by Paul Blades
She could not prevent the tears forming in her eyes or the involuntary grimace that crossed her face. The Prince locked her hands into the bracelets and pulled the chain until her hands were held far above her head, her feet barely touching the ground. He affixed a strap around her ankles to hold her legs together. He wanted her as still as possible so that his blows landed where he aimed them.
Once the girl was postured in the desired manner, the Prince made a circle around her body. She was a beautiful beast, he thought. His cock had risen and he stroked it as he contemplated the girl’s misery. He could smell her fear, could see it in the sweat that was dripping down her body. He went over to the long, low credenza against the wall and poured himself another tall scotch. He took a long pull on it, putting a sharper edge on his lust. He opened the credenza and removed a long, thin rattan cane, a short, many thonged whip and a thick, heavy riding crop. “Which one shall I use first?” he thought. He chose the whip. It would warm her up for the cane, which would mark her with long, red lacerations. And then the riding crop to cause deep purple bruises in her skin.
The Prince finished off his glass of scotch and, placing the cane and the riding crop down on the credenza, stepped over to the girl. She had been watching him with desperate intensity, mesmerized by his every motion. The Prince rubbed his hand over her breasts, squeezing them harshly. He took a nipple in his mouth and sucked on it long and hard. The girl could feel the heat of his naked body next to hers. The anticipation of her torment proved too much and she began to emit a low, piteous whine. The Prince looked up in her face and laughed.
“Are you ready to begin?” he taunted her. “I’m ready.”
The Prince stepped away and swung the thonged whip, landing its stiff, knotted ends across the girl’s back. The girl stiffened and moaned. Her lips were trembling with pain and fear as she struggled to accept mutely whatever the Prince dealt out to her. Another blow of the whip crossed her bound legs, braising her thighs. Another blow across her back and another on the thighs. The Prince struck blow after blow in rapid succession. He moved so that he could whip her defenseless breasts, her belly and the front of her thighs. Fatima was mewing and crying as she suffered the burning pain. Her body was twisting vainly to assuage the impact of the blows.
As he continued his vicious assault, the Prince’s eyes glazed over with lust. The girl’s body was turning a bright pink where the repeated blows had fallen. It was more exciting than he had imagined. Each tiny cry, each involuntary flinch, each teardrop that he wrested from the girl fueled his cruel passion.
The Prince paused to catch his breath. Fatima swung listlessly in her chains, sobbing lightly. She looked up at the distorted visage of her assailant and knew that she could expect no mercy. He had just begun to torment her.
When the first stroke of the cane landed, it let out a loud ‘crack’ that echoed in the room. The fiery pain shot through the girl. A loud groan escaped her lips. A bright red line had formed across her tenderized breasts. Her tear-filled eyes pleaded with her assailant. She bit her lips to prevent an outpouring of fruitless entreaties. Another lash struck her, this time across her thighs. Her groan became more of a shriek. After the third blow from the thin rod, she lost all will to control herself, all pride left her. Fatima screamed loudly and began to cry out and beg piteously. “Please, please,” she begged in English. “Please!” When the fourth kiss of the lash like cane kissed her rear, the girl lost her English, what little she had, and began to beg piteously in French.
Pausing to enjoy the girl’s entreaties, the Prince admired his handiwork. Long red lines of lacerated wounds had formed about the girl’s body. He had gone far past anything he had done before. He wanted to go farther. The Prince increased the speed and intensity of the blows. Fatima lost any ability to speak as a steady stream of pain burned through her. She was screaming now, uncontrollably. Tears streamed down her face. “Ahhhhhhhhhhh!” she cried
Finally, the rain of blows stopped. The Prince was sweating profusely. The effort of whipping his slave left him panting and trembling with lust. The girl hung, lifeless but for the loud, soulful sobbing and the heaving of her chest. She was covered with long, red welts, some of them oozing blood. The Prince gave her a few seconds to gather her wits. The crop was next and he wanted her to enjoy every blow.
Another shot of Scotch was in order. The Prince dropped the cane and poured out three fingers of the clear, amber liquid. It went down in one gulp. His head was beginning to cloud, but he shook it off. He took the riding crop in his hand.
Fatima raised her head and saw the next implement of her torment. She knew that the riding crop caused deep, painful bruises that lasted many days. Reaching deep down inside herself, the girl summoned the last vestiges of her strength. She would suffer the blows in silence, she resolved. She would give the cruel man no more of herself.
Rashan struck the girl across the back with all of the strength he could summon. It was good that he was tired and drunk, for the desire to inflict pain was stronger than his arm. In spite of this, the riding crop caused a loud ‘thump’ when it landed. Fatima received the painful blow stoically. A second, third and fourth blow struck her. The pain coursed through her, but other than a small cry as each blow landed, she remained silent. Ten times the Prince landed the thick, hard instrument on her body. Each stroke sent a sickening wave of pain through the girl. In spite of herself, Fatima let out a long, doleful moan as the final blow landed.
Seeing that he could evoke no further screams of pain from his slave, Rashan cast the riding crop aside. Despite all of his liquor, his cock was still rampant. He would fuck his whore once more.
He released the sagging girl’s wrists from the cuffs and she fell instantly to the floor. He grabbed her hair and dragged her to the bed. “Get up you cunt!” he yelled as he pulled on her arms. Fatima’s instinct for self preservation gave her the power to push with her rubbery legs as she was raised upwards. The Prince flung her onto the bed and untied her ankles. He pounced on her body as she rolled to her back. He pushed her legs apart with his thighs and pressed his cock into her hole.
The girl was moist, receptive, as many months of training and conditioning had taught her to be. She was even grateful for the flush of incipient pleasure caused by the steel hard rod pressed inside her. Giving herself over to pleasure, the only thing left to her, she rose to meet the Prince’s thrusts. He grabbed her hands and held then above her head and pressed his lips onto hers. She opened her mouth willingly, earnestly seeking to raise her passions. It did not take long for the Prince to approach fulfillment of his lust. Fatima too, was close, and she raised her knees, pushing her heels hard in to the bed. She desperately pounded her hips into his. He owed her this, she thought; she earned this. As the Prince stiffened, his cock pulsing and throbbing with pleasure, the French girl came too. She sucked on the Prince’s tongue hungrily as her pussy knotted into blissful contraction after contraction.
Finally, it was over. The Prince’s passion was spent. Fatima lay dazed and exhausted, all energy drained from her. The man rolled off of her and quickly sunk into a drunken stupor. Mercifully, she fell asleep.
After about an hour, as the Prince’s snores resounded throughout, two silent, light footed servants crept into the room. The scotch was put away, the whips stowed back in the credenza. The torn remnants of the chemise the slave girl had worn were recovered. Fatima felt herself shaken awake. She was startled, panicked. But one of the self effacing men placed his hand over her mouth and whispered “Shhhhhhhhhh!”
The girl was quickly, but gently, rolled onto her stomach. She felt her hands being tied behind her back and her ankles joined. A hand pulled her head back and a leather ball was forced into her mouth. A black silk hood descended over her head and was tied off at the neck. As the girl tearfully rued her helpless fate, the two men gracefully and quietly glided across the room, dimmed the lights and closed the door behind them. Wracked with sobs, she cried herself back to sleep.
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nbsp; CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THE DUTCH GIRL
The midday sun beat down unmercifully on the now empty patios and verandas as I left Rukimo’s abode. The morning breeze had disappeared, and everyone had gone inside. The only other persons I could see were the ubiquitous guards and even they had managed to find shade. I decided to take a little siesta myself and wandered over to the supervisor’s dormitory. I passed through the lounge area, and, except for a number of slaves chained to rings along the walls, and a foursome of rough looking fellows playing poker, it was deserted.
I walked down the curved hallway, looking for my card in the slot by the door. When I found it, I entered. The blonde haired girl who had been given the ridiculous name of Tulip was kneeling in the middle of the room, her hands resting on her thighs, palms up, her back erect. Her eyes were downcast, her head bowed. She was a beautiful creature, no more than nineteen or twenty. Her heavy, plump breasts had large red areolae, with flat, dime sized nipples. Her skin was as white as cream and seemed as smooth and rich. I sensed her nervousness at my presence, an expectancy of demands intolerant of lassitude.
Stepping up to the girl, I placed my hand under her chin and raised her face. “Look at me,” I said. Her eyes were pale blue with flecks of white in them, giving them an almost star like quality. A very light tint of blue covered her eyelids, complementing her eyes, which were outlined with a thin line of black. Her eyelashes were long and curled and a faint tint of blush was on her cheeks. Her parted lips were painted a dull red, echoing the hue of her nipples and areolae.
“I want to take a bath,” I told her.
“Yes, master,” she replied. She rose gracefully and stepped quickly into the bathroom. As she walked away from me, I admired her long, narrow back and the tight, solid globes of her ass. I removed my robe and heard the water begin to splash into the tub. I strode into the bathroom and was startled by the luxurious décor. The tub was large, sunken into the floor. A shower was set in one end with a gold plated faucet and handles below it. The room was lined with a wainscoting of copper colored tiles, the upper walls papered with red, yellow and blue swirls.
The tub filled rapidly and I could see the steam rising from the heated water. The girl stood in the tub expectantly. I descended the three steps into the tub and sat down in the water, my back laying against a sloped side. The heated water drained all of my energy as my muscles went limp. I sighed with pleasure. This was the life. I dozed off almost immediately; I don’t know how long, but for at least ten or fifteen minutes. I awoke at the sound of water being added to the tub by the girl, to maintain the luxuriant temperature. Groggily, I drew myself to my feet and stepped towards the faucets where a bar of creamy white soap lay in a golden dish. I heard the timid, tentative voice of my servant, “Master, may I wash you?”
I nodded affirmatively, and the girl lifted a large soft sponge from the water and approached me. I closed my eyes as I felt the sponge dragged across my broad back. The girl’s body was pressed up close to mine as she meticulously soaped my shoulders and arms. She then did the back of my thighs and my ass. The blonde girl dutifully crossed in front of me and soaped my front. When she reached my cock and balls, she rubbed the soap in her hands and delicately massaged me there. She was kneeling in the water, her breasts rubbing up against my thighs. Her entire being seemed devoted to her task.
She left my manly appendage just as it had begun to harden. She rubbed the sponge along the inside of my thighs. The water was up to just below my knees and when the girl’s efforts reached there, she gracefully lifted my legs so that she could wash my feet. She massaged my feet with her surprisingly strong hands. I was awash with a mesmerizing pleasure as she manipulated the toes and dug her fingers deep into the bottom of my feet. I had to place my hands on her head to keep my balance as my mind swum with the delectable sensations.
When she had finished my feet, the girl urged me over to the shower and, turning the spigot on, rinsed my body. Apparently loathe to disturb my reverie, she whispered “Will the master lower himself so I can wash his hair?”
I complied wordlessly with her request. I kneeled in the water, my haunches resting on my thighs. The girl spread a ginger scented dollop of soap in my hair and massaged it thoroughly into my scalp. Her strong fingers drove all thought from my brain, all sensation from my body, except for their enervating, almost hypnotic rhythm. When she was done with the shampoo and had washed it from my head, she applied a similarly scented cream rinse. She worked it into my scalp and resumed her massage of my head.
When she had finished, she requested that I stand and commenced to rub a lightly scented body lotion into my skin. She started, as before, on my back, running her strong hands cross my shoulder muscles, down my spine and across my rear. When she had finished the back of my legs, she came to my front, covering my arms and my almost hairless chest. As she massaged the lotion into my body, she pressed hers tantalizingly close to me. The steam from the bathwater befogged the room, creating a dream-like atmosphere. When she began to cover my thighs, first the fronts and then the insides, I felt her lips brush against the head of my cock. Obediently, it sprang to life. I looked down just as the beautiful blonde girl, a sheen of water covering her most desirable flesh, leaned forwards and gobbled the head of my now hardened dick into her mouth.
The wave of pleasure that shot through me was so intense that I had to close my eyes and arch my back. I steadied myself by again latching onto the head that now slowly and artfully bobbed on my cock. Her hand cupped my scrotum and massaged the small twin orbs within. Her tongue danced on my tool, sliding down its length and then up again on the other side. The expert mouth then engulfed my pulsing rod, consuming it to its length. I felt the tight, hot constriction of her throat. The girl moaned, sending pleasurable vibrations down the length of my rock solid instrument. I felt my fluids rising and I groaned with pleasure. A precum tingle passed through me, starting from the warm sac that the girl was delicately massaging, and expanding through my body to my brain. As I came, I could feel the passage of my semen as it was pumped through my penis and into the welcoming mouth. The girl sucked long and hard as jolt after jolt of almost painful pleasure passed through me. As the last few diminishing pulses throbbed in my cock, the girl circled it with her other hand, pumping it softly as she licked the final drops of sperm from its tip.
When I had recovered from my semi-conscious stupor, I looked down at the girl. Her eyes were expectantly peering up at me. I leaned over and pulled her to her feet and kissed her lips. She whispered to me timidly, “Was the master pleased?”
“Oh, yes,” I answered. “Very much.”
“Let me dry you master and then you can rest,” she said with somewhat more confidence. I let her lead me by the hand from the tub and stood docilely as she patted me dry. She then led me from the bathroom and over to the bed. She pulled down the cool, white sheets and gently guided me down until I lay there supine. She quickly dried her own body with a towel and jumped in beside me. She pressed her body against mine, draping her arm across my chest. I was asleep almost instantly.
When I awoke, I was alone in the bed. The strong, midday light had dimmed. For a second I thought I was back in the joint and that all of this had been a dream. But I knew I was awake when I saw the blonde girl kneeling at the foot of the bed in what I came to learn later was presentation position. I remembered her well trained mouth and my cock stirred.
“Come here,” I said.
Without further instruction, the buxom girl crawled into bed with me. I drew off the white, silk sheet and had the girl spread herself out by my side. I had come already four times this day, but the little boy raised his head nonetheless. I leaned over and draping my leg over hers, took her stiff, button like nipple in my mouth. Her breasts were like pillows, soft and plump. I ran my calloused hand down her side and the flank of her thigh. She moaned as I pulled hard on her teat with my teeth.
When I was sentenced to a lifetime prison sentence, I had believed
that I would never feel the pleasure of the skin of a beautiful woman’s against mine as long as I lived. It was heaven. She ran her soft hand across my shoulder and down my back. I switched to the other breast and laid my stomach onto hers. I could feel her breathing beneath me, the beating of her heart. My left hand found the center of her thighs and gently stroked the hairless mound. I drew another moan from the girl as I teased her nipple with my tongue and gently massaged her other breast with my right hand. Her body stirred beneath mine.
I looked up and saw both passion and uncertainty in the girl called Tulip’s face. Her mouth was pursed into a pout as I continued to massage her breast, the firm flesh more than filling my hand. But there was worry in her eyes. And I realized that for this girl each sexual encounter was a test, a test of her training, her obedience. Pain and torment were always but a moment away for her. I ran my other hand through her golden hair, spread about her head on the pillow like a corolla. I placed my hand on the side of her face and stroked her cheek gently. I felt pity for this frightened girl. I looked into her eyes and kissed her lips tenderly. “It’s all right,” I whispered. “It’s all right.”
Her eyes softened and she smiled gratefully. She reached her hand behind my head and pulled my lips back to hers, opening her mouth and drawing in my tongue. It was my turn to moan as her hot tongue inflamed me. I moved my legs between hers and, grabbing my stiffened cock, rubbed its head along her lower lips. She was moistened and her lips slid open easily. I slowly eased myself inside her. As I felt her soft, hot tunnel envelop me, I sighed with pleasure.
I began to slowly rock my piece backwards and forwards within her. Each traverse of her channel sent ripples of excitement through me. I could feel her hips grinding slowly, matching my almost torpid pace. Gradually, the pace quickened. I could not teeter on the brink of passion for too long. The girl’s tongue danced against mine as she circled me with her arms, drawing me tightly in. Her legs curled around mine pulling me deeper into her loins.
