When the car came to a halt, I was bundled up in a sheet and carried a few yards, into some kind of building, before being put down and unwrapped. Two men – possibly the same two as had abducted me, but no longer in their fake hotel uniforms – pulled the tape off me, but then dragged me to the middle of the room. There was a metal hook suspended from the ceiling, and they put the D rings on my bondage cuffs over this, holding my arms above my head. They tied ropes to the ankle cuffs and pulled my legs apart, tying the ropes to eyebolts in the floor. As the men walked away, they disappeared into the shadows. The sound of a motor startled me, and I felt my wrists being pulled upwards, until I was stretched tight, my feet no longer touching the ground. I heard the men leave, and I was alone.

I felt like I was swaying slightly on the ropes, but then realised that was impossible, the whole room was swaying. I guessed we were on a boat, probably still in harbour, and I cried out for help as loudly as I could – maybe someone would be close enough to hear me. But the way the noise completely died scared me – the room was anechoic, and presumably sound-proofed as well. Jesus, this sick bastard had a torture room built into his fucking boat!

“Hello, Terèse.” I heard his voice, but couldn’t see him, he was hanging back in the shadows somewhere.

“Reply,” he ordered when I remained silent.

“Bonjour, Monsieur,” I replied. I’m not sure why I spoke in French – I think it was from loyalty to Mistress Francoise. I was still hers, not his, even though he’d stolen me. The irony of me now thinking of myself as property was not lost on me.

“You are not French, Theresa, and you speak it poorly. Speak to me in English.”

“Non, Monsieur.”

“Is this really what we are going to have our trial of strength over? Language? Well, I suppose you must draw your line where you can. You have lost your freedom, you have lost your clothes, you never had any dignity, so why not defy me over language?”

He walked into the light, and I saw that he was stripped to the waist, with riding breeches and boots. In his hands he flexed a long cane, and I suddenly felt very frightened, I had never suffered any form of corporal punishment, at home or at school, and had always abhorred any kind of pain. My resolve to resist, even in a small way, wavered alarmingly.

“You are a fat girl, Theresa,” he said as he walked around me. I tried to follow him, my eyes fixed on the vicious-looking cane.

“I like fat girls. My first girl was a fat girl. I was twelve, she was sixteen, the sister of a friend of mine at school in England. My father’s men brought her to me. Sadly, I was very inexperienced then, and she died after only two months of entertaining me. I am much more careful with my slaves now, they can last years if I want them to, if they still amuse me. Although, they might wish that they had died much sooner. I’m sure you are going to entertain me for a long time, Theresa.”

I was terrified now, and I was shaking. But I realised there was no point in begging for mercy – he was a sadist, and there would be no reprieve if I gave in to him, it was irrelevant.

The blow took me by surprise, as it landed across my buttocks. The pain was worse than I’d imagined and I screamed at the top of my voice, breaking down into sobbing as the line across my skin seemed to burn into me.

“I love the sound of a woman’s screams,” he said with relish as he came up close and put his face next to mine, “are you willing to submit to me yet?”

“Non, Monsieur!” I sobbed, wondering why I was provoking him.

“Good,” he growled, a maniacal glint in his eye, “not that it would make any difference. You will suffer as I see fit, there is nothing you can say or do which will change that.”

He stood back, and the cane whipped across my buttocks again, dragging another wretched scream from me. Again and again he hit me, until tears were streaming down my face, and my arse was one great blaze of pain. I struggled desperately against my bonds, but my body barely twitched in the ropes.

Suddenly, the point of attack changed, and I was ushered into a whole new world of pain as the cane swiped across my front, just below my stomach and just above my venus mound. As the pain flared, I lost control of my bladder and urine ran down my legs and spurted onto the floor. Al Habsi walked in front of me, and I saw the evil grin on his face, as if this was all part of his plan, which it probably was. He stood close, and I felt the cane striking the insides of my thighs close to my pussy. He waited until my eyes widened in horror, recognising where he was going, before directing the short, sharp blows upwards, directly onto my pussy. I thought my head would explode trying to cope with all this pain. I tried to somehow let it just wash through me, but it was impossible, how can you cope with being caned on your most sensitive areas?

There was a break, and I lifted my head to see him walking around me, watching me like a wolf, waiting for the injured prey animal to die. My hair was plastered down by my sweat, and my face was wet with my tears. I knew it would continue, I had no illusions that he would stop any time soon. This was a brief lull, to let the hopelessness of my situation sink in.

When it came, the next blow seemed even worse than the others, as it landed impossibly hard straight across my breasts, from nipple to nipple. Before I could catch my breath from screaming, the assault continued, blow after blow swiping across my breasts, then my stomach, then back to my buttocks, which were hypersensitive from the earlier beating. At some point in this flurry, I fainted into blissful unconsciousness.

When I came around, I was no longer hanging by my wrists, but lying on my back on a table. My buttocks and back were stinging, and I tried to roll onto my side, but I found that my arms and legs were strapped down and I couldn’t turn. I lifted my head and looked at my body, distressed to see the ugly red welts across my breasts, stomach and thighs, all of which looked swollen and throbbed with pain.

One of the sheikh’s men stood over me and had a pair of bolt cutters, which he was using to cut the locks holding the cuffs to my wrists and ankles. When he had removed all four, he worked the cutters between my skin and the collar around my neck, snipping through the thick leather. I was a little upset at this – they had only just been given to me – put on me, really - by the woman I had come to see as my Mistress, and their removal just reinforced the fact that I was no longer in the safety of her control.

The man now replaced the cuffs with ones made of steel, followed by a steel collar which he closed around my neck, fitting tightly enough for it to squeeze gently all the way around, but not tight enough to restrict my breathing. A moment later the man came back, and he was wearing what looked like a welder’s mask. He put a blindfold over my eyes and I heard something going on which sounded pretty industrial. I squealed as, several times, something burningly hot, touched me for a second on a wrist or ankle. Then he was working around my neck, and I held my breath. There was a strange metallic smell in the air, but soon, the blindfold was being removed and I was unstrapped from the table. As I sat up, I looked at and felt the cuffs. They were quite heavy, very solid, and very snug, with some kind of soft lining – I would not have been able to get a paper between them and me. There were four D rings on each, but no lock, and I put my hands to the collar, feeling the same thing. It was obvious they had been welded. That sounded, and felt, very permanent.

I was hustled out of the room, along a corridor, and up on deck. The boat was huge – a ‘floating gin palace’ I’d heard things like this called, racing drivers and Russian oligarchs parked them in the harbour in Monte Carlo. But we weren’t in the harbour, we were speeding across open sea, with no land in sight in any direction. The bright sun made me squint at the azure water, and I realised it was still the same morning I’d been kidnapped! It seemed so long since I had been safely chained on the balcony.

I was taken to the forward deck, where I saw a small cage with sturdy steel bars. A rope from the bars at the top went to the top of a pole, about ten feet tall. I realised that, like the torture room, the only reason the pole was there was for the torment of slavegirls – for my torment.

I was pushed into the cage, having to sit with my knees up by my chin so that the door could be closed and locked. The man who was in charge of me hauled on the rope and lifted me to the top of the pole. He tied the rope off, and then walked away, to get on with other, probably more important, tasks. I was left alone with my aches and pains, and my new slave collar and cuffs – his collar and cuffs.

I was left there all day, through the hottest part of the day, with no food or water. The motion of the cage, rolling against the pole as the boat pitched through the waves, soon gave me motion sickness and I threw up through the bars onto the deck below. The bars I was sitting on became murderously painful, as I couldn’t change my position and they pressed against my tortured flesh. I became light headed as my skin crisped and burned in the hot sun, descending into a semi-delirious state where I couldn’t think straight.

I remember at some point a deckhand coming by with a hose to clean away my vomit, and I tried to beg him to aim the hose at me, but my throat wouldn’t work, and I could only croak. At another point, I saw the sheikh, standing below me, drink in hand, looking up with a smile, before walking away. I fell into semi-consciousness.

The sun was going down when the cage was finally lowered, and I was let out. I couldn’t walk, and I had to be dragged below decks. I found myself back in the torture room, my ankles once more tied to the eyebolts in the floor. This time, my arms were joined behind me and hoisted up, so that I was forced to bend double as my hands were pulled vertically above me, making my shoulders scream in pain. My hair was grabbed and my head lifted, so that a ring gag could be forced into my mouth. My head fell back, but no saliva drooled from my mouth, it was bone dry. My head was pulled up again, and a hook was put into each of my nostrils and tied to the hook above, holding my head horizontal. God that hurt like hell! It was also very humiliating, but I was past caring.

“What a picture,” Al Habsi said as he strolled over, “the perfect position for a white western whore like you – all holes available for fucking!”

He walked behind me, and I grunted as I felt something thrust into my anus. It started to inflate like the one Francoise used in the show, but it went way beyond uncomfortable and only stopped expanding when I was screaming in agony. Now he squatted down in front of me, and as he stared into my eyes, hawked up a mouthful of phlegm and spit it into my face. As it oozed down across my cheek, he straightened up, dropped his trousers, and pushed his erection through the ring gag, into my mouth. I didn’t lick or suck, and he didn’t expect me to, he just fucked my face until he came, spurting semen into my mouth, which I swallowed greedily, grateful for the moisture.

I watched as he went off into the shadows, and returned with a small flogger, with lots of nasty-looking leather tails. I waited as he disappeared behind me, trying to steel myself, buy you can’t prepare yourself to be whipped across your pussy! I just screamed as he worked the flogger between my legs and over my still-tender buttocks. Once he had got himself stiff again by hurting me, he thrust his cock into my virgin hole. He banged me hard, while I cried at the thought that this was the first time a man had ever ‘made love’ to me. Hah, what a sick, cruel joke.

When he was finished, he walked back past me to the door.

“Use her,” he ordered, and I saw half a dozen men walk into the room as he left. Over the next however long – one hour? Two? – I was raped multiple times in all my holes, each one of them using me at least twice. When they got bored or couldn’t get it up any more, they used the sheikh’s toys to torture me in any way they could think. I only knew it was over when my arms were released and I collapsed on the floor. I screamed afresh as my shoulders protested at the harsh position they had been held in for so long.

I was bundled back on deck and into the cage. The sun had disappeared by now, and I shivered in the cold sea breeze. I didn’t know how long I could survive this treatment, but I was already wishing I was dead.

- o O o -

I didn’t sleep at all that night, I just sat, shivering, my teeth chattering, thinking about the nightmare that my life had become. I must have dropped off shortly after dawn, as my body warmed in the early sun. I was awoken when I was unceremoniously tipped out of the cage and onto the deck.

I was led to the back of the boat, where the sheikh was sitting in one of those big fishing chairs. He looked very relaxed in tailored shorts and Hawaiian shirt, sipping a tall, refreshing drink.

“Good morning, cunt,” he said pleasantly, his goons laughing sycophantically at his ‘witticism’. “I thought we’d do some shark fishing this morning. Not many sharks in the Mediterranean, but you never know. String her up.”

My wrist cuffs were fastened to a chain which ran to a small crane. As I screamed in terror, one of the men picked me up and threw me over the side of the boat. My arms felt like they would be tugged out of their sockets as I swung at the end of the chain. I looked down and saw the water churning below me, then looked across at Al Habsi’s smiling face, and his men next to him, laughing at me.

“Lower away!” he called, and I slowly descended towards the sea. Soon my legs were trailing in the cold water, then, as I was lowered even further, a bow wave was forming across my stomach and kicking spray up over my breasts and into my face. I was terrified as I fought for breath, spinning around at the end of the chain. I managed to look up, and saw the men hanging over the side to watch my struggles, and they were soon joined by their boss. The boat began to make small turns left and right, forcing my naked body to trail behind in the wake like a rubber inflatable used to pull children. The water hurt terribly as it tugged at my large breasts, and beat against my stomach. Fear of drowning was the only thing keeping my mind off the horrible pain in my arms and shoulders. Al Habsi signalled for his man to lower me further, and suddenly I was under the surface!

I kicked frantically, trying to get back up, and it seemed an age before I finally broke the surface. I was now quite a distance behind the boat, and being dragged along at what seemed a great speed. The waves slapped against my face and body, and I was swallowing lots of seawater. It was a desperate fight for survival, and whatever I’d said to myself the previous night, just then I wanted to survive. They gradually reeled me back in, apparently in no hurry, occasionally letting the chain go slack, making me sink under the surface each time, until I had stopped struggling, and they finally pulled me out of the water. I was unceremoniously dumped on the deck, amongst the laughing crew, gasping for air and coughing up seawater. I was utterly spent, and this was only the start of the day!

I was set to work, like a proper slave, scrubbing the decks for the rest of the day. Once again, I was left exposed during the hottest part of the day, and had to try to work in the shade as much as possible. Every time a crew member went past me, there would be some attack on me. Sometimes it was as little as being spat on, other times a swift kick to the rear, but several times I was forced to give head, or I was bent over a rail and raped or buggered. It was horrible, soul-destroying, and so demeaning, but at least it wasn’t him, and at least I wasn’t being beaten.

As the sun started to go down, I was grabbed by one of the deck hands and taken below to the torture room. I was starting to shake in panic, but when Al Habsi came into the room, he had some shock news.

“It seems your Mistress is smarter than she looks,” he said, obviously deeply unhappy. My hopes rose when he mentioned my Mistress – had she found me? I hadn’t seen another ship all day, and it would take a squad of Navy SEALs to rescue me from here, but he looked worried…

“She has threatened to publicise your situation to the international press and, while she has absolutely no evidence to back up her story, these things always leave some residual smell, and I don’t want to embarrass my family at this delicate time.” That sounded like a crock of shit to me, and from his expression, I reckon he’d been told to stop displaying his filthy habits in public. I was suddenly elated!

“So, you will be going back to your former owner in a few hours’ time. However,” he added as he saw the smile spread across my face, “don’t be too happy, because I will use those few hours to best effect.”

Those few hours were, indeed, the worst in my life. The sheikh, true to his sadistic nature, didn’t waste time raping me, he got his kicks from torturing me, and he used his whole range of sick equipment on me. I don’t want to even think about that time, but there was electrocution, of my nipples as well as my pussy, and this was not a slight kick but felt like a car battery shocking me, which is probably what it was; there was a saw horse which almost cut me in half, and he flogged me while I sat on it; and there was more I don’t want to even recall.

When the time came for the exchange, my hands were tied behind me and I was taken on deck. They put me in a small speedboat and headed in to an unlit part of the coast. I was in the well of the boat, so saw virtually nothing, until they throttled back the engine, threw me over the side, and roared away back out to sea. I am sure I would have drowned even then, if Serge and Francoise hadn’t dashed into the surf and helped me ashore. When my arms were untied, I threw them around Francoise’ neck, and we both wept tears of joy, relief and exhaustion. My Mistress had saved me and, at that moment, I knew I truly loved her!

- o O o -

We left Monaco as soon as we could and headed to our next venue, in Milan. Francoise insisted that I could not perform for at least a week, due to the welts on my body, but I’m sure she also understood just how traumatised I was. Serge was not happy, as Milan is a big art market and, much as he hated to admit it, I was the star of the show. But he felt guilty that they had not been able to protect me, and anyway, Francoise ruled the roost with him as well as me!

She organised for some kind of expert to come over and see about the removal of the collar and cuffs – I’m not sure if he was a doctor, jeweller or welder. But I think he was rather taken aback to be presented with a young woman welded into what were clearly bondage accessories. His opinion was that removing them would be dangerous – I could be seriously injured in the attempt – and might be impossible. Francoise decided she would seek further advice elsewhere.

I could hardly bear to be out of sight of Francoise, and indeed, when we were together, I clung to her like a nervous limpet. I slept at the foot of the bed, chained to the leg, but reassuringly within earshot of my Mistress’ breathing during the night.

She suggested I might want to go home to be with my parents, rather than continue the tour, but I would not have it. I told her I was worried that the sheikh might pursue me and, without her protection, abduct me again. Also, I wasn’t too sure how to explain the collar and cuffs to my mum and dad! But there was something else, something I still couldn’t articulate to myself, but I knew I wanted to stay with this remarkable woman.

Gradually, I came out of my terrified state, and was able to return to the show, although it was slightly diminished by the need to rely on my acting skills, rather than my actual fear or pain, which Francoise refused to inflict on me. However, once I recalled the image of Sheikh Ali Al Habsi leering at me and projected it onto the spider, my screaming was totally believable once more!

As we progressed around Europe – from Milan to Vienna, Munich, Hamburg, and Geneva – the relationship between Francoise and me deepened. We spent a lot of time together, and the more I listened to her, the more I watched her, the further in love with her I fell. It was so strange – I had started off disliking her for her haughty and domineering manner, hating her for the way she humiliated and demeaned me. But now, I loved her for her certainty, for knowing what was best for me, and making it happen.

If it had been a purely platonic love, I could have understood it – if I loved her like an older sister, I would have been fine. But there was an undeniable physical element – she was a beautiful woman, and I was attracted to her; I found myself aroused when I saw and heard her making love; I thrilled to her touch when we occasionally showered together; and I longed to pleasure her in any way I could, but particularly in the ways I had done in Paris.

I still didn’t think of myself as a lesbian, even though my experiences with men had all been bad, and my experiences with women – Francoise – had all been good. I had just met a remarkable person, who happened to be a woman, someone I wanted to be with, to serve, forever.

I was sure that, as much as I now wanted to serve her, she wanted me as her slave. She had surely been grooming me for this purpose for the last two months. The incident of my kidnapping had merely brought us closer together more quickly. As the tour drew to a close, I became excited, wondering what the structure of our future relationship would be.

We were performing in Amsterdam, and Francoise said we should have an ‘end of tour’ party, as this was our last show. She certainly made that last show memorable for me, by making me cum twice in each of the two performances! I was pretty tired by the time I was released, and I just sat around as Serge and Francoise packed up the van, ready to go back home to London tomorrow. Then we hit the town.

I am not a great drinker, and I had never taken drugs (I think I’ve mentioned my sheltered upbringing before), so going out in Amsterdam was a bit of a shock to the system. I was soon so drunk that I was falling off my high heels and displaying my bare arse and bald pussy to everyone, both accidentally and deliberately. Francoise suggested I needed to sober up a little, so we went to a coffee shop. The cigarettes people were smoking smelled weird, but the cake they gave me was really tasty! Everything seemed to be hilariously funny at that point, particularly Serge – I think he might have got a little annoyed with me, as I kept just pointing at him and giggling inanely.

We finally staggered back to the hotel, and I collapsed on the bed.

“Okay,” Francoise said, swaying from side to side a little, “we’ve been ordering you around for the last two months, and making you do lots of rude things.” I burst out laughing at the word ‘rude’ – it just sounded so rude! Hilarious, huh?

“As a special treat, and as it’s our last night, I think you should tell us what to do!” I looked over, and saw that Serge had sprawled himself across a chair and was now snoring quietly.

“Right!” I slurred, trying to focus, “I think he should do a striptease for us!”

Francoise gave him a swift kick to wake him up, then told him what he had to do. Being the guy he was – no shame or self-doubt whatsoever – he immediately started gyrating around the room, tossing his clothes this way and that, while Francoise and I fell about laughing. When he was naked, he continued his dancing, somewhere between belly- and disco-, resulting in his semi-erect cock flopping up and down, making me squeal with laughter. I told him he had to masturbate for us now, and he had no problem with that order, grabbing himself and coming over to where his wife and I were sprawled. As he pulled himself off, making himself good and hard, Francoise sat up and took his erection into her mouth and gave him a good suck. That looked like fun, so I sat up and grabbed it from her, licking and sucking away, until she barged me away and took over again. We playfully fought over his stiff member until it shot its load, spraying both of us in the face. We collapsed in gales of laughter once more.

“Okay,” I said, propping myself up on my elbows, “now you tie him to that chair.” Serge didn’t resist as his wife got out the rope and bound him tightly to the high-backed chair, arms behind his back, and ankles to the back legs, so he was spread wide and available.

“Now, you have to watch,” I said to Serge, “while she makes mad, passionate love… to me!”

Francoise turned to me with a broad smile, and proceeded to do her own striptease which, I have to say, was more of a turn on than his. When she was naked, she lay down on top of me and licked the cum off my face, before locking me in an open-mouthed kiss, accompanied by her groping and fondling my breasts. By the time I came up for air, I was panting, and it had nothing to do with a lack of oxygen! She transferred the attentions of her wicked tongue to my nipples, quickly bringing them erect until they were standing out like organ-stops!

“Oh, Maîtresse,” I moaned, “Oui… oui… oui!” I am sure that, if she had kept that up for much longer, she would have made me cum just sucking my nipples alone, but she had no intention of stopping there. She continued to suck and lick and nibble at my flesh as her mouth moved down across my stomach to my mound. I felt her tongue prod between my labia, and I let out a long, loud sigh as I opened my legs as wide as I could and let her go to work on me.

I grabbed the headboard above me and wrapped my legs around her, my ankles crossed somewhere in the middle of her back. Christ, she was good! I was crying out as her fingers pushed into my pussy, and her thumb even went up my bum, and it was all just perfect. She had sucked my clit into her mouth and was flicking it back and forth with her tongue when I came, thrashing and moaning and screaming…

She held me and kissed me, cuddling close, but her fingers kept roaming across my hypersensitive skin. Pretty soon, she had me crying out again, begging her for mercy, but really just wanting her to do that forever! When I climaxed for the second time, it was absolutely earth-shattering, and I fell asleep afterwards, warm, deeply content, and in my Mistress’ arms.

The trip to London the next day was not so much fun. I was allowed to sit next to the door so that I could roll down the window if I needed to throw up. It was a position I took advantage of on several occasions. For the rest of the journey, I just lay my throbbing head in my Mistress’ lap, hoping I might die, just to end the pain!

“So, this is it,” Francoise said, as we sat together in a Starbucks. Serge had gone to unload the van, and I was trying to sort out my hangover with copious amounts of black coffee.

“It’s been a wonderful summer, Terèse, I want to thank you for being such a good sport.”

It gradually filtered through the fog in my head that she was saying goodbye!

“Mais, Maîtresse,” I stammered, unable to find the words in my befuddled state, “er, en Anglais, s’il vous plait?” She smiled and nodded.

“You can’t leave me, Maîtresse… I thought I would be your… that you would be my Maîtresse forever…” I ran out of words to express my confusion, my disbelief. Surely, she wanted me in the same way I wanted her? I needed her!

“Oh, ma petite souris,” she said with a smile and a look of pity, “I was afraid of this.” She put her hands around mine, and I looked at her like a lost puppy.

“This was just a summer thing! I have my husband, and my job to do – I run an art gallery in Paris for the rest of the year. You have your whole life to live! Go and enjoy it!”

“But Maîtresse,” I said, the tears coming to my eyes, “Now I know what I want to do with my life – I want to be your slave, to serve you, to please you! Please let me be yours, Maîtresse!” I knew I was being stupid – she had a husband whom she loved deeply – but I couldn’t imagine going back to life as it was before. She sighed deeply, and seemed to make a decision.

“I thought it might come to this,” she said, looking deeply into my eyes, “you have discovered that you have a yearning to be a submissive. Your infatuation with me will pass, but you can never change your true nature.”

She waved her hand in a beckoning motion, and I looked around to see who she was signalling. A woman, in her early thirties at a guess, smartly dressed in a well-cut trouser suit and white blouse, with expensive-looking jewellery, was smiling in a kindly way at me as she walked over.

“This is Mistress Jessica,” Francoise said, “she is a very good friend of mine, I’ve known her for years. You will go with her and she will train you to be the perfect little serving girl. This is my last order to you!” She looked sternly at me, as I glanced doubtfully from one to the other.

“Oui, Maîtresse,” I said obediently, heart-broken, defeated. I stood up, and followed Mistress Jessica out of the shop, glancing back at my Mistress, then looking forward, to my new Mistress.

- o O o -

I saw Mistress Francoise a couple of months later, when she came to visit Mistress Jessica at her house in north London. I opened the door to her in my black maid’s outfit, and dropped a curtsy, as I had been taught, but with a broad smile on my face. I showed her into the drawing room and fetched Mistress Jessica, before going off to make tea. When I returned, they were deep in conversation, but looked up and smiled at me as I came in.

“You’re looking very well, Terèse, very fit and trim,” Francoise commented.

“Merci, Maîtresse,” I replied, bobbing another curtsy, my eyes cast down as the floor – I wanted to give her the best possible impression for Mistress Jessica’s sake!

“She’s a credit to you, Jessica.”

“Thank you, I’m very happy with her,” my Mistress said, giving me a smile which made me blush with pride.

“I was going to sell her on,” she continued, “but she’s so delightful, I decided to keep her. She’s invaluable around the house and, I have to say, extremely good at relieving the stresses of the day!”

They chatted and caught up on their lives for the rest of the afternoon, while I happily waited on them. Later on, I was allowed to strip down to my collar and cuffs - Mistress Jessica had decided she liked them, they went well with whatever I was wearing, even when I was wearing nothing – and show Mistress Francoise what new tricks I had learned about giving my Mistress pleasure. From the noise she made, I think she was impressed!

When she left, Mistress Francoise gave me a kiss and told me how pleased she was for me that I had ‘found my calling’. When we were alone again, Mistress Jessica allowed me to relieve the tension from her day in the best possible way.

I didn’t go back to college – I don’t think I was ever cut out to be an Art student. I have been with Mistress Jessica for more than ten years now, and could not be happier. I feel that I’ve been so lucky, because my life really only fell into place when my student crush on my Art tutor went so spectacularly wrong!

The End