Message-ID: <15153eli$9809110052@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/15153.txt> From: np98rb@mail.telepac.pt (Christine & David Stevenson) Subject: Under Control part thirteen 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: <35eade8b.18489259@news.ip.pt> Under Control - part thirteen of twenty eight by mailto: VictorBruno@mschristine.com this story remains copyright Victor Bruno, release to publish granted to Christine Stevenson. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - At mid-morning on the following day, Paul was being whipped by Miss Mandy, the Chief Slave Overseer of Bel Air. She was carrying out the normal 'Initiation' of any new slave. Miss Mandy liked to break in the new slaves. Always girls before, and usually white, but there was a particular pleasure in breaking a white man to her whip. She loved the look in a slaves eyes after she had 'initiated' them. One could see in that look a reflection of her power. Paul was stretched naked, star-shape fashion, on a timbered contrivance which was kept permanently ready in an ante-room to Miss Mandy's private quarters. Gasping bellows of pain jerked from Paul's throat as the snaking cowhide lash cracked unerringly across the stretched muscles of his back. Miss Mandy, in white hide boots, white briefs and bra., was swinging a dusky arm rhythmically and happily . . . having already informed her victim that this was precisely the same whip that had been employed on her dear Grand-Mammy by a white overseer some decades before. Was it not therefore appropriate that it should be used in reverse? Grovelling, mouth pressed to the hide of the boots of the woman in whose full charge he now was, Paul had then slavishly agreed. Prior to this, weak as a kitten after his night of sexual self-indulgence (was it five times or six times?) he had been led from his cell by a slave-overseer unfamiliar to him. A well-muscled, gaunt-faced woman in her early forties, she had made her presence truly felt by implanting a breath-taking punch to Paul's midriff. After that she had led him amidst a gaggle of naked slave-girls to the communal shower room. Here freezing jets of water had brought him starkly back to life and, just like the girls around him, he had jumped, gasped and squealed with the shock of it. It was the normal beginning to any day at Bel Air. Among those girls, packed all around him, had been Karen . . . Karen who, having woken; had watched his final frenzy of self-abuse with a mixture of horrified disgust and fascination. He remembered telling her, in those moments, what he would rather have been doing to her. In the crudest terms. And what he would have her do to him. It had increased his illicit pleasure no end. Shivering, Karen had ultimately covered her eyes and sobbed quietly and hopelessly. Paul had not minded; this was a night of unrestrained lust of which he had to take full advantage. Whatever the consequences. Fortunately for him, there seemed to be no consequences . . . but in his heart he knew it would have been very different if Gloria van Meer had been in close supervision of him. Nothing like that would ever have been permitted . . . and discovery would have meant punishment that did not bear thinking about. Such was Gloria's commitment to male chastity and the suppression of all evidence of male sexuality. As it was Paul had begun to wonder if this new form of slavery might not give him even further opportunities. Was he not constantly surrounded by masses of naked, nubile girls? Would not other overseers, apart from Delia, make similar mistakes? Perhaps they did not even intend to restrain his manhood. After all so many of the girls were kept totally naked. But a male without restraint at all? My God, he thought, that would be dangerous, the risks involved! He could not stand another session on that trolley. But if he were free too satiate himself at night he may be able to keep himself under sufficient control while in the presence of overseers. There were the nights in the cells to think of! The thought of actually being able to enjoy one of his delectable fellow-sufferers set almost intolerable fires burning in Paul's being. But now, for the moment, he was enduring the agony of Miss Mandy's customary 'Initiation.' It was an agony all the more intensified when, having striped his back to her satisfaction, she turned the attention off her pistol-cracking whip to his buttocks. There, of course, through recent previous treatment, he was most vulnerable of all . . . despite being hardened as he was. Unrestrained howls were torn from him as well as gasping pleas for mercy. Yet, even in the extremity of his torment, part of his mind told him how much worse such an initiation must be for a young, far more sensitive woman . . . and one quite unhardened by previous treatment of a similar kind. However, that they equally had to endure it as he was doing, there was no doubt. Little wonder then that they submitted with such alacrity, and with such depths of slavish subservience, to the cruel regime imposed upon them. Had not Karen herself said, hideous as it was, that it was better to obey those who owned one than endure the savage cruelties of rod and lash? Indeed, she had . . . and Paul understood. When, at last, Miss Mandy was finished with him, Paul's head was swimming and he was half-fainting. All the same, he still had sufficient strength to make the kind of full submission that he instinctively knew was required. "Th-Thank you . . . oh thank you . . . M-Miss M-Mandy," he gasped, "for making me . . . making me understand you . . . you are t-truly my Mistress . . . ." "You're going to understand it even more," said Miss Mandy, her coal-black eyes glinting. Far more accustomed, of course, to dealing with girls, she had found a unique and strangely intense pleasure in flogging a man. She liked having one grovel and lick her boots, too, as Paul did when he was released from the Whipping Frame. He did so without receiving a direct order but out of an instinctive desire to demonstrate his complete subservience to this coffee-skinned beauty. For the time being at least, she had taken Gloria's place in his world of servile existence. And Gloria's training had turned this male into a grovelling worshipper of women. Quite fascinating . . . . and quite . . . quite exciting. A thin smile came across Miss Mandy's lips as she looked down. It occurred to her that Paul's mouth could be more satisfactorily employed. In a matter of moments she had removed her brief garments and slid down on the couch where so many slave girls had shown their full submission to her. "Crawl here, white trash," she said silkily, "and please your black mistress . . . ." Paul crawled, his head going between the dusky satin thighs as they parted. His mouth pressed passionately to the eagerly awaiting lips and his tongue thrust. Trained over long months to see this act as the ultimate privilege, he was pleased that Miss Mandy wanted to use him in this way. He could not have been more grateful for the honour he was being given. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - You can get back issues via the link on our freepage http://www.mschristine.com/freepage.html 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. 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