Chapter 1
"Number One
and keep the skirt up."
Amelia read
the text message and smiled happily. The incoming message alert had sounded,
muffled through the fine kid leather of her handbag, just as she was leaving
work early and now she stowed the phone again, closed her office door and
walked along the plushly carpeted corridor of TPI Fund Management Ltd. and went
into the Ladies' toilet.
Once safely in
a cubicle she set her bag on the lid of the toilet and hoisted her short tweed
skirt up to her hips and with her thumbs pushed her black lace thong down her
thighs and then bent, pushed them right down to her ankles and shook them free
of her feet, then she picked them up and put them beside the bag. She had been
pretty certain that morning that her master would text her at about this time
and so she had not worn the thick tights she would normally have on a cold
autumn day and instead had come to work bare legged. It had been a chilly and
bracing start to the day but now at least she didn't have to struggle with the
wretched things to obey her order.
With her skirt
rucked up out of the way she spread her legs and began to perform Number One.
This involved
using her right hand to gently ease its way between the delicate fronds of her
inner lips and to begin to rub at the prominent nub of her clitoris itself
until it erected. Then she would slide her hand further under her and, still
rubbing with the palm of her hand insert two and then three of her fingers into
her vagina. The receipt of the text message coupled with the fact that she was
on her way to see her master had done the initial groundwork for her and her
clitoris was already throbbing and hard whilst her vagina was hot and moist as
soon as her fingers entered it. She shivered as the first spears of pleasure
pricked through her. But biting her lip to concentrate, she began the second
part of the order.
"Every part of
my body belongs to my Master. Even my thoughts are his. I may have no secrets
from him, just as no part of my body is hidden from him," she recited to
herself. She was required to do this ten times for a Number One. Her master
knew she had a long way to drive and so hadn't ordered a Three, or worse in
terms of carrying on normal life, a Four which required the recitation to be
made forty times. She always found it hard to concentrate and get the right
number of recitations with her hand rubbing her clit - the fingers inside her
were purely because her master liked to know she had put them there - the real
damage was done by the fact that she couldn't be gentle with her clitoris even
if she wanted to be; not while she was under his orders.
Dimly she
heard the next cubicle being used and tried to stifle her breathing which was
becoming ever more ragged as she ground herself mercilessly. She was pretty
certain she was on her fifth recitation now.
".....just as no
part of my body is hidden from him."
Yes, it was
definitely the fifth and she went on to complete the sixth. The cubicle next
door emptied and she breathed a sigh of relief and rubbed even more fiercely.
She closed her
eyes and leaned against the wall as she started the seventh, her mind beginning
to whirl away on visions of his face, his hands on her breasts, his whip
stinging her back, his hand working her tight sheath amid all her outpourings
as she waited to be possessed and used for his pleasure.
She bit her
lip hard and started on her eighth, trying desperately to concentrate on each
word as she felt her legs weaken. The door of the cubicle behind her closed as
someone entered it and saved her by dragging her up from drowning in sensations
and memories - and expectations of the next week to be spent with her master.
She finished her ninth and started the final recitation with a soft growl of
determination to really punish her clitoris as she ground out the words in her
head.
Once she
finished she had a moment's struggle against her own inclination to continue
for just a few seconds and see if she couldn't bring herself off but the
thought of the drive ahead finally forced her hand away from the hot and wet
confines of her groin and she sagged against the wall, thanking her master for
being cruel enough to always remind her of her subservience to him without
making her normal life completely impossible, which he could so easily. After
all, he knew she would obey any command he gave her.
After a few
moments she stood up properly, wiped herself clean, straightened her skirt,
picked her thong off the cistern and popped it into her bag - a Number One
meant going knickerless from then on - and hoping she didn't look too
flustered, she flushed the toilet and went out to repair her look in the mirror
that ran the whole length of the wall above the sinks.
After brushing
her hair, applying blusher and just a tad more lipstick, Amelia Johnson
appraised herself before setting off to see her master for a whole glorious
week. She was in her late twenties with thick, dark hair that fell to her
shoulders, her eyes were wide-set and large; dark brown and lustrous. Her face
was often described as elfin, narrowing from its wide brow to an almost sharp
chin below a wide and generous mouth with shapely and full lips. Her torso was
slender but supported breasts that were quite adequate if not exactly big, but
they sported nipples that were definitely big and charmingly tip-tilted as
well.
Where she was
going she knew that there were plenty of men, apart from her master, who knew
how to enjoy themselves with nipples like that. The thought reignited the
warmth between her naked thighs and she quickly distracted herself by
collecting her things together and beginning the brisk walk from the office to
the tube and the journey to the over ground station where she had left her car.
She just made it before the Friday rush hour kicked in in earnest and so she
didn't have the torment of being pressed against other bodies while being
acutely aware of her state of undress. At least she could get a seat and sit
with her legs demurely pressed together until it was time to change to an over
ground train for two stops and then retrieve her BMW for the drive down to
Berkshire. She had to wait until the interior light in the car faded before she
could start off because her master had decreed one last humiliation and once
she was in darkness, with a practised lift of her bottom and a quick heave on
her skirt, she complied with the final part of her order - to keep her skirt
raised. The cream leather of the upholstery was quite chilly for a while but
from past experience, Amelia knew that as she neared her destination, she would
be extremely hot and wet and would certainly leave an embarrassing mark on the
pale leather. Her master knew that as well.
She joined the
flow of the traffic on the M4 heading west out of London, streams of tail
lights in the twilight making a river of jewels that swept her towards her
destination.
By the time
she turned off the motorway it was fully dark and the last few miles along country
roads had been slow going. But at last she was able to swing the car off the
road, swipe her card through the recognition system that now governed the great
wrought iron gates and, once they had swung ponderously open, drive through
them onto the long avenue that led to The Lodge; the most prestigious and
secretive SM club in the land. However for the last three years of its
existence it had not only offered the most beautiful and submissive Housegirls
for its members' use, it also hosted in its extensive parklands the CSL stable
where some of the finest female gladiators to grace the modern arenas were
trained.
Amelia's
master was assistant trainer there and she herself acted as a groom when she
visited him. Now, as the car's headlights picked out the trunks of the great
lime trees on either side of the drive, her naked vagina began to lubricate and
she was uncomfortably aware it was drizzling its juice onto the leather seat,
but the prospect of returning to The Lodge and CSL, with all that that entailed,
was one she was helpless to resist.
She slid her
car into a space in the car park that stretched out in front of the great house
itself and got out, noting with chagrin that indeed she had left a damp patch
on the driver's seat and that the wind was now blowing coldly up her skirt and
rapidly cooling her ardour. She shivered and scuttled round to the boot to
retrieve her case and then hurried across to the sweeping stone staircase that
led up to the front doors, she ran up and pushed one of them open. Within was a
tall lobby with fishing waders, golf bags and umbrellas tossed carelessly on
either side. Testimony to the fact that the members enjoyed pursuits other than
just SM during their stays. Amelia walked towards the etched glass doors at the
far end, enjoying the feel of the maleness the room exuded before stepping
through into the warmth and light of The Lodge proper.
In the great
hall the chandeliers cast a brilliant light on the rich carpeting and the
ornate staircases, and on the portraits and landscapes that adorned the walls.
The girl on reception looked up with a beaming smile as the door closed behind
Amelia, shutting out the weather, the dark and the outside world. She took a
moment to just stand and breathe in the atmosphere of wealth - expensive cigars
and wax polish - delicious cruelty and mind-blowing sex that pervaded the air
of the house. A group of men in dinner jackets wandered across, heading for one
of the lounges for a drink before dinner. One of them spotted her and came
across, smiling broadly.
"Miss Johnson!
What a lovely surprise! If Brian and Carlo can spare you, I'd love to spend a
couple of hours in a dungeon with you, I don't mind which one," he said and
then took her hand to kiss it with grave courtesy.
"Thank you Mr
Gresham. If you mention it to them I'm sure they'll make the necessary
arrangements," she replied bobbing a Housegirl curtsy.
The man
laughed. "I'm sure they will!" he said and strolled back to re-join his
colleagues. Amelia went up to the reception desk and signed herself in, the
girl behind the desk was one she vaguely remembered from her last visit, like
all the Housegirls she was dressed in a satin evening gown that was cut very
low - almost to the point of displaying the areolas of her breasts - and Amelia
knew that the full, pleated skirt of the dress was slit at the back so that the
wearer could be groped perfectly easily by any of the members. This particular
girl was black haired and her make up carefully complemented the red gown she
wore.
She greeted Amelia
in English which was grammatically perfect but spoken with a pronounced accent
and Amelia recognised that she was an owned Housegirl, a girl who had been
bought at auction by the club. Some of the girls were owned by members and
leased to the club either while the master stayed or while he was absent -
maybe out of the country - pursuing business or different pleasures, but the
majority were bought and owned directly by the club.
Amelia picked
up her case and made for the small door that led off the back of the hall and
into the world of 'below stairs'.
The kitchens
were their usual mad maelstrom of steaming pots, hissing and flaming pans and
frantic, shouting chefs creating culinary masterpieces for the discerning
palates of the members who regularly dined at the finest restaurants in the
world and expected near-perfection in everything about them. Housegirls
assigned to domestic duty for the evening meal rushed in and out as they laid
tables in the dining room and prepared to begin serving. Some of them flashed
quick, bright smiles of recognition at her as she hurried through, anxious not
to be in the way. She stepped out from a side door into the old stableyard.
This was where the pony girls were kept for as long as a member wanted them
stabled. Amelia had known some girls dumped by their masters as ponies for as
much as a month, while they were off somewhere else. Mostly though, it was just
for a week or a few days at a time and the grooms were Housegirls themselves
and could easily find themselves harnessed and stabled at a member's whim.
Tonight there
was a pleasantly busy atmosphere from the stable block opposite. Light flooded
out from the door to the main stables and threw a wide beam across the cobbles.
Buckets clanked as stalls were washed out and floors were mopped, a Housegirl
hurried across with a big urn that had had the ponies' supper in it before it
had been emptied into the troughs, and as Amelia turned left and walked towards
the arch that led out into the park, she could hear the grooms laughing and
joking amongst themselves. Madame Stalevsky, the formidable ex-ballerina who
trained and oversaw all the girls would be along shortly to inspect the stalls
before lights out and that would settle them all down until the inevitable
creeping between beds began. The threat of a beating if they were discovered
only made the furtive explorations and orgasms all the more appealing.
Beyond the
arch Amelia hurried along as the chill bit at her again and took a path on the
right, illuminated by lamps standing in the shrubbery. Up ahead a large, unlit
structure blocked out the stars.
When she
reached it she groped for the door handle and lifted the heavy latch using both
hands, then she let herself in, retrieved her case and closed the twelve foot
high door before looking around her. The light was harshly neon and ahead of
her she could hear men's voices and among them was her master's. The steel
structure amplified and distorted the voices but she would know him anywhere.
There was the occasional smack of a whip and the sound of feet shuffling on
sand or sawdust. This was where she really belonged, she thought, walking
forward eagerly, past the dark green painted, luxurious horsebox with the
letters CSL in gold italics on its side. On either side of her, banks of seats
sloped steeply down to what the building's designers had intended to be an
equestrian arena. The seats were empty now, as those Lodge members who had been
watching had gone to change for dinner and the arena slaves were finishing
their day's training. Amelia pushed open the low door in the boarding that
surrounded the arena and walked in.
Her master was
just a few feet away on her left and standing behind an imposingly built,
naked, black girl who was bent forwards, her upper chest resting on the top of
the boards, her legs straight and spread, her hands clipped together at her
back. She was running with sweat despite the cold evening, and even her dark
skin could not entirely disguise the network of fine welts that laced her back,
ribs, buttocks and thighs.
Brian, her own
master, had a clipboard laid on the slave's back and was conferring with a
younger man - the new assistant trainer, Tony, who was holding a long driving
whip consisting of a thin, flexible pole with a length of stiff whipcord
depending from its end. Amelia knew exactly what she was witnessing. The two
men were deep in conversation about the figures on the clipboard, which would
be times for how fast the slave had pulled a single seat trap over measured
distances.
As the slave
in question was Fiji - a Polynesian girl bought at auction a few months
previously - Amelia knew Tony would have been running her over quarter and half
mile tracks. She was built for endurance rather than sprint speed and when she
wasn't racing, she formed part of CSL's formidable whip melee team with two
other slaves; Ox and Trouble.
As she
watched, Brian smacked the slave on her haunch as one might pat a horse after a
good gallop, Tony took the clipboard and went back into the arena, Brian
meanwhile unzipped his flies and tugged his rampantly erect cock out. It had
been some weeks since they had last been together and Amelia's throat went dry
at the sight of the magnificent purple dome that she sometimes still struggled
to contain in her mouth.
He used one
hand to bend the shaft slightly downwards and then slipped it between the
dark-skinned slave's thighs and moved forwards until his pelvis rested against
her buttocks. Amelia watched fondly as the slave's body adjusted to the
penetration and she began a spectacular gyration of her hips to enjoy her
trainer's cock within her, she swallowed and her thick tongue ring rattled
against her teeth.
Amelia adored
the ease with which her master took his pleasure with any slave that took his
fancy, or which needed a reward. And increasingly she envied the slaves their
constant availability.
She put her
case down and went to join her master.
Brian looked
over and smiled at her as she approached.
"Hi. Good
journey?" he said, perfectly unabashed at being up to the hilt in a squirming
and humping slave in front of her. As was perfectly right and proper in
Amelia's eyes.
"Not bad
thanks," she replied, leaning on the slave's back and giving her master a kiss.
"She still a good fuck?"
"Yep. One of
the best!"
They both took
a moment to admire the athletic way in which Fiji was bending her spine back
and forth and rolling her fabulous buttocks against Brian's pelvis. Amelia
folded her arms and leaned fully on the slave's back, craning her head towards
her master's crotch as she lowered herself and watching eagerly as an inch or
so of his shaft was revealed when Fiji alternated her swivels with humps and
hollows of her back, something she continued to do in spite of Amelia's weight.
Gentle groans of pleasure and more teeth-on-tongue-ring rattles came from her
head as Amelia unfolded one arm, reached underneath the slave and began to
knead a heavy, warm handful of breast.
Brian held
himself quite still and let the slave do the work, his hands just keeping a
steadying grip on her haunches.
"Got a hell of
a grip on her!" he said. "Some of the members reckon she's better than Blondie
or Ayesha in that department."
He leaned
forwards and slipped one hand up Amelia's naked thigh and under her skirt,
cupping her buttock and then patting it. "Good girl! Kept the skirt up and left
another mark?" he asked.
"As if I
wouldn't....and you know I did!" Amelia replied, smiling.
"Go and get
changed then, and put your collar on! You know I hate seeing you without it,"
Brian told her.
Amelia stood
up and let go of the breast she had been squeezing and mauling and turned to
go. A whip hissed and smacked further along the arena and she saw that Tony had
got another of the slaves tied out in full X shaped extension inside a tall
rectangular frame and was starting to wield a single tail whip across her back.
The slave's feet were held clear of the ground so the body was spectacularly
stretched. As she watched a second lash smacked home and Amelia's heart leaped
in excitement at the sight of the slave's breasts wobbling as her body shook.
She recognised her as being one of the longest serving ones; Cherry. She took
her name from the spectacular shade her nipples turned with arousal and as the
third and fourth lashes landed they blossomed forth. Amelia went across and
reached up to tweak them as the whipping continued. The slave's head was thrown
back and languidly it rolled forwards in response to this new stimulation.
Amelia saw her face was calm and relaxed, her eyes were bright and alert though
and Amelia got the feeling that the whipping might not be as much of a
punishment as Tony meant it to be. She had had a hard day's training by the
look of her, she was scratched and dirty and had clearly been under the lash
plenty of times already that day. It was unusual for Cherry to be punished
because she was one of the most biddable and hardworking of the slaves - she
was never going to be star material but she could be relied on to run, fight
and compete until she dropped.
Tony looked
out from behind her.
"She's been a
right cow today," he told her as if he had been reading her thoughts. "I reckon
she needs playing with for a night. Check her records when you get in will you?
And can you take Legs and Tigre when you go? This one needs a good thrashing so
I'll be here for a while."
Amelia bit her
lip with excitement; this was what she so missed, the mastery so complete that
only the slave's body was there at all. The rest of her was simply an
irrelevance. They were their owners' creations, superb animals for providing
pleasure in whatever ways their masters required.
Over at the
far edge of the arena two more slaves stood with placid patience, they were
tethered by slender leather leashes that ran from their heavy tongue rings to
more rings set in the top of the boarding. Their hands were clipped together
behind their backs. Occasionally they would shift their weight from one leg to
the other or swallow saliva and champ on their rings and the leash's karabiner.
As they had
finished for the day and the weather was cold, either Brian or Tony had slipped
thick 'poncho' type blankets over their heads and belted them around their
waists. Amelia went up to them and patted their haunches and stroked their
hair. With Legs she had to stretch up a little, the tall slave lived up to her
nickname and was used primarily in dressage and short distance pony races.
Beside her was another of the old lags, the gypsy girl, Tigre, dark and fierce,
a committed masochist who would only tolerate being handled by women if she
knew a man wasn't far away. However Brian had often let Amelia hone her whip
skills on Tigre's lithe form and the dark eyes were respectful rather than
hostile. Amelia slid her hand under the blanket and teased the slave's clitoris
for a few seconds, just as a hello, then she gathered the leashes and led them
off, clicking her tongue and picking up her case as she went. She put the
leashes over one shoulder and negotiated the small door at the far end of the
arena then set off along the short path that led to the CSL yard. The slaves
were housed in a long, low block on the right and above them the grooms had
their quarters.
Amelia pushed
open the door and led her charges in, dropped her case and then tethered them
to rings set in the wall behind the door and looked around. A chorus of
greetings came from the other grooms, Raika, Anna Marie, Eve and Helga. The
head groom herself, Patti Campbell was bending down examining a slave's foot,
which she was holding up behind her.
"Hi, Amelia!"
she called. "Help get those two sluiced down and stabled will you? Blackie
here's gone lame and I'll have to get Dr Sands down to check her out."
Amelia took a
moment to drink in the atmosphere of her final destination. The grooms all had
their uniforms - which she would change into shortly - of kitten heeled sandals
and short kilt worn below a blouse knotted beneath the breasts - they were busy
putting the slaves through the end of day sluicing prior to serving them their
evening feed. Along the ceiling ran an adapted warehouse system of frames slung
beneath rails, Helga stood by the showers and controlled the progress of the
naked and spreadeagled bodies - once Raika had chained them - as they were
passed through the steaming showers and Anna Marie worked the long handled
sponge into all the necessary nooks and crannies. Once they were washed and
dried by being passed between powerful hot air blowers, Eve took them down and
chained them back in their stalls.
And while the
other girls served the food and made sure the bottle in each stall was topped
up with the mixture of fruit juice and chilled sperm that Patti swore by,
Amelia took her case upstairs and changed into her uniform, fastening her
beloved collar around her neck in the little room with its dormer window
overlooking the parkland, its luxurious en suite shower room and comfortable
bed. Her master's apartment was on the opposite side of the yard which the CSL
buildings were grouped round and as yet she didn't know whether he would want
her in her own bed or his. But there was time enough to worry about that.
She ate her
supper with the other girls in the new dining room that now opened off Patti's
office and which led onto the new kitchen, thus saving the girls the chore of
having to collect food from the main kitchens. Alberto, the chef, had prepared
his usual superb meal for the staff after having catered for the slaves'
individual diets. He came out while they were cleaning their plates of the very
last traces of profiteroles and Patti suggested he take Cherry into the dungeon
for an evening's play - Tony having brought her and Fiji back while Amelia was
changing - a quick riffle through Cherry's records had shown that she hadn't
been used for a few weeks and was probably in need of serious attention. It was
most likely the cause of her uncharacteristic bad behaviour.
The rumour
amongst the staff was that Alberto had upset one wife and several mistresses
too many and that John Carpenter, The Lodge's owner, had offered him a hideout
with a perpetual supply of women in return for his catering for the arena
slaves and their grooms. Grinning broadly he strode out into the stall area and
they heard him leading Cherry out.
"Hey! She been
whipped good already!" he called.
"You want me
to come and show you some more places you can whip her?" Patti called back.
"No! Just show
me where I can whip you!" he laughed and they heard him encourage Cherry
into the dungeon at the far end of the stalls.