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

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

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

The striding figure came nearer and Paul saw the glittering of
black diamond eyes. He saw too the quiver and bounce of breasts
beneath a gossamer-thin, white shirtwaister blouse. He saw the
swing of a short pleated skirt of white leather and heard the
click-clack of high-heeled white boots. Paul was so thunderstruck
by the realisation that this new woman, who would effectively
control his life from now on was coloured . . . and by her
outstanding beauty . . . that he temporarily took leave of his
senses. He was even unaware that Karen had fallen to her knees
as, naturally, he should have done. His throat went dry and all
his nerve ends tingled as this superb creature drew nearer and
nearer. Then she was suddenly right before him . . . and Paul was
brought harshly back to reality by receiving a violent blow in
his solar plexus from Miss Mandy's fist. It robbed him of all
breath and strength and, sagging, he doubled up. "You get on your
knees in my presence, you ape!" he heard Miss Mandy rasp from
above.

Still doubled up, Paul went to his knees, absorbing the crippling
pain of the blow. What a fool he was. Of course he should have
realised he must get to his knees. As the pain began to ebb
fractionally, he heard Miss Mandy giving orders, presumably
concerning the two girls she had brought with her. "Saddle Strap
.. . . for two hours," she was saying. "Harness them side by side
.. . . each and every fall earns them five strokes a piece. And
use a horsewhip while they're in motion . . ."

"Certainly Miss Mandy," came Ilse's eager voice. Then there was a
short pause, whilst high heels clacked to and fro. Paul opened
his eyes and saw the tips of Miss Mandy's white boots right
before him. The boots moved back a few inches. "Kiss the floor
where I have stood, ape," came the order. Quickly Paul began to
slobber on the hard, smooth wood of the floor. To delay for an
instant with such a woman, he realised, would be inviting
disaster. From above he heard grunts from Delia and Ilse and
whimpers and squeals from the two new arrivals. Obviously
something painful was being fastened on them.

"Tighter," ordered Miss Mandy. It was the one word she spoke
during the preliminaries . . . and the whimpering and squealing
at once intensified.

Paul continued to kiss and lick the floor fervently. Getting a
dozen was quite enough; he didn't want to invite any more.

"Get stepping!" It was an order from Ilse, followed by the
whistle and crack of a horse whip. Once . . . twice. More and
louder squeals. Then the click-clack of two pairs of high heels
in unison. What was going on, wondered Paul, but naturally not
daring to look.

"Up!" He sprang up at Miss Mandy's voice, the pain in his midriff
now a dull ache. Alongside him he was aware of Karen leaping to
attention too; he heard her heavy breathing as her dread mounted.
"I want that thing off him . . ." said Miss Mandy. "I want him
bollock naked."

"It's seems to be padlocked on . . . I suppose his mistress has
the key . . ." explained Delia.

A key arced through the air, thrown from Miss Mandy's hand. "The
key has been given to me. From now on he's in my charge." Paul
felt a chill of terror. What had his Mistress agreed to?

Magnificently beautiful as this Creole woman was, the merciless
viciousness of her radiated out like a shock wave. He felt Delia
unfasten the padlock and the leather restrainer came away and he
stood naked before the rapacious eyes of the three women. Those
eyes seemed to devour him. At the far end of the room he could
see the two slave-girls, fastened side by side, high-stepping
their way round. As they came back towards him, he saw that a
broad leather belt nipped in each waist and a thin leather thong
drawn tightly round and underneath them, cut cruelly into their
most tender woman flesh. The look of anguish on their features
was very understandable.

"Why, in fact, is he here?" asked Miss Mandy. "I proposed to give
him his Initiation later." The chill terror in Paul intensified
at the implication of those words. Delia explained Gloria van
Meer's request and Miss Mandy nodded. "Very commendable," she
said. "Well, he can have those first . . ." The two slave-girls
went high stepping by, breasts bouncing rhythmically. "Move!"
commanded Miss Mandy. One arm thrust sideways and a finger
pointed peremptorily to the far side of the room. "The birching
hurdle will be convenient for this, I think. There's room for
two."

Paul turned at once, as did Karen. The girl, beginning to sob
fearfully again, was ahead of him. He could not keep his eyes
from the soft bounce and quiver of her reddened buttocks. The
sight of them fascinated him and, despite what lay ahead, he was
aware of the surge of desire in him. He wondered if she was
recalling his words about trying to be brave. It was not easy for
a young and inexperienced girl. They approached a kind of hurdle
set into the floor. It consisted of two stout uprights and a
rounded cross bar, about the thickness of a flagpole, running
between them. The crossbar was about three feet off the floor and
in the floor were numerous attaching rings. "We'll have them over
it, facing opposite ways," said Miss Mandy.

Paul stood so that the lower part of his belly pressed against
the cold solidity of the crossbar; Karen was placed on the other
side of the bar, just to his right. He saw that she was trembling
uncontrollably, and, though he kept his head straight, his eyes
instinctively turned to watch the rise and fall of her heaving
breasts. Ilse came into his line of vision, flexing an
unpleasantly stout looking rod which she must have just selected
from the array he had already seen on a nearby table. He heard
the click of Delia's high heels behind him and it did not take
much imagination to guess she was doing the same. In fact, at
that very moment, he heard her swishing her cane experimentally
through the air. Familiar as he was with the sound, it never
ceased to set the butterflies whirring violently in his stomach.

"Bend over," ordered Miss Mandy, who it seemed, was to secure
them. Paul obeyed at once, hearing a hopeless despairing moan
from Karen as she did like wise. He felt the softness of her
flank pressing to his; he felt, too, the stretching and tautening
of the flesh of his nates. Just to the right of him he saw
Karen's white calf, the muscle twitching. She was secured first.
Miss Mandy fastened on leathern ankle cuffs to which were
attached short lengths of chain, each of which had a kind of
dog-leash clip at the end. Each clip was latched on to a ringbolt
in the floor, these being about eighteen inches apart. The wrist
cuffs of a similar kind were put on . . . and these were pulled
back between Karen's legs and fastened behind the ankle
attachments. This gave the maximum tightness of curve to her hind
quarters and stretched her arms and legs fully. Paul glimpsed the
girl's distorted features, inverted, as her head came back
between her calves, the blonde hair hanging down to sweep upon
the floor. She was sobbing like a little child.

"M-Merc . . ee . . . m-merc . . eee . . . m-merce . . eee . . ."
he heard her keep choking out, despite obviously knowing the
futility of it.

Then, with brisk, practised efficiency, Miss Mandy dealt with
Paul similarly. He watched the dusky arms, hands and fingers as
they moved, with a fatalistic kind of fascination. This is my new
mistress, he thought . . . the woman who now has complete control
of the degree of mental and physical torment I shall endure. The
posture, needless to say, was a painful one, perhaps more so for
Paul than Karen, for his body was less supple. As, with a final
strong pull, Miss Mandy latched on the second clip, Paul had to
fight down that familiar wave of panic that such utter
helplessness induces.

Suddenly, Miss Mandy's hand was before his face. In it was
something that looked like a small black dog's bone. "A little
bonus we give trained slaves," she said. "Open your mouth."

Paul did so and the 'bone' went between his teeth. They clamped
on it and he found it was made of rubber. He realised the purpose
of it was for him to bite on . . . and so, maybe, prevent himself
crying out. Was this a 'kindness' that only added up to an extra
cruelty, he wondered confusedly. At all events, he bit hard and
summoned up his will. Through his legs, his head inverted, he saw
Delia's scarlet high-heeled boots and tapering white thighs. He
saw, too, the rod swinging gently to and fro in her hand. It was
as thick as his little finger. No lightweight by any means. Paul
bit harder.

Then the rod moved . . . and Paul felt it tapping lightly on his
curving rump as Delia measured him. Karen's whimpering pleas grew
louder and more hysterical, so the same must be happening to her,
he knew.

"Begin," said Miss Mandy with cool, casual authority.

Paul tried to convince himself that he deserved what must now
come. It was difficult . . . but perhaps he should not have been
so free with his eyes that afternoon . . . The rods were raised
together . . . and together, hoarse and harsh, they whistled
down, with both Delia and Ilse putting all the skill they knew
and all the force they could summon into the strokes. Paul and
Karen got the searing bite of them together . . . a breathtaking,
mind-bending, hot-wire blaze of pain. From Karen came an agonized
howling-scream of pain; from Paul came an equally agonized
high-pitched whinny as he bit fiercely on the rubber clenched
between his teeth. He absorbed the pain, knowing Karen's pain was
as bad as he did so . . . feeling her flank squirming and
thumping against his.

Then, just when the pain had been absorbed to the full and was
beginning to ebb fractionally, there came the relentless
whistling sound of the whiplashing rods again . . . followed by a
second liquid-fire streak of torment encircling the buttocks,
just an inch below the first. Another ear-splitting shriek from
Karen . . . another teeth-clenched whinny from Paul . . . with
both naked rumps juddering and squirming convulsively.

Oh God, thought Paul, there are ten more like that yet to come!
How could he hold out? And, why oh why was he being put to such
torment? Not for showing any obvious fault or failure surely. But
simply on account of a whim of his mistress! The very thought was
sapping to the will.

All the same, Paul took six more of the very best that Delia
could hand out (and she was a match for Gloria!) before a yelping
howl was torn from him and the rubber gag ejected from his mouth.
With each of the first eight strokes it was if he had slipped
down several feet on the rope of control to which he had clung
suspended, losing out all the time with the steady accumulation
of pain. All the time the cacophony of sound from the wretched
Karen increased. Would it not, wondered Paul, his mind as well as
his buttocks seemingly ablaze, be a release to scream like that?

Release or not, that first howling cry was forced from him on the
eighth stroke . . . and successively more agonized howling yelps
came from him as Delia laid on the final four strokes with
merciless vigour and precision.

She had broken him . . . broken him! And like the writhing female
flesh alongside him, he bayed it for all to hear!


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


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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