Time moved briskly from that point. The rigorous master stood at her side, a hand going under her dress to fondle her ass, and find the fissure where he planned to spend his seed.
“Have you been taken here?”
“No, sir.”
He looked at Sir Roger with eyebrows raised. “Surprises me.”
“I like pussy, no apology for that,” Marcus replied.
“Of course,” Lorenzo agreed, “but I like a woman’s other home, the darker, meaner, bolder one. It generates the power of the earth and gods. I can think of no better way to subdue a woman than taking her ass.”
The handsome brute demonstrated his prowess at such seduction, pushing his little victim over the back of a chair, which hitting her at her groin made her ass the perfect height and in the perfect position to wage his assault. Raising her skirt above her ass, he inspected the slight damage to her skin. There was still a rosy blush on the surface, but that was again fading quickly. He squeezed the mounds in his palms, bringing back the red until they were the color of claret wine. He smacked them more, then reaching for the dish of butter on the table of leftover food, he swathed his fingers in the greasy substance and smeared it down her parted cleft.
She jerked, with a shudder of fear and longing creeping down her back to where her pussy still stirred with a need beyond her need to panic—or worry.
Lorenzo fingered her fully before he entered, inserting several digits into an interior cavity that clenched them tight, the muscles beginning to spasm almost immediately.
Ah, she was about to cum again, in a different way, with desire she’d never felt before. Her ass gyrated in sumptuous rhythms, moving to a beat she seemed to draw right from the earth beneath the floorboards.
When the horny man pulled his fingers from her ass, he watched the puckering bud of her pink anus start to close. Though before it could draw together and tighten down, he pulled his erection from his pants and delivered the head to the doorway and thrust.
“Yeieeee!” she cried and quieted. This was more than she expected. Like flying for a time, like bursting at the seams of being alive, with light and color and a powerfully pregnant pain that didn’t cease, but beautifully consumed her.
She wiggled her plump fanny back on the stalk, wishing to drive the whole of it deeper. Her lust swelled, as did Lorenzo’s. He poured his spirit into her, his lust, his passion, and the blackness on which he brooded and found inspiration. He slapped her bottom raw again, but this time, it felt like pure love—a wicked sort of love. It had to be love—nothing that could make her feel so splendid, that could rip through her body with one spasmodic wave after another could be anything but the love of gods. This was the only gift she’d realize at the hands of bastards, but… Ah! What a gift!
She was a raunchy sight to old men’s eyes, to Jurious Sevey who watched with such a sharp eye that for a moment he stopped his drinking and his smoke to stroke the crotch of his pants. It was inspiration for others. Once Lorenzo spewed his thick cum into Jolie’s bowels and pulled out dripping, Demetrius took his place, inserting his cock into that pulsing rectum. With the woman impaled on his fucking member, he reached around and pulled her up against him, hanging on to her breasts, taking his powerful way with the whore, letting his companions see the feral look of the animal in her shadowy eyes. The brightness of the green had darkened into a smoky shade, turned up to heaven. Her mind was gone and there was nothing but orgasm, ripping wide her viciously jerking body.
“Gawwwwwwwwwwwwwdd!” she kept groaning. As though an earthquake had passed through her veins, the aftershocks continued. It wasn’t clear when one climax ended and another began, or if she simply reached an inebriated high of sexual culmination, which might go on in an unending stream.
By contrast, it was clear when Demetrius climaxed. He had Jolie’s breasts in his fists, holding them with a firm grasp, with fingers that dug the flesh. He reached a frenetic rhythm, pounding her ass with his groin pressed tightly to hers. There was no space between them, not an inch to place a wedge and pry them loose. With her body flung back into his, her eyes closed as she enjoyed this exquisite bliss. The others could not describe what they saw, but their bodies understood that this was some otherworldly moment of physical connection.
The brief instant collapsed when Demetrius started to grunt in ending. He jerked the slut and pushed her back down to the chair. Then, grabbing her hips, he yanked her ass into his groin and drained himself into the exhausted Jolie. She was just then returning to the real world, feeling her body, the painful burn on her ass, her aching shoulders and the way her inner muscles were still clenching the cumming erection. She felt the finish, relieved that the rape was near its end.
“Bring her down here,” Devlin demanded as Demetrius pulled his withering erection from Jolie’s dark home.
The spent brute honored Devlin’s request, pushing her to the floor, where she easily wilted, and with a shove of a boot, crawled to the cradle between the man’s thighs. Opening her mouth as she’d opened her ass, she milked the cock to the point of spewing, while Devlin’s fist was wrapped inside her red curls, jerking her head forward to force his erection as far down her throat as it would go. Almost to the point of choking, she finally managed to back off, taking her hand to jack the stalk hard and fast. Seconds later, she and the others in the room watched as the great thing ejaculated on her bosom, leaving long sticky ropes of wet cum caught in the bodice of her dress, and in her cleavage. Some shot into her mass of tangled red hair.
She was a mess with lust, that feral look of the animal still rising out of the smoke in her green eyes. She looked like the devil, a bit like a dragon princess, bathed in the aspects of sexual pleasure: ass dripping with masculine seed, cunt still spasming, and her mouth feeling stretched from the blow job.
Lorenzo, who was more recuperated than the rest of his fellows—save the half-slumbering Jurious Sevey—was the first to break the breathless silence. “And you, sir,” he turned to Sir Roger. “Are you not interested in taking the slut?”
The calm man chuckled darkly. “I’ve had her daily for many months, if you’ll remember. I spent my fortunes on her.”
Lorenzo nodded.
“In fact, I think it’s time we were about the business that brought us here today.”
“I’d guess so,” a calmer Demetrius replied. “The night grows old.”
“And you’ve let us have our way with the merchandize,” Devlin added. “I don’t think we need more information in order to make our decision.”
Jolie, who’d been quite oblivious to the lazy conversation, perked her ears hearing the tone of the last few remarks. From her spot on the floor, she looked up at Sir Roger, wondering what was meant by ‘business’ and ‘merchandize.’ Were the words referring to her? And if not, what else could they concern?
“Antoinette!” she heard the sharp voice of her master call her to attention.
She looked at him. “Sir?
“You’ve done yourself and me well.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“And proved your merits as a whore.”
She recoiled instantly.
Marcus sneered a bit. “No woman takes such abuse and enjoys it so much unless they love it and what it makes of them. Use whatever word you like to describe yourself, but you have become quite a fine whore in this man’s mind.”
She was sure that was true.
“I understood, sir, that I was to remain with you the duration of my criminal sentence.”
“Ah, not so. Not if I choose to sell you to another master. It doesn’t matter who’s in charge of you. It matters only that you fulfill the agreement with the court—serving as an indentured servant for the time allotted.”
Where there had been no panic all night long, her mind began to run quickly through the possibilities suggested to her. It would appear that any of these men might become her new master. What was wrong with the old one, she wondered? No, she still did not like her master, but they’
d reached their compromises, and he was familiar. And, because he was such a virile and handsome man, she took pleasure in his body. She’d made peace with her life and had no great need to seek another lover.
Her dissatisfaction was written in her face.
“Have I displeased you in some way, sir?” she asked him.
“I doubt it.”
“But you’ll give—or sell me away to another man? That is what this means?”
“Indeed,” he confirmed the fact. “And as you have no affection for me and I have none for you, you won’t mind if I sold you to another house. It’s purely business, you should take no offense—not that I need to defend my position in this matter.”
“No, certainly not, Sir,” she agreed.
Sir Roger looked toward the other men in the room, who were now quite recovered from the sex. (With the exception of Jurious Sevey who was finally fast asleep, leaning over the table, his head cradled on his arm.)
“The sum I gave you still stands,” Demetrius informed him.
“And that is still too rich for my blood,” Lorenzo said.
“And mine as well,” Devlin agreed. “Though I do appreciate your letting us taste the wares.”
“She is fine stock,” Lorenzo agreed. He stared down at Jolie’s tired face. She appeared now quite childlike, hardly womanly at all. The green of her eyes was fresh and innocent like her spirit, which had been besmirched, squashed and misshapen into this strange image that she could hardly recognize. She was not a woman to crawl on floors at the feet of masters and give her body to this abuse. This was not her! But it would be her life, whether she railed against it or merely sobbed with tears looking for some mercy from brutes—which she would not receive.
“She’ll serve Demetrius well,” Marcus Roger exclaimed.
Jolie could not forget the intoxicating moments of physical coupling that had sparked her greatest climax, nor the way the man held her, contained her, insisted she give herself up to him and what he desired. Would it be possible that this could happen again? Or was this night just an accident of circumstance and a bit too much wine?
Chapter Four
The docks were crowded with passengers, seamen, sailors and cargo moving rapidly from one place to another, making the gritty city streets difficult to traverse. Smelling of fish, salt air, body sweat and decaying food, the unsavory harbor was not the place for genteel ladies… though there was no other way for the passengers on ocean-going vessels to board their ships.
On this day the air was bright, the blue sky dotted with white clouds and refreshed by a new sun the sky had not seen in days. The streets were still muddy from the recent rain.
Jolie was at the docks with her master Demetrius as they prepared for a voyage to the islands in the Western Hemisphere where Demetrius held property. She was clothed in a modest dress of plain brown linen. The bodice was becoming but moderate in style, intended neither to put off the eye, nor lure it in. And yet, a single glance at her clothes and their accessories revealed a great deal about the lovely woman with the beautiful red hair and flashing green eyes. Despite her proud, even regal bearing and the look of nobility about her face—her high cheek bones, the arched eyebrows and the pretty bow of a mouth—it was obvious that she was no longer noble by the standards of the day. No vain attempts to look regal could hide the fact that she was an indentured servant to the man accompanying her.
Jolie’s status was defined by an iron collar she wore about her neck—the symbol of slavery or a criminal sentence, which marked the bearer as owned chattel. Living with Demetrius as her master, she quickly learned that indentured servants were required to be collared in public. It had not occurred to her until the collar had been slapped around her neck and she was taken from Sir Roger’s house that she’d not been in public since being pledged to the man. The collar implicated her—and for most suggested not that she was a slave, but a convicted felon.
Not only was that aspect of her life apparent to anyone who knew basic civil law, she was further marked for her crimes. As was the custom, her modest dress had been altered to distinguish her function as a sexual servant to men. While the style was reasonably demure at first glance, a closer look revealed a series of small ties that held the fabric together, beginning at her bosom—two there to keep the sides of the dress joined; and several down both the front and the back of the skirt, which could be untied to make her privates easily available for sex.
To complete the picture of subjugation, Demetrius led her through the market and docks by a chain, which attached to the front of her collar. She followed him two steps back as a sign of her reverence to him.
Sir Roger had not bothered training her in the formalities of her service. She served her master’s needs his way, which had little to do with the ceremonious conventions followed by most slave owners and masters of indentured servants. The new requirements for her deportment had been drilled into her as soon as she became Demetrius’ property. She’d learned to bow, to kiss the ground at the feet of anyone her master bid. She was instructed to offer herself sexually in any way she was ordered—which usually meant that she bent forward and bared her ass on command. She’d been schooled in dozens of different postures and attitudes which were expected of her. And her memory was filled with the proper way to eat, to sit, to stand, to walk, and even to talk.
She never ate until her master bid her to. She walked two paces behind him. She sat on the floor where she was told, and if ordered, she remained bowed until she was commanded otherwise. Her life was circumscribed by rules that were often difficult to remember—though she had some help to spur her memory. Demetrius would regularly cane her for any breach in the proper etiquette. He kept a short baton he used liberally. Any blunder or omission, she’d feel a sudden rap of the cane on her thigh. More serious errs, she was ordered to bend over and bare her ass. A good half dozen cuts would be applied leaving deep marks that would remain on her skin for many hours.
She was even honor bound to report any private faults to her master. She thought this was rather silly. How would he know if she erred? Did he have some second sight? Did he have spies, or some way to peek at her when she was alone? Did the walls have eyes and ears, or was this dictum simply added to her list of rules to make her uneasy?
She paid no attention to this rule for her first several days with Demetrius. When she was with him, she did her best to follow the letter of every law he’d thrown at her. But in private, she masturbated at will—a sin in this master’s eye; she sang old folk songs to herself even though she was ordered to keep silent at all times. And, she regularly fell asleep when she was assigned to such tasks as sewing or weaving. The tedious work was often so monotonous that she couldn’t help her tiny catnaps.
The second day of her service to Demetrius, she got caught. The day was hot and her body oddly alive with sexual feeling, although she’d had very little stimulation—her master had not yet taken advantage of his property. She was at the loom, weaving a tiresome pattern that was putting her to sleep. To keep awake, she hummed tunes to herself, and at regular intervals, put her hand between her thighs and played with the dampening folds of her lovenest. Her body engaged readily, her need leaping forward, swiftly taking charge of her mind and driving her body into its lust. She was in a daydream, remembering Prince Tasio in a pleasurable reminiscence about those days when she was still free. Pressing rapidly toward climax, her melodic humming changed to the sounds of passion, sensuous ahs, and sonorous moans lifted into the air and floated beyond her chamber. Though she had orders against such conduct, being alone high in the top of the house, she felt free to let her desires take flight.
She hadn’t realized that in the curious construction of Demetrius’ house there were vents, which opened into his private rooms below. In his offices, he could hear the sounds of her pleasure as clearly as if he were with her, watching. When he caught her making merry with herself, Jolie believed that he was psychic, that his clairvoyant sensibility had plucked t
hose sounds from thin air and drove him to her seeking a reprisal for her offense.
She’d taken twelve cuts from the master’s cane that afternoon, with his incontestable message instilled in her brain. She was never to think she was alone—there was always a master at her side, dwelling in her heart, inside her brain, and spying inside her groin. There was no state of mind too far away for him to reach. He told her these things with a deadly look in his eye that made her shake like a bag of bones. Jolie believed him.
Some days later, a fellow housemaid informed her of the openings between rooms, which had been especially designed for eavesdropping masters. Even so, after that gruesome twelve cuts from his cane she refused to allow herself even the tiniest of pleasures without the man’s approval.
Taking the gangplank behind Demetrius, Jolie spied a dark-skinned man in a fancy suit speaking with the harbormaster in a heated debate. When he glanced at her from the corner of his eye, he stopped to stare, to tip his had, and mouth “Goodday, madam.”
A fire of unexpected lust spread through Jolie’s groin in seconds. Like the flirtatious lady she used to be, she checked her attire—making sure that no dust had collected on the hem of her satin gown. Then she brushed a lock of red hair from her brow as though she were brushing back a fallen curl from a fancy hairdo. But there was no satin gown, nor fancy hairdo. There was no pot of cream to shade her lips. She didn’t even pinch her cheeks to bring out the color. How pale she must look—perhaps even drawn from lack of sleep. Dusty. Soiled from the trip. It had taken two days overland to reach the harbor and the great sailing ship—two days riding in the back of a crude cart as if she were a sow being taken to market. Every bump must have put another bruise on her fair skin. Her ass was sore, her joints ached, and her teeth felt grimy.
How must she look to this handsome man?
To her distress, Demetrius stopped midway on the gangplank to speak with the first mate in charge of accommodations. There was to be a small cabin for himself, and for Jolie a berth in steerage—in the servant’s quarters.
The Saga of a Naughty Lady Page 6