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From: Boris Ludmenkov <borisl@room3b.demon.co.uk>
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Subject: {ASSM} THE WIZARD (Part 1 of ?) Cherry's Tale. by Boris Ludmenkov. MC, Transform, Mf, D/S, BE
Date: Wed, 11 Oct 2000 17:10:22 -0400
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This is the first of two parts I'm posting now of a story I've been
working on for a while. It isn't going fast but I thought I share the
first couple of bits with you now they are finished. The rest you get as
and when I finish it.
This is copyright Boris Ludmenkov 2000. Please do not repost or reuse in
any way without the author's permission.
This is a fantasy and if you can't tell the difference between fantasy
and reality you should seek professional help. If you are reading this
at an age when your legislators say you should not: GOOD FOR YOU! (I
don't believe any 'warning' I could give would have the slightest legal
effect if the authorities chose to prosecute me so I don't feel the need
to be hypocritical....)
THE WIZARD
Rebecca had waited since dawn for him to arrive. She had set herself up
at the window of the room she had hired across the street from the
shoemaker's shop hours before it was due to open. She had drunk coffee
from a flask and from time to time fondled the reassuring weight of the
pistol in the pocket of her coat.
It had taken her several months of work to follow up this lead. Since
her sister had disappeared from the face of the earth, a year before,
she had used her position at the newspaper 'morgue' to scour the world
for clues. Dozens of false sightings, dead end leads galore and then one
day a picture had crossed her desk. 'Richard Mayne and companion at the
Oscars.'
The 'companion' was her sister, Jane. She looked happy. That was what
tore at Rebecca. She looked so happy.
Later she rationalised that feeling. She said that to herself that Jane
could not have abandoned her only living relative willingly. She must
have been coerced. That smile must be false. She must have been under
the influence of drugs. Of blackmail. Of something.
So she had begun her search for Richard Mayne. The reclusive
millionaire. He was British. He was rich, with interests in movie making
and security work. He hadn't been known to any newspaper more than ten
years back.
Nobody knew where his money came from. Nobody knew where he lived. He
appeared, impeccably dressed, always accompanied by a beautiful woman at
a few select events. He seemed to have the ear of powerful and wealthy
people.
And he was seen with Jane. Just that once.
It had taken her a long hard slog to find out something definite about
Richard Mayne. It wasn't much but it was certain that he bought his hand
made shoes, from an old-established, very exclusive and expensive firm
in London. The shoemakers had no computers she could hack into so she
was reduced to breaking and entering to look through hand-written
ledgers and boxes of index cards to discover the date of Richard Mayne's
next appointed fitting.
Which was this morning. And so she waited and watched.
At 10-40, five minutes before the appointed time, a large car drew up
and a man got out. As he put money into the meter she looked him over
with her binoculars and confirmed that it was the one she had been
waiting for.
When he came out, a small package under his arm, she was waiting,
leaning on a pillar box. As he opened his car and got in, she walked
briskly across the road, her hand in her bag. As he seated himself in
the driver's seat she knocked on the window of the passenger side. When
he wound down the window she showed him the gun.
"Don't do anything stupid, Mr Mayne."
He smiled.
"I wouldn't dream of it. Did you want something?"
He was completely unfazed by the sight of a weapon pointing at him. He
actually smiled. It infuriated her. She opened the door, keeping the
weapon pointed at him, and got in.
"Start the car. Drive towards King's Cross."
"Surely." He tossed the box containing his new, handmade shoes onto the
back seat and started the car. Then he turned to her and said: "You had
better do up the seat belt. I take it you don't want the police to have
any reason to notice us."
She glared at him but complied. For a while there was silence as he
manoeuvred the car out of the back street and onto a main road. They got
stuck in traffic along the Tottenham Court Road though. She lowered the
gun below the dashboard and put her coat over it. He turned to her and
smiled again. A smug infuriating smile that said: I'm not in the least
afraid of you, little girl.
"I'm perfectly sure that we haven't met. Not even casually, I mean. I
would know if someone I'd been formally introduced to was pointing a gun
at me."
"No. We haven't met. Just keep quiet. For now. You can talk later. I
want you to talk later."
"I'll talk now. I promise."
More silence. The traffic began moving again. A little while later they
were passing Kings Cross Station. She told him to turn off and soon they
were driving down a back street and into a battered garage that she had
rented. When the car pulled to a stop, he turned off the engine and
turned to her.
"Now do I find out what this is about?"
"Jane Freeman."
"Ah, yes?"
"I want to know where she is." He raised an eyebrow in an infuriating Mr
Spock way. "And you're going to tell me."
"Hmm, and what is your interest in the lovely Miss Freeman? If I may
ask?"
"She's my sister."
"Ah." He frowned. "I had hoped that this situation would not arise. I
had understood that Miss Freeman had no close family."
She stiffened. It sounded as if her suspicions were justified.
"Where is she? Is she..."
"Jane is just fine. Give me the gun and I'll take you to her."
She opened her mouth to say: Oh yeah. Sure.
And then her hand reached out and she gave him the gun. Just like that.
He smiled again and said; "Go to sleep now. I'll wake you when we're
nearly there."
And she did.
*****************
She awoke as she felt sunlight, filtered through leaves, pattering down
on her face. She stretched lazily in the comfortable seat, turned....
And saw Richard Mayne at the wheel of the car.
They were driving along a country lane. She was sure it was an English
country lane: they were driving along the left hand side of the road.
But apart from that they could be anywhere. There were no road signs, no
indications from which she could deduce their location. Tall beech trees
lined either side of the road, their leaves russet red in the autumn
sunlight. She could see no houses, only trees.
"Where are we?"
"On our way to see your sister. With whom I am going to have to have a
few stiff words."
"Why?" She looked around the car as she asked the question. His shoes
were still in their box on the back seat. There was no sign of....
"I got rid of the gun. I thought it best."
"You did?"
"Yes. The reason I'm upset with your sister is that she told me when she
joined my.... employ that she had no family who would be interested in
searching after her. No one who would make a fuss if she just upped
roots and went."
"She said that?" Rachel's blood boiled for a moment at the thought. Then
she decided that he was just trying to get a handle on her, manipulate
her for some reason of his own.
"Yes. I hope it was an honest mistake. I don't like being lied to."
"You said she works for you?"
"More or less. She lives with me. It is not, perhaps, what you would
call a conventional career. But the fringe benefits are considerable."
"Like going to the Oscars?"
"Ahhh. So that's how you managed to track her to me...... Yes, well.
Attending the Oscars is one of the minor benefits of the job. I do
assure you that she chose the path she took. I did not coerce her. I
never need to use coercion."
"She vanishes out of sight without a word to anyone. Drops off the face
of the Earth and you expect me to believe...."
"What you believe, Ms.Freeman, is of no concern to me. I'm only taking
you to see your sister so that you will not cause any more trouble. If
you caused any more trouble, I might have to take extreme measures to
assure my privacy. I wouldn't like that. Neither would you, in all
probability."
Rachel sat, seething for a while at his smug superiority and then she
remembered something. Something that made her shiver with cold fear.
"Why did I give you my gun?"
"Do you really want to know?" He turned to look at her and smiled.
"Why did I do that? And right after that you told me to go to sleep....
And I did."
"Hmmm. This is not unconnected with the nature of the fringe benefits
that I mentioned before. It is something you might not want to know. But
if you ask again, I will tell you. Do you really want to know?"
Her mouth was dry and she could not make herself speak. She nodded.
"Well, then. Where to start..... Do you know anything about metaphysics?
Epistemology? About the higher forms of mathematical analysis?"
"I can just about spell them."
He laughed "Very good. That's better than most people. Let us keep it
simple then. There has been, among people who study such things, a
growing consciousness of the implications of the rapid growth in human
knowledge and capability. What we know, the number of things we know,
the degree to which we know how to manipulate the world grow every day.
And the more things we know the more we can know."
"Sounds like the sort of thing they say on Open University programmes."
"Indeed. History of Science 101, as our American cousins would say. But
some people have begun to suspect that a point may come in the not too
distant future where the gain in knowledge will grow so fast that humans
will become capable of things that they can't even dream of now. They
will become so powerful as to be gods. The theorists call this point at
which knowledge and power go through the roof, the Discontinuity,
because it will mark the end of human history and the beginning of
superhuman history."
He turned to her and smiled. "I'm here to tell you that it has already
occurred." A shiver went through her. She was either in the car with a
madman or something much worse.
"About ten years ago, I made a discovery in certain highly abstract
fields. I found a way to apply that discovery to the world around me.
And as a result I gave up my employment at one of our older universities
and became what I am today."
"Which is?"
"I'm a wizard."
"A what?"
"A wizard. A thaumaturge. A wonder-worker. Not by summoning up demons
(as far as I know there are no such creatures). Not by working strange
incantations in dead languages or bending over scrolls for hours. But by
using my discovery and certain applications of programming theory..... I
can change the world around me. In any way I like. Where I am, reality
is what I say it is. I'm not a god. But in some ways I'm not short of
it."
"It sounds like you're saying you found a way to do magic. Your own
private Aladdin's lamp."
"Yes, that is precisely what I'm saying. Magic. How else do you think I
got you to give me your gun?"
She was silent for a while and looked out at the country going by. Then
she said:
"What else can you do?"
"You'll see. You'll see a little of what I can do. We're nearly at my
home."
The car flew on along the strangely deserted country roads until it came
to the gates of a large, secluded house. The gates flew open as they
approached and they passed through them. Along a tree lined drive they
rolled and pulled up in front of a house that looked as if it had been
built a couple of centuries before, for one of the richer members of the
merchant class or one of the minor members of the aristocracy. The car
came to a stop and they got out.
He lead Rebecca from the car and towards the large front door of the
palatial house. It was opened by a lovely blonde woman, dressed in a
'French Maid' outfit which displayed her spectacular bosom, who curtsied
as they went in. Silently she took their coats and then, when her arms
were full, he paused and lifted the maid's face to his, kissing her as
Rebecca looked on. The blonde shuddered with pleasure and looked
disappointed when he released her.
"Later, Candy," he said and she bobbed another curtsey before vanishing.
He lead Rebecca into a large, sunlit room which turned out to be the
library. The walls were lined with books of all sorts, from
encyclopaedia's to paperbacks. A computer sat on a desk with notebooks
and manuals piled untidily around it. A black woman, dressed in a
crimson silk tunic that barely came to the top of her legs was putting
books away. As they entered she turned and with a squeal of delight came
running towards him. Her quite huge breasts bounced around against the
silk of her tunic.
"Master! You're back!" She spoke in a light, educated American accent.
She looked as if she were about to throw herself at him but she stopped
short, apparently worried by something she had seen in his face. "Is
there something wrong? Master?"
"Now, Sugar. You know you are not to call me that without first making
sure that we are alone or....?"
"Or that the person with you is authorised to know about....us. Yes,
Master. I'm sorry."
"As it happens, there is no harm done. I want Rebecca to know what
happens here. But, as a punishment, no welcome kiss for you. And I think
you had better apologise properly. Don't you?"
"Yes, Master," the woman agreed, and without further ado she got down on
all fours and began kissing his feet, begging him to forgive her for
being an 'unworthy slut'. She seemed most sincere and totally unaware
that Rebecca was standing there open mouthed. Her breasts spread out on
the floor either side of her torso and her silk tunic rode up as she
abased herself and Rebecca could clearly see she was wearing nothing
underneath it.
After a while he said: "All right Sugar, that's enough. Be more careful
next time. Now go and fetch myself and my guest some tea. And when it's
ready have Cherry come with you to serve it."
The black woman ran happily out of the room and he gestured to Rebecca
that they should seat themselves in the twin armchairs before the
library fire.
"Is something troubling you?"
"It.... That woman...."
"Sugar. Yes?"
"How can she.... How can she degrade herself like that? How can she
just...."
"Sugar enjoys her position here. All my girls do. I don't enjoy being
served by unenthusiastic slaves. Being controlled is necessary to my
girls as being in control is necessary to me."
"I will never.... I can never.... accept that any woman should do....
should be allowed to do what she just did. It is disgusting. It degrades
us all!"
"It is just a variation. A sexual taste. A choice."
"Such choices should not be allowed!"
"Perhaps you would feel differently if you could see things from Sugar's
point of view."
"I don't give a damn for that whore's point of view!" She was about to
say more but she found herself frozen, her mouth wide open and every
muscle in her body unable to function. He had raised just a finger and
looked at her with a speculative expression.
"I think it would be best if you were to think a little before you say
such things, my dear. For that....."
He gestured again and Rebecca found she could move again. But not speak.
Because as she looked at him she felt a wave of feeling move through
her. A feeling that combined emotions that had always been separate for
her before. Shame, unworthiness, a feel of being small and
insignificant.... All of that, combined with a flood of sexual need. The
need for him, the desire were not separate from her profound feeling of
being his inferior: each occasioned the other and made it stronger. She
shrank back into the leather of her chair, afraid to get closer to him.
He watched for a moment and then his eyes flickered to the elegant,
hand-crafted, English shoes that he wore. He spoke. One word.
"Crawl."
She could not disobey. Whimpering, she slid from the chair and, on all
fours, crawled the short space between them. Her mouth was dry at first
and she could taste the other woman's saliva on the leather as she tried
to show him her complete unworthiness.
A timeless time later, she stopped. The compulsion had passed but she
was aware that her panties were damp with her juices and her nipples
were hard against the fabric of her bra. Her mouth tasted of leather.
From above her came his voice: "You can get back in your chair now."
Shuddering, wordless with shame, feeling her face wet with tears, she
did so.
"Look at me." Unwillingly, she did so. His face was hard.
"If I hear you speak disrespectfully of my girls again, that will happen
again. That and more. Do you understand?"
Silently, she nodded.
"Good. Then dry your eyes and we will say no more about it. Ah, here is
Sugar with out tea. And your sister!"
Rebecca stood and turned towards the opening door behind her. Coming
into the room were the black woman, carrying a tray of pots and cups.
And behind her, dressed in a red silk tunic that was as brief as Sugar's
was her sister, Jane, carrying a tray of cakes and sandwiches..
Not a plain Jane. The red of the tunic was the same as the natural red
of her full lips and contrasted with the black of her long, unbound hair
and her pale, ivory skin. She had dark eyes and a sweet smile that
revealed perfect teeth. And just now she was not smiling at Rebecca. All
her attention was on Richard Mayne.
She swept past Rebecca as if she wasn't even there and went and put the
tray she was carrying down on the table beside him. She then knelt in a
seamless, graceful movement by his chair and brought her head down to
kiss his hand, showering kisses on it. And then she looked up, obviously
detecting something amiss in his manner.
"Master? Is there something wrong?"
"Look who we have visiting us today, Cherry." He nodded towards the
dumbfounded Rebecca. Jane turned following his gaze and then said, in
just the same tone she had used when she found her younger sister had
got drunk on the bottle of Scotch she had been saving for the end of
her finals:
"Becky! What on earth are *you* doing here?"
"What do you *mean* what am I doing here? You vanished. You're my
sister. I came looking for you. What did you expect me to do?"
"But... But.... Oh dear!"
The man was shaking his head in fond irritation as the black girl,
Sugar, quietly served him tea and put an unnoticed cup down on a table
by Rebecca's chair. She then came and knelt, her knees slightly apart,
by his chair.
"But I left you a note: saying you weren't to worry. Saying I was fine.
Why did you have to come and... and..."
"I didn't get any note! The police didn't find a note. What damn note?"
By now she was on her feet and shouting at her sister. It was just like
the fights that had spattered her teenage years, after their parents
died and Jane had to look after her.
"Cherry, Cherry. You have not handled this well. I am disappointed."
She turned and knelt on the other side of his chair.
"Yes, I know. I'm sorry, Master. I just thought Becky would be glad to
see the last of me. We always argued whenever we met. We had our own
lives.... I just didn't think."
"Your sister seems quite devoted to you. She was most determined and
ingenious in her methods of finding you. She even purchased an illegal
gun. I think you owe her an apology: you did not see her face to face
and explain that you were going off to a new life. That was cowardice,
was it not?"
Jane (who seemed to be called Cherry here) bowed her head. "Yes, Master.
I'm sorry. It was."
"Then we will say no more about the fact that you have disappointed
me... for now. Greet your sister properly and serve her some of the
cakes Honey has made for her."
Head bowed, the lovely girl stood and picked up the tray of cakes. She
went over to where Rebecca was standing and then flung her arms
impulsively around her, threatening to spill the cakes all over the
room.
"Oh, Becky, Becky. You never did know when to leave well enough alone.
You never did."
The two sisters kissed and cried and made up as Sugar retrieved the tray
of cakes. As Jane/Cherry pulled away Rebecca became aware of what had
been pressing into her own chest: a pair of very large, very firm
breasts that certainly hadn't been there when she had last seen her
sister.
"Jane? What are... those?"
Jane grinned. She cupped her breasts and held them up. They were at
least a DD cup.
"Aren't they wonderful? He gave them to me. A present. I had to wheedle
and beg and hint like anything before he'd do it. They're not as big as
Candy's but he says they're as big as he's going to make them."
"Anything larger would look ludicrous on you, Cherry."
"Yes, Master. As you say, Master. Three bags full, Master."
"Don't blot your copy book any further, little girl. You're in enough
trouble already." He grinned as he said it and bit into a fairy cake.
"But, Jane, what on earth are you doing here?" Rebecca sank back into
the chair and by conditioned British reflex picked up the cup of tea.
"Well, I help out on the business side, analysing stock trends and
corporate reports. I help around the house: I've even learnt to cook a
bit, though I'm just an assistant to Honey, who's in charge of the
kitchen." That was a surprise, when they had lived together, Jane
couldn't even boil water. "But mostly I'm just a slave. His slave. One
of his sex-slaves." And she knelt by him again and took his left hand.
Kissed it lovingly.
Rebecca found herself crying.
"Oh, how can you... how can you.... What has he done to you?" Her
sister, she thought, twisted by the horrible power of that man. Made
into his fantasy. And there seemed nothing to be done about it.
He took his hand from her lips and caressed her hair.
"Tell her the whole story, Cherry. Tell her what I have done to you."
"Yes, Master."
CHERRY'S TALE: DOORS AND CHOICES.
The thing was, I had this advert. In FORUM. You wouldn't know it dear,
but it's one of those magazines on the top shelf. Full of adverts for
very naff phone lines, stories and letters about unlikely activities and
personals. People looking for sex, plain or complex, with one or two or
dozens. Sad people and lonely people. People like me.
What my advert said was:
SUBMISSIVE WOMAN, 28, single, attractive, seeks Master to serve. No real
experience. No pain. No other limits. London/South-East/Anywhere.
Just 20 words. Any more and you have to pay extra. Short, sweet and
absolutely truthful.
When I said 'no real experience' I meant it. I'd had these ideas,
dreams, fantasies since I was fourteen. About belonging to some man. To
someone who would tell me what to do. Who'd let me serve him. Who'd own
me. But I'd only ever tried to make it real the once.
With Terry. You never met Terry. He had a good line in chat and he'd
seen me in the W.H.Smith's in Oxford Street at lunchtime. I was leafing
through the 'adult' books, giving them a surreptitious read-through. He
noticed I liked the ones about girls being tied up, being captured by
cruel sheikhs and all that. And he managed to start up a line of chat
with me.
He seemed very nice. He wore nice black leather jackets. He had money.
And he asked me to go along with him to a club night. As his submissive.
On his leash. Wearing his collar. I thought: well, what could happen?
There would be other people there, security guards. I could always call
out for help. And the idea made my pussy drool.
He told me what to wear: a black leather coat he gave me and some black
leather boots of my own. Nothing else but I kept the coat firmly
buttoned up on the street. He put the collar on me as we were going down
the street to the club and put the leash on me when we were waiting in
the line outside.
The club was held in an abandoned warehouse near Kings Cross Station.
There were people there of all shapes and sizes, all ages and races,
all of them in some sort of effort at fetish gear. Once we were inside
and away from the cold air of the street he ordered me to unbutton the
coat. I was standing there, with my pussy and tits showing, on a leash
while people walked around and either stared or pretended not to. My
nipples went hard and not just with the cold air on them. My mouth was
so dry I couldn't speak.
After hanging around the bar for a while we went to another area where
there were tables and these small rooms with locking doors. We sat down
at a table and some of his friends came over and talked. Men like him,
with women who knelt down by their chairs. Some men with no women at
all. They looked at me a lot. I knelt by his chair and waited.
Then he tugged at my collar and I looked up at him.
He said: come on kitten. That was his name for me: kitten.
He lead me to one of the side rooms which had just been vacated by a man
and a woman. There was a table there and some chairs.
Get on the table, kitten.
I looked at him. The men he had been chatting to outside were coming in
and sitting down on the chairs. Up against the far wall, watching me.
Get on the table, kitten, and spread your legs wide. My friends want to
have a look at you.
I think I said something. I think I babbled. And then I saw him taking
something from his pocket. A gag.
I ran. Out of the side room and out of the club. I only just remembered
to do up my coat as I ran into the street. I ran towards Kings Cross
and got into a taxi and went home. I was in the taxi when I realised
that I still had the collar on with the leash dangling from it. My hands
shook as I took it off. The next day I sent the coat, collar and leash
back to him. I never saw him again.
Thing was, I regretted running more than anything I've ever done in my
life. I knew that part of me wanted to be in that room and let those men
do whatever they wanted. But I couldn't find the courage to stay. I was
afraid of being hurt. So I ran.
About a year later, I put the advert in FORUM. I thought, maybe if I
found someone I thought I could trust. Maybe if I was in control of the
initial contact......
I got a surprising number of replies. Some were horrid: men who wanted
to do things to me with whips and branding irons when I'd said 'no
pain'. Some wanted me to be their mistress 'and then I could do the same
for you' which was just clueless. One or two sounded as if they *might*
be all right.....
And one.....
It didn't come via the magazine. It didn't even come by the Royal Mail.
It was just waiting there for me on the carpet in the hall one morning.
It was in a cream envelope with my name written in elegant copperplate
handwriting. No address. Inside it said:
It is my understanding that you are seeking a Master. I have a vacancy
for a slave, to serve me sexually and in other ways. I can offer a
sheltered life of service and comfort to the right woman. If you are
interested you should attend for interview at 23 Warburton Mews W2 on
Tuesday 23rd at 1-00 pm precisely.
There was no signature. The 23rd was the next day...... I wanted to know
more.
I took a day off work and got my hair done in the morning. I put my best
'go-to-interview' dress and went off to find Warburton Mews. It was one
of those backstreets in the West End, full of small houses built for
servants in the 19th Century which now cost an arm and a leg for the
idle rich to use as their urban pied a terres. 23 was at the far end. I
knocked.
A tiny Chinese woman opened the door. She wore some sort of oriental
silk thingie. (I've never been good at describing clothes, love.) She
looked about thirteen and I didn't know what to say. So it was just as
well that she was the one who spoke.
"Miss Freeman? Please come in, you are expected. "
Inside and up a rickety flight of stairs and into the most elegant
little sitting room. He's sitting there in one of those high backed
leather chairs. And doesn't he look good. And doesn't he know it. He's
wearing a grey suit that screams out it's hand made, all cool English
elegance. He's.... Well, you've seen him, Becky love. He's forty
something, with just a bit of elegant grey at his temples and when he
looked at me....
"Please be seated, Miss Freeman. Honey, some tea for my guest."
I sat down, shaking a bit, on the chair that the oriental girl shoved
under me. I had been afraid.... I'd be meeting one of Terry's friends.
All spots and black leather jackets and longing.... But this man wasn't
a wannabe. He was the real thing.
"What exactly is it you do at Klein and Digby?" He had been reading from
the folder on his lap. He looked up when I didn't reply.
"Well?"
"How..." My voice cracked. I took a sip of the tea that the Chinese
woman had given me. "How did you know about that? For that matter how
did you find out my home address? The magazine isn't supposed to...."
"Magazine?" He seemed genuinely puzzled.
"It's in the report, Master." It was the Chinese girl. "She is currently
advertising in FORUM. Page six."
"Ah, yes. Thank you, Honey. I didn't contact you because of your
advertisement, Miss Freeman. I have my own means of finding out if women
are interested in serving. As it happened I saw you in the audience at
the National when you went to see A LITTLE NIGHT MUSIC. A delightful
evening with Dame Judi at her best and then to see you there with your
fantasies and frustrations... I decided then to investigate you. Honey
did the actual leg work."
I frowned and drank more of the tea. This made no sense at all.
"That's ridiculous. You can't just look at someone and know their sexual
tastes. Not just by looking."
"Most people cannot. I'm not most people."
"Oh, yes! You just look and know do you?" I wasn't being very
submissive, I know, but I wanted... I think I wanted to test him. To
test myself.
"Something like that." He had picked out a page from the folder and was
reading it. "Your advertisement says 'No real experience'. What does
that mean?"
I tried to evade the question but he just looked at me and I found
myself talking about Terry. He listened gravely and sympathetically.
"You were perhaps wise," was all he said at the end of the story and
then he started to ask me all sorts of things about myself, my health,
my ambitions, my likes and dislikes and I talked and talked and somehow
it changed from me trying to find out if he was a suitable Master,
someone I could trust to me trying desperately to convince him that I
was a suitable slave. I don't think he used his hocus-pocus on me to get
me to feel that way. He says not.
I told him I could leave my job. I told him no-one in my family would
worry if I were to go off and take a new one somewhere. I told him
whatever he wanted to know. A lot of his questions weren't about sex
and yet the whole interview was. It was all about the fact that he had
the right, the power to know everything about me.
At the end of half an hour the cup of tea was cold at my side and my
voice was hoarse with talking. He gestured to Honey where she had been
kneeling quietly in a corner, listening intently and she went and got
fresh. After leafing through the folder one last time he put it aside
and looked at me.
"I think you may be suitable. There are question marks of course. You
can have no real idea of what it means to be owned and controlled the
whole time. But I think you might be suitable."
"You haven't even... You've never seen me naked."
"Oh, but I have my dear. And I was very touched by the fact that you
wore no underwear to the interview. That was thoughtful. But
unnecessary."
I felt myself blush from my ankles up to my cheeks. "How... How could
you...."
"Well, now. It could just be that I know a bit about young ladies like
yourself and know how you will approach such a meeting. It could just be
that."
I looked at him. He was smiling that little half smile of his and Honey,
as she poured fresh tea for us, was looking demurely smug too. I decided
to try to take control of things again.
"What question marks?" I barked the question out but my voice betrayed
me by cracking.
"Mostly to do with your courage. Your commitment, if you will. If you
choose this path you will be under my control in ways you cannot yet
begin to guess. And at any time you will be able to come to me and say:
that's it. No more. Either because you have reached your limits or
because this way of life isn't what you expected. I have a desire for
stability, for a reliable way of life in my home. I must be certain that
you are right for me and I for you. I must test you."
I nodded my head. That made sense. I took a deep breath and said "all
right, start your tests."
He smiled and said, "I already have."
I frowned and looked up at him, puzzled. Then I thought again: Looked
up? Why am I looking up at him?
I looked down and saw that I was kneeling on the floor before him.
Kneeling naked with my legs apart. How had I got there? I had come in.
sat down, talked for a while....
And then I remembered. In the middle of talking to him, I had got up and
started taking off my clothes. I had folded them neatly and then knelt
before him, spreading my knees to display my pussy.
I remembered clearly doing it although a moment before I hadn't been
aware of it at all. I felt myself shiver and my hands, resting palm up
on my thighs, were shaking. I looked up at him again, with fear and a
question in my eyes.
"This is part of what I mean. If you choose to wear my collar, be my
slave, you will be controlled as you have never dreamt of being
controlled. If I command you will obey. The only command I will never
give is the one that takes away your ability to leave. Every day you
stay and serve me, you must choose to do so of your own will."
Well, darling, he had proved himself to be a little less than omniscient
with that little speech. Because, you see, I had dreamed of just that
sort of control. You remember those vampire novels I was so fond of,
the ones you thought were such trash? (And they were by and large, but
trash I really loved.) The big turn on for me was the idea of my free
will being taken away by some Transylvanian Count. 'Loook deeeep in to
my eyeees....' That sort of thing. So the idea of him being my Vlad
Dracula.... Oooh, let's just say my pussy was drooling little puddles
onto the carpet.
So I got cheeky. "What else can you do?" Just asking for trouble, I
know.
He didn't say a word. But all of a sudden my nipples came up, so hard
and throbbing they hurt. My clittie too. I fell back on the carpet and
writhed in front of him. It was.... I can't describe it. As if every
part of my body were being licked all over. As if my mouth, my pussy, my
arse were all filled with big, hard cocks fucking me like machines. As
if every nerve in my body and brain were on fire. I heard myself
screaming. When I came back to myself, I knew I had come at least three
times in a matter of minutes. My head was resting at his feet.
"Did you like that?"
For an answer, I just kissed his feet. I mean I turned over and kissed
his bare flesh above his socks. I could smell the leather of his shoes.
The scent of him.
"Do you want more? Do you want a life like that?"
I nodded my head hard. I couldn't speak.
"Then there is one more test to be completed. Go through the door."
And then he was gone. In an instant. I knelt up and the room was empty.
Honey was gone too. There was just the door I had come in by and...
Another door. Which hadn't been there before.
There I was, starkers, with my pussy juices still wet on my thighs. The
cup of tea Honey had refilled for him was still steaming by his chair. I
could have got up, dressed and left. Perhaps I should have. But I got up
and walked (a bit shakily) through the door.
And I was somewhere I knew.
I was standing in the room at the club again. I was wearing the coat but
not the collar. There were the men again, sitting against the far wall.
"Get up on the table kitten."
I span and there He was. He was dressed just as Terry had been in the
same black leather jacket. It looked a lot better on him than it did on
Terry.
I looked across the room again and there *was* Terry sitting with the
other men. Watching me.
"Get on the table, kitten, and spread your legs wide. My friends want to
have a look at you."
And I did. I knew that was his last test, that I trust him the way I
never did Terry. I spread my legs wide and sat there looking at the men.
"Play with yourself, little kitten. I want you to show them how much you
like it."
Oh, God! Well, I didn't know if I could get myself going like that but I
gave it my best and soon, oh my! I was hot and wet and panting and they,
the men, Terry included had their pricks out and were wanking themselves
as they watched me. Hot eyes on me, love, like I was.... I don't know
what, an idol, a goddess.
"On all fours, little kitten. Get your head down and your arse in the
air. No, stop playing with yourself. Now, don't complain. Don't speak. I
don't want to have to gag you."
Then the door was opening again and it was Honey coming in. She was in
the exact same outfit as me, leather coat and she, the lucky little
bitch, was allowed to wear his collar. She went around to my upraised
arse and began.... Oh, first with her lips and fingers, the lovely
little slut and then with a pair of vibrators in and out of my cunt and
arse. She left the one in my arse when he told her to get round to my
front end and told me to repay the favour she'd done me with my tongue
and lips.....
And then he was inside me. Up into my pussy, doggy fashion, thrusting,
coaxing.... I turned my head just enough to see the men up against the
far wall. They were panting, standing, their pricks hard and purple-red.
They were moaning as I was, as Honey was, as he was thrusting deeper,
deeper....
I think we all came together. All eight of us. At least within two
seconds of each other. The watchers' cum flew across the room and up
spattering the ceiling.
When I came down, he turned me over and looked down at me. In his hand
was a collar, not a leather thing but a seamless metal circle.
"Do you want this?"
I nodded my head. He reached down and suddenly it was there around my
neck. It's been there ever since. He says I can take it off any time I
want. I've never wanted to. I think I never will.
****************************************
"But you're not..." Jane stopped in mid-sentence as the man opposite
made a small gesture and there appeared around the neck of both her
sister and the black woman, Sugar, a silvery metal circle. Each had the
name they were known by engraved on it in large, deep letters.
"It's not convenient for outsiders to know what my relationship is to my
girls. So the collars are only visible to them and to me, normally. A
minor effect but useful."
--
Boris Ludmenkov
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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