by Josie Litton
When she had returned with it, he said, “With the salad.”
Back and forth she went, fetching a cluster of grapes, a little more dressing, a carafe of water, a bit more wine. Every hobbled step shifted the phallus deep inside her, rubbing it against the walls of her cunt. All the while, the vibrator continued its erotic torment. Her thighs below the belt became slickly wet, her nipples straining.
The sight of them made his cock harden yet further. He touched a linen napkin to his lips, placed it on the table, and crooked a finger.
“Come here.”
When she was straddling him face forward, he cupped her breasts, squeezing them hard, thinking of how she had been in the barn. Smiling, he raised his glass and dipped each of her swollen nipples in the chilled wine. She cried out softly at the sudden contrast of ice and heat. He laughed and bent his head to lick and suckle her. Her back bowed, her hands digging into his broad shoulders.
The soft mewing sounds she made delighted him. He thought of taking her right then, fucking her ass as the dildo throbbed inside her and the vibrator did its insidious work. The effect would no doubt be exquisite, for him at least. But being at once so doubly filled and relentlessly aroused might be too much for her. He would have to give her time to adjust before taking her to such extremes.
Instead, he pushed her to her knees on the patio and released his erection.
Thickly, he said, “Submit to me, pet, in every way. Until then, I promise you will know only torment and need.”
She bent her head, parting her lips. Slowly, inch by inch, he sank into her mouth and was lost in bliss.
Chapter Fourteen
Another fortnight passed. Later, his lordship would look back on that time with a lingering sense of unease that tried but never quite managed to fade into disbelief. Had he been able to embrace the conviction that his memories of that period were wrong, he would have done so without hesitation. Sadly for him, he was not capable of any such self-deception. He had always accepted that his nature was dark. Even so, not even he had known how far he was willing to go to achieve his deepest desires.
During the first week, he kept his pet in the chastity belt continually except for brief daily periods when she was allowed to bathe and otherwise tend to her needs. He did let her rest when he was through with her at night but only because he needed her strong to endure what he had planned during the day.
Again and again, he used the belt’s most tormenting features to bring her to the very edge of orgasm and hold her there, not for mere minutes but an hour or more as she writhed and arched, every muscle in her body straining and her voice hoarse from her lustful cries. Watching her, he became all but perpetually hard. As often as he used her mouth and ass, no release was ever enough.
In the second week, he relented--somewhat--and let her out of the belt for longer periods. Desperate for her cunt, he nonetheless fought to restrain himself rather than surrender all reason and fall on her like a rutting animal. Even so, his new and still growing awareness of the power of that cunt convinced him that it should never be left to its own devices.
As she had grown somewhat pale, he decided on an excursion to the apple orchards, then just beginning to come into fruit. Per his directions, a swing had been hung from one of the trees. It appeared innocent enough except for the large, flesh-toned dildo complete with an impressive sack that thrust upward from the swing’s seat. Impaled on the dildo, her ass bouncing on the balls, he swung her back and forth, higher and higher, while her skin grew flushed and her breathing ragged.
To an unknowing observer, she looked like a lovely young female enjoying an innocent outing. How unfortunate for her that she had fallen into the hands of man determined to strip every shred of innocence from her, leaving in its place only his own dark purpose.
When he invited her to dine with him for the first time, her excited pleasure in the event evaporated at sight of the phallus rising from the chair that he held out for her. Impaled on it, she sat with her back rigidly straight all through the meal and ate very little. He refused to feel guilty about that and used her thoroughly afterward to prove it.
Physically, the experience was entirely satisfying, for him. Yet he was left with the uncomfortable sense that his behavior had veered from his usual refined sadism into mere adolescent cruelty.
That night, he took her to his bed. Holding her in the darkness, he was vividly aware of the softness of her body, the beat of her heart, the exhalation of her breath against his skin.
Sleep proving impossible, he found himself speaking out loud the question that had been circling in his mind for days.
“What do you remember about the stone circle?”
She raised her head and looked at him. In the dim moonlight filtering through the curtains, he could just make out the crystal clarity of her gaze. A moment passed before he realized that she was awaiting permission to speak.
“Tell me.”
She took a breath and let it out slowly. “You. I remember you.”
“I was masked.”
“I knew you all the same.”
“What else?”
“Pain…but more than that, I felt…I don’t know what it was, exhilaration, perhaps. A sense of some power beyond myself.”
“Afterward, you danced under the moon.”
“That I don’t remember.”
Was that true? Did women tell the truth about such things? Did men give them any reason to?
That last thought disturbed him. Harshly, he said, “The power you speak of is dangerous. Let loose, it would upturn the world.”
She murmured softly, something he could not make out but that sounded soothing, and laid her head against his chest. He felt her smile like a brand seared into his skin.
∞ ∞ ∞
Despite the heat of early July, his lordship went up to London the next day. He was not, he told himself, retreating from the unwelcome thoughts his pet stirred in him. He simply had matters that required his attention.
To begin, he met with his solicitors to discuss his plans for Bunny, then dropped by the ministry to assure that all was in order, setting off a most satisfying flutter of panicked activity. Finally, he attended a gallery opening.
At that time of year, with Society scattered to the four winds, only the most avant-garde artistes were showing. Yet the event was popular, turning out a much larger crowd than he would have expected. As he wandered about the gallery, he saw why.
The exhibit was entirely devoted to works depicting the same nude model. Young and elegantly beautiful, she had pale skin and delicate, feminine features. Her dark brown hair was arranged tightly at the back of her head in a dancer’s bun, which may have been what first drew his lordship’s attention.
His interest caught, he studied the modifications that had been made to the model’s slim, long-legged body. Even allowing for artistic license, it was clear that she had submitted to an array of the most popular procedures.
Erotically outsized breasts, the size and shape of large melons, sat high on her narrow chest. Ripe almost to bursting, they were topped by straining nipples.
The skilled hand of a labiaplastist had reshaped her cunt, making the outer lips so small and smooth as to look almost prepubescent while the inner labia opened like the petals of a lurid orchid to expose her glistening clit.
In the first work on display, she was standing with her legs spread wide, the ankles bound to the opposite ends of a steel frame bar. Her arms were fastened behind her, thrusting her breasts into even greater prominence.
In the next, she was bent backward over the bar still tied and spread, her designer cunt displayed in obscene invitation.
Further on, she hung several feet above the floor with her ankles locked behind her head in a position that must have been agonizing to hold and which left her even more exposed, reduced to little more than a torso to be fucked.
Other poses followed, twelve in all. In some, she was blindfolded. In most, her mouth was filled by a
gag of one description or another while her anus and cunt were stretched by large dildos. In each, she was twisted and manipulated into an entrancing carnal object.
The technology behind each work was a refinement on that used for the most advanced sex toys. Visitors were encouraged to touch, stroke and probe, with the option to go further available by private arrangement.
Near one of the displays, his lordship overheard a man and woman talking. They were both of the upper class, as was to be expected at such an event. Given the intimacy of their manner, he guessed that they were not married, at least not to each other.
“Wouldn’t it be marvelous if they were all like that?” the man asked.
The woman laughed and gave him an arch smile. “Who exactly do you mean, darling?”
“You know who. The pretty little cunts from the shops and slums who imagine they can trade their bodies for a better life. The problem is that they still want to have feelings, even needs, as though any of that could possibly matter to us.”
“I can’t imagine why they think it should,” the woman said. “It’s not as though we encourage that sort of thing.”
“Which is what makes all this so honest,” the man said with a wave of his soft, manicured hand. “I do admire that. One sees it so rarely in art these days.”
They went on to discuss the current artistic scene, drawling on about ‘immersive activations’, ‘iconic urgency’ and the like.
Lord Adrian tuned them out. His attention shifted to the mirrors that provided the most intimate views of each contorted pose. Reflected in them, the model could be seen gazing calmly at the beautiful, carnal object she was, in which no flicker of troubling personhood remained.
Briefly he wondered about the artist who had succeeded in so exquisitely objectifying his muse. But by the time his lordship stepped back outside into the heat of the summer day, he had forgotten them both. His mind was focused instead on the idea beginning to stir within him.
Chapter Fifteen
The evening after Lord Adrian’s return from London, he retired to the library after dinner and promptly summoned his pet. He was more eager to see her than he cared to admit. But when she stood before him, naked except for the chastity belt, he frowned. She was even paler than before and appeared to have lost some weight. Rather than indulge his concern at such a development, he focused on the pleasant mix of fear and unwilling curiosity in her eyes.
At his direction, a circle of tall mirrors had been erected in the center of the library below the shibari frame from which now hung long, billowing lengths of shimmering mulberry silk. The result looked drawn from an erotic dream, one where the deepest fantasies could be indulged.
He pointed to a spot in front of the large wing chair where he sat at his ease wearing only a simple brown cotton yukata kimono. This evening, he wanted no encumbrances.
“On all fours.”
As she obeyed, he took out the belt’s controller and idly turned it between his long fingers. There were so many options…
For a moment, he considered the devil’s prick. The contrast between the fire of his pet’s unsatisfied lust, stoked for weeks now, and the icy chill of the cock throbbing inside her was likely to produce a memorable response. But he intended for his own cock to be in that cunt before too long and preferred it nothing less than blazing hot.
Already, he was rock hard, his erection tenting the loose robe. The urge to come on her was all but irresistible but he refused to yield to it. Discipline and control were, as always, paramount.
Instead, he slowly turned up the intensity of both the vibrator and phallus. She writhed, rocking back and forth on her hands and knees, her lush breasts swaying under the force of her arousal.
When the controller had reached the highest settings and her moans had become a single, keening plea, he said, “Look in the mirror.”
With an effort, she lifted her head. Her glazed eyes flicked in the direction of the darkly reflective glass and as quickly darted away.
“Look,” he insisted, staring at the carnal creature who had his cock straining as it never had before.
Still, she resisted.
Abruptly, he knelt beside her and unlocked the belt, removing it. The phallus slipped from her coated with her juices. The vibrator clung for a moment before releasing her clit.
“Look” he said a third time, his own need more fierce and devouring with breath.
Positioning her so that she was directly in front of one of the mirrors, he forced her to confront the reflection behind her of a widespread, dripping cunt and swollen breasts. A flush spread over her cheeks and down her neck. She trembled.
Throwing off the yukata, he brought her to her feet. Quickly, he reached for a length of silk and wrapped it around her leg. Drawing the other end upward, he forced her limb to rise parallel to her body in a dancer’s stance that full exposed her cunt.
“Look,” he said.
As he spoke, he took his cock in hand and stroked the bulging crest over her inner folds. Briefly, he thought of the spread orchid petals of the muse but vastly preferred what was before him. Unable to wait an instant longer, he thrust hard and deep, driving into her to his balls.
Again and again, he did the same, staring at the image of their bodies in the mirrors. Held fast as she was, unable to move, he used her to his purpose, fighting the need to come even as his cock throbbed and his balls tightened until they felt as though they were gripped in a vise.
Pulling out of her, he unwound the silk and in the same motion adjusted it so that she was once again suspended, floating beside him, her legs spread wide. The lengths of silk twisted around his bulging biceps, taking her weight and holding her in place.
“Look,” he said and drove into her again.
Closed away in the world of silk, mirrors, and cunt, he felt as though he really was in a dream. A torturous one to be sure wherein his mind and body were savagely at war. The need to come threatened to overwhelm all else but he was a man of reason, of control and discipline, and he damn well would not yield.
Not until he was convinced that his pet was thoroughly schooled and subdued.
In the dark reflections, he saw her neck arched, her mouth open, her skin flushed and glistening with their mingled sweat. Saw, too, the flicker of her eyes toward the mirror, held fast by the spectacle of herself.
Like the muse, she was a lovely, carnal object, to be used for his pleasure. But unlike the bound beauty in the exhibit, his pet did not look at herself calmly. To the contrary, he was struck by the shattered pain of her gaze.
Pierced by it, his own control broke. Gripping the silken cords that held her, held by them in turn, his body jerked convulsively. The agony of release wrung a roar from him. Pain and pleasure melded into a burning ecstasy that finally drove him to his knees before the glistening, dripping cunt that had once again defeated him.
Chapter Sixteen
His lordship departed for London the following morning. The summer lull had finally settled in, leaving the city somnolent. He had no particular reason to be there but the other alternatives--yachting off the Channel Islands, a skiing jaunt above the Arctic Circle, and the like--had no appeal.
The truth was he needed some time away to recover himself. The interlude in the mirrored circle had not gone at all as he had intended. To the contrary, it had left him with a most uncharacteristic sense of confusion and even, it had to be said, a yearning for something he could not name but still felt to the marrow of his being.
This was so unlike him that he spent several days holed up in the library of his Kensington residence, re-reading the meditations of the Emperor Marcus Aurelius on the virtues of stoicism. When that failed to settle him, he took to the river, rising before dawn to row the Thames from Greenwich to Hampton Court and back again. His body was pleasantly weary but he remained unable to sleep, plagued as he was by dreams that left him at once aroused and bereft.
On the fifth day of his exile, he called Jameson for an update.
“And the dogs?” he asked after the butler had covered the general well-being of the manor including the arrival of new wine stocks, progress on the vicarage roof, the profusion of roses in the gardens, and the excellent state of the stables.
“The dogs are very well, milord.”
“Good…glad to hear it…and you, Jameson, how are you doing?”
“I am also very well, milord.”
“Excellent…” He hesitated, having run out of topics and reluctant to broach the one subject on which he had any actual interest. “Well then, if you’ve nothing else to tell me--”
“There is one matter, milord. I am sorry to say that J-- that is, your pet, does not appear to be in the best of health.”
A shock of dread went through him. He’d assumed throughout the tedious conversation that if there was anything of importance to report, Jameson would do so at once. But instead, he’d saved the only thing that mattered for the very last. What could the man be thinking?
“Why didn’t you say so? What’s wrong with her?”
“I’m not at all sure, milord. The servants report that her appetite has fallen off. In addition, as I believe you know, she normally enjoys reading but lately nothing stirs her interest. Yesterday evening, she was even a bit weepy.”
His throat tightened. It seemed he was not alone in his suffering after all. But to have not been told--
“You amaze me, Jameson. How is it that you did not call me immediately?”
“I am most sorry, milord. Please accept my apologies. Knowing how busy you are, I did not wish to disturb you.”
“That’s all well and good but clearly I shall have to see to this matter myself. I’ll be there directly.”
“As you say, milord.”
Was that a smile he heard in the butler’s voice? No matter, his lordship rang off and made immediate plans to depart London.
Arriving at the manor, Lord Adrian quickly confirmed for himself that his pet was indeed in the sorry state that his negligent butler had described. Not even releasing her from the chastity belt helped. Throughout the remainder of that day and the next, she was visibly downcast to a degree that alarmed him.