by Emily Tilton
But Beth, despite knowing about his concubines—and perhaps for that very reason, out of spite—demanded that Serteau spend weekends in the suburbs, holding in her back pocket the threat of an extremely messy divorce that Serteau, feeling he already had everything he wanted, had no desire to undertake. Most of the time she would—again, he thought, in order to spite him—go out with her own friends, and possibly a lover, for which Serteau certainly didn’t blame her.
It did leave him with time on his hands, which he usually whiled away reading, but tonight, unable to stop thinking about Eric Lindgren enjoying Helen, he selected his much less frequent pursuit of reviewing video from the life for which he truly lived: his time with his indentured girl.
Serteau didn’t have a great deal of vanity, so he generally didn’t watch videos of himself fucking or flogging his concubine. He greatly preferred to watch a girl being trained by the marvelous Mrs. Foley, usually during one of the weekends, when he turned them over to his housekeeper completely. He browsed through the files in the folder called Helen on his computer, and selected the first Saturday of her new life in his apartment.
The camera, placed in an upper corner of Helen’s little room, showed her sleeping under the white comforter on the queen-sized bed where for the first time, the previous night, she had not received her owner, since Serteau had departed for his suburban domicile. Helen had arrived on Tuesday, and of course each night Serteau had come to her to enjoy her mouth and her cunt, before returning to his own bed. In the mornings Helen had been allowed to sleep in, and, upon emerging, set by Mrs. Foley to minor secretarial tasks.
On the video from this first Saturday morning, however, Mrs. Foley, wearing a silk kimono over lacy black panties, opened Helen’s door and slipped inside. She stood looking down at the sleeping girl for a moment, a smile on her face. Serteau sometimes felt that Mrs. Foley’s smile represented the absolute epitome of the excitement she brought to his arrangements with his concubines. In the slight curve of his housekeeper’s lips he saw not only authority and lust but also sympathy: she would train his girls for their good, and Serteau’s; she would not spare the rod—or, in her case, the wooden spoon; she would enjoy their blushing, weeping submission to her lessons; but she would remember even as she called them sluts that a frightened young woman was learning to come to terms with her body’s needs in Mrs. Foley’s arms and under her firm, if feminine, hand.
Mrs. Foley dropped her robe and slipped into Helen’s bed, drawing down the comforter to expose the girl’s lovely naked body. Unless Serteau had specified some kind of nightwear for his own enjoyment, his girls were required to sleep in the nude, in order that they feel he might come and use them at any time.
Helen stirred in her sleep. Mrs. Foley propped herself on her elbow and gazed down into the new girl’s face. She stroked Helen’s cheek, then planted a gentle kiss on the girl’s lips. Helen stirred again, but didn’t wake.
The housekeeper grew bolder, the smile still upon her lips. Helen’s left breast came within Mrs. Foley’s grasp, the nipple toyed with until Helen gave a fitful cry, and opened her eyes very wide.
“Mrs. Foley?” she whispered, as the older woman continued to play with the erect pink nipple, now meeting the concubine’s startled gaze. “What are you doing?”
“What did Mr. Serteau say about how you should behave while he is away?” Mrs. Foley asked. She moved her hand from Helen’s breast to the gentle curve of the girl’s hip. Helen gave a little shiver.
“He said… he…”
Mrs. Foley’s hand was between her legs, now, where Helen was still getting used to the feeling of being bare.
“Yes, little slut?”
“Oh, please… he didn’t say that…”
“Hush, girl. What did he say?”
Serteau couldn’t see on the video footage, of course, exactly what transpired between Helen’s thighs, but the rhythm of Mrs. Foley’s hand was clearly visible.
“He said I must do as you say. Oh, no… please…”
“Are you sore from his cock, slut?” Mrs. Foley asked.
“Y-yes,” Helen stammered. “Not as much as yesterday, but…”
“This feels better, doesn’t it?”
The girl’s hips had begun to move. “I don’t understand,” she whispered.
“Saturdays are for my training,” said Mrs. Foley. “If you’re a good girl for me, you’ll earn pleasure. If not, you’ll go over your spanking stool.” She gave a significant nod to the corner of Helen’s room where the little stool stood, over which the girl had as yet gone only once, on her first day.
Helen whimpered. “Training?”
“Yes, slut. For your owner’s cock. Lift this leg.”
The concubine’s right knee went up, and then she gave a little cry as Mrs. Foley touched further back. “Training here, especially,” she said. “You must be widened for the penis.”
“How?” Helen’s voice had grown very soft, but Serteau could hear even on the video’s imperfect audio track her fascination had also taken hold. This was his favorite thing about Helen: her complicated feelings about having the cock in her anus.
“Turn over,” said Mrs. Foley with sudden authority. “Onto your tummy, and raise this bottom for me.”
Serteau didn’t think he’d ever heard anyone use the word ‘this’ more effectively than his housekeeper. He resolutely avoided jerking off as he watched the videos of his concubines. The sight of Helen on her front, though, trying to see behind her so that she could puzzle out what Mrs. Foley meant to do, her backside lifted a bit to comply with the command, nearly broke his self-command. The crease on the girl’s brow seemed to speak louder than any words could of how the prospect of being trained for anal sex affected her.
Mrs. Foley had climbed out of bed for a moment to fetch the lube and the little plug with which she always began a young woman’s training. She came and sat down for a moment on the side of the mattress, so she could show them to Helen, the golden-haired girl’s bright blue eyes gazing up in consternation at what the older woman held.
“This will go in your bottom now, and you will wear it all day today, slut,” Mrs. Foley said. “Anal sex is very important to dominant men like your owner. It’s my job to make your body pleasurable for him in his favorite place, and to make it as comfortable as possible for you to receive him there, so that he can use you as he likes without compunction.”
Watching the video, Serteau smiled. Mrs. Foley had certainly accomplished that goal with Helen, as she had with his previous concubines. Then he felt a cloud come onto his brow, as he remembered that Eric Lindgren might very well now be enjoying the tight little anus that rightfully belonged to Serteau, which Mrs. Foley had trained for Serteau’s ordinary, though sizable, cock and not Lindgren’s monstrous one.
As he watched Mrs. Foley lube Helen’s little rose, inserting her finger gently at first and then more insistently as the girl cried out in need and in shame, Serteau couldn’t help picturing the scene in the hotel, seeing the possibilities and wondering, though he tried to stop his mind from the fruitless effort, which of them had taken place, or would take place. Lindgren would have her all night, in the city, while Serteau sat in this suburban prison.
The idea of sharing a girl whom you owned, as a favor to your friends and as a sort of ultimate proof of your mastery of her, appealed in the abstract. The first few moments—displaying her charms and discussing the way you liked to fuck her and the way you liked to discipline her when she misbehaved—got a man’s cock hard.
Even turning her over for the first of your friends to use, and watching her perform her shameful duties because you had chosen to give her away… watching her receive the cocks of strangers any way they chose, watching her spanked by another man because her pretty backside was made for punishment… all that could prove very arousing.
But when a boy with a huge cock took your girl to a hotel, and you were left watching videos of her undergoing anal training that now would serve th
e boy’s lusts, and not your own, even the abstract enjoyment of having provided a slut for the use of other men faded rather noticeably.
He pictured the scene despite himself. Lindgren would find out very quickly how very charmingly Helen responded to anal stimulation. He had in fact already seen it, when the other men had lubed her back there, at the restaurant, and used her bottom to make themselves come. Watching the end of the gangbang, in his office, Serteau had seen on his concubine’s face what Lindgren must also have seen, when the first man entered her narrowest place: mingled shame, discomfort, and submissive pleasure so great that Serteau never fucked Helen’s ass without placing her so that he could watch her face very closely in a mirror while he rode to his climax in her bottom.
And now she would have his enormous shaft there. He would certainly make that the very first order of business, in the hotel room. Helen would be on her knees on the sumptuous bed, and Lindgren would bend her over until her cheek rested against the crisp white sheet. Bra and stockings would still be on, of course.
“Reach back and spread your bottom-cheeks, sweetheart. Show me that little hole where my cock is going to go.”
Helen would whimper, the same way she whimpered on the video for Mrs. Foley, as the housekeeper set the butt plug for the first time, filled the girl there in a fashion she had never expected and which her face said she found compelling in some shameful way. Lindgren would lube her as she held her ass open with trembling fingers.
On the video, Mrs. Foley went to get her strap-on harness, to introduce to the new girl, who now lay impaled with her first plug, this other important aspect of her training.
Among his imprisonment in his beautiful mansion, the visions of Lindgren putting the enormous muzzle of his cock to Helen’s cringing bottom-hole, and the images of Mrs. Foley making Helen suck the big rubber cock she wore on the leather belt she had donned, Serteau began to feel he might have done better just to put on a news channel and to try to pay attention to it.
Mrs. Foley sat with her back to the headboard, on the video, with Helen on all fours now as she learned to please the big black phallus, nearly as big—Serteau thought—as Eric Lindgren’s cock.
“Good little slut,” the housekeeper said. “I’ll fuck you with my artificial cock very soon, I promise, but right now I want that pretty mouth between my legs.”
Visions of the hotel room where Lindgren enjoyed Helen faded, thankfully, as Mrs. Foley unbuckled the strap-on harness, and made Helen pleasure her for the first time, murmuring all the while about how much her owner would enjoy her bottom once it had been made sufficiently pleasant for his cock. Serteau sat back and concentrated on the video, telling himself as forcefully as he could that Helen would be back under the housekeeper’s care at noon tomorrow. Perhaps he would even defy his wife and take a quick trip into the city for a fuck in that beautiful bottom, to remind the girl to whom she belonged.
Chapter Thirteen
It felt terribly strange to be in Mr. Lindgren’s lap, and it felt even stranger to have him apologize to her. Helen tried to imagine Mr. Serteau, or even Mrs. Foley, apologizing for fucking her peremptorily and hard, and found herself completely unable to conjure up the words her owner or his housekeeper might use. I’m sorry seemed to Helen a phrase that might actually not exist in their vocabularies.
She wondered what it meant for what this strange, compelling young man—younger by comparison to Mr. Serteau, though of course still several years older than Helen—would do. Would he stop, now? Would that be the end of I’m going to be very hard on you? She felt again the obscure sense of disappointment she had known at the restaurant, when Mr. Lindgren had declined to participate in the gangbang.
He kissed her hair. “I’m sorry,” he murmured again. “Are you alright?”
“Yes, sir,” Helen said into the golden fur of his chest.
“I wasn’t too big for you?”
That made Helen giggle, rather to her surprise. “No, sir. I’ll be a little sore, I think, but…”
“But what?” Mr. Lindgren asked, stroking her cheek.
“I liked it,” Helen confessed softly.
“You liked the way I fucked you?” His voice sounded surprised.
“Mm-hmm,” Helen murmured, too ashamed to give full voice to her assent.
Her reassurance had an immediate effect on Mr. Lindgren. His arms tightened around Helen, and he kissed the top of her head. His hands, which had been holding her waist and her shoulder with a light, affectionate grip, moved now, his right hand taking her bottom in its grasp and his left beginning to fondle her breasts. The feeling of arrogant possession seemed much more familiar to Helen than his apology, and she couldn’t suppress a grateful sigh as she understood that Mr. Lindgren would now proceed to the next part of his use of her, and that the idea that he would be hard on Mr. Serteau’s indentured concubine had reoccupied the forefront of his mind.
Helen’s sigh, in turn, seemed to awaken Mr. Lindgren to further notions of mastery over the girl on loan to him.
“You’d better kneel, then, and clean my cock with your mouth,” he said in a much more authoritative voice. “You got it messy in your cunt, didn’t you?” He accompanied the words by releasing Helen from his arms and spreading his muscular thighs so he could lower her to the floor.
Helen maneuvered herself onto her knees, eyes respectfully down and directed at Mr. Lindgren’s monstrous penis, not yet hard but still menacing and huge as it seemed to come to life in its nest of curls below his taut belly. She found herself breathing very hard at the lewd sight, yet again.
She could hardly believe it had been inside her, though she could smell, and see, her own arousal lingering on its head and its shaft, and she knew that when she took him in her mouth she would taste the now-familiar flavor of her pussy. Mrs. Foley fucked her with the strap-on and then made her clean the dildo with her tongue at least once a week, if not more, and Mr. Serteau liked to finish in Helen’s mouth with similar regularity, after using her between her legs.
When she had sucked his cock in the restaurant, Mr. Lindgren had kept his hands above the table, and Helen had been able to show him some of the skills she had learned from her owner and his housekeeper. Now, though, as if in keeping with the new way he had decided to treat her, after hearing she had liked the hard fucking over the ottoman, he twined his fingers in her long blonde hair and gave her no choice as to how to approach her service to him.
“Open that pretty mouth,” he said, rubbing her cheek against the length of his cock so that Helen felt the warmth of his body and even the pulse in the big vein that animated his manhood.
Everything happened so fast that despite her training in Mr. Serteau’s house Helen only parted her lips a little, intending to say yes, sir, before she bent to the task of pleasuring him. But Mr. Lindgren had his cock in his left hand and the back of Helen’s head in his right, and he moved her half-open mouth onto his hard penis now, and pushed her face down roughly, with a grunt of satisfaction.
The huge shaft rushed into Helen’s mouth, as she tried to open the back of her throat to receive him the way Mrs. Foley had taught her, and Mr. Serteau enjoyed so much. Mr. Lindgren made a noise in his throat that Helen thought must indicate pleasure, and held her head still, moving his hips on the sofa cushion to thrust in and out, using her mouth as he might use her pussy.
“That’s it,” he murmured. “Oh, good girl. They’ve taught you well.”
Helen’s breath puffed in her nostrils as she worked to let him have his way, her jaw already aching from how wide she had to open her mouth just to let him inside and keep her teeth covered. She felt a rush of pride at his praise.
He murmured as he fucked her face in a steady rhythm now. “Does your cunt taste good, sweetheart? It tasted delicious in the restaurant. I’ll have some more, later, I think, after I fuck your ass and then clean you up in the tub.”
Helen’s training for Mr. Serteau had progressed far enough that she could give herself over to Mr.
Lindgren’s control fully, listening to the wet sounds that came from her throat as the cock came and went as if they came from someone else’s body, and she could even pay a little attention to his dirty talk. The part of her that paid attention wondered at the remarkable change from his apology a few moments before, and the idea of that change sent a shiver through her whole body as Mr. Lindgren continued the relentless rhythm inside her mouth.
“I’m going to come soon, slut,” he said in a growl. “I’ll do it on your pretty face.” The cock traveled farther inside her mouth than it had yet, until his wiry pubic hair tickled Helen’s nose and his lap seemed her whole world. His hands gripped the back of her head more tightly, and he held himself in that way for a long moment as she concentrated, the way Mrs. Foley had taught her, on visualizing her throat muscles and being open there, so that the penis could have its way.
A satisfied rumble seemed to shake Mr. Lindgren’s whole body as he pulled back out, and lifted Helen’s head from his enormous manhood at last. He kept his right hand in her hair, but he moved the left one to his cock and began to pump it rapidly, little grunts from his chest keeping time with the rhythm of the self-pleasure.
“Watch,” Mr. Lindgren growled. “Eyes open.”
He held her head only an inch from his long, thick cock, so that she couldn’t have looked anywhere else, and truly she would never have thought of closing her eyes because his hard penis held such fascination for her. His hand was very big, but even so the red shaft seemed almost too thick for his fingers to get around. Each stroke up to the head with its tiny eye, glistening with pre-come, seemed to travel a great distance, from the hairy base of his cock to the fluted head.
The rhythm slowed, jerked, and Mr. Lindgren grunted, his fingers tightening their grip in Helen’s hair, and then she saw the seed spurt out, and now unstoppable instinct made her close her eyes as she felt the warm stuff spatter on her forehead, her nose, her lips. She opened her eyes only a moment later, though, when his grip relaxed at last, to see him still pumping his cock, though more slowly, as the size of it began to decrease in his hand.