Their Master's Pleasure (27 page)

‘Sir, must I?' she asked me tremulously.

‘This is why Sir Michael is here, Rose,' I said, ‘to help you young women find salvation through suffering. Obey his orders, as the others have done, and do not shame me by questioning.'

She seemed most unhappy still, but condescended to move to the cone and squat over it. Michael spread her buttock cheeks, which drew a shamed murmur from her lips, and guided her down till the tip of the cone touched her anal sphincter.

‘Sit down, now,' he said. ‘Right down. Impale yourself deeply.'

Gingerly she lowered herself a fraction more, till the tip just breached her. She murmured in dismay and looked up at me.

‘Push down hard, Rose,' I said sternly. ‘Do as Sir Michael commands.'

Despite this specific instruction, delivered in a particularly firm tone, she made but little downward progress. Though Rose was no ‘back passage virgin', we indulged in anal sex only infrequently, so the elasticity of her fundamental orifice left much to be desired. Her obvious nervousness was not helping matters, of course, and I imagined the sphincter in question must be clenched exceedingly tight at that moment.

I half expected Michael to rebuke her, but he simply went ahead and fixed her restraints. Ropes were attached to her wrist cuffs and from there to the very lowest point on the frame uprights, so that her arms pointed down at an angle. I realised this effectively kept her seated on the cone. Though she could straighten her legs to ease up and so relieve the pressure, she could not rise far enough to lift right off the copper tip. That was more significant than it first appeared, for her squatting position was awkward and strained. Her legs would grow tired and her body would begin to slump, forcing the cone ever deeper inside her.

It soon became clear that Michael was not prepared to wait. He told me to take hold of Rose's left ankle, while he grasped her right. When he gave the word we eased her feet forward - just a little, but the effect was startling to say the least.

‘Sir!' Rose cried out. ‘No, sir!'

With her feet slightly in front of the base of the cone she was no longer able to take her full weight on her legs. A proportion was carried by her torso, specifically by her anus pressing down on the cone's tip; and the further we moved her feet, the greater this effect.

‘A little more, I think,' Michael said.

We slid her feet another inch or two, at which Rose began to wail loudly, her face almost panic stricken.

‘Please sir, don't!
Don't
!'

She was trying desperately to draw her feet back and it took some considerable effort to hold fast to her leg. I had no real idea how deeply the cone had penetrated her and how much her sphincter was being stretched in consequence, so I was relying on Michael to tell me when he thought she'd had as much as she could reasonably bear.

‘It's burning, sir,' she cried. ‘Please, let go!
Please
!'

Michael glanced at me and winked. ‘None too happy, is she? Shall we take pity on her?'

Though we had agreed to go only so far, with Mrs Hammond we had definitely erred on the side of caution. I certainly didn't want Rose telling me afterwards that she had enjoyed it! If this were a beating I was subjecting Rose to, her present facial expression and tone of voice would not deter me from further strokes. By that logic, she should be able to stand this a while longer. True, she did not normally protest so volubly, but I put that down to the novelty and uncertainty of the situation. Rose was well used to having her bottom thrashed, but not stretched in this fashion.

‘Another half minute, maybe,' I said.

Michael grinned. ‘I think you're developing a taste for this, old man.'

And so we kept her there, watching her torment mount as the seconds passed, hearing her laboured breathing and her frantic pleas for mercy. When I judged she had truly had enough we released her - but not before Michael scattered something on the floor around the base of the cone. I saw it was gravel, presumably collected from the drive.

Free of our grasp, Rose was able finally to draw back her feet and raise herself a little to ease the pressure. She squatted there, but now she had an additional difficulty to deal with, for the sharp stones cut into her feet, rendering her position even less tenable than before. All too soon her legs were shaking and she was moaning most pitifully.

At this point Michael reached between her legs and slipped two fingers inside her. She didn't seem to mind in the least and I thought that anything would be welcome that helped take her mind off her troubles. Michael was soon frigging her in lively fashion, whistling a cheery tune as he did so.

We went up for some refreshment at noon, the two of us, leaving Rose in the cellar to suffer a while longer. Returning at half past twelve we untied her, releasing her finally from her torment. She sobbed with relief as she lifted herself off the cone on trembling legs, then gathered up her clothes before making the slow and painful ascent of the stairs.

Alice - shaking badly and as miserable as I have ever seen her - was barely any quicker coming down. At a word from me she undressed and was promptly subjected to the now customary fondling.

‘She has soft skin, doesn't she?' Michael remarked, as he squeezed and stroked the trembling young woman. ‘Just like a baby's.'

I stroked and squeezed her in turn and had to agree she felt decidedly soft to the touch. I wondered why I hadn't noticed it before, for the girl had shared my bed on a number of occasions.

‘It makes her an ideal choice for a waxing,' he added. ‘We'll have to shave her first, mind you. Getting candle wax out of a thick bush is nigh on impossible.'

Having decided Alice was to suffer the candle treatment, Michael thought we should christen the rack room. He pointed to the smaller of the two tables and told Alice to lie down upon it, though it seemed barely long enough to me, supporting her from shoulder to mid-thigh only. Michael seemed happy enough with the arrangements, however, pushing her legs apart before proceeding to tie her up. He bound her wrists to her thighs, then fastened her legs to the table legs with straps around her ankles and others just below the knee.

I then supported her head while Michael fitted her with one of his strange gags. It was in the form of a ring, some two inches across, bound with leather, and had narrow straps attached on either side. Alice was obliged to open her mouth very wide to receive the ring, which Michael placed just behind her teeth. He then brought the straps back over her cheeks and buckled them behind her head.

How any object with a hole through the middle could rightfully be called a gag was beyond me, for gags were intended to mute the wearer, surely? Alice could cry out, even if she could not speak in any intelligible fashion. No doubt there was some logical explanation to all this, but it eluded me for the present. Having secured her to his satisfaction, Michael went off, returning some ten minutes later with his shaving bag in one hand, a jug of hot water in the other and a towel draped over his arm. He proceeded to soap between Alice's legs, then shave her most carefully. When he dried her off at last her naked slit looked utterly delightful - so much so I considered having every female in the house done in a similar fashion.

Michael now took two candles from the box, one no thicker than my finger, the other three times as big. He lit the thinner one, let it burn a second or two, then held it over Alice's midriff. He tilted it slightly and a blob of melted wax dripped from the end and landed on her belly. Alice jerked and made a sound in her throat that was not a gasp, yet not quite a cry. Michael paused, then did it again; and yet again. In just a few seconds the blobs of wax had cooled sufficiently to solidify on her skin.

‘There are two main ways the temperature can be controlled,' he said in a conversational tone, ‘the first being height. The closer to the victim one holds the candle, the less time there is for the wax to cool as it falls through the air.'

He picked up the thicker candle, lit it from the first and set the two of them down on the table edge.

‘The second way is to use a fatter candle,' he said. ‘You will see that the pool of molten wax does not spill down the side so readily as with its thinner cousin. It remains close by the wick and is heated more by the flame in consequence. The fatter the candle, the hotter the wax and the more the victim will feel it.'

He demonstrated by dripping wax from the second candle onto Alice's stomach. I saw that he was right, for she jerked more violently and her pitiful cry was louder.

With my instruction seemingly at an end - for the present at least - Michael fell silent and concentrated on the job in hand. Alice's strange, distorted moans continued unabated as he dripped hot wax on her breasts and belly, her labia and her upper thighs. It started out as a mere random spattering of spots, but as the minutes ticked by spots coalesced to form larger spots, then irregularly shaped blobs. When finally he set down the candles her entire torso was virtually encased in a sheet of solidified wax. We then proceeded to remove these, a process not unlike peeling an orange. Though her bush had been shaved off, many fine hairs remained on her torso and these inevitably came away with the wax. Alice made almost as much fuss over this operation as the actual waxing itself.

Eventually we managed to rid her of most, if not quite all, of the stuff and Michael explained that a hot bath would complete the task. I thought this was the end of the session, but it seemed my guest had one more trick to play on her. He took out his cock - already erect, I noticed - then approached the table. He took hold of Alice's head and tilted it all the way back, then put his cock in her mouth through the hole in the gag.

‘Ah!' I said. ‘Yes. Now I see.'

It was less satisfactory than normal fellatio, I suppose, in that Alice could not service him with her lips. She could perhaps use her tongue to some degree, though even this might be somewhat limited. On the other hand, there was no possibility she could catch his cock with her teeth or, God forbid, bite him.

Michael pushed his cock slowly all the way in and Alice suddenly gagged. He kept it there a moment or two as Alice jerked and convulsed on the table, her eyes wide in panic, and then he withdrew a little way. He allowed her a few seconds respite, then put his cock in her throat again. He did it perhaps a dozen times in all, training her to accept his entire member using the normal method of repeated insertions.

Finally he withdrew altogether and we untied her and removed the ring gag. She was trembling, clearly fearful of us, probably thinking her torment was not yet over. I wondered whether we had gone too far with the girl, for she was anxious by nature and especially so in the face of anything new. On the other hand she had lasted eleven months at Bleekston Hall - and many women would not have, in her position - which suggested she was considerably more resilient than she looked. Either way, I resolved to keep a close eye on her at future sessions, ready to intervene if I thought she was suffering excessively.

Alice was excused, with a final instruction to send Victoria down to see us. My ward arrived promptly and appeared in better spirits than those who preceded her. She was ordered to strip, after which wrist cuffs alone were fitted. She was then tied to the frame with her arms straight up in the air. Her feet remained firmly on the floor, however, for there was to be no suspension this time. Michael ran his hands over her, as he had with our previous victims, which Victoria appeared positively to relish.

For my red-headed ward, Michael had chosen a treatment he called ‘clamps and clips'. He elected to use one of the more straightforward breast clamps - no more than two wooden poles (rather like sections of broom handle, some two feet long) connected at each end with threaded steel rods. The poles were slipped over her breasts, one above, one beneath, and the wing nuts on the rods tightened to draw them together.

It was a simple enough idea, but effective. Victoria's breasts were squeezed between the poles till they bulged out rather as water-filled balloons might protrude when squashed. To judge from Victoria's reaction this wasn't quite as painful as it looked, though admittedly that might not be the case should the wing nuts be tightened still further. What happened next certainly made her jump, however: Michael attached metal clips to her nipples.

‘Aaahhhh!' she gasped. ‘Uncle, please... it hurts!'

‘You think so?' Michael said with a grin. ‘Just wait till we clip your cunt!'

She danced about on the spot as though trying to shake the things loose, but it seemed that only increased her suffering, for she squealed and quickly became still. Michael reached into his box of clips and began attaching them anywhere the fancy took him: arms, ribs, belly, the insides of her thighs. He left her slit till last - intentionally, I didn't doubt - and she certainly squawked when he clipped
that
particular region.

With the box now empty he went around behind her and proceeded to whip her bottom and the backs of her thighs with a quirt. This soon had her dancing about once more, so that it was difficult to know which was hurting her the most, the whipping or the clips. He kept it up for fully fifteen minutes and was somewhat red in the face when he stopped finally. (Many non-spankers quite fail to appreciate the level of fitness required for this ‘sport' of ours. Flogging, as a means of staying in shape, has a good deal to recommend it).