tagLesbian SexThe Bag Lady and the Domme Ch. 03

The Bag Lady and the Domme Ch. 03


This story is a slower burner than the first two chapters. It shifts the plot in response to some personal comments to the author, so less 'wam bam' more 'thank you ma'am'. lol. So, at the end of Part 2 of this story, Clarissa had released Jessica from the humiliating ritual she claimed the group had enforced upon her. IN this chapter, Clarissa recounts the punishment of a male CEO who had broken societal and The Group's moral codes, but the story leads Jessica to question her subbie's previous accounts. Clarissa had been given to another woman as her slave. Her adventures had changed as a result, as had the significance of The Group; and Jessica was now to be made an invitation...

"If I had not experienced that taste of your degradation, I would not have believed all that you have told me darling."

Clarissa was hugging me closely, her naked breast pressing hard against mine. I could not but be aware of it, but was even more alert to the apparent distress that relaying this to me seemed to cause at one level and yet at another she seemed to revel in telling me all about it. I wondered if she now craved that degradation like the ignored child that discovers by being naughty they gain attention. Thinking back over the past 24 hours, she had taken me off the makeshift torture pole filthy with shit and piss, and made it her mission to cleanse me not with a flannel or sponge but with her mouth and tongue. I knew I could never do that for her ever again, but she had done it so diligently and with such obvious love for me that I was sure she would at any time I ordered. Yes, I think they, and her editor before them, had changed her psyche so much to subservience she would do anything for a person she wanted to serve.

There was a silence, but a comfortable one. We were two people who had discovered a love for each other as we shared her journey. My husband Johnnie's homecoming was blocked from my mind at this time and I had not given consideration to the impending return of Anya, my maid. No, my major thoughts now were for Maggie, Clarissa's friend from under the arches, who was still in the clutches of The Group. If Clarissa had reached this level of acceptance of her own degradation, how would Maggie be now that her friend had escaped and been with me for at least 10 days? I shuddered, partially with fear for her, but I have to admit there was also some sexual excitement. The Domme in me was growing despite my topping by Clarissa and there was a strongly sadistic streak in me that I realised was surfacing bit by bit through my thoughts and sometimes my deeds. For example, when orgasming that morning I could not fail to grasp Clarissa's nipples so hard that she screamed. But there again, it lead to her having multiple orgasms soon after. Pain and pleasure were thinly divided I had discovered.

"Mistress, what are you thinking about?" my subbie enquired softly, cupping her hand to my breast as she cuddled closer to me. My nipple immediately hardened sending pleasure signals down my naked body. I paused, focusing on the pleasure gained from her fingers that were now toying and teasing the nipple.

"I was thinking about Maggie," I replied simply.

I felt her body stiffen, her finger tighten over my left teat. Had she blocked Maggie's abandonment from her mind?

"Hey, I will be the one who tortures nipples!" I said, quickly tempering my statement and tone to reassure her that I was joking, as she moved her hand away as if my tits had burned her. "We can only have one Domme here!" I continued, giggling. She returned her hand and audibly sighed, her stroke soft and gentle again.

"Where did you escape from?"

"It was a warehouse in the docklands, disguised as a block of exclusive flat conversions. You know how they are doing up the docks?"

"Yes, I know. I have a group of properties to let down there. When mummy died she left me a considerable sum that I put into land and housing. I own quite a few thanks to her generosity."

"The outside looks like a modernised warehouse, with balconies and windows that appear to be apartments but in reality they only start on the third floor. The bottom floors are wide open spaces, perfect for their games and punishments. We were kept in the cellar area, but as we progressed, so we came up floors nearer to where the main action, the parties, happened. I made my escape at one of those parties where I had been taken as a slut for the enjoyment of the men and women."

She seemed incredibly calm relaying all this to me. I expected tears but just got a cold, flat recounting of events. She continued.

"For the first part of the party I was tied over a bench, naked, my arse in the air and my legs forced open and bound to the legs. My arms were stretched and manacled to the floor in front by chains and handcuffs. As guests entered, so they could do as they wished with me. I was fucked by many men in my cunt and anus. The women were particularly rough with me, using their strap-ons to abuse me. I was surprised how disinterested they were in my pussy, and I have to admit disappointed. However, I was to learn that anal sex was a particular fetish amongst Group members. The weird thing was that each one left at least £30 each in a bucket that had been placed beside me."

She suddenly laughed. I was even more puzzled now by her behaviour as she told more of her story.

"Sorry, but it was strangely surreal to find that they were fundraising for a children's charity. That too was something so odd about them. Here they abducted adults off the street to use as fuck-slaves and sluts, but all their events were to raise money for children in desperate circumstances! I was to find out how much they abhorred paedophilia and anyone found to bring an underage woman to the parties was severely reprimanded. They had, indeed have, their own brand of justice. It is swift and very severe. At that very event a CEO of a large telecommunications company had been seen by another member importuning young boys outside a mainline station in London. They were fair in that they set up surveillance, not going for justice without evidence, but once proven his fate was worse than anything I experienced. His wife was brought to the event, shackled and gagged. She was shown the evidence and invited to choose his fate. They had a menu, yes a menu of punishments."

She stopped a moment. Her face was unmoved, but her body shook a little. Clearly she had been taught to hide her emotions when it came to Group activity. I hugged her naked body tight to me, feeling its intense heat contrasting with the cold recounting of these facts. But were they facts or imaginings? If I had told this I would have broken down given what she was telling me had happened to her.

"The bench that I had been tied to was brought to the centre of the room. It was raised to accommodate his height. Each member of the main Group council was given a cat-o-nine tails. His wife readily took a larger bullwhip. Her face, once she had seen the evidence, was boiling red."

She paused again. I waited patiently for her to continue, knowing that from the tell-tale heave of her chest this was more difficult than her outer persona was allowing her to reveal. I was learning with Clarissa that more could sometimes be learned by observing her non-verbals rather than listening to the verbals.

"He was screaming for mercy, saying he would never do it again. Many of the guests were jeering, shouting there was evidence he regularly did it and needed to be taught a hard lesson. Their language about him was appalling. Some of them went up to him, slid their hands under his open legs and squeezed his balls violently. He was retching with the agony and a council member had to stop it, though he had taken his time to do so.

Then I heard a crack of the whip. A member was teaching the CEO's wife how to use the instrument. Her face was still one of sheer anger and he was instructing her to calm herself so that any correction came out of love for him not hate."

"Love? He was a fucking paedophile!" I could not help it, my anger boiled over.

"With respect Mistress, he was not known as that to his wife who had been with him for 25 years. She was distraught and angry. If they were to cure him but still punish him it had to be done properly," Clarissa said, again in that flat tone that worried me. She continued. "It is the paradox of the group. They can take adults against their will from the streets, from meeting prospective sluts (both male and female) at parties and other gatherings, but they have a strict code about those underage. So he had broken the code and everyone was responsible in The Group for seeing he paid for it.

A member of the council approached the offending CEO with a sharp knife. I thought he was going to geld him, but instead he slipped the blade into the back of the man's trousers and cut them in two, together with his boxers, then he tore the remaining material leaving the man's muscular arse exposed. This was a man who, like most of The Group, worked out. One could only imagine what such a powerful man could have done..."

She paused again and I could sense emotion under the surface. I knew she hated his actions as much as me, but the façade was one of control.

"Then the member slashed away the man's jacket and shirt, rending it from his back and leaving it hanging over the raised bench which in reality was more like one of the gym horses we used at school. People were laughing at him as this muscular, naked man hung shackled but left wearing his socks. A horrid site on any man!"

She allowed herself a little smile. I felt it best to mirror her.

"Then his wife, who by this time was hitting bottles accurately at about 10 yards, was brought to the centre of the crowd. A passage, to give her space for the backward pull of the whip, was formed by The Group. She stood about 10 yards away from him, her face still bright red, angry. She pulled back the whip, trailing it like I had seen many times in films as cowboys get ready to fight with them. Then she let loose the leather aiming directly at his arse. He screamed. It seared across his right buttock, the mark deep and as angry red as her face. No sooner done than she was pulling back the bullwhip and preparing it for her next striping of his horrid arse. He screamed again, seemingly louder than the first, though it could have been that there was now a hush amongst the crowd. If a comment was made, it was to complement the wife for her skill. She had learned quickly. Ten strokes of the whip later he was wimpering and crying. Twenty later he had to be revived with iced water. Salt water was applied to his wounds."

She paused again. I noticed her shift, her thighs squeezing tightly together and her nipples harden.

"So was that the end of the punishment?"

"Oh no Mistress, the next part was a process of degradation. A general announcement was made that all men in the room had to line up, including the male sluts. They were to release their cocks from their trousers if they had any on (some had already disrobed), slip on a condom and to grease up their members using one of the female sluts who would be standing with large tubs of lubricant. Then, they were to fuck his arse as hard and as long as they wished."

"But that is appalling!" I interjected, though secretly thought how wonderful it was to see a man fuck another one. It was a fantasy of mine, unfulfilled, to see Johnnie taken by another man. I remember telling him once when he was fucking me so hard and strongly one night and he shouted at me. It was the end of that session and we did not touch each other for weeks. He became very strange about my idea. A sudden thought hit me; 'methinks he doth protest too much.' It was only a fantasy for God's sake!

"Mistress, do you wish me to continue?"

Clarissa was certainly sensitive to my wanderings.

"Yes, go on. I was only thinking about how I wanted to see my husband buggered but he would not indulge."

"You would?" she asked excitedly, and then quickly returned to her mask of perfect calm. It was a strange reaction, I thought fleetingly. "Anyhow, the CEO screamed again when a very large man, with an equally large cock plunged without much finesse into his virgin bottom. It was clear the CEO liked to give but not to receive. Some fifty men followed in quick, sometimes slow, procession. He was crying like a baby by the last one. Of course his pain was made ten times worse by the frequent reminders of his lashing as interspersed with the buggering was the pouring of salted water on his wounds. Occasionally too, a member of the Group would add some spankings to the assault. They were none too gentle ones either. Also, by the last one he was running with sperm between his legs as some ignored the condom order, his socks wet with more than salty water.

'That was to remind you what would happen to you should you be arrested and jailed for your crimes,' came the disembodied announcement from speakers above and around us. 'You would not have the compassion of The Group to put you back on the right track. Remember this day when your cock or your mind tries to lead you to astray. Also, remember this, if you do it again The Group will ensure a permanent end to your sins. Now you will be punished further on a St Andrews's Cross and then will be made to walk the room, accepting the justice of any member who chooses to use or abuse you. Your victims on the streets had little choice, some coerced by their dependencies for money to buy food or drugs, others under physical threat. You colluded with that situation. Now feel what it is like to have no choices.'

Then he was untied and walked by two burly and very naked male slaves weeping and miserable to the cross placed centrally in the second half of the room. There he was spread eagled. Vicious nipple clamps were applied and he moaned in agony, but I noticed his cock begin to twitch and rise. His judges had seen this too and soon a cock cage was strapped to him. This one was particularly constraining. It had clamps at its tip to squeeze and punish his uncircumcised cock-end. Also, more clamps were attached to his balls and were wired to a machine at the side. More of these wires were connected to the nipple clamps and linked to the machine as well. I saw the operator, a slut like me, press a button that said 'pulse' on it. She was smiling, delighting in what she knew this could do.

He screamed Mistress; louder and harder than he had when whipped and buggered. She was masturbating as she turned a dial on the instruction of her master. He was smiling too, eventually laughing at the CEO and at his slut who was orgasming wildly at the side of the cross."

I noticed as Clarissa said this, she too had let her hand drop to her open pussy lips. She was subtly stroking the hood over her clitoris. For some reason, this punishment was turning me on too. I let her do it, gently stroking her leg in encouragement.

"I could see his cock straining in its cage. He seemed to welcome its punishment, yet it did not stop his screams. Only when his wife returned to give him more lashes of the bullwhip, her anger still seemingly unabated, did he control his shouts and shrieks. It was as if he did not want her to know she was hurting him. That seemed to incense her more, as this time she doubled her effort and the number of strokes she gave him. By the end his silence was replaced by pleading and apologies. He begged for forgiveness, for a second chance. It only got him more electric shocks and her whipping had become ever more confident so that she assaulted his thighs, inner and outer, and the backs of his calves. Even his muscular back was attacked, though she was careful to avoid the spine as instructed. His whole body was a mass of stripes by the time they stopped."

"Darling," I said, stopping her in full flow. "I don't want you to think I am not interested, but when and how did you escape?"

"Sorry Mistress, but if you care to indulge me a little longer I shall tell you. You see the next step in his punishment was to take him down from the cross and dress him in an oversized schoolboy outfit typical of the 1960's, with grey flannel shorts, a white shirt, green and gold striped blazer, a school tie, and dirty scuffed black shoes. He looked like someone out of Just William but older and so much more foolish."

"What has this to do with you escaping?"

"Mistress!" she shouted impatiently at me, then calmed, lowering her eyes in apology. "Everyone in the room was given a very whippy cane to use on him whenever they wanted. He was left to wander around the party, prevented from sitting down by the slave who had been at the cross, who was ordered to keep him moving from group to group. He looked totally degraded and scared, which was how The Group wanted him to be.

His wife, Marianne as I was to find out she was called, had been invited to a side room and I was ordered to entertain her. She was a tall, blonde woman with model-like features though her bust behind her rather severe clothes suggested that she would not have done catwalk in her early days but more lingerie modelling or possibly catalogues. I was entranced by her looks and her piercing blue eyes that were almost hypnotic. What that sleazeball saw in sneaking off to seek rent boys God only knows. Not that I expect he will ever do that again given the instant justice of The Group and that chilling threat."

"So what happened with Marianne?" I asked gently, eager to keep her to the point and not a little intrigued now by this woman.

"Well, I was told to offer her some new clothes and be her dresser. It was clear that now she had seen The Group she was not going to be allowed to leave without some choice of role for her and some means to ensure she maintained discretion. I was taken by how calm she was now, and how curious she had become watching other women dominate their partners and their slaves. I also noticed that she was more taken by the woman on woman relationships than the hetero or male on male. So, as I walked her from the far end of the vast warehouse to the side room we began to chat. Her eyes kept scanning me, resting often with a stare at my pierced nipples but then equally often looking me in the eyes with an expression that suggested lust. I thought at first that I was mistaken, but by the time we reached the side chamber I was convinced. Besides, she had also taken to touching my arm and occasionally lightly stroked one of my buttocks when we stopped (which we did many times on our journey) to look at a couple of larger breasted women guests openly doing '69 on the floor. I watched her absorb the scene like a painter would assess a setting for their next work. She craned her neck to see how the one on top licked at the other woman's clitoris, taking in every detail. I swear if she had had a notebook with her, she would have filled it."

I giggled at this, the stroking of my subbie's body getting more loving, more intense as my mind filled with images of the two women in 69 and then the thought of someone lusting over Clarissa. I realised I needed to restrain myself or else this story would take forever.

"Carry on," I said sternly, realising she too was getting turned on and responding to my hands.

" 'That is very beautiful, isn't it?' I asked Marianne as we moved away when the two women orgasmed almost simultaneously. She answered with a simple, 'yes', as if in a daze. However, she then started to ask me numerous questions about the club; if anyone could join, whether people knew each other before they got into such 'practices' as she called them. I answered as best I could, but then once we were inside the room she asked the very direct, 'And what is your role here?' "

"And how did you answer, darling?"

"Well, by this time I have to admit I was curious about her. I realised a genie had been let out of the bottle by her experiences and the revelations about her husband whom she seemed to have forgotten as possibly years of pent-up frustration and lust could now find an outlet. She was staring at me blatantly by now, taking in my shaven cunt lips, my piercings, my firm and I have to admit aroused breasts. She circled me, just as she had seen men and women do to the people on the floor. She was about the same height as me so when our eyes met I could not avoid absorbing the signals of hunger that seemed to be behind that blue. Then she spoke to me softly, sensually.

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