'Up a bit,' she heard him say, and even before he did it, she knew he was going to push a smaller suitcase under her hips so that her bottom stuck up that much more than the rest of her.
Instinctively she knew what would come first. She tensed, preparing her soft flesh for the ritual abuse to come.
First, she felt the strip of leather across her bottom, its bite leaving a fiery heat in its wake. She yelped, her breasts crushed now against the luggage trunk, her decorative bells digging into her flesh.
Again and again the leather rose and fell and with each stroke, her bottom became hotter until it felt like flesh roasted before the dying embers of a red-hot fire.
Then he stopped.
'Nice and pink,' he said. 'Like pigskin.'
The sound of his voice made her shiver. She wanted to say something, but bit her lip. No matter what she thought of saying, all of it seemed oddly provocative, an encouragement for him to do to her as he pleased.
Even though his palms were warm, a chillness ran over her flesh as he fondled each buttock. He was muttering to himself; odd words, odd noises. None of what he was saying was for her.
His hands continued to caress her behind, to push her stinging spheres together. To pull them apart so that she felt a coldness between them and the shame of exposure.
'I don't believe it,' she whispered as one finger slid between her buttocks. 'The dirty swine!' she added as its tip nudged at the small hole hidden there.
'Nice and warm,' he said again. 'Almost ready.'
His hands left her. Just as she had expected, she felt the sting of the leather.
She cried out with each blow, just as he wanted her to. After all, he was taking revenge out on luggage in general, and she was his go between.
Her flesh burned but, at the same time, her sex felt heavy with the need to finish this.
After about ten strokes, he stopped. She trembled beneath his touch, her voice a low, grateful moan, for the hands that rubbed her buttocks seemed so cool in comparison with her own flesh.
'Lovely,' he murmured. 'That'll keep me warm.' Suddenly, he was close between her thighs, his penis nudging between the cheeks of her behind before travelling lower, the slickness of his glans easily entering her body.
She tensed as his whole length pushed into her, but then relaxed as he began to thrust backwards and forwards, her muscles gripping his length as if unwilling to let him go.
He murmured about how warm her bottom was against his groin, then he lay flat on her so that her breasts, and indeed her whole body, were squashed against the luggage trunk.
The thrust of his loins was fast and furious. It was as though it was the trunk he was fucking and not a woman at all. But despite the fact that she had only recently climaxed, her sex was getting wet again. She hadn't meant to get into this situation, but now she was in it, she was damn well going to enjoy it.
Soon she became lost in the ecstasy of it all and, because of that, she began to murmur instead of moan. The guard heard her.
'I'm not making myself plain!' he exclaimed.
She caught her breath as he withdrew. Suddenly, she knew what was coming next.
He held the cheeks of her bottom apart between finger and thumb.
Emmeline tensed, sure of what was going to happen.
She was right. She felt her own wetness and the hardness of his glans press against her smallest hole. She tried to use her muscles to block him out, but he was too forceful.
'This is my revenge!'
Her anus filled up with his stiffness, muscles bending, folding apart from the onslaught of his penis.
Emmeline cried out as he buried himself in her, rubbing his groin against the heat of her bottom, then lying full length on her again so that her breasts were tightly squashed whilst her behind was being abused.
But her own enjoyment was not entirely obliterated. The little bell that hung from her clitoris was exerting its own pressure.
Although her cries sounded anguished, there was a low tremor of pleasure reverberating through them.
The guard cried out like a triumphant general who's just won his most important battle. His fluid gushed into her and, as she felt its heat fill her back passage, she cried out herself and did her best to make it sound full of pain rather than pleasure.
She felt no shame afterwards. How else can a captive survive?
Chapter 11
Errol moved forward on his knees in response to his mistress tugging on the leather and metal harness that encircled his balls and his stem. It wasn't too uncomfortable. In fact, it wasn't dissimilar to the pulling hand of an enthusiastic woman.
'You've learned well,' Amber purred. 'Come closer.'
He made his way forward on bended knees, the thickness of a Persian carpet beneath him.
Amber was lying full stretch on her favourite lounger, her flaming hair tumbling like molten fire over her shoulders. Her eyes gleamed with a mix of power and lust.
Errol glanced at her, and his penis stiffened. Amber had been made by Mother Nature for one thing only, and she'd never rebuked Mother Nature for doing so.
Her breasts rose steeply with each lustful breath. Her nipples peeped through the gap in her silk robe which lazed halfway down her arms and barely covered the voluptuous curves of her body.
Errol was naked, his well-developed muscles glistening from the oil Pierre had rubbed into them, his flesh warm with a blood supply encouraged by the manservant's probing fingers.
At first he had not liked Pierre touching his flesh in such a familiar fashion. Another man's fingers exploring his body had made him feel strange. But there was no sexual motive behind his actions. Pierre explained that he was preparing him exactly as his mistress liked her man-things prepared. He would please her, and that was all that mattered.
Gradually, despite the fact that he was securely chained to a bench throughout, Errol had become adjusted to Pierre's ministrations. He reasoned that if he could gain both Pierre's and his mistress's confidence, he might be released from his chains. Once freed from those, it would be easy to escape.
Again he felt the tug on the harness which pulled his balls and penis forward begging his body to follow.
Dutifully, he shuffled forward and, as Pierre had instructed him, kept his eyes downcast until ordered otherwise.
He still wore the thick leather collar he had worn that first day and the leather patch across his mouth. His arms were behind his back, his wrists fastened to a link at the back of his collar. His ankles were hobbled together. If he got up he could walk, but only slowly. Impossible if he wanted to run.
The harness that fastened around his waist also wound up between his buttocks. At first he had wondered about the strange feeling between them, but was told later on that he wore an anal plug.
'It is so you can feel what it is like to have your body invaded - just like a woman does.'
That was what Pierre had told him.
Amber pulled him a bit closer again and laughed lightly as she tapped one finger on the end of his penis.
What a traitor, Errol thought as, despite its entrapment, his tool leapt boldly towards her hand. Inwardly, Errol groaned. One touch and it leapt from his body.
'I see you are on form. As usual.'
Amber smiled and Errol felt pleased. Something in her deep green eyes betrayed the fact that she was besotted with him. Perhaps responding to her sexual advances so quickly and so well would be the key to his escape. With that in mind, he let his sexuality run free.
The musky smell of her pussy drifted over his face as she opened her legs.
He drank in her smell and, as he did so, he felt his groin contract and his penis expand. What use for other aphrodisiacs compared to the scent of a woman?
Her smile was languid. So was the way she lay full stretch on the lounger, her silk robe whispering as it slid further down her arms.
A long case clock with a brass face struck midday.
'Lunch time,' said Amber, her green eyes
smiling along with her red lips. Her long fingers unfastened the buckle that held his mouth restraint in place. It fell free to swing beneath his chin. His jaw dropped too and he took a deep breath.
Amber smiled knowingly and her fingers caressed his cheek. 'Eat your lunch, slave.'
He could have said something at that point. Could have refused or at least made some trivial comment. But he knew better than that. He'd done that once before and she had got very angry, told him it was not his place to say anything. He was her sex slave. A creature who existed purely to service her body and be played with in any manner she wished.
Her punishment on that occasion was still in his mind.
She had ordered Pierre to chain him against the wall, arms high above his head. Then she had done the most abominable thing possible.
Tightly chained and unable to cry out because the gag had been replaced, Errol had watched as Pierre strapped a rubber penis around his mistress.
All the time he was doing this, Amber stood perfectly still, her eyes glittering, her mouth set in a firm line as she glared at him.
'A punishment any man would prefer to avoid,' she said, her mouth twisting in a cruel grin. 'Pierre!'
Out of the corner of his eye, Errol saw Pierre open a white jar on the table, dip into it, and take some of its creamy contents onto his fingers.
A mix of terror and revulsion had raced through his body as Pierre applied the cold cream between Errol's buttocks.
Then Amber came close, her perfume intoxicating and the touch of her fingers arousing despite the precariousness of his position.
Resting her cheek against his shoulder blade, she wrapped herself around him. For the first time ever, Errol felt a stiff penis - albeit a false one - nudge between his buttocks.
He squeezed his eyes shut and a harsh cry ripped through his mind as Amber pushed the stiff rod into his body. A stiffness permeated his muscles. This, he told himself, would be a torture that was almost impossible to endure. His mind screamed. His anus burned with the fierceness of her intrusion. He writhed his tormented body, intent on making things as difficult for her as possible, but it didn't last.
Just at the point where he was about to put as much strength as possible into throwing her off his back, her hands ran down over his belly. Relaxation came to his muscles, but a new stiffness came to his penis.
Slowly, she began to move her pelvis. As the penis moved in and out of him, her fingers began to pull on his penis and, shame of shames, he began to enjoy what she was doing to him.
Due to the ministrations of her hands and the sheer decadence of what she was doing to him, his seed rushed up his shaft and spilt onto the floor.
His body trembled with the onslaught of it, the warm fluid splashing against the stone wall and trickling down the front of his legs.
It should have stopped there, but it didn't. That was the torture of it.
'Just because you have finished with my hands, doesn't mean I've finished with you,' Amber said.
The torture went on. Why shouldn't it? Amber could go on for hours if she wanted. Her erection would never die because it wasn't real.
But the discomfort was, and Errol had no intention of repeating it. And this time he had every intention of avoiding it.
On his knees, Errol bent his head, eyeing the luxuriance of her pubic foliage before her moistness covered his face like a warm mist rising from still water.
Her pubic lips seemed to part of their own accord as his tongue slid between them. Her clitoris seemed to leap into his mouth, swollen and hot like a heavily erected penis.
The flesh of her inner thighs shone whitely on either side of his face and, as he did luscious things to her flesh, she hummed an inconsequential tune and sighed when his tongue worked its way into her vagina.
Being a passionate man, Errol was not unaffected by the smell of her, the feel of her hot flesh against his mouth. His penis, still tightly constrained by the cock harness, felt large enough to burst. It ached with lust, its hardness pulsating with pent-up fluid that gathered like a tidal wave behind its fragile ramparts.
He took a breath, raised his head and glanced briefly at the woman whose sex he was almost eating.
The whiteness of her breasts rose like twin peaks of the High Sierra above him. Her head was thrown back. Her eyes were dosed, but her mouth was open.
The tune she was humming and her sighs were now one and the same, an odd musical cacophony of sensual sounds that ably expressed exactly what she was feeling.
As he watched her, he took long licks of her pubic hair, tasting her saltiness and slicking the hair flat against her flesh.
Trancelike, she lay there, her body exposed and open to him. Her mind, he decided, was enraptured by the sensations it was receiving from that part of a woman's body that is made to be fucked.
And it shall be, he suddenly decided. It definitely shall be!
Licking up over her belly, he eased himself onto his feet, his body sliding up over her behind his tongue. His mouth lingered on the ripe breasts of his mistress, his teeth and tongue sucking and biting at her nipples until they rose like two shining, red rosebuds from the whiteness of a field of lilies.
Her eyes flickered, then opened as his face came close to hers.
Errol halted. Would she protest? Would he again have to suffer the indignity of a woman fucking him?
'What do you want, Errol?' she asked.
Errol swallowed. He had to sound convincing. 'You,' he said softly, provocatively. 'I want you. I want to make love to you.'
Amber blinked, and for a moment a tremor of fear ran through Errol's body.
Then she smiled, and he knew he was saved. He had said the right words. He hadn't used the more vulgar terminology. He had used the words of a man intent on seducing a beautiful woman on her terms, not those of a man.
There was a stillness between them for a moment. Errol was aware that his penis was throbbing and moistening no more than half an inch from her sex. He was also aware that she was staring at him as though seeing a man for the first time in her life.
'Why do you want to make love to me, Errol?'
Errol gathered all the confidence he could. What and how he said this would count for everything.
'Because you're beautiful. In fact, I think you're the most beautiful, the most sexually adventurous woman I have ever met in my whole life.'
Amber stared, her eyes wide, her features stiff like some wax effigy confined to a glass case in a Catholic church.
Then she smiled and her features softened. 'Then do it to me,' she said.
Holding himself just right, Errol pushed into her. He didn't lunge at her as though his prick was a battering ram, but took it slowly, carefully, as though she were a virgin and each inch was a step through initial pain rather than lasting pleasure.
Because his hands were still fastened to the thick leather collar that encircled his throat, he could not touch her breasts. He could only rub his chest against them, revelling in them as if they were feather cushions flung there for him to enjoy. In return, each nipple thrust like two hard peas against his chest.
Despite Amber being sexually adventurous, this was the first time Errol had actually performed for her in this manner.
Up until this moment, Amber had taken him whenever she wanted, her riding him, sitting on his prick, bouncing on him as she might some horse she was riding.
Once she had come, she would dismount leaving him stiff and unsatisfied.
'Learn to come at the same time I do if you want satisfaction,' she had told him.
He had heeded her words. On the odd occasion afterwards when he hadn't done that, Amber had taken great delight in having Pierre finish him by hand whilst she looked on, smiling - always smiling.
Chapter 12
'I have a special request, ma cherie, whispered Rene against Sheree's neatly cut bob.
Sheree's skin tingled as though a fine electric charge had brushed against her. It reminded her of being out in a s
torm when the thunderheads are dark and the rain oddly piercing before the thunder sounds and the lightning flashes through the clouds.
He's married to Stacey. That was the thought that went through her mind. So what? It didn't seem to matter to Stacey. It didn't seem to matter much to Rene either.
Her painted lips parted as she turned to look at him. 'What do you want me to do?'
Rene smiled, his dark moustache seeming to stretch across his face and the familiar creases appearing at the sides of his eyes.
She held her breath as he kissed her cheek, her throat, then the nape of her neck.
'I want you to go on stage tonight without wearing any underwear.'
She gasped. Once she'd taken the request in, she looked at him wide-eyed.
Her lips formed a word, but no sound came out.
'You seem surprised. So I will ask you again. For me, my darling Sheree. Go onto that stage wearing that beautiful pale mauve dress I've just bought you. Wear that, and nothing else. Nothing.'
Sheree's thoughts went to the slinky mauve dress that fitted her like a second skin.
Stacey had been with her when she bought it. The money, Stacey had told her, was courtesy of the Catnip Club, and Rene, its patron, in particular.
'Don't you think it's a bit tight?' she'd said.
Stacey had leaned against the changing-room door, her eyelids and sockets seeming twice the expanse they were because her eyebrows were plucked so severely.
'Without the underwear, it will be fine. Try it.'
Sheree had looked at herself in the mirror. Telltale grooves in the material outlined the waistband of her knickers and top.
'I do have some more close-fitting underwear at home,' she murmured, her heart thudding because Stacey was watching her so intently.
'So you have it at home, sweetness. But that isn't here, is it? Take off your underwear and you can see the damn frock at its best. Come here. I'll help you.'
Without waiting for Sheree to reply, Stacey lay her cigarette holder in an ashtray.
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