Message-ID: <14824eli$9808290046@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/14824.txt> From: np98rb@mail.telepac.pt (Christine & David Stevenson) Subject: Under Control part six 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: <35deddbb.23159083@news.telepac.pt> Under Control - part six of twenty eight by mailto: VictorBruno@mschristine.com this story remains copyright Victor Bruno, release to publish granted to Christine Stevenson. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - To say that Delia made a striking picture would be an under statement. She had changed her previous garb and now wore a pair of scarlet thigh-length boots, which laced all the way up, and had six-inch stiletto heels, a pair of very abbreviated scarlet leather briefs and a brassiere of the same material and colour which was only fractionally more than half-cup in size. Her blonde hair was piled high and from the lobes of her ears, on long, slim gold chains, hung two glittering rubies. Her hard blue eyes glittered almost equally with the jewels. There was one other item she wore. It was the strap she carried for on-the-spot correction . . . something she never went without. Now it hung from a scarlet leather belt which, gold-buckled, was slung low about the jut of her smooth white hips. The sight of her certainly took Paul's breath away . . . and, as a slave trained and tamed, he recognised in her a true dominatrix. A woman worthy of being a slave mistress; one who inspired in him something of the same kind of servile adoration as did Gloria herself. He felt all this, accompanied by a surge of intense desire, despite the fact that he knew well enough how she would treat him, both immediately and in the future. "You will be wanting to know the result of my recommendation to Miss Mandy," she said gaily as she unshackled Karen, who was cringing wide-eyed and fearful with her back to the wall, trembling uncontrollably. Paul studied the superb sweep of Delia's broad white back, the swell of her hindquarters so briefly and tightly clad, the smoothness of the tops of the long white thighs. The sense of adoration in him increased. He knew that he would indeed truly consider it an honour to serve Delia as he sometimes served Gloria. Already he felt a deep ache to be so permitted and privileged. "I will tell you the result," went on Delia as, freed, Karen got to her feet and stood rigid by the plank bed. "She accepted it." A whimpering moan came from Karen and her eyes filled with tears again. Then Paul's head was filled by Delia's exotic scent as she unshackled him in turn. He trembled at the nearness of her lush beauty and the desire to touch just a fraction of her superb body was almost irresistible. Fortunately for him he resisted it. As Karen had done, Paul leapt to attention immediately he was released. "My recommendation, as you may remember," went on Delia, looking from one to the other, "was for a caning. I further suggested it should be one of fifteen strokes." Paul heard Karen gasp . . . and experienced a shiver of inner dread himself. "However, Miss Mandy thought ten strokes would be adequate under the circumstances." For both victims it was cold comfort, but at least something. "We finally compromised on a dozen," concluded Delia enjoying herself immensely, "so that's what you're going to get. Follow me!" She turned and strode out through the door, Karen stumbling after her on her high heels, continuing to sob. Paul humbly brought up the rear, his gaze fastened on the swing and bounce of Karen's soft bottom flesh. Poor girl, he thought. She is so much younger, more sensitive and less experienced. No wonder she is in such a state. Was he not himself in a state of keen apprehension? Already he was going through that familiar build-up pattern of summoning up his reserves of resolve and will so that he could withstand what lay ahead with some show of fortitude. It was better, he knew, not to break too early whatever the punishment. They descended a flight of wide stone steps and proceeded down another cell-lined corridor. At the end was a pair of massive double doors. They were of solid dark oak with big brass handles. Above the doors, in gold Gothic lettering on a white background, were the unnerving words - 'PUNISHMENT ROOM'. Delia opened the doors . . . and Paul found himself in a place which, at first sight had the size and appearance of a gymnasium, except that it was lower ceilinged. Indeed, heavy beams stretched across the large, long room and he saw that chains and manacles hung from many of them. Here and there, he saw too, what looked like vaulting horses of varying sizes, and he realised at once that these must be whipping blocks. The buckling straps with which they were festooned confirmed this. He observed too, a whipping post and a whipping triangle as well as various other devices of wood, leather and iron whose immediate purpose escaped him. All this he registered in a few moments as he followed Delia and Karen. That the evening punishment session had already begun was at once evident. A naked girl was secured in a kneeling position to one of the whipping blocks . . . a broad strap pinioned her at the waist, her wrist were fastened in leathern cuffs attached by short chains to the sides at the front of the block. Swathes of purpling red striped her juddering buttocks. In fearful fascination Paul watched the figure at the end of the block swing up her arm. A three foot long strap, broader than the one Delia carried and slit into two thongs for its last twelve inches, came sweeping down to crack resoundingly across the helpless girl's hind quarters. A gasping howl of pain came from her and she writhed frantically, twisting this way and that over the end of the block. The hind quarters were the only part of her body which had ample freedom of movement . . . and they made full use of it! "S-Six . . . aagghh . . . s-six . . . M-Miss . . . ." choked the kneeling figure when her howl had subsided and she had caught her breath again. The figure who had wielded the strap turned at the sound of their approach and Paul recognised the heavy blonde woman they had seen in the entrance hall. She was garbed very similarly to Delia, except that her outfit was entirely made of jet black leather. "Hi there, Del!" she waved. Then her eyes settled on Paul. "So you've brought . . . it . . . have you . . ." "I sure have," replied Delia. "Miss Mandy not about yet?" "Be along in a moment," the woman replied. She half turned back to her victim, whose nates were twitching and quivering with dread anticipation. "Please don't let me interrupt you, Ilse," said Delia politely. "That's O.K.," smiled the blonde Ilse. Then her features hardened again. "How many was that, Bettina?" she demanded. "Six-Six . . . Miss . . . ." answered the shuddering girl. "How many to go then?" asked Ilse. "F-Four . . . Miss . . . ." came the reply. "Right," said Ilse. "Keep counting . . . ." Four more times Paul watched the double-thonged strap swing with merciless venom. Each time a howl of pain was torn from the girl's throat as she threshed and writhed convulsively. Yet each time, Paul noted, she did not forget to gasp out the number of the stroke she had just received. She was, he deduced from this, adequately experienced. Anyone less so would have missed somewhere along the line in the breath-taking agony of the moment. That strap was no lightweight. In fact it was a real brute! "You'll get the other half tomorrow," Ilse told the sobbing girl. "And you can stay there for a couple of hours to think about that." Paul realised that this was one of those divided punishments Karen had mentioned . . . and he did not envy the girl her session over that block on the morrow. It appeared, he thought with despair, that the regime at Bel Air was even stricter than he had let his imagination believe. "What's she been up to?" asked Delia as Ilse turned back to her, lovingly stroking the thongs of the heavy leathern strap she had been using. "Bad report from one of the guests, " replied Ilse briefly. "Lucky for her, in my opinion, that Miss Mandy didn't order a whipping." Lucky! Paul's mind absorbed the callous cynicism of the word. His eyes rested on Bettina's quivering, empurpled nates. So Bettina was lucky, was she! "You've brought young Karen along again, I see," smiled Ilse. "For another taste of what she likes least, eh?" "The cane, you mean?" replied Delia. "That's right. I'm afraid the girl's slow to learn." Paul heard several unrestrained sobs come from Karen, who continued to stand rigidly alongside him whilst Ilse's eyes continued to range, cruel and contemptuous over them both. "And it?" she asked pointing at Paul. "His owner has ordered that he gets the same . . . at the same time," said Delia. "Just by way of introduction to Bel Air, I imagine." Ilse laughed. "I like that . . . a nice touch. Any preference for the one you deal with?" "I've already given him a taste of leather," said Delia, "so I think I'll stick with him." Apart from the newly-discovered pleasure of thrashing a man, Delia was keen to find out just how tough Paul was. "Suits me," nodded Ilse. Indeed it did. She gained the maximum pleasure from disciplining girls who were not only as young and plump as Karen was but also as inexperienced. She gave the girl's bottom a light slap and grinned at her. "I'm just in the mood to give it to you good and hard," she said viciously. And the wretched Karen broke into another torrent of heaving sobs. The Punishment Room, Paul realised, was not simply a place where one was brought, disciplined, and then taken away. It seemed the policy to have one remain there for quite some time. Absorbing the atmosphere, one might say . . . enduring the gradual build-up of mental and psychological tension while one waited. A tension that was deliberately built up by the slave mistresses, as it was at that moment. A tension that was heightened again by the sight and sound of others being punished. There was, Paul already realised quite an unpleasant degree of difference between being 'privately' disciplined by one's own mistress and this 'public' fashion. There could be no doubt that this Mrs. Dupont knew what she was about when it came to slave control, thought Paul, as he continued to gaze with sympathy and understanding at the still-quivering nates of the girl who had been so soundly strapped. But Paul still thought of himself as more than just an ordinary slave. He wanted to belong to and serve Miss Gloria. There was sense in which he almost felt loved when she disciplined him. But this, this was altogether quite different. Suddenly the doors at the far end of the Punishment Room opened and a tall, magnificent, queenly looking figure came striding in. Paul realised at once that this must be Miss Mandy, the chief slave mistress . . . and he was taken aback to discover that she was of Creole origin. Strikingly beautiful, with only faint traces of the negroid in her features, her skin was light coffee-coloured. As with many of her race, her features were haughtily proud, as was her bearing, and she moved with the lithe grace of a panther. Behind her she led two naked slave girls, each on a collar and chain. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - This story is being released as an illustrated web book, for autoresponder 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>