It was Saturday, I woke early, for a Saturday around ten, I felt contented like you do after good sex and I took a moment to remember what had happened the day before.

Mary Hastings, the bitch was now my bitch, tied up in my gymnasium, I smiled, I could have sex just when I wanted, I rang down for breakfast, “Scrambled egg on toast for two.” I requested, “I’ll come down for it, can I have it on a tray to eat in the Gym?”

“Certainly Mister Stephen,” Mrs Wilberforce agreed, referring to the fact she had previously worked for my father and indeed for his father before that.

The sad fact was that father fell for Francine, his P.A, she got pregnant, mother left and father was left in reduced circumstances, especially when Grandfather insisted I join the firm as de facto M.D.

Father still had the “Senior Partner,” plaque on his door and allegedly came in to work on Tuesdays and Thursdays, but now home for him was a three bedroom semi on the north Circular which he shared with an embittered Francine and little Jasmine.

It seemed odd that I now had a step mother eight years younger than myself, younger indeed than my one time fiancee, as I approached my thirty fifth birthday, but time for musing was limited as I needed to get the breakfast tray to the Gymnasium while it remained hot.

I placed a cloth over the tray and hurried down the drive to the gymnasium, Perkins was just coming out ugh the door with a mop and bucket, “It’s pissed itself again,” he said loudly, “Disgusting!”

“How are you,” I asked, but she didn’t need to say, the tears flowing freely said it all, “Did Perkins fuck you?” I asked, “It’s all right, I said he could.” I lied.

“No, he said,” she whispered,” he called me ‘It,’ like I was nothing.”

“But you are nothing my dear,” I reassured her, “Here have some breakfast.”

“No!” she said before she realised it was scrambled egg and coffee.

“You must eat, keep your strength up,” I suggested, “Replenish those pussy juices,” I leered at her, “Or shall I take my pleasure first?”

“My mother will be worried,” she suggested.

“With good reason as it happens,” I reassured her, “But what I thought we would do is email someone to pass a message that you are keeping a low profile for a while.”

“Oh yes, sure!” she said, “In your dreams.”

“Mrs Wilberforce will be along to whip you around eleven thirty,” I explained, “perhaps you will change your mind then.”

“Oh yes, sure she will,” she said sarcastically.

“Mary,” I said, “Shall I call you Mary?” I paused, “Only yesterday you insisted on being called Miss Hastings, clearly that is no longer an option, so shall we say Mary, or Bitch or It?”

“What do I care?” she said, “It’s only a matter of time before someone finds me!”

“Oh I do hope not!” I explained, “But if Mrs Wilberforce is too rough, or you get an infection or something clearly we will have to dispose of you but do you know Perkins and poor old Mable loathe you even more than I do.”

She tried to hit me but I had the distance calculated precisely and her leash brought her up short.

“Now my dear Mary, that was unfortunate,” I said as I moved away, “So I have delicious toast and egg for your breakfast which is cooling rapidly, so Mary you may eat with your right hand but your left,” I said insistently, “You must place at least three fingers of your left hand in your pussy as you eat, do you understand?”

“No!” she protested, but she eyed the toast hungrily.

“Nobody will see,” I reassured her, “It’s getting cold.”

Her hand crept guiltily towards her crotch, the area around her nipples was darkening already anticipating her own touch and then as the first digit disappeared I went to hand her the first strip of toast, but changed my mind and suggested she, “Open wide.”

She let me feed her, “Rub your other hand over your breasts as you eat.” I suggested.

“No!” she refused, but she did it all the same, gently caressing herself.

“Is this the kinkiest thing you have ever done?” I asked.

She stopped instantly, “Nung,” she said with her mouth full, “Last night,”

“What?” I queried.

“Last night, you know, you, me, outside.” she said, “The house, the valley, the moonlight.”

“You liked it?” I asked incredulously, as I poured hot coffee from the silver pot into a china cup and added sugar and milk.

“No!” she exclaimed, “Definitely not but it was hardly normal!”

“Eat your toast,” I suggested.

I still fed her the strips of toast, I held the coffee cup for her and she quietly wanked herself as she ate.

She seemed delightfully soft and fluffy as she pleasured herself, a world away from the money grabbing bitch of yesterday’s Tribunal, and as she drained the last dregs of coffee I gently eased her knees apart and slipped my tracksuit bottoms down.

“Condom?” she whispered.

“No!” I replied, “Spoils the moment,”

“Babies, clap,” she said, “Hepatitus aids,”

“I’ll risk it,” I agreed.

“Ohhhh!” she squealed in frustration, but she put her arms out as I sank down and up inside her in a single motion.

It was in her eyes, confusion, she clearly hated the fact she was enjoying me as much as I was enjoying fucking her, she felt so right, so soft and pink and it was a real job deciding where she ended and I began, I kissed her mouth, she tasted of Egg and coffee and I realised she had actually eaten my breakfast as well as her own, but it didn’t matter, a small price to pay for a glorious early morning ride.

“My back, the floors too hard,” she moaned quietly at one stage.

“Hush, it’s nothing,” I reassured her, “Mrs Wilberforce will whip you later and that will hurt so much you’ll have to lie on your tummy.”

“Oh great!” she replied but somehow she seemed to grip me tighter, her breathing became more rasping and my balls started that crinkling feeling that precedes ejaculation.

“Pull out, please,” she requested nicely enough but the first spurt of creamy cum was well on its way and I wasn’t going to waste it.

Her eyes were wide with the force of my cum as it invaded all her hidden secret places, “Oh no we mustn’t,” she said despairingly and then she squeezed me some more as my balls emptied.

“Can I have a tissue” she asked as I stood up.

“No.” I said simply, “You can’t but I have work to do,”

I looked around the gymnasium, the Gym as I called it, , the rowing machine, the treadmill and of course the swimming pool which took up the whole of the northern half of the building, twenty first century technology and seventeenth century architecture blended seamlessly, or so Jessica said, actually I thought stainless steel and Limestone rather jarred but what did I know.

The Gym had some nice touches, although the computer system we had fitted was now far from state of the art but still one could work with the wireless keyboard and use the Plasma TV screen as a monitor, so I retrieved the mouse and keyboard, switched the power on and sat down to write.

“Dear Mother,” I wrote, “Do you call her Mother.” I asked.

“What, oh yes,” Mary replied, “But she doesn’t do email.”

“What about a father?” I asked.

“Yes,Mother and Father,” she slowly.

“Good, so,” I suggested, “Had to go to ground for a while, the Williams will try to have me declared bankrupt if their process servers find me so until I’ve got a plan please just be assured that I’m fine, your loving daughter Mary.”

“They’ll know that wasn’t from me,” she said triumphantly, “Just be assured,” she sneered “it’s my mum not a client.”

She looked at the screen.

“Hi,”it said “The Tribunal was rigged, I’m going to chill for a while, think it through, be in touch when I get back.” “M” she read, “PS can you let Mummy know.”

“You Bastard.” she said.

“What’s your password,” I asked.

“Not saying!” she muttered. and then “How the hell!” she exclaimed as her email account appeared on screen.

“I’ll use the Yahoo account then, not Hushmail.” I suggested.

It took a while to scroll through old messages and then I found a Facebook confirmation, password, the lot, and suddenly the whole thing was much easier.

Some of the things she called me on Facebook were definitely libellous, but I uploaded the message sent it to a number of her friends and even before I finished Mrs Wilberforce was ringing the doorbell.

I let her in and she brought some Ham sandwiches and a carton of orange juice for me and then stood around waiting.

“Don’t mind me Mable,” I suggested as she stood waiting in her cheap nylon smock with her grey hair in rollers under a headscarf and looking every one of her sixty eight years.

“I works best on me own Mr Stephen sir,” she said, “I likes to take me coat off see.” she suggested.

“So take your coat off, but get on with it,” I said authoritatively.

“Very good sir.” she said.

Never in my worst nightmares had I thought she would venture out without at least a vest under her smock but suddenly as the nylon fluttered to the floor two huge unsupported Tits flopped out over the most elaborate black leather corset I ever want to see, it must have had twenty or more stout leather straps pulling her in like firm young muscles to quote the wrong advertisement, and then there were the leather shorts and the thigh boots, and of course the whips which she had brought with her.

She looked like some nightmare caricature from a dodgy German language porn film.

I would have laughed but Mary just screamed, “No.” and put up her arms to protect herself.

This would not do, so I found some soft rope and tied Mary’s hands together on the far sid of the handrail giving Mrs Wilberforce a clear target of Mary’s back.

“That’s better Mr Stephen sir,” she said, “I’ll make that little bitch wish she never crossed you sir, that I will.”

I watched her select the longest whip, her bare shoulders rippled as she got her range and aim and after about four gentle swats she laid into Mary and started counting. “One!”

“Ah, no, Stephen, for pity’s, ah, sake,” Mary squealed, “I thought you liked, ah, me.”

The red marks were faint to begin with but as blow rained on blow a beautiful criss cross pattern started to emerge, I sat and watched as I ate my sandwiches, “Have a rest Mrs Wilberforce don’t overdo it,” I suggested as she counted to forty eight.

“Stop, please stop!” Mary added.

“I’m only concerned about you Mable,” I reassured her, “would you like a nice cup of tea before you continue?”

“Yes sir, I’ll get it.” she said as she pulled the whip back once more.

“No, you sit down I’ll do it, tea for you as well Mary.” I asked.

“You are deranged,” she said “Ah,” Mable swatted her again, “Completely unhinged.”

“Two sugars Mary?” I asked as I went to the tiny kitchen through the doorway into what had been a lean to stable before we converted the barn to find the jug and teapot.

“No, I’m on a diet.” she said and she started crying again.

It took a few minutes to make the Tea, and when I returned Mrs Wilberforce was sitting beside Mary resting, “Mr Williams was a lovely man, of course I was young then,” Mrs Wilberforce was saying, “Just out of school, see, six months pregnant with our Joseph and he gives me a job with a flat.”

“My Grandfather is a very good man but he did have particular tastes,” I added as I brought the tray, “Particularly mother’s milk.”

“I think that’s what growed me tits,” Mable admitted, “I reckon Joseph was four before they dried up.”

“That’s old Mr Williams?” Mary asked, “My God!”

“Oh yes, he whipped me once, we used to play when the “Misses” was out and I grabbed the whip and whipped him and he liked it, like you do.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Mary insisted.

“He did as well,” Mable insisted, “his little thingy went all stiff, it used to curl up like a little mouse and then after a bit it stuck out like a bit of broom handle.”

“I meant suggesting I like being assaulted.” Mary snapped.

“So why are your nipples all extended,” I asked,” and the area round all dark, and why are you sweating and damp between the legs?”

“It’s warm in here?” she suggested, “anyway I’m not.” she insisted, but Mrs Wilberforce took the spare whip and eased it between Mary’s bruised and pounting cunt lips, “No stop that, thats not fair!”

“All right?” I asked and Mrs Wilberforce just let the whip flails fall between Mary’s thighs and left the Whip handle deep inside her.

“It’s not the whipping!” she protested.

“I think she’s got a thing for you Mister Stephen,” Mable observed, “She’d look nice in a ball gown.” she said, “Like your Mother.”

“Eh?” Mary queried.

“I couldn’t never wear a ball gown, not sensibly,” Mrs Wilberforce explained, “me tits was too heavy but she got nice medium ones like your mum.”

“Mother is somewhat notorious on the swingers scene in Hendon,” I explained, “she loves wearing a hideously expensive ball gown, diamonds, pearls and a smile.”

“So the whole family are perverts?” she asked.

“Well,” I explained, “Father obviously got the idea you were too or you would never have got the job.” I paused, “Have some tea, three sugars, keep your strength up.”

“I can’t drink like this,” Mary said, and as she knelt there naked but for her collar and the rope round her wrists with a whip thrust deep inside her vagina you had to admit she had a point.

I put the cup in front of her, she put it to her lips an drank, “Uggh, I don’t like tea.” she complained.

“You should have said,” I sympathised, “I could have warmed some beer.”

“Ok, ok, I’ll drink it.” she agreed.

“Just put the cup down carefully when you finish and Mrs Wilberforce can finish up, and I’ll be back soon, just got to drop your clothes off at the Jumble sale in the Village.” I suggested.

I was sure she didn’t believe me but that’s exactly what I did, everything clean, except some of the underwear which I burned, and a little black dress, I put in bin liners and threw them in the Range Rover and took them the three miles to the Village hall.

The ladies of the Womens Institute were as pleased to receive the clothes as they were annoyed at my lateness only ten minutes before the doors opened for the sale, but they quickly distributed the garments and I in turn photographed them on my little camera phone to show Mary her things had gone to a good cause.

She was sobbing when I walked into the Gym, Perkins was just leaving with the bucket and mop, “It pissed itself again,” he said, “It was wanking itself with a whip handle earlier.”

“Hello,” I said brightly as I saw her crouching there, her back a mass of red weals some bloodied some just bruised.

“I want to go home!” she wailed, “Please!” she said, “I hurt so much,”

“Then why is there a whip handle rammed in your sex?” I asked.

“It takes my mind off the pain!” she said reasonably.

“I gave your clothes to the WI jumble sale look,” I said and showed her the camera, she snorted and cried even louder.

“I thought you would be pleased.” I explained.

“You’re horrible!” she said, “Totally vile and despicable, and.” her whip handle hit the floor with a plop.

“You really fancy me don’t you,” I accused her, “Just like Mrs Wilberforce said,”

“Oh no, no way,” she lied.

“So you don’t want to spend the afternoon in my nice soft bed watching snooker on TV?” I suggested, “You would rather stay here?”

“No of course not.” she replied in annoyance, “And you have no intention of taking me to your,” she paused as she noticed I was carrying something in a carrier bag, “Bed.”

I showed her the little back dress.

“Shall we?” I suggested.

“Who’s playing” she asked.

“Graham Dott and Ali Carter.” I explained.

“I like Stephen Hendry,” she said.

“Bed then?” I asked.

“Yes,” she agreed, “Anything is better than this.”

It took barely a moment to release her but she needed a shower and her back was a real mess, so it was nearly three when she slipped her dress on and I carried her to the Range rover and drove her to my home.

I carried her indoors too, and upstairs to my room and gently set her down on the bed, where I lifted her black dress over head leaving her deliciously naked.

“I’m afraid the bed is more for sleeping than sex,” I apologised, “Oh an the door operates on palm prints so hard luck, and the en suite is through there so no pissing in the corner.”

She scowled at me, her back looked painful so I took the bottle of lotion Mrs Wilberforce had supplied and started to rub it into her back., “I’ll credit you a pound a lash so a hundred a day thats seven hundred pounds a week.”

“Oh god no,” she exclaimed, “no I can’t stand it, can’t we just have sex, four, five times a day.”

“I suppose I might,” I agreed, “But why?”

“To pay you back of course.” she replied.

“Why the hurry, don’t you like it here?” I asked and I gestured towards the window with the magnificent views across the vale.

“I want my life back.” she said.

“As a lying little lesbian tart,” I suggested. “Oh no dear girl I think not, no consort, concubine, my little ready use prostitute that’s what I have planned for you, if you’re agreeable.”

“No, never.” she said, “I want my life back.”

“With your little Lesbian friend, I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” I suggested, “And bankruptcy will ruin your career,” I suggested, “No I think a year of regular whippings and regular sex and living like an animal will do you a power of good.”

“No, you can’t” she protested, “Ok sex, yes sex no problem, but for gods sake look at my back.”

“It’s delightful,” I assured her.

“But it hurts!” she said, “And I hate it in that Gymnasium.”

She lay there petulantly, “Shall we say one hundred lashes every Saturday, and regular sex,” I thought about it, “No, make that sex on demand, mouth, vagina, anus, everywhere in fact, what do you say?”

“For gods sake!” she said.

“And we’ll do a deal on your debt,” I suggested, “You pay it off we keep you out of the bankruptcy courts.”

“And the other days?” she asked, “Whipping on Saturdays.”

“Yes, and Sundays if you want to pay me off quicker, a pound a lash, fifty pounds a fuck.”

“And where do I live?” she asked.

“In the Gym except when you are required for sex.” I said icily.

“How often is that?” she asked,

“Twenty four seven if you like, perhaps you could work in the post room or canteen or as a cleaner at the office in case I need you?” I suggested, then I felt the urge returning. “Roll on your back, I want you.” I said, perhaps not the most romantic proposal but then I added, “And I’ll want you again in the morning so don’t run away.”

“Bastard!” she muttered.

“I want that filthy mouth of yours this time,” I added as I rolled over on top of her,”You won’t mind if I explore your tonsils with my tongue will you?”

She thought I meant a blow job, but when I held her cheeks she knew, she knew it was something far more intimate, “Whore’s usually like to keep this special, so it’s a real bonus if I can practice on you.” I explained.

“It’s all right,” she whispered, “Any thing’s better than last night.” and so we kissed and as we kissed I eased myself gently into her.

“Mmmmm, nice,” she commented, and that was it almost no foreplay and I was gloriously sheathed in her, she seemed agitated somehow, or confused, or.

“Don’t hold back,” I insisted, “If you want to scream at me just do it, it’s soundproof.”I suggested, “Tell me you hate me, scream at me if you like.”

“I don’t, it shouldn’t feel so good, it’s not fair.” she said, “Why can’t you be nice to me, pretend you love me or something?”

“Because you tried to destroy me or course,” I explained, “Now shut up and enjoy your fuck.”

Morning arrived deliciously, I looked down and saw the top of her head as she gently sucked my cock to life.

“Who told you you could suck my cock?” I asked.

“I want you to make love to me,” she answered with a mischievous look in her eye.

“You’re trying to avoid a whipping.” I accused.

“Yes,” she admitted, “Look if I’m the best lover you ever ever had would you let me off?”

“Yes, if your the best lover ever.” I agreed, “Tell me you love me then.”

“I love you then,” she said without hesitation.

“Hey, Mary,” I exclaimed, “Miss Hastings, you sounded like you meant it, it’s only a game.”

“For you maybe but not for me, it’s my only hope, isn’t it?” she asked.

“There’s no need to get emotional.” I explained, “Is there?”

“I’m a woman not a bloody robot,” she said suddenly serious, “You make love to me and say its just a fuck, who are you trying to fool Mr Williams, because you don’t fool me.”

“I’ll have Perkins fuck you then.” I suggested.

“No you wont.” she said, “You want me all for yourself, you wanted me in that courtroom.”

“Yes, I wanted to tear your clothes off and fuck you right then and there,” I agreed, “You looked so,”

“Sexy?” she asked.

“Like the old pictures of my mother,” I explained, “Do you see?”

“No.” she said.

“Suck me off then there’s a good slut.” I said but she didn’t she swung round over me and grabbed my erect tool and sank down on it until her pussy engulfed me, “My turn to fuck you lover!” she exclaimed and she bounced up and down several times before I rolled her over and started to hump her energetically.

“Yes, that’s it fuck me harder you bastard,” she said and suddenly it was all about her, exciting her pleasuring her and I wanted her to have the best time and then with a rush it was over.

I held her, I wanted to tell everything was all right, she didn’t have to worry, that I had forgiven her but I couldn’t. I just told her I loved her.

“I know,” she said, “I know, now rest and we’ll do it again after breakfast.”

But she was not getting away with her treachery and lies that easily I decided, one good whipping was hardly enough, no she would have to work for it if she wanted to be mine.

Pt 3

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