Preface

 

Email:

Subject: submissive woman sought

Date: Sat, 01 August, 01:42:36

From: Oliver@sparrowhawklodge.com

Submissive woman sought by experienced master for intense training and a contractual three-month agreement. Long-term relationship possible. Foreign travel likely. Preferably not a novice. email: oliver@sparrowhawklodge.com.

 

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Reply: "submissive woman sought"

Date: Sun, 02 August, 09:46:39-0500

From: ravenouslady@uniqueconnect.com

To: Oliver@sparrowhawklodge.com

I am the woman you're seeking. What is my first command?

 

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Subject: initiation

Date: Mon, 03 August, 20:24:19

From: Oliver@sparrowhawklodge.com

To: ravenouslady@uniqueconnect.com

You'll let me decide if you're the woman I seek. We'll arrange a meeting soon.

 

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Reply: "initiation"

Date: Tues, 04 August, 23:10:10

From: ravenouslady@uniqueconnect.com

To: Oliver@sparrowhawklodge.com

So soon? Shouldn't we know each other better first?

 

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Subject: resistance?

Date: Wed, 05 August, 22:113:55

From: Oliver@sparrowhawklodge.com

To: ravenouslady@uniqueconnect.com

That's the purpose of the meeting. If you find it so easy to balk, you're not the woman I want, nor will you make it through the first night.

 

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Reply: "resistance?"

Date: Thurs, 06 August, 15:35:14

From: ravenouslady@uniqueconnect.com

To: Oliver@sparrowhawklodge.com

I beg your forgiveness. When would you like to meet?

 

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Chapter One

 

The immense oak door crashed closed with a reverberating thunder, and all ears inside the estate house were instantly tuned to the silent air, waiting for the next rude sound to overwhelm the physical senses. Everyone shook hearing the master's boots click on the marble floor before his message suddenly rumbled discontentedly from his expansive voice.

"Liza!" The command was simple, taking no time at all to reach the ears of the mistress of the house. The lusty redhead pulled herself from her silk sheets and her lover's sensuous arms. It was not yet five o'clock with the air still succulent and warm. Particles of dust danced in the beams of a dying sun streaming sluggishly in the window while a gentle breeze fluttered the curtains-a time for afternoon lovers to bask in the orgasmic glow of satiation-half-awake and half-asleep. Yet, jarred by her husband's command, Liza knew not to dally. Throwing a peach satin robe over her creamy sex-flushed skin, she gazed back at her delicious submissive.

"Liza," the thundering voice boomed a second time.

"Have to hurry," she whispered while blowing a kiss to the languishing brunette. Her eye caught sight of a small brown nipple in the center of Hilary's large aureole. Liza's cunt pulsed in remembrance of their making love.

Out the door, she hastened down the elegant hallway of Oliver's Sparrowhawk Lodge suddenly frightened by the sight of her husband as she reached the landing. He paced the marble foyer in his polished ebony knee boots. His black riding pants fit snug on his legs and ass, while his white shirt billowed above his waist. She thought perhaps his hair was rather smart-looking, certainly much different than he'd worn it in the past, the black ponytail shorter, his hair combed back sleekly from his face. Oh! how often she'd seen his dark eyes smile mirthfully, while his broad mouth soothed her with a passionate grin. Though just as often she'd seen his eyebrows narrow when his face was grim-as it was now. His darkness prevailed like a cloud about him-a shroud perhaps, certainly the portent of some miserable conversation.

"Oliver, darling," she flew into his arms not caring that her robe opened wide as she flung herself into his embrace, showing her delicious physical assets, from her pert breasts with their perpetually starched pink nipples, to the small tuft of pale red pubic curls above her shaved vulva. A purple/pink clitoris peeked out teasingly below.

For all of Liza's generous enthusiasm, Oliver did not return the affectionate greeting. He pushed her away.

"She's worthless," he scowled.

"Worthless? Who?"

"That miserable tart your little Hilary thought would make a good submissive."

Liza blanched understanding his ire. Pulling her robe around her protectively, she tied the sash as she replied, "Ooo, we thought..."

"You thought wrong," he replied accusingly. "For three months you thought wrong. I left the training in your hands, and now regret I ever had such faith in you and your precious Hilary."

Liza started anxiously, asking, "May I ask what was her err?"

"No, you may not ask," he snapped. "Now get your randy little minx down here. She'll take the punishment I couldn't give the bitch."

"So, Ali's gone?"

"Ah, yes, she's gone," his eyes lit ominously. "Speak her name to me again, I will beat you silly."

Liza shrunk back, knowing the threat was hardly real, though she was seriously frightened over the way he'd punish Hilary for her miscalculation. And here she'd thought their newest applicant was perfect. She sighed.

Whether it was intuition that brought Hilary from her reverie, or the sound of the discordant voices rising from the foyer, her appearance on the landing was suitably timed. Liza's hazel eyes stared upward with a look of resigned humility. Oliver was already on his way to the study, his impressive shoulders disappearing beyond the door with a determined swagger. Although she was rightfully scared, the look of his retreat sent a delicious shiver down his wife's spine.

"Did you hear?" she turned and whispered to her worried lover as she peered up the stairs.

"Oh, my love, I have failed him," her brown eyes looked so sorrowful that even her typically elegant air seemed overcome with grief. She knew she'd disappointed her master.

"We'll see, dear," Liza replied hopefully. "He could just be blowing smoke"

Hilary took the stairs quickly. She was dressed as casually as her mistress-in a short silk robe the color of an icy winter sky. It barely covered her deeply tanned legs-her slim thighs rippling as she walked gracefully beside Liza on her way to an unknown fate. She'd been part of her master's brood for nearly two years-having enjoyed the sumptuous pleasures of Sparrowhawk's decadence, exhilarated, though often overwhelmed by the sexual freedom that bloomed within its walls and on its terraces and patios, in its cellars and barns. She'd been trained as a sexual submissive-a sometimes arduous process that required her to abandon any prim thoughts or prudish behavior that might have characterized her past. She replaced the old Hilary with a newer, much sexier version, living out the dreams that first drove her to answer Liza's bold advertisement for a submissive applicant.

Hilary had no idea at the time how all consuming this new life would be-how it would take her away from the simple one she knew-as a bank teller, dating insipid college graduates who knew nothing about the sexual passion that dwelled within her. Though the training had been daunting, there was not one thing she regretted-not one slavish act or rude behavior, not one grueling punishment or masochistic revelry.

Once her training had been adequately completed, she was welcomed into the bosom of the lady and gentleman she loved so dearly. Even her occupation was reinvented. She handled the master's house accounts and computer data entry, given a good deal of respect that she'd not enjoyed outside Oliver's realm. His influence extended to every corner of her world-and so her entire life was transformed. Though she was still required to obey her master's orders without question, obliged to bow graciously at his feet on a whim, or enjoined to submit to any manner of punishment-whether earned or arbitrary-she learned to do so unthinkingly. Every act fed her flagrant lust, and she was in love with her life and the woman she'd become.

More than once she'd displeased her master or mistress and had been severely disciplined. She'd endured all her corrections as graciously as she could, even though it was not always possible to hold back the anguish that resulted from a grueling battle with a whip or cane. Today, however, she had a premonition of something far more devastating than simple punishment. So much had been expected of her, and to have failed, if she'd actually failed-she could only hope, as Liza did, that Oliver was not serious.

The paneled study was as graciously elegant as the other more formal rooms of Sparrowhawk, though this was obviously the master's domain entirely. It was more casual than the dining and formal living room, but reeking with his essence. The dark paneling, the fragrance of leather-ah! how that reminded her of the many times she'd worn a leather collar about her slim neck. There was a trace of cigar smoke lingering in the air; it rarely left. She'd dusted and polished every inch of this handsome room, pressed her bare feet in its thick oriental rugs, just as she did now, and had been disciplined, as well as soundly fucked, while bending over some cushion of leather or the hard edge of his carved mahogany desk. Hilary shuddered now as she presented herself to the man who owned her wholly.