Winning Ways

Have you got all that? You can speak now."

"Yes Master, I just have a few questions but they may be best to ask when I have drafted the core document and then I can come back and work with you on the final document. It will take me about a week."

"You have two days slut and that is all."

Her face screwed up. I knew from a previous conversation she had an important corporate client to deal with. Why was I being so cruel? Because I needed it and I knew she did too.

I beat her so harshly, the crop slicing across her breasts and belly, criss-crossing as she lay back accepting this was for her misdemeanour. I was methodical now, keeping each stripe an inch from the next, then stepped to the side and came across the other way creating that 'burger' pattern. I laughed at her, insulting her as I knew would turn her on, the perverted little slut. I soon had a marvellous pattern as her tears streamed down her face and her body quivered, pain and pleasure only a fine line apart.

"Turn over bitch."

Her backside had four purple marks, but I knew they were not from me. Who cared? I didn't. I just added more stripes and instructed her to get up on all fours.

"Now, I want you to tell me all that you have been doing since we last met. Tell me about your lovers, male and female. Tell me which ones you think could help us pervert Nirvana and which you think could be good clients to send my way. You know how I like to mix business with pleasure. Incidentally, I have not intention to give up my job but I do intend to expand the company and maybe even explore partnership with yours? Think about it as I spank and fuck you..."

"Yes Master, but please, please spank me because I have been so naughty since we last met."

I raised my hand and with the fingers wide apart spanked her gorgeous firm arse, while I kept a recording going to capture the information that I would give to my trusted PA, Ms Mapledorum. Now she readers, is a woman chosen for her discretion but whom I knew (from watching her on my discretely placed CCTV) is a secret sexual minx. This tape would tease and torture her with its strong sounds of whipping and spanking; not to say rampant fucking and sucking.

Imogen screamed, but this was not with pain. It was an orgasm induced purely by my hand striking her arse cheeks. It was a small one, nothing like some I knew she would have, but I smiled knowing that I could get her off just with such a simple but cruel action.

"Oh, Master forgive me for cumming so quickly. Please, I have been very naughty and will make up for it with my true stories...."

_________________________

Imogen left striped not so much like a hamburger on a grill, more like a fine piece of graph paper. I used the crop everywhere, and I mean everywhere. However, she did not flinch once, absorbing all the pain to get the gain. She had so many orgasms and I did not deny her a single one. I was too kind that day, but then I wanted excellent results from her and I knew that if I played her correctly, I would get them.

Oh, was my cock sore readers. I had fucked her all afternoon front and back, had my dick sucked repeatedly and yet still managed to listen to some of her most sordid tales. I'm surprised the Bar has by now not struck her off. She has fucked and sucked her way through more clients than I have had hot dinners, but then she has so many secrets in her safe about them all that they daren't complain, I guess. Plus, she has just started a concerted effort to transfer to the bench and become a judge, so is now collecting dirt on the best of the judiciary. I had never realised, for example, that Lord Stokes of Mapworthy was a foot fetishist who had spent all of last Saturday night naked on Imogen's cold kitchen floor. She had kept him lying prostrate whilst licking her feet to a state of pristine cleanliness; cumming all over the stone and lapping it up on command. He may be 70 years old but he is still as randy as he was in his 20's and Imogen described his dick as the longest and thickest she had ever seen; apart from mine that is.

Nor had I expected that Judge Judith Smithers was a raving dyke who had kept Imogen under the table at a dinner party for her lesbian friends. My lawyer had spent all night on her knees licking lezzie pussy whilst dressed in what was apparently 'a ridiculously short maid's outfit with no panties,' she said. However, the horny lesbians were too stupid to notice that Imogen kept her little shoulder bag with her at all times. Ms Mavis Mapledorum would love transcribing the evidence for her that had come off the micro-recording device she used and the pinhead lens camera. Just a few minutes of slurping mixed with some very indiscreet conversations top of table and jerky but explicit images below would be worth so much to further her new ambitions. Judge Judy had a marvellously distinctive mole on her inner thigh. Very nice place for a beauty spot Imogen told me. However, was it my imagination, or did bi and lesbians scream louder when they came than hetero women? Whatever, that group had been particularly uninhibited in their pleasures and now I had the evidence to share with Imogen. I would ensure Mavis made a copy. Well, you never know when I might need it readers, do you?

When I got to Nirvana's that night; I was in no mood for more fucking. I stayed for dinner, gritting my teeth as 'The Bitch' made her snidey comments whenever I raised an opinion different to hers. Then, after the meal she proceeded to hog the TV control, never asking what her mother or I wanted to watch. Yes, she was one spoilt motherfucking cow who hopefully in a few weeks would receive the shock of her bitchy little life. I made my excuses, noting the transgressions in a little notebook I'd taken to keeping since I'd started dating her mother. 'One day' I had thought to myself, uncannily confident that there would be a time when I could exact either revenge or better still some correction of her daughter's behaviour. Of course in that book I also kept thoughts on the things her mother needed to do to break out of her prissy self. I smiled that night as I felt the power my new wealth gave me.

I drove home with a cock so hard it ached inside my Calvin's.

Chapter 2 -- The contract

"Welcome Nirvana," Imogen said, gesturing my girlfriend to sit opposite her in a large stuffed leather armchair. "It is OK to call you that isn't it?" she continued, smiling brightly and not taking her eyes away from Nirvana's. If I was not so sure, I thought to myself, I'd say she was smitten as much as I had been the first time I saw my future fiancé again after so many years. But then, my hopefully future wife and private whore was equally smitten.

Was it the deep pools of sinful darkness in Imogen's eyes so like her own, the long fingers that looked so dainty yet housed nails like talons, promising pleasure and pain? Was it the long, long legs (again so like Nirvana's except a lighter brown) that invited hands to slide slowly up that very short skirt?

It was a scorching hot day and Nirvana's large breasts were clearly unfettered behind a bleached white blouse. Her nipples had been indistinguishable when she entered the room, but now there was something turning her on and it wasn't me. I could see two organ stops pushing and expanding the starched cotton. Also, her breathing was becoming harsh, almost orgasmic judging from the rise and fall of her bosom.

I should have known! As I positioned myself into my own chair, I could see up Imogen's skirt. She had obeyed instructions. No panties. No hair. Wonderful. I was pleased and a light spanking later would reward her, not to say a hard fucking. I was even happier that she was keeping her legs in two time zones, a slight blush on her face, but I knew Imogen. She would be incredibly turned on.

Nirvana was saying nothing, just staring straight ahead now; directly into the promising chasm of my favourite slut. I had found another chink in her prissy armour. Given her prissiness in company this was a complete surprise reaction. All I could do was smile behind my hand.

"What is this all about?" Nirvana eventually asked, prising her eyes away from Imogen's cunt.

Right, trivial pleasantries over. Let's get focused, I thought to myself.

"Darling, my lawyer Imogen will explain. She is my confidant and long time friend so what she is telling you is important, serious and not a 'wind up' of any sort. You will need to consider it very carefully but let me tell you, without the conditions that will be set and adhered to there is no deal, no future involving me," I said in as measured a tone as possible.

"What the fuck is this about?"

"Nirvana! Language, please," I chastised, still keeping my measured tone but hopefully adding the type of menace I created when at my dominant best and at play.

"S-sorry darling..." she replied, slightly breathlessly, something obviously connecting in that constrained brain.

"Yes, you might well be sorry Nirvana, if you don't listen to what I am about to read out. At the end you will not be allowed to discuss the offer with anyone, but will be given exactly one hour in which to decide and then sign. That signature will be binding," added Imogen in a stern and sincere tone.

Oh she was good, taking control as instructed and giving some time to think but not really enough to make a fully thought through decision. Plus she now had her bum up on the desk and her feet each side of her arse and tucked under her chin. The skirt on her formal black suit was almost to her waist; its pencil shape like a corset it hugged her thighs so tight, and her glistening pussy was working its scented magic. I now knew my future wife (if she accepted the terms) was potentially capable of swinging both ways, well at least from a voyeur's viewpoint. Things were looking up or at least up at Imogen's bejewelled cunt lips. I smiled to myself.

"I am now going to read the terms of an agreement that I understand you requested if Paul here is to marry you."

Her face changed, the jaw dropping, the hands wringing and her legs crossing over and back as she absorbed this new piece of information.

"Paul Stebbings, your lover, offers you the opportunity to marry him. He has just won £75m on the National Lottery."

Imogen stopped, her eyes lifting from the prepared speech to stare at my Nirvana whose mouth was wide open and at that moment looked so sexy. I wanted to stuff my cock straight in there, letting her drink on it, to suck out my seed and not waste a drop. However, it was what was going on with my lawyer that was even more intriguing. Nirvana was looking so intently into Imogen's eyes that I could have thought they were starry-eyed lovers. Also my cheeky lawyer's skirt was now more a belt. She had wriggled forward on the desk with the skirt staying where it was. I could see she was sopping wet and if Nirvana looked down there she would see the same. I knew Imogen had connected like me with the obvious sensuality of that mouth, so wide, so open, so full and so moist around perfect white teeth.

Imogen pulled herself together and continued. "In response to your demand that you would not marry Mr Stebbings until he was secure and solvent, that requirement has now been fulfilled. However..."

I was watching Nirvana intently now. Her jaw was slowly closing and she was now sitting primly in her seat listening with rapt attention to my lawyer; though I did notice that her eyes were lowered almost like the slut in front of her to stare at that cunt displayed so openly now. What a contrast to the formality of the reading. I had to smile, hiding it behind my hand. I need not have hidden, because Nirvana's attention was certainly being steered away from me. Everything was going to plan.

"....The prenuptial agreement is binding to all parties. All are obligated to fulfil their parts of the bargain or no party by itself, not withstanding..."

Oh, Imogen was so good at this. Helped along by the opening and closing of her knees as her feet remained on each side of her on the desk. I watched her pussy glisten more and more, and a little pool of her squirting wetness growing on the desk. The room was filled with the scent of woman, but now it was more than just one perfume. I could detect the aroma of my partner, hers that one note of bouquet stronger than Imogen. I also noticed her legs were mirroring my lawyer. Her short pinstriped skirt was riding up too. The slut was inviting Imogen whether consciously or subconsciously I could not tell, but the legs that danced subtly in then out just a few centimetres suggested her cunt was swollen and hungry to be filled. Or did she imagine going a'licking with my lawyer? Whatever, her body said 'fuck me'. It was as if sex was not a choice, it was mandatory and she needed it at that very instant. I could tell. Whenever she made that motion at home with me, she was ready.

Imogen pretended to ignore the come-on as the legs persisted in their rhythmic open -- close -- open. She started to list the conditions...

"Number one: To receive an allowance that will accumulate to exactly one quarter of Mr Stebbings's remaining fortune after payments (of his choosing) to his children and ex-wife. Your allowance will reach a total sum of about £18.5m, allowing for accumulative interest and will be given in stages over a 15 year period."

The legs had come together. I noticed how she was squeezing her thighs against each other, but the pulsing open-close-open was subtle now. This money offer was clearly as much a turn-on as my slut! Imogen continued...

"Number two: To have your existing house mortgage paid off in full, the property renovated and then let as soon as you move into your new home with Mr Stebbings. This will be the house to which you will return should the marriage fail for any reasons, including and especially should the conditions of the prenuptial be broken.

Number three: Your daughter, Zeta, will receive a suitable allowance that will build to a cumulative sum after 15 years of £5m. However, this will be subject to conditions related to her personal development and manners."

Nirvana snapped a look at me. We had had many arguments over the lousy manners of her little Bitch. I hated the gob-open chewing, the eating like a pig at a trough (never heard a man or woman eat so noisily: from biting her spoon to chomping with her mouth open) and the rude backchat. She needed educating and putting in her place and I had the perfect solution.

"I'm sorry darling. She is a beautiful looking woman but with the manners of a pig. I have to be honest. I think with these conditions she will accept being sorted out. Under that harsh exterior is a potential gem of a woman. Let me sort her out through this agreement and we will all benefit. Trust in me," I pleaded softly, struggling with what I really wanted to say. That was, 'madam, your cunt of a daughter is a spoilt little Bitch who needs her lips sewing together until she realises that God gave us those lips to seal our mouths when we eat and to stay shut unless we have something valid and polite to say!'

"Sir, may I continue please?" Imogen interjected softly, sensing that the subtext I had shared with her might surface if a conversation ensued. I sat silently; just nodding approval then drifted off into thoughts of how I would sort Zeta out. I missed some of the reading as my mind completed the plan...

"Condition number nine: In order to receive these allowances both for yourself and for your daughter, you must agree to attend sexual therapy with the clinic of Mr Stebbings's choice. Specifically, this therapy is to commence next week. You will resign your job and Mr Stebbings will pay for any lost earnings. You will have a suitcase packed and be ready with passport to fly to the clinic in North America. This therapy will last for one month at the end of which you will return and marry Mr Paul John Alexander Stebbings. Any deviation from this agreement will make the receipt of your allowances, and those to your daughter, null and void.

Number ten: Your daughter, Zeta, is to be sent to the finishing school of Mr Stebbings's choice. He has identified a suitable one in the West of England. She must have a bag containing one toothbrush, toothpaste and one pair of clean panties ready by 18.00hours this evening. Her examinations are finished and so Mr Stebbings deems her free to start learning as soon as possible at the school. For every day that she stays there she will have placed in an account £1000 and if deemed to have competed her education successfully -- based on reports from Madam Honfleur, the headmistress -- she will receive a sum that will top up these savings to a total of £1m. It will be put into a trust fund supervised by myself. You will be responsible for persuading her to go to that school. Failure will make null and void all other offers in this agreement."

I watched her face. Nirvana looked puzzled at first, even angry in flashes (she hated that I criticised her daughter's slovenly ways -- it reflected on how much she had spoilt the only child) but as the rewards were stated so there was a softening, a growing acceptance. Good so far, but could she persuade the Bitch?

Imogen had stopped and was stretching back over the desk to the far corner of the heavy oak, her cunt open, skirt useless, and picked up the copies of the agreement that Nirvana and myself had to sign. God she was good. Clever and beautiful. The exposure had been choreographed perfectly. She was testing for me; translating the future promise for my fiancé (well, as I was convinced she would be by the time we left that room) in her own inimitable way.

Nirvana's eyes were locked on that jewelled cunt. All other movements were peripheral to her. Yes, there was something new happening here. Or was it something I had never noticed before? I'd watched her with her daughter at home always hugging each other, ample breasts pressed to ample breasts. Also, often they would publicly kiss (not deeply but on the mouth) but had considered it just the actions of a very close mother and daughter; even if others in the street had thought it some lesbian display; especially when they got so cuddly with each other. It had secretly turned me on, even if it was my lover and her Bitch.

So, I sat silently as Imogen handed us each a copy and a clipboard to rest the agreement on. Nice pens too. Very classy, just like their owner: when she wasn't being a slut.

___________________________

What a surprise! She signed straight away, with no consultation with her daughter. Then she sat back and after a moment's silence asked a very direct question.

"Imogen?"

"Yes, Nirvana," she replied softly.

"Where did you get that beautiful cunt jewellery done?"

I could have fallen off my chair! No discretely chosen words, straight in with such an explicit enquiry. Had all that promised wealth given her a new sense of confidence and power?

Imogen was up off the desk in a flash, lifting her skirt high and displaying herself only inches from Nirvana's face. I could tell she was pleased. Not as much as I was. She opened her legs wider and pushed her hips forward, allowing my fiancé to see everything.

"I got it done in Amsterdam at a specialist sex jeweller. She is marvellous; you must come with me. You should see my titties too."

I loved the way Imogen said 'titties' with her plummy voice, cultivated to distance herself from her Lancashire roots, but somehow sounding more snooty than those of breeding and inheritance. More surprises to come.

"Yes, show me," was the barely audible reply.

There was something terribly breathy about Nirvana's voice now. I could see her ample breasts heaving and her eyes were locked on my lawyer.

"Yes, I will," Imogen replied excitedly. Her buttons were virtually flying off, and like my Nirvana there was no bra to hinder the view. What a view! Her pert tits were ornamented with criss-crossed diamond studs. Yes, not one bar but two: one vertical and the other horizontal on each nipple. I thought about the momentary pain and then the pleasure Imogen would have felt. I was so hard.