“You’re about to climax, aren’t you?”
“Oh, no, sir!” she exclaimed.
He hit her ass hard with the palm of his hand then went back to her cleft where he worked both holes. “Don’t lie to me you immoral slut! We are alike, you and me. We are alike.”
“Ah, ah, ahhhhhhh.” Her belly clenched beneath her, despite all efforts to hide the facts.
“Don’t lie slut! You’re on the brink! Let’s get it done.” He wouldn’t listen to another lie. He needed no more response than the liquid proof of her climax pouring out to cover his hand. It took just seconds to have the results he wanted. A few more playful probings with his fingers and she couldn’t stop herself. Her body wrenched, stiffened and slowly, silently released. He felt the spasms in his own gut, long, determined grasping that acted on his turgid stalk like a woman’s warm, welcoming mouth.
As she slipped limply from his lap, between his thighs, Marcus opened the buttons of his pants and pulled out his penis, thrusting it forward into the lady’s mouth. She devoured him, lustily licking and sucking the solid muscle with her tightening jaws. Pulling the erection out, she tasted the rim of his head, smiling with feral eyes as she looked into his. Consumed with lust, she let the erection take her throat again.
He pulled away a dozen times, only to find her zealous pursuit of his climax as much a confirmation of her desire as her unwanted one. He didn’t expect or want her to love him, but he knew they’d be better lovers after this day. He couldn’t stand women who denied the truth, like they were playing some silly game with virtue. He had all he needed to have her now, and this triumph brought him to the pinnacle of heedless self-indulgence.
As his thick, white seed shot over her face, and she gratefully licked it with an eager tongue, he experienced a satisfaction that is often rare for any man. Sex would never be any better than at this unusual moment; although he would take some time to relish the most appealing outcome and milk its luster until it finally faded away.
Accommodations had been made. Jolie, Marcus Roger’s Antoinette, behaved herself while she was in his house. She dressed in harlot clothes, which were to his liking; she ate like a queen at his table; was left to her own designs most of the time; and as often as he desired to have her, Marcus would demand that she submit to a spirited spanking. Thereafter, they enjoyed the carnal sexuality that her hot behind and creaming cunt provided them both. This was the best she could expect from her indentured service to the man. It did no good to object to anything; as long as he was in the game as lord and master and she was subject to his demands. Jolie had no love for him, but she did enjoy the sex, and even the spanking—though she would never really admit that fact, even if Sir Roger continually reminded her of her obvious sexual response. She tolerated her position and agreed to submit because she could do nothing else and survive. Otherwise, she held her heart to herself, as well as her mind, praying for the day when she would be free of him and the whole messy business of her indentured service.
Any other house servant would have considered themselves lucky to be in her position, to have the sexual favor of the master of the house, his eye, his affections—as much as he would give any woman—and his continued interest. Jolie was considered an aberration; few women claimed the man’s attention so completely as the fallen wife of Marcus Roger’s friend. This woman had carved for herself a place in his world that lasted far longer than any other of his sexual conquests. Truly, she must be blessed with something special. Little did any of the house servants suspect that it was the ripe pain of punishment spankings that created the wicked fires fueling their mutual urges.
Jolie believed that the arrangement might last the duration of her sentence. Perhaps she could live with that. The longer she settled into Sir Roger’s world, the easier it was to live with him. Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, she was reasonably content. At least her sexual life did not suffer.
***
Marcus Roger was in his dining room late on a winter evening. The fire behind the grate was blazing, spewing ash and soot into the room. A grey haze from the pipes of five feasting men created a cloud of tobacco smoke thick enough to rival any fog upon the moors. The table, once set with enormous platters of meat and vegetables was stripped of the best morsels, while five satiated men sat back with tankards of lager and their pipes, considering crops, money and lust—in that order. When the topic of lust emerged, thoughts of women instantly followed.
“Antoinette!” Sir Roger blared loudly enough to be heard throughout his domain. From the kitchen to the laundry to the upstairs rooms and the servants quarters his voice boomed. “Antoinette!”
Jolie was just outside the kitchen door, having thrown a bucket of wash water into the slough behind the house. She heard her master’s call as clearly as the rest of the household, and instantly answered, scurrying quickly to the dining room. She almost choked as the heavy smoke stung her nostrils and throat.
“Yes, sir,” she came to Sir Roger’s side, while still wiping her hands on her skirt. She was wearing one of the less provocative dresses in her small wardrobe. Since it was winter, Marcus Roger gave her some reprieve from the scanty clothes he liked so much. Even in this dress, however, her bosom burgeoned from the top, threatening to spill free from the confines of the heavy boning. She was used to the jiggle and bounce. (Her more modest inclinations had been lost in favor of the more practical adaptations to her environment.)
“Ah, my beauty!” the master of the house exclaimed as he puffed smoke in her face.
She winced, but smiled. “Sir?”
“Winter nights give us very little to enjoy. I thought perhaps you could provide us with some entertainment.”
Jolie was instantly wary. She had no talent save sex. “And what would that entertainment be?” she wondered out loud.
“A little demonstration.”
“Sir?” she remained respectful, though she sensed a bad ending about to slap her down.
“I’ve told these gents about your remarkable sexual abilities.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, and they’d like to see you perform.”
“Perform!”
“Yes. Now. Over my lap.”
The blush that broadened on her face would rival the one that her master would ignite on her ass. “But…” she stared from man to man to man and on…
“Ah! I can see that I’ve kept you too sequestered since your public exhibition… you’re getting too squeamish.”
“It’s just that…” she stammered.
“That what?”
“That, this has always been a private thing between the two of us.”
“Oh, my. Have you perhaps grown fond of me?”
“No, Sir. I have not!” she declared immediately and perhaps, a bit too brusquely.
“Then, my dear whore, you will not mind showing off the wonder of your body’s fine assets to my curious friends.”
He allowed her no more argument, but hastened to upend her over his thighs, quickly raising her skirts above her ass where he knew her glorious bottom would be bare. The two firm mounds of heavenly flesh glistened by candlelight. Seeing this unveiling was truly one of Marcus Roger’s greatest joys. His friends heartily agreed, snickering and chiding the man for his luck in finding such a bawdy and obliging wench.
“This, my dear friends, is a raunchy one. She may have a nobleman’s blood pumping through her heart, but she has the soul of a whore.”
Jolie clenched her fists into tight knots. She hated that word, whore!
“And, she still has spirit—witness the way she sparks when I tell the truth about her.”
This mockery was the worst, she thought silently.
“But she does take to a good beating,” he added.
He began with his hand, smacking her cheeks with solid, repetitious strikes until her skin was the shade of a new pink rose.
“Here!” Marcus pushed her off his lap into Devlin’s, the man closest to his right, who quick
ly grabbed Jolie and tossed her over his thighs, bottoms up. It took some moments for the burly fellow to get started. Perhaps, he’d never had a woman yield to him this way. He seemed intrigued. For a time, he ran his palm over her warmed cheeks and smiled. Then, with a surprising viciousness, he started spanking the plump behind covering her ass quickly with a rain of strikes that abruptly overshadowed any physical joy the compliant woman felt.
He was far more ruthless than her own master. “Ouch! No!” she finally cried after just a minute of the brutish beginning.
“Antoinette!” Sir Roger jumped right on her. “Do not disappointment me.” His tone was harsh and warning. “I will lay my belt on your ass if you cry out again!”
She shut up quickly, gritting her teeth and tightening her fists, as the man’s rough palm delivered one stinging smack after another. There was no mirth in this blast of terror, and it didn’t stop until the miserable man pushed her off his lap toward the man next in line to punish her. She came to an awkward stance in front of this fellow, needing several seconds to get her bearings again. The savage sting on her rear was finally easing into a pleasant warmth.
Gazing down at the third of her tormentors she could see that he was a kinder sort—at least by her initial impression. He had such a handsome appearance that Jolie instantly took a liking to his comeliness and grace.
His smile was broad and gracious, his face smooth, his eyes flashing with merriment and wit. Though she held back in fear of her master’s reprisal for being too forward, her bosom heaved with desire and her crotch turned itchy. In her former life, she would have set her mark on this rogue and flirted herself into his bed. But that was in her former life.
“Shall we get on with this?” he asked while taking her hand in his. His easy speech seemed to wrap around her like a sensuous scarf.
“By all means,” she answered with a glint of passion surfacing in her green eyes.
Pulling her into his lap, she readily felt the difference between this fair-haired man, the rough fellow before, and her brutish master. Even the way he held her inspired her lust. His hands moved over her heated skin with such gentleness that she thought he was making love. Filled with anticipation, she pushed her ass high to meet his hand as if she were welcoming his erotic attentions.
When he laid on his first real strike, however, the result was grim. His smacks were tough to take: though, after each one, he rested his hand on her behind, letting his fingers glide over the smarting sensation as if to spread the tingle everywhere.
“Ahh, sir, ah.” She wiggled under his caress, panting in a tiny staccato of breaths, quietly, almost too inaudible to hear. Though the crowd could not be fooled.
He smacked her hard again, then with another strike, and then another; then in a regular rhythm for a good dozen before he paused again. Again, his tender touch invaded more than skin—it reached right to her bones and blood, swam through her belly where her arousal began to bloom and billow in a wondrous feast of beautiful color. His style was akin to her master’s, but ever-so-much more graceful and skilled.
“My friend, Lorenzo, you’ve had experience rousing a whore like this,” Marcus noted.
He nodded his head to agree. “Yes, I’ve had a good taste of a woman’s ass,” he reported. “They can take all kinds of abuse if it’s done properly.” He smiled quite generously, though Jolie could only imagine the expression on his pleasant face. As he spoke, however, he massaged the heated palate before him, keeping the pink glow bright. “While there is some merit to the brusque, uncivil beating, I find that only necessary when I aim to punish. I expect no uproarious end for myself or my victim when I’m delivering a reprimand. But I can see right off that this lovely lady thrills to the erotic aspects. Why not take advantage of her natural lust?”
Lorenzo began again with another evenly measured series of strikes, then followed with his hand grazing her entire bottom, fingers straying to her thighs where the skin had not yet been hit. “May I?” he looked to Marcus Roger for approval as his hand wandered to the base of her anal cleft.
“She is yours to use, Sir,” her master declared.
With permission granted, Lorenzo moved in quickly finding the swollen bud of her clitoris on his first exploration between her parted legs.
“Ah, sir,” she whispered, as his index finger made circles round the tender nub, and then with painstaking attention teased the opening of her vagina, inserting just the tip of his finger to spread her fast flooding juices.
“I fear she’ll drown me!” he looked up joking at the other men.
That might be true! She could not stop her reply. Body lust and stimulation were as rich as any treasure of jewels.
Lorenzo felt her body flush, the slight movements, the brief gyrations, even the sensuous way she breathed as her physical response heightened toward an anticipated end. Internally, the wanton strumpet was spasming and ready to climax. “She’s quick to find her pleasure,” he declared. “Shall I?”
“If it is your pleasure, my man,” Marcus answered. “But don’t let her think that this is all she’ll get tonight.”
The handsome Lorenzo snickered. “In my own way, Marcus, I am as ruthless as you are. I’d have my way with this one after she has her fun.”
“And how would that be?” the heretofore silent Demetrius chimed in.
“Why her ass, my man,” he turned to the fellow. “There’s nothing like a stiff rod of manliness shoved beyond the tight barrier of a woman’s bumhole.” He moved his fondling fingers to the taut rosette.
Jolie spasmed again as her body seemed to lunge toward the promised climax. Now, every movement of the man’s fingers began another rise to the finish.
The sullen Demetrius seemed impressed by Lorenzo’s unexpected declaration. Though his expression changed little, his eyes did light for a second. He might have been handsome to some women, however he remained too morose and dour for most. His grim visage appeared set in stone, as did his clear grey eyes. They didn’t view the world, they stalked it with the keen glare of a hunting animal. He wore black, with his black hair tied at the base of his neck, slicked back against his head giving his face a stark and brutal mien.
“I’d like to see you take her there,” he announced to the room.
Jolie was half oblivious to the conversation around her, but this statement made her body start in panic, while the steamy, wanting, fondled folds of flesh at her cunt were more aroused than ever.
“Ah, sir,” she moaned to be heard again.
“You want your pleasure now, luv… perhaps you’d like to wait until I’ve impaled your ass.”
“Please, sir, I cannot wait. Please, sir.”
“Cannot what? Wait?” He pulled his hand away. “Oh, you will wait, wench.”
This sly turn took her off guard. She’d misjudged the man, or perhaps he just seemed to be the kindest in the room. Sir Roger, Demetrius, Devlin and now Lorenzo were all ruthless bastards—she shouldn’t expect any more from her world. The last of the five, Jurious Sevey, an elder in Sir Roger’s clan, seemed beyond the need to molest a woman in such a vile way—but that was only because the old fart was deep into his last years, and had little desire for anything but the taste of ale and tobacco. He was there only to voyeur this tart’s debauchery.
Jolie’s body beat rabid with the need to cum. Her swollen nether lips were poised to surge forth and her belly had already spasmed a dozen times in pre-orgasmic bliss. And now, the blackguard let her down with no promise of more!
“Give her a few fair whacks,” Lorenzo declared, sending her to Demetrius in this state of maddening arousal.
The sullen man caught her in his arms. “Only with my belt,” he replied as his dark eyes shone evilly.
“So be it,” Marcus answered. This was more than he anticipated when the evening began. He’d thought a bit of harmless spanking might perk spirits and give him a more rousing fuck when it was time to screw his chattel. To witness a good anal rape—he couldn’t remember when he
had. And certainly, he’d never had the good fortune in such intimate surroundings. The redheaded beauty would be quite a prize to see stuffed with Lorenzo’s sturdy cock. His own erection took another jolt forward as the picture in his mind became clear.
Demetrius pushed the lady to the floor as soon as she landed in his lap. Then he stood, gazing with his brutal eye into the enrapt young woman’s panicked but eager face.
“Don’t even start to beg off with me, fair lady, because I, like your master and these others, know what is in that quim of yours. The need to satisfy your lust burns through your petulance.” He’d removed his belt as his words registered inside her. “Bow for me, bitch!”
The trembling woman bent forward, raising her skirts over her spanked bum at the same time. The blush of pink was now too pale to inspire any man’s lust, but that would be remedied quickly. As the last of the brutes to attack her, he stood some distance away delivering repeated thwacks to her quavering cheeks. The belt danced off her mounds, jumping in a lively rhythm even as the flesh it bruised danced its own wriggling jig.
This was not as rough as Jolie had figured it would be, except when the leather would twist, cutting at her sides or along her tender thighs. Even then, however, she held the trauma inside, breathing deeply that she might pass through the pain and journey downward to recapture the lost climax brewed to a peak just minutes before.
And indeed, she found some pleasure in the punishment for the belt was unable to strike as evenly or as often as a smacking hand when she lay over a man’s firm lap. She bore up well as the intense sensations multiplied until the moment when Demetrius suddenly stopped.
“Get up!” he roared.
She scrambled fast.
“Yes, sir!” she said breathlessly as she faced his terrible scowl.
He put his hand to her chin and squeezed it tightly with his fingers digging the flesh.
“You’re too proud, even now. Once Lorenzo has had your ass, I’ll drive home my point.” He pushed her off, back into Lorenzo’s grasp.
The Saga of a Naughty Lady Page 5