Chapter 9

Mistresses

Debbie laughed delightedly at our shock. "You forget, Angelique, my sweet, the club had the keys to your house. When we got the news about Tom Fredrick's and you, I figured you'd head here." She looked directly at Avis. "I figured on you being here, too, but not in that condition. Aren't you ashamed of yourself?"

With Debbie things had to be bad. And, damn her, she was right in picking up my instinctive glance and motion towards Avis's handbag. She beat me to it easily and pocketed the keys.

"You won't be needing these, darlings, they'll be safe with me and so will you." Her tone was teasing as she turned to Avis. "I always figured you for a submissive, darling. But I never expected anything like this. Can't get free, can you?"

I knew myself condemned. But Avis, as a much respected member of the Sensuality Club, might be treated differently.

"I suppose you've guessed what I'm going to do to you," said Debbie, shattering all remaining hope within me. "I'm taking you both back to the club to stand trial. Angelique, darling, you're an escaped slave so you know what you're going to get. And you. Avis, you really should have known better than to sneak over her and use the club's slavegirl to play pretty games. In your case, Avis, I'm going to push hard at your trial for the same twelve month sentence we give Dorothy. Dorothy is working out remarkable well and so will you.

"There's one thing you can both expect when it comes my turn to own you and that's a damned good thrashing."

"Debbie, you can't!" Avis gasped. "We haven't hurt anyone. Stop looking so stern and let us loose. Then all three of us can go for lunch. Let's have fun."

"Nice try but you're dreaming. You both know what I'm going to do with you. All I'm wondering is if I should torture you just a little while I have you and before I take you home. You wouldn't mind, would you?"

"Yes, we would! Don't be a little beasts, Debbie. You know my standing in the club is every bit as good as yours and they'll listen to everything I tell them. I know that Angelique is a runaway slave, but it wouldn't hurt you to let her go. Please?"

"That fellow member bit is a joke. Don't you realize. Avis, that you've let us all down by allowing yourself to be chained the way you are. Good gosh, if every member was a screwy as you, we wouldn't have a club. I'm taking you back to stand trial and that's the end of it."

I could have screamed in frustration. Fate was being cruel beyond anything we deserved. If Debbie had come an hour earlier, I could have coped with her. In a tussle I might easily have gotten the best of her. But to be delivered because I had put the cuffs on myself was bitter gall. Avis and I watched our visitor open her handbag.

It was cord, thin cord that I didn't like. I leaped and aimed a kick but a girl with hands fastened behind her back does nothing right. It was a poor sort of kick which resulted with Debbie grabbing my ankles and throwing me to the floor. Suddenly she was sitting on my back. I sobbed as my bare elbows were circled in a noose of thin cord. It drew tighter and tighter until I cried in pain.

"There's no need for that, Debbie. It hurts something awful. Please don't do that."

I might have as well saved my breath. When my elbows were firmly joined, Debbie unlocked my handcuffs, knowing that I was still helpless. She repeated the process on my wrists. I was in pain and shamefully willing to obey. I managed to kneel and watch poor Avis get the same treatment. The thin cord made dug deep into her flesh and I had to wonder if it was just as deeply embedded in my arms. Soon the handcuffs made a pile on the floor and we two girls were bound by small amounts of thin, hard cord.

"And now, just to stop you being silly while I get the car ... ." Debbie was loving every minute of it. A handcuff locked to the foot of the bed with the other cuff locked to Avis's ankle held her prisoner. My ankle was also so secured and we were both going nowhere.

Along, Avis and I stared in dismay. "She means it, she's going to do what she said," Avis moaned. "Oh, Angelique, what have I got you into."

"It's not your fault, darling. She probably expected to catch me alone and overpower me. Debbie may do what she says but you've enough influence with the club to over ride her. I know I'm sunk because I'm a runaway slave. But Debbie could get herself into trouble for treating you this way. Golly, does this cord ever hurt!"

I was suddenly panic-stricken. Debbie would be back at any moment and between me and a lifetime of enslavement was only some thin cord. Desperately I backed against Avis's corded arms and painfully made an attempt against the tight cords. But all I achieved was hurt fingers. When Debbie tried to do the same for me, she was equally defeated. It was at that point Debbie returned to march us downstairs to the car. As we stood by the car with its trunk lid open invitingly, she locked our ankles together, my right to Avis's left, with the leg irons. Then she gagged us with a ball gag taken from the trunk. The ball was huge and filled my mouth, forcing the jaw wide open and pushing my tongue down. She pulled the strap holding the ball very tight.

"You don't need to gag us, Debbie," protested Avis as my gag was going on. But she was quickly silenced and the both of us shoved into the trunk with little care given to our comfort.

The ride took little over an hour. It only seemed like years. In the darkness, surrounded by warmth and car sounds, we were pressed face to face and body to body. As our gagged faces pressed and our breasts merged. I though how exciting this could have been if it weren't for the terribly tight cord hurting out arms. Even so, I felt my body responding to the touch of Avis's body. And perhaps the fear too. Soon we were both thrusting our hips towards each other in a hopeless imitation of lust.

It was Dorothy Dawson's home we saw when we were taken out of that dark trunk. That seemed a good choice for our confinement and trial. There was the room with the stage, and a dungeon in the basement. There was even a cage. We were escorted to that cage by eager girls who had been our friends. There our cords were cut off. Thankfully the gags were left in our mouths to silence the cries that greeted returning circulation in our arms.

When they left us, only a leg-iron joined our ankles, we were free otherwise, an unusual condition for me. But then it was unusual to be chained to another girl.

We hugged each other and cried on each other. We had a terrible need of each other. Soon our lips met and we completed the lovemaking we had only been able to start in the trunk.

The Sensuality Club always did things right. They left Avis and I to commune unhappily in the cell throughout the night, no doubt to make us properly aware of the size of our sins. The next day the entire membership was present, all agog with the pleasurable knowledge of being completely right and in good standing while two of the sisters stood before them in shame of nakedness and with wrists securely handcuffed behind their backs. It was something I had done before but for Avis it was new. Of the slavegirls Connie and Dorothy there was no sign.

The girls elected to provide a defense for Avis and I did a far better job than I would have expected. The whole affair almost sounded like a court with their arguments back and forth and motions. The main argument in Avis's favor was that her actions were merely what was to be expected from a girl interested in finding out what the slavegirl's life was like.

Then sentence was pronounced. Avis was to serve only three months of slavegirl service, and to receive ten strokes across her back. The Court visibly rubbed its hands in satisfaction at a job well done.

The advocates had a more difficult time with me. No one was quite sure to what degree I had welcomed my kidnapping by Tom Fredrick's. I might have been innocent for a kidnapped girl has to go along with her captor and can't make any decisions. On the other hand, there remained the concrete fact that when released I had failed to contact the club. My behavior was considered and debated until a compromise was developed by which I was to receive not fifty strokes but twenty with the same whip as would mark Avis. I would then endure three days of what The Court described as "rigorous bondage." Having thus endured the pains of the club's displeasure, I would then be returned to my status as the Sensuality Club's first and favorite slavegirl. Back went I to the rotation of ownership.

I was dearly loved and must never be allowed another chance to either escape or be kidnapped.

Avis and I were close to tears as we stood there on the platform for everyone to see. We were then locked in the cell below to await the main event of out being publicly whipped. Once more the clang of the closing bars told us all too clearly what we had become.

"I've never been whipped." Avis looked at me doubtfully. "Is it very painful?"

"Not the way you used to whip me. But the way they're going to whip us is going to be terrible, I just know it. The girls think they're being kind by giving you only ten and me twenty, but they haven't been whipped either so they don't know what they're doing.

"But, Angelique darling, you're sentenced to twenty."

"I'll handle it. If they don't gag me, I'll scream towards the end. That will help."

"It just doesn't seem possible that you and I can be standing like this and talking but in a little while we'll be tied up someway and whipped on our bare skin. It just can't happen."

"It will happen. Avis. They club's committed itself. But that three month sentence for you proves how high you stand in their regard. I bet every girl who gets possession of you will be kind. You probably won't be whipped again after today. Gosh, I wish Tom Fredrick's would get us both out of this."

"He wouldn't stand a chance against the whole club. Oh, Angelique!"

We were relieved of our leg irons and led back upon the stage, which was not equipped with a pair of trapeze bars with ropes. There were also some iron rings in the floor I didn't recall. We were surrounded by eager, helpful girls. We dared not struggled. Within minutes the ankles of both of us were tight strapped to enable out feet to be spread wide apart and tied to rings. We were quite helpless and it was now safe for them to free our hands and invite us to place our wrists in the straps at each end of the trapeze bar that we might watch them tightly buckled. Then they rose up before our eyes until our nudities stood conveniently stretched, our arms up high and our legs spread wide.

I think there can be no greater loneliness than that which grips a tight-bound maiden awaiting to be whipped. There were girls all around me but they were part of the force that worked against us and would cause us much pain. Avis and I dared not speak to each other even though we were not gagged, a sign I took to mean the audience preferred to hear us scream.

I have previously tried to tell of being whipped but there are no proper words by which a girl can convey the incredible explosion of pain as the thong impacts with your skin. Or of the burning scold it imparts. The first time the whip cut across my bare shoulders I screamed and flung myself against my bonds in an expression more of outrage than of pain. For every one stroke Avis received, twice the lash descended upon my skin.

Everything was well in hand at the Sensuality Club.

My courage cannot cope with pain. A pinched nipple will reduce me to utter submission. The whip takes me a step beyond into mindless agony. We dance a dance of pain. Avis and I, as the whip performs outrages against our bodies. Our screams echoed and should have pleased the membership. It was easy to sense the undercurrent of erotic excitement in the crowd watching. Perhaps they wondered who would be the ones to possess Avis and myself after our punishment had ended. Avis and I had little to look forward to. I am certain that right then Avis's three month sentence stretched out within her mind to infinity. We were a couple of damned unhappy girls.

Several of the members had taken turns in using the whip but all had made their strokes hard. Not one of the played favorites. The club had said me must be punished and punished we most certainly were.

We hung limply after the last stroke, panting and praying that it was really over. The club was pleased with us and gave us a round of applause as we were once more ironed at wrists and ankle. In the cell below, we frictioned breast to breast and dried tears in each other's hair. In the morning my darling Avis was assigned, for her first week of slavery, to Isabel Travis, and I was given over to the first of my days of "rigorous bondage."

We were given no chance to say goodbye.

Bondage comes in all types. The club explained that they could easily make me stand for a day with my hands tied above my head with body exposed for all to see. It was felt that for a slave as experienced as I, this was far too easy. Instead I was suspended by a single wrist while my other hand was bound tight to the opposite ankle, forcing me to stand on one foot. It was a beastly, rotten punishment on top of being whipped and I told them so. But they explained how kind they had been to sentence me to only twenty strokes when I undoubtedly deserved fifty. I should be grateful, they said, to be standing in this painful and contorted condition for only a single day. I will not dwell on that other to say that I would have preferred to be whipped again rather than this punishment. The club was clever in its punishments and I was getting the full measure to teach a runaway slavegirl not to run away again. Isabel Travis led Avis from my sight by a rope leash. This was day one.

Day two was an even more severe isolation of a maiden in distress. It was not the conventional understand of "the horse", there was no narrow edge on which I had to sit. Instead there was a smooth, round pole suspended between two trestles. I was invited to sit upon that pole while my wrists were bound tight behind my back and raised up high. Each ankle was solid strapped and drawn out to either side. I was held securely upon my perch. When this was done the girls assured me it could be much worse and went away. In solitude and unable to move I disagreed with their verdict. To be worse than this would have called for red-hot irons. As I viewed my day ahead, I wept.

Numbness helps. After a while my pussy gave up and resigned itself to bear my weight. The same was true of tied wrists and strapped ankles. Despite the assurance of a big, smooth pole, I knew myself subject to the ancient "Horse".

I have visitors. They laughed or mocked or offered sympathy according to their mood. But when they went away I was still astride that beastly pole. I had not been gagged and thus was free to plead. I am ashamed to speak of the pleadings and promises I gave. But laughter was the only reply. When evening came I was released and chained once more in the cell. But now I was alone, poor, dear Avis was already in service to a mistress who might be cruel or kind, I did not know. All I knew was that tomorrow would be another torture.

The girls loved to play with my breasts and to rub my pussy with skillful fingers. When my breath came heavily as I grew excited, they laughed and stopped touching my heated body. I was told to be a good girl and behave myself. My hands were then tied behind my back and I was raised with one ankle securely tied and tethered from above to spend my day upon the stone supported only by my shoulders and one ankle as the rest of me hung suspended and burned from the noose around my ankle. The girls had no name for it and told me cheerful it was no more than a discomfort by which I would come to a repentance of my sins against the Sensuality Club. I damned them to hell. But only in my mind. Silence if best for a slavegirl.

When I was visited, I bore, equally mute, the playful teasing of my pussy so well on display for such attentions. Some even used lips upon my breasts and pussy. But none would allow me to get too close to satisfaction. It was a game they found must amusing. The hell of it was the girls were right. Long before my punishment was finished I felt only regret and sorrow over having ever thought of escape in the first place. I forgot was guilty of my sins but knew only determination not to sin again. I even viewed the slavery I would experience all my life as a relief, much to be desired.

When I was released I would willing have knelt and kissed the feet of those who set me free. Thus is a maiden conditioned to submission.

I might have known it would be Debbie. The club regretted the time it would take to once more equip me with golden handcuffs and golden leg irons, so I was delivered to my new mistress with a plain irons on ankles and wrists, police issue. I was indeed back at square one.

Debbie was delighted. She and I both knew I had been given to her for a week because of the service she had performed for the club. When I was formally handed over to her, I was fearful of how she would keep me under control during transport. But Debbie, inconsistently, insisted I was fine with just handcuffs and leg irons, and should sit beside her in the car. I was driven thus to the place where I expected the thrashing Debbie had promised. Debbie owned me for seven days and could mark my skin with whatever marks and pain she pleased.

We spoke of nothing important during the ride.

I was not thrashed. No doubt the club had given Debbie a warning as to the proper treatment of slavegirls. Debbie, while obviously thrilled by having me all to herself, appeased her natural instincts by nothing more than subjecting me to a succession of nude discomforts inflicted by chain and cord in a continual progress of punishment. She was constantly aroused into a hot need I was compelled to satisfy as she arranged her nakedness upon me in such a manner as to place her sex in contact with my lips. Fortunately I had been well trained and passed these tests with flying colors. The punishments she had promised should I fail in that task were too terrible to tell. As a sign of her authority, she kept me chained in her bed each night only long enough to satisfy her need before binding me tight to a post downstairs for the hours of darkness. After my release each morning, Debbie cuffed my hands behind my back and brought me up for breakfast.

Gossip of the club was not encouraging. Connie was giving satisfaction as a slave. But Dorothy Dawson was constantly being whipped for misbehavior. Debbie promised a meeting in which I could view the marks on Dorothy's skin. Debbie told me Dorothy's skin was far more vividly stripped than mine. And she was kept tight bound instead of loosely chained because cords were far more painful. I knew exactly what she meant.

The worst thing Debbie did to me was suspend me by bound wrists throughout an entire day. There was nothing new that I had not suffered previously. But even so, it was still bloody to endure. My wrists were crossed and tightly bound before me and a rope passed from them to an overhead pulley. I was lifted from the ground until I was nearer the ceiling than the floor. I hung thus nakedly and did all the usual pleading and moaning.

When Debbie came to visit, which she did frequently, she amused herself by chatting in a friendly manner and forcing me to conversation, all the while using a pair of tweezers to slowly pluck my pubic hairs. Dear Debbie made sure her slavegirl's day was never dull.

By the end of the seven days I was with Debbie, I was trained to a quivering submission in which I would fall to my knees and perform whatever function she desired without complain. I spent a lot of time with my mouth up between her thighs. I was never free, never, never, never!

During this first week of my return to captivity I thought a lot about Tom Fredrick's and cursed my indecision in accepting freedom I knew now I did not desire. But Jennifer had taken my play and that was that! I imagined the two of them as lovers as I was whipped or strictly bound and hurting.

At the end of my seven days I might have given a tremendous sigh of relief had I not envisioned the months and years ahead in which I would forever be chained or bound. I tried not to think of the whip too much.

Natalie Crosby had possessed me twice during the previous year and I always thought of her as the dark-eyed beauty with the cone-shaped breasts. The line "a lean and hungry look" came to mind for her. She was a very intense woman. She had frankly admitted to the desire to whip me steadily while she owned me and it was only the club which prevented her from doing exactly that. Natalie achieved a comprise by whipping me seldom but hard and upon those portions of myself I desired least. Natalie was intensely interested pain, no question about that. Natalie was highly intelligent and when not punishing me, a good companion. Of the twenty-five she was not the worst nor the best.

While my two mistresses sat on the couch and sipped tea as they discussed my merits and shortcomings, I was told to stand meekly before them in the security of the Sensuality Club's standard restraints, handcuffs and leg irons. I had to listen to an exchange of ideas and opinions designed less to inform each other than to humiliate me. I had gone this route before and simply waited it out in meek submission which I hoped would earn me a comfortable seat in the car instead of being tied up in the trunk.

Must have worked because I was allowed to sit beside my new owner as we sped off in her Mercedes. With her usual efficiency, Natalie had installed snaps where they conveniently hooked onto the gorgeous belt still snug around my middle and the chain of my leg irons on the floor. We both knew these additional marks of captivity redundant.

Helpless, I sat awaiting the pleasure of my new mistress. Natalie could be relied upon for conversation. "Can you guess the first thing I'm going to do to you, Angelique, my pet," she inquired in a voice hushed by excitement. "I adore that pretty little pussy of yours so I'm going to whip it with a lovely new whip. I'm going to call it my "Pussy Punisher," and I'll tie you so you can watch it happen. I have to do this first thing because I'm simply raging with lust. It's your own fault, dear, for having such a gorgeous little cat."

What does a girl say to that! I rejected a polite thank you, and complaint was out of the questions. I compromised with a trace of bitterness, "I'm so glad I can make you happy, Natalie. I expect I'm lucky."

"Was that sarcasm, darling?"

"No, really! It seemed the sensible thing to say."

"That looks after our first hour, Angelique, my sweet. Guess what else I've got waiting."

"Does it hurt?"

"Don't be negative, it's a man!"

"Oh, not that again! Natalie, I don't want to be raped again. The club doesn't approve of men."

"I suspect you were not that picky about a guy named Tom Fredrick's."

"I was lucky with Tom. I don't want to talk about it."

"I can easily make you ... ."

"I know you can, Natalie. If you hurt me enough I'll do or say anything you wish. Please don't."

"I'm not thinking of a casual encounter, Angelique. Anyway, this guy wants to rent you from me for most of the term of my ownership. He offers a really staggering amount of money which, seriously, I can use. How would you like to be rented out?"

"I wouldn't. As far as I'm concerned, I belong to you and I'll try to please you. But the club wouldn't want you renting me out."

"He's nice."

"Okay, then, lock me in the cell or tie me to a tree while you and he have fun in bed."

"Angelique, my dear, that sounds like rebellion. And, anyway, no slavegirl should talk to her mistress like that. Shall I add five strokes to your pussy or would you prefer them somewhere else?"

"I'm sorry. Honest, I'm sorry. But after being owned by girls for so long that the idea of a man ... well, it's disgusting."

"You found Tom Fredrick's disgusting?"

"No, I didn't. But I told you I didn't want to talk about Tom. If that gets me whipped, then so be it. In any case, Tom's got himself another girl. She's a nice girl and very much into the scene. In fact, she's right now wearing those gold handcuffs and leg irons the club gave me."

"Jealous?"

"Yes, I am. If I could go back to Tom, I would. In fact, why don't you sell me to Tom, he's got lots of money?"

I could tell Natalie was interested. "I'll think about it, Angelique," she said soberly. "Actually I'm a fool to part with you, you're so delicious. But the way men pay for girls! I've never realized how much men value tits and pussies. If it wasn't for the club I could make a fortune out of you."

"Then why don't you? Why don't you resign from the Sensuality Club and take me with you. If you took me fastened the way I am, there wouldn't be a thing I could do about it."

"Nice try, Angelique! If you keep on you'll have me doing a twelve month stretch, and same as Dorothy Dawson." Once more her eyes searched my nakedness. "It's an idea and it's worth thinking about. Angelique, darling, your price is going up by the minute."

I wondered what I had started. Or if I had started anything. Aware of the punishment I had already earned, I dared not risk another by asking questions. Natalie would do whatever Natalie liked, and I'd find out about it soon enough. I wished I had not let loose the information about the golden shackles the club had given me. I missed them myself for, if a girl must be chained, it feels good to wear gold. I wished I still wore those chains in slavery to the only man I ever called Master. But that was a pretty dream—I would never, never escape from the Sensuality Club.

Natalie always knew what she wanted. Safe in her garage I was unchained from the car. I was instantly led to what I remembered as the room of punishment. My pussy crinkled in terror.

"I'm going to have to remove your leg irons. You're not going to do something stupid, are you?"

"I can't do anything with my hands behind me. Go ahead."

Natalie glared at me. Had I been sarcastic?

"You're a sweetheart and I'm absolutely ashamed of what I'm going to do to you. But I have to do it or I'll absolutely explode with lust. I'm strapping leather bands around your ankles, in case you haven't noticed."

"I noticed." I was looking down to watch the black leather bands buckled tight into my skin. They would simply hold me for punishment. When she told me to lay on my back on the rug, I obeyed without question. I was a slavegirl about to be punished for her mistress' pleasure. Unable to contain my fear, I said, "Please don't hurt me too much. Should I scream or do you want me to keep quiet?"

"Scream. I want to share your pain. Does that sound silly?"

I was laying on handcuffed arms as my legs were hoisted upward between two poles. I could guess the rest, it was elementary. The cuffs were snapped to a ring in the pole such that my bottom was off the floor and exposed my crotch totally. She had been right, I would be able to see every blow upon my naked pussy.

"Lovely position, isn't it, dear?"

I didn't answer. My legs formed a big "V", a shape almost designed to guide the whip downward towards my exposed sex. I knew I would jerk about and cry out. I clenched my teeth.

Natalie's whipping of my pussy was not really a major event but simply one more step in the pathway of pain I must walk the rest of my life. I slave must expect the whip even though it lay unused for days at a time. Natalie had said she was doing this to get it out of my system. Perhaps this whipping of my pussy would be a prelude to something nicer. I heard Natalie's voice, "Dead center, darling."

I promised myself not to look but somehow I couldn't pull my eyes away that tender part of me. Natalie held a lean, wicked whip. I watched the sweep of Natalie's arm and could even see the leather coming down. I did not scream, I simply went crazy with heaves and twisting as the world exploded into red-hot pain. It was bitter, bitter pain. The scream that should have come stuck in my throat.

"Natalie! Oh, my god, Natalie, please! Not again! You're killing me!"

"Nonsense, dear," was her reply. And another harsh stroke to make me explode into pain.

"Tell me how they hurt, Angelique dear, I'm curious."

I had to make it good. Suddenly words of bum and scold and scorch tumbled out of me. And of fear. I was suddenly very much afraid of what would happen if the tip of the whip would land squarely on my clit. Thus far it had landed to either side.

Natalie listened with attention and said she supposed it wasn't all that bad. She would not give me another stroke and maybe I could describe the sensations better.

The thong was thin. But it landed directly on that most sensitive part of my being. Waves of pain washed over me, nearly causing to blackout. But such mercy did not come and I gasped and shook with spasms. I vaguely remember thrusting my hips wildly up in the air just after the stroke.

I told Natalie that she was cutting me in two. And I screamed. All I wanted was to put to the fire now burning in my sex. Looking up at my mistress' lovely features I knew Natalie was enjoying herself.

"I'll try and cut one of your thighs this time." The voice held love but the stroke was bitter pain. "I wish you could see the view I see, Angelique dear. You're starting to get very red. A few more strokes and there'll be purple. This is gorgeous."

Short of using a mirror this was the only position I could think of that allowed a girl to watch her pussy being whipped. Stroke followed stroke and I paid full vocal tribute to them all. I pleaded, screamed and moaned. I would have offered anything to cease the pain but a slavegirl has nothing to give. If I had had any sense I would have been a free girl and not being tortured by a beautiful, dark-haired girl.

Natalie was bright-eyed and joyous, breathing heavily as she struck again and again into the open invitation of my thighs. I could not believe that my cunt was not being slashed to ribbons. But, although discolored and swollen, it was still whole. She then sat on my face and told me to be a good little slave.

The next day I was introduced to the man who would change my life.