EXTRACT FOR
At Her Mercy
(Miranda Birch)

"Stand up," ordered Miss Mercy. 



I got stiffly to my feet. I was aching all over. 



"Hands on your head." 



How incredibly vulnerable I felt, standing there naked, arms up high. For some reason I had formed the impression that she might just kick me in the balls. I had an urgent desire to protect my genitals yet I dare do no such thing. It was a petrifying thought. However, gratefully, nothing of that kind happened. Instead, she produced something from behind her back. It was a small, triangular piece of black leather with some sturdy black leather straps attached. 



"Neither I nor Miss Fleming much like the sight of a man's cock," said Miss Mercy easily. "Not even a tiddler like yours. So you'll wear this at all time -- unless it is unlocked and you receive an explicit order to take it off." 



And with that she fastened this brief restraining device upon me. I was so shocked I just stood there quite unresisting and let her do it. Perhaps that was lucky for me. 



"That's better," she said when the thongs had been buckled tight. The thing was compressing my cock and balls, but I thought better of protesting. Then I heard a click, and locked down to see that each buckle was padlocked. This bloody thing would be hard to get out off! 



"Men really are disgusting creatures," she tutted half to herself, "but this little thing does help to lend some semblance of self-control." 



Hate and anger welled up inside me. What right had this bitch of a woman to say such things? She must have seen the emotions in my eyes for she clicked her tongue and said haughtily: 



"Now, now, slave! Don't start anything. You heard what I said. And I meant it!" 



I knew she did, and I fought to control myself. That was something I was going to have to do again and again during the next week or two. Until they had properly broken me in. At that moment, I still had some little hope that `something would turn up.' That hope was soon to die. Only the bitterness remained like a stone within me. 



"Well," said Miss Mercy, "I think the time has come to take you to your new Mistress." 



Mistress! What an extraordinary word. A Mistress was something that was kept by a man, wasn't it? Well... yes. But, in my heart, I knew it was also a term which was often used for a dominating woman. No doubt as to which meaning Miss Mercy put upon it. 



With that, she fastened a pair of leather cuffs about my wrists and, to my horror, a collar about my neck. The sense of being more animal than human intensified when she attached a lead to the collar. I almost protested but thought better of it. It's amazing how feeble being naked makes you feel. Now was the time, if ever, to strike her down and make my escape. Simple as that. I did no such thing. I had no clothes, no money, no ID -- I did not even know where I was. And yes, I admit, her words had made their impression. It could have been just talk -- but what if it wasn't? 



She gave me a condescending little grin. "Down!" she ordered, as if I really were a dog. I hesitated and saw her move her hand to the strap. I went down quickly on to my knees, certainly not wishing to get a taste of that thing from her -- those hand-slaps had been bad enough. Like I say, she was a hefty woman, and I bet she could really lay it on. And she would enjoy it, too. 



"On your hands and knees!" 



I got on to hands and knees. Oh, the utter indignity of it! However, I was soon to get used to feeling and looking exceedingly undignified. A lead was fastened to the collar, Miss Mercy gave a sharp tug, and I found myself crawling painfully across the stone floor. 



Through the door we went, Miss Mercy stalking ahead on her high heels, big bottom wobbling in those tight sheer black panties, me crawling behind. We went along a stone corridor. I gritted my teeth as the pain in my kneecaps intensified. Then up some stone stairs, even worse on the knees. But If I ever flagged behind she gave the leash a brusque -- and painful -- tug. 



I was beginning to hate this woman but realised that was a dangerous emotion. If one has got to be polite and respectful -- and obedient -- you can't start hating. But it's very difficult not to! 



At the top of the stairs, there was a small landing. She unlocked and opened an iron grille gate. As soon as we were through, it creaked shut again and was re-locked. There was no doubt I was truly in a kind of prison. Another flight of stairs; but now the steps were wooden, which made the going a bit easier. At the top of the wooden steps, a wooden door loomed ahead. Miss Mercy pushed it open and went through. I tried to follow but the door swung back and thumped me painfully on the nose. With a harsh laugh, Miss Mercy tugged violently, hauling me through. 



"You'll have to move faster than that, slave," she said. 



The words seared into me, but I said nothing. I was stark naked, cock tightly confined, collared and leashed, crawling on all fours at the behest of this mature, buxom matron twice my age. What good were any words from me?