Duncan - he’s the one who first found me and made the proposal that I became the group’s
slave - came round to pick me up from David’s place, then took me round to his own house
to prepare me. That’s what he called it anyway. He told me to strip naked, then he wrapped
me in miles and miles of bondage tape - the sort that sticks to itself but not your skin
and hair. He only left a small gap for my nostrils so I could breathe, but apart from that
I was totally enclosed. It was hot, sticky and smelly in there, but, like most things in
my life as a willing slave, I had no choices.
That’s how I was delivered to Lady’s house - I was transported there in the boot of a
car alongside my own luggage and I felt myself being lifted into the house by a couple of
pairs of hands. Once there, I was dumped on a settee and left untouched and helpless. I
could vaguely hear voices, probably in some other room, but couldn’t make out what they
were saying. Eventually they came closer - a man and a woman. Lady and her husband, I
guessed.
“Carry it through to the patio,” I heard her say.
I wondered what “it” she was referring to, but strong hands under my back and legs told
me it was me. She always calls me “slave” or “slut” to my face, and calls me “it” when she
talks about me to someone else. To be honest, it makes me squirm that she views me as an
object - it turns me on like hell. He carried me a few yards before placing me on hard
concrete. All too soon, following her commands, he had attached some kind of strap round
my ankles and I was being pulled off the ground, suspended upside down, the blood rushing
to my head as I came to terms, once again, with how powerless I was.
“Whip her, hard,” I heard the female voice say, before continuing, “If it’s not hard
enough, you’ll get worse.”
For all I knew he wanted worse, because the whipping that followed wasn’t that hard at
all. Perhaps it was the plastic tape that protected me somehow, but he whipped me all
over, back, front and sides, from my neck to my lower legs, swinging me slowly round to
vary the target.
“Not nearly hard enough,” she barked. “Get over that chair.”
I could only imagine what was happening outside my plastic prison. The lash sounded
vicious as it cracked down again and again on his body, yet, apart from a few grunts and
gasps, he didn’t complain. Perhaps he enjoys pain. I don’t fully understand that. I don’t
enjoy it. I get pleasure from the fact I can’t prevent it, but I don’t enjoy the pain
itself.
Then her attention turned to me. Her fingers pulled at the tape gagging my mouth,
tearing it so I could breathe properly again.
“D’you want to fuck its mouth?” she asked him. “Or d’you want to fuck mine?”
“Yours, Mistress,” he said without hesitation. Obvious really.
“Well, you can’t fuck mine. It’s far too good for you. Fuck the slave’s mouth if you
need to. I’ll watch.”
From the hardness of the erection that was immediately pressed to my lips, I’d say I’d
been right - he did get off on pain. There wasn’t anything I could do to resist the
intrusion between my lips, but equally there was nothing I could do to assist. Someone,
maybe Lady or maybe him, put their hands behind my head and held me still as he used my
mouth as a pussy, pushing in and out quite violently, right into my throat. Before long I
could feel the telltale signs of his approaching ejaculation - the tensed muscles, the
strangled gasps and the jerky movements - but Lady wasn’t going to make it so easy for
him.
“Stop now,” she told him, as his twitches started.
“I... I can’t...” he stammered, still fucking my face.
“I said stop,” she growled, and with superhuman effort he stopped. That didn’t mean he
pulled out of me, only that he stopped, my mouth still full of his meat.
“Take it out,” she threatened, and after he had she told him to go inside and make some
food, and that under no circumstances was he to come back out until she called, nor was he
to relieve himself. Her words, not mine.
I heard the door close as he went into the house, and I heard her heels click as she
walked round me.
“Ever had clothes pegs on your tits?” she asked me at last.
“No, Mistress,” I told her. I’d been threatened with them a few times, but never had
them. Clamps yes, but not pegs.
“Ever had sex with another woman?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Willingly, or because you were made to?”
“I was made to.”
“Right, let’s see what you’re made of.”
Gradually, starting at my head, she unwrapped me. The light made me blink as the
brightness of the day clouded my vision. I could see crazy paving of the patio three feet
below, or maybe I should say above, my head, and I could see the rope wrapped round a
stout timber of a pergola that held my ankles so painfully above me. And I could see her.
I was surprised to see she was wearing a bikini and black leather boots. The two looked
very incongruous, but I suspect the outfit was designed to turn hubby on. Or Lady. Or
maybe even me.
Eventually my arms were free and I let them dangle towards the ground above my head.
“I do warn you, I like my slaves bound very tight, so you can’t move at all. You will be
wrapped like this again. But for now, you’ll please me.”
She unfastened a rope from a cleat on the wall and I fell in a heap on the ground. She,
meanwhile, wandered inside and settled on a garden bench, looking across at me. She
unfastened the bra and pulled the bikini pants down, spreading her legs indecently wide as
she waited.
“Get yourself over here, slut,” she growled. “Show me how well you can lick.”
I could do little more than drag myself over to her using my arms, since my taped up
legs were no help. Once there I kissed my way up the insides of her thighs. She left me to
do that for a while, watching me with an amused smile on her face. Suddenly her expression
changed and she almost snarled, grabbing a handful of my hair and twisting me upwards
until my lips were pressed right into her labial folds.
“I said lick, not kiss,” she growled at me, rubbing her crotch into me to emphasise the
point. Then she called out for hubby again. He was out of the door and beside us in an
instant, naked save for a studded black leather collar round his neck. “We’ll try again,
slave,” she told him. “Whip her hard or I won’t whip you again.”
All my suspicions from before were confirmed - he did back off before because of her
implied threat she’d beat him if he didn’t do me hard. Now she’d set up the opposite -
he’d only get his beating if he did hit me hard. And he was immediately true to his word.
The first strike of the single-tailed bullwhip stung like a hot iron, making me pull my
head away from her pussy and scream out, pushing my hands behind me to protect my skin.
That was a bad mistake.
“Did I tell you to stop?” she asked.
“No, Mistress,” I said sheepishly.
“Then why have you?”
“Sorry, Mistress,” I told her, returning immediately to my task.
“Give me your hands,” she continued.
When I reluctantly put my hands out to her, still licking into her musky heat as she’d
ordered, I felt a cold metal cuff go round each wrist in turn, and she held the chain that
joined them in her right hand.
“Continue,” she told him.
He focussed on my back and bottom, lashing from right to left, leaving only short gaps
between strokes. I cried out and eventually sobbed, but didn’t dare incur her further
wrath by pulling away. Through the pain, I reckoned my best chance of relief was to bring
her off as soon as possible, in the hope that she’d stop. I remembered all the things that
excite me when I’m being given oral sex, and all the things I’d learned when attending to
other women who owned me, and I put them into practice, trying hard to overcome the urge
to struggle and escape.
Finally she pulled hard at the back of my head as she stiffened into a climax, gasping
out and almost suffocating me in the process. Thankfully, one seemed to be enough for
now.
“You can stop,” she told him, and, mercifully, this ordeal was over.
“Please can I come now?” I heard hubby asking.
“Wait, for God’s sake!” she barked at him.
He stood obediently behind me as I drooled on her thigh, waiting to see what she’d want
next. My back glowed all over. Glowed, or maybe burned. I knew I’d not be sleeping on my
back that night.
“Where d’you want to come, slave?” she asked him eventually.
“Her mouth, Mistress.”
“Hers...?” she asked. “Not mine?”
I would never have fallen into that trap. Maybe he wanted to.
“Yours, of course, Mistress. I just....” He faltered, genuinely afraid of her. “I
thought you’d already forbidden that.”
“So I have. But first, what does its back look like?” she wanted to know.
“Very red, Mistress,” he told her.
“Show me. Turn it round.”
Rough hands lifted me from under my arms, turning me round so she could see the angry
welts that he’d given me.
“You did well, slave,” she smiled. “Now put it down again.”
He almost dropped me, back into position between Lady’s legs.
“Come on the scars,” she told him. “On its back.”
If he was disappointed, he didn’t say anything. I was aware of him rubbing himself fast
behind me, breathing in short, staccato gasps as she watched.
“Now, slave,” she breathed. “Don’t make me wait, or I may stop you.”
“Yes, Mistress,” he managed.
His renewed efforts made him grunt more. I felt a drip on my back - his sweat - stinging
my scars. Finally he started to groan and grunt as he reached his point of no return. She
obviously knew his signs well.
“I’m bored,” she said quickly. “Stop now, don’t come.”
But we all knew it was too late. There was no way he could stop. Spurt after spurt of
his come splattered down onto my back, burning like hot oil.
“Give me that whip!” she shouted at him, leaning forward to take it.
She lashed out at him, uncaring that he was still emptying his balls onto my red and
tender skin.
“I told you to stop!” she admonished, lashing out again.
“I’m sorry, Mistress, I couldn’t stop.”
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