The Applicant ll

Chapter One-1

Chapter One

The immense oak door crashed closed with a reverberating thunder, and all ears inside the estate house were instantly tuned to the silent air, waiting for the next rude sound to overwhelm the physical senses. Everyone shook hearing the master’s boots click on the marble floor before his message suddenly rumbled discontentedly from his expansive voice.

“Liza!” The command was simple, taking no time at all to reach the ears of the mistress of the house. The lusty redhead pulled herself from her silk sheets and her lover’s sensuous arms. It was not yet five o’clock with the air still succulent and warm. Particles of dust danced in the beams of a dying sun streaming sluggishly in the window while a gentle breeze fluttered the curtains—a time for afternoon lovers to bask in the orgasmic glow of satiation—half-awake and half-asleep. Yet, jarred by her husband’s command, Liza knew not to dally. Throwing a peach satin robe over her creamy s*x-flushed skin, she gazed back at her delicious submissive.

“Liza,” the thundering voice boomed a second time.

“Have to hurry,” she whispered while blowing a kiss to the languishing brunette. Her eye caught sight of a small brown n****e in the center of Hilary’s large aureole. Liza’s cunt pulsed in remembrance of their making love.

Out the door, she hastened down the elegant hallway of Oliver’s Sparrowhawk Lodge suddenly frightened by the sight of her husband as she reached the landing. He paced the marble foyer in his polished ebony knee boots. His black riding pants fit snug on his legs and ass, while his white shirt billowed above his waist. She thought perhaps his hair was rather smart-looking, certainly much different than he’d worn it in the past, the black ponytail shorter, his hair combed back sleekly from his face. Oh! how often she’d seen his dark eyes smile mirthfully, while his broad mouth soothed her with a passionate grin. Though just as often she’d seen his eyebrows narrow when his face was grim—as it was now. His darkness prevailed like a cloud about him—a shroud perhaps, certainly the portent of some miserable conversation.

“Oliver, darling,” she flew into his arms not caring that her robe opened wide as she flung herself into his embrace, showing her delicious physical assets, from her pert breasts with their perpetually starched pink n*****s, to the small tuft of pale red pubic curls above her shaved vulva. A purple/pink c******s peeked out teasingly below.

For all of Liza’s generous enthusiasm, Oliver did not return the affectionate greeting. He pushed her away.

“She’s worthless,” he scowled.

“Worthless? Who?”

“That miserable tart your little Hilary thought would make a good submissive.”

Liza blanched understanding his ire. Pulling her robe around her protectively, she tied the sash as she replied, “Ooo, we thought…”

“You thought wrong,” he replied accusingly. “For three months you thought wrong. I left the training in your hands, and now regret I ever had such faith in you and your precious Hilary.”

Liza started anxiously, asking, “May I ask what was her err?”

“No, you may not ask,” he snapped. “Now get your randy little minx down here. She’ll take the punishment I couldn’t give the bitch.”

“So, Ali’s gone?”

“Ah, yes, she’s gone,” his eyes lit ominously. “Speak her name to me again, I will beat you silly.”

Liza shrunk back, knowing the threat was hardly real, though she was seriously frightened over the way he’d punish Hilary for her miscalculation. And here she’d thought their newest applicant was perfect. She sighed.

Whether it was intuition that brought Hilary from her reverie, or the sound of the discordant voices rising from the foyer, her appearance on the landing was suitably timed. Liza’s hazel eyes stared upward with a look of resigned humility. Oliver was already on his way to the study, his impressive shoulders disappearing beyond the door with a determined swagger. Although she was rightfully scared, the look of his retreat sent a delicious shiver down his wife’s spine.

“Did you hear?” she turned and whispered to her worried lover as she peered up the stairs.

“Oh, my love, I have failed him,” her brown eyes looked so sorrowful that even her typically elegant air seemed overcome with grief. She knew she’d disappointed her master.

“We’ll see, dear,” Liza replied hopefully. “He could just be blowing smoke”

Hilary took the stairs quickly. She was dressed as casually as her mistress—in a short silk robe the color of an icy winter sky. It barely covered her deeply tanned legs—her slim thighs rippling as she walked gracefully beside Liza on her way to an unknown fate. She’d been part of her master’s brood for nearly two years—having enjoyed the sumptuous pleasures of Sparrowhawk’s decadence, exhilarated, though often overwhelmed by the s****l freedom that bloomed within its walls and on its terraces and patios, in its cellars and barns. She’d been trained as a s****l submissive—a sometimes arduous process that required her to abandon any prim thoughts or prudish behavior that might have characterized her past. She replaced the old Hilary with a newer, much sexier version, living out the dreams that first drove her to answer Liza’s bold advertisement for a submissive applicant.

Hilary had no idea at the time how all consuming this new life would be—how it would take her away from the simple one she knew—as a bank teller, dating insipid college graduates who knew nothing about the s****l passion that dwelled within her. Though the training had been daunting, there was not one thing she regretted—not one slavish act or rude behavior, not one grueling punishment or masochistic revelry.

Once her training had been adequately completed, she was welcomed into the bosom of the lady and gentleman she loved so dearly. Even her occupation was reinvented. She handled the master’s house accounts and computer data entry, given a good deal of respect that she’d not enjoyed outside Oliver’s realm. His influence extended to every corner of her world—and so her entire life was transformed. Though she was still required to obey her master’s orders without question, obliged to bow graciously at his feet on a whim, or enjoined to submit to any manner of punishment—whether earned or arbitrary—she learned to do so unthinkingly. Every act fed her flagrant lust, and she was in love with her life and the woman she’d become.

More than once she’d displeased her master or mistress and had been severely disciplined. She’d endured all her corrections as graciously as she could, even though it was not always possible to hold back the anguish that resulted from a grueling battle with a whip or cane. Today, however, she had a premonition of something far more devastating than simple punishment. So much had been expected of her, and to have failed, if she’d actually failed—she could only hope, as Liza did, that Oliver was not serious.

The paneled study was as graciously elegant as the other more formal rooms of Sparrowhawk, though this was obviously the master’s domain entirely. It was more casual than the dining and formal living room, but reeking with his essence. The dark paneling, the fragrance of leather—ah! how that reminded her of the many times she’d worn a leather collar about her slim neck. There was a trace of cigar smoke lingering in the air; it rarely left. She’d dusted and polished every inch of this handsome room, pressed her bare feet in its thick oriental rugs, just as she did now, and had been disciplined, as well as soundly f****d, while bending over some cushion of leather or the hard edge of his carved mahogany desk. Hilary shuddered now as she presented herself to the man who owned her wholly.

Feeling Liza retreat to a spot behind her, she was utterly alone before her master, wondering what horrible slight Ali perpetrated to cause this misery. “Shall I bow?” she asked hesitantly.

The air in the room was agitated, Oliver pacing, each stride he took making both his submissives nervous.

“You bow when you’re told, you speak when you’re told,” he snapped rudely.

Hilary knew to say no more, even though she wanted to drop penitently at his feet and beg his forgiveness.

The Master brooded; the swish of his pants the only sound to prick the silence. He waltzed from one end of the room to the other, peering out the windows at the back—those that looked out on his summer rose garden, and then in the front where he could see the circular driveway and long green lawn that spread out before the elegant portico.

When he finally turned around, he seemed composed, and hardly as angry as his words betrayed him earlier. She knew not to look him in the eye, but the longer he stared her way, the more Hilary was tempted to gaze directly into his eyes. When he finally drew her complete focus he spoke, “she’s unsuitable, ungracious and not submissive. I think you and your mistress misread her intentions. She may be willing to serve a woman, but she has no clue how to serve a man.” He shook his head as though disgusted.

Hilary was about to object, but she knew that was futile. What he claimed belied her experience of the winsome Ali. She’d been trained for months and proved both dutiful and yielding.

“Oliver, are you certain?” Liza suddenly moved out beyond Hilary, addressing her husband firmly, seemingly without fear. “She was amazingly compliant.”

“You doubt me?” Though he remained forbiddingly grim, he raised his eyebrows as though he was amused.

“You’ve thoroughly worked her?”

Oliver moved adroitly to the spot before his lovely wife and peered down at her as if he was going to swallow her inside him. “Yes. I’ve thoroughly worked that little behind. I’ve reamed her ass. I’ve been sucked by her inadequate mouth. I’ve tried to glean some pleasure from her randy cunt. She’s cold and lifeless, my dear. I say no more.”

“I’m so sorry, sir,” Hilary cried to him.

“I’m sure you will be!” he scowled. “Over the couch…” he paused, “and without the robe.”

Hilary moved quickly, already wincing from the pain that would surely follow. And yet, her body raced with waves of pleasure as her master’s contained fury poured out on her passionately. She felt a trickle of juice seep from the pulsing hole between her thighs. Taking a familiar pose over the back of the couch, her p***y rested against the thick cushion sinking into the cool, soft leather. Hilary clasped her hands behind her at the small of her back and waited. A strap would be too easy, she thought, unless that was where he began. Surely, she would feel the cutting fire of a cane on her behind before he was finished. And surely, there would be more than just corporal punishment awaiting her for such a serious transgression.

“Liza,” Oliver’s voice shot out unexpectedly as the master moved toward his cabinet of tools, “take your place beside her.”

“What!” she was in shock and her tone almost shrill.

“Are you deaf, woman?” he shot back.

“But, sir, this hardly seems…”

“To be your responsibility?” he finished her protest.

Her “yes” was meager with her defiant energy immediately quelled by the fire of his command. His whole body seemed taken with the task of punishing both his submissives and she would not escape this one. Not that Liza didn’t enjoy such things—her whole body shook with the thrill of a first time lover—and her cunt was equally as creamy as Hilary’s was. But to be humiliated side by side—to be equal in this matter—the treatment harkened back to Hilary’s first months at Sparrowhawk. That had been a painful time for the mistress of the house. She’d been taunted by her husband’s b***h lover, Diana, betrayed by the estate’s caretaker and practically driven mad—certainly to her wits end, seeming to lose control of everything in the process of attempting to be herself, mistress of Sparrowhawk, Oliver’s obedient slave, and Hilary’s mentor. The fact was: Oliver had tied her submissive psyche in knots with his schemes; she had almost nothing to do with the scenes that unraveled before her—except, of course, submit. She’d loved it in the end, but was so very glad when that period of time was over. Since those perilous days, their world had been peaceful. As peaceful as any master/submissive pairing can be—fireworks are requisite, organic to their very existence. But for nearly a year, she’d not been punished in Hilary’s presence or in the presence of any submissive. She almost forgot how to act; though being impudent would be imprudent.

While at first chagrined by her husband’s order, she turned suddenly haughty as if in a huff and let the peach silk slip off her shoulders as she moved to Hilary’s side. She nearly fell over the back of the couch as she clasped her hands behind her waist and then settled into the comfort of the leather surface beneath her. The fragrant smell of old leather went from nostril to cunt in a split second where she felt a steady pulse high in her crotch, at the edge of her cunt lips, as though every ounce of blood was at that moment barreling toward that needy cleft. She squirmed a bit defiantly—an act that Oliver assumed was solely erotic.

“If you think I’ll let you get off to this, my bratty princess slut, I’m afraid you’re painfully mistaken.” In his hand was a reed bamboo he’d recently brought back from his latest excursion to Singapore. Untried, he whisked the dreadful thing through the air; the ominously delightful whir sending shivers of fright through the submissively posed women, and an instant of thrill through him.

“Though there is no justification, no repentance for your failures, my dears, this will make me feel a hell of a lot better.” He appraised the two womanly asses, the four cheeks, the pair of shadowy clefts, the slender legs—one pair tan, one creamy white—and four beautifully slim ankles. He sighed wishing that their feet were in black patent stilettos, but he wouldn’t take the time to make them change. His fury was at its peak and his fanatic vision was fixated on the result, when their now unblemished posteriors would bear abused skin and feel like fiery furnaces to the caress of his fingers.

Oliver let the first strike land on the atoning Hilary’s behind—the cut immediately embellishing her skin with one long red stripe that cut both cheeks. The strike was followed by her rude groan, then immediately by a second strike aimed to hit his wife’s pale ass. Alternating cheeks, randomly so, both woman took a least two dozen cuts. The air was stung by cries and groans, and tearful pleas. The master’s wand bore down keenly at times, at other times less fiercely. Occasionally the cuts were brisk, more often methodical. Each snap and thwack! was crisp and biting. He worked a rash of welts on both asses from mid-cheek to high on their tender thighs, leaving cuts that would last, the kind to show off to interested admirers, great for the purposes of humiliation. He hardly wanted to stop, but then, he had to for the sake of their immaculate flesh—abuse, mark, certainly, but let their flawless perfection return once the marks were healed.

Seeing his lovely handiwork appear like a painting before his eyes, Oliver’s crotch began to ache as his erection pressed against his pants. He knew the throbbing would not cease without some satisfaction.

“On your knees, the two of you,” he ordered them off the couch, as he unzipped his fly. Liza tugged her husband’s pants to his knees, the master then serviced by both his submissives. Hilary went for the head of this p***s first, while he straddled his wife’s warm mouth. Her tongue ran along the wrinkled skin of his sac, while the slave at his c**k sucked and jerked the hefty stalk. The two worked eagerly as though this final piece of their trial would certainly wash away their miserable sin. Oliver pleasured in the sight of them serving him so slavishly, clearly focused on his pleasure—mouths lapping, breasts bobbing, eyes looking dotingly on him as though hoping for some sign that he was pleased. Liza’s warm hands drifted along his rear cheeks, then her fingers moved inside the cleft of his ass until she found that tender spot between his anus and the base of his balls where another passion began to tear at him

He shot, his groan guttural and strong. Winding his fingers through Hilary’s hair, her mouth absorbed the first shock, and when he pushed her off, the last of his thick milky c*m spilled onto his wife’s brow and chest in stringy gobs of white.

The two sat back on their heels, trying to keep their cunts from squirming too obviously, both hoping their master might have some mercy on them considering the heat that was so joyously fired in their punished asses. But mercy doesn’t come easily at Sparrowhawk—only after it’s earned.

“I want you both collared tonight, in your nastiest blacks. We’re going dancing.”

“Training collars, sir?” the ever efficient Liza queried humbly.

Oliver smirked. There were devious ideas in his head but he’d decide otherwise, “I should, shouldn’t I?” They didn’t reply. “Your leather chokers will do. But make it quick; you take too much time, I’ll take you out in chains.”

He stared down at the pair while they waited to be dismissed, then turned on his heel as he shooed them off.

***

Though they didn’t have courage enough to giggle, Liza and her favorite female plaything certainly looked like two silly teenagers getting ready for a night out. Leather chokers and dancing meant the throbbing nightclub in old town. The pulse of that collective darkness makes a randy woman delirious. Their trial was not over, though it would certainly take a different, and hopefully, a more pleasurable twist.

Liza wore her black satin corset and a leather skirt with a slit up the back that stopped just shy of her ass cheeks. With any luck at all a good eye would see her shaved pubes from the rear should she bend over. Taking inches off her waist with a tight cinch, Liza made Hilary pull the corset laces tighter still, until she could hardly breath, until any extra flesh was pushed into her breasts to bounce voluptuously on top. She was dangerously close to showing a n****e, but anything less would be like slapping her husband in the face. Besides, it had been some weeks since they’d exhibited her wares in public. The ache in her groin would go on all night until Oliver granted her some relief.

While she enjoyed dressing for the night, Hilary was wracked with fear. She attempted to be playful, but her mind and heart were burdened by her failing. It might be days before she’d learn the final outcome of her awful faux pas. Had she known, hoped for, even expected these results? Was there anything in Ali’s behavior to suggest the woman would revolt at the last minute, defying everything she’d been taught about s****l desire? She was beautiful and yielding on so many nights—perhaps there had just not been enough to know for sure. Liza would tell her that nothing was ever for sure in their strange world, and she was right—”desire can turn on a dime and leave you cold—” her wise words haunted her. Hilary sighed miserably as she worried over her fate.

“You’re brooding,” her mistress suddenly took note. There was a brick-red lipstick in her hand, filling in the careful outline of her lips.

“It shows that much?”

Liza put the lipstick down and turned to adjust her submissive’s tiny skirt. She noted her legs beneath, a perfect tan satin that looked almost glossy. Her toes were painted deep burgundy to match her lips and fingernails. And barely covering her torso was a black leather halter with zippers and rings—all gleaming silver. She was quite a sight for a man like Oliver to appreciate. But what worried her mistress were Hilary’s rich chestnut-colored eyes looking lush but fretful.

“You look stunning, but you’d better screw your courage and not falter. We’re not out of the woods yet.”

“He has something planned, doesn’t he?”

“I’m sure of it. But you hold your head high and have fun. You’ll be miserable if you don’t,” she fussed with her like a doting mother hen.

“This is serious, isn’t it?”

“I’d say so. But we’re both in trouble, so I’ll be right at your side.”

Liza’s smile was as comforting as her reassuring words. And running a hand down Hilary’s hip and over her sensuous Venus mound they both trembled as the erotic tingle replaced some of their mutual fear.

Fifteen minutes later the two climbed in the backseat of the green Jaguar and roared off into the gathering night.