Wheals of Fortune Ch 01
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Wheals Of Fortune Ch. 02 free porn video
You’d better be over eighteen if you are about to read this – all of the characters in the store are. It follows on from part1, of course, and part 3 will be along later.
I slept between my lovely satin sheets on my second night at the Gordons’ Mansion, my back still sore from my whipping, my anus stretched and aching with the unfamiliar intrusion of the butt-plug. But I felt supremely happy. My Mistress loved me, and I knew I could serve her, that when I had made her cum that afternoon, she had known true pleasure – and I had lost count of the orgasms I had had during the day. My last thought, as I drifted off to sleep was that I would count the hours until my Mistress saw fit to whip me again.
I awoke to the smell of coffee, and found a smiling Pilar stood by my bedside, breakfast tray in her hands. I realised, to my embarrassment, that I had unconsciously pushed aside the covers, and my fingers were idly playing around with my damp pussy-lips, and that the little Spanish maid was staring at me, an unreadable expression on her face. As we couldn’t communicate verbally, I extended a hand to her – the one that had just been fingering my burgeoning clit. She put down the tray on my bedside table, and did a very strange thing. Taking my proffered hand in hers, she put it to her full lips, and kissed it, muttering something I didn’t understand. Then she turned on her high, metallic stilettos, and hurried from the room, her long slender legs encased in black seamed stockings, the lace tops of which were tantalisingly in view under her short black miniskirt.
I ate my breakfast hungrily, and then busied myself taking a shower. Soon afterwards, a knock on my door announced the return of Pilar, this time with an envelope, which she presented to me silently. It was one of my Mistress’s neat little notes:-
Julie,
I trust you are well rested. Attend to your make-up with care. Put on a garter-belt and black seamed stockings, a black half-bra, the waist chain and anklet I bought you yesterday and a white negligee. Wear stilettos, of course. You may now remove your plug, but you must, on no account, take off your collar. Pilar will call for you in half an hour.
Your Mistress
Rosa.
I read it through, and hurried to comply. It was a huge relief to rid myself of the fearsome butt-plug, and I felt a new freedom as I walked about without it. When I had put on the garter belt and pushed my breasts into the half-bra, I looked at my image in the mirrored door of my closet. My nipples were perched nicely on top of the lacy material of the bra, and seemed to harden and grow as I looked at them. I couldn’t resist giving them a tweak with my thumbs and forefingers. The recent memory of the cruel nipple-clamps which I had worn yesterday was as exciting as it was painful, and my pussy tingled at the thought, as I smoothed the long, seamed, silky black nylons straight on my long slim legs. I cinched them to the straps on the garter belt, clipped the little silver chain around my ankle, and chose a pair of the highest heels I could find. As I went back to the closet for the negligee, I remembered the waist chain, and clipped it around my slender girth, then selected the long transparent nylon garment, with a white fur trim at its hem and cuffs. Again I checked the mirror, and thought I couldn’t possibly have looked sexier.
Pilar knocked and entered, looking me over with something that seemed like adoration.
She held out a hand to me, and said, ‘Come, please!’
She led me down two corridors, to a part of the rambling house where I had never before set foot, opened a door, ushered me into a large bedroom, and left me, silently closing the door and leaving me alone. It was a room like my own, but more luxurious, with fine velvet drapes, and a distinct smell of cigar smoke. Just as I was about to it down on the sofa by the window, the door opened, and Mr Gordon came in, wearing the same Paisley dressing gown he had been wearing the day before.
‘Ah, Julie,’ he said, ‘yes!’
I didn’t know what he meant by that, but he strode over to a cupboard, and from it took an object which he concealed from me behind his back. Then he took hold of my arm, quite roughly, and propelled me towards a door, which I discovered was the bathroom. At one end was a huge walk-in shower-recess, mosaic-tiled.
‘Go in there!’ he ordered.
I started to take off my negligee.
‘No!’ he said, sharply, ‘as you are. And face me!’
I stood under the shower, and he regarded me, his lustful eyes drinking in my body, hand still behind his back, holding something. The other hand reached out beside me and flipped on the shower control. A freezing cold, stinging cascade of water poured over my head, soaking me through instantly, so that the thin nylon clung to my body like a second skin. I dared not move, however, but was shivering uncontrollably when he turned off the jet.
‘Cold, are you?’ he asked.
I nodded dumbly.
‘Hold the shower head, with both hands!’ he said, and I did as he ordered.
He whisked from behind his back a leather cat o’ nine tails, and immediately started to lash me above my breasts and then across my stomach with it.
‘That should warm you up!’ he said, as I howled with the sudden pain, accentuated by the wetness of the nylon against my skin.
He pulled aside the two halves of my negligee and whipped me again, several times, reddening my skin, and giving me a criss-cross pattern of stripes I knew wouldn’t last, but which stung as he whipped me.
Despite my pain, I couldn’t help noticing that he had a massive erection, threatening to burst out from his dressing gown, so I knew my punishment would be short-lived, and so it proved.
‘Come!’ he ordered, and I followed him into the bedroom. There, he stripped off my negligee, and gave me a big fluffy towel, but didn’t offer to let me take off the rest of my things.
‘Down in front of the sofa, and spread your arse!’ he told me, and I again did as he told me, looking back at him anxiously.
‘Oh, Mr Gordon,’ I said, speaking at last, ‘please don’t hurt me, not there.’
‘You have to be trained, girl,’ was all he said.
I pulled my arse-cheeks apart a wide as I could, hoping to make his passage as easy as I could, and hoping too that my twenty-four hours with the butt-plug would have helped, but when he brutally rammed to fingers deep into my anus, I knew I was in for some awful pain. It hurt like hell, and I cried out in agony as a third finger forced its way in beside the other two, tearing, I was sure, my delicate tissue, as it went.
‘You’ll just have to endure it!’ he said, and pulled his fingers out, then spat copiously on my arse. I felt the crown of his mighty tool start to push at the very opening of my rectum, then he was forcing, pushing, ramming, not to be denied, as his rock-hard erection, spurred no doubt by the sight of my whipped body under the shower, had a life of its own. He was suddenly in, in up to my sphincter, then past it, and stretching, stretching, thrusting, until tears rolled down my cheeks, and I moaned and cried, and sobbed, as my final barrier was broached, and I knew what it was to have a great, hard cock penetrating, filling, my tender arsehole. He drove me hard into the sofa, his hands crushing my damaged breasts, his breath coming in short gasps, and I knew he was close to cumming. I also knew that the huge and awful pain in my arse was something I could endure now, and that it would start to turn into something else. Too late! He came in red-hot gushes, his body stiffening as he shot his load deep into my bowel. When he pulled out, I rolled over, sat on the floor, and, as he wiped himself clean, manipulated myself to a rapid orgasm. When he saw that I groaned, and shut my eyes as I came, he laughed.
‘Quite a little slut, Julie, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, Master,’ I managed to say, ‘may I go now?’
‘Yes, my d
ear, you are all wet.’ He had suddenly turned solicitous and pleasant.
I hurried back to my room, my teeth chattering with the cold, stripped and took a shower – a long hot one this time, and rubbed cream onto the superficial marks he had given me when he had whipped me. I looked over my shoulder into the mirror, and felt just a little pride when I eased my arse-cheeks apart, and saw the dark cavern that my little puckered opening had become. I felt as if I was a woman at last, and knew I should crave anal sex when I became more accustomed to it.
I dressed in day-clothes, a summer button-through dress with a silk slip my sole underwear, and a pair of the very high heels I was learning to wear all the time.
Glancing at my watch, I saw to my surprise that it was lunchtime, and went down to see if I could get something to eat.
‘You poor dear, you must be starving!’ said Mistress Rosa, as soon as I entered the dining room, and called out to Pilar, who was hovering nearby, in Spanish. The maid scurried away, and came back quickly with an appetising plate of lamb chops and sausages for me, and then poured me a glass of wine, while the Mistress talked rapidly to her in her language.
‘That’s settled, then,’ she said to me, as Pilar left, ‘I want you to teach her English, Julie, and she likes you.’
I looked at her curiously at this last comment, and she smiled.
‘Yes, my dear, you’re right,’ she admitted, ‘she said a bit more than that.’
I couldn’t get her to say any more about the maid’s conversation, so left it at that. I thought I should find out soon enough, anyway.
That afternoon, Mistress Rosa had arranged for a visit from her piercing specialist. I was to be in my room at three thirty. I was as frightened as when I had presented myself for my caning, despite all the assurances I had heard that it wasn’t going to hurt. Sitting in my room waiting was like being in the dentist’s waiting room, without old copies of ‘Country Life.’
At three-thirty exactly, a knock sounded on my door, and I opened it to a smiling, white-coated woman of about forty, pushing a kind of wheelchair, the reason for which soon became apparent-
‘Hi,’ she said, with a slight transatlantic accent, ‘I’m Sherrie. Now take a seat in this here contraption, and we’ll soon have you sorted.’
She took a silver-coloured case from a compartment at the back of the chair, and set it down on the coffee table, then applied a brake so that the chair became stable for me to sit down. It was quite comfortable, and Sherrie immediately let the back down, so that I was reclining. The feeling of being at the dentist’s intensified.
She must have known I wore no panties, because she efficiently clicked out a pair of stirrups from the sides of the chair, and, before I knew it, my ankles were strapped in. I was now at the obstetrician’s instead of the dentist’s!
‘Now,’ she said, all cool briskness, ‘let’s have a look at you!’
She lightly flipped my skirt up, and I felt completely vulnerable, imprisoned in the chair, this woman inspecting my pussy. Her long, artistic fingers probed with surprising tenderness around my inner labia, and she moved closer to me, bringing a musky perfume I felt I should recognise. Then quite suddenly, she took me completely by surprise by kissing me full on the lips, her studded tongue forcing a passage into my mouth.
‘Hey…….!’ I started.
‘All part of the service!’ she said, her busy fingers now making a nice slurping sound as the worked around my cunt, separating my lips, probing, finding what they were looking for.
Now she bent down and studied my pubic area, while I squirmed under her intimate caresses.
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘no problem! I’m not going to do your hood. Your clit is lovely, and just crying out to be pierced!’
Before I could protest, she had reached into her case and come up with a metal tray, which clinked as she brought it to the chair.
‘The tool is sterilised ready,’ she told me, ‘so you don’t have anything to worry about.’
I watched, however, in horror, as she reached down and took my erect clit between her thumb and forefinger, then picked up her instrument, which looked like a complicated pair of pliers – though she masked it deftly from my view – in the other hand.
In an instant I had a shock which I cannot begin to describe adequately. It was both the most agonising pain and the most incredible ecstasy I had ever felt – all at once, so tht I almost fainted. Pain? Pleasure? Sometime there is no difference. When I looked down, I had a silver ring dangling from my little bud.
‘How was that?’ Sherrie asked.
‘I can’t really describe the sensation,’ I told her truthfully.
‘I know,’ she said, and lifted her white overall and the plain grey woollen skirt she wore underneath, to reveal a shaven mound, and a pussy decorated with not one piercing, but three, a silver stud at each side in her labia, and a ring like the one she had just put on me.
I grinned at her, and she smiled back.
‘I’ll tell Rosa not to hang anything on your ring for a while, and no sex for about four days, eh? And I’ll give you some antiseptic lotion.’
After having my clit done, my tongue was child’s play. Sherrie even used an anaesthetic spray before piercing it.
‘I could have used this on your clit, but that would have spoilt the fun,’ she said. I had mixed feelings about that.
When she had finished, she patted my knee as she released my ankles, and said, ‘Rosa has good taste. I’ll ask her to loan you to me one day, I think.’
I looked at her to see if she was joking, and saw no sign of it.
Four days later, I had just about got used to eating, and talking, with the strange silver stud protruding near the tip of my tongue, and the soreness in my clit had disappeared with careful application of the lotion Sherrie had given me. The Gordons had been away since the day of Sherrie’s visit, so I had had no demands on my services, but I was making some progress with Pilar’s lessons, and she had learned enough simple phrases to make herself understood. Two nights earlier, she had turned to me after our little session, and said, ‘You and me, bed, yes?’ with an expectant look on her pretty face.
‘No, Pilar, I’m sore,’ I said, and raised my skirt to show her my clit ring, around which I had smeared the white lotion. She must have already known of Sherrie’s visit anyway, because she said, ‘I understand, Julie. Later, yes?’
‘Yes, Pilar,’ I confirmed, and she looked pleased.
I was sitting on the terrace, during the late afternoon, reading a novel, when a taxi pulled up with a swish of gravel, and Mr Gordon and Rosa got out. Pilar appeared as if by magic, to help them in with their suitcases, and I rushed over to lend a hand too, asking them if they had had a successful trip.
They seemed happy with their visit to Amsterdam, where I knew they had been visiting other BDSM clubs to get new ideas for their own, but said they were glad to be home.
‘I shall rest for a couple of hours,’ said Mistress Rosa, as I picked up her heavy grip to carry it to her room, ‘then you must come and see me, my dear – we have to catch up with your training I’m sure.’
‘Yes, Mistress,’ I said. I had missed her.
I wasn’t scared when I went to my Mistress’s room two hours later, even though I was well aware I was going to be punished – I had, in fact, been looking forward to that moment for days.
First she wanted to look at my rings, and was delighted when I kissed her, letting my stud linger in her mouth, clicking around the backs of her teeth. I had changed into a burgundy silk miniskirt and a white cotton blouse, laced up the front, and tied with a bow, and I had left my hair loose, brushed out to a silky sheen, falling down to near my waist. I made sure my collar had its ring well to the fore.
‘Sit on the edge of the bed!’ she commande
d me, and I did as she wished. ‘And part your legs!’
She stood over me, and then bent down to take a look at my ring, then flicked at it with her fingers.
‘Yes, Sherrie told me she liked your pussy. Now turn over!’
I wasn’t expecting this, but flipped over and felt her fingers probing my arsehole.
‘Still a little tight, I see,’ she said, ‘and now I’ve got a pair of little surprises for you, my dear. What you don’t know is that my sister was with us on our trip. She remembers you well, and insists that I don’t forget your arse. And I’m going to couple a few strokes with something else I picked up in Amsterdam. Take your clothes off!’
I started to untie the bow on my blouse, but my Mistress beckoned me and did it for me, pushing the material gently off my shoulders, and kissing my breasts as she did so, sucking my nipples until they grew hard, and I felt the familiar tingling build in my vagina.
‘You really are a lovely slave, darling,’ she said, ‘it would pain me to hurt you if I didn’t know how much you want it.’
She unfastened the waistband of my little skirt, and it fell to the floor in a whisper, around my Lucite heels.
‘Wait!’ she ordered me, and got up, took something from a drawer and went over to a big oak table at one side of her room. I heard a pattering noise. She went back to the wardrobe, and this time I heard the familiar clank of a chain. When she returned to me, she held a short length of heavy chain with a snap-link at either end. She clipped one end to my collar and yanked me to my feet. She led me to the table, where I saw to my horror that she had scattered a whole boxful of drawing pins. A ring protruded from the wall at the back of the table.
‘Oh, Mistress, oh, no!’ I yelled, but it was to no avail, and she dragged my torso down onto the surface of the table, where the myriad little pins bit and stung into my tender flesh – pain from which there was no escape, as she clipped the other end of the chain to the eye in the wall.
The pain was so awful I was scarcely aware when my Mistress came up behind me with a thin, supple cane, but I heard the ominous swish as it displaced the air, then felt the terrible searing sting as it ripped across the fleshiest part of my buttocks.
‘Oh, oh, oh, Mistress, please!’ I cried, and knew it was in vain, so I took the next four in silence, with no more than a gasp. If I writhed with the force of the strokes, I knew I should double my pain from the dreadful pins, so I tried to keep still, and let the pain become something else, deep within me, as I knew it would. After the five strokes, my Mistress knowingly probed my cunt with her fingers.
‘You’re close, you slut, aren’t you?’
‘Yes Mistress,’ I replied, in something between a sob and a moan, and she rammed two fingers deep into my sopping cunt.
‘You can cum now, you little whore,’ she said.
‘Oh, oh, yes, yes,’ I shouted, now oblivious to the drawing pins now stuck into my naked flesh and the livid stripes now patterning my buttocks. A raging orgasm took me to a level I had seldom visited.
‘Thank you, Mistress,’ I said, as she released me, and helped me pick off the pins I had picked up. My body was spotted with wounds caused by this novel punishment, and I knew I would be needing a lot of my soothing balm that evening.
Before I went back to my room, Mistress Rosa gave me a string of five huge yellow beads, the size of ping-pong balls.
‘Lube up, and keep these in your anus for a day every two or three days. Not only will they train your arsehole, you’ll enjoy having them there, you’ll see!’
As I was leaving, she said, ‘I think you are becoming a good slave, Julie. Come and sleep with me tonight. You will be surprised how gentle I can be.’
At bedtime, I went to her room wrapped in a kimono, which she took from me, and gave me a short, midnight blue silk slip, just like the red one she wore. I had taken great care to make myself beautiful for my Mistress, washing and conditioning my hair, painting my toenails, rouging my nipples and labia, and putting on the waist-chain and anklet she had bought me, as well as a pair of long pendant ear-rings.
Pansy
- 26.02.2020
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