The QTip Punishment

Chapter One-2

“A word to the wise, ‘faggot’,” she hissed. “That is what will happen every time if you try to talk without permission. Slaves speak only when spoken to.”

Arthur’s brain shut down. This s****l diversion wasn’t going like it had the countless times he had enacted it in his mind, gently stroking himself to orgasm after orgasm. This was wrong. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. A trickle of fear, real fear crept down his psyche and he started wondering, for the first time, if this gathering of women might be a bit more than he bargained for. He reflected that perhaps he had stumbled on something more than a group of people who liked to spice up their s*x life with some different strokes. He was smart enough to drag himself back to all fours, remaining very still for fear of the prod, waiting for whatever came next.

“No limits,” Hilda gushed. “I have to say that he is either very brave or very stupid as we have never gotten a slave who hasn’t had some limits. I mean look at some of the things on that list. They are evil.”

By now Emma realized that she had made a massive blunder, but what could she do? She would just look stupid trying to backtrack and besides she had no idea which ones might be limits for him and the dull-witted i***t hadn’t said anything before hand so, f**k it! No Limits!

“Um,” she said haltingly, “yes that’s correct. He has no limits.”

Helga regarded her appraisingly. Emma was supposed to be an experienced Mistress, yet something didn’t ring true. She seemed to be completely unsure of how to properly treat a slave and to not have the worm in a chastity belt was…she filed her thoughts away for later.

Arthur comforted himself with the belief that he was under Emma’s control and when they were alone tonight he could explain it to her so she could make sure that nothing crazy happened.

“Well then,” declared Hilda, “let’s join the others for a drink before dinner.”

It was only a short walk from the gatehouse to the main house. The two women were walking at a leisurely pace and Arthur was crawling behind them on all fours. Arthur found that, even though the ladies were moving slowly, it was difficult moving on all fours. It was hard keeping up and it was painful on his knees. He finally found that by getting up on his feet and hands he could make better time but the unnatural position was very tiring and he was glad to see that the house wasn’t far. From the outside it looked like it might be at least ten thousand square feet. It was a sprawling structure with a wrap-around veranda and a second story with balconies at each of the sliders.

Hilda escorted them to the second floor and down the hall to a large bedroom containing a king-sized bed, an en-suite bathroom and walk-in closet. It also conspicuously held a large solid looking dog cage, a padded bench and a free standing closet which had one door ajar revealing a rack of different whips and restraints and drawers that Arthur’s churning mind imputed probably contained other fiendish instruments of torture.

“The rooms are pretty much the same and this one is yours,” Hilda commented. “It’s time for drinks with the rest of the residents so why don’t you just drop your bag and we’ll go on down to the terrace. I’ll have one of the slaves put your things away.”

Hilda pushed a call button by the door and almost immediately a male, completely undressed except for the cage and collar on his privates, appeared, dropping to his knees with his head on the floor.

“Oh,” Hilda said, “anytime you need anything, anything at all, including a different tongue if ‘faggot’ isn’t doing it for you, just push that button. Gives a whole new meaning to the term ‘room service’, doesn’t it?”

Looking at the naked man kneeling at the door Hilda said, “Put Miss Emma’s clothing away after we leave and then return to your post.”

Turning to Emma with a satisfied look on her face she continued, “There are at least five house slaves on duty twenty-four hours a day for each ten rooms that are occupied. That means you can expect instant service, now let’s head on down to the terrace and meet the others.”

In the back of the house was a great room with chairs, couches, and wide screen TV. It opened onto a sweeping terrace with a crystal clear pool on one side and chairs, tables, umbrellas and a barbeque grill and bar on the other. The terrace was occupied by about fifteen women of different ages and walks of life. Close to each in various postures were fifteen nude men. Some were on their hands and knees serving as stools or tables, some were lying at the feet of women who were sitting in chairs and one was begging as a dog might. Behind the bar was a naked man serving drinks, and roaming about were five more nude men passing trays of hors d’oeuvres and trays laden with glasses of champagne.

Emma was a tad discomfited by the display of so much naked male flesh and the subservient attitudes but kept her face from showing it. Arthur, on the other hand, was excited. This was just what he had imagined. This was the stuff that really good orgasms came out of. If only he could play with himself. Not possible with the wicked appliance that encased his privates at present but, Emma, during the drive had asked him to wait until tonight for her. Hopefully later she would let him out.

Then a ghastly thought occurred to him, “That b***h Hilda hadn’t given his wife a key. Where was it?”

Hilda led Emma and her crawling husband to a group of three women who were chatting vivaciously with each other while their male companions crouched at their feet. The tallest of the three was a raven haired statuesque woman of about fifty dressed like a Fortune 500 executive but with a shorter skirt and stilettos. She turned to watch their approach with a self-satisfied smile on her lips.

Extending her hand she said, “You must be Emma, I’m so glad you came, I’ve been looking forward to meeting you after all the e-mails we’ve exchanged. I’m Jenett, the director here.”

Emma was perplexed by this familiarity but only for a second. It dawned on her that her stupid husband had done it to her again. He had been exchanging e-mails with this stranger pretending to be Emma Pearson and hadn’t bothered to mention it.

“Oh hi, yes I’m Emma,” she said recovering her composure.

“I feel like I know you,” gushed Jenett, “and I know I like the wicked way your mind works. You are definitely on our wave length after some of the things you’ve done to your slave.”

Glancing down at Arthur she continued, “This must be him. Not much to look at, is he? You never told me what kind of punishment you gave him for scorching your blouse last week.”

“Uh, well…you know…uh the usual,” stammered Emma while a slow burn started working its way up from her chest to her head.

“Nothing special then,” acknowledged Jenett, “not like some of those really nasty things you have done.”

Turning to the other two women Jenett gushed, “You wouldn’t believe some of the punishments she has handed out to that maggot crawling behind her. It makes you proud to be a woman.”

While Emma seethed about the thoroughly untenable position that her husband had placed her in, the other women clamored at her for details. She managed to deflect the questions by promising to fill them in later, claiming that right now she needed a drink and a bite to eat. Jenett snapped her fingers and a naked man bearing a tray with finger sandwiches and white wine appeared as if by magic.

As she sipped on her wine, Emma looked around at the groups of women and the larger number of completely subservient nude men and realized that there was a whole world of people out there with a different twist on relationships that was completely unknown to her. She had always thought these delusions of her husband were just weekend games to stimulate and arouse men in some way. Clearly there was more. All around her she could see signs that, for these women, it was a lifestyle and not meant to excite their male partners but because they enjoyed the power and control it gave them. If the guy got something out of it lucky him, but it wasn’t about his pleasure at all.

“Am I missing something here?” Emma wondered.

During the course of the next forty-five minutes she was introduced to all of the rest of the women. Every one of them was an exceptionally poised, confident, self-assured woman who seemed to take the instant attention of the men for granted, as if being women they were a superior race which, she guessed, they thought they were.

Dinner was served in a remarkably large and lavishly decorated dining room with an enormous crystal chandelier over the table, crystal and silver at each place setting, silver wine carafes, original oils decorating the walls and rich deep hand rubbed wood walls and trim. There was room to seat the sixteen women in attendance with plenty of room left over for more guests. The men were kept either under the table or next to their owners, waiting patiently for the eventual scraps that would be their dinner.

Arthur was completely in love with the scene unfolding around him. It was still exactly as he had pictured it in his visions of how he would be serving his wife Emma as her personal slave. Furthermore he felt very safe at her feet, basking in the obvious admiration that the director and several of the other ladies were bestowing on his wife. That is until he overheard the director talking to his wife.

“How ever do you think of some of those evil things you have done to him?” asked Jenett nodding her head in Arthur’s direction. “Both the cucumber and the q-tip are depraved, in fact we use the q-tip as the only punishment we give if a slave tries to escape from here and believe me they never try again. How do you think of them?”

Emma was stuck. She was angry. She had no idea what cucumber or q-tip meant because her brainless husband hadn’t bothered to tell her and now she was the one hung out to dry. Glancing down at him with a look that would have killed a dragon she started to mouth some platitudes when suddenly the most magnificent idea occurred to her. The truth, she could tell the truth, well, almost the truth, a tiny bit twisted version of the truth but…

“I make him think them up,” she bragged.

This news was greeted with dead silence for a few seconds until the brilliance of it flashed like a meteor over the crowd. The ensuing hubbub was deafening. All of them were trying to talk at once, each one clamoring for Emma’s attention. She let them babble for a few moments with a smug look on her face and finally stopped them with a raise of her hand.

“It’s simple really,” she expounded, “men are so easy. Their fantasies can’t help but get the better of them and they also are much better than we are at thinking up some act that is so depraved, so wicked that it would never occur to us. I simply tell him, when I want a new horribly degenerate thing to do to him, that he needs to think one up. Of course I warn him that, if I don’t think it is nasty enough, he will get two of the ones already in the repertoire. It never fails.”

The women were elated over this turn of events. To make a slave design his own punishment and have a failsafe to insure that he made it ghastly enough was dazzling. With those few words Emma had been accepted into their ranks as a Mistress of the highest order.

Emma couldn’t help basking in the limelight that she had created merely by quick thinking on her part, snatching victory from the jaws of defeat. She realized that she would never have to worry about her status or lack of experience here again. She only had to keep her mouth shut, watch and learn, then get asshole to give her a crash course on depravity when they were alone tonight. Simple really, and now that she had negotiated that mine field it looked like she just might enjoy herself here after all.