G2-Story-17-Gemma-Pt-1

I believe this story was published some years ago, but if it was, I never received any royalties, so I don’t see why I shouldn’t use it now.

Gemma Longton pushed her chair back from the computer keyboard and flexed her stiff fingers as she stared glumly at the tell-tale figures glowing on the green screen.

“How bad is it, Gemma?” a deep male voice came from behind her and she turned to look up at the tall figure of Mike Bowyer, her business partner and lover, his face filled with anxiety.

“About as bad as it can be,” she replied slowly. “We can carry on for about a month, then we lose the company.”

“Damn,” Mike cursed. “What about the Roxwell contract? That must be big enough and profitable enough to turn us around surely?”
Gemma sighed.

“Yes, well it would be but we can’t meet it unless we can come up with extra financing.”

“How much extra, Gemma?” her lover demanded. “How much do we need and how long have we got?”

“A month, maybe six weeks. But unless we find a cash injection of at least ten thousand pounds, we’ll have no option but to file for bankruptcy.”

“Hell. Ten grand. Where are we going to find that sort of cash? We’re already at our limit with the bank.”

“There must be a way.” Mike said angrily. “There has to be. I’m not losing everything we’ve worked so hard for, just for the lack of a lousy ten grand.”
Gemma stood up stiffly.

“I’m sorry, Mike darling,” she said. “I know how you feel and I’d do anything to get us out of this mess, but I’m shattered and I’ve got to go home and get some rest. I can’t think straight. I’ll see you in the morning and then we can try to think of a way to come up with the money. I’m sure you’re right, there has to be a way of raising ten grand, but I’ve just got to get some sleep.”
Gemma kissed her worried lover gently and picked up her coat, then walked tiredly out of the office, leaving her business partner pacing up and down the room, his face set in a scowl of intense concentration.

“There must be a way!” Mike said to himself, “There must be. I’m not losing the company for a piddling ten grand. Think, man, think! Something in the company must be worth that sort of money.”

His eyes came to rest on the Roxwell contract, the contract that would easily solve his financial problems and make him a very rich man and his eyes narrowed as an evil idea stole into his busy brain. He stopped his pacing and sat down in his leather office chair, his mind racing as he began to work out the details of a deal that might just save the company.

Old man Roxwell was a horny old goat and had made no secret of his liking for Gemma, so, just maybe there was a way to get the cash the company needed. If, and it was a big if, he could somehow persuade Gemma.

Mike stretched out a hand towards the telephone, then hesitated. Gemma was, after all, his partner, both in running the company and in bed. Could he ... dare he make such a deal to save the company? He weighed the alternatives carefully. On the one hand, the certainty that all of his and Gemma’s efforts would be wasted if he didn’t, but on the other, the cost to Gemma if Roxwell agreed to the deal he proposed to offer.

Slowly, he lifted the handset and dialled the number for Roxwell’s private line.

Three nights later, Gemma smiled at her lover as he held the door of his remote country cottage open for her to enter. It had been a wonderful evening up to that point for Mike had been even more attentive and considerate than usual, taking her out to her favourite restaurant, plying her with delicious food and expensive wines until she could eat no more and her head was pleasantly muzzy. , Mike had been deliberately evasive all evening, refusing to tell her the reason for the celebration and only hinting that he had some great news to tell her about the company.

As she shed her coat and kicked off her shoes, Gemma smiled with an inner contentment brought on by the food, the wine and the anticipation that after Mike had come clean about the good news he had, they would go through to the comfortable bedroom and make love. It would not be the first time an evening had ended that way and Gemma felt a warm glow in the pit of her stomach as she imagined Mike’s hands and lips on her body as they shared mutual pleasure.

Mike sat her down in a soft armchair and brought her a goblet of fine brandy, then fetched himself a large malt whisky and sat opposite her.

“That’s exactly what I mean. The company’s safe, Gemma. Roxwell has agreed to finance us.”

“Oh, darling!” Gemma gasped, “That’s wonderful news! However did you get him to agree?”

“It wasn’t easy.” Mike replied smiling. “He drives a hard bargain, but I made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.”

“Oh, Mike, you’re a genius! Gemma was thrilled and elated, “But, what did you offer him? I thought we’d already tried everything.”

“Not quite everything.” Mike replied softly, “But now it’s all settled and the money is in the bank.”

“Great! So that’s what tonight was all about and why you were so mysterious?”

Gemma smiled into her lover’s gleaming eyes and nodded firmly, feeling her own arousal build as she saw his desire.

She put her glass down on a nearby table and rose to her feet, then, with sensual grace, began to strip herself before her lover. Her dress slipped from her shoulders and fell to the floor and she kicked it away, revealing her slim body in black half-cup bra, lace panties, matching garter belt and black stockings. She sat on the arm of her chair, removed her garter-belt and slid each stocking down her legs, discarding the flimsy nylon as she turned her attention to her bra. The cups peeled away from her small, taut breasts and Gemma shivered in delight as warm air caressed her naked flesh, adding to her own arousal and Mike’s evident desire when she gently squeezed her nipples until each knob thrust out in stone-hard rigidity. She loved to display her body for him and knew he was excited by her as she toyed with herself for their joint pleasure. Often, she never got beyond this point; Mike grabbing her and taking her as his passion grew too strong to resist, but this time, he controlled himself and Gemma smiled as she slipped her thumbs into the waistband of her brief panties. She knew that passion delayed is passion increased and shivered in anticipation of the moment when he would no longer be able to hold himself back. Playfully, she giggled at him.

“Maybe I’ve changed my mind, Mike. You’ve still got all of your clothes on. Perhaps I should get dressed and go home.”

He stood up and went to his roll-top desk, bringing out a broad leather strap fitted with a heavy buckle. Gemma’s eyes widened in anxious excitement as he walked slowly towards her, the strap dangling from his left fist. Soon after they had become lovers, Mike had introduced her to bondage and Gemma, although at first hugely embarrassed by being tied up, soon came to enjoy the sensations of being helpless and unable to prevent him doing exactly as he pleased to her. It was almost two months since the last time he’d bound her and the warmth in her belly doubled as she realised that soon she would be his helpless captive again. Mike chuckled and inclined his head.

“Your panties, please, Gemma.” he said calmly. “Then, turn around and put your arms behind your back.”

Gemma swallowed hard, knowing she was going to obey, then slowly peeled down her last protection, turned around and brought her wrists together at the small of her spine. Utterly naked before her lover, she felt her belly flutter in delicious anticipation as she awaited the firm grip of leather when it removed her freedom and made her his. Well aware of her desirability and his arousal, Gemma quivered, feeling undeniable lust as the cool strap encircled her wrists, gripping her flesh in a firm but not tight grasp when the buckle closed. To her surprise she felt a second strap pass between her wrists and realised, as it drew the original strap taut, that there was no longer any chance of her slipping her hands from the bindings.

As Mike aided her sit on the thick, warm carpet, Gemma wriggled her fingers experimentally, finding, as she already expected, that she could not possibly free her arms. Her excitement built even higher when he asked her to cross her ankles and she watched closely while he looped another strap around and around, lashing her legs at 90 degrees and after buckling the strap firmly, preventing her from straightening her limbs or closing her widely parted thighs.

Sitting there quite helpless, her nude body exposed to Mike’s glittering eyes, Gemma licked her lips tensely while he fetched a ball-gag and brought it to her. This was the one part of his bondage games that she did not like. The gag; a solid rubber sphere attached to a leather strap, always frightened her and she hated the way it bulged her cheeks and made her drool while it reduced her to a mute observer of her own arousal. The trouble was, as she knew well, that once she’d agreed to being tied up, she no longer had any choice in the matter. Mike was in charge and unfortunately he seemed to enjoy seeing her gagged and hearing her muffled, incomprehensible protests. Reluctantly, Gemma opened her mouth and allowed the ball to be pressed deep between her teeth, then Mike buckled the strap tightly behind her neck. She didn’t like it, but with the gag wedged firmly in her mouth, knew there wasn’t anything she could actually do about it. Mike moved around in front and smiled wolfishly at her, then produced yet another strap. Gemma stared, then shook her head firmly. Enough was quite enough. She was already tightly tied and did not want any more, thank you very much! There was absolutely no need for anything else to be added to her predicament.

Mike, however, did not agree and she glared at him over her right shoulder as he moved behind her, her garbled grunts making it perfectly clear that he was not to use the additional strap.

She froze for a moment as he casually began to pass the strap around her arms, just above her elbows, then she mumbled furiously into her gag, her dark hair waving as she shook her head in determined refusal.

Gemma winced, her eyes widening in shocked realisation as he tightened the strap and her elbows were forced inexorably together. She was furious. Furious and unable to believe what he was doing.

Her elbows drew closer together and Gemma’s fury and disbelief changed to anguished discomfort as her shoulders were forced back by the unremitting tension. The buckle closed and her arms were held, strained back and together, her elbows almost touching and her breasts thrust outwards and up by the stress in her limbs. To add to her misery, another short strap between her elbows held everything cinched tight and removed any possibility of relief or escape.

Mike stood up and gazed down at her with a smug grin on his face and Gemma felt her face redden. She was absolutely helpless, not to mention distinctly uncomfortable. She was completely in his power and he could do anything he pleased to her.

Her belly seethed with arousal as she imagined all the things he could do. Her breasts and sex lay wide open and she knew that if he touched her between her splayed legs, she would climax. Her need was so intense it frightened her and she panted for breath, praying he would touch her and yet terrified that if he did she would not be able to control her responses.

His grin grew wider and Gemma wriggled ineffectually, whining in vain protest as he took a long piece of black nylon rope from his desk and knotted one end to her bound ankles. Casually, he passed the other end under her naked buttocks and through between her clamped-together forearms, then pulled. Gemma squealed into her gag as her knees bent, but was unable to prevent her bound arms being dragged down until her clawing fingers touched the carpet behind her and her back hollowed in a deep curve, her belly and breasts arched in a tensioned bow, immobilised and horrifyingly vulnerable.

Mike tied the final knot then came and squatted on his heels in front of her smiling gently while he reached out. Gemma whimpered and heaved despairingly at her ruthless bondage as his fingers caressed her upthrust breasts, sending massive waves of irresistible arousal through her body as her nipples quivered and grew harder in helpless response to his touch.

Gemma shuddered, in passion and a terrible fear. They? He said they would like her frantic responses? What did he mean? Who were they?

Mike read the fear and anguish in Gemma’s dark, staring eyes and his face softened.

“I’m so sorry, Gemma,” he told her gently, “but you know how much the business needs the money and you did tell me that you’d do absolutely anything to save the company. You asked me earlier how I’d managed to get Roxwell to finance us and you remember I told you I’d offered him a deal he couldn’t refuse? Well, the company has one asset he really wanted, so I had to negotiate. We needed ten grand, so I stuck out for fifteen and we settled on twelve. The company’s saved, but I had to agree to his terms. I hated to do it Gemma, but you were the asset he wanted and he wouldn’t settle for anything else. He wants you, Honey, that’s why you’re here and it’s why you’re all tied up the way you are. I had no choice.”

Gemma stared up at her partner, her lover, and a chill of sheer stark terror turned the blood in her veins to ice-water. It could not be! It must be impossible ... and yet, Mike was absolutely serious.

As the truly horrifying implications of his words sank into Gemma’s reeling brain, the tightly-bound brunette wrenched at her implacable bonds, her shrill screams of fear and disbelief leaking past the ball-gag wedged so deeply between her jaws, her muscles straining wildly and in vain at the tight web of straps enmeshing her naked body.

Mike’s hand brushed her bulging cheek, but Gemma jerked her head away and his eyes narrowed angrily.

“You don’t understand. I had to do it. It was the only way to save the business. I saw a chance to keep the company going and I took it. Roxwell had me over a barrel and he knew it. If I hadn’t agreed to his terms, he would have closed us down. I had to do it, dammit. I had no choice.”

His eyes softened again and he stared deep into Gemma’s tear-streaked face.
“I really am sorry, Gemma.” he whispered, “I love you, but I had to do it. I have to go now, but your handlers will be here soon and they’ll take you where you have to go. Don’t think too badly of me, eh? You know I had to have that money. So long, honey, be brave and just do what they tell you and you’ll be fine. Really, you will. If there had been any other way ... but there wasn’t.”

Mike gave a heavy sigh and got to his feet and Gemma stared beseechingly at him as her turned and went to the door, her brain numb with the horror of her situation. A horror which grew deeper and more awful as the door closed behind him and she was left alone. Alone, to scream and moan into her gag; to weep and writhe and fight vainly against his expert and ruthless bondage, until, exhausted, terrified and still tightly bound, she was forced to accept that she was not going to get free without help.

Utterly defenceless, her naked body hopelessly vulnerable in the grip of a multiplicity of strong leather straps which loosened not an inch despite her most frantic and strenuous efforts, Gemma shrieked her despair and horror into the gag as the door to her prison eventually opened to reveal the handlers Mike had promised would come for her. There were three of them; two women and one man; complete strangers. All were dressed in black overalls and clearly expert in the handling and secure transportation of unwilling captives.

Silent and unsmiling, the woman buckled a thick blindfold over Gemma’s frightened eyes then they rolled her writhing, struggling body onto some sort of trolley and wheeled her from the cottage to a waiting van. Six strong hands lifted Gemma and laid her in the rear then adjustable webbing straps secured her, still helplessly bound in Mike’s original bondage, for her journey.

Weeping and screaming, Gemma felt and heard the engine start and realised that she was on her way to the man to whom Mike, her erstwhile partner and lover, had sold her. She was on her way to a future she dared not contemplate and which she could not escape. Part of her brain told her that this could not be happening to her. It was simply not possible for her to be sold like a piece of merchandise or office equipment, but the bonds on her limbs, the gag in her mouth and the swaying of the van in which she was held captive could not be denied or ignored. Gemma wept into the thick blindfold sealing her eyes as she was forced to accept that the sheerly unthinkable had actually happened.

Gemma’s mind raced wildly as she tried to come to terms with her situation. Roxwell was a businessman, dammit. Surely he would never be involved in anything like this? It was nothing less than kidnapping and completely against the law. He and Mike and anyone else involved in something like this would go to jail. It had to be Mike’s idea of a joke ... some sort of stupid game he was playing with her. After all, Gemma reasoned, trying to fight down the terror threatening to overwhelm her, she was a partner in the company and Mike had no right to make deals without her agreement.

The van braked to a halt and Gemma trembled wildly as the doors swung open, then banged shut and the van began to move once more. The heavy blindfold was taken from Gemma’s eyes and while she adjusted to the dim light of a single fitting in the metal roof above, she gave a breathy squeal of abject despair, her limbs tensing vainly against her bonds when she saw and recognised the tall, angular figure standing over her naked body.

Roxwell’s calm greeting contrasted starkly with the smile playing on his thin lips and Gemma screamed in awful anguish as the truth crashed into her reeling brain. Mike was not playing a practical joke on her and she really had been sold to Roxwell! As the millionaire’s eyes glittered with suppressed desire, Gemma shrieked for help and fought her bonds madly in efforts to tear free from the leather straps pinioning her and cover her shamefully exposed nudity from his hot gaze.

Roxwell watched her futile struggles impassively, his face unreadable until Gemma at last grew tired and her furious exertions diminished, then he nodded slowly.

“As I suspected.” he said softly, “It would appear that Mr Bowyer has not been entirely honest with either of us my dear.”

Gemma’s bulging, frightened eyes fixed on his calm face, her nostrils flaring as she sucked in great gasps of air.

“He led me to believe that you were a willing participant in our little deal, Gemma. That you had agreed to my terms in return for my assistance in financing your company’s short-term difficulties. I take it that that was not the case?”

Gemma threw her head from side-to-side, her eyes filled with horrified anger at the duplicity of her business partner. Roxwell nodded again.

“I see.” he said heavily, “That is most unfortunate Miss Longton. You see, I have already transferred the agreed sum from my bank into the account of your company.” He paused, as if considering what to do and Gemma panted, her eyes wide as the millionaire rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“It would, of course, be possible for me to have the transaction rescinded,” he said at last, “but my word has always been my bond and I have agreed to your partner’s deal.” His cold grey eyes stared down into Gemma’s gagged face and the brunette gave a great shudder of despair as he continued, “In my book, a deal is a deal, my dear. Which means that I shall hold Mr Bowyer to the terms we agreed. Both Mr Bowyer and, I am afraid, you, Gemma. As I am sure you know, the legal position is that the terms entered into by one director of a jointly-held company are deemed to have been agreed by all directors. Even if, as in this case, you were completely unaware of the agreement.”

Gemma gaped up at the tall man standing over her and her belly gave a massive lurch. Legally, she knew Roxwell was correct, but surely he could not mean to hold her to an agreement she no only did not know about? It was certainly illegal, morally unacceptable and completely unenforceable in any Court in the land. Roxwell correctly interpreted the emotions flitting overGemma’s face and gave a brief bark of mirthless laughter.

“Oh yes,” he chuckled, “I know what you’re thinking, my dear and you are quite correct. There is no way such an agreement can be held to bind you. Mr Bowyer had no right to enter into such a deal ... but he did, and I accepted the deal he offered. The agreement cannot bind you, Gemma, however you are not bound by an agreement, but by leather straps. Straps which will continue to bind you for as long as I choose.”

The icy chill in Gemma’s belly spread to grip her entire body in a numb cocoon and she fought to not give in to blind panic as the horrifying implications of his words sank into her brain. He was not going to let her go and intended to hold her to whatever deal he had come to with Mike. Whatever the deal was and whatever her unknown part in it might be. Roxwell mistook Gemma’s frozen shock for acquiescence and he smiled.

“Good Gemma. If you continue to behave and not fight I’m sure you won’t have any trouble settling in as my bondage slave.”

The news of her fate exploded like a bomb in Gemma’s mind and the dimly-lit interior of the speeding van filled with muffled screams of horror and snorting gasps of exertion as Gemma wrenched and jerked at the implacable leather and webbing holding her a prisoner. Roxwell’s thin face darkened in a frown of annoyance as Gemma fought to escape and she whimpered helplessly as his fingers clamped her jaw and she was forced to stare up at him.

“Keep still,” he hissed, warningly, “and stop whining. You don’t seem to understand yet. I own you. I paid good money for you as a bondage slave and you had better learn to obey. If you don’t, you’ll suffer. The deal was that I would pay twelve thousand into your company and, in return you would be mine for a year. Bowyer agreed, and you, no matter how much you fight or protest, are going to honour the deal. Twelve months. One whole year to pay your debt, and pay it you will, make no mistake about that.”

He released Gemma’s jaw and the trembling brunette wept in black despair as she faced the nightmare prospect of spending a whole twelve months as a captive. His long fingers darted to her tautly-presented and defenceless breasts and Gemma squealed in shock and outrage when her nipples were captured then rolled and squeezed, but, despite her most frantic attempts to evade the unwanted stimulation, the twin, coffee-brown buds quickly responded to Roxwell’s touch.

With her legs held open by her bondage, Gemma was an easy target for her purchaser’s desires and her helpless body juddered and writhed in sexual arousal even as she wept and screamed her vain protests against the fingers which invaded and explored her. Soon, her naked flesh ran with sweat, leaping to his touch as her arousal exploded and overcame the despairing resistance of her brain. Judging the moment to perfection, Roxwell sat back, taking his hands from her quivering body and leaving his helpless victim teetering on the brink of her climax.

Gemma’s eyes bulged with a terrible need, her body aflame with furious heat and she sobbed and whimpered; frantic for the release she craved and yet terrified by the strength of the passion so easily inflicted on her. In bondage, she could not resist the searing lust forced upon her and she wept in shame as her tormentor gazed down at her, savouring and enjoying his power and the intense longing so clearly written on her gagged face.

“You respond well, Gemma!” he exclaimed. “A good slave should. Now, you will come as the slave you will inevitably learn to be.”

Fingers captured Gemma’s throbbing nipples, others slipped over her clitoris and into her sex and the devastated, soon-to-be-enslaved brunette screamed in ecstatic surrender as her body convulsed in giant pulses and scalding love-juices sprayed into her belly. Lost in the swirling heat of her orgasm, Gemma moaned in shame and humiliation to the knowledge that she had climaxed to order, and worse, to a man she barely knew; hated and feared in equal measure.

How could it be? How could she have reacted so shamelessly and so helplessly? How could she have lost control so completely? And how could she possibly endure a whole year of slavery to him? A whole year of total sexual submission?

There were no answers, for, even as Gemma wept and spasmed in her orgasm, Roxwell replaced her blindfold and she was left to her shame and her submission and her misery as the van sped into the night bearing Gemma, her new owner and her handlers into a future she dared not contemplate.

With her limbs still clamped in the tight embrace of the leather straps Gemma was still utterly helpless as the van braked to a halt for the second time and its doors thrown open. The mute, blind package of naked girl whimpered in horror as several people climbed in and expert hands began to release the webbing tie-downs that held her in the centre of the floor. Unable to move, let alone make any resistance, Gemma gasped and panted as her bound body was manoeuvred onto what she could only assume was the same trolley used to transport her from Mike’s cottage to the van and she sobbed in despair, guessing that she must have arrived at wherever Roxwell planned to hold her captive. Lying on her left side with her limbs cramped from the lengthy bondage, horribly aware of a gentle breeze playing across her naked flesh and cooling the damp patches of sweat staining her body, Gemma strained her ears for any clue to her location.

The feet of her captors crunched on gravel, then scuffled across concrete or brick but aside from those sounds, the night was quiet ... ominously quiet. Gemma realised that there was no sound of traffic or of any of the other noise which was always present in the vicinity of cities or towns. She must be far away from civilisation ... and far from any possibility of help or rescue. Keys rattled in a lock and the sound galvanised Gemma into a desperate series of heaves and lunges as she struggled to free herself before her captors imprisoned her behind whatever door the lock secured.

Cool, strong hands pressed down on her shoulders and thighs holding her with contemptuous ease and she shuddered in misery, realising that she hadn’t a hope of escaping. The trolley glided forward, its wheels hissing across a smooth, flat surface, and Gemma knew that she was inside a building. What building it might be, or where it was, she had not the slightest idea and she panted rapidly, a prey to her fears as she was propelled deeper into Roxwell’s domain.

The trolley stopped, but then to her disbelief began to descend. She must be in a lift. Going down and down, deep beneath the earth. By the time the descent came to an end, Gemma was in a state of complete and abject terror. If she was underground, she’d never be able to escape from whatever this place was. Confused and disorientated, she whimpered in despair as she was wheeled onwards, but at last her journey ended and she was lifted from the trolley then set on her bottom on a coarsely-carpeted floor.

Her blindfold was removed and she stared up at the four people standing over her; Roxwell and her three handlers.

“Welcome to your slave quarters, Gemma.” Roxwell beamed, “This is where you will spend some of your time while you are undergoing training.” He turned to the three silent handlers, “Untie her ankles and release her elbows, but leave her wrists.”

The handlers did as he ordered then stood back, watching impassively as Gemma winced and groaned while the blood returned to her numbed arms and legs.

“There.” Roxwell grinned, “That’s better, isn’t it? Good. Now, listen carefully and I’ll explain what’s going to happen to you.”

Gemma was in no mood to listen and scrambled to her feet, her eyes wild as she sought for some way to escape the predicament she was in. The door behind Roxwell was wide open and, never giving a thought to the consequences of her action, Gemma made a dash for it.

She didn’t even get close, the handlers anticipated just such an attempt, leapt forward, grabbing her before she’d even covered six feet. Dragged back to Roxwell and forced to her knees before him, Gemma wept in bitter frustration as he shook his head sadly.

“Oh dear, oh dear.” he chided, “I see we are going to have to do this the hard way. What a pity, Gemma. I had hoped you were going to be sensible and accept your side of the deal, but I fear you are not. Very well then. You will have to be taught that I take a very dim view of disobedience and people who try to welsh on a bargain. Strap her to the pole, leave her for two hours, then arouse her breasts. Call me when you have done so. I’ll be in my study.”

He turned on his heel and strode from the room, leaving Gemma alone with her three silent handlers, her eyes bulging with shock and disbelief as she tried in vain to comprehend the dreadful meaning of his words. A meaning which soon became all too clear, as still on her knees and held that way by the tight grip of the male handler on her shoulders, Gemma saw the other two open a large cupboard built into the wall of her cell and select a number of broad leather straps similar to those she already wore.

Ninety minutes later, Gemma stared down in appalled fascination at her own bare, mercilessly-tensioned breasts, tightly bound, crossed ankles and exposed sex and thighs; all waiting helplessly for the unavoidable touch of her captors. There was little else she could do, for a strap encircling her head and stretched tightly from her forehead to her bound ankles kept her face lowered and gave her no choice but to look at her own invitingly-posed, extreme vulnerability.

Behind her erect back, five sets of heavy leather straps welded her arms immovably to the solid wooden post and a broad collar around her neck and the post prevented her from even looking away from the devastating sight of her helplessness. At her breasts, straps above and below accentuated the pale orbs, thrusting them forward and up and Gemma gulped miserably as she imagined how easily her tender nipples could be caressed.

To complete her immobility the handlers had used yet more straps at her belly and hips and Gemma was horribly aware that she was utterly defenceless and quite unable to move, let alone protect herself against anything that her captors might choose to do.

She couldn’t even scream, for her handlers had replaced her gag with another, far worse. From nose to jaw, her face was invisible beneath a wide, heavy, gleaming black gag-strap, from which rose two, thinner straps passing on each side of her nose and over the crown of her head to draw the gag-strap snugly onto her cheeks and pulling the attached massive cylinder of hard leather deep into her mouth and between her parted teeth. Speech was quite out of the question. Even whimpering was well-nigh impossible.

In the few seconds it had taken them to remove then replace her old gag with the new, Gemma had offered them everything she possessed if they would only let her go. Money, her car, her jewellery, anything. In desperation, she had even offered the male handler her body, feeling her face flush a bright scarlet as she did so. But not even that had worked and Gemma shivered with embarrassment as she remembered the appraising, almost calculating way he had looked at her. As if she was being weighed up or assessed, almost like some sort of weird job interview. She hadn’t understood it then and she still didn’t, but, either way, he had chosen not to accept her offer and the huge, horrible new gag had been thrust into her mouth, after which, she could no longer offer herself, even if she had wanted to.

Bound inescapably to her post, Gemma had no option but to wait. Wait and wonder, growing more and more frightened as she imagined all the things that could, so very easily, be done to her. Roxwell had already made her climax once, in the van, but she had been far less helpless, far less vulnerable on that occasion.

For what felt like the thousandth time, Gemma exerted every atom of her strength against the leather which held her so helpless…and for the thousandth time failed to win even the slightest relaxation of her stringent bondage. Big, hot tears of misery and despair rolled down her bulging cheeks and soaked into the gag squeezing her face as she was forced to accept that she had no hope of escape and her brain quailed as she tried to come to terms with what had happened to her.

It didn’t seem possible, but there was no disputing the fact of her captivity, or the fact that she was entirely at the mercy of Roxwell and his three silent assistants. How could Mike have agreed to such a deal? For years, Gemma and he had fought to make s success of their business, sharing each setback and triumph, celebrating the good times and commiserating over the bad, working together as a team and giving everything to make the business work ... until now.

She felt her face flush with a mixture of shame and growing anger as she remembered Mike’s fingers and lips on her body and her own willing cooperation and responses as they made love together. She had always known that Mike was ruthless in business, but could never have imagined that his determination to succeed would lead him to make a deal in which she would become simply a bargaining counter. A business asset, to be negotiated away in return for financial advantage. Gemma gulped, her tightly-bound nudity quivering as she stared wildly at her defenceless breasts and sex. Mike had sold her ... delivered her as a naked, gagged, gift-wrapped captive into the hands of Roxwell. To belong to him ... to be owned by him for a whole year. Owned and used, as he had already demonstrated, in any way he chose.

Despite the horror of her situation, Gemma could not entirely crush a niggling curiosity as to what Roxwell might have in mind. He had told her she was to become a bondage-slave, but what could that mean? She couldn’t be kept tied up for a whole year, surely? Roxwell would have to let her go sometime and if she was free, how could he keep her against her will? Perhaps he imagined that she would agree to his ridiculous deal with Mike. If so, he was sadly mistaken. The moment she got free, she was going to the Police. Kidnapping, false imprisonment, assault ... oh yes, Mike and Roxwell would both go to jail and Gemma would be there to see them taken away. To see it and enjoy it. That would teach them both that they couldn’t mess with her and get away with it.

For a few minutes, bouyed-up by the pleasant prospect of imagining the two conspirators getting their come-uppance, Gemma’s spirits rose, then sank back to rock-bottom as the reality of her situation intruded into her day-dream. Those things might happen when she got free, but she most certainly wasn’t free yet, and while she remained hopelessly bound, her hopes and dreams were just so much pie-in-the-sky.

Her body was stiff, every joint and muscle aching and Gemma wondered how long it had been since she was left alone. It couldn’t be much longer before the three handlers returned and she felt a deeply unwanted and unexpected warmth percolate into her belly as she remembered that they had instructions to arouse her breasts. She couldn’t really believe that they could, couldn’t really believe that she was a genuine captive ... but if she was and they did ...

To her intense shame, Gemma felt her tawny nipples quiver and twitch and her eyes bulged as she saw the twin buds begin to stiffen and grow hard as she visualised knowing female fingers toying with her. Bound as she was, she couldn’t possibly evade their touch or cover herself and would have no choice but to endure whatever they did to her. Not to mention what the third handler, the man, might do. Or Roxwell, when they had aroused her and sent for him to see the results of her arousal.

Gemma’s slim muscles corded beneath her skin as she strained against her bonds and her belly churned with a mix of hear and shameful arousal as she anticipated the return of her captors and a repeat of the irresistible stimulation which had lead to her helpless submission to Roxwell in the van on her way to this place. A submission she had been forced to give once and which she had an awful, growing conviction that she would be made to give again. And again, and again.

Struggling in her bondage, Gemma froze as the door to her cell swung open and footsteps approached. Held by the strap from her head to her ankles, she could not look up and trembled wildly as three sets of legs came into her field of view; two female and one male, her handlers. Gemma panted for breath, knowing that her displayed body lay open to any torment they chose to inflict upon her.

The breath exploded from her lungs as, without giving her a moment’s notice to prepare, two palms cupped her out thrust breasts and two sets of fingers captured her already-hard nipples, rubbing, squeezing and twirling the prominent buds and sending unbearable jolts of tremendous stimulation racing through her immobilised body.

Gemma screamed shrilly into her huge gag, devastated by the merciless assault, but was powerless to control the instant and automatic responses forced from her as she was sent spinning into a frenzy of desperate need. Her nipples sprang erect, throbbing and quivering as the hands caressed her flesh and she whimpered and moaned as she learned that her handlers were frighteningly skilled in extracting the maximum degree of fervid, burning lust from any captive unfortunate enough to fall into their clutches.

The leather straps of her bondage impressed their marks in her soft, resilient flesh as, again and again, Gemma shuddered and strained in maddened arousal to the ruthless demands of her handlers, squealing for mercy, for just a moment’s respite from the inferno of lust consuming her.

Dimly, through her haze of enforced passion, Gemma was vaguely aware of three different sets of hands fondling her engorged and throbbing breasts, but was far too distraught and out of control to fully realise, let alone care, that she was being tormented by both the man and the two women.

Drowning in the whirlpool of sexual excitement created in her by the knowing fingers of her handlers, Gemma surrendered to the storm of arousal sweeping over her, her brain giving up the futile attempt to retain some form of control over her body and leaving her entirely at the mercy of the physical sensations overwhelming her as she shuddered in the iron grip of needs and lusts, the like of which she had never known before. Had never even known could exist.

Lost in the depths of her desire, squealing in terrible ecstasy to every calculated touch of her handlers, Gemma was not even aware that one of them had left the room. It was only when the strap holding her bent head was released and her head was forced back to make her look up that Gemma, moaning and juddering in the throes of her need, realised with a stab of pure unalloyed horror, that Roxwell was standing before her, his eyes gleaming with triumph as he surveyed her naked, sweat-streaked, helplessly-responding body. Before she could even begin to recover from the terrible shock, Roxwell bent down and his long, bony fingers sank into the gaping, wetly-lubricated channel of her sex.

Gemma could not hold back for even a second, her churning belly exploding in white-hot pulses of love-juices as his casual pillaging of her most intimate and secret recesses, hurled her headlong into a tremendous orgasm. Her internal muscles seized his invading fingers in a vice-like grip, contracting and pulling him ever deeper into her belly as she surrendered to the incandescent fury of the climax forced on her, her fear and hatred of him and what he was doing to her, overwhelmed in the sheer power of her release.
With his fingers still buried deep in her spasming belly, Roxwell stared coldly into Gemma’s terrified, uncomprehending eyes.

“Your first real climax as my slave-girl Gemma.” he whispered softly, “Your first submission to a Master ... the first of many you will give as you are trained and learn what it is to serve, really serve, as a slave in the power of Masters who know the extent of submission which may be forced from you.”
Gemma could not tear her eyes away from his almost hypnotic gaze and felt her body trembling with fear and horror as the millionaire nodded gently.

“Oh yes, my dear,” he went on, “that’s right. You will be trained to serve and obey as a slave and you will submit ... completely and with no reservations. You will serve me and you will serve many other Masters and Mistresses during the next year, my dear, and you had best serve them and me well, slave. As Owners and Masters, we do not take kindly to slaves who disobey or are not pleasing. We have many ways of expressing our displeasure ... ways which are both uncomfortable and painful, as you will no doubt learn.”
Fighting desperately to control the panic threatening to overwhelm her completely, Gemma’s brown eyes betrayed the horror she felt as Roxwell explained the fate awaiting her and she learned that she was to be not only at the mercy of him and his three assistants, but was to become the helpless, unwilling victim of other, as yet unknown Masters. Roxwell straightened, his eyes glittering as he gave orders to Gemma’s three handlers.

“You have almost a week until the next meeting. Begin her basic training, but be sure you do not break her spirit and impose only light discipline on her. I want her unmarked, so you will have to limit punishment for the time being.”

The three handlers inclined their heads gravely and Gemma shuddered in terrible anxiety, her mind whirling as she tried to make sense of Roxwell’s instructions. There was going to be some sort of meeting in a week, but what did that mean? Who was going to meet and why? What did he mean by basic training? Most frightening of all ... what about light discipline and punishments and wanting her unmarked? What did it all mean?

There were no answers for Gemma and her tightly bound frame trembled wildly as Roxwell strode out of the door, leaving her alone and helpless with her handlers.

She shook her head in disbelief, refusing to accept the evidence of her own eyes as the man strolled casually from the room, only to return seconds later with a coiled black leather strap in his right hand then spoke for the first time.

“This is called a Devil’s Palm, slave girl.” he said calmly, unrolling the strap to reveal five broad, flat fingers of leather braided into a thick handle, “And this is what it does.”

Before Gemma could even begin to anticipate the action his right hand rose and then fell with a wristy flick. The sharp “Splaat” of leather impacting on the exposed and tender flesh of Gemma’s inner left thigh was followed by a split second of absolute silence. A silence broken by a high, breathy squeal of pained anguish from behind Gemma’s mouth-filling gag as an angry red patch bloomed on her smooth skin where the sudden blow had landed.

Tears of shock and pain filled her brown eyes and her slim muscles corded vainly as Gemma fought against her bonds, but they were far too strong and held her easily despite her frantic efforts. Strong fingers gripped her jaw and she winced as she was forced to look up, into the determined face of her assailant.

“Disobedience will not be tolerated, slave!” he hissed coldly, “You have been warned.”

He moved away to join his companions. Devastated, her thigh burning with a stinging fire, Gemma whimpered piteously, but to no avail. Her handlers remained completely unmoved by her anguish and the cruel smiles playing about the corners of their lips told Gemma more clearly than any words that it would be futile to look for any sympathy or pity from their direction. Sixty seconds ticked by. Sixty seconds in which Gemma faced the almost unthinkable. No matter how impossible it seemed, she was a captive. She could be kept naked and in bondage. And she could be, and would be, cruelly punished if she failed to obey.

By the time her captors broke the tense silence and moved towards her again, Gemma knew what she must do. No matter what the cost to her dignity or ego, she would obey and cooperate with them until she got the chance to escape and bring them to the justice they so richly deserved. Then, she vowed to herself, then we shall see who laughs last and who has the upper hand.

As the straps securing her were unbuckled, Gemma crumpled to the floor, her limbs numbed after the hours of immobility. Helpless, she groaned as her gag was removed and returning circulation brought pins and needles, but her handlers remained unsympathetic, ordering her to hurry up and get onto her knees. She tried to protest and explain, but her attempt was rudely cut short as the leather thongs of the Devil’s Palm slapped smartly across her buttocks, bringing a gasp of pain from her lips and an undignified scramble to take up the ordered position.

“Good. Now listen up, slave girl. We don’t have time to train you fully. That will have to be completed later. For now, you’ll just learn the basics, which are as follows. One, you obey immediately and exactly every order given to you by a Master or Mistress. As far as you’re concerned, that means anybody you see while you are here. Two, you don’t speak until you’re spoken to and when you do, you call everyone Master or Mistress. And three, you get down on your knees whenever you meet a Master or Mistress and you stay there until you’re told you can get up. Right, have you got that, slave girl?”

Gemma hesitated. Of course she understood, the three rules weren’t exactly difficult to grasp, but their underlying intent was all too plain. Acceptance of them meant acceptance that others controlled her and had the right to give her orders she would have to obey. It was not something to be accepted lightly, even if it was only until she could escape.

“I said, have you got that?” the harsh demand was accompanied by a stinging blow from the leather palm and Gemma leapt to her feet rubbing her right buttock. “You have five seconds to get back in position and answer the question.”

There was no anger in the voice, but it held a cold arrogance that sent a shiver up Gemma’s spine and she somehow knew, without knowing quite how, that a failure to get back on her knees would be extremely unpleasant for her.

Scarlet with embarrassment and furious with herself for being so weak, Gemma sank meekly to her knees and lowered her face to hide her shame.

“That’s better. Masters do not care to repeat their orders to slaves. You would have received six strokes of the palm if you had disobeyed.”

Gemma raised her head slowly and flinched as she met the merciless eyes of her handlers, realising with a convulsive gulp just how close she had come to earning herself a punishment.

“However, you did fail to address us as Masters and for that you will receive two strokes. Bend forward and place your hands behind your neck.”

Gemma’s draw dropped and she stared dumbly at the speaker for long seconds, then, recovering her powers of speech, she gasped.

“Oh, but we can, slave girl. We can and we will. And that is the second time you have failed to call us Masters. You have now earned four strokes. Any further delay or disobedience will cost you six more. Now, get in position!”

The final four words were snapped out in a low, venomous growl and Gemma shuddered wildly, frightened by the suppressed anger in the tone and the knowledge that she was alone against the three of them. If it came to it, she could not prevent them from tying her up again and then punishing her and she was bright enough to realise that if she made them go to such lengths, any punishment she did receive would probably be far worse than the one they already planned for her.

Trembling like a leaf, Gemma laced her fingers behind her neck and inclined her body forward a few inches.

“Further, slave girl. Further, I said! Go on, right down on your knees. Good, now keep still and don’t make a sound unless you want your punishment to be doubled.”

There was absolutely no trace of pity in the voice and Gemma, doubled over into a tight, trembling ball, clamped her lips together, shuddering as cool leather slid over her upraised buttocks, then tensing as it lifted away. Flaring heat erupted across her left buttock and Gemma’s jaw clenched as she fought not to scream, her fingers clawing at the empty air as a second blow sent matching, blistering heat into her tautly presented right buttock. A shrill squeal of shock greeted the penetration of knowing fingers between Gemma’s thighs, but her instinctive recoil was forestalled by a sharp order.

Explosive gasps of arousal burst from Gemma’s nose as skilful caresses sent arousal surging into her belly, but the threat of savage reprisals if she resisted held her captive and her eyes filled with tears of shame and anguish as fear and desire fought for supremacy in her tormented body. Helpless, she could not stop herself becoming aroused and as her labia and clitoris were stroked and rubbed and caressed, her thighs parted to open her to the wonderful, terrible fingers that created such delicious havoc in her belly. Instantly, the leather struck again.

The order forced Gemma to raise her smarting buttocks high in the air once more, despite her fervent wish to spread herself wide and allow the fingers to give her the climax she longed for.

“Hot little slave girl.” a woman’s voice whispered in her ear and Gemma, far gone in her need, nodded and moaned.

“Then you had best climax as a slave girl!” the woman chuckled and her hands burrowed beneath Gemma to fasten on the brunette’s nipples as she arched her back to raise her breasts and deliver them into the waiting palms.

The crack of leather across Gemma’s bottom, the chuckle of her Mistress and the shrill shriek of ecstasy of a slave girl at orgasm blended into one as a mixture of pleasure and pain sent Gemma hurtling into a tremendous climax and her body convulsed to the power of her surrender as heated love juices spurted into her belly and sex, drenching the fingers embedded deep within her. Shattered, Gemma curled into a tight foetal ball as the hands left her and could only whimper softly to herself, her hands clamped between her thighs as massive spasms of lust raced through and over her as her orgasm ran its course. Dimly, through her haze of intense sexual pleasure, Gemma heard her handlers discussing her.

“Yes, she’s just the type they like. Come on, let’s get her fixed for the night. I could do with a nice long drink.”

Too exhausted to fight and knowing that any attempt would be doomed to failure, Gemma made no resistance as she was hauled to her feet, marched out of the room and into small cell with a solid iron door.

“Toilet and basin in there.” a casual wave of an arm, “Bed there. We’ll feed you in the morning. Get some sleep.”

The door clanged shut and bolts grated. Gemma was alone. She stumbled to the toilet on wobbly legs, drank a little water, then tottered back to the bed where she fell face down and went out like a light.

Gemma stood motionless in the pose of a slave girl’s submission she had been taught so well, her back slightly arched and legs spread to display her breasts and belly, wrists tightly clasped at the small of her back and her head lowered.

She was neither bound nor gagged, but dared not break her position or make a sound, for she was in the presence of her trainers and was acutely conscious that the smallest breach of discipline on her part would bring forth instant retribution in the form of stinging lashes from the Devil’s Palms hanging from the belts of her three watchers.

Her downcast eyes focussed on the rapid rise and fall of her own naked breasts, but Gemma had been held prisoner long enough to no longer feel embarrassment at her enforced nudity and was only relieved that she had managed to get through a whole training session without incurring the displeasure of her captors and the punishment that invariably accompanied their displeasure.

The taller of her two female captors walked behind her, a broad shiny strap in her fist and Gemma winced as the leather was buckled tightly around her wrists, confining her hands behind her.

Obeying the order, Gemma bit back a gasp of dismay as her eyes fastened on the “present” laid out across her male trainer’s arm. Polished black leather and shining steel glittered in the lights and she gulped nervously at what appeared to be a long, tapering tube of leather, wide at one end, but narrowing to a small bag at the other, with a heavy steel ring inset at the very tip. A line of much smaller steel rings ran up each edge of the V-shaped opening and through these, black leather lacing cris-crossed from top to bottom, while at the top edge, two long buckled straps were firmly stitched.
Gemma had never seen anything like it in her life, but knew instinctively that, whatever it was, she was not going to enjoy it. Not that her enjoyment, or otherwise, would make the slightest difference to her trainers.

So it proved, for, as the shorter woman took unconcealed delight in explaining to Gemma that the tube was called a singe glove and was designed to clamp Gemma’s arms rigidly behind her, the other two trainers took the device behind the brunette’s back and began to work the bag end over Gemma’s clasped fingers.

Knowing that any resistance would be both futile and punished, Gemma allowed her wrists to be lifted away from her spine and felt the leather smoothed over her hands and it was only as the bag tightened that Gemma realised that she could no longer unclasp her fingers. Her puzzlement and anxiety grew as the single glove was worked up her forearms and over her elbows to a point near her shoulder blades, but she still failed to comprehend the true nature of the device, even when the long attached straps were drawn over her shoulders, crossed between her breasts, then down and under her arms to be clipped back to the rear of the awful thing.

The truth only began to dawn on Gemma when she felt the laces begin to tighten but by then it was far too late. Inch by inch, ring by ring, the remorseless tightening began to clamp Gemma’s wrists, then her forearms together and as the tension increased, so did her horror, until she could keep silent no longer.

Gemma gaped at the woman who she had always thought of as the softest and most sympathetic of her captors and her belly quivered with a sudden fear as she drew her Devil’s Palm and flicked it delicately across Gemma’s defenceless breasts. The warning was crystal clear and Gemma shuddered in despair as she realised that her hopes were groundless. None of her trainers were in the least bit sympathetic to her situation and she could expect no mercy whatsoever if she disobeyed.

Clenching her teeth together to prevent the smallest sound escaping, Gemma strained her shoulders back as the laces continued their inexorable tightening. Her elbows squeezed closer and closer and her brain reeled as they touched and were then welded together when her arms formed a single, pained column. Behind, the man checked the tension of each lacing and tied the final knot, sealing Gemma’s arms into their leather sheath. With his companion, he walked around to stand in front of Gemma and watched as the woman pulled each of the buckled straps cruelly tight, holding the single glove securely in place and eliminating even the faintest hope of Gemma somehow being able to slip the leather down her arms.

As her captors smiled and discussed their uncomfortable bondage of her, Gemma stared wide eyed from one to the other, her misery deepening as she saw no signs of compassion in their cruel faces. The mention of her breasts sent her eyes downwards and she gave a soft whimper as she saw that they were quite correct. The tension of the single glove forced her shoulders back and combined with the tightness of the straps beneath, her breasts were lifted to project their twin mounds into shameful prominence ... so much so that her nipples stood out like acorns and she found to her horror that even when she wriggled her shoulder her tautened breasts barely quivered.

“Don’t move. We’ll be back for you shortly.” and the door banged shut behind the trio.

Alone with her thoughts, and her bondage, Gemma stood as she had been placed, the unremitting tension in her arms uncomfortable but bearable and serving to remind her at every moment of her lowly place in her captors’ scheme of things. Escape was completely out of the question, her tightly clasped leather sheathed fingers could not possibly operate a door handle, even if it was not locked. In any case, she was in an underground complex, beneath, she assumed, Roxwell’s house and had no idea where she was or which way to run even if she did manage, by some miracle to get to the surface.

Her chances were one in a million and if she tried to escape and failed ... well, the consequences of that didn’t bear thinking about. Time passed and Gemma’s arms grew stiffer and stiffer as she tried to decide whether to risk her trainer’s displeasure by disobeying their order. Very slowly and very carefully, listening intently for the first sound of their return, she began to wriggle her shoulders and tense her arms in their sheath. Gradually she became less cautious and began to pant as her efforts grew more forceful, then sank to her knees, her torso writhing as she exerted her full strength against the heavy leather cocooning her limbs. The leather gave not a fraction of an inch and Gemma shrugged her shoulders angrily as she gave up in frustration and resumed her position exactly as before.

By the time her trainers reappeared, a chastened and depressed Gemma waited resignedly for their commands knowing full well that there was no way she could free herself without help and that there was no help to be had. Tied up as she was, there was no alternative for her but to do exactly as she was bid and hope that, sometime, somewhere, she would get the chance to get away.

Before her resistance was broken entirely and she became a permanent and, Heaven forbid, willing slave.

Without a word, Gemma’s trainers walked over to where she stood and their fingers captured her nipples and stroked her labia, sending irresistible arousal crashing through her body before she had a chance to prepare herself. The breath burst from her lungs in a great gasp of helpless desire and her body writhed against their hands as their arrogant plundering of her nudity reinforced her sense of submission with a burning desire to be made to climax as the bound captive she was.

Gemma’s wishes, however, were not to be granted, for all too soon for the gasping, madly responding brunette their hands were taken from her body, to leave her moaning in loss and furiously aroused. Strong hands seized her bound elbows.

Gemma was propelled from her cell, along a corridor and into a lift and as it purred upwards, she broke her imposed silence, daring to risk punishment as a thousand questions tumbled through her brain.

“Be silent, slave girl or it will be the worse for you. You would be well advised to obey the rules you have been taught. Masters are not always as lenient as we have been.”

Her curiosity unsatisfied, Gemma was smart enough to recognise that any further speech on her part would be most unwise and subsided into a sulky silence. The lift door sighed open to reveal another corridor, but carpeted this time, and Gemma walked forward as the grip on her single glove tightened. The small procession went past two plain wooden doors on each side, then through a third on the left. The room they entered was about twenty feet square and completely bare except for a thick carpet into which Gemma’s bare feet sank luxuriously.

“On your knees, slave girl. Ankles crossed.” the order came from the man and as soon as Gemma obeyed a buckled strap drew taut, preventing her from rising and arching her slightly backwards when it was clipped to the ring at the finger end of her single glove. A sound from above made her arch her head to stare upwards, but as she did so, three brilliant spotlights clicked on, dazzling her and starkly illuminating her bound nudity.

Gemma was dazzled but not before she had seen a sort of minstrel’s gallery projecting from the far wall about fifteen feet above the floor where she knelt ... a gallery where shadowy figures sat, staring down at her.

Gemma screamed wildly, her eyes vainly trying to penetrate the brilliant glare of the lights, her mind stunned by the realisation that there were people up there. People watching her. People who could see every naked curve of her helpless body. Her bondage. She wrenched madly at her bound limbs as she fought to cover herself from the eyes she knew were there, then froze in stunned disbelief as a disembodied voice spoke from above her dark head.

“Thank you all for attending this slave auction, ladies and gentlemen. As you can see, we offer a fine young female on this occasion. She is, of course, not yet fully trained, but I am quite sure that all of you are perfectly capable of supplying the necessary instruction.”

A ripple of appreciative laughter from the watching audience broke the spell which held Gemma paralysed in its thrall.

From behind Gemma’s agonised, up-tilted head, a hand holding a massive leather gag appeared and Gemma’s protests died in a gurgling splutter as it was forced cruelly between her jaws and deep into her mouth, then buckled tightly behind her neck. Silenced, she could only whimper in horror as the calm voice of the auctioneer resumed.

“A fine pair of lungs, too, “he quipped, “as you might expect from such a lovely chest. Now then, ladies and gentlemen, to the business of the evening. What am I bid for this slave-to-be? She has never felt the whip, as yet, and as you have seen, has much to learn. This is a rare opportunity, my friends. A brand new, untrained slave girl. One who will only know the discipline which you choose to impose upon her as you bend her to your will. Shall we begin the bidding with fifteen thousand? Thank you madam. Thank you, sir. Seventeen thousand. Twenty thousand. Twenty-five thousand. Thank you ma’am. Thirty thousand. Only thirty? Come, my friends, think of it. Think of the pleasure to be had. She will make a superb slave. Look at those breasts. That bottom, just begging for the touch of a whip. You could be the first to lay your whip there. And responsive, too. You down there, show the ladies and gentlemen how she reacts.”

Gemma shrieked with anguish as she heard the order, but was held cruelly exposed in her bonds as hands darted down over her shoulders and fastened on her tensioned breasts, stroking and rubbing and squeezing her defenceless nipples until the crinkled flesh of her twin buds grew stiff and erect, throbbing unmercifully as she wept and sobbed and threw her head from side to side in desperate and utterly futile efforts to free herself and flee from the ruthless stimulation and the shameful exhibition of her enforced need.

Totally at the mercy of her captors and before the prying eyes of the watchers above, Gemma’s tightly bound body shuddered galvanically as she was laid on her back and her yawning, pink-lipped sex exposed to the watching eyes and probing fingers of her trainers. Unable to help herself, Gemma was forced to orgasm and as her belly contracted with incredible power and she screamed in overwhelming anguish into her gag, the unseen auctioneer resumed his sales pitch.

“A most impressive demonstration I am sure you will agree, ladies and gentlemen. And from a slave girl who is untrained. Think how much more may be expected when she knows the whip. Thank you, madam. Thirty-five thousand I am bid. Thirty-eight. Forty. Excellent, sir. Forty-two. Forty-four. No more bids, then? At forty-four. Going once, going twice at forty-four thousand. All done? At forty-four thousand. Sold to The Consortium. Thank you, ladies and gentlemen.”

On her back on the thick carpet beneath the pitiless lights, Gemma’s gagged face ran with tears as the terrified brunette tried to understand what had just happened to her.

She couldn’t be auctioned like a-a piece of furniture, or a painting. And she hadn’t even been able to see who had been bidding. A hand slapped her right hip and Gemma strained to look down. There, on her hip, an oblong of yellow paper stuck to her flesh. A muffled wail of sheer terror, horrified despair leaked past the thick gag in her mouth for printed on the paper in large red letters, was a single word.

Gemma shook her head in refusal of the blunt message signified by the paper on her body, but her ankles were untied and she was hauled unceremoniously to her feet then frog marched back down to her cell, where a padlock snapped through the ring at the finger end of her single glove and a ring bolt in the wall secured her standing to gaze despairingly at her three smiling captors.

“You have done very well for us, slave girl.” they told her. “Our percentage of your sale price will be well worth our weeks’ training, so we’ll give you a little advance information about what is going to happen to you now. It may help to save you some punishments if you take it to heart. You have been bought and paid for as a slave girl and no matter how you feel about that, it’s a fact and one you would be well advised to remember. You won’t be freed and you will be made to submit and obey, by force if necessary. You are now owned by a group known as The Consortium and they have paid a high price for you. They will expect you to be pleasing in every way and will have no compunction about punishing you if you do not give them exactly what they demand. The best advice to you is to forget what you once were, forget about any rights you may have had, forget about escaping or any silly ideas about resisting. You won’t be able to and you’ll only make things worse for yourself. So do as you are told, obey immediately and exactly, no matter what and life may not be so bad. Refuse to cooperate ... well, you will regret it if you do. Right! Now we are going to leave. The Consortium will soon be here to collect you, so think about what you’ve been told. Believe us, it’s the best advice a slave girl could have ... and you are a slave girl. Your body already responds like one and it’s only a matter of time until your mind surrenders to the inevitable.”

The three trainers nodded as one, their faces serious as Gemma’s fate was outlined to her, then they turned and the heavy iron door closed firmly behind them.

Alone and securely tethered, Gemma’s brain raced as she reviewed the unwelcome news she’d received. She now belonged, if that was the right word, to a group of people known as The Consortium ... a group of people she didn’t even know. People who, impossible though it seemed, intended to keep her as their slave girl and treat her as the helpless subject of their sexual fantasies and erotic desires.

An icy lump of stark terror rose in Gemma’s throat and she tugged and heaved at her leather clamped arms, desperate to escape the awful prospect of becoming the plaything of an unknown number of bondage enthusiasts, all intent on her submission.

Iron and leather mocked her frantic exertions and Gemma wept tears as she was forced to accept that she could not escape and would simply have to wait to see what her new owners, The Consortium, intended to do with her.

Bolts rattled back at the door to her cell and as it swung open, Gemma, already knowing that she was doomed to failure, threw all of her small strength into one final battle against her bonds. Her best efforts were to no avail and she shrank back against the brick wall as a tall figure strode into the room. It was Roxwell, his eyes glittering feverishly and his thin lips curled in a predatory leer.

“So, my dear Gemma!” he hissed, “We meet again, as I promised.” His shoulders shook with silent laughter as his eyes devoured the taut thrusts of her naked breasts and the sweet curves of her belly and hips. “I have been looking forward to this!” he went on, “Now that you have been purchased by The Consortium, I intend to see much more of you, my dear. You see, I am a member of the group and my friends and I can hardly wait to ... ah ... initiate you into your new duties as a full bondage slave dedicated to serving your Masters and Mistresses in any way we choose.”

Gemma’s wide eyes and trembling body made his cruel grin grow broader and he nodded gleefully as she realised the full extent of her hopeless predicament.

“Mm, not only have I made a very healthy profit from your sale, my dear, but I shall still have the pleasure of seeing you kneel in humble submission before me and beg to be taken by your Master. Oh yes, I shall enjoy using your body my girl and I shall enjoy seeing you serving my friends. A definite case of eating one’s cake and having it, too, wouldn’t you say?” and his evil chuckle sent a cold shiver through the helpless brunette.

As if on cue, feet clattered down the corridor and Gemma squealed in shock and fear as a number of men and women walked into her cell, their hard smiles and coldly gleaming eyes drinking in her anguished horror and shamefully vulnerable nudity as they inspected their latest, and very expensive acquisition.

Indifferent to Gemma’s screams and moans, two men seized her legs and held her as a woman crouched down, took two shining steel rings from a small case, hinged them open and then closed them around Gemma’s slim ankles, a sharp double click confirming that internal locking devices had functioned correctly.

Staring down in numbed fascination past the heads of the two men holding her legs, Gemma gaped at the gleaming metal locked around her ankles, each seamless band with two smaller rings dangling from opposite sides. It took no great mental powers on Gemma’s part to guess what these were for, but the stunning reality was made brutally clear as a second woman came forward with a long steel bar in her hands and the men exerted their superior strength to spread Gemma’s legs wide, against every furious resistance the horrified brunette could put up.

Clips at the ends of the bar snapped into the rings on Gemma’s ankle cuffs and the men released their grip then stood back as she fought madly to close her gaping thighs. Beads of sweat sprang out on her struggling body, but the fight was hopeless and at last, Gemma grew still, her brain reeling and eyes bulging in the knowledge that she was no match for her bonds or for the Masters and Mistresses who had bound her so thoroughly and in such a defenceless posture. She dared not raise her eyes, for she knew how utterly helpless she was and that every part of her body lay open and available to her watchers and feared that any movement might trigger the devastating assault she knew must come.

“The Consortium will now take possession of its slave.” the voice was calm, deep and unknown to Gemma and it sent a thrill of delicious fear and instant arousal racing through her. She was bound inescapably, incapable of any form of resistance and at the mercy of a large group of dominant men and women. There was absolutely nothing she could do to prevent or even delay the torment they meant to inflict upon her for she was but a slave and they her Masters. She must, would be forced, to endure whatever they chose to do and she gasped into her gag as her breasts quivered and her groin moistened with anticipation.

She threw her head back in delirious impotence as fingers captured her nipples, roamed over her belly and ribs, explored between her gaping thighs and delved into the crack between her buttocks, rolling, squeezing, caressing her twitching flesh, penetrating the recesses of her heated sex and bringing a shocked gasp from her nostrils as even the tight ring of her anal passage was breached by an inquisitive finger, until her whole body melted into a roaring sea of flame and lust and overwhelming arousal and she screamed and whimpered and pleaded to be allowed to climax.

With her eyes screwed tightly shut and her slight frame juddering frenziedly to the shattering torment, Gemma was not permitted even the briefest moment of rest and spiralled higher and higher into one pulverising climax after another, her body running with sweat and her sex and belly and thighs spattered with the shiny silver droplets of her submissions as she was forced to respond again and again to the merciless demands of her owners and Masters.

Squealing for a mercy she was not shown, Gemma hurtled headlong into yet another orgasm as stinging hands cracked across her gyrating buttocks, adding searing heat to the unbearable stimulation of every pleasure centre of her writhing body and wringing further spasms from her as she surrendered fully to the needs forced upon her.

Exhausted and devastated, utterly subjugated by her Masters, Gemma fell to her knees, her arms angled high behind her and her forehead resting on the floor, her belly still pulsing explosively, as she was finally allowed to rest. All around her voices, some excited, some amused and some calm and dispassionate, discussed her performance and submissions and the shuddering brunette wept and sobbed into her gag as she heard Roxwell explain to other members of The Consortium, details of the business deal which had delivered her into their power. Cruel laughter greeted his explanation and Gemma moaned in black despair, knowing that none of his listeners felt even a twinge of pity for her terrible situation and that any hopes she might have had for mercy would not be realised. The Consortium held her in its iron grip and Gemma was coldly certain that its members would be satisfied with nothing less than her absolute obedience and submission to their will.

The orgasms forced upon her and which still burned brightly in her belly were only a foretaste of what was to come and as Gemma faced her uncertain future of strict bondage and ruthlessly enforced sexual servitude, she could not deny the flaring heat of arousal which rippled through her body as she visualised the many ways in which she, as a helpless slave girl, might be made to serve both male and female Owners. Those who had both the power and the inclination to compel her to act out their wildest fantasies, no matter how outrageous or shameful.

Gemma’s speculations ended as she felt cool fingers begin to undo the buckled straps holding her single glove. She lifted her head, then squealed in sudden agony as a crop burned a thin line of red heat across her right thigh.

“Keep your head lowered girl!” a harsh voice ordered, “You were not given permission to move.”

Her thigh throbbed with heat, but she knew better than to disobey and thrust her head back down, biting hard on her gag lest any sound she might make be interpreted as a protest and earn her another cruel punishment. The straps came free and the hands moved to the laces of her single glove, loosening their implacable grip on her arms until the leather could be peeled from her flesh. Numbed after their long confinement, Gemma’s arms had no strength in them and she could not have resisted even if she had dared to try as her wrists were gripped and pulled in front of her.

The same woman moved forward and removed two glittering rings from the case, snapping one closed on each of Gemma’s outstretched wrists, then fastening them together with a simple clip. Confined less than an inch apart, Gemma’s wrists lay snugly side by side and she saw at once that there was no way for her fingers to reach the clip to release herself. Her spirits sank still further, the feel of cold, hard, unbreakable steel on her flesh reinforcing her captivity and confirming the impossibility of escape.

The woman reached into the case again and Gemma’s brown eyes opened wide as another shining ring, much larger and twice as wide as the bands on her wrists, was held up to her. Etched into the steel were the words “This slave girl is the property of The Consortium,” and Gemma shivered as the cold metal was placed about her slim throat and pressed closed until its internal locks clicked, locking it irremovably in place.

Instantly, the two men holding her raised her arms and pulled her wrists to the rear of her neck, a second clip securing her cuffs to the collar and leaving the surprised brunette with her bent elbows forming a frame for her face and her breasts drawn upwards by the tension.

“You now wear the collar of The Consortium, slave girl.” the same deep voice informed her and Gemma’s eyes fixed on the speaker, a huge bear of a man standing well over six feet, with broad shoulders denoting great physical strength, piercing blue eyes, a large straight nose and thin lips. A riding crop dangled from his massive right hand and Gemma’s eyes went instinctively to the fading red stripe on her thigh. This was the man who had struck her for raising her eyes without permission and she felt a mixture of fear and guilty arousal as she imagined herself struggling to please him, in the full knowledge that he would crop her if she failed. It was an intensely erotic image and she felt her face flush as his gaze bored into hers.

“As a collared slave,” he went on, “you will obey the orders of any Master or Mistress without question. Failure to do so will not be tolerated. You have received basic slave training and should know what is required of you. If you do not, you will be reminded.” and he flexed the crop between his strong fingers, “We are The Consortium and we own you, slave girl. Do not disappoint us.”

To Gemma’s surprise, he turned and strode from the room, followed by most of the others until she was almost alone. Almost, but not quite, for Roxwell stayed, leaning casually against the wall until the last footfalls died away down the corridor. For a long minute, the millionaire gazed silently at Gemma’s steel fettered body, relishing her helplessness and the brunette struggled vainly to get to her feet, her brain filled with a growing dread as he smiled at her futile efforts. At last, he moved to her and Gemma squealed in panic as he laid her on her back, ankles doubled beneath her and still clipped to the ends of the spreader bar, leaving and her thighs gaping hugely. Her thigh muscles tensed and she tore at her cuffed wrists, but was unable to get any leverage and lay pinned and immobilised by her own body weight as Roxwell slowly undressed and positioned himself between her uselessly clenching thighs.

“Poor little Gemma!” he whispered softly, “Betrayed by your lover and business partner. What a shame, but you are a slave girl now, and your only hope is to please your Masters ... all of them. I am only the first to enjoy your charms, my dear, in recognition of my ... ah ... acquisition of you. As you saw, my colleagues in The Consortium are all eager to get to know you much better and I am afraid that not all of them are as kind and considerate as me, so if I were you, I would try really hard to be pleasing, for some can be quite cruel if they are not satisfied.”

Gemma stared down the nude, spread length of her defenceless body and her softly rounded belly gave a great kick of horrified arousal as Roxwell moved forward and his massive erection pressed its way into her sex, his entry aided by the slick residue of her previous orgasms. Despite herself, she squealed with unwanted passion as he took her, but she could not resist and her body writhed and twisted as he pounded into her belly, building her inexorably towards climax. His long bony fingers sought and found her tender nipples and she screamed again as his caresses added to her burning need, sending her reeling to the very brink of release.

He gathered himself, then thrust irresistibly into her and a shrill, breathy squeal burst from Gemma’s flaring nostrils as his seed erupted into her belly and her own climax exploded in scalding jets of love juices as she bucked and jolted in her first full surrender as a slave girl to a Master’s dominant power.

Devastated by the depth and intensity of her climax and hardly able to believe the blazing heat of her own participation, Gemma fought to deny the seemingly unthinkable. She had been ruthlessly taken by a man she hated and feared ... and yet she had still come as if he had been a lover.

How could that be? What was happening to her? And what would happen when the other members of The Consortium imposed their will upon her.

“Again, slave girl and this time, arch your spine further and hold the pose until you receive permission to move.”

Gemma blinked sweat out of her eyes and bit off the angry retort she longed to make, then stretched her body once more into the graceful but shamefully explicit display of the kneeling position she was being trained to perfect. With her knees spread wide and her big toes just touching behind her, Gemma’s body was arched backwards in a sensual curve to display the lovely sweep of her thighs, belly, breasts and neck, her face pointing to the ceiling high above her. The deep hollow of her back concealed her hands and the steel cuffs locking her wrists together, but offered unhindered access to every other part of her body and gave prominent display to the broad steel collar around her slim neck which proclaimed her slavery to all who cared to look.

It was not a comfortable position to maintain but the naked brunette knew only too well that her discomfort was of no consequence to her Masters and that she would be punished if she dared to break the pose. Muscle tremors fluttered her taut flesh and she clenched her teeth as her Masters walked slowly around her proffered nudity, checking for the perfection they demanded.

Below her line of sight, fingers tweaked her left nipple and Gemma gasped, jerking her body backwards and away from the sudden assault only to squeal in pain as a riding crop slashed down across her thigh, branding her with a stinging red stripe.

“You will resume the position or earn further punishment, slave girl.” the voice of her Master left no room for negotiation and Gemma forced her body back into position, trembling with horror at the cruelty of her captors.

“You just don’t learn, do you, slave girl. That’s another stripe you’ve earned yourself today for trying to evade a Master’s touch.” a smiling face rose into Gemma’s vision and the anguished slave stared pleadingly into the laughing eyes of an elegant blonde woman, some years older than herself.

It was the afternoon of the third day of Gemma’s enslavement to The Consortium, the second on which Roxwell had been joined by the unnamed blonde and Gemma had still to get over her intense shame at being forced to display her naked helplessness. Not that the woman seemed in the least concerned at Gemma’s plight. On the contrary, she seemed to revel in the brunette’s misery and take enormous pleasure in aiding Roxwell to impose rigid discipline upon her; a discipline which Gemma strongly resented and, had, at first, tried to fight against.

Being an intelligent woman and realising that any show of overt resistance on her part would be ruthlessly crushed, she’d fought back in small ways, obeying the orders she was given as slowly as she dared, pretending to misunderstand and then, when finally in the positions ordered, allowing her spine and shoulders to droop so that her body slumped gracelessly instead of being beautifully displayed. For a day, it had seemed to have worked and after she was locked in her cell for the night, Gemma had congratulated herself on her cleverness, chuckling to think how easily she had fooled Roxwell who had imagined himself to be her all powerful Master.

Roxwell strode into her cell and as Gemma went sloppily to her knees and half heartedly took up her submission position, she noted with alarm that he not only had a female companion with him, but that both carried thin, whippy riding crops. Her alarm grew ten fold as Roxwell stared grimly down at her.

“Yesterday, slave girl, I permitted you to defy your Master in order to let you believe that you could retain some control over your life. Today, you will learn the error of your ways.”

Her brief protest ended in a howl of anguish as two riding crops hissed down and painted a bright red stripe across the fronts of each of her doubled thighs.

“Silence!!!” Roxwell thundered, “Slaves do not speak until given permission!”

Gemma quailed before his wrath, her lips tightly clenched and her eyes wide with pained shock and a dawning realisation that, perhaps, she had not been quite as clever as she had imagined. Roxwell nodded in satisfaction.

“Good.” he said slowly, “I see you begin to understand. Now, we will repeat yesterday’s exercises, but this time, you will display as the slave you are and you will display perfectly. Both your Mistress and I will be watching and if you fail to satisfy us, slave girl, you will feel our crops again.”

Gemma stared dumbly from one to the other and an icy lump grew in her belly as she faced what she suspected was going to be a long, long day ... and a painful one. As it turned out, it was a longer, harder day than even Gemma feared. Her Master and Mistress were utterly ruthless, their sharp commands sending Gemma hurrying from one shameful pose to the next, her body stretching and bending this way and that as she struggled to keep up with the unending flow of demands.

“Straighten your spine!” The order accompanied by a stinging crop across her buttocks.

A choking sob gurgled from her throat as two crops scored her rounded bottom cheeks.

“Silence, slave girl!” and two more lines adorned Gemma’s nude flanks as she tried to beg for mercy.

Twisting and turning, but never able to avoid the burning accuracy of her Master’s riding crops, Gemma threw herself body and soul into the submissive role demanded of her, all thoughts of resistance driven from her mind by the merciless voices and even more merciless whippings of her Masters. Her body ran with sweat as she displayed herself over and over again and she groaned helplessly as her best efforts were met with yet more cuts from their crops and ever more stringent demands for her to present her nudity to their gaze.

At one point in her painful education, Gemma froze, earning herself two smarting whip cuts as a deeply embarrassing fact became clear to her. Deep between her thighs, a growing wetness made itself felt. A wetness that Gemma knew was not mere sweat. She was becoming aroused by her torment.

Her cheeks flushed pink as she tried to pretend to herself that it was not happening, but even as she did so, the moist heat began to spread upward into her belly, fuelled by the shameless exhibition of sexuality she was being forced to give, combined with the painful eroticism of being subjected to whipping by two utterly dominant Masters.

Inch by inch, Gemma slipped further into the role of slave girl, her body taking on a sensual grace which appalled her and as she was taken over by the blistering heat of her arousal, her mind gave up the unequal struggle and she writhed and undulated in the most blatantly erotic surrender to the lusts burning within her. The change in Gemma did not go unnoticed and her Masters smiled in triumph as every sinuous movement of their victim gave notice, far more clearly than any words, that the woman before them was powerless in the throes of a need far greater than she could control. No less enslaved by her own desires than by the collar on her throat and the steel on her limbs.

“On your knees, slave.” Roxwell’s throaty growl sent a wave of deliciously fearful anticipation coursing through Gemma’s body as she heard the tell tale thickening of lust in his voice. In a less aroused state, she would have been horrified, but her need was so strong that she was unable to deny her physical longings and sank to her knees, thrusting her breasts and belly forward invitingly and arching herself into a graceful bow. Gemma’s Mistress stared deep into her eyes.

“If you move or make a sound we shall whip you.” she warned cruelly and the brunette’s eyes widened to a surge of fierce heat in her belly as she clamped her lips together obediently.

On her knees, staring up at the ceiling, Gemma’s nostrils flared as both her Masters sank out of her range of vision, leaving her unable to anticipate their next more, but tremblingly aware that her entire body lay helplessly vulnerable to them. Seconds passed, each one an eternity to the trainee slave girl, until she could not prevent a low moan of need from escaping her lips followed by the sharp bite of a crop on her thigh.

“You were ordered to be silent.” the brusque words came as no surprise to Gemma and she panted for breath as her flesh burned with smarting heat, knowing that she was being trained and that the cruel delay in giving her what she needed so desperately was all a part of her Master’s plan to deepen her enslavement. Gemma knew it, but knowing it made no difference to its effectiveness and Gemma’s brown eyes filled with unshed tears as she held her pose like the humblest of slaves, awaiting the pleasure of her Masters.
Her taut body shuddered galvanically and her mouth opened in a silent scream of unbearable passion as lips descended on her breasts and hot, wet tongues licked and sucked at her delicate nipples. Massive jolts of arousal raced through her body and she flung her head from side to side in wide-eyed disbelief as her belly seemed to burst into flames, bringing her to the point of orgasm in seconds. Horrified at the speed and depth of her passion, Gemma squealed.

She tried to hurl her body backwards and away from the lips of her Masters, but a strong hand knotted in her hair and held her helpless as the mouths continued their devastating assault. Gemma’s shrill screams echoed in the cell, but she was powerless and at the very first touch of a hand on the slick wetness of her engorged sex, plunged into a huge climax, her body contorting wildly to the spurting gushes of love juices in her belly as she came and came uncontrollably.

Roxwell released his grip on her hair and Gemma fell to the floor, curling into a tight, moaning ball as she shuddered in release and her climax raged through her, eyes screwed tightly shut and oblivious to the two Masters who stood over her. The woman took a packet of cigarettes from her pocket, lit one and blew a long stream of menthol flavoured smoke into the air.

“Impressive.” she chuckled, “This one has the makings of a true slave girl.”
Roxwell nodded.

He reached down with the tip of his riding crop and applied a light flick to Gemma’s right hip then after a moment, he gave a second flick, somewhat harder. This time Gemma flinched and her eyes opened.

Gemma struggled to her feet and into her display position, mindful of the crop which Roxwell tapped against his leg.

“Hmm, not bad, slave girl, but your neck should be arched more.” the blonde commented and Gemma blushed angrily as her crop pressed beneath her chin, forcing her head farther back and tightening the slim column of her neck, “Yes, that’s much better.”

“Oh, yes, I don’t anticipate any trouble.” and she gave a tinkling laugh as Roxwell turned away.

“You’re not going to give me any trouble, are you, slave girl?” she went on as the door clicked shut behind Roxwell, “Answer me, girl!” and her crop flicked lightly at Gemma’s belly.

Involuntarily, Gemma’s head came down and she stared, shocked at her questioner.

Gemma’s face reddened and she whispered, “I-I Please don’t make me say, Mistress, I-I’m ashamed.”

The blonde’s face hardened and her lips compressed into a thin, venomous line.

“I asked you a question, slave!”she hissed and her blue eyes narrowed menacingly as she lifted her cruel whip. There was no mistaking the threat and Gemma dropped her face from the fierce glare, her flush deepening as she capitulated.

“Yes Mistress,” she whispered miserably, “I-I did, Mistress. I couldn’t help myself.”

“Naturally not!” the blonde agreed cheerfully, “Slaves are not supposed to be able to help themselves. That’s the whole point of enslaving them. If you could control your responses you wouldn’t be a slave girl, would you?”

The logic, at least from the blonde’s point of view, was inescapable and Gemma stared numbly down at the ground, realising that she was trapped by a self-fulfilling prophecy. As a slave girl, in bondage, she was not able to control the responses forced from her, but because she wasn’t able to control her responses, she was deemed by the blonde and her friends, to be a slave. Once in the circle, there was no way out and Gemma knew it.

A thousand protests rose to her mind, but even as they hovered on her lips, she realised that they would all be just a waste of breath. The sheer conceit and arrogance of views such as the blonde held was simply breathtaking, assuming as they did that some were destined to be Masters and others destined to be slaves. Not only that, but that slaves were slaves because they were too weak to be Masters.

Gemma couldn’t, wouldn’t, subscribe to that theory, not ever. It was wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong ... but, unfortunately for Gemma, her wrists were locked in the steel cuffs of a man who did believe exactly that and she was locked in his cellars and at the mercy of a group of men and women who believed as he did. Which meant that as long as they held those beliefs, and the keys to her bonds, Gemma was going to remain just as she was ... a helpless captive, subject to whatever awful desires and torments their fertile minds could dream up for her. For a whole year, until the contract delivering her into their clutches ran its course.

These frightening thoughts and their horrifying ramifications raced through Gemma’s brain in seconds and she gaped in speechless horror at her smiling Mistress as the blonde waited for her to agree that knowing why Gemma had been enslaved, made everything all right.

“No. No, you’re insane. Crazy. You can’t keep me like this. You can’t.”

“What’s that? Can’t keep you? Of course we can keep you! What’s going on Alicia?” Roxwell’s affronted tone came from behind Gemma and she whirled around to see him standing by the door. The open door.

“I do believe our little slave girl if having second thoughts about ... Quick. Grab her.”

Gemma made a break for the open door, pursued by the blonde’s warning shout and the two glasses Roxwell had been carrying fell to the floor and shattered as he made an ineffectual attempt to stop her, his hands slipping from her sweaty, slippery body.

Out in the long featureless corridor, Gemma ran as fast as she could, her cuffed wrists bouncing against her buttocks as she tried to distance herself from the pursuit that was bound to follow. She raced into the lobby where the lift was located and gave a cry of elation as she saw that its doors stood invitingly open. She charged inside, then realised that with her hands firmly cuffed behind her back, she couldn’t reach the control buttons! Dismayed, she twisted and turned in frenzied efforts to get her fingers to the buttons, desperation redoubling as she heard footsteps coming down the corridor towards her. Frantic to get away, she bent over, her head down by her knees with her fingers scrabbling wildly at the control panel and gave an inarticulate cry of relief as the top button lit up. But the doors did not shut.

Gemma couldn’t believe it. The button was pressed, the button lit up, but the lift didn’t move. Stunned, she stood frozen in incomprehension as the doorway filled with the figures of Roxwell and her Mistress. Roxwell reached into his pocket and produced a small silver key.

“Without one of these, it won’t work, slave. You didn’t really think it would be that simple, did you?”

Gemma shook her head despairingly, “I didn’t know ... I didn’t think ...” she mumbled bitterly, then raised her eyes to stare in horror at her Mistress.

“No, you didn’t did you, slave girl? the woman said, “And now, you are going to have to pay for your error.”

“Not a word, slave girl. Not one, or the punishment you have already earned yourself will increase. Come on. Out of there.”

As she stumbled out of the lift, Gemma’s eyes filled with an awful dread and her stomach began to churn as the enormity of what she had done hit home. She had tried to escape and failed and knew she was in the most terrible trouble. Roxwell seized her elbows in a painful grip and Gemma winced, not daring to protest as she was marched back along the corridor she had run down with such high hopes only minutes earlier. Her Mistress flung open a door and Roxwell pushed her into a room Gemma had not seen before. Smaller than her own cell, it was completely bare except for a heavy chain dangling from a pulley in the centre of the ceiling, its other end made fast to an iron cleat bolted to the wall.

Roxwell’s tone brooked no argument and Gemma’s fears intensified as her ankles were clipped together. Deprived of her ability to move, she stood passively as her wrist cuffs were released, her arms brought together in front of her body and the cuffs re-fastened.

“Open your mouth,” her Mistress stood in front of her, a thick cylinder of leather on a broad strap in her hands.

Gemma gulped, her eyes fixed pleadingly on the blonde’s face, then slowly allowed her lips to part as she read the steely determination in her captor’s face. The gag sank deep into Gemma’s mouth, then deeper still as she was forced to encompass the whole massive length and girth and she swayed on her bound feet and would have fallen, but for Roxwell’s steadying arms as her Mistress tugged the buckling strap cruelly tight.

Her face covered from nose to chin by the strap and with her cheeks bulging from the thick cylinder, Gemma could barely whimper, let alone speak and panted for breath through her nose as she was silenced. The blonde nodded in satisfaction, then reached up and pulled the dangling chain down to Gemma’s wrists and clipped it firmly to her cuffs, before standing back with a cruel smile playing about her lips.

Roxwell released his grip on Gemma and moved to the iron cleat, freeing the chain, then tugging on it. The chain rattled through the pulley high above and her arms began to rise. The rose past her breasts, then past her shoulders, then higher still. As the pull continued and her arms stretched high above her head, her eyes sought frantically for some way to escape and muffled squeals of panic leaked past her gag. But by then, it was much too late and her fingers clawed at the chain as she was forced to rise onto the balls of her feet, her body drawn up to its full extent, every muscle tense and even her head trapped between her upraised arms.

She couldn’t move an inch and her eyes bulged with a terrible knowledge as her two Masters moved to stand in front of her and flexed their riding crops before her gag-distorted face.

“You have been a very silly slave girl.” her Mistress’s eyes glittered with excitement as she chided the helpless brunette, “And silly little slaves get themselves punished.”

“Indeed they do.” Roxwell agreed cheerfully, “As you are about to find out. You have been disobedient and for that, you will receive six strokes of the crop. For attempting to escape, twelve more. Plus six more for each of the glasses you caused me to drop. And a final six for failing to remain silent while you were being caressed by your Masters. A total of thirty-six strokes, slave girl.” he paused and gazed hard into Gemma’s terrified face, “Think yourself lucky slave!” he hissed, “Had you not been a new and untrained slave, your punishment would have been much more severe.”

Gemma trembled wildly, the smooth flesh of her belly and breasts fluttering as she heard the sentence of her Masters and she squealed muffled pleas into her gag, begging for mercy, promising never to disobey again, to be the slave they wished her to be, anything they desired if only they didn’t whip her. It made absolutely no impression on the two dominants and tears poured down Gemma’s face as they took up their positions, Roxwell behind and her Mistress in front.

The swish of Roxwell’s crop gave Gemma a fraction of a second’s warning, but not nearly enough for her to prepare herself and as the first of many stinging red stripes blazed its way across her tensioned buttocks, she screamed into her gag, her bottom erupting with heat. Immediately, her Mistress placed a shrewd cut across the tops of Gemma’s thighs and the helpless girl shrieked in torment, her flesh blooming a vivid scarlet. Stretched by her bonds and quite unable to avoid the searing cuts of her Master’s crops, Gemma screamed and wept as a mesh of reddened lines painted her thighs and buttocks. Again and again she begged for mercy and to be permitted to submit as their slave, certain that she could take no more of their merciless punishment ... and time and again found that she was wrong. Not only could she take more, but she had to, for her Masters had no intention of allowing her to avoid what they considered her just deserts.

Thirty-six strokes she had earned and thirty-six strokes her flinching, burning, striped body received.

Long before the final stroke landed, the lesson had been well and truly learned by Gemma and she understood all too clearly the rules by which she was to be forced to live and the penalties that disobedience would bring down on her. She hung sobbing in her bonds as her Masters lowered their crops for the final time and walked from the room, leaving her to reflect on her errors as the pain of her punishment gradually subsided to a dull throbbing and her tears dried on her face. Still stretched in her bondage, she could not even rub her smarting flesh and her very helplessness reinforced the lesson that she had no choice but to submit. She had made her gesture of defiance and it had led her to this. No way would she ever dare repeat the experiment.

“You just don’t learn, do you slave girl. That’s another stripe you’ve earned yourself today for trying to evade a Master’s touch.”

Gemma’s training was continuing apace, the task made much easier for her Masters by Gemma’s vivid recollection of her punishment of the previous day. Even with that in her mind, she was still having trouble holding position when one of her Masters caressed her breasts or sex and even though they realised her problem, she still received a crop each time she moved. Three so far that day.

“We’ll try that again, slave girl and this time, don’t move. We are beginning to lose patience with you ...”

The implied threat sent a shiver through Gemma’s displayed body and she steeled herself for the touch of the blonde’s fingers, acutely aware that Roxwell and his crop hovered just behind her, ready to strike if she failed again.

A soft palm cupped her right breast and cool fingers twirled the nipple, sending delicious tremors racing through her posed nudity and Gemma juddered involuntarily but managed to force herself not to pull back.

“Better.” the woman commented, “Now we will try a little more,” and Gemma gasped as both her nipples were captured.

“Very good, slave girl. No! Keep quite still.” and Gemma bit her lip, trying desperately to control the arousal spreading outwards from her hardening nipples ... and failing. Slow coils of warmth circled in her belly as the arousal continued and a soft whimper came from her throat as her breasts swelled to the gentle stimulation.

“Excellent. That will do for now.” and Gemma trembled with frustration as the hands were taken from her body.

‘Dammit!’ she thought to herself, it wasn’t fair to turn her on like that and not finish the job.

Then her face flushed as she realised the implications of her thoughts. Just a few days before she would have been horrified at the idea of a woman, a stranger, caressing her breasts, but now she was angry she hadn’t been made to climax. It was a salutary demonstration of the effectiveness of the training she was being given and she gulped to the realisation that she was becoming the slave girl she had vowed never to be. The trouble was that she was starting to like it. Not the strict discipline and the punishment, of course, but the frequent stimulation and the increasing responsiveness of her body. Even, although she would never admit it, the bondage and the helplessness it imposed upon her. Tied up and defenceless, she had no control and couldn’t be blamed even by herself, if she got carried away by the strength of the passions she was forced to display.

Obediently, Gemma straightened and brought her feet together and felt her ankles clipped side by side.

Her arms were pulled out behind her and attached to her ankle cuffs, securing her and angling her backwards so that she got an unrestricted view of her own breasts and the wide “V” of her thighs, topped with her curly bush of dark pubic hair.

Expecting a normal leather gag, she was taken by surprise when a ring of steel was pressed between her jaws and wedged behind her teeth, its thin strap stretching the corners of her mouth. It held her mouth wide open and though she shook her head, she couldn’t dislodge it or close her jaws.

She didn’t understand what it was for ... until Roxwell moved to stand in front of her and unzipped his trousers. His erection sprang free, directly on a level with Gemma’s mouth and her face glowed crimson as she realised what he required of her. She had never, ever, pleasured a man in that way, not even Mike and she shook her head resolutely. She absolutely would not do it. To her horror, she felt a crop tap her right buttock and twisted her head up and back. Her Mistress stared down at her, eyes alight with malicious delight.

“Oh yes you will, slave girl!” she chuckled, “One way or the other.” and she flexed her riding crop and sent it whistling through the air.

Roxwell’s strong hands gripped Gemma’s head as she groaned as he forced her to turn back to face him, the ring behind her teeth holding her mouth in a stretched “O”

Unable to prevent it, Gemma spluttered as his maleness entered her mouth, his hands clamped around her head and stopping her from drawing back. His scent filled her nostrils, a mixture of musk and sweat which was actually not unpleasant, but Gemma was mortified and continued to struggle as best she could.

“Hhuunnghh!” the muffled cry was torn from Gemma’s throat as a cruelly hard cut from her Mistress’s crop sent blistering heat spearing into her buttocks. Far worse, though, was Gemma’s utter despair as her instinctive lunge forward and away from the pain, forced Roxwell’s iron hard erection deeper into her mouth, her soft lips rasping against the coarse curls of his pubic hair and her cheeks bulging shamefully.

“Now, you will learn how to please a Master with your mouth, slave girl.” Roxwell grated, “Lick and suck me until I come.”

Gemma tried to resist and held out as long as she could, but she was hopelessly bound, her naked buttocks an easy target for her Mistress’s whip and, eventually, she was forced to submit. Tears running down her cheeks, she complied with Roxwell’s demands, her tongue lapping at his embedded shaft, squeezing and sucking him with her lips, her face glowing as red as her whipped bottom.

Inexpert though she was, Gemma’s efforts had the desired effect and she shuddered miserably as he grew larger within her mouth until she feared she would choke, then, he came and Gemma felt her mouth and throat fill with hot, salty spend and she gulped and swallowed desperately as his release pulsed and jetted. Gemma was absolutely devastated, her humiliation complete as she heard her Mistress’s mocking laughter and knew the blonde had witnessed and enjoyed her shame. Roxwell slid from her mouth and Gemma thrust her head down, horrified by what she had been forced to do, but knowing that she could easily be made to repeat her actions if Masters so required. To her astonishment, she felt Roxwell lift her head and smile at her.

“That was very enjoyable, slave girl. With practice, you will give exquisite pleasure to your Masters.”

She felt an absurd rush of pride as she heard his compliment, but could not answer him because of her gag and had to be content with nodding her head, blushing as she did so.

“And not only Masters,” he went on, “Mistresses, too, can be pleasured in similar ways, as you will no doubt come to learn.”

Gemma’s flush brightened for she had not even considered that prospect.
From behind she heard her Mistress’s voice.

“Quite right. And learn you will when I have you in my slave quarters, girl. Or else.”

Gemma surrendered to the inevitable. Twisting around awkwardly, she lifted her face to the elegant blonde who stood over her and nodded her head twice, quite distinctly. Her action and the promise of submission it held, brought a great grin of pleasure from the blonde and Gemma felt a hot swirl of desire ripple her belly in anticipation of the time when she would be forced to make good on her promise or suffer the consequences of failure.

Gemma lay on her right side on a low, hard single bed wondering just how much longer her new Masters proposed to leave her alone with her discomfort.

There was little else she could do, for her arms were bound behind her back by black nylon rope from her wrists all the way to well above her elbows, compressing her arms into a single column, straining her shoulders back and making her naked breasts thrust provocatively forward. Her legs, too, were a total lost cause, a second length of black rope looped around and around from ankles to mid-thighs. To add to her misery, a broad black leather gag-strap covered her face from nose to chin, its attached cylinder of hard leather wedged deep between her back teeth, reducing any protests she tried to make to muffled and quite unintelligible mumbles. She couldn’t even turn over or change her position to ease her stiff muscles because ropes knotted about her slim throat stretched out to posts at the top of her bed, holding her fast, while others from her ankles to posts at the bottom, drew her body out to its full length.

How long she had been tied in this uncomfortable manner, Gemma had no way of telling and the windowless room provided no clues to help her. From the aching of her limbs, it could have been hours and she was miserably aware that it could be hours more before her Masters decided to return to her and even then, they might not choose to release her. The only certainty was that she wasn’t going anywhere until somebody decided to let her go....if they ever did.

Collected from Roxwell’s home by the giant Master who had cropped her before and a smaller man she did not recognise, Gemma had been carried swiftly to a windowless room and placed face down on a hard single bed. When the rope linking her wrists and ankles was released, her doubled legs had flopped limply, numbed from their long confinement and able to present no resistance as the white rope binding her ankles was released but immediately replaced with black. Rolled over onto her back, she watched helplessly as the smaller man lifted her legs and began to pass the long coil of rope around and around, pulling each turn snug and clamping her legs immovably together. Inch by inch, turn by turn, the rope crept higher and Gemma gaped as her suntanned calves began to disappear beneath a layer of tight black rope. Just below her knees, he had paused for a moment to remove the white rope tying her knees together, but then he had resumed and her knees and several inches of her thighs had vanished beneath his rope. By the time he tied the final tight knot and stood back to admire his handiwork, Gemma’s tanned legs had been all but invisible, only her feet and top few inches of her thighs emerging from a seamless cocoon of black nylon rope.

It was a quite extraordinary sight, the contrast between her pale flesh and the blackness of her bonds emphasising her helplessness in a most dramatic fashion. Nor was her bondage only for show as Gemma had soon discovered as she attempted to move. Her legs, effectively glued together from ankles to crotch, could no longer bend and Gemma had seriously doubted whether she would have been able to get off the bed and stand up, let alone walk, even if her arms had been free.

She was saved the trouble of trying to decide, when her Masters had flipped her back over onto her belly and untied her wrists. With the example of their bondage skills fresh in her mind, Gemma had guessed instantly that her arms were about to be bound in the same way as her legs and had done her best to resist, her fingers clawing blindly, remembering how horribly uncomfortable and hopelessly vulnerable she had felt when her trainers had laced her arms into the inescapable leather of a single glove. To have the same done to her with rope would, she had imagined, be far worse.

Unfortunately, Gemma had forgotten two things. Firstly, that her elbows had also been lashed firmly together and secondly, that these Masters would brook no disobedience whatever from a slave girl. She moaned in bitter futility as strong hands evaded her sharp fingernails and seized her wrists in a crushing grip, then gave a muffled yip of unexpected pain as a cruelly hard double handed smack exploded against her tender buttocks.

Tears of pain and defeat in her eyes, Gemma had surrendered to the inevitable, making no further attempts to defy her Masters’ will and restricting her protests to winces and gasps of consternation as rope tightened on her flesh, squeezing her wrists, then her forearms and, finally and most uncomfortably of all, her elbows together into a solid, aching mass.

Then they had removed her gag, exchanging it for a much larger and more effective version, remaining impervious to Gemma’s pleas and promises as she had used the few seconds of vocal freedom permitted her to try to persuade them to be more lenient with her. The gag, inserted and buckled tightly, had ended the one sided conversation and Gemma had only been able to watch in mute frustration as her neck and ankles were leashed to the bedposts.

Bound as she was, utterly at their mercy and hopelessly vulnerable, Gemma’s tautly proffered breasts had presented her Masters with a tempting and quite irresistible opportunity.

Juddering in her bonds, whimpering in helpless need, Gemma had been forced to respond passionately as their lips and tongues nibbled and rolled and sucked at her excruciatingly sensitive nipples until the twin rigid knobs had throbbed and quivered with unbearable arousal and Gemma had begged into her gag to be given the slave’s climax she desired so desperately.

The calculated callousness of their laughing refusal was a devastating shock to the pleading brunette, but no more devastating than the gigantic tidal waves of thrilling submissive arousal which crashed and pounded through her helplessly trussed body as her ruthless Masters demonstrated their absolute authority over her and taught her that, while she wore the collar of a slave, they and not she controlled every facet of her very existence.

Even to the extent of granting or withholding the pleasure she would be permitted.

With every nerve ending in her body tingling with a fervent desire that was doomed to remain unsatisfied ... at least temporarily ... Gemma had fought a desperate losing battle against her bondage, her most strenuous and persistent efforts failing utterly to win even a fractional loosening of the ropes binding her and her failure adding to the shameful pleasure she felt in her helplessness.

Gagged, she had not even been able to express her fury at being so cruelly thwarted as her Masters had taken their hands from her and walked off without even a backward glance, leaving her massively aroused, but unable to achieve the orgasm which she had so nearly, but not quite, reached. Buoyed up by the hope that they would return quickly and complete her surrender, Gemma had relaxed as best she could, enjoying the heat simmering in her belly and trying to ignore the increasing discomfort of her bound limbs.
She had waited ... and waited ... and waited ...

Gemma was still waiting, the heat of her arousal long cooled and replaced by the unceasing aches of her tightly bound limbs, her earlier optimism given way to a growing fear that her Masters were never coming back.

For perhaps the hundredth time her arms and legs tensed against the unforgiving ropes securing her and, also for the hundredth time, failed to make the slightest impression, her body remaining exactly where her Masters had bound her. As if on cue, the door of the room opened and Gemma swallowed nervously as her Masters strode towards her, then bent and began to untie the ropes leashing her neck and ankles to the bed posts. Deprived of their steadying influence, Gemma rolled helplessly onto her back, her right hip and shoulder aching fiercely, but her physical discomfort vanished as if it had never been as she noticed that the two men left the room for a moment, then returned with their hands full.

The smaller of the two, carried a tangle of ropes and pulleys, while the giant toted a step-ladder. While Gemma watched with mounting unease, the giant set the ladder in the middle of the room, took one end of the set of pulleys and climbed the steps with it in his hand.. The other, meanwhile untwisted the tangled ropes and Gemma felt an icy chill invade her stomach as she realised they were setting up some sort of hoist or lifting gear.

High up in the white painted ceiling, the giant hooked his end of the hoist to an almost invisible white painted ring, tested it to make sure it was secure, then climbed down.

Gemma’s eyes followed the ropes running through the hoist’s pulleys and she gave a muffled whimper of terrified understanding as she saw a broad webbing loop dangling from a hook beneath the lower set of pulleys.

“I’ll take her shoulders, you get her feet,” the giant ordered and Gemma wrenched wildly at her bonds but could manage little more than a side to side rocking of her body as her Masters bent over her. An explosive grunt of despair burst from Gemma’s flaring nostrils as the webbing strap was looped around her ankles and clipped into the hook and she stared frantically down past her naked, heaving breasts and the roped columns of her legs as the smaller of her Masters went to the hoist and began to take up the slack.

Frozen in disbelief, she watched her bound legs lifted until they angled up sharply and only her buttocks and spine remained in contact with the bed, and still the ratchet clicked.

Hands at her shoulders gripped her firmly, preventing any movement and she stared up wildly into the piercing blue eyes of her giant Master as her buttocks rose into the air, the click of the ratchet slowing as her weight came on to the hoist. Slowing, but not stopping and Gemma squealed in fear as her shoulders lifted clear of the bed and he eased her clear of the bed posts, her dark hair hanging beneath her to sweep the floor as she was positioned directly beneath the hoist. Still not stopping even then as her body, head down and suspended by her ankles, rose further until her horrified, gagged face hung several feet above the floor.

The clicking of the ratchet stopped and Gemma trembled wildly, whimpering in anguish as her body began a slow spin and she saw the hard smiles on the upside down faces of her Masters move slowly into and out of her vision as she turned. A hand came to rest on her hip, ending the disorientating spin, but her gratitude lasted only a few brief moments as it slid across her buttocks and was joined by a second hand, the pair roaming freely across her rounded cheeks and upper thighs as one of her Masters fondled and kneaded the resilient flesh so enticingly and conveniently available to him.

The half of Gemma’s face visible above the gag strap burned a vivid scarlet as an extended finger probed the shadowed crack between her buttocks, breaching the tight ring of her rear entry and penetrating her with embarrassing ease despite the vain clenching of her muscles. Her other Master sent his hands to her breasts, rolling her nipples between his fingers and thumbs and Gemma squealed breathily as the heady combination rekindled the flame of her earlier passion.

In a matter of seconds, the suspended brunette was returned to the inferno of helplessly submissive lust she had been forced to undergo once before and she trembled in her bonds as her nipples and belly responded uncontrollably to the firm touch of her Masters, her body filling with white hot arousal as she was propelled towards an unavoidable climax. One hand strayed from her throbbing nipples and Gemma threw her head from side to side in futile pleading as fingers burrowed through the luxuriant triangle of dark curls between her thighs and found the fleshy button of her clitoris.

Unbearable jolts of overwhelming arousal shot through Gemma’s shuddering body and she screamed in abject surrender and awful, delirious ecstasy as the fingers of her Masters forced her over the precipice of her need and into a thundering, spinning vortex of sheer animal gratification as her orgasm burst unstoppably into her shaking, spasming belly. Penetrated at front and rear, no defence possible or, by that stage, even wanted, Gemma could hold nothing back and pulsed and juddered and screamed in joyous, unconditional welcome as torrents of scalding love juices rained down into her belly to blend with the swirling, bubbling whirlpool of her intense desires as she came again and again. Even the knowledge of her all too obvious subjugation could not dim Gemma’s sexual ecstasy, nor quell the furious passions unleashed within her and she gasped for breath, uncaring of her bonds and her collar and her enslavement as pulse after pulse of pure, raw pleasure ripped through her belly to set her spasming afresh.

Minutes slipped by unnoticed as Gemma explored the unsuspected depths of her own passions, but all things, no matter how pleasurable, eventually pass and her orgasm slowly waned to a warm, delicious memory as she returned, most unwillingly, to the reality of her surroundings.

“Welcome back, slave.” the ironic greeting brought a flush to Gemma’s neck,

“You climax well to your Masters’ touch. It is to be hoped that you will give pleasure as well as you receive it, slave, for it is unwise for a slave to disappoint her Masters,” and his lips curved in a mirthless grin.

There was no mistaking the meaning, or the unspoken threat, behind his words and Gemma’s flush deepened. His next words confirmed her fears.

“We are going to let you down and untie your legs in a moment, then you can show us just how pleasing a slave you are. But first, watch and learn, slave girl.”

He took a step backwards, rejoining his silent partner and Gemma’s eyes bulged with fearful dread as her second Master produced two sinister looking riding crops and handed one to his companion.

“Oh, don’t worry, slave. This is simply a demonstration of what can happen to you if you do not continue to satisfy us ...” and the two men walked forward and took up a position on each side of Gemma’s dangling body.

Her muffled whimpers of panic and frantic struggles to distance her naked flesh from their cruel whips, only set her body swinging a few inches back and forth and the men chuckled, knowing that she could never hope to escape.
A crop reached out, its tip flicking lightly across her right buttock and Gemma’s body flinched instinctively, as if she had actually been struck, then the second crop pecked at her belly and she winced again, although the leather caused her no pain. A dozen or more times, crops touched her gently, all over her buttocks, up and down her thighs and across her lower belly, never hurting, but sending an unmistakable message that they could if she failed to be pleasing.

In a final chilling warning, both Masters set their crops tapping and flicking at the upper and lower slopes of Gemma’s tender breasts and the panting brunette realised that even these sensitive areas could become targets for punishment if the men were dissatisfied with her. It was a salutary lesson and one she took to heart as she was lowered to the floor and her legs untied. As soon as she could, Gemma struggled to her knees and adopted the submission position she had been taught, offering her body to her Masters in the hope that they would be pleased.

They clearly were and showed their appreciation of her by twirling her presented nipples in their fingers and enjoying her wide eyed battle to remain in position as the twin buds hardened into trembling rigidity. Tormented almost beyond bearing, Gemma staggered to her feet and spread her legs wide in response to a terse command from her giant Master. Towering over her, dwarfing and dominating her by the sheer presence of his muscular physique, he waited until he had her full, anxious attention. Then, he peeled off his shirt to reveal his broad chest and smiled into Gemma’s gagged face as his hand dropped to rub the massive bulge straining at the front of his trousers.

Fascinated despite herself, she couldn’t help staring and her belly gave a convulsive lurch in appalled anticipation. Distracted by the sight before her, she was too slow to react as the man behind looped the webbing strap around her wrists. She twisted her neck to stare down over her left shoulder and swallowed hard as she realised that her arms were securely linked to the hoist.

Horrified understanding swamped into her brain, drowning out the voice of reason telling her that she had no chance of escape and Gemma broke her pose, jerking wildly at her arms and stumbling forward in her efforts to get away. Her Masters made no attempt to stop her, their eyes gleaming as her naked body twisted and writhed in her struggles to shake the webbing loop from her wrists and Gemma whimpered hopelessly as she reached the limit of the hoist’s scope and could go no further, no matter how hard she pulled.
“All right, slave. You’ve had your fun. Now it’s our turn.”

The smaller Master strolled casually over to the hoist as he spoke and began to pull.

Step by unwilling step, fighting every inch of the way, Gemma was dragged back to the centre of the room, sobbing miserably as the remorseless pull of the hoist overcame her desperate resistance, until she once again stood directly beneath the ring set in the roof. This time though, the whir of the pulleys did not stop and she screamed shrilly as her arms began to rise behind her back. Up and up, higher and yet higher, her body bending forward and her head going down in helpless obedience to the inexorable compulsion.
Bent nearly double, her arms raised vertically and pointing at the ceiling, Gemma’s anguished face and bulging eyes goggled as she stared upwards at her own dangling breasts.

“Spread your legs, slave!” the order sent shock waves of horror racing through her body and she shuddered hugely.

“We have lots more rope, slave.” the voice of her Master was pitiless, “If you refuse to obey, we shall simply tie your legs apart and then whip you for your disobedience.”

Gemma moaned bitterly, recognising her defeat in the determined tone and shuffled her feet a few inches apart. A thin, leather covered riding crop came into her view and she trembled as it tapped each of her calves.

“Wider, slave!” and she inched her feet outwards, flushing in shame as the pink lips of her sex opened before her eyes.

The crop flicked a second time at her calves, noticeably harder and she flinched to the tiny sting of its touch.

“Wider, I said!” the voice held a steely note of menace and Gemma knew she dare not resist further.

With a choking sob, she forced her legs as far apart as she could, her thighs gaping shamelessly and her upraised arms taut as a steel bar. Racking tremors shook her belly as ropes snaked around her ankles and held her in position, for Gemma knew how helpless a picture she made and how desirable and easily available her defenceless body was to her Masters. Bent double, there was no warning at all as leather cracked across the tight stretched skin of her buttocks and furious heat erupted.

Gemma’s muffled screams and the clenching and weaving of her reddened bottom told of her pain and her anguish, but could do nothing to help her as twelve stripes adorned her upraised buttocks and her tears flowed as she was punished.

“That is for breaking your pose, slave. Be warned!” the lesson came as the cropping ended and Gemma whimpered as her bottom burned hotly.

The massive surge of arousal which exploded into her belly as firm hands caressed her whip striped bottom took Gemma completely by surprise and her face flamed as brightly as her buttocks as she realised, to her intense humiliation, that her punishment, far from damping down the smouldering fire of her passion, had had quite the opposite effect. Stunned by the turmoil in her body and the shocking realisation that she had, somehow, become truly submissive, Gemma froze in her bonds, her brain fighting to come to terms with the almost unthinkable truth about herself.

Unaware of the climactic battle being waged in the body and brain of their helpless captive, Gemma’s Masters ran their hands over her buttocks and breasts and belly, their fingers exploring and penetrating the most intimate and secret recesses of her sex and capturing her sensitive nipples.

Gemma’s attempt to rationalise her unexpected and frightening reaction to her punishment blew into a million pieces as incandescent arousal crashed through every fibre and nerve of her pinioned body, driving out logic and reason and every last vestige of self control as she screamed and writhed and juddered to the gigantic orgasm which foamed and thundered in irresistible waves into her belly. In that moment, Gemma became a true slave, accepting the subjugation imposed upon her and surrendering to the blissful ecstasy of submission as pulse after pulse of heated love juices pumped into her belly and sex, sending her spinning into a maelstrom of delirious pleasure.

Behind her gyrating buttocks, her giant Master tore off his trousers and seized her hips and Gemma greeted the entry of his rigid maleness with a shrill squeal of welcome as he plunged deep into her convulsing belly, driving to her very core in one massive thrust. Responding as the slave she was, Gemma pressed back against him, impaling herself ever more firmly on his shaft and gasping as he lunged powerfully, her arousal building again as he raced towards his peak.

Buried deep within her, he began to twitch and shudder and Gemma clamped tight around him, squeezing him as his spend jetted into her belly, flooding her and bringing moans of sensuous rapture as her second orgasm burst over her and her love juices mixed with his in a whirlpool of heated desire.

Sated, he pulled from her seething belly and Gemma groaned in loss, distraught and yet helplessly thrilled by his arrogant pillaging of her defencelessness.

“Not bad.” she heard him say, “She’s all yours.” and her belly kicked furiously as she understood that she was to be taken by her other Master as well.

The second man was in no hurry and Gemma trembled as his trouser clad legs came into view between her spread thighs. For a minute or more, he made no move to touch her and she panted rapidly, knowing that he was simply studying her exposed nudity, savouring the tightly bound curves of her body as she was forced to await his pleasure. He could do as he wished to her and Gemma knew it. Knew, too, that the deliberate delay was designed to heighten her feelings of helplessness and subjugation and his Mastery over her.

It was working, too, for Gemma was acutely aware that a single touch of his hand between her quivering, sex-stained thighs would be more than enough to send her arousal zooming out of control again. She simply wouldn’t be able to stop it, her body seemed to have a mind of its own and refused to respond to the orders of her brain.

His hands slid over her buttocks and down her doubled over spine and she panted for breath as coils of liquid heat circled in her belly. To her shoulders then slowly back to her buttocks and then down her thighs and calves, the hands made their way and Gemma shivered as her flesh tingled excitingly to the sensitising caresses of his gentle fingers. It was a delicious ... and deliciously frustrating ... feeling and the brunette chewed on her gag as she again experienced the joys and the drawbacks of being a helpless captive.
His hands rose slowly up the fronts of her calves and thighs and her nostrils flared as his fingers brushed the damp curls of her pubic hair, but then moved on and Gemma whined in frustration, knowing he was toying with her but still wishing he would touch her properly and alleviate some of the sexual pressure building up in her body.

Highly aroused, Gemma moaned with pleasure as his hands snaked around her ribs and fastened on her breasts, his thumbs pressing and rubbing her hardened nipples until they throbbed almost painfully and her eyes rolled in her head. Releasing one breast for a moment, he unzipped his trousers and Gemma whimpered in her need as his bulging erection slipped into her sex, its passage smoothed by the slick residue of her previous climaxes. His hand then returned to her breast and his fingers gripped her swollen orbs firmly as he bellied up to her buttocks, his maleness spearing deep into her and triggering her into an immediate climax even before he was fully bedded in her.

Gemma was hugely embarrassed by her instantaneous surrender, but too far gone in her passion to be able to control her responses, her belly pulsing and spasming crazily as her orgasm broke and her love juices sprayed down over his thick shaft, her involuntary contractions bringing a grunt of surprised pleasure from him as he felt her capitulation. His grip tightened on her breasts and her eyes grew wide and round as she felt him swell within her, but she was powerless to resist as he began a long, smooth pumping action of his hips, his masculinity penetrating her deeply, then drawing back only to drive into her once more, every powerful thrust bringing a gasp of fearful, growing desire from her.

He was neither as large nor as dominant as her other Master, but the feel of his shaft pistoning into her belly, coupled with the arousal of his hands at her breasts, was more than enough to catapult Gemma into an inferno of lust, her fingers clawing at the empty air, her belly seething like a volcano as she came and came in a continuous climax, spasming and shuddering wildly as his lunges built to a straining peak and his juices shot deep into her roiling belly.

Sagging limply in her bonds, exhausted and devastated by the shattering power of her multiple orgasms, Gemma had no breath left even to whimper as her ankles were untied and she was lowered to the floor, there to collapse in a boneless huddle as she was permitted to recover some semblance of control over her sweat streaked and sex-stained body.

It was an immense relief to have her arms untied and, after the first few minutes of acute discomfort as circulation returned and stressed muscles protested, to be able to move normally again and Gemma was duly grateful, forcing her aching body to kneel in the approved position. Her Masters were very pleased.

“Excellent, slave.” they congratulated her, “You have done well. Come with us.” and they walked slowly to the door, giving Gemma time to rise to her feet and follow. Subdued and very tired, Gemma stumbled on aching legs to a second room nearby and sank onto a soft single bed as her Masters told her to rest.

“Get some sleep, slave. We shall feed you in the morning and then you can bathe and wash your hair. After all, you will want to be looking at your best for your audience, won’t you?”

Gemma’s brow wrinkled as her Masters chuckled, but she was very tired and in any case, still wore her gag, so couldn’t ask what they meant. Deciding that she would find out soon enough and that knowing bad news wasn’t going to help her, Gemma lay down obediently and stared up at her smiling Masters as they bid her a good night and turned away. The door clicked closed and the rattle of bolts told Gemma that there was no point looking for escape in that quarter. She reached behind her neck and unbuckled the gag strap as quickly as she could, yanking the sodden leather from her mouth and hurling it across the room, then working her stiffened jaws.

“Yeuch. Horrible damned thing.” she complained, then gazed around her prison. It didn’t take very long for her to realise that the only exit was the door through which she had entered the room and she already knew that was bolted. Gemma gave a heavy sigh, then lay down again.

“I wonder what audience they were talking about?” she mused to herself, “I bet it’ll be just awful and humiliating whatever it is. And I’ll probably be all tied up and helpless, too. These guys are rope mad.”

She looked in dismay at the imprint of her tight bondage on her wrists and ankles and limbs, shaking her head in disbelief. Her brown eyes filled with tears as she looked up.

But there was no answer and she threw herself over onto her belly, her slim shoulders shaking with sobs as she wept into her pillow.

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