The Daughters of de Sade

by Falconer Bridges

  Heavy lead weights hung on chains clamped to his nipples. Nipples that were large for a man. And again on the end of a chain that was fastened to a buckled strap circling the ridge of his bell-end, an even weightier chunk of dull metal dragged his penis downward. The pain was incredible, Julian's cock being stretched thinly to almost twice its flaccid length. And with that weight dragging it downwards he was most certainly never going to stand a ghost of a chance of achieving an erection. No matter what the stimulus.

  But neither the blindfold nor the gag had been replaced. Mistress Madonna wanted him to see his punishment. To experience it as it came. And in return she wanted to hear his screams. She had no need to worry about anyone else hearing because the impressive house of the type that only the aristocracy, rock stars and porn kings can afford, stood in its own grounds with a long drive down to the road. In any case a retired army Colonel was the nearest neighbour and he firmly believed in the old adage that 'a good flogging never did anyone any harm'. Of course in his case, having spent the major part of his career keeping order in the colonies, he was referring to the natives.

  Mistress Madonna on the other hand, having been introduced to him, was not so sure that he would not have welcomed her services for himself if only he had known they were available. He certainly seemed to have an inordinately large number of hardy, nubile female staff who appeared to have no specific household duties. With only himself in residence, to her experienced eyes it meant only one thing. Old as he was - he was at it! She made a mental note to follow it up. But for the moment her assignment was Julian. And he was without doubt getting his money's worth.

  Mistress Madonna tugged hard on the weight stretching Julian's penis to its limit, at the same time, with her free hand, raking her black polished fingernails down his stomach.

  "Aaargh!"

  Julian's scream was satisfyingly, throat-wrenchingly loud.

  She tugged again. And again. And each time the shiny black nails cut grooves into his flesh and an anguished scream catapulted from his mouth. Many more shrieks like that and he would not be speaking for weeks. She set the weight swinging between his legs, his prick being tugged backwards and forwards in its wake. He was screaming like a stuck pig, his head thrashing madly as the chain dug into his balls and tortured his penis mercilessly. She grasped the weights clamped to his nipples and with a couple of almighty tugs, ripped them off.

  "Yeeeeeeow."

  His yelping scream was music to her ears. A symphony of pain.

  "Stop, you bitch."

  A bad mistake. He corrected it quickly.

  "Mistress please. No more."

  The flat of her palm immediately batted the heavy torturous weight, stretching his cock to a ridiculous and agonising thinness as his bell-end was tugged in its wake. His screams were even more deafening.

  "Naughty, naughty boy. Now you've spoiled everything. Just when Mistress Madonna was going to take this nasty horrid weight off your cock."

  "Take it off. Take it off now."

  But she could not do that, she told him. She could not possibly allow nasty little boys like him to misbehave and get away with it. He had called her a bad name and for that he had to be punished.

  "You fucking slut. When I get out of this I'm going to rip your fanny out."

  "Oh dear. We are having a tantrum, aren't we? Never mind, all naughty children are sorry in the end. But Mistress Madonna knows what to do about that. She'll just leave you here, all on your own with the creepy crawlies and the rats."

  Turning on her heel, she whipped his straining cock a couple of hefty slashes with the cane, and not looking back strolled casually to the wooden staircase. Very deliberately, one stiletto-shod foot after another ascended the stairs, his screams and insults falling on deaf ears. Turning out the already dim lights to leave him in total darkness, she clanged the heavy door shut behind her.

  ***

  Mistress Madonna lay stretched out on a giant padded sofa, sipping a large vodka and cranberry juice. If Julian had been present it would have been something far more butch... a tumbler full of straight Jack Daniels perhaps. For the effect. Hard, tough and uncompromising, that is how she was careful to appear to him. Anyway, that was exactly what she was most of the time. She just had her little weaknesses. And that little girls' drink was one of them. A weakness she did not care to share with him.

  The doorbell shook her into life. Ringing around the vastness of the entrance hall, it reverberated in church tower tones. There was no one to answer the door; Julian always gave his lackey the day off when she was in attendance. She ignored it.

  It rang again.

  Insistently.

  Getting up from the sofa, she went over to one of the tall windows and discreetly pulling the curtain aside, peeped furtively outside. It was The Colonel. The dodderer from next door. It was funny that she had been thinking about him. Well, here he was. And now was as good a time as any. She downed the remainder of her drink, walked out into the hallway and after struggling with the huge bolts finally pulled the heavy oak door open.

  "Hello, I'm sorry to..."

  He caught sight of her bondage-clothed body, all her essential assets on full view.

  "Er... Oh my God."

  "No I don't think so, but I can be anything else you want. Why don't you come in?"

  Not giving him a chance to reply, she pulled the door wider open and ushered him inside. He was getting on a bit all right. But it was obvious he had once been a strong, powerful man. Tall, and now slightly stooped he still had an air of authority about him that many a younger military man would envy. He most certainly had not joined the Army in order to frolic with other men in the showers.

  He could not tear his eyes away from her mons, framed as it was between black stockinged thighs. His stoop seemed to disappear as he straightened himself, and she was certain she could detect a burgeoning erection beneath his plus fours. He caught her glance, hurriedly covering the front of his trousers with his hands.

  "Ah. Yes. Sorry about the clothes, been out shooting, don't you know."

  Mistress Madonna said nothing, just standing there with her tongue rolling enticingly over her lips. Her hands slid up over her leather basque to cup her naked breasts. His cock twitched with a power that moved his hands. He gave up the pretence, dropped his hands and displayed a fairly spectacular erection that pushed the front of his trousers out into a good imitation of a circus tent.

  "My, you are a big boy, aren't you?"

  "Used to be, in my time. Not so hot now, shrivels with age you know."

  "Ooh, it still looks big to me. Bigger than the pathetic willie the silly little man who lives here's got."

  "Ah him. Yes it's him I've come to see. Is he in?"

  "Yes, but he's tied up right now, if you get my drift."

  The Colonel did get her drift. He also got a bigger erection as she bent over, her bottom thrust out towards him, supposedly straightening the seams of her stockings.

  "And I really must get back to him. I've left him hanging around for far too long already."

  The Colonel cracked a smile. He had a ready wit and obviously appreciated her little joke.

  "Hmmn. A sense of humour. I like that in a woman. Don't find it much these days you know, political correctness and all that. These young fillies, all they care about is pop music and fast cars."

  "Well, if there's anything I can do for you, any time, night or day just give me a call. And if you'd prefer something a little different, I have two sisters. Actually we're triplets and take my word for it, we can be very entertaining, and very strict."

  The Colonel thought it over.

  "Not too keen on the physical punishment stuff m'self gel, but I wouldn't say no to few hours in the saddle with you. I don't suppose there's any chance today...?"

  She cut him shor
t. But he was worth an effort, he smelt of money.

  "I'm afraid not. Today I'm disciplining Julian and I really am in a hurry. But if you can make it quick, I'll give you a sample. Just fuck me... and then fuck off."

  The old boy moved like lightning. His reactions were still razor sharp and he had amazing strength. Bustling her backwards into the drawing room, he threw her down onto the sofa, freed his rampant weapon and went at her like an eighteen year old. With one hand under each heel he lifted her feet up on to the sofa, then transferring his hands to her knees he splayed her legs wide apart, giving him instant access to her sex. Her labia were still widened from her session with the dildo and so it was not too difficult for him to spear her sex on his first thrust. His penis plunged in to a depth just enough for it to cover and clasp his glans.

  He was big. Unbelievably huge. He thrust again, another impressive length disappearing up into her tunnel. He filled her, vaginal wall to vaginal wall. She had not been that well stuffed for so long that she felt as though she was being ripped apart. One more giant thrust and The Colonel was in up to the hilt, his throbbing bell pulsing against her cervix. His body between her thighs now keeping her legs wide apart, his hands went to work on her tits.

  It was supposed to have been a quickie. A sample of her abilities, but instead he was hooking her. It was in her nature to be in control, but for enough money and a cock like that she could be flexible. And he was old after all, he could not last that long. All thoughts of that nature fled from her mind as he got under way, developing a long regular stroke that reamed her vagina from end to end. Her juices came flooding out, lubricating his rasping ramming of her sex. Muscles clamped and unclamped as she was driven towards orgasm. His backside worked up to a blurring speed as she clung to his shoulders, juddering and crying out as she was hit with a shattering climax.

  Once he was sure that he had catapulted her into a state of bliss, he let himself go. His stamina was awesome. He shagged her relentlessly for minute after minute until finally she could feel the sperm racing up his urethra and clamping her legs around his waist she held him tight as spurt after endless spurt of his semen pumped into her. He fell on to her, spent, and she allowed him to lie there, crushing her until his breathing returned to normal.

  He pulled out and stood up, wiping his softening cock on the sofa.

  "Damn fine show gel. Better be off now I suppose."

  And as Mistress Madonna lay there, thoroughly fucked and waiting for the strength to return to her drained body, he left. The door slammed and he was gone. Her senses whirled in disbelief; the tables had been well and truly turned. She was the Mistress. Nobody had done that to her before. She began to get angry. How could she have lost control like that? Somebody was going to have to pay. And that somebody was Julian!

  ***

  In total distress Julian hung whimpering in the blackness of the cellar. His shoulders were strained, his legs hurt and his cock felt like it existed in a different universe. Streaks of tears had forged a path through the fine layer of coal dust covering his cheeks. Those tears were nothing compared to the ones that he would soon be shedding.

  Mistress Madonna had worked herself up into a fine frenzy by the time she returned to deal with Julian. She pushed open the door at the top of the flight of wooden stairs and turned on the dim lighting.

  "Thank God. Thank God."

  Julian's sobs of relief fell on determinedly deaf ears. He was going to pay. Not only for his own misdemeanours but for hers as well. Her session with The Colonel now rankled with her so much it was driving her to distraction. How could she have been so stupid? She was supposed to have netted him and instead he had snared her. If he had wanted to, she would have let him fuck her again right there and then. It was ridiculous. Obscene. He was so old. And yet he was one great big reminder of the Bulldog Breed. The men that ran the Empire. And if they all fucked like him, no wonder they had once ruled half the world. Having tasted a shagging like that, any woman, white, black or any shade in between would willingly have laid down her fanny for England.

  Mistress Madonna's vagina was still throbbing with the after shocks of her tumultuous rogering by The Colonel as the stilettos clattered down the stairs. When she was certain that she was in Julian's view she stopped, standing stern and immobile and slapping her open palm with a wicked looking scourge. His wailing ceased abruptly.

  "Oh God no. No Mistress, no more."

  "Shut up you pathetic excuse for a slug. Mistress Madonna has decided that you are deliberately trying to annoy her. And she's going to do something about it."

  "No! No. Please."

  "You didn't care when you made a mess in the bathroom, did you? You called her a fucking whore, didn't you? Well, very soon you are going to wish that you'd kept your mouth shut."

  "I couldn't help it. You made me do it. You drove me to it."

  "A good little person always has control of himself. But a wicked person... well, he doesn't care. He tries to get the better of his Mistress. And his Mistress won't have it. Never. Do you understand?"

  He did. Only too well.

  "And you, are not a good little person. You are nasty. And vile. An abomination. And your Mistress can't stand for that, can she? So she's going to make sure you get what you deserve."

  "Oh Christ No! Don't do it. I'll never be bad again. I'll be good and do everything you say. I promise, cross my heart."

  Mistress Madonna did not care how many promises he made. Or pleas for mercy for that matter. He was bad and she was angry. Not only with him, she conceded that much, but he was going to pay for it anyway.

  The lead weight still pulled heavily on his cock and palming it she lifted it high to relieve the strain. He groaned in pathetic thankfulness only to scream in tortured agony a moment later when she let the weight slip from her palm and sent it hurtling downwards. The strength and depth of his agonised wails made her ponder for a moment whether or not she had actually ripped his cock from his body. A quick examination assured her that that was not the case.

  "Oh my poor little baby. Did Mistress Madonna hurt your tiny little pee thing?"

  This time there was no comment. The shock had been so great he was unable to speak, shit or remember his name. In front of his eyes everything was a blank. All he could see was stars. And that lasted for several minutes until his sight cleared in undulating waves of returning vision. Despite his secure chaining, his body shook and quivered, real rivers of tears flooding down his cheeks. Minutes passed as he gasped his way back to proper awareness. And then:

  "Thank you. Thank you so much Mistress Madonna. That was wonderful."

  She accepted his pitiful whimperings with a haughty disdain. What a pathetic runt he was. He did not have to tell her how wonderful it had been, she told him, she knew. She also reminded him just how lucky he was to have such an understanding Mistress as her. After his naughtiness, anyone else would have packed him off to bed and taken away his sweeties. But not her. And he would do well to remember that. He would remember, she knew that. She also knew that following her savage action with the weight, the agonising pain in his penis must have increased tenfold. And so his hesitant plea was not unexpected.

  "Mistress, please... my cock."

  "Ah, diddums. Does his poor little willie hurt?"

  "Yes Mistress."

  "And does Julian want his Mistress to make it better?"

  "Yes. Please. Now!"

  "Well, want as much as you like. The weight stays where it is."

  Julian screamed like a banshee, his outburst totally uncontrollable.

  "You bag. You fucking shit faced cunt. You..."

  His words trailed off, faltering as the realisation of exactly what he was shouting sank into his mind.

  "Mistress please, forgive me. I'm bad. I'm naughty. I'm a shit. Don't punish me please."

  "Too
late. You've been a really, really bad boy now. Mistress Madonna is going to have to slap your legs and teach you a lesson."

  Mistress Madonna stood in front of Julian's stretched, pain-racked body measuring her strike. The scourge had been tauntingly dangled in front of his pleading eyes for long enough to allow a fearsome apprehension to flood his senses. She lifted her arm. Smack! The leather thongs bit into his stomach. Whoosh! Fingers of crimson striped across his thighs. Slash! His buttocks rippled with the impact, and unusually for a scourge vicious weals ridged immediately over his flesh. That was because she was using every ounce of her considerable strength to lash him into total submission. His yelps, squeals and shouted pleas for mercy told her she was on the right track. He would not forget this day in a hurry. He would think twice before being naughty again. His shoulders, his back, his arms and legs all suffered merciless punishment until with his body one total mass of scarlet, she dropped her arm and stood panting from her exertions.

  Julian was sobbing, uncontrollable streams of tears running down his face.

  "Well, what do you say to your Mistress?"

  Biting his lip in an effort to stop his blubbering, he choked out his reply.

  "Thank you Mistress Madonna. Thank you so much."

  "Good. Now that's a good little baby."

  She threw down the scourge and once more took the heavy weight into her hand, relieving the tension on his penis.

  "Oh God No! Not again. Don't, please don't do it."

  "Do what?"

  "Don't drop the weight."

  "Come now. What do you think your Mistress is? Some sort of monster?"

  That was a tricky question. She waited for a reply, dropping her hand slightly to allow some of the weight to return to his weapon.

  "No. No, you're an Angel. I worship you."

  "That's better. You really are learning to behave yourself, aren't you?"