To Seek a Master (24 page)

The punishment was one thing. It would hurt, and she deserved it, but to submit to discipline was part of her. So was reliance on a man as her protector, her hero, but he also had to be something more, the sort of man who found it amusing to make her go bare in public or to butter her bottom, a wicked man. Charles was that man, without question, and with that thought Laura reached an epiphany. For her to be happy, there would have to be certain things she was made to do, which
made
her the perfect foil for his natural cruelty, something that would be lost if she became completely subservient.

She almost called out, only to realise that she had probably been in the cage no more than ten minutes, which would mean fifty strokes of the strap. If it was anything like the cane, that would be unendurable, although if she was tied down over the whipping bench, gagged and blindfolded she would have little choice. The thought sent a sharp thrill through her, but caution prevailed and she went back to her thoughts.

Another scene she had often enjoyed in the darkness of her bedroom was a lot closer to her current predicament than anything from
Taken to Turkey
. In
The Marquis of Montauch
the brilliant but insane Human Chameleon had kept the heroine, Eloise de la Tour, in a sort of display case in his cellar, making her earn her meals by removing a piece of clothing each day.

Greatly to Laura’s disappointment, Hugo be Montvilliers had rescued Eloise when she still had her camisole to cover her modesty, but it had been easy to extend the fantasy, imaging herself in the case, stripped naked, made to exhibit herself, to touch herself in front of her leering captor, to suck on his cock through the bars.

Laura shivered, imagining Charles coming back to tell her she would only be released once she’d satisfied him in her mouth. He’d push his cock through the bars, already erect, and she’d have no choice but to suck him, all the way as she knelt naked on the hard concrete floor. Better still, once he’d come he’d simply walk away, laughing, to leave her in a state of helpless consternation in her cage, cheated and exploited but unable to keep her fingers from between her thighs in response to what he’d done to her.

She stood up, clutching the bars as she wondered if he would comply with her fantasy or take her straight to the necessary
room
for her strapping. The answer was easy. This was Charles Latchley, the Devil. He wouldn’t take any nonsense. She’d get strapped, one stroke for every minute under the hour, exactly as he’d promised, and with that thought came a new, more powerful thrill. Charles was not a man to be manipulated, and she could only ever hope to relate to him on his own terms.

Now feeling thoroughly confused as well as aroused, she began to pace the cage, turning at every second step in the narrow space between the bars. She wanted to call out, but didn’t dare, to talk to him in an attempt to explain feelings she didn’t understand herself, to take the punishment she feared so badly and end up trembling against his chest with her hot bottom thrust out behind and her fingers busy between her thighs.

She had to bite her lip to prevent herself from calling out in her frustration, sure that he’d hear and assume she wanted to be released. That would mean the strap, but he had been right about her sense of time. She was no longer sure how long she’d been in the cage, whether it was even as long as the ten minutes she’d guessed earlier, or twice that, three times even. It had not been an hour, of that she was certain.

Once again Laura sat down, determined to achieve the state of calm reliance Charles had told her she would go into. Closing her eyes, she began to chant quietly, a mantra she’d taught herself in order to help face exams. It wouldn’t work, her head full of urgent thoughts, of her own condition, of her fantasies, of Charles and the strap, of his reaction to her request to be made his pet.

In a sense he’d done it already, because anybody who came across her in the cage would get a fine view. She was naked, her legs up, the lips of her sex on plain show, no more hidden than had she been some caged animal to which modesty and intimacy had no meaning. That felt good, and she imagined
herself
not at the back of the secluded garden where nobody but Charles could possibly see her, but in a public zoo, paraded nude in her cage for everybody to see, to laugh at her, to feed her bananas through the bars, the men to feed her their cocks through the bars.

Laura shivered, on the edge of giving in to her fantasy, but the idea was a little too ridiculous. It would be better if Charles treated her as the Human Chameleon had treated Eloise, keeping her in a display case, to be taken out for his amusement when he felt so inclined. She’d go in the cage in the necessary room, naked and helpless, all day while he worked, until he came home, when she’d be made to suck his cock through the bars in order to pay for her evening meal.

The fantasy was too good to miss. Her hand stole between her legs and she began to masturbate, already sighing with pleasure as she teased her sex and imagined how she’d feel. For eight hours or more there would be no escape, her cage securely locked and the key in his pocket. She’d be naked, her natural state, every detail of her body on show as she crawled on the floor of the low cage or lay on her back with her thighs carelessly open, imprisoned and yet completely secure.

Laura jumped at the sound of a cough from beside her, her hands instinctively snatching at her sex and breasts to cover herself an instant before Charles stepped from the under-growth.

‘The idea is to meditate, Laura, not masturbate.’

‘Sorry.’

‘Don’t be. I should have known that to fulfil one of your favourite fantasies would have this result. You are incorrigible, and also rather distracting.’

He looked up as he spoke, and pointed. Laura followed the direction of his gaze, to find a small camera unit wedged into the V between two branches some twenty feet off the ground.
She
felt the blood rush to her face as Charles began to grin.

‘I was trying to compose our contract, never an easy task but especially difficult with you.’

‘Sorry. I was thinking of you, about how it would feel to spend all day in the cage in the necessary room while you’re at work, then have you come home and … and make me suck you through the bars to earn my dinner.’

‘How every imaginative of you. Perhaps I’ll do that, one day, who knows? For the time being …’

He trailed off, approaching the cage as he peeled down his fly. Laura gave an eager purr, getting onto her hands and knees as she pressed her face to the bars, allowing him to feed her his cock. Without the slightest trace of inhibition she began to play with herself once more, teasing her sex as he grew in her mouth. She played what was being done to her over and over in her mind: naked on her knees, locked into a steel cage and sucking cock through the bars for the man who had imprisoned her.

She had come before he was even fully erect, but continued to do her best and to enjoy herself, quickly bringing him to orgasm in her mouth. Spent, he unlocked the cage, allowing Laura to climb out. As she stretched her stiff limbs he was looking at his watch.

‘Forty-two minutes, which make eighteen strokes of the strap.’

‘But it’s not fair!’

‘I am always fair. You came out of the cage after forty-two minutes, which means eighteen strokes of the strap. Would you rather I went back on my word?’

‘No, but … I thought you’d finished with me. You unlocked the cage!’

‘A simple test, which you failed. Now stay still.’

Laura gave in, trying not to pout as her ankles were fixed into the straps on the whipping bench. She had already been spanked, turned over Charles’ knee the moment they were indoors and slaps rained down on her bottom as she was lectured on her language. It had been sudden and hard, too much so to allow her to react sexually, but as he led her upstairs she could already feel the heat of her cheeks starting to get to her, allowing her anticipation to rise despite her fear of the strap, but not enough to still her protests.

‘Yes, Mr Latchley, but I really did think I was done!’

‘A punishment, once decided on, must never be revoked.’

‘Yes, but …’

‘Sh.’

It was a gentle, soothing sound and Laura went quiet as he continued to fasten her into place. She was in the same thoroughly undignified position as before, with her bottom the highest part of her body, although from the design of the bench it was clear that she could have been fixed into place the other way around and left a good deal less exposed. There was a trace of panic in her voice as she tried to make a joke of her position.

‘You always like me bum high, don’t you?’

‘Naturally. Besides which, exposure and shame are an important part of punishment. There are some people, purists, who say that a Master shouldn’t enjoy punishing his girls, but that has always struck me as unnecessarily hidebound, or stiff if you prefer the term. Do you want a gag?’

‘Um … no, not this time. I haven’t any knickers anyway.’

‘No you don’t. There are plenty of alternatives, but if you think you can cope without, so be it.’

‘I’m not sure. How much does it hurt? As much as the cane? Because it … I mean …’

She stopped, realising that she’d begun to babble in a panic
stricken
attempt to delay her punishment. Charles chuckled.

‘I bet you’re the same at the dentist, talking about your last holiday or the weather instead of opening wide like a good girl.’

‘Yes.’

‘Talk all you like, if it helps, bearing in mind that I’m planning to go to work on your bottom and not your mouth. In fact, you can count your own strokes.’

He had gone to the rack of implements as he spoke, and reached out to touch first one and then a second among a line of supple leather straps. Some were longer, some shorter, some brown, some black, some with two or even three tails, one of which he chose, hefting it in his hand and bringing it down across his palm with a meaty smack that made Laura wince.

‘A tawse, the traditional implement for corporal punishment in Scottish schools, and very effective, so I believe.’

‘Oh God.’

Laura had already begun to wriggle in her straps as he approached, panic taking hold sooner than it had with the cane. Then, she had had no idea what a beating felt like, and only six strokes to take. Now she knew, and had been awarded eighteen. Yet she was determined to take her medicine, gripping the legs of the whipping stool despite her uncontrollable shaking and the huge bubble of panic welling up in her throat as Charles lifted the tawse over her bottom.

‘I will keep this even and regular. I will not stop until you are done. Remember to count.’

‘Yes, but, Charles, wait …’

The tawse smacked down across her cheeks, making her jerk and gasp, then again, almost immediately, and a third time.

‘Count.’

‘Four! I mean three … ow! Four! Five!’

‘Good girl.’

The tawse was falling across her bottom at an exact rhythm, applied with hard precise smacks that gave her no opportunity to recover herself, nor for fear of the next, and only just allowing her to pant out the numbers between each crack of leather on flesh. Before she’d got to ten she lost control completely, writhing and kicking in her straps, wiggling her bottom and begging for mercy. It made no difference, the straps keeping her firmly in place as smack after smack was applied, and at last she found her voice once more.

‘Twelve! Thirteen! Fourteen, you bastard, you pig, pig, pig! Ow, fifteen and sixteen!’

He carried on, applying the last two smacks, then stopped.

‘That’s three pigs and a bastard, Laura. What did I say about your language?’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Four more strokes.’

‘Oh God!’

She began to panic again, kicking hard against her bonds, and as the tawse cracked down one more time she was wishing earnestly that she’d hadn’t called him names. Yet the pause had let the heat of her bottom start to get to her and he was spacing the strokes, deliberately allowing her arousal to rise. By the last two she had begun to push herself up to the strokes, drawing a light chuckle from Charles as she called them out.

‘Twenty-one! Oh my poor bottom … twenty-two!’

He put the tawse down. Relief flooded through Laura, and pride for having taken her punishment. She looked back, smiling crookedly at him from her upside down position.

‘Thank you. Mr Latchley. Please may I have a cuddle now?’

‘Naturally, just as soon as I’ve fucked you.’

‘But you only came just now!’

‘I know, but you affect me like nobody else, Laura. Maybe
it’s
your body, maybe the way you behave, but either way, you get fucked.’

He had unzipped himself as he spoke, and quickly fed his cock into Laura’s mouth. She sucked, letting her feelings come as he grew in her mouth, from the heat in her bottom and the delicious shame of being made to suck the man who had beaten her erect so that he could use her. It was an outrageous thing to do and, for her, perfect.

As soon as he was ready he took her, straddled across the whipping bench to drive his cock down into her sex from behind. She could feel the muscles of his belly pressing on her aching bottom as she was fucked, her head full of thoughts of what had been done to her, strapped up, beaten and then casually used in a way she’d fantasised over a thousand times and which was at last her reality. Soon she was wriggling herself against him, close to orgasm as he pumped into her and left her on the edge once he’d come.

She was begging immediately, pleading for him to take mercy on her and bring her off. His response was to pick up the tawse once more, again applying it to her bottom with a firm, even rhythm, but lower, to send a powerful shock to her sex with every stroke. Laura stuck up her bottom, glorying in the pain and indignity of being strapped until she came under the blows.

Sunday was a lazy day, with Laura unselfconsciously naked about the house and Charles alternately cooking and working on their contract. The very thought of signing it gave Laura a sharp thrill, and she was determined to make a ritual of doing so, much as she had once imagined her wedding day, only with her naked on a collar and lead rather than in a white dress.