The Marquis was right. Of that there was no doubt. And never before, throughout the countless years that the Ceremony had taken place, had the Baroness ever lingered for one moment longer than was necessary to commence the ritual proceedings. But this was different. She was faced with an exceptional adversary; a woman whose overwhelming combined aura of strength and sexuality was sparking a previously undreamt of licentious hunger in her loins. Cocks, cunts, tits or whatever, she had experience her fill of all of those things. But her breasts had never been sucked or her vagina tongued by a woman such as her captive. Mistress Madonna was unique and she had never before drunk her fill of a woman like her.
Suddenly the decision was made.
The Ceremony could wait!
Announcing her unprecedented decision, the Baroness was hardly surprised when the Marquis addressed Mistress Madonna, delivering an announcement of his own.
“I know that the Baroness has her own plans for you but I see no reason why I also cannot join her in enjoying your body. And for that matter, why Vlad cannot have his own little piece of the action.”
In response to the Marquis’ words, a sort of hideous half-vocalized snuffling from Vlad confirmed that he was only too eager to take up that particular option. The Baroness really had no choice.
“Alright, I am not averse to sharing her with you. It’s a great pity that she was not what I wanted her to be, so we may as well make the best of the situation.”
But she still wanted the first bite of the apple; it was her right. And she said so. Unsurprisingly the Marquis acquiesced to her demand without question. As much as he enjoyed dominating others, he also gained pleasure from being subservient to the Baroness.
“Oh, we don’t mind waiting, do we Count?”
Whether Count Dracula minded or not Mistress Madonna never found out. Standing passively by he watched as the guards freed her from her restraints and stood her upright. The burning candle was still wedged firmly into her vagina and once on her feet the flame floated upwards, flashing her luxurious pubic hair into short-lived flame. Singed down to the pubic bone, her mons now resembled that of poor departed Anna.
The candle did not generate a particularly hot flame, but as it licked around her labia and began to melt the solidified wax that coated them, its intensity was sufficient to cause her an undesirable discomfort. It was something that with effort she could withstand but still something that she wished she did not have to combat.
And nor did she for long.
“Extinguish that candle, she will be no use to me with a burnt cunt.”
A heavy-breasted female guard rushed to obey the Baroness’ order. Her hand delved between Mistress Madonna’s thighs; thighs spread wide by the massive column of wax plugging her vagina, and a pinched-together forefinger and thumb crushed the flame into a smoking, blackened length of scorched wick.
“Well done. Now bring her over here.”
Fight as she may, Mistress Madonna was now seriously weakened and despairingly found herself without the resources to offer any serious resistance as the guard determinedly dragged her to stand before the Baroness, who had settled herself into a huge high-backed chair. With the monstrous candle still stuck firmly up her cunt, Mistress Madonna could not close her legs and was forced to stand humiliatingly facing her tormentor with her legs spread wide.
“It seems that you are enjoying that big fat substitute for the real thing stretching your vagina to its limit, so we will leave it where it is, although I cannot say that I would derive such pleasure from a lump of wax.”
Mistress Madonna was most certainly not enjoying the cunt-plugging pole stuffing her so uncomfortably and she was well aware that the Baroness knew that fact. She was just intent on prolonging her discomfort throughout whatever ordeal she had in mind next.
“And I do not see why you should be the only one enjoying yourself around here.”
Mistress Madonna steeled herself; here it came.
“Guards! Down on her knees!”
Heavy hands on her shoulders forced Mistress Madonna down into the Baroness’ required position. Widening her legs, the Baroness lifted the hem of her dress and hiked it up over her waist. Her vagina, expectant and hungry was revealed in all its thatched glory. .
“I do not think that it is necessary for me to spell out what I require of you.”
No there was not, what the Baroness required was patently obvious. There came a time when the inevitable could not be denied. So, pragmatically accepting the situation for what it was, Mistress Madonna began her investigation of her victor’s sex.
Shuffling closer to her, Mistress Madonna raised the Baroness’ legs in both hands and hung them over her shoulders in order to gain better access to her lusting quarry. Reaching out to separate the Baroness’ wet but closed labia, Mistress Madonna experimentally ran her tongue along the length of her pubic slit. Then starting from close to the Baroness’ anus, she dug her pursed tongue between her sex lips and worked her way upwards to the entrance to her love tunnel.
The taste of the Baroness’ vagina was unlike anything Mistress Madonna had experienced before. Pungent and musky it was, but there was something completely different about it. Something that actually set her taste buds tingling with unexpected pleasure. Was this what a vampire’s cunt tasted like?
She felt the Baroness shiver as her mouth fastened on to her sex and she began sucking as well as thrusting her tongue deep into its savoury hole, feasting on its unexpectedly piquant and unusually enjoyable taste.
Leaving her tongue where it was, she nuzzled her nose upwards to rub against the Baroness’ clitoris. The reaction was instantaneous. The Baroness’ labia widened even further, Mistress Madonna’s tongue suddenly penetrating so far that its root was firmly buried between the Baroness’ sex petals and painfully drawn deep into her vagina. A vagina that flooded oceans of that deliciously unusual nectar. Unable to help herself Mistress Madonna clasped both her hands around the Baroness’ buttocks and pulled her closer to the edge of the chair.
And just as the Baroness had never been serviced by a woman such as she, she herself had never been presented with a cunt such as the one nestling between the Baroness’ legs. Again she began to lose all sense of her surroundings as she drank deep of unexpected and extraordinarily flavoursome aristocratic vampire love juice, inhaling great sniffs of its singularly unparalleled but still musky fragrance.
And she was obviously working magic on the Baroness. With Mistress Madonna’s hands still firmly gripping the unyieldingly-firm meat of her arse, rolling her hips, she ground her sex into Mistress Madonna’s face; long, low moans of gratification spilling from her lips. Her legs closed in, clamping Mistress Madonna’s cheeks and as she increasingly began to lose control, Mistress Madonna felt the Baroness’ previously firm and crushing thighs begin to tremble.
Mistress Madonna’s lapping, probing tongue, sucking mouth and busy stimulating nose continued to work on her soaking vagina and rigid clitoris, exciting her more and more and stoking up her lust into an inferno. Mistress Madonna felt as if she were suffocating as the Baroness’ sex crushed against her mouth, and the trembling became a kind of all-over feverish shaking; the low moans working their way up the scales of both pitch and volume, until reaching a cataclysmic, paralysing climax she howled a banshee wail of ear-shattering intensity.
It was minutes before the gasping and grunting induced by her stupendous orgasm quietened and the iron grip of her thighs began to slacken, allowing her sopping sex to slide off Mistress Madonna’s face. The look on the Baroness’ face was almost sorrowful as at her instruction the guards moved back in and hauled Mistress Madonna to her feet.
“All these hundreds of years and suddenly I find what I have always searched for; the perfect tongue in the perfect mouth of the perfect lover. And just as suddenly it is going to be torn away from me. Why oh why cou
ld you not have been what I wanted you to be?”
“I am what I am Baroness, and nothing can change that.”
And nothing could. And neither could anything stop what was to come next.
“My turn now I believe.”
The cold fingers of fear returned to grip Mistress Madonna’s heart, she was at the mercy of the most depraved man in history: The Marquis de Sade. But things were not to turn out quite as she expected.
“Take her over to the bench and stand her facing it.”
While his orders were being carried out, the Marquis collected several lengths of coarse rope and when she was arranged to his satisfaction, he began to bind her. Firstly he carefully circled the mound of one of her breasts with a length of the rope and then using a slipknot pulled it taut until the tit was bulging out from a viciously constricted root. Leaving the end of the rope hanging, he repeated the operation on the other breast.
“Now, bend her over the bench, face down and with her arms out flat in front of her.”
With her breasts squashed beneath her, he pulled the ends of the rope out from either side and left them to hang over the edges of the bench. Moving on to her legs, he spread them wide and looped separate lengths of rope around each ankle before tying them to the corner legs of the bench. Then taking two much longer lengths, he knotted them around each of her wrists. Tugging on the ropes, in turn he stretched both of her arms to full length, passed the rope over the edge and under the bench and tied the ends to the legs already holding her ankles captive. Pressing on the ropes with his full weight, he tested them to ensure that they were as taut as they could possibly be.
They were.
The Marquis turned to the guards, indicating the ends of lengths of rope that bound her tits.
“Two of you, take one end each and pull for all you’re worth and when the ropes are at full stretch, keep them that way until I tell you otherwise.”
The ropes were coarse, burning mistress Madonna’s flesh; not only her breasts but also her wrists and her ankles as she struggled to free herself. But try as she may, she was unable to move anything but her backside, which was exactly what the Marquis intended.
“Now, let us begin.”
So saying, the Marquis moved to stand in front of her. Slowly and deliberately he began to peel off his pantelons; fashionable tight trousers of the late eighteenth century that fitted snugly around his waist, clung to his thighs and calves and were anchored under the insteps of his boots with straps.
God! He had the king of all cocks. Bigger than The Colonel’s. And it was only inches from her face. He was going to make her suck it! Mistress Madonna was aghast, her mouth dried and her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. She would never be able to get her mouth around a monstrous weapon such as that. But wait a minute. She took a second look. It was flaccid, despite its size it was floppy; he did not have an erection. What did that mean? That he could not raise one? No, that was silly because she had seen him fuck Anna with great gusto.
So did it mean that he was not going to fuck her after all? Or that he wanted her to fellate him into hardness?
Neither of those things as it happened, although he did press its grotesquely bulbous bell end to her lips before calling over to the Baroness.
“The martinet seemed to have a profound effect upon this slut, so I think that it will do nicely for my purposes. We will start with that. You know what to do!”
“Yes Marquis, of course I do; after all this is not the first time, is it?”
Mistress Madonna was mystified as kicking his trousers away, he bent over the bench, his naked, hairy arse stuck up in the air and his head next to hers on the top of the bench.
Seemingly coming from nowhere, she heard a sweeping ‘whooosh’ as the knotted tails were whipped through the air, quickly followed by the flat, thuddy impact of leather smacking down on flesh. She felt the Marquis judder beside her and suddenly realised that the Baroness was using the martinet on him and not her. Again and again she heard the ‘swhooshing’ and the sound of the leather tails striking his bloated flesh as the Baroness scourged him with great relish. She was unable to see where the strikes were landing on the Marquis’ body, but she could see the look of jubilation on the Baroness’ face; she was getting great satisfaction from her actions.
But not so, the Marquis it seemed.
“Confound and blast you woman, can’t you do anything right? Put some power into it; I feel nothing more than the brush of angels’ wings fluttering against my flesh. I want more. I need more! I’ll never get my cock up if you carry on like some namby-pamby milkmaid. Hit me harder, free that gypsy girl and get her to help you if you can’t do it yourself.”
Suddenly Mistress Madonna understood. The Marquis lived for punishment and pain. He gained as much satisfaction from the bite of a cane cutting into his flesh as he did from inflicting that same pain upon an innocent slave. He was desperate to feel the lash upon his flesh; he needed it to arouse his passion and put fire in penis. Sometimes all that was necessary to achieve that end was for him to witness that punishment being delivered to his quarry. He had watched her deliver a pitiless and bloody thrashing to Anna; and that sight had been enough to generate a solid straining hard-on that had enabled him to fuck the Baroness’ long time aide with unbounded and uncompromising enthusiasm.
Mistress Madonna’s studies of him were now fully confirmed, he did not only enjoy inflicting torment and pain upon others, but he delighted in being on the receiving end of those very same agonies himself. He was not only the father of sadism but also the ultimate masochist. And having been aroused and thoroughly sated by Anna he now needed extra stimulation to thrust his cock back into the rock-solid state that it needed to be in to fuck her.
So there was hope yet. Perhaps his cock had wilted for the foreseeable future. Misplaced hope as it turned out. The Baroness was not to be compromised.
“I do not think that the help of Esmeralda is required. Brace yourself.”
The martinet fell once more, obviously with re-doubled vigour from the Baroness because as the leather tails cut into his backside, his lacerated buttocks jerked up and away from the bench.
“Hallelujah! That’s it. Hit me again. Do it. Hit me, hard!”
Smack after smack ravaged him, every strike receiving an ecstatic commendation until he obviously reached the destination to which he was headed.
“Enough.”
He straightened up.
“Look at this!”
He was addressing the Baroness, but Mistress Madonna raising her eyes was able to see the object of his euphoric exclamation. Iron hard and gigantic, it strained straight and skywards from his groin.
Christ, she had never seen anything like it. She had met many men who had claimed to be hung like a horse but in her experience the only thing that was really hung that way was in fact that particular animal.
Not on this instance.
“What do you think then madam, is this not the most spectacular sex pistol that you have ever seen?”
That remark was meant for Mistress Madonna and although she was not gagged, she was rendered speechless. It truly was as he boasted. It was equally as big, if not bigger, than the flaming candle that had only so recently been pulled from her savagely-stretched vagina.
“And of course, I’m going to introduce you to it. You’ll like it, I know you will. But even if you don’t, I will. And believe me; my promises do not count for nothing, this cock has pleasured and satisfied countless women both far above and below your social status. I’ll fuck anything you know, women are all the same to me; sluts and whores and once I’ve fucked them, their lives are changed forever, they never attain the same level of satisfaction ever again. As a matter of fact, no matter what she might say, that is why the Baroness remains here. As you now know, she is herself one of the undead and a drin
ker of blood as are we all, but if she wished she could return to Transylvania with the Count; but she does not. And there is only one reason for that: my cock! And when I’ve fucked you, you will feel exactly the same. Ready yourself for the rogering of your life.”
As he walked around the bench to position himself behind her splayed sex, Mistress Madonna realised that although his rhetoric was unimpeachable, his cock was not in the same league. It was wilting! Mistress Madonna was not alone in her observation.
“I fear that your mouth is growing bigger than your cock, Marquis. Perhaps you should cut out the boasting and concentrate on the fucking. It appears that you need a little more assistance; thank your lucky stars that I am here to provide it.”
The rattan cane! Get it!”
The Baroness’ order was directed at one of the guards, who flew to obey.
Now lost from her sight, Mistress Madonna felt the Marquis position himself behind her backside and between her cruelly pulled-apart legs. Urgent fingers grasped the torturing candle and tugged it from her hole, her labia immediately clamping together in relief. The relief did not last. The same fingers dug back into her hole, preparing it to receive another visitor. Even semi-erect, the Marquis’ cock lay heavy and threatening against the entrance to her vagina. But that cock was a giant and its only hope of gaining penetration was to be one thousand per cent rock solid.
“As always, you are right dear Baroness. So if you will, make me feel it.”
And the Baroness did just that. The cane slashed over the Marquis’ naked arse with fearful power. Every ounce of her strength was used in delivering the strike. The effect was instantaneous. Mistress Madonna felt the bulbous glans twitch up against her twat.
”Again!”
The cane whipped down once more. This time Mistress Madonna felt the bell-end gain a half an inch of entry into her love tunnel. She was used to The Colonel’s massive weapon inching its way inside her, but this was something different altogether. This was the biggest dick that she had ever come across in her whole life.
Slaves to the Bloodline Page 17
