It had taken him a long time to reach this point. Even now it seemed almost incredible that the task was completed, but it was: the finished article lay on the bench before him, ready for use. Now he could only wait for the right moment, the right encounter, and then hope that all he had worked for, all he was hoping for, would come to fruition.

He had served Grosslmeyer the tanner for two years, to learn how to work the hides, how to choose them and how to make the softest, most supple leather, with that gentle smell that to him meant the delicious aroma of submission. And during those years he had, in spare moments, searched the mountains for stones, and the towns roving traders' stalls likewise. He had taken some chips to be tumbled and polished and made into shining oval shapes by Peters the jeweller: he had bargained and argued and traded and acquired a pair of sparkling blue tourmalines, not real emeralds but almost as blue. He had assembled five pairs of fine stones, had put them in his mind's-eye in order. Yet one was lacking and to help with that last one he went to the old woman who lived in the hut two miles out of the town on the road up into the mountains. Some people called her Old Drossli, some called her a witch: he only knew she had some unusual knowledge and would part with it if approached in the right way.

It was hard to tell, with the old woman, how she reacted to things: she showed nothing. When he told her he was seeking a stone for an article he was making, she simply nodded, and looked at him with her piercing green eyes. After a moment or two, she spoke:

'What colour stone?'

He had not thought of any particular colour: but even as she spoke the words, a picture of the five pairs he had laid out came into his mind, and there in the middle a shining stone in an amber-yellow colour. And the word Yellow started to go round and round in his mind until it must come out.

'Yellow,'he answered, matching her brevity. Neither one was a waster of words.

She stared even harder at him, saying nothing. Then slowly she rose from her chair, and gesturing to him to wait, she went into the back room. There were sounds of searching, scrabbling: then she came back bearing a small cloth purse, dirty with the cobwebs of the years. She resumed her place in the wooden rocking chair.

'What is it you are making?' she asked.

He hesitated. It was a secret project - but this woman kept secrets, if anyone did. And clearly she would not part with whatever was in the purse unless she was told. So he explained his work, how he was making a collar for the girl of his destiny and how he hoped he would find her once it was ready. The old woman nodded.

'Yes,' she croaked, 'this is the stone you need. It has been waiting for you these sixteen years: the one for whom it is destined was born when it came to me, I have kept it for Fate. You should know that it will enslave her, but at the same time it will make her the happiest woman on earth, because she will know she is fulfilling her destiny as it is written.'

Such a long speech seemed to exhaust the old woman: she lay back and rocked the chair a little, with her eyes closed. The shadows in the cottage seemed subtly to move, as if a great act was being performed: then she held out the purse to him, and he took it reverently. He took out the stone inside, and saw it was yellow indeed, and in spite of the dim light through the small, dusty window it sparkled with a light that seemed to come from inside it rather than to be merely the reflection of whatever rays might illuminate it.

'What do I owe you?' he asked.

The old woman shook her head.

'I ask for payment only for my services,' she said. 'I am serving Fate, and Fate will pay me for this. It is the Finkelstein, the Shining Stone: it is unlike any other. Use it well: your own fate lies in its hands, as well as its Wearer's.'

And with that she dismissed him, and he walked back thoughtfully to the village, and up to the building at the top of the hillock that he called his castle.

Later that day he took the stone to his workshop. There lay the collar, almost finished. He took the stone from its purse, and measured where it would go: made the space, the right size to hold it, and inserted it. The other stones gleamed gently in the candlelight: but the Finkelstein in the middle sparkled in a way he had never seen before. Now the collar was complete, the best work of his life: now he must find the Wearer.

He had thought at first that once he had made the collar, the Wearer would appear to him in a very short time. But as days became weeks and weeks months, he began to realise that this would not be so, and to wonder whether he was called on to go a-searching for her. Yet no wanderlust entered his soul: rather he was content to stay at home, looking each day at the shining jewel as it lay in the middle of the collar, kept now in a glass-fronted case he had constructed, and held secure behind two intricate locks. As time went by, though, he began to have doubts. What if his ideas were all senseless fantasy? What if there was no destined Wearer as he had fondly imagined? Perhaps he was just a foolish man, living out his life and earning his bread as a woodcutter and occasional maker of things in leather - for the two years with the tanner were not going to waste. And yet. The old woman had told him that she was serving Fate, and had spoken of the one for whom the yellow stone was destined.

He had, by now, almost given up hope - but not quite, not quite. The words of the old woman stayed with him and kept alive, though buried deep within him, the - not hope exactly, he felt it was in a curious way stronger than that - the knowledge that she would appear to him, somehow. But he was not thinking of all that on this particular evening: he had sold a fine pair of leather shorts, the traditional lederhosen, and had made a good profit, and now had come to the tavern to celebrate a little.

He called for a stein of beer, and looked around to see if any of his few acquaintances - he would scarcely have called them friends, for he was in truth a solitary man - were there. None were in evidence: but in a corner sat alone a creature who, though to an ordinary eye might have seemed unremarkable, to his inner vision seemed of such beauty as to call him almost physically over. A rucksack lay on the floor: clearly a traveller. He approached, and asked if he might sit at the table, and the traveller waved assent.

'Come far?' he enquired.

'Far enough,' was the reply, in a light, singing voice which seemed to him to be as the ringing of bells, pure and ethereal. 'I would stay here the night, save for the Landlord's room being already taken - do ye know if there is anywhere else for a traveller?'

Something inside him stirred, almost imperceptibly at first, and then rose up in a surge of understanding. Surely, surely - could it be? after so long, could this be the Wearer at last?

'There is no other inn,' he answered, 'but I have room to spare and would gladly afford you a night's rest.'

The smile on the travellers face made him want to cry out with joy, so soft and gentle were the contours, the skin, the oval shape framed by light golden hair curling underneath at the shoulders. It must be, he thought, everything in my being is shouting that this is she.

'You are very kind,' said his companion. 'I must confess I was not looking forward to a night here on the benches, and no sleep till all had gone home. Thank you, I will willingly accept your kindness and your hospitality.'

'Have you eaten?' he asked.

'Aye, I have had bread and cheese enough,' the traveller replied.

'Then shall I get you a drink?' he enquired.

'Thank you,' was the answer, 'I would welcome a small glass of wine.'

He waved the landlord over and asked for the wine, and a refill of his own glass. When the drinks arrived, the traveller said to the landlord that hospitality had been offered and that he would not be troubled with a stranger in his public room. And then neither of them seemed to have much to say: each would occasionally start a sentence, but none led to any extended conversation. Both, it seemed, were content just to be in each others presence, to drink and think and to let their thoughts waft around. He felt a sense of gratitude coming from the other, certainly, but - or was it just his fanciful imagination? - perhaps a sense too of - of certainty in a curious way, of a kind of harmony? He could not put a verbal description to his intuitive feelings: he had never been a man for words.

They finished their drinks, and with a mutual glance of question and answer, stood up. The traveller shouldered the rucksack, and together the two left the tavern and walked in the moonlight under the scudding clouds back to his castle. Behind them, he locked the door against the wolves and the thieves of the night, aye, and against any inquisitive people who might come a-wondering whom his companion might be.

His heart was pounding as he led the way up to the room which had been prepared so long ago and kept clean regularly against the day it should be needed.

'Here you are,' he said, 'refresh yourself and join me below when you're ready.'

A smile was the only answer, and he left the traveller alone. He had so often imagined the scene - and now here she was, so exactly as he had pictured her. He hastened to find the keys to unlock the case where the collar, at last to be united with its Wearer, lay awaiting, and it seemed to him that the yellow stone, the Finkelstein, was shining even more brightly than it was accustomed to. He laid it on the table: and over it, so that she should not immediately see it, he laid a white linen cloth, the best he had.

The footsteps on the stair sounded so light, and then into the room came a vision such as even in his most fertile imaginings he would never have conceived. From the golden hair down to the soft skin of the slippers, everything seemed to him perfection. And the face was turned towards him, the eyes sparkling like the stone.

'I expect this will sound odd to you,' came that bell-like voice, 'but I have the strangest feeling that I am meant to be here. Can I tell you of my journey?'

'By all means, my dear,' he answered, 'I would be most interested.'

The traveller settled in the big armchair, and took a deep breath before beginning:

'I have been well-educated, and until two months ago I was still with a tutor. But then I had an inexplicable urge to travel, I knew not why or where. My family had money, and it was by then mine, for my parents had both died a year previously. So I took what seemed to be sufficient, and set out - going as my instinct took me. Always there seemed to be a hidden purpose in my travelling, for I never wanted to stay long in one place, but ever to move on. It has been seven weeks now since I left home: and until now I have met many but none to whom I felt anything other than indifference. When you came to sit with me, I had a quite different, unworldly sense that you were the person I have been travelling to meet. Does that make any sense to you?'

He could scarcely believe his ears. This was surely the destiny spoken of by the old woman.

'It does indeed,' he said, 'and it might surprise you, but I have been told two years since of a person whose destiny was to come here.'

A look of contentment, of settledness came over the exquisite face. 'Then it is true, what I have been feeling. I will trust you not to laugh, then, and share with you another vision which I cannot explain. In my minds eye there persists a picture of an oval stone, of amber-yellow colour - please tell me if this has any meaning for you at all?'

He took the linen cloth from the collar as the traveller came to look. There was a sharp intake of breath.

'I am to wear this.' It was a statement, not a question. The eyes looked up at him, a little doubtful. 'I- I have an - an instinct...'

The voice tailed off: clearly this was difficult to say. And suddenly he had a picture of himself placing the collar on a naked girl: and if she had the same vision, it was not surprising that she found it difficult to put into words. He became bold.

'I think I know,' he said. 'You feel that your travellers clothes are inappropriate, that you should be wearing none of them when it is put on.'

The answer was a nod. He stood, holding the collar, and motioned his possession-to-be up the stairs, to the room which would be his pleasure room, her dungeon. And there, very excited, he began preparations to take possession of her. One by one he removed her outer clothing: the woodcutting being in full swing, there was plenty of warmth in the fire. But when he removed the last items, he had a shock: for there, between the legs, was not the seat of delight he had expected to see, but male appurtenances! How could this be! He had been so sure that the Wearer would be female, would be one who could submit to his desires sexually as well as in other ways. But his instinct was still as strong as ever, so he took the collar and placed it around the neck of its Wearer, fastening it at the back and removing the catch so it could not be undone.

And then, even as he watched, the appurtenances shrunk, reduced, became almost invisible: and on the chest, the hairs seemed to fall away and two gentle mounds grew visibly. An inner voice told him it would take a few days, but the transformation would be complete and permanent soon enough: he must wait until the full moon, a week away, before finally owning and entering into his kingdom.

'I am here to serve you, am I not?' said the Wearer. 'I am owned by you by virtue of this collar of submission?'

'You are mine indeed,' he said, 'from this moment on!'

'I may not ask, now, for anything more - but one thing I beg of you my Master: please, Master, never remove my collar, lest I cease to be what I am destined to be, you joy and your delight, your possession.'

He assented at once: for now it was in place, it was unthinkable that the collar should be anywhere else but around that neck for which it was intended.

'You may sleep now,' he said, 'for you have had a long day. In the morning I shall name you: and at the full moon I shall take possession of you.'

She smiled, that beautiful, enigmatic smile, and nodded gently, and he left her. The next morning he told her that her name was to be Sarah: already, he was pleased to see, there was little body hair left on her beyond her head and the golden triangle below. And in due time he took possession of her, and she cried out in ecstacy, and it was the most pleasurable moment of his life.

Part Two

There followed weeks, months of contentment. Contentment on his part, because she was so willing to please, so willing to be his creature in whatever way he wished. He would lead her round the house by a chain fixed to the ring in the collar, and sometimes when he was just sitting by the fire in the evening, a glass of beer in his hand, she would sit curled up at his feet, her long hair brushing against his legs, and he would think pleasurably of how he might take her in a little, before sleeping with her soft skin gently pressing against him.

As the spring turned to summer he felt he should take her out for some air, and in the evenings he would lead her as a man might walk his dog, up to the woods at the foot of the hills, on the path away from the village, away from prying eyes. There he would release her from the chain, and she would run about, her skirts flying in the breeze, and sometimes she would hide behind a tree and tease him that she was free, she was away. Her eyes would be wide and her smile matched them as she played: but always when he called she would come, his docile creature, back to him to have her chain replaced and to be led back to the castle.

It was on one of these days that he saw a pretty, green-breasted bird dancing in the saplings, and alight on the top of a thin branch which seemed unusually straight. In a moment of vision he saw, as the branch flexed under the slight weight of the bird, what he might do: and saw, too, what it was he had been feeling was missing from the way he possessed the girl. When the bird had flown on he took his small knife from his pocket and cut off the switch, and trimmed the leaves from the top. It was over a metre long, and less than a centimetre across: thin and flexible, it would be ideal. When he called her from her play, she saw it, and looked at him doe-eyed: she said never a word when he gave it to her to carry home, but there was an expression on her face and he knew that she understood its purpose. He noticed that she was trembling a little as they reached home.

That evening he told her to put on her shortest skirt with a tight blouse, and to wait for him in her room. He came to her after a few minutes, carrying several small items along with the switch. He placed her bedroom chair facing the wall, and motioned her over: taking her ankles, he secured each one to a leg of the chair with a small leather strap. Then he took the chain, and pulled down her head so that she was bent right over the chair: he fastened the chain to a small ring set low in the wall below the window.

'You may hold the chair legs with your hands, my dear,' he said, 'and you may bend your knees a little if that makes it more comfortable.'

She did as he said: with her knees resting against the chair back, her shapely curves jutted out and it was no surprise to her when he lifted the short skirt to expose them, and took her short white linen pantalettes and slid them down almost to her knees. Then he went to pick up the switch.

'Now, my dear, it is time for you to learn a new submission,' he said.

He was not a cruel man at heart, he did not speak in an unkindly way: but he felt again an instinct, as he had felt when he had first seen her, that this was to be part of his domination, that the Wearer of the Finkelstein was made to experience more than just sexual submission.

'As this is your first experience I will not be severe with you,' he said, 'four strokes will be enough, this time.'

He measured the switch against those pale, unmarked nates, then drew it back a distance. It swished loudly through the air, and landed across the centre of its target with a fearsome crack. At once a bright red line appeared on each cheek. She gave a gasp, a sharp intake of breath: but never a sound, never a cry.

He raised the switch again, and again there was a swish and a crack. The line of fire was just below the first, and this time there was a distinct OH! that she could not suppress, so sharp was the pain. He knew that it was hurting her: part of him wanted to stop now, to rub her tenderly, to kiss and caress her and tell her he would never hurt her again, but he knew that to do so would put him in her power and it had to be the other way.

A third swish, a third crack. This time she cried out loud, OH OH OOOOHHH!!! as the fire across her rear end intensified and she was powerless to move, unable to alleviate it in any way. Then, amazingly, he saw her relax a little and it seemed that her body was saying, I submit, I submit to the last stroke.

No harder, he thought, maybe at some time I will end with a harder stroke or two but not this first time. He brought the switch down just as before, aiming a little below the others, and it caught her on the softest part of her buttocks. She burst into renewed sobbing then, for although he had not intended it, this stroke had indeed been more intense than any of the others. But soon she controlled herself, the sound of sobbing stopped, and there was just her breathing to be heard.

He laid down the switch and came to her, stroking her seat of fire with his rough hand, and it felt to her the gentlest of caresses, as if with silk. He bent to release her chain, and undid the straps, and he led her over to her bed and laid her on her front so that the cool air could reach the burning stripes.

'You did well, my dear,' he said encouragingly. 'I think you understand what I am doing.'

She turned her head up to him, those liquid eyes still filled with tears.

'I understand,' she said in her soft, bell-like voice. 'I know that I was born to submit and that this is my destiny.'

He felt warmed by her words. He had not really decided on a plan, a routine: but he was indeed a man of instinct, so he took the thought that floated into his mind and gave it voice.

'I will have you submit now, each week,' he said, 'and sometimes it will be more, sometimes less, but always more than tonight, more than the first time.'

A little tremor ran through her. She must, he thought, be feeling that if more that this is to be the least she can expect, what will be the most. I will reassure her, for she shall not be subjected to more than that for which she is ready.

'Rest assured, my dear,' he said, 'that I will teach you, train you in this discipline. It will never be too much, you will never be disciplined beyond the degree for which you are ready.'

She smiled - smiled! - at him then - not exactly a smile of happiness but one of contentment, one of knowing the rightness of things. And later that night, when he entered her and took his pleasure with her, she cried out not once, not twice but three times in ecstacy as he brought her to climax after climax to a degree that was also a new experience for her.

And so from then on, each week, he would tell her to take the switch to her room and prepare for her discipline. She would put on the short skirt and clean, plain short white pantalettes for him, and a tight blouse with no chemise, and her nipples would jut out through the linen of her blouse, proud and erect, as he entered the room and took her to the chair and restrained her over it. She would submit, not silently very much, for the strokes were no less painful for being now accustomed, but with a meekness that touched and delighted him. And always afterwards she would cry with pleasure several times.

It was a little time after this that Grosslmeyer the tanner had offered him some offcuts, long thin strips of leather for his former apprentice, to see if his imagination could make anything of them. And in idle moments he formed them into a plait, and attached it to a handle: but he did it out of her sight, and put his work away until he should feel it was needed: he felt that for the present the switch was quite sufficient, for whilst he was her master he was not in truth a cruel man.

One day, late in the summer, he was leading her back after an outing when he noticed a couple of the stones supporting the roof of his castle were loose. The next day he borrowed a ladder and climbed up for a closer look: and there had been a lot of weathering, and some masonry work needed doing. The woodcutting had been going well, but not so well that he had surplus to spare - for he had two mouths to feed now, and moreover he had liked to have pretty garments made for his creature, his possession: so his savings were at a low ebb. As he climbed down the ladder, he noticed a stranger looking up.

'Got problem, there,' said the man.

'Aye,' he answered, 'and another.' The stranger looked enquiringly. 'Money to pay a mason,' he explained laconically.

'Other ways of paying, maybe, than money,' said the stranger equably.

He glanced up at the castle and saw the girl's face framed by the window, all her beauty showing, and at once he understood the stranger's meaning.

'Come in, then,' he invited.

They went and sat in the kitchen, and she made them a hot drink whilst they discussed what was needed. Yes, the stranger said, he was indeed a mason, and he could see what was needed, and yes, it would take two days: and for two days food, and two nights lodging he would do the work, if the two nights were in company. He grieved a little, but he could see no other way if the wind and weather were to be kept out for the winter: so he agreed. And whilst the mason went to look at the stonework he called her, and told her of the bargain, and she just nodded, knowing that she was his only means of payment.

The mason was as good as his word: he knew how to remove the decayed stone, he found and shaped replacements, he fitted and he fixed and he chiselled, and at the end of the first day the roof was looking visibly improved. They shared a meal that night with little conversation, and then sat by the fire with a glass or two of wine, the girl at her Master's feet as usual: but when the stranger rose to take his rest she went with him, unbidden. Her Master went to his room alone, and covered his ears.

The next day the mason rose early, and after a simple breakfast which she prepared for him, set about his work. The bargain was being kept on both sides, it seemed: he was giving of his best, he whistled as he worked, and it was apparent that she too had given of her best to please him. He finished the work just before dusk, and the Master saw that he had done an excellent job. And again that night she went with the mason unbidden to bed, and again her Master went alone and grieving to his bed and covered his ears.

The next morning the mason rose early again, but she was not to be seen. He called to his host that he would be on his way, and his host rose and bade him farewell, not without a sense of relief. Now they would be snug for the winter, for many winters to come, and the payment was fully made. He would reward her, he thought, she should have a month without any discipline, to show how much he valued the service she had rendered. And he went straightway to her room, to be with her again, to hold her and caress her and to show her how much he cared for her. He opened her door softly.

The shock of what he saw made him stagger back: blood rushed from his head, and he had to put it between his knees else he would have fainted. For there on the floor lay her collar, the beautiful, magic, jewelled collar, undone and off her neck: and there on the bed lay a still, lifeless body - lifeless save that it was visibly growing hairy before his eyes. He recovered himself, and went over to her - was it her, though? - and turned the body on its back: and his worst fears were realised. For the body was re-transformed: the face was almost bearded and the chest was flat and the nipples shrunk and all with hair about: and between the legs were those male growths that had so surprised him when first he had encountered them.

What could he do, how could he revive and re-create his lovely creature? Then the obvious struck him, and he seized the collar and put it around the neck, fastening it with pounding heart. Then he covered the body to warm it, holding it close: maybe it would take a little time. But half an hour passed, and there were no signs, not even the slightest twitch, either of change or of life: indeed it seemed to him that the hair grew more prolific on cheek and chest. He was on the point of despair when he remembered what he had made with Grosslmeyer's offcuts of leather: and an instinct told him that here was perhaps the reviver.

He hastened to find the whip from where he had stored it, away from her eyes. He took the body and laid it face down over the chair he was wont to use for her discipline: it was still quite unclothed. And then he stood away, and raised the whip, and lashed out in his fury against the treachery of the mason, and brought it down across the rump turned towards him with a crack like thunder.

There was not a movement, not a sound, not a breath to be heard: nothing. All that resulted was an angry red weal across the pale cheeks, now themselves growing with hair.

He raised the whip again, and a second lash again held all his anger and it fell on the body. And again there was no effect beyond the stripe. A third time he lashed: with no more result.

He was almost panicking by now. Had he lost her for ever, the light of his life? In desperation he lashed again, and again.

On the fifth blow, he stopped: for he was sure there had been a tiny stirring, a tiny sound even. His heart beat even faster: and he laid on another stripe to see if it would cause further response. The body stirred visibly: it was not, then, just his imagination wanting to see it. And there was a faint moan: and the sound of breathing.

He paused: but the revival seemed faint, tenuous. He raised the whip yet again, and swished it down full of mixed emotion, of anger still but also of hope. It had to work, it had to! And one further blow he laid to confirm the effect.

His reward was to see the hair covering the fiery orbs come off onto the plait of the whip, as if it had been dirt wiped off by a cloth. The moaning was louder now, but it was not exactly a cry of pain - more of..it was hard to say, but something of relief! His instinct said to him, not enough, not yet enough, and he lashed and lashed again, and the hairs stripped away as if they had never been and the moaning grew louder and it sounded to him not like her cries when he had switched her but of the cries of joy afterwards. Two more would make twelve: twice more he whipped across those beloved cheeks, and then he laid the whip down feeling his work was done and he had succeeded.

He took the body in his arms and carried it to the bed: and with joy saw that she was indeed his creature again, back in her accustomed shape. He took a lace kerchief and wiped away the tears in her cool blue eyes. She was half fainting, but she reached out for him, and he threw off his robe and she drew him to her and into her and never had he loved her so much. And then they slept together for most of the day, rising only to prepare some soup to sustain them, before retiring again and loving again and sleeping again in each others arms.

And never again did he give her or lend her to any man: and she lived all the days of her life in the joy of being his. The collar never left her neck save for him to wash her, once a week: and when, about every fourth week, the tiny signs of hair began to appear when he replaced it, he would put her over the chair, and tie her chain to the ring in the wall, and get out his whip, and with twelve fiery lashes restore her to her proper state, and she would cry out in mingled pain and ecstacy as her destiny was reaffirmed.

The morning sun was already beginning to creep through the windows of the little cabin, casting pretty shadows over the simple furniture in the room. Anna sat on the hearth to be near the fire, wearing only the quilt she'd wrapped around her body, holding a steaming mug of tea between her hands, trying to warm her fingers. 'Has it been six days already?' Anna thought to herself. She turned to look at Josef, sound asleep beneath a pile of warm, heavy blankets. She smiled at how peaceful he looked.

Six days ago, Josef and Anna had come to this cabin together for the weekend. The snow had just begun to fall as they arrived, and it had continued to fall heavily all day and all night, trapping them together inside. The wind had drifted the snow into lovely patterns over the ground, and the branches and limbs of the trees that surrounded the little cabin wore the snow beautifully.

Last night, Josef had allowed her pleasures she never knew existed:

Josef, with one foot lifted to the hearth of the tall stone fireplace, leaned forward and poked at the fire until it was blazing, filling the room with brighter light and the aroma of burning wood. He turned to Anna and told her, "Go draw a bath for yourself, Anna." And so it had begun.

"Yes, Josef," she answered. The air in the bathroom was cool on her skin, which had become accustomed to the warmth of the fire. She sat on the edge of the tub and ran her hand through the steamy water that was filling it.

"Get into the water, sweetie, and have your bath," Josef said from the doorway.

"Yes, Josef," Anna said, as she lowered herself into the warm water.

Josef stood leaning in the doorway, his hands resting casually in the pockets of his pants, and watched Anna lather the soap against the sponge, and move it over the skin of her neck, arms, breasts, legs...the water felt so good to her. When she was finished, Josef pulled a stool beside the tub, and sat down. He took the sponge from her, and said, "Stand up now, Anna. Stand here in front of me, with your legs spread apart, your eyes straight ahead."

"Yes, Josef." Anna stepped out of warm water, standing as he'd instructed on a towel he'd placed on the floor, her nipples and her skin responding again to the cool air. Josef reached forward, and lathered the soft, wet hair on her pussy, the mere touch of his fingers causing her to gasp softly. Anna felt something cold against her skin, and felt him begin to shave her. She didn't flinch, or look down. She trusted him completely. Her body belonged to him, her pussy belonged to him, and Anna wanted him to use them for his pleasure. She could feel drops of water following her legs to the floor, as he slowly, carefully, removed all the hair that hid her pussy. When he was satisfied, he took the sponge and squeezed more warm water over her, rinsing all the soap away.

Josef stood and pressed Anna's shoulder gently, a gesture that meant she was to kneel. "Go to be near the fire now, sweetie," he said, "warm and dry yourself by it."

"Thank you, Josef," she answered.

Anna could feel his eyes on her as she went back to the main room of the cabin on her knees, stopping in front of the fireplace. Josef followed and took a seat in the chair beside her. He touched her newly-shaven pussy with his right hand, moving his fingers over the smooth skin there. At the same time, he lifted her chin with his left hand, looked into her eyes, leaned forward and kissed her.

The touch of his fingers against the lips of her wet, throbbing pussy, the taste of his tongue exploring her mouth, the pressure she felt in her erect nipples, the warmth of the fire, the soft orange light it cast over the room, the crackling sound it made, the scent of it, the scent of him, all of this filled her senses.

"Anna, sit back on your heels now, and spread your knees wide apart. I want you to play with your pussy for me." Josef said, as he arranged himself more comfortably in his chair.

"Yes, Josef," Anna answered. She did as he instructed, spreading her knees apart widely, so he could see. Anna reached between her legs, and felt for the first time the smooth skin there. She moaned softly as she ran her finger over the length of her pussy, beneath her shaven lips. She felt how wet she was, how warm, her clit swollen almost painfully. She rubbed her pussy, her clit, for his pleasure.

"Harder now, Anna," he said, "and faster, but don't you dare cum until I grant you permission."

"Yes, Josef," Anna gasped. Her fingers were pressing into her pussy harder, moving faster and faster. Her hips were rocking furiously without her consent, her eyes were closed. She was on the verge, and felt that she couldn't take anymore. She was gasping and moaning, trying desperately to obey his order not to cum until he granted her permission. If only he would grant...

"Do you want to cum, my little slut?" Josef asked affectionately.

"Oh yes, Josef. Please, Josef, may I cum? Please, please Josef, may I cum?" Anna begged.

Josef smiled softly, "Cum for me, Anna. Cum now!"

With sound of his command, Anna's entire body quivered, her pussy spasmed, her breathing came in loud, short gasps. "Thank you, Josef. Thank you, thank you, thank you, Josef!" Anna nearly screamed. Her body trembling still, she continued to touch her pussy, for he had not told her to stop.

"Come closer to me, now, Anna," Josef said. Anna approached him on her knees.

"Undress me," he said, looking down at her.

"Yes, Josef," Anna answered. She reached up, and unbuttoned his shirt. She slid her hands underneath the fabric, and lifted his shirt off of his shoulders and over his arms. Oh, how good his skin felt to her fingertips. He stood then and she unfastened his pants and pulled them to his ankles, holding them so he could easily step out of them. Anna gasped when she saw his hard, throbbing cock, and, without thinking, she looked up upon his face, pressed her moist lips to it, and kissed it, touching the tip of his cock with her tongue.

He looked down at her and ran his fingers through her hair, "You have been a very good girl, Anna." he said, "You may suck my cock."

"Oh, thank you, Josef." Anna answered.

She kissed the tip of his cock again, then wrapped her lips around him. Anna moved her tongue over his cock, and took him deeper and deeper into her mouth, until she felt his cock pressed against the back of her throat. Josef reached down and grabbed her breasts, squeezing them firmly, pinching her nipples roughly between his thumbs and fingers. He heard her muffled moan as she slid her mouth over him, in and out, again and again, her tongue working furiously on him. She sucked his cock deep into her mouth and then back to the very tip, faster and more feverishly. Her pussy was burning hotly, and drenched again. Anna reached up and caressed and fondled his balls with her fingers. Josef released his hold on her nipples, and grabbed her hair. He held her head still, while he fucked her mouth, thrusting into her mouth faster and harder.

"That's it, my slut," he groaned. Anna's tongue, with a mind of its own it seemed, licked even more rapidly. Continuing to suck, harder and harder, she felt him grow even bigger inside her mouth. "Oh," Anna wished silently, "please allow me to swallow your cum, Josef." With a final thrust, Josef came into her mouth. She felt the force of his hot, salty cum moving over her tongue, to the back of her throat. She sucked diligently, trying to get every drop. When there was no more, he let go of her hair, and dropped to the chair. Anna continued to lick his cock and his balls, swallowing any cum that was left on him. Even now, he was growing again beneath her tongue.

He smiled to himself at her, at his slut. She had learned so much, and she pleased him. He placed his fingers under her chin, and lifted her head. Again, he looked into her eyes. "You've done well, so far, sweetie," he said.

"Thank you, Josef," Anna replied, her heart filled with peace, leaping with joy, that she had been pleasing to him.

Josef stood now, and took her hand into his. He helped her to her feet, her knees weak beneath her, and leaned her over the back of the chair in which he'd been sitting.

Anna heard him walk away from her, heard him rummaging through his bag, but she did not move from where he left her. When he returned, he tied each of her wrists to the front legs of the chair, so that her elbows rested on the seat of it. Once this was done, he moved behind her, and positioned her legs so they were at the outside of the back legs of the chair, where he tied each of her ankles. Next, he placed a blindfold over her eyes.

Josef stood back and looked at her, bent far over the chair at her waist, her legs spread apart, her pussy wet and glistening, the light from the fire dancing over her naked, vulnerable body, the body that belonged to him, the body that she had given to him. 'Lovely,' he thought.

Anna felt the weight of his flogger's leather strands sliding sensuously over the trembling skin of her shoulders, her back, her ass, her thighs. He lifted the flogger, and let gravity carry its strands to her ass, letting her feel it, letting her learn the weight of it. Josef continued, each time, adding a bit more force, varying when and where it landed. He lifted his arm higher, and brought it down harder and harder on her ass. Her breathing was coming in quick gasps and moans then. She tried to relax her muscles, knowing that it hurt worse when it landed on tense ones. Anna felt the sting of it, the weight of it, the pain of it, and the pleasure of it. She felt the heat of her tears on her face, the heat radiating from her ass, and, yes, the heat rising in her pussy. With greater force, he continued, how many times, she didn't know.

When he was finished, just as she thought she could take no more, he touched her hot, reddened ass with his cool fingers, sending shivers through her entire body. Josef reached beneath her, and squeezed and twisted her breasts and nipples hard. Then, mercifully, he thrust his hard cock deep into her throbbing, wet pussy. Anna moaned loudly, and felt the aching muscles of her pussy grab onto his cock and spasm around him. He fucked her pussy with long strokes, deeper and faster, harder and harder, bringing her to the brink again.

"Cum, Anna!" he commanded, but she could only answer with moans and screams of sheer pleasure, as he came inside her, his burning cum forced deep into her quivering pussy.

Josef stepped back from her, and untied her ankles and wrists, then removed the blindfold. He helped her to stand, and half carried her to the bed, where he gently laid her down. Anna looked up at Josef, sitting beside her on the bed. "Thank you, Josef," she whispered.

The corners of his mouth curled as he bent over her, and kissed her. He laid down beside her, collected her into his arms and held her close to him. Josef kissed her forehead, and stroked her hair. "Goodnight, sweetie," he answered. And then they slept.

Kira woke surprised to find Sebastian bending over her, watching her, a strange, familiar smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He reached out to brush a stray lock of hair from her face.

"Good morning, little one. Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, thank you, Master," she murmured, suddenly shy in his sight. "I slept very well."

Sebastian stroked her cheek ever so lightly with the backs of his fingers, his eyes bright and fixed on her face. His hand slid down the blankets to her mound -- and just rested there, the warmth of his hand seeping through, waking her slumbering desire.

"It's time for your shower," he said. "Today I want you to clip that dark, thick bush of yours for me. When you've finished with your shower, I don't want you to dry off, or comb your hair. Just go and kneel on your cushion. And wait." Before she could respond, he kissed her tenderly, lovingly, and left. She just laid there for a few minutes, contemplating that look she'd seen in his eyes. He'd seemed so distant the past weeks, cold and aloof in the face of her yearning gaze. Today he was again the Master she had sworn to serve.

She slipped joyously from between the sheets and quickly made the bed, more determined than ever to be a perfect slave. Running her fingers through her dark, shoulder length tangles, she padded across the hall on bare feet to the large, tiled bathroom. Standing in front of the full length mirror, turning this way and that, she examined her body. It needed some toning, but otherwise she--and Sebastian--didn't really have much to complain about. Her eyes, and her fingers, went to the collar at her throat. A beautiful piece of art, really, that was always mistaken for an elaborate necklace. It was made of intricately woven silver threads that were worked together to form a heavy, flat chain. It broadened in the front, forming a point from which depended a teardrop emerald. There was a small ring at the back that was worked into the collar in such as way as to seem part of the design, as if it belonged. She wondered if that ring would be used today.

Turning from the mirror, she opened the medicine cabinet and found the small scissors kept there for her shearing. Sometimes it pleased Sebastian to leave her sex clothed in her thick dark curls. But she always had to be ready to bare herself utterly to his sight and touch.

Kira grabbed a towel from the linen cupboard, spread it out on the bath mat, and sat down on it, legs spread wide, leaning back against the cool tile wall. She looked down at the black curls that covered her pubis, slowly ran the fingers of her left hand through them a few times. Then she grasped a lock between her fingers and snipped it away. Pausing a moment, she looked at the little black curl in her palm, then tipped her hand and watched the hairs float down to the waiting towel. They fell in runic symbols on the white terrycloth, an oracle she strove unsuccessfully to read. She smiled ruefully at her silly superstition and methodically snipped until all the dark curls were spread out on the towel beneath her.

In the shower she closed her eyes, turned slowly around, letting the water splash over her, running in rivulets down her skin, between her breasts, and over her behind. Her hands seemed to have their own agenda, and she felt them sliding over her body, caressing, touching. They cupped her heavy breasts, fingers teasing small nipples. She was being naughty arousing herself so, but she knew Sebastian would not begrudge her such harmless pleasure.

The soap lathered easily, and soon she was covered in a white foam. Wash cloth and soapy fingers found their way into her various openings, moving gently, cleansing them, enraging them, preparing them for what was to come. With long, slow, careful strokes, she started at her ankle and shaved her legs, following behind the razor with her fingers, ensuring she removed every single hair. There was nothing quite like the feel of silken skin still soapy and wet. Finished shaving, she just stood under the water, luxuriating in the feel of the water on her skin. Her thoughts turned naturally to wondering what Sebastian had planned for her. Lost in thought, she stood there until she realized the water had gotten chilly. She quickly turned it off and stepped from the tub. She reached by habit for the towel, but caught herself in time. Now that she seemed again to be in his good graces, she didn't want to earn her Master's displeasure by drying herself.

She left the bathroom, leaving the tracks of her small wet feet on the worn oak floor. The 18th-Century New England house was a rambling structure of many additions. To pass from the suite of rooms that served as slave quarters, Kira had to pass through the scullery and into the kitchen. She pushed open the swinging door to what had been the public room when the house had been an inn. At the far end of the long room was the massive fireplace, fire blazing away in the hearth, a towel warming over the arm of the chair that sat nearby, combs and brushes and ribbons laid out on the end table. Her eyes sparkled with delight: he was going to groom her! She was to be his pet kitten that morning.

Sebastian sat in his leather armchair, regarding her as she stepped tentatively forward. He snapped his fingers and pointed to her cushion, set in its usual place before the fire. She hastened to kneel on her cushion. He bent beside her, kissed her cheek softly, and went to work drying her hair and rubbing her body. The rough towel felt good against her skin, and soon she was tingling everywhere. He rubbed her hair with the towel till it was mostly dry, then picked up the brush and went to sit in his chair.

"Come here, my pet." Moving quickly, she knelt before him, facing away from him. Sebastian began to brush her hair in long, invigorating strokes. Kira closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of it, wincing a little as he pulled through the knots and snarls. But soon, he had worked them all out and was just . . . brushing. She purred low and deep in her throat: she truly did love having her hair brushed.

Sebastian set the brush aside, and ran his fingers through her now dry hair, tousling it gently. Kira smiled. This was almost as good as the brushing. He picked up two decorative, tortoise shell combs, then looked down on Kira, musing. "No. Today my pet will have her hair loose and a little wind tossed, as it were. These things," indicating the combs and ribbons, "would only serve to make you look tame and refined. And that is something you are not today."

He suddenly snapped a leash to her collar, rose from his chair, and walked to the dining room, Kira following closely at his heels. "Up, my pet. Onto the table with you." Using the chair as a step, she climbed up onto the table, stayed on all fours, knowing she was about to be inspected thoroughly. With a firm hand placed lightly on her behind, he indicated that she should turn away from him, which she did. Her naked ass, her openings, her womanhood were right there at eye level for him to see clearly. His hands parted her cheeks, spreading them wide. He bent close, gave her a small, sharp bite on her cheek, then slid his fingers down through her crevice to her nude swollen lips. Before she could move, he shoved two fingers deep into her, chuckling as she gasped, but didn't move.

"Yes, I think you will be just fine today, my pet." Tugging gently on the leash. "You know the rules, little one . . . off the furniture." Kira, as gracefully as she could, climbed down to the floor, followed her Master wherever he would lead her next.

Sebastian looked down at his kitten, reached to stroke her hair. "I bet my pet is a little hungry. It's nearly noon, and the day is going to be a long one. Come along, dear one. Let's see what we can find for you to eat." With another tug on the leash, perhaps a little harder than was necessary, he led her to the kitchen.

"Wait right there, my pet, while I fix you something to eat. You're going to need your strength today." Sebastian set to work preparing his specialty: an omelette with cheese, peppers, a little bacon, chives, diced tomatoes. When it was done, he placed it on a plate and cut it into several small pieces, then he placed the plate, along with a saucer of milk, on the floor in front of Kira.

"There you are, pet. Eat up." Sebastian sat down in a chair, smiling as Kira bent over, her bottom pointing to the sky, and ate daintily, without the use of her hands. "That's it, my pet, that's it. Keep eating, love." While he was speaking, Sebastian rose silently, pulled his thick erect penis from his trousers and moved behind Kira. Before she was aware of his presence, he parted her swollen lips with his hardness, and thrust as deeply into her as he could. Kira cried out in surprise and a little pain, her back arching, her head thrown back. She instinctively moved her hands forward several inches, bracing herself before she fell. His hands caressed her hips, holding her firmly in place when she tried to move against him.

"No, no, my dear," he crooned. "You keep eating. Don't pay any attention to me. Pretend I'm not here." And with a knowing laugh, he began to move inside her, gently at first, but with a rapidly increasing rhythm. Kira struggled to keep eating, to keep back the moans and cries and screams that were building inside of her with each thrust. Suddenly, his hand came down with a surprising force on her behind, coinciding with a particularly deep push. Kira closed her eyes and screamed loudly.

Sebastian stopped abruptly, caressed the top of her head, stroked her hair. "Aren't you thirsty, pet? You've hardly touched your milk."

Kira tried to catch her breath, bent her head to the saucer and began to lap at the milk. As soon as she had mastered the technique of getting the milk to her mouth, Sebastian began moving against her again, harder this time, and faster. She gave up on the milk, and the omelette, and just crouched there, moaning and whimpering loudly as her Master plunged deeper and deeper inside her. She could feel herself on the edge of release, knew it would come at any moment. He must have sensed it as well.

"Do not cum, my pet, or I will punish you severely!" He never broke his rhythm.

Kira cried out in frustration, tried to concentrate on something else, but it was impossible. All she could see/hear/feel/sense was her Master inside her, moving and pushing and thrusting as fast and as hard as he could, her breath coming in little shallow pants that kept time with his movements. A split second before she lost control, he withdrew from her, nudged her with his hand, indicating she should turn around. His hand found the top of her head, roughly guided it to his throbbing organ. Kira opened her mouth, taking in all of him, using her tongue to hold him in place as she hungrily suckled him. With both hands on her head, he moved his hips rapidly, forcing himself down her throat. Kira moaned, did her best to keep up with him. Suddenly, and long before she was satisfied, he exploded inside her mouth, his hot juices flowing down her throat. She continued sucking until Sebastian pulled away from her. He tucked his shaft back into his pants, then he reached out and caressed her cheek with an odd, cool smile. "Finish your breakfast, little one."

Still shaking, and in torment, Kira lapped up the last of the milk, swallowed the last bite of omelette, then, like a good little kitten, she licked her plate clean. Sebastian picked up the leash, and led her up the stairs to the loft.

The loft was like an open yet secluded library. Large oak posts, about 4 inches square, spanned the 12 feet between the floor and the ceiling. A pair of wingback chairs were at one end of the loft, separated by a small, round table. Built-in shelves, laden with books, lined the walls at either end. A balustrade railing ran along one side, looking down into the great room. In the center of the room was a table. Today, that table was covered with various objects that Kira, from her low vantage point, couldn't quite make out.

Sebastian led her over to one of the posts, motioning with his hand that she was to stay put. Then he walked to the table and began to examine the items laid out there with such precision. "My little kitten, I have some things here that I want you to wear. I want you to look just so this evening." He lifted a few items, carried them with him to a chair. Once seated, he crooked his finger at Kira. She scurried across the floor on her hands and knees, knelt quietly at his feet. He smiled his approval, caressed her cheek, then continued speaking.

"Stand up, little one. The time for being a kitten is past. And you have done an excellent job of being my special little pet. To show how pleased I am with you, I'm going to allow you to get partially dressed. Would you like that, little one?"

Kira rose obediently, but maintained her silence. Sebastian chuckled softly. "It's alright, my dear. Slaves may speak where pets did not."

"Thank you, Master. And, yes, Master, I would like to be dressed, even partially, if that would please you."

Sebastian reached out and caressed her thigh, his hand rising up over her hip, to her waist, pulled her a little closer to him. Then upwards to her breast. His fingers flicked lightly over her hard little nipple, then grasped it, pulling, tugging, pinching, twisting. Harder and harder he pulled and pinched. Kira gasped and closed her eyes against this sudden attack to her nipple.

"Open your eyes, little one. I have a task for you." Pointing to the articles of clothing in his lap, he continued, "I want you to put these on, dear. I'm going to continue teasing those tiny little nipples of yours. It delights me so to see you squirm. But I don't want to hear a sound, is that clear?"

Kira nodded her understanding, reached down and lifted up a black lace garter belt. She bent over to step into it, and that succeeded in putting her other breast within easy reach of Sebastian's other hand. Without hesitation, his fingers grabbed her breast, pulled her nipple as hard as possible. Kira bit her lip. No sound escaped. She tried to straighten, but Sebastian held her nipples too firmly to allow that. Still bent over, she pulled the garter belt up past her hips, settled it around her waist, ensuring the straps hung down where they should.

She reached out again, this time for a stocking. As she did so, Sebastian pulled her even closer, and leaned forward to take her right breast firmly in his mouth. He sucked hard and hungrily at it, his tongue teasing her nipple momentarily before his teeth sank into her tender flesh. Kira gasped, stifling a cry of pain. Sebastian pulled away from her, allowing her to stand, his hands still gripping her breasts firmly, fingers kneading them.

"Did you say something, my dear? I could have sworn I heard you say something." His cool, teasing voice held hard undertones Kira could not understand. She wondered if he wanted her to fail--if indeed he meant to force her failure. Kira shook her head, bent to slip her foot into the black fishnet stocking she had scrunched up in her hands. Sebastian abruptly let go of her breasts, watching intently as she slid the stocking up past her knee, stopping at mid-thigh. She attached the hooks front and back. Before she could reach for it, Sebastian handed her the other stocking.

"I think, pet, that I would like you to turn around to put that one on. The view when you bend over is incomparable."

Smiling uncertainly at the compliment, Kira nodded, then turned around. She bent over as far as she could, slipped her foot into the stocking, and began to slowly and sensuously pull it up her leg. Behind her, Sebastian stood. Picking up a riding crop from the table, he walked over to her, waiting for her to finish hooking the garter. Then he tossed a pair of black pumps with 4 inch stiletto heels on the floor in front of her. Without a word she slipped them on. Before she could rise, he placed his hand on her backside.

"Stay as you are, little one, all bent over, ass up in the air. I like it that way." Sebastian leaned forward, kissed her upturned cheek, then sank his teeth into it as hard as he could. Kira screamed, a short burst of sound that she immediately stifled. Taking the riding crop, Sebastian raised it up high and brought it down on her behind several times. Each time, Kira cried out. As quickly as he began, Sebastian stopped. He rubbed the palm of his hand over her reddened skin, feeling the heat and the tiny welts. "Noisy, aren't you?" he murmured.

He turned the crop around in his hand, as if contemplating something, then visibly changed his mind and laid the crop on the table, picked up something else. "I think this will work better for what I have in mind."

Kira did not dare turn her head to see what he lifted from the table, but soon felt the smooth, cool surface of a plastic dildo probing her wetness. Several times he pushed it deep inside her, then pulled it out just as swiftly. She was anticipating the motions, rocking with them, felt her release building once again. Sebastian smiled at her response, encouraged it. Without any warning, he pulled it from her dripping lips, and forced it into her puckered little hole. Kira screamed in agony and delight. He laughed as he roughly slid it in and out of her, going deeper with each thrust, until it was in as far as it was going to go.

"Hold onto that, dear one," he said. "Don't let it go." With that, he turned the knob on the protruding end, sending vibrations coursing through her body. Kira moaned loudly, felt her muscles clench around the pulsating rod. He chuckled softly and pulled her upright with a tug on the leash, led her over to one of the posts opposite the two chairs.

"Stand with your back to the post, little one, with your hands on the small of your back." Sebastian smiled as Kira complied. "That's it, dear one, just like that, so that your heavy breasts are forced forward. Ah, so breathtaking like that."

He stepped back from her, scrutinizing her intently, weighing something in his mind. Turning to the table, he came quickly back with what looked like a palette in his hands. "My dear, you need just the tiniest bit of color." Without another word, he began to apply a slight amount of makeup to her face, talking to himself the whole while. "Hmm. Perhaps a little touch of green to her eyelids... jade, perhaps, or forest.... And a neutral color to her cheeks... yes, that's it... Nutmeg for the lips... yes... perfect." He set the palette and brushes on the table, then admired his work. With his hands, he tousled her hair a little more. "You're looking delightful, little one. You are truly pleasing your Master today." But there was a coldness in his gaze that contradicted his words.

Once more to the table, this time returning with a soft, white rope. "I think, little love, that you need to be bound for awhile, as punishment for your outburst earlier. I told you to be perfectly quiet, and you weren't, were you? No, you were not. But, I understand you were taken unawares, so I won't be too severe with you."

Kira stood still, trembling. It had been ages since he had bound her to the post. And the last time he had, he had beaten her harshly for her disobedience. She couldn't remember now what the infraction had been, not that it had mattered. It was part of her life, and, strangely, a part she welcomed. It helped her focus, remember who she was. And it excited her in ways she had never dreamed possible. The pleasure and the pain went hand in hand. One did not exist for her without the other.

Sebastian began with her wrists, tying them behind her back. He let the long tail of the rope snake down over her shoulder, smiled as she shivered at it's touch. When he was satisfied with the knots, he pulled the end underneath her arm, looped it over her wrists, then under the other arm and up over her shoulder. Twisting it around the post, he began to intricately weave it back and forth across her ribs and stomach, twining it tightly around her breasts, pulling it taut so that it dug into her flesh, but didn't quite bite into it. Finally, he tied the last knot to the post.

He leaned forward and kissed her gently tugging on her lower lip as he pulled away. "How does that feel, precious? Too tight?"

Kira shook her head. It would not have mattered had she found it too tight, and they both knew it. It was not her place to decide the tightness of her bonds, nor was it her place to complain if it was uncomfortable.

"Now, little one, spread your legs for me. Wider, love, you know how I like you displayed for me." Kira spread her legs as far apart as she could, the knots biting into her as she moved, her wrists pressing harder against her, forcing her back to arch even more. "Yes, little one, just like that."

He knelt before her then, his hands gliding up the length of her legs. Kira sighed at his touch. His hands found their way to her mound, his lips pressed softly against it for a moment. His fingers found their way inside her, and they were dripping as he pulled them away. He held them up to her, offering her another taste. But he kept his fingers out of reach of her hungry little mouth. Laughing softly, keeping his eyes locked with hers, he brought his hand back down and licked her milky liquid from his fingers.

Returning to her smooth pubis, he pinched her swollen lips, and then her clitoris, sending a shock wave of sensations through her body. Her muscles clenched even tighter around the vibrator she still held deep inside her. Sebastian reached behind him, lifted the last object from the table.

"Now, my pet, for the finishing touch. A little clamp for those nether lips of yours." He grinned with delight as he watched the shock register on her face. She hated clamps with a passion! With careful precision, he attached a clamp to each of her lips. The clamps were joined together with a silver chain, from which was hung a long silver cylinder. He let go of the chain, laughing at her sharp intake of breath and cry of pain as she felt the impact of the weight. She had not counted on that. Every movement she made would cause the weight to swing like a pendulum, pulling on her lips, increasing her desire, and her discomfort. Soon she would be begging for release. And he would enjoy watching her.

He rose and very suddenly pressed himself against her, crushing her in his embrace, his lips bruising hers, his tongue forcing its way past her teeth, probing the depths of her hot mouth. She responded with a passion he hadn't demanded of her in a long time. His hands tangled themselves in her hair, his hardness digging into her thigh. She pressed her hips forward trying to meet him, tensing as the weight began swinging slowly. Laughing, he pulled away from her, and left without another word.

Kira tried to find a comfortable position, but there was none, and she knew it. The ropes were a mild annoyance. The vibrator kept her on the edge, forced her to keep her muscles tight. The clamps sent waves of tantalizing torment through her body every time the pendulum moved. She heard the back door open, then close. The roar of an engine coming to life, and then fading as it traveled away from her. He had left her. Bound. In torment. He had left. How long would he be gone? How long would she have to endure this? A smile played across her lips as the answer came to her mind: Until Master sees fit to release me. She knew from past experience that when he was done torturing her, he would smother her with affection, bring her to a frenzied climax, hold her till the shaking ended, caress her cheek, her hair, praise her. A few hours of discomfort were more than worth the reward.

Sunspots moved across the great room slowly. Long shafts of pale sunlight illuminated paintings, sculptures, furniture, each in its turn, then began to fade and dim. She had lost track of time. How long since he had left? One hour? Two? She did not know. She had dozed once, nearly losing the vibrator. She had been forced to push back against the post, pressing it back inside her. The movements required had been unbelievably torturous, causing her to cry out loudly in anguish and pain. It was getting harder to keep the dildo in place, as the endless vibrations were making her numb.

It was nearly dark when she heard two cars pull up, one into the garage. She heard the back door open. Sebastian and someone else... someone whose voice she didn't recognize. She heard the clinking of glasses. It would be the brandy tonight. Sebastian was in that kind of mood. The two went into the great room, and she could see them, though not clearly. Nor could she distinguish their words, though she got the impression they were talking about her. Once she heard her name as Sebastian gestured toward the loft.

The men walked to the center of the room. Kira thought for a moment she would be able to see this guest, but Sebastian walked to the wall and flipped a switch. The track lights over her head came one, spotlighting her, blinding her. She could hear them talking more, and then they were climbing the stairs to the loft. She strained her ears and thought she heard a third person on the stairs, but couldn't be sure. Even after they reached the loft, she still had difficulty seeing them, and squinted against the brightness of the light.

Sebastian turned on other lights, dimmed the spot light some. Kira was still illuminated, but she could now see the rest of the room, and its occupants. Sebastian was walking back toward his chair. An older man, with a silver goatee, was seated in the other one, sipping his drink; either scotch or rum. Sebastian, as she had surmised, was swirling his brandy in a large snifter. In the shadows beside the stranger's chair she saw another figure, kneeling, silent. So, this was another Master. And he had brought his slave. Kira began to feel some serious trepidations. What on earth did her Master have planned for her tonight?

The stranger began to speak, his voice accented. British, she thought, or perhaps South African. "Yes, Sebastian, you are right. She is as fine as specimen as you said. And if she is as eager to please as you say, I see no reason why we can't come to some kind of.... understanding."

"Yes, Ross. I'm sure we will be able to agree on things. Now, why don't you come and examine her for yourself?"

"Yes, I think I shall." Ross put his glass on the small table by his chair, crossed the room and stood before Kira. His critical gaze took in every aspect of her body, every imperfection, every flaw, every contour. Kira felt herself blushing profusely under his scrutiny. He made her uncomfortable, frightened her in some way she could not define. His hand reached out to cup her cheek. Without thinking, she tried to pull away. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction -- unless you're a slave, and then the reaction is much worse. Sebastian shook his head in disappointment. Ross slapped her cheek hard. And the pendulum swung wildly, tugging at her lips, opening her wider, arousing her despite the pain.

Ross' voice was cold, void of emotion almost, and cut through her soul. "I would not have hurt you, slave. I merely wished to examine you. Which I will do anyway. Trying to avoid me has only caused you pain. I was told you learn quickly. Let us pray, for your sake, that is true." And without another word, he pried back her lips, examining her teeth as if she were a racehorse. He opened her mouth, pushed his fingers far back into it, pressing down on her tongue.

"Hmm. Yes. She does have a nice deep mouth, doesn't she? Perfect for sucking hard cocks, wouldn't you say? And these tits of hers," his hands moved to grasp them roughly, "they're a little on the large size, but ideal for slapping around, I'll warrant."

He droned on about her skin tone, hair color. He criticized everything, and Kira wondered at how that dignified voice seemed to soften his crude language. He knelt before her and began his inspection of her womanhood. He began by giving the weight a good push, watching with hot glee as her face twisted in agony and a loud cry escaped her lips.

"Yes, she is sensitive, just as you said, Sebastian." He peered closer, his fingers testing, probing. "By god, she's a wet one! And you say she's been like this all day and hasn't cum yet? What a find!" Looking over his shoulder at Sebastian, "Can you cut her loose, Sebastian? Everything but her hands? I still want them tied tight behind her."

"Of course, Ross... just take a moment."

"Good. I'll just get rid of these clamps." Kira was in torment! She couldn't decide which was worse: the clamps or his touch. Not that she was going to have a choice. His icy fingers quickly removed the clamps and the weight. White agony flared as blood rushed into her pinched lips: for a moment she could neither see nor hear as she fought to contain her screams. Finally, the pain ebbed, and she relaxed for a moment. She tensed again almost immediately as she felt his hand moving languidly over her opening, sliding slowing backwards. He grasped the vibrator and began rotating it in her anal passage. Kira fought back another scream. Ross moved the dildo in and out of her a few times in quick succession. Despite herself, Kira felt all the pressure of a day filled with denial building inside her. Her hips moved involuntarily to meet the thrusts, and her cries grew louder.

Both men laughed as they watched her writhe. Sebastian finished untying all the knots, and Ross abruptly yanked the vibrator from her, tossed it aside, rose. He picked up the end of the leash, and began to walk around the room. "If you don't mind, Sebastian, I think I'll take your pet for a little walk, see how well she's trained to the leash."

"Sure, Ross, take your time. Put her through her paces, as it were."

Kira dropped to her knees. She was unsure of the rules of this particular game, but was eager, as always, to please her Master. However, after hours of being tied to the post, she found it was difficult to move with any kind of grace. Ross was not very patient with her, tugging at the leash, forcing her to crawl faster to keep up with him. This was made all the more difficult with her hands still tied behind her back. Back and forth across the length of the room her led her, barking out orders to her as if she were a dog, not the kitten she was used to portraying.

Ross pulled her over to the table, jerking the leash. "On the table, slave. I need to examine you more closely." Kira, heart pounding, somehow managed to do as she was told. Without being told, she turned away from him, her head resting on the table, hands still behind her back, naked backside exposed to his intense gaze. She felt herself blushing hotly as his hands pried her cheeks as far apart as they could. His fingers, cold and hard, forcing their way into her a little bit; first one opening, then the other. With another hard yank on the leash, he commanded her to get down.

Kira knelt at his feet, trembling visibly, afraid to even wonder about what was going to happen next. But nothing she imagined prepared her for what she heard.

"You were right, Sebastian, she is a very fine specimen. I agree to your terms. I'll take her, as agreed, for one week. I'm taking my yacht out to the Vineyard, and I need a good slave to serve my guests." Kira felt her heart stop as his words sunk in. She was leaving her home, her Master, the man she trusted with her very essence, to be used as a toy by people she had never met.

Ross pulled a checkbook out of his breast pocket, quickly scribbled away at it. He tore the check out with a flourish, handed it to Sebastian. "As agreed, here is a check for $5,000. She'll come back to you tired, but none the worse for wear, I assure you. And, in the meantime, you have Andrew to amuse you. Do with him what you will."

Her mind was numb, her body chill. Somewhere, it registered that Andrew was the person she had seen kneeling in the shadows. She looked pleadingly up at Sebastian as Ross untied her hands and tugged impatiently on the leash.

Sebastian smiled at her, reached down to caress her cheek. "It's alright, little one. Go with Ross and please him as you have always pleased me. He is to be your Master for the next week, dear." His voice came hard as stone as his eyes flared. "Do not dishonor me by disobeying him, or you will regret the day you were born."

Kira gaped at Sebastian. His eyes were cold and emotionless and cruel. His voice hard and uncaring. He was not the man she had fallen in love with, submitted to completely, given her life to. He was a stranger. The riding crop suddenly fell across her naked bottom, biting into her tender flesh. She choked back a cry, and turned to crawl after Ross.

"Hurry up, slave. My yacht leaves at midnight and we have a long drive ahead of us." He jerked impatiently at the leash, then stopped for a moment, as if remembering something. He knelt down in front of her, removed the leash, then her collar. Kira thought for one brief second that it was the end of a horrid, nightmarish game. But then he produced a worn, hideous, brown leather collar and quickly buckled it around her throat, snapped the leash in place. Rising, he tossed her collar to Sebastian, who caught it deftly. "She won't be needing this for awhile, Sebastian. And I wouldn't want it to get lost at sea."

Ross began to laugh, a maniacal sound that grated on her nerves. Pulling harshly on the leash, he dragged her down the stairs. She followed him, she had no choice. She kept looking back over her shoulder at Sebastian, wanting him to call her back. But he was sipping his brandy, caressing the head of Andrew, who now knelt at his feet. And Ross kept laughing, louder and louder, pulling her after him impatiently, slapping her back, butt, arms, legs with the crop whenever she was too slow. Out the door, into the night. All she could hear was that laughter that would drive her insane she knew if only it would stop and she could go home and pretend this day had never happened and still he kept laughing and laughing and laughing...

Kira woke with a start, breathless, trembling. Her fingers flew to her throat, felt the familiar contours of her treasured collar with its emerald. Sighing in relief, she turned onto her side, hoping to find Sebastian in her bed. She was surprised to find him standing over her, a strange, familiar smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He reached out to brush a stray lock of hair from her face.

"Good morning, little one. Did you sleep well?

The hydrofoil quietly cut the clear blue waters of the Bay of Naples. Up ahead the Isle of Capri, coveted by Roman Emperors and movie stars, grew larger with every passing moment. The mountainous island sat majestically upon the ocean. I walked quietly on the crowded deck, ignoring the droves of tourists going to the isle for the day to take a boat tour of the famous blue grotto and catch a glimpse of some movie star unlucky enough to be identified by the crowd.

Mine was a different destination. The Hotel San Marco was a quiet place, the kind that catered to people who wanted to keep their privacy and were willing to pay for it. It stood atop the island, an unmarked villa that few would know how to find. It had been recommended by some friends a few years earlier. "Signor Alberto knows how to please his guests," was what my friend had said. Of course, I am sure his name was not Alberto, just like mine was not Signor Stefano; as I had learned, all the guests were identified by a code name and a Swiss bank account number.

I remembered the conversation when I had called to confirm the night before. "Pronto?" "Bouna Sera, this is Signor Stefano, I am calling to confirm my reservation." "Si, Signor Stefano," came Alberto's now familiar voice, "all is as you requested, I will send the driver to pick you up in the morning." For an Italian, Alberto was quiet and secretive, other than his swarthy skin he would have fit better in an English parlour than this Mediterranean enclave. We were almost at the Capri dock. The small marina was already thronged with tourists.

The driver was a middle aged Sicilian with a deeply scarred face and a heavy limp. He drove the small Fiat precariously up the sloping road. The Fiat was one of the few cars small enough to navigate the island's tiny roads. I thought back to the first time I had come to stay at the San Marco. It would have been difficult to carry all my needs to the island, so I had given Alberto very specific instructions on what to provide; he had not disappointed me.

The staff was as invisible as ever. The driver led me to my accommodations, a two-story suite with a wide balcony that overlooked the Mediterranean waters. As usual, the suite was impeccably appointed. The driver poured a Martini from the wet bar before going away. I headed up the stairs to the bedroom to make sure my requests had been fulfilled, not that I expected anything but. On an armoire next to the bed were a number of horsehair floggers, whips, canes and riding crops. Next to this was a shelf that contained a number of chains, ropes and other restraints, as well as clamps and other assorted accoutrements. I smiled silently. The phone rang, it was Alberto, "Signor, The Lady will be arriving on the noon ferry." It was all ready, I set the receiver down and sipped on my martini.

Downstairs again, I headed for the Bose sound system. From the CDs in the cabinet I chose a Puccini Opera. Then I headed for the balcony, but not before pouring another martini. A gentle breeze blew across the top of the island, keeping it cool. From here the view was magnificent, no wonder Emperors had left Rome and come live on this "rock."

I remembered the first time I had met The Lady; that was the only name by which she was known here. It had been a party at the Australian Embassy in Washington. I had caught a glimpse of her from across the room, the tight fitting red dress would have stood out on its own, but on her...on her it made time stand still. I smiled remembering the way she had offered me her small hand to kiss that first time, a proud lady offering a boon. The squeaking of seagulls overhead brought me out of my reverie, but did not wipe the smile from my face. That first meeting had been short.

The next meeting had come a few days later, I was taking a morning walk along the Mall. "Jack," she had come out of nowhere, the flower print sundress was the essence of the late spring morning. She walked elegantly across the distance that separated us. "What a pleasant surprise to see you, Jack." Yet, the look in her eyes told me this was no surprise, at least not for her.

The cab pulled up to the marina in Sorrento and "The Lady" got out. She had done her best to look inconspicuous, to avoid attracting undue attention. The ferry was almost ready to depart, so she walked quickly across the open space to the gangplank, and boarded for her 45 min. trip. It had been a while since she had seen Jack, too long. She found a shady spot on the deck and sat down, her face covered with dark sunglasses and a wide brimmed hat to keep the curious at bay. Jack, she remembered that night clearly. He had taken her to dinner at a trendy spot in Georgetown. He had insisted on ordering dinner for both of them, not even allowing her a glimpse at the menu. The meal had been light and the conversation delightful. After dinner he had insisted on going over to his place for dessert. They had driven across the river to his suburban home.

The soft knocking at my door brought me to my feet. A quick look at my watch told me it was she. My pulse quickened, as excited as the first time.

The junior Senator from Rhode Island stepped in. "Hello Master." Words that she would never be able to utter in public. Words that she had always struggled to allow past her sensuous lips. "Welcome my Sweet." I took her face in my hands and brought it close for a kiss. How I had missed those lips.

We followed the trail of rose petals I had laid out earlier. I could see her delight at the sight of what awaited at the end, a steaming tub covered in thick suds and red fragrant petals. I opened a book of poetry and read from Byron's Don Juan as she bathed me. I read on long after she had finished bathing me with the sponge. She sat attentively on her knees, enjoying the poetry and waiting for me to bathe her.

Sitting there, watching him reminded her why she had finally agreed to wear his collar. He'd known she was ready even before she had. He had known when he had asked her to go with him to Venice. It had been magnificent in Venice despite her nervousness. Was she really ready, ready to gift him with her submission?

I had been entranced by her beauty from that very first night. Everything about her had overpowered my senses, and I knew that I had to make her mine. Make her mine in every way imaginable. Make her mine much in the way my heart and soul belonged to her. She is mine. This had not been the first time I had had this thought, but it always still surprised me. She is mine. I stopped and just stared at her, looking so vulnerable.

"I love you." She felt the trembling, the emotion in his voice. That voice that reached to her core. The voice that soothed and comforted and commanded her. "You are mine." The words were etched in her memory, much more deeply than their names were etched in her bracelet. He had etched those words in her mind. "I love you." He said again, his words soft and faint as he kissed her skin.

I bound her hands with silk cords, strong as steel, but not as strong as the bond that held her to me, that tied me to her. A bond forged in Hephaustus' fires. I grabbed a pair of clamps from the shelf, remembering the first time she had seen them. I kissed her nipples to make them hard. The look of horror on her face had almost been comical. She'd raised her arms instinctively to cover her naked breasts. Gasp. Until she had realized what she was doing and had lowered both her arms and eyes. Gasp. She'd learned to love those clamps. "Tighter. Please Master, tighter." The weights hung from the clamps, pulling on her big pink nipples.

She knelt next to the bed, on a firm pillow. His strong hands caressing her face. His whispered words guiding her down a path she knew well. She felt the void wrapping around them. It was like being transported to a dimension where only the two of them existed, a dimension where he was everything. His lips touched her burning skin, cooling it, burning it. And the void closed tightly around them.

"Fifteen_thank you Master." I wielded the flogger, let it fall again and again. "Sixteen_thank you Master." Her voice crying to me and urging me on at the same time. "Seventeen_thank you Master." Her voice counting out each stroke. Eighteen_thank you Master." Listening intently to every clue, however faint, provided by her voice.

"Twenty-five_thank you Master." The whip struck her flesh setting it on fire. "Twenty-six_thank you Master." The whip adding to her excitement with every kiss. "Twenty seven_thank you Master." Her clitoris throbbing from the pounding.

"Thirty four_thank you Master." I admired my handiwork, the beautiful red marks on her gorgeous thighs. "Thirty-seven" her breathing growing heavy and ragged. "Thank you Master." The soft moans escaping her lips a sign of her mounting excitement "Forty-Eight_Oh Master please may I cum."

"Please Master!!!"

I could hear the urgency in her voice and smiled. "Yes dear." I held her close to me as I felt the orgasms rocking her body. "Yes dear, cum for me, let your juices flow for me." Her whole body trembled, rocked by the powerful orgasm. My lips tenderly kissed the flesh that my whip had kissed earlier, cooling and warming it with my breath. Her taste was sweet in mouth. "Thank you Master." Her breathless words a soft caress on my ears, urging me on.

"I am yours."

Yes, she was mine. Of that there could be no doubt. My teeth bit softly on her labia, extracting a moan from her. The taste of her juices sweet on my tongue. Her hips grinding into my face, rubbing her sticky cum all over my smiling face. Every stroke of my tongue, every bite bringing her closer to a new orgasm.

She felt orgasm building within her and knew this one would be even more powerful than the first. He knew her body so well. "Please Master_again_I need to cum." She didn't need to see him to know he was smiling_more like grinning perhaps. "Not yet dear, wait for me," came his muffled reply. "Wait just a little longer."

I thrust into her ass deeply, knowing that she would not be able to hold her orgasm much longer. The walls of her ass wrapped and around my hard cock tightly. Holding me in. I could feel her whole body shaking. My excitement was building fast. Pounding her, into her, her moans and screams a symphony to my ears. The excitement mounting within me. Yes. "Soon dear." And then it could not be contained any longer. The eruption from my loins flowed like molten lava. The excitement thundering inside my head like fireworks gone out of control. I could sense her quiet urgency, her unspoken words. "Please Master."

"You may cum dear." And she did. Our bodies rocking together in ecstasy. The heating of our passion melding our bodies into one, much more than just flesh; All becoming one within the void that engulfed them.

He removed the hood from her head and her sight was restored to her. The room was dimly lit by candlelight. Outside the window she saw the sun had run its course and only a sliver remained above the Mediterranean waters. Soon the moon would be the only source of celestial light. He lay next to her, his body still sweaty and trembling from the exertion. He held her close, so close, his strong arms protectively wrapped around her body that belonged to him.

To a casual observer, she was simply another well dressed, attractive young woman heading to her job at the beginning of another day. Her attire gave little clue to her occupation, other than the fact that her clothes were conservative but stylish. It would have come as quite a surprise to have seen the pierced nipples and navel and the garter belt holding up her hose.

She walked the three blocks to her place of employment, arriving a little early today and avoiding her ritual of early morning coffee and bagel from the deli. Today was a special day for Susan, He was coming into the store. She was always a little tense being around Him. Fortunately, He was and had always been a kind and forgiving Master and had never reminded her that she had made an error in asking for release. Her problem was that she had made the mistake of finding her one true Master on the first try and had wasted the opportunity to serve Him through her self-imposed need to explore. It was like a young treasure hunter finding a sunken ship filled with silver and gold and leaving it to look for a larger treasure ship in a vast sea of unknown and uncharted waters.

Susan smiled a wistful smile as the memories slowly controlled her thoughts. She reached the door to the shop, inserted her key, carefully unlocking the door, avoiding the door's occasional fingernail breaking trap. HaHa! not today you bastard! she thought as successfully avoided the door's bite! Momentarily overwhelmed by the smell of leather, she flipped the switches, illuminating the displays of clothing. Flipping other switches brought the softer lights that caressed the various leather goods that were the specialty of the kink store she worked for.

As usual when she opened, Susan walked to the displays of leather and suede floggers, lifted one of her favorites, sliding her hand across the leather, then lifting it to her nostrils, inhaled its scent, its essence. God, He will be here today, her mind screamed. She replaced the flogger on its display stand, then lifted it quickly, looked around the store, and sliding her skirt to her