Bondage Hotel Page 19

  David grinned down at his stunned slave-wife. “A most satisfactory demonstration, my love,” he said softly, then paused and added, “And now it is your turn. A blindfold, please, Paolo.”

  Moira’s eyes bulged and she whimpered in anguish as thick leather pads blotted out her sight, then shrieked in terror and unbearable arousal as fingers and lips...unknown fingers and lips...captured her tender breasts and nipples and explored the exquisitely sensitive flesh of her labia and sex.

  Unable to move, gagged and blindfolded, her body the helpless recipient of overwhelming stimulation, Moira screamed and pleaded wordlessly for mercy as she learned the full extent of her slavery.

  Until, with her body on fire and belly convulsing wildly, she hurtled into her first orgasm as a genuine and total slave.

  “Third lesson, slave,” her Master whispered into her ear as she shuddered in the throes of her passion. “I choose when and how you must submit. You obey. Nothing more.”

  Out of control, responding frantically to the many sets of lips still nuzzling at her taut breasts and rigidly erect nipples, her wet-slick sex presenting no barrier to the fingers which slid into her belly to wreak devastating havoc upon her, Moira climaxed a second time as he spoke, her shame intense and subjugation absolute as she pulsed and juddered in her bondage and her slave heat.

  Never in her wildest fantasies had she ever imagined that David would impose such terrible, unbearable torment upon her.

  But he had and Moira knew that she had made a dreadful mistake in underestimating his determination to make...and keep...her as his slave-girl.

  No longer did she doubt that he meant every word of his vow to keep her collared and in chains.

  No longer thought that her return to their new home would mean an end to her enslavement.

  He had told her that it was to become her bondage prison, fitted with the chains and locks and bondage devices necessary to continue and deepen her subjugation to his Mastery and now, when it was far too late, she finally understood that he had told her the exact, literal truth.

  She would never be free again.

  The concept was terrifying and yet, as Moira faced the prospect of lifelong captivity and total submission to the man who was not only her lover and husband, but also her utterly dominant and ruthless Master, she felt her limbs grow deliciously weak and her belly churn with thrilling excitement at the thought of being so completely owned and so irrevocably in his power.

  He would never let her escape, never free her and she knew he would make her submit to his will as fully as Hazel and Giselle had to submit to their Masters.

  Half frightened, half elated by her conclusions and the realisation that his love for her was so strong that he had and would go to such extreme lengths to keep her, Moira became aware that the hands and lips on her body were withdrawing, leaving her massively aroused and in need, but short of the third climax which boiled and seethed in her belly.

  “I’m impressed, slave-girl,” his words sent a flood of colour into her gagged cheeks, “You make a delightfully hot slave for one so new to her collar.”

  Chuckles, both male and female, greeted his words and Moira’s flush deepened, well aware that she had demonstrated the depth of her needs to the dominants around her.

  “But a slave-girl, even one as hot as you, my precious, has to be obedient as well as responsive,” he continued lightly and Moira shivered, hearing a note of steel behind his bantering tone. “Now I am quite sure you will obey me, but just in case you think that I may be lax or soft with you, we will now go on with lesson number four.”

  Moira froze, her brain whirling as she tried to imagine what lesson number four might be?

  He must know already that she would obey him.

  After all, what choice did she have?

  He was far stronger that she was, she wore his collar and his chains on her limbs and if he kept her tied up as it seemed he meant to, how could she possibly disobey?

  From the foot of the rack on which she lay, Moira heard a thin, abbreviated whistle and a split second later, the sharp crack of leather on flesh.

  Hazel’s muffled squeal of pain and shock carried clearly to Moira’s ears and she knew instantly what lesson number four was all about.

  A second and then a third crack followed and Hazel’s whimpers reinforced the message as Moira heaved in her bonds, her head shaking wildly from side to side as she tried to convey to her Master that she understood and had heeded the lesson and that there was absolutely no need for him to give a practical demonstration.

  “Ah,” her Master said cheerfully, “I see you understand.” Moira nodded enthusiastically, assuring him that she really did. “That’s good. So you will obey without question, won’t you, eh, slave?”

  Moira nodded again, desperately hoping he would believe her and he chuckled, “That’s settled then.”

  She relaxed momentarily, then stiffened again as he added reflectively, “Of course, a slave might be punished for other reasons, you know. For not being sufficiently pleasing, perhaps. Or speaking without permission. Or not displaying her body properly. Oh, lots of reasons, slave-girl.”

  Moira gulped, suddenly realising that there might be more to being a slave-girl than she had ever imagined.

  It simply hadn’t occurred to her that there might be rules about being a slave.

  Rules that she might...no, would...have to obey.

  Rules that, if she broke, would get her punished.

  It was a very sobering thought, but an even more sobering realisation followed immediately as her Master chuckled and added, “And if a Master can’t think of any other reason, slave-girl, then she may be punished just because he chooses to punish her, or just likes to see his slave wriggle and squirm. Which reminds me...Miles, if you’d be so kind...”

  A short silence was broken by the soft clink of chains as Moira jerked madly at her bonds in response to the feel of a cool, slender wand sliding up the inside of her stretched left thigh.

  She knew what it was and shuddered in fear of what was to come as the crop...it had to be a crop...slid over her soft flesh.

  “Lesson four,” her Master said firmly, “Remember it and obey as the slave you are.”

  The crop lifted away then whistled down and Moira arched in her bonds, a shrill scream echoing through the room as a vivid red stripe bloomed on her thigh and flaring heat seared into her flesh.

  The sudden shock of the blow took Moira’s breath away and she shook her head from side to side in complete disbelief even as her thigh burned and smarted fiercely.

  It couldn’t be.

  It just could not have happened.

  But it had.

  David, her husband, had punished her.

  Because he chose to.

  Because he was her Master.

  Because she was his slave.

  Moira’s senses reeled, the stinging of her thigh almost forgotten in the turmoil of her thoughts.

  She was, really and truly, a slave-girl.

  Subject to the will of her Master, his rules, his desires, his orders...and his punishments.

  The crop whisked down a second time and Moira’s right thigh throbbed with the same fierce heat as her left, an involuntary squeal of pain and anguish forcing its way past her gag as the cruel blow confirmed the truth of her Master’s words.

  She had done nothing wrong, disobeyed no rule...yet, he had cropped her anyway.

  Simply because he could.

  To her intense despair and humiliation, Moira felt her nipples quiver and a spurt of hot love juices gush into her wide spread sex as her Master demonstrated his absolute power over her and she trembled in anguish, knowing that her uncontrollable responses had betrayed her.

  “Hmm. Hot little thing, isn’t she?” Paolo chuckled softly.

  “You’re a lucky man, David,” James Marston’s deep voice.

  “Are you going to put her in harness? I’d love to train her as a pony-girl,” Ellie Marston gave a tinkling laug
h and Moira shuddered wildly, well aware that the Bondage Hotel contained all the necessary equipment to do just that.

  “I am considering it,” David laughed cheerfully, “I rather like the idea of Moira trotting around the grounds, pulling me in a carriage. What do you think of that, eh, darling? Would you like me to put a bit between your teeth and make you obey the reins?”

  Moira hoped he was joking, but knew he might not be and couldn’t help but be curious about how it would feel if he did harness her.

  Before she could decide, Miles Hetherington spoke up, “Thank you for a most entertaining afternoon, but if you will forgive us, Anton and I will leave you now. However, please feel free to...ah...amuse yourselves as you wish with Hazel and Giselle, ladies and gentlemen. Good evening.”

  When the two hoteliers had left, Miss Davies was the first to speak, “We must be leaving, too, Mr. Lawrence. Thank you so much for inviting us. It was most interesting and I am sure your new slave-girl will give you much pleasure. Should you ever wish her to learn the arts of pleasing a Mistress, I should be most willing to instruct her on your behalf.”

  Moira gulped nervously as the older woman made her offer.

  That possibility had never entered her head before...but it opened up a whole new world of things for her to worry about and she was mightily relieved when her Master thanked Miss Davies politely and declined.

  Until he added, “For now,” leaving his options open for a later date.

  As Miss Davies and her companion moved away, the older woman stopped at Hazel’s helpless body. “Report to me here at ten tomorrow morning, slave-girl,” she ordered coldly, “My companion and I wish to get to know you rather better.”

  Hazel shivered, the woman’s hard voice sending an icy ripple up her spine, suggesting, as it did, that the meeting was not likely to be particularly pleasurable for Hazel.

  Unfortunately, pleasurable or not, Hazel dared not refuse...and Miss Davies knew it.

  Without another word, Miss Davies turned away and left, followed by her younger companion, leaving Hazel to her bondage and her worries.

  Paolo was next. “I have not yet enjoyed the services of Giselle,” he said calmly, “This would seem a good time to put that right. Would anyone care to join the young lady and me at the X frame?”

  “Yes, I would, actually,” James Marston replied and his wife chuckled gaily. “I thought you might, darling. That’s fine. If David doesn’t mind, I’d rather like to assist him. It’s quite fascinating to see how his slave will adapt to her new station in life.”

  “My pleasure,” David agreed willingly and Moira trembled in helpless anticipation, realising that she was not yet to be alone with her Master.

  As Giselle was released from her bent-over position, frog-marched to the X frame and her hooded, naked body strapped tightly into the device, Moira and Hazel could only wait blindly and in silence for their own torment to commence.

  For Moira, it began with a whispered conversation between her Master and Ellie, a conversation punctuated by half-stifled laughter which only added to her anxieties.

  Her upthrust nipples, still partially engorged from previous stimulation, stiffened instantly as two sets of lips descended on her breasts to suck and roll and nibble the delicate buds until she moaned and sobbed and threw her head from side to side as the combination of arousal and the helpless shame of feeling her body respond instinctively to both a man and a woman, sent her desire zooming beyond her control.

  Alone with her Master, Moira knew she would have surrendered at once...and even willingly...but she was not alone with him and fought grimly to resist.

  It was a battle she could never win and as her body slipped from her command, deeper and deeper into complete and abject submission to the demands of the two Masters, Moira gasped and whimpered as she was forced to accept that she was not going to be permitted to retain even the tiniest remnant of self-control.

  Her belly flamed and kicked with frenzied passion...passion she could neither resist nor deny...giving her no choice but to surrender to her enforced need as the slave-girl her Master had decreed she should become.

  At her right breast, her Master’s tongue flicked at the erect nipple, while at her left, Ellie’s teeth nipped gently at the rigid bud...and Moira’s belly exploded into a coruscating orgasm, the mixture of overwhelming pleasure and tiny pain too delicious to bear.

  Spreadeagled in her chains, gagged, blindfolded and unable to move, she climaxed with all the massive power and intensity of a true slave, her belly convulsing and juddering as love juices rampaged through her, her screams of submissive ecstasy lost in her gag, her breasts throbbing wildly as she came and came until her sex and thighs glistened with the wet stains of her tribute to her Masters.

  Devastated, she panted for breath through flaring nostrils, her mind shying away from even daring to imagine what incredible responses might be forced from her when her hopelessly vulnerable sex became the target of her tormentor’s fingers and lips.

  From above her quivering, sweat-drenched body, she heard her Master’s triumphant tones, “Fantastic, Moira. Even better than I’d hoped. You’re going to make a superb slave-girl.”

  His all too evident pleasure and delight confirmed Moira’s worst fears and she moaned into her gag, knowing that her last hope was gone.

  A slave she was and a slave was what she would always be and her belly pulsed strongly as her fate was sealed.

  A fate she could not avoid and which, although frightening in its irrevocability, aroused and excited her even as it appalled her.

  Just like Hazel and Giselle, she was owned by a strong and dominant Master and, like them, must submit and obey or suffer the consequences of her resistance.

  Fingers tugged at the buckle of her blindfold and when it was lifted away, Moira stared up with frightened, pleading eyes at the figures of her Master and Ellie Marston standing over her, their faces split in broad grins.

  “You climax well, slave-girl,” the woman chuckled, “Your Master made a good choice in you. But then, of course,” she went on, “A true Master can always tell a true slave, even when the slave herself does not realise that she needs the collar and chains of a Master.”

  David nodded in agreement. “That is true,” he said seriously, “I had suspected for a long time that dear Moira was a slave at heart and her reaction to my suggestion that we honeymoon at the Bondage Hotel, strengthened my suspicions. And then, of course, when we arrived here and she met Hazel and Giselle but still didn’t demand that we leave at once, I knew that the collar and chains I had had made for her were not going to be wasted.”

  He smiled down into Moira’s shocked eyes and smoothed her hair away from her sweat-beaded brow, “The moment you allowed me to lock them on your throat and limbs, my love, I knew I was right about you. You wanted to be my slave and now you are. You know it and I know it and no matter how much you may protest or try to deny it, we both have what we want. You have your Master and I have my slave and that, darling, is how it is going to stay. Forever.”

  Moira’s wide brown eyes mirrored her despair as she remembered how she had allowed herself to be persuaded to stay on at the Hotel despite her misgivings.

  But far more galling than that was the realisation that she had been manoeuvred into a situation where her supposed tendencies towards submissiveness had been encouraged and reinforced.

  And it had worked.

  She had allowed him to collar her, had knelt in submission to him, had obeyed his orders.

  Had become a slave-girl in reality.

  As she gazed up at her Master, Moira tried to summon up the anger and resentment she surely ought to have felt at the extent of his duplicity.

  Strangely, it would not come and she shook her head in frustration at her own inability to dispute his arrogant assertion that she was a slave because she wanted to be.

  She tried to tell herself that it wasn’t true, that she had never wanted wear to his collar and be his slave, that
she hated being his helpless captive and utterly at his mercy...but the more she thought about her plight, the more furiously hot her belly burned and the more desperately she longed to feel him enter her to take and plunder her body.

  Even chained, even gagged and spreadeagled.

  The intensity of passion she felt was simply too strong to resist and her eyes filled with tears of shame and anguish as she was forced to confront the fact that David, her lover, husband and Master, was absolutely correct in his assessment of her character.

  She was a submissive and could not help her nature or the unsuspected weakness which he had taken advantage of so skilfully and ruthlessly.

  A weakness which she feared her Master would continue to exploit until she was as deeply and helplessly enslaved as Hazel and Giselle.

  Ellie gazed down at the distraught brunette, then turned to David. “She wants you,” she said, smiling, “You can see it in her eyes.”

  “Mm,” he agreed, “I know and I think it’s about time I rewarded her, don’t you?”

  “Mind if we watch?” Ellie waved a casual hand at Hazel, still standing stretched in her bondage at the bottom of the rack and Moira gulped in anguish as her Master gave his agreement.

  The blonde moved to stand behind Hazel and unbuckled her blindfold, then, as the redhead’s eyes opened wide at the scene before her, reached around and cupped the slave-girl’s breasts in her hands.

  Hazel had heard every word that had been spoken and had listened intently as the drama unfolded before her.

  Now, she was to witness the final stage of a fellow slave-girl’s subjugation and her eyes softened as she took in the swollen globes of Moira’s breasts, the glistening stains between her spread thighs and the mixture of fear, shame and desperate need written on the brunette’s gag-distorted face.

  Slowly, David caressed his wife’s cheek. “I love you, my darling,” he whispered softly, “And now I am going to take you and make you my slave for ever.”

  Moira’s body gave a violent shudder as his hand descended on her upraised belly and she gave a muffled groan of passion as his fingers slid through her tangle of dark pubic hair and into the slick, wet channel of her sex to stroke and explore and probe her innermost femininity.