Amy sat in the rich surroundings of her Mistress’ office, not really listening to the reading of the Will anymore. With Miss Catherine next to her, she needn’t pay attention to the proceedings. Her Miss would let her know if something that affected her was mentioned. With Her by her side, she felt secure now, and a little less out of place among the elite members of the Harrington clan.

Besides that, her thoughts of those first days with her Mistress had drawn her into herself, reflecting on her life and how her love for Deborah Harrington had grown.

How quickly Mrs. Harrington had taken charge of her had come as quite a surprise. It seemed that her Mistress was full of surprises! On the fourth day of her service to Deborah, she was led on a leash down the stairs and into the dungeon. Standing in the center of the room while her Mistress went to the wall to unwind the rope that went through a pulley overhead, Amy wondered where this action was leading, and what Mrs. Harrington planned on doing.

Obviously, she was going to use the rope to tie her in some manner, but did she know how, and what to do afterwards? She still viewed the older woman as somewhat of a novice and figured she was lacking in vision as to what to do with an actual slave.

If nothing else, Amy was a good slave, though, and she maintained her stoic stance; head up, eyes down, chest out, hands resting on the small of her back, legs shoulder width apart. According to her former Master, this was a classic slave position, and along with the kneeling counterpart, when at rest she was usually in one or the other of these positions.

Feeling warmth from behind, Amy braced herself mentally as she felt hands on her shoulders. Her Mistress just held her shoulders for a moment before reaching around to work the buttons of her black blouse. Her breathing shallow in anticipation, Amy felt the little tugs on the blouse as each button was released. Finally the fabric was pulled away and she lowered her arms to allow the blouse to be pulled down, and then returned them to their position behind her. Bare from the waist up now, she felt the hands come around in front of her and cup her breasts.

It felt divine, and Amy closed her eyes to soak in the sensation. But, after having aroused her nipples fully, those hands traced a path up to her armpits and then moved in so that her arms were being raised up over her head.

“I’ve thought about this for quite some time, Amy,” Deborah said as she clipped the carabineer at the end of the rope through the d-rings on Amy’s wrist cuffs.

“You have, Ma’am?” She had found that her Mistress didn’t seem to mind that she not call her Mistress every time she responded, after all. It did seem to get rather repetitive; yes, Mistress…right away, Mistress…of course, Mistress. She mixed in some ‘Ma’am’s’ when she could and had gotten away with it so far.

Deborah’s hands came back down Amy’s arms, caressing, stroking her flesh.

“Yes, I have.” Her hands roamed down the bound woman’s torso to her waist, her fingers looping into the waistband of her skirt and pulling downward, leaving her naked except for her black heels.

It was at this point that Amy resolved to stop being surprised by everything that her new Mistress said and did. It was obvious that she had totally misjudged the woman, as she had seen others do, and she knew she needed to discard everything she had previously assumed about her.

For how long has she thought about tying me up? she wondered. Her thoughts drifted back to Tuesday, when she had pleasured her Mistress in one of the guest rooms. That had been no random act that came on the spur of the moment. No, it had been much deeper than that. Even at the time she had felt there was more to it than a simple urge for release. Her Mistress had said only one word, “please,” and that one word was said with such emotion that it made Amy hot just thinking about it.

Had Mrs. Harrington secretly wanted to control her? To be her Mistress? She searched her memories as she pulled against the rope holding her hands over her head, testing the bondage that held her in place. There was nothing to indicate that Mrs. Harrington had wanted to control her. She had always felt that the Mistress of the house had disliked her, both by the manner in which she spoke to her and in the duties she was assigned to perform.

Amy felt Deborah’s hands on her ankles and then felt her leg being pushed to the side. Holding the rope above her, she lifted herself slightly to make it easier for her Mistress to position her where she wished. A tug on her other ankle and a slight clattering noise gave away that a spreader bar was being clipped between her ankles.

This was definitely getting more interesting by the second, but she paid little attention to it as she continued to work through Mrs. Harrington’s recent metamorphosis. As her thoughts turned the pages of the past year or so, she began to see the changes she had not seen at the time. Even before Deborah had discovered her beaten and hanging in the dungeon on her twenty-fourth birthday, she could see that the older woman had softened somewhat. But after that event, she had kept her closer at hand, ostentatiously to show others that the young whore would not intimidate her in her own house. But now she had to re-think even that. She saw now that Mrs. Harrington had been protecting her from her husband and his brother.

Tears seeped from the corners of her eyes as she realized how wrong she had been about the woman who now owned her.

Deborah stepped in front of her suspended slave and wiped a tear off of her cheek.

“Are you frightened, Amy?”

Keeping her eyes lowered, Amy saw the thick strand flogger in Deborah’s hand. How quickly her mood changed as she saw the implement that her Mistress had chosen to use on her.

“No, Mistress,” she replied, understanding that her Mistress had mistaken the reasons for her tears.

“You see the flogger,” Deborah said as she raised the end to press against Amy’s chin and lift her head a little.  “You don’t fear it?”

“That’s my favorite flogger, Mistress. I look forward to suffering for you as you use it.”

Deborah removed the flogger from under Amy’s chin and walked around behind her.

“Well, I’ve never done this before, so I’d be at least a little nervous if I were in your place.”

Many comebacks came to Amy’s mind, but she held her tongue. Foremost in her mind was that she trusted her Mistress not to injure her on purpose. And the truth was, even with that trust, she was a little nervous. But now, more than ever, she wanted to please her Mistress, and if it pleased her Mistress to flog her, she would take the abuse for her pleasure.

Amy could tell by the soft shuffling of feet on the hard stone floor behind her that her Mistress was getting ready to strike. She was setting her stance. That was good. It meant the woman was going about this thoughtfully, not simply standing there and swinging her arm. A moment later she felt the sharp slap of leather against her back.

“Uhhgh,” she grunted, then bit her lip to avoid further noise. She was hoping to not make any sounds, but the heaviness of the strands as they struck her flesh forced her to react. She would be ready for what followed, though.

The next lash came in the same area. Prepared for the strike, Amy closed her eyes and let the pain wash over her. The bulk of the leather strands punished the middle of her back, while a few struck higher and lower than the others. These hurt a little more on their own, but nothing that the suspended woman couldn’t process.

Her eyes still closed, Amy soaked in the sensation of the strands as they struck her back. Gentle compared to what her former Master had administered, she noticed an increase in intensity with each passing stroke as if Deborah was gauging the force of her swings. A momentary cessation caused Amy to open her eyes, but she did not attempt to look back. She just stood, waiting, and controlling her breathing; in and out, slowly, steadily; in and out.

The wait was short, and she gasped as the leather struck her ass with considerable force. Dealing with this pain required a more disciplined response, and the young woman exhaled deeply. It was a good stroke, and hurt quite a bit. She was sure her Mistress was quite pleased with the sound of it, and the feel of the flogger as the strands landed solidly, and this thought gladdened her and excited her.

“Thank you, Mistress!” she cried out, grateful to be the living target for fulfilling her Mistress’ desires. Another hard stroke crossing the soft flesh of her naked rear end caused her to pull on the rope above to maintain her balance. Steadying herself again, the memories of floggings she had endured over the years flooded her mind and her body reacted accordingly.

Before the next stroke was delivered, Amy allowed her body to relax and hang from her wrists. This allowed her the extra slack she needed to force her well-toned ass outward towards her Mistress, her back arching in the process. She was offering her ass to the flogger, presenting a pleasing target for the wide leather strands to land.

This seemed to please Deborah quite a bit as the flogger struck her proffered ass from a multitude of directions in a quick succession of blows. Barely able to catch a breath, Amy shouted out her thanks both to please her Mistress and to let her know she was not in so much pain that she couldn’t think or speak. The heat from the flogging spread in all directions in waves and after a couple of minutes her ass felt as though it was on fire.

By the time the flogging stopped, Amy’s head hung between her arms. The pain from individual blows didn’t even register in her brain at this point, as she absorbed the overall sensations that were being forced upon her bound body. A hand on her ass made her jump, but then she pressed her rear out even further as Deborah caressed her hot flesh.

Unaccustomed to a woman’s touch, Amy noticed immediately the tenderness with which she was being caressed. Her former Master had not touched her in this manner for quite some time, and it was a sensation that she missed. That she was being handled in such a gentle manner now was not lost on her, and she was instantly aroused by the affection. When the fingers strayed down between her legs, she knew they would discover her arousal, too.

Gripping the rope overhead to lessen the pull on her wrist cuffs, Amy stood helplessly as her Mistress explored the wet flesh between her legs. A fingertip slid through the ring pierced through the flesh over her clit and pulled gently, as others entered her slit, sliding easily into her.

The sound of the flogger falling to the floor preceded the touch of Deborah’s other hand on Amy’s reddened ass. She melted in waves of pleasure as her Mistress explored her body however it pleased her. She could tell by the way in which she was being touched that her Mistress was enjoying herself.

To the young submissive, what her Mistress had done to her, and continued to do, had fulfilled so many of her own desires. She remembered that she was going to stop being surprised by Mrs. Harrington’s actions, but she couldn’t help but to be surprised once again! 

To a rational person, being struck with a flogger would not seem to be something to be desired, but to Amy it was, when that flogger was wielded by her owner. It was something she still didn’t fully understand, but she felt the need to serve, to offer herself in every way for the pleasure of the person who controlled her, and took care of her. She found a great deal of freedom in being under the tightest of controls.

Amy knew that her basic desires lay in pleasing others. It was a selfless desire, and in achieving her goals, she fulfilled her own needs. If it pleased her Mistress to offer her pleasure as well, that was a bonus!

Now, however, those sensual hands had left her body and she heard the flogger being picked up off of the floor. There was a faint sound of movement behind her, and then she felt the ends of the leather strands brush against the bottom of her ass, as though the flogger was being used in an upward movement. This could mean only one thing, and she forced her ass outward and braced herself for the worst kind of pain.

Sure enough, the next stroke landed smartly between her legs, slapping against the wet bare flesh of her exposed pussy. Easily processed, Amy controlled her breathing, and her fear. Her Mistress had proven to be a careful amateur, and had not hurt her yet. Still, it wouldn’t take much to cause a great deal of pain in this area. With the spreader bar secured between her ankles, she was helpless to prevent the abuse, however hard it turned out to be.

Another stroke landed, harder than the others. Amy remembered how her Mistress had strengthened each lash to her ass, and reasoned that she would apply the same method again. Knowing this, she remained as quiet as she could, uttering only slight grunts and sounds when she was unable to stop herself.

As predicted, the flogger continued to swing upward, striking her pussy with increasing severity. When the pain reached a certain level, she began to regulate her breathing to help focus her mind on the respirations instead of the pain. This worked for some time, until she had to speak out.

“Thank you, Mistress! Another, please!”

‘Whap!!’

Deep inhale, and exhale. “Thank you, Mistress! Another, please!”

But no others followed.

Deborah moved around in front of her slave and held her around the waist. Standing close, she put her head next to Amy’s and whispered, “I’m so happy, Amy,” and kissed the young woman on the side of her face. Her hands caressed her slave’s nakedness, feeling the moistness of her perspiration as it dripped down her back and sides. “Are you happy?”

In the four years she had been a “slave”, no one had ever asked her this question. There had been times when she would have immediately answered ‘yes’, but many times she would not have been so sure of the answer. But now, with her Mistress’ arms surrounding her, holding her, she felt something as close to real joy as she had ever known.

“Yes, Mistress, I’m very happy.”

Sitting now, in the back corner of the room, Amy turned away from Miss Catherine as the tears streamed down her cheeks. Barely able to contain the tidal wave of emotions that threatened to overtake her, the distraught former slave began to concentrate on her breathing. A technique that had served her well during painful sessions at the receiving end of a flogger, cane, or spanking paddle, she hoped it would serve her now to control her emotions. The last thing she wanted to do was draw attention to herself in this room full of Harrington’s, or to embarrass Miss Catherine sitting next to her.

While helping to quell the fear that she would break down sobbing, it did nothing to stop the flood of memories; memories of nearly thirty wonderful years as Deborah Harrington’s personal slave. She had been her whore, her slut, her toy, her lover, and her best friend. She had been anything her Mistress wished her to be. And her Mistress had been everything she had ever hoped for in an owner.

Amy hadn’t set out on this journey with the notion that she wanted to be owned; it had just been a game at first. But as she lived the game, it became no game at all. It became a reality that she felt so comfortable with that she never wanted it to end.

But now, the emptiness that consumed her told her it had ended. Lost in her thoughts, she hadn’t felt Miss Catherine’s hand on her shoulder, touching her gently. But she did feel it when that hand traversed lovingly across her upper back.

Turning slightly to glance up at her Miss, she saw the pretty brunette looking at her with such sympathy in her eyes.

“It’s almost over, Amy,” Catherine said in a hushed voice. “I’m sure this has been very hard for you to sit through, hearing all of your Mistress’ possessions being parceled out like this.” Her hand continued to rub Amy’s shoulders, and the offered comfort was very welcome.

“Thank you for sitting with me, Miss. I’m…I’m not sure I could’ve made it otherwise.”

Amy saw several people stand up and shake hands. Mitchell’s family passed by on their way out of the room, while the young executive stayed behind to talk with Mr. Lancester. More family members filed out; excited with the inheritances they had just received.

Sneaking a peek over Catherine’s shoulder, Amy’s mood brightened slightly. “Is it over, Miss?” she asked, hopefully. She was glad that her Mistress had not given her anything; because she had never asked anything of her in all of the time she had served her. And yet, she had always had everything she needed, or ever wanted.

Catherine shook her head, “No, but soon.” The young woman stood and took Amy’s hand, guiding the older woman to her feet. “Come, we’ll sit up front now.”

Amy stood in place, resisting the pull on her hand. “Up front, Miss?” She shook her head, not wanting to leave the safety of her little corner.

“Yes, come,” Catherine said more sternly, dropping Amy’s hand, and walking towards the large ornate desk that the attorney stood behind.

Amy knew that tone of voice, and followed closely behind the shapely young woman as she made her way between the empty chairs.

“I insist we be able to stay to hear what she’s kept until the last to give away!” Buster was saying to Mr. Lancester.

“There’s a lot of money not accounted for,” Prudence joined in. Turning to see Amy approaching, she added, “I’m not sitting idly by while she gives away her fortune to just anybody.” The nasty tone told Amy exactly who ‘anybody’ was.

“Mrs. Harrington’s special dispositions go solely to the Porter side of the family, ma’am,” the attorney said with a slight smirk. “And quite frankly, I’ll be glad when I’m done here and off the property.”

Buster stood up straight, his large frame towering over the old man. “What the fuck…”

“Charles Harrington left everything in his wife’s care because he couldn’t trust his own family to continue to build his empire. I’d say he was a very astute judge of character.” The attorney paused for a moment to let his words sink in.

“Deborah, while someone you find to be a loathsome gold-digger, has returned each part of the corporation to Harrington control in a much healthier state than she received them, and given them to the persons most likely to succeed with each. That hadn’t been clear at the time of Mr. Harrington’s death, and he was still deciding how to write his final Will. In the meanwhile he had entrusted everything to his wife.”

The man sat down and looked up at Buster and Prudence. “What remains to be distributed is Deborah’s personal wealth. She has stipulated that Mitchell should remain to represent your families, and I’d like to get started, so if you would please…” he motioned towards the door.

Indignantly, the two Harrington’s left the room, and Mr. Lancester directed everyone to take their seats. Taking a breath he began, “The following are Mrs. Harrington’s special dispositions.”

He went on to award several million dollars to each of the Porter sisters, and dispensed a couple of vacation homes and cottages in the U.S. and abroad. To Catherine she gave eight million dollars, the largest amount to be awarded thus far to any one person. Amy squeezed her arm in delight, knowing her Miss would be quite wealthy now! She was very happy for her!

Apparently finished with his papers, Mr. Lancester laid them down on the desk and looked up at Amy.

“As for you, Miss Jackson, may I say that there was nothing Mrs. Harrington treasured more than you,” the elderly man swallowed hard, emotions straining his words. “She often told me that if she were to lose everything except for you, she would still be a happy woman.”

Amy could feel everyone’s eyes on her, but she dared not to look up for fear of breaking down in tears.

“In preparing for her inevitable death, your Mistress struggled with how to dispense with you.”

Now it was Amy who swallowed hard. Dispense with me? She wasn’t sure what that meant.

“Giving you money and sending you out on your own was never an option. She loved you too much to do anything so cold.” The man looked around at the faces of those persons most dear to his departed friend. “She wanted to make sure you were always taken care of, and would live out your life in the servitude of someone who loved you as she did.”

Amy’s heart raced at the words she was hearing.

Mr. Lancester fingered the papers in front of him until he found the one he sought. Pulling it out and laying it on top of the stack, he looked up at Amy again.

“Amy, are you the property of Deborah Harrington?”

Once, a long time ago, she had grappled with that same question in regards to her Master. Had he owned her? She felt that he did. Did her Mistress own her? One hundred percent, yes. There was no doubt in her mind what so ever that she belonged to Deborah Harrington.

“Yes, Sir, I am,” Amy quickly stated.

“It is your Mistress’ wish that you, her most valuable possession, be given to her niece, Catherine Porter, to do with as she pleases.”

Catherine reached over and took Amy’s hand and squeezed it. Amy looked over, astonished, to see Catherine whipping tears off of her cheek with her other hand, and also saw a big, beautiful, smile on her new Mistress’ face.

“Do you accept this inheritance, Miss Porter?” the man asked as he pushed the paper across the desktop towards Catherine, while trying his hardest to suppress a grin and remain professional.

The young woman picked up the paper and scanned the print. It was a title of ownership, much like a vehicle title. She smiled and looked up at the elderly gentleman. This had obviously been photo-shopped and made to look official, but that was her aunt’s signature at the bottom, and in the other corner was Mr. Lancester’s signature, with a Notary seal next to it.

“I do,” Catherine said, turning to look at the woman next to her. “I do accept it.”

Mr. Lancester stood up, and said, “Very well then. With that, the reading of the Will of Deborah Anne Porter Harrington is complete.”

Amy fell into her Mistress’ arms and wept. Catherine gave her a moment and then pushed her away a little bit.

“Let’s go, my precious slave. I’m sure there’s a collar for you in the dungeon we can borrow.”

“There’s lots of them, Mistress,” Amy gushed as she fell in step behind her new owner.

“And then we’ll go down to our new home, and maybe drag that old cart out of the barn. Would you like that, slave?”

Amy’s pulse quickened. The cart?!! “Yes, Miss! I would like that very much!”

The tears from the loss of Mistress Deborah now mixed with her tears of joy. And even though she had sworn long ago not to be surprised by anything Deborah Harrington did or said, once again, Mistress Deborah had surprised her.

What had started as the gloomiest day of her life had unexpectedly become the happiest.

The End