Melissa walked in the front door, sore from her training session with Polly. Her hair was still damp from the long, hot shower she took afterward. Beams of light slanted in through the eyebrow windows, cutting across the dimness of the house’s large main space, which was only lit by the day’s waning sunshine.
Polly’s day job meant their training session had been pushed late. Melissa had avoided eating before her sword training, and she had been so engrossed in talking to Jacob at lunch that she hadn’t eaten much of her food, so she now she was quite hungry. Looking around, however, she didn’t see Erik or smell anything cooking in the kitchen.
She hurried downstairs, holding her breasts to keep them from bouncing. It didn’t seem strange anymore to walk back naked from the exercise studio after a shower.
Walking into the bedroom, she found Erik laying out some clothes on the bed. Something in his posture and expression set off a warning signal for her. She was sure he had something nefarious planned. She only hoped it involved food, sooner rather than later.
He looked up, feigning innocence. Now she was certain that she was in for something.
He said with deliberate casualness, “I thought we’d run into the city for a bite to eat.”
Her face fell. Getting dressed and going to a restaurant in the city meant dinner was at least an hour away, probably more.
With a smile, he pulled a protein bar out of his back pocket and held it out to her.
“Oh boy, I get a puppy treat for waiting?”
Cocking his head, he mused, “Hmm, puppy play, we haven’t tried that.”
Changing her approach, Melissa sank to her knees, bowing her head, holding out her hands, cupped together, so she could receive his gift. She said, “Your slave is humbly grateful for her Master’s thoughtful consideration.” With a wry smile and a deliberate stare at his crotch, she asked, “Might she also beg her Master’s indulgence for a salty high-protein liquid refreshment?”
He laughed. “No time for that. You need to get dressed. I’m hungry too.”
Sighing in disappointment, she replied, “Yes Master,” and rose to her feet. She tore the wrapper off the protein bar and started to eat it as she looked at what he had laid out for her. She quickly recognized the skinny jeans that Cathy had convinced her to buy a few weeks ago. Melissa was immediately worried because the jeans had made her look fat instead of skinny. When she first tried them on and had finally managed to snap the waistband closed, a ring of belly fat stuck out all around the waistband. Cathy had assured her that would change, but Melissa knew she was still going to look like a Pillsbury Doughboy, half popped out of a can.
Fortunately, Erik had also laid out a waist-cincher corset next to the jeans. The corset might hide her belly pudge, but it still didn’t promise to be a comfortable evening. Next to the corset was a beautiful tapestry silk/linen blend blazer. She looked around, but there was no blouse, and the waist-cincher small enough that it wasn’t going to come anywhere close to her bust.
She lifted the blazer to look underneath, verifying that there wasn’t any blouse hidden underneath. With a small sigh, she decided that she could keep the blazer buttoned and maintain some modesty, perhaps not much, but some.
Wanting to try on the jeans in private, she took them into the dressing area of Erik’s enormous closet. She walked over to his three-way mirror, so she could see clearly just how bad she looked.
She wrestled the jeans on, having more problems getting the tight denim fabric past her calves and thighs than she had remembered when she tried them on in the store. She grimaced, telling herself that the bathroom scale had said she’d lost weight over the past month, even though this increase in tightness did not bode well. Taking in a breath, she sucked in her belly as tight as possible and pulled hard to close the waistband. The snap didn’t meet. After a brief panic, she realized it was because the waistband had overlapped itself too much. In amazement, she relaxed her death grip on the waistband, and the snap met easily.
Reaching down, she pulled up the zipper. The waist and seat were still very tight, but to her grateful astonishment, she wasn’t spilling out over the top of the jeans. Looking at her reflection in the mirror, she turned back and forth, feeling a giddy sense of excitement. She could now see why the jeans had been so hard to pull on – her thighs and calves had gained muscle, straining the seams of the jeans in those areas – but the overall shape the jeans gave her was amazing. She would have never believed that she would be able to look this good in skinny jeans. She had always dismissed this style as being for anorexics.
Admiring herself some more, she decided that what she saw in the mirror wasn’t actually anything like a skinny-legged fashion model. Melissa filled out the jeans much more tightly, but the effect was athletic and sexy. She laughed quietly to herself – being taller than so many of the boys in middle school was finally paying off – the extra height in the jeans made her appear sleek and sexy, rather than over-muscled and squat.
Tamping down her giddiness, she noted that if she leaned forward, her belly still popped out over the waistband. Shrugging, she told herself that anything else was probably anatomically impossible.
She stood back up and posed for herself one last time, then sauntered back out into the bedroom. Erik was standing beside the small desk in his bedroom. His eyes widened as he saw her. With a grin, she turned in a circle for him.
“To hell with dinner,” he growled, “I going to have you right here.”
“But Master,” she whined playfully, “I’m starving, and you promised.”
He shook his head, grinning at her ruefully, “You’re going to pay for that.”
She walked over to him, arching back a little to lift her breasts. Running a hand across his chest, she looked up at him and said earnestly, “I am soo looking forward to your punishment, Master.” She could barely mask the delight she felt from teasing him and getting such a genuine reaction.
He spun her around and swatted her across her buttocks, ordering her, “Go! Get dressed.”
The impact of his hand through the tightly stretched denim raced through her as though a wildfire. Unthinking ignoring his command, she bent forward, sticking her butt out, begging to be spanked again.
More firmly and seriously, he said, “This is my only warning – you’re in slave mode now, and for the rest of the evening. Follow my orders or I’ll cancel the evening entirely.”
She stood up straight and bowed her head. “Yes, Master. This slave profoundly apologizes. This slave… allowed herself to be carried away.”
“Understood,” he said dismissively. “Now hurry. I’m hungry and cranky.”
She reached out for the corset. “Yes, Master.” She undid the fastenings in front of the waist-cincher and slipped it around herself. Erik stepped forward to help her reconnect the front busk. Then he turned her around to tighten the laces in back.
She worried that he might punish her by pulling the laces so tight that she would have trouble breathing or moving, but he didn’t. If anything, he left the corset looser than he usually did when they played. She guessed that he intended her to wear it for the entire evening.
She reached out for the blazer, resigned to not wearing a top, and very unwilling to make any complaints after just overstepping her bounds. Erik stopped her, instead leading her over to the desk. Laying on the blotter was a pair of nipple adornments, connected by three draped chains of finely twisted gold. Her heart jumped at seeing a wicked-looking pin with a sharp point at the center of each swirling loop of chrome.
Shaped like an old-fashioned square nail and curved to match her breast, the pin seemed to be intended to pierce her nipple in order to fasten the small chrome and gold adornment to each of her breasts.
Looking more carefully, she saw that the square pin was actually securely fastened to either side of the chrome swirl, and there was a missing section in the middle of the pin that was designed to leave space for her nipple. She sighed in relief.
A swoosh of gold metal connected either side of the chrome swirl and held the three gold chains. The design looked beautiful but heavy.
Erik sat down in the chair, then reached up to tease her right nipple into full erectness. It did not take much effort since she was already very aroused. He took a small clear band from two matching line of bands that were arranged on the desk blotter. Holding the band up to her nipple, he studied it carefully. With a small shake of his head, he put it back and reached for a different band. He must have decided this one would fit better because he picked up a squeeze bulb from the desk and slid the band over the base of the squeeze bulb. He gave the bulb a gentle squeeze and held it up to her nipple, carefully releasing pressure and letting the vacuum suck her nipple into the neck of the squeeze bulb.
She gasped a little at the suction. He paid no attention to her reaction, instead, focusing on sliding the band off the outer neck of the squeeze bulb. Then he squished the bulb closed again, which pushed her nipple back out, leaving her nipple surrounded by a thin clear band.
He tugged on the band experimentally, still seeming to pay no attention as Melissa squirmed at the stimulation. Satisfied, he looked up and told her, “The silicone band will help keep your nipple erect. It will also protect your tender bits from the sharp edges of the pin. It’s important to make sure the band’s loose enough to allow good blood flow. That way, you can wear this all night long. Does it feel okay?”
She nodded, not sure how to answer. She watched as he repeated the procedure on her other nipple. Once that task was completed to his satisfaction, he picked up the right nipple adornment in one hand and applied a strong smelling liquid from what looked like a nail polish bottle, using a brush built into the bottle cap. He carefully coated the back of the adornment, where it would rest against her skin, explaining, “This is spirit gum. It’s used by Hollywood makeup artists to temporarily glue appliances on actors’ skin. It’s strong but safe.”
“Oh.”
He gently settled the metal shield over her nipple and against her skin, carefully aligning her nipple with the small gap in the pin. The spirit gum initially felt cold, but warmed quickly. As he took his hand away, she realized the adornment was actually very lightweight. Looking down at it, she couldn’t tell if it was somehow hollow or if it was made out of something that only looked like metal.
With equal care and precision, he applied the other shield to her left breast, then leaned back to admire his work. “Perfect!” he announced.
He guided her to the mirror over his dresser. When she saw herself, her breath drew in sharply. She was astonished at the combination of cruelty and beauty inherent in the design. The sinuous metallic curves and delicate golden chains seemed fastened to her using curved golden square nails that were driven through her nipples.
“Oh, my,” she whispered.
“Indeed. So, now you can grab your jacket.”
“Yes, Master.” As she walked over to gather her blazer, she asked, “What about shoes, Master? Should I get a pair from my closet?”
“Don’t worry, I have a pair for you upstairs, by the front door.”
She slid on the beautiful blazer, a little sad now to cover her nipples. Something in his deliberately casual tone, however, left her feeling trepidation about what might be in store for her poor feet. She shrugged off her fears, knowing that he could hardly come up with any higher heel than the six-inch sandals that were his constant style choice for her.
“Oh, one more thing.” He picked up a gold slave collar from his desk. It seemed to be one unbroken ring, with an o-ring dangling from the front. Using a small Allen wrench, he loosened a hidden locking feature in back. The collar pivoted open at a hinge hidden where the o-ring attached. Fastening the collar closed around her neck, he tightened the locking set screw closed and pocketed the tiny Allen wrench. Then he said, “Okay, now let’s go try out your new shoes.”
Leaving the bedroom, Melissa reached down to button her blazer front closed but stopped. She thought to herself, “Modesty be damned, I want to see the expression on people’s faces when they catch sight of these nipple thingies.” She looked down, experimentally shifting back and forth, deciding that she could manage to mostly keep her nipples covered unless she chose to deliberately make one side or other of her blazer fall open. She grinned, anticipating the fun she might have. As she walked upstairs, the thin gold chains swung back and forth between the lapels of her blazer.
At the front door, Erik had her sit on a small cushioned bench, next to the coat closet. From under the bench, he pulled out a large shoebox and opened it. She could see a pair of black leather ankle boots inside, which explained the size of the box.
He took one of the boots out. Her eyes widened as she saw that the arch of boot swept straight downward to end in a box toe, like a ballet toe shoe. The boots’ heel was a near vertical spike, at least eight inches high. She saw that the heel would contact the ground less than an inch behind the box toe. Shaking her head, she couldn’t imagine actually walking in the boots.
Incredulous, she blurted out, “You’ve got to be shitting me… uh, Master, Sir… Sorry, Sir.”
“Nope. No joke. After all, you said you danced on pointe for years. Walking on pointe should be simple.
“Uh, Master,” she said warily, “It’s been a long time…”
“Oh pish posh. It’s like riding a bicycle… piece of cake.”
“Yes Master,” she reluctantly conceded, realizing that she was doomed to at least try on the boots. As long as he was willing to carry her everywhere, she figured she could wear them.
He helped her put them on. The box toes were surprisingly comfortable, although she wished she could use a hammer to break them in like she did with her toe shoes. It seemed certain, however, that a hammer would ruin the gorgeous leather, so she didn’t bother to ask.
Finally, he helped her stand. She teetered a bit until she finally forced herself to relax and use her ballet training, imagining her body was suspended from an invisible puppeteering thread connected to her head. The old training steadied her, so she took a couple of trial steps and discovered that she was able to stay balanced. Turning carefully, she looked back at Erik. Without her noticing, he had followed closely behind her, staying near enough to catch her if she fell.
For the first time, she was tall enough to look directly into his eyes. She laughed, “It’s so strange to be as tall as you are.”
He smiled back at her, “Indeed. So… are you ready for me to get the car?”
“I guess so.”
He nodded, then headed out the door for the garage. Very carefully, she looked down at herself, amazed to see herself en pointe. She found that she could rest some of her weight on the dagger-like heels, although she wasn’t certain if having the heels made it easier or harder to walk.
Maintaining the imagine of an invisible thread pulling her body into a straight line, she walked over to the full-length mirror by the entry door. What she saw reflected back was astonishing. “Sex on a stick,” she muttered to herself. Between the ballet boots, skinny jeans, thin gold chains dangling across the opening in her blazer (which, from the angle of the chains, could only be attached to her nipples), and finally the gold collar around her throat, she couldn’t imagine a more potent image. She laughed, pulling open her blazer to ratchet her imagination up another several notches. Looking back at herself in the mirror, she suddenly said, “Oh shit!” Her hair was still a damp mess. “God damn it. Count on a guy to let me walk out of the house like this.”
Fortunately, she had stashed a hairbrush and small make-up kit near the front door for just these moments. She carefully walked over to retrieve them as she heard Erik pulling the car up front.
* * *
Erik stopped the Range Rover in front of a restaurant Melissa had never been to in the city, although she certainly had heard about it. The restaurant supposedly had a very upscale Bohemian vibe, but she hadn’t heard anything about it being part of the kink scene. She was reasonably certain that Erik had deliberately dressed her like this to show her off in a vanilla setting. Now very nervous, she pulled down the passenger visor, flipping open the mirror to take another quick look at herself. She still wasn’t happy with her hair, but she had done the best she could. She had pulled it back in a ponytail, tying it with a cable tie that Erik had as part of a small tool kit he kept in the glove box. At a red light, he had snipped off the dangling end of the cable tie using a multi-tool from the kit.
She was a little startled when a parking valet pulled open her door. She flipped up the visor and turned to face the young man. As he took in her appearance, she watched his expression shift from total astonishment, to helpless lust, and finally to a belated attempt at professionalism.
Telling herself, “In for a penny, in for a pound,” she held out her hand so the delighted young man could help balance her as she stepped out. Erik came around to join her as she stood en pointe, reassuring herself of her sense of balance. He offered her his arm, and they walked together, somewhat slower than their usual pace, to the front door.
Halfway to the door, she quietly told him, “You can relax Master. You don’t have to keep your arm so stiff.”
He replied softly, “Okay.” He did relax his arm some, but not very much.
At the hostess station, Erik said, “Greenwood, party of two.”
When the woman behind the podium looked up and took in Melissa’s appearance, she touched her tongue to her upper lip, in what seemed to be an entirely unconscious gesture of flirting. Mischievously Melissa gazed back, giving her a look that promised more, while simultaneously turning to let her blazer momentarily pull open. The woman’s eyes opened wider.
Erik cleared his throat, asking, “Is our table ready?”
Startled, the woman quickly answered, “Yes sir.” She gathered menus to lead them into the dining room.
As they followed behind, Erik asked Melissa in a low voice, “Amusing yourself?”
“I thought that was my Master’s intent…”
He laughed quietly, clearly enjoying her answer.
* * *
Pulling away from the curb in the Range Rover, Melissa let herself relax back in the seat. She let out a big sigh. Erik chuckled. He said, “I’ve never seen you flirt and tease like that.”
She laughed quietly. “It was fun but exhausting. That was why you had me dress like this, wasn’t it?”
“Absolutely. But it was a hell of a lot more fun than I ever dreamed it would be.”
“So… I get why it’s sort of a rush for me – oh God, that one poor man, I thought his date was going to kill him.” She giggled. “But anyway, what does it do for you? I’m not sure I understand. A lot of guys would get all pissy about their girlfriend being dressed like this, with her boobs hanging out and flirting with everyone in sight.”
He laughed again. “First off, your boobs weren’t hanging out…” He reached over and tugged open her jacket. “Now they are – much better.” He brushed the back of his hand past her left nipple while he was driving. “Plus you weren’t flirting with everyone. You were just being… playful… with people who might have noticed you… and then perhaps indicated a positive interest.”
“You mean the ones with their tongues hanging out.”
“Oh come on, the poor girl who seated us was only one who kept licking her lips.”
“Yeah, but that’s only because you didn’t command her to get down on her knees, unzip my pants, and do me. I bet she would have too. Which reminds me, in a weird way, you still didn’t answer my question: what do you get out of it?”
“Pride of ownership.”
“Ownership? You mean, like, I’m some fancy car you enjoy showing off?” Her tone of incredulity was tinged with a growing sense of anger.
“Exactly. Glad you understand.”
“Um, ‘understand’ was maybe not exactly the word I was thinking of…” Her sense of outrage was growing.
He grinned, showing that he had provoked her reaction. “You are my slave, correct?”
She bit back an angry answer, then sighed and said, “Yes Master.”
“Then, does it not make you happy that I enjoy showing you off, as my prize possession?”
“Fucking overjoyed, Master,” she said, still not happy with the idea.
“Good. Exactly so.”
“Um, you’re totally serious, aren’t you?”
“Indeed.” He smiled, then continued more seriously, “It is, as you say, a total rush for me to take you out like this – knowing that every man in sight was desperately lusting for you, and not a few women as well. So, while they will likely masturbate themselves to sleep tonight, fantasizing about making love to you, I am the one who takes you home. You are mine – and I am yours. That is what I find so absolutely intoxicating.”
“Oh.” She remained quiet for a minute, letting go of the tension she had felt over her fear of being owned – instead feeling excitement about his statement that they each had the other, as well as a very different fear about the implications of falling in love with each other.
Looking around to distract herself, she realized that they weren’t headed for the highway. “Uh, we’re not going home?”
“Well,” he said breezily, “the night is yet young. I thought we might swing by Richard’s club, to see if anything is up.”
“Yeah, right. That’s a spur of the moment thought of yours, Master?”
“Certainly. You wouldn’t accuse me of anything nefarious, would you?”
“Oh never. You? Nefarious? Evil? Twisted? Oh gosh, that would be the furthest thing from my mind.”
“See. I thought so.”
She snorted, then arched back in her seat and began to play with her nipples. After a bit, she let herself make quiet moaning sounds to tease him.
He laughed, “Evil? Twisted? Perhaps I know someone else in this car who could fit that description?”
“Oh,” she said with bright innocence, “well if you catch her, you better whip her and fuck her up the ass – you know, to teach her a lesson.”
He laughed again. “I think she’s already learned far too much.”
He turned a corner, and she saw the awning of Richard’s club ahead. With a sigh, she rearranged herself, pulling the lapels of her blazer back across her breasts. She wiggled her toes as best she could in the ballet boots, preparing herself to once again walk en pointe.
When the valet opened her door, she stepped out much more confidently, not paying attention to whether or not her blazer gaped open. Part of her confidence was knowing that the staff at Richard’s was used to all sorts of wild outfits. The larger part of her confidence, however, was that she was so completely aroused, she really didn’t care if he saw her naked. It would only be a bonus for her.
Erik came around to offer her his arm. As they walked into the club, Richard looked up, greeting them warmly. Then he told Erik, “Your room is ready, sir, and your guests just phoned to say they will be arriving shortly.”
“Excellent.” Erik motioned Richard back as he prepared to lead them. “Don’t worry; I know my own way back.”
Richard stepped back with a small bow, “Yes sir. Have a wonderful evening.”
“I have complete trust that you have already ensured that. Thank you, Richard.”
Erik led Melissa down the carpeted corridor. She hoped the room wasn’t too far away. Walking en pointe was becoming more painful as the evening continued.
Once they were out of earshot of Richard, Melissa asked, “Guests?”
Erik simply nodded.
After a moment, Melissa gave up the idea of getting anything further from him. She did wonder, however, just how big a scene Erik had planned. Her uncertainty only made her hornier.
After a much longer walk than she had hoped, they arrived at a wood-paneled door, where Erik knocked twice. A young woman, who looked barely eighteen, opened the door almost immediately. She was wearing a French maid’s outfit or, at least, the barest suggestion of a French maid’s uniform.
Her dark hair was gathered up in a twist on top of her head, where it was surrounded by a white lace ribbon. She wore a black velvet choker and a black satin bustier, trimmed with white edging. The bra cup of her bustier only supported the underside of her breasts, leaving her nipples prominently displayed. Beneath a tiny white apron at her waist, an equally minuscule black satin skirt flared out. Below the skirt was a short expanse of bare leg. Black fishnet stockings started at her thighs, ending in black pumps, which were at least as high as the ones Erik normally had Melissa wear. At the young woman’s ankles and wrists, she wore black leather cuffs with D-rings. Frilly white lace edged the cuffs at her wrists.
She greeted them with a curtsy, “Bonsoir dominateur, et votre esclave.”
“Bonsoir,” Erik responded.
The maid stepped back to invite them in, revealing five more maids, dressed almost identically, and two footmen. The footmen wore red cutaway jackets with brass buttons. They were bare-chested underneath. For pants, they wore cream breaches that were so tight and thin, there was very little question of what lay underneath. None of the servants looked over twenty. As Erik and Melissa walked down the greeting line, each one curtsied or bowed, welcoming them in what sounded to Melissa to be perfectly accented French. She had taken Latin and ancient Greek as foreign languages, so she had no idea if they really were native French speakers. No matter their authenticity, she found it a bit unnerving that Erik had Richard put this together.
Looking around at the room as she finished greeting the servants, she saw it was decorated as an eighteenth century Paris salon, with two yellow upholstered Louis XVI settees facing three columns made of deeply veined dark red marble. Between the columns were two marble daises, raised up two steps from the floor. Somewhat ominously, thick black chains hung from the columns.
Erik told the maid who had greeted them, “Prendre mon esclave et préparer la femme.”
“Oui, mon dominateur.” She curtsied, then took Melissa by her hand to lead her away. Two other maids followed.
Somewhat bemused, Melissa allowed herself to be taken into an adjoining room, which looked like an eighteenth-century boudoir, complete with claw foot bath tub. The maids undressed her, pausing to chatter with each other excitedly when they saw her breast decorations. Then they sat her down in a red velvet chair to take off her ballet boots. They fussed over her, still chattering amongst themselves in French. Two of them took pity on her and massaged her feet, while the third worked the cable tie out of her hair, then brushed it out. She gathered Melissa’s hair loosely at the nape of her neck, using a black velvet ribbon that she pinned in place.
The maid who had first greeted her and Erik looked up from massaging her feet. She lifted up one of Melissa’s ballet boots and asked, “Oui?”
Melissa sat back with a sigh, responding with an aggrieved, “Oui.”
The two maids laced her ballet boots back on her. Then they buckled black leather cuffs around her ankles and wrists. Once they finished, they helped her to her feet. Melissa took a moment to master the ache of standing en pointe again, then nodded to the maids that she was ready. They led her back out to the salon.
As she stepped through the door, she was surprised to see Erik and Michael seated on the settees facing the marble columns. Even more shocking was the sight of Deborah being chained, spread eagle, between the center column and the far column. Melissa’s maids led her over to the unoccupied dais between the near column and the center column. Erik lounged back in his settee watching as the maids to buckled her, spread eagle, to the chains that were attached to the columns. From hidden speakers, classical music was playing lightly.
She gave Erik a wry look to say, ‘what the hell?’ He shot her a boyish grin in return. After rolling her eyes at his deliberate silliness, she gathered herself back into a more dutifully submissive slave pose, waiting for what would come next.
She didn’t have to wait long. The two footmen she had met earlier re-entered the room from a different door, bearing a collection of whips and floggers arrayed on red velvet cushions. For a brief moment, the whole scene seemed so ‘over the top’ that Melissa had to restrain herself from breaking out into laughter. She stopped herself, however, in part from a sudden worry about what they intended to do to Deborah. Melissa couldn’t believe that her friend was actually going to submit to a whipping.
The footmen each walked to one of the seated men, presenting their selection of implements. Eric chose a nasty-looking single-tail whip. Michael chose a softer-looking flogger.
Two maids stepped forward to take these chosen implements. The maid who first greeted Melissa and Erik was the one who took the whip from Erik.
Melissa was startled to feel something soft and wet brush against her labia. She looked down and saw that one of the other maids had knelt down in front of her and was proceeding to burrow her tongue into all of Melissa’s sensitive places.
Looking over at Deborah, Melissa saw that she also had one maid kneeling in front of her, as well as a second one behind her. They were both enthusiastically probing Deborah’s recesses with their tongues.
Melissa twisted a little to look behind her, but her remaining maid was simply standing next to the wall behind the dais. Melissa was only puzzled about why she was being treated differently for a moment; then a whip landed across her rear. She yelped involuntarily, trying not to flinch so hard that she might throw the maid in front of her off balance.
Melissa faced squarely back to the front, so she could ready herself for the next stroke. Before it could be administered, Erik announced, “This is a simple contest. Whichever slave orgasms first, that will be your only orgasm of the night. The other slave will then be allowed to cum as many times as she can possibly stand it.”
Melissa bit back a protest at how unfair this contest was. She had been constantly aroused for hours, first by being dressed by Erik, then teased by him, displayed by him, forced to flirt with others by him – “okay,” she admitted to herself, “maybe the flirting was sort of my idea,” but still, she had been at the edge of needing to cum for hours. Now, Erik had put her through this elaborate charade of French debauchery, with one woman using her marvelous tongue on her clitoris and another woman whipping her in the most delightfully cruel way, while she was helplessly suspended in chains from marble columns – “What could be more cruel,” she murmured to herself as the second stroke of the whip landed across her buttocks.
She cried out as the fiery pain seem to leap straight into her loins, stoking her desire to higher levels of desperation.
She heard chains rattling to her right and leaned forward to check on Deborah, who was writhing under the attention of her two maids, while a third maid, who was standing behind her, drew back a flogger for another stroke across Deborah’s naked back. The strands of the flogger appeared to be thick, leather covered ropes with nodular irregularities along their entire lengths. The maid whipped the flogger forward as hard as she could, and Melissa winced as the leather-covered strands hit Deborah’s upper back, from which they bounced lightly off. Deborah jerked, as though she had been struck a horrible blow, and cried out wordlessly.
Melissa’s confusion about what she had just seen was punctuated by another stroke of the whip across her own buttocks. This whip definitely did not bounce off lightly. As Melissa struggled to recover from the fire roaring up her spine and flooding into her brain, she realized, in that now diminishing part of her brain still capable of rational thought, that the leather-covered strands of the flail being used on Deborah must only contain styrofoam peanuts, which was why the maid was working so hard to swing the flail. It was so light and puffy that unless it was swung hard, simple air friction would slow it down enough to ruin the illusion.
Melissa’s concern for Deborah quickly transformed into anger – she was just faking! Melissa wanted to grab the whip that the maid behind her was wielding and turn it on Deborah.
Slash! Melissa jerked and screamed as another stroke landed on her throbbing rear. Someone turned up the classical music so the volume would cover her screams.
She now hung limply, suspended by the chains. Her breathing shuddered in and out. She had no idea if she was sobbing from pain or if she was shaking from the effort of fighting off an orgasm driven by the maid kneeling in front of her and the one whipping her from behind.
Raising up her head, she saw Erik lounging back in the settee. One of the footmen now knelt in front of Erik. The footman’s head bobbed up and down as he sucked Erik’s penis. Melissa felt a growing frustration and fury that everyone else was getting what they wanted, but she…
Slash! Melissa flung herself forward, away from the impact of the whip, screaming, no longer worried about hurting the maid in front of her.
When Melissa recovered enough, she looked up at Erik, glaring. He gave her a smile and a little half wave using the fingers of one hand. Then he snuggled down in the settee, putting his other hand behind the footman’s head to encourage the young man to take him deeper.
For Melissa, that was the last straw. Being with Erik, she had discovered that she found the sight of two men making love with each other to be incredibly arousing to her. With the next stroke of the whip, she found herself slip into a roaring, bucking orgasm. All of the evening’s teasing, sexual frustration, Erik’s taunting, and the maid’s best efforts turned her orgasm into a noisy release that was as much about screaming back, “Fuck you!” at everyone else as it was based on the physical reaction of her body.
When she finally finished shuddering, she hung limply from the chains, drenched with sweat, chest heaving. She was only vaguely aware of being taken down from the chains and carried to Erik’s settee, where multiple hands arranged her to snuggle in beside him. Somewhere in the background, she heard Deborah coming loudly, again and again.
As Melissa regained awareness, she felt Erik stroking her hair. Her rear, however, was still painfully on fire. Tentatively, she reached back, tracing her fingers lightly along her buttocks and flanks. She felt raised welts and mumbled, “What the hell?”
Erik said apologetically, “Caprice was far more… enthusiastic than she was supposed to be.” He gestured at the dais where Melissa had been bound. The head maid was now chained between the columns, naked except for her high-heeled pumps. The maid stared defiantly off in the distance, looking out over their heads. Her expression also showed a certain amount of nervousness, which she tried to hide.
Continuing to stroke Melissa’s hair, Erik told her, “Caprice needs to learn that she overstepped her bounds. When you’ve recovered sufficiently, you may whip her.”
Melissa shook off his hand and enthusiastically rolled onto her hands and knees, so she could lever herself off the couch. “I’m going to whip that fucking bitch silly.” Melissa carefully stood up, swaying slightly in her ballet boots, as she held onto Erik’s shoulders to brace herself. Leaning closer to him, she asked quietly, “Are you sure she’s old enough? She looks like a teenager. They all do.”
Erik reassured her softly, “Richard is very careful about these things.” He chuckled, “Richard certainly prefers young-looking staff, but they are all at least in their twenties – and well experienced. Have no fears; it’s part of the scene. Caprice will use her safe word if you’re too rough.”
Melissa straightened, taking a moment to make certain of her balance. Erik’s reassurance had helped her feel less guilty about her anger toward the maid. Turning to face the dark haired young woman, Melissa was surprised that she only needed to look up slightly, despite Caprice’s heels and the extra height of the dais. As Melissa’s gaze settled on the young maid, Caprice turned her head disdainfully away. With a tight grin, Melissa said, “You’re going to get yours, you little bitch.”
Caprice glanced back at her, before looking insolently away once more. She said, without inflection, “Je suis désolé.”
Melissa walked around the outer column behind the Caprice. She scoffed the maid’s words, “If that was an apology, it sucked.”
Another maid stood behind the dais, dressed, although Melissa wondered if having one’s nipples exposed constituted being dressed. As she approached, the maid curtsied, holding out the same single tail whip that had been used on her. Melissa took the whip from the maid’s hands. It was heavier and stiffer than she expected. She wondered if it was kangaroo hide. She snorted quietly thinking that it still felt like an awful thing to do to kangaroos.
The maid who had handed her the whip said, “S'il vous plaît avoir du plaisir, mademoiselle.” Her expression and tone were vaguely disdainful, in the same way as Caprice.
Melissa studied the whip, deliberately moving it so the tasseled end brushed past the maid’s nipples, making them stand instantly erect. “Perhaps I should have you strung up alongside this bitch? I might as well teach you to behave like a proper servant at the same time.”
The maid ducked her head, hurriedly saying, “Je présente mes excuses pour être impertinent, mademoiselle. Je ne suis qu’une femme de ménage.”
Melissa looked over at Erik, unsure of what the maid had said. He shrugged and looked over to the other settee, where Deborah lay splayed out against Michael. Two maids licked and caressed her body. Michael shrugged as well, but Deborah took one of the maids by the back of her hair bun, pulling her head up, and told her, “Chaîne jusqu'à la chienne,” gesturing at the maid next to Melissa.
Deborah released the maid’s hair as the young woman nodded, “Oui, mademoiselle.”
Melissa shook her head slightly in exasperation, not understanding any of the interchange in French.
The two maids who had been attending Deborah rose to their feet and came around to the maid who had given Melissa the whip. The young woman was now looking much more frightened and apologetic. The two maids curtsied to Melissa, then led the third maid up to the empty dais where they quickly stripped her, then chained her to the columns.
Melissa noted that the two maids had carefully put the new victim’s high heels back on before they tightened her chains. She wondered if they had been told about Erik’s preferences, or if it was simply standard practice for French maids to be chained and whipped, wearing nothing but high-heeled pumps. The thought amused her.
Stepping between the two maids, Melissa swung the short whip experimentally. She could reach the Caprice with a backhand stroke and the other maid with a forehand stroke, without having to change her stance. Not moving too much seemed to be a good idea while she was still trapped in the ballet boots. Melissa was really looking forward to taking them off soon.
Starting with the head maid, Melissa swung the whip for real. It smacked hard against her pale buttocks, almost instantly leaving a narrow pink line across her flesh. Caprice exclaimed, “Merde, vous êtes un sale pute.”
Melissa leaned to the right, looking around the central marble column at Deborah who sniggered and said, “She just called you a dirty whore.”
Melissa looked back at the still defiant Caprice, promising, “The next one’s harder, bitch.” But first, she turned to the right to deliver a forehand stroke to the other maid. Melissa was careful to rein in her anger, only leaving a light pink stripe across her buttocks.
The young woman leaped against her chains, crying out in pain. Deborah called out derisively, “She’s just faking. Whip her harder! Make her feel it.”
Melissa thought to herself, “Easy for you to say,” remembering Deborah’s exaggerated reaction to being flogged with leather-covered styrofoam peanuts. She shook her head slowly, amazed at her friend’s cruel streak, but then felt her own anger surge as she turned back to Caprice. “Dirty whore, huh? Well, after I’m finished with you, you can eat out my pussy.”
She swung the whip hard enough this time to leave a red line crisscrossing the earlier pink one. Caprice flinched forward, a small gasp escaping from her lips.
Melissa paused, enjoying having finally elicited an involuntary response from Caprice. Melissa said coyly, “I’ve got a better idea. I’ll get this bitch over here to eat out my pussy while you tongue my ass. How about that?”
Caprice bit out, “Va au diable!”
Melissa laughed, turning to the other maid. Melissa demanded, “What’s your name?”
She answered fearfully, “Mon nom est Giselle, si elle vous plaira maîtresse.”
“So Giselle, would you like to eat out my pussy?”
“Mais bien sûr, maîtresse. Ce serait mon grand plaisir de vous servir,” she said eagerly.
Melissa grinned as she laid another pink stripe, paralleling her first one across Giselle’s rear. The maid arched forward from the stroke, screaming and straining against the chains. Leaning to the right, Melissa could see a hungry look on Deborah’s face. Michael was eagerly watching as well.
Shifting back to Caprice on the left, Melissa looked on the other side of the central column at Erik, who was clearly enjoying the scene as well. He gave Melissa an encouraging nod.
With a grim smile, Melissa drew back her arm and delivered another backhand whip stroke across Caprice’s rear. This time, the maid swung forward against the chains, crying out, “Aieee!” The new line stood out across her milky buttocks, in a darker red than the others, promising to swell up in similar fashion to the welts across Melissa’s buttocks and upper thighs.
Melissa felt both aroused and vindicated. She wondered if she was somehow like Deborah, able to enjoy punishment of others. Worried, Melissa reassured herself that it was just a game, played with willing participants. The women wouldn’t be here if they didn’t like it. Melissa hated to think that they were just doing it for the money. There was something, however, in how both women had deliberately provoked her that made her fairly sure this was the outcome they wanted. Drawing back her arm to deliver a forehand across Giselle’s butt, Melissa smiled at the possibility that the maids’ reaction to her own whipping was what had aroused them to seek out being whipped themselves.
Melissa bent forward a little as she slashed out with the whip, leaving a slightly pinker stripe that artfully crisscrossed the other two. Giselle screamed, thrashing against the chains. As the maid slumped down again, she was breathing hard. Sweat had started to coat her body.
Melissa turned back to Caprice, who involuntarily edged a little away. Melissa commanded her, “Stick your butt out for me. I know you want it.”
“Oui, maîtresse.”
“Tell me you want it.”
“Oui, maîtresse. S'il vous plaît me fouetter.” Caprice wiggled her rear slightly, inviting another stroke, which Melissa happily delivered. This time, Caprice stood steady, with only a sharp intake of breath.
Turning back to Giselle, Melissa ordered, “You too! Stick your ass out.”
Giselle complied warily; then Melissa added another pink line crossing the others. Giselle flinched and groaned quietly.
Melissa alternated back and forth several more times, watching both maids moving deeper into subspace. As she shifted back to Caprice once more, the young woman begged, “S'il vous plaît Maîtresse, vous avez seulement besoin de me toucher et je l’orgasme.”
Melissa leaned back to the right to look at Deborah, who was laying back in Michael’s arms and enjoying the attentions of her two maids, who had returned. One had her head buried between Deborah’s legs, and the other was busily licking and nipping at her breasts. Deborah translated Caprice’s words for Melissa, in a somewhat distracted tone, “She said if you touch between her legs, she’ll come like an arod.”
With a short laugh, Melissa coiled the whip in her left hand, then carefully walked up the steps of the dais behind Caprice. Squatting down she lifted the whip forward, between the maid’s legs, until the braided leather nestled between her glistening labia. Then Melissa slowly drew the stiff coil of the whip back, letting the edge of each braid hang agonizingly onto Caprice’s clitoris before it slid past and the next braid edge caught her tight bud. Before even a small fraction of the whip’s coil had emerged soaking from the other side of her labia, Caprice screamed out, thrashing and juddering into an orgasm. Melissa’s left arm followed her movements, not letting the chained maid escape the pressure of the braided whip that she was holding against Caprice’s clitoris.
The maid’s screams collapsed into whimpers as she begged, “Ayez pitié, s'il vous plaît, je vous en supplie, Maîtresse.”
Melissa wasn’t sure what the French meant, but she decided she had proved her point, so she brought the coiled whip back to rest on her knee as she finally relaxed, sitting back on her haunches. By letting most of her weight transfer to the heels of her shoes, Melissa could let her aching leg muscles recover somewhat from the torment of constantly standing en pointe.
While she relaxed, sitting forward on her haunches, Melissa became very aware of pressure in her bladder. She hadn’t gone to the bathroom since she had showered after her practice session with Polly. Melissa had wanted to use the restroom at the restaurant, but the challenge of walking in the ballet boots had discouraged her.
Feeling a growing desperation, Melissa looked over at Deborah and Michael. Deborah’s beatific expression made it clear that she had cum at the same time as Caprice. One of Deborah’s maids was now busily occupied with Michael’s penis, taking in his full length as she bobbed her head up and down. Michael looked as though he was close to his own orgasm.
Michael, however, noticed Melissa’s attention. He looked back at her, as she squatted on the dais, his eyes locking on hers. With a sly grin, Melissa decided to help push Michael over the edge by spreading her legs a little wider and relaxing. A stream of urine shot out of her and splashed across the marble dais. Michael grunted enthusiastically, closing his eyes as he ejaculated into the maid’s mouth.
Melissa looked over to Erik, who was grinning at her broadly, clearly pleased by how she had played with Michael’s fantasies. Since her flow had awhile yet before she was done, Melissa raised herself slowly up to a standing position. She stood straight, as Erik had made her practice in the shower every morning, with hands behind her back, legs still slightly apart, while she let her yellow stream of urine play out over the back of Caprice’s legs, before it splashed down the front of the dais.
Erik sighed gratefully. He glanced down at his penis, which was throbbingly erect. Melissa was certain that seeing a woman pee standing up must be some sort of fantasy for him, although she still didn’t know what it signified.
Then Melissa looked back over at Deborah and Michael. Deborah grinned at Melissa, silently miming clapping her hands. Michael shook his head in defeat, as he slumped back against the settee. The maid kneeling in front of him let his penis slip free from her mouth. Deborah said to her sharply, “Ne pas avaler. Donne le moi.”
The maid bowed her head in submission, then stood to carefully position herself over Deborah, while Deborah tilted her head back and held her mouth wide open. The maid pursed her lips open, allowing a long, thin blob of Michael’s semen to suspend from her mouth, reaching down toward Deborah’s waiting open mouth, before finally breaking free and falling completely into Deborah’s mouth.
Once the final drops finished dribbling downward, Deborah swallowed her catch and told the maid, “Merci.” Turning to Michael, she chided him, saying, “I have first dibs on your cum, remember dear?”
He waved away her concern, grinning, “Yes, yes. You were a little preoccupied at the time. And she,” he pointed at Melissa, “that little vixen. Oh my god…” He looked over at Erik, warning him, “You have gotten yourself infinitely more than you bargained.”
Erik nodded. He gazed lovingly at Melissa, and answered quietly, “I know.”
Melissa felt self-conscious, both by Erik and her friends’ reaction, and as she looked down at the wet backs of Caprice’s legs. The pungent odor of her urine spreading down the steps of the dais added to her embarrassment. Melissa looked away, to avoid everyone looking at her, and saw Giselle, who was slumped backward against her chains. Despite the dried lines of tears that streaked her cheeks, there was a hungry, excited look in her eyes.
Melissa asked softly, concerned that her whipping had made the other woman cry, “Do you want to come as well?”
Giselle smiled eagerly and said, “Oui, en effet Maîtresse, mais d'abord, pouvez-vous s'il vous plaît me fouetter un peu plus?”
Uncertain, Melissa looked over to Deborah, who was giggling quietly. Deborah waved Melissa’s worried look away. “You bet she wants to come, but she asked if you can whip her some more first. I think the edge wore off.”
“But she was crying.”
Deborah shrugged, “Some women who like being whipped also like crying while it’s happening. Don’t ask me. I don’t understand why anything about being whipped is fun. But for Giselle, it seems that tears are part of it. Of course, when a guy submissive blubbers all over the place, well, that’s definitely not my thing.”
Melissa stepped back carefully to avoid the spreading puddle at her feet. Giselle eagerly repositioned herself, lifting her butt, while arching her back and leaning forward against the chains. Amazed, Melissa walked behind the waiting maid. She transferred the whip to her right hand and drew it back. Taking a breath to strengthen her resolve, she swung the whip forward, adding another pink stripe to the ones that were already fading on Giselle’s buttocks. The young woman flinched and gasped, then settled back, with her butt poised for the next blow.
Smiling to herself, Melissa added more strokes, carefully limiting her force to much less than she had applied to Caprice. Giselle looked back at her, fresh tears streaming down her face. She said, “Plus sévère est bon, Maîtresse.”
Melissa stopped, frightened that she had gone too far, but from the settee in front of Giselle, Deborah laughed and called out, “Harder, Mel. She said she wants it harder.”
Shrugging, Melissa concentrated on her next stroke, this time leaving a distinct red line. Giselle screamed, jerking forward. As she slowly settled back into position, with her buttocks raised, she gasped, “Merci,” through her sobs. Melissa rolled her eyes at Deborah’s amused expression, then followed up with several more harsh strokes. Once Giselle was whimpering helplessly, Melissa used the same technique of sliding the coiled whip past the maid’s clitoris to set off a very powerful orgasm. Melissa was still not certain what Giselle really wanted, so she tormented the maid for a shorter time with continued stimulation from the whip’s braids than she had with Caprice.
Finished, Melissa straightened up, stepping back to admire her handiwork. Giselle hung, panting with exhaustion, from the chains. Melissa looked over at Caprice, who was grinning, now that she had a chance to recover from her orgasm. Feeling more generous, Melissa smiled back. Then Melissa sighed and walked painfully back to Eric’s settee. Collapsing against him, she said quietly, “I don’t think I can walk another step in these boots. You might have to carry me out of here.”
“Gathering you up in my arms – carrying you home – that would be the best imaginable ending to a perfect evening.”