Owners by the Dozen (Slave of the Aristocracy Book 4)

by Ashley Zacharias

  There was no one around in the morning so she had no breakfast. The Red Swan served food but she had no money to buy it.

  The first owner knocked on the door well before noon – maybe at eleven o’clock.

  She didn’t bother with the housedress, but answered the door nude.

  “You’re Tom, right?” It was one of the men who had used her twice the previous night.

  “Tim,” he said, walking into the room.

  “Sorry. I’m trying to learn your names but I was a little distracted.”

  “’S okay,” he said. “I don’t got much time. I got to get back to work quick. I’m laying carpet up on Norbit Hill at noon. The toffs want it done while they’re out at lunch.”

  He was a homely man with a horsey face and a slightly hunched back. She didn’t know if he were one of the married ones or not.

  “What can I do for you?”

  He jerked like he’d been slapped. “You know.”

  She smiled. “Sex, for sure. I know that. But what kind would you like?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There are a lot of different things that we can do. Different positions. Or I can use my mouth. Whatever you want.”

  “Your mouth?” He looked like he had never heard such a thing.

  She never realized how little some men knew about sex. Then she remembered how little she had known about it when she had been the wife of a lord. She had been a virgin when she married and had never had any lover other than her husband until she sold herself into slavery.

  “Let’s start with that and see how it goes from there.” She sank to her knees and unbuckled his belt.

  His cock was large and well formed. It was his best feature.

  When she freed it from his pants, it was half erect. As soon as she wrapped her hand about its base and put her lips to its head, it swelled to a full hard-on.

  She worked on him slowly, beginning with licking around the head and then down the shaft to her fingers.

  When she took him into her mouth, he groaned and began rocking his hips, thrusting into her.

  She rolled her eyes upward to look at his face. He looked like a horse that had gone to stallion heaven.

  She could have made him come immediately, but she wanted to give him the full treatment. She moved her head in time with his thrusts to keep him from hitting the back of her throat while she slid her hand along the length of his shaft in opposite phase.

  She had given a lot of different men a lot of blowjobs and could read the stages of arousal like a book. She could feel his climax rising and eased back to delay it before he passed the point of no return.

  When he couldn’t stand any more pleasure and had to come, he grabbed her head and thrust hard into her.

  She swallowed hard to suppress her gag reflex and finally let him come. Then she swallowed all that he spurt into her.

  She kept him in her mouth until he became flaccid. She swallowed every last drop that he had to offer.

  When he had no more to give, she released his cock and let him slump back onto the bed.

  “My lord,” he said. “I never felt anything like that before in my life.”

  She stayed on her knees but crawled to him and laid her head against his thigh. “You can have that any time you want. That’s what it means to own a pleasure slave.”

  “Best money I ever spent,” he said.

  Someone else knocked on the door.

  “Guess I better get back to work,” Tim said. He stood, pulled his pants back up, and let the next man come in.

  “Hi, George.”

  “You got here quick.” George didn’t look happy that Tim had used the slave first. Irene didn’t recognize him from the previous evening. She suspected that he was a little fastidious about sloppy seconds.

  “I took an early lunch.”

  George looked back and forth between Irene and Tim for a minute, at a loss for words.

  “I finished laying some industrial wall-to-wall in a downtown office early,” Tim said. “I’m not scheduled for my next job up on Norbit Hill until noon. You know what they say. A man’s got to get laid before the bed’s made.”

  Irene felt some sympathy for the newcomer. She wanted every man who came to her to be happy. “You don’t have to worry about that any more. You own me now. You can get laid whenever you want.”

  George looked at her. “On my turn.”

  She shrugged. “That’s between you guys. You could split up my days if you wanted. Each of you could get a one-hour block every day.”

  George shook his head. “Full days are better.”

  “That’s what you agreed on and that’s what you shall have,” she said, “starting the day after tomorrow.”

  He looked sour.

  “I’ll see you later, maybe.” Tim gave her a cheerful wave.

  “I look forward to it.” She waved back and he let himself out.

  George stood awkwardly by the door.

  She wasn’t sure what he wanted to do, so she asked. “What’s your pleasure?”

  He shrugged.

  “Do you think I’m pretty?” She spun around slowly.

  He looked at her naked body. “Yeah.”

  “You weren’t here last night, were you?”

  “No.”

  “Do you want to sit and talk a bit?”

  He shrugged.

  She guessed that he wasn’t a big talker.

  “I don’t talk to the other men about what I do with them. What you do with me is confidential.”

  He nodded.

  “But I can tell you one thing.”

  “What?”

  “Nobody has fucked my cunt yet today.”

  He blushed at her language. “Yeah?” He glanced toward the door.

  “Yes, really. Nobody has used me that way.” She glanced down as though shy and said, “It’s the best way. I’d like it if you were the first today.”

  He didn’t smile, but his face lost the sour look. He took a step toward her.

  She extended her hand and he took it. His was rough with calluses and knobby knuckles but his grip was gentle. She raised his palm to her lips and kissed it, then placed it on her breast.

  His gentle squeeze was more like a massage.

  She didn’t want to kiss him on the lips for fear that her mouth still tasted like Tim’s cock. That would be a real turn-off for this shy man. Instead, she began unbuttoning his plaid shirt to reveal a chest covered with thick, dark hair.

  He lowered his hand and waited patiently for her to remove his clothes.

  The hair on his chest extended down the center of his belly to thicken into a thatch of pubic hair and then thinned out to cover his legs.

  She couldn’t see his back, but her fingers told her that he was equally hairy there.

  When he was naked, she pressed herself against him. She had never serviced a man whose body hair was as thick as George’s. For the first time, she wondered if some aristocrats had extensive body hair and had it removed. It would not have surprised her in the least. Most aristocratic men that she knew were vain about their appearance.

  It seemed that commoners’ lack of care about their clothes extended to their bodies as well.

  “I like your hair,” she said. “It’s soft. It feels good against my skin.” She wasn’t lying about that. She did like the way it felt.

  He didn’t reply, just wrapped his arms about her and held her close.

  “Do you want to lie on the bed with me?”

  “Yeah.”

  She released him and lay down on the bed. She had folded the covers on the floor at the foot. The room was warm enough that she felt no need for a blanket.

  George didn’t join her on the cotton-clad mattress immediately, but stood and stared at her for a minute.

  She relaxed into a seductive pose, one knee bent, her hips cocked, her arms raised, and her hands interlocked behind her head. “I’m all yours, George. Whenever you want me.”

  His cock
stiffened and rose as he looked at her.

  She shifted her knee to open her crotch to him.

  He approached her slowly and lay down beside her.

  She massaged his cock gently, marveling at its rigidity. He was as ready as any man she had ever fucked.

  She parted her legs and he settled himself over her.

  She kept her hand on his cock and guided him into her wet cunt. That wasn’t necessary – she could have positioned her hips to ensure that he entered her easily – but it seemed like a courtesy. It was a way to assure him that he was welcome inside her.

  He began moving, not so much thrusting as slowly rocking in and out of her.

  She worked the muscles in her vulva to squeeze him in synchrony with his movements.

  He was supporting himself on his elbows.

  She thought that an unnecessary courtesy and pulled his furry torso down on top of hers. She liked having as much contact with the man who was fucking her as possible.

  He came silently.

  She did not. She moaned, gasped, and sighed. She was not loud, but she was uninhibited in her enthusiasm. When she came, she wrapped her legs around him and pulled him as deeply into her as possible.

  She kept holding on to him until she was certain that he was finished.

  He said nothing when he climbed off and lay panting beside her.

  She ran her fingers through the hair on his back and said, “That felt really good. Thank you.”

  He muttered something that sounded like a soft, “Thank you,” in return, but his head was turned away from her.

  She lay beside him for a while before realizing that he was crying. His soft sobs were barely audible but her ears were keen and there was no mistaking the sound.

  She wondered if she should ask him if something was wrong, but refrained. Even touching him seemed like it would be an unwelcome intrusion.

  She was startled when someone pounded hard on the door.

  A voice boomed into the room: “The big bad wolf is here. Let me in by the hair on my chinny-chin-chin!”

  * * *

  “Just a minute,” Irene called out.

  “I’m not a patient man,” the voice boomed through the door.

  George was already climbing out of her bed and reaching for his clothes. He didn’t look at her.

  “That was nice, George,” she said softly.

  The man outside knocked again. The door rattled.

  Irene waited until George was dressed before opening the door. She didn’t recognize the man outside. He was another of the ones who had not come by the previous night.

  “It’s about time!” The man was still speaking at the top of his lungs, even though there was no longer any barrier between him and her. He stepped into the room. “Hey, George! Had a little roll in the hay, did we? How is she? Just between you and me, is she as hot in the sack as she looks?” He seemed to have no volume control. His voice was permanently set to maximum.

  George shrugged. “She’s nice.” His voice was as soft as the other man’s was loud.

  “Nice? Hell, for the amount of money we had to pay, she better not be nice. She better be naughty as the devil, she better.”

  George closed the door behind him and she was alone with her next owner.

  “Don’t you worry, I can be as naughty as you want.” Irene moved close and grabbed his crotch. “Naughty enough to make this big thing happy.”

  “That’s what a man likes to hear.”

  She rubbed his swollen member through his pants. “You know what I’d like? I’d like to feel this inside me. That’s what I’d like.”

  “Then we better get it into you,” he said.

  “How would you like to do that? You want me on the bed with my legs spread wide or you want me to bend over right here and you take me from behind?”

  “Maybe I’d like to find out how tight your asshole is.”

  “Mmm. I’d love to serve you hot buttered buns for lunch. You get those clothes off and I’ll get myself all buttered up for you.” She was happy that she’d thought to pick up some butter from the pub the previous evening. It was in a paper cup next to the bed. She smeared a liberal amount in and around her anus.

  The man wasted no time stripping. She stood at the end of the bed, facing away from him, spread her legs, and bent over to rest her head on the mattress. “Ready when you are, big boy.”

  He didn’t try to penetrate her in a single thrust, but pushed against her anus and let her relax her sphincter to admit him. She had good control and let him slide into her without delay.

  “God, you’re tight, woman.”

  She was tight. She hadn’t had a chance to stretch herself out with the dildo yet and it had been several weeks since a man had taken her this way. “I’ll be less tight when you finish with me, I’m sure.”

  “You got that right.” The man began thrusting. Pulling almost all the way out rapidly and then pushing in slowly. The unnatural motion was appropriate for this unnatural act.

  The man had done this before. Irene wondered if he had done it with a girlfriend or with his mates. Would a man who liked other men spend money to buy a share of a female pleasure slave?

  Then Irene stopped thinking about it. She had learned to take some pleasure from anal penetration. Not as much as from vaginal penetration but more than from oral penetration. For her, oral was a more cerebral delight. Anal stimulated her base, primal emotions. When the circumstances were right, she could come from anal if she reached between her legs and gave her clit a little manual stimulation.

  Though she had come only twenty minutes earlier with George, the circumstances were right for her to come again. This man, whose name she had not yet learned, was doing all the best things to her asshole.

  While he fucked it, he shouted crude, degrading encouragement at her. “Come on, bitch! Take an assfucking like the whore you are. I’m going to pound the shit out of you. I’m going so deep, you’re going to feel my cock in the back of your throat.”

  She couldn’t say why she liked hearing him speak that way but his gutter aggression hit exactly the right note and resonated all the way down her spine. She responded in kind. “Do it! Fuck me deep. Fuck me like an animal. I want to feel you in my guts.” As she spoke, she grabbed at his cock with her ass by tightening her sphincter.

  They continued to shout bestial abuse at each other until their mounting passion reduced them to incoherent gibberish.

  When he came, by some miracle, she came at the same time even though she hadn’t fingered herself. The power of his contractions added to the force of him pressing hard against her butt stimulated her whole vulva enough to drive her over the edge.

  They howled together in a jungle duet.

  She collapsed in a boneless heap down on the end of the bed. He collapsed on top of her.

  When she regained her breath, she asked, “Naughty enough for you?”

  “You’re filthy as shit. I ought to spank your dirty ass,” he said.

  “If you think I deserve it, go ahead. I aim to please.”

  “Maybe next time.”

  She would have offered to clean him up, but she was too spent. By the time she had mustered the energy, he had already taken himself to the bathroom and washed himself.

  As he was dressing, she asked, “Who are you?”

  “Oscar. My friends call me Ox. My enemies are scared to call me anything.”

  “I’ll call you Ox, then.”

  * * *

  Irene didn’t receive any more visitors until dinnertime. Working men who could afford even one twelfth of a pleasure slave had full-time jobs. They didn’t get time off during the day.

  Two men from the previous night, Willy and Luke, dropped by in the late afternoon for quick fucks before going home to their wives. Jack arrived a few minutes after Luke left.

  “How was your day?”

  “Good. I met a few more of my owners. I’ve lost count. I don’t know if they’ve all had me yet, or if there are s
ome still outstanding.”

  “I don’t think my boss has been by yet. He went home to his wife last night and he was with me at the shop all day.”

  “Which one was he?”

  “Jim. He’s the oldest of us. He’s married to Martha. He mentioned her last night.”

  She remembered the man who said that Martha would kill him if he brought a slave home.

  “What’s your pleasure tonight?” she asked.

  “I’m hungry. I thought that I’d drop by and see if you’ve had dinner yet.”

  “No.”

  Something in her tone, a note of hopefulness made him look sharply at her. “You did get breakfast, didn’t you?”

  “No.”

  “Lunch?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  She flipped her hand casually. “No food here.”

  “There’s a…” He stopped. “No money, right?”

  “Slave’s don’t get money.”

  He pulled out his wallet and handed her a five-plaq note. “When you get hungry, go buy yourself some food.”

  She put the note in the top drawer of the dresser. It was the only thing in the drawer.

  “Is that safe in there?”

  “I don’t have any other place to put it.”

  “You can put it in your pocket.”

  “I don’t have a pocket. Slave’s housedresses never have pockets.”

  “Why not?”

  “To make it harder for a slave to steal something. If we had pockets, we might be tempted to slip a bit of the lady’s jewelry into it when we’re cleaning in the manor. Then we’d get nailed to the courtroom wall for theft. It’s for our own safety.”

  He shook his head. “Barbaric.”

  “Tradition. It keeps slaves honest. Owners have to be able to trust them.”

  “It’s still barbaric.”

  She nodded.

  “Put your dress on,” he said. “We’re going to eat.”

  He took her back to the Split Willow pub. Once again, she was the only woman in the place, but for the middle-aged server who cleaned the tables. Once again, every man in the place stared at her.