Minerva
“Author’s note:
This story is intended as humor, not as material for a quick wank, so be warned. It’s not meant to be funny, either. Just amusing.
My thanks go out to all those writers who produce well written, will imagined, detailed and erotic stories on web sites and forums such as this. Without reading quality work, I wouldn’t have bothered to submit my own. This is not otherwise consciously based on any one writer, idea or work. All characters are fictitious (unfortunately), and any similarity…
The Disclaimer: Read this at your own peril. You are hereby notified that if you are not of the right physical, mental, emotional and legal maturity to read this at your own discretion, I take no responsibility for the outcomes. If you get in trouble, it’s your own fault. I can’t be expected to know every country’s, culture’s and family’s rules, that’s your job.”
* * * * *
*”Minerva”
or: “A Mistress Manages her Realm”*
Minerva Grolsch stood just inside her bedroom doorway and pressed her palms over her eyes, then pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes until all she could see was dancing spots. It didn’t help. But then, she knew it wouldn’t. It never did.
She was dressed in almost heel-less shoes, a dark gray pinstripe pants suit and a white blouse totally devoid of frills, ruffs and lace. It made her look efficient, powerful, composed and calculating. It made her look, in point of fact, exactly the way she had been intending to look.
None of which could hide the fact that she hated it. It was a constant, unavoidable reminder that when she was on the outside, she was on the Outside, surrounded by the dross, the scum and the drab rabble of humanity at its worst. More importantly it reminded her that she wasn’t in charge of it, just a little bit of it. That never made her feel good.
But she put up with it, for reasons of necessity. Finances, for one. You couldn’t get quite so much money out of venture capitalists through intermediaries; you needed to be there yourself.
All of a sudden, Minerva was seized by a desperate need to be herself again and for that, she needed to look the part. Taking her hands off her eyes and clenching them into fists beside her face, she closed her eyes and screamed as hard as she could.
Then she stood in the dying echoes and smiled blissfully. All she had been intending to do was make her presence known, but there are few more satisfying ways of doing it.
A door opened on the other side of the chamber and a maid entered dressed not, as someone who knew Minerva’s predilections might expect, in a French maid’s outfit but in an English maid’s uniform complete with floor-length skirt.
Minerva demanded that every one of her employees be both good at their job and, as she put it, pleasing to the eye. Those who were excellent at their job were allowed to be merely nice to look at. Mary had been “stolen” from the household of a middle-ranking English lord and she was allowed to be frumpy if she so chose, a situation that her sense of professionalism would never allow - one reason she was allowed the honour she would never accept.
“You rang, madam?” She asked, a little icily.
“Mary, I need to look beautiful.”
“Madam, you are always beautiful,” Mary said with the stiff finality of the true expert who considers further discussion not just superfluous, not just inconceivable, not just a waste of time but also more than just a little insulting.
“Indulge me, Mary,” Minerva said petulantly, childishly (is there such a thing as non-childish petulance? Mary had often wondered, with conspicuous lack of evidence for the case for), while attempting, but failing, to divest herself with majestic disgust of her so-hated business-woman outfit.
Mary, as was her custom, said nothing. She also, as was her job and her skill, stripped Minerva naked with a speed and proficiency that always left the Mistress startled and more than a little envious beneath her impressed respect. The clothes ended up on the bed without an extra crease or wrinkle in them, which always totally failed to even pass the threshold of Minerva’s attention.
Minerva had already thrown open the doors of the wardrobe and was standing glorying in the contents, a happy smile on her face. Mary already had the discarded blouse on a hanger and neatly away before her Mistress had reached a decision about her replacement outfit.
Then her hand shot out with new purpose and the dressing process began.
A leather (but chamois-padded, there was no point in being needlessly uncomfortable) Y-string, buckled together at the sides, provided the minimum necessary genital decorum. Chamois-lined leather boots with 4″ heels laced up over 3/4 of her thighs. Chamois-lined leather gloves zipped, snug without being tight, halfway up her upper arms. A moulded leather bustier (not chamois lined - A girl can like a little coarseness over her nipples, can’t she? Well, just barely over her nipples), laced up the front, leaving her breasts bulging up hard and even trying to escape between the laces. Finally, a mesh-work silver necklace held a large red jade in front of her throat.
Then she stared at herself in the mirror on the inside of the wardrobe doors, and sighed happily. Now she looked gorgeous, now she looked herself. And all of the leather gloriously, gorgeously maroon. Her favourite colour.
“Mary,” she said happily, “Do I look beautiful now?”
“I dressed you, Mistress,” Mary replied tartly. “What do you expect me to say?”
“Just say it, Mary,” Minerva replied, still happy.
Mary clicked her tongue, whether in annoyance or exasperation it was difficult to say. “You are beautiful, Mistress,” she said in an absolutely neutral voice.
“Yes, aren’t I?”
Every Mistress has duties to perform, when suitably attired for the part.
Which left one more thing.
So it was that, riding crop in hand, she stalked regally through her palace, worshipful lackies at her heels.
Her destination was her throne room. She normally got most of her work done there, so after having wasted (no, she really mustn’t think like that, there had been a very lucrative point to it, but she really must find herself a good negotiator so she didn’t have to do - here she suppressed a small shudder - meetings) the morning outside, she needed to catch up.
As she swept in, her viceroy (it amused her to call him that. He was the only other close servant she had who was allowed to dress normally) was waiting for her with a clipboard and pen in hand. The fountain pen looked far better than he could possibly be made to, and cost more than Minerva’s entire outfit. It symbolised, even more than his clothes, his value to her.
“Good afternoon Charles,” she said cheerfully, rolling her tongue in exaggerated fashion over the soft vowel sounds. “We can begin now.” She sprawled herself in her throne, one leg thrown over an elaborately carved wooden arm, her head propped on her hand, her crotch gaping wide at whoever was blessed, doomed or otherwise fated to stand in front of her.
Charles inclined his heard in her direction briefly. “Very good, Mistress. You have three scheduled supervisions, two matters of discipline and one extra-curricular consideration.” Extra-curricular meant outside the grounds, which made Minerva’s ears perk up, but not happily. She lashed her leather-covered thigh with the riding crop briefly, found the enjoyment of that recompense for having to think of the outside world, and calmed down again.
“Very well, supervisions first, I think.”
“Certainly, madam.” Charles made a complicated but quick hand gesture towards the doors, where an Adonis of a guard, wearing shorts carefully designed to get in the way of neither physical activity nor a good perve, while also being incredibly stylish, nodded, pulled open the door, and made a similar gesture outside. The door opened further and the head of development for Minerva’s latest game strode briskly in, looking happy.
Minerva had long ago decided that the only way to indulge her fancies, her abilities and her desire to be left the fuck alone by the rest of the world was to run some sort of computer company, preferably (abilities) software. Minerva could program in seven languages, only three of them related to each other, and was a fully-qualified systems administrator. Her staff were well aware of this, and she encouraged a healthy competition in attracting her professional, as well as personal, praises.
Ziggy (no, not the name his mother knows him by) wasn’t carrying anything, but his belt held his latest PDA-phone toy. On which, she was well aware, he had every detail she could possibly ask him for, either locally or via WiFi. For a laugh, she had tried cracking the encryption on that network once, and had personally (very, very personally if only he had wanted it) made her respect known to the administrator of it afterwards.
“Well?” She asked, happy to see him happy.
“Ahead of schedule, Mistress!” He replied cheerfully, before he had even finished walking. “The conversation AI has finally been finished, and is being fully tested, the last of the known bugs has been quashed and the beta testers are trying to find new ones, all the artwork is awaiting your approval and the rumors have been seeded on appropriate websites.”
Ziggy was expensively and stylishly dressed, but not revealingly so and had chosen the outfit himself. He wore no tie. He wore glasses, but they were titanium-framed, cost $600 and were chosen in collaboration with Minerva herself. She was always happy to honour requests like that, particularly when she gave Ziggy more leeway than he took.
She raised an eyebrow “Beta testers?”
He nodded vigorously. “Yes!”
As he was talking, he was staring hungrily at Minerva’s leather-clad, wide-open crotch. She liked that in her servants, and encouraged it, though without compulsion. Some could only think when they were looking firmly and unwaveringly at her face, some, like Ziggy, couldn’t think if they were trying to expend the effort required to do so. A genius coder and fantastic manager, but weak-willed.
She gave a small squeal of delight, and clapped her hands. “Excellent! Excellent! Ziggy, you’re a precious. I’ll send word on the artwork this afternoon, and when you finish you may visit the harem.”
Although Minerva employed married men, Ziggy was not one of them. “Oh, thank you, Mistress!” He said happily, his fog-free glasses beginning to steam up slightly.
When he had left, and the guard’s muscles had moved out of the way of the muscles he used to close the door, Charles smoothly moved onto the next item. “Website development, Mistress,” he said calmly. At her nod, he made another complicated gesture at the door.
This time the process resulted in a tall, unattractively thin woman with raven-black hair in a plait to her waist, a scarlet sports bra and a scarlet floor-length skirt, slashed to the waist on the right, revealing suspended stockings and, only just revealed by the length of the skirt, red high heels.
She strode briskly, also empty-handed, each nail painted a deeper red and each wrist encircled by a broad, etched band of gold. She was good at what she did, but was relatively new and had been given an important task to test her.
She also looked not entirely pleased to be there, a fact which could hardly escape Minerva’s Holmesian abilities to read people.
“How goes the migration?” the Mistress asked with a raised eyebrow.
“I am afraid,” the woman replied, choosing her words with care, “That there have been delays.”
Minerva knew what that meant. No one in her employ, no matter how distant from her, ever dared try to wriggle out of blame, so it was unlikely that Kate was responsible. “Such as?”
“There was a scheduled upgrade of the backup server, which was not quite finished when a cracking attempt was detected on the main server. That was defeated, all intrusion checks were run, then the kernel and the database server on the main server were upgraded for routine security announcements. So the scheduled upgrade of several minor utilities was bought forward while the main server was out of operation, and I was enlisted to help speed things up.”
“Really?” Minerva replied, drawing the word out over several heartbeats. “So what is the damage to your work?”
“I should still finish on schedule,” Kate smoothly replied.
“Excellent, excellent. So is your composure. Get yourself a massage this afternoon and say hi to your team for me.”
“Thank you Mistress,” Kate replied humbly, pivoted gracefully and retired. Say what you like about the woman’s aversion to figure-building exercise, she certainly had grace.
Minerva shifted on her throne, bringing both knees together and up, letting her feet dangle off the edge and showing her ass in its full, nearly unrestrained, glory. She waved a hand at Charles, who waved his, in a fashion, in the direction of the door. “Infrastructure,” he announced.
The manager in charge of the building-wide wiring, wireless access points, protection of same, email servers, authentication servers and the like was a short man, who might have attracted the designation “dapper” in any other circumstance but, believing that badges of status should be worn, was merely “scruffy.”
“Report?” Minerva asked, slipping easily into Gryff’s habit of stripping sentences of all inessential words, including some of the essential ones.
“Nothing at all, Mistress,” he cheerfully replied, slipping just as easily into her occasional practised loquaciousness. “Nothing has happened to the wires, screws, bolts, whirring things or blinking lights. We haven’t even changed anything.”
Now that really was going too far, she thought, but let it pass. Instead, she shrugged and waved him off. “Okay then, you may go.”
“Mistress,” he replied, still cheerful, and left. Gryff was married, and was also almost unbribeable, unrewardable and unpunishable. There was nothing you could do to him that gave him greater delight than his job or his children, while he had never, in seven years, given any reason for anybody to get annoyed with that work. Minerva loved him dearly, and had already stymied three different attempts to head-hunt him in a way that dissuaded the hunters from ever, ever, trying anything like that on one of her employees ever, ever, again.
Minerva was finding her attention wandering, then she brightened up considerably. Hadn’t Charles said something about two matters of discipline? But first the work.
She sat up straight and somewhat primly, laying her crop across her lap. “Charles,” she said in a tone that he recognised and understood before the rest of the sentence had been complete, “What did you say about an extra-curricular matter?”
Charles smiled slightly, something that immediately perked up Minerva’s ears, if not also her nipples. When someone who knew her as well as Charles smiled at her like that, it meant that she was going to enjoy herself after all.
“Last night,” Charles began smoothly, “We caught a man trying to break in to the building. He was strong, fit, clearly very practised at what he was doing and equipped with an excellent array of tools. Unfortunately he wasn’t expecting the technology arrayed in our defences to be as low as it was high and he was caught by the guards at their leisure. He rolled over when he saw the interrogation room,” - which was why it looked so much more impressive than it was actually capable of, - “Told us who his employer was and gave us quite enough to be going on with. He has no close family, nor pets. Here,” Charles passed a sheet of paper to Minerva, “Are the relevant details of his employ.”
Minerva raised her eyebrows at not just being told, then read the paper and smoothly moved through surprise, smirking, chuckling, giggling and hysterical laughter. Charles almost laughed with her, an extreme response for the controlled viceroy.
When Minerva had finished laughing, feeling rather weaker than when she had began, she mopped her eyes with a silk handkerchief thoughtfully provided by the female lackey who tagged along behind her for just such purposes, blew her nose on it and handed it back. The lackey put it back into her costume, much to the surprise of anybody who had seen how little costume there was to put anything into, particularly her.
“Bring him forth,” Minerva said grandly, with an even grander flourish of her be-gloved hand.
Charles gestured at the door, the door was opened and in sprawled the thief in the night, followed by a guard holding onto his collar. This guard was attired in the same manner as the one at the door, but was if anything even more chiseled in physique.
The prisoner was only wearing more than the guard because he was wearing restraints. Specifically, he was wearing cuffs, chained a mere two inches apart, just above his knees. His arms were encased behind his back in a leather sheath that zipped up to his elbows. He had been stripped to his underwear - black, perfectly fitting and sensible - but had been provided with accessorizing bruises at the guards’ discretion.
At the guard’s instigation he had been provided with a ball gag. The guard had also, coincidentally, provided the prisoner with a decent amount of neurosis by the simple technique of grinning at him. No matter how much he tried to avoid it, the prisoner found that a guard who clearly spent a lot of time in the gym, was only wearing a pair of what looked like lycra shorts and grinned at him, made him nervous.
Minerva also started grinning at him, but with more teeth and less dimple.
“Hello, you idiot,” she said in a voice that still managed to sound cheerful and friendly. “You cocked that up, didn’t you?” She asked, still cheerful. “Which is going to make the rest of our life miserable. No, don’t bother trying to say anything,” She added with a wave of her hand as the prisoner desperately started to say something through his gag.
“You’ve already condemned yourself, you can’t make it any better or worse, so don’t bother trying. We already know everything that we want to about your sordid little business arrangements, you pathetic excuse for a professional. We also know that no matter what we choose to do, nobody is going to miss you. which means that you are literally fucked, because I don’t care to let people escape the consequences of their actions.
“So off you go, then. Enjoy your final moments.”
The prisoner’s eyes widened in terror as he foresaw the near future and what it contained and got it right.
His guard simpered, winked at him and gave the leash a tug, lisping “Come along, darling.”
As he pulled the frantically struggling burglar after him, eagerly but not unkindly, Minerva raised her voice to call after him. “Josh!”
He turned back towards her. “Yes, mistress?”
“Be nice to him, darling,” she said with a smile. “Use lube.”
“Of course!” He exclaimed as he pulled the now frantic gimp after him, the doors closing behind them with a satisfied resonant clang.
Minerva lay back, feeling properly happy for the first time since she had arrived home. “what’s next, Charles?”
“Two matters of discipline, Mistress.”
“Oh good! Do tell me more, Charles.”
“One lady and one gentleman, Mistress.” It was Charles’ affectation that he used formal terms of respect in such circumstances, something which Minerva found oddly endearing. “The gentleman stands accused of attempting to seduce a colleague’s wife. The lady in question confessed after one assignation, tearfully and at length. Her husband has forgiven her, but not his colleague.”
Minerva suddenly had a headache. This was an area of human behaviour that never ceased to upset her. “What does he do?”
“He works in marketing, Mistress.”
“Which is no excuse for not living in reality!” Minerva snapped, stamping a foot on the podium and pulling herself upright in the chair, feet firmly planted and whip irritably lashing her leather-sheathed thigh. “Show the scoundrel in.” At times, Charles’ delicately baroque language was infectious.
Again, the complicated hand gesture. Again, the opening of the doors. This time, the man to be disciplined walked in alone. Any attempt by one of Minerva’s employees to escape punishment would, to put it bluntly, be held against them.
Understandably, the immaculately dressed man who walked through the doors was not looking at all happy to be there. He walked in exactly as far as he was expected to and stopped, not looking anywhere except Minerva’s mouth, too worried to meet her eyes and refusing to have anything to do, under the circumstances, with any part of his mistress that was recognisably, overtly, female. He did not, however, miss the significance of the restlessly drumming whip. He was trying not to look at that, too.
“Well?” Minerva snapped, angrily. “Have you anything to offer in your defence?”
That very question had been occupying his mind since the guards tapped him on the shoulder that morning. It is a small tribute to his common sense that he had immediately discarded anything along the lines of “She flirted with me first.” He had only the vaguest suspicion of Minerva’s response - that everyone has responsibility for their actions - but had a much stronger sense of certainty that it would be a mistake to try it. The rest of the morning had been spent desperately considering and then discarding a whole gamut of possibilities before correctly settling on the only answer that would do him any good at all.
“No, Mistress,” he replied miserably, struggling to make his voice loud enough to hear clearly.
Minerva was slightly disappointed. She had been looking forward to a good harangue. But nevertheless, contrition (or whatever it was in his case) deserved some reward. So she limited punishment to actual punishment.
“In future,” she told him icily, eyes boring into his forehead, “You will keep yourself under your own control and respect others, including their relationships, is that clear?”
He swallowed, knowing the forms he had to follow. “Yes, Mistress,” he said, loudly enough for everybody in the chamber to hear. “In future I will keep myself under my own control and respect others, including their relationships.”
“Good,” she continued, just as icy. “But not good enough. I expect all my employees to know such basic matters of humanity already. The fact that you do not calls into question your own suitability to live in human society. In future you will be judged solely on your actions, not upon your right to be regarded favourably. You will be on half pay for a month, and wear a chastity belt for a week. Undress.”
That he had not been expecting. But terror made the protests die in his throat. Swallowing convulsively, he knelt down to untie his shoes. After a heartbeat’s consideration, Minerva motioned a female lackey forward. Eagerly, the girl jumped to obey.
It may surprise some to learn that a chastity belt for men is possible. Others will already be familiar with its usage. The example which the vibrantly sexual girl strapped around the miscreant’s naked waist was simple but sturdy. A nylon G-string arrangement held a sturdy piece of plastic, a half-pipe curved in a quarter circle and as long as an average penis. Sitting on top of the penis, it prevented an erection from straightening. It had the added advantage that any erection so prevented quickly grew extremely painful. The now thoroughly repentant fornicator, suffering further agonies from the cool, caressing touches of the girl busy at his groin, knew this only too well. He also knew the tell-tale bulge that it would form in his trousers. It was an even bet that he would either learn to change his behaviour, and quickly, or seek alternative employment.
When he was fully dressed, Minerva dismissed him peremptorily. “And dress a little smartly in future!” Minerva snapped after him, “I will not have my employees looking in such a mess!”
The departing man felt the words in the pit of his stomach. It had taken him year to improve his standing, only to see it disappear in one earnest week and one energetic lunch hour. It might take him just as long to regain it.
When the doors had shut, Minerva shook her head slowly. There were times, this being one of them, when the essentially fucked-up nature of the human race made her more depressed than anything that any of her attempts to do anything about it could deal with.
“So what’s the problem with the lady?” She asked, wearily, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose with the gloved fingers of her right hand. Suddenly she stopped that, opened her eyes again, and swiveled them to stare at Charles. He had mastered expressions that made the most expressive silences Minerva had ever heard.
He was, as she had hoped for one moment but not allowed herself to believe, grinning again.
“The lady, Mistress, has been caught, following a two-day investigation by our internal audit committee, in the middle of an efficient but not particularly clever fraud attempt. Had it succeeded, she may have made a profit of up to $50,000 with the help of an external accomplice whom we are currently engaged in extracting retribution from. You will be kept informed of progress in that area.
“The lady’s file, Mistress.” Charles handed a slim folio to Minerva, who read it avidly, an eager sense of anticipation making her tingle deliciously.
Now here was something she could really could get her teeth into, potentially literally. Her attitude towards such matters was also the same: Fuck with her company and you fuck with her. So she’ll fuck with you. Potentially, literally.
She felt like making it literal this time. The most recent photo in the folio showed a stunningly attractive blond, not Minerva’s favourite hair colour but secondary to facial and other features, with well-toned shoulders and arms revealed by her off-the-shoulder Gucci dress which, wrapping her belly and hips snugly, showed an even more enticing body. Just in case anybody was in any doubt, the dress was split up to her waist on the left and she had been carefully posed to make the most of it.
Minerva stared at the exposed leg and felt herself drooling. This really was going to be fun. Particularly with the stamp on page one: “Unattached.” So. This girl had no partner and no dependents. Minerva tossed the folio back to Charles, with a delicious warmth radiating up from her leather-covered cunt to her already tingling nipples.
“Bring the bitch in,” she said, a gloating tone in her voice that made everyone in the room grin in anticipation, even the professionally unflappable guard at the door.
The guard followed practice, though, and waited for Charles’ complicated hand signal before opening the door and making his own signal outside. Charles had been known to try and trip him up by signing “Hello, nice day, isn’t it?” instead of “Bring in the second woman for punishment.” It was Minerva’s maxim: If you do your job properly, nobody can fuck you up except yourself.
The woman brought in had not been well treated by her guards, or by her old colleagues. Minerva selected her employees rigorously and well, choosing not only those who fit in to her very special work environments but also those who agreed with her on certain vital points, one of them being codes of good behaviour. Doing wrong by a colleague was a matter for the people involved, but doing wrong by the entire company, threatening it in any way or attempting to betray any part of it, was dealt with swiftly and harshly.
She had been stripped naked and bound with the most exquisite use of Japanese rope bondage, thick black silken ropes wrapping her pale skin not so tight to make it even paler, but tight enough to make her uncomfortable. Her breasts were encircled by lengths of rope, her neck and back get upright and her arms tied together from elbow to wrist behind her back. Her legs were left unencumbered so that she could walk, but a length of rope ran between her legs, kept snug by a girdle of rope about her waist, placed carefully but not callously and not quite snugly between her ass cheeks and between her pussy lips, where the silk rubbed distractingly with every step she was forced to take.
She had been crying and the makeup she had been wearing when they came for her had not been removed, so it ran in ugly ribbons of mascara and foundation down her face and neck. Her nipples were erect from fear and advantage had been taken of that to place rings tightly around her breasts just behind the Aureoles, where they were held tightly in place by her flesh bulging in front of them, painful and promising even more pain to come.
Minerva, however, was always in favor of mental humiliation before physical pain. It tended to be so much more effective as an instructional tool. Let her professional dominators and dominatrices wrap and play with and taunt and present her transgressors as best they may, she would break their minds without doing anything more to their bodies, unless it would amuse her to do so. It frequently did, but it was never necessary. Satisfying, sometimes, but never actually necessary.
Minerva sprawled in her throne with her hips thrust forwards, challengingly, as the accountant was hauled to a halt a metre before the throne and thrust roughly to her knees. The floor was carpeted - there was no reason to be needlessly cruel - but it still bought a gasp of pain in anticipation. Clearly, this woman hadn’t needed to be disciplined before. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be necessary again.
Well, that or she could be turned into a harem girl. Maybe there was more potential here than Minerva had first realised…
The Mistress stared at the woman stony-faced, and made a show of asking for her folio from Charles, who whisked it off the bottom of his armful of papers and presented it as though he hadn’t already done so.
“Well,” Minerva said, coldly, as she flicked open the folio with one practiced leather-sheathed finger. “So … Kim. Such a childish name for a woman. Kim. You appear to have aimed beyond your miserable talents, Kim. You and your accomplice. It should have occurred to you that if you hadn’t yet risen higher than your lowly position in accounts, in all of … Three years, that you probably weren’t up to this sort of complicated job. And it was complicated, wasn’t it, Kim? I bet it had you sweating, trying to work out all the details.
“Whatever am I going to do with you? You’re clearly not much use to me in any position of trust and you’re clearly not all that good at accounting, either. We’re going to have to find something for you to do, aren’t we?
“Perhaps something in one of the services, don’t you think? You appear to have had three boyfriends in the time you’ve been with us, along with seven one-night stands, four of them while you were technically dating one of those boyfriends and, I see from the dates, your second and third boyfriends even overlapped. You’ve also made use of our harem men four times, three of them while dating, which breaks the rules. I believe you were informed of this, which is why you haven’t been in the harem in a year and a half. We might fix that. It would, after all, be a shame to waste a body like yours, wouldn’t it?”
The emotions running through Kim’s mind would be hard to catalog and it would take a long time to do so. Chief among them were shock and surprise that they appeared to know so much after her private life, with an ever-present background current of fear turning to stupefying horror at the suggestion that she be turned into one of those bimbo harem slaves. If she hadn’t been gasping in shock, she would have struggled wildly.
In actual fact, Minerva had only been half serious. She wasn’t in favor of enforced indoctrination of slaves, not when there were so many people willing to be slaves without all that added effort. But just sometimes she was tempted. Right now, she was very, very, tempted.
“You haven’t slept with a girl in all those three years, have you? Have you ever, I wonder? You told us during your interview that you weren’t even bi-curious. I wonder: Does that mean you have tried, or that you haven’t even tried to try? Which is it, Kim?”
For a second, Kim could only stare in terror. One of her guards reached down to seize her nipple between thumb and forefinger and tweak it sharply, making her cry out, tears springing to her eyes.
“Answer your Mistress,” the guard told her firmly but not unkindly. “Have you ever slept with a girl?”
“No!” Kim gasped, tears still running down her cheeks. “I haven’t!”
Minerva gave a flick of her fingers to Charles, who read it and relayed it to the door. Within seconds, both of Kim’s male guards were replaced by women, making the expression on the prisoner’s face reach new levels of horror. Merely imagining that something might happen is not nearly as bad as thinking that it probably will happen.
The new guards wore leather briefs more like panties than the shorts of the men and with a zip running from the waist band in front to between their legs. their leather boots ran to just below the knee and had a low heel, designed not to interfere with movement. Their bodies were nearly as muscled as the men, though slimmer, but even so they had breasts to control and they were held by a bra which relied nearly as much upon straps around torsos and over shoulders to contain soft tissue as they did upon cups.
Minerva, seeing the expression upon the prisoners face change, smiled contentedly. There were so many possibilities running through her mind, so many…
She leaned forwards, resting one hand on her knee, letting the arm holding the whip rest upon the elbow so that the whip could swish idly from side to side. She savored the sweating Kim with a confident grin, then turned her head so that she could look at a female lackey.
“Bring in the toolbox,” she said.
At that point, Kim really did start weeping and begging, so Minerva had to order one of the guards to hold her mouth shut.
When the toolbox, an eighteenth century steamer trunk in immaculate condition, arrived, Minerva hesitated over the selection of gags before settling on a wire one. After all, access to that mouth might prove useful.
When Kim saw the gag she started to struggle again, but when Minerva clicked her tongue in exasperation and started to gesture at the guards, she went deathly rigid. In growing despair, she allowed the guards to fit the gag. Two loops of wire were bent into tall hooks that fit into the sides of her mouth, stretching it open enough to take a decent-sized cock. The two loops were joined by a broad strap running around the back of Kim’s head, which was tightened until she gasped in pain, then relaxed only slightly. Her mouth was left gaping wide. She could still make noises, but the fear inspired by the position would be effective in stopping her.
Minerva’s gaze next strayed to her right, past Charles, to where a footstool sat waiting. In a distracted fashion she motioned a lackey to bring it around, and position in front of the kneeling Kim. She motioned to one of the guards, who pushed Kim down until she landed on her breasts on the footstool, her head hanging and her arse presented in the air.
Next out of the box was a blue rubber dildo (the colour amused Minerva) with exaggerated veins and a flat, slightly curved plate on the base. Holding it in her left hand, waving it slightly in front of the even more terrified, quietly sobbing Kim, Minerva fished out a tube of lubricant, hesitated, returned it to its place and retrieved a rather more special tube. It was smaller, because it had a shorter use-by date. Glycerin will do for most occasions, or even Vaseline, but sometimes a little additive is in order.
Minerva almost introduced the lube to Kim, but decided that its effect might be more devastating without forewarning. Instead, she just put a thick smear on the end of the dildo, hesitated in indecision and then held it out to the guard who had obviously, but just slightly, been enjoying the proceedings more.
Not many people know that testosterone is the greatest aphrodisiac, known or otherwise, in the world. It doesn’t play havoc with erectile tissue the way that more famous drugs do, it supercharges the entire physiological system, inducing not a fight or flight response but a fight, flight or fuck response that gets even women, who were so famously let down by that certain other drug but who respond to testosterone being rubbed into the skin. Well, some areas of skin absorb drugs more quickly and, under the circumstances, more appropriately, than others.
Now let’s see how Kim responds to being aroused when she’s terrified and being raped by a woman.
“Just her cunt, I think,” Minerva said to the selected guard who, smirking, had unzipped the slit in the front of her panties and slipped the plate at the base of the dildo inside, settling it comfortably against the softer leather that lined the panties and her skin.
Kim’s head had dropped, still sobbing, until it nearly rested against the ground in front of the footstool, her delicious blond hair pooling beneath her. She moaned even louder as the guard hooked the silk rope out of her pussy, sobbed what might have been begging as she felt the cold lubricant-covered head of the dildo being positioned at her entrance, and then nearly screamed as the guard, smoothly but quickly, shoved it inside her.
The lubricant at the base spread itself back, leaving no resistance to the smooth possession of Kim’s cunt.
The guard quickly settled into a steady, well-paced, smooth and full stroke, letting the dildo pop nearly out each time before ramming it fully back in. Each time it withdrew Kim groaned as if in relief and each time it thrust back in she sobbed. Each time it bottomed out, deep inside her, she had to choke back a small scream. The effort of the guard shifted her back and forth on the footstool, rolling on her breasts.
The testosterone would take a while to work, so Minerva sat back to enjoy the show until then.
It wasn’t long, however, as Kim’s moans began to peter out in resignation and quiet sobbing but before the increased, drugged arousal in her cunt began to make itself felt in her brain, that Minerva began to wonder. Had she really never slept with a girl?
So what would she be like, then?
Minerva was feeling the constraints of the morning, and the lack of sexual release this afternoon, beginning to make her feel frustrated and itchy. She quickly gestured again, making a lackey dash forward with another foot-stool and place it where Minerva indicated, just in front of Kim’s head.
Kim, although just barely, registered this. Her head rose, tear-streaked and jerked back and forwards. Minerva saw the first beginnings of a flush in her cheeks and pounced.
“So you’re beginning to enjoy that, are you?” She asked cheerily, as she brought her legs together and pushed herself upright. “I can see it in your eyes, little slut. I’m glad we found this out about you. It opens up so many extra possibilities.”
Kim wasn’t enjoying it. Not in the slightest. But her body was beginning to. The testosterone in the lubricant, soaking into the long tunnel of her sex, had now made her entire body react, changing her physiological arousal from a helpless fear reaction to a readiness for action. No matter what Kim’s mind might say, Kim’s body was now aroused and arousal meant that sexual stimulation felt sexually good.
While Kim was desperately trying to rationalize the pleasure that she was beginning to feel, to redirect it, to ignore it or to try and blank it out, her body was gathering pace towards satisfaction. Her breasts were flushing, feeling tighter, tingling and her nipples hardening. Her pussy lips were now thicker and puffier, her own lubrication adding to that already there, and her face was flushed and sweaty. At her Mistress’ words she shut her eyes tight and tried to whimper, but it came out as a gargled moan through stretched lips as she lost the desperate battle to deny her own body.
Minerva clapped her hands in delight. “Hear that, people! She’s moaning! Well!”
She spread her legs wide to straddle the footstool and sat down, knees spread to open herself fully. She reached down, grabbed Kim’s hair and jerked her head up, so that she could look her prisoner in the eyes. They were still wet with tears, but also had a wild look of despair in them.
“Oh, do give in, Kim darling. It’s clear you’re enjoying this, so just accept it and be a good little sub slut, okay? In fact!” Minerva reached down to the side of her Y-string and unclipped it, pulling the leather across to reveal her hairless, puffy and wet lips. “Since you’re enjoying yourself so much, you won’t mind participating a little more actively, will you?” She planted her boots, pushed the footstool forwards and pushed Kim’s wide-open mouth down onto her aching sex. “Get to work, slut. If I don’t cum, you don’t get to leave this room.”
She kept her hand on Kim’s head - after all, that blond hair did feel very nice - but it really wasn’t necessary. The new slave was too terrified not to obey, although she almost gagged at the unfamiliar musk of another woman’s arousal and her first efforts were unsure and random.
You would think, wouldn’t you, that a woman with such an active sex life would know what good cunnilingus felt like? Well, maybe Kim hadn’t been paying proper attention. It was a workmanlike performance, but nothing more, interspersed with more frequent gargling gasps and moans as the steady pistoning of the guard’s hips drove her towards orgasm.
Not surprisingly, Kim got there first, losing all rhythm and forgetting about the task to mouth as she shook violently. Minerva slapped her sharply between the shoulder blades. “Bad girl! Did I tell you to stop? Keep going, slut.”
The guard didn’t stop, though.
So Kim climaxed again before her amateurish efforts finally wrung a satisfied scream from her Mistress.
“We’ll have to see what we can do about your abilities, won’t we?” The Mistress purred, cupping the slaves flushed, tear-streaked face in her hands. “But don’t worry. You’ll learn soon enough. The girls in the harem will be only too willing to teach you. Take her away!”