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Sir Vincent arrived at the private airfield attached to San Francisco International Airport in, as he himself would describe it, a cunt of a bad mood. The weather was far too hot for him, and he had a hangover that he couldn’t shake. A tequila hangover of all things. He hadn’t had a night on the slammers since his university days. And now he remembered why. He clambered out of the back of the town car, closely followed by his personal secretary, Jasmine. She was also one of his favourite submissives. At five foot seven in heels, the twenty five year old Jamaican was also one of the most beautiful. The things that girl could do while humming … His sight fluxed as the pulse in his temples tried to put a half-nelson on his brain. It was so unlike him to get so hammered. In fact it was so unlike him that he thought he had scared Jasmine, who had after all only turned up at his hotel room late last night, hand carrying important business papers which required his immediate attention. Sir had always made it a point to show complete control in front of his subs, which is why it had seemed safe to consume so much being on his own. Now Jasmine had seen behind the veil, and Sir hoped that she would forgive him. Not that he had abused her in any way, but still. Sir drunk was not a pretty sight. He was not particularly proud of himself this morning. Dark glasses hid his bloodshot eyes and cut down the glare which threatened to destroy his remaining brain cells. What he wouldn’t give for a bacon sandwich and HP sauce right now, or even a full Scottish breakfast. Washed down with a few tins of Irn Bru. That would sort him out. The chauffeur had packed all the luggage onto a trolley, and Jasmine was starting to push it towards the terminal. Sir Vincent removed a Benjamin Franklin from his money clip and handed it to the chauffeur with his thanks. He turned to follow Jasmine. The hungover part of him said that what was the point of having a sub and pushing your own trolley, but the gentleman in him batted that aside. “Jasmine, wait up please,” he said in a loud enough voice for her to hear. He caught up with her. “I’ll take the trolley,” he explained. A flash of slight confusion passed across Jasmines eyes, but she still obeyed without questioning. “Yes Sir, of course Sir.” Jasmine moved to walk two strides behind and to the right of her Sir. As they walked through the automatic doors they were hit by a cold blast of air con. Instead of helping Sir feel better it made his stomach lurch in rebellion. A line of cold sweat broke out across his forehead. Time for drastic action. A disabled toilet beckoned. He left Jasmine guarding the trolley. Sir stood facing the mirror. He swirled water around his mouth to try and get rid of the acrid taste of bile, second hand tequila and fresh vomit and splashed cold water over his face. What the hell was he doing in such a state he wondered. His synapses weren’t quite firing at full charge yet, as he cast his mind back and tried to chase down the reason. Yes of course. He had known she would be at the Sanctuary last night, because her new Mistress had stated during his call to her that she would be. But the sense of loss when he saw her had cut deep. The most remarkable creature he had ever met. He had had her in his grasp and she had left him. And he had no-one to blame but himself. His vanity had cost him Gabrielle. She was now bought and paid for by Mistress Melissa. His assumption that she would not accept Mistress Melissa’s offer was evidently ill-founded. His assumption that she had felt as strongly for him as he felt for her was … “Fucking arsehole,” he exclaimed at his reflection. And now he was going to spend the next three or four hours in close confines with her. And then three or four days in a modern day Sodom and Gommorah. Damn. He removed his pale linen suit from the hook on the back of the door and got re-dressed. Jasmine was glad to see that Sir Vincent was looking slightly less green when he returned from the restroom. Slightly more human. It had been a shock for her when he had opened the door to his suite last night. To see him in that state had taken her aback. In all her years at Sir Vincent’s side she had never even heard a whisper of him losing control. Never mind to this level. The white powder spread across the glass coffee table and the sharp knife had her almost in a flat panic, until she noticed the discarded tequila bottle, salt cellar and strips of half chewed lime rind. Not quite as bad as she had feared, but still very much unlike him. It was almost nice to see that there was a human side to him – not that she would be spreading the word around. Jasmine had tidied up and put Sir to bed before laying out clothes for the morning. She had slept on the sofa, not what she had hoped for. What a waste it had been packing her new toys. In the morning she had ordered Eggs Benedict and Devilled Kidneys with strong coffee for Sir. He had barely even looked at it. She had remembered to get the paperwork signed, having only to explain the very basics to him. Normally he would have read from front to back and argued over the most minute of details or potentially ambiguous wording. This morning she could have got him to sign the family gold over to her if she had been that way inclined. It wasn’t until they were half way to the airport that Sir suddenly murmured “NetJets,” and informed the driver to change their destination. She still did not know what Sirs plans were, but knew that she had to file the legal papers in New York by the following morning. And her return flight was due to take off in less than two hours. They met Mistress Melissa and Gabrielle at the NetJet check-in. When Mistress heard that Jasmine had to return to New York to file the paperwork she got on the phone to her own legal team. Her team had a close connection to Sir Vincent’s legal team in Manhattan so it would be legally acceptable for Jasmine to file the paperwork with them any time before noon the following day. And that way Jasmine could join them to St. Louis for a few days r &r. It was difficult to tell which of the three girls was more excited at this. Jasmine Escort Güngören and Gabrielle looked fit to burst, while Mistress Melissa was trying not to fall down the front of Jasmines diaphanous white silk blouse and into the lacy white bra. Sir thanked Mistress, and nodded towards the two girls. “Will we let them?” he asked. Mistress Melissa gave a small nod in reply, allowing Sir to give the command. “Girls, you may spend some time catching up with each other before the flight. There’s a table over by the window. ” “Thank you Sir” said Jasmine. “Thank you Mistress,” said Gabrielle. Both girls bowed slightly to their superiors before squealing like little girls and hugging each other. They ran off to the table at the window holding hands and giggling. They both started talking fifteen to the dozen. “It’s great to see the kids playing, isn’t it,” said Sir wistfully. “It is, ” said Mistress, looking over her shoulder at them. “But it’s much more fun to play with them. “I hope you don’t mind me asking Sir Vincent,” she asked,”but are you okay?” “I’ll be fine thanks. I guess it must have been something I ate last night. ” Mistress looked him straight in the eye. The corner of her mouth twitched as she said, “Yeah, that little worm can be a bastard. ” Sir grinned. “I need strong coffee and bland food. I can’t wait to get onboard.” Sir Vincent was glad that the cross country flight on the Gulfstream 200 was nice and smooth. Mistress Melissa was the perfect hostess, and the two of then chatted about everything from their favourite films to their best tips in stocks and shares. It was the first time that they had spent any time together other than by email or telephone. Mistress Melissa was an amazing physical beauty, with a highly intelligent air about her. Her Central American roots were obvious to even the most casual observer, and she held herself in such a way that no-one could doubt her pedigree. There was obviously a very calculating brain in her ‘pretty little head’. And Sir could tell that most people would just see the pretty little head and not see the incredible woman inside it. But they would be fools if they believed that was all there was to her. Sir had obviously done his homework on Mistress Melissa, otherwise Gabrielle would have never been allowed to join her in the first place. He knew that even though she was stunning there was no point in him thinking he had any chance with bedding her. He simply had the wrong apparatus. And Sir had no doubt that she had done her homework on him. They left their subs to chat on the sofa at the back of the eight seater jet. Sir, facing forward, caught the occasional glance from Mistress towards the girls, and assumed that there was slightly more than just chatting going on. When they were serving from the kitchenette at the back of the jet they were highly professional submissives, but otherwise they were allowed to catch up with each other. When they arrived at her mansion in St. Louis they were met by two of Mistress Melissa’s maids. They were introduced as Mary and Ingrid. If Sir Vincent had not heard the tales then their nakedness might have surprised him. Mary, tall, solidly built, auburn hair, a big, genuine smile to see her Mistress, Gabrielle and guests. Ingrid, not as tall, short peroxide hair, feisty looking with numerous tattoos including script covering her ribs. Although her love for Mistress was writ large in her eyes, the look that she shot Gabrielle was, for a fraction of a second, full of a mix of superiority and contempt. And almost before it could be noticed she was all pleasant again. Sir noticed there was a hint of a bristle from Gabrielle too. It would also appear that Mistress liked smooth – that worked for Sir too. “Ingrid will be yours to command during your stay Sir Vincent,” Mary informed him. “Anything, and I do mean anything, that you desire Sir.”Sir thanked her, and followed Ingrid to his assigned suite. Sir noticed that Jasmine followed Gabrielle, who glanced with disappointment back over her shoulder towards Him. Arriving at his suite, Sir had a quick look around, impressed with the white marble opulence. The room was situated at the front of the house on the second floor , and had a glorious view showing St. Louis in the distance over a green leafy belt of trees which started past the immaculate lawn. “May I get, or do, anything for you Sir Vincent?” Ingrid asked him. “I must admit my dear that I had a bit of a skinful last night, and all that I hanker for at the moment is a wee bit of kip.” Ingrid looked confused for a second, but seemed to get the gist. “Be a good wee lassie and bring me a triple decker bacon sarnie, a bottle of HP sauce and twa tins o’ Irn Bru in a couple of hours,” said Sir, laying on the accent with a heavy trowel. “Eye-ern Baroo, Sir? I’m afraid that I don’t know what that is,” Ingrid said. “It’s a soft drink – a soda. Banned in Canada,” said Sir, heading towards the bedroom. “And put some clothes on girl, ye’ll catch yer death of cold.” He pulled the door closed behind him, leaving Ingrid to find some Irn Bru and HP sauce. Exactly two hours later there came a knock on the door. “Come in,” shouted Sir, having exited his bedroom and finished buttoning his shirt. Ingrid entered, beaming. She carried a silver tray with a triple decker bacon sandwich, a bottle of HP sauce, a large glass and an ice bucket filled with ice, with two tins of Irn Bru sitting on top. Sir smiled. “The best hangover cure there is. Not that I’m too bad now, but I’ve had a craving since I woke this morning. A taste of home.” “Yes Sir, we have a Scotch restaurant in town who sent them round at Mistress’ request. ” Ingrid carried the tray over and left it on the small occasional table. “Thank you Ingrid. If you would be so kind as to return when you have finished any chores that you have, I would like you to spend the evening with me. ” “Yes Sir, it would be my pleasure,” she said. She curtsied slightly and left. Sir Vincent sat down to his bacon buttie. He applied an ample amount of HP sauce and squashed the sandwich down to make it easier to get in his mouth. He İnnovia Escort opened the ice cold soda and inhaled the memories. As he ate he re-read the text that Jasmine had sent him in reply to an earlier question. When Ingrid next entered the suite at Sirs command it was dusk outside. Most of the lights were off in the room with two table lights supplying the illumination. The corners of the room were dark. Sir sat on a chair, mostly in shadow. It was difficult for Ingrid to make out any facial expression. “Come into the middle of the room please, where I can see you better, and please, you may remove your clothes this time. ” “Yes Sir, sorry Sir.” “No harm done. You may lay your clothes on the chair over there,” said Sir Vincent, beckoning. Sir was glad to see that Ingrid looked nervous. “I am led to believe that one of the main reasons that you were given to me this evening is that you are one of only two women resident here that enjoy cock,” Sir said, matter-of-fact. “I couldn’t possibly say, Sir,” Ingrid said, placing the last of her clothes on the chair and returning to stand in the centre of the room. “And nor you should. Kneel,” Sir commanded. Ingrid obeyed instantly. Sir lifted several things from the floor beside his chair and went to stand behind her. “Lift your head my girl,” Sir ordered. When she complied Sir put a ball gag in her mouth and tied the strap behind her head. He then blindfolded her. “Put your arms straight out in front of you.” She felt Sir Vincent pulling sleeves up her arms and then wrapping coarse material tightly around her body. She could hear/feel straps being tied behind her. Sir then wrapped her arms behind her and used the long straps at the end of the sleeves to tie her arms securely in place. Ingrid had never been in a straitjacket before, and didn’t like it. “Just so that you don’t get disappointed later, I’ll tell you now that you are not going to experience my cock tonight. ” Ingrid sensed the crop in front of her just before the hard leather struck her across the breasts. She yelped in pain into the gag. “Now, I’ve been informed by your Mistress that you are the most submissive of her girls, so I feel that safe words are not required.” Ingrid nodded her acceptance. Sir walked behind her and used the crop on the soles of her feet. Ingrid almost fell over. Sir pulled her upright, back to the kneeling position. “Do not move from here. ” Sir whipped her across the buttocks. A sharp intake of breath confirmed the sharpness of pain. Sir placed a pair of noise cancellation headphones over Ingrids ears. It was another five minutes until Sir touched her again. The anticipation was starting to affect her by then. Not knowing what was going to happen, nor when was starting to stress her. Out of nowhere Sir violently grabbed her short peroxide hair and pulled her head back. The cold sharp metal of a blade was laid across her throat. Sir felt her tense, a small line of sweat broke out across her brow. She was then left a further ten minutes before a hand slap across her face. While her head rang with the effects Sir exited the room, leaving her with her breath, pulse and fear to keep her company. A dozen hands of poker with the semi-naked kitchen staff later, and over five hundred bucks down, Sir excused himself and quietly let himself back into his suite. He stood inside the room and watched her for a minute of two. It had to be said that she had managed to stay knelt like a real submissive. Her muscles twitched in rebellion, but still she stayed in place. She had obviously zoned out, but Sir knew that the adrenalin would be just below the surface, ready to explode. There were dried tears down her face. Sir lifted her slowly with one finger underneath her chin. Her body juddered, her breathing ragged. When she was finally on her feet, balanced, Sir spread her feet slightly. He took the same knife as before, the dinner service knife which had come with his sandwich earlier, and ran it up the inside of Ingrids thigh, from knee to pussy. As the cold metal blade came to rest against her labia she gave a little pleading shriek around the ball gag. As Sir slowly removed the knife so that the point rested against Ingrids clitoris, her breathing quickened, her body convulsed, and her bladder gave way. Sir stepped back from the splashing on the carpet. He went into the en-suite and turned the shower on, cold. He lay towels from the shower to where Ingrid stood, shivering, tears streaming down her face. With one finger under her chin he led her through and left her sitting in the cold shower, still blindfolded, gagged and bound in the straitjacket. He returned to the living room and cleaned up the mess with one of the towels, soap and water. The idea was not to embarrass Ingrid in front of her peers. There would, however, be a wet patch. When he was finished he returned to the en-suite and slowly turned the temperature up, until it was a nice warm temperature. He then removed the straitjacket and handed Ingrid the soap. By now she was sobbing with relief. Her fingers gravitated towards her pussy, to make sure that Sir Vincent had not cut her. She was obviously surprised by the lack of pain. Sir removed her wet blindfold, and she checked her fingers, surprised that there was no blood. Sir left her too it, and went to sit in the living room. He texted Jasmine and asked her for some new photographs of her gorgeous Jamaican pussy. He was not disappointed. Gabrielle’s fingers and tongue even managed to make an appearance. Sir Vincent was out running the next morning by six o’clock. Not wanting to get lost in the surrounding district due to a lack of sense of direction he instead circled the grounds until he had worked up a healthy sweat. He retired for a shower, exiting as a knock came to the door. He answered, still wet, but wrapped in a fresh towel. Mistress Melissa stood there. “I hope you don’t mid, Sir Vincent, but I invited myself for breakfast.”So saying she strode into the suite, followed by two women who Sir had not met. “Please, come in. If you’ll excuse me for a minute I’ll throw some clothes on.” Sir dressed Kağıthane escort bayan quickly, donning a linen shirt and pale slacks. He rejoined Mistress barefoot, with his short hair still damp. Over the most exquisite fruit salad, coffee and toasted croissants with strawberry and champagne jelly they discussed their plans for the day. Mistress Melissa had business to attend to in the city, as she knew Jasmine did. She offered to share a ride with Jasmine, and after they were both dropped off she would send Trina back with the car to pick Sir up, and she would be his to command for the day, as long as they could pick Mistress up after her business was concluded for the day. That sounded like a splendid idea, Sir thought. “As my father used to say, never mix business with pleasure, unless it’s buying golf courses. “Sir spent the day seeing the sights of St. Louis, a city he had never visited before. Trina was at his disposal, although as the driver in a city that he didn’t know, he had no problems in following her suggestions. Jasmine phoned at eleven to inform Sir that the papers had been filed and confirmed with his New York law firm. Sir gave her various options – it was now her free time, but she chose to join Sir at the St. Louis Art Museum. She managed to find him in the American Artists section, engrossed in some 1950s classic art. They spent the day together, eating at the Scottish restaurant that Ingrid had mentioned the previous afternoon. They then spent the afternoon in the Science Centre. Sir promised to take Jasmine shopping the following afternoon to make up for it. Jasmine laughed – she actually enjoyed art galleries and museums, but she wasn’t going to turn down a shopping trip on Sirs card. That evening Sir stood, surrounded by the rich and kinky of St. Louis. Mistress Melissa’s Factory club had been custom refurbished to cater to BDSM tastes. There were various rooms available for varying tastes. From small and intimate right up to the large open planned hall in which Sir now spoke. He first thanked Mistress Melissa for her renowned hospitality, and complimented their delightful and delicious city. He also complimented the architect who had designed the club, and commented on the fact that it was the best club he had ever had the privilege of attending. This met with a large round of applause and cheers, and a wide grin across Mistress Melissa’s face. He raised his crystal whiskey glass in cheers, and swallowed the cool burning sweet Drambuie in toast. He handed the empty glass to an invisible servant. Jasmine knelt at his side on a central dais, emerald and silver filigree collar around her neck. All around him Doms and Dommes sat facing him with their subs kneeling beside them. “Ladies and gentlemen, kinksters, doms, dommes, subs, cum-buckets …. whatever titles you wish on yourselves – it is customary on such fine occasions as tonight, when you welcome me with open arms, for me to return something unique, or educational to you all. It’s not always possible to come up with something unique, but I feel that I may have this evening. If we can have the lights on please ….” The lights came on. Sir indicated to two scantily clad men who stood at the side of the dais. They rolled out a large canvas, ten feet by twenty. “May I borrow two subs to help?” Sir asked. There was a chattering, a murmering, between the dominants. Mistress Melissa was almost out of her chair with anticipation. She turned to her submissive for the evening, Gabrielle, and spoke softly to her. Gabrielle replied without changing her submissive demeanour. “I promise, ladies and gentlemen, that there will be no blood.” Mistress Melissa ordered Gabrielle to join Jasmine on the stage. A ripple of applause ensued. Mistress settled back to watch, most intrigued. Sir smiled at Gabrielle as he offered her a hand to join him on stage. He had hoped that Mistress would allow her to join him, because, with the exception of the dog show where she had earned her nickname of the Million Dollar Bitch, he had not spent any quality time with her. A very handsome, toned young male sub also joined them to applause, kneeling on the dais alongside the two girls. “If you would care to lie in a line, evenly spaced. You can decide yourself if you want to be spread-eagled or not.” They all chose to be spread-eagled, lying face up, naked. “Now, while they are doing that, I need other equipment to be set up. “He beckoned one of the helpers, who brought forward three large plastic bags. “Ladies and gentlemen, if you had asked me this morning what I would be doing here this evening I would have said that I would probably do an educational piece about playing with electricity, and variations on purple wands and adjustable voltages. But something changed my mind, and instead I’m going to use fire.” There were a few gasps from the crowd, and from the stage too. Sir Vincent withdrew a blowtorch from his bag, and lit it to make sure it worked. Jasmine looked serene and trusting, the other two models not so much. “I was fortunate this morning to be able to peruse your city’s great art museum. I must confess that being from across the pond I have always preferred European art, Impressionism probably being my favourite ism. But today I really started to appreciate another ism.” Sir was removing a number of big, thick, colourful cylindrical objects from the bags and placing them between the canvas and the audience. A dozen candles of varying colours. Four black, three grey, two brown, two yellow and one white. Each eighteen inches tall, with a diameter of six inches. “No, Madam, it’s not what you think – but I’m sure they’ll allow you to do that up here another evening,” he smiled, winking at one of the Dommes in the front row. She smiled back at the peel of laughter. “I must confess that the blowtorch is a bit of theatre. If you want to do this at home a match will suffice, but my time in the spotlight is limited this evening. You can take your time.”So saying Sir lit the blowtorch, adjusting until he had a bright blue flame. He then went around lighting each of the candles. “As I was saying, I never really had an appreciation of American art before today. But I found some magnificent Chuck Close paintings, very colourful Max Beckmann, and various others. But they were really nothing new, I have seen similar pieces elsewhere. Paintings of people in various forms. But for the first time I allowed myself to see something new.

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