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Stories - a slaves Rendition

Story of M and W
(submitted by: Mistress Emmanuelle [website])
(written by: M-Emmanuelle Q [email])

A proud aristocrat falls in love with a Princess who is a Mistress. He will undergo a rough initiation to become her slave for one year to marry Her.....

The Count W Colonna de Stigliano stared out of the window at the passing scenery as the Bentley negotiated the hairpin turns of the hills. Far below him, basking in the late afternoon sun, the red tiled rooftops of the city he had left less than an hour before contrasted sharply with the dazzling blue of the sea beyond.

It was a beautiful sight and the Count was a man who appreciated beauty in all its many forms. But today the Count had only one form of beauty on his mind and it was not the magnificent view. Alone with his thoughts he stared at his reflection in the glass of the car window. He had what many men desired. He was in his late 30's, blessed with aquiline good looks, a full head of dark hair cut long. Tall and athletic, he knew that he was attractive to women since that day long ago when a family chambermaid seduced him during the school holidays. The memory of her surprise and delight at discovering his large cock never left him and he made good use of it in the years that followed. His confidence grew as he matured and the family wealth passed to him. He was arrogant and knew it.

And why not? He could afford to be.

He glanced forward at Henri, his chauffeur. As usual, Henri drove with attentive detail. Both hands correctly positioned on the wheel, eyes alert and keeping the Bentley at a steady speed. The Count was not surprised. Henri was meticulous in all that he did. He had been with the Count's family for many years. In fact, the Count could hardly remember a time when Henri wasn't around. Always discreetly in the background, watchful and attentive. The Count trusted him with his life and valued his advice. He turned back toward the window as the car continued on its steady journey. Glancing at his Patek Philippe he realised they were fast approaching their destination. An unfamiliar sensation swept over him. He was puzzled for a moment and a dim memory came back to him. He involuntarily laughed aloud.

"Sir?" asked Henri, glancing back at his employer in the rear-view mirror.

"Henri, I feel like I did that day long ago when you took me to my first day at school." The old man smiled affectionately.

"Nervous?" "Precisely," said the Count. "It's an emotion I haven't felt since and leads me to a conclusion. Henri, I'm in love."

"The Princess? Congratulations, sir. She is a most beautiful and cultured woman." "Yes, and I have thought of no one else since our first meeting six months ago," mused the Count.

It had been pure chance at all that he had seen the Princess Emmanuelle de Saint Hyppolyte. He had been dining with friends in Cannes and afterwards had gone for a stroll with his host along the Croisette. They stood at the yacht basin discussing the merits of different boats when he saw her for the first time. She was extraordinarily beautiful. She stood on the deck of a yacht staring into the distance. Her long black hair gently was swirling in the night wind and the moonlight illuminating her fine features. She was dressed in a black evening dress and a fine silver necklace accentuated her throat. The Count was momentarily lost for words. His host, seeing the expression on the Count's face, followed his gaze and saw the woman who had managed to make such an impression on his guest.

"Ah," he said, "I see our Queen has taken your fancy." "Queen?," asked the Count, as he continued to stare at this vision of loveliness. "A manner of speaking," replied his host. "Actually, she's a Princess, the Princess Emmanuelle de Saint Hyppolyte. She keeps her yacht here. We often see her..."

His host continued to speak but the Count wasn't listening. The Princess Emmanuelle de Saint Hyppolyte. Of course, he knew the name. Who didn't? Amongst aristocratic circles she was legendary. Her beauty, her wealth, and the fact that no one really knew anything of consequence about her. Rumours abounded about her. She eschewed the normal blue-blooded social diary. Her father, on the contrary, had been, before his death, well known in high society. A gregarious man, he had been a popular guest at all the right parties. After his death, from a hunting accident, everyone expected his daughter to fill the void. But she had remained a mystery and had, in the opinion of some of the old courtiers, snubbed them with her aloofness.

Even the paparazzi had given up on her. The Count had heard all these stories before and as a man who had no time for gossip could care less. Until now. Henri flicked on the powerful headlights of the Bentley as night fell. The coastal road was long behind them and the car now sped down the broad treelined roads approaching the Princess' castle.

"How long?" asked the Count? "About ten minutes, " replied Henri. "Pull over here for a moment," instructed the Count. Henri eased the Bentley over to the side of the deserted road. He stopped and, belying his age, nimbly jumped from the car to open the Count's door. The Count emerged into the warm night air. The only sound the chirping of the crickets. He wanted a moment to collect his thoughts. As if reading his mind, the old retainer placed his hand on the Count's shoulder. A gesture of concern, permitted by his years of service.

"Are you all right, sir?" he asked. Touched by Henri's obvious affection, the Count smiled and said, "Yes, I'm fine, old friend. I am anxious and I find that both delightful and annoying. I intend to ask the Princess to marry me." This statement momentarily rocked Henri's solid nature but his skill at diplomacy quickly reasserted itself. The Count had walked a short distance away and lit a cigarette. He stood quietly smoking it, no doubt deep in thought. Henri waited patiently by the car and pondered this momentous news as he watched his employer.

Actually, Henri regarded the Count as more of a son although he would never admit this to anyone and he took the news as a father would. He knew of course of the Count's interest in the Princess. There wasn't much that escaped his quiet eye. He had observed the subtle changes in the Count's behaviour since their trip to Cannes six months previously. The Count, as he inhaled deeply on his English cigarette, was thinking of what he had just confessed. Yes, he knew he was going to ask the Princess to marry him. He hadn't been absolutely sure until this moment. But it was time. The Princess would make an ideal wife. Someone who befitted his station in life. Many women had passed through the Count's life but none had affected him the way the Princess had. And besides, he needed an heir.

Yes the time was right. He smiled at that thought. He hadn't even seen the Princess since that night on her yacht. It didn't even occur to him that she might reject him. No one ever had. Mothers had thrown their daughters at him, and in some cases even themselves, in the hope of entrapping him, but to no avail. The Count was too wise and selfish. No, the Princess wouldn't reject his proposal he thought, in fact, she would welcome it. Of that he was sure. He allowed his thoughts to stray towards the night when he would possess her at last. His cock began to harden at the image. Keeping his back to Henri he discreetly stroked his cock through the material of his trousers. His mind returned to that fateful night in Cannes. As he watched the princess on the yacht he asked his friend to arrange an introduction. His host replied that was impossible as he knew no one who knew her. The Count digested this information and realised it was true. His host, an old school friend, did not move in the social circles of a Princess. But, he, the Count, did. And he was determined to meet her. As he watched her, a door on the yacht opened and a blonde woman approached the Princess with a drink.

Although, he could not hear what was said, it was obvious the girl was a servant of some kind. Her manner was deferential. The Princess took the drink and dismissing the girl, moved to the rear of the yacht and out of the Counts view. As he and his host turned away and began to stroll back toward the lights of the Croisette the Count realised he had an enormous erection. Thanking the cover of the night he quickly said his goodbyes to his host and hurried back to his hotel. Suddenly, consumed with a passion he hadn't felt for years, he desperately needed to relieve it.

He quickly rushed pass the started concierge and into the lift. His head pounding and his breathing shallow he began to wonder if he was ill. The lift seemed to take an eternity and he cursed it. Finally the doors opened and he sprinted to his room. Fumbling with the key he managed to open the door and slamming it behind him he tore his trousers open. Grasping his engorged cock he fell to his knees and began to masturbate furiously.

His mind churned with thoughts of fucking the Princess as his hand pumped rapidly up and down. Within a few strokes he stifled a yell as his come jetted out onto the carpet of his room. Suddenly, exhausted at his relief he fell down onto his hands and suddenly caught sight of himself in the full-length mirror by the bed. On his hands and knees, his face red and covered in sheen of perspiration, his cock hanging out of his trousers, sperm dripping from the end. He suddenly felt embarrassed by this sight and glanced anxiously around as if someone might have witnessed this display of unbridled passion. His heart pounding he managed to get off the floor and fall onto his bed where he fell into a deep and instant sleep. The burning end of the cigarette reached his fingers and jolted the count out of his reveries. He dropped it to the ground and stubbed it out with his foot.

Turning back to Henri, who still stood patiently by the Bentley, he said, "Let's go." They returned to the car and once more continued on the drive. Henri kept his eyes on the road, only occasionally glancing back at the Count to check on him. The Count seemed back in control. His strong features set and his customary resolve once again evident. Henri smiled. It had been him who had sent the chambermaid all those years ago to take the virginity of his ward. He had judged the time to be right and he had not been wrong. Over the years the Count had seduced many women in the back of the car and Henri had come to admire his master's skill with women. He had no doubt that the Princess would be easy prey for a man as adept as the Count. The Count was thinking the same thing. It had taken a great deal of patience and skill to track the Princess down. His first enquiries amongst his social circle were met with curiosity and excitement. The Count's reputation was fierce and his friend's wondered what would happen now that he had set his sites on the Princess. The Count, quickly realising he was fuelling the gossip factory, backed off and began more discreet investigations. Through his contacts he managed to get a postal address for the Princess. Writing to her under the guise of wishing to purchase paintings belonging to her late father he anxiously awaited a reply. It was a long time in coming and point black refused his request. He persevered and suggested they meet to discuss the Princess' reluctance to sell. She again had refused, although with great charm and good manners.

At first the Count was outraged as he had never been refused an invitation in the past. Quite the opposite. He was accustomed to being invited everywhere and his social secretary had a full time job in organising the Counts social life. On reflection, he began to enjoy the hunt and he determined to capture his quarry. He kept his frustration at bay by using a series of available women who he fucked dispassionately and dismissed with contempt once he had orgasmed. Hotel maids, receptionists, waitresses, wives of friends and acquaintances, he was indiscriminate in his choice.

He had even buggered a particularly attractive young man in the toilet cubicle of the casino at Monte Carlo. Ramming his cock into the young man's ass and then insolently pissing over him afterwards. He continued his appeals to the Princess by letter employing all of his skill at language. He noticed that although the Princess still avoided a meeting her replies began to be a bit playful, teasing him almost. He couldn't be sure, so subtle was her language, but he allowed himself to think of this as a minor victory and encouragement to continue his quest.

"We've arrived, sir," said Henri, interrupting the Counts thoughts. The Bentley swept up a gravel drive, it's headlights revealing the castle of the Princess Bella de Saint Hyppolyte. At last. Henri drove the car up to the front door and switched off the engine. The Count checked his pocket for the engraved invitation that had arrived last week. His perseverance had paid off. The moment had arrived to meet the Princess and make her his.

Henri waited by the car as his master approached the door. Pulling the bell, the Count smoothed the lapels of his jacket and waited. The door opened and two stunning maids confronted him. He was momentarily diverted as he took in their dress. Although wearing traditional maids uniforms of black dress and white apron these outfits had been modified to be much more revealing of their occupants obvious charms. The hem of the dress was so short as to barely conceal the women's buttocks and the apron did not hide the low cut brassiere, which lifted the breasts to the point where the Count could discern a hint of nipple. The Count was ushered into the salon and took the opportunity to admire the suspenders, stockings and high heels each girl wore. The Count was shown a chair and informed the Princess would be with him shortly. He watched the maids leave the room and mentally made a note that he would have both of them when the time was right. He was somewhat surprised by the appearance of the maids who, if he was honest, would scandalise most of his contemporaries. But it intrigued him as well and, of course, it excited him. What manner of woman was the Princess? His nerves reappeared and he fought hard to control his anxiety. He reassured himself by reminding himself who he was. He was the Count W Colonna de Stigliano and he had no need to be nervous. He was feted by society and people fought to be amongst his inner circle. This woman, in spite of her wealth and beauty would be no different. The Count took in his surroundings as he waited impatiently. He was pleased to see that the salon was tastefully decorated and in a style that he admired. It reassured him to know that the Princess was brought up correctly in these matters. She would have many a critical eye cast her way when she was his wife. He glanced at his watch and realised he had been waiting for 20 minutes. He became angry at this impertinence and looked about for a bell of some description to signal his impatience. There was nothing in the room. He began to tire of this game. For six months he had played it and she insisted on keeping him waiting at the last hurdle. It was too much.

Did she not realise how fortunate she was that he had played her silly game for so long? Where was she? How dare she? Even the Pope had not dared to keep him waiting. Where was the little minx? The Count stood to leave. He would not be treated in such a manner. As he began to walk toward the door his ear detected the sound of footsteps approaching. Quickly, he returned to his seat and pretended to be at ease. He wouldn't give the Princess the pleasure of knowing that he had become perturbed at being kept waiting. Two could play this game. The door opened and he rose to greet the Princess. But it wasn't her. Standing in the door was the blonde woman he had seen with the Princess on the boat. She is wearing a diaphanous gown through which he can see that she is clearly nude. What kind of a household is this, the Count wonders?

"I am the Mistress' personal slave and I am instructed to take you to her private apartment." The Count is astounded. Before he can react the slave turns and begins to walk through the door. The Count follows as if in a trance and only then notices that her feet are chained together with the slimmest of gold links. She walks with small steps, delicately and carefully. His eyes wander up her body and he can't be sure but he sees what appear to be traces of a whip on her fine skin. What madness is this? The Count hesitates for a moment. The blonde slave turns and smiles and beckons him on. His mind racing he follows.... gold links of the blonde slave chimed against the marble floor as she led the Count toward his destiny. For his part, the Count was both intrigued and excited. He allowed his eyes to gaze upon the firm buttocks of the slave as she ushered him towards his meeting with the Princess. Yes, there were definitely signs of a whipping there. His cock stirred a bit and he was a bit surprised at his reaction. He didn't consider himself a sadist and he certainly wasn't a masochist. He had taken women, and men, forcibly in his lovemaking but he considered that part of the game. They resisted, he conquered. But whips? Pain? No, he hadn't been down that particular road. As they carried on down the corridor he found it hard to believe that the Princess would have inflicted the welts on this slip of a girl. No, he thought, probably a kinky boyfriend of the blonde. And yet she had introduced herself as her mistress' personal slave. Before he could digest this thought he bumped into the slave. He had been so deep in thought he hadn't realised she had stopped.

"My apologies," he said without thinking. "No need, Sir," the girl replied smiling. "My mistress waits." She opens a door and bows.

I am currently looking for an editor that would publish this femdom story. If you know of one please feel free to contact me.

Care to make a comment on this story?


Comment on all
Intriguing,Intriguing,Intriguing....Seeing the powerful place in society that the dominant have is truly inspiring....The place of the true Queen & Goddess, just what this realm needs.

Comment on Story
A very well written story, however, why did it finisg when it did. I would love to see the rest of it, if it has been written, if not I would not mind helping to continue the story. I think it could be a very interesting and very erotic story put into the right hands.Please let me know if I can be of any service.

Comment on Story
This is very nice. Part of me wants me to see how She subdues him, but more of me enjoys the ending. It's just like the story's Mistress- it leaves you wondering.

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