The Marquis' Book of Pleasure & Property of the Marquis

by Lizbeth Dusseau

  If there had been music, she would have done a raunchy striptease before the fisherman’s lewdly gazing eyes. But she had just the breeze, the noise of a few cawing gulls and buzzing insects, and her feral physical excitement as a backdrop for disrobing. Alex Greenwood turned back into a stranger as he stared at her, into the fisherman she’d just met. She obeyed the order because in her mind, she was bound by the bracelet to obey his command, and because for now she was pretending that he’d been sent by the Marquis to punish her. This was what she wanted, and perhaps had secretly hoped for when her quest began.

  Not taking her eyes from the fisherman’s for even a second, Laney nervously began to remove her clothes. Her breath was short, her emotions aching, her crotch liquid with expectation. She unbuttoned her sleeveless blouse and let it fly off her fingers to the floor, seeing Alex’s eyes immediately move to her chest and rest on her fragrant flesh cupped by her lacy black bra. Without thinking through her next move, she undid the catch at the waist of her shorts and unzipped them, letting them drop to her feet, where she kicked them aside. She stood before the master now, clothed only in her bra and a pair of black thong panties—an offending pair of panties for a woman who’d once vowed never to wear anything that would cover her crotch. Despite this flagrant act of disobedience, Laney Priestly in bra and panties would be a seductive sight to any man’s eyes. Her lean body and tawny skin glowed with a layer of perspiration that highlighted the lovely form. Her thighs were firm and muscled, her belly taut, and from underneath the thin thong, a hint of her trimmed black pubic hair invited Alex’s eye.

  When a gust of air swept the room, the half-dressed Laney chilled, the feeling of it moving up her spine in a tingling, thrilling wave. She wondered what the fisherman thought of her as he inspected her body, but she could not get inside his mind; he was as inscrutable as the other masters she’d known, as inscrutable as her own husband had been in a moment like this one.

  Alex Greenwood was hardly as inscrutable as Laney believed, but like many women, she encouraged the romance of uncertainty for the way it fed her own arousal. Aloof, his emotions in check, Alex coolly surveyed Laney’s luscious body, taking in the allure of her curvaceous figure with great interest. She was his to use. Freely given. With normal societal restraints removed, his body reacted to the sight of her, growing agitated, his crotch heating, his cock beginning to throb. Ideas of how he’d fuck her began to form in his mind. He imagined what he’d do to her hungering flesh, what havoc he would wreak. This wretched island never failed to encourage his kinky appetites.

  He knew when they first met that he’d be pleased to fuck the sultry beauty; although never did he expect this opportunity to arise—and so swiftly. She was just a neat $500 dollar afternoon. And now this! If he were not careful, his own savage desires might get the better of him, he had to play the game slowly, milk the experience for everything he could get. He knew that Laney Priestly wasn’t just the average hot looking female looking for good times.

  Laney waited for some time for the fisherman to comment. She was afraid to go on without a signal from him. When he finally spoke, saying simply, “Your bra, Laney,” his voice shook her drowsy mind awake and made her blush. He was still a stranger and very strange to her. Unknown. Unfathomable. His eyes sharp and penetrating. How could he know so much about the Marquis without being a master himself? Was he as hidden as she’d tried to be? she wondered as she reached back and, bowing her head demurely, unhooked the bra to let her breasts fall free and the underwear scatter on the floor with the rest of her clothes. As the warm air danced about her unfettered chest, her nipples became taut, hard and firm as bullets signaling her palpable arousal.

  “Pinch them,” he said. He’d slunk deeper in the chair, his elbows resting on the arms and his legs widespread, so that if she looked at his crotch, she might have noticed his awakened penis turning into a pulsing weapon.

  At that moment, Laney was too engaged by her own physical response to make eye contact with his specific body parts—especially his feral eyes and his heated groin. She was no longer the confident attorney, the liberated female, instead, she felt embarrassed and bashful, self-conscious and coy. The glaring exposure shamed her, while the threat of his cool command held her firmly within his grasp.

  As he delivered his order, to ‘pinch them,’ she obeyed without hesitation, allowing the small pain that followed to raise her physical heat another degree higher, mounting feverishly as she lewdly stretched them for him. With the sweltering pleasure building, her breathing became more labored and she closed her eyes. The heat in her groin became volcanic, edgy, irascible, so hard to contain. She squirmed reflexively, zealously longing for his hands to comb her flushed skin, for his fingers to playfully tease the folds of her sex, for his cock to spring from his pants and beg her mouth to dine. She pressed her nubs harder still, immersed in the pain that followed and desiring more. She pinched them even harder, hoping this would please him, though he’d still not said a word.

  “Open your eyes, Laney,” she finally heard him speak, in a voice that made her bristle with expectation. She did as ordered and let her eyes come to rest on his passive face, her body chilling as she connected with his pokerfaced cool. Silent, observant, he watched her body’s seductive movements, giving her no clue to his own response, even though it was very obvious to him. Yes, his impenetrable cool almost plunged her into a convulsive climax.

  “Go get the leather for me, Laney,” Alex finally said. His voice leapt out and grabbed her back from the breathless euphoria of her exhibition. She started to move, but he stopped her before she’d gone two feet. “With your teeth,” he said, “and on your knees, crawling.”

  The leather lash from the library cabinet was on a chair in the other room, maybe twenty feet from where she stood. Dropping to her knees, she crawled catlike from the living room to the library, still flushed with arousal and not missing a beat of her erotic rhythm. She retrieved the lash by grabbing it with her teeth and then returned to present it to the waiting Alex.

  Taking the lash from her mouth, he eyed her so tenaciously that she was certain he would order her over his lap and punish her immediately. Her wait would be over then, the pain would follow, and the uproar in his body finally see its end, as she climaxed from blows that would send her into submissive subspace. She waited with lips parted, her tummy churning with mounting excitement, but was taken completely off guard when he made a new demand.

  “There are ropes and chains in that same cabinet where I found this,” he held up the lash. “Go get them for me, Laney,” then he added just so she was sure, “with your teeth.”

  She was frustrated at being forced to wait, and yet, without displaying any distress, she padded off on hands and knees to the other room. Although her poor knees were already scratched and bruised from the hardwood floor, she moved rapidly, the pain no longer mattering, finding the cabinet beneath the bookcase. It proved impossible to open it with her teeth, so she used her hands instead, and found inside amongst a number of kinky items, a length of coiled rope and a burlap sack with heavy chains inside. With her teeth? she wondered silently, as she realized how difficult this task would be. She mouthed at the rope and finally gripped it with her teeth; then with that alone, she set off for the next room. The lengthy hemp rope unfurled as she crawled, trailing behind her like a tail.

  “So, where are the chains?” Alex immediately asked when she presented him with the rope. He didn’t look at all grateful for her effort, and that displeasure showed in his scowl. He did remove the rope from her mouth so she could speak.

  “I was afraid my teeth wouldn’t be able to handle the chains, sir.”

  “Well then fix them to your waist.” He took one end of the rope and tossed it over her head, letting it drop to her waist. From there, he began to pull the stretched out rope so it ran along her back and her right side. Slowly dragged across her flesh, it scratched her skin and her body heated from the friction with every nerve heightening f
rom the prickly feeling of the hemp. Once it was all coiled again and in his lap, he began to wrap the rope around her waist, two, three, four, five times, until there was only six feet left. He secured the coils at her middle with the remaining rope and put the end in her mouth. She understood now what he wanted her to do.

  Laney’s palpitating heart could hardly stand the stress these awkward moments of submission produced, for every second was sharp and slow across her consciousness, moving like the edge of a blade drawn slowly along sweating skin. And now another painful crawl to retrieve the fisherman’s chains.

  Laney returned to the library, her crawl less provocative now and more labored, but still a sexy sight for the waiting Alex. She moved to the library cabinet as she had before with a little spittle dripping from her mouth and collecting on the rope. Again she opened the cabinet and pulled the heavy bag of chains from inside, this time knowing that she would have to drag them from one room to the other. She’d never be able to crawl with them dangling from her body. She looped the end of rope though the cords on the bag, allowing enough slack for the sack to slide against the floor as she crawled. Returning, she moved more slowly, for the weight kept pulling her back. At first, the bag dragged along at her side, but after about ten feet, she realized that the only way she could crawl was to let the bag drag from her belly, between her knees and between her legs. She adjusted the chains, moving them into position and started out again, feeling the rope press taut against her stomach. As it thread through her naked crotch, the hemp was drawn in tightly against her labia, then disappeared into that soft cleavage of her sex. Considering how much the rope cut, she might have corrected the positioning, but that rough rubbing against her sensitive sex bud seemed to intensify her mounting desire. Her desire was ruthless and biting by that time, furious, demanding. She dragged the chains as self-inflicted punishment, which sprung from grief and longing she’d held on to far too long.

  She thought of her labor as penance, although she had no real clue what she must atone for.

  The fisherman watched as she emerged from the library, dragging the bag of chains between her legs. Her body found a new, more arduous, but nonetheless sensuous rhythm, in this appalling act of humble service. When she was at his feet again, exhausted and hurting, she fell into a deep crouch, a degrading bow that raised her ass, as if she were preparing her body for the punishment she expected.

  “Geez, Laney, you’re getting so good at this, I should have you tote and fetch the rest of it for me,” Alex said. “Pretty good for just pretending.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “So, where are my chains, huh?”

  Laney pulled up and dragged the bag out from under her body and lifted it into his hands like an offering of some great value.

  In the minutes that followed, the fisherman unwound the rope from her waist and used it to bind Laney’s breasts into a rope harness, which made the fleshy mounds protrude obscenely from her body. Inside the bag were manacles for her wrists and ankles, a chain to link one ankle to the other, and another to link her shackled wrists together.

  “You won’t walk much,” he said, as he finished her restraints. “I wouldn’t want to strain that ankle anymore than it is already.”

  She hardly remembered that it was hurting; that the pain had subsided in the hour of crawling submission, and she imagined if she walked now, she’d hardly feel a thing. Some things don’t matter when fulfilling her dreams.

  Now awkwardly bound, her body in chains, her desire was thick enough to taste, and the sour stench of her crotch seemed to fill the air around her.

  The daylight was waning fast, the light in the room a soft afternoon glow that settled all around them, making everything gleam with the rich, golden color of a 16th century painting. Once there’d been naked statues in the room that conveyed that kind of Old World ambience. Although without them, the room still took on the aura of the decaying and ancient, a world of magic and enchantment; chicanery and the diabolical. The darker elements of nature bloomed…the fisherman and lawyer squaring off in an ancient game…of pretend. There would be no pretending in the way he punished her; that was something they both understood.

  Alex rose from the chair, his sub bound, manacled and humble at his feet. Her dark hair brushed the hard wood floor, locks of it clumped together like writhing snakes.

  “Over the sofa,” he ordered her.

  Laney looked up to see what he wanted, and study what remained of the sagging old couch. The wooden frame was practically stripped of fabric and much of the stuffing had disappeared, but there was enough of the structure to serve as a make-shift rack. Certainly it would suffice as a means to further humble a woe begotten widow.

  Laney struggled for some time trying to pull herself to her feet, then she shuffled to the back of the couch. Her body already ached fiercely from her tightly bound breasts and the heavy chains and manacles. In one spot along the six foot length of the old sofa, there was still some soft cushion to lessen her discomfort as she bent over. She let her crotch rest against the top beam, while Alex grabbed for her chained hands and, after pulling them tight, attached them to the front foot rail of the sofa. Then he moved around behind her, and anchored her ankle cuffs to eyebolts in the floor—remains of the Marquis’ bondage parties—her feet positioned as far as the chain between them would allow—about two feet. Posed this way, her upper torso with its bound breasts dangled in the air, while her hips balanced on the top of the couch, and her ass was high, well within striking distance of the fisherman’s leather strap.

  Teaming moments of waiting wonder followed. She closed her eyes, her body clenching as she prepared herself for the cruelty her body remembered with such fondness. The strict tightness of the bondage made every nerve fervently ache.

  The implement came crashing down against her backside in its initial blow, then continued moving back and forth, as Alex moved his aim from side to side, from one ass cheek to the other. The strength and iron will behind his repeated blows sent pleasure immediately scurrying to the sidelines. Pain rifled through agitated nerves. Again and again the strikes arrived with unrelenting volition, and her taut body felt the pain increase with each one.

  “Ah… uhm….yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhh!” she soon vented. “Ooo, please… pleasepleaseplease!” the torment made her beg. “Nooooooooo, yyeeeeeeeeeeeash!” Her wails increased in volume, until Alex suddenly stopped. Though not a moment later, one vicious cut landed across her brightly stripped hind end, this one deliberately striking through the rising welts already there.

  “Cut the noise, Ms. Priestly!” Alex snapped.

  She knew she’d gone too far and clamped her mouth shut tight, embarrassed that she’d been so vocal; those kinds of screams were not allowed, not from a simple beating like this one.

  Instead of voicing her protest, she squirmed violently as the punishment continued, as Alex switched from beating her ass with the strap, to flailing on her lowered shoulders. The change was welcome; these body blows were so very different from those leveled on her ass, like an aphrodisiac to start, sensuous and sometimes biting but they rarely cut into her flesh so viciously. Her open crotch ached all the more, while her hips began writhe in an erotic rhythm that revealed her increasing arousal.

  “Gawd, yeessssssssssssss,” she seethed under her breath, knowing she could climax this way. Nothing Alex could do to her now would affect the outcome. Just as it had been before, her raunchy body relished every strike of the leather and the impending orgasm rose with each fresh burst of pain.

  Suddenly, the air crackled, a deafening sound pierced the air.

  Then a bolt of fire burst across Laney’s writhing body.

  “Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaw!” Her scream was unpreventable.

  “You will not come until you’re ordered to. Is that clear?” Alex’s cold voice brought her mind around, and he punctuated the command with another cut from the searing bamboo cane.

  “Yes, sir!” she cried, weeping now. This was a hurt no
t easily dismissed.

  Alex’s tools of torture seemed to pop out of nowhere, from the air materializing like conjured illusions. And yet, the whip and cane that followed the hard-hitting strap were real, not illusions of any sort.

  By then, however, there was little else for Alex to do but bring Laney down from the frantic, sexual high where not coming would be a difficult thing to manage. She wouldn’t have dared come if her mind had been in control. But the fisherman couldn’t count on her mind to control anything at this point; he knew enough about beating horny, masochistic women to know that.

  He left her scorched body for a time after he finished.

  For Laney, the time was as golden as the glowing room. Her frenzied body quelled some, but the endorphins swimming through her seemed on an endless mission to bring her pleasure. She moaned and ground her hips ever faster into the sofa, for just an instant realizing that there was not much she could do to prevent the rising tide of climax. The end was right within her grasp, promised, ready, sure to lift her into that splendid place, until suddenly, Alex was beside her again with his hand pressing hard against her pubis.

  “What are you doing, Laney?” he asked.

  “So, sorry, sir,” she almost whimpered as she spoke.

  He felt the soggy crotch, amused to find her so liquid, and so close.

  “I could bring you off,” he said.

  “Oh, please do, sir.”

  “Fraid not,” his hand withdrew, “I have so many more plans for you.”

  He went on to untie her feet and hands and lift her off the sofa, letting her punished body slide back to the wooden floor.

  Laney crawled to him when he sat back in the chair, and for a moment took the liberty of resting her head against his thigh. His hand was in her hair, gently fondling her head, and then her face. She kissed his palm, and with her shackled hands, brought his hand to her lips as she gazed into his face.