Free Marketplace by Laura Antoniou

walked
past them to Claudia’s side, and ran careful fingers over her ass.
There was a pink trail where he had struck her before.
    “Claudia, this is nothing.
You will compose yourself with discipline for the remainder of your
punishment, or be gagged.”
    “Yes, Chris,” she started
to say. But the first blow of the strap caught her in
mid-acknowledgment, and she gasped. It was another line of punching
pain, like the first. But this time, she was fully braced, and
didn’t have to rely on her arms to hold her in position. She turned
her face to the cushions of the sofa and made a series of muffled
cries as the rest of the flashes of pain coursed through her
bottom.
    How humiliating! How awful!
Her tears flowed copiously down her face, wetting the leather below
her. She tried not to squirm, and then made little fists in her
agony. Then, as suddenly as the first beating began, it was over,
and Chris was pulling her up to stand in front of him. She didn’t
wait for his direction, but dropped to her knees and kissed his
boots. And how inappropriate his boots were, she thought, even as
she pressed her lips to them. Mistress had such lovely footwear,
shiny black patent leather sometimes, or lace-up Victorian boots
with stiletto heels. Chris wore common workman’s boots, however
well polished they might be.
    Her tears landed on them
and glistened. This was not the elegant domination she was used to
at all!
    “That will be enough,
Claudia. Now, we will proceed to the north wing of the house,
Master Grendel’s wing.” He walked away from her while she was still
on her knees, and she scrambled to catch up with them.
    The tension was making
Robert shake as they proceeded through the archway that led to the
north wing. The sound of Chris’s voice describing the rooms that
they passed through became a steady drone. None of it registered.
He gazed at the paneled walls and looked wherever Chris directed
their attention, and tried to remember what his Mistress (the newer
one) had told him before she left.
    “These people can make a
real slave out of you,” Ali had insisted, petting his head. “If
they can’t, no one can. Listen good and do everything they tell
you, and you’ll be on your way to a real mistress in no
time!”
    And as he padded obediently
behind the group taking this tour, he knew that deep in his heart
being owned was a dream of immense magnitude. But maybe he just
wasn’t cut out for it. He was such a failure at everything! He
certainly couldn’t take a beating like Brian did, so manly and
strong.
    They had reached the end of
the wing, where Chris merely showed them a closed door. “This is
Master Grendel’s workshop, where you will not have any need to go.
Beyond is the garage. Robert, please remove your trousers, brace
yourself on this door and present.” The strap appeared in Chris’s
hand once more, and the other three got out of the way.
    Robert unfastened the
drawstring of the loose gray pants and lowered them, blushing all
the while. He hurried over to the door, hoping no one could really
see his nasty thing, and leaned over, placing his broad hands
against the oak finish.
    Chris said, aiming the
first blow, “For Sharon’s lack of manners,” and then struck. It was
a wide, even swing that brought the length of the strap neatly
across Robert’s extended cheeks.
    As he felt the sharp pain
and the thudding impact, Robert gasped. The second blow brought out
a whimper, but his arms stayed where they were put. He twisted his
ass slightly, and the third blow landed more on one side than the
other. Immediately, Robert began to react the way he had been
taught to. He started to cry.
    “Oh, oh dear!” He managed
to whine between shots. His voice was high pitched again, strained
by his posture. “Oh, p-please! Oh, I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Uph!” He
bit his tongue as the strap hit him lower down.
    Abruptly, the strapping
stopped. “Be silent, Robert.” Chris ran the edge of the strap
across the