with special thanks to Polly Plummer
A glass of lemonade! Nina's eyes flew open, fixing the cool patterns of moonlight reflected from hidden smooth surfaces onto the ceiling of her bedroom. The urge had come suddenly, and it had come strong! Half a glass, no more. That would be sufficient. Orange flavour.
She looked at the alarm clock on her bedside table:
Surely Mistress Selene would not be around the ground floor anymore.
Nina slipped out from under her blanket, revealing to a hypothetical observer an enchanting body only dressed in her slave-collar and recalcitrant c-belt.
Up to no good!
With delicate feet she searched in the darkness until she found her indoor high heels – black patent leather, hidden-platform Louboutins (the ones with the red soles).
For a short moment she had considered to go barefoot and on tip-toes, but that would not feel right. It would lessen the thrill, not to mention that it would be against her nature. A slavegirl always wore this kinkiest form of foot bondage – a good one as well as a naughty one. Always, if not expressly announced otherwise by her Mistress. (Mistress, if this slavegirl sneaks out of her bedroom at night – to, let's say, grab a seductively forbidden glass of lemonade –, is this slavegirl allowed to go barefoot?)
The pert, yet cute collared girl sneaked down the hallway, witnessed only by the moon shining through high windows. Sneaking in five-inch heels might appear easier than it was, but Nina's extended experience with ballet boots relativised the problem significantly. Having her on her toes was Mistress Selene's second-dearest position for Nina, right after having her in Her bed – normally, at least.
Nina had felt more than a little bit rejected because Mistress hadn't ordered her to spend the night in Her – Mistress' – splendidly large lair for almost a week. Now Nina would get her sweet, tickling, yet insufficient compensation. Orange-flavoured.
With an elfish move she avoided the creaking floorboard (the forth, counted from the right wall, in front of the window looking directly onto the conservatory), prancing gracefully on the thick soles and towering heels. Mistress had a light sleep, but then again, the master bedroom was in the northern wing, at the far side. The part of the mansion Nina was sidling through was reserved to storages and the servant quarters (Grmpf!). However, she had not to worry about waking anybody else up. Mistress and slavegirl were the only ones living on the estate. Nina performed maid duties (whoever coined the term French Maid had something kinky in the back of their mind), four times a week came a kitchen help, and old Finnean looked after the house and property regularly.
From somewhere below the next window a dry, scrunching noise reached inside, and the semi-nude girl froze. She listened into the dark for half a minute, but the noise did not reappear. The sudden excitement sent shivers down her spine – very far down –, and Nina sighed audibly at Mistress' decision to keep her belted.
She stepped to the window and got onto the toes of her platforms, leaning over the high and deep sill. The huge back yard lay in silver, moonlight rested on the conservatory's panes to the right. To the left, partly behind some ancient trees, Nina could make out several of the outbuildings.
There were the horseless stables (Ah, the stables! Where always a bridle waits for me! If this stunt goes wrong, it would likely be fitted with a curb bit for a rather long time... ) and the lately renovated annexe sheltering the fitness room including a petite sauna.
Mistress and Nina worked out every morning. Mistress had a breathtaking body, in nothing inferior to the one of Her twelve years younger devotee.
Nearest stood the garage. Large enough for a couple of more, but only resided by three cars. Between that Behemoth of a Range Rover and the S-Type R – Nina always thought of it as a mutated amphibian doing steroids – her own little runabout parked.
The white Copen had been a present from Mistress for a very special occasion three month ago. Standing in front of the main entrance, huge red bow around it, lines of feminine, yet strong letters had been painted onto the sweet car's bonnet...
TO MISTRESS SELENE'S SLAVEGIRL IN TRAINING
... with the last two words crossed out. Nina had broken out in tears that morning, fallen to her knees, not caring about the gravelled driveway. Accepted as Mistresses slave!
Mistress had removed her training collar, then had replaced it with the far more elaborated permanent slave-collar – with the car keys dangling at the polished front ring (nice touch, though).
Nina knew that she wasn't just a plaything for her gorgeous owner. The sole efforts Mistress Selene had put and still was putting into their relationship didn't leave the shadow of a doubt. Two years she had been in training, and trained she had been! 24/7 was used inflationarily these days by anyone who had managed to order a set of handcuffs via the internet. She neither need to be tied up at night nor bear her Mistress' mark (nonetheless Nina considered it as hot as a fox in a forest fire; but every time the topic of a tattoo or branding came up, she chickened out). She would even renounce her collar (that was a tough one!). She was a slave within.
And what a naughty little slave she was! Running through the house deep at night, half-naked! Maybe Mistress would catch her. Nina both feared and hoped for it in equal parts. Mistress would get angry – or, at least, pretend to –, and would send her back to bed with a nicely warmed bottom – but without lemonade. So the optimum would be to get caught after she had plundered the fridge.
Ahead or left? She had stopped at the T-junction of two corridors. Choosing left would lead her down the small servant stairs to the kitchen which meant creaking with every step. Ahead then!
Along the gallery, down the main stairs, across the hall with its parquet floor and that heavy door leading to the basement.
The door was locked, but Nina knew nonetheless what was hiding at the end of the stairs behind it. The wine cellar was down there, as well as something people with a dirty imagination would call Playroom – and it had nothing to do with LEGO! Sort of silly name, anyway. Although both Mistress and slave loathed BDSM-clichés, they referred to it mostly as Dungeon (or, when Mistress is in Her goofy mood, in a campfire ghost story voice: the Duhndjehehn-muahar-har! ).
Thinking of that door was enough. It was not even the Dungeon door itself – it just led to the Dungeon! But that did not help. Her mind came up with all kinds of perky punishments Mistress Selene might subject her to. She could make her drink the whole bottle and re-introduce her to some exquisite bladder control. Or Nina would get the lemonade as a tingly enema (That's mean! Mean and so damn hot!). But a strict bare-bottom over-the-knee spanking remained her all-time favourite!
Think of something else, or the belt will drive you insane!
The belt was comfy, it was well-crafted, without doubt sexy and even nice to look at. And it was effective. Sexual relief was not for slavegirls to decide about. It was a granting, a gift from their Mistresses. (I would never betray Mistress with my nimble fingers, so the belt doesn't bother me in the least. I don't even come close to it – but ARRGH! )
Nonetheless slavegirls were better not to be trusted in that matter. Nina knew she wore the belt for her own good. One discovered moment of weakness, and she would have to face real punishment, as she already had done in training countless times for all kinds of misdoings (she had been very naughty back then, too) and – to her deep shame – twice as graduated slave.
For a serious infraction she normally suffered the cane, then spent the dark hours in her cage, restrained and spider-gagged. A glass of lemonade – just for example – was surely not worth this kind of a night, orange-flavoured or not. The morning after such an ordeal she ACHED. Her jaws ached from the unyielding gag, her limbs from the fetters, her back from the cage's confines, her bum and thighs from the chastisement. Not that anyone speak bad about Mistress! The punishment was always well-deserved and just, her oral bondage always an open-mouth gag, the restraints always padded leather, the cage always under audio/video-surveillance. Mistress once had shown her the greenish night vision mode on the master bedroom's large plasma screen. Even during corrections for her most grave malefactions she was never alone in her distress.
Nina was about to step out onto the gallery overlooking the main hall, when the noise reappeared, longer this time. No – it was a different one, more like scuffling and dragging. And were that muffled sounds beneath not protesting groans?
She peeked around the corner and over the gallery's massive oak balustrade. Moonlight beamed through the façade, and the scene it was revealing made Nina's eyes widen with terror.
They are hurting Mistress!
Her hands were bound behind Her back with cable ties, palms facing out. They had just reached the middle of the hall, and one of the sturdy, black-dressed men forced the disrobed lady onto Her knees. The other invader, less stocky, but taller, was chinking with something Nina recognised as Mistress' keys. He disappeared from her field of view, but the terrified girl could hear him checking the cellar door.
.... There is more of this story ...