Standing upright, legs widely spread, her spine hollowed to present her breasts and belly to best advantage, her fingers interlaced behind her neck and with her head tilted back, her eyes looked up at the ceiling from between her bent elbows framing her face.
In this position, as Gemma knew from experience, she was beautifully displayed to his gaze, but quite unable to see him until he was very close in front of her.
It made her very vulnerable to any caress he chose to award her and, not by any means for the first time, the tiny bells at her ringed nipples tinkled softly as the firm globes of her breasts quivered in anticipation of his touch.
Her toes curled and she gulped anxiously as a thin, cool and all too recognisable presence made itself felt between her thighs.
Roxwell's crop!
The flexible leather covered cane slid between her labia, tracing delicately up and down the length of her defenceless sex and Gemma gritted her teeth, fighting to maintain her pose and avoid the penalty that any movement would bring down on her.
It was a battle that Gemma must, eventually, lose and she knew that if he persisted with the arousal for any length of time, she would be unable to control her ingrained responses. She just hoped that he wasn't in a playful mood, because if he was, the stimulation would probably continue until she surrendered and clamped the crop between her thighs in her efforts to satisfy the desires it created in her.
And that would be more than enough to earn her a punishment!
The crop tapped firmly against the exquisitely sensitive bud of her clitoris and Gemma snorted aloud, almost giving in to the temptation to bend forward and trap the tormenting cane, but just managing, by an almost superhuman effort, to stay in position.
"Very good, slavegirl," Roxwell's tone was half mocking, half admiring, "Excellently disciplined, I'm glad to see. Just as you should be. All right, you can relax for now."
Gemma eased her stretched muscles and lowered her wrists to the small of her back, crossing them and waiting passively to be bound, but Roxwell didn't bother, content that the leash was more than adequate to hold her.
His confidence was fully justified, of course and they both knew it, so Gemma made no effort to escape and waited for his orders.
He smiled at her and Gemma swallowed nervously, not knowing what was coming.
"Do you have any idea how long you've been a slavegirl?" he asked calmly.
Gemma stared at him, "No, Master," she replied at last, "I know it seems like a long time, but no, I don't know how long."
Roxwell chuckled, "Yes, I expect it does seem like a long time, slavegirl," he said, "You have come a very long way since I first saw you in bondage in the back of that van, haven't you?"
Gemma felt her face redden, the memory of that meeting vivid in her brain.
The first time that she, naked, gagged and tightly bound, had learned that she was to become a slave and that he, Roxwell, was to be her Master.
Shakily, she whispered that she did remember and Roxwell nodded.
"That was almost a year ago," he said slowly and watched the expressions chasing across Gemma's face.
"Mm, that's right," he continued, "My contract with your business partner, Mr Bowyer, is almost up. In fact, it expires tomorrow."
Her jaw dropped and she gaped foolishly at him, unable to believe what she was hearing. "T...Tomorrow?"
"Yes, slavegirl, tomorrow. Less than twenty four hours. Less than twelve, actually."
"But...You mean...You mean that I'm..I'm free? This isn't a trick, or..or..? You mean it?"
"Of course. The contract expires at midnight and I told you that first day that a deal is a deal. Your partner and I agreed that you would become my slave for a year, in return for a financial investment. The year is now nearly over and as far as I am concerned, at one second past midnight, so is the contract."
Gemma's disbelief evaporated as he spoke and her spirits zoomed skyward as she finally accepted that he really meant what he said and that her time as a slave was nearly over.
Then, oddly, her face fell and her elation vanished as if it had never been, as she understood what that meant.
For a whole year, she had been constantly subject to the will of others, with no freedom, no responsibility, no decisions to make, no concerns other than to obey and be pleasing to her Masters. Everything taken care of for her. Her simple wants catered for.
Now, suddenly, she was faced with the prospect of returning to the outside world. A world with demands and responsibilities and decisions she was no longer sure she was capable of dealing with.
Worse, a world which would never understand her submission to the dominance of others, never understand or accept the rewards, the sheer, overpowering ecstasy, of absolute and, eventually, willing subjugation.
An ordinary world, full of men and women who had never, would never, experience the shattering pleasure of a Master or Mistress's hands and lips on their bodies. Never know what it was to climax helplessly at the bidding of an all powerful Master, or feel the thrill of steel on their nude flesh as he, or she, bound them into submission to receive the pleasure or punishment to be imposed upon them.
Roxwell saw the torment on her face and spoke softly, "What is it, slavegirl? Why so troubled?"
Gemma stared miserably at him, her eyes brimming with unshed tears, "I..I..don't know if I can, Master. Be free again, that is. I thought I could, but now....I just don't know. I wear a slave's collar and..and cuffs on my limbs and r..r..rings in my n..nipples and I've been tr..trained to resp..respond as a slavegirl to Masters. What if...people find out?" Gemma whispered sadly, "I don't know if I can even remember h..how to be free," and her shoulders shook with her shame and despair.
For a long time there was silence in the room, then Gemma sniffed and raised her reddened eyes to her Master and gave a weak smile, "May I ask you a question, Master."
Roxwell nodded gravely.
"Was I a good slavegirl, Master?"
"That is the sort of question only a true slave would ask," he replied severely.
Gemma flushed, "Yes, my Master, I know. But...But was I, Master?"
He stared hard at her until she lowered her head submissively, then answered, "You were a satisfactory slave," he told her harshly, then added, "And sometimes, you were a superb slavegirl."
Her whole body seemed to glow with pleasure as she heard his answer and his thin lips curved into a wide smile as he saw her reaction to his praise, "I should have made your contract for life, rather than just one year," he told her and Gemma's belly kicked visibly as she imagined a lifetime of slavery.
She sank to her knees before him, displaying her body in the graceful pose of a slavegirl's submission, "I would have served you well, Master," she said softly and Roxwell chuckled.
"Oh, you still will, slavegirl," he told her firmly, "Your contract does not expire until midnight and I have plans for the next few hours."
Gemma shivered in arousal, but held her pose, "Then, Master, may a willing slavegirl be allowed to please her Master?" she asked humbly.
Roxwell pulled her to her feet and unlocked the chain to her collar.
"You are an obedient slave, are you not?" he queried.
"Yes, Master."
"Then you will obey, without question?"
"Yes, Master."
"Leave this room, turn right and enter the last room on the left. There, you will find your shoes and a large gag. Put them on and then go over to the right hand wall. Place your back to it and spread your arms and legs, locating them into the manacles built into the brickwork. They will close automatically, securing you as I desire. I will join when I am ready. Go!"
Gemma looked up into his eyes and felt a spurt of love juices dampen her groin.
"Yes, my Master," she said as firmly as her dry lips would allow, "I will obey exactly, Master," and rose gracefully to her feet, went to the door and turned right, leaving him alone.
Thoughts of escape never entered her head and when she reached the last door on the left, she went in without hesitating, her belly churning with a delicious heat.
The square room contained nothing but the items he had told her would be waiting and Gemma did her best to ignore the shining steel rings to her right, concentrating on obeying his instructions to the letter.
The shoes and gag lay on the tiled floor and her arousal increased as she knelt on one knee to fit the first gleaming, patent leather shoe, its needle sharp, impossibly high, six inch heel warning her standing, let alone walking, would be extremely uncomfortable and the buckled strap passing underneath the arch of her foot, indicating that removal of the shoe would be impossible without the use of her fingers.
And her fingers, of course, would be kept well away from the buckles.
It took Gemma several minutes to fit the shoes to her feet and when she stood up, she wobbled alarmingly atop the towering heels, forcing her to stand exaggeratedly upright and move with the utmost care.
Slowly and cautiously, she bent down to pick up the gag and gave a little gasp as she appreciated for the first time its size and solidity.
It was huge, a hard, dense mass of black leather on a broad strap, shaped to fit snugly under her nose and around her cheeks and she knew at once that whatever else she might be doing, she was not going to be making any intelligible sounds doing it.
Inch by inch she raised it to her lips, savouring the smell and texture of the heavy leather and the wonderfully submissive knowledge that she was about to gag herself on the orders of a Master who was not even present in the same room.
Her jaws opened wide and then wider still, but even then, she had to prod and squeeze the giant ball to get it past her teeth and into her mouth, where it flattened her tongue, filled every inch of space, bulged her cheeks and lodged solidly in an immovable mass. Her fingers fumbled at the heavy buckle behind her neck and as she tugged, the shaped leather strap began to compress her cheeks.
One notch, two, then three moulded the strap to her face and Gemma quivered with undeniable excitement to the uncompromising grip of tight leather from her chin to her nose.
Gagged, and gagged extremely effectively, she experimented for a few moments to see what, if any, speech was left to her. Finding, to her secret satisfaction, that she was completely mute, the only sound possible, a faint, wordless hum of no practical use whatsoever.
Pleased with herself, Gemma tottered over to the right hand wall and gazed at the manacles embedded in the stonework.
Ten hoops, leather lined, hinged open to receive her body, glittered in the light and she felt her nipples stiffen as she saw that eight of the hoops formed a large "X", clearly designed to hold a captive spreadeagled, while the ninth and tenth were for the neck and waist and would prevent even minimal movement of the hapless victim.
Once in the grasp of those hoops, there was no hope of escape and as Gemma visualised her body as her Master would see it, held open and defenceless, freely available for any torments he cared to inflict, her sex oozed with desire, instinctively preparing her for the pillaging to come.
Gemma delayed no longer, turning around and easing her ankles, knees and waist back into the waiting restraints. As her flesh pressed against the leather lined metal, there came a soft hiss of compressed air and the hoops swung closed, confining her firmly, but not uncomfortably so.
Gemma stared down at her hugely spread limbs and swallowed convulsively, but it was already too late to change her mind, even if she had wanted to. She sucked in a deep breath and raised her arms. Again, the soft hiss and she twisted her head to left and right as her wrists and elbows were clamped in inescapable steel.
There only remained her neck, held forward uncomfortably and Gemma saw little point in resisting the inevitable. With a wry chuckle into her gag, she raised her chin proudly and thrust her head back against the wall behind her. With a brief hiss, the final hoop closed, completing her bondage.
Spread like a human starfish, her naked body pinned immovably to the cellar wall by bands of steel, Gemma was as completely helpless as it was possible to be. As helpless and as intensely vulnerable, for, as she tested her bonds, she found, as she expected to find, that she could move no part of her body except her fingers.
There was, quite literally, nothing she could do to protect or defend herself and her sex glistened with the juices of her arousal as she waited in delicious anticipation for the moment when her Master would arrive to sate his lusts in her so-available body.
She did not have to wait very long, but it would have made little difference to Gemma how long the wait was, for the deep, visceral excitement of binding herself into such utter helplessness stoked the fires of her lusts into a blazing inferno which grew steadily fiercer and hotter.
Her taut breasts throbbed, her belly seethed and ripples of desire fluttered her sleek skin as every one of the millions of nerve endings in her entire body became acutely sensitised.
Master Roxwell strode into the room and Gemma whimpered into her massive gag, her belly kicking hugely as he stood directly in front of her and his hot eyes drank in every inch of her displayed nakedness, without making any attempt to touch her.