A League of Ladies (Slave of the Aristocracy Book 5)

by Ashley Zacharias

  That could have been her body, shattered, twisted, and flattened, if she had reacted a fraction of a second later.

  She was alive as much by luck as by fast judgment and lighting reflexes.

  She kept watch for Geoffrey or Sir Drake all the way back to the Red Swan.

  Geoffrey had made one thing clear. He had no intention of forgetting about her. He would kill her as soon as possible. And when he did, he wouldn’t be guilty of murder, only of destroying a piece of property. He could shoot her dead on a public street and he wouldn’t even have to hide.

  Her value, established by her purchase from Sir Drake was only twenty-thousand plaqs.

  Fixing the damage that Geoffrey had done to his car would cost more that that.

  Her legs were trembling all the way back to her room.

  * * *

  Geoffrey made Irene’s decision for her. The furious expression that she had seen on his face as he hurtled past was indelibly stamped in her mind. He might not wait even another hour before he tried to kill her again.

  The law wasn’t going to protect her so she had to protect herself.

  She didn’t dare stay the night in her room. She had few possessions – only the introductory slave kit, which included one housedress and assorted personal grooming products; the three better-quality dresses that she had custom tailored; and the documents about her trust that Llewellyn Smith had given to her.

  She unbraided her hair, packed everything she owned into a plastic bag, and called a cab from the front desk.

  The obvious solution was to run to her husband, Lord James Fortson. Which was exactly why she couldn’t go there. If Geoffrey were hunting her, he could be lying in wait outside James’ manor. He didn’t have to track her personally; he had the resources to hire men to watch everywhere that she might show up. That was probably how he had known how to find her leaving Sir Dodge’s office.

  If she were to go to James’ manor, she might get in, but she would be trapped. Once Drake and Geoffrey knew where she was, they could have men waiting to kill her if she ever emerged from the kennels again.

  For the same reason, she didn’t dare go to Lord Snow, Lord Granger, or any other lord who was known to be a friend of her or James.

  Her first problem was to ensure that she had the means to manage her trust while she was in hiding. She instructed a cabbie to drive her to Llewellyn Smith’s office where she asked him if he would be willing to serve as her business advisor. She would do most of the work, but she wanted access to his expertise as well as needing him to sometimes take instructions by phone. As well, she needed a place to keep her files.

  For a modest fee up front and a reasonable hourly rate, he was happy to give her a bit of space in one of his file cabinets and let her use a phone when she was in the office.

  She then directed the cab to take her to Lord and Lady Cranford’s manor by a circuitous route. She kept turning around but couldn’t see any cars following them.

  Lord Chesley Cranford was a gentleman in his mid-sixties who was married to Lady Annabelle, a woman of similar age.

  When Irene had been a lady, she and James had invited the Cranfords to some of their parties and had been invited back in fair reciprocation. But they had never been close, partly because of the age difference and partly because they had different interests. James and his friends were mostly interested in sports, politics, and society. They had a normal, healthy appetite for the service of pleasure slaves.

  The Cranfords, as nearly as Irene had been able to determine, were mostly interested in the pursuit of pleasures of the flesh.

  Despite his age, Lord Cranford never lost an opportunity to sample a new woman or engage in a new perversion. Lady Cranford seemed to support her husband’s hobby and was rumored to dabble in as wide of a range of debauchery as he, not always discreetly.

  She was one of the very few ladies in the city who regularly accompanied her husband to slave auctions and openly expressed a preference for which slave he should buy.

  Irene chose to approach the Cranfords because, among all the lords and ladies that she’d met, they were the least likely to be shocked and offended if a pleasure slave turned up on their doorstep, uninvited, and volunteered her service.

  Lady Annabelle answered the knock in person. She had a grandmotherly demeanor. Her grey hair was piled on top of her head in a simple bun and her slender figure was clothed in a demure dress. “Lady Irene?”

  “Not any more, Lady Annabelle. I’m just a pleasure slave now.”

  “Oh, dear. The rumors were true. Even seeing you in person, I still find it hard to believe.” Annabelle surveyed Irene from head to feet. She seemed to like what she saw.

  “I’m sorry to bother you at home like this. I would have called first, but that was not possible under the circumstances. I wonder if I might speak to you and your husband for a minute.”

  “Certainly. I’ll fetch him.” Lady Annabelle looked flustered for a moment.

  Irene knew what was disconcerting the lady. She didn’t know if it was proper to invite a pleasure slave into her manor through her front door or not. Normally slaves came onto manor grounds through a discreet slave gate in the back and entered the manor through the door nearest the kennels.

  “I can go around the back and wait by your kennels if you wish.”

  “No, that’s all right. Come in and you can wait in the foyer.”

  Irene stepped across the threshold. She was relieved that she didn’t have to walk around the manor in sight of the street.

  While Annabelle went to fetch her husband, Irene closed the front door behind her. Before doing so, she scanned the street, looking for any face that didn’t belong. The street looked empty.

  Irene had been in the Cranfords’ manor for parties on occasion, so it looked familiar to her. The style was old fashioned – overstuffed chairs and couches upholstered in large floral prints. It was the way a kindly grandmother would decorate her home.

  “Irene! What can we do for you?” Lord Cranford walked into the room without hesitation and took her hand in his. His grandfatherly demeanor was a perfect match to Lady Annabelle’s. The couple wore their age well.

  “Lord Cranford, I have a favor to ask of you. I am a pleasure slave and this is slave business, so Lady Annabelle might not care to hear the details.”

  “Oh, posh,” Cranford said. “She knows more about my slaves than most wives. She even accompanies me to the slave auctions. You can speak to both of us.”

  “Very well. I have had four owners during the year that I’ve been enslaved, but at the moment, I’m owned by a trust fund, rather than by an individual. As such, I don’t have a home kennel. The trust fund would like to lend me to you for an indeterminate period of time. Maybe a few days, maybe considerably longer than that, depending on how my circumstances develop.”

  “And what circumstances are those, dear?” Lady Annabelle asked.

  It was time to lay her cards on the table. “I seem to have made a mortal enemy of Sir Drake and his son Geoffrey. I believe that they are trying to kill me. I came here because this isn’t a place that they would think to look for me. We had a good relationship when I was Lady Irene, but we weren’t especially close friends.”

  “I see,” Lord Cranford said. “You have come looking for refuge.”

  “Yes, but I’m not looking for charity. I am a pleasure slave and expect to serve you in that capacity. As a slave on loan, I would expect that you would not cause me permanent damage but, beyond that, you are free to use me in any way that you wish, including making my services available to your guests.”

  “Of course, my dear. Of course.” Lord Cranford’s eyes twinkled impishly as he turned to his wife. “What do you say, dear? Shall we give the ex-Lady Fortson a proper audition before we install her in our kennels?”

  “Certainly, darling,” Lady Annabelle replied. “Let’s have some fun.” She looked back at Irene. “Come on, sweetie. Get that dress off. Show us what we’re getting.
”

  Irene pulled her dress over her head and threw it on top of the bag that she’d set on the floor.

  Lady Annabelle made a twirling motion with her finger and Irene spun slowly around, showing her body to the elderly couple.

  “You are quite lovely, sweetie,” Lady Annabelle said. “We’re going to have such great fun together.”

  “I don’t believe that you’ve ever had occasion to see our bedroom,” Lord Cranford said. “Please lead the way, Annabelle.” He made a grand gesture toward the interior of the manor.

  Irene left her clothes in the foyer and followed Lady Annabelle through the manor. Lord Cranford tailed along behind the two women.

  Respectable people never paraded naked slaves through their manor. The Cranfords maintained a different standard in their home.

  Their second-floor bedroom was three times the size of any bedroom that Irene had seen, even in the largest manor, and was appointed like the pleasure room in slave kennels. A massive bed was positioned in the middle of the floor. It was surrounded by a whipping bench, a pillory, two oversized easy chairs, a couple of more severe straight-backed chairs, two couches, and many large pillows thrown on the floor.

  A wardrobe was open, displaying more toys and sexual aids than Irene had ever before seen in one place.

  Lady Annabelle took an object from the wardrobe. “I think that we should invite Brutus to join us tonight.” A huge black, dildo jutted out of a complicated-looking assemblage of leather straps and buckles. “Have you ever used one of these before?” she asked Irene.

  Irene shook her head. “I don’t even know what one of those is.” She cringed at the thought of that dildo penetrating her. She was sure that she could take it, even in the ass, she was that good, but she doubted that she would enjoy it.

  “You’ll learn, soon enough.” She set the thing on a table and then began stripping off her clothes.

  Lord Cranford helped his wife unlace the back of her bodice.

  Irene stared at the dildo like a rabbit staring at a cobra.

  Underneath her clothes, Lady Cranford was a slender, fit, sixty-four-year-old woman with a bit of a belly. A delicate tracery of wrinkles covered her hands and face. Her neck was more heavily furrowed. But the more intimate parts of her body – her breasts, ass, and thighs were smooth and white.

  Her crotch was shaved as cleanly as any pleasure slave’s.

  Without ceremony, she rubbed a liberal amount of lubricant into her vagina. “I’ve been a little dry since menopause.” Her voice was soft and matter-of-fact.

  She whipped the comforter off the bed. “If you will strap me down, please, Chesley.” She lay naked on her back with her arms and legs outstretched.

  Lord Cranford walked around the bed. At each corner, he took a heavy leather strap that was attached to the bed and buckled it to one of Annabelle’s slender wrists and ankles.

  As he worked, the tension in his wife’s body increased visibly.

  When she was stretched to the point of immobility, her body was quivering like a plucked bass string. Her small breasts heaved as she breathed heavily.

  She didn’t have to tell Lord Cranford what to do next.

  He picked the dildo and harness from the table and strapped it around Irene’s hips. He took care to tighten the straps snugly about her waist and the tops of her thighs. When he was finished, the near end of the dildo was pressing hard against Irene’s clit; the far end was waving a good ten inches in front of her crotch.

  “Have at me, dear.” Lady Annabelle’s voice quavered when she spoke.

  Irene looked down at the hefty stump of black latex that was protruding from her pubis. It had to be more than two inches in diameter. Maybe two and a half.

  She looked at the slender sixty-year-old strapped to the bed. This monster was going to split her in two.

  Lady Annabelle was staring at the oversized fake cock with wide, unblinking eyes.

  Lord Cranford was staring at Irene, his eyes sparking in anticipation of seeing his wife violated mercilessly.

  Irene would have preferred to take the cock herself than to pound the elderly lady with it. But a slave’s preferences carried less weight than a feather in a tornado. Have at me, dear, was an unmistakable command. She had been given her orders by the lady herself.

  The rubber cock bounced as she walked across the floor to the foot of the bed.

  Lady Annabelle closed her eyes and began panting in anticipation of her imminent violation.

  Irene kneeled between the lady’s widespread thighs, lowered herself until the tip of the dildo was pressing against Lady Annabelle’s cunt, and then began slowly pushing it into her.

  Lady Annabelle whimpered as her labia were stretched by the dildo. When the tip was inserted into her, the entrance to her cunt was stretched into a tight pink ring.

  Irene pushed another inch inside and Lady Annabelle whimpered again. Her eyes were squeezed tight, tight enough to squeeze a tear out of the corner.

  Lady Annabelle pulled helplessly on the straps that held her spread open and defenseless.

  “Come on, dear,” Lord Cranford said loudly. “Enough of this pussy-footing around. Push that thing inside her now. All the way.”

  Irene pushed hard.

  The dildo slid full-length into Annabelle.

  Lady Annabelle’s third whimper sounded like a quiet scream.

  Her arms were corded as she struggled against the straps.

  “Work it,” Cranford said. “Work it hard.”

  Irene pulled the dildo half-way out and thrust it back into the woman.

  Annabelle mumbled something.

  Irene withdrew and thrust again.

  Annabelle mumbled more loudly, “Harder, dear. Faster and harder. Like Chesley says.”

  Irene began working faster and harder. The end of the dildo was pressing against her clit. It felt good.

  She couldn’t tell if Annabelle was screaming in pain or ecstasy. Or both. But she was loud and shrill.

  Irene cast a glance at Lord Cranford. He had moved closer to the bed and was staring at his wife’s crotch where the big, bad phallus was pumping in and out of her wide-stretched cunt. The elderly man had discarded his trousers and was pumping his raging erection for all he was worth.

  Irene redoubled her efforts and was rewarded with more stimulation to her clit.

  Annabelle’s screams reached a crescendo when she came. Her thin, delicate body bucked and contacted against the leather straps that held her in place.

  Cranford was panting and moaning loudly enough to be heard over his wife’s shrieks. He sidled around to the head of the bed to position his cock over his wife’s face.

  She stared up at it and thrust her tongue out of her gaping, gasping mouth to catch as much of her husband’s spunk as she could.

  His aim was good. Much of his thick cream fell into her gaping maw. The rest of it dribbled across her face from philtrum to forehead.

  Irene stopped thrusting into Annabelle’s cunt. She hadn’t come, but loved the warm feelings that were radiating from her well-stimulated vulva. She looked at Annabelle’s cum-splashed face, only a few inches from hers.

  Annabelle swallowed what she could and slurped what her tongue could reach.

  Irene used her finger to gather the spunk that Annabelle couldn’t reach with her tongue. She put it to Annabelle’s mouth and let her suck her husband’s salty cream from it.

  Annabelle licked and sucked the finger like it was the most delicious treat that she had ever tasted.

  Irene wiped and put her finger into Annabelle’s mouth three more times before her face was clean.

  When there was no more to be had, Lord Cranford lowered his cock to his wife’s mouth and let her suck the last drops directly from the source.

  Irene dismounted from between Annabelle’s legs.

  “Snuggle me,” the wife said.

  Irene lay down on one side and Lord Cranford lay on the other. The two cuddled against the exhausted, sated woman
who remained strapped to the bed, outstretched and helpless for the duration of their afterglow.

  Lady Annabelle said, “This one’s a keeper, dear.”

  Lord Cranford was happy to agree.

  * * *

  The Cranford kennels were large and fully occupied. Six slaves slept in six cells. To accommodate Irene, Lord Cranford allowed her to sleep in the bed in the pleasure room. It was a luxury to sleep on a real bed rather than on one of the hard narrow cots in a cell.

  Late on her first night, she discovered that there was a tradeoff for having the comfortable bed. She had been asleep for only an hour when the door burst open and the lights were switched on.

  “Wha?” she asked, trying to remember where she was.

  “Hey, sleepyhead, it’s tit-bath time.”

  “Wha?” She peered through bleary eyes to see a naked slave prancing across the room, her ample breasts bouncing about wildly. She had been introduced to all the slaves earlier in the afternoon but couldn’t remember their names. Every one of them had been given a slang name for breasts. This one was either Jugs or Bazooms.

  Irene had lovely, full breasts, but hers were the smallest in the kennels.

  Lord Cranford seemed to like his slaves exceptionally well endowed, which was curious considering that he had chosen a wife who was not. Or maybe it should have been expected.

  She wondered if Cranford furnished his slaves with implants. It didn’t seem so; the tits in question moved naturally and Irene hadn’t noticed any scars, either under their breasts or around their aureoles. He must be a particular shopper at the slave auctions.

  Another buxom beauty bounded into the room, this one closely followed by Lord Cranford.

  His other four slaves followed on his heels. The whole complement was here. Irene became the seventh women waiting on his pleasure.

  His pleasure was to lie on his back on a narrow cot while the six slaves knelt around him, bent over and rubbed their breasts on his face, chest, abdomen, and crotch. He was being bathed in tits.

  Irene didn’t have to be told to kneel with the other slaves and work her breasts over him. She, too, was a pleasure slave and knew to do for a gentleman whatever best pleased him.