The Mogul Ch 03

Mason pulled an antique silver box out from under his chair and, opening the rickety clasp pulled from it some swabs and antiseptic fluid.

"Kneel in front of me, hands in your lap, back to my face." As Ginny turned around she caught glimpses of her back, reflections upon reflections in the mirrored room and felt something different from what she expected those stripes to elicit from her. She felt shame. She knew what she had done, not just in that moment, but in the totality of her outlook. She felt a sense of clarity as the antiseptic stung her and she wanted nothing more than to please Mason, to be with Mason. She felt her jealousy slipping away, the grip on her limitations loosened, and her exhaustion was forgotten.

"All done. You may face me." Ginny elegantly pivoted on her knees, ginger locks and olive eyes stared up at him from every surface of the room.

"Shall we continue?"

"Yes sir."

"Lie on your belly, across my legs, with your ass centered in my lap," he said. Ginny's response was immediate and her placement was accurate. Mason admired her momentarily with his hands hovering lightly over her rear and finally he touched her, massaging her for a short-lived instant until he groped her, pulling her cheeks up and apart, running his fingers from her pussy to her asshole. There was no need to waste time. Ginny gaped fast. One of Mason's fingers circled the exterior of Ginny's anus, partly with the express intent of opening her up, partly because Mason enjoyed playfully amusing himself with the barely pink and wrinkly skin above the firm surface of her opening. His amusement didn't last long and both his needs and hers escalated quickly and, using the wetness from her pussy he slid his finger in and massaged the interior, pulling at it, opening it further and further until she was ready to receive the third of the crystal plugs. He showed it to her as she hung limp over his lap.

"See this? This is the third one. You shall start with this one," and he slipped it into her mouth, then into her ass, wriggling it around, until it was in. "Get dressed. I want you to finish shopping alone, as it is clear you need a great deal of time and I have business to attend to. Give them my name when you check out. There will be a car waiting for you when you leave. This set of graduated plugs is already purchased for you and you are to use them to prepare your ass for my cock. That will be this plug," he said picking up a much larger plug. "I expect your essay first thing in the morning. You will be staying with me this weekend. We will discuss your toy purchases then. I will have three cabinets prepared for each category. Think carefully about what this life means to you." Mason left Ginny to complete her purchases.

The next morning Mason arrived across the street from Ginny's father's gate to find Ginny already waiting for him. She was nude, save for heels and collar and she was patiently standing with her clothes neatly folded across her forearms, eyes dead ahead of her. Mason stopped the car in the middle of the street and sat in it. Ginny walked into the middle of the street herself and handed him an envelope.

"My essay, Sir." She walked around to the front of the car and placed her clothing on the hood, dressing herself in a silk ensemble, a miniscule skirt of the thinnest material. The slits on the sides responded to every whim of the light breeze. Her bra was merely a strip of the same silk, in a rusty color with silk chord wrapped around her neck and draped loosely across her naked striped back. She slid into the car, one shiny white leather heel after another just as Mason folded the envelope and slipped it into his jacket breast pocket.

"Aren't you going to read it?" she asked, visibly distressed that Mason hadn't jumped at the chance to read the precious pearls she had strung together so carefully this morning.

"Not now. Is your plug in?" he asked.

"Yes Sir. I practiced all night. I'm up to the sixth one, but I'm uncertain about my ability to wear it all day."

"If it becomes uncomfortable by lunch, come see me," he said.

"Will I be able to take it out?" she asked innocently.

"No, but you will be able to feel some relief. You may no longer touch it. In fact, you may no longer touch your pussy or your breasts at all or masturbate in any fashion. Is that clear?" Ginny nodded. "Now, I expect you to refer to me only as Master or Sir, in public or private. You've done a fine job of this already and I expect it to continue. I have a test for you today. An experiment." Ginny's eyes lit up and she looked expectantly at her Master. "You are not to speak to anyone whom you haven't been introduced by me. Period. Not one word." Ginny was silent. She thought of all the friends she would have to ignore. She thought of how much people would have to hate her. All with this horrifically enormous butt plug in her. This was not what she had in mind, not this social experiment.

But Ginny's insecurities melted as she burst through the double doors of the school. Mason walked around her, hooked a short leash onto her collar, and swung the length of it over his shoulder. Ginny walked with her head high, suddenly the marks on her back weren't marks of shame, but marks of the natural process of training and ownership and she was proud. She was getting the hang of those heels, keeping her ankles and hips loose, only accentuating the flow of the garments she was wearing. Mason stopped off at his locker where conversation was light, as she had been introduced to all of his friends. Then there was a stop off at Ginny's locker. Her friends were there but she could not speak to them. They spoke to her, but she said nothing. She felt her ass tighten around the plug and she grimaced. Mason stroked her face, pulling her close by the leash and speaking to her gently.

"It's a test. You must pass. You can do it," he said.

"What the fuck is he talking about?" asked Ginny's friend. "He's using you."

"Relax," he said. "I've come to care a great deal about you. Now get your books." Ginny walked to class. Every stride moved the plug. It pulled and stretched her. It was pleasurable still, but she was filled with anticipation of the subtle moment when she thought, "Yes, it hurts now. I must remove it." But she wouldn't be able to. By the end of the day, having navigated the school via her usual routes she encountered all of her friends. By the end of the day the word had spread that she wasn't speaking to any of them and it was clear this was due to the man attached to her leash. Clearly her friends didn't view this as an exercise. But one. Lilah. She smiled briefly at Ginny and looked away.

Sixth period Mason texted Ginny.

"3:45. Car."

The teacher called on her. She couldn't say anything. She could feel Mason staring at her even though when she looked over at him he was not looking at her but texting under his desk. She knew, somehow, he was watching her. Classes were so easy for him. She didn't know why he bothered. After school they met in his car and Mason told Ginny how pleased he was with her, how beautifully she had performed today, and how carefully she had followed his orders. It seemed Mason could turn on a dime as quickly as Ginny, or maybe he was just responding to her. He wanted to reward her, he said, and handed her a large black garment box. She looked at him, then the box, she tore it open, purple tissue paper flew into Mason's face and smiling, he brushed it away. In the box was an entire ensemble with a main garment. She pulled it out, looked at Mason, and said, "Thank you."

"Tonight we are going to my club. The House of Pain. I expect you to be ready at 9pm." Ginny hastily undressed in the driveway, piled her clothes on top of the box and ran to her little girl's castle hugging her big girl's garments. She ran straight to the bedroom and laid her garments out to admire them and to be inspired as she readied her body, shaved, styled her hair, and applied her make-up. She sat at the edge of her bed and held the stiff plastic envelope in which her stockings were packaged. They were made by Woolman's and even her father couldn't rationalize such a purchase of so many 100's of dollars per pair. She stuck her fingers into the package and they felt finer than silk, stretching and wrinkling under her forefinger. The smell of leather from her fine garment was exciting her.

As she pampered herself Mason was in his own home, being dressed, shaven, and given a trim. He wore a tailored suit, simple, and nondescript save for the fine tailoring itself. In the extra bit of time he had left he consumed a morsel of lamb as he read Ginny's essay, folded it, and placed it in his jacket pocket again.

This ensemble would take time for Ginny to get right and she arrived at the front gate at 8:30 only to dress herself in the dark. When Mason arrived she was dressed in a leather mini dress with metal boning and a corset laced back. The skirt was tight and had a multiple fold train that fell just above her knees with alternating fabrics of black leather and thick crimson raw silk which also pressed out in miniscule ruffles from her neckline. She wore a new red collar, which she also spent a great deal of time inspection on the edge of her bed. There was not a single crooked stitch to be found and it was made of a strange metallic woven fiber. Her stockings, mainly silk, had a fishnet pattern embroidered in them and were attached by six short garters from under her dress. When Mason pulled up she walked her new leather ankle boots over to his passenger window and glimpsed briefly for the first time at a reflection of herself in the window and felt overtly excited as the window rolled down silently. She whispered, "Master?" and leaned into his window.

"Yes?" he asked.

"I think my corset could be laced more tightly," invited Ginny.

"Step out of the way," he said, getting out of the car, forcefully turning Ginny to face it, hands on roof, legs slightly spread. Georgian had taught him this one following trick. He cinched minutely from each grommet, pulling ever so slightly tighter, tighter, and finally he instructed, "Inhale." She did. "Exhale," and he pulled the center grommets so quickly, so tightly the air was forced from Ginny's lungs and she no longer had a multitude of luxuries associated with bending, twisting, and reaching. She stood with her head lowered, gasping gently in a way easily mistaken for over-excitement or nerves. Mason spoke loudly enough for the passers by to take notice of them as they slowed walking their dogs, pushing their strollers, jogging. Ginny was completely unaware of them. She couldn't peel her eyes off the asphalt.

"I control your breath with this dress tonight. If you need it loosened, and weigh that term 'need' carefully, you must come to me with an impressive manner of begging for more air. You might pass out tonight if I'm not impressed. But know that even though I may hurt you tonight I will not harm you. Do you hear me?" He grabbed her chin. "You will wake up just fine in my bed tomorrow morning. Do you trust me?" Ginny looked at him momentarily and nodded with a blink.

The drive was pleasantly silent for Mason as he coolly made turns, adjusted knobs on the dashboard, and once or twice glanced at Ginny. Ginny's eyes were set on a raindrop on the windshield and again her senses were rearranged this time, her surroundings burred, but this time she felt her awareness wander acutely from one sensation to another. Her breath thundering in her ears. Her forced posture. The confinement of the vehicle, Mason's body as he laced her, of the garments, and the confinement of the entirety of their arrangement became intensely clear to her.

It was in this dazed state that Mason pulled Ginny's plucked, shaven, painted, and adorned body past the velvet rope and into everything that would awaken Ginny's from her stupor and finally bring to life what she had been dreaming of in blissful ignorance since she was a child.

Mason had given her explicit instructions in the car as they parked in front of the club, attendant waiting on either side of him. No speaking to anyone she wasn't introduced to. She was to follow all orders, follow his presence from one step behind and to his right. There would be no leash tonight. If she needed to leave a five foot parameter from him, permission was to be asked. She was to be at her most gracious, at her most intelligent, and at her most submissive.

When they entered the club Mason mingled, wandered, talking to people, never introducing the creature behind him. If anyone asked who his "appendage" was he simply stated, "Oh that's just an applicant." This constant lip biting and inability to speak, demonstrate her intelligence, her skills, how much she'd learned grated at her in the beginning, making her feel useless and unwanted. Soon she allowed her eyes to wander the space. It was set up much in the way of an old fashioned saloon, with a large central space with a stage on it as well as two ornate staircases in the back that led up to a balcony and hallway with door openings at regular intervals.

But instead of being made of old weathered wood, the entirety of the structure was welded out of various mixed colored metals, twisted and braided into indescribably sinister and undulating forms.

From the bar stools, to the stair case, to the stage, from the floor to the ceiling, there were places to clip, fasten, tie, bind any submissive. Two women, attached to each other by sisal rope hung from the balcony. People walked by, looked, inspected, and walked along. Ginny heard Mason sum up his conversation and he walked over to a viewing area to sit in a stiff leather chair. The area had waitresses serving beverages and light horderves and the area seemed more social and relaxed than the rest of the space.

"Kneel." Ginny knelt and once again found herself excluded from the conversation until another person asked about Mason's property. "This is my applicant, Ginny."

"She seems a little spacey," said a woman dressed in latex, eyes fixated on Ginny.

"She's never been to a public space before," said Mason.

"How terribly exciting," said a very collected older gentleman and conversation steered away towards Mason's enterprises, namely his family's chain of clubs. Ginny did her best to appear deferential; however Mason had been so mysterious concerning his time away from her. What was he doing, she wondered, while she completed her assignments, studied, fostered relations with her father. So when the topic of her Master's so far secretive dealings came up she became more attuned to the finer details of the conversation. To her disappointment, Mason remained mysterious, answering questions vaguely and with annoyance, attempting to steer the topic to issues related to play, gender roles, and the like. Not tolerant of the prying group, and feeling a bit like showing off what was apparently quite the prize, Mason freed himself of the casual area and decided to show Ginny his club.

"Excuse me. I have some plans for my applicant," and he stood and walked towards the stairs, Ginny trailing behind to observe two dangling women in the middle of changing formation mid-air, hanging from the banister, their Master climbing up and down the ropes like a spider, having his way with this limb and that. Ginny couldn't tell who had more strength and dexterity, the man for being able to maneuver so elegantly and suspend the weight of two women, or the women, who could hold such impossible (and beautiful) positions for such an extended period of time. Mason noticed why Ginny was falling behind and instead of punishing or scolding her, he neared himself to her and watched alongside her. Ginny's experience with play was zero. She hadn't had any true twenty four seven partners of any sort before him. Just a handful of sloppy experiences. She needed to see what there was to see. Absorb, read, research, experiment. It was all part of the plan.

"You will follow me upstairs now. I need you close behind me as I will be explaining things very quickly and you must remember everything. Are you alert, Ginny?" Mason asked.

"Yes, Sir." They walked up the stairs to a square shaped hallway surrounded by doorways on one side and that intricate metal balcony on the other. Mason and Ginny leaned on the balcony overlooking people dancing in fetish gear, chains, restraints, in cages. Mason pointed to the stage and Ginny felt a sharp knife in her abdomen. What would she have to do? Would he leave her alone?

"Come!" he said and brought her to the first room. The doorway was the size of French doors so several people could stand and view. Mason walked right into the room and sat at one of the chairs in a distant corner from the bed, snapping his fingers and pointing to the area rug. Ginny knelt. A woman hung suspended face down by her wrists and ankles from a metal framed bed. A chain was attached to the back of her choke collar, the lead of which was attached to the base of the bed. No slouching for this cunt. Her top was a sensual dominant. His tools were two rattan canes which he used in sweeping motions until the woman was screaming, then moaning, then sighing, then screaming again.

"Will I be suspended tonight Master?"

"Applicant," Mason condescended, "You have not earned such satisfaction. I have something else in store for you." He got up and circled the balcony, Ginny following close behind, catching glimpses of the rooms they passed. Kneeling concubines and looming men, whips and ropes, hot tubs and undulating bodies. Ginny heard so many screams and moans she could no longer discern the difference between the two. They walked down the other set of stairs and Mason led her onto the stage and a loud spotlight flash onto it and centered itself onto Ginny making her feel self conscious, insecure, unsure, and a bit proud at her very core.

Mason walked to the back of the stage and pulled a length of sisal rope from a set of hooks on the back wall. He walked to Ginny, behind her and began, in a meditative fashion, weaving the rope around her wrists, and with every wrap of the scratchy surface of the twisted material Ginny's eyelids dropped a bit, her arms were pressed closer together, and her chest thrust forward. Once Mason reached her biceps he wove the long fibers down the center of the gauntlets to her wrists and tied them off, leaving a very long lead. Mason roughly pulled up the skirt of Ginny's dress, revealing her sex to the crowd

and Mason turned her to the side, the train of her dress covering her ass.

He pulled a crude metal saw horse and paddle from a closet on the wall with the hooks and bent her over the horse, tapping the insides of her ankles with his shoes, signaling her to spread her legs and lifting her train over her back which incited a few yowls from the crowd. Mason tied the lead of her rope to an o-ring dangling from a chain from the ceiling, lifting her arms, chest, and head, and arching her back as much as her corset would allow. Calmly he walked around to her head and asked her to look at him as he pulled a slip of paper out of his breast pocket, unfolded it, and placed it on the sawhorse in front of Ginny's face. It was her assignment. He motioned at the disc jockey to lower the microphone which Mason took into his hands.

"Applicant," he said. Ginny raised her head. "You were given an assignment to submit an expression your feelings about lying and the subsequent punishment in writing. Yet, you lied to me again. Consider this an opportunity to edit your assignment. You may start by reading the paper before you and you will be rewarded for truthfulness, punished for anything else. You may change what you have written to a more truthful answer either when you have had enough punishment or once you have come to your senses. If you have any." Mason positioned the microphone in front of her mouth and instructed her to read. Her cracked, shaky voice resonated throughout the entire club.