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The Manor

The Manor : Volume 1

By: Sally Ferla
Published By: Sally Ferla
Copyright: Published by Sally Ferla
35 chapters / 129,000 words
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Jennifer and her mistress, a wealthy businesswoman, have committed to living the mistress/slave lifestyle, which has suffered lately due to Jennifer’s willful disobedience. In an effort to save their relationship, her mistress takes her to an etiquette academy called the Manor. 

Under extreme emotional pain and pressured from all sides Jennifer finally signs the admission form in a desperate bid to save her relationship but unbeknown to her the suggestively clad figures and strange women in the office, are actually lawyers and the cold hearted woman behind the desk a psychiatrist who runs the Manor as a medical asylum, Jennifer has just been committed!

Thrust into a life of etiquette training, Jennifer finds herself imprisoned with dozens of other women, failures leading to harsh corrections by the “intendants” the house overseers who have perfected the means over years of legally holding them indefinitely. Learning how to be a proper life slave suddenly becomes a daunting quest for survival…

Chapter 1 


The straps hurt her arms, and so her Mistress slightly loosened them with a grimace, obviously angry she was having to do this again. Jennifer couldn’t work out why, as she was bent over into the box, why after all this time and being together all these years, she just couldn’t completely let go…she did love her Mistress. She trusted her, and she tried to worship her, although she still felt... well, silly at times, like it was, well, silly – and, of course, this could be felt by her mistress, which was why, yet again, she was being put into her punishment box. 

Her punishment box, a necessary implement they had both agreed on before they tried to live the lifestyle permanently, when it became clear that Jennifer had a tendency to become not just wayward, but resistant to her Mistress’s wishes…..this wouldn’t do.

Fortunately, her Mistress was wealthy, a business woman whose reach could tap onto whatever they required; her real problem was time, which seriously added to her frustration when Jennifer seemed to willfully waste it, and with not just disobedience, but resistance, seeming to force her Mistress to endlessly have to keep pushing in order to get the results she had already learned.

Having the luxurious holdings of Kurt Mayer –a master craftsman who specialized in fine artistic bondage furnishings – and having been on such good terms with him over the years, they were lucky enough that he accepted a commission to build their most necessary new piece. ‘Expensive’ was a good word for how it was made, partly due to her mistress’s tastes, and ‘awe-inspiring’ was another when it was positioned in the corner of the den, their usual nightly place for chatting about their day.

Once it had been unveiled, Jennifer could always feel its presence; even without locking her in it, the effect on her behavior was immediate. Her Mistress was overjoyed, as awkward quirks and silly resistances that Jennifer had made seemed to melt away almost like magic. Their times in their den were so improved, and it became as decadent as their surroundings, the soft magnolia walls leading down to ornate skirtings and onto the soft cream carpet, itself inches thick and seeming to bathe them in comfort, the gorgeous chandelier above glinting down at them into their recessed floor, two steps leading down to their comfort from the entrance, as they were often to be found on the floor, cuddling and laughing and with red wine flowing, the black leather couches in front of them to their right and behind them, looking on in lust. Lust, too, for the huge flat screen television, its contribution from the front left corner adding to their fun as it sat on its ornate dark wooden stand, its many drawers holding more fun collected over the years. Watching what they liked, and learning so much more, the lamps sitting on ornate table stands each matching the flat screen stand, and striding low on each side of the three seater couch on the right wall, bathed their soft light through their cream shades on a familiar occupant in the room.

It sat in a commanding position in the right corner, between the three seater and the one seat couch, the flat screen to the left of that in the other corner; it looked like a fine antique table, cozy and ornate, but that was not what it was for…..

That wasn’t why it had been commissioned; the Mistress had many options in dealing with Jennifer’s bad behavior, and had great experience in handling it, but she was a very busy woman. Her time was so important that there had even been occasion when her business life had invaded their den through her cell phone, something that made her hideously angry – not at Jennifer, but at the lack of time. She was a very fare Mistress, and Jennifer had understood her anger and cherished their private time together, which was why her Mistress had such trouble understanding her resistance to her wishes, as it took so much of their precious time together away. So much tying and rapping, buckling and paddling, but it did work, and Jennifer was calmed and cured of her wantonness…..for a time. Jennifer, too, couldn’t understand it: she loved her Mistress, and was so thankful for this decadent world she provided for her and bathed them in at every opportunity, but somehow, something inside made her pull back, pull away at times. Pull back from her Mistress’s wishes, not from the punishments or chastisements, as she actually liked them, but from certain ways of acting, certain ways of carrying herself, and from certain words and phrases that the Mistress insisted on, things that made her feel, well, silly. These feelings inside, these mental blocks she had, caused her to resist and to pause to consider too long, behaviors which, after all the Mistress had done for her, and all her efforts and attentions to give her a good life, simply infuriated her…. There should be no resistance!

Well, now things were different; always in her panties, Jennifer wore wrist and ankle cuffs, and sometimes nothing else but her cuffs, and had become so used to their beautiful design – styled by her mistress for her with soft inner leather holdings – that she truly missed them when they weren’t on. It was nice to feel their little golden padlocks, their love-heart shapes gently bouncing off of her cuffs on the outside, like earrings reminding her the cuffs could not come off. So easy was it for her Mistress to take her by her wayward hands to whatever corner of the house and snap her into implements for punishment. Time no longer wasted on tying and rapping endlessly, now the punishment came quick and fast, with Jennifer left in no doubt as to who loved her.

An interruption gave her time to think on it….

She could hear her on the phone; she was angry, angry at the intrusion of the call into her den. Try as she might not to carry that anger into Jennifer’s punishment, she knew she would, and Jennifer would feel that anger, making it harder inside…. Why couldn’t she just give her what she wanted?  ‘Worship’, she said….’Worship?’ The Mistress liked to be worshipped after a long day, and she tried…tried, but didn’t know fully what she meant. She wanted Jennifer to stare at her, she’d said, stare at her not with wanton lust, which she’d learned to exhibit on command, but to stare in a way that made her feel worshipped. She was to look at her like she was the most valuable and sought-after woman in the world, the Mistress had explained, like she was an awe-inspiring sunset, a golden glow who drew her attention fully and without equal. Jennifer had tried what she thought was this look, had acted in a way she thought was appropriate to the Mistress’s desires, even getting so close that she couldn’t resist kissing her soft skin, but none of this worked, and instead brought sharp chastisement…she was not to touch, she was to worship. She’d tried again, as she’d tried many times before, listening to the Mistress’s direction and failing again, her instinct to satisfy in a physical way coming forth and irritating the Mistress, and leaving Jennifer hurt. Soon, it became clear they had failed, and the Mistress’s frustration – despite Jennifer’s obvious anguish at failing her – had her reaching for Jennifer’s cuffs. Being taken by the hand was a sure sign of her being led to punishment, but being taken by the cuff was a sign of an angry Mistress; head down and on her knees, Jennifer had been led, half-crawling to the back corner of the room, her eyes just able to make out the Mistress lifting the lid of the punishment box, its red velvet learning waiting inside. 

The punishment box... her Mistress and Mr. Mayer had spent a long time designing it, down to Jennifer’s exact size. The box itself was rectangular, for Jennifer to enter it length-ways as it sat commandingly, made in mahogany on a wooden base twice the size of the box, and completely covered in thick tan velvet and tapered in at one end, the entrance end. As if to ensure that there was no doubt as to why one would be led up to this tapered end, there were leather buckles waiting for wayward eyes as, head down, they would come into view, two further back on the base, but in line with the box, their deep black ankle holdings in leather taking an unfortunate charge’s attention – for just a moment – from the mahogany teaching that lay in front. A charge in servitude, head down, would no doubt see the lid of their punishment as being its lovely smooth-edged deep mahogany finishing, causing its deep red velvet underlid to stand out to bowed eyes. This, though, would almost immediately fall into the background as the true scope of what was coming lay in view: beyond the ankle restraints of the base, on the box’s immediate front, lay two low-down thigh restraints, their deep black sumptuous buckles waiting to hold their charge, and above, now in view, was a crescent-shaped recess, its soft black leather curve lined all the way around, meaning only one thing…..

Made with sumptuous padding, this was not for the charge’s benefit;  it was purely for the Mistress. The padding on the deep soft leather of the recess, joined with the sumptuous buckles, was intended to hold a charge for a busy Mistress, and for as long as was necessary, leaving her free to go about her business without fear of the charge’s comfort, knowing full-well that they were in no danger and completely immobile, left to wait for as long as she deemed was necessary….

Necessary, too, was the time they’d spent on the design, for as a charge was led into the leather crescent, all hope of escape was removed with soft leather strapping rapped round their ankles, and buckling falling in place around their thighs, quickly giving them the sense of the box’s firm strength as they were secured inside, certain they were caught. Led in at a crawl, this was necessary, not for obedience, but for comfort, the charge to be held for as long as was necessary, so buckling before being bent over was not advisable. The box’s front crescent was matched equally by the lid, its elegant design having a crescent of its own, smaller and made by the gentle folding inward of two half-crescent-shaped black leather flaps, obvious connotations signaled by their presence. As a charge was led into the box’s crescent in front, they would be nestled firstly in the padded recesses on the box’s front end, and secondly, in between the padded half-crescent openings which hinged inside, opening halfway in and allowing the charge to feel their padded comfort to either side, secured on either side of their abdomen by the openings themselves, all secured at the back by latches on the inside of the box’s front end. Above an identical design was what awaited in the box’s ornate lid, the result, as it was closed, being for a charge’s rear not only to be secured, but presented out of an oval recess, for the room and its occupants. 

‘Secured and presented’ was to be taken a stage further inside, though, for inside of the box, just behind the front’s oval recess, a velvet ramp for the resting of the charge’s front led diagonally down to the box’s floor – the whole inside of the box, including the ramp, covered in sumptuous red velvet different from the box’s tanned base. Like the outside of the base, the inside had four more leather buckles waiting for charge’s arms, their black leather straps two in line, midway ahead, and two further forward set for forearms and wrists. To either side and in front of the ramp, they were matched by the ramp’s own leather holding strap, three inches wide, to ensure the charge could not wriggle and hurt themselves, and ensuring  their ass stayed quite still and presented. Wrapped from left to right over the charge’s mid back, its thick soft leather fed into a waiting buckle beneath the ramp, the charge left with the comfort of not having a buckle on their side or back, and with the obvious understanding that even if they could get their arms free, there was no way to reach it. Complete restraint was necessary if a charge had to be taken to the box. With this in mind, one further addition was employed for those charges who needed that extra bit of attention over their wayward nature. Having had their collars already secured and padlocked, the box – between its two furthest buckles for the wrists – had a chrome steel half-ring protruding from the floor. With the appropriate collar, the snap attachment could be linked firstly to the collar, and then finally to the ring, holding a slave’s head down with their face forced to velvet in submission.

On each side of the box, in line with the wrist cuffs and steel buckle, there were five small slits in the mahogany sides, covered by velvet grills inside and obscuring any light from entering, but providing ventilation and air. Due to their being so close to the slave’s head, one could use them to listen to moans, and for learning of the corrections given, and verbal directions. Useful while administering appropriate corrections, they meant the lid could remain sealed, and with the slave able to answer back… if not gagged. Finally, the thought of lighting was brought in…the weak twenty-four volts in four bulbs recessed into each corner on the underside of the lid ensuring that there was no danger of fire or excessive heat when locked. The lid then finally brought down, the charge would be bathed in a gentle soft red, complementing their velvet surroundings. Locking the box was an ornate affair; details mattering to the Mistress, her insistence had been on antique-looking hinges, golden but worn, complementing the fine mahogany by blending to its style. On top of the lid, they ran sideways, either side folding over the edge to waiting receivers underneath. Golden and worn-looking, too, they topped each side’s wall over the edge from the lid, neatly hiding padlocks away, safe from the users. Both could crest the box front with no danger of striking padlocks held out to either side, and unnecessary for holding the occupant. The strapping did that, and so the padlocks were excessive, only rarely used but for in parties at times. Their function, of course, was to secure the slave from escaping, no pitying attendee or wayward charge able to grant release without the Mistress’s keys. With the charge now strapped and secured, and the lid covering even their back strap within, only their firm wanton ass was now presented outside, ready for the correction to come that they most surely deserved…..

As Jennifer now lay inside, surrounded by her red velvet walls, she tried in vain to understand her resistances. Again, she’d pulled away, the Mistress opening the box right in front of her, seeming not angry but tired, tired out by her wantonness.

She listened intently to another phone call, listened as her ass sat in the air protruding from the box’s oval opening, its black leather surrounds holding her firm inside, the strap tight over her back, underwear already removed, her punishment to come in just a matter of time.

Who was the Mistress talking to? They were going where?…. For what time? Really hoped she could help her with what? It was a strange call; it wasn’t work, but something else, something she‘d never heard of before, and Jennifer became worried – had she really upset her Mistress badly this time? Was something really wrong? Was the Mistress thinking of ending their…. Suddenly, Jennifer felt the blunt rubber end of the Mistress’s strap-on on her anus; lost in her worries, she hadn’t heard her quietly come up behind her and now she lost her breath as she felt the tight walls of her asshole forced aside, the Mistress entering her firmly. There was mood in her entry, frustration and anger, Jennifer feeling it as the Mistress’s advance made her try to pull up, but her collar snap held her head firmly to the floor ring. She gasped, letting out a groan as the Mistress pushed almost forcefully inside her already-lubricated anus, her usual tenderness missing as Jennifer felt her mood through her behavior. Groaning more, Jennifer wasn’t gagged, feeling she wanted to say ‘sorry’ to her Mistress, but knew she shouldn’t, as the Mistress would only hear her muffled words and become annoyed at her pleading. No, it was called a punishment box for a reason, and as the Mistress listened to the muffled struggles from inside the box, her strap-on bore down, herself half-smiling at Jennifer’s acceptance, and her understanding of her wrong doing; perhaps it would be okay after all, time would tell….

Chapter 2

The Journey

What had she meant? She’d cried when she told her, cried when she heard she’d spoken with someone else about their problems. Jennifer thought their little secret world was their own, free from outside interference. She didn’t want the world to know, and wasn’t confident enough for that; she’d balled out about the house, the Mistress’s reasoning doing nothing as she’d cried in the hallways, the betrayal cutting deep.

Lost in her feelings, with hurt and with anger, she’d screamed back at the Mistress who’d finally lost it, shouting down her protests. Shouting and raging till Jennifer was sniveling in a corner, just the latest display of her bad behavior on show.

“It was this or nothing!” the Mistress shrieked, years of having her hard work thrown back in her face causing the statement, and it was Jennifer’s fault it had happened, not hers. If Jennifer could stop being so selfish and stop crying, she would see the Mistress was trying to save their relationship, not ruin it, trying to put things right and not betray her… but she couldn’t.

She bawled all afternoon, the Mistress leaving her to it, separate and alone at one end of the house with her feelings and woes. Even when she was controlled enough to sit sniveling, just the thought of it, that it might be over, caused her to well up and bawl again.

At five o’clock, despite her still shaken state, the Mistress had become determined, half helping her get dressed. Jennifer’s reaches for tenderness were brushed aside, the Mistress grown tired of her sorrows.

She’d told her what the phone call had been, a call to a learning institution, and Jennifer had burst into tears when she’d told her what it involved. The Mistress had been discussing, for weeks, their personal problems and secret life with some woman, some woman who she was now being driven to see.

Tears ran down Jennifer’s cheek, a half sob leaking out as she thought of what had been done to her. In a short while, she was going to be standing in front of some stranger in an office –someone she didn’t know, but who knew everything about her and her private life. Again, the tears welled up when she struggled to understand how her Mistress could have done this to her, the Mistress driving at her side, cold, seeming to have given up on her sobbing.

It had seemed like hours, and probably was, must have been, with her lost in her anguish; Jennifer only came to when they left the highway, the soft gravel under the tires lifting her eyes to see the sun trying to peer through the trees all around them. The road wound down to the right, deeper into the woods, it growing quite dark and threatening, winding still further, and Jennifer voiced concern, only to be told quietly not to worry, that they were almost there… almost where she thought what was this place?

Chapter 3

Au Revoir

The road had continued down into the forest, really frightening Jennifer before levelling out and swinging to the left, and after a time it, arced a little to the right, all the time flanked by huge trees, the sun’s piercing attempts held at bay by their foliage until finally the road arced left and began to climb. With the gentle sound of soft gravel escorting them, one final swing to their left brought a huge private home into view, the sun meeting them in the clearing as the car came to rest under the mansion’s ivory splendor.

Exiting the car, Jennifer nervously followed her Mistress, her hand on her waist, and Jennifer’s questioning was quieted by the appearance of a beautiful leather-clad figure on the house’s front stairs.

And what a house; a Manor in fact, its front entrance of eight curving stairs lifting up to its huge pillared entrance, its roof held aloft by their imposing soft strength, the entranceway being ivory of color, the building strong but inviting. The warm feel married to the impression as its two large side wings rose up with the entrance till they both gave way to the chateaux-styled upper floor rising off the mid-section, its colonial roof tapering off, weathered, and melding perfectly with the forest surrounding it.

Approaching her, Jennifer gawped in awe, forgetting her Mistress’s hand and simply following her to the dark haired beauty looking down from overhead. Hair short, just touching her shoulders, and she was dressed in thigh-high suspended stockings, a look of elegance gazing out from a black corset fitted perfectly. Elegant embossing on its front in black designs not understood tapered down to her waist where black panties were wedded. Adorning the clothing from above, a tanned beauty looked down with her gorgeous Venezuelan complexion with dark eyes, looking on warmly. A slight smile from her lips caught Jennifer off-guard, her feelings of attraction immediately written over her face before she caught notice of the beauty’s waist below the corset. Gorgeous lace talons flowed from garter-belt tightness, stockings held fast with small pouches to either side. From between the small pouches, their neatness hiding the corset’s imposing strength, strange implements hung between them, free around her waist – some obvious to Jennifer – her attraction stiffening off as she recognized a black cane, a leather strap, and something else… something she’d never seen before.

Rising up the final stairs, Jennifer felt herself swallow the true beauty of this woman, now devastating, close up. A short exchange of pleasantries sent feelings tingling up spines, Hispanic words washing around them like silk in the air….

“If you would follow me, the Mistress will see you now,” informed their escort effortlessly, turning her gorgeous ass for all to see as she led a stunned Jennifer forward… into the Manor.

Led through the huge beckoning doorway, a large circular hallway greeted them, and Jennifer was finally able to pry her eyes off of the Venezuelan beauty in front of her, the black knee-length leather boots tapping their heels sharply off the ivory marble tile, moving over the floor in time with her beckoning tanned rear, shifting from side to side in her panties as she walked.

To the left and right, marbled floors led down opposing wings with ornate skirting, this giving way to ivory walls with French-dressed cornicing atop them at the ceiling. Eyes looked down either corridor at huge doorways, closed and ten feet apart to either side, their mahogany stark against the ivory.

A commotion took Jennifer’s attention from the left wing to the right, seeing for a moment before they passed what looked like two more of their escorts, struggling mid-way up the passage with a naked figure on the floor. Dressed the same as their escort, Jennifer was shocked at them as they seemed to wrestle with the naked woman, dragging her reluctant figure on all fours through a doorway on the left… was that a leash?!

The image quickly disappeared as the sharp clicking grew more pronounced, the Venezuelan perfection shifting, cheek to cheek, up the huge marble staircase in front, with Jennifer transfixed as they left the hallway for the first floor, high above and beyond where they were. Entering to the right onto plush red carpeting, their escort’s tapping gave way to soft booted footfalls. The carpet’s rich ruby color met more ornate skirting, a strong varnished mahogany brown with walls of soft cream continuing as it had below; down the smaller upper wing, its length was flanked by doorways with an office feel, their varnished mahogany surrounds blending in with the skirting below. Following the soft booted footfalls in front, the closed doorways watched over their new arrival passing under their towering strength as an even more impressive doorway loomed large at the end of the wing, still mahogany, but more ornate; obviously, something important lay inside. Stopping just in front of it, Jennifer and her Mistress’s quick glance at each other was broken as their escort, after seeming to pause in respect, knocked on the door with a similarly respective careful fashion.

A moment of silence, the world seeming to pause as they stood there beside one another, their escort in front and as still as the hallway; then the sound of the doorway opening forward to whatever lay within.

The large door fell away, their booted escort moving in with her heels tapping again on wooden floors, the carpet left behind as they entered after her. Jennifer watched as she peeled away to the right, her hand gesturing the two to continue straight to a point she chosen on the floor, a large commanding desk just in front of that.

All three came to a stop at the same time, Jennifer bewildered at the scene of the door closing behind them with another booted black-laced beauty like their escort sealing them in. Remaining by the door, another two stood like soldiers, neatly spaced apart on the room’s left side, motionless and almost standing to attention with their eyes fixed on Jennifer.  Two windows between them let in the dropping sun, making it work to peer its way in to the strange scene they now stood in. Through old-style wooden slatted blinds, its entry was hindered, giving a staggered hue and a mysterious look to the room, it having the same soft cream walls with ornate cornicing, but mahogany skirtings now met varnished mahogany flooring, itself matching the huge business desk’s imposing panels as it sat strongly at the back of the room. Again on the front panels, Jennifer saw symbols like those on the black corsets, things she didn’t understand, but knew from their look that they were important. They hid the lower half of the figure sitting behind the desk, her dark hair beautifully straight and her black business-like suit soft but imposing, leaving Jennifer in no doubt that she was in charge as she penned a piece of paper, seeming to ignore all those around her.

“Appointment 17:30 to see you, Mistress,” their Venezuelan escort opened gently from her position on the right of the desk, now standing like the two opposite her on the other side of the room.

The woman at the desk seemed to ignore the announcement, continuing to pen the paper, an awkward silence ensuing with Jennifer and her Mistress beginning to look around, but not the others in the room, all of whom continued to stand like the proverbial military, motionless and respectful to the sound of the pen moving, easily heard. The pen stopped, placed to one side, the sound as it touched the table and the slide of the paper to the corner of the desk making both new arrivals turn their attention to eyes of blue with a green tint awaiting, staring out from a perfect mane. The dark hair glided like a silk wave as it crested the shoulders and continued to her breasts, solid and ample; they seemed to fill the pastel black blouse under her business suit and command the attention off the physically impressive black corsets around them. Not dressed in mouth-wateringly fine garmentry or showing ample parts of her anatomy, somehow she was still able to effortlessly draw their attention squarely onto her; it was as if she had something else, something more… power. 

“So, you’re right on time.” The woman spoke, her soft but commanding voice seeming to fill the room with a whispering tone. “That’s much more than I can say for some that come through these doors.” The voice continued unnerving Jennifer – it was velvety but strained, as if… as if trying to disguise itself…. “That’s a good beginning.” A similarly disguised smile unnerved Jennifer more.

“What’s going on?” Jennifer heard herself ask aloud, drawing the woman’s gaze immediately to her. Her eyes seemed to look at her in amusement, as if half-surprised that she’d dared to speak, and then back to her Mistress as if for an answer to this perceived insolence.

“Ah, I see,” the eyes came back to Jennifer. “She doesn’t know.” They moved back to her Mistress approvingly. “I find that in most cases that’s best.” They fell back onto Jennifer, amusement now competing with malice. “The results are far better if they’re not prepared.” 

The two women seemed to ignore Jennifer for a time as they spoke, Jennifer slowly gathering what was going on…

“This is not a cruel thing you’re doing,” she continued. “Your relationship has gone as far as you can take it, and yet these problems still persist; if anything, this shows that you really do care for her or you wouldn’t be going to all this trouble – it would be far easier just ending it. 

“What..!?” Jennifer exclaimed, listening to the woman, a demeaning smile and dismissing look from her making Jennifer feel less than as if she was….

“How are they?…. I mean, they aren’t really hurt in terms of…” Jennifer heard her Mistress talk, but almost in a business tone about her, like she wasn’t even there, and with the woman behind the desk interrupting….

“Think about it: most people simply move on when things get tough; they don’t have the patience or time to deal with the hassle, and neither do you, yet you are trying and finding the time to try and salvage this relationship.” The woman looked squarely at Jennifer, her sudden powerful look stopping Jennifer immediately before she spoke. “It’s obvious to me that you love this woman, that she is the one you want in your life; you’ve shown that by bringing her here – it’s up to her whether she wants to show you that she loves you, too….”

‘How dare she,’ Jennifer thought, the look of anguish spreading across her face as this woman questioned her feelings for her Mistress; who was she to question her and their relationship? It was none of her business, so who did she think she was? Jennifer thought as she felt the weight of her gaze on her… but still, she said nothing; it was strange, as if her gaze had her held.

A short time later, the woman and her booted laced escorts left the room, Jennifer now far from impressed, searing feelings of hurt and anguish starting to pour out as she demanded to know what was going on, and what was this place? Who was that woman, and why were they talking about her like she was a piece of meat? What was going on?!

Her Mistress tried to reason with her, talked to her about the end of her tether, that their relationship couldn’t go on like this, that she needed change….

“What?!” Jennifer exclaimed at what she was hearing, her world being pulled out from under her and tears beginning to flow – what did she mean they couldn’t go on? Why was she doing this to her? She cried outwardly as she remonstrated with her Mistress, the whole world she’d come to know over the years falling apart right in front of her. She’d become used to this lifestyle of servitude and closeness, used to being cared for and cosseted from the outside world, her Mistress’s money shielding them from a normal life and allowing them to live as they pleased, and as she started bawling and shrieking Jennifer could feel it slipping away from her with or without her protestations as she grew louder, reason giving way to emotion… to hurt.

“And what about me, what about what I want?” her Mistress retorted. “So you can be happy and fulfilled, but I have to just forget about my needs?”

“But I do fulfill them,” Jennifer almost screamed, “I give you everything you ask, I….”

“Really!” her mistress cut her off. “Really! So that’s not me that has to spend hours dealing with you at home! Hours I don’t have when we should be spending them together! How selfish are you, when I come home and all I want is to be with you….”

“Selfish!” Jennifer screamed, hurt at the claim.

“Yes, selfish!” her Mistress shouted back. “You want the life you’ve got but you don’t care about my needs! I work my ass off for us and every night is a struggle! Every night, I have to deal with you again and again, moaning and whining about ‘I don’t want to do this’ and ‘I’m too tired to do that’!  What about me – what about my needs?!”

Jennifer bawled out, her Mistress becoming cold, her crying doing nothing anymore but angering her, turning her harsh like that business woman Jennifer already hated since meeting her. Talking to Jennifer like she was in her office, like some client she didn’t know or care about; Jennifer railed as she heard what was going on. This place was an etiquette academy, a place where devoted women learned to be life slaves for their partners. In front of them was a contract left by the woman on the desk; it detailed all manner of consents for whoever signed it. Consent for Instruction, Consent for Correction, Consent for Restraint... all manner of permissions and sub-permissions detailing what the signer had agreed to. Jennifer’s tears were blurring the words as she argued with her Mistress, her anger giving way to rage as she threw the contract on the desk, ending up sobbing in the corner.

After a time, her Mistress came down to her, her attempts to console her shrugged off, Jennifer’s feelings of hurt and betrayal racking through her as she felt her world coming to an end. Her Mistress spoke about how she cared for her, how she loved her, how she wanted them to go on but none of it worked, Jennifer there just sobbing and shaking with hurt.

Eventually, the professional side of her Mistress came back, taking over care and turning to anger, Jennifer’s emotions crushed and pressured, the charge pushed into the corner like she was a stranger, ending up on the other side of the room, crying and shaking.

The quiet lasted a long time, her Mistress lighting a cigarette, the soft exhales from the other side of the room almost soothing as Jennifer thought about what was going on. Her world was falling apart in front of her. Did she love her Mistress? Yes. Did she love her? Why was she doing this to her? Was she right? Was she selfish? What would she do in the world without her? What kind of life would she have? The questions went round and round, Jennifer feeling sick with hurt, soft exhales still soothing her with the birds outside, their last songs of the evening before sundown, their last songs together before anything more, before tomorrow…..

She stood there in front of the desk, looking down at the contract; the tears had run out now, her Mistress standing by her side as she held the pen, all the questions still there. One thing she’d become certain of, though – if she didn’t sign it, that was it: they’d be finished, and she didn’t want that. How bad could it be, after all? She was a love slave by her own admission, and the people here would teach her professionally; it might improve their relationship, as her Mistress had said, and their world could go on together.

Nervously, she signed her name….

When the woman returned, flanked by her escorts, Jennifer’s Mistress had already signed the contract as well. Soon, the woman’s signature also adorned the paper and the two lace-covered beauties to the right of the desk had signed the page, too, Jennifer feeling slightly irritated by the thought.

Who were they to be involved in her life? Standing there in their knee-length leather boots with raised fancy edging around the trim, their faces emotionless like two lace-covered soldiers, exactly in the position they had been in before they’d left. The woman behind her guarding the door, and their escort from the main entrance, were back where they’d been, too, like some army, Jennifer feeling more annoyed at them than ever as the woman behind the desk surveyed the signatures on the page beneath her.

What Jennifer didn’t realize was what she’d just signed; the two lace-covered women were actually lawyers, their signatures witnessed on the page. Unknown to her, too, was that the woman behind the desk was a registered medical psychiatrist operating a practice that took women into its care. The Manor was a government-registered medical facility, an asylum  -  Jennifer had just been committed!

“You’re doing the right thing,” the woman assured her Mistress, catching her questioning look as she stared down at the contract. “And so are you,” the woman assured Jennifer, her tone soft and almost caring, but with the eyes of a scientist looking out at a lab mouse. 

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