by Emily Tilton
“I incite,” Fredricks said from behind Kevin. “Jessica, my dear, turn around and bend over. Present your arse and your cunt to Cynthia’s mouth.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Jenny looked at Barbara, who stood about thirty feet away from her, with three spaces dividing them, the only pieces left on the board now that Jessica and Cynthia had been led away to the pavilion.
“You’ve played before, right?” she called softly to the other girl as the voices of the men from the other side of the tent came wafting indistinctly through the warm night air.
Suddenly a girl cried out once, again, and then a third time. Jenny’s pussy clenched at the sound, and she felt her nipples tingle. Her whole face blazed with the shame of that arousal at another girl’s punishment. She could hardly bear to look at Barbara, but she couldn’t help wondering if the other girl’s face showed the same pink cheeks and furrowed brow Jenny felt on her own, giving away her wicked, immodest cravings.
“That’s right,” Barbara said, in a voice just loud enough for Jenny to hear. Jenny did manage to meet the other girl’s eyes, for a moment, then. The look on Barbara’s face seemed guarded, but welcoming, too—as if she felt the same embarrassment, but also the same need for reassurance that another girl underwent such conflict when she heard the sounds of a whipping.
Jenny hesitated a moment longer, and then she asked the questions that would not leave her mind, the more persistent and the more haunting in their vagueness.
“What’s happening? What does it mean?”
She looked away again, toward the pavilion, not so much to indicate to Barbara with her glance that Jenny meant, What’s happening in the pavilion?, for of course the other girl must understand that, as because the sounds of punishment coming from there drew her eyes with irresistible force. She felt her hand move restlessly on her right thigh, and Henry’s stern voice, warning his young wife of the consequences of self-pleasure, came into her mind.
“Do you want to see?” Barbara asked, from much closer behind Jenny’s back than she had thought the girl in the red collar stood. Jenny whirled, eyes wide, suddenly sure that the housekeeper would whip both of them for Barbara’s misdemeanor in leaving her own square to stand next to Jenny.
She found Barbara’s eyes as conflicted as her own soul felt, though Jenny had expected to see only mischief there—the same kind of mischief Barbara had demonstrated earlier with Jessica Logan. Jessica... who now cried out herself, but not with the agony of sound punishment on her bare bottom—Jenny felt absolutely sure it must be Jessica, because certainly it had been Cynthia who had cried out before, and this new voice of helpless pleasure sounded at a different pitch, with a different cadence.
At the sound Barbara’s brow creased and her eyes went rounder. It seemed to Jenny a look of needy sympathy so honest that she couldn’t help whispering, “Yes.”
Barbara ran, then, without another moment’s delay, across the fifty feet through the pools of flickering light cast by the eight torches. She moved like an elf, or a nymph, naked on the grass so that Jenny felt her wicked pussy clench again just at the sight of the other girl’s naked bottom moving tautly as she ran, and she heard herself let out a shameful, tiny whimper.
Before Jenny could even think about the punishment that might result, Barbara had reached the blank wall of the tent, and had bent a little to look at something on it, something she must have known where to find... a peephole? In almost the same instant, Barbara had turned and beckoned, and Jenny had felt herself starting to run, wondering if she too looked like a naked nymph on the grass.
She had to hold the blue medallion so it wouldn’t bounce painfully against her little breasts, but she reached the spot in a few seconds. Jenny opened her mouth so that she could breathe silently, and she bent toward the place where, yes, Barbara had found a slit between two panels of the heavy white fabric.
“Jessica looked through here, when I played before,” Barbara whispered.
Jenny turned troubled eyes on the other girl. “Shh,” she didn’t even say, but only formed the rictus-lipped sound of, but Barbara’s eyes only responded with the mischief Jenny had expected previously—now that the young wife had joined in the fun, it appeared, she would have no choice but to share the consequences.
Barbara’s blue eyes gestured toward the peephole, and her index finger pointed. The sounds of forced pleasure had grown more intense, and a second female voice had joined the first: both Jessica and Cynthia were getting it now, in some terribly naughty way. Jenny couldn’t help it, she bent to look through the slit, and she saw that the players and the pieces and even the gamemaster on the other side were so engrossed in the contest that she and Barbara could certainly whisper safely to one another.
She also saw that they would probably be able to run back to their squares before Monsieur Herrier came back around: the scene of the contest represented the sort of involved act that would take a few moments to unwind, once it had come to its conclusion.
Neither of those reassuring ideas, however, could keep her from emitting a little whine as her knees trembled and her pussy clenched at what a contest of mastery in this game entailed.
Mr. Fredricks was fucking Cynthia from behind. He had tugged aside her lacy green panties so his huge cock could plunge inside her bare little pussy, and Jenny could see its rampant shaft glistening with wetness as it surged in and out of another man’s wife. One of his hands held the leash that led to the green collar around the neck of the piece he possessed with his hardness and the other was in her long blonde hair.
With that hand he pushed Cynthia’s face into Jessica’s bottom. The girl in the red collar had been made to bend over and take hold of her spread ankles, so as to furnish her pussy and bottom-hole for the attentions of another young woman. That must have been the cause of the cries of forced pleasure, as Jessica’s head reared and fell in a rhythm that must match Cynthia’s frantic licking, with each movement emitting another needy whimper.
“Oh, no,” Jenny heard herself whisper, though she didn’t think she had meant to say anything at all. “Oh, no. They... I... can’t.”
“I know,” Barbara responded, as if it didn’t seem at all strange to her that Jenny should think of the contest as if she herself were taking part, rather than looking through a slit in a tent at a sight too shameful to bear and too shameful to turn away from.
She realized that Henry sat just a little to the right of the peephole, then: she could see his arm, in the blue robe that matched her collar and her medallion. She wanted desperately to see his face, to ask him what the medallion meant, to find in his eyes the answer to the terribly urgent question that had replaced What’s happening?
Will you make me do that?
Jenny swallowed hard and glanced at Barbara, whose own eyes remained fixed on the lewd spectacle visible through the slit, in the bright light from the four torches placed around the contest area. She wanted to ask the other girl, who seemed more experienced—who had let her mouth be pushed down by a wife over her husband’s hard penis—whether there was something wrong with Jenny, because Jenny didn’t know whether she wanted the answer to the question Will you make me do that? to be No or Yes.
Mr. Fredricks drove his hardness into Cynthia’s pussy roughly and pushed her face firmly into Jessica’s bottom. Cynthia gave a muffled sob as she pleasured the girl who bent in front of her, and Jessica cried out in pleasure.
Monsieur Herrier spoke, and his voice had the tone of an explanation: he must be helping the French guest—Barbara’s ex-boyfriend, did Jenny remember that right?—and Henry understand the contest.
“Mr. Logan can take his next two turns whenever he wants, now. Timing can be quite important, and sometimes for the sake of mastering both pieces better a player will let his opponent fuck for a while before he decides how to proceed.”
Jenny felt so faint, now, at the way Jessica’s hips moved with the immodest, wicked pleasure the other girl was made to give her pussy and bottom
, that she had to look away. She found Barbara’s eyes had turned, too, and regarded her with what seemed like sympathy.
“What does it mean?” Jenny whispered. It didn’t seem to her the right question, but by focusing on it, she seemed able to push away, Will my husband make me do what Cynthia is doing?
“Monsieur Herrier is going to declare one of them the winner,” Barbara whispered back. “And then I think the winner gets both girls, sometimes? But other times the player and the girl are both eliminated. I don’t really understand.”
Mr. Logan’s voice called their attention back to the peephole.
“I bind,” he said. Jenny felt her brows knit in puzzlement as she saw that the American had picked up another of the wooden frames that it seemed Monsieur Herrier had built by the dozen, so convenient were they for securing young women for discipline and sex. He moved it easily from its position to one side of the contest area so that it stood facing the opposite direction to the one over which Cynthia was having her shameful fucking.
“I believe Mr. Logan will bind his piece to that block,” explained Monsieur Herrier. “That will open several interesting possibilities for his next turn, since Mrs. Logan’s cunt will be positioned alongside Cynthia’s mouth. As I’m sure you both can imagine, it makes for a powerful demonstration of a player’s mastery.”
As he spoke, Jenny watched Mr. Logan do exactly as the gamemaster had predicted. With a firm tug at her leash, Jessica was moved from her bent over position, with her bottom against Cynthia’s face, to kneel on the second block, where her husband quickly bound her with the belt whose imprint, Jenny thought, must still be around her own waist from the time she had spent over a similar one.
Then, in the terrible room inside the chateau, where the players had claimed their pieces after all the girls received a whipping from the housekeeper, Henry had fucked Jenny in her mouth, her pussy, and her bottom. Now, while Henry watched it, and—Jenny thought—could not help considering whether he might like to try something like it, Jessica Logan had her pussy fucked by her husband’s massive cock, right next to another girl’s mouth, an instant after Mr. Logan said, “I enjoy.”
Monsieur Herrier explained, as Jenny felt the blood rush to her face, for once again she couldn’t keep from seeing herself in the position of both the young women being so shamefully used by their players’ cocks.
“I enjoy is possibly the most flexible of contest moves, and in the right circumstances—though I have only played the game a few months, and should perhaps not make such sweeping judgments—the most powerful. It means that Mr. Logan may fuck any of the pleasurable holes available to him. His piece’s cunt and anus are both well lubricated now, of course, thanks to Green’s previous move. There—see, he’s changed from the cunt to the mouth, so that the Green piece is getting it from both players at once.”
“Is Sebastian allowed to fuck Cynthia’s ass now?”
It was Henry’s voice. Jenny swallowed hard and put her hand across her mouth to keep from crying out.
Mr. Fredricks, still thrusting inside the girl he rode, answered, “It will be my next move, actually—but it does require a contest turn. And...” His voice sounded thick, now, with the pleasure of vigorous sex with a young woman whose muffled cries around an opponent’s hard penis made Jenny bite her lip and put her hand between her legs despite her husband’s warnings—or because of them.
“And,” finished Monsieur Herrier, “Mr. Logan will finish the contest by having his piece’s anus at the same time.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Fredricks said, “I master,” then, and pulled his hard cock from Cynthia’s pussy. Jean thought he had begun to get the hang of the game.
At first he had supposed it must work like a more complex version of chess, with four players and without the ability to see what your opponent was doing. That notion had appealed to him, because he had often wished someone would design a version of the royal game—as Jean had always thought of chess—where some kind of fog-of-war made it essential to read the opponent’s face and manner, in search of clues as to what he meant to do on the board.
Then, when Cynthia had received a hard fucking for Fredricks having moved her into the penalty square, Jean had begun to see that whoever had invented Discipline had gone him one better: not only did the psychology of a player’s opponents matter, and not only did the game test what Jean himself considered the most interesting and important part of a man’s psyche—his erotic self-command, creativity, and fortitude—but with the addition of submissive girls as the game pieces something far more interesting and even profound happened.
He felt an extraordinary symbiosis with Barbara, now, even before Herrier had brought Jean’s own beautiful, naked girl, claimed as his game piece, his cunt, to the pavilion for a contest. It helped a great deal that he had initiated her into the Order of Ostia in a subterranean cell, and even that thanks to her mission they had parted in the ambiguous and painful way devised by Herrier. The moment she had tossed her head, just before he left her on the game board, and she hadn’t been able to keep a tiny smile from her face as their eyes met, he had known he would have the chance to do something remarkable, through this game: learn what lay inside both of them, in relation to one another, as man and woman, master and bed girl, leo and nupta.
And all of that stood alongside—was made all the more urgent by—the prospect of saving civilization. Here, tonight. Either the beginning of the soft landing or a disaster of literally immeasurable proportions, because no one would have a big enough ruler to measure it.
Jean watched Kevin cradle Cynthia’s head gently, now, fuck her mouth almost tenderly as Fredricks entered the girl’s anus and she whimpered around the hardness in her mouth. His own cock felt hard as iron, and it ached for Barbara’s lovely body, for the sweet bottom he had enjoyed so thoroughly before Herrier had ever laid eyes on her.
“Observe,” the magnate said to Henry and Jean, as Kevin held only the head of his penis inside Cynthia’s mouth, stroking her cheek gently and looking down into her eyes as if to learn exactly how submissive she could be to receiving a man’s thrusting erection in her most intimate place. “Mr. Logan is delaying slightly, again, to create the proper impression. The genius—I do not think I can put it any other way—who created this game understood that in any such situation, in the real world, outside the game, one man will attain the mastery, whether as a Lord, an Assassin, or a Warrior—or as a president or a financier. When dominants play with their submissives, whatever the rules, one man will prove himself the stronger.”
Kevin pulled his cock from Cynthia’s mouth, while Fredricks fucked the girl’s squirming backside in a slow, steady rhythm. Cynthia moaned, “Oh... fuck...,” her hips moving helplessly as if she were trying to press her clit against the padded wood of the block.
“I master,” Kevin said, turning to his wife’s upraised backside and pressing the head of his rigid penis between her cheeks. Jessica gave a little cry and hung her head, pushing her bottom out as much as the restraining belt around her waist allowed.
“The audience usually chooses the winners of contests of mastery, but as gamemaster of a game without an audience,” Herrier said, “it falls on me to judge each contest. Whoever judges, their determination rarely differs from that of the players themselves—or of their pieces. Purple has won this contest, as I believe all four of the persons involved would agree.”
“Well done, Mr. Logan,” Fredricks said. “I agree at any rate.” He pulled his cock from Cynthia’s anus, and cast a glance over at Jean and Henry. “You’ll find antibacterial wipes in your chair’s storage compartment, by the way,” he said with a chuckle. Then he rubbed Cynthia’s shoulder briefly. “Good girl,” he said. “I’m sure your husband enjoys your backside regularly. You’re a fine bottom-fuck.”
Cynthia whimpered, and Jean watched her brow knit as she clearly brought her husband to her mind. David, who Jean felt sure must be somewhere in close proximity now, for the Guard
could not have missed what Jean himself had at length realized about the Logans’ presence—the same idea for which Jean now found evidence in Kevin’s eyes as he, having withdrawn from the wrinkly bud of his wife’s bottom, walked around to the front of her block to stoop and kiss her deeply.
They’re trying to save the world, and now Barbara and I, and Cynthia and David, and even Jenny and Henry, have to try to help them.
Jean couldn’t know for a fact that the Guard had a satellite ready to train a laser on Herrier’s chateau for long enough to cause a fire that would utterly destroy the magnificent seventeenth-century structure, so as to obliterate all evidence of this Discipline game and possibly its players as well. The stakes, however, were high enough, and the solution ready enough, that he couldn’t imagine that he would have done differently in Robert Bennett’s position.
The Logans knew something—probably, Jean thought, about the plans of the new ruling party in Spain, since anticipation for tonight’s legislative press conference had been high all that week—that they found so troubling they felt the need to try to instigate the soft landing on their own.
If Spain, for example, went to the New Modesty...
Jean felt his eyes widen. Yes, that must be it. The Guard leadership might well vacillate, while the conditions for a full collapse spread rapidly and made the soft landing more and more difficult, if not impossible.
Here, tonight, with Sebastian Fredricks’ capital and Herrier’s control over industry and energy—and now, unexpectedly, with Relicorp’s foothold in American technology, thanks to the Guard’s unusual step of asking Henry Granby to come to France—Kevin Logan meant to force his superiors to respond, or lose the power they had through Selecta to bring about the soft landing.