Slave Ella Ch. 04 - Documentary Pt. 01

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A TV company wants to make a documentary...
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The next morning I awoke feeling thoroughly refreshed and satisfied. I stretched luxuriously in my bed as images from the previous evening replayed in my mind; Tina's distended asshole being stretched wide by Mike's monstrous black cock, Amanda dressed as a schoolgirl being spanked hard by James as she lay helplessly strapped to the spanking bench, and Ella lashing her own pussy to orgasm. It had been a good party, one of the best ever.

As was my custom I started a bath running, then went and fetched Ella from her cage, walked her back on all fours to the bathroom, sat her in the corner as I bathed. Again I instructed her to soap my back - very much easier for her than it had been the day before, as she was not now blindfolded and had full use of her hands. After I had rinsed I stepped from the tub and handed her a soft towel.

"Dry me," I commanded, and she began to gently rub me with the towel. As she dried my crotch I felt the first stirrings of my cock, but I didn't do anything about it - for now.

When I was dry, I told her to strip off the black thigh-high stockings she still wore, now stained and streaked with sweat and various bodily fluids, and her high-heel shoes. I dropped the stockings into the waste basket.

"Remove your collar," I instructed, and she reluctantly did as I ordered.

I instructed her into the shower, and watched as she soaped herself and rinsed, to ensure she didn't arouse herself without clear directions to do so. She spent perhaps slightly too long washing her breasts and pubis, but with me watching she knew better than to explicitly play with herself. She still had red marks from where Mike and I had used the tawser the previous evening, but they hadn't broken the skin and would fade in a day or two. Then she massaged shampoo into lustrous black hair. As I watched her rubbing her hair and scalp, arms raised to her head, eyes closed, breasts jutting out, I thought again how magnificent she was. To think that she was my slave, utterly subservient to my will, that I could do anything with her or to her that I pleased. My cock twitched at the thought.

When she emerged I threw at her the towel she had used to dry me. There were plenty of clean towels, but why waste one on a slave?

"Dry yourself," I commanded, and she did as she was told, as she always did. I handed her the collar.

"What are the rules of the collar?" I asked her.

"Rule one: I will always address you as master, unless instructed to do otherwise," she said. She knew the rules well; "Rule two: I will obey every command instantly and without question. Rule three: I am the master's property, to do with as he wishes, to be used by him or anyone else he chooses in any way. Rule four: I will not orgasm without express permission from the master."

"And how do you feel without your collar?" I asked.

"Naked, master. Empty. Bereft."

"Then if you agree to the rules of the collar you may put it back on."

Immediately she did so, and as she fastened the buckle she seemed to relax slightly as she slipped back into her slave role. Wearing the collar she was freed of the burden of thought: she didn't have to think about when to eat, what to do, where to go, when to fuck, when to cum. She only had to do one thing: what she was told to do. But I enjoyed making her repeat the rules every so often, to re-enforce her willing submission and utter subjection to my will.

"On all fours," I said, "And carry the high-heels by their straps in your mouth."

"Yes, master," she said, and picked up the shoes by their straps in her teeth. I walked her through the bedroom, into the hall, and along to her dressing room.

"Place the shoes with the others," I told her, and she carefully dropped them from her mouth next to the rows upon rows of footwear; flat shoes, many pairs of high-heels, thigh-length latex boots, knee high buckled black leather boots, ballet pumps - shoes for every occasion, every scenario I could imagine, and I was adding to the collection all the time.

One wall was lined with shelves containing panties, stockings, hoods, collars, garter belts, socks of various lengths and all in various colours; the other wall had a clothes rail containing dozens of hangars holding corsets, skirts, blouses, jackets, full-body latex suits and every imaginable form of fetish-wear. Luckily I was very wealthy; if I constructed a scenario in my mind and needed something to fulfil it I just bought it from an online supplier, and with express delivery it arrived the next day.

I selected a fresh pair of black stockings, a suspender belt and a maid apron, and told her to dress. I watched hungrily as she rolled the stockings up her beautiful long legs, wrapped the suspender belt around her waist, and snapped the stockings to it, then I tied the apron in the small her back in a double-bow. I didn't give her any panties to wear; I wanted her holes immediately available at all times.

Then she crawled behind me back to the library, and waited passively as I fitted her with a mid-size buttplug and put individual clamps on her nipples - not vicious alligator clips, but tweezers with a collar which I could slide up or down to make them tighter or not-so-tight. This morning I went for a middle setting, so that they exerted a very noticeable pressure, but not so tight they would cut off the blood supply. They would become painful over hours of wear rather than being immediately agonising.

Then I walked her down - I was walking, she was crawling - to the cellar, and sat on the couch reading my emails as Ella took a cleaning spray and cloth from a small cupboard and began to thoroughly clean all the furniture, including the leather couches, vigorously scrubbing at the smear of dried cum where Amanda had wanked Mike to orgasm the night before.

My mobile rang.

"Stop and kneel," I instructed Ella, and she immediately dropped to her knees and crossed her arms in the small of her back. I accepted the call.

"Hello?" I said

"Hi," said a female voice on the other end of the line, "Is that Dan S---?"

"It is."

"Hi. My name is Sarah, and I'm a researcher for -----" She named an independent production company which made programmes to sell to the TV networks.

"Hi Sarah," I said, "Just give me a minute to get better reception." I got up and walked to the stairs. "Stay there," I said to Ella over my shoulder as I climbed the stairs.

"Oh I'm sorry," said Sarah, "Are you with someone? Is this not a good time?"

"No, it doesn't matter," I said. "What can I do for you, Sarah?"

"As I said I'm a researcher, and I'm currently working on a documentary about, er, alternative lifestyles."

"And how did you get my name, Sarah?"

"I've been to ---- --- a few times," Sarah said, naming one of London's biggest fetish and sex clubs, "And the owner suggested you as someone it might be good to talk to."

"And were you there in a professional or personal capacity?" I asked?

"Personal," she laughed, "But it was going there that gave me the idea for the documentary in the first place. So I pitched the idea to my boss, and she thought it was a good idea, told me to do some initial digging, contact a few people, see what happened."

"So what can I do for you?"

"Well I was told that you were a, um, dom who kept a slave." She didn't seem entirely comfortable talking about it, at least not to a total stranger she had just called out of the blue

"That is correct, I do."

"Great! I was wondering if we could maybe interview you and your, er, slave for the programme?"

"What's the angle?"

"Why people choose the lifestyles they do, what attracts them to it - especially the slaves who give up control to someone else. It's not meant to be salacious, but an honest and open look at a lifestyle most people know nothing about."

"I don't see why not. When?"

Sarah suggested the following Tuesday, a week away.

"And who will be coming?"

"The director, Tara Boyd, and a cameraman. They have an interview in London first thing, so it will probably be early or mid-afternoon by the time they get to you. Is that OK?"

"Fine. Just one condition though."

"Which is?"

"No exterior shots of my property. I don't want it to be identifiable where I live."

"Agreed."

I gave her the address, and she rang off.

"Looks like we're going to be famous," I said to Ella as I re-entered the cellar; "But in the meantime, get back to cleaning."

"Yes, master,' she said, and went back to spraying and scrubbing.

When she had finished cleaning I made some breakfast; muesli for me, and plain porridge without salt or sugar for Ella, followed by soft fruit and vitamin pills. I controlled her diet very carefully, both to control her weight and to keep her anal tract as clean and easy to flush as possible. She ate her porridge from a bowl on the floor with no spoon, putting her face into it and lapping it up, then picked pieces of fruit from a plate, also on the floor, with her teeth. Then I fed her the vitamin tablets, one at a time, following each with a sip of water.

After I had scrubbed her face clean I went to the library to do some work. Ella knelt besides the desk, arms behind her back, ready to serve - whether it was making me a cup of earl grey tea (black, no sugar), fetching a document from the printer, or sucking my cock on demand.

The screen on my computer was filled with flashing numbers as I monitored my Forex positions; other browser tabs contained pages of financial news, jobs figures, interest rate forecasts, mortgage rates in various countries, company results. I had worked in the City for many years before retiring to the country, for one of the big investment banks. The bonuses I'd earned had bought the house and ensured I'd never need to work again; what I did day-to-day was just for pin money and to stop myself getting bored. Still, on a good day I could make several thousand pounds and occasionally I called a position very right and made five or ten times that amount. I was rigorous about hedging, so that even when a trade went wrong I could usually unwind it without losing too much money. All in all I earned more than enough to ensure I could remain here forever, in this beautiful house deep in the Dorset countryside, with my willing slave girl and my perverted imagination.

"Play with yourself," I instructed Ella, not even looking at her, eyes still on the screen.

"Yes master," she replied. With one hand she began massaging her clit and pussy, with the other she started to stroke and squeeze her nipples, still held in the tweezer clamps.

"Put two fingers inside and fuck yourself with them."

"Yes master." She did as she was told, slipping two fingers all the way into her cunt and beginning to move them in and out. I swivelled in my chair and watched her for several minutes.

"Stop," I commanded, and she returned her forearms behind her back. Her face was flushed and her breathing had deepened.

"Did you have a good time last night?" I asked.

"Yes thank you, master," she replied, "I always have a good time when serving you well and giving satisfaction."

"Do you wish I'd let Mike fuck you in the ass with that huge cock of his, instead of Tina?" She paused, imagining that enormous black meat stretching her back passage to bursting.

"If that was your command, master," she said diplomatically.

I had grown hard watching her masturbate. I unzipped my trousers, took out my cock.

"Stand up," I told her. She obeyed. "Stand before me, and turn around."

She did so. "Lean forward slightly," I told her, and slid the buttplug out from her ass, which gaped briefly after the rubber toy had been removed. She sighed as it slid out.

"Impale your ass on my cock," I ordered.

"Yes master," she said, and sat down, guiding my cock into her asshole with one hand before crossing her arms again behind her back and starting to raise and lower herself. I held her hips, controlling the speed of each bounce, occasionally reaching around to flick the tweezer clamps on her nipples. After a minute or two her breathing became more ragged. I wasn't ready to come yet.

"Please master, may this anal slave come?" Ella asked.

"No. Keep going."

"Ye- yes master," she said, and continued to raise and lower herself, each time taking the full length of my cock into her ass. She began to whimper;

"Please may I come, master?"

"No. You are not here for your own pleasure but for mine. If you come without permission you know what will happen."

"Yes master."

But after another minute of taking my cock all the way into her ass her body shook and I felt the walls of her anus contracting around my cock, squeezing it.

"Oh! Oh! OH!" she shouted as an orgasm ripped through her body. The contractions of her ass-walls made her shitter deliciously tight, and seconds later I pumped my sticky cum into her arse, lifting her with my hands on her slip and slamming her down hard as I ejaculated deep into her rectum.

Immediately she realised what she had done.

"I'm sorry, master," she moaned, starting to cry, "I couldn't help myself. Your cock felt so good in my ass."

"You're not here to enjoy yourself," I snapped, "You're here to give service and do what you're told."

"I'm sorry, master, I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry..."

"Do you think that's going to let you escape punishment?"

She cast her eyes down.

"Well do you?" I demanded.

"No master." Tears ran down her beautiful cheeks, although whether they were tears of shame or fear of what her punishment would be I couldn't tell.

"First things first," I said; "On your knees and clean my cock."

"Yes master," she said, raised herself off my cock, turned, dropped to her knees, took my member into her mouth and began sucking it clean.

When she had finished swirling her tongue around my cock and had sucked it clean, I yanked her to her feet and marched her around the desk, bent her forward over it. I walked over to the cupboard of implements, took out a cane, cut it through the air several times so she could clearly hear the hissing noise it made.

"After each stroke you will repeat 'I will not come without permission," I said, and laid the first stroke hard across her buttocks. She yelped in pain - I was caning her very hard, I wanted it to hurt. The slut needed to learn who was boss and who controlled her pleasure.

"I will not come without permission, master." Another blow, and another, and another, each leaving an angry red line across her buttocks. And after each blow,

"I will not come without permission, master."

After 30 strokes her ass was bruised, red and swollen, so many cane marks it was almost impossible to pick one out. I returned the cane to the cupboard, closed the doors.

"What do you say?"

"Th- thank you master," she replied quietly.

"Did you deserve that?"

"Yes master. Thank you for punishing this worthless disobedient slave, master."

"Are you going to come without permission again?"

"No master. I promise."

"We'll see. Because I'm not done yet," I said, attached a leash and dragged her walking behind me to the cellar.

I nodded at the sybian.

"Climb on." She did so, slipping the dildo attachment into her pussy, lowering her cunt onto the stippled rubber of the dildo's base. Cum was leaking out of her ass onto the sybian's leather padding.

I tied her so she was completely immobile, crossed to the racks and brought back a large ballgag, blindfold, and noise-cancelling earplugs. I fitted the gag and the blindfold. I also removed the tweezer clips from her nipples and replaced them with toothed alligator clamps.

Then I switched on the sybian, a medium vibration setting.

"If you want to come so much that you disobey commands, then come you shall, as much as you want." I said, then fitted the earplugs. I left, switching off the light so that she was in total darkness and completely deaf. The only sensory input she had was the pain from her caned buttocks, the vibrating dildo in her pussy and the vibrating pad against her clit.

Then I went back to the office and did a couple more hours' work. I made £2,700 across five trades. It was a good afternoon; a pittance of course compared to what I'd made working for various banks over a twenty-year career, when I would have generated that much profit every minute or two - but then of course I had been gambling with the bank's vast reserves. Trading on my own account I wasn't so highly leveraged so the returns were less, and also I was far more cautious: I would have to pay for any losses, not a bank's shareholders.

After about two and a half hours I went to make myself a cup of tea, which I then carried down to the cellar.

The sybian still vibrated remorselessly away. Ella's entire body was shaking, but she was clearly exhausted from the relentless assault on her body's pleasure receptors. Whether she was shaking with fatigue or one long, endless orgasm I couldn't tell, nor could I tell whether, around the edges of the blindfold, she knew the cellar light had been switched on, or whether she sensed my presence. She'd know soon enough.

I put the tea down on a side table, and walked around behind her. The sight of her helpless body, tied to immobility, mercilessly stimulated by an untiring machine was a huge turn on. I undid my trousers, letting them fall to my ankles, and slapped her hard on each buttock. She moaned slightly, and moaned even more when I slid into her ass for the second time that day and took my pleasure, the vibrations coming through her cunt adding to my enjoyment.

I thrust away, using her like the slave whore she was, and when I had come again I turned the sybian off and untied her. With the ropes removed she collapsed, and I worried that I might have actually gone too far.

As I removed the ballgag she whispered "Mercy, mercy." This was her secondary safe word - which she had never used before - and meant to slow down, but not stop, what I was doing.

I helped her climb down from the sybian. Her breathing was ragged and still shook.

"Kneel," I instructed and fed my cock into her mouth for her to clean.

When she had cleaned my cock - even that was a huge effort, and she sucked slowly - I told her to crawl and led her by the leash back into the library. I removed the nipples clamps but left the blindfold, put in a medium buttplug, cuffed her in her usual cage position, and left her to recover from her ordeal. As I was about to leave the library I had an afterthought, went over and opened a desk drawer. It contained various tubes of lotions and balms. I briefly considered soothing her beaten ass with a cooling lotion, but instead decided on tiger balm. I opened the cage door again, squeezed some tiger balm onto my finger tips, and smeared it all over her bruised and sore buttocks. I pushed my fingers into her, and half drew out the buttplug, smeared that too, and pushed it back in.

She sighed initially as the cool gel felt good on her sore and abused skin, but by the time I had reached the library door the soothing phase has passed and the tiger balm had started to burn into her welts, inside her pussy, her ass. She began to moan and twitch in discomfort.

I left her to it and went to watch the business news on Reuters.

Ordinarily days went past without my receiving any telephone calls, and then usually it was only my broker to advise on an investment opportunity. But that evening I received the second call of the day, and caller ID said it was James Althwaite.

"Hi James," I said; "Enjoy last night?"

"Yes, great," he answered; "That Amanda is one gorgeous little slut. And well done with the whipping machine - Tina said that was one of the most intense orgasms she's ever had."

"Well I think Mike's cock might have had something to do with that," I answered, "But I'll take some of the credit."