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The Applicant ll

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The Applicant II by Lizbeth Dusseau

After Liza and her protege, Hilary, fail miserably to find a suitable new applicant to satisfy their master, Oliver, he sells Hilary to the ruthless dominant Nils Grayling. Denied the affection she’s accustomed to, she undergoes the rigorous discipline of a sex slave. Meanwhile, ignoring his wife, Oliver personally trains his new applicant, Shelby, who he procured on his own. Left to herself, the jealous Liza’s schemes abound as she seduces the estate’s caretaker, Jack, only to discover his dominant inclinations rival her husband’s.


“You bow when you’re told, you speak when you’re told,” he snapped rudely.
Hilary knew to say no more, even though she wanted to drop penitently at his feet and beg his forgiveness.
The Master brooded; the swish of his pants the only sound to prick the silence. He waltzed from one end of the room to the other, peering out the windows at the back—those that looked out on his summer rose garden, and then in the front where he could see the circular driveway and long green lawn that spread out before the elegant portico.
When he finally turned around, he seemed composed, and hardly as angry as his words betrayed him earlier. She knew not to look him in the eye, but the longer he stared her way, the more Hilary was tempted to gaze directly into his eyes. When he finally drew her complete focus he spoke, “she’s unsuitable, ungracious and not submissive. I think you and your mistress misread her intentions. She may be willing to serve a woman, but she has no clue how to serve a man.” He shook his head as though disgusted.
Hilary was about to object, but she knew that was futile. What he claimed belied her experience of the winsome Ali. She’d been trained for months and proved both dutiful and yielding.
“Oliver, are you certain?” Liza suddenly moved out beyond Hilary, addressing her husband firmly, seemingly without fear. “She was amazingly compliant.”
“You doubt me?” Though he remained forbiddingly grim, he raised his eyebrows as though he was amused.
“You’ve thoroughly worked her?”
Oliver moved adroitly to the spot before his lovely wife and peered down at her as if he was going to swallow her inside him. “Yes. I’ve thoroughly worked that little behind. I’ve reamed her ass. I’ve been sucked by her inadequate mouth. I’ve tried to glean some pleasure from her randy cunt. She’s cold and lifeless, my dear. I say no more.”
“I’m so sorry, sir,” Hilary cried to him.
“I’m sure you will be!” he scowled. “Over the couch…” he paused, “and without the robe.”
Hilary moved quickly, already wincing from the pain that would surely follow. And yet, her body raced with waves of pleasure as her master’s contained fury poured out on her passionately. She felt a trickle of juice seep from the pulsing hole between her thighs. Taking a familiar pose over the back of the couch, her pussy rested against the thick cushion sinking into the cool, soft leather. Hilary clasped her hands behind her at the small of her back and waited. A strap would be too easy, she thought, unless that was where he began. Surely, she would feel the cutting fire of a cane on her behind before he was finished. And surely, there would be more than just corporal punishment awaiting her for such a serious transgression.
“Liza,” Oliver’s voice shot out unexpectedly as the master moved toward his cabinet of tools, “take your place beside her.”
“What!” she was in shock and her tone almost shrill.
“Are you deaf, woman?” he shot back.
“But, sir, this hardly seems…”
“To be your responsibility?” he finished her protest.
Her “yes” was meager with her defiant energy immediately quelled by the fire of his command. His whole body seemed taken with the task of punishing both his submissives and she would not escape this one. Not that Liza didn’t enjoy such things—her whole body shook with the thrill of a first time lover—and her cunt was equally as creamy as Hilary’s was. But to be humiliated side by side—to be equal in this matter—the treatment harkened back to Hilary’s first months at Sparrowhawk. That had been a painful time for the mistress of the house. She’d been taunted by her husband’s bitch lover, Diana, betrayed by the estate’s caretaker and practically driven mad—certainly to her wits end, seeming to lose control of everything in the process of attempting to be herself, mistress of Sparrowhawk, Oliver’s obedient slave, and Hilary’s mentor. The fact was: Oliver had tied her submissive psyche in knots with his schemes; she had almost nothing to do with the scenes that unraveled before her—except, of course, submit. She’d loved it in the end, but was so very glad when that period of time was over. Since those perilous days, their world had been peaceful. As peaceful as any master/submissive pairing can be—fireworks are requisite, organic to their very existence. But for nearly a year, she’d not been punished in Hilary’s presence or in the presence of any submissive. She almost forgot how to act; though being impudent would be imprudent.

Artist Credit

(c) Oleg Sizonenko www.artnude.net

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