Lost Property Page 3

  “Please, Sir. Next time, could we do it a bit earlier? I’m late for a dinner date,” she whispered.

  Chapter Two

  Kath took a minute to get her breath before she entered the bar. Once she had left Mostyn she had had to go straight back to the Ladies and repair the damage. A quick look to regret the fading belt marks on her back hadn’t been originally intended but had been indulged in anyway. Then she had had a rush to the tube and a crowded carriage to stand in across town, then a scrum to push through on the platform where she alighted and a brisk two hundred yard walk to the bar where Angie, her editor was meeting her. It was pointless trying to hide anything from Angie, she knew her too well, so she didn’t bother with brushing her hair again or anything, just waited till she felt a bit more settled and then entered.

  The bar was high-ceilinged and fashionably beige and cool inside, it wasn’t yet crowded so it didn’t take long for her to pick out Angie, sitting on a bar stool and earnestly trying to seduce a barman. Smiling, she went over and took the stool next to her. As she took it, her knees brushed Angie’s and she felt the soft rasp of nylon. So Angie was wearing stockings, that always meant she was up for a good night. Kath’s heart sank a little but rallied at the smile of pure pleasure Angie turned on her.

  “Oh my!” she said quietly. “There’s only one thing that’ll bring a sparkle like that to a girl’s eye. James! Bring a large G and T here will you! Ice no slice!”

  James who looked as though he spent every waking hour on a surf board when he wasn’t waiting bar, grinned across and began to prepare it.

  Kath relaxed against the textured aluminium of the bar. “Tell you later?”

  “Sure. You want dinner here, or rustle up something at my place?” Angie’s voice was ruined by years of cigarettes, although now she no longer indulged, and it had a dark brown quality that Kath found highly attractive. The two women looked at each other for a moment, then Angie reached out and touched Kath’s knee.

  “He mention Proteus yet?”

  Kath shook her head as James delivered her drink and she took a long and much-needed swig as Angie paid and told him that he could shag her lights out any time he was at a loose end. James said he would certainly bear that in mind and laughed. It was a well practised camouflage that Angie had perfected over the years, but it still irked Kath that she felt it was necessary in these days of improved tolerance and equality.

  “Better eat at your place. Safer,” Kath said once the gin had hit home and she felt the day begin to drain away.

  “Okay, babe. Let’s drink up and get a taxi.”

  The taxi dropped them a few yards from Angie’s front door so that Kath could pick up an Indian takeaway while Angie went ahead.

  By the time Kath let herself in to the apartment with her key, Angie had laid the table and added candles and lit them. They were the only light in the dining room and the lights in the lounge were low. It was definitely going to be a stockings night, Kath told herself ruefully, still feeling some traces of stinging from her bottom.

  “What do you want me as, Mistress?” she asked, putting the meal down on the kitchen work surface. Angie was magnificent in a red leather bustier and matching thong with red thigh boots that accentuated the long, pale thighs. Her blonde hair hung in thick waves about her strong, handsome face and Kath felt herself begin to respond all over again. She was a sucker for dominants. That was all there was to it!

  Angie was in her early forties and was supple and fit, her stomach was flat and her hips curved out smoothly from her trim waist. Beneath the strictures of her bustier, her breasts were full and firm. Kath was suddenly eager to be ordered to suck on the thick, red nipples, hard with desire and standing proud of the lust-swollen areolas.

  As Kath watched she poured herself a glass of wine.

  “Maid, tonight. You can serve me.”

  “Yes, Mistress.” It was such a relief to be able to call her by her proper title when they were in private. Kath hated having to call her Angie or Mrs. Hepple when they were together in public, not that that occurred very much since she had been sent to work undercover at the Home Office’s offshoot that Clive Mostyn ran.

  In the main bedroom, Kath sorted through her costumes; the nurse, the nun, the school girl, the whore until she found the little black satin number and laid it on the bed while she stripped, and then she pulled it on and went to her stockings and knicker drawer to find a pair of black hold ups, there was absolutely no point in bothering with knickers. She slipped her black court shoes back on and gave her hair yet another quick brush through, tugged the minute satin skirt more squarely over the net skirts underneath it, checked there was a reasonable amount of cleavage on view; Mistress was partial to a casual breast and nipple fondle whenever the mood took her, turned sideways to admire the way the skirt stuck out over her bottom invitingly and trotted back to the kitchen.

  Angie looked her over critically.

  “Left stocking seam’s a bit skewed,” she opined.

  “Sorry, Mistress,” Kath said contritely as she bent to straighten it.

  Her Mistress gave a ‘Hmph’ noise that usually meant a caning later and swept out. Kath busied herself with the meal and brought it to the table, where, over the gentle candlelight, she was brought up to date with all the office gossip from The Journal, the paper that Angie edited.

  At last they sat back and Kath was allowed a glass of wine herself.

  “So tell me what the old goat did this time,” Angie asked.

  “It was a belt and a tawse – I’ve not had one of those, can we get one please?”

  “You’ll get what you’re given. Now concentrate on telling me exactly what Mostyn said and did,” her Mistress growled. “And you can have the pegs while you do it, you cheeky little madam!”

  Kath’s heart began to pound again, just as it had done with Mostyn earlier. As her Mistress sauntered into the lounge, Kath started the next ritual. She fetched a footstool from the spare bedroom – where she slept when she had been very naughty – and set it in front of where Angie now sat on the sofa. Then she went to a kitchen cupboard and took out a box that rattled as she carried it back to the lounge. Finally she took a clean white handkerchief from the airing cupboard and spread it on the stool then she carefully sat on it, making sure her thighs were parted and her labia were in full contact with the handkerchief. Only when she was properly settled did she reach for the box, take off the lid and place it on her Mistress’ lap.

  “Pop them out for me, girl!” she commanded.

  Kath reached into her bodice and squeezed her breasts out, so that the neckline of the little costume now stretched tightly across her chest under the breasts, pushing them together and thrusting them forwards. With that done, Kath put her hands behind her, straightened her back and leaned towards her Mistress.

  Trying to concentrate on getting each detail precisely right, Kath told her editor and adored Mistress all that had happened during the day. While she did so, Angie took pinch after pinch of soft breast flesh and clamped a clothes peg over it.

  From time to time Kath glanced down to admire the multi-coloured spiky mounds that her poor breasts had become. She would lose her way in a sentence as she watched Mistress’ hand close over another piece of skin and pull it, whilst with her other hand she lowered a cheerfully coloured plastic peg over it and then let it close, adding a shrill descant to the overall throbbing that was her entire breast area. She would stumble over her account and Mistress would slap her thigh irritably to bring her attention back to where it belonged. What Mistress did with Kath’s tits was none of Kath’s business after all.

  “Hmm.” Angie sat back and surveyed her handiwork when Kath had ended her account. “But you’re still finding evidence of Proteus?”

  “Oh yes, Mistress. I’ve seen it mentioned in several documents and sometimes one or other of the senior staff refer to it if they think they won’t be overheard.”

  “We’re running out of time. The big boss man wants results and if Mostyn doesn’t make his move soon, we’ll just have to run with another ‘Minister found with his leg over’ scandal. And they’re two a penny.”

  The Proteus project had been why Kath had been sent undercover to apply for a job with Mostyn’s department. Rumours had been circulating for some time about a hush-hush project that he had been tasked with by someone very high up in government. From what could be picked up, there seemed to be a salacious element to whatever it was and The Journal was always alert to the circulation boosting possibilities of good sex stories.

  To begin with Angie had been delighted with how quickly Mostyn had responded to Kath’s charms and when he had stumbled across her submissiveness when she had allowed herself to be put over his knee and spanked for talking at the water station for too long, hopes were high that he would drop hints about Proteus during a night at a hotel or something. But so far he had limited himself to punishing her in the office and had only used her orally.

  They had hoped for pillow talk but Mostyn seemed to be resisting the temptation.

  Mistress stood up and gestured to Kath to do the same, together they surveyed the state of the handkerchief on which Kath had been sitting. It was sodden in a long, wet mark in the centre.

  “Hopeless slut! Into the bedroom for caning!” Mistress ordered cheerfully, ignoring the soft whimper from Kath at the lack of permission to remove the pegs first. They always hurt more in the coming off than in the putting on, so that meant all the havoc a cane could cause, followed by a fresh burst of breast pain…..The trouble was that the cruelty just meant that she was getting even wetter.

  Bent over the wrought iron foot of the bed with her miniscule skirt pushed up onto her lower back, Kath received a slow and excruciating caning that left her bruised, ecstatic and so turned on that Angie’s hand was almost sucked in to the wrist by her cunt. After a good feeling around, Angie had Kath stand with hands on head while the pegs were slowly removed from her tits and then she was sent to shower while Angie undressed and selected her biggest strap-on, put it on, made sure the lube was close to hand and climbed into bed.

  The room was dark when Kath returned and she slipped under the duvet to find her Mistress’ body, soft and warm, waiting for her. She groaned in pleasure as her questing fingers found the strap-on and further investigation revealed it to be the biggest one they possessed. In the dark she heard the lid of the lube pot open and giggling huskily she turned onto her front and got her knees under her so that her bottom was in the air.

  The lube was cold and the strap-on hurt to start with but then Mistress drove her fingernails into the cane weals on her buttocks and all was well.

  Chapter Three

  The first part of the following week passed uneventfully but on the Wednesday, Kath’s office door opened without warning and Mostyn entered again. This time he strode straight over to Kath and planted his fists on the front of her desk, leaning across so that he loomed over her.

  “Rather than punishing you in the office for mistakes I just know I’m going to find when I start looking again, I’m going to suggest – your dinner dates permitting of course! – that I take rather more time about it. I have to go somewhere at the end of the week and I’d like you to accompany me. It’ll be overnight, we’ll leave here mid-afternoon. I’ve cleared it with your team leader.”

  He didn’t wait for a reply.

  Kath sat staring stupidly at the door after he had closed it. It just hadn’t entered his head that she might not be able – might not want – to go with him. But then she had played the compliant subby for all she was worth and if she was honest, she could feel herself moistening as she replayed the scene in her mind…the way he had towered over her at her desk, the way his will had almost formed a bow wave in front of him when he entered. And there was the possibility of getting what her Mistress wanted, which opened up the prospect of being on the receiving end of two dominants’ pleasures.

  That night saw some controlled panic at Angie’s apartment. Stripped in front of the cheval mirror in the bedroom Kath examined her backside by twisting around as best she could while Angie lathered on Witch Hazel and anything else they could think of to try and make the bruising from the cane dissipate before the night of the trip. By applying all the various lotions morning and night – and Kath putting some on during the day – her bottom was more or less clear by the day in question.

  “Ready to take plenty more!” Mistress declared before Kath set off for work, then she suddenly went serious and came close to Kath to kiss her gently on the lips.

  “You know how much I enjoy sharing you around,” she said and Kath nodded. Many had been the time that Mistress had stood and passed humorous comments while other Mistresses’ playthings had fucked her. “But this time is different. It’s work and I won’t be happy till you’re back safe and sound. Then by God I’ll flay you, so make sure you come back with something juicy about Proteus!” She favoured Kath with a smile that set her heart thumping and she left walking on air, looking forward to serving her Mistress and getting her just desserts.

  John Carpenter’s office at The Lodge, the most select and secretive SM club in the land was, at first sight, not where a lot of people expected. It wasn’t above the main entrance overlooking the sweeping parkland and woods beyond, instead it was tucked away at the end of the massive frontage with windows on two aspects. It did overlook part of the views to the front but also it had three windows on the side of the main building that overlooked the stableyard. It also meant that he could see over the trees to where the equestrian arena now stood and the new CSL stables beyond that. In The Lodge’s own stableyard, directly below him, the Housegirls who were required to serve as ponies by their owners or by members of The Lodge were stabled and catered for. Farther away, the fighting girls of the CSL stable trained in the arena and were housed in the new stableyard, which was even now being extended; meaning that the members were having to do without ponies as the CSL slaves were being housed in the old stables temporarily. No one was complaining because he and Carlo – who jointly owned the CSL stable – were offering out the CSL slaves at greatly reduced rates while the work was finished. From over at the new stables the sounds of angle grinders and drills at work drifted up.

  Soon there would be twenty slaves housed by CSL, the only stable on the arena circuit that didn’t have its own full-sized arena but which specialised instead in training up slaves who could be hired in to strengthen other stables’ squads. It was a far bigger stable now than Carlo had ever envisaged, but change was everywhere. CSL was changing, the whole arena landscape was changing and one of the main agents of that change was the other occupant of the room. There was a third person present but as she was a Housegirl who was currently receiving a vigorous beating with a crop, she didn’t really count.

  John turned from contemplating the view as Clive Mostyn paused in his beating for a moment.

  “We should be ready to go in about a fortnight,” he said without taking his eyes off the quivering buttocks of the girl in front of him. Having delivered a salvo of full blooded lashes he made her jump by delivering a few light flicks at various targets. The girl cast an anxious glance at John, who, as owner of The Lodge, was her owner as well, and settled again. “What can you let us have?” Mostyn asked, placing the crop against her bottom and settling his feet so that the girl knew hard strokes were coming. Then he made her wait.

  John was impressed. Mostyn couldn’t have afforded a day’s membership of The Lodge but he understood how to play on a submissive’s fear and excitement, so he was clearly experienced at handling submissive girlflesh.

  “I can let you have Jet and Cherry with Helga as groom for a fortnight in the South.”

  Mostyn nodded thoughtfully and then let fly with a hard lash. The girl let out a stifled scream and arched her back, pushing her face up from her crossed arms and frantically wriggling her stern. Mostyn quietened her by laying the crop against her skin once more.

  “They’re docile enough to cope with the change in routine and personnel,” John went on.

  “Indeed,” Mostyn agreed and treated the girl to another hard whack.

  “You can have Brian as instructor. Carlo will be away with Blondie, Ox, Trouble and a couple of the others at the N’Benga arena. I’ll need Tony to keep an eye on things here.”

  “Ok. That sounds fine. What are your thoughts about the other place?”

  The crop blurred once more as it scythed into the prominent and inviting buttocks. The girl’s back humped and her feet jigged about as she fought to contain the pain. Mostyn smiled and inserted three fingers between her spread legs. He worked her until she was squelching shamelessly then withdrew them and tapped her bottom with the crop again.

  “I’ll send Blackie and Legs with Anne Marie as groom. They’re relatively new but they’re docile too.”

  Whack! The girl’s long legs bent and her breath hissed as she absorbed the strike, which John had to admit was a stern one. The new uniform suited the tall girl’s build well he thought.

  The new uniform.

  Suddenly it seemed as if change was everywhere. Even Madame Stalevsky was talking about early retirement, the formidable ex-ballerina who had schooled The Lodge’s Housegirls to a standard that made them world famous was in her late fifties now. She had redesigned the uniforms almost as if it was a kind of swansong, giving in at last to the members’ desire to have the girls’ bodies more easily available.

  She had started with superbly tailored and boned corsets and had had the skirts sewn onto a broad waistband that could be removed by two simple clips at the back. The skirts themselves were split front and back but with ample overlap so the front one only revealed itself when the girl walked and even then – owing to the underskirts sewn in – they only hinted at the length and shapeliness of the limbs beneath. The result was that any member, or even this comparative upstart, Mostyn, could easily have a girl bare herself below the waist and beat her while enjoying the length of her stockinged legs and the quivering fullness of her smooth buttocks.