Message-ID: <14699eli$9808232207@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: np98rb@mail.telepac.pt (Christine & David Stevenson) Subject: Under Control part seven 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: <35e052f4.69440624@news.ip.pt> Under Control - part seven of twenty eight by mailto: VictorBruno@mschristine.com this story remains copyright Victor Bruno, release to publish granted to Christine Stevenson. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - The striding figure came nearer and Paul saw the glittering of black diamond eyes. He saw too the quiver and bounce of breasts beneath a gossamer-thin, white shirtwaister blouse. He saw the swing of a short pleated skirt of white leather and heard the click-clack of high-heeled white boots. Paul was so thunderstruck by the realisation that this new woman, who would effectively control his life from now on was coloured . . . and by her outstanding beauty . . . that he temporarily took leave of his senses. He was even unaware that Karen had fallen to her knees as, naturally, he should have done. His throat went dry and all his nerve ends tingled as this superb creature drew nearer and nearer. Then she was suddenly right before him . . . and Paul was brought harshly back to reality by receiving a violent blow in his solar plexus from Miss Mandy's fist. It robbed him of all breath and strength and, sagging, he doubled up. "You get on your knees in my presence, you ape!" he heard Miss Mandy rasp from above. Still doubled up, Paul went to his knees, absorbing the crippling pain of the blow. What a fool he was. Of course he should have realised he must get to his knees. As the pain began to ebb fractionally, he heard Miss Mandy giving orders, presumably concerning the two girls she had brought with her. "Saddle Strap .. . . for two hours," she was saying. "Harness them side by side .. . . each and every fall earns them five strokes a piece. And use a horsewhip while they're in motion . . ." "Certainly Miss Mandy," came Ilse's eager voice. Then there was a short pause, whilst high heels clacked to and fro. Paul opened his eyes and saw the tips of Miss Mandy's white boots right before him. The boots moved back a few inches. "Kiss the floor where I have stood, ape," came the order. Quickly Paul began to slobber on the hard, smooth wood of the floor. To delay for an instant with such a woman, he realised, would be inviting disaster. From above he heard grunts from Delia and Ilse and whimpers and squeals from the two new arrivals. Obviously something painful was being fastened on them. "Tighter," ordered Miss Mandy. It was the one word she spoke during the preliminaries . . . and the whimpering and squealing at once intensified. Paul continued to kiss and lick the floor fervently. Getting a dozen was quite enough; he didn't want to invite any more. "Get stepping!" It was an order from Ilse, followed by the whistle and crack of a horse whip. Once . . . twice. More and louder squeals. Then the click-clack of two pairs of high heels in unison. What was going on, wondered Paul, but naturally not daring to look. "Up!" He sprang up at Miss Mandy's voice, the pain in his midriff now a dull ache. Alongside him he was aware of Karen leaping to attention too; he heard her heavy breathing as her dread mounted. "I want that thing off him . . ." said Miss Mandy. "I want him bollock naked." "It's seems to be padlocked on . . . I suppose his mistress has the key . . ." explained Delia. A key arced through the air, thrown from Miss Mandy's hand. "The key has been given to me. From now on he's in my charge." Paul felt a chill of terror. What had his Mistress agreed to? Magnificently beautiful as this Creole woman was, the merciless viciousness of her radiated out like a shock wave. He felt Delia unfasten the padlock and the leather restrainer came away and he stood naked before the rapacious eyes of the three women. Those eyes seemed to devour him. At the far end of the room he could see the two slave-girls, fastened side by side, high-stepping their way round. As they came back towards him, he saw that a broad leather belt nipped in each waist and a thin leather thong drawn tightly round and underneath them, cut cruelly into their most tender woman flesh. The look of anguish on their features was very understandable. "Why, in fact, is he here?" asked Miss Mandy. "I proposed to give him his Initiation later." The chill terror in Paul intensified at the implication of those words. Delia explained Gloria van Meer's request and Miss Mandy nodded. "Very commendable," she said. "Well, he can have those first . . ." The two slave-girls went high stepping by, breasts bouncing rhythmically. "Move!" commanded Miss Mandy. One arm thrust sideways and a finger pointed peremptorily to the far side of the room. "The birching hurdle will be convenient for this, I think. There's room for two." Paul turned at once, as did Karen. The girl, beginning to sob fearfully again, was ahead of him. He could not keep his eyes from the soft bounce and quiver of her reddened buttocks. The sight of them fascinated him and, despite what lay ahead, he was aware of the surge of desire in him. He wondered if she was recalling his words about trying to be brave. It was not easy for a young and inexperienced girl. They approached a kind of hurdle set into the floor. It consisted of two stout uprights and a rounded cross bar, about the thickness of a flagpole, running between them. The crossbar was about three feet off the floor and in the floor were numerous attaching rings. "We'll have them over it, facing opposite ways," said Miss Mandy. Paul stood so that the lower part of his belly pressed against the cold solidity of the crossbar; Karen was placed on the other side of the bar, just to his right. He saw that she was trembling uncontrollably, and, though he kept his head straight, his eyes instinctively turned to watch the rise and fall of her heaving breasts. Ilse came into his line of vision, flexing an unpleasantly stout looking rod which she must have just selected from the array he had already seen on a nearby table. He heard the click of Delia's high heels behind him and it did not take much imagination to guess she was doing the same. In fact, at that very moment, he heard her swishing her cane experimentally through the air. Familiar as he was with the sound, it never ceased to set the butterflies whirring violently in his stomach. "Bend over," ordered Miss Mandy, who it seemed, was to secure them. Paul obeyed at once, hearing a hopeless despairing moan from Karen as she did like wise. He felt the softness of her flank pressing to his; he felt, too, the stretching and tautening of the flesh of his nates. Just to the right of him he saw Karen's white calf, the muscle twitching. She was secured first. Miss Mandy fastened on leathern ankle cuffs to which were attached short lengths of chain, each of which had a kind of dog-leash clip at the end. Each clip was latched on to a ringbolt in the floor, these being about eighteen inches apart. The wrist cuffs of a similar kind were put on . . . and these were pulled back between Karen's legs and fastened behind the ankle attachments. This gave the maximum tightness of curve to her hind quarters and stretched her arms and legs fully. Paul glimpsed the girl's distorted features, inverted, as her head came back between her calves, the blonde hair hanging down to sweep upon the floor. She was sobbing like a little child. "M-Merc . . ee . . . m-merc . . eee . . . m-merce . . eee . . ." he heard her keep choking out, despite obviously knowing the futility of it. Then, with brisk, practised efficiency, Miss Mandy dealt with Paul similarly. He watched the dusky arms, hands and fingers as they moved, with a fatalistic kind of fascination. This is my new mistress, he thought . . . the woman who now has complete control of the degree of mental and physical torment I shall endure. The posture, needless to say, was a painful one, perhaps more so for Paul than Karen, for his body was less supple. As, with a final strong pull, Miss Mandy latched on the second clip, Paul had to fight down that familiar wave of panic that such utter helplessness induces. Suddenly, Miss Mandy's hand was before his face. In it was something that looked like a small black dog's bone. "A little bonus we give trained slaves," she said. "Open your mouth." Paul did so and the 'bone' went between his teeth. They clamped on it and he found it was made of rubber. He realised the purpose of it was for him to bite on . . . and so, maybe, prevent himself crying out. Was this a 'kindness' that only added up to an extra cruelty, he wondered confusedly. At all events, he bit hard and summoned up his will. Through his legs, his head inverted, he saw Delia's scarlet high-heeled boots and tapering white thighs. He saw, too, the rod swinging gently to and fro in her hand. It was as thick as his little finger. No lightweight by any means. Paul bit harder. Then the rod moved . . . and Paul felt it tapping lightly on his curving rump as Delia measured him. Karen's whimpering pleas grew louder and more hysterical, so the same must be happening to her, he knew. "Begin," said Miss Mandy with cool, casual authority. Paul tried to convince himself that he deserved what must now come. It was difficult . . . but perhaps he should not have been so free with his eyes that afternoon . . . The rods were raised together . . . and together, hoarse and harsh, they whistled down, with both Delia and Ilse putting all the skill they knew and all the force they could summon into the strokes. Paul and Karen got the searing bite of them together . . . a breathtaking, mind-bending, hot-wire blaze of pain. From Karen came an agonized howling-scream of pain; from Paul came an equally agonized high-pitched whinny as he bit fiercely on the rubber clenched between his teeth. He absorbed the pain, knowing Karen's pain was as bad as he did so . . . feeling her flank squirming and thumping against his. Then, just when the pain had been absorbed to the full and was beginning to ebb fractionally, there came the relentless whistling sound of the whiplashing rods again . . . followed by a second liquid-fire streak of torment encircling the buttocks, just an inch below the first. Another ear-splitting shriek from Karen . . . another teeth-clenched whinny from Paul . . . with both naked rumps juddering and squirming convulsively. Oh God, thought Paul, there are ten more like that yet to come! How could he hold out? And, why oh why was he being put to such torment? Not for showing any obvious fault or failure surely. But simply on account of a whim of his mistress! The very thought was sapping to the will. All the same, Paul took six more of the very best that Delia could hand out (and she was a match for Gloria!) before a yelping howl was torn from him and the rubber gag ejected from his mouth. With each of the first eight strokes it was if he had slipped down several feet on the rope of control to which he had clung suspended, losing out all the time with the steady accumulation of pain. All the time the cacophony of sound from the wretched Karen increased. Would it not, wondered Paul, his mind as well as his buttocks seemingly ablaze, be a release to scream like that? Release or not, that first howling cry was forced from him on the eighth stroke . . . and successively more agonized howling yelps came from him as Delia laid on the final four strokes with merciless vigour and precision. She had broken him . . . broken him! And like the writhing female flesh alongside him, he bayed it for all to hear! - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 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 | ----