Helen George sat in the back of the taxi and watched the empty moorland going past, glad that she wasn’t paying for this long ride. Up ahead, she saw the first sign of human habitation she’d seen since leaving the village twenty minutes before. It was a high stone block wall that stretched right across the road ahead, looking very much like the pictures you see of the Great Wall of China in the way it followed the topography both ways off into the distance. She saw a glint of reflected sunlight and realized that it was topped with broken glass and was at least four meters tall. The only break in the wall was an equally tall iron bound oaken gate where the taxi stopped and let her out.
"Sorry, mum, this is as far as I go." The taxi driver said, reaching across to open the door and let her out. "Just ring that bell over there, tell them who you are and they will let you in."
Helen pressed the button as instructed and identified her self to the man’s voice on the intercom. As soon as the gate began opening the taxi drove away, almost as if there were something of which to be afraid.
After she’d entered, the gate had swung itself closed, latching with the sound of heavy bolts clacking home. The sound made Helen shudder a little, even though she wasn’t sure why. There was a long cobblestone drive ahead of her and she began walking, her small suitcase in her hand.
As she walked, she noticed that the grounds were being tended to by several women, supervised by a large, florid faced man, all dressed in what could only be called livery. She couldn’t be sure because of the distance but it seemed to her that one of the women was not wearing any panties under her short skirt. Off to one side she saw some stables and an oval track being tended by several other male supervised young women, also dressed in short skirted livery. She wondered if all of these women were being paid as handsomely as she. Over near the stables she saw a four armed horse exerciser pulling a couple of mares around in a circle.
Topping a low rise, Helen looked down at the huge old manner house and wondered if taking this job was such a good idea. She needed the money, sure enough but everything about this place made her want to run far, far away.
She stopped walking, set down her small suitcase and took a good long look at the old mansion. It was built like the wall, a limestone block fortress, standing alone in the middle of a hundred acres of lush rolling parkland.
Making her way around back to the servant’s entrance, Helen rang the bell and awaited admittance. After several seconds the door opened to reveal a heavyset middle-aged woman, wearing an ankle length dress and apron. "You must be the new girl." The woman said, stepping out of the way to admit Helen. "I’m Mary, the cook." She said, taking Helen’s suitcase and leading the way into the huge old kitchen. "Old Tom, the butler, will be coming in a few minutes to talk to you but before he gets here, let’s get you settled in, shall we?"
Helen followed the woman up a narrow set of stairs to the third floor servant’s quarters and into a small but well-appointed room with a dormer window that looked out across the huge expanse of well-groomed lawn. There was a sink, a bed, a small table with chair and a dresser. "The loo is down the hall on your right and if this bell rings it means you are wanted in the Master’s suite."
From the doorway there came the sound of an older man’s voice. "Thank you Mary, I’ll take it from here." A dignified looking man said, stepping into the room. "I think the Master wants his tea."
Mary left in a hurry, leaving the two of them alone in her chamber. He took the chair and indicated that she should stand before him. "How old are you my dear?" He asked, after giving her a long appraising look that started at her feet and swept up her body until he was looking her in the eyes.
Helen felt like a cow at the market. She blushed and mumbled, "Twenty-two sir." She was regretting that she’d worn such a revealing outfit, consisting of a tight cashmere sweater and mini skirt over pantyhose and high-heeled pumps but there was nothing she could do about it at that point. When you need the job as much as she did you try to show off your best assets. Hers were her long legs and youthful figure.
"And you have worked as a domestic since you were how old?"
"Since I finished school at age 17 sir." She said, shifting her weight, aware that her nipples were pushing out against her bra and thin sweater. She didn’t understand why she was feeling so exposed under the old man’s unblinking stare but she was feeling as if she’d been stripped bare naked and put on display.
"You’ve never been married, I understand?"
"But you are not a virgin?"
"Any boy friends?"
"Nothing serious sir, not at the present." She mumbled, wondering where this was leading.
"Your former employer said that you left him because you were dissatisfied with your pay, is that right?"
"I have a grandmother who needs nursing care, sir. It costs several thousand a month to keep her in that place."
"And there are no other relatives who can provide for her?"
"No sir, after the epidemic we two are all that is left of our family."
"Well then, I think you have made a wise choice coming to Chesterfield. His lordship is a very generous man who pays his staff much more than most employers. Of course you understand that with the higher pay comes increased responsibilities. Your duties will be to serve his needs above stairs and help cook in the kitchen whenever she requires."
"Yes sir. That is what the agent told me before he sent me out here."
"Did he explain about the ‘special’ duties?"
Helen blushed and said, "Yes sir. He said that his lordship sometimes required sexual favors in return for the high pay."
"And you do not mind prostituting yourself in that way?"
"Sir, I am a domestic. I have grown used to the requirements of powerful men." She said, blushing. "At least here I will be paid for my services."
"Good, just so you are prepared for what is going to happen." He said, getting to his feet and walking to the door. "You will find your uniforms in that closet. Please get dressed and report to the kitchen. I believe Mary has something for you to do."
"By the way." He said, sticking his head back into the room. "The Master requires that you wear only his livery while you work here. You may pack up your personal clothing and give it to the footman for safe keeping."
After he’d gone Helen went to the closet and looked at the uniforms provided. They were all plain looking mid thigh length dresses of the same color and fabric of the dresses the girls outside had been wearing. Well at least I won’t have to wear one of those silly French maid get ups. She thought, taking one out and checking the size. It did not surprise her to find that the skimpy dress would fit her perfectly. The employment agent had asked for her measurements when he’d interviewed her the previous week. In the bottom of the closet she found a couple pairs of high top zippered boots that would fit her feet just fine. She noted that the heels were somewhat higher than what she was used to, not very practical for a serving girl but useful for displaying the female form.
When she checked the dresser she saw that someone had neglected to stock any underwear. Hoping that they meant her to wear her own, she transferred hers from her bag into the drawer along with her hairbrushes and makeup kit. Then, stripping down to her pantyhose and bra, she freshened up a little at the sink and got dressed in her new Master’s livery.
A few minutes later she was entering the kitchen. Mary looked up from the bread she was kneading and said, "Take over here dear, I need to see to the pudding."
Helen went to work, wondering when she was going to meet her new employer. She knew only that he was in his mid thirties, unmarried and one of the richest men in the county.
After a couple of minutes the cook straightened up from the oven and said, "The Master is going to like you I think. He prefers tall blondes with good bodies and you certainly fit that description. Have you ever experienced sexual slavery before?"
"Sexual what?" Helen asked, feeling the floor seem to tilt beneath her feet.
"Slavery my dear." Grinned the older woman. "You know, restraint and possession?"
"I’ve never needed restraint. I’ve always been willing." Helen said, wondering why her tummy was doing sudden flip-flops. "Why would a man want to do something like that?"
"Because he can." Was the cook’s ginning response. "Because he is paying you for it."
"And if I don’t want to be treated that way?" Helen asked, aware that her panties were suddenly getting wet.
"That will make it all the sweeter for him." Mary laughed, reaching out to touch Helen’s suddenly erect nipple where it was poking out through her thin dress. "And possibly sweeter for you as well my dear."
"Wha . . . What do you mean?" Helen felt as if the world were spinning out of control.
"Most women find intense pleasure in being properly subjugated, dear, didn’t you ever fantasize about being the captive princess, the sex slave in the sultan’s harem, the human loot captured by the Mongol lord?"
In fact, such scenes were common in Helen’s private fantasies but that was fantasy. This woman was talking the real thing. "No, I never!" She lied, wondering if there was a way to escape this madhouse before it was too late.
"From the way you are looking at that door I’d guess you are wondering if escape is still possible." The older woman said, chuckling. "Well, I suppose it is . . . if you know how to fly. You signed a two-year employment contract that spells all this out in explicit detail. Didn’t you read it?"
Helen remembered the contract the agent had giver her. She’d read the part about her compensation and how she’d get a huge bonus at the time of signing and had skipped over the next fourteen pages to sign on the line.
"The Master believes in getting his money’s worth. That wall out there is not something you will get over that easily. And his lordship takes great delight in punishing what he calls "the rabbit impulse."
"But . . . But . . . Why?"
"Call it human nature." Chuckled the older woman. Men seem to enjoy being completely in charge. And to tell you the God’s truth, women seem to enjoy being subjugated as well. I think it is racial memory that goes all the way back to the early cave men."
"Well I don’t!" Helen said with feeling, trying to cover her sudden whole body flush. "I thought when they said part of my duties would be occasional sexual service it would be normal sex, not this, this . . . perversion."
"Sexual slavery is the norm here, missy." Said the older woman, lifting her skirts and turning around to reveal a broad, bare, welt covered ass. "And you will soon learn to enjoy it if you have the sense God gave a gopher."
"You find pleasure in being hurt like this?" Helen asked, resisting the urge to reach out and touch the woman’s welt covered bottom.
"Pleasure beyond your wildest dreams missy." Said the cook, dropping her skirts and turning around to face Helen again. "And I bet you will as well. Most girls do, before too long."
"No wonder he pays so much more than the others."
"The pay is not what is important dear. You will soon discover that."
High on the kitchen wall a bell began to jingle and Helen looked to see it was labeled Drawing Room. Mary glanced up at it and chuckled, "There you go missy, he’s ready to see you. It’s at the top of the stairs on your right."
Helen went up the stairs feeling as if she were mounting the gallows. When she knocked at the door to the drawing room she heard a muffled "Come in" and she entered. There were two well-dressed men in the room. The younger one was dark haired and quite handsome. The other looked as if Vikings might have figured in his lineage at some point or other. The blond spoke first. "Your name is Helen George, I understand?"
"Yes sir." Helen said, bobbing a curtsey.
"I am Lord Chesterfield, and this is my nephew and heir Robert Ghostly.
Helen bobbed a second curtsey, saying. "It will be a pleasure serving you sirs."
"You will call me Master from now on Helen." Chesterfield said, a strange look twisting his face into what he probably thought was a smile. "Robert you will address as Master Robert. Do you understand?"
"Yes Master." Helen said, bobbing another curtsey.
"Good. Now unbutton your dress and open it. I want to see that I am getting my money’s worth."
"Master?" Helen said, blushing.
"I think my orders were clear Helen." He said exchanging a look with his nephew.
"But sir, right in front of Master Robert?"
"You will learn to obey, Helen, and quickly if you would avoid the consequences." Chesterfield said, stepping closer to the suddenly trembling girl.
Helen blushed pink and began opening the buttons that ran down the front of her short shift.
When she reached the bottom one he said, "Drop it on the floor behind you and pose for us, with your hands clasped on top of your head and your feet spread to about fifty centimeters.
Helen, blushing harder now, obeyed, standing before them in only her pantyhose and bra.
"Very nice." Whispered the younger man, stepping around behind the trembling girl to where he could unhook her bra strap. "Very nice indeed."
When her bra was gone Chesterfield reached out and touched Helen’s right breast, feeling her weighty fullness, her suddenly rock hard nipple.
Behind her Robert began pulling down and removing her pantyhose and boots, exposing her completely to their lusty gaze. "While you are here there will be no need for you to wear underwear. Do you understand?" He said, his breath hot in her ear, his hands exploring the secret, suddenly damp places between her thighs. "Also, you will be expected to keep your pubes shaved at all times. You will be punished if we ever encounter the slightest stubble."
Helen tried to remain still but the hands on and inside her body were skilled and knowing. Soon she was panting, the passion sweat running down her big breasts and flat belly in rivulets, her sex beginning to cream with readiness for the fucking she assumed was coming.
Chesterfield moved his hands up to her shoulders and pressed downwards, forcing her to her knees between them. "Do you suck men’s organs my dear?" He asked, opening his fly.
"Yes Master." She said, a tremble in her voice. "If that is what my Master requires."
Behind her Robert was removing his clothing and tossing it over the back of an overstuffed chair.
She was licking her Master’s big glands penis, her hands still on top of her head when Robert began forcing her legs wider by sliding his head between her knees from behind. He was mother naked now and sporting a huge erection that was at least as big as the one in her wet dreams.
Chesterfield took a grip on her interlocked fingers and hair as he drove himself deep into her throat. At the same instant Robert gripped her hips and drew her sex down onto his open mouth so as to inflate her cream covered vulva with his hot breath, his long and limber tongue delving up high inside her to stimulate her G spot, his roman nose pinning her clitoris tight to her hip bone.
Helen struggled to escape the two men but they had her at their mercy. Before long her struggles became something different. No longer was she trying to escape, so much as she was trying to cope with the pleasures that were rising within her like flood waters behind a dam.
After a while she felt herself being lifted from off of the younger man’s face and carried back to his hot and dripping organ. She cried out, muffled by the cock in her throat as the younger man’s big organ stretched her sheath, bringing a doubling of her passion and a galaxy of pinpoint stars in her vision.
It was then that Mary came into the room, armed with a wicked little riding crop and some thick leather straps. While the two men continued to fuck her from both ends at once, the woman began to restrain her, starting with thick leather cuffs buckled around her ankles, connected by a short strap that crossed over the tops of her thighs so that she could no longer straighten her legs. Next came a second pair of leather restraints that buckled around her wrists and were attached together by a padlock. The final restraint was a dog collar that also locked. Only then did Chesterfield release his hold on her interlocked fingers so that Mary could take her hands down and attach them to the back of her collar.
Then, stepping back, Mary began using the crop to welt Helen’s bouncing bottom with a dozen hard, well-aimed blows, each one setting her bouncing ass on fire.
She started coming then, her first ever orgasm. It went on and on and on.
"Hurry up with that silver, Helen, The Master is going to be ringing for his tea any minute now." Mary said, rolling out the top crust of the pork pie she was preparing for supper.
"Yes mam I’m hurrying." Helen said, shining the teapot with more effort. "When he does ring, may I please take it up to him?"
"Oh my, how quickly you have learned." Chuckled the older woman, cutting vent holes in the pie. "You’d think you’d been here six months instead of just two weeks."
"Well you said I’d learn to enjoy it." Helen said, blushing.
"That I did missy, that I did." Mary said, chuckling again. "But most girls are a little harder to tame than you were. I remember one girl even managed to get herself over the wall a couple of times before the Masters learned to keep the gardener’s tool shed locked up. Not that it did her the slightest good. Once outside the wall she still had twenty kilometers of open moors to cross before she reached town. A girl on foot has little chance against mounted men and a pack of dogs."
"What did they do to her for running away like that." Helen asked, feeling the chair beneath her bottom getting wet once again.
"A session on the Iron Horse the first time. The second time was not so much fun."
"The Iron Horse? What is that?"
"Never you mind girl. Lets just say it’s a ride you never forget." The older woman chuckled, a far away look in her eyes, a touch of new color in her cheeks.
"Now you’ve got me all curious." Helen said, finishing off the last piece of sterling just as the drawing room bell began to jingle.
"Well you’ll probably learn soon enough." Chuckled the cook. "But right now you’d better get that tea upstairs, before they get impatient."
Helen worked quickly, preparing the tray and carrying it up the servant’s stairs to the drawing room where the two Masters were waiting.
"Ah, there you are." Said Lord Chesterfield from his overstuffed chair by the fire. "I was just telling Master Robert here how well you did the other night when the Bishop came visiting."
"Bishop Farley is an old friend of my family, Master." Helen said, blushing at the memory of the last time the old Bishop visited her parents’ home, back before the epidemic took her family.
The old man had been much too attentive to the young girl, pretending to be interested in her progress in the fifth form and taking every opportunity he could manage to touch her in one way or another. Then one night, while she’d been visiting the loo, the old pervert had snuck into her room and slipped into her bed, dressed in nothing but his clerical collar and a big devilish grin.
She’d come back from the WC half asleep and, in the dark, hadn’t discovered the old man until she’d crawled back into her bed and he’d gotten his hand over her mouth to stifle her screams.
That was the night she’d lost her virginity, and every last shred of her innocence.
Sometime before dawn he’d slipped out of her room and back to his own. The next day he’d departed, leaving Helen to explain how her nightdress had gotten ripped from hem to collar.
Her Mother had known from the beginning what had happened but had said nothing to her father, preferring to deal with the shame the same way she’d dealt with it when the old pervert had done the same thing to her, seventeen years previously.
"Please Master, may I ask a question?" Helen said, her heart pounding.
"Go ahead." Said Chesterfield, sipping his tea.
"Cook mentioned something called the Iron Horse. She said it was a device for training girls not to try and run."
Chesterfield was suddenly sitting up and paying close attention. Smiling, he said, "Yes, go ahead."
"Well, since I have no intention of running away, I was wondering if . . ."
There was a smile spreading like an oil stain on the waters of her Master’s face. Behind her, Master Robert was snorting with suppressed laughter.
"What is it you are asking my dear? Would you like a ride on our little contraption?"
"I, I think so Master. Cook says it’s quite a ride."
"Well she would know." Master Robert said, chuckling. "She rides it often enough."
"Yes Helen you may take a ride on our little invention." Said Chesterfield, setting his teacup aside and pulling a pair of leather wrist restraints out of a nearby drawer. "Come here, I want to secure your wrists."
Helen obeyed, her tummy doing back-flips as she felt the cuffs tighten around her wrists. Already she could feel her labia swelling, her vulva secreting its passion juices in preparation for whatever might come its way.
"Will you look at the way the girl’s nipples have perked up?" Whispered Robert, almost reverently. "You’d think she was about to consummate her marriage."
"The Iron Horse is kept down in the vault my dear." Chesterfield said, taking her elbow and guiding her toward the paneling beside the fireplace. "We find the screaming disturbs the other servants too much otherwise."
"Besides," Robert said, "Knowing that your screams will not be heard have a salutary effect on you, my dear."
Pressing a hidden latch a section of the dark paneling swung open, revealing a long set of stone steps leading down into the darkness. Flipping on a light, Chesterfield helped her down the steps, his grip on her elbow somehow reassuring and threatening at the same time. As they descended the steps Helen realized that they were going deep into the earth below the mansion, more than twice as deep as the kitchen and service level she’d thought of as the basement.
At the bottom of the steps was a thick oaken door that whooshed as it opened, signifying some kind of airtight seal. Three steps further was a second heavy, soundproof door and beyond that an underground room, lit only by some high, bared, frosted glass, triple pane windows.
"This place is quite soundproof, so you may scream all you want." Her Master said, watching her face as she took in the underground room’s furnishings. Against one wall she saw a selection of bondage toys and equipment hanging on wooden pegs. On the opposite wall were several sets of fixed rings and hanging restraints. Standing alone in the center of the large, too quiet vault was a tubular contraption mounted with a large motorized upright dildo. At its base were a widely set pair of ankle shackles and about sixty cm in front of the dildo was a collar and wrist restraint ensemble that would keep a prisoner bent over and very helpless indeed.
"This is the Iron Horse, my dear." Said Chesterfield, pushing her over towards the contraption. "The motor not only turns the dildo, it strokes it in and out, vibrates it and inflates it at the same time. These things are for your lovely breasts, they are adapted from a cow milking machine and I am told they add much to the experience. As you ride the horse we will be entertaining you with various tricks and techniques that seem to further enhance the situation. Any questions?"
"Yes Master, I have one if I may?"
"Will I survive?"
Chesterfield chuckled and said, "No one has died yet. Several have prayed for death, mind you, but so far no one’s escaped us in that way."
Master Robert began unbuttoning Helen’s shift, taking his time and enjoying each part of her suddenly sweaty body as it came into view. When her dress was bunched down around her still shackled wrists the two men lifted her between them, spread her legs and carefully lowered her onto the greasy rubber dong, giving her vulva the necessary time to accommodate the large, cat’s tongue surfaced intruder. Soon the shackles were locked around her ankles, trapping her there, supported only by the dildo and its small base. Carefully forcing the helpless girl to bend over, they secured her throat in the iron collar, then released her wrists from behind her back to lock them in the cuffs provided for them.
Helen was fixed to the horse, her creaming vulva stretched nearly to ripping, her weight riding on her tip toes, cervix, clit, wrists and throat. She could do nothing to stop Chesterfield from forcing a large ring gag in behind her teeth and securing it with a length of surgical tubing tied behind her neck.
When the milkers first began sucking on her nipples, Helen thought they might be trying to suck them right off of her tits. Then Chesterfield turned on the dildo motor and she stopped worrying about such trivial matters.
The two men took turns fucking her face, cropping her bottom, fucking her up the bum, paddling her up-thrust ass, doing all the things men do when they can get away with it. The Iron Horse never got tired, never stopped stimulating her, never gave her a moment’s rest for the remainder of that day and far into the night.
She was almost sorry when they let her down and turned her over to the cook for care, sympathy and one last little orgasm in the older woman’s bed.
Life was grand.
Helen ran across the empty moors. Behind her she could hear the dogs baying, the Bishop’s men calling back and forth to each other. She knew that running away would probably cost her much suffering but run she did, as fast and as far as she could go.
Hindered by her high-heeled boots, Helen stumbled and fell, bruising her shoulder, tearing her dress and skinning her right knee. She wasted no time getting back on her feet and stumbling onward. The safety of the town was probably just over the next hill and she was beginning to believe she might make it.
Just then three mounted men appeared at the top of the hill in front of her, dashing her last hope of escape. She turned to the side, hoping to find a way around them but they quickly rode her down and used a weighted net to bring her foolishness to an abrupt and quite painful end.
As they were untangling her from the netting, Helen felt a pair of handcuffs being ratcheted closed on her wrists. Old Tom, the butler, the leader of the three, said, "You are in for it now my girl. Did you think he’d simply let you go?" Then, dragging her over between two of the horses, they used a dog collar to attach her throat to a two-meter pole attached between the mounts so that she would be forced to go wherever the horses went. Once she was fixed to the pole they opened one of her cuffs, stripped her completely naked, including her boots then re-attached her hands behind her back. The walk home was to be a painful one, as a lesson.
The first few months of her employment at Chesterfield had been like a long fevered dream of sexual fulfillment and orgasmic bliss. Then one day her beloved Master and his lusty young heir had failed to come home from a business trip to South America. After a week of wondering, Bishop Farley showed up with the news that Chesterfield and all its assets had been sold to raise money for the Master’s defense on drug smuggling charges brought by the government of Peru. Worse, the buyer was none other than the Bishop himself.
The horny old man of God had been a frequent visitor to Chesterfield ever since Helen had hired on. She hadn’t liked him much but had learned to survive his attentions for the sake of her Master.
But now the evil Bishop was her Master. Where before she had the protection of his lordship, now she had no such protection. The difference was not just in the degree of her sexual immolation but in the intent of her tormentor. Where Chesterfield and his heir had enjoyed taking her deep into sub space and forcing her to drink from her own nearly bottomless reservoir of passion, the Bishop seemed intent in exploring his idea of sexual Hell. Where a session with the old Masters would leave her smiling in satisfaction for a job well done, slaked of all sexual tension and completely exhausted, a session with the Bishop would leave her so sore she could barely move, so shamed she could barely function, so sexually frustrated she could almost scream.
Tethered between the two horses, naked and stumbling across the rough moorland, Helen was being taken back to face the Bishop. She had no doubt that he would punish her worse than ever before. She wondered if she would survive. She wondered if survival was even a good idea.
But she was being forced to try and run. The old pervert had been getting worse by the day. And it was every day now, not the one or two times a fortnight it had been with his Lordship. Given time to heal between sessions, Helen hadn’t minded the whip marks and welts. In fact she’d learned to love the way her Masters could take her into that passionate land of submission and pain-filled pleasure.
But there was no pleasure with the Bishop these days. There was only the pain, humiliation, debasement, and suffering.
The reason she was getting so much attention was because her new master had sold the rest of the female staff off to a bunch of swarthy white slavers he’d brought in about two weeks after he’d taken over. Now, instead of being one of a dozen sex slaves on the place, she was the only one. She didn’t know if she could stand it much longer but her grandmother needed the money she thought she was earning. And besides, the wall around the estate was formidable.
Then one day, as he was flogging her around the pony track, hitched to a heavy harrow rake, he told her the news that he had stopped payment of her salary to the nursing home. The old woman would soon be evicted if Helen didn’t find some way to earn enough to pay the old woman’s bills.
So, early the next morning, after Bishop Farley had finished with her and sent her back to her chamber, she’d slipped out of the house and down to the stables where she’d spotted a length of rope used for training horses and pony girls. Tying an oaken single tree to the end of the rope, she’d run down to the gate, tossed the weight over the top, hooked it on two of the iron spikes that topped the timbers, then scrambled up and over.
That left only the twenty kilometers of empty moorland between her and safety, just about one kilometer too far as it turned out.
Forced to run between the two horses, Helen covered the distance back to Chesterfield in far less time than she’d taken coming out. When they reached the big gate once again she was only half aware of anything outside of her sore feet and exhausted body.
When the gate opened she saw Bishop Farley, standing there, waiting for her, his favorite riding crop in his hand. "Ah the sinner returns to the scene of her crime." He said, slapping the crop against his boot. "Take her down to the vault, I’ll see to her punishment when I get time."
Helen, so exhausted that she could barely stand, tried to spit at the "Man Of God" but found her mouth too dry. She was half dragged down to the deep soundproof sub-basement of the house and manhandled onto the top of a low table. Once her knees were roped to the sides of the tabletop and her ankles tied together beneath it so that her toes could no longer touch the floor, her wrist shackles were pulled up behind her and hooked to a dangling chain so that she was left, hanging bent, spread and exposed, her naked body presented to whatever her captors might care to do to her.
Chuckling, the two grooms began to play with her naked body, caressing her open, quivering inner thighs, her swelling, dripping labia, tickling her tight anus, slapping her welt marked ass, tickling her ribs, doing anything and everything they could think of to force her to know her own helplessness.
When the Bishop walked in old Tom was just about to place a ring gag into Helen’s mouth, intending to open her throat as a third sexual orifice, her ass and pussy having been reserved for her new Master. "Leave that, I will be hearing her confession before this night is over." Said the old priest, walking around behind Helen and inspecting her naked sex. "We wouldn’t want her words to be garbled at a time like that, now would we?"
Helen twisted her neck to look back at her tormentor. "Please?" She said, not exactly sure what she wanted him to do.
"Oh yes my dear, you please me just fine." The perverted priest said, his fingers finding and roughly caressing Helen’s clitoris in order to bring it up into full readiness for the whip.
Then, turning to the butler and his men, he said, "Leave her to me, I will cure her of running away."
The grooms filed out, followed by the butler, leaving Bishop Farley alone with his intended victim. "Repeat after me, Helen my dear." He said, taking position behind her. "I am the property of my Master. Running away is stealing. It is a sin to steal and I will be punished for my sins."
Helen began, "I am the Prop . . ." but cut off as the whip cut a line of fire across her bent bottom. After a moment of shocked silence, just when she started again to recite, the whip came a second time, this time cutting across her swollen labia, making speech simply impossible.
And so it went, all afternoon and into the night. Helen was perfectly positioned for everything the Bishop might care to do to her and there was nothing she could do to stop him.
Finally the old pervert exhausted himself and left, leaving Helen hanging above the tabletop, her body marked with welts and dripping with his come.
She hung there, hurting, completely defeated, awaiting whatever might happen next, shorn of will, ambition, and desire. She was a thing, an object, a receiver of lust, a vessel for semen, a target.
And then the cell door opened and Master Robert walked in, carrying his favorite whip. "Hello Helen, how’s my favorite chambermaid?"
"Master Robert!" Helen sobbed in relief, twisting her neck to look up at him. "You are home!"
"Alas Chesterfield is no longer our home." Said Robert, as he caressed the hanging woman’s burning, welt covered body. "We had to buy our way out of that Peruvian jail and that cost Uncle nearly everything he had. We are here tonight as the Bishop’s guest. He’s invited us to stay here a while in thanks for the many times we entertained him."
"Oh Master, I don’t know if I can stand being Bishop Farley’s sex slave. He isn’t like you and your uncle."
"Shush Helen." He said, covering her mouth with his hand and whispering into her ear. "We’ll see if we can get you out of here somehow but you will have to bear with us for a while until we make the arraignments."
And then, aware of the three video cameras in the cell, Master Robert began using his skill with helpless female flesh to make Helen forget her troubles and rejoice in her pain.
Hope kept Helen sane for the next month, that and the fact that the good Bishop was several times called away by the duties of his office. Chesterfield, her former lord and Master, now lived in his nephew’s flat in London but the two of them managed to visit her on a regular basis, keeping her from getting horny and at the same time keeping her apprised of their efforts to buy her back from her new Master.
The problem was the Bishop simply did not want to sell. He had become quite enamored with his sex slave and simply would not name a price for her. Chesterfield even offered the Bishop his last really valuable asset, his title. But it was to no avail. Bishop Farley did not mind sharing his slave but had no intention of giving her up.
So, the two men decided to steal her.
The first Helen knew of this plot was when the three of them concluded a pleasant afternoon of iron horse games by returning her dress and locking her into the cage that had become her home after her attempt at running.
"The Bishop should be home from the conclave in North America tonight. We expect he’s going to try and make up for lost time with you. Master Robert said, standing outside the bars. While you are keeping him busy we are planning a little surprise for him." Behind him was a new piece of bondage furniture, something the Bishop had ordered from London. It consisted of a leather covered bolster designed to hold its victim bent over in perfect position for caning and then fucking.
Helen looked at her young Master and said, "Please Master Robert, I need to get out of here so I can take care of my grandmother."
"Tonight should be the night, Helen." Said Lord Chesterfield, walking back into the vault. I just got word that Farley is at Heathrow and will be home in about three hours."
"What is your plan Master?" Helen asked, trembling at the thought of another torture session with the Bishop."
"Its better if you remain innocent my dear." Chesterfield said, coming over to the bars and touching her hand. "Just hang in here and trust us to make everything right again."
Helen tried to get some much needed rest but the thought of the Bishop coming home tonight kept her tossing and turning on the cell’s narrow bunk. Finally, about an hour before the old man was expected she dropped off into a troubled, nightmare filled sleep.
And then suddenly he was there, opening the cell door and coming toward her with that feral, predatory look in his eyes that Helen had learned to fear. In his left hand was a set of leather restraining cuffs. "Strip off your dress, my dear, and put these on your wrists and ankles." He said, standing over her.
Having no choice, Helen complied.
"Good, now come out and stand next to the caning horse where we can make up for our neglect of you."
Again Helen obeyed, walking out of the cell and going to stand facing the punishment horse.
"Now turn around and spread your legs." Farley said kneeling down so he could attach her ankle cuffs to a widely spread set of tie-down rings at the corners of the punishment horse’s platform.
"But Master," Helen said, "this way I will be bent over backwards."
"Yes my dear, that is what I intend." He said, walking around behind her to pull her back over the padded horse and stretch her wrists down to two more widely spread restraint rings. Helen was left balanced spread eagle over the horse, her sex displayed for the old pervert.
"Ah yes, that’s the ticket." He said, picking up a nasty little whip that Helen had learned to fear beyond all others.
An hour later Helen’s body was on fire. Her sex was a swollen crimson target, dripping with her passion juice and hanging open like an empty coat sleeve. Her breasts were welt covered and nearly as crimson as her pubes. To keep her from biting him as he fucked her tonsils he’d ring gagged her. Stuffed up her bum was an inflatable butt plug that was holding in a two liter hot sauce enema.
It was just them that Lord Chesterfield and his nephew came walking into the vault, carrying a tray of glasses and a bottle of aged single malt. "We thought you’d like a little break after your exertions." Said Chesterfield, pouring out the whiskey.
"That sounds like a wonderful idea." said the Bishop, putting his now limp organ back into his pants.
Helen, only half aware of events at this point thought she saw Chesterfield drop something into the Bishop’s glass. The old pervert took the whiskey and tossed it off, as if it were soda pop. Two minutes later he was out cold on the vault floor and Helen was being released from the horse to run into her cell and empty her stretched bowels.
It took most of the night to persuade him but in the end Bishop Farley signed away his ownership of Chesterfield for the sum of one pound sterling and the collection of video recordings of his sessions with Helen. In the end it was the sight of Helen standing over his helpless, naked, spread eagled body with the enema hose that convinced him to take the deal.