Message-ID: <14539eli$9808181823@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/14539.txt> From: np98rb@mail.telepac.pt (Christine & David Stevenson) Subject: Under Control part two of twenty eight Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Original-Message-ID: <35d99ae2.19562580@news.telepac.pt> Under Control - part two of twenty eight by mailto: VictorBruno@mschristine.com this story remains copyright Victor Bruno, release to publish granted to Christine Stevenson. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Paul had, of course, had to wear normal clothes for the trip. Now on the estate that was no longer necessary. Delia watched with interest as he stripped down to the leathern restrainer. "Does he always wear that thing?" she asked. "Most of the time", nodded Gloria. "Why don't you come and sit on this seat, Delia," she suggested. "You can swing your legs out of the door." "Fine idea," said Delia. "I feel like taking the weight off my feet." Paul watched those legs come striding round the car, the short skirt swinging from side to side with the swivel of the hips. He realised that now he was as subservient to this woman as he was to Gloria. "Lick those boots . . . and lick them spotlessly clean," ordered Gloria. At once Paul went down on his knees before Delia's long limbs which projected from the car. At once he went to work, laving away the fine dust with his tongue, starting with the toe of the left boot and working upwards. Soon his mouth was as dry as the dust itself, but not for an instant dare he pause. Behind him he was conscious of the scurrying to and fro of the slave girls as they continued with their tasks. Slaves . . . all of us . . . thought Paul. Abject slaves. Male and female. Reaching the top of Delia's left boot, he was very aware of the splendour and tapering length of her white thighs, the one crossed casually over the other. His restrainer cut into his root as his eyes glimpsed the black 'V' beneath her skirt. But he must not let his eyes linger too long. He descended . . . the legs uncrossed and re-crossed . . . and he began on the right boot. "Care for a drink?" asked Gloria. "Would I not . . . I'm parched," said Delia. God, what does she imagine I am, thought Paul, with dust-filled mouth. Let alone her three charges who had been sweating their guts out in the sun. He heard Gloria open the small drinks cabinet in the car . . . and soon the ice was tinkling merrily in two long John Collins. "I'm enjoying this," said Delia. "The drink?" asked Gloria. "Yes . . . but actually I meant having your slave lick my boots like this. Of course, I have had plenty of the girls do it often enough, as a matter of discipline. But having a man do it gives me an extra kick. It really is surprisingly pleasing." Gloria smiled understandingly. "It's always been that way with me," she said, "I like to use girl slaves for some personal tasks, if you know what I mean. Although, as I told you, to own and abuse men is my greatest pleasure. I can get a lot out of a slave farm, you might care to join me." "I might at that," nodded Delia, looking down at Paul's kneeling naked figure and noting the numerous traces of weals and welts on his back, buttocks and thighs. It would, she reflected, be an intriguing experience to have men grovelling and begging for mercy rather than girls. Paul reached the top of the right boot. Then his head slumped and, panting hoarsely, he knelt awaiting further orders. "That's better," he heard Delia say, "they really look quite clean." Paul felt relief. "Did he clean the soles?" enquired Gloria coolly. "No," said Delia, "only the heels . . ." There was a moments pause and then Gloria's voice cracked like a whip over Paul's head. "Slave!" she rasped, "do you not always clean the soles of your mistress's boots?" "Y-Yes . . . yes, mistress," choked Paul dryly. "But . . . but . . . I thought . . ." He had no chance to finish, but what he was trying to explain was that there was little point in cleaning soles that would be becoming immediately dusty again once Delia set her foot down on the road. All the same, he knew he had erred. And since he had erred he would pay for it. "Delia," said Gloria, "would you oblige me by unhitching that strap from your belt again and laying it across this forgetful bastard's backside!" "Certainly," answered Delia . . . and with obvious pleasure. Paul's heart sank as he gritted his teeth. He lowered his face till his nose was pressed into the dusty road and thrust his hind quarters up. As he must. He saw Delia's high-heeled boots pass within inches of him as she descended from the car. "How many?" he heard her ask. "I'll tell you when to stop," replied Gloria. Despair filled Paul and his hands clawed into the dust road as he summoned his will and strength. He heard the faint whirl of the thong through the air, then it blazed across his upthrust rump . . . just as it had done so recently across that enchanting young girl's! Tthhwaacckkkk! Paul grunted between clenched teeth and his bottom jerked. It came again. Jesus . . . it hurt! Not so much as some rods, nor, of course, so much as the whip. But it hurt plenty. What was more, Delia was really laying it on . . . and, being as tall as she was, she could give the thong a really full sweep. Three more strokes fell . . . and Paul's grunts grew louder. The jerking of his bottom more violent, too. Yet still he maintained his nose-to-the-ground, crouching posture. God, How many was he going to get? It was better to know. Better to know how to pace one's endurance. "I can see you're experienced," he heard Gloria say, in that calm, matter-of-fact way of hers. "Thanks," said Delia . . . and he heard her give a little grunt of effort as she swung the thong again. Thhwwaccckkk! Paul yelped. For Delia had overlaid the first welt she had raised. Whilst Gloria's eyes told her that Delia was experienced, it was Paul's flesh that did so! The stroke had been cruelly accurate . . . as were the succeeding four, each of which overlaid previous welts. Squirming and juddering, yet maintaining his posture, Paul continued to yelp between clenched teeth as each one larruped across his burning rump. "Thank you, Delia, I think that will do," said Gloria when the tenth stroke had thwacked down. "A pleasure, Miss van Meer," smiled Delia, re-fastening the strap to her belt. "Anytime . . ." Paul remained on hands and knees, face in the dirt, absorbing the familiar burning pain. "He's quite tough, isn't he?" Delia remarked, re-seating herself in the car seat, with her legs slung over the side. "He's learnt to be," said Gloria perfunctorily, "get up, slave," she ordered. Paul got up, standing rigid directly before Delia. It was the first time he had a full look at her. She was quite a stunner. A typical, blue-eyed American blonde in her early twenties. The small leather bolero did little to conceal the fulsomeness of her creamy-white breasts. He saw her smiling at him tauntingly - triumphantly. Obviously, from all he had heard he was the first male slave she had ever dealt with. Equally obvious was the pleasure on her face. "What have you to say?" came Gloria's rasping voice. Dry as he was, Paul managed to answer. "I . . . I beg to th-thank Miss Delia for correcting me, mistress. I d-deserved to be corrected for my . . . my error . . ." "Quite so," nodded Gloria. Delia went on smiling almost roguishly. That she enjoyed seeing a man completely abased was very evident. "I'll correct him any time you want, Miss van Meer," said Delia. "I've got a few items up at the Big House that will discover how tough he really is." She ran her hand down over the leathern strap. "This is just run-of-the-mill stuff, you know." "I imagined it was," smiled Gloria. "I'll bear what you've said in mind. Frankly, I'd welcome an independent opinion on how well trained Paul is. I might give him to you for an evening, or a day, and then have your report. In the meantime thank you again." "You're welcome, ma'am," replied Delia . . . She continued smiling and looking at Paul with a rapacity that frightened him. He knew then that he need not expect one iota of mercy from this arrogant young Southern belle! "And now he can finish off my boots," she said, crossing her shapely limbs. Paul fell at once to his knees again . . . and, with arid tongue completed the task he had been set by licking the soles of Delia's boots. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - This story is being released as an illustrated web book, for details of Victor Bruno Books available please contact VictorBruno@MsChristine.com http://www.mschristine.com/bruno.html Also published as text simultaneously on...... ------------------------------------------------------ The DOMestic mailing list is free of charge. Subscribe in subject line:- DOMestic@Ms-Christine.com Moderated by David & Christine Stevenson. Subscribe online at http://www.mschristine.com/domestic.html ------------------------------------------------------ Under Control by Victor Bruno this story remains copyright Victor Bruno, release to publish granted to Christine Stevenson. -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> | <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us> | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | <http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/>----<http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/faq.html>