Bound to the Mistress

Book 0: The Mistress Series

by Alex Jordaine

Genres: Erotic & Steamy Romance

Synopsis

The House of Correction is owned by top London dominatrix Mistress Helena. It is where rich masochists stay to receive advanced slave training and become officially `collared?. Helena is aided in the maintenance of its strict disciplinary regime by Sylvie and Christopher. Christopher feels uncomfortable in this role, however, as he is essentially submissive. In order to resolve this conflict Helena agrees to his request to become a slave within The House of Correction. Sylvie has always resented Christopher and sees this new turn of events as an opportunity to mistreat him so ruthlessly that he will be forced to leave. However all the current slaves in The House of Correction have in their different ways good reason to be grateful to Christopher and between them they contrive to confound Sylvie?s malicious plan.

Release date: April 9, 2014

Publisher: Accent Press

Print pages: 294

Sample

Chapter One

Jon, who was stark naked, stood trembling before Sylvie in the anteroom to the dungeon. Sylvie liked the look of this new slave, no question. She liked his thick, dark hair and handsome, aquiline features. She liked his vivid blue eyes, which were covered at present by the black leather blindfold she’d put over them. She liked his sensuous lips, currently held apart by the black ball-gag she’d buckled behind his head. She liked his athletic physique, pale and smooth and muscular. And she liked his great big hard-on.

She stroked her hand gently down the musculature of Jon’s chest and stomach before grasping hold of his shaft. ‘You are giving me mixed messages, slave,’ she said. ‘You’re sporting a truly impressive erection and yet you’re also shaking like a leaf. Could it be that you are feeling both excited and afraid?’

Jon nodded his head to confirm that this was precisely what he was feeling.

‘That is good to know, slave. It means you are in exactly the right condition to be presented to Mistress Helena,’ Sylvie said. ‘Follow me,’ she added, pulling at his erection.

After a few steps, Sylvie paused to open the door to the dungeon while continuing to hold onto Jon’s shaft. After several more steps, she let go of it. ‘Get onto your hands and knees, slave,’ she said. ‘Make sure that you also dip your back, spread your legs and push your backside out.’

Jon had somehow managed to stop trembling. In the pitch blackness behind his blindfold he tried to picture what the dungeon in which he knelt might look like. When he’d been told that his application to come and stay at The House of Correction had been successful, he’d asked whether he could see its dungeon. No, had been the reply. Could he at least see his cell? No again, had come the reply.

What would he wear during his stay? Nothing, he’d been told; but he was not to worry because the place is kept at a comfortable, even temperature night and day, whatever the season. He understood that he could have no contact with anyone – his wife, for example – while he was here. Could any exceptions be made to this rule, he’d asked. Only in a dire emergency was the reply he’d received.

He’d been told the idea was that as far as humanly possible, normality would never intrude during his stay at The House of Correction. He’d be living in a world of dreams – dark, erotic dreams – while he was there, he’d been advised. The dream world of The House would be his only reality during his stay and the outside world would soon come to seem as remote to him as another galaxy.

What sort of things were going to happen to him at The House, he’d asked. That’s for us to know and you to find out had been the response. The less you know at the outset about what you are going to experience in The House of Correction, the more that experience will be heightened.

He could see the sense in that. Anyway, all that really mattered when it came right down to it, in Jon’s view, was that he’d come to The House of Correction as a slave of sorts and would leave a “collared” slave. That was what he’d set his heart on, and with very good reason. In his mind, the future of his marriage depended on it.

The floor beneath his hands and knees felt like – what? Polished hardwood? Yes, he was pretty sure that was it. He could hear two female voices, one of them Sylvie’s and the other that of Helena. The voices of the two women echoed slightly and Jon could easily imagine that the dungeon he was in was big and cavernous.

It was doubtless extremely well equipped too. There would be a rack lined with an assortment of whips and canes and paddles and every other sort of disciplinary implement imaginable, he was sure of it. There would be dungeon equipment such as a St Andrew’s cross and a number of whipping benches, a horse, and spreader bars hanging from ceiling chains, all of that equipment being of the highest quality money could buy.

‘He’s quite muscular, isn’t he, Helena?’ Sylvie commented.

‘I was admiring one of his muscles in particular when you led him in here by it,’ Helena replied with a laugh. ‘That was a nice touch, I thought.’

‘I’m sure he thought that too,’ Sylvie said, a sardonic smile evident in her voice. ‘He’s got a really cute arse as well, don’t you think?’

‘I certainly do,’ Helena agreed.

‘It’s just crying out for a damn good flogging, in my opinion,’ Sylvie went on.

‘Again, I agree with you,’ said Helena.

So they are going to give me a heavy flogging soon, Jon said to himself excitedly, his heart beating fast against his ribcage. Unable to see even a sliver of light from beneath his blindfold, he began to imagine what would be coming his way shortly, hearing the swish of the flogger’s first descent and feeling the sudden painful sting across his rear and the repeated experience as the harsh flogging continued.

The thought of his body writhing as the flogger rose and fell onto his increasingly punished rear made Jon’s heart beat even faster and his erection throb. He felt extremely aroused now and markedly less fearful. Jon was ready for his flogging, more than ready.

Actually, his wife could take most of the credit for that.

It was Jon’s first day at The House of Correction, an establishment owned and run by London’s most prestigious dominatrix, Mistress Helena. And he’d paid extremely handsomely for the privilege of staying there, as all her wealthy masochistic clients did. His wife, Katherine, had been chastising him on a daily basis for the last fortnight so that he would be properly prepared for his stay at The House.

Jon loved being disciplined by Katherine and she loved to do the disciplining, that was for sure. But they’d both known – it having been made crystal clear to Jon at the second of his two interviews at The House of Correction – that she’d need to up the ante significantly if he were to be ready to be handed over to Helena and her aides, Sylvie and Christopher. And that is what his raven-haired beauty of a wife had done. Every day without fail for the last two weeks, Katherine had given Jon at least one harsh beating.

The first time, she’d told him to get onto all fours on the edge of the bed. The palm of her left hand had stroked his erect cock in a regular rhythm while her right palm had soundly slapped the cheeks of his rear again and again. It hadn’t taken long for the inevitable to happen and he’d come.

The second time she’d disciplined him, she’d used a leather strap on his backside while periodically sliding her fingers back and forth over his erection. She hadn’t stopped strapping and masturbating him until he’d climaxed.

The next time Katherine had disciplined him, she’d caned him first before going on to sodomise him with a strap-on dildo while masturbating him to orgasm. This was followed the time after that by her whipping him while the vibrating butt-plug she’d inserted in his anus buzzed excitingly inside him. That time, she’d left him to bring himself off while she whipped him hard, the pain and pleasure spurring him to orgasm. And so it had gone on over the rest of the fortnight until she’d stimulated Jon’s masochistic sexual appetites to the extent that he was properly prepared for his stay at The House of Correction.

‘Do you want to flog him first or shall I?’ Sylvie asked.

‘You can go first,’ Helena replied. ‘But take off his blindfold and gag before you start.’

Jon sensed rather than heard Sylvie moving behind him. When she’d blindfolded and gagged him earlier she’d been bare-footed and as near as damn it bare-arsed too and doubtless still was, he assumed. He felt her slender fingers, nimble and efficient, unbuckling his gag and blindfold. As soon as she had removed the blindfold, Jon blinked his eyes to refocus his vision.

Helena was seated right in front of him on a high-backed throne and he found himself gazing into her shining eyes, which were as green as emeralds. He quickly averted his gaze, looking briefly around the dimly lit dungeon, which was as cavernous and well equipped as he’d imagined it would be, and then down at Helena’s pointed, stiletto-heeled shoes.

‘Look up, slave,’ she demanded, and he obeyed, admiring the lushness of her body beneath her black leather minidress, which clung to her form like a second skin and was incredibly short; admiring too her sizeable breasts and long, shapely legs. ‘No, look me in the face,’ she added brusquely. And he did, taking in the glossy sheen of her shoulder-length red hair, her porcelain-perfect complexion, and the strong features of her beautiful face with its neat, straight nose and wide, sensuous mouth. There was a faint oriental touch about that face, he felt: the pure smoothness, the hint of high cheekbones, the slant of the eyes.

Helena’s demeanour was as regal and self-assured as he remembered it and he was dazzled anew by the aura of power and sexuality that seemed to emanate from her like a force field. The woman exuded a charisma and magnetism that was utterly irresistible to him.

Finally, Jon met her gaze again, looking into her hypnotic green eyes. He’d thought it the first time he’d been introduced to her, and he thought it now. Mistress Helena was absolutely stunning; the ultimate dominatrix.

‘All right, slave,’ she said. ‘You can look down again now. Prepare to be beaten.’

‘Yes, mistress,’ Jon replied, feeling a shudder of anticipation run down his spine. 

Chapter Two

Sylvie had picked out a heavy leather flogger from the rack of disciplinary implements that lined one of the dungeon walls. ‘Give him six of the best,’ Helena said, before thinking better of it and correcting herself. ‘No, make that a dozen.’

Sylvie launched in, swinging the flogger down hard against Jon’s backside. It connected with his flesh with a loud crack that echoed around the large dungeon in a sharp report. A second blow followed the first, the dominatrix bringing the flogger down even harder on Jon’s rear this time. Harsh stroke followed harsh stroke in quick succession, and by the time the last of these had landed, a pattern of deepest red was imprinted on his backside, sticking out starkly against his pale skin. The 12 burning strikes Sylvie had laid across the cheeks of Jon’s rear had further ignited his sexual excitement and his erection began to drip precome.

‘Pass the flogger over to me now, Sylvie,’ Helena said. ‘We’ll swap places.’

Once Sylvie had handed the flogger to her, Helena rose to her feet and Sylvie replaced her on the high-backed throne. As Helena positioned herself behind Jon’s kneeling form and got ready to whip him, he gazed surreptitiously at the dominatrix now seated before him. Sylvie was almost as mesmerizingly beautiful in her way as Helena, he thought.

She had a body to die for. Her breasts were round and firm and her hips well shaped. She had ash-blonde hair cut short with a severe straight fringe, and sparkling oval eyes of dark violet. Her sensuous lips were slightly parted, glossy, red, inviting. The outfit she had on, such as it was, consisted of a see-through purple tunic that left nothing to the imagination, least of all her pronounced nipples that were sticking out proudly beneath the gauzy fabric. She seemed more naked in that transparent tunic, Jon thought, than if she’d been wearing nothing at all.

‘Open your legs, Sylvie,’ Helena said.

‘Will do,’ Sylvie said, and did, spreading herself wide.

Helena turned to Jon. ‘Crawl forward, slave,’ she ordered. ‘I want you to pleasure Mistress Sylvie’s sex with your mouth while I continue your chastisement.’

Jon shuffled forward on his hands and knees on the dark hardwood floor and leant forward to press his lips to Sylvie’s inviting sex. At the same time, she reached beneath her translucent tunic for first one and then the other of her firm, soft breasts and pinched their nipples, making them tingle and stiffen further.

As Jon began to greedily kiss and probe the wet warmth of Sylvie’s pussy, Helena said, ‘Count out the strokes I deliver to his arse, Sylvie. I don’t intend to stop beating him until you’ve climaxed.’

Helena’s words were music to Jon’s ears. He was desperate to feel the cruel caress of the heavy leather flogger again, this time at Helena’s sadistic hand, and wondered how many strokes he would receive before Sylvie came. Adrenalin coursing through his veins at the thought of what lay ahead, he braced himself for more furious blows. He was more ragingly hard than ever and the head of his pulsing shaft was coated with the precome that continued to drizzle from its slit.

‘Begin counting, Sylvie,’ Helena said and started to beat Jon’s backside.

Helena used the flogger vigorously, lifting her arm high to deliver one robust blow after another, pausing between each to allow Sylvie to count out the number of the strike. And all the time Helena was punishing Jon’s reddened rear with the cruel implement she was wielding, he dipped his tongue in and out of the wet folds of Sylvie’s pussy lips.

He lapped at her clitoris and the entrance to her sex before pushing in further, pressing his tongue deeper inside. Sylvie began to wriggle, moving hard onto the mouth clamped between her thighs. Jon was probing with his sinuous tongue, lapping at her pussy juices, beside himself with excitement as he felt the constant lash of the flogger on his muscular rear.

What of Sylvie’s mounting excitement, though? Was it just his imagination, Jon wondered, or was she deliberately holding back from climaxing in order to prolong the ecstatic agony he was experiencing from his chastisement?

‘Twelve,’ she’d gasped, and later, ‘Twenty-four,’ and later still, ‘Thirty-six.’ She was moving her hips forward rhythmically and giving regular moans of pleasure, but not orgasmic moans. They only arrived when she’d panted out, ‘Forty-eight.’ At that point, three things happened. Sylvie immediately climaxed in spasms, Jon stopped licking her pussy, and Helena stopped beating his rear.

‘Open your legs further, Jon, and push your backside out more,’ Helena instructed the slave next. ‘I’m not going to beat you any more now that Mistress Sylvie has finally climaxed but I am going to fuck you in the arse instead. Go back to licking her pussy when I start doing that and don’t stop until I tell you to.’ She put the flogger to one side, hitched up her already extremely short leather dress a little higher, and harnessed on a strap-on dildo. She went on to lubricate the dildo liberally before dribbling a generous amount down the crack of Jon’s rear.

Helena got into position behind Jon, running her hand over the rise of his backside. She nuzzled the head of the dildo against the tight ring of muscles at the entrance to his anus, squeezing his haunches at the same time. She then began to penetrate him fully, pressing her strap-on dildo slowly and carefully deep into his anal opening. At the same time, he pressed his lips to Sylvie’s sex once more.

Jon’s hole tightened and relaxed with the slow movements of Helena’s strap-on, in and out. Helena’s hands pressed firmly on Jon’s backside as she carried on fucking him in the arse and he carried on licking and lapping at Sylvie’s pussy. It felt wonderful to Jon, deeply thrilling: skin on skin on skin.

He could feel a fierce thrill of erotic pleasure course through him at every touch, whether on his quivering behind or inside him, and it made him lick Sylvie all the harder. He swore he could feel the heat emanating off his backside with the touch of Helena’s hands and each of her rhythmic thrusts as she subtly built up momentum. And there was an echoing rhythm to the way he pleasured Sylvie with his lips and tongue, building and building all the time.

Jon was thrusting his backside up and down, his shaft flexing and throbbing as he luxuriated in the euphoric sensation of simultaneously being pleasured and doing the pleasuring. It made him redouble his efforts at licking Sylvie’s pussy, his tongue circling, probing and pushing voraciously.

He closed his eyes while he carried on using his mouth to give pleasure while being pleasured himself, Helena’s thighs crashing against his sore, punished backside as she continued to sodomise him furiously. His blood was sizzling and his pulsing cock was as hard and straining and wet with precome as it had ever been. 

Chapter Three

Christopher padded naked into the dungeon and watched Helena continue to bugger Jon energetically while Jon in turn continued going down on Sylvie with equal energy.

‘Is it too late to join the party, Helena?’ he asked, his shaft lengthening. Christopher had wavy auburn hair, soft brown eyes with little golden flecks in the irises, and fine-boned features. He had a handsome face and a lithe, lean body. He was well formed without a doubt; well hung too.

‘It’s never too late, my dear,’ Helena replied, without breaking stride.

‘Any chance you might beat me?’ Christopher asked.

‘Would a paddling work for you?’ she said.

‘Definitely.’

‘Then hand me one of the leather paddles and kneel to the side of the new slave.’

Christopher handed a red oval paddle to Helena before getting into position beside Jon. He placed both hands, palms down, in front of him on the dark floor and ensured that his back was as arched and his knees as wide apart as were Jon’s.

After testing the weight of the paddle in her hand, Helena raised the implement and swiped it against Christopher’s backside. She went on to deliver a burst of strikes to his rear, each time bringing the paddle down flatly against the flesh of his backside, which rapidly reddened. She didn’t stop buggering Jon, though, instead matching her thrusts to the swipe of the paddle as he carried on lapping at the nectar of Sylvie’s pussy juice.

‘How many strikes was that, Christopher?’ Helena asked.

He turned to look at her, and was silent for a moment before saying, ‘I don’t know. I’m afraid I wasn’t counting.’

‘Well, I won’t count them either,’ Helena said. ‘We’ll start from the beginning again. How many would you like to receive?’

‘Sixty,’ Christopher replied after a pause.

‘Sixty it is,’ Helena said. ‘Once I’ve delivered them, I’ll stop buggering Jon.’

Christopher had counted up to 60. That was 60 times the oval, red leather paddle had crashed against his rear, 60 more times Helena had thrust her strap-on into Jon’s anus, 60 more times Jon had been jolted as he continued to lavish Sylvie’s sex with his lips and tongue.

‘How many times did I beat you, Christopher?’ Helena asked when she’d eventually stopped paddling him and buggering Jon.

‘Exactly 60 times,’ Christopher panted, feeling his shaft throb. He looked over his shoulder at her. ‘Any chance of getting some of what Jon’s been enjoying?’

Helena smiled, pouting her lips out. ‘There is.’

‘Great,’ he replied.

‘Don’t stop what you’re doing, slave,’ Helena told Jon. And so he carried on licking Sylvie energetically, probing the soft wetness of her pussy with his tongue, as he felt the dildo being extracted from his gaping anus.

Helena re-lubricated her strap-on. As she did, she told Christopher to prepare his arse for penetration. He reached behind himself and eased the cheeks of his backside apart to reveal the rosebud opening of his anus. Christopher put his palms back on the floor as he felt the dildo nuzzle against the tight ring of muscles at the entrance to his anal hole. He could feel the small negotiations of those muscles as Helena pushed inside him skilfully. What started as a prickly ache in his anus soon became tingling pleasure.

As Helena pressed deeper into him, her breath hot on his neck, spasms of delight began to rush through his body. She then started to sodomise him in earnest, her soft hands on his hips, her strap-on dildo forging in and out of his anus.

While she was doing this – impaling Christopher again and again – Jon remained on his knees beside him, continuing to go down on Sylvie voraciously. He pressed his tongue into her sex over and over, going in deep to brush against its sodden walls until … ‘I’m going to come,’ she cr. . .