But I don’t understand. They are already taking me two at a time. Fucking me from both sides.
Then Bare Chest moves beside his brother. It’s very close quarters, but he lifts his kilt too. His erection is so rigid that his cock head is almost purple. He grabs his cock and navigates it towards my stuffed pussy.
Now I understand what they are doing.
“I can’t get it in,” Bare Chest pants.
“Put your fingers in. Stretch her.”
Bare Chest inserts his cock into my vagina as well so that it rubs against his brother’s thick one. His brother moves to the side so that he can accommodate him. Now I have two cocks in my pussy tunnel and one in my ass. That is what the prior stretching was for.
I am in delirium again. They are fucking me, their bodies rubbing against my sweaty one. Grinding. Flesh slapping against flesh. Cocks plunging in and out – not in unison. Tartan rubbing against my pubis and ass cheeks. Hands grabbing my waist and ass to steady me.
I am surrounded by the smell of sweat and sex and heated bodies. I let myself go. The sensation is too much. Every part of my vagina and rectum is being chafed and compressed and molded and pummeled. Even my clit is being massaged by the sinuous and repeated friction from the brothers’ pubic hair-covered groins.
The one in my ass comes first. His hot semen gushes into me in a hot, continuous stream which shoots right into the very depths of my rectum. He cries out in my ear.
The two brothers in my pussy come next. This time, they are almost in unison. Their combined semen floods my vagina with molten liquid. There is so much sperm swimming inside both my tunnels that it can’t help but drip out, staining my perineum and the undersides of my buttocks.
They pull out, one by one. I am a limp doll hanging from my bonds. My damp blonde hair is plastered against my forehead.
But they are not done with me. Only three have taken me. Four more to go.
So much laughter. So much derision and remarks about my tits and ass and cunt. I can hear them urging each other on.
“Fuck her. Fuck her good.”
“Yeah, make her scream.”
“She can’t scream. She’s got your blindfold in her mouth.”
“She likes it. Can’t you hear her panting?”
Another cock plunges into my ass while another one takes my pussy. They fuck me, and I can only be a helpless receptacle. Once they have finished fucking me, their places are taken by another two cocks.
It is only after all seven brothers have fucked me, still with their kilts on, that the gun in the distance goes off. It is the signal for the hunt to end. The fox has been caught and fucked and depleted of all its willpower and energy. It is now time for the hunters to return home to their father with the spoils.
7
Back at the manor, Christopher is waiting for us. Andrew has slung my fatigued body over his horse like a captive in battle.
“Caught yourself a fox now, I see,” Christopher remarks.
“Caught her well and good, Father. She’s a plump one waiting to be skinned.”
All this imagery about foxes is getting me nervous again. Christopher helps me down as Andrew and the others dismount. The older man carries me in his arms as though I am weightless.
“Did you enjoy that, lass?” he says.
I nod once. My eyes are bleary and I am very, very sore.
“Aye. I’ll let you rest tonight. Tomorrow at breakfast, we will talk.”
*
I am so tired out from the hunt that I fall asleep immediately. I must have slept a long, long time, because when I wake up, it is morning. There is a tumbler of water on my bedside table and some crusty bread.
I am starving, and so I take a long drink of water and tear hunks of the bread off to cram into my mouth. My pussy and ass are still sore from the protracted fucking I received yesterday.
A tap comes on my door. Without waiting for me to answer, the door opens. It is Andrew. He is so tall that he has to bend his head to come through the doorway.
“Good morning,” he says politely.
What a transformation!
“Good morning,” I say back.
I am hesitant, of course. This is the ringleader of the hunters, who so cruelly orchestrated my humiliation and surrender yesterday. But today, he appears deferential and contrite, as though he is really apologetic for doing all those things he did to me. But I need his father’s help, and so I have to tread carefully here.
“Did you sleep well?” he asks.
“Yes, thank you.”
“Would you like to freshen yourself?”
“I would like to take a shower, yes.”
“Then come with me . . . Alice. That’s your name, isn’t it?”
Alice. Not Little Fox.
“Yes.”
I follow him, naked, through the passageway upstairs to an ancient bathroom. It is really chilly in the manor, and I clutch my arms around my chest, shivering.
“Is it always so cold in Scotland?” I say.
“Sometimes. You should be here in winter,” he jokes.
Amazing. We are having a normal conversation.
“Is the hunt . . . over?” I say, just to be on the safe side.
“My father wishes to talk to you. But yes . . . the hunt is over.”
His eyes dip down to my pussy.
“Do you need some balms, perhaps?” he says. “Some creams?”
So he knows how sore I am.
“Yes, please.”
“I’ll arrange to bring you those after your shower.”
Yes, thank you. Especially since my soreness is thanks to you and your brothers.
“Uh, what kind of creams are they?”
“My grandmother’s recipe. She used to have rashes, you know, down there. And so she came up with her own balm using herbs and plants she found in the forest.”
I’m not crazy about home brews, but I suppose something is better than nothing.
I shower in the old-fashioned porcelain bathtub. The brass legs holding it up are corroded with age and moisture. The showerhead and the water heater are the only modern appendages in the whole bathroom. Even the taps look like ancient relics from World War Two.
I examine myself in the old-fashioned mirror in the bathroom as I towel myself dry. I have bruises everywhere – on my tits, my ass, my waist, my hips. There are finger marks and scratches all over.
Andrew reappears with the balm in a ceramic jar.
“Do you want me to help you with this?” he says.
I eye him suspiciously.
“I’m not going to fuck you again,” he adds. “That’s over. Me and the boys . . . sometimes we can get a bit rough.”
A ‘bit’ is an understatement.
“OK then,” I concede.
“We didn’t mean anything by it . . . by all those names we called you. It’s all the spirit of the hunt.”
Now he really is going into mega-apology mode.
“It’s OK,” I say in a conciliatory tone. The old Alice would have really speared it into him. But I am not in a position of power right now. “I forgive you.”
He seems relieved. He smears some cream on his large palms and massages it onto my bruises, where he can see them. He is a nice-looking young man, actually. Overhanging eyebrows like his father, and a very firm jaw. He is gentle today.
“If you spread your legs, I can put the balm deep inside you,” he offers.
I hesitate for a moment, and then I nod.
I seat my buttocks on the edge of the bathtub and open my thighs. Andrew kneels before me reverently.
“You are beautiful,” he breathes.
“But you’re not going to fuck me again,” I say.
“Unless you want me to.” He pushes his balm-smeared fingers deep into my pussy and swirls them around, coating my abraded vaginal walls. His blue eyes hold mine.
I hesitate again. I really want his father’s help.
“I’m really sore today,” I say truthfully
.
“Sure. I understand. Maybe next time.”
“Yeah, maybe next time.”
I proffer him my asshole next by turning over and prostrating my waist over the bathtub. He does the same, plunging his fingers deep into my asshole.
His grandmother’s cream is surprisingly effective. In only a matter of minutes, a cooling sensation swarms my pussy and asshole, relieving the deep ache which has been plaguing me.
“Better?” He beams at me.
“Much better. Do I get my clothes back?” I say, looking around the bathroom. My suitcase certainly is not in my guestroom, unless they stashed it somewhere that I could not see at a cursory glance.
Andrew looks sheepish.
“Uh, my father wants to see you,” he says.
“Without my clothes?” I am aware that Christopher is the only one in the McArthur family who hasn’t fucked me yet.
“Yes.”
This must mean Christopher wants to fuck me. Or see me naked again, at least.
Whatever it takes.
Andrew leads me downstairs to the dining room. Even from the bottom of the stairs, I can hear the din – male voices speaking loudly, forks and knives scraping on plates, fists thumping on the table.
“That’s what it’s like to live with six brothers,” Andrew remarks.
“Where’s your mother?”
“Gone to live in Kensington. She could never stand the cold around here. Gives her pneumonia.”
“And she has left you guys all alone?”
“Doctor’s orders. But Father likes it here, and so do we.”
We march to the dining room, where the sight of seven huge men at a laden table greets me. They all stop as soon as they see me – these young men who have used me just less than twenty-four hours ago. Lucky for me, I am not the easily embarrassed sort, or I would have blushed under their scrutiny.
Christopher sits at the head of the table. As in their tradition, every one of them wears a kilt.
“You must be starving, Alice Devlin,” Christopher’s voice booms.
“Yes. Yes, I am.”
Although every youth here has fucked me thoroughly, their eyes still rake my tits and pussy like they have never seen me before.
“Come here then.” Christopher pushes back his chair and pats his lap. “Come sit here.”
Of course it would come to this.
I make my way to him. Christopher wears a kilt, of course, and I posit myself upon the tartan. I can smell the tobacco on his breath. His body is like a furnace. I wrap my arms around his neck for balance. I can feel the rod of his erect cock beneath the kilt.
My stomach growls with the smell of the food. They are having a traditional English breakfast, with platters of bacon and fried eggs and hunks of crusty bread. There is also a large bowl of porridge with a jar of syrup in the center of the old oak table. The aroma of coffee is strong.
Christopher caresses my breasts. He forks a piece of bacon and lifts it to my mouth. Then he scoops up some eggs. I wolf the food down hungrily. His sons watch us with undisguised hunger.
The hunt isn’t over. Not by a long shot.
When I have finished, he asks me, “Still hungry, little fox?”
“No.”
“Good. Has everyone here finished?” He directed this to his sons.
There comes a chorus of ‘Yes’s’.
“Then, boys, would you do the honors for our little fox, please?”
Andrew and Philip get up.
“Come with us, please, Ms. Devlin,” Andrew says courteously.
They lead me to the wall of the lounge, where the pair of magnificent antlers is mounted. I look up at the antlers in fear.
“What are you doing?” I say.
“You’re our trophy,” Andrew tells me. “We’ll have to mount you.”
Uh, for how long? I want to know. Are they planning to keep me up on their wall forever?
I guess I’m about to find out.
The boys carry me, splaying my legs apart. Then they ease me in between the antlers, hooking my arms and legs around and between them. To hold me there, they secure me with leather bonds. There I am, displayed again in this unusual manner. I have to say that being mounted on antlers is a first for me. My pussy is once again leaking creams.
Christopher studies me, mounted in this manner like a trophy. One by one, his boys finish their breakfast and come in to gape.
Christopher says, “I have made my decision, Alice Devlin. Because you’ve been such a good sport – ” he paused significantly at the double entrende “ – I have decided to help you. I will give you what you need.”
My relief is palpable.
“Thank you,” I say. “Thank you so much. You won’t regret it.”
“I’ll expect to collect once you do whatever you have to.”
He moves closer to me.
Yes, of course. I know what he wants. It’s what all men want.
I raise my eyes as he lifts his kilt up to show me his burning erection. I press my back against the wall so that my groin is facing his cock.
As he impales my pussy against the wall, amid the antlers, I sigh with the sweet satisfaction of revenge.
8
I’m on the go again. This time, I’m on a plane to Tokyo. That’s right. Tokyo, Japan. To see the last of the triumvirate of people who can ruin my father.
I’m in first class, of course. Gabriel Wolfe wouldn’t fly me any less.
A distinguished-looking gentleman is seated beside me. My silk blouse is low-cut and shows off my cleavage to good measure. This does go unnoticed by either him or the steward. I notice them admiring me, and I peel down the neckline of my blouse even more to expose the tips of my areolas. I am wearing a push-up bra with half-cups, and the tops of my red nipples are enticingly revealed.
“You’re very beautiful, Miss,” says the gentleman, smiling.
“Thank you.” I lift my breasts so that he can have a better look at them.
There is a telltale bulge in his trousers.
The steward comes back. He too is smiling.
“Can I get you anything, Miss?”
“A margarita would be nice.”
“Be right back, Ms. Devlin.”
I lean back into my seat.
The gentleman says suggestively, “Would you like to come with me to the bathroom for a fuck?”
Boy, they are getting more and more forward these days. I like to be ogled, but I’m going to save all my strength for Japan.
It’s time to channel my inner bitch. I favor him with a disdainful look.
I say, “I wouldn’t fuck you even if you grew a cock on either side of your brain.”
Whatever that means.
But that gets him stunned. So stunned that he shut right up when the steward brings me my margarita and winks at me.
*
Tokyo!
I’m finally at Tokyo, my last pit stop in my quest to ruin my father. It’s a fairytale land of cherry blossoms and hot baths and sushi – or at least that’s what the online tourist guide tells me.
The duo I am looking for reside in Roppongi Hills, the playground of the rich and famous. I check into the Grand Hyatt hotel in this hilly area which reminds me of San Francisco. The cherry blossom trees are not in full bloom this late in summer. Like beauty itself, the blooms are fleeting and transient in spring, coming out only for a week or two and fading away thereafter, only to return the next spring.
Unlike Christopher McArthur, this couple is friendly with my father. It won’t be that easy to sway them to my side.
But I have a plan.
I always have a plan.
The couple in question is Kira and Kyo Okura. Husband and wife, with rumored ties to the Yakuza. The phone call I made to them was to the point, and they agreed to see me out of curiosity, and because I was flying from so far away.
The meeting point is an onsen, or Japanese hot bath, in the city.
Tokyo is a dizzying, restless place. Th
e people on the sidewalks are extremely well-dressed and take pride in their appearance. There are a profusion of eateries. I love Japanese food, and I can’t wait to try out some of the sashimi restaurants while I’m here. Traffic is a bitch, but my driver is very polite. He doesn’t speak much English, and when I ask him, “Are we there yet?”, he says, “Near, near.”
‘Near’ turns out to be two hours away.
The onsen in question is a lovely, quiet place situated in the middle of a private Japanese garden. Water bubbles happily in pools dappled with carefully constructed rocks. Koi fish swim in ponds which mirror the overhanging trees and sky. The atmosphere is tranquil, and that of meticulous sculpturing. There is nothing wild or untamed about this place, unlike Scotland. Everything is laid out and planned.
The driver stops me at the entrance of the spa. A beautiful woman in a kimono bows as she greets me. Compared to me, she is tiny.
“Please follow me,” she says in accented English. “Mr. and Mrs. Okura are expecting you.”
I bow back.
She brings me to a changing room with many lockers.
“Is this a public bath?” I ask.
“Yes. The Okuras prefer to take their baths in public, like many of the Tokyo people.”
She gives me a key and stands back, watching me.
“Do you want me to strip?” I say.
“Yes, please. Do not wear anything into the onsen. Your belongings will be safe here.”
This is right up my alley. I strip until there is nothing left on me but my own smooth bare skin. The woman observes my lovely, pert breasts and shaved pussy.
“You are very beautiful, Ms. Devlin.”
“Thank you.” I am used to the compliments by now. I’ve had them all my life. “And for your information, I’m a real blonde, just in case you can’t tell.”
The woman smiles. “Come this way.”
She leads me down a passageway. I can already feel the heat radiating from the wooden door at the end of it. She opens it and the hot, damp air immediately hits me.
The spa beyond is dimly lighted. A large pool bubbles with geysers of water which are shot from jet nozzles in the walls. Several naked people are in the pool – both men and women alike. Old and young. All Japanese. There is also a very wet area with a row of taps embedded into the wall and stools and wooden buckets with scoops.
ALICE: SLAVE’S FINAL REVENGE Page 3
