A Gentleman's Property

by Toby Abbott

  "Pretty pussy," she said in her childish voice, staring up at this memorable cunt, now made all the more striking by its brilliant colour scheme. "Show more please."

  Saying which, Luki grabbed the squirming Mary's ankles, and forced them wide apart. The other twin had disappeared from view, but soon her gloved hand groped between the straddled legs and began to stroke Mary's blatant bush. Even through that ample cushion the fur spread wonderful sensations across the mount of Venus, and along all the valleys adjoining.

  "Now!" said Madame.

  Suki's bare left hand parted Mary's outer lips, and the furry fingers slid down to insinuate themselves between. As they dragged across the clit the sensation was so acute that Mary nearly broke free from Luki's grasp. Two fingers speared straight into Mary's sex, and twirled there in a way that had her mewling with delight. A third finger joined them, then a fourth, and meanwhile the thumb beat a tattoo on the stretched back entrance.

  When this wonder working glove was withdrawn from her Mary cried out in dismay. But she need not have worried. Suki had only been making a fist, which she now presented to the yearning cunt. At first it seemed that it could not possibly gain admittance, but as Suki rocked it back and forth the knuckles of the four fingers made a lodgement.

  Madame rose from her chair, and placing her hands on Mary's shoulders, pressed down with all her might, while Suki thrust upwards with equal ardour. Pain mingled briefly with delight until the struggling fist found the right angle and burst through with a sudden rush, right up to the wrist. An earthquake of pleasure sent Mary into orgasmic convulsions which the combined strength of Madame and the twins was barely enough to restrain.

  "Three! Well done, my darling! But this is only the start."

  Madame had to support the enervated Mary against her chest for some moments before she was able to resume the slightest responsibility for her posture or balance. When the slave finally regained some measure of self control Madame resumed her seat, and called out "Suki!"

  The diminutive Japanese girl peered from between Mary's straddled legs. Part of her face was hidden by her gloved right hand, buried to the wrist in cunt.

  "Suki, is that the back of your wrist facing me?"

  "Yes, Madame."

  "Silly girl, haven't I always told you to fuck a cunt with your palm facing forwards? Reverse it at once!"

  If Mary was still distracted from passing events by a pink cloud of sexual languor, the turning of Suki's furry fist through one hundred and eighty degrees within her sensitised sheath was more than enough to wake her up. By the time the wrist was correctly presented to Madame, Mary was panting heavily again, and her eyes were showing a strong tendency to roll out of sight.

  "Now, Blue,” said Madame, "I want you to dismantle that lovely fist of yours, and present the palm with fingers fully stretched. The belly not being transparent I won't be able to see your palm, of course, but I'm sure I can follow the process in some detail in Mary's face."

  She spoke from long experience. As Suki painstakingly wriggled her fingers free and thrust them one by one towards Mary's womb it felt as if some huge furry spider were making its nest within her. The sensation was so acute that a wave of nausea kept pleasure temporarily at bay.

  "Time for a walk," said the relentless mistress. "Knee pads for your sister, Luki, and shoes for Mary."

  The shoes produced were stilettos, and higher than any she had so far been made to wear. She could hardly have kept her balance without the anchor of Suki's deeply thrusting hand.

  "I want to see plenty of swing in those hips, Mary. Blue's supple wrist will help to impart the proper rotary effect. Once round the deck should give us an appetite."

  It was an alternately humiliating and exhilarating experience for Mary. The promenades were still crowded with strolling masters and slaves, and most stopped and stared as Madame's procession came into view. It was led by the naked Luki, who was slowly dragging a reversed Bath chair. In it, her face protected by the hood from the warm sun, reclined Madame Colet, still in her tennis outfit. But for once the elegant mistress was not the centre of attention.

  The chair had been reversed so that she could look back in comfort at the sight drawing all eyes. Ten feet behind her Mary, her legs splayed, was teetering uncertainly forward, her every motion controlled by the hand of Suki the puppeteer. It was now buried almost to the elbow. The tiny Japanese girl, crawling behind on well padded knees, had placed her left palm firmly on Mary's pubic mount. At each step she manipulated her two hands, one within and one without, to produce an exaggerated swing in Mary's hips. With her wrists still fastened behind her neck Mary could only obey. This enforced caricature of a stripper was shaming, but the physical results of so much bumping and grinding soon took Mary into regions far beyond shame. Her body had flushed a deep red more quickly than the sun could possibly account for, and her nipples, to the amazement of all beholders, had grown even larger than normal.

  "Stop!" ordered Madame. "I see we have several connoisseurs of the dance in attendance. Would you like Mary to entertain you, gentlemen? Very well. A few high kicks if you please. You were in the chorus once."

  Mary did her best to obey, despite the many handicaps, but the jerking of her right leg above waist height produced such a flurry of compensatory movements in Suki's buried hand and arm that the dance never got any further. For some seconds Mary remained as if frozen, her right toe pointing to the sky, and her mouth sagging open. Then her foot fell nervelessly to the deck and Mary jerked and screamed her way to a spectacular orgasm that very nearly broke Suki's wrist.

  Luckily the cheering onlookers had crowded around to enjoy every detail of this exciting scene, and were ready to catch Mary when she collapsed in a dead faint at the conclusion of her performance. She had never enthused an audience so much on the legitimate stage.

  "Four and out,” breathed Madame, who herself seemed somewhat flushed.

  Mary awoke cradled in the arms of Madame Colet. The bed was huge, and it stood in a cabin very different from the one she had occupied so uncomfortably on the previous night. This was the creation of an imaginative and immensely wealthy hedonist.

  Wherever one looked the materials and implements of pleasure were displayed, and arranged in a way that made them available with the least possible expenditure of thought or effort. Temperature, light, perfume, were controlled by a panel at Madame's elbow. Other switches summoned up every kind of recorded music, and films from high art to low pornography. Dozens of sex aids were arrayed in a cabinet concealed in the canopy of the bed, which could be lowered at the touch of a button. Food and drink could be ordered by telephone from the private galley below, and was instantly despatched via the dumb waiter in the wall behind the bed. On another extension was the ship's librarian, ready to deliver any of the treasures from a collection of the world’s finest erotica. A call to the slaves’ quarters immediately summoned whichever beauty was desired, in the costume or with the equipment that Madame might happen to fancy.

  The mistress was in an excellent humour, and proudly demonstrated these gadgets for Mary's amusement. While they demolished the delicious breakfast delivered swiftly and silently from below Mary stammered out her amazement and admiration at the luxury of her surroundings.

  "This is only my second best bed," Madame said casually, while she sipped her fourth or fifth glass of champagne. "I spend little time with the Club now." She took another mouthful, and then transferred most of the precious liquid to Mary in a long and ardent kiss. "I have taken a great fancy to you, Mary," she whispered, when she eventually came up for air, "so there is no reason why I shouldn't confide a secret to you. It is a long time now that I have been trying to reform the Millionaires’ Club from within by having more women elected to full membership. But now I realise that prejudice is too deeply ingrained, so for months I have been spending most of my time in Paris and the South S
eas with the Sisters of Sappho."

  "Who are they, Madame?"

  "The Sisters have dedicated themselves to the rescue of young women under the delusive spell of penis worship, and their re-education (forcible if necessary, as it usually is) in a private world free from the pollution of masculinity."

  "I don't quite..."

  "We are very like the Millionaires’ Club, only we allow no men, and we attract our slaves by trickery or downright theft more often than bribery."

  "Why is that, Madame?"

  "Because, you silly goose, few of our members are so rich as I am. The Baroness Walter, our Founding Mother, is the only other millionairess in our ranks."

  "The one whose portrait...?"

  "The same."

  "But she must be..."

  "Over seventy, but still a wondrously vigorous thruster of a dildo." Madame broke off to pour herself another glass, and then continued. "In fact the Baroness has such an insatiable appetite for young women to initiate into the mysteries of Sappho that she has lately devised a plan for high-jacking this ship, and taking over the Club's stock of floating slaves."

  "But what would happen to the masters, Madame?" asked Mary, suddenly alarmed for the safety of the handsome Tommy Khan.

  "Davy Jones's rocker ... locker!" said Madame thickly. "I have opposed the Baroness's plan - too dangerous - but now that I have found you, my darling, I have changed my mind. How could I ever bear to part with you?"

  "But Madame, my contract!"

  "Don't worry about your silly thousands. I can give you as much or more. The other slaves will have to do without though. A lady must live, after all, and the world's appetite for lingerie is not inexhaustible. Well, are you excited by my news, cherie?"

  "I'm frightened. Suppose something goes wrong."

  "All great attempts..."

  Madame was cut short by the discreet purring of her telephone. She listened for some time, with only a sprinkling of 'yeses' and 'I sees', and by the time she replaced the receiver seemed to have sobered up considerably. It was a sombre and anxious Madame who resumed the conversation.

  "If you have any doubts about the wisdom of the Baroness's takeover plans, Mary, I fear you are about to lose them with brutal swiftness. That was Sir Roger announcing that your sponsor, Mr.Morimoto, has just come aboard, and is asking for you. I had prayed that I could rescue you before the monster appeared. Now I must try to speed things up before you are too badly damaged."

  "Too badly damaged! What do you mean?"

  "It would be needlessly cruel to explain. Besides, there is no time. You are wanted in his cabin immediately. But promise me, Mary, now promise faithfully, that you will do everything the beast tells you to, without a moment's hesitation. If you will do that it may give me time to save you. I only need until Tuesday night. Keep yourself safe until then. Will you promise?"

  "Yes, Madame,” said Mary, in a very small and frightened voice.

  A Japanese Gentleman

  Sir Roger collected Mary, removed her collar and straps, and hurried her to a cabin marked ‘wardrobe’. It was quite large but cluttered with dozens of racks and chests of drawers ranged around the walls. At one end an elderly man was busy outfitting another slave.

  “I won’t keep you long, Sir Roger,” he called over his shoulder. “Pray make yourself comfortable - and your charming companion uncomfortable, if you wish.”

  “As quick as you can, please, Aubrey,” said Sir Roger, laughing only perfunctorily at what was evidently a routine joke. “This is Mr Morimoto’s order.”

  “One thing at a time. This young lady is ordered for the Sultan, and you know how particular he is. His dancing partners must be the last word in elegance, but he hates to see a woman eat or to hear her talk.”

  “Surely a simple gag would fit the bill?”

  “No, no, Sir Roger, not nearly stylish enough. His Highness likes his women to look as much as possible like friends he has taken out for the evening. His dates, he calls them.”

  “You’re sure it isn’t his sultanas?”

  “O, very good, Sir Roger, very good. I must remember to pass that on to His Highness. He will be most amused. But have you met this charming young lady, the ‘Sultana’ of this evening? She is a newcomer to the club”

  Sir Roger had all along been paying more attention to the slave than to Aubrey. She was a tall, slim brunette, seemingly aged about twenty-six or twenty-seven, and naked except for a suspender belt, stockings, and high heeled shoes, all black. She was held upright and prevented from wandering about by a collar mounted on the end of a long steel pole emerging horizontally from the back wall of the cabin.

  “This soigné creature is Madamoiselle Monique Pelletier, who used to figure prominently in the night life of Paris until an unfortunate brush with the law led her to seek the protection of Maitre Defarge. His protection is infallible, as we know, but it comes at a heavy price, too heavy for a young lady on the make to pay - except in kind. A rest cure with us will heal her character, clear her debts, and enable her to resume her social career under much better auspices. She was always a gold digger, after all, and where could she hope to meet more millionaires than on the good ship Venus?”

  Sir Roger stepped briskly towards the Frenchwoman, and Mary thought for a moment that he was about to respond to this introduction by shaking her hand. What he did instead was heft her firm, pear-shaped breasts and stroke her exceptionally dark, almost black, nipples. She must have been well-trained during her short life as a slave, for she made no attempt to fend off Sir Roger, but stood demurely with lowered eyes while the old gentleman caressed her.

  “Good morning, madamoiselle,” he said formally, with a slight bow and a parting pinch of Monique’s left nipple.

  “As I can see you are in a hurry,” said the old wardrobe master, “may I ask you to help me to fit my new creation? I want His Highness to be pleased, so I have left myself time to make any necessary alterations before this evening. I call it” - and here he fetched a wisp of fine black material from one of his racks - “The Insecurity Dress, or The Silent Woman.”

  Aubrey had Sir Roger hold the dress while he delved in a drawer labelled ‘accessories’. What he produced was a piece of white marble, as large as a British golf ball, from the middle of which six inches of fine gold chain protruded.

  “Just pop this in your mouth, dear,” he said to Monique, who obeyed instantly. She was evidently surprised by the weight of the ball, which forced down her tongue, and obliged her to clamp her lips together to retain her grip on the stone. Aubrey had her open them again carefully to check that the chain had not snagged on her teeth. Satisfied that it was running freely, he let the loose end drape across her chin to her sternum. It was almost invisible against her golden skin.

  She was now instructed to step into the black dress, which Aubrey and Sir Roger held carefully open for her. It was three-quarter length, and evidently cut by a masterly hand. The skirt was flared, but fairly snug on the hips and at the waist. Above the waist it had no back at all, nor were there any shoulder straps. The front was beautifully designed to enfold her breasts and present their shapes individually through the flimsy material. Aubrey was meticulous in prodding and squeezing those delicious mounds to achieve the perfect fit. Above the breasts the dress gathered almost to a point, ending in a gold ring. Aubrey pulled the ring up and attached it to the chain dangling from Monique’s mouth. It was immediately evident that it was too long, as the front of the dress sagged, and the perfect breasts lost definition amid folds of redundant material. So a pair of pliers was produced from the draw labelled ‘tools’, and the chain was shortened by degrees until the wardrobe master was happy with the result. Now, so long as Monique held her chin tilted slightly upwards, giving her an air of inimitable hauteur, the dress was a miracle of grace and style.

  As a final touch Au
brey attached decorative gold bands around Monique’s arms, just above the elbows, and linked them with a fine chain across the small of her back. Thus restricted, she could hold her arms straight down her sides, or touch her fingertips together across her belly, but could not get her hands anywhere near her mouth. Much the most comfortable, and elegant, position she could adopt was to fold her hands together across her buttocks.

  Aubrey released Monique from the wall collar and had her model the dress for the benefit of Sir Roger and Mary, striding up and down the cabin, twirling and dancing.

  “Congratulations, old man,” said Sir Roger, genuinely impressed. “The Sultan will be delighted, I’m sure. ‘The Silent Woman’ is certainly apt, but I am not sure I fully understand ‘The Insecurity Dress’.”

  “That is the point I wish particularly to check,” said Aubrey. “The theory is perfect, but how often perfect theory fails in practice. So we will test. Stand here, madamoiselle, underneath this spotlight, with your legs almost together, toes turned out, and when I say ‘now’ spit out the stone while remaining perfectly still. Now!”

  It was the quickest striptease in history. One second an exquisitely dressed young socialite stood before them, her chin up, her arms folded negligently behind her back. The next they were looking at a naked slave, gaping down dumbfoundedly at her quivering breasts. The marble ball had popped from her mouth and plummeted to the floor, taking the dress with it faster than eye could follow. And there it was, an amazingly small wisp of material circling her ankles.

  “Bravo!” cried Sir Roger. “This young lady will certainly need her wits about her this evening if she is to avoid disgracing herself.”

  Satisfied that The Insecurity Dress would be a success Aubrey set about removing Monique’s remaining garments and accessories, and securing the slave herself until required. It was a slow process, and Sir Roger began to tap his foot impatiently. Eventually the old man, grinning horribly, hobbled over and began to take an embarrassingly detailed inventory of Mary’s body with a ragged tape measure.