“Gotcha!” Jen smiled to herself. Hours of careful research had finally paid off and now it was payback time.

Jen had worked long and hard to get where she was. After graduating with an honours law degree she had been at a loose end when she’d taken the temp job at Amalgamated Holdings. Wendy McCuskell, the CEO had spotted her one day and, impressed with her abilities, promoted her to personal assistant. For three years Jen had worked at making herself indispensable and her temp job had evolved to a permanent one of power and responsibility near the heart of the operation.

But Jen had plans, big plans, and wasn’t prepared to stay as a PA all her life. Through Wendy she’d seen exactly what wealth and influence could buy her and she wasn’t going to let anything or anyone get in her way to the top. Wendy was, in this sense, a good role model for her. She was maybe fifteen years older than Jen and had risen to the point where she was worth millions as CEO and major share holder of Amalgamated Holdings. Ruthless and determined she demolished any opposition and ruled the company with a will of iron. Jen’s view was that if Wendy could make it by the time she was in her forties, then so could she and, in her determination to find out how Wendy had risen from nothing, she spent hours pouring over the books, studying her methods.

It was whilst paging through the endless lines of figures in the company accounts that Jen discovered Wendy’s little secret. At first she thought it must be an error, that her sums must be wrong, but the deeper she looked the clearer it became. Wendy wasn’t just ruthless and determined, she was also a totally unscrupulous crook and, deep within the company’s books, there was clear evidence of a massive fraud. The more Jen studied,

the more she uncovered until it became apparent that Wendy had benefited to the tune of several million from contracts which would never stand investigation from the various regulatory bodies. Piece by piece, file by file, Jen built up a portfolio, a list of dates and amounts, a list which would put Wendy behind bars, or rather…

Once she had discovered just what poweful information she had uncovered it hadn’t taken Jen long to decide what to do with it. She could, of course, do the ‘right’ thing; she could pass all the files to the fraud squad which would lead to Wendy being arrested, the end of Amalgamated Holdings and the end of her job. But then, how would this benefit her? She’d lose her job, she was realistic enough to realise that whistle blowers were effectively unemployable, and she’d still be poor and massively in debt.  On the other hand she could use this as an opportunity to move on into the big time; she could go to Wendy and use this to demand her slice of the cake. If Wendy was ruthless and unscrupulous then she could match her. With something like this to hold over her she could ask for almost anything; cash certainly, and lots of it, but more than that, she wanted power, she wanted a place on the board; not immediately, that would arouse suspicions, but soon.

She looked up at the clock; it was well past eight-o-clock and everyone else would have left hours ago. Even a workaholic like Wendy would be long gone. Carefully she placed the file in her desk draw and locked it away. Her whole body tingled with excitement; she could almost taste the power, the power that would be hers so soon. Tomorrow would be the day, the day she changed her life forever. She got up, fetched her coat, and headed for the door; exhausted from the day’s work but tomorrow, tomorrow it would all be worth it, as from tomorrow she was going to be rich, really rich.

She got in the lift and headed for the underground car park. There in the corner, the last car in the place, was her battered Ford. That was going to be one of the first things to go; she’d always fancied a sports car, a convertible, something with a bit of zip, and, as of tomorrow she could stop dreaming and start buying. Anyway, her current model was so old as to be embarrassing, the remote locking didn’t work anymore and she had to open the doors using the key.

She had just got in and was reaching for the ignition when, out of nowhere, an arm grabbed from behind. She was pinned back in her seat and a pad of cloth reeking of ether was clamped across her mouth. Jen struggled; all the time she had spent in the company gym meant that she was superbly fit, but it was in vain; whoever was holding her was stronger, and had had the advantage of surprise. Desperately Jen tried not to breath, but she couldn’t fight it forever and, unable to hold back any longer, she was sucking air through the cloth. Her head swam, the voice inside her that said keep fighting was getting weaker and weaker, and, at last, she slipped into darkness.

……

Slowly, very slowly, Jen regained consciousness. It was a while before her eyes would focus, she had a splitting headache, her stomach was churning, her mouth tasted like the cat had slept in it, and she was uncomfortable, so uncomfortable; her whole body felt cold and stiff, a mass of aches and pains. She tried to move but her arms seemed to be locked behind her, her ankles were similarly restrained. Gradually, piece by piece, she came to and realised she was stark naked, hogtied and lying on the hard floor of some sort of cell. Wave after wave of panic threatened to engulf her, this was like something from a  horror novel and God knows what sort of psychopath was waiting for her.

There was the whirr of a small electric motor and Jen twisted her head round to see what had caused it. High up in the corner of the room was a CCTV camera and the red light on the front was blinking, Whoever had done this to her was watching, would have seen her twisting her head  around to look, and would know that she was awake. The camera panned back and forth and the lens turned as it zoomed in. Whoever was watching was obviously studying her carefully. Jen’s heart pounded, it wouldn’t be long now before she discovered who and why and, more importantly, what they were going to do with her.

The light on the cameral went out; there was a short pause and then the sounds of echoing foot steps. The door opened and Jen got a brief glance at a thick set body before a hood was thrust over her head. Without a word her ankles were unchained and she was pulled roughly to her feet. She was far to unsteady to support herself but the grip on her arm was unrelenting and she was half led, half dragged away. They hadn’t gone far when Jen was thrown against some sort of bench; the padded leather top hit her firmly in the stomach winding her and she vomited, filling the hood. A stiff collar was placed round her neck, pulled forward and then down. Jen had no option but to follow and she realised that the ‘bench’ was actually some sort of horse, a horse that she was now lying across, held in place by the collar with her feet off the ground and her butt uppermost.

“Please, please…” Jen began but was caught short as a ribbon of fire erupted across her buttocks. Jen never knew exactly what was being used, a cane or a riding crop maybe, but she’d never felt such pain before. For the first few strokes she screamed No! and Please! but nothing was going to slow or stop the torrent of blows and before long she was simply screaming as she bucked and twisted trying desperately to avoid the pain.

Almost as scary as the whipping was the total silence of her assailant. Since she had been taken from the cell not a word had been spoken, indeed there was a quiet efficiency about the way she was being handled that was deeply chilling. Jen would almost have preferred the hysterical ravings of a madman to the slow, purposeful way that the whip was being applied to her body.

At last it stopped; sobbing, broken and exhausted, Jen collapsed like a rag doll missing it stuffing. Her buttocks and the tops of her thighs were a ball of fire but at least the blows had stopped. She was vaguely aware of her assailant doing something behind her but she couldn’t see what and, as long as she wasn’t being whipped anymore, she didn’t particularly care. Then she felt her legs being pulled apart and something hard pushing against her anus. Brutally it was pressed against the puckered ring of her sphincter and pushed until the resistance was overcome and she was penetrated. Through the agony Jen was aware that the intrusion was artificially hard, it was a dildo that was penetrating her, not a penis. Again and again the dildo was pushed, each time going deeper inside her until it was buried to the hilt. Jen felt as if molten lead had been poured inside her, that her sphincter had been split as it was stretched to the limit and beyond. Even so she was sufficiently aware to realise that the body thrusting against her meant that the dildo was being worn as a strap-on implying that her violator was a woman, not a man.

Woman or not, the difference was immaterial; the perpetrator was going to have her way and nothing, least of all Jen’s renewed screams and pleading, was going to stop her. The steady rhythm built and built, and the depth of the thrusts increased. Jen was having problems breathing, each thrust pushed her stomach against the horse crushing her against it and, as she gasped for breath inside the hot and stinking hood, the material and lumps of vomit were sucked into her mouth, half choking her. But there was nothing she could do to fight it, she’d been beaten, broken by the whipping, and, even if she’d wanted to struggle, firm hands gripping her hips and the collar around her neck meant she was going nowhere. At last the thrusts reached their crescendo, and Jen felt the woman behind her tense as once, twice, three times, the dildo was buried as deep as it would go and, with an unfeminine grunt, the woman let go of her hips and leant forward on top of her. Jen lay there crushed beneath the woman’s bulk, as she got her breath back, until, at last, the woman withdrew and Jen was left, as limp as a used dishcloth, draped over the horse.

For a few minutes nothing seemed to happen. There were various noises in the background but nothing specific until…

“Yes, Madam, she’s awake.” The woman was  on the phone to someone, someone who she called ‘Madam’. Whoever her assailant was they were not the one in command. Who was she, who was this 'Madam' and what did she want with Jen?

“Yes, I think she’s ready for you.” The woman continued. “I’ll clean her up and bring her upstairs.”

Jen felt the tension on the chain holding her collar being released and she slid from the horse to the floor. The hood was removed and she was just about to look up when, splash, a bucket of cold water was emptied over her. She was pulled to her knees and her head pushed to the floor. With her hands still chained behind her back there was nothing she could do to protect herself as two more buckets followed the first. She was bemused to see that the water which ran down her thighs was running red; evidently the feeling that her sphincter had split had been true and she was bleeding from her anus.

Still dripping wet she was pulled to her feet and led away by the chain attached to her collar. Although she was no longer wearing the hood she was so beaten, so battered that she could hardly raise the energy to stand, let alone lift her head and could only follow the bullish androgynous figure before her. She was led up a short staircase, through a door and out into a well appointed hallway. The plush furnishings and soft carpet underfoot contrasted strongly with the bare walls and concrete floors of the cellar she had been held in. They went down a corridor and into a spacious room with dim lighting and vast panoramic windows which gave a perfect view out over the city. Wherever she was it was somewhere posh, a big house in the best part of town. She was led to the centre of the room, pushed to her knees and the collar was removed from around her neck. Jen realised it would be best to keep her head down so it was in her peripheral vision that she saw a figure, a slim female figure, get up out of an armchair to come and stand before her. Still keeping her head down all she could see were two feet encased in immaculate Prada high heeled shoes. Surely she recognised those shoes…

“Ah, my little Iago.” Wendy McCuskell purred. “Did you really think it was going to be that easy? Did you really think I didn’t know what you were up to, snooping away, day after day? Did you think for one moment that I would be beaten by a tramp, a dirtbag, a nothing like you? Did you think you were going to blackmail me with this?”

Wendy tossed the file she was holding and it landed at Jen’s knees. With a sinking heart she realised it was the file she had locked away in her desk earlier that evening.

“Wendy, please…” Jen began.

“Silence!” Wendy snarled back. “You will speak only when spoken to and only in response to a direct question. Is that clear?”

“Yes.” Jen replied.

“Yes, what?” Wendy’s voice was icy steel.

“Yes, err… Miss.” Jen tried.

“That’s better. I prefer ‘Mistress’ but we’ll work on that later. Now, you’ve left me with a bit of a problem; what am I going to do with you? Normally I’d just hand you over to Fran. She’s my head of security and you’ve already seen that she’s quite capable of dealing with a silly little tramp like you. I tend not to ask exactly what she does with her, err.., guests but I know something of her little peccadilloes and I guess she’d have lots of fun with you before your body was found, washed up by the incoming tide. You wouldn’t be the first little obstacle that just disappeared.  The violence in town is so bad nowadays, so many senseless killings, and who would miss a silly little secretary like you?

“However, what with the McAlistair deal coming to a head next week, and the west coast trip to plan, the last thing I need right now is to have to train up a new PA. You may be the lowest, most treacherous little worm I’ve ever met, but you might just get lucky; I might just let you live after all.

“So, here’s the deal. From now on you’re mine, you’re my pet, you’re my slave, I own your body and I own your soul; you do everything I ask, and you do it willingly. I will demand total obedience and, believe me, I’ll put it to the test in ways you couldn’t even dream of. Because, from now on, I’ll control your life, I tell you what to do and how to do it, all day and every day; you will do nothing without my express permission. You’ll have to move in here; I’ve got just the room for you in the cellar. Then, if you behave, if you can prove that you can do it, if I get one hundred percent obedience from you, then, maybe, I’ll let you live.

“But what’s to stop you running away? Here you will be suitably restrained but whilst we’re at work I can’t keep my eyes on you all the time; the first time my back is turned you’d be off, wouldn’t you? Well, there are two reasons you might want to think twice. Firstly Fran is not just hired muscle, she’s far, far more than that. She put her many computer skills to work and both your laptop and desktop are full of child pornography and, if I need to, they’ll be just the things to make sure that it’s you that goes to prison, not me, and, if you try to tell people that it wasn’t you that put it there, that it wasn’t you that downloaded the filth the police will find there, then our IT team will discover that someone using your user name and password has been accessing porn sites and we’ll have the server logs to prove it.

“Secondly, if you run, Fran will find you. That’s what she does. She was a bounty hunter before I recruited her and a pretty good one. There’s nowhere you could run that would be far enough, I couldn’t afford to have you out there, she’ll track you down to the ends of the earth and, when she finds you the love taps you’ve had so far will seem like nothing compared to what she’d make you suffer.

“So, it’s up to you. I can hand you back to Fran and we’ll see how long it takes before she gets bored with playing with you, you can spend a very long time in prison for child abuse and discover what gentle souls the other inmates are and how kindly they treat perverts, or you can move in with me and be my little pet. It’s your choice, do you understand me?”

“Yes, Mistress.” Jen replied shakily. The full impact of what Wendy had just said was only just beginning to sink in. Just a few hours ago she was convinced she was on the verge of success, on the verge of climbing to the top; now the options seemed to be death, imprisonment for child abuse, or serving Wendy as some sort of slave. None of these were particularly appealing but the thought of prison, or, far worse, being back in the hands of Fran, were too dreadful to contemplate. There was only one possible answer, Jen knew it and, as sure as eggs are eggs, Wendy knew it.

“Please, Mistress, let me be your pet.” The words were winched from Jen, naked, still dripping gently, her backside and anus still throbbing with pain, her dignity and pride shattered, there was no other option, no other answer.

“Pet? Not ‘pet’, not yet, maybe if your good. Now try again.”

“Please, Mistress, let me be your slave. Please don’t hurt me any more.”

“That’s better, Good, girl. I knew you’d see sense. As for the hurting bit, well, I can’t promise that. Now wait there.” Wendy left her and went over to talk to Fran. Jen sneaked a quick glance out of the corner of her eye. What with the hood and the rough treatment this was the first time she had the chance to really look at Fran and what she saw did nothing to reduce her fear. A thick set woman with the build and looks of a Russian shot putter, obviously strong, with short cropped hair and dressed in a dark trouser suit she was a formidable figure. She also hadn’t relaxed her vigilance and as her eyes darted around the room they locked momentarily on Jen’s. How much of what had happened in the cellar had been work, and how much pleasure, was not something Jen wished to find out and she dropped her gaze to the floor.

Their business concluded Fran left and Wendy came back into the room and lay back on a sofa, kicking off her shoes.

“Come here, no, stay on your knees, come and kneel next to me.” Wendy’s voice was soft, almost seductive. Jen shuffled across, grateful that the soft carpet was saving her knees from rug burn.

“Look, my pretty, I’ve got a collar, just for you.” Jen looked up. Wendy was holding out a collar made of five parallel silver chains held by two solid bars at each end. Although it was a fine piece of jewellery, and obviously very expensive, it was also well made and strong enough to do it’s job. It was pretty, very pretty, but still a fully functional collar; its form and function in stark contrast. Attached to one end was a matching silver padlock, about an inch in diameter, equally ornate but no doubt just as strong.

“Look, it’s got your name on it.” Wendy said.

Jen looked closer; the padlock was heavily engraved and set with jewels and, worked into the whorls and patterns, was the word ‘Piglet’.

“Yes, I thought ‘Piglet’ most appropriate because it describes what you are: greedy. You were set to be my right hand, I was grooming you for the top, but you got greedy, you thought you could do it without me. What are you?”

“Greedy, Mistress.”

“Yes, my little Piglet, you are. And greedy little piglets deserve to be punished, don’t they?”

“Please, Mistress.” Jen replied horrified at the thought of further beatings. “I can’t take any more. Mistress Fran, she…”

“Oh, I know what Fran did, your poor bruised little piggy bottom tells its own story. Don’t worry; I’m not going to smack you, well, not right now anyway, though I dare say it will need plenty of smacking before we’re done. No, your punishment is to serve me, knowing that if you hadn’t been greedy you could have been my partner instead of my slave. I had such high hopes of you and you had to go and let me down.” Wendy reached down and chucked Jen under the chin. “Come along now; let’s get this collar on you.”

Jen was surprised with the tenderness with which Wendy fastened the collar. Part of her disorientation was the way in which Wendy’s mood seemed to swing between vicious brutality and gentle concern. Once the padlock had clicked into place Wendy slipped her fingers beneath the collar, pulled Jen’s face up to hers and kissed her long and hard.

“God, you taste disgusting!” Wendy pushed Jen away. “There, you look so much better with your collar on; aren’t you grateful that your allowed to wear my collar, allowed to be my slave?”

“Yes, Mistress.” Jen thought it best to reply in the affirmative.

“Liar, liar, pants on fire!” Wendy laughed. “You hate my guts at the moment, this wouldn’t be any fun if you didn’t, but, one day, you’ll thank me; one day you’ll grovel at my feet and worship, and be grateful for being allowed to do so, do you know that?”

Never Jen thought to herself but, wisely, she kept her mouth shut.

“If you’re as grateful as you say you are” Wendy continued “you can demonstrate it by kissing my feet. Let’s see how good you are at that.”

As Jen shuffled down and bent over to kiss Wendy’s feet Wendy picked up a file from an occasional table and started reading. It was almost as if she were oblivious to Jen’s ministrations and, after some considerable time, Jen, feeling that she was being ignored, slackened off.

“Did I say you could stop?” Wendy lowered the file she was reading and glowered at Jen.

“No, Mistress.”

“Well, get on with it then, and try to be a little sensuous, you’re supposed to be gratefully worshiping, not pecking away like some sort of demented bird.”

As Jen settled back to work she realized that this was going to be harder than she had thought; she couldn’t just go through the motions, Wendy was far too astute for that; if she were to survive, literally survive, she would need to throw herself into this body and soul. And what had Wendy meant about some day she’d be grateful for being allowed to worship? Surely no one could want to do this; Her body was a mass of hurts and pains, her backside and anal tract in particular felt as if they would never recover, her arms ached from being locked behind her, she had lost her freedom and was being forced to perform degrading acts; how could anyone want this?

Eventually Wendy put down the file she was reading, stretched and pushed Jen away with her foot. She must have rung some sort of concealed bell because, within moments, a maid appeared.

“Ah, Juanita, piglet here will be staying in the special guest room until further notice. Will you take her down for me, please? We’ll want a six-o-clock start tomorrow.”

Juanita took Jen by the arm and led her away back down the steps into the cellar as if this were a normal, everyday occurrence in the McCuskell household. Who knows? Maybe it was. Whilst she wasn’t harsh or brutal her whole demeanor countered any thoughts Jen might have had about striking up a conversation. Juanita opened the door to a small, white painted room , led Jen inside, undid her wrist cuffs and, before Jen could react, left closing the door behind her.

Jen rubbed some feeling back into her aching shoulders and looked around her cell. There was a bed, a shower, basic toilet facilities and not much more. In particular there wasn’t a light switch. Jen sat on the bed, only to get up again. Her poor bruised backside wasn’t going to allow any comfortable sitting for a while. She went over to the toilet facilities. Above the sink was a mirror and her battered reflection stared back at her. Her hair was a mess, her eyes were red, and she looked awful. Around her neck  was the collar, sparkling in the bright light, but, pretty or not, it was surely the symbol of what she had become. Her spirits fell, how could she go on when all the options in her life were so awful.

Without warning the light went out and the room was plunged into darkness; the only glimmer was the dim red glow from the light on the inevitable CCTV camera, presumably working in infra red mode. Jen felt her way back to the bed and lay down carefully on her front. Sobbing gently she lay there in the darkness until, finally, sleep came.

Parp…. Parp…. Parp…. The siren, or hooter, or whatever it was that was making that appalling racket was set to deafening and with each bleat of the siren the room lights flashed on. Jen rolled over, squinting at the bright light as she woke up. Blearily she looked around until, with a sickening thud, it all came back. This wasn’t a dream, this was real, very real, and, if she was going to survive she would need to keep her wits about her. Wendy was smart, there was no doubt about that and, last night, she had shown a breathtaking ruthlessness along with a sick sense of humour. However, Jen wasn’t the sort to give up easily. She’d play along, she had very little choice at the moment, but she’d be looking for the outs, looking for the way to regain her freedom and get her revenge.

As soon as Jen sat up in bed and swung her feet to the ground the siren stopped and the lights ceased flashing. She glanced up at the CCTV camera; inevitably the red light was lit indicating that she was being watched. Apparently the siren was someone’s idea of an alarm clock. Vaguely she wondered whether it was Wendy, Fran or Juanita at the other end but speculation was pointless and she needed to get on; she couldn’t see the current regime being sympathetic to a lie-in. As she went over and sat on the toilet the whine of an electric motor coming from the CCTV camera as it turned to follow her made it obvious that privacy, along with freedom, was going to be in short supply for the foreseeable future. She sat down and sharp twinges from her buttocks attested to the severity of the bruising from last night and she probed gently with a finger to confirm the damage to her sphincter. With only the small mirror above the basin she wasn’t going to be able to do a thorough investigation but, after all, there wasn’t much she could do about it anyway.

She washed her hands and was looking around for a towel when the door opened and Juanita appeared.

“Breakfast, this way.” She said curtly and was gone. Jen followed as quickly as she could, her stomach reminding her that she hadn’t eaten last night and she was ravenous. For a moment she thought about overpowering Juanita but she was astute enough to realise that Wendy would be expecting that and was bound to have some sort of contingency in place. It would be better to play along for the moment and wait for a better opportunity, a clearer chance of freedom.

A short distance down the hall they reached a kitchen area and Juanita motioned Jen over to a breakfast bar where Fran was already perched, sipping at a cup of coffee. Fran looked up and smiled but Jen took no comfort from the smile, it was the smile of a predator, a shark maybe, or a crocodile measuring its prey. Jen chose the stool furthest from Fran but even so she was uneasy; Fran radiated a quiet menace and Jen had no idea how far her licence ran. Was her attack last night a one off, a softening up before being presented to Wendy, or was it going to be the norm; was she going to be brutally abused again? Reinforcing Jen’s feeling of vulnerability was not just the difference in size and power, but the fact that Fran was clothed whereas Jen was naked, and that made Jen shiver and not just with cold. Shaking off these thoughts Jen looked around the breakfast bar to see what was available before helping herself to a cup of coffee from the percolator.

“Morning, ‘Nita, morning Fran.” The door burst open and a fourth woman entered the room. She was athletic looking, in her thirties, quite pretty, with a short cropped hairstyle. She wore a navy blue trouser suit which, whist having no insignia, had the look of a uniform.

“Hello, you must be Madam’s latest pet. Stand up.” The woman went over to Jen who, sensing that the ‘stand up’ was a command rather than a suggestion, slipped off her stool. The woman walked round Jen, inspecting her, running her fingers along the welts on Jen’s buttocks and cupping her breasts as if checking out a piece of meat before purchasing.

“I’m Sally,” the woman continued. “It looks like you’ve already met ‘Nita and Fran. Welcome to our happy crew. What’s your name?”

“Jen.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. I’m sure Madam would have chosen something more appropriate. Let’s have a look.” Sally reached up and inspected the padlock holding Jen’s collar. “piglet, it says here. Now, let’s try again. What’s your name?”

“piglet.” Jen replied.

“That’s better. Keep remembering things like that and you’ll get on so much better, won’t she girls?”

Fran just stared and Juanita was too busy preparing breakfast to reply but that didn’t stop Sally.

“So where did Madam find a pretty little thing like you?” She continued. “Has she been trawling the bars again? Enticing you back here with tales of lezzie lust? Did she lure you into her web?”

“I work for Amalgamated. We met there” Jen replied. She certainly wasn’t going to explain the whole blackmail story. She had no idea how the whole power structure worked round here. Sally had assumed some authority over her, the way she told her to stand, the way she touched her without asking and now the way she was interrogating her all spoke of being in charge, but Jen didn’t know whether this was by right or by nature. She knew she should be scared of Fran, her buttocks attested to that, but should she be scared of Sally too, and what about Juanita? The whole set-up was so bizarre that she couldn’t make any assumptions.

“Well, you’ve caused me quite a bit of work over the past couple of days. I was up late last night moving furniture because of you; I broke a nail on that damn desk so I reckon you owe me one. How about it, girl? How about you pleasuring me to pay me back? Madam isn’t the only one round here who likes to play with the girls, you know; we’re all lezzies here, isn’t that right Fran?” Sally’s voice had developed and air of menace and Jen really didn’t know whether the suggestion that she ‘pleasure’ Sally was an order, a proposal or a joke.

“Leave her alone.” Fran growled. “And shut up, you talk too much.”

“Ok, ok. I was just having a little fun.” Sally pulled out a stool and sat down at the breakfast bar. Jen, grateful that Sally had finished, returned to her stool and resumed quietly sipping her coffee.

Juanita came over with three cooked breakfasts and the three women ate together in relative peace. Jen mulled over all the new information she had gleaned. As she had thought she wasn’t the first to be held here, Wendy was accustomed to ‘trawling the bars’, as Sally had put it, and Jen wondered what had happened to her predecessors. Had they been freed? Had Fran disposed of them in some dreadful way? Had they been coerced, enticed back with tales of ‘lezzie lust’, had they been willing or captured? More importantly Jen was beginning to get a feel for the structure. Sally had described it as ‘all lezzies here’ and it looked like Wendy’s revenge on her was not just business but personal as well.  She wondered vaguely who, if anyone, was sleeping with whom but none of the combinations seemed to make sense. The slow taciturn Fran with her taste for violent anal rape didn’t seem to fit with the ebullient Sally and neither of them would fit with the quiet and withdrawn Juanita.

As for Jen, she’d never had a lesbian affair; for that matter she’d hadn’t had many affairs of any sort. She’d been far too busy at college and afterwards at Amalgamated to get seriously involved with anyone. Most men, no make that all men, bored her; they all seemed to have only one objective, to get inside her panties and they never gave her the respect she felt she deserved. As for women, well, she had no basic objections but it had never really come up before. All in all, to date, her greatest lover had been her rabbit vibrator.

“Time to get moving.” Sally looked at her watch. “You have forty five minutes to get ready; you’ll find everything you need in your room. Wait there, I’ll come and get you.”

Wiping her mouth on her napkin Sally got up and left. Jen, uncertain if she were about to break some unknown rule by leaving the table unaccompanied, looked for support from Fran and Juanita but they both ignored her and she was too uneasy to ask for advice so she got up and headed back to the room where she had slept. Someone, Jen guessed it had to be Sally, had delivered some things whilst she had been away. There, on the bed, was a neatly folded pile of clothes and, over by the sink, there was now a towel, some assorted makeup and a hairbrush. Jen unfolded the clothes; there was a short skirt in charcoal grey, a matching jacket, a white cotton blouse, a pair of hold-up stockings and a pair of high heeled court shoes. She ruffled through the pile again and again but there wasn’t much there and she certainly hadn’t missed anything. That confirmed it; there was neither bra nor panties anywhere in the pile.

Time was getting on and she hadn’t a watch so she couldn’t check but quite a bit of the forty five minutes must have gone already. She turned on the shower and went over to the basin and looked at the makeup whilst it warmed up. She was bemused by the fact that the range provided was identical to what would be found on her dressing table at home. When she checked the shower it was still cold, and, however she adjusted the knobs, it stayed that way; it looked like it was a cold shower or none at all and she definitely wasn’t going to go out unwashed. Shivering under the cold water she soaped her hair, hoping that this would help sort out the tangled mess that last night had left her with. The shower gel was also her own brand and, as quickly as she could, she washed herself down, desperate to get out of the shower as soon as possible.

While she was towelling herself dry she looked again at the makeup, the shower gel, the shampoo, even the toothpaste was the brand she used at home. Someone, she guessed Fran, had done their research very thoroughly and it was creepy to think just how well she’d been investigated. How much more did Fran, and, by implication, Wendy know? Were any of her secrets safe?

She looked again in the mirror. The shampoo and conditioner had done wonders for her hair but it was still wet. There was no hair dryer but Jen’s shoulder length style was just about short enough that she could get away with it and let it dry naturally. At least, towelled and brushed, it was neater, more presentable than it had been over breakfast.

She went over to the bed and started to get dressed. She hated hold-up stockings; come to think of it she hated all types of stockings but, if that was what was provided, that was what she had to wear. Futile rebellion over trivia like stockings would get her nowhere; best to save up the anger for when she could use it. Then she unfolded the blouse and realised that the material was much, much thinner than it had looked; it was almost transparent. She put it on and went to the mirror over the sink and her heart fell. The blouse could just, barely just, be called decent. With a white bra it would have been fine, if a trifle risqué, but, in her braless state, you didn’t have to look too hard to see the darker outline of her nipples through the thin cotton. However, as with the stockings, it would have to do; she really had no choice. The skirt turned out to be an improvement. She had wondered just how short it was going to be, whether it would be another assault on her modesty, but it ended up maybe four inches above the knee. The matching jacket was, like the rest of the clothes, very smart and a perfect fit but, when Jen looked, she realised that there were no pockets anywhere. She certainly wasn’t going to be concealing any weapons in it.

She went back to the mirror and, as far as possible, checked out the result. She had to admire what she had to assume was Wendy’s style. At first sight she looked just like any other smart, presentable business woman in a charcoal grey suit and white blouse. It was only on the second look that the fact she was not wearing a bra became evident. As she twisted back and forth trying to get a better view, the collar around her neck glinted in the bright lights. Again there was this subtle blend of the obvious and the hidden. Had she been wearing a leather collar, for example, there would have been no way she could have worn it to work without attracting the wrong sort of attention, not just for her but for Wendy as well. The silver collar, on the other hand, was sufficiently like a choker to pass muster, at first sight, as ‘normal’ jewellery and it was only on the second glance that you saw what it was, and what it represented.

The door opened and Sally poked her head in. “Come on, slowcoach. You don’t want to keep Madam waiting. Trust me on this.”

Jen slipped on the shoes and followed. The shoes were, of course, a perfect fit, but the height of the heels was just enough to slow Jen down. She could wear these all day, she was going to have to, but she wouldn’t be running any marathons, that was for certain.

She followed Sally down the hallway and, as they approached a heavy looking door at the end, the light above it turned from red to green and there was a click as the bolts withdrew. Wendy obviously took her security seriously. This was a door which would keep intruders out and, more relevantly, keep her in. She wondered what had triggered the locks. Although there were the usual CCTV cameras dotted around Jen couldn’t envisage Wendy paying anyone just to open and close the doors and it would be far too menial a job for a security expert like Fran. She surmised that there was probably some sort of sensor, something in Sally’s pocket perhaps, that opened the locks.

The door opened out into the garage and Sally let Jen across to Wendy’s Mercedes and motioned her to get in the back. Sally then slid gracefully into the front and, putting on a peaked cap she picked up off the passenger seat, started the car and drove it out into the morning sunshine. They had hardly arrived at the front of the house when Wendy appeared. Sally jumped out and opened the door for her letting Wendy into the car beside Jen.

“Good morning, piglet. Did you sleep well? I hope Juanita fixed you up a proper breakfast, it’s going to be quite a day today.”

“Good morning, Wend… Mistress.” Jen replied, correcting herself just in time.

“Tut, tut. Not a good start, we’ve hardly started the day and you’re nearly forgetting how to address me already. We’ve got a big meeting today and your behaviour has to be perfect. I can’t afford any silly mistakes. Let me down on this and I’ll have to consider my options. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mistress.” As ever with Wendy, Jen was finding that the steel fist was not far beneath the velvet glove.

“That’s better.” Wendy reached inside her briefcase and brought out a file. “Now read this, I want you word perfect by the time the meeting starts.”

Jen opened the file. It concerned Shanghai Allied Logistics, S.A.L. for short, and more particularly Mr Hong, the CEO. The first few pages were the normal sort of briefing, what the company was, what it did, where it did it, and so on but, as the report progressed it became more about Mr Hong, his rumoured connections with the Triads, the various power struggles within S.A.L. and how he’d risen to the top. The final section was very personal, describing his various tastes in detail, how he saw himself as a connoisseur, not just of fine food and wine, but also of the arts and of women.  Jen was so engrossed she hardly noticed the journey and was still reading when the car pulled up at the front entrance to Amalgamated.

Quick as a flash Sally was out of the car and opening the door. Wendy got out of the car and Jen followed behind. As they progressed through the lobby every door was opened for them and there was a constant background of ‘good morning, Miss McCuskell’ from the various people they passed. Then it was straight into the executive lift to be whisked up to the fifteenth floor and the executive suite.

As they entered Wendy’s office Jen was amazed to see a desk, her desk, had been moved out of the general office area and into a corner, out of the way but in full view of Wendy. Noticing her surprise Wendy chuckled.

“Did you think I was going to leave you out there, out where you could get up to all sorts of mischief? That’s not how it works anymore; I want you right here, right where I can keep an eye on you. There’ll be no more plotting behind my back and, anyway, this will fit your new role so much better.”

“My new role, Mistress?” Jen enquired.

“Oh, yes. You’ll still be my assistant but your duties will be so much more personal from now on, you’ll be working with me very closely indeed. You’ll see soon enough. Now, you had better get on.”

Jen sat down at her desk and fired up her computer. Once she had logged on she opened her email; there at the top of the list was a message from Wendy called ‘Read This Now’. She opened it and read

Just to show that I don’t make empty threats I suggest that you check the ‘My Pictures’ folder on your PC. Note that any attempt to delete the contents will be monitored and result in severe punishment.

Jen opened the folder to find it was full of files, files that she was sure had not been there the day before. She opened one at random and was appalled. She was broad minded and took a live and let live attitude but anything that involved children, especially the perverted, degrading, disgusting….

“Oh my God…” she groaned as nausea welled inside her.

“Sick, aren’t they.” Wendy replied from across the room. “I’m sure you’d agree that anyone with filth like that on their computer deserves to be locked up for a very long time. I know that’s how the courts would see it. Now, maybe you need some time to reconsider your attitude towards me.”

“Please, please Mistress.” Jen was shaken to the core. “Please, let me get rid of them.”

“Maybe if you came and asked me nicely.” Wendy’s voice had regained its edge of steel.

Jen got up from her desk and went over to Wendy. She wasn’t exactly sure what Wendy wanted but she knew the general idea. She fell to her knees and bowed her head.

“Please, Mistress, please may I delete those files. Please, Mistress, they’re so sick they make me feel ill just knowing that they’re there.”

“And why should I?”

“Please, Mistress, I’ll do anything, anything at all, anything you ask, just please let me delete those files.”

“Let me think… Umm…. No! And I’ll tell you why. I don’t trust you, I can’t trust you, why should I? You would stab me in the back at the first opportunity; you’ve already shown that with your pathetic attempt at blackmail. If you want those files gone then you’ll have to earn it; you’ll have to regain my trust, prove to me that you deserve it, prove to me that you’re worthy. As to ‘I’ll do anything at all’, yes, you will, willingly or not, and it’s only when you’ll do it willingly, when you do my bidding without any coercion, without the need for threats, that, maybe, we’ll reconsider. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mistress.” Jen felt as if she’d been kicked in the stomach, unbidden tears welled from her eyes. Up until now the whole thing had been some sort of dream but now, now that she could really see what she was up against, now that she could appreciate the strength of the cage around her, she knew she was beaten; anyone with the skills to put that filth on her computer would have the skills to frame her completely and she could see only too well that any jury would convict her in seconds. Part of her, a huge part of her, wanted just to run away but, even if she found a moment when she wasn’t being watched or confined, there was always what Wendy had said about Fran being a trained bounty hunter. If she ran and was found, and it looked likely that she would be, God knows what Wendy, with Fran’s assistance, would do to her. For a minute or two she just knelt there, rocked to the core, the unchecked tears running down her face.

“Come along now, dry your tears, I don’t want you ruining your make up.” Wendy voice was soothing, conciliatory; harsh Wendy had gone, soft Wendy was back. Jen looked up to see that she was holding out a tissue which she took and used to blow her nose.

“That’s better. Now then. Did you read the file?”

“Yes, Mistress.” Jen replied.

“Well, we’re meeting with him in an hour or so to discuss out new shipping contract to the Far East. How would you handle it?”

“Well, it seems like S.A.L. have all the infrastructure we need. It’s a matter of getting the right price.” Jen was keen to show her understanding.

“And how would you get that price, what tactics would you use?”

“I’d… I’d… I don’t know, Mistress.” Jen admitted.

“No, you don’t. That’s why I’m the boss and you’re on your knees. Don’t get up by the way; I quite like you down there for the moment. What you need to do is look at the man, not the company.”

“The man, Mistress?”

“Yeah, old Hong’s a lecherous sod. All that ‘connoisseur of women’ nonsense. He’s a dirty old man with wandering hands. That’s where you come in.”

“Pardon, Mistress?”

“You’re going to distract him. I’ll make sure you’re sitting where he can see you and you’re going to flirt with him. Nothing to obvious, nothing too vulgar, just make sure he knows what colour panties you’re wearing.”

“But I’m not wearing any panties, I wasn’t given any…” The penny dropped and Jen realised just what she was being asked to do.

“Now you’re getting it. You distract him, he’ll sign anything I put in front of him and I’ll get the deal I want. Comprende?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Good.” Wendy reached down, took Jen by the collar, and pulled her up to her. She lent forward and kissed her deeply; a long, lingering and, above all, sensuous kiss which left Jen quite breathless. It was quite some time before she broke away.

“Now go and get yourself cleaned up and fix that makeup. The bathroom is behind that door.”

The bathroom was as opulent as the rest of Wendy’s executive suite and had full length mirrors set into the marble walls. Jen, still very shaken, spent a few moments just staring at herself. She knew she had just passed some kind of Rubicon, that she had made a significant step towards accepting her current status. She was still a long, long way from wishing for it but it was certainly the best available option at the moment and, when she was being submissive she saw the softer side of Wendy, the side that seemed genuinely willing to teach her the business, who seemed to care about her. What was it Wendy had said? That one day she would want to serve? Surely that couldn’t be. Surely…

With a shake of her head Jen pushed her thoughts to one side. Speculation was all very well but, for the moment she had to deal with the here and now. She had a job to do and the first thing to fix was her makeup. She opened a cupboard above the washbasins to see what was available and inside there was all she could require so she set to work.

When she had finished she looked herself over in the full length mirror and she could appreciate again just how clever Wendy had been with the choice of clothes. She was, superficially, dressed exactly how you would expect the CEO’s personal assistant to be dressed, except the skirt was maybe just a touch too short, the blouse just a touch too transparent, and the collar just a touch too suggestive. Sure, she was going to play the tart, but it was an expensive tart, a tart with class, and just the thing to distract a dirty old man like Mr Hong. She’d have him drooling in no time. The challenge before her had lifted her spirits and she determined to do well, not so as to please Wendy, not to avoid further punishment, but to prove herself.

She returned to the office and sat down at her desk. New role or not, there was plenty to get on with, plenty that needed her attention and, if she were to be in meetings all day, then quite a bit of it couldn’t wait.

An hour later a phone call from reception announced that Mr Hong’s party was just arriving. Wendy despatched Jen to go and fetch him up to the board room. Down in the lobby Jen welcomed Mr Hong and three associates and led them to the lift. Mr Hong was, at first sight, an unimpressive figure. He was short and plump and, Jen guessed, in his late fifties or even older. She had to remind herself of what she knew from the file; this unimposing man had fought his way up to lead S.A.L. and, whilst there was little or no hard evidence, there was plenty of circumstantial evidence to back the rumours that he could be completely ruthless and that his Triad connections were very real. Jen wondered if someone like that would ever fall for something as basic as her flirting with him and was wondering where to start until she realised that he was already addressing his remarks not to her face but to her chest. His eyes, when not fixated on her nipples, would flick from time to time to her neck. Jen wondered what inferences he would draw; when he looked at her neck did he see a choker or a collar, and, if it were the latter, what did he understand by it.

By the time they got to the boardroom Wendy, along with some staff from the legal department was waiting. After the usual introductions they went, not to the boardroom table, but to an area set aside with armchairs and coffee tables. Jen sat next to Wendy and opposite Mr Hong.

Jen was determined to be subtle, it wouldn’t do to be too obvious, but she hardly needed to be. Mr Hong could hardly keep his eyes off her and all she needed to do was return his looks with coy smiles. This meant that Jen was able to follow the negotiations, a process she found fascinating. She had never been this close to the centre of power before but, when push came to shove, there wasn’t much difference between the haggling that was happening here and the haggling she’d see every weekend at the local flea market. She could feel that they were reaching a crucial stage so she crossed her legs and let her skirt ride up to mid thigh, exposing the lacy tops of her stockings. Mr Hong’s eyes nearly popped out on stalks and Jen had to study a file closely to hide her smirk.

At mid day they broke for lunch and Jen found herself standing with Wendy and Mr Hong as they sipped their pre lunch cocktails.

“That’s a fascinating necklace, young lady.” Mr Hong was talking to Jen and losing any subtlety he might once have had.

“It’s a present from me.” Wendy broke in. “A reward for good service.”

“Ah, I see.” Mr Hong went on. “And who holds the key to that pretty little padlock?”

“Mr Hong!” Jen blushed deeply causing Wendy and Mr Hong to laugh. The question was never directly answered but Mr Hong was no fool and Jen guessed that he would have read a file on Wendy in just the same way that Wendy had read a file on him. Given what Sally had said that morning about Wendy trawling the bars she had to assume that he knew of Wendy’s penchant for submissive women and he would assume that she was the latest in line. The only way forward was for Jen to play along, to play that the collar was willingly worn, that she was a consenting pet for Wendy but, in some ways that made it easier. Pets aren’t supposed to take the initiative and she could still flirt whilst being apparently shy and retiring.

“They went on in to lunch and, either by accident or design, Jen ended up sat next to Mr Hong. Although he spent most of the meal talking to Wendy, apparently ignoring Jen as a minion unworthy of his interest, it wasn’t long before Jen felt his hand groping under the table for her knee. This was it, this was the dividing line. If she brushed his hand away she would be asserting her independence, she would be brushing him off. On the other hand… She picked up her wine glass to give her something to do, something to distract herself.

Mr Hong’s hand was moving slowly, but inexorably up her thigh. She felt her flesh creep as his podgy fingers pushed her skirt aside, reached the tops of her stockings, and moved towards her groin. Every fibre of her body wanted to clamp her legs together, to scream out, to expose him for the old letch he was but she remembered Wendy’s instruction to ‘let him know what colour panties she was wearing’ and, mentally gritting her teeth, she eased her legs apart. That was all the encouragement he needed and his hand slipped between her thighs. After an initial fumble, Jen could guess his surprise at finding no panties in his way, his fingers probed at her vagina, pushing the lips apart, forcing their way inside.

Mr Hong was clumsy and Jen was far from aroused which meant that his probings were uncomfortable, bordering on painful. Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, when a particularly clumsy tweak of her clitoris caused Jen to emit a squeak of pain, it was seen as further encouragement and, as far as was possible whilst still maintaining the pretence to the rest of the table that nothing was happening, Mr Hong went at her with renewed vigour.

At last lunch was over. As they got up from the table Jen noticed the bulge in Mr Hong’s groin. His fumbling may have left her totally cold but it had aroused Mr Hong no end. They were on their way back to the boardroom when Mr Hong sidled up to Wendy.

“I find myself a little tense. Perhaps, after we’ve signed the agreements, you assistant might help? Her pretty little mouth would be just the thing.” He leered.

“Of course, Mr Hong, let me arrange it for you. Please excuse us for a moment.” Wendy took Jen aside into the ladies toilets.

“Hong wants a blow job, and you’re going to give him one.” She said as soon as the door was closed.

“Please, Mistress…” Jen was horrified. A bit of flirting was one thing, letting him grope her all through lunch was yet another but this, euch!

“How long ago was it that you were on your knees promising to do anything I ask? Well it starts right here and right now with you giving Hong his blow job.  That is an order. You will obey it, this deal means far too much for you to back out now. Need I remind you of the alternatives?”

For a moment or two Jen couldn’t say a word. When she’d promised to do ‘anything’ it had been under pressure from discovering the filth on her computer and, anyway, ‘anything’ wasn’t meant to include giving disgusting old businessmen blow jobs. Her mind was in turmoil, but, at the end of the day, she had no choice in the matter; Wendy had shown the extent and depth of her control.

“Of course, Mistress.” She replied at last.

“That’s better. Just be grateful he didn’t ask to take you up the arse, or would a slut like you have preferred that?” Wendy laughed.

“Mistress!” Jen replied but any discussion there might have been was over and they went back into the board room.

The afternoon session was pretty much the same as the morning one. Mr Hong couldn’t keep his eyes off Jen and, despite her growing nausea about what was coming she flirted back. By four-o-clock all was done and dusted and, with a flourish of Mont Blanc pens, the papers were signed. Mr Hong got to his feet and went over to shake hands with Wendy.

“A deal well done, Miss McCuskell.” He said. “Now, we can’t stay long, I have a plane to catch but, before I leave, about my strain relief…”

“Of course, my private room is through that door there.”

Mr Hong grabbed Jen by the hand and near dragged her off to the private room. As soon as he entered he locked the door and, unbuttoning his trousers sat down in an armchair. Jen had to stifle a laugh; Mr Hong’s power as a businessman was not matched by his anatomy, indeed his aggression in the boardroom may well have been overcompensation. However, that didn’t detract from the fact that his penis, however small, was about to go in her mouth. She knelt down before him, took his penis in her fingers with a milking action and played with his glans with the tip of her tongue. Mr Hong was not in the mood for such subtlety. He grabbed Jen’s collar either side of her neck and pulled her forward, thrusting himself inside as deep as he would go. Within moments he was panting, and, seconds later the warm salty taste filled Jen’s mouth as he climaxed and great gobbets of sperm spurted from his penis. Jen fought back the vomit reflex and swallowed.

Mr Hong had hardly finished before he was buttoning himself up again. Without a word he stood up, strode to the door and, leaving Jen in a heap on the floor, departed. The door was left ajar and Jen could hear him thanking Wendy as if her services were something handed out at Wendy’s discretion. With a sinking heart Jen realised that this was indeed the case and wondered what would have happened had his tastes run to anal sex, or God knows what else.

Now that she was alone she knew she should be looking for outs, searching for an escape plan but the door which, at first, had been left ajar had now been closed and when Jen tested it she wasn’t surprised to find it locked. So was the only other door to the room, and all the cupboards so Jen helped herself to a glass of water from a decanter on a sideboard and slumped down in an armchair to wait. Twenty minutes later, Wendy entered, a beaming smile on her face.

“That’s the Far East distribution sewn up for the next five years and at a very nice price indeed. What did I tell you, play the man, not the company. He was practically coming in his pants he was so hot for you.” Wendy was animated, excited. “Men are such fools. He was so keen to get his prick in your pretty little mouth he was signing practically anything, completely ignoring his legal team’s advice.”

“And was it awful for you?” She mocked. “Did the nasty man stick his hand up your skirt? Did he make you suck him off? Did he come in your mouth? Did you have to swallow? I bet you quite enjoyed it, a dirty little tart like you.”

“Please, Mistress.” Jen was horrified at the thought. “I could never enjoy that.”

“And how about pleasing me? Could you enjoy that?”

“I’m sorry, Mistress?” Jen replied, nonplussed.

“Well, the thought of you gobbling away at Hong’s needle dick, not to mention the vast profits today is going to lead to, have left me hot and horny so now it’s my turn, I’m going to require your services, right away.”

In one smooth movement Wendy slipped down the pants of her trouser-suit and her panties and lay back in an armchair. Jen sighed internally but she wanted to keep Wendy in this good mood so she hurried over and knelt before her. Jen had never performed cunnilingus before but at least she understood the anatomy and could imagine how she would wish it done to her. Slowly, sensuously, she set to work, teasing open the flower of Wendy’s vagina, sliding her tongue along the folds of skin, feeling Wendy respond, tasting her juices, moving slowly, never rushing, towards her clitoris. As she did so she felt a twinge of jealousy. Why was it that none of her sexual partners, up to and including Mr Hong, had ever understood about foreplay? Like Mr Hong they had always rushed in, prodding and poking around before she was ready, before she was warmed up, before she was receptive to such treatment. She, on the other hand, was determined to be the best she could be for Wendy and, whatever her feelings inside, would approach her as a true lover.

And what were her feelings inside. Overnight her world had been transformed from that of an independent young woman to that of some sort of sex slave but, and she was surprised to find there was a ‘but’, through this transformation she had bizarrely been admitted to Wendy’s inner sanctum. In her previous role she had not even known that the deal with S.A.L. was about to happen; now she was there as the papers were signed and, more importantly, privy to Wendy’s tactics and strategies. There was a bitter irony in the way in which, as she lost her freedom and became ‘nothing’ she had better access to the world to which she aspired. She’d heard about people sleeping with the boss to get on; in her case it seemed that the way to get on was to become the boss’s sex slave.

Mingled in with all this was a sense of pride. She felt like Mata Hari, using her feminine whiles to distract and spy on the enemy; without her the deal would not have gone so well, she had played a part, and an important part, in getting the final price. This, of course, begged the question, how far would she have gone with Mr Hong? The question was moot in this case, the deal was done and Mr Hong had left, but next time, and surely there was going to be a next time, how far would she go? More importantly, how far would she be forced to go? She was realistic enough to realise that she would have no choice. She could even envisage being held down by Fran whilst Mr Hong raped her if that was what Wendy required, and somehow, appalling as this image was, there would still be that sense of pride. Her anus was still bruised and battered from Fran’s brutality last night and she could never envisage welcoming such treatment but, somehow, deep, deep inside, in a place she hardly dared admit existed, the very idea caused an illicit tingle.

A sensuous moan from Wendy broke through Jen’s reveries and brought her sharply back to the business in hand. Under the steady rhythmic flick of her tongue Wendy’s clitoris was hard and swollen, jutting out, inviting more. Jen responded by upping the pressure, she could sense that Wendy was riding some sort of wave and she determined to go with her.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes! Keep it like that, just like that, oooh, harder, harder, yes, yes…”  Wendy hissed between clenched teeth. Either side of her head Jen could feel Wendy’s thigh muscles tensing and relaxing, this wasn’t just one wave but a succession, each one longer and higher than the last until Wendy’s whole body seemed to spasm, she twisted this way and that and Jen had to work hard to keep up with her. Wendy uttered a dark, animal cry that, without words, spoke deeply of the lust released within her and, with a final shudder, threw Jen to one side and collapsed.

For a while the two women didn’t move, each in her own way exhausted. Then Wendy stood up out of the armchair.

“Not bad, for a beginner, but I got the impression I didn’t have your full attention at one point. Have a care, piglet, sloppy work will not be tolerated. Now, get back to your desk, I’m sure you have lots to do.” Wendy turned on her heel and strode of towards the bathroom.

The rollercoaster that was Jen’s emotions took another steep dive. Only moments before she had been congratulating herself on her part in helping achieve the deal with Mr Hong, and she had been proud that her role, however degrading and demeaning, had been important. Then she had given Wendy an orgasm and all she had got in return was a ‘not bad for a beginner’, coupled with an admonishment. A simple ‘thank you’ would have meant so much, surely Wendy could see that, why couldn’t she say it? Despondent and deflated she returned to her desk and the mountain of work waiting there for her.

Wendy reappeared thirty minutes later having showered and changed her clothes and she went straight to her desk without another word to Jen. The two women worked in silence until, at seven-o-clock Wendy announced that it was time to go. Jen was still unable to shake her deflated mood and was withdrawn and silent. Whether Wendy was aware of this was moot, withdrawn and silent was how Jen was supposed to behave unless it was required otherwise. Her depressed state had turned her into the compliant little mouse Wendy demanded. Meekly she followed Wendy downstairs and into the waiting car.

As the car swept along the road on the way to Wendy’s mansion Jen wondered what would happen next. Throughout the day there had been a ‘normal’ structure within which her relationship with Wendy had operated. A crucial question was what was to be expected now that they were out of the office, away from the possibility of public intrusion, and without the daily routine for distraction. Once they were in the mansion neither she nor Wendy would have work to do; how were they going to pass the time? Would she be confined to her cell or would she be Wendy’s plaything? She was certain that, whatever it was, it wouldn’t be any situation that might be described as ‘normal’.

Inevitably there was some confusion when they arrived at the mansion. Jen, not sure if she was supposed to enter through the front door with Wendy, or through the garage with Sally, chose the wrong one and stayed in the car. Wendy’s displeasure at having to call her was obvious. As they approached the front door it was opened by Juanita and Wendy breezed past, stopping only to hand over her briefcase but when Jen went to follow Juanita put out a hand to stop her.

“Clothes, please.”

Wendy turned back and gave Jen an exasperated look.

“Really, piglet. I know you’re new to this but do try and keep up. Oh, and cheer up a bit, you’ve a face like a wet Sunday.” She turned to Juanita. “I think that piglet needs some time to think things over, some basket time if you’d be so kind.”

As Wendy left Juanita turned to Jen with an expectant look. Jen realised that she was expected to undress, that was the only possible reason for her ‘Clothes, please’ request.  She took off her jacket and handed it over. Juanita’s expression showed that she was waiting for more so, for once, it seemed that Jen had got something right. As each garment came off Juanita took it and folded it neatly, laying it to one side. Once Jen was naked Juanita opened a cupboard next to the front door and, from in amongst the umbrellas and the like, fetched out a pair of leather cuffs which were linked together. With one swift movement she gathered Jen’s wrists behind her back and fastened the Velcro strips so they fitted snugly; Jen was so dispirited and apathetic that she put up no resistance and, when Juanita reached back into the cupboard for a leash, actually raised her chin to allow Juanita easier access to the collar.

With a gentle tug on the leash Juanita led her down a short corridor and then some stairs to the kitchen where, in a corner, there was a large dog basket. Jen glanced at Juanita who nodded; she didn’t need any further prompting, she now understood what ‘basket time’ meant and she knelt down in it allowing Juanita to attach the leash to a bracket fastened to the wall.

Knelt there, quite literally in the doghouse, Jen was completely despondent. It seemed that whatever she did she was lost. The way she was watched all the time, the way she was restrained, the filth on her PC and the threats of what would happen if she were to try running away all added up to eliminate any thoughts that escape was going to be easy or quick. Like it or not she was going to have to live with the regime imposed on her but, even when she’d tried to comply, it seemed that whatever she did was still wrong, that she still ended up, naked and chained like a dog for offences she wasn’t even aware of. The whole scenario was a nightmare, a nightmare with no end in sight. She could feel the tears welling up again…

“Hello, what have we here, is little piglet on the naughty step?” Sally had entered and, by the tone of her voice, was looking for fun, fun at Jen’s expense. She bent down a chucked Jen under the chin.

“Have you been a bad little piglet? Have you upset Madam? Are you in for a spanking later?” Sally’s knelt down so her face was close to Jen’s. “You’re bottom of the heap, do you know that. It’s not just Madam and Fran, you know; if I want to play with you then I can, and I will.”

Sally reached out and gripped Jen’s nipple between her thumb and forefinger. Slowly she started to squeeze and twist.

“Do you like that? Are you a pain slut? Does it make you damp between your thighs, dripping with excitement? Let’s have a look.” Sally knelt down next to Jen and reached down between her thighs with her other hand, cupping her pubic mound, probing inside with her fingers. “No, does nothing for you? Well, it turns me on.”

Sally twisted harder and Jen had to bite back a cry of pain. Despite her despondent mood something in Sally’s attitude had awoken Jen’s stubborn streak and she was determined not to give in too easily.

“Think you’re tough, do you?” Sally snarled as she gave another vicious twist.

“Tougher than you, bitch.” Jen hissed through the pain.

“We’ll see, won’t we.” This time Sally’s attack on Jen’s nipple was combined with a grab at her groin and Jen couldn’t hold back a strangled cry.

“Sal, Sal, What you do?” Juanita, disturbed by the noise had come over to see what was happening.

“Just playing, Nita, just playing.”

“You leave her alone. She new, she in enough trouble already. She don’t need you poking her titties.”

For a moment of two the two women stared at each other, locked in a battle of wills. However, despite the apparent mildness of Juanita it was Sally who backed down, Sally who withdrew and, muttering about getting her own back later, wandered off.

“You Ok?” Juanita hunkered down next to Jen and put her arms round her.

After all the hurts, after all the coldness, Juanita’s compassion cut through all Jen’s defences and the floodgates opened. She’d been bottling up all the fears, all the uncertainties, all the unknowns and she hadn’t had a single friendly voice all day. Now Juanita, with her broken English and strong Spanish accent, was offering sympathy and understanding and, moreover, had come to Jen’s rescue by driving Sally away. Jen slumped sideways and Juanita cuddled her to her breast, letting her cry, letting her have some time, letting her catch her breath.

“Juanita,” Jen sobbed, “I don’t think I can do this. I don’t think I can take any more.”

“Shh, Shh, Chiquita, is no so bad. You see, you get used to it. That Sally, she just jealous that she no longer number one girl. When Mistress find out maybe you get to poke her titties, eh?”

“Oh, Juanita.” Jen sighed. “What am I to do?”

“Don’t worry. The Mistress, she like you, she like you very well, you’re her new special girl. Now I’ve got to cook so you just wait here and when the Mistress calls, it will be better, you’ll see.”

Juanita hugged her close and kissed the top of her head before getting up and returning to her pots and pans.

Jen, as far as she was able to, snuggled down in the basket; her mind raced, she definitely had plenty to think about. So Sally was jealous because she used to be Wendy’s ‘number one girl’, as Juanita had put it, and, apparently, Wendy ‘liked her very well’. Although Jen had seen little of no sign of this so far Juanita had spoken with a sincerity and conviction that weren’t easily dismissed. She was half asleep when Juanita returned and unfastened the leash.

“Come now. The Mistress, she ask for you.”

Juanita led Jen back upstairs and into the main living room. Wendy was stretched out on a sofa wearing a silk dressing gown. In one hand she had a file which she was studying, with the other she was helping herself to snacks off a tray placed on a table beside her. Juanita handed Wendy the leash and withdrew. Jen hardly needed prompting, she was getting the message and she knelt down next to the sofa.

“Ah, piglet,” Wendy smiled sweetly. “Come closer.”

Wendy tugged gently on the leash and drew Jen in until her head was resting on Wendy’s lap. Softly Wendy ran her fingers through Jen’s hair, stroked her cheek, caressed her brow.

“Poor little piglet, I guess it’s been quite a day for you, hasn’t it? So much to learn, so much to take in, but you’ve not done too badly, you just need to learn to keep focused. The sooner you learn to accept what you are the less you’ll need to be trained. Bad little piglets get punished, good little piglets get treats. Because you were such a good girl with Mr Hong I’ve decided that you can have hot water for your shower tomorrow, Ok?”

“Thank you, Mistress.”

“Talking of Mr Hong, you made quite an impression on the old fart. I’ve had his people on the phone asking if you were for sale. They made quite a decent offer. I was even tempted for a moment of two.”

“For sale, Mistress?” Jen was horrified. Could she be bought and sold like that?

“Oh, yes. As soon as Hong saw your collar he knew exactly what you were. That was part of the turn on for him, the fact that I was being so blatant about owning you, that I would bring my slave to such an important meeting. After that all he was thinking about was getting his dick in your mouth. Trust me, men, all men, are like that, ruled by their dicks. Find that weakness, play to it and they’re like putty.”

“How much…” Jen was still trying to get her head round the idea of people being bought and sold in this day and age.

“How much did he offer?” Wendy laughed. “Plenty, but don’t you worry your pretty little piglet head about it. You’re not for sale, well, not yet anyway. We’re going to have so much fun together, you and I, and that’s worth more than any cash offer that Hong might make. Now, you stop worrying about it and rest there for a while.”

With her head on Wendy’s lap, it was peaceful and soothing. Wendy went back to her file and nibbling on the snacks from the tray. Occasionally she would offer one of them to Jen. The comparison with a puppy was stronger and stronger, the collar, the leash, first confined to her basket, and now knelt at her Mistress’s lap accepting titbits from her hands; but for all that, after the turmoil of the day, this was peaceful and relaxing. Furthermore Wendy had admitted that she’d done well and that meant a lot, her efforts that afternoon had been appreciated and not just taken for granted.

The smooth, silky material of Wendy’s dressing gown was all that lay between Jen’s cheek and Wendy’s groin and, as Wendy reached for a different file from her briefcase beside her, her gown slipped open until there was a small triangle of bare flesh just in front of Jen’s lips. Without even thinking about what she was doing Jen rolled her head slightly and gently, very gently, kissed the exposed skin. There was no response from Wendy, but there was no admonishment either so she continued. Softly, like the fluttering of butterfly wings, her lips caressed Wendy’s stomach and, with each kiss, as her head moved, so the triangle opened until the lower bound was the edge of Wendy’s panties.

Wendy was still, apparently, reading her files but a rich warm perfume from her groin spoke of a different story. Jen ranged from side to side until, frustrated that the panties would not let her go lower, made the jump and moved to kissing the inner thighs. Wendy moved her outer leg until her foot was resting on the floor and Jen was now kneeling between her legs. Still keeping the kisses light and fluttery Jen explored the soft skin deep in Wendy's groin, her ears open for even the slightest bit of feedback. By now she had no thoughts as to whether what she was doing was demeaning or not, she could tell she was doing it well and was getting a rush from controlling Wendy’s body for a change. The musty perfume, and the damp patch on Wendy’s panties told their story, unbidden and unasked for Jen was pushing her towards an orgasm, an orgasm that Jen controlled.

In the end there was only so much of this teasing that Wendy would take and she put down her file, reached down and pulled the gusset of her panties to one side. As Jen probed with her tongue the rich, earthy taste of Wendy’s juices spoke of her arousal, how, even without direct contact, she was already fully turned on. Her clitoris, her swollen pea of pleasure, was projecting out, demanding attention, the time for subtlety over. Jen could build on what she had learnt earlier, how Wendy had liked direct stimulation, Jen’s tongue directly on her clitoris, and she set to work with a steady flick, flick, flick. Wendy tensed, almost lifting her buttocks off the sofa as she pushed her groin towards Jen, who responded by upping the intensity, whilst still keeping the steady tempo.

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, that’s good, that’s good, oh my God, that’s so good…” Wendy was babbling, almost incoherent as the wave within her built and built. She was beginning to writhe about and Jen was having problems following her but she was determined to stay the course. Wendy crested a wave, tensing then relaxing, but it was far from over, there were bigger, stronger waves to come. Time and time again each mini climax came and went until Jen felt her go rigid, every muscle locked. Keeping the rhythm, the steady unstoppable rhythm, her tongue pushed against Wendy’s clitoris again and again and again until, suddenly Jen’s mouth filled, Wendy gave a massive groan, thrashed once, thrashed twice, pushed Jen away and went limp.

For five long minutes both women could do nothing but lie there, one on the sofa, one on the floor, panting exhaustedly. Jen smiled to herself, she knew she had just given Wendy an orgasm above and beyond the everyday, it wasn’t much but it was a power she had over her, a power she could use. She wasn’t sure how, she wasn’t sure when, but, one day, she would use it.

“Oooh, piglet, where did you learn to do that?” Wendy was recovering her senses.

“Nowhere, Mistress.” Jen replied.

“Come here, come up here on the sofa.” Wendy moved away from the edge of the sofa and indicated that Jen should lie down beside her. Her dressing gown was now wide open and, as the two women lay together they were face to face, breast to breast, groin to groin, warm flesh to warm flesh. Jen found it hard to balance with her wrists still locked behind her back but Wendy held her tight and stopped her from falling.

“You’re a naughty piglet, you know that?” Wendy whispered between kisses.

“Sorry, Mistress.”

“I didn’t say you could do that, did I?”

“No, Mistress. Sorry, Mistress.”

“But I might just let you off this time.”

Any possible reply was quashed by Wendy’s kiss, and, side by side on the sofa, the two women lay, their bodies locked together, relaxing together until it was time for bed and Wendy rang for Juanita to take Jen back to her room.

Parp… Parp… Parp… Parp… Jen groaned as she rolled over. One thing that was certain, however long she was kept as Wendy’s slave, pet or whatever else she might become, she would never, ever, get used to being woken by that damn siren and the flashing lights that went with it. Despite the temptation to tuck her head under the pillow and hope it would all go away she knew that the only way to stop it was to get out of bed so, wiping the sleep from her eyes, she sat up and pushed the covers aside. As with the previous day the siren stopped the moment her feet touched the floor, which implied, as with the previous day, that she was being watched. With an ironic wave to the CCTV camera she stood up and went over to the toilet. As she sat relieving herself she wondered again exactly who it was who was doing the watching. Juanita would surely be far too busy preparing breakfast but any of the other three was a possibility and she could imagine each of them in their own way getting a kick out of it. For Jen it was all part of the dehumanisation; there are, after all, few more private acts than going to the toilet and having to do so under the cold glassy stare of the CCTV camera worked to strip from her any last shreds of dignity she might aspire to.

She washed her hands and used the mirror above the basin to examine, as best she could, the bruising that remained on her buttocks. The worst of the damage was subsiding and it didn’t hurt so much anymore but there were still plenty of marks to show where Fran had struck her. As for the damage to her sphincter, it still felt as if she would never mend and she did her ablutions with care. She was still twisting and turning, trying to get a decent view in the small mirror, when Juanita called her to breakfast.

As Jen went to the kitchen she was feeling much more confident than the day before. Sure, she was still stark naked, sure she knew that there were plenty of ways in which she could trip up and find herself in trouble, sure she knew her freedom was not something she was going to regain in a hurry but this was not the vast unknown it had been and, in Juanita, she felt she had a friend. When she got there she was the first to arrive and she went over and gave Juanita a peck on the cheek.

“Thank you, Juanita, thanks for being so nice to me last night.”

“De nada, Chiquita.” Juanita replied with a smile. “The Mistress, she no so bad for you eh?”

“No, Juanita, she wasn’t so bad. Umm, that bacon smells nice.”

“Hey, No touch! You sit, drink your coffee, leave me to cook.”

Smiling to herself Jen went over to the breakfast bar and poured herself a cup of coffee from the percolator.

When Sally arrived she was curiously subdued and sat down with hardly a word. Jen offered her some coffee which she accepted and the two of them supped their drinks in silence. When Juanita brought over the cooked breakfasts there were only two of them, evidently Fran was not around that day, and, as the two women ate, the only sound was the clink of cutlery against the dishes. From time to time Jen would catch Sally looking at her, looking with an intensity that was disturbing. Jen remembered what Juanita had said the night before; it looked as if Sally’s jealousy was going to be a problem, a problem to add to all the others Jen was facing.

With Breakfast finished Jen and Sally went to their separate rooms to get ready. Jen noted the pile of clothes on the bed but she was more interested in the shower. Wendy had promised hot water, had she kept her word? Jen adjusted the temperature control to roughly half way, set the flow to maximum and, within seconds, was rewarded by a torrent of piping hot water. She fine tuned it to as hot as she could take and slipped in. This was bliss, luxuriating under the flow, turning this way and that to feel the hot water hammering against her skin, massaging it clean. She reached for her hair shampoo and poured out a generous dollop. Today wasn’t going to be a quick rinse under freezing water, today she was going to enjoy every second as she massaged the rich lather into her scalp.

By the time she got round to washing her body she realised that she had spent so long over her hair that she’d better get a move on. Even so, she soaped herself thoroughly from top to bottom, enjoying the shower. For the fist time since her capture she felt fresh and alive, ready to face anything the day might throw at her. When, at last, the water finally started to run cold she got out of the shower, towelled herself down and she was busy with her make up when Sally arrived.

“Come on slowcoach.” Sally said. “If you keep her waiting you’ll pay for it.”

“Coming, coming. Two more minutes.” While Sally waited Jen finished off her make up as quickly as she could before going over to the bed and the pile of clothes. They didn’t look quite as neatly folded as she had remembered but there wasn’t time to think about that, she could appreciate that Sally was right about not keeping Wendy waiting. She put on the stockings and reached for the blouse when…

“Oh my God, I can’t wear this!” The blouse had a bright red mark right across the front. From the looks of it the mark was lipstick.

“Well, you’ll have too. We’re late already and anyway there isn’t another one.”

“But… But…” However, Jen could see the logic, there really was no alternative, she was late and there was no other blouse; she would have to wear this one, however bad it was. As fast as she could she finished getting dressed and followed Sally out to the garage, her earlier exhilaration from the shower replaced by a feeling of panic. When they got to the car she got in the back and, in a desperate attempt to hide the damage to her blouse, tugged her jacket round her as close as possible

When the car pulled up in front of the house Wendy was already waiting with a look on her face like thunder. She stormed over to the car and Sally barely had enough time to get out and open the door for her.

“And which one of you is responsible for keeping me waiting this morning?” Wendy demanded of Jen as the car pulled out of the driveway.

“I’m sorry, Mistress, I couldn’t…” Jen realised she would have to own up.

“I am not in the slightest bit interested in hearing whatever pathetic excuse you try to come up with. You will not keep me waiting under any circumstances. Now stop cowering in the corner and sit up properly.”

Jen sat up and, as she did so her jacket opened showing the bright red mark across her blouse.

“And what’s this?” Wendy demanded. “What on earth persuaded you that coming to work with your clothes disfigured like this was in any way acceptable?”

“Please, Mistress, it was like that when I found it this morning. I didn’t do it.” Jen was now genuinely scared and felt like a naughty school child in front of an unforgiving head mistress.

“Like that when you found it, I don’t believe you.” Wendy pressed the button which wound down the glass screen between the front and back of the car.

“Sally” she demanded “do you know anything about the red marks on piglet’s blouse.”

“No, Mistress.” Sally replied. “On the contrary I can guarantee the blouse was spotless when I delivered it this morning.”

Wendy pressed the button again and the screen rose once more.

“Well, it would appear that in you we have a sluggard, who can’t get out of bed on time, a sloven, who mistreats the clothes she is given to wear, and, worst of all, a bare faced little liar who tries to wriggle out of it when she’s caught red handed. I have no idea what gave you the impression that I would tolerate any of these but you are going to learn that I don’t. Now, pull yourself together and stop snivelling.”

Jen had, indeed, started to cry. She hadn’t meant to but her nerves had been on edge ever since she had found the mark and Wendy’s disapproval was all that she had feared. How brief, how fleeting was her earlier exhilaration from the shower; once again all her self confidence had been destroyed and she was left feeling lost and alone. As the car swept along the road Wendy ignored her, pulling a file from her briefcase and studying it. Jen stared out of the window, biting back the tears. Twenty minutes later they arrived at the office and Wendy stopped to talk to Sally as she got out of the car.

“You had better bring this in through the service entrance.” Wendy pointed at Jen, her voice dripping with contempt. “I’m not having her walk through reception looking like the dog’s breakfast, she can come in the back way and, when you’ve done that, could you sort her out a clean blouse.”

“Yes, Mistress. Of course, Mistress.” Sally was, as ever, the efficient chauffeur. She got back in the car and drove round to the underground car park to leave the car in Wendy’s reserved place. As Sally took Jen through the entrance to the service lifts she couldn’t help smirking.

“Ooh, Madam is cross with you. If I were you I’d slip an exercise book down my panties, oops, I forgot, you’re not wearing any. I wonder what she’ll use? A cane perhaps or a riding crop? Whatever, that cute little tush of yours is going to be red raw before the day is over, you can bet your bottom dollar on that.”

By the time the lift got to the fifteenth floor Jen was thoroughly sick of Sally but she was too dispirited to do anything about it; having her harp on and on about the upcoming punishment was just another thing she was having to put up with. At last it was over, the lift had reached the top floor and Wendy’s office. Jen tried to sneak in as unobtrusively as possible but Wendy was waiting for her.

“Come over here.” She said as soon as Jen entered. Jen went over next to Wendy’s desk and, without being asked, knelt down and bowed her head.

“Very pretty, but it won’t get you out of anything. Do you see this paddle?” Jen looked up to see Wendy pointing to a leather paddle with a wooden handle which lay on her desk. “Every hour, on the hour, you will come over to my desk, bend over, and ask to be punished with as many strokes of the paddle as the hour on the clock. In ten minutes it will be eight-o-clock and you will ask for eight strokes. At nine-o-clock you will ask for nine strokes, at ten-o-clock ten strokes and so on. Do you think you can manage that?”

“Please, Mistress, it was a mistake, I didn’t mean to be late and I’ve no idea where the mark on my blouse came from.” Jen was desperate.

“Did I ask for your excuses? No, I didn’t. I asked if you had understood. If you continue to disobey, if you continue to talk back,  I will up your punishment. I strongly suggest that you get back to your desk and get on with your work and, for God’s sake, stop whining.”

Jen tried to pull herself together but it was hard. She was getting used to having to do whatever Wendy demanded but she was pretty scared of what was coming. Giving Mr Hong his blow job yesterday had been distasteful but at least it hadn’t hurt. Her buttocks were still bruised and battered from Fran’s ministrations so even the lightest taps were going to be really painful, and she was in no doubt that Wendy was not going to go softly on her. She fired up her PC, logged on and started her electronic diary. It didn’t take long to set a repeated appointment, every hour, on the hour, titled ‘See Wendy’.

She had hardly finished doing this when the first appointment flashed up on the screen. This was it, she was going to have to offer herself, and, however much both parties knew the score, she was going to have to at least pretend that she was willing. On unsteady legs she got up and went over to stand beside Wendy’s desk. Wendy was on the phone and appeared not to notice her so she had no clue as to how she was supposed to stand, or rather, not stand. Wendy had told her to bend over and ask for punishment, but, again, how was she to position herself? Facing Wendy was obviously wrong but facing away was a bit too like waving her butt in Wendy’s face. Riven by indecision, torn by trepidation, Jen tried this way and that before Wendy turned and gave her an exasperated look so she just bent over where she was, ending up sideways on to Wendy, straight legged, with her hands upon her knees.

Without breaking her phone call Wendy swung round in her chair, reached out and nudged Jen into a better position; her legs further apart, her head further down, her hands on her shins rather than her knees, and her skirt tucked into its own waistband holding it up and open at the back.

“… Look, Julie, I’ve got to go. Things to do, people to see. I’ll catch up with you when we’re over on the West Coast… See you, bye.” Wendy finished her call and, putting down the phone, turned her attention to Jen. “Well, piglet?”

“Please, Mistress, may I have eight strokes of the paddle?” Jen remembered Wendy’s instruction that she should ask for her punishment.

“And what did you do to deserve punishment?”

“I was late, Mistress.” That one, at least was true.

“And…”

“I marked my blouse, Mistress.” That one was harder; Jen still couldn’t understand where the mark had come from.

“And…”

“I lied, Mistress.” Jen burnt with a sense of injustice, it was bad enough that she was having to go through this painful and humiliating experience, but she hadn’t lied, she really didn’t know where the mark had come from and any attempt to explain this to Wendy just made things worse. The sheer injustice of it all rankled.

“Well, if you behave like a naughty little schoolgirl you’ll get treated like a naughty little schoolgirl. Perhaps this will help you change your ways.”

With a resounding ‘thwapp!’ the paddle landed across Jen’s buttocks. It stung, really stung, but was still manageable, and Jen was able, just, to hold back both the cry of pain, and the tears that wanted to follow. Thwapp! The second stroke was half way down her right thigh; thwapp, the third matching it on the left. Her teeth clenched and her eyes screwed tight shut Jen gripped her calves as the blows continued, hanging desperately on to her self control, fighting the instinct to straighten up, to protect herself, to cry out or, simply, to cry.

“Thwapp! The last stroke fell and Jen’s backside felt like it was on fire. Wendy reached out and ran her fingers across the Jen’s skin, tracing the line where thigh meets buttock; somehow the light, delicate touch was as painful as the paddle had been and Jen winced as the fingers traced out the bruised and battered flesh.

“What do you say, piglet?” Wendy’s voice was soft and gentle.

“I… I don’t know, Mistress.” Jen was seriously perplexed.

“Aren’t you grateful, grateful that I spend my time and energy teaching you the error of your ways, helping you become a good little piglet?”

For a moment Jen was truly shocked; was she really expected to be grateful for being abused like this? However, in this bizarre world she had been thrown into, this world where she was a possession, a slave, a pet, where every aspect of her life was controlled by the whim of her ‘owner’, it would seem that gratitude was required.

“Thank you, Mistress.”

“That’s better. You can stand up now, no, you may not touch your backside, I find it best if the lesson is left to sink in naturally. Oh, and keep your skirt tucked in like that, it will help concentrate the mind. Now, back to your desk, I’m sure you have plenty to do.”

Gingerly, carefully, and fighting the urge to rub her bottom, Jen went and sat back down again. With her skirt tucked up she was sitting directly on her chair and it felt as if she could feel every fibre of the seat cover, the normally soft material harsh against her battered skin. But it was far more than that. Going without panties or bra had made her feel vulnerable, but now, with her skirt up and her bare backside direct against the chair, she felt exposed as well. Although, were anyone to come in to the office, her nudity would be below the desk and she would appear to be appropriately dressed, she felt naked and defenceless. Much as she tried to concentrate on her work the fire from her buttocks demanded attention; every nerve ending seemed alive and, somehow, incredibly, the pain was countered by a different sensation, a tingle, a flutter, a tiny itch from her groin. Could this really be turning her on?

Jen was ploughing her way through the schedule for the upcoming West Coast trip and completely immersed in her work when the diary reminder popped up on her screen; five minutes to nine-o-clock. Nervously she continued typing but made four mistakes in as many words; she couldn’t concentrate knowing that she was going to be paddled again in five, no make that four, minutes time. Still, at least it wasn’t as bad as the flogging that Fran had given her; she’d taken the eight-o-clock punishment without crying out, let alone screaming, and the after effects, as the heat of the punishment faded, had been interesting. She glanced again at the clock, eight fifty nine, time to go.

Tottering a bit on her high heels Jen went over and, as far as possible, arranged herself as she had been before. As soon as she bent over, with the way her skirt was tucked into it’s own waistband and the way she was posed with her feet wide apart, she was acutely aware of how she was displaying her all to anyone who might enter. She was beginning to appreciate the way in which the lack of underwear, the constant nudity back at Wendy’s mansion and the way in which her body was repeatedly being exposed was reinforcing the way in which her body was no longer hers. It was Wendy’s diktat which decided how and when she would be on display, it was Wendy’s whim as to whether her ‘private parts’ remained private and it was Wendy’s  wish that she should be naked far more than she were clothed.

“Ah, piglet, nine-o-clock already? Doesn’t time fly? Now, what do you say?” Wendy put down the file she was working on and turned to the inverted woman bent over beside her.

“Please, Mistress, may I have nine strokes of the paddle?”

“And why do you deserve nine strokes, little piglet?”

“Please, Mistress, I was late, I was slovenly and I lied to you.” The injustice of having to admit to crimes of which she was innocent still rankled but Jen bit it back and braced herself.

“Yes, indeed. Late,” thwapp,  “slovenly”, thwapp,  “liar.” Thwapp. Wendy punctuated her indictment with three swift blows of the paddle. Jen, expecting the more measured pace of her earlier spanking was taken by surprise and nearly lost her balance as her body jerked in response. She’d barely recovered before, thwapp, thwapp, thwapp; three more blows struck making her cry out. There was a pause, a long pause, and every fibre of Jen’s being wanted to scream ‘Just get on with it!’ until, without warning, the last three blows fell. For a moment Jen could only concentrate on keeping herself together. The paddle was gentler than the cane, or crop, or whatever Fran had used and the damage was more dispersed but Jen’s buttocks were once more aglow with a deep fire that centred on her rear but was spreading throughout her loins. She was just regaining control of herself when she felt Wendy’s fingers brushing gently between her thighs, teasingly brushing her pubic hair.

“Thank you, Mistress.” Jen managed, her concentration distracted by the tingling that Wendy’s fingers were causing.

“You’re far too bushy, very unkempt. We need to get this trimmed. Remind me to get that organised” Wendy said in a matter of fact tone. “Ok, that’s enough, back to work.”

Jen straightened up and returned to her desk. Once again her skin seemed super sensitive, and, along with the inner fiery glow that was spreading from her backside, Jen could still feel in her mind the tingling sensation of Wendy’s fingers as they brushed against her pubic hair. Whilst she would never, ever, admit to being turned on she had to admit that the effect of the paddling wasn’t all unpleasant, the initial fire left an afterglow which tingled and tingled. She turned back to her work, anything to distract her from the thoughts that were forming, thoughts that she didn’t want to admit to.

It was just short of ten-o-clock when Sally arrived with the replacement blouse. Jen got up from her desk to change but, when she’d finished and went to sit down again, Wendy stopped her.

“Hmm, five to ten, that’s close enough. I think we’ll have the ten-o-clock spanking right now. Sally, dear, would you do the honours?” Wendy picked up the paddle from her desk and passed it to Sally. Jen, catching the triumphant look on Sally’s face, looked over at Wendy who had sat back in her chair, expectantly. Whatever help Jen had hoped for was not forthcoming and realising that delay would only make things worse, she turned to Sally and bent over clutching her shins as before.

“Well?” Sally’s voice was harsh; there was none of the amusement that Wendy seemed to find.

“Please, Mistress, may I have ten strokes of the paddle.” Jen was unsure how she should be addressing Sally and plumped for ‘Mistress’ as the safest bet.

“And why do you deserve ten strokes?” Sally almost snarled.

“Please Mistress, I was late, I was slovenly and I lied.”

THWAPP! There was no waiting with Sally and she had none of Wendy’s finesse. Jen staggered under the blow and only an iron determination not to break in front of Sally prevented her from crying out.

THWAPP! The second blow was just as hard and Jen was really struggling. Eight more like this and, unrestrained as she was, she really wouldn’t be able to take it.

THWAPP! The third blow broke through the last of Jen’s defences and a cry of pain escaped her. Fortunately Wendy came to her aid.

“Careful, Sally, we don’t want too much damage, there’s seven more hour’s of fun left today and I want piglet here to feel every one of them.”

Sally calmed down but the damage was done and, by the time the tenth blow fell, Jen was sobbing freely. It took some time before she could talk at all and even then her ‘thanks’ was forced out between sobs. When she returned to her desk it took a real effort of will to sit down, and then stay sitting as the touch of the chair burnt deeply. She was still snivelling when Sally left, taking the damaged blouse with her.

“Oh, for Heaven’s sake!” Wendy sounded exasperated. “Look at the mess you’ve made of your makeup. You have ten minutes to go to the bathroom and sort yourself out; go!”

Jen went to the bathroom and washed her face. The day was turning into a nightmare and, each time it took a downturn, somehow Sally was involved. Jen wasn’t sure whether to take it personally or not but, however it was meant, there was no denying the ferocity with which Sally had attacked her backside. Wendy had hurt, really hurt, and had brought tears to her eyes, but there had been a subtlety about it, limiting the pain to what Jen could take, taking her to an edge but not over. Sally, by comparison, was heavy handed and blundering. With a start Jen realised that the clock was ticking, her ten minutes would soon be up, and it made sense to return looking as good as she could. Quickly she repaired the damage and, pinning a smile on her face, returned to the office. Wendy glanced at the clock.

“Nine minutes, it seems that you’re learning.” She laughed.

Maybe it was because Sally had been overzealous, maybe it was the comparison between the two, but the eleven-o-clock session seemed a piece of cake after the brutality of the ten-o-clock. Sure, the ritual of apologising for crimes she hadn’t committed still grated and there was never going to be a dignified way to bend over when your skirt was tucked up, your legs were parted and your bare bottom was open wide to the world, and, though she didn’t have the brutality of Sally, Wendy still left Jen with a well tanned derrière. But for all that it was a punishment that Jen could take, the pain was bearable, and, truth be told, Jen was getting accustomed to the increasingly warm feeling between her legs that accompanied the well warmed bottom.

The midday session was equally uneventful but, come one-o-clock, when Jen bent over and asked if she could have one stroke of the paddle Wendy just laughed.

“My dear piglet, did you really think you would get away with that? Please tell me, what does the clock on the wall say?”

Jen craned her neck and looked up. Sure enough the clock was digital and twenty four hour.

“Thirteen oh one, Mistress.” She replied sheepishly.

“So, how about you asking me again.” Wendy laughed.

“Please, Mistress, can I have thirteen strokes of the paddle.”

“I think I might be able to oblige you, seeing as how you ask so nicely. Now remind me again why you deserve this.”

Jen gritted her teeth and repeated again the litany about lateness, slovenliness, and lying. As the day progressed this was becoming harder and harder, so much of her well being relied on Wendy’s good will and to have her believe that she had ruined the blouse and then lied about it was, despite Wendy’s good humoured teasing, going to hinder, not help, in regaining her trust. What really hurt, far more than the paddle, far more than the humiliating ritual, was that Wendy so obviously thought her to be a silly little girl. With a well stifled inner sigh Jen braced herself for thirteen strokes.

By six-o-clock Jen was thoroughly pissed off with the whole day. Wendy often worked long days and seven or eight-o-clock was not unusual but, please, please let this be a day when she went home at six. For what she hoped was the last time today she got up, went over to Wendy’s desk, bent over and requested the eighteen strokes.

“I think for this last session I want you over my knee; that’s where naughty little piglets like you belong. Come along now.”

Jen, the words ‘naughty little piglet’ still burning in her ears, straightened up and went to drape herself across Wendy’s lap. Wendy took Jen’s arm and twisted it behind her back, holding her firmly. With her other hand Wendy moved Jen’s legs further apart and it could have been coincidence that, when Jen was arranged to Wendy’s satisfaction, Wendy’s hand ended up between Jen’s thighs, mere millimetres away from Jen’s vagina.

“Now then, piglet, have you learnt your lesson?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“And will you be late again?”

“No, Mistress.”

“And will you look after the clothes I provide for you?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“And will you lie to me again?”

“No, Mistress.”

A ball of frustrated fury boiled within Jen. Wendy’s condescension, the way she was being treated like some sort of infant, the way her innocence had been disbelieved and her protestations had led to further punishment, the way in which she was Wendy’s plaything and completely unable to do anything about it, and, to cap it all, the way that Wendy’s hand was positioned so damn close but so damn far that made her want so much to move until it touched and she could work on scratching that growing itch between her legs, all added up to an unbearable degree of anger and it was all Jen could do to prevent herself from throwing an almighty temper tantrum. Nevertheless, she knew that however loudly she screamed It’s just not fair! all she would be doing would be reinforcing the image of the immature little girl, the image she was so keen to lose.

Wendy removed her hand and, almost immediately the first blow fell. Whereas Wendy seemed to have been holding back before, now, possibly because it was going to be the last session of the day, the blows were fast and furious and Jen didn’t have time to catch her breath between one blow and the next. She couldn’t help a series of inarticulate cries of pain and rage and her legs kicked furiously but she was firmly held and the blows just kept coming. Fortunately it didn’t take long before all eighteen had landed and it was all over. Wendy returned the paddle to the draw in her desk and returned her hand to between Jen’s legs. This time there was no nearly about it, her hand was firmly wedged at the top of her thighs with her fingers pushing against Jen’s vagina. As the fire in Jen’s buttocks began to stoke the reciprocal fire in her loins this insistent pressure was just what Jen needed. She was still flexing her thigh and calf muscles in an attempt to ease the pain and that just mean that her groin moved against Wendy’s hand, until, as if by accident her fingers slipped inside.

“Well, piglet, will you behave from now on?” Wendy’s voice was a gentle purr.

“Yes, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress.”

“Good, because it’s time that we were going. Come along now, sort yourself out.” Wendy’s hand was withdrawn and in a heartbeat Wendy had become cool and efficient again and Jen, just as she was starting to climb the hill towards release, was left high and dry. Wendy eased Jen off her lap and, shaking like a leaf in a gale, Jen went back to her desk to shut down her computer. Once everything was put away and Sally had been notified to bring the car to the font door it was time to leave and the two women went to the lift. As they waited Wendy turned to Jen.

“Piglet, haven’t you forgotten something?”

“Sorry, Mistress.” Jen was concerned, what had she forgotten now?

“Your skirt, piglet, sort it out before we get to the lobby.” With a blush Jen realised what Wendy meant, she had got so used to having her skirt lifted at the back she had completely forgotten to restore it to normal and was about to walk through the lobby with her well tanned backside open to all.

As soon as they got in the car Wendy insisted that Jen lift the back of her skirt again. The rich leather of the seats was cool and sensual against her skin; a pleasant contrast to the fire which still burned from her last beating. Jen was concerned that, with the strange ways in which her body was reacting, she might leave embarrassing damp marks.

When they arrived at the mansion Jen followed Wendy in and, as before, they were met at the door by Juanita. Wendy had a short discussion about the evening menu before telling Juanita that Jen was to be taken to the basket again. Jen knew the score and, as Wendy departed into the depths of the house, she undressed, passing her clothes to Juanita and, once naked, turned with her hands behind her back to enable Juanita to fit the cuffs. Juanita took her down to the kitchen and as she settled her in the basket and fastened the leash to its hook she gave Jen a sympathetic smile but it was obvious that she was not going to be able to give any real help.

Jen had not been there long when Sally arrived carrying a set of cordless hair clippers. She unhooked the leash and ordered Jen to stand with her legs apart. She then fitted a guard on the clippers and set to work. The guard she had chosen was quite short and left the hair at little more than a stubble. Jen had trimmed her pubic hair before but never that short and certainly never with a pair set of clippers. The powerful motor vibrating the shears back and forth was making her whole mons vibrate and, inevitably, this started to have an effect on Jen, an effect that did not go unnoticed by Sally.

“Like that, do you? Does it get you all hot and horny?” Sally laughed. Jen kept her silence, she knew that whatever she said to Sally would only inflame matters but she couldn’t deny that the vibrations were getting to her and, as Sally ran the clippers back and forth she couldn’t stop a little sigh. Furthermore she was certain that Sally was taking far longer than was really justified, either she was doing the most thorough trim possible or, more likely, she was playing with Jen, winding her up by turning her on.

Sally removed the guard and used the unprotected clippers to trim round the edges, catching any stray hairs and trimming back to the bikini line. From Jen’s point of view the continued vibrations were now accompanied by nervous anticipation; having someone, especially someone whom she distrusted as much as Sally, using sharp clippers so close to her most delicate areas, was very off-putting.

“That’s enough of that, time for you to go back to your basket.” Sally switched off the clippers, and pulled the leash back towards the hook so that Jen had no option than to follow. Once she was kneeling down again and reattached Sally patted her on the head and flounced off.

Jen snuggled down as best she could and even drifted off to sleep. There was, after all, nothing else to do and the sheer boredom of her captivity was getting her down. She was woken by Juanita shaking her shoulder.

“Chiquita, wake up. The Mistress want you.” Juanita unfastened the lead and helped Jen to her feet. “Quick now, she ask for you.”

Juanita took the lead and led the still sleepy Jen upstairs to the main lounge where Wendy was waiting. As with the previous night she was looking regal, laid full length on a sofa and wearing a silk dressing gown, but tonight, knelt in front of her, facing the sofa, was a woman, naked and with her arms fastened behind her just as Jen’s were. Juanita unclipped the lead and left. As Jen approached Wendy the kneeling woman looked up and Jen saw her face; it was Sally.

“Ah, piglet.” Wendy said.  “It seems I may have done you an injustice. I’ve been reviewing the security footage from this morning. Take a look at this.”

Wendy picked up a remote controller and pressed some buttons. The flat screen television burst into life and, seconds later, Jen saw video footage of herself earlier that morning putting on her make up. The picture wasn’t particularly high quality and the camera’s fish eye lens made the picture distorted but it was still obvious what she was looking at. Then, on the screen, she saw Sally enter and heard her chide Jen for not being ready. Wendy pressed the pause button.

“Now we get to the interesting part. Don’t we, tubby?” Wendy said.

“Yes, Mistress.” Sally replied. Evidently 'tubby' was her pet name.

“And what will piglet see?”

“Me marking the blouse, Mistress.” Sally mumbled.

“Let’s look, shall we?” Wendy pressed start and the video continued. Jen saw herself go back to putting on her makeup and, as soon as she was distracted, Sally leant over the bed and did something with the clothes. The picture wasn’t clear enough to get the full detail but it was now pretty obvious where the mark had come from. Wendy pressed a button and the screen went blank.

“When I asked you if you knew anything about the mark what did you say?” There was an edge creeping in to Wendy’s voice.

“I sad I didn’t know anything, Mistress.” Sally replied.

“You lied, didn’t you?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“And why did you do that?”

“I wanted to get piglet into trouble.” It was as if the words were being forced from Sally.

“Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.”

“I wanted to get piglet into trouble.” Sally spoke louder this time, the pain of her confession evident in every word.

“You wanted to get piglet into trouble.” Wendy repeated. “Well, you  certainly managed that. Poor little piglet spent half the day upended getting her bottie smacked, and all because of you.”

Wendy looked up at Jen.

“Well, piglet, as you were the victim of tubby’s little prank I’ve decided that you should choose a suitable punishment for her. I’m sure you would like to administer it yourself;  you know by now the sort of possibilities available and you must have plenty of reasons to come up with something interesting and unusual.”

Jen mind was spinning. Part of her, a huge part of her, just wanted to take the biggest, meanest, implement Wendy could provide and thrash Sally until the blood ran. The bitch, the mean conniving bitch had put her through hell and for what? And then she had it, jealousy was the whole reason behind Sally’s actions and Jen could use that jealousy to punish her. So the green eyed bitch didn’t like being supplanted by Jen, then, far worse than any beating, especially as Sally might well be the masochistic type who would enjoy it, far worse would be to show to Sally how much she had failed, how much Jen was now Wendy’s favourite.

“Please, Mistress.” she replied sweetly. “Please would you let me pleasure you.”

“And what about tubby?” Wendy was curious.

“She can watch.”

For a moment Wendy just looked at Jen, then slowly she began to smile.

“Ah, I think I understand. tubby, move over there, next to the fireplace.” Whilst Sally shuffled across the floor on her knees Wendy reached down and, as gracefully as is possible whilst lying on a sofa, removed her panties and positioned herself so that Jen could kneel between her legs.

This was only the third time that Jen had performed cunnilingus but she was a quick learner and, more importantly, she had already picked up some clues as to Wendy’s particular likes and dislikes. The main thing with Wendy, above all else, was to take things slowly. Jen started kissing just above the knees, just brushing her lips against Wendy’s skin. Slowly, oh so slowly, she progressed up the inner thighs, sometimes teasingly kissing a little higher but immediately returning in a two steps forward, one step back fashion. By the time she reached the groove where the thigh meets the groin she was rewarded by the rich warm scent of Wendy’s arousal, but, even so, she kept away from the centre. She ran playful lines of kisses across Wendy’s lower stomach, skirting the top of her pubic hair before running down either side of her vagina where she added a bit of suction, teasing the skin, pulling it gently with her lips. Once, just once, she let her lips brush the top of Wendy’s labia and was rewarded with a gasp of pleasure before she moved away again. Then she pursed her lips and, holding them just away from Wendy’s sensitive skin, blew gently, letting the jet of air from her lips tease at Wendy’s centre.

“If you don’t stop teasing soon…” Wendy mumbled between clenched teeth.

Jen needed no further urging and, probing with her tongue, got down to business and eased Wendy’s labia apart. The thick flow of Wendy’s juices attested to her high state of arousal but still Jen took a slow approach, running her tongue up and down the lips, probing the grooves in between and  barely flicking at the clitoris on her way past. Each time it seemed to project more, each time it was harder, more swollen until, satisfied that Wendy was really ready, Jen settled down, finding the rhythm, the steady flick, flick, flick that would lift Wendy up, step by step, until she reached heaven.

Within moments Jen could feel the first wave building within Wendy. The tensing muscles, the deeper breathing, the little animal cries were all clues that Jen was careful not to miss. As the wave broke within Wendy Jen followed every movement, keeping her tongue pressed to Wendy’s clitoris, steadily, relentlessly, keeping the rhythm, keeping the pulse and, as Wendy relaxed she stayed with her, never stopping, letting the second wave start building even before the first had subsided. As the second wave grew so Jen increased the intensity, still keeping the steady rhythm and once again she was rewarded as Wendy arched her back, pushing her groin into Jen’s face as hard as Jen was pushing her face into Wendy’s groin. Time and again the waves grew, peaked and receded, Jen’s jaw was aching, she was having trouble breathing but she wasn’t going to slacken, not till she’d reached the very peak, she could feel that this time, this wave was the big one, Wendy was grunting, panting, gasping, her whole body a ball of tension, tension that cried out for release, release that was so close, so close, so…

“Oh my God… oh my God… oh my god… OH MY GOD!” Wendy’s shout echoed as the tension broke in a glorious explosion, her whole body released into ecstasy. Jen swallowed as her mouth filled with ejaculate, and she tried to stay with Wendy as her body thrashed about but Wendy had had enough, was well and truly satisfied and, unable to take any more, pushed Jen away.

As an exhausted Jen slumped on the floor waiting she was quietly satisfied. How it must have hurt Sally to have to watch Wendy with another woman and, more importantly, with another woman who could make her come like that. Yeah, suffer, bitch! she thought to herself. Her jaw might ache, her backside might still be suffering, but she could still show Sally who was best.

Wendy rolled over and purred. “God you’re good, you really know how to do that, don’t you? Come up here.”

Jen got on the sofa next to Wendy who wrapped her arms around her and cuddled her close. Jen was a little concerned that her mouth was covered with Wendy’s juices but Wendy didn’t seem to mind and was kissing her long and hard. Eventually she pulled away a bit.

“You’re a clever little piglet, aren’t you?” Wendy glanced over Jen’s shoulder at Sally still knelt by the fireplace. “I think someone’s nose is right out of joint. Maybe she’ll leave you alone from now on.”

Wendy shifted so that there was more room on the sofa for Jen and she didn’t need to hold on so tight just to stop Jen from falling off. She leaned down and kissed Jen’s breasts, her teeth teasing the nipples. Meanwhile her hands slid down Jen’s side to her waist, to her hips, to her groin. As Wendy’s fingers slid through the freshly trimmed hair Jen was aware of how much more sensitive she was, how the touch of Wendy’s fingers was causing delicious ripples and when Wendy’s fingers reached her groin, she opened her thighs to make it easy. Wendy cupped her hand over Jen’s mons, her middle finger easing it’s way inside.

“Ooh, look who’s all turned on.” Wendy laughed. “It looks like someone quite enjoyed kissing my pussy.”

Jen blushed, her motives had been survival, getting one up on Sally, trying to put herself back in Wendy’s good books but Wendy was right, even if she didn’t want to admit it, her body couldn’t hide its reaction, there was a definite eroticism to performing cunnilingus and there was pleasure in giving as well as receiving. Just how much pleasure she didn’t dare admit to herself, let alone Wendy.

In the meantime the steady circular motion of Wendy’s hand was working its magic, and the tension that had built up over the day was being brought to the forefront. Wendy had returned to teasing Jen’s nipples with her teeth and Jen would have had to have been made of ice not to respond. Jen could feel her climax starting, nothing in the scale or magnitude of that which she had given Wendy but a very welcome release after a long and difficult day.

“And is little piglet going to come for her Mistress?” Wendy broke off from Jen’s nipples and whispered in her ear.

Jen knew that the ‘little piglet’ should rankle, should annoy her but she felt so good she really couldn’t work up the anger.

“Yes, Mistress, thank you, Mistress.” and, smooth as silk the wave slipped through her, the tension fell away, release had come at last. “Thank you, Mistress, thank you.”

The two women lay together basking in the warm afterglow. Neither spoke, neither felt the need, the soft touch of skin against skin was more than sufficient. Jen was vaguely aware that Sally was still knelt glowering in the corner but that was a problem for another day; all she wanted was to relax, drift away, safe in the arms of her lover.

With a start Jen pulled herself up. Safe in the arms of her lover! How could she think that? Her wrists were still fastened behind her back and her ‘lover’ had spent the day abusing her. Just because she was basking in some sort of post coital glow didn’t mean that her situation had changed in any material way. She was still a slave, still the plaything of this woman who ruled her life.

Wendy sensed that Jen’s mood had broken, that the soft languorous woman of a few moments before had become tense again. Not that she minded, Jen had made remarkable progress in a very short time; training her was almost too easy, almost too lacking in challenge. She sat up and pressed the bell push that would summon Juanita.

“Right, piglet, it’s your bedtime. Come along now, I can’t lie around here all night.” Juanita arrived to take Jen away. The two women went back down to the basement and Juanita locked Jen in her room. Jen got on her bed, massaging her shoulders; it was all very well Wendy insisting on her having her wrists behind her back all the time but it wasn’t too comfortable in the long run. Jen wondered if it would always be like that. More immediately she wondered how long the lights were going to be left on. Sleep would be difficult in their harsh white glare.

Suddenly the door opened, and Jen saw Sally pushed into the room before it was closed again. Sally was still manacled and she stood next to the bed looking sheepish.

“I guess this is Madam’s idea of a joke, it looks like I’m your room mate tonight.”

“Here, let me get those off you.” Jen sat up on the bed and reached round to unfasten the Velcro strips which held the wrist straps together. Thinking furiously she wondered how to play this. Magnanimous would probably play best. Sally was probably still feeling hurt and it would do neither of them any good to replay the row throughout the night. She was still fiddling with the straps when the lights went out and the room was plunged into total darkness. She finished freeing the cuffs and, dropping them on the floor, guided Sally to the bed.

“You had better lie down. There’s not going to be too much room for the two of us.” Jen added.

Working by touch the two women got under the covers and, forced by the size of the bed, cuddled together.

“I guess you think I’m some kind of a bitch.” Sally said once they had settled down.

“Well, yeah, but I guess I would have felt the same way if I were in your shoes.” Jen conceded.

“Thanks. I try so hard to hate you but you’re really nice.”

“I’m just trying to survive. I’m not here by choice.” Jen replied. “So tell me, how long have you been with Wendy? What’s your story?”

Late in to the night the two women chatted, finding that they had more in common than they thought and, now that she’d got over her jealousy Sally was really helpful, letting Jen in on lots of secrets, ways in which she could avoid trouble. Noticeably she didn’t give any clues as to how to escape and, when Jen gently quizzed her on this she ducked the question, claiming that she was in enough trouble already.

At last, dog tired, it was time to sleep. Jen, as a way of putting the seal on their new found relationship reached out and kissed Sally who responded and a simple goodnight kiss  quickly turned into something more. It was Sally who broke away.

“Not tonight, Jen, were both far too tired and it’s far too late, but thanks, really thanks.” Sally whispered.

“You’re welcome. Goodnight Sally”

“Goodnight, Jen.”

Wrapped in each others arms the two women drifted off to sleep.

Beep… Beep… Beep… The gentle but insistent sound of the alarm nudged Jen from sleep to wakefulness. She tried to roll over but the bed was too crowded, and, as the last shreds of sleep fell from her, she remembered where she was and why Sally was with her sharing the confines of the single bed. With a wry smile she got up and went over to the toilet; last night had been interesting to say the least; there had been a seismic shift in the power structure and she was definitely no longer bottom of the heap. She glanced over at Sally to find that she was propped up in bed watching her closely with a strange glint in her eye.

“What? You like watching me pee?” She asked.

“Yes, but it’s a better view from underneath.” Sally replied grinning unashamedly.

“Better view from underneath?” Then the penny dropped. “You’d like me to piss on you?”

“Well, not right now, there isn’t time, but, in general, yes please. And don’t look so shocked, trust me, after a while round here things like that will seem pretty normal. Anyway, don’t knock it until you’ve tried it. Now, hurry up, I’m bursting and Juanita will be here any moment.”

As Jen washed her hands Sally got up and went to the toilet. The room wasn’t designed for double occupancy and the two women had to manoeuvre round each other which meant that Jen, whether she wanted to or not, ended up watching Sally on the toilet. She couldn’t help but wonder just what it would be like, lying on the ground whilst another woman squatted over her; where would the urine fall? On her groin? On her face? Would some splash in her mouth? Would she have to swallow? In her imagination she could feel the warm fluid splashing all over her, she could smell it, she could taste it; she knew she ought to be repulsed but somehow she was more intrigued.

Juanita arrived to take them to breakfast and the two women followed her back to the kitchen and sat down a the breakfast bar. Fran was there and, somehow, her presence made Jen feel like a naughty little schoolgirl. She would have liked to continue last night’s conversation with Sally and get to know more about exactly what was what around Wendy but Fran’s company meant that they ate in relative silence.

“Come on, piglet, you can choose your own clothes this morning.” The meal was over and Sally got up from the breakfast bar. Jen swigged down a last gulp of coffee and followed her down a corridor to a walk in store cupboard. There were three racks marked ‘piglet’, tubby’ and ‘Juanita’ each with various outfits hanging from them. Next to the racks were draws containing accessories. On the door was a wall chart with a repeated pattern of red ‘t’s and ‘p’s. Jen stared at it for a while until, with a start, she realised that the red ‘p’s would correspond with her periods, once again the depth of Wendy’s information was disturbing. Sally saw her looking at the chart.

“Yeah, those are the days we’re allowed panties, not that you’ll like the ones you’re given, they’re about as sexy as a car crash. Now come on, you really don’t want to be late two days in succession and I’m blowed if I’m going to be responsible.”

Sally picked her standard chauffeur uniform from the racks whilst Jen chose an A-line skirt with a matching jacket and a suitable plain white blouse. Glancing quickly through the racks Jen couldn’t see many items that weren’t boring work clothes; it didn’t look like she was expected to wearing much away from the office. She grabbed a pair of shoes and stockings and followed Sally out.

The working day continued to add to Jen’s frustration. Although her new life was enforced rather than chosen it wasn't all bad news. She was, in a sense, getting everything she’d dreamed of, she was working closely with Wendy, learning the ropes and getting a thorough understanding of exactly how Amalgamated operated. If it weren’t for the cost she would have been delighted with how her professional life was progressing, but the cost of success was servitude and Wendy ensured that Jen paid in full.

It wasn’t just that Wendy owned her body and her soul, that she had no freedom either in or out of the office; it was the way in which Wendy constantly reinforced the message, reminding Jen of her role and status. No sooner had Jen got a positive buzz from being on the inside as a deal went down or getting to understand the reasoning behind the management decisions than her role as Wendy’s slave and plaything was reinforced to slap her back down again. Jen quickly discovered that the paddle in Wendy’s desk draw was accompanied by a tawse and a flogger and Wendy was never slow to use them. Sometimes it was for some minor offence, a typo in a report for example, but sometimes it was just because Wendy wanted to.

And it wasn’t just the physical punishment, Wendy was superb at judging just how hard to smack and, whilst Jen’s backside smarted and it often brought tears to her eyes, the punishments were never unbearable. No, what got to her, what really got to her, was the demeaning way in which she was treated like an infant, the endless put downs,  the constant referral to ‘little piglet’, the way in which she had to ask for her punishment, and thank Wendy afterwards, the way, for instance, in which Wendy would force her to shuffle across the room on her knees and then chide her afterwards for having wrinkled stockings. One moment Wendy seemed to be training her to be her assistant, her partner even; the next she was training her to be something very, very different.

All the time, underpinning all this, there was a fundamental change happening deep inside Jen. She had never been a very sexual person, she had been too determined to get to the top to let the frivolous games her class mates wanted to play get in her way, and her total sexual experience was limited to a few drunken fumbles during her student days. Now, however, sex was at the forefront of everything. The way she was dressed, and so often undressed, emphasised her sexual availability and, whether she was being punished over Wendy’s knee, bent over her desk, or simply bent over, Wendy would, without fail, stroke her, play with her or fondle her. Wendy wasn’t just an expert in smacking, she also knew exactly what turned Jen on and more and more Jen’s body was associating the punishments with a pleasurable sensation in her groin, so much so that it was beginning to anticipate, that the thought of punishment itself would cause a warm flush to flow through her with a reciprocal tingle down below. Increasingly, as Wendy’s fingers reached for Jen’s genitals she was welcoming their touch, wishing there was more.

And then it was Sunday. The alarm went as usual but when Juanita came to fetch Jen it wasn’t to take her to breakfast. Jen was told to kneel and Juanita produced a leather hood which she fitted over Jen’s head. The hood completely covered the upper half of the head and had added padding inside where it covered her eyes and ears. A series of straps at the back held it fast and, after it was fitted, Jen was completely blindfolded and her hearing was dramatically reduced. Once the hood was in place Jen felt her nose being lightly squeezed and, when she opened her mouth to breath, her jaws were forced wide as a rubber ball gag was pushed inside. Her wrists were bound behind her back and a leash attached to her collar.

It was disconcerting to be led along, unable to see where she was going, unable to hear any instructions, and unable to put out her hands to protect herself but she had no choice but to put her trust in Juanita and follow wherever she led. The tiled floor beneath her feet gave way to carpet, a series of steps were negotiated, more carpet underfoot and then the leash went slack. Jen was aware of a conversation happening but the hood so muffled the sounds that she had no idea who was talking or what they were talking about. Then hands held her and she felt herself being manoeuvred against some sort of frame that felt wooden to the touch; her wrists were freed, her arms separated, spread and refastened so  that now she formed a ‘Y’. Her legs were then spread so that the ‘Y’ became an ‘X’ and she was spread-eagled against the framework. However, this was only the start; her head was pulled up as the hood was attached to the frame and further straps were fastened around her arms, her legs and her torso holding her tight, making even the smallest movement impossible. With the final strap tightened, she felt the cold hard pressure of a dildo being pushed against her anus, it’s well lubricated tip forcing its way inside her. Jen, scared that the recent scarring that Fran had left behind would be split open again did what she could to help, flexing the muscles of her buttocks to assist its passage as her anus filled with its bulk. She felt rather than heard the click as whatever held the dildo was fastened so that it was held tight, deep inside her, forcing her open and apart.

And then… nothing. Jen was left hanging there; bound and gagged, unable to move, unable to hear, unable to see, Jen drifted. Her body relaxed, held in place by the myriad straps that bound her. Her world seemed to centre on the incredible sensations coming from her rear, she was impaled like a butterfly on a pin, the helpless specimen of some deranged collector. Her whole anus felt full to exploding, that, somehow, her body couldn’t, wouldn’t, take this vast intruder so viciously forced inside her but the intensity of this feeling was also having an almost sexual side effect, making every nerve in her loin alive and aware. Deaf, dumb and blinded by the hood there were no distractions and every nuance, every detail, every tiny aspect was forced into sharp relief.

Suddenly, braking through her reveries, she felt hands examining her, feeling her breasts, teasing her nipples. There was no sexuality in these touches, rather a gynaecological thoroughness; the investigations medical rather than erotic. The unseen person went on to examine her vaginal lips in the same cold unfeeling way, pulling them open, testing the skin between finger and thumb. Her muffled hearing suggested that she was being discussed reinforcing the atmosphere of a medical examination, an examination which, whilst about her, did not include her. Left alone for a moment she smelt the faint whiff of antiseptic, then something cold against her breast and…

Only the gag prevented Jen from screaming her lungs out. A searing pain shot through her breast as if someone had pierced it with a red hot needle. Moments later she felt the cold metal touch against her other breast before it too suffered the same treatment. In vain Jen writhed against the straps, desperate to do anything to relive the twin points of fire which burnt so harshly. She was so distracted that hardly felt the hands reach for her groin, her vaginal lips pulled and twisted, the cold touch of steel once again, until…

If the pain from her breasts had been bad then it was nothing compared with the sheer agony erupting from the sensitive flesh between her legs. Her teeth clamped onto the ball that filled her mouth and, as far as was possible with the straps that held her, she twisted this way and that fighting the pain. Her struggles only served to force her buttocks back against the frame, forcing the dildo further in so that her distended bowels added their own tune to the cacophony of pain that wracked her body.

A sudden cold sensation coupled with the strong reek of antiseptic told her that the wounds, whatever they were, were getting some sort of medical attention and, truth be told, the cooling eased the pain somewhat. The searing fire eased a bit, her screaming turned to sobbing and, although spasms still ran through her, she began to relax between them as, exhausted, she collapsed, hanging from the straps.

Left alone once again Jen seemed to enter a long dark tunnel. Deprived of other sensations the fire from her groin, from her breasts and from her sphincter became her whole world. Time had no meaning, only her pain was real. After an eon or so someone came and reapplied the antiseptic but it was only a brief respite. She hung, both literally and figuratively, in a void, no light, no sound, nothing at all except the endless throbbing of her poor tortured body. At some point she realised she would have to urinate and, without a second thought, just let go, the warm stream running from her, the humiliation of despoiling herself as naught, she had neither strength nor will to fight it.

And then, at last, she felt hands reaching across her, the dildo was removed from her anus, the straps undone and she was lowered gently to the floor. Finally the hood was removed and, still shaking, Jen looked up.

“There, that’s better. Look what I’ve done for you.” Wendy’s voice was soothing, gentle.

Jen glanced around. She was in a room filled with various torture devices and restraints, presumably the same one that Fran had used on that first evening. Behind her Sally was busy tidying away the various paraphernalia that went with a large wooden cross. Over by the wall was a full length mirror and, unable to trust her muscles to hold her upright, she crawled on her hands an knees until she was in front of it. Each of her nipples was pierced and now held a small silver ring about one centimetre in diameter. She reached out to touch one but as soon as she did the slightest movement in the ring caused a lightning bolt of pain to shoot through her.

She looked down at her groin. Similar rings pierced her labia, one on either side.

“Aren’t they pretty?” Wendy asked. “They’ll sting for a day or two but you’ll soon get used to them and when you do we can have so much fun.”

Overwhelmed by the intensity of it all, the pain, the after effects of the Zen like trance that deep bondage induces, and now, to cap it all, the way that Wendy had marked her Jen just stared in the mirror and sobbed. Wendy crouched down next to her.

“Shhh, little piglet.” She soothed. “I know it hurts now but just you wait, when it’s all healed you’ll look so pretty and you want to look pretty for your Mistress, don’t you?”

Jen stared at Wendy. Pretty? She didn’t feel pretty, she felt scarred and disfigured.

“Well, piglet, don’t you want to look pretty for your Mistress?” Wendy repeated, this time with an edge of venom.

“Yes, Mistress. Of course, Mistress.” Jen replied, trying to keep the air of resignation out of her voice.

“That’s better. I want you to be so pretty, my own, my very own, pretty little piglet.” Wendy just held Jen, stroking her hair, cuddling her and, despite the condescension, despite the pain, after a while Jen was soothed and, as the last of the fight drained from her, she relaxed back into Wendy’s arms. She was too exhausted to struggle anymore; just for once, just for now, she would be Wendy’s very own little piglet and take comfort from belonging. As her tears dried on her cheeks she snuggled closer.

“Yes, Mummy. Thank you, Mummy.” Jen whispered.

Wendy smiled to herself. She’d wait awhile before calling Juanita to take Jen back to her room; she didn’t mind being called ‘Mummy’, not this time anyway.

It took several days for the piercings to stop hurting, and even after that they itched like crazy. Morning, noon and evening Jen would bath the affected areas with antiseptic and she made sure her personal hygiene was meticulous but, even so, her vaginal lips were sore and inflamed and walking was a real trial. Each evening, she was brought before Wendy who would check her over carefully but, aware that rough treatment would only prolong he healing process, was very gentle with them. However, having Jen’s vagina and breasts out of action did not stop the abuse, instead Wendy began to concentrate her efforts around Jen’s anus. One morning she produced a fly whisk of the sort used by African dignitaries and, after bending Jen over her knee and giving her buttocks a light dusting, turned it round and inserted the handle.

As the handle was quite short and little more than one centimetre in diameter, it was neither as intrusive nor as uncomfortable as the dildo attached to the frame when the piercings had been fitted and Jen, knowing full well that resistance would not be helpful, relaxed as far as was possible to help ease its entry, and, bit by bit, it was worked back and forth until only the horsehair whisk protruded. Wendy was delighted and insisted that Jen do two laps of the office on her hands and knees, neighing like a horse. Jen was surprised to discover that, once she’d got over the initial discomfort, she rather liked the full feeling it gave her and, whilst playing at being a pony was humiliating, the tail was producing a smorgasbord of sensations and, though she’d be loath to admit it, she wanted it to remain. She couldn’t help but flex her buttock muscles savouring the conflicting waves of feelings that it produced and Wendy, alert to the slightest sign, picked up on this.

“It looks like my little piglet likes having a pony tail, is that so?” Wendy enquired. Jen, still on her hands and knees bowed her head and blushed.

“Well, speak up, do you?”

“Please, Mistress, I… I don’t know” Jen stammered.

“Oh yes you do. Come along now, I won’t wait all day.” Wendy’s voice was acquiring that edge of impatience that Jen knew and feared.

“Yes, Mistress. Yes, I do.” Jen replied eventually. “I mean, it hurts and all but…”

“I thought so. Now come here.” Wendy patted her thigh, a sign that Jen was supposed to go over and rest her head on Wendy’s lap.

“You know, piglet,” She continued as she stroked Jen’s hair. “The sooner you learn to be honest about your sexuality; honest to yourself as much as to me, the better it will be for you. I’ll bet you quite enjoyed having your bottom filled when you were on the cross having your piercings done.”

Jen didn’t reply; she hardly knew how to. The whole incident had been so intense that it was difficult to single out any one aspect or any one emotion. Her main memory was the burning, searing pain from the piercings but there had been other aspects that had had a profoundly disturbing effect on her. The sensory deprivation, the total inability to move, the sense of helplessness, the vulnerability of being spread wide open and exposed, and, dare she admit it, the powerful sensations that resulted from having her anus brutally penetrated, had taken her to places she never knew existed and, for all the pain involved, places to which she knew that one day she would have to return. Was this what she really was? Would she one day welcome the pain and servitude as the price to be paid for feeling that way. She had been Wendy’s slave for little more than two weeks and already she had learnt to accept her place knelt at Wendy side with her head on her lap; how much more would she learn to accept, how much more did she want to?

Wendy patted Jen on the head and sent he back to her desk to work. The fly whisk remained in place for the rest of the day.

At long last it was time for the West Coast trip. The tickets were booked, the meetings arranged and all Jen’s hard work was ready to be put to the test. She was busy filing away the essentials when Wendy called her over.

“Do you want to go on this trip?” she asked.

“Of course, Mistress. You know how much I’ve been looking forward to it.” Jen was taken aback.

“It’s just that I’m not going to be able to keep quite as close an eye on you as normal. It might be that ungrateful little piglets might feel they would want to run away. Maybe it would be safer if I left you behind.”

“Please, Mistress, I won’t run, I really won’t.” Jen fell to her knees, shocked. She could understand Wendy’s reasoning but she had been so focussed on going that to have it snatched away at the last minute was devastating.

“Hmm… Look me in the eye.” Jen did as she was told, meeting Wendy’s steely glare without flinching. “Do you promise not to try to run away?”

“Yes, Mistress, I promise.” Oddly enough she meant it. She had got so caught up in all the planning that the possibilities of escape hadn’t crossed her mind and now, well she didn’t want to miss out on all the fun, she didn’t want to miss seeing the fruition of all her hard work.

“Hmm… I guess I’ll trust you, but, just in case you get any silly ideas, remember that, should you run away I will come after you and you’ll spend what little is left of your life looking over your shoulder. No-one double crosses me and gets away with it. I do hope that is completely understood.

“Yes, Mistress, of course, Mistress.” Jen was shaking. She had forgotten just how scary Wendy could be and she didn’t doubt her threats for a moment.

First class passengers may get special treatment at Heathrow Airport but, since 9/11, they are subject to the same security screening as the rest of us. Wendy had no problems with the metal detector but Jen set the alarms off as she passed through. One of the attendant security guards, a thick set woman with a short, brutal haircut waved the handheld detector over her and, when it sensed metal near her groin and her breasts she was taken aside. As the security officer closed the door of the interview room she went straight over to Jen and grabbed at the padlock on her collar.

“Well, er, piglet.” She sneered, reading the name off the padlock. “Let me guess, you’ve got piercings, tits and fanny, right?”

“Yes, yes I have.” Jen replied, taken aback by the brutality.

“Well, come along, show me.”  For a moment or two Jen just stared at the security guard but her face was implacable.

“Come along, I haven’t got all day, neither have you if you want to catch your plane. Anyway a little subbie like you should be used to being told to strip.” Jen blushed furiously at the security guards onslaught.

“Yeah, that one struck home.” She continued. “We get your sort through here all the time. I’ll bet any money you like you’re not wearing any knickers. Now, are you going to get on with it or shall I call for some assistance?”

For travelling Jen had been given a light cotton summer dress that buttoned down the front and, along with a pair of sandals, that was all she wore. Shaking she reached down for the hem and pulled it up.

“As I thought, no knickers and piercings on your fanny. Take them out and we’ll scan again.”

“I can’t.” Jen replied. “They haven’t healed properly yet.”

“In that case you leave me no choice. Bend over the table. Don’t worry, a pain slut like you will rather enjoy this.”

Jen bent over as instructed. Behind her she heard the snap as the security guard fitted a rubber glove and then the back of her dress was lifted and she felt the cold sliminess as the well lubricated glove probed her nether regions. A long forefinger was pushed inside her vagina and turned from side to side. Then it was her anus’s turn to get the same treatment; this time Jen couldn’t suppress a little gasp as the tight ring of her sphincter was breached. Jen got the impression that the guard spent rather longer than was necessary, turning her finger this way and that, pushing as deep as she could go.

“Ok, you’re clean. Now stand up and show me your tits.”

Jen stood up, turned round to face the guard and, blushing furiously, undid the top few buttons of her dress. The guard pulled the material aside and gave each breast a good feel.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” She snarled. “We get them all the time, little sluts like you who get their kicks from being assaulted by women in uniform. Well, today your luck is in ‘cos I just love to see subbies squirm.”

The guard took Jen’s nipple between her thumb and forefinger and squeezed until Jen gave a squeak of pain.

“You like that, don’t you?” The guard sneered.

“No, please, no.” Jen replied.

“Liar!” The guard increased the pressure and Jen’s legs began to buckle and she sank to her knees.

“Ok, yes, I like it.” Jen sobbed realising that unless she agreed she would never escape.

“That’s better.” The guard let go of Jen’s nipple. “Now, what do you say?”

“Thank you, thank you , Mistress.” If thanking Wendy for punishment was hard then it was nothing compared to having to thank this brutal bitch of a security guard.

“That’s it, that’s a good little girl. Now, fuck off out of here, you worthless piece of shit.” With a snort of derision the guard dismissed her.

Shaking from her ordeal Jen returned to the main concourse where Wendy was waiting impatiently. With a look of displeasure she strode off to the first class lounge with Jen training behind. When they got there she angrily demanded to know why she had been kept waiting but as Jen told her tale her mood improved and, as Jen related the succession of indignities she had been put through she laughed and demanded more detail. Jen begged to be allowed to go to the rest rooms and clean herself up; she could feel the lubricant dripping down her inner thigh and she dare not sit down for fear of marking her dress. Wendy enjoyed stretching out the discomfort and insisted she remain until she had heard every detail.

London to Los Angeles is a long haul but if you’ve got to do it then first class is the best way. Jen’s previous flying experience was a couple of package holidays in Alicante and the comparison between being crammed like a sardine in a holiday flight to the luxury of first class in a 747 was marked. Whilst they were flying Wendy indulged her and Jen relaxed, pampered by the air hostesses as the long hours passed.

At LAX they had a pleasant surprise waiting for them. Emerging from immigration they were met by a pretty young blonde wearing a dark brown chauffeur’s uniform. She informed them that ‘Mistress Tanya’ had heard that they were arriving and that her limousine was at their disposal. Wendy said that they would be delighted and the three women headed out to where the limo was parked. When they got there it turned out that Mistress Tanya was waiting for them in the back of the car and as Wendy got in Jen heard the pop of a champagne cork. Jen rode up front next to the chauffeur.

Like most Brits visiting the USA for the first time Jen was amazed at the size of everything. The car, for a start, was huge but it fitted in well with everything else and she felt like a little girl arriving in wonderland. As they headed out of town she even got a glimpse of the Hollywood sign and felt that she had really arrived.

After an hour or so of driving they arrived at a large house in its own grounds. The car drew to a halt outside the front door and the chauffeur leapt out to open the door. Wendy and Mistress Tanya got out and went into the house with Jen and the chauffeur following. As soon as they entered Jen could see that it was a hotel, complete with lobby and reception desk. A woman with an air of importance had come out and was busy greeting Wendy and Mistress Tanya. Although Jen was very much on the outskirts of the discussion she got the gist of the conversation. This was  the manager greeting Wendy as an honoured guest. It was obviously not the first time Wendy had stayed here.

Without any of the normal booking in formalities they were taken upstairs to their suite. Jen looked around in amazement; the sheer luxury of it all was jaw dropping. First there was the main living area with plenty of floor space, soft furnishings and an attached kitchenette.  However the biggest surprise came when they entered the bedroom. There was, naturally, a bed of gigantic proportions but, at the foot of the bed, was something not normally found in hotel rooms: a large dog basket. A short length of chain hung from the bedpost ready to be attached as required. Wendy gave Jen a meaningful look and inclined her head towards the basket and, with a sinking heart, Jen realised that her tour stopped there. For a moment she hesitated before taking off her dress but the simple fact that she was to be chained to the bed, along with the way that the chauffeur had deferred to Mistress Tanya implied that Mistress Tanya was, at the very least, aware of Wendy’s proclivities and in all likelihood she shared them so there was no point in trying to retain any modesty. She shrugged of her dress and, folding it, handed it to the chauffeur. Then she knelt down in the basket and Wendy attached the chain to her collar. Some wrist cuffs were retrieved from the bedside cabinet and Jen didn’t need to be told; she put her wrists behind her back ready and waiting to be restrained. Having thus disposed of Jen, Wendy and Mistress Tanya left and, as the door closed behind them, Jen was alone.

Fortunately the dog basket, like everything else in the hotel, was luxurious and Jen had no problems snuggling down to rest. After a while the door opened and the chauffeur returned but it was only long enough to put a bowl of water next to the basket and leave again. Jen drifted in and out of sleep, her body clock disturbed by the jet lag. At one point she woke up and, feeling parched, lapped at the bowl of water. It was hard with her hands behind her back but she managed to slake her thirst and, settling back down, returned to her wait.

After a while Wendy entered and, without so much as a glance at Jen proceeded to strip off and prepare for a shower. One of the advantages of being super rich is that all Wendy’s luggage had been sent on ahead and was already unpacked so Wendy had all that she desired already laid out in the wardrobes and bathroom. Jen lay still watching Wendy out of the corner of her eye. Although she had seen Wendy dressed in only her silk dressing gown this was the first time she had seen her naked, and not just naked, naked and relaxed. Wendy was behaving as if Jen simply weren’t there and Jen found this intimate peek into Wendy’s private life made her appear more beautiful, more desirable.

Returning from the bathroom Wendy dressed, selecting from the wardrobe a black cocktail dress that, combined with high heeled court shoes and a simple but classy selection from her jewellery box, left her looking a picture of elegance. The phone rang and Wendy answered it. Jen couldn’t catch much of the conversation but she did hear ”I’ll be right down” and as soon as Wendy put the phone down she left.

Wendy hadn’t been gone long when the door opened again; this time a maid entered. She went through to the bathroom and Jen heard her splashing around as she cleaned up. Then she returned to the bedroom and started to tidy, picking up the used towels, tidying the dressing table, and turning back the bed. Like Wendy she behaved as if Jen were not there except that she refilled the water bowl. Jen wasn’t sure whether the hotel specifically catered for those with slaves or was simply prepared to pander to any request as long as the guest was rich enough. She suspected the latter.

Jen settled down to wait. Oddly enough she wasn’t bored, she found that being bound and helpless helped her to switch off and she could just lie there, curled up in her basket waiting for her Mistress. She’d enter a sort of trance, floating, barely existing as the hours drifted by. That was until her bladder started sending urgent messages. The jet lag had left her thirsty and earlier she’d drunk time and time again from the bowl. After the maid had left she’d drained the bowl again and now, hours later, she was paying the price. At first she just clamped her thighs together hoping she could hold it in but the pressure just kept building and holding it back was getting harder and harder. She knew that if she wet her bed she would have to pay the price and soiling the carpet was going to be no better. And then it came to her, she could use the bowl.

It was as awkward as it could be with her wrists restrained and her neck chained to the bed but eventually she managed to manoeuvre herself so that the bowl was  clamped between her calves and she was kneeling over it. Scared that she might splash she tired to let go gently but, once she had started, she couldn’t stop and the relief was such that, quite frankly, she’d given up caring whether the urine splashed or not. Finished at last she looked down; the bowl was full but not dangerously so and, with a bit of careful manoeuvring she was back in the basket without spilling any.

Some time later Wendy reappeared with the chauffeur in tow. She was slightly tipsy; evidently she had been partying and she was holding on tightly to the chauffeur. As she approached the bed she saw, or more importantly smelled, what Jen had done.

“Oh, piglet, you mucky little puppy, couldn’t you control yourself.” There was an air of resignation in Wendy’s admonishment. She turned to the chauffeur. “Be a poppet, will you, and tidy this up and then hurry to bed. I want you, now!”

Whilst Wendy got undressed the chauffeur took the bowl to the bathroom to empty and, noticeably didn’t bring it back. When she returned she quickly stripped off and slid into the bed next to Wendy who was already waiting for her.

As Jen lay, curled up in the basket a ball of bitter jealousy burned inside her. She had done all the work, travelled all this way and now she was ignored, surplus to requirements. Whilst Wendy was out partying she was chained to the bedpost and, even when she returned that little slut of a chauffeur was pleasuring her. Wendy couldn’t see from where she was, nor did she particularly want to, but neither Wendy nor the chauffeur were being restrained in their love making and were noisy enough to leave Jen in no doubt as to how athletic they were being.

With a sob of frustration Jen settled down ant tied to sleep. Hopefully tomorrow she could be useful. That little bitch of a chauffeur may be good looking, blonde, and good in bed, but when it came down to business the she would be the one Wendy turned to.

Dawn was just breaking as Jen woke up for the umpteenth time; this time it was a gentle knocking at the door that disturbed her. A combination of jetlag and the discomfort of having her wrists cuffed behind her had let to a fretful night but, all things considered she wasn’t feeling too bad. The chauffeur jumped out of bed, stark naked, went to answer the door and returned  after a brief moment with a breakfast trolley.  Jen’s mouth watered as the smell of freshly cooked bacon drifted down to her so she was disappointed when the chauffeur took off the lower shelf a plastic mat and two bowls which she placed next to Jen’s basket. One bowl contained something brown and mushy, porridge or muesli perhaps, the other, God bless them, contained coffee. Carefully Jen manoeuvred out of the basket and set to. It wasn’t easy eating and drinking with her hands behind her back, she basically had to lap the food up but, bit by bit, she managed and at least it was wholesome and filling. The coffee too was just what she needed. Far more difficult was swallowing the gall caused by having to listen to the girlish giggles of the chauffeur as she sat in bed next to her Mistress; now Jen was beginning to understand the green eyed jealousy that Sally had suffered and it made her all the more determined to be all that Wendy could desire, if only she were able to demonstrate it.

Once breakfast was out of the way Wendy phoned for a maid to take away the dirty dishes. Having stacked the trolley the maid, without saying a word, unclipped the chain from the bedpost and using it as a leash, tugged Jen to her feet. With Jen trailing behind the maid wheeled the breakfast trolley out of the suite and down the corridor. Jen wasn’t sure which was worse, walking through the hotel stark naked or having the sticky drying remains of the porridge all over her face and in her hair whilst she did so. However, they weren’t long in the corridor; they reached the service elevator and a short ride took them to the maid’s area. Here, in the basement of the hotel, one or two other maids were around but they were busy with their morning routines and completely ignored Jen. She was taken to an area rather like a sports hall changing room, her wrists were unbuckled and the shower was turned on. With a sense of relief Jen got in and relaxed. Her shoulders were stiff but the hot water soon loosened them and, whilst the facilities were basic, there was plenty of hair shampoo and body lotion. When she finally emerged she was given a towel and shown to an area where there was a stool, a mirror and a small table with a selection of make up. Next to this, on a hanger, were her clothes for the day. In dumb show the maid indicated that Jen had twenty minutes so she got a move on to ensure she was ready.

Jen was waiting in the lobby when Wendy came down. As she stood up to meet her Wendy looked her up and down carefully before giving a little nod and a smile and they went on out to the waiting car. Jen made to get in the front next to the chauffeur but Wendy stopped her and told her to get in the back.

On the way to their meeting Wendy went through the paperwork once more stressing again and again how important the meeting was, the size of the contracts involved, and how she didn’t want piglet blowing it. Jen was to stay in the background, to talk as little as possible and not to get involved. They arrived at their destination; the car swept up the driveway of an impressive office block and a liveried doorman opened the door and led them inside.

Wendy needn’t have worried. After a short meet and greet session they were taken to the board room and Wendy started her presentation. Here all Jen’s hard work paid off; she had all the relevant paperwork to hand and when one of the directors asked a question which Wendy couldn’t answer immediately Jen was right there with the relevant figures. The two women were like a well oiled machine and the longer it went on the more Wendy realised that she could rely on Jen for backup and was able to relax.

Over lunch one of the directors made a bee line for Jen and made a rather clumsy pass at her. Wendy was busy with the CEO so was unable to interfere but she was reassured as she heard Jen politely but firmly rebutting him. After lunch, whilst they relaxed over coffee, it was noticeable that Jen was attracting a certain amount of attention from some of the rest of the staff but she just smiled coyly in return, flirting enough to keep the interest without actually promising anything.

The afternoon session was pretty much more of the same except that Wendy allowed Jen to participate more. There were some particularly searching questions over some of the legal minutiae and Jen was able to field them deftly. By the end of the day, although no actual paperwork had been signed, it was obvious that they had made a very positive impression and a major deal was in the offing. At six fifteen they were back in the car and heading for the hotel. Once again Jen was allowed to ride in the back although this time, with no paperwork to go through, she had to kneel on the floor with her head resting in Wendy’s lap.

“What a clever little piglet you were today.” Wendy said as she stroked Jen’s hair. “I’m really pleased with you.”

“Thank you, Mistress.” Jen hesitated, she was loath to ruin the mood but if she couldn’t ask now then when could she? “Please, Mistress…”

“Yes, piglet.”

“Do I have to spend this evening chained in my basket? I’ll be a good piglet, really I will.” Jen hoped she had got the correct tone.

“Oh, piglet. Mistress Tanya has invited me to dinner tonight and she was insistent that I brought you as well. You’re to be a special guest.” Wendy laughed. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.”

“Special guest?” Jen queried.

“Now, now, no more questions, I don’t want to spoil the surprise.” And with that the conversation was over. For the rest of the journey Jen just knelt there, her head in Wendy’s lap, wondering what would be next.

When they returned to the hotel room Jen was ordered to strip and go to her basket. Although she was neither cuffed nor chained she knelt there silently with her hands clasped behind her back and her thighs apart. Partially this submissiveness was a conscious attempt to get Wendy’s approval and the little treats that went with it but the other part was something deeper. More and more it felt right to be kneeling before Wendy, her breasts pushed forward by the posture which, combined with her open thighs, served to offer up her body, open, available, her gift to her Mistress.

She watched as Wendy got ready to go out. Again there was a relaxed casualness about Wendy that was new to Jen and she got to see the grace and splendour of a beautiful woman at her toilet. Wendy was just finishing up when there was a knock at the door and, after an imperious ‘come’ from Wendy, the chauffeur entered carrying a package.

“Good heavens, is that the time?” Wendy exclaimed. “I’m not quite ready... Do you have the tail?”

“Yes, Mistress.” the chauffeur replied. “Would you like to fit it or should I?”

“Oh, do it for me, would you.”

The chauffeur put the package on the bed and ripped it open. Inside was a short, but quite fat, anal plug to which was attached a long furry tail such as you might associate with a fox or possibly an Alsatian dog. The chauffeur took a tube of lubricant from the bottom of the package and, applying a generous smear to the plug, came round and stood in front of Jen smiling sweetly. Jen glanced across at Wendy who, watching intently, gave a slight nod. Without further prompting Jen stood up, turned round and bent over the bed. Jen was getting used to having various plugs and dildos inserted anally but this one was as large as anything she had suffered since her time on the cross; even with the lubricant she was stretched to the limit and it was all she could do not to fight it. There was a sense of relief as the widest part cleared her sphincter and the plug settled in giving Jen that wonderful full feeling. The chauffeur wiped a couple of stray drops of lubricant off Jen’s cheeks and went off to wash her hands.

“Come here, piglet.” Wendy demanded. Jen went over and stood next to her.

“Very nice.” Wendy continued, stroking the tail. “But shouldn’t you be on all fours?”

“I’m sorry, Mistress…” Jen started as she dropped to the floor.

“Shh, little puppy.” Wendy cut across her. “No talking now. Clever little puppies are allowed one bark for yes and two barks for no. Are you a clever little puppy?”

Jen had spent plenty of time in the dog basket both back at home and here in the hotel and there were plenty of other canine aspects of the way she was treated but this was the first time she had been actively referred to as ‘puppy’ and that the no words rule had been enforced. She wondered what sort of evening she was in for as she barked her assent.

“That’s better. Now settle down whilst I finish off.” Wendy returned to her dressing table and carried on with her make up. Jen, wondering quite what was meant by ‘settle down’, knelt down on all fours hoping that would do. As she crouched there she couldn’t help but be aware of her new tail; it wasn’t just the full feeling that came from the plug filling and stretching her anus, there was the soft, silky feel of the furry tail gently tickling the backs of her thighs.

Once Wendy had finished she turned to the chauffeur and asked her to attach the leash to piglet. She then strode towards the door and the chauffeur followed viciously tugging on the leash so that Jen trailed behind. With a lurch of the stomach Jen realised what was coming. She was to be led out of the hotel and, presumably, they would go straight through the lobby as usual. Whilst the hotel was quiet and geared towards eccentric behaviour there was usually one or two guests relaxing in the lobby bar and she would have to walk, no make that crawl, right past them. Another harsh tug on the leash reinforced the point that she had no option and, as fast as she could, she followed Wendy and the chauffeur into the lift. When the lift doors opened at the bottom her worst fears were confirmed. A group of people were standing at the bar chatting and, as soon as the lift door opened they looked up as if they were expecting a friend. Jen, her eyes glued to the floor, followed Wendy and the chauffeur out into the lobby.

If Jen had hoped that her trip through the lobby was going to be quick she was soon disappointed. As the chauffeur went to fetch the limo Wendy decided on a quick drink in the bar. She sat down in one of the armchairs and a waiter hurried over to serve her. Wendy ordered a gin and tonic for herself but when the waiter asked if she wanted anything for her ‘pet’ she demurred. The waiter hurried off and Wendy told Jen rather firmly to kneel up straight with her ‘forepaws’ on her knees and her ‘hind legs’ further apart.

Jen spent most of her time at home in various states of undress and it was apparent that this particular hotel did not really classify as a public space but Jen had never felt so exposed; not only was she naked in the hotel lobby but her whole stance was open, she wasn’t even allowed to bow her head in shame. One of the group at the bar had had one drink too many and was pointing at Jen and making obscene comments about her in a voice just loud enough to carry. Evidently the hotel catered to rich and eccentric customers of all tastes, not just those with slaves, and Jen’s condition was unusual enough to cause comment.

It wasn’t long before the chauffeur reappeared. She had fetched the limo which was now parked up outside the front door. Wendy finished her drink, stood up, and headed for the door. With echoes of ‘Wouldn’t you like to fuck the arse off that’ coming from the bar Jen scampered behind trying her best to keep up. As they got in the car Jen didn’t need to be told that, in her current canine role, she would not be allowed on the seats so she knelt on the floor with her head in Wendy’s lap. They set off, the limo sweeping along the highway, eating up the miles until it turned off and, after some twisting and turning, drew to a halt. The chauffeur leapt out to open the door.

“Ah, there you are.” Mistress Tanya, presumably alerted as to their arrival, was waiting for them at the front of the house. “Come on round, we’ll relax by the pool.”

Wendy, Mistress Tanya and Jen went round the side of the house to a paved area next to a swimming pool. Wendy and Mistress Tanya settled down on sun loungers and a maid appeared to take drink orders. However it wasn’t the maid who returned with them, it was the chauffeur, now naked apart from a white leather collar.

“So, is trixie looking after you?” Mistress Tanya asked.

“Oh, yes. She’s been very obliging.” Wendy replied.

“I should hope so. She knows exactly what would happen if she lets me down. Don’t you, trixie?”

“Yes, Mistress.” the chauffeur, evidently ‘trixie’, replied.

“And what about your little puppy? How’s her behaviour?” Mistress Tanya asked turning back to Wendy.

“She’s a very recent acquisition, I only started training a few weeks back, but she’s showing some promise. Today is her first time as a puppy. Thanks for the tail, by the way, it looks a treat on her.”

“Your welcome. I see she’s pierced. Did she come like that or did you do it?” Mistress Tanya asked.

“I had it done.” Wendy replied. “There still very new so I haven’t been able to play with them properly. Her breasts will need another week or so to fully heal but her pussy should be nearly ready. Here, have a look.”

Wendy nudged Jen who went over to Mistress Tanya and knelt up, ready to be inspected.  Mistress Tanya lifted her breasts, playing with her nipples until they stood out. Then she leant further over and felt for Jen’s vagina. Jen felt Mistress Tanya’s fingers probing, examining, playing with the rings, opening her up. Eventually she withdrew her hand and with a curt ‘lick’ held out her fingers for Jen to clean.

“She’s quite aroused. Looks like you’ve got a natural.” Mistress Tanya commented.

“Oh, yeah. She’s taking to it like a duck to water. She gets quite turned on by a little paddling, don’t you, puppy?”

Jen barked once for ‘yes’ because that was expected of her but inside she was more troubled. How she felt about her ‘slave’ status was far more complex than could be answered in a single bark. She hated it, she hated the constant put downs, the constant embarrassment, the lack of freedom, being Wendy’s pet. Of course she hated it, it was only natural, wasn’t it? But here she was, stark naked except for the tail lodged in her behind, on her knees, licking her juices off the hand of a virtual stranger, and somehow she was aroused. How could she not be when there was this constant air of sex around everything she did? The rings in her breasts and in her vaginal lips served to heighten her awareness, to reinforce the message and, truth be told, if Mistress Tanya were to want to feel her vagina again she would welcome it. And, if she did hate it as she knew she ought, why did it seem so natural, why was it that after a few short weeks what was once abhorrent had now become the norm? With every passing day it was easier to accept, even embrace, her role and position.

As for her feelings towards Wendy, that was another complication. Again she knew she ought to hate her cruel oppressor but if so, why did it hurt so much to see her with trixie? Whilst Mistress Tanya had been examining Jen Wendy had called trixie over and now she was sitting on Wendy’s lap. The little trollop had her legs wide open and was evidently enjoying it as Wendy played with her. Why this jealousy, why, when Wendy mistreated her so badly, did Jen want to be the one on her lap? Couldn’t Wendy see how obedient she had become, didn’t that obedience earn her some sort of reward?

As the sun set and the garden lights came on Wendy and Mistress Tanya chatted through the warm evening. It would seem that they were friends from way back and, although they weren’t close, they had many common interests both as successful business women and as dominatrices. They discussed market trends and the best sort of paddle to use, exchange differentials and specialist suppliers of BDSM gear. All the while trixie, if not called upon to refill the drinks, was sitting on Wendy’s lap and Mistress Tanya was playing with Jen. trixie had been ordered to find a tennis ball and Mistress Tanya was alternately playing catch and fondling Jen’s hair.

Supper came and went. While trixie was noticeably not included and Jen was, unsurprisingly, fed from bowls on the floor. It wasn’t the food bowl that was the problem, it was the water bowl. Again and again it was refilled and Mistress Tanya would urge Jen to drink. Whilst this wasn’t the most subtle of ploys it certainly had the desired effect and Jen was soon wondering how she could ask to be allowed to urinate using only the barks she was permitted. As the urgency increased she tried rubbing her face against Mistress Tanya’s legs and whining, hoping that the dog like sound would pass muster as a ‘bark’. Mistress Tanya spun it out for a while but finally took pity.

“Does little puppy need to go for walkies?” She teased. Jen barked her reply. “trixie, sweetie, take puppy out on the lawn, will you. Mind she doesn’t get her tail wet.”

trixie got up and, taking Jen by the collar, led her to the centre of the lawn. Someone, presumably Mistress Tanya, turned on some more lights so Jen was clearly visible and trixie manoeuvred her until she was facing Mistress Tanya and Wendy.

“Look up, little puppy.” Mistress Tanya called out.

Jen looked up and her eyes locked with Mistress Tanya who nodded slightly. It was bizarre having to urinate on all fours in the middle of the lawn, and having to ask permission to do so, but the spotlights and Mistress Tanya’s unwavering stare lifted it from the bizarre to the surreal. trixie was holding her tail out of the way but, as the urine gushed from her, there was inevitably an amount of splashing of her thighs and knees and increasingly she was kneeling in an ever growing puddle. Urinating in front of other people for their amusement caused mixed emotions. There were elements of embarrassment and shame but these were all mixed in with the puppy thing. However this was overwhelmed by the sense of relief at emptying her bladder, a sense of relief that had an almost sexual overtone. When she had finished trixie cleaned her off with a damp cloth and the cool material against her thighs and groin just added to the mix.

At ten-o-clock Wendy, pleading the exhausting round of business meetings planned for the next day, got ready to leave. trixie left to get dressed and fetch the limo while Wendy and Mistress Tanya , with Jen trailing behind, strolled gently round the house to the front driveway. trixie arrived just in time to open the doors and Wendy got in but when Jen went to follow she was pulled back by a tug on the leash that Mistress Tanya still carried. Without word or explanation to Jen, Wendy said her goodbyes and was off.

Mistress Tanya led Jen into the house and through to her bedroom.

“You’re a good little puppy, aren’t you?” Mistress Tanya mused and Jen barked once in reply.

“Oh, I think you can come out of role now. Much as you look so pretty with your tail I think it’s time to lose it.” Mistress Tanya reached down and eased the tail from Jen’s anus. “Now come along, it’s bedtime and we both need a shower first.”

Mistress Tanya led Jen to an en-suite bathroom, a bathroom far better appointed than most. Jen was expecting to be required to serve Mistress Tanya but, in fact, it was the other way around. Mistress Tanya ran a shower and took Jen in with her. As Jen was washed she had to stand still and was forbidden to assist in any way. However, there was nothing subservient in the way Mistress Tanya was washing Jen, rather it was done in such a way that underlined Jen’s role as a possession.

Shortly after, washed, dried and in bed, it was more of the same. Jen had to lie there as Mistress Tanya teased and aroused her. Mistress Tanya was obviously no novice and her lips and fingers were driving Jen crazy with desire but any attempt to reciprocate was firmly rebuked. It was evident that sex for Mistress Tanya was more about control than orgasms and it amused her to keep Jen on edge, taking her to the brink time and time again. Jen’s whole body was screaming for release but unable to move and unable to express herself freely she could only bottle it up. Torn back from the brink yet again she could suppress a whimper.

“What’s up, little puppy? Are you not grateful for all the attention I’m showing you?” Mistress Tanya mocked.

“Please, Mistress…” Jen whispered.

“Does my little puppy want to come? Is she my little slave puppy?”

“Oh, please, Mistress. I’ll be anything you want, anything at all. Please don’t tease me any more.” Jen almost sobbed.

“Anything at all, yes, I do believe you would. Come for me puppy, come for me NOW!”

Whether it was Mistress Tanya’s commanding tone, her hand thrust hard between Jen’s thighs, her teeth biting down on Jen’s inflamed nipple, or simply all of them put together, Jen lost control as the orgasm crashed through her body. She was in no position to heed any commands to lie still or be quiet, it was as if she were in a different place, the overload of sensation driving out any one feeling until, completely spent, the wave within her broke and she collapsed back on the bed.

“Thank you, Mistress, thank you.” She gasped. “That was… that was…”

“Shh now, my pretty little puppy. Mistress Wendy was right, you are good. Maybe I should ask if I could keep you? Maybe swap you for trixie?”

“What! No!” Jen suddenly realised what she’d said. “I’m sorry Mistress Tanya, I’d love to but…”

“Don’t worry, little puppy, I was only teasing. I can see how devoted you are to Mistress Wendy. Do you want to know a secret?”

“Yes, please, Mistress.”

“She’s just as keen on you. Now settle down, give me a cuddle and then it’s time to sleep.”

Mistress Tanya turned off the light and lay back in the darkness. Jen snuggled down beside her, her mind still reeling. Could what Mistress Tanya had just said be true? Was she more than Wendy’s toy, her plaything? And, if it were more than that, what was it? What did Jen want it to be?

Jen rolled over gloriously refreshed. She was over the jet lag and had had a perfect night’s sleep in Mistress Tanya’s wonderfully sumptuous bed. As quietly as she could she slipped out from under the covers to use the en-suite carefully closing the door and keeping as silent as possible. She wasn’t exactly scared of Mistress Tanya but she had every reason to be apprehensive and she was enjoying this brief period of relative freedom. As she sat on the toilet she mused on the previous evening’s events. A few short weeks ago she would have been horrified at the prospect of being forced to behave like a dog, of being forced to urinate in front of others and of being forced to be the sexual companion of a complete stranger and now she was accepting it as part and parcel of her new lifestyle with Wendy. Moreover, somehow, it went beyond mere acceptance; she had been more than just obeying orders last night, there was a perverse pleasure to the games, a deep felt erotic thrill and, in bed with Mistress Tanya, she couldn’t deny that she had had the most glorious orgasm.

And then there was the bit Mistress Tanya had said at the end; how she was obviously devoted to Wendy and how Wendy was just as keen on her. What was obvious to Mistress Tanya was definitely not so obvious to Jen. Sure, she’d got used to Wendy and her idiosyncrasies, and there was no denying that, since she had become Wendy’s ‘slave’ life had been more interesting, more fulfilling, and definitely more erotic but to describe her as ‘obviously devoted’ defied belief. And as for the other way round, how could someone who cares about her so openly play around with that floozie, that trollop, that tart, that little bitch trixie? Damn it, it should be her sleeping next to Wendy, not that little slut. How could Wendy treat her like that? With a start Jen realised how wound up she’d become, how angry she was about the way Wendy seemed to be excluding her. If she didn’t care then why did it hurt so much? It was all too much to deal with and she went to wash her hands and creep back into bed.

She had barely slipped back under the covers, however, before Mistress Tanya rolled over sleepily, reached out and pulled her in, locking them together in a sensual embrace. As Mistress Tanya shrugged off the effects of sleep her kisses became more passionate, her caresses more sensual, until she reached up for Jen’s shoulders and gently but firmly pushed her downwards. Jen didn’t need any further prompting; she had been well trained by Wendy and was expecting this. Smoothly she slid down Mistress Tanya’s body, kissing and caressing all the while, her lips fluttering gently over Mistress Tanya’s breasts, belly, hips and groin.

Putting all her skill to work she teased Mistress Tanya’s labia apart, easing her tongue into the nooks and crevices. Partially wishing to do her best for Wendy, partially wishing to show herself as better than that little trollop trixie, and partially from a simple sense of pride in a job well done, Jen used all her skills and sensitivity to tease and caress, gently easing Mistress Tanya to ever higher arousal. Mistress Tanya was more vocal than Wendy and Jen used her moans, her gasps, her little cries as a guide to Mistress Tanya’s preferences but, as ever, it was the more physical symptoms, the muscle tension and the state of her clitoris which gave the true indication and Jen was getting to be an expert in reading the signs, catching and riding the waves so as to push Mistress Tanya ever higher until, with a long drawn out cry which started at the back of the throat and built to a shout of joy, Mistress Tanya climaxed, her whole body exploding as Jen pushed her over the edge into ecstasy, keeping her there, holding her there until, unable to take any more, Mistress Tanya pushed Jen away and collapsed, her breath coming in great gasps.

“God, you’re good.” Mistress Tanya said once she had sufficiently recovered. “Maybe I will swap you for trixie after all. Now come back up here and I’ll ring for breakfast.

As Jen regained her place and replaced the covers Mistress Tanya reached for the bedside phone, pressed zero and spoke briefly. Then she turned her attentions back to Jen, playing with her piercings, both the nipple rings and those in her labia.

“Such a shame these aren’t quite ready yet. Just think of the fun we would have had. I’m going to have to ask Mistress Wendy if I can borrow you next time you’re over here.” Mistress Tanya purred.

Jen was wondering whether Mistress Tanya was about to start another session when the door opened and the maid entered with the breakfast trolley. Bedside tables were set up and the maid set out their food before them. Having a pre-breakfast orgasm seemed to have put Mistress Tanya in an excellent mood and she and Jen were very relaxed as they ate together. The only fly in the ointment was the knowledge that, back at the hotel, trixie and Wendy were doing the same thing and, in consequence, a small spark of jealousy still burned in Jen’s breast.

When the maid returned to take away the breakfast trolley she informed Mistress Tanya that Wendy would be arriving to collect Jen at eight thirty. Mistress Tanya glanced at the bedside clock and sent Jen off to the en-suite to get ready. When Jen returned, showered and refreshed, there was an outfit for the day ready and waiting for her. As Jen put on the clothes she was keenly aware that Mistress Tanya was watching her closely.

“Such a pretty little thing.” Mistress Tanya said. “It’s no wonder Mistress Wendy is so keen on you. Now run along, you don’t want to keep your Mistress waiting; she’ll be here any moment, and don’t forget your tail.”

Thus dismissed Jen picked up the tail from where it had been dropped last night, left the bedroom and searched out the front door. As she did so she ran into the maid who led her through the house and had her wait in the lobby. It wasn’t five minutes before the limo pulled up and trixie jumped out to open the door. As Jen got in trixie gave her a little curtsey, but one so steeped in irony that it was insulting rather than polite. However, Jen was feeling so good that morning that petty insults just bounced off her. She knelt on the floor and rested her head on Wendy’s lap.

“Good morning piglet. I hope that Mistress Tanya was satisfied with you last night, that you didn’t let the side down. Now sit up here” Wendy patted the set beside her. “I want to go through this morning’s presentation. What can you remember about AG Utilities?”

Jen sat up next to Wendy and together they poured over the paperwork. Mostly Wendy wanted to talk about Mr Donnelly, the CEO, who was, in her estimation, very sharp and not to be messed with. There would be no pulling the wool over his eyes, nor would he be easily distracted in the way in which they had played Mr Hong. Jen had seldom seen Wendy give so much respect to a business competitor before.

When they arrived at AG Utilities Jen could see that Mr Donnelly was physically imposing as well as charismatic. A powerful man in every respect, she could see how he could have made his way to the top by sheer force of personality; Jen suspected that he was more than a bit of a bully and Wendy’s respect was well earned.

The morning presentation went well. The two women were getting to know each other’s style more and more and they interacted like a well oiled machine. Increasingly Wendy was relying on Jen to have the details at her finger tips and Jen was coming up trumps; all her hard work was paying off and, by lunchtime, it was looking good. The two women were invited to join the board for a buffet lunch and, once the meal was over, Wendy and Jen were taken up to Mr Donnelly’s private suite. He motioned Wendy and Jen to some deep leather armchairs and, settling down behind his desk, picked up a file.

“Ok, I’ve had the sales pitch, now let’s talk turkey. I’ve got some interesting intelligence on your deal with S.A.L. here; it would seem that Hong made a bit of a fool of himself. Looks like he was thinking with his dick, not his brain; you got yourself quite a deal.” Mr Donnelly looked up. “Is this her? Is this the bait you used?”

“Err... yes.” Wendy smiled, quite unabashed by the accusation. “My assistant was very helpful in persuading Mr Hong to give me very favourable rates.”

“I’m sure she was. Did you think that I would fall for that trick?” Mr Donnelly asked.

“Of course not.” Wendy replied, laughing. “I wouldn’t dream of trying anything like that on you. Having said that, she is, of course, completely available for your use in any way you want. No strings attached, call it a ‘thank you’ for letting me give my presentation. All I’d ask is that you don’t damage her. You’ll find she’s totally compliant.”

“So it would seem.” Mr Donnelly commented, putting down the file. “And thank you, I think I will take advantage of your offer. No need for any formality, right here, over the desk will do.”

Wendy shot Jen a meaningful look and nodded her head towards Mr Donnelly’s desk. Jen had no option but to obey so she got up out of the armchair and went over to stand next to the desk. Mr Donnelly stood up, moved some papers out of the way and, as Jen approached, grabbed her arm, twisting it behind her back and pushing her roughly down across the leather topped surface. He flipped up the back of her skirt and pushed her legs apart. The word ‘compliant’ was still echoing in Jen’s ears; how much of her compliance was enforced and how much did she secretly enjoy it? When Mr Hong had pawed between her thighs her reaction had been one of revulsion; with Mr Donnelly there was a sense of anticipation. Was this a measure of the difference between the two men or a measure of a change in her?

“Very pretty.” Mr Donnelly commented. “I can see why Hong was so taken with her.”

Still holding her down Mr Donnelly rummaged in the draw of his desk with his free hand, found a condom and, with no further ceremony, unzipped his fly, fitted the condom, came up behind Jen and started to force his way into her anus. Fortunately for Jen the condom was lubricated because, unlike Mr Hong, Mr Donnelly’s prick matched the rest of him and he was stretching her wide as, with a series of short hard thrusts, he pushed his way in until he was buried to the hilt.

“She’s not quite as tight as I’d expected.” Mr Donnelly said conversationally as he eased himself back and forth in long firm strokes, nearly withdrawing before once again plunging into her. “I gather I’m not the first to use her this way.”

“I like to keep her accommodating and available so she’s been stretched, ready for use. I do hope her tightness isn’t an issue.” Wendy replied.

“Oh, no, she’s fine.” Mr Donnelly continued. Gradually the pace was increasing and the force of his strokes was getting stronger. Jen held on to the edge of the desk with her free hand to give her some purchase, some ability to push back. She felt her head nudge something and, when she looked up, she realised it was the framed photograph of Mr Donnelly’s family. There was something deeply disturbing about the whole episode; the way in which she had been offered, the way that Mr Donnelly hadn’t spoken a word to her, the way he was still casually chatting to Wendy whilst fucking her arse and the way she was almost forced to look at a photo of his wife and kids as he did so all made it feel surreal and deeply erotic. Increasingly Jen was finding that anal sex was as much of a turn on as ‘normal’ penetration and she was beginning to welcome it, almost prefer it. But far more than any physical aspect it was the objectification that got to her; somehow being used in this way, not as a person with rights and feelings but as a sex object, a toy, an arse on legs to be used for the satisfaction of total strangers at her Mistresses’ will, that made her want to push back, responding to the thrusts, as if urging him to push deeper, harder, encouraging him to use her.

“You were certainly right about the compliance; she’s loving this, loving every second of it.” Mr Donnelly exclaimed, panting slightly. “What a dirty little minx she is, a slut, a tart, a whore, a….”

With a deep groan Mr Donnelly climaxed, thrusting himself deep inside Jen before slumping forward resting his weight on his arms. Jen was secretly disappointed that the whole episode hadn’t lasted longer as she felt his prick begin to soften inside her and, after only a few seconds, he withdrew.

“Thank you, that was most welcome.” Mr Donnelly said to Wendy. “Please excuse me whilst I freshen up.”

Tucking his prick back into his fly he went out of the office for a few moments, presumably to an en-suite washroom. Jen, still shaking, stood up and brushed herself down before returning to her armchair. It wasn't long before Mr Donnelly reappeared.

“That’s better, much better. Thank you so much for the use of your assistant.” As ever he addressed all his remarks to Wendy. “Now, shall we return to the boardroom?”

As the afternoon session continued Jen hoped that her session with Mr Donnelly made up for her reduced effectiveness in the boardroom. Mr Donnelly had stretched her wide and she could still feel where he had been; she was finding it difficult to concentrate on the pages of figures that made up the proposal. Fortunately much of the afternoon was given over to PowerPoint presentations and Wendy took the bulk of the questions. Moreover, at the end of the day a deal was hammered out and both sides felt as if they had won.

When Jen and Wendy got in the limo to return to the hotel Wendy was in high spirits.

“Well, well, well, little piglet, that’s another one in the bag!” She exclaimed excitedly. “Donnelly thinks he’s so much smarter than Hong but, in the end, they’re all the same. As soon as I saw his prick go up your arse I knew we’d get a good price out of him. You’re turning into one of the best sales assets I’ve ever had, do you know that? Now get up here and give me a kiss.”

Jen got up off the floor of the limo where she had been kneeling and sat down next to Wendy who leaned across and kissed her full on the mouth. The kiss was long, hard and increasingly passionate. It wasn’t just the kiss; Wendy’s hands were all over Jen, agitatedly pulling at her skirt and blouse. Suddenly she broke away.

“God, I’m horny.” Wendy gasped. “I need your head between my thighs – now!”

As Jen slid to her knees Wendy feverishly pushed down the pants of her trouser suit, hooking her panties with her thumbs to take them down at the same time. Jen, realising that this was not the time for subtlety, leant forward and set to work. Unsurprisingly Wendy was already turned on and her clitoris was swollen and hard. Jen matched Wendy’s fever with hard flicks of her tongue skipping the usual build up. She felt Wendy’s hands on her head pulling her in, urging her on. It seemed that in no time Wendy was approaching her climax, not a long, languorous, sensuous climax that Jen normally aimed to give her, but a simple satisfaction of animal need, and the climax, when it came, was short but powerful, all her needs met in one vast explosion of pleasure.

“Mmm... That’s better.” Wendy purred as she re-arranged  her clothes once she had got her breath back. “Now, come back up here and sit next to me again.”

Jen got back up on the seat and sat next to Wendy who put an arm round her and pulled her close.

“You’re a good little piglet, do you know that?” Jen was bemused; Wendy’s good mood knew no bounds. “And we’ve got a special treat tonight. Mistress Tanya has invited us out to a rather special party at a club in town seeing as we’ll be going home soon. Lots of her friends are invited. I’m sure we’ll have a very interesting evening.”

When Jen and Wendy returned to the hotel room there were a number of packages laid out on the bed. trixie had not stayed but had left to pick up Mistress Tanya so Wendy and Jen were alone. Wendy went to take a shower and, as there were no other orders, Jen took off her clothes and knelt down in the dog basket and waited. It wasn’t long before Wendy reappeared wrapped in a dressing gown and drying her hair with a towel. She glanced over at Jen and smiled.

“What an obedient little piglet you’ve become.” She commented. “It seems ages since I’ve had to smack that pretty little bottom of yours. I think this trip has done wonders for you; helped you realise where you belong, where you want to be. Isn’t that so?”

Jen bowed her head and blushed. There was something in what Wendy had said. She had, indeed, gone to her basket as an automatic reaction and, truth be told, it did feel right to be there. Behaviour and situations that previously would have been incomprehensible or abhorrent were now normal and welcomed. Her mind went back to lunchtime when she had been bent over a desk and sodomised without her consent. Not only had she not cried ‘rape’, she had actively enjoyed it. Life as Wendy’s pet, as her slave, as her plaything might be arduous at times but the depth and intensity of the experiences that came with it more than compensated. Her life was fuller, more exciting, and definitely more erotic than it had ever been before.

“Come along now.” Wendy chided. “It’s your turn in the shower. I want you spotless tonight and it’s about time you re-trimmed the fur on your pussy; I shouldn’t need to remind you.”

Jen went off into the en-suite as Wendy sat down at her dressing table. She spent plenty of time luxuriating under the power shower and, as Wendy had urged, trimmed her pubic hair until it was suitably short and tidy. Using one of the huge fluffy towels it wasn’t long before she was dry and, nowadays, with Wendy ordering her to keep her hair short, it only took a few moments with the hair dryer before she was finished. As she came back out into the main suite Wendy turned round to look at her and nodded with approval.

“That’s better. Now come and help me dress.” Wendy went over to the bed and unwrapped the packages, laying the contents out on the bed covers. The main item was a leather corset in midnight blue which ran all the way from the hips to the bust. A series of straps held a piece of leather across the groin acting like a pair of panties. Accompanying this were a pair of matching knee high leather boots and elbow length gloves in the softest of calf leather. Jen helped Wendy get dressed, tightening the corset, lacing up the boots and easing on the soft leather of the gloves. It all fitted perfectly, a combination of accurate measurements and skilled craftsmanship. Once she was dressed, Wendy turned and looked at herself in the mirror.

“So clichéd.” She sighed. “But it is somehow expected of one. What do you think?”

“You look… magnificent.” Jen replied, somewhat surprised to be asked.

“Magnificent… Yes, that will do. Now, let’s get you sorted.”

Jen was not surprised that she would be wearing her new tail; it would appear that Wendy was as keen on it as she was. Along with the tail there were new wrist and ankle cuffs that had come with the packages. They were maybe three inches wide, well padded, and fastened by strong strapping. These were far more than mere decoration; rather they were designed for severe restraint. Each came with a quick release catch attached so they were available for immediate use. The finishing touch was a black leather hood similar to the one Jen had worn when her piercings had been done. It completely covered the eyes and ears and thick padding within the hood meant that Jen was completely blindfolded and that her hearing was severely muffled. The finishing touch was a ball gag fitted to clips either side of her mouth.

As soon as the hood was fitted Jen found herself in a different place. With no sight and only very muffled hearing she felt detached from the outside world. The hood depersonalised her, without a recognisable face she was just an object, an object which was open, available, and ready for use by all and any. She had become used to having little or no say over what happened to her but now this was absolute. But more than that, any who did use or abuse her would also be faceless. As she would not be able to see or hear those who molested her they would cease to become people; she had moved to a void where things just happened, where faceless entities had their way with her unresisting body.

As if to highlight this sense of detachment it wasn’t long before Jen heard muffled talking. It would appear that someone else had entered the room. trixie? Possibly, but Jen neither knew, nor did it make any difference. She felt the leash being fitted to her collar, her wrists were fastened behind her and she was led off into the unknown.

Jen guessed that they were crossing the hotel lobby when they stopped. Whist she stood waiting when she felt hands on her, checking the piercings on her nipples and then on her labia. Unknown fingers checked her tail and then probed inside her as if confirming that she was, indeed, aroused and that she was slick with her juices. Without the hood this would have been almost unbearably embarrassing, to have someone, heaven knows whom, taking such liberties with her in this semi public place. However it was it was as if it were happening to someone else and she even moved slightly, opening her legs to provide easier access. As to whether being aroused was the ‘correct’ response, again, it was as if it were not her body, not her reaction and her state of arousal was beyond her control.

And then they were off again. Jen felt the cool of the night air before they got in a car, a long drive, some more night air and then the muffled sounds of people having fun. They had arrived.

Once at the party the sense of unreality continued. Jen followed wherever she was led and was left, sometimes standing, sometimes kneeling, whilst the party went on around her. From time to time she felt hands examining her, fondling her breasts and her groin or playing with her tail; evidently there was a sense in which she was on display. Even with her muffled hearing she was aware that things were hotting up; the music and conversation were getting louder and more and more attention was being paid to her. She was led onto some sort of stage; her wrists were refastened so that she was hanging from the ceiling, almost on tiptoe. She felt a body pressing against hers, lips and hands caressing and teasing. Teeth nibbled at her breasts, nipping at her, teasing the nipples, pulling gently at the rings.

Again the hood was changing everything. Jen was quickly becoming so wound up she would do anything to gain release and, hooded and anonymous, there was no sense of shame holding her back. She was no longer a person, she was just a body, a sexual body wracked by cravings and under the control of unseen others.

Even with the muffled hearing she could hear that there were conversations happening around her and she was aware that she was being watched, that she was part of a show, but whoever was teasing her body was no novice and the kisses were sending delicious tingles straight to her groin. Sensuously the body moved lower, Jen guessed that whoever was doing this was kneeling before her, and, without thinking, she moved her legs apart, opening herself up, making herself available. Nearer and nearer the unseen lips kissed and kissed, teasing at her lower belly and upper thighs. Jen couldn’t help but squirm, trying desperately to end the teasing, to feel any touch, any contact on her clitoris, anything to take her to release. And then, just as she felt the lips upon her lips, a tongue easing her open, flicking gently at her engorged clit it stopped, The hands that had been resting upon her buttocks, holding the unseen head to her groin, were pulled away as if the person doing it had been pulled back suddenly, whipped away, leaving her high and dry, her throbbing pussy frantic for release.

A peal of laughter penetrated the muffling of the hood; a hand groped her, fingers plunging inside her and, as she frenetically humped the hand in response the laughter only got louder. The hand was removed and Jen was left, shaking with disappointment as her groin demanded satisfaction. Hands gripped her on her buttocks, turned her slightly and pushed her forward where she discovered there was a protuberance, a dildo perhaps, arranged so that, by swinging her body forward, she could just get it to rub against her. The hands went and she was left, straining at her bonds, swinging by her wrists, forcing her hips forward, thrusting herself at whatever it was, trying to get relief.

Jen was in no doubt as to the lack of any dignity but she didn’t care, her whole focus was on working herself against the dildo, driving herself towards the climax she craved so much and when her buttocks felt the flail of the cat, it’s many tails searing across her flesh, it only added to the intensity, pushing her forward, pushing her higher. The more she thrust towards the dildo the harder the cat struck her until, suddenly and without warning, whatever held the dildo was slid towards her and she impaled herself, taking the whole shaft deep, deep inside so that the post which the  dildo was attached to slammed against her. Immediately her whole body went into spasm and only the effectiveness of the gag held back her screams. An orgasm almost profound in it’s intensity wracked her body as time and time again she jerked against the post ramming her clit against the hard wooden surface until she could take no more and, physically and emotionally exhausted, she collapsed, hanging limply from her wrists, the dildo still deep inside her.

Gently, almost tenderly, she was unfastened, eased off the dildo, and taken off the stage. She was knelt down next to someone and she collapsed sideways, resting her head in the unknown lap. Was it Wendy? She neither knew nor really cared; she just needed time to recover, time to let her battered pussy and buttocks recuperate. As she knelt a hand stroked her head, playing with her hair. This had to be Wendy; she felt safe and at home. Indeed, with the afterglow of her orgasm, the ‘full’ feeling from the plug holding her tail in her arse, the warm glow the cat had left on her buttocks, and her head resting on her Mistress’s lap she felt relaxed, almost content, and she started to drift off, not exactly sleeping, but in a semi trance, detached, floating, luxuriating in the delicious sensations.

The rest of the evening was a blur for Jen. Mostly she stayed beside Wendy with her head resting on her lap but sometimes she was left and, a couple of times, she was taken to be used to service other women. She guessed the party was petty much an orgy and she was being ‘lent’ to others for their satisfaction. Vaguely she wondered whether Wendy was enjoying the services of some other slave – of course she was but it had all become so impersonal that Jen felt only the slightest twinge of jealousy.

Jen was nearing the limits of exhaustion when, at last, it was time to go home. It wasn’t just the physical exhaustion although it had, after all, been a long day; rather it was an emotional exhaustion. The intensity of life inside the hood meant that everything was magnified and she had had more than enough. She was therefore glad to feel the cool night air on her body, the subdued drive home, the short journey through the hotel arriving at last back at the room.

Jen had to wait for Wendy to get undressed before she felt wrist and ankle cuffs being removed  and, finally, the straps of the hood were undone. As she emerged into the unaccustomed light Jen felt overwhelmed by it all and stumbled forward, only to be caught by Wendy.

“All a bit much for you?” Wendy asked.

“Please, Mistress…” Jen started but Wendy stopped her with a kiss, a kiss full on the lips.

“Shh now.” Wendy said as she broke away. “Come along, it’s bed time.”

Jen glanced down at the dog basket but Wendy shook her head and led the amazed Jen to the bed. She pulled back the covers and together they slipped under the soft satin sheets.

“I’ve had plenty of girls in my time but never one quite like you. You’re pretty special, do you know that, piglet?” Wendy ran her fingers through Jen’s hair. “clever, pretty, and very sexy; you’re quite the one. Goodnight piglet.”

Wendy rolled over and switched off the lights. Jen lay there beside her, amazed and happy as she quietly slipped off to sleep.

It was the last day of the West Coast trip and the schedule had been kept deliberately light. Wendy and Jen were sat in the hotel suite working away at their laptops, catching up on e-mails when the phone rang. Wendy reached across and punched the button that turned on the speaker-phone facility.

“Ms McCuskell, its Donnelly here.” Mr Donnelly’s firm voice rang out.

“Ah, Mr Donnelly, how can I help?” Wendy asked.

“I need a favour; I’d like to borrow your assistant.” Mr Donnelly replied.

“And by ‘borrow’ I assume you’re not referring to her typing skills.” Wendy countered.

“Look, I won’t beat about the bush. I’m meeting Williams from AB Supplies this afternoon. I need to get a pretty good deal from him so as to make a profit on the deal you got from me the other day and your girl is just the thing to act as a sweetener.”

“But Mr Donnelly,” Wendy interjected. “My assistant is a valued and respected member of my team and not just some cheap whore for you to use as and when it suits you and, talking of cheap whores, surely a man of your resources would have other… err.. suppliers.”

“Yeah, if a cheap whore was what I wanted I’d have no problems at all but Williams likes a bit of class and is a complete sucker for that British accent. That’s not so easy to find at short notice; I did have a girl lined up but it all went pear shaped at the last moment. Look, I appreciate that I’m asking a favour and not offering anything in return so here’s the deal. You name any three major players out here on the West Coast and I’ll send over my private files on them; I borrow your girl, you get the inside dirt; is that Ok?”

Jen had been watching Wendy all the time and, as soon as Mr Donnelly had mentioned the private files, she had seen her eyes light up. Jen was fast learning that information was power and she could see that Wendy was eager to get her hands on the files so when Wendy looked up and their eyes met Jen shrugged as if to say ‘why not’. It wasn’t as if she really had any say in the matter, it would be Wendy’s decision whether she went or not but she was pleased to be consulted and pleased with the way that Wendy had described her as ‘not some cheap whore’. If this did end up with Wendy getting valuable information it would be a feather in her cap and, to tell the truth, she wasn’t totally averse to seeing what Mr Donnelly and this Mr Williams had in store for her.

“Ok.” Wendy agreed at last. “But here are the rules. We’re flying out tonight so you have to get her back here by five at the latest. I want her back and I want her back in one piece. You and your friend can use her anyway you want but remember, she’s not a whore, you’re not to damage her and you’ve got to use condoms; I don’t want her pregnant and I don’t want any nasty diseases. As for the files, that’s a nice trade but don’t fuck me over; if I find you’ve sold me a crock of shit you’ll regret it. Understood?”

“Hey, understood.” Mr Donnelly replied. “You’re helping me out and I appreciate that; you’ll find I’m not ungrateful. Can I send a car over around midday. My driver will make sure she arrives in one piece and, when she gets here I’ll be looking after her. I can drop her back to the hotel or straight to LAX, whichever you would prefer.”

“Back here for five would be best. I’ll make sure she’s ready to leave by midday.”

“Thanks again, Ms McCuskell. I really appreciate your help. I’ll talk to you later.” Mr Donnelly rang off.

At half past eleven Jen went to get ready. She had a long shower using a suitably perfumed shower gel and then fixed her hair and make up going for a quietly understated look. Then she went to the wardrobe to select an outfit. It wasn’t as if she had a very wide choice; apart from the dress she was due to wear for travelling all her outfits were formal and business like but maybe that would fit with the requirements. Mr Donnelly had spoken of Mr Williams liking a bit of class and the respectable business woman look would fit the bill. Once dressed she returned to the bathroom and, selecting the lubricant used when fitting her tail, applied a generous dose to her anus.

It was just gone twelve when the phone rang and the front desk informed Wendy that there was a car waiting for her assistant. Wendy took Jen down to the lobby where a thick set man wearing a uniform was waiting by the desk. As soon as he saw them he came over.

“I need her back by five and don’t lose her, I hope you, and your boss, understand that.” Wendy told the driver.

“Certainly Ma’am.” He replied. “Mr Donnelly was most clear on that point.”

The driver took Jen by the elbow and led her outside to where the car was waiting.

As the car sped through the Californian sunshine Jen wondered to herself why she had acquiesced quite so quickly. Mostly it was to stay in Wendy’s good books, life was always easier if she made it easy for Wendy and, by accepting this she had put Mr Donnelly in Wendy’s debt. Partially it was about freedom; although she was far from free in any real sense of the word she was acting independently from Wendy for  the first time since she had been captured and that brought its own thrill. Partially it was something rather darker. She remembered how it had felt when Mr Donnelly had sodomised her over his desk and the very thought made her tingle. She wondered if Mr Williams would want to use her the same way and if he would have better staying power. Even thinking about it caused delicious tingles from her well lubricated butt.

It wasn’t long before they arrived at a private golf course. The gates opened automatically as the car approached and they sped up the drive to the clubhouse. Once he had parked the driver used his mobile phone to check exactly where Mr Donnelly was before leading Jen to a golf cart and heading out onto the course. There were very few other players around as they trundled across the manicured greens and fairways; the club evidently catering to those who valued privacy. They caught up with Mr Donnelly at the fifth tee which was deep in the countryside and well out of sight from the clubhouse.

As Jen approached the party it was pretty easy to work out who was who. Mr Donnelly she already knew so the other golfer must be Mr Williams. Each was accompanied by a caddy but Jen could see that they were more likely private secretaries than true caddies and were more used to carrying briefcases than golf clubs. Mr Williams’ eyes lit up as she approached.

Jen remembered Mr Donnelly’s requirements. She had to have a touch of class and be an English rose. Whilst she would have to flirt with Mr Williams she would not make it too obvious; she was not, repeat not, a cheap whore. On the other hand she wondered if he already knew how available she was or whether she would have to let him know. With a sense of 'here we go' she put on her best upper class accent and went over to the group.

“Mr Williams, I’m delighted to meet you.” She said. “Mr Donnelly has told me so much about you.”

“And what brings a pretty little English girl all the way out here?” Mr Williams asked.

“Oh, I’m working for Mr Donnelly in a personal capacity.” Jen replied.

“I’m sure you are.” Mr Williams leered at her. Whilst they watched Mr Donnelly line up his shot Mr Williams kept up the conversational banter. Jen treading the fine line that ensured that Mr Williams knew she was available whilst still maintaining her style and poise. A few white lies about meeting the royals at polo matches helped things along and she kept her accent as Sloane Ranger as possible. When both tee shots were completed the party set off down the fairway and she travelled in Mr Williams’ golf cart making sure she was practically sitting on his lap; a growing bulge in his trousers showed that she was getting through.

Two shots later, when they reached the green, Mr Williams was losing any subtlety he might have had and was asking more and more direct questions about Jen’s role with Mr Donnelly. Jen kept her responses vague with lots of hints about stress relief. By now it wasn’t just the bulge in his trousers that gave Mr Williams away, he completely missed a two foot put sending the ball skidding across the green.

“It looks like your mind is more on my assistant than on your game.” Mr Donnelly joked. “Carry on like this and I’ll beat the pants off you. Why don’t you let her get rid of your stress before the next hole? Personally I’d take her up the butt; she’s got the cutest little ass on her.”

“I don’t mind if I do.” Mr Williams replied and he grabbed Jen by the elbow. He glanced around before heading for the golf cart and roughly bending her over the seats. Jen’s skirt was flipped up and her legs pushed apart. Suddenly Jen was seeing a different side to his character, any chivalry was gone and he was pushing her around like he owned her.

“I see what you mean about her ass!” Mr Williams called out and moments later Jen felt the tip of his prick pushing against her sphincter. The lubrication she had applied earlier helped Mr Williams ease past the initial tightness and in no time Jen was feeling that wonderful feeling of fullness, of being opened and stretched. She reached forward and grabbed random bits of the golf cart so she could push back, encouraging him to push deeper.

“God, you’re loving this, aren’t you?” Groaned Mr Williams as he slid back and forth, using his whole length inside her.

“Yes, Sir.” Jen replied.

“Yes, what?” Mr Williams demanded.

“Yes, please, Sir. Please fuck my arse, Sir, please, Sir, as hard as you can, Sir.” Jen replied. This served to spur Mr Williams on, his thrusts becoming harder, faster, deeper. “Oooh, that feels so good, Sir, please fuck me harder.”

Judging by his furious pumping Jen’s dirty talk was just what Mr Williams wanted and it wasn’t hard to fake. Whilst the excuse was that she was playing Mata Hari, that she was doing this so that Wendy got her inside information, the truth was that her body thrilled to this rough treatment and, when, with a deep animal roar, Mr Williams climaxed and slumped over her, she was secretly disappointed that he had finished so soon.

However, when Mr Williams pulled himself off her and she started to get up a hand in the middle of her back pushed her firmly back down again.

“What about you, Donnelly?” Mr Williams asked. “Do you fancy a bit?”

With a start Jen realised that she had let herself in for far more than she had bargained for; it wasn’t just Mr Williams who was going to use her, they were all lining up and her abuse had only just begun. Mr Donnelly took his place behind her and she once again felt his girth filling her anal tract. Even with the additional lubricant from the condom she was being stretched to the limit of endurance and pain was rapidly overtaking pleasure. When Mr Donnelly had finished there was barely a pause before Mr Williams’ secretary took his turn, this time using her pussy and getting a laugh when he commented how juicy she was. Meanwhile, before he had finished, her head was lifted from the seat and a prick brutally shoved  in her mouth. Part of her, most of her, wanted to shout ‘stop’, this had gone far beyond what she had bargained for but she knew it was pointless, they wouldn't stop and she'd be letting Wendy down. What had started as a role play had become painfully real and any sense of pleasure, of satisfaction, of anything other than abuse was gone as she was effectively gang raped by the five men. What is more, increasingly she was unable to tell who it was that was using her. She had lost count but surely she had been penetrated more than five times, it would seem that they were coming round for seconds, or maybe even thirds. Her poor arse and pussy were so abused and sore that they had become twin tunnels of fire, and, with her mouth full of the taste of spermicide from the condoms, all she could do was hang on as the tears flowed down her cheeks.

And then at last it was over, she hung like a rag doll, flopped over the golf cart, unable to move, unable to stand. Vaguely she was aware of Mr Donnelly and Mr Williams laughing as they zipped themselves up and got back to their game. It would seem that, having been used, she was now discarded, no longer required, forgotten. Gently the driver helped her to her feet, smoothed her down and sat her back on the golf cart. Without a word he got in beside her and drove back to the car.

As they drove back to the hotel Jen huddled in the corner of the back seat, mentally licking her wounds, trying to ignore the searing pain which still came from her nether regions. The contrast was striking; how different the coarse brutality of the men from the sensuous subtlety of Wendy or Mistress Tanya. At the end of the day she had been nothing, of no consequence, an object to be used, then discarded. Wendy at her worst, at her most brutal, had always dealt woman to woman and, even when Jen had been objectified, whilst wearing the hood, for example, there was an underlying humanity, a sense that she cared. When at last they arrived Jen tried to straighten herself out but, with no handbag, she had neither hairbrush nor make-up so she was forced to enter the hotel with her hair in disarray and her tear stained face streaked with mascara.

The driver took Jen to the front desk where they called Wendy who came down to the lobby. She took one look at Jen and with a curt ‘thank you’ to the driver she took her back up to the room.

“Was it bad?” Wendy asked, her face full of concern, as soon as they entered the lift to ride back to their floor.

“It was… It was…” Jen started but the words wouldn’t come, tears filled her eyes, she couldn't take any more.

“Shush… Shush… Shush...” Wendy took Jen in her arms and held her close. With her arm still around her she led Jen back to the room and they sat down on a sofa together. Gradually, bit by bit, Wendy got the story from Jen. How Jen had played her part to the full, leading Mr Williams on and offering herself to him when the time came. However, as Jen described how it had turned into a gang rape, how it had gone far beyond what either woman had envisaged, she could feel Wendy stiffening, feel the anger growing within her. When Jen had finished Wendy got up and went over to the phone, once again using it in speaker mode.

“Donnelly.” She said once the connection was made. “I hope you’re bloody well satisfied.”

“What’s up?” Mr Donnelly sounded genuinely perplexed.

“You know very well what’s up. I lend you my assistant and you go far, far beyond what we agreed.” Wendy’s anger was evident.

“Ok, Ok, I’m sorry, but hey, we just had a bit of fun. Look, you said we could use her any way we wanted; I’m sorry if we went too far.”

“Too far! The idea was that she should be a sweetener for this Williams fellow, not that she should be gang raped by all and sundry; I would never have agreed to that and well you know it. Furthermore, as far as I’m concerned it’s not just me you should be apologising to.” Wendy’s could barely contain her anger.

“What, you expect me to apologise to your little tart, to apologise for treating her like the trash she is?” Mr Donnelly sounded amazed.

“Too damn right, I do.” Wendy’s anger was in full flow now. “My assistant means a great deal to me. She is not a tart, she is not trash, and she certainly did not deserve to be treated that way. You owe her an apology and you owe me big time.”

“Look, I said I’m sorry, I’m sorry to you and, Ok, I’m sorry to your assistant. I really didn’t know you felt that way, and, Ok, I owe you. The Williams deal came through and I’ll make sure you get what you want. I can’t say fairer than that.”

“Ok, apology accepted but don’t mess with me, Donnelly, do you understand.” Wendy replied grudgingly.

“Yeah, message received.” Mr. Donnelly sounded contrite, and so he should Jen thought to herself.

Wendy put the phone down and went back to Jen on the sofa and gave her a long hug before suggesting that a hot soak in the tub might help. Jen was already recovering fast; the physical pains were being offset by the discovery, nay revelation, of just how strongly Wendy felt about her.

Jen was feeling a lot better by the time trixie arrived to take them to LAX. As ever they were travelling light with the bulk of their luggage being sent separately. When they got to the security check-in Jen remembered the embarrassment of Heathrow and, finding a suitable security guard, went and explained her position. This time, whilst the examination was equally thorough, it was done in a totally matter-of-fact fashion and in no time Jen was through, rejoining Wendy in the first class lounge.

The flight itself was half empty and Wendy and Jen had plenty of privacy when, once the cabin lights had been dimmed, they reclined their seats turning them into beds so as to get some sleep as the plane headed back home over the Arctic. However, rather than than a simple catnap, Wendy had other ideas to pass the hours. She reached down for her bag and fetched out some plastic cable ties. She then leant over and in moments Jen’s wrists were fastened to the armrests.

“That’s better.” Wendy whispered. “Now we can have some fun. You like being tied up, don’t you?”

“Yes, please, Mistress.” And Jen was not making it up just to please Wendy. As she had felt her wrists being bound she had relaxed back into a state of acceptance, awaiting whatever Wendy had in store for her. She trusted Wendy, trusted her completely. What ever was coming would be done by someone who cared for her, who cared for her well-being.

Wendy arranged a blanket over Jen and, as far as the seating would allow, got in close. Jen felt Wendy’s hands straying over her body, a light, sensitive touch that tingled, just the right side of tickling. As ever Jen’s minimal clothing presented no real barrier and Wendy roamed freely across her breasts, her stomach, her thighs, anywhere she could reach except, and it was a big exception, except her groin.

More and more Jen wanted that touch. Wendy’s teasing had fully awoken her senses and there was a growing heat in her groin, a heat that demanded satisfaction.

“Please, Mistress.” Jen whimpered as Wendy’s fingers strayed across her lower stomach, getting so close before veering off again.

“What’s up little one?” Wendy replied. “I thought you would be far too battered and bruised. Maybe it would be best of I left you alone.”

“No!” Jen blurted out. “Sorry, Mistress. I mean please don’t leave me. I need to feel your touch.  I need you, Mistress.”

“Settle down.” Wendy admonished. “You don’t want to wake the other passengers. Is this what you want?”

Jen felt Wendy’s fingers brushing against her labia and couldn’t prevent a groan of pleasure.

“Yes, please, Mistress.”

“Well, ask nicely then.” Wendy’s fingers were playing in the short hairs that covered Jen's pubic mound, tantalisingly close but achingly far.

“Please, Mistress, I beg you to be kind to your pet. I need you so badly; haven’t I been good? Haven’t I worked so hard? Please, you know you can do anything you want to me, I’m yours, completely yours. Please be kind; please may I come?”

“Very, pretty, little piglet, very pretty indeed.” Wendy leaned across and, as their lips met in a passionate kiss her hand reached down and took Jen firmly, insistently. Jen's wrists may have been tied but her hips were free and she responded by grinding herself urgently against the pressure of Wendy’s palm.

“Careful, piglet.” Wendy broke the kiss to rebuke Jen. “I told you before, don’t wake the other passengers. Now lie still or I’ll stop.”

Wendy returned to her teasing and Jen was left with the almost impossible task of lying still and quiet as she did so. Wendy was no novice and time and time again she took Jen to the edge, always denying her release, always leaving her short until, inevitably, the dam burst, the explosion happened and Jen lost control, thrashing about and moaning audibly. She had barely recovered when the air steward arrived, asking if she were Ok. Jen was glad Wendy had readjusted the blanket so her wrists were covered once again. Jen, still panting from the exertion, made up some story about having woken from a vivid dream. Maybe the steward believed her, maybe she didn’t.

The plane ploughed on through the night. Wendy left Jen still tied to the armrests as she rolled over and went to sleep but, apart from a growing need to visit the toilet, Jen didn’t mind, she let her mind go free, her thoughts ranging far and wide.

She spent most of the night thinking over the events of the trip. In pure business terms it had been a wild success; three new contracts and the renegotiation of a couple of others had meant that it had paid for itself several times over. On a more personal level it had helped cement Jen’s role at Wendy’s right hand. Increasingly she had proven her business worth and increasingly Wendy was entrusting her with inside information. If she were in a normal business relationship she would be asking for a raise when they got back. As it was she hoped that her improving status would improve her relationship with Wendy; she could never forget just how dependant she was on keeping in Wendy’s good books. Although she was seeing more and more of Wendy’s softer side she was well aware just how ruthless and determined Wendy could be if the occasion required it.

And that thought had led on to the far more complex subject of exactly what was the nature of her relationship with Wendy; what had started out as something pretty straightforward where Jen was no more than a plaything, a toy or some sot of pet, was getting more and more involved. There had always been two sides to Wendy; Jen thought of them and “nice Wendy” and “harsh Wendy” and this polarisation was growing. Recently Wendy had started inviting Jen to share her bed and, along with the physical passion there was growing emotional closeness. However, harsh Wendy was never that far away and the mood could change in an instant. It wasn’t so much the physical cruelty; it was a coldness, a lack of caring. Jen would go from close confidant to total stranger, from bed-mate to no mate, from loved to loathed. With a flash of insight Jen wondered if Wendy was scared by this closeness; all those years of one night stands, of purely physical sex with girls from the clubs showed that Wendy was not used to letting anyone get too close to her and maybe the growing emotional bond between them was hard for her to deal with. Maybe this explained why she had turned to trixie time and time again; not because she wanted to hurt Jen but because sex with trixie was simple, uncomplicated, uninvolved. With a shake of her head Jen wondered if she was becoming too fanciful. The all powerful Wendy scared of emotional closeness? Maybe, maybe not.

And that left the increasingly difficult subject of how Jen felt about Wendy, indeed, how she felt about her whole situation. The bitter resentment that had typified the start of her servitude was changing; sure she still dreamed of being in control of her own life again, if only for an hour or two but there was another side to her, one that she was having to accept, that revelled in the attention she was getting, that loved being owned, that loved being part of something. Like Wendy she was not used to being close to anyone and, she realised that, up until now, her life had been a lonely one. Maybe she had been free but it had been a freedom to eat take-away pizzas on her own in her tiny flat. Now, and especially during the West Coast trip, she had felt very much part of the team, a real sense of belonging.

But it wasn’t just the sense of belonging, there was something more fundamental that was changing in their growing relationship. The power imbalance was changing; more and more she was supplying a need in Wendy, a need that had never been completely met by the girls from the clubs, and, increasingly Wendy was becoming dependant on Jen to meet those needs. On a purely physical level Jen knew that her expertise between Wendy’s thighs was unmatched, could never be matched by a stranger. Sure, a tart, a trollop, a floozie like trixie might be a skilled lover but no one but Jen knew Wendy’s ways quite as well as she did, no one else was as expert in reading Wendy’s body, in responding to the twists and turns of Wendy’s sexual requirements.

But even that somehow missed the point. Her relationship with Wendy was being built on more than just sex and power. When Wendy praised her, either for a job well done or for skill with her tongue, her heart skipped a beat. At first this had been because pleasing Wendy meant less punishment, now she wanted to please Wendy for its own reward. And Jen was sure this was mutual. At first, if Wendy had allowed Jen to reach orgasm, it had been to demonstrate her power over her, her ability to control Jen’s pleasure; but nowadays, Wendy was returning Jen’s caresses, their love making was more a give and take, and orgasms a shared experience.

Jen’s glanced over at Wendy who was sleeping quietly. She smiled to herself, remembering how Wendy had comforted her the previous day and how she had tied and teased her on the flight. For all her thoughts she still didn’t really know how she felt but there was one thing for certain, it felt right to be at Wendy’s side and that would do for now.

The return from the West Coast trip marked a turning point for Jen. Her relationship with Wendy had changed, and the change was permanent.

Firstly, on a professional level, the two women had built up a close working partnership. Jen was leaning to anticipate Wendy’s needs and was rapidly becoming her right hand, her indispensable aid. And it wasn’t just the work they had done together whilst they were out there; on their return there was plenty of paperwork to catch up on; not just that generated by the trip itself, but also things that had been left whilst they were away. As the two women toiled away in the office Wendy was increasingly asking Jen’s opinion and using her as a sounding board.

This change in status had also been noticed by the rest of the staff and suddenly Jen was in demand elsewhere. Her name had appeared ‘magically’ on several distribution lists and she was getting invited to more and more high level meetings. She was still seen very much as Wendy’s PA rather than any sort of partner but it was known that she had the ear of the boss and that moved her several rungs up the pecking order. It made her smile the way some people who wouldn’t have given her the time of day six months ago were now fawning all over her and claiming to be her oldest friend.

Far more significant, and, in some ways, far more dramatic, was the change in their relationship outside of the office. Sure, the main trappings were still there; Jen still had to remain naked whenever she was in the house, her every minute was still under Wendy’s direct control and she still had no personal freedom but she was spending far more time with Wendy and getting far more respect from her. One huge change was that they had started eating their evening meal together. At first this was because Wendy would bring work home and they would discuss details as they ate but, as things settled down, it became the norm. After the meal they would retire to the lounge and relax together. 

Whilst there were plenty of evenings when Wendy would play with Jen, teasing her, making her perform or simply using her for her own satisfaction more and more they would just unwind together, spending the evening in quiet companionship; Wendy full length on the sofa with Jen knelt by her side.

And this led to the biggest change of all. One evening they had been chilling out in the lounge. Wendy had told Jen to wear her tail and they were idly playing ‘fetch’ with a rubber ball; Jen was getting to know this game well, she had to act the eager puppy, to fetch the ball in her mouth and, on returning, to beg in front of her Mistress to be allowed another go. Her tail fitted easier nowadays but, as she scampered around the floor chasing the ball, it still felt very big inside her and this was very much part of the game. Was it this, or a desire to please Wendy or something else entirely which was making her relish this game, to find that it turned her on; Wendy certainly seemed to enjoy it. Jen was knelt beside the sofa, the ball in her mouth and her ‘paws’ crossed in front of her in the classic begging  pose when Wendy looked down at her with a strange look in her eyes.

“Come with me little piglet puppy; I have a treat for you tonight.” Wendy stood up and walked towards the door. Jen scampered after her, still on all fours, still with the ball in her mouth. A short walk took them upstairs to what was obviously Wendy’s bedroom which, large as it was, was dominated by an enormous bed with the sheets turned back ready for use. Jen glanced around looking for the dog basket but there was none.

“Go and get yourself ready.” Wendy indicated a door which led to an en-suite. “And be quick about it. I don’t want to be kept waiting.”

As Jen went to the en-suite Wendy crossed the room to another door. It said much about the luxury of the mansion that it had his and hers en-suites, or should that be her and hers? Jen was only slightly surprised to find a toothbrush and toothpaste like the brand she used already waiting for her along with all the other requisites; the en-suite had been prepared for her and this was not an unexpected visit. She did her ablutions as quickly as possible all the while debating whether to remove the tail. In the end she plumped for leaving it in. When she had finished she returned to the bedroom only to find it empty. She certainly wasn’t getting in to the bed without permission so she knelt beside it and waited.

It was only a few minutes later that Wendy returned, still managing to look imperious even though she was now naked. She slipped into the bed and patted the space beside her.

“Come here, puppy. Come and show your Mistress how much you love her, show me how you worship me.” Wendy purred.

Jen got into the bed beside her, keen to show what she could do. Aware that this was a first, that another barrier between them was in the process of falling Jen was anxious to ensure that she did not let Wendy down, that Wendy’s trust in taking her to her bedroom, letting her in to her inner sanctum would be repaid by her faithful servant. But Jen wasn’t just aware of a change in the Mistress/servant relationship, this was a major change in the relationship between the two women; a step on the road that was taking her from plaything to lover, a process that she so desired that she threw herself heart and soul into her role and when, some time later, a fully satisfied Wendy lay beside her she felt the satisfaction not just of a job well done but also that which comes from having done something to please your lover.

“Well, little piglet, you have done well. Is it your turn to come now?” Wendy asked, teasingly as she rolled over towards Jen and her hand slipped between her thighs.

“I wouldn’t presume, Mistress.” Jen replied.

“You wouldn’t presume.” Wendy echoed. “What an obedient little piglet you’ve become. When I think of the angry little rebel you were just a few weeks ago; she would have presumed wouldn’t she?”

“Yes, Mistress.” Jen admitted. She was finding it increasingly hard to concentrate. She had already been turned on and Wendy’s busy fingers were working their magic.

“And are you grateful that I took you in hand? Are you grateful that I started training you? You were such a naughty little piglet; are you grateful that I’m taking care of you?

“Yes, Mistress, I am.” Jen whispered.

“And do you love your Mistress?” Wendy’s fingers were working away feverishly.

“Yes, yes, I love you, Mistress.” Jen admitted.

“Of course you do.” Wendy replied and kissed Jen long, hard and passionately as she climaxed, the admission of love tipping her over the edge.

In the small hours of the night Jen rolled over, needing the toilet. She had no idea what time it was but the first hint of dawn was apparent through the uncurtained windows and the room was bathed in a pale light. She slipped out of bed and went to the en-suite, keeping as quiet as possible. On her return she couldn’t help but go over to the windows, looking out over the extensive grounds just visible in the early morning light. She was still surprised not to have been dismissed when Wendy had finished with her, to have been allowed to share Wendy’s bed. It was strange not having to sleep in her room, her tiny cell deep in the cellars; how much better was this, being able to look out, to have wide vistas, to have room to stretch. However, it was too good to risk and she slipped back into bed before Wendy woke.

From that point on it became the norm for Jen to sleep with Wendy.  Admittedly it was not long before a dog basket appeared and, from time to time, Jen was relegated to sleeping there but that was still a massive advance on before. Jen, now an expert on anticipating Wendy’s moods would often head for the basket without being told and this would do much to mitigate the circumstances, not that it made that much difference to how hard Wendy would apply the paddle when the time came, if anything their new relationship meant that Jen was getting more punishment, not less.

It was a Sunday morning and Wendy sent Jen to have her shower whilst she remained in bed finishing off her breakfast. On her return Jen was told to stand next to the bed with her feet apart and her hands clasped behind her back. Wendy reached for the rings embedded in Jen’s labia and gave them her usual thorough inspection. This time, however, she was far more robust, tugging and turning them, stretching the skin, testing the punctures. Evidentially she was satisfied with the results.

“Well, piglet, it’s been a long wait but it looks like you’re ready. All nicely healed. I’ve got a special treat for you. There’s a jewellery box on the dressing table. Fetch it here will you.” Wendy pointed out the box and Jen went to get it.

Inside the box was a silver padlock, maybe two centimetres tall. Although it was mainly decorative it was obviously well made and completely functional. Wendy lifted it out of the box and showed it to Jen.

“Do you know where this is going?” She asked.

“I think so, Mistress. Jen replied.

“Do you know why?” Wendy went on.

Jen had already thought this one out. The piercings were too high to make the padlock anything other than decorative; even locked together she would still be available and, on a more practical note, able to use the toilet without being unlocked. The padlock's role was was going to be far more symbolic; it’s positioning would mean that it was as visible as possible and, moreover, it was going to restrict access to her clitoris. Here was a symbol that her ownership was sexual, that, whilst Wendy owned all of her, this ownership was centred on her genitals, that her ability to give and receive pleasure was restricted, under lock and key, under the control of her Mistress.

Wendy removed the two sleeper rings and carefully eased the loop of the padlock through the holes, first one side, then the other, until, with a feint ‘click’ she pushed it closed and took her hand away.

“There, walk around a bit, see how it feels.” Wendy ordered. Jen took a few tentative steps and then walked briskly up and down the room before returning to the side of the bed. It was a strange sensation, the weight meant that she wasn’t going to forget it’s presence in a hurry and, as she walked, it moved about, both the loop inside her and the body of the padlock outside her, moving against her most sensitive flesh. However, it was not unpleasant nor was it going to be difficult to wear.

“Thank you, Mistress.” She said. “It is an honour to wear it.”

“It is indeed, so don’t you forget it. Now come along, it’s a beautiful morning and I fancy a jog. Let’s do two laps of the grounds. Hang on whilst I get dressed.” Wendy got up, put on her jogging gear and the two women headed out to the garden. A jogging track had been laid out around the edge of the grounds but still affording privacy and the two women set of at a brisk pace. The jiggling about as they ran was certainly testing to the limit Jen’s ability to wear the padlock and she wondered vaguely whether this was coincidental or whether Wendy had planned it this way. Whichever, as the padlock swung back and forth, tugging at her lips, she knew she’d have to live with it, to enjoy rather than endure the sensations.

All this left Jen totally unprepared for what happened next. It was a Thursday and Jen noticed that Sally was strangely quiet when she picked Wendy and Jen up from the office. However Jen thought nothing of it until, when they returned to the mansion, Wendy departed leaving Jen standing at the front door. Juanita seemed to be making extra fuss as she helped Jen undress.

“Come Chiquita,” Juanita said as she led Jen away. “You eat with us tonight. Leave the Mistress go. She’s busy.”

“What's up? Why aren't I eating with the Mistress?” Jen asked.

“The Mistress, she has a... a friend tonight. You stay with us downstairs; it will be like old times. Come.” Juanita was brisk, businesslike.

When they got to the kitchen they found Sally delving around in the fridge looking for a can of coke.

“Hi there, piglet.” Sally said looking up. “Got bored of the high life, have you? Come back to eat with us peons?”

“Sally! You know it’s not like that. I go where I’m told.” Jen protested.

“Yeah, I know, just joshing with you. Here, have a coke.” Sally passed Jen one of the ice cold cans.

“Thanks. I gather that Mistress has guests, that’s why I’m banished.”

“Guests! That’s one way of putting it.” Sally snorted with derision.

“Why, what’s up?” Jen asked genuinely confused.

“Look.” Sally continued. “From time to time the Mistress likes a bit of rough, nothing fancy and it’s just for one night. Earlier today I drove Fran down to town where... Well, you’ll find out soon enough.”

At that point a bell sounded and Juanita bustled away only to return a few moments later.

“The Mistress, she call for you. Come now, come quick. She say you must wear you tail and the white heels.” Juanita held in her hands Jen’s tail and a pair of white strappy sandals with three inch heels. She helped Jen on with the shoes and fitted the tail before leading her back to the lounge. She knocked briefly on the door and hustled Jen inside.

“Ah, here she is.” Wendy said, looking up. “Sharon, this is my little slave, piglet. If there’s anything you want her to do, just anything, all you have to do is ask. Isn’t that right, piglet?”

“It is my honour to serve you, Mistress” Jen replied.

“Yes, and now it is your honour to serve Sharon as well.”

For a moment or two Jen and Sharon stared at each other. Sharon was sat at Wendy’s feet, in what Jen considered to be her place. She wore a white PVC mini skirt and a sequined boob tube and patent leather boots. Jen reckoned sourly that the whole outfit looked like they came from one of the cheaper outlets, TK Maxx or Primark, and you could probably buy the lot for a twenty quid and still have change. Sharon’s hair was bottle blonde, her roots already showing, her shoulder was heavily tattooed and her complexion showed years of bad diet and abuse. Jen liked to think of herself as not being a snob but this woman, this girl, this nothing, had slag written right through her like Blackpool rock.

“What are you staring at?” Sharon sneered.

“I’m sorry, Miss.” Jen replied dropping her head. It was hard kowtowing to this hussy but Jen knew that she had to.

“So you flamin’ should be. What’s that in your fanny flaps? Come here, give us a look.” Jen went over and Sharon reached up, grabbing the padlock. Then she turned Jen around and examined the tail, seeing how it fitted, tugging it gently, testing how tightly it was held.

“Gor, you’re really serious, aren’t you?” Sharon said to Wendy. “That padlock’s for real, innit?. Who has the key?”

“I do.” Wendy replied. “It helps remind piglet who she belongs to.”

“And she’ll do anything I tell her to? Anything at all?” Sharon was still a little incredulous.

“Oh yes, why don’t you try her out?” Wendy replied.

Sharon picked up the alcopop bottle she had been drinking from, drained the inch or so that remained and passed the empty bottle to Jen.

“Here, stick this up your cunt, let's see you give yourself a good shagging.” She demanded.

Jen glanced at Wendy but already knew that there was no help coming from that quarter. Bending her knees slightly she rubbed the top of the bottle against her but she was too dry to make things easy; she had to reach down and open herself up with her other hand before she could make any progress at all.

“Look at her.” Sharon jeered. “Bottle half way up her cunt and that tail thing up her arse. What does she look like? Come on, you can get it further in than that.”

Jen had had to put up with a lot since she had become Wendy’s plaything but it had never been like this. Wendy had never been so course, so crude and Jen had never despised Wendy the way she was fast despising Sharon. She was still trying to insert the bottle when she was saved by Juanita arriving to announce that dinner was served.

During the meal Jen had to act as waitress. She was hindered by the heels she was wearing but much more by Sharon’s fascination with the padlock. Every time she came close Sharon would reach out and grab it, twisting it to the point of pain and, on one occasion this caused her to spill the gravy; Jen just knew that Wendy would suggest that this would require her to be punished and that Sharon should apply the punishment. It didn’t help that Sharon was still knocking back the alcopops and was getting thoroughly drunk.

After supper the two women returned to the lounge with Jen trailing behind. No sooner had they sat down than Wendy reminded Sharon that she there was the matter of Jen’s punishment outstanding and directed her to the bottom draw of a sideboard where she could find assorted ‘toys’. Sharon opened the draw and rummaged around.

“Gor, you’ve got it all here.” She exclaimed taking out a cane and flexing it. “Wow, what’s this?”

Sharon pulled out a penis gag and, after a bit of twisting and turning, worked out what if was for.

“This will shut her up, having a massive dick like this shoved in her gob. Come ‘ere, slave.”

Jen went over and Sharon fitted the gag. It would have been bad enough had Wendy fitted it but a drunk and clumsy Sharon just made things so much worse. Then Sharon grabbed the cane, marched Jen to the middle of the room and bent her over a pouffe.

“What do you reckon, twelve enough?” She asked Wendy

“Whatever you think, my dear.” Wendy replied. “She spilt the gravy over you, it's only fair that you choose her punishment.”

Sharon slashed at Jen’s backside with the cane. She was too drunk to do any real damage and the strokes fell haphazardly ranging from Jen’s buttocks to her knees but, even so, the cane was agony and it took all Jen’s self control to lie there and take it. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Wendy watching her with a pleased look. Was it her muffled cries, her tear streaked face, or the sight of this tart, this slag, slashing away that amused her so? Whichever, for Jen the indignity of her treatment was far worse than the cane; why, oh why was Wendy treating her like this?

Once the twelve strokes were over she was left, lying on the pouffe as Sharon staggered back to rejoin Wendy on the sofa. Wendy gave Sharon a hug before reaching for the remote and switching on the TV.

“I’ve just been sent this. It’s a DVD of a party I went to. Have a look, it might amuse.” She commented.

Jen watched from her position prone on the pouffe. The DVD showed the party she and Wendy had attended in LA. She recognised one or two of the guests and, of course, there she was, naked except for the hood. Indeed the DVD featured quite a bit of Wendy and Jen, it had obviously been made specifically for Wendy's benefit. This was especially true of the bit where Jen had been taken up onto the stage for punishment but it wasn’t until a close-up showed the rings piercing Jen’s labia that the penny dropped with Sharon.

“That’s her, innit? There, in the hood, that’s piglet.” Sharon squealed in delight. “Gor, look at that.”

They had got to the bit where Jen was rubbing herself against the dildo. At the time it had seemed unreal and she had been so in the moment that she hadn’t thought for one moment about how it might look to others. Now she was seeing, and indeed hearing as Sharon gave a running commentary.

“Look, look!” She pointed at the screen in her excitement. “She’s loving it, the randy little cow, look at her rubbing herself against that prick, she’s so horny she’ll do anything, what a little slut, I bet she wishes it was inside her… Ooh, there it goes.”

Jen watched in horror at the image of herself humping away at the dildo attached to its post. At the time, well, she hadn’t been thinking, and she’d been amongst a lot of like minded people. Sharon, however, was somehow managing to reduce it to something shameful, something disgusting, as though she were an animal in heat unable to control her own desires. Sharon, with her vulgarity, her uncouth attitude and her basic rudeness had ended up making Jen feel dirty. Her face burned with embarrassment and her heart burned with hate.

Once the DVD had finished Sharon and Wendy sat on the sofa kissing. Jen couldn’t help but watch; she knew it would be easier if she looked away but somehow she couldn’t. The pain of having to watch her Mistress, her Wendy, kissing this slut, this tramp, this piece of dirt, this nothing… Wendy had rolled down Sharon’s boob tube and was kissing her breasts. Sharon was loving every minute of it, she looked like the cat that had swallowed the cream; she glanced down at Jen, making sure that she knew exactly what was going on, and, as their eyes locked, she gave her a wink. Jen’s scream of rage was stifled by her desire not to upset Wendy and by the penis gag still forced down her throat and Wendy completely ignored it.

It seemed ages before Wendy sat up and pushed the buzzer that called Juanita. She and Sharon got up unsteadily from the sofa.

“Ah, Juanita.” Wendy said once she had arrived. “We’ve off to bed. Deal with piglet, will you.”

Without further word Wendy and Sharon staggered off towards the bedroom, both pretty tipsy from all the drinking. Juanita reached down and took Jen by the hand, helping her up, and removing the gag.

“Are you OK, Conchita?” She asked.

This kindness was somehow the final straw and Jen collapsed in tears on Juanita's shoulder before being led her away, back downstairs, back to her room, her cell, her loneliness.

Back in her old room Jen lay on the bed in the dark feeling sick, it was as if there was a huge gap where her stomach used to be, an aching void. It wasn’t the locked door, the pitch darkness or the lack of control that bothered her, it was the powerful emotions that churned within her; she felt nauseous, she felt dizzy, she felt as if she were falling into a pit, a pit from which there was no escape.

Right up front there was the anger, anger at being rejected, anger at being betrayed: how could Wendy have been so cruel? How could she have pushed her aside and flirted so openly with that slag, that dirt, that nothing? How could Wendy have looked on and laughed as Jen was forced to humiliate herself time after time? And then why did she have to top it all by showing the film of the party, letting that pathetic little whore see her like that, turning a special occasion into something cheap and tawdry? Jen pounded her pillow and screamed out loud, anything to vent this emotion.

Not far behind the anger there was the jealousy, the evil green-eyed goddess, that wanted to spit venom at the knowledge that upstairs, in Wendy’s bed, in her bed, in her place was that whore, that hussy, that slapper, that nasty little chav from god knows where! To have been cast aside was bad enough, but cast aside for that! She would never, could never forget the look in Sharon’s eyes, that disdain, that look of victory that made it clear that, as far as Sharon was concerned, she was the dirt, she was the filth that was being thrown out.

And, as the anger and the jealousy receded for a while, then there was the frustration, the bitter sense of hopelessness. Never since her capture had it been so starkly brought home to her just how little control she had over her life. How she wished she could have stormed out, made it clear just where she stood, told Wendy and that little bitch just where to get off, but all she could do was take it, take the abuse, take the humiliation and furthermore, she would have to keep on taking it. There was the bitter knowledge that in a few short hours she was going to have to work with Wendy, to look her in the eye, to pretend that nothing had happened.

Finally, physically and emotionally exhausted, she was left with an aching sense of loss. She had been so foolish; she had dared to think, dared to dream that Wendy might, in her own way, care a little. That somehow there was a growing bond of respect, of understanding, of, dare she say it, love… but that flickering flame had been brutally extinguished; surely anyone who cared for her could not have done that, could not have sat by and laughed whilst she was being so badly hurt. Burying her head in her pillow Jen sobbed, howling in pain at her broken dreams. How could she have been so stupid to believe that she was anything to Wendy; now it was all too obvious that Wendy didn’t care a fig?

In the pitch black dark of the room there was no sense of time, only an endless living nightmare and Jen tossed and turned, crying the night away, waiting on dawn and the further nightmares that it would bring.

PARP! PARP! PARP! Jen had forgotten the brutality of the hooter used as an alarm clock in the cell. She would give anything just to stay under the covers hiding until the day had gone away but she knew she couldn’t and she dragged herself out of bed and over to the washbasin. The mirror on the wall told its own story. Jen had no idea if she’d slept five hours or five minutes but, from the look of her red ringed eyes it was more like the latter. Vaguely she heard the click of the automatic lock on the door which implied she was free to go for breakfast but she really couldn’t bear the thought. She just stood, staring into the mirror, trying to find the energy to move. Eventually the door opened and Sally poked her head round.

“Come on, slowcoach. You’re late enough as it is. I don’t want a beating because you can’t get up of a morning.”

“Sorry, I…” Jen started, falteringly.

“Oh, god, you got it bad, didn’t you?” Sally saw the state of Jen and was suddenly concerned for her friend.

“Oh, Sal, Sal,” Jen sobbed. “Why does she do it? Why does she make me think she cares and then treat me like this?”

“Because that’s what she does.” Returned Sally. “She did it to me and now she’s doing it to you.”

“She did it to you?” Jen questioned, her surprise breaking her out of her self absorbtion.

“Do you think you’re the first? Don’t you remember how I used to be when you first arrived? That trick I played when I marked your blouse? How do you think it felt watching her fawn all over you, knowing you had taken my place?” There was still some resentment left showing in Sally’s voice.

“So how did you cope? Why didn’t you leave? You’re not a prisoner, you could just walk away.” Jen asked.

“Huh, well, I nearly did but, the money’s good and she’s a reasonable boss to work for and, at the end of the day, I always knew that I was never anything more than her plaything, I was fun in bed, that’s all; there was never any real attachment. Mind you, I’m surprised that she’s ditched you so fast; I thought you were different; I really thought she was getting fond of you.” Sally seemed to pull herself together. “Come on now, have some breakfast, you’ll feel better.”

The two women went off to the kitchen where Juanita greeted them and fussed over Jen. Even with their support and comfort Jen had little appetite but she drank some coffee and had a couple of slices of toast just to keep Juanita quiet. She was still sat there staring into space when Sally tapped her on the shoulder and told her that it was time to leave. She went to get dressed and then met up with Sally on the way to the garage. After all the times recently she had left with Wendy it seemed strange being back with Sally; it was as if the last few weeks hadn’t happened. They drove out and parked in front of the house waiting.

When Wendy appeared at the front door Jen felt her stomach lurch again. There beside her, still wearing the clothes from last night was Sharon, tottering along in her platform boots. There was plenty of room in the back of the car but Jen was hoping that she would never have to see the bitch again. Once they were in the car Wendy told Sally to drive to the office and then take Sharon back home to Romford.

“Hello, it’s piglet.” Sharon exclaimed. “A bit hard to recognize you with your clothes on.”

“Oh, she’s still ready and available.” Commented Wendy. “Go on, piglet; show Sharon how available you are.”

Jen was about to protest but one look at Wendy’s face told her this would be a bad move so she gritted her teeth and lifted the front of her skirt. Wendy reached across and undid the buttons of her blouse, pulling it open, exposing her breasts.

“There, very pretty. Why don’t you sit like that until we get there? Now, Sharon, where were we.” Wendy pulled Sharon into a clinch and Jen watched as her hand slid up under Sharon’s mini-skirt. She sat there seething, her humiliation complete. It seemed to take forever before they pulled up at the office and, hurriedly buttoning up her blouse, she followed Wendy into the lobby.

The morning seemed to drag by. Sure, Jen had plenty to do but she couldn’t concentrate and she spent most of her time just staring at her PC screen. At lunch time Wendy called her over to her desk.

“I don’t see much work happening.” She said, reaching for her desk draw. “Maybe a few strokes of the paddle might liven you up.”

Jen just stared. She didn’t know what to say, she didn’t dare say what she wanted to say.

“Well, has the cat got your tongue? I asked if a few strokes of the paddle were required.” Wendy sounded quite cross.

“That’s up to you Mistress.” Jen replied curtly.

“Yes, it is and you seem to be forgetting that. I’m less than impressed with your attitude. You had better shape up or you’ll regret it. Now, bend over.” Jen complied but she couldn’t change her mood and the punishment was joyless, a meaningless ritual. When it was over Jen was dismissed back to her desk without any of the usual post punishment games.

That afternoon Wendy was called away to a board meeting and Jen was left on her own. Again she pondered her fate, trying to decide how to break out of this mess. She couldn’t leave, she was, after all, still a prisoner and she couldn’t really affect how her life was run in any significant way except to make it worse. That was what made the whole situation with Wendy so intolerable, she was totally dependant on the good will of a woman who seemed to want to go out of her way to hurt her. Why was it like this? What had she done? Why did Wendy want to be so cruel? Sure, the imprisonment, the bondage, the punishments, the games, those she could understand, and, as the days had turned to weeks had turned to months she had become an increasingly willing participant but what satisfaction could Wendy derive from crushing her spirit like this? What possible motive could she have?

It was seven thirty when Wendy returned from her meeting. In the car on the way home she tried to make conversation but Jen, whilst retaining her subservient role, gave only monosyllabic answers and after a while Wendy gave up. By the time they got to the house both women were in a bad mood and it was a sullen Jen that followed an angry Wendy as she stomped into the house.

“Take this... this… this thing and lock her in her room.” Wendy ordered Juanita. “Maybe some time to think will improve her attitude.”

Something inside Jen snapped.

“THING! THING! Yeah, that’s all I am to you, a thing. Not just me but all of us, Sharon, Sally, even Fran and Juanita; we’re all just things to you. Your toys, your pawns, your playthings. Who the fuck do you think you are, Miss High-And-Mighty, ordering us around, telling us how to live our lives? You think we’re just things; well, we’re not; we’re people, real people, people with feelings!”

“I do hope you're not  telling me how I should treat my staff?” Wendy asked, her anger clear.

“Staff, you don’t have staff, you have possessions. We’re your grown up Barbie dolls, you bend us, you shape us, you make us jump through hoops and when you’re finished with us you throw us away. Staff are people, people with rights, and you haven't got the humanity to deal with people.” A sudden inspiration came to Jen. All afternoon she’d been trying to work it out and now she had it. “You’re scared, that’s what it is, you’re too scared to have a proper relationship with a real person.”

“Scared?” Wendy sneered with derision. “I’ve never been scared of anyone in my life.”

“Oh yes you have. You’ve been scared all your life, scared of commitment, scared of love, scared that someone, anyone might break down those walls you’ve built, might find the little girl inside, the little girl that’s so scared of being hurt she'll do anything to keep people away. You live all alone in your ivory tower, no one comes near, you simply wont let them. That’s why you do it, that’s why you hurt people so much; you’re too scared to let them come close, let them see the real you.”

“How dare you…” Wendy snarled.

“How dare I? How dare I not! You’ve put me in a position where I’ve nothing to lose.” Jen cut across her. “Oh, sure, you won’t believe me, you’ll dismiss me like a stupid little girl and now you’ll make my life a living hell, but you’ve done that anyway. You did that the moment you stopped treating my like a person, the moment you started treating my like a THING!”

“I think you’ve said quite enough, indeed more than enough. Juanita, take her away. I never want to see her again, ever! I'll send Fran to deal with her later.” Wendy stormed off.

“Bravo, Chiquita.” Juanita whispered as she gave the sobbing Jen a hug. “You are very brave, Chiquita, foolish, perhaps, but very brave. Now come, we must do as she said.”

Juanita led Jen down to her room and closed the door. Still shaking Jen sat on the end of her bed and wondered what was going to happen next. Had she gone too far? Heaven knows she’d pushed her luck to the limit and it wasn’t beyond Wendy’s capabilities to turn her over to Fran; that she would just ‘disappear’. Wendy’s ‘I never want to see her again’ had a huge element of threat and Jen had surely overstepped the mark. Still, there was no going back now, she couldn't unsay what had been said; all she could do was wait.

It was the next morning that Fran came for her. Jen knew better that to fight, it would only have made things worse. She sat still while she was blindfolded and her wrists bound before being led out, she guessed to the garage. Here she was bundled into the boot of a car; at least she supposed so, she couldn’t really tell but that’s what it felt like. Doors opened and closed, an engine started and they were off.

Jen knew she should be scared; she had no illusions about just how far Fran would go as Wendy’s enforcer; she still remembered how Fran had raped her on that first night oh so long ago. However she was more resigned than scared. As soon as she had taken her stand against Wendy she had known that this would be the consequence, and it was too late now to do anything about it. She relaxed as far as she could letting the drone of the car tires lull her to sleep.

After some considerable time she felt the car turn off the main road onto what felt like a rough track. There was a short period of bumping around and then the car pulled up and the engine stopped. She heard Fran get out and come round to the back. The boot was opened and she felt the cool air on her skin. What she wasn’t expecting was to have her blindfold and handcuffs removed. Blinking she looked up to see Fran standing over her.

“Come on, let’s get you inside.” Fran said gruffly.

Jen climbed out of the boot of the car and, shivering in the cold air, picked her way across the yard following Fran to what looked like a farm house. A quick look around confirmed that they were in the middle of nowhere, the nearest neighbours must have been at least half a mile away. The rolling countryside was very pretty; from the honey coloured stone of the buildings Jen guessed that they were in the Cotswolds or somewhere like that.

“Here, put this on.” Once inside the house Fran had handed Jen a track suit.

“Why… Fran, what’s going on?” Jen was confused beyond belief.

“Look, my instructions are to deal with you, to make you suffer and then to disappear but, just this once… well, maybe the boss isn’t always right. Look, I’m putting my job on the line here and no mistake. Let’s just say I have a feeling about this one and, for the moment, you’ve got a reprieve.”

“Where am I? What am I supposed to do?” Jen asked.

“You ask far too many questions. You’re here and you wait here. Don’t leave the house; don’t even think of running away. If you fuck this one up I’ll make you wish you’d never been born and I’ll enjoy every minute of it. Now, there’s food in the fridge for a couple of days, after that… Well, we’ll have to see, won’t we?” Without another word Fran tuned and left. As the car disappeared down the track Jen watched it go, wondering what on earth was going on.

For almost a week Jen rattled around in the empty house, waiting, waiting to see what was going to happen. One or twice she wondered if she should run but Fran’s threat kept her back. Furthermore, now that she was not being mistreated she didn’t want to ruin it. Maybe… Maybe it was better not to think about it. There was enough food in the fridge to keep her going for several days and in between times she found a shelf full of Catherine Cookson books, not her first choice but they helped to pass the time.

On the sixth day a storm blew in, a real autumn special; the rain never stopped and as night drew in it got, if anything, worse. Endless torrents driven by gusts of gale force winds lashed against the house and Jen, glad that she was safely indoors, lit a fire and curled up on the sofa. She was too tired to read so she just stared into the flames, wondering what was happening, where her life was going, how long she had to stay hidden away, waiting.

The only light in the room was coming from the fire and she hadn’t bothered to close the curtains so the approaching light threw stark shadows across the room. Jen got up and looked out of the window; there, picking its way up the track was a car, its full beam headlights cutting through the storm. As it drew up in the farmyard someone, it was too dark to see who, got out, fighting against the wind and the rain as they crossed the yard. Jen went to the door and opened it.

“Jen, I’ve been a real bitch, haven’t I?” Wendy stood in the porch, drenched by rain. “May I come in?”

“Why not? It’s almost certainly your house.” Jen replied tartly. Wendy came in and sat on the sofa. Jen went and fetched her a towel and, having handed it to her, remained standing with her arms folded.

“Jen, I miss you. My bed’s too big without you.” Wendy started, once she had towelled her hair.

“You drive all the way out here to tell me that, to tell me that your bed’s too big without me. Is that all I am, someone to fill your bed? Why don’t you get Fran to find you someone, some little tart like Sharon? She’ll fill it for you.” Jen couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice.

“Yeah, OK, I deserved that. Please, Jen, it’s not Sharon I want, it’s you.”  Jen looked at the bedraggled figure perched on the sofa. Was that rain or tears that ran down her cheeks? Even in the half light she could see that Wendy looked haggard and her body language spoke volumes, far more than her words ever could. Jen sat down next to her.

“It’s all very well wanting. You hurt me, you really hurt me.” Jen said softly.

“I know, I’m sorry, I’m truly sorry.” Wendy replied. “Please, Jen, please forgive me.”

“What, until the next time you decide to play God, decide to treat me like dirt, decide to put another little tramp in my place?” Jen wasn’t going to be won over quite that easily.

“Jen, I promise, never again, I was stupid, I was… I was… I was wrong.” Wendy hung her head.

Something in Jen gave way and a wave of emotion she had been holding back washed through her. She reached forward and kissed away the tears from Wendy’s cheek.

“I love you, Jen, I really love you.” Wendy half whispered.

“I love you too.” Jen replied. “But there’s something you’ve got to stop doing.”

“Of course, anything.”  Wendy said eagerly.

“Stop calling me Jen, my name is piglet.”