Another Appointment (2 page)

The sound of the door opening made her flinch. “Take off your coat, please,” said her master matter-of-factly, strolling to his desk and taking his throne-like seat. He was dressed for the country in expensive vintage tweeds, an exciting contrast to his modern, youthful looks.

But it was the intensity in his eyes that made her feel faint. They were pale, level, and very stern. He seemed unmoved when she shed her coat and stood half-naked before him, but she sensed he
was
moved, and that in the depths of those serene eyes, hungry fires burned, far back. Heat and more… “I should like you to walk around the room a little,” he instructed, picking up a pen from his desk and toying with it, turning it end over end between deft fingers.

The slave did exactly as she was told, acutely conscious of her naked bottom and her shaven sex. The perilously high heels made her mince a bit as she walked, and the flesh of her rounded buttocks jiggled. She knew full well that her fresh lash-marks would be plainly visible.

“Why were you late for our appointment?” enquired her master as she passed before him for perhaps the tenth time. “You know how I value punctuality.”

“I… I…” the slave stammered. The words wouldn’t form. Raw desire froze them in her throat, but she breathed in deeply to center herself, catching a hint of the complex lemony fragrance he favored.

“Tell me,” her master insisted, his low voice silky. “I want details. I want to know everything. All your excuses.”

The slave managed at last to speak. Slowly, haltingly, she described the whole sequence of events to him; even her imagined
amour
on the train, which had no bearing at all on her late arrival but was still as important to him as events that had really happened.

“Stand still now,” he said as she finished her description of how the chauffeur had used her in the clearing. “Here.” He indicated a place beside his desk. “Lean over, please, and press your body across the desk.”

Once again, the slave complied without demur, draping herself across the cluttered surface of the desk and feeling documents and paper clips adhering to her belly. With no warning and a delicious lack of his usual finesse, her master began an exploration of her sex and the cleavage of her bottom cheeks, probing with his fingers and teasing her slippery labia.

“You’re a wanton creature, aren’t you?” he whispered, pushing a digit through the tight ring of her anus and then probing the channel within. “You’re insatiable.” He found some elusive tender spot inside her and she wailed, churning her hips against the edge of the polished desk. “You’re lewd. Easy. Too quick to come to pleasure.” He seemed to lift her with his finger, making her rise onto her toes. “You have no self-control. I’ll have to punish you very thoroughly.”

Breathing hard, the slave waited, expecting her sentence to be carried out almost immediately. But instead, her master let his finger rest inside her while he kissed her hair and her shoulders, exquisitely tender, murmuring sweet nothings. The contrast between such affection and the rude, unyielding finger lodged deep in her bottom made tears of lust drip from the corner of her eye.

“You’ll have to prepare yourself,” he said at length, “for the next stage. I want you to bathe. And I’ve laid out a new corset for you… and some clamps. Silver ones with long, onyx weights. Very beautiful, especially when attached to a luscious pair of breasts like yours.” He didn’t remove his finger as he described the preparations, and the slave let a sob of anticipation escape her as he crooked it inside her.

A few moments later, he withdrew, released her, and said, “Go now. Get ready… The room at the top of the stairs is for you. Return here when you’ve prepared yourself.”

The slave’s knees were weak as she left the room, but she didn’t look back. She knew it was forbidden. Hurrying to a room that was actually very familiar to her, she tried to calm herself, but it was impossible. Desire and delicious apprehension were like a source of energy inside her.

A hot, scented bath was already waiting for her, and she began to prepare herself, as instructed, stripping off her sweaty corset, her shoes, and her stockings, ready to step naked into the tub. As she began to wash herself, the temptation to touch her sex surged again and she had to take up the sponge instead of using her fingers, charging it heavily with thick, fragrant lather.

Her bathing was scrupulous, but soon, her good intentions shattered and she abandoned the sponge. Wondering again about CCTV cameras, she began to use her fingers upon her needy flesh. She explored very niche and fold, every sensitive hidden treasure. The slave brought herself to orgasm again and again, and each time she came to her peak, she tried not to cry out lest her master hear her sharp cries of pleasure. Gasping afterward, she upbraided herself for her lack of control… even while she smiled, ridiculously proud of her wickedness.

When the bath was finally finished and her skin dry and polished, the slave was faced with yet another restrictive garment. The basque-like corset that had been chosen for her was made of soft black leather and reinforced with a series of stiff bones, a far more rigorous construction than the garment she’d traveled in. She felt embarrassed as she slipped it over her head and she realized it covered nothing but her midriff and upper belly. She felt the onset of panic even as she laced it herself. She tried for tightness, as fierce as she could make it. Her master would expect its grip on her body to be unremitting. Unrelenting.

Tighter and ever tighter became the basque, constricting her waist and deforming her inner organs. The slave felt her breathing become shallow and her beleaguered innards pressed down to create stress in her sex. She felt as if she might burst. She felt as if she could climax at any second. And yet still, she tightened, and tightened… her core aching for contact with every tug. Another orgasm drew close, teasing her flesh, then quickly bloomed.

While she stood, still shaking and wet from her pleasure, she attached long black suspenders to the lower edge of the corset and then slid sheer black stockings up her smooth, waxed legs. The last preparations were another pair of high-heeled shoes and the silver-and-onyx clips, as specified.

The slave hissed between her teeth as she tightened the clamps. Her nipples were in torment, and the tips were first squashed then dragged on by the heavy, weighted chunks of onyx. But it was her master’s will, and the dark pain had a strange yet familiar allure…

When she was presented to her master again, he smiled narrowly but otherwise appeared to barely even look at her. He instructed her to stand beside his desk as he worked, leafing through papers, referring to notes, and occasionally tapping at the keyboard of his laptop, which was set to one side. Despite the fact his attention
seemed
elsewhere, the slave was acutely aware of the way her breasts and belly bulged because of the constriction around her waist, and she was pretty sure her master was fully aware of it too. Her bottom felt twice its normal size, and the remaining tenderness from her switching seemed to pulse in time to the thrumming of her blood in her veins.

She’d been instructed to look straight ahead and stare at nothing, but she could not resist studying her master. He went about his work silently, in total absorption, his reading glasses giving him a delightfully donnish allure. He studied documents and tomes of research, glancing to and from at his laptop screen, and occasionally making jottings. The slave was bewitched by the way his elegant, thinfingered hands held the barrel of his silver pen. His grip was light, yet controlled, and the nib skimmed across the paper. She imagined his grip on a cane or a whip, just as graceful, just as efficient.

For about an hour, her master attended to his paperwork, and during that time the slave’s nerves were stretched and stretched. Today’s game was that she was just a thing to him, a living accessory, attractive flesh that he could dispose of as he so wished. The thought of being his, totally his, excited her. She became so agitated that she rubbed her legs together in a vain attempt to stimulate her aching sex.

Just as she was beginning to feel a slight tremor of pleasure, her master looked up from his papers. He said nothing, but his eyes were gently reproving, cool yet distinctly playful. The slave shuddered once, then fell still, hiding a small triumph. He liked to project this chilly disciplinarian act, and he was mostly superb at it, but sometimes he slipped a little. He was human.

Maintaining his silence, her master pushed his chair back and rose from his seat. Taking her by the arm, he led her to the
prie dieu
, the very one they’d chosen together as a special shared indulgence. It stood in the corner of the room, and by means of a series of cool, controlled gestures, he bade her lean over it and offer up to him her bare rump.

The slave heard a drawer in the desk being opened, and then there was a long pause while, presumably, he selected an implement with which to punish her. After what felt like a minute, the drawer was quietly slid shut again.

“I’m going to beat you now,” he said quietly. “I’m going to give you ten strokes with this strap, and I want you to remain silent throughout.” He lapsed into musing thoughtfulness for a moment, then continued, “I shall be pleased with you if you can keep quiet. Very pleased. But if you cry out, I may have to send you home.”

The slave clenched every muscle in her body and braced herself. She wouldn’t give in; she wouldn’t make a single sound.

The pain of the first blow was excruciating. Squeezing her fingers into fists, the slave fought the wild urge to scream. For the next stripe, she clapped her hand across her mouth, churning her bottom in an attempt to dull the suffering, but at the third, she was forced to gasp out loud.

“Have a care,” murmured her master, then he went on to apply the remaining strokes.

The slave managed to stifle her groans, but when it was over, she wasn’t sure how she’d achieved this. Her bottom was pounding, glowing, pulsating, each marking from the strap a band of fire.

“Stand up,” ordered her master quietly, then he waited while she staggered to her feet, her knees threatening to buckle at any second.

“Turn around. Kneel before me. Open your mouth.”

When she obeyed, swaying, he unfastened his trousers and pushed his penis between her lips, then thrust roughly until he ejaculated down her throat. The slave swallowed every drop of his thick, salty fluid.

“And now, the final test,” he said as he covered himself again. “We’re going for a drive. Go upstairs and put your coat on.” His voice was curt and tight, as if he were controlling himself stringently. The slave knew better than to linger and almost staggered from the room, her bottom flaming and the taste of his semen on her tongue.

Before he put her into his car, he gagged her, slipping a black rubber sphere into her mouth and fastening it there with narrow straps behind her head. When that was in place, he covered her hair and her face with a loose leather hood, plunging her into darkness as he carefully adjusted its fit, making sure the breathing holes were aligned with her nostrils.

“There, that’ll make things easier for you,” he said and she wondered exactly in what sense he meant “easy.” What was easy and what was hard in these games might have puzzled an outsider, and sometimes she wasn’t quite sure of their definitions herself. But with her hood in place, he helped her into the spacious back seat. Instead of sitting beside her, he took the chauffeur’s usual place behind the wheel, then put the car into gear and set it rolling.

They drove for some time, her master not speaking and she, because of the gag, unable to. The night was windy, and she could hear the lashing of the trees on either side of the road. It reminded her of the stormy drama of being whipped.

Will I be beaten again tonight? Surreptitiously she fingered the stripes and soreness of the last beating and wriggled her bare bottom on the leather of the seat, making the heat from that previous punishment flare. She wanted desperately to reach beneath her coat and stroke her sex, but she sensed that, like his chauffeur before him, her master would be monitoring her, his eyes scanning the rearview mirror from time to time.

They drove for a little while, cruising along familiar country lanes, she sensed, although in what direction she had no idea. Her master parked the car, and then with a firm, guiding hand on her elbow, he led her forward. They paused after a moment, and she sensed a gate being opened before he ushered her along a gravel path. Blind, she stumbled on her high heels, but he caught her easily in his arms and supported her before urging her forward again.

“Here we are,” he said softly, and she sensed an enclosure of some kind. Roofed, perhaps, but open at the front. She imagined a park shelter, perhaps, or a summerhouse or gazebo. Despite the roof, the feeling was of being exposed, on show, exhibited. Any passerby might see her and wonder at her hooded state.

“Remove your coat,” her master instructed, swirling the garment away as she shed it.

Half-naked and shivering, the slave allowed herself to be bound. Her wrists were fastened securely together in a pair of cuffs and then attached to a hook that seemed to have been screwed into the wall, quite high up. There was play in the chain that connected the cuffs, but not much. Next, her ankles too were secured, strapped into cuffs attached to separate hooks, spread apart, close to floor level. Were these features something new the master had arranged to be added to this unknown structure? Or had they always been part of the gazebo’s fittings? Either way, it was positioned so she was stretched and couldn’t move. Wearing only her tight corset and her stockings, her well-whipped bottom in particular was totally vulnerable, and she gasped behind her gag in apprehension.

“I’m going to leave you now,” said her master. “But first…”

With his lips pressed against her bare throat, the slave felt him touch her weeping sex from behind. He caressed her swollen folds perfunctorily, then without warning thrust a finger into her vagina. When she squirmed, he smacked her defenseless bottom. One, two, three fierce spanks, and then, just as suddenly as he’d kissed and spanked her, he was gone, his footsteps echoing crisply on the gravel.