by Sean O'Kane
Brian introduced her to Mark Kavanagh who had been Conor Brien’s lieutenant and who had known Sophie’s mother intimately - and frequently. He was fascinated to know that Sophie had been in Paris and expressed his keen desire to see her stabled and trained somewhere – even if it wasn’t in his stable. She met Salazar from Argentina, Osman from Turkey, McNicholls from Montana and Wilbur Beckington-Floyd from the Pretty Pony, and she lost count of the smiles and handshakes. There were quite a few women present, she did recall that, and there were the slaves. The household slaves brought around trays of drinks and snacks and Martha had to admit that they were at least the equal of The Lodge girls. They were naked from the waist up and their nipples were all pierced and threaded with gold rings. Their figures were perfect, trim waists and neat breasts and their lower bodies were just covered by their gauzy skirts which somehow clung to them right at the widest point of the hips. And on the silky smooth, honey coloured skin of each girl had been inscribed a tattoo. Some bore images of climbing plants that twisted up their backs, the stalk emerging from the top of the buttock cleft and flowering across the shoulders. Others had more exotic blooms on the fronts of their torsos. Huge flowers were inscribed across some breasts, on other girls graceful Chinese dragons entwined on stomachs, their tails trailing down below the waistbands of the skirts, and Martha wondered with a sudden flood of warmth at her belly, how far down the tattoos went. The Prince was famous for the spectacular nature of his decorations after all and she would love to see tattoos that went all the way into a woman’s sex.
“Perhaps later we’ll see if we can get ourselves one with her entire buttocks decorated. They’re brilliant for caning,” Brian whispered and she couldn’t restrain a moan of desire.
And then there were the milk slaves.
They had been knelt, naked, along one wall and they had been put kneeling back on their heels, their backs kept straight by the wall. Their hands were clipped together behind them, and their enormous breasts – forty something double G, Martha reckoned – were cupped and held in wooden stocks, the frames of which stood between their spread thighs. The three which belonged to the Prince had been labelled; Sherry, White Wine and Red Wine. One of the household slaves who were in attendance told them that these were the flavours the Prince had been encouraging in the milk. The other three had obviously been brought in by other owners and were dispensing straightforward girl milk for those who wanted it. And there did seem to be a brisk demand for both. The household slaves were kept busy palpating the huge udders and guiding the spurting fluid into small glass jugs, from which the guests’ glasses were replenished. Martha loved watching how their slender fingers almost disappeared into the massive cushions of flesh as they squeezed out the thin spurts into the jugs. She tried a sherry flavoured glass while Brian tried the red wine and both pronounced themselves impressed. Even above the pungent flavour of the milk, it was possible to get the distinct flavour of the alcohol – even the difference in nuance between red and white wine was discernable.
Every now and then one of the slaves in attendance would halt the milking and pick up a short tailed flogger. The dairy slaves’ eyes widened above their ball gags and muffled shrieks began as the other slave delivered five hard lashes to each swollen and sensitive breast. Martha loved watching their eyes widen and beg then fill with tears as their fingers splayed and clawed helplessly behind their backs.
“His Highness believes that the best milk comes from beaten tits,” she explained as she carried on whipping and the conversations continued undisturbed in the huge room behind her.
They tested the validity of that theory several times before dinner was served and Martha was transfixed each time by the size of the breasts.
“I’m spoiled for choice! I’d love to have one of those gorgeous tattooed ones but I’d so love to have those tits to torment some time!” she complained and then whirled around in chagrin as she heard the Prince himself respond.
“Madam, after dinner I hope to have another surprise for you. And after that if you and Brian would like to order one I’ll happily send her to your room. But as Brian will tell you, my evening facilities might throw up yet more choice titbits!” He smiled at her and then turned to Brian. “Good to see you, Brian! I’m really pleased to hear about CSL going back to specialist training. I think the time is ripe, and with Peter behind you, I’m sure the fans will have plenty to cheer very shortly. I think Ace has had things her own way for far too long! Now I have a couple in mind for sending over to you to see what you can make of them…”
Brian gave a short bow and shook his hand and the men were immediately deep in conversation. Martha looked back at the milk slaves, now coming to the end of their capacity. The slaves’ fingers could only coax irregular squirts out but she loved seeing how far into the melons the girls’ fingers went and longed to do the same. Above the ball gags, the milk slaves’ eyes closed in relief as they were emptied.
After a magnificent dinner which boasted the very best of Middle Eastern cuisine and the best of European and Eastern cuisine as well, the Prince unveiled the further surprise he had mentioned.
The cheese boards were wheeled around the tables on large trolleys and each one had a slave spreadeagled on its top. The cheeses were cut and served from the girls’ stomachs and breasts and no one minded much if the cutting from the breasts was a little inaccurate due to the soft nature of the surface from which it was cut. Diners could reach between the girls’ legs for their selection of biscuits and remove sticks of fresh celery from pleasantly lubricated vaginas, dipping them into the navels for salt.
But after them came the pièce de résistance. Three more trolleys were wheeled in and on each was a kneeling dairy slave. She was kept on all fours by her arms and her thighs being strapped to steel uprights. Her hair had been plaited and a thin rope had been woven into it so it was pulled back and anchored to an anal hook, keeping her back arched and her head up. She could only stare straight ahead and moan through her penis gag. It was well into the evening and long past their milking times. The swollen and distended teats hung ripely beneath each torso, each one was capped by a silver cone that was pinned through her pierced nipple, preventing any flow before it was required.
They were labelled, Whisky, Brandy and Port. Martha joined in the applause and laughter. It was a delicious coup de théatre and when the appropriate trolley came round, Martha tried the port while Brian and Peter both went for brandy. The spirits went even better with the milk than the aperitifs had. Their extra pungency made a much smoother blend of tastes and scents. The slaves’ mouths were well stuffed and so the guests were able to appreciate their offerings in peace and quiet but soon second and third glasses were ordered and the swollen udders began to subside bit by bit.
The Prince revelled in the compliments and the requests for recipes from those who either had dairy slaves or who had resolved there and then to buy some. Martha was among the latter and was urgently considering how best to sell the idea to Brian and Peter. There were many toasts drunk to their host and to the running of the first Open Classic and to several owners present for birthdays or for recent triumphs at various games before the company began to break up and drift off but Martha, Brian and Peter stayed at the Prince’s invitation. And at last just they and a couple of others were left. By then Martha had a warm glow inside her from the port and had to steady herself against Brian when they stood up in response to his invitation to accompany him to his evening quarters.
They followed the Prince along echoing, marble floored corridors and down wide, elegant staircases until they entered an airy room that took Martha’s breath away.
“My evening office, and recreation room,” the Prince explained. “Please be seated and coffee will be served.”
Martha looked around her and realised that even the standard lamps that provided the room’s light were made of living slaves, bound tight to uprights. The lamps shed light down onto brightly tattooed flesh. Brian sat down on a sofa
formed from two slaves. They lay on their backs on a platform, their heads tied down at the front to keep them out of the way, their thighs forming the back and their shins tied down tightly to the reverse of the back panel of the platform. She sat carefully beside him and found the girl’s stomach pleasantly soft under her bottom. Brian had immediately put a hand down and was kneading a breast between his thighs. Martha looked around again and saw two different types of single seat, easy chairs. The Prince was sitting on one comprising two slaves, one on all fours, the other tied to an upright beside her so that her enormous breasts cushioned his head. There was another variety, a girl laid on her back and with her legs drawn up and over her head, then stretched out and supported by a low platform under her shins. The calves formed the seat of the chair while the thighs formed the back cushion and the buttocks provided a head rest. The Prince saw her examining it and invited her to try it. It proved surprisingly comfortable and Martha found that if she adopted the sort of lounging posture she might on a chaise longue, her raised elbow fitted neatly into the slave’s buttock crease.
Coffee was served by one of the maids from earlier and at the Prince’s invitation the party made their way out into the atrium outside. They took their coffee by the edge of the large, ornamental pond where the ‘mermaids’ played. They were more of the palace’s complement of slavegirls, gathered on a rock in the centre of the pool, their naked bodies gleaming and slick in the moonlight as they made love to each other, their legs and arms entangling and writhing endlessly.
“You get the best from them if you’re naked as well,” the Prince told them. No one had any inhibitions and even though there were only two women present, they joined in eagerly. They all sat on the warm stone with their feet dangling in the cool water and using whips the Prince furnished them with they summoned whichever mermaid took their fancy. The sleek body would ease its way through the water and then make straight for the cock of the man whose lash had caught her. She easily lifted her head and shoulders clear of the water and immediately set to work. Soon every man present had a head bobbing busily at his groin. Martha found that if, once she had made sufficiently hard contact with the whip to attract a girl’s attention, she lay back but made sure her cunt was on the edge of the stone, the mermaids delivered a highly satisfactory cunnilingus too.
Eventually the night cooled and they went back indoors and drank a conventional nightcap lounging comfortably on the furniture before going to their rooms. Before they left, however, the Prince asked them what type of slave they required for their rooms – a milker, a mermaid – dried off of course – or a maid; a standard palace slave.
When it came to Brian and Martha’s turn, Brian turned politely to her to make the choice. She shrugged helplessly and provoked amused laughter by asking for one of each. The Prince was quite unfazed and would have ordered three for them but Brian stepped in.
“We need to be up and about early for the racing, so maybe you could force yourself to make a choice?” he said with a smile.
Martha wrestled with her thoughts and finally the idea of the massive tits won out and she ordered a dairy slave.
When they entered their room they saw that on one wall, spread out in X configuration was the girl who had been trained to dispense sherry flavoured milk. She was a sturdy creature with shoulder length brown hair. Her large brown eyes were well suited to the mournful look of pleading that they often wore. As they entered, the girl was looking at them with just such a wide-eyed look of anxiety over her ball gag. He veined and massive tits dominated her chest and looked deliciously vulnerable and for once her cunt was wide open and available, something that Brian said was unusual in a dairy slave and it plainly intrigued him as he immediately plunged his fingers up into the girl and made her writhe in her bonds.
“Is she chipped?” Martha asked.
“I’d doubt it,” Brian replied, still working his fingers inside her. “But I wouldn’t worry. If she belongs to the Prince, she’ll have been well trained, wherever he got her from.
“So it’ll be safe to ungag her? I mean she won’t bite or be disobedient will she?”
Brian smiled and unbuckled the gag. “Understand English?” he asked her.
The girl nodded nervously. “Yes,” she whispered in a thick mid-European accent.
“Good. Now what will happen to you if we tell the Prince you didn’t please us enough?”
She licked her lip nervously. “We get solitary,” she whispered again, her voice trembling with fear. She glanced down at her huge tits. “Hands chained up. Sometimes no milking…for days!”
“So you’re ours to do with as we please.”
The girl nodded eagerly.
“There!” Brian told Martha. “Let’s get stuck in!”
They shed what clothes they had retained from earlier and turned their attentions to their big breasted plaything. Taken down from the wall, Brian was able to examine her from behind and liked what he saw. He was used to athletic girls but this one was kept on a special diet and not often exercised, the result was more flesh than he was used to on a fairly hefty frame. Her arse looked as though it could take plenty of flogging and her back was broad enough to make his fingers itch to lay into it. To begin with he took a heavy tailed flogger to her while she knelt on all fours beside the bed and licked Martha’s cunt. The evening had inflamed her beyond anything she had ever experienced and she gripped the girl’s hair and forced her tongue deep inside her, then drew her back to her clitoris while she exploded time and again, each climax over-topping the last, melting her brain and shattering her.
When she came to, she looked up to see Brian standing over the girl who was still on all fours by the bed, panting. He still held the whip.
“Turn over,” he told Martha. She did so, grinning from ear to ear as she realised what he intended and wriggling back so that her bottom was level with the edge. She looked over her shoulder and saw Brian holding a fistful of the girl’s hair and showing her the whip.
“Lick her out! Understand?”
Slowly the girl nodded and she crawled forwards as Brian raised the lash.
“Mmmm!” Martha couldn’t restrain the groan of contentment as the tongue began to explore her anus, jerking noticeably as the lash landed. And slowly as the beating grew more intense, the tongue began to give Martha one of the best rimmings she had ever had. It became passionate and uninhibited, rolling into a hard little tube and pushing through her sphincters to probe her rectum, then it licked all the way from the tingling anus to the throbbing vaginal entrance and back again, then it circled and circled the anus until Martha was squirming and swearing in approaching ecstasy before it pushed back inside her. And all the time, the steady, heavy smacks of the whip landing on the girl’s back went on and on. The licking became more and more frantic until finally Martha got one hand under her and managed to punish her clitoris enough to push her to a peak and tumble into orgasm again. When she propped herself up and rolled over, she found that Brian was still belabouring the girl who was still on all flours and stoically enduring the beating, her body shook from the ferocity of the blows and her huge tits wobbled under her each time. Martha immediately felt her libido re-ignite as she watched the beating going on and on.
Brian only stopped whipping the slave when his arm was tired.
“Let’s take her into bed,” Martha said.
“Fine. There’s enough of her for both of us. But I want to cunt whip it first.”
Martha pulled the milker up onto the bed and they examined the state of the girl in the soft light of the dimmed overhead lights and found that she bore hardly any traces of the beating she had taken. Eagerly they cuffed her ankles and hauled her up by them, using the winch mounted on the ceiling directly above the bed, with her legs wide open and while Martha entertained herself by playing with the tits, Brian amused himself by lashing her open cunt. Again she made hardly any response except to moan at especially harsh squeezes on her tits. Martha bent down a little and sucked a
nd squeezed at the huge mass of soft tit and got a mouthful of sherry flavoured milk, immediately the slave moaned again.
“I reckon the only way you’ll get a response is to whip the tits,” Martha said at last. The solid thighs and the thick lipped cunt had absorbed everything with virtually no marks and Brian was becoming frustrated. But he could see she was open and when he put his fingers into her she took four with no problem. He persisted for a minute, working his fingers inside her until she was squelching and then he withdrew his hand, pointed all four fingers and thumb, then thrust them down into her. He fetched a sigh from her and was soon able to force the full width of his hand into her and make a fist then draw it back to stretch the labia to their maximum extent. The stoical milk slave shook in her chains and gave a soft cry then subsided.
“I think that was an orgasm,” Martha said, laughing. “Come on, you need a fuck and then we both need to sleep. Let’s put her on her back. I’ll sit on her face and you fuck the other end.”
“Ok. I can whip its tits at the same time,” Brian said.
Without needing to be restrained the slave lay on her back, the massive tits flattening to the sides as she did so. The well-whipped and fisted cunt was open, the outer lips just slightly red between chubby but hardly striped thighs, its clitoral hood was well withdrawn and the sizeable nubbin was standing to attention. Brian found that actually he really fancied thrusting himself into a larger than usual female with the easy targets of the tits to aim at while he fucked her.
He selected a short tailed flogger and knelt between the slave’s legs while Martha knelt over her face, her back towards him. She spread her legs wide, her shins keeping the slave’s arms pinned down and at the same time this pushed her groin down into the slave’s face. Brian waited until Martha’s sigh of contentment signalled that she had one entrance or other over the girl’s mouth – and in fact he could see the slave’s mouth working between Martha’s buttocks, the chin tilting up as she reached for maximum penetration. He moved forwards and heaved the heavy buttocks up until he could slip easily into her cunt whilst kneeling and then he began whipping the breasts, making sure not to get too close to Martha’s bottom. He had to strike sharply downwards to get between him and Martha but immediately there was a reaction from the slave. From between Martha’s buttocks there came muffled shrieks and the body underneath him heaved and writhed as the soft masses of flesh rippled and wobbled under his whip.