‘Are you looking for a master, Keris?’
I decided to be honest.
‘I don’t know what I’m looking for, sir.’
‘That’s quite common with submissives. Until they find it. Do you think you’ll know it when you find it?’
‘I hope so, sir.’
‘I hope so too.’
His voice was hypnotic and his fingers, now splayed across one of my cheeks, held me still and calm. My breathing had evened out and my nerves had gone. I felt expectant and safe.
‘I think you and I could work together,’ he said. The way he looked at me made me think he was using his eyes as camera lenses, photographing me in zoom-close detail. ‘You have the intelligence I like and the docility I demand. But I’ll need to see a bit more of you. Justin, I’ll hand this over to you for now. Put her through her paces for me.’
His Lordship’s hand dropped and I put my own fingers to my cheek, missing his contact immediately. Something about his touch had made me feel like clay, waiting to be mould
ed. I needed to feel it again.
But instead Justin came forward, patting my backside with his martinet, chivvying me over towards the bed.
His Lordship sat down in an armchair in the corner of the room while Maz knelt at his feet.
‘Strip,’ ordered Justin, and my grateful hands went immediately to my collar. Justin shook his head. ‘No, not the collar. Or the cuffs. Everything but them.’
Damn. In a slight sulk, I released my breasts from the slave-bra then unclipped my belt with its concealing skirts. In those two swift moves, I was naked but for the restricting buckles and chains at my neck, wrists and ankles.
‘What would you like to see, Your Lordship?’ asked Justin, running his whip handle down my spine.
‘Well, let me see. I’ve already handled her, and seen her come under my handling. I think I’d like to see her whipped and fucked, Justin. Could you oblige?’
‘Of course. Bound or unbound?’
‘It would be a shame to waste those pretty cuffs.’
‘Agreed. On to the bed, Keris, on your back, please.’
I laid myself on the paisley-embroidered covers, wondering if Justin intended to whip my breasts and belly. I hoped not. It wasn’t something I’d tried, or really ever fantasised about.
‘Wrists,’ said Justin, and I held them out to him. From a bedside drawer, he took two lengths of stretchy black twiny stuff with clips at one end. The clips attached neatly to the buckle of my cuffs, while the other end of the twine was looped and securely knotted around the bed posts, spreading my arms in a starfish style.
I supposed the same scene would be played out with my ankles, but Justin surprised me by grabbing both legs at the knee and pushing them back over my torso until my bottom was almost completely lifted from the bed. This was a move I sometimes did at the gym, ending with my feet over my head, but Justin spread my legs as they rose into the air, then took another piece of the black stretchy material, clipped it to an ankle cuff, then looped the other end around the corresponding wrist cuff. Once he had finished I lay bent double with my legs in the air, my bottom high with cheeks and pussy lips wide and the backs of my thighs beginning to strain. The flexibility of the bondage rope meant that no injury was going to ensue but I couldn’t claim to be in the most comfortable position nonetheless.
Justin placed a pillow beneath my coccyx, keeping my bum up without too much pressure on the spine. I imagined the view His Lordship must have of me now, splayed open with nowhere to hide. A shameful exposure.
‘I’d like a picture of that,’ said His Lordship. ‘All that sweet, tender pinkness. A “before” and “after” shot would be good. But until we get to know each other better, I’ll refrain. How do you feel, Keris, knowing that you have no private or intimate space any more, knowing that everyone here can see everything?’
‘Embarrassed, sir,’ I said in a tiny, shaky voice.
‘I should think so. What kind of slut would let a man do that to her in front of witnesses? Hmmm?’
‘A dirty slut, sir.’
‘That’s right. Justin, I think the dirty slut needs whipping. Nice and hard. I want to see that bottom squirming.’
The only good thing about my position was that I could see Justin ply the whip, an opportunity that was rarely to be had during a more conventional spanking. The novelty and thrill of being able to see his clenched hand, his knotted forearm, the look of grim determination in his jaw offset some of the discomfort and I began to feel alive and aroused again, rotating my hips and gasping with the efforts my restraint made me exert.
After a while, though, the heat and the pain overtook the enjoyment of the view. I began to whimper and try to kick, in vain of course, as the martinet strands flicked and stung, covering my helpless bottom with their pitiless needling.