A Kept Woman & Stolen Servant

A Kept Woman & Stolen Servant
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ISBN:  9781780802084
Author:  Audra Grayson
Word Count:  133,472
Format:  eBook

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Originally published individually as paperbacks by us at Chimera, A Kept Woman and Stolen Servant are two Audra Grayson domination and submission stories now brought together in one fantastic erotic eBook volume.

A Kept Woman

She needs it from other men. Her husband, Tom, agrees to let her have it, but not before she submits to Anna's toys or his new taste for spanking. With a little help from others Tom trains his wife. But after all his hard work he bets her on a few hands of poker - and loses.

Will she fall under a new Master's whip? Will Tom lose her for good?

Jael Alistair is A Kept Woman who learns that submission to a man's needs is the road to true pleasure.

Stolen Servant

Kidnapped, costumed, prostituted and used: Genetta Macleod makes a journey from a wanton girl in a London club to a living playground for her owners.

No one is who they seem to be in this tale of rough sex and voyeurism, all perpetrated on the submissive body of dear Genetta.

Take the journey with her as she learns to give in - in Stolen Servant.

A Kept Woman

'Come on, boys.'
   Jael Alistair's soft, honey-veneered voice drifted through the night. She continued walking through the whispering grass as it swayed in the dark's breeze. The crumpled tops of her butter-soft leather boots made a pleasant sound as their folds brushed against each other with every step.
   The two Irish Setters caught up to Jael, even though her pace was mindful of how late it was and how far she had yet to go. The hounds appeared together from one side of the dusky field, their bodies jostling against each other as they ran at full stride, in tandem.
   Jael looked down at one noble red head and smiled as the dog put his nose into the cuff of her thick wool sweater. 'Yes, it's still me,' she said, rubbing the rolled edge of the sleeve against his muzzle. He moved off then, following the fast-moving shadow that his accomplice had become. The pair trotted out in front of Jael, noses low to the ground.
   Her fingertips brushed her long, fine, black hair back behind her ears as she raised her glance to the speck of light that shone in the distance. The granite-coloured clouds sped away from the waxing moon at that instant, and its pearl light reflected off Jael's milky forehead and chin. She walked behind the dogs, listening to them circle back closer to her, then lope still farther ahead.
   She pulled each sleeve back from her slight wrists and briskly rubbed her cheeks into an apple redness.
   It was colder than it looked, she thought. She lifted her face to gaze at the luminous moon, the glistening stars around it. The night had a New England, mid-autumn clarity. Jael darted the tip of her tongue out to moisten her full lips, then slowly pulled both lips into her mouth and bit them gently. Brushing her hair back again, she bent her head and quickened her gait.
   Jael's destination was the set of doors underneath the light in the distance. She walked on without thought and heard only her own steps crack and rustle in the tall grass, felt only the bracing vigour of the wind's gusts. The air's chilling vitality stimulated Jael. She felt strong, hale, restored by its sharpness.
   The field inclined gradually to support the house that perched at the point of greatest height. Jael leaned into her steps and walked up the hill effortlessly. She emerged from the moon's glow into the incandescent harbour of light that welcomed her home. The Setters came from around the house and waited as Jael pulled her keys from the pocket of her brown corduroys.
   She held the red leather fob in one hand and found the heavy key that would let them in. Jael turned it in the lock, pulled the wide glass door open, and smiled as the dogs jostled her aside in their haste to enter.
   She went in behind them, closing the door firmly after them all. She turned and went into the conservatory and bent down to pull off her boots, then placed them on the rush mat that lay against the wall. Her forest green sweater came next, and her hair fell down her back in a feathery cascade as she drew the sweater over her head. She hung the wool jumper on a hook. The sheer, long-sleeved silk undershirt she wore smelled of neroli and jasmine, and its ivory colour contrasted with her crimson cheeks and scarlet lips.
   Jael went back into the hall and walked down the flagstone floor. Her grey wool socks made a minute scratching sound as she turned on the ball of her foot and went into the library.
   She smiled to see the blaze that danced in the fireplace greet her cheerily. Vanilla-scented candles glowed in corners, illuminating the gold lettering on the dark leathers of the bound books. It was kind of Thomas, she thought, to consider her coming in from the cold, even after his friends had come over. She bent her head and surveyed the leaden crystal liquor carafes that stood on the mahogany table just inside the door. Another smile came to her lips to see that Thomas had placed a large cognac snifter on the silver tray, next to them. She poured herself a cognac, and sauntered to a flame-lit corner to turn the big-bottomed glass in the candle's rising heat.
   As she warmed her drink she put her other hand on the back of her head, her fingers twining in her silken hair, and stretched. Her narrow back arched, her slender shoulders drew back, and her shapely breasts were tautly outlined under her shift. Jael ran her fingertips over one nipple, then the other, circling them absentmindedly as she watched the candle's flame play through the burnt amber colour of the cognac.
   Jael crossed to the fireplace and smoothly lowered herself into the leather wingback chair that squatted there. She threw one calf over the chair's arm and traced the wale of her brown corduroys as she breathed the cognac's scent deeply and stared into the fire.
   The two dogs joined her. One leaned against the chair, and Jael glanced down and smiled to see him gazing up at her as her skin warmed before the flames. The other stretched out on the richly patterned carpet at her feet. Jael put the sole of her foot onto the dog's exposed side and wriggled her toes against his ribs.
   The trio sat there as Jael grew accustomed to the silence that filled in the spaces around the pops of burning wood. As the night wind left her ears, she heard other sounds, somewhere in the house.
   Men's laughter. Clinking glasses. Men's voices raised in joshing argument and more laughter. Then quiet.
   'The poker game is on,' she said to the dog sitting next to her. 'Is that where you two visited before you came in here?'
   The dog blinked beseechingly at her. Jael passed her cognac to the other hand and petted the smooth auburn fur of his big-boned head. An impulse filled her reclined body. 'Let's go see them,' she whispered.
   She swung her leg off the arm of the chair and slid her other foot from the reclining dog's side. She stood up, sinking almost imperceptibly into the Oriental carpet. The dogs rose to their feet to follow, then halted behind her as she stopped before a candle for a moment to heat her glass again.
   Jael walked back down the flagstone hall, past the century-old, framed theatre bills, and turned to go through the house. She walked through the main hall, lit as if by torches with evenly spaced lamps that threw their dimmed lights onto the high, sapphire blue walls. The kitchen opened before her.
   Smoke floated from several lit cigarettes and hung in the doorway. Jael walked through it, into the stunningly bright light of the room.
   'Hiya,' she said softly as Thomas looked up from his cards. He gave her a tiny wink. Jael watched as her husband's azure eyes trailed down her body, lingering for a moment on the dark nipples that showed under her gauzy shirt. His lips parted and he moved his jaw just a small degree, first to one side, then the other. Without meeting her gaze again, his eyes dropped to the five cards in his hand.
   She felt desire build in the sweet knob nestled between her vulva every time he looked at her like that. This time was no different. Jael side-stepped until her back was against the wall of the kitchen, just inside the door. She put her cognac on the counter and placed her hands behind herself. That tilted her pelvis out, and she crossed her thighs. Jael looked at Thomas, wishing that the intent glare he had fixed on his cards was still on her. She lowered her chin and watched him. Placing the tip of her tongue between her lips she flexed the inside muscles of her legs, rubbed her thighs together, and clenched and released her vagina rapidly and potently, over and over. Her nipples tightened in concert with her efforts, and Jael took a deep breath, filling her chest. The excitement of standing before six other men and her husband, bent on enticing him away from the game, filled her mind.
   She exhaled slowly. Something to the left caught her eye. Another man's stare adhered to her body.
   Jael's jaw dropped, her lips parted. The words 'Who is that?' flooded her mind. Her breathing quickened, and she felt the wetness that had started between her legs turn to a gush.
   The man's wolf-grey stare was resting on her hips. She felt like his eyes were pinning her in place. And she knew that he fully realised what she was doing with the tight ring of muscle that opened into her secrets.
   Jael's nipples had been taut, but now they were stiff peaks. The betting on the hand of cards passed around the table and finally came to this man. Without taking his concentration from her body, he tossed some chips into the centre of the table and muttered something. Her hearing was dampened by the rush of blood in her ears, and Jael couldn't hear what he said. She only heard the rumble of his voice, the words coming out as if rock-tumbled through black treacle.
   Thomas sat next to this man. They were the only two angled to watch Jael stealthily. The sudden tilt of Thomas's head drew her attention, and she glanced at him.
   Jael froze. She knew by the forbidding tenseness that crossed his face that Thomas saw her pouting lips and flared nostrils, and the intense sensations built by this other man, surge out of her eyes. She watched Thomas look at the other man, and Jael knew that her husband saw the same thing that she recognised: a greedy hunger for the charms that she displayed.
   Thomas's eyes flicked back to Jael's. She felt shame at her own transparent arousal fill her throat. No words came to her mind, only the dead certainty that she would feel his icy anger for days over this. There was no way to explain that at first she'd had her lecherous look and pose directed at him, but this interloper had caught her silent seduction. She knew Thomas had seen only her smouldering eyes focussed on the other man's face, and the other man fixated on her lustiness.
   She would never know him. The thought deluged Jael's mind and filled her with despair. She felt sure that Thomas would never invite him over again. He'd be a closed subject, all of this something that never happened. She would never be able to ask his name because Thomas would know that she wanted him. She would never see him again. She dropped her gaze from Thomas's and tried to collect herself, to gain control over the unaccountable sorrow that filled her over the loss of this stranger.
   Jael risked another glance up at Thomas, hoping he would ignore her long enough to let her skulk from the room.
   What she saw shocked her.
   Thomas leered at her. His face wore half a sardonic smile. His Arctic blue eyes were narrowed knowingly. He squinted at her, dropped his gaze from her face to her hips and still-crossed legs, and nodded his head just a fraction of an inch, his chin pushed out. Jael understood what he wanted her to do, and a carnal pleasure filled her mound with blood and excitement.

Stolen Servant

The cab moved off, but she had not heard either of her keepers give a destination. Try as she might to suppress any anxiety, Genetta was getting nervy again. In the flat Jack and Paul had her devoted attention; lust had stopped her thinking constructively. But now, with nothing to do but question her fate, Genetta wanted some answers.
   'Would someone please tell me what's going on?' she asked gingerly.
   'You'll figure it out soon enough,' Paul replied.
   'And what happens if I don't want to play this game any more?' she pressed.
   Jack chuckled. 'Now I have a question,' he said testily. 'When the hell are you going to understand that you're nothing more than our slave? You don't seem to ever learn that your opinions and wants are fast becoming of little consequence.'
   'She keeps trading hands,' Paul continued in the same vein. 'But no, she never gets it that she doesn't find a good trainer because she's a bad slave. And she's a bad slave because she hasn't accepted that she no longer has her own will. She must see it as constant manipulation or we're fooling her or something. She doesn't seem to notice the design. Genetta has to learn that her only value lies in how well she serves our requirements – and that's it.'
   'A bad slave,' Jack said in a tone of agreement. Then both men were quiet and Genetta was left to sit and contemplate their brutal words.
   Being called a bad slave did not sit well with her. 'Does a bad slave enjoy her subservience?' she challenged meekly. 'Well, I can do that. I really loved being submissive to the two of you back there, so surely I must be a good slave.'
   'No, Genny, you're rather missing the point once again,' Paul said arrogantly. 'A good slave doesn't necessarily like or enjoy her status.'
   'A good slave has no opinion at all about her status,' Jack continued. 'It's not something that gives her constant enjoyment and pleasure. She does not always have things to suit her. A good slave's submission goes beyond the separate sexual incidents that fill her nights. A proper, well-behaved submissive's entire life is spent in an attitude of quiet, unperturbed waiting for a chance to be of service.'
   Genetta thought for a few moments, alone as she was behind the darkness of the blindfold. The cab made its way through London's streets and she sensed briefly that the driver did not seem to hurry through the traffic. The way forward was smooth and steady.
   'Will I have an opportunity to serve you some more?' she asked in a quiet, respectful voice.
   'You will serve us by quite simply doing as you are told,' Jack told her. 'It's as easy as that, Genetta. You need not struggle with your subservience or the way you've been treated or over what the future holds. All you have to concern yourself with from now on is listening and performing the tasks given to you. You must stop having opinions about your position and place. Do you understand?'
   She nodded in response, but her heart was not so positive about it. If she understood what Jack was saying, she did not like his idea of silent submission at all.
   The threesome continued their London journey in a seemingly companionable quiet. There was no sense of anticipation that Genetta could feel emanating from the men on either side of her. The emotional atmosphere in the cab was sombre, as if there were a serious task that needed seeing to.
   The car pulled over to the kerb and Jack opened the door. Genetta extended her hand, he took it, and she stepped carefully to the pavement. Behind her, she heard Paul talking to the driver in a low but hurried tone.
   'Something new, Genny,' Jack said as he took her elbow and walked her briskly along. 'A chance to show me that you comprehend the placid, giving attitude I want you to adopt.'
   'Where's Paul?' she asked.
   'Paul's gone back to his little lady; we doubt very much that she'd have approved of our little game this evening.'
   They stopped suddenly. 'Revolving door,' Jack said, letting go of her arm. 'Step into it, and keep walking until I catch you on the other side. Now—' he gave her a push and Genetta caught her stride as the spinning door gave her another shove from behind.
   'Right, now this way,' Jack said in her ear, once they were both clear of the door. His softened American accent still had that note of competent command that had attracted her to him in the first place.
   In the first place…
   Had everything always been interrelated? Had every step of her life led her inexorably toward this moment? Jack, Marie, Tracey and Paul – had everyone always been involved in leading her to servitude?
   If there were such a thing as fate, Genetta pondered, then maybe this was hers. Maybe she was beginning to see what Jack and Paul meant. Maybe there was no agreeing or disagreeing with her slavery. Perhaps she could not go to the club and pursue a master, nor could she avoid being taken by one. She was a submissive and that was her only role.
   Jack stopped and she heard a door open in front of her. Without stepping into the room, she could hear the rapid click-clack sound of a film projector's turning reels, and when Jack took her hand and pulled her through the doorway, Genetta was nearly overcome by heart-quickening apprehension.
   'I don't want to,' she whispered, as the close, cigar-laden atmosphere hit her. 'There's something… no Jack, please, let's leave.'
   'Remember what we explained to you on our way over here,' he responded, closing the door behind them.
   'No, there's something…' she repeated, 'something not right.'
   'It's just a few of my closest acquaintances, my dear,' he explained, whispering slightly, not wanting to disturb the others in the room. 'This is a private club and cinema we own, and where we come to get away from the stresses of the outside world. We relax over a drink and a cigar, chat about business, and watch films.
   'This film, for example,' he went on, 'is about a delicious new submissive who allows men to use her for their pleasure. She asks no questions, makes no fuss. She just lies on a sofa, looking very pretty in her black hood, and lets the punters enjoy her.'
   Genetta's throat was so dry and tight she could barely manage a whisper. 'Where was it shot?' she asked – but she already knew where.
   'Oh, some place familiar to you,' he said, confirming her worst fears. 'Familiar to you now, that is. It wasn't then.'
   Genetta's chest tightened and she felt dizzy. She could not breathe or move. 'My – my address book, Jack,' she said weakly, pieces beginning to drop into place. 'What did you do with it?'
   'It's in safekeeping, Gen, you're not to worry,' he said warmly, but she did worry. 'It's with a few copies of this film.'
   'What do you mean to do with all of it?'
   'I mean to retain it for safekeeping, as I said. But do not worry; I doubt if even your family or friends could recognise you in the condition you were that night.'
   'Stop it,' she said.
   'But you haven't done anything to stop yet,' he said in such a smarmy tone that Genetta knew he was enjoying himself immensely. She did not need to see his face to know that.
   'Was it all planned?' she asked, because she had to know. 'From the beginning?'
   'Yours is not to reason why,' Jack answered, and they began moving again. 'Or to reason how. Yours is just to perform well for my friends.'
   When her knee nudged something hard, she stopped. Jack seemed to be off to the side. He took her shoulders and turned her. Then he pushed gently against the middle of her back and Genetta took a step sideways.
   As the backs of her legs brushed against something Genetta felt sick again, but even more nauseous than she'd felt when Jack had let on that he could send a copy of her shameful performance to her family and friends. All of them, all of the people whom she'd trusted or liked or been attracted to or friends with – they had all used her and apparently sold the evidence of her vulnerability for distribution. She was nothing to these people – but they had been something to her.
   A pair of hands grabbed her shoulders and pushed her further to the side. Then another pair of hands grabbed her hips and pulled her down.
   Genetta really did not want to sit on anyone's lap, but if that was Jack pushing her down – and it was, she could sense it – then she had to do his bidding. She had to be the good slave; she had to be the grateful stolen servant.
   The seated man moved his knees and they bumped against the backs of her thighs. His hands left her hips and he tugged up the back of her leather coat, lifted the skirt of her dress, and peeled her panties down to her knees, where they hovered for a second, and then shimmied smoothly down to her ankles. When she felt the warm air against her bottom, she allowed Jack's hands to lower her to the stranger's lap, knowing it was expected of her.
   With the man's hands clasping her hips again, he quickly manoeuvred her as he wanted. Genetta lifted a hand to her shoulder, to where Jack's lay, and warmth comforted her as she felt him squeeze her fingers; he was there for her. He would witness this, and know that she was doing it all for him – he would know that she was trying to be the good slave, for him.
   The sitting man's cock pressed upwards. His movements felt urgent, barely controlled. Genetta compliantly allowed him to position her, and then with a sudden and aggressive thrust of his hips he impaled her.
   Her weight was on his lap and his vertical column of flesh was buried high up inside her, making her inhale deeply and then hold her breath, while he grunted as she instinctively slid up and down on him.
   Getting it from behind like this reminded her of how Jack had bound, gagged and used her that first night. Was that his intention? Did he want her to remember that night and to feel his mastery over her even now, as another man's cock filled her sex?
   Jack's hand was still with hers. Genetta bobbed up and down, a good slave, using her velvety pussy to milk the hard cock inside her.
   Perspiration meandered between her breasts and down her back, and she heard more men stirring and murmuring.
   The sight of her, blindfolded, leather coat gaping to show off her cleavage, squirming up and down on the man sitting beneath her – all captured in the silvery, fragmenting glow from the screen must have been extremely erotic. Genetta wished someone would speak, would compliment her directly on appearance or performance… but she pushed that thought aside.
   She was serving Jack. Letting these men fuck her was a service to her master.
   The man beneath her came. She felt his thighs tense, his hands clamp her waist even tighter, and heard him inhale sharply.
   He pushed her up and away as soon as she was finished. Genetta took an unsteady few steps, losing her panties as she did, and then another man pulled her down. 'My turn to fuck you now,' a low, threatening voice whispered...

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