Elizabeth Enslaved

by Peter Marriner

  “How dare you interrupt this gentleman...!” Madame began with automatic wrath. The customer checked her quick reaction. Lady Elizabeth’s reception of his performance - twice, had put him in a jovial mood. “Who’s the little squirt? He has a cock on him like a donkey!”

  Madame Zurra looked again at her youthful employee. “He comes from outside the town. His family own fishing boats but they can do no fishing so he works for me.”

  “We have all night!” the man said laughing. “If he truly knows how to use that thing, he can work for me by keeping her warmed up!” Elizabeth knelt upon the bed, oblivious of the meaning of this exchange, still panting and wet eyed, awaiting the next cue. She knew herself condemned to be submit to any use her owner desired. She didn’t expect anything very original. She had learnt to be entirely thankful for the unimaginative brutes who would just fuck her and be done. Some were all too imaginative. Often they wanted her buckled and chained, gagged and masked, hung up or trussed like an oven ready turkey. For one she had been a pig- tailed schoolgirl in a uniform so brief that when she was bent over teacher’s knee it rose up to expose little white knickers ready to be taken down and expose an entirely mature behind. That one had made such an elaborate production of his first session that she fervently hoped to avoid a second.

  A proprietorial smack started her from a momentary lapse of attention. The present customer had strutted across glass in hand.

  “I am giving you a stand-in for this turn!” he announced with a snigger.

  “Lady Elizabeth!” Madame Zurra translated. “Your customer has paid for you to entertain young Zahd. You know how to greet a new customer!” Elizabeth scrambled quickly off the bed, hastening to posture herself obediently on the floor upon all fours and only then realising that she was kissing the feet of the youth who had fed her scraps in the cage. She didn’t find it easy to make the necessary adjustment of ideas. A new customer? The kitchen boy. Could this be correct? Had she misunderstood something? Was this another mockery? Zahd meanwhile, having whipped his short gown over his head and thrown it aside, stood over her, skinnily naked, and seeming under-developed in all but one particular!

  “Zahd is to have you for this turn.” Madame Zurra explained sharply. “Greet him as if he had paid for you!” Confused, Lady Elizabeth faltered. At once Madame handed him the cane, and noted with approval how the well-trained Englishwoman instantly accepted its authority.

  Lady Elizabeth’s eyes had already gone to the next most relevant item, the youthful penis already stiff and swollen, hardly needing the support of a small dark fist that barely contained it. It was out of proportion to his underfed body, but she responded to it automatically with the inculcated sequence.

  “Effendi!” She grovelled on hands and knees, nose to the floor as if to a normal customer though her mind still whirled with uncertainty. “Effendi!” She writhed and wailed, as if reluctant but afraid of his anger. “I am a slave - your slave! I must please you!” Wholly true, she realised in shame, as she repeated words that the boy probably didn’t understand, but the tone of which he might easily decipher. She had become a piece of property, accessible to anyone who could pay for her use. Though that still left her uncertain as to why this skinny creature had such privileges! She eyed the little cane again. Was he entitled to thrash her too?

  “You, Zahd!” Madame said. “Take her properly! Lady Elizabeth! Show him how you can perform! Present yourself to him over the edge of the bed! Quickly!” Elizabeth crept forward at once in the direction that Madame’s imperious finger indicated and slid forward, belly down onto the disordered bed, splaying her thighs wide, hollowing her back and thrusting up her behind. It was the posture in which she was accustomed to receive a thrashing, but this time she guessed she was to offer an easy access to the desired prize. The result would be less painful, if no less demoralizing.

  The man whose gift she had been was now lounging at his ease on the pillows at the head of the bed. From there he had an excellent view of the expression upon Lady Elizabeth’s face, forced to wait submissively while the heavily rampant kitchen boy took ecstatic stock of his trophy. As in her barrel prison, Elizabeth felt his hand between her legs, cup her soft mound where it pouted provocatively over the bed-edge compressing the luxuriant bush of pubic thatch and one finger testing the wet pink lips of her slot. This time she was unconstrained, yet unable to evade her role, forced to make him welcome. She quivered nervously as she felt the bulky tip of his massive organ replace his finger now, parting the ripe cunt-lips with its acorn head and plough up and down the velvety furrow between them, impelled by his undulating hips, while his fingers crooked into the long black tapes of her suspender belt, as if to hold her steady.

  “Get to it boy!” the man said impatiently. Zahd rolled his eyes in brief acknowledgement. He knew how to give it to a woman well enough, nor was he concerned that the recipient should enjoy it! From where he was poised, the black suspender belt and taut black stocking tops framed all Lady Elizabeth had to offer like a target. Holding his grip, eyes and teeth gleaming and buttocks clenched, he drove hard between her spread thighs. A high-pitched, startled gasp was her immediate tribute to his size and youthful brutality.

  “Get to it, boy!” the man said impatiently. Zahd rolled his dark eyes in brief acknowledgement, as if working in a brothel had taught him how to give it to a woman well enough. From his point of view, the black suspender belt and taut black stocking tops framed Lady Elizabeth’s offerings like a target. Holding his grip on her flanks, eyes and teeth gleaming and brown buttocks clenched, he drove hard between the smooth white thighs.

  A high-pitched gasp was the lady’s startled tribute to his size and youthful brutality.

  “Fuck her slow and steady at first!” his sponsor advised, an interested spectator. The skinny haunches of the boy contrasted with his voluptuous target as his slender body began to arch in slow, steady thrusts. His phenomenal sex-organ, used battering ram fashion, forced Elizabeth to splay wider and thrust up higher onto her toes with every surge. Her gasps grew steadily louder and more uncertain in tone the longer these efforts went on. Her assailant hissed in concert with her steady gasping, his eyes rolling, grimacing first at one then the other of his elders.

  “The boy’s cock is too big for her!” the man laughed.

  “Not enough weight behind it, that’s all!” Madame said judiciously. Heaving herself up, the experienced brothel owner pulled one sleeve up past her massive elbow.

  Smackkk! Weighted with heavy rings her fat palm impacted noisily with taut male buttocks. Zahd yelped and Lady Elizabeth squealed in surprise as the impact ploughed his outsize knob suddenly deeper into her resisting furrow.

  “Pay her no heed, boy! Women like to sound off over a big cock!” The older male began to laugh in deep guffaws as the repeated application of Madame Zurra’s palm performed a slow and noisy tattoo to the accompaniment of male yelps and protesting feminine squeals.

  Slap by slap, the hairless brown belly was driven closer to Lady Elizabeth’s white and red-striped bottom cheeks flattening their soft rounds as it drove in tight, the boy grinning toothily in triumph. Lady Elizabeth gaped with unseeing eyes at the man who lounged before her on the bed, her face betraying her reaction. It might be his junior understudy who was mounting her but she could feel every inch of this new manhood as he heaved at her strained garter-belt like a jockey hauling back on the reins, grinning in triumph.

  “Is he right up you now?”

  Madame translated the brute’s question, then, “Answer!”

  “Ohhh... yes... m-master... yes!” Lady Elizabeth panted. Braced against his stiff penetration, she squirmed around the shaft with delicious effect upon her temporary user. Well-used, well-lubricated, her sex accommodated itself to the impressive size with every successive stroke as he began to surge and withdraw.

  Back... then forward... Out... then deep...
r />   In... Out... In... Out... In... Out...! Questions as they were posed and translated, distracted her momentarily from the effects.

  “Big cock for a youngster, eh?”

  “Your customer says, doesn’t he have a big cock for a youngster?” “Ohhh... yes... master...”

  “Aren’t you lucky he gave you to the boy?”

  “Ohhh... yes... master!” Throughout the understudy surged in and out, full of youthful enthusiasm, grunting in concentrated lust, while Elizabeth dutifully sought to find some rhythm in its red-hot pistoning, only to be baffled in her efforts by the erratic twisting and thrusting of his strokes. Gibbering with delight as each inward thrust enveloped him in a slippery sheath of silken warmth, Zahd kept glancing down at his thick stem sliding like a well-oiled shaft in and out of its living sheath. Fascinated, he fell into a steady rhythm at last and found Lady Elizabeth’s haunches obediently keeping pace, warmly clinging when he withdrew as if reluctant to let go of him, yielding with lubricating succulence to his return.

  The captive woman’s hapless responses stimulated the debauched youngster to greater efforts in turn, the pace increasing by the minute, and his expressions of appreciation pleased his two sponsors. “Soft as silk...! She gives me a good ride...! And one of the most expensive...!” Clearly for Zahd, the thought of Lady Elizabeth’s high price fired his youthful lust and determined him to make the most of her! He went at Lady Elizabeth like a pocket champion, cheered on by his audience of two, ramming his man-sized cock into her with strokes so long and hard as to make their experienced recipient quiver from head to toe.

  Closely observing the frantically copulating pair, the sponsor of their mis- match watched their relative expressions with interest. Zahd, grimacing and hissing, conveyed mingled determination and lust. Lady Elizabeth, gasping and glassy-eyed, appeared suddenly incredulous at what was happening to her. A once modest mother of three submitting to being efficiently fucked by a youngster not half her age or weight. The pace of the encounter had so increased that both were panting hard. Suddenly the assailant’s black eyes widened, his shaven head jerked up, white teeth agrin, his fingers pulling on the black suspender straps, buried them into Lady Elizabeth’s soft hips. A hot spurt like liquid fire seemed to burst from his deeply buried shaft.

  “I fuck her... Ahhh... I fuck her... good...!” he yelped. Lady Elizabeth’s wailing response duly verified the triumphant claim. She was well trained. Shame filled her mind, yet with each successive spurt she dutifully repeated her abject acknowledgement. However juvenile her conqueror, he must be counted as a customer and she must acknowledge his triumph. Pressure slackened within her as her occupier emptied himself of spunk. Groaning in delight, he slid forward until he lay full length upon Lady Elizabeth’s meekly yielding body.

  “I have fucked English ladies before!” she heard from above. “They were called Amy and Beccy!” Elizabeth’s mouth opened, only for her to be muffled in the pillow beneath her by his thrusting hand. The rigid length of the precocious manhood began to soften and shrink within her until it slid wetly out like a retreating worm. Finding her silenced, Zahd heaved himself cautiously off her, a thread of white cum breaking between them. And then, after all and despite her confusion, the man who paid for this must have his turn, having been excited back to an erection by the intensity of the performance he had treated himself to.

  “Position of El Asemeud,” Madame Zurra suggested. Groaning a little, Lady Elizabeth picked up the pillow and inserted it beneath her butt, lying on her back on the bed. She parted her thighs, raising them with knees bent and legs pulled back offering her reddened and still glistening slit ready for another cock. The position of the Stopper was a good one for a man with small equipment. From her position on the settee, the girl-trainer regarded her work with satisfaction, watching her customer launch himself upon Lady Elizabeth for what was to him an unprecedented third time. The evidence of his precocious manhood began to soften and shrink until it slid out of her like a retreating worm.

  Madame Zurra helped herself to coffee and settled for a long wait, graciously indicating that the boy Zahd might stay and watch. There might prove to be money in this, she thought, if properly presented.

  Chapter Twelve

  A cluster of lights made a pool of brilliance on the wooden platform in the central courtyard of the brothel. It was empty except for a low stout bench with a leather- cushioned top supplemented by a round bolster at one end. Music of throbbing strings and small thudding drums began quietly but swelled slowly to overcome the rumble of voices and chink of glasses. Out of the shadows from one side a tall menacing figure slowly paced, dark-cloaked from head to foot, arms folded, brooding, wearing a curved dagger at the waist. The music became sultrier and from the opposite direction Lady Elizabeth entered, fully clad in a black evening gown, only her arms and shoulders bare with an occasional glimpse of ankle and high-heeled slipper in the slit hem.

  Facing the enigmatic figure, she danced nervously before it, running her hands down her figure, her golden hair slipping silkily across her shoulders. Some of the watching men began clapping their hands softly, adding to its beat as she followed the imperative rhythm of the drums.

  As the beat increased she began to gesture gracefully but mechanically, as if remembering a soundly instilled routine, running her hands down her body then cupping her breasts, turning and circling before the unmoved unknown. Faster and faster she danced and twirled, hair floating, driven by the music until at last a single cymbal crash capped a crescendo. She put her fingers to her breast and ripped with frantic violence. The black dress split and peeled dramatically unzipped, falling and slithering free in two collapsing parts. Half naked, she poised before the avid eyes of the watching men, white skin contrasting with black lace underwear, bra, garter belt and G-string, sheer black stockings on long elegant legs.

  For just a moment she posed provocatively. Then the cymbal crashed a second time. Lady Elizabeth opened her arms. The hooded cloak fell away, as swift as a magician’s cape, from the tall figure she was facing. Beneath it had been a small boy no more than ten or twelve years old, mounted upon stilts with padded shoulders to give him false height and width. He was naked, skinny and shaven headed, to all appearances nothing but a street urchin. Amid the explosive laughter of the audience he sprang down, grinning and prancing lewdly. He was undersized, they instantly saw, in all but one respect. They quieted then, guessing there was to be more. One juvenile fist clasped a dusky penis half erected, such as any grown man might have boasted of, the other flourished a big, black-braided whip!

  Lady Elizabeth, hands gesturing rejection, had half turned upon one high heel as if to leave the stage, when the urchin shrilled a command in a boyish treble, comically full of importance. Unheeding, she made another step and the whip cracked instantly. Lady Elizabeth jumped with a yelp of feigned fear, turned this way and that and was checked each time by a whip-crack either side of her. The third time it landed more purposefully and with a meatier kind of crack across Lady Elizabeth’s rump. With a shriek that was entirely unfeigned she fell as if shot, straight down onto hands and knees and went scuttling forward like that upon all fours. She headed straight for the nearer end of the cushioned bench, shepherded all the way by the rampant strutting boy cracking his whip. Harried by the boy with shrill voice and noisy whip, she mounted the bench at the bolstered end without pause for breath. Then as if she could go no further, she collapsed belly down, body stretched along the bench, overlapping its length, head and shoulders at one end, her plump behind propped up over the bolster at the other. The thin G-string between her bottom cheeks concealed little and their white curves framed by the long black suspender straps, were crossed by a vivid red weal.

  The boy shrilled a command and cracked his whip again. Though it made no contact, Lady Elizabeth cried out in fear and drew her limbs together, clasping the wooden bench with hands and knees. With his phenomenal er
ection considerably preceding him, the boy approached his ample target from the rear. Standing spread-legged, he displayed his enormous cock fully extended grinning proudly at the audience of his elders.

  Reaching forward as if to embrace her elevated and out-thrust rump, he slid his two hands round Lady Elizabeth’s hips and at his jerk the ends of her tiny G-string came apart. Whipping the remaining wisp of black lace from between her legs he threw it aside. With a further gesture he spread Lady Elizabeth’s exposed sex-lips apart, displaying its intimacies between his two fingers wide open to the general gaze.

  With all the aplomb of an experienced performer, he made a dramatic advance upon Lady Elizabeth’s rear, careful not to impede the audience’s view. The naked knob-end of his long shaft nudged between the pink lips, buried itself within them and then stopped. Leaving it poised just so he slid his upper half slowly forward onto Lady Elizabeth’s rear. His hands slid forward and her taut bra strap sprang apart between her shoulder blades. Sliding round her ribs his hands thrust aside and replaced the enfoldment of its lace cups. Using his two handfuls of her breasts for leverage, he began to bob his tight brown buttocks up and down, grunting noisily as if in an effort to drive home the length of thick truncheon still visible between his loins and Lady Elizabeth’s sex.

  The audience lent its vocal aid, taking up the rhythm of the shrimp’s efforts hilariously with deep communal grunts of their own. Then, not allowing the pace to slacken, Madame Zurra stepped from the shadows behind the mismatched pair. Simulating impatience, she loudly rebuked the boy for lack of action. In her hand was a large black leather paddle. Taking a spread-legged stance behind the pair of bare behinds, she swung the paddle with every appearance of fierce energy, landing it upon the one uppermost with an explosive report. The inconspicuous double construction of the paddle made it sound more painful than it felt. To the onlooker however, the effect seemed quite Pavlovian. Like the fabled dog at the sound of a bell, the boy at the crack of the paddle, gave a jerk and began to pant open mouthed. Prostrate beneath him, Lady Elizabeth began to hiss in evident apprehension through gritted teeth. Madame Zurra’s arm descended again. As if driven by the impact the boy’s paddled rump sank between Lady Elizabeth’s thighs, who responded with a wailing cry, though slightly out of sync.