“Ah, I can hardly breath,” she gasped as Jason gave the laces one last tug and tied them off.
“You’ll get used it,” he advised her coolly. “Besides, I’m hardly finished.”
To add to the effect of the corset, Jason attached a split leather cord to the base of the garment in back. Run through the cleft of her ass, the cord was made to be drawn up taut so it bound her nether regions. Splitting in two fingers between her anus and pussy, it was drawn on either side of her vagina and clitoris, at the same time holding her labia apart, with each end then secured to clips at the front of the corset some six inches apart. She could not move without feeling leather rub these sensitive private places.
Before Jason finished this binding, however, he stunned his beautiful slave by attaching to the leather cord, an anal plug and inserting the rigid five-inch rod into her ass. She’d had worse plugs in her behind, but never one that would remain inside her all day long.
Moving on to her breasts, Jason drew tiny nooses of metal cording around her nipples so they pinched the buds into painful knots. The knots were then connected with a metal chain that could be tugged and pulled and used to attach to a leash, if her master so desired. He then zipped her feet into ivory boots with four-inch heels, each one adorned on either side with metal rings for further bondage. To complete her attire, Jason forced a small bit into her mouth. The metal rod sized for a human pony fastened with leather straps to a new ivory collar around her neck.
As Jason dressed his slave in ivory, Matthew created a far different vision of surrender in Elise. In the cellar of the house, he’d discovered a complete array of pony gear, which was much more intricate than the simple bit in Sandra’s mouth. The brown leather contraption began with a harness of straps that circled his slave’s slim waist, ran down through her crotch and then in front, pulled up on either side of her breasts, augmenting their small shape. The harness ended with the straps fixing to the metal collar at her neck. Then about her head she wore a bridle with a thick bit almost gagging her mouth. Having drawn her long hair back into a high ponytail, the thick mane dangled down her back. To enhance the sensuous elegance of her ass, she wore tightly fitting lace-up thigh-high boots. When she walked, their high heels pushed out her derriere, making her fleshy flanks take on a sumptuous equine look. Her rump was downright spankable the way it lured the eye.
Further exaggerating her appearance, Matthew added a brown horsetail to match her natural hair. The haughty piece was braided at the base, extending upwards eight inches before the horsehair fell away dangling much as Elise’s natural ponytail. Though this lovely feature of her costume was attached to the harness, it was also fixed firmly in place with a dildo impaling her anal channel. Like Sandra, she would feel the effects of this bondage, not just on the surface of her body, but deep within her petite frame.
Matthew’s final torture was a small but very effective one: serrated nipple clamps that circled her pale brown areoles, and when tightened, drew the flesh together, leaving the exposed ends to slowly turn a deepening shade of purple as the blood became trapped inside the tight space.
When Matthew wanted his slave more completely restrained, the harness allowed him to draw her arms behind her and cuff her wrists together above the tail. This first time in her new clothes, he took these measures, making certain that his slave could see the complete image of herself as bound chattel—or in Barth’s terms, simple livestock.
Seeing herself transformed into a slave pony nearly made the astonished slave faint. Her body seemed to burst with sexual excitement, though her head felt light, her belly hot, and her thighs weak with desire.
While their masters carefully prepared Sandra and Elise, Laney stood before a mirror in wonder at the woman she became at her husband’s inspiration. In Erik’s search for the proper clothes, he’d come upon an amazing suit of black leather with properties similar to both Sandra’s corset and Elise’s harness—though it was very different than either one. He took a chance with this costume, since it would not fit every woman. Though he assumed with Laney’s average height and weight that she might well fit the mold as easily as the woman it was made for. To his delight, the snug body suit conformed to his wife’s body like a glove, covering her torso in black leather from the high collar at the neckline to the crotch below. To add to its provocative allure, it had high cut legs, and zippers at the cleft and breasts. Zippers open, Laney’s rounded breasts looked as though they’d burst the seams of the body suit, while at her crotch, the zipper opened to display her private assets from tail to pussy. Erik had been clever enough to think ahead, ordering his slave to shave her entire crotch clean of any hair, so that peeking out from between the sides of the black zipper, her pussy looked quite stark and innocent.
By itself, the bodysuit would cause only the basics of restraint that Barth encouraged. To create the physical tension that he suggested, Erik pinched Laney’s nipples with connecting metal pinchers, and then snapped clamps to each of her labia, drawing them wide apart and attaching the ends to metal rings on the suit. Having exposed her sex, he added the pain of a final clamp to the hood of her clitoris, making the poor sliver of flesh—already excited from the tease—throb with a maddening sexual beat.
Laney wore black lace stockings and stiletto heels, giving the costume and her body a severe and elegant look. So clothed, she might pass for a female dominatrix as easily as she might a slave. But to ensure that there was no mistaking her status, Erik added the final piece: a ballgag, which fit snuggly inside her mouth and prevented any means of speech. Though Erik enjoyed the look of bits and bridles, he preferred to restrain his wife’s mouth with something more basic. Silencing her was a deliberate statement of his mastery over a woman, who before this unexpected vacation, rarely gave in to anyone.
They served their masters with a courtly grace—Sandra in her ivory corset, Elise her ponygirl attire, and Laney in the basic black body suit. Unlike the slave days that had just passed, they took pride in their appearance—even though it was perfectly astonishing and depraved. It hurt to be restrained. Barth’s vision was quite accurate of slaves in bondage. The painful extremes of their costumes kept them mindful of their bodies, their brains detached, and their thinking clear of unnecessary thoughts that might get in the way of obeying their master’s orders. They remained tuned to their asses, their breasts, the pinching bite of the clamps on their nipples, and the fact that their bridled, ball-gagged mouths had become completely pointless in the eyes of their masters. As often as the leather chaffed their skin, they were reminded of their masters’ dominion over them. As often as a shot of pain up the ass or in their pussies rendered them weak, the costumes reinforced the truth about what they’d become.
That night, when it was time to go to bed, they were taken to the cellar—the slaves’ first journey to the subterranean depths of the old house. By that time, their feet ached from the strain of wearing the high heels, and they found the rocky dirt floor was nearly impossible to walk on. To keep their balance, they clung to the damp sides of the stone corridor until they reached the vault.
“We’ve cleaned out the rodents,” Matthew told them. “Not that slaves care—but there are no bats, no rats, not even a spider or a mouse to threaten you. Just what’s in your mind tonight, what ghosts appear, what dreams you keep, what nightmares rock your sleep—if you can sleep at all. You’ll remain here in chains until we come to get you. And just so you aren’t tempted to alter your costumes in favor of a more comfortable rest, you will be manacled.”
That was all he said, all any master said until each slave was bound so their hands were worthless to them, and they were shoved into one of the many stone cages that lined the walls of the dreary cavern.
There is night—night without a moon and stars; and there’s the dark that comes after the lights go out; and then there is black—the absence of light, a place where there are no stars, no light peeking from under a door, a place where nothing gets inside to dispel the endless sh
adows before the eyes.
Locked inside their cages in the dark, the three slaves spent their night, turning in on themselves, thinking little, and hoping that sleep would finally descend to wipe their fears aside. There were small fights, and some painful wars with the aggravating features of their clothes—the clamps, the pinchers, the plugs, bits and gags. But the wars were brief. After a time, with fatigue settling inside their bones, they fell into a fitful sleep.
Chapter Seven
In the morning, the trio were released from the vault and brought upstairs where they were undressed, and allowed to bathe in the salty, soothing ocean waters. The fresh dip revived their faith in life. And though the exhilaration was short-lived, they knew it was far more luxury than they should expect from any master. Bathing again in tubs of soapy water, each slave was given a quick enema bag to cleanse the insides of their asses. Once the contents were eliminated in the latrine, they were ready to dress for the day. This time, they were required to dress themselves with each other’s help; something as best friends they’d done many times before for proms, first dates and weddings—though the experience was never like this.
In other circumstances, they might have been prone to giggle, or smile and talk. But not now. This was a somber ritual, something their masters watched with keen, judgmental eyes. So, the slaves kept silent, dressing with care until every garment was restored to their bodies exactly in the way their master had placed it the day before.
To their dismay, it was far more difficult bearing the torture of their clothes this time. Their skin was raw, and beneath the flesh there were a hundred tiny aches and pains—all revived as they replaced each clamp, mouthpiece and invading dildo. Once finished, they presented themselves to their masters—finding as they did, a substantial peace invading their bodies despite the discomfort.
Like every other day in this exercise in submission, they were well worked about the ass with paddles and straps until their exposed behinds were glowing brightly. Then like good slaves, they learned to strut their wares, display themselves like statues about the house, and otherwise do the bidding of their masters. These were all rudimentary functions of their status, though it seemed as though there were some ulterior purpose to their efforts. If there were, however, they weren’t advised by any loose-lipped master.
After a long day, it almost seemed extraneous for another reading from Christian Barth’s book. Laney, Sandra and Elise were languid, tired slaves, afraid of spending another night in darkness, but sure that would be their fate. Their costumes cut. And where their tender skin was pinched, they could hardly stand the agonizing bites. They warred between their hungers, one for freedom and one that would drive them deeper into the feel of their restraints. Their minds were weary looking forward to sleep, while their stifled bodies sat waiting for the fire in them to flame.
Instead of moving to the library, the three trudged upstairs to the second floor leashed at their collars, each trying to look as starched and perfect as they had in the morning. Moving down the hallway past the bedrooms, they came to a door at the end of the corridor where they hadn’t been before. Inside, the unexpected scene delighted their eyes, with the room looking like one gigantic playroom, a sensuous brothel of lounges and pillows and diaphanous curtains, which seemed to float on the tropical breeze wafting through the windows.
Ordered to kneel, they took their places on the floor and respectfully listened to the words Erik recited…
On slave eroticism… use the desire bred in the structures of slavery to enhance the sexual stimulation. It will come naturally, born from the extremes and the physical awareness challenging the slave. Everything becomes erotic. The skin sensitized, the orifices thirst for pleasure and the body becomes a magnet for ecstasy. Every movement, every touch, every kiss rife with passion…
As he spoke, Erik’s hand was at Laney’s neck. He sat behind her with his slave inside his parted legs facing forward. Pulling her close into his crotch, he passed his fingers over the leather of her bodysuit until they came to rest on one breast where they lightly dabbled with the pincher squeezing her nipple to its shocking sensitivity. She drew in her breath. Even with the ballgag in her mouth a tiny sound escaped. Tugging on the pincher for a moment, Erik finally yanked it off, and Laney’s cry amplified in volume.
In front of her, Sandra and Elise were likewise teased as their master’s hands roamed their flesh finding points of pleasures, finding pain behind the release of clamps, and small cries of delight when bits and ballgags were removed. Bodies charged, the three women came together with female hands on female bodies—and male hands guiding their movements. Laney kissed Sandra on the mouth as she would any other lover, and her cunt clenched, finding moments later an erection entering her tight space from behind. She bore down hard to milk the cock, while her hands groped at the great wealth of Sandra’s breasts. Even while being fucked, she buried her face in the sweaty cleavage, basking in the feel of Sandra’s infinite softness as the velvet skin brushed her face. Hugging Sandra’s ass from behind, Elise burrowed her face into the woman’s broad ass, moving directly toward the warmly pungent cunt with her mouth. With both women pleasuring her, Sandra’s orgasmic belly spasmed as she arched her back and found an erection at her lips. Drawing it inside her mouth, she began to suck.
The third erection breached Elise’s ass, darting inside the once impaled channel with a fervent move toward climax.
Time moved on and the orgy shifted, as bodies turned and twisted, and joined in other fashions, as climaxes took shape and ended in screams…as whimpering lovers sought new lovers…as cocks bloomed and dwindled, leaving the scent of spent sex on cushions below, and on female thighs and female faces, and female lips—smiling now.
Small pains were soothed, while new lovebites surfaced on well-used skin. Sighs, satisfaction and great bursts of carnal lechery led them far into the night.
At the end, just before dawn, just before the first light of sunrise appeared in the east, the slaves, minus the bits and gags and the other embellishing tortures of their costumes, were lead to the vault again and caged as before. This time they slept more peacefully. And though they weren’t gagged, they didn’t say a word. Too exhausted to utter a sound, they fell asleep.
***
As the masters moved out of the vault into the cellar corridor, the heavy door hit hard against its frame and secured the cloistered burrow for the night. The three men moved in silence toward the stairs, Erik pausing before he started upwards, saying as he turned around, “Any of you wonder about what we’re doing here? We’ve just locked the women we love in cages…”
The comment startled the others speechless for a moment and they stood together considering Erik’s question until Matthew finally answered. “Yes. I think about it very late at night, wondering what’s happened in my old world that I’d invent this one.” They started up the stairs.
“Like there’s something we’re not seeing happening here?” Erik wondered.
“Yes, like there’s something we’re not seeing,” Matthew agreed. “I’ve felt manipulated by some outside force since we stepped on the boat.”
“That long?”
“Yes, that long. I’ve traveled on the open ocean in boats far smaller than our craft…I’ve never been spooked by a storm, but I was during that one… and then the minute we landed on this island… and when we opened the unlocked door. Now, every time something jumps out at me that satisfies my most base desire… I see this unseen hand placing it there… and the obscene images it puts inside my mind.”
They were at the top of the stairs.
“You sound possessed,” Jason tried to laugh it off. “Me? I’m leading with my dick…and seeing that the women in the vault aren’t rebelling, I don’t question what I’m doing. At least not consciously.”
“I wonder if that’s safe for any of us?” Erik considered as he pushed the door wide open and they stepped into the main floor hall. When they reached the living room, they were su
rprised to see Archibald Devane standing by the dining room door just as he had the day they first laid eyes on him.
“Gentlemen…” he nodded obsequiously, with the tone of his voice having a fawning ring that made them wary.
“What are you doing here?” Erik asked.
“Letting you know that I’ve made the arrangements we talked about yesterday.”
He’d jarred their memories back to the conversation on the veranda. “That’s good,” Erik replied, although he’d been vague about that conversation, and wasn’t sure now exactly what they’d agreed to then.
“Well, then,” Devane smiled again, the same crooked sort of indiscernible smile they’d seen before. He turned and waved, “In the morning.”
“Does anyone wonder about that man?” Jason blurted out once Devane was gone. “There’s something creepy—voyeuristic about him.”
“Sure he’s a voyeur,” Matthew agreed. “Been doing it a lot of years if he’s telling even half the truth. So, we’ve given him something to excite his fantasies. What this is about is the six of us and what we want. We keep our heads, as well as our cocks into what we’re doing, we’re okay.”
“I’m sure we are,” Erik agreed—but just halfheartedly.
“So…” Jason looked nervous despite the rational explanation. “It’s my turn to watch downstairs. I’m getting some sandwiches, and I’ll see you in the morning.” Taking off for the kitchen, he found what he wanted.
The Marquis' Book of Pleasure & Property of the Marquis Page 8