Sunshine 17

The angelic blonde raised her chin in the air and stated defiantly, "I would not consent to be your wife, Reginald if you were the last man on earth!"

"If I can't have you, Penelope, no one will!"

"You have the terrific gall to be so presumptuous, Reginald! I will ask you to see yourself out. If you call upon me anew, I warn you in advance that my servants are armed!"

"I WILL have you, Penelope!"

"You shall have nothing!"

"I WILL have my way!"

"Good day, sir!"

The rather plain-looking Englishman reluctantly allowed the slim, beautiful, blonde woman to turn prettily in her heels and walk away. Her lovely but arrogant frame strode away. It was all Reginald could do to restrain himself. Did she not realize this was a new era? The industrial revolution made him an enormously wealthy man. He knew by the way most women responded to him that he was attractive enough, or at least possessed enough wealth for any woman. Lady Penelope Cavendish clung to her aristocratic birth. In her eyes, only an old-moneyed, lord or peer were worthy candidates for her hand. Did she not understand that he could buy her estate a dozen times over? But because he was not a blueblood with all the proper social and political connections, the country house with the portrait gallery along one wall of pompous foppish forebears, the conceited wench had cast him aside. Oh, in her crystal blue eyes, he was a fine enough companion for afternoon tea or an amusing companion to the theater or to the Devon horse races, but beyond that... And when they DID attend the derby, she was practically fawning over Chadwick, the Duke's grandson! Chadwick was an empty-headed fool, who only graduated from Oxford because his grandfather bribed the deans. What did he really have to offer aside from a pretty face? Only some height and breadth! Could she seriously be considering that worthless sot over himself? Reginald had earned his wealth! He was no silver spoon!

True, Reginald was obsessing about Penelope, but her fair countenance, long golden hair, sapphire blue eyes, and enchanting figure were everything he not only wanted in life but deserved! He'd be damned if he let her soil that spectacular body on a man as undeserving as Lord Chadwick. As he mused, his mind drifted back to a conversation. Had the man been serious? If he was, the means of making Lady Penelope his unalterably and forever was easily in his means! She would, after the event, of course, no longer be suitable as a wife, but in many ways, this was so much better. Dismiss him? She would regret that! In time, she might even come to love Reginald. "Even if she never does," he mumbled to himself as he strode back to his carriage, "She would never be Chadwick's!" The idea of her as his permanently would be a perfect blow with which to strike back at her whole damned aristocracy class. His brother tycoons from the United States had the right idea. No aristocrat had a clue as to how the world was really run. Like them, Reginald had no title, nor would he stoop to buying one. Also, Reginald reminded himself, unlike those American bores, HE had class! "This isn't over sweet Penelope, not by a longshot!" he crowed triumphantly as he stroked the horse to a gallop.

**

Inspector Carlton examined the evidence. One did not have to be the "consulting detective" in one of those clever stories by A. Conan Doyle to deduce this case. Lady Cavendish's clothes were arranged neatly in a pile on the bank of a swiftly moving stream in a wooded section of her estate. Even though it was a blistering hot day, Lady Penelope did not seem the type to engage in a bit of impromptu skinny dipping. Her driver had an unexplainable gap in his story. According to him, he was driving his mistress on her usual constitutional when he felt incredibly drowsy and pulled the carriage to a stop. When he came to, Lady Penelope's clothes were there but the woman herself was absent. The driver had an exemplary record and owned no known criminal ties. There were no signs of violence or any trace of blood. Though not in her character, the obvious explanation seemed the only answer. Lady Cavendish's absence must be chalked up to "death by misadventure." He turned to the bobby or his left and stated, "That lovely creature must have been overcome by the current and swept away before she even had a chance to cry out. Her body must already have been swept out to sea. Struck down in her prime. Such an utter pity."

**

Reginald sent six dozen roses to cover the empty casket at Lady Cavendish's funeral. Unlike Chadwick, he did not become a weeping fool. He had kept a stiff upper lip. At the subsequent wake, Chadwick revealed what a fraud he was by accepting the consoling embrace of one of Penelope's striking cousins. The fickle man had already moved on. So much for true and abiding love. Reginald Stevens had to strive mightily to maintain his rigid façade as the vicar read from the book of common prayer. He knew that, as much as he wanted to, he could not laugh.

**

Lady Penelope Cavendish woke up with a start. To her horror, she discovered that she was stark naked and lying on a bare mattress in what seemed to be a small stone-walled room. There was a basin and a pitcher and a chamber pot, but nothing else. Lady Penelope sought in vain for something with which to conceal her nudity. To say she was chagrined and embarrassed is a vast understatement. There was a barred door. Dim light filtered in through the curtains that covered what Penelope gathered was the window. When she approached it, however, she realized that the curtains opened from the other side.

"Am I in a sanitarium?" she asked herself. She certainly did not recall an accident. One moment, Jeeves was driving her carriage while she studied some paperwork, the next, she was here, wherever here was. No hospital or sanitarium would have disregarded her modesty and left her with no garment whatsoever, which puzzled her greatly. Things like this simply did not happen to upper-class young women of Victoria's England! She paced her cell. She seemed to be in fine health, she could discern no cuts or injuries aside from a dull ache in her head. Certainly, nothing that necessitated hospitalization. Then the door to her cell was flung open and Penelope screamed and screamed.

Two huge men wearing executioner's hoods, naked to the waist and very powerfully built entered and closed in on Penelope. Before the young woman realized what was happening, her wrists were in shackles, her ankles in hobbles, and a thick collar with eye hooks were fastened around her slender neck. Once Penelope was immobilized, a device similar to a horse's bridle was forced into her mouth, and a black silk bag was thrown over her head.

Only now did the men speak, "Settle down girl!" ordered the first one before slapping Penelope firmly on her heart-shaped buttocks.

"It's time for you to meet your new master." Stated the other.

The words made little impact upon Penelope as she continued to cry piteously. The huge, muscle-bound men dragged her out of the small room into a larger room with a concrete floor.

One of the men held Penelope upright, while the other yanked off the hood. Lady Cavendish blinked for a moment or two and then her vision cleared. Standing before her eyeing her naked form with unseemly lust was Reginald Stevens!

"Hello, wench! Soon you shall address me only as master! THIS is that which you have brought upon yourself. Since you refused me as your husband, despite all my wealth and sincere entreaties, I have availed myself of a rather elite service. These gentlemen," he indicated the hulking figures, "and the organization they represent, provide well-bred slaves to men of significant wealth and supreme discretion. Many of them trace their experience breaking human chattel in the American South before their Civil War. Skills passed from father to son and from generation to generation. Whereas they cannot legally pursue their trade in North America, demand for their services has not diminished one iota. They continue under the very noses of those who thought they had eliminated them. Since the end of the American conflict, they have refined and honed their skills. Men of wealth and refinement sought them out and protected them. Indeed, quite powerful men who wanted the ultimate toy, a completely submissive and passionate slave, found a great affinity with these men. Secret bargains were struck. That is what the men who work here will be doing to you over the next weeks or months. Contemplate while you are being trained to behave on command better than the most expensive French whore; that all of this could have been avoided had you consented to marry me."

Penelope's eyes grew large as the full impact of Reginald's words sank home. Her face became imploring. Reginald smirked.

"Were your tongue to be loosened at this moment, you would no doubt agree to become my wife or perform any action that I requested to spare you from this organization and be restored to the free woman you were."

Penelope's sapphire orbs brightened as her eyes widened.

"That ship has sailed, as the Yanks say. Your final refusal sealed your fate. Where once you would have walked proudly by my side clad in ermine and silk, now you shall wear lace and leather and walk behind me upon a leash

. Whereas once I would have kept your charms to myself, now you shall be an adjunct to my business. I imagine that I will be able to close so many more deals in the future by offering your services as part of the agreement. You'll be taught the French style of orally pleasuring a man and so much more. And, of course, no day will pass that I will not take you at least half a dozen times myself! Yes, you COULD have been a simple contented housewife, with servants and children, hobbies, extensive closets, and limitless luxury, instead you will be property. Owned. At my complete mercy."

Penelope began weeping even more copiously. She nodded at Reginald, silently imploring him to allow her to speak. What he was proposing was monstrous, the stuff of nightmares!

"Speaking of which, here is your first lesson slave. Note that I have not referred to you by name. This is because you no longer have one. Your past has been erased utterly. Later you shall read your obituaries, lamenting your loss. First, however, you must be made to understand exactly what you are."

Reginald nodded and the two men began dragging Penelope to a frame clearly designed to restrain humans! Loud gasps escaped Penelope's gag. A third hooded man arrived, and they bodily picked her up. In mere moments the formerly titled aristocrat was bound spread eagle to the frame, restrained in such a way as to prevent Penelope from moving a fraction of an inch.

"Where shall we place the brand, sir?" asked one of the men.

BRAND! Penelope's mind reeled. Surely, she had misheard!

Reginald strode about the frame several times, running his fingers through Penelope's flaxen hair and then down her spine to her shapely buttocks before stroking the length of each finely turned leg. Never had he seen a more succulent body, and he'd spent evenings with Parisian and East End actresses. All of Penelope was fine, from great toes to cranium. Flawless skin, narrow waist, flat stomach, modest, thrusting breasts adorned with light brown areolas and sharp pink nipples. These, he tweaked and briefly suckled, ran his hands the length of her arms to her lovely hands before bending and inhaling of her honey-thatched sex, then planting a kiss upon both her cheeks. Once, twice, he walked about her restrained form, studying it from all angles until selecting a spot on her right buttock, pointing, and saying, "Here."

One of the hooded men removed a length of rod jutting from a brazier. "NO!" cried Penelope in a muffled sound.

In one quick move, the hot iron was pressed against her unblemished alabaster skin. Penelope's nostrils were assailed by the smell of burning flesh and she realized it was her own! The pain was beyond anything she had previously experienced. The world spun and darkened as Penelope passed out. A bucket poured over her head brought her sputtering back to life.

"While you will always see it backward in a mirror, and therefore not appreciate it fully, I think it only fair to inform you slave that the new permanent adornment to your skin is an interlocking R and S!" Then Reginald laughed heartily.

"Return her to her cell and let her contemplate her censurable stupidity for an interval. I trust you men will keep me abreast of her training?"

And with that, Reginald strode out of view.

Penelope was freed from the frame. As the last of the bonds were loosed, the golden-maned woman's legs failed to support her weight. Her bridle was removed. Penelope gasped for air. This had to be a nightmare! She was sure she would awake any moment. Even as she thought this, the throbbing pain emanating from her backside convinced her otherwise. Was this it then? To become a mere plaything of a rogue; to be even lower than a whore? No! there had to be SOME hope for her. The hooded men fireman carried her back to her cell, where Penelope promptly threw herself down upon her mattress and cried and cried.

**

Penelope was not permitted to wallow in her grief for more than an hour or so. Hooded guards entered her cell and dragged her out into the opening beyond it. Fading sunlight filtered down from openings in the roof. Penelope was forced to kneel before a large, intimidating man who wore no mask. His face was hard and his stare insistent and demanding. Even if Penelope had been able to find her voice the man's intense menacing presence would have stilled it.

"Wench, here is how things will go. I and my men shall give the orders and you will obey, immediately, without pause or equivocation. Training you to your collar will only be as onerous as YOU make it. We will not tolerate begging or bargaining. You have nothing of interest to us. Our only interest is in making you the most compliant and contented slave possible. We own every part of you, from the crown of your head to your toenails, not even your skin is your own. As that brand on your backside has already made abundantly clear to you. You have no past. Your future is already set. You cannot alter it or forestall it. I tell you these things because they are facts."

He paused and glared at Penelope, daring her to break the silence.

"First, we shall break in that lovely mouth of yours. A slave's mouth should not engage in much conversation. Its purpose is to see to her master, or her master's designates, pleasure."

The man nodded and two hooded men grasped her firmly while a third forced a circular ring into her mouth. No sooner was this indignity performed to her person when the man reached for the fastener of his leather breeches.

Penelope was too stunned to react. There, before her startled eyes was the first adult male penis she had ever seen. It was large and erect! It resembled nothing so much as an eel from the fish market. The man closed in as the hooded man behind her forced her head at an angle to receive the man-eel. "Jesus!" Penelope tried to scream but only a sibilant sound issued. The ring prevented Penelope from denying it entry. Her horror intensified as she was held fast. and the man began thrusting back and forth.

Penelope was beyond mortified. Such things simply did not happen to high-born women in Victoria's Empire! The man's thrusts continued. Penelope found herself as an observer from outside her body. The bestial man stopped thrusting and the inside of Penelope's mouth was filled with a bitter-tasting substance that slid down her throat. Was this semen? Penelope wondered. The man's organ became soft and flaccid and shrank in size. The man groaned with pleasure and said, "That is only your first lesson, fair one."

Penelope noted that a line of hooded men had formed behind the first.

"You shall taste a dozen more of us in succession. That shall be your first evening meal!" The man then reared back and laughed uproariously. Silently, Penelope prayed for deliverance.

**

Penelope lost all track of time. She was in a constant present, being taken dozens of times a day by a dozen men. Every part of her body had been taken. Men had pleasured themselves with both her cunny and her posterior! They had teased and sucked her nipples and plunged her into paroxysms of pleasure that she scarce believed were possible. Other times she was expertly flogged in a way that did not leave a mark. At all times she wore only a leather and steel collar, it too bore the interlocking RS of the brand on her buttocks. Now, all one of her abductors needed to do was reach for the flail strapped to his waist and Penelope threw herself into the task of pleasing him.

Her long hair had been cut close to her scalp during her first days, now it was again at her shoulders. Her loins had been completely denuded save for a postagestamp-sized oval above the opening. They called her "wench" "slave" or merely "woman." Penelope had trouble recalling her name or her former life. Snatches of it came to her in her dreams or as random bolts out of the blue. There were impressions mostly, of a life of leisure and a handsome beau. Those images occurred very rarely now. The men whom she encountered every day filled her consciousness. She contemplated and contrasted their posteriors in their tight leather shorts. She compared the taste of their ejaculate in a way her former self once contrasted various wines and sherries. She noted their fine musculature and savored their deep, commanding voices. She soared emotionally with each praise and chastened herself thoroughly each time she was punished for an error or lack of enthusiasm. Her desire now was simply to give and receive pleasure. The men's attitude seemed to change with time. Now they complimented her beauty and her willingness to serve. They called her an "A-1 cock sucker" a "bonfire between the sheets" and "a wonderful slave." For some reason, Penelope found herself delighting in these pronouncements. She was exercised to keep her fit and trim. Her food was unsalted and bland so that she would appreciate the tang of male ejaculate. She was instructed on how to walk and when to speak. how to praise her master, and how to serve his every desire. Finally, the man in charge pronounced her "ready." Penelope found sleep difficult that night. She wondered what the morrow would bring.

The boss (as he liked to be called) was quite solicitous, almost loving, as he bathed Penelope in rose-scented water in a lovely, enameled tub. He carefully washed her head to toe and delicately dried her skin and brushed out her long golden hair. With a sensitivity, the man had never shown before he dressed her as though she were a child, long stockings supported by suspenders, a front opening corset that emphasized her already ample bust, two ankle-high kid boots, and a long mauve dress accentuated by matching gloves. After such a prolonged period of constant nudity, clothing felt strange upon her frame. Still, there was something vaguely familiar about the attire. The woman in her dreams wore garments such as these. But where did her mind come up with them in the first place? It was all so mystifying.

"You are my finest work!" confided the boss. He planted a deep, lingering kiss on her carmine lips before he led her upstairs to a fine sitting room. Penelope flushed with pride on each riser.

In the tastefully furnished room was a dark-haired man, not handsome, neither homely. He rose when she entered, a wide smile upon his face.

"Slave, this is your Master. Obey him always as you were taught, and he shall make you happy to the end of your days." Then, he planted a delicate kiss on her left cheek and silently vacated the room.

"Come to me, woman," instructed the man.