Last Saturday NightbyMisstaken4me©
Beatrice closed the door behind her, dropped the dead-bolt, the ritual had begun.
Slowly she undressed, hanging up her coat, placing her shoes on the low shelf beneath the few coat hooks. Then her work clothes, these formed a pile on the small table, naked at last she knelt, carefully assuming the pose required of her. To her left, the door, before her, the coats, just three coats, Beatrice only ever bought what was necessary. Taking the shoe box from the low shelf Beatrice laid it before her, the position precise, practised, important. For a moment she paused, a single deep breath, momentary doubt, then opening the lid she laid it upside down, resting against the box.
Printed on the inside of the lid was the mantra now plainly visible to her. Beatrice began to recite. Her tongue savoured every syllable, her soft clear voice rejoicing in every word. There was no need for her to read the words now, that need had long since passed, she could recite them without thought or effort, so deeply were they ingrained upon her memory. But that was not the point, the ritual required she read each word aloud, so that is exactly what she did. Beatrice was pedantic in her obedience.
As the words flowed she felt the change begin, felt her identity shifting. Little by little, word by word, Beatrice surrendered to the change, accepting, welcoming, needing. Her voice hypnotic, her breathing soft, her heart rate slow, rhythmic, setting the cadence of her monologue. As the last word echoed in her mind, she reached out to lift the collar from the box, reverent in her every move, the perfect acolyte. As the wide leather closed around her neck, the lock clicked shut to complete the transformation, Beatrice was no more, the naked collared slave who replaced the lid and put away the shoe box had no name, she was just girl, or it. Sometimes she was given a name, often an obscene word, girl never cared what she was called, all girl dared hope for was to be awarded a slave name, a word, any word, just having a name would recognise her existence.
Girl rose to her feet, her transition graceful as only practise and supple strength allows. A pause, girl bowed her head to the box, paused, stood once more erect, then turned and stepping light as a ballerina she crossed to the bathroom, each step so measured that the ritual was precise to the second. The water running, girl removed what little make-up her alter ego wore before studying herself in the floor length mirror, any delay and the hot water would steamed it up. Girl examined her reflection inch by inch, yet not for a second was she aware of herself. All that girl cared about was obeying the requirements. Her body, her posture, her attitude, her entire being had but one purpose, one focus, to obey utterly every rule.
Satisfied that her body met every requirement, girl stepped into the bath and lowered herself into the unscented water, girl did not deserve luxury, girl was only permitted to scrub herself clean before stepping out to dry herself on the rough worn towel. Once she had touched the big fluffy bath towel that hung over the heated towel rail, but just once, never again, the consequences had been far to painful to ever dare a second touch. Beatrice could enjoy the apartments luxury, but not girl, never girl.
Girl had trained herself to ignore every luxury, grateful for those items she was allowed, the worn towel on it's hook in the corner, the cage with it's threadbare carpet where she slept, the cheap plastic bowls she ate and drank from as she knelt in the kitchen. Girl had no possessions, was permitted no access to the luxury around her. Girl wore only what was ordered, did only as she was commanded, lived every moment according to the ritual.
Girl's most treasured memory was of the moment the collar had been granted to her. It was not hers, that was insane, girl owned nothing, not even her collar, girl needed nothing, the ritual provided everything. Scrubbed clean and carefully dried girl hung the old towel back on it's hook, made sure it hung exactly as she had found it, then stepped from the bathroom, turning the light off, the water still draining away from the half filled bath.
Entering the kitchen girl dropped to her hands and knees, careful to keep her back straight and her head up as she crawled across the tiled floor to the corner where her bowls sat on a small mat. Keeping her hands on the tiles girl bent down and lapped from the water bowl before moving to the other bowl containing her food. The dry biscuits had to be chewed a few at a time and girl needed to lap more water after each mouthful to wash the food down. Girl ate every biscuit and licked the bowl clean, before drinking more water. Careful to leave some water for later, girl crawled across the kitchen and out into the laundry room to where her cage stood between the big fridge and the washing machine. Crawling inside girl curled up on the worn carpet and settled down to sleep.
An hour later girl awoke, uncurling as much as the cage allowed, she stretched then on her hands and knees crawled out of the cage, back into the kitchen then over to the small room where she was allowed to prepare herself for the evening's duties. Everything was laid out ready, clothes, shoes, makeup, girl never thought of why an outfit was chosen for her, girl only obeyed the ritual, carefully preparing herself exactly as required. A final check in the mirror and girl walked from the room, stepping carefully once again, graceful, poised, posture perfect. Girl walked to the door, took the Yale key from it's place in the small table's hidden draw and carefully attached it to the front ring on her collar. Then she turned to face the door, adjusting her pose before simply waiting. Girl had once waited all night, girl obeyed each step of the ritual unquestioningly, girl waited.
The limo arrived three minutes late, the driver hurrying to ring the door bell, earnestly apologising, grateful that girl seemed totally unaware of his tardyness. Girl followed the driver to the car, paused as he opened the door, then stepped inside, sinking to her knees as she did so, her back to the luxuriously upholstered seat, girl had never dared to sit on a seat without express permission. The driver followed his own instructions, navigating the darkened city streets as he headed for one of the exclusive suburbs where the houses were rarely visible from the street and the gates opened only when the guards permitted it.
Throughout the drive girl had remained perfectly still, lacking any specific command that is what girl always did, wait, wait for a command, wait for the next step of the ritual, wait. Girl had no worries, girl had no responsibilities, girl simply obeyed. Deep inside, half-hidden even from herself, girl catalogued everything, what, when, how, why, each of her responses, every carefully suppressed emotion, girl's subconscious memorised everything.
The driver opened the door, girl obeyed her instructions, stepping from the car she walked directly to the large front door which opened to admit her. The driver closed the door, checked his watch, it was going to be a long boring wait, walking around the limo he got in and drove around to the rear parking area, already more than half full of chauffeured cars, at least he would have company.
Girl slipped off the floor length hooded cloak and hung it up to join numerous other coats that hung from the hooks provided. Naked but for the full face leather hood, collar and two sets of cuffs, girl followed the maid into the large reception room, then as the maid returned to await the next arrival, girl stepped gracefully across the room to the row of cages that lined one wall, dropping to her knees at the first vacant cage girl crawled inside, turned and lowered her ass to rest on her heels. Girl had no idea what would happen next, girl only knew she would obey.
The large room allowed the numerous guests ample room to enjoy all that was on offer. Some of the guests brought their own slaves, either to serve them or to watch others make use of them. A larger number attended alone or with friends, confident that there would be plenty of slaves available to them when required, either those belonging to other guests or those that the house provided. Whatever a guest might desire, the house had both the facilities and the slaves to ensure it could be fulfilled, at a price.
Girl reacted to the sharp click of fingers snapping. Crawling forward to where the leash dangled she paused as it was attached to her collar, then obeyed the curt command, "heel," she crawled on hands and knees, quickly, so as to keep pace and obey the command. Girl stopped when the leash tugged hard at her collar. Besides her a stout metal pole rose some three feet from the floor, the leash's looped leather end was dropped over the pole, tethering her. On three sides of the square rug there were large sofa's, upon each sat four Masters, the next command kept girl busy for some time, her jaw soon ached, her stomach slowly filling as she sucked each cock in turn, the Masters largely ignoring her, even as she bobbed her head upon their cock, taking care to take each all the way to the hilt, to swallow every drop of cum and lick each cock clean before moving on.
Occasionally a hand would grip her hair, hold her, or force her down until the blackness began to close around her, girl fought to remain passive, gasped for air when the hand finally relented, girl hated the blackness, girl hated the way her body tried to betray her obedience, girl would not allow her body to rebel, girl conquered every impulse that threatened to betray her, betray the ritual. Girl moved from cock to cock, one circuit, a second, unaware how many Masters left or joined the group, unaware of their conversations, girl concentrated on obeying, nothing else mattered.
As girl moved to the next cock, the leash tugged at her collar. "Follow." The voice commanded, girl obeyed, who's voice did not matter to girl, a command must be obeyed. Girl followed the Mistress across the room and out onto the flagstone patio, down three steps and onto the manicured perfection of the lawn, the lush grass lit by lanterns around the edges and the coloured lights that shone up into the huge trees. The leash jerked girl to a halt. "Pee." Girl spread her legs wider, focused on her bowels and let go a stream of pee. The leash jerked once more and girl followed at heel once more, careful to keep pace and maintain her position exactly. Back across the patio, back into the large room, back into a cage, the door slammed even as girl turned to assume her position, the padlock snapped shut, girl settled down to wait.
Across the room Sir Richard was enjoying two of his favourite pleasures. Fucking a competitor both commercially and literally, whilst at the same time conversing with his peers, who bore witness to his latest conquest. Inheriting the family business whilst still young, Sir Richard had single-mindedly conducted what amounted to undeclared war on every competitor in the company's somewhat specialist field. He wielded power as easily as he wielded a whip, and often combined the two. For he was not content to simply garner success, Sir Richard used the many resources at his disposal to destroy anyone who dared challenge him, in business or in any other sphere.
His two personal secretaries accompanied him everywhere, serving their Master in relays, often he would dictate to one whilst buggering the other. Sir Richard employed only male staff, his only use for women was both carnal and sadistic, as each of his four wives had discovered to their cost when the divorce papers proved entirely correct in their assertion that there would be absolutely nothing left of the wealth and possessions they had presumed to be theirs by virtue of marriage. Only his first wife received anything at all after the divorce, and that only due to the two children she bore him. Stephanie spoke to her ex husband only once, having married at eighteen she had thought herself blessed beyond measure and had devoted herself to being the perfect wife, only to find that at twenty-one she was considered due for replacement, Sir Richard's reasoning had left her both speechless and later, motivated. "Any wife of mine need only be young, dumb and full of cum." His crudeness was the least shocking of his actions. Stephanie found herself discarded with a meagre allowance in lieu of access to her children. She was only informed of her son's death three years after the tragic accident.
Sir Richard dispensed both his seed and his vengeance upon his erstwhile rival before grabbing a passing slave and forcing the girl to her knees to lick clean his substantial and still tumescent erection. Everything about Sir Richard was powerful, in every sense. Discarding with the slaves services Sir Richard settled back with a brandy to survey the room, he appetite not nearly sated.
It was not unusual for guests to arrive late, or to arrive masked, the tall Mistress did both. The polished black leather and white silk revealed little and promised much. A golden mane that fell below her shoulders and the effervescent blue eyes were all the more striking set against the monochrome outfit that clung and flowed as the tall Mistress strode into the room.
Many commented about her as she strode purposefully across the large room. A few attempted to address her, all received a curt but not unfriendly look, all understood that this was not the time. Nobody questioned how the tall Mistress came to have a key for one of the slave cages, none thought it strange that she should unlock a cage and leash the slave within. A few, a very few frowned as she had the slave stand before leading her towards the centre of the room where the two metal whipping posts stood.
It was not unusual for a slave to be chained between the tall steel posts, it was not unusual for it to be a Mistress who chose to do so. What caught the attention of those nearby was the stylised grace of the tall Mistress as she stretched the slave between the posts. A growing number of the guests turned away from their conversations and in many cases the pleasures they were enjoying, to watch what promised to be a memorable performance. The tall mistress produced a length of leather from beneath her skirts and folding it pressed in into the slave's mouth, her voice, calm and measured carried far across the rapidly quietening room. "Bite down, hard"
Girl knew the reason for the folded leather, knew it was not intended to gag her, but to prevent her teeth shattering when the pain exploded and her jaw clamped tight. The audience also understood, though it seemed that neither the slave or the tall Mistress were even aware of their audience. Standing so close their bodies touched, the tall Mistress spoke again. "I'm going to hurt you." Her words had more effect upon the audience than upon the slave. Girl remained perfectly still, as if she supported the chains, instead of the chains stretching and holding her. There would be pain, girl hardly acknowledged those words, nothing betrayed her acceptance, girl had only one thought, obey.
The tall Mistress stepped back, one pace, two, three, four, each measured, precise, exact. Reaching again beneath her skirts she produced a Bull-whip, no toy or playful imitation, this was a carefully crafted instrument, capable of inflicting a soft crack as the tip or 'popper' broke through the sound-barrier, or in the hands of an expert, slice through flesh to stop only to break the bone beneath. Girl prepared herself to obey, to accept whatever was granted her, whatever the command, girl would obey.
The tall Mistress turned her body and looked behind her, bestowing a smile upon those Masters gathered close behind her. "Gentlemen, I'm sure of my aim, another vantage point would allow you to enjoy this scene without participation." Few unknown Dominants presumed to issue an order to the other guests, however subtle the command. The tall Mistress turned back to face girl, whilst behind her the Masters obeyed.
Flicking the whip's tail out before her the tall Mistress began. Her movements fluid, poetic, belying the strength and co-ordination that only long hours of practise could produce. The long bull-whip snaked through the air, the popper cracking so close to girl's right hand that it struck the wide leather cuff, marking the polished leather. Stroke by stroke the bull-whip moved about girl, the loud cracks announcing each strike, all four leather cuffs now bore marks. Few in the audience had ever paid attention to girl as they did now, rarely did a slave prove to be so willing, so obedient, girl had not flinched, not once.
As the tall Mistress lifted the whip to continue, Sir Richard intervened. Watching the woman was pleasant enough, but the whip had not yet marked the slave, why use a whip if not to mark? He liked to hear screams, besides, the woman was drawing a crowd, Sir Richard cast aside the slave who had been gagging on his cock and marched toward the whipping posts, the assembled guests parting to let him pass then jostling to ensure a good view of what would happen next. "I'll show you how to bull-whip a slave..."
Sir Richard had no need to shout, his voice boomed around the room, confidence and power gave his voice authority. The crack of the bull-whip echoed in silence, with one stroke the tall Mistress had stunned all to silence, nobody dared breathe. Deftly coiling the bull-whip the tall Mistress examined the popper at it's tip, plucked free a small clump of pubic hairs entangled in it, then let the long tail drop to the floor. "Change your tone, or I'll change my aim." Her words smooth as velvet, velvet stretched over steel.
A drop of blood oozed from his pubis to trickle down onto the root of his cock. Sir Richard stood, face reddening, body shaking as if about to erupt, hands clenching ready to pulverise. Her smile stopped him, the smile held him, the smile never reached the eyes.
"I share my whip with none," The tall Mistress paused, her eyes upon his now focused lower, and lower, "it would seem," she continued, "that you are not without weapons..." Her eyes flicked back up from his loins to his face. He made no reply, just turned to girl, moving quickly behind her, grasping her hips as he lined up and trust, impaling girl, driving hard and fast, fingers bruising her hips as he set about making her scream.
Time and again he bludgeoned her arse, his manicured fingernails clawing, cutting crescents into her flesh, girl wanted to scream, to scream out the pain, her teeth hurt as they bit into the folded leather, girl could not scream, girl could only obey.
The blow stunned the crowd, it stunned girl. The folded leather spun aside, her head hung down, body slumped, hanging from the chains. He reached back to strike girl again. The tall Mistress simply cleared her throat, the sound checked him, the blow never fell, instead the hand reached out to release the wrist cuffs, right then left. Hands no longer gripping her hips, girl dropped to the floor, still stunned, the angry red mark bright upon her cheek beneath the hood, the eye already closing.
Reaching down Sir Richard grabbed girl's hair, pulling her to her knees, awkward, her ankles still held secure, even as girl began to recover her head was pulled hard against his loins, his cock driving into her mouth, thrusting down her throat. Sir Richard held her, careless of her inability to breathe.
Sir Richard raised his head, a look of triumph, confident in his dominion. The tall Mistress stepped forward, the whip's tail trailing behind her, their eyes met, then she lowered her glaze, the crowd sighed at the sight of her submission. The tall Mistress dropped the bull-whip, hands lifting to her face, nobody noticed the contacts fall to the floor, reaching down with her free hand she deftly released the hood from girl's head, then lifted her own head, her expression indecipherable. "Look up girl." Her words clear for all to hear.