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Entertaining the Master's Guests

For Jessica Elwood (jessicaelwood.deviantart.com)

By the Muse of Caprice and Whimsy (mocaw.deviantart.com)

Disclaimer: The 'Jessica Elwood' fursona and its distinctive likeness is the property of Jessica Elwood and is used with permission from the creator. Everything else, including the Starlight setting, the characters, and their distinctive likenesses are the property of the MoCaW and may not be used without prior consent. This story may be distributed freely as long as it is distributed in its entirety without editing, and with this disclaimer block intact. In other words: please give credit where it is due, it's the decent thing to do. Thanks.

Note: this story contains BDSM themes, including but not limited to: master/slave play, whips, bondage, and abuse. You have been warned. If you read on and are offended, not my fault, okay?

* * * * *

'Come now,' Christine Hawkins said, smiling graciously as she and the ladies in their taffeta evening gowns filed out of the dining hall of Hawkins Manor. 'Why don't we go into the parlor for some tea, and let the men smoke their nasty old cigars and drink their horrid brandy and tell boring old war stories together until they're all bored to tears? I've got some lovely crackers from Bifrost dipped in Evangeline chocolate, that you've just got to try with Darjeeling tea, Annabel, it's the most lovely combination.'

'That sounds wonderful! My complements to your chef, Lord Hawkins, the dinner was absolutely delightful,' Annabel Pippin raved, 'and your serving staff, so elegant, so well-trained! I rather envy you your head maid, too, such a delightful creature, that Jessica.'

'Yes, delightful,' I murmured distractedly. 'May I steal my wife away from you for a moment, Lady Pippin?'

'But certainly,' the chubby, red-faced, mother-hennish old biddy crooned. 'I'll just nip on ahead to the parlor. Yoohoo! Lady Jericho, such a lovely dress, you must give me the name of your tailor. . .' Her high-pitched nattering blended into the muffled hubbub of the guests as they made their way to the parlor. I tugged at my wife's sleeve and led her to the corner, where we put our heads together and spoke in quiet, hushed tones.

'Jessica?' I asked.

'Jessica,' my wife confirmed. 'Be extra hard on her tonight, dear, she left the feather duster on the mantelpiece in the Great Hall after she finished her dusting today. If I hadn't noticed it, I don't know what would have happened.'

'I'll do that. Good night, Mrs. Hawkins.' I gave Christine a soft peck on the cheek and turned to the white-furred Cayan girl carefully clearing the plates from the table. Her hands were shaking, I saw, and her tail was low and still with apprehension, her pointed catlike ears drooping. I heard the fork clattering as she passed the dishes to the scullery girl, who looked slightly green with fear. Only Veronica (Christine's personal maidservant) seemed relaxed, even smug, as she took the tea tray into the parlor, her red fox-tail swishing back and forth perkily, a cruel little smile on her vulpine lips. Straightening my ascot, I walked up to Jessica, leaned over, and whispered five words into her ear.

'Wait ten minutes, then come up.'

Jessica shivered, but nodded in reply. 'Yes, Master,' she said meekly. The scullery maid breathed a sigh of relief, then looked up at me with a flash of sudden terror that I might change my mind. I ignored her. I would deal with her impertinence tomorrow morning at breakfast.

There was a slight spring in my step as I took the stairs two at a time, made my way to the upstairs study where the other male guests were already sitting down for brandy and cigars. 'Jonathan!' Alistair Brookside called out, as I entered. 'Glad you could join us. So, when does the special entertainment arrive?'

'Shut up!' I snapped, and the room went silent. Closing the door, I walked up to Alistair Brookside and jabbed my finger into his chest. 'Rule number one: no one says a WORD about what goes on in this room until the door is closed and locked, remember? Or there will be one less person on my guest list for my next party.'

'Hey, hey, hey, no big deal, can't blame a guy for getting excited, right?' Alistair said disarmingly raising his hands in supplication. I let him be, walked over to the wall sconce, turned out the lights so that the room was darkened except for the soft glow of the flickering candles in the wall sconce. The others were already leaning back in their chairs, loosening the belts of their smoking jackets, saying a soft word to their manservants for such and such a tool or preparation. Meanwhile, I opened up the locked cabinet with the key I kept around my neck, undid the hidden latch, and laid the contents of the drawers out on my bed. I didn't trust anyone else to set up the chains or the manacles, so I arranged them all myself, then sat down in my favorite chair (the one closest to the fire) to await the arrival of our special guest.

I had a feeling that the wives of my distinguished guests knew suspected about the sort of thing that went on in my study after our banquets, but if they knew, they pretended not to. Probably, they were simply relieved that their husbands were able to take out these unnatural desires in my study than in their own bedrooms, with their own wives. Even so, it was important to maintain a semblance of decorum: the Victorian sentiment was such that discretion was more important than honesty, and so as long as what happened behind my locked door stayed behind that locked door, most of the ladies would be content with my butler Adelbert's vague assertion that 'Mister Hawkins and his guests are not to be disturbed at the moment, but I shall pass the message on to them.'

We heard the first footsteps just as the clock struck eight, heard the hidden latch opened just as the old grandfather clock tolled out its last basso profundo knell. The hidden panel at the back of my dresser opened, revealing a narrow stairway that led down into the servant's chambers. A slender, white-furred figure stepped through the secret doorway, slid the door closed behind her, walked into the center of the circle of men in expensive suits smoking fine cigars, knelt before me. Her skirt was so short that the movement exposed her black lace panties for all to see, and I heard Lord Featherstone and Baron Warwick murmur appreciatively at the sight of that pert, round ass filling out those little lace panties. 'What is your bidding, Master?' Jessica said softly, her eyes downcast.

I extended my left hand with the bird-and-tree signet ring to her, and she pressed her lips to it tentatively. 'Jessica,' I said softly. 'These are my guests, Lord Featherstone, Baron Warwick, and Colonel Montgomery. You already know Lord Alistair Brookside.' The other four men murmured their hellos as Jessica gave each of them a respectful curtsey, still trembling with barely controlled terror. 'My guests are in need of some entertainment tonight,' I said, resting my cheek against my knuckles. 'Take off your clothes.'

Jessica nodded, and her hands shook as she undid the cameo pin at her throat and slid her scarlet cravat out of her starched white collar. Her fingers fumbled at the buttons of her dress, undid them down to her navel, and only then realized that she'd forgotten to untie her apron. She reached behind her back and started fumbling with the white cloth, took hold of the wrong end of the bow, accidentally left it tied in a tight knot, began to struggle with the tangled cloth and try to get it free. 'Oh, for crying out loud, we'll be here all night,' Alistair sighed, and he got out of his chair, grabbed Jessica around her waist, started tugging her apron off over her head. 'Just grab it and. . .'

'Alistair, sit down!' I snapped. 'That's two strikes, on three, you can go home.'

'I'm just trying to. . .'

'This isn't some whore-game, Alistair, this is different. It's like a ritual, you have to do it properly, or it'll all go wrong,' I retorted. 'Now sit down.'

Alistair raised his hands in supplication, took his seat again. Jessica had slumped to her knees the moment he let go of her, and she was tugging lightly at the knotted apron, trying to get it free. I sighed. 'Jessica, come here,' I said, patting my knee.

'Yes, Master,' Jessica stood, walked to my side, stood in front of my chair with her hands clasped nervously in front of her. 'Turn around,' I said, waited for her to do so. Taking the folding knife from my pocket, I cut through the tangled apron stays, threw the ruined garment into the fire. 'You'll make up for that later,' I said sternly. 'Now finish stripping.'

She nodded in reply when she should have said, 'Yes, Master,' but I was feeling a little lenient that night and decided to ignore it. She finished unbuttoning her dress and laid it on my desk, then undid her bra and laid that aside too, so that her full, luscious breasts with their pretty little pink nipples were bare for all of us to see. She slipped a finger inside her boots, turned to me hesitantly, saw me nod, and took those off as well. Her lacy black garter belt and stockings came off next, and then, last of all, those tight black lace panties that hugged her hips so delectably well, so that her voluptuous body was now naked except for the heavy black leather collar she wore around her neck.

'Now kneel,' I said, and she sat down in the middle of the circle, her eyes downcast, shivering with the cold and her own fear, those pretty green eyes growing blank and distant, knowing what was to come. I glanced around the circle and nodded to Lord Featherstone, who stood, turned to his valet, and took a heavy leather flogger from the silver tray.

'Any limits?' Lord Featherstone asked, taking off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves.

'Nothing permanent,' I replied, pouring another glass of brandy. 'She's valuable to me, I need her in working condition for tomorrow.'

'Right, then. Here goes.' Lord Featherstone, the King's Exchequer, the top financial authority in the country, stepped into the middle of the circle, his ruddy, round face huffing and puffing with exertion. 'On your hands and knees, slut,' he growled, and when Jessica hesitated, he brought the flogger down hard across her back. Fifteen heavy leather straps weighted with iron beads thumped into her flesh, left angry red welts rising against her snowy-white skin. Jessica winced in pain and dropped to all fours, tears running down her cheeks. 'That's better,' Lord Featherstone acknowledged. 'Now start counting.' He swung the flogger again, this time across her perky ass, and Jessica screamed at that, arched her back in pain.

Sni-CRACK! 'ONE!' she wailed.

Sni-CRACK! 'TWO!'

Sni-CRACK! 'THREE!'

At 'Eight,' she began to sob, her shoulders shaking with every breath as the tears flowed freely. At 'Thirteen,' her arms lost their strength, and she slumped face-first into the carpet, her ass perked up high. By 'Twenty,' her voice had softened to a ragged whisper, made harsh by her tears, and by the time Lord Featherstone stopped at 'Twenty-six,' some of her welts had started to bleed a little. 'My God, but that was a work-out,' Lord Featherstone huffed, taking an embroidered handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket and mopping at his sweat. 'Someone else have a go at her, I'm bushed.'

'That's because you were never in the military, old chap,' Colonel Montgomery said, slapping his riding crop against his hand. 'That's where you learn how to administer a proper flogging, old chum, when you've got a derelict private up in the stocks in need of a good lesson.' He nodded to his valet, who raised Jessica roughly to her feet and bound her wrists in the manacles hanging from the ceiling while the Colonel tried a few practice swings with the riding crop. 'Right then,' he said, once Jessica was strung up in her chains like a piece of meat, 'No need to say anything, I know how to count myself, you little whore,' and with that greeting, he began to flog the helpless girl mercilessly with his riding crop, beating her across the back, her breasts, her stomach, and her ass. She was screaming again within minutes, her body covered in welts from her beating, the chains jangling as she jerked and spasmed with every blow. I took another sip of brandy, noted off-handedly that Alistair's eyes were bright with excitement and that he had already undone his fly and was stroking his erect cock slowly with his hand. Colonel Montgomery didn't stop until a full three minutes had passed, and then he tossed the riding crop smartly into the air and caught it, sat back down and took a deep drink of water. 'Right, that's the way you do it,' he said with obvious satisfaction. 'That'll teach the most ornery private that it doesn't do to slack off, not in this man's army.'

'Which would be appropriate if she were a raw recruit in a uniform, but she's not,' Baron Warwick noted in his smooth, silky, serpentine voice. He had been studying an assortment of metallic devices in a black suitcase held by his manservant, chose three and plucked them from their loops of purple velvet. 'This is a whore, and as such, there are certain differences you must keep in mind. Observe.' He stood up from his chair and walked to where Jessica hung limply in her bonds, undid the latch on the clamp and clipped it firmly to her erect, pink nipple. 'The breasts, nipples, and areolas are particularly sensitive, he explained, clipping a second clamp to her other nipple and joining the two with a thin silver chain, 'and so a little pain there can be multiplied manifold in the subject's perception.' Jessica began to stir as he clipped a second chain to the middle of the one linking her nipple clamps, ran it down over her stomach to her sex. 'The most sensitive portion of a woman's body is, of course, the clitoris, and one should also take advantage of that fact.'

He affixed a third, larger clamp to her sex, looped the chain through its ring, and attached a weight to the whole assembly. 'The pain should soon become unbearable,' he murmured, watching as beads of sweat began to appear on Jessica's forehead, her face flushed with the feverish heat of her pain and arousal, 'but unlike your crude beatings, this is a lingering pain that will continue on for much longer, that will not be as easily adapted to. Note that the slightest movement;' (and here he tugged at the chain, making Jessica whimper and recoil from pain) 'can cause a sudden new sensation of pain in the subject. And then, of course, you can heighten the experience by applying heat and cold.' He took a candle from the wall sconce and an ice cube from his water glass, began alternating between dripping hot red wax over the girl's breasts and running the ice cube over her back, her thighs, and her sex. 'She responds to the heat and cold, and her body movements create new sensations of pain in the process,' he explained. 'Every movement is a torture, every little sensation is an agony. And this is how you deal with a whore,' he concluded.

'Wrong.'

I glanced over at Alistair Brookside, who was yawning and looking at his watch. 'You have something to add, Alistair?' I asked.

'Well, all this is fun and all, but you're all forgetting that this is just the salad and the soup course,' Alistair said. 'Women are for fucking and filling up with cum. That's the main course, and the whole point of the dinner.' He stood up and unhooked the chains from Jessica's shackles, and the girl fell to the ground whimpering in pain and fear.

'Bon Appetit,' he said, turning her onto her back.

She whimpered and made a move to defend herself, but she didn't try too hard: I'd taught her a lesson with the cane a long time ago after an incident where she'd tried to refuse him and scratched his face in the process. My friend grabbed her wrists and pinned them to the ground, spread her pretty legs apart with brutal force, and entered her hard, the weight of his body bearing down upon the clamps on her nipples and pussy and sending fresh waves of pain shooting through her. She bit back a scream at that, knowing the kinds of punishments that awaited her if her cries hurt my friend's ears, just closed her eyes and turned her face aside and cried, heavy sobs racking her beautiful, white-furred body as the other three guests took off their clothes. 'Turn her over, Alistair, I want to fuck her ass,' Baron Warwick said. Alistair turned over onto his back, grinning as the olive-skinned physician tugged Jessica's tail aside, lubricated her tailhole with a small amount of Vaseline, and plunged his cock into her tight little asshole.

Colonel Montgomery and Lord Featherstone were having a quiet argument in the corner, but soon came to some agreement. They went to either side of the tearful young girl, said something softly in her ear, and so she reached out and took hold of their erect cocks and began to stroke them slowly, but expertly. She took Lord Featherstone into her mouth first, then moved over to Colonel Montgomery for a time, and then went back to the Exchequer, all the while being fucked by Alistair and buggered by Baron Warwick simulataneously. I poured the last of the brandy into my glass, shaking the decanter to get at every drop, took another sip just as Baron Warwick moaned in pleasure and pulled his cock out of Jessica's tight ass, spurting hot white cum all over her back and ass. The Colonel and Lord Featherstone came almost simultaneously a few minutes later, cumming all over her open mouth, her face, and her breasts. They sat back down in their chairs fanning themselves with their magazines as Alistair finished up with a great deal of grunting and moaning, finally pulling his cock out of Jessica's tight, pink pussy and spurting his seed over her breasts, stomach, and sex. Finally spent, he returned to his chair and gulped down an entire glass of water, muttering, 'Oh yeah, that's it, take it like a whore.'

There was a knock at the door: three quick raps followed by three slow knocks. Gesturing to the guests to remain in their chairs as I was the only one still dressed, I undid the latch and opened it a bare inch. The hallway was empty except for my butler, Adelbert Clef. 'Veronica says that the ladies have just about exhausted their supply of gossip and chocolate-covered biscuits,' he explained. 'We had best be finishing up.'

'We're done anyway,' I explained, 'but thank you.' I turned on the lights again as the others got dressed, ignoring the tear-streaked, cum-stained young cayan girl lying in the middle of my room. 'Well, it looks like that will be it for tonight, gentlemen. Thank you for coming.'

'Oh, but of course.'

'Good show, Jonathan, good show.'

'Best time I've had in weeks, you simply must bring Jessica to next month's picnic, Prince Helmut will simply love to make her acquaintance.'

'Hey, any chance to fuck Jessica is a good thing by me.' That last one was Alistair, who also took a moment to try and convince me yet again to loan her to him for a month while he went on holiday. I deflected his inquiries by pleading ill health, closed the door behind them, waited for the footsteps to fade away. Downstairs, I knew, Christine would be spinning some lie about how I had suddenly taken ill and had decided to go to bed early, and the ladies would be making sympathetic noises, but upstairs, there was a naked, cum-soaked cayan girl laying on the carpet.

And that was just too good to pass up, even for matters of etiquette.

She was using her handkerchief to try and clean the cum from her breasts and body when I turned back into the room. 'No, don't' I said. 'Leave it there.' It excited me to see her covered with the seed of other men, exhausted and raw from her ordeal. I stripped naked and climbed into bed, then patted the mattress next to me. 'Come here, Jessica,' I said, in a not unkind voice. 'Come here.'

She smiled at that, climbed into bed next to me, hugged me tightly around the waist and rested her cum-soaked cheek on my shoulder. 'I did good, Master?' she asked. 'Jessica was a good girl?'

'Jessica was a very good girl,' I affirmed. 'And she deserves a reward.' I kissed each of the whip marks on her lovely body, unheeding of the salty taste of my friends' semen, or the more metallic taste of the specks of blood that the beatings had drawn. Jessica's frightened eyes softened into an expression of contentment with each kiss, the tension draining from her tired flesh with every touch of my hands. I stroked her slowly, easing the pleasure from her lovely body, letting myself linger over her full white breasts with their soft, mouselike fur, the smoothness of her taut tummy, the curves of her thighs.

She was moaning by the time I reached her sex, her body limp with pleasure, and her eyes were filled with love and delight as I bowed my head low over her pink folds and stroked them expertly with my tongue. I worked her there for a long time until she was shivering and tense, her toes curling with the imminence of her release, then I pulled away and let her come down again, ignored her pleas for me to finish, pinned her wrists behind her back so that she couldn't pleasure herself with her fingers. I did that again, and again, and again until she was nearly mad with the need to cum, and still I didn't let her orgasm, but turned her over onto her side, made her lift her leg and put her arm around my neck, entered her slowly from behind, millimeter by millimeter, savoring every moment of my entry into her hot sex, grabbing her breasts and squeezing them tightly. She came almost right away, like I wanted, but I kept fucking her until she was swooning from orgasm after orgasm, nearly blinded by the force of her pleasure, and only then did I cum: inside her pussy, where only I was allowed to shoot my seed, deep inside her hot, tight womb, so much cum that it filled her to overflowing and dripped from her pretty pussy.

Afterwards, we lounged in the bed together in a tender embrace, exchanging gentle kisses. 'Do you think your wife knows?' she whispered, after a long pause.

'Maybe. But if so, she doesn't care.' I kissed her again, on the lips this time, a tender, loving kiss tinged with passion, the kind I never gave to Christine. 'She gets to be Lady Hawkins, and that's mostly what matters for her. As long as she has that, she barely seems to care who shares my bed.'

'She gets to be Lady Hawkins. . . then who am I?' Jessica wondered.

I smiled and turned her onto her back, propped myself up so that I was on top of her, gazing into those beautiful grass-green eyes. 'You're my slave,' I said, 'and my kitten. And that is all that matters to me.'

She smiled back, then, and kissed me, and we fell asleep in each others' arms until the sun came up again.