Winning Ways

"Oh, there was one last thing that I forgot came as an instruction from Madam Honfleur last night," I lied. "Given the girls are to learn how to be ladies at dinner and the ball, although most clothing is provided on site, it is advisable for all pupils to bring a very high heeled shoe."

I'd seen the Bitch's suicide heel. It was a full nine inches that made her stand tall, her hips thrust forward. That would make it harder for her to do a runner, I mused to myself.

"Oh," said Nirvana, looking at me for some sign that I was joking, "Is that so?"

"Yes, she will need them in preference to flat ones which can easily be bought there. In fact, I will send Madam Honfleur any money she requires to help Zeta. Our priority is to get her on her way there by sleeper train tonight. Got her ticket?"

"Yes, I have. Zeta, get those red leather suicide heels you bought for the Rocky Horror Show."

"Oh mum," came the whinging reply, a plea to be excused the tortuous walking in those dramatic heels.

"You will do as we tell you or..." she moved towards the phone again. Zeta was there in a flash, holding her hand.

"No, it's OK, I'll wear them they are under the bed in a box."

"I'm surprised you can find them," I interjected caustically, looking around at the bombsite that needed a skip to empty.

Nirvana dug me in the ribs. She was right. Zeta was just as likely to refuse to go and let her emotions override her loyalty to Anissa.

"Sorry, cheap jibe. I was like this at your age," I lied. "Now can we go?"

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Zeta tottered to the car, her heels making her walk so tall and with the tiniest of steps and with her mother by her side holding her arm. I was behind, taking in the tight arses and swinging hips of them both. I could not help noticing too that no matter if Zeta's tits were held in by the dress the swell at the sides was in rhythm too and with the cut out sleeves, the bare curves struggled to stay where they were. Had Nirvana deliberately chosen this to humiliate her daughter a little? I was beginning to wonder.

Something else I noticed. Nirvana had taken all her daughter's usual array of jewellery off her, except the nipple rings that she had had done in town without her mother's permission. She was sending her as bare as she could. Was this punishment too? All I could think was 'thank God' it was hot that day and what a delight she would be for others to look at when on that long train journey to the West Country. A full twelve hours, getting her there next day on the sleeper. But that would only be the beginning of her adventures.

Besides, just to get her in the mood, I had ordered Imogen to accompany her. I had booked a whole private sleeper carriage that she would be sharing with my lawyer and whom I was sending to Madam Honfleur for a 'top up in manners' as I had called it. It was costing me dearly in credited days of debauchery, but by the time that happened I expected Nirvana to be joining us. It's a hard life being such a dominant bastard.

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"Well, bye darling. See you in a few weeks. Remember, the more you learn and the quicker you adjust the sooner you will be home."

"I hate you. I hate you both," she cried, genuine tears down her face.

"Now darling, you don't mean that," Nirvana said, hugging her resistant daughter. "It's all for your own good, besides you have a companion for the journey I understand who will share this sleeper cabin with you, and she is going to the school too. Where is she Paul?"

"Oh, I don't know, the lawyer said she was picking her up and would drop her off here just in time for the train," I lied, keeping up the pretence, having not told Nirvana that the companion was my lawyer! My head was full of the images of what Imogen would do with Zeta. "Anyhow, we better get off the train. They've announced that those not travelling have to leave."

"Bye darling," Nirvana said, hugging her daughter again, who was standing close and still crying. Nirvana backed out of the carriage, heading for the door. I signalled I would be along soon, but wanted a word first with her daughter.

Now it was my turn with the Bitch.

"Bye Zeta darling. Be good at the school," I said loudly, getting close to her in the enclosed space and out of sight of her mother before slipping my hand round to her firm arse and squeezing it painfully hard, making her gasp as I whispered, "Madam Honfleur will give you a sense of duty and of pleasure in equal measure. There are a number of things to remember. First, that for each day you stay, you receive that £1000 to the account. But also remember that hurt to your arse, because if you disobey, Madame Honfleur will ensure that that pain you have just experienced will be ten-fold, understand?"

I smiled evilly as I left; passing Imogen who had dressed as instructed in a similar little black number and high heels; following instructions passed by text.

"Hello," I heard her say to the shell-shocked Zeta, "I'm Isabella and I understand we are both going to Madam Honfleur's school. What fun we can have together on our journey. Oh, and look what similar tastes in clothes we have..."

The door closed to the compartment. I heard the click of the lock. I wondered what Imogen would cook up for them en route. I knew she would keep a diary for me, take pictures whenever possible and create a DVD. I looked forward to her accounts. My cock hardened as my mind imagined the scene...

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The train pulled out. Nirvana was slightly subdued by the fact that her daughter had pulled the blind down on her carriage and was clearly not going to wave us 'goodbye'. So, I played the concerned lover, putting my arm around her and squeezed her tightly with reassuring hugs.

"She'll be fine. Madam Honfleur is the best."

"Are you sure?" she cried into my shoulder.

"Oh yes, she is a disciplinarian but very kind too. If Zeta works hard at her studies she will even let her return early. I do know she will do her best to whip her into shape."

How true that would be. I hid the smile, imagining the methods that Madam would use. The same techniques used on me as a boy and on my ex-wife in her twenties. For me it was Madam H senior, for Karen it was the current Madam, the daughter who was the tougher disciplinarian.

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"My God! What are those on your bottom?" Zeta exclaimed as in the cramped space of the carriage Isabella (Imogen) stripped her dress off and bent facing her arse to her companion.

"Oh, those? Oh, just the marks of my Master. Before I left for Madam Honfleur's he honoured me with both the kiss of the cane and the lash of a whip. I had been disobedient and obedient in equal measure. The cane was punishment, the whip sublime pleasure. Have you never experienced them?"

"You mean you enjoy the kiss, er the whipping?" Zeta asked, her curiosity aroused despite the accompanying fear and mild horror of it all.

Imogen smiled to herself. Ah, the inevitable curiosity of youth. She was going to be a blank canvas, ready to corrupt in the most exquisite ways.

"Oh, I love it and the spankings. He is such a master of the hand and the cane. Surely you have felt the pleasure of a spanking and whipping? Here, feel my arse and the heat that still radiates from the punishment."

She had grabbed Zeta's hand, not giving her time to resist and placed it on her painful stripes. She concentrated on not wincing as Zeta explored, at first reluctantly but then with obvious gusto as curiosity took over. Her hands caressed and traced the stripes that my friend Eleanor had left on Imogen at my behest. I had not been able to be there for the session, but knew that such a display would add to Imogen's success as seducer. Besides, I needed to give my lawyer some rewards for her work.

"Maybe you would like me to show you how pain can become pleasure?" she asked tentatively, testing her young recruit to BDSM play.

Zeta moved her hand away as if burned. Too soon. Damn.

"That's ok, maybe later at the school you'll discover its pleasures," she said calmly, turning slowly to allow Zeta to take in her beautiful curves and the jewels on her tits and cunt. She looked up and away to ensure Zeta could scan her body and opened her legs wider, pretending the movement of the train had imbalanced her, to ensure the views were unhindered.

There was silence in the compartment, only the clickety clack as the train's wheels crossed the points to get onto the main line.

"Wow!" Zeta exclaimed, the teenager's inability to be discrete overcoming her.

"Wow?"

"Yes, what amazing jewellery you have. All I have are gold rings through my teats."

"Have you? I have always wanted some of those but my Master makes me wear all this diamond stuff when I just want plain titty jewellery," she lied, as if the thousands of pounds she'd spent on herself were nothing. Worse, that she disliked it. She asked quietly, "Can I look?"

Zeta hesitated. She was close to pulling her dress over her head, and then had second thoughts. She hardly knew this woman and was sharing intimate secrets.

"Oh, please," pleaded Imogen, pretending to be a little schoolgirlish. "No one can come in. It's only girls together. I want to see..."

"Oh, OK," said Zeta, capitulating indecently quickly thought Imogen. And in a trice the dress was over her head and dropped on the floor in the usual style of the messy bitch she was at home.

Imogen approached, reaching out her hands and seizing a nipple ring in her fingers. She tugged on it, not saying a word; knowing the exact amount of pressure to exert to send erotic signals to Zeta's belly and cunt. She saw the flick of the young woman's tongue. She pulled a little harder, testing the boundary and heard the low moan.

"These are beautiful," she said, ignoring the pleasure signs. "You have such wonderful breasts too, such a light coffee colour like the rest of your gorgeous body. And your teats are huge. I bet a mouth sucking them feels wonderful given how hard they get?" She asked in a way that offered a statement as well as a question. "How do you keep them so well? Do you rub oil into them or use spunk?" Well, she thought, if she was to test then do it directly now. The girl was panting. She knew she had been fucking another woman earlier that day, so why not with her persona of Isabella?

Zeta was standing dumbstruck, but her chest was heaving. Imogen had both nipples held in her hands. She was tugging at them now, gently teasing and pulling, testing the pain threshold and enticing her travel companion closer and closer to her. Their breasts were nearly touching, bar the barrier of her hands.

The train lurched on the track; just where Imogen knew it would happen as the final set of points linked to the main line. Her Master had taught her well. Timing was everything in this game of corruption. The two women pressed naked into each other. Imogen had pulled her hands away quickly, letting her bejewelled tits press hard against the engorged teats of her younger companion. She held her close, 'accidentally' rubbing the crossed bars up against Zeta. The inevitable happened. The pieces of jewellery locked together, just as predicted. Imogen laughed.

"Oh, we are bound as one!" she giggled, looking straight into the wonderful deep brown eyes of the young woman. "I'm sorry. I guess my curiosity got the better of me, but you are so beautiful," she continued, using a deeper, lustier tone to her voice, without releasing the girl from her grasp. No, in fact she slid her hand lower on Zeta's back, to the curve at the top of her buttocks and let her fingers grasp a little of the arse which pulled their pussies together too as they tottered and teetered on their heels. "Here, let me uncouple us," she offered, slipping her hands back round and over the marvellous curves of the young woman. They giggled, but not awkwardly, as lust was overtaking any embarrassment for the younger woman and Imogen started to take command.

She pinched Zeta's right teat knowing there would be a little pain, but coinciding this movement with pressure of their pussies together; her smooth mound brushing against the copious bush of her young charge. She knew her Master would be pleased and yes, readers, when I read her diaries and listened to her detailed recordings later, I was. There was a gasp that blended hurt with pleasure; a confusing confluence of cunt and torment, made more obvious by Imogen sliding her thigh between willingly opening legs. A gasp became a sigh, a sigh became a moan as she twisted the nipple harder on the pretext of releasing it but timed to coincide with her thigh lightly rubbing and masturbating her young woman's sex.

"Isabella," came the breathy utterance from Zeta's lips, "Oh please, you're hurting me. Please..."

She pinched and pulled more, bringing her hand up Zeta's waist and over the curve of the firm and ample breasts, to lock onto the other nipple. It was hard, achingly so, she knew. Her own was pressing so urgently against it. She grabbed it as her thigh moved increasingly harder and rhythmically between the girl's legs, the cunt juice slicking her skin. She gave both teats a hard pinch and pulled Zeta towards her, feeling this young corruptible woman slide her hands around her and grasp her tortured arse cheeks. Imogen moaned with the pain and pleasure, remembering the earlier delights in her apartment, but never let up exchanging pain with pleasure, and pleasure alternating with pain. Her mouth locked onto the girl's, and she forced her tongue in, recognising the experienced reaction of Zeta and smelling on her the cunt juice from Anissa.

Her Master had made her aware of the events of the day, including the observation that Zeta being the slut she was had dressed but not washed. She liked the taste of this other woman and made a note to pursue her on her return in the next few days. But now her attention was on corrupting this one. To have eighteen-year-old flesh was such a treat; she stepped up the sexual teasing and play.

Tongues now fought tongues, Zeta was masturbating hard against Imogen's leg and moaning loudly into her mouth; her pain matched by her delight. She was close to orgasm as the train, now on the main line, rocked to its own rhythm underneath them. Then, as they gathered speed on the track, so Imogen rubbed her whole body hard against her lover until her protégé screamed with orgasm into her mouth and she twisted her nipples viciously at that point of no return leaving the young woman helplessly in her clutches. And the death grip of Zeta on Imogen's buttocks was enough to tip the more experienced woman over the edge, screaming with an instant orgasm back into the other's mouth as the pain reminded her cunt of so much pleasure.

They collapsed onto the floor, hugging each other tightly, staying locked together for what seemed like hours but was probably a few minutes as the pulses of pleasure spread and then subsided, like ripples on a pond. Eventually, Imogen unlocked their nipple jewellery, sliding out the horizontal bars and replacing them from her little case with large gold rings bejewelled with diamonds.

"Oh Isabella, I never realised that pain could bring so much pleasure."

Imogen was feeling exhausted, almost forgetting that she was using that cover name. She smiled at the young girl, finding it hard to believe her Master's assertion that the woman was an ill-mannered, etiquette free zone. Well, tonight and tomorrow morning she would start teaching her, beginning with BDSM etiquette.

"Tell me Zeta, what do you prefer?"

"How do you mean?" she asked, sitting up against the door jam of the compartment's integral bathroom.

"Do you prefer to be controlling or controlled?"

"I think I prefer being controlled. When you were er-abusing my titties, I felt your control and loved it. It was er- exciting. I wanted you to do to me what your Master had done to you. I wanted..."

"So you are submissive," she interrupted; pleased to discover this so quickly in a woman whom her master thought was so resistant. "Then why did you grasp my arse and hurt me?"

"I-I'm sorry, it was an accident... well I didn't mean to hurt you...I thought you liked it."

"That's more honest. You did want to hurt me," Imogen said simply, smiling at her lover while taking time to explore with her eyes the naked body presented so openly to her. She watched, as Zeta made no move to cover herself or close her open legs. There was a passiveness about her.

"I'm not sure. I just did it, instinctively, but hoped it would make you hurt me more. I liked the pain mixing with intense pleasure that shot everywhere through my body. Do you know what I mean?"

"Yes, I do, but are you ready for what real pain, real submission can mean? Do you really know what it means?"

"No, I don't."

"You are growing up you know," she said, dangerously close to giving away her pre-existing knowledge of Zeta. "Your honesty is important to your growth. I want to give you some advice because I really like you. When you get to Madam Honfleur, then you will experience a level of discipline you have never had in your life before. If you wish to gain from it, then accept it totally. At the end of your time there, you can choose to continue or walk away from the lifestyle."

Imogen extended her long red heel between the girl's thighs, gently sliding the stiletto against Zeta's long hairy crease. The action was blatant, deliberate. As she did it, so she reflected on what her Master had told her. Yes readers, she had been well briefed by me about this bitch and you can guess it, she was having doubts about my analysis. We would see. However at least she was seeing one thing. The woman was a slut, who was creeping forward onto that high spur, willing Imogen to penetrate her cunt with the dirty heel, which my lawyer willingly did; covering it in the younger one's juices. Then her mind did a switch as she took the role of the dominant one.

"Zeta, get onto all fours with your arse facing me. Do it now!"

The order was sharp, insistent and demanded obedience. She watched for any sign of resistance. None came. Zeta presented her tight puckered arsehole, opening her thighs as instructed by Imogen. She waited, her titties swinging to the rhythmic roll of the train, her hairy pussy dripping wet. She had no idea what Imogen was going to do, but stayed patiently in her subservient position, just as she had been under the cunt of Anissa all morning. The woman she knew as Isabella slid the heel deep in her open cunt, pressing her sole against the opened arsehole. She was fucking her with the shoe, gently but insistently. She let Zeta get used to the rhythm, letting her take pleasure. Then she changed the game.

Zeta had not expected it, but the sharp sting hit her right arse cheek. Imogen had whipped her buttock with her dress's belt. The metal buckle drew an instant mark on her skin, followed quickly by more as the heel continued to fuck her cunt. More pleasure, more pain, and a sense of vulnerability that scared and yet excited her. Imogen was so accurate, missing her own leg that stretched between Zeta's arse cheeks as the foot continued to fuck. More followed, the strike timed to match the slide of the heel into her cunt hole. She could feel not only the stinging heat of her arse cheeks but the growing fire of another orgasm that this time seemed to build with a shifting intensity. She was just not prepared for the shocking subjugation that was to follow.

"Masturbate for me."

Imogen surprised Zeta with the order. For all the other things she had done with this virtual stranger, could she really do this? Her hand slipped to each side of the heel, feeling the hard surrogate cock's leather wet against her fingers. It shocked her how exciting she found this normally inanimate and innocuous object. Yes, heels were sexy, making her legs longer and her pelvis thrusting forward invitingly, but now she understood something of foot fetishism. However, as she tentatively then more strongly began to rub her own cunt and teased at her clitoris, she was unprepared for the next assault on her thoughts of what was pleasurable.