Afghan Bound (18 page)

‘I promise I'll be careful,' he assured her while taking up the razor. She stiffened until the chilling steel had completed its first pass, leaving a sweep of smooth, delicate skin where once there had been hair. Confidence in his own barbering skills grew with every stroke of the blade until she was finally left with a slick pink quim, totally bare and exhibited. He applied a cool balsam, and suspected that the gel on his fingers had not all come out of the bottle.

When the unguent was totally absorbed into her skin David removed the spreader bar and told her to dry herself. He then guided his newly shaven slave through to her dressing room. He stopped her in front of mirrors that ran the whole length of the wall. She was still wearing her black bra.

‘Let's take this off,' he said, releasing the clasp. She was now totally naked, and David spied her glancing admiringly at the reflection of her denuded mound. He cupped her polished pudenda in his palm. ‘You're halfway there already,' he said. ‘Now lets get you dressed for the evening.'

The various wardrobes contained a massive collection of underwear and suitable clothing for a slave. ‘First of all, you must wear these at all times.' hanging in the wardrobe was a collection of fetters, manacles and collars, a set of which David strapped to her ankles and wrists, and a wide leather band was strapped round her neck. Sewn around the straps were ring after shiny ring, onto which various belts and leads could be attached. ‘Remember, they must never come off unless you've been given express permission. If you remove them without it, you will be punished.'

Emily nodded, and then glanced again in the mirror. She looked good. The broad black leather bands accentuated the slim line of her ankles. The collar stretched her neck beautifully, lifting her chin, forcing her shoulders back, and thrusting her breasts out.

‘Put these on,' said David, handing her a pair of suspenders and seamed stockings, a half-pleated heavy rubber knee-length skirt, and a pair of shiny black stilettos. He could see her inquisitive excitement growing as she pulled on each new and unfamiliar item. The look complemented her figure immensely. The tightly waisted skirt hung heavy and stiff. The sheer nylon stockings and high-heeled shoes added even more inches to those already created by the collar. The final items of her attire were a black rubber bra to match her skirt, and a white top which scooped deep at the neck in order to display her straight shoulders and pronounced cleavage. His desire for her seriously threatened to undermine his air of authority.

He could see Emily was stunned by her own transformation. In only a few short hours she had changed from a demure and loving wife into an extremely sexy femme fatale.

‘I think you've forgotten my panties,' she ventured to mention. ‘I've nothing on underneath except my stockings.'

David smiled and shook his head. ‘It's almost time for dinner; you won't be needing any panties. I'll prepare the meal, you see to your make-up. There's every cosmetic you can possibly need on the dressing table. When I'm ready I'll come and collect you. If you finish preparing yourself before then you may read one of the many books.' He left her to explore what was going to be her new home for the coming month and went down to the kitchen.

The house was large enough to have a separate dining room at the rear, although most of the space in it was taken up by a very long oak table. There was a large sideboard, and the walls were adorned with countless paintings of all shapes and sizes, so that hardly a gap was evident between them. There was also a lack of electric lighting, hence the number of candlesticks on the table and sideboard. During the day the only other light came from the French doors. Tonight, heavy curtains drawn over them would complete the seclusion of the diners.

When David returned to her dressing room, Emily was sitting in front of the mirrors, wearing perfect make-up. Mascara had teased extra length from her lashes, rouge blushed deep pink on her cheeks, and all led down to her pouting cherry-red lips, their voluptuous shape emphasised by the use of dark lip-liner.

‘You look remarkable,' David exclaimed. ‘Wonderful. If you come with me I'll show you to the dining room.'

She followed him down to the rear of the house, and was genuinely pleased to see such a well-laid table with candles to lend a gracious quality to the proceedings. The sjambok running between the two flambeaus, however, did offer a reminder of why she was there. Wonderful smells emanated from a waiting serving trolley. The place settings were at opposite ends of the table. David guided Emily to her place and graciously pulled back her chair. She was in the process of tucking her skirt beneath her bottom in order to sit down when she noticed the large wooden carving attached to the chair. She corrected her posture immediately, and in the flickering light of the candles tried to study the object. It was a perfectly carved phallus, about seven inches long and incredibly smooth for something made of wood. Its flawless, silky length rose from the seat to terminate in a bulbous hat. Emily blushed charmingly.

‘Hence no panties at meal times,' said David. ‘If you would care to sit we can begin dinner.'

‘I don't know if I can,' she breathed.

David lifted her skirt, enjoying the creak of the folding rubber. He licked an index finger and traced the curve of her bottom-cheeks until it glided between her legs. She was hot from the heavy skirt, a natural consequence of the erotic material. The dampness she now felt was perhaps the result of sexual anticipation. Only taboos and an archaic social etiquette prevented her from sitting herself on the instrument of delight. David brought his glistening finger up in front of her face, trailing her womanly scent in its wake.

‘I think you can manage it,' he encouraged softly. ‘See?'

Emily's coital lubricant was clearly evident on David's finger, the slippery translucent fluid sparkling in the candlelight. It meant she could accommodate the phallus without fear; only the indignity of the act prevented her from sitting. David tried to ease her forward in front of the chair, but she braced herself against the table. It looked for a moment as if the persuasive qualities of the sjambok were required, when she suddenly relented and allowed herself to be manoeuvred above the spike. With her gathered skirt in one hand David lowered her gently towards the rigid priapic. Slowly the cap of the vehicle travelled towards the split of her bare sex, brushing its entrance but prevented from docking by the clenched walls of her vagina. David ran his hand beneath her, and with two fingers eased her moist lips either side of the assailing appliance, helping it inch further into her passage. He let go of the skirt and gently but firmly eased down on her shoulder.

‘Ooohhh…' Emily sighed.

Gradually the phallus nudged its way deeper, forcing her apart, squeezing its way inside until finally she was full of the cock-shaped tool. Her bottom came to rest on the waiting seat. David watched her eyes flutter shut, and her hands grip the waiting knife and fork until her knuckles glowed white. He watched her shift positions slightly until she was comfortable; dipping the small of her back relieved the minor discomfort. She remained silent and still, apparently acclimatising to the myriad of new sensations invading her body, and her posture had the added advantage for David of straining her mouth-watering breasts forward.

He was tempted – but gathered his resolve, and served the stuffed mushroom starter from the trolley.

They ate in silence. Trout in cream followed the delicious mushrooms. David was pleased to see that Emily's appetite didn't appear to have suffered any. As they ate he watched her. Her eyes were lowered – whether through respect or embarrassment he wasn't sure – and she appeared to be shifting very slightly on her chair. Gradually her movements became more regular and pronounced. Her breasts swelled beneath the white blouse.

‘Are you all right, my dear?' he asked.

‘Yesss…' she panted huskily, her cheeks glowing. ‘I… I'm fine.' There was a sweet tremor in her voice that suggested otherwise; suggested she was in a state of intense excitement.

David gathered the empty plates and left to fetch the sweet from the refrigerator in the kitchen. On his return he paused and watched her from the ajar door. Her movements had become noticeably more urgent. He could easily imagine the torment swirling around her poor confused head; he could see it in her flushed face. Her brow was furrowed and perspiring lightly. No more than a few hours earlier she'd been plucked from her predictable suburban life and brought to this remote cottage. She'd been introduced to a complete stranger, with whom she would spend a whole month, and during which time he could, contractually, do anything he wished to her. Already, in the short time she'd been here, the stranger had shaved her intimately, dressed her in clothes the like of which she had never seen before, and impaled her on a chair while they ate a refined meal. Oh, the indignity and shame she must be feeling, and all the time desperately trying to expel the creeping undercurrents of illicit arousal which threatened to well up and swamp her. David smiled – he knew her mind well. He watched a little longer as she fought to resist the indignity of an orgasm.

‘Dessert,' he said, entering the electric atmosphere and placing the sweet on the table. He stroked her damp fringe from her forehead and smiled down at her. ‘Are you okay?'

Emily looked up at him with large sparkling eyes and nodded. He lifted the back of the skirt and ran his hand under her hot bottom. The phallus was coated with her liquid. He spread the thick juice between finger and thumb. ‘That's marvellous,' he complimented before returning to his chair.

Emily ate the ice cream as demurely as she could. David looked on, casually biding his time. He was waiting to see her come. He knew she would do everything to deny it; being forced to climax on that inanimate shaft – in front of him and whilst eating her dessert – would be the final degradation. But he knew it felt so good, so comforting, and so snug between her thighs. She squirmed gently. David smiled. He knew her shame; the shame of being watched. He knew what she was doing; squeezing and releasing her thighs beneath the table, making tiny movements of her hips upon that rude pole. She couldn't stop – it was too late. A low moan drifted from between her wet lips. Her eyes screwed shut. Her shoulders and breasts shuddered.

David rose and poured two large measures of brandy. He handed one to her and she took a revitalising sip.

‘You bastard,' she hissed quietly. ‘Is that how you get your kicks – watching women masturbate? Watching them come on this… this disgusting chair?'

‘Now, now,' he tutted. ‘There's no need for hysterics; this won't be the last time you sit there. It will be part of your training to orgasm at every evening meal. And when you have finished pleasuring yourself, you will fellate me to show your gratitude.'

‘I don't believe this,' whimpered Emily. ‘I want to leave. Please telephone my husband.' She made to rise, until David picked up the whip.

‘Sit down,' he ordered firmly, but without raising his voice; he expected moments of petulance from any new slave. Despite her display of defiance she obeyed immediately – as he knew she would – and impaled herself once again. David rose and rested his hips on the table by her side. He peeled open her mouth with finger and thumb, and eased the tip of the sjambok just inside. ‘While you are in my house you will do whatever I say. If I tell you to suck my penis, you will suck it. I will not tolerate any further disobedience. Do you understand?' He held her stare. ‘Do you understand? I don't like repeating myself.'

Emily nodded.

‘Good.' He went to the sideboard and returned with a lead, which he snapped to her collar. ‘Come with me.'

He led her to the sitting room, where he told her to remove her skirt and blouse. ‘Once you've learnt to be good you'll be permitted to wear clothes after dinner. Until then you will remain like this.' He fed the lead through a loop cemented into the fireplace. Pulling it brought Emily to the floor in front of the crackling flames. ‘You can stay there until bedtime.'

After loading the dishwasher David went back to find Emily curled up like a cat and almost asleep on the hearth. He went to the davenport and studied the drawing Simon had given him. In a day or two he would tattoo the pixie on Emily's buttock, but first he needed to prepare the transfer. Taking his inks he sat behind Emily where he could see her sex-lips between her legs. They looked gorgeous, and a little swollen after her strong orgasm at the dinner table. She looked tired as well; the excitement of the day had obviously taken a lot out of her – as it had David. He finished the transfer and locked it away before unhooking Emily. Lifting her up by her breasts he felt how hot the rubber bra had become in front of the fire. Making a mental note to remove it whenever she was chained there, he led the exhausted young lady up to his bedroom.

‘Here is where you sleep until you are trained.' He pointed to a mattress at the foot of his bed, and then pushed her down onto it. She put up no resistance as he hooked the collar to a lockable clasp on the bedpost. He then crawled onto his own bed and fell into a satisfied slumber.

Emily was still asleep when David awoke the following morning. He looked admiring down at her peaceful form, and suddenly gave her backside an almighty slap. She woke with a startled yelp.

‘Where—? Wha-what did you do that for?'

David landed another harder hand across her bottom. ‘Avert your eyes,' he commanded. ‘The honeymoon's over.'

He unclipped the lead and took her into the bathroom, her hands rubbing the sting from her cheeks as she went.

‘Get yourself washed and do anything else you have to do,' he ordered. ‘It's time for your morning exercise.'

While Emily performed her ablutions David laid out the dress she had worn the previous day. ‘Put that on,' he told her, ‘and remove your cuffs.' She handed him the restraints and he put them aside ready for their return, then changed her collar for one made simply of rubber which looked like a normal choker. There were still loops where a lead could be attached, but they were more discreet than those on the collar.

‘Where are we going?' asked Emily, her eyes turned to the floor.

David grinned broadly. ‘To the beach.'

It wasn't a warm morning and her light dress offered little protection against the cold. Along the pebble-strewn path he marched her until they came across a rowing-boat anchored amongst some rocks.

‘Here we are,' said David, pulling the craft towards the surf. He was confident she wouldn't make a dash for it while he was busy; she had no idea where she was, she was wearing nothing more than a flimsy cotton dress, she had no shoes, and no money. Whereas he was fit, he knew the area well, and he ominously carried the sjambok. How could she possibly get away from him? ‘Jump in.'

With great trepidation Emily climbed into the boat. Out he rowed, seemingly forever, until Camelot looked no more than just another pebble on the beach.

‘Over you go.'

‘Don't be silly,' she said with a nervous smile. ‘We're miles out. Besides, the water's freezing.'

Before she had time to defend herself David lashed her thigh with the whip. Emily grimaced at the pain – pain made worse by the chilly morning air. Her shriek disturbed some seagulls bobbing gently on the swell, and they squawked into flight as her anguish floated away on the wind.

‘Take off your clothes and get into the water.'

He wasn't messing. ‘I can't,' she begged. ‘I just – no please, don't whip me agai—!' The second lash caught her an inch above the first, making her jump to her feet and rub at the stinging flesh. The boat pitched and yawed as she frantically tried to bring some blood back to the searing skin. Two burning red souvenirs ran along her thigh, stinging, pulsating, pleading with her to do as he ordered.

She reluctantly removed her dress, and then optimistically asked for a swimming costume.

‘Not just yet,' he said. He tapped her bare quim with the tip of the whip. ‘Stubble is for lazy girls – make sure you're smooth every morning, like the Venus de Milo.' With that he nodded at the sea.

The freezing water trapped the gurgled expletive in Emily's throat. Her eyes and mouth were awash with salt water. By the time she surfaced from her initial plunge she was gasping to fill her lungs with clean air. David was ten yards away, pulling hard on the oars in the direction of the beach. She screamed at him not to leave her, but he didn't react. The only thing she could do was strike out after him.

There was still some way to go when Emily started to get into difficulties. David however paid no heed to her desperate cries for help. He simply shouted to her about how fit and trim she would be by the time she left, and how it was his duty to make sure she was.

He was waiting with a towel when she finally reached land, exhausted and gasping for oxygen. He wrapped her up and immediately took her back to the warmth of the cottage, saying he would take her out further the next day.

He dried and warmed her in a large fluffy towel. The restraints were put back on and she was shackled by the collar to one of the many metal rings cemented into the walls. He fetched some breakfast and sat to watch her eat. Her nipples were still erect from the cold, standing out proudly; just as they would when he put the studs through them later. He leant across and tweaked them further still. Emily appeared oblivious to the touch, and carried on eating her cereal. She never even flinched when he pinched the buds hard between finger and thumb. She was learning fast.

‘I'm going to pierce these later,' he informed her in a calmly matter of fact manner.

She stopped eating then and looked up with wide eyes that disclosed curiosity as much as alarm.

‘Eyes.'

She lowered her gaze immediately. ‘Will it hurt?' Her voice was soft and suppliant.

David continued to coax her nipples. ‘There will be a slight sting, yes. But don't worry, I'll use plenty of anaesthetic.'

He was pleased she didn't question his methods further, and noted only a slight agitation when he snapped a lead to her collar and led her to a door beneath the stairs.

Down a twisting flight of ancient stone steps he led her, into the deepest recesses of the Cornish cliff. Eventually the corridor opened into a large cavern floored with flagstones. In places it was lit well by the beams from several spot lamps. In other areas lurked shadow and total darkness.

‘It seems the old captain had a penchant for smuggling,' he laughed. ‘These floors must have been choc-a-bloc with barrels of brandy, or tobacco, or silks. Nothing changes, except maybe the goods.'

Contraband no longer occupied the grotto. It had long since gone to be replaced by straps and chains, irons and belts, polished steel, shiny leather, matt black rubber – all pristine and gleaming. David yanked Emily's collar-chain, and positioned her on a low podium. With the speed of a practised hand he tossed the lead over a suspended bar, effectively preventing her from moving.

‘What are you going to do to me?'

David ignored the question. He snapped a body ring about her waist and secured her wrists into the cuffs attached to its sides.

‘You don't have to do that,' whispered Emily. ‘I'll do whatever you say, I promise.'

Although secretly delighted with the way she was already responding, he continued to ignore her and diligently continued his work. He followed the fettering of her wrists with the clamping of shackles to her ankles. It was a simple task; even if she had wanted to kick out it was impossible because the lead about her neck pulled her up onto her toes.

David was aware of her watching his every move as he collected a metal device and a length of chain from a display on the wall. They sparkled and glistened as he passed under the light beams into the darkness and once more into the light. If Emily knew more about the twilight world of sexual slavery she would have recognised the infamous Daisy clamps. David stood in front of his slave, but resisted attaching the clamps straight away. Instead he lowered from the ceiling a device made from two wheels connected to each other with gears. From one hung a weight. To one wheel he connected the Daisy clamps and to the other, the one with the weight, he connected what looked like a horse's bit. When that was done he pulled the apparatus back up to the ceiling, leaving the clamps and the bit dangling in front of her. Emily seemed quietly resolved.

‘I need to stretch your nipples,' offered David, like a doctor informing his patient about a simple operation, ‘to make it easier to get the pins through. It'll help you too. Okay?'

Despite the tears that sparkled like diamonds in her eyes, she nodded.

‘Good girl. Now, I have a little test for you, Emily.' He took hold of one of the nipple clamps and held it in front of her face. ‘Do you know what these are?' he asked.

‘No,' she sniffled.

David squeezed the pincers open. ‘They're nipple clamps. They're to stretch your darling buds, like I told you. I'm going to put them on now – I don't want to hear any complaints,' he warned. ‘Do you understand?'

Emily nodded again.

He snapped the Daisy onto her nipple. Her neck arched and her head fell back. Her breasts swelled as her lungs filled with a bravely stifled scream, but she was unable to prevent a guttural moan when the second clamp bit into her tender nipple. Both erect buds were stretched obscenely by the pull of the instruments.

David gently stroked her flat stomach. He could feel her rigid muscles. ‘Well done,' he soothed. ‘You're doing extremely well.' Held up the leather bit.

‘Open your mouth,' he said. Automatically she did as she was told, and he pushed the bit between her teeth. ‘Bite it.'

The nipple clamps and the bit teased Emily up on to her toes.

‘The bit,' David continued and pointed, ‘is attached to that weight. Every time you let it slip or try to release it, the weight will shift down a cog, and every time the weight shifts down a cog, the clamps will pull harder on your nipples. And,' he added, ‘once the cog has moved it is impossible to lift the load again by pulling on the bit. My advice is to maintain a firm grip. Now take the strain, I'm going to release the weight.' He took his hand away and watched Emily's chin instantly stretch towards the ceiling as she tried to prevent the metal pendulum from falling too far. Despite her efforts the wheel slipped one cog, stretching her nipples an agonising fraction. She could not scream or protest; to open her mouth now would send the heavy weight crashing to the floor, and probably her flesh with it. David smiled as she strained further on tiptoe, trying to ease the tension in her nipples. By doing so she inadvertently inched her upturned face nearer the wheel, which allowed it to slip another cog, instantly pinching her nipples higher. With her nipples drawn thus the temptation would be to stretch up even more to ease the tension, but of course that would mean another slipped cog. David knew she was in an awful quandary. It was a vicious circle made all the worse because she was now on tiptoe; if she tried to ease the ache in her calves by lowering her heels she would pull harder on her sore teats.

‘It's a tricky one, I know,' said David. ‘But I'm sure you'll get the hang of it.' He left the cavern. His shoes echoed on the worn stone steps. Flicking the light switch at the top he plunged Emily into total and all enveloping darkness, as complete as if she was wearing a blindfold. She was alone, with nothing to detract from the excruciating discomfort but her thoughts.

David went to the kitchen and made himself a coffee, imagining the whole time her contemplating the predicament she had so willingly walked into. The silent darkness would amplify her solitude. She would have no conception of time, for one can only trace time when there is light; the light of the sun or the moon, or a flame with which to see a timepiece. Down in the cavern there was nothing. No tick of a clock, or shortening and lengthening shadows. No familiar daily occurrences which are taken for granted, but which tell the subconscious the time; the clinking of milk bottles, letters flopping onto the mat, children shrieking on their way to or from school, favourite programmes on the radio … Nothing.

He knew it would be getting harder to keep a grip on the bit as her saliva built up. She would consider letting it go – but would have the sense not to. She would try to rest on her heels, but the persistent jaws would prevent such foolishness. She would probably sob a little, but even the slightest rock of her shoulders would bring the nip of the Daisies.

David had a little light lunch, washed up, and then checked his watch. By now Emily should have realised beyond any doubt that if she wanted to see the month through with as little pain as possible she would have to comply with his every whim, and adhere to their contract.

David flicked the switch and descended the steps. Emily was clearly overwhelmed with relief at the sound of his footsteps. He removed the bit and the Daisy clamps, and she appeared genuinely delighted to see him as she blinked and her eyes grew accustomed to the light. He bent and released the ankle restraints, and then helped her stiff body down from the plinth and led her to a stool beside a workbench.

It was now mid-afternoon, and her nipples were ready for the needle.

He sprayed the tip of each breast with a local anaesthetic, and then picked up the piercing gun. Emily screwed her eyes tight as he pulled hard on her right nipple and fired a metal rod through its centre. She squirmed a little on the stool, but before she had time to do anything else he reloaded and pierced her left nipple. He left her a moment to get used to the numbed sensation, and then lifted each breast in turn and attached a silver orb to either end of the pins. He was secretly a little relieved; he had just completed his first ever piercing. He stepped back to admire his handiwork.

‘They look superb,' he assured her. ‘Absolutely magnificent.'

Back up in the comfort of the cottage David ordered Emily to take a bath, rest a while, and then ready herself for the evening meal. Clothes, he told her, were laid out in the dressing room.

The deep, hot, and perfumed water soon brought life back to her breasts. She bathed them gently, easing away the pain until it became a soft pulsating ache that tensed and relaxed in time with her vagina. That surprised her; amid all the anguish and the fears she hadn't realised just how sexually excited she had become. She offered her breasts up to the mirrors that surrounded the bath, watching the scented lather slide off her skin. The ache was lessening. Her breasts felt good and looked even better. She touched one of the silver spheres and felt a combination of pain and pleasure ripple through her body. Soon she would feel only pleasure whenever she touched them.