a face. Not quite as
good as you think, she said to herself. Maybe even more naughty tomorrow.

     In the morning the routine was the same, early rising, some housework,
bring tea to Matt in bed, bathe and dress him, cook breakfast. Before he left
Matt put the nipple clamps on again. They hurt more than she expected. Would she
ever get used to them?

     But the list of chores he left on the kitchen table was not overly onerous.
She looked forward to her day. It was good to be away from the office for a
while, with all its demands on her, the constant need to make decisions, take
responsibility. Today she need to take no responsibility, just do as she was
told. And give herself some treats along the way.

     She had to clean the bathroom thoroughly and then vacuum the whole house.
Next was a visit to the store. She'd asked, with a slight note of cheekiness in
her voice, whether she was supposed to go naked. Matt ignored the impertinence,
merely telling her to wear shorts and a T-shirt with sneakers, no underwear.

     'And the clamps?' she said.

     'You may take them off before you go in the store,' he said. 'But you wear
them on the drive there and coming back.'

     About eleven she slipped on the shorts and shirt and let herself out of the
house. The clamps were clearly visible under the thin white cotton. She hoped
she didn't get stopped. When she got to the parking lot she looked around
carefully to see she was unobserved, then put her hand under her shirt and
disengaged the clamps. Her nipples stayed obstinately erect. Well, that'll just
give something a thrill, she thought.

     She took her time wheeling her trolley round the store, getting the things
Matt had specified for his dinner. At the meat counter the young man kept
stealing glances at her T-shirt. Looking down, she saw her stiff nipples
sticking out like sore thumbs. Again, at the check-out another boy stared
ostentatiously at her, his eyes slowly moving from her steel collar down to her
chest. You'd think they'd never seen nipples before, she thought. She had a
sudden urge to pull up her shirt and cry, 'Here, kid, take a proper look if
you're so desperate.'

     Elizabeth got home in good time to make Matt's lunch. As the day before, he
all but ignored her as he ate. But she knew it was all a game; there was no
disguising the bulge in his trousers. Something good would come her way sooner
or later.

     The afternoon she had to spend doing laundry; that part of it she didn't
spend enjoying herself. She masturbated twice, once under the shower, and again
in the kitchen. She dripped olive oil on to her fingers and spread it between
her legs, enjoying the feel of her clit sliding and slipping between her
fingers. Being naked all day was making her feel so horny.

     When she brought Matt his evening drink he made her kneel naked beside his
armchair on all fours. He put his drink down on her lower back, just next to
where her buttocks began to divide.

     'Don't move,' he said. 'If you spill a drop you'll be sorry. Very sorry.'

     Elizabeth wondered if it was worth a whipping. Matt got so excited when he
beat her that he could almost never resist just taking her afterwards, slaking
his lust. Should she trade a painful beating for the pleasure of his cock inside
her? It was tempting.

     He went to his study again before dinner, as the day before. Then, while he
ate, she served him, not getting anything to eat herself until he had finished.
Afterwards the evening continued as the previous one, Matt reading while she lay
with her head on his lap. Again she was made to sleep on the floor, unpleasured,
almost unnoticed. That night, she listened hard to Matt's breathing and when she
was sure that he was asleep she put her hand between her legs and fingered
herself till she came, gritting her teeth to make sure no sound betrayed her
orgasm. Afterwards she lay listening intently; had his breathing changed? She
couldn't be sure.

     In the morning she was up early to get Matt's clothes ready, bring him tea,
bathe and dress him and then cook breakfast.

     'I was looking at the bathroom,' Matt said.

     'Yes?' Elizabeth inquired.

     'Yes, what?' Matt demanded.

     Elizabeth could not quite conceal a sigh.

     'Yes, Master?'

     'On the top of the bathroom cabinet I found some dust.'

     'Dust?'

     'Dust. This evening you will be punished for that. I expect standards to be
adhered to. Slackness seems to be creeping in already.'

     'I assure you not, Sir,' Elizabeth insisted. 'I am most dutiful.'

     Matt looked at her and raised an eyebrow. 'Really?'

     A frisson of fear quivered in Elizabeth's belly. Did he know something? Was
he toying with her? It would be just like him.

     'I assure you, Sir,' she said.

     'Bend over.'

     She bent across the kitchen table. He smacked her hard on the ass, first on
one buttock, then on the other. He repeated his action several times. He was
hitting her hard, and it hurt a lot, but she kept silent.

     'That was on account for the bathroom,' he said. 'There may be more later.'

     She worked hard at her chores all morning. Matt wanted his study cleaned
top to bottom. She had to take all the books off the shelf and dust them before
replacing them, had to polish the desk and wooden chairs, wash the wooden floor,
clean the windows. She tidied the drawers of his desk, except for the large one,
which was locked. She just got finished when she heard him arriving back for
lunch. She hurried into the kitchen and got busy.

     'Your study is clean, Sir,' she told him.

     He said nothing, sitting at the table reading his mail. She served him a
salad and some cold meat, standing close by in case he should need anything. She
would have liked him to caress her ass or feel between her legs, but he didn't
touch her. Instead, he put down his knife and fork and turned to look at her.

     'Nipples a little sore?' he asked.

     'Very.' She was still wearing the clamps. It hadn't got any easier; quite
the reverse.

     'Good. Go and wash my car. It's a bit grubby.'

     She looked out of the kitchen window to where he'd parked it.

     'Like this?' The back of the house was not as exposed as the front, but it
was visible from a couple of other houses a hundred yards away.

     'Of course,' he said.

     'You don't mind if I'm seen?'

     'I'd rather like it. Now get moving.'

     She got the special soap he used and the clothes and leathers. It was a
warm day and she was soon perspiring as she washed and polished. When she was
nearly finished Matt came out to inspect. He looked at one of the wheels.

     'Not clean.'

     She peered down. 'Really? I can't see - '

     'Don't argue,' he snapped. 'Wash it again.'

     With a barely perceptible shrug she set to work, polishing the wheel till
it sparkled.

     'Warm work?' Matt enquired.

     She nodded. He picked up the hose and turned it on.

     'Hands up in the air,' he said. 'Stand still.'

     He played the water over her naked body, across her chest, down over her
belly, between her legs, back up again. As the jet hit her nipples, it tugged at
the chain, and the coldness of the water made them hard and painful. She gasped.

     'Turn round,' he ordered.

     He sprayed the water across her back, against her buttocks and between
them, down her thighs. He turned it off and stood watching her dripping, her
body trembling slightly.

     'You can get some lunch now,' he said. He got in the car and drove off.

     She dried herself then lingered at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper
while she fingered herself gently, not letting herself come, teasing, savouring
the moment. Suddenly she heard a ring at the kitchen door. Hurriedly she slipped
on a T-shirt that was waiting to be washed. It just covered her bottom. Looking
down, she could see her nipples sticking out. The clamps were clearly visible.
She quickly took them off, grunting at the pain, then opened the door. Standing
there was a UPS man holding a package.

     'For Matt - ' he said, glancing down at the label.

     'OK,' Elizabeth said. 'That's here.'

     He gave her something to sign. She sneaked a look at him. He was young,
slim, his dark hair thick and curly.

     'It's warm today,' she said.

     'Sure is, ma'am.'

     'Would you like a cold drink?' she asked.

     He looked at her, trying to assess the nature of the question. What exactly
was he being offered? She saw how he looked down at her chest, then lower down
to her bare legs.

     'Yes, please, ma'am. That would be great.'

     'Come in,' she said.

     She went to the fridge and got them each a coke. He twisted the top off the
bottle and drank, keeping his gaze on her.

     'Are you very busy?' she asked languidly.

     He glanced at his watch. 'Ahead of schedule.'

     'That's good' she said. She'd made her mind up. 'So you have a little spare
time?'

     'I guess,' he said. He was more confident now. 'What sort of thing did you
have in mind?'

     She went across to him and kissed him on the mouth. 'That sort of thing,'
she said. She kissed him again. She put her hand between his legs, feeling him.
He was beginning to rise. In turn he put his hand up under her T-shirt and
pinched her nipple. She caught her breath.

     'Just a bit sensitive,' she whispered.

     'I think that's how they're meant to be,' he said. He pulled her T-shirt
off then twisted her nipple sharply. She gasped and pulled away, sinking to her
feet. In a moment she had unzipped him and pulled out his cock. It was a good
size. She could feel it getting harder and harder as she held it. She bent lower
and greedily wrapped her lips around it, sucking it in almost to the back of her
throat. Now it was his turn to gasp.

     She held the shaft while she worked on the fat purple tip, sucking,
licking, using her teeth just the tiniest bit. Then she disengaged. She wasn't
about to waste such a magnificent erection in her mouth. She had a more urgent
need.

     Standing, she pulled him by his cock over to the table. She lifted her
haunches up so she was half sitting on the edge. She wrapped her legs around
him, drawing him to her. He steadied his cock till it found her entrance, then
he pushed himself into her, up to the hilt.

     God, it felt so good! It seemed so long since she'd had cock inside her,
and the last few days she had been going half crazy with wanting. Somehow
masturbating was just increasing her need instead of slaking her desire. She
thrust her hips forward rhythmically, timing her movements against his so that
his cock slammed into her with a thud each time. She could feel herself coming
and she just let it go, driving onward till her whole body shook in an
uncontrollable spasm. He fucked her right through her orgasm, then soon after
came himself, with a groan.

     She disengaged, got off the table and wiped herself. She watched him as he
zipped himself up.

     'That was nice,' she said. 'Thanks. But don't come round looking for more.
It won't be on offer again. Is that clear?'

     'Sure,' he said. 'Any way you like, ma'am.'

     With that he was gone. Elzabeth sat down and had a cigarette. She could
hardly believe what she'd done. Like most women she had fantasised about sex
with a complete stranger, sudden, raw sex with no frills, just a cock pounding
into her. It was an attractive idea, no strings, no inhibitions, just a need
satisfied. But she'd never done anything like that. She wondered what Matt would
say if he knew. She smiled to herself. Boy, would she be in trouble! Then a
dreadful thought hit her. What if Matt has sent the UPS man deliberately? She
wouldn't put such a thing past him.

     She took a quick shower and busied herself with the chores remaining on her
list for the day, mostly light work such as ironing and polishing. Soon after
six she heard Matt's car draw up. Feeling a little guilty, she sank to her knees
to greet him.

     'Drink,' he said. He walked straight through to his study. When she brought
the drink he was unlocking the large drawer of his desk. He turned, the drawer
still closed.

     'Put it down there, then go to your chores in the kitchen,' he said. His
voice was curt, almost cold.

     She worked away for twenty minutes, preparing food. Then she heard him
shout from the study, calling her. When she opened the door she saw on his desk
top a small TV screen she hadn't noticed before. Wires came out of it and
disappeared into the large drawer.

     'See this?' Matt asked. She nodded. 'CCTV.'

     'CCTV?' she echoed. 'Where's the camera?'

     He pressed a switch in the drawer. The little screen flickered into life.
Elizabeth's blood ran cold when she saw an image of the kitchen. The picture was
grainy, black and white, but there was no mistaking the identity of the naked
woman standing with one leg up on a chair pushing something into her sex. The
picture ran fast forward, and there was another image, this time a naked woman
spreading oil between her legs then pleasuring herself with her hand. And last
of all was a woman naked and on her knees, a man's cock in her mouth, and then
in her cunt as she sat on the table, legs spread wide.

     Elizabeth's face had gone white.

     'You didn't see the camera?' Matt asked.

     'No,' she whispered.

     'Right up in the corner, behind a ventilation grill. Had it fixed there
last week.'

     'I'm sorry, really sorry,' she muttered. 'What can I say?'

     'It's a little late for sorry.'

     She sank to her knees. 'Forgive me. I'll wash, I'll scrub, I'll slave for
you. As long as you want.'

     He grabbed her roughly by the hair, pulling her to her feet. Without a word
he began to drag her towards the door. She cried out in pain as his hand twisted
in her hair, forcing her to bend low as he walked her through the kitchen and
out of the door towards the car. He opened the door.

     'Get in,' he said.

     She moved to sit down. Still with his hand in her hair, he forced her down
onto the floor in front of the seat.

     'Sluts don't ride upright like respectable people,' he said.

     She crouched down, her arms about her knees, squeezing herself into the
narrow space. Matt got into the driver's seat and started the motor. They drove
off, she couldn't see in which direction. It was getting dark outside. After
twenty minutes or so, the car stopped. Matt got out and came round to open her
door. Again he grabbed her by the hair and pulled her from the car. She saw that
they were at the stables. Matt had a key and opened the gate, pulling her behind
him. Inside it was deserted; all the staff had gone home. With Elizabeth
stumbling along beside him Matt walked across to the saddle store and threw open
the door.

     Across the centre of the room, about eight feet high, was a great wooden
beam. Matt put her underneath it.

     'Keep still,' he said.

     Trembling with apprehension, Elizabeth watched nervously as Matt took a
long leather strap from a hook on the wall. He looped it several times around
her wrists, then threw one end of the strap over the beam. He hauled on it,
pulling her hands up over her head, lifting her until she was raised up on
tiptoe, then he tied off the strap, leaving her suspended, just barely touching
the ground.

     Going to a cupboard he rifled inside till he found what he was looking for,
a small metal bit, perhaps for a pony or a donkey.

     'Open your mouth,' he said.

     Too overawed now to do anything but comply, Elizabeth opened wide. Matt
forced the bit into her mouth, the hard steel grating on her teeth. He tied the
bit tight behind her head with a strip of leather, gagging her.

     Matt went back to the cupboard and returned with a riding crop. He stood in
front of her. Elizabeth stared at him wide-eyed. She had never seen him like
this, grim-faced, such a stern look in his eye. He reached out and pulled on the
chain connecting the nipple clamps which she still wore. She groaned at the
pain. Matt pulled harder, then harder still. Through the bit Elizabeth cried
out, but she could make no more than a muffled sound. Suddenly Matt yanked
harder still at the chain. The clamp pulled away from one nipple. The pain was
excruciating. He pulled the other clamp off too. Elizabeth thought she might
even pass out it hurt so much. Her eyes were watering.

     'Now,' said Matt, 'it's time for some real discipline.'

     The riding crop had a little square flap of leather on the end. He flicked
it across Elizabeth's right nipple. She flinched, and tried to move out of the
way, but with her toes barely touching the ground it was impossible to take
evasive action. He flicked the crop against her other nipple. So sore from days
of the clamps squeezing them so tight, her nipples could have hardly born the
lightest caress or the touch of his tongue, let alone the harsh slap of leather.
Matt kept flicking them, moving from side to side, as Elizabeth whimpered,
uselessly straining against her bonds.

     Matt put the crop down and went over to the wall. Resting on two supports
was a long horsewhip. It had a wooden handle attached to a three-foot length of
strong but flexible plastic covered with leather. He took down the whip and
swished it from side to side. Elizabeth heard the sound with dread. Please,
please she tried to say, but nothing came from her mouth but incoherent grunts
and sobs.

     Matt stood behind her and to one side, measuring the distance carefully. He
touched the whip lightly to Elizabeth's bare buttocks. She shivered. He raised
his arm and brought the whip smartly down across her backside. It made a sharp
crack when it struck the tender flesh. Elizabeth jumped, once more attempting
vainly to move out of the way. The pain of the blow bit deep into the muscles of
her behind. The second stroke, despite her writhings, was delivered precisely on
top of the first, redoubling the pain. Matt seemed to be striking her with great
force, yet total control. The third stroke fell with equally deadly accuracy.
Already her bottom felt on fire, the pain unbearable. Never had she felt
anything that hurt so much. Yet Matt continued to play the whip mercilessly.
Each stroke seemed to bite right into her, penetrating right down to the bone,
as if the flesh were being flayed from her.

     Matt seemed oblivious of her agony, continuing to lash her across the
centre of her buttocks. The heat generated by the beating was now so intense
that it spread a warm glow between her legs. She could feel the lips of her cunt
swelling, feel her clit beginning to tingle, despite the pain. How she wished
Matt would stop, if only for a while, to stroke her there, offer some relief to
her tormented body.

     At last he threw the whip aside. He put his arms around her and kissed her
tears.

     'Have we learned a lesson now, do we think?'

     She nodded. If only he would cut her down, take away the gag, she would
kneel at his feet, nay prostrate herself, lying full length of the floor with
her hands outstretched in supplication. She would abase herself, vow perpetual
servitude.

     'Well,' he said. 'I shall leave you to contemplate your transgressions. A
period of penance is called for, and an act of public humiliation. Only in that
way can you be absolved.'

     Public humiliation? What could he mean?

     Matt put the whip back on the wall. Then turning on his heel he marched out
of the saddle store. She heard his heels ringing on the flagstones of the
courtyard, then the door of the car slam, the motor rev up and the car drive
away.

     She couldn't believe he had simply left her. Perhaps he had gone home for
something, some other implement with which to chastise her. She hoped this were
true. It didn't matter what new cruelties he meted out, just as long as he came
back to claim her. But the minutes lengthened into hours and there was no sound
of his return. It was not possible he could leave her there for the stable staff
to find, surely? Imagine the shame, the disgrace if one of the stable boys were
to find her bound and bruised body hanging there. She would never live it down.

     Her arms were aching, her wrists stiff. Her behind was no longer hot, just
sore, marked by heavy welts. Outside it seemed to be getting lighter. Dawn was
coming. She knew they started early at the stables. Soon she would be
discovered. Then she heard a gate open and footsteps approaching. She turned her
head to see who came in the door.

     It was Matt. He had a small pocket knife in his hand. He cut her down,
sliced the leather cord holding the bit in her mouth. She collapsed into his
arms.

     'Come home,' he said.

     He carried her to the car, laid her naked in the front passenger seat. When
they got back to the house he carried her up to his bed and laid her between the
sheets.

     'Now you're mine,' he said.

     Chapter Six

     Chastened by her ordeal at the stables, Elizabeth resumed her domestic
chores in a more dutiful frame of mind. She knew she had behaved badly, and if
the punishment had been of an unforeseen severity, she could not say it was
undeserved. Though to an extent the whipping had atoned for her offences, she
still felt a measure of guilt which could only be fully assuaged through
prolonged humility and service. Moreover, she felt, even though Matt had said
nothing, that she had in some measure let him down, that she had failed to
achieve the high level of submission which he required of her. She feared that
he was disappointed in her, and this she could not bear. Accustomed to set
herself the highest standards in everything she undertook, she did not like the
thought that she had failed, and that Matt should think the less of her for it.

     She hoped that by devoted service and absolute obedience she might yet
redeem herself. Not only did she now follow all Matt's instructions
meticulously, but she cut out all the little gestures by which she had
previously attempted to preserve some measure of independence for herself. Many
of these gestures had been unobserved by Matt, or so she hoped; the little
shrugs of mock resignation, the pouts as she turned away, the almost inaudible
sighs as some new, tedious labour was assigned to her. And in particular there
were the all-too frequent looks, pleading for a touch, a kiss, not so much an
entreaty for sexual indulgence, for that, she knew, would be most strictly dealt
with, but just a mute appeal for attention, to be at least noticed. Even these
tiny gestures, so slight in case they should provoke punishment, she now
renounced. She would be patience on a monument, bearing all with sweet
resignation, asking nothing for herself.

     Although there was no reason to suppose that other rooms besides the
kitchen had hidden cameras, Elizabeth also abjured the furtive acts of
masturbation which had relieved the tedium of her service. She thought she might
without discovery have played with herself in the bathroom or bedroom as before,
but now she no longer had the desire. It seemed to her that such petty deceits
were unworthy of her, did not measure up to the high aspirations she had set
herself. She found a certain noble satisfaction could be derived from total
abstinence. I shall be a nun, she said to herself, sublimating my desires into
an ever more perfect submissiveness.

     There was all the more reason to behave herself, to be in reality the model
of servility she had pretended to be and which Matt so clearly wished for, since
Matt himself had changed in his behaviour towards her. Where previously his
voice had been curt, cold even, now it was warm and caring. Where earlier in the
week he had caressed her, if at all, then in a distant, absent-minded manner,
now he gave her a tender kiss on departure, a kiss on the mouth, his lips
lingering on hers. And when he returned he would stroke her, not as before, as
if she were some object which might keep his restless fingers occupied, as one
might fiddle with a set of keys or a piece of string. Now he would take her on
his knees and put his hand between her legs while holding her head with his
other hand, looking into her eyes as he felt her cunt, and smiling when he found
it wet.

     Why was is always so wet, she wondered, when all day she had been so
virtuous, going about her business trying not to think of sex, not touching
herself, doing nothing except what she had been ordered. And yet still the fluid
oozed from her cunt, betraying her, the shameful fluids welling up deep within
her. She thought about this as she went about her tasks, on her knees scrubbing
floors, bending over at the sink washing Matt's clothes by hand, peeling
vegetables. Perhaps, she thought, though I try to expunge desire from my
conscious mind, at a deeper level it is only strengthened. The more I try to
damp down my longings, the more I feed the well-springs of my lust, because my
wish to subject myself, to be nothing but what my Master wants me to be, is
itself at the heart of my sexual being, and so if I concentrate all my thoughts
upon that, I must stimulate myself all the more.

     She wished it were not so, wished at least that she would not show these
visible signs. She wanted Matt to think she had renounced the pleasures of the
flesh for his sake, devoting herself solely to his needs, taking no thought for
her own. Would not this be perfect service? She even went to the extreme of
wiping herself dry just before he returned in the evening. But the moment he had
her on his knee, her juices began to flow as copiously as ever.

     He was gentle with her in the evenings, allowing her to nestle close to him
on the sofa while he read, or stroking her hair softly as she knelt naked at his
feet. And then when they had gone upstairs, he would take her into his bed,
spreading her legs and licking her there, coaxing her to climax with his tongue.
And after, he would lift her to a kneeling position and penetrate her from
behind, going into her so deeply, fucking her long and hard. Although she was
still not allowed to sleep in his bed, each night she curled up in her blanket
on the floor smiling with contentment.

     Thus it went on for three or four days, until they were nearly at the end
of the week. She found it hard to think about going back to work next week. She
was so happy she wanted this to go on for ever. She knew this was not realistic,
but still she dreamed of being his slave, always at his beck and call. If only
things could always be the way they were just now, how happy she would be!
Little did she realise what fresh challenges lay just ahead.

     On Sunday Elizabeth had cooked a special lunch, and as a treat Matt had
allowed her to share it with him, sitting at the table opposite and conversing
almost like a conventional couple. Though she was still naked, the nipple clamps
had been dispensed with for the day. Afterwards, Elizabeth brought Matt coffee
into the sitting room, where he reclined on the sofa watching football on the
TV. Not an inveterate sports fan, Matt was an occasional viewer when he felt
like relaxing and doing nothing in particular. Elizabeth was perhaps more of a
fan than he was, and was keen to see the game. She was sitting at his feet, one
arm resting on his lap while he stroked her hair, both watching the game, when
there was a ring at the door.

     'Who could that be?' Elizabeth asked, annoyed to have their peace
disturbed.

     'Better go see,' said Matt.

     Elizabeth looked around for something to put on.

     'Go like that,' said Matt.

     'In the nude? Come on!' she said.

     'Just do as you are told,' said Matt. The hard edge had come back into his
voice. He glared at her fiercely.

     Elizabeth got to her feet, not certain of what to do. Whether it was a
stranger at the door or a friend, she would die of shame to open the door naked.
Why was Matt making her do this?

     'For the last time,' Matt said. 'Open the damn door. This minute.'

     Reluctantly she walked out into the hall. Why had Matt changed so suddenly?
She glanced at herself in the hall mirror, twisting round to look at her bottom.
The bruises left by the horsewhip were nearly gone, but some faint marks
remained. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door. Standing there was the UPS
man, not in uniform this time, but wearing a T-shirt and jeans. There were two
other young men standing behind him.

     'Remember me?' he said with a smile.

     'I thought I told you -' Elizabeth protested.

     The three men pushed past Elizabeth and walked down the hall and into the
sitting room. She followed after, confused.

     'Hi, Darryl,' Matt said to the UPS man. 'How are you?'

     'Great, great,' he said. 'This here is Bobby, and that's Zack.'

     Bobby was blonde and muscular. His T-shirt was cut off at the shoulders,
showing impressive biceps. Zack, by contrast, was dark and slightly built, with
long eyelashes and brown eyes. Elizabeth stood awkwardly by the door, unable to
take in what was going on. Did Matt really know these men?

     'Boys,' said Matt, indicating Elizabeth, 'that is my house slut. I keep her
to do chores and suchlike. Anything you want she will provide for you. Just tell
her. Anything at all.'

     'Anything?' Darryl leered. The other two laughed.

     'Sure, anything. Get us some beer,' Matt said to Elizabeth. 'And make
popcorn.'

     Elizabeth turned, glad to get away to the kitchen where she could at least
collect her thoughts. Had Matt brought these men to his house in order to make
her their plaything? Was he really going to let them have their way with her?
She could not believe it.

     She tried to be nonchalant when she took them out their beer, handing round
the cans as if being naked in front of strange men was normal for her, nothing
to make a fuss about. But she saw how they looked at her, how their eyes
followed her, running up and down her body, fastening on her breasts, on her
belly, on her shaved pudenda. When she turned to go back out into the kitchen,
she could feel them staring at her ass. Just how visible were the marks of
discipline upon her behind?

     She came back out again with a large dish of popcorn. The men were only
half watching the game. And as soon as she appeared they all turned to look at
her. All except Matt, who was regarding the three others with an amused smile.

     'Come here,' said Matt when she had put the dish down.

     Elizabeth went and stood before him.

     'Well, Darryl,' Matt said. 'You fucked her once before. How was she?'

     Darryl hesitated for a moment, uncertain quite how far to presume on his
acquaintanceship.

     'She was great,' he said. 'I'd go again any time.'

     Matt put his hand between Elizabeth's legs and pushed a finger up inside
her cunt. He moved it around a little, then withdrew it. He held it up for the
others to see how wet it was.

     'Looks like she's ready to go again, Darryl,' Matt said.

     'Now?' Darryl asked.

     'As soon as you like,' Matt said. He pushed Elizabeth towards Darryl, who
reached out and grabbed her. He pulled her down on to his lap and began to kiss
her. She tried to turn her face away, but he seized her by the hair and pulled
her face round, pushing his tongue into her mouth. His other hand went between
her legs, forcing its way between her thighs though she tried to close them. Her
mind was in a turmoil. Was she supposed to refuse him? Did Matt expect her to
display at least some modesty? Or was she meant to play the slut he had just
said she was?

     Darryl pushed her back down on to the sofa. He forced himself between her
legs. Holding both her wrists about her head with one hand, he undid his belt
with the other, then pulled down his zipper. Elizabeth looked across at the
others. Bobby and Zack were watching her intently, hardly able to believe their
eyes. Matt was studiously looking at the TV. Could he not bear to watch? Did he
not care what was happening to her? Or was it a pretended indifference, a way of
making her submission to his will more extreme, more total?

     She felt Darryl's cock pushing against the opening to her cunt.
Instinctively, trying hard not to think too much, she opened her legs further
and moved her hips so that he entered her. I can't believe I'm doing this, she
thought, being fucked in broad daylight in front of three other guys. Darryl
started pounding into her; there was no finesse, he just wanted her quickly.
Perhaps he feared it was too good to be true and that at any moment Matt would
call a halt. Elizabeth stared back at the other two men watching. She would do
whatever Matt told her to, but she wasn't going to let any of the others
intimidate her. She wanted them to know that they could use her as they wished
because she chose to do Matt's bidding, not because she was a whore who didn't
care.

     Darryl ejaculated inside her with a grunt and a half-suppressed oath. He
was far too quick for her to approach an orgasm, even had she been inclined. He
rolled off her and sat up, adjusting his clothing.

     'Damn me,' he said to the others. 'That was good. You guys should try
some.'

     'Come here,' Bobby said to Elizabeth. She looked over at Matt, but his eyes
were still glued to the TV. With a show of indifference she got up and walked
across.

     'On your knees,' Bobby said.

     She got down in front of him. He unzipped his jeans and brought out his
cock.

     'Suck it,' he said.

     It seemed as if the extremity of the situation, the fact that she was to be
used as they pleased, with no concern for her wishes, produced in the men a
corresponding desire to abase her, as if they must take the chance, in a
situation they thought might never be repeated, to subject her to degradation,
to humiliate her. They probably aren't bad guys at all, she thought. But having
for once in their lives complete power over a woman, they were determined to use
it to the full.

     She bent her head and took Bobby's cock in her mouth, sucking the swollen
tip, pressing it against the roof of her mouth with her tongue, then sliding her
tongue across it from side to side. Bobby had hold of her hair, twisting it a
little, not very painfully, just keeping her head in place, exactly where he
wanted it. She bent her head lower, deep-throating him, taking his cock almost
all the way into her mouth, sucking hard on the shaft. She lifted her head a
little, licking the tip of his cock, then dipping her head up and down, the cock
going in and out. While she did this she moved her hand up and down the shaft,
squeezing. She was good at this, she knew, and it wasn't long before Bobby
groaned and his semen shot into her mouth. She took her mouth away and found a
tissue to spit into. Once more she looked towards Matt. As she did so he turned
away. So he had been watching after all.

     'Hey, girl,' said Zack. 'Get me another beer.'

     Elizabeth went out to the kitchen. She wiped between her legs, then rinsed
her mouth out. She took beers back and handed them round.

     'Come and sit here,' said Zack.

     He made her sit on his knees, her back to him. He put one hand around her
breasts, pinching each of the nipples in turn. She was still sore from a week of
nipple clamps and she caught her breath. He reached round her with his other
hand, stroking her belly, then he put his hand between her legs.

     'Nice and loose now,' he murmured into her ear. 'Just ready for another
one.'

     He made her raise herself up while he undid his jeans. Then he told her to
lower herself slowly, placing his cock so that she slid down on to it. She
looked out at the other men as she sat with Zack's cock up inside her, her legs
spread wide. So, her look said, so what if you think I'm a slut. I don't care
what you think. You don't know why I'm doing this and you never will, and what
you may think about me can't touch me.

     But beneath the bravado of her defiant look as they stared she felt shame.
Because all women are brought up to feel shame when men see their desire, and
she was no different. She'd tried to fight that, tell herself desire was good,
and showing it was good, but she had never quite shaken off her belief that only
sluts actually wanted men to fuck them, and only really dirty sluts ever let men
see their need.

     She began to move herself up and down on Zack's cock. It felt good inside
her cunt, whatever the conflicts in her head. Zack reached round and began to
play with her clit. Though he was the youngest of the three men, he seemed to
have the most idea of what to do with a woman, how to please her. Neither of the
other two had given a thought to Elizabeth's pleasure, being intent only on
their own. But Zack's finger on her clit was skilled. He'd done this before,
knew how to find out just which way a woman liked it. She guided him a little,
moving his finger off to one side, and he responded immediately. Soon she knew
she would come. But how would Matt respond? Wasn't it one thing to see her used
by other men, forced to comply with whatever they wanted from her because he,
Matt, wished it so? And wasn't it quite another for her to take pleasure in it,
to enjoy another man's cock in her so much that she climaxed? What would Matt
feel about her taking her pleasure independent of him?

     As the orgasm seized her in its grip she lost these thoughts, feeling only
the intense spasm, the moment of total abandon, the self-centred concentration
on her body in its throes of ecstasy. Only as the convulsions subsided did she
focus once more on Matt. He was looking at her all right, looking straight at
her, but she could not read the expression on his face.

     Slowly she disengaged from Zack and stood up.

     'Hey girl,' said Bobby, 'More beer here. Let's get our priorities
straight.'

     Darryl laughed. 'Yeah, more beer.'

     Elzabeth went out to the kitchen and returned with four cans. She handed
them round. She held out the last one to Matt, who took it without a word. Oh,
if only he would signal, just with a gesture, if she was doing it right, if this
was how he wanted her. She would do anything, she thought, anything at all if
only he would tell her that it pleased him.

     'That's all the beer there is,' she said.

     Matt looked surprised. 'It's all gone?'

     'Yes, all of it.'

     'Well,' said Matt, 'we haven't finished the game yet.'

     She didn't know if he meant the game on TV, or the other game they were
playing.

     'Go out and get some more,' he said.

     She turned and went back into the kitchen. In the laundry room were the
shorts and T-shirt she'd worn before. She put them on and went out to the car.
At the store she grabbed a couple of dozen cans, and a bottle of wine for later,
though what might come later she had no idea. The guy behind the till looked
intently at her steel collar.

     'Some kind of a bondage thing?'

     'Some kind of,' she said.

     When she got back she put the beer in the fridge, then carried some cans
through into the sitting room. Darryl, Bobby and Zack were sprawled watching the
TV.

     'Where's Matt?' Elizabeth asked.

     'He went out,' said Darryl.

     'Out? When is he coming back?'

     'He didn't say. He told us to make ourselves at home.'

     Bobby laughed. 'Get your clothes off, bitch.'

     Elizabeth didn't care for that word, not even in fun, and Bobby didn't
sound like he meant it as fun. She glared at him, but pulled off the T-shirt and
stepped out of the shorts. Clearly things were not over, and clearly Matt meant
her to carry on. If not he would have told her.

     When she was naked Bobby got up and took her by the hand. He pushed her
down over the arm of the sofa so that her face was buried in the cushions.
Darryl was sitting at the other end, watching. Spreading her legs, Bobby
unzipped himself and pushed his cock into her without ceremony.

     'She's been nicely greased by now, huh, Bobby?' Darryl drawled.

     'Goddam slut,' said Bobby. 'Did you ever know such a little whore?'

     He was fucking her with powerful thrusts, but since he'd come once he was
in no hurry. Elizabeth felt his cock driving into her, heard the slap of his
groin against her ass.

     'She's got marks on her ass,' Bobby said. 'Looks like someone was a naughty
little tramp and got a whipping for it.'

     Darryl laughed. Elizabeth wondered just how much he knew. Had Matt told him
what had been the consequences of her seduction of him? She tried not to think
of that.

     With Matt gone she felt different. While he was there the submissive, the
slut, the dirty little trollop in her had been given full rein because she knew
that was what he wanted, and she was happy to do those things for him. Now, she
wasn't sure what she felt. Though Matt had pretended to ignore her, she felt
sure he was intensely aware of everything she did, everything she experienced.
Now, she was still doing these things for him, but in an abstract way. It was so
much harder.

     But while Bobby fucked her she made herself think about herself and Matt,
of how much he wanted her to be like this. He might be absent, but how much more
his mastery of her would be demonstrated if she could be his willing submissive
even without his reassuring presence. She felt now she knew what he wanted, and
she was proud to do it for him.

     Darryl moved up on the sofa, grasping her hair in his hand and roughly
pulling Elizabeth's head up. He undid himself and brought out his cock, then
lowered her head, placing it between her lips.

     'Suck,' he said. 'I know how much you like to.'

     She took his cock right in, almost to the back of her throat so that she
was near gagging, then lifted her head a little and sucked the tip. She closed
her teeth around it, just nipping it gently. Darryl groaned. She moved her head
up and down, shaping her tongue and lips like a cunt for him so that he was
fucking her mouth. A wave of lust broke over her. Goddam, she thought to
herself, they want a whore, they'll get one. Suddenly Darryl ejaculated, his
sperm spurting to the back of her throat, filling her mouth.

     When he had finished she turned and spat on to the seat covers. There was
nowhere else. Well, she thought incongruously, they'll wash. Bobby was still
fucking her from behind, taking his time. Then, unexpectedly, he withdrew.

     'OK, you little tramp, let's see if you like it this way.'

     He knelt behind her and, gasping her buttocks in his hands, spread them
wide. She felt his tongue lick over the little puckered mouth of her anus.
Instinctively she squeezed it shut, then forced herself to relax. If this was
what he wanted, Matt would wish her to accommodate him, would he not? Bobby
circled the hole, rimming her, pushing saliva into her, opening her, greasing
her. Bobby stood up and pushed his finger into her mouth as she knelt over the
arm of the sofa.

     'Lick it good,' he said, 'let's get nice and slick for Bobby.'

     He took his finger from her mouth and slid it into her asshole, dilating it
further. She saw the others watching avidly. This would be the ultimate in her
degradation, this was what they wanted most, to see her sodomised. And for
Matt's sake, it was what she wanted to. She wasn't sure if it was better he
wasn't here to see it. It was easier in a way to play the complete whore in
front of these men who didn't know her, would never know her. Would she have
revealed quite so much of herself to Matt? Could she?

     Bobby sat down on the sofa. His cock stuck straight up, glistening still
from rooting in her cunt.

     'Come here,' he said.

     She could see what he wanted. She turned her back to him and squatting
above him, lowered herself till she could feel his cock nestling against her
asshole. Slowly, apprehensively, she lowered herself, forcing her muscles to
relax, taking his cock in. It felt huge yet, despite her qualms, not too much
so. Inch by inch she lowered herself till she was impaled. Cautiously she began
to move a little while Bobby held rigid, squirming a little on his cock,
twisting slightly, raising herself a fraction before subsiding.

     'Jesus, that's good,' said Bobby. 'It's so lovely.'

     Elizabeth permitted herself a smile. She had no respect for these men, they
were simply props in the little play she and Matt were acting out for each
other. Yet she couldn't help a little glow of gratification at knowing how good
she was, how much pleasure she could give a man. She moved a little more, with
increased confidence. She looked back at Darryl and Zack watching her. Darryl
had an answering smile, but Zack was more intent. She saw him open his jeans and
take out his cock, stroking it. Without thinking, just instinctively, she put
out her hand and beckoned him. Zack stood up and walked over, his cock still in
his hand. While he had been fucking her from behind she hadn't realised just how
big he was, at least an inch longer than the other two, and thicker too, though
he was the youngest, and the most slightly built, except there. She reached out
her hand and wrapped it round his cock, pulling it towards her.

     'Fuck me,' she said.

     She pulled her legs up, bending her knees and raised her thighs up towards
her chest, offering her cunt spread wide. Zack squatted above her on one knee,
lowering himself till his cock was in line with her, then sliding it in. It was
so lovely to feel him, feel the two of them. She'd hardly even imagined such a
thing before, hardly dared admit to herself such filthy thoughts, but now she
thought it was lovely to be mounted fore and aft by cocks, and all for Matt. If
only he could see her now.

     And then suddenly, there he was, standing in the doorway, silent and
motionless, observing her as the two men fucked her. Elizabeth blushed. And Matt
gave her a wink. In that moment she thought she would have died in exchange for
such a gesture, if she had had to. It was such a beautiful thing, that he
noticed her, that he invited her into this secret moment shared by just the two
of them. The tears welled up in her eyes for sheer delight that he acknowledged
her, that he was not only pleased with her, but pleased for her too, that he
wanted her to take pleasure.

     Now with his sanction she began to enjoy herself to the full, working hard
to synchronise the movements of the two men, riding the cock in her ass slowly
and carefully while pulling Zack towards her, her hands round his buttocks as he
thrust vigorously into her. She wondered if the two men could feel each other
inside her, if their cocks pushed against each other through the thin wall of
flesh. She felt more full than she had ever felt in her life. And suddenly
Darryl got up from his chair and came towards her and half stood on the sofa
beside her, puling out his cock, only half erect. Turning her face towards him
he pushed his cock into her mouth.

     It was too much, really. She couldn't concentrate on all three at once. It
was a lovely idea, but the mechanics were beyond her, especially now that she
could feel another orgasm welling up, could feel her clit being pounded into
submission by Zack's cock, and as the orgasm hit her she pulled her head away
from Darryl's cock because she needed to cry out, needed to let out a shout of
joy that Matt could hear.

     Bobby came first of the men. She felt his cock in her ass kick and buck and
sensed rather than actual felt his hot semen burst into her bowels. Then Zack
came too, his big cock ramming into her again and again as it shot its spurts of
thick white stuff deep into her cunt. And finally Darryl, holding his cock near
her face, rubbing it furiously with his hand, squirted on to her nose and lips
and eyes and hair, and then they were all done.

     Gradually, gingerly, she disengaged from them. She got up and walked, a
trifle unsteadily, over to Matt, who still leaned against the door. She knelt at
his feet, turning to face the three men. She could feel Darryl's semen drying on
her face. She didn't wipe it. Matt put out his arm and rested his hand on her
shoulder, protectively.

     'Game's over, boys,' he said. 'Time to go home.'

     There was something a little sheepish in the way they filed out, as if they
didn't know how to conduct themselves now their passion was spent. Bobby and
Darryl ignored her as they passed, but Zack nodded his head and smiled.

     When they'd gone, Matt picked her up in his arms and carried her up the
stairs. He took her into the bathroom and ran hot water into the bath. When it
was full he picked her up again and lowered her into the water. He began to wash
her with infinite gentleness, soaping her back, her breasts, inviting her to
kneel while her washed her cunt and her ass, rinsing away the men's sperm. Matt
washed her face carefully, then kissed it. Pouring shampoo into his palm he
spread it on her hair and washed it, rinsing her under the shower. Then when she
stepped out he dried her in a warm towel, tenderly patting her face, her
still-sore nipples, rubbing the towel delicately between her legs, between her
buttocks.

     He carried her into the bedroom, laid her on the bed and took his clothes
off. He lay between her legs and kissed her there, his tongue slowly circling
her clit till she came. Then he fucked her as she lay with legs spread for him.
When he'd finished he held her in his arms.

     'Now you smell of me again.' he said.

     He told her to get dressed. While he lay naked on the bed, he selected from
the underwear she showed him, black silk bra and knickers chosen above red satin
and white cotton. From the wardrobe she took dresses until he settled on one, in
black crepe-de-chine with a low neckline and short hemline. 'A little black
number,' he said. 'Elegant.'

     She put on shoes and sat to do her make-up. Matt got dressed himself,
putting on a clean shirt and a suit, but no tie. When they were ready he led her
downstairs. He opened the wine she had bought and they toasted each other. Matt
began preparing the dinner.

     'Can I help?' Elizabeth said.

     'No,' he said. 'The week is over. You've done your bit.'

     'What happens next?' she said. She was sure he had it all worked out.

     'Tomorrow is another day,' he said.

     She got up and kissed him behind the ear. So be it, she thought.

     Chapter Seven

    

     In the morning Elizabeth rose at six and went to the bathroom, wanting to
get an early start at the office. When she came back into the bedroom, wearing
her robe, Matt called her over. With the little key he unlocked her collar. She
was sorry to see it go, though wearing it to work would have been impossible.
Think of the shame, she said to herself; then felt a warm glow deep in her
belly. What delicious humiliation it would be if one day he made her do it! My
god, she thought, I must be getting serious about this thing.

     Driving to work she mentally reviewed the past week. It had been exciting;
the most exciting time she'd ever had. Yet it had been a strange time, a cocoon
in which her normal life had been suspended, in which she had lived a wholly
artificial existence. She knew now, if she had ever doubted, that she could
never be a full-time slave. She could not be one of those women she had read
about, the so-called 24/7 women whose entire lives were in thrall to their
Master. She could give totally for a limited period, and she could renounce
certain freedoms permanently. But she could never allow another to dominate her
whole life to the point where she must renounce her work, her friends, her
interests, her other loyalties.

     Not that Matt had ever suggested such a thing, and she did not suspect that
it was in his mind. That he now wanted to command her, far more forcefully that
at first seemed likely, was apparent enough. She smiled as she thought back to
his first diffident efforts to subdue her, how he shied away from forcing her to
his will, held back from disciplining her rebellious nature. No longer did she
have to worry that she had to push him into taking control, no longer fear that
she was topping from the bottom, the way she had heard some subs were obliged to
do, or even allowed to do. That Matt was in charge was not in doubt.

     But as she marched into her office she felt a surge of the old excitement
at taking charge herself, at ordering things. It wasn't that she enjoyed bossing
people about; but she did have ideas of how things should be run and she wasn't
afraid to put them into practice. Spending a week as Matt's house-slut had in no
way impeded her ability or desire to run things as she wished in her own
company. She spent a busy day in meetings, chiding those who needed it,
supporting those she perceived as working well, subtly yet firmly letting them
all know that she was back in control.

     The question is, she thought as she drove home to her own apartment at the
end of the day, where do we go from here? Matt had subdued her, no question
about that. But she knew that the fire of rebellion still smouldered in her
heart. There was a part of her that had not surrendered, that lived to fight
another day. Matt must know that - or at least, would sooner or later discover
it. What would be his response? Would he seek to snuff out that last spark of
resistance? Even though he might not really want her a 24/7 slave, he still
might want her to concede that she must become so if he ever wished it. He might
insist that even if in practice they agreed it could never work, in theory she
must sign up to his right to impose it.

     Tentatively they had discussed the possibility of a contract, a written
agreement, an actual piece of paper signed by them both, a copy held by each of
them, which specified the rights and duties each owed the other. She had said
she thought it a good idea, so long as it spelled out what Matt owed her as much
as what she owed him.

     'Of course, my love,' he had said. 'It's a contract between equals. You
agree that I may use your body as I choose, and I agree that in doing so I do
nothing to harm or disadvantage you.'

     'Well,' she smiled, 'it's scarcely equality as the feminists define it, but
I feel there is due reciprocity.'

     He had said he would draft a form of words. She was waiting to see exactly
what the contract would say. It would be interesting to negotiate with him. She
enjoyed that sort of thing.

     In the meantime, she could feel a certain resistance building within her.
Paradoxically, the week of total subjection had left her more confident about
her relationship to Matt, and thus more willing to test the limits of his
authority. Because she now knew that he had such a powerful impulse towards
dominating her, and because she knew that ultimately that fulfilled her deepest
needs, she was now minded to plan a small-scale revolt. Just to test him, just
to keep him on his toes, just to keep up her morale. And just for fun.

     An opportunity soon arose. On the Thursday she had to fly to a conference
of a professional association to which she belonged. She had a long-standing
obligation to deliver an address to a plenary session. Matt was quite busy
during the week, and they only met once before she departed, a dinner date which
was perfectly pleasant and during which they talked of everything except their
extraordinary relationship. After dinner Matt came back to Elizabeth's apartment
and they made love like any respectable married couple, some oral sex followed
by intercourse, during which Elizabeth experienced a decorous orgasm.

     The next day she flew to the conference, arriving just after lunch, giving
herself plenty of time to check into her hotel, take a shower, meet the
organisers of the event, go back to her room to rehearse her speech, and deliver
it at 5pm. After this she was able to relax at the cocktail party which
followed. She enjoyed meeting several old friends. Then, talking to a woman she
had known for several years, she glanced away and noticed a young man eyeing
her. She turned back to her conversation, then after a minute glanced away
again. The young man was still looking at her. Soon the party began to break up.
Elizabeth had arranged to have dinner with a group of people. It was time to go
in search of them. As she made her way to the door the young man stepped into
her path.

     'You don't know me,' he said. 'My name is Gerald. I can't take my eyes off
you.'

     'So I noticed,' said Elizabeth with a smile. He was a good-looking boy,
tall with dark curly hair.

     'I wonder if you'd have dinner with me?' he asked.

     'I'm sorry,' she said. 'I have an engagement.'

     'Can we have a drink later?' He seemed very much in earnest.

     'Well,' said Elizabeth, 'I don't know what time -'

     'Any time,' he said. 'This is my room number. Call it when you get back.
Please?'

     He handed her a piece of paper with a number on it. Elizabeth took it
because it seemed rude not to, but she had no intention of calling.

     Over dinner she had some more wine and flirted with an older man seated
opposite her. But she knew it meant nothing to her. She walked back alone to the
hotel, crossed the lobby and stood waiting for the lift. When the doors opened
she saw Gerald standing inside. Surprised to see her as much as she was to see
him, he stepped out just as she walked into the lift. Then, suddenly, just as
the doors were closing, he stepped back inside. As the lift ascended they were
alone. Taking a pace towards her, he caught her in his arms and pressed his
mouth to hers. For a moment she resisted, then the intensity of his kiss burned
through her inhibition. The previous week had stoked her desire to boiling
point, but in the subsequent days it had found little release. Now it
overwhelmed her, a sudden rush of lust so powerful her head swam.

     The young man had his arm around her waist and was pressing his belly
against hers. She could feel him rising and swelling. The lift stopped and he
seized her by the hand. Down the corridor he opened a door, pulled her inside,
then pushed her back against it, his tongue sliding underneath hers into the
well of her mouth. His hand came up and began to stroke her belly, through the
thin crepe of her dress.

     She knew there was no going back now. She let him put his hand up the
inside of her thigh, finding the soft smooth skin above the stocking top,
continuing until it brushed against the silk of her knickers. Reaching out with
one hand, she caught hold of his zipper and pulled it down, then searched inside
and found him. She resolved to dispense with modesty and formality; sinking to
her knees she took his cock in her mouth. She worked on him with all her
expertise. Somehow, perhaps because she was older than him, she wanted to
impress him with her skill and sophistication. Her head moved rhythmically up
and down, her mouth a funnel into which his cock slid easily and snugly. Soon
she sensed the ejaculation building, then it boiled over and hit the back of her
throat. Reaching into her handbag, which lay beside her on the floor, she found
a tissue into which she spat.

     She stood up and slipped off her clothes, letting dress and her black silk
bra and knickers fall to the floor. The young man stood and watched, entranced
by the revelation of her body. She stepped towards him naked and removed his
clothes too. She led them to the bed.

     They embraced. He moved down between her legs and licked her for a time,
but it wasn't what she wanted, and she drew him up to her, sliding her body
against him lasciviously, stroking his cock until it was hard again. She turned
him on to his back and straddled him, slowly bringing herself to orgasm by
pressing forward, his cock hard against her clit. After she had come he turned
her over, somewhat to her surprise; she had assumed he was a little more
innocent than he proved to be. As she knelt he entered her from behind, fucking
her hard and fast, the way she craved.

     In the middle of the night she awoke. She reached out and felt him hard.
She drew him on top and he fucked her once more, again very hard. It was so
satisfying like that. But then she said she must leave. He said he wanted her
phone number, her email, anything to keep track of her.

     'No,' she said, 'it's better like this.'

     Afterwards she realised she still didn't know his full name. Back in her
room she got under the shower, then made herself come reliving the events of the
night.

     She wondered on the plane home whether to tell Matt. The deed had been done
in some sense in order to defy him. What kind of defiance would it be if he
didn't even know about it? Yet she shrank from disclosure. It wasn't a fear of
punishment, though she had no doubt it would be severe. Casual sex with a
stranger was surely one of the cardinal sins for a sub, giving away to another
what was not hers to give, her mouth, her breasts, her cunt. And indulging her
lust, taking an orgasm for herself, not under Matt's instruction, must be
construed as deliberate defiance. But she knew now she could handle the beatings
and whippings. She'd taken Matt's worst and lived to tell the tale; better than
that, she'd taken them and revelled in them, taken pride in them, looked at the
marks next day with awe and satisfaction, as evident of her courage and
commitment.

     What she feared was not the retribution, but Matt's opinion of her. In a
moment of licentiousness she had resolved to please herself, not him, thinking,
if she was thinking at all, so insistent was her desire, that it would be good
to show she could still act independently. A too quick, too complete
capitulation to Matt might make him think she was too easy. Better that he
should think her resistance to him an obstacle worth overcoming.

     But what if he lost respect for her as a result of the act she had
committed? What if he thought she was unworthy of him because she could not
resist a pretty boy who grabbed her in a lift? What if Matt thought she was a
little tramp not worth bothering with? He'd called her his slut, called that
even in front of other men. But she believed the term had a special meaning for
him. It meant that she was not like other women, cowed by convention, prey to
the fears and inhibitions bred into them from childhood. When Matt called her
his slut it meant she was brave enough to face her dark and secret desires,
accept them for what they were, the expression of a passionate nature. It meant
she was free to be herself, and free to be whatever he wanted her to be.

     But what if he should really think her a slut, a woman without control of
her appetites, a woman who could not be relied on, could not deny herself carnal
pleasures, a woman no better than an animal that rutted when it pleased? What if
that was what Matt thought?

     She decided not to tell him, not now, not till she knew him better and he
knew her for what she was: not a slut but a woman who would chose her lovers,
who would chose to obey but who would free herself by such obedience, not deny
her nature.  When she was sure that Matt knew this about her she would tell him
and accept her punishment. Until then she would keep silent.

     The evening she got back she went round to see Matt. She hoped he would
read nothing of her adventure in her face, and she forced herself to reveal
trace of neither pride nor remorse in what she had done. But in fact she need
not have worried. Matt had news that made him oblivious to whatever might be
discerned in her face.

     'I've heard from Jonathan,' he said.

     'Jonathan?' For a moment she didn't know who he was talking about.

     'Your former Master. He wants us to go and visit him.'

     'Visit him?' She knew it sounded foolish to keep echoing him, but she was
taken off guard.

     'He's invited us to stay for a weekend. I've accepted.'

     'Accepted? Already?'

     'Yes, I think it will be interesting.'

     'You didn't ask me.'

     'No, I accepted for you. Cancel anything you have for next weekend.'

     She bit her lip. She'd planned to surprise him with a weekend in the
country. The hotel was already booked.

     'I wish I had more notice,' she said. 'Can't we go later?'

     'No,' said Matt. 'We can't. Jonathan and I have decided we need to confer.'

     And so the little women have to fall into line, she thought with a touch of
bitterness. But she didn't dare let it show.

     The rest of the week she was consumed by curiosity about what Matt and
Jonathan wanted to confer about. It could only be about her. While it gratified
her that she was such an object of attention to the two men, she was
apprehensive about what they might be cooking up together. Suppose Jonathan
wanted her back? Suppose Matt agreed to let him have her? It was unthinkable.
But was it impossible?

     When she was not preoccupied with such thoughts, her mind reverted to the
episode with the young man in the hotel. Was it really right to keep it from
Matt? Did it really give her a feeling of independence or did it just make her
feel she had cheated on him like any other woman might? What had happened to her
vows? Didn't she owe Matt better than to deceive him? The more she thought about
it the more she felt in the wrong. With a heavy heart she decided to confess.
That there would be a severe punishment she had no doubt. A beating she could
take, no matter how hard, if she knew she deserved it. What she feared was
something much worse, that Matt would be disappointed in her, would draw away
from her, might even reject her. That was unbearable, so much so that her
resolve to come clean wavered several times.

     But in the car on the way to the airport on Friday afternoon she finally
screwed up her courage.

     'Matt,' she said, 'there's something I have to tell you.'

     He said nothing, his eyes fixed on the road in front.

     'Last week, when I was away, I slept with a guy.' She said it in a rush, to
get it over with.

     'What sort of a guy?' Matt's voice had that distant sound, detached, the
sound she didn't like. But she could hardly be surprised at that.

     'A young guy, just a boy really.'

     'Did you pick him up?

     'No, he came on to me. Grabbed me in a lift.'

     'And in full view of the other guests, threw you over his shoulder and bore
you off to have his way with you, despite your cries for help?'

     She hated it when he made fun of her this way. It wasn't kindly teasing. It
was cruel.

     'I admit I didn't resist much. I was attracted.'

     'Tell me exactly what you did. Every single thing.'

     She took a deep breath. 'We went to his room. I went down on him while we
were still dressed. He came in my mouth.'

     'Did you swallow?'

     'You know I would do that for no other man,' she said.

     'And then?'

     'We undressed and fooled around. Then he fucked me,'

     'In which position?'

     It was so shaming to have to spell it out. Why did he need such detail? She
knew the answer: to shame her; to force her to confront her actions fully, admit
them, relive them, in a way. But was it ultimately intended to help her face up
to her guilt, and in so doing move beyond it? Or was it simply a naked assertion
of his power, to humble her in this way?

     'I straddled him. I made myself come that way. Then he did it to me from
behind, while I was kneeling.'

     'He came that way?'

     'Yes.'

     'And then?'

     She hesitated. Well, best to get it over with. 'In the night we woke up and
did it again. Missionary position.'

     'Did you come?'

     'No.' She knew he could hear the slight hesitation in her voice.

     'And then?'

     'I went back to my room. I wouldn't give him my name or number.'

     Matt was silent for a while. 'There's something else? A further detail
you've omitted?'

     She blushed. He knew her so well. 'I masturbated in the shower.'

     'Thinking of him and what you did together?'

     Her face was bright red. 'Yes,' she whispered.

     Matt still looked forward, eyes on the road. 'Do you feel better now you've
told me?'

     'Yes,' she said, 'yes, I do.'

     'You'll feel better still when you've taken your punishment,' Matt said.

     They drove on in silence. But on the plane he was friendly and intimate, as
though her confession had been pigeon-holed, a subject for another day. She did
feel better, it was true. She realised now how damaging it would be to hide
things from him. And really, what was the point? She wanted him to know her,
know everything about her, and then accept her. She couldn't help wondering
about the punishment, though. What she'd done rated pretty high on the scale of
disobedience, deliberately choosing to have sex with another man, having
unsanctioned orgasms. The last orgasm would probably be considered the worst, a
moment of sheer indulgence, reliving her offences solely for the purpose of
pleasuring herself. She'd pay dearly for that.

     Jonathan's house lay in an acre of ground on the outskirts of the city. As
they drove up in a cab Matt whistled softly, clearly impressed by the
spaciousness of the setting and the size of the house.

     'You gave up all this for me?' he smiled.

     'Never a moment's regret,' she said, kissing him on the cheek.

     They were welcomed by Jonathan's housekeeper, a middle-aged woman with
greying hair tightly bound in a bun.

     'Hello, Stella,' said Elizabeth brightly.

     'Miss Lawrence,' the woman answered, politely nodding her head.

     'This is Matt, my Master.'

     Matt was surprised she should present him in this way. How much did Stella
know?

     'She knows everything,' Elizabeth whispered, anticipating his question as
they walked behind Stella into the hall. Stella opened a door into a book-lined
room, evidently Jonathan's study. 'Mr Jonathan will be down shortly.'

     'Can you bring in our bags, Stella,' Elizabeth said. 'Matt, give her the
keys.'

     When Stella had gone Matt turned to Elizabeth. 'She knows about you and
Jonathan?'

     'Of course. She's his housekeeper. You can't keep these things from your
servants. Not if you want to lead a 24/7 lifestyle.'

     'But I thought you didn't do that with Jonathan?'

     'Well, we came close at times. Anyway, she's the soul of discretion. Old
family retainer and all that stuff.'

     Matt wasn't used to servants; not the kind you paid a salary to, anyway. He
was never comfortable round people who were employed to do things for him he
could do for himself.

     The door opened and Jonathan entered. He was a large man; Elizabeth could
see he had put on extra weight since she had last seen him. And he had grown a
beard. She wasn't sure how she felt about that. But what difference did it make?
He wasn't her Master now.

     Elizabeth did the introductions. Jonathan invited Matt to be seated.
Elizabeth remained standing. Jonathan pulled on a bell-rope by the fireplace and
Stella entered.

     'Champagne,' said Jonathan.

     When it was brought, Jonathan opened the bottle and poured two glasses,
handing one to Matt.

     'A toast,' he said. 'To mastery.'

     'May I have a glass?' Elizabeth asked. 'I'll drink to that.'

     Both men looked at her as she stood between them.

     'May she?' asked Jonathan.

     'No,' said Matt firmly. The two men drank the toast. Elizabeth wished she
hadn't asked. To be refused in such a peremptory manner was insulting.

     'So,' said Jonathan, settling back in his chair. 'How has she been? Have
you tamed her yet?'

     'Some way to go, I fear,' said Matt. 'Though undeniably there's been
progress.'

     'She's spirited,' Jonathan replied. 'Needs a firm hand. And probably more
time than I was able to give her, even if I had stayed in the area. From this
distance it was impossible. What would you say are the main difficulties?'

     'Likes her own pleasure too much, I think,' said Matt ruminatively. 'And
sometimes confuses being an independent businesswoman with what's required at
home.'

     'Yes,' said Jonathan. 'Never let them bring their work home. Leave their
workplace persona at the door with their clothes.' He laughed.

     Elizabeth didn't care to be discussed in this manner, as if she wasn't
there at all. It reminded her of being back at school, with her father
discussing her schoolwork with the teacher. 'Elizabeth is gifted,' the teacher
would say, 'but lacks application and self-discipline. She's inclined to be
headstrong and wilful.' What prophetic words, she thought.

     'I have made great progress,' Matt continued. 'When I think back to how we
started out, myself still uncertain of what I wanted, still untutored in the
practice of being a Master, and Elizabeth eager to be dominated yet not knowing
how to lead me towards such a thing, then I feel we have come a long way. I now
know what I want and how to get it. But there is still a hard core of resistance
inside her, a little knot that has yet to be untied. In truth I am still not
sure if I want to untie it. Do I want to reduce her completely, to break the
spirit that resides in her? I think not. But at the same time I feel challenged,
as if she were still leading me on to bear down on her even harder, provoking me
into making her ever more subservient.'

     Jonathan laughed. 'Topping from the bottom! Elizabeth was always a bit like
that. She'd pretend to submit, but only as far as she wanted. She'd make me go
hard on her, sometimes more than I wanted to, just for her own satisfaction. You
have to watch for that, not let her get the initiative.'

     'Exactly so,' said Matt. 'Well, I suppose being aware of the problem is
half the battle.'

     'In a sense you don't want to snuff out the last bit of resistance,'
Jonathan said. 'Because once you've done that what is there to look forward to?
It's the challenge that keeps it exciting, the getting there, not the arriving.'

     'Wise words.' Matt agreed. Not once in this conversation had either of them
so much as glanced at Elizabeth. She knew it was deliberate, a way of testing
her. Even so, it was hard not to be provoked into a response. Hey, here I am,
what about me? But she knew better than to invite what would assuredly be a
stern reaction. It wasn't that she feared a beating. It was more likely if she
tried to insist on her presence, Matt would simply order her from the room. That
would be a far worse fate than to stand here ignored.

     'Would you like to see my new sub?' Jonathan suddenly.

     'Oh yes, indeed,' Matt replied.

     Jonathan led the way, Matt pushing Elizabeth to walk in front of him. They
climbed the stairs right to the top of the house, walking down a corridor until
they came to a door which Jonathan unlocked. Inside the room it was almost dark,
lit only by a dim light at the far end. Elizabeth saw in the corner a cage made
from strong wire mesh, about six feet long, perhaps three feet wide and two feet
high. Inside was a young woman. At first Elizabeth thought she was naked, but as
her eyes adjusted to the light she saw that the woman's groin was encased in a
sort of garment, with a belt around her hips and a shiny metal gusset fixed
between her legs.

     'This is Daisy, my slave,' said Jonathan. 'She's been very disobedient and
I'm obliged to punish her.'

     The name sounded familiar to Elizabeth. She peered more closely at the
girl. She was blonde and pretty, with bee-sting lips and a cute button nose.
Elizabeth now remembered when she had seen her before. She had come to
Jonathan's house several times to parties, in the company of an older man. At
that time she was barely out of high school, a pert and provocative teenager in
denim shorts so brief you could see the crease where her thighs met her ass, and
a T-shirt that seemed almost sprayed on, outlining her tight, round breasts and
prominent nipples. Elizabeth had noticed how all the men's eyes were drawn to
her, and how shamelessly she enticed them, giggling at their jokes, flashing her
blue eyes, wiggling her shapely little bottom. Once Elizabeth had seen her peel
off her clothes and jump naked into Jonathan's swimming pool, quickly followed
by half a dozen men.

     When Elizabeth, trying to be friends, had engaged her in conversation,
Daisy made clear she had no time to talk to other girls, except in so far as she
might gain useful information. She had asked a number of questions about
Jonathan, which Elizabeth ceased to answer once she formed the impression that
Daisy had designs on him. And now it appeared she had got her man, though
apparently at some cost.

     Jonathan unlocked the padlock that secured the cage. 'Out,' he ordered.

     Daisy crawled awkwardly out of the cage.

     'To the bathroom,' Jonathan said.

     Daisy crawled across the floor to a door in the wall and waited. Jonathan
opened the door and switched on the light. The bathroom was simply furnished
with bath and shower, wash basin and toilet. Daisy crawled over to the toilet
and knelt.

     'Up,' said Jonathan.

     Daisy stood obedient while Jonathan took a small key from his pocket and
undid a lock in the belt. The metal gusset was hinged and swung open.

     'Sit and pee,' said Jonathan.

     Daisy sat on the toilet and lifted the metal flap. The three of them
watched her in silence, her water splashing loudly into the bowl. Daisy stared
straight ahead, not meeting their eyes. When she had finished she wiped herself
and stood. Jonathan locked her back into the chastity belt. Without being
bidden, Daisy crawled back to her cage. Elizabeth saw that her behind was marked
with a mass of red lines, some already turning purple and black, evidence of a
severe whipping.

     'What is she being punished for?' Matt asked.

     Daisy settled on the floor of her cage. There was just room to stretch out.

     'She's a lascivious little minx,' said Jonathan. 'She'll fuck anything in
trousers, man or woman. And you only have to turn your back and she's fiddling
with her clit. Can't get enough. I found her yesterday bent over the hood of my
Mercedes being fucked by my chauffeur. It's not the first time I've caught her
in flagrante.'

     Matt laughed. 'What happened to the chauffeur?'

     'James? Oh, I couldn't blame him. He's only human. The problem is, when I
beat her to punish her, she just laps it up. I have to thrash her for half an
hour before I make an impression. I'm getting fed up,  it's so time-consuming.
I'm thinking of selling her.'

     'Selling her?' said Matt. 'Is that possible?'

     'Sure,' said Jonathan. 'I belong to a society. We call ourselves The Ring.
Each member has to own at least one slave. They can be traded, just like real
slaves. But only to another member. I've had offers for Daisy already.'

     Elizabeth would have loved to know how much such a slave was worth on the
open market, but she dared not speak. Jonathan led them back downstairs, having
locked the door behind him.

     'Perhaps you'd like to freshen up?' Jonathan said to Matt. 'Dinner is at
7.30.'

     He rang the bell and Stella appeared.

     'Show Matt to his room,' Jonathan said.

     'Show Matt and Elizabeth to their room,' Elizabeth said under her breath.
Being ignored in this way was beginning to get to her. Much more of this and
she'd be bound to blurt out some sort of protest, she knew, whatever the
consequences. I'm silly to let it get to me, she thought. That's what they want.

     Stella led them upstairs to a spacious bedroom, elegantly furnished.

     'Phew,' said Matt. 'This guy knows how to spend his money.'

     Elizabeth asked if she might take a shower.

     'Sure,' said Matt affably. He stood in the doorway of the bathroom and
watched her through the clear glass of the shower stall. She soaped herself
slowly, staring back at him as she smoothed the soap over her breasts, across
her belly, between her legs. When she got out he dried her.

     He kissed the back of her neck. 'I'm never so aware of you as when I'm
pretending to ignore you,' he said.

     She felt such a rush of warmth towards him, such an outpouring of love. She
knew she would do anything for him, anything, suffer insults or humiliations
without number for his sake.

     He put his hand between her legs and felt her. 'I just dried you and you're
wet already,' he laughed.

     She wanted him to fuck her but she knew he wouldn't, not with an evening's
pleasure in store. He just wanted her warmed up, primed.

     Before they had left he'd emailed her with a list of what to pack. Now he
opened her suitcase and chose her clothing for the evening. A bra and knicker
set in glossy black satin with matching suspender belt, sheer black stockings
with seams, a black velvet dress cut low on the bosom, tight round the waist
with flared skirt, hemline just below the knee. It was wonderfully elegant.
Elizabeth always felt so good in it.

     Matt took a shower while she dressed. When he came back in the bedroom she
was doing her make-up. When she'd finished she turned to him for inspection.

     'Perfect,' he said. 'Just one thing.'

     From his own suitcase he took the steel collar he'd made her wear during
her week of domestic servitude. He fastened it round her neck.

     'Just in case there's any doubt about who owns you,' he smiled.

     She stepped into her black high-heeled shoes, one hand at her collar,
feeling the hard steel against the soft skin. She felt reassured.

     When they got back downstairs Stella showed them into the dining room.
Jonathan was there to greet them. The lighted candles on the table were
reflected in the polished wood and sparkled against the silver cutlery and
crystal glasses. Jonathan invited them to sit. Stella brought in a tureen of
soup and served. Jonathan began to chat to them and soon the three of them were
conversing like old friends. He wanted to know about Matt's painting, enquired
after the progress of Elizabeth's business, regaled them with stories of his own
business affairs. Matt replied with some stories of his own, and Elizabeth
chipped in gaily. No longer was she ignored.

     The food was excellent, and the wine splendid. Stella came and went
discreetly. At last the meal was complete and they repaired to Jonathan's study,
carrying their glasses. Jonathan and Matt settled into armchairs, Elizabeth
perched on the arm of the sofa.

     'You have a fine woman here,' Jonathan said. 'I'm beginning to regret I let
her go.'

     'She's all I could hope for,' Matt said.

     'It brings back memories,' Jonathan said, his eyes moving up and down
Elizabeth's body.

     The two men sat in silence for a moment, each sipping their wine.

     'I don't suppose,' Jonathan said slowly, 'she could take her dress off so I
could see her again?'

     'Of course,' Matt said. 'A pleasure.'

     He made a gesture to Elizabeth. She stood up and unzipped the dress,
stepped out of it and laid it on the arm of the sofa. Matt made another gesture
and she twirled round so Jonathan could see her rear view.

     'Delicious,' he said. 'Just as I remembered. Such a well-toned ass, so firm
and shapely. Do you beat her often?'

     'Perhaps not as often as I should,' Matt replied. 'The last time was over a
week ago.'

     The two men continued sipping their wine, each looking at Elizabeth as she
stood facing them, one hand resting on the arm of the sofa.

     'Perhaps,' said Jonathan, 'she might remove her knickers?'

     Scarcely waiting for Matt's instruction, Elizabeth peeled her knickers down
over her hips and stepped out of them, placing them on top of her dress. Again
she twirled so that Jonathan might see her from behind.

     'Perfect,' he said.

     'Perhaps,' Matt said, 'you'd care to use her? If Daisy is going to be in
the cage all night?'

     'That would be most agreeable,' Jonathan said. 'Just for a while. Of course
I'll return her to you when I'm finished.'

     'No hurry,' said Matt. 'Take your time. We'll meet at breakfast, compare
notes.'

     I might have guessed there would be something like this, Elizabeth thought.
Had Matt planned this all along? She'd been so much looking forward to being
with him later, had been rehearsing in her mind the things she would do for his
pleasure. But she should have known that would be too straightforward. Matt's
mind ran more deviously every day. Well, it would be interesting. She was aware
of something tugging at her cunt, the memory of her old desire for Jonathan
returning.

     'There's just one thing,' said Matt. 'On the way here she confessed to me
she'd let some boy fuck her last week. Couldn't keep her hands off him, it
seemed. It's evident you know how to deal with that sort of thing. I haven't had
a chance to punish her yet. Perhaps you'd be good enough to take care of it?'

     'Be delighted, my dear fellow,' said Jonathan cheerfully. Elizabeth was
blushing. Why did Matt have to make her sound like she and Daisy were two of a
kind? She hated the implied comparison.

     Matt came over and kissed her on the cheek. 'I know you won't let me down,'
he whispered in her ear. She reached up and put her arm around his neck, drawing
him down to kiss him quickly on the mouth.

     'I promise,' she said.

     Matt went out, closing the door behind him.

     Chapter Eight

    

     Elizabeth took a deep breath. This would be her most severe test yet, to be
lent to Jonathan for the night. Far worse than fucking Darryl and his friends.
They were amateurs; Jonathan was a professional when it came to dealing with
women like her.

     'Another glass of wine?' Jonathan asked.

     I might need this, she told herself. 'Thank you,' she said. It wasn't easy
to be dignified and sophisticated wearing no knickers in front of a fully
dressed man, but she thought it best to try. She stood and sipped the wine while
Jonathan looked at her. She saw how his eyes travelled down to her belly,
fastening on her bare shaven sex.

     'Follow me,' he said after a while.

     They went upstairs to his bedroom. It was much as she remembered it, except
that in one corner was a new item of furniture, a low wooden bench, the top
padded and covered in black leather. Jonathan led her over to it.

     'Kneel,' he said.

     There was a padded step on to which she climbed on her knees, bending
forward so that her torso was horizontal. Her head projected just beyond the
edge. Jonathan did up some leather straps around her knees, pinioning them
apart. Her wrists too he secured, with straps at the side. She was held securely
fore and aft, unable to move more than an inch or two in any direction. She felt
most horribly exposed, her bare bottom at his mercy.

     'So,' said Jonathan, 'who's been a naughty little girl, then?'

     It was bad enough having to confess her offences to Matt. Taking a younger
man seemed somehow, though she wasn't quite sure why, to be considered
irrefutable evidence of her licentiousness; it was held against her. To have now
to suffer Jonathan's leering innuendo, his condescending treatment of her as
some sort of naughty little schoolgirl, was demeaning. A sarcastic retort came
to her lips, but she bit her tongue. Best not to make it worse.

     'I admit I broke the rules,' she said quietly.

     'Well,' Jonathan replied, 'you know punishment is good for you. It hurts,
but afterwards you feel so much better with the slate wiped clean.'

     It was true. It was Jonathan who had first taught her that her guilt for
the 'bad' things she did, or her guilt at even just thinking about 'bad' things,
could be purged. Once she'd paid the penalty she was free of the negative
thoughts about herself that had always plagued her before. Jonathan had shown
her that if she let her guilt and shame come out, it could be dealt with. She
could pay the penalty, then move forward. No need any more to let her feelings
gnaw away at her. Before she had met him she had for years had obscure longings,
dark desires she scarcely even admitted to herself, could not admit to any man.
Longings to be fucked by crowds of anonymous men, emerging from the shadows to
take her over and over again. Longings to grovel in the dirt, to be ground under
the heel of some fascist beast in shiny black boots, longings to be bought and
sold to the highest bidder, longings to be a slave bound naked to a post and
flogged before a crowd of onlookers. All these thoughts she had harboured deep
inside her, experiencing a terrible excitement when they surfaced as she
masturbated secretly, and afterwards feeling shame, debasement, feeling that no
one else in the whole world was a dirty little girl like her, and if others knew
it they would despise her and shun her.

     Jonathan had made her admit to these things, made her face them, had, when
their relationship developed enough to give her confidence, forced her to stand
before him naked and confess her shameful desires while she fingered herself
under his supervision, admitting to her sharp and urgent lusts. He'd make her
bring herself near to orgasm, then he'd punish her for her wickedness.
Afterwards he'd bring her to a climax, and then she'd weep tears of gratitude.

     She had much to be grateful to Jonathan for. But that didn't stop her
feeling shame all over again now, at the thought that he should know her lusts
were not yet under control, that she could not stop herself from offering her
body to a stranger. She supposed that the reason it sounded worse, the man being
so much younger than her, was that it implied it was pure lust on her part. Why
else would she spend time with one so young?

     Jonathan opened a cupboard fixed to the wall at the far end of the room.
Lifting her head, Elizabeth could see that it contained a wide range of
implements hanging from hooks: wooden paddles, floggers, riding crops, whips,
leather straps. In a rack on the back of the cupboard door were several canes of
varying thickness. Jonathan selected one, a thin rattan cane with a polished
wooden handle. He came back towards her, swishing it from side to side. The
sound made her cringe. This was going to hurt, it was going to hurt a lot.

     She was grateful that he did not begin to beat her immediately. Instead she
felt him stroke her buttocks, gently at first, then more firmly. Soon he was
squeezing them hard. He pulled the cheeks of her ass apart with his hands and
she could feel his eyes on her, sense him peering at the little puckered mouth
of her anus, and then he put his thumb on it, pressing softly, not trying to
enter.

     'You always had the best ass I ever saw. Or ever fucked,' he said.

     Suddenly he smacked her with his hand, not hard. He smacked her again,
several times, first on one buttock then on the other, a little harder each
time. Her bottom was tingling now, partly through the spanking, partly in
anticipation. The spanking continued for a while, her buttocks growing warm. She
imagined how red they must be already.

     At last Jonathan picked up the cane.

     'A dozen,' he said. 'And hard. Very hard.'

     She knew she had to count. That had always been the rule. The cane swished
and struck her full across the centre of both buttocks. The pain was intense.
Elizabeth caught her breath and gritted her teeth. She was determined to bear it
bravely. Matt would expect it. If she cried out she felt she would be letting
him down; still worse if she should beg for mercy. But it was going to be an
ordeal.

     'One,' she said, trying to keep her voice from shaking. She knew that
Jonathan was a skilled practitioner when it came to beatings. He knew just how
long to wait between each stroke to ensure the maximum effect. He knew exactly
where to plant the cane to extract the most pain. His hand was steady, his aim
unerring.

     The second stroke landed with deadly precision on top of the first.
Elizabeth could scarcely stifle a low moan. She clenched her fists tightly. Get
a grip, girl, she told herself.

     'Two,' she muttered.

     Jonathan raised the cane again. It swished and landed on Elizabeth's rump
with a dull thud.

     'Three,' she said through clenched teeth. God, but it hurt. She wished he'd
get on with it, wished it could be over soon. But Jonathan continued in his
methodical rhythm.

     'Four,' Elizabeth said. There was something about a cane that was different
from any other implement she had been beaten with. It seemed to deliver a far
more concentrated pain, one that bit deep into the flesh of her buttocks.

     'Five,' she counted as another stroke seemed to slice right into the
muscles of her ass. She was trembling now. She wasn't sure if she could get to
the end with any degree of self-control remaining.

     'Six,' she grunted. If her hands had not been bound fast she would have put
them behind her to protect herself, no matter what the consequences.

     'Seven.' The pain was so intense that she felt herself almost swooning. It
was carrying her away, into that subspace she had heard about and which she had
only come to believe in the night she had been whipped in the stable. It was a
place where pain and pleasure became one, where the responses of her body became
almost the opposite of normal, where the sensation of the beating became
transformed into a new kind of experience altogether, one in which anything
could be borne, anything endured. Especially since it was all for Matt. For his
sake she suffered, to make him proud of her, which made her proud of herself in
turn.

     'Eight,' she said. The force of the cane had engendered a heat in her
buttocks which now suffused her loins.

     'Nine.' She could feel it spreading between her legs, feel the lips of her
cunt swelling, feel her clit tingling. As she sensed the next stroke of the cane
falling, she raised her bottom as far as she was able, eager to embrace it.

     'Ten.' Her body seemed to sing now, as if the cane had set all her tensed
muscles and tendons twanging.

     'Eleven.'

     'Twelve.'

     Elizabeth could hear herself panting. Her bottom burned so fiercely she
thought it might almost be crackling out loud. She heard Jonathan set down the
cane, then he put the palms of his hands on her buttocks. They were deliciously
cool and soothing. He held her for some moments, then she felt his fingers reach
between her legs, stroking the outside of her cunt softly. One finger slid
inside her, then slipped out again, spreading her wetness up over her clit.
Jonathan's finger circled her clit slowly.

     'Come for me, baby,' he said. 'The way you like to.'

     She could tell he remembered just how she preferred it, not pressing hard
on top of the clit but moving insidiously around it. It was good to feel such a
practised hand manipulate her. Confident that she would come without a hitch,
she tried to make it last, but she was too excited to postpone her climax long.

     When she'd finished Jonathan took his hand away and went to a drawer in the
bedside table. She knew what he was after. He stood behind her again and she
felt the cold lubricant being spread around her asshole, a finger pushing some
of it up inside. When he had lubricated her to his satisfaction he unzipped
himself and pressed his cock against her anus.

     'Open for me, baby, the way you used to do. Take my cock right up into your
lovely ass.'

     She pushed against him, dilating herself, feeling his cock slide into her,
filling her tight. He began to move inside her, gently.

     'So good,' he murmured. 'Just the perfect fuck.'

     He came slowly, the semen seeming to seep out of him instead of spurting.
She imagined it filling her, soaking into her bowels, the hot sticky stuff
slurping around in her ass. As Jonathan withdrew she could feel it already
starting to ooze out of her.

     He untied her. 'Get into bed,' he said. 'We'll sleep together. But first I
have to bed down Daisy for the night.'

     'You're going to fuck her now?' Elizabeth said, with a twinge of jealousy.

     He laughed. 'No, I'm fucked out right now. I just have to take her to the
toilet again, give her some bread and water. I shan't be long.'

     When he returned she was already asleep.

     When she awoke in the morning she could hear Jonathan in the shower. She
got out of bed and went naked to join him. She stepped in under the water-jet
and took the soap from his hand. Carefully she washed his chest and under his
arms, then his belly. Kneeling, she soaped his cock, loving the feel of it
rising in her hands. Tenderly she soaped his balls and rinsed them. She turned
him and washed his back and buttocks, soaping around his anus and rinsing it
clean. She turned him back again and took his cock in her mouth. He let her suck
him for a while, then he raised her and turned her round, pushing her so that
she was leaning forward against the white tiles. He thrust his cock slowly up
into her cunt till he filled her. For a while he held still and she squeezed the
muscles of her cunt around his cock. Then he began to fuck, with long and steady
strokes. She put a finger between her legs and brought herself off just as he
came.

     They rinsed off again and afterwards she knelt and dried him. Before he
dressed he kissed her tenderly on the mouth.

     'Matt must be very proud,' he said.

     'I hope so,' she smiled.

     Elizabeth went to her room to dress. Matt wasn't there. She slipped on a
white cotton bra and a matching thong with a T-shirt and jeans. She didn't know
what they were doing that day. If these clothes aren't suitable I can always
change, she thought. When she came downstairs Matt was eating breakfast in the
kitchen. Jonathan was seated beside him drinking coffee. She knew they had been
talking about her, since they fell silent when she entered the room.

     'Sleep well?' Matt said, then winked at Jonathan. Elizabeth blushed. She
hoped they weren't going to discuss her performance in front of her.

     'Yes, thank you,' she said.

     'Got to go and check on Daisy now,' said Jonathan, getting up.

     Elizabeth was relieved to see him go. Matt started talking about what they
might do that day. Eagerly she responded, glad to get the conversation on to
something not too personal.

     'This afternoon we can do a walk,' Matt said. 'Jonathan says there are
trails through the woods. So it's just a question of this morning. What would
you like to do?'

     Elizabeth smiled. 'Shop?'

     She knew Matt hated shopping, at least the kind she did, wandering round
clothes stores. It always drove him mad when she went back to one she'd already
visited. 'You've just been there!' he would protest. 'Just need to check back on
something,' she'd mutter.

     But to her surprise he agreed immediately to her proposal. Why is he in
such a good mood, she wondered? In the mall they found a really classy underwear
shop, full of glossy and expensive European designs. She tried on a bra, a
flimsy, gauzy creation in purple lace. In the changing room a girl stared at
Elizabeth's steel collar.

     'Is that your Master out there?' she asked. 'The older guy?'

     Elizabeth nodded. She'd forgotten how obvious a symbol the collar was;
obvious to those in the know, anyway.

     'He could Dom me any time,' the girl said.

     Elizabeth came out of the changing room and told Matt the bra was a perfect
fit. He held up the matching little thong that went with it. 'Aren't you going
to try this on too?'

     'They won't let you try on knickers,' she said. 'Surely you know that? In
any case, do you think I'm going to let another woman see my ass, the way it is
right now?'

     She could feel the bruises every time she sat down. She had sneaked a look
while she was dressing; livid red parallel marks, already turning darker.

     They got some lunch in a cafe then drove back to Jonathan's house. He
didn't seem to be around. It was now a warm afternoon and Elizabeth went to put
on something cooler than her jeans, stepping into a little pair of denim shorts
that showed off her long legs. She knelt and laced up her hiking boots.

     They didn't have to drive long before they got into unspoiled country.
Parking the car down a woodland track, they set off through the trees. After an
hour of steady walking Matt called a halt in a small clearing. They sat on a
tree-stump and sipped water from a bottle. It was delightfully quiet, with only
the occasional song of a lark above the trees.

     'Show me,' said Matt. 'Show me what he did last night.'

     Hesitantly Elizabeth got to her feet, looking around to see if anyone was
approaching. She unbuttoned the waist of her shorts, unzipped and pulled them
down over her behind. She pulled down the white cotton thong too, then turned
her back so that Matt might inspect her. She was blushing slightly. It was
awkward to have to display herself in this way.

     Matt whistled softly. 'You certainly got your come-uppance.'

     He let her stand there, shorts about her knees, while he continued looking.

     'I hear you played the whore for him this morning, too.'

     Elizabeth blushed again. She'd rather Matt hadn't known about that. He
stood up and took her arm, leading her towards a fallen tree at the side of the
clearing. He bent her over the tree; its bark was rough against her belly. Matt
knelt behind her and began to rim her ass, his tongue circling the tiny puckered
hole, spreading spittle, pushing it inside her. After a while he stood and spat
in his hand and rubbed it on his cock. He positioned himself behind her, then
she felt him thrust into her. He was rougher than Jonathan had been and it hurt
a little, though she made herself spread wide for him, pushing down to dilate
the tight little hole. He thrust his cock right in deep, then began to fuck her
hard. She knew what he was doing. It was like a dog, she thought, marking its
territory by spraying, but this was her Master taking possession of his property
by putting his sperm into the place another man's had been. She was sure
Jonathan had told Matt that he had buggered her.

     He came quickly, grunting with pleasure as he spurted into her, then
withdrawing immediately. By the time she turned round he had zipped himself up.
She knew there was no chance she would be allowed to come too. That wasn't what
this was about.

     They walked on for another half an hour, circling back to the car. When
they got back to the house Jonathan and Daisy were sitting in the kitchen
drinking coffee. Daisy greeted Elizabeth like a long-lost friend, which she
thought a bit presumptuous. After all, they had only ever exchanged a few words,
and that some time ago. Daisy chattered on, showing no embarrassment at the fact
that Matt and Elizabeth had seen her the evening before in such humiliating
circumstances.

     Jonathan got out some drinks and they all had a cocktail. Elizabeth
remembered how deliciously dry were his martinis. The four of them chatted of
this and that. Jonathan looked at his watch. It was 6.30.

     'Dinner is at eight,' he said. 'Stella's proposing to excel herself. We
should all dress in honour, no?'

     'Yes, indeed,' said Matt. 'We'll go and start getting ready now.'

     Elizabeth got up to go upstairs. As she reached the kitchen door she turned
and saw Matt standing over the seated Jonathan, telling him something. Daisy was
listening intently. Elizabeth resented them all three talking about her in this
way. What were they hatching up?

     She ran a bath and lay soaking in the warm scented water. Matt came and sat
on the edge of the bath, chatting in a friendly way. She felt very close to him,
very intimate. Yet she felt sure something was afoot.

     When she got out of the bath he dried her, tenderly and delicately. She
walked into the bedroom and saw some clothes laid on the bed.

     'What's this?' she said, picking up a garment of black satin.

     'It's your new corset,' said Matt. 'I had it specially made for you, to
your exact measurements.'

     He helped her put it on. It did up at the front, hooks and eyes all the way
down. At the back laces threaded through little metal eye-holes. Matt pulled
hard on them and Elizabeth felt her waist squeezed tight.

     'God,' she said, 'no more. I can hardly breath.'

     'You'll get used to it,' Matt said. 'It's meant to be tight. It's a corset,
remember?'

     At the top there were straps, placed at the sides to leave the front
unencumbered. The corset was cut so low that the entirety of the top half of her
breasts was visible, and some part of her nipples too. The tightness of the
corset made for an impressive embonpoint, pushing her breasts upwards and
inwards. She glanced in the mirror. She'd never had such a striking cleavage.

     Below, the corset nipped in at her waist then flared out over the top of
her hips, cutting off just above the pubic mound. At each side there were two
suspenders for her stockings, elasticated, with chrome-plated fastenings.

     On the bed was a pair of new stockings. She broke open the cellophane
wrapping and sat to put them on, drawing the silky material up over the sleek
skin of her thighs.

     She stood up. On the bed was a box. She opened it and inside found a pair
of patent-leather black shoes. They had the highest heels she'd ever worn. Could
she even balance in such shoes? Marvelling at their elegance, she put them on,
then walked cautiously about the room. Matt watched, admiringly.

     'So where's the dress?' she asked.

     'There's no dress,' he said.

     'No dress?'

     'No dress. No knickers either.'

     'Come on,' she said. 'You don't expect me to go down to dinner half naked?'

     'That's exactly what I expect,' he said. 'Why ever not?'

     'It's hardly seemly,' she said. It was an odd word, she knew. She wished
she could find a better one.

     'Seemly?' Matt echoed, considering the word. 'Is a woman who lets herself
be fucked by a boy she meets in a lift seemly? Is a woman who lets her ass be
caned by a man who is not her Master seemly? Who sucks his cock the next
morning, from pure lust? Is that seemly?'

     Was it pure lust that had made her suck Jonathan's cock? Or was it more a
gesture of friendship? She was in no position to bandy about words; she could
hardly claim the high moral ground. She looked down at the ground, knowing she
had no choice but to accept Matt's instruction.

     'So this is how I'm to go to dinner? Wearing nothing but this?'

     'Oh, I think we could allow you some make-up. And jewellery. And even
perfume.'

     He was making fun of her again. She said nothing but sat at the dressing
table with her make-up box. While Matt took a shower she did her eyes, then
glossed her lips scarlet. She wondered what jewellery would complement her steel
collar. From her jewel case she chose some silver ear-rings and a silver
bracelet.

     Matt came back from the bathroom. She watched him dress, in a suit she had
helped him buy the previous month. Such an elegant man, she thought. Such
inherent good clothes sense, and yet never expensive in his tastes. She wished
he would let her spend money on him, but she knew he wouldn't care for it.

     He stood behind her as she sat looking into the mirror of the dressing
table. He picked up her hair brush and began to brush her dark locks, which,
following his instructions, she had let grow out until they now reached down to
her shoulders. It was wonderfully sensuous to just sit there and have him brush
her hair, perform this service for her. She loved the way her hair shone, richly
dark and glossy for him. At last he put the hairbrush down.

     'The perfume, where?' she asked.

     He took the bottle and dabbed some behind her ears, between her breasts, in
the small of her back above her bare buttocks and on her shaved mons.

     'Give me your lipstick,' he said.

     Seating himself while she stood in front of him, he painted the hood of her
clit with the bright red gloss. When she looked at it in the mirror it was
almost obscene to see the bright splash of colour there, a beacon, a sign; the
badge of the whore, she thought.

     She was ready to go. She wondered what Daisy would be wearing. Given her
behaviour in the past, she could hardly appear as Little Miss Modesty.

     'Come here,' Matt said.

     Dutifully she stood before him. From his pocket he took a long chain with a
velvet handle at the end. He fastened it with a clip to her collar.

     'This evening,' he said, 'you will do exactly as you are told. No more, no
less. Do you consent?'

     'I consent,' she said.

     He held his ring for her to kiss it. Then he led her downstairs. When they
got to the door of the study, Matt said, 'Kneel.'

     She got down on all fours.

     ''When I say "heel", you sit back on your haunches, hands behind your back.
Understand?'

     'Yes, Master,' she said.

     Matt opened the door and yanked on her chain, pulling her forward behind
him. She crawled after him across the floor. She looked up and saw Jonathan
dressed in an elegant linen suit with a polka-dot bow tie. Daisy stood beside
him wearing a shiny black latex skirt, short and tight, showing off her pert
little ass, which Elizabeth could not deny was cute. On top she wore a matching
black latex bustier, cut low to reveal a good view of her round breasts. Her
legs were bare but for little black ankle boots with high heels.

     'Heel,' Matt said. Elizabeth sat back as she had been ordered. She kept her
legs together, trying to preserve at least a modicum of modesty. Daisy looked
down at her and smirked while Jonathan fixed Matt another of his dry martinis.
There was nothing for Elizabeth. The three of them stood over her, chattering
and laughing as if she was invisible. It was so disorientating, one minute she
was ignored, the next Matt was full of tender concern. He had said he was aware
of her even when she was apparently neglected, but right now it wasn't easy to
feel that. She knew what was going on, that he wanted her to feel knocked off
her even keel, never knowing what was coming next. That way she was more
amenable, more pliable; more obedient, in a word. But she didn't like it very
much. Each time she was ignored she wanted to speak up for herself, insist on
recognition. If she dared to, she would be punished, she knew, especially if she
was disrespectful to Matt in front of others. But she had got close to a moment
of rebellion once or twice already.

     Stella came in and announced dinner. She glanced at Elizabeth kneeling on
the floor, her ass exposed, but she registered nothing. Evidently she had seen
it all before.

     Jonathan took Matt's arm and led him into dinner. Matt yanked on the chain
again, dragging Elizabeth after him. Daisy brought up the rear.

     'My, my,' she said, spying Elizabeth's bruised behind. 'Who's been a
naughty girl then?'

     Elizabeth nearly retorted that from what she had seen Daisy's ass was in no
better shape, but she thought better of it. In the dining room she saw that only
three places were set for dinner. Guess who's not coming to dinner, she thought
glumly.

     Matt indicated she should kneel by his chair. Daisy sat between the two
men, Jonathan attentively holding her chair for her, while Matt offered to pour
her some wine. The three of them conversed animatedly while Stella brought in a
souffle. I could use a drink too, though Elizabeth; at least he could give me a
drink. But during the first course she received nothing, not a sip of wine, not
a morsel of food.

     Stella brought the next course, a daube of venison. It had a delicious
meaty smell. Elizabeth was starving. But Matt continued to ignore her, eating
his meal, talking pleasantly to Daisy and Jonathan. Elizabeth could see his
plate was almost empty. Please, let her just have a mouthful. Just before he had
finished the food Matt picked up his plate and set it on the floor. There were
two or three pieces of meat left and a mouthful of mashed potato. Evidently no
cutlery was to be provided.

     'Eat,' said Matt.

     Elizabeth bent down and took a piece of meat between her teeth.

     Daisy laughed. 'Your puppy dog is well-trained.'

     'Yes,' said Matt, 'though she needs a firm hand.'

     Daisy laughed again. 'I can see she's had that already.'

     Elizabeth hated that Matt was prepared to joke about her with Daisy. It was
bad enough when he had discussed her with Jonathan. But to make jokes about her
with this girl, still a teenager, a girl of no distinction, no class, no talent
except a cute bottom; it was demeaning beyond endurance.

     Stella came in to clear the dishes.

     'Would you have a saucer or a bowl?' Matt enquired.

     Stella brought a brown earthenware bowl. It really did look like something
a dog might use. Matt poured a little wine in it and set it down beside
Elizabeth.

     'Drink,' he said.

     She bent forward and tried to lap up the wine. It was a lot harder than it
looked. She got a little into her mouth, but it was a slow process. Daisy
giggled. Elizabeth wanted to slap her.

     Stella brought the dessert, a fruit compote. Matt took a spoonful and
offered it to Elizabeth. She accepted eagerly. She was still ravenous. Matt gave
her another, and another. He didn't have much of a sweet tooth, so she knew it
was scarcely a hardship to give up his dessert, but she was grateful anyway.

     When dinner was finished Jonathan led them back into the study. Though it
had been a warm day, a fire now burned in the grate. Jonathan invited Matt to be
seated in one of the armchairs beside the fire. He took the other one and patted
his knee for Daisy to sit on it. Elizabeth knelt beside Matt, who held her
chain.

     'Time for some party games?' Jonathan asked, smiling.

     'As you are the host, I think you should be master of ceremonies,' Matt
answered. 'I'm sure you've got some ideas.'

     Jonathan grinned. 'What about a little competition? Both these girls have
been a little naughty lately, and though they've each had some punishment I'm
not sure they really got all that they deserved. Perhaps a little top-up might
be in order?'

     Matt waited to see exactly what Jonathan had in mind.

     'So,' Jonathan said. 'I think we men folk have done our bit. It's time the
girls were put to work. I suggest they each give the other a going-over. You and
I, Matt, can judge which one dishes it out the best. The winner gets a prize.'

     'What prize?' Matt inquired.

     'Let's make them wait and see,' Jonathan said. 'Keep them in suspense a
little.'

     He went over to his desk, opened a drawer and took out a flogger. It had
half a dozen strips of rawhide attached to a wooden handle.

     'This should do the trick,' said Jonathan, swishing it from side to side,
then setting it down. He reached into his pocket and took out a coin, put his
hands behind his back, then brought them forward.

     'Your choice,' he said to Elizabeth. She pointed to his right hand. When he
opened it the coin was inside. Elizabeth hesitated. It was her choice; should
she go first? Or would it be better for her if Daisy began?

     'I'll go first,' she said.

     Matt undid the chain at her neck. Jonathan handed her the flogger and she
got to her feet.

     'OK, Daisy,' said Jonathan, 'bend over the desk.'

     Looking nervous, Daisy positioned herself across the desk. Jonathan pulled
her latex skirt up over her bottom. Elizabeth was not surprised to find she was
naked underneath. Jonathan undid his bow tie and bound Daisy's ankles together.
He went round to the other end of the desk, reached forward and grabbed Daisy's
wrists.

     'OK,' Jonathan said. 'Let fly. Twelve strokes each. Whoever lays it on the
hardest is the winner.'

     Elizabeth stood behind Daisy and measured the distance to the neat little
naked bottom, already criss-crossed with bruises. This was going to hurt both of
them, the state their asses were in. Well, Elizabeth was going to make sure she
got the best blows in. Whatever the reward, she didn't want to come second best
to this girl.

     The first blow landed with a thud just below the centre of Daisy's
buttocks.

     'Ouch,' said Daisy. She sounded surprised; perhaps she thought Elizabeth
wouldn't take the little game seriously. Taking careful aim, Elizabeth struck
again, this time landing dead centre.

     'Hey,' said Daisy. She sounded aggrieved.

     Elizabeth hit her again, a little harder, but her accuracy suffered and the
blow landed towards the top part of Daisy's buttocks. Judging from her pained
response, it still hurt a good deal. Elizabeth continued to ply the flogger,
trying not to sacrifice accuracy for power, but determined to give Daisy a
thorough whipping. She'd teach her to act superior. Little gold-digging tramp,
thought Elizabeth as she walloped Daisy's ass again. Red weals were appearing on
top of the blue and black bruises. Daisy was yelling out loud now, but Elizabeth
took no notice, concentrating on landing the strokes where they would do most
damage. She was surprised how much she was enjoying herself. There's a bit of a
top in every bottom, she said to herself. Daisy desperately tried to wriggle out
of the way as Elizabeth mentally counted up to ten strokes, but Jonathan held
her tight. Let's make the last two really count, Elizabeth told herself as she
raised her arm high and brought the flogger down squarely across Daisy's shapely
little bottom. For the last stroke she put her full weight behind the blow.
Daisy was sobbing uncontrollably. Elizabeth, flushed with the exertion,
trembling slightly with a strange exultation, put the flogger down on the desk.
Jonathan let go of Daisy's wrists and brushed the tears from her cheeks before
untying her ankles.

     Daisy got up from the desk, her eyes flashing at Elizabeth. 'Bitch,' she
said. 'Just you wait.'

     'Now ladies,' Jonathan laughed. 'It's just a game.'

     Some game, thought Elizabeth. She was feeling apprehensive now. Perhaps she
had laid it on rather hard. She could hardly blame Daisy if she wanted her
revenge. Meekly Elizabeth submitted to having her ankles tied, and her wrists
held by Jonathan. She glanced sideways and saw that Matt was watching intently,
but he gave no sign of emotion. 'Don't let me down,' he'd said last night. She
hadn't done yet and she vowed she wouldn't now.

     Daisy was shorter than Elizabeth and had a slighter frame, but Elizabeth
was taken aback by the power she managed to get into the first stroke of the
flogger. Elizabeth gritted her teeth, trying hard not to make a sound. The
second stroke was right on top of the first, just in the very place that
Jonathan had treated so severely the night before. Elizabeth barely managed to
stifle the groan that rose from her lips. The third stroke was the worst so far,
seeming to cut deep into her flesh. And the fourth was worse again, a searing
pain from which there was no escape. As the fifth landed she struggled
involuntarily against Jonathan's grip. It was useless, she knew, but she would
have done anything to protect herself from the rawhide strips that lashed across
her tender buttocks. As the next three strokes struck her with relentless
accuracy her whole body shook. She found herself looking at Matt with a mute
appeal: please, make them stop. He stared back, implacable.

     Only when eight or nine strokes had cut across her defenceless bottom did
she begin to experience that endorphins kicking in, working their magic to
transform the agony of pain into the pure gold of pleasure. Even so, Daisy was
whipping her too hard for pain not to be the primary sensation, and when at last
the twelfth and final stroke flailed across her lacerated ass she sighed with
relief.

     Jonathan untied her. He told Elizabeth and Daisy to stand side by side for
inspection. He and Matt stood behind them, comparing the two rosy bottoms.
Jonathan put out a hand and touched Daisy's left cheek, tracing the welts raised
by the flogger.

     'Daisy made the most noise,' he said.

     'Yes,' agreed Matt, 'but I don't think that proved she got the hardest
whipping.'

     'No,' Jonathan said. 'I think Elizabeth is a brighter red.'

     'I'm bound to agree,' Matt said. 'Daisy put the most into it. She seems
experienced.'

     Jonathan laughed. 'Oh, she's experienced all right. I could tell you some
stories.'

     Matt put out a hand and squeezed Elizabeth's bottom. She flinched. 'I think
Daisy is the winner,' said Matt.

     Wasn't he going to support her? Surely, Elizabeth thought bitterly, a
Master should stand up for his sub in such situations? Why were they all ganging
up against her?

     'So what's the prize?' Matt asked.

     'The winner gets to come,' Jonathan said. 'The loser gets to do it for her.
Daisy will like that. She loves getting oral sex.'

     Elizabeth stared at Matt. This was too much. Surely he wouldn't let them
impose this on her? He knew she had hardly any experience of sex with women. It
was something they'd talked about, thought they might experiment with some day.
But apart from a little kissing and cuddling she never done anything with
another girl. She simply could not go down on Daisy.

     'Mmm,' said Daisy. 'You'd better be good, or I might whip your ass again.'
She laughed, then stripped off her latex top and skirt so that she was naked
apart from her boots. She climbed on to the desk and lay on her back, her knees
bent, her thighs spread.

     'Ready,' she said.

     'Matt -' Elizabeth began.

     'Just do as you're told,' he said. 'Like you agreed, remember?'

     Elizabeth coloured. She didn't like to be reminded of her promise. But it
was true. She had agreed, only a hour ago, to do whatever he said. She'd kissed
the ring. Giving Matt a stare that she knew might get her in trouble later, she
got down on her knees. She leaned forward, lowering her head to Daisy's cunt. It
was moist; between the lips little drops of clear liquid hung like dew drops.
The lips were slim, pressed together, revealing only a slit. It was like a
little girl's cunt, Elizabeth thought. Tentatively she kissed it, savouring its
musky odour, then sliding her tongue up its length, tasting the tangy flavour.
She slipped her tongue in between the lips. She was unpractised, but after all,
she thought, I have a cunt myself. I know what feels nice. She pressed her
tongue further into Daisy's cunt, trying to enter her, but she could only go a
little way despite the wetness inside. Then very slowly she licked upwards until
her tongue rested lightly against Daisy's clit.

     'Oh, god,' said Daisy. 'That's so good. The bitch knows how to eat a girl
after all.'

     Elizabeth didn't care to be called that name. She was half tempted to deny
Daisy the pleasure she craved. She knew she could make her wait and wait, could
tease her mercilessly. But both the men were watching her intently. It would be
obvious what she was doing. She'd better get on with it. It didn't take long.
Daisy was well worked up, and Elizabeth didn't doubt that in any case she was a
lustful little slut who could come at the drop of a hat. Or a pair of knickers.

     Daisy's orgasm duly arrived and she cried out loud as she writhed on the
desk. When it was over Elizabeth got to her feet and wiped her mouth. What now?

     Jonathan got up from his chair and without a word went across to Daisy.
Seizing her ankles, he lifted them up high and set them on his shoulders. He
unzipped himself and Elizabeth watched as he took out his cock, thrust it into
Daisy and began to fuck her. She felt a twinge of jealousy at the sight. Did
Jonathan prefer Daisy to her? It was a stupid feeling, she knew. After all, he
owned Daisy. Was it surprising he should fuck her? She had Matt. Why was she
greedy for Jonathan too? She supposed it was just that only the night before
Jonathan had seemed to find her special. And now here he was, fucking Daisy
while she, Elizabeth, was ignored.

     She was reassured when Matt called her over and told her to stand beside
his chair. He reached out and stroked her bottom, still sore after the beating,
while they watched Jonathan fuck Daisy, who came again just before Jonathan
ejaculated.

     Jonathan did himself up and resumed his seat.

     'OK, Daisy,' he said. 'You've had your fun. Now it's time to do some work.
Matt's feeling neglected.'

     Daisy got up off the desk and strolled over to where Matt sat in his chair,
his hand still idly stroking Elizabeth's bottom. Daisy got down on her knees and
began to unzip Matt's trousers.

     'You'll enjoy this, Matt,' Jonathan said. 'She's the best little cocksucker
in the country.'

     Daisy took Matt's cock out. Elizabeth looked down at it. It was hard
already. It was her Master's cock, the cock she worshipped and served, the cock
that fucked her in every orifice, whenever it wished, the cock she was in thrall
to, whose pleasure she was devoted to. Was this cock now to be pleasured by
another woman? Could Matt allow this to happen while she, Elizabeth, was forced
to watch? She saw Daisy open her mouth wide and take Matt's cock between her
full red lips. Elizabeth turned her head away. This was unbearable.

     Matt saw her move. 'Kneel down,' he said.

     Elizabeth knelt beside him. Matt caught hold of her hair, gripping a
fistful at the back of her head, turning her head towards him.

     'Watch,' he said.

     Daisy was running her tongue up the back of Matt's cock, up the ridge of
the shaft as far as the glans. Elizabeth saw her pink tongue push into the hole,
then circle round under the rim of the glans. It was just the thing that
Elizabeth liked to do for him, the thing she thought only she knew how to do.
And here was this little tramp doing it for her Master just the way he liked it.
Matt made no sound, but she saw how intently he watched what Daisy was doing,
all the while gripping Elizabeth's hair tightly, forcing her to watch too. Daisy
took Matt's cock right back into her mouth again, deep-throating him all the way
down. She was skilled, there was no doubt of that, and Matt was responding, he
was getting pleasure from it. Was it as much pleasure as she, Elizabeth, could
give him? Perhaps it was. Perhaps he liked other women sucking his cock just as
much as he liked her doing it; maybe even more. She felt close to tears.

     Daisy was into a rhythm now, her head going up and down on Matt's cock, her
cheeks concave as she sucked hard, her mouth shaped like a cunt for him to fuck.
One of Daisy's hands was cradling Matt's balls, squeezing them softly, while the
other held the shaft of the cock steady so that her mouth could move up and
down, sucking hard as her tongue licked at him lasciviously inside her mouth.
Suddenly Matt grunted. Elizabeth saw his hips convulse and his cock quiver as he
came. She imagined his spunk spurting into Daisy's mouth, hot and thick. It was
hers by right. And Daisy had it in her mouth. When Matt was still Daisy took her
mouth away. She turned her head towards Elizabeth and opened her mouth to show
her the semen inside, then she swallowed and licked her lips.

     'Was that good, baby?' she asked Matt.

     He said nothing. He let go of Elizabeth's hair and did up his trousers.
Daisy stood up and crossed the room to sit on the arm of Jonathan's chair.

     'Good work, sweetheart,' he said. 'Now, there's only one left who hasn't
come. Matt, do you think Elizabeth's feeling left out?'

     'Maybe,' said Matt. 'What did you have in mind?'

     'I think we're all feeling a bit lazy now,' said Jonathan, 'so she'll have
to do the work herself. What do you think?'

     Matt turned to her. 'Go and kneel in the middle of the room,' he said. 'Sit
back on your haunches, thighs wide apart.'

     Elizabeth crawled to the centre of the room and took up her position as
instructed. She was aware of the three of them gazing at her, taking in her
breasts, which had spilled over the top of her corset, exposing her nipples. And
taking in her cunt, exposed by her parted thighs, shave bare, the clit painted
red, the lips swollen with desire.

     'Make yourself come,' said Matt. 'Use just the right index finger.'

     She was sure he knew this wasn't the one she used. Always when she
masturbated she used the middle finger. And always she put two fingers of her
left hand inside her cunt. Surely he knew that. He was just making it harder for
her, so it would take longer, make it more of a spectacle, more of an ordeal.

     She began to touch her clit with her index finger, slowly circling, making
it nice and wet from the juice that seeped from between the lips of her cunt.
She tried to shut out the faces of the watching trio, tried to ignore Jonathan's
leering smile, Daisy's smirk, Matt's impassive stare. She tried to think of how
she would serve Matt when at last she was alone. She thought about how, despite
everything he had done to test her, she had obeyed, had been his faithful
servant in all things. Surely he cared for her, whatever he might show in
public?

     'Lean back a little, baby,' Jonathan said. 'so we can see you better.'

     She arched her back trying to display herself as he said, but it made it
even harder to come. Daisy was lying across Jonathan, playing with his cock as
she watched Elizabeth. She had that smirk on her face again, as if to say, this
was once your cock but now it's mine. And I've had your man's cock in my mouth
too, I've tasted him and swallowed. Elizabeth tried to shut out Daisy and
Jonathan, thinking only of Matt, making herself come for him alone. It was
awkward like this, this position wasn't the best for orgasm, she didn't like to
use her index finger, and always when she masturbated she liked to feel
something in her cunt. But at last she felt desire swelling deep in her loins
and then it washed over her as she fed the desire with her finger and her hips
were shuddering and she was coming, just for Matt.

     There was silence for a while. Then Jonathan got up.

     'More drinks,' he said. He poured them all a glass of wine. This time
Elizabeth was included. Matt allowed her to sit on his lap as they drank to a
toast Jonathan proposed:

     'Here's to Mastery. And lechery.'

     They drank a little wine, then Matt said he would wish them goodnight.
Taking Elizabeth by the hand he led her from the room. She turned back as she
got to the door, to see Daisy on her knees with her lips fastened round
Jonathan's cock.

     Up in the bedroom Matt laid her face down on the bed and lightly traced the
marks on her buttocks with his finger.

     'Poor girl,' he said. 'But you were so brave. I'm proud.'

     It was all she wanted to hear. All she ever wanted to hear.

     From his suitcase he fetched a length of thin cord. He told her to put her
hands together while he bound her wrists with the cord, not tight enough to
impede the circulation, but securely. He looped the cord through her steel
collar, lifting her hands up to her neck. Then he knotted the cord to one of the
posts at the head of the bed.

     As she lay with hands tied he told her to raise herself into a kneeling
position. Oh god, not another beating, she thought; I don't know if I can bear
any more. But instead Matt knelt behind her and slowly slid her cock into her.
She was so slippery with desire that she was afraid he might easily slide out
and she squeezed him tight to hold him in. he began to fuck her gently,
whispering words of admiration and adoration into her ear. Elizabeth almost
swooned with happiness.

     He wouldn't allow her to come again. He made her sleep with her wrists
bound all night. She supposed that with her teeth she might in time have undone
the knot tying her to the bed, but she dare not. Once in the night he fucked her
again, while she was half asleep ;in the morning she wondered if she had perhaps
imagined that part of it. In the morning he untied her and they showered
together. She knelt and took his cock in her mouth, using all her wiles to bring
him to ecstasy, milking the spunk from him, draining him dry into her mouth,
holding it on her tongue and tasting him before swallowing it right down.

     They had breakfast with Jonathan and Daisy, who kissed Elizabeth farewell
afterwards, seeming almost sorry to see her go. On the plane Elizabeth sat with
her head on Matt's shoulder. She dozed a little. When she awoke she saw he had
been doodling on a piece of paper.

     'What's that?' she murmured sleepily.

     He showed it to her. Vertically down the paper were two heavy parallel
lines. Letters were written on each side. At first she couldn't puzzle it out.
Then she saw that it said:

    

     M|	| P

     A |	| R

     S |	| O

     T |	| P

     E |	| E

     R |	| R

      ' |	| T

     S |	| Y

    

     'What does it mean?' she asked.

     'It's what's going to be written on your cunt,' he said. 'On the outside of
the lips, nice and clear. Make it neat.'

     He handed her the pen, a black felt-tip.

     'What?' she said.

     'Do it,' he said.

     'Now?'

     'Now. And when you come back hand me your knickers.'

     She looked around. At the back of the cabin a solitary woman stood waiting
for a toilet to become empty. Elizabeth saw the door open and a man come out.
The woman disappeared inside. Feeling self-conscious, as if every passenger was
watching her and must know with what purpose she walked towards the rear of the
plane, she strode between the seats. As she approached, another toilet door
opened and a woman exited. One of the cabin assistants watched as Elizabeth went
inside and shut the door. She reached under her dress and pulled down her
knickers, stuffing them into her purse. She put one leg up on the toilet seat
and examined her cunt. Where exactly ought she to put the letters? Were her lips
wide enough? Were they long enough for all the letters? Mentally she sketched
out how it would look. It was intimidating that Matt was an artist'; he would do
it so much more neatly than she would. The plane was going through some light
turbulence, which didn't help. Gingerly she made the first mark, a capital M, on
the left side, right at the top. She chose to mark in the area where the labia
met the inside of her thigh; the labia themselves were to soft and loose to
write on. She knew it had to be legible, and visible from the front. It was a
notice, after all, a sign to whomever it might concern. Anyone who might look at
her.

     It was a long slow job. Once or twice the plane lurched and she almost
spoiled the work, but in the end she got it done, but not before there had been
a knock on the door. Elizabeth froze.

     'Yes?' she called out nervously.

     'It's OK, ma'am,' said a voice. 'Just checking you're OK in there.'

     'Oh, yes, I'm fine,' she said. 'I won't be long.'

     She finished the job and washed her hands. Some of the ink had got on her
fingers. She flushed and came out, colouring a little as the assistant looked
her in the eye. She knew she had a guilty look. What did the girl think she had
been up to? Surely she could not possibly have guessed?

     She went back to her seat and sat down. Matt reached out his hand.
Blushing, she took her knickers from her bag, rolled them into a tight ball, and
handed them over.

     'All set?'

     She smiled, then shook her head in mock bewilderment.

     'Where will it all end?' she said.

     'Some time soon,' said Matt, 'I shall be ready to make my mark upon your
body permanently. Shall you be ready too?'

     'Yes,' she said.

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