The Mogul Ch. 04

Ginny awoke to the smells of Earl Grey tea and hot cakes filling her nostrils. She was in a canopied bed and never felt so comfortable, warm, and was enveloped in goose down. The maid set down the teapot, arranged a few items on the tray and left the dark room. A glimmer of light shone through the heavy curtains and Ginny stared at the steam pouring upwards from the teacup, catching a single particle of dust in the morning light. She remembered the previous evening's events slowly, getting dressed, the gift, the essay reading, her confession, running up the stairs, but it was blank after that. Mason finally stood from a chair and spoke up, pulling the curtains aside, nearly blinding Ginny with the light that forced its way upon her.

"You have two hours to ready yourself. I took the liberty of getting your items brought here, your implements of discipline, your restraints, and toys. I found nothing of value in your closet and spoke with your father," he said.

"You spoke with my father?"

"Yes. I wanted to be sure he was comfortable with my presence on the property and with my business with you," he said.

"Well what did he say?" she asked.

"He's coming around. I think he understands I don't want to steal you from him." Ginny sat quietly looking down. Mason stared at her momentarily. "As I was saying, we will have a training session in two hours. I would eat soon. You don't want to be hungry; you don't want a full stomach either. I expect total cleanliness, inside and out when I arrive at," Mason looked at his watch, "10:35. Be nude, your face and hair clean, no cosmetics. And that collar is waterproof." Ginny ran her fingers over the mesh. "Clear?"

"But make up makes me feel sexy," she said.

"I don't want you to feel sexy. I want you to feel submissive." He waited for his words to take their effect and left the room. After eating in bed Ginny explored the room finding an empty closet, empty drawers, windows which wouldn't open enough for her to climb out. She entered the adjoining bathroom to find it much better supplied with enema bags, her set of graduated crystal plugs, plush towels, brushes for teeth, hair, nails, polish remover, everything she might need and she began to realize just how much work nudity really was.

She cleaned herself as best she could and when Mason entered she was kneeling on the floor, head down, hair dripping unscented water down her torso and temples. He raised her to her feet by means of a short leash to her collar and quickly affixed the fetters Ginny purchased. An implement of bondage. A compliment to the collar, in reddened leather. Ginny found them in a recessed corner of the store and although new, they were supremely crafted and had the feel of being old and weathered, hand stitched, and broken in. Primed for use. They felt somehow hers when she first picked them up and she cringed later when the checker scanned them, seeing their price. Mason pulled her out of the room and down a long hallway lined with portraits, busts in strange metals, and carpeted with rugs of foreign designs and exotic colors. She kept her eyes pointed down however. She felt different. Calm. She felt there was no other way she ought to be but nude, gaze down, leash leading to Mason's hand. He led her into another room which only had three cabinets and a horizontal wrought iron rod hanging above a circular rug and led her to a bin.

"Each cabinet is for a different purpose. You have five minutes to silently separate your items. I will decide their final placement after we... play." Ginny wanted desperately to tell him all the things she thought about when she purchased each item, how she had asked the sales people for help, how she had thought of him, but he said silently. Silently. She learned in the store not to second guess him and her task was complete within the alotted time. Pleased with something Mason kissed Ginny, caressing her chin, her shoulders, the small of her back. He looked at her selections and stroked his hair finally grabbing Ginny by the wrist and pulling her under the rod which hung about four feet above her head. He closed the door and behind it was a crank, which he turned until the rod lowered and he cuffed Ginny to it.

Walking up to the middle cabinet he said, "Flogger, whip, paddle..."

"Those are-"

"Shush!" he snapped. "It's obvious what you think. We'll see what they really are." He cranked the rod above her so she was standing upright flat on her feet but her arms were erect. "I think the first part of our session will focus on this cabinet here. While I myself am not prone to use such implements for punishment, I have been trained to use them for other measures. Let's see if you change your mind about your obvious assumptions." Ginny wanted desperately to protest as Mason toyed with her but she knew he wanted her quiet. He pulled out the kangaroo flogger and walked around her, swinging the falls, occasionally tapping her, brushing her, awakening her entire body, her sex, her belly. Her nipples and ass.

He started tapping harder, tapping more frequently, swinging each stroke before the previous declined in intensity for Ginny. Her head leaned into her arm, her toes squirmed. There was an unscheduled exhale but for the most part Ginny maintained her entirely unspoken oath of silence. Tap. Tapping. The taps increased in intensity until Mason stopped walking around her and focused his attention on her ass, picking up stokes faster with each swing, reddening her cheeks on her rear and moistening her brow until it all stopped at once. He stepped into her and brushed her hair aside literally breathing down her neck, running his hands along the hairless, warm red skin of her ass which only leaned out to him, wanting him to continue, but he walked away.

She heard him by the door and soon felt the rod being cranked higher until she was on her toes, straining to be somewhat comfortable. He flogged her harder and she swung in the air, completely out of control of her movements, her arms wriggling back and forth toes on their tips, feet arched at maximum stretch. He hit her once, hard and an unrehearsed, unexpected cry escaped Ginny's lungs and an unexpected, "Yes," escaped Masons. This was most certainly the voracity at which Ginny felt most stimmulated but the force with which Mason had to wail at her with his flogger began to tire his arm and finally, after a noisy period of time he returned the flogger to the cabinet and released another lever from the crank, dropping Ginny to the floor on all fours, head down not daring to look between the strands of now dried amber hair.

Before long she felt her ankles being cuffed roughly to hooks protruding up through the rug; the rod was pinned down and her neck was clipped to the rod. From this position, ass in the air, legs spread, she didn't see Mason get the paddle from the same cabinet and slipped on a vibrating glove. Kneeling silently behind her he slapped her with his bare hand and the smack reverberated out the room and down the long hallway. The novelty of the sensation shocked Ginny and she cried out with every ounce in her lungs. Mason began tapping her with the paddle lightly on her already reddened ass, increasing in intensity as he slowly massaged her with his gloved hand, the vibrations from which were excrutiatingly painful on her rear.

The glove itself was invented by a Swiss woman decades ago. She was a sexual servant of the lowest rank, with no rights, the most submissive of women. It was rumored that she was one of the original women from Washington DC to produce a child from her own ejaculate. There were no contracts back then, not even for married couples, and the men were still recovering from the Great War. She was a test subject in a laboratory and became attached to a scientist who allowed her to experiment in his workspace. She wasn't allowed to let her hands touch her pussy, so she designed a rudimentary rubber glove with pulsing beads. Her owner was so pleased with her resoursefulness he allowed her to use it. It was adapted over the years to have veins of lubricant and multiple speeds and variations, all controlled by the fingertips and all hidden in a seemingly inconspicous latex glove.

Mason's gloved hand currently wandered around to the front of Ginny's pussy and teased the piercing she got for him their first day together. His vibrating hand moved back and forth from her moistening pussy to an always freshly paddled ass. Pain was always coupled with pleasure and neither ever seemed to last long enough until Ginny felt his bare finger wandering near her ass, pressing into it, stretching her. She heard the sound of Masons zipper and before she knew it her ass was being used for his needs. Ginny immediately took the signal to relax and her entire body slumped save for her rear, which remained in the air. He paused paddling her as he slipped fingers into her gaping ass, enjoying the vibrations himself and lubricating his entrance. He watched his bulbous head stretch her opening as it moved almost all the way out and slid further in with each thrust until he was fucking her so hard he could barely here the faint noise above the resumed paddling, vibrating and slapping flesh. It was a strange noise until Mason was able to discern a simple and elongated, "Ohhhh," driveling from Ginny's lips.

His hands remained firmly deligated to her groin on one side and to paddling her rear on the other. Ginny felt as if she couldn't take any more paddling, as if she'd had enough, as if all of this, this bondage, this ass fucking, this stimmulation, and especially this paddling was too much and she began to hollar out as if she regretted everything she had done up to that point, as if she wanted nothing more than to get out of there. But suddenly there was peace. Suddenly she felt a wave of calm and all she could hear was the tap-tap-tapping of the paddle, and the she could feel the cock in her ass. Suddenly she became acutely aware of the vibrating sensation on her clit. Awareness and calm turned into peak and climax as she came, shaking in her restraints, muscles twitching, voice cracking as she hollared. Her contractions slightly tightened her everywhere and Mason came too, filling for the first time the first vessel that ever purported to be his and his alone.

As Mason sat back onto his heels his hand passed over Ginny's pussy and he examined the model of glove she chose. He noticed something very strange. There was no ejaculate. He inspected Ginny and found none.

"How do you feel right now Ginny?" he asked.

"I... There's no where else I'd rather be. No way I would rather be," she responded dreamily. She clearly came. She was clearly submissive. Mason thought about her essay, and what she said about her parents. It must all be true. That collar has to stay on at all costs. Mason asked another pressing question in hopes of revealing more information about Ginny's origins and sensibilities.

"Tell me, do you still think all those items belong in the pleasure cabinet?" he asked.

"Absolutely," she gasped. "But maybe if you use that glove a little more and we'll have to make a torture cabinet," she smiled.

"Dinner is in three hours," he said having no patience for joking, his mind spinning in circles about this novelty of a woman he's captured. He gently unclasped her. "Why don't you take a nap?" He fastened her leash, checking its security and walked her back to her room. "Your room has been filled with clothes from Georgian. Dress formally for dinner. I expect you there at eight." As Mason left Ginny already fell backwards onto the down of the bed, her fingers, unable to wander downwards, found her collar. She ran to the full length mirror at the corner of the room and admired herself in it. Mason mentioned a special collar. Was this the one? It seemed plain from afar, but as she neared her nude reflection its details became more visible. The metalsmithing was finely wrought, creating an intricate lace-like pattern of gold and black, but mostly red. It appeared this red metal was neither painted nor stained, but was somehow naturally red, though Ginny brushed this thought aside as no metal she knew of was red. She remembered Mason's words. She should nap.

When she awoke she found a glass of water and a bowl of grapes that tasted like nothing she'd ever had. They looked like regular grapes, but tasted of flowers. She opened the previously empty closet and found it full of garments more foreign than the grapes. There were dresses and gowns, skirts and bras, but they were all sewn in several places with boning, attached by fine metal chains bejeweled with precious stones in strategic placements. There were completely sheer fabrics and there was fur. But nothing broke Mason's dress code and everything matched her collar, bringing out the natural tones of her eyes, skin, and hair. There were several pairs of shoes in her size, all seemingly hand made from various stained leathers and skins.

Ginny showered again, cleaning herself thouroughly and found even more supplies than before, including a professional makeup tower. She readied herself quickly and dressed in a fully boned corset bra made of heavy cotton and a high waisted full length burgundy skirt that appeared to be made out of gold lamé, but was smooth as silk. It was completely sheer save for a strip in front of her sex leading to a high slit and another black strip down the back.

When she entered the dining room it was silent save for a quiet conversation between Mason and an older gentleman who appeared to be his father. Upon seeing her Mason stood up immediately, as did his father.

"I want you to meet my father," said Mason, introducing her to Mr. Tearing, owner of a series of nightclubs, a line of S&M furniture, and she didn't know what other enterprises but they must have been extensive to pay for such a home.

"Good evening Mr. Tearing," she said.

"Don't be silly. Jonathan will do just fine," he said kissing the back of her hand. "This is my first concubine Martha." Martha gave Ginny a dignified nod as her eyes turned downwards. "This is Paris, Mason's younger brother." Paris didn't budge from his conversation with a young girl. "And Anastasia, my first daughter with my second concubine," he finished. Upon hearing her name Anastasia jumped from her conversation and walked decisively over to Ginny.

"You can call me Anastasia," she said sticking out her hand as if she wanted Ginny to kiss it. Ginny shook it awkwardly and sat down only to have Anastasia turn her bare back and beaded ass to her.

"Hi Mason darling," Anastasia flirted hopping in his lap, curling her fingers under his chin. "Have you taken under consideration that itch I had?" Mason was pleased to ride along for this conversation.

"Why yes I have. You need only wait a few moments longer dear Ana," he said. Ginny felt an ice cold tinge of jealousy but shook it off. Not that brat, she thought. Dinner passed awkwardly, with Jonathan asking lively questions of Ginny and no one else seeming to take an interest. Paris and Ana seemed engrossed in familial gossip between themselves and Martha silently and obediently agreed with Jonathan's comments and approved of his rather eccentric gesticulations and vocal intonations. Mr. Tearing seemed very curious about Ginny's father's business, especially his furniture making entrepreneurship, but Ginny knew very little about it as her father was quite secretive about his doings. Often Ginny was left searching for an answer and Mason jumped to her rescue. After dinner Ginny was exhausted and Mason put her to bed.

"Where will you sleep?" she asked him, yawning.

"I will sleep in my building across the back yard. But first I have some business to attend to at the club," he said on his way out. Ginny was already asleep. Mason took a great deal of time readying himself for the club. He showered, got his hair trimmed, selected clothing with great care. He didn't know how things would turn out, how she would receive him. Before long it was time to go. He knew she would be waiting for him, as he left precise instructions.

If one didn't truly know him as a Master, know his intentions, his heart and soul, upon entering the room he would leave upon a submissive woman the distinct impression that they were in the presence of something abundantly sinister. Like the fresh smell of death, he brought with him an all encompassing, room filling ambiance, drizzling chills on submissive women's necks, and raising the brows of other Masters, who stepped aside and either feared him or longed to know his 'secret.'

Tonight Ana waited for him at the club with bated breath. She knelt upstairs in a concrete room with nothing but a few looming implements hanging over her on the walls. She knelt in the room for hours as Mason primped himself. She was naked save for fetters, patrons of the club could peek in on her and watch her face contort from a look of pride to a mixed expression of "chin up" to blatantly obvious pain in her knees and back, to a trance like state. Finally Mason came in and without closing the door walked directly up to Ana and gripped her by the neck, lifting her to her feet. She fumbled in a futile effort with his forearms, choking, grasping at the floor with her toes until she was set down but not loosened completely. A small crowd gathered at the doorway and she looked up at him from beneath raven strands of hair, arching her back, pressing her tits forward.

"I'm going to give you what you've been asking for so," he subtly took in the smell of her tresses, "vociferously." Ana shuddered. He spread her against the wall roughly and attached her fetters to hooks. She heard his footsteps on the floor behind her as he pulled something off the wall and slipped on a pair of gloves. Whack! He flogged her. Whack! With enough time in between impact for her to feel the entirety of the force and never roll into oblivion.

"Of all people, why do you want to be considered?" he asked, hitting her, harder this time, and the next. She didn't answer. Mason hung the flogger up and did what he called 'checking his subject.' If his slave, or applicant was too wet, his interrogation techniques were not working. Crassly he shoved his fingers into her cunt running them up her slit and in her ass. She was afraid of this. She didn't want him to know she was at the peak of her accomplishments as a concubine in training and so was quite wet. Mason didn't want her to know this didn't impress him. She didn't want him to stop. And he didn't.

He pulled the cane off the wall and landed one splotchy splat to her meaty mound, bringing a reddened flush to her already glowing face. He left mark after mark, holding her torso firm and caning her hard, leaving mark that will only make the men downstairs want to fuck her more. Goddammit, she likes this too, and he stuck his fingers in her pussy again, scooping up as much fluid as he could, and shoving it in her mouth, filling her with her own tastes and smells, the indisputable truth that she's everything her sibblings call her. Mason turned her around. He clamped her nipples with clothes pins and pulled out the whip, barely caressing her nipples with it.

"I haven't gotten an answer out of you." The whip grazed until it popped the clamps off. He pulled at her nipples, scratched them. He bound her, fucked her face, suspended her, cut her, brought in a cage for three days, coming and going between training sessions with Ginny and interrogation sessions with Ana. Ana refused to eat and Mason refused to give in. Only cruelty would do for his sister. Until finally she said, "I love you. I don't want there to be anyone else. I don't like her. I want to be the first."

"That simply can't be," he said unlocking the cage and walking away. She sat in the cage for hours dumbstruck, afraid to leave the confines of his bondage. It was the only desire she knew. Soon the crowd grew tired of watching her and she crawled out and dressed herself. Mason returned home to find his father holding Ginny's essay, sitting in an easy chair, drinking a scotch.