Donna Takes Charge

Donna Takes Charge

By The Qmoq, inspired and dedicated to TH.

Now

"She's a woman?" asked Amy.

"Yeah," I replied.

"You invited a woman here?" Portia sniffed, raising an eyebrow.

"I guess I did."

"But we're not lesbians."

Amy was right. We weren't lesbians, though we occasionally gave a good impression of them.

Ah, I'm getting ahead of myself, I should start a bit further back.

A Bit Further Back

My name's Charlotte Adams, and I'm a singer-songwriter, mainly acoustic stuff. Observant stuff, satire, vitriolic barbs in sweet major chords, that sort of thing. Yes, the Charlotte Adams, the 28 year-old girl who's been at it ten years and has got herself a three bedroomed detached house as reward for her toils. A house she has to share with two others because she's skint all the damn time.

Ah, that's a bit unfair, to be honest. It was true at first, but now, having lived with Amy and Portia for a few years, there's no way I'd kick them out if I could afford to.

Portia is a 'simple office clerk', and it was her toys that really started us off down our road. For some reason – and you'd have to ask her about this – she has three identical vibrators, possibly in case two of them suddenly break. She must have been a fantastic girl scout.

It was Portia, dear sweet blonde Portia, who collared us one drunken night and confessed about a naughty dream she's had, based on a game she'd seen in an amusement arcade. I'd never seen it, but it involves holding onto some sort of joystick as it gradually becomes more painful – a strange way to waste a pound coin, but there you go. She wanted to do the opposite, and told us how in graphic detail.

Well, you agree to anything when you're drunk, don't you? That was our protest when she gathered Amy and me together the next afternoon, with the three vibrators.

"The idea, right," she began, "is to see who can hold off the longest."

"Hold off what?" asked Amy, before adding. "Oh."

I won't bore you with all our giddy protestations, we didn't take much convincing, Amy and me. However, I will admit that it wasn't a complete success. I won, fair and square, but the others accused me of cheating, the silly bitches.

"There's no way that you could have held off longer than me," scoffed Portia over a celebratory glass of brandy. "I fuck myself with these every damn night, I'm accustomed to them, I am."

"She must have hit the wrong spot," added Amy.

"Et tu, Amy?" I sneered. "I assure you, it was definitely the right spot." My memory prompted me to a little shudder, and I jiggled happily for a few seconds.

"We've got to change the rules for next time," Portia declared. "We've got to make sure that you're not using the damn vibrator wrong."

"And how do we do that? Watch even more closely than you were doing before?" I admit that I felt uncomfortable watching Portia watching me get myself off, frowning at me as I circled myself with the vibe, dipping a pinky finger in and out of myself to test if I was dampening.

See, that's one of my problems. I play guitar and have a good ear, so if I play a dud note or sing a flat line, I'll know instantly. It's a gift. But when I was frigging myself in Portia's game, I wasn't totally sure that I was physically turning myself on, or just mentally hitting the right buttons. I always want to be physical – Amy once said that when I do an anguished yell in my songs, she gets goosebumps and a chill down her spine. That's a physical reaction, that's much better than Portia's declaration that it sounds 'nice'.

Being an honest and pure person, I had to admit all this to Amy and Portia. Naturally they took the wrong opinion.

"See, she admits that she cheated!" Portia beamed at Amy. "Right, new rule. You can't be trusted to do it yourself, so we've got to do it for you."

"Do it for me? You're going to use the vibrators on me? We're not lesbians."

"I know, but a vibrator is a vibrator, isn't it? I reckon I could use it better than you could, any day. And Amy could do it too, couldn't you A?"

"Yeah. Course, you'd both have to do me then. And me and Charlotte would have to do you, Portia."

"I'd expect nothing less."

"Are you sure we're not lesbians?" I asked.

"Not at all. We're just having a game," Portia said, a gleam starting to appear in her eye. "Tell you what, let's make it interesting. The person who loses has to do all the chores for a week."

"What chores?"

"I'll have a double brandy please. The household chores, taking out the rubbish, doing all the washing up and the ironing and shit. By the way, I like my sheets cleaned daily."

"I'm not surprised if you're fucking yourself every night," mumbled Amy.

I laughed. And remember the fact that I laughed, Ok? Because it's important, yeah?

"Yeah," I finally said after I'd stifled the giggles, "I'll gladly take that bet."

So, absurd as it sounded, our 'wannabe frigid bitch' contest was on. The winner would be the dourest damn whore in the house. The loser would be the poor gal who was the horniest of the three of us.

Who'd have thought it was me? See, I reckon they cheated. They used their fingers, I've always been a sucker for fingers. I was only wearing a dressing gown, which Amy ripped apart and off in seconds. I felt ashamed before them, because I'm a little larger than they are. I'm a (UK) size 14, they're both 12s – I think Amy's a 10, in fact. I'm healthy enough, sure, and the 14 is for my bust and bum, so that's not too bad either, but when I'm naked before them, it makes me blush.

"Aw look, she's gone red," I remember Amy saying.

"Where?" asked Portia, already trying to prise my knees apart.

You know what embarrassed me more? It was what they were wearing. If they'd been dressed in skimpy undies, I'd have been more relaxed. If they'd have come in decked out in PVC or something, I'd just have laughed.

It was Amy I noticed first – she was dressed in her work uniform. Amy works hard for a – hang on, I'll remember if you give me a minute – for a firm of corporate lawyers in the city, as one of those legal secretary things. I reckon that means that she's quite smart and well paid, and she sometimes wears those sleek business suits, but occasionally wears a tidy skirt and a starchy blouse.

And that was what she was wearing here.

Coincidentally, Portia, the self-titled dumb office clerk, was wearing a prim, almost austere outfit herself.

The damn bitches.

They'd heard me before, they must have. I always had this fantasy of fucking a guy when I was dressed in a secretary's outfit, y'know? I'd be wearing glasses, and he'd be all fingers and thumbs. Particularly thumbs. They had remembered this and dressed accordingly.

Be fair, though, they both stuck to the rules. At first, Amy kept an eye on my face while Portia worked at my clit with the vibrator. It was when Amy started to finger me, the combination that I wasn't expecting, that it really hit me. I think I suddenly realised – oh my, I'm being molested by two women, and I'm loving it. I started to give them encouragement, I thrust my pelvis up and out, moving myself to a position where the vibe would cause more damage. But Portia kept it down, and smacked the inside of my thigh when I moved.

"Stay," she snapped.

"B-but," I stuttered.

Slap!

"I said stay where you are. Trust me."

Slap!

"What was that for?" I asked.

"Sorry, I thought you'd moved."

Slap! Slap! This time from Amy. "Why should I miss out of the fun?" she beamed at me.

Slap! "Yeah, why should Amy miss out of the fun, y'bitch?"

I looked down at my reddening thighs, blotchy pink splashes on my pale skin, felt the vibe, looked more closely at myself and saw some goosebumps. It was working. It was physical. Amy teased a finger across my sweaty, panting face, over the cheeks and down the nose, and I caught a distinct scent of myself over her perfume. My eyes followed her fingertips as they returned to my pussy, past Portia's concentrated expression, and slipped three full fingers effortlessly inside me. Then out, then in, clear viscous liquid glooping over them.

I snorted loudly. What was that? I thought.

And I realised.

Portia was right. I had been using the vibe wrongly all along. I was wrong when I thrust myself up at her, and she knew it all along.

"Fuck yes, stop, no, no, yiieeee eeEEE !"

Slap! Slap!

At this point, I couldn't have stopped myself from moving, it was beyond the point where Portia could stop me. I twisted over with Amy's hand still inside me, right up to the knuckle, her long fingers trying and failing to fist.

At this point, things got a little intense. Portia must have dropped the vibe, because she started slapping my bottom with one hand, while grabbing my hair with the other.

"Don't – slap – you – slap – fucking – slap – move!" she yelled.

"It's all right," said Amy, quietly, "She's done."

With those two words, they removed their hands from me. Still completely fully clothed, they got to their feet, leaving me whimpering and crying and shaking. They didn't say a word, they just shuffled quietly upstairs. I heard two different bedroom doors shut – they hadn't gone to the same room, they'd finished me off like I was a household chore.

"Please, please ," I called to them, not knowing what I wanted.

When it was Amy's turn, I screwed it up. It took ages, and Portia blamed me completely for it. I'd asked to hold the vibe, but held it in the wrong place for so long, that Amy herself told me where to put it.

Portia tried her spanking trick again, but it seemed to have no effect on Amy. She must have had a much higher pain threshold than me, poor bitch. I like my nerve endings, I loved the new-found sensitivity that Portia had awoken in me.

Portia was, as she predicted, sensitive yet semi-immune to our charms. She was responsive and sympathetic, and it certainly didn't take as long as Amy, but it was clear, as Amy and Portia had both predicted, that it was me who was the slutty one.

On reflection, a month's washing-up was a fair exchange for what happened.

We couldn't stop there, but as we kept reminding ourselves, we weren't lesbians, and didn't particularly enjoy licking pussy unless we had to. The sensuality and touch was what we wanted, that was what gave us the power-orgasms we couldn't get alone.

We also had fun too. Amy wandered onto a catfighting website one day, so we were down in my studio that night, wrestling away.

Have I told you about my studio? Although Amy and Portia are both willing samplers of my music, there's usually a complicated chord routine that will keep me strumming for hours, sometimes days on end. Even though they never really complained, I felt that it was unfair to have the other two listen to this.

After my last album went tin, I spent a few grand doing up the basement into a soundproofed, padded room with a four-track in there for demos. It's all white, to remind me of the Beatles, but Portia calls it The Asylum, claiming it looks like something out of Cuckoo's Nest. Sarcy cow.

When I suggested we go down there, the other two yelped with joy.

"What a fucking idea!" Amy laughed. "We'll do it, we should do it."

I dug out a bikini, a sturdy one that fully supported my boobs and wouldn't snap easily. It was an old one, one that I wouldn't worry about too much if it got wrecked.

And you know what those bitches came as? Fucking secretaries again, goddamnit! Needless to say, this uniform of theirs made them gang up on me, and they had me stripped and armlocked within minutes. They'd release me, then catch me again, giving me a good workout. I was sweaty and slippery and foul-mouthed and phenomenally excited. I'm sure they plan these things, they catch me every time. I was giving them lifts to and from work for a fortnight after that one.

After that, we took turns being the struggler, and discovered that each of us enjoyed it most when we were dominated, struggling, sweating, being groped and hugged in all sorts of ways. I had a move that I made on Amy once, when she was being held down by Portia. I ran my hand up her thigh, up the inside of her skirt, poked some rough fingers around up there, not even trying to be accurate or arousing, before grabbing hold of her panties and ripping them off.

Portia took them from me, and stuffed them deep into Amy's mouth. Her eyes lit up, she was thrilled!

More drunken discussions followed this development, and we each declared our love of being dominated, at least in theory. Here's where things slowed down for a while - there was no way we'd bring a man into our games – for a start our tastes in men were so different. Personally I was scared of men, or rather what a man could do if I invited him round. I had visions of him tying us up, turning us over, and then fucking us up the arse before making off with the stereo.

Our wrestling continued during all of this, Portia called it our Fight Club, because the first rule was that we didn't talk about it to anyone. We had occasional orgasm contests, but I always lost, Portia's spanking was so arousing to me.

"I have no idea what I'm doing when I spank you," she confessed. "I'm guessing at how hard to hit you, it's just luck that it's at the right level."

"But you're so good at it!"

"I don't even like doing it personally, y'know? Being spanked is much more fun I think."

"You know what I found on the internet?" began Amy rhetorically. "There's ads all over there for professional people to come in and dominate. I know, I know your worries, Charlotte, but we can't do it ourselves, can we?"

"Why go to the internet?" asked Portia. "Charlotte's in the music business, she's bound to know someone who knows someone who's into that shit. Any of those blokes you see on the smutty channels at night will do."

"Can I book him? I'm the most nervous about this, after all," I said.

"Sure. After all, it's your stereo he'd pinch."

Now Again

"I know we're not lesbians, but this woman is kosher – we can trust her. We just want to be dominated, don't we? Surely it doesn't matter what sex she is."

"I suppose," tutted Amy. Portia merely pouted, silently demanding further convincing.

"And," I continued, "remember the time that Portia taught me how to use a vibrator? Could a man have done that?"

That did it. Portia's visible thought process finished, and she smiled. "All right. I wouldn't have wanted to have been fucked anyway, so I guess you're right."

"Right," I said. "Now then, why the fuck are you wearing secretaries' outfits again?"

In our games, they had consistently worn these outfits, though they'd excelled themselves this time. Amy wore a tight, fitted blouse that stretched across the chest, dark blue that matched her deep brown hair. Her black skirt was short, somewhere delicately between micro and mini, but it was the stockings that really caught the eye. They were those elasticated ones that hold themselves up, I can never wear them with my thighs. I could tell what type they were, because their tops were below the hemline of her skirt, leaving a good three inches of bare, tanned, taut flesh. It was an open invite, it was all I could do to stop myself from going over to her and stroking her thighs myself.

Portia wore a slightly looser blouse, but it was shorter, tied up like a Daisy Duke shirt, leaving her sumptuous midriff exposed. The blouse was white, as it should be with her blonde hair. She wore a low-topped skirt, held up by a studded black belt, and like the belt, made of firm leather. She wore no stockings or socks, just her long bare legs. She looks fantastic in boots, but the short skirt demanded heeled shoes and heeled shoes alone.

I was wearing a tight sleeveless jumper, brown. My boobs are my best feature by far, and I know that covering them up in this way makes them more noticeable, ironically. Despite my size, my arms are firm, so I had no problem baring them. I too wore a skirt, though a rather dull knee-length brown skirt. I was wearing calf-length boots, with my own little flash of skin showing at the knee. We all do what we can.

"I'm starving," observed Portia.

I had had several telephone conversations with our new 'mistress', even though she was only being hired for the night. She was had a quiet, almost delicate young voice, and was interested about the three of us. Most of all, however, she was curious about the house, coyly asking if there were any rooms where she could hang things from the wall. There weren't, unfortunately, but in describing the basement she declared that the studio's soundproofing was 'useful'.

She had three requests for us. I passed two of them onto the others. Firstly, she wanted us to be clean, inside and out. All three of us had been on the bottled water for a few days, and we all felt healthy and strong.

"Me too. Hope she gets here soon."

The second request was that we should dine with her. None of us had lunch that day.

The third request – the one I didn't pass on – was that one, and only one of us should fast for forty-eight hours before that Friday night. I suspected that if I'd told Portia, she'd have called it off there and then. I was more philosophical. This night was meant to be a new experience, so why not do it? If nothing else, it'd be a good start to my diet.

"I'd kill for a burger," I said, trying hard not to drool.

"Sh!" barked Amy.

I was about to indignantly respond, when I realised what she was listening for: a car was pulling into the drive.

"She's here," said Portia flatly, with a trace of apprehension seeping through.

"Wait for the bell. We should wait for the bell, shouldn't we?"

"I dunno," I said to Amy.

We were all so nervous, I spotted Portia's toes tapping as she stood by the door to the hallway.

The bell rang. Portia was away into the hall before anyone could stop her, before anyone could even stand up. Amy and I stepped into the hallway as she opened the front door. We could not see through her as she welcomed the stranger.

"Oh, she said. Hello. I'm Portia," we heard her say.

The newcomer did not say a word, but stepped quietly into the hallway. Portia closed the door behind her, and took her coat, which was draped over her shoulders.

"Oh my god," Amy cried. The coat revealed a small, slim woman, slightly bigger than the petite Amy, in an elegant dark green cocktail dress. I saw what made Amy jump, and gasped. The girl's arms were strapped together behind her back, her elbows were cinched together, as were the wrists.

"Is this her? It can't be her, can it?" I asked.

"If it is, how did she drive here? She's only just pulled up in the car, remember," Portia replied.

Amy was still looking at the girl's back, touching the straps like it was hot metal, dabbing her fingertips. She was the only one who would have spotted that the girl's hands were free.

"She's holding something – an envelope."

The girl has still not said anything, just smiling at some of our comments. At this latest one, she nodded vigorously.

"She wants us to read it," I mused.

"No shit, Sherlock," scoffed Portia. "Amy, will you do the honours, please?"

"Oh, ok. Ahem."

My name is Elouise. I am here because of Donna, I am not a prisoner.

I am a test.

Donna only consorts with those who are suitably intelligent, innovative and open-minded, so she has sent me here with a puzzle. If you are wondering why I have not said anything, it is because I am holding a raw egg in my mouth. Donna has told me not to give you the egg, she has told me that she will be most displeased if this happens. She would be equally displeased if I break the egg within my mouth. She will not enter this house until she sees the egg.

You have twenty minutes.

"Fuck me," said Portia. Amy had already handed her the note, realising that we all would want to know exactly what was said.

"What should we do?" I asked.

Portia decided on the first course of action. "Elouise? Please give us the egg. Please."

Elouise blinked.

Amy had a more realistic plan. She had scuttled upstairs just after she had read the note, and returned with a leather strap, her last birthday present from me.

"Right, you bitch," she sniffed. "Give us the damn egg or we'll thrash your arse."

It convinced me, it really did. The sight of Amy, little sweet Amy, brandishing her strap like an expert, I was turned on myself, and I ain't no lesbian.

Another blink from Elouise.

"Very well," hissed Amy. She lifted the hem of the back Elouise's dress and tucked behind her wrist straps. Elouise wore no underwear, a fact that passed without comment. Amy tilted the girl forward a smidgen, and drew back her right arm.

"No!" shouted Portia, grabbing Amy's wrist. "If you hit her, she'll bite down, you understand? She'll break the egg. We can't hit her."

Elouise nodded, and smiled.

"All right, what can we do?" Amy asked.

"Get another egg," I suggested. "She can do whatever the fuck she wants with that one in her mouth then."

"No," Portia frowned. "That egg in her mouth is probably marked somehow. What if it's brown and we show Donna a white one? I think we should attack her from the other side."

With that, she skipped upstairs enigmatically. She returned a second later with one of her vibrators. "Spread 'em."

Elouise did so, and within a moment or two, Portia had her bucking with pleasure. A few moans, the first sound we'd heard from her, made all three of us smile.

Suddenly, I realised the flaw.

"Stop!" I told Portia. "Who knows what she'll do when she orgasms? If I was her, I'd be concentrating so damn hard keeping my mouth shut, I'd probably bite down."

The buzzing stopped. The moans stopped a moment later. Portia dropped the vibrator to the floor, and held her head in her hands.

"We can't win. We can't get it by pain or pleasure. We'll have to give up."

"Give me a second. I'm thinking," I said.

"Another first."

"Sh."

I let my mind wander, I knew I was close to the answer. I went to Elouise and stood before her. "Elouise," I said calmly. "I understand that you are keeping the egg because you've been told to, right? [She nodded.] You believe Donna when she says she'll be disappointed, yes? [Nod.] But this is just a game, isn't it? [No reaction.] I don't know where Donna lives, but I imagine it's been a long drive up here tonight, hasn't it? What was it, one hour, two hours? Three? [Shake.] Two? [Nod.] Two hours of her time to get here. Two more to get back, right? [Nod.] Won't she be awfully disappointed if it's a wasted journey? [Nod.] Now, I need you to think carefully. Will she be more disappointed with the wasted journey on the one hand, or the egg thing on the other?"

I turned from her at this point, letting her think about her options.

And then, eleven minutes after she had entered the house, I heard her grunt. I turned back, and saw the crown of the egg protruding from her mouth. I placed my hands under her chin, and the egg dropped safely into it. It was marked with one word. 'Congratulations'.

Amy kissed me, Portia hugged me, Elouise merely bowed her head.

I strode to the door, and opened it to head to Donna's car.

As soon as I opened the door, Donna walked in.

Donna

She was about five-six or so, dressed all in black. She was a definite mistress, there was no ambiguity here. She wore no coat, had no handbag or suitcase. She came dressed to impress.

"Wow," I sighed.

Donna was a redhead.

Long, straight red hair showered from her head, down to her shoulderblades. The shoulders themselves, like her neck, were bare, and her skin was as pale as Portia's. It was hard to determine whether her skin had ever seen the sun at all. She was clearly a night person.

Her upper body was dressed in a jet-black PVC corset, laced tightly at the front. She was clearly a slim, flexible girl, but the moulded corset was tightly secured yet still barely decent. A steep V of bare flesh went from her chest to her waist, topped beautifully as her breasts half-mooned out over the top of the shiny corset.

Around her waist, actually nearer to her hips as it was worn so low, was wrapped an ominous-looking utility belt. It was black, of course, but the lining of the pocket appeared to be a similar shade of red to her hair. Like Portia, she wore a PVC skirt, but Donna's was a little longer, a little more discreet, a little less slutty.

The boots were sensational. Like the corset, they seemed to have a thousand laceholes, and went right to the knee. She was clearly a fan of Amy's idea to have a bold splash of leg-skin showing, and it seemed even more attractive on her than it did on Amy. It was the contrast, I believe, it was the fact that her clothes were so dark and her skin was so white, it was like she was drawn in two-tone, black and white. Only when you looked back at her hair, her face, did you see any colour.

Her face was the last thing I looked at, and I was again stunned.

She could not have been more than twenty-one. I'd put her down at nineteen personally, though she may have been a year or even two younger. She was certainly the youngest person present. Her nose was cute, small, a little rounded at the end but not misshaped or remoulded.

The eyes, the beautiful eyes, so big and full of life. Green, sweet green, with strong, false eyelashes, one of the only two elements of make-up that she wore.

The other was on her lips.

The mouth, her mouth, it was the most attractive part of her whole body. Her slimline waist? No. Her curvaceous bosom? No. Her waterfall hair? No. It was the lips. I spotted it change shape three times, and it took my breath away each time. When she pouted, it was the width of her nose. In normal position it was oval, symmetrical, both vertical and horizontal.

Without lipstick, if it was a pale pink, it would have been a showstopper. But she was wearing a shade of lipstick I'd never seen before. In fact, she was wearing a shade of red that I'd never seen before. It was absurd, it looked red and black at the same time, it was hypnotic.

And then she smiled, the third expression I'd seen.

And the smile filled the lower half of her face, clear white teeth bursting through.

I took a step back, it was like she'd slapped my face.

All of the above went through my head in the time it took her to take three steps. She strode past me, onto the hall, where I heard gasps from Portia and Amy.

"Which one of you is Charlotte?" she asked. Portia pointed to me. "Well done," Donna said. Her voice had the same tone as the voice on the phone. Quiet, curious, confident.

I smiled at her.

"She knows, Charlotte knows what I demand. Obedience? No, not really. Blind devotion? Nope. I want to be pleased. That's all I want."

She lead us through to our own living room, which I didn't realise till later. She seem so comfortable being in control, right from the start. An authority, a natural presence that overpowered us.

She gave each of us a piece of paper, and I notice her gloves for the first time. Leather, studded, only wrist length, and with the fingers free. She could cause some serious damage with that sort of glove.

"Here's our contract for tonight. Read it, sign it if you want. For the moment, I'm not in control, I'm your guest. You can talk freely, ask me anything you want."

I looked to Amy, the legal gal. It wasn't in legalese, but if there was a trick in there, she'd be able to spot it.

"What's this?" she duly asked. "The safe word will be agreed beforehand, but it will cost you a thousand pounds?"

"Yeah," sniffed Donna, scratching her head. "I do want it to be semi-consensual at least, so we have to have a safe word, or safe signal if you happen to be incapable of speech. But I don't want you to use it every damn time, I really want it to be a last resort."

I noticed that she didn't say 'gagged', which made me curious. She continued.

"I used to have it where the money would go to me, but then I got accused of deliberately going over the top to get the extra cash. You'll notice that all the money goes to the charity of your choice. But remember, it's a legal document, so if you do give me the signal, you have an obligation to give them the money."

"Why do we need a contract? Can't we trust you?"

"No, you can't, Portia. I'm a stranger, you can't trust me. I don't know if you're oversensitive to the toils I'll give you, y'know? I can't have you suing me, it'd ruin me. Hence the contract. Isn't one of you a legal secretary? Charlotte? No, Amy. What do you make of it?"

"Seems okey dokey to me. Eight hours, yes?" asked Amy.

"Yeah."

"Can we sign it then?" Portia asked.

"You can sign it now," giggled Amy, handing her own contract back to Donna.

Portia and I looked at each other, shrugged, and signed. We handed them to Donna, who tore out a carbon copy and handed them to us.

A strange thing then happened. Donna handed the contracts to Elouise, who looked at them herself, smiled, and handed them back.

"I love it when this happens. Look at your copies, ladies. Have you seen the box at the bottom? The one you all ticked?"

I looked. It read:

I agree that Donna will be in complete control of me for a period lasting not less than 4 5 6 7 hours.

"You didn't delete as applicable. None of you did."

"What about it? Doesn't matter if it's 4, 5, 6 or 7 to us," sniffed Amy. "We'll be happy with any of those."

"The thing is," mumbled Elouise after a nod from Donna, "you didn't delete anything. None of you did. As it stands, you're in Donna's service for the next four thousand, five hundred and sixty seven hours."

"How long is that?" I gasped in instant reaction.

"Just over a hundred and ninety days," replied Elouise. "Guess how I know."

"Oh," sighed Donna, getting to her feet and standing in front of the fireplace, "I won't make you my slaves for the next six months, that would get boring after a while. But I may well call on you if I need an assistant to carry an egg into an unfamiliar house, y'know?"

"But," began Amy.

"But nothing, McBeal. The thousand pound penalty applies each day, and I am cruel. If you try to weasel out early today, I will call you tomorrow, and we shall begin again. Your chosen charities will do well if you try to trick me."

Despite vowing to destroy our lives, she still hadn't raised her voice at all.

"Any last questions before we begin?"

"Can I ask Elouise how many times she's used the safe word?" Portia asked, no trace of confidence in her voice. I'd never heard her sound so fragile and scared.

"Elouise has never used the safe word. She's a real trooper."

It was a terrible question, but it set my mind at ease. Elouise had remained calm throughout, she was almost serene. I had wondered if she'd had all the life thrashed out of her, so when I heard she had never been overly stretched, I began to relax.

Donna spoke next.

"Elouise, will you get me the chocolate sauce, please?"

The slave turned her back to Donna, who removed the straps quickly and efficiently. Elouise snuck off through to the hall, and presumably out to the car. None of the three of us spoke. We were all looking at Donna, yet careful not to catch her eye.

"While we're waiting for that slut," said Donna in a whisper, "Which of the three of you has gone on the fast?"

"That's me, mistress," I said, looking at the puzzled expressions of Portia and Amy.

"Don't call me mistress, my name is Donna. Call me Donna. Tell me how I look, Charlotte."

I paused for a very brief second. "You look absolutely stunning, Donna. I wish I had your body, your lips, I wish I had your outfit. I'm not a lesbian, but I think you're the most goddamn gorg-"

"That's enough. Portia, Amy, did you see what she did there? She called me Donna. That's what I want. I'll be most displeased if you call me mistress."

Elouise returned at this atypical moment, holding a large jar of chocolate spread in her hand. Waiting only for a nod from Donna, she coated Donna's left boot with the spread. The right boot remained untouched.

"Right," said Donna. "Portia, Amy, lick my left boot. Elouise, Charlotte, do the right. And Portia, Amy? I want my left boot to be as clean as the right when you've finished. And Charlotte? I want you to keep half an eye on them to see how they're doing. Begin."

We had discussed this sort of stuff, and half expected it. The sauce was a surprise, but the bootlicking and the prostrating wasn't, not to me, anyway.

I knelt down, bending forwards, steadying myself with my hands so I could get a decent tongue on the boot, on top of the instep. I looked up, and noticed Amy starting on Donna's high heel. The only bit of Portia I could see was the midriff – she'd presumably started on the top of the boots.

"Stop. Please stop," Donna sighed after five seconds. "I should have been more specific – it's Elouise's fault for not reminding me. You can't use your hands, not even to steady yourself. Put them behind your back and continue. Elouise? Go to the car and get the cuffs, please."

It was all so polite, that was what freaked me out!

Elouise got to her feet and scuttled off, so I had the whole boot to myself. I should have had an advantage, but it was very tricky trying to bend forwards like that – I kept losing my balance and squashing my nose against Donna's ankle. I saw Amy lie flat on her front, but she had big trouble getting onto her knees without using her hands.

It was slow, demeaning work. Elouise returned soon enough with the cuffs, and duly fastened our wrists behind her back. After a 'your wrists too, Elouise' from Donna, she cuffed herself and rejoined me.

I'd been told to, so I kept looking up at Amy and Portia. Portia was sensational. She concentrated on the long ankle-to-knee areas, where she could lick it like it was a giant ice lolly. When she was at the ankle, she'd be leaning forwards so much that her bosom would almost leak out of the blouse, then she'd move upwards and I'd see every muscle in her abdomen try to keep control.

Amy was more subtle. She worked so hard at the heel, which was very tricky as Elouise had coated the sole of the boot - or at least, the part of the sole that didn't touch the carpet – and Amy was guessing that this was the area that Donna would look to first. She seemed to have her back to me a lot, possibly trying to block my view of Portia, but it did give me a chance to see her skirt ride up each time she leaned forwards, revealing generous expanses of thigh and underwear. Amy wore a skimpy pair of white panties, possibly trying to act the innocent, maybe it was what she thought suited the white blouse.

After a few minutes, I noticed Portia shuffle nervously in her licking. I wondered what the problem was.

Slap! Slap!

"Ow! Ow!" cried Portia. I didn't dare look up, but clearly Donna had tugged Portia's short skirt up enough to get a good shot at her bottom.

Slap! Slap!

The slaps were much, much louder than I'd ever heard before, clearly causing Portia some severe discomfort.

They didn't stop.

Slap! Slap! Slap!

Slap! Slap!

Slap! Whoomp!

I wasn't aware what would cause a whoomp, but I realised that it was from a nervous girl putting a pair of handcuffed hands in the way of an attempted slap.

"Never do that again, Portia," said Donna, casually.

The slaps began anew. Portia seemed to jump at every other slap, and yelped at every other jump. All the slaps sounded consistent and true, and I wasn't sure why she had such a reaction. I believed I'd be yelping at each one of them.

Then there was a short delay. Portia, blushing red, returned to her productive licking. It was Amy's turn.

Slap-slap-slap!

Donna began with a rapid salvo on Amy's behind, I could actually see the blows rain in on her. Even though Amy had no fat on her, I saw the jiggle of flesh as the palm struck the cheek.

Amy made no sound.

The spanking continued, as loud and consistent as the one inflicted on Portia.

No obvious reaction. I could see Amy's eyes blink at each blow, but that was all she showed.

SMACK!

"Fuckow!" screamed Amy, spitting out a juicy bit of sauce onto the carpet.

"I borrowed your tawse," explained Donna. "It's very good, a bit new, but we'll break it in, won't we?"

SMACK!

I felt that one myself, right on the top of the thigh, where there was no flesh at all, no cushioning. Another two on the left cheek at the same place, then one right down the middle.

"Jesus!" cried Amy.

Aside from her shouting, Amy never stopped licking.

"That's enough, I think," cooed Donna.

I felt Elouise beside me, she was getting to her feet. Amy and Portia followed a few seconds later, so I duly got to my feet. I followed Elouise's posture, feet slightly apart, legs straight, head bowed very slightly but not completely subservient.

One question leapt to the front of my brain. Why didn't I get spanked?

I had no time to wonder whether it was a blessing or a curse, as I could see the half-moon breasts enter my vision.

"Charlotte, my love, look at me," Donna began. "Everyone look at me, what's with the bowing of the heads? Right, Charlotte, did you watch the other boot? Did you see who was better? I know they were both very good, but please tell me who was the better bootlicker out the two. You have five seconds."

I had to think fast, and it came down to two facts: Portia licked more, but Amy had the harder section to lick.

"Amy," I said.

"Amy was better," confirmed Donna.

"Yes."

"Very well. Elouise, will you escort Amy to the car, and have her help you unload some of our luggage?"

"Yes, Donna," sighed Elouise, grabbing Amy's hand and dragging her from the room.

The three of us were alone. Donna strode to stand toe-to-toe with Portia. The mistress said calmly "So, little Portia is not as good a bootlicker as Amy. Well, what are we going to do about that, huh?" The poor clerk had her head bowed through shame. Donna placed a pair of fingers on Portia's chin and lifted it up so their eyes met, and then she spat in Portia's face.

"Urgh," I sneered instantly, and Donna cast me a look to keep me away. Then she smiled, and spat into Portia's eyes. The first blow had been to the cheek, I realised later, the second one would have been half-anticipated, so Donna could safely go for the eyes.

With two sizeable blobs of liquid on her face, and no real way to wipe them off, Portia panted hard, half-opening her eyes, getting them to ask 'why?'

Donna smiled at her and started to rub her hands roughly over Portia's pretty face, first spreading the saliva all around, and then into the skin. I winced, but found myself thinking 'What would I do if I was Portia? Would I use the safe word so early?'

When I realised that my answer would be a no, I got a thrill, a nervous thrill. I'd be the same as young Portia, breathing hard as my mouth and nose were alternately covered for a few seconds, destroying my normal breathing patterns.

"You," Donna called to me. "Stand back-to-back with her."

I did so.

"Put your wrists inbetween hers to hold her steady."

I did so, after realising what that would entail. With my arms down behind hers, she would not be able to run away without dragging me with her.

"Portia, I want you to answer this quickly, ok?" The question had a little urgency, perhaps Donna was getting excited. I heard another pair of spits, and another muffled grunt or three as the massaging began again. "Right. Who licked the boots better, you or Charlotte?"

"Me. I mean-"

She didn't want to get me into trouble, but she had.

"Right," smiled Donna. "I reckon you two should turn around, so I can get a good look at Charlotte here."

We shuffled round anticlockwise, and I faced Donna for the first time since we had met. She fake-spat at me.

"Yikes," I cried, turning away.

This was the worst thing you could do. Donna wanted her girls to respect her, and I'd not done this. She reached to the back of my head and grabbed some of my hair.

"Don't fucking flinch, okay?" she snarled, the first time any emotion had crept into her voice. "God damn, I'm gonna have a fine time with you, bitch."

I was shaking now. She lifted up my jumper.

"Nice tits," she said flatly.

"Thank you, Donna."

I was looking into her face as her eyes looked at my breasts and the large bra that held them.

"What the hell size are these, 36D or what?"

"No, Donna. Portia is a 36D, I'm a 40DD." I found it a little cute that she'd deliberately dropped me down a couple of sizes so as not to offend me. There was a silence, so I added… "My waist is a 26, and my hips are 40 again."

"You are a beautiful woman, Charlotte."

She tugged down the front of the bra, bunching it all up around the underwire.

"A fantastic, beautiful woman."

"Thank you."

"It's going to be a pleasure watching you squirm."

She picked up the tawse in her left hand, and gave a few practice swings. Like a pool player, she then proceeded to pick her spot on my right breast, waiting for a wince from me that would not come.

Quick as a flash, she tossed the tawse to her right hand, gave me a hard whack on my left breast, then smacked me hard on my other tit with her left hand.

"O-oow!" I yelped.

She did it again. This time, she was hitting an area that was already sore, and it stung, it was true that she hit much harder than any of us.

"Yow!" I cried.

"Hold on, just a few more to go," soothed Donna.

Whap! Slap!

She tried to vary the combination, sometimes giving me two slaps, sometimes two tawses, but they all seemed to have the same effect. I'd be thrown sideways by the force of the blow, steadying myself with Portia's help. Then I'd feel the blow, and each time it would be like someone had placed a hot iron onto my tit, it glowed with pain, it was absurd, it was beyond screaming.

Slap! Whap!

The safe word came to mind, but I had no intention of using it. I did test the waters, however.

"Mercy," I cried, as my legs began to buckle.

Slap! Whap! SLAP! SLAP! WHAP!

"Don't try that 'mercy' bullshit on me, you little tart," said Donna, her voice now back in control. I had lost control of my legs, I was almost down to my knees, which only made Donna's blows hit me at a different angle.

"Please," I said. A single tear found its way from my eye.

Slap!

The hardest yet, right on the underside of my left breast, hitting it up to my chin.

"Oo, that was nice," tittered Donna. She dropped to her knees and struck me on my other one. Then the left, the right, and a new rhythm was discovered.

"Oh my god, pl-please," I sniffed. Tears were now flowing from my cheeks quite freely, I was on my own knees and could not get up. At my back, I could feel Portia holding onto my upper arms, probably worried about me lurching forwards and angering Donna even more.

I had never, in all the years I'd known her, loved Portia more than at that moment.

"Right, that'll do for now," sighed Donna. "Portia darling, will you run to the bathroom and get me some handcream, please?"

I sobbed through a complete sense of relief. The outside of my tits were red, almost purple. I was sitting on my haunches, looking at them, wanting them to stop hurting, to stop throbbing. I cried like a little girl, big snotty tears seeping from everywhere. I was hungry, thirsty and hurting. But I was also alive, appreciative of Portia and in awe of Donna.

Portia returned with the cream, and was rewarded with a peck on the cheek and a polite request to sit on the sofa. Donna opened the cream and began to spread it over her hands.

"It hurts so much at times, y'know?" she said to Portia. She had not acknowledged me at all.

I felt a new emotion, jealousy. I wanted Donna to notice me, just for a moment. I wanted her to stop talking to that fucking bitch Portia and get her concentrating on me again. I couldn't explain it, but I would do anything to get her attention, whether it was lick her boots, ask her to whip me again, or even lick her pussy. I watched her flick some red hair from her shoulder, and I knew I was falling in love with her.

How could this be? I was never a lesbian. I looked to Portia, saw something of the same dumb expression on her face, and felt nothing for her.

I was right. I wasn't a lesbian. But I think I was in love with Donna.

"That's a lovely skirt, Portia."

Dammit, why couldn't she look at my skirt like that?

"Thanks, Donna."

That's all she said - "Thanks, Donna" ? What kind of respect is that?

"You wearing panties?"

"Yes, Donna."

"Let me take them off. Stand up. Turn around."

Quickly, unerotically, Donna removed Portia's black panties and placed them on the arm of the sofa. Then, finally, she turned to me.

"Charlotte, lie on your back."

"Yes, mistress," I said. "Donna, sorry, yes Donna."

I almost wept with shame, I'd fucked up again, calling her 'mistress'. What would she think of me?

"Now, neither of you two are lesbians are you?" asked Donna. We answered together with a resounding 'no'. "Well in that case, I think it'd be interesting if Portia sat on Charlotte's face, no? Better still, Portia, your knees can't touch the ground. Get on with it while I check up on the other two."

Portia had not been told to remove her skirt, which was quite interesting. The 'no knees' rule was a killer. She tried to squat on me first, but couldn't get low enough without losing her balance. I tried my best, I leaned my head forwards to get my tongue at her, but I couldn't keep it up.

"Try doing a crab," I suggested.

"Okay," sniffed Portia. She sat down near my head, then got up on reverse all-fours, doing one of those bum lifts you see on the aerobics shows. It was hard to just at first, and I got my nose squashed by the PVC skirt a few times, but eventually she got comfortable. The only problem was that her hips were horizontal, not vertical.

"I can't reach," I said. "I can't reach your clitoris from here."

I couldn't believe it, I was straight, yet I was complaining about not being able to lick out my best friends' pussy. I had to say something, I couldn't see her eyes to implore her to move. I was really worried that I'd pissed Donna off enough, and if she came back with me making a poor attempt at licking Portia.

"So?" she asked. Then, with a smile in her voice. "Donna just told me to sit on your face, didn't she? Aw Charlotte, I see it now, you want to impress her, don't you?"

"Uh-huh," I nodded, slapping my forehead against her buttcheeks.

"Well, if you really want to impress her, why not lick out my arsehole?"

"But-"

"Do it."

She moved her bum forwards a little, and I realised that I had no choice. She was clean, inside and out – that wasn't the issue. The fact was that I was eating out the arse of Portia Collins.

And I was enjoying it.

Actually, that's only a half-truth. I was getting very little from the experience, but Portia's surprised yelps and quivers turned me on so much, and the fact that it would please Donna helped me too.

The biggest problem was that I was pretty good at it. Show me a clitoris and I was lost, but apparently I had a natural flair for arse licking. I used my lips to spread her cheeks, then probed my tongue around and into her hole. When I did this for a third time, Portia whined loudly and jerked. I think her arms must have buckled, because she fell into me a little, and my tongue had no choice but to go deep inside her. She didn't get up, not at first anyway, she just waited for me to finish her off.

The moment never came. I heard Donna open the door to our room, and I heard her talking to Amy.

"Amy, you can put the box down anywhere. Your friends are just here, they're getting acquainted," Donna said to Amy.

"Oh my god!" Amy cried. I imagine she'd seen what we were up to.

"Portia?" asked Donna, with no response due to Portia's own little indestructible world. "Portia! Are you coming?"

"No, nearly, oh fuck yes Charlotte you're a-fucking-mazing fuck ow nooo, yes !"

"Right, get off her," Donna ordered Portia. I kept licking, I hadn't been told to stop.

"Just a few more seconds, please Donna, please!"

"Now!"

Portia stayed for one second. It wasn't enough. She got to her feet, Amy helped me up, and the two of us watched Portia whimpering with a confused, aroused expression on her face. Her legs were still shaking, possibly through the weird position she'd held, but probably due to the stimulation.

Donna removed the handcuffs from Portia and myself.

"Right, line up, you three. Elouise is busy setting up the equipment in the studio, so before we head down there, so I've got you all alone for the moment. Let's see what you're wearing on your feet. Hmm, this won't do. Portia's Ok, but the other two of you aren't. I want you all in higher heeled shoes, no boots. Go and change, will you? You have thirty-five seconds. Portia, if you have higher heels than that, you should change too. Doesn't matter if they're scuffed or unpolished, as long as they fit."

We sprinted upstairs to our bedrooms and each picked up a pair of our sluttiest shoes, bumping into each other on the way back downstairs. There was something in Donna's voice, some authority that she had, but whenever she her lipsticked mouth said something like 'you have thirty-five seconds', you obeyed fully. She didn't shout, she didn't threaten, we didn't know what would happen if we took forty seconds, but we still obeyed.

Within thirty seconds, we were back in line, putting on our shoes. I think Portia gained one inch, both Amy and myself gained two.

"That's better, isn't it?" asked Donna. "Portia darling, could you go to the kitchen and bring in three trays, as identical as possible, and as many pint glasses as you have?"

"Yes, Donna."

Whilst Portia was doing that, Donna turned to a box, presumably the one that Amy had brought in. She pulled out an electrical appliance from it, one that I was not expecting at all.

It was an ice-making machine. I'd seen them in the Sunday supplements, they claim to be able to make shedloads of icecubes in minutes.

"Amy, will you go and get me some jugs of water. Pitchers if you have them, preferably, but large mixing bowls if you don't."

I felt a sense of household pride, because I knew that we had a couple of dozen pint glasses, we had four identical trays, we had half a dozen pitchers. Donna duly filled up the machine and turned it on, smiling at Portia as she scuttled back and forth adding bunches of glasses each time.

When Portia had brought in about thirty glasses, Donna smiled and told her she could stop, that was more than enough.

"While the machine's working, I think we should prepare the second element of our little test. I know I haven't told you the first yet, but I think you're all smart enough to know it involves ice. I think you'll like the second element."

She returned to her box and pulled out three 'items'. All right, they were identical double dildos, I knew exactly what they were. Purple and large, there appeared to be a larger than normal space between the two elements, which I found useful. Whenever I'd seen them in a catalogue, when I was buying Portia's last Christmas present, for instance, they always appeared to be right next to each other, which would surely make them impossible to get in.

"Ladies, prepare yourselves, please."

We began to rub, nervously turning ourselves on, as we examined the instruments. I think the vagina part of it was about six, six and a half inches long, but it was very wide, about the width of my wrist, in fact. I hoped that wasn't an omen. The butt-plug was a more normal size, four inches long, bulbous and flexible.

"In your own time."

Amy and I removed our own panties, and slowly began to insert the item into ourselves.

"Right to the hilt."

I realised that this was why the dildo was designed that way, it was so it could go all the way in. Portia said "Done!" proudly, I was second, and Amy followed a couple of moments later. All three of us were pretty excited and nervous, none of us needed a large warm-up.

"Panties back on, please."

This was a new one for me. I know for a fact that Portia had once gone to the shops wearing a dildo inside herself, and I could swear Amy had done the same with a plug, she was fascinated with her arse. I had done neither.

Donna stood before us, and handed us each a tray.

"I got this idea when I saw the three of you. See, Portia and Amy look like waitresses, with their skirts like that. Charlotte, with her sleeveless jumper, seems to be working in a beatnik coffee house. So I wanted to see how good a waitress you lot are. A good waitress must deal with distractions, yet remain concentrated. Hold the tray with two hands, at about nipple level."

She pinged off the ice machine, and opened it up. It was a surprise, the machine actually worked, and had produced a few gallons of cubes. She scooped out three pints of cubes and placed one on each of our trays. She did it again, and again, and twice more.

"That's five pints you're holding. Hopefully it's not too much for you." She didn't ask whether it was or not. "I originally thought of doing this with three or four pints, until I realised how many glasses you have, so well done you!"

I looked at Portia, who was smiling with a frown. I turned to the other side, and saw Amy's ice cubes tinkle on the side of the glass. I hoped she was nervous, and it wasn't that the weight was too much for her arms.

"Now, you currently have two distractions, don't you? The glasses, and the dildos. I'm going to give you a third distraction. I want you to listen carefully to me, and to what I'm saying. When I say 'now', I want you to turn around clockwise whenever I saw a word with the letter 'x' in it. And I want you to turn around anticlockwise when I saw a word that has a 'q' in it. You have to act instantly, or you'll be penalised. If you spill anything, you'll also be penalised. So that starts… now. Quarter."

We all paused for a beat, and shuffled round anticlockwise. It was hard trying to keep balance, we were all on our most tottery heels and could not see the floor. Besides all that, we had a double dildo causing pressure within us.

"Very good, but I want you to do it faster next time."

I turned clockwise, Portia gave a loud "Oh" of realisation and followed me. Amy did not move.

"Oh dear. If Amy had spun, I'd have penalised Portia, so you're a lucky girl, honey. But Amy, I'm afraid I'm going to have to penalise you."

Portia and I turned to Amy and watched silently. Donna strode quietly, heel-toe towards Amy, the wide smile on her face. She picked up one of Amy's pint glasses, tugged open the top of her blouse, and poured the ice-cubes down into it, right onto her chest.

"Aaagh!" Amy cried. "Oooo, fuck!"

"Sh!" cooed Donna, placing a finger on Amy's lips. "A waitress would not behave this way."

Amy panted fifteen times a second, almost hyperventilating, trying not to speak, and just about managed it. I tried hard to catch her eye to comfort her with a look, but she'd clenched them tightly shut. I knew there was no way she was thinking of quitting, which meant that she too was trying desperately to please Donna.

What was it that this girl had?

"I'll be most displeased if any of you cry out again. Most displeased."

She refilled the empty glass and placed it on Amy's tray, before adding another one to it. She paced around the shaking, whimpering Amy.

"I said you'd be penalised, didn't I?" she purred into Amy's neck. A swift lick, and Amy jumped. "But I want you all to have fun too."

I knew Portia couldn't see, but I looked down to Donna's left arm as it snaked around the back of Amy's waist. It dipped into the front of her skirt, and continued to head downwards.

"Lots of fun."

"Oo!" sighed Amy. This comment got no reproach, presumably it was acceptable to moan in pleasure. Portia heard this and adjusted herself so see too could see. I glanced at her, and saw her mouth open in a gasp of surprise and excitement.

Donna clearly knew more about a woman's body than any of us, and within moments, Amy was in tears of frustration. Donna's hand never removed itself from the skirt, so we couldn't tell exactly what was happening, but we could tell there was rapid movement involved.

"Hush now, Amy," whispered Donna.

"Mmm!" moaned Amy above the tinkling of the glasses. The tears flowed more freely, she wanted so much to drop the tray and finish herself off.

"Portia, should I make Amy come?" asked Donna.

"Well, I -"

"You will be penalised for that hesitation. Charlotte, should I make Amy come?"

"Yes," I said instantly.

"Very well."

The rubbing continued, but I noticed that it was when Donna licked the neck and cheek, and finally kissed Amy on the lips, that was the moment that made Amy come.

"Oh my gooooooood!" was her only comment, as one leg buckled so much that she had to lift it off the ground so she wouldn't try to balance on it. Throughout it all, the rubbing never stopped.

"Portia, should I make her come again?"

"No, Donna."

"Very well," said Donna, and the frigging stopped instantly. Amy let out a huge sigh of relief, and although she had spilled an ice cube, she had not let any fall over. "Right, I have to punish Amy and Portia, don't I? It's exciting this, isn't it?"

This time I missed out. I cannot understand how Portia, and particularly Amy, were paying so much attention to Donna's words. They shuffled around quickly, I waited too long before following.

"That's nice, I've got to do the three of you now, haven't I?"

She strode to Portia, kissed her on the lips, pulled open the blouse and poured the cubes into it. Portia bit her lip and three tears came from her right eye, but she remained silent.

I was next.

"I'm going to enjoy this," she said. She tugged the top of my jumper and tinkled the cubes onto my chest.

I'd never been so cold in my life. It felt hot and cold at the same time, I imagined my heartbeat slowing with the cold and speeding with the surprise and the situation. Like Amy and Portia, I really didn't want to do anything to displease Donna.

With all my might, I imagined how convenient it was that the ice would reduce the swelling in my breasts, but most of the ice drifted down the middle, where there was no pain to begin with.

Drops of water and cubes reached my belly button, and I think I realised why Donna was enjoying it. When fiddling with my clothes before the pouring, she had coyly tucked the base of my jumper into the waistband of my skirt. It stopped the cubes, but the water dripped down onto my legs, my thighs, my everywhere.

It was hardest at first, I thought that would be it, but shocks kept coming as the ice began to melt all over my chest and body.

She smiled sweetly, left me and stepped away. I couldn't care less, I was in so much pain, but when she reached Amy, she poured half of the cubes down the front of her skirt, into her panties, the other half at the back. "Just in case you were close to a second one," Donna explained.

She stepped to a point where she faced the three of us.

"Stand on one leg, the left."

We did so, all of us grimacing.

"Smile, aren't you enjoying yourselves?" she pouted.

"Yes, Donna," I said. She giggled at my pathetic attempt to sound normal.

"Ok, put your feet down, ladies. Just thought I should give you a little exercise."

All three of us shuffled around.

"Quicker!"

We shuffled the other way.

"Ah you're like a Motown Group, you are. All symmetrical and sexy."

Another turn. We all smiled at this one.

"You're getting too good for me!"

"Thank you," nodded Portia.

When she stepped towards us, I honestly thought Donna was about to end our ordeal, but she had another trick to play. She adopted a higher-pitched, more innocent girly voice, still quiet, and said to all of us: "Look at you, your nipples are all hard."

Portia snorted, and I was a little disappointed, it was a bit cheesy. Donna frowned, and stepped towards the tall blonde.

"You think that's funny?" Donna asked Portia. "I think you need a lesson."

She poured two of the pint glasses over Portia's head, letting her settle down, then pouring another two over her. She took the other two, poured one over me, and one over Amy. "That's for not telling her off," she told us.

Portia's tray was empty, and Donna took it from the shivering girl. "Undo your blouse, Portia."

Portia did so. She was wearing a quarter-cup bra that uplifted the bosom but didn't cover the nipples. Donna placed a finger and thumb on each of them, looked into Portia's eyes, and squeezed.

Portia instantly dropped to her knees, screaming some incoherent words at herself. One final word came out. "Stop!"

"You want me to squeeze harder? Why didn't you say so?"

At this point, Donna looked up at me and Amy, possibly to see whether we were going to intervene. We did nothing, we just stood there.

Donna tutted, bit her bottom lip, and let go. She stepped back.

"I'm very disappointed in all of you. Portia, you will be severely punished, of course. Charlotte, Amy, you did not turn around when I said a word with one of the key letters in, even when I looked at you."

"Oh no," gasped Amy, when she realised our mistake.

"Put your trays down for the moment."

The next few moments were filled with silence. Portia, Amy and I kept our arms at our side as Donna did some adjustments to our clothes. Firstly, surprisingly, she buttoned up Portia's blouse. Next she turned to Amy, undoing her blouse, scooping her breasts from her bra, and refastening the buttons with a smile. More satisfied with our obedience now, she lifted up my jumper, rolled down the brassiere as she had done before, and pulled the jumper down.

I was aware of what she'd done – she'd exposed our nipples – but I didn't know why, or why she'd covered them up again.

"Ok, firstly, you no longer need to turn around when I say an x or q word, you can relax there. If I want you to do something, I suppose I'll have to tell you explicitly," she sighed, a little disappointment in her voice.

None of us moved on 'explicitly'. None of us had noticed 'relax'.

"I have to admit that I was sorry to see how much movement there was, far too much. None of you kept your trays level, and it's a miracle that none of them fell over, isn't it? Particularly yours, Charlotte, your deportment was dreadful."

"Yes, Donna."

This woman was about eight years younger than me, but I felt like a naughty child before her.

"Okay, so we'll have to fix this, won't we? I'll have to dig something out of the box here, in the meantime can you fill up your glasses again, Portia? And fill up the pitchers too."

I looked at Amy, still shivering with the cold, her skirt still dripping wet. And I saw myself in her fragile, nervous figure. I never once thought of moving.

"Here they are," chirped Donna. "You finished, Portia? Ok then, put eight glasses on your tray and pick it up. You two can pick up yours too. Hold them at the right level, please."

I'd forgotten how tired my arms were, I must have been slipping before, and Donna was quite right to point it out. It took a huge effort to keep it at the right height. Both Amy and Portia now had more glasses than me on their trays, so I actually had it easiest.

Donna picked up a pitcher, held it by her hip, and placed her spare hand on the other hip. She smiled, that confident, beaming smile of hers that wrinkled her nose, showed all her teeth, and made her eyes come alive. "Where were we? Ah yes."

Without warning, she stepped to Amy, and poured a quarter of it down her front. She did the same to me, and again to Portia. The ice was on the outside of our clothes, but it still had the desired effect.

"My look," Donna said sarcastically as she remained in front of Portia, "your nipples are so hard. Now hold steady, but look to the ceiling."

Donna reached out and held out her finger and thumb again, coming to her from below. Portia didn't move, she didn't flinch, but her face betrayed her. She clearly expected to get a fierce pinch.

She got one.

She got another, on the other side.

She flinched at the pain, but did not say a word.

"Look down," grinned Donna, and Portia gasped when she saw Donna waving her hands at her. "Further." Portia glanced at her breasts, and saw a pair of small clamps biting into her nipples.

We all knew of these clamps, none of us had used them. Portia looked to my face, her own expression one of confusion and humiliation.

"Look closer."

We all did, and noticed that the clamps were double-ended. It looked like they were designed to clamp two girls together, face-to-face.

"Your turn," said Donna, stepping to me. I think it was worse that I was unprepared, my nipples were cold, but had never been abused, either that night or any night. Donna reached out, opened the clamp, covered my nipple through the thin fabric, and closed it.

I had never been in so much pain before, even the tit-whipping was nothing compared to it. I knew that the whipping would end, but there was no sign that these clamps would ever come off, they could be on for hours. I felt hot, I was definitely aroused, my pussy muscles clenched around the dildo and my stomach gave a distinct rumble. I was losing control.

Again, I missed the effect on poor Amy due to concentrating on my own situation.

Donna asked us how we were, out of curiosity rather than general concern. We all admitted that we were exhilarated, yet in pain.

"I suppose you're ready for phase two, aren't you? Don't worry, this part won't hurt a bit."

Donna stepped back to Portia, and adjusted the height of the heavy tray until it was just so. Then she opened the other end of the clamps, and wrapped them round the edge of the tray.

I'd never noticed, but the trays had a rounded edge at the side, just a millimetre or two above and below. By clamping it, the tray was fixed securely to the tall, pretty body before it.

Moving quickly, she clamped Amy and me to our own trays.

"That's your incentive to keep them level."

All of us stared blankly at her.

"I'll be back in a few minutes, I just need to check on Elouise. You can talk amongst yourselves, but do not move."

"Yes, Donna."

"Oh, and remember, the first sign of frostbite is a lack of pain. You should thank yourself lucky that I'm here. See ya."

She closed the door behind her.

Portia was the first to speak. "Are your arms hurting?"

"Yeah," I answered.

"Like I can't believe," agreed Amy.

"Thank Christ it wasn't just me. Who'd have thought we'd be doing this, right here, right now?"

"Great, isn't it?" smiled Amy.

It was, it really was. "So you're pleased I invited her over?"

"I'll make sure you don't have to do the washing up for six months after this. Amy and I will do it all for you."

There was a quick moment's silence, after which Amy began to giggle. And then chortle, and finally laugh out loud.

"What is it?" we asked her.

"We're st-still..." she could barely get the words out, "we're still fully clothed!"

She was right. Aside from the clamps and the fact that we were all damp, inside and out, there was nothing particularly erotic or alluring about our appearance.

Well, I'm exaggerating there, of course. A little ragged in the damp, Amy's tanned legs looked fantastic, and if I could have seen Portia's bosom, it would have been very attractive. We weren't perfect, of course, none of us were setting any world records for hairstyles.

I couldn't be too sure about who was the sexiest out of us. I'm not a lesbian.

The uncomfortable silence after the laughter gave me time to think about Donna. What did she have? I thought that we'd all give her a chance, play along in a few of her games, but nothing like this. She slapped my breasts, and I turned round and licked Portia's arsehole just because it might please her. In real life, I could run from someone who hit me – or if they were Donna's size, I'd punch them back.

Perhaps that was it. Perhaps it was because this didn't feel like real life, and Donna was certainly not like a real person, not like anyone I'd met before in my life, maybe that's why it was so unreal. Even Amy and Portia seemed closer to me than ever, and in my uncomfortable, other-worldly state, our hysterical giggles seemed to say that we'd have shared an experience that we would never forget.

One thing was certain – she'd raised the bar. I began going through the most extreme scenarios that I had originally dreamt about for tonight, and mentally ticked them off one by one. At first, I was determining whether I would let Donna do them to me, but after a few moments I realised I was dreaming about what else Donna could add to them. For example, I'd idly wondered whether she would cane us, something I wouldn't have looked forward to before tonight. Not only did I get a buzz from the thought of her caning me for a misdemeanour, in my mind I was a naughty schoolgirl and she was the strict headmistress. I could smell the chalk and was just starting to feel warm again when-

"Char! Charlotte! You've spilled a drink, what the hell you doing?" hissed Amy.

"Oh balls."

I had gone from aroused to petrified in two seconds. The jinxed glass had slid on some cold water and tipped itself over the side, and all because I wasn't holding the tray level.

I looked to Amy, then round to Portia, then down at the tray again, becoming more frantic all the time. There was no way that I could remove the clamps to put down the tray, and I was sure that Donna would know if I'd spilled it anyway.

"Oh no, oh fuck, oh fucking hell, oh fuck."

"Calm down, Charlotte, it's just a little game," sighed Amy.

"Yeah, don't worry about it, honey," cooed Portia.

Their attempts to soothe me weren't working, as I suspected – in fact, I knew that Donna would see the slip as an affront to her authority. In my mind, she would see the glass on the floor, believe that we didn't respect her, and call it a night right there.

At that point, however, something happened. I still don't know what made her do it, but it was definitely deliberate.

"Portia," cried Amy, "keep yourself level – you don't want to spill one yourself, do you?"

Portia turned and smiled. "That's exactly what I want to do," she said. Amy and I watched open-mouthed as Portia jiggled her tray until one – and exactly one – of her glasses fell to the floor.

"I see," smiled Amy, and did her own jiggle. When her glass fell, it didn't fall to the ground, it merely topped over onto the tray.

"What are you two doing?" I asked.

"Collective responsibility."

"I wouldn't use a smart-arse legal term like Amy, but yeah. Donna won't single you out for a specific punishment if we've all done something wrong, will she?"

For the second time that night, and for a much nicer reason, I wept.

"Oh, come on you soppy cow! You'd have done the same for us, wouldn't you?"

"Yeah right," I snuffled into my shoulder. "I'm nowhere near as nice as you."

"You are, Charlotte, we love you, we do," trembled Amy, her own voice faltering with emotion. "You're our best fucking friend ever."

We both looked to Portia, who was not prone to such soppiness. She smiled, her eyebrows displayed some sympathy, and her nose wrinkled. This was her equivalent to our snotty outbursts. There was a brief pause before she spoke.

"Charlotte might be our best fucking friend, Amy," she began with a smirk, "but pull yourself together, anyone would think we were a bunch of lesbians."

And, just as we had done when the door had closed, it reopened.

It was Donna, just Donna. Lord knows what was keeping Elouise down in my studio, but the sight of Donna's reaction to the fallen glasses made me intensely worried again. I was switching between elation and despair, between fear and companionship, as though I was a rubber ball.

Donna did not shout, initially she did not even speak, she merely stepped to each of us in turn, and without a word, counted our glasses, and hence the number that fell. I'm sure she was the same person, wearing the same clothes, but she seemed more imposing, more intensely beautiful and alluring than before. The lips seemed darker, there was a supreme pout to them, and she was frowning.

"One glass lost… each. Who spilled theirs first?"

"I did, Miss Donna."

"Charlotte. Yet you had the fewest to hold up." Her voice was still quiet, she had placed herself so she was leaning against the tray, pushing it into me with her bosom. A small tide of water sloshed against her bare white skin, and she didn't even blink.

"Yes, Donna."

"Don't look down, look up. Now, did you tell the others to drop their glasses too?"

"No," interrupted Amy. "We did that ourselves."

"On purpose?" asked Donna, her voice a little higher pitched now, much more cod-inquisitive.

"Y-es," hesitated Portia. "We didn't want you to single out Charlotte."

"Didn't you?"

Donna took two of my glasses and poured them quickly over Portia. The other two went over Amy, and it was a miracle that neither of them dropped their remaining glasses. "That's for being foolish. But it's Charlotte that I must single out for an extra-special punishment now."

"No-s'not fair," shivered Amy. "All t-together."

"That's all right, you can query my decisions," purred Donna. "But answer me this. Three glasses went on the floor, yes? Yet if Charlotte had not dropped hers, then none would have been on the floor, right? Therefore Charlotte is solely responsible for the massive spillage."

"No, that's not fair."

"Amy, I have explained to you the reason for my decision, you cannot query it any more. Your comment suggests insolence, and since you would not have been insolent without Charlotte's carelessness, she must be punished further."

Donna stood before me again, and gave me a polite smile. Weakly, I reciprocated. She took hold of my empty tray with one hand. "Let go, and put your arms behind your back. Keep them there, if you want."

Nervously, I obeyed.

"Be a shame if I was careless like you, wouldn't it? I mean, what if I let this go?"

And she did so. My poor frozen nipples got a stretch they didn't deserve, and I gave a yelp of surprise. What I didn't do was even more of a surprise, even to me. I didn't bring my hands from behind my back. I just let the heavy tray dangle from my clothed nipples.

She took hold of the tray, bringing it back up to a horizontal position with one finger, pushing it into my breast so it caused no pressure on my nipples.

"Thank you," I gasped between painful breaths.

"Twice more." She removed the finger. "Well, there's no reason for you two to stand around watching me, is there? Go upstairs and wait in the bathroom with Elouise."

"Yes, Donna," they said meekly as they left, their backfired plan clearly causing them immense guilt. Silly bitches, why didn't they think it through?

Donna dropped the tray for the last time – hopefully, and left it dangling this time. "Come, follow."

She hadn't ever told me to keep my hands behind my back, but I kept them there nonetheless. So many of her requests were polite suggestions, she'd never raised her voice once.

The steps to the upstairs bathroom were the problem.

"Ya… ya… oo… yow!"

I could stand still with the tray pulling down on my nipples, but the jolt as I lifted myself up a stair, then another, tilting the weight onto one side then the next, bouncing unwittingly, was totally excruciating. Once again, I had to keep taking short, cold breaths to stop myself from screaming, and I could hear the blood flowing through my head and body.

We reached the top of the stairs and the bathroom door, closed. Donna knocked on it and a long-forgotten blonde head popped out.

"Elouise, come out and help young Charlotte with her clothes. Give her a good towelling down and insert the new dildos."

It seemed absurd, but I'd almost forgotten about the double dildo inside me. It wasn't causing me pain (or pleasure), just a dull, background sensation. Perhaps it was enhancing the situation, I couldn't tell, I couldn't picture myself without it.

I presumed that Amy and Portia were inside the bathroom, possibly already being punished or aroused, I just didn't know what was going to happen next. Elouise stepped from the room, being careful not to show me the inside, though I could hear water running. She was holding my largest towel, one that could envelop me like a blanket.

Quickly, without any fuss, she removed the tray, the clamps, then stood patiently while I removed my skirt, panties, shoes, jumper and bra. I noticed that Donna had snuck quietly into the bathroom whilst my sight was partially blocked by the jumper, but I thought little of it. I knew that was where the action was going to be.

I had no real problem standing naked before Elouise, and felt a great deal of fondness for the cutie as she wrapped the towel around me.

"Ow, ow ow owww!" I yelped as she hugged me, before realising that she'd only hugged me, and the pain was the bloodflow returning to my frigid, numb nipples.

"Do you want to remove the dildos, or shall I?" she asked politely.

"I'll do it," I replied, shlooping the purple item from myself. I handed it to her, and she placed it on the floor, out of the way. "Did I hear Donna say that I'm going to get a new one?"

"Two new ones, I'm afraid," she said, as though she was working in a conscientious call-centre. "Here they are."

She held them up. They weren't the biggest things I'd ever seen, but they were odd. Again, it was a double-dildo, with the same structure as the old one. This time, the vagina part was nine, maybe ten inches long - I'd had boyfriends that big and not felt pain from them, so I knew I'd be ok there. The butt attachment was not the typical plug, however, it was about seven inches long, and as thick as a normal vaginal dildo – pretty thick. After everything else tonight, I expected something much more severe, so was thankful it wasn't bigger, wider, or electrified.

It had two particularly strange features. The first was that it had straps and a waistband, so could be worn like a pair of panties – I presume it could also be locked on, though couldn't see where. The strangest thing about it was the fact that it was ribbed in a most peculiar way. It seemed to be coated in criss-crosses of raised ridges, like it had been wrapped in wire. The thought of an electrified dildo came to mind again.

"I should help you with this," said Elouise, and slapped a large amount of lubricant on the butt attachment. She clearly thought I was a dirty enough slut to have a pussy big enough to hold the longer dildo, and I was, though a little intensive frigging was required. "Is it in?" she asked, looking closely at it whilst I tied the straps to fix it in place.

"Feels like it," I cooed.

"In that case, good luck," she sighed, and knocked on the door. There was something about the frown on her face, the way she bit her lip, it made me tremble again. And this time, I couldn't blame the cold.

Donna emerged, looking as collected as ever. She smiled when she saw me, and the pits of my stomach rumbled with hunger, excitement, fear and arousal.

"Hi honey. We're going to have to blindfold and gag you for your this next bit."

"Okay," I found myself saying.

The blindfold came first, but it was more like a Batman mask – it covered my eyebrows at the top and half my nose at the bottom, and was strapped firmly in place above and below the ears. It wasn't a bondage mask, merely a secure blindfold.

The gag was odd. I felt something force its way into my mouth, and that too appeared to have straps that were fastened at the back of my head. This was all completely new to me, yet strangely expected.

But then I heard a puff of wind, and another, and another, and I realised that the gag inside my mouth was inflating.

"Try to speak, honey," said Donna.

"I nn't eek!" I protested.

"More, Elouise, much more, keep going. Say that again, Charlotte."

"M mm meek!" The swelling pushed my tongue down onto the base of my throat.

"I'm still hearing syllables. More."

"M mm mmm!" I almost gagged as I tried to swallow some saliva. It felt like an apple was wedged just behind my teeth.

"Very good. I can't tell what she's trying to say. Five more big squeezes, Elouise, then tie it off."

"Mmm!"

My neck and head were held still whilst the adaptor, footpump, or whatever was inflating my gag, was removed.

"What are you looking at, Elouise?" I heard Donna ask.

"Her beautiful breasts, look at them. I wish I had boobs like that."

I was pretty sure Donna wasn't a lesbian, but I was starting to have my doubts about Elouise. The thought repulsed me a little, as though I was on display to some horny post-pubescent boy. I could not voice, nor show my displeasure in any way… and this thrilled me.

I knew I wasn't a lesbian, and I suspected I was a developing submissive, but was I a pervert too? Did I crave humiliation?

I was led through the bathroom door, where I was told to stop. The sound of running water had ceased, and there was just a quiet drip-drip of a tap.

"Shut that off, will you Amy? Good. Now it's time for Charlotte's exciting time, and I want you to follow the instructions Elouise gave you before. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Donna," Amy and Portia said unenthusiastically. Perhaps they were jealous of the attention I was getting.

"Very well," replied Donna with a hint of displeasure in her voice. "Elouise, the handcuffs and anklecuffs, please. Charlotte, hold still."

I stood quietly with my feet a foot or so apart, though the cuffs brought them together, and my wrists crossed subserviently in front of my stomach.

"Behind," said Elouise with a smile in her voice. "Good try," she whispered conspiratorially. Again, the cuffs had a tiny bit of movement in them, perhaps an inch of chain between the bracelets.

I was then told to kneel, and felt myself being eased back onto my haunches, where I could hear a chain being attached to my ankle cuffs, then to my handcuffs. I could feel someone – probably Elouise – gentry spread my legs and make an adjustment to the dildo. The chain was tightened, and I was effectively hogtied, with that big double dildo in me, naked, before two strangers and my best two friends.

At least two, probably three sets of hands were placed upon my body, above and below.

I'm not going to lie and say that I had never been more turned on in my life… but I had never been more excited and alive before.

The hands moved to below my body – definitely six of them – and I was lifted into the air. I breathed noisily and lustily through the gag, and suspected a lusty, warm bath while being fondled by them all. My pelvic muscles gave a twinge as I wondered whether Donna would do some of the fondling herself.

And then I was dropped into a bath of ice-cold water.

I screamed.

Or at least, I would have done, if I hadn't been gagged.

I wriggled, trying to get out, but it was no use, and then I realised something about the double dildo inside me.

It was hollow.

It allowed any liquid to run right into me.

I almost passed out through fear and pain, my vagina felt as though it was being fucked by an icicle, and my arse was beyond even that.

"Take her out," I heard Donna say.

It had felt like ten minutes, perhaps it was only fifteen seconds or less, but I was removed.

I was laid on my back – well, my shoulders and knees to be precise – where I was dried down with a fresh towel, and the blindfold was removed. The gag remained. After I blinked a few times to adjust to the light, I saw Donna bending over me.

She was smiling, warmer than I'd ever seen her before.

"This is your punishment, Charlotte. You shouldn't have dropped those glasses, should you?"

I looked left and right for Amy and Portia, but they were hugging each other with their faces in each others' shoulders. They were still dressed in their secretaries' outfits, both now completely saturated and ruined. I think Amy was crying.

"Oh, they're doing you a favour, a big favour. I told them that if they refused to help with your punishment, then you would get double if one of them refused, triple if they both refused."

I blinked twice, as though to ask 'why?'.

Donna did not answer this question. "They both know how many times you are to be dunked," she began with her hypnotic voice, "and you don't, but I'm going to add two dunks to that total, because you looked for your friends while I was still talking to you. That seems only fair, doesn't it?"

Donna turned from me, so I looked up, and saw Portia looking down at me with immense pity. She was crying too. I heard Portia – strong, resilient Portia – wail aloud. And then my attention was drawn back to Donna.

"Elouise," she said. "Get the clamps back here, just in case there's any more insolence. Right, it's time for the next dunk, and remember, more energy."

Donna sat on the closed toilet and watched me as I was lifted into the air as before, held over the bath, and dropped from a foot above the water.

Splash!

I tried with all my might not to wriggle, as I thought it would get my friends into trouble, but it was impossible. I shook and shaked and looked with glaring, guilty eyes at Amy as she parted my legs to get more water sloshing into me. Portia pinched my nipples, but neither of them topped Elouise, who held my head under the freezing water.

I don't think I even blinked.

I wasn't trying to make anyone – even Elouise – guilty, but I had to look at something and someone, and it may as well be the people who were holding me down and causing me pain.

They pulled me out, and it was repeated a third and a fourth time. After the third time, I looked up from my towel and saw Donna, sitting on the toilet, ignoring everything and reading a magazine. I wanted her attention, I had to go back in until she would pay attention to me.

Whilst I was trying in vain to breathe the fourth time, I heard an instruction to the girls to 'turn her round one time'. When I was dropped this time, the six hands left my breasts and knees alone, but pushed me down and around. This was an unbelievable experience, they had to squeeze me down so I remained submerged as they turned me over, fully underwater, slowly enough so that I would not struggle too much and have to go again. I loved them for that.

They tugged me out too quickly, it was painful to feel so much warmth so quickly, but it was better than the water, anything was better than the water.

As Elouise dried me off, there was an unexpected development. Donna dropped her magazine and stood up. I was lying on the floor, and she cast an imposing figure. As she bent over me, her breasts changed shape, became fuller outside the imposing corset. In shadow, her lips were now black, her eyes were dark green, perhaps also black, but her skin was almost fluorescent white, it glowed in the ugly bathroom light.

"I'll offer you a deal, young Charlotte. You hear me?" she asked. I nodded. "You have five dunkings to go. Or, if you prefer, if you want, I could dunk Amy three times, and Portia three times. Nod if you want them to be dunked instead of you. There is no trick, no wordplay, no psychology here, I promise on my life that I won't dunk you if you agree to the change. Do you agree to change?"

I tried to look at Amy or Portia to determine their opinion, but Donna blocked their view. I had to imagine what they would think. I wouldn't put my worst enemy through what I'd just gone through, but I had to think what I would do if it was Amy lying where I was. Would I want to take her place? No. Would I be willing to take her place? Yes.

I nodded.

"You're going to let them take your place?"

Nod.

"Very well. Elouise, remove her cuffs, please."

She did so, and I held the towel as I gingerly got to my feet.

"Give me a hug," said Donna.

Aside from damp hair, I was dry now, so I let the sodden towel drop to the floor and walked deep into Donna's embrace. She clasped her hands behind the small of my back, and I was overwhelmed with gratitude for her sympathy. I placed my chin on her left shoulder, then curled my face into her neck and sobbed.

I don't know why I cried, my pain was over, but Donna symbolised extremes within me. Extreme pain, extreme drama, extreme pleasure, extreme emotion. Now this extreme person was holding me, I could not be unemotional.

What made me love her – in the way that a zealot loves his god – was the fact that she didn't push me away. Her arms surrounded me, I could feel the coolness of the leather outfit and the warmth of the gaps of flesh between her clothes. I had never felt safer.

Part II - One Urination Under Goddess

"Ok, remove the gag."

It took a while to deflate the gag enough for it to be removed from my mouth, and I stretched my jaw a few times after it was removed.

"You ok?" asked Amy quietly.

"Yeah," I sighed. "Wow. I mean, y'know, wow."

"Can we get on?" Donna asked. Elouise, without a word of direct instruction, tapped Portia on the cheek. Portia understood and opened her mouth. The gag, still covered in slobber, was pushed firmly into her mouth, strapped up, and reinflated.

I had not seen anything stranger. The skin on Portia's cheeks was stretched to an absurd, ugly level, and it did little for her jawline neither. It made her nose and eyes look wonderful, however, she had a look of permanent surprise on the top half of her face. Overall, including the fact that she couldn't speak, it was an all-round improvement.

While Amy and Portia stripped out of their outfits, I was told to put on a dressing gown and return in forty seconds.

"Yes, Donna," I said, reaching for the door.

"Ah-ah," tutted Donna. She pointed at my crotch.

"Oh. Yeah. Sorry." I carefully took out the accursed mesh dildo, gave it a wipe on a towel, and handed it gingerly back to Donna. She passed it onto Portia without looking at her. I turned and jogged nakedly to my room, uncertain whether I'd used up some of my forty seconds already.

I returned to find Portia in a frustrated mood, trying to rub some stimulation into her clitoris, trying to get her mind to forget why she was attempting to insert a suspicious double-dildo into herself. Donna waited patiently, watching with a curious smile on her lips. After a painful, frantic jolt where Donna asked Amy to force it in with her knee, Portia was ready to be cuffed. She seemed more flexible than me – although she was taller, she bent herself on her back quite beautifully. I cold understand the petite Amy getting into that pose with no problem, but Portia was a surprise.

"Three dips, remember," Donna said to us. "An Eskimo roll each time."

We lifted her with ease and raised her above the water. At this point, Amy looked down at Portia, then at myself and Elouise.

"Higher," she smiled.

We lifted her another six inches above the water, and let her go.

There was a phenomenal CLAP! as her belly hit the surface, and the three of us recoiled from the bath, laughing at the sadism of the situation. Quickly we returned to Portia, and gave her a quick spin, much quicker than we would normally do it, I realised.

As we took Portia from the bath and lay her gently on the fresh towel that Elouise had prepared, I wondered again how much my life had changed. The previous night – and I remember this distinctly – I pondered about whether I should boil my egg for longer than normal. This night, I was pondering about rotating my best friend in ice-cold water for shorter than normal.

The times, they were a-changing.

Amy had wept when I had been dunked, but she seemed more spirited and playful when it was Portia's turn. She giggled as Portia writhed, and asked Donna if she could add more ice cubes to the bath.

"Sure. Knock yourself out."

I felt sick yet exhilarated. I was ordered to pinch the blotchy red skin of my friend, my friend who was already in absurd amounts of pain. Yet the water splashed my arms and legs and it invigorated me. The sight of Portia wriggling as I had, with an exhilarated look on her face, it reminded me of how masochistic we were. Somehow, Amy's lack of compassion added to the whole sense of occasion – if she didn't care for Portia, I'd care twice as much.

It wasn't until it was Amy's turn and she was getting undressed, that I suspected why she'd been so cruel to Portia. She wanted rough treatment. It was a contest for her, she wanted to be the best damn masochist out of the three of us.

"I'm going to make your fucking tits purple, you bitch," wheezed Portia with a defiant giggle.

"I look forward to it, P."

Portia held up on her promise. She ensured that everything of Amy, except for her nose, was held underneath the water for as long as possible. Before the second dunking, she furiously rubbed Amy's clit, painfully making the sore flesh semi-aroused and raw. As soon as Amy responded, Portia lifted her single handed and splashed her down into the bath.

Amy's response to it all? A defiant smile. I'd never been so puzzled and proud of her.

"Have you three finished now?" asked Donna with a bored expression, as though semi-dangerous levels of hypothermia were a daily occurrence for her. I'm exaggerating, of course, because surely there was no way that Donna would inflict this on us. But were we inflicting it on ourselves? Even gagged, we could always get the safeword out somehow. Was it our fault? I'd have to ask Amy later – she couldn't give me a legal opinion when she was gagged to high heaven and trying to rub her breasts onto a radiator-warmed towel.

Elouise removed the gag, and Amy stretched some feeling back into her cold jaws. "Yeah," she whispered. "I think we've been punished enough. Portia, give me a hug, honey."

"Good. Time for dinner. Let's get you three dressed."

"Dressed" was a slight overstatement. In fact, she asked us to wear underwear, simple non-fetish, pretty underwear. Pink for me, I like pink. Donna had her reasons, which were more than enough for me: "You'll be undressed after dinner anyway, and I'd hate to have you flopping around naked all the time."

She asked me and Elouise to make the dinner – something quick and simple, so I chose spaghetti Bolognese. Before we were allowed into the kitchen, she gagged us both. It can't have been a coincidence – neither of us had eaten for days, and we had to cook something mouth-watering lest we incur Donna's wrath. Yeah, I said 'lest', I was that hungry. Even as I pulled out the sauce from the cupboard I was drooling outside the gag.

There was a pad of paper that I'd kept by the fridge for messages, and I wrote "How long since food for you?" on it.

"3 days" was the reply.

"2 for me!" was all I could think of writing. I added the sauce to the meat and gently brought up the heat.

Then, with a grin behind the gag, she wrote. "I'm going to stick my fist deep into your cunt."

She had underlined the word 'deep', which concerned me. I kept stirring. To be honest, I suspected that I wouldn't be allowed to peacefully prepare some Bolognese whilst wearing only underwear and a gag. That would have been too much to ask, I told myself.

She dropped to her knees behind me, edged my knees apart, before tugging aside the featherlight material that protected me. Gently, she stroked me, testing to see how pliant I was…

…and then she stopped.

She returned to her feet, and wrote something quickly on the pad.

"April Fool"

God damn, I didn't know whether I was relieved or disappointed. The thought of having four fingers, a thumb, and several painful knuckles up there… it scared me, I admit it. But there was a large and growing part of me that wanted to experience anything and everything that night, provided that it wasn't my choice. That was the key thing, I'd realised, I could (probably) stop it at any point, but essentially all my torments and pleasures were the responsibility and mercy of someone else. Someone not me. Someone like Donna.

"I knew you never had it in you," I wrote. "Or rather, you didn't have it in me."

I underlined "me", flashed Elouise a winning smile, and felt smug about myself. I returned my attention to the spaghetti, pointing to cupboards for plates, a drawer for cutlery. Back in a quasi-submissive mode, Elouise duly unpacked just one plate, one knife and one fork.

As she placed them on the work surface, I began to hear yelps of pain from the dining room, out of sight from the kitchen.

I pointed to the spaghetti and gave Elouise a thumbs-up. It was ready. But I was curious about the plate, and the screams, they were screaming now, so I wrote a question mark on the crowded pad.

"?"

Elouise ignored the plate – presumably that was meant to be a surprise. She answered the other part, however.

"Pubic hair removal - tweezers."

"Oh." I wrote.

"They'll stop when we come in."

"Should we wait, then?" I wrote.

"No, we should wait now!" Elouise wrote, returning a winning smile of her own.

So we waited, just a few minutes. I kept the spaghetti succulent, Elouise checked and double checked the knives for smudges, smudges that Donna would punish severely. We smiled at each other at the especially loud yells. It sounded as though Portia was the tougher of the two – Amy was by far the most vocal. I know, I was surprised too.

I could have listened to them scream and tweeze all night, but I most definitely didn't want the meal to be ruined. We knocked on the kitchen door, and it was opened a moment later by Amy herself. She snorted a little snot from her nose, gently sniffed most of it back up, and led Elouise and me to the table. I was carrying the pot of bolog, Elouise had everything else.

"Okay, you can take your gags off now," hummed Donna disinterestedly. "No suitable bowls?"

"No," said Elouise. "Shall I get the ones we packed?"

"I suppose," sighed Donna. Elouise scuttled off at speed, down to the basement, returning with several dog bowls, plastic, gaudy little things. She placed one on either side of Donna's plate.

Donna asked Amy and Portia to hop up onto the table, where they knelt in position. Portia, guessing what was about to happen, began to tie her hair behind the back of her head, but was promptly stopped by her mistress.

"No, I think you need to have your hair down."

Portions were served. Amy got the first, Donna the second, rightly knowing that the best and tastiest meat would be in the middle of the pot. Portia got the third, and apparently final serving. There was enough left in the pan for at least two wholesome servings, but there was nowhere to put it. I didn't complain, though my stomach rumbled so noisily that I had to pretend that it was Elouise's, just to make me feel better.

"Make sure their posture is right, you two."

This order from Donna for me and Elouise was strange at first, but I realised what she meant when Amy leaned forwards. It wasn't pretty – her back was curved over, bringing her breasts back into her body. Without asking for clarification, I placed a hand on the small of her back, and an arm bar across the top of her chest, readjusting her posture so she was arching her back, pushing her breasts down to the table. Even though they were small and covered in her pale green lacy bra, they still combined to create a satisfying image, contrasting harshly with the dark mahogany of the table. Aesthetics, it's all about aesthetics. Donna was right to give us that order. Amy munched on, she hadn't eaten since lunchtime that day, poor thing. She clearly realised that her dinner might be taken from her at any moment, and I could be partially responsible for that. Her bottom was a little low, so I gave her an encouraging slap to put it high in the air. She waggled it left and right, much like a cat I had as a kid when it chomped a tasty sardine.

Donna was first to finish, as she had the advantage that she was not being prodded and tickled by two women, nor was she kneeling down. The knife and fork helped too.

"Keep eating, you two. That was a very nice meal," she smiled. "I came here tonight with the intention of denying both of you food all night, but I think I can repay your efforts by giving one of you a meal. And if I give it to you, don't try and be noble and share it with the other, will you?"

"No, miss," Elouise and I said simultaneously.

"But you've caught me off guard, y'know? I wish I had some sort of test to put you two through. Hmm. I know. Are you ready?"

We nodded nervously. Scenarios ran through my mind. The most obvious was the concept that we'd be whipped until we broke. This would be a bad thing for me: I seriously doubted I could take pain as well as Elouise. If it was a sadism contest, I had an advantage. If I had to cane Amy's arse, say, I knew she would forgive me if I had to beat her harder than Elouise beat Portia.

The only other option I could think of was wrestling of some kind, which was a complete unknown. I was bigger and probably stronger than Elouise, but she may have had hidden sinews somewhere, possibly technique too. I knew it would be a fierce, fiery contest, one that would involve hair-pulling, slapping, pinching, and I started to get my game face on.

Whatever the scenario, aggressive or defensive, I got myself ready. There was no way I was going to be unprep-

"What is the capital of Peru?"

"Huh?" asked Elouise, clearly as off-guard as me.

I saw my chance.

"Quito," I snapped eagerly.

"Lima," followed Elouise a moment later, and she was rewarded with a smile from Donna. I'd have given my best guitar for half of that smile.

Fucking Ecuador.

Elouise was motioned to take her place on the table, and I poured her a sizeable portion of cool Bolognese. I looked on wistfully as the famished Elouise wolfed down mouthful after mouthful.

"Ah, this is unfair on Charlotte, isn't it?" mused Donna, which froze Elouise in mid chew. "She helped prepare this meal. It smelt so lovely too, didn't it? And that's half the joy of the meal, the smell, isn't it? Amy, can you get that gag and put it on Charlotte please? Once it's on, Charlotte can take her place by Elouise and smell the wonderful meal she lovingly crafted. It's the least I can do."

It was absolute torture, and I drooled large gobs of saliva into the bowl. I was so close, I could taste it. Elouise didn't care, she was too hungry to worry about little things like my bodily fluids. She swallowed it all, everything that was left in the pot.

As Amy adjusted my posture by pulling on a nipple through the bra, she whispered quietly to me: "Don't worry, Charlotte, it could be worse. You might have been asked to do the washing up."

Portia and Amy had the honour of grooming themselves and Elouise, licking the stray flecks of spag-bol off each others' chins. I watched them, my stomach rumbling jealously.

Once complete, Donna took Elouise to her side whilst the rest of us lined up by the kitchen wall, all in a row, all in underwear, all wide-eyed and nervous.

"Before we head downstairs, we have one issue to address," said Donna. "Elouise, get the buckets while I explain. Right, ladies, I've seen you twitch, and Amy asked if she could go to the toilet before she ate, so I know you're all bursting. But you can't. Tonight I control you, inside and out. And inside includes your bladders, I'm afraid."

She seemed almost apologetic, as though she was sorry that she had to enforce her regime upon us. If there was one thing that she was not, it was that she was not joking.

"First of you to urinate will regret it. I'll tell you now, to give you incentive. Whomever disobeys me first will drink her bucket, as well as the buckets of her colleagues, AND all the domestic outpourings for… let's see… a week. No, let's make it a fortnight. Is that all right?"

We all sheepishly nodded at the phrase 'domestic outpourings'. We were still lined in order, and there was no bucket upon which to squat.

"I said," growled Donna, "is that all right?"

"Yes," we all chirped instantly, none of us wanting to be last to speak. Amy adding, "if I let go, I will be a piss-slave for the fortnight."

I'd never heard Amy use the phrase 'piss-slave' before, so I blinked a few times, tittered to myself, looked to Donna who seemed pleased by Amy's outburst, then added myself "I will be a piss-slave if I urinate first."

"And I pledge to be a piss-slave for a month if it's me," concluded Portia, trying to suck-up.

I kept telling myself that 90% of the human body is water, so therefore 90% of sheep, cow and pig must also be water, and beans, peas and broccoli are bound to have a fair proportion of water too. 90% of any food, therefore, was water. Since I hadn't eaten for two days, it had to give me an advantage.

In came Elouise with her empty fucking bladder. Three buckets were laid four feet apart in the lounge, and a nod from Donna prompted us to stand above one each. Amy began to tug down her panties.

"No, keep them on," declared Donna. "It'll add some incentive. The loser can suck the moisture out of the winners' delicates. The contest begins."

You heard of those phoney sports psychologists? Those 'positive visualisation' bastards? I've always thought it was a bunch of new-age hooey, but I decided to give it a try on Portia. Without saying a word, without even looking at her, I pictured Portia chewing on my lingerie, then dreamt of her supping a pint of my piss on her birthday in three weeks. I loved the thought of serving her some cake then getting the funnel out and pissing down her throat. It's hardly what those psychologists had in mind, but it worked. I was barely sweating when I heard Amy rumble and crumple. She did not let go, but she raised a hand.

"Yes, Amy, you may speak."

"Please Donna, may I bend over?"

She wanted to bend over to get more comfortable, though the way I felt, I didn't think it was possible.

"You may not. Put your hands on your head. Portia and Charlotte, you may bend over if it makes you more comfortable."

"Thanks, Donna," we said.

"Thank you, Donna," Amy sighed.

I could hear some squeaking from behind me. For a few moments, I thought it was Portia clamping a hand to her abdomen to dull the pain, but then I realised that it was Elouise behind me. Before I could twig what she was doing, she was standing at Donna's side, one arm hidden behind her back. The other arm held a die, which she passed to Donna.

"I like games of chance," said Donna. "Amy, you're a one and a two. Charlotte, you're a three and a four. Portia, you're the others."

She rolled a three. Elouise stepped forwards, mouthed the word 'sorry' at me, then punched me in the stomach as hard as she could.

I bent double, stepped back three steps, and stepped forwards again quickly. Only then did I realise that the squeaking had been the sound of Elouise putting on a boxing glove. I did not lose my feet, but I had lost my advantage. My bladder stung and swelled, and I wanted to piss, fall asleep, then cry.

I did not cry. I did not fall asleep. I did not piss.

The safeword would cost me a thousand pounds, but even if it cost me twenty pence, I would not use it.

"Thank you, Elouise," I gasped.

"This time," said the young Donna with a chirp, "Amy's a one. Charlotte's a two or a three, and Portia's the other numbers."

There was no reason why it was weighted against Portia, we did not ask for one – in some way, because it was Donna who said it, we knew that she could not be questioned, so the decision seemed fair and correct.

In any case, it did not matter. Donna rolled a one.

Elouise stepped before Amy, and pulled back her arm.

"Nooooo!" moaned Portia. We looked to her face, then to her legs. Drips of heavy liquid seeped down them, until she realised that she had already lost. She let go, and it was like a fire extinguisher going off, a blast through the sheer material. The bucket began to fill beneath her.

Amy's punch was forgotten in the melee, and a small part of me suspected that Portia had deliberately chosen her moment so Amy would not suffer. Then I quickly reminded myself that Portia could be a heartless cow when she wanted, so quickly discounted the theory. Amy might love her friends, but she wasn't stupid.

"You two may remove your underwear, place it in Portia's bucket, and relieve yourselves in the same bucket. Do so quickly please, while Portia cleans herself up. Elouise, can you get some of Portia's best clothes to mop this up, please?"

Elouise skipped off to Portia's bedroom, returning with a lovely light-green blouse that I'd always envied. Elouise dabbed it onto the few blobs of odourless liquid on the carpet.

"Okay," said Donna. "Put the blouse in the bucket, we'll leave that for Portia later. I think it's time we headed downstairs."

Part III - Weapons of Miss Destruction

I was blindfolded - I presume Portia and Amy were too, but I was the first to get the sightless treatment. Not only could I not see, I could not hear after I was adorned with a pair of earmuffs. I had no idea whether they were the industrial-strength ones you see on roadside workers, or a pair of tame ones that you might get on a plane. I never saw them, but they muffled most of the sound. For instance, I couldn't hear the door to the basement studio open, but I could hear it slam shut behind me after I'd stepped through it. I couldn't hear what was happening to Amy or Portia, but I could hear various chains and cuffs being positioned onto me.

Perhaps most importantly, I could feel what was happening to me.

Firstly, I had been stripped - I was naked again. A day earlier, that would have been alarming, but now it was old hat. What was new hat was the platform - I had been positioned on some sort of three-foot high table. Only thing was, this was my basement and there were no such platforms before tonight. If they'd got that there in for me, who knew what they'd brought down for Amy and Portia.

I should say that I could not sense either of them. Even blindfold and with no hearing, I'm sure I'd have been able to pick up their scent or feel their breath if they were near me, but there was nothing but Donna and Elouise. For all I knew, a bunch of hoodlums had been brought in by Donna, and they were sticking cocks and fingers into everything they could find, jerking huge gobs of come into their gaping mouths. But I couldn't smell them either. Even so, the depraved fantasy startled me. What was I thinking, and why was I thinking it?

On the platform, I was eased into a position where I was on all fours, though it was weird - I was sort of elongated to some extent. My elbows touched the platform, as did my knees. The distance from my wrists to my ankles was well over four feet, though from the cold hands that urged me into position, I was encouraged not to lie down flat.

I was then left alone, and I could hear Amy and Portia being put into their own positions. Various clanks and clinks indicated that they were in a different position to me, and to be honest, I was jealous. I wasn't even chained down, but I could hear keys being fastened and locks being locked. I wanted a part of that!

Then they returned to me, and did lock me down on all fours. Just the ankles and the wrists, both several feet apart. Again, I was positioned with my knees at ninety degrees, which pushed my bum up in the air and stretched out my arms enough that I had to pick my elbows off the platform. My breasts hung down and touched the platform, and I was far too comfortable for this to last.

I was right. I was ushered up to a painful stretch where my breasts left the table, and I felt something slide underneath me. I was then told to relax, so I naturally dropped my chest back down. My tits landed on a hundred little pinpricks. I yelped and lifted them up again.

"You ok, Charlotte?" asked Amy.

"Hush," said Donna, so I did not have a chance to respond. I was ok, I was clearly ok to anyone who could see me, which meant that Amy was still blindfolded.

It was a necessary evil to wait while we were all prepared, but it was unnerving to kneel down and do nothing but keep my tits off the table, while I heard squeaks and squawks from Amy and Portia as their poses were fine-tuned.

It was getting dull, nothing was going on, and I was about to say someth-

"Aaargh!" I yelped.

I had tasted the pain of the first blow of my first flogging. I would quickly forget this first memory, because there were a dozen that quickly followed it. I realised how awkward I now was. I still couldn't see, though that was a minor worry. Of much more concern was staying balanced, with my back arched as much as I could - I wanted to stay pretty for Donna - whilst keeping my nipples above those bastard pinpricks. I brushed them a few times, and that was bad enough - warm brass next to the skin - but I knew that it would only be a matter of time before the flogging I was taking would make me lose control.

After the first yell, I had tried to resist my cries to gritted-teeth whimpers, with much success. The reason was simple: I didn't want to scream in agony, have Portia call after me to check I was ok, and get herself into trouble. I guessed her and Amy would be in stringent conditions of their own, if Donna got angry then she could have made them much worse.

Of course, in reality, it would have made no difference at all. I see that now.

The flogging, as I said, stopped after about a dozen blows, or about eight million and three, if you asked my arse. The blindfold was removed, and my eyes adjusted to the white light that flashed off the face of Donna. I breathed heavily at how beautiful she was, and my tits touched the pinpricks. "Yow!" I mewed.

Only then did she smile. "I'll get you yet, Charlotte," Donna whispered in my ear. "I want to hear you scream in perfect pitch. But first, I must attend to the others."

My eyes followed her form until she drifted behind me again. No flogging this time, thankfully, nothing at all in fact. I turned away from her and saw Amy and Portia for the first time.

They took my breath away.

I had expected them to be set up in a position like mine, but the difference was astonishing and, I later realised, truly deliberate. Donna had tailored the positions to best show off the girls.

Amy, with her flat stomach and taut, trim body, was stretched out on a frame, in an X. Her right foot was about a yard away from my face, and I could see right up her leg, if that gives you any idea of her position. She was face up, and tilted upwards slightly - I could see the expression on her face, but if she tilted her head back, I would only see the bottom of her chin.

A second look showed that there was no underside to the frame, and her flat body position was because she had no give in any of her bonds. She was always a fashion victim, so the fact that she looked gorgeous made up for the fact that she must be in terrible discomfort.

I turned my head to look at Portia. She was standing on a small circular block, on tiptoes, bent double at the waist with her arms reaching for the sky behind her. She wasn't quite naked - it looked like a steel corset wrapped round her waist, more for posture than pain, I presumed. It worked - her back was indeed arched, and the corset ballooned her pretty breasts over the top. I could see Elouise tying Portia's hair into a pony tail, and tying that tail to the corset, so Portia's head was dragged back uncomfortably.

It was Portia's balance that was the most exciting for me. There was no way for Donna or Elouise to know it, but Portia had the poise of a dead elephant. Every single stain on my carpets was as a result of Portia tripping over her feet, or my feet, or occasionally Amy's feet. Show Portia a foot, they say, and she'll trip over it.

So now she had to stand on a foot-wide disc, perfectly positioned so that she was up on her toes to prevent awful pain to her arms. If she fell from the block, she'd drop about two or three inches - it wouldn't dislocate her shoulders, but it would not be the best thing for her at this moment.

Like Amy and myself, Portia had been positioned in a way that showed off her best features - her long, slim legs and her smouldering face. She was not a fashion victim herself, but looking at her like this, I made a silent vow to get her to wear shorter skirts and high heels more often. I'd keep her corset for myself if it did that to my waist.

Elouise looked at her knots around Portia, and sighed. She undid the tie and redid it, and Portia's face was now pointing slightly upwards, despite her chest pointing downwards. Her face was about a yard away from Amy's left foot, and close enough to me to give her a reassuring smile. She nervously grinned back at me.

Elouise then stepped away from Portia, and paced towards the bucket of piss, which I noticed for the first time. I exchanged glances with Amy, who despite being in agony herself, was concerned for her young friend. It was no use, of course, there was already a pint glass in the bucket, and Elouise pulled out a decent enough three-quarter full glass for Portia. There were no smart-alec comments, no cries for help, no safe words, no demands for freedom. Elouise held the glass to Portia's lips and slowly made her drink the first of it. The first of many glasses for four weeks, in fact.

"Please Elouise, can I have another?" Portia whimpered without sarcasm.

She got another, which she drank a little quicker, and then Donna - still behind me - told her she could drink the rest later. Elouise took the bucket upstairs.

We were alone with Donna. And I was worried. Amy was in agony, Portia would soon be in agony herself when her calves began to tense, but me? I was fine, provided I kept my chest above ground. Whatever bad was going to happen next, it was going to happen to me.

I was wrong.

The next bad thing that happened caused Portia to grimace with flashing teeth, and Amy whimpered and looked away from me. This was because of the NEXT BUT ONE bad thing after the next bad thing.

The NEXT BUT ONE bad thing was the thin cane that caught me on both buttocks.

I roared at the sound, even before I felt it. It was an ugly whap of a sound that annoyed the ears. I know a good sound when I hear it, and this was not a pleasurable sound.

And then I felt it. And it felt like I'd been branded.

In the studio, I once leaned an arm on a soldering iron - this was worse, much worse, but it's the only reference point I had. I screamed a high F, bounced forward onto the spikes for a split-second, before bouncing back to my normal pose.

Just in time for the second stroke.

She'd done this before, had Donna. The second one caught me just below the first, only half an inch or so. Close enough for me to link it to the first one, not close enough that it didn't feel like one big pain - no, it felt separate, different, new, double.

I began to cry after the third one, just below the first two, but I didn't want to give up so I said "Thank you Donna, please can I have another?"

The only thing Donna said to me was after the fourth one, when, after getting back into position, I let my head drop. She told me everso quietly to keep it up, to show Portia and Amy my pretty little face, she said. She didn't need to give me an excuse, but the excuse made me more humiliated, more alone.

Two more quickly followed - they really were six of the very best. None overlapped, all were on my arse, none on the thighs or back. It felt like I'd been sitting on a six-bar electric fire, I was flushed and out of breath.

"Ah there you are," said Donna to Elouise, returning to the room. "Come here and hold this."

What Elouise was holding, I recognised instantly. It was a Rampant Rabbit toy, and she held it in just the right spot. Donna came round to my side, I turned to face her and flash her a brave smile. She didn't reward me with praise, which broke my heart.

"Tell me when you're going to come," she said. "If you come without telling me, I'll be most upset. Ok?"

"Yes, Donna," I nodded. I looked at her, and watched as she fiddled with the mat beneath my breasts, until she put her hand to my chin and faced me forwards again. I didn't dare look back after that, but I did watch Portia's face to see if there were any clues.

Recovering quickly from the caning, I began to feel the pleasure of the Rabbit as it vibrated away at me, Elouise moving it about slightly, trying to find the position where it did most damage. She found it a few times, but I was too timid to tell her so. She was good, better than me, but Portia or Amy would have been better if they'd been holding it. Even so, it wasn't long before I said in a clear voice from my diaphragm: "I'm about to come."

The vibrator stopped instantly, and I was so shocked, I moaned aloud "Aw" and looked back to Elouise. I realised my mistake instantly and turned back to the front.

"For that, you get an extra twenty volts," said Donna.

I was desperately confused by that comment, though I wasn't thick enough to be completely at a loss. I just wondered two things - which part of me would be electrocuted, and how bad would an extra twenty volts be?

I had to wait for my answer. Donna, quickly followed by Elouise, had stepped towards Amy.

It's funny, isn't it? Ah, perhaps I should explain what is funny before you agree with me, so here goes. I'd been caned like crazy, my tits were beginning to twinge, and I was starting to feel the frustration of an incomplete orgasm. Oh, and I was really hungry too, though that was the least of my worries.

At the same time, I didn't want any serious harm to come to Amy. So when Donna asked Elouise for the pinwheels, an item which I was ignorant of until that point, I was genuinely concerned for her. My heart and what was left of my stomach went out to her.

But there was a third emotion. There was self-pity for me, pity for Amy, and now there was curiosity. When that first pinwheel, with its sharpened steel tips, was rolled across Amy's stomach, I wanted to see how Amy would react.

"Yearooo!" she cried, and despite being strung tightly to steel, she managed to wriggle, three or four inches of movement.

Donna noticed too.

"She moved. Tighten her up, Elouise."

Elouise quickly adjusted the chains, and all the slack was removed. Now, when Donna ran two wheels simultaneously down the centre of each breast, Amy had only one outlet. She screamed.

It went on for a few minutes, and like my caning, it must have seemed like an age to Amy. With a porcelain smile on her face, Donna criss-crossed Amy's body with the small metal devices. I since discovered that 'normal' pinwheels aren't usually as severe as Donna's, but Amy was left with harsh little tracks all over her front. For the observer, the best moment occurred when Donna started a new trail from Amy's left wrist, traversing down the edge of her left side, causing tiny wriggles and large screams at the armpit, and again just below the ribcage. The outside of the leg was relatively fine and jiggle-free.

Having got to the bottom of the foot, Donna continued her journey back up, up the inside of Amy's leg. There was a bonus for me and Portia at this point, because we could see Donna from the rear. Having such a close look at her bottom, I actually drooled, it was so edible and pert. Only when Amy howled a guttural roar did I turn my attention back to my friend.

Donna had reached Amy's pussy, and was slowly pricking it a dozen times a second. If Donna had a fault, it was shown here - she had to be so unemotional with us, it was why I loved her, but it meant that she could not dawdle on Amy's pussy, like any sensible person would. She had to move on, she had to pretend that it was no big deal to cause such glorious pain to such a tender area. By comparison, the inside of the right leg was a cakewalk. Only when the right armpit was explored did Amy yell again.

Then it stopped.

And I wanted Amy's torture to continue. That's the funny bit I was telling you about. I'd gone from loving Amy and being sympathetic as hell towards her, to wanting to see more torture.

I got my wish... but it was my torture.

Bastard.

Donna stepped back towards me, again fiddling about with the mat underneath me, but it was Elouise behind me who was doing the dirty work. She must have produced a jar of lubricant from somewhere, because I felt a soft finger teasing my arsehole. It prodded in, and I was tempted to look back, but I restrained myself. It wasn't unpleasant, a finger - then a second - inside me, but I hoped there wouldn't be many more.

For once, I got my wish. There were no more fingers inside me. Instead, Elouise inserted a cold, smooth metal object in there, about the size of an egg.

The egg was quickly followed by a bonus - not only did the Rabbit re-enter the equation, but it was positioned perfectly, right on the underside of my clitoris, where it would do the most damage. It got better - it was taped into place, thoroughly and firmly using that industrial strength thing they use to stick down loft insulation.

The only problem with the Rabbit was that it wasn't turned on.

Donna turned to face me, and she was smiling, so naturally I was worried. Elouise took her side, and placed her bare hand on the spiky mat. She didn't wince at all. I wanted to sympathise with her, but the Rabbit had started up again. I was closer to orgasm than I'd thought, and the half-hour inbetween hadn't cooled me down much. But as soon as it started, it stopped.

Worse still, my bottom had exploded. The egg, which I thought was a simple sex-toy, had sprang to life and electrocuted within me. I was trying my best to get it out, when it stopped. Elouise had placed her hand on the mat again, and I realised what was happening. Pressure on the mat equalled Rabbit action. No pressure on the mat equalled pain inside my rear. It had taken two cycles for the penny to drop - I'd never been the smartest tool in the drawer.

Against my will, but for the sake of my bottom, I crouched down and placed my breasts on the mat. The hand was removed, and silent tears began to creep down the side of my face as the painful pinpricks needled into me. The Rabbit was a bonus, still, but it was bad in a way, as I kept wriggling, moving my breasts to new points. I had to lift up after a moment, and the egg came to life again. It was unbearable.

"Ah yes, you need your extra twenty volts," said Donna.

I kept up above the mat, not for my sake, but because I guessed it was what Donna wanted. I wondered how the egg could hum so loudly, until I realised that it was me who was humming to stop myself from screaming. I couldn't tell you how worse the extra volts were, it may have been the same or a hundred times worse. I was past the point where I could think.

There they left me with the choice of the painful tits, though the pain continued even when I was in the air, or the painful arse, though the memory of the pain continued even when my tits were on the ground.

They went back to Amy, and I blinked away the tears in surprise. Surely it was Portia's turn? But Amy's session was quick. It involved Elouise going to the frame that was holding her, and unfastened a bolt. The frame was turned, and suddenly Amy was face down, with a fresh white-skinned palette now available.

It was available for Elouise only, in fact. She picked up a cane and stepped beside Amy's bottom.

Donna turned towards Portia, as did my gaze, and I barely noticed when I heard a whap and a cry from Amy. I had enough problems of my own, I couldn't concentrate on her and Portia as well.

Portia looked delectably delicate. She was breathing heavily, and her calf muscles were horribly tensed, her toes were white with the pressure she was putting them under.

What she didn't need was Donna crouching next to her. Portia winced her eyes shut as each inevitable pinwheel began just above the heel. Up it went, getting no flicker at the calves, but at the knees.

Oh, at the knees!

At the back of Portia's knees, when the pinwheel spiked into the sensitive, fleshy area back there, the knees finally buckled. Portia staggered forward a pace, off the block she was standing on, and her arm sockets clicked angrily. She got back into position quickly, looking in torment.

"I'm sorry Donna," she blubbered. "I'm sorry I moved."

"We'll just have to start again," said Donna flatly, crouching next to the heels again.

Amy whimpered on in the background.

Me? I couldn't care less about myself, but I was doing well, I have to say. I had got into a nice rhythm, thirty seconds up, thirty seconds down. The only thing that could change it was a phenomenal orgasm, but that wasn't going to happen. There was no way Donna would let me do that, she'd turn off the Rabbit long before then. Even so, I had to warn her - I'd been instructed to.

"Donna, I'm about to come."

"You may come," said Donna without looking up. "Knock yourself out."

The problem with the order was that it was an order. I'd reached the thirty seconds on the mat, as much as I could stand, and I wanted to get back off. But she'd ordered me to come, so I had to stay down, you understand? And by staying down, I was concentrating on my sore titties, rather than anything wonderful on my pussy.

There were other reasons. I'd never come in front of more than one person before, and never with the lights on. Add in the fact that my two closest friends were in absurd pain - a glance to Amy showed red welts on her ass and upper thighs, but Elouise was still leathering her with great gusto - and it felt even more inappropriate.

The fact that I could see my friends so close, that was the worst torture of all. Take Amy, for instance. I saw her stretched out, looking incredibly uncomfortable and glorious, red and blistered with white blotches shining through. I wanted to be able to touch her, to tell her that she looked so wonderful, to be on hand to release some of the tension in her limbs or crank it up a notch or two if she wanted me to. I'd have given anything to drape my fingertips across her belly, watching as she tucked herself into me, or backed away for fear of tickling.

As for Portia, I'd just have caned that arse with the fiercest bit of wood I could find. I drooled at the sight of her, and as I've repeatedly claimed, I'm no lesbian.

Donna finally turned to Portia, and draped a white hand across her arched back, up to the neck, stroking her like a fast car. Portia let out a puff of relieved air. She was undergoing the sensual touch of an expert, the touch of a mistress, to be envied and fantasised about for ever and ever.

And ever.

Donna did, of course, torture the living daylights out of Portia, concentrating on the breasts and nipples, clamping the latter to dangling empty pails, each light enough to be bearable... when empty. Donna then whipped Portia steadily, barely raising a bruise on Portia's thighs and bottom, patiently waiting until Portia's bladder gave way once more, as it always did. Elouise was on hand with a funnel and hose underneath Portia, and the pails were filled, and Portia screamed, and they continued her torment for another good, long hour, Elouise and Donna alternating areas of Portia's body, keeping the levels of humiliation and pain up like a couple of plate-spinners. Everything Elouise did, she looked to Donna for approval, everything Portia suffered was stamped with a seal of quality.

I wish I could have seen it.

At the thought of that cold white hand of Donna's, the mental image of it drifting up and down my body, I exploded into the most powerful orgasm of my life, snorting forwards like I was being thrown from a car. When I awoke, I was sure that I must have banged my head on something, but there was no bruise, no scar, no marks at all, except on my breasts and bottom, where I expected and loved them.

I was surprised to be in my own bed, clad in comfortable pyjamas. I knew it wasn't a dream, the aches saw to that, as did the card beside my bed. It sat upon a box of chocolates, and read simply:

You disobeyed me. I've asked Amy and Portia to punish you over the next month, any chance they get. I'm most disappointed in you, I thought you were stronger than that.

Donna x

The chocolates, and the "x" at the end of the card gave me a shaft of hope, which I would cling to, until I saw Donna again. But then I re-read the message, and cursed myself for being so damn weak. I held my chin in the heel of my hand, and wept.

Epilogue

When I was able to sit down again, I found that I had a lot more creativity on the guitar. I wrote four songs in half a day, none of them kinky or crude, yet all of them emotional and angry. The sort of goosebump songs that Amy adores. I booked an early day in the studio, and got an engineer, Pete, that I'd had my eye on for some time. Pete was shortish and bulky, with tidy, shoulder-length hair and a stubble that gave my bruised skin something to look forward to. I'd been to his place a couple of times before, but the evenings had always frittered away to nothing.

This time I felt confident, and invited him back to my place. I was only wearing loose jeans and a scrungy black blouse, but I felt like a queen. I suppose it was a bit rude, as I should have cleared it with Portia and Amy, but I knew that if they saw him, they'd know that I couldn't turn him down.

We picked up a takeaway on the way home, there was something delicious about smelly duck that always turned me on. Ten seconds after I closed my front door, I realised what a mistake I'd made. That was how long it took for the scent to drift upstairs to the bedrooms.

"Hang on!" cried Amy. "I'll be down in a minute. Two minutes. Hang on!"

"Oh Christ," I muttered to Pete. "Listen, we have a little game that we play. Amy's going to lay the table and serve the food. Just play along."

"She's a servant? You're not that famous, are you?"

"No, she's a housemate. But it's just a game. Just put the bags on the table, she'll do the rest."

I decided not to tell him what she'd be wearing.

Amy scampered downstairs in her frilly little maid's outfit, as always. Her long-term punishment had been this role, and she'd been told to make it as sexy as she could. With her legs, this meant that she wore fishnets that stopped on the thigh, then there was an inch or two of flesh, then you could see the frills of the skirt that didn't even attempt to hide a pair of silky red panties.

The outfit itself was black, of course, and covered up a fair bit of her upper body, yet it moulded and shaped her fantastic bosom to a truly spectacular, rounded level.

After all that, the four-inch heels she wore seemed almost drab by comparison.

Her scamper stopped dead when she saw that I wasn't alone.

"Oh."

"This is Pete," I said.

"Pleased to meet you," said Pete. "You must be Amy."

Although it was wonderful to see the dual discomfort, there was a more pressing matter to attend to. "The food's getting cold. Two plates and some iced water, please."

"Yes, Charlotte," nodded Amy with a curtsy, before scuttling away for cutlery.

"That was a surprise," gasped Pete as he sat at the dining table.

"I know, I forgot that we do that. Just play along."

At that moment, Amy leaned over by Pete's side, to place a candelabra in the centre of the table. Through the duck and prawn crackers, he could pick up the delicious aroma of Amy's lace, silk and skin. "I think I can play along."

We adapted quickly. After serving the food, Amy placed a small hand-bell on the table so she could give us some privacy – if we needed her then we could call her in from the kitchen. The conversation returned to normality, and Pete was such a gentleman that he didn't ask to ring for Amy once.

As we finished our meal, I decided to give him a treat. I tinkled the bell, and Amy skipped in.

"Can you take these dishes away, please? Oh, bring in a tin of peas and a small saucer. Thanks."

"Yes, Charlotte," said Amy, brightly. I gave her a lot of credit for that, because she knew what would come next.

While she was in the kitchen, I explained what would happen. "You see, Pete, this game we have, it's got a little twist. Amy is supposed to clean our plates when we're finished. Unfortunately we've scoffed all the takeaway so she's got nothing to do. No plates to clean."

"Hence the peas," mused Pete.

"Hence the peas. You learn fast. Here she comes. Watch."

I moved the candle to a safe distance, placed the saucer on the dead centre of the table, and poured a couple of peas onto the plate.

I never took an eye off Pete, as he watched Amy clamber onto the table, crawl over to the centre, and bend down with perfect posture, arched back, arms clasped together at the back of her waist. One by one, she pouted a pea into her lips, then sucked it into her mouth. One by one, she said 'Thank you, Charlotte, thank you Pete'.

"Unfortunately," I said to Pete whilst pouring a few more peas into my hand, "I can be rather careless."

I threw one onto the couch, three at random areas on the floor, and one into the hall. Amy pivoted off the table and crawled around after the peas. There was something of the cheeky monkey about her, she seemed to wave her red pantied-arse at us wherever she went. She found each pea quickly, returning to the table to ate the remaining peas from my hand, like a trusting guinea pig.

"That concludes dinner. Amy, many thanks for that. See you later."

We moved to the lounge and insulted the music channels for a good half hour, gradually edging closer and closer together. Neither of us could drink – I can't hold my beer, and Pete had to be in the studio early the next day. This thought prompted me to get a move on. First I had to get comfortable.

I excused myself and headed upstairs. It had only been a few days, yet already I was accustomed to going to the bathroom for a funnel, knocking on Portia's door, getting her to lie on the floor of her bedroom while I pulled down my jeans and panties, then sloshing a good half-pint of piss into her mouth. She thanked me for it, as required, and I returned the funnel to the bathroom, rinsed it out, washed my hands, and headed downstairs.

"I think I need to go too," said Pete as soon as I sat down. "Upstairs to the left?"

"No, the right."

"But I'm sure I heard your footsteps going… ah perhaps I'm going mad."

I realised that there was a faux-pas. The toilet had not been flushed, and yet it would have been clean. Would he notice? If he did, what sort of sicko was he? If not, what sort of unhygenic bastard was he? At this dilemma, I think I realised why I'd been single for so long.

I doubt he noticed. Perhaps he'd had an aftershock image of Amy, and was trying to calm himself down. It was such a surprise to hear the toilet flush, though, that I definitely heard Amy and Portia rustle about upstairs, after Pete had returned to my side.

I kissed him on his return, and now he had my consent, he reciprocated with everything he had. Within a few moments we were locked together, exchanging saliva. I came up for breath, and lolled happily backwards, my arm wrapped round his side.

Then I felt him tug the back of my head. It hurt.

"Ow, stop that!" I said.

"Stop what?" he replied, and I noticed that his left hand was on my right knee, and his right hand was propping himself into a decent kissing angle. There was another tug.

"Guess who?" said a cute blonde voice from behind me. It was Portia's voice, and it was Amy's hand pulling my hair.

"What are you doing?" asked Pete of Amy, although he clearly hadn't recognised her. She'd completely changed her outfit, except for the stockings, and was now in a leather basque that cinched in her waist to an hourglass. She wore a paper-white wig that draped Britney hair to her shoulders. Portia was similarly attired – though wigless - and looked even curvier, bursting out of her own dress and imposing boots.

"Oh, don't worry," cooed Amy. "It's just a little game we play."

My main thought, as I was dragged to my feet and up to my tip-toes, was that Pete must not leave. "Please stay, Pete. It is just a game, honest, it won't be long."

Portia winked at him. "Yeah, just sit back and enjoy the show."

"Loose clothing is advisable," added Amy.

"You're sure you're okay?" asked Pete of me. I nodded a nervous smile. "Then I'll stay," he concluded.

The action started. The pair wrestled me to the floor, where Amy straddled my stomach, bobbing up and down to sap my strength. Portia was working on my face, rubbing fingers into my mouth and soaping my face with my own saliva, smudging the subtle lipstick I'd agonised over for twenty minutes at the studio, getting it just right.

"Brace yourself for a pleasant surprise, Pete," narrated Amy, as she placed her hands on my collar. She ripped open my shirt with a loud zipping sound, buttons flying around the room like bullets. "See? No padding."

As Amy roughly jabbed her fingers into my sides, ticking a painful response from me, Portia shuffled around my body and began to tug down my jeans.

"No," I said meekly, knowing it was no use. If she'd unbuttoned them, she'd have removed them with no problem. But she had to enforce her authority, so she eased them down my thighs in a dozen jolting tugs. In the melee, I lost one sock and my bra.

"As you can see, Charlotte is a lovely, pretty thing, with silky soft skin that is ripe for bruising slaps," began Amy, breaking off to smack my breast on its side, "and cute little nipples that can be chewed or tugged – she likes them both. Let's turn her over. Ah, now this is fantastic, look at that bottom – oh darn, these panties are so last season, they'll just have to go. Portia, will you do the honours?"

Portia withdrew a pair of scissors from underneath the couch and snipped the waistband of my purple thong, and pulled it from my body.

"Into the mouth go the panties."

"Nng!" I hissed as my jaws were forced open.

"See, whenever she's had this done to her before, she's always been wearing fresh underwear, yet she's had these on all day, so they're bound to be a little sweaty, aren't they?"

I nodded, but there was more to it than that. I'd worn them during a day in a hot studio, singing emotional, passionate songs in the presence of a man that I could lick like a popsicle. Sweat and juice mingled with adrenaline and anger. I looked briefly at Pete, and he seemed engrossed in my situation, yet sitting calm like it was a lapdance and he wasn't supposed to move. I tittered when I realised he was worried that they might start on him.

"We're not going to be much longer, Pete, but while we prepare our final surprise, can you read this to yourself, please?" Amy handed Pete a piece of paper, upon which a paragraph or two was written.

"Nng nn ny?" I asked.

Pete ignored me until he had finished. "Never you mind," he finally said with a devious smile. His implied consent was all Amy and Portia needed. Portia leapt upstairs to her bedroom while Amy idly spanked my bottom with a ping-pong bat.

"Here it is!" beamed Portia, holding what appeared to be a strap-on in her hand. She'd been on quite a spending spree, after getting a decent promotion two days earlier. She'd just gone in and asked for it, and they gave it to her, she couldn't believe it herself. The strap-on was probably something she'd bought that day from the nearest sex shop. I think she had a discount card there, she'd bought so much in the past few days.

I was confused for a very brief moment when Portia began to tie it on me, until I realised that the belt had two phalluses, and one of them was more like a plug, as opposed to a dildo. It was built with double penetration in mind.

Unlike a strap-on, the phalluses pointed inwards. More like a strap-in, in fact.

"It's the deluxe model – self-lubricating. Not that you need much with Pete here."

She gently inserted the elements. The plug wasn't that big and easily entered me. The dildo would have been more of a problem if I'd been cold, but I was cooking enough for it to slide in after a little pushing and fingering. The leather belt of the strap-in continued its journey from back to front, and a tight yank made me feel like I was filled to bursting.

"Leg irons."

These were new too, and 'leg irons' was a rather dramatic name for what turned out to be a pair of padded cuffs that comfortably wrapped my ankles. What was annoying about them was that the chain that linked them was just the perfect length to go up to from one cuff, up to the belt around my waist, around and underneath, following the leather, and back down to the other cuff with half a link to spare. It meant that I could sit on my ankles, but any movement would tighten the chain and push the plugs deeper inside me.

"Nnh!" I said when I made this discovery.

"I think we should give her the neck collar too."

This was something I'd worn during their previous assault on me – it was just a metal collar, to which they'd attached a pair of handcuffs. It meant that I couldn't undo the belt, but I expected that.

"Pete will tell you where the key is. Have a good time, you two."

And with that, the ordeal was over. Amy and Portia held hands as they skipped merrily upstairs, leaving Pete and me alone again.

I was naked except for the plug and dildo, and I had no means of protection if Pete wanted to play with my breasts for the next three hours. Or if he wanted to bend me over his knee and cane me, I couldn't stop that either. Or perhaps he could lead me round on my knees until I begged him to stop and promised him anything, something like a throat-scraping fellatio and swallowing of anything he had to give.

"Are you okay?" he asked, taking the panties from my mouth. "You seem to be breathing heavily."

"It's… it's just a game that we play."

"Well, I don't want to keep you chained up for ever. The note says that I can tell you that the key to your handcuffs is stuck to the strap that goes between your legs. Unfortunately the note says that I shouldn't help you any more, you have to do the rest yourself."

"Oh," I said.

"But I can offer moral support," he added.

"Really?"

"Yes. Go team."

It was trickier than it sounded. The problem was that I couldn't get up to rub myself on the side of a table or a banister – I had to search for low things that could get in there. And I spotted Amy's boots, her sexy new boots, lying innocently by the television, just fifteen feet away. Perfect.

"Good idea," Pete said. This boy could read me like a book.

I shuffled one knee forwards, and with a great deal of effort, managed to move the other to match it, at the same time trying not to cut myself in half. It took me three minutes to move four inches.

An alternative was needed.

"The race is not always to the swift," Pete declared.

Deciding to topple over to my side was a huge risk, as I suspected that I couldn't get back up, but it was the only choice I had. "Can you catch me?" I asked quietly.

"I'm not supposed to, but yeah," he whispered, easing my down on my side, then wiping his hands on his slacks as though he was disposing of the evidence.

My idea worked, thankfully. There was a little more slack in the chain like this, and I could hop forwards using my elbows as a pivot. Yes, I got carpet burns all down my left side, and I accidentally punched myself in the chin when I misjudged a hop, but it took me five short, painful minutes to move across to Amy's boot.

"I can't do any more," Pete said, anticipating my question. "I, I just can't."

"S'okay," I said, forgiving him. I managed to use the nearest wall to get myself upright, and moved over the boot.

And then I rubbed it into me, frigging myself on the boot like it was the shower attachment. My breasts jiggled like trifle as I toed myself, pushing the chain, strap and dildo deep into me.

"Have I got it yet?" I asked.

Pete remained silent, seated on the couch. If that's the way he wants it, I thought, so moved my legs as much as I could, to see if I could feel metal.

Nothing.

I couldn't do anything else, so I went back to the boot, tears of frustration beginning to form in my eyes.

"All right," Pete said when he saw how upset I was going to be. "I think you'd better read the note that they gave me."

He held up the first of two post-it notes so I could read it. It was in Amy's handwriting.

Pete, hi from me and Portia.

Don't worry, it's just a game we play. She likes you a lot, she really does, and she can be normal if you want. But I hope that you like her like this, because when she's like this, she shines, and that's just with us. If she can do this with you, she'll be on cloud nine, she'll be the happiest woman in town. Even if you're not keen to take part yourself, at least meet her halfway, please Pete, please.

"I think you know that you can do this with me. There's no halfway about it," he said, before he kissed my nose.

The tears of frustration turned to tears of joy.

"There's more," he said with a smile, holding up the other note for me to read.

Tell her that the key is between her legs, see what she does, see how clever she is. (The key is actually sitting on her bed, when you've had enough fun.) Good luck with everything, Amy xx

"You absolute bastard!" I snarled.

"That's a strange attitude for someone who has no way of protecting herself," he smiled. He didn't move an inch, I felt in no danger, but I got the message.

I shook my head. "You seem really cool about all this, must have been a shock. I'm surprised you didn't leave the minute it got weird."

"No, I'm fine. As long as a Labrador doesn't walk through that door, then I'm not going anywhere."

"Damn. That's the next hour out the window."

"Come on," he laughed, "let's get you upstairs."

He lifted me up like I was a marionette, whatever that is, and carried me upstairs, slowly but surely. It was the first time he'd touched my skin, and his fingers wandered sweetly to the strap between my legs. I drifted off into a fireman fantasy as he carried me.

By adjusting his grip on me, he alternated my tortures, forcing the plug deeper into my bottom, then the dildo into my pussy. Each time he changed, his fingers poked my flesh, pinching my arse and thighs, slapping me when he got the chance. I yelped some mild protests, but didn't want or need him to stop.

Taking directions from my elbow, we entered my room.

On the bed, as promised, was the key. Unfortunately, there were at least eighty other keys, more vibrators and dildos than I'd ever seen in my life, and a trifle with a small sign sticking out of it saying ' Could be in here, love Portia '.

"Blimey," I said. "I'm sure I tidied all this up before I left."

"Looks like you've got a busy evening ahead of you," said Pete, dropping me from a small height onto a duck-down pillow. "But before I do this, and sorry to be graphic, but I've got to remove my trousers before I rupture myself. Always happens when I see a beautiful naked woman tied up on a bed. Have you got a towel?"

"Nope," I purred as I bounced towards the first key. "But I can get you one. Sit yourself down by the trifle, and I'll be with you in a moment."

The End