CHAPTER ONE

 

Tancred the Master didn't wake up till quarter past ten. He was hung over, his head felt as if he'd been hit with a truncheon, his stomach felt as if he'd been punched in the solar plexus and his mouth tasted the way the gents at the Green Man smelt. But he was philosophical about it - after all, what else do you expect on a mixture of beer, red wine and Russian pepper vodka?

And it had been a good evening - yes, very good! A rip-roaring time with his slave girl Sally, then the booze and finally one of the hottest curries he could ever remember eating. But now it was morning, a dull misty one at that. At least there was breakfast to look forward to, but where was Sally? She should have brought it to him by now. If he was late, so was she; but the difference was, she had no right to be late, since she was a slave, while he, Tancred, was the Master.

"Slave!" he yelled. No reply. He got up and sat on the side of the bed, staring blearily round the garish luxury of the master bedroom. No, she hadn't left a tray for him.

"Slave!" he yelled. Again, no reply. He leaned over, pulled back a curtain and glanced out over the damp, misty Essex marshes. Ugh, he shuddered. He poured himself a glass of rough red wine and lit a Gauloise. It was now ten twenty. After a few gulps of wine, and his customary morning coughing fit, he felt a little better. Ten twenty five. He pulled on a purple silk dressing gown and walked to the door, emerging into the corridor which led to the main landing just above the stairs. He leaned over the banisters that ran around the gallery.

"SLAVE!" he bellowed. No answer, but from somewhere down below, the kitchen presumably, he heard the clatter of china and crockery. At least something was happening down there, but he still expected to hear her cheerful cry of 'Coming, Master!' Instead he could hear nothing but those kitchen noises.

"SLAVE!" he roared. "Hurry up! I'm HUN-GRY!" And to emphasise the point he kicked the gong (ouch) whose boom reverberated throughout the whole house.

He returned to the master bedroom, poured himself some more wine and lit a fresh cigarette. He opened all the curtains and surveyed himself in the mirror. Not bad for a forty five year old, not bad, he thought. A trifle portly, perhaps; bald on top, it was true, but his remaining hair was black and curly and his baldness was also offset by his drooping, pointed mandarin style moustache. And now that he'd had the wine, his blue eyes were as bright and alert as ever.

"SLAVE!" he yelled. He sank into an armchair and contemplated the day ahead - quite a busy one. He had to arrange the food and the drink for Saturday's party, only three days off. His good friend, Mistress Grimm, was arriving later in the morning; he had a luncheon engagement with Big Lezzo the Butch and finally, to his considerable distaste, he had an unavoidable interview with a Mr Peter Pollock, an investigative journalist.

That afternoon, Mistress Grimm was due to be meeting Herbert the Rascal, a slave of Sally's acquaintance, whom neither he nor Mistress G. had met before. What time was he coming? Four o'clock? He'd have to make certain the Joy Room was ready for them. He smiled as he thought of Mistress Grimm - a beautiful, wonderful lady and he hoped she'd bring her slave girl, Kate, along as well. What fantastic times they'd had together! They'd be staying at Quill's Manor until Sunday and Mistress Grimm was one of the quests of honour at the party. Everything, he resolved, had to be just right, everything had to be perfect, and he was determined that this was to be a party to remember. He just prayed nothing would go wrong ...

Where's that slave? he wondered again as his stomach gurgled.

And then there was Big Lezzo the Butch, a lady he'd never met before, who'd responded to his anonymous announcement about the party in 'Euphoria'. Her letter had sounded interesting and very spirited; it was her intention, he gathered, to stay with a friend who lived nearby, someone who taught French at Buckdean, a public school for girls, just outside the village. Like Mistress Grimm, she was arriving a few days before the party and planned to spend her time investigating Buckdean and its inmates. "Ho Ho!" he chuckled, this lady sounded real fun! (Where's that slave?)

But finally there was Pollock, a cloud on the horizon, if ever there was one. An 'investigative journalist' indeed - in other words, a prying, meddlesome, snoopy little nosy parker with no respect for other people's privacy. Evidently, the man was a freelance and had lately run a series of articles in the 'Daily Looking Glass' on Satanic orgies, black masses and what have you in East Anglia. Tancred, in fact, had nothing to do with black magic, but it was undeniable that the activities he did indulge in, were, to say the least, unusual. Somehow, Pollock had heard something about them, but so far he hadn't said precisely what. His technique was to write up a combination of local gossip and hearsay, plus innuendoes against the poor sod who was the object of his so-called 'investigation' (Where's that slave?). He could be careful not to name names, of course and he would write his nonsense in such a vague way that you couldn't sue. But by the adroit use of place names and other indirect indicators, he would leave little doubt as to who he meant, at least so far as the locals were concerned and that included the police. Tancred was perfectly confident that nothing he allowed to happen at Quill's Manor was illegal, but any intrusion into his privacy, to say nothing of his friends' privacy, could only be highly unwelcome and embarrassing in the extreme. Oh, blast the man - what did he WANT, for heaven's sake? He was due to see him at three o'clock.

"SLAVE!" he screamed. "Where the hell ..."

Click - the door opened, and in walked Sally the slave girl, with his breakfast.

 

***

 

She was twenty seven, had short wavy blonde hair, green eyes and was five feet six inches tall. She had a fine 38-26-38 figure with firm breasts and a well-rounded bouncy bottom that swayed enticingly from side to side. She had a snub nose and a rosebud mouth that seemed permanently set in a submissive, deferential smile.

On this occasion, she was naked as she entered Tancred's room, except for high-heeled shoes and a head harness. This was a contraption of leather straps and buckles that fitted over her head and face and which kept a rubber ball rammed securely into her mouth. It was padlocked at the back and her saliva dribbled uncontrollably down her chin and onto her chest. Oh hell, thought Tancred, I forgot to take the damn thing off last night.

"Oom amng, Mm-mm," she mumbled as she put down the tray.

"Well, slave, why're you here so late?" demanded the Master.

"Ung ung uw-oof, Mm-mm, ung ah ng wa oo."

"Stop mumbling, you silly girl! Can't you speak English?"

"Mm, mm-mm."

"Oh all right - sit down." Now, where was the key? "Wait here a minute."

He rummaged around among the wine glasses, ash trays, pill bottles and other junk on the dressing table and found it at last in a sticky pool of half congealed red wine.

"Here we are!" He unlocked the padlock and removed the harness; she must have had it on, with that ball in her mouth, for at least ten hours, he figured.

She panted with relief and held her stiff jaw in her hands, massaging it and slowly moving it up and down. After a few moments, she was able to speak.

"Good morning, Master!" she smiled. "I DO hope you enjoy your breakfast and I'm SO sorry I'm late, but you WERE fast asleep and I KNOW you like to wake up in your own good time ..."

"All right, all right!" he rumbled, as he munched his garlic sausage. "Did you enjoy yourself last night?"

"Yes, thank you, Master, it was lovely!"

"Good," he said through a mouthful of pickled cucumber. "Show me your bum!"

She turned her back to him and, keeping her legs perfectly straight, bent over and touched her toes while he inspected her buttocks. They were bright pink, in stark contrast to the rest of her milky white skin and across the centre of each there was an ominous blue-black bruise - the result of the cane.

"Hmph," he grunted. "How many strokes was it last night? Thirty? Forty?"

Forty, Master."

"Good! Next time it'll be fifty. How do you feel?"

"Lovely, Master, thank you!"

"Good, good!" He caressed her bottom and felt himself beginning to stiffen. "Stand up, slave girl. Now, have you had breakfast yes?"

"No, Master." (Of course not, he thought, she'd still had that harness on.)

"Right - off you go and have some, but first you must give me 'O'!"

"Certainly, Master!" With an eager smile she knelt down and enclosed his huge, erect throbbing penis into her mouth, as he sipped his tea (black, no sugar). Expertly her tongue, lips and her teeth combined their functions to give him an ever increasing and intensifying accumulation of sensitivity, heightened even further as he glanced down at her eager, flushed, excited face. With his free hand, he slid his forefinger into her vagina ("Ooh, ooh," she cooed with delight) and gently began to stimulate her clitoris. She soon began to trickle as delight turned to joy and then ecstasy.

"Mm, mm," he breathed.

"Ah, ah, ah ... AH!" she sighed with excitement.

"Ah, ah ... oh, that's good, that's good!" he breathed as he climaxed.

"Oh! Oh! Oh! OH!" she moaned, in mind blowing euphoria.

They relaxed, panting heavily. She had fluid dribbling down her chin again (not saliva, this time) and onto her breasts. These he proceeded to massage until they became covered in little white bubbles.

"Ooh, MASTER, you're making my tits all bubbly!" she giggled.

"And it's not for the last time, either!" He slapped her bottom.

"Oooh!" She liked that a lot.

"Now be off with you! Get some food inside you - we've got a busy day ahead."

"Yes, Master."

 

***

 

A little later they were seated at conference in Tancred's private library, which adjoined the main drawing-room. By now silvery shafts of sunlight had begun to penetrate the cloud and mist, shining through the mullioned windows onto Tancred's desk.

"Right - how many are coming?" he began.

"Fifty three definite, positive replies so far, Master. The Rev. Ward can't make it, nor can Jack Flash and we're still waiting to hear from Major Hartley, Mistress Tzu-Lin, Mistress Brunhild, Mademoiselle Yvette and Tony Briceland."

"Why can't Wardie come? Things really take off when that guy gets going."

"It seems one of his choirboys has been blabbing, Master, he wants to keep a low profile just at the present."

"Pity, pity! Still, I always warned him not to mess around with youngsters. And what about Jack Flash?"

"In jail, Master. Masturbating in a car in Ruislip High Street, this time."

"Oh, poor chap. Right - let's assume the others are coming - that makes fifty eight. Then there's this Herbert fellow Mistress G. is seeing this afternoon - tell her to invite him as well, if he's any good."

"I'm sure he will be, Master, I know him well."

"O.K." He rummaged in his desk. "Get her to give him this card. That'll make fifty nine. Let's also assume Big Lezzo manages to rustle up her friend and possibly a girl or two from Buckdean, so we'll say we must cater for sixty to sixty five. O.K. - note all this down - we'll need thirty bottles of Pouilly of gin, twenty of vodka and plenty of mixers. Add on half a dozen bottles of brandy, a dozen of each of sweet and dry Martini and I suppose we'd better have some Bacardi - say half a dozen. Get some beer as well, as much as we had last time. For Mistress Grimm you'd better order half a dozen bottles of Bushmills and three crates of Guinness. Is she bringing Kate, by the way?"

"Yes, Master."

"Excellent! And for me, another half dozen bottles of Pertsovka. Now what else?"

"The food, Master."

"O.K. - same as last time, only tell 'em it's for sixty five this time and they'll sort out the details. Have we got enough booze, do you think?"

"Yes, I would think so, Master. We've already got plenty left over from last time, too."

"Fine. Anything else we need to talk about right now?"

"Only that Master Sutton wants to know if you'd like him to bring his films - he's taken two more, by the way - and Percy Berkeley would like to take some photos."

"Mm. Yes, tell Master Sutton we'd be delighted, we can rig the screen up in here. So far as Percy is concerned, I'm not so sure. Let's say only close-ups of people who consent - no general shots, not even of people just chatting and definitely NO shots of any activities without people knowing, clear?"

"Of course, Master."

"Right. So far as today is concerned, we've got Mistress G. and Kate arriving this morning; I'm off to lunch with Big Lezzo at one o'clock and your friend, Herbert arrives at four, doesn't he?"

"Yes, Master. May I suggest I start placing the orders this morning? The drink would be delivered tomorrow afternoon and the food would arrive on Saturday morning."

"O.K."

The door opened and Maid Molly stepped in.

"Master? Mistress Grimm and her friend have arrived."

"Aha! Aha!" His eyes twinkled and he grinned from ear to ear. "Aha. Show her in, show her in!"

He leapt up, twirled the ends of his moustache and bustled through to the main drawing-room with Sally behind. Simultaneously, Mistress Grimm was shown in (followed by Kate); they met and embraced each other in the middle of the room.

"Lillian! You BEAUTIFUL creature! You're looking superb!"

"Tancred, you old rogue! Great to see you."

Mistress Grimm was a truly magnificent specimen of womanhood. She was in her mid-thirties, five feet eleven inches tall and had a large, Junoesque figure that was perfectly proportioned like the Venus de Milo. Her forty three inch bust, big, shapely mare's buttocks and firm, ample thighs made her the supreme embodiment of feminine desirability and sensuality. But men had to beware, for she was very strict and hard to please. She had shortish wavy hair, milky white skin and hypnotic dark brown eyes. She wore a tight fitting crimson dress with a slit right up to her hip, exposing a generous expanse of smooth white thigh. She did not wear knickers or a G-string. She held a riding whip under her arm.

"A drink, my dear? A Guinness?"

"Sure, I think I will, Tancred." She usually spoke in a rather upper class accent, but sometimes slipped back into her native Irish brogue.

"Molly!" Tancred called. "Drinks!" While Molly fixed everyone a drink he turned his attention to Kate.

"Well now, you naughty slave! Have you been behaving yourself?" He smacked her bottom and proceeded to chase her round the sofa. She giggled with pleasure each time his large hand landed on her compact but nicely rounded posterior.

"Come now, Tancred!" admonished Mistress Grimm. "Save some energy for this evening!"