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  Baines crossed his legs, gazing innocently into the dark amber liquid, untouched in his snifter. “Would you like to tell me what happened in the back of the limo?”

  The question caught me off guard, all the more so for its innocuous delivery.

  “No,” I rose to my feet, unable to keep my temper any longer. “I wouldn’t. Now either you let me and Jennifer go, right now, or I will call the police.”

  “Rave, don’t be silly. No crime’s been committed here. Not now, not ever.”

  I turned and saw Jennifer in the doorway, freshly made up, not a hair out of place, affecting that devil-may-care, seductress stance combined with the pouty lips that had been her trademark in school. Lord, but she was a package. She’d even managed to change her clothes, donning a flirty red cocktail dress, short and sparkly.

  I sighed, because her eyes were pleading, and I have never yet been able to say no to her when she gave me that look.

  Baines smiled, sensing my weakness. “If you’ll sit back down,” he invited magnanimously, “all will become clear.”

  Jennifer jiggled dramatically forward on finely pointed heels. “Oh, thank you, Rave,” she hugged. “We’ll have so much fun together, you’ll see.”

  “That will be enough, Jennifer. After your display in the limo earlier, I don’t think the two of you will be seeing very much of each other tonight.”

  Jennifer’s fine complexion went a shade paler.

  Baines made little attempt to conceal his smug satisfaction at having outwitted her. “Didn’t think I knew, did you? Thought you could corrupt Rolf with your charms, eh? You’ve a lot to learn. Come here, girl,” he snapped his fingers, indicating a spot just to the right and slightly in front of him. “Now.”

  Jennifer did as she was told.

  “I am aware, Miss Lancaster,” Baines proceeded, his eerily flashing eyes baring down on me, “of the history of your relationship with Jennifer.”

  I glared at him coldly, giving him nothing to work with. If he was providing me rope to hang myself, he was going to get it tossed back in his face.

  “Jennifer has told me everything, you see. I know how much you enjoyed your little games, and how much it turns you both on being in the power of strong men.”

  I arched an eyebrow. He was one ballsy son of a bitch, I’d give him that much. “You are speaking of secret female things, Mr. Baines, things better left among women.”

  Jennifer lowered her eyes, the intentional sting of my words having hit home.

  “Do not be hard on your friend, Miss Lancaster. Jennifer, as you will soon learn, is not responsible for her own actions.”

  “That’s a crock,” I snorted. “We all answer for what we do, for better or worse.”

  My father answered for his actions with a thirty-year sentence in what used to be known as Alcatraz. The place had put him in an early grave, and there was a better than fifty-fifty chance I’d be joining him there as the only living Lancaster descendant.

  “Jennifer,” said Baines to his fiancée, who was standing straight as a soldier. “Place your hands behind your head, legs apart, chest out. Now tell your friend what you are.”

  “I am your total and complete slave,” she replied, having instantly assumed the demeaning, not to mention suggestive position.

  “And as my total and complete slave, Jennifer, what is your purpose in life?”

  “To serve you and obey you, master.”

  I felt a tight, hot clenching in my belly. Was I really hearing this?

  Baines toyed with the brandy glass, swirling the liquid round the edges. “And did you do that tonight?” he asked with deceptive casualness. “Did you serve me and obey me, Jennifer?”

  Jenn-Jenn stared straight ahead, tears in the corners of her eyes. “No, master,” she whispered at last.

  “I couldn’t hear you, slave.”

  “No,” she repeated more loudly. “Master, I did not obey you.”

  “And what rule did you break, then?”

  The words came out haltingly, reluctantly but carefully chosen. “I…I tried to…have sex…with Raven.”

  Baines was looking at me as if I were the jury and he the prosecuting attorney about to entrap a naïve witness. “Do you love me, Jennifer?”

  The awkwardly posed beauty jumped on the seemingly easier, non-incriminating question. “Oh yes, master. Body and soul, I belong to you, utterly, and I love you with all my heart.”

  “I see.” Baines and I were in a staring contest; one I was determined not to lose. “And do you love Raven as well?”

  She appeared confused. “As a friend, yes.”

  Baines smirked now, though I knew not what victory he’d won. “Take off your dress, Jennifer. Show your friend the body underneath.”

  The beautiful ex-cheerleader trembled slightly as she pulled the sparkling party dress over her head. My nipples stiffened in response to her bare, ring pierced flesh. I tried hard not to squirm. It was as if a fire had been awakened in me—not only a lust for my dear, sexy friend, but also for the bizarre, degrading treatment she was receiving.

  Jennifer let the dress fall at her feet. She stood proudly, her sculpted, perky breasts rising and falling.

  “Whose body is this, Jennifer?”

  “Yours, master.”

  “Tell Raven.”

  She looked at me, defiantly, hotly. “This body belongs to my master. It—I—am his personal property.”

  “Turn around, Jennifer.”

  Jenn-Jenn showed me what I already knew was there. A brand, burned into the skin of her ass, along with welts, from some device, a whip, most likely.

  “What do you deserve for your disobedience, slave? What should be done to you for using this body as though it were your own, for your pleasure and not mine?”

  “I should be punished,” she breathed, her back and buttocks aquiver.

  “You may beg Raven to punish you.”

  “Yes, master,” the blonde went to all fours, preparing to crawl.

  I was on my feet, for the second time. “This is really more than I can stand.”

  “You may go,” Baines nodded. “I understand. But you should know that if you do not agree to administer the slave’s punishment she shall receive double the number of blows, from the hand of Rolf.

  The slave trembled at the mention of the man. “Please, Rave,” she came to me, rubbing her head on my calf. “For me?”

  I squatted down, taking her chin in hand. “Look at me, Jennifer. You don’t have to do this. You’re a free woman!”

  Jennifer’s look of bemusement faded into one of absolute serenity. “No,” she assured me with the conviction of some religious saint about to be martyred. “I’m not.”

  “Ten blows with the cane, Raven, by your hand,” Baines interjected, “or she’ll face twenty from Rolf, followed by a night in the cage.”

  The cage. The words sent a shiver down my spine. My friend, my partner in crime was about to marry a man who thought nothing of taking her every dignity away, to the point of treating her as an animal.

  “Jennifer,” he chided, “is this how you beg?”

  The mention of being caged seemed to affect Jennifer as well. Putting herself to her belly, her hair cascading round my feet, she began to implore more earnestly. “Mistress Raven, I beg once more to be beaten by you, please. Ten strokes of the cane on my branded ass, which belongs to my master.”

  “All right,” I croaked, bowing to the inevitable. “I’ll try.”

  Dream-like I followed her to the desk, her hands in mine, Jennifer walking backwards and tugging me, the strangest look in her eye, like she was going to show me something so wonderful and magical it would make all our other adventures combined pale in comparison.

  The girl moaned audibly as she bent herself over the smoothly polished edge, surrendering her tits to the inevitable squashing. Legs apart, arms in front of her, palm down, she readied herself.

  I stared at the available ass. Marked and straining for the beat
ing I would soon administer.

  “Have you ever caned a female before?”

  I tensed visibly. Baines was directly behind me, over me, his voice in my ear.

  “No,” I replied, trying to keep my tone neutral. “But I’m sure you’ll show me how.”

  “You must begin here, with the meatiest part,” he stepped in, placing his hand freely on Jennifer. “Then work your way up and down. Laying parallel stripes, horizontal. Try not to overlap, except in the middle, here.” Baines he smacked her ass with the flat of his hand. “Up, girl.”

  She pushed her buttocks in the air, a movement for which she was rewarded with a finger, thrust deep into her gaping wet sex hole.

  “Oh, master,” she writhed, surrendering to the unexpected invasion.

  Baines allowed her a few moments of pleasure before returning to the matter at hand: punishment. “You may not climax,” he warned, though he was continuing to manipulate her clitoris.

  “P—please,” she moaned, her head thrashing about on the desk. “Let me come.”

  “Raven,” he ignored, “there is an umbrella stand in the corner. Fetch the cane from it, the fiberglass one.”

  The thing was surprisingly light in my hand. Colored as it was in an almost translucent purple, it might easily be mistaken for some innocuous toy. And yet I knew in the right hands, or should I say the wrong hands, it could be transformed into an instrument of terror in the face of which a woman could be made to beg or grovel or do pretty much anything a man wanted.

  For a fleeting second I wondered if such things were used in Silvio’s club on his women. According to one story I’d heard, a pimp once bragged to Silvio Junior that his girls performed so well because they knew they’d be beaten if they didn’t.

  “You should beat them before,” Silvio corrected. “It makes them hotter; like bitches in heat.”

  I thought now of sweet Marie and how a single strategic, publicly placed swat to her ass had turned her from a snarling cur into a purring lap pet. As punishment for her original outburst, she had been made to swallow the come of strangers in the toilet, all the while knowing he would beat her ass later with his belt. I, too, had felt the hand of Rene, his impudent discipline, not to mention the spurting heat of his ejaculation.

  The cane, for all its lightness, felt like a lead pipe in my hand.

  “I will help you,” Baines swept in behind me like a golf pro, placing one hand on my waist and the other on my knuckles where I clenched the thing for dear life. “It’s really quite simple.”

  In slow motion, he guided me, till the cane tapped upon the soft, easily imprinted cheeks of Jennifer’s ass. Though there was no force whatsoever behind it, she moaned all the same in anticipation, a line of drool extending from her opened, slack mouth onto the desktop.

  Baines stepped back, releasing me. “Your turn.”

  I nearly swooned. “I…I can’t do it.”

  “You will,” he said in a low, ominous voice, “or your friend will be very, very sorry.”

  I closed my eyes, delivering a crooked, ill placed blow that impacted on the back of Jenn-Jenn’s upper thighs.

  “That one doesn’t count,” Baines said. “Anymore such paltry efforts and I will call for Rolf.”

  That was something I couldn’t allow. Steeling myself, gripping the cane in both hands, I let her have it. Jennifer’s yelp indicated I’d done a better job this time.

  “You may count, Jennifer.”

  “One,” said the slave, upon whose flesh a welt, bright red was already raised.

  I’ll admit I was fascinated by the mark, in a dark sort of way, as well as by the power that I had wielded from the nasty device. In an experimental spirit, I hit my friend again, higher up this time.

  Jennifer groaned, her body pressing maddeningly against the mahogany. “Two,” she confirmed.

  The third blow was right on the buttocks, the creamy flesh undulating in waves under the vicious impact.

  “Three,” exclaimed the beaten slave.

  “You enjoy this,” Baines observed of me, “don’t you?”

  The cane whistled cleanly through the air. “Bullshit.”

  “Four,” whimpered naked Jennifer, who was about to marry a man who’d had her branded and ringed and who allowed her to be beaten and fucked like a slave.

  Correction, she was a slave.

  Pity for the girl was replacing itself with anger. “Is this what you want, Jennifer, is it?” I demanded.

  “Five,” she exclaimed through gritted teeth and then, “yes, mistress, this is what I want.”

  “I will be harder on her after we are married,” Baines explained, though I hadn’t asked him, nor did I wish to know such things. “Much harder.”

  “Six,” cried Jennifer in response to the hardest blow yet.

  Baines had moved his hand to Jennifer’s head. “Much of the freedom she now enjoys will be taken from her,” he said softly, stroking the damp, matted gold locks of his bride to be. “At present, what she wears and where she goes is largely up to her. Though I have had her branded, I have not yet stamped my ownership on her body. Soon, her every motion will be controlled and it will be mine to say if she goes at all or if she is even allowed clothes.”

  Jennifer shuddered as if she’d been intimately touched.

  “You can’t want this!” I cried, raising the cane into the air for another swipe.

  “S—seven,” came the reply. “I do! I do!”

  Baines turned her head towards him, giving her his finger to suck. “Don’t you think she’ll look lovely, Raven? This fair haired beauty crawling around my house on all fours, nude and collared, taking her sustenance from metal dishes on the floor, shaking her ass and taking cock to entertain my guests?”

  Eight, nine and ten fell fast and furious in a hail, and few others besides. Jennifer could not respond, as she was sucking her master’s finger. She did so with deep gusto, just as if it was his penis. The shapely buttocks, branded, bruised and beaten continued to twitch even after I’d finished.

  “Very good,” commended Baines with a nod of his head. “You did well. Jennifer thanks you and so do I.”

  I handed him the cane. “As far as I’m concerned, the both of you can go to hell. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to bed.”

  Chapter Three

  I tossed and turned through the night, the sweat from my super heated body soaking the black silk sheets. Strange shadows cast themselves on the ornate wallpaper, the light coming in pale ghostly beams through the edges of the brocaded maroon curtains. Now and then I heard creaks, and I could swear the suit of armor in the corner was watching me with a hard-on. It was like trying to sleep on the set of some cut-rate horror movie, a knock off Gone With The Wind meets Freddie Kruger.

  I’ve never been able to abide clothes in bed. Which made it worse because my nude flesh was tingling and burning, with every touch and press of the deliciously wicked coverings. I wanted to masturbate in the worst way, but I didn’t dare, not now, not under these circumstances. To do so, after the day I’d had and the things I’d seen would be to admit needs and fantasies better left buried.

  At some point, an hour or two before dawn, my conscious mind gave way and I entered the mysterious twilight between dream and reality. Images of men hovered round the stately carved bed—every single one who’d ever fucked me or even turned me on. They were whispering in my ear, all the while stroking themselves. I moaned into my pillow, reliving it all, blow for blow, from my first encounter, a halfway decent episode with a halfback in a hatchback, all the way up to the last time with Rene and a man named Sergio whose account we’d wanted to keep very, very badly.

  Eventually, I dreamed I was with Rene, shopping for clothes. He was forcing me to model lingerie for strangers and when I wouldn’t leave the dressing room, he would smack my pantied ass to push me out the door. Tears stinging my eyes, my buttocks burning with shame, I sought out man after man, asking them if they found me pleasing in the various skimpy ensem
bles.

  “Check the tits,” encouraged the grinning Rene, “how do they feel?”

  More than one took him up on the offer, squeezing and molding my obscenely exposed bosom as all the while women walked past, casting evil glances and calling me a slut and a whore.

  “Is the pussy easy enough to access?” Rene referred to a pair of French cut panties in the presence of an enormous, white bearded man with a barrel chest. “Open, girl,” he growled, yanking back my hair, so I would spread my legs wider.

  I wore high heels, which made me feel even more like a whore.

  “Why, yes,” the man noted, slipping a ham-like hand down under the waistband. “It’s quite easy…and nice.”

  My cheeks reddened; I was wet and the juices were dripping onto his fingers.

  “Lick them off,” said Rene when the man withdrew his glistening fingers.

  One by one, I removed the offensive liquid.

  “Soon you will be doing this all the time,” said Marie, who had joined in with a small crowd that was watching. “For the Galentanos.”

  Jeremy was there, too. “The bitches at Silvio’s club are little more than slaves, you know,” he was busy explaining in his enervating English accent to a pair of gentleman whose pockets he was trying to pick right under their noses. “They eat scraps from the men’s tables and at night they sleep chained on the floor. The only time they’re allowed near a bed is when they’re getting fucked.”

  “Some clamps would look good on these,” remarked a frumpy, middle-aged woman who had pulled my bra cups down to bare my helpless mounds.

  I was trying to call out for Rene, because the people were starting to crowd me, but Marie had gotten his attention in a rather devious way, having slipped to her knees to take his erect cock into her mouth.

  “It’ll be all right,” soothed a new voice, belonging to Jennifer. “Just remember our pledge.”

  The pledge, yes. That was it. The vow of our sisterhood, our tiny group within a group at the sorority house. We will back down from no challenge, it went, no matter how kinky and we will pursue every perversion, till death do us cum.