Gerald Swanley, the chief executive officer of the British "Better Trained Wives" operation, relaxed behind his large, well-polished desk, admiring its shine, and the absence of any sheaves of papers to deal with - or anything urgent on the built-in computer screen, come to that, but Gerald was not a man who trusted computers. He let Miss Ashton handle that side of things. The secret of good management was delegation; he was the man who had won the UK rights to the BTW franchise, who had arranged the purchase of the fine old country house, with its spacious grounds and high walls, who had, with the help of some charming people from BTW's head office, recruited the staff... and now things were running, he thought, rather smoothly.
Gerald shifted one leg a little, for a moment forgetting that he shared the central area under the desk with one of BTW's trainees, who was at that moment carefully licking his balls, to encourage his penis to become erect again. There was a muffled grunt as his knee hit her shoulder, but there was no room for her to fall over or anything, and after a brief pause the licking resumed. He muttered a quick "Sorry" - just because the woman was roped up and naked, with her arms held firmly behind her in a "monoglove" contraption, was no reason to ignore the common civilities, after all.
Thinking about her there, with the rope tight in her crotch and the little metal bells clipped to her nipples, encouraged his penis to return to an erect state, and the woman quickly moved her head up, and caught its tip, welcoming it into the soft warmth of her mouth again. It was indeed a pleasurable sensation; Gerald had been buying various "improve your load" supplements from a reputable internet provider that Miss Ashton had discovered, and found they worked remarkably well. The French adviser had been very specific about his responsibilities here - having a naked, helpless woman under his desk, servicing him, was a necessary part of his job.
The intercom buzzed, in a pleasingly old-fashioned way, and Gerald flicked the switch. There'd been some trainee there was a query flagged up on - this would be her. "Send them in, Miss Ashton", he said, knowing that, if the visit was anyone he wasn't expecting, his resourceful secretary would have told him.
The trainee who entered was about 25, he judged; he took a folder out of a drawer, and looked at its contents. Susan Thomas, age 26 - close enough. She wore high-heeled shoes, locked on around her ankles and joined by a foot or so of thin chain; her corset was tight, shiny black leather, presenting her breasts to him, with a tight-looking strap underneath keeping it from riding up, and probably preventing a butt-plug from escaping. She too wore a monoglove, with straps around her shoulders to keep it tight; it did wonders for her posture. She had no gag, just a studded leather collar with a leash attacked - and the other end of the leash was held by Mistress Mala, one of the BTW trainers.
While Susan was blonde, and around 5 foot 8, Mistress Mala was an imposing 5 foot 11, with gently wavy, flowing, shiny black hair, which went very nicely with her pale complexion and bright red lips. She wore a tight, low-cut, shiny black latex blouse, and a matching short pleated skirt, plus thigh-high boots - a trainer uniform that Gerald had had great pleasure in choosing, especially as he knew that it was unlikely that any underwear would be involved. "Susan Thomas, Sir", she volunteered, while her charge looked around the room at its bookcases, the erotic statue in one corner, and the window with its view of the grounds.
It was like a visit to the headmaster's study, Gerald thought to himself, and gave a not entirely unpleasurable little shiver. He looked at his notes again, before looking up at the women, and smiled. "Ah, Susan - you aren't in any trouble, don't worry, there are just a few details of your account that we need to go over - a few little anomalies that I'm sure we can sort out between us."
Susan was silent for a moment, until Mistress Mala gave her a small nudge with an elbow. "Ah, yes, master. Thank you, master."
Gerald smiled; underneath the desk, his trainee became more insistent with her mouth and tongue, but he was used to this, generally, by now, and continued to look at his visitors. "You know, it's strange - your time here is open-ended, which isn't unique I assure you... but somehow we don't have on our files a valid contact number, if we need to check anything. Has your husband just, well, left you to us in perpetuity?"
"Er... I'm not, actually, married, master... I know the brochure did specify 'wives', but..." Susan looked a little uneasy, and developed a sudden interest in the carpet in front of her feet.
"Quite, quite", Gerald assured her. "Marriage, civil partnership, long-term relationship, I think we can be fairly relaxed about that sort of thing, but we don't even have the chap's name - or lady's name, though of course the training in such cases is slightly different."
Susan was now looking straight at her feet. "I'm sorry, master, I feel a bit of a fraud...but there is only me - I booked myself in here."
"Good lord!" Gerald looked closely at Susan, who, now that the truth was out, looked him straight in the face before lowering her gaze respectfully. "Well, if it's what you desire, I don't see any reason why we can't accommodate you. The direct debit is from your own bank account, and will continue?"
"I worked it out carefully", Susan assured him. "My parents left me certain investments, and, at the 35% training level I'm enrolled for, everything will continue smoothly."
Gerald picked up his fountain pen, and examined it thoughtfully for a few moments. "You know, Miss Thomas, a hotel would offer a cheaper room rate for a long-stay resident. We could make a small adjustment to our pricing... but, from the way you mentioned the 35% training level, perhaps you'd rather move to a slightly more rigorous plan, at no extra charge?"
The idea took a few seconds to register fully, but then Susan smiled broadly. "Oh yes master, a more stringent regimen would be wonderful - as long as I could stay under Mistress Mala's care, that is!" Mala stroked her hair benevolently, and Susan leaned towards the hand.
Gerald smiled, and studied his papers for a moment. "Let's see, we don't want to do anything too drastic in one step, shall we say... 60%?" He glanced up at Susan, who was smiling. "Mala will monitor how things go, and generally look after you." He paused, and cleared his throat. "Normally BTW rules discourage any continuing affection between trainer and trainee, but my feeling is that we can disregard such guidelines in this case."
"Thank you, Mr Swanley", Mistress Mala said, putting an arm around her charge's shoulder. "Truth to tell, I am rather fond of Susan - but that won't stop me being very strict with her, trust me on this."
Susan Thomas just gave a little bob, or perhaps it was a curtsey, with a submissive bending forward of her neck, and a broad grin - and then Mala led her out of the room. Gerald made some notes in the folder as the door closed. People were so strange, sometimes, and so different... but somehow, all the same too.
A few minutes later, the intercom buzzed again. "The gatekeeper reports that Mr Ridlick's car has just been allowed in, Mr Swanley. He's slightly early."
"I'll meet him downstairs, Miss Ashton", Gerald replied, and gently removed his penis from his trainee's mouth. He opened a drawer in the desk, and brought our a bar of Cadbury's Dairy Milk chocolate, and a red rubber ball-gag. He broke two squares of chocolate from the bar; one square he ate himself, and the other he fed to the trainee. He waited while she ate it, and then gently but firmly put the ball-gag into her mouth, and buckled its strap tightly. Then, standing up, he tucked his equipment away, and buttoned his fly.
A few weeks ago he'd left a girl like that, and nobody had realised it; she was still there the following morning. The poor girl had been most apologetic, but nobody could have expected her to hold her bladder in check for so long; they could probably have claimed for the carpet cleaning on their insurance, but Gerald had decided against it.
He passed Miss Ashton's desk, and gave her a smile. He had thought he'd been joking when he'd remarked in April that a desk the size of hers could have a trainee housed under it in a similar way to his, but once the subject had been raised, they both decided it was a good idea. This desk had an extra panel which could quickly be slid into place to hide the naked, trussed trainee, which often came in useful when a visitor arrived - a courier with a package, perhaps, or someone like that. So the trainee didn't have an actual cock to suck - sometimes his secretary wore a strap-on, and sometimes, well, a good licking was adequate training for a good suck, wasn't it?
Ridlick's Bentley was just drawing up at the foot of the front steps when Gerald reached the front door. Mrs Ridlick had been in training for almost three weeks now, and, like many a fond husband, Gerald thought to himself, her husband had decided to come and check up on her progress. And if that gave the chap an excuse to ogle a selection of other naked ladies in bondage, well, why not? He was certainly paying enough for the privilege. He had met Ridlick once before, at BTW's London office, when the contract had been agreed, so he recognised the man who climbed out of the car; wisely, he'd driven himself, rather than bring a chauffeur into the grounds.
"Mr Ridlick, it's good to see you", Gerald began, hand outstretched and smiling in a professional sort of way. "Your lovely wife is coming along nicely, I'm assured - perhaps you'd like a tour of our establishment to start your visit...?"
Ridlick took the offered hand and shook it, also using it for support as he got used to standing up after a couple of hours driving. "Mr Swanley, it's good of you to spare me the time", he began. "And that sounds a fine idea, I'd be very interested to see what goes on here - and what comes off too, of course." He gave a little man-to-man chuckle. "I've studied the brochure you provided, but nothing beats seeing your charges in the flesh."
Gerald was starting to get a feeling that there was something he wasn't being told. This man wanted something, and it wasn't just a guided tour. Oh well, perhaps the tour would help him to loosen up a bit. "Since we're outside, and the sun is shining, we may as well start at the pony girl track", he told his visitor, and began to walk off along the front of the main building. "We're properly secluded here, so outdoor activities form a useful part of our curriculum. All our trainees put in a little time on the track - there are a few who we've been asked to train up fully for this, so they have their own stable block, just around the corner."
After a walk of less than a hundred yards, they looked in through the open top half of the stable door. The place did smell of straw, with a faint tang of sweat and disinfectant, but was almost deserted; there were "D" rings in the wall, and a table with a wide variety of straps, cuffs and whips laid out, with various leather garments or constraints hung on the wall, but only two trainees were present, each sitting astride a saddle, her feet stretched down almost to floor level and securely cuffed. Their arms were strapped behind their backs so that each wrist touched the other elbow; one woman was hooded, and the other one was ballgagged, and looked at the two men for a moment, before looking down submissively. They each had tight wide leather belts with various hooks and other linking devices visible. There were another eight saddles, all on sturdy wooden pillars, and with a couple of holes in the middle.
"Ponies on saddles, rather than saddles on ponies", Gerald remarked, not for the first time. "Each saddle has a pair of anchorages for butt and vaginal plugs, to stop our charges from falling off when they sleep. But as I said, this accommodation is for our specialist pony girls, not the regular wives-in-training."
Ridlick licked his lips and smiled, but Gerald could tell he was still uneasy. "Very nice", he said, but whether he meant the facilities, the two naked, helpless girls, or the whole scenario, Gerald wasn't sure. "Very nice indeed."
The pony track was close by; it had been constructed early in the development as a 400 metres athletics track, by specialists who would have had no idea what it was going to be used for, and a small grandstand, with a roof and a central hospitality box, had been included. There were four chariots, painted different colours and with curved fronts, each big enough for one seated passenger, with a footboard behind on which the actual driver, with whip, could perch. Each two-wheeled chariot had two pony girls harnessed to it, in a rather complex way involving a central pole and shorter outside poles, and straps leading to the thick leather belts each girl wore. As well as the belts and the cross-arm binder arrangement, there were knee-length leather boots, with curved soles so that only the ball of the foot, and never the heel, would hit the ground, and rather elaborate head harnesses.
"The headgear was made by our usual supplier in Dorset for such things", Gerald was telling his guest. "It includes attachments for the reins, plus blinkers, or blinders as I think our American friends call them, a mouth-bit based on a rod through a perforated ball-gag, the collar of course, and the splendid plumage above the pony's hair."
Two chariots were, if not racing, moving relatively quickly around the track; neither had a passenger inside the chariot, just a trainer at the back, plus some sandbags inside to help keep things stable. The trainers did use their whips, but more as an encouragement than to cause any pain; it seemed that style rather than speed was the effect that they were aiming for. Four other trainers were working on the other two chariots, getting their girls, already suitably kitted out, strapped in.
"And my wife has been involved in this, you say?" Ridlick licked his lips again, and watched as the chariots passed them, the pony girls carefully high-stepping, following instructions from their drivers. "The feathery headgear is a fine touch, I must say."
"Oh, she was here for a few afternoons, I think", Gerald told him. "There are many other activities for our charges, but a bit of fresh air, at this time of year at least, is always healthy, I think. We have a swimming pool, though of course any great degree of bondage would be a trifle unsafe there, and many rooms for quiet contemplation, as well as the actual training areas - when it comes to cocks, we like to say that there's a sucker born every minute."
"And where would Mary, my wife, be now?"
"Let's see, 2:40... she should be just coming to the end of a few hours in the Meditation Room." Gerald smiled. That's just beyond our main gymnasium, so let's head that way, shall we? It's on the lower level of the main house."
"Frankly, Mr Swanley - could we have a little word first? Things have changed a little for me, since my wife came here."
"Not a financial crisis, I hope?" Gerald knew that Ridlick had paid in advance, so wasn't worried on the money side, but felt that he ought to express concern, to encourage this man to elaborate.
"No, it's nothing bad - nothing bad for me, that is." Ridlick paused, trying to find words that didn't cast him in too bad a light. "It's just that, with my wife away, the house was, well, empty... and at a club, I met this wonderful lady... and, well..." His voice trailed off.
"So rather than improve your existing spouse, you decided that you'd upgrade to a new one?" Gerald managed to keep his feelings out of his voice, except for a mild amount of surprise. "Divorces can be rather complex and expensive, you know."
Ridlick smiled rather unconvincingly. "Well, my money's all in my company, and that's based in the Cayman Islands, financially... but, well, this place - you have a well-trained, sexy female, can't you just sell her to a sheik, or a Russian oilgarch, or someone? You must have contacts, surely?"
They were approaching double doors leading into the main gymnasium now, and Gerald stopped, with one hand on the door, and the other hand flat on Ridlick's chest. "Mister Ridlick, we are not in the slave trading business, we are not crooks, we are a legitimate business - and the word is "oligarch", though I admit your version has its attractions."
"I apologise if you feel insulted, Mr Swanley", Ridlick said. "I've been under a lot of strain lately, and obviously my thinking has got a bit muddied."
"Apology accepted, Ridlick", Gerald replied, deliberately just using the man's surname. "I think I need to take you to your wife, so that the situation can be discussed, man to woman." With that, he pushed the door open, and the two men entered the gymnasium.
It was a large room, and there were around forty women in it; a dozen trainers, in their tight, sexy costumes, and more than twice as many trainees, generally not in any costumes except straps, ropes, and chains. Some women were tightly strapped to metal poles, ball-gagged and unable to move, while two were chained spread-eagled between two sides of a wooden frame; one was having a paddle like an old-fashioned carpet-beater applied energetically to her rear by a trainer who, due to the exertion involved, had removed her top, and the other of the two was watching wide-eyed, knowing she was next.
Three women were trussed up in transparent plastic wrap, and had what looked like gas-masks on. There were some cubicles off to one side, and women in tight corsets were visible, hands secured behind their backs and with clamps on their nipples, though what they were involved in wasn't immediately clear.
"Fellatio training", Gerald commented, with a gesture in their general direction. "Most husbands put that at the top of their list, so we have to make sure that their wives are taught how to do it properly, and given a routine which includes that particular service at least twice a day."
They reached the far end of the room, and Gerald pushed open a door, gesturing for Ridlick to precede him into the Meditation Room. There were three trainees in there, naked except for tight corsets, plenty of rope, and ball-gags, plus nipple clamps; a single trainer was just removing blindfolds as the two men entered.
"Mistress Felicia - could you take Caroline and Emerald out into the main room? Mr Ridlick here needs to speak to his wife about a confidential matter."
"Certainly, sir - I'll just loosen a few ropes so that I don't have to carry them, and then I'll leave you in peace." Mistress Felicia gave a friendly smile, and started unwinding some ropes. She was a fairly tall, freckled redhead with an excellent figure, shown off to its full advantage by the trainer costume, and Ridlick watched her hungrily as she led the other two women out of the room.
Once the three of them were alone, Gerald unbuckled Mrs Ridlick's ball-gag, and removed the nipple clamps. "I'm not too good at knots", he told her, "But I'll work on them while your husband tells you why he's come a-visiting..."
"Yes, Ridlick - I thought you sent me off to this, ah, rather specialised finishing school for a whole damn month - so I'm a bit surprised to see you", his wife said.
Ridlick looked guilty, but couldn't keep his eyes off his wife's well-displayed figure. "Yes, dear. I'm afraid I missed you so much, the house was so empty in the evenings, that I went out with some friends to a club they suggested..."
"While the cat's away, the mouse goes in search of some fresh pussy...?" Mrs Ridlick looked amused rather than annoyed.
"Nicely put, dear. To cut to the chase, Heidi and I have decided to get married...which means you no longer need to be trained here."
"Oh how wonderful for you", his current wife replied, with a slight edge of sarcasm, as she rubbed her newly-freed wrists, and moved her arms out to allow Gerald to unwind some more rope. "I suppose you want to sell me as a well-trained slave-girl to some South American millionaire?"
"Nothing like that was mentioned, Mrs Ridlick", Gerald cut in. "This is a, for want of a better word, "respectable" establishment, and as long as bills are paid, and yours are, nobody leaves under duress."
"Fine - I seem to remember being shipped down from that London office strapped into a crate, but that just teaches me to read the small print in what I'm told is a credit card application, right?"
"Anyway", Ridlick said, deciding to get back into the conversation if he could, "As you know I personally have no money, and the expensive lawyers to back me up on that - but for a quick divorce, my company could find, well, 250 thousand pounds, by electronic transfer?"
Not bothering to obscure her nakedness, Mrs Ridlick put her hands on her hips and glared at him, while Gerald undid the final knot, and removed the last ropes. "Quick sounds good to me, but I know your "company", and I'd say it could spare five million."
"One million."
"Three!"
"All right, dear, two million - you drive a hard bargain."
"Two point five... and you can keep every darn thing in the house except my personal possessions."
Ridlick thought this over for about three seconds, then nodded, and held out his hand. His wife looked at it as if it needed a good wash, but then grasped it firmly, and shook it.
"You still have some credit here, Mrs Ridlick, we have some excellent hotel-style rooms, if you want to stay for a few days, and have your items shipped here."
"Thanks, I believe I will." She smiled at Gerald, and then turned to Ridlick. "You know my bank account, get that settlement to me within a week, okay?" She paused. "Oh, and do be a stranger..."
Ridlick walked off; the route back to his car, past plenty of naked women, was simple enough. Gerald was more interested in his soon-to-be ex-wife, and so stood companionably alongside her, watching as the door swung shut behind her husband.
She smiled at him, with a surprisingly genuine glint of humour. "I'd been thinking of getting rid of Rid, so I'm one happy lady now. Poor Heidi, I hope she knows what sort of man she's hooked. And as for you, Mr Gerald Swanley, and your kinky bondage set-up..."
She left the words hanging in the air, yet there seemed little menace in them. "Yes, Mrs Ridlick? or may I call you Mary?"
She grinned at that, as one of the trainers entered the room, and stood waiting to be acknowledged. "I was wondering, Gerald, if you have any vacancies for trainers here? I think I'm tired of men, at least for a while, and ought to broaden my horizons. And I think I'd prefer the name 'Scarlet'."
Gerald smiled broadly. "Why yes, we do certainly have room for you... and I know for a fact that the name Mistress Scarlet is available. Normally we like to give new staff a taste of what a trainee can expect, but in your case, well, you are over-qualified, positively!"
The trainer managed, at that point, to get Gerald's attention. "Your three o'clock appointment has arrived - and Miss Ashton wants me to say that it is very naughty of you to wander off without your mobile, Mr Swanley!"
Gerald grinned. "Thanks, Charity - Mistress Scarlet here is joining us as a trainer, so can you get that sorted out, including a room and so on? No sub-training needed." He turned to Scarlet. "I'll leave you in Charity's hands, my dear - I think you will find life here has just got a lot more enjoyable."
As he made for the door, Scarlet called after him, "I certainly hope so - and please, if that man sends Heidi here, you will assign her to me, hmm...?"
Gerald gave a little wave of acknowledgement, and left, his mind already starting to focus on his next appointment. Showing Ridlick around had proved more complex than expected... but this next pair, well, they were pretty complex to begin with, as far as he could tell. Normally the initial introductions were done in London, and only involved the husband, but this wasn't, he had decided, a normal situation.
He hurried up the front stairs, past Miss Ashton; he gave her a slightly guilty grin as she made a show of shaking her head in mock disapproval. "James and Antonia are waiting in your office", she told him. Which seemed fair enough - they'd have seen a few naked females as they drove up to the house, so one more under Gerald's desk wouldn't make much difference to their impression of the place.
His two visitors were sitting side by side on his office's sofa, well away from Gerald's desk. James had had one hand on Antonia's knee, but they stood up when Gerald entered, and James moved forward to shake Gerald's hand enthusiastically. "Thank you for letting us come here together today, sir."
James was fair-haired and tall, and wearing a good quality suit with a pale blue silk tie and a plain white shirt. He was fairly well-muscled, in the way of a man who goes to the gym a couple of times a week at least, looked about 30 years old,and wore metal-framed glasses. Antonia was, at least in her high-heeled shoes, slightly taller, and a little more substantial, but in a good way. She had glossy dark hair and a pale complexion, and wore a suit too, though hers was a colour that Gerald would have described as "oatmeal". The jacket was open to show a white blouse with thin brown stripes, while the pleated skirt just reached her knees.
"Not at all, James", Gerald replied. "Do call me Gerald. It seemed a good idea for you to arrive here together, and see our establishment, so that we can make sure that what we understand is the same as what you expect - this isn't quite our normal arrangement, after all."
"Quite, sir", Antonia put in with a slightly shy smile. "Usually the rich husband has his lazy, sexually uncaring wife abducted, after getting her to sign an authorisation under some pretext - and she's crated up, shipped down here, and trained to be a good cock-sucking slavegirl, using more sticks than carrots."
Gerald grinned. "You've been reading our brochure - James, doesn't it say "for male eyes only" on the cover? You have the gist of it, though of course we use carrots too, or similarly-shaped items."
James gave a little laugh. "Our situation is a little different - Gerald. Antonia is richer than I am, we get married in six weeks - and she has a rather submissive side to her nature, so is taking the old "love, honour and obey" vows rather more seriously than most people do."
"So, Antonia has volunteered to be trained as your personal sex slave?"
Antonia grinned. "Blame it on the 'Gor' novels I read when I was younger...though my absolute favourite creator is Brian Tarsis, I could read 'Sabrina on Bondage Island' every night."
Gerald nodded. "A fine artist - and he takes excellent photographs too. But we do need to discuss things, before our arrangements are finalised. I'm entirely happy to put you through training here, Antonia, from today until the morning of your wedding, if you have got the dress et cetera sorted out... but afterwards, well, in some ways the slave has the easier role, it's the master who has to do all the work, and I don't want you to feel that your honeymoon is an anticlimax after the rigours of your training here."
"We wondered if you are able to provide some sort of 'honeymoon suite' here", James asked, as the two of them sat back down on the sofa, and Gerald perched on the edge of his desk. "And we would welcome your recommendations about, possibly, a live-in personal trainer afterwards? I admit our plans are a little vague, which was why we were so anxious to be able to discuss things with you here today."
Gerald actually stroked his chin for a moment, while he pondered. "Well, there are some visitor suites, so the honeymoon wouldn't be a problem. This used to be a proper country estate, and we do in fact have some old cottages a mile or so away from the main house we've been thinking about renovating. Perhaps some financial deal can be worked out for you to make a suitably "Gorean" home there?"
Antonia looked at James, her face glowing with happiness. "Oh, let's do it - I'm sure that Mr Swanley will do all he can for us, and between us we can afford it I'm sure!"
Gerald beamed at them. Those cottages had been a liability, but now they suddenly seemed thatched with gold. "We have some 'into the scene' builders and decorators we use, and, with input from both of you, I'm sure a bondage-nest Mr Tarsis would be proud can be made there. A cage in a "dumb waiter" mini-elevator to take the slave down to the dungeon or up to the master bedroom, all the equipment..."
James nodded his agreement. "Email me a rough estimate and some plans, and I'll surely get back to you remarkably quickly."
"And if you are so close by, a rota of our trainers would be available", Gerald went on. "Which might be better than having a single trainer, as she could get a bit too personally involved with the pair of you." He paused. "Though if one of our number seemed to hit it off particularly well with both of you, you would have the chance to offer her a permanent place."
It was Antonia's turn to do some pondering now, obviously envisaging James and the trainer entwined, with her helplessly bound and temporarily neglected. The prospect didn't seem to worry her too much. "Sounds good - unfortunately James doesn't have a kinky sister, the way Sabrina's master did."
Gerald rubbed his hands. "We seem to have an agreement in principle, then. So, will Antonia be staying with us this evening, and until the wedding? Mistress Claire should be waiting outside now, with a basket for our newest trainee's current clothes, and an arrangement of leather straps and metal linkages, with a toy or two attached, which should be just about the right size, if a trifle tight in some sensitive areas...?"
James hugged Antonia, and kissed her on the lips rather gently, before answering. "Yes indeed", he said to Gerald, before returning his attention to Antonia, and beginning to unbutton her blouse. "I love you, my darling slavegirl."
"And I love you - but I need you to prove your love by holding me tight - always keeping me tight, and under discipline, from now on..."
Gerald had clicked the intercom, and Mistress Claire entered, carrying the promised basket, and the bondage costume. James was undressing Antonia now; he passed her jacket to Claire, and her blouse, and was undoing her skirt while Claire unfastened her bra, having put the basket and costume down on Gerald's desk, along with a satchel containing some other useful items.
"I think as a slavegirl name, 'Antonia' doesn't quite cut it", Gerald remarked as he watched the disrobing; Antonia was wearing old-fashioned stockings and suspenders, he noted with approval. "'Ant' would not be suitable - are we thinking in terms of an exotic Gorean name, or something more local?"
"How about 'Jira'?" This suggestion came from Mistress Claire, who was now helping Antonia to keep her balance while she removed her shows and stockings. She glanced at the girl's pale, generous breasts with their rather dark red tips. "Or perhaps 'Nipples'?"
Antonia was just wearing rather skimpy pale pink panties now, with her arms crossed below her breasts. Claire had got a small pair of scissors from her satchel, and without ceremony cut the panties at both sides, and pulled them away, leaving her naked. Antonia gave a little gasp, but didn't move, as the two men stared at her, and Claire put the scrap of pink material in the basket, and the scissors back in the satchel.
James looked at Antonia carefully, committing this scene to memory. "I think 'Jira' is an excellent idea, thank you Mistress Claire. But do continue with your work, and get...Jira into her new outfit."
Gerald nodded approvingly. "I think we can say that, since your fiancee hasn't run screaming for the stairs, you've got yourself a slavegirl - so let's let Mistress Claire kit her out properly. We'll need to do a small bit of bikini-type waxing, I see, slavegirls aren't allowed to hide anything."
Mistress Claire had removed a red rubber ball-gag with leather straps and a buckle arrangement from her satchel, and was taking it towards Jira's head - Jira watched it, fascinated. It looked a little large...and as it got nearer her mouthy, it seemed larger still.
"Open wide, Jira", Claire said matter-of-factly. "Slavegirls very rarely need to be able to talk." Jira complied, and the ball-gag was carefully put in place, and then its straps buckled tightly together behind her head. The main costume came next, though to call it a costume was stretching a point, as it was made up almost entirely of straps, linked together when a change of direction was needed by metal O-rings, with buckles to ensure a tight fit.
Gerald and James watched approvingly as Mistress Claire buckled Jira in. There was a collar, which was the second widest strap, at around two inches; there were straps above and below the breasts, and then at waist level a strap, or belt, about three inches wide. Vertically there was a strap down the back, from the collar to the waist, and this continued on underneath her, splitting in two and anchoring to the front of the waist strap approximately seven inches apart. A strap down the front separated Jira's breasts before finishing at the belt-strap.
"As you can see, the straps enhance the breasts, and leave the pussy on full display", Gerald told his client. "The strap is tight enough to keep a butt-plug in position. We just use buckles, though little padlocks can be added to that design to make things more secure - generally the trainee's arms are fully secured, however." He gave Claire a little nod, to continue. "The leather is rather expensive, but it is both strong and soft, without any hard chafing edges."
Mistress Claire produced a monoglove from her satchel - a glove, or mitten rather as it didn't have individual fingers, big enough for both arms, with straps to go around Jira's shoulders to keep it in place. It had lacing up the back; Claire gently guided both of Jira's hands, and arms, into it behind Jira's back, with the lacing loose, and buckled the straps around her shoulders. Then it was a matter of tightening the laces, drawing Jira's elbows closer together.
"That bondage classic, the 'single glove' or monoglove", James commented approvingly. "I'm told that women are able to get their arms closer together behind their backs than men are, though it takes time and careful training to get the elbows to touch."
"The glove does wonders for the posture and presentation", Gerald agreed. "A bit like the classic cheesecake pose of a girl having her hands in her hair, to lift the breasts - only more so. And utterly inescapable." He smiled. "Now, are there any special preparations we should make, beyond the pubic hair waxing...?"
"Nipple rings", James said firmly, taking of his glasses, putting them in their case, and slipping the case into a pocket. "I think other piercings and so on just get in the way, but if you could have her nipples pierced? Just put sleepers in for now, we'd not want any weight on the piercings for a few weeks, I think."
"I agree", Gerald told him. "Jira will be getting a full medical examination, so the piercings can be done then." Jira had gone a bit wide-eyed at this, but seemed to have decided that it was all part of the deal. And nobody was going to ask a slavegirl for her consent about things like that...
"Well, before you start back to town, we do want you to say goodbye to your slave properly. Claire, can you bend Jira over my desk? Clear a space if necessary. I think that this meeting ought to end with Jira being given what she needs and deserves."
Jira was wide-eyed again - was she about to be caned? The way she was displayed like this, bent forward, was gloriously shameful. She didn't see Claire passing a strong, rather old-fashioned ribbed condom to James, with a smile.
"Please use this, sir - we want to collect as much as we can, we'll freeze it and let Jira have an occasional taste of it when she deserves a reward." Her smile turned to a grin. "Do you need any assistance...?"
It seemed that James didn't, and soon Jira's eyes were wide again, as she felt him push into her, holding her helpless arms up, keeping them out of the way and her upper body flat on the desk. Once he was in he stopped for a moment, savouring her tightness and her warmth, before beginning the inexorable piston movements. Before long she was panting and snorting, and mewing in her throat, but he seemed almost insatiable. Gerald began to wonder if it would seem impolite to read his copy of The Times; Mistress Claire fiddled with the contents of her satchel for a while, bringing out a pair of very high-heeled shoes in Jira's size, with locking ankle straps and abut fifteen inches of silvery chain linking them. There was also a leash, which would clip on to a D-ring on the front of Jira's collar when needed.
There were tears running down Jira's face by the time her master finally withdrew; she stayed with her upper body flat on the desk, while Mistress Claire carefully retrieved the condom and its contents, and put it in a plastic pouch. She then used a small lightweight cloth to wipe his penis clean, before he put it away and fastened his fly, as casually as if he had been in a toilet. The cloth too went into the pouch.
"If I'm to be Jira's personal trainer for the next few weeks, I suppose I would be the logical person to join you in your new home after the wedding and honeymoon, Sir", Claire said, speculatively, smiling at James and Gerald. "And if you are aiming for a Gorean theme, I assure you I would be entirely willing to be completely sexually available to you there..."
Somehow, James seemed larger now than when he and Antonia, his slavegirl-to-be, had arrived, Gerald thought. Less the city merchant banker, and more the warrior and owner of women. Perhaps it was his more confident, dominant stance; he had certainly had an effect on Mistress Claire, who he'd rather assumed to be entirely lesbian, but now was looking at James with definite interest.
"That seems an idea worth exploring", James replied. "I think pierced nipples would be a requirement, and a hairless undercarriage, since you too would in effect be a slavegirl, if a more privileged one."
Claire managed to look happy without actually smiling. "I qualify, Sir - I generally just wear little gold sleepers in my tits, unless it's a special occasion, but I imagine that there will be plenty of special times once the cottages have been modified, and you have moved in. And I'm fully bikini-waxed, without the bikini."
James nodded, smiling. "It looks as if we have an agreement, then. Somehow a handshake doesn't seem quite enough - have you another of those condoms with you? Perhaps between us we can provide some more tasty treats for Jira."
Claire unwrapped another condom; by the time it was free, so was James's cock, so she carefully pulled it down into place; he was already hard again. She felt his hand lightly on her shoulder.
"Now, I think there's space beside Jira on the desk, if you'd care to assume a similar position? I'd suggest folding your arms in front of you - you don't mind us using your office like this, Gerald...?"
"Heavens no, do go ahead James," Gerald said, watching as, with hips swaying, Claire moved to the desk and got into position. Her skirt was short, and rode up quite high, but James casually folded it forward, exposing her naked rump and hairless pussy, and then pushed his penis into her, and began a lengthy rhythmical pounding which soon had her gasping. Claire too soon had tears on her face, and a rather fierce grin as she relished the sensations, and concentrated on gentle motions and squeezings to help things along.
Before long it was over, and Claire was able to put another condom of semen into the pouch, and use the same cloth again to get the last of the ejaculate for future use. She had thought that being a trainer at BTW was the kinkiest occupation possible, but living with James and Jira would have definite further wildnesses, she was pretty sure. She busied herself getting Jira into the locking high-heeled shoes, while Jira remained on the desk, and then helped her to stand up, and clipped the leash to her collar.
"I'll get our best architect to run up some designs for the cottages", Gerald told James, who now looked once again the respectable city businessman, and shook his hand. "I'll be sure to describe the situation in detail - and we'll email our first suggestions to you before the weekend."
"Excellent - I knew this was the right place to come to", James replied. "Now, do look after my blushing bride-to-be, won't you? I know it's bad luck to see one's fiancee too close to the actual day, but I expect I can make a visit or two to track her progress, and look over the cottages." He looked at his watch. "I wish I'd time to do that today, to see them in their current state, but no can do - you can send a few 'before' photographs at some point, perhaps?"
Miss Ashton appeared at the door as if by magic, and ushered James out; once he had left, Claire led Jira out too, slowly and rather gently as the slavegirl got used to her new shoes, with their unusually high heels, and the fifteen inches of metal chain joining them.
Gerald gave a sigh of satisfaction . He was about to sit down in his chair when he remembered the room's other occupant, his trainee cocksucker, patiently waiting under the desk, bound in a kneeling position, ball-gagged and helpless. He looked at a note he'd made on his blotter earlier. "Ah, sorry Gloria - I've been neglecting you this afternoon."
There was a little snort from under the desk; he pulled his chair back, and crouched down, then carefully unbuckled the ball-gag. "We get all sorts in this office, don't we?"
"We do, Sir", Gloria said, and smiled. "My time at BTW is nearly up - I'm going to miss this place, believe it or not."
Gerald sat down, with a grin. "You'll recommend us to all your friends...?"
Gloria laughed at that. "Well perhaps not, but..."
"Go on - be candid. Do you hate us all and wish this place would burn to the ground, or what?"
Gloria shook her head thoughtfully. "I'll admit it was a bit of a surprise - that crate being delivered, and then me suddenly being stripped, trussed up in it, and shipped down here, and so on. And then to find out that my husband, Tommy, had authorised it, and was paying to have me bound, whipped, and everything else by a sexy bunch of lesbian dominatices with a dildo fixation...or are they dominatrixes?"
"Either would do, I'm sure", Gerald assured her; he took a plastic bottle with a straw feeder on top from a drawer, and let her suck some water from it for a few seconds.
"Thanks. But after a while I began to realise that Tommy was right - the dear man has probably saved our marriage. We were drifting along, but I was starting to forget about the sex side of things - how sex should be part of our regular life, not just something you do twice a week after the light has been turned off. I am a sex object, and I should damn well behave like one. I'm many other things too, but that is a vital part of me."
"And our trainers led you to this conclusion?"
Gloria paused to consider this. "Well, mainly Mistress Felicia, I've been in her group from the start... and the other so-called 'trainees' too. We do have times when we can chat a bit, and work out why we ended up here, and we usually come to the conclusion that it's our own damn fault. Not that this place is all nipple-clamps and tight ropes, there's the swimming, the pony girl afternoons..." She sighed contentedly. "The food has been fine...and Mistress Felicia tells me I've gone down by two dress sizes."
The intercom buzzed. "Six new trainees should be arriving in the van in about twenty minutes, Mr Swanley."
"Understood." Gerald turned back to Gloria. "So, no more time for cock-sucking this afternoon, really."
Gloria gazed at him, with a different, rather predatory smile. "Not that I'd usually suggest an extra-marital dalliance, but hearing your last visitors, and being about a foot under James's spearing of both Jira and Mistress Claire, has made me feel extremely randy... do you reckon there's time, before you head downstairs, for you to do to me what he did to them - a thorough doggy-style fucking on your desk?"
Gerald crouched down to undo some ropes and clips. "You know, Mrs Norton, I found that rather sexy too... so if you'd like to come out of there, and, to almost quote James, 'assume the position'...?"
+ + + + + +
It had been a surprisingly intense few minutes; Gerald was whistling happily as he headed downstairs, having given Mistress Felicia a buzz to collect Gloria. Fellatio was all very well, but a tight pussy was, really, what it was all about, he reflected. Hmmm... Perhaps the BTW high-ups' insistence on the trainee under his desk was at least partly a way of stopping him from taking advantage of his charges?
Gerald hurried towards the loading bay at the back of the building, and arrived just as the second three-space crate was being unloaded from the white van that they used to bring the new intake down from London. The driver, John, had taken the side off the first crate, aided by his assistant Robert, so that its three bound beauties were visible, and were looking out wide-eyed, not knowing what was going on. Their bindings differed, some were in ropes, and some already in leather strap arrangements, but they all had ball-gags.
Mistress Hope and Madame Tristesse were off to one side, waiting; with their boots, low-cut tight white blouses, and shiny black latex short skirts, they can't have been a particularly reassuring sight, and the fact that they were casually carrying some lengths of rope, and each held a riding-crop, emphasised to the newcomers that they weren't in the normal day-to-day world any more.
The second triple crate was moved into position by the forklift truck, and John levered its side off, to reveal the second set of three new trainees, all securely bound with plenty of rope and ball-gagged. One of them at least attempted to make a noise of protest, but only succeeded in grunting, and quickly gave up.
"Good afternoon, ladies", Gerald began. "Perhaps you remember signing a rather long form for your husband recently - a credit card agreement, perhaps he said it was? Well, sometimes it is a good idea to read the small print in such things, because what you actually agreed to was to spend a few weeks with us here at Better Trained Wives."
Gerald stared at them; a fine group of 'trophy wives', perhaps carrying a little more weight than was strictly necessary, but the activities planned for them would soon slim them down and firm them up. "It seems that your husbands feel that, as far as marriage goes, you haven't been keeping up your end of the agreement, so they have sent you here for some motivational training in the finer arts of the bedroom.
"In some ways we're a bit like an all-girl boarding school, in some ways it's a bit like a spa resort or health farm - but with tight ropes, ball-gags, vibrators, nipple clamps, and plenty of on-the-job training about how to please your man."
Gerald gave them a broad smile. "So, obey your trainers, do your best to learn what they teach you, and get in tune with sex again. We aren't a shadowy organization selling slaves to South American despots, we are a fully accredited educational establishment, so don't worry. I won't go as far as to say that a dozen strokes of a cane across a rump never hurt anyone, but this is a strictly limited engagement... unless your husband later decides that you need a refresher course, that is."
Gerald gestured towards Mistress Hope, who was unfastening the first trainee from one crate. "You three ladies will be in the charge of Mistress Hope - be nice to her and life will be considerably better for you here." He then turned towards Madame Tristesse. "And Madame Tristesse is indeed French, so 'Bonjour Tristesse' is an allowed greeting, should you be able to speak at the time. The three trainees from the second crate will be under her whip, er, wing...well, both, I suppose.
"Anyway, welcome to BTW. Things are certainly not as bad as they seem, ladies. You'll start with a medical examination, and then your trainers will show you to your accommodation. Just go with the flow - I don't think you'll find there is any other option."
Gerald stood and watched as the untrained wives were removed from the travel crates. They were all just about naked, except for their straps and ropes, though one still had stockings and suspenders in position; their arms were tied tightly behind them, so they needed help to stand up and get their balance. Some women looked around anxiously, while others ignored their surroundings, and let their trainer move them into position.
Soon Mistress Hope was leading her three new students off for their medical examination, while Madame Tristesse fitted her trio with collars, linked together by about three feet of metal chain each to form what a slave trader would call a 'coffle'. Robert brought over the paperwork for Gerald to initial.
"Any problems, Robert?" Gerald looked briefly at the sheet, then took the offered pen and added his initials at the bottom.
"Apart from the traffic, no worries at all, boss", Robert told him. "As usual, each woman is so eager to discover what is in the crate we 'deliver' that we have no problems getting through the front door, and the husband has made sure there are no other people around. Then a quick spray of giggle juice, and we can strip, tie, and fit them into their box easily, and wheel them outside."
"Just be careful - we give you photographs, so hopefully you won't return with the maid or a visiting relative instead, but it's a risky part of the business."
Robert nodded. "And you pay us well, so don't worry, sir."
Gerald gave him a cross between a pat on the back and a manly hug, and then crossed to Madame Tristesse. "What do you think of our new intake today, Madame?"
She finished adjusting a rope just below one trainee's breasts before answering. "A very fine-looking selection", she said finally, with a slight French accent. "But, truly, Gerald, girls this attractive really ought to have taken the time to be good at sex, to keep their men happy, it's a mystery why so many of them have to come here."
"They think that looking decorative is all it takes, to hook and to keep a rich husband", Gerald said with a sigh. "Before marriage I'm sure it was different, but afterwards... well, job done, they think, and turn on the Shopping Channel."
"It's lucky we're here, to teach them the error of their ways, yes Gerald?"
Gerald smiled, as Madame Tristesse began to lead her threesome off towards the corridor, and gave one of the girls a light pat on her rump as she passed. "Yes indeed, Sherelle - I think it is!"
