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into peaks on her thighs.
    Laurie had effectively robbed her of her will. And that was the point, after all. She was no longer allowed to think or do even the simplest thing for herself, and that was exciting her. But she was glad she’d been dressed so provocatively. She wanted to look her best when she met her master again. He was all that mattered now.
    Â 
    â€˜Out.’
    She must have fallen asleep because she woke with a start. A hand was pulling her up.
    For a moment she forgot about her bound hands and got a jolt as she tried to use them to move forward. The rope and the steel collar soon reminded her she was not free to make such instinctive movements.
    â€˜Come on.’ The voice was Laurie’s.
    Hands were pulling at her body. She stumbled forward onto the soft carpeting and was virtually dragged out of the car. The air was cold but very fresh. She was sure they had arrived at the manor.
    â€˜Take her inside.’ Laurie’s voice again.
    The red patent leather shoes had heels that made her totter. She felt hands grasping her by the shoulders and pushing her forward. She could hear the gravel crunching under her feet. Then the hands lifted her slightly and the texture of the ground underfoot changed. She had been expecting the carpet of the hall, imagining she was being taken into the house through the front door, but this felt and sounded like wooden boards.
    The hands guided her to the right. After twenty or thirty of her diminutive steps they pulled her to the left and brought her to a halt. The hands dropped from her shoulders.
    â€˜Open your legs.’ This voice was female too, but it was not Laurie.
    Andrea obeyed. She felt a hand brush between her legs, then something rubbed against her thigh above the stocking tops. It crept higher.
    â€˜Move her forward.’ Another female voice, but a different one yet. It was coming from behind her.
    A hand on Andrea’s arm guided her forward two or three steps.
    â€˜That’s it.’
    Andrea gasped. Whatever had been glancing against her thigh was suddenly pulled right up between her legs, burrowing into her labia. Andrea had no idea what it was but it felt like a rope.
    There were some noises she couldn’t identify. The rope altered position slightly, pulled up more sharply between her buttocks and at the front of her mons. The latter brought it in direct contact with her clitoris and Andrea gasped loudly again.
    â€˜Sensitive little flower, isn’t she?’
    â€˜Is that tied off?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜Come on then.’
    Andrea heard footsteps on the wooden floor and then a door was slammed. A key grated in a lock.
    She stood stock still trying to hear whether there was anyone else in the room. The tight leather helmet over her ears muffled most sounds, and she doubted she would be able to hear breathing. She imagined Charles Hawksworth sitting in a leather wing-chair with his legs crossed, looking at her with that mixture of disdain and appreciation, his eyes roaming her body. She thrust her shoulders back and raised her head, wanting him to see that she was proud to be his slave. But after three or so minutes she became convinced she was alone.
    Tentatively she tried to take a step forward but the rope, or whatever it was, between her legs wouldn’t budge, only jamming itself more tightly into her sex and making her clitoris zing. She moved back slightly. Though she could take two or three steps forward it only forced the rope deeper into her sex.
    The short journey from the car, bound and blindfolded, had created huge waves of arousal. The idea of being taken from the car dressed like a whore, with her breasts and buttocks and her sex exposed to whoever happened to be watching, strangers she did not know and could not see, excited her like nothing else ever had. Why it should have such an effect on her she simply did not know, but there was no denying that it did. With her arms tied against her breasts