Still gasping, he nodded his head.
"Would you like to know what Mistress Madonna was doing upstairs when she left you here in the dark with the beetles?"
"Yes, Mistress."
She told him that she had been getting fucked. And not by herself this time.
"What!? You bitch! How could you do that? Who was it?"
She dropped the weight. Just a short distance, enough to give him a severe jolt.
"Now then. You're not going to forget yourself and be naughty again are you?"
"No, I promise. Who was it?"
"A man. A man with a great big fat cock. And he did something that you could never do."
"What?"
"He made Mistress Madonna come. Again and again. And he filled her hole with lovely creamy sperm. There's still some in there. Would you like a taste?"
Julian screamed and shook in a paroxysm of hopeless, jealous rage. Ignoring him, she widened her legs, delved a couple of fingers into her vagina and pulled them back out glistening with a mixture of The Colonel's sperm and her own juices. She held them up to his nose and then smeared the sticky juices onto his lips.
"Lick it all up, there's a good boy."
Julian tried to spit it off.
"LICK IT UP."
The weight dropped another inch and Julian hastened to obey, his tongue cleaning his lips of every drop.
"That's a good little boy."
And because he had been such an obedient slave, and had earned a reward, she was going to take the weight off his cock.
Julian's relief was unbounded, and as she was unfastening the strap around his glans, the door at the top of the stairs swung open, mote-filled shafts of light piercing the gloom.
"Hello. Anybody down there?"
It was The Colonel.
His feet descended a few steps down the staircase.
"Who the Hell is that? How did he get in?"
Julian only whispered the questions. Mistress Madonna's reply was loud and dismissive.
"That's the man who shagged me. It's The Colonel."
"What! You let that creaking old bastard fuck you! What for?"
Julian's voice cracked as he screamed his disbelief.
"Because I'm very good at it dear boy."
The Colonel completed his journey to the bottom of the stairs and stepped into the murky cellar. She went over to meet him.
"So nice to see you again m'dear." And looking over to Julian. "Still hanging around I see."
Both The Colonel and Mistress Madonna shook with mirth, Julian being totally unable to understand the private joke. Looping his arm around her waist, The Colonel guided her back to Julian and stood contemplating his abused form.
"By god gel, you've been busy."
"It's only what he deserved Colonel."
"Oh, I'm sure it is m'dear. Damn good thrashing, do him the world of good."
And in confirmation of his statement The Colonel poked Julian in the ribs with his walking cane.
"Won't it!?"
Julian was incensed, strangling with rage.
"How did you get in you old sod?"
"Now then... Julian, is that your name? Respect for your elders and all that."
"Answer me you bastard."
"Simple. I rang the bell, no one answered, and the door was unlocked so I came in for a recce. You were being rather noisy old chap, you weren't hard to find."
"Well now get out!"
"Can't do that I'm afraid. I rather fancied another spot of gymnastics with this delightful young woman. You don't come across a filly like her every day you know." And turning to Mistress Madonna:
"But I don't mind waiting m'dear if you've still got business to finish."
Mistress Madonna decided that they could in fact finish the business together. But first she had a little more work to put in with Julian before she could consider that she had fully earned her money. So consigning her idea to the back burner for the time being, she asked The Colonel if he would not mind waiting for a while until she had completed her assignment to her satisfaction.
"No, of course not dear girl. You carry on and I'll just make m'self comfortable."
Pulling up a dust covered and battered old sea chest, he swept the lid clean and sat down on it. With his legs wide and his hands stretched out in front of him, one on top of the other resting on his walking cane, he settled down to watch.
Although he had grovelled and begged, Mistress Madonna had never allowed Julian to shag her. That was a carrot she dangled to keep him hooked and handing over the incredible amounts of cash he paid for her services. But no matter what, he never would. A professional dominatrix never has sexual relations with a client. Her job is to abuse and humiliate. To punish and to discipline. To lower her subjects to the very bottom rungs of degradation. That was what they were really paying for. But if they got down on their hands and knees and begged her with a sufficient degree of humility, she would on occasion condescend to allow them to masturbate while she watched. That was a naughty boy's ultimate reward.
And so with that thought in mind, she turned her full attention back to Julian.
"You weren't very nice to Mistress Madonna's new friend, were you?"
Julian remained silent. Apprehensively silent.
"The Colonel wasn't horrid to you, was he?"
No reply.
"She wants you to be a good little boy and say 'sorry'."
"No! Tell him to fuck off."
"Oh dear. That was really naughty. Mistress Madonna will have to give you an extra spanking for that."
"You can fuck off as well. I hate you."
"Ah. Does little babykins want his dum dum then?"
"Let me down you bitch."
Mistress Madonna knew full well that Julian did not really want to be free at all. This was what he lived for. Pain and degradation. Humiliation and the subjugation of his will to hers. To obey was everything, and his little outbursts were merely tantrums. If she were to stop, his misery would have been abject. He was not fully sated yet. She knew exactly how far she had to go to take him to the limit.
And yet Mistress Madonna deliberated. She was in a quandary: How to make it feel good for Julian and at the same time make it look good for The Colonel.
She obviously spent too much time on her contemplation.
"Soles of the feet! Always found it works wonders m'self."
It may well have done that for The Colonel, but it was not really her style. It was true that part of her brief in addition to the humiliation, was to hurt Julian, but not to cripple him.
"A little extreme I think Colonel. But thanks for the suggestion."
Of course there was a sexual element to her disciplining of Julian, and he was always begging her to let him shag her, but what he really craved was humiliation. And flagellation. And she made sure he got it in abundance.
Picking up the cane she advanced on Julian, halting for a moment to gather up the discarded scourge. Being ambidextrous was very useful in her line of business. Anticipating a two handed assault, Julian fought against his restraints, his face flushed and his eyes staring. Once more he reverted to a whimpering childlike wheedle.
"No please Mistress, don't do it. I'll be good, I really will. I like The Colonel; he's a nice man. He can stay to tea."
"Too late you festering little turd."
"Don't hurt me again, I... Aaaargh!"
His plea died with the scream. The cane and the scourge landed in tandem, his agonised yell sending a startled rat scurrying over the coals to the safety of its bolthole. A satisfying welt pulsed on Julian's thigh from the impact of the cane, and the imprints of the leather thongs stretched around his ribs. Both arms raised high, she repeated the treatment. Not once, but
again and again. Always two simultaneous strikes. Up and down his legs, over his torso and back, and then concentrating on his buttocks. Smack! Slap! His backside rippled with every strike, his shrieks and pleas for mercy piercing enough to raise the dead. If not the dead, something was certainly raised, because just as she knew it would be, when she circled Julian and stood facing him once more he was sporting a magnificent erection.
From the gloom a pair of hands clapped in polite but enthusiastic appreciation.
"Bloody good show. You're a damned fine wench."
Mistress Madonna turned and gave a little mock curtsey in The Colonel's direction.
"Thank you kind sir, perhaps in a minute or two we can show this apology for a wimp what a real man is capable of."
"Of course m'dear. I'll just wait here 'til you're ready."
Julian was an absolute wreck. He was filthy, his naked flesh seemingly attracting particles of coal in the same way that static attracts dust to a television screen. And beneath the dirt he positively glowed. There was barely an inch of him that now remained unmarked. His eyes stared maniacally and his voice was almost hysterical. He screamed, shouted and begged Mistress Madonna for sexual release.
"Wank me. Shag me. Suck my cock. Do something... Please."
"My, my, my, your Mistress will have to wash your mouth out with soap. She doesn't like to hear disgusting little boys say such filthy things. And after you promised to be good! Well... we shall just have to start all over again, won't we?"
For Julian, that was the final straw. He burst into a wailing, unstoppable flood of tears.
Mistress Madonna smiled. That was it, breaking point had been reached and her mission was successful.
That was why Julian paid her such huge sums of money - she was the best. And she had not short-changed him one little bit. She allowed him to wail and sob for some considerable time before the tears began to subside and he seemed capable of speech.
"So. What do you have to say to your Mistress?"
"Thank you," was all he said. Over and over again.
"And do you promise to be a good little boy until she comes to see you again?"
He promised.
"And would you like her to play with your tiny little widdler and let you come all over her tits?"
"Oh God yes. Please."
"Well, keep on wanting wimp! You're getting nothing... Except this."
At that, from way on high she whacked his straining erection with her open palm, using all the considerable force of which she was capable.
From that moment on, Julian's shrieks, pleas and curses provided nothing but a backdrop to her activities with The Colonel. Julian was forgotten. Redundant, in appearance at least, if not in reality. She wanted him to witness her every single action - it was just a continuation of his torture. A bonus. A freebie to keep him hooked. A demonstration of everything that was denied to him and yet was so freely available to a total stranger. Mistress Madonna really was a bitch.
And Julian worshipped every last illegitimate inch of her.
She was now free to concentrate her full attention on The Colonel, who despite his apparently cool, nonchalant attitude was in fact quite fired up by both her authority and her spectacular appearance. She was tall - almost six feet, with a curved voluptuous body. Ebony hair, as black as the coals flowed down to her shoulders, framing a face that for professional purposes was expertly made up to appear harder than it really was. A studded collar wound around her neck and her breasts were naked. Naked, full and deliciously heavy they were tipped with broad nut-brown areolae and nipples that were as hard as iron. The black leather basque that lodged into the crease where their underbellies met her ribs was impossibly tight, squeezing in her waist to display her figure at its prick twitching best. She was not wearing knickers; her pubic bush was an absolute delight, a dense tangle of black, curled hair. Long suspenders clipped into the wide, darker band at the top of her seamed black stockings. And on her feet were 'The Stilettos', with their wicked, mountain high steel-tipped heels. Heels that had both tortured and pleasured Julian. Heels that she was certain The Colonel would love to feel digging into his back as he fucked her.
She walked towards him. Not with the exaggerated sway of a Hollywood seductress, but with the confident step of a woman who is used to being in charge and getting exactly what she wants. And she wanted to get fucked. More than that she wanted Julian to watch her getting fucked. She knew that behind her his eyes would be glued to her firm rounded buttocks, his chained hands struggling in hopeless desperation attempting to reach down to his straining cock.
The Colonel stood up as she approached and she was more than happy to see the bulge in his trousers, running her hand over it in appreciation of its hardness and size. In return he squeezed and fondled her breasts, rolled her nipples and smoothed his palms over her taut rump. Much to her satisfaction he took it slow and easy this time. He had shagged her in a frenzy before and she certainly could not complain about the outcome, but this one was going to build and build. She knew it. The Colonel must have spent a lifetime fucking, he was not doing anything any other man, or woman for that matter had not done to her outside her working environment - he was just doing it better.
The Colonel's hands slipped down to her naked thighs, down the outsides to her stocking tops and then back up the tender, sensitive flesh between her legs until both his thumbs rested against her widening labia. He eased her legs wider apart in order to allow his fingers more room to manipulate her sex. With one hand he stroked her hardening clitoris into full erection, while two fingers of the other dipped into her vagina. She began to squirm as tingles of arousal radiated over her body, the extra jolt as he bent his head to suck a nipple causing her to sigh in appreciation. Lubricating juices started to flow, soaking his fingers. Feeling the wetness increasing herself, Mistress Madonna removed his hands, freed his cock from the captivity of his trousers and after dipping her own fingers into her vagina smeared it with her juices. She then guided The Colonel's hands back to her vagina and took his wonderful fat weapon in her own hand.
Slowly, up and down, she slid her palm over his shaft, while at the same time he fingered her sex. An unhurried few minutes of mutual masturbation followed, two libidos heating in unison, little grunts and mews of pleasure falling from salivating lips. Their surroundings had fallen away, dismissed as they lost themselves in arousal. A crazed shout from Julian broke the spell.
"You bastards. You can't do this to me. I want her to wank me. It's not fair. And it's my money. You're shagging her in my time."
Mistress Madonna and The Colonel both stopped the manipulations of their respective organs although her hand still loosely clasped his cock and his fingers still rested on her labia. He raised his head and their eyes met questioningly. There was an unspoken mutual agreement and their bodies separated. They both turned to face Julian. Not a word was spoken as Mistress Madonna picked up the cane.
"No! No. Oh God, mummy help me please."
Julian's shrieks were as animal as those of a hyena.
"He wasn't shagging Mistress Madonna you little prick. Was he?"
"No Mistress."
"What was he doing?"
"He had his hand up your twat... And you were wanking him."
The final phrase was shouted. A crazed out-of-control yelping of the words.
"And you were jealous of Mistress Madonna's new friend?"
"Yes! I want you to wank me."
The tip of the cane toyed with his bulbous purple helmet. A couple of swift but not too vicious strikes whipped up to smack against his prominent urethra. They did not need to be vicious, the pain they inflicted on his tortured manhood was intense and crippling as it was. For once she was really furious. Words were not necessary. She knew he could see the rage in her eyes, he had interrupted her own enjoyment, her sex was still rippli
ng with arousal and The Colonel sported a hungry throbbing erection. But she was still the professional. She did not allow her feelings to cloud her judgement; Julian would be punished according to the extent of his naughtiness and no further.
She handed the cane to The Colonel
"What are you doing? What the hell are you doing?"
Julian was verging on the hysterical, losing the little control he had left.
Mistress Madonna did not answer. She left that to The Colonel.
"Bad show all round on your part young fella. I've had some experience in these matters you know. Discipline. A firm hand, that's what you need."
"Not from you, you decrepit old buzzard."
"Mind your tongue you jackanape. A spot of jankers wouldn't do you any harm. Do you good, in fact."
Julian screamed even more loudly, shaking his chains as much as he was able.
"What do you think this is, you old bastard?"
The Colonel was forestalled by Mistress Madonna. It was nothing, she told Julian. Nothing at all to what he would suffer if he did not pull himself together and behave. He had spoiled her fun and that wasn't nice.
"If you don't say you're sorry, Mistress Madonna will have to get The Colonel to help her smack your bottom."
"No, I won't. And if you do let him cane me I won't pay you. I'll throw your money on the fire... I'll flush it down the toilet... I'll... Yeeeooow!"
Julian's squeal of pain was horrendous. Mistress Madonna had taken off one of her shoes and whacked him straight under the testicles.
"What will you do?"
Julian was not in a position to answer. He could not speak, he was still shrieking in agony.
"What do think Colonel? Has the naughty boy been punished enough... or shall I give him some more?"
"Fifty lashes. No less. Then throw him in the guardhouse on bread and water for a week. If I was his C.O. he'd damn well do as he was told."
Mistress Madonna addressed Julian in the manner of a lecturing nanny. "See what would happen to you if you had someone really nasty looking after you. Aren't you glad you've got a nice kind Mistress like me?"
This time there was a mumbled answer.
The Daughters of de Sade Page 3