Pretty Woman

The first chapter of this story is posted under Calandria. The second under my new identity of Calandria2. (Don't ask why!) Everyone in the tale is over 18, and so should you be!

Kate is a young girl from a humble background in the States, whose adventures have brought her to Madrid, where she was 'discovered' and given a home by Lars, a handsome man with mixed Basque and Swedish parentage, who has made her his slave. Teresa is his maid, and wishes to become his slave too.

*

My master welcomed me home with open arms, the afternoon after my two nights with his friends Selina and Marcelo, but wanted to hear in detail what they had required of me. He enjoyed my account of the visit we had made to their friend's apartment, where I had been viciously whipped, and wanted to know if I had had an orgasm then. I sheepishly told him that I had.

We were sitting in the lounge, and when I asked him how Teresa's training was progressing, he rang for her, with the little bell with which he always summoned his maid.

When she came in, I gasped, because she was preceded by a dark-skinned, quite tall, Indian-looking maid I had never seen before, dressed formally in a black velvet minidress, black fishnet stockings, the tops of which could be tantalisingly seen below her hem, and black patent stilettos. Her long, silky, jet-black hair was caught up in pony-tail, but still fell to her slender waist. In a delicate little lace-gloved hand, she held the end of a leash, which was attached to a broad silver collar, that encircled Teresa's neck. Apart from that, and a matching silver belt hanging loosely about her waist, she was naked. But what made me gasp was the pattern of red welts that could instantly be seen laddering her slim body. Not deep or ugly, they made a pretty pattern from just below her pert breasts to her hairless mound, beneath which her neat and, to me, familiar pussy hid coyly from view, the start of her slit an unspoken challenge.

'You must meet Zia, my new maid,' said Lars, 'she came to me as a virgin.'

I didn't ask if she still enjoyed that status, but his use of the past tense tended to point to the answer, and Zia's face told me the rest. If her complexion had allowed her to blush, she would surely have done so.

My master dismissed his new maid, and took hold of Teresa's leash, drawing her closer.

'Let me have a look at your marks, my dear,' he said, and inspected the fading red stripes carefully, running a finger along them thoughtfully.

'Next time you are whipped, I think Katherine should do it,' he said.

'Oh, please no, Sir,' I pleaded, 'I don't want to hurt her – she has been so good to me, and….'

'You

will

whip her, do you understand?' he spoke sharply, then, more softly: 'It will seal a bond between you. When she is fully-trained, I may have her return the favour.'

'Yes, Sir,' I murmured, my eyes cast downwards.

'Now,' he said, 'now that is settled, we'll discuss your own next phase. You both mentioned to me that you would like to be pierced, and I have arranged for that to be done tomorrow, but next week, I shall place my permanent mark on you, Katherine. That will be accompanied by a ceremony which will mark the completion of your training. Your training, Teresa, is as yet in its early stages, and, if you are to earn your mark as well, you will have to learn to take a lot of punishment. Now you should both go and dress for dinner. Zia has been instructed to lay out your dresses.'

I went to my room, which I was pleased to see again, even after so short a break. As I showered prior to dressing for dinner, I couldn't help wondering if I should retain my precious place in the affections of my master, now that Teresa was going to share my status, and with the lovely Zia as a new complication. A lovely complication, I thought, however, and wondered what the Indian maid would look like naked, and whether I should one day see her chained to my master's whipping post, being lashed mercilessly – it was an intriguing thought.

The dress Zia had laid out on my bed was one of my favourites, a backless grey silk halter-neck gown whose bodice was loose enough that my breasts jiggled as I walked, but with a skirt tight enough to mould my buttocks, and make long strides impossible. I would go naked under the dress, apart from my waist-chain, and my collar was always in place. I slipped on gunmetal grey stilettos, and brushed my long black hair until it shone. I didn't think I should be whipped that evening, so I could let my hair cascade down my back – I knew my master liked that.

As I left my room, I coincided with Teresa, and saw that she had been dressed in a very special way. The dress she wore was black latex, and of the most extraordinary design I had ever seen. It was knee-length and skin-tight, with a buckle fastening the hem tightly around her long slim legs, much like a dress I had worn the week before. But there the resemblance ended, because Teresa's dress had a huge cut-out at the rear, so that her buttocks were quite naked, and the neckline, if such it could be called, ran below her sharp-pointed breasts. Apart from a pair of black needle-heeled, platform-soled shoes, and her metal collar, she wore nothing else.

She looked at me sheepishly. 'Do I look silly?' she asked.

'No, Teresa,' I told her, smiling, 'you look ready to be fucked.'

We went hand-in-hand into the dining room, where Lars, dressed in an Armani suit, was waiting, sitting on a sofa. He looked us both up and down, then nodded his approval.

'Katherine, come and sit beside me,' he said, patting the sofa. I did as he told me.

He next addressed Teresa. 'Come and kneel in front of me,' he said, and she knelt awkwardly on the carpet, hampered by her ultra-tight skirt. Her breasts pointed proudly at our master, who promptly took both of her long, protuberant nipples between thumb and forefinger, tweaking hard, so that she let out a sharp gasp. Zia appeared as if at some unseen signal, carrying a small silver tray, and Lars released his grasp on Teresa's nipples, and took the tray. From it, he selected a pair of silver screw-down nipple clamps, which he deftly applied to the Colombian girl's erect nipples, cusing her to writhe and grimace. But then he tightened them down really hard, and Teresa gave little screams as the awful instruments bit into her engorged flesh. They were connected by a pretty, fine, silver chain, I noticed. My master now stood up and told Teresa to bend over the seat of the sofa, giving her a cushion to rest her head on.

'Now spread your ass-cheeks!' he ordered.

'But…my skirt…..,' Teresa began.

'Zia, unbuckle it for her. She can have it done up again afterwards.'

The maid crouched down beside me and did as she was told, glancing at me for a moment with a look I couldn't read. Teresa shifter her knees a foot apart, then obediently reached behind her with both hands, her face crushed down into the cushion, and stretched her lovely buttocks as far apart as she was able. Meanwhile Lars had taken from the tray the biggest butt-plug I had ever seen, conical in shape, and some four inches long, and having a stem an inch or so long projecting from the thicker end, topped with a wide flange. It was made of blue plastic. As he smeared lubricant on the wicked-looking artifact, he said to me, 'She's no anal virgin, but she definitely needs enlarging,'

Then he ever so slowly introduced the plug into Teresa's asshole, working it almost gently around as he pushed, but then, quite suddenly, he rammed it hard home, deep into the girl's velvet tunnel, causing her to yell out with agony as it threatened to tear her delicate membranes.

'Oh, oh. It's awful,' she cried, 'I'll never be able to bear it!'

'You can and you will,' said our master, then to Zia, 'buckle up her skirt again, my dear.'

When Teresa struggled to her feet, the blue flange of her plug was lewdly displayed in her asshole, and Lars gave a tug at the chain of her nipple clamps, then said to me, 'Come, Katherine, we must sit up to the table. Teresa will sit on the floor beside me.'

I almost protested at the cruel humiliation of the girl who had come to be my friend, but something told me that it wasn't going to be worthwhile, and that, anyway, she was only getting what she had asked for. Zia served us a splendid dinner of tikka masala and pilau rice, with many side dishes – I realised that she had been chosen for more reasons than one, especially when, as she bent over to place one dish on the table, my master casually lifted her little skirt with his fork, revealing naked pussy-lips, black as night!

Lars fed Teresa sparingly, giving her a forkful of delicious Indian fare from time to time, but when I looked at her pityingly, she turned away from me, introspectively.

After we had eaten, Lars wanted Teresa to walk up and down in front of us, and when she did so, she thrust her sharp-pointed young breasts out proudly, the clamps an erotic statement, and tried to walk as normally as possible, despite the twin discomforts of the huge butt plug and the restraint around her legs, not to mention the totteringly high heels she wore. I was impressed, and a pang of jealousy struck as I knew I couldn't have done so well.

Presently, my master told her to go to her room – 'but keep that plug in place tonight, do you hear?'

'And the clamps?'

'You can take them off. In fact, do it now.'

I was prepared to hear her scream as she unscrewed the vicious clamps, and the blood flowed back into her tortured nipples, and so she did, and tears ran down her cheeks as she handed the clamps back to Lars.

'Come to bed with me,' he said to me, 'I think I should like to fuck you now.'

'Will she be alright?' Lars asked me as I slid into bed, having shrugged out of my gown.

'I think so,' I replied, 'and Zia?'

'She has distinct possibilities too,' he said, enigmatically, 'but she has a lot to learn.'

I felt for my master's cock, and found it rock-hard already – he had been affected by the humiliation of Teresa, I thought. But what the hell? I closed my lips around the burgeoning, pulsing shaft, and took him deep into my throat as he drove his forefinger hard into my asshole. In no time at all, he came, in a hot, viscous flood, which I swallowed gratefully, then licked and sucked him clean, keeping myself on the very brink of an orgasm as I did so.

'Oh, thank you, master,' I told him, 'I have been thinking about your lovely body for the last two days.'

'Even when you were with Selina?'

'Even then.'

He took me twice then, the first time showing the gentleness of which he was capable, bringing me to ecstasy as he drove his length in and out with a gradually increasing rhythm, then, scarcely half an hour later, pounding my eager but tender asshole so hard I felt he would split me in two.

Next morning, over coffee, he said, 'Get dressed now, my dear, just a skirt and blouse or something. The people are coming to pierce you at ten o'clock.' He went off to impart the same message to Teresa.

When I looked at my dress options, I decided on a favourite, a short, green, pleated silk dress which fell unbelted from its gathered neck to mid-thigh length, with voluminous sleeves. My breasts pushed at the soft material, which then drifted loosely down over my naked body, and always made me feel incredibly sexy. After making up, I went to the entrance hall, where Teresa sat, dressed in a button-through cotton summer dress, and looking demure.

At ten precisely, the doorbell rang, and Zia bustled through to answer it. She ushered in a tall, grey-haired man who would have passed for a lawyer or an accountant, and an attractive blonde woman in her forties. Both were dressed in business suits, and carried heavy briefcases, the sort pilots carry. I didn't think they could be the people we were waiting for, but the man asked Zia where they could change, and they soon emerged transformed from the cloakroom by the entrance. They were still carrying their cases, but now were clad in white coats. Zia took them out through the kitchen, motioning us to follow on. When I took Teresa's hand in mine, I found that she was trembling. She glanced at me beseechingly. 'I don't want them to do this to me,' she said.

'Don't be silly, it won't hurt,' I said, with more assurance than I felt.

I discovered that Zia had prepared a room off the kitchen, somehow having found and installed a gynocologist's chair, complete with stirrups for the legs. Beside it was a little table, and on it the woman was laying out several gleaming instruments I didn't at all like the look of.

'Who's first?' asked the grey-haired guy. I looked at Teresa, who had started to shiver again, and stepped forward.

The woman smiled at me in a kindly way, and told me to get undressed. When I showed her what I had on, by the simple expedient of raising my dress, she helped me into the chair. As I allowed her to place my legs in the stirrups, I felt momentary panic, which wasn't helped when she buckled my ankles firmly in place.

'Is that necessary?' I asked.

'Not usually, but it helps us to know that you'll keep still.'

She was still smiling, and continued, 'We'll do your tongue first, I think – it's quite simple. Would you like to choose your ornament?'

I chose a pink coral stud with a short, fine gold wire to go through my tongue.

The guy worked deftly, first spraying something onto my tongue that made it feel numb, then, before I knew it, he was sstanding back to admire his handiwork. The woman showed me my new stud in a little hand mirror, but when I tried to tell her it looked nice, my mouth was a little numb, and I couldn't get the words out. It was a shame, because I meant to ask her if they could spray my pussy as well, before they went to work on it.

Too late! They were already poking about between my legs, their latex-gloved hands cool against my flesh, and then they exchanged glances, before the man nodded to her, and stepped back. She started to massage my clit, gently at first, then, with consumate skill, she made circular motions around my little nub, before plunging two long fingers deep into my cunt. I gasped in pleasure, and saw out of my eye-corner, that Teresa's eyes were hooded as she breathed more quickly, enjoying the scene. When I felt the beginnings of an orgasm welling up, the woman drew back, and turning to her colleague, said, 'Yes, we can do her clit – she has a nice one.'

She let him take her place, and his quick, authoritative fingers gripped my excited clit.

I found my voice, and despite the strangeness of the stud in my tongue, managed to protest, 'But what about an anaesthetic?'

A new voice said calmly, 'But that would spoil it, my dear.' Lars had entered the room, and was stood beside me. I was shaking now, as the grey-haired guy coaxed my clit out from beneath its protecting hood, and I felt the tip of his needle against my most tender place.Then there was nothing but excruciating pain – and crazy, agonising ecstasy – as he penetrated my clitoris with his cruel instrument. I moaned loudly, and came, a rushing, hurricane-force climax. When I descended, however, I was able to look in the woman's mirror and see a silver ring adorning me.

'We'll hang something on that from time to time,' said Lars, and the woman laughed. Her eyes said that she would have loved Lars to fuck her.

Before I got up from the chair, I had my navel decorated with a short length of silver chain, from which hung my master's insignia, and the woman took time off from flirting with my master to give me some antiseptic cream, and instructions for applying it.

It was Teresa's turn, and she provided something of an anticlimax. When the woman tried to get her clit to emerge, it stubbornly refused to be coaxed, and she had to be pierced through her hood, which I knew wouldn't give her much pain. She still screamed, however, leading our master to say, 'Tomorrow, I'll see you have something to scream about, my little one.'

My new decorations were going to take a little getting used to, and Lars was not going to be able to fuck us for at least four days, the woman said.

'Not

there

, anyway!' he whispered conspiratorially to me, and I giggled.

During the rest of the day, I couldn't resist playing with my tongue-stud, which felt strange, especially when I ate, and I several times admired my new clitoris-ring – I could hardly wait for my master to 'hang something on it' as he had said. I knew that would keep me aroused beyond belief.

Next day, at breakfast, Lars said, in a matter-of-fact tone, 'Teresa, it is time for you to be whipped. When you've finished your coffee, you will go to your room. I have had Zia lay out your dress, and she will put your hair up, then lead you down.' He might have been asking her to do some simple domestic chore, I thought, but I found myself trembling at the prospect of punishing my friend.

'Take your time over coffee, my dear – you'll be fine as you are,' my master said. I was wearing a long, white, transparent, fur-trimmed nightdress, with spaghetti straps, under my robe, and had done little more than brush out my long dark hair that morning.

Lars led me down to the 'dungeon' and I noted that he had installed something new in my short absence. It was a St.Andrew's cross, but laid horizontally to one side of the big room, about a foot off the floor. The cellar still contained the whipping-post I knew so well, the special 'vaulting-horse,' with its immense phallus projecting up at an angle, and many other instruments of torture.

Excitement was coursing through my veins when I heard Zia's heels clacking down the stone steps. She was dressed in her uniform, as usual, and held the end of Teresa's leash, clipped to her silver collar. Her black hair was twisted up expertly into a French knot, and she was clad in the 'regulation' long cotton dress, tied at the waist with a simple cord. She trembled slightly as my master stood behind me, and slipped the robe from my shoulders, leaving every detail of my body visible through the trransparency of my gown.

Meanwhile, he nodded to Zia, and she unbuttoned Teresa's dress, untied the cord, so that when she pushed it from my friend's slim shoulders, it fell in a pool around her bare feet. The ritual seemed to heighten the erotic tension, as Lars bade her spreadeagle herself on the narrow planks of the cross, then told Zia to secure her wrists and ankles to the extremities. The cross's shape meant that her legs were wide apart, and from where I stood, I saw her glistening, open cunt, and realised she was wet with the anticipation of her whipping.

My master handed me a long, supple, very thin cane, with a rubber grip by which to hold it, and kissed my lips, then breathed, 'Don't hold back. I want her to be hurt.'

'How many?'

'Oh, I think she can take thirty, don't you? Ten on her back, the rest on her ass and thighs.'

I must have looked dubious, because he said, smiling, 'Don't worry, Katherine, you will soon have your own turn.'

I turned to look at him, and he saw some sort of a challenge in my glance.

'This afternoon,' he said quietly, then, 'go on, whip her!'

I felt the satisfying swish of the cane with a trial flick, then standing just aside from Teresa, gave her the first tentative stroke, just below her shoulder blades.

'Oh, come on, Katherine! You can do better than that,' said Lars, from his armchair, 'she hardly felt that!'

I drew back my arm, and lashed the small of her back, raising a dark red welt right across the lovely pale flesh of her back. She winced, and writhed against her bonds

'That's better,' he said, 'One!'

'Oh!' moaned Teresa, when I struck a little higher up, and I warmed to the task, trying not to let the cruel cane fall in the same place twice. But my master still wasn't happy.