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Stella's Torment (Anonymous)


Stella

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Stella is the haughty daughter of the deceased squire, running the estate and bending all to her will.

Outwardly she is something of a bitch, but deep inside burn bizarre and erotic fantasies of submission.

It is the young gardener who begins to bring out these fantasies until they become uncontrollable urges for punishment and degradation.

Stella turns to a psychiatrist for help with these deep desires, only to find herself under his and his sister's total domination!

Stella is in turn beaten, made to perform sexual acts and enslaved by a variety of people, all of whom are actually catering to her deepest desires - for pain, suffering and submission, all of which lead her to fantastic sexual gratification!

Product type: EBook    Published by: Fiction4All    Published: 3 / 2016

No. words: 41000

Style: Male Dom - M/F, Sex Slavery / Training

Available Formats: Palm  MobiPocket (MOBI)  EPUB  Sony Reader (LRF)  PDF  MS Reader  This book has a format which can be downloaded to Kindle


Excerpt

PREFACE

Geoff Watson had taken the position of Gardener at the Ancestral home of the local Squire simply because he loved everything Natural and Attractive. During his working hours, he had noticed that Stella Stanlington, the very proud and shapely daughter of the now deceased Squire, had troubled him in more ways than one.
Proud, beautiful and with the right amount of haughty mannerism that begged any roan to take the shapely young miss off the pedestal that her ego had placed her on, Stella had more than made an impression on the rugged, handsome young gardener. He found himself studying her whenever she would stretch herself on the expansive lawns in the secluded area purposely set by for the purpose of seclusion from the public eye. He had often felt that she was a prick-teaser without realising the extent to which she goaded him to almost raping her.
What Geoff could not possibly realise was the fact that Stella saw in him something that stirred her very deep depths of sensual sensitivity. Often she would think of the pure animalism of the man, and in those moments when her mind would be troubled with the erotic although sometimes bizarre fantasies of him, her whole body would steam in ecstatic uncontrollable urges.
She had thought at first, that by interfering with his work, he would turn him into a very angry young man in which he would find it difficult not to give her a piece of his mind, but he would only shrug his shoulders and turn his back on her.
Eventually she remonstrated with him on some trivial point of gardening and the resulting saga took place.


CHAPTER ONE

He had told me that I was a spoilt, rich bitch and that I could ‘stuff’ my job. I sat down dumbly as he turned on his heel and walked from the large drawing room. It was as the door closed that I realised that I did not want him to go! He was only nineteen and had been employed to look after the gardens of the estate for the last six months and I had teased him terribly, yet I had a very deep hunger for him.
I know I was playing .the aloof and haughty game with him. My father had been the Squire of the ancestral home and all the grounds that embraced this large area. Geoff, the young gardener, was a strapping youth with a body that belied his young years. He was an Adonis and his wealth of knowledge was taken from magazines; those same magazines I had found when I had gone to his room.
I really had remonstrated with him even though my blood had tingled as I flipped slowly through the pages of graphic pictures. When I had confronted him with them, he had sighed and told me that he would hand in his notice. He had come into the drawing room and with his small case in his hand and had given me a piece of his mind and the length of his tongue.
“It hasn’t been easy, you parading yourself around the lawns in a bikini showing more than you hid. What you want, young lady, is somebody to take you in hand, give you a sound hiding and then bring you to heel. If I had my way ...”
He had not continued but had turned on his heel, leaving me trembling furiously and it was not all anger. I watched his straight back and broad shoulders. I quickly visualised him bringing me to heel and my whole body melted in a sense of pure unbridled erotica. At twenty-four years of age, a true blonde and a figure of 39-28-38, I knew I had the right sort of figure that would please any man. I hurriedly raced from the room.
“Geoff, I called out sharply, “please don’t go!”
I saw his back as he reached the bottom stone step leading from the manor. He turned round slowly and looked up.
“You want me to work out my notice? No way! You can keep my pay in lieu,” he suggested.
“No ... it’s not that. Please come back. If I say I’m sorry, will you come back and talk things over?”
He seemed to think for a minute and then slowly came up the steps again. We walked into the large hall. There were no other servants on the afternoon shift, only Geoff and I occupied the hall.
I lit a cigarette and noticed that my fingers were trembling and I tried to avoid his eyes as my breathing became an excited action in my chest. He sat down without being invited and the look on his face was very ‘superior’ as though he was able to read my innermost thoughts.
“O.K. so I have come back to listen,” he said.
“Please don’t go ... I’m terribly sorry about interfering in your private affairs ...” I managed to remain aloof and cool.
“Look, you can get any number of the lads from the village to tend the garden, they look after themselves now. You don’t need me just for gardening.” he told me, his handsome face grim set. .
“Perhaps not ... but I like to have you around,” I admitted, feeling the blushes creep over my face.
“Sorry Lady Stella. I said just now that you want somebody to take you in hand and bring you to heel. With that sort of attitude between us. I could never settle down properly,” he said simply.
I drew on my cigarette and let the smoke ease from my lips. “Why don’t you stay and do the job yourself?” I asked quietly feeling my body tremble at the brazenness of my own forwardness.
He squinted at me through half closed eyes. “You must have been reading some of those magazines,” he told me grimly.
“Not ... not voluntarily,” I blushed very red now and tried to squirm out of it.
“And what ones did you like best? The spanking glossies ... the ones where the woman was dominated ... tell me, Stella.” He grinned and dropped the courtesy of the title. My body was shaking and my mouth was dry. I stubbed the cigarette out and clasped my hands together. I could feel my face burning with red tomato coloured blushes.
“Are you going to stay... or not?” I tried to turn the conversation round to the more pressing problem.
“I don’t think so.” He shook his head slowly, a wry grin on his face.
“I don’t mean as a gardener.” I tried to stop my voice from trembling.
“Oh ... in what capacity ... your stud?”
His uncouth suggestion did not cause me any change of mind, strangely enough I found myself going very warm and trembly at his mean manner.
“Not exactly my stud,” I tried to sound calm.
“Oh?” he seemed surprised and sat up. “As what, then?”
“As anything you want to be,” I told him weakly.
“As the master?” he suggested. I nibbled the lower lip with the edge of my teeth. “Well?” his voice snapped angrily.
“Yes ... if that’s the word to use ... as master,” I agreed weakly.
“And what would that make you?” he asked lightly.
Again I stared blankly feeling the whole of my body react to strange thrilling heat searing through me.
“What ... what would you suggest?” I managed to say, my head reeling under the sudden influence of his dominance.
He stood up and came to where I sat, his finger crooked my chin and I was forced to look up to him. His piercing eyes seemed to burn into my mind making me subservient to his powerful mannerism.
“You tell me,” he sneered and his fingertips stroked down the contours of my cheeks. They did not stop there but continued down to sneak beneath the neckline of my shirt blouse and I felt the terrific shocks of pure angry sexuality as his fingers eased into my brassiere cup to squeeze the smooth skin flesh of my breast. The nipple sprang out remarkable in its intensity of shocked sexiness. I groaned out loud and gripped his wrist to make sure he thrust it hard into my brassiere cup. I felt his fingers trap my nipple and they worked on the knob of flinty hard gristle and I sobbed out loud as he painfully made me aware of his brute strength and I loved it. .
“Still want me to stay?” he sneered down at me and his fingers caused shooting pain thrills to throb over my hardened tit nipple.
“Yesssss ... yessssss ... more than ever,” I moaned helplessly.
“As the master?” he questioned.
“Yes ... definitely as the master,” I choked.
“And you? ... will you be obedient ... very obedient ... will you accept the role of my slave ... absolutely?” he snarled.
“Ooooooh ... yes ... yes ... I will, I will ... pleeeeease,” I begged him. “I’ll do anything, anything,” I sobbed.
He slowly removed his hand from my brassiere despite the grip of my own hands on his wrist.
He went back to the deep cushioned armchair and I stayed in my own seat, my whole body responding to a sense of pure heat and strangely thrilling sexuality.
“Ever been stripped for a man?” he asked lightly.
“Yes, of course,” I blushed.
“I don’t mean just to go to bed with ... I mean for him to actually USE you ... abuse you, if you like”.
“No ... no, I cannot claim that I have ever been treated any other way than with gentleness,” I blushed furiously.
“How often do you masturbate?” he asked casually almost.
“Pardon?” my voice was a strangled sound.
“You deaf? How often to you touch yourself up? How many times a week do you lay quietly in bed and play with your cunt?” He was smiling with an evil intent.
“Geoff, please.” I reddened furiously at his coarse manner.
“You listen to me, Stella. I am going to insist on knowing every intimate detail about you. You want me to stay ...”
“I do, I do, Geoff, please,” I interrupted him chokingly and pleadingly.
“Then no more of this secret and shy nonsense understand?’
“Yes,” my own weak voice responded.
“Right ... how often do you masturbate?’ He was cruelly demanding and insistent.
“Once ... sometimes twice a week,” I squirmed as my cheeks burned in beetroot reaction to my own shame. I cast my eyes down in humiliating obeisance to his dominance.
“What do you think would be the most humiliating thing that could happen to you?’ he asked.
“The very experience that I am going through now,” I told him without hesitation.
“When you are playing with your love slot what do you think about?” He grinned at my acute discomfort.
“I don’t know ... various things,” I managed to choke out and I avoided his eyes as peculiar little stabs of prickly heat seemed to pierce through my very erotic state and make up. I know I should not be feeling the thrills that were erupting all over my body, but as each second passed I was getting more and more slavishly bound to him.


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