In the empty infinite of a quiet in-between, the slave rested, letting the pain in her body begin to subside and the feel of true pleasure arise in its place. The cock at her crotch was almost soothing to this vanquished beauty. Even the hammering of her insides with this pointed shaft was sweet relief beside the small shooting pains that continued to strike her like arrows when her thighs wriggled in their bonds.
Darius was at her head now, reaching out to massage her tethered breasts with his hand. His touch made her quake. His fingers felt like tiny electric probes.
“Ah, ah, ah,” she cried softy as her head fell back, and her tits strained toward the ceiling, making her jutting nipples stand like tiny mountain peaks. Her body was on the verge of explosion. Finely tuned, designed for giving and receiving pleasure, she was at the end of herself, willing and sure of what she would offer her masters—and that was everything she was.
At Darius’ signal a second master positioned himself between Sandra’s thighs and prepared to enter the spasming wet opening. Eyes filled with lust, he stared up at Darius waiting for his sign to begin.
With his hand on her soft, fair face, Darius stroked the skin lovingly, while the pulse of his erection pressed against his pants and marked the beginning of his finish. He withdrew his member, presenting it to Sandra’s mouth, and she opened wide as the ready organ slipped inside and down her throat, while the second master impaled her cunt. Grabbing the shaft with her facial muscles, Sandra worked the erection hard, just as her cunt was working the penis that thrust between her thighs. It took some concentrated effort to give to both men, but that was the first thought in her mind, the only one present, and so the driving force of her next minutes. Even her own pleasure did not take charge until she noted that these masters were well on their way to climax.
The master at her snatch was straightforward and physical, while Darius touched in her other places. Using her mouth was both more intimate and more overbearing than a swift cunt fuck. Darius’ choice was condescending, a smug and lordly message that as a slave, she had one purpose: to be her master’s orifice of sexual self-indulgence no matter what the cost to her. Sandra, always dutiful in this life—or in her other one, gave without questioning that purpose once she served Darius and his friend. She had her satisfaction in the finale, as other masters, and even mistresses, came to her wide open body and used her liberally to satisfy their lust.
In one of her final acts, she ate at a mistress’s cunt, when the woman mounted the rack, and crouched over Sandra’s face, to lower her wet genitals to the slave’s mouth.
Even suspended and in the middle of Mistress Gina’s taunting torture, Laney sensed her friends in the midst of their surrender, taking pleasure and giving in return. It seemed so simple with them, so complete, while she still struggled with the worst of her battle still looming before her. Just make me empty! She prayed in desperation, hearing her own whispered words speaking to her hopes, even as the baton spoke with Gina’s wrath.
Almost as if someone answered her prayer, the beating stopped. Though Laney became suspicious, knowing that such a pause was never without a purpose. She remained within herself, looking only vaguely at her fellow slaves, refusing another glance where her husband stood off to her left, staring fixedly at her torture. In the slim space of time while Mistress Gina turned her attentions elsewhere, Laney wondered of Erik’s state of mind, his thoughts on her suspension—was he jealous or elated? Or, like her, filled with sweet emptiness? It was too painful to think real thoughts at moments like this. There was only time to be physical while the rest of the world ceased to exist and she endured the great ache her suspension bondage caused. Likely Erik was simply horny, stroking his cock until he had a decent hard-on and could take his turn at one of the slaves.
In one bizarre moment Laney’s mind drifted free, she thought of her apartment in New York: the cream-colored drapery, the statue from Milan, the roses in the imported rug, and the camelback sofa where she’d spread her work around her when she stayed at home. The kitchen, the cutlery, the table with the single silk rose, and the hallway to the bedroom painted a shadowy sort of green; and then, her Schnauzer, Duchess, whose tail would playfully waggle her rear in happy greeting once they were home again.
Yanked back to reality with a searing pain, Laney opened her eyes to see Mistress Gina’s long red fingernails on her tit again, digging so deeply into her flesh that she was sure she would draw blood. A second later, she felt the pain of that hold dart to her crotch, and the randy thing began to clench with a flood of dew sliding down her thigh.
“Ah, augh, augh, augh,” she breathed in short gasps, as Gina’s nails bit deep. Yet, when she looked down, her breathing stopped for one long minute of terror-filled fascination, seeing an erection protruding from Gina’s groin—a strap-on dildo poised for fucking. Laney was too stunned to believe her eyes.
“Two, you get two,” the woman sneered happily, as another mistress moved in beside her. She, too, was nearly naked with her fancy dress removed, and wearing a harness around her waist complete with a stiff, cock-shaped, flesh-colored shaft. “Mistress Catherine will have your cunt, while I take your ass,” Gina made her declaration triumphantly.
Gina and her mistress friend moved on to detach the spreader bar at Laney’s feet, while Darius was at the wall adjusting the pulley to ease the strain on her arms and shoulders. Once the two femmes were ready, Gina stood at Laney’s rear with Catherine at her front, and then pulled the exhausted slave into their arms enough to position her crotch for the impaling. With Catherine’s cock sliding into Laney’s cunt, the slave breathed a sigh of relief at the familiar feel of fullness, even though the woman’s body pressing into her breasts seemed terribly strange. But from behind, the added feat of a long prick barging at her back door sent a tempestuous shudder of grief through her weak body.
“Oh, my noooo!” she whimpered, thrashing frantically to dislodge one of the competing cocks. There was no relief from the warring pricks, and no one was listening to her sad cry.
Those free to watch were hypnotized by the sight of the slave being taken by these brutish whores. With their rubber dicks sliding in and out of Laney’s depths, they made her sweat as she struggled. To her shocked dismay, her body betrayed her as it gathered the momentum to force the inevitable orgasmic end.
Though Laney would climax, the two mistresses worked her hard to realize their own ends first. Fixtures in their harnesses rubbed against their clits to work them into sexual frenzy. Though it was one jarring, struggling and sometimes painful trip to ecstasy, all three females were bound to find what they needed. Gina came first, wriggling her prick into Laney’s ass, while her hand reached around and clutched the slave’s breasts. Mistress Catherine followed shortly afterwards, getting off with short, soft sighs emitting from her ruby-painted lips. And, at last, primed, poked, and screwed until she felt hollow, a long slow spasm shook Laney’s body. She bore down on both cocks—for all the good it did—and released a burst of female nectar, which made Catherine’s cock too slippery to stay put.
As the two shafts pulled away, the pulley apparatus lowered, and Laney slumped limply to the floor. Her arms and shoulders ached so dearly that she couldn’t lift them on her own.
From the sidelines, Erik felt his wife’s vacant loveliness mold his desires. The black void where his heart had been filling with the scenes of mastery and dominion all week. But seeing her now, the darkest picture of his desire had been realized.
The cellar room emptied within minutes of the last scene ending. Seeing all there was to see, the guests moved upstairs to the comfort of the estate’s plush living room. Only Darius and Essex remained with the spent trio; even Gina split with the others—her use for Laney was over and what happened next in this sub’s pitiful life didn’t matter. Gina got her satisfaction and she didn’t need anything more.
“I should put you in your slave costumes,” Darius suggested as he stared down at Laney’s slumped body. She looked up, but di
dn’t speak. “Humph, so quiet…” he continued in his thoughtful rumination while Essex slowly released Elise from the rack.
“On the floor,” her master ordered when she was finally free.
“Oh, sir,” she looked at him with a pained expression on her face.
“Oh, my, these still hurt, don’t they?” the man retorted seeing the clamps still hanging from her nipples.
“Yes, sir.”
“And you’d like me to take them off?”
“Only if it pleases you.”
His mood was calm; and after the sex he was stringent with his rules. He almost smiled, and reaching down, loosed the tight grip of the restricting clasps. Pulling them off, Elise winced unhappily as each nipple spiked with pain, then caused the suffering slave to shudder as though another wave of orgasm would wrack her body. Seconds later, there was nothing but relief and a degree of comfort she hadn’t felt in some time. The abuse had served its purposes as much for her as the masters she’d satisfied.
“Up, slave,” Darius prodded Laney with his boot. “Untie your sister from her bondage, but leave the ropes around her breasts. I’m not quite finished gloating at this triumph.”
With a fresh burst of energy, Laney moved to her feet and hastened to Sandra’s side where she lovingly removed the straps and cuffs that bound her friend to the rack. Lifting her to her feet, she steadied Sandra in her arms, until she could step back and untie the ropes around her groin. As ordered, she left the upper bindings in place.
“Seems you’ve fared well, sluts. Now upstairs,” Darius ordered.
He pushed the trio forward into the cellar corridor, which seemed much more inviting than it had been earlier that evening. They made their way swiftly through the pitch-black air before them, sensing the path toward the stairs more by intuition than by feel of hand. Glad to be barefoot, they moved with ease, and despite their fatigue and the great soreness in their bodies, they were almost giddy having passed this most recent test of their slave life—if not passed, at least endured. They couldn’t imagine being more slave-like in their behavior, more within the rules of Barth’s design. Though they imagined that their present euphoria would be short-lived, for the moment, it gave them a piece of bliss to dwell on until they faced their next trial.
Chapter Ten
After the long and arduous session in the cellar, the upstairs rooms of the estate house were surprisingly rife with sexual energy, and the scene quite different from the dungeon of the house.
What had once been an uncomplicated living room with a simple fireplace and a few scattered and shabby couches was transformed again—becoming even more fresh and festive while the sexual activities had taken place downstairs. It was amazing to the eye—but suspicious. What spirits were working here? What sorcery that could alter the mood of this tiny world, and change even the look and nature of fixtures and furniture. The entire room looked like a delightful den of licentious lechery, designed for an orgy with mats, pillows and lounging sofas throughout the room. The smell of potent incense mixed with the salt air drifting through the open windows. The candles’ flames now writhed like sensuous dancing whores, making lewd shadows on the walls and languid bodies. Bathed in a sweet erotic glow… lit with melodies from the old Victrola, and more basely, the sounds of making love… the room seemed a sumptuous lair, where the tongue could taste the essence of sex and the body could breathe arousal.
Unlike their first entrance into the living room several hours before, this time, the trio of slaves were wholly ignored. To dispense with them quickly, Darius and Essex took each to an alcove at distant places in the room, and tied them there—not uncomfortably with great restraints, but so they were anchored with their wrists and ankles unable to move but a few inches in their assigned space. As soon as they were secured, the three were left to gaze at the undulating orgy of languid bodies engaged in another and seemingly endless exhibition of sex. These scenes of copulation were far more ordinary compared to the wildness of the sadomasochistic rites just finished. And yet, they were passionately executed by bodies teeming with need and unhampered by restraints. Fancy clothes were discarded and bodies writhed against each other. Thighs met pussies; and mouths met cocks; while the redolence of male and female nectars mingled in a pungent aroma of lust.
The only bodies not participating in the delightful couplings were the three tied to O-rings in their separate alcoves. One would have thought the slaves would be too exhausted to be aroused, but the sights before them made their spent pussies itch, their nipples draw into knots, and their mouths water as they thirsted with parched lips, seeking more. This time, however, they were denied any pleasure, while they remained the raw inspiration for the crimes of passion exhibited before them.
There were no whips to mark their skin, no phalluses, fake or real to screw their mouths and groins, no pinches, no racks, nothing but simple bondage. And still, this was torture, the worst sort, delivering them a full-blown pain to sting their hearts. Instead of offering their bodies, they were forced to watch as their masters, the men they loved, were taken by the charms of voracious women, who zeroed in on their cocks and sucked them dry, only to stimulate those organs again. As though the three had the same restorative powers for sex as women, Jason, Erik and Matthew seemed invincible, riding mouths, cunts and asses, while their happy faces reported their savage bliss.
This orgy had a pulse of its own, the energy rising and falling—sometimes brisk, with fast-paced screws, and other times more lethargic as the bodies snaked erotically in time to the languorous music on the phonograph.
For a time, Erik took three women. Engaging in a vigorous screw, he went from cunt to cunt to cunt as though he might go on all night in his vigorous pursuit of pussy. Jason, having focused on a buxom redhead, spread the woman’s legs wide, holding on to her ankles while he knelt between her thighs and banged her pussy in a gentle rage. His fiancée gazed on longingly, with her body hot and her thighs screaming to be held that way. Her inner muscles tensed as though it were her pussy where he’d placed his cock.
Unlike his friends, Matthew’s passion was more remote. He chose his lovers deliberately, moving from one to the next, preferring to assault asses and fuck from behind in the ruthless fashion that suited his detached temperament. Elise’s longing eyes moved with him from slut to slut as though she were diving into this lust. Though Matthew seemed to take pleasure in the mindless grope, Elise sensed that her husband would be happier in circumstances where each lover knew exactly how to screw him, how to suck his cock, and with her personal experience, how to squeeze the luscious cream from his erupting stalk.
Inside her own small corner of the room, Laney drifted in and out of consciousness as though she were inebriated. For a time, she watched Erik feeling disconnected from the reality of their relationship. She watched him fuck feeling little desire of her own, then her eyes moved on to Jason, Matthew, Essex, Darius, and even Gina. She settled on the woman for a while, thinking that there was something familiar about her—beyond her knowledge of the bitch on Marquis Island. But no details registered now as no real thought could push its way inside her brain. Perhaps she should feel left out, jealous of her husband’s passions with other women and jealous of the women who reveled in him. But at the moment, Laney was too drained to feel much of anything but the gentle and unrequited ache between her thighs.
***
The morning came to the island sweetly. At dawn, the sound of sea gulls and the surging of the ocean could be heard through the open windows. A balmy breeze cleared the air of the potent odors from the night before.
Barth’s living room looking like a ship wrecked on a lonely strand of beach; and with the luster of the evening having faded, its shabbier look returned. Yet, it was not an unpleasant sight, the awakening Laney thought as she peered around her. The room was restfully easy to gaze on after a night of such highly-sexed extremes. The world of Marquis Island was no different than it had been, just messier and less involved in broad dayligh
t.
Laney, Sandra and Elise had slept tethered together in a corner where there were pillows enough to allow them some comfort. The rest of the guests were scattered throughout the house, most in the rooms above. Before the slaves had been released from bondage, they’d watched as Erik and Matthew moved upstairs with women clinging to their nude bodies. Jason left the house with a woman on his arm, laughing and kissing her face as though they’d known each other for years. Where he slept the night was anybody’s guess.
With daylight, the house began to rouse, and Darius appeared to the slaves first. He was fully dressed—in black again. The tip of his boot nudged Elise’s arm. “Up, slaves.”
Elise crawled from her sleepy-eyed stupor and looked up. Seeing the somber expression on the master’s face, she pulled up quickly, drawing the sleeping Sandra with her. Laney followed on her own. The three were disjointed, still connected at the throat with chains joining their collars, and their feet shackled to the floor. Darius gave them a moment to settle themselves, and then removed the shackles and led the trio into the mirrored room.
“Your costumes are here. Get dressed as you have before. Breakfast is being prepared in the kitchen, you’ll serve in the dining room when we’re ready.” Before he left, Darius removed the collars and chains from around their necks so they were free to move about.
Finding the familiar costumes of restraint, the three quickly dressed—Elise in her pony gear, Sandra in her ivory corset, and Laney in her black leather suit. It would seem that returning to these clothes might be a pleasant reminder of the several days spent in the confining attire. And yet, their discomfort in these costumes had only increased after their day without them. Every tightly fitting strap, cinch and cord, cut more severely into their flesh. The pinchers and claws bit into already battered skin; and the bits and ballgag at their mouths seemed even crueler than before. Wearing the spike heels only made the strain on their sore bodies more obvious.
The Marquis' Book of Pleasure & Property of the Marquis Page 12
