Winning Ways

She had almost forgotten the feel of Imogen (or Isabella as she knew her remember readers) who had detached from her mouth and was sucking hard at her teats, stretching and teasing them. Occasionally she would bite Zeta's nipples in sexual play; always making each bite slightly harder as her own orgasm came, induced in turn by a slave licking hard at Imogen's pussy as she crouched with open legs.

Zeta was surprised how much she had habituated to the pain accompanying the ceaseless attention of her friend. So, when Marcel pulled Imogen away (leaving the lawyer to orgasm loudly on the grass with a slave at her cunny) and replaced the teeth with a pair of golden nipple clamps and heavy chains that pulled across her tits, Zeta welcomed the incessant hurt. Her masochism was confirmed, but her submission had yet to be fully realised or her underpinning rebelliousness fully curbed. Marcel knew it, but Zeta was unaware how much she had yet to be fully tested, stretched and finally, fully broken.

For now the training and punishment was light, almost uneventful in comparison to what was possible according to how she behaved. Marcel was so hoping she would be difficult. There was nothing he loved more than to break a rebellious young slut, whether male or female. However, for now he was satisfied watching Julian fucking her arse with gusto and seeing how her teats were stretched and purple with their enforced engorgement. At his feet was his favourite protégé, lying completely exhausted and satiated as a reward for her work, as instructed by Madam on my behest.

He could see the look of almost painful concentration on his slave's face. Julian was straining to obey the silent instruction that he was not to cum without permission. Marcel watched the strained expression, the crow's feet as the slave's eyes screwed up in concentration and the unnatural tension in Julian's back and thighs. What magnificent, strong thighs, he thought. However, he was growing tired of everyone else having their fun. He motioned for the slave who'd licked Imogen to touch Zeta, assaulting her clitty with firm strokes as the cock continued to pummel her arse. He watched as the slut's face signalled her cumming.

"You are not to cum, slut. That is an order!" he shouted at her.

"Fuck you," she screamed back, unable to keep any sense of control. Her body shook and her arse ground back as far as she could onto Julian's impaled and tortured cock. Her anal muscles squeezed and grasped as they alternated between sucking him in and trying to push him out as nature intended. She was unaware of how much she was adding to his lustful torture.

Marcel smiled. She would be kept in the stable for weeks at this rate. He knew he would have hours of fun breaking her.

"You may cum now Slave Julian. This slut does not have your willpower, yet."

"Don't be so fucking sure," Zeta slurred, her body pulsing again and again with a rate of orgasms she had never experienced before. "Ahhhhhh."

Julian had withdrawn from her arsehole, his cock showering a spray of cum over her back and neck that dribbled everywhere. Spurt followed spurt, the hot seed making wherever it hit a pool of heat. Zeta could smell its alkaline, almost bleach-like aroma and feel the heat of those little pools of spent pleasure. She loved his firm hand that had held her dark buttocks so tight as he came and was now roaming her body freely, smearing the cum into her skin.

What she was not ready for was the sudden assault of a large, cold object into her still-opened anus. It was a solid cock-like thing that lacked the hot sensuality of Julian's prick. No, this was brutal, unfeeling, inhuman and, to Zeta's surprise exciting in its capacity to humiliate. Somehow it was more debasing to have this lifeless dildo shoved hard up her arse. Worse, she realised that there was something switch-like attached to it. She thought hard, suddenly making connections. Stables. People walking like ponies. Harnesses. My God! She thought, unable to speak. Her whole naked body began to go crimson with the humiliation. Then that strange heat that radiated from not only the striped arse but now the thick intrusive dildo confused her with its seductive pleasure. She felt her cunt tingle and yet wanted to shrink away somewhere. That dildo she had seen before was inside her. They had made her into a bloody pony!

"You look so beautiful slut. Your skin is such a deep shade of embarrassment on an already dusky body" He laughed, mocking her obvious vulnerability and teasing her mercilessly. "Just think, I can offer you to anyone here and you can do nothing. They can harness you up and ride you; they can fuck your mouth, your cunt or your arse. They can piss and shit on you and you can do NOTHING!"

She wanted to shout back, to insult him, but she did not want more stripes. So she hung her head down, remaining silent. Then she cried; tears that she was angry with herself for shedding. She was ashamed at her lack of control.

"Good girl, good girl," he said in a most soothing, appreciative tone. And he reached out to stroke her punished backside and flanks as if she was a horse. His hands were strong and warm on her naked flesh. It hurt and yet pleasured her. The caresses were seductive, making her forget the anger and shame that followed his proclamation of her animal status. Over and over her taut young flesh he stroked and stroked. Then suddenly he barked an order, making her tense and 'jump'.

"Slave Julian, bring me the bit and bridle."

"Yes Master," was the instant reply. And off he trotted again to the stable, where he chose a particularly severe bit that was more a gag and a head harness that had thick leather strapping and blinkers. He knew that his Master would be pleased with such an uncompromising choice. He trotted back, cock hard again, excited by the taming of Zeta that was his Master's duty and something he would relish; just as he had when Marcel broke him himself.

Zeta wanted to speak but couldn't. The swearwords were on the tip of her tongue, but she feared what Marcel might do to 'educate' her. Yet even with her silence, that teenage devilment was just below the surface. Somehow she would get her revenge, show he could not tame her. Imogen saw the steely look in the young woman's eyes behind the tears. Their gazes locked on each other; one knowing, the other just beginning to understand.

Chapter 5 -- Flying high

Nirvana waved to me as she stepped through the customs barrier. I had bought her a new dress, one with a flowing but short skirt. It had been fun choosing it with her. The prudish underpinnings of her past made her hesitate to let me in to the shop's cubicle with her. I would have none of it and barged in, leaving the door slightly ajar so that the assistant could just see my beautiful fiancé as she stripped; her sexy body was reflected in the mirrors that lined all the walls. I could see out of the corner of my eye the curious stare of the assistant, appraising her naked brown curves. She was discrete but I made a mental note that maybe, just maybe she was a soul to corrupt. It was more than a professional once-over to assess for fit. Indeed, I watched her hand do that female gesture of stroking the neck as her eyes fixed on Nirvana's shaven pudenda. She was fascinated and not at all fazed by my fiancé's lack of panties and bra.

The first dress was awful; too flouncy and not suitable for her journey. The assistant, Cara, went off and came back with another. I noticed that on her return she left the door more ajar and stared longer and harder. I liked her hunger. I thought it might be easy to corrupt her more into the games I liked and would play with my soon-to-be wife. I winked at her as I told her to go away and try to find something, 'at once demure and yet at another level sexy'. I did not even consult Nirvana. No, this was my choice.

Cara brought back a longer dress with a low cut back that when on my fiancé scooped low over her arse, showing her bum crack to perfection. It was a perfect fit, with a high neck at the front and a material that moulded to her firm large breasts like a second skin. I told Cara, 'Ill buy it, but it is still not suitable for the task I have in mind'.

"Oh, what task is that Sir?" she asked softly and politely.

I saw Nirvana shoot a look at me, open her mouth and then think better of it. She was beginning to recognise her place and respect my authority.

"She is going to America for sex therapy at a clinic I know out there. She needs something that she can fly in and wear on the rare occasions she will be in ordinary clothes."

I saw her eyes widen, but she was discrete this one, knowing not to say or ask too much. Then she surprised me.

"Wonderful! Too many women do not know how to please their partners, men or women." She replied in a voice so husky and with such emphasis on 'women' that there was an unmistakable message in her reply.

"Ah, it is so good to find a woman who understands. Listen; bring a pile of dresses in here. I think we need your eye. You are clearly intelligent and forward thinking."

I watched Nirvana again, her look one of hesitancy. She was going to stop me, but recognised my role and responsibilities. She was under my tutelage now and she knew it.

"Very well Sir, I will bring some that I think could work, but your partner has such beautiful colour in her skin we must make sure it is just right for her, don't you think?" She asked, directing her questions to me and talking as if my fiancé was just a clothes peg not the customer. I liked her. She was intuitive and had picked up on my specific needs.

Again, Nirvana looked like she was going to speak, even to object to being talked about not to, but again she fell silent. Her head was a little bowed. There was a silence that hung between us; until out of the blue she reached her hands forward to my face, held my head in her hands and kissed me with intense passion.

Cara opened the door to find Nirvana clinging to me, naked. Her kisses were passionate and deep. The assistant entered and stood patiently. I knew she was there but I wanted to test her capacity for subservience too. I let the kisses continue another five minutes, snaking my hands down Nirvana's body and squeezing and kneading her firm arse cheeks. I was so hard I could have fucked her, but this game was going to be long and complex. Then I broke away.

"So what have you brought us?" I asked Cara, letting her see the tented crotch of my cream chinos, and ignoring Nirvana's obvious embarrassment at having not heard our assistant re-enter. She was standing there, nude and her breasts heaving with their nipples proud and hard. There was a glistening sheen on her cunt lips.

"Wow, you are beautiful Madame, I feel reluctant to dress such a beautiful body. It needs to be seen!"

"Thank you Cara, but let's get on with the fitting. Her flight is this evening." I said in a clipped voice, keeping authority over both of them; which was hard when all my cock wanted was a damn good fuck.

Cara helped Nirvana in and out of the various outfits. Given her sense of obvious taste, looking at her own clothing I found it difficult to believe she was having trouble finding the right thing. I was convinced she was looking for opportunities to get to know that sexy body of my fiancé more and from the carefully worded comments, me as well. I liked her and I wanted to bring her into our sexual fold. I doubted it would take too much trouble.

It was the last dress.

"How about this one, Nirvana?" she said, having gone from assistant to confidante in the last 30 or so minutes.

She had just unpeeled Nirvana from the tightest tube dress I had ever had the pleasure to see. Nirvana had looked stunning, her breasts, arse, flat belly and pad of her cunt were all emphasised by the silken material in a soft pink. It took Cara working closely with my fiancé to get it both on and off. I noticed her hands when pulling the front hem up and over brush against Nirvana's shaven cunt and over her hard nipples as they struggled to free her. It was fun to watch and hear their panting as at last it released.

"I'll buy that one," I said, eager to have such an instant form of bondage hung ready in the cupboard. I decided to talk explicitly and test the reactions, readying Nirvana and gauging how ready Cara was too for more play. So I said, "Didn't it fit well over her arse and tits Cara?"

"Oh yes Sir," she replied enthusiastically, "And her belly and pussy looked so enticing!"

"Yes, she really is a stunning beauty, isn't she?"

"Oh yes Sir! Many a man or woman would love to ...."

She tailed off, realising she had gone too far. I gave her a look that made her wilt. I had her. Then I smiled and laughed. She did too, nervously as Nirvana looked on, puzzled and embarrassed in equal measure.

Cara was holding a bright red dress in a soft, clinging material on the bodice and with a short but flared skirt section. As soon as the assistant had pulled it over Nirvana's head and tied the lacing at the back, which gave it a corset-like appearance, I knew it was the one. She looked stunning. Her large breasts were held firm in the shaped cups of the bodice, pressed together and high on her chest but exposed by the low V-cut. Her belly lay flat under the cleverly embroidered front. The skirt was high above Nirvana's knees and much higher than I knew she was comfortable wearing which pleased me immensely. Also, it was a light material so would rub sensuously against the skin of her arse, thighs and pussy.

"Yes, that is the one!" I said, giving Nirvana no choice.

"Stand over here my love and bend over," I ordered.

She surprised me. She did it without complaint or protest. Her firm arse cheeks were displayed in the multiple reflections of the mirrors. What a beautiful sight and I knew that with the lightness of the material, every gust of wind or carelessness in bending or sitting would display her to anyone who cared to look.

I smiled, lifting her up again and kissing her full on the lips. I let my right hand slip under her dress and lightly tease at her cunny lips. I didn't care Cara was there. No, that was part of the changes I wanted to see and yes, when she came back from the clinic, I expected her to allow me that access any and every time I demanded it. Perhaps what pleased me most at that moment was her lack of objection to being publicly touched. It was a little sign of some of that inner reserve disappearing, albeit as far as I was concerned a small indicator. That was the moment readers when I knew our relationship could last and grow in strength. A strange indicator I know, but I felt such warmth for her and knew our lives would be both debauched and loving. But now I had a role to play; to dominate and dictate, until the therapy would do the rest for me.

"Right," I said, slapping her hard on her backside in a gesture of affection and yet control, "It's time we got you to the airport. I have the visa, our passport and the little bag of toothpaste and brush. I have added an electronic diary, which I expect you to complete in detail each day and email a report to me. May I remind you that stipulation is clause 40, page 23. That will be all you will need at N.U.D.E. Ltd. If there is anything else then they have instructions to charge me"

"N.U.D.E. Ltd.?" The women asked in unison with a sense of incredulity in their voices. Cara's face was a picture of puzzlement, clearly not comprehending any of these orders never mind the reference to N.U.D.E.

"Yes, they are a team of sex therapists led by a very forward thinking scientist with an unauthodox set of methods to free up the suppressed and repressed that lurks in many of us," I explained to no one in particular, then addressed Nirvana. "You will be there for 4 weeks. I'll miss you but then I expect you to come back liberated and ready for a wonderful wedding and an improved life".

"Thank you Cara," I continued, she will keep this dress on and I want the others I liked packed and sent to the address on this card. I handed her my business card, not letting Nirvana see that on the other side was a personal invitation to Cara to call me. These cards were really generic but she was not to know that I kept at least ten in my pocket for just such occasions. As I handed it to her so I secretly stroked the back of her hand with my thumb. I watched her eyes widen and a wicked smile cross her face. I hoped her call would be very soon.

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We drove in virtual silence to the airport, with Nirvana clutching her little black bag that contained all her worldly goods as of yesterday. Her legs cross and uncrossed next to me and I could see her breasts heaving in the tight bodice. I loved the view of her long legs; the flared skirt section of the dress had risen high on her beautiful long, dark legs. It took all my willpower to not insist she open her legs and let me toy with her pussy, but I wanted her to be left with the memory of the pleasure we had fleetingly experienced in the changing cubicle and some hunger to obey the instruction at N.U.D.E.

There was only one brief exchange, started by Nirvana. She asked, "Do you think Cara is a lesbian?"

"No," I replied, thinking carefully what I said next. "No, but she is definitely bi, like Imogen and many women, were they to acknowledge it of themselves. She was secretly staring at your beautiful body when we first started trying on the dresses. Then, once I gave her permission to join us that became more overt. Did you notice?"

"Yes, she seemed to really like my body. I felt her fingers brush my pubis. I think she liked my er nakedness down there."

"Couldn't you smell her arousal?" I asked, trying to keep my voice even and nonchalant even if my cock was hardening at the thought of what Cara's wet pussy must look not only smell like.

"Oh, yes," she said, rather quickly, then realising her mistake. Back came the 'suppression shutters' as she repeated herself, but this time like me, in a measured tone. "Yes, she smelled quite strongly."

"We can invite her round for dinner one night. She was very helpful with the fitting."

"Yes," she said simply, then fell silent.

And that is how we stayed until we reached Heathrow.

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I let her out of the car, watching with delight as she struggled to avoid showing her naked pussy as she manoeuvred herself to alight in the short skirt. I knew this had been a good choice. God she looked beautiful as her naked cunt flashed itself at me, failing hopelessly to retain her modesty. Shame only I could see it, but I was sure that the plane journey would produce many challenges. I had booked her in first class and instructed Ms Mavis Mapledorum to accompany her, albeit unbeknown to her as my PA was to travel incognito. They had never met, so this was easy.

Mavis has been instructed to make friends with Nirvana on the plane, having been booked in a seat next to her. I'd seen her leaving her car not far from us and was carrying a small suitcase. She had readily accepted my instructions; along with the substantial increase in her wages, which I realised, were not the incentive that made her do this but the promise of free sessions at N.U.D.E. Ltd. She would not tell me what it was that she wanted, but she claimed she had one inhibition she wanted to rid herself of. I wondered what it was as nothing she had seen on my tapes seemed to phase her.

We arrived at the lift together. Mavis was dressed in a jet black pencil skirt, a simple white blouse with low scooped neck that showed a hint of her more than ample breasts. There was definitely some cantilever work underneath keeping her puppies under control. This was a woman of 'Chesty Morgan' proportions whom I knew had the potential to be a great Dominatrix. Her hour glass shape was emphasised by the wide leather belt that cinched in her amazingly narrow waist. On her feet was a pair of plain shoes with a two-inch clumpy heel. Yes, added to the carefully coiffured but severe hair, its long tresses pinned back tightly in an intricate bun, and the fake glasses (she has perfect eyesight) she was a mix of plain PA and sexual dominatrix for those in the know.