Cute Girls

To Love, Honor, and Obey Ch. 03

*”Aftermath”*

Michelle awakened with the birds. Their chattering and fluttering about among the conservatory’s lush plantings began with the first pinkish hint of daylight. Her mind emerged from the mists of her dreams slowly – the way everyone should be awakened. Unrushed and unhurried, and with enough time to properly bring that last, languid dreamscape to its finishing, or at least to where it was ready to tuck it back into it’s box and put it on the proper shelf inside her psyche for the next time it was needed.

She re-engaged her senses one at a time. Her ears were first – the birds had made sure of that. Birds were so amazing, really. Their calls and flightnoises and their chattering back and forth were fascinating, if you really listened to them.

There were three of them in the conservatory. No, wait – there were four. And at least two of them were not getting along at all. Like a pair of women having a spat over a dress that they each claimed as their own during the frenzy of a markdown sale at a Versace boutique.

“Does Versace even have markdown sales?”

The philosophical implications of that question weighed on her mind for a handful of minutes, while she recounted the bird voices.

“Yes, there are four.”

“Ummm, yes”.

Michelle arched her back and breathed deep. A single, long slow filling of her lungs; followed by a mental counting of heartbeats… 30, 31, 32, 33… exhale. The air felt cool and moist as it vented between her pursed lips. She exchanged another cloud of air, and relaxed.

She smelled. “No, I stink.” She smelled of fucking and of cunt and cock and cum. Her face was smeared with it, her hair tangled and matted like a witch’s with it, and more. She reeked of sex and of having been used in unimaginably wicked and profane and deviant ways.

“Oh yes. Wicked. Indeed. So wicked…”

Michelle forced her eyes open.

“I remember now…”

The onrush of daylight lit up the glass dome of the conservatory, bringing the night-dark sky fading towards pastels and letting the puffy clouds come into focus and definition.

“Silk. And Emily, and… oh, god… Sir Charles.”

“Master Charles,” she hurriedly corrected herself. He was more than a mere Master. He was Damien’s equal, in the perversity and the intensity of what he did with his slaves.

It was only then that she attempted to move.

“Oh, god, the stakes. I remember the stakes and the ropes… and Emily’s cunt and the whipping and the cocks.”

She spasmed at the remembering. Master Charles ramming his cock down her throat while Emily’s small hand forced her mouth open and aimed her Owner’s erection into her mouth. And Silk… with the giant rubber cock she wore harnessed to her cunt. Being fucked and raped by that monster while Ellen bit her nipples. The screams came back, echoing and reverberating.

“Oh, yes, the screams… ”

It was all real. The stink and the cum that stuck to her flesh and made the truth of what had happened here among the flowers and the greenery last night undeniable. As did the ache in her ravaged cunt and the soreness in her jaw.

“Not that I would ever deny the truth of what was done to me. After all, I loved every insanely painful and debauched minute of it.”

She had been well and properly used last night. There would be marks on her ankles and wrists from where she had surged and bucked against the ropes when she had orgasmed for Master Charles.

“I hope Master Damien appreciates my marks. They are his marks… The sweat and the dried cum and the rope burns and the bruises… They all belong to him. They’re my testimony, that I am his shameless slut Michelle. And that everything I do, everything, is for Him.”

Michelle shrieked.

Cain and Abel, the matched set of gray and black carnivores, were standing over her, their dark eyes smoldering as they stared her down. She hadn’t even heard them coming. The dogs sniffed at her tits and cunt, fascinated by the cacophony of smells that she represented.

“These dogs know what well-fucked slaves smell like.”

“Good morning. I trust you slept well.”

Master Charles stood over her, his form blocking her view of the rapidly lightening eastern sky.

“I, um… yes. I slept.”

“The wrens and the finches awakened you, didn’t they?”

“Yes, Sir. They did. It was lovely, really. Much better than any alarm clock.”

“Especially after last night,” he said, as he moved to stand by Michelle’s feet.

“Yes, Sir. I was remembering it, both my mind and my body. It was incredible.”

“I know. I was watching you. I could tell by the way you moved. You trembled – when you awakened enough to remember it.” He touched the side of Michelle’s breast with the toe of his shoe. “I have already spoken with your Master. Damien sends you his regards. He is pleased with you, Michelle.”

The soft, cuddly feeling of belonging that washed over her was like being hugged by a favorite blanket. No one other than another owned slave could ever know what that felt like, or how those words of praise illuminated her soul. The validation and the quiet pride she felt warmed Michelle to her core. Nothing else could have been more welcome to her ears.

It was only then that Michelle saw that Emily and Ellen were there, too. Cain and Abel were roaming untethered, pacing back and forth full of barely restrained energy. But Emily and Ellen knelt quietly behind their Master, collared and leashed and doing their all to be their Master’s best-behaved pets.

“You will bathe Michelle and pamper her, girls. Make her shine, for when we send her back to Damien. I want him to see how well we care for our slaves here.”

“Yes, Master,” Ellen replied.

“Shall we give her the Thai yoga massage along with her bath, Sir?” Emily asked.

“I think that is an excellent idea, darling. You may put an egg in her, too, for the massage. But only on low – to relax her. She is not permitted to cum this morning. I want her to be delivered to her Master wet and ripe and glowing – but not fucked.

“We understand, Master,” Ellen said. “A well-oiled and polished stone, smooth and wet and shaped to fit comfortably in her Master’s hand.”

“Exactly,” Master Charles said. “And well stated. You’ve been working on your poetry again, I can tell.”

“Yes, I have,” Ellen said as she lowered her head to hide the rosy flush that flared on her cheeks.

Master Charles smiled at her shyness. Then he unleashed the twins, leaving their studded leather collars around their necks. He snapped his fingers and called to the dogs and strode towards the door, coiling the leashes as he walked. “Cain! Abel! Heel, boys. I have other pleasures for you this morning. I have a new toy for you, waiting in your cage. You can play with it all day long. The toy won’t mind it a bit.”

*”A Labyrinth of Mirrors”*

“Ooooh, that feels wonderful….”

Michelle luxuriated in the white porcelain, egg-shaped bathtub. Emily’s hands were massaging her breasts while Ellen poured pitcher after pitcher of warm, scented water over her hair. She tilted her head back so the cascades fell onto her forehead and over her face, and then down the valley between her tits while Emily molded them into a progression of geographic shapes. Cones, mounds, flattened hills, and rock-tipped Matterhorns, each in turn.

“I think we should turn her egg on Medium, sister,” Emily said. “Her nipples aren’t quite hard enough.”

“But Master said only on Low.”

“I know. But I’m going to do it anyway,” Emily retorted playfully. “And I don’t mind a bit if you turn me in, either. I haven’t been really punished in weeks. And I do miss the whip, and the rack. I haven’t been really used very hard at all, lately. You know what I mean, sister. I need to be hurt and marked and driven into that small dark place we came from.” She paused, and groaned as she pinched her clit. “I need it bad, Ellen.”

“All right, sister mine,” Ellen said. “And I most definitely will turn you in. Master’ll make me watch, too. Maybe he’ll even let me hold you down so I can feel each stroke reverberate through my hands. Mmmm, yes, and then he’ll do the same to me, because I let you do it. After all, you can’t have all the fun,” Ellen said as she smacked her sister on the ass. “Would you like to watch us be punished, Miss Michelle? Hmmm, I don’t even have to ask. I already know the answer simply by looking at the way your eyes lit up when I mentioned it.”

“You’re incredible,” Michelle exclaimed. “And how old are you? Nineteen? Twenty?” Michelle arched her back and lifted her cunt out of the scented water as the vibe in her pussy was cranked up to Medium. “How did you come to this place? And to this life.”

Emily dug her fingernails into Michelle’s titflesh. “Do you really want to know?” she asked. “It is not anything like what you might think.”

Michelle grabbed Emily’s arm and pulled her down close enough to snag a fistful of hair. She put an arm around the girl’s neck and kissed her. “I do want to know,” she demanded. “We’re so alike. Slaves and masochists, and so much in love with our owners and with our lives. I only wish I had known who I was destined to be at your age.”

“Are you really sure?” Ellen challenged. She put the water pitcher on the floor and bit Michelle’s earlobe. “The truth can hurt sometimes. Or be something utterly unexpected. Can you handle that possibility, slave Michelle?”

“What is it?” Michelle asked. Her curiosity was too much enflamed now to turn back from the question she had posed. “Please, you have to tell me. I can keep a secret, if that is what you’re worried about.”

“No, we’re not worried about that. We’re worried about what it might do to you. We don’t want to hurt you. Especially now that we know you and we’ve tasted your flesh. You’re our Miss Amanda’s Slave of Honor for her wedding. You are part of our lives now. Now and afterwards, too. There is no going back, Michelle, if we tell you. You are a part of Master Charles’ world now too, with Damien’s gift of you as the Wedding Slave.”

“Come on, tell me! This is all so dramatic. What could it possibly be that is so dangerous a secret?” Michelle squirmed in the tub, as Emily caressed the inside of her thigh beneath the surface of the water. “I’ve loved everything Master has done with me since he claimed me as his. I have no reservations. And no limits, that he has found yet. I can take it. After all, I’m a masochist, too, as well as an owned slave. Pain is what we’re all about; that and serving our owners with our bodies and our souls.”

Ellen looked at her sister and arched her eyebrows. Michelle watched as the two sisters mentally weighed the risks, their expressions communicating their thoughts and their emotions more eloquently than words could possibly accomplish.

“Master did give us permission… if she asked,” Emily said. “I think we should tell her.”

“All right,” Ellen said, finally. “But we warned you. You’re going to see life differently, after you know.”

“Yes, tell me,” Michelle said as she shrunk down into the water, letting it rise up to her neck. Suddenly, she didn’t seem quite so brave, and the implications of what she had set in motion were not as clear-cut and simple as they were a few minutes ago.

The identical twins knelt on either side of the bathtub. Each one placed a hand on one of Michelle’s breasts.

Emily spoke first. “You asked how old we were. Your guess was very close. We are almost twenty-one. Seventeen more days, to be exact. And we became owned slaves at the age of nineteen and a half.”

“Nineteen…” Michelle marveled. “I’m jealous. How did you discover all this so early?”

Ellen looked into Michelle’s eyes, and sighed. “How did we learn so much so early? Well, it is quite simple. Our mother is a slave. She has been an owned slave for almost twenty years.”

“Oh, my god…” Michelle whispered. Her heart leaped in her chest. “Wait a minute, you said your mother IS a slave. You mean she is still owned and kept?”

“Yes,” Ellen said, simply. “She still lives a life of bondage and obedience. She is as contented now with her life at the age of forty as she was at nineteen.” Ellen fidgeted with her hair for a moment. “Our mother kept the reality of her life from us while we were growing up. We never knew. Until we came of age, and mother – and more importantly, her Master – felt we were ready to hear the truth.”

“She told us, on our nineteenth birthday,” Emily added. “We had gone away for a quiet, family vacation, just the three of us. She told us everything then, about her life and her Masters and about how she felt it was time that we knew the truth about her life. She’d always lived separately from her Masters so we never had an inkling of what her life was all about. She has a position as an executive with a large company now, too. So no one could know about her real life as an owned slave.”

“I live apart from Master Damien, too,” Michelle interjected. “And saddled with a prominent position that prevents me from living openly as his shameless one. There are many days where I wish I could be kept naked and chained by his feet instead of having to go to work and live the illusion of propriety.” Michelle paused, to digest what she had just heard. “You said ‘Masters’, and not “Master,’ Emily. She has had more than one Owner? How many?”

“Two,” Ellen said. “She was owned for four years by her first Master, and then he gave her to another Master when he realized that she needed to go deeper into herself than he was able to take her. She consented to being given away. Mother knew that their paths had diverged and that she needed someone far more demanding and cruel.”

Emily continued with their story. “But each of them respected our privacy and our need to grow up as normal children, without any hint of enticement. So we were raised by our mother while she lived her dual life, as a rising star in the executive suite and as her Master’s slave. And when she told us, while we were in Key West on vacation, she revealed everything. We were given the opportunity to leave home and her, and go away for college with a tidy sum to see us through getting a degree and starting a life; or to stay, and accept her for who she was, and perhaps to begin to learn about her life.”

Ellen was crying now. “We hated the idea of it, for six months. We fled to boyfriends and sex and booze and anything and everything else. We tried everything. We fucked men, together; and did girls, too. We even fucked each other, when we were alone and needing someone to hold us and put their arms around us. But we finally saw the truth, after we got over the shock of it.”

Emily took over for her sister. “We went home, and we met him. Master Kevin. We watched, and we began to see what it really meant. The caricatures of S&M we’d thought were true were so shallow and so wrong. She was so very happy, being a slave. Happy knowing that her Master approved of how she dressed and how she danced for him and how she gave him herself, body and soul – and seeing that, day after day – that made us realize that this life was the right life for her.”

Michelle sat in the now-cooling water, not moving an inch. She was riveted by the stunning revelation that was unfolding before her eyes. She had a thousand questions to ask, but she couldn’t speak a word.

“But it wasn’t until we saw her bound and whipped for the first time, that we really knew,” Ellen whispered. “Bound to the cross, with her arms and legs wide open. Master Kevin made us padlock the cuffs on our mother’s wrists and ankles.”

“She thanked us for that. And she was smiling,” Emily added. “She was crying, but they were tears of happiness.”

“And then Master whipped her. Oh god, did he whip her. Flogger, whip, quirt, scourge – everything. Even a cane, at the end. We didn’t even know what their names were, not then.” Ellen was touching herself now, teasing her clit as she spoke. “She was counting, and thrusting her cunt out, towards him, showing him that she worshiped him and wanted everything he could do to her.”

“But it was when she was writhing and begging and moaning and pleading – that’s when we really knew,” Emily said simply. “When she was on the edge, the edge of orgasm, simply from being whipped, without his hand ever touching her… god, that was so intense. Her body covered with deep, red welts; and the sweat pouring off her; she was so beautiful at that moment. So… ’spiritual’ is the word I keep wanting to use. And so in love with her Master and in so much pain that she was on the brink of orgasm from it. Seeing our mother needing that release, needing his permission to let herself go; then we knew what this all meant to her.”

“And what it could mean, for us, too. To have the freedom of obedience and not having to decide, ever again; and to be liberated by pain and so loving its embrace; and the sheer exhilaration of being owned like that. It was freedom… Freedom and passion and love.” Ellen had her fingers in her cunt now. “I want to cum so bad right now,” she groaned. “But I can’t, and that makes me so… so happy. I live for Master’s permission now, and his blessing. We both do.”

“It was like a religious conversion – being immersed in the river and letting the water sweep away what was before,” Emily said. “Watching our mother being whipped and marked and then… when she was at her absolute limit, watching him stand close to her and stare into her eyes and tell her to orgasm for him, right then.” She reached across Michelle’s body to hug her sister and pull her towards her to kiss and hold her identical twin. “And then seeing her do it – just like that – for him. With tears flowing down her face and her body straining against the cross. It was a life-altering moment. For all of us.”

“The world knows the woman we call Mother, as Madeline. To her Master, and to us now, she is Sutra Doll,” Ellen added.

“Oh my god,” Michelle breathed. “That’s incredible. And how did you come to this place, and to Master Charles?” Michelle asked, her eyes bright with wonder.

Emily stood up and went to look out the window for a moment before she turned her attention back to Michelle. “Master Kevin knew it would not be right for him to keep us. Owning us, along with Sutra Doll was a line he wasn’t about to cross. So he consulted with Sutra Doll’s first owner, and they decided that Master Charles would make a perfect trainer for us.”

Michelle’s stomach lurched. It took a moment before she found her voice, but then she asked the question that all of this had been leading up to. “Who was your mother’s first Master?”

The twins each put an arm around the other for support. They looked at each other for a moment, before Ellen decided to speak. “Our mother’s first Master was Master Damien. Your Master Damien.”

“And we are his daughters,” Emily said quietly.

“Mother told us who our real father is, that night when she was whipped in front of us. Afterwards, while Master Kevin held her in his arms.”

*”Turmoil”*

Michelle was still in a state of shock when she was led to Master Charles’ Mercedes, to be returned to her home. Everything had seemed to move in slow motion, since Ellen and Emily had told her that they were Master Damien’s daughters. Even the morning air seemed surreal, the sky laden with puffball clouds and the air heavy and still in the summer heat. It was going to be searingly hot by afternoon. Even the cicadas seemed slow and listless, their buzzing sporadic and indifferent.

She had been dressed for her return trip – if one could call it that – in a black and white striped corset that lifted her breasts up and cantilevered them out in front of her like an obscene pair of nipple-tipped melons, and a pair of black seamed stockings and skyscraper-heeled ankle boots. Emily and Ellen had taken turns lacing her into it, each one measuring her waist and announcing its ever-shrinking circumference, as they traded off; each one daring the other to take Michelle down another increment.

‘They entertain me with their games. I myself have an aversion to body hair but have a curious fascination to see it. My servant Pluto is well covered. The woman is also well endowed with her blonde curls.’ Well endowed, perhaps, but far from matching the hairiness of Miss Armitage, Polly mused. She wondered what Cronos would have thought of her?

The woman in the punishment room was sobbing with the torment, screaming out loudly as each lash of the tawse sank deep into the ample flesh of her buttocks. Polly felt nauseated. Perhaps it was to be her turn next with this heavy brute. Her body was already aroused at the thought, lubricating freely, as she speculated on the terrible pain she would have to endure.

When it seemed that the body on the table could take no more punishment, the table unexpectedly revolved through a quarter turn. The woman’s face was now facing the hairy brute’s groin. Polly had another surprise. The victim being put through the torture was Lucy! Taking a hand full of her tousled hair in his free fist, the monster jerked her head back. As Lucy opened her mouth to gasp, the stiff penis was thrust deep into it.

Polly watched as Lucy’s eyes opened in panic. The bulky loins pounded against her face, the rough hair scouring the nostrils at each thrusting stroke. The other hand brought the full might of the strap down her back and over the buttocks. Lucy struggled fiercely, eyes wild with fear, but to no avail. Terrible moans filled the air. The grunts of Pluto matched the rhythm of his savage jabs into her. Loud and coarse. They got louder as his thrusts intensified. With one mighty bellow, his buttocks tensed, thrust hard into the mouth. Polly knew that the spurts of thick sperm would be clogging the throat, choking Lucy. As Pluto withdrew his softening phallus, Polly watched the thick sperm trickling from her the sides of Lucy’s mouth as she drank in the air.

Cronos must have pressed the button, for the wall slid down, back into place. The painting returned.

‘Now, my dear lady, that was the prologue to your own act. It is time for my entertainment with you.’ Cronos led her to an large inclined table. She thought it was an architect’s drawing board, covered with felt. But it was more substantial looking. Her hands were snapped into cuffs at the extreme corners of the board, her ankles to the extreme ends of a long foot rest below the table. Her buttocks rested on the lower edge of the table; her head on a cushioned head-rest.

Suddenly, the table tilted, lifting her buttocks and dropping her head until the hips were at a slightly higher level than her shoulders. Polly knew that her bottom was now exposed in a most vulnerable position. Her throat went dry, her belly fluttered with excitement as she saw out of the corner of her eyes, the long birch Cronos took from a case.

‘Not too much tonight, Polly. I must save some of you for the feast.’ He was draping a square of fine fabric over her bottom. ‘It is the festival of the Marquis de Sade. My wealthy friends will be here to celebrate with a blonde English virgin. Tonight is just a curtain-raiser.’

Polly heard the swish of the birch. Her bottom was defenceless.

‘Only two-dozen strokes tonight. To familiarise you with the surroundings. But for the festival, a hundred lashes!’ Polly’s mind almost burst at the thought of the terrible torture she would be expected to endure.

She steeled herself, stuffing the head-rest into her mouth to bite on. Then came the first lash! It stung and burned. Searing pain convulsed her body. The piece of silk did little to deaden the pain. But it saved the skin from fracture. Then another on the other cheek! The pain exploded in her mind as her loins jerked in response. The third was equally severe, crossing the previous stripes, stinging her with blinding agony. Polly could feel the flesh swelling as the blood pounded in the weals.

The fourth; the fifth; the sixth followed in quick succession. Three biting slashes. There came a welcome pause. Polly saw through her tears that Cronos was standing at her side. Her eyes searched the front of his trousers for signs of arousal. She hoped to distract from the painful strokes he now inflicted on her burning cheeks. But in vain. She wondered what his penis was like, imagining it swing from side to side as he wielded the cane. She wanted to feel it! Inside her! Still eighteen to go! The throbbing pain and heat engulfed her loins. Her little button, however, was burning with desire. Surely Cronos would see her sexual arousal in her crack, seeping onto the tufts of hair surrounding it.

Then the lashes continued! Polly felt the strokes less and less as numbness began to engulf her buttocks. Suddenly, unable to control herself, as each lash sank into her flesh, a golden jet spurted from her vulva, soaking into the felt of the table top.

‘Ah! Excellent!’ Cronos cried. My fellow disciples of de Sade will be most honoured if that is the outcome tomorrow. Don’t worry about the floor. It can be cleaned.’

There was a pause after the next half-dozen. Polly could hear her Lord and master breathing hard with the effort. She was aware of her soaking genitals amidst the throbbing heat of the cheeks. There was an atmosphere of steamy sexuality. Then, quite suddenly, as the next stroke whipped her buttocks, Polly gave a stifled cry of anguish as the surge of an orgasm crashed through her. Her buttocks twitched and jerked around. Her loins were ablaze with delicious suffering, her flesh reddened and tender. But unmarked.

Polly looked up at Cronos. He was smiling with satisfaction as he watched the punishment. It came as a surprise to Polly to notice the erection in his trousers. It was almost bursting the fabric. So he could be aroused, after all, she thought. Curious to see it, her hands, which were caressing his thighs lightly, now moved to the bulge. Beneath her delicate strokes, it throbbed and jerked.

As casually as she could, Polly’s fingers unfastened the flies of his trousers. With a little fumbling, she extracted the warm shaft and got it between the palms of her hands. Hard and hot, Cronos gasped as cool hands grasped the bare shaft. Peeling open his trousers the hairless groin was exposed to her. Not a hair defaced the white flesh. Groin and scrotum were even devoid of any shadow of stubble. It looked clean and clinical.

‘You make a good slave,’ he muttered to her. She squeezed his genitals gently, in response.

‘And you are such a dominating master,’ she replied in a seductive whisper. She slipped the head if his penis between her lips, sucking on it gently. Polly explored his substantial weapon with tongue, lips and fingers, admiring the contours. As she pleasured her master, he continued in a quiet hushed whisper.

‘You may remember that Menelaus tried to persuade Proteus to tell him how to return to Sparta.’

Polly stiffened at the mention of the pass word. She paused in her sucking.

‘What happened to Proteus? Where did he go?’ she whispered as her eager fingers explored his genitals.

‘Ah! Mr Raddles! Where indeed! They seek him here, they seek him there. He is sought world-wide. Or, rather, under-world-wide!’

‘Please tell me Cronos,’ Polly muttered pleading. ‘He is my father!’ She heard him catch his breath.

‘You are not MI6 then?’ he asked after a few moments of thought.

‘Good heavens, no!’ she hissed. But the reply was stifled by his ejaculation bursting into her throat.

His sudden smack across her cheek surprised her. Her head snapped to one side. Then a second slap jerked it the other way.

‘Bitch! Slaves do not ask questions. They obey! Go!’

When Polly was escorted to the recovery room, she found Lucy in a state of exhaustion. They smiled weakly at each other. They applied the creams to each other’s marks.

‘I watched your punishment from Pluto,’ Polly told her. ‘It was severe.’

‘Ah, yes! But I exaggerate the wailing and despair for the sake of Cronos. He likes to hear women suffer at the hands of others.’

‘But not at his own,’ Polly added. ‘That’s curious.’

‘Did he hurt you very much?’ Lucy asked.

‘Two dozen, but wearing panties. He wants to keep my flesh whole for the ceremony. Even so, couldn’t contain myself. I peed for him.’

Lucy laughed. ‘He’d like that! But you must be ready for every degradation they can do to you in the temple. It is a fearsome thing to be the sacrifice.’ Lucy decided not to mention the sacrifice who had died from the sadistic beating she got.

‘Tell me about it,’ Polly asked.

Lucy was reluctant to tell Polly all of what she knew of the sacrificial ritual. She would hedge.

‘Well, not having witnessed it personally, I can’t be sure. But there’ll be eight or ten members of the brotherhood of the Marquis de Sade. They’re all influential people in this part of the world. You won’t see them though, because they’ll be wearing hoods. Each will deliver a few lashes from a variety of implements. Play it up, Polly. Writhe and moan. They might take pity.’

Just then the housekeeper re-appeared and beckoned to Lucy to go with her. Lucy sighed.

‘Pluto wants more revenge.’ Lucy slipped into a dressing gown. ‘A cock suck may be all.’ And then she left Polly to finish off her own ministrations.

Her screams became pitiful. After what seemed an eternity of agony, Lucy became conscious of a break in the rhythm. Those powerful loins started to jerk and lunge erratically. A massive jerk behind her almost split her womb open, as Pluto emptied his loins into her tightness. The liquid seemed to inflate her vagina even more! She was flooded with his gushes. Pluto withdrew, his deflating shaft slipping from the rings. Lucy’s lips were severely stretched after the treatment they had withstood. Swollen and scarred. Angry in colour. So that was how her vulva became so violated, Polly thought. Her face was drawn with pity for her friend.

After being released from the table leg, the ravished Lucy curled at the feet of Pluto, caressing his feet and kissing his legs as he sat at the dining table. The men had removed their trousers and shorts so that their slaves could tend their genitals. An occasional morsel of food was passed down to them to nibble. Nestor was sitting at a divan the end of the table, Marina squatted at his feet.

At the end of the first course - a selection of cooked meats with olives - Nestor gestured to Marina to lay across his lap. She positioned herself eagerly, presenting her olive-skinned cheeks of her small shapely buttocks, thighs slightly apart. Nestor thwacked her bottom brutally with his open palm, watched by the others until the cheeks burned crimson. Marina bit her lip to prevent herself from crying out. Her grunts were spontaneous as each slap rippled through her.

Then came the unexpected. He took up a small bell. At its sound, Polly’s attention was drawn to a naked man who entered the room on all-fours wearing an animal costume with a wolf’s head. The erect penis protruded from the costume, swaying lewdly from side to side as he approached the group. After sniffing heavily at Marina’s genitals, the wolf’s head withdrew.

So realistic was the costume, that Polly could believe her small servant was being ravished by a huge wolf. Taking the cheeks in each hand, it’s claws dug deep into the soft flesh, they were forced painfully apart. But instead of violating her small vagina, the stiff erection thrust fiercely into the damp rectum. At this, Marina screamed! She was taken by surprise.

Unprepared for the sudden violation. Nestor watched their butler thudding hard into the slender buttocks. The tight entrance was stretched to tearing round the thrusting shaft. Marina’s body shook and jerked with the agony of the forced entrance. But she did not object.

After the heaving had reached it’s climax, the phallus withdrawn, dribbles of sperm following it, Nestor repeated the beating of her buttocks with a large wooden lath until the slender girl writhed in pain. Still she did not complain or cry out. Stifled whimpers showed her distress. Finally, Nestor threw down the weapon, lifted the slender body like a doll, turning Marina’s back against his chest. Her legs opened wide over his thighs, his straining cock plunging deep into her dripping vagina.

Lust had overtaken Marina. She now cried out in blissful agony. No joy could surpass penetration by her powerful master.

The others watched as the Eurasian doll bounced wildly up and down on Nestor’s loins. Her eyes were dazed; her mouth slack and drooling with desire; her small breasts heaving with effort and pain.

After Nestor had liberated his loins with liberal splashes into the small Eurasian, the masters returned to their meal. Once again, the slaves were passed morsels of food as the three masters enjoyed their kebabs and salads. Polly was desperate for sexual release but her master ignored her, passing her morsels of food. She dare not finger herself for fear of being discovered. During the next break in eating, Cronos spoke.

‘My slave must be spared the rod this day,’ he explained. ‘The Ceremony of the Marquis will be performed tomorrow and Polly is required to be in perfect health; sound in body and limb.’

Nestor expressed his disappointment, but said nothing.

‘Perhaps you, Pluto, and you Nestor would care to continue taunting your pets.’

‘I think, uncle, we should allow our two slaves to beat each other. With the whips.’

‘Good!’ Cronos cried.

Lucy and Marina were taken into the middle of the room, each handed a whip.

‘There. Please your masters by flogging each other.’

Polly sat at the feet of her lord as her two friends sparred and lashed out at each other. The three men watched with undisguised relish. Marina and Lucy knew they would have to make it real if they were to avoid a savage thrashing from their lords. They fought like cats, snarling and lashing at hips, waist, legs, shoulders. Anywhere to raise furrows of pain.

When both had exhausted their strength, they sank exhausted to the floor, their bodies lacerated by long scarlet weals; their buttocks swollen and blotched. Perspiration shone on their faces and heaving breasts.

‘Before retiring for the night,’ Cronos told them, ‘I think we should inspect their private entrances to ensure no damage.’

One after the other, the battered friends were laid out on the table where they were subjected to a close inspection of their secret passages by all three men. Polly escaped that humiliation. The rear entrance of their collapsed bodies were finally violated by Nestor before the entertainment came to an end.

Tags: Fetish, Story