‘Keep them,’ Erica said, passing up the snapshots.
Mandy looked at her inquiringly.
‘You can have that set as a trophy. You can learn so much from them. Study them closely when you are in bed, tonight. You will find them quite diverting, no doubt,’ Erica chuckled darkly, her teeth closing down over a freshly salted stick of erect celery.
The next day, Erica led Mandy once more along the carpeted length of the Long Gallery. Once more, Mandy was ushered into one of the many Games Rooms behind the locked, green-baize door.
She found herself standing in a prison dungeon. The rough sandstone walls loomed up, windowless, to an oppressive granite roof. Flickering torches provided a mean but adequate source of light. Sand had been sprinkled on the floor, rendering all footsteps silent. Mandy, dressed by Erica in a simple white robe, examined the few furnishings: a full-length looking glass fixed to the far wall, steel rings fixed to the wall and suspended from the roof, a pair of wooden stools and a whipping post.
‘No cue cards for you today. Your brief is simple.’
Slave or mistress, Mandy wondered, a trickle of sweat glistening on her temples.
‘This is the antechamber where captive slaves are prepared for the harem.’
Slave, Mandy shuddered. I’m to be the slave girl, utterly at the whim of some dominant resident. She looked at the whipping post and felt the spiders of alarm scurrying across her buttocks.
‘Today, you will be pleasuring another submissive. I think you have a flair for games of dominance and discipline. You will be preparing the captive for the harem. Invest the session with your full imagination. Deny her nothing and do not spare her the opportunity to taste the bittersweet delights she craves. Rowena will be here to record your achievements.’
Mandy, relieved, simply nodded.
‘Keep in mind these three words: humiliation, bondage and punishment. Yearn to see her weep her tears of sugared sorrow just as passionately as she yearns for your strict word, your stern voice and your severe touch.’
Mandy swept her hand down to the base of her belly and thumbed her slit absently as Erica spoke. Her labial lips responded to her touch: parting and pouting, they briefly kissed the cotton of her simple robe.
The door to the dungeon opened, admitting a shaft of light. Breaking the shaft of light, in stepped Rowena, her Pentax swinging from its black leather strap. Prepared for the heat of the dungeon, the redhead was scantily dressed in a pale-blue bikini. The underwired cups gave her a deep, inviting cleavage, bunching the rounded breasts up into delicious flesh-mounds. Mandy felt her hot slit-juice, and silently wished Rowena were hers for the day, hers to slowly strip, examine and bind to the whipping post.
Erica was pulling at the rings in the wall, ensuring that they were securely embedded. ‘Surprising how frenzied a whipped nude can become,’ she purred, ‘when struggling to escape the lash she deeply desires.’
Mandy considered this paradox. Looking up, she shivered as she saw the cropped blonde walk past the whipping post. Turning her body deliberately towards the post, Erica grazed her pubis against the leather-cladding and grunted a soft, animal moan.
‘I will bring you your submissive,’ Erica whispered, crushing her bosom into the post and fluttering her hands down along its phallic length. ‘She will come to you naked. See to it that when she departs she is wearing red stripes of sorrow and is dressed in the pleasures of pain.’ She left.
Rowena ran her splayed fingers through her red hair and spoke, breaking the sultry silence after Erica’s departure. ‘Hot in here,’ she observed laconically. ‘And you’ll be making things even warmer for your submissive.’
Mandy looked up and grinned, but Rowena was engrossed in her Pentax. The submissive entered the room, blinking in the unaccustomed darkness. Mandy noted that she was wide hipped – always the promise of heavily fleshed buttocks – and blessed with a firm, ripe bosom. The naked woman’s nipples were already thick and dark. Turning, the nude briefly presented Mandy with a glimpse of her plump bottom: as Mandy had anticipated, the cheeks were superbly swollen. Mandy felt the pulse at her neck quicken. In her dry mouth, her tongue grew heavy and slow. Swallowing silently, Mandy examined the arrival’s beauty. It was the bloom of a thirty-three-year-old in the summer of her splendour. The limbs were lithe and supple, the hands daintily small. Mandy paused to take in the glory of the dark, tumbling curls and, set on the pale face, the look of shy eagerness. Mandy’s stern gaze came to rest on the dark pubic curls – and then on the darker eyes, already swimming in liquid desire.
‘You are here to learn how to serve and please my master,’ Mandy said, her tone curt. ‘My master has turned his harem into a temple of pleasure.’
Deliberately ignoring the submissive brunette, Mandy turned to examine the contents arranged on a silver tray. She picked up and scrutinized a curled whip – holding the leather up to the flickering torchlight – and then fingered an ivory dildo before sniffing with satisfaction at pots of cream and phials of scented oils.
The woman grew restless, shaking her dark curls impatiently as she plucked at her left nipple.
‘But before you have the privilege of surrendering yourself for his delight, and the fierce joys of his crimson couch, you must be thoroughly prepared. Trained and prepared in the arts of pleasure and lust. Be warned, slave. If you fail in any way to please my master, then you fail to please me. And, if you fail me, I will punish you severely. Go before the glass,’ Mandy instructed, pointing to the full-length mirror. ‘Let us see what fruits of the flesh you bring to the banquet before you.’
The brunette obeyed, shivering with delicious dread as Mandy tapped her bare bottom with the coiled whip. In the glass, the dark eyes widened as they gazed into their own reflection. Mandy, her white cotton grazing the swollen cheeks of the nude’s bottom, stood dominantly behind.
‘Your eyes,’ she instructed. ‘Keep them cast down when in the presence of my master. A bold gaze is insolent and will be dealt with harshly. Better to keep your eyes lowered,’ Mandy whispered softly, ‘than tightly shut against the kiss of the crop.’
Rowena, fingering her bra strap to keep the bikini cups comfortably in place, positioned herself at an angle, pointing her Pentax into the mirroring glass. As Mandy tapped the captive’s chin with the stock of the coiled whip, tilting the slave’s head back to keep her in thrall, the Pentax snapped twice.
‘Your mouth, slave, must remain silent, except to scream your delight. No words must be uttered, no questions asked. But you may moan. However,’ Mandy continued, ‘you must not keep your mouth closed when in my master’s bed.’ Using the tip of the whip handle as a lipstick, Mandy dragged the slave’s lower lip down. ‘My master may wish to use your mouth for pleasures other than discourse.’
Continuing her inspection of the naked slave, Mandy dropped the whip down on to the warm sand. Encircling the brunette from behind, she cupped, weighed and then dominantly squeezed the ripe breasts.
‘Melons. You bring melons to my master’s banquet. That is good. When feasting, my master likes all fruits fully ripe.’
The brunette shuddered and clamped her thighs tightly together.
‘Fine, broad hips,’ Mandy murmured, framing their outline with her palms. ‘Again, that is good. My master will ride you like a desert steed. He prefers firm flesh between his thighs when he is asaddle. Your buttocks,’ Mandy purred, spinning the brunette around briskly and presenting the bare bottom to the glass, ‘are superb. You bring rare fruits to the feast before you. My master cannot pass over the plumpness of peaches.’
The Pentax snapped three times as Mandy palmed and gripped the bare cheeks in her taloned fingers. Placing her hands on the brunette’s shoulders, Mandy turned her round again to face the glass.
‘What fruit have we overlooked?’ she whispered.
In silence, the brunette fingered her dark pubic curls.
‘Yes,’ whispered Mandy. ‘Sticky dates, split figs or dark, oozing plums. My master feed
s greedily on such delicacies as these. What do you bring to tempt his fingers and tongue? Is it a sticky date?’ Mandy prised the labia apart expertly. The brunette squealed. ‘Or is it a split fig?’ The labia opened out, the flesh-lips already wet with pleasure. ‘Or is it a dark, oozing plum?’
The Pentax devoured the images of submission and subjugation fixed and frozen in the glass.
‘Remember, slave, when pleasing and pleasuring my master, no part of you must be denied to him. He has an appetite for all fruits, especially those that are forbidden.’
The nude moaned and buckled slightly at the knees. Mandy scooped up the whip and directed her captive across to the rings on the wall. They were fixed at a height of seven feet above the floor. Mandy arranged the slave so that each wrist threaded through and was then bound to the rings. Mandy dismounted from the wooden stool and stood before her spread-eagled prize.
‘My master has a splendid hawk,’ she began. ‘It gives him endless pleasure. But the hawk has to be blindfold and rendered mute, or else it grows wilful and rebellious. You, slave, will of course taste the lash if you grow wilful, but like my master’s prized hawk, perhaps you will benefit from a blindfold and a gag.’
Both were provided by strips of red velvet which proved effective when applied to the dark eyes and red lips. Suddenly denied the power of sight and speech, the bound nude wriggled and writhed. Mandy stilled the dancing feet with a caress of the whip. The terrified toes stiffened and pointed down in obedient submission.
‘Sweetmeats will be served when you are on the couch of pleasure,’ Mandy explained, crossing the dungeon to collect a silver tray. Returning, she remounted the stool and passed a succession of sticky morsels beneath the quivering nostrils.
‘Spiced lamb, aromatic rice, honeycombs cleaved open and almond nougat will be served,’ she promised, her voice now warm and urgent, ‘but only if you please him.’
The slave craned her neck, eager to taste the delights despite the velvet that sealed her lips tightly.
‘Fail to please, slave, and you will dine on dry bread and bitter herbs – bitter as the sorrow you will feel as the scourge stripes your buttocks.’
The brunette tongued her gag in mounting excitement. Mandy returned the tray of sweetmeats and exchanged it for another. Placing it down carefully on the sanded floor, she selected one of many small porcelain pots. Mounting her stool, Mandy opened the pot and placed it under the suspended slave’s nose.
‘Thickened oil of attar,’ she whispered.
Beneath the blindfold, the nostrils flared as they drew in the heady scent.
‘To lubricate those orifices my master may choose to probe with his curiosity, with his lust.’
Despite her bondage, which pinned her helplessly against the wall, the nude seemed to shrink back at the touch of the perfumed oil at her gleaming slit. Mandy stroked the lower labia gently, working the unction into the flesh. The nude grunted into her gag. Reaching around the left hip, Mandy fingered and anointed the rosebud sphincter buried between the heavy cheeks. As her oiled fingertip probed the anal whorl, the slave threshed helplessly.
‘My master will treat you like a captured city,’ Mandy continued suavely, over the whirr of the excited Pentax. ‘When a captured city is breached,’ she hissed, ‘be warned: no gate remains closed to the victor.’
The Pentax snapped three times: freezing the images of the nude twisting and jerking to avoid the oiled finger at her sphincter, of Mandy mastering her slave, and of the finger sliding dominantly between the clenched cheeks.
‘When it pleases my master to do so, he will turn your face down into the satin cushions. Crop in hand, he will straddle you and ride you, ride you fiercely as if racing the wind. A small show of modesty is permitted, for it will serve to sharpen his keen desire. But be warned, my master can be cruel in his pleasures. They say that, when out hunting, he enjoys the quivering terror of his quarry, and savours the despair of cornered, helpless prey. And they say that his laughter is demonic when he spears the captive flesh, driving home his shaft to the very hilt to impale and quell the struggling victim.’
The brunette almost swooned. Mandy pinched each nipple swiftly, bringing the slave to alert attention. Perched up on the footstool, Mandy untied the submissive, only to march her halfway across the sanded floor and retie her to the single ring suspended from the ceiling by a chain. Removing the blindfold – but not the gag – Mandy turned the dangling nude to face her.
‘I must make you familiar with the prowess of my master. His fame sweeps through the harem before him like the crackling flames of a wheatfield on fire. You should, I think,’ Mandy said, as if considering an option and deciding in favour of it, ‘be given a taste of his brute manhood.’
She padded softly across the floor, her toes leaving faint footprints impressed in the sand, and scooped up the ivory phallus. The heat in the dungeon made her loose gown stick to the moist warmth of her breasts and buttocks. She plucked at it, peeling it away from her nipples and cleft. Over in the shadows, crouched behind her Pentax, Rowena was taking aim. In the flickering torchlight, Mandy spied a soft gleam of flesh. The redhead had abandoned her bikini top. Her loose breasts glistened beneath their sheen of sweat. Mandy, her hot slip now throbbing, returned to the naked slave in her bondage.
“This,’ she explained, raising the dildo aloft, ‘is my master’s prowess. It is a likeness taken directly from the original.’
The gasp of the slave was audible through the velvet at her lips as the dildo was pressed against her left breast. Mandy teased the nipple, then transferred the ivory shaft to the right breast. Mandy squashed the pliant globe of flesh beneath the hard dildo. The chain rattled as the nude threshed in response. Tracing the snout down across the flat belly, Mandy paused before gliding it down over the clitoris to stroke, and splay, the labia.
The Pentax whirred as Rowena took her shot. Mandy glanced down and saw the redhead’s toes scrunching the sand excitedly. Looking back up at her slave, into the widening, dark eyes, Mandy gripped the nude and turned her around, presenting the heavy buttocks for her inspection.
‘In a moment I shall whip you.’
The chain rattled as the nude shuddered in anguish.
‘I shall whip you to give you a taste of the harsh pleasures of serving my master, of surrendering and submitting yourself to him completely. And,’ Mandy said, dropping her voice to a venomous whisper, ‘of the sweet agony you shall suffer if you should fail in the harem.’
The slave moaned, her long legs threshed in midair, the thighs welded into one flesh. Mandy glimpsed the nude’s toes scrabbling five inches above the sand.
‘Open your thighs,’ she commanded.
Slowly, reluctantly, the slave obeyed.
‘You have the beauty, the flesh-fruits, to both inflame and quench my master’s desire. But have you the stamina? Have you the dedication? I shall place this here,’ she murmured, inserting the dildo into the cleft between the heavy buttocks. ‘Hold it there, hold it there while I whip you. Let it fall, and we shall go back to the beginning and repeat the entire exercise. Many times, if necessary. Here in the desert,’ Mandy whispered, ‘time is erased like the sand dunes before the winds of eternity.’
A soft sound in the shadows caused Mandy to pause. Looking across into the gloom, she saw Rowena cover the Pentax carefully with her bikini bottom before kneeling down on the sand. Head bowed, her bare bottom burying her heels as she squatted, the red-haired girl thrust her hands between her slightly parted thighs. Mandy smiled and understood, tugging her white robe away from her own sticky labia. A surge of burning pride seared through her veins. Brought here to witness and record Mandy’s emerging skills in domination and discipline, Rowena was already kneeling in admiration – in participation – in masturbatory celebration.
Turning, Mandy snapped her short whip before flicking it leisurely across the swell of the heavy cheeks. They spasmed under the lash, trapping the phallic shaft deep inside the hot cleft. A thin red li
ne burned across the creamy gobes where the whip had kissed the naked flesh. Mandy jerked her supple wrist, flicking the whip once more, lick-lashing the bare bottom. Still the dildo remained trapped between the squeezed cheeks of the punished nude. Four more times, Mandy plied the cruel lash, crack-snapping the length of dead hide across the living flesh. The brunette’s bottom blazed beneath the strokes, but the dildo remained clenched between the whipped cheeks. Over in the shadows, Rowena buckled forward and came – her groan of ecstasy echoing around the dungeon.
The brunette, stretched out across the sand, was tightly bound with eight lengths of waxed cord. It secured her ankles, burned into her wrists, bit into her thighs and buttocks and bound her swollen bosom. Rendered helpless and utterly motionless in her strict bondage, the slave listened eagerly as Mandy read aloud.
‘Should these pitiful pages ever fall into Christian hands, let it be known by all who knew me for a daughter of decency and a child of chastity that I, Leonora of Palermo, did not go willingly to the couch of the Mamaluke lord. It was misfortune upon misfortune that brought me to his bed of burning shame …’
Mandy had elected to read from the papers smuggled out of a Zanzibar seraglio. Penned by an unfortunate noblewoman who had fallen into the rapacious clutches of a Mamaluke warlord in 1732, they provided a dire warning to spirited European ladies intent on travelling into uncharted seas and across unmapped lands east of the Bosphorus.
Binding her naked, oiled slave in the strictest ropes of bondage, Mandy was reading the selected extracts as a warning to the brunette of the rigours of the harem – and the painful punishments awaiting anyone contemplating rebellion among the scented, satin cushions. Equally captivated, though free from the bite of searing hemp, Rowena listened enthralled as Mandy read on.
‘After the second shipwreck,’ Mandy continued, ‘and our base betrayal at the hands of hired Janissaries, I was led here in chains, in servitude, to this nest of perfumed vice, this Garden of Excess where even sin is perfumed. The gross Mamaluke toyed with me at first, marvelling at the whiteness of my skin, the firmness of my bosom which he likened to ripened apples, the music of my occidental voice, the swell of my buttocks which recalled to him the moon above the Nile. My bottom, dear reader, provoked much excitement in him. He would stroke me firmly there with his open palm, squeezing and cupping the flesh for his dark delight. I shudder at the memory of his rough hands, strong fingers, sucking lips, leathery tongue and eager teeth. Yes, his mouth did taste me and his teeth did eat me as if my buttocks were cold viands spread out for his supper. The European bottom, I later learnt, when bared, has a less pronounced swell than that of duskier maidens. I swear, dear reader of my tale of woe, that I fought hard for my modesty and struggled for my virtue but he had a short whip to hand and plied it freely across my naked cheeks. It was as if he were breaking in a wild horse taken from the desert beyond the Atlas mountains. After the whip had visited my flesh for the third time, I succumbed. I succumbed, I admit, and surrendered. Once more of my nakedness did he eat, tonguing me in nameless places as if I were a roasted fowl. To my eternal shame, a dark, disturbing sense of pleasure –’
The Mistress of Sternwood Grange Page 14