by Paul Blades
As soon as she was satisfied at Leslie’s compliance, she moved back to her position and recommenced her stoking of Leslie’s fires. Her fingers nibbled at Leslie’s cleft while her other hand gently and soothingly caressed her breasts, stroked her nipples, slid across her belly and up and down her thighs. Leslie closed her eyes and bit her lip. Her face still burned where it had been slapped. She didn’t want to make any sound that would trigger another harsh blow.
It did not take long for the woman’s expert manipulation of her puss, her caresses to her body, to begin to drive Leslie’s lust. The fingers of her right hand probed and stroked and gently flitted over her sex. Leslie had had her cleft handled before, by boyfriends, and recently by Jamilah and the Queen and Zafira too, but it had never felt like this. The woman’s fingers were virtually magical, knowing just when to stroke, just when to glide over and agitate her bud of pleasure, just when to penetrate her and explore her interior, quickly finding the spots that made Leslie’s lusts burn.
Her body was getting hot. Her thighs were trembling. The woman had her in a whirl of pleasure. She tried to suppress a moan, but failed. She readied herself for an immediate, violet retribution, but none came. The woman chuckled lightly and then cooed something soft and sweet in Leslie’s ear, encouraging her passion. She switched hands, delving her left hand over Leslie’s quim from the front, while her right hand began to caress her soft rear globes and slide gently in the valley between them.
Leslie moaned again. It was getting difficult to keep her back straight. Her torso wanted to bend over and absorb the waves of pleasure flowing through her. When she bent forward just a little, the woman’s hand left her sex and pushed her back into place, and then resumed its wonderful torture. Leslie wanted to come more than anything in the world, but the woman seemed to know precisely how much she could take. She kept her tottering at the brink, her need growing higher and higher. When the woman leaned forward and began to suckle her breasts, Leslie moaned deep and loud. When the woman bit down on her teats, just enough to send tiny messages of pain to her, Leslie groaned.
Her hips were grinding at the hand that was teasing her quim. Her hands were clenched tightly into little fists. Her head was back and her mouth open. She was aware of Mrs. Moussa staring down at her, enjoying the spectacle she was making, but she didn’t care. All she wanted was to come. She wanted to beg to come, to plead to come, but she knew that such things would be forbidden. Her mind burned. The woman slipped three fingers from her right hand deep into her crevasse and began a series of long, rhythmic strokes inside her. Two fat fingers from her left were slipping and sliding over her well lubricated nubbin. She started to sing some kind of musical chant, her voice low and soft. Leslie felt her orgasm growing larger and larger inside her. It was like some huge creature waiting to be born. She started a long, continuous anguished groan.
And then it came. Her body began to shiver and shake. Her pussy’s walls contracted and throbbed. Her breasts were so tight, they felt like they were going to explode. She gave out a loud animalistic grunt each time her pussy’s walls tightened. She arched her back, her hands gripped tight, her hips ground.
When her pussy’s mighty convulsions started to fade, Latifah began a slow winding down of her ministrations. They were just enough to coax out of her a number of strong aftershocks. When her body began to sag and her breath began to return to normal, Latifah, gave her head several gentle strokes, gave her breasts, loving squeezes and murmured sweet saying in her ear.
Mrs. Moussa released a gleeful peal of laughter and clapped her hands. She said something to Latifah that sounded appreciative and admiring. Latifah gave Mrs. Moussa a slight bow and beamed back at her, proud to have been able to show off her skills.
Leslie shivered in shame. Tears flowed down her cheeks. She had never been forced through anything so humiliating in her life. She had shown herself to be a slavish slattern. Her mind reeled at the thought of being under Latifah’s powers, what she would turn her into. Her pussy glowed with energy still. Her skin seemed alive. She knew that the woman could do this to her any time she wanted.
“You certainly have found yourself at last,” Mrs. Moussa said to Leslie. “I never saw such a blatant display of whorishness in my life. You are going to make everyone very happy. Especially me. And I think it’s time you started. Come here!”
Leslie’s body was still weak and sagging from her ordeal, but she knew that any delay in Mr. Moussa’s order would be dealt with very severely by Latifah. She crawled over on her knees until she was at Mr. Moussa’s legs.
“Reach under my dress and pull down my panties, whore,” she told her. There was a passionate edge to her voice, whose genesis was no doubt triggered by Leslie’s display of wanton lust. Leslie obediently lifted the edge of Mrs. Moussa’s stylish skirt and crawled underneath it. She moved up between her thighs and felt her way along her smooth, graceful, mature, nylon covered thighs until she felt the soft sheen of her silk panties. She could smell her arousal. She gently slipped her fingers under the waistband and began to pull them down.
Mrs. Moussa raised her hips so that her undergarment could be slipped underneath her. Her fingers trembling, Leslie slid them down her thighs, backing up as she went. She slid them over her knees, down her shins to her ankles. She lifted Mrs. Moussa’s pretty shoes, one by one and, and drew them over them. Her panties were bright white and made from a soft, delicate silk. They shimmered in the light. Leslie went to put them down on the floor beside her when Mrs. Moussa spoke to her.
“Kiss them, slut,” she said. “Always kiss my panties when you take them off, do you understand?”
“Y,yes, sayyadati,” Leslie whimpered back. She placed her lips on the soft material and kissed it and then gently placed it down on the rug beside her. She looked back up at her mistress.
“You know what to do, whore,” the callous woman spat at her.
“Yes, sayyadati,” Leslie returned, her voice low and obsequious. She pushed her head back under Mrs. Moussa’s dress. She had spread her legs and raised her hips so that her cleft would be more readily available. Leslie moved up the darkened space, her hands caressing her mistress’s thighs until she felt the wiry bush that shrouded her loins. Suppressing a whine, she leaned forward until her tongue found its target and then commenced a long leisurely lap at her crevasse.
Mrs. Moussa moaned and groaned while Leslie serviced her. Leslie tickled her clit with her tongue, slid it along the sweet divide, pressed it inwards as far as it could go, until her lips met the woman’s slit. Mrs. Moussa gave her orders, her breath baited. “Suck my clit! Harder! Softer! Put your tongue in me! That’s it! Yes! Yes! Caress my thighs! Lick my pussy lips!” Leslie obeyed her, administering her oral caresses as if she was paying worship to a powerful goddess.
She felt Latifah come up behind her. She slipped her hand over her quim and started to caress it. Leslie moaned as her lusts began anew. The pungent aroma and musky taste of Mrs. Moussa’s loins, the hand that was manipulating her swollen purse, the thighs that pressed tightly against her cheeks, the sensation of being used, being a powerless tool of others’ desires, all combined to overwhelm her. She licked and sucked the gushing, feminine organ as if she was being fed ambrosia. She felt Latifah’s hands grab her arms and draw them back. She took hold of her wrists, pressing them firmly against her back with one hand, while her other resumed its agitation of her loins. She had only her mouth and tongue with which to worship Mrs. Moussa’s slit. She buried her face hard against it, coating her face with her discharge, inhaling its lust bringing aroma and then took hold of her clit with her lips, pressing against it with her tongue.
Mrs. Moussa’s hips began to grind against her face. She reached under her dress and took hold of Leslie’s head, squeezing it tightly. She moaned and groaned. Her thighs began to quiver. She gave out a great shout and commenced a rabid series of groans while her pussy performed its magic on her. Her back arched. She clamped her thighs tightly around Leslie’s head.
She took hold of her hair with her hands and gripped it desperately. “Oh, yes! Suck me you whore! Suck my pussy! Suck it harder! Yes! Yes! Yes!” she exclaimed.
Her mistress’s climax triggered one of her own, and Leslie groaned and moaned into her slit as the expert hand between her legs forced her pleasure.
Mrs. Moussa’s body shuddered and she pushed Leslie’s head away. Leslie drew back, emerging from underneath her skirt and looked up at her. Her chest was heaving and her face was flush. She had hold of one of her breasts and was gently squeezing it. It took her a while to recover. Latifah took possession of one of Leslie’s breasts and was stroking it gently, as if satisfied with the performance of her pet.
When she had recovered, Mrs. Moussa sat up in her chair and smiled. “That was good, whore,” she said. “We’re going to have a lot of fun together.” She said something to Latifah and the old, heavyset woman drew away, pulling Leslie behind her. She made sure that her ward was kneeling in the proper position and then she drew over a couple of large traveling bags. She asked Mrs. Moussa a question and Mrs. Moussa assented.
The first thing she took out of her bag was several leather collars. They were brown and black, red, lavender and golden in color. Mrs. Moussa came down off of her stool and knelt down next to Leslie. She had Latifah put several of the collars around her neck to see what they would look like. They were wide and had golden rings attached to them. She took them and held them against her skin. She seemed to be torn between the lavender and the red. Latifah took a fold of Leslie’s skin and pinched it hard, making her jump. She showed how well the red collar, more like a scarlet than an actual red, matched the color of the bruised skin. Mrs. Moussa admired and selected the red.
Latifah had Leslie kneel on her haunches while she applied the collar to her neck. She measured Leslie’s neck and then with a very sharp knife on top of a square board she pulled out of the traveling case, she proceeded to cut it to the exact length. She applied it to Leslie’s neck. While Mrs. Moussa held it in place, she took a long, leatherworking needle and sewed it closed. Leslie felt it drawing tight around her neck. It was not so tight that it would interfere with her breath, but tight enough so that she would always know it was there. It would also never slip or move, so that the rings in the front and back would always be in the right place.
When she was done sewing the collar closed, Latifah tied off the thick, leather thread and then applied a gooey substance over the seam. It hardened almost right away. No one would be able to remove the collar by merely cutting the thread. They would have to somehow cut through the thick leather of the collar itself.
Leslie suppressed her tears while matching leather bracelets were sewn around her wrists and ankles. Mrs. Moussa acted as Latifah’s assistant, holding the leather in place while she sewed it closed. She gave Leslie little sardonic smiles as they proceeded. Leslie noted with fear her powerful, acerbic animosity. There was a steel hard edge to it and Leslie realized that she should expect no mercy of any kind from the elegant, refined woman.
The bracelets had rings on them too, and Latifah showed Mrs. Moussa how easily they could be clipped together. A golden chain hung from the bracelet on Leslie’s right hand and Latifah drew it through the ring in the front of her collar and attached it to the other bracelet to show how Leslie’s wrists could be confined. Then she did the same through the ring in the back, both bringing her wrists up over her shoulders, forcing her elbows out like little wings, and from behind her back, pulling her hands high up towards her neck. Leslie moaned in pain when her hands were brought up. Mrs. Moussa seemed to like this the best and played a little with Leslie’s breasts while she watched her face and grim frown record her discomfort.
When the collar and bracelets were fully installed, Mrs. Moussa declared that it was time for a break. She went to a phone on a little table next to her small throne and barked out an order. While they were waiting, Latifah showed Mrs. Moussa how convenient it was to arrange Leslie in a hog tie. She made Leslie lie on her belly and she drew her arms behind her. She lifted her legs back, one at a time and threaded the chain dangling from her right wrist through the rings on her ankle bracelets. The chain then connected to the ring on her left wrist.
Leslie was in this position when a maid brought in a silver tray loaded with a brightly painted pot of tea, two small cups and a plate of gooey pastries. The maid, a pretty, tawny colored, young girl, looked at Leslie with undisguised horror as she laid the tray down on a little table in the middle of the room. She had long black hair tied in a ponytail and was wearing a white blouse buttoned up to her neck and a long, black skirt, the image of modesty. Leslie cringed when she saw her come in. But there was nowhere for her to hide. The maid put down the tray and scurried from the room.
Mrs. Moussa politely poured a cup of tea for Latifah and then one for herself. The two women carried on an animated conversation. It appeared to Leslie, from Latifah’ gestures, that she was regaling Mrs. Moussa with stories of her days as a madam. Mrs. Moussa laughed heartily from time to time. She gave Leslie an occasional, malevolent look, but otherwise ignored her.
Leslie’s shoulders started to ache. Her belly and breasts were pressed firmly against the rug underneath her. Her fingers were jammed up against the soles of her feet. Her knees were spread wide, baring her intimacies. She closed her eyes and lowered her head, disconsolate at the unfairness of it all. The light was shining brightly in through the large picture windows making Leslie think about the world outside where people were moving freely about in charge of their own destinies. How she yearned to be outside there with them, in a taxi maybe, headed for the airport in Tunis, going home, leaving her travails far behind.
Her muscles ached where she had been beaten with the cane by Faraq. She was conscious of the long streaks of angry red that covered her body. She couldn’t help seeing in her mind’s eye her body helplessly dangling from the chains in her basement prison, Faraq’s cool, stern, callous face as he reared back with the whip. Would Mrs. Moussa beat her? She felt sure of it. The woman had a hardness underneath her elegant exterior which frightened her. She tried desperately to put the thought of it out of her mind.
Latifah was kneeling nearer to her than Mrs. Moussa and from time to time idly passed her strong hand over Leslie’s buttocks and thighs. It was as if she had already taken custody of her and was reaffirming her proprietorship.
When they had finished their tea and eaten a few of the small pastries, Mrs. Moussa wiped her hands on a small napkin. Latifah presented her sticky fingers to Leslie’s mouth. Mrs. Moussa watched, amused, while Leslie obediently licked them off.
The table was put aside and Leslie was released from her hog tie. Latifah made her come to her knees and cross her wrists behind her. She brought out another case. From within it she drew several bags of makeup and application tools. She explained her proposed design by drawing her fingers across Leslie’s face, up around her eyes and around her mouth. Mrs. Moussa seemed satisfied with the proposal. They took out several colors, matching them against Leslie’s skin and her scarlet confinements.
Mrs. Moussa liked the burnt orange color the best. Latifah had Leslie kneel stock still while she outlined her eyes with thick lines of mascara. She applied some to her lashes, brushing them until they were long and extended. She took the burnt orange eye shadow and covered her lids with it. She drew out two lines from each of her eyes with the mascara pencil, forming a small triangle like extension of them. Then she filled the interior with the burnt orange eye liner.
Mrs. Moussa selected a blood red lipstick that Latifah then painted on carefully. She outlined her lips with a thin line of black. The same color was applied to the tips of her breasts. They made her lie down on her back and spread her legs and applied it to the edges of her love lips, forming a bright, thick border to her crevasse and tapering it towards the top, the point ending a few inches above the apex of her quim. The small area of flesh inside the lines above her clit was colored with the burnt orange eyel
iner they had used. A similar color of red was painted on her toe and fingernails, a heavy lacquer being applied on top.
Mrs. Moussa made Leslie stand and walk up and down the room. She seemed delighted at what she saw. She made Leslie kneel down, facing away from her, her forehead to the floor, and spread her legs to see what her love lips would look like from behind. She laughed when she saw it.
The next case contained bright, golden jewelry. They tried several earrings up against her ears. Mrs. Moussa liked the ones that had little golden bells on their ends. Leslie’s ears were pierced although she hadn’t worn anything in them since coming to Tunisia, not wanting to be ostentatious. The holes were still open and the earrings went on without a problem. Mrs. Moussa ordered Leslie to walk and then crawl around the room to see how the bells would sound. They jingled and jangled lightly everywhere Leslie went to the merriment of the two older women.
Latifah pulled out of her bag a broad golden sheath, with crisscrossing narrow bands of gold. She showed how it could adorn Leslie. Gold colored straps went under her arms crossed her back and connected to the sheath over her shoulders so that when she leaned forward, it would stay close against her chest. Her skin showed through the gaps so that her aspect of nudity was not affected. It ended just above the swelling of her breasts, curving down from her shoulders in a wide arc. Mrs. Moussa liked it very much and it stayed on.
Next, Latifah showed Mrs. Moussa several golden chains that could go around Leslie’s waist. Mrs. Moussa liked the one with tiny golden coins hanging from it. A large, gold medallion hung down in front, pulling the belt down and emphasizing the hollows of her hips and directing the eye down towards her loins. Again she had Leslie walk back and forth. She corrected her several times, telling her to sway her hips more so that the belt would accentuate her movements. Once Leslie got it down right, Mrs. Moussa was satisfied.