My Object All Sublime

Out of blackness, a sharp stab of violet light becomes a blue sky all around, rapidly joined by rolling green hills far below, a yellow sun, and if there was anything red to see that would come last, but there isn't.

Hello to those who are along for the ride today. I am Ange, and it is my locator you are linked to. I work as a changer for the Total Power Exchange and the idea of today's exercise is to give you a flavour of my work so that you will know how we do things here.

Everyone linked in? Right. Each day, I get a series of tasks arranged in what we at TPE call 'a list'. Everyone familiar with the concept? Good. Here is today's list: Sloth, Envy, Greed, Lust, Pride, Wrath, Gluttony. Another day I might get a different list: Washington, Adams, Jefferson … or Violet, Indigo, Blue … or whatever. We should be able to get through at least the first two in today's list while you are linked in.

So, 'Sloth'. Not sure what that is, so I use my descriptor to tell me. Apparently a sloth is a slow-moving, tree-dwelling, tropical American edentate mammal. It is early in the day and my descriptor may not be working at its full capacity. The descriptor? Well, it's like an eye … or a fridge. Better analogy: it's like a person in a book with headphones on … No? Anyway, you'll all see what it can do. You'll probably learn how to use it, as we go through the day.

Let's all find out what the sloth is as we go, eh? Now, steady yourselves while I use my locator. Where are we now? Looks like England. I'll just take us to the place where the sloth is. Everyone steady?

Blue leaches out of the sky, green out the grass, everything becomes a dull red glow fading away to black, gradually cooling, until another stab of violet leading to blue walls, greenery seen through a window, sunlight falling on yellow surfaces, with rather a lot of red and white plates.

It's a kitchen. It's not very clean. The floor is grubby. The sink is overflowing with those red and white plates; the yellow work surface beside it has a complete set of used pans and cooking utensils; hooks and shelves around the walls are empty because everything needs washing. There are food stains on the cooker and on the wall beside it. The table is overflowing with a pile of clothes that also need washing. A full black rubbish bag stands beside the overfull yellow rubbish bin. Outside the window, a lush late summer garden needs tending, especially the lawn.

My descriptor tells me that this time of day is normally given to preparing the evening meal. Maybe there's something more important to do. I'll just adjust the perspective …

In the hallway there is dust on the umbrella stand. In the lounge there is a disorderly pile of newspapers and magazines beside the couch. Back in the hallway there is another newspaper lying by the front door. There are finger marks on the banister rail of the stairs.

Upstairs, in the bedroom there is finally somebody there. Warmed by the late-afternoon sun, a naked young woman sprawls on the unmade bed, her legs wide open, her eyes closed. She has brown wavy shoulder-length hair and smooth curves at breast and hip. Her legs are long and shapely and her untrimmed pubic bush is the same colour as her head hair. She is gently stroking one breast.

According to the descriptor her name is Karen and she is married to a man called Mike, who'll be arriving home from work within the hour. You'd think she'd keep things clean for him.

From the image the descriptor provides, Mike is tall, dark, and broad-shouldered, but his conditioning is poor. His muscles do not match his size and there is some flab.

There is a paperback book open face down on the bed beside Karen. The cover is mostly black with a black-and-white illustration showing a tall, slim, blonde woman in a black basque, black stockings, and shiny high-heeled shoes. She is blindfolded and is kneeling with both arms held out palms upward offering a schoolmaster's cane to the viewer. The title of the book is 'Object of His Affections'.

Karen starts to pull and pinch at her breast, her other hand creeping down towards her crotch and gently touching her slit.

My locator is telling me that Karen is imagining a second location. Hold tight, darlings.

A swift violet streak through the bedroom incorporates the other colours quickly so that Karen's imagined scene is now visible as well as her reality. The descriptor adds a label, 'slave k', to the woman in that scene.

She is a younger, taller, tauter, tanned version of Karen wearing what at first glance appears to be a golden bikini. Although the top part holds and lifts her breasts, it covers nothing. The bottom part hides far more than a modern swimsuit would. It is a golden chastity belt with an intricate lacy patterned surface over a metal framework. It is unclear precisely what, if anything, the lock fixes together. In the bedroom, Karen's discarded clothes are very different: washed-out red tee shirt, blue jeans, an old and frayed black bra.

The house in the fantasy is much larger and more luxurious than Karen's. Slave k is in a large, tall room with vaguely Victorian paintings on the wood-panelled walls and several large windows. She is dusting. As her hands are somehow fixed behind her back, she is reduced to using her breasts to rub a duster on the window ledge, which arouses k's nipples more than it cleans the surface. Karen sighs deeply as she strokes her own nipple to the same state as k's. The afternoon sun shines through the open window, causing beads of sweat to appear on k's brow as she works. Karen is sweating more profusely, on her face and neck, between her breasts, across her shoulders.

A man who looks like Mike but slimmer and better muscled approaches k. The descriptor labels him 'Overseer'. He wears formal servant's clothes. A short whip hangs from his belt. Karen's breathing becomes more ragged as k bites her lip in fear of this man who clearly has power over her. As he reaches the window she is working at, he casually slaps k's buttock as Karen rolls sideways to slap her own cheek hard leaving it red. Where k was struck a clear reddened handprint appears; Karen feels the sting of both slaps.

Slave k falls to her knees, begging the overseer for time to finish her work. Karen, once more on her back, mutters k's words, tasting the guilt, matching the tight, fearful breathing, touching the wetness between her legs and stroking herself rhythmically.

The fantasy scene suddenly skips to a time when k's work is finished. The overseer is examining the result. He seizes k by a nipple and drags her to a window where he has found a late summer wasp. Karen recalls from the book how k, naked, bound, and vulnerable, fears its sting, but it is already dead. Karen is pinching and stretching her own pink nipple, moaning in pain, and stroking her labia with the other hand, sometimes dipping a finger between them.

Slave k, fearful now of the overseer's whip, throws herself at his feet, trying to kiss his shoes, which have somehow become curl-toed slippers out of the Arabian Nights. The room and the overseer's costume have taken on the look of this more exotic milieu, Karen's preferred fantasy it seems. Instead of polished floorboards, k feels the thick pile of a Persian carpet rough against her nipples. The overseer grunts an order in some imagined Arabic and k kneels up, her legs apart. He rubs his slipper against her crotch (wasn't there a chastity belt there?) judging her wetness. Karen is pinching and scratching at her own crotch, embracing the humiliation.

The overseer unhooks the whip from his belt and it becomes a cane as he does so. Slave k is crying, shaking, begging, apologising for the wasp, and for her failure. Karen mumbles. Her head gives little jerks, making k's distress her own. Her hips move with the rhythm of her fingers which , have zeroed in on her clitoris

The overseer's cane falls; k cringes in pain; Karen jolts and cries out quietly as if she too has been hit. Slave k jerks, shouts, and writhes to avoid the repeated, relentless, merciless strokes of the cane. As she moves, the blows fall all over her body. Red stripes appear wherever the cane lands. Karen's whole body begins to redden, her own nipples tightening and deepening in colour from pink to carmine, the pace of her fingers on her clitoris rising. She moans in rhythm with the blows as they fall and her other hand creeps down her belly towards her vagina.

Dropping the cane, the overseer lifts k by her hair and, throwing her on to the edge of a sudden newly and conveniently present table, unlocks her chastity belt (it's back!) and vigorously takes her from behind. His weight crushes her breasts against the table, presses her bound hands and arms between their bodies. His fat bulbous cock slides easily into k's slick cunt as Karen plunges the fingers of her other hand into her own vagina, and the thrusting of the overseer, the rhythm of Karen's moans, and the rubbing of her clitoris bring Karen and slave k to their single climax.

Karen turns on her side, her hands held between her thighs, and dozes sweatily, smiling. The rich purples and blues of the Arabian Nights décor fade; the green lawns beyond the window, the gold of the slave's bra, the red welts on her body follow, and the fantasy has gone.

Mike walks into the room. He shouts, "You lazy little …" He is too polite to finish the sentence. "I've been hard at it all day but there's nothing done here. The kitchen's a wreck, those papers are still lying all over the floor, and the bed isn't even made."

He picks up the book. Karen looks sheepish and tries to find her knickers. He reads satirically from the back of the book cover. "'Her name was taken away and she was forced to serve as a slave in her new husband's luxurious home.'

"Have you been playing with yourself all day over this?" He throws the book at her. It hits her face. "If you were really a slave you'd have to keep this place clean and tidy and make my dinner on time at least." He begins to turn to leave the room.

You know, he didn't even hit her, really. She's done nothing but diddle her little button all day and she's got away with it. He's even about to go out and get his own meal. Well, I think I know what to do here. Little Ange can deal with this problem.

Now, I'm going to use the locator to fix this, but this will be a different kind of transition. The locator? It changes things. It's like a pump … or an imagination with teeth. Okay, do you know what a supernova is? No? I think you're just going to have to experience it and understand it that way, ducks. Anyway, no-one should be alarmed when things change. Okay?

An explosion of light, each colour, each individual wavelength, separately present, but all simultaneous. Then black. And then the colours return: the violet stab, the blue of Karen's jeans lying on the grubby green carpet, the yellow curtains, Mike's tan suit, the red tee-shirt and Karen's blushing face.

Nothing is different. But …

As Mike turns to leave, Karen licks her lips and says, "Would you like to have a slave to do those things? And do whatever you want in bed?"

Mike turns back. "You're kidding me, right?"

"No, I read books like that for a reason, you know. I read them and get no work done because they're about what I want to be."

"Really? Would I have to hit you all the time?"

"Only if I didn't do as I was told. I'd only need to be afraid that you'd hit me. But you could if you wanted to, you'd be in charge."

"I wouldn't know what to do."

Karen picks up the book. "I've got dozens of these. I'll show you the best ones."

I think she's going to persuade him, don't you? Big strapping lad like him, too. Let's skip forward a bit while they get the details organised, hey? Transition time!

One by one the colours fade away, the blush of Karen's face and upper body fading last to black, then the familiar return of the colours in order becoming Karen's kitchen, now spotless, the ingredients for a meal laid out on the work surface beside the cooker.

Karen rushes in awkwardly. She is still mostly naked. Around her neck is locked a leather collar. She has black leather ankle cuffs linked by a hobble chain making her steps short and precarious as she enters. She also has a very practical black-and-silver chastity belt, much stricter than slave k's was. This lock clearly locks the waist-belt to the crotch piece. This one will stay put until someone unlocks it. She carries a duster and a bottle of some cleaning spray. She puts them away in a cupboard below the draining board, washes her hands, glances at the clock, and gets on with the cooking.

That task looks a bit mechanical. Let's all look at the rest of the house while she does that, shall we?

The rest of the house is spotless too. The lounge is tidy. There is no dust in the hallway; there are no finger marks on the stairs. Upstairs the bed is made and there are no clothes (or books) lying around. Back downstairs there is a whippy cane in the umbrella stand.

In the kitchen the meal goes into the oven. Karen looks at the clock again and bustles into the hallway carrying a pair of metal handcuffs. She checks her hair in the mirror, kneels facing the front door, and carefully cuffs her hands behind her back. She waits.

Mike arrives home. Karen blinks realising her naked breasts are briefly visible to the street outside until he closes the door. He gives her a strict look reminiscent of the overseer, puts down his briefcase, removes his jacket, and hangs it up. "I hope you've done all your chores right on your first day as a slave." She knows not to answer. Inspecting the hallway, he selects the cane from the umbrella stand then walks through into the lounge.

Everything he sees is clean and tidy until he looks at the window-ledge. There, he finds a newly-dead late-summer wasp. He considers whether she could be held responsible for it, then shrugs and draws the curtains. He bursts back into the hallway and, grabbing Karen by a nipple, drags her squealing through to look at the wasp. This is far worse than she imagined; the hobble makes her stumble and she fears a fall might really hurt her.

"Look at that. You call that clean? Is it tidy?"

She swallows, "No, Master." She glances at the cane in his hand. She is frightened. Her nipples tighten. The chastity belt feels uncomfortable.

"Now, what would be a suitable punishment?" he muses. "Count the stripes on the wasp, Karen."

She looks at it. "Two by the wings and six further back."

"Okay, very suitable. Bend over for your six." She bends and he slowly and deliberately applies six strokes of the cane to her buttocks. After two she is biting her lip, on the third she cries out, on the fourth she cries tears. On the fifth stroke she loses her balance slightly and, sobbing, forces herself back into the right position. The sixth stroke, applied, whether deliberately or not, directly on the red mark left by an earlier one, leaves her on the floor sobbing and bawling with pain and humiliation. "Now stand up for the two near the wings." She stands slowly, her body heaving with sobs, unsure of what to expect, until she realises she is to have her breasts caned. Her hands, cuffed behind her, cannot help her.

"Please, Master. The wasp wasn't …"

"Silence, slave." She looks at the cane and stops talking. "Stand straight." She is resigned, now. He is clearly going to do it. On her first day. The cane falls across her breasts. Briefly, she can see the red lines feel the length of the pain. Then floods of tears and sobs wracking her body mean she cannot see or think of anything else but pain. "Be still." With an effort she stills her sobbing. The cane lands again. She falls to the floor with a howl.

The descriptor indicates all the places where she hurts. This is far more than she ever wanted or imagined. But the descriptor also indicates where she is aroused: her nipples visible tight and erect, her labia puffy and wet and her clitoris engorged inside the chastity belt.

She reaches for his feet kissing his shoes and apologising guiltily for all of her failures. He accepts her apology and lifts her to a standing position. Retrieving her keys from his pocket, he releases her hands and sends her to serve his meal. While he eats, she kneels on the kitchen floor near his feet, humbled, hurting, and needing sex more than she ever imagined possible.

He leaves some of the meal on his plate and puts it on the floor for her. She looks at the food but eating isn't what she wants to do. "Any questions, slave?"

"Please, Master, could Master fuck his slave? She wants to please him in every way."

"Well, her Master used up a lot of energy beating her for disobedience. I don't think she deserves any sex. I'm going to watch the match. Maybe you can suck me later. Eat that and clean up. Then, wait here in the kitchen. Quietly." He goes to the lounge to watch the football on television.

Karen weeps as she eats the few scraps he has left her, then washes the dishes and cleans all the surfaces. As the evening draws in she feels cold, rejected, her welts stinging, her breasts and arms goose-pimpled. She is still weeping gently, still ready for sex, as she kneels to wait for him. She can't even masturbate now unless he allows her to. This real chastity belt cannot be imagined away. Mike, happy with his slave, drowses in front of the post-game show, then remembers. "Slave. You can come through and suck me now."

She takes no risks and crawls through to the lounge. He has already opened his fly and his fat cock, half erect, is visible. This is the only way back into favour. She starts to kiss and lick it, stroking the base of it with her hands. She concentrates on pleasing him, opening her mouth wide and sucking it deep inside, then releasing and starting again. He is smiling, anticipating a life where this, or better, is how all his evenings end.

Looks like my work is done here. Everybody gets what they want. My guess is she'll have to suck quite a few times before she gets fucked. But she'll enjoy it all the more for having to wait. I'd love to hang around and watch him getting some but we have to get on.

Let's see what's next on the list. Envy. Funny word. Only need the middle two letters, really. Brace yourselves.

The scene fades away; the redness of Mike's cock and in Karen's eyes and lips is the last colour left before blackness and then that sharp violet moment brings in the blue of a man's suit, dark green armchairs, the brown tints of coffee in white cups, a maroon carpet.

This is a luxurious room with several comfortable armchairs, book-lined walls, and racks with newspapers. Two men sit in chairs facing one another. Coffee cups sit on the table between them. The descriptor is becoming easier to use, giving information about them without conscious effort.

Jamie is thirty years old, blond, strong-looking, and determined. His green eyes match his designer sweater. His expressive hands illustrate his conversation with easy flowing motions. He shows a great respect for the man he is talking to, nodding when the other speaks, deferring to the points he makes. Carl is forty-five, stocky, dark-eyed, and dark-haired, with a short carefully tended beard and a neat blue suit. He is confident in himself and affable, but with a streak of cruelty about him as if he were somebody else in other company, the savage in society.

"Of course," says Carl, "I don't have the kind of resources you can draw on." Jamie inclines his head in agreement but contrives to suggest with his hands that it doesn't matter to him that Carl is less financially successful. "But I make sure that there is always sufficient equipment in the playroom." There is a glint in Carl's eye as he smiles playfully. "She deserves the best I can give her, even if she can't match your slave for beauty."

"Lauren is beautiful, isn't she? I'm very lucky she belongs to me. Your Stephanie, though, must be marvellous to have as a slave." Though Jamie is unable to say that Stephanie is beautiful, he clearly finds her desirable. "Everyone in the lifestyle remarks on her pain tolerance. You are a very lucky man, Carl." Carl gives a feral grin.

The two women arrive in the doorway of the room each carrying bags from several stores. Lauren is indeed beautiful. She is twenty-eight, petite, and blonde. Her radiant beauty comes from the smile that fills her whole face and the way she holds her head to show her elaborate silver collar. Her body is also held proudly, her full breasts in perfect proportion to her small frame.

Stephanie is thirty-five, taller than Carl and a little thin. Her jaw is rather square and her mouth wider than most people's in relation to her face. She is very conscious that her breasts are small and too obviously of different sizes. She blushes slightly hearing Jamie talking about her, but grins lasciviously when she hears what he has to say. Jamie looks straight at her, his desire blatant. She blushes again. Carl doesn't notice; he is trying not to stare at Lauren.

At this point I don't know why I am here, but this is obviously about these men and their women. Let's have a quick look at what goes on, eh? Might be fun to watch. Recent memories from each of them. Ready?

The clubroom fades into the background and two criss-crossing violet streaks bring us two new scenes with low lighting. A wooden X-cross, a spotlight shining on its intersection, is the centre-piece of a room filled with pounding rock music. The other room is slow to be visible as there is only red light there, falling on red plush cushions. The music here is gentle, like many slow soft bells in inevitable never-repeating patterns. Lauren kneels here, naked but for her silver collar, her hands clasped behind her neck, smiling at a naked Jamie.

Carl, dressed in a loose white open-chested shirt and leather trousers, drags a naked Stephanie towards the cross. She resists, digging her heels in and struggling, but cannot prevail against the vicious choke-chain around her neck. Other chains hang from her wrists and ankles.

Jamie orders Lauren to crawl to him. The velvet cushions stroke her hands and legs as she crawls. She is very aroused. Her Master's nudity signals that he has decided to use her body. Jamie watches her crawling, her deep submission clear as her proud nature is brought low.

Held captive by the choke-chain, Stephanie submits to be bound to the cross. The chains at her wrists are locked into metal fixings on the upper arms. Carl wraps the choke-chain around the centre of the X and locks it around her waist. As he stoops to attach her ankles to the lower arms, spreading her legs wide, she is beginning to be aroused.

Jamie stands over Lauren and orders her to stroke her own body. She kneels erect and stimulates her breasts and belly, occasionally running her fingers over her neatly trimmed tuft of pubic hair, watching as Jamie (watching her) comes to an impressive erection. He hasn't yet touched her. She needs him to touch her.

Stephanie struggles in order to confirm her helplessness. Her arms and legs are trapped by the metal cuffs and their attached chains. Trying to move her waist threatens to tighten the choke-chain at her neck. She is ready to accept whatever pain Carl decrees for her. She cannot escape him. Carl knows it. He selects the warm-up whip, a buggy whip for flicking all over her back and buttocks. He is going to enjoy this.

Ordered to kiss and suck her Master's penis, Lauren lifts one hand and guides it to her small mouth, kissing it, rolling back the foreskin and kissing the naked tip, touching the tiny lips at its entrance with her tongue-tip, then enveloping the head and flicking her tongue over the rim of it. She feels his hand in her hair taking control of her head, of her mind, of her will. Jamie is careful not to push too deeply into her mouth. The feelings are exquisite. She has learned to please him. He knows that her whole life is devoted to learning to please him better.

Stephanie is alternately shouting and trying to breathe through the pain. The flicking goes on and on, every little touch making a new pain to add to all the others that haven't ended yet. Her back and buttocks are on fire. The buggy whip feeds the flames. But she knows this is only the starter. She craves the main course and tries to find enough breath to beg for it. Carl knows. He hangs up the buggy whip and unfurls the single-tail ready to strike. He is ready. It's good that she is ready too.

Jamie pulls Lauren's head back releasing his penis. It glistens before her eyes, ready to use her, and she shudders. Jamie, feeling his control of her, picks her up and throws her on her back on the cushions. Diving after her, he pins her down while he enters her and begins to thrust - Flack! Flack! Stephanie screaming as the whip strikes again and again across her back and buttocks – Lauren's head rolling as he forces her to give her body for his pleasure – Stephanie's head rolling with the intensity of the pain. Both women are breathing raggedly as their senses take over. Carl is getting hard.

Lauren, gulping air, shyly asks her Master to "please do my bottom" and Jamie withdraws as he folds her legs to her shoulders. Carl feels the heat of Stephanie's whipped back as he drops his trousers and releases her waist-chain from the cross so he can reach around her hips to brutally grab her cunt-lips and wrench her body away from the wood to give his cock access to her cunt-hole.

Lauren feels her Master thrusting deep within her rectum and feels she cannot survive the pleasure, but holds on for her Master's sake, and Stephanie struggles against the chains holding her limbs and neck, and the cock driving into her, and Jamie feels surrounded, engulfed, overwhelmed by the hot intensity of Lauren's love, and Carl fucks his slave till they all come.

Two scenes, mostly red anyway, fade very slowly. Eventually, only the two men sitting in green armchairs and the two women standing in the doorway remain.

I could watch that for days. Still, nothing wrong there I would have thought. There must be something I don't know. I wonder what they are thinking right now.

The descriptor shows Jamie wishing he had a slave like Carl's: a slave he could beat, who didn't have a strict no-pain limit in her contract like Lauren. He thinks wistfully of Stephanie being whipped. He has said that Carl is very lucky. He believes it. He hates it.

Carl is consumed by Lauren's beauty. He has never had a slave as perfect to look at as Lauren. Before he gets too old to appreciate it, he wants to be served by a beautiful slave like young, effortlessly rich, undeserving Jamie is.

So, that's where the problem is. Can't have them going around thinking bad thoughts like that. I think little Ange can deal with it though. Just a tiny push. Here we go. Another change with the locator. Hold on to your, er …

The universe explodes. Twice. Every separate frequency of light is doubled. Every one is the whole spectrum. Then it all stops and all is black. Slowly, colour by colour, the scene returns.

Nothing is different. But …

"I wonder," says Jamie, tentatively, "whether we could arrange a …" His hands move back and forth.

"Temporary swap?"

"Or a joint … simultaneous …" The hands interlock. The women look at each other apprehensively.

They'll get there eventually. It's all just details to arrange. Give them that little push in the right direction and British men can always overcome their reticence somehow when there's something they want. Let's skip on to the good bit, eh?

The scene fades to black again. The violet impulse creates a purple caftan, worn by Lauren, a denim shirt and blue jeans for Stephanie, a mustard-yellow polo shirt for Jamie. Carl is all in black. They are sipping red wine and admiring Carl and Stephanie's playroom. There is a deep red padded bench and the cross from before. On the wall opposite the cross there are arrays of hooks and shelves holding neatly arranged bondage equipment, whips, canes, paddles, and other devices for causing pain.

Lauren is frightened by them. Jamie holds her upper arm to stop her retreating. She looks into his eyes and knows he will protect her. Stephanie is showing Jamie the range of clamps they have, spring-loaded ones, screw-driven ones, clover clamps, tightened by gravity. Carl is looking at Lauren.

Jamie tells Lauren to undress, takes her glass, and gently pushes her towards the centre of the room, then turns to Stephanie and, giving a small gesture with his hand, glances from the clamps to her breasts to her eyes. Stephanie, used to being forced, takes a moment to realise she is to demonstrate the clamps on her nipples. As Stephanie unbuttons her shirt, Carl watches Lauren reach down with both hands and pull the caftan over her head.

Jamie collects the glasses and puts them on an unoccupied shelf. Stephanie, conscious as ever of her imperfect breasts, attaches the clover clamps to her nipples and demonstrates how pulling the chain connecting them tightens their grip. Jamie, fascinated, pulls too, gradually harder until she winces. Carl walks around the naked Lauren looking at her body from every angle. She is very aware of all the pain-giving implements on the wall before her and fears their owner.

Jamie hangs on to the chain of the nipple-clamps and selects a paddle from the equipment wall. Lauren watches as he leads Stephanie towards the padded bench by her nipples. She must not let her Master down. Carl's hands stroke her buttocks, then reach around her to grip her breasts roughly. Fear is arousing her.

Stephanie, put over Jamie's knee and having her jeans and pants pulled down, watches Carl handling Lauren's body. Lauren feels his lust and strength as he turns her round and forces her to her knees. Jamie urgently strips off his shirt and tests the weight of the paddle.

Carl pulls Lauren's head back by her hair until their eyes meet and growls "Get to work." Lauren unfastens his trousers and prepares herself to suck a man other than Jamie for the first time. Stephanie finds Jamie's light paddling amusing. She kicks her legs girlishly and almost laughs when she feels Jamie's erection growing under her body. Then she sees Lauren take Carl's cock into her mouth and feels a stab of jealousy that goes straight to her cunt.

Jamie is enjoying hurting Stephanie. He can feel her squirming on his lap and is surprised to feel a wet patch on his thigh. He wants to do more, lifts her off his knee and drags her to the equipment wall. She struggles to kick off her jeans finally as he picks out a cane and some wrist-cuffs. Carl's animal taste and smell fill Lauren's awareness as she seeks to please him. Carl feels the most exquisite touches on his cock as he watches her face, its smooth perfection contrasting with the twisted veins of his erection.

Stephanie feels Jamie's effortless dominance as he tells her to put the cuffs on herself and fix them high to one arm of the cross. There is no obvious threat if she disobeys, she is just doing as she is told, and yet she has difficulty controlling her breathing. Jamie removes the last of his clothes, freeing his impressive erection, and swings the cane for the first time. For Carl, the feelings in his cock are getting better and better, but he doesn't want to come in Lauren's mouth. He wants to be fucking her beautiful body when he comes.

Lauren's head is pulled away from the heady, primal scent of Carl's crotch. She is dragged by her hair to the bench. She had a respite from the fear while sucking him but now it comes back with full force. His black clothes make him seem a shadow, a creature of the night, something deep and engulfing. His strength gives her no hope of resistance. She is thrown over the bench she only associates with beating and cowers, trying to get away from Carl behind it, scooting around till she can see Jamie caning Stephanie. He is obviously fascinated with the welts appearing on her skin, and his glistening penis moves rhythmically with the blows.

Stephanie's head is turned towards the bench looking at Carl's strong, taut erection as Jamie drops the cane and enters her fiercely. Carl recovers control of Lauren, forces her legs apart and fucks her hard from behind. Lauren squeals, surprised by the heat and force of Carl's fucking. She comes quickly and sharply, feels Carl climaxing deep within her, sees Stephanie's eyes suddenly tearful with jealousy as she stiffens and cries out in orgasm while Jamie claws at her breasts and comes with his own cry.

That's the way to do it. Another job well done for little old Ange. I really enjoy this work, and I hope today's demonstration of what I do has inspired you to consider working for the Exchange. Unfortunately, my dears, that's all the time we have together, so I will have to wish you all farewell while I get on with today's list. Greed? Isn't that wanting more than you can have ?

Purple leaves Lauren's caftan, blue fades out of Stephanie's discarded jeans, yellow from Jamie's shirt, brown from the wooden cross, reds and pinks from the dregs of the wine and from four people's flesh. The heat from their bodies can still briefly be felt until everything fades to black.