Perfect Slave Abroad

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Perfect Slave Abroad
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ISBN:  9781901388473
Author:  Becky Bell
Pages:  223
Binding:  Paperback

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Perfect SlavePerfect Slave

Marie-Claire rose gracefully. She always wore the same expensive perfume, a musky aroma that was wafted on the air by the movement of her peignoir. She moved behind Andrea and cupped the splendid curves of her buttocks, caressing them softly. Andrea gasped. Yesterday she had been caned twice, morning and evening. As far as she was concerned the cane was a hundred times worse than any whip and it left far worse marks; weals that actually puckered her skin. As Marie-Claire's hand deliberately stroked against them they tingled. The sensation was not altogether unpleasant.

Andrea agrees to enter The System. She is chosen by Isabella Sanchez, and at a castle in Spain she soon learns everything there is to know about lesbian sex.

But the arrival of Isabella's nephew, Pedro, causes problems. He becomes infatuated with Andrea and kidnaps her. At his house he proves that mastery and domination are family traits.

Andrea escapes, but is accused of arranging her own disappearance from The System and risks being expelled. Can she set a trap for Pedro and prove that she remains the perfect slave?
The room beyond was decorated to resemble a fin-de-siècle boudoir, no doubt a replica of the sort of rooms Marie-Claire Vuittenez had inhabited in her youth. It had a large elaborately carved four-poster bed, an equally ornate sofa upholstered in rich damask red, and a huge gilt mirror that took up most of one wall. Marie-Claire herself was sitting in a low Louis XV gilt-wood marquise armchair with her feet up on a matching footstool. There was a small table beside her, standing upon which was a silver wine cooler containing a bottle of champagne bathed in ice. She held a tall crystal champagne flute in heavily jewelled fingers.
   'Good evening, my dear,' she said.
   'Good evening, madam,' Andrea responded at once. She caught a glimpse of herself in the big mirror. Her long blonde hair had been brushed out over her bare shoulders, the incredibly tight corset forcing her figure into an hourglass shape, the voluptuous camber of her breasts spilling out at the top matched by the flaring curves of her hips. The high heels made her long legs seem even longer, their contours firmed by the muscles it was necessary to flex to keep her legs in that position.
   'Tell Simone we're ready, would you, Sophia?'
   'Certainly madam,' Sophia said, turning on her heels and closing the door behind her.
   'Come closer, child,' Marie-Claire said, beckoning elegantly with her free hand.
   Andrea moved closer. She felt her pulse beginning to pound. Being in Marie-Claire's presence inspired a peculiar set of emotions. In the time she had been in training the woman had caused her great pain; but it was always a pain that had been swiftly followed by almost unbelievable sexual pleasure. She had come to associate the one with the other. So while Andrea feared her mistress she could not rid herself of an overwhelming sexual anticipation too.
   Marie-Claire had the lightest blonde hair she had ever seen, so fair it seemed to radiate light. She was fairly short and slender, and always wore very heavy make-up. Though Andrea had no idea how old she was, she sensed her shapely body belied her age. This evening she was wearing a lush black chiffon peignoir edged with red lace, under which Andrea could see a black satin teddy.
   'I have news for you,' she said, moving her hand to stroke Andrea's leg just above the knee. 'I have reported to your master that your training is almost complete. He has made arrangements for you to be sent back to London.'
   Andrea felt her heart leap. The thought of seeing Charles again gave her an instant jolt of arousal. 'Thank you, madam,' she said.
   Marie-Claire rose gracefully. She always wore the same expensive perfume, a musky aroma that was wafted on the air by the movement of her peignoir. She moved behind Andrea and cupped the splendid curves of her buttocks, caressing them softly. Andrea gasped. Yesterday she had been caned twice, morning and evening. As far as she was concerned the cane was a hundred times worse than any whip and it left far worse marks; weals that actually puckered her skin. As Marie-Claire's hand deliberately stroked against them they tingled. The sensation was not altogether unpleasant.
   'So sensitive,' Marie-Claire whispered. She moved her hands up the front of the basque. 'I used to wear a corset just like this,' she said, her hands moulding into Andrea's waist. 'Without the clips, of course.' Her hands reached Andrea's breasts and squeezed them back against her chest so her nipples and the clips that bit into them were crushed. 'They were my idea. Do they hurt?'
   'Yes, madam.'
   'But that is not all they do, is it, my sweet?'
   'No madam.'
   'Tell me.'
   'They make me...' It was hard to describe. The serrated jaws cut deeply into the tender flesh. After a while the nerves became numb but if they were provoked again, as Marie-Claire was doing now, they seemed to react with double the pain. It was not only pain, however. It was not as simple as that. There was a mechanism in Andrea's body that could translate pain into something quite different; a pleasure that was entirely rooted in her sexual being, as deep and profound as anything she had felt before. It was a mechanism that had been well exercised during her time at the chateau.
   'Hot?' Marie-Claire suggested.
   'Yes, madam.' It was exactly the right word. The pain and the pleasure it created heated her blood. She felt her vagina clench, the sticky sap of her body running down the tight silky tube.
   'That is because you are a masochist. I, on the other hand, derive sexual pleasure from delivering pain, as I'm sure you have come to realise.' She smiled. She had thin lips that gave her smile a menacing quality. 'We have both been fortunate to find out from which side of the cup we like to drink.' She moved around in front of Andrea again, examining her body critically. 'I have spent an inordinate amount of time torturing and tormenting both men and women.' A little smile flickered over her lips.
   There was a gentle knock on the door.
   'Entree.'
   The door opened and a man walked in. He was naked apart from a bizarre pair of black leather briefs. The front of the briefs was split and a series of eyelets had been inserted on either side of the opening. His genitals had been forced through the opening, which was then laced up tightly with leather thongs threaded through the eyelets. His cock stuck out from this arrangement, erect and glistening as if it had been oiled, every vein standing out prominently. The man's hands were held behind his back in metal handcuffs and a chain ran down from them to another set of metal cuffs that manacled his ankles together, making it impossible for him to take more than shuffling steps.
   Andrea had come a long way in the short period since she'd first met Charles Darrington Hawksworth. There was a time when the sight of a man bound and so obscenely displayed would have shocked her to the core. Now it was simply commonplace. The man was a complete stranger but in a few moments, she knew, she would be asked to perform the most intimate sexual acts with him and would do so willingly. Though everything she did in the chateau was at the command of Marie-Claire, in reality she was only acting as an agent for Charles, her master. Everything Andrea did she did for him. She was his slave.
   It had been hard to come to terms with that at first because she'd been so totally unaware of her needs. For some reason she did not properly understand Charles Hawksworth had known her better than she'd known herself. He had reached deep into her psyche and revealed emotions and desires that affected her in a way nothing else ever had. She discovered what she was capable of, and had come to realise that submission and bondage and absolute obedience gave her a satisfaction so deep-rooted and profound that she found it hard to believe she could have lived so long without it. She had come to see that what Charles offered her, the chance to be his slave, was an opportunity she could not turn her back on.
   But being his slave, devoted and obedient to him, was very different from acknowledging that her obedience must include serving whomever he saw fit to give her to. The hardest thing had been to accept that not only was it necessary for her to obey his friends and his guests as obediently as she would obey Charles himself, but that he was prepared to send her away from him altogether. In fact, when he had taken her to the chateau she nearly refused to let him leave her there. Nearly, but not quite. She realised that if she were truly his slave she must obey without question whatever he ordered her to do however much she might dislike it. Her wishes were no longer important.
   That had been a turning point, she knew. Agreeing to stay at the chateau meant she would be away from him for the first time. What's more, at the end of her period of training she would have to agree to be assigned to a new master for a period of six months before being returned to Charles. If she refused to agree to these conditions she would be sent home at once and would never have been allowed to see Charles again, under any circumstances. It was that prospect, the idea that she would not only be cut off from her master, but from the complex and arcane world that surrounded him, that had finally convinced her to stay. It was an irrevocable step as far as she was concerned, but despite the punishments and the pain she had received at Marie-Claire's hands over the last two months, she did not regret it. She had faced the truth. She was a slave. She needed to be a slave and she wanted to be a slave. It was as simple as that. Everything she did, everything she was asked to do, she did because she could see Charles Darrington Hawksworth's deep steel-blue eyes watching her.
   'Bring him over here, Simone,' Marie-Claire said.
   A tall olive-skinned woman with dark brown eyes had walked into the room behind the man. She had dark brown hair that looked as if it had been cropped and was only just starting to grow back, and was wearing a pair of skin-tight hot pants, made from a material that looked like liquid silver, and a pair of black ankle strap high heels. A bra-shaped network of thin black leather straps, which pinched the firm round flesh slightly but did not cover it, surrounded her breasts.
   Simone took hold of the large ring in the front of a thick collar that was buckled around the man's neck, and pulled him forward, the chain around his ankles rattling. As he shuffled past her, Andrea saw the leather briefs had another rather unusual feature. At the back, instead of covering his buttocks, the gusset divided into three thin strips between his legs, one following the cleft of his arse while the other two wrapped around the outside of each buttock before rejoining the waistband, leaving his bottom completely exposed. The white and muscular flesh was marked, each buttock bearing a scarlet cross of weals, as neat as if they had been drawn on with a red pencil.
   'Kneel,' Marie Claire said.
   The man thumped to his knees in front of her immediately.
   'I see Simone has been entertaining you.' Marie-Claire raised her left foot. She was wearing open-toed red satin high-heeled slippers. She touched her toes against his rampant cock.
   'Yes, madam,' he said. He did not look up at her, his eyes firmly rooted to the floor.
   'What is this on your cock, Patrick? This wetness?'
   'Her juices, madam.'
   'Really? Andrea, get down here. Clean this mess up.'
   Andrea knew better than to hesitate. Orders had to be obeyed immediately. Her training had instilled that into her.
   With her arms bound so tightly behind her back it was difficult to get to her knees softly and, like the man, she slumped to the floor. Quickly she bent right forward until her face was resting against his knees. Pushing herself up his legs she reached his cock and began to lick it. She tasted the unmistakable sweetness of a female's spending as she lapped at his hard shaft. It was only when she got this close to him that she saw the strange arrangement that surrounded the top of his cock. A circle of extremely thin black rubber tubing looped around underneath the ridge at the bottom of his glans. Stretched across the middle of this and fitting into the natural cleft in his glans and over the opening of his urethra was another strip of the same material. It was so tight it cut into the glans, deeply dividing into two hemispheres and, as she licked right up over it, she could see that this upper tubing was designed to hold another, much thicker piece of rubber tubing in the hole of the urethra itself.
   'My own design,' Marie-Claire said, as if reading Andrea's mind. 'You would be astonished at how effective it is at delaying orgasm. Isn't that so, Patrick?'
   'Oh yes, madam,' he croaked.
   'All the men hate it. Which is an added bonus. Of course, it cannot prevent ejaculation totally, but it certainly spoils their fun.' She smiled cruelly. 'Have you licked him clean?'
   'I think so, madam,' Andrea said. Simone's juices had been replaced by the gleaming wetness of her own saliva.
   'Good. Then we can proceed. Simone.'
   Simone took hold of Andrea's arm and pulled her to her feet, her fingers deliberately pinching into her flesh. Like Sophia, she took evident pleasure in making sure the slaves were not given an easy time. She walked her to the middle of the room, then reached up above her head and pulled down a nylon rope hanging from a pulley attached to a wooden beam that traversed the ceiling. She attached the rope to the central link of the padded leather cuffs around Andrea's wrists. Andrea felt a familiar pulse of sensation deep inside her sex. Since she had first met Charles she had been bound in numerous positions, but the more tightly she was restrained the more her body seemed to respond with overwhelming floods of feeling.
   Simone had taken a long tubular metal bar from an ornate walnut chest of drawers. Andrea knew what it was for. A leather cuff was attached to each end of the metal. Simone knelt at her feet and buckled one of the cuffs around Andrea's left ankle.
   'Spread your legs,' she ordered.
   Andrea obeyed. But she didn't spread them far enough apart to accommodate the length of the bar and the girl slapped the inside of her thigh painfully.
   'Wider,' she chided.
   With Andrea's legs splayed wide she strapped the other cuff in place, making it impossible for Andrea to close them again.
   Was it her imagination or could she feel the lips of her sex, already sticky with the sweet sap of her excitement, parting too? The feeling of being bound and spread like this, completely vulnerable, exposed and helpless, made every nerve in her body hum.
   Marie-Claire walked over to the wall where the other end of the rope was tied off to a brass cleat. She unwound the rope and pulled it through the pulley. As the rope was raised Andrea's wrists were hauled up too, forcing her to bend forward. When her torso was at right angles to her legs and her arms were pulled up behind her almost vertically, Marie-Claire tied the rope off to the cleat again.
   The pain in her arms and shoulders was acute. Andrea groaned, trying to twist into a more comfortable position, but the bondage was too tight to allow anything but the most minuscule of movements. She was intensely aware of her sex, her labia and the mouth of her vagina laid open. She could feel a trickle of juices escaping the silky wet flesh.
   She tried to raise her head but the cramp in her neck made the effort too painful. Marie-Claire walked up behind her. One hand smoothed over the lush curves of Andrea's buttocks, then slid between her legs. Andrea felt the fingers spreading her labia further apart. Two entered her vagina so forcefully that she tried to rear up in protest, though her bondage did not allow her to get far. She could feel Marie-Claire's rings, cold and sharp, against her melting flesh. The French woman drove her fingers forward and twisted them, while a third finger butted against the perfectly circular hole of Andrea's anus. Not a day had passed at the chateau without some special attention being paid to this part of her anatomy. Every single night she had been made to sleep with a large dildo strapped into it. She had been trained to hold items there, each day the objects getting progressively heavier. And Pierre, Marie-Claire's husband, had used her exclusively in the rear, his cock larger than any of the dildos they'd applied. When his phallus swelled as he ejaculated she'd thought it would split her in two. This treatment had left the little orifice sore, and it tingled as Marie-Claire wriggled her fingernail against it.
   'Not so tight now, I think,' she said pensively. She withdrew her fingers from Andrea's vagina and thrust them into her anus. Fortunately the copious juices from Andrea's sex lubricated their passage, but nevertheless she winced at this sudden intrusion. Just as they had in her vagina, the fingers twisted and turned, exploring intimately. And just like her vagina, her anus responded with a whole flood of feeling.
   Suddenly the fingers were withdrawn. 'Over here, Patrick, at once,' Marie-Claire commanded.
   Patrick shuffled over to her on his knees, knowing better than to get to his feet without being ordered to.
   'I want you to use your tongue on her, Patrick. We have been training her all week to make sure she has control of her desires, and I need to test how far she has come.'
   'Yes, madam.'

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