A Gentlemen's Agreement (Slave of the Aristocracy)

by Ashley Zacharias

  Lord Snow’s slaves, however, were more likely to be calm and serene as they rested their crotches on the gentlemen’s hips. The teammates of those gentlemen tended to look at those couplings with impatience, waiting for the lazy slaves to begin working hard.

  Irene knew what those gentlemen did not. Lord Snow’s slaves were already the hardest-working women in the room. But they did their work inside their cunts. The faces of the gentlemen who were impaling Lord Snow’s slaves were studies in slack-jawed ecstasy.

  Their teammates didn’t know what to look for and had no idea what they were seeing.

  One by one, the gentlemen came and, when their primal utterances ceased, the slaves climbed off them. More often than not, the gentlemen who had been serviced by Lord Snow’s slaves wanted the slave to lie beside them and share their bliss for a time.

  Even Nickel, who had been servicing a member of Team Paladin, was taken into the gentleman’s arms when she finished with him. This time, she had been anything but perfunctory.

  When the last slave dismounted, Irene said, “The gentlemen who have received service will find a marking pen at the head of their mattress near the wall. Please write a number between one and five on the right thigh of the slave who serviced you. A number one indicates that the slave’s performance was well below average, two that it was somewhat below average, three that she was average, four, somewhat above average, and five, that she gave a clearly superior performance.”

  The gentlemen retrieved the pens and made their marks.

  “Now, if each slave would proceed to the next team on her right and give a second gentleman volunteer the same kind of performance – the gentleman lying on his back and the slave mounting him and doing all the work.”

  The event was repeated with a new gentleman on each team being serviced by a slave from a different team.

  This time, the unoccupied members of the team tended to gather around a table that had been set up in the middle of the room and sip drinks while they chatted about various and sundry topics.

  When the new pairings were finished and the slaves were rated a second time, Irene announced the next event. The slaves were rotated again and this time they gave blowjobs to volunteer men. They were rated and then rotated to give a second blowjob to yet another man.

  The final event was doggy style, the slave offering her sex while on her hands and knees; the gentleman given a choice of cunt or asshole.

  After rating that, there was a final rotation and a second gentleman’s choice of hole was offered.

  That was the final event. Irene visited each slave and tallied up the six numbers that had been written on her right thigh. Most of the numbers were fours and fives, though Nickel had earned a two – below average – and a three – average. Irene guessed that those were for her blowjobs. She never put much effort into those. Her other four numbers were more respectable. Though she didn’t like being fucked, she had worked hard to strengthen her cunt and had developed decent control. She could please a man when she wanted to.

  “Gentlemen, may I have your attention. I have the final results. I am pleased to announce that two teams tied for third place - Team Oak with Slave Peach and Team Buccaneer with Slave Cherry.” There was cheering and applause for the teams. “The second place team was Team Demon with Slave Lime.” The applause was louder. “And the winning team and current champions are Team Stallion with Slave Tamarind!” The applause was enthusiastic, especially from those who had significant amounts of money staked on that team.

  “Gold, silver, and bronze tokens will be distributed to the gentlemen on these teams.” She held up one of the small tokens to a smattering of applause.

  “Seven slaves will be available for the rest of the evening to service you however you wish.” That earned her the loudest applause of the evening. “One of the slaves will not. Slave Nickel earned the lowest score of the evening, so she will be spending the rest of the evening being cruelly punished. Her punishment will be fifteen minutes of agonizing crucifixion in a specially-designed frame, followed by being displayed for the remainder of the evening.”

  Lord Snow wheeled the crucifixion frame into the room. He was assisted by a distinguished-looking man in his late fifties who had not been part of the entertainment. This was the professor, the man whom the slaves feared as a dedicated sadist. His white hair and rotund form made him look teddy-bearish. The twinkle in his eye made him look insane.

  When the frame was in place near the back wall, Irene said, “Nickel, come and submit to crucifixion.”

  When Nickel walked across the room toward Irene, her jaw was clenched and her eyes radiated hate. But she didn’t dare refuse a direct order.

  The steel frame was seven feet tall and seven feet wide. When Nickel stood in it and stretched her arms to each side, she could easily reach steel handles that were attached to the frame by a screw mechanism.

  When she grabbed them, the professor wrapped leather straps around her hands. She would not be supported by the straps, but by her grip on the handles. The purpose of the straps was to ensure that she could not release her grip, no matter how much she wanted to. And soon, she would want to release them most desperately.

  Once her hands were secured, the professor turned a crank on each side of the frame so that the handles were pulled apart, stretching Nickel’s arms until they were extended straight from her shoulders. He did not separate the handles far enough to put her under tension, only far enough to remove any slack.

  Next, he turned another crank that pulled on chains to raise both handles equally. It took many turns of the crank to move the handles upward a few inches. The mechanism gave a mechanical advantage would allow one person to elevate a large person easily. It also allowed precise adjustments to the height of the handles.

  At first, Nickel’s wrists rose above her shoulders to shift her arms from a horizontal position to about a twenty-degree angle. At that point, she began suffering severe pain in her shoulder joints. To relieve the pain, she began to rise on her toes.

  The professor kept cranking until her heels were elevated several inches off the ground. Her calves were knotted with the effort that it took for her to keep from putting all her weight on her shoulders.

  She was whimpering through clenched teeth. She didn’t want to give anyone that satisfaction but her pain was already sufficiently severe that she couldn’t keep silent.

  After a minute, she began struggling to breathe. The tension in her arms and chest strained her diaphragm and she could only draw a full breath when she pushed with her toes hard enough to reduce the strain on her chest.

  Irene understood the mechanics perfectly, having suffered crucifixion in this frame a few months earlier. She cringed to see anyone, even Nickel, suffering as she had suffered.

  The professor set the hand on a large dial to point at fifteen. “The timer has been set to fifteen minutes,” he said.

  “Wait a minute,” a voice called out. “Irene, I was at an entertainment a few months ago where you lost a game. You were crucified on this same frame, were you not?”

  “Yes, Lord Licht. I can testify from personal experience that Nickel is suffering terribly already and that her suffering will only increase as time passes. She already regrets that she was unable to satisfy you better.”

  “No, that’s not what I’m thinking. As I recall, you were crucified for half an hour. Is that not correct?”

  “Yes, sir. I was. I still quail inside when I think about that.” She prayed that Lord Licht wasn’t thinking that she should take Nickel’s place in the frame after her time was up. Maybe he had not enjoyed this entertainment and wanted to see her punished, too.

  “I say that what was good enough for you should be good enough for this slave, too. If you suffered for half an hour for losing your game, this slave should suffer for a full half hour for losing her game.”

  Irene noticed that Lord Licht was still wearing his Team Hawk armband. He was on the team that Nickel had let down with
an inadequate performance. Chances were that he had lost a significant amount of money betting on her.

  Several other gentlemen shouted their agreement, and not only members of Team Hawk. “Yes,” and “Half an hour,” and “It’s only fair.”

  Lord Snow spoke up. “If that is the consensus, then so be it. Professor, set the timer for half an hour.”

  The professor cheerfully reached up and moved the hand on the timer from fifteen to thirty.

  Nickel whined in protest.

  Irene shuddered at the memory of her own torture.

  A few gentlemen stepped to the frame and began fondling the slave who was stretched taut and helpless. They caressed her breasts, thrust their hands between her legs, and squeezed her knotted calves.

  Nickel struggled constantly to raise herself to take a breath and then relax to let herself hang by her aching arms before repeating the cycle. After a few minutes, she had worked some of the tension out of the straps and her heels had descended to within two inches of the floor.

  The professor corrected that by turning the crank and raising the handles another couple of inches to put her high on her toes again.

  Nickel screamed in protest as her shoulders were pulled to near the point of dislocation.

  The hand on the timer pointed to twenty-five. She had only endured five minutes of crucifixion. Before the timer expired, she would have lived through an eternity in hell.

  Irene couldn’t bear to watch. She wandered about the room, noting how eagerly the remaining seven slaves were servicing all comers. There was nothing like the prospect of torture to spur a slave to her best efforts.

  Lord Snow was lounging against the wall by the door to the manor.

  She joined him. “Your guests seem satisfied. I would be happy to take a poll to determine if I should be starved for the next three days as punishment for failing to please them.”

  “I told you, no more voting. You produce wonderful entertainments. I don’t need my guests punishing you with bullshit votes. If you fail, I’m quite capable of making the decision to punish you on my own.”

  “I expect nothing less.” Irene’s ass twitched inside her steel panties as her muscles remembered the terrible beating that Lord Snow had inflicted upon them.

  Lord Snow looked at Nickel stretched, arms akimbo, on the other side of the room. “I assume that is as painful as it looks.”

  “You can’t really believe the amount of pain until you experience it. I pity her that she has to endure it for half an hour. It will be the longest half hour of her life.”

  “I guess that you’d like to see your lover get a measure of mercy.”

  He didn’t sound like he was speaking sarcastically. “My lover?”

  He looked at her quizzically. “I know what I saw.”

  “You saw me being forced to service your whiphand. That’s the life of a slave. To give service to anyone in authority no matter her feelings.”

  “You weren’t enjoying that?”

  “I have no interest in women. I like men, exclusively. I detest servicing Nickel.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “So, basically, she was raping you.”

  “Basically.”

  “I never authorized that. My whiphand is authorized to enforce my will, not to please herself. You are not to service her like that again.”

  “I will not.”

  Lord Snow watched Nickel struggling in the frame. “Maybe I should add another half hour to her crucifixion. Or we could just leave her there until the entertainment is over. The gentlemen seem to be enjoying her predicament. She’d probably survive until midnight.”

  Irene thought about that for a while. “She is your property. You can do what you like to her. And I, too, am your property, so my feelings on the matter are irrelevant.”

  “But you do have feelings on the matter. What are they?”

  “I have no love for Nickel. If there is anyone that I’d like to see punished, it’s her. But it hurts me just to watch her being crucified. My own shoulders ache thinking about how hers are suffering.”

  “So you think that I should let her down right now and end it?”

  The hand on the timer pointed to fifteen. That was Nickel’s original punishment. But Irene had endured a half hour.

  She was seized by an unexpected thrill of cruelty.

  “Damn her. We promised your guests a half hour. I’d hate to see them disappointed.”

  Lord Snow laughed. “Me, too. So I’ll leave well enough alone. Let the clock time her out.”

  Nickel’s calves were beginning to falter. She would spend most of the next fifteen minutes hanging by her outstretched arms. Her agony was about to increase dramatically.

  “Good,” Irene said, remembering all the times that she had been forced to bury her face in Nickel’s crotch. “She should have tried harder to please your guests.”

  “At least as hard as you were trying to please her when I saw you.”

  “I would try far harder to please you, if you would permit me.”

  He tapped her steel-clad ass. “This isn’t to protect you from the guests. It’s to protect you from me.”

  “I don’t want to be protected from you.”

  “You’re property. I don’t care what you want.”

  And that’s more the pity, Irene thought, but she said nothing more.

  When the clock timed out, Nickel was lowered so that she was standing firmly on the floor. The handles loosened so that her arms were no longer taut. But the straps were not released from her hands. She was forced to stand in the frame with her arms held apart, her entire body visible to inspection, for the remainder of the entertainment.

  She was exhausted and wanted to sag in the frame, but she couldn’t tolerate any more strain on her shoulders so she swayed a little in place and forced herself to stay conscious.

  The occasional gentleman wandered by and fondled a tit or squeezed her ass.

  She could only endure whatever was done to her until the room finally cleared and she was released.

  * * *

  “Get in here and get licking.”

  Irene stood in the doorway and shook her head. “No. Lord Snow has given me orders not to do that any more.”

  Nickel’s face flushed red. “I don’t give a fuck. You’re going to get down on your knees and you’re going to eat out my cunt like a pro or you’re going to feel my strap.”

  Irene walked away.

  Nickel caught up with her in the kitchen.

  All the slaves were sitting around the table, chatting.

  “Irene just earned a pussy whipping,” Nickel said. “Put her on the table and spread her legs.”

  The slaves stared at Nickel in shock. They knew that Irene was Lord Snow’s favorite. They couldn’t imagine that he would sanction her being strapped.

  “You heard me,” Nickel said. “You do as I say or every single one of you will get your own pussy whipped for disobedience.”

  That, they believed. Peach moved first. She tapped Apple and said, “Help me get her ladyship up here or you’ll take her place.”

  Apple helped Peach grab Irene by the arms and drag her onto the table.

  Irene didn’t help, but she didn’t resist either. Fighting with the other slaves wouldn’t do any of them any good.

  “Lime, grab her ankle,” Nickel said. “Cherry, get her other one.”

  Now that Irene was on the table, the other slaves took their usual places when one of their number was to be punished.

  Lime and Tamarind were on one ankle, pulling that leg wide and Apple and Cherry were pulling the other in the other direction. Peach was holding her hands above her head, grinning down at her. Peach had been looking forward to seeing the ex-lady get her cunt beaten since the first day she’d arrived in the kennel.

  Nickel took her place beside her waist and told the other slaves, “For obstinately refusing to obey a direct order, this piece of property has earned severe discipline.”

  Nickel unfastened
her strap from her corset and raised it high.

  Irene flinched in anticipation of the approaching pain and tried to close her legs. She wasn’t trying to fight against the slaves that were holding her; it was purely an involuntary reflex.

  The slaves expected the reaction and held her tightly.

  The strap snapped hard down the length of Irene’s vulva.

  The pain was instant. It was the most intense pain that she had ever felt from a strap. It hurt more than the cuts to her ass that a former owner had inflicted with a cane.

  She howled and thrashed.

  And the strap struck again.

  And again.

  Nickel didn’t bother pausing between strokes. It was the accumulation of damage that was going to cause the greater suffering so she piled on the punishment.

  As Irene’s clit suffered damage and swelled, it peeked out from beneath its protective hood and took the full force of the blows. As her outer lips puffed and stiffened, they separated so that her inner lips were exposed to the force of the strap.

  Nickel kept laying the heavy leather down with expert precision.

  Irene howled until her voice was hoarse.

  Tamarind broke away and fled the room but the other slaves held their places.

  Vessels burst and blood began to accumulate on the strap.

  The other slaves wilted in horror as they realized that Nickel wasn’t going to stop until Irene had been permanently damaged. She intended to render Irene unusable for service ever again. But they kept their grip on Irene for fear that they would suffer the same fate.

  Peach lost her grin and had to avert her face.

  “What the hell is going on here?” Lord Snow bellowed.

  Nickel paused in mid-stroke. “This slave refused a direct order. I am administering the requisite discipline as you authorized.”

  Lord Snow looked at Irene’s crotch in horror. Then his voice fell low. “Did I authorize you to destroy my property?”

  Nickel looked defiant. “Maintaining property requires correction. Extreme disobedience requires extreme correction.”

  “And what order did Irene disobey?”