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Under Control - part four of twenty eight
by mailto: VictorBruno@mschristine.com

this story remains copyright Victor Bruno, release to publish
granted to Christine Stevenson.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

IT WAS ABOUT a quarter of a mile up to the Big House and, since
Delia kept the bay at a brisk pace, Paul Mansel was glad it was
no further. He felt sorry for the girls who had already had a
hard afternoon in the orange grove and he could hear their
rasping breath as they approached near-exhaustion. Several times
he saw young Karen stumble and almost fall . . . and there came
crisp warnings from Delia above that anyone who didn't keep going
would 'feel leather'. Behind the little entourage Gloria van Meer
purred along in comfort in the Cadillac. It amused her to think
that Paul had, for the time being anyway, joined a slave-girl
colony . . . for she could imagine the kind of stresses and
frustrations he was going to be put to in the days ahead.

Gloria was well content, too, with what she had so far seen of
Amelia Dupont's set-up at Bel Air. She had liked the way Delia
had treated those girls; obviously discipline was iron hard. She
had also liked the way Delia had laid into Paul; He was certainly
going to get no change out of her. Indeed, the whole enclosed
environment of a secure slave system delighted her. It was going
to be an exciting venture to build up a male slave farm in this
unique setting. Paul, now tamed, would be a founder member . . .
but many more would ultimately come to join him. And, with those
'recruits' there would be much taming to be done! Paul had been
easy to tame, but she was really looking forward to taming some
arrogant and tough brutes. Yes, putting men in their place was
going to be a way of life. Lovely to contemplate.

The Big House came into view. It was a massive Colonial-style
mansion. Delia turned and waved, indicating that Gloria should
drive up to the main door whilst she proceeded to the rear of the
house, where the slave quarters were obviously situated. Gloria
waved happily back. She was very much looking forward to seeing
Amelia Dupont again, studying her organisation at first hand and,
of course, discussing her own plans.

                                   * * *

Delia swung down from the bay and began untethering her charges.
The girls were covered in sweat and dust, breasts heaving wildly;
Paul was comparatively fresh. He looked around cautiously, seeing
that they were in a huge kind of stable courtyard which was
surrounded on all sides by buildings of varying heights and
proportions. Some of these buildings, with rows of small barred
windows, had a very prison-like appearance. Paul felt a little
cold shudder go through him despite the warmth of the late
afternoon.

"Right, in you go," he heard Delia order and Paul quickly
followed the example of the girls down an iron ladder into an
empty bathing pool of grey stone. He saw Delia stride along the
side of the pool and pick up what appeared to be the nozzle of a
fireman's hose. This, in fact, was exactly what it was and Paul
was made startlingly aware of it when an icy stream of water
jetted fiercely into his stomach, robbing him of breath and
almost knocking him over. Delia laughed gaily at the shock she
had given him and proceeded to spray him all over before turning
her attention to the girls. Gasping, they jumped up and down,
breasts bouncing. For them it was half pleasure, half torment. It
was wonderful to have the sweat and dust washed off one, to soak
the water into one's arid pores, and to lick at it greedily as it
ran down one's face. But it was not so wonderful to endure the
repeated fierce jetting of water all over one's body. After a
minute or more, pain would outweigh pleasure . . . and Delia made
a practice of hosing down for four or five minutes at a time. In
some strange way it gave her a very great deal of pleasure to do
so. There was a great 'power kick' in it . . . standing up there,
making one's victims dance and squeal at will, buffeting them
from side to side and sometimes sending them sprawling flat.

Paul had certainly had enough by the time the hose was turned
off. In some sense he felt refreshed, in another he felt weak and
battered, his head ringing. The girls climbed up the ladder one
by one. Karen, limbs rubbery went just ahead of him. At the foot
of the ladder he looked up, seeing her ample hind quarters
swinging from side to side . . . and receiving briefly and
tantalisingly a 'worm's eye view' of her most intimate womanly
secrets!

As Delia herded the four of them across the big courtyard -
towards one of the prison-like buildings - Paul saw numerous
other slave-girls moving to and fro in the distance or passing
nearer at hand. He noted that whilst a number were as naked as
the three he was with, he saw many who wore a fetchingly
abbreviated version of a 'maid's uniform' . . . complete with
suspender belt and black stockings and a frilly little white
apron and cap. Some wore no uniform but only belt, stockings,
high heels and the apron. These made a most fetching sight in
Paul's eyes . . . as did those who wore only scanty briefs and
bra. Or those who went topless in nothing but a tiny skirt. All
were variations of a theme. The theme of exposure. Sometimes
complete; sometimes partial. Shaming to the girl; titillating to
the observer. Being male he could see the attractions, but what
did the slave-girls get out of all this? Were they all as devoted
to this Mrs. Dupont as he was to Gloria?

Paul supposed that these various types of garb, or lack of it,
were at the whim of Mrs. Dupont and her slave mistress
assistants. In this he was correct . . . and, of course, any
guests at Bel Air could have a say in the matter. Paul began to
think that being a slave here at Bel Air might provide ample
opportunity for pleasures of the flesh, if he could rid himself
of the restrainer. It might not be as bad as he had begun to
fear. The system couldn't be that bad if so many tender young
girls submitted to it!

They entered the building and, in a high-ceilinged entrance hall,
Paul saw numerous small squads of slave-girls lined up . . . with
a couple more slave mistresses, clad cow-girl style like Delia,
calling the roll, inspecting them and issuing orders. This must,
Paul realised, be one of those times of day when some girls came
off duty and others went on. He saw at once mute evidence of the
strict disciplinary regime . . . in the profusion of reddened,
weal-and-welt striped buttocks. Not to mention thighs, some of
which carried signs of correction both back and front. Naturally
he could not take in the bewildering scene all at once but he
could take in enough. Now he was one of this company. A male
slave amongst scores of females!

He heard the thwack of a strap on bare flesh and heard a girl's
high-pitched gasp. Turning his head, he saw a tall, very
beautiful young woman, with rich auburn hair, still shuddering
with pain. She wore only a lacy red-and-black suspender belt,
fishnet black stockings and a pair of bright red high-heeled
shoes.

"Have you not read your orders?" demanded the slave mistress
before her.

"Yes . . . yes . . . miss . . . . I . . . I . . ." the girl
stammered.

"Then why are you not wearing a pair of knickers?" came the
second demand.

"I . . . I must have m-misunderstood, Miss . . . I . . . I
thought . . ." began the girl again.

Tthhwwacckkk! The strap, similar to Delia's, swung again, curling
around the girl's flank. She gasped again, squirming and
juddering as she absorbed the burning pain. "You don't think girl
. . . you obey!" the slave Mistress almost snarled. "Now . . . go
and get a pair on, double quick. You should know your master
likes you to wear a fancy pair until he's ready for you . . ."

The girl scurried off, leaving Paul to contemplate the
significance of what he had just heard. Obviously this beautiful
creature must be the designated plaything of one of Mrs. Dupont's
guests! My God, what would it be like to be a guest, he thought,
pondering the idea was pleasurable indeed. But those marks! What
enormities must be perpetrated here for the sake of their
amusement! Despite the fascination of the scene (like being in
some kind of harem of naked and half-naked beauties) Paul felt a
chill of dread go through him. Suppose a pervert wanted some kind
of amusement with him? No! Gloria would not permit it!

Paul's thoughts were interrupted when one of the other slave
mistresses approached Delia as she proceeded across the hall.
"Hi, what the Hell have you got there?" she asked.

Delia grinned. "It's a male slave," she answered. "Belong's to
one of Mrs. Dupont's guests. Just arrived."

"Well I'll be damned!" said the slave mistress, studying Paul.
She, like Delia, was blonde, but was a bigger woman, aged around
thirty. "Is he going to stay?" she asked, sounding a little
concerned.

"Sure thing," replied Delia. "Don't worry. He'll be no trouble. I
understand from his owner that Miss Mandy's got some plans for
him."

Paul pricked up his ears. Plans? What plans? He thought he was to
be Miss Gloria's personal slave, in her new slave farm. Serving
Gloria he had come to accept, even though she could be vicious,
but she at least was rarely cruel to him unless he had done
something to upset her. This Delia was bad enough, but now Miss
Mandy had plans for him? Paul felt an increased sensation of
dread as Delia strode on through the hall. They entered a
corridor, lined with cell doors on either side. Delia unlocked
one. "In," she said, nodding at Karen. "And you," she added,
looking at Paul. His heart gave a thump. Was he to be left alone
in the cell with this naked young creature? His mind began to
race hotly. Those breasts, those buttocks . . . everything . . .
at least he could feel, if nothing else!

Then he saw Delia shackle an iron collar around Karen's pretty
neck . . . a collar which was fastened to the wall above a plain
plank bed on one side of the cell. There was a similar collar and
chain above the same sort of bed on the opposite side of the cell
. . . and in a matter of moments Paul was similarly secured, so
that he could do no more than lie or sit on the wooden planks.
Karen was yards away, out of reach. So much for his hopes of
gaining some lustful satisfaction from that lush young body!

"I'll be back for you two later," said Delia ominously.

Then the door slammed and was locked.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 


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......

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Under Control
by Victor Bruno

this story remains copyright Victor Bruno, release to publish
granted to Christine Stevenson.


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