That the daughter, now nineteen, had married the earl was a triumph of her family’s ambition over true love. That the daughter, still a newlywed, was now sitting in front of Irene hoping to find new ways to please her aging husband was a testament to her determination to wring a few drops of happiness out of her loveless marriage.
At least, she hadn’t tried to elope after becoming engaged to the earl. He would have had her arrested and adjudicated into slavery on trumped up charges. Powerful earls did that as a matter of course to fiancées who insulted them by choosing a better husband.
The other five women were strangers to Irene. She believed that they were the wives of knights or baronets, but she hadn’t been indelicate enough to ask.
For the sake of the strangers, she introduced herself. “I’m Irene. I am a pleasure slave. Last year I was Lady Irene, the wife of Lord Fortson, so I know your frustration in marriage. My husband spent time with his pleasure slaves every day and didn’t come to my bed for months on end. On a whim, I accompanied him to a slave auction and on a foolish impulse, had the auctioneer sell me. I’ve had my regrets, but I’ve also had more enjoyable sex as a slave than I had as a lady. I do not recommend that any lady do what I did. But I believe that we can find a middle ground between slavery and celibacy. I believe that a lady can have a better sex life within her marriage. I’m going to show you what pleasure slaves do for your husbands. If you choose, you can do the same and, hopefully, get a lot more attention from your husbands in your bedrooms.”
There was no response. The ladies looked nervous about what might be expected of them.
Irene continued. “I’m not going to speak to you as lady. I’m not a lady any more. I’m a slave so I’m going to talk as a slave. I’m going to be blunt and direct and crude. I’m going to talk about fucking and cocks and cunts. Your husbands’ cocks and your cunts. I’m not trying to shock or offend. I’m simply going to be as clear and honest as possible. That’s what pleasure slaves do and that’s what I recommend that you do, too, in the privacy of your bedroom. How many of you have told your husband that you want him to fuck you, using exactly that word?”
Not a single lady responded. They all glanced around the room at the other ladies.
“There you go. That’s a start. What does your husband think when he comes into your bedroom and you bat your eyes and say, ‘Do you want to sleep with me?’ and then he goes into his kennel and a naked woman says, ‘I want you to fuck my cunt all night with your wonderful cock.’ Do you blame him for thinking that the slave is going to give him a better ride than you? If you want to sleep, ask him to sleep with you. But if you want to have sex, ask him to fuck you.”
Now a dozen pairs of wide eyes were staring at her like a herd of deer staring into a semi’s headlights. She had certainly grabbed their attention.
She swept her arm wide, gesturing at the parlor walls. “This is no place to talk about wild sex. We’re going to continue this discussion in the slave kennels. Follow me.”
The women gasped in shock. This was more than they bargained for. They’d thought that they were going to sit quietly for a couple of hours and learn a couple of magic gimmicks that would trick their husbands into their beds.
Ladies never went near slave kennels.
But this was an opportunity that they would never have again and for most of them, their curiosity was stronger than their propriety.
They rose from their chairs and followed Irene through the manor and out the back door.
All but one. Outside the parlor door, Victoria Sumner turned left instead of right and let herself out of the manor.
The kennels were empty. Irene had ordered the slaves to spend the day in the manor’s kitchen, amusing themselves as best as they could. Lord Fortson had been ordered to stay away from the manor until dinnertime. He hadn’t asked why.
A pleasure slave, Irene, was giving a lot of orders to ladies. It was a day of turning convention on its head. She liked it.
She showed the ladies the tiny slave cells with the narrow cots and small wardrobes. She explained the housedresses and lube and butt plugs. The ladies’ expressions of disgust amused her. She assured them that they were going to hear a lot more about such things before the day was over.
Lady d’Angelo looked like she was going to faint. Lady Hoffman looked eager. All the ladies were breathing hard.
The tour ended in the pleasure room.
“All kennels have a pleasure room. This is where your husbands usually fuck their slaves. Not always in the bed. In fact, mostly not in the bed. Bent over a chair. Up against a wall. Kneeling on the floor. Every piece of furniture in this room has been used for fucking. Your husbands don’t spend a lot of time sitting on those chairs or sleeping in that bed.”
Several of the ladies were shaking their heads in dismay.
“You know what’s wrong with me, right now?”
“I can think of several things,” Lady Felicity said with a grin.
The ladies giggled nervously.
That was good. It was the first time that one of them had volunteered to speak. Irene wanted them to get more involved with what she was saying. She laughed along with the others. “I’m sure you can. But one thing stands out. I’m a pleasure slave and I’m wearing a dress in the pleasure room. I’ve never before been clothed in this room. It’s as just as outrageous to be clothed in here as it would be to attend a dinner party in the nude.” She pulled the dress off over her head, kicked off her shoes, and stood before them naked. “This is how a slave is clothed in the kennels. A slave removes her dress as soon as she enters the kennels and doesn’t put it back on until she leaves. The only exception is if her owner or his guests want her to wear something exotic. And you better believe that those exotic bits of lingerie don’t put any demands on men’s imaginations. Stockings, garter belts, and high heels are the most common.”
The ladies weren’t listening; they were all staring at Irene’s bald cunt.
Irene caressed her crotch. “Slaves keep their cunts bald. We shave and use hair-removing creams. Carefully. You don’t want to get that cream into your sensitive parts.”
“You look like a little girl,” one of the ladies said. She was one of the strangers to Irene.
Irene laughed and spread her arms away from her body. “Do you really think that I could be mistaken for a child? I don’t think that’s why men like a shaved crotch. I think they like that it’s the ultimate nudity. It lets them see a slave’s intimate slit always.”
She fluffed her hair. “Do you know why slaves always wear their hair down and ladies always pile their hair on top of their heads?”
The ladies shook their heads.
“I didn’t, either, until after I was sold.” She pulled her hair into a ponytail and held it up to one side while she turned around to show the ladies the back of her neck. “Every slave has a registration number tattooed on the nape of her neck. We wear our hair down to hide our numbers. You wear your hair up to show the world that you don’t have a number tattooed there.”
She turned back to face the audience.
“How many of you have been naked for your husband? I don’t mean when you’re getting dressed of climbing out of the bath. I mean actually stripping yourself and standing in front of him and letting him look at you for as long as he wants? Maybe even striking a pose–“ She put her hands behind her head and thrust her breasts out. “–or caressing yourself.” She ran her hands under her breasts, elevating them and holding them out on offer. “If you want your husband to see you as sexual, you have to show him sexual. It’s that simple.”
“It’s embarrassing,” Lady Gaston said.
“Embarrassing? Hell, it can be downright humiliating,” Irene said. “You don’t think I feel humiliated right now? Look at me. I’m standing in front of you, stark fucking naked. You’re my friends. I’ve chatted with you over dinner. And now I’m showing you my bald cunt and my slave tattoo. Don’t tell me that you love your husbands and you w
ant to make them happy if you’re going to let a little embarrassment stop you from giving him a good look at your body. Because I’ve got a news flash for you. The pleasure slaves that are waiting for him in his kennel will give him plenty to look at. Pleasure slaves feel embarrassed and humiliated and downright degraded every day. Humiliation is our whole life. But we never let it stop us from doing anything. Hell, there are a lot worse things in our lives than humiliation. You see this bench here? This is a whipping bench. You kneel on it like this.” She knelt on the platform and then bent over the padded bench. “Your owner straps your legs and arms down with these leather straps.” She lifted one of the buckled straps to show them. “And then he takes a whip or a cane and lays into you. The cane is for real punishment. It can cut and scar you permanently. When you’re strapped onto this thing and you’re screaming in agony and you don’t know how badly you’re back or ass or legs are going to look when he’d done, you think you care about whether you feel humiliated or not? You think you care if he can see your asshole or cunt?” She reached back and ran her fingers over a wale of a dozen raised welts across her ass. “I guaranteed that embarrassment is the last thing on your mind. I’ve been caned twice in the last year and it’s something that I hope with all my heart that I never have to experience again.”
She got up from the bench.
“Who did that to you?” Linda asked, horrified.
Irene laughed lightly. “My husband, actually. The second beating. The one that caused most of the scaring. There’s a lesson in that, ladies, and it’s not the one that you might expect. He strapped me to this very bench and laid twenty of his best strokes across my ass with that very cane–” She pointed to the cane hanging on the wall “–because I told him that he should. I publicly humiliated him when I sold myself into slavery and he deserved the opportunity to punish me for the wrong that I had done to him. So the first time that I spoke to him after I became a slave, almost a year later, I told him that I deserved a caning and I voluntarily knelt across that bench and took it. It was brutal, but it was just and I don’t regret doing it for him. In fact, if he wanted to cane me again, I’d kneel back across that bench and let him strap me down again. My stomach churns in fear, just saying that, but I would do it just the same and if it made him love me a little more, I would be grateful for it.”
“Were you grateful for the last beating?” one of the strangers asked.
“So grateful that, as soon as he released me, with tears still running down my face and my ass burning like the fires of hell, I got down on my knees and gave him the best blowjob that I could.” She smiled. “You want to compete against pleasure slaves for your husband’s affection? That, ladies, is what you are competing against–”
“How on earth can I compete against that?” Lady Gabriela’s face was a combination of dismay and anger.
“Take heart. You can do it. You won’t ever have to take a caning or let a dozen strange gentlemen fuck you in the ass during an entertainment. But you will have to let your husband see you walk around naked and you will have to get down on your knees and give him a decent blowjob once in a while.”
Irene noticed that Lady Kaitlin was grinning at Lady Linda. At their request, she had once smuggled the two ladies into a gentlemen’s entertainment. They had thrown themselves into the orgy with considerable enthusiasm. These ladies had the potential for considerable wickedness when they put their minds to it.
“You have some real strengths.
“First of all, your husbands married you. They’re aristocrats. Any woman would want them. They had all of the women in the world to choose from. They could even have married commoners if they’d wanted. But they chose you. They must have seen something that they really liked in you.
“Second, what do slaves do? They obey orders, and that’s about it. Slaves seldom take the initiative because they can be punished severely if they get it wrong. By always waiting for the gentleman to take the lead, they limit themselves to whatever the gentleman can dream up. You aren’t limited. You can suggest things that your husband never thought of. You can do things that a slave would never dream of doing.
“Third, you have me in your corner. I wasn’t forced into slavery. I chose it. When I started out, I knew nothing but I was eager to learn. I’ve made a study of sex and I’ve had more opportunities to practice than any lady ever had. Not to brag, but when other slaves see how much men like what I do, they ask me to teach them my tricks.
“You can compete with a whole kennel full of pleasure slaves if you want to. But you do have to want to. It’s going to take some work. Flinging yourself on you back and spreading your legs is a great start but it’s not enough to make your husband choose to come to your bed instead of down here to his kennels.”
“So what do I have to do? Let my husband beat me half to death with that thing?” Linda pointed to the multi-tail flogger that was hanging next to the cane.
“He can’t beat you to death with that. I’ve taken a lot of strokes from floggers like that one. They’re real pussy cats. All those wide, soft tails spread the force out. It stings but it doesn’t do any real damage. It’s more play than punishment. You know, one of the more erotic things that you can do is to take a spanking over your husband’s knee with his bare hand on your bare ass. It stings and it’s as humiliating as hell because it’s pure submission to him. But if that doesn’t turn him on, then he’s a cold fish, indeed.”
“You think that I should just walk up to my husband and tell him that I want him to give me a spanking?” That was the first time that Melanie, the young bride of the earl had spoken.
Irene suspected that the old goat would probably enjoy giving his teenage bride a bareback blistering.
“You could. But a better way would be to confess some wrongdoing. Maybe tell him that you accidently tore his favorite shirt and that you deserve an old-fashioned spanking for your carelessness. I’d say ‘old fashioned’ to make sure that he understood that you’re talking about a bare hand and not a caning. And I’d have actually torn his shirt to make it real.”
She looked thoughtful. The earl was in for a treat pretty soon.
“We’re getting way ahead of ourselves. We have to start with the basics. That’s where you can really shine.” She explained that a woman’s vulva is full of muscles that are strong enough to deliver babies. But women don’t understand their own cunts, don’t keep them fit with exercise, and don’t learn to control them.
“Kaitlin, will you do me a favor?”
“Sure.”
She suspected that Kaitlin was the most sexually adventurous of her friends. She held up her middle and index fingers together and said, “I’d like you to put your two fingers inside me.” She spread her legs apart.
Kaitlin raised an eyebrow.
“Your husband knows what the inside of a cunt feels like. You need to know, too.”
“I’m not sure that I do.”
“I’m sure. Trust me. This isn’t sex. It’s a biology lesson.”
“If you think it’s necessary.” Kaitlin stepped up to Irene and gingerly pressed the tips of her fingers into her.
“All the way, please.”
When Kaitlin sank her fingers all the way to her last knuckle, Irene squeezed her cunt as hard as she could and then relaxed.
“Did you do that?” Kaitlin asked, wide eyed.
“I did. I’ll do it again.” She squeezed again. “That’s what a man feels on his cock when he fucks me. I keep squeezing him over and over. You can take your fingers out now.”
Kaitlin withdrew.
“Put your fingers into your own cunt and try to squeeze them like that.”
Kaitlin reached under her skirts, dropped her panties, and inserted her fingers.
All the other ladies watched with varying degrees of amazement and disapproval.
Kaitlin didn’t care. She was concentrating on herself. “I can’t do it. I don’t feel anything.”
Irene smiled. “You defini
tely want your husband to feel something when he fucks you. Learn to squeeze his cock when he’s fucking you and you’ll be giving him something that he never gets in his kennels. Tighten up down there like you have to pee real bad and you’re trying to hold it in.”
“Oh. There. I felt a little bit. Not like you can do, but a bit.”
“That’s great. You want to keep exercising those muscles every day and it won’t be long before you’re driving your husband wild in bed. I promise. I can tell you something else. You whisper to your husband some time when you’re holding your husband’s cock that your fingers were once jammed up a pleasure slave’s cunt and he’s never going to think that you’re boring again. Men love thinking about women being intimate with each other.” She turned to Linda. “Linda, will you do me a favor?” She held up her two fingers and grinned.
One by one, she cajoled and bullied all of the women in the room into comparing her cunt strength with their own. A couple of the women were extremely reluctant, but when everyone else had done it, they fell to peer pressure.
“I have a gift for each of you,” she said when all of the women had satisfied themselves that their cunts were not as powerful as Irene’s. “Take a bag from the table.”
Each lady took a bag from a table that was shoved against the wall. There were audible gasps when they peeked inside.
“Don’t worry about the rest of the stuff in there. Right now, we’re only interested in the cunt weights.” Irene held a set aloft and explained to the ladies how they were to be inserted into their cunts and held in place only by the muscles in their vaginas. By screwing different combinations of weights together, it could be increased in eighth ounce increments to a ridiculous total weight of half a pound. She screwed four-ounce weight to hers and inserted it into her own cunt. “You should start with no additional weight until you can hold it in your cunt while you move around. Then you can start adding more weight, an eighth of an ounce at a time. Don’t expect to be able to do this right away.” She held the heavy weight in her own cunt then walked around and helped the other women with theirs.
A League of Ladies (Slave of the Aristocracy Book 5) Page 13