She had mounted one, then found another coming from behind, the third expecting to monopolise her mouth. She had three cocks within her when she felt her wrists seized and as each palm felt the soft slithery weight of a cock she closed her fingers round the hot barrels. Five cocks in total. The one in her back passage rammed solidly of its own accord, the man with his cock in her mouth seemed satisfied for her to hold him tight within with tongue and lips, thrusting to and fro in the warm wetness. Elizabeth concentrated on moving her hips so as to ride the man below whose scope for movement was limited. She found difficulty in holding her curled fists steady, and began to wank the men instead, hearing them give appreciative grunts. The cock in her mouth she hated most. She curled her tongue around it, gurgling and sucking hoping to get rid of it quickly. She was now humping and wallowing like a porpoise trying to get a rhythm going with the men, rammed from behind, humped from beneath, head going to and fro as she slurped, fists pulling slithering skinned shafts on either side. The one in her mouth spurted first and she swallowed the outcome without hesitating, as she had been trained. The one in her anus had been ramming away almost disregarded except for the repeated strain on her anal rim. Thankfully he came next, slamming her hard onto the still rigid cock in her vagina. The two she was pulling on suddenly shrank in her grip, though she had hardly noticed them discharge or where the results went. Now at last she could concentrate almost unhindered on the man she rode, taking him rapidly to a climax.
She had once led a normal life, wrapped in contented domesticity, now under the pressure of her plight and bound to unremitting sexual activity her reactions began to confuse her. Later that night, thinking about Heggrah even while she was being hard fucked by the last capable customer of the five, she had an unintended orgasm. She dared not do anything to repress it and her reaction spurred the young man to even more heroic efforts so that she confused herself even more by climaxing again before he had finished. She was suddenly conscious once more of where she was, crouched naked and sweating in a tangle of naked strangers, wailing with unpremeditated release.
“Men pay to see you being conquered,” Madame said, tapping her cane on the desk while Elizabeth awaited an expected punishment. “They will pay even more to see you being punished!”
Chapter Ten
In one of the larger of the upper rooms a luxurious supper had been rapidly demolished by a party of three male customers and their chosen partners; a supper served nervously but attentively, by a maidservant whose short-skirted black silk uniform showed off long legs in black stockings and high heels. She wore a little white apron fastened with a big bow, with lacy ruffles to the bib in which her round breasts nestled like ripe melons and a little white lace cap perched on her blonde hair. By way of completion the members of the supper party were now enjoying the scarce and forbidden delights of champagne, liqueur brandy and cigars. They occupied a small alcove the curtains of which had been looped back to open onto the larger room, a pillared octagon with a marble mosaic floor.
“So this is your new maid?” one of the men remarked with heavy humour. “Introduce her!”
“This is Lady Elizabeth who used to be a haughty English aristocrat and has been forced to undergo training in obedience and proper humility. You notice she is still nervous. Earlier she broke a coffee cup and expects to be punished at any minute. I suppose she is ashamed of having an audience. Aren’t you, Lady Elizabeth?”
“Yes Madam.” Elizabeth bobbed a little curtsey, tray in hand, her eyes lowered. She was conscious that dark male ones had been appreciatively examining her, a tall, fair-haired, shapely figure whose tense expression and anxious bobbing betrayed a mixture of nervousness and shame in trying not to shrink from their gaze. Wearing clothes after so long somehow had an unsettling effect upon Elizabeth, even though the skimpiness of her costume revealed as much as it hid. Every time she bent over the table the short skirt revealed stocking tops and flashes of white thigh, emphasised by the black tapes of a garter belt, while the low neckline of the bodice almost toppled her breasts out of their resting place. The men were leering and lascivious, the girls contemptuous and cruel.
“Well, you great careless slut! What do you think you should get for that?” Elizabeth dropped another little curtsey, moistening her lips. She hated to have to invent her own words, easier to repeat parrot fashion what her captors dictated. “Please Madam, I should be given a caning, Madam.”
“How many you think you deserve, Lady Elizabeth?”
One day she hoped the world would be restored to what it had been. The emergency would be over. Sanity would prevail. She would be rescued. Until then she must do what was necessary to survive!
“Er... t-twelve... Madam?” Elizabeth ventured the suggestion reluctantly. Would that be enough to satisfy the beast? She knew that if she made it too few, Ayesha would double it anyway.
“You see that she has a proper estimate of her worth!” Ayesha said to the men after a long pause. “Does that sound enough?” They nodded jerkily one by one, with Elizabeth following their expressions anxiously from under discreetly lowered lashes. “These kindly gentlemen agree with your opinion!” Ayesha said.
Elizabeth bobbed another general curtsey.
“Good! Pour drinks first and then fetch cane.” It gave time for the men to settle before Elizabeth returned and held out in trembling hands a thin bamboo cane, proffering it to her mentor.
“Stand corner there! Wait we be ready!”
Elizabeth turned to scuttle away, hesitated and bobbed a curtsey. “Thank you, Madam!” Heels clipping the marble floor, she went to stand facing the pillar opposite the supper table, hands by her sides, small fists clenched. The jaunty white bow that fastened her apron emphasised the outward jut of her bottom. The hem of her skirt just reached to her garter tabs. From her frequent bending over them at the table, the men of the party were well aware of all that it now concealed.
Ayesha took a quick sip from her male companion’s brandy glass. “I shall smack her first I think!” and in English, “Lady Elizabeth! Pull down knickers! Come to me here!”
Elizabeth turned slowly, visibly biting her lip, casting a quick glance at the men’s faces, fat jowled, dark eyed, narrowly bearded, plump lips greasy from the meal. There were flushed red patches on her cheeks. Nevertheless she began to do as she was told. Without further attending to her audience she lifted her skirt the few inches it took to reach the narrow strip of her knickers over the hips.
“Being spanked like a naughty child will reduce her ladyship’s pride very effectively!” Ayesha observed complacently.
With a quick wriggle Elizabeth thrust the black lace knickers down to her thighs and then on downwards until they clung in a twist of black below her knees.
Meaty male hands made a mock applause, sharp-nailed female ones encouraging them. Sprawled amid the cushions they appreciated that this was being staged for their amusement. Elizabeth kept her eyes lowered and her mind disengaged as far as possible. This was just another sort of special performance.
Ayesha had seized hold of a small stool of black wood with mother of pearl inlay. Carrying it from the alcove she set it out on the floor before her audience. Seating herself she crooked her finger at Elizabeth. The slave whore had been spanked often enough before, both by Ayesha and Madame and only been thankful to have been spared a caning, but being spanked as a spectacle for the amusement of a male audience was a new humiliation. Nervously she shuffled the few necessary paces to Ayesha’s knee. Stooping she lowered herself gingerly across the girl’s silken thighs, her bare bottom rounds rising like twin moons as her skirts slid forwards and she tipped head downwards over Ayesha’s lap. She was unable to repress a wriggle at this childish posture. She could hear the men’s rumbling voices. As she was posed at right angles to the alcove from where the voyeurs lounged, they had a broadside view of her up-thrust rump, the short skirt and ruffled petticoat r
uckled up to her waist, and the white summits of her bottom cheeks framed by the stretched black straps of her garter belt. She drew a sharp breath and, being head downwards, her heaving breasts promptly tumbled out over the front of her low-cut bodice onto the silver drinks tray that she was still clutching and dared not drop. Ayesha raised her narrow hand and the men saw her victim clamp her bottom cheeks as if sensing it, tight tensed in anticipation. The clinging twist of her knickers about her knees inhibited Lady Elizabeth from kicking, but her feet still shod in stilt heels, wavered uncertainly as if they would dearly love to do so.
Smackkk!
Ayesha’s hand came down with a noisy impact and Lady Elizabeth gave a sharp gasp. Tears sprang at once. Her creamy bottom flesh showed a sharp white handprint for an instant, which swiftly suffused with bright scarlet before the on- looking eye could fix it.
Smackkk! Smackkk! Smackkk! In swift repeated descents, Ayesha’s palm multiplied the red imprints. Elizabeth had learnt not to stint her responses, but the hard echoing smacks had her wriggling and yelping a good deal more promptly than she had anticipated.
Smackkk! Smackkk! Smackkk! The party in the alcove were counting the hand spanks and then began arguing about the number, laughing and urging Ayesha to start again. Ignoring them Ayesha went on without slackening until under her stinging hand the Englishwoman’s bottom was the colour of ripe tomatoes.
The atmosphere was quite electric. Only one man still lolled in his place. The other two had retreated to the comfortable couches in the neighbouring alcoves accompanied by their giggling companions, though still intermittently watching the show from beyond the half-drawn heavy curtains.
“Stand up! Turn round! Bend over!”
Moving awkwardly, partly because of the knickers clinging about her knees, partly because of the response of her tender bottom, Lady Elizabeth was made to turn around and bend over the little stool, presenting two blazing cheeks to the audience.
Licking his lips, Ayesha’s own particular customer urged on the cruel female with an excited gesture. Nothing loath, Ayesha swished the cane experimentally and giggled as the prospective victim let out an involuntary squeak.
Swishhh-Crackkk!!! It landed with a resounding report upon Lady Elizabeth’s already tender rear.
Swishhh-Crackkk!!!
Swishhh-Crackkk!!! “Keep still, you cow!” Swishhh-Crackkk!!!
Swishhh-Crackkk!!! “You she-camel!”
Lady Elizabeth was now howling and wailing whole-heartedly. Her white thighs above the dark stocking tops made a strong contrast with the cane-striated scarlet curves of her bottom. Fearfully certain that she would be given extra if she moved she managed to hold her position, but she went up on her toes with each stroke, the gathered folds of her skirts bouncing with the impact. Her quivering cheeks splayed widely at each toss, as if to disperse the effect of the cane, disclosing the crinkled pink lips of her sex and the dark bush of her pubic hair between her thighs.
Ayesha never got so far as to deliver all the twelve strokes that Elizabeth had hoped to get away with. The men became too excited to wait. Abandoning her victim only part way finished off, the dominatrix retreated with her own customer within the curtains.
All three of the men subsequently made separate enquiries of Madame and negotiated satisfactory terms.
“You will not have to take so many men in future.” she informed Elizabeth in mock reassurance. “Now that you are so well advertised, there are men who will pay well to be allowed to humiliate or abuse you before they fuck you. This will give you a new tariff to work to. But since we don’t want you seriously damaged, you will be restricted in how much you offer them.”
Chapter Eleven
“Mummy... was her... lady in waiting... sir.” Lady Elizabeth panted as she was thrust hard into the pillow from behind.
“What would she think of you now eh?” the man grunted, twisting his solid cock this way and that as he rammed into her. “Offering yourself to be fucked by a mob of soldiers every night?”
“She... would have been...sh-shocked... sir.” Installed by way of reward in a larger and better-furnished room, Lady Elizabeth was in full process of being fucked for the second time that night by one of her special customers, not a bad one as specials went. This was his first time with her and new customers were always easier to satisfy. He was a little fat man with rather undersized equipment. Elizabeth was primed to show proper respect, widening her eyes, begging for mercy and only acquiescing after due punishment. She tried to tempt him into use up his allowance of half dozen in one go. Somehow he had managed to get fired up from only four, so she still had two strokes of the cane to come, unless of course she could make him forget in the excitement.
So now she was humped up on the bed more or less in the Tres es Chate position, with the man behind her lifting her by the hips until her knees left the bed and he could really dig away lustily. Elizabeth began squealing noisily in time to his thrusts as an excuse to abandon her lies, her reactions gaining in realism whenever his belly painfully butted the four raised red weals across her bottom.
“Plenty of noise is s good thing!” Madame had said to Elizabeth as she sprawled sore and sobbing in the wake of the departure of her first special customer. “The more noise, the more excited it makes the man. Excitement gets them to fucking you quicker! We don’t want you too badly beaten, do we? So plenty of kicking and squirming and showing everything off! Open yourself up and tempt them to take what they want!” Of course it didn’t always work. The brutes soon got the hang of how far Madame Zurra would allow them to go and with ingenious elaborations of cruelty, made their allocation last longer each time they revisited her. Sometimes it took ages to bring them to the point where they lost control.
This time, having had her suck him back to erection, Elizabeth’s current user was going in and out of her with great vigour. He wasn’t achieving much depth, though she could feel his loosely swinging balls bump into her plump bush of pussy hairs with every forward thrust. She gritted her teeth and bucked in time with his thrusts, tightening her channel and trying hard to bring him to the boil. For long minutes she thrust down on the bed with fingers and toes, totally concentrated upon meeting each surge and retreat of this man’s cock, receiving it each time with a squeal and a shudder as if of dismay and revulsion, but actually intending to incite him. So encouraged, the slavering, grunting fat brute kept himself going with ever wilder heaves.
At last the long effort paid off. The customer’s cock found its releasing trigger. Noting his happy bellow as she registered its feeble squirt, Elizabeth wondered, with briefly resentful scorn, how often he got that far but a glimpse of Madame Zurra’s black-clad supervisory bulk out of the corner of one eye reminded Elizabeth that she couldn’t afford such luxuries. Her special customers expected fear and respect. She began to squirm and groan, scrabbling at the bed covering as if overcome by his all-conquering masculinity. Hoping to feed his ego, she pulled out all the stops even while she waited for him to remove himself. Two good fucks should be enough to satisfy his lust and with luck to earn her a suitable commendation.
He had withdrawn, but Elizabeth remained dutifully in position, kneeling, bottom in the air, knees apart. Waiting for permission to relax her pose was part of the scenario. She squinted out of the corner of her eyes, looking for the bamboo cane. There was a good chance that this posture would draw the missing two strokes. Her bottom cheeks twitched nervously as she became aware of some kind of contretemps to her rear. The clink of glasses and a murmur of voices had heralded the arrival of room service. Madame’s voice was raised impatiently.
“Well boy! What else?” The youthful servitor, clad in a short blue and white striped cotton gown, still lingered with his empty tray. He had entered un-noticed, tapping on the door at the noisy height of the action between Lady Elizabeth and her customer. He had placed the drinks on a small table and the cu
stomer waddling naked across the carpet was helping himself. The boy was still standing at a gaze his everted lips parted breathlessly and bulging eyes fixed upon the view presented by Lady Elizabeth’s buxom rear.
By now, she had accumulated a wardrobe that would have done credit to a theatrical costumier, one specialising in nude revues; costumes of erotic fantasy in which she was arrayed to suit the whims of customers influenced by memories of the now forbidden Western pornography. Lady Elizabeth’s owner represented them as a reward for diligent performance. She was nothing but a slave of course, but confused enough to feel that she had acquired merit. Though they might give her frilly reassurances of feminine worth, most of the garments were sheerly impractical, designed to be ripped off by rough male hands; perfumed mist-like negligees, one of which lay discarded on the floor at the moment, basques, kangas, teddies, nightgowns unsuitable for sleeping in, knickers that concealed nothing essential. At this moment Elizabeth was reduced to a minimal skimpiness of cobweb black stockings and scrap of black lace garter belt tight to her waist, its long black lacy suspender straps curving outwards as if to frame the cane-striped magnificence of her bottom. High heels thrust angled outward like black spikes as her thighs spread wide to display all that lay between.
“Madame!” the youngster responded cheekily, his teeth gleaming. “I like to fuck Lady Elizabeth!”
The brothel mistress made a noise like a wrathful turkey, her powdered wattles quivering above her pearls. Lady Elizabeth’s customer turned glass in hand, guffawing as he examined the diminutive aspirant. He was definitely undersized by comparison with his target and his scrawny limbs extended from his gown like dark skinny sticks. His head was round and hairless, large eyed, his teeth gleaming as if feeling the scepticism of his elders, he suddenly hoisted the front of his nightshirt-like garment to reveal what had previously been only an interruption to its folds. Either he was older than he looked, the customer decided, or he was astonishingly precocious!
Elizabeth Enslaved Page 7
