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Bondage
Stories, Male Domination Return
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Call Me
Master" by Lindsay Ross, M/f D/s, bondage, whipping and humiliation
Copyrighted © 2007 by
Lindsay Ross, all rights reserved. “Take a good look at your new home,” said a male voice. When I turned and saw the owner of that voice I realised why it had sounded familiar. It was John. I placed my hands over my quim but realised this left my breasts exposed to his gaze. “Please don’t frighten me, John. Your humour is too dark for my liking.” Looking behind him and then searching the room with frantic eyes, I realised Margaret had melted away. John stepped closer to me. It flashed across my mind again that he was a handsome young man but I was in no mood to dwell upon his looks. I saw he was wearing a loose shirt which was open at the front revealing a muscular chest covered in fair hairs, as well as riding breeches and black boots and, most menacingly, he held a whip in his hand. I am not usually attracted to fair-haired men but John was the exception. “I have no time for making jests, slut. We both have work to do.” “Why do you use such a word to me? I have never offended you.” “Look at yourself, trying pathetically to preserve your modesty. Is it ladylike to be stark naked before someone you believe to be a servant?” “But…” I started to protest. “Place your hands on your head and let me see your hairy motte,” he ordered and mindful of the whip he carried I obeyed instantly. “Keep you hands aloft and turn round.” When I did so he remarked that his master had made a good job of caning me. “I understand you snivelled like a baby,” he added. “Please be kind to me, John. I cannot understand why you wish to ill treat me.” “I’ll show you how we mean to treat you. I’ll give you something to cry about.” John went to the wall where he freed chains that lowered a heavy looking wooden beam. He stopped its fall just above my head and, pushing me under it, raised my arms and tied my wrists to rings screwed into the wood. He then raised the beam a little and as I swung there he lifted my legs and parted them wide before looping more hanging ropes round the backs of my knees to hold me in this position. This had the effect of exposing my pudenda in the most humiliating way possible. He hoisted me higher still so that I was suspended at a height convenient for him to whip me; by this time his intentions were only too clear. “What we require from you is dog-like devotion and obedience,” he told me. “From where I’m standing I can see your scut gaping like a whore’s, so don’t try to be the lady with me.” He drew back his fearsome looking whip and when he struck, the lash curled itself round the undersides of my cheeks and my sex itself, the very tenderest places on my body. When I screamed he told me to save my breath because no sound penetrated the house from this subterranean place. I remembered Margaret’s words about pain and pleasure being closely allied but I was simply wondering whether I would pass out if I had to endure many more strokes of John’s whip. Survival was my imperative. The excruciating pain was accompanied by feelings of utter humiliation. As John had boasted, he could gloat over the sight of my most private parts – not only my pussy but my anus was exhibited – and I felt so embarrassed and powerless. I was hung in a position where I could not see the marks of the whip on my own body and I reflected that this was probably a blessing because seeing my wounds would terrify me still more. What was my offence? Why had Margaret betrayed me? Had I been brought to Drydon Hall so that I could be tortured and abused, the role of amanuensis (secretary) being simply a ruse? Did they have some other purpose for me? Questions flooded my mind as I tensed myself to receive another stroke. The pause was occasioned by John peeling off his sweat stained shirt. Although my naked body had felt cold when I first entered the chamber, I too was dripping with sweat and my hair was matted against my brow. Not even Margaret would think I looked beautiful in this state unless she enjoyed seeing girls suffer which now seemed entirely possible. Naked to the waist, John came close again and pushed me, then, leaving my body swinging back and forth, he raised his whip to strike me again. The lash crashed against the back of my thighs and burned like a brand making me yell and beg for mercy. I heard myself pleading with John without a shred of dignity, “Please spare me and I’ll do anything. Use my body for your pleasure. I’ll be your whore…” “Call me master,” he ordered. “Master, I will serve you and worship you if you will just release me from this agony. I beseech you, master.” “You will serve me and worship me whether I spare you or not,” John said. “Don’t attempt to bargain with me. I will decide your fate, minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day. You will be by creature.” “Yes master.” “It is amusing that you offer your body to me. Is that not proof that I was right to call you a whore?” “Yes, master.” “Let me hear it from your lips.” “I am a slut, master. As lewd as any trollop. You are right, sir.” “It is progress to hear you use straightforward language instead of aping the upper classes. I remember the affected way you spoke to me when you thought you could give me orders. Are you John? He mocked me by exaggerating my accent, recalling the first time I had spoken to him.” By this time I felt as though my arms would be pulled from their sockets and my back was in great pain from the way I was hanging. John reached up and pushed his fingers into my gash. “Is this what is on offer?” “Yes, master.” “And what do you call it?” “My pussy, master.” “And other names for it? I am sure you know them.” “My twat, tail, slit, sir.” I knew my face and neck had turned crimson with the embarrassment of saying these words. “And?” “Quim, scut, snatch.” “Perhaps you should stop before you shock me. Where did you learn such words? “I’m not sure, master. Probably from listening to other girls.” “I see, you put the blame on others?” “No, master. I didn’t mean that,” “So I was right. You are not, and never have been, a lady or anything close to being a lady?” “No, master.” “Then why did you try to act the part?” “Because it is expected of a professional person, master. When I was employed by Mr. Povey I felt I had to present myself as a person of refined manners.” To my surprise, John burst out laughing at this last remark. “If only you knew the truth of the matter. My master has not employed you for your refined manners. You will see the irony of your words in due course. In the meantime, you can continue to talk to me like the filthy-minded fishwife you are, do you understand me? I want no airs and graces or I will know you are trying to make yourself sound superior to your master.” “I understand, sir.” With huge relief I saw him take hold of the chain and lower me so he could untie my ankles and then my wrists. When I tried to stand I staggered but managed to regain my balance to avoid falling over. I had prepared my mind as well as I could for what I expected to follow, namely that he would roger me, but instead he made me get on my hands and knees on the cold flagstones and squeeze into the iron cage I had likened to those used to house wild creatures. To be able to fit into the dimensions of the cage I needed to crouch down like an animal. I saw there was a bowl of water inside the cage and nothing more. “You will have visitors tomorrow as it’s Christmas Day,” John said and pulled on his shirt again. “Sleep well.” I had completely forgotten it was Christmas Eve. The thought that I was spending Christmas in such circumstances made me feel unutterably sad and tears ran down my face.
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