Contents
Cover
Title Page
Introduction – Peter Birch
Chastity – Arbella Silkstone
The Mark of the Devil – Arbella Silkstone
The Pinkery – Arbella Silkstone
Poodles – Guy Masterleigh
Good Girl – Guy Masterleigh
Good Bitch – Guy Masterleigh
On the Job Training – Paul Scott
Stuck for Words – Paul Scott
Copyright
When I was asked to put together a collection of erotic short stories my first thought was to assemble a stable of the finest possible authors. Fortunately, after more than twenty years as a writer and editor of erotica I already had a pretty good idea of who I ought to be talking to, from the best known writers in the genre to those obscure figures who hide their identity from the public eye so that they can allow full rein to their fertile imaginations. These include both men and women, new stars and old hands, those who have lived the life and those whose ideas come purely from the mind’s eye.
All but the most insular of us met up in a pub once frequented by Aleister Crowley, which seemed appropriate, and after much discussion of what they wanted to write and what the mighty Random House would allow them to write I was able to commission a series of six short-story collections. The first of these came out under the title of The Master, and I now present the second, The Dominant Male, taking the same theme of male-dominant sex, but with stronger content and less familiar settings.
By comparison with most modern erotica imprints I’d been given a very free hand, in keeping with the traditions of the Nexus imprint of which the collection was to form a part. The result is a collection of stories with both variety and depth, while many are also very intense and include the sort of material that was once the mainstay of erotica but has sadly fallen victim to the grey hand of politically correct morality. Fantasy is fantasy, and every individual should have the right to express their erotic imaginings as they please, with as few taboos as is practically possible.
Arbella Silkstone is the pen name of one of our more mysterious contributors, and all I’m allowed to say is that this is a woman who lives the life, accepting tight-lacing and domestic discipline in the way most of us accept phishing and mobile phones. Despite her reclusive lifestyle in the Cambridgeshire fens, she is a prolific authoress and has provided us with three stories, all set in the world of unyielding masters and pretty, obedient maids she would like to inhabit.
We also have three contributions from Guy Masterleigh. Guy is a player first and a writer second, but his extraordinary breadth of experience gives him an almost unrivalled appreciation of the less familiar aspects of human sexuality. When you read his stories, you are meeting real people and sharing the most intimate details of their private lives.
Then there’s Paul Scott, bringing up the tail with two examples guaranteed to delight anybody with a taste for uninhibited erotica and especially well-suited to those who’ve come to love the old Nexus style. This is no surprise, as Paul Scott is the pen name of a long-established writer and editor whose open-minded attitudes and distaste for censorship ensure that he never fails to satisfy. I hope you enjoy the stories.
‘This is the new girl, my lady. Her name is Hannah,’ Prudence said, bobbing a curtsy.
Hannah kept her eyes downcast respectfully, and in order to avoid staring, for Lady Beatrice was a sight to draw a stare, resplendent in a ferociously tight-laced corset of white satin cut so low that it left her full breasts uncovered. The filmy, feather-trimmed négligée that she had neglected to fasten at the front served only to display very considerable charms.
‘Hannah?’ Lady Beatrice said languidly. ‘No, no I don’t think so. She looks more like a Chastity to me, what with that innocent face and angelic blonde hair. But we have Chastity, don’t we?’
‘No, my lady. If you recall, the last one went up to Cloudsley Hall, to serve Lord Purslane.’
Lady Beatrice’s delicately sculpted nose wrinkled in distaste. ‘Oh yes,’ she said sharply. ‘Piquet, such a stupid game. Oh well, I suppose the name was rather tempting fate.’ A malicious gleam entered her emerald eyes, ‘Well, we shall tempt it again. I shall call you Chastity, girl. Answer to no other. Do you understand?’
Hannah felt her ears burn, but she managed to bob respectfully. ‘Yes, my lady,’ she said, unable to control a furious blush.
‘How tall are you, Chastity?’ Lady Beatrice demanded.
‘Five… five feet eight inches my lady – I think.’
‘Too tall. Far too tall. If Horace sees a girl so shapely and so pretty and so long of limb… well! If you run into my husband, girl, you must bend your knees to appear shorter. Do it now. No! No! Don’t bend at the waist, squat down and bend your legs, but keep your carriage upright and erect. Believe me; you don’t want his eye to fall on you!’
Hannah, or Chastity as she seemed to be called now, did as she was bid, though it felt ridiculous. The black silk skirts of her new uniform were voluminous, however, and by crouching at the knees and semi-squatting she could appear to be some inches shorter, her long legs concealed under the bell of skirt and petticoats. And when she did meet Lord Horace Thundridge, three days later, she managed to crouch, as instructed, before he turned his cold, grey eyes on her, and she was glad that he only perused her for a second or two before turning back to his exquisite wife.
It was a further three days before the thunderbolt. Chastity had been worked very, very hard. She had not expected the position of chambermaid to be easy but Prudence proved a tartar, keeping her working all day and long into the evenings. Polishing, cleaning, helping to dress her Ladyship, helping to undress her Ladyship, helping her Ladyship to dress again in another fabulous confection
On this occasion Lady Beatrice had stripped to stays and pure white silk stockings. Prudence undid the drawstring of her Ladyship’s lawn drawers and the garment slithered down her legs to reveal her nakedness.
‘What are you looking at, Chastity, have you never seen a lady’s quim, before?’
‘No… My lady,’ Chastity managed somehow. And this was true. Her mistress’s cunny was not like anything that she had seen before, being quite shaven and having two silver rings piercing the outer lips.
‘Tell, me girl. Do you know how to minette?’
Chastity blinked, unable to take her eyes off the gleaming silver rings. ‘I, I’m sorry, my lady, I don’t know what that means.’
Lady Beatrice laughed. ‘No,’ she said, ‘I don’t suppose you do. Show her, Prudence.’
‘Yes, my lady,’ the lady’s maid said and with much rustling of skirts, sank to her knees in front of her mistress. Chastity watched, astonished and aghast, as the dark-haired girl put her lips to her Ladyship’s quim and began licking.
‘Oh! Ah! Shit, shit, that’s it…’ Lady Beatrice said between gasps and little groans of pleasure, ‘stick it in you little bitch. Stick it right in or it will be the riding whip again… No, wait! Hold! I want to see how this new trollop manages.’
Chastity swallowed when she heard this, her heart pounding furiously. It was outrageous, and yet it was not just that she did not dare to refuse her mistress. Some strange fascination had her in its grip and she took Prudence’s place, finding her face but inches from Lady Beatrice’s swollen cunny. The smooth, pink flesh, so cruelly pierced by gleaming metal rings, was wet with Prudence’s saliva, and perhaps not only that. She opened her mouth and stuck out a tentative tongue.
‘Useless!’ Lady Beatrice spat some moments later. ‘Why are they all so useless? Why is it so hard to find a servant who knows how to tongue these days? You need to tickle my clit you silly trollop!’
‘She needs to be learned,’ Prudence put in nastily, ‘your crop would learn her, my lady.’
‘I’ll learn you if you are pert again, Miss,’ hissed her Ladyship. ‘That’s better! Round and round then… Oh bugger it!’
Chastity found her ears seized and her face rammed hard into Lady Beatrice’s engorged pussy, the silver rings clinking against her teeth. Shrieking between shouting the foulest oaths that Chastity had ever heard, her mistress simply ground herself into her maid’s face, no longer concerned what the helpless girl did with her tongue but simply mashing her sex into the girl’s mouth and nose and chin as her whole body juddered and her swearing became delighted screaming.
Released at last, Chastity licked her lips, wishing she had a handkerchief to wipe the juices from the rest of her face, as Lady Beatrice sprawled on the chaise, gasping and quietly moaning. Her ladyship seemed to be in a dream and so she got up from her knees, and looked around. Prudence was regarding her with amusement mingled with malice.
‘That…’ Lady Beatrice said at last, opening a beady green eye and regarding Chastity through it ‘…was wanting. If I wanted to frot myself I might as well have used the bedpost!’
‘I’m, sorry, my Lady,’ Chastity said in a weak voice.
‘Oh,’ her mistress replied. ‘Don’t worry, girl, you certainly will be. Servants who do not know how to perform their duties here are disciplined. I believe that you were told that when you joined us?’
‘Yes, my lady,’ Chastity said, confused, ‘but… I mean… I thought—’
‘Stop babbling you silly chit and take your dress off. Prudence, run and fetch me a cane and then you can strip too. I simply won’t have pertness.’
With her heart pounding now, Chastity took off the black silk dress and stood in drawers and corset, furiously blushing. Lady Beatrice walked around her slowly and the maid could feel the older woman’s eyes on her half-naked form.
‘That corset is a disgrace,’ her Ladyship said coldly. ‘It needs to be laced at least two inches tighter. Four would be better. Well, drop your drawers, girl. You won’t require them for what is coming.’
Chastity did as she was bid but did it as reluctantly and slowly as she dared. It was not just the shame of having to reveal herself before Lady Beatrice’s gimlet gaze, though her embarrassment was acute enough to make her slightly dizzy. It was also the fear of what was coming. Chastity had not been flogged before, as a grown girl, and something told her that Lady Beatrice was not one to spare her servants. However, there was only so long that she could delay letting the drawers slip down her legs, leaving her lower person in nothing but her black silk stockings.
‘Take your hands away, girl. In fact put them on top of your head.”
Chastity did as she was bid, blinking the hint of a tear of sheer humiliation away, as Lady Beatrice regarded her maid’s pussy with a raised eyebrow.
‘I see this lamb needs shearing!’ she remarked. ‘Pretty as these golden locks are…’
Chastity could not prevent a yelp of pain as her mistress took hold of a hank of pubic fur and yanked it hard, ‘we do not permit it for hygienic reasons. Prudence should have seen to… Ah! There you are. What kept you?
‘I am sorry, my lady,’ the dark haired maid said anxiously, ‘his Lordship was in the rod room…’
Chastity dared a glance up at the other maid. Her cap was awry and her face a shade not far from beetroot.
‘Well, I will deal with you later. Make a horse for this chit!’
Chastity was made to put her arms over Prudence’s shoulders. The lady’s maid grasped Chastity’s wrists and pulled them down until they were almost at her waist and, with a grunt, bent over.
‘Further, further! Her legs are so long that her feet are barely off the ground, you need to bend much further.’
Chastity was much taller than Prudence and the dark haired maid was clearly struggling with her weight, but at length, she was horsed to Lady Beatrice’s satisfaction. The blonde girl held her breath. Everything was silent except her pounding heart and the slight protesting creak of the two maids’ corsets. Then the quiet was broken with a gasp as Chastity felt the cold, smooth touch of the cane laid, horizontally, right across the middle of her naked bottom.
‘Have I thrashed you before, girl?’ Lady Beatrice asked in an excited, husky voice.
‘Nu… No, my lady,’ Chastity managed somehow; mortified that Lady Beatrice could seemingly not remember something so significant to maids, if not, apparently, to mistresses.
‘Well, this won’t be the last time. You have a peach of a bottom, girl. A veritable peach. Plump and almost as white as your corset… now! I speak of its colour now, understand me. I mean to apply a little rouge directly!’ Lady Beatrice let out a throaty, delighted chuckle.
Time seemed to stop. Chastity bit her lip to prevent a wail escaping as she felt the cane lifted from her bottom. She closed her eyes and took as deep a breath as her corset would allow. The anticipation was so awful that she almost wished the stroke would fall.
At last there was a horrible, low whistling sound and then Chastity let out a squeal as pain blossomed in a line of fire across the middle of her bottom.
‘Oh! Oh! Ah!’
‘Be silent!’
The second stroke was harder - much, much harder. The first, far too intense to bear, had been, it seemed, no more than a tester. Chastity howled. She could not hold her tongue and she could not hold still either. Her hands fought in Prudence’s grip, she wriggled like a gaffed pike as if by doing so she could escape the venomous, hissing cane, which cracked against her tender bottom skin again and again…
‘What ho!’ A male voice broke into her world of pain. ‘Here is a licking. A naughty maid, I take it?’
‘Horace… I thought…’ Lady Beatrice’s voice sounded taken aback, the assurance quite drained away from it.
‘You thought, my Darling, to keep me from seeing this creature as nature intended! Prudence, release her. You girl, stand up quite straight.’
This order was not easily obeyed. Chastity swayed, almost delirious with pain and another, quite bewildering feeling. Her bottom burned and hot tears splashed on even hotter cheeks as she covered her naked cunny with her hands.
‘None of that, now! Give me the cane, Beatrice!’ Lord Horace rapped Chastity’s knuckles with the tip of the rod, ‘hands behind your neck, girl. Well, now. Well now—’
‘Horace,’ there was a note of petulance now; ‘she is mine. You said that I could have another upstairs maid. You said—’
‘I know what I said,’ Lord Horace murmured, ‘but she is exactly what we need. Look at those legs. If she is not an exact match in height, build and colouration for Snowflake I will eat my hunting crop. Look at me, girl!’
Chastity raised reluctant eyes and found herself impaled by his pitiless grey ones.
‘My God,’ he said, ‘grey with just a hint of blue. Even the eyes match! She is absolutely perfect.’
‘Horace! Please! You can’t just take my things because they match one of yours. It isn’t done. It isn’t fair. It isn’t cricket!
Lord Horace took Chastity’s bare arm in a powerful grip. ‘I will tell you what, my love. You remember that new stable boy? The one that you said filled his breeches so well?’
A slightly mollified note came into Lady Beatrice’s voice. ‘The one you said you could not send up because, Jackson, and the others were too busy getting ready for the races?’
‘That’s the chap, Robert Finch. Bob, I believe they call him. Well, now things have settled a bit, I suppose the grooms could spare him.’
‘Bob,’ Lady Beatrice pronounced the name as if she were sucking something pleasant in her mouth. ‘Oh yes, I would like to make him bob! Very well, Horace, you can take this poor girl for your foolish games. But send me up that young man by return, and we shall stay friends, despite your quite despicable depredations.’
Her answer was a chuckle. ‘I will send up Catchpole to fetch her, after.’ Lord Horace said. ‘Now you, girl, face the wall. I want to see that beautifully striped bottom while I see to your erstwhile mistress. Prudence, that cunning little tongue of yours will be needed.’
Her bottom was still throbbing, though the ache was duller, as Prudence unlaced her stays. Chastity felt dizzy, her mind reeling with what she had just seen and heard, and trying to make sense of her master and mistress’s discussion.
‘Ho, ho! Now you will learn your place!’ Prudence said, her voice still husky with excitement.
‘What did they mean? Where am I being sent?’
‘To the stables, of course. Are you deaf as well as stupid?’
‘But surely girls cannot be stable hands?’ Certainly, Chastity had never heard of such a thing. Dairy maids certainly, but stables were surely the domain of men entirely.
Prudence laughed. ‘You are not going to be a maid there, you silly trollop. Don’t worry, the mystery will be revealed soon enough.’ She laughed again. ‘Now, take off those stockings too. They are far too fine and delicate for the rough ride you will be getting!
So it was that she was quite naked when they arrived for her. Catchpole was a very broad, balding man who filled his jacket so completely that it looked about to split. Swinging in his hand was a bundle of black leather straps and mysterious steel fittings. Finch was a handsome youth with a shock of chestnut curls. Both stood and stared at the naked girl in frank admiration as Chastity blushed furiously and tried again to hide her breasts and cunny.
‘Someone’s had a whipping!’ remarked Catchpole. ‘All right, boy, hold her wrists for me. His Lordship said she might prove a little skittish.’
Chastity let out a little wail as the young man grasped her wrists.
‘Please, what are you doing?’ Chastity said in panic as leather bands were buckled around her wrists, a collar around her neck and a short length of chain employed to link her arms behind her back to that collar. The men took not the slightest notice of her questions. Next, Catchpole took up a set of straps, lifting a leather-covered chain bit up to her lips. Finch pinched her nose and pulled it back, forcing her to open her mouth. The bit was inserted brusquely and then straps buckled behind her head and under her chin. The whole operation took seconds, accomplished with the deft skill of men who had performed the task innumerable times. Finally, a rope halter was clipped onto one of the steel rings at the side of the bit.
‘Look how she’s trembles, Mr Catchpole!’ Finch brushed her pussy with the tips of his fingers and brought them up to show the glistening result. ‘And she is fairly dripping, too. Can’t wait to get this filly back to the stables!’
‘About that, Bob,’ Catchpole said in an even voice. ‘You are to stay here for a bit. Her Ladyship has asked to see you.’
‘See me? What about?’ There was a note of incredulity in Finch’s voice, and perhaps a spot of trepidation.
Catchpole chuckled. ‘I expect you will find out before long, lad!’
Nothing in Chastity’s short service, not even being flogged naked by her mistress, had prepared her for that walk to the stables. First he led her down the back stairs and through the corridors in the basement. They passed footmen who stared and grinned and many maids scurrying about their business. Some of these smiled to see her but others paled and looked away.
The stable block adjoined the servants’ quarters in a completely separate building behind the main house, linked to it by a subterranean tunnel. Chastity had walked this tunnel twice a day in her time at the house, flattening herself against the wall to let senior servants pass, for it was narrow. Now she could only dream of such dignity. Naked, her hands secured behind her back, bridled and bitted and led on a rope, she trotted along behind Catchpole’s broad back, praying that they would not run into any more servants, the flagstones freezing on her bare feet.
Chastity had always turned right at the end of the passageway before but Catchpole led her left, through a doorway, down another lengthy passage, until finally they came to the door that marked the entrance to the stables. The passage continued on beyond, but now stalls, some occupied by horses, lined it on their right.
‘Here she is!’ a male voice shouted and a young man, leading a glossy, almost black horse, stopped. ‘Damn me, so it is true. She is a match for Snowflake!’
Catchpole did not pause to chat but led her on, through some more doors and into another stable. The stalls here were far smaller, though. The first two empty, but then Chastity’s heart missed a beat as they passed the third. A woman, naked except for some leather straps, like some sort of harness, bitted like Chastity herself and with her arms secured behind her, looked at them with mute, imploring eyes. In the next stall stood another nearly-naked young woman, bitted and haltered by a rope tied to the iron bars that went from the wooden stall-walls to the ceiling. Chastity could hear squealing now. There were two girls in the next stall, both tall and curvaceous with long black hair, both haltered and again with their arms secured behind their backs with straps. What was this place? Chastity looked around her with astonishment and not a little panic. What was this mad, perverted place?
Finally they stopped at the source of the squealing. A middle-aged man with a noticeable paunch was scrubbing a naked girl down with the aid of a brush and a bucket of steaming water. The bristles of this brush were seemingly too coarse for her taste, for she was squirming furiously in his grip as well as letting out a continual flood of yelps, squeals and pleas. At their approach the man looked up, left off scrubbing and released the girl, who stood, cowering and trembling, her bare flesh wet and slick, as far from the brush in his hand as her halter would allow.
‘See what happens when we are short-handed,’ the man said. ‘I have to scrub these fillies down myself.’
‘Will I finish her off for you, Mr Jackson?’ Catchpole asked, his eyes on the naked, glistening young woman.
‘That is all right, Mr Catchpole,’ said Jackson evenly. ‘I don’t mind mucking in now and then.’
The two men caught each other’s eye for a moment and Mr Jackson’s lip twitched in the merest hint of a smile.
‘Right then, let’s see how good a pair this filly will make with Snowflake. Wait here for me, Peony.’ He emphasised his order by giving the girl a sharp smack on the thigh with the back of the scrubbing brush. She yelped with pain and hopped around as he dropped the brush into the bucket with a plop. Chastity watched with horror as he then picked up a long and slender riding whip and led them away.
This place was like a mad and fevered dream. Chastity followed Mr Catchpole, her mind and senses reeling. Beyond the open area was another set of stalls. More beautiful naked girls, some standing, some kneeling or sitting, but all with head harnesses and bits between their teeth, and many with a lost, beseeching expression in their eyes, were stabled there. At the very last stall a blonde girl lay, seemingly dozing in a pile of straw.
‘Wake up now, Snowflake!’ Mr Jackson expertly flicked the whip outwards, the slender whipcord cracking across the prone girl’s naked skin. She gasped and came to life, scrambling to her feet before the head groom decided to use the whip again. Once she was standing at her full height, the men made the two girls face each other, so close that Chastity’s engorged nipples brushed against the other young woman’s, which were jutting out quite as full and proud as Chastity’s were doing.