by Josie Litton
When he had described what he wanted, she stepped back a pace and stared at him. He could not make out quite all the nuances of her expression but he had to give her credit: She made no attempt to claim ignorance of why he had sought her out on such a matter.
To the contrary, she said, “I have to admit, I’m intrigued. Does your little pet have any idea what is in store for her?”
“Of course not.”
She chuckled. “Lucky thing.”
They spoke a short time later, ironing out the details before Lord Adrian took his leave. He was relieved, not to say surprised that the encounter had gone so well. Not only had she agreed to do as he wished, he still had both his balls.
Next on the agenda was a decision he could no longer keep postponing--whether to allow his little pet to come for the first time as he took her virginity. It would have been the gentlemanly thing to do but in the end, he decided against it. The thought of all that pent up female carnal energy--or Shakti as the practitioners of Tantric sex called it--finally being released was enticing to be sure. But he preferred to give it its own moment.
On the eve of the summer solstice, with all the arrangements in place, he prepared himself appropriately. Naked under moonlight, he walked across the meadows to the stone circle nestled between hillocks on the western side of the manor. The evening was warm with a light breeze from the coast; it was a pleasant stroll. An owl hooted as he passed, his bare feet making no sound on the moss covered ground.
He might have been a tad self-conscious but for the fact that he had always fantasized about doing something of this sort. Shucking off the trappings of civilization and surrendering to his most primitive impulses felt right in a way that he didn’t care to question.
The night was alive around him, not merely the rustling in bushes but in the air itself, hinting at unseen presences. Near the stone circle, he paused and waited. Shortly, they came, twelve figures caped and hooded and a thirteenth in the center among them, dressed in flowing diaphanous white with her mahogany hair tumbling to her waist.
He had told her nothing except that he would be sending someone for her and that she must go without any hesitation. To refuse would be to invite punishment more severe than anything she had yet experienced.
Still, he had to say, she didn’t look particularly afraid about being whisked away in the night by women who were playing at being witches. On the contrary, she was looking around with every evidence of curiosity and interest. Looking for him, perhaps? He rather liked that thought.
Around the outside of the circle, the twelve paused and cast off their cloaks. Sky clad, they brought the virgin sacrifice to the flat stone at the center. Several of the women removed her gown. Others spread a white cloth over the altar. Together, they led her to it and pressed her to lie down. When she had done so, the women took up positions at her head and feet. Her arms were stretched taut above her, her legs drawn wide apart.
Gathered around her, holding her in place, they began to sing the “Hymenaios”, the ancient Greek paean to eroticism. As they sang, several prepared her for him, oiling her cunt, and anointing her clit and nipples until she was writhing in need, her back arching and a soft keening sound rising from her throat.
Watching, he was put in mind of the ancient Dionysian rituals wherein females were said to run amok, all barriers to the release of their natural eroticism dissolving in frenzies of ecstatic excess that a hapless male was fortunate to survive.
He didn’t recall discussing that particular aspect of preparation with Bunny but he supposed it was a good idea under the circumstances. As much as he enjoyed mingling pain and pleasure, he didn’t want to so distress his pet that she might be put off cunt fucking forever. To the contrary, eventually he wanted her to enjoy it.
Eagerly, he approached, gazing at her from behind the mask of a satyr, horned and bearded. Between his thighs, his phallus thrust, stained red in anticipation of her virgin’s blood.
Her gaze settled on him. He was startled to see that her pupils were fully dilated. Staring at him, she stretched out the little pink tip of her tongue and flicked it over her lips in the same manner that she so effectively teased his cock before swallowing him.
He should have known, of course, right then. But he was so entranced by his pet that his mind failed to perceive the warning signs. Yielding to overwhelming temptation, he crawled up onto the altar between her legs and bent his head to suckle at her nipples, rubbing his shaft against her clit as he did so. The night quickened, time blurring. He felt reborn, a god, beyond any limits.
The singing grew more passionate; a drum throbbed or perhaps that was his heart. Without further preliminaries, he took hold of his cock and pushed into her, feeling the resistance of her hymen. It was strong but no match for the ferocity of his need.
As she bucked beneath him, the women held her fast. Vaguely, he was aware of their voices urging him on. His hips pistoned, the honed muscles of his buttocks and thighs flexing. The barrier of her innocence fell to his mighty thrust but he did not stop. He drove on, surging into her again and again, compelled by a desperate need to find within her everything he craved.
The world fractured around him, voices becoming at once distant and booming, colors exploding. He gazed down at her. Her beauty struck him as a wound to his walled heart. He had a terrible sense that she had found the chink and felt only a surge of joy.
Their eyes met. He saw something move in hers--beyond fear and pain, something ancient, powerful, knowing. Holding his gaze, she flexed the muscles of her cunt around him, once, again, then on and on, refusing to let him go, milking him straight through his orgasm and beyond, wringing from him everything he had. For what seemed eternity, she held him in her thrall before finally, with a final squeeze, she let him go.
Limp, he slipped from her and stared at the seep of pale blood mingling with his seed, together dripping onto the white cloth. He was still gazing at it when he felt himself slipping away or the world was; it didn’t matter which. He was on the ground, watching the priestesses encircle a leaping fire, feeding into it the white cloth as they chanted words he could not understand.
She was with them as the flames consumed her tribute, her arms raised to the sky, her body glowing in the fierce light, dancing round and round beneath the smiling moon.
Chapter Thirteen
His lordship woke to the cawing of crows and the pounding of an axe inside his head. If the axe was merciful, it would end his suffering. But it was the mocking crows that prevailed, chasing the confusion from his mind, bringing in its place fierce clarity.
At once he grasped what had happened.
His bitch queen wife had drugged him.
Damn, he should have known but in all honesty, he hadn’t realized the depths of depravity to which she could sink. The irony of that, coming from him of all people, did not escape him. He laughed dryly and began the laborious process of dragging himself to his feet.
How had she done it? A hallucinogen in the oil rubbed on and into his pet, penetrating through his phallus seemed most likely. That would be just like Bunny, to use his cock against him. She’d pay, of course, but just then all he could think of was his pet.
There was no sign of her. In a panic, he sloshed through a chill spring which did have the effect of reviving him somewhat, and made haste to the manor. His heart was pounding as he went quickly to her cage. Relief flooded him when he found her there, curled on her bed, deeply asleep, looking the very picture of sweet--if no longer virginal--innocence.
She appeared unharmed but even so, he had to stay and check her, touching her damask cheeks, her slender throat, her delicate hands, even feeling for her pulse before he was convinced that she was simply in a healing sleep. Only then could he begin to absorb what had happened.
At university, he’d experimented with drugs, deciding ultimately that he didn’t like the loss of control. That and the fact that he couldn’t regard anything he experienced while on them as real. So far as he was concerned, there
was no enlightenment, no nirvana. There was only a malfunctioning brain short-circuited by chemicals it was not designed to cope with.
This was different. He had seen…something. On the altar, in the stone circle, surrounded by the women. Felt it. Been taken and possessed by it. As much as he wanted to deny that, he dared not. Whatever it was, it had both terrified and enraptured him. Only one thought stood out clearly in his mind: He knew with cold conviction that he would find a way to defeat it or it would be the undoing of him.
∞ ∞ ∞
Lord Adrian gave his pet--and not incidentally himself--a few days to recover before he summoned her. Brimming over with anticipation, he paced the library floor, all but counting the minutes until she arrived. She came rosy cheeked and self-conscious, and stood before him once again with her eyes downcast.
Even knowing what he did now about the power lurking in her, he could not help but appreciate her beauty. She had the lithe, elegant body of a dancer, graceful and strong. He couldn’t recall giving instructions for her to wear the nude, semi-transparent body suit that she had on but he did appreciate the tantalizing glimpses of her flesh through the almost sheer fabric.
All the same, he wasn’t about to be distracted.
“Good afternoon, pet,” he said. “I trust you are well.”
Demurely, she replied, “Yes, master.”
Liar, his mind screamed. Not that she wasn’t well but that he was in any way her master. Or at least not master of what he had glimpsed within her. Siren, succubus, Lilith in the flesh, betrayer of Adam and by extension of all men, queen of demons. He didn’t believe in such things literally; he was far too rational a man for that. But he did believe that males possessed an ancient truth that sprang from their very seed: Man must rule over woman or the natural order of the Universe would fall to ruin.
“Good,” he said. “I wouldn’t want to think that you’re still sore. That could interfere with the surprise I have for you.”
She looked up, her eyes flashing with that mingling of wariness and anticipation that he so enjoyed. The apparatus he removed from a nearby cabinet had arrived scarcely an hour before, rushed down from London. He was quite pleased with it.
“Come here,” he said.
Her eyes never left the gleaming steel and leather device as she walked slowly toward him. He could see in a glance that she knew what it was. Moreover, she had the sense to fear it. Such a smart little pet.
The chastity belt was the latest evolution in the long tradition by which men over the centuries had sought, with limited degrees of success, to control the sexuality of women. Far removed from its brutish ancestors of welded iron, it was made of gleaming stainless steel rimmed by black leather. Clinched around the waist with the strap passed between the legs and locked into place, it secured both clit and cunt while leaving a convenient opening for inserting either an anal dildo or his own cock.
That was all well-and-good so far as it went but the ingenuity of man stretched much further.
A vast array of attachments were available from metal breast bands that prevented nipple stimulation to collars that inflicted varying degrees of torment, rigid posture bars, gags, ankle and wrist cuffs and so much more. He’d had a time working his way through all the options but in the end, he was pleased by his selections.
Smirking, he said, “I chose the accessories myself. I think you’ll find them quite stimulating.”
Not in the least because they promised to make the experience more intense than anything she had yet encountered.
The built-in vibrator was larger and more versatile than the one that his pet had arrived with. Inspired by nature--specifically the palpitating tentacles of the tiny octopus wolfi--it was designed to envelop her clit and hold it securely while a hundred fluttering little feelers containing thousands of miniscule suction cups groped, caressed, stretched, sucked and squeezed the tender nub.
As for the ribbed leather dildo attached to the inside the belt, while hardly the length or girth of his own member it was still substantial. Moreover, smooth studs in the bulbous crest were designed to heighten arousal while the curve in the studded shaft assured that it would rub against her G-spot with every move she made.
He’d eyed the thing skeptically when he first saw it, thinking that a woman who possessed it for her own pleasure might well scorn any actual man’s cock. Fortunately, thanks to the orgasm-denying implant that he’d had the foresight to have put in place when he acquired her, he had no such concerns about his pet. What might otherwise have given her great pleasure would instead be a source of endless torment.
Captive in the belt, constantly teased and denied, she might be able to hold out for some brief time. She had, after all, shown real flashes of courage and determination even apart from what he had glimpsed on the altar. But in the end, inevitably she would be reduced to a creature of purely carnal instinct, with no identity or purpose other than to serve her master’s pleasure.
The power he had felt would no longer have any place within her. He would have succeeded in driving it out, exactly as he told himself was both right and necessary to do.
The phallus that would keep her cunt continually subjugated when his own was not had several other features. At a touch of the belt’s remote controller, he could cause it to pulsate, throb, thrust, swell, or even turn icy cold, a feature referred to in the accompanying literature as Inflicting the Devil’s Prick.
Similarly, he could alter the rhythm and intensity of the palpitating vibrator. Between the two, she would be agonizingly wet and wanting every moment of the day while kept constantly off balance with no idea of what she would have to endure next.
If he was feeling kindly, he would give her some relief at night so that she could sleep. But that depended on her satisfying him in every possible way. Beginning with her absolute obedience right then.
With a flick of his hand toward the little garment she wore, he said, “Strip.”
She did so slowly, never taking her eyes from the device. He watched with avid enjoyment as the sheer silk slipped first over her shoulders, along the crest of her breasts, baring her nipples…her navel…her cunt…until finally she drew it down her long, well-toned legs.
He thought of her running behind Xerxes and felt a tiny stab of guilt that he dismissed at once. There was no point to it given that what he was about to inflict would make all the torments she had suffered before fade to insignificance.
“In you go,” he said and held the belt out for her.
She swallowed with difficulty and stepped into it.
He secured it first around her waist, then drew the long strap between her legs up along the curve of her ass, assuring as he did that her rosebud anus remained readily accessible. This was about her denial, after all, never his.
When the thick rubber phallus nudged against the opening to her vagina, she inhaled sharply. He went slowly, applying steady pressure until it was fully inserted inside her. Continuing to draw the strap up, he spread her labia, admiring as he did the faintly musky scent of her most feminine flesh. He loved that scent, craved it insatiably but he steeled himself against it. Satisfied that the vibrator was correctly positioned against her clit, he locked the belt in place.
All that was left were the leather and steel straps that hung by chains from her waist. He fastened them securely around her upper thighs and, as a final touch, linked them by two shorter chains at her front and back. They assured that she would be able to take only very small steps, effectively hobbling her.
Straightening, he said, “Walk across the room, then come back.”
Moving slowly away, she afforded him a lovely view of her ass, the belt pulled tightly between her cheeks. She wiggled between one foot and the other, trying without success to achieve some degree of ease. He thought of the thick phallus shifting within her and smiled.
When she turned, her cheeks were flushed and her nipples looked painfully erect.
“Let’s make sure that everything works,�
� he said and turned the vibrator onto the lowest setting.
He could not begin to imagine how it felt when thousands of writhing little suckers reached out to capture her clit but the sensation had to be startling, to say the least. She gasped and stumbled, her knees buckling.
Pleased, he crooked a finger. “Come here.”
Her breathing was labored but she managed to comply. When she stood in front of him, he stroked the back of his hand very lightly over her swollen nipples and watched her quiver.
Softly, he said, “How do you feel now, pet? Teased? Tormented? Agonizingly aroused?”
Pressing her lips tightly together, she murmured her assent to all.
“Good. That will remain the case until I am convinced that your carnal nature is properly subdued. When that happens, I will grant you a measure of release. But first, you must convince me of how compliant you can be.”
Instinctively, her gaze lowered to his trousers and the plainly evident bulge of his cock.
He laughed and shook his head. “I have something else in mind for now.”
He took her outside onto the patio overlooking the rolling lawns that ran down to the lake in the far distance. Watching her struggle against the limitations of the chains, he was reminded again of the geishas, lovely, submissive women schooled to serve the pleasure of men with no thought for their own needs. No wonder that the Empire of Japan flourished.
Gardeners were at work nearby, tending the rose bushes that released their perfume into the morning air. Birds fluttered overhead. It was a lovely day.
Jameson had already laid out various dishes on a side buffet and set the round white wrought iron table before making himself scarce.
His lordship took his seat and gestured to his bed. “A glass of the sauvignon blanc to start with.”
He smiled as she took tiny steps to the buffet, found the wine and returned to pour him a glass. Her hands shook. He supposed that had something to do with the vibrator working on her.
“And a slice of the quiche,” he added.
