If this story is to make any sense to you, you will need to have read parts 1 & 2. You should be over 18, as is everyone in this fantasy.
*
Life with Helen continued without much in the way of change for a week or so, then she told me we were invited to Simone's house once again. This time, though, it was for a party, and my mistress had asked if we could take someone else along.
'Oh?' I asked.
'Yes, darling, remember the waitress who was so interested in your tits?' I did.
Helen told me she had called in at the restaurant on her way back from shopping, and invited the pretty girl along.
'What's her name?' I wanted to know.
'Bea,' she said, 'her parents saddled her with Beatrice.'
On the night, Helen laid out the clothes she wanted me to wear, and I saw that the long, grey, silky evening gown she had chosen was backless.
'But you can still see the red stripes on my back,' I protested.
'Oh, darling, they're fading, and anyway, I think they're so pretty.' That, then, was the end of the conversation, and if I had thought to leave my hair loose, to cover up my wounds, I had to think again, as my mistress insisted on me wearing it up.
In the taxi, on our way to collect Bea from her flat, I tried to assuage my curiosity.
'Mistress, can I ask you a question?'
'Of course, my dear.'
'Will I be pun....hurt tonight?' I didn't think I'd done anything wrong, so 'punishment' wasn't quite right.
'Why, are you frightened?'
'No, mistress, just curious.'
Helen smiled in the dark corner of the cab. 'No, I don't think so. But there's to be a charity caning.'
She didn't enlarge on this, so I had no idea what she meant, and forgot about it when we picked up the vivacious, black-haired Bea, who was waiting on the doorstep of her block.
'Come and sit here,' said my mistress, patting the seat between us, and Bea squeezed in. Her slender legs were bare, and her shapely knees were asking to be touched as she sat beside me, and her thick woollen coat fell open, revealing the flared and pleated silky minidress she was wearing, dark green in colour. I also took in her nice high-heeled sandals. I took her hand, and she exclaimed when she felt the decoration dangling from my right pinky, and held it up so that she could inspect it in the meagre light.
'That's really lovely,' she said, 'but isn't it a nuisance?'
'Sometimes,' I said, 'but it reminds me of.........' Helen finished the sentence for me: 'It reminds her that she's mine.'
'Oh,' muttered Bea, and looked from one to the other of us, but Helen wasn't prepared to enlighten her further. She had, I thought, a charming quasi-innocent look, with her neat black pageboy hairstyle. I thought I might like to fuck her, then instantly looked at Helen, to see if she knew what I had been thinking. She looked back knowingly, and only the dim light in the taxi saved my blush from being evident.
We arrived early at Simone's to find several cars already there, and Simone, in a towelling robe, directing the track-suited Chinese maid, Chi, and another Asian girl, similarly attired, who were moving furniture around in the huge lounge, creating more space.
'We're running a little late, darling,' she said to Helen, 'but we're almost there. Why don't you join the other earlybirds in the library, then I'll call you when we're ready. There are drinks in there.'
Helen offered help, but it was refused, so we walked into the library. I was curious to see Simone's other guests.
When we got into the big library, we met three of them. A tall, Scandinavian-looking blonde, who introduced herself as Karen,looked striking in a black velvet gown with a huge slit right up one leg, virtually to the waist. Her hair was tied up with a matching black velvet ribbon. A rather voluptuous, once-beautiful woman with died platinum hair introduced herself in a thick accent from some northern country as Karen's mother, Inge. And a quiet, slim girl with long brown hair and glasses looked as if she may not be prepared to speak at all, but got almost reluctantly to her feet, and revealed an American accent, when she told us her name was Kirsty. She was one of these people you somehow have to look at twice, and when I did so, I saw that she was, in fact, remarkably attractive. She wore a simple green button-through cotton dress over black seamed stockings and black patent stilettos. We chatted for a while, and she looked at me in an odd way when I told her that Helen was my mistress. I supposed that it sounded strange, but it didn't embarrass me.
Soon another woman entered -- a chubby black girl with beaded hairstyle, wearing a blue silk blouse and a long, Indian cotton skirt. She told us her name was Phoebe. She seemed ill-at-ease, so I took it upon myself to talk to her until, some minutes later, Chi came into the room, and said, 'The room is ready now. My mistress and I are going to change, but if you would like to go in...........' She bolted at that, as If she had forgotten her lines, and we all made our way into the lounge, where space had been made for dancing, and tables loaded with food were along one wall. I couldn't help staring at the whipping post, where I had been tied up and flogged cruelly such a short time ago, and that caused me to do a slow twirl in front of the wall-mirror when I thought no-one was watching .
'Nice stripes,' said Kirsty, who had, in fact, been stood behind me all the time, 'did your mistress do that?'
'No,' I replied simply, not knowing how much to tell the American girl.
'OK,' she said, 'just curiosity, I guess.'
We turned, then, to see who was entering. Chi and her colleague had changed into a parody, almost, of maids' outfits -- black minidresses, over white fishnet stockings, and white frilly pinafores. But their dresses were wholly transparent, the little pinafore barely covering their otherwise naked pussies -- their sole undergarments being white garter-belts. Neither of the girls were looking self-conscious as they led in newcomers, some, mainly attractive, young girls, but mostly older women, some still elegant and beautiful, others a little past their best, but all gorgeously attired, silk and satin everywhere. All the younger girls, however, were dressed in more-or-less revealing clothes, some transparent, others with cut-outs, backless, even topless in the case of one dark-skinned, black-haired beauty.
Our host appeared, in an peach organdie harem-suit, quite clearly naked beneath, her lovely firm breasts thrusting at the translucent material. She announced that we could dance for a while, and started up the music, which seemed mainly to consist of slow rock numbers. I danced happily with anyone who asked me -- and there was no shortage of partners. I felt supremely sexy, the feminine silkiness of my gown enveloping me, my breasts jiggling under the soft, loose bodice as I moved, my nipples now hard as bullets.
I was dancing with Bea when a record finished, and the lights were dimmed. A slow, romantic number started to play, and Bea made no move to separate from me, but moved in close, and lay her glossy black hair against my cheek. I pressed my body into hers, and we gyrated slowly, slowly. Then we were kissing, my tongue-stud searching, probing into her sweet mouth, as she responded by surreptitiously edging a hand between us until she had cupped a breast.
'Oh Sara, I'm sorry. I so wanted to touch you,' she breathed in my ear.
'Don't apologise, you silly girl,' I told her, 'I love it!'
We danced, if that is any sort of description of what we did, for five or six numbers -- I lost count -- then the music came to an end, and the lights were brightened.
'Sorry to interrupt your dancing,' said Simone, who was standing beside my mistress at one end of the room, 'but we are about to have a charity caning.'
She paused to let this sink in, and perhaps a dozen pairs of women who had been dancing stayed where they were, whilst others, sitting at tables, were all looking in Simone's direction -- expectantly.
'Some lucky lady,' she continued, 'will shortly receive thirty hard strokes of the cane, from Helen and myself. The honour will go to the highest bidder, and the proceeds will go to the fight against breast cancer. Now let's start the bidding. Who'll give five hundred dollars?'
For a moment, there was silence, as the women tried to assimilate the idea, then a hand went up -- it was a slightly overweight lady in her late forties, dressed in a fabulous Armani gown.
'Thank you, Diane,' said Simone, 'who will bid six hundred?'
There was no response.
'Five-fifty?'
A hand went nervously up -- it was an elegant older woman in red velvet.
'But for my girl,' she said, and gently pulled a slender blonde, poured into a blue latex dress, to her feet.
'Yes, that's OK,' said Simone, 'now, come on, six hundred?'
The bidding carried on in this fashion, slowing as a thousand dollars approached, then, when it appeared that everyone had finished, Simone was about to knock down the auction at one thousand and fifty, to the woman who had started the bidding, when Kirsty stood up and said, 'Twelve hundred! My mother died of breast cancer, and, anyway, I'd like to try your cane.'
A round of applause greeted her announcement, and Simone asked everyone to clear the floor. I realised that Bea and I still had our arms around each others' waists as we walked off to one side, and saw that Helen was watching us. But there was no apparent jealousy in her face, just a wry smile, and I smiled back.
Simone had trundled a bench similar to the one my mistress had out into the middle of the floor, and Kirsty was stood watching, having handed her glasses to Helen.
'I'm so envious!' whispered Bea.
