Part 1

It was one of those propitious events that one cannot predict but simply sits back and enjoys.

I’d come to my favorite diner in NJ, one where the Sopranos series had frequently filmed, and sat in my usual booth facing the door. I ordered my favorite meal of brisket of beef, French fried potatoes, and steamed broccoli, and I was enjoying my opener of lentil soup when two women walked in and settled into the booth diagonally across from me.

The older woman of the pair was pleasantly enough attired and appeared to have a serene attitude. Her much younger companion was as restless as a puppy needing a walk. She sat across from her companion but did not settle, constantly fidgeting and looking very uncomfortable. The girl, about twenty, was wearing heels and a button-down-the-front dress of silvery satin, and she appeared to be wearing nothing underneath the dress. Her C cup breasts pressed out of the fabric and erect pencil eraser nipples were evident.

I noticed the older woman coaching the girl. Using only hand signals, the girl was instructed first to spread her legs wider, then to cross her legs in such a way as to allow the dress, unbuttoned for two buttons from its hemline, to expose the young woman’s crotch. The only thing separating her vagina from worldwide exposure was a thin lacy thong panty, which the girl now flashed uncomfortably.

Following another hand signal, the young woman sat campfire style on the seat of their booth, feet and knees wide apart. She attempted to eat her soup and sandwich lin this position but was soon fidgeting again and her panty had developed an obvious wet spot.

Finally I could not resist. I stood and walked the short distance over to the older woman. Bending down I inquired in a low whisper if her young companion was an exhibitionist, a submissive, or a slave in training. The older woman smiled and with a finger motioned her companion to unbutton the top button of the silvery satin dress. In doing so the girl exposed a silver choker that was standing in for a true slave’s collar. The older woman explained her companion was in training and had not yet committed to full slave status; but, indeed was submissive.

I whispered a suggestion to the dominant woman, who smiled and readily agreed. The girl was instructed, again in sign only, to unbutton two more buttons, which brought the opening at the neck of her dress just below the bottom curve of her ample bosom. I was told the reason the girl was fidgeting was she had small ball vibrators, which the older woman remotely controlled, inserted in both her vagina and anus. This also explained the growing damp spot on the girl’s thong front.

Now, much to the embarrassment of the girl, she was instructed to remove the thong and hand it to me. By squirming on her seat she managed to remove the garment, which I sniffed and then placed into my sport coat pocket.

The older woman then reminded the girl what would happen if her dampness stained the satin dress she was wearing. Silent still, the girl simply nodded yes, and the older woman stepped up the vibrators to another level. Warned not to cum, the girl rose from the table to go and pay the bill for the meal the two women had just ate

The older womanI thanked me for being such a good audience by offering me one of her business cards and giving me an open invitation to drop by anytime. When she saw the dark damp spot on the rear of the girl’s silvery satin dress, the older woman whispered, “If you stop by in an hour you can help me teach this wild thing what it means when I tell her not to soil her clothing.”

The next hour found me walking the seven city blocks to the address printed on the business card the older woman had presented to me.

Timing my arrival so as to be within the minute of the appointed hour, I gently knocked on a door, in spite of the posted ‘Closed’ sign. The older woman opened the door to allow my entry. She then closed and locked the door and drew down the shades, which blocked all view of the interior from the street.

The shop was a thing of beauty and I expressed that observation to her. She in turn thanked me and went on to explain that everything I saw was designed from her mind to the finished product and that many women of wealth and status considered themselves honored to be made one of her ‘by appointment only’ clientele.

The woman was a talented jewelry, dress and gown designer. On two turntables in this outer shop were manikins dressed in upscale fashionable business attire and on a fixed raised dais stood representative evening gowns, and wedding dresses suitable for Modern Bride magazine.

The show case displays were of fine gold and silver jewelry. No two alike, as she prided herself as being able to give her clientele one of a kind fashion that the woman of taste could get nowhere else but in this shop.

I knew I was not there under invitation to shop, however, two sets of women’s cuff links and a bracelet caught my eye and I asked if they might be held aside for purchase when the owner was in the mood to conduct business.

As the shop was named ‘Design By Camille’, I politely asked if she was the Camille. She laughed, a mature and hearty laugh, and then said she had been so angry with her niece that she had neglected to introduce herself, and that indeed she was indeed the self same Camille.

When I informed her that I was Mark Chessman, she gasped and said she had read the stories I had authored for a certain web site and found them intriguing.

I then inquired as to the younger of the pair I had seen in the diner. Camille said we would soon join her, as she was involved with the staff and tied up in the workroom behind the showroom portion of the building. Camille also indicated the ‘child’ was her niece, Linda, whom she had raised from age eight following the loss of Linda’s parents in a fiery automobile crash. Linda was now nineteen, soon to be twenty, and had gone from a brightly focused National Honor Society high school over-achiever to a girl completely without focus, wasting her time and her aunt’s hard-earned money for three semesters of college at the Philadelphia Institute of Fashion and Design.

Linda, Camille’s heir apparent in the business, had been put on both academic and social probation by her school and was now serving a one semester suspension for running what amounted to a tavern out of her dorm room. On her return home from the college Linda had been placed under discipline by Camille. No boyfriends or girlfriends allowed, no drinking nor drugging, and for the next five months until the suspension was lifted, she had to work in her aunt’s shop and sewing floor as an apprenticed intern.

Camille had fashioned the silver choker necklace/collar for her niece to resemble the choke collars used to train dogs. A fine leather strap could be added by clipping it to the toggle ring of the collar. It was by means of this device that Camille maintained minute-by-minute control of her niece and insured that Linda was doing the tasks appointed in a manner that did not disappoint Camille or her customers.

Still, even with all of the layers of control in place, Linda had managed to attempt a display of temper by cutting an important client’s fabric incorrectly, costing her aunt several hundred dollars of fine silk, and by leaving a hot iron on the beaded bodice of a wedding gown due to be worn in three days. Her final rebellious act had been to use a bolt of velveteen as a masturbation mount, leaving her fluids embedded so deeply into the edge of the bolt that the wet stain penetrated through seven or more yards of material. Her aunt had caught Linda in the act and when Camille screamed at her, Linda stuck out her tongue and continued to ride the bolt to climax.

That was enough for Camille. She had two of her shop girls, who both worked the store and the back room as seamstresses, hold Linda down while Camille rammed vibrators into Linda’s vaginal and anal passages. The anal plug was removed twice a day so that Linda could move her bowels and bathe. The egg-like vaginal device had not been removed since it had been inserted. Camille kept the remote control for the two devices with her at all times and used the pitch intensity of the pair to control her niece’s attention span toward work, household chores and social interaction. The vibrating eggs could apparently give both pain and pleasure depending on the whim of the operator.

Camille had also instructed her niece that as it appeared she did not understand instructions given in plain English, all future communications between the aunt and niece would be non-verbal commands. By the evening I had bumped into the pair in the diner Linda had learned every nuance of the hand signals her aunt used to communicate. Yet, she had still not learned self-control. The soiling of the satin dress with her fluids proved that.

It was at this point that Camille offered me entry into the rear workroom area of her business. The shop had its beginnings as a dry cleaner. Certain aspects of that business had been left intact when Camille had taken the property over. One of those features was the overhead track that with a push of a button delivered clean garments to the area of the store where the paying customer could pick them up. Attached to that overhead device was one now-nude coed. Her wrists were fastened with leather cuffs and the handcuff chain was hooked onto the travel machinery. In its present location Linda’s bare toes were just grazing the floor.

The two shop girls were stripped down to what appeared to be neoprene thongs and matching sandals. Camille informed me that this type of fetish wear was one of the ‘back room’ sales items that were even more popular than the everyday couture in the front of the shop. Leather and rubber wear outsold bridal gowns three to one, according to Camille. She introduced the shop girls as Amy and Emma. When their names were spoken each curtsied in my direction. They then returned to the misery they were inflicting upon Linda.

Her nude form was being slathered head to toe with the olive oil used to pack sliced scotch bonnet peppers. Camille informed me that once my portion of Linda’s night of discipline began, this unctuous anointing would prove efficacious in remediation of Linda’s behavior in the future.

My instruction was to make myself comfortable, and when ready to apply ten strokes of a switch to each of six targeted areas. Camille clarified that this would be a total of sixty lashes, ten in each area. Following the administration of this discipline I was to take Linda, brutally and without mercy, in any one of the three orifices available to me. I was not to stop until I was gratified.

I immediately removed my clothing, down to a pair of silk boxer briefs, and then tested the weight, length and flex of the cattle switch offered me for my use.

Amy and Emma had excused themselves to go and wash the peppery oil off of their hands. When they returned each had a Y shaped length of leather with small loops like that of a cowboy’s lariat on the longer ends. Handles graced the shorter ends. These loops were attached one each around Linda’s ankles, then Emma and Amy began walking away from each other until Linda was stretched fully open at the hips, her own body forming an inverted Y. The shop girls were holding tight when I began my portion of the punishment.

Ten lashes each to buttocks, shoulders, breasts, thighs, soles of feet and genitals. Camille had not specified the order of the lashes, just the areas to be flogged. I chose to begin at the shoulders. I asked Camille if Linda’s vow of silence was lifted for punishment and I would like to hear her do the count. Camille told me no, and ball gagged her niece, as she feared the neighbors would be alarmed to hear the screams coming from the disgraced coed. Camille agreed to keep the count.

Standing to Linda’s left I began applying the whip to her right shoulder. I managed to lay five stripes from shoulder to the lowest portion of shoulder blade without overlapping once. I then moved to Linda’s right side and began again, this time using backhand strokes to lay matching patterns of welts on the left shoulder. Linda was in tears and I could see the efficacy of the pepper oil as it seeped into the raw welts.

I motioned to the girls to walk toward me and this lifted Linda so her cuffed hands were supporting her upper body while the soles of her feet were exposed to me. From ball to heel each foot received five lashes. Linda looked as if she would pass out, but her aunt prevented that by taking Linda’s nipples in her hands and pinching them hard enough to make the girl scream behind her ball gag.

I moved to the buttocks for the next target area. I simply laid the switch over both cheeks for five strokes from the left and then moved to the right to repeat the punishment five more times. This time however I allowed myself to criss cross my strokes so that Linda’s buttocks were covered by a series of X-like welts.

Amy and Emma moved further apart, thus opening Linda’s inner thighs to me, and I began administering punishment to that area next. Using only the very tip of the switch, I cut fine lines in each inner thigh from crotch to knee, never once overlapping a stroke.

So as to give the genital punishment more meaning I did not do that while in the area of the thighs, rather I moved myself up to Linda’s 34 C breasts and laid into them by five swift strokes on the upper surface and then five slower strokes from below.

I waited then, with Camille’s permission, both to give my arms a rest and to allow the pain to absorb into Linda’s flesh along with the constant irritant of the peppery oil now mixing with her sweat and running into her wounds.

I had already decided to take the girl anally when I finished her whip punishment. I therefore showed her labia, clitoris and vulva no mercy when I rained down ten lashes directly into the vee of her reproductive valley.

My erection, now a full eight inches long and three solid inches round was ready to penetrate the punished girl and I so told her aunt. Camille told Emma to lubricate Linda for penetration. Emma did so by pouring more of the peppery olive oil onto Linda’s already raw behind and then thrusting two fingers coated with the oils into Linda’s rosebud opening. She stepped away as I stepped up. Linda’s hands were released from the overhead device and then she was bent over a worktable and her hands resecured to its legs. Her feet were similarly secured to the other legs on the table. He bottom was angled at a perfect height for the deed I was to do and I plunged in.

I thrust viciously, hammering my piston like organ in and out of her rear hole until I heard her gasping in a combination of pain and sexual completion. I informed Camille that the girl appeared to be enjoying her punishment too much. Camille laughed and told her niece that she was nothing more than a slutty slave to be used and abused be whomever whenever and that would be her status until she learned to abide by all of her aunt’s rules all of the time without question or hesitation. As I emptied myself into the girl’s rectum, her aunt asked her again did she clearly understand what she was and what she needed to do to grow beyond the status she herself had imposed.

Linda nodded yes. Her aunt removed the ball gag and said tell me what you are. Linda told her aunt she was her aunt’s slutty slave until such time as she had proved herself to be otherwise.

Her aunt then collared Linda officially, with a hammered silver collar that locked into place around the girl’s neck.

What came next for Linda and what I observed on my subsequent visits to Camille’s shop are tales for another day.

End of part 1

Dinner and a Show
by ChessmanFinale

BRUNCH WITH LINDA AND CAMILLE

I had waited two days before venturing back to Design By Camille. My encounter with Linda having taken place late on Saturday, and other business kept me away on both the Sunday and Monday, I returned to the shop hoping the jewelry I has set aside was still unsold.

The bell on the door, advising those working in the rear that a customer had arrived, chirped a bright high pitched tune as I entered. Emma appeared through the curtain-covered archway that led to the shop’s rear. Her attire did not vary much from the last time I had seen her and her co-worker Amy; a neoprene thong bottom and a bandeau top in the same material but a bright green in contrast to the black of the bottom.

Emma smiled when she saw me and told me that Camille had been expecting my return visit. The items I had selected earlier, prior to Linda’s disciplinary session, were in the shop safe awaiting my return for them.

Emma called back to Camille, stating interestingly enough, “Mistress, your gentleman friend is here,” and with that phrase alerting me to the fact that both Emma and Amy were submissives to Camille and not merely work subordinates.

Camille made her appearance in a stylishly cut business suit, beautifully crafted in what appeared to be several layers of opaque material, in a mauve color that was almost as dark as Camille’s skin tone. She smiled and bent to open the shop’s safe and in so doing allowed her skirt to creep up the back of her thighs in such a way that my eyes could not miss the fact she was either “sans culottes” as the French would say or wearing a flesh colored thong beneath the suit.

My manhood stirred at the possibility of either prospect. She rose, not bothering to tug the skirt down, and laid the three selections I had made out on the velvet mat atop her counter.

As I looked at the items I smiled, I should have been aware just from these items that there was a secret business beyond the public one represented by the fifteen feet of shop space in the front of the store.

The first item, a pair of cuff links, was made to appear to be a replica of an ancient coin of Greece or perhaps Persia. On close examination, though, the form of an adult female in fetal position and sucking the thumb of one hand became obvious. Crafted in silver, the links also had traces of gold vermeil where the hair on the woman’s head and pubis were etched. I found the pieces to be subtlety erotic, yet wearable as art and functional as jewelry. There was a woman in my life for which these were destined.

The second item was also a cuff link set. These were of the type that has a straight metal bar passing through the French cuff opening of a shirt and then jeweled studs at the ends of the bar. This type usually also has a safety chain linking the end caps so that if an end cap slips loose the entire link is not lost. The end caps linked by a chain in this set were small feet. The subtle message sent by the piece to those in the life style was a submissive’s spreader bar. Again this would only be obvious on extremely close examination. Camille mentioned as I was looking at this set that several of her clients had purchased this item as a three piece set.

When I screwed my face in non-comprehension, Camille called Amy out of the back and told her to strip. With a, “Yes, mistress,” Amy removed her outfit, which was the reverse of Emma’s, having a black bandeau top and bright lime green bottoms. There, piercing her nipples and clitoris hood, were pieces similar to the ones I had chosen for cuff links. The light of understanding finally blinked on over my head and Camille dismissed Amy. The young girl left, nude, her neoprene outfit still lying on the floor. Camille merely mentioned as an aside, “I had not given her permission to dress. She will not until I tell her I allow it.” I ordered a matching piece to be made to complete my purchase as a proper set.

The last piece I had admired and intended to purchase was a necklace of wrought and hammered silver. A hidden hinge and a secure snap closure made it obvious to those in the life style that this was a submissive/slave collar. What had especiallyattracted me to it was the acid etching work on its outside. The neck collar had to be at least three quarters of an inch wide and was a heavy weight of silver. The etched relief art work on the collar was that of a woman lying down on her back with her head propped up on the hand at the end of an arm which had its elbow where the floor would be and whose bottom leg was outstretched while the upper one was slightly bent and elevated so that the woman’s sex was exposed. This theme was repeated around the eighteen inches of collar and in each of the iconic woman’s pubic regions was set a different semi-precious stone. Camille told me there were twelve images (I later checked this myself and counted twelve) and that each stone was a birthstone for one of the twelve signs of the zodiac. A slave’s master or mistress could customize the neck collar with any one stone celebrating either the submissive’s birth month or the month in which she was collared. With that last remark Camille summoned Linda from the rear of the store.

“Show Master Mark your collar, Linda,” Camille ordered her niece, now her submissive/slave. Opening the top buttons of her blouse, Linda approached me. Camille stopped her and corrected her with the words, “How do we properly display merchandise in this shop, Linda?”

The coed stopped as if she were on a leash, which in fact she was, albeit a mental one, and finished unbuttoning the blouse and removed it. A glance at her aunt showed this was not enough and her cheer style shorts and the thong beneath them followed the blouse to the floor. Linda then walked up to me and presented the collar for my inspection. Hers showed the female repeatedly on her stomach with her knees bent so that her bottom was presented. A small amethyst was set into the cleft of each bottom crease. I noted to myself that the month was, indeed February and the stone for that month is amethyst. Linda had been officially collared following my participation in her discipline. I wondered to myself if I had chosen a different orifice in which to penetrate her that night if the collar design would now be different.

Camille dismissed her niece and just as Amy had done she retreated to the rear of the store nude. She also had not been given permission to dress herself.

I purchased the two sets of links (I would take the second set when the last piece for it was created), and placed the small box with the first pair into my pocket. While I had someone special in mind for the neck collar, I wanted it to be fitted on her while she was present within Camille’s shop. I told Camille I would be waiting until then but to reserve a blank, without set stones, with the etchings being a woman on her knees in the position assumed to please a man orally. Camille smiled and agreed to start the work on that project upon her completion of three special orders that were now in the works in the shop.

Business concluded, I was invited to the rear of the shop for a light brunch. Emma was preparing crepes and omelets in the small but well-appointed kitchen. She would serve us while Linda and Amy acted as our tables. Both girls were informed that should any of our food or beverage spill due to the girls not being good furniture, severe discipline would follow. Linda, who was to be my table, went as rigid and unmoving as if she were carved oak. Judging from the barely healing welts I had left on her boys two days before, she had no desire for a repeat of that lashing.

Emma, who was now wearing a French maid’s apron and nothing else, served my plate of crepes and a fluffy omelet with a delightful cheese melted into it. Emma returned seconds later with a chilled champagne flute. Putting the warm plate into the center of Linda’s back, I then placed the champagne flute on one of the cross hatched welts on her buttock. The temperature change and the sensitivity of her bottom caused her to shudder. Despite this nothing spilled. To say I was disappointed would be an understatement. I was looking with anticipation to having this minx back on a flogging rack in the near future.

Amy did not make out as well with her mistress. To be fair, Camille tortured the young woman while she ate. I watched as while sipping her champagne with one hand she dipped the other under her ‘table’ to play with its breasts and pinch its nipples. She then tried to find a way to tuck he napkin securely into the cleft of Amy’s bottom, brushing her vagina each time. The girl finally gave in to arousal and shook so hard the plate and flatware on it fell to the shop floor. Fortunately nothing broke.

Camille looked the girl in the eye and told her she was fortunate on three counts. First, Camille had just made a large sale to Master Mark and was therefore in a good mood. Second, her plate was empty and did not break when it fell to the floor and Camille had been holding her flute of sparkling wine when Amy shuddered. Lastly, Camille was in the mood for some bare handed spanking so fifty swats with a bare hand would be Amy’s punishment.

The outer shop bell rang before that session could begin. Camille rose, straightened herself out and exited to deal with her customers. Amy waited, having assumed first position and knowing if she broke it for any reason her punishment would be doubled.

THE MID MORNING SNACK

The intercom between the shop front and the workroom floor buzzed, and Emma speedily answered it, “Yes, ma’am?”

“Tell the girls to tidy up, the Channahon bridal party is here for their fittings,” Camille’s voice sang pleasantly over the speaker, “oh, and tell Mister Chessman to wait, my business with him is not yet completed.”

“Mistress says tidy up. Amy, your discipline shall wait until the Channahon party leaves. The one-piece jumpers are in the closet. Linda, please get three and let’s ready ourselves for business.” Emma had taken charge. I was later to find out that she was the first under Camille’s discipline and was therefore considered to be first girl when Camille was not present. I wondered what business it was that Camille and I had not completed, so I sipped my wine and waited for the bridal party to enter the workshop. Perhaps Camille would have a moment to discuss the matter while the party was being fitted.

Linda slipped the sleeveless one-piece dress over her head and still bare foot, went to the larger client closet off of the workroom and brought out the rolling garment rack labeled Channahon. I was amazed to see what looked to be twenty formal dresses and one additional bridal gown that from the beadwork alone must have cost a normal person’s yearly salary.

Amy and Emma took positions, one at each end of the rack, and when the party began to file into the workroom curtsied to the woman whom must be the mother of the bride and then again to the younger woman who must be the bride herself.

I should have known from the name, but seeing the face that had graced the cover of every publication from US Weekly to Women’s Fitness, I immediately recognized Marie Channahon as one of the power elite within the state and an absolute power in this county.

“As well trained as I remember your help, Camille,” the woman commented. She then turned to look at Linda, who had not made a move to show subservience to the Channahon party. “Who might this little slut be, Camille?”

“My niece and ward, Linda, she is staying with me for a semester to learn the business and expects to return to Fashion Institute of Philadelphia in the Fall, Marie.” Camille quickly put her niece in a slightly higher status than her employees, thus explaining Linda’s perceived breech of protocol.

“Oh, she’s lovely, may I see her properly attired as well as your two girls?” Marie asked in a tone that made me aware that she and Camille shared a bond beyond designer and consumer.

“For this fitting, I believe so, Marie,” Camille responded. Clapping her hands three times and motioning with her finger, Camille mimed shoulder straps shrugged off and three jumper dresses fell at three young pairs of feet.

“Lovely, absolutely lovely. Now who is this male in our presence, Camille, another one of your employees?” Marie asked.

“No, this is the writer I told you about, I think you’ve read some of his works. Marie, this is Mark Chessman. Mark, I’m pleased to introduce Marie Channahon and her daughter Margaret.” Camille stepped aside as I took the two steps needed to close the gap between the stately Marie and taking her hand in mine I kissed her wrist both on the upper and under sides and finished with a light kiss on the palm of her hand.

To say she giggled like a school girl would be an understatement, whether her delight was in the greeting or realizing she was looking at the person who had brought her pleasure in the written words I had produced I could not yet tell. Marie then presented her daughter Margaret to me. To my surprise, Margaret curtsied to me as I kissed only the back of her hand.

The rest of the bridal party held back while this was happening, unsure as to how to proceed. Marie brought that hesitation to a quick end. “Girls, Camille charges by the hour, I may be rich but I am not foolish. Strip off and find your dresses so these seamstresses may properly fit you.”

At her words, all twenty attendants began removing and stacking their garments until they were all nude and at the garment rack searching for their gowns.