The Daughters of de Sade

by Falconer Bridges

  "All right, but what are we doing here anyway?"

  "We're going to turn a dirty, grubby little horror into a nice, well scrubbed young man."

  Unlocking the handcuffs, she allowed him a few moments to rub the circulation back into his grazed wrists.

  "Right! Now get to work. All you need is there."

  She pointed to the car washing paraphernalia.

  "There's a sponge, some shampoo and water. Dip the sponge in the water, pour some shampoo on it and soap yourself. All over."

  "I'm not. That's rotten, cheap horrid stuff for the cars. And the water's freezing."

  "Do as I say this instant."

  In a return to steely authoritarianism she barked out the order. Julian knew better than to defy her when she used that tone of voice and hurried to obey. He was soon covered head to toe in frothy foam and she made him soap his cock again and again, until he sprang a straining erection. Mistress Madonna hitched the tiny pelmet of a skirt even higher. She was not wearing knickers. She hardly ever did. His cock jerked as his eyes locked on to her bushy, forested sex, flicking a globule of foam down to the floor.

  "You dirty little swine. You've always got a hard on. Well, Mistress Madonna is going to do something about that."

  And picking up the hosepipe, she turned the tap on full and blasted Julian at point blank range with the full force of the stinging jets. The water was ice cold and Julian's howls were loud and anguished as she swept up and down his body, paying particular attention to his cock and balls. He tried to protect them with his hands but the strength of the jets forced them apart, and by the time she turned the water off, his prick had shrivelled to a wrinkled nothing and his bollocks felt like they had been beaten with sledgehammers. She threw the hosepipe to the ground and stood with hips jutting as a shivering Julian continued to wail and curse.

  The sound of a car pulling up outside diverted her attention. A door slammed and feet crunched on the gravel.

  "In here Colonel."

  She knew it was him, only a very large, very expensive car has an engine that ran as silently as that one. The Colonel marched into the garage.

  "Reporting for duty ma'am, as ordered."

  "And right on time. Colonel, you're a man a woman can depend upon."

  "Do my best m'dear. Do my best."

  And then casting a disdainful look at Julian: "The blighter been up to his tricks again, has he?"

  Mistress Madonna confirmed that Julian had indeed been naughty again, and that she had disciplined him, but not nearly enough she thought. The Colonel pointed to the discarded hosepipe.

  "Why don't you thrash the scoundrel with that?"

  He was right. She ought to.

  Thud. Thwack. The pipe was heavy and not very flexible so she concentrated on thickly fleshed parts of his body, like his buttocks and calves. Julian squealed and wept and cursed the Colonel to eternity.

  "Serves you right, you insubordinate bounder. It's nothing more than you deserve."

  And of course Julian knew that he was right.

  Mistress Madonna finally threw the hose to ground, leaving Julian panting and furiously rubbing his tortured flesh. She turned to The Colonel, but before she could say anything, he pre-empted her.

  "I know time's tight m'dear, but I've checked battle orders and we do have a few minutes. Do you think..."

  "... there's time for a quickie?" She completed his question.

  "Harrumph. Yes, that was going to be my query."

  "Well, I don't see why not. I'm sure Julian won't mind."

  Julian did mind. Big time.

  "You bastards. You set this up. It's my fucking birthday. He's not going to fuck you, I am."

  Mistress Madonna told him very forcefully that he was most definitely not going to do any such thing. And because she could not trust him to behave himself she was going to turn the hose on full once again and set it to spray over him all the time she was getting her goodies. And lodging the nozzle into a bracket on the wall she widened the spray and started the water gushing out over him.

  "Now then Colonel, we haven't really got too much time, so we'll make this one just for you. How do you want me?"

  It only took a moment.

  "Over the bonnet m'dear. 'Coolie style' as we used to say in Shanghai."

  They chose a Jaguar. More patriotic than the Ferrari or the Porsche The Colonel said. Mistress Madonna did not care either way, she rather liked Ferraris. And Italians. But each to his own, and hitching the skirt right over her hips, she turned around, widened her legs and with her breasts flattened against the metal and her bottom thrust upwards, she bent over the bonnet. The Colonel wasted no time in hauling his cock out of captivity and pushing the cheeks of her buttocks further apart to get a better access, he slapped it up against her labia. He pushed, gaining a minimum entrance, just a part of his glans sinking into her vagina. He pushed again. She was not really ready and so she was tight, tighter than usual.

  "Hold fire a moment, will you Colonel? Let me see what I can do."

  The Colonel backed off and straightening up Mistress Madonna slipped the fingers of both hands between her legs. With the fingers of one hand she spread her sex lips and dipped the fingers of her other hand into her warm tunnel. Opening her fingers, she widened her hole and then spent a few moments rubbing and stimulating her clitoris. She got the result she wanted. Juices began to flow, and her hole widened further of its own accord.

  "All right Colonel, I think we can start again."

  Once more she laid herself over the bonnet and as The Colonel advanced on her with a cannon of an erection, she slipped a hand backwards underneath her legs, grasped his throbbing girth and directed it to her now only too ready vagina. His bell-end went straight in. No messing. He pushed again and half his length disappeared up her grasping sex. Once more, and her shovelling vaginal muscles combined with his thrust to propel his cock right up to her cervix. He filled her tight as a cork in a champagne bottle. And just like the best bubbly, his cock was vintage. Premier Cru and equally as intoxicating to a lusting twat.

  The Colonel tested his stroke. It was tight in there, but it was well lubricated and slippery. In short it felt absolutely fucking marvellous. For both of them. He pulled right down and then slid back up, slowly increasing the speed of his thrusts. Mistress Madonna had said the shag was just for him, but she soon changed her mind. With his huge cock stimulating her to distraction, she let herself wallow in his expert grinding. He was as good a fuck as she had ever had in her life and as his pistoning weapon reamed her with increasing mercilessness, her vaginal muscles tensed, clamping and unclamping until at the moment of his ejaculation he catapulted her into a shuddering, shaking orgasm. She flopped against the bonnet, her body limp and weak. And that had only been a quickie.

  As she pulled herself together, above the sound of the gushing water she became aware once more of Julian's wailing curses and insults. It was time she returned her attention to him; although she was certain her little display had achieved the desired effect. It was his birthday. She had beaten and humiliated him. As far as he was concerned she had refused to let him fuck her only because he had been naughty, and then within minutes of appearing on the scene, The Colonel had fucked her silly. So now, just as she had planned, Julian was beside himself with frustration and jealousy. The Colonel was turning out to be a very useful accomplice.

  She turned off the water and stood waiting for Julian's torrent of abuse to abate. Eventually his babbling stopped. He glared at her with accusing eyes, hungrily taking in her sperm soaked pussy and once again sporting his inevitable erection. She shuffled in front of him, making a great show of the spunk that trickled down her thigh and hung from her vagina. She opened the door of the Ferrari next to her and put one foot inside. It was Julian's current favourite. She knew that. And Julian knew that s
he did.

  "No! Don't you dare!"

  But she did dare, and sliding into the driver's seat, she flattened her dripping labia against the leather and wiped every last drop of The Colonel's spunk onto it. On the passenger seat was a scarf that Julian wound around his neck when he was driving with the top down, and with it she cleaned out any traces that remained inside her hole. She lifted her bottom to show Julian the wet patches on the seat and with her arm raised she waved the sperm smeared scarf to and fro. He was apoplectic. Speechless with rage... and totally in thrall to Mistress Madonna.

  Up in the master bedroom, Mistress Madonna had laid out Julian's school uniform on the bed. She knew it was his favourite and it did no harm to pander to him now and then. But she made him dress himself, although no underpants were allowed, and then wetting a comb she parted his hair down the middle. She stood back, her eyes critically running over him.

  "You'll do. Not even I can make a prince out of a donkey's arse. I suppose it's as good as you'll ever look."

  Which was a particularly hurtful thing to say because Julian was in fact, very good looking. She turned on her heel and made for the door.

  "Come on, don't mess about. We're late."

  Julian trotted dutifully behind her, down the staircase to where The Colonel was waiting. Slipping a tiny black leather Bolero jacket over her shoulders, she took The Colonel's arm and ordering Julian to follow close behind, went out to the car.

  The Colonel loaded the picnic hamper and the cool boxes stacked with champagne into the boot, while Mistress Madonna knotted a tight blindfold over Julian's eyes. He was not to see where they were going she told him, it was part of the surprise. He was plonked on the back seat, strapped in, and then ignored. Mistress Madonna took her place next to The Colonel, and they were off.

  They had been travelling for an hour or so and Julian was getting restless. Making sure that her words carried to the back seat, throughout the journey Mistress Madonna had kept up a non-stop flow of conversation with The Colonel, consisting almost entirely of lewd recollections and anecdotes of a particularly questionable nature. All involving her, of course. And all designed to increase Julian's frustration.

  "It's so nice to have a real man around Colonel. A man with a proper cock who knows what to do with it."

  Julian snorted derisively.

  Mistress Madonna paid no attention.

  "You understand that underneath all this, I'm just a normal girl. I like to get fucked and sucked and buggered just like every other woman."

  The Colonel said nothing, but thought privately that she was nothing at all like every other woman. And a good thing too. Julian's thoughts were too explosive to keep to himself.

  "You fucking bitch. Shut up! I know you're only saying those things to upset me."

  "Oh dear, there he goes again. I think we'd better go home, don't you Colonel?"

  "What!? And let the filthy little cad spoil our picnic. No. Just wait until we rendezvous, then we can string him up and you can thrash him 'til he bleeds."

  "A much better idea Colonel. You've got such a logical mind."

  They travelled on, with Mistress Madonna and The Colonel keeping up their banter and Julian cursing away to no purpose. But she was keeping a sharp look out and suddenly she jumped up in her seat and pointed through the windscreen.

  "There they are."

  A gleaming black Rolls Royce with smoked windows was parked in a lay-by a few hundred yards ahead, and The Colonel slowed his speed and pulled in behind it. Mistress Madonna leapt from the Bentley and ran towards the other car as two sex-laden versions of herself tumbled from its interior. Squealing and hugging each other in the joy of reunion the three women danced around for a few moments. Just like Mistress Madonna the other two women were stunners. And they were all so much alike as to be indistinguishable. They were statuesque, all about the same height and with the same hair and the same eyes. And the same tits. The same fantastic arse as well. The Colonel's prick rapidly did a Julian, tripling its size in an instant. He was definitely going to enjoy this. Pity about the prat.

  The prat himself was unable to see what was happening, but he could hear the girlish screams and giggles. He bounced up and down on the back seat as they grew closer.

  "What's going on? Who is it?"

  "Mistress Madonna and two of the best looking Memsahibs you've ever seen. Bosoms like the Himalayas. Must be your birthday present."

  The Colonel eased himself out of the driver's seat, making a futile attempt to hide the fairly spectacular bulge in his trousers as he stood to greet them. All three women fastened their eyes on his cock.

  "Colonel, I'd like you to meet my sisters, Mistress Magenta and Mistress Maria."

  "Gad, you're three damn fine fillies and that's no lie. Sisters you say?"

  "Yes, really. We're triplets, and they've been dying to meet you. I've told them all about your cock and they can't wait." She pointed to his straining weapon: "And it's obvious that it can't wait to meet them."

  "What about me?"

  Julian's whingeing wail interrupted the introductions.

  "Is that the twat?"

  That was Mistress Magenta. Or was it Mistress Maria? The Colonel could not tell. Shuffle them around a little bit and he was not certain he would still know which one was Mistress Madonna. By sight anyway. His cock would know though. He was sure of that.

  Having instructed their driver to wait for them in the lay-by, the two new Mistresses settled themselves, one on each side of Julian in the back of the Bentley. With their skirts hitched high, Mistress Madonna had placed one of Julian's hands over the suspenders on each of their bare thighs, given him explicit instructions that that was where they must stay, and smiled in satisfaction as his flash erection tunnelled out below his trouser leg. Apart from a tortured cock, by the time they reached their destination he was going to be in possession of a pair of extremely tender bollocks. With all her experience she knew that there is nothing like an extended period of unfulfilled erection to turn two perfectly contented testicles into a pair of untouchably agonised rocks.

  When they reached their destination, which was by the side of a lake hidden in the woods on the country estate of one of The Colonel's military connections, Mistress Madonna's expectations were totally confirmed... Julian's balls were like lead weights in his scrotum. Once he was ushered from the car he could hardly walk, whimpering every now and again as they were trapped between his thighs or rubbed against the coarse flannel of his short trousers. Good preparation for what she had in mind. They stopped walking and Julian was ordered to stay where he was while the picnic was laid out.

  "I want a piss."

  "Have one then. We won't look."

  "I can't, can I? Not with this bloody great hard-on."

  "Well, that's what you get for being the dirty little beast you are. It's all you ever think about, fucking and wanking. I've told you before, keep on doing it and you'll go blind."

  "Sod going blind. I'll go mad if I don't get a piss. I'm bursting."

  "Good! Serves you right."

  Mistress Madonna knew that it is impossible to urinate whilst sporting a rock hard erection and was even more pleased with herself. Now in addition to a straining cock and a ball-sac full of red-hot coals, Julian also had an overflowing bladder. And there was nothing he could do about it. The pain in his stomach would continue to intensify until he was permitted to ejaculate. Then his cock would slacken and he would be able to pass the water. But of course, she did not intend to allow that to happen. Not soon anyway.

  Finally, everything was ready and accompanied by a chorus of 'happy birthday lousy wanker', Julian's blindfold was removed. Great! All he could see as he blinked in the unaccustomed light was a giant tree trunk. He started to turn around.

  "Did I say you could move?" Mistress Madonna snapped.<
br />
  "You didn't say I couldn't," Julian protested.

  "Cheeky little brute, isn't he?" Mistress Magenta said.

  "I don't know about you three, but I think he deserves a good thrashing," Mistress Maria chipped in.

  There was no disagreement and so the picnic was put on hold for the time being. The Colonel had a horsewhip in the car but the Mistresses declined his offer of its use, instead they all produced whips of their own.

  "You must have been a Boy Scout Colonel, so you'll remember the motto: Be Prepared, and we always are."

  The Colonel had brought along his angling gear just in case he had to find something to pass the time while the Mistresses were occupied with Julian. So as they advanced to their torture, he began to sort out the rods and lines.

  "Drop your trousers."

  "Shan't."

  A hefty slap around the ears that sent Julian's head reeling soon changed his mind. These were strong women, The Triplets of Torture as they sometimes referred to themselves. The trousers fell to the floor and he was ordered to kick them to one side and bend over. His school blazer was very short and so the whole of his backside was exposed.

  Slash! The first lash exploded on to one of his buttocks.

  Swoosh! The second on his other cheek.

  Smack! The third on the back of his thighs...

  Julian screamed. And yelped. And hopped up and down in agony as the Mistresses Madonna, Magenta and Maria took it in turn, one slash immediately following another, to whip him into shape. Crimson stripes and ridges covered his haunches and legs, criss-crossing as the strikes were laid over each other. The beating stopped for a moment, but Julian continued to howl like a stricken wolf. He howled even louder when the next strikes landed. The Mistresses had only stopped to alter their stances in order to position the forthcoming whiplashes as accurately as possible.

  From the back, swung by the tip, the haft of a whip flashed between his legs and smacked solidly up against his pain-racked balls. Another lash curled around his hips to cut a line over his ballooning bladder and a third caught around the ridge of his bulbous bell-end, only to be wrenched away in a vicious act of unmitigated torture. Julian cried, wailed and pleaded for mercy, all to no avail as the whipping continued unabated. And through it all his pulsing, straining erection grew ever harder, his cock jerking wildly at every crippling bite of the whip. Then suddenly, in a seemingly telepathically ordered action, the tips of all three whips whirled around his weapon, gripped it tight and tugged. Julian was catapulted into a screaming orgasmic climax, jets of sperm spurting into the air as his balls pumped out every last drop of the seed that had been boiling and churning away in there since his adventure began. His prick began to slacken, the whips uncoiled, and he started to piss. He watered the tree, the grass and as the stream faltered, his own shoes and socks. Paradise.