Flames of Necessity Pt. 01

"Can I... can I make you a drink?" She eased up slowly, confident that his eyes would be focused on her arse and the seams of her stockings, then casually picked up a long thin birch stick propped by the fireplace, which he'd used to poke at the fire, flicking it provocatively.

"Oh no thank you, I shan't be staying... but you'll present yourself at the Hall tomorrow evening, at seven o'clock sharp... that's the reason for my visit." She looked him in the eye as she flexed the birch in her finely gloved fingers, careful not to touch the cindered tip,

"Thelma Stone will be there, along with my lady in waiting... and we'll discuss your future use, in more comfortable surroundings." Barker squirmed a little and reddened, conscious of the bulge that was now becoming visual in his leggings as she flexed the birch, she now easing him into her plan to make full use of his services, both practical and intimate, by dropping a hint that would guarantee he attended with willing enthusiasm.

"I know how you've enjoyed working for women in the past, and I'm sure we'll come to some agreement which will further that tradition." She gave him a stern smile as she whisked the birch down at her side, having it emulate the sound of a disciplinary cane, to tease at his sexual imagination, then let it stand again. She strutted on her heels to the door.

"Seven o'clock sharp." She went to her car and left him staring at the birch, speechless and not quite believing what had happened, his anus tingling at the realisation that she was fully aware of his past, and that it met with her approval.

Horace remained confined to his room till the maid was sent out on a convenient errand, giving him time to test the barbs of the steel cup afresh, when he awoke the final time from the fitful periods of sleep punctuated by bouts of masochistic torment. His self inflicted misery was now perpetuated by his need to relieve his bladder, his bell now locked tightly against the spiteful steel spikes which threatened to pierce the sensitive flesh of his glans, as he worked himself close to orgasm on viewing his pitiful reflection.

As he panted and squirmed in a submissive rapture, he didn't hear Anthea quietly enter, to gaze with contempt at his squirming. She smiled contentedly as she watched what the once lord of the manor had successfully been reduced to, by the power of womanhood. There he was, trying desperately to achieve a submissive orgasm through the pain inflicted on his subdued and chastised cock. Her contempt for him was both ripe, and so deeply satisfying sexually, and this was evident in the tone of her laughter which brought Horace's efforts to an abrupt halt. It did nothing to quell his erection though, as she moved into the field of the reflection and stood hand on hip, her dominance expressed exquisitely at having caught him trying to defy the obedience of the belt. His lust to spend increased tenfold, as she picked a long and flexible cane from the desk behind the bed, then bent to put her hand to the cup.

"If I find any evidence that you've managed a spend in disobedience, you'll be thrashed within an inch of your life." Her smile grew sadistically, along with the swell of her nipples through the tight blouse, as his eyes widened through the peep-holes in the hood, showing the genuine fear of being caught in disobedience by the woman who exacted her role as his Governess with strict and rigorous relish. Her sexual pleasure at having caught him in a rare instance of defiant disobedience, ensured her arousal equalled his; performing the routine punishments which she awarded him at her whim, was satisfying enough, but the thrill of chastising him soundly for impudent disobedience was manna from heaven indeed.

Her fingers gently swept in circular movements over the perforations of the cup, feeling the warmth from his defeated and captive cock within, the rigid bell exposing its tortured denial through the finely machined holes at its apex, held in lusty confinement by the cruel barbs which pressed home his duty to feminine denial. Yes, the nub was suitably slimy in evidence of the expected expulsion of duly penitent and masochistically awarded pre-cum, but the dry cup and the unadulterated sheets showed the triumph of the barbs over the weak desires of the owned balls held to feminine authority. Anthea sneered in the moment of her triumph, pushing the quaking Horace into his belly, pulling the pink negligee up to expose his cheeks and having him savour the reflection of her standing over him whilst flexing the cane in righteous earnest.

"You know what happens to boys caught masturbating..." Her cruel sneer had Horace's bell know the barbs, beyond any masochistic thrill he'd had during his tortured night, as she watched him quiver in the delicious submission of his bondage, his elongated position now having the nurse make her presence felt as his anus tingled about the rude phallus, in the genuine fear of his disobedience.

"...even if they don't achieve the sweet and blissful pleasure of a spend, Horace..." She cut the air with the cane, her cunt tingling in wholesome arousal, as he bucked on the bed at the sound of duly deserved punishment to come.

"...they are caned Horace, CANED!... and it'll be my greatest pleasure in awarding you six strokes expressed with my utmost vigour. I shall reduce you to tears before breakfast, and you'll explain to Madam D'Orvell just why." Her sneer turned to a grimace of exerted energy as she lifted her arm and brought the cane down with all the power her arm could muster, the sweet sound of the descent, and the curt and exacting smack of it's impact, so sublimely satisfying for the dominant woman. Her arousal increased on hearing the pitiful cry, audible through the leather gag and black silken hood, that Horace offered in a masochistic bliss of his own, as the flesh of his cheeks rippled under the stinging cane, and the red line of deserved retribution blossomed across his flesh. She would have his tears expressed in genuine submission alright, and her swift repeat of justly applied punishment was repeated with equal feminine venom.

Anthea's cunt moistened liberally as he was shown her authority, she knowing this would likely be her last chance to have him know his place below her under such delicious circumstances. Her sadism peaked at the thought of his cock rising hard and stiff in a salute to his utter defeat to feminine whims, at the point where Prudence gleefully informed him of his sale in permanence to Frau Blucher; she'd be cheated of this moment when his absolute worthlessness to Prudence was confirmed in an exquisite triumph of her dominance over him, and her ire at this disappointment was served upon Horace's flesh by her severest application of the cane. Only the vertical band which held the nurse tightly secured in his anus, saved Horace from injury which would have had him requiring a wheelchair during his coming journey to Berlin, the nurse prompted to a stimulating nudge at his prostate as the tender flesh of Horace's cheeks ceded submission to Anthea's ruthless application of the strokes.

Horace's tears were flowing freely by the fourth stroke, the severe stinging cuts bringing the flow which masked his perverted and masochistically enveloped pleasure, magnifying Anthea's sadistic sexual enjoyment and the raw contempt it kindled, guaranteed the fifth and sixth stripes were added to his flesh with dominant gusto. Horace had watched each stroke applied whilst wallowing in the pathetic defeat of his masculinity, the sight of his own tears awarding him an acute sexual euphoria at his shaming, the victorious efforts of superior womanhood bringing his boning cock hard against the barbs, only to know the tart tease of denial as he lusted to spend. With her breasts heaving, Anthea tossed the cane to one side, and pulled the trembling Horace over onto his back. With her arousal to much to bear, she mounted the bed, and lifted her skirt as she straddled his face.

Horace now knew a denial of another extreme; with his whimpering and tears still continuing in earnest from within the hood, Anthea sighed as she pressed her cunt to his face, and vigorously rode the hot cleft of her cunt across the hump of his leather gag and nose, riding him in triumph toward a well earned orgasm. Horace snivelled and snorted for air, taking in the the rich scent of her cunt, seasoned admirably by her exertions in administering the cane, and occasionally being treated to the spicy tang of her arsehole when she slipped her torso forward in rampant enthusiasm. His tongue pressed automatically and in vain at the rear of the gag, imagining the tastes he was so familiar with, but so deservedly denied, his eyes glancing up to witness the pleasured expression of the mature woman, as she held back her skirt to have him view her enjoyment at his expense.

Her growing satisfaction so evident in her taut smiling gape, and groans of pleasure, were glimpsed by him between moments of darkness below her sweaty crotch, and the roll of her full breasts, which jutted the nipples hard through her blouse in the divine lust of her power over him. Horace snorted hard through the fabric of the hood, as at last, she arched her back and thrust her clitoris hard at his nose, letting out a moan of prolonged and acute ecstasy as she shuddered her cunt against his face in making full use of his helpless contours, her utter dominance confirmed in a most generous and satisfying orgasm.

She pressed down hard as her gratifying victory waned, enjoying feeling him squirm below her as he fought for air, then lifting herself to sneer down at him as he snorted air, on the verge of passing out. Horace felt the wetness of her essences on his chin and cheeks, trying again in vain, to get his tongue past the gag to taste it through the fabric. Anthea grinned spitefully as she dismounted and stood over him.

"I hope you enjoyed that as much as I did... I'd let you take that hood off and lick it clean, but I've decided that you'll stay just as you are for today, we've a visitor who'll enjoy seeing you dressed so appropriately." After releasing his wrists and ankles, she took his leash and tugged him to the floor.

"We'll let you piss and shit first, I know how you love to do that whilst wearing the belt." Anthea was pleased to see the lasting evidence of her efforts on Horace's arse, on it displaying the marks boldly as he waddled down the stairs and on to the toilet down the corridor, the red stripes already darkening to a purplish hue; the quality of her work would be much admired by Prudence and Thelma, and would still be evident when he arrived in Berlin. She delighted in having Horace kneel on the pan, facing the wall with his sore arse up for inspection, then laughed contentedly as she felt the raised wheals on his tender flesh, making him squirm.

"Time to remove the nurse, Horace... but we'll soon have you enjoy her again when you're done." Horace grunted through the gag, as her sharply nailed fingers teased the welts which traversed both cheeks, in releasing the clasp, and he shivered at the lush feeling as she slowly drew the bold phallus out, smiling as she watched his anus struggle to retract to its normal aperture.

"Down you get, and kneel by the pan." His cock still persisted at teasing his bell to the barbs, as her wicked smile told him that nothing was going to be easy for him today, or at any time before he left for the trip with Prudence, she lifting the wooden lid of the pan, before moving to the cabinet on the tiled wall. Her stern contentment rose as from between the lotions and shampoos within the cabinet, she picked the container of table salt, kept there for occasions such as this. Horace whimpered on seeing her spiteful delight at liberally dusting the ring of the hard wooden seat with the granular salt.

"There! we can't have you risking an infection... some of those well deserved strokes have scored your skin, especially the two close to the top of your thighs... now get up there this instant, and perform your motions... now!" Horace was now bursting to relieve his bladder, the sight of the pan bringing on an urgency which had his bell dribble urine, to already sting at the scored flesh of his most sensitive place. His reluctance was thoroughly enjoyed by Anthea, the belt meant he'd have to sit like a girl to pee anyway, something which titillated her in knowing it increased his feeling of enforced femininity so subtly, and he knew he'd be kept sitting there until he'd released his bowels.

She knew that the relaxation of his bowels and anus in the presence of a dominant woman, served more than its immediate function of necessity. The fact that people are often induced to soil their underwear through fear, was put into practical use here; either Anthea or Prudence would always attend his releases, their strict moods made evident during attendance, their sneers prominent at the point where his waste was expelled. Each motion served to increase his submission, reducing what little spirit or defiance remained notch by notch. The immediate function of necessity became secondary, Horace would shit in the submissive pleasure of his reverence to dominant womanhood.

Anthea pointed to the pan with the cane, her satisfaction soaring at the momentary reluctance he'd shown, due to the addition of the salt as extra punishment for his attempt at masturbating. She'd have him know the price of disobedience in full. Her cruel smile broadened as Horace obligingly hovered his sore cheeks above the seat as he moved over it, taking care not to have his flesh sweep the salt into the void; he knew the drill. Her cruel pleasure was perked wonderfully, her recently sated cunt tingling with fresh arousal, on watching him writhe and contort in the hood and pink negligee as the pressure of his cheeks greeted the gritty and stinging granules of salt.

Horace snorted and whined through the gag, the initial sensation as per sitting on tiny fragments of broken glass, then as the salt softened under the pressure and perspiration of his tortured flesh, it's secondary and telling bite was realised with sharp impertinence by the striped lesions he'd been awarded. He groaned in pain again, as the needy flow of urine was released spontaneously, flooding the steel cup and making him bite hard at the gag, as the heat and acidic sting made itself known to the spiteful work rendered by the barbs, before piddling out through the wicked device's perforations. Anthea sighed with spiteful satisfaction, careful not to let the expression she showed on her face indicate any softening. She cut the air with the cane, making him aware of the menace of a more formidable pain.

"Shit for me Horace!..." Her dominant mood was potent this morning, and for good reason, with his impending departure.

"Shit cleanly through the ring which holds you anus nice and wide... and awaits another visit from the nurse!" Horace was reduced to a lush descent of utter submission, the release of his bowels coming oh so easily, and awarding him a masochistic pleasure so profoundly debilitating as the first of his stalls edged out from his anus to slip, as ordered, cleanly through the ring. Though always observed in this duty with dominant pleasure by the women who owned him, now hooded, caged and feminised, and the delight of having been caned to tears still fresh in his mind, the surrender of the content of his bowels in the ripe fear of Anthea's supreme dominance was exquisitely humbling.

The stern woman sneered with satisfaction and whipped the cane through the air again, after watching him squeeze his torso, and knowing he was half-way through expelling another stall; she knew just how to have him evacuate efficiently, and with a sado-masochistic pleasure that was mutual. She stepped over to the bath and slipped the nurse into it before lifting the antiquated shower hose attachment from it's hook above it, then tapped the edge of the bath with her cane.

"In you get, and lift that negligee high, we don't want it wet when you're presented to our guest." Horace eased himself from the pan and clambered into the bath, as daintily as he could, not wishing to prompt Anthea's cane with any clumsiness. Kneeling and facing away from the taps, he lifted the negligee high, and jerked with the shock of cold water as Anthea directed the shower head at his poking cheeks the moment she turned the taps, not bothering to allow the water to warm. She gave his cheeks the cursory swipe with the cane that he'd been trying to avoid, for making a sharp movement without permission; exactly what she wanted him to do.

"You're such a wimp Horace... you don't think we're going to waste any water on your behalf, do you?" Horace squirmed at the pain, which was doubly irritating on his tortured behind, and was now glad to feel the soothing spray of cold water wash across his bare flesh and anus. The water was still no more than luke warm as she angled the head around the cup to freshen his sticky cock within it, but she turned the hot tap off completely when giving the nurse a good spraying as it lay in the bath between his feet. She wanted the anal comforter as cold as she could get it, making it's hard and unforgiving presence all the more evident to its timid receiver.

Horace shivered as the taps were screwed off, and his freshly cleaned cock began to rise to the barbs again, on hearing the harsh tone in Anthea's voice.

"Elbows down, arse up, Horace... it's time for your visit from the nurse again, ready for your presentation to our guest now you're nice and clean." Anthea's spite was gratifyingly rewarded as Horace grunted through the gag, his clean and now warm pucker squeezing tight at the feel of the cold dome of the phallus, threatening its imminent invasion of him. Anthea's voice grew serener, though her pleasure grew with it.

"Relax your muscles immediately, or you'll have six more strokes!" Horace whimpered as he did his best to control what was a genuinely automated muscular contraction, and whimpered softly as a smiling Anthea eased the rude and bulbous instrument home, taking great delight in feeling his whole body tense as his anus took the full length, and clicked the clasp to the ring with no little satisfaction. Horace's cock emulated the movement of the phallus, the masochistic stimulation taking his bell up to squeeze at the barbs in earnest once more, the coldness seeming to make the stretch of his anus twice as large as before, having him feel as though taken by some ghostly stallion.

Horace was led down to the high ceilinged drawing room, it's tall door opened by her with a knowing smile; Thelma Stone was there for the day, and knew Prudence's plans for both the hall, and the former master of it, and was eager to impose herself on Barker when he attended his appointment that evening. Having discussed this, and heard from Prudence of her most recent exploits in Berlin, she was already sexually excited when Anthea opened the door to display her contented smile, a tightly held leash leading from her hand back through the opening.

Thelma was well aware that Master D'Orvell was being dominated most thoroughly by Prudence, and was learning his place below all women, this knowledge self-evident in the confirmation from his wife and owner, that Horace had been sold to the rigorously dominant Frau Blucher; he now being surplus to Prudence's requirements and whims, except in name only for legal reasons. However, she had not actually seen him for around two months, Prudence tending to approach her at her office to discuss things, and though Thelma had eagerly attended several parties at the coastal house in Dorset, where she'd witnessed Prudence's appetite and severe methods of dominating submissive males - and indulged in the same herself - Horace had remained confined at the hall, purposely denied the debauched pleasures at an address which he knew to exist all too well, Prudence teasing him with accounts of her sexual satisfaction there, but remained anonymous to in person.