was confused: she had no idea what this was all about, she had no idea why she
was here and she had no idea what was going to happen to her. She tried to learn something from her
surroundings but the room was in total darkness, not just a
night-time darkness but a complete and all encompassing, impenetrably
pitch black hole. There were no sounds
other than her heavy breathing. She
twisted her head from side to side; peering into the gloom she could discern no
shapes or shades just deep blackness.
The first sound she heard was the rattling of the light chains holding
her to what felt like a hard wooden bed.
She couldn’t reach far with her hands so it was impossible for her to
confirm that her wrists and indeed her ankles were secured by the chains she
could hear but, from her inability to move more than a few inches, she assumed
it was the chains which held her in position.
Her head felt a bit fuzzy and, as she
gradually recovered full consciousness, the fog clearing slowly like cobwebs
blown by the wind, she tested her bonds.
She couldn’t sit up; her arms were secured by the wrists at what
appeared be the top corners of her bed.
She wasn’t stretched uncomfortably but she wasn’t going to go very
far. Likewise her ankles were held at
the bottom corners and she could not bring her feet together. She tried rolling from side to side, useless
of course but quite natural under the circumstances and, in doing so, she was
grateful to discover she could just about pull her thighs to meet each
It was while she was examining the extent of
her predicament the thought dawned on her that she could not feel any of the
more normal, milder constrictions on her body.
Positioned on her back and with her arms drawn upward she would expect
to feel the straps of her bra cutting into her shoulders: she didn’t. Her eyes opened wide, the effects of the
drugs were wearing off quickly now and she twisted her hips, seeking the
reassuring rustle of material or the uncomfortable tightening of her dress as
it ruffled around her waist. She was
alarmed to feel and hear nothing. Her
mind was in a whirl, the known facts were coming in thick and fast now she was
more alert. She couldn’t see anything
but she was fairly sure she was naked, secured at four points to a wooden
platform or board and was certain she had been drugged but could remember very
little of how that could have happened.
Panic was not far away.
She was a strong independent woman and not
easily frightened. She had faced down
many supposedly intimidating senior executives and had taken great pride in her
successes. The business world was a
tough one, especially in the rarefied atmosphere of international boardrooms,
but at twenty-eight years of age, she had mastered many of her most difficult
competitors in the chemicals business.
Ten years of rapid promotions had brought her to a very senior level and
no one did that without a great deal of courage and resilience. That background and those qualities would see
her through what ever this was all about, she was
sure of that but whoever had organised this could well be playing for
keeps. Would he, she, them, force her to
give them information and then dispose of her permanently?
Now panic was even closer. Her head whirled with thoughts of her
immediate future; they must be after company information, she thought, but
surely the real world doesn’t work like that, does it? Fear had produced a thin layer of sweat on
her firm young body and she shivered despite the warmth of the room.
“Oh fuck … fuck, fuck, fuck,” she said,
softly but with all of the deep feeling you would expect from a girl finding
she was naked, effectively staked out and in total darkness.
two rooms away, in the drawing room of the impressive Victorian country house,
Lord Bernard Partington was enjoying the concentrated
efforts of his wife of three years, Lady Margaret.
He was sitting in a high, wing backed chair
facing a roaring fire. She was kneeling
between his legs, her head bobbing up and down as she applied a very skilled
and thoroughly enjoyable blowjob for her husband. He was still in his dinner suit and had only
lowered his zip to allow her access to his rigid penis. She wore much less. Her full-length evening dress lay in a heap
on the floor, her blue lace bra and panties were scrunched into a ball and
thrown into a corner. She had only
retained her thigh high black stockings and blue and black suspender belt that
held them aloft. She knew he liked the
look of her pale skin in contrast to the dark hose stretched to partial
transparency as they covered her long, well formed
Her thirty-five years were well concealed, he
often thought she looked no more than thirty and on a good day she could maybe
get away with late twenties, but they both knew he would soon need younger
blood to keep him interested.
Sir Bernard groaned aloud as his passion
rose, he reached to the nearby drinks trolley and picked up his favourite
weapon. She quivered in recognition when
she saw the short crop out of the corner of her eye. She winced and blew hard when the first
stroke stung her between the shoulder blades.
He squirmed in his seat, the murmured complaint Lady Margaret had blown
over his twitching manhood had, as always, moved his excitement up another
notch. He was not far from release and
he gave the kneeling woman two more wristy cuts. She sucked harder and moved her fingers
faster, up and down, sharp, hard sucking, and more rapid up and down movement.
“Aaaaagggghhh … Oooo … Aaaahhhh,” his voice
wavering as Lady Margaret swallowed his emission greedily.
She gulped three, four, five times before she
could at last take her hot mouth away from his stiff member without risk of
spilling his seed.
She lovingly licked gently at his penis and
moved her tongue down to his balls. She laved all around the hairy, slack sac of the older man and
smiled with satisfaction when he patted her on the head.
He looked down at her and raised her chin to
look into her eyes. “Wonderful, my dear, you really are the most precious wife
any man could have.”
She smiled back at him and caressed his
shrinking tool with both hands, then leaned forward to wipe her tongue over the
slit at the top of his cock, lifting away the drops of semen and swallowing.
“Why thank you, kind Sir,” she said, in a
mock Victorian response.
He tweaked her right nipple, causing her to
catch her breath.
“Cuffs on, my Lady,” his tone was firm.
“Yes, my Lord,” she replied.
She crawled to the other large armchair and
collected the metal handcuffs. She
looked back at Lord Partington and, having clicked
the silver loop around her left wrist, she sought guidance from her master.
“Behind,” he said.
She obeyed and linked her wrists behind her
back. The clicking of the ratchet
signalled the closure of the second bondage bracelet.
patted his thigh and she obediently crawled back to him, curled up at his feet
and rested her cheek against his flaccid cock.
He stroked her hair, occasionally letting his hand stray to her neck and
shoulders. Her response was an almost
feline purring, she loved him and she knew he loved her but their relationship
was, by all normal standards, extraordinary.
They had met when she had managed to persuade
her friend to smuggle her into the very fashionable high society party at a
country estate and, much to her surprise, she had actually taken a shine to the
much older Lord Partington.
She pursued him at every opportunity and he,
suitably flattered by the attention of a vivacious, beautiful young woman; had
arranged to court her. It was on her
second visit to his sprawling suburban residence that she saw the first hint of
his sexual predilection. It was quite
intentional on his part; despite the obvious attractions Margaret offered he
would have to be sure she was able to accept his unusual tastes.
He introduced her to his sado-masochistic
world gradually. He had allowed her to
view his art collection. All privately
commissioned, he had scenes from ‘the Story of O,’ hanging all around his
library. In his study were even more
graphic pictures of young woman being dominated by men. He had continued the breaking in process
right through to meetings of a very high-class bondage club where she had seen
all sorts of S&M activity. She had
found the scene, much to her surprise, a real turn on.
they returned to his house after spending an evening of spectating at the
bondage club, her panties were soaking wet.
She had snuggled up to him on the back seat of the Rolls on the way home
and massaged his penis into full erection through his trousers. As soon as they walked through the door and
he had dismissed the butler, she guided him into this very drawing room. She had fallen to her knees in front of him
and, with an imploring look in her eyes she had begged him for the honour of