by Leigh Turner
The Nigerian sneered in defiance. His cock had not responded, but this changed as Vanessa, who had waited near the bending slave girls, engaged with her erstwhile lover and grasped the penis. Her wanking motion very quickly produced the effect she had in mind, and, once hard, the cock was her toy as she alternated rapid rubbing movements with intervals of inactivity, retaining a thumb and forefinger grip near the root, perusing the straining erection like an academic fascinated with an object of study.
Celia’s dildo began to slide slowly forward. Oliver, from his position at the side, could see it disappear gradually from view. Although a view of the arsehole was not directly proffered, only one conclusion could be drawn as to its destination.
In distaste, Oliver averted his gaze, yet, in turning his head to the right, was confronted by the enticing sight of Sally’s and Fiona’s presented buttocks. Both women had leant forward more as they tired slightly, accentuating the sexuality of their passive poses as the smalls of the backs dimpled and the gluteus muscles in the arses stretched the smooth young skin.
Vanessa worked slowly and firmly at the end of the cock, foreskin stretched back, the glans shining and gleaming, primed with desire.
As Oliver groaned, it was echoed by Steven, who, now fully penetrated, succumbed to Celia’s hand which had found its way to his front after first undoing his apron and casting it aside. Those nearby were afforded a view of the prolific ejaculation as Celia wanked his heavy prick quickly and unremittingly.
Laughing, she looked at Oliver.
‘You’re next for the treatment, boy. We’ll see how you like it dished out to you after your antics on day one.’
Jane stepped forward as Celia withdrew from Steven and moved away up the stairs. Grasping Sally’s arm, she guided her back as she rose from the pose.
‘Here is your chance to quell the resistance of your rival. Present yourself upon his cock and milk it.’
Jane was pleased to see the lascivious girl needed no second invitation. Sally backed up to Oliver and, reaching behind, pulled simultaneously at each of her cheeks, exposing the delicate rosy skin of her vaginal entrance.
Helping, Vanessa guided the black cock into its welcoming warmth as Sally backed on to it and enveloped it. Jane looked down, witnessing the slow penetration. The girl, while slight in build compared to the athletic African, appeared wet enough to stand a chance of accommodating his large organ. Her tall heels brought her to a height where her cunt bore down upon the primed erection in Vanessa’s hand, and she ground her hips in determined thrusts, hungry for the penis, as, gradually, it was engulfed.
Hands on hips, she began to grind and writhe. Oliver, grimacing, showed no sign of wanting the rules of engagement to interfere with his pleasure as the tightness of the initial contact broke what resistance he may have aspired to, and he groaned his relief as his involuntary spasms heralded his climax.
Vanessa tapped Sally’s bottom. The girl’s hip gyrations slowed, and she moved forward. The ebony cock, sheathed in come, flopped down as it fell from the victorious cunt, still long even in its relative limpness.
Jane smiled, seeing Sally turn to steal a glance at the spent organ.
‘Well done, my sweet. Your rival is defeated. But let us see if you can outlast those with greater staying power.’
She clapped her hands and Inez came forward. The doctor grasped one of Sally’s upper arms, Jane the other, and the young woman was led across the room to the leaning board upon which Becky and Fiona had been shackled earlier.
‘Your time begins, chérie,’ murmured the scantily attired doctor, as she began to attach the wrist cuffs.
Jane left her to her task as she turned and looked back. Vanessa had not come forward to assist, for she was otherwise engaged. On her knees in front of Oliver, she licked, sucked, and slurped at his dick, like a child with a particularly tasty ice cream cornet.
At last, she stopped and rose. The drained phallus had begun to show signs of renewed life with her ministrations, but now sagged, semi-aroused, unable to override its own weight.
‘I thought it wise to stop him dripping on your carpet, Mistress Jane,’ said Vanessa, mischief in her tone.
Jane laughed.
‘That’s very considerate of you, my dear. Now, where has Celia got to?’
At that same moment, as if on cue, Celia came down the stairs. The strap-on had been soaped, and was worn without the slightest inhibition.
‘What shall we do with her?’ asked Jane of the newcomer, looking toward Sally, whose final manacle Inez was fixing in place. ‘She has milked the male, fucked him to a standstill like the cock-hungry slut she is.’
‘Oh.’ Celia seemed surprised. ‘I was looking forward to shafting the arrogant upstart.’
‘You may have to wait a while for that, my dear. He is finished; we have other fish to fry.’
‘Twelve minutes only,’ declared Inez, as she finished the final touch of Sally’s bondage and walked toward her vantage point. ‘The girl’s time begins now.’
‘I have an idea,’ said Jane, before Celia could offer any further rejoinder. ‘May I borrow your slave girl?’
‘Of course.’
‘Thank you, Mistress Celia. Now, slave girl, come here.’
Fiona rose from her position, hitherto obediently held, and accompanied Jane round the couch until she stopped next to Sally’s spreadeagled and exposed rear. She had been strapped in exactly the way that Fiona and Becky had been earlier.
‘This girl seeks to challenge your excellent record. She is, however, a slut, and has recently enjoyed stimulation by cock. I suggest you finish her by rubbing the seeping spunk dripping from her cunt upon her no doubt eager clitoris. She is yours.’
Fiona smiled with malicious pleasure and extended her hand between Sally’s defenceless thighs. After a moment probing the moist vagina at Jane’s suggestion, the hand moved further inward, hidden now between the legs.
‘Gheeeaaaah!’ The high-pitched wail told all present that the finger had found its target.
Sally subsided into gasps, which then transmuted into a low, continuous moan as Fiona toyed with her.
‘Do you want me to continue?’
Sally appeared incapable of speech. With her head tilted back, the drawn face spoke silently of agony and ecstasy.
The redhead’s hand moved inward again.
‘Just say, and I shall play with you. Or say no, and you may be allowed a further minute or two.’ She laughed in quiet triumph.
‘Mmmm.’ No sense was discernible in the bestial lowing that the ultimatum produced.
‘Is that a yes? A request for stimulation? Or shall I stop?’
‘Gghhh. Uugh. Mmmm.’
‘I weary of you.’ The dominant slave abruptly turned to Jane with a bold request. ‘May I spank her?’
Jane paused.
‘You may. But to tease or lightly sting only. You will be supervised by your mistress, Celia. You may begin.’
The assault on Sally’s buttocks was firm and undertaken with relish, yet considered to a degree, for Celia had stepped forward and monitored the amount by which Fiona was permitted to draw back her hand. An arc about the length of a forearm passed scrutiny at the first stroke, and Fiona persisted with this technique, adding venom by means of quick motions of her right arm rather than by challenging other parameters.
Three stinging slaps on each cheek were then repeated, producing a burgeoning rosiness upon the skin from the dozen strokes. A hand held up by Celia indicated that the permitted tolerance had been reached.
Sally by now was arching her rear end. She rotated her arse with total abandon, trying to provoke any morsel of further stimulation.
Fiona approached calmly and guided her right hand forward and upward, brushing lightly past the hairy lips.
Once the button of pleasure was located, the tethered girl began to shudder.
‘Oh. Oh. Oh. You’ve got me. Fuck me. Finish me.’
Celia stepped quickly forward an
d guided Fiona’s hand away. The black tool she held upright in erection. Sally seemed to sense its presence and paused long enough to allow it to be guided into its hot, velvet receptacle, whereupon Celia removed her supporting hand and positioned it around the haunches of the submissive. Touching the clitoris tipped the incipient orgasm into a crescendo of release, and the girl thrust backward upon the unyielding phallus, bucking uncontrollably, her abandonment final.
Moments passed, the audience still rapt, enclosed in the silent ambience of shared drama which now paralysed their senses.
It was Inez who broke the spell.
‘Zut. Only eight minutes. Ma petite, you are a very bad girl.’
Jane instructed Vanessa to collect Tom and the final two contestants from the dining room or lounge, wherever they might be found. She had considered sending Celia, but decided to keep her here in reserve, as it were, so that she might savour the young pair’s reaction to the sight of the masculine appendage upon Celia’s unequivocally feminine figure.
For now, she thought, we may play the pretence that some sort of decorum exists in the apparel worn above stairs. But after this afternoon’s activities, there would be little point in upholding such a charade, she knew. All participants, both staff and guest subjects alike, were assuming personae more appropriate to an orgiastic masque than to any pseudo-professional presentation of the everyday social and business world, where primeval libido was corralled and submerged within suits, ties, skirts, and costumes. All outerwear was a uniform of some description, she reflected, saying something about the cohort group within which its wearer wished to hide. Even the studied scruffiness of the surfer with his torn denim shorts, the carefully arranged pins and piercings of the punk, the casual golf sweater of the suburban male. Uniforms all.
Her mind’s meanderings within the realm of social philosophy were cut short by the arrival, at the foot of the stairs, of the remaining two participants, Simon and Liz. Closely behind them came Vanessa, an incongruous sight in nothing but her suspendered stockings and black shoes, as she negotiated the steep descent with great care, placing her high-heeled feet almost sideways at times on the thin steps. At last she was down. The athletic Tom followed her, making much shorter work of the descent. Evidently having attired himself suitably for lunch in long white slacks and singlet, he now proceeded, unbidden, to divest himself of these accoutrements, and soon stood in just his white briefs, seeming paradoxically to camouflage himself in a way, no longer distinguished by a surfeit of clothing from the other denizens of this cavern of iniquity.
Inez approached the ingénues and once more reiterated the rules of the encounter for their benefit. They were instructed to strip while she spoke. Simon contrived to lose his robe but remain in his Lycra shorts, while Liz undid, and let drop to the floor, the regulation girls’ uniform of blouse and short, pleated skirt. Her choice of underwear was revealed as black bra and pants, skimpy in cut, the bra in balconette style, struggling to contain her full bosom, which must be the envy, thought Jane, of her three rivals. Liz’s outfit, such as it was, was completed by a thin, ruched suspender belt and black seamed nylons.
Inez finished her exposition. ‘Come now. Off with your pants. Both of you.’
Bowing to the inevitable, they complied. Simon’s long cock now dangled unrestrained, twitching in slight animation as its interest in its immediate fate vied with its inherent length and weight to bring it forward in priapic readiness.
Liz placed her hands on her hips and assumed her usual mask of haughty indifference. She showed no intent to strip off the bra, and Inez allowed it to remain in place as she guided the girl to the sloped board, where she was then restrained in identical fashion to her rivals, one of whom, Sally, remained in place further along, spent and bedraggled, yet unreleased from her bonds.
Simon was led to the tether rail by Vanessa.
‘Wow.’ The word he uttered was entirely inadequate and inappropriate. Sounding like a schoolboy out of his depth, he must have realised that casual utterances, verbal banter to fill a stillness, were of no consequence or usefulness here. The weak gambit dissipated in the heavy stillness of the room, enveloped by the cloying syrup of the spell which held them all.
In total silence, he accepted the restriction which was placed upon him by Vanessa. By the time she had secured the second cuff to the rail, his cock had triumphed over gravity and pointed lewdly forward toward the bare arse of Liz, directly across the room from him.
‘Good. Thank you, Inez.’ Jane’s voice broke the silence. ‘We will start the last two of you together. It will be amusing to see who endures longer in direct competition. You also have to beat targets set by your earlier competitors, which I shall not reveal. However, you may care to know that the two here present alongside you fared none too well. They were the architects of each other’s downfall, really.’ She gave a small chuckle.
‘Whatever. Let us see how you fare. Begin.’
Inez clicked her stopwatch, joining Jane in one of the chairs at the end of the room.
While Jane was speaking, Celia had watched from the vantage point of one of the thrones at the far end of the room. She now rose, displaying her phallus more blatantly. It gleamed from Sally’s vaginal secretions. Hoving closely into Simon’s view, she smiled broadly at him. The strap-on matched the captive’s penis, angled similarly forward.
‘Oh my God.’ Simon’s exclamation turned into a gasp of pleasure as Vanessa began his exquisite torment by backing her arse crack onto the tip of his cock, capturing it precariously in the hollow of the anus.
Celia spoke.
‘Would you care for a shafting, young man? My dildo here is hungry for male arse. He was denied the conquest of your companion here, earlier, and had to satisfy the female opposite instead. She crumbled immediately, of course. Brutus, I call him. Would you enjoy succumbing to him?’
‘No, no.’
The words were hurried. Urgent with a tinge of fear.
‘Of course, an expression of refusal does not mean you will necessarily be spared.’ Celia spoke softly as she walked behind Simon.
He emitted a muted groan as the phallus was placed near his anus. The touch was short of intrusion yet, for all that, perhaps more tantalising. Celia nodded at Inez, who, after collecting the small jar of Vaseline from the shelf where Celia had left it, strode forward.
Extracting a glob of the jelly, she placed the pot on the floor. Rubbing both hands together, she approached the tethered male from his left side. He glanced toward her. Jane left the seat in which she had relaxed during the securing of Simon and Liz in their bondage, and strolled nearer to the stairwell end of the room where they were tied, the better to witness the expression of panic, laced with fear, on the boy’s face.
Inez anointed Simon’s shaft with her left hand, and, simultaneously, “Brutus” with her right. The languorous stroking produced the desired effect, and Simon’s cock poked rigidly forward, full and veined.
As Vanessa now pushed back, holding her cheeks apart, she began to envelop the organ. Inez assisted by preventing its tendency to slither to one side, using both her slender hands.
Brutus, needing no such corralling, began to find its way forward. The Vaseline performed its function and Simon’s anus surrendered to its impalement.
At the same time, his cock began to disappear into the proffered yet forbidden hole, but before Vanessa, his tormentor, could fully sheath the penis, and before Brutus could make conquest absolute, there came a vigorous shuddering from Simon’s body. His hips twitched and thrust and his short-lived resistance, if such it could be termed, was over.
Jane made her way to the far end of the room and picked up the stopwatch, from where Inez had left it on one of the chairs. Clicking it, she looked down.
‘Five minutes only,’ she declared impassively.
Inez was less circumspect in her assessment. Her laugh was almost a sneer.
‘Male whore. Spunked and spent like a tethered bullock. That is why the
female is the superior sex, mon ami. Your resistance is futile and pathetic. Now witness your colleague. She will easily outlast your weak effort, though we do our worst.’
With that she loosed the pink member from which all pride had been drained. Vanessa moved away, as did Celia, sparing a little of Simon’s dignity by withdrawing before full penetration had been achieved. Celia disappeared up the stairs.
In her absence, Inez and Vanessa took on the whipping duties, starting on Liz gently with multi-tailed tawses, moving on to paddles and short tease whips. They worked on her very gradually, seemingly impelled by whim, yet thoroughly for all that. Periods of respite were alternated with slaps and strokes, none too vicious, yet cumulatively, increasing the rosiness of the helpless posterior until prudence dictated that they desist.
Only now was the victim addressed, by Jane herself.
‘How do you like it, my dear? Would you like a little more? Do tell.’
Liz’s silence was like that of some brave protagonist in a film, temporarily disadvantaged but knowing that the scriptwriters would get her out of this predicament by whatever ruse, in time for her triumph over the villains in the final act.
Jane found the stoic silence amusing, and smiled.
‘So, you think you’re the hard nut among this collection of wannabes, do you? You may be surprised. Let us see.’
At this she began a different form of assault. Predictable, perhaps, yet hard to combat. The parted legs were just too inviting, and her hand keen to play.
She started with a come-hither motion brushing over the labia majora, gauging the degree of arousal. While not soaking, the lips were moist and invited a deeper probing. This she delayed for a little while, continuing the stroking motion at their hairy edges.
A slight movement at the hips was her reward, the victim striving, yet unable, to hide her arousal. Moving inward, the minora were teased, rubbed, and stimulated at will. The girl was breathing more deeply now.
Jane moved her attention upward and forward. As she located the clitoris, she felt her captive tense, and sensed her leg muscles wanting to move the legs further akimbo, should the bondage not prevent it.