by Toby Abbott
It was in the nick of time, for his lordship had barely strength to call out a triumphant "blood, by Jove" before the eruption of his orgasm deprived him, for the time being, of interest in anything else. Sir Roger bent forward judiciously, and gave his verdict:
"Blood it is! We have a winner."
Reggie had been royally satisfied, but Denise had not. Now she shimmied urgently against the young aristocrat's chest, but could do nothing to prevent the rapid deflation of his buffeted member. Her restraints made it awkward, but the eager French girl tried to raise herself and rub her throbbing clit against the bottom button of Reggie's waistcoat. Sir Roger would have none of this. He directed some of the spare contestants to remove her, and to prevent her from satisfying her aroused desires.
"Perhaps your reward will bring relief," was his parting shot to her.
Meanwhile the Maiden Staking had continued, but as Peggy's obduracy was unabated the sporting interest was almost at an end. Her angry whipper and sucker hurled abuse, but to no avail: she could not be forced any closer to Tommy. Susan continued to be jerked back and forth with as little co-operation or opposition as a shuttle - "she ought to have been called Jenny" was Madame's comment - and before long her battered hymen gave way. The first impetus only advanced her an inch or two down Mark's cock. She froze there in an anguished trance, and the whipper had to force her to complete penetration with a long series of blows. Susan contributed as little to the process as does a piece of wood being driven onto a peg with a mallet.
The inch by inch engulfment of his cock by a tight virgin sheath was enough to provoke the young American's climax. What was more surprising, at the last gasp the English beauty also proved she was human. Her orgasm was not announced with the flamboyant fanfare of Mary Bowdler's. In place of screams she gave forth only a few muted squeaks. There was no flailing of the limbs, only a delicate shiver running from the toes to the hair. The event might have passed unnoticed beside the more vulgar display of Mark Gertler but for the deep flush that spread across her body, turning the white to red.
Sir Roger, bending close to gather the proof of defloration, was the only one in a position to fully enjoy this modest crise.
"Blood!" he said. "This team is second. Miss Metcalfe has hidden talents, Madame and gentlemen, which we will have to explore in laboratory conditions. Her climax is a delightful miniature, wasted on this large stage. She is a chamber performer."
Peggy's whipper was still laying on, but with flagging vigour. Sir Roger waited until a fleck of crimson appeared on the martyred Irish bottom before calling a halt.
"Blood," he cried, "but in the wrong place. Enough! Well, Miss Ponsonby, since you have distained this beautiful brown penis, which I am given to understand has graced the private parts of royalty, we will have to see what real mahogany can do. Prepare her!"
Peggy was unfastened, and dismounted from the furious, and furiously erect, Tommy Khan. Mary had never imagined a cock so large and rigid. Fearing an explosion, Sir Roger ordered the sucker round from the back of the Pakistani's chair, and directed her to complete the job she had begun, but without opening her mouth wider than was necessary to protrude her tongue. A couple of licks were all it took. Tommy let out a great war cry, and the red faced sucker was instantly transformed into a white faced clown.
The tongue of mahogany extending the seat of Tommy Khan's chair, on the lower part of which tongue Peggy had lately been so uncomfortably seated, narrowed as it rose. It ended, some three feet from the ground, in a highly realistic life sized representation of the erect male member.
Sir Roger called for some volunteers from the audience, and with their help lifted the struggling Peggy until she was suspended face upwards three feet from the deck, and with her thighs widely spread. In this undignified position she was paraded back and forth so that everyone could take a last look at her virgin intimacies. There was wild applause.
A lead weight, heavier than a girl, was hoisted onto the seat to hold it steady. Peggy was then wheeled round, and presented to the wooden cock. Its head was gently inserted between her labia, while her ankles were crossed over the lower part of the wooden tongue, and lashed there. A string leading round the back of the chair from one big toe to the other kept her legs straight. A chain linking her wrist cuffs was similarly looped, so that it was impossible for her to fall backwards. The tension of this chain was so adjusted that when the volunteers ceased to support her body Miss Ponsonby remained in a nearly horizontal position. Her head was just slightly higher than her feet, so that she seemed like a living continuation of the tongue of mahogany.
Her fusion with it was not yet complete, however. Sir Roger produced a number of small pieces of wood, each of which had a dowel on one side and a corresponding hole on the other. He demonstrated how they could be fitted together to form a single block. He explained for the benefit of newcomers that there was a dowel of identical size protruding from the back of the chair, almost on a level with the string linking Peggy' big toes. Sir Roger held up one of the small pieces of wood before the eyes of the loudly complaining Peggy, and said:
"Time for your ballet class, my dear!"
With that he vanished behind the chair, and squeezing the piece of wood beneath the string, engaged the dowel in its hole. Pressure was immediately exerted on Peggy's toes, forcing her to point them. Sir Roger inserted another piece of wood and fixed it to the first. Peggy's body was dragged an inch further down the pole, and the mahogany cock entered her cunt and nudged the maidenhead. To keep it at bay Peggy had to fully extend her toes, really just like a ballerina. The insertion of the third piece of wood beneath the string brought the head of the cock tightly against her maiden barricade, and there was nothing more her tortured body could do to repel the monster.
"This one should do it," said Sir Roger, poking out his head to admire the taut muscles of the redhead's lovely legs. "Will you adjudicate, Madame?"
The lesbian was happy to assist. She rose with indecent haste, and ran tickling fingers up Peggy's thighs while all waited eagerly for Sir Roger to apply the coup de grace. It was hard to force the fourth piece of wood beneath the string, but the mere attempt was enough. The mahogany ravisher burst suddenly through Peggy's defences. The Irish girl howled. Madame bent closer and was rewarded with the sight of a copious flow of blood which soiled the red pubic curls, and stained the artificial cock a deeper red.
"Blood!" she cried triumphantly.
But Sir Roger was not finished. Now that the obstruction was removed he was able to fix the fourth piece of wood in position without difficulty. He proceeded to add more, forcing Peggy's toes further and further down the tongue of wood until the eight inches of cock were rammed fully home. Miss Ponsonby's screams had subsided to sobs, but she began to complain loudly again when Sir Roger reminded her of her fate.
"Now, my dear, you may enjoy the remainder of the sports from this grandstand seat, and then it will be time to decide your punishment for finishing last in the race. Your whipper and sucker will share it, of course. I am sure they will not forget what they owe you for that."
The Irish aristocrat's lamentations were so loud that Sir Roger was forced to gag her before he could make himself heard again. When quiet was restored he ordered his slaves to remove Peggy and her throne to the side of the deck. They crowded around the chair and after some struggling managed to lift it bodily. As they staggered to the rail Miss Ponsonby was bounced around on the mahogany ravisher in a way that would normally have produced the noisiest of complaints. Now only a faint mewling noise was heard from behind the gag.
The Pogo Stick Handicap
With the deck clear Sir Roger was able to announce the second item on the programme, the Pogo Stick Handicap. It had clearly been well rehearsed, for as soon as Sir Roger clapped his hands twelve slaves rolled forward a mat that covered most of the open deck, and placed flags, held upright by heavy bases, t
wo yards in from each of its corners. Another clap produced the five contestants, each carrying one of the uncommon pogo sticks used in this event. They had the spring bottoms and foot rests of the conventional design, but half way up each a secondary stem emerged, curved six inches away from the main stick, and then ran up parallel with it to end in a dildo with a padded flange around its base.
Madame explained to Mary that each stick had been custom built for its rider, so that when she stood on the foot rests with straight legs, and her belly pressed against the handlebars at the top, the business end of the dildo would be just inside her. The length and thickness of the prong was also nicely gauged for the inner measurements of the woman so as to allow her to bend her knees to the utmost limit of safety when bouncing the pogo stick.
"The surface of each dildo," Madame continued unctuously, "is covered by thousands of little pinheads of soft rubber which flow back and forth in the most delicious way when brought into contact with the flesh. You must try it, my darling. But not now, because learning to ride one of these sticks is far from easy. The five you see have been working at it for weeks. Of course they practise with a little pad on a spring replacing the dildo, which is only used in race conditions."
One of the five contestants was Grace Connolly, the American showgirl and would-be film star. Madame drew Mary's attention to another, an imperious black haired woman of about thirty with a voluptuous figure and magnificent breasts.
"That is Signora Tangelli. She is unique among our slaves in being the wife of one of the members."
"The wife!"
"Yes. That is Signor Tangelli, at the far end of the front row."
Mary's cautious glance showed her a fat, bald old man, with his greasy face lit up by a grin of quite devilish delight.
"Angelo is one of God's bankers, and over the years he seems to have salted away a fair proportion of the divine money that passes through his hands. Wealth is his only attraction, but what an attraction! He married the daughter of an impoverished duke. She was willing to put up with him because she had a burning desire to re-conquer her hereditary place at the head of society. But, alas, after five years, during which the Tangellis had indeed become leaders of fashion, burning desires of a different kind got the better of poor Lucia."
"What happened, Madame?"
"Angelo and his private detective caught her in flagrante with the butler..."
"O!"
"...and the chauffeur. In fact they were double fucking her, front and back, and were so absorbed in the pursuit that the detective was able to obtain some highly graphic photographs of the scene. I have been privileged to see them."
"How dreadful!"
"Yes. Angelo, although he is sixty and ugly as the devil, believed almost to the last that his young wife was madly in love with him. Imagine the shock of his discovery! At first he was adamant for a divorce, but Lucia pleaded and grovelled with such persistence that eventually he agreed to forgive her - after she had served a year's penance with the club. He makes sure she gets all the toughest and most humiliating assignments, and never tires of watching her in action."
"But what can their life together be like when the year is up, Madame?"
"Not much better for her, I imagine, as he will still hold the photographs to terrorise her."
While Madame was talking the five contestants had been lining up at the starting gate. Each had one foot on the ground and one on the rest, and the dildos had been wedged two or three inches inside their cunts. Sir Roger explained that the course lay round the outside of the flags, and that the winner would be the last still jumping, subject to the handicap. The slim and super fit Grace Connolly was scratch. Two other young slaves received thirty seconds, a delicate blonde one minute, and the mature and buxom Signora Tangelli ninety seconds. As before, the winner was to receive a reward, the others punishments of graduated severity.
"I know which I should bet on, Madame," said Mary, for she considered her glimpse of Grace tap dancing on a dildo stand as practically a tip from the horse's mouth.
"Save your thousands," replied Madame. "Pogo sticking is as uncertain as a steeplechase. The problem of basic balance these five have largely overcome during their hours of practise, but whether any can maintain equilibrium in the throes of orgasm is a point on which the form book is entirely silent."
Sir Roger produced a flag to start the race in traditional fashion. As soon as he lowered it Grace Connolly bounded away with confident grace, followed shortly after by the taller blonde and the young brunette, then by the small and fragile blonde. After ninety seconds Sir Roger lowered his flag again and Signora Tangelli shoved off with her grounded foot. The raising of it onto the rest nearly expelled the dildo, but as she pressed down to achieve her first hop her knees bent sharply and the prong was thrust fully home with considerable force. The padded flange thudded against her clitoral hood, and she hopped uncertainly towards the first flag.
The rapid in and out of the dildos with their stimulating surface of rubber nodules was clearly having an effect on all of the women, but the most obviously disturbed was Signora Tangelli.
"I'm not surprised," whispered Madame. "In the three months he's had her enslaved her pig of a husband has allowed poor Lucia about one orgasm a fortnight, and she is naturally a woman of most passionate temperament, requiring frequent satisfaction. Which explains her resort to the domestic staff, of course."
The four other contestants had made straight for the first flag, but after a couple of bounds Signora Tangelli had clearly lost her sense of direction and was bouncing up and down on the spot with a far away look in her eyes. From her plump throat issued a series of rather pretty cooing noises. Sir Roger managed to penetrate to her mind by announcing in a loud voice that failure to make forward progress could lead to disqualification, and that the punishment of the woman finishing last would be decided by Signor Tangelli. This was enough to wake Lucia from her blissful trance and to set her unsteadily hopping in the wake of the other four.
There was an accident at the first corner during the second circuit. In crowding round the flag while overtaking Grace Connolly's knee had come into contact with the backside of the tall young blonde. Grace managed to steady herself with a couple of convulsive sideways leaps, but the blonde tumbled helplessly to the mat, and lay there winded until removed by two of the attendant slaves. Disgruntled punters cried foul, but Sir Roger declared the clash an accident, and waved Grace on.
The field was soon reduced to three when a sturdy young brunette, who had been hopping confidently until then, was suddenly and spectacularly overcome by a monstrous orgasm while apparently making perfectly serene progress. The crisis seemed to break upon her in mid leap, for she took off calmly, but landed with all co-ordination gone. Her rubbery legs could exert no consistent pressure on the foot rests, and as a result the stick lurched sideways and after a couple of stuttering hops pitched the young woman thuddingly to the mat. Despite this heavy fall she continued to grip the stick tightly with her knees, and flailing about like a salmon on a river bank, wanked herself frantically upon the dildo. When her lust was finally slaked she lay on her side, panting feebly, until carried from the course.
Signora Tangelli was the next to go. As before, she lost momentum and began to bounce up and down on the spot, while uttering a string of soft Italian exclamations.
"Sounds like opera, doesn't it," said Madame, "but if I translated it for you, Mary, I'm afraid your face would catch fire."
Sir Roger tried to frighten Lucia with another warning about her husband's wrath, but she was too far gone to hear him. Instead she put her right foot to the ground, disqualifying herself, and began to pump vigorously up and down on the prong. She came almost immediately, and Madame was immensely tickled when she called out the names Carlo and Alberto at the peak of her ecstasy.
"The servants!" she giggled. "Now she really
will catch it."
What might be called the refusal of Signora Tangelli left only Grace Connolly and the delicate blonde still racing. The blonde was a Swede named Anna Lustrum, aged about twenty. She had been lapped twice by the athletic American, who after her accident had raced confidently ahead. Anna was proceeding cautiously with slow, gentle hops. Very early in the race it had been noticed that the unusually pale skin of her neck and chest had flushed deeply. This red stain had now covered practically the whole of her body, and her strained face was almost purple. Her eyes seemed unfocused, and she was breathing through her gaping mouth in laboured gulps. Periodically she was seen to press her legs and belly even more tightly against the stick, and to grip the handlebars convulsively.
"I don't think she can last much longer, Madame," Mary ventured to remark, but it was Grace, after all, who had reached the end of her tether.
By gentle gradations her grunts of effort transposed into squeals of ecstasy. It was an effect of which Beethoven might have been proud. She still seemed to be bounding along confidently enough, but on passing one flag she failed to turn, and careered wildly towards the rail. She might have bounced clean off the deck if Tommy Khan, who was lounging there, had not intervened. He clutched Grace to his chest with his right hand and steadied the stick, on which she was still impaled, with his left, while the showgirl twitched her way to fulfilment. Mary felt unexpectedly jealous of her.
"Disqualified for leaving the course," said Sir Roger. "Congratulations, Miss Lustrum, you are the winner!...Miss Lustrum, you may stop now!"
But the Swede continued stolidly on her way, quite oblivious to Sir Roger and all the world besides, and it soon became clear that she was in an orgasmic trance. While her body continued mechanically circling the deck, her mind was the prisoner of erotic cloud cuckoo land. She had to be prised from her pogo stick, and as she was carried away yet another shallow spasm of mindless pleasure was seen to ripple across her.
