The Daughters of de Sade

by Falconer Bridges

  All that, and Julian had not yet even got a glimpse of the two new Mistresses. And when he did!

  Hard-on Heaven. A blinder of a stonker even for him. Mistress Madonna was actually quite impressed, but could not say so of course.

  "Look at the filthy little blighter, he's at it again."

  The Colonel was playing his part well.

  "Bromide. That'd do it. You should get the Medical Officer to give you some."

  Now that was an idea. Put some in Julian's bottle and Hey Presto, no more erections. She would not do it of course. But what a threat to hang over his head. She would have to thank The Colonel properly for that suggestion. But later, right now she had a naughty boy to deal with.

  "Julian, stop that this instant!"

  He could not of course. His cock was up and she knew it was going to stay there. And he wanted to use it.

  "You said I could fuck the slags. And I want to fuck the rotten fuckers now."

  "What did you say?"

  That was Mistress Magenta and Mistress Maria in unison.

  "She said you were my birthday treat and I could fuck you."

  "I said no such thing. And I am not 'she', I am Mistress Madonna and don't you forget it."

  All three Mistresses advanced menacingly on Julian.

  "You disgusting piece of shit. I wouldn't let you fuck me if you had the last prick on Earth."

  Julian shrivelled under Mistress Magenta's words.

  "Nor would I."

  Mistress Maria's tone left him in no doubt that she meant it.

  "And I'm going to make you remember your manners."

  He already knew Mistress Madonna always carried out her threats and cringed in the expectation of a forthcoming beating.

  Three pairs of hands grabbed him and despite his frantic struggles stripped him of his jacket and shirt. He was now totally naked apart from his shoes and socks. And his school cap. They ripped off the footwear and the socks but left the cap. A nice little touch designed to make him feel ridiculous.

  "String him up. There's some rope in the car."

  "Good idea Colonel. Will you bring it over for us please?"

  After the thick rope had been used to bind Julian's wrists together, the end was thrown over a jutting bough and he was hauled, arms stretched above his head, off his feet. His feet dangled a foot or so from the ground and his arms and shoulders strained to support his weight.

  "You bastards. I'm supposed to be enjoying myself. It's my birthday party."

  "Oh, you're going to have a party alright. A birching party."

  Leaving Julian swaying to and fro under the branch Mistress Madonna led the other two into the woods, all three returning a few minutes later laden with thin branches and twigs. Borrowing a pruning knife from The Colonel, they trimmed the wood into suitable lengths, bound them into bundles and pretty soon had three very professional looking birches. They tested them through the air, sweeping and slashing at imaginary targets. Julian knew those targets would soon become real enough. They would be his flesh.

  Moving around him so that without changing their positions they could strike every part of his body, the Magnificent Trio readied themselves. Julian was wild eyed with terror; he did not fancy what was coming at all. But despite everything his cock still stood to attention.

  The Colonel's voice called from the lakeside.

  "It's called priapism you know. Persistent erection of the penis. The native wallahs all had it. Castration! That's the real cure."

  "Shut up! Keep quiet you wrinkled old bastard. Don't give her any more ideas."

  "I don't need The Colonel to give me ideas. But that's not a bad one."

  Julian opened his mouth to say something more, but widened it immediately into a shrieking scream as the first birch stroke landed on his back. It left a very pronounced, widespread and glowing pattern of weals across the back of his ribs and his shoulder blades. Mistress Madonna spun Julian around so that the other two could see properly the effectiveness of their handmade instruments of correction. They were well satisfied and so the thrashing began in earnest. As before, one straight after the other, they laid mind-destroying strikes of indescribable agony all over their own designated area of Julian's flesh. His arms, legs, feet, chest, back and buttocks all came under attack. He wailed like a banshee, screaming and crying and promising never to be bad again as long as he lived. The Mistresses did not believe him and turned their attention to his cock. And his balls. Smacking downwards they lacerated his shaft, and whipping up between his thighs they smacked and scratched his gonads.

  "Enough, I think."

  Mistresses Magenta and Maria complied with Mistress Madonna's suggestion and let the birches fall from their hands. Julian was still crying and wailing helplessly, his striped crimson carcass swinging free and in addition to everything else, his shoulders and arms were agonisingly painful under the strain of his weight hanging from the bough. To judge by the state he was in, it was not likely he would be thinking about shagging anything for some considerable time.

  "Let's eat."

  The three Mistresses turned to rejoin The Colonel.

  "Oh, fucking hell. Look at that."

  None of them could believe it. Julian's cock was back up.

  There was only one thing for it.

  "Naughty, naughty, naughty Julian."

  Berating him all the time Mistress Madonna thrashed his pulsing prick with all the strength she could muster. He screamed as it twitched and jerked under the lashes. And then he came. Spurt after shooting spurt, so that she was forced to jump out of the way to avoid its spreading spray.

  Grimacing in both pain and pleasure, Julian could only gasp out three words.

  "Thank you Mistress."

  The Colonel had done them proud. A portable folding table had been laid with a crisp white cloth, four places set out with silver cutlery, with wineglasses and champagne flutes for each one. And a small folding picnic chair for each place. He produced the food. A culinary treasure. Smoked salmon and red caviar. Quail's eggs and truffles. Crisp baguettes and thick sliced grainy bread and butter. And much more. Including, right in the centre of the table, Julian's birthday cake with the figurine of Mistress Madonna on the top. Not only that, he produced from the cold boxes several bottles of Dom Perignon, held them up for the Mistresses' delight and then popped two back in. After all they could only drink one at a time. He filled the flutes with sparkling bubbly and they drank a toast to Mistress Madonna before tucking into the food with gusto. It was a feast fit for Kings. But not Julian.

  As his strength returned, Julian's wailing voice once more echoed across the clearing. He did not deviate much from his standard pattern.

  "What about me? I'm hungry. I want mine."

  "Ah, yes. Hang on a second."

  The Colonel delved into the picnic hamper, brought out a small Tupperware container and a plastic bottle and handed them to Mistress Madonna.

  "For the cretin. Sardine paste sandwiches and ginger pop."

  She took the goodies and went over to Julian. She loosened the rope and let him drop to the floor, but she did not untie his wrists. Opening the container she offered the sandwiches to him.

  "I'm not having that shit. It's my fucking birthday. I want what The Colonel's got."

  "Don't be silly, you'll never have what he's got."

  The Colonel was tickled pink.

  "Thank you m'dear, very nice of you to say so." Then to Julian: "I don't know what you're making such a fuss about. It's more than you deserve. I would have killed for that when I was stranded in the jungle."

  "Well we're not in the jungle, and you're spoiling my party."

  Mistress Madonna had heard enough.

  "Right. If the naughty boy doesn't want his nice sandwiches, then the swans can
have them."

  And so saying, she went back to the lakeside and threw all the sandwiches into the water. Before joining the others back at the table, she went over to the car and slipped a CD into the stereo system. She left the car doors open and the words of the song came floating to Julian's ears. It was Bryan Ferry.

  "It's my party and I'll cry if I want to, cry if I want to..."

  Julian did cry. And then he started hurling abuse. He was now spoiling their party.

  The Colonel produced a small lidded box from his angling gear.

  "Here, you might find these useful."

  Mistress Madonna did indeed. They were his fishing hooks. Although it was sacrilege he allowed her to cut three long sections of line from a reel and fix a hook to the end of each one. She kept one and handed one each to the other two.

  "Let's fix the turd once and for all."

  The only problem was that none of them would actually deign to touch his revolting body. The Colonel solved the problem. In the car he had a box of doctor's thin rubber surgical gloves, which he handed to Mistress Madonna.

  "For emergencies."

  She wondered what emergencies they might be; making another note that there was something else she would have to ask him about. Still, they were a perfect solution. All three Mistresses slipped on a pair of the gloves. Julian had not been able to see just what it was they were doing and when the three fishhooks suddenly appeared in front of his eyes his reaction was wild and hysterical. Hauling him back into the air they went to work. Two hooks were inserted into his scrotum, one into the loose flesh encasing each of his balls. His foreskin was squeezed together over his bell-end, and the remaining hook secured it together so that it could not slip back. The lines were then paid out and the Mistresses returned to the table, each with a taut line wound around her hand.

  The picnic was resumed. It was truly scrumptious. The Mistresses ate and drank, the champagne glasses were re-filled and The Colonel produced a bottle of extremely rare fifty-year-old vintage port. Absolute nectar.

  "Cost as much as all the Dom Perignon put together."

  The Mistresses could understand why.

  And then it was time for the cake. Mistress Madonna took up the cake slice and handed it to The Colonel, inviting him to cut a large portion for each of them. Except Julian that is. But before he could cut into the cake she rescued the figurine of herself from the top.

  "Perhaps you'd like to deal with this first Colonel."

  He took it, held it up and licked it.

  Julian's protestations would have drowned out Concorde.

  The Colonel paid no attention and did exactly what Julian had planned for himself. He sucked the pink nipples and licked the black pussy. Then he ate the whole thing. Julian screamed and wept and was only brought back into line by a flurry of tugs on the fishing hooks.

  So a fair old time was had by all. Including Julian. Although in his own way, he was probably enjoying it more than any of them. Mistress Madonna really had excelled herself. She had not made him suffer this much before. Never. He had no doubt that she would probably now increase her already scandalous fee. And he would gladly pay...

  But his trials and tortures were not over because once all the food had gone, the Mistresses turned their attention to The Colonel. Sometimes separately and sometimes together, they treated him to an orgy of sexual indulgence that he had not experienced since his times in the brothels of Siam. They sucked his cock, all three at once. Two with lips glued to the stem of his shaft and Mistress Madonna with her mouth plunged over his glans. He really liked that. Julian did not. But his yells of complaint were soon turned into screams of agony and pleas for mercy as the Mistresses tugged on their fishing lines and the hooks tore at his tender privates.

  The Colonel fucked them all. He fucked their vaginas, their arses and their mouths. He licked them and sucked them. And drove them all delirious. They were amazed by his vigour and stamina. He never faltered once, going from one to another without a pause. And once, he stacked them, one on top of the other, with their rumps jutting skywards and fucked them from the back, giving each one a few strokes as he travelled up and down their tiered backsides. They had never met anyone like him before. And they told him so. They also told Julian, who cried and sulked and threw one of his more impressive tantrums.

  But underneath it all Julian was one happy little boy. He had been treated to a fabulous birthday. One he would not forget. And the three Mistresses would not forget The Colonel. When everything was packed up and Julian had been put, still naked, back into the car, Mistress Magenta pulled something out from one of her stocking tops and handed it to him. It was a card.

  "Anytime you want us Colonel, we'll come running. No charge."

  The Colonel read the card. And smiled. On a quality weave of the whitest white, were engraved letters of the shiniest, densest black. There were just two lines:

  The Daughters of De Sade

  Have whips - will travel

  The General

  THE GENERAL STOOD ON the balcony of the nursery gazing out over the ancestral acres of his country estate. Beneath his crotch, a pair of overflowing balls and an under-used cock dangled in frustrated yearning. He was fed up. His wife had a no-entry sign on her knickers and he could not fuck the servants like his forefathers did in the old days, 'droite de seigneur' was a thing of the past. Unlike The Colonel he had not had a sexual experience of any kind in recent memory. And he was not happy about it. One particular night, in a cloud of alcoholic abandonment after drinking one too many port and brandies, he had confessed all to The Colonel, who true to his nature had an immediate solution to his friend and ex-superior officer's problems.

  Nothing had ever been mentioned on the subject, but The Colonel was a pretty shrewd judge of character. And in The General's case he was as sure as he could be, without coming right out and asking a direct question, that strict and unbending a disciplinarian as he was, The General would not be averse to a little correction himself. The Colonel had not said too much to his friend about Mistress Madonna, only that she offered something a little out of the ordinary and that she was worth every penny of the astronomical fee he would have to fork out in order to obtain her services. The head of the fox hunting fraternity had blanched at the amount mentioned but accepted The Colonel's guarantee that it would be money well spent.

  Which was why at that very moment, Mistress Madonna was stretched out in the back of The Colonel's car enjoying a long, slow screw, and sipping champagne as he leisurely pumped his magnificent weapon in and out of her appreciative vagina. Ferrying them to a rendezvous with The General, The Colonel's chauffeur kept his eyes firmly glued to the road. With his employer that sort of thing was nothing out of the ordinary, although he sometimes wondered how the old boy kept it up. The chauffeur had been his batman in the Army and had followed him through several military campaigns. And a damned sight more sexual encounters. The Colonel's speciality had been shagging other officers' wives and wherever he had been posted, he usually managed to clear the board. It was safer that way. He had never been short of a fuck but he had never had to make any commitments himself. And so he had never entered into the hazardous state of matrimony. And that was the way he liked it. But instead of slowing down, The Colonel seemed to be fucking ever more women as the years passed. And as for the bombshell he was stoking at that moment. Wow!

  The chauffeur risked a quick glance in the rear-view mirror, and smiled. The Colonel was now lying flat out on the back seat. Having dispensed with the champagne, with one knee on either side of his hips Mistress Madonna was squatting astride him. Her skirt up around her waist and one heavy breast pressed into his mouth, she was riding him like a bucking bronco. Her juicy vagina slid up and down his shaft as she bounced on him, increasingly powerful downward thrusts pushing his cock deeper and deeper into her. Suddenly she locked up rigid, spearing her
self with all the force of which she was capable on to his granite erection. Shaking and jerking, she howled out loud and long as the orgasm hit her, before collapsing helplessly down on to him.

  With her full weight pressing down on his chest, The Colonel found it a little difficult to breathe, but remaining as always the perfect gentleman, he said nothing, allowing her to recover in her own time. Eventually she raised her head and pushing herself up on her arms, looked him in the eye.

  "You never let me down, do you Colonel? Now, how would you like yours?"

  No matter how he might try, there was no way within the limited confines of the car that he could actually get her into the position he would have really liked. So he compromised and had her turn around, head down and backside stuck into the air while he finished himself off with his penis stuck up her anus. Quite satisfying if there was no other option available. With his hands clasped around her stockinged thighs, he pulled her close as he pumped steadily away. Building up to his climax, he pushed in harder and deeper, finally sinking the whole length of his shaft into her bottom. His orgasm was fierce and savage, and Mistress Madonna's backside actually heaved around as his cock reared and jerked in ejaculation.

  He had started to arouse her again as well, and although she would dearly have loved to have gone straight into another session, they were nearing their destination and she had to tidy herself up. It would not do for her to arrive in a dishevelled condition. So reluctantly she eased off The Colonel and set to work repairing her make-up.