The Master of Ironwood – ebook



The Master of Ironwood by Don Julian Winslow

Old school F/f M/f D/s erotica from a master of the genre.

At loose ends after four years in the Royal Navy, young James Harrington stumbles on an advertisement for an ‘Estate Manager’ and eagerly applies for the position. However, the job is not exactly what James expects. Navy Commander Hamilton Sterrett plans to completely refurbish an old estate and former girl’s school, Ironwood, which was left vacant for decades after rumors of its libertine past forced its doors to close.

In the spirit of Ironwood’s salacious past, Sterrett intends to create an exclusive gentlemen’s club, a veritable pleasure palace for a select number of rich and influential men. Serving these men in their hedonist pursuits will be beautiful young women who exhibit the necessary sophistication, grace and charm required for their elite job.

Women from various walks of life, from exotic dancers, escorts to spoiled rich girls sign the generous six-month contract. From there, James takes over, demanding a strict disciplinary regimen and holding a firm line against any show of rebellion.

The girls are trained accordingly, learning the rules of house and understanding the price for disobedience. James revels in his new occupation – what red-blooded male wouldn’t when given free reign with such sexually attractive females? While most girls adapt to his demands with proper persuasion, for the truly rebellious, the Commander has hired Katrina Kemp, a physical education instructor with a commanding presence who’s eager to take on any willful brat.

But while the formidable dominatrix gets results, she and James are sure to clash, since only one of them can be in charge at Ironwood.

General BDSM in a world of Masters, Mistresses, and submissive females. Includes graphic depictions of discipline, punishment, bondage, dildos, spanking and whipping with paddle, strap and whip. Oral, anal and straight sex.

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As James initiates the first new Ironwood girl, he discovers the sexual thrill of dominating the lovely Amanda.


Copyright © 2010 by Don Winslow, all rights reserved

It was all so inconceivable, so unreal, yet here I was, James Harrington, the Master of Ironwood, alone in this wood paneled richly-appointed room, with this beautiful girl who stood stark naked before me; perfectly willing to serve however I might wish! We would soon test her willingness, the depth of her submissive attitude; my task was to insist on obedience and then try the limits of that obedience. These thoughts were going through my head as I began a leisurely survey of the dark haired beauty’s elegantly curved body.

I studied her nude figure from the top of her luxuriant shoulder-length hair to the pointed tips of her closely set shoes, delighting in the soft sculpted lines of her creamy chest, the full heaviness of those wide-based tits, the wide taut disks of those prominent nipples, the tapering lines of her hourglass torso, the flare of those robust hips, the long sweep of the thighs and those gorgeous legs — all so splendidly nude. My appraising eyes were drawn inevitably to the slight curve of her belly and the plump, richly furred delta of black pubic curls that thickened between the soft swells of those mouth-watering thighs. A renewed surge of lust sent my demanding erection to press against the front of my pants with rutting urgency. Under the desk, I slipped a hand into the front of my pants to ease my swollen penis from its tangle of stifling underwear.

I looked to her face, and saw her dark eyes flicker, before glazing over as she straightened a bit. She stood at attention, her expression vacant, her eyes unseeing. Had those flickering eyes caught the stealthy gesture of my hand plunging under my belt to ease the pain of unrequited lust? Surely, she knew she was wanted, achingly desired by the healthy male who had made her to strip for him. As she stood there, offering up that magnificent, unclothed body for my scrutiny, I wondered just what thoughts were going through that pretty head.

Amanda was of course, a veteran call girl and as such, often took off her clothes for men. But I wondered: was there still a thrill left each time she stripped? Did she experience the surge of elation, pleased with the first rush of pleasure when she saw the light of desire flare up in an admiring man’s eyes? These thoughts and others ran through my mind as I sat gazing at Amanda’s furry cunt.

My pressing need for this lovely, desirable, wonderfully naked girl had become a raging thing, but I was determined to hold my needs in check. I knew the drill. My movements had been carefully orchestrated. And now the protocol called for me to administer the first test.

I glanced up over my shoulder to the high cornice of the room where the intricate rococo of the sculpted molding ingeniously disguised the lens of an observing video camera mounted above the false ceiling. Each room of the mansion was so equipped, some with multiple hidden or disguised cameras. And all could be remotely controlled. The unblinking lens would patiently record each and every detail of the young woman’s initiation.

“Turn around,” I breathed.

Her vacant expression never wavered as the tall nude turned in place, freely offering her bare back and a plump handsomely-made bottom. I let her stand there as I silently took the measure of that shapely rear end: the neat symmetry of those fine, high-curved domes; the tight crack between them; the hint of that pouting bulge visible between her thighs just where the under curves met.

“Spread your legs.” My mouth was still dry; my words came out strained, almost whispered, more like fervent pleas than orders.

The woman, whose back was towards me, obediently opened her stance, setting her high heels a few inches apart, toes pointed outward.

“More. Spread ‘em more,” I urged in a heated whisper.

The heels moved again, a bit further, widening the gap that separated them by a few more inches.

“Now, bend over; hands on your knees.”

Slowly, Amanda bent down, folding herself from the hips, letting her heavy hair fall forward. She stood with hands braced on her thighs, lewdly thrusting back that lush bottom toward me. Nothing shy about his girl, I thought, delighting in the sight of those tautly rounded cheeks, and the furry pouch that peeked out at me from between those splendid thighs. I made the naked girl hold that lascivious pose, for several long minutes so that the hidden camera might be amply treated to the same leisurely view that I now enjoyed.

It was time to begin the test. I let her straighten up and turn; I came around the desk to confront the tall nude. In her heels, the big woman was almost, but not quite, as tall as me. I reached out her for the very first time. Without a word, I looked into her big brown eyes, and clamping my hands on her bare shoulders, slowly forced the stately woman slowly to her knees before me.

Once I had lovely Amanda on her knees, her face only inches from the crotch of my tented pants, I reached around to slip open the top drawer of the desk and extract from it, a ribbon of black velvet that I had planted there so that it would be at hand at the proper time. It was perhaps two inches wide, with a small clasp at each end that could be joined to form a loop. From it hung a small sliver disk with the name “Amanda” inscribed on it. She would wear the choker during her stay at Ironwood: a slender band of black velvet with its shiny disk, the profound meaning of which an Ironwood girl would contemplate each time she looked in a mirror.

I held the ribbon in my fingers, letting the kneeling girl get a good look at it. Then I ordered her to bow her head. Without a word, this wonderfully submissive woman did so, slowly bending forward to offer me that pretty neck for banding. Lifting her heavy hair in back exposed the nape of her long white neck, and I formed the loop around that neck, adjusting the ribbon carefully so it was snug but not too tight. One final adjustment brought the disk around to dangle precisely from the front of the newly formed collar. Words were hardly necessary. The meaning of this auspicious ritual was intuitively understood by Amanda and similarly by each new arrival at Ironwood as she waited, on her knees, totally naked, to receive that symbol of servitude. In time I would come to find that even the most self-centered, arrogant, and defiant of women could be tamed…once they had bowed their head to accept the silken ribbon.

Now I pulled a straight-backed chair around to straddle it, sitting in front of her, eager to complete her initiation into the world of Ironwood.

I had her sit back, tucking her legs under her, spreading her knees apart in blatantly obscene invitation. Admiring the top of her tilted head and the eloquent curves of slumped shoulders, I ordered her to reach back and clasp her ankles, thus drawing her shoulders back, and raising up her magnificent chest as if to thrust it out in offering. The collared woman dutifully followed my instructions: lifting her chin, and throwing back her head, so as to sit with naked bottom planted on her heels, unseeing eyes fixed straight ahead. It was the presentation position, one that Ironwood girls would learn to assume automatically, slipping to their knees to sit back on folded legs, offering to display their manifest charms, whenever they might be presented to male guests.

Now for the camera’s benefit (and, I must admit, for my own edification), I took the time to indulge myself by placing Amanda in a series of provocative poses. I ordered the girl to rise up and straighten her back, kneeling erect once more, bringing her hands up to link her fingers behind her neck. Posing with uplifted arms elevated those enticing breasts, bringing them into ever greater prominence.

Up until now I had shown, what I believed to be remarkable restraint, considering that I was all alone with a pretty girl who was wearing nothing but her shoes, and who had proven herself wonderfully compliant with my every wish. Yet except for that brief encounter when I laid hands on her shoulders and forced her to her knees, I had not touched her at all. But now I was seized with an overwhelming desire to sample what she so eloquently offered to me. The aching longing I felt to get my hands on those lush, mouth-watering tits became so desperate that my hands seemed to have a will of their own. They reached out for those fully plump, softly rounded shapes — seductive curves that positively beckoned the attention of any red-blooded male.

My fingertips lightly grazed the side of her left tit, curving around to follow the rounded contour. Amanda stiffened and gasped in a tiny shivering intake of breath as my fingers traced the shape of that perfect breast. The light teasing caress only whetted my appetite. I was instantly hungry for more. Bringing the other hand into play, I reached for both tits with curved palms to cup them from beneath, and heft their full heaviness. I palmed those gentle mounds as my fingers slid up the slopes and curved till my hands tightened on the soft warmth of that silken skin. I held her in my hands.

Some women’s breasts have a liquid quality. Unlike those of their sisters whose breasts are tighter, more taut skinned so that they moved with only the slightest shimmy, theirs are looser, more like balloons half-filled with water. Such tits easily bounce and quiver, and are a positive delight to fondle. Amanda had such jellied, bouncy tits.

I opened and closed my hands, digging in fingers to greedily grab full generous handfuls of softly pliant tittie-flesh, avidly fondling Amanda’s lush warm and wonderful tits. I savored the feel of her, testing the bouncy resiliency of those choice mounds, pressing, petting, and stroking the kneeling woman’s naked breasts, while she swayed in the rising heat. My extended thumbs rubbed her nipples into greater prominence, the aureoles expanding, tips stiffening. Thus I spent several minutes, thoroughly enjoying myself, lavishly feeling up poor Amanda who, still on her knees with arms upraised, found it increasingly difficult to maintain the pose I had put her in.

Of course, no healthy young woman could help it if her body responded to all this stimulating attention by such an ardent male admirer. I soon had Amanda breathing heavily, her shoulders squirming and heaving with the effort. I watched a quiver of excitement shot through her upper body; she worked her lips as though to swallow down the rising tide of passion. It took only a few minutes with my hands palming those jellied mounds, my thumbs brushing her nipples, before I had them sticking out, thick and taut with arousal; the disks of her aureoles were expanded and tight. I scissored those jutting nipples between my fingers; plucked at them, pinched them lightly while the girl whimpered; pressed the hardened nipples into the surrounding disks of pliant flesh with my palms, while she made plaintive little whimpers.

The next sound that escaped her lips was more of a deep throated growl, low and sexy. The hot, flushed woman was damp with sweat which glistened on her brow, upper chest and shuddering breasts. She knelt with eyes closed, struggling with the repeated surges of arousal that shook her to the core, panting, long lashes fluttering under the ceaseless stimulation of my pleasuring massage.

“Nooo….please noooo,” she pleaded in a breathless voice that had thickened with sensual desire; she clenched her shut eyes and arched back against the creamy rise of pleasure. Then her hands fell from behind her neck and she shook her mane like a proud filly after a spirited workout. With a deep sigh, her head fell; shoulders sagged; her breath was coming in deep heaving gulps through parted lips.

“Look at me!” I hissed, cupping two full handfuls of tittie-flesh, rubbing my thumbs over the silky softness.

Her eyes flew open and she was staring into mine with excitement and obvious longing flooding those deep brown depths. “Hands behind your head,” I reminded her hoarsely.

Amanda took a deep breath, and exhaled a long wavering moan. Then, breathing hard, with breasts rising and falling in ragged undulations, she slowly brought up her hands to once more take up and hold, the mandated position.

My greedy hands filled with those warm, sweaty, marvelous breasts. I began moving them in a languid circular massage, all the while admonishing Amanda to be still. For at Ironwood, self-discipline was the first step. A lady who learns to rein in her own raging lust becomes more adept at pleasuring others. And above all, Ironwood girls must dedicate themselves to the art of giving pleasure, wholly and unselfishly.

In this way I toyed with Amanda, fondling those wonderfully floppy tits and pausing, every now and then, granting the woman a bit of respite as I viewed her heaving chest, that superb bosom with choice nipples that stood out rigidly, darkened and swollen with passion, even as I spoke of the need for self control.

Even under such pleasuring manipulation of her bouncy breasts, an Ironwood woman must to learn to maintain her composure, suffering the sweet agony of intense foreplay, until she is allowed her release by her lover. Much later, I was to learn from the women we had trained, that the resulting orgasm is unlike any they had ever experienced in its raw, earth-shaking power.

And as our first girl knelt there, her eyes on me, gritting her teeth at the sheer intensity of pleasure that was welling up in her panting, sweat soaked body with my hands playing constantly with her delightful breasts, I couldn’t help turning to look over my shoulder at the hidden camera; couldn’t resist giving it a knowing smile.


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