Cute Girls

To Love, Honor, and Obey Ch. 01

*”Show Tunes, and Show Time”*

Michelle hummed absentmindedly to herself as she readied herself for the evening. Rogers and Hammerstein show tunes, of all things. She had watched “Oklahoma!” on cable TV the previous night, and the infectious, innocent songs from that so-long-ago era had been circling around in the can’t-turn-the-damn-thing-off jukebox in her head ever since.

Her happiness and excitement were palpable as she went through her careful and detailed preparations – shaving and oiling her skin; painting her toenails and fingernails a glowing, iridescent, slut-red color; and using her vast collection of pens, brushes, and paints and powders to artfully transform her always-attractive visage into that of an alluring, sultry, sex-goddess. The ’shameless slut, Michelle’ was going to emerge again, tonight.

Mmmm - to be shown off and displayed, and hopefully used, in the presence of others – she loved that more than anything.

Michelle smiled at herself in the mirror, as she thought about the new words she had coined for the song that was playing inside her head in an endless loop: “Gonna get whipped by that man, bent over a chair “just seemed so much more appropriate for her than “Gonna wash that man right outta my hair”, after all. And especially so, given what was likely to occur this evening.

For tonight, Michelle had been invited – no, summoned was the right word – to attend a dinner event with her owner, Master Damien - the man who owned her submissive soul for what already seemed like forever. He had given her all of six hours notice.

Michelle didn’t mind though. She was “owned “by this man, her Master. There was no part of her that wasn’t indelibly marked as “his.” While he permitted her to continue to outwardly live her prior life; it had become a mere illusion, a false front that hid and disguised the real Michelle - the obedient, submissive, “shameless” slut Michelle - from the curious, prying eyes of the vanilla world she still occupied for large parts of her day.

“This is going to be something special,” she mused aloud to the elegantly painted yet still naked slut in the mirror who was emerging from her chrysalis and taking shape in front of her. “I do hope he whips me, and then fucks me hard and rough tonight!”

Still smiling and humming the signature Oklahoma tune to herself, Michelle thought back to how she had been summoned to attend tonight’s adventure. Her Master had been especially playful and teasing with her today.

*”Summons to the Audition”*

Michelle was sitting on the guest chair in Paul Johnson’s office, during one of the frequent, interminable meetings she was forced to endure with her sleazy, malodorous boss. For the last hour she had been trying to keep her always-immodest skirt tugged down as far as she could so that Paul could not peek up her dress to see the lacy tops of her stockings and get a look at her panties.

So far, she was doing an admirable job of keeping her knees together and of balancing her folio on her lap to provide sufficient cover to keep Paul’s prying eyes from discovering what delicious feminine delights were hidden so close, yet so far away from his grasp. Impossibly far - though he had no concept of how unattainable Michelle really was, and why.

Of course, Michelle had always thought that Paul would faint dead away if he ever did get a really good look up her skirt. For today, like all days, Michelle was completely naked beneath her short, snug, plum-colored silk skirt. Her clean-shaven pussy had not been sullied with panties or thongs since Master Damien had forbidden her to wear them, eons ago.

Michelle had been in the middle of explaining why a certain client was pissed off at the firm and was balking at expanding the amount of business he did with them. Of course, it had all been Paul Johnson’s fault, but Michelle could not just come right out and say that. So, for the last hour, she had been mining the depths of her vocabulary to find the right words to politely convey the message, “It’s all your fault, dick-head! Now, YOU MORON, go fix it before I get screwed out of any more business with them.”

In the middle of all this, Michelle’s ever-present cell phone trilled its incoming-call announcement. It was his ring-tone…

“Yes, this is Michelle.”

“I need a wanton, obedient, and shameless slut tonight, to accompany me,” his voice had calmly stated, as if he was ordering a pizza for delivery.

“Yes, I understand,” Michelle replied, using a carefully modulated tone to convey to her Master that she was not alone.

“Who are you with now, Michelle?” he had queried, a playful note creeping into his voice.

“I’m here with Paul. Going over some client stuff. I should be done in, oh, thirty minutes.”

“Are you naked under your skirt today, Michelle?”

“Yes, yes I am. As always.” Michelle looked up at Paul as she spoke, and again she rearranged her legs and her notebook in a fresh attempt to cover more of her thighs.

“He’s trying looking up your dress right now, isn’t he?”

“Why yes, you know that is true. However did you guess?” Michelle could feel her nipples begin to harden against her will, as her Master continued to play his little game.

“I need a slut, an elegant one, to accompany me tonight,” he repeated. “Do you know where I might find one?”

Michelle had to stifle a giggle. Her Master sounded like a young schoolboy who was hot on the trail of some illicit sex – or of some awesome new chrome wheels for his car.

“Perhaps…. I “might” know of a few that might fit your requirements. What more can you tell me about the specs?” Michelle asked in her most professional voice. She raised her eyebrows and rolled her eyes at Paul Johnson to convey the impression that the person on the phone was the distraction, instead of himself.

“Hmmm, let me see,” her Master’s voice mused. “She will have to have a clean-shaven cunt, of course. Nice full, round tits, and a mouth made for sucking cock. Oh, and she has to be beautiful, completely uninhibited, and willing to do whatever is demanded of her, in public or in private. Do you know anyone who fits that description, Michelle?”

“Well, I” do “have a few ideas,” Michelle answered.

So far, any of Master Damien’s covey of fallen-angel sluts would meet the criteria he had specified. Loretta, Veronica, Katia, even the receptionist sitting at the desk right outside Paul Johnson’s office, Erica - the woman Michelle had introduced to her Master and into sexual slavery to him.

“Do you have a specific size or color in mind, anything to help me narrow the options?” she queried.

“Ahhh. I was hoping you would ask… I want a blonde tonight, a nice, hot, fuck-me-now, long-haired, blonde with smooth, tan skin – the kind that takes the mark of the whip well. Her ass must be as well-used and as well-trained as her cunt, too. Are we getter warmer, Michelle? And wetter? Is your cunt beginning to tingle?”

“Yes, it is. You know it is.” She pressed her knees together. It was very hard to truncate her sentences without “Sir” tacked onto the end. He was making this as difficult for her as he could. Goddamn, she was so wet already.

Michelle shifted again in her seat. “I do know a few products that might meet your requirements. Something well-maintained and tuned for optimum performance. And yes, the features you asked about – a product like that is, indeed, available – right now, in fact.”

I want you to cross and uncross your legs now, Michelle. Tease Paul a bit for me.”

“Yes, of course. Whatever you say.”

“Be ready at your apartment at 9 pm, cunt-of-mine. I want you to dress like an elegant slut – daring and provocative, but not too scandalous. I am sure you have something in your closet that fits those requirements.”

“I shall get right on it. And thank you for the business. You won’t be disappointed.”

“I know. You never disappoint me, my obedient pet. But if you did, I would have to whip you. Nah, strike that. I am going to whip you anyway. I think you need a good, sound whipping, just because…just because I “like” to whip you.”

“Thank you. I will look forward to it. Indeed, you know me too well. Until later, then. Bye.”

Michelle slipped her phone back into her purse. As she snapped her purse shut, she looked up to see an expression of intense curiosity on Paul Johnson’s face. His eyes did not meet hers, though. They were riveted on her crotch, where her skirt had ridden up a few critical millimeters while she had been distracted by her Master and his order to cross and uncross her legs. The band of black lace at the top of her stockings was peeking out beneath the hem of her skirt.

“Shit.”

When Michelle abruptly uncoiled herself from the chair and stood in front of Paul’s desk to signal the end of their meeting, she caught him with his hand in his lap, stroking his cock. The combination of the red flush coloring his cheeks and the clearly visible erection in his pants had betrayed him. He shrank back, no longer able to summon the courage to challenge Michelle about whom she had been talking to on the phone.

“I have to go now, Paul,” Michelle announced. “Client service. Duty calls.” By the tone in her voice, she dared him to challenge her declaring his meeting over.

Of course, he acquiesced, as he always did, eventually.

“Do try to fix the problem with the Chambers account, Paul, before we lose them,” Michelle reminded him before she turned and strode briskly out of his office. She knew she would have to answer his unspoken questions later – but later was later. There were more important things to plan now, to get ready for tonight.

*”Primping and Priming”*

And now, it was nearly time for her Master to arrive. Michelle looked over at the bed, once more doubting her choice of attire for the evening. After all, it was a thin, dangerous line between ‘provocative’ and ’scandalous’.

“If I’m going to be whipped tonight, I want it to be for the right reason, and not because I chose wrong.”

Michelle had learned through painful experience the difference between a sensual, I-want-to whipping, and a punishment whipping. The latter was never to be wished for, even when administered by the Master who treasured her and who honored her with his gifts and his attention.

Shooing her indecision away one last time, Michelle began to dress. The smoky black stockings were first. And then the shoes – shiny black, 5-inch stiletto-heeled sandals, with an intricate array of leather straps to fasten the sharply angled ski-jump slope of the soles to her feet. Very provocative. And very kinky. They definitely conveyed a hint of the bondage that Michelle was eager to feel pulled tight around her body tonight.

“Gonna get whipped by that man, bent over a chair.”

Michelle always liked to walk around dressed only in stockings and heels prior to spending the night with a man. It just seemed so deliciously wicked and naughty. She had been doing it since she was eighteen, when she moved out of her parent’s stiflingly conservative household to go away to college.

Lounging around almost-naked this way was something she always did when she was horny and aroused, and ready to get it on. She had seen a Helmut Newton model dressed this way in a GQ magazine she had found on the nightstand of the college professor who had seduced her and bedded her when she was a freshman ingénue in his Contemporary Poetry class.

He had urged her to spend those long, wonderful evenings at his home dressed this way, while they chatted and he prepared dinner for the two of them; and during their candle-lit dinners, while they slowly escalated the erotic tension that inevitably led into his bedroom.

Could this have been the early telltale signs that Michelle was destined to become a submissive woman, bound to and owned by a Master she so dearly loved?

“Perhaps. Perhaps so…”

Feeling very beautiful and sexy now, Michelle glided into her kitchen to fix herself a drink, and then perched her bare ass on the cool leather of the ottoman in her living room. She sipped her cocktail, stealing glimpses of herself in the mirror on the other side of the room while her fingertips danced across her flesh – the flesh she was so eager to have spanked and flogged. Her skin was literally itching to feel her Master’s touch – his whip, the palm of his hand, his fingernails raking across her flesh - and most of all, his lips and his tongue.

Michelle stood and stretched languorously before making her way back into her bedroom, to confront once more the outfit she had selected for herself, laid out on the bed. There were only two items of clothing there. Getting dressed would be easy.

“Gonna get whipped by that man, bent over a chair.”

It was time for the dress.

Michelle had only worn this dress in the boutique when she had tried it on and bought it. Only the saleswoman, and the three other women who had been there shopping at the same time, had seen it on Michelle – and they had not seen it the way that Michelle intended to wear it tonight.

She lifted it up and held it in front of her. The cut of the dress was actually quite modest - a swirling, intricate, black lace patterned dress, with a prim, high neckline, long tight-fitting sleeves and a modest, yet snugly fitted, over-the-knee length skirt. Other than for one singular attribute, it was a dress that could be easily be worn to church on Sunday morning.

What made it provocative, and edging dangerously towards scandalous, was the fact that Michelle could see right through it. The dense, but far from opaque, lacy pattern was designed to highlight rather than hide the body beneath it. The provocative design was really more appropriate for a sexy boudoir gown. Or at the very least with a teasing yet modest flesh-colored bodysuit beneath it.

Would he approve of her choice? Or would he denounce it as too scandalous for whatever he had in mind for her tonight? She was sure he would approve. And if not – well, there was always the whip.

Michelle unzipped it and stepped into the dress. She would wear no underwear beneath this more-nightgown-than-dress. Modesty be damned.

When Michelle closed the zipper up over her spine, the black lace closed in around her body, in a sensuous, form-fitting embrace. It had taken several sessions with the tailor, but now the sheer, sculptured lace fit Michelle’s torso like a glove.

And now it was time for the one final article of clothing – the thing that would turn what was already a daringly provocative outfit into something truly stunning, and perhaps scandalous.

Michelle picked up the smooth, black, glossy leather corset from the bed and wrapped it around her belly. The Merry Widow style waist cincher flared to meet the swell of her hips on the bottom and stopped just beneath her lace-covered breasts. Michelle had seen a photo of a fetish model in a copy of Skin Two magazine dressed like this. Ever since, Michelle had been waiting for the right moment to try it herself.

When she was done, she admired the provocative slut smiling back at her from the mirror. Daring? Absolutely. Scandalous? Definitely. Too scandalous? Mmmm, only perhaps.

“Gonna get whipped by that man, bent over a chair.”

Her mind drifted back to David, the professor who had taken her virginity and who had taught her to be at ease in her own skin in front of him, wearing her signature stockings and heels. Would he be surprised at how Michelle had turned out? Or would he hold her head and muss her hair like he always did, whispering in her ear, “”Yes, ‘chelly dear. Even back then I knew. I wasn’t the one to strip away the camouflage and the exterior walls. I could not own you, but I knew you could be owned. You were born to this, darling.”"

Michelle paced aimlessly through her apartment while she counted down the minutes to 9 pm. She was the eager, anxious schoolgirl, waiting for her date to arrive to take her to her first-ever Prom. Worrying about everything. Would he like her dress? Would he hate it? Did she use the right perfume? Too much? Too little?

Beyond that, her anxiety veered down other, darker pathways that the high school girl she once had been could not have imagined. Was she the provocative slut he wanted to see tonight? Or merely a scandalous whore that would be met with a frown of disapproval? The potential for failure was high, and fraught with danger. High school girls do not get bent over a chair and whipped while they beg for forgiveness – while never once daring to beg for the whipping to stop.

Like all women awaiting the arrival of someone they desperately wanted to please and make a good impression on, Michelle worried and fretted and second-guessed everything, all in the space of a few minutes.

Finally, at the appointed time, Michelle dimmed the lights, and took her place in the center of her living room. She settled quickly into Presentation Position, hands clasped behind her neck, feet spread shoulder-width apart, back arched, and with her lace-covered tits thrust out.

No more second guessing. The die was cast. Her fate was sealed, though of course it had really been really been sealed an eternity ago – and of her own free will.

When the trademark quiet, firm cadence of his knock announced his arrival, Michelle closed her eyes, stiffened, and took a deep breath.

“Please enter, Sir. Your slut awaits you. Your devoted slave is ready for inspection.”

Michelle heard the door close, and the rustle of his clothing as he approached. He circled her three times before he said a word, or touched her. His scent and the sound of his breathing triggered an involuntary spasm in her cunt.

“Please, please, give me a sign of approval! Or slap me. Spank me. Punish me. Please don’t make me wait any longer!”

His hand found and roughly twisted her left nipple through the sheer lace of her dress. Michelle gasped at the sudden pain. Then his fingers thrust down the bodice of the corset, between her tits.

“This needs to be tighter – much tighter, Michelle.”

“Yes, Sir. I need your hands to tighten the laces for me, Master. I want it to be breathtakingly tight, the way you always wish me to be when I am corseted.”

“Is this your definition of provocative-yet-not-too-scandalous, Michelle?”

“I did my best, Sir. I am sorry, Sir. If you wish me to change, it will only take me a minute…”

“Of course it would only take you a minute. After all, you are virtually naked.”

Michelle winced inside, the implication of his words piercing her like a rapier delivering the coup de grace through her heart.

“But no, you will not take a minute to change. I approve. I like you just the way you are, my scandalously shameless slut.”

The sense of relief that flooded through Michelle’s body was quick and immediate, just like the surge of wetness seeping down her thighs.

“Thank you, Sir. I was so afraid you might not approve. That it was too revealing, and too slutty with the corset worn so blatantly over the dress like this.”

While she was talking, he was standing behind her, ratcheting the laces of the corset as tight as his strength allowed. Michelle’s words came out in small clumps, between quick, stolen gasps of air, as the leather tube encircling her belly shrunk her waistline by an improbable number of inches.

“Are you ready, shameless one? It is time to go meet the rest of our party for tonight.”

“Yes, I am very ready. Ready for anything you demand of me.”

“Bend over and lift up your skirt. I have one more item for you to wear.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Oh, my… Thank you.”

Michelle moaned softly as her Owner eased a small bullet-shaped vibrator into her pussy. It was already humming when it kissed her moist, pink flesh.

Polly kept swallowing hard to clear her throat of the acrid sperm. Coming out of her reverie, she felt a blunt object nudging at the moist opening. Thinking it was Ulysses, unable to resist her charms, she thrust her loins towards it, inviting it to enter her. She longed for him to take her virginity. But, to her disappointment, the fat knob slid upwards and pushed its way slowly into her other passage. It had collected sufficient honey from her vulva to ease its passage. Polly gasped with the sheer intensity of pleasure; loins were ablaze, being soothed by this thrusting shaft. But she was desperate to have her vagina penetrated. To feel her orifice being filled, expanding its contours with a sensation of ecstasy. Polly let out a long strangled cry of despair.

She pleaded. ‘Please, Ulysses. Fuck me properly!’

But there was no response. Only the rasping breath of effort as the phallus plunged with enthusiasm into her arse.

It wasn’t long before she heard the butler’s grunt of release, loins jerking in muscular spasms, as his sperm gushed in copious spurts deep into its passage.

Later, over coffee and candies, Ulysses conceded that Polly had almost persuaded him to break with his policy of copulation only with the daughters of the world’s aristocracy. He explained to Polly that got his pleasure from punishing these ladies of breeding and grace, his concubines, subjugating them to his domination.

After her trial, Polly had been taken into a luxurious bathroom by Lucy who had been watching the proceedings from the corner of the room. She now assisted Polly in repairing the damaged skin, bathing the body in warm, oil-scented water, anointing her stripes with soothing creams. A comforting glass of brandy helped. Lucy explained to her during the treatment that Ulysses was kind to his women, even though he was a sadist.

They all found his correction exciting and satisfying. But none of them had actually seen Ulysses copulate with any woman. Nor had he been seen to ejaculate by any of the slaves he kept. He kept his own fornicating private. Quilp was something of a nuisance, but he was only allowed the rear entrance of women. They were happy to keep their rear passages stretched.

Polly and Lucy returned to the large room to join Ulysses, now sitting alone in a deep leather arm-chair, wearing his white robes, sipping a large rye whisky.

‘You’ll do well, Polly. I have a job for you. You fly out on Tuesday next. You’ll take a boat to the island. You’ll like it. I’ve arranged for you to stay overnight in the Athens Hilton.’

Polly’s heart missed a beat.

‘Is something the matter?’ Ulysses asked.

‘No, not really. But the Hilton is where my father was staying when he disappeared.’

‘Disappeared?’

‘He was on a business trip, negotiating a big deal for a client. He just disappeared. All his belongings were found in tact in the hotel room. Only his brief-case and business suit were missing.’

‘What sort of business?’ Ulysses asked with suspicion.

‘That I don’t know. His name was Hubert Raddles. If you come across him I’d be thrilled to know. He might even be dead, I suppose.’

Ulysses eyes narrowed. He paused before he spoke.

‘I’ll throw out some feelers, Polly. But whatever happens, whatever you do, don’t try to locate him yourself. You never know what dangers you might let yourself in for. In fact, on second thoughts, it might be as well if you went straight to the island. I’ll fix it.’

It was explained to Polly that she was to carry secret information to one of Ulysses secret agents. The matter was far too dangerous and delicate to trust the information to the usual methods of communication. The secret papers were on microfilm. They would be hidden in a pair of Chinese love-eggs. These would be inserted in Polly’s vagina - tucked deep behind her maidenhead - for the journey and removed only by Lucy who would accompany her as chaperon.

Polly was also to offer herself to Ulysses’ agent, where she would be introduced as a slave with insatiable resistance to punishment. She would be well rewarded, for the agent moved amongst the world’s wealthiest men.

‘Now, Polly, I am particularly anxious that Cronos - that is his name - and his friends are properly rewarded for their hospitality.’

‘Do you doubt me, Ulysses?’

‘No, I don’t. But please give them all they desire.’

‘They shall be given all they deserve.’ Ulysses looked startled at this. ‘But don’t worry; what they deserve, is what they desire anyway!’

‘A lot hangs on this encounter, Polly, for me personally. More than I can tell you.’

‘Then don’t bother telling me. It does for us as well, in a more practical way! But I’ll not let you down, I promise.’

To Polly’s surprise, she too was naked. She didn’t recognise her body. It wasn’t her’s! The long pointed tits, thrust forward in a creamy glow in the candlelight, she didn’t recognise. As the witches held her wrists, Polly realised that she was perched on a long, narrow table - like an altar. Lucy fitted a curious leather support over Polly’s breasts to lift them. It had no centre, allowing the nipples to protrude. But the insides of the two cups were pierced with a myriad of short pins. They prickled painfully, puncturing the delicate flesh of her breasts, as the strap was fastened behind her. Polly’s mouth opened in a silent scream of agony.

Then came an unexpected explosion, a shower of green sparks in a billow of smoke at the end of the to her left. A shout of delight and a burst of applause from the table greeted two figures appearing from out of the smoke. They were demons, with balaclava-like helmets, spouting short horns. Under a black cloak, their chests had a dark-brown shaggy texture.

These demons were naked from the waist down, each cradling in both hands a huge stiff penis, crimson in colour, protruding from their loins! Polly was fascinated and terrified by these grotesque pricks with a tracery of heavy blue veins. They approached her with sinister laughs. Kneeling on either side of her waist, they grasped her ankles, yanking open her shapely legs to the full, displaying her unprotected genitals. Her ankles were quickly manacled to the front legs of the altar.

A second explosion came from the other end of the cave, smoke billowing amidst a shower of red sparks. The cauldron gave off a blow of blue smoke. A tall figure, a black cloak drawn across his body with his left arm, appeared out of the smoke. His head was covered by a full black mask. Polly could just detect his eyes glinting through the slits. She knew it was Ulysses. A threatening rumble of thunder shattered the silence as he approached her. Polly’s flesh turned to goose pimples. A sudden thrill of apprehension shuddered through her body as the figure slowly threw open his cloak.

There was a shower of green sparks and, held in his other hand, was an enormous stiff green phallus waving in front of her. A huge hairy scrotum holding his two mighty testicles swung beneath it, thrusting from the hairy torso. Although his chest looked almost bare, from the waist down to his feet he was covered with coarse hair, like a goat. Polly couldn’t take her eyes off the giant green phallus prodding of it’s shaggy base, swaying from side to side.

Polly stared at it, whimpering. But whether in fear or exhilaration was difficult to tell.

‘No! No! Please don’t touch me,’ she moaned.

‘Whip her!’ The command came from Lucy

The figure, ignoring Polly’s plea, gestured to the devils. They turned her over onto her belly. The pins in the bra perforated her breasts with sharp stinging jabs. Her buttocks were thrashed. She felt the slashed biting deep into her, cutting her into shreds. In her nightmare, she wondered how her flesh could be sliced in this way without bleeding. Waves of agony spread through her loins. The onlookers were cheering and laughing; the devils jeering; the witches cackling. If her master, Ulysses, wanted her to suffer these indignities, Polly was happy to please him through her own torture. There were many cries demanding abuse.

‘Whip her!’

‘Split her open!’

‘Destroy her beauty!’

‘Puncture her arse!’

‘Cut out her clitoris!’

‘Praise be to the Marquis!’

One of the demons penetrated her rectum. There was a cheer as he started to thud his vile penis deep into her pain. Then she felt the other repulsive penis pushed down her throat. Her body was a sea of pain and suffering; her mind a fog of confusion and diabolical images swimming in and out of focus. Laughing faces thrust before her eyes. The ugly, leathery breasts of the witches swayed before her as the two evil cocks battered at her.

Suddenly, her whole body was awash with a revolting slime. Both inside and out. The smell was loathsome. Then she was turned over again. The devil moved slowly between her parted legs, looking down at the unprotected, shaven genitals with their pouting lips. Polly felt a wave of excitement. Cupped fingers grasped the tender lips, caressing the already damp folds before placing the head of the enormous prick at the puckered entrance.

‘This is the vulva of an angel!’ he cried. It was her father’s voice!

At last! Though fearful of the pain, Polly was overjoyed at the prospect of being taken by Ulysses. His beautiful cock nudged into the pink opening. Polly whined and struggled, her eyes glued to the monster, hips and buttocks writhing from side to side. But she was no match for the fastenings round her ankles, the witches and the demons, all holding her firmly.

The two demons reached over her thighs, opening up her vagina to allow the huge phallus to slip slowly into the heat of her wet flesh. A shock went straight to her centre. The penis was as cold as ice! A huge orgasm suddenly slammed at Polly’s body as she arched her groin. With a strangled cry, she flung her shoulders back onto the table, screwing her eyes tight in the anguish of the climax, her body embracing the hideous, cold monster. With a smile of triumph, Lucy opened her thighs, straddled Polly’s head, lowering her wet vulva onto the pretty face.

Polly kissed Julie’s warm lips as the Devil began to fuck her with long strokes. Slow at first, but gradually quickening, whilst the two demons chewed on her swollen nipples. Polly now concentrated on the thrill she was beginning to feel inside. The huge prick completely filled her, stretching her soft fleshy lips to their fullest extent, the pink folds accommodating it’s girth and length. She felt as thought she was being split apart down to the entrance to her bottom. Tremendous lunges threatened to burst through into her womb.

It was exactly as she had imagined it in her fantasies. The awareness of being defenceless, her soft body being brutally violated by Ulysses, triggered off her second orgasm. It surged quickly to a peak, crashing over her senses as the massive penis continued to pound her mercilessly.

Polly became aware of other beings at her side, touching her, feeling her body, taking liberties with her bottom. They pinched her breasts, her bottom overhanging the edge of the altar they invaded her anus, they felt and squeezed the stretched the lips of her genitals as the penis lunged in and out of it. Hands everywhere! Breasts squeezed painfully by hands and suckled by wet mouths.

Now a stiff prick, sticky with sperm, was pushed into her face, rubbing urgently against her cheek. She looked up into the face of her father. Eyes gleaming with lust. She took his hard cock into her mouth and sucked on it passionately. Her hands, still held by the witches, were guided into hot, hairy groins, dripping with female honey. Her fingers paddled in the soft fleshy folds, probing the creases. Another orgasm swept through her as she almost lost her senses in a sea of painful lust.

There was a loud, hoarse shout. The penis in her mouth suddenly erupted filling it to overflowing with salty, vile sperm.

‘Father!’ she screamed.

Hands turned her head roughly to the other side where another stiff shaft was thrust harshly into her mouth. She looked up into the smiling face of her father. Again! He fucked her lips with frenzied thrusts, accompanied by urgent grunts, until that, too, quickly exploded into her, washing her throat with spurts of hot sperm.

‘Father!’ she cried out again. ‘Protect me!’

Her brain was spinning with visions of long spouting cocks lashing her buttocks. Suddenly, the Devil Ulysses bellowed ‘Hallelujah!’, thrusting his shaft deep between her almost numb genitals.

As Polly swallowed the last of the sperm in her mouth, the bra was removed from her breasts. They were now inflated like balloons. Red speckles covered them. Her belly dripped copiously with a starchy liquid. One of the devils thrust his red penis deep into her ravished vagina, pumping into her with rapid strokes. It pierced her womb with sharp pain. Others were leaning over her, massaging the thick liquid into her belly and pubic hair.

The demon gave a victorious shout, withdrawing his red penis as it spurted jets of more liquid over her groin. The second demon fell on her, aiming his shaft between her wide, plundered thighs, driving deep into her swollen lips. Her father was laughing loudly and obscenely. Orgasmic spasms swept into her tortured belly. She screamed and screamed and screamed uncontrollably with each deep thrust of the demon until, with a loud ‘Hallelujah!’, he gave a final thrust, gushing jet after jet of sperm inside her.

No sooner had he withdrawn than a fourth stiff penis entered her with a strong thrust. Her brain began to spin. Her breathless screams continued with each savage thrust, getting hoarser, as wave after wave of ecstasy continued to sweep through her almost exhausted body. She was unaware of the ruthless, jerking loins between her bruised thighs, ejaculating its libation into her battered flesh. Every orifice in her body was pouring green slime, thick and stinking. Her breasts exploded. Her vulva had split apart.

Then, quite suddenly, she was stood alone, naked and bleeding, dripping with a stinking sludge. Her hair was tousled, her breasts deflated. No shape was left them. They were empty plastic bags with sloppy teats. Polly was horrified at her appearance. Her genitals were a mass of dangling raw flesh, her rectum was split wide open, her bowels bursting from the gash.

‘Throw her to the dogs,’ came the cry.

Ulysses appeared in front of her. He was smiling sadly.

‘I’m afraid you have failed me, Polly. The Marquis had decreed that you shall be sacrificed to his wolves.’

Polly was weeping uncontrollably. To fail her master was the deepest humiliation of all humiliations. Her body was useless. He breasts empty, her vulva sewn together by the witches. Her cheeks of her bottom in hanging in shreds.

‘Please, master. Give me another chance.’

‘No! I cannot, Polly. You have come to the end of your usefulness to me. I shall now seek another slave. One with large breasts and a sweet tight vagina.’

Polly let out a long scream of despair.

`Don’t be afraid,’ he reassured her. ‘It will be quick. They have razor sharp teeth. They’ll soon tear through your young flesh. It won’t take long. They’ll start at the genitals, but in no time at all it will be as though you never existed.’

In the distance she could hear the baying of wolves approaching. When the fog in front of her eyes cleared, she was encircled by huge wolves, snarling at her. Sniffing her disfigured bottom and drooping genitals. Growling and howling. Then she saw that they were tethered by their collars. Not quite able to reach her. The terror shook Polly’s whole frame. She knew they would tear her limb from limb if they were let loose.

An angel sang in the distance. It was a soothing sound.

‘Let them go!’ shouted Ulysses.

Polly woke with a terrifying scream.

Into her line of vision Lucy was smiling down at her, stroking ointment into her the deep scratches on her belly. Marina was caressing her genital area with more healing balm, singing a strange song. A special insert was cleansing and soothing her hot vagina. In the distance she heard the growl of a motorised lawn mower. All was peaceful. Her body glowed like a furnace.

‘Gosh!’ Lucy gasped, ‘we thought we’d lost you then. You’ve been out for ages! What on earth happened, Polly?’

Polly didn’t reply straight away. Her memory was still a bit unclear. She just looked blankly at Ulysses.

‘Where is he?’ Polly asked.

‘Where’s who?’ Lucy was uncertain who she meant.

‘My father.’

‘Your - who?’

‘My father!’

Lucy smiled. ‘You’ve been dreaming, I expect. But don’t worry, we’ll soon have you back to full health,’ Lucy assured her. ‘Cronos was very pleased with you. You were great!’

Polly relaxed. She was glad Cronos was pleased, of course, but even more delighted that Ulysses would be happy with her work. For it was he she really wanted to satisfy. There was nothing she wanted more at this moment than to be cradled in his powerful arms, curled up on his muscular lap.

Tags: Fetish, Story