by Celia Strapp
‘It seems as though the lady consents,’ said the Duke, his face moving close up to my trembling little quim, and then crawling onto the bed beside me, so that he was on top of me, on all fours, like a lion, ready to pounce.
His long, sturdy member stuck up straight, at a right-angle between his legs, and I wondered how something so large would ever fit into my small, tight socket.
‘Please…’ I found myself begging, breathless, but I wasn’t sure if I was begging him to stop, or start.
The Duke, hearing my words, plunged his enormous manhood between my legs, and I felt a pressure at the top of my thighs for a moment, then a pushing, squeezing sort of sensation, and then, I felt myself growing wetter, opening up like a flower coated in morning dew, to take him into me, into depths inside me that I never knew I had.
‘Duke…’ I moaned.
The Duke’s lips brushed my cheek, and I wondered whether he was going to kiss me, but then he moved his mouth an few inches to one side, and I felt how warm, sharp teeth, biting down on my ear lobe.
‘Ow!’ I squealed, wondering if he’d drawn blood. ‘Stop that, you brute!’ I couldn’t help myself crying out, disobedient as I knew it was.
The Duke, shocked by my outcry, stopping thrusting his long, splendid member inside my delicate quim, and withdrew it so far that just the very tip was pressing at my moist opening. He sat over me, the only part of him touching me now was just the tip of his manhood, and I willed him to put it back in.
‘I’m sorry,’ I cried. ‘It was just a surprise. I’m so sorry. Please… carry on!’
The Duke’s expression did not attempt to hide how displeased he was. ‘Never before have I seen such insolence,’ he said, his big meaty cock still resting on my opening. ‘And it shall not go unpunished.’
He looked down at my naked pubis, and then lifted a hand high into the air. Then he smacked me, hard, on the buttock, and his cock slid back into me.
‘Oh, thank you, thank you, sir!’ I cried, the tears rolling down my cheeks. ‘Thank you!’ I felt so unbelievably grateful, both to have been punished, and for him to be pushing himself into me once more, that I was completely beside myself.
‘Disobey me again and I’ll chain you up in the basement,’ he growled, and at that same moment he grabbed my tiny, rosebud breasts, and I saw his back arch, and then felt his manhood throb inside me, releasing a warm, thick liquid deep inside my sex.
‘Thank you,’ I moaned again, still thirsty and ablaze with passion, hoping for more, but noticing, puzzled, that the Duke had now stopped thrusting inside me.
‘That will be all for today,’ he said, withdrawing, leaving my little pink slit wide open, gaping and wet, gasping for more.
‘My little harlot needs to learn her place bit by bit,’ he said, looking down at me with, I think, a mixture of disgust and pride.
And then he put on his shirt and pantaloons, and, without saying another word, he walked out of the room, leaving my lying there, forever changed.
*
But let me assure you, dear reader, that this was by no means the end of the story. No– oh no– this was just the sorry little beginning. For it wasn’t just my deflowering that made me into the harlot I am today. What happened the next day, and the one after, and the one after that…
Well, that is quite another story.
And I am not sure that you are quite ready to hear it yet.
PART TWO
Chapter 9
Have you followed me thus far, dear reader? And you have not been so offended by my murky tale that you have left me to suffer my wrongdoings alone. For that, beloved reader, I thank you, and entreat you to let me take you a little further into my shameful adventure. For what I have recounted to you so far is nothing - and I truly mean nothing - compared to the horrors that are to come…
When I awoke, cold and trembling, to the sound of the wind howling through the leaves of the oak trees nearby, my body puckered with goose-pimples, my breast heaving with fright, I had no idea whatsoever of where I was, how I’d got there or why I was naked under the sheets. It took me, oh gentle reader, the better part of a quarter of an hour to recall the outlandish events of last night, the dreadful situation I’d gotten myself into with the Duke of Bedfordshire, the wicked way he’d taken my maidenhood away from me, and the surprising amount of delight his powerful rutting had caused within my no-longer quite virginal quim.
I lay there, no more warm than when I’d woken, and tried in vain to acclimatize myself to my new surroundings, the opulence of my room, the softness of the bed and the clean touch of the sheets on my normally filthy body. The wind was still howling outside, and it made me think of dreadful creatures in the night, stalking the darkness and trying to find a way to pry open my windows and plunder my room.
I wondered what Madame Nettlesford was doing this evening, whether one of the girls had warmed her bed ahead of her slipping into it, whether she had spent any of the money she’d no doubt received for the sale of my virginity. It seemed so cruel to me that the whole arrangement had been finalized without so much of a question of me, without anyone asking whether I might not want to go ahead with it. My thoughts began to turn to the Duke, to the things he’d done to me last night. I reached down and touched my genitals. The lips of my kitty were still uncommonly wet. I wondered whether the thick white liquid that the Duke had pumped into me was still in there, whether it had merged with my fluids, whether that’s what I could feel between my fingers this very instant.
I heard a sudden ear-piercing howl and looked to the window. There was no way that this sound had come from the outside. No, that wasn’t the wind! It had come from somewhere inside the estate. There it was again. A shrill yelp, the sound of someone crying out in pain, of someone suffering. I thought suddenly of the way the Duke’s hand had caused my backside to sting and pulse with pleasure as he’d fucked me. Maybe someone else, somewhere in the house was being ‘broken in’.
I tried to put the thought out of my mind, but the sound kept coming back again and again. I’m sure I heard a crack and then a moan, over and over again. I felt the juice between my legs start to flow again as I imagined some other girl, straining under the Duke’s grip, moaning with pleasure as he squeezed and beat her. Then, in a sudden moment of either extreme bravery or utter stupidity, I swung my legs over the side of the bed, pulled on a nightgown and walked, as quietly as I could, out of the room.
Chapter 10
The manor was almost entirely empty as I tiptoed through it. I walked carefully through the corridors, trying to find the source of the moaning sound and the incessant, hungry, cracking noise. I walked down the main twin staircase into the reception room. There was a dim glow in here as a few candles had not yet been extinguished, the memory of their light fast-fading. With a sudden start, I froze.
Mary, the maid who had graciously welcomed me into the house earlier in the day, sat in a large, leather-upholstered armchair. She looked incredibly relaxed, and I felt certain that in the dim light of the candles, she hadn’t yet noticed me. I tiptoed across the wall of the room, the moaning sound drawing me further in, causing me to move a little faster, desperate to get across the room. As I neared Mary, I realized that I could relax a little. Mary was asleep. I watched the calm, heaving, up-down shift of her bosoms beneath her servant’s corset and breathed a sigh of relief. I could, in fact, hear dainty little snores coming from her soft mouth. She looked so beautiful, lying there in the chair, lit by the warm, dim light of half a dozen candles. I wondered whether she’d ever lain with the Baron, whether maybe his cock had pushed its way between the pouting red lips of her heavenly face.
I wondered if I might just lean down and give those lips a little kiss, whether Mary would mind. Maybe, since I was the Duke’s little harlot now, I could do whatever I wanted. I moved my face a little closer to hers, until I could feel her warm breath on my cheek, until I could smell her, a mixture of the honest sweat of a day’s work and some sweet scent, crus
hed rose petal and something else, something deep and dark. I opened my mouth a little and moved closer, suddenly desperate to taste her. Then, the sound of what must have been a cracking whip somewhere surprised me. The sound was followed by a clear exhalation of breath, and low, moaned, ‘Yessssssss!’
I pulled up and away. If I’d woken Mary, I may have been sent back to bed, and I wouldn’t have found out where the sounds were coming from. I moved slowly away from the maid, and carefully pushed open the door at the end of the reception room. Ahead of me were another few doors, to parts of the the house I had not yet explored, but, more interestingly, there was a way down, a small, stone staircase, which led into the basement. There was a low but obviously fresh, bright light coming from below, and the moaning was coming from straight down there.
I placed a tentative foot on the first step, and felt the cold, smooth texture of the old, beaten stone beneath me. I thought about all of the other feet that must have stood on this slab, and then I walked down, into the unknown. I still felt like a filthy orphan, in the luxurious world of a Lord. Little did I know that compared to the dark, dirty delights I was about to be privy to, I was as saintly and pure as an angel.
Chapter 11
The first thing that struck me was the infernal heat of the place down here. I felt as though I’d strayed into the underworld, and that the fiery heat of the pit was waiting for me as I descended deeper into the bowels of the manor. I had not been quite prepared for how long the staircase was, and I thought to myself that I must be descending quite some distance ‘neath the earth. The stone beneath my feet was even warming slightly, and I felt the first few prickles of sweat start to form on my brow.
When I arrived at the bottom of the run of stairs, there was but one door ahead of me. It was made from thick beams of aged oak wood, strapped together by cast iron bars and colossal rivets. It must have been the most solid looking door I’d ever seen. I scampered forward in my little nightie, and pushed the side of my head to the door, to see if I could hear inside. To my surprise, I found that the door was not locked, not even fully closed, as my light touch pushed it slightly inward.
When I pushed my eye up to the tiny open crack of the door, I beheld a sight from which I believe I have never recovered.
The room was vast, and seemed to be carved from rock. The first thing that came to my mind was that I’d arrived in the manor’s dungeon, that the people I could see chained to the walls were criminals, were wicked people who’d done terrible things, but when I’d had a moment to think about what I was seeing, I knew that this could not possibly be the case.
There were five women, naked, chained in place to the wall and hanging from the ceiling. They were strapped into what I can only describe as harnesses, by thin, angry-looking strips of leather which were hooked around their wrists, their ankles, under their breasts and around their hips, looped under their groins. The five women seemed suspended in mid air, contorted into position so that they faced the wall, with their bare backs and buttocks on display. The position that they were in seemed to offer up their pussies to whoever was behind them, and I could hear muffled murmurs and moans coming from the inhabitants of this nightmarish room.
‘No…!’ I heard someone moaning. ‘No, sir…!’
Their bodies were covered in sweat, and the reason for this was clear. Across the room from them raged a monstrous furnace, which supplied the almost unbearable heat which pulsed in the atmosphere of this room. It was the hottest I think that I can remember being inside a house, and I felt as though I might faint at any moment. I couldn’t even begin to think about how awful it must be for those awful women, humiliated, naked and sweating, hanging from the ceiling with their bodies on display. I couldn’t help but look at the dark space between the buttocks of the woman nearest me, trying to make out the shape of her cunny, the dark little rosebud of her arsehole. But it was too dark for me to see, and my vision was slightly obscured.
At the far end of the room, by the furthest woman, who I could barely make out, was a figure, holding something. As he started to walk down the length of the room, towards the door which I looked through, his features became clear. It was the Duke of Bedfordshire. He was holding something dark, and long. He was nude, and the gleaming muscles of his body were picked out by the slick layer of sweat which covered him. From his center, I could see his penis, as long, thick and cruel looking as I’d observed yesterday evening, as masterful to look at as it was to have between the lips of my quim. I felt a dark tug of lust pulling me, urging me to step over the threshold of the room, to strap myself in to a harness, replacing one of the women. But I held back. I waited. I watched, dear reader. I watched.
Chapter 12
‘Oh Harriet, how I’ve adored plundering your glistening little cunt over the years my darling,’ said the Duke, walking up to the quivering body of the nearest woman as she swung a little in her straps. The duke reached his hand straight between Harriet’s legs. I watched as he dipped his finger straight into the honey-sweet pot of her pussy, watched as he started to circle his thick digit around inside her, watched as she started to shake with pleasure as he felt the warm meat in her flowering bud.
‘We’ve had some fine times, haven’t we,’ he continued, running his other hand up her buttock, and stroking up the side of her pale back. She seemed to almost shudder from his touch, and I could hear her moan begin to intensify. Suddenly he withdrew his finger from her. ‘I am just not quite convinced that it is you I want to fuck today. You seem so eager for me.’ He held his fingers up to his nose and rubbed his thumb onto her wetness, seemingly examining the thick strands of mucus he’d plucked from her split peach. ‘It’s so off-putting to have someone panting for you, so desperate for a taste of your meat, you see, Harriet?’
He took a step back from Harriet’s smooth, soft body, and laid the hand which still glistened with her wetness straight down onto his penis. ‘That’s not to say I won’t give my cock a taste of your insides, my dear. I don’t want to waste all of that precious fluid you’re producing.’ He started to rub up and down the shaft of his dick. I felt my pussy begin to pulse with hunger. His sperm was still inside me, the memory of my first sweet fuck was still beating around my brain. I wanted to get his cock back in me, to coat him with his own semen, to make him erupt inside me again. I moved my hand down to my groin and began to smoothly explore myself, as I watched the Duke touch his own, beautiful rod.
‘Harriet, I think that you’re going to need to be punished a little for just how excited you have been this evening. It’s most unbecoming of a woman of your stature. If the Duke of Cambridge knew that when you came to visit me here it was for more than just tea and cakes, he would be most upset. He’d be most upset if he could see his wife, trussed up and oiled like a hog ready for roasting, split asunder by one of his closest ally’s hungry members, wouldn’t he?’
I saw Harriet, desperately pulling her head around to look at the Duke. She had a gag in her mouth, but I could see the desire in her eyes, I could see the absolute lust she had for him, even as I saw the pure, clear juice continue to pour from her heavenly cup of a quim.
‘I’m sorry Harriet, but it’s the crop for you,’ he said. He picked up the dark implement he’d let rest by his feet, and I suddenly realized that it was a thin riding crop, normally used on horses. It had a little leather pad at one end, and a smartly bound handle at the other. The Duke held the riding crop and then carefully moved its paddled end onto the arse of the Duchess of Cambridge. She moaned a high-pitched squeal, which fought to break its way through the gag, then she pushed her buttocks back even further. She wanted this. I pushed a finger up into myself the first time he hit her. I pushed a second in the second time. Every time he struck her, I fucked myself, feeling the raw sexual power of this room start to take over my good sense. Then, without meaning to, as my probing fingers explored the nub of tingling flesh at the top of my little cunny, I let out the tiniest, softest little moan.
&nbs
p; Immediately, the Duke looked at the door. He saw my face, and as I turned to run up the stairs, the door flew open and his arms were upon me.
Chapter 13
‘My goodness, what do we have here?’ His vice-like hands gripped my arm tightly and he dragged me into the centre of the room. ‘My my my, what a delicious turn of events.’
The Duke held me utterly motionless. I thought about trying to wriggle free from his grip, and trying to run away, to anywhere, far from here, far from the madness into which I could feel myself falling. But there was another part of me, the dark side, the twisted, wicked side, that wanted to look straight into the face of madness, then open wide and give it a big, long kiss. I stayed still.
‘Now, I was going to break you in slowly, Anya. I was going to take my time, going to be gentle with you at first, so that you didn’t break too soon. I wanted you to experience the delights of the flesh at your own pace, and verily, I was going to keep this little playpen hidden from you for quite some time.’ The Duke looked around at the room, smiling, his dark eyes malevolent and cruel. ‘So do you like it? Do you like the décor?’
