Message-ID: <14586eli$9808201634@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: np98rb@mail.telepac.pt (Christine & David Stevenson) Subject: Under Control part four of twenty eight Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <35dc0b59.9057316@news.telepac.pt> Under Control - part four of twenty eight by mailto: VictorBruno@mschristine.com this story remains copyright Victor Bruno, release to publish granted to Christine Stevenson. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - IT WAS ABOUT a quarter of a mile up to the Big House and, since Delia kept the bay at a brisk pace, Paul Mansel was glad it was no further. He felt sorry for the girls who had already had a hard afternoon in the orange grove and he could hear their rasping breath as they approached near-exhaustion. Several times he saw young Karen stumble and almost fall . . . and there came crisp warnings from Delia above that anyone who didn't keep going would 'feel leather'. Behind the little entourage Gloria van Meer purred along in comfort in the Cadillac. It amused her to think that Paul had, for the time being anyway, joined a slave-girl colony . . . for she could imagine the kind of stresses and frustrations he was going to be put to in the days ahead. Gloria was well content, too, with what she had so far seen of Amelia Dupont's set-up at Bel Air. She had liked the way Delia had treated those girls; obviously discipline was iron hard. She had also liked the way Delia had laid into Paul; He was certainly going to get no change out of her. Indeed, the whole enclosed environment of a secure slave system delighted her. It was going to be an exciting venture to build up a male slave farm in this unique setting. Paul, now tamed, would be a founder member . . . but many more would ultimately come to join him. And, with those 'recruits' there would be much taming to be done! Paul had been easy to tame, but she was really looking forward to taming some arrogant and tough brutes. Yes, putting men in their place was going to be a way of life. Lovely to contemplate. The Big House came into view. It was a massive Colonial-style mansion. Delia turned and waved, indicating that Gloria should drive up to the main door whilst she proceeded to the rear of the house, where the slave quarters were obviously situated. Gloria waved happily back. She was very much looking forward to seeing Amelia Dupont again, studying her organisation at first hand and, of course, discussing her own plans. * * * Delia swung down from the bay and began untethering her charges. The girls were covered in sweat and dust, breasts heaving wildly; Paul was comparatively fresh. He looked around cautiously, seeing that they were in a huge kind of stable courtyard which was surrounded on all sides by buildings of varying heights and proportions. Some of these buildings, with rows of small barred windows, had a very prison-like appearance. Paul felt a little cold shudder go through him despite the warmth of the late afternoon. "Right, in you go," he heard Delia order and Paul quickly followed the example of the girls down an iron ladder into an empty bathing pool of grey stone. He saw Delia stride along the side of the pool and pick up what appeared to be the nozzle of a fireman's hose. This, in fact, was exactly what it was and Paul was made startlingly aware of it when an icy stream of water jetted fiercely into his stomach, robbing him of breath and almost knocking him over. Delia laughed gaily at the shock she had given him and proceeded to spray him all over before turning her attention to the girls. Gasping, they jumped up and down, breasts bouncing. For them it was half pleasure, half torment. It was wonderful to have the sweat and dust washed off one, to soak the water into one's arid pores, and to lick at it greedily as it ran down one's face. But it was not so wonderful to endure the repeated fierce jetting of water all over one's body. After a minute or more, pain would outweigh pleasure . . . and Delia made a practice of hosing down for four or five minutes at a time. In some strange way it gave her a very great deal of pleasure to do so. There was a great 'power kick' in it . . . standing up there, making one's victims dance and squeal at will, buffeting them from side to side and sometimes sending them sprawling flat. Paul had certainly had enough by the time the hose was turned off. In some sense he felt refreshed, in another he felt weak and battered, his head ringing. The girls climbed up the ladder one by one. Karen, limbs rubbery went just ahead of him. At the foot of the ladder he looked up, seeing her ample hind quarters swinging from side to side . . . and receiving briefly and tantalisingly a 'worm's eye view' of her most intimate womanly secrets! As Delia herded the four of them across the big courtyard - towards one of the prison-like buildings - Paul saw numerous other slave-girls moving to and fro in the distance or passing nearer at hand. He noted that whilst a number were as naked as the three he was with, he saw many who wore a fetchingly abbreviated version of a 'maid's uniform' . . . complete with suspender belt and black stockings and a frilly little white apron and cap. Some wore no uniform but only belt, stockings, high heels and the apron. These made a most fetching sight in Paul's eyes . . . as did those who wore only scanty briefs and bra. Or those who went topless in nothing but a tiny skirt. All were variations of a theme. The theme of exposure. Sometimes complete; sometimes partial. Shaming to the girl; titillating to the observer. Being male he could see the attractions, but what did the slave-girls get out of all this? Were they all as devoted to this Mrs. Dupont as he was to Gloria? Paul supposed that these various types of garb, or lack of it, were at the whim of Mrs. Dupont and her slave mistress assistants. In this he was correct . . . and, of course, any guests at Bel Air could have a say in the matter. Paul began to think that being a slave here at Bel Air might provide ample opportunity for pleasures of the flesh, if he could rid himself of the restrainer. It might not be as bad as he had begun to fear. The system couldn't be that bad if so many tender young girls submitted to it! They entered the building and, in a high-ceilinged entrance hall, Paul saw numerous small squads of slave-girls lined up . . . with a couple more slave mistresses, clad cow-girl style like Delia, calling the roll, inspecting them and issuing orders. This must, Paul realised, be one of those times of day when some girls came off duty and others went on. He saw at once mute evidence of the strict disciplinary regime . . . in the profusion of reddened, weal-and-welt striped buttocks. Not to mention thighs, some of which carried signs of correction both back and front. Naturally he could not take in the bewildering scene all at once but he could take in enough. Now he was one of this company. A male slave amongst scores of females! He heard the thwack of a strap on bare flesh and heard a girl's high-pitched gasp. Turning his head, he saw a tall, very beautiful young woman, with rich auburn hair, still shuddering with pain. She wore only a lacy red-and-black suspender belt, fishnet black stockings and a pair of bright red high-heeled shoes. "Have you not read your orders?" demanded the slave mistress before her. "Yes . . . yes . . . miss . . . . I . . . I . . ." the girl stammered. "Then why are you not wearing a pair of knickers?" came the second demand. "I . . . I must have m-misunderstood, Miss . . . I . . . I thought . . ." began the girl again. Tthhwwacckkk! The strap, similar to Delia's, swung again, curling around the girl's flank. She gasped again, squirming and juddering as she absorbed the burning pain. "You don't think girl . . . you obey!" the slave Mistress almost snarled. "Now . . . go and get a pair on, double quick. You should know your master likes you to wear a fancy pair until he's ready for you . . ." The girl scurried off, leaving Paul to contemplate the significance of what he had just heard. Obviously this beautiful creature must be the designated plaything of one of Mrs. Dupont's guests! My God, what would it be like to be a guest, he thought, pondering the idea was pleasurable indeed. But those marks! What enormities must be perpetrated here for the sake of their amusement! Despite the fascination of the scene (like being in some kind of harem of naked and half-naked beauties) Paul felt a chill of dread go through him. Suppose a pervert wanted some kind of amusement with him? No! Gloria would not permit it! Paul's thoughts were interrupted when one of the other slave mistresses approached Delia as she proceeded across the hall. "Hi, what the Hell have you got there?" she asked. Delia grinned. "It's a male slave," she answered. "Belong's to one of Mrs. Dupont's guests. Just arrived." "Well I'll be damned!" said the slave mistress, studying Paul. She, like Delia, was blonde, but was a bigger woman, aged around thirty. "Is he going to stay?" she asked, sounding a little concerned. "Sure thing," replied Delia. "Don't worry. He'll be no trouble. I understand from his owner that Miss Mandy's got some plans for him." Paul pricked up his ears. Plans? What plans? He thought he was to be Miss Gloria's personal slave, in her new slave farm. Serving Gloria he had come to accept, even though she could be vicious, but she at least was rarely cruel to him unless he had done something to upset her. This Delia was bad enough, but now Miss Mandy had plans for him? Paul felt an increased sensation of dread as Delia strode on through the hall. They entered a corridor, lined with cell doors on either side. Delia unlocked one. "In," she said, nodding at Karen. "And you," she added, looking at Paul. His heart gave a thump. Was he to be left alone in the cell with this naked young creature? His mind began to race hotly. Those breasts, those buttocks . . . everything . . . at least he could feel, if nothing else! Then he saw Delia shackle an iron collar around Karen's pretty neck . . . a collar which was fastened to the wall above a plain plank bed on one side of the cell. There was a similar collar and chain above the same sort of bed on the opposite side of the cell . . . and in a matter of moments Paul was similarly secured, so that he could do no more than lie or sit on the wooden planks. Karen was yards away, out of reach. So much for his hopes of gaining some lustful satisfaction from that lush young body! "I'll be back for you two later," said Delia ominously. Then the door slammed and was locked. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - This story is being released as an illustrated web book, for details of Victor Bruno Books available please contact VictorBruno@MsChristine.com http://www.mschristine.com/bruno.html Also published as text simultaneously on...... ------------------------------------------------------ The DOMestic mailing list is free of charge. Subscribe in subject line:- DOMestic@Ms-Christine.com Moderated by David & Christine Stevenson. Subscribe online at http://www.mschristine.com/domestic.html ------------------------------------------------------ Under Control by Victor Bruno this story remains copyright Victor Bruno, release to publish granted to Christine Stevenson. -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----