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Mistresses Of All They Survey (Alan McLean)


Mistresses Of All They Survey by Alan McLean

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Sam Grant made two mistakes: cheating on his wife and being found out.

Helen exacts her own retribution, pushing Sam into the role of slave and then schoolboy, complete with uniform, whilst demanding the freedom to take lovers if she so chooses.

Life becomes complicated and infinitely more painful when Samís friend and workmate confesses that he, too, is dominated by his wife.

The two women get together and form the Grant Academy, then set about enrolling more students, more Ďboysí to be dominated as only they know how!

And when Samís own secretary joins the Academy as a teacher, there is no looking back!

Product type: EBook    Published by: Fiction4All    Published: 12 / 2012

Also Available in Paperback - Click Here

No. words: 35000

Style: Fem Dom - F/M, 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

Chapter 1 - Awake

Helen's first movement was hesitant - there was little room left in the middle of the mattress for her to manoeuvre. The merest stretch of a leg brought her into immediate contact with male flesh. The touch of a man's skin always seemed so much warmer than her own in the morning. Helen's eyes gradually opened, her face only inches from Adam's back.
I really need a larger bed.
It was not the first time the notion had struck Helen, but it was too early for the thought to take a proper hold. This was the time of the day when idle notions fight unsuccessfully with basic needs. Helen's pulsing head gave a dull reminder of last night's alcohol. She had not drunk excessively, she had not needed to. But she still felt a little groggy - it was easy to take too much champagne. Now she felt enveloped by the body heat that seemed to engulf her.
Both men still slept.
Gently Helen propped herself up on her elbows and looked slowly around. The arc of her vision took in much in the lightening room. Her fuzzy consciousness took in the debris of last night's frenzied activities. She always felt a little raw after nights like these, although not as sore as the grateful men who were so keen to submit to her control. Miraculously, Helen's long black gown, a recent present from Sam, had made it onto the back of the chair by her dressing table. Her white basque was not quite so fortunate, perched half on and half off its hanger. A single silk stocking drooped from the curved metal frame, as if the leg inside it had somehow hurriedly deflated. Her hand-made high heels lay beside her wardrobe, one black shoe tilted onto its side. From where she lay, Helen had no way of telling whether the shine that Victor had laboured so hard and painfully to place on the pair last night was still apparent.
She wondered how his tongue would feel now. Next to the stilettos, her suspender belt and the fallen stocking lay rumpled. She smiled to herself. Victor should have known to be much more careful than that. Helen had expressly told him to be very careful as he hung up her clothes. Sloppiness was not excusable. Naturally he would have to pay for his slovenly behaviour.
Helen always derived a wicked satisfaction from handing out chores to her students. In her experience, the more menial the better. There was nothing quite like the sight of a man in uniform kneeling on a hard kitchen floor, scrubbing brush in hand, or using a feather duster to clean up some out of the way corner of an attic. She enjoyed typing out rotas and lists to pin on the cork notice board in the kitchen, thinking up ever more demeaning tasks for a willing male to fulfil.
Looked at objectively, there was nothing surprising about Victor's lack of care in neatly folding away her clothes - after all he had been in a great hurry to join in the action. Then again, there was nothing remotely objective about Helen's sessions. She made a mental note to make Victor do all her ironing before inspection and bend him over the board at the end. It was not too heinous a crime, a vigorous slippering would probably suffice.
Helen moved her head slightly, surveying what else she could of the lightening room. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she focused more easily on the scene around her. Two red and white striped ties, one still knotted, lay crumpled on the ground on the far side of the room, amid a small pile of indistinguishable scarlet socks and two pairs of white male pants. The pillows that normally adorned the marital bed lay scattered on the floor against the door of Sam's wardrobe, which hung ajar. Helen could just see through the gap between two of Sam's expensive business suits to where her box was normally concealed. She could make out the gold outline of its keyhole, distinguishable from the pine of the box even in the subdued morning light that fought through the gap in Helen's heavy curtains. Instinctively, she reached towards her neck, where her blond hair settled around her, and felt the outline of the two tiny keys which hung from the gold chain. One of the keys held the secret to the box in the cupboard. The other unlocked delights even closer to hand.
Helen's gaze followed the length of the shapely back to her left. She could not make out the colour of Adam's behind, it was still too dark to fully assess the result of last night's handiwork. She raised her right hand above the curve of his slim hips and her palm once more felt the touch of his flat, muscled stomach. Helen remembered that he was a waiter and she conjured up the sight of his Italian features, dark and bold with his lovely green eyes. In her mind's eye he was dressed in a black dickie bow and starched tuxedo. She imagined him moving between tables, balancing silver tureens on his upturned palms, but in her mental image he was naked, save for his apron, from the waist down. The thought pleased her. She had seen the pleasure on his striking youthful face as she had treated him like no other woman ever had. After last night, Adam was hers. Helen knew that he would return for more. Soon, it would be Adam's turn to find himself kept waiting, as Victor had been frustrated last night. She would insist that he patiently hang the clothes she had idly discarded, while she gave a new student a thorough workout.
As Helen's hands moved over his body, the young figure stirred in his semi-conscious state. The lazy movement of his right leg stopped rudely as the chain fixing him to the bedpost reached its full extent. A short ring of black leather tethered to his ankle locked him to the steel chain. The other end of the chain was firmly bolted to the bedpost. He was still her willing prisoner. Again she toyed dreamily with the midget gold keys around her neck.
Once more she placed her right hand around Adam's body, this time digging her red painted fingernails gently into his chest. He moved again slightly in response and she was aware of the way his ankle slid over the silk sheets of the bed, the chain once more keeping his foot within ten inches of the corner bed post. Staying in contact at all times with his manly body, Helen slid her fingers down his torso until she reached the mat of thick curly black hair, pausing only momentarily on her inexorable way to the shaft of his young cock. Her palm closed around the girth and she carefully wrapped her thumb over the top of her index finger.
Adam was already awake in at least one department. It gave her terrific pleasure to feel the heat of his body and slowly and firmly she moved her fingers to the head of his young tool. Helen had always thought that there was something wonderful in the gentle, gossamer feel of a man's foreskin. It always seemed a delicate protection, such a contrast to the thrusting, virile male
organ. He had repaid her strict and measured cruelty by pleasuring her to the best of his ability last night. Helen, fifteen years his elder, remembered with wonder his youthful stamina. Now she felt that she could have played for hours with only the rub of Adam's warm, stiffening penis in her slender fingers, but she had already worked out her pleasure plan for that morning.
One alluring touch was all poor Adam was to receive. His next strokes would be of an altogether different kind.
As she had anticipated, the touch of Helen's fingers had begun to stir Adam from his deep slumber. She knew she had to act fast. Before he had time to fully awaken, she drew her hand back from his crotch and dug her fingernails sharply into his backside.
Adam gave a sharp intake of breath and winced with the pain. Instantaneously, he thrust his pelvis immediately forward, to escape from Helen's jabbing nails. The force of Adam's movement pleased Helen. She knew that there was no overkill in his reaction to her cruel scratch; she herself had beaten his bum scarlet with one of her stiff bamboo canes only the night before. She thought rather smugly that he might just find time that morning to regret begging for a taste of the riding crop. It had after all been his first time with her, and she was certain it had been his first time in uniform. Helen delighted at this thought; he was only four or five years out of real school!
The force of Adam's reaction jolted the whole bed and Victor awoke with a grunt. Helen turned to her right and looked down on Victor's balding head. It always amused her to see the older man in his outfit, his receding hairline somehow adding to the schoolboy vulnerability. She recalled how he had been slow, even reluctant at first to don short trousers. Now there was no more enthusiastic an exponent of the genre. He savoured the sweet pain so obviously now, the vivid expression on his expansive face made him a real pleasure to watch. Helen always made a point of making Victor hold out his hand when he was at first evening inspection, and loved to just watch the expression on his face. She thought back to last night. They had been, as usual in the lounge downstairs. At times such as this it was always known as the study.
'Your tie, Victor.' Helen's tone was accusatory.
'Yes, Mistress?'
'Did you tie it yourself?'
'I did, Mistress.'
His answer was confident, cocky even. Just the sort of attitude it was wrong to strike with Helen when she was in this mood, unless you were particularly keen to get into hot water. She knew that all three of the men facing her were eager, desperate to bed her. If they were fortunate, one, perhaps even all of them would be granted such a pleasure. But until she decided which, if any, to grace with her favours, the men knew that they all must feel the full force of her discipline. Even her cruel treatment must be earned.


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