by Paul Blades
About ten o’clock, Faraq appeared. He pulled her from her cage and, after reminding her of her promised punishment from this morning, gave her seven harsh lashes across her rear. Her screams echoed off the kitchen walls. After, he had her suck his cock right there in front of the kitchen staff. Then he put her back. A little after twelve, when it was clear no one would call for her again, Latifah brought her down to her cell in the basement.
She used a cream to remove all of the makeup. She brushed her hair. She let her move her bowels and pee. The she brought her to the bed. She ordered her to lie down and then chained her wrists to the ring at the head of the bed. There was a small nightstand next to the bed. Latifah went to it and turned on a small table lamp and then went to the door and turned off the over head. The room was suffused with a soft light. To Leslie’s surprise, she started to remove her clothing. When she was naked, she got up on the bed and laid down next to her. She was heavyset and slightly chunky, but not obese. Her breasts were large and fluffy. She stroked Leslie’s hair and murmured something sweet sounding to her. She leaned over, merged their lips and slipped her tongue into Leslie’s mouth.
They fucked for the better part of an hour. She teased Leslie’s pussy until she screamed. She suckled and massaged her breasts. She made her come three times, twice with her hand and once with her mouth. She released her hands from the ring, fastening them to the front of her collar, and made Leslie kiss and mouth her large breasts and lick her pussy. When she came, she squeezed Leslie’s head with her hands like she was trying to burst it.
When she was done with her, she connected the back of Leslie’s collar by chain to the wall, pulled a light covering over them and went to sleep.
Leslie lay there a long time awake. She had had sex with five people that day: Faraq, Mr. Moussa, Mrs. Moussa, Hajib and, of course, Latifah. Some of them more than once. What was amazing to her was that she was just as responsive at the end of the day as she had been in the beginning. Even now, her unreachable pussy hummed between her thighs. She squeezed her thighs together in an attempt to relieve herself from the feeling.
It was clear that her fate from now on, until Mrs. Moussa tired of her, was to be a totally controlled human being. She would even be subject to regulation at night when she slept. She could hear Latifah’s soft snores behind her as she lay on her side with her back to her, her legs all scrunched up. At any moment that the heavy set woman desired, she could reach over and make use of her. There was no way for Leslie to stop it.
Moreover, while anyone in the household could do anything they wanted to her, feel her breasts, stroke her loins, use her rear portal, her body was essentially off bounds to her. Her hands had been bound in one way or another virtually the whole day. They were bound even now. Her wrists lay upon her breasts, but her hands could not touch them. Her pussy was way out of reach. Although she was technically still a human being, she had lost all her human rights.
Eating on the floor like a dog in front of the staff had been an act of extreme humiliation for her. The kitchen workers had smiled and joked about it while they watched her. She realized that as long as she was Mrs. Moussa’s prisoner, she could expect the harshest, most demeaning treatment. She remembered her wan smile at her when in the kitchen. There had been a frightening coldness to it. The fact that she could go back to the dining room and calmly consume her midday meal knowing that less than 30’ away Leslie was suffering dismal, soul wrenching humiliation proved that she had a heart of stone.
She was thankful, at least, that her mouth was free. For now, at least, she didn’t have that terrible word in her mouth. She knew that it would be returned there tomorrow. But tomorrow was tomorrow and now was now. She realized that she would have to learn to think that way and find peace and freedom from domination wherever and whenever she could.
She had been overwhelmed when Latifah kissed her mouth. She could still feel the sensation of her large tongue twirling around her oral cavity, stoking her lusts. The woman was a demon. She was casting a spell over her, eroding her sense of individual personhood a step at a time. She would be her ever hovering shadow, the enforcer of Mrs. Moussa’s dictates. She hadn’t permitted Leslie the slightest deviation from her orders, permitted even a sound of rebellion or unhappiness. When Leslie had broken down into tears while in Mrs. Moussa’s salon, she had slapped her viciously, had belabored her breasts and nipples until she stopped.
And she had total control of her body. Latifah determined when and how she ate, where and when she pissed and shat, how she was bound, when she would reside in her cage, when she would go to bed and how she would sleep once there. Even throughout the night she would be a constant, over bearing presence, her large body lodged next to her. She was in charge of decorating her like a whore. Tomorrow morning, she would probably wash and clean her too. There would be nothing volitional left about her life at all.
And yet, despite her rigid, overpowering control of her, there was an element of sweetness to her too, murmuring little encouragements to her, petting her, stroking her. After dinner tonight, she had given her a piece of chocolate. It was a small piece, but it had been an island of pleasure after a hard, hard day. And when she made love to her, she was tender and considerate. Her touch was gentle and soft. Her kisses had been powerful, permitting no resistance to them, but they had been sensual and, in a way, comforting too. She might be a fuck animal for everyone else, but she was still human, in some small way to Latifah.
After a while, Leslie was able to fall asleep. She had been right about Latifah’s control over her though. During the night, she felt the woman’s hand caress her thigh. She pulled Leslie to her back, pressed her thighs apart and made her come while stroking her head and cooing to her. When she was done, she kissed Leslie on the lips and moved her back to her side. Leslie slept the rest of the night with the large woman’s arm draped across her body, snuggled up against her.
Leslie slept deeply. She did not awaken when Latifah rose. Only the sound of the shower brought her to consciousness. She watched as the large woman washed herself. When she saw that Leslie was awake, she gave her a big smile. Once she had dried herself off, still naked, she unlocked Leslie’s chain from the wall, let her pee and then brought her to the shower. She released Leslie’s hands and washed every inch of her body. When she was done, she locked Leslie’s wrists back up to her collar. She shampooed her hair. After she had dried it and brushed it out, she shaved Leslie’s legs, arm pits and loins.
This last she had done with Leslie lying on her back on the bed, her knees up and spread and a pillow under her hips. She applied lotion to her pudendum, rubbing it in gently. She slid her thumb over Leslie’s bud of pleasure and caressed it until Leslie moaned and her slice had moistened. Then she had Leslie lie up further on the bed and turn on her belly while she gave her body a thorough, comforting massage. Her hands were expert at loosening Leslie’s taut muscles. Her ministrations put Leslie in a daze. Latifah hummed a little song while she worked on her, letting out pleasant sounding endearments from time to time. Once she had spread a sweet smelling lotion all over her skin, she rolled her to her back, and did the same for her for her front, massaging the fronts of her thighs, her breasts, her arms and shoulders, even her hands and feet.
As she was applying the lotion to her front, running her hands lightly over Leslie’s breasts, belly and thighs, Leslie began to get aroused. She felt Latifah kiss the tips of her breasts. She ran her lips over her belly as she stroked her sides. She placed her strong hands on the insides of her thighs and spread her legs. When she put her mouth to Leslie’s sex, the young girl moaned. She kept her on fire for a long time and then finally gave her release, as Leslie screamed her pleasure.
She had just finished doing her makeup, lining her lower lips, decorating her eyes and the tips of her breasts and all the rest and was about to put on her jewelry when they both heard the sound of the outer door opening and closing. Latifah leapt up and quickly donned her black abaya, pulling the vei
l over her face. The door to the cell opened. It was Faraq. He made a motion for Latifah to leave the room. She had just finished decorating Leslie’s breasts and the young girl’s hands were temporarily free. She was sitting on the edge of the bed at its foot.
Leslie’s heart grew cold when she saw the icy demeanor of Mr. Moussa’s factotum. A knot formed in her stomach as she worried that he had come to beat her. But he had not.
He ordered her up on the bed. Leslie scrambled to obey. She remembered his order of the day before and as soon as she laid down on her back, she raised and spread her knees and started to pet and caress her coosh. She watched the man undress. By the time he crawled up on the bed between her widespread thighs, she was wet and ready for him. His cock was already hard. He moved up, probed at her opening and slid right in.
There was something special about when Faraq fucked her that wasn’t present for the others. While he possessed her, dwelt inside her, she felt totally and irrevocably controlled by him. Her mind grew fevered and her body rejoiced. He took her to a singular zone where she felt that pleasing him, satisfying his carnal appetites was her life’s charge. She moaned and thrust her hips up to meet his. She circled her arms around him, enclosed the back of his legs with hers, drawing him in. When she came, she gripped him tightly, reveling in the feel of him, the heat of his body. And when he came inside her, she was overwhelmed with joy at having served him.
Afterwards, when he withdrew, she was filled with shame at her sluttishness and her fear of the implacable man returned.
When Faraq was finished with her he left. He had not said a word to her, having told her to get on the bed with a wave of his hand. Leslie felt debased, used and discarded. She knew that she was nothing but a depository for him. To her, he was her true master, the dark, foreboding ruler of her soul.
When he left, Latifah returned, patted her on her head and urged her from the bed. After she washed her loins, she finished adorning and perfuming her, locked up her hands to the front of her collar, attached her leash and led her upstairs.
And this was how her day began, first for days and days, then for weeks and weeks and then for months and months. While Latifah mouthed her to completion every morning, Faraq’s morning visits were intermittent. Sometimes, in the middle of the day, or in the early evening, when no one had called for her, her would bring her down to her cell and fuck her long and hard. When he spilled himself into her mouth, her womb or her rear, his cock throbbing, his muscles tensed, his mouth emitting a deep, almost angry groan, she felt like he had given her a great gift. During their couplings, Leslie would feel like she was on fire as her used one or another of her entrances. When he was done, Latifah, who always waited outside, would come in and reclaim her, wash her and then bring her back upstairs.
Some days, he would not use her at all, although she would see him as she was led through the hallways or while she was in her cage in the kitchen. Sometimes, he would pull her out of her cage and make her suck him. He rarely said any words to her. On occasion, he beat her or left her grotesquely bound in her cell, hooded and gagged for several hours just to impress on her that he still retained power over her. Sometimes, when Mr. Moussa was away, he would fill her crevasse with the soul stealing, body wrenching dildo he had used on her the first day, bind her as he did then, and leave her there to suffer for several hours. These sessions always resulted in a redoubling of Leslie’s commitment to obedience, which was the whole point.
Mrs. Moussa used her often, sometimes several times a day. Usually, she had Leslie mouth her pussy to completion while on her knees before her, but often she actually took her to her bed. She would drive Leslie to shattering orgasms. She would lay atop her, press her mons down hard against hers and fuck her, abrading their sex lips together. She would take possession of Leslie’s mouth, not like the strong but yet comforting efforts from Latifah, but with a forcefulness and aggression that left no doubt who was the slave and who was the mistress. Leslie hated the feeling of her tongue in her mouth. It was like the ultimate invasion of her being. When Mrs. Moussa took possession of her quim with her mouth, she would ravage it like a demon.
Mrs. Moussa was particularly cruel and often had her beaten, and sometimes beat her herself, for the slightest perceived infraction or just on a whim. When Mr. Moussa was away, which was often, Latifah would deliver Leslie to Mrs. Moussa’s salon. She had had a little cage installed there and Leslie would be placed in it. It was even smaller than the one in the kitchen and she would be all scrunched up, her flesh pressed through the bars. Mrs. Moussa would let her languish there for hours while she talked on the phone, read a magazine, had her tea, awaited her guests. She would cast an occasional glance at her, just often enough to let Leslie know that she was aware of her presence.
At night, when she was delivered to Mrs. Moussa’s room, she often had her wait upon her soft, luxurious bed, her forehead pressed down, her hips up, her legs spread, her wrists locked behind her back, while she tended to her personal needs. Leslie would hear the slither of her silk coverings as she disrobed, listen as she bathed herself in her large, brilliantly decorated tub in the adjoining bathroom, hear her brushing her long, silky black hair. It was as if she were purposely flaunting her freedoms and luxuries so that Leslie could contrast them with her own lack of these things. When she finally came to bed, she would take her time, exploring each facet of Leslie’s body with her hands and her lips, demonstrating her ownership, before commencing her main assault.
Because she was the one who had essentially enslaved her, Leslie’s resentment against Mrs. Moussa burned more fiercely than against anyone else. She would look at her elegant exterior and contrast her gracious, lush life with her own miserable one. She would hear her fashionable heels click clacking in the tiled hallways as she approached and a raw anger would rise up inside her. Latifah, leading her now with the leash attached to the ring in her loins, would make her fall to her knees and put her forehead to the floor as she went by. The cold, indifferent looks that Mrs. Moussa gave her chilled her to the bone.
And she had the power to return her to that hellish prison. So Leslie kissed her back passionately, serviced her with anxious vigor, accommodated her every use of her, obeyed her every command with slavish devotion, and paid obeisance to her as if her life depended on it.
From time to time, Mrs. Moussa would have female guests. They would gather in her salon where Mrs. Moussa often used her. Mrs. Moussa would order Latifah to demonstrate for her friends her skills at the manipulation of female flesh and, kneeling before them, her legs spread, her hands bound cruelly up her back behind her, Leslie would moan and groan, tremble and shudder before them until Latifah finally took mercy on her.
Afterwards, the women would admire her markings and decorations, giggle and laugh when they saw the golden flower in her rear, comment admiringly on the medal fused onto her loins. Mrs. Moussa would have her kneel in presentation position while she and the other women ate their lunch and drank their tea or coffee. Afterwards, they would undress and make love to her, each in their turn, or merely lift their stylish skirts and have her mouth their pussies until they came.
From time to time, Mrs. Moussa called in their chauffer, a tall, muscular, dark skinned Bedouin, and had him fuck Leslie for their amusement. He would pierce her mouth, making her suck him long and hard before spilling himself on her face. He would then plow her lower apertures while she was on her hands and knees, her cum covered, enraptured face held up for Mrs. Moussa’s guests to see, until she groaned and shook with pleasure. He had incredible stamina and was capable of quick recovery and would not finish with her until he had filled her with his spunk at least three times.
The women often returned all by themselves and Mrs. Moussa would let them use Leslie in one of the guest rooms.
Mr. Moussa’s use of her was always remote and cool. While Mrs. Moussa often verbally tormented her, reminding her of her delicate status, calling her a whore and a slut, Mr. Moussa rarely spoke to her a
t all except to give her orders. When he was home, she would spend a couple hours each morning and afternoon in his office with him. He would take a break and have him suck his prick or have her bend over the desk and fuck either one of her lower holes. Sometimes he took her to his large, overstuffed couch and, lying her on her back and raising her thighs, plowed her furrow relentlessly until she moaned with pleasure and then released his spume into her.
If Mrs. Moussa came in, as she did often, and he was using her, she would wait patiently until he was done, sitting in a chair smoking a cigarette or reading a magazine, before speaking to him. Those times when Leslie was kneeling, her ready, twin portals in presentation position, her head to the floor, she would listen with dismal rancor as they chatted happily together, discussing this or that. When Mrs. Moussa left, her distinctive, musky perfumed scent would linger in the room, reminding Leslie of her former presence.
Mr. Moussa would have her come to him and he would tumble her over his lap and then absent mindedly stroke and caress her sex while talking on the telephone. He would bury his fingers deep inside her, making her flush with passion and then, just as nonchalantly, push her aside and go on to other business, leaving her to burn.
He did get another secretary. It was a young French girl. She was appalled at first when she saw Leslie, all made up like a whore, bound and naked in her employer’s office, but she soon got used to it. Sometimes, when Mr. Moussa got bored with her, he would have the young girl come in and lead her from the room with her leash and turn her over to Latifah who always waited outside.
And, as Mrs. Moussa had foretold, Leslie had to fuck his friends. When a business acquaintance came by the office, he would order Leslie to service him with her mouth. If they were inclined for other pleasures, he had one of the servants show the man to a guest room, Leslie in tow, and he would fuck her there.