The Daughters of de Sade

by Falconer Bridges

  She was a furnace of lust and totally lost in his caresses. His was the penis from paradise and that was where he took her. Deeper and deeper, faster and faster he plunged into her yearning, clasping vagina until with howls of fulfilment she climaxed in a spectacular orgasm. The Colonel then allowed himself to let go, and although less noisily, orgasmed, spurting oceans of sperm up through his urethra and deep into her womb. She shuddered uncontrollably on the end of his weapon accompanied by hoots of approval and a round of applause from the watching whiskey drinkers.

  "'Ere mate. If I ever fancied a man I reckon it'd have to be you."

  And that was probably the biggest compliment The Colonel had ever received. Even if he did not know it, because Michaela never fancied men. But she did torture them. And she enjoyed it. Julian was going to provide great sport.

  Unsurprisingly Julian had maintained his erection, Mistress Madonna and The Colonel having provided great stimulus to his cock. Now it was the turn of Michaela and Frankie. They returned to the table.

  "Wotcha reckon we oughta use first?"

  "The sandpaper."

  "Right. The sandpaper it is."

  Michaela picked up a sheet of the coarse-grade sanding sheet and rolled it into a cylinder. Julian was horrified. He could not believe it. Nobody would do that. He could not have been more wrong, they most certainly would.

  She had rolled the sheet a little too tightly and at the first attempt it would not fit over Julian's bell-end. That was easily sorted. She allowed the sheet to loosen until its diameter was such that it slipped over his shaft, but with the rough sandy surface still rubbing against it.

  "I think you'll like this babe."

  Julian was beside himself with panic. Michaela grasped the cylinder and began wanking him with the sandpaper.

  His response was a decibel-laden wail of agony that echoed round the cellar.

  "See. I told you you'd like it."

  Like it? He wished he were dead. It was like nothing he had ever been through before. He made up his mind there and then never to spunk on Mistress Madonna again. But it was too late for any resolutions of that kind. She had told him he would be sorry. And he was. And after a minute of the biting sand grains rasping his cock, he was sorrier still. With Julian's wails ringing in her ears, Michaela released her grip and slid the sandpaper off.

  "Noisy geezer isn't he? Your turn now babe."

  Allowing Julian no respite Frankie leapt into action. It was time for the cheese-grater. She held it up in front of his face. Then slowly turned it around, showing him all the different grating surfaces. Examining it closely herself she came to a decision and showed him the surface she had selected. It was brutal. His heart practically stopped, he could hardly breathe and his plea for mercy came out as an incoherent whisper.

  "Skip the thanks. I could tell you thought the sandpaper was cool... But this is better."

  Then grabbing the stem of his shaft, she ran the cheese-grater over his bell-end. Back and forth, over the top and around the circumference. Again and again. And then she stopped.

  "I can't let you enjoy this for too long buddy boy, it gets a little bloody after a while."

  Julian dare not even try to look at his cock. His eyes were glazed and he could hardly see in any case. But although he could not see it, he could feel it. And it felt as if it had been firstly put through a mincing machine and then battered with a spiked mace. Jack Daniels and Dom Perignon disappeared down appreciative throats while he tried to pull himself together. Finally his eyes cleared and he hung in his chains watching them enjoy themselves.

  "Mistress Madonna told you, didn't she? Told you that you'd be a sorry little boy, but you didn't believe her did you?"

  As a matter of fact, he had, but he never dreamt his punishment would be anything like this. And it was not over.

  Michaela took the pliers from the table.

  "Do you know what they call me?"

  "Mick."

  "That's right. But what's me full moniker?"

  Julian felt sick. He wanted to vomit but there was nothing in his guts, he had been out all night with nothing to eat or drink.

  "Michaela."

  It was not the right answer and he knew it.

  "Come on. Stop messing me about. What's me name?"

  She was threatening. Heavy. He had no choice.

  "Mick... Mick the Tooth Puller."

  "Good lad. Got it in one."

  Then with the pliers grasped firmly in one hand she prized his now tightly shut jaw open with the other.

  "Now then. Which one shall we have first?"

  Having made her choice, she pushed the jaws of the pliers into his mouth and clamped them onto the chosen molar and tugged.

  Julian went out like a light. Behind his closed eyelids stars whirled and then cleared as he came to. He thought he could feel blood trickling down his chin and his eyes opened to see Michaela standing before him holding out a crimson stained white handkerchief. And in the middle of the bloody circle lay a tooth. His tooth. He went out again.

  When he regained consciousness, Mistress Madonna was wiping his chin with a tissue. A blood smeared tissue.

  "Mistress Madonna told you to be good. But you weren't. So now you have to suffer the consequences."

  His dazed brain tried to take in what she had said. What did she mean, suffer the consequences? It could not be possible for him to suffer any more than he already had. But apparently it was.

  Frankie asked The Colonel for a holdall she had given over to his custody. Unzipping it she pulled out a large glass jar with something in it and held it up for Julian's inspection.

  "Do you know what this is?"

  He had never been asked so many questions since he had been at school. But thanks to the time he had spent in the Biology lab there, he did know what it was. It was a specimen jar. At school they had contained dissected frogs and twenty-foot long tapeworms. That sort of thing. He could not make out what was in this one. Frankie brought it closer. Julian recognised the contents but his brain refused to accept what he saw. It couldn't be. But it was. It was a pickled penis, with ball-bag attached and tatters of flesh waving slowly in the formalin solution.

  "Groovy ain't it? But it's nothing on what you've got."

  She put the jar onto the table and pulled an empty one of the same type and size from the holdall.

  "Yours should fit in here snug as a bug in a rug."

  With nightmarish deliberation and with the fingers of one hand inside the rim of the jar, she picked up the Bowie knife with the other. Holding them both up in the air, with the jar underneath the knife, she looked directly at Julian's cock then made a swift cutting motion through the air. This time he went out and stayed out. For hours. So everything had worked out splendidly. Mistress Madonna and her friends finished off the drink and then took a still senseless Julian down from his chains. Michaela and Frankie said they had been only too happy to help out, and were even happier when she told them what their share of the pot would be. They bade their farewells, The Colonel fucked Mistress Madonna twice more and then she was left alone with her wayward slave.

  When Julian at last returned to the land of the living he was tucked up in his bed. He had a shredded penis that was giving him hell. But he still had it. And all his teeth. The tooth and the blood in the cellar were fake. But his terror had been as real as the pain that had been inflicted on him. And so all in all he had got what he wanted.

  And there was one final treat to come.

  Mistress Madonna stood by his bed, dressed to thrill. She looked magnificent. Black basque and stockings. Marvellous breasts and a curly forested sex that had no equal. Pulling back the covers she saw exactly what she expected... Julian's cock in throbbing erection. He still could not touch her she told him, but she would allow him to masturbat
e if he wanted. He wanted. He wanted with a desperation that totally obliterated the pain in his cock, and with his eyes fixed on her body he wanked himself time and again until he was exhausted.

  It was wonderful. She was wonderful. Everything was wonderful, even The Colonel. She had just given him the two most phenomenally satisfying days of his life - and maybe next time she really would call for The Daughters of de Sade as well as Michaela and Frankie.

  He could only hope.

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