The Daughters of de Sade

by Falconer Bridges

  Mistress Madonna regarded his stiff member with disdain.

  "Pathetic."

  That was her only comment. But it was enough. It applied not only to his penis, but to him as well. Julian knew that. He also knew that he was not good enough to lick her shoes. Or drink her elixir. But once in a while she allowed him to do both those things. In fact if he was really, exceptionally good she would sometimes squat over his mouth and let him drink straight from the source. But he had been bad. Very bad. And apart from being punished, she told him that that was one of his privileges that she was going to withdraw. And there was also a distinct possibility that after he had suffered the punishment that was coming to him, that she would not bother with him at all. Why should she? He was a lost cause and she was just wasting her precious time on him. A slave could only be properly trained if he worshipped his Mistress, if he promised undying obedience and loyalty. And it was obvious to her that he did none of those things.

  She could have put him through the tortures of Hell but they would not have caused Julian as much pain and mental agony as those few words. His world collapsed, along with his cock. Tears, real and in quantity rolled down his cheeks.

  "Please Mistress, don't leave me. I do worship you, you know I do."

  "I know nothing of the kind. What I do know is that you've been a revolting, disobedient beast and I can't think of anything you could do to make up for it."

  "Oh please. Give me one more chance. I'll do anything. Anything at all."

  Well, she told him, the first thing that he could do was to get down on his hands and knees. He obeyed immediately. Delving into one of the zippered pockets in the jacket, she pulled out a box of drawing pins. She then passed it slowly in front of his eyes so that he could see exactly what it was and then shook it, the resulting sound letting him know that it was full. He whimpered. He thought he knew what was coming. And he was right. Pulling open the lid and walking backwards, she scattered the pins over the tiled floor all the way to the door.

  "Here boy. Come to Mistress Madonna."

  He hesitated.

  "You promised never to be disobedient again. Not making a very good start are we?"

  He had to do it or risk being abandoned, something he could not face. He started to crawl forwards, howling as the pins cut into his elbows and knees, the ones that had fallen point upwards actually sticking into his flesh. Elation flashed over him. He was suffering for his Mistress, proving his allegiance. Surely she would be able to see that. Of course Mistress Madonna saw it, and much more besides. She had been taking a gamble, pushing Julian closer to the edge than ever before, but now she knew she was safe, he really could not live without her.

  Throughout his trials Mistress Madonna had never removed his collar, and now bending down she clipped a leash onto it and dragged him from the bathroom. A thought struck her.

  "Stay."

  She disappeared back into the bathroom, Julian remaining where he was as she had ordered, while at the same time desperately lifting his arms and legs up and down in an effort to ease the pain of the drawing pins that still remained stuck to his flesh. She returned brandishing a long handled, bristled toilet brush. Julian blanched.

  "Mistress please. No."

  "Act like a dirty dog and Mistress Madonna will see to it that you look like one."

  Kicking his legs wider apart she ordered him to stick his backside up higher and brutally forced the handle of the brush past his protesting sphincter and up into his anus. To Julian it felt as though she had rammed a tree trunk up there and he squirmed and moaned in discomfort. A swift slap to his lacerated buttocks taught him the error of his ways, the cadaver like coldness of his flesh reminding her that she had not allowed him to dry himself or get warmed up after his ice cold bath. She walked around him inspecting him carefully. He was still shivering occasionally but she decided that there was no imminent danger to his health; in fact it would do him good to freeze a little.

  It was time to sort him out for the rest of the night. Tugging on his lead she led him out onto the landing and down the ornate, wide staircase to the ground floor. Not easy for him, on his hands and knees as he was and with the drawing pins giving him hell. The thick brush handle stuck up his backside did not help either. Among other options, she had considered locking him down in the cellars once again but finally she plumped for an outdoor location, and so not for the first time she made him crawl over the gravelled drive leading to the garage. So now the sharp tips of the stones dug into his already tortured flesh, adding to the agony caused by the drawing pins.

  As they neared the garage an awful dread swept over Julian. His cars were his pride and joy. Not only his collection of classic sports cars, but his road cars as well. And only the previous day he had taken delivery of a brand new Aston Martin - a V12 Vanquish, the most sophisticated model yet, with a top speed of 190 mph. It was a very exclusive car, only a very few being made available at an astronomical price, but even so it had taken all his considerable influence and not a little greasing of palms for him to acquire one. And as Mistress Madonna overrode the security system and opened the garage doors and the car was displayed in all its magnificence, Julian's heart sank. It was too late now, but he desperately wished he had not eulogised so greatly over its merits to her.

  "This the new motor is it?"

  "Please Mistress, don't hurt it."

  "I asked you a question. Answer me."

  "Yes Mistress."

  "Yes what. Is this the car or not?"

  It was, as she knew full well.

  "Looks a bit plain to me. Decoration. That's what it needs."

  This was going to hurt Julian far more than anything she had done so far. Ignoring his tearful pleas, she looped his leash into an iron ring on the wall and made a great show of pulling a pearl handled switchblade from a pocket of the leather jacket. She bent down and held it under his nose, before flicking the blade open. Julian descended into hysteria, squealing, weeping and begging, but it did no good. Her head almost touching the arched brick roof, Mistress Madonna stepped into the garage and starting from the rear lights, scraped the blade along the whole length of the car. From end to end and back again. Then over the boot and along the other side. Finally the bonnet received her attention. And what she did then transformed Julian's emotions and made him determine never to have the damage rectified.

  In giant letters, she carved her initials into the bonnet. Artistic she thought as she stepped back to admire her handiwork. Julian thought so too, and although tears still flowed from his eyes they had turned into tears of happiness. He would never drive the car. He would turn it into a shrine dedicated to her. MM. All his Mistress's own work, and every time he looked at the car he would be reminded of her.

  Visions flooded his mind. Visions of her bent over the bonnet, her skirt up around her waist and her wonderful breasts squashed against the metal - and him, with his legs pressed against her bottom and his cock buried deep inside her, giving her the shagging of a lifetime. He imagined her writhing on the end of his weapon as he shot spurt after spurt of his hot sperm into her clamping vagina.

  Of such things are dreams made. And this dream went straight to his cock. Here it came again, the infamous Julian hard-on. Mistress Madonna had to admit that she had not envisaged her actions causing a sexual reaction in her slave. She had been aiming to inflict on him a painful psychological experience that he would not forget in a hurry. That she had done, he would not forget the hurt, but neither would he forget the joy. Two for the price of one, she was even better than she thought she was.

  She regarded him with contemptuous eyes, paying particular attention to his erect penis.

  "I've had enough of this. Once a dog, always a dog. I'm going to sort out that pimple you call a cock once and for all. If you're going to keep showing it to me at every opportunity, I'm going to make sure it's big
enough for me to see without getting eye strain."

  And right there was the perfect means of doing that. A stack of them in fact, left by the workmen after they had re-built part of the wall. Bricks. But she only needed one and she selected a likely candidate from the top of the pile. She also gathered up a length of twine and one of the mousetraps that were scattered about the garage floor. Putting the mousetrap and the twine into one of her pockets, she untied Julian's leash and with that in one hand and the brick in the other she led him back over the gravel to the stocks. They were genuine medieval stocks that until recently had still stood on the village green, but were now located at the edge of the lawn facing the house after being rescued by Julian from destruction by developers. That was one more thing he would live to regret.

  The light was fading fast and the evening was developing a definite chill. But there was light enough for Mistress Madonna's purposes and the cold was an extra bonus. She unclipped his leash, dropped the brick onto the lawn and set about securing him in the stocks. Not in the conventional position however. Oh no. She made him put his legs backwards through the armholes, a feat he was only able to accomplish by standing on his hands on wooden blocks that Mistress Madonna collected from the garage and laid out for him. The restraining bar was clamped down over his legs just below the knees holding them tight and utterly immovable. She then kicked away the blocks supporting his hands and he was left hanging, front forward with his arms dangling free. They were not free for long. Pulling first one arm then the other behind his back, she tied his wrists together so that he would not be able to use his hands for any purpose.

  And there he hung, head down and completely naked in the cooling night air. He was a fit man with firm solid muscles and for the moment he was able to combat the blood rushing to his head by pulling his torso upwards from the waist. But trying to keep that up all night would be a different matter.

  "Mistress Madonna is going now, try to be good while she's away."

  "But Mistress, you can't leave me out here."

  "What?"

  "You can't leave me. I'll freeze to death. And there are foxes out here."

  "Good!"

  Mistress Madonna actually had no intention of letting him off so easily. She was just increasing the torment. She moved closer but said nothing, standing with her legs apart and allowing the tension to mount. He strained to lift his head, and looking upwards got a stunning view underneath the skirt that was now stretched tight across her thighs. He could see everything. Those wonderful curly pubes, the wavy slightly open lips of her sex, even the pucker of her anus. Even in his desperate position his cock would not take no for an answer and immediately hardened up into impressive proportions.

  "Mistress Madonna was going to let you have a nice little rest until tomorrow morning, to build up your strength for when Mick and Frank arrive to sort you out. But not now. You've got to be taught a lesson. Something to teach you once and for all to keep that revolting thing under control."

  Julian would never forget the lesson she was about to teach him. Of that there was no doubt. She walked swiftly over to the garage and returned in an instant with another brick and picked up the one that she had dropped onto the lawn. With a brick clutched in each hand she stood in front of him, arms wide and level with his pulsing member.

  "What did teacher do when Julian was naughty at school?"

  No reply.

  "She punished him. She gave him six of the best. Didn't she?"

  A hesitant answer.

  "Yes Mistress."

  "Well that's what you're going to get right now. Six of the best... with these !"

  And that is exactly what he got. In a flash. With perfect aim she brought her hands together on either side of his cock, crushing it between the bricks. Six times. His screams were horrifying. The Devil himself could not have dealt out a more sadistic torture. Julian was writhing in indescribable agony, only half-conscious, crying and unable to comfort his mangled weapon because his hands were bound tightly behind his back. He could not speak, or curse, or do anything other than let out strangled cries of pain.

  But it was not over yet. Disregarding him completely, Mistress Madonna dropped the bricks and busied herself with the Mousetrap. First of all she tied one end of the twine to it, then recovered one of the bricks and wrapped the other end of the twine around it before tying that also. She dangled the brick on the end of the twine to ensure that it was held securely and then concentrated her attention on Julian.

  When she was sure that he could once more appreciate her actions, she bent down and before his tear-filled eyes, pulled the spring back and set the trap.

  "No, no, no. You can't."

  Yes she could.

  Julian's screams rose in pitch, until as she placed his penis on the trap and released the spring he squealed like a stuck pig. This time he went straight out and so did not see his cock make the transformation from a large pale sausage into a swollen black pudding. She waited until he came round before completing her task. She wanted him to get the most from this experience. As he opened his eyes she lifted the brick and put it through the empty hole in the stocks that normally would have been clamping his head. And then she dropped it. The twine tugged on the mousetrap as the brick fell behind him, and the mousetrap snatched at Julian's weapon, tugging it upwards and practically wrenching it from his body. The brick bounced on the twine as it came to sudden halt a few inches from the ground, its full weight stretching Julian's cock to twice its normal length. His previous screams paled into insignificance compared to the agonised shrieks that now came from him. And then she left him. No goodbye. No mention of when she would be back. Nothing. She had told him his punishment for spunking on her would be harsh.

  And it was.

  And tomorrow was still to come.

  Once back inside the house, Mistress Madonna had switched on all the security floodlights set in the grounds, one of which shone straight onto the stocks, so that as The Colonel drove up the drive, he could not fail to see Julian's predicament. The Bentley rolled to a halt opposite the stocks and the driver's window lowered.

  "Colonel, help me please. For God's sake get me out of here."

  "All your own fault. You're a cad and that's all there is to it. You'd get worse if it was left to me."

  He was indeed going to get worse, but of course The Colonel did not know that.

  "I'll make it worth your while. Name your price."

  "I wouldn't take anything from you, you bounder. 'Specially after the filthy way you treated Madonna."

  The fact that he was allowed to refer to her as simply Madonna was not lost on Julian. And he knew why The Colonel was there. He decided that after all he did hate the old bastard.

  "Bollocks then. Go on and fuck her, I don't care."

  And of course The Colonel would be fucking her very soon. And Julian would care very much indeed.

  The window slowly closed and the car purred off to pull up outside the main entrance doors to Julian's palatial country mansion.

  "A Bentley. A new Bentley. I'll buy you one tomorrow. Help me please."

  Julian had changed his tune in an instant once he realised that no help was forthcoming from The Colonel. The old boy heard his pitiful shouted pleas all right, and even though he was thinking of replacing the car, the temptation of Julian's offer was as nothing compared to the temptation offered by Mistress Madonna's body.

  Pacing up and down in Julian's bedroom, Mistress Madonna awaited The Colonel's arrival with great impatience. She was frustrated. Not sexually of course, The Colonel had already seen to that earlier. And he would again. Several times she hoped before the night was over. No, she had one last torment in mind for her pathetic slave, and she wanted to get it over with before she settled down to a serious session with one of the very few men who was able to satisfy her own very demanding
sexual requirements.

  However her immediate consideration was the further humiliation of Julian, and the moment The Colonel walked into the room her plan was put into operation. The stocks faced the house almost directly opposite his bedroom and dousing all the outside lights, she upped the lighting in the bedroom to maximum brilliance and artfully led The Colonel to the window. From his straining, upside down position, with the toilet brush sticking out from his anus adding to his discomfort, Julian could see the both of them very clearly. Exactly as she intended.

  Having already removed her own jacket, Mistress Madonna slipped The Colonel's Barbour from his shoulders, opened his shirt and pressed her glorious breasts against his chest. Julian could feel her erect nipples pressing into him just as surely as if he had been The Colonel himself. Such is the power of the imagination. Through the window he saw her hitch her tiny skirt up that last vital inch that bared her all and made every part of her available to the old sod's groping. Julian's prick, predictable as always despite his unenviable situation, fought the constraints of the mousetrap and the brick, and unbelievably hardened. It was a cool night for summer and the window steamed over, there was plenty of body heat in the bedroom, that much was very obvious. Julian was freezing, but in the bedroom things were definitely hotting up. Mistress Madonna swept the window clear with her forearm before pulling the blind. Now Julian could see nothing. Not directly that is. But because the room was brightly lit and he was in the dark he could see their silhouettes very clearly. Two shadows. Two shadows up to something very titillating. Julian's head throbbed and pulsed, his stomach muscles ached through the constant effort of pulling himself upwards, and his cock did not know whether it was alive, dead, or in some state in between the two. It was stretched, bruised, tortured... and absolutely rampant.