“The sperm. Spread it over the handle.”
Raising her arms upwards, the girl tilted her palms sideways and ran them over the proffered handle, transferring the thick sticky load of come to its hard wooden surface. Parting her inner sex lips with the fingers of one hand, the Baroness inverted the brush and with her legs splayed apart pushed the brush handle between her grasping inner sex lips and up into her ravenous, sopping hole. She had not really needed the extra lubrication of the spunk as Mistress Madonna had done but she welcomed it nonetheless, she wanted to feel exactly the same sensations as her guest in the hunting lodge had felt.
As Mistress Madonna slid on and off the pike shaft, driving it deeper and deeper into her sex, the Baroness pushed the handle of the brush in and out of her own love tunnel. They were both questing for same fulfilment, but the Baroness was able to call on a little more help than had been available to Mistress Madonna.
“You girl, stay down there and help me. Use your fingers on my clitoris; stroke it, massage it, do anything. But don’t get in the way of the hairbrush, more than anything I need to feel that pumping inside me.”
Grunting and gasping both with the effort and with the increasing eddies of arousal that were coursing through her, she turned her attention to the boy.
“Up on your feet! My nipples; suck them.”
The boy leapt to obey her command, his lips fastening around one of her almost bullet-sized nipples. His wet lips and purposeful tongue felt marvellously cool on her hot, heaving breast, his greedy mouth hungry for the taste of her flesh. But she wanted more.
“The other nipple. Work on that too, come on boy, use your imagination.”
Laying a flat palm over her other breast, he squeezed and massaged the firm mound for a few moments before taking the nipple between his thumb and forefinger, rolling, pulling and nipping it with a grip that rang the bells of pain as much as those of pleasure. And she loved it. A hairbrush handle firmly stuck up her clinging, sucking vagina; fingers manipulating her clitoris and one of her nipples and an excited mouth biting and sucking on the other, she writhed and bucked in an ever-growing tide of ecstasy.
It could not last much longer and it did not. Even though she tried to delay her moment of fulfilment, an unstoppable raging ocean of electrifying physical fireworks swept over her as in the mirror she saw Mistress Madonna reach her own peak. Tearing her eyes away from the glass, as the flames of her emotions burned at their white-hot peak, in the throes of a gigantic body-racking orgasm she let out a hideous, soul-destroying scream and jerking the boy’s head upwards from her breast, rolled back her lips and sank her teeth deeply into his neck.
The Armoire
MISTRESS MADONNA HAVING FINALLY sunk into a deep, exhausted sleep; it was with the warming rays of the mid-morning sun already streaming into the bedroom that she awoke. The unfamiliarity of her surroundings confused her for a moment until she shook herself into full awareness and the memories of the previous night came flooding into her mind. Remembering the ghastly punishment that she had dealt out to Julian and the awful, contorted and strained position she had left him in, it crossed her mind that he must be in a dreadful state by now and she should do something about it. But then again, why should she? Julian revelled in torture and misery, so he was probably enjoying himself. And if he was not; too bad. He could stay how he was until she got things straight in her mind.
It had been a strange night for her after all. The Colonel's behaviour was incomprehensible and although she knew full well that back in England his cock was not reserved solely for her and was in constant demand by the ladies of the County Set, she still could not believe that over here he had abandoned her to go off fucking and carousing with a bunch of tarts; even if they were the most highly prized and glamorous female flesh in Europe.
Although she had never doubted herself before, she began to wonder if her appeal to him was fading. Was she losing her looks? She did not think so but all the same she wandered over to the full-length-dressing mirror that stood in a corner of the room and inspected herself closely. In that dim location the light was really quite poor and so the mirror being on castors she wheeled it over to where she was able to see more clearly.
Lifting the hair from her forehead she examined it closely for the slightest sign of a wrinkle. Of course there was none. She peered into her dark liquid eyes and found them still bright and sparkling. Pressing hard she dragged her fingertips down from her cheekbones and over her chin, smiling in a sort of grim satisfaction at the firmness of her flesh. Running her palms down the length of her neck and over her breasts and their proud nipples, she satisfied herself that nothing was awry. Twisting this way and that she checked every part of her anatomy for any indication, no matter how slight, for signs of sagging or cellulite. There were none. Her buttocks were still perfectly rounded and solid, her legs long and unblemished and her sex just as it had always been; fully thatched and inviting.
Mistress Madonna’s eyes lingered for a while on her sex before she ran a palm down over her pubic mound and sighing heavily, slipped a forefinger into the crease between her labia. Her sigh was born of the knowledge that the sexual adventures that she had expected to enjoy with The Colonel on this visit were not to be. The fantasies that she had played out in her mind once again filled her thoughts, blotting out what her eyes actually saw in the mirror.
She imagined herself being pleasured by The Colonel in the midst of the dense pines, laid out on one of the fallen standing stones that were strewn everywhere on the forest floor. His beautiful cock plunged into her powerfully muscular vagina, the walls of her love tunnel contracting, squeezing and pulling his mighty weapon deeper into her until his pleasure dome was smashing up against her womb. Again and again he cannoned into her with hugely deep thrusts as he drove her to heights of ecstasy that she had never known before. Her orgasm was the stuff of dreams, hitting her vagina with seemingly endless waves of body-numbing tremors as she gasped and groaned in a paradise of rapture, digging her long black-painted fingernails into his back as her limbs thrashed helplessly under the delicious torment of his onslaught. It was sex at its most thrilling, satisfying, debilitating pinnacle.
Only minutes later, even though she had milked his bollocks dry, surrounded by giant ferns, she bent over with her legs wide and took him into her most private of places, the tight hole into which he so loved to sink his iron rod. The Colonel could go on forever and once more he stoked her into oblivion, both of them jerking frenziedly as their orgasms hit, gasping and screaming in unison with the intensity of their climaxes.
Then kneeling before him, she slipped her impatient lips over his bulbous purple bell-end, licking and sucking before grasping his buttocks and pulling him so close that her nose sank into his pubic hairs and the full length of his mighty weapon buried itself down her throat. The taste of his thick salty sperm delighted her taste buds and in return The Colonel greedily guzzled on her fragrant vagina, drinking every magical drop of her copious juices of love. Gently opening her love petals with his fingers he sank his tongue deep inside her, his nose rubbing and stimulating her clitoris as he treated her to an expert and deeply arousing tongue-fuck. The muscular walls of her vagina clasped his tongue, showering it with oceans of ambrosial nectar and almost drowning him in her secretions as he ceaselessly pleasured her into orgasm. An orgasm so tremendous that it left her whole body drained and weak.
The Colonel deserved something special for that and guiding his cock into the deep valley between her magnificent breasts, she pressed them tightly around the hot throbbing shaft. Encouraging him to thrust as strongly as he could, she gave him the tit-wank of a lifetime and by bending her chin downwards she was able to take his helmet into her mouth on each upward stroke, so taking him to greater levels of gratification, once again tasting his gourmet spunk as it spattered up onto her lips and face.
And her fevered orgasms were not only in he
r mind. As her imagination had notched into overdrive, driven by her thoughts, her sex became a sopping river of lust and her nipples, swollen terminals of pulsing excitement. As The Colonel fucked her in her daydream, she frantically fucked herself in reality; firstly with just her index and forefingers and then as her need increased and her orgasm neared, with her all her fingers and her thumb crammed into her sucking vagina. With two fingers of her other hand working on the hard nub of her clitoris she drove herself to several very real and electrifying climaxes, timing them to hit at the very moments that The Colonel performed the same feats in her fantasy.
As the tremors within her subsided and her vagina revelled in the warm, satisfied wetness that comes with sexual fulfilment, Mistress Madonna’s thoughts reluctantly returned to Julian. She really ought to check on him, it would not be to her benefit if anything untoward were to have happened to him.
He was just as she had left him, but now visibly wilting in his bondage, the chains supporting his exhausted body. He looked absolutely awful; grimy and sweat-soaked he must have spent the entire night fighting his restraints but his eyes still sparked into worshipful devotion as she stood before him, arms folded and with a look of utter scorn upon her face. After everything that she had put him through he was still overjoyed to see her.
And as usual, so was his cock!
“Still not learnt your lesson, I see. When are you going to learn that good little boys don’t spend their entire lives shagging and playing with themselves?”
She was as cruel as they come. In his desperate predicament Julian of course was completely unable to do anything with his sorely abused but still rock hard weapon. He could not fuck because it was not allowed in any case, but neither could he wank, and with his penis so tautly and excruciatingly erect he was also completely unable to piss. With his shoulder and arm muscles almost wrenched from their sockets, his back breaking, his bladder at bursting point and his foreskin rubbed to an angry reddened, shredded and bloody mess by the iron cock clamp, he was suffering as he had never suffered before.
Which meant that he was having the time of his life.
Mistress Madonna congratulated herself, smiling inwardly. Everything was as it should be; when this little trip was over she would no doubt be collecting a sizeable bonus from her pathetically besotted slave. Outwardly showing no obvious regard for his well being, she checked him over closely, reaching the conclusion that he had come to no harm and she could carry on where she had left off the previous evening.
“I really don’t know how you’ve got the gall to present yourself to me in this despicable condition. You’re filthy, you smell worse than donkey diarrhoea and I don’t know how you did it but you appear to be covered in spunk. You are altogether one revolting little person. Well, Mistress Madonna will soon put that right.”
Although she had not noticed one the previous day, somehow she knew that if she went outside she would find a well close to the lodge. And so it proved. It was very deep too judging by the length of time it took for the pebble she tossed into it to reach the bottom. The water in a well of that depth would be absolutely freezing she concluded, just the thing to get Julian’s day off to a memorable start. Lowering the heavy wooden bucket down into the water she filled it full to brimming, hauled it back up and untied it from the thick rope wound around the winch.
Staggering a little under its unexpected weight, she carefully transported it and its ice-cold contents back into the lodge.
“Right turd. This is what cock-happy vulgar little guttersnipes get when they look as if they’ve spent the night stuck up Mary Poppins’ chimney.”
And that was it. Julian got it. The entire freezing bucketful hit him like a solid sheet of ice as with all the force that she could muster, Mistress Madonna flung the water over his straining form. He shivered uncontrollably as the gelid river plastered his hair, ran down over his face, his arms and legs and dripped from the end of his nose. It did not however drip from his cock. That was still practically on fire and although any drops of water that found their way onto that burning rod of flesh did not actually flash into steam, they all evaporated before they could run down to his bell end. All that dripped from that were droplets of the seminal fluid that constantly leaked from his priapic weapon.
Julian’s jaws had now been prized apart by the ball gag for well over twelve hours and it was time she did something about it if he was not going to finish up with a permanently gaping mouth. As his mistress she could not show any sign that could be interpreted by Julian as tenderness or compassion, not that she felt any, Julian only got exactly what he deserved but she did not want him permanently damaged and so the gag had to be removed. However there was a way that she could do it without seeming to have weakened.
“I’d better take this off, no doubt that nosy bitch of a policewoman will turn up sooner or later wanting it back.”
So off it came.
“Thank you, thank you Mistress.”
In a dry, cracked-mouth rasp his obeisance was nauseating.
“Thank you for what, cretin?”
His reply surprised even her.
“Last night. It was wonderful. It still is wonderful. You’re wonderful.”
Not a word about the gag, which is what she had been expecting. It just went to show that nothing about Julian could be taken for granted.
But it did not really matter, because she was still burning with resentment at her treatment at the hands of The Colonel; she found it impossible to stop thinking about it and Julian was destined to continue suffering until she had worked that resentment out of her system. She had still not broken him. Although she had subjected him to punishments that transcended the awful, he was proving to be incredibly resilient. He was enjoying it altogether too much and that only made her even more determined to smash him into a grovelling, totally insignificant piece of offal.
Staring into her much more elaborate mirror, the Baroness had once again been watching as her guest engaged herself in what was almost a perfect duplication of her own daily ritual; the search for the telltale signs of encroaching age on her flawless body, followed by sexual gratification and the disciplining of her slaves. Mistress Madonna could not know it but the Baroness was becoming more and more certain that the two of them were kindred spirits and alike in more ways than one.
Standing by her side sharing the view, the policewoman remained silent until the Baroness turned aside for moment. Seizing her chance, the policewoman posed a question.
“Mistress, now that you’ve had the opportunity to watch her in action, what do you think? Is she for us?”
There was no doubt on the Baroness’ part.
“Oh yes Anna. She’s perfect. And her slave could prove to be useful too, if he is still a virgin as The Colonel told me he was. And speaking of virgins, it’s time you got down to the creek to check on the last batch that those gypsies and their fishermen friends should be unloading about now. And on your way there call in on Madonna and invite her to the castle this evening. Say that I’m throwing a little dinner party or something like that. Just make sure that we get her up here in time for the Ceremony.”
Having taken a welcome respite and a few refreshing sips of Dom Perignon, Mistress Madonna stood looking around, searching for inspiration as to what punishment Julian could be subjected to next. Suddenly she noticed for the first time that set into the oak beam running across the ceiling above his head was a large iron hook. And hanging from the hook was a pulley. A thick rope, tied off to a hoop in the wall ran over the pulley and attached to it was a T-bar with studded wrist cuffs affixed to each end of the ball-jointed horizontal section. Things just kept on getting better, it could not have been more ideal if she had put it there herself.
As her eyes lingered on the bar, Julian’s own eyes followed her gaze. Instant panic. “No Mistress. Not that. Please. Don’t string me up, I’ve t
hink I’ve had enough now.”
That settled it. Enough was never enough where he was concerned. Pulling over a chair, she climbed onto it and unhooked his neck chain from the bracket that had held the pike. Julian swivelled his head and stretched his neck in instant appreciation of their newfound freedom of movement. Getting down from the chair she next concentrated her attention on his wrist cuffs, releasing them both before doing the same with his ankle cuffs and removing the spreader bar from between his widespread feet.
Now that all his limbs were free, he would be able to stand upright; that is if his strained back would let him. But if he had thought, even for a moment that because she had released his bonds that she was softening, he was in for a rude shock. She addressed him as would a sergeant major admonishing a raw recruit.
“What are you waiting for? Stand up straight, feet together, arms by your side, head up.”
“But Mistress . . .”
“But Mistress what?”
“My cock. It’s still chained and it hurts. And I need a piss. Badly.”
“Of what interest is that to me? I’m glad your cock hurts and your bladder can burst for all I care. Just do as your Mistress tells you. Understood?”
“Yes Mistress.”
His response was a feeble, small-voiced testimony of his acquiescence to her command. Her response to his totally inadequate reaction was a lightning flurry of slaps to his face that left him reeling.
“You can do better than that.”
So he could. This time the answer was loud and clear.
“YES MISTRESS.”
Slaves to the Bloodline Page 5
