The Sisterhood Of Slaves Pt 01 1

This is a revamp of a story I have previously published, and a sequel to "The Wooden Pony Club", "The Apartment" and "The Château". It is a homage to a famous erotic novel.

"She felt the way you do at night, deep in a dream you have dreamt before and is beginning again; certain that the dream exists, and certain that it will end; wanting it to end because you're afraid you will not be able to bear it, and wanting it to go on so you will know how it ends." -- Pauline Réage,

Histoire d'O

A black limousine (not unlike one of the hackney cabs on the streets of London) waited outside the building, its engine humming languidly. A light breeze and a steady sprinkle of rain tickled on her face; but otherwise the night was quiet and still. The avenue was deserted, the houses enshrouded in the gloom of early evening. The pallid amber light cast by the roadside lamps was subdued and contorted into grotesque shapes by the cheerless drizzle.

A tall, heavy-set man in a grey suit and a broad-brimmed fedora greeted Jane with an open umbrella to shelter her as they walked briskly to the car.

"Get in," he commanded. There was impatience in his voice. Jane did not hesitate, but even as she obeyed she felt a hand on her back, pushing her forward. The man climbed in after her, shedding his hat and coat and stowing them along with the umbrella under the seat. Daniel was already in the vehicle, and Jane found herself seated in the middle, braced between the two men. She started to brush the droplets of rainwater from her skirt, taking care to keep the water off the trousers on each side of her. She grasped the hem where it had ridden up her thigh, to draw it towards her knees, but the big man put his hand on hers and pressed it down. She recoiled at his touch, and he must surely have felt her flinch, but he said nothing.

On the bench facing them, a woman acknowledged the two males with a quick glance and a terse nod and then looked squarely at Jane. She sat alone while Jane was closely flanked by the two males. The compartment was only half-lit, but even in the semi-darkness Lydia was stunning, a petite, vey attractive brunette with eyes that glistened like blue sapphires and cherry-red lips which curled ever so slightly in a subtle smile. Her cheeks were lightly rouged but her hair was cut short in a severe, almost masculine style. Her hands were folded demurely in her lap. Encircling her throat was a close-fitting leather collar, the clasp at the front a miniature padlock. She wore a champagne-coloured overcoat, with the sides parted to reveal a plain black dress. Both the coat and dress were bunched up behind her, so the woman was not sitting on them. Jane remembered the first time she had witnessed Lydia's little ritual. Back then it seemed a coquettish affectation.

As Jane reached down for the buckle, the big man beside her snarled "No seat-belt." She'd always been very safety-conscious and opened her mouth to protest. Then she thought better of it and clamped her jaws.

The glass partition separating them from the driver was glazed, so she could not see exactly who was behind the wheel, but she was able discern a form which looked fuzzily feminine. Lydia spoke briefly through a small open panel. And as they slowly pulled away from the kerb, Daniel gently stroked Jane's arm. She thought he was about to say something, maybe even kiss her cheek, but he just turned to stare out the window into the deepening gloom.

"Give him your purse," Lydia said, nodding towards Daniel. She spoke with a slight accent (perhaps French, maybe something more exotic), but there was authority -- and a certain coldness -- in her voice.

Daniel must have caught her gesture from the corner of his eye. He took Jane's purse but immediately passed it across her lap to the big man, who rummaged through it, for no good reason she could ascertain. Then he tossed it rudely to the floor. The contents spilled around her feet.

"You won't be needing it," he said blandly.

She dared not reply. Daniel looked away again, as if feeling guilty for the other man's brusqueness.

Lydia frowned but did not otherwise react. "Take off your jewellery," she instructed after they had driven a while.

Jane removed her watch and earrings and pendant, and dropped them into Daniel's hand. He did not surrender them to the other man (and she was thankful for that), putting them instead in his coat pocket.

"Now your shoes."

She kicked them off.

"And your stockings."

"I'm wearing pantyhose," she said.

The woman did not respond.

With a soft sigh she raised herself slightly off the seat, pushing with her shoulders and the backs of her knees against it. She reached under her skirt to draw the nylon off her hips and down her thighs. This produced a peculiar sensation, simply removing her pantyhose, because here in the car being watched it felt so promiscuous. When the nylon was scrunched at her knees, Lydia raised her hand.

"Leave it there," she said.

The traffic flow had now abated. They were heading into the countryside. Trees loomed out of the mist and then retreated, a procession of menacing silhouettes sweeping past against the diffuse orange glow that seeped into the sullen sky from the receding lights of the city.

"Don't sit on your skirt. Pull it up behind you."

Jane paused, but only for a second or two. She had known this was coming, what she was getting into, even if she had only a vague idea about the fine points. And when she'd had the opportunity to do so she did not refuse. She'd always been like that, of course, never backing away from a challenge. When she and Daniel were kids, when they played together, Jane was the adventurous one, taking the lead in their exploits and escapades. And they had not really changed -- not in that sense, anyway. So, silently, she lifted her body from the seat once more and drew back the skirt from under her bottom. The upholstery was cool and slick and sticky, queerly sensual against her naked skin. She felt a delicious tingle whenever the car veered around a bend or jolted over a bump and her bottom slipped along or lifted off the seat.

But she gasped and shivered when the big man raised his hand and lowered it to rest briefly on her right knee. Then fleshy fingers crept slowly up under her hemline and along her bare thigh. This made her shudder, and he pulled away, but only to reach for the collar of her blouse. He fondled it for a moment, then moved his hand downwards. He opened the blouse, taking his time to pop each button; and when he'd finished, he pulled the two sides apart. He traced his fingers upwards over her belly and her chest, pausing to play with the straps of her bra. His hand slid over her breasts, squeezing them through the brassiere's delicate tulle, and seized the gore between the cups.

She marvelled at her own shameless audacity, in permitting this man to do what he was doing. She wondered if it was too late now to change her mind, and pondered the consequences of backing out, as well as the cost of going on. At this thought she must have cringed, because the man was all of a sudden angry.

"Sit still," he growled. That startled and frightened her. Daniel made no effort at all to comfort her, but Lydia laid a soothing, reassuring hand briefly on her trembling knee.

The man tugged violently on the front of her bra to strip it off, and she was jolted forward. It did not break free, and the straps burned into her shoulders as he jerked on it several times.

"Please..." she said finally. He relented, but his hand remained where it was. She leaned forward and reached behind her back, under her blouse. She unfastened the clasp. The man pulled again, and this time the straps broke and her brassiere came away. He let it fall to the floor.

They drove on for a while in silence. Jane didn't mind because it gave her time to think. Yet that became monotonous, because in fact she did not want to think too much; and she might have nodded off except that she was aroused by her breasts, naked and free, quivering and swaying with the motion of the car. The inside edges of her parted blouse caressed her nipples. As well, whenever they passed over a hump in the road her backside peeled away from the leather upholstery and then clung again as she sank back into the seat. When the engine revved or the vehicle hummed over a patch of loose gravel, she could feel the vibrations through the bare flesh. Each time the road curved, the three bodies on the seat leaned with it, and the touch of the trousers on both sides on her knees thrilled her in a way that it would not have if she had not been so exposed. These were weird but lusciously erotic sensations that she felt as she sat there, between the two men, watched by the other woman, feeling open and wanton and defiant. She found herself holding her breath to conceal her sighs of pleasure.

Lydia knew those feelings. She winked and smiled at Jane. Then she gave Daniel a subtle signal. He tapped Jane lightly on the shoulder. She saw that he had in his hand a black satin sash. Realizing what was expected of her, she turned away from him and he wrapped the cloth around her head and over her eyes. He tied it in place firmly but gently, brushing his fingers tenderly across her cheeks to press and smooth the edges as if anxious that a scintilla of light might enter and liberate her from the darkness.

Yet there was something oddly comforting about now being so utterly sightless. It calmed her to not know what was happening and what was about to happen. She felt like she was having one of those strange dreams, when the things going on around you don't make sense but it doesn't bother you, because you have entered a different reality.

The rain was coming down hard by the time they turned off the highway. It was difficult to tell exactly how far they travelled after that, with her blindfold in place, and because the car sped up and slowed down as it slewed and skidded along the twisting, rutted dirt road. But it was a considerable amount of time. The excitement built inside her, along with the dread, and it seemed like half an eternity had passed before, after a sharp turn, there was a crunching of pebbles under the tyres, a scraping of low-slung tree branches across the roof. The car stopped. Jane heard the driver getting out and then the rasping of iron gates which swung on rusted hinges. After that they continued for a while until, abruptly, the engine cut out and they rolled to a halt.

Daniel removed Jane's blindfold. No one else moved or spoke, except the driver, who exited the car and came round to Daniel's side to open the door. Their chauffeuse was a woman about Jane's age, tall and athletic. Gleaming in the shimmer of a driveway lamppost, she was almost unbearably beautiful. Her hair was cropped like Lydia's. She waited stoically, standing at attention uncovered in the rain, her diaphanous white dress clinging soddenly to the luxurious contours of her body. Her throat was girded by a broad leather collar, and similar bands were affixed to her wrists and ankles.

At last the big man beside Jane spoke. "Lean forward. More."

She bent her body until her chin was almost between her knees.

"Put your hands behind you."

She crossed her arms over the small of her back. The man was gruff in his words and his actions. He looped a cord about and between her wrists, drawing the ends tightly and cinching the knot with a vicious tug. She barely stifled a yelp.

She did not understand why she was restrained in this way, because she did not feel like a prisoner and had no intention of disobeying her instructions; but she did not resist. Yet her instinct was to test her bonds by flexing and twisting her arms. The effort produced only chafing.

She was blindfolded once more, again by Daniel. This time the sash was red. She had no idea why the change was necessary.

As she was being bound, Jane was still leaning forward. The two men's movements as they prepared her caused her nipples, already aroused by what she was feeling (and by the chill of the air from the open door), to brush and rub against her thighs. She could not hold in a soft moan.

She tried to sit up, but a hand on the back her neck held her down.

"Stay as you are," the big man commanded.

"Nearly done," Lydia whispered.

One of the men (she thought it was Daniel) wrapped a belt around her arms, just above the elbows. When he drew it tight and buckled it, the stress on her chest as her shoulders were wrenched backwards by the tension of the strap forced a gush of gasps and groans from her lungs. Then he grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled upwards to make her sit straight once more; but he did in such a way as not to hurt her too much.

Behind her blindfold, she had no clue what the others were doing, but she heard shuffling noises, and then the part of the seat to her right heaved, as the big man climbed out of the car. She started to move as well, but Daniel's hand was on her shoulder, holding her back. She felt something pressing lightly against her lips. It was smooth but pliable, with a velvet quality, and she did not realize straightaway what it was. But after some prodding she opened her jaws and Daniel pushed the ball between them. It fit snugly behind her teeth, filling her mouth and depressing her tongue, but well clear of her throat, so she had no fear of choking. It had a slightly pungent, rubbery taste, unpleasant but not repellent.

Daniel secured her gag with a rigid leather strap, the edges of which dug painfully into her cheekbones as he buckled it in place; but once it was fastened it was not so bad. Even without the attempt, she knew she could no longer speak, nor indeed make any sound other than a gurgled, gargled mumble.

She did not have much time to savour this latest brand-new sensation.

"Get out," the big man ordered.

Both men helped her, half-dragged her, from the car. It wasn't easy with her arms pinioned. The pantyhose bunched at her knees fell to her ankles when she stood upright. Neither of her escorts made any attempt to free her feet, or to assist her in doing so, as she shuffled along the gravel driveway. She managed to kick away the nylon only just before losing her footing.

Daniel had taken a firm grip on her strapped elbows and steered her onto a cobbled path. The stones were jagged under her bare feet, though not painfully so, but greasy from the rain. Several times she slipped; and although he stopped her from falling, he did nothing to warn her when they reached a set of steps. Sightless, she stumbled at the bottom one. Her shins knocked viciously against its sharp edge. She rasped a feeble remonstration through her gag. Daniel muttered something that may have been an apology. They halted on the porch.

"We will leave you here," the big man said. "When the door opens, do what you're told. If you don't comply immediately, if you refuse or hesitate or disobey, you will be punished. Do you understand?"

She slowly bowed her head.

It was Lydia who continued. She sounded unfazed by her colleague's harsh words. "Never forget, you are here of your own free will. No one has forced you. Do you agree?"

This time she replied with a vigorous nod.

"You're doing well." Daniel spoke in a low, soothing voice. "Remember, we're in this together."

Jane was grateful at that moment for the blindfold and bulbous gag. They concealed her laugh.

"Don't worry about your purse and shoes," Lydia told her. "You won't need them."

No one knocked or rang a doorbell. So she waited. At least she was out of the rain. The men's footsteps retreated, but in what direction she could not tell. She did not know what had become of Lydia or the chauffeuse. She did not hear the car start up and move off. Yet she knew she was alone, cold and wet and fearful. Her bound arms ached, her wrists felt numb and swollen. The ball-gag did not quite seal her mouth, and dribble oozed from the corners and down her chin. She shivered as the breeze gusted onto the porch, over her bare arms and legs, under her skirt to tickle her uncovered loins, and through her open blouse. Her wounds, although mild (she felt no blood trickling down her shins) had begun to throb.

It was some time before the door creaked open. Warm dry air wafted over her. She could faintly discern a bright light as a dull orange radiance beyond her blindfold. Pairs of hands took hold of her arms and guided her over the threshold. No words were spoken, but the fingers were slender, soothing and feminine. A luxurious thick-pile carpet was squishy and friendly between her toes, even if water still dripped down her legs and formed a saturated patch beneath her feet. Her attendants (there seemed to be three of them) did not appear to mind as they undressed her. The skirt came off without any trouble, but with her arms still bound behind her, the blouse could only be cut away. Jane sighed on hearing the scissor blades shear through it. But the woman who did the cutting fondled the material as she did so. Jane could tell because the back of the woman's hand kept brushing against her breasts. They lingered long enough for Jane to be aware that the touch was not unintended.

Now she was naked, but for her blindfold and gag, the cord and the strap.

The women began drying her hair and body with a fluffy, heated towel. They dabbed her chest, patted her back and shoulders, buffed her belly, padded her most intimate parts. The way her arms were pinned behind her back pushed out her front, straining her bosom to a piquant stiffness, and the sensual strokes of the warm fleece drew from her a blissful whimper. One of the attendants tended to her shins, gently daubing the abrasions with a cloth and tenderly applying some sort of ointment. Another sprinkled perfumed water, which had a subtle floral fragrance, over her body, and applied a rose-oil rouge to her lips, nipples and labia. They were fastidious and unhurried. They said not a word.

When they were done, each of the females in turn ran her hands slowly down Jane's torso, front and back, caressing each curve and exploring both of her lower crevices. She felt an unexpected thrill, something different from what she had experienced so far. As all three, at once, began to tease and squeeze her quivering body, as her insides tightened and she began to convulse in the exquisite agony of an onrushing orgasm, she suddenly remembered where she was, what she was and why she was here. Yet it seemed not quite real, as if she were in a play, and all the actors but herself had read the script. Or maybe this was a dream after all, and these people were nothing more than her imaginary creations. Perhaps it was part of a joke she had not yet got. But she did know that she had once, as a teenage girl, read a novel which reminded her very much of this. If only she could recall the details, to prepare herself for what was to come...

She could not see the women, knew nothing about them. She was stark naked and completely helpless in their lustful clutches. But they, in a sense, belonged to her.

The new mistress of the Château Chaînerie sucked in a few hurried, panting breaths before the next wave of pleasure shuddered through her.