Gerda's Further Tests

(Jim E Dickson)

Gerda's Further Tests

Chapter 1


It was three hours later and the setting sun cast golden rays across the large sitting-room of the penthouse suite. In the distance the peaks of the Alps, still with a crown of snow, were illuminated with a pink glow. From the long front windows Gerda could see the satin-smooth Mediterranean, with yachts and motor-cruisers leisurely making for Cannes or Villefranche before dusk set in.

She lay back in the comfortable armchair and closed her eyes, at peace with the world. With his usual psychological instinct, Guy had instructed her on their arrival at the Villa to return to her own quarters, rest for an hour or so, then join him in the penthouse for drinks. "You may dress as you wish, as if you were going out for an evening with your date. And no mask."

It had been a wise move, as Gerda was exhausted after her shattering heat torture. She had staggered upstairs and let Maria unpeel her heavy suits. Then she had taken a long cool bath, put on a thin rubber kimono and lain down on her bed. She felt better already.

She called in Maria, looking at the cute little waif with enormous affection. "Maria, I honestly think you saved my life today. I certainly must have fainted and might easily have choked on my gag while I was unconscious. How on earth did you happen to come along?"

Maria flashed a smile through her mask. "I thought you might be in trouble, Mistress. I knew you were being sent to work in the garden and I know how thick those suits and masks were. It's been one of the hottest days we've had this year and probably Mistress Monica, in her air-conditioned summerhouse, didn't realise the temperature outside. I asked slave 40 to buzz through on some pretext to find out which part of the grounds you had been sent to. Then I came to find you, but I had to make a big detour, as someone might have seen me crossing the big lawn."

"Yes, you took a helluva risk even so, the main drive is strictly out of bounds to serving-maids. You know how grateful I am, though. That bitch gave me the extra punishment of bending down and working in the most exposed piece of ground in the entire place. I've never been so hot in my life, even in a punishment heat cell."

She had slept for an hour, feeling back to normal when she awoke. After much deliberation and searching through her now vast wardrobe, she chose a thin white evening dress in very soft rubber, fitting tightly from the neck to the waist, then falling in loose folds to her feet. Maria brought out a pair of white evening shoes, but Gerda had other ideas.

"No, I don't want to feel too relaxed. Bring me the very high white boots with the six-inch heels. They were only delivered the other day, but you'll have to lace them onto me."

It took Maria nearly fifteen minutes to complete the lacing of the superb white leather boots which came to the very top of Gerda's long legs. She stood carefully in the thin ultra-high heels and regarded her nude image in the mirror. She noticed with approval she was as slim as ever and her round breasts were as firm as when she was eighteen. Maria clucked admiringly.

"What a lovely sight, Mistress, and what a perfect figure. I wish I was tall like you and had your boobs."

"Rubbish, You may be small but you have lovely proportions. When I was sixteen I tried to crouch down and stop myself growing taller, I wanted to be tiny and petite with no breasts. Instead I went on growing and growing. Aren't those boots terrific?"

They were indeed. The white gleaming leather, now tightly laced from ankle to top, swept smoothly up from the stiletto heels to the very peak of her thighs. Although comfortable, she felt pleasantly constricted.

"What a pity they won't be appreciated, Mistress, they'll be covered by the long dress."

Gerda gave an enigmatic smile. "Don't worry; I'll make sure Le Comte will appreciate them. Come on, get me into my dress, I'm off to the ball. At least it won't be too tight; I must have lost several kilos this afternoon."

The dress was stunning. When Maria had zipped up the back, the waist and bodice moulded tightly round Gerda's torso, her pointed breasts pushing saucily out against the thin rubber, the nipples two hard points. The tight sleeves and high mandarin collar gave her a virginal appearance and the long full skirt rustled demurely to the floor. She wore no pants, as the material was so fine they would have spoilt the unbroken line of the dress.

"Guy doesn't want a mask, but I think I'll wear thin latex gloves, long white ones. It's funny how I feel naked these days if I'm not gloved. Let's go. You took everything I may need up to the penthouse and told 40 he was free for the next twenty-four hours?"

"Yes, Mistress. I think he's very curious about where you disappear to every week or so, but I tell him nothing."

Now Gerda opened her eyes as the sunbeams gradually died and the sun disappeared behind the Alps. She had arrived ten minutes earlier and Guy had called out from the bedroom he was not quite dressed and to mix a shaker of vodka martinis. Maria had retired to her own room adjoining the suite.

The bedroom door opened and Le Comte strode in. Slowly Gerda stood up, her eyes feasting on his strong saturnine face, then gave a cry of delight at his costume. He wore heavy loose breeches made of very thick and extra shiny black latex, strapped below the knee with gold buckles, covering black latex stockings. On top was a loose Cossack shirt of the same gleaming material, belted at the waist by a wide black leather belt. On his feet he wore black patent pumps. It was almost a foppish costume of the 18th Century, but Guy's tall figure wore it with masculine ease. She loved the muted rustle as he crossed the room.

His eyes showed approval and appreciation of her white outfit. Not wearing a mask, she had made up her face to subtly complement her wide mouth and large blue eyes. There was little she could do with her silky blonde hair, which as a top model in Paris had reached to her waist and then had been cruelly cropped off after she arrived on the Island, but the urchin-cut which she was now accustomed to looked youthfully attractive.

Guy bowed and kissed her gloved hand, his eyes twinkling. "Madam, may I say you are the loveliest lady in the room? A vision in virginal white, ready to be taken to the Royal Ball. But let's have a drink first."

She curtseyed. "Thank you, kind Sir and Master. May I return the compliment by saying those sexy breeches are turning me on and I may rape you at any moment! They're fabulous!"

He laughed and moved over to the bar, the breeches rustling and moving like black molten metal. "It's very thick but very soft and, as you say, it has a very high shine. I think at last we've got the right formula. It is, incidentally, water-repellent and very stretchy, so it makes it ideal material for grease pants."

Gerda gave a small shiver of pleasure at the thought. She accepted the martini which Guy had poured from the shaker and they sat down opposite each other.

"I've been very wicked," she said anxiously. "I haven't knelt or paid homage, but I feel undressed without my mask."

He laughed. "Relax. Your training will start later, for the moment you're my lovely wife having a pre-dinner drink. How goes your Mistress programme?"

"Rather too well at times. I'm getting a huge kick out of it and I'm just scared I'll lose my masochism and become a bad slave."

"No chance of that. It's born into you and you're lucky enough to be able to swing either way at will. Besides, that's why either Laura or myself will come up every week or two, just to keep you in practice."

She looked at the shiny loose breeches and had an irresistible urge to kneel down and bury her face between his legs. "What does La Baronessa say about my progress?"

"Most complimentary. You've surprised her although she still thinks you're too lenient and always worrying about the slave's feelings. But you're getting valuable experience."

"Experience for what, Master? I just want to come back to the Island and be your slave and wife and love you."

Guy flicked an amused glance. "Tut! In a year or two you would become immune to your punishments and thoroughly bored. No, the secret is always to go forward to new experiences. I think it was your Robert Louis Stevenson who said 'To travel hopefully is a better thing than to arrive and the true success is to labour'. Now, I want to tell you briefly of my plans for the future."

He stood up and crossed to the wall switches, flooding the darkening room with lights from the cut-glass chandeliers. She watched, mesmerised, his rippling black costume as he moved. Casually she lifted her skirt slightly and stretched out her legs, aware that her hard nipples were straining through the thin rubber of her dress.

"I've talked this over very thoroughly with Miss Dodds and Laura and also with La Baronessa and Zed, my old friend. For several years now I've had to turn away hundreds of enquiries from Mistresses - and Masters - to train their male slaves. Apparently in this present age there are far more masochistic men than women, although, like yourself, I suspect a great many women don't realise that under their cloak of civilisation there lies a masochist longing to be dominated. However, until now I have always referred them to La Baronessa, just as she always referred the training of female slaves to my establishment."

Gerda eased her dress to her knees and wished she was wearing a Rod, although the thin dress clung excitingly to her nude body.

"La Baronessa tells me she cannot cope with the number of male slaves who apply for training, either by themselves or sponsored by their Mistress or Master. I'm talking, of course, about the genuine applicants who can pay the very large fees involved."

He paused to light a cigarette, blowing out raw blue smoke.

"So, I've decided, with everyone's approval, that we will now accept male slaves to the Island."

"A sort of coeducational school?" Gerda said lightly.

"No. We will have to re-organise the entire schedules and programmes, because the males will not mix with the females, except on special occasions. And that's where you come in."

She looked up, her interest quickening. "Me? How d'you mean?"

"Can't you guess? When you've completed your Mistress training here, an expert on male slaves, you will return to the Island to become a Mistress, mainly to the males." He held up a hand before she could protest. "However, once a week, and possibly at other times, you will spend twenty-four hours as my slave and the slightest relaxation of your slavery will be severely dealt with by The Executioner. And if I happen to be away, you will report to Laura for your weekly slavehood. I'm sure you'll find it a very full and interesting life. Now please stand up and lift your dress, I've noticed you've been trying to intrigue me with your new boots."

Gerda grinned impishly and slowly rose, then gathered her full skirt and lifted it up to her waist, revealing the high white boots. She pivoted slowly on the stiletto heels, exposing her nude bottom.

"It's shamefully white, Master," she said demurely, "It needs the kiss of your whip. But the branding healed beautifully." Guy leant forward and inspected the two initials 'G'- for Guy and Gerda - which he had branded onto each cheek of her bottom three months earlier at her Passing-out ceremony, attended by almost everyone on the Island. It had been a proud moment for her and she had accepted the searing pain with fortitude and dignity. The angry red scars had healed quickly and were now a smooth dark brown against the white skin.

As she lowered the dress he turned her round and next moment she was in his arms and they were kissing like two desperate young lovers.