Melinda and the Countess

Melinda And The Countess Susanna Hughes First published in 1994 by Nexus Reprinted 1995 ISBN 0 352 32957 2 Chapter One "Please, Master, please . . ." Melinda was naked. Her arms had been drawn behind her back and held there by two thin straps, cinched tightly around her elbows and her wrists. The leather bit into her flesh, forcing her shoulder-blades together and making her thrust her very firm, very round breasts with their hard, puckered nipples out in front of her. They felt vulnerable and sensitive. She was kneeling, her buttocks resting on her heels. In front of her was a big full-length mirror. She could see her Master in the mirror. He was sitting on a plain double bed that was stripped of everything but a black silk sheet. There was light in the centre of the

room but elsewhere it was dark and Melinda could not see into its corners. "So you want me to touch you?" he repeated. "Oh yes, Master." She would not have spoken if he had not asked her a question. That was the rule of silence. "Look at yourself, child," he ordered. Melinda stared into the mirror. Her short blonde flaxen hair was cut to the same length, and straight; it seemed to shimmer in the light. She had green eyes, a much darker green than was common. They stared back at her, intense, questioning. She looked down at her thighs, the muscles flexed by kneeling, tapering to delicate dimpled knees. She examined her narrow waist and the way her hips flared out from it. She looked at her iron-flat belly and below it her pubis where her blonde fleece had been shaved away. She could not see her labia, but knew they too were hairless. "So obedient," her Master said, standing up. His heavy dark red velvet robe swished slightly as he passed behind her. She felt his hands on her shoulders, squeezing them, and saw his knuckles in the mirror. They were covered with white hairs. He leant forward, his hands moving down to her breasts, the velvet of the robe pressed into her back, and gathered the mounds of pliant spongy flesh into his fingers and weighed them. His eyes were looking at her in the mirror. "You want this?" "Yes, Master." "Like this?" His fingers became like claws, digging into the unresisting tits. "Oh . . ." Melinda felt her body throb. She tried to remember she had to answer. "Yes . . . yes, Master." He found her nipples. Taking them between the thumb and forefinger of each hand, he pulled them up towards her chin until her breasts were stretched and she could see, in the mirror, the two purple marks normally hidden by the weight of the flesh: the two Ms that had been left there, indelible, a symbol of what she was. He was looking at them too. "What is your name?" "Melinda, Master." "Melinda and the Master." That was what the two Ms stood for. He laughed and abruptly dropped her nipples; her breasts fell back, quivering, covering the purple marks. She couldn't understand why she hadn't seen the small table and chair. He sat behind her at the table drinking dark red wine, which he poured from a crystal carafe, and eating bread and cheese. This he cut with a knife whose blade was curved like a small scimitar. He ate noisily and spilt red wine so it dribbled down his chin. Melinda dared not move. She hardly dared watch. Her arms and legs ached, her shoulder-blades were numb, but she embraced the sensation of being powerless. She

could not relieve her own suffering. That depended, like everything else in her life, on someone else. She was no longer an individual. She had no decisions to make. She did as she was told. "Come here, child," he said at long, long last. "On your knees." She crawled over to him, finding it hard not to pitch forward with her bound arms. He moved the upright chair out from the table and the lower part of his robe parted, exposing his legs. It was obvious he was naked under the robe. When she arrived at the side of the table, he held a glass of red wine to her lips and she drank thirstily. He tilted the glass too far and red wine escaped down her chin. He mopped it up with the sleeve of his robe. "What do you say?" "Thank you, Master." "You may open the belt of my robe, child," he said, parting his legs. The belt of the robe was tied at his waist. She padded forward on her knees so that she was between his thighs and bent forward to take the red velvet between her teeth. She tilted her head back to pull the sash open. Her naked breasts brushed his inner thigh and the contact made her body pulse. The belt unravelled and the heavy material fell away to expose his sex. Melinda's instinct, and her need, was to drop her mouth on to his cock, swallow it up; but she knew better than that. She knew she must do nothing until she was told. She watched as his cock unfurled from its bed of thick black and white curly pubic hair. It was circumcised and its glans was very smooth, as though it had been polished. "Do you want to suck my cock?" "Please, Master." How much those words thrilled her. They expressed so neatly, so perfectly, her situation, summing up everything she was and wanted to be. "Do it, then," he said. Without hesitation she opened her mouth and plunged down over the big sword of flesh. She sucked on it, feeling its breadth and hardness, feeling her own sex throb as she did so. She pushed down deeper, trying to control her gag reflex, so that she could get it all in. His glans was forced into her throat and her lips grazed against his pubic hair. She heard him moan and felt a flush of pleasure. "Very good, child," he said, though his voice was cold and betrayed no emotion. She sucked hard again, then drew her head back and forth, trying to make her mouth feel like her vagina would feel if he were ploughing her there. She tried to make it hot and wet and clingy. She tried to fight back the sensations in her own body, wanting to concentrate only on him, but her excitement bubbled up like boiling water, so glad was she to be allowed such intimacy with her Master. She thought she felt his cock jerk involuntarily. Could it be that he was going to allow her to make him come?

"Get up," he said suddenly, pulling her head back by the hair. "Stand up." His voice sounded angry. Its coldness stung her like a slap of his hand. Trying to cope with the change of mood, so close to intimacy a moment before and now so far, she struggled to her feet and almost fell over in the process. "Over to the bed. Lie on the bed." He was wrapping his robe around him again. Melinda tried not to reveal her disappointment. She lay down on the bed as she was ordered to do, and wriggled over until she was in the middle of the big mattress. Her arms, strapped behind her back, forced her to arch her body upward. She looked at the Master but for some reason she could not see his face. It was all wrong. She had done something wrong. She was so close to him, so near to being allowed to give him pleasure. But she had offended him in some way, and she was being punished for it. She knew that if she could have seen his face, it would have been scowling at her. She wanted to beg, to beg to be allowed to make amends, but she knew such disobedience would only make matters worse. He came over to the bed. "Touch yourself," he ordered in the same angry tone. It was impossible of course. She tried to stretch her fingertips up under her buttocks to reach her sex but could make no contact. "Touch yourself. . ." he repeated loudly. She could not see his face but she could feel his eyes, piercing steel blue eyes looking at her, watching her efforts with undisguised contempt. She struggled harder, spreading her legs wide apart and trying to push her body down on to her outstretched fingers, her hairless sex open and exposed, but to no avail. This was what she hated most. It was not for her to touch her own body; it did not belong to her any more. Was that why he was asking her to do it? Was that why she couldn't do it - was it nothing to do with the way she was bound? Why didn't he just use her? Couldn't he see how much she wanted him? "Please, Master . . ." She shouldn't have said it - he hadn't asked a question - but she was overwhelmed with emotion. "Is this how you reward my kindness?" he said sternly. "I can't do it, Master." "You don't want to do it." "I can't . . ." "You've disappointed me, child." "No, Master, please . . . Give me another chance."

Where the woman had come from she didn't know, but she was laughing. Melinda couldn't see her face but knew she was looking down at her, laughing at her renewed efforts to obey. "Please, Master." She wasn't sure whether she said the words out loud or not. They ran round in her head over and over again. Why didn't he ask her to do something else, something that was possible? It wasn't that she didn't want to do it, it really wasn't! Why didn't he understand? But he'd turned away from her, not even caring to look at her any more. She had let him down. The other woman was kneeling, opening the dark red velvet robe, fondling the Master's rampant cock, slipping it into her mouth, sucking on it greedily just as Melinda had done. But her laughter seemed still to be echoing around the room. "Please, Master," Melinda begged one final time, arching her prostrate body up off the bed, angling at him, hoping against all hope he would look at her; look at her hairless sex, and change his mind. She saw his hands touching the other woman, stroking her hair with incredible tenderness and care. She could see his cock throbbing as it plunged in and out of her mouth. Melinda knew he was going to come. It wasn't fair. Tears were running down her cheeks. She had been so close to him, so intimate; now he wasn't even looking at her, now some other woman was going to take his seed, service the Master, be used by him. "No . . ." It was all her fault. He'd found her weakness. If she'd really wanted to she'd have found a way to touch herself despite her bonds. He knew that. The smooth glans slipped from the woman's lips and Melinda saw it jerk. White spunk, white like pearl, shot from the narrow slit of the Master's urethra, out over the woman's face, over her mouth, nose and eyes, over her hair and chin and breasts, over her belly and thighs, even over her feet. Strings of white spunk hung all over her, strings of pearls, spunk that should have anointed Melinda but hadn't. "No . . ." The room was full of laughter. The laughter was so loud it woke her up. The dream had been so real that when she woke she looked around the room, expecting to see the Master and the other woman, and the big full-length mirror. But she was alone. Her body was bathed in sweat and her heart was pumping at twice its normal rate. Judging from the faint rays of light that filtered in through the window high above the bed, Melinda could tell dawn was beginning to break. There was enough light for her to see her own body. Sweat was running off the curves of her breasts. The black panties she was wearing were damp, but not only from perspiration. The dream had aroused her and the crotch of the panties was set with the milk of her sex. She could feel her clitoris pulsating and demanding attention.

Of course, there was nothing to stop her running her fingers under the tight elasticated waistband of the panties, down over her belly and on to her clit. She had dreamt she was hairless but in fact it had been some time since she had been made to shave and her sex was covered with a light blonde fleece. There was nothing to stop her moving her clitoris from side to side in the way she used to masturbate so many times in the life she had lived before. Nothing to stop her but the fact that it was not allowed and that she hated to do it for that very reason. That didn't make her need any less, didn't make her body beg for attention any less feverishly, but it prevented her from doing anything about it as surely as if she'd been bound. She tried to take her mind off the subject. She looked around the room. Last night, when they had brought her in here, she had been so tired after her long, uncomfortable journey from Spain that she had fallen asleep almost immediately, paying little attention to her surroundings. The room was small and rectangular, a single wooden-framed bed and mattress the only furniture. The only door was thick oak with a large mortice lock. The floor was stone and the walls plastered and painted white, though now they were dirty and scuffed. A single clear light bulb hung down from the centre of the ceiling. On the wall by the door were the only other objects in the room. Screwed into the plaster well above head height and about four feet apart were what looked like two medieval metal gauntlets, the sort knights would have worn. Each gauntlet was angled outward slightly and was hinged so the hand could be placed inside and held there. As she looked at them Melinda shuddered, imagining what it would be like to be held helpless in their metallic grasp. She had no idea where she was. The journey from Spain had taken two days, two days of confinement in the back of a windowless van. She had been told she was being taken to Paris and knew her new Master was a woman - what they called, in the Organisation Internationale des Maîtres, a Maîtresse - a countess whom she had encountered in London. But whether this was her final destination or a halfway house she had no way of knowing. She lay on the bed without moving, watching the light from the small high window gradually get brighter. It was too high for her to see out of even if she stood on the bed, and in any case she had no real curiosity about the place. Her only true concern was how her new Maîtresse would treat her. She remembered her well from the one occasion she had met her before. She was a beautiful woman, slender and elegant with eyes as green as Melinda's and the reddest of red hair, and a haughty look that befitted her aristocratic pedigree. She had treated Melinda with such harshness in the few minutes they had been together, handling her with not the slightest tenderness, that the thought of being hers, of being her chattel, filled Melinda with dread. She could still see her eyes; they were cold and hard and determined. She was a woman who was used to getting her own way, with no compassion or concern. The Countess was interested only in herself. She would be an uncompromising Maîtresse. The grinding of the key in the lock interrupted Melinda's reverie. A large woman entered, wearing a dirty grey suit which looked as though it might have been intended as a uniform. She was wearing a very cheap black wig that didn't fit properly and her face was layered with fat; she had several chins that made her look like a walrus. Hardly looking at Melinda, she beckoned for her to follow and headed down a short corridor. There was a door to one side at the end. She unlocked it and stepped aside to let Melinda in, then followed her through. The room had a toilet

and, in the corner, a shower head behind a plastic curtain with a drain set in the stone floor. The woman grunted and indicated the toilet. Melinda had got used to performing even the most private acts in public. She sat on the loo and peed while the woman watched her, though she seemed totally uninterested. Gratefully Melinda showered away the grime and sweat and cleaned her teeth with a brush and paste that had been left on a small wooden shelf with the soap. There was no wash basin, however, and she had to use water from the shower. She had taken the black panties off and hung them over the top of the shower rail but the fat woman had taken them and stuffed them in her pocket. There was no towel with which to dry herself and Melinda was returned to her cell still wet, a set of footprints marking her passage on the stone floor. A tray of fruit and a jug of water had been left on the bed while she had been away and the fat woman stood impassively while Melinda ate. As soon as the tray was empty she took it away and locked the cell door after her. Time passed slowly. The water drying on her body left Melinda feeling slightly chilled. She lay on the mattress and curled herself up into a tight ball to try and keep warm. At what she took to be lunchtime the fat woman with the walrus chins returned with a tray of bread and cheese and water. Again she stood watching Melinda eat and again she took the tray away as soon as she was finished, leaving the slave alone. It was deliberate, of course. Melinda knew this was how members of the Organisation Internationale de Maîtres worked. This was all part of the way slaves were treated, all part of the intricate means by which they established psychological dependency. Endless hours stretching ahead, with nothing to do but think about what was awaiting you; your nakedness a constant reminder of your prime function and duty; your inability even to have a drink without it being arranged by them; all were tokens of your subjection. Melinda had experienced it before with her other two Masters. She no longer existed as a person, no longer harboured hopes or desires or expectations. She was there to be done to, but not to do. That was all she had to remember. But it was difficult. It was difficult not to want, especially as her position - her submission to the will of the Masters - was an expression of her most profound sexual desires. The dream she had had the previous night had aroused her and she couldn't stop her mind filling with images of the things that had been done to her by the Masters. She couldn't stop her body remembering - like the muscle memory of an athlete - how it had been used. Her sex seemed to be a thing possessed, irrepressible, forcing its attentions on her. It had exercised so frequently it refused to accept inactivity. Her mind dwelt on her first meeting with the Countess. She remembered her precise, cut glass voice, her perfect, though accented English. "i would have her whipped every day." Melinda shuddered as she heard the voice so clearly in her mind. "She has the arse for it. And the belly. And the breasts." Melinda had been bound against a wall, her hands high above her head, so high she was forced on to tiptoe and the short skirt of her dress had ridden up above her thighs. The Countess had examined her, exposed one of her breasts so it stuck out of

the dress obscenely, and fingered her labia. Then she had pinched her clitoris so hard that a wave of pain, on the same frequency as extreme pleasure, had coursed through Melinda's body, and the Countess had watched eagerly for her reaction. Melinda had been left there, one breast out of the dress, the skirt around her hips, squirming against her bonds, every nerve aching for release; the fact that release would never come had made the desire for it worse. Melinda felt her clitoris throb now as she remembered and quickly tried to pull herself back. It was only one of a thousand occasions, a thousand times when she had been used, when her body had been subjected to the whim of another with no concern for her needs. What was happening to her at this very minute was, she knew, another subtle form of torture, a test of her obedience. There was no need to watch her, to have cameras trained on her, or to use two-way mirrors. If she broke the rule it was herself she would be punishing because the rule of obedience was absolute. Though, after hours alone, her body cried out urgently to be touched and caressed and fingered, to allow herself to do anything about it would be to break the rule and exclude herself from what she cared for most. That was the essence of her submission. It was pain and at the same time pleasure. What she was experiencing now, as in the past, was the mental equivalent of being whipped. Just as the pain of the whip was translated to hot, pulsing pleasure, so the frustration, the inability to satisfy her body's demands, led to another sort of excitement. The pleasure did not make the whip less painful; nor did excitement reduce the frustration. Somehow, in a way she did not understand or want to understand, the two went together like hand and glove. It was not possible to have one without the other. The Masters knew that and so, now, did she. As the light faded the cell grew dark. The electric light was not switched on. By the time Melinda heard the key being turned in the lock again the room was black, with only a thin wafer of light spilling in from under the door. This became a wide triangular shaft as the door swung open. A woman stood in the doorway. She was short and stocky, her black hair cut very close to the scalp, her face rather chubby and her eyes protruding slightly. She wore a black riding jacket over a white blouse, and beige jodhpurs with brown, highly polished riding boots. Her hands bore matching brown leather gloves and she carried a riding crop. "It is time," she said, her voice heavy with an accent that was not French. Melinda felt her pulse race. Was she being taken to her Maîtresse? "Follow me. Do everything I say without question," she said unnecessarily. Melinda jumped to her feet and followed the woman down the corridor, this time past the door to the shower room and on into a long narrow area which looked like a changing room in a gymnasium. There were metal lockers and slatted wooden benches. As the woman used a key to open one of the lockers Melinda noticed her wrist; she wore a gold bracelet on to which was etched the name BRIGITTE. There was also a gold chain around her neck from which was suspended a gold letter B. "Put these clothes on," Brigitte ordered, sitting on one of the benches. Melinda reached into the locker. Hanging inside was a red silk wraparound dress. On the top shelf was a packet of stockings, still in their cellophane, a black lace

suspender belt and a pair of red high-heeled shoes that had a strap to buckle around the ankle. There were no bra or panties. Under the unwavering gaze of the stocky brunette Melinda opened the packet and took out the stockings. She shook them out, then carefully, one after the other, wrinkled the nylon into a pocket, pointed her toe and unravelled the sheer material over her long legs. She loved the way it gripped her soft flesh. As soon as the stockings were in place she picked up the suspender belt, its waistband thick and lacy, and clipped it around her waist, before attaching its thin suspenders to the welts of the stockings and adjusting them to make sure the stockings were held taut. Each suspender needed adjustment, as if the belt had never been worn before. She pulled the dress from its hanger and fed her arms into it, wrapped it around her body and tied the bow that held it in place. There were three buttons, too. She pushed her feet into the shoes and buckled the ankle straps. "Very pretty," Brigitte said sardonically, getting up again and obviously expecting to be followed. The cut of the dress meant that, every time Melinda's leg pushed forward as she walked, the dress parted to reveal a swath of thigh, bisected by the black welt of a stocking. The neckline was cut low and the cleavage of Melinda's firm breasts was clearly visible. After three days without proper clothes the silk of the dress seemed to caress Melinda's skin. It was very expensive silk, so smooth it made her shiver as she moved. Her nipples were erect and pushed out against the red material. Brigitte led the way down another corridor and opened a door. Melinda found herself in a small courtyard surrounded by a high brick wall. An old black Citroen was parked immediately outside, its engine running. "Wait," the woman said. She reached into the car and extracted a mask of the type worn at grand balls. Its surface was moulded into exaggerated cheeks and there were two ovals for the eyes, and a bridge for the nose, but the lower half of the face and the mouth were cut away. The finish of the mask was golden though it was not made from metal. Quickly Brigitte fastened it around Melinda's face, securing it tightly by means of two elasticated straps. "In," she ordered. The wide and soft back seat of the car was leather, wrinkled with the patina of age. Melinda seated herself and Brigitte climbed in beside her. She took a hairbrush and a little plastic compact of make-up from the ruched pocket in the back of the driver's seat and brushed Melinda's hair over the straps of the mask before applying lipstick. "Allez," she said to the driver. The driver was a woman: a blonde, slender and quite young. She was dressed in a black suit with a skirt short enough to reveal most of her long legs. Her hair was long too but pleated and pinned to the back of her head. Melinda could hear the nylon of her tights rasping as she moved her legs to brake or change gear. They pulled out through tall wooden gates and Melinda found they were in the middle of the country. Obviously the house had been a stopping off point - and an isolated one at that. Melinda didn't pick out any other houses in the headlights of the car as they drove along the winding roads.

The mask made Melinda feel strange. She could see its edges around the corners of her eyes where it slightly impaired her vision. It felt as if she were staring out from the windows of a prison. The skirt of the dress had fallen aside to expose Melinda's stockinged thighs. The suspenders had pulled the very black welts into dark chevrons on her creamy thighs. Above the stocking, her inner thighs looked as soft and smooth as the silk of the dress. Brigitte, after putting the make-up and brush away, rested the top of the crop on Melinda's knee. Its leather felt cold. "Part your legs," the woman ordered. Melinda obeyed. The skirt fell away further. Now the wide delta of her pubis could be seen, its fleece of blonde hair doing little to hide the folds of her labia between her legs. Brigitte raised the whip as far as the confines of the car would allow and brought it down hard on Melinda's left thigh just above the welt of the stocking. Without pause she delivered a second stroke to the right. Two red stripes appeared immediately, but Melinda made no sound. She felt her pulse rate step up again, the heat from the reddened flesh radiating inward, its flames lapping at her sex. Brigitte pulled off one of her riding gloves. On her finger she wore a gold ring, its upper surface formed into the shape of a B. She used her bare hand to caress the two stripes she had created then curled it down between Melinda's legs until the side of her finger was grazing the labia. Her hand was hot and sweaty from the glove. She said something in a language Melinda did not understand. The driver nodded. Melinda saw her smile in the rear-view mirror. She tilted the mirror so that she could look at Melinda's legs. The fingers dug hard into Melinda's thigh, grasping it tightly. The car drove on through the night, its headlights cutting through the darkness ahead. They were on a very straight road now, lined at regular intervals with tall trees whose trunks flashed by almost hypnotically. Brigitte said nothing but did not remove her hand from between Melinda's legs. Occasionally Melinda would see the woman glancing down at her thighs in the light from a car coming in the opposite direction, or illumination from a street lamp. From lonely countryside the terrain began to change. At first they drove through small villages, where narrow streets and plastered houses and characteristic foraminate concrete telegraph poles, as well as chipped enamelled signs announcing TABACs, confirmed they were in France. Soon the rural landscape gave way altogether to suburbs, and street lighting bathed the interior of the car in an orange glow. By this time it was late, and there was little traffic and no one on the street to see the Citroen pass. Melinda's heart was pounding, her excitement at what lay ahead tinged with fear. She tried to control her reactions, not wanting them to affect her sex, where Brigitte's hand might feel the throbbing, or worse, a leak on to the delicate absorbent silk of the dress. But it was difficult. The situation itself was a provocation: being driven in the comfortable leather interior of the car, its suspension soft and rolling, swathed in

silk, her breasts and nipples rubbing against its sheen, her legs exposed, the two women looking at her with not at all uninterested glances. The car slowed and halted in a small tree-planted square. The woman withdrew her hand from Melinda's thighs, put her glove back on and got out of the car. The house opposite where they had parked was the only house in the square with a light showing. The woman walked up to its front door. Melinda saw her look nervously from right to left as if trying to see if anyone was watching. Apparently satisfied that there was no one about, she rang the doorbell. The door opened almost at once, but there was no light in the hall so Melinda could not see who was behind it. The woman went inside quickly, sliding sideways before the door had opened fully. It closed rapidly, the entry effected with surreptitious speed. A few minutes passed. Melinda looked at the young driver in the rear-view mirror but could read nothing in her expression, except, perhaps, an air of excitement. The front door of the house opened again and Brigitte beckoned to the driver, obviously meaning that she should come in. "This should be fun," the blonde said. Surprisingly her accent was English, a rather cockney English at that. She got out of the car and opened the rear passenger door. "Out," she said. As Melinda obeyed the blonde took her arm, holding it tightly as if she were afraid Melinda might try to run away. She guided her to the front door, looking around the deserted square all the time to check no one was watching. Only when they were both inside the house was the hall light switched on. Melinda blinked against the sudden light. "Take her upstairs," Brigitte said. "You know where." When Melinda's eyes had adjusted to the light she saw they were in a rather dingy hallway which had clearly seen better days. There was a straight staircase to the left. "Am I included?" the blonde asked, her fingers still digging painfully into Melinda's arm. "Same as last time," Brigitte replied. The blonde looked disappointed. "I thought you were going to ask them . . ." "I did." Brigitte said interrupting. "He just wants the same. Maybe next time." "Yeah, I'll believe it when I see it." The driver nudged Melinda in the direction of the stairs. The silk of the dress rustled as she climbed the steps, exposing her thigh. Like the rest of the house the stair carpet was old and un-cared for, even threadbare in places. There was a strong smell of damp: a musky, dusty smell.

On the first landing the driver directed Melinda through one of the many doors into a stark bedroom. Apart from an old-fashioned iron bedstead and mattress and two bedside tables, the room had no furniture. The shade of one of the table lamps had been covered with a red scarf, which cast the room in a dim pink glow. Incongruously the carpet was new, its pile deep and very soft. "Stand still," the driver ordered, at last releasing her grip on Melinda's arm. Quickly the driver stripped off the jacket of the black suit and unzipped its short skirt. Under the skirt she was wearing a white V-necked leotard in shiny Lycra. Its crotch piece fitted over the black tights she wore and was creased up between her legs. She had a good figure. Her breasts thrust out against the bosom of the leotard and formed a dark shadow of cleavage at the V. She was wearing black high heels that helped sculpture the contours of her long legs. There was one other door in the room besides the one they had entered through, obviously connecting with the room next door. After hanging up her suit on one of the corner posts of the bedstead the blonde walked to the connecting door and knocked twice. She made no attempt to open it and came back to stand in front of Melinda. "You're very obedient, aren't you?" "Yes." "Yes what?" the girl snapped. "Yes, mistress," Melinda intoned. This girl was not a Mistress, but there was no point in arguing. There was something wrong here, Melinda knew instinctively. She had a very strong feeling that she shouldn't be here, that what Brigitte was doing was not the will of her new Maîtresse. But whatever she felt, she had no choice but to obey. After all, it was possible her instincts were letting her down. It was possible this was all part of the Countess's empire, all part of the way she used her slaves; but for some reason Melinda found that hard to believe. "Kiss me," the blonde said, as if further testing her power. "On the mouth." She slid her hand around Melinda's neck and pulled her forward on to her lips, forcing her tongue deep into Melinda's mouth and pressing her body against her own by wrapping her other arm around Melinda's waist. "Touch my nipples. Both of them," she said as soon as she had finished exploring Melinda's mouth with her tongue. Melinda obeyed, moving her hands up the shiny leotard until she located the puckered projections from the firm cushions of the girl's breasts. "Pinch them." Again Melinda obeyed.

"Oh . . ." the driver moaned. Her eyes were sparkling with excitement. She had the air of someone who was experimenting, not only flexing the muscles of her power but testing her own reactions, seeing how far she wanted to go. "Again," she said. Melinda pinched the girl's nipples harder and felt a shock of sensation course through her body. She was more and more convinced that none of this was supposed to be happening. There were two knocks on the inner door. "He's ready," the girl said with no further explanation. Her long bony fingers gripped Melinda's arm again and guided her over to the door. She opened it with her other hand and shoved Melinda through. She did not enter the room herself. If Melinda had seen a stranger sight in her months with the O.I.M., she could not remember it. In the centre of the room - a small room with no furniture and no window - was the figure of a man. His entire body from head to toe was covered in black rubber: tight, seamless black rubber. His head has hooded in a rubber helmet so tight Melinda could see the outline of his cheek bones and ears and the sockets of his eyes. There was no hole for his mouth or eyes, the only opening of any kind being two plastic pipes at the end of the nose. Clearly there to enable him to breathe, they had been plugged into his nostrils through holes in the rubber and hung down rather like short tusks. The larger garment covered his arms and legs, his hands and his feet. Over his penis was a moulded rubber tube, obviously intended to be filled by an erection, but at the moment dangling limp between his legs. The rubber figure was suspended in mid-air, twisting slightly as she watched. Wrapped around the black rubber was what looked like a parachute harness, leather straps around his chest and waist and between his legs. Where the parachute should have been attached, at the shoulders, there were two short chains anchored into the leather. These ran up to hooks on a wooden beam that ran high across the whole width of the room. The man's arms had been tied behind his back by means of black rubber straps. His legs had been bound together at the knees and ankles then drawn up behind him, so that his knees pointed directly downward. It must have been very uncomfortable. Immediately behind the hanging figure was Brigitte. She was slapping the tip of her riding crop into the palm of her leather-gloved hand, the noise of the leather on leather making a distinctive thwack. "Kneel in front of him," she barked at Melinda. The room was carpeted in the same thick pile as the bedroom next door. Melinda knelt in front of the rubber man. "Take his cock in your mouth," Brigitte continued. This was more problematic. His cock was buried in the rubber at his crotch. Melinda decided to work on the rubber hanging down between his legs. She drew it into her mouth, sucked it all in and pulled on it hard. The taste of rubber was strong.

She felt something stir. Immediately Brigitte swung the riding crop down hard on the side of the rubbercovered buttocks. Melinda heard a muffled groan and felt the body jerk away from her. She held the rubber tightly in her mouth to prevent it slipping away. The impetus of the blow on the man threatened to swing him away, but the elasticity of the rubber in Melinda's mouth pulled him back. She felt his cock swelling. In seconds she no longer had just rubber in her mouth. Hot flesh filled out the black sheath. She sucked it in as she saw another stroke of the crop aimed at his side. This time she had a much firmer grip. The leather of the crop made another muted thwack as it landed on the rubber. Brigitte delivered four more strokes, two on each side. Melinda felt the cock pulsing in her mouth. The rubber was thick and prevented her feeling any real sensation. She could not tell whether he was close to climax or not. She sucked him hard and tried to get his cock right down into her throat. "More?" Brigitte asked. The rubber head nodded. The crop rose and fell again, swinging hard blows aimed at the top of each of his arms. Suddenly Melinda felt the pulsing in his cock stop. Instead it jerked violently up against the roof of her mouth. She heard a long muffled moan. Presumably, though there was no sign to betray it, the man had come, his spunk trapped in the thick black rubber sheath. "Yes?" Brigitte asked. The rubber head nodded vigorously. Brigitte pulled Melinda off the rapidly diminishing rubber phallus and up to her feet. She took her over to the connecting door. As she opened it, Melinda glanced back at the strange black rubber figure hanging from the beam. "Oh yes, she's perfect." The voice came from a man sitting on the mattress of the iron bedstead. He was in his thirties, slender with wavy brown hair which fell over his forehead and dark brown eyes. He wore only a blue polka-dot silk robe. His accent was English, very upper class English. "Viens." "She's English," the blonde driver said. She was standing by the door and closed it as soon as Melinda was inside, leaving Brigitte with the rubber man. "Come here," the man corrected. The blonde took Melinda's arm as harshly as before. "Careful, be careful with her. She's a delicate fruit, and we don't want her bruised." Melinda stood by the side of the bed. The man looked at her. He used one hand to part the dress so he could see her thighs and her naked belly.

"Oh yes, perfect," he said. "Bend over the bed, hands out," he ordered as he stood up. Melinda obeyed and leant forward, supporting herself with her hands. They pressed deep into the single sheet that covered the mattress: a cotton sheet, once white, but turned grey from being washed too often. The man untied the belt of the robe. Melinda could hear the silk slip through his fingers. She felt the robe fall open. His cock was already erect. He looked at the blonde driver and she looked at his cock. "Do you want me to stay?" she said. "Yes, as usual. I like you watching." "I'd like to do more than watch." The Englishman ignored her last remark. His hands smoothed the red silk of Melinda's dress against the curves of her buttocks. She felt a sharp pulse of excitement. She was desperately worried that all this was wrong, but she couldn't ignore the feelings that had been building up in her since they'd started the journey in the car. The man's hands flicked the dress up over Melinda's buttocks, exposing the deep cleft of her arse and her labia. Just as he'd smoothed the silk with the palms of his hands, now he caressed the naked flesh, covering the rich round globes at the top first, then angling his fingers down until they were touching her labia from behind. Then, almost casually, he pushed two fingers deep into her sex. They met with no resistance. Melinda was wet. "Oh yes," he said, sawing his fingers in and out and seeing them glisten. "She wants it. She wants it badly." "Little bitch," the blonde said enviously. He pulled his fingers out and reached around her body, leaving a trail of her juices on the absorbent silk. He undid the buttons of the dress so her breasts were free, then gathered them in his hands and kneaded them hard. His cock was nudging the cleft of her buttocks. It was hot and pulsating. Melinda could feel her own wetness oozing from between her labia and down over her thighs, an oily stickiness. She felt ashamed and guilty. She knew all this was wrong, she was more and more convinced of it, but could not think of one thing she could do that would make the situation better. She tried to comfort herself with the thought that perhaps this was all part of the Countess's design, part of the way new slaves were inducted, a kind of test. But however hard she tried to believe it, she knew it wasn't so. The knowledge did not stop her body throbbing, nor her juices flowing. As the man's hands groped her breasts he pulled back and directed his cock between her labia. His fingers had prepared the way. Instantly Melinda felt his cock plunging into her body, right up to the hilt, filling her completely, driving all other thoughts away.

"So what - did you think - of my brother?" the man asked while driving his cock in and out, the inward strokes punctuating his speech. "Very kinky. I like to - humour him . . ." Now he was looking at the young blonde and she in turn was watching his slick cock appearing and disappearing between Melinda's legs. "You wish it were you, don't you?" he asked the driver. Her left hand was gripping her right breast under the leotard. "Yes," she muttered. He looked at Melinda, the red silk dress thrown over her waist, her buttocks so pert and round, her long legs sheathed in the tight black nylon, splayed open, her labia parted by his cock, sucking him in. She was the most beautiful of all the girls they'd brought him, there was no doubt about that. And she was also totally pliant. Everything about her spoke of her submission, of her dedication to the act of obedience. He knew he could ask her to do anything and she would obey without question, obey and be excited by her compliance. He wished he had more time with her. Melinda felt his rhythm accelerate, his cock pounding into her faster. Unlike the rubber-covered cock she had had in her mouth, she was in direct contact with the phallus that was ploughing into her, feeling the rim of the glans, its heat, its pulse and its urgency. She knew the man was close to coming, and she was even closer. Her sex was responding to him in waves, great crested waves of sensation that were mounting higher and higher, taking her over. In her mouth she could still taste rubber. In her mind she could still see the black rubber figure hanging from the beam. The man drove forward. Melinda felt his hands using her breasts like handles, pulling her against him, either not caring if he hurt her or knowing it would not hurt. His cock went so deep; in her imagination she saw it at the neck of her womb, where a little mouth lay pursed to kiss the probing flesh. She could feel his heavy balls banging against her labia. She tried to look back over her shoulder. She caught a glimpse of the young blonde driver's eyes, staring intently, and of the man's, dimmed and unfocused, almost oblivious to her charms, so far immersed was he in his pleasure. It was wrong. All terribly wrong. The final wave gathered. As his cock plunged even deeper, found a new part of her body to open and invade, the wave crashed down, pitching Melinda into orgasm. Her sex contracted like a fist around the rock-hard shaft. She moaned loudly, thrusting her buttocks back at the source of her rapture. "Yes, yes, my little whore," he said. "My - perfect - little - whore . . ." The last four words were said with increasing volume. He drove forward into her spasming sex one last time, then stopped. She would do the rest. "Milk it out of me." And she did. Her sex squeezed him then relaxed, squeezed and relaxed, the silky wet walls moulding to every contour of his cock. She felt him jolt and kick inside her then, instantly, his spunk sprayed out of him and she felt its wetness spreading, like heat, through her depths. She heard him moan and looked down at her body to see his hands fall from her breasts. Eventually she saw his cock, glistening with her juices and his own, slip from her body. Brigitte hustled her out of the bedroom as soon as the young driver had put her suit back on. They had given her a towel to dry herself with and Brigitte produced a pair

of panties for her to wear, apparently worried that she might stain the silk of the dress. Down by the front door she was made to wait with the driver while Brigitte disappeared upstairs again. When she came down a few minutes later Melinda thought she saw her stuffing money into the tight pocket of her jodhpurs. The hall light was switched off. Brigitte opened the door a crack and checked carefully that there was no one in the square. Only when she was completely satisfied did she lead Melinda over to the black Citroen, with the blonde driver bringing up the rear. In minutes they were speeding away from the house. "He had a good time," the blonde said as she drove. "He liked her." "Don't talk," Brigitte snapped. "Why not? She's not going to say anything, is she?" "Just keep your mouth shut." "I think he's great. I'd do it for nothing with him." "You don't belong to the Countess." "What does that mean?" "Quiet." Melinda sat, her body still coursing with excitement, but it was an excitement streaked with guilt. She had an idea of what the two women were doing. Charged with taking new arrivals from the halfway house to the Countess, they had made a private arrangement with the two brothers, who got to use the girls before they were delivered. Of course, she had no way of proving it and no way of knowing whether she was right. It was possible the Countess organised the visit and perhaps that was what Brigitte had meant by "You don't belong to the Countess." But Melinda doubted it very much. The car drove through the deserted suburbs, neither woman saying anything else to the other. After ten minutes the car stopped again. This time it parked opposite a nondescript house again unique in the street in still being illuminated. "Out," Brigitte ordered. On the pavement she took Melinda's arm and led her to the side door of the house down a narrow dark aisle. The blonde driver made no attempt to follow them. Brigitte had a key and let herself in. She ushered Melinda into what was obviously a doctor's surgery. Almost as soon as she had closed the door it opened again. A young pigeon-chested man in a white coat entered, a stethoscope slung round his neck. He was balding

prematurely and his complexion was sallow and waxy. "Do you have to be so late?" he said in a strong French accent. "Yes," Brigitte said bluntly. "You know we do." "Take the dress off and lie on the couch," the doctor said to Melinda. There was a examination table in the corner of the room, its surface a black leatherette. "Take the mask off too." As always, Melinda obeyed. She had been expecting a medical examination. There had been one the last time she had been moved from one Master to another. Quickly and efficiently the doctor examined her. As well as the usual checks he had her remove her panties and paid minute attention to her sex. "She needs a douche," he said to Brigitte. "Naturally. But otherwise?" "Parfaite." "The Countess will be pleased. This way." Brigitte indicated a frosted glass door on the other side of the surgery. Behind it was a small bathroom. "On the bidet," the woman ordered sternly. As Melinda, still in black stockings and suspenders but otherwise naked, squatted over the white porcelain, she noticed a rubber tube lying in the basin. It had a thick bulb at one end. Brigitte ran water into the bowl then used the bulb to suck water up into the tube. She inserted the tube between Melinda's labia and pushed it up into her vagina: so far up that Melinda gasped. It was like a long, slender, cold finger probing into the deepest recesses of her body, parting the layers of pliant flesh, making nerves tingle in a way she'd never known before. Suddenly she felt a gush of water propelled into her, flooding her, washing down the walls of her sex, washing away the spunk that clung there, flowing out into the bowl of the bidet. Three times the woman filled the tube and three times she inserted it into Melinda's body. Three times the water gushed out, flooding her, filling her, then flowing out again. It was an awful feeling; the act of being washed so thoroughly made Melinda feel, conversely, that she was dirty, that she had done something sordid. By the time it was over Melinda was shivering. "Wash yourself," the woman ordered, handing her soap and a towel. The warm soapy water made Melinda feel slightly better. She dried herself with the towel. Back in the surgery the doctor was standing by the examination table. "Can I go to bed now?" he said.

"Bien sûr." Melinda was told to put the dress back on, and as she did so she was sure she saw Brigitte press money into the doctor's palm. His hand disappeared straight into the pocket of the white coat. "Come," Brigitte said, taking the panties from Melinda's hand as she was about to put them on. "You do not need those now." She was talking as if to a child. The mask was not replaced either. In minutes they were back in the car. "Everything all right?" the blonde driver asked. "She's cleaned up. No problems." For no reason Melinda could understand, the driver started to laugh. As she swung the car away from the kerb, Brigitte started to laugh, too.

Chapter Two The clouds that had filled the sky earlier had cleared away and an almost full moon lit the world in a ghostly grey and white. The gates of the chateau were an elaborate rococo creation of wrought iron set into a high stone wall. They opened electrically as the car pulled into the driveway. The straight gravel drive led up to the front of the house. On either side the ornate gardens stretched out. Moonlight illuminated the complex geometrical patterns of stone paving and hedging that divided each flower bed, and the perfectly symmetrical patterns on both sides of the drive. Massive stone urns provided the centre-piece, a row of intricate crescents and circles all the way up to the walls of the chateau. The chateau itself lay behind two sweeping semicircular stone stairways which led up to the main doors. It was a tall building arranged in four distinct sections, the outer two thin and narrow with triangular roofs, the inner two wider, their roofs also triangular but with flattened tops as though the apices had been cut off. The walls were inlaid with brick and had stone on the corners and on the lintels of the tall rectangular windows. Everything was arranged precisely so that the two outer and inner sections on either side were mirror images of each other. The straight driveway became an oval shape in front of the stone stairs, in the middle of which was a pond and an elaborate stone-carved fountain. The car swept past the main entrance and went round to the back of the impressive building. It pulled to a halt outside a small door in the back of one of the four sections. Melinda could see they were in a cobbled courtyard with many outbuildings: greenhouses and a stable block, obviously built at the same time as the chateau itself. "Out," Brigitte said. As Melinda moved to obey, the woman caught her by the hand, grasping her wrist so hard that it hurt. "Remember, you are not permitted to speak unless you are asked a question. You remember that, yes?"

"Yes, Mistress," Melinda said with reluctance. "Good. That is good." "Do you trust her?" the driver said, turning around to look into Melinda's eyes. "She knows better than to open her mouth. It would be very bad for her if she did. They all know that." The driver looked far from convinced. Brigitte got out of the car, followed by her ward. She took Melinda over to the door, unlocked it with a key she took from her pocket, and led the way down a short stoneflagged passage. She didn't attempt to put any lights on, but their eyes were well adjusted to the shadows and moonlight flooded in through the open door behind. It was no more than a few yards anyway. The woman opened a wooden door. "In," she ordered. As soon as Melinda was inside the heavy door slammed shut. She heard two bolts, top and bottom, being shot. The room was windowless and completely dark. Groping around, Melinda found that a wooden chair appeared to be the only furniture. As far as she could judge, the room was square and no more than eight or nine feet across. Exploring the walls with her hands, she found a number of metal rings set into the walls. In the dead centre of the room she bumped into a heavy object, hanging down from the ceiling at shoulder height. It was some sort of metal bar. Her fingers found it had leather straps attached to each end and to the middle. With nothing else to do Melinda hoped she might sleep. The chair offered little comfort so she curled herself up on the floor, resting her head on her hands. But sleep did not come. The stone floor was cold and hard and she did not seem to be able to find a position that made it any less so. Nor could she stop her mind running over the events of the evening. She was sure she was right about what the two women were doing, especially after the visit to the doctor and the seeming bribe. But what should she do about it? That was the question. It was no good telling one of the numerous overseers the Countess would no doubt have in the house. They might be in on it too. The only person she could tell would be the Countess herself, and that would mean breaking a cardinal rule of her training. Not only that, but what if she were wrong? What if the whole thing had been designed as a test of her obedience, a test she would fail if she spoke out? She knew full well members of the O.I.M. were quite capable of such duplicity. And there was worse. If what had happened was not planned by her Maîtresse, she was part of it. She was implicated. However much she might protest she was only doing what she was told to do, if she believed it was wrong the Countess would still punish her for not trying to stop it. And she had enjoyed it; even suspecting as she had that it shouldn't have happened, she had enjoyed it. That was worst of all. Wrestling with this dilemma kept her awake for what seemed like hours, though she must have eventually fallen asleep because the metallic clunk of the bolts on the door

being thrown back woke her with a start. Light flooded into the room, silhouetting the figure that stood in the doorway. "Bonjour, ma petite," the woman said. "Allez." Melinda got to her feet a little unsteadily, the hard floor having numbed her limbs. The woman facing her was a tall and beautiful brunette, with very dark brown eyes, hollowed cheeks and a very straight nose. Her hair was cut into a short bob. She was as bizarrely dressed as anyone Melinda had seen under the Masters. Around her waist was a tight broad leather belt attached by means of two buckles in the front. The woman was narrow-waisted anyway but the belt had been cinched so tight it bit deeply into the flesh of her hips and under her ribs. Attached to this belt were four long leather 'suspenders'. Two were conventionally placed at the front but the other two ran down, not from the sides but from the back, neatly bisecting the woman's plump buttocks. They joined not on to stockings but were clipped into wide belts that ran around the middle of her thighs. Again, these belts were so tight that the flesh bulged out on either side of the leather. There were leather harnesses on her arms, too, wide cuffs strapped tightly around her biceps with two thin straps running down to cuffs around her wrists. The woman's breasts were equally constricted. She wore a leather collar around her neck, from which hung two thin leather straps. At the ends of these were black metal rings. At first it looked as though the rings were solid, but on closer inspection it emerged that the circles were incomplete. The woman's nipples had been forced into the gaps and held there firmly by tiny serrated edges like jaws. The two rings were connected by a thin black chain across the front of her breasts, which thus formed a triangle with the straps from the collar. Another leather strap ran from the outer edge of the rings and all the way around her back. The effect of this strange arrangement was to force the nipple down into the spongy flesh that surrounded it, while the big breasts ballooned out against the harness. "Je m'appelle Claudette," the woman said. The outfit was completed by a pair of high-heeled ankle boots, laced tightly on to her foot, the heels so high her feet were almost vertical. She wore nothing to cover her sex, which had obviously been shaved completely then oiled so that her belly and pubis and labia glistened. Now every detail of the delta of her sex could be seen, framed by the leather straps. "Suives," she said. "Follow," she added, realising Melinda might not understand. Despite the height of her heels Claudette moved with surprising speed, and Melinda had to hurry to catch up. In the daylight Melinda saw the corridor was narrow and plain, rough plastered and painted white. Three doors down Claudette led her into a bathroom. This one was not primitive like the bathroom at the halfway house, but had every modern convenience: a large bath, a separate shower cubicle, a bidet and a double wash basin. In the corner was a toilet. "Baignez. Vite," Claudette ordered. Melinda welcomed the opportunity to use the bath. She had mostly been given

showers and a bath was a real luxury, even if it was obvious she would not be allowed to wallow in it. Claudette held out her hand as Melinda took off the silk dress, hopelessly wrinkled from the night on the floor. She took the black suspender belt and stockings off too and handed them over together with the shoes. "Montrez les marques," she said. "Show the marks," she translated quickly afterward. Melinda put her hands to her breasts and pushed the pliant flesh up towards her throat, revealing the purple squares that each contained a letter M. Claudette traced each letter with the tip of her finger. The skin had been sensitised by the marking process and the touch made Melinda squirm. "Ça va faites ce que je dis. Do as I say." From a small cupboard over the wash basins she produced a small razor, a shaving brush and shaving soap in a circular glass container. "You must shave like me." Melinda bathed herself quickly, washed her hair, then applied a thick coat of shaving soap to the fleecy hair of her pubis and scraped it with the razor. Claudette examined it carefully. "Encore." she said. Melinda repeated the process and this time Claudette appeared satisfied. Melinda got out of the bath and used the toilet, then dried herself on a big white bath towel that hung from a chrome rail. As soon as her hair was dry, Claudette brushed it and then marched Melinda back to the square room. "Viens ici," Claudette said, standing by the contraption Melinda had knocked into in the night. It was a metal bar, shaped like a yoke for a beast of burden, a semicircle beaten into its middle. As soon as Melinda was standing beside it Claudette swung the yoke around the back of her neck and secured it by means of a leather strap on the front. She picked up Melinda's left wrist and brought it up to the left end of the bar where a leather cuff held it at shoulder level. The right wrist was bound in the same way on the other side. Claudette inspected her work, walking the whole way around Melinda's body. "Je pense . . . I think . . ." She was considering something. Her hand stroked Melinda's breasts, one after the other, her finger just flicking at the nipple. "Je dois choisir. I must choose," she said, letting her hand fall to Melinda's newly shaved belly and crooking her finger into the crease of her labia. "Mais oui." Her mind was evidently made up. As Melinda had guessed in the dark, the walls of the cell were covered with metal rings, set at different levels. She had not, however, discovered the whips and chains and ropes that hung from hooks behind the door.

Claudette took a long white rope and went over to the wall facing Melinda. She tied the rope to a metal ring as high up as she could reach, then played it out, passing it between Melinda's legs. On the opposite wall she reached up to another ring at the same height as the first and threaded the rope through it. She then began to tighten the rope. Melinda felt it moving up her legs and running through her thighs. Soon it was pressing hard against her soft labia. Claudette tied the rope at this point. Melinda was now balanced on the cord. "Ça va." The metal contraption around Melinda's neck and arms was attached to a pulley hanging from the ceiling. Going to a little white plastic switch by the door Claudette flipped the control button and, with a light whirr of electric motors, Melinda felt herself being stretched up until she was straining on tiptoe to keep contact with the floor. The rope, in turn, was eased out of contact with her sex. "Ce soir - tonight you will be presented to la Maîtresse," purred Claudette before leaving. The heavy bolts went into their housing with a loud clatter. Melinda looked down at her body and the rope that ran between her legs. Already her calves and shoulders ached from her position. She tried lowering herself slightly to ease the pressure in her legs but immediately felt her arms pulled back against her shoulder blades, her neck squashed against the leather strap and the rope digging into the sensitive tissues of her sex. She felt a jolt of sensation from her clitoris as the rope pressed against it. The pleasure was marked but could not eclipse the increasing pain from her protesting shoulders and neck. Pushing herself back up on to tiptoe eased the pain, but then the rope was no longer in contact with her clit and her calves began smarting again. Like everything else, it was deliberate. She was poised between pleasure and pain, unable to have one without the other. She could turn the pain to pleasure if she used the rope to bring herself off but that was not allowed. Just as in the halfway house she had stopped herself from masturbating, now she knew she must not use the rope, whatever the temptation. But it was difficult, much more difficult than it had been before. Every time she had to lower herself to stop her calf muscles from cramping, the rope rubbed deliriously against her labia, pressing itself exactly on the little nub of nerves where all her sexual energy was focused. Every time a wave of pure pleasure coursed through her she found herself unconsciously moving her weight from one foot to the other so that the rope dragged across her sex, moving her clit from side to side in the way she had always loved. It took a conscious effort of will to stop, to try and concentrate on the dull ache in her neck and shoulders, to come back up on to her toes. The yoke around her neck made it worse. It forced her head forward so she was looking down, so she could see her naked breasts, the shaven triangle of her pubis and the white rope embedded in her labia. Standing on her toes, waiting until her calf muscles screamed for release, was the worse, because she knew when she let herself down the inevitable shock of pleasure would all but overwhelm her; test her resolve again, renew her struggle to control her passions. Over and over again, as the rope squeezed her tender flesh, her clit exploded with feeling and she yearned to use the taut nylon to complete her pleasure. Over and over again she resisted, but each time was more difficult than the last; each

time she wondered if her control would hold out, her only ally the pain the yoke caused in her shoulders and neck. How long they left her like this, poised between heaven and hell, she had no way of knowing. But it was some time before she heard the bolts on the door being pushed back and the door creaking open. The position of the yoke prevented her from turning to see who had come in but she heard the switch on the wall being thrown and the whirr of electric motors. Instantly the yoke was lowered and she was dropped on to the taut rope. The flood of relief from the pain in her shoulders and calves linked with the sensation from her sex as the rope pressed deeper into her, and she almost lost control. Almost, but not quite. She struggled, trying to worm the rope away from her pulsating clitoris. "She said you were pretty." The voice was female and English. Melinda felt a hand stroking her back. It caressed her spine then cupped each buttock in turn. The hand was cold and deliciously gentle. The woman came round in front of Melinda. She was shorter than Claudette but just as slender, her hair just as black - though it was long and brushed out to flow over her shoulders - and she was just as bizarrely dressed. She was wearing what could only be described as a corset, a garment that encased her torso from above the breasts to well down on her hips. It shaped her into an hourglass figure so severe, it almost looked at though she might snap in two. But unlike any corset Melinda had ever seen, this was made from metal, a brightly polished metal. It was hinged along the side under the left arm and six metal catches held it in place under the right. The top of the garment consisted of conventional cups, generously sized to hold the woman's ample breasts, but holes had been cut in the metal to expose her large nipples. The woman's legs were just as tightly encased. They had been crammed into white leather high-heeled boots that reached almost to the top of her thighs. The boots had eyelets all the way up the front and were laced in a criss-cross pattern right up to the top. Like Claudette, the woman wore no panties and had shaved her pubis and labia to leave her sex completely bare. "My name's Angelina," she said, extending her hand to touch Melinda's breast, then stroking her nipple. "Are you having fun?" Melinda shuddered at the touch of her cool fingers. "Oh, you are, aren't you? How sensitive it's made you." She grasped the rope a foot in front of Melinda's body and pulled it up. Melinda moaned. The rope chafed on her clitoris. The woman yanked it from side to side and watched as Melinda fought to keep control of herself. "Come on," Angelina taunted, "you know you want it." She released the rope then swung a booted thigh over it and stood facing Melinda. The rope now cut into her sex too. "Oh, that's good . . ." she moaned.

She moved back and forth on it, sawing the rope between her legs and brought her hands up to her nipples to pinch them both hard. One aspect of the unyielding metal garment that held her so tightly was that it seemed to make her body look soft and sensual by comparison. Where the metal was solid and unmoving, Angelina's rich flesh was, in contrast, pliant and fluid, squirming around inside its silver brace. Melinda tried not to watch, but the yoke forced her head forward. She could see Angelina's breasts quivering where they spilled over the metal bra; she could see the rope pressing into her, right up against her pubic bone, nudging her clitoris from side to side as she moved. The white nylon almost disappeared completely between the labia that closed round it. Finally she could see a trail of wetness running down Angelina's thigh and on to the top of the boot. "Lovely, lovely, lovely," Angelina gasped as her whole body shook with passion. She reached out to Melinda, wanting her to feel her climax as well as see and hear it. She grasped Melinda's breasts and wriggled down even further. It was enough. Her orgasm came suddenly, sharply, almost painfully. She dropped herself on to the rope one last time, felt the woven cords dig into her, then could do no more, shuddering and shaking as all her nerves were seized by the Shockwave of her pleasure. Melinda felt it too, felt the waves flooding through her body, knew what had happened and why. It was the final test. Every part of Melinda's body cried out for release, every sense demanded it, but she managed, despite all the provocation, to hold herself back. That was what was required of her; that was what she was here for. To be tested, tested to the limit. The Maîtresse would take her tonight. She must be ready for that. Her first pleasure must be with the Maîtresse. No word had been spoken, no order issued, but she knew her duty as clearly as if it had been written on the wall. She allowed herself the faintest of smiles as Angelina unhooked the rope and let it fall to the floor, the nylon distinctly wet in two places. She had shown herself and the Countess that she could be a perfect slave. Melinda studied her grim surroundings for the umpteenth time. She had been taken to the bathroom again by Claudette, though she was only allowed to shower this time, then returned to the room, where she had been left, unbound, for more than an hour. Though there was no window in what she had come to think of as her cell, light filtered in around the door-frame. Gradually, this light diminished until it was almost completely dark. A sudden flood of electric light from the single bulb overhead immediately preceded the noise of the bolts being slammed back. Claudette and Angelina came for her together, their extraordinary costumes unchanged. "Suives," Claudette said briskly. Melinda felt a jolt of excitement. It was the moment every slave waited for, yearned for. In London and Spain the Masters had often kept her waiting; hours had turned into days, desperate days when she had imagined they no longer cared for her and had no wish to see her. No doubt the Countess would treat her as casually during the next three months the maximum duration of time allowed in the service of one Master - but to be taken to her on the second night in the chateau was a privilege Melinda had not expected.

That was assuming, of course, that Claudette hadn't lied. It was an odd thing for her to have said. Slaves were generally told nothing. They were given orders, that was all. What was going to happen to them, when they would be allowed to eat, sleep, bath, when they would see the Master: none of these was something customarily divulged. Such matters simply did not concern slaves. It was entirely possible, therefore, that Claudette had told her a deliberate lie, and that Melinda was being taken through the house now only to have her expectations cruelly dashed. It was possible, but a sixth sense told Melinda it was not so. They walked through the cavernous corridors of the chateau, under high ceilings decorated with ornate plaster cornices, past seventeenth and eighteenth-century tapestries, their colours faded, hanging on the walls. Soon they came to a set of double doors. On the other side was a reception room furnished in high style: chunky sofas, thick rugs, huge bowls of flowers, all lit by large porcelain table lamps perched on mahogany occasional tables and arranged around a marble fireplace. Through another door, left ajar, Melinda saw a long dining table. With silver candelabras placed symmetrically along its length and an oak surface glimmering with two hundred years of polishing, it was big enough to seat thirty or forty people. They walked in single file with Claudette in front of Melinda and Angelina behind. Passing what Melinda took to be the front door, they walked across a chequered marble-tiled vestibule and up a sweeping stone staircase to a gallery on the first floor. A glittering chandelier, tiered like an inverted wedding cake, hung from a plaster rose in the ceiling high above, its light catching the glass prisms and creating tiny rainbows. Melinda watched Claudette's fleshy buttocks, divided by the awkward leather 'suspenders', as she mounted the stairs in front. She could see right up into the hairless sex; see the way the labia rubbed against each other as the thighs rose and fell. She felt a sudden pang of desire that added to her already mounting excitement. She hoped she might be allowed to explore Claudette's body more closely as she had the overseers of her other Masters; ordered to finger and suck and lick those smooth lips, to press her tongue between them and taste the sticky nectar she would inevitably find within. At the top of the stairs Claudette turned right and walked across the gallery and down a short corridor. At the end were a pair of doors whose top edges, as with most of the doors in the house, fitted the ogee arch above them. To the side was a small plain door. Claudette opened it and ushered Melinda through. The room they now stood in was quite large. It was thickly carpeted in a creamy, deep-pile wool. There were two big picture windows draped with oatmeal-coloured curtains and, strangely, the rest of the walls were curtained too, in an off-white chiffon. It was not as heavy as the material on the windows, but was so densely pleated that it was impossible to see the walls underneath. In fact, the door through which they had entered was covered too, though the chiffon was split to allow it to open. As Angelina closed the door, the curtaining fell back, hiding the entrance completely. There was no way of telling how many other doors the room might have. There was no furniture in the room except a white chest of drawers standing against one wall and an odd contraption in the very centre. Melinda stared at it, trying to work out what it might be for. It reminded her of a large rocking-horse with no head and an abbreviated neck. It certainly had something across its back that strongly resembled a saddle, though with no pommel. The stirrups were two steel extensions,

moulded to fit the shape of a leg, bent at the knee in the exact position a jockey would adopt on a racehorse. The steel was fitted with leather straps at regular intervals so the leg would be held securely the whole length of the stirrup. Hanging down immediately above the saddle was a pair of red leather cuffs joined by a single steel link and attached to a long chain, which disappeared into an opening in the high ceiling above. "Well, sweetie . . ." Angelina said, taking Melinda by the arm and guiding her naked body over to the 'horse'. "Time for your first riding lesson." Her fingers squeezed Melinda's arm hard and her eyes narrowed slightly. "Up," she ordered, patting the saddle with her other hand. As Melinda obeyed, standing on a wooden block at the side of the horse then swinging her naked leg over the saddle she noticed there were two orifices in the leather beneath. In her sitting position, one was covered by her body but the other lay squarely in front of the apex of her thighs. Claudette had taken a small remote control unit from the top of the chest of drawers. She pointed it at the horse and pressed one of its controls. The red leather cuffs descended until they brushed Melinda's face. Angelina took her wrists and strapped them into the cuffs. They were padded on the inside and not uncomfortable, despite the fact that Angelina tied them tightly. Claudette then pressed another button on the remote control, and Melinda felt her arms being hoisted up over her head. They were not stretched taut, however; the progress of the chain stopped while her elbows were still slightly bent. After a little adjustment at the knee, Melinda's legs were pressed into the moulded steel stirrups. Angelina buckled the straps on the left and Claudette those on the right, securing her thighs in two places, her knee above and below the joint, her calf and her ankle. It made it impossible for Melinda to move her leg at all or to raise herself even an inch from the leather saddle. The women checked the straps carefully, Angelina examining the side Claudette had buckled and vice versa. "Are you comfortable?" Angelina asked, her hand resting on the top of Melinda's thigh. "Yes, mistress." It was not a lie. She had been in much less amenable forms of bondage than this. "Très bien." Claudette picked up the remote control again and pressed another button. Melinda heard a faint electric hum. Two things happened simultaneously. She felt something growing between her legs, a cold hard object pressing into her labia, then on up into the mouth of her sex. In seconds it was probing inside her. At the same time, she saw the hole between her legs fill, and a phallus rose up in front of her. As her sex was penetrated by one shaft, the other grew in front of her, a perfect replica of a penis: the shape of the glans and every other detail reproduced perfectly, right down to the little slit of the urethra. Both moved up incredibly slowly; the dildo inside her curved deep into her body, filling her, as the one in front curved out from the base of her labia, as if she were growing a cock.

"Oh . . ." she gasped, unable to control her feelings. The dildo burrowed inexorably up into the cavern of her sex. She tried to lift herself from the saddle, beginning to believe it would split her in two, but could not get any relief. It nudged continually higher until it felt like a great sword embedded within her. Her heart was thumping wildly. She could not take another inch, another millimetre, it was too much, too big. It would surely hurt her. She had to do something to stop it. It was already deeper than any man had ever been, in a part of her body she did not even know existed, where even the rubber tube that had douched her had not gone. She had to stop it. They had miscalculated, something had gone wrong. She had to speak . . . At the moment she was about to beg for mercy, beg them to stop it and break her vow of obedience the engine stopped. The phallus in front of her stopped too, fully grown. Before she knew what she was doing, Melinda felt her entire body shudder and her muscles lock. Whether it was from relief or excitement she could not tell. She tried to pull herself off the saddle again, levering herself up on her arms and perhaps managing a tiny, tiny fraction of movement, but it was not enough to save her. It was not enough to stop her sex melting over the head of the dildo buried so firmly inside her, nor to prevent her spasming over the unyielding phallus, her juices flooding out of her, her body quivering helplessly against her bondage. Her orgasm raged beyond her control. "The little bitch," said Angelina. "Jouissance!" Claudette exclaimed. "C'est très excitant, n'est-ce pas?" "Very." The voice rang out loudly across the room. Even through the fog of orgasm Melinda recognised the cultured French tones. It was the Countess, her Maîtresse. "Quite a performance, I think," she continued. Melinda searched the room but could not see where the voice had come from. Then she saw the chiffon parted by a hand, its long fingernails perfectly manicured and varnished an almost burgundy red. The Countess stepped through the curtaining. She was without question a beautiful woman. Melinda had forgotten quite how beautiful. She had a thin, rather sharp face with high cheekbones and a delicate, straight nose. Her red hair was cut to midway down her neck and styled in soft, bouncy waves. She was wearing a white silk teddy, with panels of lace on the side at her hips and over her breasts. Her figure was slender but her breasts were ripe and full. She had long legs with contoured thighs, dimpled under the crease of her pelvis, and firm calves, their muscles shaped by the black velvet high-heeled slippers she wore. Her ankles were narrow and pinched at each side of the tendon that ran up from the heel. The teddy fitted her loosely and as she walked forward, glimpses of a thick mat of red pubic hair were visible under the silk. "Elle a joui," Claudette said. "Je sais, je sais." The Countess stood looking into Melinda's eyes. Like Melinda's, her eyes were green

and sparkled brightly; but the sparkle contained a glint of steel. As she stared intently Melinda felt a knot of excitement form in the pit of her stomach. She also felt a shiver of fear. "Ma petite . . ." said the Maîtresse with unexpected tenderness, reaching out to touch Melinda's breast and caressing it with the affection her tone of voice suggested. Melinda remembered the last time these long, bony fingers had touched her, and it certainly hadn't been like this. The Countess's hand dropped to the phallus that had sprouted between Melinda's legs. She stroked it as though it were a real cock, making a ring with her thumb and forefinger and moving it up and down the shaft. "Did you come well?" "Yes, mistress." She wanted to explain she hadn't been able to stop herself, that it was beyond her control, that the dildo had taken her by surprise and gone too deep, but she knew she must not unless she was asked. "Ça me plait. It pleases me . . ." Melinda felt enormous relief. The Countess raised a hand to her slave's breast and stroked it again as her other hand continued to play with the dildo. She seemed completely different from the way she had appeared in London, so ruthless and cruel. "Je veux . . . I want you to come again, come for me . . . Will you do that?" "Oh yes, mistress." It would not be difficult. The Maîtresse's tenderness, the tone of her voice, the softness of her touch were making Melinda tremble with sensation. After so much coldness, after so little human contact, it was overwhelming. She felt her sex contract against the phallus buried so deeply inside her. "Do it then," the Countess said. "We'll help . . ." She signalled to Claudette, who pressed a button on the remote control. Instantly Melinda felt a double vibration, one coming from deep inside her sex, the other from the phallus in front of her, which was resting against the hood of her clitoris. As if in a well-choreographed dance routine Claudette moved to Melinda's left side and Angelina to her right, where they each pressed against her side, took a breast in their hand and squeezed it gently. The Countess dropped her hand to Melinda's belly. Pushing her fingers between the phallus and the labia she pried the clitoris out of its hiding place. "Press forward," she said quietly. It was exactly what Melinda wanted to do. She pushed her clit against the humming dildo and felt an instant surge of delight, the vibration from her clit immediately joining the throbbing in her sex, a current of pleasure flowing between the two. Her body began to fill with pleasure as a jug fills with water. This was everything she ever wanted: to be bound tightly, to be a slave, to have someone else decide what she must do; to be surrounded by tender loving hands, caressing her, making her come, hands

she knew could be equally capable of torment if that was what was required. There was no knowing and no preventing the transition: that, above all else was the feeling she loved, the choice between pleasure and pain not hers to make. Her body felt as though it was floating, as though all that was left to her was sensation. "Come, ma petite," the Countess whispered. Gently she slid her finger down between the phallus and Melinda's clit so the vibrations were transmitted through it, making the little nut of nerves quiver against flesh and not hard metal. It was this touch that was the last straw for Melinda; it filled the jug so full that it overflowed, water pouring down its sides as Melinda's body convulsed. She moved unconsciously from one stimulus to another: from the cuffs binding her wrists, to the stirrups holding her legs so firmly, to Claudette's hand on her breast on one side and Angelina's on the other, to the vibrating phallus planted inside her and, finally, as her juices flowed out of her, darkening the light leather of the saddle, to her Maîtresses's finger, quivering against her clit. "Oh, mistress . . ." she said, her orgasm raking her body. Her tight bondage, as she spasmed against it, gave the experience, as it always had, an extra dimension. "Très bien," the Countess said. Her eyes were fixed on Melinda. Seeing her body tense, then relax, her head thrown back in ecstasy. "Très bien, ma petite." Still facing Melinda, the Countess swung her leg over the saddle, steadying herself with her hand on Claudette's shoulder. There were small steps on either side just beneath the centre of the stirrups, and using these, the Countess stood straight, so that her belly was immediately in front of Melinda's face. As the storm of feeling subsided, Melinda opened her eyes. She found herself looking at her Maîtresse's belly, at the loose crotch of the teddy which allowed her to see the springy bush of red hair beneath. The Countess was holding on to the leather cuffs that bound Melinda's wrists and used these to lever herself into Melinda's face. Melinda did not need to be told what to do. She kissed the white silk and quickly hooked her tongue around the leg of the teddy to get at her Maîtresse's sex. She wanted to please her, to do whatever she wanted, after what she had done for Melinda. Her tongue burrowed into the thick pubic hair and found the labia. It burrowed further until it felt the hardness of her Mistress's clit. "Mmmm," the Countess said, swaying her hips, pressing herself against her slave. It was only then that Melinda realised the vibration had not stopped. In fact it seemed to have grown stronger, vibrating her whole body, making her tongue vibrate too, throbbing against the Countess's clit. She felt her Mistress shiver with sensation, and tasted the first rush of her juices. "Maintenant," she said, sliding her body away from Melinda's mouth. She moved her hand to pull aside the crotch piece of the teddy, then bent her knees and moved the head of the dildo right on to her clit, where, seconds before, Melinda's tongue had been. She held herself there, poised above the phallus. Claudette reacted instinctively. She went to the white chest and took two small strings from one of the drawers before returning to the horse. She handed the strings to the Countess, then, just as they had done to Melinda, the two women wrapped

themselves around the Countess, one arm behind her back, the other on her breast. They pressed themselves into her side, letting her feel their bizarrely clothed bodies as their hands kneaded and squashed her meaty gourds. Still holding herself against the tip of the phallus, the Countess manipulated the strings Claudette had given her. Melinda could see that each was about a foot long and had black bulldog clips at both ends. Reaching forward the Countess opened one of the clips and slipped it over Melinda's hard nipple. She released the spring-loaded clip, and the jaws sank into the tender puckered flesh. Melinda's shudder of pain was translated, via the vibrating dildo inside her, into a flush of hot pleasure. The Countess then positioned a clip from the second string over Melinda's other nipple and attached it with the same result; the same, that is, except for the fact that the second flush of sensation seemed to go on for ever. With her arms held above her head, the two strings hung unimpeded down Melinda's naked body. The Countess slowly, deliberately moved the tip of the dildo back between her legs. The mouth of her sex was open and wet. She paused for a moment, letting herself feel the vibrating shaft stretching her sex, ready to plunge on to it. Already, waves of vibration washed over her clit. She waited and waited and waited, teasing herself as her juices anointed the shaft. But finally she could stand it no longer. With no subtlety, knowing it would bring her off, she dropped on to the phallus, feeling it lunge into the heat and wetness of her sex, filling her completely. She clung to the women on either side as her first orgasm exploded over the phallus vibrating in the very depths of her. The force of her climax closed her eyes. As she regained control, as the waves of ecstasy ebbed away, she reached forward and took one of the fine strings in her hand. Claudette and Angelina immediately slipped the shoulder straps of the teddy down over her arms to expose her breasts. She opened the clip and, as Claudette held her left breast up, allowed the jaws to close on her own nipple. Angelina supported her other breast while she found the clip on the second string and closed it around her left nipple. Now she was joined to Melinda, breast to breast. The strings stretched taut across the space between their bodies, their nipples pulled out and throbbing to the same provocation, the depths of their sexes ploughed by the same invaders. Melinda felt her body churning. The vibrations from the dildo inside her seemed to increase again, but she realised they hadn't. What was happening was that the vibrations in the Countess were communicating themselves to her through the clips. Suddenly the Countess pulled herself up off the phallus, almost until it was out of her body entirely, then slammed back down on it again. It was only then that Melinda realised the strings that joined the clips were elasticated, and that pulling them made the serrated jaws dig deeper into their nipple-flesh. The initial sensation from the jaws had eased, but this jolted them again, making her nerves scream, renewing the pain that turned so quickly and violently to pleasure. But the Countess was not going to leave it there. She began to ride the phallus as though she were riding a horse, bouncing up and down on it. The phallus moved in and out of her like a real cock, and the strings of the nipple clips stretched then snapped back, clamping the jaws tightly on both women's nipples. Their breasts shook deliciously as the nipples were repeatedly pulled towards each other. It was too much to bear. Melinda was overwhelmed, flooded, drowning in sex. Every

nerve in her body was stimulated, every sense fulfilled. Her vagina was full, thrust against the vibrating phallus; her clitoris was throbbing, her nipples alive; her bondage, too, was a stimulus. The physical sensations were enhanced by everything she saw: Claudette and Angelina, their bodies straining against their costumes and above all their Maîtresse, so beautiful, so sensual. That was the greatest stimulus of all: her Maîtresse, so close, almost part of her, allowing her to feel and share her pleasure, to be joined to her. It was just too much. Forgetting her bonds, Melinda tugged with her arms, wanting to embrace her Maîtresse. The cuffs reminded her that she had no such freedom, that even in the midst of such intimacy, she was still a slave. Above all else it was this realisation that made her body leap, her sex contract and her orgasm flood through her helpless limbs, testing again their immobility. The Countess came, Melinda knew, at that same moment. Though she could not open her eyes in the heat of her passion, though she was drenched with her own sensations, she knew as surely as she knew she was a slave that her Maîtresse had climaxed at exactly the same time.

Chapter Three The overseers' high heels clacked on the stone stairs. This time they walked on either side of Melinda, holding her arms as they took her downstairs again. Melinda was glad of the support. Her body felt weak and she was light-headed. She would never have imagined being allowed to share such intimacy with her Maîtresse. It was quite affecting. At the bottom of the staircase the two women guided her in a different direction from the one they had come, down another corridor, much narrower and less impressive than the ones that had led to the Countess's bedroom. It was much longer too. The women said nothing either to her or to each other; the only sound was the clatter of their high heels on the wooden floor. Eventually they arrived at a stone spiral staircase. For the first time that day Melinda felt a chill of cool air. Though her nipples were still hard from the bite of the clips, she felt them stiffen more as Claudette led her down the well-worn steps. At the bottom Melinda found herself in a large, brick-vaulted cellar. It was difficult to tell just how large the room was, illuminated as it was only by a string of light bulbs slung in a straight line across the ceiling. Melinda could make out a row of massive stone pillars supporting the building up above. Part of the cellar along one wall had been divided into cubicles by a series of head-high wooden screens, very much the sort of arrangement used in stables for horses. There were perhaps thirty such stalls in all. Positioned at the bottom of the spiral stairs, rather incongruously, was a wooden hut. At the sound of approaching feet, a woman emerged from it. She was short and stout and wore a blue nylon overall. In her hand she carried a clipboard. "Arrêtez," she said, addressing Melinda. Casually she lifted Melinda's breasts one after the other to read the letters underneath. She made a mark on the clipboard. "Vingt," she said, before disappearing back into the little hut. Inside, Melinda

glimpsed a bed, an electric fire and a small portable television, as well as a little table lamp by an old lumpy armchair. Angelina took Melinda's arm and directed her down the long line of stalls. On the outer post of each partition was a number on a little metal plate. Number twenty was quite a long way down. Melinda glanced into the stalls as she passed. Each contained a single woodenframed bed with a thin mattress. Some of the beds were empty, but on perhaps half the others lay a sleeping woman. They looked naked, though it was difficult to see in the dim light. When they arrived at the stall marked twenty Claudette went in first. She knelt by the top of the bed, her body straining against the leather harness that encased it so tightly, while Angelina pushed Melinda in roughly and made her lie down on the bed on her back. Claudette then seized her right wrist and pulled it up over her head, thrusting it into a metal manacle attached to the top right-hand corner post of the bed. Leaning over her, her breasts and ring-clipped nipples brushing against Melinda's face, she secured the left wrist in the same way. Angelina had pulled her ankles apart and she now manacled them to the bottom posts of the bed. "You had it easy," Angelina said, looking down at her. Since they'd left the Countess, Melinda had detected an aura of resentment in the two women, an anger bubbling just under the surface. Perhaps they too had been surprised by the Countess's tenderness or had expected to be more involved themselves. Both women had been little more than spectators, their own desires undoubtedly aroused but completely ignored. "You wait." Claudette was smiling, a hard cruel smile. "It will not be so easy for you next time, ma petite. You can rely on that." Still kneeling, she moved her hands over Melinda's body until her fingers found her right nipple. The serrated jaws of the clips had left her extremities incredibly tender. Claudette flicked the sensitised flesh and made Melinda moan. "We could have her whipped," Angelina suggested. "No," Claudette said decisively, getting to her feet. "J'ai besoin . . . I need more . . ." She took Angelina's head and pulled her into a kiss, a hard kiss, her tongue full between her lips, her body squirming against Angelina's metal girdle. They walked out of the stall without another word. Melinda could hear their high heels clanking on the stone floor and up the spiral stone steps. It was so quiet in the cellars she could even hear the door at the top of the stairs open and close. Then silence descended like a blanket, cloaking everything in mystery. Though she was not alone, Melinda suddenly felt very much so. She thought she would have been able to hear the other women breathing in their sleep, but she could not. The only noises she could hear were those made by her own body. The manacles prevented her from doing more than raising her head off the bed, so she could not see beyond the confines of the partitioned wooden stall either. It was difficult to sleep. She was used to sleeping on her side, but the manacles were attached to the bedposts by very short chains and there was no way Melinda could change her position at all. This, though, was not the main reason for her insomnia. Her experience with the Countess had left her euphoric. Not only could she feel the

aftermath of the exquisite orgasms that the strange 'horse' and the Countess had wrung out of her, but her mind replayed everything that had happened over and over again, each touch her Maîtresse had bestowed, each tender caress. She could feel the Maîtresse's sex against her tongue and feel the dildo just as surely as if it were still inside her. She could see their breasts joined together by the taut strings, straining towards each other by their tortured nipples. She could see the Countess's labia spread open by the perfectly reproduced curves of the glans on the top of the metal phallus. She could see, most of all, her Maîtresse's green eyes, and the way they looked at her with such desire. She felt her clitoris pulse. Tonight, had it been possible, she would have touched herself; she would have come on her own hand again. The need was impossible to resist after so much provocation. She was glad she was bound, glad she could not give in to temptation. She arched her body off the bed, pulling against the manacles, wanting to feel their constriction, hoping it would quell her frustration. "Please, Maîtresse," she whispered, for no reason other than a desire to hear the words, like the incantation of a magical spell. Her body sank back on to the mattress, the bite of the metal at her wrists and ankles becoming unbearable. She searched for some thought to take her mind off the feelings surging through her. It was quite possible, of course, that the Maîtresse's attention and intimacy with her this time had been part of a routine, something she usually did with new slaves. Perhaps, in fact, it was a prelude to punishment, a cruel deliberate punishment that would involve leaving Melinda to languish in the cellars for days, yearning for contact again, to be perpetually disappointed. That would be the ultimate cruelty after what had gone before. Like a shower in cold water, that possibility chilled Melinda to the bone. She realised the cellars were cold anyway and felt herself shiver, unthinkingly turning to curl her body into a ball. The sharp cut of metal reminded her that even such a simple privilege was denied her. She speculated endlessly on what might happen, knowing that, in the end, her fate was not in her own hands. Deliberately and knowingly she had consigned it to someone else. Eventually sleep came, a deep and dreamless sleep. Melinda woke gently, finding her head nestled against her upper arm. Presumably it was morning but the level of light from the dim bulbs overhead was the same. She raised her head off the mattress gently, her shoulders aching from the position of her arms, and was surprised to find a man sitting on a three-legged wooden stool at the foot of the bed. "You wake," he said in an accent that sounded more Spanish than French. "They say to wait till you wake." His voice was unusually high. He sprang to his feet. He was undoubtedly one of the ugliest men Melinda had ever seen. His head was completely bald with an irregular pattern of bumps and dimples all over it. His ears stuck out at right angles to his head and were twisted downward as though a hat had been forced down over them too many times. His eyes were buried under a thick, jutting brow and were no more than pin-pricks in his face, and his nose was flattened, the nostrils splayed out so far they were almost as wide as his mouth. Most of his front teeth were missing, though the one or two he had had been capped in gold.

He was wearing a tight-fitting pair of what looked like lurid yellow swimming trunks and a pair of leather sandals. His body was as hairless as his head and was shaped like a barrel. His belly was like a dome of polished flesh. Though he was short, his legs were tiny, out of all proportion with his torso, and hardly seemed strong enough to support his bulk. He waddled to the bed, reached over and unclipped the manacles, wrists first, then ankles, his fat fingers having trouble with the catches. As he straightened up Melinda noticed that the skin-tight trunks seemed to contain no significant bulge between his legs. "Come," he said in his whiny voice. He pulled her to her feet and out of the cubicle. They headed down the vast cellar away from the stairs, his little legs working ten to the dozen as he walked beside her. After the cubicles the rest of the cellar was scattered with varied detritus which had obviously accumulated over the hundreds of years the house had been occupied. Boxes and chests and broken furniture littered the floor though a distinct path had been cleared through it all to the far end. Here there was evidence of a modern addition, a section of wall built out from the original stone containing three doors. The bald man opened one and led Melinda inside. They were in a white-tiled bathroom. There was a toilet, a wash basin and a shower above a drain set in the tiles. There was no shower curtain nor any glass surrounding the shower area. On a small shelf over the basin was soap, a razor, shaving cream, a toothbrush and toothpaste. The only other furniture was a bentwood chair on which the man sat. There was no doubt what Melinda was meant to do. She used the toilet, during which the man stared at her avidly, then showered, carefully shaved the stubble that had grown on her pubis and labia, and brushed her teeth. "We three," said the bald man suddenly, "three only in place. All others women. Three like this." He pointed at Melinda's sex then at the same point on his anatomy, grinning broadly. "See. Three like this." Then he started to laugh, a strange high-pitched giggle that distorted his tiny mouth. As soon as she had finished, the little man got up and walked around her naked body as if examining it to see if she had done a good job. "Me Pedro," He grinned again, then took her by the wrist and pulled her back out of the shower room. She had not noticed a small opening at the side of the new wall. Pedro led her down into it and down a dark passageway, at the bottom of which was a flight of stairs. Unlike the stairs on the other side of the cellar, these were straight and wooden and as much a recent addition to the house as the shower block. "Up," Pedro said, releasing her arm. Melinda started up the stairs but Pedro did not follow her. Instead he stood watching

her naked figure disappear, a broad grin still etched on his face. His gold teeth sparkled. There was a door at the top of the stairs which opened as Melinda reached the last five or six steps. Claudette stood in the doorway, her body, as ever, encased in the leather harness top and bottom, the black metal rings fixed firmly over her nipples, her flesh bulging around the wide thigh straps. "Bonjour, ma petite," she said with a tone of menace. "Et maintenant nous allons nous amuser. We are going to have fun." Beyond the door was a long corridor. Claudette led Melinda along it for a short distance, then opened a door on the left and stood aside, allowing Melinda to enter first. The room was decorated like a gymnasium with a polished wooden floor, a wall of mirrors on one side and tall windows on the other, overlooking the extensive grounds at the back of the house. Like a gym, too, the room was dotted with machines, though they were unlike any exercise apparatus Melinda had ever seen. Claudette unhooked a plain, thin leather strap from a selection hanging on the wall by the door. "Hands behind," she ordered. Melinda obeyed and felt Claudette twisting the leather around her wrists and buckling it tight. Still standing behind her, the overseer slid her hands around to cup Melinda's breasts. "Still sore?" She pressed her palms into Melinda's spongy breasts, flattening them against her ribs and making the nipples sing with pain. Melinda winced involuntarily; she hadn't realised how tender they still were. "Mais oui." Claudette sounded pleased. She directed Melinda to the first of the machines. It was shaped like an exercise bike except that there were no pedals, and where the handlebars should have been there was a rectangular panel extending up to head height. Claudette positioned Melinda on the narrow seat of the machine, then drew a strap over her thighs and secured it tightly. Once again, Melinda was powerless. The panel in front of Melinda's face was adjustable. Claudette turned a gnarled knob on one side and the panel moved forward until it was within an inch of Melinda's lips. Immediately in front of her eyes was a large dial with a single needle that obviously moved from left to right. There were two zones for it to travel through, a large green one and, on the far right, a red one. A leather strap hung down from the panel. Claudette pulled this around Melinda's neck and fastened it on the other side of the screen so her lips were actually pressed against the plastic fascia. It was impossible for her to draw her head back from it. "Bon, ça va," Claudette said, satisfied with Melinda's position. Alongside the machine, mounted on a black metal plinth, was a control console. Claudette threw a switch, turning on the power, and Melinda saw the needle on the dial in front of her jump slightly as the dial lit up. There was a faint buzz of electrical equipment.

Claudette pressed a button on the keyboard and Melinda saw an object project from the panel in front of her. It was made from hard rubber and shaped like a wedge of cheese. The tip of the wedge forced its way between Melinda's lips, moving forward until the object filled her mouth completely and the tip rested lightly against the back of her throat. The thick end of the wedge was very thick indeed and forced her mouth wide open; the corners of her mouth felt stretched to the limit. "Maintenant." Claudette said, her pleasure at Melinda's discomfort quite obvious, "you must push it up. Hard." To illustrate her point Claudette opened her mouth and let Melinda see her tongue push up against the roof of her mouth. Melinda hesitated. "Now," Claudette barked. The rubber filled her mouth so completely it was difficult to move her tongue at all, but Melinda tried to push the wedge upwards. She saw the needle on the big dial flicker. Claudette pressed another button on the keyboard and the wedge retreated slightly. Now Melinda could move her tongue. She pressed the rubber again and the needle on the dial slid across the green sector and almost touched the red. "Plus dur . . . harder . . ." Claudette ordered. She played with controls and the number fifty appeared on a green LCD display in front of Melinda's eyes. "Come on," Claudette said. Melinda pushed the rubber wedge with her tongue as hard as she could. The needle on the dial flicked over to the red zone for the first time and the LCD changed to 49. She gulped as she realised what she was expected to do. The rubber was stiff and unyielding and it took considerable strength to move it. Melinda tried again, but this time the needle stayed in the green zone and the digital display remained on 49. "Faster," Claudette said. Melinda tried again. The needle flicked to red and the number changed to 48. Claudette left the control plinth and came to stand behind her, watching the numbers as they changed. Melinda worked her way to 30 and then had a number of failed attempts, the muscles in her tongue not used to such exercise. When she got to 20, she thought she would never be able to complete the course. At 14 the sweat was running off her body as though she were running a marathon, and by 8 the muscles in her tongue were cramping, spikes of pain penetrating nerves that had never felt pain before. But she knew there would be no release, that it was no good trying to stop. Collecting all her strength she moved her tongue again. It took her almost as long to get from 8 to 1 as it had to get from 50 to 8. The green LCD finally read 1. Summoning her last reserve of strength she pushed against the rubber wedge once, twice, three times, but each time the needle flicked only into the green, until, with one superhuman effort, she pushed one last time, and saw the needle flicker, hesitate, then touch the red. The LCD changed to 0 and a buzzer sounded briefly. Claudette came round to look her in the eyes over the top of the panel. "Another fifty?" she said, her eyes narrowing.

As vigorously as she could with the wedge filling her mouth Melinda shook her head, her tongue so sore it felt like it was on fire. "No?" Claudette let her think she was considering it. Then, to Melinda's immense relief, she unstrapped the belt around Melinda's neck. Melinda pulled her mouth off the rubber and gasped for breath. "Every day you will come here," Claudette said, smiling. She unbuckled the strap around Melinda's thighs. "And now . . ." Claudette walked over to the other side of the room. Melinda followed her unsteadily, still recovering. Her tongue protested as she tried experimentally to move it again, and her breathing was still not back to normal. Recessed in the wall was another exercise machine. At shoulder height about two feet apart were two sets of five buttons, clearly intended for the fingers and thumbs as they were curved round in an arc. Hanging down at waist level between the two was a wide rubber belt. Claudette positioned Melinda in front of the finger pads, looped the belt around her waist and hooked it back to the wall. The leather belt around her wrists was released and Claudette brought her hands up to the buttons. Above each set of buttons was a dial identical to the one on the machine they had just left. Melinda's heart sank. The dials had already come to represent pain to her; the relief was obviously going to be short-lived. Claudette was fiddling with a control panel to one side. Again a digital display appeared, this time in the middle of the two sets of pads. The LCD showed 100. Suddenly Melinda felt her fingers being pushed out as the tip of each pad extended from the wall. "Like this," Claudette said, pressing her fingers down on top of Melinda's, one by one, and pushing the pads back into the wall. "One at a time." Melinda pressed the pads on the left hand first. Each time the needle on the dial above flicked over to red and when she had completed the sequence of five the LCD displayed changed to 99. It was not difficult, she thought with relief. She began the sequence on her right hand with the same result. The display changed to 98. "Too soft," Claudette said at once. She adjusted the control panel. Melinda felt the pads extend further from the wall. "Now." Melinda pressed again, and this time it was much harder to get the needle to move over to red. She managed it, however, and with both sequences completed the LCD display read 96. By 75 the muscles in her fingers were beginning to ache. By 60 the ache had become

heat. By 40, it was pain. She was getting pain from muscles she had never felt before, on the inside of her fingers, between them, and most of all in the back of her hand. Each protested individually, each seared with pain, threatening at any moment to seize up altogether. The machine had been cleverly designed. The pads required pressure from each finger separately for the needle to register success; it was no good just pushing the whole hand forward by using the muscles in the arm. The pain got worse. Sweat poured off Melinda's body again, dripping from her face on to her naked breasts, running in little rivulets down her navel, along the lines of her pelvis and into the delta of her shaven belly. At 22 she thought she wasn't going to be able to go on. The cramp was extreme, not one general pain but many, each of the newly discovered muscles torturing her with a different sensation. She paused, trying to recover. "Don't stop," Claudette snapped at once. Melinda knew she was enjoying this. It was a sort of revenge for what had happened the previous night. Taking a deep breath she tried again. She got to 6. with another burst, paused briefly, then pushed herself through the last barrier. It was a tremendous effort, but at last the green figures changed to 0. Immediately she pulled her fingers off the pads and shook them violently, trying to relieve the cramp. "Every day," Claudette reminded her. "Now you don't have it so easy, ma petite. Mais ce nest pas fini." She laughed as she saw the look of horror in Melinda's face at the thought of further torture. She unhooked the rubber belt around Melinda's waist and took her by the arm to a third machine. This one was shaped like a simple trestle, its four legs splayed apart, supporting a heavily padded horizontal bar. "Over. Bend over it," Claudette ordered. Melinda obeyed. At the base of each of the legs was a leather strap which Claudette quickly wrapped around Melinda's ankles and wrists, so that she was unable to stand up again. Instantly Melinda felt a surge of excitement, the excitement she always got from bondage. In this position Melinda's sex was completely exposed, her legs open, and the puckered aperture of her anus visible in every detail. There was not the slightest wisp of hair to obscure the scarlet flesh. Visible and available. Melinda squirmed, feeling the pulse of her body increase. Claudette stood behind her looking into her sex. She ran her fingers up Melinda's thigh, then parted the puffy outer labia to look at the finer more delicate inner lips, like the centre of some exotic orchid, their colour pinker than the surrounding flesh. The touch made Melinda quiver; her sex came alive. She was not the only one. Claudette felt a wave of need too, her nipples suddenly suffused with feeling, reacting against the clips that held them so tightly; her naked sex reacted with equal vigour. She brushed Melinda's opening with the tip of her finger, wanting to feel its silky softness, while her other hand ran down over her own navel and teased out her clitoris from its little hiding place. It was throbbing before she touched it. She told herself there was plenty of time for that later, but pressed her finger against her clit nevertheless. As she watched Melinda's sex begin to glisten and

pulse, she felt her own juices flow, felt her own sex throb. "Oh . . . oh . . ." She should have waited but she couldn't. She dropped to her knees, knowing exactly what she wanted. She brought the hand that had been touching Melinda down to her own sex, and penetrated her vagina with two fingers and her anus with two. She pushed them deep as her mouth gobbled up Melinda's open sex, licking it, sucking it, eating it. The finger on her clit frigged it from side to side as quickly as it could. In seconds she was coming, coming hard and deep, coming on her hand and on her clit, coming through her tortured nipples and over the luscious cloying sex she had in her mouth. Claudette got to her feet, wiped her mouth and hands on a towel at the back of the room, and pulled herself together. She had done nothing wrong of course. The overseers were entitled to use the slaves unless they were being prepared for the Maîtresse. However, the sight of Melinda had made her lose control, and that was not something she liked to do. Like the first machine the control panel for the trestle was located on a plinth alongside. Claudette operated the controls and a square box whirred up from the floor under the horizontal bar in front of Melinda's inverted face. With a hiss of compressed air a black rubber ball sprang from the surface of the box, just brushing her lips. Below the ball were the familiar dial, needle and digital LCD display. The number showing was 50. Any residual excitement Melinda might have felt from her position and Claudette's caresses immediately disappeared. The flickering green figures had become associated with pain. "Suck the ball, hard," she heard Claudette tell her. Obediently Melinda slipped the ball between her lips and tasted rubber for the second time that morning. But this rubber was much more pungent. It reminded her of the man hanging from the beam in his brother's house. This was the same sort of rubber that had covered his erection. "Do it." Claudette slapped her buttock hard with the palm of her hand, glad of any excuse to punish her. Melinda sucked on the ball and heard a slight hiss of air as it deflated in her mouth. The needle on the dial went all the way through the green and red sector and hit the far side with a little tweaking noise. The display changed to 49. She waited for Claudette to adjust the pressure, to make the exercise harder as she had done on the last machine, but nothing happened. She sucked again, and again the needle flicked all the way across to the far side of the red sector. The LCD changed to 48. Melinda reduced her effort but still the needle travelled the whole length of its range. In a few minutes the display read 18. Without the slightest trouble, she brought the display down to zero. Claudette was amazed. She had started the machine on its maximum setting, wanting to make Melinda suffer, but apparently she had been able to cope with it easily. She could have made her do another sequence, of course, and another, until the machine made her sweat and pant as the other two had done; but the sight of the blonde submissive and her own recent orgasm were still affecting her.

The suit that hugged her body so tightly was uncomfortable, but not painful. As long as she moved with care and precision, as she had learnt to do, it caused little inconvenience. The trouble was that it seemed to amplify the slightest suggestion of sexual passion to an urgent need. The faintest desire soon become ardent lust, every strap of the harness suddenly part of the provocation: the suspenders that cut into her fleshy buttocks, the tightness of the belt around her waist and, most of all, the jaws of the nipple clips that made her whole body throb as her big breasts pulled them from side to side. That is why she had been unable to resist Melinda the first time, and why she was unable to resist her now. Quickly Claudette released Melinda's limbs from the frame, each movement she made increasing her awareness of the harness and her need. "Suivez," she ordered as she pulled Melinda up. Without looking back, she tottered forward on the precipitously high heels. As she walked she thought she could feel her naked labia rubbing together, the wetness from her orgasm spreading all over her sex. Her breasts jiggled up and down, pulling at the clips. Even her feet, crammed into her ankle boots, seemed to be throbbing with need. Though the Countess had never said as much, she was sure this was why her overseers had to wear such bizarre costumes; it kept their sexual temperature forever on the boil. Her room was in the north wing of the house. It took some minutes to get there, minutes that increased her need. Her whole body was trembling, her pulse racing, the orgasm she had already had fuelling her desires. She flung the bedroom door open and pushed Melinda inside. The room was not large but it was comfortable. Claudette pulled the heavy drapes over the windows, shutting out the light. "Close the door. Lock it," she ordered, and threw herself on the double bed without even bothering to strip off the white linen counterpane. "Venez ici, ma petite," Claudette said. She lay on her back with her legs wide open. "Dans le tiroir," she said, indicating the single drawer in the bedside table on the right. Melinda walked around the bed. Her own body was responding to her overseer's arousal as she looked at Claudette's sex nestling hairless at the top of her long legs. She opened the drawer. Inside was a large black dildo of a design Melinda had not seen before. Its shaft was broad and featureless but at its base there was another projection sticking up at forty-five degrees, like a thumb sticking up from the side of a hand. " Vite," Claudette urged. Melinda picked up the dildo and knelt on the bed beside Claudette. She looked down at the Frenchwoman's body. Her hips were undulating already, moving her pubis up and down as if to the rhythm of an invisible lover. The flesh of her body bulged against the tight leather straps, creamier and silkier in contrast with its constraints. Melinda could see a sheen of wetness on her labia. Leaning forward, Melinda nudged the head of the dildo into Claudette's sex. She heard a faint wet sound as the labia parted.

"Oui, oui . . ." Melinda pushed the dildo up into Claudette's sex, the 'thumb' uppermost as she had guessed it was meant to impact upon the clitoris. She felt her own body pulse. A wave of feeling flooded through her, the shadow of the dildo that had invaded her so comprehensively the night before invoked like a phantom by the one she held in her hand. Effortlessly it slid home, the thumb pressed into the top of the labia, parting them to expose the clit. "Take this," Claudette said breathlessly as the dildo inside her leached away her frustrations. With one hand she indicated the thin chain that ran between the two nipple clips. Melinda took it with her spare hand. "Up," Claudette ordered, squirming down on the hard phallus, feeling it right in the centre of her and on her clitoris at the same time. Melinda pulled the thin chain up and watched as it, in turn, pulled the nipple clips, stretching Claudette's breasts up from her body. The jaws of the clips bit deeper. Melinda saw Claudette's eyelids flutter and felt her sex contract, pushing the dildo out against her hand. She responded by pushing it in again. She did not have to be told what to do now. She began moving the dildo back and forth, imitating the action of a cock. On the inward stroke she pulled the leather strap of the clips higher, relaxing it on the outward, so the bite of pain coincided with the pleasure of maximum penetration. It was what she would have wanted if she had been in Claudette's position. "Oui," Claudette whispered. "Oui . . ." Melinda felt the dildo pushed hard down against her hand by another contraction. She pushed it back up equally hard and pulled the strap higher too, drawing Claudette's breasts upward so that the flesh was suspended in pyramids from the trapped nipples. That was enough. Tossing her head once to one side then violently to the other, Claudette's body arched off the bed and locked as the pain and pleasure knocked her over into orgasm. Flashes of Melinda's body bent over the trestle, the sight that had originally excited her, danced across her eyes until even they were wiped away by passion. Immediately the orgasm had run its course, Claudette pulled herself up, kissed Melinda full on the mouth and, in a tangle of limbs, forced her back on the bed. After pulling the dildo from her own sex, Claudette jammed it into Melinda. There was no resistance. It plunged home to the hilt, its hard thumb right up against Melinda's clitoris. With no hint of subtlety Claudette rammed it in and out. It was exactly what Melinda wanted. Her body had been aching for urgent release, the sight and sound of Claudette's orgasm fuel for the flames of her own. With her free hand Claudette reached for Melinda's left nipple. She felt the reaction as soon as her fingers locked on to it. She began licking and sucking her way down Melinda's neck, and found the other nipple. Taking it in her teeth, she, nibbled it in time with the pinching motion of her fingers.

Melinda moaned. Claudette seemed to be all over her, wriggling her body against hers, working the dildo in and out, teasing at her nipples. "Turn over," hissed the Frenchwoman, her voice hoarse with passion. Melinda felt hands turning her over on to her stomach, and the dildo was pulled away. It was not away for long. Kneeling between her legs, Claudette pushed the dildo back into Melinda's vagina, but this time she had reversed the position of its thumb. Now as she eased it home the thumb nudged into the little bud of her anus, wet from the juices that had run down from her sex. The thumb was broad and did not penetrate immediately, but Claudette pushed hard and saw the puckered crater of flesh stretch to admit it. "Oh - oh . . ." Melinda moaned, the pain of this penetration so close to the most exquisite pleasure. "Yes, yes," Claudette encouraged. With one more push the thumb was home, the two phalluses buried in Melinda's body as deep as they would go. Melinda was coming. Claudette began to ride the dildo in and out of her, but it was not necessary. Melinda needed nothing now but the feeling she already had, the pain and the pleasure, the incredible sensations that rocked through her. Her body melted around her and she came rapturously on the double head that invaded both her passages. As she regained her sense and her control, she found herself wanting to thank Claudette. But that, of course, was forbidden.

Chapter Four Melinda couldn't sleep. It had been five days since her encounter with the Maîtresse and she had languished in the cellars ever since. Of course, every day she had been taken by either Claudette or Angelina to the exercise room and suffered the discomfort of the machines, and every day she had been taken, with some of the other slaves, into the grounds to get air and to eat lunch. In the afternoons she had been assigned some menial jobs around the house, and then returned to her stall in the cellars. There, after food had been provided and she had been allowed to shower, she had been chained to her bed again, unable to do anything but think. Nothing that happened in the houses of the members of the O.I.M. was casual; everything had a purpose. The Countess's welcome, the intimacy she had been allowed to share made the long hours of waiting unbearable, as she now knew it had been meant to do. Melinda could not comfort herself - as with her previous Master with the thought that he had not seen her and didn't know what she was like. The Maîtresse was choosing to ignore her; to use, no doubt, one of the other slaves instead of her. Her worst fears had been proved correct. It was a torture more acute than any physical punishment. She replayed in her mind countless times the way the Countess had touched her and caressed her on the 'horse'; how she had clamped the clips on her nipples then attached them to her own; how she had looked at her with those emerald green eyes, so tender, so full of care. Had

she done something to offend her Mistress? That was the thought that haunted her in the long reaches of the night as she stared at the light bulb above her stall. Despite knowing the waiting was intended as a form of discipline, she could not help but suspect that it was all her fault. The worry that she had mortally offended the Countess gnawed at her. Would she be left to idle in the cellars for the rest of her time at the chateau? Another thought had struck her too, a thought that had chilled her more thoroughly than the cold of the cellar. Perhaps the Countess had discovered what had happened while she was being brought to the chateau, and blamed her. After all, she had acquiesced in everything that had occurred and hadn't told anyone. That was a good enough reason for extreme punishment; good enough reason to keep her down here in the cellars, and perhaps worse. By the fifth night Melinda was convinced this was what had happened, and her misery was complete. Melinda had seen all of the three eunuchs who worked in the cellars by now, and each had come to unchain her in the mornings and take her to the shower. One was as short and ugly as Pedro but did not speak at all, communicating only in a series of grunts. The third, though, was much taller, with long black hair held in a pony-tail. He spoke with a French accent and had introduced himself as Paul. It was Paul who had arrived unexpectedly on the fifth night after Melinda had been lying on the bed for what she imagined to be some hours. Without a word he unfastened the manacles. Earlier she had heard the clunk of chains from the other stalls slaves obviously being taken upstairs to serve the Maîtresse, which had added to her gloom - but now, as Paul pulled her to her feet, her mood lightened. Of course, it was possible she was being taken for punishment, but she felt instinctively that she was not. Paul took her to the showers where he indicated she should wash. He said nothing. As soon as she was dry he took her along the narrow passageway to the wooden stairs and, as customary, left her at the bottom. At the top of the stairs Angelina stood waiting, the door open. The metal girdle was tight around her soft flesh and the laced boots encased her legs, the uppermost edge almost grazing her hairless labia. She too said nothing as she led Melinda along the corridor and into one of the rooms. Arranged in a line along the wall of this room were six make-up tables with a white stool in front of each. A bright spotlight illuminated each area, though there was no mirror anywhere in the room. Angelina guided Melinda to the nearest stool, and quickly began applying make-up to her face. It was an experience Melinda had never quite got used to, having someone else apply mascara, eye-liner and shadow and blusher according to their idea of what she should look like. It was the perfect symbol of her position, this most basic expression of preference delegated to whoever happened to be her Master. Angelina brushed out Melinda's hair and applied a coating of lipstick last of all. "Put these on."

She handed her a bra and a pair of tights and dropped black high-heeled shoes on the floor by her feet. Melinda wrapped the bra around her body and clipped it in place. Its cups had been cut to fit snugly under her breasts, pushing them up but not covering the nipples. She rolled the tights over her long legs, the ultra-fine black nylon moulding to her skin. As she stood up to pull them over her hips she noticed the gusset between the legs had been left open, neatly exposing her sex. She slipped into the high heels. After so long naked it felt strange to be clothed again, if only partially. The straps of the bra dug into her shoulders and the nylon felt tight against her long legs. The shoes, too, pinched her feet. Angelina directed her out of the room and down the corridor. They appeared to be at the front of the house. Through the rectangular windows Melinda could see the fountain and the stone steps leading down to it. The fountain was lit by several floodlights and its cascading water caught and refracted the light into a mass of tiny rainbows. They arrived at a small staircase. It was too narrow for more than one person at a time, so Melinda went first. At the top was a square lobby, carpeted in a scarlet red to match the walls. Apart from the staircase, the only other exit was through a pair of ogee'd double doors. To one side was a tall walnut cupboard which Angelina opened. Melinda glimpsed inside: it was full of leather straps, harnesses, chains, manacles and conventional metal handcuffs. Angelina extracted two sets of black straps before closing the door firmly again. Working with practised ease she took one of the sets, a leather collar with a single leather cuff attached, and strapped it around Melinda's neck, positioning the cuff over her right shoulder. Satisfied that it was secure, she took Melinda's left hand, pulled it across her chest and buckled it tightly into the cuff, the elbow of Melinda's left arm thus resting over her left breast. The second leather item was a thin strap which Angelina drew around Melinda's waist. Attached to this was a short chain and a steel handcuff. This cuff was placed over Melinda's right hip and the steel quickly snapped over Melinda's right wrist. Its chain only allowed a minimum of movement in any direction. After a final adjustment to her subject's hair, Angelina opened one of the double doors and pulled Melinda inside. The room was a large, comfortable sitting room. Its big windows were draped with thick curtains, its floor covered in the same rich red carpet as the hall, with walls in the same colour. Scattered around the room were various chairs and a sofa, all arranged to permit a view of the centre: there stood a huge oval bed, its mattress covered with a black silk sheet. Melinda saw Claudette sitting in one of the chairs, but all the other seats were taken by women in more conventional dress. To her great relief, sitting on the sofa with the most commanding view of all was the Countess. She was wearing a black negligée, its soft folds falling open to reveal her legs and clinging to her firm breasts. But the Maîtresse did not look up when Melinda was brought in. She was staring intently at the spectacle on the bed. In a tangle of limbs so confused it was difficult to say precisely how many there actually were, five or six women writhed like snakes against each other. All were dressed in various items of lingerie: stockings and

suspender belt on one, open tights like Melinda's on another, a silk teddy with its crotch unfastened, a bra with straps but no cups, an abbreviated black slip with spaghetti straps. Each, like Melinda, had been bound in some way. One of the women, Melinda could see, had her arm twisted up behind her back and tied to her pony-tail. Another had one hand cuffed to a leather belt in the small of her back. Another had both hands strapped to her thighs. Whatever their handicaps, however, the women all had obviously the same aim. All were desperately trying to make intimate contact with each other, their hands straining against their bonds, their mouths similarly trying to lick or suck at the nearest breast or thigh. Like all the women Melinda had seen at the chateau, with the exception of the Countess herself, the women on the bed had all had their sexes shaved. It appeared Angelina was waiting for a sign from the Countess before plunging Melinda into the morass. It came with a little wave of the hand but, to Melinda's disappointment, barely a second glance. Angelina pulled her over to the side of the bed then pushed her hard, enough to make her overbalance and topple on to the mattress. Her hands instinctively tried to break her fall but were restrained by their bondage. She fell on top of two women then bounced down on her right side. As she struggled to get into a more comfortable position she felt a mouth clamp itself on to her right breast, sucking in her nipple and surrounding flesh until it could take no more. She twisted herself away, her breast escaping with an audible 'plop', but only as far as a hand; a hand, cuffed to a thigh, that groped up between her legs and penetrated her sex instantly. Melinda managed to get to her knees, freeing herself from the fingers, but immediately an arm hooked around her neck and forced her down on to her back. Before she could get her breath a thigh swung over her face and an open, hairless sex descended on her mouth, its labia dripping with juice. At exactly the same moment Melinda felt her legs forced open and a hot wet tongue explored her mound, until it lighted on her clitoris and began to lick with real force. It was a competition; a competition to get noticed by the Countess. The prize, Melinda imagined, would be a call to her bed. That was why all the women were trying so hard, wanting to catch their Maîtresse's attention, wanting to stand out in the sexual octopus she had arranged. The tongue on her clit was making Melinda's pulse begin to race. Her sexual energy blossomed in a rush, a sudden surge of excitement wiping away hesitation and uncertainty. She had no choice but to play the game, of course, even if she didn't want to, but her body was telling her she did, and not only for the chance to impress. The extraordinary feeling of so much provocation all around her was making her throb. Melinda pressed her mouth into the thick labia above her. She felt them respond, felt them contract, as she reached up with her tongue to touch the unknown woman's clitoris and taste her juices. Since Melinda's hand was tied across her chest, the woman's buttocks were pressing against her forearm and she had to force her head up to keep in contact. But she managed it, and began to flick the bud of nerves from side to side with her newly strengthened tongue. Below, the mouth between her legs was doing the same to her.

She groped around with the hand chained at her waist. She found a very large soft breast and worked her fingers up to its nipple, pinching it as soon as she could grasp it firmly. The tongue between her legs was working faster, dipping down from her clitoris to lap into her sex, then drawing her juices back up to the clit. It made Melinda shudder. A hand had found Melinda's right breast and was playing with it, while another stroked her belly, a finger moving down between her legs to vie with the tongue for position. Melinda's view was as restricted as her mobility. The woman kneeling above her was wearing the same sort of tights as she was, split to expose the whole crease of the sex. But beyond the woman's ample buttocks, covered in sheer, shiny nylon, Melinda could see little. The whole bed was alive with movement. The room was hot and the mass of writhing bodies was lubricated by sweat and cluttered with damp, clinging lingerie. Melinda knew she was coming. She tried to pass on the feelings she was getting from the anonymous mouth between her legs and the finger playing with her clit by sucking and licking the sex poised above her but it was difficult to concentrate when her nerves started to spasm. There seemed to be hands and mouths and breasts everywhere, squashed against her, pinching and nibbling her flesh. The sex above her was so juicy, its fluid mixing with her own saliva, that it ran down her chin and on to the leather collar around her neck. On her sex the tongue had licked lower, circling the mouth, while the finger massaged her clit: a perfect division of labour. Suddenly she felt her thighs being lifted higher off the black silk sheet, her legs spread wider apart. As the tongue continued to attack the opening of her sex, as the finger went on moving with absolute regularity against her clit, she felt another mouth slipping under her buttocks; a tongue, licking at the cleft of her arse, down to her anus, coating it with saliva then pushing inside as far as it would go. Perhaps it was that invasion which took her over the edge to orgasm; or perhaps it was the fact that the breast she had in her right hand slipped from her grasp just as the second tongue entered her, and her attempts to find it again made her strain against her bonds, reminding her of the constraint she loved to feel. Whatever it was, and despite the fact that she knew she shouldn't be coming, that she should be striving to make others come, her body began to tremble uncontrollably and, as she pressed herself against the flesh that surrounded her, her orgasm spread through her entire being. The sex above her convulsed at the same time, so close, so inextricably bound to her that it almost felt part of the same climax. It didn't stop there. Positions changed. Melinda found herself on her knees, her face buried between the legs of a woman lying on her stomach. She had thrust her buttocks up so Melinda could tongue her anus, but the sex was unattainable, already occupied by an invading hand. Melinda's right hand was caressing another hairless sex while both her breasts were being kneaded. She managed to glance up, looking at the spectators, their eyes all riveted to the scene, but the Countess was on the other side and Melinda could not see where she was looking. It was endless, orgasm after orgasm exploding first in one body, which was communicated instantly to the others, then taking some of them over the edge too.

The mass of writhing flesh seemed no longer to be made up of separate individuals; it was like one multi-limbed animal whose appetite for sex was insatiable. All the women on the bed were the same; all, like Melinda, were willing slaves, all vulnerable, all excited by the strange bondage that made every movement difficult and constantly reminded them of their dedication to submission. Eventually exhaustion began to set in and the efforts of the women flagged. By the time Melinda was in a position to look around, the Countess had gone, together with some of the other guests. The rest sat around drinking champagne from tall crystal flutes, talking to each other and only occasionally looking at the semi-naked women on the ruffled black silk sheet. One or two had loosened their clothes and Melinda noticed their hands languidly stroking their own or other women's sexes. Angelina and Claudette waited until all the guests had gone before pulling the women to their feet. Claudette held a long heavy chain to which were attached a number of spring-loaded cleats. Claudette clipped a cleat into an appropriate place on each woman's bondage which would hold it until all the women were linked in a single file, like a chain gang. Once this was complete they were herded out of the room. One woman, Melinda noticed, was left on the bed. She was the one wearing the black slip, one strap of which had been ripped so that the garment hung across her body, exposing her round left breast and its puckered red nipple. She was smiling: a smile of triumph. Melinda guessed she was about to be taken to the Countess. The progress of the chain gang was slow. The more awkwardly bound women held up the others, but despite two or three falls, where they lost balance completely, neither Angelina nor Claudette made any attempt to help. Slowly they wound their way down to the cellars. The three eunuchs were awaiting them. The cleats were unclipped and their bondage and clothes removed. Each slave was taken by a eunuch back to her stall and manacled to her bed. Melinda welcomed the partial privacy of the partitioning as Paul fastened the manacles around her limbs. Her body was still humming with excitement, the vision of the writhing mass of flesh, the feeling of being touched by so many groping hands and mouths still very much alive. There was so much she wanted to think about. The events of the evening had done nothing to allay her fears about the Countess's attitude to her. But just as all her old fears began to resurface, she fell fast asleep. Later she awoke. She opened her eyes and looked at the ever-glowing light bulb above her. She raised her head to look down at her body; she could have sworn she felt a hand kneading her breast. But she was too drowsy to look properly and was immediately enveloped in sleep again. The second time she woke with a start, a sharp pain from her nipple undoubtedly the result of a deliberate pinch. "What the -" she was about to protest before a hand clamped down over her mouth. "Shh," a voice hissed.

She twisted her head to the side and looked straight into Paul's dark brown eyes. The eunuch was kneeling by the side of the bed. "You are not permitted to speak," he reminded her. Melinda tried to clear her head. She had the impression she hadn't been sleeping that long and was still very tired. It was obvious that it was the eunuch's hand that had explored her breast, but for what reason Melinda could not imagine. None of the eunuchs, naturally, had ever shown the slightest interest in her body before. Taking his hand from her mouth, satisfied she was fully awake, Paul got to his feet. He put his finger to his lips to emphasise again the need for silence. Melinda looked at his body. It was hairless and, unlike those of the other two eunuchs, looked strong; however, the crotch of his tight yellow trunks, as would be expected, was perfectly smooth. She had no idea what he was doing. He obviously wasn't there to take her to the showers as part of the normal morning routine, and he was making no move to unfasten her manacles. Paul hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his trunks and began skinning them over his hips. The truth was quick to dawn. As the trunks were rolled down his thighs she saw why his crotch was so smooth: a very thin rubber cord was tied tightly around his waist. It would have been hidden by the waistband of the trunks. He reached behind his back to undo it and immediately, between his legs, wrapped in a semi-transparent rubber pouch, were his cock and his balls. The rubber pouch had been tied securely around the base of his shaft and his balls. It was triangular, and a rubber cord ran from its lowest point up into the cleft of his arse where it had been tied tightly to the band around his waist. Thus his genitals had remained uncomfortably but effectively tucked away. Freed from its constraint, Paul's cock was growing rapidly. He undid the cord that held the pouch around the base of his genitals and pulled the rubber away. Melinda was about to cry out. He dropped to his knees again and clamped his hand firmly back over her mouth. "If they find out it'll be bad for me, but it'll be much worse for you. I'll tell them you encouraged me, that you knew all the time," he hissed in her ear as he moved to lie on top of her manacled body. His accent was English with a slight country drawl. The words struck terror into Melinda's heart. The Countess would punish him and punish him severely, but Melinda would undoubtedly be punished too. As far as she was concerned she might already be enduring the Countess's displeasure, so this would make things a thousand times worse. It was, after all, the same crime as she had been made to commit on her way to the chateau; unauthorised sex, the most heinous crime of all. Paul seemed to sense that his argument had had the desired effect. He took his hand away from her mouth and replaced it with his lips, plunging his tongue into her and kissing her hard. She could feel his cock throbbing hot against her belly. Despite herself she felt her body respond. He moved his hands gently down the inside of her arms, bound above her head,

down along her sides and up, up between their bodies to her breasts. He found her nipples, lifted his chest off her and rolled the buds between his fingers almost as if he were rolling a cigarette. Melinda felt her body throb again. The trouble was that she wanted him. If she could have remained passive, her crime would at least be mitigated in her own eyes; but she could not. The truth was the feeling of his hard cock against her belly was making her juices flood out of her. She wanted cock, especially after the orgy of women: soft, supple, wet-mouthed, artfulfingered, but ultimately cockless women. Only now, as she felt Paul's strength against her, did she realise how much she wanted a strong phallic man. The thought of having a hot, throbbing animate cock buried inside her again was making her breathless. She could not pretend, she could not remain passive. Whether consciously or unconsciously she felt her body begin to move against his, her belly undulating, her thighs opening as much as the manacles on her ankles would permit. Paul broke the kiss and smiled broadly at what was happening. He bucked his hips so his cock slid down between her legs and nudged into the thick, hairless labia. It was hot in there, and wet. "You want it," he whispered. "No . . ." she protested, contradicting everything she felt. What she actually wanted to do was to ask him why he didn't stuff his big hard cock into her now, right now? Why didn't he give her every last inch of it, as far as it would go? She said it, instead, with her body. "Yes, you do." He pulled his cock down her slit until he felt the wet mouth of her sex. He smiled again as he felt it throbbing. "Oh yes. I knew it. I knew you were the one." He bucked his hips and his cock slid up into her on the tide of her juices, until he was buried inside her. He didn't pull out. He just used every muscle he had to push his cock up into the melting softness of her sex. If she had ever come so quickly in her life she couldn't remember it. The engine of her orgasm, the big unstoppable flywheel that propelled it forward, began to turn the moment his cock had nudged between her labia. By the time his glans was probing the mouth of her vagina, her whole body was shivering, and as his shaft pushed up into her she lost control. His cock hit the neck of her womb and her sex contracted around it. Her muscles locked, her body arched off the bed lifting him up as well. Her wrists and ankles pulled against the manacles as an orgasm exploded through every nerve, a feeling that began as pain and turned instantaneously to burning pleasure. Had Paul not clamped his hand over her mouth again, she would have screamed with exaltation no matter what the consequences. Her body relaxed, lowering them both back on to the mattress. He withdrew slightly then began pumping into her. His cock felt hard, as hard as any of the dildoes that had been used on her body, but very different. It was hot. It pulsed. It throbbed. It jerked and kicked inside her. Already she was coming again, the base of his cock

bringing her to climax this time as it rubbed right against her clitoris. He pumped regularly, deliberately, though his pace was increasing. He used one arm to support himself over her and the other to play with her nipples, pinching them hard so the shadow of sensation would remain in them as he moved his hand down between their bellies and found the button of her clit. "Oh . . ." she moaned involuntarily as his finger nudged her already excited clitoris. He jiggled it from side to side as his cock powered relentlessly into her. "Shh," he warned. "Oh . . ." She was coming again, stronger and harder and longer than before, fighting the bonds that held her so inflexibly, wanting to wrap her arms around his strong back, but at the same time relishing the feeling of being in bondage, of lying helplessly on the bed while this big man had his way with her. The way her sex was convulsing, as if trying to milk him of his spunk, it seemed more like she was having her way with him. She stretched up as far as the manacles would allow, thrusting against him, and made the decision to concentrate on Paul. She wanted his spunk, wanted it badly, wanted the jerking kicking cock deep inside her, sputtering into the cavern of her sex. As he pushed forward she squeezed his glans with the muscles of her vagina, adapting herself to his needs, sucking him up into her. She felt his pumping falter and his body tense. She knew what to do. On the next forward stroke she opened herself to him, relaxed totally, letting him feel her melt around him, allowing him deeper than he'd ever been. His cock responded instantly. She felt it spasm and spunk, flooding her with his seed, filling the space she had made for it. It made her come too, one final time; she gave a moan of pleasure so loud she thought it would have woken the dead. Before she had fully recovered her senses Paul had gone, the weight of his body lifted, his cock pulled from her before it became flaccid. Melinda opened her eyes. Nothing had changed in the stall. The light bulb dangling above still burnt dimly. There was no noise from any of the other stalls, nor from the woman in the hut at the end. The yellow trunks and odd rubber pouch had disappeared. Had it not been for the wetness oozing from between her labia and the strong aroma of sex that filled the air, she might have thought it all a dream, a vivid wet dream provoked by her desire for a real cock after so much lesbian sex. But she knew it was not. It was real enough. Paul was not a eunuch, he was a real man. How he had managed to get away with his deception she did not know; nor could she guess how many of the other women in the cellars he had approached in this way. It didn't matter how many times he had done it before. What mattered was that he'd done it with her and that she had not protested. Worse still was that she had enjoyed it, revelled in it, allowed herself to reach the heights of ecstasy. Now, her passion quenched, in the cold light of reason, she knew what she should have done. She should have screamed out the moment he had revealed himself, brought the other eunuchs and the woman in the hut running. She should have

exposed him. The Maîtresse might have punished her, but at least she wouldn't have implicated herself in his secret, wouldn't have had to carry the knowledge. It was too late now, much too late. Now, if the Countess found out, her crime would merit the greatest punishment of all: expulsion from the O.I.M. Lying on the mattress, the evidence of her transgression seeping down between her legs, Melinda felt completely depressed. From the heights of euphoria with her Maîtresse five days earlier she had descended into a slough of despond. Whatever time it was, sleep proved impossible. Melinda lay manacled to the bed on her back, desperately trying to think of something she could do, something to mitigate what she had done in the eyes of the Countess and in her own. She tried to comfort herself with the thought that Paul could have used her anyway, kept his hand over her mouth to prevent her from screaming and used her body freely without the need for her compliance. But it did not work. She had complied, she had cooperated and she had known she was doing wrong. Believing he would lie to the Countess was no excuse, she knew that now. Perhaps the best thing was to break her silence, to go to the Countess and tell her everything. About her journey to the chateau, about the house she had been taken to, about the doctor and about Paul. Surely her honesty might count for something? She knew it would not, of course. That was not the way the Masters worked. She would be deemed as guilty as the rest. She could hear the Countess's refined French accent saying the words, "Why did you not protest? Why did you not do something?" However much she tried to explain, however little it had been her fault in the first instance, after what had happened with Paul she would never be believed. She would be tarred with the same brush as all the wrongdoers, the brush of disobedience and betrayal. And her fate could only be one thing: expulsion and return to London, never allowed to see her own Master or any of the Masters again. The thought of that punishment she simply could not bear. For the moment therefore she had no choice. She must remain silent. She must keep her guilty secret. How many of the other women lying in the cellars were suffering the same dilemma? She would never know.

Chapter Five The routine the next day remained unbroken. Angelina had taken her to the exercise room where she had sweated on the machines that increased the strength and flexibility of her tongue and fingers though however many times they made her do it, her ability to deflate the rubber ball, the sucking exercise, never caused her the slightest difficulty. In the afternoon she had been set cleaning the bathroom on one of the upper floors. It was only after all the slaves had been returned to the cellars, showered and given something to eat that the pattern changed. Claudette and Angelina arrived together. They collected Melinda and two other girls and led them, not up the back stairs, but up the spiral stone stairway to the main hall. In one of the many reception rooms, this one overlooking the gardens and fountain at the front of the house, the three were told to wait. Angelina and Claudette left them standing in a line, naked and alone.

An ornate ormolu clock ticked loudly on the mantelpiece. It was still light outside and Melinda could see gardeners working on the symmetrical flower borders at the front of the house. At first she had been excited, hoping the break from routine would mean the Maîtresse had planned to use them in some special way, but as time passed Melinda became convinced that what awaited them was nothing at all pleasant. Perhaps the Countess had discovered Paul's secret and selected the three women with whom he had committed his crimes. Melinda's excitement turned to cold fear. The sun was getting closer to the horizon. Long shadows were cast through the windows. None of the women moved or spoke. Standing between them, not daring to turn her head, it was difficult to see what they looked like exactly; all she knew from the journey there was that both were brunettes, very dark brunettes, and taller than Melinda. How she would have loved to share her fears with them, to ask them about Paul, to speak openly. But that would have been another breach of the code, and Melinda had no desire to make her situation any worse. Her companions clearly felt the same. The sound of the door opening made them all jump. The Countess strode into the room. She was wearing a short black dress with a plunging neckline that revealed the soft pillows of her breasts pressed together by her bra. Her legs were sheathed in sheer grey nylon, their muscles shaped by her black high heels. Walking into the room behind her was a small wizened woman who wore a green apron over a check dress, with wrinkled black stockings on her thin legs. The Countess strode down the line of naked women inspecting each of them closely. "Très bien," she said. She had the look in her eyes Melinda had seen in London. Her eyes sparkled with excitement, but it was the excitement of cruelty. She touched the woman on Melinda's right. Melinda could not see what she was doing but she heard the woman wince. "Très bien," she repeated. "Continuez." And with that she strode out of the room, her nylons rasping slightly as she went. Before the door closed Claudette and Angelina entered again. With the little wizened woman following, they were all shepherded out of the reception room and down another corridor. Melinda lost all sense of direction in the big house and was surprised to discover herself at the door to the make-up room where Angelina had brought her the day before. Each of the women was seated at one of the dressing tables. The wizened woman began to work on one of the brunettes, Angelina took the other, and Claudette made up Melinda. Judging from what she could see of the other women, the make-up being applied was thick and rather tarty, deep shadows of blusher on their cheekbones, black lines on their eyes, heavy eye-shadow and deep scarlet lipstick. Their nails fingers and toes - were carefully varnished in a similar shade. As soon as the varnish was dry, their hair was brushed out into whatever fashion their handler thought suited them best. The wizened woman disappeared, her job apparently done.

Angelina pulled her brunette to her feet. The woman had long hair which Angelina had pinned to her scalp in a tight chignon. The style seemed to make her appear taller, emphasising her long neck and the hollows of her clavicle. "Get these on, Candice," she ordered. Neatly arranged on one of the spare dressing tables was a small pile of clothes. The brunette picked up a creamy white satin basque and fastened it around her body. She had some difficulty with the hooks at the back but received no help from Angelina. The basque fitted her tightly, shaping her figure, pushing her breasts into a long dark cleavage, narrowing her waist, and flattening her belly. There were long white stockings with lacy white welts to clip into the satin suspenders, and white high-heeled shoes. "Up, Corinne," Claudette ordered. The other brunette, whose hair was much shorter and had been combed back behind her ears, stood up next, and Claudette guided her to the clothes meant for her. Melinda had only glimpsed her from the corner of her eye before but could now see her full face. She had a spectacular body. Though she was slender, with a waist so narrow it could have been encompassed by the outstretched fingers of two hands, her breasts were as large and round as watermelons, taut globes of flesh topped by cherry-coloured nipples standing high and proud on her chest. Matching them for curvature were her buttocks, projecting from her slender back with as much of a cant as her breasts, two ovals of blemishless splendour with a deep shadowy cleft running between them. Corinne's big breasts trembled as she picked up a lacy black basque. She then pulled it around her body and Melinda saw it had no bra, fitting under the crease of her breasts and extending down to her flat navel. Black stockings were rolled up her long legs and fastened to the basque's black suspenders. Black high heels tightened the muscles of her thighs and calves and had an even more dramatic effect on her arse, making it pout more prominently and increasing the tuck where it met her thighs. "Melinda's turn," Claudette said, turning to pull Melinda to her feet. Unlike the lingerie the other two women had been given to wear, the pile of clothes awaiting Melinda were made of white leather. There was a leather bra, if the odd arrangement of straps could be described as such, and a harness which she had no idea how to put on. Seeing her puzzlement, Claudette picked it out of her hands and strapped it on for her. There was a thin belt that passed around her waist and another that circled the tops of her thighs. These two horizontal straps were joined by two much thicker vertical pieces running down each side, slightly below the level of the thin strap around her hips. Attached to these were two wide leather cuffs which Claudette got down on to her knees to buckle tightly around each of Melinda's thighs. They were so high on her leg they brushed against her labia. Melinda was left to pull on white high-heeled calf length boots by herself. "Suivez," Claudette ordered, and the two overseers marched out of the room. Melinda thought she recognised the part of the chateau to which they were taken; in fact, she was certain they passed the door of the room where she had been held the first night under the Countess's roof. Sure enough, they emerged by the door at the back of one wing. Drawn up beside the door was a large red van, its single rear door open.

A little box of wooden steps had been placed under the door and Angelina used it to climb up into the interior. Candice followed. After some minutes Claudette led Corinne to the van and Angelina helped her up the steps. She too disappeared from Melinda's view. Then came Melinda's turn. Claudette drew her forward as Angelina waited for her to negotiate the steps. The interior of the van was gloomy. As Melinda's eyes adjusted to the half-light she saw that the two brunettes had been spreadeagled, side by side, on special metal frames screwed into the wall of the van. Their arms were held over their heads, strapped into leather cuffs, and their legs were similarly bound. A large rubber ball gag had been forced between their lips, held in place by a leather strap around their head. The ball of the gag pushed their cheeks outward as though they had been inflated. Angelina dragged Melinda over to the opposite side of the van and positioned her in front of a vacant frame. There were five in all, two on each side and one facing the rear door. Raising her arms above her head, Melinda felt the leather cuffs being secured around her wrists. As Angelina knelt to pull her ankles into the bottom cuffs on the metal frame Melinda was suffused with the familiar rush of excitement bondage always aroused in her. The ball gag, forced through her lips by Claudette, made the feeling stronger; the gag filled her mouth as a cock would do. How many times had she been helplessly bound and given a cock to suck? How many times had she felt that thrill, unable to do anything but take what she was given? The two overseers, their succulent bodies as ever entrapped in their unyielding garments, examined their handiwork briefly, satisfying themselves that the women were secured, then clambered out of the van. The van door was slammed shut and darkness descended. Almost immediately the engine of the van started up and it lurched forward, agitating the captives in their bonds. It went slowly at first, picking its way through the grounds of the chateau, then, as it had obviously turned through the main gates, it began to accelerate. The excitement Melinda felt at being bound so tightly again did not diminish. It was evident to her that her fears in relation to the Countess were groundless, so far at least. If Paul had been discovered, she was sure the Maîtresse would have said something to them when they were presented to her. Whatever was going to happen to them tonight, she doubted it would be a punishment. It might, she thought hopefully, even involve the Countess, who had clearly been dressed for something special. She found it thrilling to be tied so securely in the darkness in the back of the van with the two other women all so lewdly dressed. She couldn't help sucking on the gag, sucking it like she had the ball on the exercise machine, as though it were a cock. Her nerves responded with an extra jolt of pleasure. With her legs splayed open and the leather wrapped around the top of her thighs holding her flesh away from her labia, her sex-lips were hanging free between her legs, heavy and throbbing. There were three louvred air vents in the panelling of the van and a larger one in the rear door. As the vehicle drove into the city, the light from street lamps filtered through them, casting the interior in an orange glow. It was enough to allow Melinda to see the women opposite. The short-haired brunette was openly squirming against her bonds, trying to rub her thighs together, obviously feeling the same

sensations as Melinda. The van slowed and stopped regularly now, as traffic and traffic lights brought it to a standstill. Melinda could hear voices outside, the hubbub of normal conversation as people walked by, little imagining what lay a few feet away behind the thin panels of the van. The journey must have taken an hour. Traffic was heavy and progress slow. The vibration of the engine and the fact that the women were constantly being jolted in the padded cuffs did not help their state of excitement. Melinda heard little muted moans forced through the gags. It was fortunate they were bound so tightly. Melinda would have given anything to be able to touch herself, to tease her clitoris out from her labia, to squeeze it between her fingers and press it hard up against her pubic bone. She would have come in seconds. She didn't want yet another reason to feel guilt. The van stopped for a longer time than it had in traffic and Melinda thought she could hear gates being opened with a grating of un-oiled hinges. Then the van moved forward, changed gear noisily and reversed before coming to a halt again. This time the engine was turned off. Melinda heard the cab door open and slam shut, and then silence descended. It was not like the silence at the chateau. There was traffic noise quite nearby, the honking of motor horns and the revving of engines. Melinda could hear pedestrians too, shoes clacking on the pavement, and voices, though not individual words. Occasionally she would hear the distinctive high-pitched wail of a French police car or ambulance somewhere in the distance. In the darkness Melinda's excitement mounted. The nature of her sexuality, as with all the women who joined the O.I.M., was that the longer she was left tied and helpless, the longer she was kept waiting in the shadows, the more pronounced her desire became. The Masters knew that, naturally, and used it to their advantage. It ended suddenly. The rear door of the van was thrown open, an interior light switched on, and two Women entered. They were dressed like cabaret dancers with sparkling lurex leotards cut high on the hip and low on the bust to reveal a great deal of their bodies, flesh-coloured fishnet tights and high-heeled ankle-strap shoes. Their faces were made up for the stage too; tan pancake foundation, heavy eye-liner and blusher that was flecked with glitter. The women inspected the passengers. One stared into Melinda's eyes. "Avez-vous joui?" she asked. Melinda shook her head. The woman's hand groped between Melinda's thighs and felt for her labia. Melinda knew they would be wet. "Vous mentez?" Melinda shook her head again vigorously, trying to convey with her eyes that she was telling the truth. She could see over her shoulder that the other dancer was giving

Corinne and Candice the same treatment. Without further questioning the cuffs were unbuckled and the three women pulled away from the metal frames. Their gags, however, were not removed. The dancer that had examined Melinda led the way. Melinda found herself in a small cobbled courtyard with wooden gates at one end. The gates were still open and one or two male passers-by stopped to stare at the five scantily clad women climbing down from the back of the van. "Allez-vous-en." one of the dancers shouted immediately, separating the middle finger of her hand from her clenched fist and sticking it up at them. "Les cons." None of the men moved an inch. There was a small flight of concrete steps that led down into a basement. Abandoning her efforts to get the men to go away, the dancer led them down the steps, her colleague bringing up the rear. They passed through a door marked CLUB CRU - PRIVE and continued down a concrete-floored corridor with what were obviously dressing rooms on either side. From somewhere above Melinda could hear music playing. It stopped, and there was a smattering of applause. A few minutes later three women climbed down a spiral metal staircase at the far end of the corridor and disappeared into one of the dressing rooms: one of the women was dressed in a black leather jerkin and thigh boots and carried a bullwhip, while the other two were naked and bore long red weals on practically every part of their bodies. The dancer showed them to a dressing room at the bottom of the spiral stairs. To Melinda's surprise the Countess was sitting in the corner in an old wicker chair that was beginning to unravel, her legs elegantly crossed. A silver wine cooler containing a bottle of vintage Bollinger stood on the dressing table next to her. She was sipping from a tall crystal flute. "Merci, Dominique," the Countess said dismissively, indicating that both dancers should leave. "Well now," she said, "you look as though you have had an . . . interesting journey." The Countess got to her feet. She went up to Corinne and touched the chilled wine glass against the nipple of her voluminous breast. The girl shuddered. "Bientôt. You will be on shortly. You are here to enjoy yourselves. Understood? You are allowed to come. Vous étes permises de jouir. In fact, I insist on it. Faites-moi un bon spectacle. I will be watching. You understand?" The three women all nodded. "Bon." The Countess walked to the dressing room door then turned and looked into Melinda's eyes. Melinda could not read her expression. Was it doubt? Was it lust? Was it a warning that she must perform particularly well? She thought the Countess was about to say something, her lips formed a word, but then she obviously changed her mind. The expression disappeared from her face and she turned to go. Melinda badly wanted to talk to the other women but was glad the gag prevented her.

They looked at each other's bodies with renewed interest as it was clear what they were about to do. Melinda could feel her sex churning with anticipation, and knew it was partly due to the look the Countess had given her. For once they did not have long to wait. The dressing room door opened. "Allez." A young girl in jeans and a T-shirt, chewing gum aggressively and with a clipboard in her hand, indicated that they should follow her. She led them up the narrow spiral staircase. At the top they found themselves in the wings of a small theatre. The curtains on stage were open and Melinda could see the auditorium beyond, laid out like a night club with tables and chairs, and, in front of the stage, a small dance floor. At the back she could see a bar, and racks of glass shelves stacked with drinks. A three-piece band on one side of the dance floor played and couples danced to 'Just the Way You Are'. Most of the couples were pressed tightly into each other's arms, their hands caressing the backs and buttocks of their partners. All the couples and everyone else in the room, including the staff, were women. The young girl in jeans, obviously the stage manager of the cabaret, dropped to her knees in front of Melinda. She had picked up a large black dildo with a large flared base and a thick triangle of white leather. There were two little straps on the top edges of the triangle which the girl buckled to the thin belt around Melinda's waist, so the leather hung down over her belly, pointing between her legs. Two more straps were situated just to the side of the remaining angle and these were secured to the lower strap around Melinda's thighs. In the lower part of the triangle was a neat circular hole. The stage manager pushed the dildo awkwardly between Melinda's belly and the leather and worked the phallus out through the hole, fitting its mushroomed base snugly against Melinda's shaved pubis. The girl got to her feet again and pulled the ball gags out of each of the women's mouths in turn. As the band got to the end of the number, Melinda saw a woman step forward from the other side of the wings. She was wearing a skin-tight high-cut black satin leotard, shaped around the neck into a shirt collar. The collar was threaded with a black bowtie. Over the leotard she wore a black satin tailcoat with lapels of white silk. Her shapely legs were sheathed in black fishnet tights and white high heels. She was carrying a microphone in one hand and a black top hat perched on her blonde hair. "Mesdames, mesdemoiselles," she said the moment the music had stopped, striding out into the middle of the stage. "And now, et maintenant, the main attraction, la premiere attraction. Ce soir, la Comtesse d'Amiral vous présente - Tonight, the Countess gives you . . . the Three Women! Les Trois Femmes!" There was a round of applause. The women who had been dancing drifted back to their seats. Melinda saw the stage manager operate a slider on some electrical equipment and the house lights dimmed. Another switch caused all the lights on the stage to fade until it was in blackness. Melinda heard a creaking of wheels from the opposite wing and then felt a hand pushing her and the other women forward. A bed had been wheeled into position in the middle of the stage. Whether Corinne had done this before and knew what was expected or whether she was just acting instinctively Melinda had no way of knowing, but the big-breasted

brunette immediately slid down on to the white sheet that covered the bed, caught Melinda by the hand and pulled her down forcibly on top of her. The black dildo, projecting from its white leather harness, was trapped between their bellies. At that moment a bank of spotlights above their heads was turned on, illuminating the bed in a glare of white light, and a round of applause erupted from the audience. Melinda froze, like a rabbit caught in the headlights of a car, incapable of movement. Fortunately the same affliction did not affect Corinne or Candice. Candice began stroking Melinda's back, then circled her pert buttocks, while Corinne moved to kiss Melinda's mouth, prising it open then plunging her tongue inside. The kiss broke the hypnotic spell the lights had cast on Melinda. She felt Corinne's big breasts moving against her own and Candice's hands smoothing over her arse, slipping on to her thighs then up again. She remembered what the Countess had said in the dressing room, and suddenly realised what she had meant, why they had been brought here. She broke the kiss to look out into the audience, wanting to see if her Maîtresse was there, but the intensity of the spotlights made it hard to see anything much. However, she thought she glimpsed a shock of red hair on a table separated from the rest. She knew immediately, though the face was in shadow, that it was the Countess. It was her chance, she knew, her chance to catch her Maîtresse's attention again, to show her how she would do anything to serve her. This was the perfect opportunity to make her Maîtresse remember her, not as one of many, but for herself, something special, something desirable. Among the heaving mass of partially bound women on the black-sheeted bed Melinda had not really understood what was required, and had had little chance to stand out. But now she knew what to do and she was ready. She came up to her knees and wrapped one hand around Candice's neck, kissing her full on the mouth this time, and using her other hand to rub her breasts under the white satin basque. The stage was tilted slightly towards the audience. Standing next to it, upstage so it would not obscure the view, was an old bentwood hat stand. Instead of hats the hooks were hung with various instruments of flagellation: a riding crop, a leather tawse, a wooden paddle and three or four canes of different lengths and thicknesses with curved handles. Getting up off the bed Melinda looked out at the audience, but the show was only for the Countess. She caressed both breasts with her hands through the leather that surrounded them, then pinched her nipples with her thumb and forefinger and stretched her breasts up until - she hoped - the audience could see her purple square marks. She wanted them all to know to whom she belonged. Then she went to the hat stand and took one of the canes in her hand. She heard a ripple of excitement from the audience. With the cane in her right hand she fingered the black dildo that sprouted from her belly with the left, curling her fingers around it and rubbing them up and down as if it were a real cock. She had been cast in the part of the male, so, if that was the part her Maîtresse intended her to play, she would make a good job of it however much it jarred with her instincts. Nothing mattered but the need to impress. Corinne had not moved from the bed, content to show off her big tits spread out over her chest. Melinda flicked at each nipple with the cane, then, without the slightest

hesitation, stroked the thin tip down across the meatiest part of both breasts. Corinne groaned. Melinda flexed the cane again and aimed slightly lower this time, wanting to produce another red weal to join the one she had already created. The cane did exactly that. Candice, still standing by the side of the bed, caressed Corinne's thigh, moving her hand over the black welt of the stocking to the creamy flesh beyond. Corinne opened her legs wider, parting her shaved labia, but as if by way of rebuke, Melinda brought the cane down hard on Candice's fingers, stinging them and Corinne's thigh at the same time. Letting go of the dildo, Melinda used her left hand to pull Corinne over on to her stomach. Thus the magnificent globes of flesh were revealed to the audience, quivering, full and rich. Corinne knew what she was going to do and welcomed it, sticking her buttocks up and rising to her knees with her legs tightly together. Melinda raised the cane high then sliced it down on the big target, making a thin whistling noise followed by a loud thwack. Corinne squirmed, her flesh vibrating under the impact. The audience applauded. They applauded each of five more strokes, shouting out the number of each. Six fierce red weals criss-crossed Corinne's buttocks. Between her legs Melinda could see the thin slit of her sex, like a vertical mouth, glistening under the lights. At first Melinda's excitement had been muted. The role in which she had been cast did not excite her; indeed, it was the opposite of her natural desires. But now she felt a jolt of stimulation take her by surprise. She knew that it was nothing to do with administering the cane. It was the audience. Being watched, being naked and open and exposed, letting herself be seen was part of her submissiveness and had become part of her life. Over the last months she had been watched by man and woman alike, watched as she was used in an infinite variety of sexual acts. But it had never been like this, so public, so overt. Before it had been part of a sexual menu; now it was part of a play, an erotic performance. Though she could not see them through the glare of the lights, she could feel the spectators' eyes on her body: lesbian eyes, looking at her breasts, her long legs, her thighs and buttocks and most of all at her hairless sex. No doubt they were wondering what she would be like, how she would feel in bed, whether perhaps the dildo projecting from her belly signified her preference for what she would want to do in bed. The feeling excited Melinda. It made her throb. She looked down at the black dildo and at Corinne's tortured arse, burning from the cane. She looked at Candice too, and wanted them both. The audience watched intently as Melinda climbed on to the bed. She pried Corinne's legs apart and knelt between them, the dildo falling into the cleft of her peach-like arse. Corinne immediately wriggled back against it, her buttocks quivering, the cane having inflamed all her senses. With the cane still in her right hand Melinda gripped Corinne by the hips, just below the black lace of the basque. By moving her own belly she slid the dildo down to the mouth of Corinne's sex. The labia were poised around it as though in a kiss. Looking back over her shoulder, she tried to see the Countess. The audience took it as a sign that she wanted encouragement and shouted,"Oui!" or, "Baise-la!" at the top of their voices. Slowly Melinda pushed her belly forward. She watched the big dildo slide into

Corinne's body. Her juices were already copious. There was no resistance. Soon the thick white leather that held the dildo in place was pressed into Corinne's reddened buttocks. It was then Melinda got a surprise. When she had pushed the dildo as deep as it would go, the flared base pushed into her own belly and immediately a vibration started in the shaft. The harder she pushed, the stronger the vibration. When she pulled the dildo back the vibration stopped, only to start again as soon as she pushed forward. Melinda had no time to admire the ingenuity. She was too far gone for that. She concentrated on ramming the dildo home. Candice, seeing her chance, reached forward and extracted the cane from Melinda's fingers. As Melinda ploughed to and fro with the phallus, Candice raised the cane and stroked it down on to Melinda's arse, timing it perfectly to coincide with the inward movement of the phallus. Melinda felt a line of fire explode across her buttocks, making her stab the dildo reflexively even deeper into Corinne's body. This new development was greeted by the audience with wild applause and many more obscene suggestions were shouted over the footlights. The fire in Melinda's flesh turned to heat, the pain became pleasure. The dildo vibrated still as Melinda pushed it home hard, not withdrawing it this time, wanting the throbbing against her sex. Again Candice lashed out with the cane. The pain from the cane was intense, the weals it created long and thin and incredibly hot. She pumped the dildo in and out, the inward motion always accompanied by the sting of the cane. Everything was making her come: the pain, the vibration, the audience, the feel of Corinne's hot buttocks against her, the tight straps around her body and, most of all, the eyes of the Countess as she remembered them from the dressing room. The cane landed again. She had lost track of the number of strokes. Melinda bucked with it, drove the dildo home and held it there again this time, wanting the strong vibration, knowing it would take her over the edge. And it did. The widened base pressed into her pubis just above the little hood of her clit but felt as if it were right on it. A wave of sensation rushed through Melinda's body, but just before it overwhelmed her completely she felt something else. Nosing between her labia into the mouth of her sex was the tip of the cane. It was the last thing Melinda knew before everything was wiped out in a storm of scarlet passion and her nerves erupted, her orgasm so intense it allowed her to do nothing but feel. What happened then she wasn't at all sure. The next thing she knew, after her orgasm finally released its stranglehold on her, was that she was lying on her back on the bed. One wet, hairless sex was pressing down on her mouth while another had knelt astride her hips and was bouncing up and down on the dildo, obviously to the approval of the audience, who were clapping in time to the rhythm. Melinda managed to focus her eyes and realised from the white stockings on the thighs above her that it was Candice who was using her mouth. Trying to concentrate again she searched with her tongue for Candice's clitoris, found it and sucked it, labia and all, into her mouth. There was no doubt the exercises she had been made to do had had an effect; her tongue was stronger, harder and more flexible. She felt Candice shudder. Her own hands grabbed both of Corinne's mammoth tits and kneaded them while Corinne concentrated on her own orgasm. She stopped bouncing on the dildo, pressing down on it instead to get the maximum vibration,

and used her finger on her own clitoris. She frigged it violently as if strumming the string of a guitar, desperate to bring herself off. Suddenly she stopped, grabbed her clitoris and labia in her fingers and held them as tight as she could. She pushed down on to Melinda's belly and felt her orgasm course through her, spreading out from the head of the dildo buried inside her, down to her captive clit and up to touch every nerve. Her muscles locked and her eyes rolled back. Melinda saw Candice's sex lift away, and she managed to turn her head to look out into the audience. Her endeavour was rewarded. The Countess was leaning forward, her elbows on the table, her red hair caught in a shaft of light spilling from the stage. She was transfixed. For a moment it seemed as if their eyes met and Melinda felt everything stop - time, movement, noise - except her heart which pounded inside her. A black-stockinged thigh interrupted the view as Corinne pulled herself off the dildo and swung herself over Melinda's face. Melinda raised her head to lick at the replacement. It was soaking wet. She lapped at the juices and moved her tongue to find Corinne's clit. It was still trembling from the shock of orgasm and Corinne shuddered and moaned as Melinda probed at it. It went on for a long time. Candice used the dildo in the same way Corinne had, then unstrapped it and pushed it into Melinda's sex, to cheers from the audience. There were mouths and tongues and fingers everywhere, the three women rolling around on the bed in paroxysms; there was no role for Melinda to play now except that dictated by her desires. As Candice held the dildo inside her, Corinne wriggled into a position where she could work her fingers into Melinda's anus. Melinda came. She came again when Candice replaced the dildo with her hot sweet mouth, trained, like Melinda's, on the machines. She watched as the others came again in turn; Candice's mouth sucked on Corinne's sex and Corinne used the black dildo on her friend. In the end, saturated with orgasm, smeared with the juices of the other two women and her own, Melinda forgot the audience. Each orgasm she had seemed to be more intense, and more easily achieved. Corinne's fingers on her nipples made her come, Candice's tongue in her mouth, the feeling of Corinne's spherical tits pressing into her own; practically every touch was bringing her off. In the end, she was like a jelly, all energy spent, trembling helplessly, totally overwhelmed by feeling. She could stand no more. It was a shock when the lights dimmed and another spotlight came up on the female compere. "Mesdames, mesdemoiselles, your appreciation for, votre reconnaissance pour Les Trois Femmes - The Three Women." Applause, loud applause, followed, and the bed was rolled off the stage and into the wings. As the young stage manager, still chewing her gum, helped them to their feet, something they could not have accomplished without assistance, the house lights went up in the auditorium. The band began to play The Shadow of Your Smile'. Melinda looked out beyond the stage. She saw the Countess at the corner table. She was resting her cheek against her hand and appeared to be lost in thought. As Melinda watched a young, rather plump, blonde woman in a white dress come

over to the Countess's table, obviously with more than a little trepidation. The Countess turned and smiled at her and indicated that she should sit down. The woman refused, quickly said what she had to say, nodding towards the empty stage a couple of times, then, her mission concluded, backed away from the table. Melinda was reminded of a supplicant backing away from a medieval monarch. The stage manager directed the three women down the metal spiral staircase and back into the dressing room. A very large woman in a leather bikini was waiting to mount the stairs. To Melinda's astonishment she saw that an adult boa constrictor was wrapped around her body, its head around her neck, its coils around her enormous stomach and its tail wound around one of her thighs. "Take the straps off her," the stage manager ordered Candice and Corinne, indicating Melinda. "You two remain as you are." The girl was clearly used to being obeyed. She swept out of the dressing room and left them to it. The two brunettes did as they were told, unbuckling the straps from Melinda's body and leaving her naked. There was a mirror in front of the dressing table and Melinda caught a glimpse of herself in it. The face that stared back at her, covered in garish make-up - which now she realised was intended for the stage lights - was the face of a stranger. Her hair was styled in a way she had never tried, and the thick eye-liner and blusher were different from anything she had ever applied to herself. Neither of the brunettes said a word as they stripped off Melinda's leather boots. As soon as this was accomplished they stood expectantly, their corseted bodies, sheer stockings and high heels in sharp contrast to Melinda's nakedness. Melinda had no idea what was going to happen to them next but was sure the dressing room door would open and the Countess would walk in. She might even want to take one of the women home with her, instead of having them delivered in the van.

Chapter Six Melinda was wrong on both counts. A large, bear-like woman strode into the dressing room. She was wearing a very bad wig with orangey-brown hair and the spiky look of nylon. She had massive shoulders and powerful arms and legs and looked like an East European female shot-putter. This body was crammed into a grey suit which reminded Melinda of the sort of uniforms chauffeurs wore, and very masculine black shoes. A leather cap was perched precariously on top of the orange wig. "Levez les bras." she said to Melinda. "Haut." Melinda looked blank, not understanding. The woman raised her arms in the air above her head and tutted impatiently. Melinda caught on and did the same. The woman opened a costume hamper that stood by the dressing room door and took out a leather harness made from the thickest leather. It had once been a natural light tan but had been stained by use. As the woman wrapped it around her naked body Melinda saw it was a tube of leather, opened down its length. It covered her

from her armpits to the base of her buttocks. The woman strapped it up tightly by means of buckles placed every two inches down the back. Each one she fastened as though securing some eighteenth-century corset. But there was more to the harness than that. Along the sides, sewn into the tube that held Melinda's torso, were cuffs designed to be fitted around the upper arm, elbow and wrists. The woman pulled Melinda's arms down and secured them in the cuffs as tightly as she'd fixed the other buckles. This made it impossible for Melinda to raise her arms from her sides. Finally came the wide strap, made of leather as thick and inflexible as the rest of the harness, which hung down from the back of the body section. The woman pulled this up between Melinda's legs and fixed it by means of a buckle at the front. The strap was too wide for the space between Melinda's thighs and chafed uncomfortably. Despite the excitement she had just experienced, Melinda felt her body tingling anew. This new harness was incredibly tight, squashing her breasts and her buttocks, constricting everything but her head and legs. It even made breathing difficult. It took away Melinda's ability to do anything but obey, nullified her will, as surely as if she had been paralysed, and that was a feeling that thrilled her more than any other. "Obey Edith," said the fat woman in broken English, indicating, by beating her chest with her fist, that she was the Edith in question. "Allez." She held the door open and ushered Melinda through. Melinda stole a quick look at the two brunettes. They showed no emotion she could read, except perhaps an indication that this was not unusual. The fact that the thick leather extended so far down Melinda's back and right over her hips made her walk with diminutive steps. But as she shuffled down the corridor, none of the various performers who stood talking and smoking in the doorways of their dressing rooms turned a hair. Outside the building the woman watched as Melinda tried to negotiate the concrete steps; it was difficult to raise her thigh within the constraints of the leather. Losing patience, the woman simply scooped Melinda up in her arms as easily as if she were a feather pillow and carried her up the stairs. She put her down next to a black Rolls Royce which had taken the place of the van in the small courtyard. Edith opened its rear passenger door. "Montez." Without the use of her hands Melinda climbed awkwardly into the car. The leather seat felt cold against her naked thigh. The woman stretched across Melinda to pick up a black velvet bag that lay on the seat beside her. Unceremoniously she dragged the bag over Melinda's head, closing it around her neck by means of a drawstring sewn into the bottom edge. Darkness descended. The sitting position was uncomfortable in the harness as her arms were tied tightly in a straight line, and her body was curved, pulling the harness against the leather cuffs at her wrists. Melinda heard the clunk of the driver's door and the purr of the big, damped engine. The windows of the car had not been blacked out as in some limousines, and, as it

slowed and stopped in traffic, Melinda knew that people would be able to see her in the light from the street lamps. They were bound to stare. It was later now but there were still people on the street. She could hear them. What would they think? The thought of them peering at her, hooded, bound and completely anonymous, thrilled her. Would they have time to make out the details, to see how her wrists were strapped to her sides? To see the thick leather strap between her thighs? She had no idea what was going to happen to her now. But the fact that she had absolutely no control thrilled her to the core. It was this, more than anything, that she craved. She had no power, no will, no ability to make decisions for herself. The Countess, her Maîtresse, had responsibility for everything that happened to her. Her only function was to obey. Tomorrow, no doubt, she would be left languishing again, tomorrow and perhaps for a week of tomorrows; that was something she had no right to know. But not tonight. Tonight her Maîtresse had given her the attention she craved so much, had mapped out her immediate future, had thought about her. Another jolt of excitement coursed through Melinda's heavily constricted body. The journey did not take long. Melinda felt the car swing through a tight turn and on to a gravel drive where it crunched to a halt after a few seconds. She heard the driver's door open and close and felt the slight chill as the rear door next to her was opened. "Descendez." Melinda managed to swing her legs over the sill of the car door and struggled to get up, but without the use of her hands she would never manage. Again with little patience, Edith grabbed the top of the leather harness and pulled her forward. Melinda felt the sharp gravel under her feet, but only momentarily. The woman wrapped one arm around her body and hoisted her up on to her shoulder. Without the slightest difficulty Edith carried Melinda inside. Melinda felt the warmth radiating from the house and heard the front door slam. The woman's shoes clacked heavily against a wooden or tiled floor. They mounted a staircase. Soon she felt the woman stop and another door was opened. The hard floor gave way to carpet and Melinda felt herself being lowered on to a bed. Seconds later she heard the door being closed again and Edith's footsteps going back down the hall. The house was quiet. She listened intently but as far as she could tell she was alone. She rolled over on to her back and stretched her body out straight to relieve the pressure on her arms. The thick velvet hood was hot and was making her face sweat; her breath was unable to escape. The room was warm, too, very warm, and the thick leather around her body made her feel hotter still. "Do you really want this?" The voice came from the corridor, but Melinda could hear the words distinctly. It was a man and his accent was English. "Do you really want this, Helena?" She heard the door open.

"Yes," a woman replied, also English. "We agreed, darling, didn't we?" "I suppose so." "It's something I need. Something I want. Would you rather I went off and got it on my own?" "No." "It'll be exciting, darling . . ." "For you." "I'll make it exciting for both of us. You'll see." "My God, look at her." The man had only just noticed Melinda. Melinda felt someone kneeling on the bed and untying the draw string of the bag. The velvet was pulled off her head. "Well, look at her," the man said appreciatively. "I told you she was special." "Very special." The tone of the man's voice had changed from annoyance to interest. As her eyes adjusted to the light Melinda saw she was in a lavish bedroom, its lights dimmed. The walls, lined with dark blue silk, matched the carpet. The bedside tables, chest of drawers and armchairs that furnished the room were all of the finest quality, the upholstery of the chairs perfectly shaded to complement the main blue theme. She recognised the blonde who was kneeling beside her. It was the woman she had seen speaking to the Countess in the club. She was wearing a white silk robe, loosely belted at the waist, its neckline revealing glimpses of her plump breasts. Behind her the man was now sitting in one of the navy blue armchairs nearest the foot of the bed. His face was chubby and he was as plump as his wife, his eyes small and blue, his fair hair rapidly receding on his shiny forehead. He too was wearing a robe, though his was made of pale blue towelling. Melinda saw him examining her minutely as his wife wiped the sweat off her face with a small towel and brushed her hair. The buckles on the harness had been so tightly secured that the blonde had to struggle to free them. As soon as the straps were unfastened, she gestured for Melinda to roll over, and began work on the main tube. Slowly Melinda felt the thick leather parting. "Roll off it," Helena ordered, her voice, breathy and excited, betraying her emotion. Melinda rolled over to one side of the bed and off the thick leather, which the blonde immediately threw on the floor.

"Quite a body," her husband said. "She's trained to obey." "What?" "They train them. Like slaves. She'll do anything. Won't you?" "Yes, mistress." Melinda had not spoken a word for so long that her voice was hoarse and gritty. "Is that natural?" The man was looking at Melinda's shaven labia. The woman laughed. "No, no, the Countess has them all shaved every day. She prefers it, apparently. And I must say . . ." The woman's hand slipped down to Melinda's belly and stroked it tentatively. "So do I." "She is beautiful." "What did you expect, some bitch dyke with a moustache? I didn't want that." "Show me, then. Show me what you want, Helena." The expression on the man's face had changed from what Melinda took to be mild distaste to beady-eyed interest and, she sensed, a hint of excitement. What was going on between the two of them she did not know but clearly the Countess had agreed to loan her to the woman for the night, or possibly for longer. Melinda knew only that she must obey. "They're all marked, you know," Helena said. "Marked?" Hesitantly Helena extended her hand to Melinda's firm breast. She pushed the flesh up towards her throat to reveal one of the purple squares. "My goodness," her husband said, leaning forward. "That's what they have to agree to." Helena's hand was stroking Melinda's breast now, her palm circling the puckered nipple. "Does that feel good?" the husband asked. "Oh yes. Yes, I never thought. . ." she let the words trail away as she watched her hand moving on Melinda's body. "Open your legs," she said in a harsher tone of voice. Melinda stretched her legs apart and bent them at the knee. From the man's position he would be able to see her sex framed by her thighs, the puffy labia exposed in every detail. "See? Trained to obey." Helena pulled the silk robe from her shoulders and threw it on the floor on top of the

leather harness. She was wearing a thin cream silk suspender belt, a pair of fleshcoloured stockings and nothing else. Though she was plump, and most of her body was covered in an extra layer of fat, her breasts were small, no more than little wedges of flesh jutting out from her chest. Her nipples too were tiny. Nestling between her legs was a thick forest of pubic hair. Helena bent over Melinda's supine body. She had fantasised about this moment for so long, lain on this bed masturbating as she thought of what it would be like to kiss another woman's mouth, to press herself against another woman's body, to suck another woman's nipples and, most of all, to taste the delicate tissues of another woman's sex. She had gone to the Club Cru and watched other women performing with each other for months, never daring to do anything about it until now. Now fantasy was about to become reality. Slowly, savouring the moment, she moved her mouth down to Melinda's breast and flicked at the nipple with her tongue. She moved up to look into the girl's emerald eyes. She had watched her at the club, seen how she had writhed with the two brunettes, seen her climax over and over again. She yearned for that feeling herself. "Kiss me," she said, wanting to say the words even though they were unnecessary, as her mouth descended on Melinda's. Melinda obeyed. She remembered the first time she had been given to a woman by her Master, how the different planes and angles of a woman's body felt; how she had never imagined she would want it or like it, but had surrendered herself and found real pleasure. She kissed Helena hard, pushing her tongue into the woman's mouth and squirming her lips against hers. "Oh . . ." The exclamation exploded from the woman's mouth the moment she broke the kiss, like a stopper from a bottle. It was too late now to be reflective. Helena's body took control of her mind, her senses reeling. She kissed Melinda's long neck, down to her breasts, then greedily fed a nipple into her mouth with her chubby fingers. She sucked it so hard she made Melinda gasp, then gasp again as she transferred her attentions to the other breast. For a moment she didn't know what to do next. She wanted to do everything she'd ever dreamt of doing all at once: feel Melinda's sex, kiss it, lick it, put her fingers into it, roll on to her, sit astride her face. So many things to do. Her body was quivering with excitement. Using one hand to steady herself, she ran the other down Melinda's body over her hairless pubis, unaccustomed to its smoothness. She slid her fingers down between the labia and searched for Melinda's clitoris. It felt so strange, so silky and so wet. She located the clit easily. It was swollen and hard and throbbing. She nudged it to one side with the same movement she had used on herself while she had lain here masturbating, her mind full of images of exactly the sort of thing she was doing now. But she wanted to explore further. Her excitement made her breath come in shallow pants as she moved her hand down to the mouth of Melinda's sex. It was open, inviting. She circled the opening with her finger, feeling Melinda's sap oozing out of her. Then, overcome by need, she plunged one finger, then two, deep into the dark wet tunnel. She almost swooned with pleasure as she felt the soft, silky vagina close around them.

Helena's body heaved with passion. Without thinking, she dropped her mouth on to Melinda's sex and hunted, with the tip of her tongue, for her clitoris. At the same time, again hardly conscious that she was doing it, she swung one leg over Melinda's torso and pushed her buttocks back until her belly, its pubic hair so thick that it concealed her sex completely, was positioned over Melinda's mouth. As Helena began to suck fervently on Melinda's clit, Melinda reached up and ran her tongue the length of the pudgy woman's sex, parting the mat of hair to get beneath it. "God, God," Helena screamed, her head coming up involuntarily as Melinda's well-trained tongue found its mark. It pressed Helena's clit hard to one side then back to the other. There was no going back now; Helena was coming. She managed to replace her mouth on Melinda's sex, to plunge her fingers deeper into the silky passage, to experience the incredible sensation these two actions gave her, but that was all. A second later she could do nothing but surrender herself to the shock of orgasm that ripped through her, so sharp it piqued every nerve in her body. At last her dream had come true. The initial orgasm faded slowly. The pain gave way to a delicious sensual warmth. She felt herself moving her body against Melinda's tongue, and opened her eyes to stare into her slave's hairless, scarlet sex. As she recovered from the impact she felt more relaxed, more able to control her emotions, but no less needy. Raising her head from Melinda's sex, her mouth and chin wet with juices, Helena sat up and wriggled her bottom down on Melinda's face. She opened herself wider and moved back so that Melinda could get her tongue further into her vagina. Helena looked straight at her husband as she used her hands to cup her own tits, her fingers pinching at the nipples. He was watching them, his eyes roaming her body and Melinda's. She could see his erection poking up under the robe. "Do you want me to tell you what she's doing to me?" Helena asked, her voice husky with passion. "No," he said, not meaning it. "She's got her tongue in my cunt." She wanted to be crude. It thrilled her. Her body trembled and her nipples strained against her fingers. "Is it good?" She did not need to answer. He opened the belt of the robe and parted the folds of towelling. His cock sprang up. It was not very long but it was broad and uncircumcised, the glans still partly covered by the foreskin. He made a fist with his right hand and circled his cock with it, pulling the foreskin right back and making himself moan. Helena moved her bottom forward slightly so that Melinda's strong tongue slipped from her vagina on to the little bud of her anus. Without any hesitation Melinda circled the puckered flesh then penetrated this too. Helena gasped with pleasure. "On my clit now," Helena said, moving back. Among the myriad pleasures that were shuddering through her nerves she was particularly enjoying the pleasure of

command, of having her slightest wish transformed instantly into a reality. She felt Melinda's tongue delving between her hairy labia to lick the lozenge of swollen flesh that lay underneath. Melinda could feel her need. It was running like electricity through her body, conducted to Melinda via her tongue. With vigour and precision she ran its tip along the top of Helena's clitoris, to and fro, pressing it hard against her pubic bone. She was amazed at how much stronger her tongue felt since its daily exercise. Relentlessly she swept it around the little pink nub and felt the woman quiver. Around and around it went until suddenly she heard the woman sob, a sob of pure emotion followed immediately by a wail of pleasure. "Coming . . ." Helena managed to blurt out, wanting her husband to know before the feeling of Melinda's hot tongue against her clit overwhelmed her. She surrendered and let herself be flooded with a second climax that took her higher and deeper than the first. With the orgasm still singing in her body she pulled herself off Melinda, turned round, kissed her new lover full on the mouth to taste her own copious juices and lay, full length, on top of her. For the first time she felt another woman's body pressed against her own, tits on tits, belly on belly. She felt Melinda's beautiful spongy breasts squashing against her own, and the flat hairless belly hard against her mat of hair. Spontaneously she slipped her thigh between Melinda's legs and a shock of pleasure coursed through her as Melinda's sex seemed to kiss the proffered limb. Melinda's thigh came up between her legs too. Helena felt the furrow of her sex widened by Melinda's muscle. Their arms wrapped around each other, their mouths locked in a kiss, they rolled back and forth. Melinda felt Helena's sex throbbing against her leg and could not stop hers doing the same. Helena was coming again but this time so was Melinda, one orgasm feeding off the other. The cycle of pleasure went on, provoking, stimulating, until they had to break the kiss to get air. They needed oxygen to gain the energy to travel up to the imaginary precipice; and once it was reached, they toppled down, down into a sea of exquisite sensation. It was a long time before they recovered. When, finally, they untangled themselves, they lay side by side on their backs, Helena's hand resting gently on Melinda's rising and falling belly. "And what about me?" The voice belonged to the man. He stood up, stripping off the robe, his erection as hard as it had ever been. "Isn't it time I had what I want?" He sounded angry. "You can have her too," Helena said quietly. "Is she a dyke?" "No. She does what she is told to do." "I want her, then," he said flatly. "Just tell her what you want. She'll do anything, won't you?" "Yes, mistress." "All right, get up," he said at once. "Get on your knees and suck on this." It was

quite clear what 'this' was. Melinda obeyed immediately. Though her body had been through an incredible sequence of pleasure since she had left the chateau, she still felt a knot of anticipation form as she got to her feet. Sex with a woman always had the same effect on Melinda; it left her with a huge desire for sex with a man. Dropping to her knees in front of the man, she swallowed his thick cock eagerly. It was not difficult to get it all into her mouth and her lips brushed his wiry pubic hair. With all of it inside she sucked on it hard, hollowing her cheeks with the effort, and he gasped. Relaxing her grip, she used her tongue to prop the whole length of his shaft before concentrating on the rim of his glans, circling it with dexterity her newly trained muscles made easy. "God . . ." "She's good, isn't she?" Helena had got to her feet. She came up behind her husband, pressed her naked body into his back and found both his nipples with her fingernails. She pinched them so hard that little crescents were impressed on the puckered flesh. "What a mouth." He closed his eyes. "Fuck her," his wife whispered into his ear. "Fuck her while she's licking me out. Wouldn't that be exciting?" She traced her tongue around the whorls of his inner ear and blew hot air against it. "Yes," he said quietly. "It excited you, didn't it? Seeing me with another woman? Didn't it?" "Yes." He could scarcely deny it. He thought it would have revolted him, seeing his wife touched and caressed so intimately by another woman, but seeing her come on this beautiful blonde's mouth had made blood pump into his cock until he thought it would burst. Was it just the intimate contact or was it more? Was it Melinda's obedience, her total submission? Helena got back on the bed. She arranged two pillows under her buttocks then lay back and opened her legs wide so that her husband could see her sex. Her pubic hair was plastered back by a combination of her juices and Melinda's saliva, and her sex, for once, was clearly visible, a long scarlet slit. The plump flesh at her waist bulged on either side of the cream suspender belt, as did her thighs above the tight welts of the stockings. "Come and suck your mistress," Helena ordered, thrilling as she said the words. She had found a new dimension in her sexuality tonight. As well as satisfying her longed-for desire to be with a woman, her activities this evening had uncovered a new and equally profound desire. She had enjoyed giving Melinda commands, but quite suddenly and unexpectedly found herself shivering at the thought of what it would be like to be in Melinda's position; what it would be like to have to obey. Melinda relinquished the cock. She knelt on the bed and immediately lowered her head between Helena's stocking-sheathed thighs. This time she began by licking with the whole breadth of her tongue, from Helena's anus right up to her clit, as though

licking an ice-cream. With her mistress's buttocks raised by the pillows, it was easy to get at the whole of her sex. Expecting and wanting the husband to come up behind her, Melinda stuck her bottom up and wiggled it provocatively. But the man had something else in mind. He walked to one of the chests and opened the top drawer. He extracted a thin belt and came back to the bed. Helena saw what he intended. "Oh yes," she said. "Yes, do it." She wriggled against Melinda's tongue and felt her sex spasm. Instantly she knew why. She was imagining what it would feel like to be whipped. Thwack. Melinda was caught completely by surprise as a line of fire blazed across her buttocks. She only just managed not to scream. The hot air expelled from her mouth bathed and inflamed Helena's throbbing sex. The man raised the belt again. His wife had her lesbian fantasies, and this was his. Her desires had been fulfilled, and now it was his turn. This girl was perfect; her arse, like a tight round apple, was just waiting to be whipped. Thwack. He loved the way her bottom jiggled from side to side after the lash fell, as if trying to fan cool air across itself to get some relief. There was to be none. Thwack. He loved the way thin red weals appeared across the creamy smooth flesh. Thwack. He loved the way his wife's head jerked back after every blow, driven crazy by the hot breath expelled forcibly from the girl's mouth. Thwack. He loved the heat radiating from her arse like an electric fire, each blow making it hotter. And that was all he could stand. Throwing the belt aside he leapt on to the bed, parted Melinda's legs and stuck his cock into the gash of her sex. He had never felt anything so hot and wet. Her sex was molten, sucking him in like quicksand. He had no control, no ability to do anything but pound into her as though his life depended on it. His mind was full of all the images he'd seen: his wife rolling around on the bed entwined with another woman, coming over her face, sucking her off. But most of all he saw himself, saw the belt in his hand, and the quivering flesh as it struck home, just as he'd always imagined it would. He gripped Melinda's hips, pulled her back against his navel and felt the heat he had created in her arse - just as his cock bucked inside her humid silky sex and spunk spattered out of him with a power he would never have thought himself capable of. He wanted to keep his eyes open, wanted the extra stimulation of seeing his wife's stockinged thighs splayed open, of Melinda's head moving between them, and the red stripes across Melinda's buttocks, but after the first jet of spunk it was impossible. The whites of his eyes rolled up involuntarily. He accepted the blackness and the waves of sensation that rippled through it. After her performance, Melinda had been taken to an attic room at the top of the house by Helena. There was a small bathroom and Helena had watched while Melinda showered and used the toilet. Unusually, perhaps because Helena knew no better, Melinda had been allowed to brush her own hair. Then she was shown into a narrow bedroom, its ceiling slanting as it was directly under the mansard roof. The single bed was old, with an iron bedstead. Dangling from the top rail was a pair of metal handcuffs. Helena clipped Melinda's wrist into the free cuff and laid her down. "I have to do this," she said apologetically.

"Yes, mistress," Melinda said, though she should not have spoken at all. "You don't mind at all, do you?" "No, mistress." Helena felt a sudden thrill run through her body. She sat on the edge of the bed looking into Melinda's eyes. She saw something there that thrilled her again: Melinda was totally at ease with what was happening to her. "The Countess - is she your mistress?" Helena asked. "Yes, mistress." Melinda lay passively, one hand stretched over her head by the handcuff, the other at her side. "For how long?" "Three months, mistress." "And then?" "I will be sent to another Master." "You have no choice?" "No, mistress." "And they all treat you . . ." she hesitated to use the word, "as their slave." "Yes, mistress." "And you obey." Melinda nodded. Helena felt another surge of passion imagining what this girl's life must be like. She knew, if she was honest with herself, that part of the extreme excitement she had felt tonight came from her empathy with this girl. It was all too easy to imagine herself, marked under the breasts with purple squares, obeying the dictates of a Master or a Mistress, being whipped, being used, being given no choice. She had watched Melinda at the Club Cru, watched her with the other women, lying on the bed in the leather harness, bound and unprotesting. She had seen her obedience, seen her take a whipping without demur, and ultimately seen what pleasure Melinda took in her total and absolute submission. "How long have you been a slave?" She used the word with more confidence now. "I have had three Masters." "Men?" "Two men and the Countess."

"It's what you wanted, isn't it, what you always wanted?" "Oh, yes, mistress," Melinda said earnestly. How would it feel to be like Melinda, to submit without question, to have no choice but to fulfil the desires of a Master? "I would like to be like you," Helena said almost to herself as the realisation dawned. "Is it difficult?" "No, mistress," Melinda said with total conviction, "It is not."

Chapter Seven Edith opened Melinda's bedroom door as the first light filtered in through the attic window, her big body casting a long shadow over the bed. Before, she had appeared totally indifferent to Melinda's nakedness but now, as Melinda blinked the sleep from her eyes, she thought the bear-like woman was staring at her with more than a modicum of interest. In fact, for a moment, Melinda thought Edith was going to molest her. The moment passed. Instead, the large woman unclipped the handcuff from Melinda's wrist and motioned for her to get up. She led the way into the bathroom and watched as Melinda peed, but stopped her when she went towards the shower. "Les mains settlement," she said gruffly, pointing to the wash basin. As soon as Melinda had washed and dried her hands Edith pulled her out of the room by the arm. They marched down through the large house, seeing no one; it was too early for anyone else to be up. The woman opened the front door and to Melinda's surprise the van that had taken her from the chateau the previous night was parked outside. This time the woman made Melinda walk, and though it was only a few steps to the van, the stones bit into her feet painfully. Melinda climbed in through the rear door, followed by Edith. Another surprise. Strapped to the frames in exactly the same positions as they had been the night before were Corinne and Candice, their mouths distended by the ball gags, the only difference being that they were now quite naked. Edith pushed Melinda over to the metal grid she had occupied before and soon had the leather cuffs strapped around her wrists and ankles. As if by way of saying goodbye she patted Melinda on the hip and smiled, a smile so brief Melinda wondered if she'd imagined it. The woman stepped out of the van and slammed the door shut. Melinda had assumed the woman worked for Helena; now she wasn't so sure. She seemed so familiar with this routine that she might well have been part of the staff at the chateau, though Melinda had never seen her there. Whether she was or not, she wasn't going back with them, as immediately the rear door shut the engine started and the van lurched out of the gravel drive.

Again Melinda experienced the strange sensation of hearing normal life going on around her when the van stopped at busy intersections. Here she was, separated from it only by a panel of metal, naked, shaven, bound and gagged along with two other women. Because of her assumption that Edith worked for Helena, and the way she had been collected from the club, it had not occurred to Melinda that her night had been anything other than a special arrangement granted to Helena by the Countess as a favour. But Corinne and Candice had obviously been out all night too on similar missions. Corinne, in particular, looked the worse for wear. Her big watermelon tits were criss-crossed with thin red stripes and their nipples were a dark scarlet; they had clearly been clipped and tormented. Between her legs, too, on the creamy flesh of her inner thigh, several thick stripes marked the skin. The van was picking up speed, out of the worst of the traffic. Over the months she'd spent without a watch - knowledge of time, like all knowledge, was a privilege reserved for the Masters - Melinda had, she thought, become able to judge fairly accurately the passage of hours and minutes. After a while she began to realise it was taking a lot longer to get back to the chateau than it had taken to get to the club, even allowing for the detour to Helena's house. Also, the chateau was in the suburbs, yet on the air flowing in through the vents Melinda was sure she could smell a distinct scent of the country. It was some time before the van slowed, turned and then bumped erratically for a couple of minutes over what must have been an old or unfinished road. Then they came to a standstill. The three women looked at each other apprehensively. Wherever they were, they were not back at the chateau. Melinda heard the driver's door open then slam shut. Something crashed against the side panel of the van, making them all start, and Melinda heard laughter: a man's laughter. The rear door was thrown open with another crash, making the women jump again. A man in a grey suit and chauffeur's cap - complete with plastic cockade - appeared, a broad grin creasing his face. Melinda recognised him at once and her heart sank. It was Paul. "Morning, ladies," he said, looking from one to the other. "Glad to see you're comfortable." His eyes examined their naked bodies minutely, flicking between them as if comparing their various features. Melinda now knew the answer to the question that had bothered her since Paul's visit: it was quite clear from the way Corinne and Candice were looking at him - a look she was sure was mirrored on her own face that she wasn't the only slave Paul had taken advantage of. "Well now." He took off his cap and jacket and hung them on the empty frame next to Melinda. "Nice to have a bit of privacy, isn't it?" He began to unbutton his shirt. The rear door of the van was still open and through it Melinda could see a little copse of trees and, beyond, a hedgerow and a field of wheat. The sun was shining brightly, which was making the interior increasingly hot.

Paul pulled off his shirt, then took off his laced shoes and black socks. He hung all these on the metal frame too. "Oh, don't worry. You won't be missed for a while. The Countess is away for a couple of days." He stripped off his trousers and underpants. The peculiar arrangement that held his cock between his legs was tied firmly around his loins. As before, he reached behind his back, released the pouch, then untied the cord that secured it to his cock and balls. The moment his cock was free it sprang up, swelling to erection in seconds. "That's better," he said, cradling his cock with his hand and squeezing it tightly. "You don't know how uncomfortable that bleeding thing is. Still, it's worth it. Especially at times like this." He went up to Corinne. "Lovely big tits," he said, fondling the great mounds of flesh. Melinda heard her squeal through the gag as his fingers brushed the weals inflicted the night before. He stood facing her, easing his cock down between her legs until it touched her labia. "Someone give you a whipping, did they?" Corinne did not respond. "Did they?" he prompted, squeezing her breast hard. She nodded. He let her go and went to Candice. The pins that had held her long hair up had been lost and now her black tresses fell over her shoulders. Delicately Paul arranged her hair so that it covered her breasts, like a pre-Raphaelite painting. He said nothing to her, just looked straight into her dark brown eyes as he brushed his cock against her too. Then he came to Melinda. "Well, blondie, what sort of night did you have? Get fucked, did you?" Melinda remained still. "Did you?" he insisted, slapping her thigh with a stinging blow. She nodded vigorously. "I bet you did. Such a nice, juicy little pussy." Melinda saw his cock visibly throbbing as he pushed it against her pubis. Moving back into the centre of the van, he appeared to hesitate. "You," he said, walking back to Corinne. There was enough room between her back and the side panel of the van for him to wrap his arm around her waist. Holding her tightly he bent his knees, angled his cock

up into her labia and searched with it for the mouth of her sex. Then he pulled away. "No, you." He came back to Melinda and performed the same manoeuvre on her until she could feel his cock hard up against her sex. It penetrated, but not deeply. Despite herself Melinda was wet. She didn't know why. She hated this man. He knew none of the women would tell the Countess for fear of punishment and was taking advantage of that fact, making them disobey when all they wanted to do was be obedient. It was so unfair, but there was no way to stop him. As he looked into her eyes, looking for her reaction to his penetration, she tried to beg him to stop, tried to make him see she didn't want what he was doing. But her body betrayed her. She felt her juices flooding over the head of his hot, pulsing shaft. Without warning he pulled out and crossed the van to Candice. He wrapped his arm around her back and aimed his cock, glistening with Melinda's juices, between the brunette's legs. Candice was more than just wet; her sex was flowing with her juices. She had spent the night with two aggressive lesbians and the sight of a cock, after the dildos that had been used on her so relentlessly, was making her body churn with desire. She could not suppress a moan as he pushed up inside her. She wanted it badly and wanted Paul to know it. He pushed deeper and she wriggled against her bonds, trying to force her sex down on him still further and to thrust her breasts out against his chest. "Oh, you want it, don't you?" he said. "Mmmm," she agreed. He bucked his hips and penetrated her further, feeling her body respond, throbbing and wet around him. Candice wished he had ungagged her. She wanted to tell him what she wanted and why, tell him how wonderful a hot live cock felt after the cold unbending plastic of the dildos, how much she wanted to feel him spunk; but the gag was too big and she could not manage more than a moan. Instead she tried to tell him with her body, contracting the muscles of her sex around his phallus, pushing her tits against him, squirming in her bonds to show him how much she loved the feeling of him inside her. He pulled away as suddenly as he'd entered her. "No . . ." she tried to scream, straining against the leather cuffs, desperate to get at him again. Paul stood in the middle of the van looking from one woman to the other, his cock glistening and wet. There was simply too much choice. He went back to Melinda, ignoring the muffled entreaties from Candice, but this time he just stroked her labia with his fingers. He found her clitoris and pressed it hard until he could see the anger on her face displaced by a wave of pleasure. Then he went over to Corinne and used one hand on her sex and the other on her fleshy

tits, kneading them and teasing her nipple. His cock was pulsing visibly. He wasn't going to be able to hold out much longer. He couldn't go all the way, he knew. When they got back to the chateau Claudette and Angelina would be waiting and while he knew he would be able to explain his late arrival, there was no guarantee that they would not spot the tell-tale signs of intercourse on whichever slave he chose. It was not worth the risk. He didn't want to be discovered. He couldn't imagine what the Countess would do to him if she found out he was not a eunuch. She might well decide she would make him what he had so long pretended to be. He'd been careful so far, and fooled everyone. He wasn't going to spoil everything for the sake of one impetuous moment. Moving away from Corinne, he took his cock in his fist and started rubbing it hard. He looked from one woman to the other, from Candice, whose eyes begged him to take her, to Corinne, whose enormous breasts heaved up and down, to Melinda, perhaps the most beautiful of them all: her body so perfectly proportioned, her long, slender legs forced open by her bonds, revealing the hairless delicacy of her labia. He remembered how it had felt, how she came so quickly, so hotly, so deliciously . . . "Yes - yes . . ." he screamed, his cock jerking in his hand, his glans poking out of the top of his fingers. Suddenly white spunk was jetting out, splashing down, wasted, on the floor of the van. It continued to pump, but turning from a jet to a leak, the final drops oozing over his fingers. Calmly, taking his time, he wiped the van clean with a handkerchief taken from his jacket pocket. He tied the rubber pouch over his genitals, secured it between his legs again, and put the rest of his clothes on, in no hurry. He took one final look at the display of female pulchritude and jumped out of the van. Without another word he slammed the rear door behind him. He slapped his hand against the side panel, making them all jump for the third time, and began to laugh heartily. Soon afterwards the suspension groaned as the van reversed back on to the road. They were on their way again. Even with the noise of the engine and the rush of passing air, Melinda could hear the driver laughing for a long time. For the next three days the normal pattern of life returned. The shower in the morning was followed by a trip to the exercise room and, after lunch, menial tasks around the house or in the grounds, until all the slaves were returned to the cellars to be fed, showered again and manacled to their beds. This gave Melinda too much time to brood over what had happened, and with nothing else to occupy her mind she became more and more depressed. After the second experience with Paul she was on the verge of deciding that the only thing to do was to tell the Countess and take her punishment. She just hoped it would not mean expulsion from the O.I.M., that her Maîtresse would understand, and ignore whatever lies Paul told. Now that she knew for certain that the other girls were suffering the same dilemma, she yearned to be able to talk to them about it. Talking to another slave, though, was strictly forbidden. However, when she found herself working next to Corinne one afternoon she had been sorely tempted, and would have broken that rule had it not been for the sudden arrival of Claudette. This was what Paul had reduced her to, and she hated him for it.

That evening, lying bound to her bed, the thought of what she had so nearly done made her blood run cold. It was not her fault, she told herself over and over again, but that did not prevent tears welling in her eyes and flowing in hot trails down her cheeks. The next morning, the routine was broken again. Melinda had been taken to the exercise room by Angelina, who, as usual, had set her a formidable number of repetitions and with great resistance. On this day as on so many others, Melinda put everything into the exercises and was left sweating and out of breath. But instead of being taken down into the grounds to lunch with the other slaves at the end of the session, Melinda was made to wait. Soon Claudette arrived and gave instructions to Angelina that Melinda could not hear. Together they led the naked Melinda out of the exercise room and down the long corridors to a part of the house Melinda had not seen before. It was at the back of the house, overlooking the lawns. The landscaped gardens were less formally planted than those at the front, with a small lake, an artificial one, sited in a natural valley that sloped away to the right. A bank of weeping willows had grown on its shores and trailed their fronds into the water, a slight breeze moving them to create ripples in the otherwise mirror-like surface. Claudette opened one of a pair of the grand ogeed doors and Angelina led Melinda inside. The room was massive, like an eighteenth-century ballroom. Huge French windows divided the walls on two sides, mirrored by columned alcoves on the other two. An elaborate gold leaf cornice decorated the ceiling and three chandeliers hung down at equal intervals along the length of the room. The floor was wooden parquet and echoed as the overseers' high heels clacked across it. There was very little furniture in the room. At the far end a rostrum jutted out from the wall, wooden steps leading up to it from both sides. On the rostrum was a large rectangular mahogany table and one Louis XV dining chair. Immediately in front of the table but below it at floor level a peculiar metal structure had been erected. It looked a little like a gazebo, two thick metal arches at right angles to each other forming the framework of a dome, supported on four metal pillars. But that was all it was, a framework. Hanging down from the centre, Melinda could see a heavy chain plated in chrome. On either side of the dome were two gilt upright chairs, their seats upholstered in red velvet. "Sit," Angelina ordered, indicating one of the gilt chairs. Melinda did as she was told. Under the table on the rostrum in front of her she noticed a small wooden chest. Melinda did not dare to look round, but heard Angelina and Claudette walking back to the main doors, the noise of their heels echoing in the vast empty space. She heard the door close. She was alone. What she was here for she could not guess, but her anticipation was tempered with fear, as it had been since her return to the chateau. She feared this room might be the Countess's court, where miscreants were tried for their crimes and punishment was meted out. Perhaps Paul's secret had been discovered, or Brigitte had been caught at the house of the English brothers, or both. She wondered again if she

should confess and throw herself on the mercy of the Countess. Her heart was beating faster and her pulse was racing. She had not noticed the small door set in the panelling at the back of the rostrum. It opened quietly. "Bonjour, ma petite." It was the Countess. She was wearing a severe black suit, its knee-length skirt revealing her long, fine-boned legs, hugged by expensive hosiery. Her jacket hung over a white silk blouse through which Melinda could see the frothy outline of a bra. The Countess's red hair had been brushed into soft waves that complemented the delicate aristocratic features of her face. She looked simply stunning and walked with the air of a woman who knew it. In her long fingers, the nails manicured and varnished a deep red, she carried what looked like a silver-backed hairbrush. Its bristles though, were no more than half an inch long, and the body was narrower and longer. The silver had been imprinted with a design which Melinda thought was a naked woman with a hind. The Countess sat in the chair and crossed her legs. As the rostrum was well above the level of the floor, Melinda could see up her skirt. The sheer, shimmery nylon that sheathed her legs was a pair of stockings; Melinda could see the dark welts dividing her thighs and the finger of a black suspender pulling one taut at the side. She could even see the black silk strip of her panties, fringed by thick red pubic hair. Almost immediately the door at the other end of the room opened and Melinda heard the familiar rap of high heels, approaching at a funereal pace. Angelina and Claudette walked necessarily slowly as the girl they held between them was only able to take the most diminutive steps. At they guided her to the table Melinda saw why they had been so slow. The legs of the girl they held were encased in boots with the highest heels she had ever seen. Like Angelina's, the boots were laced up the front the whole length of her leg, the leather at the top brushing against the crotch of her panties. The red panties were brief, no more than small triangles stretched across her flat belly at the front and her pert, small arse at the rear. Above the waistband of the panties the girl was naked. Her breasts were pear-shaped and pendulous, their weight swinging them from side to side slightly as she moved. Her hair was short and fair though not really blonde. Her face was pretty rather than beautiful, round with a small button nose, and blue eyes shone from under eyebrows that looked as though they had never been plucked. Claudette and Angelina brought the girl to the front of the rostrum to face the Countess, holding her tightly by the arms. "Marie-Louise," Claudette said as they came to a halt. "Merci, Claudette." the Countess said. Her eyes were examining the girl minutely. "Oui, oui, très belle." She indicated with her hand that the girl should be turned round, which the two overseers did at once. For the first time Melinda looked directly into the girl's face. Her eyes, she could see quite clearly, were sparkling with excitement.

As the Countess examined her back, Marie-Louise looked down at Melinda. Their eyes met and Melinda felt her own body shiver with excitement too; their emotions arced out between them like sparks of electricity. Claudette's hands guided the girl back to face the Countess again. "So," said the Maîtresse imperiously, "you wish to join L'Organisation Interationale des Maîtres?" "Oui, madame," Marie-Louise said with conviction. "You know what this involves?" "I do, madame." "Tell me then." "It means that I must give myself to you, totally. That I must obey every order without question, that I must carry out whatever is required of me." "You must also give yourself to the other Maîtres." "Yes, madame. Once I am yours you may do with me as you wish." "Exactly. However, I am charged with certain obligations, certain duties by L'Organisation. I must satisfy myself that you are suitable. I must satisfy myself that you really understand what is required of you. And that you are able to withstand the rigours of. . . how shall I say? The demands that will be made of you. Melinda. Stand." It was such a long time since Melinda had heard her name used it took a while for her to recognise it. "Stand," the Countess barked, stinging her into action. "You understand the need for obedience?" the countess asked Marie-Louise. "Yes, madame." "We'll see. My shoe, Melinda. Clean it." The Countess was pointing her black court shoe under the table. Immediately Melinda bent over the front of the rostrum and began to lick the shiny leather. She could see the Countess's long legs above her foot, glistening in the sheer nylon, and her thighs above the welts. "The soles, too," the Countess said, not moving her foot. Melinda tilted her head awkwardly and licked the coarse worn leather on the sole. She even sucked clean the metal-tipped heel. "Enough," the Countess said and looked up at their guest. "That is obedience." "Yes, madame," Marie-Louise replied, completely unabashed.

"And this." The Countess pointed. "Ankles, Melinda." Melinda knew what that meant, of course. Turning her back on her Maîtresse, she opened her legs wide and bent over, grasping her ankles in her hands, exposing the whole of the furrow of her sex between her upturned buttocks. The blood rushed to her head and her pulse began to race even faster. The Countess was using her as an example of obedience and submission! She could hardly believe it. It meant she had been noticed, picked specially by her Maîtresse. She had even remembered her name. Once again her fears had proved groundless. She felt a welter of feelings: gratitude, relief and respect, for the woman to whom she belonged. These emotions were producing a sexual reaction too; she could feel her open labia throbbing and knew they would be wet. She was glad. She wanted her Maîtresse to see her excitement. "Take this." The Countess handed Marie-Lousie the silver-backed bristled paddle. "Give her six strokes with it. Hard, you understand. I want you to see what it will be like." Marie-Louise gripped the object firmly, tottered to Melinda's side and planted her feet firmly apart. She raised the paddle and looked down at the target, the creamy soft curves of Melinda's buttocks, and the scarlet gash of her sex between them. The labia were wrinkled and the mouth of her vagina was actually open, its interior like a cave, dark and fathomless. Marie-Louise wished she was the one bent over and exposed. Taking the Countess at her word, she brought the paddle down as hard as she could. It smacked into Melinda's left buttock, producing a pain like the sting of a thousand nettles, each bristle biting into the flesh. The pain was translated to pleasure by Melinda's excitement. But the effect on Marie-Louise was even more extreme. Her face flushed red. She raised the paddle and stroked it down again on the right buttock. It was an extraordinary thing. It was as though she were whipping herself. Her whole body felt what it would be like to be bent over naked, felt how the bristles of the paddle would sting, felt how each stroke would arouse and excite her as it was clearly arousing and exciting Melinda. Every blow she delivered took her higher, made her feel more strongly, until, by the end, she was unconsciously wriggling her own bum, above the tight thigh-boots, as if it was in need of relief. The Countess watched her closely all the while. Submission and obedience were not something that could be taught; they were ingrained deep in the psyche. Many women imagined they possessed the traits, but did not. Their submission was superficial, not profound. They wished to be submissive because it excited them sexually but that was not enough to join the O.I.M. There was a difference between using the idea of submission as part of a sexual fantasy and the stark reality of being a slave. In Marie-Louise she saw what she expected to see, how the girl had transferred herself into Melinda's shoes, how each blow she had delivered she'd felt as if on herself. Marie-Louise would be allowed to join the O.I.M. She was a natural slave. "Très bien," the Countess said as Angelina took the paddle from Marie-Louise's hand. She indicated that Claudette should remove the girl's red panties. Claudette

hooked her fingers into the waistband and pulled them down over the long thighboots. Beneath Marie-Louise's pubis was a forest of curly fair hair. "Put yourself in the same position as Melinda." Without a word Marie-Louise spread her legs, bent over and grasped her leather covered ankles, exposing, just as Melinda had, the whole slit of her sex. Unlike Melinda however, Marie-Louise's sex was a mass of hair. It grew not only on the triangle of her belly, but on either side of her labia, so thick it covered them completely. It sprouted up between her buttocks, hiding the crater of her arse. While Angelina pulled Melinda up into the standing position, on a nod from the Countess, Claudette opened the chest under the table and withdrew a small black cordless razor. "Continue," the Maîtresse ordered. Claudette turned the razor on and began to plough through the tresses of pubic hair. Melinda saw Marie-Louise shudder, her pendulous tits hanging down now towards her throat. As the razor first touched her hair, there seemed to be a moment of rebellion; her hands loosened around her ankles, her muscles tensed as if she were about to stand up. But she controlled it. Her fingers clasped her ankles more firmly, the knuckles turned white, and she remained where she was, accepting her fate. The little black razor, its blades no more than an inch wide, cut a swathe through the thick hair, sending curls floating to the parquet floor in front of Marie-Louise's eyes. Claudette made one pass first, cutting the longest hairs away to reveal the meaty labia, then went over again and again, each cut taking more away until only the faintest stubble was left. In this position, however, she could not reach the triangle of hair on Marie-Louise's belly. "Ça va," the Countess said when it was obvious the razor would not shave any closer. Claudette pulled the new comer into a standing position and quickly removed the rest of her pubic hair. "Have you ever been with a woman?" the Countess asked as soon as Claudette had finished. "No, madame." The Countess allowed herself a smile. It was a smile of anticipated pleasure. "How interesting." She leant back in the chair and re crossed her legs, making the nylon stockings rasp against each other. "Proceed," she said to Angelina. Angelina guided Marie-Louise into the dome-like metal structure. Claudette went to the chest and withdrew four padded leather cuffs joined by a single chromium link. She took them to Marie-Louise and quickly strapped two around her wrists while Angelina drew Melinda into the dome. The remaining two cuffs were affixed to Melinda's wrists. Melinda's hands were positioned above the point where the arches crossed. Angelina pressed a button on the outer structure and the chain dangling from the crossbeam descended far enough for Claudette to be able to attach it, by means of a large hook,

to the link of the cuffs. Angelina pressed another button and the chain ascended, pulling both girls' arms up above their heads until they were fully extended, the tendons of their armpits stretched to the limit. The immensely high heels on MarieLouise's boots gave her an advantage. Melinda had to strain on tiptoe to keep contact with the floor. Their breasts pressed into each other, as did their bellies. Melinda thought she could feel Marie-Louise's newly shaved labia throbbing at her belly. The Countess got to her feet. She smoothed the tight skirt of the suit over her buttocks and thighs and walked down the steps of the rostrum into the metal dome. Very gently she stroked Marie-Louise's buttocks, looking directly into Melinda's eyes as she did so. "It must be exciting to be a slave. Nothing to do but feel. To be done to, not to do. Isn't that so, Melinda?" "Yes, mistress." The Countess circled the two women and transferred her hand to Melinda's bottom, severely reddened by the bristled paddle and radiating heat. Her hand was cool and its touch made Melinda moan. "Are you excited? Silly question. Of course you're excited, aren't you?" "Yes, mistress." Melinda wriggled her body against Marie-Louise. "And you?" The question was put to Marie-Louise. "Yes, mistress." She learnt the correct form of address from Melinda. "Kiss her then, on the mouth. Have you ever done that before, kissed a woman?" "No, mistress." "Do it then." Marie-Louise leant forward and found Melinda's lips with her own. She showed no reticence. The kiss was long and hard, her tongue busy in Melinda's mouth. It aroused them both, and their bodies began to squirm against each other more urgently. "I'm going to allow you to come. That is not a privilege you will be granted often. But I want to see you come. Do you think you can come with a woman?" "Yes, mistress." From the kiss Marie-Louise knew it was true. Her whole body felt alive. Angelina reached into the chest under the table. This time she emerged with a Ushaped tube. As she brought it closer, Melinda saw each end of the U was shaped like a penis, the acorns of two glans clearly visible. In the centre of the U was a thick bulge, and on its upper surface was a thin metal chain attached through a raised hole in the plastic.

"Open your legs," the Countess ordered. "Both of you." Angelina knelt on the floor and reached up to insert the double dildo, first in Melinda and then in Marie-Louise. It needed no lubrication. Both women were very wet. Standing up again Angelina took hold of the metal chain and pulled it up between their bellies and breasts until it was stretched taut, pulling the phalluses further into their bodies. Then she hooked the smaller chain into the metal link of the leather cuffs. In this manner the dildo was held firmly in place, the bulge at its base pressing hard against their clitorises. Melinda felt Marie-Louise pushing down on the U-shaped shaft, wriggling her body so it would plunge deeper into her. This made Melinda's end rear up inside her, too. The Countess's cool hand moved down between Melinda's legs. There must have been a switch Melinda had not seen because suddenly the dildo sprang to life, the whole tube vibrating strongly. "Oh, oh, God, mistress . . ." Marie-Louise moaned. The Countess did not chastise her for speaking out of turn. She would learn everything in time. "Come for me," she said in a whisper, watching them closely, her body only inches away from theirs. She looked down at their breasts wobbling against each other and at the dildo that joined them so intimately. She watched as they realised they could push themselves down on its vibrated shafts, and then ease them out again, getting it to imitate the action of a cock. She watched as they trembled and gasped and pressed their clitorises into the bulge in the centre, which was vibrating as much as the phalluses inside them. She watched as Marie-Louise's head was thrown back, almost at right angles to her spine, and a long, low noise, not a sob nor a moan, just an exhalation of air, escaped her open mouth and her body quivered as though it were being electrocuted. Tomorrow Marie-Louise would be marked, the purple marks etched under her turgid breasts. Tomorrow she would be whipped, too. Tomorrow and all her tomorrows she would be used and abused in whatever way the Countess decided, before, according to the rules, she had to be passed to another Master of the O.I.M. The Countess was pleased with her new recruit but she was pleased with Melinda too. She remembered her from London, where she first desired her. There was something about her. What she had seen in Marie-Louise, Melinda possessed too, but in the latter, she sensed, it went deeper; in Melinda, the undefinable essence of submissiveness extended to her very soul. "Leave them," she said curtly. It appeared so unlike her, to allow them such pleasure. But it was not. The Countess's reputation for cruelty was not undeserved. It was pleasure they were experiencing now, their bodies quivering with sensation, the vibrating dildos filling them, their mouths allowed to kiss, their bodies allowed to come. But after the sixth or seventh orgasm had thundered through their bodies they would beg for the pleasure to stop, squirm and fight against their bonds to get relief from the relentless vibration. Every nerve would be overused, over-sensitised, overwrought, to say

nothing of the pain of their bondage: their shoulders would be aching, their calf muscles cramping, and each new wave of sensation washing over them would make matters worse. Now they thought they were in heaven. In thirty minutes they would be in hell. In thirty minutes they would be begging for mercy, their voices echoing across the ballroom with no one there to hear them.

Chapter Eight She was alone in the van. It had not been Claudette who had strapped her to the metal frame on the side panel this time but the large bear-like woman who had called herself Edith. This time she was naked, though she had been made up in what she assumed to be the same garish way. The ball gag distended her cheeks as it had done before. Whether Paul was driving the van or not she had no way of knowing - though she fervently hoped he was not. A week had passed since she had been tied to MarieLouise in the ballroom and she had not even glimpsed the Countess in that time. For once, however, this hadn't depressed her. The euphoria of knowing the Countess had picked her specifically still sustained her. This didn't mean she wasn't still haunted by the spectre of the two English brothers in the house and of what Paul had done. In fact, the thought that the Countess had treated her so well had made her guilt much worse. It was like a double betrayal; she had not only failed in her duty to herself, but also betrayed the Maîtresse, for whom she felt such respect. But these thoughts did not entirely wipe away the warmth she felt. She could see the way the Countess had looked at her, she could still feel the cool fingers soothing her stinging buttocks, and she knew, with absolute certainty, that she would be called to the Countess again and enjoy yet more intimacy with her. She did not, naturally, know when. As before, the van reversed into the small courtyard of the Club Cru and once again two women in sparkling leotards and fishnet tights arrived to unstrap Melinda from the frame. They led her down the concrete steps and along the corridor to the same dressing room where she had waited with Corinne and Candice. As she heard the music and applause from above, she wished they were with her again. It was about twenty minutes before the stage manager came to collect her, as ever chewing determinedly on a piece of gum. Leading the way up the spiral metal staircase she indicated that Melinda should wait in the wings. This time an act was still in progress on stage; two women, dressed in catsuits made from nylon so sheer it revealed every detail of their bodies, were dancing sensually as the band played "It Happened in Monterey." From time to time during the dance the audience applauded, for no reason that Melinda could see, at least not until the girls swung to the side and she could see

between their bodies. The gussets of the catsuits had been cut away, rather like the tights she had been made to wear at the chateau, and clamped between the girls was a small torpedo-shaped dildo. With incredible suppleness and dexterity the women managed, using only their thighs, to insert the dildo into the sex of one, so that it disappeared entirely; they then transferred it into the sex of the other. It was these penetrations that were the cause of the applause. The music stopped and the two dancers finished their routine, took a bow, then scampered off as the spotlights faded to black. There was no one else in the wings and Melinda wondered what she was supposed to do. The compere, the woman in the satin leotard and tails, stepped out from the other side and was immediately picked out by a spotlight. "And now, et maintenant, . . . mesdames, mesdemoiselles, we present - nous preséntons Amateur Night." There was a thunder of wild applause at this announcement, feet stamping on the floor, and loud whistles. The young stage manager prodded Melinda, who was obviously required to walk, completely naked, out on stage. A follow-spot illuminated her in a circle of bright white light, but the house lights did not dim this time and Melinda could see the audience of women quite clearly. To her disappointment, the Countess was not among them. "Allez allez, une volontaire, s'il vous plaít." the compere was saying into her microphone. "A volunteer." She walked up to Melinda, taking her hand and displaying her to the audience as if she were an animal at a farm show. In the audience three women had been encouraged to their feet by their companions. "Oui, oui," the compere said as one of the three walked towards the stage. The other two, with some relief, sat down. There were steps leading up to the stage - steps that had not been there on Melinda's previous visit - and the woman mounted them. The compere was waiting with her hand extended. "Bonsoir, bonsoir . . . Votre nom?" "Michelle." "Bienvenue, Michelle. 'Madame' ou 'Mademoiselle'?" This remark was greeted with great hilarity. "Mademoiselle," the woman said. There were immediate loud shouts of "Non, madame!" from the audience. Michelle was wearing a simple tight red dress. Without another word the compere reached around her back and unzipped it. The material fell away. Michelle wore only tiny white panties under it, and her small breasts were exposed. There was a hearty round of applause to which Michelle curtsied, clearly getting into the spirit of things. "Bon, Michelle. O.K. Over to you." The compere transferred Melinda's hand to Michelle and for the first time Melinda

looked into the volunteer's eyes. Michelle was thin but her body was muscled and looked hard. She had short auburn hair and fleshy lips that didn't seem to go with her rather small mouth. Her eyes too were small and their grey-blue colour gave the impression of coldness. Unhesitatingly Michelle pulled Melinda into her arms and kissed her on the mouth, pushing her tongue between her lips. At the same time she raised her hand and slapped her palm down on Melinda's bottom with a smack that resounded across the stage. She did this four times during the kiss, each slap greeted by a roar of delight from the crowd. "Mange-moi," Michelle whispered as their mouths parted and she used her strong arms to force Melinda to her knees. She opened her legs, pulled her panties to one side and hooked a hand around Melinda's head to press her face into the curly hair of her pubis, grinding her hips at the same time. Melinda found the slit of her labia and plunged her tongue between them on to the woman's clitoris. She didn't need to do anything else. Michelle was strong. The redhead's hand held Melinda's face against her like a vice while her hips ground her sex from side to side across it. It didn't take long. The excitement of all the women watching her, of being so publicly exposed and lewd, and of feeling this beautiful creature - so pliant and uncomplaining - tonguing her sex was too much. In seconds she was coming, her body trembling, a rush of juices spilling over Melinda's face and the edge of the little white panties nearest her sex. The compere was ready. She had seen it before, and knew the amateurs from the audience seldom managed to hold on long. "Très bien, très bien. Mademoiselle Michelle," she said, handing Michelle her dress back before quickly guiding her into the wings. Then it was time for another volunteer. Three more women came up on to the stage in turn, encouraged by the compere and the enthusiastic applause of the crowd. The first bent over a chair and had Melinda perform the same service she had on Michelle, but from the rear. The second, a buxom German, sat on the chair, pulled Melinda over her knee and spanked her hard with the flat of her hand. She alternated between buttocks until Melinda's bottom was rosy red. The last woman was the most demanding. She came up on stage with a soft drink bottle in her hand, the sight of which provoked wild applause from the audience. She was a petite brunette with long hair that had been tied in a chignon on her head. Instead of merely handing the compere her dress, as all the other women had done, this one performed a strip, again to the delight of the audience. The music was provided by the band, who had caught on to what she was doing after the first garment. Using the chair as a prop, and with her blouse already discarded, she pulled off her skirt, her white bra, then her white French knickers and finally her creamy tights. Each garment's departure was accompanied by a crash of cymbals from the drummer. Deciding that she liked the music, the stripper swayed to it a little longer while she released her long black hair. Bending over the chair she used the neck of the bottle to spread her labia apart, then requested that Melinda push it in and out. Melinda did so with enormous relief, having feared that the bottle was to be used on her. Despite the woman's size, her sex appeared cavernous, and most of the bottle disappeared inside her, to be expelled

seconds later by a muscular contraction. All Melinda was required to do, apparently, was push it home again. The brunette's hair hung down the front of the chair, so long it brushed the floor. Melinda could see the entire female audience pressing forward; some were actually coming to the foot of the stage to get a better view as the bottle disappeared and was expelled again with some force. Each time the bottle reappeared the crowd applauded, and each time the applause got louder. Melinda knew all this, as well as the physical stimulus, would make the woman come. The rounds of applause, the shouted obscenities, would spur her on. Her whole body was heaving: her tits, full, heavy tits, were rubbing against the back of the upright chair; her breath was being taken in great lung fulls, as though she were coming up for air from underwater; her hands were on her buttocks, spreading them open as wide as they would go, so the audience could see every detail of her sex. Melinda pushed the bottle home but this time it was not expelled. She held it there and saw the woman tense. The applause stopped; the audience wanted to hear now as well as see. Then, flinging her head back like the lash of a whip, the woman let out a piercing, hollow scream, as though she had been violated, a one-note wail of pure emotion that reached every corner of the club. Only as it died on her lips did the bottle begin to slide from her sex, so wet now that it slipped from Melinda's grasp and dropped to the floor. It skittered across the stage, bounced off the footlights into the auditorium and one of the audience caught it triumphantly. She held it aloft and it glinted, its glass slimed with the sap of the last amateur's body. Another round of thunderous applause broke out, the women jumping up from their tables, embracing each other and kissing. It appeared that the 'amateur' section of the show had now ended. The compere shepherded Melinda and the brunette back into the wings, handing the latter her clothes. When she had dressed the pair went back on stage to take a bow and the compere announced that the brunette had won a bottle of champagne. At this, she walked back into the audience, where Melinda saw her being kissed and hugged by several eager women. Then the band began to play and couples ordered drinks or got up to dance. The stage manager, expressing no emotion, led Melinda back to the dressing room. When the dressing room door closed, Melinda found her mood had changed. She felt a terrible sense of emptiness and depression. She had been used callously and without thought - which was of course her Maîtresses's right. But she had the feeling that the Countess had not sanctioned what had gone on tonight, especially as she had not been there to see it. Melinda had no idea of the relationship between the club and the chateau but she suspected the club had asked for a slave to perform in the 'amateur' sequence, and one had been selected at random. She had not seen the Countess for a week and was sure she was not at the chateau. If the performance had been for her Maîtresse, or even just ordered by her, Melinda would have felt no disappointment. But it appeared that she had left no special instructions in relation to Melinda, and that was what depressed the blonde slave. Of course, she had no proof for such speculation. The Countess might have handpicked her for tonight's show because it was particularly humiliating, and done it precisely because she felt close to her slave. No Master was allowed to show

favouritism to a slave. This may have been her Maîtresse's way of establishing distance between them once again, and reminding her of the fact she must expect no special treatment. Though she had not the slightest thread of evidence for it, however, Melinda just did not believe the Countess had ordered her here tonight. It was some time before Edith opened the dressing room door. She was carrying a black nylon holdall. She dropped it on the dressing room table and extracted a small cellophane packet which she handed to Melinda, indicating she should put the contents on. At first Melinda thought it was a pair of tights. The material was very sheer nylon but woven with Lycra to give it strength and make it shimmer. Instead of just covering the legs, the garment extended over the whole body, clothing even the arms. Its elasticity squashed Melinda's breasts slightly and shaped her limbs, but its sheerness hid not a line of her body. At the front the neckline was cut in a deep V, exposing her cleavage. It was exactly the same costume she had seen the two dancers wearing earlier on stage, and, as with their outfits, the gusset between the legs had been removed. It took some while for Melinda to smooth the nylon on over her body. As soon as she was finished, Edith pulled a pair of black high-heeled shoes from the bag and dropped them on the floor in front of Melinda, who squeezed her feet into them. After long periods without shoes, the narrow hard leather always seemed to bite her feet uncomfortably. Edith was extracting another leather harness from the bag. Melinda had seen this one before. It was a simple leather collar from the back of which hung a short, broad leather strap. Attached to this strap were two leather cuffs, one on top of the other. The woman looped the collar around Melinda's neck and pulled her arms behind her back. She then buckled the slave's wrists into the cuffs, almost between her shoulder blades, making her elbows stick out awkwardly. At the front of the collar was a metal D-ring into which the woman clipped a chain, like a dog leash. Using this, she led Melinda from the room. As she had expected, the black Rolls Royce had replaced the van in the courtyard, and once again she was seated in the back, the velvet bag was pulled over her head and its drawstring pulled tight. Sitting with her arms strapped up behind her back was uncomfortable, forcing her to sit forward on the seat. She felt the car glide forward out of the yard and on to the streets, and for the second time she experienced the odd sensation of knowing strangers could see her: the velvet hood over her head, the sheer nylon veiling her body, her bondage all too evident. The darkness inside the hood was comforting, preventing her from seeing the strangers' eyes, the looks of puzzlement and perhaps even contempt. Last time she had found this exciting, but tonight she was in no mood for further humiliation and was glad of the anonymity of the heavy velvet. The journey did not take long. This time there was no gravel driveway as the car came to a halt so Melinda knew she was not being taken to Helena again. She heard the driver's door being opened and closed, then the passenger door opened and she was hauled out and heaved up over Edith's large shoulder. They crossed a pavement and went inside a building. Melinda heard the clanging sound of an old-fashioned

lift, heard the metal grille being pulled back and closed again, and felt it carrying them up. They seemed to go up a long way. Eventually the lift stopped, Edith opened the grille again and they set off down a carpeted corridor. Melinda heard a doorbell ring when they stopped. The door opened almost immediately but no words were exchanged. Even through the velvet Melinda caught a strong whiff of aftershave as she was deposited on what was obviously a bed. Immediately afterwards she heard a door being closed firmly. It was a long time before anything else happened. She thought she could hear voices but it might have been a television or radio and was very distant. She couldn't hear anyone moving about or any other noise. Lying on her back, as the woman had left her, began to put a strain on her elbows after a while and her arms were going numb, so Melinda rolled over on to her side. After a while this position made one of her shoulder blades ache so she rolled on to the other side. This too became unbearable in turn so she wriggled on to her stomach. The heavy velvet was making her head sweat again and was allowing little fresh air through its thick folds. She could hear her own pulse thumping regularly in her ears. "Lovely." The voice made her start. It came from right in front of her. A man had been sitting watching her all this time and she hadn't heard him. Her heart was banging against her ribs. She listened intently, trying to make out exactly where he was, but could hear nothing over the noise of her own body. Nothing else was said, and she heard no further movement. She remained frozen. She knew she was being watched, that eyes were staring at her nylon covered body and, for the first time, began to feel a tingle of excitement in her nerves. It was some minutes before she heard a rustle of clothing, sensed someone walking towards her. The cool fingers on her shoulder made her jump again, set her heart pounding, and she felt the drawstrings of the hood loosened and the velvet pulled away. She gulped in fresh air with relief. Kneeling in front of her was a man in his fifties. He had very fine, wavy brown hair, a regular symmetrical face with a straight nose and a square jaw, blue eyes and a strong-looking body. He stood up and pulled off his white short-sleeved shirt. His chest was hairy and his muscles well-defined. He was not wearing shoes or socks and skimmed off his slacks and pants together. His cock was circumcised and already hard, a tear of moisture leaking from his urethra. They were in a small bedroom with a line of wardrobes with mirrored doors along one wall. Apart from the small double bed there were bedside tables and two brown leather armchairs of modern design. The floor was wooden, scattered with Persian rugs and there was a bookshelf, piled with books, at the back of the bed. Two small halogen bedside lights had already been dimmed. "You look very uncomfortable." His accent was French. He pronounced the last word with equal emphasis on each syllable.

"Yes, Master," Melinda said quietly. His hand caressed her back, rasping against the shimmery nylon. He patted the deep curves of her buttocks. "I want you to suck me. You are specially trained for this - is that true?" His voice was soft and kind. "Yes, Master." He knelt on the floor at the foot of the bed, his cock protruding over the edge of the mattress. The bed had been stripped of all its bedding bar a single pale yellow sheet. "Come on," he said with the first hint of annoyance when she didn't move instantly. Melinda wriggled forward until his cock was in range, then anchored her mouth on it. In this position, on her stomach, with her arms strapped up behind her, it wasn't easy to move her head back and forth, so she concentrated on sucking, squeezing his cock hard then relaxing, establishing a rhythm. "Mmm . . ." he moaned, and she felt his cock pulse in her mouth. His cock was very hard. Melinda felt her own sex beginning to melt; her excitement too was building in response to the discomfort of bondage reasserting itself. The man's cock was pulsing so regularly she thought he was going to come. "Oh yes, so well trained," he moaned. "C'est chouette . . ." She sucked hard, then changed her tactics and ran her tongue all the way around the circumcised rim of his glans, then over the tip, pushing it into the slit of his urethra. She could see nothing but his belly and the thick curly hair around the base of his cock, and she didn't hear the door open, or the footsteps padding over to the bed. But suddenly she felt a weight drop on the bed behind her and in one seamless movement two hands grabbed her by the hips and pulled her buttocks up and on to a rampant cock. It penetrated the open gusset of the nylon and rammed into her wet hairless sex, so deep and with such force, it took her breath away. "Mais oui. . ." "Oh so sweet." The other voice was American. "Sweet little butt." The man behind her was looking at himself in the mirrored wardrobe doors as he charged his cock in and out. "Is she wet?" "Oh yes, she's ready." Melinda could not see who had invaded her and dare not twist round to try and get a glimpse of him, but his cock was big and hard and very hot and he knew how to use it. He had hauled her up on to her knees and was ploughing into her with terrific strength. She could feel his navel pounding against her buttocks; it was muscled and strong.

"Put it in her arse," the Frenchman suggested. "Good thinking, buddy." The American pulled out of Melinda's sex, his cock dripping with her juices and centred his cock on the tight ring of her anus. He pushed forward twice. The first stroke took him halfway in, the second the whole way. He began to bugger her, stroking in and out as easily as if he was in her vagina. Melinda felt a shock of pain sear through her body. It was followed immediately by almost unbelievable pleasure. It had been a long time since she'd had a cock in her rear and she loved it; she had always loved it. She felt every nerve react, sending signals of that unique pleasure so close to pain, so acute and urgent and hot, flooding through her. Instantly, the engine of her orgasm turned over. She had two cocks inside her, both throbbing and hard, both wanting and needing her. She tried to concentrate on her mouth, tried to discount the feelings racing through her body, tried to suck and lick the big sword in front of her and ignore the one buried in her anus, but it was impossible. Her arsehole was tight and clung to the invader, and its very tightness was causing the cock to swell with excitement. It was pushing out against the walls that surrounded it causing Melinda paroxysms of pleasure and pain. Unconsciously she thrust her buttocks back at him, wanting more, loving the feeling of being buggered again, wriggling herself from side to side to feel every inch of the cock inside her. "She sure is hot," the American said. His hand slid down under her belly and up between her legs. He fingered her clitoris roughly, almost making her jerk her head up off the Frenchman's cock, then pushed his fingers deep into her empty, streaming wet sex. He could feel his own cock alongside his fingers separated only by the membranes of her body. He gently squeezed his hard shaft through the soft wall. Three cocks, that's what it felt like: every passage of her body now was penetrated, every nerve reacting, her orgasm accelerating so rapidly she could not control it any more. She felt his fingers scissoring open inside her, stretching the walls of her vagina just as his cock was stretching her anus. "Oh - oh . . ." Her exclamation was gagged by cock. Her body quivered and she came, came so hard her eyes were forced closed and she was pitched into blackness, a blackness so total she almost passed out. It was only a jolt from her anus that saved her, as she'd pushed herself down on the cock buried there. It plunged her into a second orgasm, born of the first, rushing through her, now trampling over its predecessor. It was harder and deeper and stronger, but more controllable; there was no risk of passing out this time. She contracted her sex on the fingers inside her, sucked harder on the cock in her mouth, and strained in her bondage, pulling the arms down against the collar. "I don't believe it, the little bitch just loves it," the American said. "I told you. These women are special. They have special needs," the Frenchman replied.

"Jesus, I could really feel her come." He would have felt her come again if he had not pulled out of her at that moment. "You want to fuck her?" the American asked. "Oh, yes." The Frenchman plucked his cock from Melinda's mouth and climbed on to the bed behind her while the American replaced him at the foot of the bed. Without being asked, Melinda gobbled up the new cock, greedily tasting her own juices. She had glimpsed him briefly in the mirror as they changed positions. He was young, no more than twenty, and very blond. His hairless body was strong and powerful, and the pubic hair around his cock was as blond as the long hair on his head. Melinda sucked his cock hard then ran her skilful tongue around it, feeling, once again, how much stronger the exercise machines had made her. Not only was her tongue more manoeuvrable now, but it could sustain a lot more activity without getting tired. She felt the American's cock pulse as she tongued the rim of his glans then sucked the whole shaft into her mouth until it was right at the back of her throat. "Jesus, she's good at this." He was watching himself in the mirror again, Melinda's blonde hair covering his navel. "They are trained somehow. The Countess will never tell me how." "She's going to make me come." The Frenchman moved his cock down between Melinda's nylon-covered tights into her exposed labia. "She has them all shaved like this," he said, looking down at his glans being kissed by Melinda's thick vertical lips. Slowly he pushed forward into Melinda's sex. He had hooked a hand around her belly and was delving with his finger to find her clitoris. It was not difficult. It was swollen and throbbing. He nudged it from side to side and felt her body quake in reaction. Again Melinda tried to concentrate on the cock in her mouth, establishing a rhythm in her suction. She wished she was free to use her fingers on his balls and run a finger into his anus. At the same time, though, she gloried in the fact that she was not, that all she could do was what she was required to do, that she was mentally and physically in bondage. She felt the American's cock spasm as his balls pumped spunk into his shaft. She wanted spunk now, it was her entitlement. She wanted it jetting in her sex and running down her legs, spattering in her mouth and sliding down her throat. She kept her rhythm steady and regular, sucking and relaxing, her tongue performing prodigious feats in between the two. The little bitch is he couldn't finish the sentence. His spunk gathered and Melinda sucked him as hard as she could, closing around his

cock, trapping the spunk inside him, holding it tight, making him wait. Then suddenly she let it go, releasing the pent-up spunk and feeling it rocket out of him with ferocity. It sprayed her tongue and her throat. Her body trembled. His hands buried themselves in her blonde hair to jerk her head away as she swallowed all his seed. The Frenchman saw what had happened and increased his pace, his own need growing in urgency. He could feel Melinda's body readying itself for another onslaught and knew she was coming again. He looked down at her glorious body covered so alluringly in the sheer shimmering nylon. He knew he could do anything he wished to her, and she would welcome it. He had had many of the Countess's slaves before, but never one like this, never one so perfect, never one who found her submission so exciting. He felt her sex contract around him as her mouth had earlier. He thought of using her anus or going back to her mouth but his orgasm was just too close. She seemed to be milking him, coaxing the spunk out of him, drawing his cock and balls up into her. Then, deep inside, she seemed to blossom, opening like a flower to give him a silky wet, open space where he could spunk. That was the last straw for him and his eyes closed involuntarily as his cock jerked and kicked and his spunk lashed out in the space she had made. Melinda had got what she wanted. Her body was drenched in spunk: her sex was running with it, her mouth full of its taste. A little dribble that she had not managed to swallow clung to her chin. She let the American's cock slip from her mouth and turned her head to look in the mirror. A stranger stared back at her from the glass, a stranger whose body was tightly encased in sheer silky nylon, her breasts squashed against her chest by it; nipples protruding, knees tucked up, buttocks hard against the man who knelt behind her. But most of all it was the stranger's bondage that fascinated her, the leather collar around the neck, the wrist cuffs, the unnatural angle of her arms. She saw the two men, one at each end, who had used the stranger's body, had used it as casually as if it were a rubber doll. Melinda felt her nerves knotting, her body contorting as if a giant hand had picked her up and was squeezing her. Mirrors were a luxury she was rarely allowed. Seeing herself like this, the perfect symbol of submission, the image of everything she had always wanted to be, sent an electric shock through her body. She pushed back on the Frenchman's cock, still hard inside her, and came again. This was an orgasm completely different from the others, an orgasm that started in her mind and ended in her sex, gathering up all the nerves in between until she was trembling uncontrollably. She held her eyes open for as long as she could, staring at the image in the mirror: the image of the perfect slave.

Chapter Nine Melinda knew the system by now. She knew that any change in the daily pattern might mean she was going to be taken to her Maîtresse. It was five days since she'd been taken to the club for the second time and twelve since she had seen the Countess when, instead of being returned to the cellars after working in the afternoon, she had

been taken by the arm and directed up the main staircase of the house. For days, since returning from the apartment, Melinda had become increasingly depressed. The cruelty of being left so long after such intimacy, of being disregarded after having been so highly regarded, was the worst punishment Melinda could have received; far worse than the cut of the whip or hours in nerve-numbing bondage. Her experience at the club, where she had felt so alone and so used, had made it worse. The more she thought about it, the more she realised that the fact she had been taken to the club the second time, whether at the Countess's behest or not, was an indication that her spell in favour had been short-lived. The euphoria she had felt at being chosen to demonstrate obedience with the new recruit had therefore turned to gloom. So, as Claudette preceded her up the main stairs, Melinda tried to control her emotions, fearing this might be the prelude to another act of casual cruelty, another false dawn. It was not easy though. They were heading towards the Countess's bedroom and Melinda's pulse was racing with excitement. The rate doubled when they got to the main doors. Claudette opened them and pushed her through. Melinda had never seen the bedroom before, only the anteroom where she had been strapped to the 'horse'. This room was large with a high corniced ceiling and carpets decorated in a restful burgundy colour, set off by a white silk counterpane on the bed. There was a chaise longue upholstered in burgundy red silk, another comfortable armchair in the same material, and two bedside tables made from yew on which stood large porcelain lamps whose shades were the same burgundy. The large rectangular windows, of which there were three, gave a spectacular view of the formal gardens right down to the wrought iron gates. The burgundy colour also featured on the curtains, tied back in great bunches on either side of the frames. There were three doors opposite the doors through which they had entered. Two were slightly ajar and Melinda could see a dressing room racked with clothes through one, and a bathroom floored and walled in Carrara marble through the other. The third was closed; Melinda worked out this was the door into the anteroom. Without a word Claudette led Melinda through to the bathroom. "Baignez," she said, pointing at the bath. "Et rasez-vous encore." The luxury of being able to bathe after weeks of showers served to further increase Melinda's anticipation and excitement. She had not been allowed a bath since her first day in the chateau. She told herself again that this might all be a cruel torture bringing her up to her Maîtresse's bedroom, letting her use the bath, then returning her to the cellars - but as much as she tried to prepare herself for disappointment, she seemed to be unable to stop her body singing to quite a different tune. She ran herself a bath in the deep white tub, which Claudette filled with fragrant bath oil, and stepped in. She sank into the hot water and let it seep into her muscles. A shaving brush and soap had been left on the shelf that ran along the side of the bath and, after a while, Melinda stood, soaped her labia and shaved them for the second time that day. She washed away the suds with water from a big natural sponge. Claudette stooped and carefully inspected the result, appearing satisfied that the slave was completely smooth and hairless. Unusually for the chateau, there appeared to be no hurry. Claudette sat on the toilet seat watching Melinda, oblivious of the appeal of her own body: the leather straps

binding her rich curves tightly, her thighs bulging out on either side of the bands of leather, her nipples clamped painfully by the metal rings. In all her time at the chateau Melinda had never seen either Angelina or Claudette in anything but the outfits they had worn on her first day. There was no doubt in her mind, however accustomed they had grown to them, that their costumes must cause them untold discomfort and pain, and yet neither appeared to be slaves. Indeed, next to the Maîtresse herself the two women were the most senior figures in the chateau, giving orders and demanding to be obeyed. Why they agreed to suffer at the Countess's caprice Melinda could not understand. The outfits could only be a punishment, Melinda thought as she rested her head back on the bath and allowed the water to lap over her body, but for what crime she would probably never know. The warm water felt so deliciously soothing, after so long without, that Melinda almost fell asleep. She closed her eyes. As she did so a mental image appeared; it was herself, in the mirrored wardrobe doors, with a man at each end of her kneeling body. She shuddered involuntarily, as she remembered how it had felt to have her body full of cock, and her sex throbbed between her closed thighs. Eventually Claudette handed her a large fluffy white bath towel. She dried her body and her hair and caught a glimpse of herself in the long mirror over the wash basin. She looked completely different from the last time she had seen herself, the vision her mind had conjured up minutes before. Now, pink and fresh from the water, her shaved pubis and exposed slit gave her the air of a child, though not of childhood innocence. Claudette directed her through the bedroom into the dressing room. Here, among the lines of clothes hanging from rails and drawers of various sizes, was a dressing table dotted with make-up. Sitting Melinda with her back to the table's mirror, Claudette quickly applied eye-liner and shadow, mascara and a little blusher. She brushed her hair and coated her lips with lipstick. She pulled the slave to her feet and took a white silk slip from one of the drawers along with a pair of white high-heeled slippers, their toes decorated each with a feather. She held the slip open and pulled it over Melinda's head. The silk was of the finest quality and the garment seemed to flow and flutter over Melinda's body, making her shiver slightly. Very thin spaghetti straps supported its low neckline and the hem barely extended below her belly. Putting the slippers on the floor, Claudette indicated that Melinda should put them on. As Claudette took her back into the bedroom the slip moved against her body, seeming to caress it. It was unusual to be wearing a garment that was not tight and constricting. Melinda felt her sex throbbing again, and her nipples, under the fine silk, were as hard as stone. The luxury of the bath, and now this, were making Melinda almost light-headed, but it was not altogether a feeling she cared for. To be free like this, especially in her Maîtresse's bedroom, did not feel right. She was a slave, an object, a creature of her Maîtresse, and bondage and constriction were old friends. She need not have worried, however. Freedom was not on the menu. "Ici," Claudette ordered. She was standing by the foot of the bed, signalling that Melinda should join her.

Screwed through the carpet into the floor about three feet apart were two brass rings. Claudette threaded a gold chain through each. Positioning Melinda so she was facing the bed, Claudette wrapped the gold around each ankle and padlocked the chains in place with a tiny brass lock. The thin chain bit into Melinda's ankle. Claudette crawled on to the bed and delved between the pillows at the top end. Below them was another brass fitting, this one recessed into the wall itself. It was a springloaded reel on to which more gold chain had been wound. Claudette pulled the chain out the length of the bed and up to Melinda. "Les mains devant les seins." Melinda looked blank. "Hands in front of your tits," Claudette translated irritably. As Melinda obeyed, she saw that the end of the long gold chain was attached to what looked like a miniature pair of metal handcuffs with a diameter less than an inch. Claudette arranged Melinda's hands so they were pressed together in an attitude of prayer, then slipped the cuffs over her thumbs, ratcheting the loops of steel so tight Melinda gasped. Claudette went to the table on the left hand side of the bed and pressed a hidden control button. The reel set in the wall revolved, taking up the slack in the chain until Melinda's arms were stretched out in front of her. Claudette kept her finger on the button a moment too long and Melinda toppled over on to the counterpane and was pulled by the chain up the bed until she felt the chains on her ankles biting into her flesh. "Non, non," Claudette said, annoyed with herself. She pressed the control button in the opposite direction which unwound the chain. "On your feet." Melinda scrambled up as the chain went slack. At the second attempt Claudette achieved the desired effect: Melinda's knees were pressed against the edge of the bed, her legs bound apart, her arms stretched out in front of her by the taut gold chain that held her thumbs on one end and disappeared into the wall behind the pillows on the other. Claudette came up behind her. "Confortable?" she mocked, wrapping her arms around Melinda and moving her palms against her nipples under the soft white silk. "Très dur," she said. Her hands dipped lower, down over Melinda's belly, the feeling of the silk being rubbed against her body making Melinda break out in goose-bumps. Claudette's hand delved under the hem of the slip, down to Melinda's thigh, then up to her shaven labia. Her finger parted them to expose her clitoris. Suddenly Melinda felt the cold bite of a metal clip clamp around the swollen lozenge of nerves as Claudette closed the device on the tender flesh she had teased out. Melinda moaned, not knowing whether it was pain or pleasure that dominated her senses. She tried to look down to see what Claudette had done but the hem of the slip hid her sex from view. She could feel it was not just a clip. It was weighted, with something hanging down from it and swinging between her legs, pulling the jaws of the clip to and fro and increasing the sensation they generated. Claudette saw her trying to look. She lifted the slip. "Voyez," she invited. Now

Melinda could see everything: the silver metal that protruded from the hairless labia, two tiny crescent-shaped jaws half-buried in her flesh, held firmly but gently by a spring with two larger crescents on either side. A silver chain hung down from the opening between her legs. At the end of the chain was a tear-shaped silver pendant. Almost unconsciously Melinda swung her hips, making the pendant move between her legs and tug the jaws of the clip against her clitoris. She moaned. The pressure of the clip was almost painful, but it was a pain so close to intense pleasure it was impossible not to enjoy it. "C'est bon. N'est-ce pas?" Claudette insisted. "Yes. Yes, mistress," Melinda moaned. Claudette dropped the hem of the silk slip and the clip disappeared from sight. For a moment Melinda thought she was going to come but she managed to control herself. Claudette patted Melinda's buttocks then left her. She went to each of the big windows in turn, untied the curtains and drew them, cutting out the already fading light. Melinda heard the bedroom door open and then close, and she was alone. Melinda's nerves were stretched like the strings of a harp ready to play harmonies as the wind blew through them. In a few minutes she had been transformed from feeling free, unrestrained and yet vaguely uneasy to being bound, uncomfortable and yet coursing with that familiar mixture of pleasure and pain, the two so allied in her senses as to be inseparable. The chains round her ankles irritated her flesh, and the metal cuffs on her thumbs pressed on particularly sensitive nerves. These pains were soon joined by a relentless ache in her back as she strained to prevent herself falling forward on to the bed over which she was bent. She instinctively knew she must not allow herself the luxury of resting her torso on the bed. But all this was nothing compared to the sensations emanating from her clit. Alternately it registered cold shivers of pain then hot, mind-numbing pleasure. She never knew when one would transmogrify into the other. The pain rolled through her body in waves, joining the pain in her ankles and thumbs and back until she thought it would make her scream, but it was always overwhelmed by pleasure, pleasure that grew sweeter and richer every time it came round, pleasure that also made her want to scream, but for a different reason, pleasure that made her clitoris, trapped in jaws of silver, throb and jerk against its metal prison. But not only physical sensations threatened to overwhelm her. Her mind was on the brink of a precipice too. She wished there was a mirror in this room as there had been in the man's apartment. She wished desperately that she could see herself so artfully bound, the little white slip trembling as much as the body underneath. She wanted to see herself in bondage again. What had been done to her was ingenious. She was tightly and helplessly tied but, at the same time, she realised that all she had to do to be released from her anguish was to fall forward on the bed. The weight of the pendant, the pulling on her thumbs, the strain on her ankles, the pressure in her back, all would cease if she merely allowed herself to rest on the white silk counterpane. It was exquisite torture and she loved it, revelled in it, thanked God for finding her a Maîtresse like the Countess, a woman who knew. This is what Melinda wanted, cherished, yearned for. It was everything she'd ever dreamt about.

Deliberately she swung her hips. The pendant swung back and forth between her legs, transferring its movement to the clip, pulling her clitoris down and then up again, the sensation renewed as soon as it flagged by another flick of her hips. The wheel of pain revolved to pleasure, pleasure so intense Melinda thought she had taken it too far and was going to come. Hastily she pulled on the thumb cuffs to steady herself and haul herself back from the brink. An orgasm was not allowed; that, she knew, was part of the design. She looked down at herself: at her slender silk-clad body and at her fine legs below the white slip. She could see the curves of her breasts disappearing under the silk, and the firm buttons where her nipples pushed against it. She could see her arms stretched out by the chain, and the peculiar miniature cuffs that held her thumbs locked together. She could just glimpse the bottom of the silver tear-shaped pendulum. She closed her eyes, hoping that cutting off visual stimulus would help her control herself. Being forbidden to come was another aspect of the delicious torture. Just as it would have been a simple matter to relieve her anguish, so it would be to relieve her frustration by swinging the pendulum. The temptation to do either or both was as insistent as the pain itself. Closing her eyes had been a mistake. There was more visual stimulation in the darkness, not less. As if she were looking into the mirror she had craved she saw herself, in her mind's eye, standing with her legs spread apart, the silk of the slip flowing against her body, her hands stretched out as if reaching for something, her knees bent slightly to resist the pull of the chain, the pendulum swinging between her thighs. She saw the passion in her own eyes, she saw her need. Her clitoris throbbed; it had never felt like this before. It seemed to have grown; it felt alive, as if it were trying to wriggle out of the jaws of the clip. She knew she must not come. It was forbidden. The other crimes she had committed she could claim, with justification, had not been entirely her fault. But if she came now, if she allowed her need to spill over, if she gave into temptation, there would be no one to blame but herself. "It feels so good, doesn't it?" She hadn't heard the bedroom door. She dared not look round, but she recognised the Countess's voice and felt a new shiver of excitement. How long had she been watching her? "Doesn't it?" the Countess repeated. "Yes, mistress," Melinda said quickly. "You want to come, don't you?" "Yes, mistress." "Plunge forward on to that soft bed and come." "Yes, mistress." Oh, how much she wanted that.

"You haven't come, have you?" The tone of voice was suddenly different, with a clear threat implied. "No, mistress," Melinda assured her. "No." "Bon, très bon." The Countess walked up behind her. Melinda could feel flowing around her the air created by the movement: it was air scented with the perfume her Maîtresse always wore, expensive musky scent. She thought the Countess touched her hair but could not be sure. "You are very beautiful, Melinda." Her name again. She felt her heart pounding. The Countess walked into her line of vision. She was wearing a black negligee of silk satin and lace, and a pair of slippers identical to the ones Claudette had given Melinda to wear except that they were black. Melinda tried surreptitiously to glance backward to see who else was with her. "We're alone," the Countess said, answering her unasked question. "Quite alone." The Countess lay on the bed, propping the pillows against the wall to make herself comfortable, her eyes not leaving Melinda for one second. "Tell me how you feel?" Melinda's mind was reeling. She could hardly believe what was happening to her. To be alone with one of the Masters was the ultimate privilege, the ultimate intimacy. In fact, though she did not know it, it was one of the rules of the O.I.M. that no Master should indulge a slave in this way. Melinda was at a loss for words. "Tell me, child." The hard edge of the Countess's voice cut through Melinda's reverie. "Excited, mistress. Terribly, terribly excited." It was only the truth. "Good, that is what I intended you to be." The Countess raised one leg. The negligee fell away to reveal most of her long slender limb. She pushed it further aside with her hand, until all of her thigh was exposed. She was wearing black satin panties, cut so high that their crotch only covered the centre of her red-haired pubes. Her prolific curls appeared on both sides of the thin satin panel. She raised her foot and lifted the hem of Melinda's slip with a toe; her toenails were varnished the same deep red as her fingernails. Melinda watched the muscles of her thigh flex under the soft creamy skin, forming undulations in the flesh. "I like looking at you bound like this," the Countess said. She ran her hand down her body until it was over her panties. She began stroking her sex. Melinda felt another wave of excitement. None of the Masters had treated her like this. She had been privileged, that was true, but never like this. With her toe the Countess set the pendant swinging. Melinda moaned, not because

she couldn't stand the rush of feeling this created but because she needed to do something to relieve the emotional tension she felt. The Maîtresse's foot dropped away. Her hand was gripping the black satin that covered her belly, bunching it together until the crotch of the panties was no more than a thin satin string buried in her labia. She pulled this up hard, making it cut deeply into her sex, then pulled it up deeper still, her thick red hairs closing around it. Then she started sawing it from side to side. Her eyes never left Melinda but went roaming over her bound body, finding in each area of the slave's bondage an added stimulation. Melinda could not help responding to the Countess's exhibition. She used the clip on her clitoris in the same way her Maîtresse was using the panties, moving her hips so the pendant began to swing. Its gyrations made the metal jaws pull against the tender nerves and generated shocks of sensation that coursed through her to join the almost unbelievable emotion she was feeling. "Mon Dieu. Ma petite, ma petite," the Countess gasped. Melinda watched her body tense and her hand pull the panties hard against her clit one final time. Her body arched off the bed, her legs opened wide, and every muscle locked around the orgasm she had created. It was a long time before the Countess relaxed and even longer before the little shocks and ripples had finally run their course. The orgasm seemed to have wrought a change in her mood. She jumped off the bed and strolled behind Melinda. "I should have you whipped, shouldn't I? I should get Claudette in here to whip you. Get them both in here. I shouldn't allow myself to be alone with you, should I?" "No, mistress." "I should have you punished for tempting me, shouldn't I?" "Yes, mistress." It was true. It was exactly what Melinda wanted now. She wanted to be punished, to feel the lash of the whip. All this was too much. She didn't know how to cope with it. "Yes, mistress," the Countess mocked. She slapped her hand down on Melinda's silk covered buttocks: once, twice, three times in quick succession, vicious, swinging blows, their impact made worse by the effect they had on the pendant, making it swing violently below the jaws pinching Melinda's clit. Melinda screamed, unable to stop herself. The noise seemed to have a sobering effect on the Countess and she stayed her next blow. Instead she pushed herself against Melinda's back and wrapped her arms around her, fingering Melinda's breasts under the white silk and kissing her neck. She seemed not to know what to do or how to control her emotions. With an effort she pulled herself away from Melinda's body and came to kneel on the bed in front of her. Raising the hem of the white silk slip she looked at the metal clip embedded in Melinda's hairless labia. Melinda could not read the expression on her face; it could have been anger or remorse, kindness or cruelty.

"You have my permission," the Countess said quietly. The anger in her voice had gone completely. Her hand reached forward to grasp the clip. She looked up into Melinda's eyes, wanting to see there what she knew would happen as the clip was released. Melinda felt the jaws tighten slightly at her Maîtresse's touch. She didn't understand what she had permission to do, but as the jaws of the clip opened she suddenly knew. As the nerves in her clitoris, numbed by the metal clamp, were freed, they registered a pain so intense it almost made Melinda fall forward on to the bed. Even before the shocks of the pain had died away a pleasure just as sharp, and just as powerful, overtook her. Her clitoris seemed to be alive, swelling of its own volition. It was like a bird freed from a cage, testing its wings again. For a second Melinda had time to look down at her Maîtresse: she saw the black satin and lace draped over her slender body, the cushions of her breasts pressed against the delicate lace panels. Then her eyes were closed by the rush of sensation and she could do nothing but feel. Her orgasm rolled through her as her body responded to the physical and emotional crisis it had held back for so long. The darkness behind her eyes came in waves, tossing her from side to side like flotsam on the sea, each wave giving new meaning to pleasure. She did not know how she managed not to fall forward on to the bed. When she opened her eyes she was surprised to find the Countess unlocking the cuffs from her thumbs. "Your legs," the Countess said, tossing the padlock key on the bed. "Untie them." Unsteadily Melinda managed to bend down and unlock the tiny padlocks that held the chains around her ankles. Her body was still trembling with the aftermath of orgasm. She rubbed her ankles. As she straightened she saw the Countess strip the negligee from her shoulders and lie back on the bed. "Take my panties down," the Countess said. Melinda knelt beside her Maîtresse and looked at her body. It was as fine-boned as her face, with full ripe breasts, their nipples as hard as pebbles, and a narrow waist, the lines of her pelvis emphasising the flatness of her stomach. Melinda placed both hands on the waistband of the panties and pulled the black satin down, as the Countess co-operated by raising her bottom off the bed. As soon as the garment was clear of her ankles the Countess opened her legs wide, so wide Melinda could see that the thick red hair that fringed her labia was wet and plastered to her thighs. "Have your exercises made you better, child?" the Countess said, her voice husky with passion. "I think so, mistress." "Show me, then." As if to indicate what she meant she pushed her sex up at Melinda. "Show me." Melinda felt her heart pounding again. This was a new level of intimacy. The Countess was wriggling her body, moving one thigh around Melinda so that the slave was kneeling between her Maîtresse's wide open legs. Melinda dipped her head to her

Maîtresse's wet labia. She kissed them first, as if she were kissing a mouth, squirming her lips against the rubbery labia and the wiry pubic hair. Then she pushed her tongue up to the very top of the crease of the Countess's sex and delved between to find her clitoris. As she felt the swollen nut, hard and throbbing against her tongue, she heard the Countess moan. Trying to control her own feelings, Melinda nudged the clit from side to side, then circled it, then pushed it up and down. The last movement produced the greatest effect: the Countess's legs scissored closed around Melinda's body, hugging her with her knees as if to contain the pleasure. Using her legs again the Countess arched her sex off the bed, making Melinda's mouth slip down to the mouth of her vagina. Melinda used her tongue to circle the open passage, feeling its heat and wetness, and then pushed inside. "Oh. Oh," the Countess moaned, forcing her body down further on Melinda's tongue. Melinda used the newly acquired strength of her tongue to penetrate as deeply as she could, right up into the wet, silky, clinging vagina. She felt it sucking her in, her mouth pressed so hard against the opening she could feel the pubic bone. Then she began to move her tongue round, circling inside the tube of flesh, feeling its contours, licking the walls. She had never been able to do this before and gloried in her new ability. She could feel her Maîtresse's body trembling, her legs hugging Melinda more and more tightly, her head tossing from side to side on the silk counterpane. Melinda moved her mouth further down, using her hands to lever up the Countess's buttocks so she could get her dextrous tongue into the ring of the anus. Melinda penetrated it quickly and drove up into it, wriggling her tongue aggressively. She heard the Countess moan in response. Suddenly the Countess's body locked, the muscles of her thighs squeezed Melinda's body even tighter, and with Melinda's tongue still buried in the depths of her anus she came, hitting a wall of sensation like a diver hitting the water. Melinda didn't stop. She moved her mouth up again and began to massage the clitoris back and forth. She slipped two fingers into the sodden vagina, and one into the anus still wet from her tongue. She timed it to perfection, pushing her tongue up against the clitoris as her fingers moved in, sliding it down as her fingers moved out. The first orgasm hadn't finished before the second began, stronger and more powerful, taking hold of the Countess's body and shaking it as if she were a rag doll. The Countess raised her head from the bed to look at Melinda's blonde hair buried between her thighs. Her body wasn't finished yet. She wanted more, a third orgasm and a fourth. She was greedy and voracious, a bonfire of passion that needed more fuel. She sat up and coaxed Melinda's head from her lap. She kissed Melinda's mouth, wanting to taste her own juices. Eagerly she lapped them from Melinda's wet mouth, then pushed Melinda back on to the bed until she was lying flat. Breaking the kiss she swung her thigh over Melinda's head so her sex was poised above Melinda's mouth. "You have my permission," she said for the second time that evening.

Running her hands over Melinda's breasts and down over her navel she reached under Melinda's thighs and used her fingers to open Melinda's hairless labia. She looked into the pinks and reds of the wrinkled flesh, the dark cavern at the mouth of her sex. Then she plunged her head forward and at the same time dropped her sex on to Melinda's mouth. Everything was forgotten. The two women were no longer joined by the bond between Master and slave, only by the throbbing, overwhelming passion of sex. As the Countess's tongue found Melinda's clitoris, so Melinda's lighted on the Countess's. As the Countess licked, in long hard strokes, the whole plane of Melinda's labia, so Melinda licked hers. As the Countess's tongue plunged into Melinda's vagina, then out and into her anus, then back into her vagina again, so Melinda followed suit. In the end it became impossible to tell who was following whom. All either of them could tell was that every feeling, every sensation was mirrored perfectly in the other's body. Each felt the rock hard nipples of the other pressing into her navel and the soft pliant flesh that surrounded it. Each felt the fingers that aided the other's tongue, penetrating front and rear, sometimes alongside, sometimes on their own. Each felt her clitoris manipulated until it was exploding with feeling. And both felt the orgasms that began to churn in their bodies, welling up inside them. Just as each touch from one had provoked the same touch from the other, so now each other's orgasm seemed to be mirrored too, the thrills and quivers of passion doubled, each taking the other higher until they were both on the edge of the same precipice, staring down into the same abyss. Bodies joined, pressed together, complete, they fell together too, plunging into the darkest depths, moaning and shuddering until neither could bear any more. "I should have you whipped." "Yes, mistress." And Melinda knew it was true. Melinda stared at the light bulb above her head. She had not slept. When she had eventually been returned to the stall in the cellars by Pedro, and manacled to the bed, her body was exhausted but she was not tired. She had too many feelings and emotions and memories to assimilate. She had lain awake playing the events of the evening over and over again in her head like an endless loop of video tape, from the luxury of her bath, to Claudette binding her body so artfully, to the hours she had shared alone with her Maîtresse. Alone. She still could hardly believe it. She knew she would probably be made to pay for it with weeks of cruelty and callous indifference. It would be the Countess's way of re-asserting her authority. But nothing the future might hold could take away the hours they had shared, the concentration of the Countess's attention on her alone. She was glad of the manacles that held her down on the bed. Her body was so full of feeling, and her clitoris so sensitised that, had she not been chained down, she would undoubtedly have touched it and tried to soothe it. And she knew that touch would have turned to passion. Even the movement of her thigh against her labia was enough to send currents of electric sensation coursing through her body, reviving all the nerves that had been so exquisitely used, and making her squirm. She tried to hold her legs apart for this very reason, but the single bed was too narrow for her to be entirely successful. She could not douse the embers of the fire that smouldered inside her, ready to re-ignite at the slightest provocation.

She must have fallen asleep eventually because next time she opened her eyes she was aware of a shadow that had fallen across her face. "Pleased to see me?" Paul's voice whispered. A broad grin revealed his very white teeth. Melinda reacted with horror. She had occasionally seen Paul in the cellars since the incident in the van, but he had not been assigned to her once and she'd prayed he'd lost interest in her. From the look in his eyes it was quite obvious he hadn't. "Got a little present for you," he said, pushing down his yellow trunks and beginning to untie the peculiar pouch that held his genitals. Melinda had no idea what time it was but from the heavy breathing from the other stalls she guessed it was a long way from morning. Her instinct was to cry out. After the wonderful experience with the Countess the last thing she wanted was to be used by Paul, to have his cock extinguish the delicious sensations that still lingered in her nerves. But he knew she dare not attract attention, for exactly the same reason. To be called in front of the Countess now, after what had happened, with Paul, as he had threatened before, telling the Countess that Melinda had begged him for it, was not something she cared to contemplate. It would all come out then, that she had carried her guilty secret for so long. And after the intimacy she and the Countess had shared it would be impossible for her Maîtresse not to see it as a personal affront. At the very least she would be sent away and, bearing in mind what had happened between them, it was likely she would have her expelled from the O.I.M. Melinda was caught, trapped. She could do nothing and she hated Paul for it. As soon as his cock was freed from the pouch it sprang to erection, hard and strong. He wasted no time with preliminaries. Lying down next to her bound body he briefly fingered her labia, discovered how wet she was, and rolled on top of her. His cock nudged her clitoris and she gasped. He took it for passion. "Don't get much cock, do you, beauty?" he whispered. "Take this then." He moved his hips back then forward again and his big cock pried its way into her, right inside her until its base was pressed against her clit. Involuntarily she gasped at this second touch, so loud she thought she would be bound to wake the others. He put a hand over her mouth. "Shh," he hissed. But she couldn't remain silent. As he began to move in and out of her, each inward thrust compressed her tenderised clit, making her want to cry out no matter what the consequences. Only his hand prevented her. There was too much sensation. She fought for breath, as his hand was partly covering her nostrils, throwing her head from side to side. He took this for an attempt to raise a shout and clamped his hand tighter. He increased the speed of his rhythm, hammering into her and thereby pounding her clitoris even harder. She realised she had been wrong. She had thought she hadn't wanted to feel a cock and to have the delicate memory of the Countess's mouth erased. But in seconds her body was giving her a very different message, telling her how good it felt to have a

hard, throbbing cock plunging into her, a strong masculine body on top of her. The sensitivity of her clitoris began to work for her, not against her: instead of pain she felt biting hot pleasure that was making her sex contract around its invader. Paul sensed the change and let his hand slip from her mouth. She gulped in air to give her the energy to push up off the bed, pushing her hips up as he pushed down, increasing the long slide of his penis inside her. She even found she could squirm her hips to move her clitoris from side to side against him. It didn't hurt any more. Now it was alive with pure pleasure. She knew she shouldn't enjoy it, she knew she shouldn't be doing this, she knew it was forbidden. But there was nothing she could do to stop herself. She had a need to be fucked by a big powerful man with a big powerful cock, a need to fill her sex with the two things her Maîtresse could never give her: hard cock and jetting spunk. She wanted lots of spunk. That overrode everything. This need was coming from her sex, she knew that. It felt as though she had taken some drug that had wiped away everything else, her conscience, her obedience. She blamed the state of her clitoris, so used, so sensitised, so tender. It was taking her into a new dimension of desire. She didn't care. She just knew it was happening and there was nothing she could do to stop it. She realised that for the first time in months she was prepared to sacrifice everything for the sake of coming over the head of the cock buried inside her. Somewhere so remote it might have been in another person she knew she would regret it, like a drunkard foreseeing a hangover, but it didn't matter, nothing mattered but the orgasm that was beginning to pound in her nerves, a great wave of feeling that was growing higher and higher until, under its own impetus, it would crash down. But before the wave could gather its final momentum and plunge Melinda into orgasm, just as she felt herself about to be swept away, several things happened at once. She heard the scuffle of feet on the stone floor and the light bulb above her head went from dim to very bright. At the same time Paul's penis, on the point of coming, spunk ready to ejaculate, was pulled forcibly from her body. As she struggled to adjust to the extra light she saw a figure standing over the bed. Squinting, Melinda saw to her horror that it was the Countess. Simultaneously the chill of fear gripped her heart and she felt a sticky wetness splash her belly. She looked down at her body. Paul had been too close to orgasm to stop himself and had spunked as the Countess had pulled him from Melinda. White gobs of spunk had splattered her thighs and her navel. For a long moment nobody moved. The Countess, in a silk peach-coloured wrap, looked at Melinda with pity and infinite tenderness that made Melinda feel far worse than any expression of anger would have done. The lights going up had woken many of the other slaves and the two eunuchs came running. "Get him up," the Countess said as soon as they arrived. Paul was pulled to his feet, making no attempt at resistance. "What is this?" The Countess was pointing at his cock.

The eunuchs were staring at it too, as though it were on display in an exhibition of human oddities. The Countess stooped to pick up the rubber pouch from where it lay on the floor by the yellow trunks, working out for herself how it had been worn. "I can explain," Paul said half-heartedly, knowing that nothing he could say was going to make the slightest bit of difference. "How many?" The Countess's voice was as cold as a blade of steel. "I don't -" he stammered. "How many? How many of the slaves have you violated? Tell me the truth or I will get it out of you the hard way." "Four." "Why only four? Why not all?" "Just four, I swear." "Show me which." Paul was escorted out of the stall by a eunuch on each arm. Melinda could not see over the partitioning but heard the feet on the stone floor and the Countess's voice repeating "This one," three times as Paul indicated the other women. By the time this process was complete Angelina and Claudette had arrived, for once dressed in hurriedly donned tracksuits. Bringing Paul back to the entrance of Melinda's stall the Countess spoke to them as they stared at Paul's cock in disbelief. "It appears we have been the victims of a deception. Neither of you knew of this?" Both women shook their heads. Even the most consummate of actresses could not have faked such surprise. "Put him in the holding cell. I will want to think long and hard before I decide an appropriate punishment." She turned to Paul. "Don't worry, this is something you will regret for a very long time." Her eyes sparkled with menace. As Claudette and Angelina led Paul away the Countess turned to the eunuchs. "Take the women to the punishment room. Leave her till last." The 'her' clearly referred to Melinda. The eunuchs scurried away. The Countess came back into the stall and sat on Melinda's bed. Melinda could hardly bear to look at her, and felt herself blushing. She had betrayed her Maîtresse, only hours after their time together, had betrayed all the affection she had been shown, had betrayed everything she was supposed to be devoted to upholding, and what made it a thousand times worse is that she had enjoyed it, had revelled in it, and could feel the sensation of Paul's cock inside her even now. "I came to see you. I wanted to . . ." the Countess said, with such tenderness it made Melinda want to cry. The words trailed off. "Now I shall have to . . ." Another sentence she couldn't finish.

"Mistress," Melinda said haltingly. "No, child, you must not speak." "I must." Melinda's heart was in her mouth but she could not turn back now. "I have to tell you." "Tell me what?" "I wanted to tell you about Paul, but I dared not. But that's not all, mistress." "What else?" And Melinda told her. She told her about Brigitte and the blonde driver, and the English brother's house, and what she had been made to do to both the brothers, and about the doctor who had examined her, and about being douched in his bathroom. She told her every detail she could remember and saw in her Maîtresse's face that she had been right in thinking these were not events that the Countess had arranged. "Describe the Englishman," the Countess said. Melinda related all that she remembered. "Patrick Donnell," the Countess said almost to herself. "I thought so. He worked for a company I owned. I caught him cheating, him and his brother. I had them both fired. This is his way of getting back at me." Melinda dared say nothing else. All she could do now was to hope. Without another word the Countess got to her feet, the silk robe whispering against her body. The two eunuchs, having dealt with the other women, were waiting just outside the stall. The Countess glanced back at Melinda's prone and manacled body. "Leave her," she said, though her voice was cold.

Chapter Ten Claudette and Angelina held her tightly by the arms. Both wore their tight outré costumes again, their bodies, and particularly their shaven labia, prominently and obscenely displayed. Equally as usual, Melinda was naked. They were in another part of the chateau Melinda had never seen before, though the long, tall corridors, draped with tapestries, were the same as elsewhere. It was dark outside and heavy drapes had been drawn across the large windows. Apart from being taken to the bathroom once and given food, Melinda had spent the day manacled to the bed. She was not given exercise or anything to occupy her mind, which was a punishment in itself. If she had been whipped or bound it would at least have taken her mind off her mental anguish. But instead she was left to lie

and to go over everything in her mind until she wanted to scream. Nothing she could think of made the situation any better. She had betrayed her Maîtresse and the organisation and, no matter that others had been involved, no matter that she told herself it was not her fault, in the end she knew she had betrayed herself. She'd enjoyed it too, which is what made it worse. She'd enjoyed the man in the house and she'd enjoyed Paul. She had been on the point of coming when the Countess had pulled him off and it was not possible to get more shameless or brazen than that. That was her guilt. That was her crime. Claudette opened a small door and ushered Melinda into a plain room. The walls were white and functional and the floor was covered in grey linoleum. In the middle of the room was a large table with legs made from tubular steel. Its surface, about the size of a double bed, was padded and covered with black leatherette. "Lie on your back," Angelina ordered, indicating the table. Melinda sat on the leatherette and swung her legs up on to the cold surface. The back section of the table was raised at an angle of about twenty degrees so Melinda's head was supported and she could see down her own body. At the side of the table was a small metal cabinet with thin drawers. A bank of powerful spotlights, not yet turned on, hung from the ceiling. The room was illuminated by a single lamp on one of the walls. The two overseers left the room. Melinda heard them locking the door and their high heels clicking on the wooden floor outside. She dared not move. After so much had gone wrong, she was determined to be the perfect slave again. She couldn't have been stiller if she had been bound hand and foot. More than an hour passed before the door was unlocked. This time Angelina threw the switch that illuminated the spotlights above the table and Melinda's naked body was bathed in dazzling white light. Claudette followed Angelina into the room. In front of her she was pushing a video camera mounted on a wheeled tripod. She brought the camera to the table and aimed it at Melinda. "Touch yourself," Angelina said. "Give yourself a good time. Here." She opened one of the metal drawers in the cabinet and pulled out a cream coloured dildo. She placed it on the black leatherette, by Melinda's thigh. Melinda looked desperate. How had they known, how had they discovered her secret? Of all the things they could ask her to do why this, the one thing she hated? She had masturbated frequently in private but had never got used to doing it while others watched her. And it wasn't only that. Masturbation was an act of will, an assertion of self. She was a slave, she had surrendered her will and her self and she didn't want them back. She had no choice, of course. She could not risk another act of disobedience. Hesitantly she began to stroke her hands across her breasts. "Show the camera your marks," Angelina ordered. Melinda pulled her firm flesh towards her chin as Claudette moved the lens into position.

"Get hold of your nipples. Come on, make it good." Melinda caught her nipples between her thumbs and forefingers and pulled them up until her breasts formed pyramids. Despite her reluctance Melinda felt her body experience the pain that was so akin to pleasure. She moaned. "Good. Come on." Claudette was moving the camera to the bottom of the table. A realisation dawned on Melinda. Direct video links were always used between the Masters to choose new slaves. The Countess had arranged for her to be seen by another member of the O.I.M. She was going to be sold. It was a bitter blow to have to leave the Countess, but an enormous relief that she wasn't being expelled altogether, which she had suspected would be her fate. She would have to prove herself, of course. Perhaps if the next Master rejected her she would be expelled. It was up to her. She had been ordered to masturbate and now she was going to do so as if her life depended on it. She spread her legs apart and bent her knees. She looked down into the big black lens of the camera, using one hand to knead her breast while the other snaked down to her belly. She spread her fingers over the delta of her pubis so her middle finger was centred on her clitoris and the finger on each side opened up her labia. Her clit was still sensitive and her first touch made her moan, but she didn't stop. Arching her bottom off the padded surface, so the lens would see the whole slit of her sex, she frigged her finger hard against the swollen gland and felt her whole body trembling, making herself ignore the initial pain, knowing the pleasure would come. Her hand squeezed her breasts, alternating between the two, kneading them almost viciously until the skin turned white between her fingers. Her other hand left her clitoris and moved down to the mouth of her sex. She tried to keep the hand to one side so the camera could see every detail. She circled the hole with her finger, running it around the inner rim, then probed inside. She brought her finger out so the camera would see it glistening with wet. She moved the lubricated finger down to her anus, circled that too, then plunged inside. Taking her hand from her breast she groped for the dildo. She brought it underneath her raised thigh and used it to replace her finger in her anus. She pushed it deep, wanting the camera to see it go right in. Then she slipped her fingers back into her vagina, first one, then two, then three, cramming them in up to the knuckle until the tendons of her hand were stretched, until she could feel the cold hard dildo on the other side of the thin divide that separated front from rear. She had been performing up to now, consciously aiming herself at the camera. But this double invasion pushed her body into gear. She saw the lens of the camera rotate and knew it was moving in for a close-up. She knew that somewhere, perhaps thousands of miles away, another Master would be watching. As her body throbbed she imagined him watching his television screen. Was he strong and handsome like her first Master? Was he lying naked on his bed while two of his current slaves took it in turns to take his cock in their mouths as his eyes watched her body? Or was he alone, his cock served by his own hand as he decided whether he wanted her for his own? She began a slow rhythm. She wanted to come for the unknown Master, to show him how obedient she was and how responsive. She withdrew both the dildo and her

fingers to the mouths of their respective passages and then alternated the movement of them, plunging her fingers into her vagina and withdrawing only to drive the dildo in deeply, then pulling out the dildo to penetrate with her fingers, all the time flicking at her clitoris with her thumb. She felt her body tremble and her nerves become taut. She felt the engine of her orgasm begin to hum. She saw the lens rotate again. Was the Master focusing it by remote control? Did he want to see more detail, a close-up of the corrugated flesh of the ring of her anus stretched by the plug of the dildo, or of her fingers and her juices running over her hand? Or perhaps her reddened clitoris, still faintly bearing the marks left by the clip, being harshly treated by her thumb? Melinda began to see the lens as a phallus pointing between her legs, ready to penetrate her. She drove on, feeling her orgasm develop, expand, and take over her body. It was not easy. There was much thought, much responsibility and much guilt that the orgasm had to drive away but slowly it succeeded, pushing everything aside, asserting its primal place in her body. She felt sweat break out on her forehead. She felt her muscles lock, her nerves stretch in readiness. She had to choose the right moment for what she wanted to do. She drove on and on, building up momentum. Then, as she felt her body beginning to topple over the edge, as she began to convulse involuntarily and knew nothing would stop what was happening to her, she pulled everything away - the dildo, her fingers, her thumb - and opened herself to the lens so it would be able to see right into her sex and see the contractions, her scarlet vertical mouth coming uncontrollably, opening and closing with each orgasm. Surely that was a sight the Master would not forget? They waited in the van. The square was deserted apart from a black cat who prowled among the trees, sniffing disdainfully at the odd bits of food it came across but eating them just the same. The clock on the dashboard clicked loudly to twelve. Midnight. Melinda, her body covered completely for the first time since she had left London, sat wearing a black tracksuit and between two muscular bodyguards. The Countess sat in the Rolls Royce parked in front of the van and driven by Edith. The green digital figures on the clock had reached 00.50 when a black Citroën glided to a halt on the other side of the road. The occupants of the van and the Rolls Royce ducked out of sight. The rear passenger door of the Citroen opened. A woman got out and walked towards the house, looking around cautiously all the time. The front door of the house opened and she hurried inside. A few minutes later the door opened again and the woman beckoned to the blonde driver of the Citroen. The driver got out, shepherded the third occupant, also a blonde woman, out of the back of the car, and took her over to the house. The third woman was wearing a blue silk dress, which parted as she walked to reveal black stockings and suspenders. Her face was hidden by a ball mask the surface of which was a glittering silver. Her high heels grated against the pavement as she was guided up and into the house. The Countess waited for ten minutes then stepped out of the Rolls Royce. She was wearing a tight fitting black catsuit. Edith, her driver, got out and went to the big boot of the car. She took out a twenty pound sledge-hammer, handling it as though it were a toy. The two bodyguards and Melinda left the cab of the van and the little party walked to

the front door of the house. One of the men took a long, thin, white, plastic card and slipped it between the frame of the door and the lock. The door sprang open. "Which way?" The Countess whispered to Melinda, who indicated the straight staircase. As quietly as they could they climbed to the first floor. Melinda remembered the house well and had no trouble guiding them to the bedroom door where she had been taken by the blonde driver. She brought the party to a halt in front of it. Edith stepped forward with the sledge-hammer. Though the door was probably not locked the Countess had decided she wanted to make an unmistakable impact. The woman raised the hammer to her shoulder and brought it slamming down on the lock of the door. With a cracking and splintering of wood the door was flung open. The slender man with brown hair was sitting on the bed and kneeling on the floor between his open legs was the blonde driver. She had discarded her uniform, and her body was clothed only in a revealing red bra and tiny red panties. Her mouth was closed round the man's cock - or it had been until the noise from the door made her raise her head in alarm. Obviously over the last few weeks she had managed to persuade the Englishman that she should be allowed a more active role in the proceedings. "In here," Melinda said, indicating the connecting door. The Countess ignored the couple on the bed for the moment, but left one of the bodyguards in the doorway to make sure they didn't escape. She and the rest of the group approached the other door. Again Edith brought the sledge-hammer crashing down and the door was flung open to reveal another tableau frozen by shock. The rubber man was hanging from the rafters and the blonde slave was kneeling in front of him. His rubber-shrouded cock was embedded in her mouth under the mask. Behind the man stood Brigitte, a riding crop grasped in her leather-gloved hand. The Countess strode into the room. Brigitte tried to back away towards another door behind the rubber man, but the remaining bodyguard quickly blocked her way. Melinda looked at the blonde slave, whose eyes were full of fear as she did not know what she was to do. Melinda remembered how she had felt in this room, and how confused she had been by the situation Brigitte had put her in. And, of course, this was a hundred times worse. "S'il vous plait, continuez." the Countess said softly. The blonde was wearing the same dress Melinda had worn; its skirt had parted as she had knelt to reveal the tops of the black stockings on her thighs. "Continue!" the Countess barked this time. Quickly the slave sank her mouth back on to the rubber-covered cock. The disturbance that the man must have heard had not diminished his erection; in fact if anything it had increased, pushing out against the black rubber.

"Venez Brigitte! Le fouet, maintenant," the Countess barked again. Brigitte moved back to the rubber man. With little enthusiasm she stroked the whip down against the side of his buttocks. "Plus dur." The second stroke reverberated around the room. They all watched the blonde slave's head bobbing on the black rubber shaft. She was trying her best, Melinda knew, hoping none of this would affect her, that her Maîtresse's anger was directed at the ones who had ordered her into this house. "Enjoy it," the Countess said in English. "Enjoy yourself. It'll be a very long time before you come again, believe me." The Countess's eyes blazed with fury as she watched Brigitte bring one final swinging stroke down on the side of the rubber man's bound body. As the blonde plunged down on the man's cock, sucking it all in, he gave a strange muffled mew and came, his whole body shuddering in his thick cocoon. "Bring them," the Countess ordered, walking back into the other room. The bodyguard caught Brigitte by the arm with one hand and pulled the blonde slave to her feet with the other. Melinda followed her Maîtresse back into the bedroom. "So. Patrick," the Countess said steadily. "What the hell gives you the right to burst in here?" "Continue what you were doing," the Countess said to the blonde driver, who had not moved from her knees. "S'il te plaît." The man's cock was flaccid by now. "Continue," the Countess demanded. Her voice brooked no contradiction. The blonde leant forward and gathered the cock into her mouth, sucking on it hard. "Come on Patrick, enjoy yourself. This is what you wanted, isn't it?" "I think you should get out of my house." "I think you should come. That's what I think. I want to see it. Doesn't that excite you, Patrick?" Edith had been busy unhooking the rubber man from his suspension. She had freed his legs but not his arms and had brought him into the bedroom. "Take his hood off." "No," Patrick said. Edith pulled the rubber hood from the man's head. Melinda gasped with surprise. Despite being soaked with sweat and topped with dishevelled hair the face under the hood was recognisably the same as the other man's. They were identical twins.

"Put him in the van," the Countess ordered, and turned her attention back to Patrick as Edith lead the rubber-clad figure away. "Come on, Patrick. This is your chance. This is what you paid for, isn't it?" "No. No, it was Brigitte's idea." "Liar," Brigitte screamed. "You paid me. It was your idea." "How many times, Patrick? How many of my slaves have you contaminated?" The man said nothing. The driver's blonde head bobbed up and down relentlessly in his lap. "Brigitte?" "Six." "And you relied on the fact they were sworn to silence? Oh, I am going to enjoy punishing you. Take those two down to the van." One of the bodyguards led away Brigitte and the slave in the blue silk dress. "Now, Patrick. I told you I want to see you come. You're going to do it for me, aren't you?" "I can't." Brigitte's whip had been picked up by the remaining bodyguard. The Countess snatched it from his hand. "Perhaps you need some encouragement. Stand up." Patrick did nothing. The Countess raised the whip and swung it down on Patrick's chest. The thwack of leather on flesh resounded in the bare room. "Stand up," she repeated. Patrick got to his feet, the back of his knees still pressed against the bed. Despite himself his cock began to grow. Immediately the Countess aimed a stroke at his small and skinny buttocks. His cock swelled noticeably this time. "You see," the Countess mocked. "You're like your brother. Don't worry, you're going to be seeing a lot of the whip." She aimed another blow, and then a third and fourth. Red weals appeared across Patrick's buttocks. "Is he hard?" The blonde nodded her head without taking her mouth from his cock. "Good." The Countess pulled the blonde away. Patrick's cock was glistening with her saliva. At a nod from the Countess the burly bodyguard seized him and pulled him back on to the bed, holding his arms stretched out above his head.

The Countess climbed on to the mattress, faced his feet and lowered her silk-covered buttocks on to his face, settling her whole weight on him. "We're going to get you used to the whip," she said, flicking it hard against his erection and making him moan. The noise was muffled by her bottom. "We're going to get you used to all sorts of things." Another blow across his cock. It throbbed visibly. "For what you've done to me. For what you've done to the O.I.M. And we'll make sure," another stinging blow, "it fits," and another, "the crime." The final stroke thwacked against the base of his cock and the Countess pushed herself harder on to his face. With the scents of her body filling his nostrils and his mouth fighting for air, spunk erupted from his cock, shooting in a high arc and spattering over his belly. Drops landed on the black silk covering the Countess's thighs. Without a pause the Countess swung off the bed, pulled the blonde driver's jacket from the bed post, wiped the spunk off the silk with the sleeve, and strode out of the room. The bodyguard pulled Patrick off the bed and led him downstairs with the blonde driver. Melinda was the last one to leave the house. She slammed the front door decisively. No other slaves would be made to suffer a guilty secret as a result of spending time there. The Countess was waiting in the back of the van where Brigitte and the rubber man had already been bound to the metal frames and their cheeks inflated by ball gags. Patrick and the blonde driver soon joined them, and ball gags were forced into their mouths once they were securely bound. "I gave you my trust," the Countess said, standing in front of Brigitte. "You betrayed me. What happens to the others will be nothing compared to what will happen to you." Brigitte tried to say something but the gag prevented any sound other than an indistinct moan. Melinda could see her trying to plead with her eyes, knowing from the hard expression that was etched deeply in the Countess's face that what she said would undoubtedly come true. Melinda half expected to be tied into one of the metal frames herself, and was surprised when the Countess took her hand and led her out of the van and to the Rolls Royce.

Chapter Eleven "You know I cannot keep you here?" "Yes, mistress," Melinda wanted to say so much more but dared not. "I too must obey the rules." They were in the Countess's bedroom. Melinda had been stripped of the track suit as soon as they'd got back to the chateau and Claudette had brought her up to the

bedroom to wait, leaving her standing, unbound and naked while the Countess had made arrangements for her prisoners' accommodation. The Countess unzipped the catsuit and peeled it from her body. She wore only tight, dark blue panties underneath. "I would have liked to keep you," she said, as if talking to herself. "I would have liked that very much." She came up in front of Melinda and stroked her cheek with such tenderness it made Melinda want to weep. It made her want to explain how it had happened, how nothing she'd done had been deliberate. But she bit her tongue and remained silent. The Countess went into the bathroom and Melinda heard water running. When she came back into the room she was naked, patting her slender body with a towel. "You are to be Sent away," she said, with less emotion this time. She saw the look of fear cross Melinda's face. "No, no. Not back to London. I have arranged a private sale. He viewed you yesterday and was most impressed. A Master in Rome. He is cruel, I hear, but fair." The Countess had a reputation for cruelty, but though Melinda had seen flashes of her sadistic anger it had not been applied to her. She would welcome a cruel Master now: she craved a chance to be punished, to suffer for her disobedience. The relief that she was not to be expelled from the O.I.M. made that need more acute. "I thought you should see what is happening to your phantom lover," the Countess continued, "before you leave." Discarding the towel, the Countess picked up a dark blue negligee that had been laid out on the bed for her and slipped it round her shoulders. She sat down on the bed, propped her head against the pillows and took a small remote control unit from the drawer of the bedside table. She pressed two buttons on it. Immediately and noiselessly a panel on the wall opened to reveal a large television screen which was already blinking into life. As the picture resolved Melinda saw a room with stone walls and a vaulted ceiling. It looked like part of the cellars, but it was not a part she had seen before. Paul stood in the centre of the picture. His wrists had been fastened into metal handcuffs attached to a chain hanging from the ceiling. His arms were stretched above him so he was forced to stand on tip-toe to maintain contact with the floor. The camera closed in on his cock. It had been strapped into a complex arrangement of thin leather rings. The first was around his balls, the second around the base of his shaft, and so on up the length of his erection, until the top one was secured under the rim of his glans, making the glans swell unnaturally. The rings were joined together by two vertical straps running the length of the shaft and at each side of it. All the rings were tight and Paul's cock bulged out against them. Hanging from underneath his balls was a very thin, almost invisible wire. Melinda could not make out where it went. "Very uncomfortable," the Countess said. Paul's body was sweating and the tension in his face was obvious. His legs were also bound: a chain was wrapped around his legs like a snake and padlocked at his ankles, the links biting into his flesh.

Melinda thought he was alone until Claudette walked into the picture. Instead of her usual leather costume she was wearing an even more alluring outfit. Her curvaceous body was cinched into a lacy black basque, with bra cups that supported but did not cover her breasts and long suspenders clipped on to sheer black stockings. She wore black high heels. As usual nothing covered her belly and her sex, which looked as if it had been oiled: it glistened under the bright lighting that illuminated the room for the video camera. Claudette took Paul's cheeks in her hands and kissed him hard on the mouth, wriggling her body and its fine trappings against him. His cock was squeezed against her naked belly and the glans was pushed into the gauzy black lace. "No," he moaned as she finally broke the kiss. "Not again." "Quiet!" Claudette snapped. Angelina appeared on the scene. She too was not dressed in her usual outfit. She was wearing the same sort of basque as Claudette, except in a dark red. Her breasts were revealed in the same way as Claudette's. Long suspenders were attached to red stockings, and her feet were in red high heeled shoes. Claudette stood in front of Paul and Angelina came up behind him. Angelina ran her arms round his body, under his armpits, and began fingering his nipples. She used her nails to pinch them, then caressed them with her palms as she rubbed her body against his back, letting him feel her breasts against his shoulder blades and the flatness of her belly against his buttocks. She continued to do this while Claudette took his cock in one hand and his balls in the other, squeezing his balls and cock simultaneously. Playfully she pushed his cock under one of the elasticated suspenders which she pulled back and then released so it twanged back on to his tender flesh. He moaned. Melinda could see his body quivering with excitement. She chanced a sideways glance at the Countess who she found was looking straight at her, wanting to see her reaction to what was happening on the screen. "You don't think this is punishment?" The Countess had read her thoughts precisely. "Wait." Claudette was working on his cock, moving her fingers up and down its length. His flesh bulged even more against the unyielding leather but that surely couldn't be what the Countess meant? It might be painful, but only the sort of pain - like the bondage he was suffering - that fuelled the fires of pleasure, creating even greater heat. As she watched a tear of fluid appeared at his urethra to be wiped away by Claudette's busy fingers. "Are you going to come?" Angelina hissed. "Jouissance," Claudette encouraged. "No!" Paul shouted. Melinda could not understand his tone. He seemed to be resisting the women's

advances. They were doing everything they could to make him come and he was doing everything he could to stop himself, or so it seemed. Melinda could make no sense of it. But one thing was clear. The two provocatively dressed and beautiful women were winning the battle. His cock was throbbing. Angelina was kissing his neck and wriggling her body against him as Claudette's hand rose and fell. Melinda saw his cock throb, then heard a sudden, shrill, high-pitched buzz. Immediately both women sprang away from Paul's body. "No . . ." The word seemed to go on forever as Paul writhed and swayed against his bonds in a desperate attempt to obtain the satisfaction he had been made to crave and could not achieve. "It's a little sensor." The Countess answered Melinda's unasked question. "It detects the moment immediately before orgasm. Then, as you see . . ." She let the picture speak for itself. The high pitched buzzing continued for another few seconds. As soon as it had stopped Angelina walked back into the picture and faced Paul. Standing with her legs apart she began to stroke her labia with her finger. After a few minutes of this she dropped to her knees and began circling the tip of Paul's cock with one of her nipples as Claudette came up behind him, thrusting her tongue aggressively into his ear, her body writhing against his back. "Not again. Please. Please." "Taisez-vous," Claudette whispered. "Please. Please." It was only a matter of seconds before the high-pitched buzzer sounded again and both women scrambled back. The Countess pushed a button on the remote control. Until that moment Melinda had thought the pictures were being relayed directly from the cellars, but now she realised, as the pictures went fast forward, they were on tape. The picture steadied and resumed normal speed as the Countess found the scene she wanted. Paul had been cut down from the ceiling and was stretched out on a wooden frame not much wider than a bench. His hands were strapped to the frame above his head and he lay along it, his feet secured tightly at the other end. Loops of leather were secured over his body and under the bench. He was completely unable to move. The straps had been removed from his cock but there were clear lines and marks where they had been. His cock was almost scarlet and bulging, every vein distended, looking as though it might burst. The thin wire still trailed from under his buttocks. Claudette and Angelina's period on duty must have finished because two other women, whom Melinda did not recognise, but equally beautiful and equally tantalisingly dressed, were taking it in turns to amuse him. This pair mostly employed their shaven sexes: the narrow bench allowed them to sit astride his cock and mouth, tempting him with both, but they were easily able to jump away as soon as the buzzer sounded.

The Countess pressed the remote control. The picture faded and the wall panel covered the screen. "Sit here." The Countess patted the bed where she lay. Melinda obeyed, feeling the strangeness of being unbound. "You will be sent to Rome tomorrow. I will be asking the O.I.M. to change the rules. Slaves will be allowed to speak if they are abused by any of the servants. On no other occasion, of course. You understand?" "Yes, mistress." "You must not break the rules again." "No, mistress." "You must never tell anyone what I am going to do now. You will have your punishment. I think it is only fair you have your reward too. Lie on your back." The Countess rolled to the other side of the bed, letting Melinda take her place. Melinda felt the heat of her body on the sheets and could smell her expensive scent. "I know you, Melinda," the Countess said, opening the drawer in the other bedside table and extracting a silk sleeping mask. She slipped it over Melinda's eyes, plunging her into darkness. Melinda listened to the Countess taking other things from the drawer, then felt the bed give slightly as the Countess rose to her knees beside her. She started slightly as she felt the Countess's hand on her thigh, prising her legs apart. For a moment nothing happened and she had the impression the Countess was staring at her, inspecting her hairless labia. She thought she heard the Countess sigh. The Countess was known for cruelty. She had been hard and cruel to Melinda in London, but here, in the chateau, she seemed to have changed. She had treated Melinda with intimacy - more so than any other Master - and Melinda had repaid her with betrayal. But there was no going back. Melinda knew she had to be sent away. Something was nudging the mouth of her sex. It encountered no resistance. Whether it was the sight of Paul being punished, or the thought of his rampant cock, or the Countess's soothing words, the effect was the same. Melinda was wet, her juices running down her thighs. Whatever was being pushed into her body was not very big and, unlike most dildos, went all the way in. Her labia closed over it. The Countess was caressing Melinda's face with something soft and silky that smelt strongly of her perfume but also of the musky aroma of her sex that Melinda knew so well. Slowly the Countess folded the material between Melinda's lips, pushing it into her mouth. It was only when Melinda felt that it was slightly damp that she realised it was the blue panties the Countess had been wearing. She felt her Maîtresse's hand rolling her over on to her stomach, then caressing the curves of her arse. A finger used her juices to lubricate the opening of the passage into her anus, then pressed into it another object that felt identical to the first. "Stand up now. Keep your legs tightly closed."

Swinging her legs off the bed, with her knees together, Melinda obeyed. She heard the Countess get off the bed. "Hands by your sides." A silky cool material brushed against Melinda's breasts, provoking her already puckered nipples to grow even harder. The material began to wrap round her body, swathing her in what felt like thick bands of satin ribbon. It encircled her mouth, holding the panties in place, over her neck, around her breasts, around her waist and hips and thighs, down to her ankles. It cocooned her, its folds increasingly tight, making it impossible for her to move. She felt again, as she had felt so many times, the excitement of bondage, of losing control, of losing the ability to will the slightest movement. As the ribbon pressed her legs together she felt the two cigar-shaped objects, like tiny submarines, submerged in her body. The Countess pushed her and she fell on to the bed. It felt as though she was falling in slow motion. Instinctively she tried to put her hands out to break her fall but they were tied to her side. And there was no danger: she bounced gently on the soft bed. The Countess knelt beside her, caressing the neat package of her body. Far from numbing the sense of touch the satin ribbons seemed to intensify it, making every inch of her as sensitive as her nipples and sex. What had her Maîtresse said? "I know you." It was true. The initial feeling of being bound so tightly had set Melinda on the road to orgasm. Now the hands caressing her, sliding over her breasts and belly and thighs, were accelerating her to orgasm so fast it made her breathless. Then, with no warning, the two cylinders buried in her body began to vibrate. Trapped inside her, the vibration was unable to escape, focusing itself in her sex, passing from front to rear and back again, her vagina throbbing and with it her clitoris. Had Melinda not been gagged she would have screamed with pleasure. It was everything she had wanted. As her Maîtresse's hands caressed her body so tenderly, she sobbed into the pantie-gag and came, the trembling of her body held back by the satin bonds. And that constriction made her come again and again and again. As her Maîtresse's hands worked on her tirelessly, she felt the two cylinders quivering inside her, the vibration of one rising above then falling below the other, the two passages of her body alive with feelings. Every new orgasm was stronger and deeper, as though each were trying to escape the bonds more desperately and summoning up another attempt as soon as the last one failed. It was a long time before her body was sapped of the energy to come again. The vibrations stopped. The Countess removed Melinda's blindfold. "You deserved your pleasure," she said with a certain coldness in her voice, like someone trying to distance themselves from something they had loved but had already lost. Melinda could not think and she could not move. The Countess left her wallowing in a sea of ecstasy, memories and images of everything that had happened to her running through her mind, reinforcing the little thrills and shocks of the aftermath of such intensive orgasms. She found tears welling in her eyes not, she knew, because she was leaving the Countess but because she was so grateful that she was not being sent back to London and had been found a new Master. She swore to herself to do everything in her power to be the perfect slave: that was, after all, what she wanted.

She never saw the Countess again. Claudette and Angelina woke her in the morning and unwound the ribbons from her body. They handed her the black panties she would wear during transit - the only time her sex was ever covered - and she smoothed them over her hips after she had been given a chance to use the bathroom. Downstairs, backed up to the door through which she had first entered the chateau, another van was waiting to take her away. As she stepped outside she searched the windows in vain for a glimpse of the Countess watching her go. In the back of the windowless van she comforted herself with the knowledge that the scent of her Maîtresse's perfume and the musk of her body still lingered on her lips. By the same author: Stephanie Stephanie's Castle Stephanie's Domain Stephanie's Revenge Stephanie's Trial Stephanie's Pleasure Melinda And The Master Melinda And Esmeralda