by Leigh Turner
‘Very well. I have witnesses. Jane will be informed of your disloyalty. Now call me Mistress Supreme.’
‘Mistress Supreme!’
The finger increased its pressure by a small amount.
‘Embellish your reply, slut!’
‘Mistress Supreme, I submit to you. I succumb to you. I worship you. I bow down to you. I prostrate myself in your magnificent presence. I sniff knickers for you. I’m a worthless slut who begs and begs. You rule, you rule, I …, I … Fuck me, fuuuck meeeee!’
The wail subsided and Sally slumped forward across the table. She trembled like a bird as the waves of orgasm rippled and slowly diminished. There would be a price for this behaviour, she was sure. Whatever it was, she was ready to pay.
Upon recovering some degree of composure, Sally had been released from the panty bridle and then fed by a disdainful Lena. Not in any normal, civilized way, but by dint of a bowl of bolognaise being ladled out and unceremoniously pushed across the table toward her. When a stainless steel dish filled with tap water was placed next to it by a wordless Lena, Sally realised that this was to be her only sustenance.
Bowing to the inevitability of it all, she bent forward and buried her mouth in the aromatic stew. After a couple of mouthfuls all shame was gone and she munched and swallowed until most of the contents of the bowl were consumed, interspersed with lapping and slurping at the water bowl, no better than a cat or dog focused on its scraps.
At the end of all this, a fascinated Vanessa had left her seat and walked round to Sally’s side of the table. Picking up a napkin, she cleaned the younger woman’s mouth.
‘I’d leave her like she is,’ said Lena disinterestedly.
‘Oh no,’ said Vanessa. ‘The poor girl.’
‘The lapping bitch, you mean,’ was Lena’s riposte.
‘You can’t leave her looking like that. Anyway, I’ve done it now.’
‘As you wish. Does she want a pee before she goes up?’
‘I’ll take her. Come with me, dear.’
Sally followed Vanessa after the waitress helped her regain her unsteady feet. Her kindly tones were a magnet for the trussed novice, like a kitten fixated on the first large creature which had stroked it.
They found themselves in the corridor. It was not far to the toilets at the end but nevertheless too far for Sally’s self respect, for they had not reached the door to the Ladies before they heard the exclamation behind them.
‘ ’Kin ’ell!’
The hope of refuge dashed, they both turned to see the source of the amazement. It was Oliver, mouth open, in his white robe.
Sally cringed at her predicament but Vanessa seemed less perturbed, beaming at the newcomer.
‘Are you off for a pee too? Want to come with us?’ she continued mischievously.
Oliver nodded slowly, hardly believing his luck as Vanessa coquettishly opened the door to the ladies’ and ushered him in.
‘This is strictly forbidden, you know.’ She smiled at him.
‘I’ll take the chance.’ The Nigerian returned her smile.
‘You must wait till we pee.’
With this, Oliver shrugged and entered one of the cubicles, noisily relieving himself.
Meanwhile, Vanessa gestured to Sally to use a nearby cubicle. As Sally entered and sat down, she realised that she could, with some effort and ingenuity, have shut the door behind her. It seemed hardly worth it now but she noted how her hapless predicament had insidiously led her to accept a position of more disadvantage than she needed to.
After a short while, the murmurings of a female voice began to intrigue her. It must be Vanessa; nobody else had entered that she had heard. Some sense that she could not remain seated here indefinitely impelled her to move. With her now customary short steps, she entered the main washroom area once more.
Turning, she saw the source of the murmurings, which had turned into more of a mewing, interspersed with gasps. Sure enough, it was Vanessa. Oliver was sitting on the toilet, which had its lid down. He had stripped naked. Vanessa, facing him, straddled his legs. Clearly, her vagina was penetrated by his large cock. With her hands around his neck, she worked herself up and down, the muscles in her legs well defined by the effort of dealing with the limitations imposed by her wide stance and high-heeled shoes.
Grunting now, she established a rhythm, holding her head back in rapture so that her pretty chin was silhouetted. After three or four minutes of this, she slowed, and gradually raised herself. Sally could not help but gaze at the long, hard cock as it flopped out of the waitress’ cave of delights.
Her status as witness now caused Sally’s embarrassment to rise, but she need not have concerned herself, for Vanessa, turning, walked straight past her. Reaching the nearest washbasin top, she supported herself on the flat marble surface with her hands. Then, arms full length, she pushed her rear as far back as she could, standing in lordosis awaiting her lover.
Oliver wasted little time in following her and now approached. His hand supported his cock until it pressed close to Vanessa’s engorged, red labia, then, slowly pushing his hips forward, the slithering organ was home and the cunny was his.
Vanessa sighed her pleasure, loudly.
‘Slowly, babe,’ she requested. Oliver complied and began a series of careful thrusts. Vanessa’s face could be seen in the mirror and it contorted into an expression of agony and ecstasy as she felt the deep penetration she had craved.
Soon her composure disintegrated completely and her grip upon the rounded marble edge became tenuous. Had Oliver not gradually pushed forward she would have collapsed like a rag doll, but her proximity to the flat surface saved her and she flopped over the washbasin.
Grabbing the single large tap, she managed to push back using the purchase. This pressure against the strength of Oliver’s thrust seemed to tip her over the brink, and she cried out loudly.
‘Yes, yes, aaagh. Stop. Yes. Stop.’
All strength left her and her face fell forward into the bowl. Sally would have rushed to support her but was helpless. Oliver, reluctant to relinquish his position, belatedly acquiesced to Vanessa’s plea and slowly withdrew, groaning his frustration.
Sally fell quickly and unceremoniously to her knees. Oliver discerned her intent and swivelled toward her at his side. Now she saw the proud fullness of his cock. He held it in his hand and she bent forward, open-mouthed.
Eagerly she closed on it and tasted its wetness. Bobbing her head, she paid homage to its magnificent hardness. Oliver gripped his shaft tightly, giving in to his need as his hand relaxed the tension, moving in an erratic wanking motion as he started to tremble. Sally now began a sucking action and was rewarded with a deep moan from Oliver as his cock spasmed. Sally’s head fell back as she tasted the first salty come; she was spattered with the rest of the sticky emission as she drew back and watched in fascination.
Miraculously, no other residents of the household seemed to have been disturbed by the proceedings, for the three of them were still alone. Oliver walked to the adjacent washbasin and soaped and rinsed his cock.
Vanessa had sunk to her knees, leaning against the washstand edge for support. As Oliver retrieved his shorts and donned his robe, Vanessa looked at Sally and decided upon an act of audacity. Pushing up to the bound girl, she began to lick the spunk from her besmirched face. As Oliver walked close to them on his way to the door, he looked down. Vanessa’s feline tongue pressed its depraved way past Sally’s lips and tasted its counterpart.
Oliver displayed a self-satisfied smile. Sally could only surmise how Vanessa felt, but she suspected that she too was experiencing and savouring the frisson of humiliation, the wicked, unsanctioned pleasure, as they embraced their status of cock-hungry sluts. Semi-naked, uninhibited harlots, sucking hungrily at every droplet of their sin.
Vanessa’s enthusiasm for tongue tennis seemed to abate slightly with Oliver’s exit, and without the audience they devoted themselves to regaining some decorum. Vanessa washed Sally’s
face and her own, and they made their way back to the kitchen.
They were confronted in the corridor by the haughty Liz, whose eyebrows arched at the sight of the sluttish pair. If you think this is outrageous, thought Sally, you should’ve been here a bit earlier. Bet you want Oliver’s cock, and I’ve had it … after a fashion. Perhaps she could yet come through this “competition” triumphant, if screwing and sucking was the measure of success. Her head was swimming. Jane had drawn them all into this unfathomable web with her promises of lucre, and they danced apparently to some whim. Perhaps the tables could be turned at some point. Sally felt like some fairytale princess whose armies had been possessed by the sorcery of a wicked queen. These thoughts were crazy. Had there been some sort of drug in her bowl at supper? No, there was no need. The tingling in her fanny area told her all she needed to know. Their power, and their use of it, was enough.
Liz, now fully clad, if short skirt and blouse merited this description, seemed to sneer at them as they passed by. Another on Sally’s list for comeuppance. A list made by a tethered slave with no prospect of release save a shift in the capricious mood of her mistress.
In the kitchen, Lena explained that Sally was to go upstairs “to Jane’s chamber for the night”. To assist this, the lickspittle Peter knelt behind Sally and unclasped her hobble chain, replacing it with one of twice the length. This would enable her to climb the stairs, even in the excessive heels of the boots. She was then assigned to follow the transvestite as he ascended the stairs toward the first floor of the west wing, but not before Lena had taken the chance to slap her buttocks, twice on each side, hard with the palm of her hand.
‘I know what you’ve been up to, you slut,’ she murmured ominously. ‘Bit long for a pee, wasn’t it? But don’t worry, you’ll be paying tomorrow, along with your friends.’
With a malicious chuckle, she commanded Sally to “go now”.
Sally followed Peter obediently. They reached the top of the stairs, then walked along the west corridor, Sally a little more comfortable than hitherto in her bondage. Timorously, Peter knocked at the end door on the left.
‘Come!’
They entered. Jane stood at her dressing table, fully clothed.
‘Ah. At last. The slave girl and the sissy. You’re late.’ She paused thoughtfully. ‘Lena has contacted me on the extension, regarding your behaviour earlier. I’m a little tired just now, so your punishment will be deferred. Rest assured though, minx, that you will accept punishment.’
Suddenly Jane turned and came quickly over to Sally. Going past, she turned and delivered a sharp slap to each buttock. The action caught Sally by surprise and she winced at the pain on the parts made tender and rosy by Lena shortly before.
‘Ow!’
‘Silence, bitch! Who is your mistress?’
A perceptible pause.
‘You, madam.’
‘At once this time! Who?’ With this, the director administered two more hard slaps.
‘You, madam!’ This time without pause. Sally bit down her resentment; she could not take too much more of this bullying after the day she had had.
‘All right.’ The shrew seemed appeased. ‘Lie on the bed. Your bottom on the edge.’
Sally did as she was told, occupying the centre line of the large bed. She felt Peter’s hands on her ankles as he unclasped the hobble chain. Jane moved across and pulled two pillows down, placing them under the head of the captive. She crossed again to her dressing table, where, within Sally’s sight, she stripped herself of blouse and skirt. Sally recalled her defeat in the ring and her subjugation by the matronly figure in the bra, panty-girdle, and suspenders.
Jane now rolled down her girdle, unashamed. She let out a lascivious sigh of pleasure as the flesh of her nether parts was freed. She carefully took off her black shoes and then walked round the bed before clambering slowly onto it.
Sally looked up at Jane’s smiling face. As she hitched her leg over Sally’s head, the young woman realised what was about to happen. She found herself gazing at Jane’s large rump, which assumed huge proportions in her perception and consciousness as it descended toward her.
Sally felt horrified yet fascinated. Her instinct to resist was nullified, her arms bound as they were. Jane reached behind her and parted her pussy lips as she pulled at each buttock. The pink vulva was revealed in its full glory. Then, the arse descended fully.
Jane wriggled into a position she found comfortable. Her arms now rested on her hips. Sally’s nose found itself nestled in the opening of Jane’s vagina. The plump arse effectively blindfolded her. She was aware that Jane was not quite bearing down on her with her full weight; nevertheless, she might be in some considerable peril should this heavy woman show a little less care.
‘Submit now, to the queening from your mistress. Tell me, what are you?’ asked the dominatrix.
‘Mmmf,’ was all Sally could muster.
Jane laughed. ‘This is a privilege for you. Being allowed to nuzzle and worship your mistress’s cunt. Be sure, slave, that your true punishment is yet to come. I merely wish to toy with you now.’
At this, Sally felt a touch on her hairy mound just above her clitoris. Was it Jane? No, her mistress still had both hands on her hips. A moist protrusion lapped at her, softly probing toward the folds that protected the clitty. Too soft for a finger, it must be a tongue.
Was she now to be pleasured by the hapless Peter? Or was it, indeed, the pleasure of the transvestite, a little treat for him? Her conjecture dissolved into focused delight as the tongue moved down.
Almost unconsciously, she had spread her legs wider. She now felt the unknown head between her upper thighs as the tongue gained access to her hole. Alternating between this area and her now more exposed clitoris, it began to weave an expert spell. Enthusiastically, it devoted itself to her, responding to her movements, detecting her proclivities, teasing and recommencing until she was again lost in a heavenly absence of will.
Just when she had been coaxed to the foothills of satisfaction, the tongue ceased and withdrew. Sally was by now well versed in the necessities of begging for further ministration, and attempted to do so, but the fulsome cunt and buttocks above her acted as gag as well as blindfold, and her pleas were muffled and unintelligible. Still, she continued to bleat in desperation, feeling it would please her mistress to witness the slave’s despair, and perhaps somehow provoke a show of mercy.
For whatever reason, her frustration was short-lived as she felt the firm helmet of a cock push into her. Thick and firm, it was somehow not what she had expected of Peter. Giving herself up to it, she raised her legs high. Strong hands pushed them further up and back, and the penis slid to the hilt, penetrating her deeply. It began to have its way, moving relentlessly in and out.
Now she bleated as loudly as she could. Suddenly Jane eased forward, supporting her weight on her hands, thus freeing Sally’s face of pressure. Staring up at the full bottom which could subjugate her at will, Sally voiced her hunger.
‘Fuck me! Fuck me hard, fuck me hard!’
No sooner begged than done as the cock hammered rapidly in her wet and willing hole. The floods of orgasm soon swept through her and all tension left her body.
Her state of quiescence seemed to transmit itself to her lover, whose cock slowed and then, after a period of stillness as though savouring its triumph, withdrew from her. She gasped as her fanny closed.
Now the dominatrix hauled her matronly figure over and off her. Sally was free but utterly spent. She gazed forward, seeing not just the girdled Peter kneeling near her feet, but also Max, naked, standing at the end of the bed.
She saw his prick, still erect, and realised it was that which had fucked her. Perhaps she should have guessed. The first time it had had her, in the wrestling arena, seemed like weeks ago, yet it was only the same afternoon.
And the tongue … Was that Max’s too? Or Peter’s perhaps? No one was going to tell her just now.
Jane entered her view.
Positioning herself at the foot of the bed, she knelt on the edge of it. Sally gazed up at the dominatrix’s face as she leant over her.
Smiling down at her subject, she spoke to Max without looking at him.
‘You may take me now, Max.’
Sally, thoroughly exhausted, still felt a vicarious erotic thrill as the muscular male approached her mistress.
He had little trouble entering her. The use of Sally’s nose as a mini dildo must have had its effect on Jane. Max proceeded to pump excitedly, behind his mistress. His face contorted, grasping Jane’s haunches, his body twitched and convulsed and he pulled free.
Jane, belying her size, moved swiftly further onto the bed. This time the queening was from a forward position and Sally was forced to look up at Jane’s victorious face as her lips were forced to kiss cunt once more, this time also tasting the come which was Max’s tribute, as it found its way down out of the mistress’s proud sex.
Shortly afterwards, Jane had entered the bathroom. Sally had heard the sound of water running, following which Jane had emerged wearing a long dressing gown that concealed her state of undress and, as such, contrasted sharply with the other three figures in the room.
She murmured some instructions to Max, who crossed to Sally and silently indicated that she was to rise, by means of placing his hand around her upper arm and exerting slight pressure. She was guided into the adjoining room. Peter followed Sally and Max, and they saw Nick, sitting on the bed reading a book. He wore only underpants.
When Max flicked his head toward the door of Jane’s room, a sheepish looking Nick obeyed the cue, put down his book, and entered his wife’s room. He did not catch Sally’s gaze, and she could not help but speculate whether his Y-fronts would soon be removed, or whether his predatory wife had had her fun for the evening.
Sally was finally freed from the debilitating arm sheath by Max, only to see Peter readying some further items of bondage. They lay in view on the dressing table, part of a premeditated plan. Was Nick a conspirator, or had he merely had to watch as the devices were brought in?