embarrassment and shame pricked her eyelids as she expelled the enema liquid and her own waste in front of her trainer. At the same time, she couldn’t deny the intense physical relief.
While she was relieving herself, Master John dropped the plastic bag into a utility sink near the shower stalls, stripped his gloves into the trashcan and then moved to the bank of sinks beneath the mirrors. After he’d washed his hands, he returned to Alexis, who was still sitting on the toilet.
Bending toward her, he unclipped the cuffs and removed them from her wrists. “Wipe yourself and take a shower,” he instructed. “I’ll see you in the dining room for lunch.”
~*~
They were in a large, sumptuously furnished room. The wood paneled walls were decorated with oil paintings of Impressionistic landscapes. A large crystal chandelier hung from the high, vaulted ceiling. It could have been any elegantly appointed drawing room, except for the St. Andrew’s crosses flanking either side of a huge stone fireplace. Several flogger and whip handles could be seen protruding from a tall brass umbrella stand.
An end table beside it held an ice bucket, a small propane tank with a torch attached to the top of it and a black velvet pouch.
Alexis was kneeling on a cushion beside six other naked trainees, four women and two men. They were lined up in a row along one wall with a good view of the entire room. Alexis’s ass was still tender from an extended caning session in the dungeon after lunch. She had been cuffed by her wrists to long chains that hung from the ceiling, her arms so high she’d had to stand on tiptoes for the duration of the caning. She had taken quite a beating, moving from the initial resistance to a kind of resigned, exhausted surrender, but without ever achieving the sense of release and peace that continued to remain just out of her grasp, even here at The Compound.
Several staff slaves were kneeling or sitting at the feet of the trainers who lounged on sofas and chairs scattered around the room. Alexis was keenly aware of the presence of Master Paul, who was on a sofa across the room. He was wearing a white shirt opened at the throat and jeans that hugged strong, muscular legs. Though she knew she shouldn’t even be thinking this way, she was glad to note that, unlike many of the trainers scattered throughout the room, there was no one kneeling at his feet, no head resting proprietarily on his knee. Tiffany was kneeling in the row with Alexis, her back ramrod straight, a diamond piercing glinting at her belly button, a matching diamond stud nestled on one side of her pert little nose.
All eyes turned to the open double doors of the drawing room as Mistress Miriam entered the room. She was dressed in a flowing red gown, cut low to reveal a deep cleavage. Master John entered just behind her. He had changed from the black T-shirt and jeans he’d worn earlier in the day, and looked quite sexy in black leather pants and a vest over his muscular chest, which was covered in dark blond curls. Lastly came Wendy, wearing a see-through white shift that barely covered her slender, naked body. Her feet were bare, the gold heart-shaped padlock glinting at her throat.
Mistress Miriam, with Master John and Wendy next to her, stood in front of the fireplace and addressed the room. “We are gathered tonight to witness the branding ceremony of Master John and his slave girl, Wendy.”
Turning to Wendy, Mistress Miriam said, “Slave Wendy, do you choose this permanent branding of your flesh of your own free will?”
Though Alexis thought she saw fear in Wendy’s large gray eyes, her voice was firm as she answered, “Yes, Mistress.”
“And with this brand,” Mistress Miriam continued, “do you promise to love and serve Master John with your heart, body and soul until the time he releases you?”
“Yes, Mistress,” Wendy replied, a radiant smile lighting her face as she gazed up at her Master.
Turning to Master John,
While she was relieving herself, Master John dropped the plastic bag into a utility sink near the shower stalls, stripped his gloves into the trashcan and then moved to the bank of sinks beneath the mirrors. After he’d washed his hands, he returned to Alexis, who was still sitting on the toilet.
Bending toward her, he unclipped the cuffs and removed them from her wrists. “Wipe yourself and take a shower,” he instructed. “I’ll see you in the dining room for lunch.”
~*~
They were in a large, sumptuously furnished room. The wood paneled walls were decorated with oil paintings of Impressionistic landscapes. A large crystal chandelier hung from the high, vaulted ceiling. It could have been any elegantly appointed drawing room, except for the St. Andrew’s crosses flanking either side of a huge stone fireplace. Several flogger and whip handles could be seen protruding from a tall brass umbrella stand.
An end table beside it held an ice bucket, a small propane tank with a torch attached to the top of it and a black velvet pouch.
Alexis was kneeling on a cushion beside six other naked trainees, four women and two men. They were lined up in a row along one wall with a good view of the entire room. Alexis’s ass was still tender from an extended caning session in the dungeon after lunch. She had been cuffed by her wrists to long chains that hung from the ceiling, her arms so high she’d had to stand on tiptoes for the duration of the caning. She had taken quite a beating, moving from the initial resistance to a kind of resigned, exhausted surrender, but without ever achieving the sense of release and peace that continued to remain just out of her grasp, even here at The Compound.
Several staff slaves were kneeling or sitting at the feet of the trainers who lounged on sofas and chairs scattered around the room. Alexis was keenly aware of the presence of Master Paul, who was on a sofa across the room. He was wearing a white shirt opened at the throat and jeans that hugged strong, muscular legs. Though she knew she shouldn’t even be thinking this way, she was glad to note that, unlike many of the trainers scattered throughout the room, there was no one kneeling at his feet, no head resting proprietarily on his knee. Tiffany was kneeling in the row with Alexis, her back ramrod straight, a diamond piercing glinting at her belly button, a matching diamond stud nestled on one side of her pert little nose.
All eyes turned to the open double doors of the drawing room as Mistress Miriam entered the room. She was dressed in a flowing red gown, cut low to reveal a deep cleavage. Master John entered just behind her. He had changed from the black T-shirt and jeans he’d worn earlier in the day, and looked quite sexy in black leather pants and a vest over his muscular chest, which was covered in dark blond curls. Lastly came Wendy, wearing a see-through white shift that barely covered her slender, naked body. Her feet were bare, the gold heart-shaped padlock glinting at her throat.
Mistress Miriam, with Master John and Wendy next to her, stood in front of the fireplace and addressed the room. “We are gathered tonight to witness the branding ceremony of Master John and his slave girl, Wendy.”
Turning to Wendy, Mistress Miriam said, “Slave Wendy, do you choose this permanent branding of your flesh of your own free will?”
Though Alexis thought she saw fear in Wendy’s large gray eyes, her voice was firm as she answered, “Yes, Mistress.”
“And with this brand,” Mistress Miriam continued, “do you promise to love and serve Master John with your heart, body and soul until the time he releases you?”
“Yes, Mistress,” Wendy replied, a radiant smile lighting her face as she gazed up at her Master.
Turning to Master John,
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