Message-ID: <26811asstr$971298621@assm.asstr-mirror.org> X-Original-Message-ID: From: Boris Ludmenkov X-Original-Path: room3b.demon.co.uk!borisl MIME-Version: 1.0 Subject: {ASSM} THE WIZARD (Part 1 of ?) Cherry's Tale. by Boris Ludmenkov. MC, Transform, Mf, D/S, BE Date: Wed, 11 Oct 2000 17:10:22 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: RuiJorge, newsman This is the first of two parts I'm posting now of a story I've been working on for a while. It isn't going fast but I thought I share the first couple of bits with you now they are finished. The rest you get as and when I finish it. This is copyright Boris Ludmenkov 2000. Please do not repost or reuse in any way without the author's permission. This is a fantasy and if you can't tell the difference between fantasy and reality you should seek professional help. If you are reading this at an age when your legislators say you should not: GOOD FOR YOU! (I don't believe any 'warning' I could give would have the slightest legal effect if the authorities chose to prosecute me so I don't feel the need to be hypocritical....) THE WIZARD Rebecca had waited since dawn for him to arrive. She had set herself up at the window of the room she had hired across the street from the shoemaker's shop hours before it was due to open. She had drunk coffee from a flask and from time to time fondled the reassuring weight of the pistol in the pocket of her coat. It had taken her several months of work to follow up this lead. Since her sister had disappeared from the face of the earth, a year before, she had used her position at the newspaper 'morgue' to scour the world for clues. Dozens of false sightings, dead end leads galore and then one day a picture had crossed her desk. 'Richard Mayne and companion at the Oscars.' The 'companion' was her sister, Jane. She looked happy. That was what tore at Rebecca. She looked so happy. Later she rationalised that feeling. She said that to herself that Jane could not have abandoned her only living relative willingly. She must have been coerced. That smile must be false. She must have been under the influence of drugs. Of blackmail. Of something. So she had begun her search for Richard Mayne. The reclusive millionaire. He was British. He was rich, with interests in movie making and security work. He hadn't been known to any newspaper more than ten years back. Nobody knew where his money came from. Nobody knew where he lived. He appeared, impeccably dressed, always accompanied by a beautiful woman at a few select events. He seemed to have the ear of powerful and wealthy people. And he was seen with Jane. Just that once. It had taken her a long hard slog to find out something definite about Richard Mayne. It wasn't much but it was certain that he bought his hand made shoes, from an old-established, very exclusive and expensive firm in London. The shoemakers had no computers she could hack into so she was reduced to breaking and entering to look through hand-written ledgers and boxes of index cards to discover the date of Richard Mayne's next appointed fitting. Which was this morning. And so she waited and watched. At 10-40, five minutes before the appointed time, a large car drew up and a man got out. As he put money into the meter she looked him over with her binoculars and confirmed that it was the one she had been waiting for. When he came out, a small package under his arm, she was waiting, leaning on a pillar box. As he opened his car and got in, she walked briskly across the road, her hand in her bag. As he seated himself in the driver's seat she knocked on the window of the passenger side. When he wound down the window she showed him the gun. "Don't do anything stupid, Mr Mayne." He smiled. "I wouldn't dream of it. Did you want something?" He was completely unfazed by the sight of a weapon pointing at him. He actually smiled. It infuriated her. She opened the door, keeping the weapon pointed at him, and got in. "Start the car. Drive towards King's Cross." "Surely." He tossed the box containing his new, handmade shoes onto the back seat and started the car. Then he turned to her and said: "You had better do up the seat belt. I take it you don't want the police to have any reason to notice us." She glared at him but complied. For a while there was silence as he manoeuvred the car out of the back street and onto a main road. They got stuck in traffic along the Tottenham Court Road though. She lowered the gun below the dashboard and put her coat over it. He turned to her and smiled again. A smug infuriating smile that said: I'm not in the least afraid of you, little girl. "I'm perfectly sure that we haven't met. Not even casually, I mean. I would know if someone I'd been formally introduced to was pointing a gun at me." "No. We haven't met. Just keep quiet. For now. You can talk later. I want you to talk later." "I'll talk now. I promise." More silence. The traffic began moving again. A little while later they were passing Kings Cross Station. She told him to turn off and soon they were driving down a back street and into a battered garage that she had rented. When the car pulled to a stop, he turned off the engine and turned to her. "Now do I find out what this is about?" "Jane Freeman." "Ah, yes?" "I want to know where she is." He raised an eyebrow in an infuriating Mr Spock way. "And you're going to tell me." "Hmm, and what is your interest in the lovely Miss Freeman? If I may ask?" "She's my sister." "Ah." He frowned. "I had hoped that this situation would not arise. I had understood that Miss Freeman had no close family." She stiffened. It sounded as if her suspicions were justified. "Where is she? Is she..." "Jane is just fine. Give me the gun and I'll take you to her." She opened her mouth to say: Oh yeah. Sure. And then her hand reached out and she gave him the gun. Just like that. He smiled again and said; "Go to sleep now. I'll wake you when we're nearly there." And she did. ***************** She awoke as she felt sunlight, filtered through leaves, pattering down on her face. She stretched lazily in the comfortable seat, turned.... And saw Richard Mayne at the wheel of the car. They were driving along a country lane. She was sure it was an English country lane: they were driving along the left hand side of the road. But apart from that they could be anywhere. There were no road signs, no indications from which she could deduce their location. Tall beech trees lined either side of the road, their leaves russet red in the autumn sunlight. She could see no houses, only trees. "Where are we?" "On our way to see your sister. With whom I am going to have to have a few stiff words." "Why?" She looked around the car as she asked the question. His shoes were still in their box on the back seat. There was no sign of.... "I got rid of the gun. I thought it best." "You did?" "Yes. The reason I'm upset with your sister is that she told me when she joined my.... employ that she had no family who would be interested in searching after her. No one who would make a fuss if she just upped roots and went." "She said that?" Rachel's blood boiled for a moment at the thought. Then she decided that he was just trying to get a handle on her, manipulate her for some reason of his own. "Yes. I hope it was an honest mistake. I don't like being lied to." "You said she works for you?" "More or less. She lives with me. It is not, perhaps, what you would call a conventional career. But the fringe benefits are considerable." "Like going to the Oscars?" "Ahhh. So that's how you managed to track her to me...... Yes, well. Attending the Oscars is one of the minor benefits of the job. I do assure you that she chose the path she took. I did not coerce her. I never need to use coercion." "She vanishes out of sight without a word to anyone. Drops off the face of the Earth and you expect me to believe...." "What you believe, Ms.Freeman, is of no concern to me. I'm only taking you to see your sister so that you will not cause any more trouble. If you caused any more trouble, I might have to take extreme measures to assure my privacy. I wouldn't like that. Neither would you, in all probability." Rachel sat, seething for a while at his smug superiority and then she remembered something. Something that made her shiver with cold fear. "Why did I give you my gun?" "Do you really want to know?" He turned to look at her and smiled. "Why did I do that? And right after that you told me to go to sleep.... And I did." "Hmmm. This is not unconnected with the nature of the fringe benefits that I mentioned before. It is something you might not want to know. But if you ask again, I will tell you. Do you really want to know?" Her mouth was dry and she could not make herself speak. She nodded. "Well, then. Where to start..... Do you know anything about metaphysics? Epistemology? About the higher forms of mathematical analysis?" "I can just about spell them." He laughed "Very good. That's better than most people. Let us keep it simple then. There has been, among people who study such things, a growing consciousness of the implications of the rapid growth in human knowledge and capability. What we know, the number of things we know, the degree to which we know how to manipulate the world grow every day. And the more things we know the more we can know." "Sounds like the sort of thing they say on Open University programmes." "Indeed. History of Science 101, as our American cousins would say. But some people have begun to suspect that a point may come in the not too distant future where the gain in knowledge will grow so fast that humans will become capable of things that they can't even dream of now. They will become so powerful as to be gods. The theorists call this point at which knowledge and power go through the roof, the Discontinuity, because it will mark the end of human history and the beginning of superhuman history." He turned to her and smiled. "I'm here to tell you that it has already occurred." A shiver went through her. She was either in the car with a madman or something much worse. "About ten years ago, I made a discovery in certain highly abstract fields. I found a way to apply that discovery to the world around me. And as a result I gave up my employment at one of our older universities and became what I am today." "Which is?" "I'm a wizard." "A what?" "A wizard. A thaumaturge. A wonder-worker. Not by summoning up demons (as far as I know there are no such creatures). Not by working strange incantations in dead languages or bending over scrolls for hours. But by using my discovery and certain applications of programming theory..... I can change the world around me. In any way I like. Where I am, reality is what I say it is. I'm not a god. But in some ways I'm not short of it." "It sounds like you're saying you found a way to do magic. Your own private Aladdin's lamp." "Yes, that is precisely what I'm saying. Magic. How else do you think I got you to give me your gun?" She was silent for a while and looked out at the country going by. Then she said: "What else can you do?" "You'll see. You'll see a little of what I can do. We're nearly at my home." The car flew on along the strangely deserted country roads until it came to the gates of a large, secluded house. The gates flew open as they approached and they passed through them. Along a tree lined drive they rolled and pulled up in front of a house that looked as if it had been built a couple of centuries before, for one of the richer members of the merchant class or one of the minor members of the aristocracy. The car came to a stop and they got out. He lead Rebecca from the car and towards the large front door of the palatial house. It was opened by a lovely blonde woman, dressed in a 'French Maid' outfit which displayed her spectacular bosom, who curtsied as they went in. Silently she took their coats and then, when her arms were full, he paused and lifted the maid's face to his, kissing her as Rebecca looked on. The blonde shuddered with pleasure and looked disappointed when he released her. "Later, Candy," he said and she bobbed another curtsey before vanishing. He lead Rebecca into a large, sunlit room which turned out to be the library. The walls were lined with books of all sorts, from encyclopaedia's to paperbacks. A computer sat on a desk with notebooks and manuals piled untidily around it. A black woman, dressed in a crimson silk tunic that barely came to the top of her legs was putting books away. As they entered she turned and with a squeal of delight came running towards him. Her quite huge breasts bounced around against the silk of her tunic. "Master! You're back!" She spoke in a light, educated American accent. She looked as if she were about to throw herself at him but she stopped short, apparently worried by something she had seen in his face. "Is there something wrong? Master?" "Now, Sugar. You know you are not to call me that without first making sure that we are alone or....?" "Or that the person with you is authorised to know about....us. Yes, Master. I'm sorry." "As it happens, there is no harm done. I want Rebecca to know what happens here. But, as a punishment, no welcome kiss for you. And I think you had better apologise properly. Don't you?" "Yes, Master," the woman agreed, and without further ado she got down on all fours and began kissing his feet, begging him to forgive her for being an 'unworthy slut'. She seemed most sincere and totally unaware that Rebecca was standing there open mouthed. Her breasts spread out on the floor either side of her torso and her silk tunic rode up as she abased herself and Rebecca could clearly see she was wearing nothing underneath it. After a while he said: "All right Sugar, that's enough. Be more careful next time. Now go and fetch myself and my guest some tea. And when it's ready have Cherry come with you to serve it." The black woman ran happily out of the room and he gestured to Rebecca that they should seat themselves in the twin armchairs before the library fire. "Is something troubling you?" "It.... That woman...." "Sugar. Yes?" "How can she.... How can she degrade herself like that? How can she just...." "Sugar enjoys her position here. All my girls do. I don't enjoy being served by unenthusiastic slaves. Being controlled is necessary to my girls as being in control is necessary to me." "I will never.... I can never.... accept that any woman should do.... should be allowed to do what she just did. It is disgusting. It degrades us all!" "It is just a variation. A sexual taste. A choice." "Such choices should not be allowed!" "Perhaps you would feel differently if you could see things from Sugar's point of view." "I don't give a damn for that whore's point of view!" She was about to say more but she found herself frozen, her mouth wide open and every muscle in her body unable to function. He had raised just a finger and looked at her with a speculative expression. "I think it would be best if you were to think a little before you say such things, my dear. For that....." He gestured again and Rebecca found she could move again. But not speak. Because as she looked at him she felt a wave of feeling move through her. A feeling that combined emotions that had always been separate for her before. Shame, unworthiness, a feel of being small and insignificant.... All of that, combined with a flood of sexual need. The need for him, the desire were not separate from her profound feeling of being his inferior: each occasioned the other and made it stronger. She shrank back into the leather of her chair, afraid to get closer to him. He watched for a moment and then his eyes flickered to the elegant, hand-crafted, English shoes that he wore. He spoke. One word. "Crawl." She could not disobey. Whimpering, she slid from the chair and, on all fours, crawled the short space between them. Her mouth was dry at first and she could taste the other woman's saliva on the leather as she tried to show him her complete unworthiness. A timeless time later, she stopped. The compulsion had passed but she was aware that her panties were damp with her juices and her nipples were hard against the fabric of her bra. Her mouth tasted of leather. From above her came his voice: "You can get back in your chair now." Shuddering, wordless with shame, feeling her face wet with tears, she did so. "Look at me." Unwillingly, she did so. His face was hard. "If I hear you speak disrespectfully of my girls again, that will happen again. That and more. Do you understand?" Silently, she nodded. "Good. Then dry your eyes and we will say no more about it. Ah, here is Sugar with out tea. And your sister!" Rebecca stood and turned towards the opening door behind her. Coming into the room were the black woman, carrying a tray of pots and cups. And behind her, dressed in a red silk tunic that was as brief as Sugar's was her sister, Jane, carrying a tray of cakes and sandwiches.. Not a plain Jane. The red of the tunic was the same as the natural red of her full lips and contrasted with the black of her long, unbound hair and her pale, ivory skin. She had dark eyes and a sweet smile that revealed perfect teeth. And just now she was not smiling at Rebecca. All her attention was on Richard Mayne. She swept past Rebecca as if she wasn't even there and went and put the tray she was carrying down on the table beside him. She then knelt in a seamless, graceful movement by his chair and brought her head down to kiss his hand, showering kisses on it. And then she looked up, obviously detecting something amiss in his manner. "Master? Is there something wrong?" "Look who we have visiting us today, Cherry." He nodded towards the dumbfounded Rebecca. Jane turned following his gaze and then said, in just the same tone she had used when she found her younger sister had got drunk on the bottle of Scotch she had been saving for the end of her finals: "Becky! What on earth are *you* doing here?" "What do you *mean* what am I doing here? You vanished. You're my sister. I came looking for you. What did you expect me to do?" "But... But.... Oh dear!" The man was shaking his head in fond irritation as the black girl, Sugar, quietly served him tea and put an unnoticed cup down on a table by Rebecca's chair. She then came and knelt, her knees slightly apart, by his chair. "But I left you a note: saying you weren't to worry. Saying I was fine. Why did you have to come and... and..." "I didn't get any note! The police didn't find a note. What damn note?" By now she was on her feet and shouting at her sister. It was just like the fights that had spattered her teenage years, after their parents died and Jane had to look after her. "Cherry, Cherry. You have not handled this well. I am disappointed." She turned and knelt on the other side of his chair. "Yes, I know. I'm sorry, Master. I just thought Becky would be glad to see the last of me. We always argued whenever we met. We had our own lives.... I just didn't think." "Your sister seems quite devoted to you. She was most determined and ingenious in her methods of finding you. She even purchased an illegal gun. I think you owe her an apology: you did not see her face to face and explain that you were going off to a new life. That was cowardice, was it not?" Jane (who seemed to be called Cherry here) bowed her head. "Yes, Master. I'm sorry. It was." "Then we will say no more about the fact that you have disappointed me... for now. Greet your sister properly and serve her some of the cakes Honey has made for her." Head bowed, the lovely girl stood and picked up the tray of cakes. She went over to where Rebecca was standing and then flung her arms impulsively around her, threatening to spill the cakes all over the room. "Oh, Becky, Becky. You never did know when to leave well enough alone. You never did." The two sisters kissed and cried and made up as Sugar retrieved the tray of cakes. As Jane/Cherry pulled away Rebecca became aware of what had been pressing into her own chest: a pair of very large, very firm breasts that certainly hadn't been there when she had last seen her sister. "Jane? What are... those?" Jane grinned. She cupped her breasts and held them up. They were at least a DD cup. "Aren't they wonderful? He gave them to me. A present. I had to wheedle and beg and hint like anything before he'd do it. They're not as big as Candy's but he says they're as big as he's going to make them." "Anything larger would look ludicrous on you, Cherry." "Yes, Master. As you say, Master. Three bags full, Master." "Don't blot your copy book any further, little girl. You're in enough trouble already." He grinned as he said it and bit into a fairy cake. "But, Jane, what on earth are you doing here?" Rebecca sank back into the chair and by conditioned British reflex picked up the cup of tea. "Well, I help out on the business side, analysing stock trends and corporate reports. I help around the house: I've even learnt to cook a bit, though I'm just an assistant to Honey, who's in charge of the kitchen." That was a surprise, when they had lived together, Jane couldn't even boil water. "But mostly I'm just a slave. His slave. One of his sex-slaves." And she knelt by him again and took his left hand. Kissed it lovingly. Rebecca found herself crying. "Oh, how can you... how can you.... What has he done to you?" Her sister, she thought, twisted by the horrible power of that man. Made into his fantasy. And there seemed nothing to be done about it. He took his hand from her lips and caressed her hair. "Tell her the whole story, Cherry. Tell her what I have done to you." "Yes, Master." CHERRY'S TALE: DOORS AND CHOICES. The thing was, I had this advert. In FORUM. You wouldn't know it dear, but it's one of those magazines on the top shelf. Full of adverts for very naff phone lines, stories and letters about unlikely activities and personals. People looking for sex, plain or complex, with one or two or dozens. Sad people and lonely people. People like me. What my advert said was: SUBMISSIVE WOMAN, 28, single, attractive, seeks Master to serve. No real experience. No pain. No other limits. London/South-East/Anywhere. Just 20 words. Any more and you have to pay extra. Short, sweet and absolutely truthful. When I said 'no real experience' I meant it. I'd had these ideas, dreams, fantasies since I was fourteen. About belonging to some man. To someone who would tell me what to do. Who'd let me serve him. Who'd own me. But I'd only ever tried to make it real the once. With Terry. You never met Terry. He had a good line in chat and he'd seen me in the W.H.Smith's in Oxford Street at lunchtime. I was leafing through the 'adult' books, giving them a surreptitious read-through. He noticed I liked the ones about girls being tied up, being captured by cruel sheikhs and all that. And he managed to start up a line of chat with me. He seemed very nice. He wore nice black leather jackets. He had money. And he asked me to go along with him to a club night. As his submissive. On his leash. Wearing his collar. I thought: well, what could happen? There would be other people there, security guards. I could always call out for help. And the idea made my pussy drool. He told me what to wear: a black leather coat he gave me and some black leather boots of my own. Nothing else but I kept the coat firmly buttoned up on the street. He put the collar on me as we were going down the street to the club and put the leash on me when we were waiting in the line outside. The club was held in an abandoned warehouse near Kings Cross Station. There were people there of all shapes and sizes, all ages and races, all of them in some sort of effort at fetish gear. Once we were inside and away from the cold air of the street he ordered me to unbutton the coat. I was standing there, with my pussy and tits showing, on a leash while people walked around and either stared or pretended not to. My nipples went hard and not just with the cold air on them. My mouth was so dry I couldn't speak. After hanging around the bar for a while we went to another area where there were tables and these small rooms with locking doors. We sat down at a table and some of his friends came over and talked. Men like him, with women who knelt down by their chairs. Some men with no women at all. They looked at me a lot. I knelt by his chair and waited. Then he tugged at my collar and I looked up at him. He said: come on kitten. That was his name for me: kitten. He lead me to one of the side rooms which had just been vacated by a man and a woman. There was a table there and some chairs. Get on the table, kitten. I looked at him. The men he had been chatting to outside were coming in and sitting down on the chairs. Up against the far wall, watching me. Get on the table, kitten, and spread your legs wide. My friends want to have a look at you. I think I said something. I think I babbled. And then I saw him taking something from his pocket. A gag. I ran. Out of the side room and out of the club. I only just remembered to do up my coat as I ran into the street. I ran towards Kings Cross and got into a taxi and went home. I was in the taxi when I realised that I still had the collar on with the leash dangling from it. My hands shook as I took it off. The next day I sent the coat, collar and leash back to him. I never saw him again. Thing was, I regretted running more than anything I've ever done in my life. I knew that part of me wanted to be in that room and let those men do whatever they wanted. But I couldn't find the courage to stay. I was afraid of being hurt. So I ran. About a year later, I put the advert in FORUM. I thought, maybe if I found someone I thought I could trust. Maybe if I was in control of the initial contact...... I got a surprising number of replies. Some were horrid: men who wanted to do things to me with whips and branding irons when I'd said 'no pain'. Some wanted me to be their mistress 'and then I could do the same for you' which was just clueless. One or two sounded as if they *might* be all right..... And one..... It didn't come via the magazine. It didn't even come by the Royal Mail. It was just waiting there for me on the carpet in the hall one morning. It was in a cream envelope with my name written in elegant copperplate handwriting. No address. Inside it said: It is my understanding that you are seeking a Master. I have a vacancy for a slave, to serve me sexually and in other ways. I can offer a sheltered life of service and comfort to the right woman. If you are interested you should attend for interview at 23 Warburton Mews W2 on Tuesday 23rd at 1-00 pm precisely. There was no signature. The 23rd was the next day...... I wanted to know more. I took a day off work and got my hair done in the morning. I put my best 'go-to-interview' dress and went off to find Warburton Mews. It was one of those backstreets in the West End, full of small houses built for servants in the 19th Century which now cost an arm and a leg for the idle rich to use as their urban pied a terres. 23 was at the far end. I knocked. A tiny Chinese woman opened the door. She wore some sort of oriental silk thingie. (I've never been good at describing clothes, love.) She looked about thirteen and I didn't know what to say. So it was just as well that she was the one who spoke. "Miss Freeman? Please come in, you are expected. " Inside and up a rickety flight of stairs and into the most elegant little sitting room. He's sitting there in one of those high backed leather chairs. And doesn't he look good. And doesn't he know it. He's wearing a grey suit that screams out it's hand made, all cool English elegance. He's.... Well, you've seen him, Becky love. He's forty something, with just a bit of elegant grey at his temples and when he looked at me.... "Please be seated, Miss Freeman. Honey, some tea for my guest." I sat down, shaking a bit, on the chair that the oriental girl shoved under me. I had been afraid.... I'd be meeting one of Terry's friends. All spots and black leather jackets and longing.... But this man wasn't a wannabe. He was the real thing. "What exactly is it you do at Klein and Digby?" He had been reading from the folder on his lap. He looked up when I didn't reply. "Well?" "How..." My voice cracked. I took a sip of the tea that the Chinese woman had given me. "How did you know about that? For that matter how did you find out my home address? The magazine isn't supposed to...." "Magazine?" He seemed genuinely puzzled. "It's in the report, Master." It was the Chinese girl. "She is currently advertising in FORUM. Page six." "Ah, yes. Thank you, Honey. I didn't contact you because of your advertisement, Miss Freeman. I have my own means of finding out if women are interested in serving. As it happened I saw you in the audience at the National when you went to see A LITTLE NIGHT MUSIC. A delightful evening with Dame Judi at her best and then to see you there with your fantasies and frustrations... I decided then to investigate you. Honey did the actual leg work." I frowned and drank more of the tea. This made no sense at all. "That's ridiculous. You can't just look at someone and know their sexual tastes. Not just by looking." "Most people cannot. I'm not most people." "Oh, yes! You just look and know do you?" I wasn't being very submissive, I know, but I wanted... I think I wanted to test him. To test myself. "Something like that." He had picked out a page from the folder and was reading it. "Your advertisement says 'No real experience'. What does that mean?" I tried to evade the question but he just looked at me and I found myself talking about Terry. He listened gravely and sympathetically. "You were perhaps wise," was all he said at the end of the story and then he started to ask me all sorts of things about myself, my health, my ambitions, my likes and dislikes and I talked and talked and somehow it changed from me trying to find out if he was a suitable Master, someone I could trust to me trying desperately to convince him that I was a suitable slave. I don't think he used his hocus-pocus on me to get me to feel that way. He says not. I told him I could leave my job. I told him no-one in my family would worry if I were to go off and take a new one somewhere. I told him whatever he wanted to know. A lot of his questions weren't about sex and yet the whole interview was. It was all about the fact that he had the right, the power to know everything about me. At the end of half an hour the cup of tea was cold at my side and my voice was hoarse with talking. He gestured to Honey where she had been kneeling quietly in a corner, listening intently and she went and got fresh. After leafing through the folder one last time he put it aside and looked at me. "I think you may be suitable. There are question marks of course. You can have no real idea of what it means to be owned and controlled the whole time. But I think you might be suitable." "You haven't even... You've never seen me naked." "Oh, but I have my dear. And I was very touched by the fact that you wore no underwear to the interview. That was thoughtful. But unnecessary." I felt myself blush from my ankles up to my cheeks. "How... How could you...." "Well, now. It could just be that I know a bit about young ladies like yourself and know how you will approach such a meeting. It could just be that." I looked at him. He was smiling that little half smile of his and Honey, as she poured fresh tea for us, was looking demurely smug too. I decided to try to take control of things again. "What question marks?" I barked the question out but my voice betrayed me by cracking. "Mostly to do with your courage. Your commitment, if you will. If you choose this path you will be under my control in ways you cannot yet begin to guess. And at any time you will be able to come to me and say: that's it. No more. Either because you have reached your limits or because this way of life isn't what you expected. I have a desire for stability, for a reliable way of life in my home. I must be certain that you are right for me and I for you. I must test you." I nodded my head. That made sense. I took a deep breath and said "all right, start your tests." He smiled and said, "I already have." I frowned and looked up at him, puzzled. Then I thought again: Looked up? Why am I looking up at him? I looked down and saw that I was kneeling on the floor before him. Kneeling naked with my legs apart. How had I got there? I had come in. sat down, talked for a while.... And then I remembered. In the middle of talking to him, I had got up and started taking off my clothes. I had folded them neatly and then knelt before him, spreading my knees to display my pussy. I remembered clearly doing it although a moment before I hadn't been aware of it at all. I felt myself shiver and my hands, resting palm up on my thighs, were shaking. I looked up at him again, with fear and a question in my eyes. "This is part of what I mean. If you choose to wear my collar, be my slave, you will be controlled as you have never dreamt of being controlled. If I command you will obey. The only command I will never give is the one that takes away your ability to leave. Every day you stay and serve me, you must choose to do so of your own will." Well, darling, he had proved himself to be a little less than omniscient with that little speech. Because, you see, I had dreamed of just that sort of control. You remember those vampire novels I was so fond of, the ones you thought were such trash? (And they were by and large, but trash I really loved.) The big turn on for me was the idea of my free will being taken away by some Transylvanian Count. 'Loook deeeep in to my eyeees....' That sort of thing. So the idea of him being my Vlad Dracula.... Oooh, let's just say my pussy was drooling little puddles onto the carpet. So I got cheeky. "What else can you do?" Just asking for trouble, I know. He didn't say a word. But all of a sudden my nipples came up, so hard and throbbing they hurt. My clittie too. I fell back on the carpet and writhed in front of him. It was.... I can't describe it. As if every part of my body were being licked all over. As if my mouth, my pussy, my arse were all filled with big, hard cocks fucking me like machines. As if every nerve in my body and brain were on fire. I heard myself screaming. When I came back to myself, I knew I had come at least three times in a matter of minutes. My head was resting at his feet. "Did you like that?" For an answer, I just kissed his feet. I mean I turned over and kissed his bare flesh above his socks. I could smell the leather of his shoes. The scent of him. "Do you want more? Do you want a life like that?" I nodded my head hard. I couldn't speak. "Then there is one more test to be completed. Go through the door." And then he was gone. In an instant. I knelt up and the room was empty. Honey was gone too. There was just the door I had come in by and... Another door. Which hadn't been there before. There I was, starkers, with my pussy juices still wet on my thighs. The cup of tea Honey had refilled for him was still steaming by his chair. I could have got up, dressed and left. Perhaps I should have. But I got up and walked (a bit shakily) through the door. And I was somewhere I knew. I was standing in the room at the club again. I was wearing the coat but not the collar. There were the men again, sitting against the far wall. "Get up on the table kitten." I span and there He was. He was dressed just as Terry had been in the same black leather jacket. It looked a lot better on him than it did on Terry. I looked across the room again and there *was* Terry sitting with the other men. Watching me. "Get on the table, kitten, and spread your legs wide. My friends want to have a look at you." And I did. I knew that was his last test, that I trust him the way I never did Terry. I spread my legs wide and sat there looking at the men. "Play with yourself, little kitten. I want you to show them how much you like it." Oh, God! Well, I didn't know if I could get myself going like that but I gave it my best and soon, oh my! I was hot and wet and panting and they, the men, Terry included had their pricks out and were wanking themselves as they watched me. Hot eyes on me, love, like I was.... I don't know what, an idol, a goddess. "On all fours, little kitten. Get your head down and your arse in the air. No, stop playing with yourself. Now, don't complain. Don't speak. I don't want to have to gag you." Then the door was opening again and it was Honey coming in. She was in the exact same outfit as me, leather coat and she, the lucky little bitch, was allowed to wear his collar. She went around to my upraised arse and began.... Oh, first with her lips and fingers, the lovely little slut and then with a pair of vibrators in and out of my cunt and arse. She left the one in my arse when he told her to get round to my front end and told me to repay the favour she'd done me with my tongue and lips..... And then he was inside me. Up into my pussy, doggy fashion, thrusting, coaxing.... I turned my head just enough to see the men up against the far wall. They were panting, standing, their pricks hard and purple-red. They were moaning as I was, as Honey was, as he was thrusting deeper, deeper.... I think we all came together. All eight of us. At least within two seconds of each other. The watchers' cum flew across the room and up spattering the ceiling. When I came down, he turned me over and looked down at me. In his hand was a collar, not a leather thing but a seamless metal circle. "Do you want this?" I nodded my head. He reached down and suddenly it was there around my neck. It's been there ever since. He says I can take it off any time I want. I've never wanted to. I think I never will. **************************************** "But you're not..." Jane stopped in mid-sentence as the man opposite made a small gesture and there appeared around the neck of both her sister and the black woman, Sugar, a silvery metal circle. Each had the name they were known by engraved on it in large, deep letters. "It's not convenient for outsiders to know what my relationship is to my girls. So the collars are only visible to them and to me, normally. A minor effect but useful." -- Boris Ludmenkov -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: | | FAQ: Moderator: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Archive: Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository | |, an entity supported entirely by donations. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+