Enslaved on an Alien World Ch 02
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Enslaved Chapter 31 free porn video
“How was she?”
“Excellent . . . I have to admit it . . . excellent!”
It was Havers answering Quentin’s question later in the day . . . and it was one which had been asked in front of Julia while she knelt in the slave-posture before them both. Actually, it had been Havers’ original intention to say that he was not fully satisfied, simply for the pleasure of having Julia punished, but something told him it was best to tell the truth.
“It certainly looked . . . and sounded . . . as if you enjoyed it,” said Quentin with a nod.
Havers was glad he had told the truth in that moment, when he realised Quentin had been watching it all. He might have guessed it!
“Yeh . . . sure . . .” he said, grinning a little sheepishly.
“Lucky for you, Julia . . .” said Quentin, addressing the kneeling figure, “or you’d be getting a cane across your backside this very moment.”
Julia made no answer. A muscle in her cheek flicked. Only that knowledge had enabled her to force herself to give everything to such a pig as Havers.
At that moment Melissa entered the room . . . and at once sank down on her knees beside Julia.
“Where have you been, girl?”
“With . . . Miss Rosalie, Master,” answered Melissa.
“Ahh,” said Quentin perfunctorily, but made no other comment.
It occurred to him that the servants were having their fair share of amusement that day! “Now,” he continued, “I have something of importance to impart to you, my pretty ones.” He looked down in almost fatherly fashion. “My wife has devised a new game for us all to play. I think it’s rather clever . . . and we’re calling it ‘High Society’.” He took some typewritten papers from his pocket. “Here are the Rules of the game. You will both learn them thoroughly this afternoon . . . ready for the first game we’re going to play this evening. Got it?”
“Yes, Master,” they answered in unison. Each looked nervously at the paper handed to her. That no good could come of this ‘game’ was sure!
Quentin nodded to Havers and the two left the room.
In silence, Julia and Melissa made their way to the beds. In silence, they lay down and began to read.
HIGH SOCIETY
The Rules of the Game
The basic idea of the game is to send you back in time . . . to when you were both free women, moving in ‘High Society’. To the days before you became slave-girls. To the days when you were not only beautiful but were proud, self-willed, self-centred and with men at your beck and call. It is a situation which demands a considerable amount of acting ability and, for your own sakes, if you do not have it, you should quickly acquire it.
The parts you will play are yourselves . . . Julia Chant and Melissa Villiers . . . as you were ‘before the fall’. My wife and I will also play ourselves. The setting for this first game will be the drawing room of Cragness, where you have been invited to tea, followed by a rubber or two of Bridge.
My wife and I will always be addressed as Mr. or Mrs. Osman. You will always be addressed as Miss Chant and Miss Villiers.
No mention whatever will ever be made to your present status.
Conversation will be carried out as in the normal way in such society. Gossip, mutual friends, general chit-chat . . . you both know the form.
Any errors or failures you make will be punished after the game.
It is realised it may take a little time for both of you to adjust to the game, so some allowances will be made initially. But only initially. Repeated errors will be punished with increasing severity after later games.
You must strive at all times to act realistically.
You will take your cues from myself and Mrs. Osman.
During the first part of the game, you will receive only requests and suggestions. These you may reject or not.
During the latter part of the game, you will receive orders. These you will obey.
You will require clothes for your respective roles. These you will find in the wardrobes. Make yourselves look as attractive as possible, remembering that, once again, you are ‘ladies’ in High Society’
Julia and Melissa remained silent for a long time after reading these ‘Rules’.
Both were acutely aware of the cruelty of the ‘charade’ Glenda had devised. For a brief while, they would be transported back to former days. Days which it was now both a folly and an agony to recall! For a brief while, they would be women again. Not objects.
Clothed . . . addressed politely . . . flattered, maybe . . . pampered, possibly. Puppets to play out a part!
Before being returned once again to hideous reality!
Yes . . . it was indeed a cruel conception. Worthy of the mind of Glenda Osman.
“I don’t think 1 shall be able to bear it,” whispered Julia after a long, long while.
“We’d better both try,” answered Melissa, with weary resignation.
Quentin gazed intently at the TV screen . . . which was focussed on the naked figures of Julia and Melissa in their bedroom. The moment had arrived for them to start clothing themselves. It was the first time either of them had been covered for over six months. A rather special moment for both girls, thought Quentin, and he could understand their nervous, almost bird-like, movements as they spread out garments from the wardrobes on to the beds.
The choice was limited but adequate . . . all pre-planned. Not tights, but old-fashioned, sexy-looking suspender belts and stockings, fetching little bra. And panty sets; skirts and blouses; afternoon dresses; some evening gowns. Everything was fashionably chic and expensive. What Julia or Melissa would have worn if it had been their choice.
Julia hooked on a black suspender belt and, having sat down on the edge of her bed, pulled on some black, net stockings. She shuddered nervously as she did so. It was all so strange for her to perform such a simple, womanly act. Exciting too. Quentin watched as she picked up several pairs of panties and hesitated over her choice.
Finally, uttering a long sigh, she pulled on a pair of pale, powderblue briefs which clung to her curves like a second skin. Then, having done so, she covered her face in her hands and burst into tears.
Great heaving sobs rent her. For, in those moments, had she not been restored to something like a free woman? A woman permitted to cover her feminine secrets? A woman entitled to some privacy?
Yes . . . indeed she had. Yet no one could have been more aware than Julia that this was but a fleeting prerogative.
Melissa, who had reached a similar stage in her dressing and was clad in a pair of brief pink knickers edged with white lace was not reacting quite so strongly. Nevertheless, silent tears were running down her cheeks.
Quentin smiled happily. These reactions delighted him. They were harbingers of greater delights as the ‘game’ proceeded He saw Julia’s hands trembling as she began to pull on a hiphugging black skirt.
“Miss Julia Chant, Sir . . .”
Havers was in full butler attire, standing by the door of the drawing room of Cragness. He bowed slightly as Julia came in, moving with model-girl grace in her unaccustomed clothing. Her face was very pale, despite the fact that she was heavily made-up.
“How nice to meet you my dear!” Glenda had risen from a chair and was advancing welcomingly upon Julia, a hand out stretched.
“I’ve heard so much about you.”
“G-Good . . . a-afternoon, Mrs. O-Osman . . .” Despite and effort, Julia could not prevent a quaver in her answer.
“Miss Melissa Villiers,” intoned Havers.
Melissa came easy-striding into the room, looking quite ravishing in a gold-trimmed emerald green afternoon gown. Compared with Julia, in simple black skirt and pale blue blouse, she looked almost extravagantly dressed.
“So good of you to come, Miss Villiers,” cooed Glenda.
“Delighted to meet you Mrs Osman,” replied Melissa, taking the outstretched hand. Her pose and control were remarkable under the circumstances.
“Please be seated, ladies,” smiled Glenda. “Mr. Osman will be here shortly.” She signed to Havers. “Tell Mr. Osman that Miss Chant and Miss Villiers have arrived.”
“At once, Mrs. Osman,” Havers bowed and withdrew.
The charade had begun.
“Another cup of tea, Miss Chant?”
Quentin was politeness itself; the perfect host. Julia was striving with all her might to maintain her composure but was constantly biting quivering lips and trying to control trembling hands.
“Y-Yes . . . M-master . . .” she quavered. “I . . . I m-mean . . . oh I mean . . . Mr. Quentin,” she quickly corrected.
But Quentin had already made a brief note in a little black book he kept by his side. It was by no means the first note he had made in that book during the afternoon!
“Rosalie . . . attend to Miss Chant’s cup . . .”
Garbed in the formal black and white of a parlour-maid, Rosalie stepped forward to do her duty. There was a smirk on her face . . . and she was enjoying herself as much as anybody. For, as a woman, she was aware of the bitter cruelty of what was happening.
“A little more milk, Miss?”
“Th-Thank you . . .”
“Sugar, Miss?”
“N-No, thank you . . .”
All the polite conventions of the tea party. Yet a tea party far more bizarre than anything in Alice in Wonderland!
“Another pastry, Miss Villiers?”
“No . . . no . . . thank you . . . Mrs Osman . . .”
“Watching your figure perhaps, Miss Villiers?” A condescending smile from Glenda.
“Yes . . . yes . . . I guess so, Mrs. Osman . . .”
The tension in the lovely Melissa was as evident as it was in Julia. The strains of self-control being put upon them both were immense. This sudden return to a world of normality was almost unbearable.
To be clothed . . . to be treated with courtesy! Oh God . . . oh God . . . The appetite of both Julia and Melissa was, to say the least, minimal and soon the company had retired to a couple of sofas at the other end of the room. Quentin could not check a quick grin as he watched Julia seat herself. After a brief, but understandable pause, the girl crossed one long thigh over the other. So naturally feminine; a graceful movement. It must have been a long time since she’s done that, thought Quentin. Indeed, over the last months, she had been opening her thighs rather than crossing them! Julia completed the movement by smoothing down her skirt and giving it a little tug to put it over one kneecap. Such modesty! Best that she make the most of her opportunities, reflected Quentin, for at any moment he desired, he could have her remove that skirt . . . and her knickers too! That was a change from former times . . . “Oh, I say Miss Villiers . . . what a coincidence . . . there’s a picture here of you!”
Glenda had been leafing through a copy of ‘The Tatler’. It was a copy of the society-gossip magazine which had been deliberately ‘planted’ in the drawing room along with similar, quality publications.
They were all at least a year old, when both girls had been at liberty and it had been no uncommon thing for them to appear between the covers.
Instinctively, Melissa took the magazine handed to her and gazed at the page. After a few moments, they saw her lips beginning to quiver and her eyes moisten over. Her knuckles were white.
‘A convivial group at the Westpeak Point-to-Point’ read the caption. ‘From left to right: Sir Geoffrey and Lady Helen Manning, the Hon. Jane Pellers and her sister Anne, Miss Melissa Villiers and her
companion Eirk Venson, who is from Norway.’
“Let’s hear about that companion,” said Glenda with a coy sort of smile. “He looks such a handsome man.”
Melissa’s breasts heaved under the emerald green dress; a choking sob came from deep in her throat.
“There . . . there’s nothing to t-tell she said in a low voice. The effort she was having to make to control herself, and to reply at all, was very obvious.
“Oh come . . . come, my dear . . .” said Glenda gaily. “There was rumour that you were actually engaged to him. Is that not so?”
There was a long pause and Melissa visibly shuddered.
“Yes, Mrs. Osman,” she said at last, “but . . . but I’d rather not talk about it . . .”
Erik Venson, it need hardly be said, was the man who had originally consigned Melissa to the ‘Paradise’. Later, having been killed in an accident, Quentin had had the opportunity of purchasing
Melissa and this he had been quick to do.
“Now, now, Glenda,” said Quentin, joining in the fun, “you mustn’t press Miss Villiers about such matters. Young ladies can be very shy about such things . . . and can be easily hurt. Look, you’ve made her cry already . . .”
It was true. Melissa’s cheeks were wet with tears. Solicitously, Quentin came over and handed her a large white handkerchief.
“Mmmfff . . . mmmmftf . . .” sobbed Melissa, burying her face in it.
“There . . . there. . .” said Quentin, patting her auburn head, “get it out of your system.”
“I’m sorry, my dear . . . I didn’t know he meant so much to you,” said Glenda wickedly.
Only slowly did Melissa’s sobs subside. Meanwhile Glenda turned her attention to Julia.
“May I ask if you have ever been engaged. Miss Chant?” she enquired politely.
Julia shook her head, her thick, dark tresses brushing over her shoulders. “N-No . . . Mrs. O-Osman.” Her voice a whisper almost.
“Prefer to be fancy free, eh, Miss Chant,” interjected Quentin jovially.
Julia nodded again, feeling sick to the depths of her being. How long was this play-acting horror going on? She felt like a helpless doll in the hands of two monstrously evil puppeteers. But the game continued, in the fashion Quentin and Glenda wanted it to, whilst, in the background, Havers and Rosalie, in their role of servants, cleared away the tea things.
A photograph of Julia was discovered in ‘The Field’. She was seen at some Hunt Ball, looking particularly enchanting in a long, white evening gown. And oh how happy she appeared! Smiling a dazzling smile at some unknown admirer on whose shoulder her white-gloved hand rested.
Again in ‘The Field’, another picture of Julia was discovered.
This time, jodhpured and booted, she was standing alongside a hunter, ready to mount. In her hand was a meaty-looking riding crop. What would she have said, thought Quentin with almost wild inner mirth, if you had told her - when that photograph was being taken - that one day she would feel such an instrument biting into her naked bottom! She would probably have looked at you as if you were raving mad . . . told you so as well . . . and struck you across the face with the crop into the bargain! Oh dear, oh dear, how Julia’s situation had changed since then . . .
For something like half an hour, the game proceeded in this cruel way . . . with Julia and Melissa being made to squirm inwardly - and often outwardly - by scenes re-visited, friends and acquaintances recalled, memories reviced. Often, one or the other of the girls would be reduced to tears again.
All the time, Quentin had his little black book by his side. In it, he recorded any slips made and took notes as to where and when he thought acting techniques could be improved. He found it a most enjoyable and unusual afternoon and was most grateful to Glenda for having dreamed it up. How clever! Having them clothed like that . . . giving them a taste of the easy life . . . of former days . . . and knowing all the time what they were going back to! Oh yes, it was almost a stroke of genius of Glenda’s part. What’s more, the game was likely to improve as time passed and the girls got used to acting.
“Now, how about a rubber of Bridge?” asked Quentin, when he sensed that the time had come for a change. “You both play, I’m sure . . .”
Julia and Melissa nodded in unison. Then they rose and followed the couple to a nearby baize-covered table. Havers stood by and pulled back a chair for Julia, giving a little bow and smiling deferentially.
It would have been difficult to believe that, not so many hours before, he had been ravaging this lovely young woman with an a****l-like brutishness!
“My husband and I like to play together,” said Glenda. “Is that alright with you?”
“Y-Yes Mrs. Osman,” said Melissa. Julia nodded dumbly. Bridge!
It was unbelievable. Once she had rather enjoyed a rubber or two (it was nice to boss a male partner about!) but now . . . now . . . under the circumstances! Yes . . . unbelievable!
“Cut for deal . . .”
They cut. Glenda won and dealt. “Usual conventions, partner? Two Clubs . . . strong No Trump?”
“Right,” answered Quentin. “You two girls the same? And Blackwood, I suppose?”
“Yes . . .” nodded Julia.
“Yes . . .” agreed Melissa.
Dumbly, numbly, they picked up their cards and began to sort them. Both found it a little difficult for they were looking through a mist of tears. And, of course, they were much out of practice.
“Oh, by the way,” said Quentin, “we play for £1 a hundred. That’s alright with you two?”
They agreed it was alright . . .
“One Spade,” announced Glenda.
On her left, Melissa’s brain seemed as if it were made of jelly.
How could one possibly think under such conditions?
“No bid,” she croaked . . . although, in fact, she had a reasonable overbid in Diamonds.
“Three No Trumps,” declared Quentin vehemently, more or less indicating to his partner that that was to be the contract, that he was going to play it . . . and so win the first game.
After three-quarters of an hour, two rubbers had been completed.
Both were won by Quentin and Glenda . . . who had accrued an advantage of 1,800 points.
“£18 apiece,” said Quentin cheerfully. “We can settle that later. My goodness, you girls did have bad luck!”
“I thought they played rather badly,” said Glenda a shade acidly
“Would you say that, girls?” asked Quentin.
“I . . . we . . . we’re a little out of practice,” answered Melissa weakly.
“Ah well . . .” shrugged Quentin. “It’s not important.” He got up from the table and indicated that Julia and Melissa should return to the sofa. “I think we can say that the second of our afternoon has begun,” he said.
Remembering the ‘Rules’, both Julia and Melissa were aware, from then on, suggestions made could not be accepted or rejected.
They had the force of orders. Little wonder the tensions within them began to increase. In ladylike style they sat down. Legs were crossed, skirts pulled.
“What colour knickers are you wearing, Miss Chant?” enquired Quentin, in the same easy-going tone that he had used all afternoon.
Absurdly, Julia felt a glow of embarrassed colour come to her cheeks. How conscious she was of the unusual; of the tiny knickers clinging to her! Yet how, after all she had gone through, could she possibly be embarrassed by their mention? Yet, somehow, she was!
Behind Quentin, she could see Havers grinning lecherously and the sensation of embarrassment increased.
“B-Blue . . . p-pale blue . . . M-Master . . .” she answered. But, seeing Quentin frown and make a note in his book, quickly added.
“M-Mr. Q-Quentin . . . I mean . . .”
“Very pretty, I’m sure. The same colour as your blouse, eh?”
“Y-Yes . . . Mr . . . Mr. Quentin . . .” Julia’s cheeks were now highly coloured. Oh how absurd!
“And your knickers, Miss Villiers?”
“Black, Mr. Quentin . . . black net . . .” Her answer was a shade firmer than Julia’s had been.
“Most fetching. Net, eh? Almost see-through, eh?”
“Y-Yes . . . Mr . . . Quentin . . .”
“Well now, young ladies. I have to tell you something. I wouldn’t except for the fact that I know young ladies are so much more broadminded these days.” Quentin winked broadly, rather like some music-hall comedian.
“Aren’t they just!” said Glenda with a laugh. “Quite amazes me what they’ll do at times. Not like in my day . . .”
“Quite so, my dear. However, as I was saying, I have something to tell you both,” went on Quentin. “You see, Havers here, my butler . . . is something of a knickers-fetishist and he confessed to me earlier he’d very much like to take a look at the knickers you girls are wearing.” Quentin smiled and spread his hands. “You know how difficult staff are to keep these days, I’m sure, so I told him I’d
ask you. I hope you don’t mind?”
Julia and Melissa sat dumbly.
“Well, do you? Do you mind?” asked Glenda sharply.
“N-No . . . n-no . . . coo . . .” answered Julia and Melissa together.
“There,” said Quentin, smiling at Glenda, “I told you girls were more broadminded these days, didn’t I? I don’t think you believed me. Well then, Miss Chant first, I think. Step forward Havers and take a gander . . .”
“Thank you, Sir,” said Havers, respectfully. The perfect butler.
He looked much like something out of PG Wodehouse!
Julia stood up nervously, seemingly not quite knowing what was expected of her.
“Can you pull your skirt up, Miss Chant?” asked Quentin solicitously.
‘N-No . . . M-Master . . . it . . . it’s too t-tight . . . Mr. Quentin . . .”
But already another note had been made in the black book.
“Well, you’ll have to take it off then, won’t you?”
“Y-Yes M-Mr. Q-Quentin,” nodded Julia wretchedly.
Her fingers went to a catch at one side, a zip hissed, the black skirt slid down and fell in a heap at Julia’s feet. She really did look most fetchingly feminine in that suspender belt and stockings with the tiny little panties moulding her.
“Oh yes isn’t that nice?” sighed Quentin. “Eh, Havers?”
“Yes, Sir very nice . . .” Havers coughed. “And, if I may say so Sir, rarely have I seen better . . . er . . . parts . . . than Miss Chant’s for showing off such a pair of knickers.”
“Parts?” queried Quentin. “You mean Miss Chant’s bottom?”
“Yes Sir, that . . . amongst other things . . .”
“Mmm . . . it is good, I admit.” Quentin paused and looked at Julia winsomely. “Miss Chant, may I ask you another favour? I wouldn’t if I didn’t think you would agree. Being a broad-minded young lady, that is. Mmmm?”
“Y-Yes . . . Ma . . . sis . . . Mr. Quentin . . .” whispered Julia.
“Good . . . good . . .” Quentin rubbed his hands. “It is that you go down on your hands and knees and point your bottom towards Havers. That will give him a better view of its curvaceousness. You see, I suspect Havers is a bottom fetishist as well as a knickersfetishist. Right, Havers?”
“I’m afraid so, Sir . . .” A greasy, lusting smile spread over those a features as he watched Julia do as she had been told. The superbly- shaped bottom came curving up, as it had done so often before, but now with but the briefest covering adorning it. Oddly enough, in some ways, that flimsy covering and the suspender belt added to Julia’s sexiness.
“Oh excellent . . . oh yes . . . a most excellent bottom! Agreed, Havers?”
“Oh yes indeed, Sir. Very much agreed!”
A heavy-breathing silence fell as everyone in the room continued to gaze at Julia’s kneeling figure. It was a bizarre scene. The surroundings so everyday, so normal. The clothing conventional, the people involved seemingly conventional too. Yet there, in the midst, was a young woman kneeling in a posture of utterly abject humiliation!
“Thank you . . . thank you, Miss Chant,” said Quentin. “It is indeed most kind of you to satisfy a middle-aged man’s little fad.”
And Julia, thinking she had been dismissed began to get up. “Ah no . . . ah no, not just yet, Miss Chant . . . please,” went on Quentin.
Julia sank back again. “I think we would all agree that such a magnificent bottom should be displayed to full advantage. Havers certainly would! So, my dear Miss Chant, I am going to beg one more favour. Tougher than all the rest, but I think you’ll pander to my whims. You see, Miss Chant, I would like you to take your knickers down so that - and all the rest of us - can see your backside in all its natural, naked glory! Would you do that for me, Miss Chant . . . please?”
A sob shook the kneeling Julia but her fingers went at once to the elastic of the briefs. One might have imagined, having been kept stark naked for so long, Julia would have had no qualms at all about what she was doing. Yet, strange as it may seem, she did. Once having been covered . . . once having returned, however briefly, to a world of womanly modesty . . . it was bitter indeed to have to degrade herself in this fashion again.
The pale blue briefs were pushed down to the bend in her knees . . .
Naked again!
Abused and shamed again!
Quentin gave a low wolf-whistle. “My, my Miss Chant . . . you really are some girl, aren’t you?” he said. “A little forward, of course, but I am sure, under the circumstances, we can all overlook that.”
Julia’s nails were clawing into the carpet; she was weeping silently.
“I think the girl’s a little too forward,” interjected Glenda. “Bold, I’d call it. Probably goes around seeking such opportunities as this. She’ll come to no good, in my opinion.”
“Maybe . . . maybe . . . my dear,” said Quentin smugly. “But, remember, I did ask Miss Chant to take her knickers down. And, like the polite guest she is, she did so. I think that, at least, is to be commanded. Look at Havers here . . . he’s not complaining, is he?”
Havers was grinning hugely. What a set-up it was! The boss and his miss certainly knew how to get the maximum fun out of a simple situation!
“No, I’m not complaining, Sir,” he said. Then, joining in the game, he added: “I think it most kind and considerate of the young lady to accommodate a middle-aged man like myself. Especially as I’m only a servant.”
“True . . . well said Havers . . .” Quentin smiled around the room . . . then he crooked a beckoning finger at Melissa. “I am sure Miss Villiers will be as kind and considerate as Miss Chant has been. Is
that not so?”
“Yes . . . y-yes . . . Mr. Quentin . . .” replied Melissa, uncrossing a pair of lovely long limbs. “Whatever you s-say, Mr. Quentin . . .”
“How tight is your skirt, Miss Villiers?”
“Not . . . not t-too tight . . . Mr. Quentin.”
“So you can pull it up?”
“Yes, Mr. Quentin . . .”
“Then kindly do so, Miss Villiers,” ordered Quentin with a smile.
Melissa complied . . . and continued to comply . . . humiliating herself before them all . . . until she, too, like Julia, knelt with her knickers down, provocatively exposed to all.
“You can’t say I don’t allow you a few perks, Havers, can you?”
“No, Sir, I can’t say that.”
“So you reckon you’ll stay on here for a while?”
“Yes, Sir, I reckon so. You treat me very well, Sir.”
Quentin smiled complacently and returned his gaze to the two figures kneeling side by side. Elegantly clothed, yet degraded by the disarray of their garments, they presented, in Quentin’s eyes, a supremely satisfying picture. No two women, he felt, could be more subject to his will . . . no two women could be more submissive to his orders. In a remarkably short space of time, he had achieved all, and more, than he could have ever hoped at the outset. He did indeed owe a lot to Madame Vesta and the ‘Paradise’ organisation!
“Havers,” said Quentin, “fetch some coffee. You can help, Rosalie.”
“Yes, Sir . . . at once, Sir . . .” Rosalie almost bobbed a curtsey.
What fun it all was! She’d never had such an afternoon in her life before!
“I am sure the young ladies would like a cup,” said Quentin.
“After their so-generous, so-freely-given display this afternoon!”
Havers and Rosalie withdrew. Quentin and Glenda exchanged understanding smiles. This was a ‘game’ proving more rewarding than either, of them could have hoped at the outset. Each was experiencing a deep, inner glow of the most pleasurable kind of sadistic satisfaction.
“Don’t you think Quentin,” said Glenda, arching thin eyebrows, “that these two forward young minxes have had more than ample time to display their wares?”
Quentin nodded. “Yes . . . yes, my dear,” he replied. “Come along, young ladies kindly pull those knickers up again. It’s time for a little decorum, once more!”
“Excellent . . . I have to admit it . . . excellent!”
It was Havers answering Quentin’s question later in the day . . . and it was one which had been asked in front of Julia while she knelt in the slave-posture before them both. Actually, it had been Havers’ original intention to say that he was not fully satisfied, simply for the pleasure of having Julia punished, but something told him it was best to tell the truth.
“It certainly looked . . . and sounded . . . as if you enjoyed it,” said Quentin with a nod.
Havers was glad he had told the truth in that moment, when he realised Quentin had been watching it all. He might have guessed it!
“Yeh . . . sure . . .” he said, grinning a little sheepishly.
“Lucky for you, Julia . . .” said Quentin, addressing the kneeling figure, “or you’d be getting a cane across your backside this very moment.”
Julia made no answer. A muscle in her cheek flicked. Only that knowledge had enabled her to force herself to give everything to such a pig as Havers.
At that moment Melissa entered the room . . . and at once sank down on her knees beside Julia.
“Where have you been, girl?”
“With . . . Miss Rosalie, Master,” answered Melissa.
“Ahh,” said Quentin perfunctorily, but made no other comment.
It occurred to him that the servants were having their fair share of amusement that day! “Now,” he continued, “I have something of importance to impart to you, my pretty ones.” He looked down in almost fatherly fashion. “My wife has devised a new game for us all to play. I think it’s rather clever . . . and we’re calling it ‘High Society’.” He took some typewritten papers from his pocket. “Here are the Rules of the game. You will both learn them thoroughly this afternoon . . . ready for the first game we’re going to play this evening. Got it?”
“Yes, Master,” they answered in unison. Each looked nervously at the paper handed to her. That no good could come of this ‘game’ was sure!
Quentin nodded to Havers and the two left the room.
In silence, Julia and Melissa made their way to the beds. In silence, they lay down and began to read.
HIGH SOCIETY
The Rules of the Game
The basic idea of the game is to send you back in time . . . to when you were both free women, moving in ‘High Society’. To the days before you became slave-girls. To the days when you were not only beautiful but were proud, self-willed, self-centred and with men at your beck and call. It is a situation which demands a considerable amount of acting ability and, for your own sakes, if you do not have it, you should quickly acquire it.
The parts you will play are yourselves . . . Julia Chant and Melissa Villiers . . . as you were ‘before the fall’. My wife and I will also play ourselves. The setting for this first game will be the drawing room of Cragness, where you have been invited to tea, followed by a rubber or two of Bridge.
My wife and I will always be addressed as Mr. or Mrs. Osman. You will always be addressed as Miss Chant and Miss Villiers.
No mention whatever will ever be made to your present status.
Conversation will be carried out as in the normal way in such society. Gossip, mutual friends, general chit-chat . . . you both know the form.
Any errors or failures you make will be punished after the game.
It is realised it may take a little time for both of you to adjust to the game, so some allowances will be made initially. But only initially. Repeated errors will be punished with increasing severity after later games.
You must strive at all times to act realistically.
You will take your cues from myself and Mrs. Osman.
During the first part of the game, you will receive only requests and suggestions. These you may reject or not.
During the latter part of the game, you will receive orders. These you will obey.
You will require clothes for your respective roles. These you will find in the wardrobes. Make yourselves look as attractive as possible, remembering that, once again, you are ‘ladies’ in High Society’
Julia and Melissa remained silent for a long time after reading these ‘Rules’.
Both were acutely aware of the cruelty of the ‘charade’ Glenda had devised. For a brief while, they would be transported back to former days. Days which it was now both a folly and an agony to recall! For a brief while, they would be women again. Not objects.
Clothed . . . addressed politely . . . flattered, maybe . . . pampered, possibly. Puppets to play out a part!
Before being returned once again to hideous reality!
Yes . . . it was indeed a cruel conception. Worthy of the mind of Glenda Osman.
“I don’t think 1 shall be able to bear it,” whispered Julia after a long, long while.
“We’d better both try,” answered Melissa, with weary resignation.
Quentin gazed intently at the TV screen . . . which was focussed on the naked figures of Julia and Melissa in their bedroom. The moment had arrived for them to start clothing themselves. It was the first time either of them had been covered for over six months. A rather special moment for both girls, thought Quentin, and he could understand their nervous, almost bird-like, movements as they spread out garments from the wardrobes on to the beds.
The choice was limited but adequate . . . all pre-planned. Not tights, but old-fashioned, sexy-looking suspender belts and stockings, fetching little bra. And panty sets; skirts and blouses; afternoon dresses; some evening gowns. Everything was fashionably chic and expensive. What Julia or Melissa would have worn if it had been their choice.
Julia hooked on a black suspender belt and, having sat down on the edge of her bed, pulled on some black, net stockings. She shuddered nervously as she did so. It was all so strange for her to perform such a simple, womanly act. Exciting too. Quentin watched as she picked up several pairs of panties and hesitated over her choice.
Finally, uttering a long sigh, she pulled on a pair of pale, powderblue briefs which clung to her curves like a second skin. Then, having done so, she covered her face in her hands and burst into tears.
Great heaving sobs rent her. For, in those moments, had she not been restored to something like a free woman? A woman permitted to cover her feminine secrets? A woman entitled to some privacy?
Yes . . . indeed she had. Yet no one could have been more aware than Julia that this was but a fleeting prerogative.
Melissa, who had reached a similar stage in her dressing and was clad in a pair of brief pink knickers edged with white lace was not reacting quite so strongly. Nevertheless, silent tears were running down her cheeks.
Quentin smiled happily. These reactions delighted him. They were harbingers of greater delights as the ‘game’ proceeded He saw Julia’s hands trembling as she began to pull on a hiphugging black skirt.
“Miss Julia Chant, Sir . . .”
Havers was in full butler attire, standing by the door of the drawing room of Cragness. He bowed slightly as Julia came in, moving with model-girl grace in her unaccustomed clothing. Her face was very pale, despite the fact that she was heavily made-up.
“How nice to meet you my dear!” Glenda had risen from a chair and was advancing welcomingly upon Julia, a hand out stretched.
“I’ve heard so much about you.”
“G-Good . . . a-afternoon, Mrs. O-Osman . . .” Despite and effort, Julia could not prevent a quaver in her answer.
“Miss Melissa Villiers,” intoned Havers.
Melissa came easy-striding into the room, looking quite ravishing in a gold-trimmed emerald green afternoon gown. Compared with Julia, in simple black skirt and pale blue blouse, she looked almost extravagantly dressed.
“So good of you to come, Miss Villiers,” cooed Glenda.
“Delighted to meet you Mrs Osman,” replied Melissa, taking the outstretched hand. Her pose and control were remarkable under the circumstances.
“Please be seated, ladies,” smiled Glenda. “Mr. Osman will be here shortly.” She signed to Havers. “Tell Mr. Osman that Miss Chant and Miss Villiers have arrived.”
“At once, Mrs. Osman,” Havers bowed and withdrew.
The charade had begun.
“Another cup of tea, Miss Chant?”
Quentin was politeness itself; the perfect host. Julia was striving with all her might to maintain her composure but was constantly biting quivering lips and trying to control trembling hands.
“Y-Yes . . . M-master . . .” she quavered. “I . . . I m-mean . . . oh I mean . . . Mr. Quentin,” she quickly corrected.
But Quentin had already made a brief note in a little black book he kept by his side. It was by no means the first note he had made in that book during the afternoon!
“Rosalie . . . attend to Miss Chant’s cup . . .”
Garbed in the formal black and white of a parlour-maid, Rosalie stepped forward to do her duty. There was a smirk on her face . . . and she was enjoying herself as much as anybody. For, as a woman, she was aware of the bitter cruelty of what was happening.
“A little more milk, Miss?”
“Th-Thank you . . .”
“Sugar, Miss?”
“N-No, thank you . . .”
All the polite conventions of the tea party. Yet a tea party far more bizarre than anything in Alice in Wonderland!
“Another pastry, Miss Villiers?”
“No . . . no . . . thank you . . . Mrs Osman . . .”
“Watching your figure perhaps, Miss Villiers?” A condescending smile from Glenda.
“Yes . . . yes . . . I guess so, Mrs. Osman . . .”
The tension in the lovely Melissa was as evident as it was in Julia. The strains of self-control being put upon them both were immense. This sudden return to a world of normality was almost unbearable.
To be clothed . . . to be treated with courtesy! Oh God . . . oh God . . . The appetite of both Julia and Melissa was, to say the least, minimal and soon the company had retired to a couple of sofas at the other end of the room. Quentin could not check a quick grin as he watched Julia seat herself. After a brief, but understandable pause, the girl crossed one long thigh over the other. So naturally feminine; a graceful movement. It must have been a long time since she’s done that, thought Quentin. Indeed, over the last months, she had been opening her thighs rather than crossing them! Julia completed the movement by smoothing down her skirt and giving it a little tug to put it over one kneecap. Such modesty! Best that she make the most of her opportunities, reflected Quentin, for at any moment he desired, he could have her remove that skirt . . . and her knickers too! That was a change from former times . . . “Oh, I say Miss Villiers . . . what a coincidence . . . there’s a picture here of you!”
Glenda had been leafing through a copy of ‘The Tatler’. It was a copy of the society-gossip magazine which had been deliberately ‘planted’ in the drawing room along with similar, quality publications.
They were all at least a year old, when both girls had been at liberty and it had been no uncommon thing for them to appear between the covers.
Instinctively, Melissa took the magazine handed to her and gazed at the page. After a few moments, they saw her lips beginning to quiver and her eyes moisten over. Her knuckles were white.
‘A convivial group at the Westpeak Point-to-Point’ read the caption. ‘From left to right: Sir Geoffrey and Lady Helen Manning, the Hon. Jane Pellers and her sister Anne, Miss Melissa Villiers and her
companion Eirk Venson, who is from Norway.’
“Let’s hear about that companion,” said Glenda with a coy sort of smile. “He looks such a handsome man.”
Melissa’s breasts heaved under the emerald green dress; a choking sob came from deep in her throat.
“There . . . there’s nothing to t-tell she said in a low voice. The effort she was having to make to control herself, and to reply at all, was very obvious.
“Oh come . . . come, my dear . . .” said Glenda gaily. “There was rumour that you were actually engaged to him. Is that not so?”
There was a long pause and Melissa visibly shuddered.
“Yes, Mrs. Osman,” she said at last, “but . . . but I’d rather not talk about it . . .”
Erik Venson, it need hardly be said, was the man who had originally consigned Melissa to the ‘Paradise’. Later, having been killed in an accident, Quentin had had the opportunity of purchasing
Melissa and this he had been quick to do.
“Now, now, Glenda,” said Quentin, joining in the fun, “you mustn’t press Miss Villiers about such matters. Young ladies can be very shy about such things . . . and can be easily hurt. Look, you’ve made her cry already . . .”
It was true. Melissa’s cheeks were wet with tears. Solicitously, Quentin came over and handed her a large white handkerchief.
“Mmmfff . . . mmmmftf . . .” sobbed Melissa, burying her face in it.
“There . . . there. . .” said Quentin, patting her auburn head, “get it out of your system.”
“I’m sorry, my dear . . . I didn’t know he meant so much to you,” said Glenda wickedly.
Only slowly did Melissa’s sobs subside. Meanwhile Glenda turned her attention to Julia.
“May I ask if you have ever been engaged. Miss Chant?” she enquired politely.
Julia shook her head, her thick, dark tresses brushing over her shoulders. “N-No . . . Mrs. O-Osman.” Her voice a whisper almost.
“Prefer to be fancy free, eh, Miss Chant,” interjected Quentin jovially.
Julia nodded again, feeling sick to the depths of her being. How long was this play-acting horror going on? She felt like a helpless doll in the hands of two monstrously evil puppeteers. But the game continued, in the fashion Quentin and Glenda wanted it to, whilst, in the background, Havers and Rosalie, in their role of servants, cleared away the tea things.
A photograph of Julia was discovered in ‘The Field’. She was seen at some Hunt Ball, looking particularly enchanting in a long, white evening gown. And oh how happy she appeared! Smiling a dazzling smile at some unknown admirer on whose shoulder her white-gloved hand rested.
Again in ‘The Field’, another picture of Julia was discovered.
This time, jodhpured and booted, she was standing alongside a hunter, ready to mount. In her hand was a meaty-looking riding crop. What would she have said, thought Quentin with almost wild inner mirth, if you had told her - when that photograph was being taken - that one day she would feel such an instrument biting into her naked bottom! She would probably have looked at you as if you were raving mad . . . told you so as well . . . and struck you across the face with the crop into the bargain! Oh dear, oh dear, how Julia’s situation had changed since then . . .
For something like half an hour, the game proceeded in this cruel way . . . with Julia and Melissa being made to squirm inwardly - and often outwardly - by scenes re-visited, friends and acquaintances recalled, memories reviced. Often, one or the other of the girls would be reduced to tears again.
All the time, Quentin had his little black book by his side. In it, he recorded any slips made and took notes as to where and when he thought acting techniques could be improved. He found it a most enjoyable and unusual afternoon and was most grateful to Glenda for having dreamed it up. How clever! Having them clothed like that . . . giving them a taste of the easy life . . . of former days . . . and knowing all the time what they were going back to! Oh yes, it was almost a stroke of genius of Glenda’s part. What’s more, the game was likely to improve as time passed and the girls got used to acting.
“Now, how about a rubber of Bridge?” asked Quentin, when he sensed that the time had come for a change. “You both play, I’m sure . . .”
Julia and Melissa nodded in unison. Then they rose and followed the couple to a nearby baize-covered table. Havers stood by and pulled back a chair for Julia, giving a little bow and smiling deferentially.
It would have been difficult to believe that, not so many hours before, he had been ravaging this lovely young woman with an a****l-like brutishness!
“My husband and I like to play together,” said Glenda. “Is that alright with you?”
“Y-Yes Mrs. Osman,” said Melissa. Julia nodded dumbly. Bridge!
It was unbelievable. Once she had rather enjoyed a rubber or two (it was nice to boss a male partner about!) but now . . . now . . . under the circumstances! Yes . . . unbelievable!
“Cut for deal . . .”
They cut. Glenda won and dealt. “Usual conventions, partner? Two Clubs . . . strong No Trump?”
“Right,” answered Quentin. “You two girls the same? And Blackwood, I suppose?”
“Yes . . .” nodded Julia.
“Yes . . .” agreed Melissa.
Dumbly, numbly, they picked up their cards and began to sort them. Both found it a little difficult for they were looking through a mist of tears. And, of course, they were much out of practice.
“Oh, by the way,” said Quentin, “we play for £1 a hundred. That’s alright with you two?”
They agreed it was alright . . .
“One Spade,” announced Glenda.
On her left, Melissa’s brain seemed as if it were made of jelly.
How could one possibly think under such conditions?
“No bid,” she croaked . . . although, in fact, she had a reasonable overbid in Diamonds.
“Three No Trumps,” declared Quentin vehemently, more or less indicating to his partner that that was to be the contract, that he was going to play it . . . and so win the first game.
After three-quarters of an hour, two rubbers had been completed.
Both were won by Quentin and Glenda . . . who had accrued an advantage of 1,800 points.
“£18 apiece,” said Quentin cheerfully. “We can settle that later. My goodness, you girls did have bad luck!”
“I thought they played rather badly,” said Glenda a shade acidly
“Would you say that, girls?” asked Quentin.
“I . . . we . . . we’re a little out of practice,” answered Melissa weakly.
“Ah well . . .” shrugged Quentin. “It’s not important.” He got up from the table and indicated that Julia and Melissa should return to the sofa. “I think we can say that the second of our afternoon has begun,” he said.
Remembering the ‘Rules’, both Julia and Melissa were aware, from then on, suggestions made could not be accepted or rejected.
They had the force of orders. Little wonder the tensions within them began to increase. In ladylike style they sat down. Legs were crossed, skirts pulled.
“What colour knickers are you wearing, Miss Chant?” enquired Quentin, in the same easy-going tone that he had used all afternoon.
Absurdly, Julia felt a glow of embarrassed colour come to her cheeks. How conscious she was of the unusual; of the tiny knickers clinging to her! Yet how, after all she had gone through, could she possibly be embarrassed by their mention? Yet, somehow, she was!
Behind Quentin, she could see Havers grinning lecherously and the sensation of embarrassment increased.
“B-Blue . . . p-pale blue . . . M-Master . . .” she answered. But, seeing Quentin frown and make a note in his book, quickly added.
“M-Mr. Q-Quentin . . . I mean . . .”
“Very pretty, I’m sure. The same colour as your blouse, eh?”
“Y-Yes . . . Mr . . . Mr. Quentin . . .” Julia’s cheeks were now highly coloured. Oh how absurd!
“And your knickers, Miss Villiers?”
“Black, Mr. Quentin . . . black net . . .” Her answer was a shade firmer than Julia’s had been.
“Most fetching. Net, eh? Almost see-through, eh?”
“Y-Yes . . . Mr . . . Quentin . . .”
“Well now, young ladies. I have to tell you something. I wouldn’t except for the fact that I know young ladies are so much more broadminded these days.” Quentin winked broadly, rather like some music-hall comedian.
“Aren’t they just!” said Glenda with a laugh. “Quite amazes me what they’ll do at times. Not like in my day . . .”
“Quite so, my dear. However, as I was saying, I have something to tell you both,” went on Quentin. “You see, Havers here, my butler . . . is something of a knickers-fetishist and he confessed to me earlier he’d very much like to take a look at the knickers you girls are wearing.” Quentin smiled and spread his hands. “You know how difficult staff are to keep these days, I’m sure, so I told him I’d
ask you. I hope you don’t mind?”
Julia and Melissa sat dumbly.
“Well, do you? Do you mind?” asked Glenda sharply.
“N-No . . . n-no . . . coo . . .” answered Julia and Melissa together.
“There,” said Quentin, smiling at Glenda, “I told you girls were more broadminded these days, didn’t I? I don’t think you believed me. Well then, Miss Chant first, I think. Step forward Havers and take a gander . . .”
“Thank you, Sir,” said Havers, respectfully. The perfect butler.
He looked much like something out of PG Wodehouse!
Julia stood up nervously, seemingly not quite knowing what was expected of her.
“Can you pull your skirt up, Miss Chant?” asked Quentin solicitously.
‘N-No . . . M-Master . . . it . . . it’s too t-tight . . . Mr. Quentin . . .”
But already another note had been made in the black book.
“Well, you’ll have to take it off then, won’t you?”
“Y-Yes M-Mr. Q-Quentin,” nodded Julia wretchedly.
Her fingers went to a catch at one side, a zip hissed, the black skirt slid down and fell in a heap at Julia’s feet. She really did look most fetchingly feminine in that suspender belt and stockings with the tiny little panties moulding her.
“Oh yes isn’t that nice?” sighed Quentin. “Eh, Havers?”
“Yes, Sir very nice . . .” Havers coughed. “And, if I may say so Sir, rarely have I seen better . . . er . . . parts . . . than Miss Chant’s for showing off such a pair of knickers.”
“Parts?” queried Quentin. “You mean Miss Chant’s bottom?”
“Yes Sir, that . . . amongst other things . . .”
“Mmm . . . it is good, I admit.” Quentin paused and looked at Julia winsomely. “Miss Chant, may I ask you another favour? I wouldn’t if I didn’t think you would agree. Being a broad-minded young lady, that is. Mmmm?”
“Y-Yes . . . Ma . . . sis . . . Mr. Quentin . . .” whispered Julia.
“Good . . . good . . .” Quentin rubbed his hands. “It is that you go down on your hands and knees and point your bottom towards Havers. That will give him a better view of its curvaceousness. You see, I suspect Havers is a bottom fetishist as well as a knickersfetishist. Right, Havers?”
“I’m afraid so, Sir . . .” A greasy, lusting smile spread over those a features as he watched Julia do as she had been told. The superbly- shaped bottom came curving up, as it had done so often before, but now with but the briefest covering adorning it. Oddly enough, in some ways, that flimsy covering and the suspender belt added to Julia’s sexiness.
“Oh excellent . . . oh yes . . . a most excellent bottom! Agreed, Havers?”
“Oh yes indeed, Sir. Very much agreed!”
A heavy-breathing silence fell as everyone in the room continued to gaze at Julia’s kneeling figure. It was a bizarre scene. The surroundings so everyday, so normal. The clothing conventional, the people involved seemingly conventional too. Yet there, in the midst, was a young woman kneeling in a posture of utterly abject humiliation!
“Thank you . . . thank you, Miss Chant,” said Quentin. “It is indeed most kind of you to satisfy a middle-aged man’s little fad.”
And Julia, thinking she had been dismissed began to get up. “Ah no . . . ah no, not just yet, Miss Chant . . . please,” went on Quentin.
Julia sank back again. “I think we would all agree that such a magnificent bottom should be displayed to full advantage. Havers certainly would! So, my dear Miss Chant, I am going to beg one more favour. Tougher than all the rest, but I think you’ll pander to my whims. You see, Miss Chant, I would like you to take your knickers down so that - and all the rest of us - can see your backside in all its natural, naked glory! Would you do that for me, Miss Chant . . . please?”
A sob shook the kneeling Julia but her fingers went at once to the elastic of the briefs. One might have imagined, having been kept stark naked for so long, Julia would have had no qualms at all about what she was doing. Yet, strange as it may seem, she did. Once having been covered . . . once having returned, however briefly, to a world of womanly modesty . . . it was bitter indeed to have to degrade herself in this fashion again.
The pale blue briefs were pushed down to the bend in her knees . . .
Naked again!
Abused and shamed again!
Quentin gave a low wolf-whistle. “My, my Miss Chant . . . you really are some girl, aren’t you?” he said. “A little forward, of course, but I am sure, under the circumstances, we can all overlook that.”
Julia’s nails were clawing into the carpet; she was weeping silently.
“I think the girl’s a little too forward,” interjected Glenda. “Bold, I’d call it. Probably goes around seeking such opportunities as this. She’ll come to no good, in my opinion.”
“Maybe . . . maybe . . . my dear,” said Quentin smugly. “But, remember, I did ask Miss Chant to take her knickers down. And, like the polite guest she is, she did so. I think that, at least, is to be commanded. Look at Havers here . . . he’s not complaining, is he?”
Havers was grinning hugely. What a set-up it was! The boss and his miss certainly knew how to get the maximum fun out of a simple situation!
“No, I’m not complaining, Sir,” he said. Then, joining in the game, he added: “I think it most kind and considerate of the young lady to accommodate a middle-aged man like myself. Especially as I’m only a servant.”
“True . . . well said Havers . . .” Quentin smiled around the room . . . then he crooked a beckoning finger at Melissa. “I am sure Miss Villiers will be as kind and considerate as Miss Chant has been. Is
that not so?”
“Yes . . . y-yes . . . Mr. Quentin . . .” replied Melissa, uncrossing a pair of lovely long limbs. “Whatever you s-say, Mr. Quentin . . .”
“How tight is your skirt, Miss Villiers?”
“Not . . . not t-too tight . . . Mr. Quentin.”
“So you can pull it up?”
“Yes, Mr. Quentin . . .”
“Then kindly do so, Miss Villiers,” ordered Quentin with a smile.
Melissa complied . . . and continued to comply . . . humiliating herself before them all . . . until she, too, like Julia, knelt with her knickers down, provocatively exposed to all.
“You can’t say I don’t allow you a few perks, Havers, can you?”
“No, Sir, I can’t say that.”
“So you reckon you’ll stay on here for a while?”
“Yes, Sir, I reckon so. You treat me very well, Sir.”
Quentin smiled complacently and returned his gaze to the two figures kneeling side by side. Elegantly clothed, yet degraded by the disarray of their garments, they presented, in Quentin’s eyes, a supremely satisfying picture. No two women, he felt, could be more subject to his will . . . no two women could be more submissive to his orders. In a remarkably short space of time, he had achieved all, and more, than he could have ever hoped at the outset. He did indeed owe a lot to Madame Vesta and the ‘Paradise’ organisation!
“Havers,” said Quentin, “fetch some coffee. You can help, Rosalie.”
“Yes, Sir . . . at once, Sir . . .” Rosalie almost bobbed a curtsey.
What fun it all was! She’d never had such an afternoon in her life before!
“I am sure the young ladies would like a cup,” said Quentin.
“After their so-generous, so-freely-given display this afternoon!”
Havers and Rosalie withdrew. Quentin and Glenda exchanged understanding smiles. This was a ‘game’ proving more rewarding than either, of them could have hoped at the outset. Each was experiencing a deep, inner glow of the most pleasurable kind of sadistic satisfaction.
“Don’t you think Quentin,” said Glenda, arching thin eyebrows, “that these two forward young minxes have had more than ample time to display their wares?”
Quentin nodded. “Yes . . . yes, my dear,” he replied. “Come along, young ladies kindly pull those knickers up again. It’s time for a little decorum, once more!”
Libbie
- 24.06.2022
- 19
- 0
