His hands released her cuffs, but only to reposition her and she kept her head lowered in the only protest she dared make as he clipped her ankles together and her wrists to the rear of her collar.
"Punishment position, slave. I shall be back in a moment."
That order brought Gemma's head up and she gaped in disbelief at his broad back as he strode towards the long, low brick farmhouse and disappeared through the front door.
For a wild moment, she thought of trying to escape, but the idea of herself naked, bound at ankles and wrists, trying to hop to freedom, was so ludicrous that it even brought a wry smile to Gemma's gagged lips. It was laughable, but if she couldn't escape, then she had better obey. If he came back and found that she wasn't in the punishment position, she would be in even more trouble.
Having her wrists secured behind her neck made things awkward, but Gemma knew that her difficulties would not save her from additional punishment and bent forward gingerly until her elbows met the grass. Another wriggle or two and she was in the ordered position, her forehead resting on the ground and her buttocks raised high in the air and available for whatever punishment her Master cared to inflict.
It was the most embarrassing, undignified position of all those she had been taught and she was well aware that that was the reason why the Masters had invented it. In it, a slavegirl was quite helpless, shamefully exposed and unable to see what was going on behind her. All of which added to the misery of the slave and the pleasure of the Master.
Gemma knew it, but unfortunately was not immune to the effect and as she knelt in the grass humbly awaiting her Master's return, she felt exactly the same the same fears and anxieties as any other slavegirl.
Boots wished through the grass towards her and she shivered in anticipation, suddenly terrified that it might not be her Master! What if it was someone else? A stranger who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time? Her brain quailed and as she struggled in blind panic to lift her head, muffled whimpers leaked past her gag as she imagined unknown eyes staring at her upraised bottom, unknown hands ravaging her defenceless sex and an unknown man cashing in on his good fortune by taking her helplessly offered body before going on his merry way!
Held by her own body weight and unable to get sufficient leverage to lift her face from the grass, Gemma shuddered horribly as the boots stopped behind her.
A hard finger speared into her shamefully lubricated sex, a second thrust irresistibly past the tight ring of her anal passage and Gemma squealed wildly into her heavy gag as the double violation forced frantic responses from her invaded body!
Her legs shot out straight behind her and she collapsed on her belly, but even this could not eject the probing fingers and she screamed in anguish, certain that she was at the mercy of a stranger and about to be taken.
The sharp sting of a whip across her vainly clenching buttocks and her Master's brusque command, "Back in position, slave. You were not given permission to move," sounded like music to her ears and her eyes filled with tears of relief and gratitude as her worst nightmare proved to be unfounded.
A second sharp cut of his whip tempered her relief with painful reality, as did the third, applied with a brief, "Hurry up, slave!" as she struggled back to her knees and pressed her forehead into the grass rather too slowly to meet his wishes.
In position, her bottom smarting, Gemma could not help but wriggle as his embedded fingers slid from her sex and anus, earning herself another stinging stripe as he snapped, "I told you to keep still!" and she fought grimly not to move as submissive desire swirled through her belly in response to the thrilling memory of his ruthless plundering of her body.
"That's better. It seems that you are neither as well trained nor as obedient as you should be, slave. I strongly suggest you improve, or this will only be the first of many croppings I shall have to give you!" Steven's voice was calm, but quite implacable and Gemma understood that she was in the power of a perfectionist. She would be permitted no laxity whatsoever, any infringement would be punished and her groin moistened with a fearful excitement.
With an abbreviated whistle, his crop descended on her bottom and Gemma winced, biting down on her gag to stop herself crying out as scorching heat flashed into her buttocks. A second, third and fourth stripe turned her flinching bottom into an inferno and salty tears rolled down her cheeks even as the heat of her punishment spread into her belly, confusing her completely with blistering arousal as she was disciplined!
The fifth and sixth stripes completed her punishment and to Gemma's absolute astonishment and humiliation, the touch of her Master's hand on her chastised buttocks triggered an immediate and intense orgasm!
Inextricably mixed in her spinning brain, pain and pleasure combined to give Gemma a totally unexpected climax and as she spasmed and pulsed in her release, she groaned to the knowledge that she had revealed a side to her personality that even she had not known existed!
To a Master who would not hesitate to use it against her!
Above her kneeling, whip striped, climaxing body, Steven, her Master nodded in satisfaction.
He had not known of Gemma's ability to climax under punishment, but now that he did....
He bent swiftly and unclipped her ankle cuffs, then freed his fully aroused maleness, thrust her thighs apart and entered her in one massive lunge.
Powerless against his masculine strength, her hips clamped by his strong fingers, Gemma gasped as her sex was filled and panted for breath as he pulled her back against his belly, his erect shaft driving deep and then deeper still into her wet, bubbling heat, building her desire to match his, until both trembled on the brink of orgasm.
His right hand searched for, and found, his crop and as he grated, "Now, slavegirl," and flicked the leather across Gemma's reddened buttock, Master and slave exploded as one, his seed jetting into her belly to mix with the spraying pulses of her love juices as she came to his bidding!
Locked together, panting and groaning with joint pleasure, Gemma and her Master spasmed and shuddered in ecstasy, giving and receiving pleasure in equal amounts until both were spent and collapsed to the grass in exhaustion.
Pinned face down beneath her Master's bulk, Gemma tried to come to terms with the unsuspected existence of a masochistic streak in her make up. That it was there, she could not deny and that Steven would use it to enslave her even more deeply, she didn't doubt for a moment. The question was, could she control it? Would Steven permit her to control it? And did she even want to?
Her climax while under discipline had been thrillingly powerful.
Dare she allow herself to give in to such desire again?
More to the point, would she be allowed not to?
Her Master stirred and rolled from her and Gemma put aside her concerns and doubts as he dressed himself and helped her to her feet. He was her Master and controlled her. If he chose to exploit her new found vulnerability, then he would and she would be unable to stop him. She was his slave and that was an end to it. As he took her into his house and locked her collar to the ever present chain leash fitted in all of her Master's homes, Gemma resigned herself to her fate and relaxed, deciding to enjoy her life as much as she could, when she could and let the future take care of itself.
"You look lovely, slavegirl. Come with me, I have something to show you."
It was the morning of her second day with Steven and she was freshly bathed, her hair brushed and gleaming, her stomach replete with a delicious breakfast he had prepared, her lightly tanned flesh glowing with good health and contrasting excitingly with the gleaming steel at her throat and ankles, her wrists locked, as ever, behind her back. The only fly in the ointment, as far as Gemma was concerned, was that he had brought along her uncomfortable high heeled shoes and they were locked securely on her feet, forcing her to stand bolt upright and making her calves ache.
As she preceded her Master, tip-tapping on her heels down a long corridor towards the rear of his house, Gemma was acutely aware of his eyes on her naked thighs and buttocks, but was accustomed to nudity and was secretly proud of her trim body and the desire it created. As a slavegirl, it was her prime role. She was supposed to be desirable and knew that she was.
"Stop. Wait there."
Gemma looked curiously at the door to her left, wondering what was behind its plain, unmarked panels and noted the twin bolts at top and bottom as her Master swung it open. Evidently, it was a room designed to keep its occupant imprisoned and her belly twitched pleasantly to the thought that she was about to become its occupant.
"In you go and stand still. I'll get the light."
The room was about ten or twelve feet square, windowless and painted a neutral cream colour, its only furnishings a single, comfortable looking armchair facing a television set along the left wall.
To the right, halfway between the wall and the chair, an unidentifiable object about three feet high stood under a blue dust sheet and as Gemma looked at it, she had a strong hunch that it, whatever it was, was the reason for her presence.
Steven closed the door and slid home a bolt at the top and Gemma's hunch grew stronger as he moved to the mysterious shape.
"This is my favourite," he told her cheerfully and swept the dust sheet to one side to reveal a gleaming steel post rising from the floor, with an odd, distorted "U" shape rather like a horse's saddle at its top, a large, knurled thumb wheel halfway up the post and another just under the saddle.
"Come over here. I want you to see what you're getting into....or, rather, vice versa," and his face split into a broad grin as Gemma eyed him warily. She had learned from bitter experience that Masters who grinned invariably meant trouble for their slaves. But then, so did Masters who didn't! Either way, her wrists were locked behind her, which meant she didn't have a choice.
As she approached the device and her smiling Master, she began to like the look of it less and less. The saddle was quite narrow at its centre and wider at each end, with two holes in it, one larger in the middle and the other smaller, a couple of inches from it, the whole thing lined with leather and Gemma took an involuntary pace backwards as its purpose became shockingly clear!
"That was quick, slavegirl," her Master said approvingly, "Most slaves take a lot longer to work it out."
Gemma stared at him and her belly gave a slow, exciting lurch as his evident pleasure confirmed her reasoning. The saddle was exactly that, but for a slavegirl's bottom, rather than a horse's rider, the two holes corresponding to her sex and anal passage and giving access to her even though she would be sitting down!
He crooked a finger at her and the sheer arrogance of the gesture took her breath away, which was, perhaps, just as well because it gave her time to reflect on her situation.
Minus her arms in a small, locked room with a Master who had already shown that he was by no means averse to using a crop on her to make her obey him, her options were, to say the very least, somewhat limited. She couldn't run, or hide, or fight and the smile on his face as he crooked his finger a second time, told her that he knew it.
Licking her dry lips, she moved back towards the device as slowly as she dared, her imagination working overtime and fuelling the growing warmth between her thighs.
"Climb aboard, pardner and let's hit the trail," he drawled in a passable imitation of a cowboy and Gemma smiled weakly at his misplaced sense of humour.
Fortunately, the inches added to her legs by the high heels meant that she could comfortably clear the saddle and she adjusted her feet on either side of the steel post, preparing to sit down.
"No, no, slavegirl," he chided her gently, "You stay just as you are," and he bent to the lower thumb wheel, spinning it rapidly.
To Gemma's astonishment, the saddle rose smoothly and silently and she shivered as cool leather came into firm contact with the sensitive flesh between her legs, the raised sections before and behind her fitting snugly against her buttocks and the curve of her lower belly.
It was surprisingly comfortable, much more so than she had imagined and Gemma flashed her Master a smile of relief.
"I'm glad you like it, slavegirl," he said briefly, "Now, straighten your legs a little more. It's better when most of your weight is taken by the saddle."
Gemma complied willingly and he raised the seat another two inches, her heels rising from the floor until only the soles of her shoes were in contact with the ground and the leather covered saddle cupped every crevice of her cradled sex and bottom, the pleasant tension holding her labia and the crack between her buttocks slightly open.
The sensation was extraordinary, she could barely wriggle and, without her arms or his assistance, couldn't possibly dismount from the device.
"May I speak, Master," she asked and when he nodded, said simply, "I love it Master, it's just like riding a horse."
He chuckled, "Yes, it is, isn't it, but I'm not quite finished yet so you just stay there and I'll be back soon," and he unbolted the door and disappeared.
He left the door open behind him, but Gemma couldn't have got down from her perch even if she had wanted to and she didn't give it a second thought as she explored her metal steed.