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.
Prudence Harrington had been the one to let slip that Deborah’s husband, Charles, was having an affair. Had it been anyone else maybe Deborah’s reaction would have been different. But because it was Prudence, a woman who obviously hated her and tried to sabotage her at every turn, Deborah had not over-reacted. In fact, she had not reacted at all; she had been frozen in indecision.
To make a big deal out of this news and possibly begin divorce proceedings against her husband would play right into Prudence’s hand. In the end, she decided to do nothing. She refused to give that bitch the satisfaction of making her leave the Harrington fold, and the life she had been living the past thirty-five years was extravagant beyond her wildest dreams. Not only did she enjoy the finer things in life, but her philanthropic work was very important to her, and the Harrington name opened many doors.
No, she would not give it all up because her husband, who she rarely spent time with in private any more, couldn’t keep his cock in his pants. Good for him, in fact. Maybe she should get a little action on the side, too! Maybe that young man, Raymond, who’d been hired on at the stables would satisfy her needs. He’d been more than attentive to her when she had last gone down there to ride.
She knew that was only a fantasy, though, but what a fantasy it was. She lay alone in bed at night thinking about the man, his broad shoulders and muscular build. Once she had allowed herself to think such thoughts, her dreams were rife with lust. But the brief respite from her emotions was cut short when she learned that Charles had moved his whore into the basement of the mansion. That was going too far!
After seeing her husband and that ass of a brother, Buster, drive off one day, Deborah went to the stairs leading to the basement. Opening the door, she listened but heard nothing. What was the woman doing down there? As she made her way down the stairs she began to hear soft noises. A clink of something metal, a scrape of something, and… humming. The woman was humming.
As she approached the last steps she stooped down, her body still in the shadows of the stairwell, to peek into the large basement room. There were few lights in the room, but there were enough to see the large wooden frames standing around the perimeter, and several tables and benches sitting on the stone floor. Deborah’s first thought was that Charles had built an elaborate set for some sort of a horror movie, but that just seemed ridiculous! Hanging on the walls were chains, and long bars, and handles with long strips of leather hanging from them. She even saw some riding crops on a table, along with a couple of wide wooden paddles. What the hell was he up to? What was all of this stuff?
Deborah nearly lost her grip on the rail she held when the little blonde tramp entered her field of view, nudging an old wooden bucket on the floor ahead of her. Quietly, she retreated one step up and stooped lower to peek out. Amy was on her hands and knees, washing the stone floor. What surprised her most was that the woman was naked except for leather cuffs on her wrists and ankles, and a wide leather band around her neck. To this band was locked a heavy iron chain.
As Amy worked her way further into the center of the room, Deborah got a better look at the woman. Her previous plans of confronting ‘the other woman’ were immediately dashed when she saw the dark red lines across her back, ass, and legs. Even the soles of her feet were lined with red and purple welts. Confused now as to what she should do, Deborah stood silently in the stairwell, transfixed by the sight before her.
This woman had obviously been horribly tortured, and just as obvious was who must have been responsible. Leaning against the wall for support, Deborah felt as though she was going to faint. The ramifications of what she was seeing were devastating. Kidnapping, physical abuse, surely mental abuse, most likely rape… if the press got a hold of this… worse, Charles could go to prison!
When Amy extended her arm to dip the large orange sponge into the bucket of water, Deborah noticed a pink elastic armband surrounding her upper arm. Attached to that band was a small MP3 player, little pink cords coming from it ran up under her shoulder length blonde hair to her ears. Her head moved back and forth as her humming got louder, her hand came up and squeezed the sponge in time with the music only she could hear, sending little gushes of soapy water splashing down onto the floor.
Now the young woman softly sung the words to the song she was listening to. It was not one that Deborah knew and sounded like the music of the younger generation. But what struck the older woman was the happiness in the voice, and the actions, of the bound and battered girl. She seemed quite happy to be on her hands and knees scrubbing the cold stone floor. Her little bare ass swung gently back and forth as she put her muscles behind her work. When her legs parted, her shaven pussy was visible, along with several silver rings that adorned her labia.
As quietly as she had come down the stairs, Deborah ascended them, more confused than angry now. The abuse that was evident on the girl’s flesh was unacceptable, and for the sake of her own future she had to find a way of preventing Charles from doing that again.
Later that day she told her husband that if his whore was going to be in the house that she would be required to work, not just lounge in the basement. She also demanded that his brother, Buster, not visit the house so often. Charles was surprised and somewhat leery of his wife’s demands, but consented to avoid a confrontation over his slave. Although he had no need for Deborah in the bedroom, he had come to rely heavily on her as a sounding board for many of the decisions he made daily. She had a quick and logical mind, an astounding memory, and seemed able to grasp the complexities of the interactions between the various family enterprises. Since that idiot, Prudence, had opened her big trap, Charles had feared an appearance by Deb’s attorney. Now, it seemed, he could breathe a little easier.
“Keep the new girl busy, Laurel,” Deborah had instructed her head housekeeper a few days later.
The young woman who oversaw the entire domestic staff of the mansion searched her employer’s face for the anger she must be feeling, but found none. Rumors in the house concerning Mr. Harrington were proven to be true when he had approached her with the girl earlier in the day and told her to make use of her however she wished.
“And don’t hesitate to give her the jobs everyone else hates to do,” Deborah had added.
Now Laurel saw a smirk on Deborah’s face and understood. “Yes, Ma’am,” she replied and went in search of the little home-wrecker. She had some especially nasty jobs that she’d been putting off assigning anyone, but now they would finally be addressed.
But if Deborah’s plan was to make her husband’s mistress want to leave, her actions caused the opposite to occur. Much to her surprise, the woman showed no intention of leaving. Laurel’s reports were even more disconcerting as it appeared Amy had ingratiated herself with most of the staff in a relatively short time with her humility and hard work.
Curious now, Deborah began keeping an eye on the young woman herself, and it wasn’t long before even she was impressed. Of course she couldn’t let that be known, and whenever she came across the girl she would issue commands in the roughest voice she could muster.
This became a game to her, a distraction from the heavy burden of duties that came with being the wife of a multi-millionaire. And the more she engaged in her game, the more she enjoyed it, and the more she began to like this little submissive blonde. Her fantasies had even strayed from the tanned muscular ranch hand, to the sexy slave girl.
There was no doubt that Charles was using Amy for sex. As she approached fifty, Deborah hadn’t felt the desire to make love to her busy husband for some time. But that didn’t mean she didn’t still have needs. Most of these needs were satisfied in the privacy of her own bed with the use of a vibrator and fantasies involving Raymond; scantily clad and perspiring under the hot noon day sun.
But Amy… the little whore… so demure, so alluring in her submissiveness, so… so fucking sexy… Deborah found herself thinking of the pretty young woman at night when she was alone in her large, soft bed. Where did Amy sleep, with Charles? Did she have her collar on, and those black leather cuffs around her wrists and ankles? Did Charles bind her, spread eagle, to his bed and then fuck her? Or did he beat her first with one of those leather strapped… whips?
Deborah’s mind whirled with images of her husband standing at the foot of his large four-poster bed and raising his hand with this whip in it, and then bringing it crashing down upon the woman’s hairless crotch. Was she gagged so that the noise would not be heard in the house? Yes, most assuredly she was gagged. She would be screaming behind the gag… and crying… begging for the abuse to stop.
It didn’t take long for her husband’s role in this fantasy to become her own. It was she who held what she learned was called a ‘flogger’, bringing it down so that the strands smacked smartly upon the sweat soaked skin of the girl’s cunt. The bound beauty would lurch in her bondage, but the ropes connecting her cuffs to the bedposts would hold her in place.
“Please, Miss,” she would cry out. “I’m begging you…”
“You want me to stop, whore?”
“Yes, Miss, please! Please, no more!”
“You will pleasure me then!” she growled in her fantasy, her fingers straying down to her own pussy beneath the warm bed linens. In her mind she climbed upon the bed and straddled Amy’s head, lowering her sex to the waiting lips below her. Her fingers probed the wet flesh between her legs as she imagined them to be Amy’s tongue. Deeper and deeper the tongue probed her sex, retracting slightly then to lap at her luscious lips, lubricating her flesh with her own juices.
It took a month of such vivid fantasies, and the resulting orgasms, to overcome the extreme embarrassment, recriminations, and denials that came with them. She had always viewed Sapphic relationships as unnatural, but now… her inclinations regarding that orientation were murky. There was no doubt that she was aroused by these thoughts, but did they extend to all women, or only to this one woman? It didn’t matter, for she was only interested in this one woman.
As the months passed, Deborah’s fantasies expanded. She found that her orgasms were heightened when her nocturnal journeys of lust included bondage. Bolstered by hours of browsing the subject on the Internet, she began to imagine more and more complex scenarios. Occasional trips to the basement ‘dungeon’ when she could slip down there unobserved allowed her to peruse her husband’s collection of equipment, as well.
When her husband had unexpectedly passed away, Deborah had been in a fog for the first few days. Going through the motions, aided by her attorney, she had made all of the arrangements for the wake and the funeral. It had been exhausting, but at the end of each day she returned to her usual evening routine, and allowed Amy to serve her tea before the girl would normally head off to be with… Charles.
But now Charles was gone. She, instead, sent the girl across the hall to one of the spare bedrooms to sleep.
Amy Jackson, personal slave of the recently deceased Mrs. Deborah Harrington, shifted uncomfortably in her chair. The reading of her Mistress’ Last Will and Testament had just entered its fourth hour, excluding the hour break that had been taken earlier. Her fanny hurt so; she felt that a good and decent spanking would have been preferable to sitting on that chair for another minute.
Who could imagine the possessions a rich person could have?! Amy knew her Mistress had been wealthy, having inherited nearly everything from her husband after his passing, but she never realized just how wealthy. She didn’t understand much of what was going on, as it was mostly about controlling stocks and Directorships on Boards, but it seemed pretty important and all very legal.
Legal, ugh! Amy felt a twinge of unease at the word. It all seemed like another world to her now, but she had been a young, unpaid intern at the Law Offices of Whitney Barnes and Associates when Charles Harrington had swept in to meet with her boss, Stewart Smythe. When it got late and Mr. Harrington suggested they continue their discussion over dinner, Amy was shocked to find herself included in the group.
To her credit, she had tried to beg out of it, claiming she had other plans, but Mr. Smythe insisted she accompany them. Mr. Harrington even commented that he thought she was ‘very cute’, making her blush several shades of red, and that he found it refreshing that someone would actually turn down an invitation to dine with him. Like he was so special! The arrogance!
Mr. Harrington had been a highly entertaining dinner companion, though, and the meal itself was like nothing the young legal-aide had ever experienced. Some business was discussed, of course, but for the most part Mr. Harrington dominated the conversation.
It had taken less than three weeks for Mr. Harrington to dominate her, and put an end to her interest in law. His law would become her only concern.
Looking back on it now, Amy felt torn by her decisions. Part of her wished she had just steered clear of the man. He was married, after all, and she had no business seeing him, dating him, or fucking him. But she had felt drawn to him, to his power, and to his domineering ways. The bondage he introduced her to seemed to flow naturally into their relationship. He already held her heart and her mind captive, why not her body as well?
And she had come to crave the feeling of being at his mercy, of allowing him to bind her and use her as he wished. It made her feel special. She was his toy and she loved it. His dominance in the world of kink was just as strong as in the world of business. Although they had started out simply play-acting as Master and slave, it wasn’t long before their roles had become much more than that.
But after only four years of service to her Master, he was gone. The pain in Amy’s rear end was forgotten as memories of those early times as Mrs. Harrington’s slave flooded her mind.
If there was one time in her life that Amy thought about more than any other, it was the night she kissed her Mistress’ shoes for the first time, and what happened afterwards. The sequence played through her mind as if in slow motion, the emotions she felt at the time becoming her emotions as she thought about it now.
How utterly lost she had felt, much like the feeling of desolation she felt as she sat and listened to her Mistress’ wishes as they were read off by Mr. Lancaster. Her Master was dead, and she had nowhere really to go. She didn’t draw a salary at His mansion, merely served His needs and performed certain domestic duties. Each day, after His passing, she imagined would be her last and the new Mistress of the Manor would finally toss her out. But one day had passed and then another and another, and Mrs. Harrington had not only allowed her to stay, but had kept her surprisingly close at hand.
When she had served her evening tea that night at the end of the first week, and Mrs. Harrington had asked to whom she had belonged the previous week, she had whispered in reply, “to your husband, Ma’am.” Even now she blushed in shame as she was forced to admit to the woman that she had been intimate with her husband.
Mrs. Harrington’s response had shocked her to the core. “And today I inherited everything he owned.”
At first she didn’t understand what Mrs. Harrington had said. Yes, she knew there had been a big gathering of the family in Master’s large office downstairs, and the rumor among the staff was that nearly everything Master owned was transferred to the Mistress.
But why bring that…. oh… Master owned… me, she thought and knew then what the woman was getting at. She had become the property of Mrs. Harrington.
A maelstrom of thoughts and emotions assaulted her mind. What would Mrs. Harrington do with her? As her property she could do anything, even sell her! Thoughts of the slave auction her Master, and his brother Buster, had taken her to flashed through her mind. It had been done, no doubt, to frighten her, and indeed it had. It appeared that Buster knew many of the auctioneers and they all surrounded her and looked at her teeth and examined her piercings, tugging on them and making her cry. It had been very humiliating, and she had been on her best behavior after that horrible experience.
Her legs felt like rubber and she’d begun to feel quite dizzy. As her eyes were cast downward, she saw the Mistress’s shiny black high heels, and did what came instinctively; she sank down to her knees and bent forward to kiss those lovely shoes.
Expecting to be kicked away, Amy was surprised when the woman turned her foot slightly to give her better access to the side of her shoe, and then back again to direct her kisses along the top. After she had kissed the entire surface of both shoes, Mrs. Harrington pushed her away, stood up, and said, “Go to your bed now,” and walked away towards her bathroom.
Caught by surprise again, Amy watched, mouth agape, as the woman entered her bathroom and closed the door behind her.
Go to my bed? ‘Her’ bed was in a cage down in the dungeon. She’d been using the bedroom across the hall from Mrs. Harrington the last couple of nights, in case her Mistress needed her for anything. But her instructions had been quite clear, and Amy padded off down the stairs to the basement.
It was cold and dark in the dungeon, but Amy was used to that. Master kept her there at night most of the time. Even when he used her in his room at night, he would usually dismiss her at some point and send her off to lock herself away in her cage.
Stripping out of her black and white maid’s uniform, she hung it from a hook and then began to roll the stockings down each leg. Placing them on the floor next to her heels, the naked woman stepped around a short stone wall to sit on the toilet for a moment. Her business done, she knelt down and backed into the small iron-barred cage, pulling the door closed in front of her.
Out of habit, she reached through the bars and picked up the heavy steel lock, looped it through the latch on the outside of the door, and clicked it shut. It had become a nightly routine these past few months, and Amy went through the motions to make her Master happy.
Searching in the darkness for two thin stainless steel chains, Amy found the first and threaded it through her left nipple ring, up through the small ring in her septum, and back down through her right nipple ring. She quickly found the ring sticking up through a slit in her thin mattress and looped the end of the chain through the curved post of the lock that was there. The second thin chain was attached to the same ring, and she struggled briefly in the confines of the cage to thread it through the ring in her clit hood, and then to bring it back to the holding ring where it joined the first chain looped through the lock. The click of the lock sounded loud in the silent room, but comforting at the same time.
She was secured, and that felt good. Yes, good and secure until Mas…
Until Master came for her? Master would not be coming for her. Amy leaned against the side of the cage and allowed her body to relax, her knees coming up against her belly and her torso sinking downwards. She came to rest in an awkward position, yet one she was used to and found very comforting. She thought of her Master, and when the tears began to flow they didn’t stop for a very long time.
It was still dark in the room when Amy awoke some time later. The fullness of her bladder told her she’d been asleep for quite awhile. There were no windows in the dungeon, and no way to tell the time of day. She would simply wait until Mrs… no… until her Mistress came for her.
Her Mistress! She was worried about how her new Mistress would treat her. She was still worried that Mrs. Harrington would send her packing, but her thoughts returned to the previous night when she had allowed her to kiss her shoes. She felt the same arousal begin to build in her that she had felt when her lips touched the fine leather of the shoes.
Then why the butterflies in the tummy when she thought of serving Mrs. Harrington? She was a good slave, trained by her Master to be very pleasing. He had commented on more than one occasion that she was a good little cock-sucker, and she knew she was, too. She enjoyed sucking cock, and being fucked by big cocks, and even taking a nice big cock up her ass.
But that skill was not going to help her now, was it? In the four years she had been with her Master, she had never been required to pleasure a woman! Now the butterflies were moving from her stomach down to her crotch. Normally she would attribute these sensations to the thin chains that continually tugged on her nipples and clit hood. But she felt an arousal that surpassed that normality.
Mrs. Harrington had just turned fifty years old, but she looked to be thirty. Her black hair was still full and lustrous, her body still toned from workouts in the gym and on the tennis courts, her face still… oh God, she was so beautiful it made Amy blush to think that she might be attracted to the older woman.
And now she was her slave! She didn’t know yet what that would entail, but whatever her new Mistress asked of her, she would do, and do with pleasure! Her thoughts were filled with things she might do to please her Mistress, both domestically and sexually. With her heart racing now, she took a deep breath to calm herself.
Just be ready to serve Her however She wishes. Remember to call her Mistress, not Ma’am. Stay quiet unless spoken to. Keep my head bowed when in Her presence.
Thoughts of how she should act began to calm her down, but did nothing to quell the arousal she was feeling. The constant tension of the thin chains on her nipples and clit hood was relentless, countered only by the occasional painful tug on her septum. Any attempt to lessen the strain on her piercings only served to amplify her arousal.
Faint sounds filtered into the darkness around her and then she heard the creak of the door at the top of the stairs somewhere behind her as it opened.
“There’s no one down here, let’s go back,” she heard a female voice whisper.
“How do you know?” came a whispered reply, “where’s the switch?”
“We’re not supposed to be down here,” the first voice warned.
“That was when he was alive, oh, here it is.”
Suddenly the room was awash in light, revealing the Master’s dungeon to the two women.
“Wow… look at all of this stuff!” one of the women gasped as her eyes scanned the vast inventory of bondage gear in the large room.
“Look, there she is!”
The two women ran over to the cage and knelt down next to it. Amy looked up to see Cindy and Jan, two of the women who helped Chef in the kitchen.
“Everyone’s looking for you, Amy!” Jan said as she pulled on the old padlock securing the door to the cage. “Let me have the key so I can open the door.”
“I don’t have the key, Miss,” Amy replied, struggling to get up onto her knees, yet remain hunched over enough so as to not pull on the chains connecting her body to the ring on the floor of the cage. “My Master always brought it with him when he came to collect me.”
Jan turned to her friend and said, “Go get Mrs. Harrington, and tell her what we found.”
Cindy took one more look at the naked woman trapped in the small cage and then ran up the stairs, calling out to Mrs. Harrington when she reached the main level.
Amy kept her head lowered and concentrated on her breathing. The little tugs on the chains had increased with the entrance of the two women, and she fought to remain still, to not let the arousal she was feeling overtake her.
The minutes crept by until the sounds of feet coming down the stairs could be heard and Mrs. Harrington swept through the door. The woman entered the room, followed closely by Cindy, and then by the handyman, Jerry. Jerry held a large bolt cutter in one hand as he sauntered in behind the women.
“Holy shit!” he exclaimed as he took in the sight of the naked woman in the cage.
Deborah crouched down next to the cage and looked in at her new slave. “What are you doing in there, Amy?” she asked.
“You told me to go to my bed, Mistress, and here I am.”
The woman looked at the cage and then grabbed a hold of the lock and pulled. “What if there’d been a fire?” she asked, irritation obvious in her voice. “Christ, Amy, use your head! This isn’t safe.”
Amy looked up at her new Mistress, suddenly frightened by the sternness in her voice.
“I… I apologize, Miss… I only..”
“Silence!” Deborah barked and stood back, turning to her handyman. “Get her out of there, Jerry. You girls, get back to work,” she pointed at the stairs, sending Cindy and Jan scurrying out of the room.
Jerry knelt down in front of the cage and gazed at the naked woman chained inside as he brought the large bolt cutter up to the lock. He’d done a lot of work for Mr. Harrington down here over the years, but Amy had never been present. He knew what most of the stuff in the room was used for, and he couldn’t help but imagine what the young woman must have gone through. Yes, he’d spent many a night thinking about that, masturbating, climaxing at the thoughts of the racks and benches that he had built, and the woman who had been strapped to them.
And now she was inches away, naked and chained. Jerry swallowed hard, and pretended to reposition his stance, but was in fact hiding his hand from Mrs. Harrington’s view as he adjusted his growing erection. His cock stiffened further when he snapped the lock and opened the door.
Now he could see the chains more clearly, and the reason for Amy’s odd position within the small iron cage. Looking up at Mrs. Harrington, his expression asked what she wanted him to do.
Deborah leaned down, placed her hands on the top of cage, and looked in. Reaching down through the bars she grabbed one of the thin silver chains and gently pulled upwards. Amy yelped and quickly turned her head towards Deborah to relieve the pull on her septum. With barely any play in the chain, she felt the chain pulling against her nipple rings, tugging her nipples outward with it.
“No key to this either, I suppose?”
“No, Ma’am, owww… it’s the… same key,” Amy gasped, embarrassed now to have the handyman kneeling in front of her, watching her. He was a large man, even as large as her Master had been, but more solidly built. She glanced over at him and saw the muscles of his arms stretching the thin fabric of the white t-shirt he wore.
Deborah released the chain. “Cut the lock,” she said to Jerry.
Amy shrank back against the bars as Jerry extended his arms into the cage, his meaty hands grasping the handles of the bolt cutters. Both chains resisted her movements, pulling harshly at the rings where they pierced her flesh. It was painful, but a pain that she had inflicted on herself many times in the confines of her cage, a pain she had come to love.
But now was not the time to enjoy the pain! She tried to shut out the wonderful sensations the abuse was sending to her brain, fully conscious that her Mistress was watching her, and knowing how humiliating it would be to have an orgasm in front of her and the handyman. Silly as it sounded, as aroused as she was, she knew it was a definite possibility.
Easing herself down to relieve the pressure, her naked body pressed against Jerry’s arms as he brought them together to snap the lock. She felt his tight muscles against her chest as he worked the bolt cutter, and the jolt as the tool cut through the hardened steel of the lock.
Frazzled, she lay forward onto her elbows as Jerry removed his arms from the cage, her forehead coming to rest on the floor, her breathing heavy.
“Thank you, Jerry,” Deborah said as she used the toe of her shoe to nudge Amy under her arm. “Get yourself cleaned up and get busy with your chores.”
“Yes, Mistress,” Amy replied quietly, still embarrassed to have caused such a commotion in the house, and still trying to recover from the arousal she had barely managed to suppress.
Later that night, when she brought Mistress Deborah her evening tea, Amy was surprised to see that her cage had been moved into her Mistress’ bedroom. She knew at that moment that her Mistress meant to keep her.
End of part 3
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