Miss Shannon’s new house

Shannon Stirling directed Tim to pull through the gates and drive up to the house. The gate purred open as she hit the remote. It was perfect. Completed just as she had ordered it. The gate was clad in six-foot pickets, impossible to see through, just like the eight-foot-high wall along the highway. All of the property–ten acres, running down to the bayou–was fenced, but some of it was hogwire with barbed wire on top where the property line ran through the thicket. It was early June and the thicket was growing fast and wild, creating even more privacy. She hadn’t electrified the fence, but would, if it proved necessary.

A little way inside the gate stood the gatehouse, just big enough for a security officer–when she needed one–a storage room, and an interview room. It was modular. She could add on if she needed to. Once inside, she clicked the button on the remote, and the gate rolled smoothly shut again.

The fence and gatehouse were new. The house was a century and a half old, a vast plantation house perfect for her purposes. The landscape was a tangled mess. The outbuildings were falling down, but the house was in solid shape. The plumbing and electric had been updated, central heat and air installed. It needed some cosmetic work, but she had the workers. Or she would.

Tim pulled up to the front of the house and parked the van. They had arrived. Five days of careful driving from New York City, but they were here at last. The nonprofit foundation Tim had set up for her would finally bear its fruit.

Shannon gave him instructions. “Go let Johnny out of his crate and walk him so he can pee. Stacy can wait. She’s been too whiny, but Johnny’s been very good. He can go first.”

She got out of the passenger seat and stretched, watching as Tim got out and walked around to the back. He looked good in his tight polo shirt and jeans. Tim was a big, muscular man, broad-shouldered and tight-assed. With his shaved head and the studded collar he wore, he could look frightening, but not to Shannon. He opened the back of the van and unlatched the door on the oversized dog crate there. He hooked the leash to the collar of the naked man inside the crate and backed away to let him out.

Johnny was almost a head shorter than Tim, which put him at a hair under six feet. He had a more slender build, but had plenty of muscle on it, just in a leaner shape. His straight black hair hung just below his shoulders. He’d been in one of the Asian gangs–he was Chinese–in New York, until a bounty hunter had traded him to Shannon for a favor. It hadn’t taken him long to learn proper discipline. Shannon kept him tethered or caged at all times as a matter of principle, though she rather thought he’d come to enjoy it after a year in her care, and she did care for him. Very carefully. The crate was large enough he hadn’t been any more cramped than anyone else during a five-day cross-country drive. If he moved his lovely naked body a bit stiffly now, it was no more than she did.

She watched as Tim led him across the grass to the edge of the field where she envisioned her garden, and he let go a powerful stream. When he was done, she beckoned for Tim to bring Johnny to her. She wrapped the leash around her hand, giving Johnny the hand signal to kneel and stay. “Now, Stacy.”

Tim nodded. This time, he rolled back the side door and leaned past an open space holding Shannon’s luggage to unlatch a crate pushed back against Johnny’s. Again, he fastened a leash to a studded collar, and this time, a woman crawled out of the confinement. Stacy had been a kindergarten teacher, but her submissive nature had her life spiraling out of control. After the birth of her child, her life had fallen apart. Divorced, custody of the baby given up in favor of adoption, Stacy had wound up in Shannon’s hands. Shannon wasn’t quite sure how she had managed to acquire the woman–she really wasn’t into women, but Stacy had needed her, had needed the discipline she provided. So here she was, in Louisiana with the rest of them.

Once Tim came up with the idea of the institute, Shannon had a place to put the woman. Now she watched as Stacy, soft, plump, and heavy-breasted, was walked to a slightly different patch of field where she was allowed to squat and pee. Tim brought her back and Shannon took Stacy’s leash as well.

“Now you, darlin’. You don’t need those clothes anymore.” She waggled her finger at Tim. She just loved the way he blushed when he stripped. He pulled off his shirt and tossed it back in the van, then carefully unzipped his pants and peeled them down past his rising erection. Shannon fondled him, then hooked on his leash as he kicked off his sandals. Her three slaves would walk into their new home properly dressed.

Johnny stood at her signal, and she led them up the front steps and into the house. The paint was peeling in the foyer. The floor was scarred and stained, its finish mostly gone, but the staircase still rose in its grand curve to the second floor. The structure was sound, and everything was clean. She’d insisted on that, having a cleaning crew come in after the upgrades were done. It wasn’t pretty–yet–but it was livable.

She led her pets through all the downstairs rooms, inspecting them, deciding where to put her furniture and equipment, then led them upstairs. There was no basement–the water table in Louisiana was too high. Basements invariably flooded. Upstairs, two rooms opened onto the balcony that stretched across the front of the house. The one on the east side would be hers. Tim and Johnny would share the room next to it. Stacy would go in the back of the house, where an outside staircase rose to a landing and a separate entrance. The room wasn’t a separate apartment. It had doors to the rest of the house, but it had its own entrance as well. Shannon had the key to the outside door. And all the other keys. It was just like she remembered from when she had toured the house, only better. It was clean now.

Shannon led the way back downstairs. Stacy was whimpering again, and she decided to have mercy on her. She took the leash off Tim’s collar. “Go unload the van. Find Stacy’s breast pump. Johnny, you pump her, and when the pump has finished, you make sure it got everything.”

Her pretty boy asked permission to speak, and she gave it. “I get to suck her tits?”

“Yes, Johnny. You may suck her tits. Only till her milk is gone.”

“Yes, Miss Shannon.”

“Thank you, Miss Shannon,” Stacy said. Shannon gave her a swat on the ass to remind her not to speak out of turn. It left a lovely red handprint. Stacy’s skin marked much more easily than either of her boys.

While Tim was unloading the car, Shannon screwed an eyebolt into the baseboard about halfway down the entrance hall. She locked Johnny’s chain into the bolt, then locked the other end to his collar. Johnny’s collar wasn’t studded leather, like Tim’s and Stacy’s. He wore a loose metal ring locked in place. It couldn’t be cut by anything less than a heavy pair of bolt cutters, and Shannon had the key. He could unscrew the eyebolt, but he wouldn’t have time–Tim would catch him and stop him–and Shannon didn’t think he would. Still, she would have to install the eyes on the metal plates with their four flush screws holding them in place as soon as possible. She didn’t want to have to make him sleep in his crate again.

Johnny dug the breast pump out of the suitcase, and assembled it. He fit it over Stacy’s left breast and began to pump. Shannon watched for a minute, watched Johnny’s cock lengthen and rise to attention, before she pulled out her phone and asked for the location of the nearest restaurant that delivered.

That was the problem with living in the country. Nobody delivered. As soon as the last suitcase was unloaded–and when half of your party didn’t wear clothing, it made the packing light–Shannon gave Tim detailed instructions and the key to the eyebolt end of Johnny’s chain, and drove into town to pick up dinner.

 

Tim watched Johnny suck Stacy’s breasts soft again, fondling himself lightly. Stacy had big tits, but Tim preferred Miss Shannon’s. When they were done, and Stacy was panting with need, Tim sent her to put the bottles up in the refrigerator, then took the others upstairs to scrub the bathrooms again. He held onto Johnny’s chain while Johnny scrubbed and Tim installed the eyeplate. Tim finished first, and locked Johnny down, then went to see how Stacy was doing. She was rubbing her legs together more than she was scrubbing. Tim sighed. She was such a nympho. She never behaved right.

He put the restraints on her hands so she couldn’t reach herself, and the separator between her knees. He teased her until she was whimpering, then spanked her hard until she was crying. “Hands off,” he ordered, “Until Miss Shannon says you can. And if she never does, you deal.”

Tim thought he might explode soon, himself, it had been so long since Miss Shannon had allowed him release. Since they’d left New York. They usually didn’t go so long. Sometimes Miss Shannon did–she said she liked the build-up of anticipation–but mostly, she let her people do themselves or each other every two or three days.

“Please, Tim,” Stacy sobbed. “Fuck me. Fuckmefuckmefuckme–”

“Do I need to get out the gag?” He raised an eyebrow. Stacy shut up and started scrubbing the toilet.

They’d finished the bathrooms, made up Miss Shannon’s bed–she’d bought a new one and had it delivered before they arrived–and were scrubbing in the kitchen, Tim too, by the time she got back. She’d brought supper, for a treat. Tim had been expecting to have to cook, after the kitchen scrub-down. They all ate together sitting at the table, discussing the events of the day and the plans for the next few, permission to speak freely having been given.

It had been a long day, and they had a great deal to do the next day, so after the meal and cleanup, Miss Shannon led the way back upstairs, wearing the ring on the end of Johnny’s chain as a wrist bangle. She put Stacy inside her crate in her quarters. She would sleep there until the security was installed on the doors to her rooms. Johnny went back into his crate as well. It wasn’t that Miss Shannon didn’t trust them, more that they weren’t trustworthy. Tim didn’t think they were, anyway. He got to curl up in a nest of blankets in the corner of her bedroom. He was her favorite. Her most loyal servant, and he reveled in the role. He cupped his hands around his aching cock and went to sleep.

 

The next day, the hard work began. After breakfast, while Johnny and Stacy did cleanup, Tim started on installing all the locking eyeplates for Johnny’s chain along all the baseboards. Once the first one was done in the entry hall, Johnny was put to work scraping paint. Stacy was in punishment. She’d dry-humped Johnny’s leg while he was pumping her breasts, even when she was told to stop. Tim usually took care of Stacy’s punishment, but he was needed to install the lockplates, so Shannon was handling it herself. It annoyed her that she had to do it, so she had to take extra care not to overdo.

Stacy’s hands were cuffed together and bound to a rope Shannon threaded through the second floor railing while Tim held Stacy motionless with a grip on her hair. He pulled the rope when Shannon tossed it to him, raising Stacy’s hands high in the air. Shannon had him stop before Stacy was forced to rise onto her toes. She wasn’t sure how strong that railing was. They would get pulleys installed before long.

Shannon used a leather belt on Stacy’s ass until it was glowing red, then spread her extra wide with a separator at her knees, and striped her a few more times on her inner thighs. Stacy would remain there, stretched and spread, until Shannon felt like letting her down. Not for a while yet.

“Tim, you’re in charge. I have an interview. Stay in the entry hall.” She knew he would, but she wanted to remind him not to leave either of the others alone. It could be dangerous.

She left the house, giving Johnny a squeeze on his rounded ass, and Tim a quick squeeze of his cock, along with a kiss on his cheek–they were good boys–and walked down the drive to the gatehouse. She would break it in today.

(Excerpt word count: 2,219; Story word count: 25,847)

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