CHAPTER ONE - LADY STERN

 

Lady Sandra Stern entered the small square room. The stone floor and walls were grey in colour. There was no furniture, instead in the centre of the room, stood a large metal cross, painted black, a number of chains, black leather straps and cuffs hung from it.

She was tall and slender, with amazing breasts. Her raven black hair was arranged in a long fishtail plait and fell almost to her narrow waist. She was wearing a black satin Basque with long red suspenders clipped into sheer, shiny black stockings and a red satin thong. The tiny triangle in front hardly covered her shaven pudenda; it was no more than a thin strip of material that cut deeply into the cleft of her bottom. Her black patent leather, seven-inch stiletto heeled ballet boots firmed the muscles of her long well shaped legs and tightened the curves of her pert rounded buttocks. Her arms were sheathed in a pair of skin-tight black satin gloves that reached all the way up to her armpits. She wore a black satin mask across the top half of her beautiful face and her deep green eyes shone cruelly through the slits.

The bra of the Basque was no more than two crescents-shaped cups of shiny material, which lifted but did not hide her magnificent breasts. They were quite large for her slender body and round with circular dark aureole and cherry-sized nipples. Her nipples stood out prominently and invitingly as she stood near the cross, legs slightly apart and hands on her hips waiting.

Her tall, handsome blond-haired chauffeur Max, almost naked except for a small black leather loincloth and a black full facial mask, followed closely behind. He was leading on a chain the new recruit from France - Paul Bastien.

Bastien was naked apart from a thick, studded black leather collar around his muscular neck and a narrow black leather harness around his cock and balls. He was crawling on all fours as he moved towards Lady Stern and he'd clearly remembered his instructions. Leaning forward he pressed his lips to her left boot, kissing and licking the black patent leather. Gradually he made his way around the back of the boot and Sandra opened her legs more, enabling him to put his head between them to lick the inner surfaces. She pressed her calves together, trapped his head and then relaxed the pressure so he could transfer his attention to the right foot, repeating the process.

"Now the heels," she demanded sternly.

Paul the Frenchman rolled over onto his back. He had a strong, athletic body with a broad hairless chest, flat belly and muscular arms and legs. His penis was already erect and the area around it was shaven. His hard cock was strapped into a small black leather harness that lifted and separated his heavy balls.

"All right, now get to your feet and come over here," Sandra snapped at him, pointing towards the metal cross.

Paul scrambled to his feet quickly. His circumcised erection bobbing up and down in front of him so violently it slapped against his firm belly as he approached her.

She pulled his right hand up to one corner of the large metal cross and strapped it into one of the leather cuffs that hung from the chains. His left hand and ankles were treated in the same rough manner, until he was spread-eagled across the frame. His tanned muscular body, taut and strained, his harnessed penis throbbed against its restraint.

"That's better," exclaimed Sandra. "Are you comfortable?"

"No," he intoned dully.

Lady Stern raised her right hand and slapped her open palm against his cock. "No, what?" She shouted.

"No, Mistress Stern," he mumbled.

"How dare you forget how to address me properly," she hissed at him.

"Sorry, Mistress Stern," he replied humbly.

"What did you say? I can't hear you."

"Sorry, Mistress Stern," he said louder this time.

"I should think so. You will be sorry, I assure you of that," she commented harshly as she turned her back on him.

"Max, hand me the black riding crop." She pointed to a row of metal coat hooks on one wall, where there was an array of whips, crops, and cuffs and gags hanging on them.

"And that gag," she pointed a long black satin covered finger at a black rubber ball-gag.

Max handed her a crop with a braided leather handle and a ball-gag attached to a leather strap.

Sandra turned again to the captive figure.

"Open your mouth," she instructed, "we don't want anyone hearing you scream do we?"

Paul opened his mouth and she forced the ball-gag into it, buckling the leather strap so tightly around his head that it forced his lips apart widely. She prodded his distended cheeks painfully with her gloved fingers.

"That's better," she said sadistically as she tapped the riding crop against her thighs several times with impatience. Then she walked around behind the frame, carefully examining his helplessly bound body, running her satin-gloved hand slowly down over his back and firm bare buttocks as she appraised him.

"Do you agree you need to be punished?"

Paul grunted through the ball-gag in agreement. He could neither speak nor move to any degree and despite the fact that he was essentially a Dominant; his enjoyment at being the submissive was far beyond his expectations. He longed to be able to make use of his hard and fiercely erect cock, to slide it into his mistress's pussy, to explore her warm, moist hole and to know whether it was well lubricated and how tight it was. He longed to be able to do such things, but the chains; harness and gag told him he could not. She was in total control of his body; she would decide what was to become of him and what he could do.

"Max tells me that you tried to escape this morning. Is that correct?" she asked angrily.

Paul nodded again submissively.

"Then I think you need to be punished. I think it's time we began, don't you?"

Again he nodded his head.

Lady Stern took the crop in her right hand, raised it to the level of her shoulder and slashed it down onto Paul's unprotected buttocks. The leather bit into his flesh and his whole body shuddered as he cried out, as red-hot pain slashed through his body; the sound effectively muffled by the gag. But almost before the first cry had died out, Sandra raised the crop again and slashed it down twice in quick succession. The hiss of the wicked crop drew a moan of agony.

"Three nice red welts," she said as she wrapped her arms around his chest and pressed her body against his backside. He groaned, a noise that was a mixture of agony and ecstasy.

In her black high-heeled boots, she was as tall as he was and she put her lips to his ear, then pushed her tongue right inside. He shuddered.

"Do you want more?" she whispered harshly.

He shook his head violently.

"What a shame," Sandra commented coldly, "because, you're going to get more."

She came around the front of the frame and raised the crop. Paul's eyes widened as he continued to shake his head. She sliced the crop down on the top of his thighs; narrowly missing his stiff member, then aimed a second blower, slightly lower.

"That's enough for the moment. What do you say?" Through the gag Paul managed to produce muffled words that sounded like, "Thank you, Mistress Sandra."

"Good boy." She walked round him and patted his backside, and then flicked it with her gloved fingers, before facing him again.

She reached forward and circled his rock hard organ with her gloved hand and squeezed it until she made him scream with pain. A creamy drop of liquid had formed at the tip of its helmet and it dripped to the floor. Then gripping it less firmly, she stroked his shaft up and down; his whole body became tense, as he feared an eruption.

"Not yet, you don't," Sandra said, letting it go. "It'll be a long time before you're allowed any pleasure, a very long time. You have to learn to contain yourself, in fact I might not even bother with you at all," she laughed sadistically as she turned her back on him and walked away.

"Keep an eye on him, Max, I'll be back in a few moments."

She left the room banging the door behind her.

Max stood guard, his arms akimbo as he obeyed his beloved mistress's commands.

Paul in his bondage was unable to do anything but struggle against his chains, which he did quite violently at first. Then, realising he was getting nowhere; he resorted to pumping his hips as if trying to fuck the air as a gesture of defiance towards Max.

As Paul gazed around the room he noticed a white rope that had been threaded through a pulley and tied to a cleat on the wall in front of him. He wondered if she was going to hang him from it.

Lady Stern entered the grey room again and stood staring at Paul for several seconds.

"Untie him," she commanded and Max jumped forward and released Paul from the great cross.

"Take out the ball-gag then over here, both of you... at once," she snapped at them, her tone unyielding as she shut the heavy wooden door behind her.

Paul crawled over to her on all fours as he had done before, and then sat back on his haunches.

Max could see three red stripes decorating his backside and felt a strong pang of jealousy.

Paul came to rest in front of his mistress; his eyes level with her thighs.

"Take off my thong," she ordered.

"Yes, Mistress Sandra," he said submissively and raised his hands.

"No you fool," she exclaimed angrily, slapping them down, "use your mouth."

She reached behind his head and undid the strap of the gag, letting it fall to the floor.

Paul leaned back on his heels, raised himself slightly and awkwardly tried to grasp the tight slippery red material between his lips.

It was obviously impossible, so he ran his tongue along the side of the thong and pulled it out slightly so he could grasp more with his teeth. Then he began to tug it down. He managed to get the waistband over her thighs, but the crutch was so deeply buried in her sex-lips that he could not free it, however hard he pulled.

"You are completely useless," she sneered and stepped away from him, pulling the scrap of red material down and allowing it to fall to the ground. "Pick it up," she demanded in a harsh voice as she stepped out of it.

Paul noticed that his lovely mistress's mons Veneris was completely shaven and revealed an inch or so of rather plump labia nestling between her legs. He knew better than to try and use his hands again and picked up the red satin thong with his teeth.

She bent over and stuffed it in his mouth.

"Now get back on the frame, you stupid slave," she instructed as she humiliated him more.

Paul did as he was ordered.

She tied him spread-eagled for a second time and adjusted the chains and the straps that held the cuffs until his body was stretched taut once again. For a second or two she stood looking at him as if admiring her handiwork.

He lay back staring at her long legs in the sheer black stockings, the black Lycra welts pulled into peaks on her creamy thighs. How he longed to touch her. His thick penis throbbed with anticipation.

"My turn now," she laughed cruelly. "Max, lower the cross."

Max stepped forward; touched a handle under the frame and it swivelled round and lowered hydraulically until it was lying horizontal and level with her knees.

She plucked her thong from Paul's mouth and threw it to one side, then swung a thigh across his head so her plump shaven sex-lips were poised over his mouth and she was facing his feet. Slowly she lowered herself down onto him, until her smooth bulging labia were an inch away from his lips.

"Right, do your duty properly, as you have been taught to do," she snapped at him.

He raised his head and pressed his tongue into her moist slit. He moved it all the way up and all the way back several times, then concentrated on her clitoris, the tip of his tongue flicked from side to side. Sandra moaned loudly and clutched both her breasts in her hands, her fingers tweaking her nipples, and then she pressed her sex against his mouth, rolling her hips. His mouth almost disappeared underneath her, but his tongue was still working on her clit. After a few minutes she lifted herself off him altogether and ran her hand down over her stomach to her vagina, thrusting two fingers into it. Paul's face glistened with her juices running over it under the harsh light, trained on his restrained muscular body.

She moaned again as she buried her fingers deep into her own body, her full breasts quivering. Then she withdrew them and lowered herself, once more grinding down on his mouth. In seconds she was coming. She pinched her nipples between the finger and thumb of both hands and lifted her breasts straining the creamy flesh up and out of the support of her Basque. Sandra groaned even louder, partly in pain and partly with pleasure. Paul's tongue worked ceaselessly on the pink hood of her clit, she shuddered as a great spasm overtook her body, threw her head back, opened her mouth and let out a long, low scream.

Max's loincloth meantime bulged ominously as he watched his mistress's performance, but he knew better than to touch himself in front of her. His time would come later, perhaps with the beautiful new blonde English secretary his mistress had just engaged - if he served her properly.

Sandra lifted herself off her new recruit, picked up her red thong, wiped his face with it and stuffed it back into his mouth. She then straddled him again and sat on his chest, and walked her body forward until her love tunnel was directly over his erection. In this position, with legs spread apart, Paul could see every detail, from the perfectly round and puckered circle of her anus to the long open crack of her sex. Her outer labia were quite thick and rubbery while the inner lips, pursed around the entrance to her vagina, were thin and delicate. He thought he could even see her love-bud, a little pink button just under the fourchette, it looked swollen and engorged. His penis was still fully erect and throbbing, he would've liked to have thrust it inside of her and reached his pinnacle as he satisfied her.

She grabbed Paul's cock in her hand and guided it into her labia. Using it like a dildo she brushed the top of his glans back and forth across her clitoris, making herself cry out with ecstasy. She teased herself for a few minutes, then pushed his cock into the entrance of her body and held it there.

"You are not allowed to come. If you come without my permission you will not be allowed to come again for a whole week. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mistress," he mumbled, his voice muffled by her thong, but his swollen rod was already jerking between her fingers.

"Good," she murmured.

She dropped her full weight on him, forcing his cock into the depths of her and let out a loud gasp, then ground herself down on him, wriggling her hips from side to side. Then she began to ride him. There was no question of finesse about her actions; she rode him like a wild horse, pulling herself almost off him then slamming herself back down again, each penetration making her cry out with pleasure. The cock strap at its base cut deeply into his tumescent flesh, but he didn't cry out, he didn't dare for fear of repercussions.

She slowed her rhythm, almost stopping and drew herself up off him until most of his mauve helmet was visible, then dropped down on him so he was buried completely in her. But this time she did not lift herself again. Instead she screwed herself down, spreading her legs further apart as if wanting to gain an extra inch of penetration, her sex-lips crushed between their bodies. Then she let out a piercing scream and her whole body spasmed.

When she had recovered her composure, she lifted herself off him. Paul's wet cock slipped out of her body and slapped against his belly as she got to her feet.

"Perhaps I should leave you here to cool off," she said and reached forward and plucked her minuscule panties from his mouth.

"No, please Mistress," he sobbed.

"What do you want then?"

Paul did not reply. He strained his body towards her and bucked his hips.

She looked down at him and smiled sadistically. One of her stockings had wrinkled at the knee and she put her foot up on the frame near his head and stooped to straighten it, using both her hands to smooth the nylon from ankle to thigh. She undid one of the suspenders then clipped it back into the darker welt of the stocking so that it was perfectly in place. Paul's eyes followed every movement, his cock twitching in its harness at the thought of putting it in her wet love tunnel again.

Without a word she turned and walked over to a small cupboard and came back seconds later with a strange looking device. It consisted of a cylindrical dildo flat on one side and crudely moulded to resemble a male penis, except that at the top and bottom leather straps projected from each side.

"No..." he screamed when he saw it. "No, Mistress."

"No? Would you rather I left you here like this?" She pointed at his erect penis.

"No, Mistress, I'm sorry," he said humbly.

"You don't have any choice in the matter," she said testily.

She knelt on the wooden frame, pulled his cock into a vertical position and placed the cylinder against it. Then she wound the lower strap around his already tightly bound shaft and buckled it into position.

The upper strap fitted just under the ridge at the base of its helmet. She stood up.

"Don't you think it is good of me to give you this privilege? What do you say?"

"Thank you, Mistress Sandra," he said, very afraid to show any petulance for fear of even worse treatment.

Sandra straddled his chest again giving him another view of her puckered anus. She fiddled with the base of the dildo and it began to hum. His cock twitched wildly, springing up from his belly before bouncing back again.

"I give you permission to come," she said and wriggled herself back towards his face, then pinched both of his nipples with her gloved fingers and pulled them up painfully.

Paul groaned out loudly. His rigid member jerked up off his belly again three or four times and a jet of creamy come shot from its tip, arcing over his body and spattering over her jutting breasts.

"Good boy," she said as if she was talking to a small child.

She lifted herself off Paul's prostrate body and walked over to the door.

"Take him back to his quarters, Max and make sure he cleans himself up properly and don't forget to pick up the new secretary from the airport," she said with a dismissive gesture as she slammed the great wooden door behind her.