The Daughters of de Sade

by Falconer Bridges

  "Yes."

  "Good. Now if you promise not to interrupt again, Mistress Madonna won't punish you any more."

  Julian promised.

  "All right then Colonel. Shall we take up where we left off?"

  During their interlude with Julian, some of their ardour had faded, but it was not slow in returning. A few sweeps up and down The Colonel's penis and she soon had it pulsing back into full erection once again. She turned The Colonel sideways on to Julian.

  "Take a good look at that. That's a cock. If you had something like that maybe you'd get to shag your Mistress. But you haven't, have you?"

  There was no reply. Julian was beaten. Mistress Madonna was really quite pleased with herself because in reality Julian possessed a fair sized weapon. And despite everything it had not slackened, still projecting from his suspended, chained body like a flagpole.

  The Colonel went back to work and in no time Mistress Madonna was firing up towards a climax. Age most certainly meant experience in his case. As both their passions increased he kicked aside a few stray coals to leave a reasonably clear space on the cellar floor, swept her off her feet and laid her on the cold stone. Although distracted by the fierceness of her arousal she could not believe it, he had the strength of an ox. He was incredible. Lifting both her legs, he laid them on his shoulders and plunged deep inside her slippery, welcoming hole. Just like the first time he filled her completely, ramming and reaming her vagina with powerful lunging strokes that drove her to an overwhelming climax in no time at all. Reaching his own orgasm he jammed himself tightly up against her labia, bucking and driving mercilessly into her as his testicles pumped oceans of semen into her thrashing frame.

  She was fucked senseless!

  And then she was again. Swiftly achieving the same mind-boggling orgasm as before. The Colonel was insatiable. And so was she.

  He lifted her to her feet, fondled her breasts and patted her bottom. His sperm, mingled with her juices was running freely from her vagina. She looked over to Julian. He seemed to have descended into a state of narcolepsy, as if trying to blot out what he had seen. But he still sported that same iron hard erection. She smiled. That was all right then, he was still watching, faking disinterest.

  "How do you feel m'dear? Ready to go again, or would you like a rest?"

  She was not going to be beaten. If The Colonel could do it, then so could she.

  In answer she reached out and a squeezed his barely softened weapon.

  "Good. You've got stamina gel, be damned if you haven't."

  The Colonel found another good use for the sea chest. Turning Mistress Madonna around, he laid her on her stomach with her arms outstretched over the huge curved lid. Her rump was pushed upwards enabling him to target her anus with ease and positioned between her legs he lodged his glans into the tight puckered ring and pushed against her sphincters. He went a little way in, but not enough to gain proper entry. Widening her buttocks with his palms, he tried again, succeeding in burying his entire helmet in her bottom. It was tight and he fought a hard battle to sink his entire length into to her. She wriggled uncomfortably as he began to slide in and out. He was big. So big that his thrusts were stimulating her sex through her vaginal wall and she found herself being stoked into arousal yet again.

  Although she was being thoroughly pleasured herself, she did not forget Julian. Twisting her head she could see him following The Colonel's every movement. His eyes were glazed and he was mumbling to himself, and his cock was twitching in spasmic jerks. She really had put him through the hoops and perhaps she ought to put an end to his suffering. She halted The Colonel.

  "Do you think we could stop for a moment Colonel? Julian's not always such a bad boy and I really think that now he's being good he deserves some kind of reward."

  The Colonel was somewhat put out but he maintained good grace.

  "Whatever you say m'dear."

  "Could you pull out so that I can get up?"

  Stepping back, The Colonel did just that, pulling his impressive length from her bottom. She walked over to Julian, unable to stop herself caressing her tingling sex as she went.

  "Do you promise to be a good boy?"

  "Oh yes Mistress!"

  "All right, Mistress Madonna is going to unchain one of your hands and then The Colonel is going to stick his lovely cock back into her bottom - and you can wank yourself silly while you watch."

  Julian's gratitude was unbounded, although now with only one arm taking his weight, his agony was increased. It made no difference, he could now get at his dick and that was all that mattered. He was starting to masturbate even before The Colonel had once more sunk his own weapon back into her rectum. They all seemingly came at the same time. Mistress Madonna squealed in delight as The Colonel ravaged her into orgasm, his sperm flooding into her anus. And Julian was in paradise. Yelling in fulfilment himself, he squirted gouts of semen over the dust-covered stone, convulsing in a cataclysmic conclusion to his ordeal.

  Mistress Madonna allowed herself several minutes of composure before attempting to deal with Julian. Eventually he was released from his chains and stood in front of her awaiting judgement. She allowed the tension to rise, then she broke the silence. Julian had one final task to complete. He was not happy.

  "But it's so dirty."

  "And who made the mess? It was you, so you have to clean it up."

  And just as she had made him do in the bathroom, she ordered him to clean the cellar floor of his spilt sperm with his tongue, coal dust and all.

  When it was all over, The Colonel did in fact stay for tea. Julian was very polite and maintained a kind of cowed respect towards him, while thanking Mistress Madonna over and again for putting a naughty boy on to the right tracks. The Colonel finally rose to leave but as he was about to step out through the front door, Julian posed a flustered question.

  "Colonel, Mistress Madonna is coming to see me again in a few days. I don't suppose you'd like to join us?"

  The Headmistress

  IT HAD ALL BEGUN for Julian twenty years earlier when he was eighteen years old and still head boy of an extremely well known public school. He was due to leave the school the following day and was sitting in his study with a throbbing erection in his hand, which was not an unusual situation in itself, but for him it marked what was probably going to be his very last wank while still at that venerable institution. With a host of 'girlie' magazines spread out on the desk in front of him, he ogled every stockinged leg, rouged nipple and splayed, open labia that met his gaze. His hand strokes along his cock were lazy but regular as he turned the pages of the magazines, ensuring that there were always three or four separate erotic images displayed for his attention. He liked wanking.

  But then any man who claims that he has never had the need to masturbate in order to gain sexual satisfaction is either a liar or Casanova. And never actually having shagged anything himself, Julian could only imagine what fucking was really like. So as his hand rolled over the bulb of his bell-end, he imagined his cock was stuck into the vagina of The Headmistress. All of it. Right up to his balls, greased and lubricated by 'the sex juices' he had read about but never encountered. The thought spurred his hand into faster action. Up and down his fingers flew over his cock, and over and over went the pages of the dirty books. There were certainly some seriously shaggable tarts displayed on their pages. But none of them held the fascination of The Headmistress.

  From his very first day at the scholarly institution, the sight of her be-robed figure striding through the endless wood-panelled corridors had prompted a twitch in his cock that he could not explain. It was not even as if she was young. She had to be forty if she was a day. Forty glorious fuckable years old, and Julian wanted to shag her more than he wanted anything else - even the Ferrari his father had promised him as a reward for gaining a place at Oxford. He often imagined giv
ing her a good fucking for each and every one of her years. It made his mouth water and his cock ache. And in his youthful arrogance he imagined that he could do it in one night. Forty fucks! One after the other. And he really thought he could do it. He really believed he could shag endlessly, time after time without losing the ability to sustain an erection. But, then maybe at eighteen years old he could.

  She was a stunner, in his eyes at least. Tall and willowy, with shoulder length hair of silken gold and startlingly blue eyes, she was not the archetypal shrivelled old maid who might have been expected to hold down such a prestigious position. Her everyday schoolmistress' attire normally included a long dress worn beneath her robe, so her legs were more often than not hidden from view. But on the odd occasion he had seen her wearing a business suit with a very tight, shorter than knee length skirt. It clung to her bottom and when she sat down revealed a satisfactory expanse of creamy thigh. Very horny. His cock twitched under his hand as he thought about it, visions of that skirt rolled up her thighs to reveal a bush of curly pubes, replacing the real images of the sexually posturing tarts on the pages in front of him.

  And her tits! Full and heavy, with bullet nipples that poked through the material of her blouse, they gave his imagination extra ammunition to aid his journey towards orgasm. And she was his alone, his thoughts allowed no possibility of another person possessing her. She had been a genuine one hundred per cent masturbatory fantasy from the very first time he had laid eyes on her. Or perhaps it was from the first time she had laid a cane on him. His fist moving faster and faster, grunts and groans of pleasure greeted his approaching climax. With a final flurry of strokes he brought himself off, sperm shooting all over the magazines on the desk top as he ejaculated with the pressure of which only a youthful cock is capable. And as the sperm shot out, he aimed it at the wide open vagina of a girl whose leather clad and whip wielding image was spread over the centrefold of one of the magazines, imagining as he did so that it was the juicy cunt of The Headmistress.

  In her own heavily curtained study, with legs spread wide The Headmistress sank back into the depths of her luxurious studded armchair. The door was locked, her robe and her dress were flung up around her waist, and beneath her knickers two fingers languorously rubbed up and down the moist parted lips of her sex. Her eyes closed as the tingles of arousal intensified and her fingers probed more urgently. Under her touch, her clitoris hardened, emerging from its hood to poke between her inner lips, sensitive and eager for action. Her other hand slipped below the hem of her gown and travelling upwards over her stomach and ribs, arrived at her breasts. A prolonged tweaking of her nipples and squeezing of her breasts followed as her mind pictured the object of her lust: a boy, eighteen years old and at that very moment, doing exactly the same as she was - masturbating over erotic visions of an unattainable lover. And soon, having wanked away his frustration, he would be impatiently waiting out his last hours at the school.

  She had followed his progress from the moment he had first arrived as a boarder, some years previously. Smiling to herself, she recalled the first time he had been brought to her for punishment - a very silly, naive little boy with padding under his trousers. As if she could not tell. She had not been too hard on him, just ordering him to remove the offending book or whatever it had been and giving him an extra six lashes. She recognised his predilections immediately, even if he did not. Although ruefully rubbing his sore backside as he walked away, there was a glow of satisfaction on his face. And throughout the years, he had been referred to her for a thrashing with ever increasing regularity.

  Eventually, when he reached the age of sixteen she delegated the task of punishing him to one of the Housemasters. It was inevitable that sooner or later, he would realise that his continual quest for corporal punishment had a sexual basis and she considered it prudent not to be around when he did. A love-struck, fetish-ridden student was the last thing she wanted on her hands. Miraculously, when a man took over the responsibility for his punishment, his behaviour improved dramatically. So much so that he was now Head Boy of the school. All along the signs had been plain enough, but it seemed fairly certain to The Headmistress that he had not yet fully recognised the basic need for domination and punishment that lay at the heart of his being.

  As the years had passed he had grown into an extremely good-looking and intelligent young man. And disturbingly, she found that she was beginning to fantasise about him. But there was nothing she could do. She had to wait until he was older. And now he was older. He was also leaving the school the following day. As her passion increased and her climax grew closer, she imagined her fingers to be his cock, big and fat, filling her hole to capacity. She transferred the attention of both her hands to her sex, rubbing her clitoris and delving deeply into her vagina at the same time. She tensed and her legs locked rigid as she came. A shuddering climax that found the walls of her vagina clamping her fingers with a vice-like intensity. Fingers that should have been his cock.

  She had to do something about it.

  The note was delivered by Julian's fag.

  "I've been told to wait for a reply."

  Julian ordered him to stand over by the door as he slit open the envelope and took out the note. The paper was heavyweight and expensive, pale pink with the motif of a more intense pink flower in the top corner. And it smelt of perfume. Armani, although at that time Julian did not have enough experience to recognise it. He held it to his nose and sniffed in the delicate fragrance before turning his attention to the hand-written message. He was stunned. He read it, then read it again, mouthing the words silently as he did so.

  "Dear Julian, as tonight is your last at the school I thought you might wish to visit me in my private apartments for a farewell chat and a cocktail. I would very much like to thank you properly for your contribution to the smooth running of the school since you were appointed Head Boy. Eight o'clock sharp if you wish to accept my invitation. Informal dress."

  He did wish to accept. And so did his cock.

  After writing a note of acceptance, Julian sent his fag scurrying back to The Headmistress while he paced the floor of his study in a state of confused excitement and anticipation. All those years lusting after her with barely a sign from her that she even recognised his existence, and now a summons from out of the blue. What did she want? He could not help himself. His imagination again went into overdrive and he saw himself fucking her silly over her desk. The desk that she had bent him over in his younger days in order to give him a sound thrashing. His nose conjured up the musky scent of her sex. A scent that clung to the soaking but imaginary pair of knickers he was holding up to his nose. It was Heaven... but it was not real.

  But that did not stop him from fucking her again and again in his thoughts. He fucked every hole. And then did it again. She was squealing and begging him for more. Which was what he gave her. And so as it was bound to, the inevitable happened. His prick reared in erection once again and he started to stroke it with an intensity of purpose that would see him coming in the minimum of time. The momentum of his strokes built up, the sperm roiled around in his balls and in no time at all it was again jetting skywards. His orgasm was pretty spectacular and it took longer for him to calm down after reaching it, than it did for him to get there in the first place. And then he cursed himself.

  "Fuck it! What if she really wants me to shag her? I won't have any spunk left."

  But he would. Oceans of it.

  The Headmistress took Julian's reply from the fag and dismissed him with a curt wave of the hand. Closing her door she found herself in a state quite unlike anything she had felt since she had been a schoolgirl herself. And just as if she really were one of her own pupils she gave herself a severe dressing down, telling herself to calm down and stop being silly. He was only a boy. But what a boy! He had a big prick she knew that much. Slyly, she had watched him taking part in a swimming tournament and inwardly marvelled a
t the size and obvious weight of his cock as it tested the ability of his trunks to constrain it. She wanted him. He was a good-looking boy, with a hefty cock and an unfulfilled wish for punishment. She would fulfil that wish then fuck him and probably never see him again. But she would send him out into the world a wiser, more experienced person. A man, instead of a boy.

  At the end of that night Julian was indeed a changed person. And wiser. He learned more in those few hours than during his entire years at the school. The Headmistress was the perfect teacher, guiding him step by step to the realisation that it was not only sex he lusted after, but pain and humiliation as well. He learned that to be a slave, to serve, to obey and both to accept and seek punishment from a strict Mistress, and then to be rewarded with a shag or a wank was the ultimate joy. The Headmistress had only wanted to introduce him to a world where pain and love are combined into the same emotion, but instead she tipped him head first into a sea of submissive behaviour from which he was never to emerge. When he had walked away from the school the following morning, he was set firmly on a track that twenty years later would lead him straight to the door of Mistress Madonna and The Daughters of de Sade.

  The Headmistress' note had said informal dress, so Julian rummaged in his packed suitcases to find something suitable, finally pulling out a pair of jeans, loafers, a not too crumpled shirt and a casual jacket. He checked his appearance in the mirror. Not bad. He was good looking and he knew it, just give him the chance and he would have the knickers off her in no time. He thrust out his crotch, posing and admiring his reflection. That looked pretty good too, the bulging outline of his weapon clearly defined beneath the denim. A spray of designer 'eau de toilette', a final patting down of his hair and he was as ready as he would ever be.

  But as he walked the corridors leading to The Headmistress' apartments he realised that he was not as supremely confident as he had imagined. Over and over again he asked himself what it was that she wanted. Why, out of the blue, after all these years of lusting after her body had he suddenly received an invitation to a personal soirée? And then real doubt crept in. Perhaps he was misconstruing the whole situation and she did not intend to fuck him at all. There was every possibility that all she wanted to do was exactly as she had said in the note, to thank him and wish him well for the future. Reading between the lines may well have directed his thoughts in entirely the wrong direction, and so it was with some considerable trepidation that he approached her door.