Last Will and Testament
Author’s note: I wish to thank my editor and proofer, Jennifer Harrison, for her usual work and for helping with the later portions of this story. Also a special thanks go to a Danish submissive by the name of Joann, who helped me understand the mindset of the main character.
The occupants of the ornate room spoke quietly to one another while a rather distinguished old gentleman, sitting behind a large mahogany desk, methodically sifted through the small bundle of papers he had just removed from his briefcase.
Most of those assembled in the home office of the ‘dearly departed’ wore finely tailored suits and dresses, clearly wealthy and used to the finer things in life. Some glanced at their watches; most likely hoping the reading would start soon and thinking of what they might gain by the end of the day. Others spoke to no one, content to await the reading in silence.
Amy Jackson was one of those sitting in silence. Occupying a seat in the back corner of the room, and feeling completely nervous and out of place in her light summer dress, she wondered why she had even been summoned to the reading. She certainly wasn’t family, as were most of those in attendance, and certainly didn’t expect to gain anything from the death of the Harrington family matriarch. But the attorney behind the desk, Alan Lancester, had instructed her to attend the reading of the Will, and she had obeyed. Thankfully she had found a folding chair to bring in so she could remain secluded behind the others.
The petite blonde closed her eyes and tried to hold back the tears as her thoughts turned to the deceased Mistress of Harrington Manor. Her Mistress. How long had she served her? Doing a quick calculation to divert her attention from the ache in her heart, Amy subtracted twenty-two from fifty-three…thirty-one years.
But no, the first four years she had served her Master, Charles Harrington. It was Deborah Harrington’s husband who she had had an affair with, who had first introduced her to BDSM, and who had enslaved her.
Of course her Master’s wife discovered the affair, but what was she to do about it? Her husband was a very rich and powerful man, and although she was angered by the revelations of the other woman, she soon came to the conclusion that allowing her husband to possess a… a whore, was an acceptable trade for the life of luxury she had become accustomed to. After the affair had been discovered, Charles moved his whore into the mansion, but kept her out of sight in the basement of the enormous mansion, and Deborah hardly gave her another thought.
But eventually Amy had been allowed into the Manor. She was twenty-three at the time, and had been given domestic chores to perform around the large estate when she was not satisfying her Master’s sadistic or sexual needs. A quiet and polite young woman, she tried her best to stay out of the way of her Master’s wife, but of course their paths would cross from time to time. While she loved to serve her Master, she still felt guilty about being “the other woman”, and knew that Mistress Harrington tolerated her only to maintain her own station. That the marriage was one of convenience did not ease her conscience.
The Mistress of the Manor treated her with nothing but disdain, speaking harshly, and ordering her about when their paths happened to cross. Amy complied with every command given to her by the Mistress, hoping to lessen the wrath that she knew she deserved. She was not surprised, then, to be assigned the most labor intensive and dirty jobs in the house.
The contempt with which Deborah treated her with lessened, however, on her twenty-fourth birthday. The memory of that day was as crisp in the grieving woman’s mind as if it had happened yesterday.
She had been tending to her Master’s ropes, that is; laying each length out and carefully bundling them into neat coils that were then placed uniformly on her Master’s table. Upon seeing her Master, Charles, enter the room, Amy immediately crawled to him on her hands and knees and began to nuzzle His crotch with her mouth.
This always pleased Him, as it demonstrated her eagerness to gain access to his cock. And on this day, nothing would have pleased her more than to lower his slacks and suck his wonderful member into her hungry mouth. But instead, she yelped in pain as he struck her with the back of his hand, sending her sprawling onto the cold stone floor.
Stunned, she lay limply while a carabineer was looped through the d-rings on her wrist cuffs. Suddenly aware that her naked body was being hauled upwards by a rope, Amy scrambled to her feet so that her Master would not be required to exert energy to lift her.
Rising higher and higher until only her toes touched the floor, the frightened young woman kept her eyes on the floor below her, not daring to look at the hulk of a man walking slowly around her. As he passed in front of her she could not miss the ends of his long flogger dangling by his leg as he held it in his hand. She was sure he was allowing her to see it for the fear with which she was filled by its presence.
Amy tried to think of what she could’ve done to merit a flogging! There was nothing! She had not angered her Master, nor had she been remiss in performing any of her assigned duties.
Lost in thought, she jumped when she felt the giant of a man behind her, pressing against her backside, his one hand coming around to grip her breast while the other, holding the flogger, ran its rough handle between her legs and lifted it upwards against her sex.
“So, twenty-four years old today, whore,” he growled into her ear.
Not realizing the date, or even her own age, Amy responded respectfully, “Yes, Master, if you say so, Sir.”
“I’m going to give you your birthday spankings now, my little bitch.”
Charles had used that particular flogger on her once before, and the thought of the long leather strands striking her twenty-four times caused Amy’s bladder to release. The sound of her urine dripping onto the hard stone surface below echoed slightly in the quiet room.
“God, you’re fucking disgusting,” her Master had said as he quickly stepped back, pushing her away to swing free until her toes found the floor again.
“I… I apologize, Sir!” Amy cried out, praying her lack of control had not soiled his shoes.
“Fucking women,” she heard him spit, seconds before her back exploded in pain.
The first lash was quickly followed by the second. Her scream had not even left her throat before the third punished her suspended body. Now frantic, Amy pulled on the rope holding her wrists, trying in desperation to avoid the flying leather strands. She turned to see where her Master was but only succeeded in allowing the flogger to strike her viciously across her upper belly and chest.
“Sir! Please…..!” Amy pleaded. “OWWW! Master!”
Awash in pain as the lashes continued to rain down on her, all rational thought of what might have prompted this horrible birthday flogging left her mind as her only real concern was surviving it. Bound as she was, there was no escaping the abuse she was suffering, but her brain still compelled her to try.
A brutal lash caught the helpless slave squarely across her breasts, the next brought a shot of heat around the side of her rib cage. Through the mind numbing pain, a thought flashed through her head.
“RED!” she screamed out. “RED, MASTER! PLEASE! RED!” It was the safe word He had given her when they had first begun to play at being Master and slave. She had never before uttered the word.
The next blow did not land.
“What?” Charles asked, waiting for his whore to calm down.
Amy hung limply by her wrists, sobbing. “Red, Master,” she repeated softly.
The sound of the flogger landing on the floor preceded the vibration of the basement door slamming shut.
A short time later, Amy heard footfalls on the steps.
“Amy?” It was her Master’s wife. “Are you down here?”
The door squeaked as it pivoted on its hinges. “Oh my God! Amy!” The woman rushed into the room. “What has he done to you?!” She tried to lift Amy’s limp body, to unhook the rings on her cuffs from the hook overhead, but was not strong enough to do so.
“No! No! Oh God!” her voice thick with desperation. “How do I….?” She had to let Amy hang again while she ran to untie the rope from the fixture on the wall.
Holding the rope with all her strength, the rough fibers digging painfully into her palms, she let it out to allow Amy to sink slowly to the floor. Once the naked woman was lying on the floor, she ran to her side and knelt down.
“I’m so sorry, Amy!” she cried, tears dripping down her cheeks. “I’m so very sorry!”
Later, Amy learned that her Master and Deborah had been arguing, and her Master had left in a huff. Deborah blamed herself for the abuse Amy had suffered, and felt directly responsible for the beating she had endured. Knowing that the anger her husband felt was being directed not at her, but at his ‘slave’, Deborah tried to avoid such confrontations after that, and her attitude towards the slave changed as well.
Indeed, there were times when the Mistress of the House was quite cordial to her husband’s mistress. And as time went by, Deborah began to enlist the aid of the young servant more and more. During these months, Amy saw not the greedy gold digger some claimed Deborah Harrington to be, but rather a shrewd business woman in her own right; one who worked behind the scenes to bring many of the Harrington projects to their fruition.
Sitting in the office, waiting for the reading of her Mistress’ Will, tears began to flow freely down Amy’s cheeks. Thinking of her past had brought her to the time when the Mistress of the House became her Mistress.
A few days before her twenty-fifth birthday, Charles Harrington had died of a heart attack. The first few days had been hard on her, especially when in the presence of Mrs. Harrington. Even though they had become much closer since her birthday ‘spanking’ the previous year, she still fully expected to be tossed out of the mansion on her rear end at any moment.
But surprisingly she was not thrown out, and if anything, Deborah required her company even more than before. Amy remembered going to Deborah one night at the end of that first week, and setting her tea on the side table as she usually did each evening.
“Will there be anything else, Ma’am?” she had asked, her head bowed as her Master had trained her.
“No dear,” Deborah had replied, “and please refer to me as Mistress.”
“Mistress?” Amy was surprised by this.
“To whom did you belong to last week, dear?” the new Mistress of the House asked as she crossed her shapely legs and leaned back to look at Amy.
Mesmerized by the lovely leg, a black high heel covering her foot, Amy’s mind was sent into a whirlwind. Who did she belong to? Had she actually belonged to her Master? Yes, she could say that he owned her and controlled her in every way. She lived to serve him.
Even though this woman had been quite nice to her recently, Amy was hesitant to say the words, hesitant to bring up her past relationship with Master Charles.
“Well?!” Deborah demanded, harshness now in her voice.
“I… I belonged to your husband, Ma’am… I mean… Mistress,” she quickly corrected herself, a hot blush reddening her cheeks.
“And today I inherited everything he owned.” The words were spoken as a statement of fact.
Understanding now, and nearly overcome with emotion, Amy sank to her knees and began to kiss the shoes of her new Mistress, a move that was not rebuffed by the matriarch of the Harrington dynasty.
A sudden silence in the room stirred Amy out of the cloud of her memories. Everyone was looking towards the old lawyer now, as he had finally looked up from the papers before him and seemed to be making an accounting of those in attendance.
“Very well then,” the man said stiffly. “With all present, we will commence with the reading of the Will of Deborah Anne Porter Harrington.”
The elderly attorney cleared his throat and looked down at the document he held.
“I, Deborah Anne Porter Harrington, being of sound mind do hereby describe my wishes as to the distribution of my properties, holdings, trusts, and personal treasures…”
Amy looked at the occupants of the room as the attorney read more of the preamble to the Will. For the most part, these Harringtons were not nice people. They were grown-up selfish brats that hadn’t really needed to work a day in their pampered lives. They used their money, and their influence, to obtain what they wanted, and they used people in the same manner. Many of them had used her.
The large man sitting to the right of Mr. Lancester’s desk was one of the worst. Bruce ‘Buster’ Harrington was her Master’s brother, and he used to laugh when he had her strapped naked over a sawhorse that he would bust her. Buster. Oh, he would laugh at that. He would force her to laugh at that, too. And then he would use the cane on her ass until she bled.
It was Buster who had soured the beautiful relationship she had enjoyed with her Master. Having spent eight years in Los Angeles, Master’s older sibling had a completely different view of how a slave should be treated.
At first Charles was furious when he discovered that his brother had been abusing her, but soon he found that he became very aroused by watching the sadist beat his whore. After that, it seemed the more harshly she was treated, the more aroused he became.
Her piercings had been Buster’s idea, as well. Nipples, clit hood, and labia, the woman had been systematically pierced for the control each one brought to the brothers.
Her nipples had been the first to be pierced. Charles had not wanted her pierced at all, arguing that the nipple clamps he employed were more painful. But his brother had won him over with the counter argument that nipple rings would never pop off, no matter how much weight was hung from them, or how hard a tug he gave them. Amy remembered the pain she had endured after having the procedure done. The men hadn’t wished to wait for the healing process to run its course, and the torment had begun almost immediately.
The piercing of her septum was done purely for control. There was nothing sexual to be derived from it, but the sheer delight they received from threading a ring through the hole in her nose and leading her around by it was unbelievable. They especially seemed to enjoy connecting her septum to her nipples by way of twine, chain, shoestrings, or anything that was handy.
Sitting in the office now, thinking back to those days, Amy did what she had done so many times since; wonder why she hadn’t left him. What had started out as an affair had slowly evolved onto a consensual Master-slave relationship. She was fine with that, and had found it very erotic to pretend to serve this rich and powerful hulk of a man as his ‘slave’. Charles Harrington reeked of power, and to be so close to him was exciting. She loved the sex, and loved the kinky sex even more. But then it seemed to become distorted, it seemed that her Master wasn’t aroused without first causing her pain. And her wants and desires were pushed aside, and often times forgotten altogether.
Amy wasn’t even listening to the old lawyer now, as the memories of her decisions swirled through her head. She had seriously considered leaving Charles, but to go back to what? She had no life to go back to. And what of the treatment she had endured? This is where it got very dicey for her. The truth was, she enjoyed it, she thrived on it, and she got off on it. Even when her Master forgot her needs, she would take care of them herself when she could.
But even that changed with the addition of her labia and clit hood piercings. Often times used to lock chastity shields to, the piercings were used to control her sexual release. She knew then that he thought of her as his property, to do with as he pleased. Her Master owed so many things! And now he owned a person, a slave girl. Even this made her incredibly horny! Instead of doing what she knew she should, and leave him, she did the opposite, driven by a lust she couldn’t begin to understand.
“Ownership of Harrington Limited, Singapore, being a privately held company, is to be transferred to Mitchell Harrington in its entirety,” Mr. Lancaster was saying. Several of the Harrington clan reached over and clapped a young man on the back and there seemed to be grins all around.
Amy was happy for her Master’s only son by a previous marriage. It came as no surprise to her, as Ma’am had been grooming him for the take-over for the past four years. The Singapore headquarters had become the most important portion of the Harrington’s international holdings and most of the other facilities relied heavily on business going smoothly there.
In fact, none of her Mistress’ choices would come as a surprise, as she had spent considerable energy manipulating her deceased husband’s family into positions that would serve them all well after her passing, even if they were unaware of it.
Several other large chunks of the Harrington empire were sectioned off to various cousins, nephews, and nieces on the Harrington side. Sensing that the empire was dwindling rather quickly before his name had even been mentioned, Bruce Harrington raised an objection to the Will.
“She has no right to split the company up like this!” he protested. “She wasn’t a real Harrington and the companies should remain under one corporate umbrella!” He was obviously worried that he was being cut out of the Will altogether, having a good idea what the old bat thought about him. Several of those present seemed to agree with him, especially his wife, Prudence.
Ah, Prudence. As if on cue, the elderly woman made eye contact with Amy and glared the same icy stare that she always gave her. Amy looked down quickly, not wanting to appear to be looking at her, and wishing now she could become invisible.
It was no secret that Prudence didn’t like her. While at the hospital, with her Mistress on her deathbed, Prudence had made a point of telling Amy that anything she inherited would be contested. Anything.
Thoughts of those weeks in the hospital returned the horrible ache to Amy’s heart. She had sat by her Mistress’ side continually, leaving only when family members visited. During one such visit, Prudence Harrington had overheard Deborah telling Amy not to worry, that she would be taken care of.
Prudence had cornered her that day and accused her of being a free loader and a gold digger, just as they had always accused Deborah. “Don’t you count on being ‘taken care of’, you freeloading lesbian slut,” Prudence had hissed at her. “You’ll get nothing for all of these years of sucking up to the old lady. We’ll see to that!”
Freeloading! Amy had been shocked to be called that. She had nothing. She owned nothing. She lived to serve her Mistress, and her only payment had been the roof over her head, the food in her bowl, and the love of her Mistress.
As always happened whenever she thought of those last days, Amy endured reliving the last hour with her Mistress. Most of the close relatives were in the room, and Amy, knowing her Mistress’ time was near, could not bring herself to leave the room again. Of course she received the icy glare from Prudence, and even Gloria, Prudence’s daughter, had asked her to step outside.
“What’s going on?” Deborah had gathered the strength to ask. “Where’s Amy?”
“Shhh, she’s outside somewhere,” Prudence lied, “just be still, dear.”
“I’m here, Mistress!” Amy blurted out from the back of the room, unable to remain silent while these people lied to her Mistress. She would never imagine she would be brave enough to speak up like that, but with her Mistress so close to death she was not thinking clearly at all.
“Shut up!” Gloria hissed.
“Get out of here, all of you,” Deborah gasped.
“But Deborah, we should be here with…”
“Out!” the dying woman shouted, startling everyone. “Amy!” Deborah called out, her breathing distressed from the effort this was taking.
A nurse passing by heard the commotion and ushered everyone from the room except for Amy, whom the staff had come to admire a great deal.
When the room was quiet, Deborah lifted her hand to reach out for her slave.
“Amy… my Amy, come close, dear.”
“Yes, Mistress,” Amy whispered as she sat in the chair next to the bed and leaned in so her Mistress could touch her. Her hand went to the old lady’s head and straightened her white hair, moving a stray strand away from her beautiful face.
“I love you more than anything on this earth, my dearest slave,” Deborah whispered, her voice faltering with emotion. “I’m so sorry to be leaving you like this.”
“Shhh, Mistress, I’ll be okay, everything will be okay, don’t worry…” she tried her best to sound reassuring while in her heart she was in utter despair. What would she do without her Mistress? Where would she live? How would she live?
These thoughts had crossed her mind over the past several days, and she only hoped that she could find a person, or a family, who wanted a fifty-something maid or servant. Maybe young Master Mitchell would want her to stay. She assumed he would be inheriting his father’s mansion, and most of the staff would probably be retained.
But the young Master was not a boy any more. He had a wife and family, and there wasn’t much chance he would want his father’s old whore in his house. No, Amy was sure she would not be staying on at the mansion.
“I know you’ll be fine, dear,” Deborah whispered. “Come, give your Mistress a kiss.” The old woman tilted her head to present her cheek for her slave’s affection. Amy lowered her head and kissed the wrinkled flesh, and then continued to kiss her Mistress on her chin, and her neck, and then up to her ears, and her forehead.
“Ahhh, that feels nice, slave,” Deborah cooed, “give me what I need now, my darling whore, one last time.”
The command for ‘what she needs’ elicited an immediate response from the submissive and her hand slid under the sheet and down to the hem of the hospital gown. Gently moving the thin fabric aside, her fingers traced a line from Deborah’s hip across and down to her pussy. Flat palmed, she held the woman’s crotch firmly with her entire hand.
“You tease me, whore?” Deborah groaned, “On my deathbed, you tease me? I shall punish you sweetly in the next life when I see you again.”
The tears streamed down Amy’s cheeks now as her fingers slid easily into her Mistress’ slit. Through the tears she smiled and continued to rain kisses upon the face she loved so much, her heart wrenched upon feeling her Mistress’ arousal at her touch below.
“…so good…” Deborah purred, her eyes closed. “You have been a good slave, Amy, and a good friend. Thank you.”
With a beautiful smile of contentment on her face, and a deep exhale; those were her last words.
End of part 1
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