Procured

I sat in my favourite armchair, reading the newspaper, but a serious distraction invaded my eyes, in the form of Katia, who was laying the table for dinner. When she leaned over the table to reach something in its centre, her tiny pleated skirt rose up to the lace tops of the white stockings which sheathed her long, long legs. I knew that she would be wearing no panties under her skirt, and my cock stiffened, unbidden, at the thought.

'Come here, Katia!' I said, and our slave turned and smiled at me, whisking her long, fine, platinum-blonde hair out of her eyes, then walked over to me, her high, metallic heels clicking on the parquet floor. She stood close in front of me, and slowly smoothed her skirt up, until her clean-shaven pussy came into view, the little chain dangling between the two rings she had had fitted, one in her clit-hood, the other in her labia.

Knowing what I liked, she reached down and stretched her labia wide with the first two fingers of one hand, exposing her glistening pink cunt for me. Her eyes never left mine as she opened her mouth a fraction, showing me the tip of her pierced tongue.

I now had an erection like a stallion, and freed it from my trousers. Katia straddled me, and, still holding her labia apart with one hand, grasped my rod with the other, and guided me home, settling down on me so that I penetrated her with my full length, then gripping me tightly with her agile vaginal muscles, which she knew drove me mad. I soon had her silk blouse undone, and kneaded her firm, pointed breasts as she started to move, gently at first, riding me so that our rhythms matched perfectly. When I was almost at the point of abandon, she eased me out of her, and, holding the base of my shaft, shifted position, so that I slid easily into her arsehole, the new tightness sheathing my tool for it whole length, peristalsis driving me to a frenzy.

'Fuck me, Mark,' she said, through gasping breaths, 'fuck my arse!'

I drove at her now, my buttocks ramming up hard from the chair as I tried to get as deep within her as possible, my pounding strokes becoming frantic, then I drove one final great thrust, and came in a great flood, deep in her bowel.

She lifted off, and went down on her knees, licking my cock clean, with every sign of enjoying the taste.

'You're a wonderful slave, Katia,' I told her, as I stroked her silken hair. She purred like a kitten.

Looking up, I saw that my wife Sandra was stood in the doorway watching.

'Is that better?' she asked.

'You're not jealous, all of a sudden, are you?' I enquired.

'Of course not, darling,' she said, 'after all, you lent me to Gavin last night. No, I was just thinking that Katia's arse looks as if she's never been whipped. I think it's time she was punished.'

'Then why don't we whip her tonight? And you can take her to bed later – I'm knackered.'

Sandra walked over and kissed me lightly on the forehead, saying, 'That would be nice, and you can recover for tomorrow.'

I had forgotten that we had a big day lined up – it was Saturday, and we had arranged to help Jimmy and Lucy in their quest to have their slave Nadia marked. Our new friends Gavin and Lidia were also invited, and it promised to be an interesting event. Lucy, like myself, enjoyed ritual, and had been describing the afternoon she planned as a 'ceremony.' But that was all in the future, and as we sat down to dinner, Katia joined us at the table, having changed into a short, silky, dark blue dress, loose, with a gathered neckline, which left her breasts free to jiggle about, her pert nipples distractingly obvious. Sandra had sheathed herself in black latex, a skin-tight, knee-length dress which moulded her curves to perfection. Looking from one to the other of them, I couldn't help reflecting on my good fortune in being able to fuck these two fantastic women whenever I wished. We chatted amiably over dinner – nobody listening in could have ever imagined that Katia was about to be cruelly whipped – and when Sandra told Katia what we had decided, she merely smiled prettily, and said, 'Thank you, that will be nice.'

When we had finished, and Katia had cleared the table, Sandra told her to go and get ready. She needed no further instruction – rituals were by now well established, something Lucy had taught us – and went to her room to prepare for her whipping.

My wife, a dab-hand on the sewing machine, had made a dress for the occasion, to be worn when Katia presented herself for punishment. It was a long white gown of the sheerest nylon ('curtain material,' said Sandra) with long sleeves tied at the wrists by ribbons, another of which circled her waist, and fur-trimmed at neck and hem. Its effect, as ever, was startling – her gorgeous slim body could be seen in intimate detail through the transparent material, but its pristine whiteness lent her a somehow virginal air, her long platinum blonde hair now twisted up into a French Knot. This 'air' was just a little tainted by the sight of the little silver chain, clearly visible when she walked, dangling from the rings in her labia.

I was very pleased with the whipping post I had designed and constructed in our 'playroom.' It took the form of an inverted, underlined 'Y,' the underline being a strong divided wooden bar, with holes for the wrists, like in stocks. The Y allowed for the captive's legs to be held wide apart, ankles trapped in broad leather straps, whilst another strap could be buckled tightly around the victim's waist. With her wrists snared in the 'stocks' she would be entirely vulnerable. I had made it with curved

Timber, so that the victim's buttocks would be thrust out towards the captor. We were going to try it out for the first time, but Katia was surprisingly calm when she first saw where she was to be punished. She stripped off her gown, and, as I arranged her on the new post, I couldn't help running my finger around the brand, deeply scorched into the flesh of her lower back, remembering the thrill of that weekend in Germany when she had been marked. She looked at me, twisting her head around, helpless in her bonds, and said, 'I love you, Mark!'

'We both love you too, Katia darling,' I responded, stroking her cheek tenderly.

Sandra came up behind me, a leather flogger in her hand. 'She looks lovely on your new contraption, doesn't she?' she said.

I nodded, and Sandra bent to talk to Katia.

'You'd like me to hurt you, wouldn't you, darling?' she asked.

'Oh yes, Sandra. Please hurt me,' said Katia, understanding the protocol.

Sandra laid the flogger on her slender white back, then raised it and brought its thin, supple leather thongs swishing down to land with a crack on our slave's tender flesh. Again and again she thrashed her with the flogger, criss-crossing her back and buttocks with a veritable spaghetti of red lines, but Katia neither flinched nor did she utter a sound until my wife put down the flogger and felt between Katia's wide-open legs.

'You're nice and wet, my dear,' she said, 'do you want to cum?'

'Yes, Sandra,' she said, 'but…'

'But you need me to hurt you more, don't you, you little slut?'

'Yes please,' she murmured, and Sandra went to the wall-rack and took down a thin cane. Testing it through the air, she walked back to Katia, drew back her arm, and lashed her with all her strength across her lovely rounded buttocks.

At last Katia moaned, but I knew it was moan, not just of pain and agony, but of ecstasy, as her orgasm overtook her, and the evidence of this ran in a milky stream down her thighs.

After she had thanked Sandra, I released her, and let Sandra tend to her sore back, then I told her to come to our room when she was ready. When she did so, she was naked, and I pulled her onto the bed, to lay between us. She grimaced when I touched her back, but she took my prick gently into her mouth, grazing my crown with her tongue-stud, then guided me into my wife's waiting cunt, massaging my balls as I pounded her. We both came together, then I slept, as Sandra went down and started to lick Katia's pussy.

Next day we set off in mid-morning to Lucy and Jimmy's. Sandra wore a harem-suit in peach organdie she had made under her coat – she had had to wear a coat, in spite of the warm weather, as the trouser-suit was translucent, and had a lace-fringed opening at the crotch – she looked fantastic in it. Katia insisted on wearing a short, backless, floral-patterned silk dress with a flared skirt. She always liked to show off her wounds when she had been whipped, and I noted that her dress also revealed her brand. When she walked between us, down the garden path to where my car was parked, I glanced to one side, and saw that an elderly neighbour was watching, quite distracted from his gardening.

When we arrived at Lucy's, Gavin and Lidia were already there, Lidia magnificent in a short, loose-fitting, mid-blue silky pleated dress which fell directly from neckline to hem – a hem I instantly wanted to lift! Her legs were bare, and I suspected that all she wore apart from the dress was her pair of metal-heeled stilettos. Lucy, whose home we were in, had not seen fit to dress as if she were going to be seen by the public, and wore a trademark fishnet sheath, through which every detail of her body could be seen, the almost non-existent breasts with the rings dangling from her nipples, and the chain which she liked to wear connecting the ring through her pussy-lip to the one in her navel. I sat with Jimmy and Gavin, chugging beers, and taking in the sight our wives and Katia presented, until Nadia, Lucy and Jimmy's slave, appeared, going straight to Katia, who kissed her at length.

Nadia was dressed in a short, transparent black nightdress, with a lace trim at the neck and hem, and looked very nervous, watching out of the corner of her eye as Lucy got Sandra to help her prepare the barbecue in their secluded, walled garden. Food had already been laid out – a cold lunch – because the barbecue would today serve a different purpose. In it was to be heated the iron which would be used to brand Nadia!

We all greeted Nadia as if it were her birthday. As I embraced her, I was acutely aware of her pointed breasts thrusting through the sheer nylon, and when she turned away to peck Gavin on the cheek, the short chain dangling from her clit-ring swung around between her legs. She then went to chat to Katia, and we were all called to help ourselves to the plates of delicious oriental food that Lucy had provided, 'while the barbecue gets going,' she said. I noticed that Nadia was either too excited or too scared to eat.

When we had eaten our fill, Lucy passed amongst us, taking each of us by the hand to led us to where she had decided we should be seated. Three garden sofas had been placed around the barbecue, and Lucy took my hand, and led me to the one already occupied by Lidia. Sandra was placed beside Gavin and Jimmy had Katia for company.

Jimmy had set up the sound system, and Lucy now slipped in a new CD – of vaguely ecclesiastic music.

'This is

so

exciting, isn't it?' breathed Lidia, into my ear, as Lucy beckoned Nadia to come to her, and the slavegirl obeyed, diffidently and hesitantly. I noticed that she had set up the barbecue beside a gnarled old pine tree, from whose branches hung a length of rope. It was no accident, and Lucy helped Nadia off with her nightgown, then tied her wrists together with the rope. She went around behind the tree, pulled on an unseen end of the rope, and Nadia's arms were quickly dragged up above her head, until she could just touch the ground with the tips of her toes.

Lucy walked away, and from behind the picnic tables, fetched a long, cruel-looking bull whip, which she cracked like a circus performer.

'God, she's going to whip her first!' whispered Lidia, and I felt her hand covering the bulge in my chinos.

Without preliminaries, Lucy stood back, eroticism personified in her fishnet sheath, and sent the long lash snaking towards her suspended slave. She was a complete expert with the whip, and its knotted tip caught Nadia just below her left breast, the lash falling on the flesh of her slim back. A tiny trickle of blood appeared from where the knot had bit her. Nadia stoically remained silent, looking proudly across at us, and Lidia was busy releasing my burgeoning erection from its prison. A second stroke whistled through the air and took Nadia lower down than the first, causing her to gasp, and my cock to leap as Lidia now held it in her long-nailed hand.

'Mmm,' murmured Lidia, and as Lucy announced that she was 'just warming up' her slave, I glanced around. Gavin was busy, his hand playing with Sandra's pussy through the gap in her suit, while she was on the point of treating him to one of her fantastic blowjobs. Katia was straddled across Jimmy's lap, her baack to him, so that she could see her friend's fate. Jimmy's hands were on her lovely breasts under her dress, and, the way she squirmed on him, it wasn't going to be long before he was inside her.

Lucy had finished her 'warm-up routine,' and was busy driving two tent-pegs into the lawn. To these, she tied Nadia's ankles. 'We can't have her wriggling around,' she explained, then, to Nadia, 'It's time, my dear. I'm going to hurt you more than you've ever been hurt. You know that, don't you?'

'Yes, Miss Lucy,' muttered Nadia.

'But you still want me to do it, don't you?'

'Yes, please, Miss Lucy,' she replied, her voice a little louder this time.

Lucy ran a hand down the girl's flank, to her firm, round buttock, where she lingered in one spot. She glanced across for Jimmy's approval, and he managed to nod, despite the fact that Katia was in the act of guiding his rampant cock into her wet cunt, impaling herself slowly. Lidia was now licking pre-cum off the tip of my own knob, and, without looking, I knew that Sandra would be attending to Gavin's needs.

Lucy had moved across to the glowing barbecue, and was inspecting the iron she had taken from the coals. Nodding her satisfaction, she moved quickly across to Nadia, whose eyes were wide with terror, despite her request to be marked.

Lucy said, 'Forgive me, Nadia!' and plunged the red-hot brand straight to its target on her slave's tender buttock. Nadia shrieked – an awful, piercing yell – and there was a sizzling noise, accompanied by the smell of burning flesh, as the young girl slumped in her bonds, her head hanging down to her breast. As this happened, I came, in hot gushes, deep into Lidia's grateful throat – I didn't care, at that moment, what the others were up to.

Lucy took her slave down with infinite care, laid her face down on a rug, and went to fetch her medicine chest. I knew she would take good care of the girl, whom both she and Jimmy thought a great deal of.

Sated, we all sat around talking for most of the afternoon, and Lidia and Gavin told us of their fruitless search for a slave of their own.

Three days later, we called around to see how Nadia was recovering, and she was her chirpy self, only sorry we couldn't see her new brand, as it was covered by Lucy's sterile dressing. She said she would be very proud of it, as, indeed, Katia was of hers. When I came home from work the next day, Sandra showed me a letter she had received from her niece in Canada. Apparently her parents, Sandra's brother Neil and his wife, had split up. She said she had nowhere to go – could she come and stay for a while?

'Well, can she?' asked Sandra.

'It's up to you, love,' I said, 'your niece!'

'She can come as far as I'm concerned,' said my wife, 'but I don't know what she'll make of our lifestyle, do you?'

'She'll have to take us as she finds us,' I said – platitudes come cheap.

So three weeks later, we were at Heathrow, waiting with a piece of cardboard, 'Cynthia

Chandler' printed on it with felt-tip.

When all the passengers from her flight seemed to have gone through, a scruffy-looking girl with straggly dark blonde hair, wearing what appeared to be an army greatcoat, and towing a big suitcase, stood on her own, peering around.

'Cynthia?' I called.

'Shit no,' said the girl, coming towards us, 'nobody calls me that. Cindy's my name – and you'll be uncle Mark?'

'And nobody calls me that either,' I said, 'just plain Mark, OK?'

She looked even more like an unmade bed close up, as I took her suitcase and she told us she had been searched in Customs – it was hardly surprising, I thought.

Cindy was sullen and uncommunicative as we drove home, showed neither gratitude – which we didn't want anyway – nor any other emotion when we showed her to her nicely appointed room. She came down to dinner in a pair of ratty jeans and a grubby sweat-shirt, and hardly spoke until Katia appeared with steaming plates of a goulash she had made.

'Katia, I'd like you to meet Cindy,' said Sandra, and Cindy looked Katia up and down, then looked at both of us in turn, a question forming in her mind.

'Katia lives with us,' I told her, somehow reluctant to introduce the concept of Katia's real status to our new guest.

'Oh,' she replied, but her eyes seldom left Katia during the meal.

Looking from one to the other, the contrast in two girls of roughly the same age was amazing. Katia, her platinum blonde hair brushed out to a silky sheen, long silver ear rings brushing her shoulders, was fantastic. She wore a plain, peach-coloured silk blouse, under which her firm, unfettered breasts were obvious, the shape of their long nipples making indents in the soft silk. Her make-up was immaculate. When she spoke, her tongue-stud flicked out briefly, bringing to mind the other, more arcane piercings I tried not to think about – at least until I had eaten. Cindy, on the other hand, looked like someone you might find begging on the streets; lank, unwashed hair hanging down around what I thought might be a pretty face, if she ever took the trouble to smile. She wore no make-up, and had on the same dowdy green sweat-shirt she had worn when she arrived at the airport. She wasn't exactly hostile, but maintained a sullen introspection, refusing to enter into conversation which required more than a 'yes' or 'no.'

When we finished our meal, and went into the lounge for coffee, Cindy uttered her longest sentence of the evening: 'Guess I'll turn in now, I'm bushed,' she said. We said goodnight to her back.

We all sat together on the big sofa, Katia between the two of us, her long legs encased in white, lace-topped stockings, her little silk miniskirt riding up above their tops, to reveal an inch of firm white flesh. As ever, I couldn't resist sliding my hand up her leg, soon locating the moist heaven of her pussy, while Sandra had a hand under Katia's blouse, massaging her lovely young breasts.

Suddenly, Cindy burst in upon the scene!

'I can't find the light-switch in the ba…..,' she began, then took in the tableau we must have been presenting, turned, and fled.

Sandra quickly composed herself, stood and went after her niece. I was distracted too, and Katia and I tried to listen as voices floated downstairs to us – to no avail.

After a while, Sandra came down, smiling.

'Cindy OK now?' I asked.

'Yes, she just couldn't find the pull-switch in the bathroom,' said my wife, 'and then she came down and saw us…'

'What did she say?' I wanted to know.

'She was curious about Katia,' said Sandra, 'so I told her.'

'What did you tell her?'

'That she was our slave. She looked at me to see if I was joking, I think, then just nodded and shut herself in her room.'

After passing a very pleasant half hour with Katia, we went to bed. I listened carefully at Cindy's door, and thought I heard her crying softly, but decided against doing anything about it – she would have to adjust, and it would take some time.