The Essence of Helena

It was then that I was aware of a hand on my leg, and was surprised to see that Lotte had joined me on the lounger. When I looked around at her, she pulled me into an embrace and it was a new experience to feel the rasp of her tongue stud in my mouth. I wondered fleetingly what it would feel like against my clit, and felt a little trickle forming between my legs. But then, as, on film, a young blond stud I didn't know moved into camera and took the place of the dildo, at least where Zeta was concerned, Klaus appeared and snatched Lotte away from me by the arm, saying, 'Hey, my turn, bitch!'

My reaction was swift. I slapped him hard across the face. I didn't like him anyway – he smelt of alcohol, or worse, and, well, I just didn't like his attitude.

Don Vicente saw what had happened, and spoke to Sir Marcus, and then they both went over to talk to Klaus, who was sulking in the corner, the video forgotten. I had ruined the evening.

'Come on,' said Don Vicente, 'we're going home!'

He didn't speak as we went down in the lift.

When we got into his car, I said, 'I'm so sorry, Master!'

He was silent a little longer, and then said, 'I had hoped I could introduce you to the relationship between pain and pleasure before punishment became necessary. You have seen fit to force my hand.'

As soon as we got into the apartment, Don Vicente told me to go to my room and undress. I did so, and was stood, shuddering, in my heels, wearing nothing more than the silver chain around my waist when he slipped through the door into my room.

My eyes widened in terror when I saw he was carrying a riding crop. I was going to be beaten!

'Kneel!' he said, 'and hold your hair up on top of your head!'

I obediently knelt, trembling through my whole body as I did so. He stood back behind me, and I heard the crop swish through the air as he tested his arm.

'Mmm,' he muttered, in satisfaction, then, when I heard the next swish, there was an awful 'crack,' and the most dreadful stinging pain across my upper back.

'Oh!' I cried.

'Quiet!' he said, 'or I shall have to double your dose.'

Another rush of air, and I bit my lip, as the terrible instrument struck me slightly lower, causing me to writhe in agony.

'That's better!' he said, 'after another few, you will be eager for more, believe me!'

I didn't believe him, and shook my head as he brought the crop down again across the tender small of my back, and I moaned quietly, as a tear escaped and ran down my cheek. He saw and wiped it away, kneeling beside me. Whilst he was there, he ran his hand down the front of my body, and I opened my legs to let him feel my slit.

'You're wet through!' he said, 'I'm going to give you three more strokes.'

He stood, and lashed me viciously, first just above my buttocks, then twice, quickly, across the most tender part of my arse-cheeks, one each side.

'Now,' he said, when he had finished, 'perhaps you will have learned that you should make yourself available when I take you out to friends' houses!'

'But Klaus is gross!' I said.

'A slave is not qualified to make such judgements,' he said, 'I shall prepare you in time.'

'Thank you Master,' I said, meekly, and he smiled then, and helped me up from the floor.

He said he had work to do, and sat in his study, while I watched television in the lounge, for perhaps an hour, and then he told me to go and wait for him in his bed.

That night, he loved me caringly, tenderly, entering my body almost apologetically, and letting me climb on top of him, so that I didn't feel any pain on top of the damage he had caused by whipping me. But when he traced my welts with a questing finger I whispered that I had had an orgasm while he was whipping me, and told him that I should love him forever.

Next morning, whilst we breakfasted, I was wearing just a silk negligee, and he passed a little velvet-covered box to me. At first I thought it might be a ring, and opened it with trepidation. I found it contained two little gold clamps, and a fine gold chain.

'What are these?' I asked.

'Nipple clamps,' was his reply, 'come here!'

I let him cup my breasts in his big hands, and felt my nipples harden and grow instantly under his fingers, as he tweaked them, and then he fitted the little clamps to them, and I cried out at the sharp pain, which increases alarmingly when he tightened them down.

'That looks lovely,' he said, seeing the little chain hanging between my nipples, 'I think you can wear them all morning, anyway. And there's something else!'

I wondered what other agony he was going to put me through, but didn't have long to wait. He told me to bend over the kitchen table, and he raised my negligee. I thought he was just going to rub oil into my welts when he traced those on my buttocks with a fascinated finger, but he had a tube of KY jelly, and was easing a quantity of it into the crack around my arsehole.

I started a little as his finger slipped into my little puckered hole, and then felt a new sensation when he stabbed it right in, way past my anal sphincter, bringing an odd mix of discomfort and what? Pleasure? No, it went beyond, it was into the realms of ecstasy, it was a totally undreamt-of feeling – I knew then I should want more, much more, of this, that I was entering a new world of agony and delight. But what was my Master doing? He was introducing something into my arsehole that didn't fit, and he had to shove hard to get it in there.

'It's a medium butt-plug,' he explained, 'a new model with a flange, so that it stays in.'

Now it really did hurt, as the foreign body invaded my poor anus, and I felt sure that, despite the lube, he was tearing me, as he worked the alien rubber plug right up inside, filling me.

'It's going to feel really awkward at first,' he said, ' but it's the only way to train your arsehole for what I want from you, my dear.'

He made me practice walking up and down with the plug and the nipple clamps in place, and then told me to get dressed so that he could take me shopping and to lunch.

For the first time, I examined my wardrobes. They were well-equipped, to say the least of it, and I took a long time before I chose a dress to wear. I put on a Versace back dress cut deep to the waist at the front, so that the chain between my breasts would show as it crossed my cleavage. The dress was mid-thigh length, and I wore black stockings and a garter belt, and impossibly high stilettos. I was acutely aware of the butt-plug, as well as the nipple clamps, when we went out, and Don Vicente asked me if I still had the plug in place when we were in a taxi headed for Bloomingdales. When I told him that I had, he glanced around, and suddenly told the cab-driver to stop.

He did so, and we were next to a grey plastic public pay-toilet. My Master paid off the taxi, then led me into the toilet, and pushed me up onto the wash-hand-basin. Parting my legs roughly with his knees, he opened his trousers and I saw that he wasn't wearing boxers. His engorged and rigid shaft was in his hand. Without preliminaries, he rammed his full length into me, causing me to cry out sharply. He fucked me in six or seven vicious thrusts, driving my sore and ravaged back into the taps behind me, then he grunted and came in a huge spurt, filling my body with his hot sticky cum.

I did my best to clean myself up before leaving the hot plastic cubicle, giggling as I stepped out into the sun, but acutely uncomfortable nonetheless, with the intrusive plug an ever-present reminder in my arse, my nipples protesting with the agonising pain of the clamps, and now the feeling that cum was going to ooze down my legs at any moment. Add to that my teeteringly high heels, and I was learning the value of suffering in the interests of sexual satisfaction.

My Master took me into some exclusive shops on Fifth Avenue, where I raised eyebrows, and he bought me jewellery and perfume, then we had lunch in a good restaurant.

We then took a taxi to Chinatown, and, in a little specialist shop, he had me fitted for a corset. A tiny Chinese woman came and had me strip, while Don Vicente sat and looked on, then she took my vital statistics, and went away, leaving me standing there, acutely embarrassed by my butt-plug and nipple-clamps. After a few minutes, she was back, with a white, whale-boned garment, which she offered up to my waist and told me to hold in position at the front, while she laced it up at the back.

When she did so, her strength was amazing, and I thought I should pass out with the constriction of my waist. When I looked in the mirror, the corset pinched me in like an hourglass, thrusting my tits out on its platform, so that my clamped nipples pointed up at forty-five degrees, and also having the effect of making my buttocks, still showing the signs of my whipping, bulge outwards as if in invitation. I instinctively felt around to make sure the plug wasn't going to pop out with this new pressure.

The Chinese woman at last released me from this torture, and told me that this was only a trial garment – my own would be ready next week, and my Master issued more instructions and handed over money before we left.

That evening, he had invited Sir Marcus, Zeta, Mariano and Mitzi to dinner, and had engaged the services of a firm to do the catering. Sir Marcus was bringing his slave, Mary, he said – I realised that was the tall black girl who had waited table at their apartment.

My first shock of the evening came when I asked my Master what I should wear.

'Nothing,' he said, 'just shoes and jewellery. I have agreed with Marcus and Mariano that slaves will be naked this evening. Keep your plug in, but you can remove your clamps if you wish.'

'Thank you Master,' I said.

When I removed the clamps, the pain was terrible as the blood rushed into my deprived nipples, and it was a while before they recovered sufficiently for me to rouge them nicely, along with my pussy-lips, which would be on display during the evening.

I chose a pair of stiletto-heeled sandals which laced right up my calves, fastened a heavy silver chain about my waist, and completed my ensemble with silver pendant ear-rings and bangles.

Mariano arrived with my friend Mitzi, swathed in a fur coat, which I took from her at the door. She was, like me, naked, but as she preceded me into the lounge, I saw a glint of something between her legs. When she turned to me, and I asked her what it was, she showed me – she had had her labia pierced, and it must have been done some time, because from the ring which went through her lip, a little chain of three more links had been hung. It swung nicely as she walked. She smiled at my fascination, and fingered the faint stripes on my buttocks. 'Mmmm,' was all she said.

As Mariano greeted me, the doorbell rang again. It was, of course, Sir Marcus, accompanied by his blonde wife and their gorgeous black slave, wearing a white fur coat, which she shrugged off and gave to me. I had to stretch to kiss her, but her embrace was fragrant, her breasts firm against me. But I carried the image in my mind of her pink cunt, being penetrated by the huge dildo as she made love with her mistress on film. She wore no jewellery except a gold anklet.

Her mistress, the blonde Zeta, was dressed in a long black translucent gown, completely backless, which revealed more than it concealed. She was naked underneath it, and every detail of her arcane piercings could be seen without difficulty.

Dinner was served by two nervous young women from the catering company, who found it difficult to take their eyes off the naked diners, but didn't really dare look at them either.

When they had been paid off, and we all went through into the lounge, Zeta confronted my Master.

'Vicente, darling,' she said, 'you are such a sweetie. I really don't think you've punished your new slut properly. Where are her stripes?'

I listened, horrified, then she came and pulled me up from my seat, and spun me around.

'Look,' she went on, 'hardly a mark on her! I think we should see her properly whipped. But I see you've plugged her. That's something. Are you going to loan her to Marcus?'

'I thought I'd keep her for myself,' said Don Vicente.

'Don't be silly, darling,' she said, 'you'd tear her in half. If you want an arsehole, why not have the other slut? She's got one like the Greenwich Tunnel. Now, let's see to this slave of yours.'

I was trembling when Zeta got to her feet, and went over to Don Vicente. He seemed to be under her spell, at least to some degree, and meekly rose and went over to the wall, where he pressed a button. A whirring noise sounded, and I looked up to see a metal ring, on the end of a sturdy chain, descend from the ceiling to something above head height. Then my Master came over to me, took a pair of silver handcuffs from his pocket – he had been prepared for this all along! – and led me into place under the ring.

The ring turned out to be, in fact, a snap-link, and he quickly clipped the chain of my cuffs into the link.

'What shall it be?' he asked Zeta.

For an answer, she went to his sideboard, where she obviously knew he kept his instruments, and took out a leather bull-whip. I thought she would hand it to my Master, but she had decided to mete out the punishment herself, and, without warning, she lashed me viciously across the lower back, the end of the thong snaking around so the tip stung right around to the side of my stomach. I cried out in agony, but to no avail, and she took aim again and gave me a savage, stinging stroke across my tender buttocks, which had me writhing against my bonds and moaning in pain. She told me not to cry out, but made this near-impossible by lashing me unexpectedly across the tits, and I sobbed, tears coming unbidden, when she changed tack and concentrated on my sensitive thighs, even striking my freshly-shaven mound with the very tip of the lash. My agony was mingled with the most intense and indescribable passion, and when she asked me if I could take another stroke, I heard someone – it must have been me – saying, 'yes, yes, please, I'm cumming, hurt me, hurt me more.'

When she had finished, and I had had my second orgasm, she unclipped me, pulled the butt-plug from my arsehole, and carried me bodily to a couch.

She lay me down on my belly, slipping a cushion under me, and called Sir Marcus over.

He already had his pants undone, eager, having watched my whipping. Tentatively at first, he tried my arsehole with his finger. It was still tight, despite the day's discomfort with the plug, and he called for Mary to pass him some lube. I felt a great deal of anticipation, in spite of being in pain from the wounds Zeta had inflicted on me. One orgasm just isn't enough, and neither are two, for me. I somehow knew that it was in this way that my pleasure was going to be maximised, and couldn't wait to be fucked in the arsehole.

At last I felt his crown pushing, pushing its inexorable way, much much broader than any plug, as he eased his way up my tube, in, in, past my tender region, past my sphincter, then, Oh, oh, he was right in. Right in my arsehole! I held him there, loving the feel of having a real cock in my anus, as he started to drive up and down my velvet sheath, and I moaned and felt juices come welling up in my cunt again. I came, again, and my wounded back, sore tits, lashed thighs, all were forgotten as he drove in and out, in and out.

'Oh, oh, fuck my arse, you lovely, lovely man,' I yelled, and he growled, stiffened, and came, shooting a hot load of creamy spunk right up into my bowels.

He pulled out and we lay together, watching the scene around us, he hardening again, despite his fifty-something years, as my Master was pounding Mitzi's cavernous arsehole over the coffee table, while Mariano was being straddled by Mary on another sofa, whilst her mistress, Zeta, was sat on his face.

I had come quite a way from my mountain village.