Pussy in Boots (Naughty Fairy Tales)

by Fox, Georgia

  That young man who gave her up could not know what he did, how rare a female he relinquished to another.

  His hand slid to her buttocks, caressing her crack beneath the hanging pony's tail. He could have sworn she purred. A thudding need held his cock and balls in some sort of trance. Her earlier sucking had brought him quickly to a hard length and his guests admired that too for he had not re-buttoned his breeches.

  Tonight his audience would watch a mating like few they'd ever witnessed.

  "What now, sir?"

  Oh, he heard that saucy tone. Clearly she could not maintain her act of submission too long.

  He drew her to the center of the room and the wooden casket, which Gideon had opened again. "Bend over the lid, my pretty pussy in boots and spread wide.

  She turned her head, long hair flicking over her shoulder and stared him directly in the eye—something no other slave would ever dare. "Are you going to fuck me yet? Or keep me waiting again?"

  His fingers tightened around her arm. His heartbeat was too fast. He felt it even in the soles of his feet. Her gaze meandered down to his exposed cock and it twitched under her frank assessment.

  "Are you going to put that to some use, or is it for decorative purposes only?"

  He ground his jaw. "Bend over the trunk lid," he repeated, his voice hoarse. "It seems you learned nothing the last time you were here."

  She had the sheer sauce to sigh heavily. "You're going to spank me again?"

  His guests were watching, bemused to see a slave behave this way. Even more bemused to see him allow it. He thrust her over the trunk. "Oh yes. Much harder this time. Hold her Gideon."

  Chapter Thirteen

  Bent over the opened lid, Cat's pulse skipped and skittered. There was no way she should be enjoying this. She could only excuse it on the boots. The height made her feel powerful, in control. The tight leather laced up her legs made her secure. The way the very tops came up her thighs and probably framed her sex, gave her a wanton thrill such as she'd never experienced. Being examined and paraded in this fashion should have horrified her, humiliated her. It did not. Must be her terrible vanity that saved her, she mused dryly. Wearing these boots had put her above this audience, physically and mentally. Oh, she knew she looked good. She didn't need to hear their comments to know it.

  Waiting for her first spanking, she swished her pony tail, wriggling her hips, taunting the Comte. The watching crowd broke into whistles and laughter as she performed for them with her legs in those high leather boots, spread wide. She needed no spacing bar tonight.

  Behind her the Comte was fumbling over his tools, undecided on which paddle to use. She could hear him conferring with Gideon. He was annoyed with her and yet aroused too. No mistaking the rampant eagerness of that big, lovely cock, she thought with a shiver.

  It was possible to fuck without love, of course. Animals did it without emotion. Humans were supposed to be different, but in reality they were not always the superior beings they liked to think they were. Cat, having lived life on both sides of the fence, knew that all too well. She faced her failings, understood them and forgave them. Just as she forgave other folk their faults too.

  No, what she felt for the Comte was not love—but he did fascinate her. She envied the power he held in his commanding voice, even in the way he stood. He was accustomed to his place at the top of the pile, mastering others.

  What a thrill it would be, she mused, to master him.

  Glancing back over her shoulder, sticking her arse in the air, making her tail bounce, she shouted, "Do hurry up Max. It'll soon be twelfth night."

  More laughter broke over the audience.

  That, apparently, was the straw that broke the Comte's back. He commanded Gideon to hold her tail high and then the first slaps of a wooden paddle rained down on her bared arse cheeks. Each one shook her body, made the anal plug throb deep in her backside. She bit down on her cries, determined to bear the sharp sting. He swapped his blows back and forth, so the moment one cheek began to recover, he returned his attention to it, administering further spanks at angry speed. One of Gideon's hands rested on the small of her back, while the other held her tail aside. She looked up and saw him watching without mirth. Probably the only soul in that room— including Cat— who did not take pleasure from it. He was there only out of duty.

  By the time the Comte's arm was tired, her pussy was sopping wet, her arse burning. The crowd surrounding her applauded and cheered merrily, delighted by the brave way she withstood her spanking. Not a murmur had crossed her lips.

  Until now. Once more she looked over her shoulder. "Is that the best you can do?"

  The paddle fell to the fleece and within seconds, the Comte's massive cock was thrusting between her thighs. Gideon still held her tail. The other man's hands grabbed her arse cheeks and plowed his cock deep into her wet twat from behind.

  Her eyes closed briefly as that stunning length filled her at last.

  His thighs were tight to the back of her legs as he bent over her, grunting fiercely, pushing deeper still. Cat squeezed her pussy tighter, nursing on his marble-hard cock, urging him to fuck her faster and harder.

  With his first thrust he'd pushed all the breath out of her in a harsh laugh, but now as he slickly fucked her to orgasm, her gasps took flight in tiny mewls of pleasure. Before she could peak, he pulled out of her, slammed the lid of the trunk and made her kneel upon it, legs spread as usual.

  "Gideon. Suck her nipples."

  Obediently the guard moved around the trunk and took her left breast in his mouth, his hands on her waist to keep her steady. Behind her the Comte removed her anal plug and began to ready her with the same substance he'd used before.

  Cat's excitement tripled. The glorious tugging at her nipple, coupled with the anticipation of what the Comte meant to do to her, made her hips writhe, her knees shifting on the trunk lid, leather boots creaking slightly.

  A finger came first, pressing up into her anus, testing her capabilities.

  Someone in the crowd shouted out, "Rut her, Max. Go to it. She needs a good hard arse fuck!" More laughter and cheering. "We can see how wet and pink she is from here," someone shouted. "A fine bitch in heat, Max. What do you wait for? Have at it."

  The Comte forced a second finger into her tight hole and leaned against her back to whisper in her ear. "You hear that, slave? Shall I fuck your arse?"

  She moaned. "Yes."

  He moved his fingers in and out, twisting them a little to make her wince and catch her breath.

  "Yesss, what slave?" he barked, speckles of his saliva cooling her hot face.

  "Yes, please sir. Fuck my arse, please sir."

  "How hard, slave?"

  "As hard as you can, sir."

  He made a small grunt of satisfaction and pulled his fingers from her arse.

  "If you can manage it, sir," she added, breathless.

  Laughter ringing in her ears, she abruptly found herself speared on his rod. He wasted no further time now readying her for that rude invasion. Her muscles burned, struggling to accommodate his erect and forceful cock. She yelped and this delighted their audience even more.

  Gideon's mouth left her nipples damp and tingling, her full breasts swaying with every maddened thrust of the Comte's manhood up her arse. The guard crouched, put his hands on her hips and leaned in to suckle the sticky milk and honey that dripped from her aching pussy.

  The raucous crowd settled down slowly, listening to the sounds of her moaning, the Comte's harsh, teeth-clenched grunting and Gideon's steady sucking and licking.

  Cat looked around and saw many of the guests now indulging in their own sex play, inspired by the performance before them.

  A flare of lightening heat sparked back and forth between her cunny and her anus. Slyly she slid her booted knees wider apart and bent further until she was arched over Gideon's back, holding onto his tunic belt as his tongue, lips and teeth teased her labia and delved between them, supping on her private dew as if
he needed it to sustain his life. Tonight he'd received no command from his master not to let her peak and to Cat's relief he held nothing back. The tip of his long tongue knew just where to flick up inside her, curling and darting. Then, as her liquid flowed and her sex quivered like a newborn lamb, he let those drops fall into his open mouth, draining her pussy as far as he could, before he began all over again. The Comte, meanwhile pumped his throbbing phallus in and out of her backside, his balls spanking her just as hard as his paddle did moments earlier.

  When he pulled out and emptied his thick, hot load over her arse, he was howling his delight. A few folk looked up, but most were too busy by then with their own sport.

  Since all the Comte's guests were there, Peter should be safe to pursue his "virginal" lady. She hoped that man appreciated the sacrifices she made, all for him and his Heart's Desire.

  ****

  Peter sobered up gradually. A jug of cool water over his head had helped considerably, but he was still a trifle foggy around the edges.

  Go and woo Lady Serena. Now is your chance. I will keep the Comte busy.

  Ah yes, Serena. That was why he was there, pretending to be someone else.

  Follow the thread, the voice had told him.

  He could only assume she meant the long silky thread tied to his little finger. But follow it to what? Stumbling to the door, he peered out into a dimly lit passage. From somewhere in the castle depths came muffled applause. Peter scratched his head and, in so doing, pulled on the thread wrapped around his finger. He saw that it led down the passage, nothing more than a line of gossamer, invisible to anyone unless they knew it was there. The thread took him around corners and down steps. He tripped after it, his mind still puzzling over the strange woman who claimed to be his slave.

  And suddenly the thread ended. Or so he thought.

  It vanished under a closed door.

  He rapped upon it with his knuckles and eventually it opened.

  A stout maid blocked his route, but over her head he saw the beautiful, angelic face of his lady. "Serena," he exclaimed, hand to his heart. "I have come to woo you at last and make you mine. Your uncle has given his permission."

  She looked even paler than usual. Before her maid could shut the door again, she commanded that he be allowed in. She was seated at a small round table, playing solitaire, a lacy bed-robe over her chemise, blonde ringlets bound up in rags to keep the curl. "Master —" She amended herself abruptly. "Marquis. Please, sit." She gestured to the chair opposite.

  Peter was surprised to find her so formal, even cold. She had never kept him at a distance before this.

  Rather than sit, he sank to one knee and reached for her hand, but she kept it busy turning cards and would not give it to him. "My Lady Serena, we shall be married as soon as—"

  "Oh, really Marquis. You know we cannot be wed." She laughed curtly, looking at her cards.

  He frowned. "But your uncle has agreed to my terms."

  "My uncle has done so under mistaken assumptions, has he not?" Flick went the cards as she turned them over rapidly, moving them around the table. "You have fooled him well enough, but I know the truth."

  "What difference does it make to you, my lady? Are you not in love with me? You told me many times that if only you were free to love where you chose, regardless of riches and titles—"

  She stopped him with a hard glare that froze his very bones. Gone was the dainty, wide-eyed young lady. In her place there was a flinty-eyed hawk, looking down at him as if she would pick the meat from his carcass. "Of course I said that to get you to kiss me and adore me. I suppose you have never told a lie to get something from a woman?"

  Peter was speechless.

  "When I marry it will be to a very rich fellow who can keep me in the manner to which I'm accustomed. I did not imagine you to be so foolish that you truly believed I could ever accept you as a husband." When she smiled it curdled his blood. "We played a very pleasant game of flirtation. It was no more than that. I fear you have spoiled it now by coming here. I never asked you to do so, did I?"

  She waited. He shook his head, still on one knee before her. Although she must think he shook his head at her, he shook it at himself as new clarity broke through the fog.

  "The game, you see, should always be on my terms and by my rules, sir. I am told I take after my uncle in that regard."

  Peter suddenly felt sick. It was a hot, tight clenching in his gut, as he thought of the dark haired woman leaning over him to wish him luck. And tell him goodbye.

  I am the slave you have given to him.

  He had made a terrible mistake.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The Comte was thirsty. While he called for wine, Cat lifted the lid of the chest and reached inside, feeling among his tools until her fingers closed around the wrapped leather handle of a riding crop. She tugged it out and let the lid fall. Gideon was the only one who'd seen.

  "You ask for trouble, slave," he whispered.

  "True," she replied with a smile. "But I give as good as I get. Care for a taste?"

  He looked askance.

  "I suggest you find some excuse to leave unless you want a helping of it yourself," she added. The guard did not argue. Mumbling something about feeding his horse, he made a quick exit through the silk panels.

  A moment later, when the Comte turned to offer her a sip of his wine, he found her standing over him in her new boots, riding crop across her thighs.

  "My turn," she said.

  His eyes flared, simmered. "This is not a game you will ever win. I'd advise you not to begin it."

  "I didn't, sir. You did."

  Muttering under his breath, he reached for the riding crop, but she swung it, narrowly missing his face. He clambered to his feet, dropping his goblet. It fell, spinning and clattering. The guests looked over, attention caught.

  "Give that to me, slave," he growled, staring.

  Instead she smiled and brandished the crop between them like a fencing foil, pressing the end of it to his broad chest. "Oh, I'll give it to you."

  Soft murmurs fluttered around the room like butterfly wings. Cat slowly moved the end of the riding crop down his torso to where his cock, half deflated now, still hung outside his clothes.

  Eyes pinned to his, she slid the end of the riding crop under his heavy sac and lifted it. "Hands behind your back…Max."

  He said nothing, did nothing. She had no Gideon to help her, of course. But surely there was someone. His female slaves were too in awe of him and would never dare, but…perhaps…"Madame La Vere, would you assist me?"

  A few giggles were silenced when the tipsy, amorous lady rose from her cushions. In a state of undress herself, heavy breasts falling out of her bodice, she picked her way toward them over the sprawling bodies, most keen to be of assistance.

  ****

  The Comte could very easily have stopped this, but something held him back. Perhaps it was the look in his slave's eye as she tickled his scrotum with the tasseled end of the crop and he saw how much she enjoyed herself. Perhaps it was the novelty. Whatever the case, when Madame La Vere bound his wrists in fleece manacles and he was commanded to bend over his own trunk, he was already erect again and had to kneel carefully to avoid crushing his cock against the carved wooden lid.

  "You have been very bad, Max," his slave announced. Striding back and forth behind him in her high heeled boots. She'd kicked aside the furs and fleeces to ensure she would not slip and on the bare wooden boards her footsteps were loud, echoing. Bossy. "Teasing me,” she snapped. "Withholding from me."

  He said nothing, his lips tight. She would pay for this. Later. Let her play for now. She had much to learn still.

  "Breeches down, if you please, Madame La Vere."

  He felt the warm air on his arse as her accomplice tugged his breeches to his knees.

  "Spread, Max. I want to see your seedbags."

  She was confident, bold. He'd known that about her from the first and had he not designed these bo
ots because he thought they would suit her? It is my fault that she took to them so well, he thought grimly.

  The first spank came squarely across both cheeks. It made his eyes water.

  "Very good, Max." He heard her heels clicking across the floor again. Chancing a quick glance around the room, he saw she held his audience enthralled. Damnable woman.

  The second thwack shook his cock, made his balls sway. She crouched at his side, leather boots creaking, and reached between his body and the wooden trunk. Her small hand was surprisingly cool when she cupped his sac.

  The third crack of the riding crop made him groan, a fire leaping in his belly. Her soft fingers manipulated his balls and then stroked upward, closing around the broad girth of his shaft. Her other arm swung hard and he groaned louder, not just from the sting of the crop, but because her other hand worked his cock.

  His breath shortened. His hips jerked. He almost hit his chin on the lid of the trunk.

  By the time the next smack hit his buttocks he barely felt it. Her fingertip massaged the underside of his prick, just below the crest and then she resumed the up and down strokes, her fingers wrapped tight around him. Blood rushed to his groin, seed surged and fell, surged and fell with the rhythm of her skillful hand. His cockhead expanded, ached. His back was sweating, a low moan building in his throat.

  Another whip of the crop, singing through the air, contacting with the tensing muscles of his arse.

  "I'm going to come," he spat.

  Abruptly she took her hand from his manhood, left it twitching, red hot, bowed toward his navel. "Oh, no, no, no. Not until I say you can," she whispered soft in his ear. "Not until I give you permission, Max darling."

  He swore.

  "Perhaps I should leave you tied up all night." She chuckled, sweeping her fingers through his hair and down his arched spine. "Perhaps."

  "No."

  "Do you want to come, Max?"

  "Yesss."

  "Then ask nicely."

  He moved his hips, restless.

  "I believe you have something in here," she said, tapping the trunk with her riding crop. "Something that I can make you wear that will bind your cock and not let you release for hours. Is that not so?"