The Executioner's Girl

by Willow Sears

  I could feel my man’s knees giving way and his cock becoming impossibly hard beneath my fingers. I spat out his shirt and peered around his body to see Ariadne. Her face was set in an expression of desperate determination and she was jerking the huge cock as fast as her weary muscles would allow. I could see the disbelief in her eyes but she knew the signs oh so well and saw that my boy was almost ready to pop. There was nothing she could do. She had her man’s britches down and was squeezing his balls with knee-buckling intensity but she had failed to play her joker card by worming her finger up to his sensitive prostate, and now it was way too late. My man put his hands on his head and let out a series of moans whilst an incredulous Ariadne stopped her tugging and said, “You cunt!”

  She might have been referring to any one of us three fellow duellers but her words meant nothing because a thick wad of spunk flew from my boys pulsing knob, ricocheted off his opponent’s thigh and landed splat on the Goddess’s cheek. My aim had not been intentional but when she squealed another oath I made sure I pointed the spurting cock straight at her and dowsed her pretty face. She screwed up her eyes and took it, swallowing any that landed in her open mouth like the greedy cock-whore that she was. I didn’t care because I had won. I had beaten one of the best in the business and that was just for starters.

  I pushed my crumpling man aside, marched over to my vanquished opponent and ordered her to stay on her knees in submission as I claimed my prize. First she had to suck my dirty middle finger clean. This was not something she would have ever done in front of this crowd but it was winner takes all, by her own rules. I then had her strip her britches and I ripped her lace panties off her to wipe her face clean of spunk. I was so horny I nearly lapped it all off myself. I shoved her panties into her mouth and then ordered the losing Ten Inch Brother to finish what she couldn’t. He tossed himself, so desperate for his release that in almost no time he was shooting his jets as instructed onto her protruding knickers. She would love to have guzzled him down. It would have cut her to the quick to have his spunk so near to her mouth and yet to be harmlessly absorbed before she could ingest it.

  Through my lusty haze it suddenly dawned on me that she was all mine and I didn’t want the gasping crowd to have a proper view of her bare Mistress’s pussy (the holy grail for so many of those gathered). I declared the duel over and ordered the reluctant crowd to disperse, taking off my skirt and throwing it over Ariadne’s legs to cover her modesty. She thought her ordeal had ended but she was wrong. I removed the spunky panties from her mouth and a little sneer returned to her lips when she imagined that I had taken my only shot and was content. Away to our right a plump blonde had already been forced over a chaise and had her many layers of skirts peeled up over her back so that stinging slaps could be rained down onto her fleshy arse while an array of happy cocks took turns to piston-fuck her open, drooling mouth. Ariadne stood facing me, holding my skirt around her, the smile spreading wide as she felt her composure return.

  “Well done,” she said, but I could tell her mind was whirring away, forming her next plans to see me suffer for the humiliation I had dealt her. I smiled back, feeling stronger than ever.

  “I am going to take you upstairs,” I said quietly, “and fuck the shit out of you.”

  “Is that right?” Her eyebrows arched nonchalantly, although I noted the uncertainty in her eyes. She had been beaten once and was not quite so sure of herself now.

  “Yes. You are mine. Winner takes all, and I take you.”

  She snorted in derision but still her eyes betrayed her doubt. If she wanted to defeat me she should have spat in my mouth and slapped me by now, or had me by the hair, forcing me to the ground. She could see for the first time that it was a bitch fight that she would lose. She looked me up and down as she tried to summon the defiance that was bleeding from her.

  “I’m not sure I’m going to let you take me after all,” she said.

  “I’m not asking permission. When I lead, you will follow.” I took her hand and she didn’t pull away.

  “Oh really?”

  Her voice carried boldness but her eyes were devoid of any fight. I knew she would cling on and on, desperate not to give an inch even if she couldn’t find the strength to overpower me and get her revenge. We could joust verbally for hours, back and forth with little ground gained on either side, minor victories here and there but the lust and need gradually dripping away until the moment was too hard to retrieve, unless of course I used my seven magic words. And so I did.

  “I let only angels devour my peach,” I said, just as Harvey had taught me.

  She looked a little bemused and her head shook a fraction. She opened her mouth to speak and a little sound came out but no more. She just blinked silently at me and I knew her thoughts had simply gone, draining out of her head like water down a plughole, leaving only an empty white space. I turned and walked away and she didn’t try to break my grip on her hand. Her arm was weak and the guests who still had one eye turned to us would see that I was definitely leading her. A space cleared for us to pass and the murmurs and gasps grew as I took her through them, the huge purple prick sticking out from my bloomers, a clear sign for everyone present that I was most definitely the one in charge. My victory parade was short but scintillating. None of the on-lookers who watched me go by and take my Goddess up the stairs would know our full history, but that didn’t matter. What they would know is that two of the most beautiful females they would ever meet were going off to fuck and that for tonight at least, I was the Domme and Ariadne my slave. Whatever happened between us after was irrelevant–all would now know me as the conqueror and she as the vanquished.

  I knew exactly which room to take her to. Vincent had beautiful guest rooms and didn’t seem to mind the Masters and Mistresses using them as long as they stayed out of the main suite (his legendary Chambre Ardente, his Burning Chamber, named after a late medieval French court, apparently used to try heretics). Only a select few had seen inside this room and I was clearly not select enough, although I had heard some tales of what went on within, tales that cemented the position of Vincent as our principal Master and the one everyone looked up to. His few permanent slaves all carried a small V branded into his or her left buttock. They carried the mark with massive pride and were seen as a cut above all slaves, treated with an equal if different respect to many Masters and Mistresses. Other bedrooms were handsome although only one was furnished with any toys, and that was the one I headed for: the Gothic room with the big oak four-poster.

  I pulled her through the door and we were met by the sounds of groaning. The room was partially lit by the soft yellow-orange glow of the two bedside lamps, but everything going on was clearly visible. Bent over the bed was a male, identifiable as a servant by his boots and grey britches even though the latter had been pulled down and were rumpled around his knees. His fine bottom was smooth and young-looking and stuck right out towards us. Behind him was a serving wench, her skirts pulled up to expose her arse and her blouse ripped open so that her fat tits hung free. Her face had been fitted with a thick black dildo that stuck out from her mouth, the bulb at one end held between her teeth and with straps going around the head to keep the toy firmly in place. The dildo was stuffed up the manservant’s arse and she was doing a silent chicken impression, pulling her head back and then jabbing her neck forward in short thrusts to fill him up. Behind her was a Mistress, stripped down to just a tight corset which pulled in at her waist but let her tits spill free. She was on her knees astride a love seat and the loud buzzing indicated a powerful vibrator had been fitted within it to please her. One hand tweaked at her nipples while the other hand, or all the fingers at least, were inserted inside the serving wench’s pussy.

  I knew this Mistress bitch. Her name was Rosalind or Rosamund or something, and she had been around the fringes of our scene for a year or two. She was too plain to exert much power and was certainly no match for me. I caught her trying to steal one of my slaves from me once.
I seem to remember I stuffed her big knickers up her cunt and her stockings in her arse and then made her drink Kitty’s piss. She hadn’t been any trouble to me since that time, nor would she be tonight.

  “Get out, bitch,” I told her.

  She seemed startled at my presence and nearly fell off her fuck-seat. She very quickly weighed up her options and realised the only one was compliance. There is no look quite as priceless as that of a defeated Domme: indignation, helplessness and admiration are all in there somewhere, along with hatred, which they try to disguise in case you read it and make them pay. She wasn’t quite quick enough to stop the resentment showing. The three of them uncoupled and looked to do my bidding, the servants as hastily as possible, the bitch tarrying a little to try to retain some degree of dignity. I couldn’t help noticing Ariadne’s longing look at the footman’s rigid cock. She should only have had eyes for me and that got my hackles up. As the dildo-faced wench went to leave I grabbed her by the hair and pulled her back to me, reaching around to grab her cheeks and point her face in the direction of Rosalind, who was trying to stuff her tits back into her corset.

  “Make sure you fuck her with that thing,” I said in the wench’s ear, though loud enough for the bitch to hear. “Fuck her in her mouth first and then do her in her shitty arse. Do her on the floor outside this room and stop anyone else from coming in. If she tries to leave, tell me and I will deal with her.”

  Once the trio left I heard a clump on the floor outside and the strip of light beneath the door disappeared, blocked by the bodies of the obedient bitch and wench. There would be no eye-witnesses to my Grand Fucking of Ariadne, but the ears outside would be pricking up to gather scraps of information to pass on in whispers at the next gathering. Everyone would want to know what we did. The trouble was, now that I was alone and with Ariadne, I didn’t actually know what to do myself. Her expression was less blank than before–more expectant in fact, which was the first and only thing to have put me off my stride the whole evening. I felt ready to burst upon her and unleash the full fury of my dirty dreams, but at the same time the whole point of my seduction was that we would be normal, that we would have a loving and equal relationship and share years together making beautiful, even gentle love. I wanted us to be passionate and understanding of each other’s needs, to gain an instinct for what each other required, but I was just raging with the need to fuck her.

  She stood before me awaiting my move. I had wanted her to be almost dribbling her desire, to be melting in front of me so that I had to grab her just to hold her up. She only stood though, empty-headed and mute, looking at me with just the faintest of mocking smiles. If this had been X, she would have been bubbling with her need, squeezing her own crotch because the itch was so great, thrusting her face out inviting me to slap it and spit into her open mouth. I could tell X to do anything, and I usually did, the ruder the better, because she was always so damned hot for it. Here the silence was too pregnant and stark and any words spoken would sound incongruous and forced. I almost hated her for her statuesque apathy, forgetting that she was under my spell. In the end it was my niggling resentment that forced me into action, and romance was just going to have to take a back seat.

  I pulled off her tailcoat and grabbed her by the hair, forcing her head back while I kissed her open mouth and licked her face. Her waistcoat and shirt were pulled off while I sucked on her lips and nose and lapped her cheeks and eyes and even her forehead. Her bra was pinged open and thrown to the ground while I bit her ears and neck and shoulders. She yelped and squirmed at the rougher treatment but couldn’t have stopped me even if she wanted to. I sucked hard on her nipples, which were large and dark and not the perfect little pink morsels I had dreamt them to be. Under a vast wall mirror stood an oak coffer displaying some of the various toys on offer to guests, and I was clawing at the fastening of her britches as I forced her back towards it, opening them but not quite managing to get them down before she collided bum-first with the chest and was then manhandled around and bent over it.

  Fucking on unfamiliar ground presents problems. The naughty scenarios I had gone through in my head, the step-by-step routine using the equipment in my Scold Room that I had rehearsed over and over for implementation during this, our very first time, all of this was rendered void by our being in foreign territory. Vincent had endless condoms and bottle upon bottle of lube. He even had whips and canes and clamps. There was no adjoining bathroom to drag her into though, nowhere to do the kind of rude things I dreamt about. There were no pipettes or tubes even champagne bottles so that if her bottom didn’t give up its rudeness as I wanted, I could fill it instead, and see how much she could take inside her before she was forced to hose the shower down while I mercilessly spanked her. There were restraints but she was under my spell and didn’t need holding down. There were gags too, but she was oh-so silent–eerily quiet in fact, making me feel like a rapist or some evil doctor about to experiment on a captive patient. It was such an unsettling contrast to the vociferous X, who gasped and swore and babbled her way through our fucks, making me talk even louder over her, telling her everything I planned to do to her, making her suggest punishments for her bad behaviour or describe exactly how things felt inside her or what dirty dreams she had had. Funny, this noise between us, this ever so dirty-talk, despite the harshness of it, the threats of pain and abuse–it just gave us such a unique connection and showed us exactly how desperate we were for each other. Ariadne didn’t speak a word.

  I had to force the noise from her before the silence drove me mad. I selected a paddle and used it on her still-covered arse, watching delightedly as her bum flesh rippled beneath the tight cream britches. She panted hard but didn’t wail, even though the slaps to her backside reached an alarming volume. It reminded me of Blueberry’s dogged resistance. Why won’t these fuckers break? I ripped down her britches but knew her arse was a brick wall, so I turned her instead and spat onto her hairy cunt. She deserved it for not being shaved as I liked. I used my hand first, forcing her thighs apart and then delivering a series of painful slaps with the flat of my fingers to her wet slit. Her plump dark lips jumped under the contact and she wriggled and gasped some more. I made her remove her shoes and britches while I stripped too, leaving on only my shoes and the hot pants with their big purple dildo. She kept putting her hands out to grasp the toy, squeezing it and pulling it towards her, wanking it up and down as if it were real, her robot-trance seemingly preventing her from differentiating between a plastic cock and hard flesh and blood.

  My tiny nipples were aching to be sucked but she had no mind for my needs and instead parted her thighs as wide as possible as an invite for me to do my worst to the wet target between them. Her vacant eyes were starting to find their sparkle and her lips were spreading into that usual knowing smirk. I chose a whip, holding and pulling back the tresses as if it were a catapult before flicking my wrist and sending them towards her unprotected sex. It was the same technique used by jocks around the globe to strike each other’s bare arses with their towels in the shower, but this was no muscular buttock being hit, it was a slippery bulge of vulnerable, most sensitive flesh, and that did make her squeal. I felt that shiver of naughty school-girl guilt, that flash of schadenfreude that so delights us Dommes, and I went quickly to her, grabbing her and holding her as a sign of my control but also to help dissipate the pain I had caused, thrusting my tongue into her open mouth to show my passion, then biting on her bottom lip to dispel any signs of my weakness.

  I could feel her shaking from the blow but holding onto me for the very first time, pulling me in so that our breasts were squashed together. Her hands were down on my arse, although I had given no such instruction, and they were not fondling but pressing, trying to force me forward so that the dildo at my groin made contact with her begging cunt. We were so close but even with her in her trance there was that same detachment I always felt in her presence, that lack of intimacy that divided us because no matter how much I wanted her,
she was simply imbued with a mechanical love of cocks. It made me want to scream with frustration. Instead I wriggled free of her grasp. I saw and grabbed the grapes sitting in the bowl on a low table to the side of me. I dangled the large bunch in front of her eyes and then proceeded to ram them up her cunt. I made some effort to free the fruit from the stalk but my annoyance got the better of me and she got pretty much the whole lot unceremoniously shoved inside her. Her cheeks were flushed but otherwise her stuffing seemed to be causing no consternation. As I held her again her hands went straight to my arse, trying once more to force the dildo towards her.

  I held off and kissed her wetly, running just the dildo tip up and down the slippery entrance to her pussy. She was panting hard now and clear saliva was very slowly descending in a skinny thread from her bottom lip. That was more like it: she was dribbling, just like sexy X always did! I felt a burst of warmth inside me, a rush of joy that the connection between us was finally being established. To cement the moment I gave in to her, gripping her backside and slamming forward with my hips to drive the plastic cock into the depths of her fruit-crammed cunt. The grapes squelched and no doubt forced her wide open before their skins burst and released the juice that squirted onto my bare thighs. Her mouth dropped open and her head fell back. She gripped my arse and wailed her pleasure. It was such a beautiful sound I just had to fuck more of it from her. I pumped into her, drawing back and slapping forwards with such force that the coffer beneath her rocked and scraped against the floor. Each slurping thrust was accompanied by a fresh burst of grape-juice onto my bare skin and I rammed the big dildo to the hilt to press more from her. Although the spent skins slipped from her as the toy was withdrawn, the stalk was still in her somewhere, more than likely pressed ever harder to her thin membranes each time the unyielding dildo slid inside her. I didn’t care, though, and neither did she.