"Remember worm, no more noise."
He could no more make a sound at that moment than he could wank his tethered cock. And she obviously knew it, her words were merely intended to reinforce the sense of dread that she had instilled in him. And they worked. He was terrified, his terror increasing by the second as she held him in a prolonged contemptuous stare. Pausing for a moment she took a closer look at the Gothic iron hooks and chains that held him in bondage, paying particular attention to what appeared to be two blood-tinged puncture marks on his neck, partly hidden by the spiked collar. Looking up at Mistress Madonna with knowing eyes, she then inspected the marks once more before bidding her a 'bon soirée' and casting one last covetous glance over her magnificent black leather and satin-clad body, she added a somewhat mysterious final comment.
"It's a greater privilege than you realise to have been invited to stay here. You can see for yourself that the site itself is very ancient, there's a lot of mystery surrounding it, and the castle itself dates back to before the dark ages. The Baroness has gathered some very interesting people here, and judging by what I see before me I'm sure you'd fit in with them very well indeed. So if you intend staying it would be wise to try not to upset her, she does not like attention being drawn to this place. It would be a very great pity if you had to be asked to leave like some other unwelcome guests."
“And who might they be?”
“Oh, the local fishermen had their quotas cut recently, and because now they can’t put to sea every day they’re finding other ways to make a living and making quite a nuisance of themselves in the process. The Baroness has been having trouble with them digging up the burial mounds trying to find prehistoric treasure, poaching the wildlife and things like that. We cleared them off but we come up here a couple of times a day to keep an eye on things. If you have any trouble with them, just let us know and we’ll deal with it.”
Then returning to deliver a couple of final gut-wrenching baton strikes to the back of Julian's legs, in a steely voice she addressed him once more.
"Adieu little man and remember, no more noise. I don’t want to have to bother your charming mistress again, just because you can't keep your mouth shut."
Although her business with Mistress Madonna was finished, she seemed strangely reluctant to leave, her eyes once again dreamily eating up Mistress Madonna's fabulously enticing body. A discreet cough from the policeman broke her reverie and pulling herself together, she made for the door. Mistress Madonna followed her uncertainly, standing watching as the policeman, in a servile fashion opened it for her and she stepped out to be rapidly enveloped by the inky blackness of the night.
Very thoughtfully and deliberately Mistress Madonna swung the door shut and returned to her business with Julian. It was all his fault of course. That much she made clear before resuming his punishment with renewed vigour
"See what you've done now. Got us in trouble with the local police. For that, you’re going to suffer.”
Thwack!
The crop struck with vicious intent again and again, a strangled gasp forcing its way past the stifling ball-gag as the lashes landed. In between each blow Mistress Madonna posed a question.
"And apart from anything else, I want you to tell me what it was you did that forced me to have to punish you in the first place?"
How could he answer?
He tried to but all he could manage was a muffled snuffle.
Crack!
"Could it be because of the filthy way you behaved earlier on?"
Of course it could.
Smack!
"And after the last time, didn't we agree that you wouldn't try and do naughty things like that again?"
It was true, they had agreed on that point. With very bad grace on his part it must be added.
"So why did you?"
Straining in his bonds he attempted a shrug to try to imply that he did not know the answer to the question. It did him no good, this time several wicked, cutting strikes fell in succession before she rephrased the question in a fashion that even a cretin like him could not misinterpret.
"Why did you put your animal's paws on my thigh?"
An incoherent mumble was all he was able to muster.
"And don't think that I didn't see that disgusting bulge in your trousers. You had a hard-on, didn't you? "
He had.
"And you know very well that I didn't give you permission to get yourself all worked up, don't you?"
He did.
"So why did you get that filthy erection when you knew that it wasn't allowed? Especially as anyone passing by could have looked into the car and seen you behaving like the perverted sex-crazed beast that you are."
What else could he have done? Earlier in the small village bar she had deliberately and outrageously flaunted her body before him in a manner that could not have failed
to set his pulses racing and his cock twitching. Not to mention the local Gallic sardine fishermen, who to a man were puffing the hell out of Gitanes or choking on their minute glasses of vin rosé, their eyes glued to her firm, bullet-nippled and partly-exposed breasts and her fabulously enticing, undulating backside. With their cocks already iron-hard and leaking sperm, after her display there would be many a surprised and sorely-fucked fanny when the lusting men got back home to their wives and girlfriends.
Following that, sat in the passenger seat of the Ferrari, she had pulled her black leather micro-skirt right up over her thighs, exposing not only a succulent expanse of creamy flesh between them and her stocking tops but also a glorious and luxuriantly thatched mons. And as if that were not enough she had then stretched herself out and with her eyes closed was murmuring in aroused delight as one hand slipped between her open thighs to caress her sex, while at the same time her other hand roamed sensuously over the breasts that were straining her clinging, deeply scoop-necked satin top to the limit. Then the fingers that had slipped up and down the moist lubricated slit between her musky, open sex lips were passed under his nostrils, the heady aroma of her vagina flooding his senses, turning his brain into jelly and his cock into steel. Actions all purposely designed to drive him into a delirium of lust.
And she had succeeded. Even though he knew full well that she was toying with him, stoking up passions that had no possibility of being sated. But he did not dare to make matters worse by being disobedient and telling her that she was a teasing, heartless bitch. So he made no answer to her question. Not that he could speak in any case, the ball-gag saw to that.
"Right, don't answer. Why should I care? If you don't want to speak to me that's your affair."
The sense of injustice overwhelmed him. Of course he wanted to answer her. To tell her once again that his life was lived only for her. That she could have anything money could buy. That she was the most wonderful woman in the entire universe.
Tears of frustration trickled from his eyes; his body ached, his mind was in turmoil and his cock hurt. He was in no doubt that she knew that, after all her plan was always to humiliate him, to stimulate him into sexual arousal and then deny him fulfilment. And on his part he was always more than happy to let her do so. That was one of the main reasons that he loved her so much; she understood a contradiction in his personality that no woman he had encountered before had. And that was that to be really happy he had to be wretchedly miserable, preferably suffering the tortures of Hell.
Now held immobile in his chains; desperately, pleadingly, his eyes sought hers, trying to make her understand what had happened. He'd got a fucking great hard-on in the car because she had made him do it. It was not his fault. But without words no communication was possible.
She tapped the crop impatiently against her creamy, suspender-adorned thigh.
"You're only making things worse for yourself. You either tell me why you tried to touch me up or I kick your arse f
rom here to England and back. Make up your mind, it's up to you."
But it was not up to him. He was helpless. Mute. She held all the strings, he was just a puppet, dancing to her every whim. And her whim at that moment seemed to be to make him suffer interminably. And suffering he was, but despite the murderous lashes that continued to stripe every inch of his battered body, he could still only think of one thing - sinking his throbbing cock into his mistress' wondrous, hot juicy steaming vagina.
That was what had got him into trouble in the first place. He was man of sorts after all and subject to the same desires that beset all men. He couldn't help it if his balls were full to bursting with sperm through lack of sexual relief. That was her fault in any case, she kept him frustrated on purpose and he was fed up with being a right-hand lover. He had told her again and again before they left England that he wanted a fuck. He had wanted one then and he wanted one now. He always wanted a fuck. Nothing that she could do to him would alter that.
But she could play with his mind and wreak havoc with his emotions.
“Your associates, your business friends or whoever it is who you drink with at your stuffy Establishment clubs; they all tell you about how their wives, girl friends, high-priced hookers or whatever let them shag themselves silly, don’t they? They all get their cocks sucked and their bollocks licked and perhaps they get to shag an arse now and then.
“And you’re always sulking because Mistress Madonna doesn’t allow that sort of thing; but you and I know that you get something better. You’re forever begging me to let you fuck me, but if I did, what would you have to look forward to? Nothing! What you get is something that satisfies you far more than having your infantile cock waving about in the channel tunnel, because believe me I know that most of those bloody high society tarts have fucked their way into those men’s bank accounts. They’ve got cunts as wide as the Grand Canyon, so what good would they do a tiny-pricked prat like you?
“And not only that, how many of those toffee-nosed, snooty upper class women would even dream of giving their men the special attention that I do you? If you only stopped to think for a minute, you’d realise that you are the luckiest little boy on the planet. You public schoolboys all want the same thing. Your housemasters caned your naked arses because they enjoyed it, and even though it was agony you enjoyed it as well. And you wanted more, didn’t you? because every time you were beaten you got a hard on. And then you went to your study and had a good wank.
“That’s why you still like to be caned. And so do most of your other cissy boy ex schoolmates. Only they don’t get it because their hoity toity tarts are above that sort of thing. Or so they say. But the truth is that they’re only interested in their men’s money and not their well-being. How many of them care enough about their men to discipline them, to thrash them into submission and beat them into orgasm? Can you name one who would give any of them the treatment that I’m giving you right here and now?”
There was no answer to that question, but Mistress Madonna’s remarks were made even more hurtful for Julian because he knew that in her private life she was the equal, and more, of any of those supposedly socially superior women. Educated, sophisticated and cultured, the dirty talk was only for his benefit. He loved it. Cunt, Fuck and all the other filthy words that rolled from her tongue never failed to send a tingle up his spine and served to greatly inflame his passions. There were two other words however that also never failed to upset him greatly. And those words were: The Colonel!
The mere mention of The Colonel was guaranteed to drive Julian to distraction and so it was inevitable that Mistress Madonna would turn her comments in his direction. With the crop dangling from one wrist and the fingers of her free hand stroking and delving between her sex lips, her skirt again hitched high, she stood wide-legged in front of Julian and with her lecture over, she altered tack and began taunting him mercilessly. Everything about him was wrong, his every action was incompetent, his cock belonged on a little boy and wasn't big enough to satisfy a rat. The Colonel on the other hand was magnificent, perfect in every way and his cock was the biggest and best she'd ever seen. The insults went on and on, driving Julian into an almost insane bout of agitation, his limbs helplessly fighting the restrictive chains and muffled grunts pouring from his gagged mouth.
Suddenly, interrupting her diatribe, a more restrained hand than earlier rapped on the cottage door.
"Hello. Anyone in there?"
The voice was instantly recognisable, a pleased smile lighting up Mistress Madonna's features as she crossed to open the door.
"Ah Colonel. I've been expecting you."
"Yes. Sorry it's so late m'dear, got held up at the castle, don't you know. Didn't think I was ever going to get away."
"Well you're here now and that's enough for me."
Entering the room, The Colonel eyed Julian's chained, bruised and striped body.
"The blighter been up to his old tricks, has he?"
"Yes Colonel, he's been a very naughty boy and Mistress Madonna's had to teach him a lesson."
"Don't know how you put up with the bounder m'self. In the old days I'd have had him neutered and shipped off to be stabled with the eunuchs in some sultan or other's harem."
Walking around Julian, he leant his foot on the taut chain anchoring his cock to the floor and then pressed heavily downwards several times. Agonising bolts of intense, sickening pain radiated from Julian's cock to his every nerve end and despite the gag his squeals of agony ricocheted around walls of the hunting lodge as his already tortured bell-end was almost wrenched away from the shaft of his penis.
"Nothing more than you deserve, you cad. If it were left to me I'd thrash you to within an inch of your life."
"Don't be too hard on him Colonel. You know what silly little boys like him are like, they can't help themselves. They've got cocks like yo-yos, up and down at the slightest hint of female flesh. And I have given him a pretty thorough going over."
Although Julian's haunches and back were glowing crimson and the blood-tinged stripes that covered his body showed only too clearly the extent of the savage treatment that had been dealt out to him by Mistress Madonna, The Colonel bent closer and inspected him thoroughly, before straightening up once more.
"Um. If you say so, old thing. Personally, I'd give him another hundred."
"Oh, I think he's had enough of the crop for the moment," Mistress Madonna said, and then pointedly staring straight at The Colonel's crotch, she added, "but with a little help from you, I can make him suffer a great deal more than if I just carry on beating him."
The instantaneous bulge that erupted inside his trousers signalled that The Colonel was in full agreement and Mistress Madonna wasted no time in sliding her palm over it before tugging down his zip and slipping her hand inside.
"Oh, Julian! The Colonel's cock feels wonderful. It's all hot and hard and throbbing. Mistress Madonna wants it up her cunt right now. This instant!"
Sighing with expectancy at the pleasure that lay ahead, she freed The Colonel's rampant ramrod and slid her clenched hand up and down its length.
"Oh God Colonel, you're bigger than ever, your cock's so fat I can't get my hand round it."
But she could get her lips round it.
And she did.
Just inches away from Julian's face, Mistress Madonna bent herself over, legs wide apart and her sex fully available to both his eyes and his nose. With the musky sex-laden aroma of her arousal flooding his nostrils, unbelievably Julian's erection hardened even further. The pain in his cock was incredible but the pain in his heart was insufferable. And it got worse.
Mistress Madonna's lips slid backwards and forwards over The Colonel's bulbous glans, her tongue dipping into the eye of his penis and lapping the rigid shaft like a hungry cat. Then slipping several inches of its throbbing length fully into her mouth, one on top of
the other she clamped both hands around its base and began wanking him upwards to meet every downward plunge of her mouth. The Colonel sucked air between his clenched teeth, his face screwing up in agonising ecstasy as more and more of his cock disappeared into her warm, saliva-filled mouth as she drove him towards ejaculation. Up and down, faster and faster, her head bobbed as her mouth plunged over his steely erection, his bell-end now battering her throat. Suddenly The Colonel grabbed her head and held it rigid, bucking his hips as he fucked her mouth and exploded in a shuddering orgasm, spurting torrents of hot salty sperm over her welcoming taste buds and down her swallowing, gulping throat.
And he was not alone in emptying his bollocks. Although the pain was beyond belief, with his eyes glued to Mistress Madonna's widening sex lips, a crazily thrashing, demented Julian had tugged his chained and steel-clamped cock until it too had spurted gushers of spunk. But his ejaculate had not shot into the appreciative mouth of his mistress, spattering instead over the stone flags of the floor. He was in for it now, that was for sure, Mistress Madonna always punished him severely when he did disgusting things like that. But he did not care. She had sucked The Colonel off and swallowed his spunk right in front of his eyes. He hated her. And The Colonel. She could do to him what she liked. And if she ordered him to lick it up, he would not!
But amazingly, she did nothing.
Not to Julian anyway. She was in a frenzy of need herself. The need for a good stiff cock to be stuck nine inches into her red-hot twat. Hungrily swallowing the last traces of The Colonel's seed, she straightened up, turned around and once more bent herself over, this time with her fabulous backside pointed straight at The Colonel's still erect weapon.
Slaves to the Bloodline Page 2
