slavegirl, might be made to serve both male and female Masters.
Masters who had both the power and the inclination to compel her to act out their wildest fantasies, no matter how outrageous or shameful.
Gemma's speculations ended as she felt cool fingers begin to undo the buckled straps holding her single glove. She lifted her head, then squealed in sudden agony as a crop burned a thin line of red heat across her right thigh and a harsh voice ordered, "Keep your head lowered, slavegirl! You were not given permission to move."
Her thigh throbbed with heat, but she knew better than to disobey and thrust her head back down, biting hard on her gag lest any sound she might make be interpreted as a protest and earn her another cruel punishment.
The straps came free and the hands moved to the laces of her single glove, loosening their implacable grip on her arms until the leather could be peeled from her flesh.
Numbed after their long confinement, Gemma's arms had no strength in them and she could not have resisted even if she had dared to try as her wrists were gripped and pulled in front of her.
"Watch, slavegirl, as our steel binds you."
The same woman moved forward and removed two glittering rings from the case, snapping one closed on each of Gemma's outstretched wrists, then fastening them together with a simple clip.
Confined less than an inch apart, Gemma's wrists lay snugly side by side and she saw at once that there was no way for her fingers to reach the clip to release herself. Her spirits sank still further, the feel of cold, hard, unbreakable steel on her flesh reinforcing her captivity and confirming the impossibility of escape.
The woman reached into the case again and Gemma's brown eyes opened wide as another shining ring, much larger and twice as wide as the bands on her wrists, was held up to her.
Etched into the steel were the words "This slavegirl is the property of The Consortium," and Gemma shivered as the cold metal was placed about her slim throat and pressed closed, the internal locks clicking shut.
Instantly, the two men holding her raised her arms and pulled her wrists to the rear of her neck, a second clip securing her cuffs to the collar and leaving the surprised brunette with her bent elbows forming a frame for her face and her breasts drawn upwards by the tension.
"You now wear the collar of The Consortium, slavegirl," the same deep voice informed her and Gemma's eyes fixed on the speaker, a huge bear of a man standing well over six feet, with broad shoulders denoting great physical strength, piercing blue eyes, a large straight nose and thin lips. A riding crop dangled from his massive right hand and Gemma's eyes went instinctively to the fading red stripe on her thigh. This was the man who had struck her for raising her eyes without permission and she felt a mixture of fear and guilty arousal as she imagined herself struggling to please him, in the full knowledge that her would crop her if she failed!
It was an intensely erotic image and she felt her face flush as his gaze bored into hers.
"As a collared slave," he went on, "You will obey without question the orders of any Master or Mistress. Failure to do so will not be tolerated. You have received basic slave training and should know what is required of you. If you do not, you will be reminded," and he flexed the crop between his strong fingers, "We are The Consortium and we own you, slavegirl. Do not disappoint us."
To Gemma's surprise, he turned and strode from the room, followed by most of the others until she was almost alone.
Almost, but not quite, for Roxwell stayed, leaning casually against the wall until the last footfalls died away down the corridor.
For a long minute, the millionaire gazed silently at Gemma's steel fettered body, relishing her helplessness and the brunette struggled vainly to get to her feet, her brain filled with a growing dread as he
Masters who had both the power and the inclination to compel her to act out their wildest fantasies, no matter how outrageous or shameful.
Gemma's speculations ended as she felt cool fingers begin to undo the buckled straps holding her single glove. She lifted her head, then squealed in sudden agony as a crop burned a thin line of red heat across her right thigh and a harsh voice ordered, "Keep your head lowered, slavegirl! You were not given permission to move."
Her thigh throbbed with heat, but she knew better than to disobey and thrust her head back down, biting hard on her gag lest any sound she might make be interpreted as a protest and earn her another cruel punishment.
The straps came free and the hands moved to the laces of her single glove, loosening their implacable grip on her arms until the leather could be peeled from her flesh.
Numbed after their long confinement, Gemma's arms had no strength in them and she could not have resisted even if she had dared to try as her wrists were gripped and pulled in front of her.
"Watch, slavegirl, as our steel binds you."
The same woman moved forward and removed two glittering rings from the case, snapping one closed on each of Gemma's outstretched wrists, then fastening them together with a simple clip.
Confined less than an inch apart, Gemma's wrists lay snugly side by side and she saw at once that there was no way for her fingers to reach the clip to release herself. Her spirits sank still further, the feel of cold, hard, unbreakable steel on her flesh reinforcing her captivity and confirming the impossibility of escape.
The woman reached into the case again and Gemma's brown eyes opened wide as another shining ring, much larger and twice as wide as the bands on her wrists, was held up to her.
Etched into the steel were the words "This slavegirl is the property of The Consortium," and Gemma shivered as the cold metal was placed about her slim throat and pressed closed, the internal locks clicking shut.
Instantly, the two men holding her raised her arms and pulled her wrists to the rear of her neck, a second clip securing her cuffs to the collar and leaving the surprised brunette with her bent elbows forming a frame for her face and her breasts drawn upwards by the tension.
"You now wear the collar of The Consortium, slavegirl," the same deep voice informed her and Gemma's eyes fixed on the speaker, a huge bear of a man standing well over six feet, with broad shoulders denoting great physical strength, piercing blue eyes, a large straight nose and thin lips. A riding crop dangled from his massive right hand and Gemma's eyes went instinctively to the fading red stripe on her thigh. This was the man who had struck her for raising her eyes without permission and she felt a mixture of fear and guilty arousal as she imagined herself struggling to please him, in the full knowledge that her would crop her if she failed!
It was an intensely erotic image and she felt her face flush as his gaze bored into hers.
"As a collared slave," he went on, "You will obey without question the orders of any Master or Mistress. Failure to do so will not be tolerated. You have received basic slave training and should know what is required of you. If you do not, you will be reminded," and he flexed the crop between his strong fingers, "We are The Consortium and we own you, slavegirl. Do not disappoint us."
To Gemma's surprise, he turned and strode from the room, followed by most of the others until she was almost alone.
Almost, but not quite, for Roxwell stayed, leaning casually against the wall until the last footfalls died away down the corridor.
For a long minute, the millionaire gazed silently at Gemma's steel fettered body, relishing her helplessness and the brunette struggled vainly to get to her feet, her brain filled with a growing dread as he