Perhaps it was his black attire—his coat, shirt and pants looking like midnight. Or his gaze, the way he seemed to look inside them, not at them; and the way that gaze suggested that he knew things about each one, private things—their thoughts, what they refused to say, or what they remembered in the dark when no one was around. The result of his appearance produced a sinister shiver through the trio, which moved on and rippled through the crowd to leave a cloud of darkness in its menacing wake.
The man in black had been a master many years, no one could doubt that fact. He’d been born with the gift and had used it during his long life; though it was almost impossible to tell his age. His hair was greying, but not yet white; and his ruddy face, while suggesting a man who lived in the out-of-doors, hid the number of years from anyone’s fair guess.
“Let’s not mistake who you are, anymore than we’d mistake who I am.” He spoke to the three almost cheerfully, forgetting the onlookers while circling the trio with his eyes moving from one to the next as he walked. “You’ve made your decision as slaves—an irrefutable contract that will never leave you. Oh, you may leave this island, you may walk back into the other world where you’ve lived before, but you are assured by the nature of your stay here, not to forget the choice you made.” He paused a moment, stroked his chin and then strolled in the other direction. “You’ve proven yourself in the short term, and done rather well—though you’ve hardly been tried as much as you will be before this presentation is over.”
The watchful slaves listened to his words—as did the entire room—all mesmerized by the power he had to contain them.
“You have, though,” he went on, “just by being here, having found this island paradise of lust, stirred the ethers with your stunning decision to accept the debasement of your character. You’ve brought us here, you’ve changed the lives of all these people…” his hand gestured broadly to the waiting guests. “Did you think you had such power?” he added rhetorically and didn’t wait for a response. “Of course, you don’t see it that way, do you? Your minds have been so bent out of shape you have no idea what you’ve done here, and I suspect it will take some time before you’ll figure it out—if you ever do.” He raised his eyebrows knowingly. “Some slaves don’t. It is pointless to laud a slave, to give them any merit at all—I sometimes get taken to task by my fellows when I speak this humanly to chattel—” he chuckled, “the problem is, we all suspect the truth…” he stopped short of naming that truth, and where he’d almost been jovial with these worthless specimens, he became unduly stern, staring at each one narrowly. His hold on their minds was cruel. His expression like ice, his eyes as chilling, and all three stared at him, rattling with terror. “Don’t let your masters down. If they suffer, you will only suffer more.” He stopped again, and with the character of a chameleon, he mutated one more time becoming quite lighthearted. “The game—it’s a very old game indeed—you lock your hands together as though the three of you are bound with rope that cannot be broken. Your skirts will then be opened, your pussies splayed, and then serviced by three women until you each orgasm. If, in the throes of passion, you let go the hand that holds yours—any one of you letting your fingers slip away if only for a second—you’ll all be taken to the cellar where another torture will begin. We have our eyes on you…there’s not a man or woman who hasn’t staked his claim to a mouth, a crotch or ass. If you fail, you’ll have to survive us all…and all the extremes that we collectively can employ. Oh, and we are a crafty and experienced lot of sadists.” He paused, walking the floor around the trio one last time. “A rather daunting prospect, isn’t it?” He smiled. “Trust me, the deck is stacked against your success.”
The nameless master let the sound of his voice linger, then he disappeared inside the crowd to watch as three women came forward on their knees, one at the feet of each slave.
The fussy Eighteenth Century gowns hid little from view once the kneeling ladies had rummaged through the sheets of fabric and found the splits in the skirts. There were tiny ribbons on either side, which conveniently pulled the garments wide apart and then tied off at tiny loops in the corset waist. Working with meticulous care, the three women completed the unveiling, showing to the room three lustrous pussies—one blonde, one brown, the third shaved bare as a babe. Ordered to stand with their legs wide, hands grasped firmly in the palms of the slave beside them, they were ready to be plucked off by the lips and fingers of women skilled in the art of cunnilingus.
With hands expertly moving along the tottering thighs, the women journeyed inward where plump labia throbbed and sticky nectar oozed to lubricate the fingers invading the steamy portals. They parted the moist inner lips, opening the sensitive folds of skin where the vaginas leaked more profusely as the eroticism gained energy. Tongues lapped at doorways, and circled around the buds of painfully aroused clits. Laney’s lover pulled back her prominent hood and sucked the sliver of flesh deep into her mouth tearing at the edges of sensation.
“Ah, no,” Laney’s mouth answered, though she was hardly saying no, and her whore ignored the plea.
The three slaves began to move as the powerful tongues worked the slits and their bellies began to spasm. Their crotches undulated, sometimes fitfully; and their heads fell loosely to the side, and then circled around while their backs arched and their bosoms beckoned hands to play.
The servant sluts continued on, each one sensing the rising, falling nature of their slave’s sexual response, gauging the intensity, mindful of the rhythmic breathing as the worked cunts began to hasten toward their climax. They worked with fury, seeing the movements of the three become more exaggerated as their need increased, though they backed away when the orgasm got too close. The sluts waited while the impatient slaves thrust their pussies wantingly in the direction of a pleasing mouth. But only when the crescendo fell away, did the sluts return to take the anxious trio to another peak. As the drama unfolded, great gasps, whimpers and excruciating cries of torment swam through the charged air, while the three escaped elsewhere in their minds, closing their eyes being lost in this physical luxury and the promise of release.
Beyond their frenetic circle, there were masters—and mistresses transforming into slaves—all moving in the same erotic rhythms, with thighs against thighs, crotches rubbing into asses, lips seeking flesh and heat and full-mouthed kisses. Long before its scheduled start, an orgy was about to commence in response to what they witnessed—though it quickly abated as the three central figures in this theatre began to spike with pleasure.
Elise tensed first, her body thoughtlessly thrashing against the woman’s mouth now sucking in her juices. The longhaired slave began to moan, at the very moment that Sandra’s eaten cunt was starting to cum, and the two whipped about in a raving frenzy of culmination. Between them, Laney, much slower to her orgasm than the others, held fast. She could feel her friends struggling to stay linked, but there was nothing she could do to ensure the unbroken circle—not with her own vagina beginning to clench, and her sex juice flooding on to her lover’s face. For a time, she thought she might have enough power to keep their hands locked tight; but suddenly, with Elise jerking one way, and Sandra’s body wrenched in the opposite direction, the tear was made between the three. Their fingers slipped from each other’s grasp, and the two didn’t notice their failing until it was too late. Half the room saw the breach and watched the slaves’ frantic, only slightly conscious efforts to regain their hold. Even then, as their loins exploded and they hung on tight, the damage had been done and the company was satisfied that they’d see these slaves in another kind of bondage very soon.
“Have we ever lost a game?” the master in the black attire moved into the forefront again. An answer to his question was unnecessary.
Chapter Nine
Laney, Elise and Sandra were taken from the living room into the mirrored dressing room where they’d first been attired in their costumes of restraint. Their hands hand been tied behind their backs with rope, and they we
re left alone in the otherwise empty room to rest. No pillows, no easy way to get comfortable, they did the best they could in these sparse circumstances, leaning against the damask papered walls, and closing their eyes. Despite their sweaty bodies, the unwiped female cum at their snatches, and their hot, confining ball gowns, they managed to nap, beings too exhausted to think about their discomfort.
Like many of the rare moments when they were alone together, they might have spoken to each other. It had seemed like an eternity since they’d had a conversation. In fact, they hardly spoke to their masters except to answer questions with clipped replies, and occasionally ask one, which might lead to another question, or might well be frowned on. There were questions in their whirling minds now. The evening had stunned them, taking such an unexpected turn. Where had these men and women come from—how had they suddenly materialized on this remote island? Who brought them here, Devane? That seemed logical. But who were they? And could it possibly be that one of these gentlemen was Christian Barth himself—perhaps the master wearing all the somber black, or the distinguished fellow who first perused them with such curious interest. Devane had said his employer was an invalid—but he had no reason to tell the truth if it served him to do otherwise.
Though their minds were filled with such imaginings, their questions remained unspoken; and the discussion between friends that might have taken place was lost to a needed rest. Maybe another day… or another lifetime the answers would appear. Today, they preferred to sleep.
***
In the living room of the estate house, the party continued. Considering the wildly erotic end they’d all just witnessed, it was surprising to see the guests switch moods so quickly. Any immediate thoughts of sex dwindled away as the slaves were removed from the room.
It looked as though it had been some time since these people had last been together. Like old friends, they greeted each other with some hugs and a good deal of jovial conversation. Devane had shipped in wine and food for the occasion—even two housemaids to serve the party. Knowing the inclinations of this crowd, it was surprising that these domestics were not chatteled slaves, or dressed in scanty costumes. Instead, they were quite appropriately attired in black dresses with white aprons, just as they might be attired in any formal household.
The wine was vintage. The food simple—considering that cold food had to be kept on ice—but still quite elegant. As sadists go, this group had manners, exquisite taste and a fine sense of humor. The picture seemed too perfect in Erik’s eyes.
“You find these people sort of odd?” he whispered to Jason.
“If you want to put them in the ‘odd’ category, we’re odd, too.”
“Yes, but…” he couldn’t quite name his feeling.
“It’s as though they were ready for this,” Matthew mused instead. “Like they were expecting this scene … planning it in advance, sitting just off the beach in a boat, waiting to come on shore.”
“Yes, exactly,” Erick agreed.
“I don’t know,” Jason shook his head. He was reflecting on how the day began when a boat arrived that morning with eight guests, who quickly moved into the house as though it were home. They found rooms upstairs; and all but two shed their clothes and took to the beach—some naked, others in swimsuits. The new masters then briefly conferred with the pair that remained in the house on matters concerning the presentation later that day.
What was so curious about these guests was their age. While several were clearly old enough to have partied on Marquis Island when Barth reigned, at least three were too young to be playing S&M games in the late seventies. It had been over twenty years since the island had seen such action—if Devane could be believed. Then again, it might be prudent to discount the veracity of the man’s stories.
The daytime had apparently been set aside for innocuous play, while Erik, Jason and Matthew had kept their chattel contained in the vault. The slaves were well aware of something special about to take place, but they had no idea that there were new players in the contest for which they were the prizes.
What had been so strange about the evening’s festivities, however, had amazed all six residents of the house. Instead of a small gathering with eight new participants, the number had swelled to well over twenty. Where these other people had come from, even the masters didn’t know. They seemed to materialize out of nowhere. Would they disappear as easily?
Now, Barth’s living room on Marquis Island looked very much like an average cocktail party with a similar sort of small talk and lively banter that they might see at home. The mood could easily lull them into thinking there was nothing awaiting them this night; that the women they loved weren’t lying exhausted in a nearby room, ready to face the worst part of their ritual presentation.
Before they could further discuss their concerns, however, Erik, Matthew and Jason were lured away by other guests toward three separate corners of the room, engaged in conversations about the stock market, Broadway theatre, and the politics of the environmental waste and the greenhouse effect. For Matthew, a banker, Jason an assistant theatre producer, and Erik an environmental management consultant, the topics immediately threw them into familiar worlds far from the one they were living on the island. It took some time before they realized how well their attention had been diverted.
***
When the mantle clock tolled the hour with eleven tuneful chimes, the sound could be heard in the empty room where the three wasted slaves remained docile and adrift in their light dreams. When the door opened, it did so with a creak, and the sound of the chimes magnified, drawing the three from their reverie into consciousness.
The trio of dominants entering the room was swift, going to their slave of choice and placing yet another new collar around the slave’s gentle neck. With leashes attached to each, they tugged the women to their feet and led them through a door, which opened into the back hallway. The distinguished gentleman who’d already announced his intentions for Elise pulled at her collar with a not so genteel jerk, making her almost stumble. “The name is Essex,” he informed her. She nodded in acknowledgement, then turned her attention to her current task. After so much time upright, followed by her brief rest, the balls of her feet now ached with every step she took. How could she hope to walk? Knowing that she had little choice, Elise moved forward as fast as she could in an effort to keep up with this master.
Following close at her heels was the master clothed in black. “You’ll know me as Darius,” he told Sandra directly as he drew her into the narrow corridor.
Picking up the rear, Laney had already been inadvertently introduced to the Mistress Gina, who threw her sequins around like pennies and her rancor like a splash of turned wine.
Reaching the cellar stairs, the six halted at the top while Master Essex opened the door and attempted to light the darkness below with the insufficient glow from his stubby candle. Moving away from the opening, he prompted Elise forward with a warning, “The stairs are steep, there’s little light.” Something she already knew. “I’d suggest you walk carefully since the only thing that will catch you if you slip will be this leash on your collar.” He gave the thing a jerk so she’d remember the tether.
Trembling, Elise bit her lip, squinted, and then slowly took one step downward hoping she was judging the distance accurately. If only she had her hands to help her balance, there would be no problem making the descent. But with them still securely tied behind her back, she had to use her wits and intuition and a little prayer to keep her on her feet. She’d traveled this path several times since her slavedom began—each night descending to find her bed in the vault, and then returning upstairs in the morning. At least those trips were taken with her hands free so she had some control over the hazardous journey. Though Elise shook with fear at each tentative step, she finally reached the dirt-packed floor. Breathing a relieved sigh, she waited for her friends to appear from the darkness above.
There was something curiously animated about the under
ground catacombs. They gave off the feeling that these depths could go on forever; that there were corridors and chambers stretching the whole length of the house and beyond… in a never-ending maze of darkness. So far, the slaves had been in the vault and, briefly, a few other rooms on the way to their bedchambers. This time, their journey led to the left, not right, along a dank pathway that smelled of the sea and something very wild. The first to pierce the black nothing Elise was petrified thinking there were shadows and ghosts jumping out to clutch her throat. As Sandra took the tenuous path, she felt one blast of salt air on her face, and imagined the ocean breaking through the barriers of stone and dirt, swallowing them all and taking them out to sea. Following at her heels, Laney, tried to stay sane, repeating to herself that she was safe, even when her whole body was quaking with fear.
Where were their masters? they all wondered. And why had they turned them over to this frightening threesome? Would they be rescued from this dark? Or chained to the walls and left to rot inside the cellar?
Their mounting fears subsided momentarily when the six entered an extensive open space. As more candles appeared, and the torches along the walls were lit, the room began to brighten in a dull sort of way—though there could never be enough light in these depths to cast off the intense feeling of dread.
As their eyes adjusted to the eerie luminescence, they noted several devices that only added to the spirit of fear. One contrivance was unquestionably a torture rack, a second fixture stood upright, a vertically fashioned version of the first terrifying structure. There were heavy manacles, chains and other devices implanted in the cellar’s stone walls, as well as an empty space with an intricate apparatus of bars, ropes and leather dangling from overhead.
Pushed into this empty space, the three slaves stood trembling before these masters. Mistress Gina gloated freely, especially when she viewed her prize, Laney. Essex and Darius were less contemptuous, at least until Darius began to berate them with a freewheeling tirade the slaves thought would never end.
The Marquis' Book of Pleasure & Property of the Marquis Page 10
