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Fore Play

Maledom/femsub, real life bondage, spanking

 

 

IT CAME in a simple, plain white envelope.

   

    "Julia, look at this," exclaimed Alison as she sorted through her mail. "We have an invitation!"

   

    "Oui, Maitrêsse?"

   

    "Here, be a good girl and open this for me." Alison passed the envelope down to Julia. The girl did not move from her position at Alison's feet. Her silver chains jangled as she accepted the envelope.

   

    Julia wiggled a long red fingernail into the space where the paper was folded down on itself and lightly glued. Expertly she cut the thin paper open and removed the white card inside. She glanced at it but did not read it. Lowering her head, she offered it to the woman in the chair.

   

    Alison took the card from her slave's outstretched hand. She caressed the naked girl's shoulder where the soft brown hair fell against the creamy white flesh as she read aloud.

   

    "Lady Meranda Augusta invites you to join her for the Annual Masters and Mistresses Golf Tournament. Saturday August 7 at her private Country Club. Accommodations and stabling are provided. R.S.V.P. 555-5201"

   

    “Well, won't this be fun my sweet?" Alison pondered, a welcoming smile spreading across her face. "I do believe we'll attend! Fetch the telephone, Julia."

   

    "Oui, Maitrêsse," replied Julia.

   

    Alison watched her slave girl's buttocks move and sway as she crawled away. Once again Alison commended herself on how effective and pretty her slave's bondage. The sirik chain was an excellent idea, she thought. She loved the way the slender silver links joined in the centre before reaching out to connect with the brightly polished stainless steel wrist and ankle cuffs. Julia was hobbled very effectively. The sirik ensured movements were limited but not impossible. She could stand but awkwardly hunched over, not upright, which made crawling the preferred method of locomotion. Which suited Alison just fine.

   

    "Yes indeed, this will be a great deal of fun!" Alison mused.

   

    -----

   

    WHEN SHE WAS LITTLE, Meranda was oft referred to as "that cute but mischievous Sommerfeld child". Named after a great aunt, Meranda Augusta Sommerfeld rarely behaved like the model of ladylike propriety as was hoped for by her family.

   

    Grown up, her temperament was little changed. Her mischievousness was legend among her friends; others thought of her as "that Sommerfeld bitch". Meranda liked to make outlandish bets, which, if she won, usually placed her opponent in an embarrassing situation. She also enjoyed malicious pranks, her victims often never the wiser.

   

    Meranda was employed in the underwriting department of an insurance company when it happened. Friday afternoon, she left work as just another minion; Saturday morning she awakened to a whole new life.

   

    The lottery was worth $22.5 million. Meranda was the sole winner. It was presented to her in a single cheque. At 28, she was suddenly a very wealthy woman.

   

    Her new found financial independence gave Meranda the opportunity to pursue her dreams. First, the trip around the world: Venice, the Taj Mahal, Paris, Bali. Then, there was the search for and purchase of the perfect property where she could indulge in her passion for golf.

   

    Her agent found the perfect location in the countryside, a half hour drive from the city, on the banks of one of the many rivers that traverse the province. Wooded areas, flat prairie, some small hillocks, a winding creek. Almost pristine, for part had been farmed but was now left fallow. There was a house, a barn, and some small buildings.

   

    Plans were devised, contractors hired, and soon Meranda was busy writing cheques. Every time she signed her name, her dream came closer.

   

    And then it was done. All was ready. The clubhouse was designed with privacy, comfort and of course, luxury in mind. It featured among its other amenities, a white-linen dining room that could accommodate up to 100 people at a sitting. Everything that a very exclusive, very private golf course needed, was provided for, and then some. With her customary sense of humour, Meranda named her private playground the "West Roissy Country Club".

   

    There was no shortage of membership applications, even at the very high fees Meranda charged. No shares were issued and only 50 members were accepted each year. In fact, exclusivity was a very strong attraction for those who could afford to pay; the challenging beauty of the course and the cordon bleu chef who ran the dining room were bonuses.

   

    There was one stipulation upon which there was no discussion: Meranda reserved the country club for five days each season for her personal use. Naturally, rumours abounded as to what took place.

   

    For on this occasion more so than any other, Meranda Augusta Sommerfeld truly indulged herself, combining her love for "the grand old game" with her other passion.

   

 

ALISON DEFTLY STEERED HER JEEP up to the iron gates. A discreet plaque imbedded in the brick pillar said "Private: Members Only". A video camera atop the brickwork swiveled and pointed at the driver's side.

   

    "Good day, Madame" came a voice from a hidden speaker. "May we see your invitation, please?"

   

    Smiling, Alison held the small ivory coloured card out her window.

   

    "Thank you."

   

    The iron gates swung open with a well-oiled precision.

   

    Driving slowly, Alison admired the beautifully landscaped grounds. In the distance, she could see others entering the elegant clubhouse. The building, with rich woods and gleaming white stucco dappled with the mottled shadow of overhanging oaks and elms, was designed to compliment the park like golf course.

   

    Alison drew the Jeep up to the foot of the clubhouse steps. Checking her face in the rear view mirror, she smiled her approval at what she saw: black hair shot with the darkest brown, a spiral perm cascading down to milky shoulders, pale blue-tinged green eyes glistening like twin gemstones, a long narrow face with high cheekbones, the ripe beauty of her Mediterranean ancestors shining through. She was not beautiful in the typical North American white-bread sense, but she knew she was worthy of a second, even a third look. A slow smile widened across her face, red lips parting to show glistening white teeth, as Alison looked at the mirrored image of Julia.

   

    Her slave was in a state of near hysteria. A sheen of sweat gleamed across her nubile body as she huddled, bound hand and foot, inside the wire pet carrier in back of the jeep. A broad leather belt cinched her tightly at the waist. A strap led from the centre of the belt and disappeared into the mysterious space between Julia's legs. Nipple clamps with egg shaped devices hanging down, adorned each perfect breast. A bright red rubber ball spread Julia's lips in a most delicious fashion. Leather straps running all over the girl's face and head completed the harness gag.

   

    A faint humming sound could be heard after Alison shut down the jeep's ignition. Julia's hips bucked in the throes of yet another orgasm.

   

    "There there, dear," said Alison with a wicked smile. "You'll be out of your traveling case in just a moment." She took a small plastic remote control from her purse and punched in a combination of numbers. "And I'll just turn those things off for now."

   

    Julia's tear-filled eyes expressed her thanks as the vibrators stopped tormenting her nipples.

   

    "mmmPPH?" she mumbled behind the rubber ball.

   

    "Oh very well," said Alison impatiently, her fingers flicking more number pads on the remote control. The dildos filling both of Julia's lower passages also stopped their vibrating motions. "But I will remember this later, Julia!"

   

    A male voice interrupted. "Excuse me, madam."

   

    Alison turned in the driver's seat to see a man standing next to the open window.

   

    "My Lady Meranda Augusta welcomes you to West Roissy," he said. "I have been instructed to assist her guests."

   

    Alison turned in the driver's seat and took in the male with a practiced glance. He was about six feet tall, and dressed in a footman's livery: red waistcoat, tan breeches, a white shirt with ruffles at the collar and cuffs, black boots that gleamed in the sun. Two things distinguished him from the typical footman, however. He wore a wide black leather collar about his neck and black leather cuffs at his wrists; second, his costume was made entirely of form fitting rubber.

   

    "Well, isn't that nice of her," said Alison as the footman opened the door, offering his hand in assistance. Swinging her toned and shapely legs out the open door, Alison stepped down from the driver's seat. She smoothed her black leather miniskirt. Her eyes ran down his body, lingering at the bulging rubber between his legs. Her pink tongue darted out to wet her lips, then vanished back inside.

   

    "My bag and clubs are in the back," she said, tossing him her keys. "And be sure my pet is watered and allowed to stretch her legs."

   

    "As you wish Madam" he replied with a courtly bow. He raised an eyebrow as he admired the naked captive in the travel case. "Would you like her groomed and brought to you after dinner?"

   

    Alison smiled her pleasure. "Yes, that would be nice! But don't remove the belt." Turning, Alison confidently strode up the steps to the clubhouse doors.

   

    He watched Alison walk away, admiring the movement of her shapely buttocks in the tight leather skirt. The footman knew that he would be severely punished if his Mistress, the Lady Meranda, saw him, but he also knew that she was busy elsewhere. He was not concerned if Alison saw him, for that would only bring a scolding.

   

    Julia whimpered as the footman opened the back of the jeep.

   

     He gazed at the naked bound beauty in the small wire cage. Her eyes were very wide with fear and uncertainty.

   

    “Well little one,” the footman began, “Your mistress has left you in my care for a while. We’re going to scrub you clean, give you a thorough grooming, and prepare you for dinner. You’ll be one of the serving girls, of course. “

   

    He poked his fingers through the wires and stroked one of Julia’s breasts. Her movement at his touch made the egg-shaped vibrators sway. Ribbons of fiery pain raced through her tormented nipples and flesh at the motion.

   

    He smiled to see the painful pleasure his touch could cause. Reaching in, he turned the case 90 degrees so that Julia now faced the front.

   

    She squealed when he pinched her tautly stretched ass. But it was when he ran his fingers down the leather strap that split those two creamy globes that Julia really moaned her protest. She hated being touched by anyone but her beloved Maitrêsse!

   

    “Plugged tight, are you?” the footman mused. He tapped on the metal rivets holding the rubber intruders to the leather strap. Julia squealed again as the plugs moved inside her. “I wonder what this does?” he said, punching a button on the remote keypad.

   

    Julia screamed and bucked in the cage as the twin plugs came to life inside her. A droning sound could be heard underneath her moans and grunts.

   

    The footman laughed.

   

    He dropped the remote beside the cage, closed the back door, and, jingling the keys, casually strolled around to the driver’s side.

   

    “Tally ho!” he exclaimed as he fired the ignition.

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