The Daughters of de Sade

by Falconer Bridges

  Rubbing his hands and licking his lips, The General almost raced across to Mistress Madonna. His giant erection raced in front of him. He lunged at one of her breasts with a giant paw and tried to stick the other hand between her legs.

  "This is more like it, let's get on with the fucking."

  The hand angling for her sex was immediately smacked away by the crop.

  "Damn and blast woman. What are you up to?"

  "A naughty, nasty, dirty mouthed little monster is not going to fuck Mistress Madonna. Not today, or ever if he doesn't remember his manners and speak to her properly."

  And to help him do that she was going to punish him. And that punishment was to be six strokes of the crop and five hundred lines. And as she had thought, he did not protest too greatly when after pulling up her knickers she tugged his jodhpurs down to his knees, bent him over the desk and laid the first stroke over his haunches. It hit with a numbing thump that left a short, rapidly darkening red weal from the shaft, and a rectangular imprint from the keeper. She did not hold back. She walloped him with all her strength, which was considerable. Six times the crop fell, six times he grunted in agony and six times his cock jerked in response. She ordered him to stand upright and face her.

  "What's that?"

  She touched the tip of his bell-end with the crop. She may as well have grasped his cock in her palm and wanked him, because it had the same effect. Instant orgasm. And because he had been storing up the sperm for such a long time, there were oceans of it. It spurted everywhere. Over her gloved hand, up into the air, over the desk, and some even jetted as far as the rocking horse. And as she always did in situations like that, she made him clean it all up with his tongue.

  "I'm not licking up my own sperm."

  "Oh yes you are, General. Naughty boys have to do as they are told."

  And he did. Starting with her hand. Then the desk. And the rocking horse. He dissolved into a minor tantrum when it came to the floor, but a few extra strokes of the cane across the backs of his thighs did the trick. Down on his hands and knees he cleared his sperm from the floor. Then prodding him with the tip of the crop, she made him shuffle over to the desk. And with his jodhpurs tangled around his knees, that was not easy. Mistress Madonna decided that they were a nuisance, and so they and the riding boots were pulled off and thrown into a corner. So with his cock once again pointing skywards, The General struggled to push it under the desk as he pulled up the stool, picked up the pen and began writing.

  I must not try to grab Mistress Madonna's vagina.

  I must not say fuck to Mistress Madonna.

  Those two lines alternated as he wrote.

  And when he had finished he handed over his exercise book for her inspection. She snorted in derision.

  "Into the valley of death rode the six hundred."

  "Eh? What's that you say?"

  "It was handwriting like this that sent the Light Brigade to their deaths. An Army tradition is it General?"

  "Is what a tradition?"

  "To write so illegibly that no-one can understand their orders?"

  The General leapt to his feet, tipping the desk over, his cock rock solid and his face flushed with anger.

  "Now look here young woman, this has gone far enough."

  "No it hasn't General. Not by a long chalk."

  ***

  The horseboxes were parked in a long line on the driveway that wandered through the grounds leading up to the house. In her husband's own box, The Colonel was fucking the Master of the Hounds' wife. He was quite enjoying it too, he had not had his weapon stuck up inside her quite as often as he had all the other Hunt wives, and so it made a refreshing change. Also she was not as 'horsey' in her attitude or appearance as most of the others, excluding The General's wife of course. She had a very acceptable pair of breasts. Firm and rounded, with pert nipples and a juicily tight vagina. He had worked on all three with his usual finesse, and had already tongued her into fulfilment twice before he allowed her to experience the pleasure of his shaft up her hole. And what an experience. She was stuffed solid and could do nothing but gasp and coo in mounting ecstasy as he pumped in and out. He had just rammed her almost into unconsciousness with the most explosive of orgasms when someone started banging on the outside of the box.

  "Are you in there, Colonel?"

  The bloody woman knew he was. She had already had her turn. What did she want?

  "Yes. Hang on a minute, I'll come out."

  And to the wife still impaled on his weapon:

  "Sorry m'dear, but you can see how it is."

  She could see all right. That tarty bitch was getting greedy. They had all agreed that as far as The Colonel was concerned, it was share and share alike. But there was not much that she could do. After all, The General's wife came top of the pecking order.

  But he still had a little unfinished business. With her bucking her hips in concert with his thrusts, he went for his own orgasm. His rod grew stiffer and more granite-like as his climax approached, until with her vaginal muscles clamping and tugging in an effort to increase his pleasure, he ejaculated, filling her with floods of his tasty sperm. Sperm that when he had gone, she would be able to scoop from her vagina with her fingers and savour on her tongue. Very reluctantly he pulled out, and although the banging on the side of the horsebox was growing ever more impatient, he granted her the privilege and pleasure of sucking his cock clean.

  When her eager mouth could glean no more of the nectar, The Colonel zipped himself up and went out to meet his fate. Which turned out not to be what he expected.

  "I'm looking for The General. You don't know where he is I suppose?"

  She supposed wrong. The Colonel knew exactly where he was.

  "Er... no. No idea I'm afraid."

  "A pity. But you will help me look for him won't you?"

  That was an invitation he dare not refuse.

  He would have to keep her away from the nursery. Even if it meant shagging her again. And so, off he went to do just that.

  ***

  Still with a naked lower half, The General was furiously pedalling the tricycle around the perimeter of the nursery, every now and then banging into the crib or the playpen.

  "Now then. Slow down, there's a good boy, we don't want you chipping your lovely furniture, do we?"

  "I don't want to play on my bike any more. I want to fuck you."

  "Alright General, I give in. If that's what you want..."

  He leapt off the tricycle in an instant. But she was too fast for him. Like a leopard pounces she crossed the distance between them in the blink of an eye, grabbed his balls and twisted. He danced and writhed under her iron grip, tears running from his eyes and a hurricane of expletives gusting from his tongue. And as if he was not in enough agony she battered his cock with her free hand. When she finally ceased her assault on his manhood, he crumpled up, bent at the knees, clutching his privates.

  "Mistress Madonna told you not to use dirty words in front of her, didn't she?"

  A tortured gasp was the only reply of which he was capable.

  "You've already had your bottom smacked and had to write out five hundred lines for saying naughty things, haven't you?"

  He was still unable to speak.

  "Well, Mistress Madonna will have to do something about it."

  Turning on her heel she crossed over to the washbasin in the corner of the room. Running the tap, she wetted a flannel, rubbed soap all over it and headed purposefully back to him. He could see what was coming but was totally unable to do anything about it. His hands were still firmly clutched around his balls. Grabbing his hair Mistress Madonna tilted his face upwards and shoved the soap covered flannel straight into his mouth. He spluttered, trying to spit it out but she kept it stuffed tight between his lips.

  "H
orrid, foul-mouthed boys have to have their mouths washed out with soap."

  She left the flannel stuffed solidly into his mouth as she picked up the whip.

  "That's the only way they learn."

  Taking hold of his earlobe she propelled him across the room into the opposite corner to the washbasin. She pushed him right up to the wall, with his nose pressing against the panelling.

  "Stay there. And don't move until I tell you."

  He could not move. He could barely stand. And he most certainly could not answer back.

  Behind his back, she checked her appearance in the mirror. While The General was now decidedly the worse for wear, she still looked good. Good enough to have him panting for sex and firmly under her control the moment he had gained any semblance of his normal self. It was quite some time before he finally straightened up fully and his hands left his balls.

  "Take the flannel out of your mouth and turn around."

  He did.

  Legs wide in her most enticing stance, Mistress Madonna stood before him. An absolute vision of erotic dominance. Her face was stern and the light from the window threw a halo around the high fronted cap and the ebony hair that flowed beneath it. Her tits jutted in firm mounds over the top of her basque, and her long legs with their creamy black suspendered thighs shouted to his cock. It was upright in a flash.

  "You can't fuck me General. You've been a bad boy. But if you like, Mistress Madonna will watch you wank."

  She rolled one palm over her breast and flicked the whip in her other hand. Her hand then fondled her other breast before slipping under the waist of the leather knickers to rub up and down her sex. He lost all self-control. Mistress Madonna, a mere woman, was doing what no man in the Army had ever done. And that was to subdue his will to hers. He was under her power and there was nothing he could do about it. His weapon was up and ready in a flash. His palm closed over it and he began to masturbate. Shamelessly now. He did not care any more. She posed and flaunted her body, stimulating his senses and urging him on. His strokes grew more frantic as she turned around, bent over and touched the floor, giving him the rear view of a lifetime. She had an amazing bottom. A bottom any man would love to fuck. And he was no exception. His shaft grew even more rigid and in a welter of lightning strokes he brought himself to ejaculation, sending jet after jet of sperm arching towards her. When the power of his orgasm had faded, his face paled and his heart sank as the implications of what he had done sank in. Once again he would have to clean up the mess.

  She waited, fixing him with her most withering look.

  "Do you know what happens to filthy little boys who do that sort of thing?"

  "No, Mistress Madonna."

  "They go blind."

  "But you told me to do it."

  "No. I said you could do it if you wanted to."

  And that was a different thing entirely.

  But because she did not want him to go blind, she was going to have to punish him so that he would remember not to do such a disgusting thing again. She asked him if he was not tired of being beaten. He was. So she said that if he had been good and not naughty all the time then she would not have to thrash him. But he was. Always naughty that is; and so she had no alternative.

  Throughout all of his ordeal he had still been wearing the hunting jacket, but now she ordered him to take it off. And the vest that was underneath it. And so for the first time he was completely naked. Snapping a handcuff on to each wrist, with his arms outstretched she fastened them to the top rail of the crib. She kicked his feet apart and lodged the hobbyhorse between them to keep them spaced. His body was now leant at an angle of about forty degrees to the floor. His backside was fairly well striped already so she was going to concentrate on his back and the backs of his legs.

  The whip flicked by the side of his head and he licked his lips in nervous anticipation. Then whoosh. The first lash whipped down and cut a stinging line of fire across his shoulder blade. A grunt was his only reaction as he bit his lip, steeling himself against the pain. A second fell, close to the first. And then another. And another. Every one a biting cut that seared into his flesh. Now he knew how the natives had felt when they had suffered the floggings he had ordered for the most minor of offences. God, it hurt. And it went on. Lash after agonising lash. All down his back, missing his buttocks and starting again on the backs of his legs. Every now and then the tip of the whip curled around his thighs to slash at his penis, which although it had been flaccid when she commenced the whipping was now erect and rock solid. He was learning what Mistress Madonna already knew. And that was for men such as him, pain is the ultimate pleasure.

  She ceased the punishment and he lay sloped before her, his flesh trembling and rippling with the after-tremors of the beating. His cock stuck out rigidly before him, pulsing and throbbing as she pushed the haft of the whip between his legs and stroked it along the underside, from his balls to his bell-end. This time he did not ejaculate immediately, although he was very close to it.

  "Would you like me to do something about that, General?"

  "That's a bloody silly question."

  There he went again. Forgetting himself.

  "Oh dear General. You never learn, do you? Because you've been good and taken your punishment, Mistress Madonna was going to let you fuck her."

  Just the mention of a fuck and that was it. This time he did ejaculate. All over the crib and its mattress.

  "But not now."

  As if he did not know that.

  "And now look what you've done. You know I'll to have to punish you again for that, don't you?"

  He did. But he did not for a second envisage what the punishment would be.

  Mistress Madonna had hung the gun-belt over the arm of the high chair and now she went over and picked it up. Removing a cartridge she went back to The General and pushing his buttocks further apart, she lodged it in the pucker of his anus.

  "No! Damn you woman, no."

  She pushed, but his introitus would not let the cartridge pass. She pushed harder and the end of the cardboard tube penetrated half an inch or so into his anus.

  "Stop that. For God's sake, stop... Aaaargh."

  With a giant of a push she propelled the cartridge right up into his backside. He screamed absolute blue murder, abusing her in the most diabolical fashion.

  "Well General, if you're going to call me names like that, I may as well make sure that I deserve them."

  And to show him what she meant, she took another cartridge and shoved it up his bottom to join the first. She had actually removed the shot from the tubes, but The General was not to know that.

  "And I suggest that you be a good little General from now on. I mean, who knows what could happen if I was to hit the cartridge. Hit it hard I mean, like a firing pin."

  ***

  Down by the lakeside, close to the spot where Mistress Madonna and the other two Daughters of de Sade had recently entertained Julian, The Colonel was once again entertaining The General's wife. Several of the giant trees had circular slatted benches fixed around their trunks and she was stood on one of them, legs wide and with her back up against the trunk. The straps of her dress had been slipped down over her shoulders, exposing a pair of very tidy breasts. Not the biggest, but taut and firm, with distinct dark brown areolae and bullet nipples. Lower down, her dress had been pulled up and her knickers lay on the grass beside The Colonel's feet.

  The Colonel was considerably taller than her and so the bench was ideal, it put her vagina at just the right height for him to fuck it standing up. He started work on her nipples, tweaking and pulling each one with his thumbs and forefingers. It was not long before she began squirming under his touch, and removing his grip from one breast, he lowered his head and took her nipple into his mouth. Sucking on one breast and manipulating the nipple of the other, he sl
id his free hand over her curly haired mons and followed the slit of her labia. Her sex was soaking and his finger slid inside to rub over her erupting clitoris. The bud was hard under his finger and she pushed her sex against his hand as her arousal grew. Her labia widened allowing two fingers to probe deep inside. Her vulva twitched under his palm, her juices flowed in abundance and she was ready.

  "Now Colonel. Fuck me now."

  Always one to oblige a lady, The Colonel slid his straining weapon under her vulva until it reached the entrance to her vagina. Never ceasing to suck and tweak her breasts, he tipped the end of his prick upwards and lodged his glans at the entrance to Heaven. An upwards thrust from him, matched by a downward push from her saw it surge inside her grasping, lusting hole. Her vaginal muscles grabbed it by the throat and shovelled it up as far as it would go. She was hungry. Hungry for what The Colonel could give her better than anyone else.

  His backside began moving back and forth, gaining just a little more ground at each stroke until every push found his bell-end banging up against her womb. His pace increased as he stoked and reamed her mercilessly. She was in a frenzy as the piston strokes drove her to distraction, until wailing and yelling she came in a tumultuous orgasm. She clung on to his shoulders with both hands, jerking and shuddering as spasm followed spasm. He always made sure his companion had achieved satisfaction before he allowed himself to go for the big bang. And now he went for it. And she helped as much as she could, but the power of her orgasms had left her weak-kneed and most of the strength had drained from her body. It did not matter. The Colonel battered up against her vulva, jerking in his own ejaculation as more of his hot seed spurted into her hole. Thoroughly sated her head flopped on to his shoulder as he left his manhood to soak in the sea of their combined emissions.

  ***

  The General had never climbed the final rung on the ladder of promotion. But he had always expected to do so, and in that expectation he had equipped himself with the ultimate symbol of that position - a Field Marshal's baton. With it tucked under his arm, he had often strutted in front of a long mirror admiring his straight-backed military appearance. A bamboo cane, about two feet six inches long, sewn into a polished leather case and topped with a solid silver knob that was embossed with his Regimental Coat of Arms, the baton was an impressive piece of kit. It was the one part of his adult life that he had allowed to intrude into the nursery setting. And it was also very useful. Mistress Madonna's eyes had lit up at her first sight of it. And when she picked it up, weighed it in her hand for balance and tested it through the air, she knew that at last she had found what she had spent years searching for - the ultimate weapon of correction.