Prologue
Morgan Masters (he used the name Morgan Masterful
on the Internet) eventually returned to the website where he'd first seen Helga
offered as a slave.
By taking Helga he'd gained access to her
beautiful blonde daughters, Tilly and Mia. Now, having used them for the best part of a
year, he was curious as how much money they might fetch if he offered them for
sale. He was not exactly weary of their
charms but that part of human nature that makes men wonder if the grass is
greener elsewhere was a strong feature in Morgan's personality.
Perhaps (if the price was right) he would
part with Tilly and keep Mia.
Mia had been the most biddable from the
very beginning, prepared to accept him as her step father and call him Daddy,
show him some affection. Although it was
still fun sometimes trying to overcome Tilly's resistance, there were occasions
when he might have gained as much satisfaction from flogging a carcass of
butcher's meat. He looked for something
in a girl's eyes when he tortured her: terror, excitement, arousal
or a combination of these feelings.
Tilly's beautiful blue eyes registered no emotion and this was
disconcerting to say the least.
Morgan was excited once he got back to the
bondage site.
He'd forgotten just how thrilling it could
be communicating with other masters to discuss their slaves' merits and
demerits and compare notes on training methods and sanctions. Sometimes he was in direct touch with a
self-proclaimed submissive begging to be owned, or at least to be given a
period on probation (he always insisted
on that) but the trouble was these women often made exaggerated claims about
their masochistic desires and pain thresholds and careful screening was
necessary.
He knew from bitter experience that these sluts could be a massive disappointment. In his early days as a master, Morgan had
invited a number of white girls to his home only to
discover they baulked at anything stronger than OTK spankings. As a black man he found many white women (he
always selected Caucasians) fantasied about the sexual prowess and potency of
black masters to the point that he felt sorry for any black dude with just an
average sized tool.
On the whole it was better to
deal with the owners rather than the slaves.
Of course there were fakes and weirdoes among their number but Morgan
found most could be trusted to tell the truth.
Experienced masters (and it was easy to
spot the novices) tended to post short but very explicit messages because they
knew exactly what they were looking for.
One message caught Morgan's eye.
Lifestyle
master looking for mother and daughter to live in and contribute. Short and to the point though there were
questions to answer, certainly enough to arouse interest.
It occurred to Morgan that if he got Helga
back from Alf at the King's Head he would be in a position
to negotiate. Helga and Tilly Miller, an
attractive combination. He would have
to compensate Alf who used Helga to entertain the soldiers from the nearby camp
but he would get a good price for Tilly who was only nineteen. It would be good to offload Tilly. It wouldn't be deceit on his part; another
master might get more out of her. Like
her twin, she was striking to look at, tall, athletic, blonde (inherited from
her German mother) with big boobs (another of her mother's attributes). The couple who wanted a mother and daughter
would get a teenaged girl to break in and train and a mother who already knew
how to work hard as a skivvy and how to please by catering for every kink in
the book, surely an attractive package.
When Morgan made contact
with the Dom he discovered he was a black African and he was looking for
a mother and daughter who were white.
The man already had a daughter by a previous white partner but the
twenty two year old girl had gone back to Africa and Toby was looking for a
surrogate.
As Morgan expected Alf did drive a hard
bargain even though Helga was no spring chicken and, not to put too fine a
point on it, a raddled three-hole slut. Having seen their pictures and gained
detailed information from Morgan, Toby was willing to pay the asking price for
the two women.
Chapter 1
When she acquired
an African step father (which was what he called himself) with the embarrassing
name of Toby, Tilly was not pleased. She wasn't going to let on she missed her
real father because Barry Miller had had so little to do with her, being away
in the Army, and, in the end, he'd rejected her for a tart called Melissa.
Her mum, Helga, seemed impressed with the
new man in her life despite the strange arrangement that established their
relationship with the result that Tilly felt emotionally neglected by both her
real parents.
Toby wasn't a man to slip into the
background. He was a dominating presence
by virtue of his size and his personality.
He was well over six feet and heavily built without being fat, had a
deep sonorous voice, and a stern but handsome face. He was the preacher in the happy clappy
church of some obscure sect now attended by Helga who obviously felt she'd
landed the star prize in the lottery.
His profession was another reason for Tilly to be embarrassed and she
didn't let on to any of her friends.
From the first day Toby tried to establish
his authority over Tilly with a set of strict rules which Tilly felt obliged to
resist. Part of her acknowledged that
discipline was just what she needed (her father hadn't even attempted to
provide it) but another part of her resented her 'step father's' attempt to
take over her life, after all she was nineteen and earning a wage and, most of
all, he wasn't her real father.
Toby was fond of delivering sermons in the
house as well as the church and when Tilly was around the theme was usually the
loose morals of the younger generation and the need to stop the rot through
stricter parenting, proper discipline in schools, and regular church
attendance.
After much nagging from her mother, Tilly
eventually went to a Sunday service.
There were only a handful of white folk present but her mother had pride
of place in the front pew; this meant Tilly had to sit where everyone could see
her. When her step father started to
preach Tilly felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck. Toby's voice rang out and seemed to fill the
building and the effect of his words was to whip the congregation into
frenzy. People were standing up shouting
Hallelujahs and clapping their hands above their heads and generally sounding
hysterical. When her mum joined in
waving her hands about and praising the lord Tilly wanted a hole to swallow her
up but that prayer wasn't answered.
When the service ended Toby was surrounded
by numerous excitable black women of all ages while Helga stood a little apart
with arms folded and beaming all over her face at her husband's
popularity. Her expression said, 'You
all want him but I've got him. I'm the
one he fucks.'
Toby told everyone that Helga was his new wife. It was clear his congregation recognized
charisma and magnetism in her step father and he was much admired particularly
by women.
It turned out that Toby had a model in
mind for how Tilly should behave, his own daughter called Dolly who'd gone back
to Africa after going to university in London.
To Tilly it seemed Dolly must be the perfect daughter who always did
what her father said. When Tilly moved
into Toby's house with her mum she was given 'Dolly's bedroom' and some of her
clothes were still there hanging in the wardrobe and in the chest of
drawers. It seemed Dolly was a
paragon. By all accounts she was pretty
(but not vain of course) intelligent, sensible, and devout.
When Tilly asked her mother about Dolly
Helga said she must have gone back to Africa awhile before she'd met Toby
because she'd only seen photographs.
When Tilly saw the pictures a pretty white girl
hair stared back at her but she didn't look happy. Tilly asked if father and daughter used
Skype to stay in touch her mum said she's never seen it happen. This struck Tilly as odd if he loved her as
much as he claimed.
Tilly asked how come she was white and
Helga explained he'd been married to a white woman out in Africa and she'd had
a child with someone else so Dolly was only a step daughter. It sounded to Tilly like Toby was collecting
white step daughters.
As far as keeping in touch was concerned
it wasn't that Toby didn't use a computer.
It wasn't an invention of the devil as Tilly might have expected him to
say because he was against a lot of things like clubs and discos and cinemas
and ten pin bowling and almost everything else Tilly and most young people
enjoyed.
One night when she came home late from a
night out with her friends from work Toby was waiting up.
'You look like a whore
in those clothes. I wouldn't have let
you go out if I'd seen what you were wearing.'
'Mum saw what I had on.'
'I'm surprised she
didn't tell me.' Toby looked furious and
Tilly knew her mother was in for a tongue lashing at least. 'What's wrong with this outfit anyway?'
'It's too low
cut. Boys will have been staring at your
breasts all night.'
'I don't think
so. Tits are not all they think about.'
'There's no need
to talk like a slut as well as look like one.'
'You should see
what other girls are wearing.'
'I'm not
interested in other girls. You're my
daughter.'
'Step daughter,'
Tilly emphasized.
'As long as you live
in my house I'm responsible for you.'
'Perhaps I should
find a place of my own.'
'You wear too much
make-up. You don't need all that
lipstick.'
'Is that a
compliment to my natural ruby red lips or you mean I look like a tart.'
'You don't need it
and it makes you look cheap.'
'Like a tart.'
'Like a tart.'
'Thanks a bunch.'
Toby seemed to
soften. 'Come here Tilly.'
Tilly obeyed but
shrank from him when he eased her onto his knee. He stroked her strawberry blonde hair with
its hint of red. 'You're very hot and I
don't want you taken advantage of.'
Tilly was
surprised to hear him use the word 'hot' in this way and couldn't help
smiling. It just wasn't a word Toby
would be expected to use.
'That's better
angel,' he said. 'I don't want you to be scared of me.'
He could tell she
was tense but the sudden intimacy was more intimidating than his aggression
though somehow it was not as creepy as when Morgan did it. 'Why don't you cut your hair short?' He grabbed handfuls of her hair to show what
he meant. 'Don't hide your lovely
face.' She was lost for words which was
unusual because she prided herself on always giving back as good as she
got.
'You're not scared
of me, are you?'
'No, but I don't like
it when you have a go at me. You're
always comparing me with Dolly and making me feel like I'm crap.'
'There you go
again. There's no need for crude
language.'
'I suppose Dolly
never swore.'
'As a matter of
fact she didn't.'
Tilly tried to get more comfortable on his
lap but he set her down abruptly. 'It's
late,' he said and kissed the top of her head.
'You should be in bed.'