She checked her appearance in the mirror. It was always essential to make a strong, dominating yet erotic statement for a session with a new slave.
Her 36-inch breasts were cupped into brilliant mounds by the extremely expensive red leather, open-fronted bustiere. She carefully applied fire-engine red lipstick to her nipples, an added touch she thought complimented the lustrous red leather.
She checked that her mons and pussy lips looked sufficiently alluring, as she was wearing no panties. On her feet, calves and half-way up her thighs were her shiny red PVC boots, which added to her demeanour of hauteur.
The bare-breasted, uncovered pussy look was completed by tight-fitting red leather gloves, as tight as golf gloves, and brand new. She made a point of wearing new gloves for any session with a slave.
Jill Stanton pirouetted, looking at her lush, round buttocks in the full-length mirror. At 40 she was proud of her superbly-sculpted figure – a figure she knew would have any slave gasping and panting.
With a final stroke of the brush over her short-cropped blonde hair and a quick lick of the lips with her tongue to make them glisten, she walked from her dressing room into the adjoining chamber where she knew her two young assistants, Mistress Ming, the Asian-Philippino 20-year-old, and Mistress Yvette, the 19-year-old black French beauty, would have the slave prepared.
She was not wrong. Suspended in the centre of the torture chamber was a magnificent example of manhood. “Ah,” she said, in a voice expressing supreme satisfaction, “I see you have our new slave just the way we like them – hard and raring to go.”
Jill Stanton walked in front of the bound man and inspected him and his position. His wrists were strapped into tight cuffs, which in turn were suspended by cords to ring bolts set about a yard apart on the ceiling. His ankles were in similar cuffs and his feet pulled wide by cords which went to ring bolts on the highly polished wooden floor.
Then she inspected her toy for the day. He was tall, raven-black hair came untrendily to his shoulders, but was, she noticed, gleaming with health and smelled of some expensive shampoo. Good, she loved a clean head of hair on a slave.
His eyes were dark pools of brown, which flashed with anger and also anticipation, as if he was aware that terrible things could – and probably would - happen to him. His eyebrows were as black as his hair. He was handsome in a rugged way.
But it was the rest of his body which started the sex juices flowing in Jill Stanton's groin. The man was obviously extremely fit, his muscles straining and proud, but not the grotesque over-enhancement favoured by body builders.
And his crotch area was his crowning glory. His scrotum was totally shaved and dark-brown, his testicles bunched tightly in their sac. His penis was similarly devoid of pubic hair – in fact the only trace of such hair was across his pubic bone, a dark little strip. And then the epitome of his crotch area was his cock.
Jill Stanton placed one cool leather glove on his shaft and stroked it. “Very impressive,” she murmured. “What do you think, my darlings? Eight inches?”
The Asiatic girl, dark-haired and clad in knee-high leather boots, leather hot pants and a leather bolero jacket which exposed her small breasts when she moved, smiled: “At least, madam. Yvette and I have already nicknamed him 'Horse'.”
Her partner, the French girl, who was identically garbed, added her view: “Eee iz a 'unk, madam, but zen you always enjoy new slaves when zey are 'unks, non?”
“Oui, Yvette,” laughed Jill Stanton. “And tell me 'Horse', what is your real name, how old are you and – most importantly you divine new slave, you, how long is this magnificent piece of meat?”
The bound slave glared at her interrogator, then mumbled: “My name's Rod, I'm 38 and, if it's anything to do you with you, my cock is just over eight inches long when it's fully aroused.”
And Jill Stanton smiled a knowing smile. She knew very well this marvellous trophy hanging before her was “fully aroused” and put some of it down to Ming and Yvette's manipulations, but also to the superb display of her bare breasts.
Most slaves, she knew from years of experience, were basically big mummy's boys. What they really craved, apart from a little bit of pain, was to bury their faces – or their cocks – in mistress's big boobs!
“Rod – short for Rodney?” she inquired, still stroking his circumcised erection.
“Short for Roderick,” he mumbled.
“Well, Roderick,” snapped Jill Stanton, now sounding impatient now and eager to get on with her work, “for your impertinence in answering my question about the length of your cock, I'm going to torture it.”
And with that, she stepped away and seated herself on a large easy chair – almost like a throne – and snapped her leather-gloved fingers to her two assistants. “Get him patched up!”
The two erotically-clad girls sprang to work. To his testicles, they attached little leather pads, by means of band aids, then – half-way up his turgid shaft – they placed another pad. Attached to the pads were lengths of cable which went to a control box sitting on a high table alongside Jill Stanton's chair.
She saw a look of fear and desperation cross the slave's face and smiled. She loved it when they looked like that!
“Fine, I see that's got your attention, Rod,” she laughed. “Now I'll explain what's going to happen.”
She pointed to the control box, with its central black toggle. “This toggle can be directed to five places on this box. When it is pushed into place, it opens an electrical circuit which will give you a shock.”
Jill Stanton saw a look of terror flood her victim's face.
“Oh, nothing too severe,” she hastened to inform him. “It's the mildest little twinge, but it will certainly get your attention.”
And as she informed him of this, Jill Stanton was delighted to see that despite his impending predicament, the naked slave's cock was still rock-hard.
“Now you're curious, I suspect, about the five positions to which I can push the toggle. Position 1, is for the left testicle. Position 2, for the right. Follow me so far, Rod?” she asked.
“Yes,” he muttered, sullenly, testing his bonds and no doubt, thought Jill Stanton, realising that escape was a futile hope – the lovely mistresses had done their job too well for that.
“Position 3,” she Jill Santon, drawing out her slave's agony, “is for both testicles. Position 4, is for the shaft of your cock. And position 5 – ah, that's the Big Brute. That's for both balls and cock all at the same time. That'll be fun for you, won't it?”
“You're fucking insane,” the slave almost screamed. “You can't fucking do this, you bitch!”
Jill Stanton laughed. “Oh, I can't, can't I?” she grinned, and pushed the toggle into position 1.
The effect was immediate. The slave's body went stiff – or those parts of his body that weren't stiff already did. His figure arched and bucked in his bonds and he let out a yelped “Aaargh” as the current flicked through his left testicle, albeit briefly.
“I can and I will,” Jill Stanton informed him, “and I do it because I enjoy it. So you'd better get used to it my dear young slave.”
The naked male slumped in his bonds. But Jill Stanton had not finished her verbal teasing of her soon-to-be-tormented slave.
“Now, just so that you can feel you're helping me play this lovely little game, my dear Rod, I'm going to get you to help me. That'll be fun, won't it?”
The slave glowered at her, then, seeing her finger hover over the toggle, he nodded: “Yes, it'll be fun.”
“Great, you see how much more exciting it is when you play along with my little foibles, slave?” laughed Jill Stanton. “Now, this is how we work it. You get to select which position I push – and be inventive, darling. Not just 1, then 2, then 3 and so on. Move 'em around a bit, OK?”
Again a sullen nod from her victim.
“Lovely, then I'm ready to start the game. Give me a position – come on, slave, shout it out, I'm waiting!” the lush-breasted domina ordered her plaything.
“Two,” cried the man, no doubt thinking he'd already suffered the first position.
Jill Stanton flicked the toggle and the little jolt drew another “Aaargh” from the lovely victim's mouth.
The dominatrix looked at him keenly, then decided it was time to move on. “Next!” she called, imperiously.
This time Rod called “Four” and as the current coursed through the nude's pulsating prick his entire body juddered and shuddered and again the by-now-familiar cry of “Aaargh” escaped his lips.
And so it went on for several minutes, as the slave obediently called out random numbers and Jill Stanton followed his calls, inflicting almost constant tweaks of pain through his cock and balls.
But, finally, it was all too much and the slave, still twitching and shuddering from a triple dose of current through both his balls and cock, shrieked: “Enough! Fucking enough! I can't stand any more, you fucking maniac. Stop it! Stop it!”
Jill Stanton smiled a wicked, ice-cold smile and stood from her chair and walked to the panting, sweat-covered slave.
“All right, you pathetic excuse for a man,” she said, calmly, ominously calmly. “Now I'll hand you over to my most efficient young assistants.
“They'll work you over with their little whips. You are feel free to call out for mercy and then I'll continue to amuse myself with my little cock and ball torture game. “Only don't call for that mercy too soon, you feeble little prick, because I simply adore watching Ming and Yvette work a new slave over.”
As she was informing the slave of this devilish development, Jill Stanton watched while the young part-Chinese, part-Philippino and her black French accomplice selected their weapons from a table arrayed with all sorts of whips, floggers and paddles.
The minx-like Ming picked up a leather-handled crop, fully a yard in length. At its tip was a circle of stiff, almost rigid leather, about four inches across. It would, Jill Stanton knew, deliver a wicked sting to any part of the body to which it was applied – and Ming, she knew, was an experienced “applier”.
Yvette, her large breasts falling from between the unbuttoned front of her leather bolero jacket, chose a paddle with a yard-long handle and a “business end” the size of a table-tennis bat. It would, Jill Stanton realised, be used on the slave's buttocks and would deliver a healthy blow upon impact. Young Rod was in for a torrid time, as she well knew.
“OK girls,” said Jill Stanton, when the pair of punishers were standing ready to begin their wicked work on the slave, “get comfy.”
With a grin at each other, both young women removed their jackets, now fully revealing their breasts. Ming's, while not as large as her black partner's, were firm little boobs, with very pronounced nipples, and large areolae. Yvette's, though, were lush, succulent beauties, fully 38-inches and large D-cups, with organ-stop like nipples.
“Get him hard before you start work,” said Jill Stanton, “I always like a new slave to be hard before he gets a flogging.”
With that tasty invitation, Yvette stepped forward and placed her garishly made-up mouth around the purple helmet of the slave's penis and soon had him sucked to a vein-popping erection.
Then the French girl stood and walked behind the slave. Ming stepped off to one side of him. They were ready. Rod eyed the girl in front of him, warily, then looked over his shoulder, where Yvette was placing the paddle against his bare right buttock.
“OK girls, away you go,” said Jill Stanton, whose left hand crept between her thighs as she started to manipulate her pussy during the slave's torment.
At an almost identical instant, Yvette's paddle smacked home against a bare buttock cheel, while Ming's implement cracked against the slave's inner right thigh. He jerked around wildly in his bonds in a totally useless attempt to escape the blows.
Yvette worked steadily on their slave's backside, beating a constant tattoo on his bum, while Ming walked around, working more slowly, but selecting various parts of his body to work on – pectorals, thighs, belly, upper shoulder blades, backs of his thighs.
Jill Stanton's fingers were fairly flying across her quim as she watched the semi-naked duo do their dastardly work on the writhing victim, then their slave could take no more.
With a bellowed “I give in, fuck it I give in, please stop, fucking stop!” the slave cried for mercy.
Both girls looked at Jill Stanton, who gave them a curt nod, a signal for them to replace their implements of punishment back on the table.
“Right, which means we can play the electro-shock game again, won't that be fun, Rod?” remarked the domina, mischievously.
“But first we need him hard again, I think. Your turn on the cock-rising routine, I think, Ming.”
This time, the Asiatic beauty knelt in front of the gasping, panting slave and took the crown of his cock, limp after the attentions of the flogging, in her mouth.
The bound prisoner gave a sharp, hissed intake of breath as the lovely lady encircled his helmet, then started to expertly fellate him until his organ rose to full attention. Although she was careful not to go deep enough to dislodge the stuck on patches, Jill Stanton was sure that the 20-year-old mistress was giving him an exciting time as she re-aroused him.
“Enough,” cried Jill Stanton, “we can't have him coming prematurely, can we? Thank-you, Ming, I'll take over from here.”
With that, the tall fellatrix stepped away from the slave and Jill Stanton stepped in front of him. “Time for more cock and ball torture, eh, slave? And how does my new slave enjoy this? Fun, isn't it?”
The old saying “If looks could kill” most certainly applied here, thought Jill Stanton, as she looked into the slave's face.
He was silent and sullen. “Ming,” said Jill Stanton, “give him a burst of position 5, your flogging seems to have driven him to silence.”
The Asian girl stepped to the table and flicked the toggle. Inches from Jill Stanton's body, the slave bucked and writhed as the current sent a torrent of triple pain through his cock shaft and testes.
“Now fuckin' answer me, slave” Jill Stanton snapped, when her toy had calmed down.
“What was the fucking question?” the slave panted.
Jill Stanton almost smirked in his face. “Number 5, again, Ming, let's teach him some manners,” she laughed.
Again the toggle flicked into position, again the slave bucked and writhed.
“I said 'how are you enjoying it? Fun isn't it?' Now tell me, tell me,” Jill Stanton almost shrieked at her victim.
“It's great, it's fucking great, I'm having a fucking ball, you mad bitch!” snapped the slave.
“That's better,” smiled Jill Stanton, resuming her seat and taking over the toggle.
“Now, my dear young new slave – make a request!”
“Five, you mad cunt!” the slave screamed, and Jill Stanton flicked the toggle into the triple torment phase. Then again, and again.
The slave bucked and threshed wildly as the shocks hit him, then, with a guttural grunting groan, his body stiffened and a plume of semen shot from his cock head up onto his belly, quickly followed by two more, both slightly smaller, but still quite thick wads of jism.
Jill Stanton rose from her chair, walked to the panting naked male and planted a tender kiss on his mouth.
“There, there,” she smiled, “you can relax now. Give him an hour's break, girls, then we can start all over again. I think this slave is going to make a very nice slave, very nice indeed.”
And with that she walked into her adjoining changing room, stripped off, enjoyed a lovely, long, luxurious shower, dried her hair using the blow drier, stepped into Victoria's Secret lingerie and her latest Versace outfit and walked out to the exclusive establishment's reception area.
“Thank-you, Patience,” she told the immaculately-attired young woman, seated in reception.
“Same time next week, madam?” the woman inquired.
“That will be wonderful,” said the older woman. “And I'd like Ming and Yvette as usual, too.”
“They'll be on deck,” smiled Patience. “Were they up to their usual standard today?”
”Yes, thanks, as wicked as ever,” said Jill Stanton, who then walked outside into the chill of a Knightsbridge winter. In the large forecourt stood a green Bentley Arnage.
She climbed into the passenger seat and found that the motor was already purring and the interior toasty warm thanks to the heater which was also purring away.
The man behind the wheel leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “I'm taking you to La Cirque for a slap-up meal washed down by a couple of bottles of Krug, you wonderful woman.” “And to what do I owe this wonderful honour, my dear?” she asked the dark-haired driver. “You know very well, super bitch,” the man drawled. “You know how those ‘new slave’ sessions and the CBT always give me the most amazing orgasms. You are the most superb dominatrix, thank goodness.”
“Thank-you, my dear,” said Jill Stanton, “where would I be without you?”
The driver laughed as he steered the big Bentley out into the thick Knightsbridge traffic. “Oh, you'd get by very well without me, Jill, you’d find a new slave in no time,” said Rod Stanton.