Hot Pursuit (4 page)

‘Are you going to apologise?' Ginger asked sweetly.

Lucy was disquieted to feel the chain between her legs moving again. The weight was no longer suspended from her labia and, while that should have given her a measure of relief, she knew it would be stupidly optimistic to give in to such a hope. Ginger took a second eight-ounce weight from the table and, without needing to look behind her, Lucy knew the redhead was attaching it to the first.

She considered trying to beg for leniency but knew the words would never make it past her lips. She whimpered miserably into her gag and braced herself for the excruciating explosion that was about to happen.

‘I'll teach you what happens to bitches who beg the master for favours,' Ginger growled.

She released her hold on the two eight-ounce weights and they dropped down with brutal, violent force. Her pussy lips felt as though they were being stretched like bungee ropes and the anguish wrenched its way through her sex in a relentless, delicious torment. Lucy was struggling hard not to cry out and it took a heroic effort to maintain her silence.

Ginger slapped her backside and reached past Lucy for another pair of weights. Her fingers brushed against a mallet and some staples but she pushed
them to one side as her fingertips scrabbled for their prize. ‘I'll teach you what happens to fuckwits who abuse the master's generosity,' she hissed.

‘Ginger!' Donald exclaimed.

The redhead winced and apologised beneath his thunderous frown.

‘Do you want me to make you change places with her?' he demanded.

The concept clearly terrified Ginger because she cowered from the threat, repeating her apology and begging him to forgive her. Lucy considered the idea for a moment, wondering how badly she might be tempted to abuse Ginger if she was given the chance. It was difficult to concentrate on anything other than the anguish and suffering of her current predicament but this idea was so appealing it made her smile around her gag.

Clearly unhappy, Donald pushed the blonde from his lap and directed her to simply suck him again. Watching over her shoulder, Lucy saw she was lapping her own juices from the quivering length of the master's erection.

‘It used to be so different,' Donald reflected sadly. ‘There was a time when the other barons and I didn't have to keep our activities hidden away inside windowless rooms, or save them as a weekend recreation. We used to practise our entertainment seven days a week, whenever and wherever we pleased.'

His voice had taken on a melancholy lilt that seemed at odds with the pleasure the blonde was obviously imparting.

‘Nowadays, between the civil rights mongrels, the women's liberation and the blasted trade unions, it's a wonder we haven't all given up the game and joined the rest of the norms out there in the real world.'

Both Lucy and Ginger listened attentively. It was rare to catch the master in such a reflective mood and his talk of the golden era, when mastery and slavery were virtually public practices, was always something they enjoyed. Lucy wished she had been in a better position to hear his reminiscences but she supposed the interlude went some way to lessening the brunt of her torment and shame. She also thought, as long as Ginger was courteously indulging the master, the redhead was less likely to be continuing her punishment. That knowledge did little to relieve the constant torment of the weights burdening her pussy lips but it did offer some solace.

‘Was it really that public, sire?' Ginger asked.

He nodded.

‘Were things really done where people could see?' she pressed.

He laughed at the question. ‘Discretion has always been the hallmark of a true baron – we seldom expose our dominance on the streets in broad daylight – but, until the last days of the twentieth century, it wasn't uncommon for us to publicly horsewhip a favourite at one function or another. Charity balls were often held in this very hall, the door charge being generously donated to sick children or bleeding-heart-liberals or some other undeserving cause. The charities were always grateful to receive the money yet I suspect each one of them would have balked at the idea of what had been done to raise their alms.'

Ginger murmured in toadying agreement.

More sceptical by nature, Lucy listened to what the master was saying and thought his view of the past was heavily romanticised. She knew mastery and slavery had always existed – felt sure it would always continue to exist – but she doubted it had recently been as public as the master seemed to remember.
Only two years earlier she had lived with the norms in the real world and, if it hadn't been for a chance meeting that had made her one of Donald's favourites, she would have still been there. Easily recalling her time as a free woman, Lucy was well aware that the majority of norms were all but oblivious to the baronial subculture of sadomasochism and misogyny.

Donald sighed heavily. ‘But,' he continued, ‘while I miss the functions, and the social aspect of mastery, I suppose it's the chase I miss most of all. That used to be the greatest fun.'

‘The chase?' Ginger asked.

Lucy had thought the woman had forgotten she was in the process of delivering a punishment but that idea was brushed from her mind when Ginger strummed her fingers against the length of chain. Fresh jolts of anguish rippled through Lucy's pussy and they were followed by a burgeoning desire to climax. She brushed the thought away, determined she would pass out before giving into an orgasm in this shameful, humiliating position, but it was nearly impossible to ignore her body's response. Her breathing deepened as the anguish at her sex went beyond being unbearable.

Indifferent to Lucy's suffering, Ginger asked, ‘What was the chase, sire?'

He smiled as though returning to a fond memory. ‘The chase was the most fun ever,' he explained. ‘An occasional favourite would abscond and, back in the golden days, it was the duty of every serious baron to retrieve his property. The chase was always thrilling for me, wondering if she was looking for a more benevolent master, trying to prove her worth, or possibly leave her servitude behind for good. Tracking her down, cornering her and then punishing her . . .'

His voice trailed off as the smile fell from his lips.

Lucy thought he looked like a man who had just realised he was remembering fond times that he would never see again.

‘How could you track a slave down?' Ginger asked. ‘Surely, once they were out in the normal world, a slave looks pretty much like anyone else.'

Lucy wondered if the master might respond angrily to the interruption but he seemed to treat it as a valid point. ‘There was only a short period of time when a slave could be caught,' he explained. ‘Think about it. If you were to leave here, where would be the first place you would go?'

Ginger strummed the chain again as she considered her reply.

Lucy thrashed against the table. If her hands had been free she would have banged her fists against the wood.

‘I guess I'd have to find a home, and a source of income,' Ginger thought aloud. ‘And then –'

‘Before you did any of those things,' Donald snapped impatiently. ‘What would be the first thing – the most important thing – you had to do?'

A smile of understanding dawned over Ginger's face. She nodded eagerly and said, ‘I'd have to collect my deeds of indenture. I'd have to retrieve the paperwork that says I'm a slave.'

‘Exactly,' Donald agreed. ‘And where would you go to get your deeds of indenture?'

Ginger looked set to reply then paused. ‘They're in one of the baronial halls, aren't they?'

‘But you don't know which one, do you?' The master grinned with smug triumph.

Frowning unhappily, Ginger shook her head.

‘That was the whole thrill of the chase,' Donald explained. ‘No slave ever knows where her deeds of
indenture are kept. It's common knowledge they're stored in one of the baronial halls but a runaway would have to go from one to another until she found her papers. If a master had any desire to retain ownership of his property, he chased after her and caught her before she achieved her goal.'

Ginger considered this in silence. She twanged Lucy's chain listlessly, clearly trying to work something out that Donald's explanation hadn't properly explained.

The reverberation of discomfort was a constant shock and, although she was struggling not to climax, Lucy couldn't help but be carried to the brink of orgasm. She ground her breasts against the top of the table, hoping fresh anguish from her nipples might hamper her need to come. But the pain only hastened the quickening pulse of her arousal and a fresh surge of adrenaline pounded through her temples. She wanted to sob with relief when the redhead stopped playing with the weights and finally asked the question that had been gnawing at her.

‘What if the slave simply decided to ignore the deeds of indenture? What if she decided to build a new life without worrying about the paperwork?'

Donald considered this. ‘It's never been known to happen,' he said flatly. ‘You saw your own deeds of indenture before they were stored, didn't you? You're aware they contain photographs, signatures and details of the duties you agree to perform for your master.'

Ginger nodded.

‘Well,' Donald continued, ‘while the norms don't consider those documents legally binding, that doesn't mean a former slave – especially an escaped slave – would want anyone to see paperwork that explains how she used to live her life.'

‘But,' Ginger pressed, ‘if a slave had escaped and you couldn't find her . . .'

Donald shook his head. ‘Our empire may currently operate behind closed doors,' he allowed. ‘But it remains extensive and we all still venture out of our front doors and into the real world on a regular basis. It has always been agreed by the barons that, if a slave were to try and escape and ignore her deeds of indenture, copies of her photograph would be reproduced and distributed. This risk of a media scandal, and the potential threat to our way of life, would be so great that my fellow barons wouldn't let a genuine runaway remain at large for very long.'

‘It sounds like you miss the days when the chase happened,' Ginger said quietly.

Donald sighed and pushed the blonde's head down towards his scrotum. The end of his dome glistened with a shiny meld of pre-come and saliva and it twitched spasmodically as she gnawed lightly at each of his balls. ‘Halcyon days,' he decided. ‘Look for it only in books for it is no more than a dream remembered. A civilisation gone with the wind.'

He slapped his hand against the table and stiffened again.

Both Lucy and Ginger remained still, watching as he returned to the point of climax. Aware of her duties, knowing exactly how she was expected to perform, the blonde pushed her mouth over his length as he spurted his seed. With something akin to affection Donald stroked her hair as she continued sucking. He quietly encouraged her to swallow as his shaft continued to pump between her lips. Once she had lapped the last of his spend away, licking the end of his glans so he was completely clean, he murmured a soft, grateful platitude, then pushed her aside. He shook his head, blinked twice and seemed to notice
Lucy's backside for the first time in an age. Frowning at Ginger he said, ‘I thought you were teaching her a lesson.'

Stammering an apology, hurrying in her haste to do the master's bidding, Ginger turned her attention to Lucy's backside.

Shivering on the precipice of satisfaction, Lucy was stung by the feel of Ginger's hand sliding between her buttocks. She wanted the whole shameful evening to come to an end but she could see that wasn't going to happen until Donald and Ginger had decided she had been properly chastised. Listening to their exchange an idea had come to her and she knew now, more than ever before, she had to find a way to escape. As Donald had said, she would have to get her deeds of indenture if she wanted to attain her desired goal, but she felt confident that small matter would be easily within her abilities.

The redhead's finger slipped against her anus and a sliver of vile excitement stole through the tight, puckered muscle. Tit-binding made her breasts inordinately responsive; any activity around her labial piercings pushed her to the brink of orgasm; but she despised anyone touching her anus because of the hateful shame that she always associated with the sensation. Her pitiful cry for mercy went completely ignored.

‘Where's that really thick butt-plug?' Ginger mumbled, scavenging through the debris on the table. ‘I could have sworn I saw it here a moment ago.'

With growing misery, Lucy watched as the woman's fingers fell on a broad, rubber phallus. The thick, black butt-plug looked impossibly large and Lucy couldn't cope with the concept of such a huge girth filling the tight hole of her tiny anus. She sniffed back tears as Ginger pushed the phallus towards the
blonde and demanded she lubricate the end with her tongue. If there had been any way to beg for a reprieve Lucy would have recanted all her sins of the evening. But, with the ball-gag still filling her mouth, she knew she could only carry on suffering, regardless of how bad it became.

‘You'll think twice before begging the master for future favours,' Ginger growled. As she spoke she pushed the rounded tip against Lucy's backside.

There was no hint of leniency in her thrust, or any promise of gentleness or consideration. Enduring this latest indignity stoically, Lucy wondered how many more simultaneous torments she would be expected to put up with before she was finally deemed reprimanded. Her bound breasts were now constantly throbbing, her labia felt as though they were being stretched so they would soon touch the floor, and now her anus was being rudely opened to accept the unacceptable.

Along with all the myriad agonies each torment evoked, her shame was made more crippling as the onset of orgasm began to shiver its way through her body. She knew it was caused by the butt-plug – the phallus was over-filling her and inspiring undeniable euphoria – and she knew she could no longer fight against the siren call of release. Unable to control the response, wishing she was able to show a little more restraint, Lucy screamed as the climax began to tear through her. She writhed helplessly against the table, whimpering and sobbing as her humiliation was made complete.