Chapter 7: Phoebe Learns

When Phoebe’s taxi drew up at David’s house it was five to six and she decided that it was fine to be a few minutes early. Contrary to her expectation the door was locked and when she turned round the taxi had just driven away. She stood bewildered, then decided to ring the bell, which elicited no response. She was just wondering whether he had been held up, or changed his mind when she heard the lock click on the door, and her watch confirmed that it was indeed fifteen seconds before six.

Once inside she looked round and, exactly as described there was a closed door on the right of the hall and the other three doors she could see were open wide. She took off her coat, and then regretted her choice of clothes for this occasion, as they were not easy to remove. I should just have worn a jumper, skirt, brassière and knickers only under the coat, she thought as she struggled with her jeans.

Eventually she had all her clothes off and leaving them in the hall she went to the closed door. Now she had another problem, Should I knock? Deciding against it she opened the door and went into a room lined with bookcases. Sitting in front of an open fire was David Ransome, her boss. No, she remembered, He is not my boss he is my Master here, and I am his slave.

David looked her up and down; seeing the blush this induced he prolonged his inspection until he judged the blush would get no deeper. Then he broke the silence, “It is customary to adopt the presentation position when a sex slave comes first into the Master’s presence, but I suppose you don’t know what that is. Have you done no preparatory reading before undertaking to be my slave?”

Phoebe shook her head.

Her Master sighed and said, “The presentation position is kneeling on the floor, hands behind the head, knees as far apart as possible, head up, eyes downcast. Thus the sex is opened for inspection and the tits are lifted and pushed out. Try now.”

Phoebe knelt on the floor and tried to take up the posture he described, and David came over and pushed and pulled her until he was satisfied it was as good as it was going to be. He lowered the hands to the back of her neck, straightened her back and pushed her knees further apart. Then as he sat down again he said, “So far you have deserved eight punishments. Do you know why?”

She racked her brains and came up with, “One for not having done any homework on slavery, one for wearing clothes I couldn’t get off easily, one for not knowing the position, perhaps one for not knocking, but I don’t know what the others are for. Sorry.”

“That makes it seven of which you are ignorant. Your first two are indeed correct but your third and fourth are part of the first. Louis Eighteenth is reputed to have said that punctuality is the courtesy of kings, and it is absolutely essential for a slave, so you arrived early for one punishment, then you rang the doorbell expecting to be admitted early for a second, you stood in the hall looking round instead of immediately undressing for a third, then you failed to undress completely for three more. Finally your ninth is for failure to address me correctly when asked a question.”

Silence filled the room until Phoebe asked, “Master, please what did I fail to undress completely?”

“One wrist watch and two hair ribbons,” came the terse reply, “Now get yourself over here and across my lap for your punishment.”

She moved quickly, mindful of how fast he could add punishments, first to remove the offending items which she put on his desk and then to lower herself face down on his lap. In that position and resigned to being spanked she did not see him take an old and well worn slipper from the pocket of his robe.

SPLAT!

She was just wondering what the whirring noise was when the pain obliterated all thought. Silence again descended as she fought the pain and forced herself to stay where she was. I have won the right to visit her boss’s boss in his home and for my career’s sake what is a little pain?

“I suppose you don’t even know how to be punished?” David remarked, “Well you are supposed to count the strokes in a punishment like this. Then I will know when I have reached nine.”

SPLAT!

Again the searing pain, all the worse as she had never been spanked as a child. The most punishment had been a slap on the leg from her mother, and only one for any childish misdemeanour.

“Are you not counting? I might forget to stop,” said David.

“T-t-two,” she managed to stammer.

“Thank you slave, but I’ll add one for incorrectly addressing me.”

“Sorry sir, Two, Master, please.”

“Pleading won’t help. Ever. I’ll let you off this time because you are in so deep already.”

SPLAT!

Tears flowed as she managed “Three.”

“What?”

“Three ... Master.”

SPLAT!

“Four, Master.” She was getting control of herself now.

SPLAT!

“Five, Master.” That’s better, she thought, It hurts like hell but I have control of myself.

SPLAT!

“Six, Master.”

SPLAT! He laid it on much harder than the earlier ones.

S-sev-ven, m-Master,” she stammered as she almost lost it to the stronger stroke with the slipper.

SPLAT!

“Eight, m-Master.”

SPLAT!

“Ni-ine, Master,” she barely managed.

“Thank me for correcting you,” came the curt command. David was enjoying this immensely.

“Thank ... Thank y-you m-Master for c-cor-recting m-me, m-m-Master.” She stammered her thanks, and was then ignominiously dumped on the floor.

“Now we can begin. Kneel up between my legs and suck my prick,” he commanded.

As she lifted herself to her knees she realised that somewhere in the session with the slipper he had opened his dressing gown to reveal a long thick erect prick which had been in contact with her naked belly, but she had not noticed it.

He pulled her forward by the simple expedient of grabbing a fistful of her hair. Once her head was over his prick he pressed downwards and as her mouth was open in a grimace over the pain in her scalp his cock simply went into the waiting receptacle. Then he released her hair and ordered, “Go on then. Suck it.”

Phoebe was surprised by the taste of the intruder in her mouth, and the smell of the hairy skin to which her nose was pressed. She had expected it to smell at least a little like her grandfather, who always had a slight miasma of stale urine about his person. Instead she was surprised to smell Wrights’ Coal Tar Soap and to taste a corresponding soapy flavour on her tongue.

“Don’t you remember how to suck a lollipop?” David asked impatiently, “Use your tongue on the underside and all round the helmet. Keep your teeth well out of the way.”

She tried to do as he said, but it was all strange to her and she worried that she was not getting it right. Indeed, David was used to being sucked by Gillian who thoroughly enjoyed the act itself and was very experienced as she had used fellatio at University to avoid having to allow her boyfriends to fuck her.