Pretty Woman Ch. 03

'Put more into it,' he told me.

I thrashed her with all my strength, bringing a deep red line across both her buttocks, and making the girl squirm violently, tugging at her wrist restraints. On my next stroke, I heard a slight gasp, and glanced round to see Zia, her mouth slightly open, her breathing audible, a delicate, long-fingered hand straying under the hem of her tiny black skirt.

Teresa was crying now, her breath coming in short gasps as I approached her twentieth stroke. I changed position to concentrate on her slim thighs, and when I flogged her just below the crease of her buttocks, just catching her pussy with the cane's tip, she screamed.

'Be quiet, or you'll get ten more!' said Lars.

'Oh no, I couldn't, please!' pleaded the helplessly-bound young slave.

As I completed my task, my master beckoned Zia to come and kneel in front of him, and deftly drew out his stiff cock, which she took hungrily between her red lips. Although I had to watch where my final strokes fell, I was aware of the groan coming from the armchair, as Lars thrust his hips up towards the new maid, and shot his hot load of spunk deep into her throat.

At lunch, Teresa sat down gingerly, even though Zia had tended her wounds carefully, and admitted two things.

'I'm as sore as hell,' she said, 'but I came twice while……while….'

'While I was whipping you?'

'Yes.' She looked ashamed.

'It always has that effect on me, darling,' I said, and she smiled ruefully.

That afternoon, I presented myself, dressed, as had been my friend, in a long, virginal, white cotton dress. I had expected to be made to take up position on the horizontal cross, but my master simply led me to the whipping post, and cuffed my wrists up above my head. Then he literally tore down the bodice of my dress, exposing my naked back, but leaving the skirt covering me from the waist down. Zia, who had followed us to the basement, handed him a single-tail whip, and he took two strides back, tested the instrument through the air, cracking it impressively. Then he swung it expertly through a short arc, and I felt the awful sting as the thin, knotted leather thong bit into the soft, tender flesh of my lower back. I gritted my teeth, and went instantly to that other place – the place where there is nothing but pain, pain, and pleasure. But no, not pleasure, exactly, ecstasy is closer to it, but doesn't begin to describe the feeling when my mster's whip rains down on my back, and my orgasm comes rushing up to meet me, the tingle that starts in my cunt becoming a gushing cascade as I wait hungrily for the blissful agony of the next stroke, looking at my master over my shoulder with beseeching eyes.

'Oh master, don't stop,' is my only wish in the world at that moment.

I knew I should have asked his permission, but my climax, my delirious climax, wasn't going to be denied, and I almost blacked out with its force, as there as nothing else in my world at that moment, only the awful sting of the brutal whip, and my master, my master on the other end of it, the man who truly understood me, seemed to share my very soul. He knew that the tears now flooding down my cheeks were the final outpouring of my emotion, my love for him. I could have willingly died for him at that moment, and when, later, he cradled me in his arms, and told me he loved me, I felt happier than I had ever felt in my life – with something to spare.

During the next few days, my master came to appreciate my new piercings. He said my tongue stud made him more excited when I licked his shaft, and proved it by twice cumming copiously in my mouth when I sucked him deeply, then thrust a long-nailed finger deep into his asshole. I always took time licking him clean, and swallowed evry drop. He attached two heavy silver links to my clit-ring, with my amber birthstone dangling below in a clasp-setting. The constant pull on my clit meant that I couldn't walk anywhere without being almost permanently aroused, and when I went out with my master, he often had me wear short, flared skirts, so that the lewd decoration almost fell to my hemline. I was embarrassed at the thought that any breath of wind, or some irregular movement on my part, would render the silverware visible to anyone who cared to look.

Whenever the mood took him, Lars would do a complete change, and tell me to put on 'restraint' clothes. Then I attracted even more attention, dressed in a black latex skirt so tight around my knees I could scarcely walk, my waist pulled in to tiny circumference by a cruel, whaleboned corset, which Zia laced up tight. The corset's top consisted of a lace fringe, and my nipples were tantalisingly half-hidden by this, their shadow visible under the transparent black blouse I wore. I rounded off the outfit with staggeringly high stilettos and black stockings.

But I was wearing a tiny maroon silk miniskirt and a white silk blouse when we were taking coffee one day. My master glanced around the room, and saw someone he recognised.

'José Manuel!' he called, and a young guy at a nearby table swung around.

'Lars, ¿que tal?' said the studious-looking youngster, who was alone, taking a coffee as he read what looked like a scientific paper.

'Come and join us,' suggested Lars, and the guy's gaze shifted to me as he did so, giving an almost audible gulp as his eyes took in my bare legs and ultra-brief skirt.

'Haven't seen you for a long time,' said Lars, 'how go the studies?'

'Tough,' said the young man, polishing his spectacles, 'last year at the Uni, you know.'

'You know what they say about all work and no play?'

'OK if you don't have to work hard to get a degree.'

They chatted in this vein for a while, then my master suddenly said, 'I'm so sorry, I haven't introduced you to Katherine, have I?'

He effected the introduction, then amazed me by saying, 'I noticed the way you looked at her when you came over, José Manuel. Perhaps you'd like to fuck her?'

The young student turned bright red, and stammered, 'W-well……..'

Lars smiled, and patted the young man's hand on the table. 'Don't be embarrassed. Come home with us and enjoy her. She really is most accommodating.'

On the way home, while I sat in the front next to my master, he said, 'José Manuel was a top-class gymnast until he abandoned it for his studies – I think you'll find him still in shape.'

The youngster started to protest modestly, but we were drawing up at the house, and as Zia came out to meet us, I couldn't help noticing a certain litheness in the way José Manuel got out the car, and trotted up the steps.

'Come on, we'll go into the lounge,' said Lars, 'Zia, fetch us some drinks, will you?'

When we were all seated comfortably in the armchairs, and had chatted, sipping our drinks, Lars said, 'Now, Katherine, I suppose you're wondering why I chose this young fellow, out of the many people I know?'

Before I could reply, he turned to José Manuel, and said, 'Why don't you show her?'

Hesitantly, showing signs of acute embarrassment, the student got to his feet, and stood facing me. He slipped his Ralph Lauren polo over his head, and revealed a beautifully-sculpted upper body – not too muscular, like a body-builder's, but very well-defined.

'Hmmm,' I murmured.

'Wait a moment,' said Lars, and nodded towards José Manuel, who shyly slipped off his chinos, and boxers, to show a cock of fantastic proportions. Although quite flaccid, its length and thickness were truly prodigious. My eyes widened as I took in its sheer magnificence.

'I can see you're impressed,' said my master, 'now I think you should show him your cunt.'

Obediently, I shuffled my ass forward on the seat of the armchair, and parted my legs, hooking them over the arms of the chair. Then I reached down and parted my pussy-lips with the first two fingers of one hand. With the other hand, I tugged gently at the chain dangling from my clit. I had been watching José Manuel's face as I did this, but he looked spellbound, and my eyes fell to his wonderful shaft, which had suddenly taken on a life of its own, and, incredibly, seemed to have almost doubled in length, standing out stiff and straight – and thick, its circumcised knob glistening pink. He supported its weight with on hand, and all I wanted then was that fantastic weapon to penetrate me, fill me, split me, as it surely would.

He took the two short paces that brought the shining crown withing range of my mouth, and I obligingly ran my tongue along its great length, looking first up at its proud owner, then across at my master, who was watching intently. José Manuel gave a little grown as I worked my tongue-stud over his knob, then I stretched my lips into a wide 'O' to take him. I thought I should gag as his glans reached my throat, and he had to be content with burying half of his prick in my mouth. I tried to make up for it by sucking him vigorously, while his hands were now gently massaging my tits. I drew away, and said, 'I want you to fuck me, José Manuel. Without further ado, he dropped to his knees, and, in one tremendous thrust, drove his rock-hard shaft into me, right to the hilt, then paused, to let me feel the sheer size of him, filling me as I had never been filled. Over his shoulder, I saw that Lars had his own weapon, by no means puny, but dwarfed by the huge tool that was within me, in his hand. Now, seeing me look, he got to his feet and came up beside me, so that I could take him hungrily in my mouth, as his young friend started slowly to fuck me, driving his mighty weapon in and out, extracting almost its full length at each stroke, then driving home, right to the very neck of my womb. I sucked my master, matching the rhythm of his friend, until, with a great deal of control on my part, we all came virtually together, so that I had the sensation of being filled with their hot cum.

Later, when his friend had gone, Lars told me he had worried that I may not want him again, after being fucked by such a well-endowed youngster.

'Oh, master, how could you think that?' I said, 'I love you more than ever.'

'Then I think we can say your training is complete, my dear,' he smiled, 'it just remains for me to have you marked.'

'What, tattooed? Mmmm, that sounds nice.'

'That's not what I have in mind, Katherine. I should like to brand you. Brand you with a hot iron.'

I was just about conscious that my mouth fell open. I stammered, 'B-but, sir, that will hurt me terribly, won't it?'

'Yes, my dear, I'm sure it will, but later, memory of that pain will serve to remind you of our love.'

I nodded uncertainly, and he took that as my assent. 'We shall have a ceremony next Monday then.'

That gave me four days to contemplate my fate, to anticipate what I guessed would be awful agony. I knew he had told me in advance deliberately, for just that reason.

I confided in Teresa, and was amazed when she said she envied me, making me realise that her training was well-advanced. I was terrified by the thought of my tender flesh sizzling as the red-hot iron burnt its way deep into me, but my fear was mixed with a horrible fascination, and I felt enormously proud that my master was going to do this to me – it was, I supposed, something like getting married may seem to most girls, but infinitely more exciting.

By the time Monday came around, I hadn't slept for two nights, and was in a state of nervous exhaustion. My master hadn't whipped me since telling me about the marking, so the stripes from previous whippings had practically faded away when I looked over my shoulder into my dressing mirror. Zia was coming to dress me – I knew I was to be dressed in a speecial way, as this was to be something of a ritual, with Marcelo and Selina, plus two more couples I didn't know, invited to watch. Teresa and Zia would, of course, be there too. I shivered, despite the warm day, as I brushed my long dark hair to a silky sheen, then told Zia to come in when she knocked my door. She was carrying a white garment over her arm, and was herself dressed for the occasion. What she was wearing made her look like a negative image of her normal self. Her skirt was white, very short and almost, but not quite, transparent, with lace trim at the hem. Above it she wore a black silk blouse, buttoned up the back, so that her small pointed breasts jiggled and poked out through the silk, Her stockings and stilettos were white, and when she bent over, the dark olive skin of her upper thighs contrasted with the white garments.

I stood to let her dress me – it took less than half a minute. The white silk sheath she slipped over my head was long and shapeless, held up by simple bows tied in the shoulder straps. Wordlessly, she then knelt down beside me and shackled my ankles with heavy metal anklets, joined by a foot or so of chain, after which she cuffed my wrists in front of me, and, attaching a leash to my collar, led me out and down the corridor.

Unaccustomed heat surged up the stone staircase to the cellar, and I shook with terror as I negotiated the stairs into the darkened dungeon with difficulty, the stone uncomfortable under my bare feet.

The light came on when I hit the cellar floor, and I blinked at the sight which awaited me. Chairs had been provided for the guests, who had been sat around talking quietly, but hushed when I appeared. Teresa, and a huge, bare-chested man I didn't know, stood beside an iron brazier, the coals in it glowing red, and heat from it filled the room. I did a double-take at the sight of Teresa, who was clad in a long black nylon gown, over black suspender-belt and black stockings. She was turned half sideways, and I could see that the gown was buttoned down to the waist at the back, but open from there to the floor, leaving her buttocks quite naked, The big guy was kneading her ass with one hand, and his trousers were tented by an obvious erection.

I looked around, and saw Lars sitting near the brazier, beside him the lovely blonde Selina, and her husband, then two youngish people I didn't recognise. Zia led me gently to the big wooden whipping post, only a pace or two from the fire, and I obediently raised my hands for her to fix my wrists to the snap-link above my head.

Before I had more chance to worry about my fate, Lars was beside me, talking quietly, as he flipped open the ribbon-bows at my shoulders, so that the sheath fell with a soft whisper to the floor.

'I know this will hurt you a great deal,' he said, 'but regard it as a token of my love for you.'

I looked at him. 'I love you so much, master.'

Lars nodded to the big guy, then spoke quietly to him, and indicated a place on my lower back. I must have looked surprised – I had somehow expected to be marked on a buttock.

'That way it will show whenever you wear a backless dress,' he explained, then he showed me a drawing of the mark I was to have. It was a device made of his initials, L.A., and a pair of handcuffs.

My master nodded again to the big man, who busied himself with the irons which projected from the brazier, while Teresa stood beside him, stroking his thigh.

The anticipation of my agony was terrible, but what felt like hours can only have been a couple of minutes, then I closed my eyes as I heard him step towards me, felt the heat of the branding iron as it approached, and knew I had to get control before I fainted. Concentrating on remaining conscious, I was aware of a cool hand – it must have been Teresa's – on my shoulder, then came a pain which transcended anything I had even imagined, as the red-hot branding iron was plunged onto my back, and I smelt my own scorched flesh as it sizzled under the terrible heat.

How I remained conscious I shall never know, and I was only dimly aware of my master and Selina, I think it was, laying me face-down on a bench, while Teresa applied a dressing to my new brand.

I truly belonged to my master.