by Leigh Turner
Sally grasped Oliver’s cock. With it now fully erect as Becky presented her rear to him, she helped guide the large appendage into the wide, wet vagina as Becky, free of all care, held her arse cheeks apart as Oliver moved forward, sinking the penis within her with one slow movement, provoking a gasp of ecstasy.
‘Thank you. Oh yes, oh God.’
Oliver began to pump her as Sally turned to Simon. His cock, seeing the show, had responded strongly, and she initiated a steady wanking on it, using just her thumb and forefinger.
She looked across at the others. Liz was working likewise on Greg’s cock, which remained a little less than rigid. Fiona had wanked Steven’s cock into a state of tumescence and was now backing on to it, while bent forward, attempting to place it by pushing her hand back between her legs for a grip of it. From where she stood, Sally could see that the catsuit was crotchless, something not previously obvious in a standing pose.
It was a brave effort, given Steven’s predilections; however, it seemed doomed to failure as the brazenness of the approach, once his cock was no longer fully surrounded by the virago’s hand, served only to embarrass the tethered male. The pressure of an audience was clearly not an encouragement to his sensibilities.
Liz too seemed to be struggling; the more she tried, the less Greg was responding. Sally, meanwhile, thought of a new variation, and whispered to Simon, ‘Would you like to see my knickers?’
A nod, keenly done, was enough. She let go of him and dropped her skirt to the floor. She stood, hands on hips, facing him. The pristine white triangle covering her bush contrasted vividly with the formal attire above her waist, and the black stockings below it. In haughty tones, she spoke to the specimen of manhood who had served her so well as a steed, dismissing his achievement in an instant.
‘You pathetic tosser. Look at you. Would you like to get into my panties? You’ve got no hope of that. No hope at all.’
And with that she stepped forward, held the rigid, straining cock with her whole hand, and massaged its length, faster when she sensed his breathing come in quicker gasps, and faster still with the self-perpetuating feedback from his desperate breaths, until she was rewarded with the outpouring of come, fully two yards across the courtyard.
Liz had, by this time, resorted to going to her knees, sucking Greg’s now hard penis, while Oliver had long since pumped his seed into the mare Becky. Jane’s voice signalled the end of this part of the contest.
‘Very well. Cease now. You may relax and take yourselves indoors. Any lady who wishes to change out of her specialized apparel –’ this said as she looked directly at Fiona ‘ may do so. Dinner will be served in the dining room, for those who qualify, at 7 p.m.’
She instructed handlers to unharness the young men, who repaired to the showers. Becky, at a nod from Jane, was bridled by Vanessa once more. Her subjugation now taken as read, she was left uncuffed as Vanessa led her back to her stable.
When they assembled later, Fiona had changed into a knee-length shift dress with stockings, her small breasts underneath it requiring no bra.
The dinner party consisted of eight: the three pairs remaining from the race, without Becky and Steven, but with the addition of Jane and Vanessa. They were served by Peter, in his white girdle and stockings, a small white apron guarding his penis, and black flat-soled pumps. He was joined in his duties by Nick, who continued to atone for his sins by appearing in full French maid’s outfit, consisting of a black dress with white embroidered apron at the front, black suspenders which they could see under the short dress every time he bent forward, black stockings and black high-heeled court shoes, which denied him the easy balance afforded to Peter. Bewigged, he made a passable woman from some angles, the impression of femininity only belied by his muscular bulk and awkward demeanour.
Jane paid him scant attention, and Sally marvelled at her capacity for meting out mental torment to those who had crossed her.
Her mood concerning her young charges, however, seemed far more affable. She complimented them on their performances, even saying how much better they had done than previous years’ subjects. She was lucky, she said, to have an “intake” who shared such enthusiasm for their tasks. Even Oliver was mentioned in light hearted tones, being deemed to have been “rather naughty” in cutting the checkpoint out in the first race.
At length, as they sipped their coffee, she asked Peter to fetch her notepad from the credenza at the side of the room. She then addressed them.
‘You will no doubt be keen to hear your scores after the day’s events. Well, without further ado, here they are. Your positions before today’s events were as follows. Liz, 23 points, Fiona, 21 points, Simon, 18 points, Oliver, 16 points, Sally, 16 points, Becky, 15 points, Greg, 15 points.
‘For the mounting, those who identified their partner were Oliver, Rebecca, Sally, Fiona and Elizabeth. Simon and Greg did not, unfortunately, so score no points. The rest of you have a bonus of 8, giving the following scores. Liz 31, Fiona 29, Oliver 24, Sally 24, Becky 23, Simon 18 and Greg 15.’
Sally was dismayed to find her rivals were as adept as she at identifying penises. How weird, to spend one’s summer vacation hoping for a lack of sensitivity in one’s fellow students’ vaginas.
Jane carried on. ‘Results of the mares’ race. First, Simon, Oliver being disqualified. Second, Greg, third Nick, substitute for Steven, who does not score. Thus, 10 points to Simon, 6 to Greg.’
As Jane opened her mouth to continue, Sally could not help herself.
‘But, madam …’
‘What?’
‘Should the runners not score points too?’
Jane paused momentarily. A menacing iota of time.
‘The rules are as I formulate them,’ she said eventually. ‘Only the riders score.’
‘Yes, madam, very well.’
The quick response, and its formality, seemed to assuage the mistress, who granted a quick smile and a nod before continuing. Sally tried to hide her bitter disappointment. She had run her heart out and scored a hard-won victory, only to hand maximum points to one of her rivals.
‘So at this point we have Liz on 31 points, Fiona 29, Simon 28, Oliver 24, Sally 24, Becky 23, Greg 21.
‘Now we come to the stallions’ race a magnificent spectacle if I may say. First, Oliver, redeeming himself. His rider, Rebecca, is allocated 10 points. Second, riding Simon, Sally, 6 points. Third, Fiona, 4 points, lastly Elizabeth with 2 points. Leaving us with totals of Liz 33, Fiona 33, Becky 33, Sally 30, Simon 28, Oliver 24 and Greg 21.’
Sally watched the lads’ faces drop in the light of these results. If only she had tried harder in the last race to catch the leader. Still, Simon had seemed at full stretch and there was little point in crying about it now. At least her six points had kept her in touch.
‘An exciting outcome, I’m sure you’ll agree. Well done, ladies. Now to the final points of the afternoon, the mistresses’ bonuses.
Firstly, the gentlemen. Oliver, 5 points for arousal, 1 point for staying power, total 6. Simon, 4 points for arousal, 2 points for staying power, total 6. Greg, 3 points for arousal, staying power not applicable, out of time. Total 3.
‘Now the ladies. Being marked in two categories again, we have Liz with 3 points for exhibitionism, 3 points for inventiveness and audacity, total 6. Rebecca, 4 points for exhibitionism, 2 points for inventiveness, total 6. Fiona, you have 5 points for exhibitionism, and 4 for audacity and inventiveness. Lastly, Sally. Also a maximum of 5 for exhibitionism I loved the knicker display, dear and a maximum 5 also for inventiveness, aiding another coupling and also milking your own steed, and the manner in which you treated your mount. Well done, girl.
‘So we have a final table of Fiona with 42, Sally with 40, Rebecca and Liz with 39, Simon with 34, Oliver with 30, and Greg just 24 but nevertheless, well done, my boy.
‘Sadly, only one of you can win, though you have all proved to be very promising talents. Some of you may be feeling that you are seeing your chances
slip away now, and that may indeed be the case. However, do not despair. I propose to organize one last test early next week to determine our prize winner, but after that I should like to talk to you all about other possibilities.’
Sally was sure her interest was not the only one piqued at this point.
Jane continued, ‘I have a company which produces pornographic videos. We need talented young people to perform in them. I see you all, without exception, as having potential for this. For me, it is what I call a paying hobby. Its commercial success gives me a good degree of satisfaction nonetheless. I sit on the board of my former husband’s companies, and am very comfortably off as a result, but their various activities do little to interest me.
‘Hence the video company. I maintain a personal interest in it; it engages me, keeps me out of boredom, without being unduly stressful which would rather defeat the purpose.
‘I like to use actors I have personally chosen natural people, not silicon-enhanced wannabes. So you are all appropriate in that way. I am also in a position to direct some of you, perhaps, toward vacancies this autumn in one of the mainstream companies I have majority shareholding in, so there are other opportunities which we might talk about. The pursuit of one option does not preclude the other, by the way.
‘I should like you to think about this over the weekend. We will reconvene on Monday; you have the run of the place over the weekend. Lena will provide buffets in the kitchen and evening meal in the dining room. You may disport yourselves however you wish and consort with whomsoever you wish. You may drink reasonable quantities of wine, but any drunken antics will be frowned upon, at the pain of exclusion from the process.
‘Max says he may take the car to Whitby on Sunday if any of you want to go; Tom may also take the Land Rover if there is enough demand. Talk to them about it if you are interested. Celia and Inez are off duty at the weekend. Vanessa and I are here most of the time if you have any pressing queries.
‘If there are no questions we will leave you now. Peter will bring you some wine shortly.’
There were no questions, and six young students engaged in chitter-chatter about career prospects, more spicy perhaps than might be found by visiting the university careers service.
Chapter Fifteen – The Coup
It was quite late before Max came to bed. Jane had spent a little time in her study, sorting a few papers and financial statements, before going up. She had looked in on Lena in the kitchen to see if all was well. Steven and Tom, having eaten there, were helping tidy things away.
When the feminised duo of “waitresses”, Nick and Peter, had largely finished their duties, Jane and Vanessa had instructed them to make their way to the stables, where they were shackled by the ankle as before. They would not suffer unduly in the hot summer night. Nick was stripped of his dress but remained in black suspender belt and stockings. Becky, already brought across by Vanessa after the race, occupied the next stall. Lena would send Steven across with a bowl of hash and a bottle of water for each of the three.
On the way back to the house, Vanessa had asked Jane, ‘What exactly did Peter do to deserve that treatment?’
‘Mm. Nothing really,’ Jane had replied. ‘He just seems to like it. Keeps him in his place. I’ll let him loose in the morning. We’re a bit short-staffed over the weekend. He’s never any trouble, anyway. I wish all men were like that.’
‘Do you really?’
‘Well. Maybe not, One must have a challenge to some degree at least. You’ll drop that maid’s skirt off in the costume stores?’
‘Sure.’
‘Goodnight, dear. Sleep well.’
‘I’m sure I will after all the fresh air we’ve enjoyed today. Goodnight, Jane.’
Max must have been out at the garages during all this, putting equipment away, oiling the wheels of the pony traps, reading his car magazines. As long as he wasn’t with that Lena. The thought popped up again, unbidden.
She resolved not to raise the matter with him when he came up. It would only spoil things and might drive him away. He was such an enigma. She wished he’d talk more at times, about himself, his background. He would only smile and shrug if she probed too much. ‘Welding in a hell hole of a Polish shipyard,’ he would say. ‘Who wants to remember that?’
So she would settle down, enjoying the physical aspect of their love, which gave her so much pleasure. For one so relatively young, he was an extremely considerate lover, seeing to her satisfaction before his own, fitting in with her games of female domination so readily.
Yet they enjoyed conventional lovemaking too, and so it was tonight. It did not take her long to put down her bedtime novel and kiss him after he got into bed. She was naked, enjoying the welcome freedom after the tight-fitting jodhpurs and uncompromising thong had encased her all day.
Soon he had her on her back after feeling for her clitty. As he moved his fingers further down, finding and manipulating the vaginal entrance, her gasp of pleasure revealed her urgent arousal.
Then he was in her, gradually pushing deeper, shafting, pumping. Her knees rose, then her legs, until her ankles were grasping his strong neck as he penetrated her at will from a kneeling position.
‘Look at you Jane, you wanton whore. I’ve got you, I’ve got you where I want you.’
She said nothing to contradict him, merely gasping, groaning with pleasure.
Then he pulled out and went down on her, licking expertly. Clitty, then fanny opening, and back to clitty again until he had her near her peak.
‘Don’t stop,’ she panted as she felt him pause slightly. Wrapping her lower legs over his back, she thrust upward to meet his conquering tongue. And then it was upon her, the shuddering overwhelming orgasm as his tongue tip danced rapidly around the edges and over the top of her clitoris, pressing firmly with her abandonment, taking her beyond what any man had ever done to her before.
They dozed, and then, rising for a piss during the early hours, encountered each other again, like long-imprisoned escapees billeted together on their first night of freedom, a man and woman forced together but unable to keep their hands off each other. It ended with her rolling one leg over, so he entered her from below her rump, sideways on, her left leg flat as she lay on her side, his legs scissored over it as he pushed into her, holding her right leg with his right arm, slapping her right buttock with his left hand. Once more the position emboldened him.
‘Look at you, Jane. Look at you, you fucking tart. My cock fucks you. Submit to the will of the cock. The cock rules us both, give in to it.’
‘Fuck me from behind. Fuck me.’
They were in the position with hardly a pause. No sooner had he pulled out than she was kneeling like the human mares she had earlier supervised.
His strong and steady cock took her at will, pushing and pumping slow, then fast and fierce. She saw him in the mirror at the side, admiring himself, enjoying his dominance. They continued until they were both spent, not from orgasm but from sheer wanton pleasure indulged in to the point of collapse.
She got up after a while and took another piss. Getting back into bed, she pulled the covers over them. In the morning she would reward him with a royal queening. He was sure to experience a pulsating and intense orgasm at her hands in this position, as he always did.
But this particular morning was destined to be different.
Sally had spent some time in the lounge with Liz, Greg, and Simon. They had adjourned there with their glasses of wine after Oliver and Fiona, exchanging no more than loaded glances, had made their exit hand in hand, directly upstairs.
There was some stilted small talk about the day, before Liz, who had remained quiet, appeared to resolve to snap out of her mood of sullenness. Pulling Greg’s robe aside, she stood away from him and casually announced that she was going to pick up where she had left off earlier. Then she pulled off her boots, unzipping them before flinging each aside, and pulled down her riding trousers. In their tightness, they snagged below the knee, but this
did not faze her. She merely shuffled over to Greg, placed her hands on his shoulders and issued her command.
‘Help me off with these.’
He was only too eager to do so, with the promise of what lay ahead.
It was apparent that her well turned-out appearance for the race had been at the expense of donning any undergarments, for she now stood before the kneeling Greg in just a white blouse, her jacket long since discarded before dinner. Neither did she bother to strip it, and, taking a leaf out of Sally’s repertoire earlier, remained clothed above the waist as she bent down to suck Greg, who had regained his easy chair and pulled his robe fully open.
Sally felt a degree of triumph as she watched her rival gobble, on her knees, naked rump presented to the room. She was settling for what she could get after her setbacks of the day.
In contrast, Sally had more Machiavellian schemes in mind, as she took her cue and interrupted Simon’s gaze at the floor show by taking his hand.
‘Come on,’ she said, leading him out to the hall. ‘I want you to wait for me in my room. It’s the last one along on the top floor.’
Simon, like many men, was happy to be presented with a suggestion of action; it saved having to engage the brain in a process of decision making. And with this particular one, there would be no argument. One attractive girl remained, and she had virtually promised herself to him. It was a no-brainer.
He began to climb the stairs.
‘Don’t be long.’
‘Don’t worry, I won’t’
Smiling up at him, she waited until he turned toward the upper flight, then headed for the kitchen. She felt some genuine affection. He was a pleasant enough lad, perhaps a little easily led, but that suited her. The so-called alpha types she had met seemed to argue for the sake of arguing sometimes, a trait which prompted irritation and boredom on her part.
Entering the kitchen, her heart began to beat faster. If Tom was not there, she would have to ask Lena where he was, or make some limp excuse for her presence, neither of which appealed. But he was there, still tidying up, passing small talk with Lena, Steven in the background at the sink, still in his thongs, washing up.