“Is that right, Jaime?” Master Julian said as Hans knelt before him and quickly stripped off the used condom, dropping it into a small plastic bag he had at the ready.
Humiliated, Jaime could only nod, the drool hanging from her chin, sweat stinging the angry red welts on her breasts. Her arms ached and she longed to hide her face from Master Julian’s stern, probing gaze. She waited miserably for his rebuke.
Instead, to her astonishment, he began to laugh. “You really are an incorrigible little slut girl, aren’t you? I have to admit, your sexual responsiveness is really quite appealing. I don’t generally like working with girls, but I might just volunteer for your orgasm control training. I do love a challenge.”
Still chuckling, he reached around her head and unbuckled the ball gag, which he pulled gently from her aching jaws. She longed to wipe away the spit on her chin and chest, but was grateful at least for the removal of the gag. She flexed her fingers over the cuffs, drawing Master Julian’s gaze upward. “You want to be released, don’t you?”
“Yes, please, Sir,” Jaime replied timidly, still not sure how much trouble she was in.
Master Julian shook his head. “Not yet, dear girl. Or rather, we’re going to let you off the stool, but before we untie your wrists, you’re going to practice your oral skills, such as they are, on slave Hans. It’s his lucky day. You’re going to get the chance to make him come for the second time today. You will do it without the use of your hands, and you will do it in under five minutes.” He shifted his gaze to Hans, who was standing nearby, his cock at half-mast. “Lower the ropes so we can get her into position.”
“Yes, Master Julian.” Hans reached up to one of the branches where the rope was secured and worked at the looped knots. The tension on the rope holding up Jaime’s right arm slackened, and her arm dropped down suddenly, nearly causing her to fall off the stool. Master Julian, however, reached out a steadying hand and firmly clasped her shoulder to keep her in place while Hans readjusted the second rope.
Master Julian stepped back as Hans moved behind Jaime and wrapped one strong arm around her waist. The stool was pulled from beneath her and she was lowered to the blanket, still on her knees. He reappeared in front of her.
No doubt the idea of being sucked off by a girl for the second time that day was less than exciting to him, but hey, Jaime told herself, it’s better than nothing, surely? And if his Master wanted it, Hans should want it too, as should she. She was here to serve, obey and please this man to whom she’d promised her complete and unconditional obedience for the next two weeks, whether he was gay or straight or pansexual. This wasn’t about her titillation, or Hans’ for that matter. They were both there for Master Julian.
He had settled back once more against the tree, his jeans pulled on but not yet zipped, his broad, muscular chest bare. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and touched its screen. “Okay, I’m setting the timer for five minutes. Ready, set, go!”
Startled, Jaime strained forward, opening her mouth and sticking out her tongue. She silently cursed the fact she couldn’t use her hands. Thankfully, Hans moved closer, allowing her to take his cock into her mouth. He smelled of sweat and musk, his cock salty against her tongue.
She sucked at the shaft, willing it to elongate, relieved when it began to inflate in her mouth. She moved her head back and forth as best as she could in her bound position, running her tongue along the smooth, silky skin and using her lips to create what she hoped was a pleasing suction. She put everything she had into it, and though Hans’ cock had hardened to full erection, he stood stoic and still. She thought about earlier that morning on the ride to The Enclave. He had basically fucked her face then, using her mouth to masturbate.
Do it again, she silently begged, keenly aware of the passage of time. Please, Hans, just fuck my face like before. He didn’t say you couldn’t help out. Her stomach sank as she realized that Master Julian hadn’t given Hans any sort of directive. She glanced up at the slave. He was staring into the middle distance, a bored look on his face, his hands clasped behind his back.
Shit!
She redoubled her efforts, bringing all her skills to bear, tickling, teasing, kissing and sucking for all she was worth. If only she could use her damn hands! Finally Hans moaned softly, his cock pulsing against her tongue. Hope leaped to life in Jaime’s chest, and she took his shaft as far back in her throat as she could, milking its length with her lips and tongue.
She became aware of a chiming sound. It took a few seconds to process what she was hearing. Master Julian confirmed it by saying, “Time’s up. Looks like slave Jaime needs a lot of work in a whole lot of areas. Ah well, if she came to us perfectly formed, where would the fun be in that?”
Hans stepped back, his erect cock falling from Jaime’s mouth as he moved. Jaime, defeated, let her head hang down. “We need to be getting back,” Master Julian continued cheerfully. “Hans, untie the girl and put away the things.”
Hans released the wrist cuffs and Jaime’s arms fell heavily to her sides. His cock flaccid once more, he pulled her to her feet and made quick work of the conductive rope, expertly undoing the knots and winding the rope back into a neat coil. She rubbed her arms, which tingled back to life as the blood rushed through her muscles.
Master Julian handed her a bottle of water, from which Jaime gratefully drank. “Get your boots back on,” he said, “and we’ll head back.”
Jaime sat on the blanket near her socks and boots. The welts on her breasts were stinging, her bottom was a little sore from the anal sex, and she was exhausted. Worst of all, she had no idea what was going to happen to her now. The anticipation was almost worse than the inevitable punishment to come.
She winced slightly as she drew the double pair of socks as carefully as she could over her right foot. “What’s the matter?” Master Julian asked.
“Oh,” she replied, momentarily confused, wondering how he could have gotten inside her head like that. Then she realized he was looking at her feet. “Blisters,” she explained. “My boots are too big.”
“What size are you?”
“Size eight, Sir.”
“What size are the boots?”
“Size nine.”
Master Julian lifted his eyebrows. “Why are you wearing the wrong size boots?”
“Danielle said that’s all there was, Sir.”
“I just stocked those shelves myself yesterday,” Master Julian said, rubbing his chin, a quizzical look on his face. “I’m certain there was a woman’s size eight there. How strange.” He shrugged. “Ah well, can’t be helped now. Just be careful. When we get back to the house, we’ll have Dr. Aubrey take a look. She should be home by now.”
Jaime remained mute, though inside she was seething, her suspicions now confirmed. For whatever reason, Danielle seemed to have it out for her. She realized she would need to be on high alert around the beautiful blonde. She would be damned if a woman with the apparent maturity and viciousness of an eighth grade girl was going to get the best of her.
She was distracted from her musings by Master Julian’s pronouncement. “And then, if there’s time before supper, Master Lawrence can administer your punishments. Let’s tally up the transgressions as we hike back, shall we?”
Chapter 7
Jaime shivered under the spray, soaping up and rinsing off as fast as she could, careful when washing her still-tender breasts. The shower stall was little more than a curtained-off corner of the laundry room with only one spigot—cold. While the other slaves from the hike had gone down to their quarters for a shower and rest, she had been relegated there to clean up, informed slaves awaiting punishment were not permitted to use hot water.
She dried herself quickly and hung the towel over the shower curtain rod. She wished she had a blow dryer, hairbrush and some makeup. She reached for her collar, which she buckled back into place. She thought about the beautiful, obviously hand-crafted collars the staff slaves wore and wondered as she stroked the soft lea
ther of her simple black band if she, too, would one day wear something as beautiful.
As she was running her fingers through her hair, Mistress Aubrey appeared in the doorway dressed in a blue blazer, white blouse and paisley skirt, sensible pumps on her feet, every bit the professional returning from a day’s work. “Hello, Jaime. I just got in, and I understand your feet need a little attention.” As she spoke, her eyes moved over Jaime’s bare body, settling on her breasts, where the welts from the caning were still visible.
She moved closer until she stood directly in front of Jaime and ran a finger over one of the welts. “Nice,” she pronounced. “Earning your stripes, I see.” She smiled, a dimple appearing in her right cheek. Jaime smiled uncertainly back. “Come sit over here. I have my bag with me.” Mistress Aubrey gestured toward a wide, low stool set against the wall near the shower stall. She was carrying a burgundy leather case, a sleeker, more updated version of a traditional doctor’s kit.
Jaime tried not to limp as she walked, the blister on her left heel tight and inflamed. She perched on the stool, and Mistress Aubrey crouched in front of her. Placing the case on the ground, the doctor unsnapped the closures on the top and opened it. Turning her attention back to Jaime, she lifted Jaime’s right foot in her cool, slender fingers and examined it.
“Not too bad,” she said, lightly touching the tender sac of liquid just above the heel. “The skin’s not broken and it doesn’t look too irritated. I think we’ll just cover this one with a little ointment and an adhesive bandage. The skin will provide a natural barrier to bacteria.” She reached into the bag and retrieved a large bandage in a paper wrapper, dabbed a little ointment over the blister, tore off the bandage wrapper and gently applied it over Jaime’s heel.
She picked up Jaime’s left foot, her brow furrowing. “Oh, now this one, it hurts, doesn’t it?” She touched the puffy, throbbing blob with her fingertip and Jaime winced with pain.
“Yes, Mistress,” she breathed.
“We’ll just take care of this one real quick.” Mistress Aubrey rose to her feet. She moved toward the sink beside the washing machine and washed her hands with soap and water. She dried them on a towel and returned to crouch once more in front of Jaime.
Reaching into the bag, she pulled out a pair of disposable gloves and snapped them expertly into place. “I’ll just swab the blister with a little iodine first,” she said, removing a small plastic bottle and a cotton ball from her bag. She lightly touched the blister with the cool, wet cotton and set it aside. Next she took a small plastic pouch from the bag and carefully tore it open. Inside was a long, thin needle. Jaime turned her head and closed her eyes.
Mistress Aubrey laughed. “Oh, come on now, you aren’t scared of needles, are you?”
“Um, a little, Mistress,” Jaime admitted. A lot, she thought.
“Oh dear, that’s going to be a problem for Master Mason.” She chuckled. “Or rather, the problem will be yours when you go for training with him. Needles are his specialty, and no Enclave slave escapes unscathed.”
As she spoke, Mistress Aubrey slipped the tip of the needle just under the edge of the blister. Jaime steeled herself for the pain, but was surprised when she barely felt the prick. Turning back to see, Jaime watched as the clear liquid drained from the blister, the skin over it deflating. Mistress Aubrey used a square of gauze to wipe away the seepage.
“There,” she said with a bright smile. “All done. See, that wasn’t so bad. We’ll just cover this with some antibiotic ointment and a nonstick gauze bandage, and you’ll be right as rain in a day or so.” Mistress Aubrey stood and patted Jaime’s head. “I’ll give some bandages and ointment to Lucia—she can change the dressing in the morning.”
“Thank you, Mistress Aubrey.”
“You’re welcome. Now, I understand you’re due for a punishment.” Mistress Aubrey’s words sent the momentary sense of well-being Jaime had experienced at the doctor’s capable hands skittering away like a mouse streaking for its hole.
“Yes, Mistress,” she admitted, looking down. Master Julian had made her list her transgressions as they hiked back to the house—speaking out of turn, coming without permission, and failing to make Hans orgasm within the prescribed time limit.
“We’ll save that for after dinner.” The sound of the clock chiming in the foyer made Mistress Aubrey glance at her watch. “Let’s see. It’s five thirty. Free time for non-kitchen staff is from five to six so you still have about thirty minutes to relax. Maybe you’d like to sit on the veranda and watch the sunset? That door there leads outside. You’ll see the veranda on your right.” She pointed toward a door at the back of the room. “Or you could go take a rest in your room in the slave quarters. It’s entirely up to you. At six you are to report to the kitchen to help with any last minute prep work.” She bent down and retrieved her doctor’s kit. “See you at dinner.” She swept out of the room.
Jaime stood and took a few tentative steps. The doctor had worked a miracle—Jaime no longer limped and, while the blisters were still tender, it wasn’t anything she couldn’t easily tolerate.
She fingered one of the O rings on her collar. She thought about going to lie down in the room that would be hers for the next two weeks, deciding instead to get some fresh air. Going out the door that led outside, she stepped onto the wide stone path and walked between rows of leafy vegetables and herbs that had been enclosed in chicken wire, no doubt in an effort to keep deer and rabbits from sneaking a midnight snack.
The veranda was paved in the same smooth stone as the path and swept spotlessly clean. No one was outside, and Jaime welcomed the chance for a little solitude before her next adventure. There were several tables made of wicker and topped with glass, each with chairs placed around it and shaded by a wide canvas umbrella. Black metal and mesh portable fire pits were placed strategically near each table.
There was a separate area to the side of the veranda, topped with a trellis of bare wooden beams. Chains hung at intervals from the beams, and the stone flooring had been covered with what appeared to be padded tatami mats. The space must have been set up for outdoor BDSM play, and Jaime wondered when she would get a chance for an experience there. She knew she should be careful what she wished for, and a shiver of edgy anticipation moved through her.
She sat gingerly on one of the chairs, her ass still tender from the caning that morning. There was a cool breeze, and soon it would be too chilly to remain outside naked. For the moment, however, it was perfect. The air had a lovely, blue tinge to it as twilight settled over the mountainside. Jaime leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes, drawing in a deep breath and letting it out in a long sigh.
“You look very relaxed.”
Startled, Jaime jerked upright, her eyes flying open. She started to stand, not sure of the proper protocol. “Oh! Sir. I didn’t realize there was anyone—“
“Calm down. It’s fine. Don’t get up. This is free time.” Master Mark sat down beside her at the small table. He smiled at her, and again she was assailed with a sense of recognition.
Without thinking, she blurted, “Do I know you from somewhere? I’m sorry, but you just seem so familiar.”
He regarded her silently a moment, as if weighing something in his mind, and then said, “No. I don’t think so. I would remember if I’d met you.” Something in the way he said it made Jaime warm inside. She had spoken without first asking permission, but he hadn’t seemed to notice or mind.
Still, she needed to be more careful. She was exhausted, not only physically but mentally, and this was only the first day. She had already been punished once today, and the dreaded anticipation of more punishment after dinner was suddenly more than she could bear. How could she possibly get through two weeks of this?
“Hey,” Master Mark said softly. “What’s going on right now? Your whole demeanor just changed. Are you okay?”
His kind concern tore the flimsy vestige of control she was clinging to into shreds, and tears sprang to her eyes.
One rolled down her cheek and she wiped it away. She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms protectively around herself, trying desperately to keep it together. Her entire body was rigid with the effort, and she began to tremble.
“I know it’s hard, Jaime.” His voice was soothing. She felt his hand on her arm. His fingers moved in gentle circles over her skin. “This training process is not easy, and a lot has been thrown at you. Expectations are very high here at The Enclave. For what it’s worth, I think you’re doing exceptionally well.”
The tears rolled faster and she silently cursed herself, but his soft touch, his gentle voice and his encouragement opened the floodgates on her self-control, and, to her horror, Jaime began to cry.
Through her tears, she looked over at him with a pleading expression. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m not really crying. I mean, I don’t know why I’m crying. It’s just— I just—”
“Hush now, shh.” Mark stood and reached for Jaime, pulling her up into his arms. “It’s okay. It’s okay to cry. It’s a good release.”
He stroked her back while she sobbed into his chest, her tears wetting his shirt. “I’m sorry—” she began again, and again he shushed her.
“Stop it, slave Jaime. Stop trying to control the process. Don’t try to hold anything back. Let it go.”
His tone had become more commanding, as had his words, and the effect was centering. Though she continued to cry, the desperation had gone from her sobs. She relaxed against his strong body and just let herself feel what she was feeling. After a few minutes, the tears stopped. Still he held her. They stayed that way, slowly rocking, for a long time, and a deep sense of peace settled over Jaime. She could have remained there forever.
The sudden commotion of footsteps on the stone made them both look up, and Master Mark’s arms fell away from her. He stepped back as they both turned toward the sound.
Master Brandon and Mistress Marjorie appeared, each with a wineglass in hand. “Oh, we didn’t realize anyone was out here,” Master Brandon said.