She realized that Oliver was speaking to her and had to ask him to repeat himself.
"Why don't you go and change now? I'll see you at dinner." As Oliver turned and departed, Diana couldn't help admiring his butt.
In her room, Diana found an assortment of clothes stacked according to type – shirts in one stack, skirts in another, dresses in another. There were no shorts or slacks, but since she was perfectly comfortable in skirts, she was satisfied and grateful for the gesture. She decided to shower first, leaving her choice of clothes to later.
Before entering the shower, she tried to remove the ring. It wouldn't come off, however, perhaps because the rather hot weather had caused her fingers to swell. She shrugged it off and got into the shower. Curiously, the spray of water seemed to touch her body as it had never done before. Her nipples were particularly sensitive, and as the water hit them it almost felt as if they were being pinched and tweaked. Having already been aroused by Oliver's commanding presence, Diana allowed the intense feelings to overcome her in private, where he wouldn't be the wiser. Her hand, the one wearing the ring, traveled to the juncture of her thighs. Slipping her ring finger into her slick channel, she brought herself to one of the most satisfying (albeit brief) orgasms she'd ever experienced.
When Diana emerged from the bathroom, she looked in the dresser for a clean bra and panties but her underwear drawer was completely empty. Looking around the room, she realized that even the underwear that she had worn that day was missing. The Diana of last week would have become quite suspicious, but now she just felt that same tingling – it seemed to emanate from the ring, but that couldn't be – and she said with a newfound insouciance, "Oh well, it will have to be commando until I find them."
Sorting through her new garments, Diana saw that they all had one thing in common. Although there was a wide variety of colors, the fabric of each garment was soft, silky, and rather sheer, not quite transparent, but sheer enough to make Diana conscious of her lack of under clothing. She hesitated briefly, then shrugged and chose a knee length peasant dress that belted around the waist. If it weren't for a string that tied at the neck, the top might have slipped off of her shoulders.
Entering the dining room, Diana saw that Oliver had arrived first. His dark eyes bored into hers as she approached. He rose and held her chair out for her. Although he didn't come into physical contact with her, Diana felt as if his hands caressed her arms as she sat. A shiver ran through her.
"Is everything alright, Diana?"
"Um, yes, of course. Thank you."
"You look lovely in that dress," he said, although his eyes never left hers.
"Thank you. And thank you for the new clothes. They're beautiful and I'm sure I'll be quite comfortable."
They remained relatively silent during the meal, Diana feeling very conscious of Oliver's masculine appreciation of her flimsy dress, and Oliver intent on keeping Diana in an edgy state.
After dinner, Oliver escorted Diana to the library, where he flipped a switch and music began to play from hidden speakers. Again, he sat in his "throne", as Diana had come to think of it, and Diana started to sit on the sofa.
"No, please remain standing," Oliver requested. "If you would, please stand here." He gestured to a spot a few feet in front of his chair. Diana thought this was extremely peculiar, but she found herself obeying silently.
"Diana," he began, his tone making Diana quite aware of the sheerness of her dress and her lack of under garments. She actually felt her nipples harden, and she blushed furiously at the thought. She wanted to flee the room, but her feet were rooted firmly in the spot where she had been directed to stand.
Oliver continued. "I neglected to provide all of the requirements of your position. Now that you've been here and I've had a chance to observe you in this environment, I can fill you in on the rest. You see, Diana, I require more of my personal assistant than handling appointments, correspondence, shopping and the like. The right person must be beautiful, as you obviously are."
Diana was annoyed. What did beauty have to do with being a personal assistant? The strong, independent woman in her wanted to say "I'm out of here!" and storm out of the room, but she couldn't. Not because she needed the job, nor because of any other reluctance. It's just that her feet wouldn't move from the spot. She began to become frightened.
"Also, my assistant must be a woman of strong character, and she must be susceptible to the ring," he continued.
At the puzzled look on Diana's face, Oliver smiled in his satisfied way. "Go ahead. Try to take it off."
Diana struggled and tugged, but the ring wouldn't budge, even though it was not tight or uncomfortable.
"You can't. Not while I will it to be on you. You see, the ring makes the right woman do my bidding, even if she doesn't want to. It makes a strong woman submissive, while still retaining her desire to be assertive. In other words, you will accommodate me, yet you will inwardly feel resistance and even shame for submitting. Do you understand?"
"No! I do not understand. This is absurd. I'm leaving!" Diana spoke forcefully, but her body wouldn't cooperate. Instead, she stood rooted to the spot. But still, she wasn't close to comprehending the entire situation.
"Let me demonstrate how this will work, Diana. Please come closer to me."
Diana took three steps forward until she stood right before Oliver, their knees almost touching.
"Diana, I want you to untie the neck of your dress." Unwillingly, she complied. As she feared, the neckline was now so wide that one of the sleeves started to fall down her arm. Ahe wanted to pull it back up, but couldn't bring herself to do it.
"Now I would like a lap dance."
"I beg your pardon! That isn't going to happen!" Diana protested.
"Oh, it will. I assume you haven't given a lap dance before, but the moves will come to you. I assure you, you will give me a very skilled lap dance, and we'll both enjoy it."
In spite of herself, Diana found herself starting to sway to the music, slowly at first, then with more passion. She made a few twirls in front of Oliver, her dress billowing out and showing her bare thighs, and she put her hands behind her head, raised her hair, and let it fall wantonly around her shoulders. As she moved, she thrust her hips back and forth in imitation of the sex act.
While all of this was happened, Diana was aghast. She felt sensuous and ashamed at the same time. She wanted to flee the room, and she wanted to feel Oliver's touch on every part of her body. And despite the conflict within her, her body continued to act as Oliver's willing slave.
Turning her back to him, Diana sat in Oliver's lap, positioning herself over the huge bulge in his trousers. She pressed her very wet pussy into his cock, which she could feel pulsing beneath the fabric. Twisting so that she remained seated , she brought her hands to Oliver's head, gripping his lustrous hair and pulling his head to hers for a deep kiss. "Mmmm," she moaned as her tongue and his did the dance of ages.
As she writhed, her body wanted more, even as her mind begged her to stop. Oliver felt the moisture seeping from her cunt and knew it was time to move on. He was so hard, he had to fight to keep from exploding and he said through gritted teeth "Turn around and straddle me."
Diana did as he commanded, turning quickly so that she could return her pussy to its position over his hard cock. He noticed with satisfaction the sheen of sweat on her chest and the hardness of her nipples. In a low voice, almost a whisper, he commanded "Let the dress fall off of your shoulders. I need to see your breasts."
Diana was shamefully happy to comply. As she continued to gyrate in his lap, her hand reached for the sleeve that held the dress up. Dropping her eyes in humiliation, she slowly pulled it down and allowed the top of the dress to fall to her waist. As she danced, she arched her back as if to offer the naked mounds to him as a gift.
Staring at her commandingly, Oliver said "Feed them to me."
Oh God! Must I? Diana thought. Nevertheless, her hands cupped her breasts, each more than a handf
ul of creamy ivory flesh, with tight rosy nipples that pleaded for attention. She brought her breasts together and raised them to meet Oliver's waiting mouth. Not moving his hands but, rather, compelling Diana to submit fully, he lowered his head to her offering. At first, he gave her nipples just the lightest of licks across the tips. At her moan of frustration, he took one nipple into his mouth and he sucked. He sucked the nipple past his teeth, his tongue swirling around it and his lips pulling. Alternating between nipples, he felt her juices now flowing freely from her cunt. He wanted badly to taste them, but that would come in time. First, she had to pleasure him fully.
"Take my cock from my trousers," Oliver commanded.
Her hands fumbling with impatience, Diana struggled with the zipper before she felt the hard, smooth shaft in her hands. She sighed with satisfaction as her hands tenderly pulled it from its confinement. She allowed one finger to stroke the velvety tip while both hands marveled in the thickness of Oliver's enormous cock.
He allowed her the pleasure of anticipation for a moment, then said firmly, "I want you to fuck me."
Diana hesitated for a moment, her mind retaining a small bit of control, before she hesitantly raised her dress and stood a bit to allow her to position her glistening pussy at the tip of Oliver's upright cock. Tears formed at the corner of her eyes as she realized what she was about to do and could not stop. With a sudden thrust and a cry, she impaled herself, sinking completely and filling herself with Oliver's thick cock.
"Fuck me! And play with your breasts!" a now panting Oliver ordered.
Without further hesitation, Diana rose and fell onto his shaft, her tight pussy straining to accommodate his girth. She gripped her own nipples with her fingertips, pulling and twisting. As she moved up on Oliver's cock, her pussy tightened, nearly causing him to howl with pleasure. Impatiently, he pushed her hands away and took her breasts into his own hands. She gasped his stubbled chin rasped over her nipples.
Diana continued to fuck him hard, rising and falling on him, her wet tightness alternately pounding and clenching.
She felt the tremors building inside of her. Her mind tried to fight the inevitable, but her body was more than ready. Oliver's satisfaction at Diana's complete submission to him receded as his own climax loomed. Oliver's hips bucked as his cock swelled and gave a final thrust, shooting its load into Diana's hot, hungry pussy.
Just when Diana thought that she was completely exhausted and didn't have a remaining nerve, Oliver reached between them and found her clit. With just a pinch of his fingers, he sent a shot of excruciating pleasure through her.
"You'll do nicely," he murmured.
The End.
Sweet Little Devil
Leslie felt the wind kiss sensuously on her cheeks, and blew blushes into them. It was a very cold night, but she had no coat on her shivering, petite frame; only ropes tightly wound around her hands and ankles, and the gag between her luscious lips. But she was not alone. In this lovely night of cold, the moon shone brightly over a huge ship with dozens of captives lining up its clean deck.
Her mistress, Miss Prufrock, was very agitated beside her; before, her high hair had looked tight and neat in its bun, but now, it was in a messy array of hair sticking out like a wounded ball of wool. She had a dirty gag between her very thin, very cruel lips, and was fidgeting in anger and incredulity at her imprisoned state.
Like the other prisoners, they were sitting down or squatting or otherwise; and Miss Prufrock in her elaborate, brocade dress of fiery red, looked most out of place here, and in what she considered a very embarrassing unladylike position; the pretty lady of twenty-three years had been tied with a tight rope snaked on her hands and connected to her ankles. And as a lady of high rank in society, she was very indignant over this coarse treatment.
Next to her, Leslie, who, though cold and trembling, sat demurely and quietly in her position; legs folded beneath her, with her wrists tied securely and tightly to her ankles so much that it numbed her. She was forced to arch her back, creating a space of graceful curve behind her. She wore an ugly, plain black dress, the Prufrocks' servant's uniform for the personal maid.
Leslie, nineteen years old, who had worked for the Prufrocks ever since she was seven, worried over her mistress. Though her mistress had been unkind and sadistic to Leslie over the years she had been with the wealthy, noble family, Leslie's compassionate soul did not like to see her mistress suffer through any indecency committed to her, and prayed that her young mistress and all the other prisoners would be able to escape from this unfortunate event safely.
A brawny man with dark chest hair sprouting out of his tight tucked-in shirt appeared with a few number of equally, physically monstrous men. They were pirates; they had attacked the ship Leslie and her mistress had been on, killed the ship's captain and as many of the ship's crew as they could, and captured the people travelling on it, who were mostly young people—excluding a couple of elderly persons.
Now, they were in the mercy of these uncivilized men. There had been rumors about pirates that Leslie had heard before stepping on this cruise—of how they attacked, killed, raped, and kidnapped people, demanding hefty ransoms for them and selling them into slavery—the first she had ever taken since entering the Prufrocks's mansion, but she had never dreamt of ever meeting one.
They went on looking at the prisoners, leering and sneering and spitting and taunting. One kicked a young man, and his fiancee screamed into her gag. The huge sailor grabbed her, ripped the gag off, and forced a sloppy, brutal kiss upon her. She quieted down and with tears in her eyes, huddled closer to her fiancee. The sailor laughed cruelly, joined by his cohorts. It stopped abruptly, when their captain appeared. "What d'ya think we should do with them people, Cap'n?" asked one. "Looks good 'nuff to sell, don't they?" said another.
The Captain was a tall, lean, and well-built man, and he had an aloof, cold expression. There was no visible compassion or kindness in his features, but there were ferocity, brutality, and the hints of a cold-blooded nature. He went about inspecting his captured goods, surmising what prices they could bring him if he sold them, should they not be bought back by ransom. Leslie saw him, watched him with fearful eyes as he used his sheathed sword and gloved hand to occasionally prod on his prisoners.
Leslie trembled for her mistress, for she knew her mistress was a very pretty lady, and was well-endowed with womanly features. But when he reached Miss Prufrock, she glared balefully at him, daring him to do something at her defiance. "Hmmph," he said, his unmoved expression showing that he was unimpressed by her show of boldness, or of her often-admired beauty. She was pretty of course; though her hair looked messy, her lips too thin, her nose too small, and her cheeks too shallow, she was still quite pretty. He had seen many girls like her before, on the land and on this ship. She should fetch a reasonable price should he have any need to sell her—but he doubted that he would need to.
He passed her, and Leslie's heart lifted for her mistress, only to plunge into the depths of gloom when he stopped upon her. Leslie ducked her head down, trying to hide her face with her thick tresses of light blond hair. But he wouldn't let her get away easily; he used his long, sword to sweep a volume of her hair aside to catch the face beneath. He jerked her face towards him roughly with his hand. Doe-like eyes the color of calm sky stared back at him, tremulous and depthless in their deep emotions. Her chin quivered in his hand. When he saw her face, his heart dropped. It was such an exquisite, beautiful face. He had never seen anyone who had ever matched her beauty in its innocence and its goddess-personified loveliness. What's more, he knew this face. He remembered this face from a long, long time ago.
In an instant, he shocked Leslie by kneeling on one knee in front of her. "Are you a virgin?" he asked in a harsh, impatient tone, as he jerked a black glove off one hand. The question shocked innocent Leslie, and she blushed at his audacity. When she didn't answer and avoided his ferocious gaze, he grabbed a handful of her skirt and wrenched her skirt up. From her
gag, Leslie screamed a muffled scream of surprise and protest; loud sneers and ribald comments greeted her from the unsympathetic sailors, who thrilled at her misery, and leered at the glimpses of snowy thighs that were slightly exposed from the skirt bunched somewhere near her knees; she struggled but her hands and ankles were tied very securely and his large hand was already making its way purposefully between her thighs. Leslie tried very hard to keep her thighs together, but he used both his muscular arms to easily rip them wide apart. He leant into her ear to deliver a quiet, spine-chilling threat, "If you fight me, I will fuck you right here in front of everyone." Leslie trembled, and big tears of anguish over this crude action spilled over her smooth cheeks.
He edged closer, his knee between her, and pushed his middle finger into the heat of her cunt. Leslie gasped, jolted, and automatically tried to close her thighs but his knee was in the way. Her trembling thighs gripped him tightly as she whimpered, as he inched his finger deeper into her tight heat, and finally found what he had been searching—her virginity—it was still intact. Satisfaction flooded into him, and he felt strangely triumphant in knowing that nobody had possessed her yet. Pleased, he reluctantly pulled away from her delicious heat, and stood up. His eyes were enflamed with an inscrutable intensity as he looked at her and announced his commands in his smooth, self-assured voice. He ordered his trusted second-hand man to send out orders for ransoms for these captives, set in steep prices, and if they were not collected by the end of the deadline, the prisoners would be sold into slavery.
"In the meantime, bring this girl into my cabin," he said, giving Leslie's a searing look that terrified her, and shocking his crew; as far as they knew, the Captain never showed any interest—romantic or sexual—to any species of the opposite sex. They had already concluded that he was either attracted to men (for which there were no trustworthy evidence) or was so discreet in his sexual affairs that they were unable to discover them (to which they had never been able to disprove or prove for certainty).
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