Author Unknown

Illustrations by Robert Bishop

Scanned and Transcribed by guardian46w

CHAPTER TWO

Jack Brandon, besides being the nephew of Jason Murfree, employed in his uncle's bank as an assistant in charge of loans, was a superb poker player and had, on his last vacation, parlayed a thousand dollars into forty thousand in a private game with some of the city's wealthiest men.  Nor was it the first time he had been so fortunate with the cards; over five years, he had banked close to $200,000, and part of it he had used to buy an old house, Gothic red-brick in style, with a spacious cellar which he had outfitted much in the manner of a medieval punishment dungeon.  For, if truth be known, he was an avid devotee of bondage and discipline, having been thus swayed in his erotic leanings since his college days, when an impertinent senior sorority girl had made a laughing stock of him, and he had repaid her by tying her wrists behind her back, blindfolding her, then pulling her knees back to her bosom and using a buckling strap to bind them thus, while he hoisted skirt and petticoat and lowered her panty briefs, telling her she would remain thus till she of her own accord begged for a spanking for her ungracious mockery of him.  Celestine, horrified at first by his summary treatment of her, had found herself visited by singular masochistic feelings as she lay on the couch of his apartment living room thus shamefully exposed and lewdly displayed with her bare bottom upturned and the plump pink cleft of her woman core so lewdly accessible.  Finally, she had tearfully and falteringly asked for the spanking, been given a voluptuous chastisement, his hand caressing her bottom and thighs and pussy between slaps, till at its end, she pantingly begged him to ease her tensions and take her—which he did.

Some five years later, having met an opulent 30-year-old brown-haired divorcee at a party his uncle was giving, Corinne Chalmers, he took a further step in his training to be a dominator of the haughty female.  Corinne had two dates with him, and then coyly put on a holier-than-thou act when he tried to kiss her and fondle her big round closely spaced breasts.  Blandly, he invited her over to his apartment the next night, telling her he had a serious proposal to make her; Corinne, expecting marriage, unsuspectingly kept the date.  Once inside, he immediately bound her wrists behind her back, connected a cord from that fettering to her slim ankles, so that she knelt before him, breasts thrust boldly out.  When she began to cry out, he applied a pear gag with a buckling strap at her neck, then hoisted her blue miniskirt and furled a cord round it to keep it above her waist, and lingeringly rolled down her coquettish lace-trimmed blue satin panties.  Then, taking a cord, he wound it round the gathered sheaf of her thick light-brown hair and attached a heavy book at the other end, to force her to up tilt her agonized, tear-stained face even more exaggeratedly.

"Now, Corinne," he had told her as he stripped down to his shorts and socks, "Your coy little act of untouchable virgin didn't set well with me at all last night.  Everybody knows you divorced your hubby to get his money and because he was so much older than you—probably couldn't take care of your bedtime needs either, could he?  So, you are going to be honest for a change, and tell me when you're ready to submit to your master.  Just nod your head three times when you are, I'll remove the gag and the weight from your pretty hair."

With this, having brought back an oval shaped hairbrush in his right hand and a narrow little hand brush from the washbasin with extremely stiff bristles held in his left, he knelt down to face the gasping, squirming, tortured mature brownette (sic) divorcee and, gloatingly patting her big plump deeply cleft carnation-sheened bottom cheeks with the flat back of the hairbrush, added, "I am going to aid you in making a decision, my dear Corinne.  My theory is that a supposedly virtuous but actually sluttish female is heated from behind, she soon heats up in front.  At least, we shall attempt to prove or disprove that theory tonight, shan't we, my dear?"

With this, drawing the hairbrush away from her flexing, tightening naked behind, he kept the divorcee in agonized suspense, all her muscles flinching to withstand the very first crisp intonation; as he hovered it without striking, he, watching intently for just such a sign, delivered a sonorous spank across the deep cleft of both buttocks, crimsoning the plump inner edges of both luscious nether globes and drawing a frantic, startled and muffled cry of distress from the mature captive, who instinctively lunged forward; but in so doing, she pressed her sensitive gaping cunt right up against the stiff prickly bristles of the little hand brush.  Recoiling with another startled, stifled cry, she was regaled with two stinging smacks of the hairbrush diagonally over the base of each sumptuous, resilient buttock; with a panting groan, she again lunged forward, adding to the painful traction on her scalp by the sudden jerky movements which made her down-pulled hair tug cruelly against her sensitive scalp as the heavy dictionary swung to and fro.  And at the same time, the hand brush rubbed perniciously and slowly up and down over the palpitating crevice of her pink lipped mount of Venus.

"I have you now between two fires, I think, my dear Corinne," he chuckled, as he applied five more swift stinging spanks with the flat of the hairbrush all over her jutting naked rounded bottom globes, making her swerve her ripely curvaceous hips in the most lascivious, uncontrollable way, while with his left hand he commenced a slow side-to-side rubbing of the bristles into her sensitized soft cunt.  Soon, not only agonized by the disconcerting throbbing of her well spanked posterior, but agitated emotionally by the incessant yet calculatedly lingering friction of the prickly bristles in front, Corinne, her body gleaming with torment-sweat, exerted all her muscles to manage to nod three times.  Then, removing the gag and untying the end of the cord to let the dictionary drop, Jack Brandon demanded, "Now are you ready to act like a woman and not a teenaged teaser, Corinne?"

"Y—yes—ah—Oooh, it hurts—" she whimpered.

"It will hurt much more when I continue—as I will if you don't at once call me master and humbly beg me to do whatever I wish to my new slave girl, Corinne," he told her.  And when she hesitated, sniffling and squirming, her muscles flaming with pain from the stressed, pinioned genuflecting pose, he applied several more hard smacks with the hairbrush over the backs of her upper thighs, and rubbed the brush harshly against her already exacerbated quim.

"Aii—ahrr—oh stop, mercy—yes-yes—m-master—please do—do any-anything in the world you want to your sl—slavegirl C—Corinne, only I beg you no more, please, master," she wailed, capitulating.

From that day forth she became his mistress, and only last year, when she timidly knelt down to beg his permission to allow her to marry someone with whom she had sincerely fallen in love, did he at last release her from the dominant and artistic bondage into which he had so ingeniously plunged her.

Continent (sic) since then and having enjoyed Corinne's servile favors for nearly five years, Jack Brandon, in possession of the house with its secret subjugation chamber was even now contemplating taking himself a new slave—who would be both concubine and humble slave girl to him.

He had in the past few minutes just chosen her—though Myrna Gentry had not the slightest inkling of so momentous decision that would affect her life henceforth and transform her from a proud embattled and demi-vierge Amazon into a concupiscent, masochistic, fervently adoring slave!

Continues in Chapter Three