The Red Collection Read Online Free

approving.
    ‘You may move to the corner now, Susan,’ says my Master.
    Again, I obey, my steps rendered tiny and awkward by the pants that are bundled around my thighs. I hear the tinkle of spoons and china, and smell the delicious aroma of fresh coffee. As Madame and my Master enjoy their refreshment, she outlines the facilities offered by ‘Maison Guidetty’.
    ‘As I described on the phone, Monsieur, we provide a service to dominants like yourself, who, for one reason or another, are unable to attend to their charges themselves. Whether it is due to family circumstances, or to foreign travel or work commitments, we administer discipline, in your stead, and to your exact specifications.’ She pauses, then goes on with pride, ‘Or if you prefer, we will create an appropriate programme for you … We – that is my husband, my son, my daughter and myself – are all extremely experienced with all devices, and conversant with all classic scenarios.’
    I can well imagine. Madame is very handsome, with her elaborately chignoned hair, and her Parisian clothes, but she exudes an exciting air of hidden strength. Beneath her hand, a hapless bottom will sting and burn furiously, that’s evident. And her eyes, beneath her long, dark lashes, are those of a true, impassioned zealot.
    ‘And we offer a variety of arrangements to suit every need,’ she continues, warming to her theme. ‘For instance, a charge may simply attend once or twice a week for a sound punishment to see them through until the next visit. On the other hand, we also offer boarding facilities, for those submissives who require continuous attention.’
    ‘I think an arrangement somewhere between those two will suit Susan best,’ interposes my Master. ‘She has commitments … Employment of her own. I wouldn’t want to interfere with that … Perhaps she could come to you each weekend?’ he suggests.
    Yes, employment of my own. How ironic. What would my colleagues and subordinates think if they knew I was chairing a meeting with a bottom still raw from the lash? That beneath my Ralph Lauren skirt I was pantieless, because my inflamed cheeks could not stand the slightest brush of underwear? That my buttocks were bruised and wealed by the man I love?
    ‘Of course,’ says Madame, concurring. ‘Many of our clients specify “weekends only”. I would say it’s our most popular option.’
    They go on to discuss the finer details. And money, which seems so meaningless in this strange and special world. My Master specifies Madame herself to be my disciplinarian, and that my ‘treatments’ be morning, noon, and night. Especially night. It seems that even though night will not occur at the same time for us during the next few months, he wishes to dream of me lying in my bed with my buttocks scarlet.
    Madame coughs delicately. ‘And is she to be provided with …’ Her voice lowers. ‘With “release”?’
    ‘Oh, yes, I think so,’ replies my Master. ‘Perhaps Florenza could oblige?’ he suggests, his voice playful.
    I shiver in dread anticipation. The dark-eyed servant does not look very kind to me. Pleasure with her might be as testing as the pain.
    ‘A splendid suggestion,’ agrees Madame. ‘And perhaps I might supervise, to ensure it is correctly dispensed?’
    ‘Of course,’ concurs my Master suavely. He well knows how it shames me to be watched while I lose control.
    ‘And now, perhaps a brief tour of the facilities? And a demonstration?’ offers Madame, her soft voice full of anticipation. My instincts tell me she can’t wait to get her hands on me.
    ‘Yes! Capital!’ My Master can’t wait for her to get her hands on me either. ‘I would like Susan to be fully acquainted with the tests that lie ahead of her.’
    With that, Madame escorts us from the room, still describing the many advantages this establishment offers. I follow, at a slower pace, hampered by my underwear around my thighs, my pulses racing at the prospect of further