Wheals of Fortune Ch 01
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Wheals Of Fortune Ch. 05 free porn video
My Mistress seemed very happy with Greta, the maid I had brought for her. She had hinted at ‘extending the maid’s duties a little,’ but aside from the fact that I knew Greta was being paid better than her predecessor had been, I saw no sign of any change. Greta was visibly content with her work, enjoying her days off, when she walked freely around the city, ogling the displays in the shops, so different from those in her native Romania.
During Greta’s second week at the house, my Mistress’s sister Maria paid her a visit one evening, and I was summoned to meet the two sisters in the library. I had a good idea what that would entail, especially when my Mistress said, ‘And please dress appropriately, Julie dear – I’m sure you know what I mean.’
Back in my room, I showered and put my long blonde hair up in a French twirl, to emphasise my Mistress’s heavy leather collar, and then took infinite care over my make-up – I needed to be beautiful for my Mistress. When I was satisfied with that, I found in my drawer a flame-red corset I had never worn before. It was, in fact, little more than a broad belt, and would leave my breasts and belly naked. When I first tried to put it on, I thought it was too small, so I rang for Greta. With her help I discovered that, by pulling in my already flat stomach, she could get the dreadful garment fastened and laced even tighter, cinching in my waist to an impossible degree. Greta was aghast, and did a double-take when she noticed the welts my Mistress had recently given me, when she had whipped me across the tops of my breasts.
I found shiny scarlet hold-ups to match my corset, and rolled them up my long legs, and flicked through the rail in my closet until I found what I sought, a red, transparent negligee, fur-trimmed at hem, neckline and the cuffs of its long, voluminous sleeves. I had decided not to wear nipple clamps, so the only jewellery I put on were some long silver pendants and a little chain to dangle from the ring in my clit. I stepped into silver stilettos, and asked Greta how I looked.
‘Fantastic!’ she said, wide-eyed – but I didn’t think she really understood my role at that stage.
When I reached the library, Mistress Rosa and her sister were standing with drinks in their hands, both dressed in black. My Mistress wore a backless, knee-length silk cocktail dress, with a swirling, pleated skirt, and it contrasted with her sister’s severe tight sheath, of a similar length, which moulded her voluptuous curves to perfection. What I hadn’t realised was that she would bring Pilar with her. But of course! Pilar was now a fully-fledged slave, and she was kneeling beside her mistress, wearing a short white baby-doll nightdress and platform-soled silver stilettos, and nothing else except a collar exactly like mine, to which a leash was attached, the other end looped around Maria’s wrist. Pilar smiled at me when I came into the room – she looked, if anything quite serene, and I noticed that her hair was shining and healthy, beautifully styled, and that, when she smiled, she deliberately showed me a coral stud in her tongue.
But my Mistress was speaking. ‘So now we’re all here, I think it’s time for us to have a little entertainment. I’m anxious that we let you have a satisfactory slave, sister – perhaps we could have a little demonstration. What do you think?’
‘Pilar is very submissive,’ said Maria, ‘but she could use some more training, my dear. What do you have in mind?’
My Mistress strode over to the far wall, the silk of her dress swishing as her heels clicked on the parquet floor. She pulled back a black velvet curtain I hadn’t really noticed, and said, ‘I’ve had this installed in the last week.’
What she revealed was a sturdy wooden post, which had eyes and hooks set into it at various points, and chains and other gleaming metalwork dangled from them. The chains appeared to have complicated pulley mechanisms to raise or lower them.
‘My new whipping post!’ she announced, ‘do you like it?’
‘It looks impressive,’ said Maria, ‘are we going to try it out?’
‘Why not?’ said my Mistress, ‘bring your slave over.’
Maria pulled to her feet, and led her, quaking, to the post, and my Mistress turned her around so that her back was to it. She clipped her wrists into handcuffs and raised them high above her head, so that Pilar could only just touch the ground, thanks to her impossibly high heels. At the end of another chain, near the bottom of the post, a broad leather strap was buckled tightly around the slave-girl’s ankles, hobbling her completely. Suspended like this, her belly was entirely naked, the brief nightdress lifting with her arms.
‘Go and get the tray, Julie,’ Mistress Rosa told me, and I fetched the tray of whips and canes from its place on the sideboard. Without hesitating, Maria selected a leather flogger, effectively a cat o’nine-tails, and ran it through her hand, testing its weight and feel. Without warning, she started to thrash Pilar’s unprotected belly with the leather strands of the flogger. While it would cause her no lasting harm, the multiple leather thongs made a pretty criss-cross pattern on the young girl’s white flesh, and made her writhe and cry out in anguish as her mistress laid about her task with relish. She paid particular attention to Pilar’s naked, shaven mound, but, when she lashed the tops of her slave’s thighs, the response was more satisfying, as Pilar moaned hoarsely and twisted this way and that, her hips gyrating as the flogger carried her into a world of pain and ecstasy that few people know.
‘I do believe the little slut has just cum,’ said Maria, and walked away, leaving her slave suspended there, ‘come on, sister, you told me you were feeling horny!’
Mistress Rosa responded by sitting in one of the big armchairs, and throwing her legs over the arms, so that her pleated skirt rode up her thighs, revealing her naked pussy. As she parted her labia with the fingers of both hands to open her glistening pink cunt, I knew my place, and instantly dropped to my knees in front of her chair, put my arms over her shapely thighs, and nuzzled my face into the warm, sweet wetness of her waiting pussy, finding her clit’s hard presence with my tongue, and flicking it until I drew a moan from deep in her throat.
As I bit gently down on her clit, making her moan even more, I sensed Maria doing something behind me, and then felt the sudden shock of cold as she teemed a huge jugful off cold water all over my back, so that my negligee stuck to me.
As I plunged my tongue into my Mistress’s eager, pulsing cunt, and simultaneously sought her hot, tight arsehole with my forefinger, I knew what Maria was about to do, and, sure enough, with the thin nylon negligee now saturated, and moulded to my arse, the pain was going to be awful when she caned me. The first stroke was terrible, bringing a searing pain across the top of my buttocks, as the thin birch struck through the wet, almost non-existent material, and I could scarcely avoid crying out with the agony as subsequent blows rained down on my soaking buttocks and thighs.
My Mistress was squirming as I brought her to the brink of orgasm, by alternately flicking her clit and plunging my tongue deep into her cunt, but I knew how to finish her off, and, as the delicious pain that her sister was causing me by lashing my buttocks brought me to my own gasping, tumultuous climax, I thrust two long fingers hard into my Mistress’s velvet tunnel, and she cried out and bucked as her own orgasm overtook her.
When we had lain together for while, recovering in each others’ arms, I looked around, and saw that Maria had released her slave, and that she and Pilar were curled in their private embrace on a nearby sofa. I looked a question at my Mistress and she understood. ‘My sister is OK,’ she said, with a little smile.
When I stood up, much later, my Mistress lifted my still-damp negligee, and looked at my buttocks.
‘Qu
ite some wheals you’ve got there,’ she said, ‘have Greta rub some balm into them, darling, will you?’
When I called Greta to my room, I was wearing just a silk kimono. I gave her the pot of soothing aloe vera lotion to apply.
‘My God,’ she said, ‘what………..?’
‘Don’t ask,’ I told her, and smiled, but she was looking at me in a very odd way as she soothed my wounds, and afterwards, she tried to ask me about them several times. I could tell she was fascinated by the whole thing.
My Mistress went away with her husband for three days a few days after the episode with her sister, and, when she returned, she was very quiet and contemplative. I had never seen her in that mood before. The following night, Mr Gordon was out, and she rang me: ‘Dine with me, please, Julie, will you?’
I agreed, of course – she often asked me to dine with her these days, when her husband was away.
I dressed for dinner, as was usual at the house, putting on a long, tight pale blue gown which I had had made for me by my Mistress’s visiting tailor. It fitted me like a glove, and it was a work of art to put on, with a long zipper located right down my left side. When I had dressed, I looked at my reflection in the long mirror in my room, and saw that I might as well have been naked, so well were my breasts defined, their hard nipples poking out at the thin material. The same could be said for the shape of my buttocks – every crease was revealed by the garment’s tightness and I could take only short steps when I walked.
When I joined my Mistress in the dining room, and Greta had served us with our dinner, I took in her dress, which was highly unusual for her. Normally, she was supremely elegant in long velvet or satin gowns, sometimes backless, or with scooped necklines, but never like this. She wore a translucent green organdie blouse, beneath which she had on a darker green platform bra. Her nipples were clearly visible through the filmy material, perched above the skimpy bra, and their visibility seemed to suggest she had rouged them. It was hard not to stare.
We dined in almost complete silence, but I sensed that my Mistress was eager to say something to me. Over coffee, she broke the uneasy silence.
‘I want you to whip me tonight, Julie dear,’ she said. I was shocked.
‘But Mistress! Me, whip you? I don’t know if I could.’
‘Of course you can, my dear,’ she said, ‘and I need you to do it for me. Don’t make me plead with you.’
When Mistress Rosa got up from the table, my gaze followed her. Her long black skirt, below the revealing blouse, was even tighter than mine, hobbling her ankles, as she minced out before me on needle heels. Although she liked to see me wear ‘restraint’ clothing, she never did so herself, and I caught Greta’s surprised look as we left the dining room too.
That it was going to be a night of surprises became even clearer when we got to the library. My Mistress range for Greta, who appeared almost immediately, clad, as usual, in her maid’s uniform, of little black silk dress, and white frilly apron, her slim legs encased in seamed black stockings, black patent stilettos on her feet. She stood and awaited further instructions.
My Mistress said, ‘Julie, pour yourself a drink, my dear.’ Then, turning to the maid, ‘Greta, undress me, please!’
Hesitantly, the maid came towards her employer, who turned her back to her, and held her long, lustrous black hair up out of Greta’s way, so that she could unbutton her blouse. Greta’s fingers fumbled a little as she took on the task, but she soon had the buttons undone all the way down, so that all Mistress Rosa had to do was shrug the delicate garment off her shoulders. She stayed, her hair still held up, and allowed Greta to unclasp her bra, and then she pushed the straps down her slim white shoulders and her heavy but shapely breasts, with their big, puffy, rouged aureola, were free. She caressed them, almost unconsciously, when she released her hair and it fell in cascades down her back.
She looked at the maid, and indicated the guide on the zipper of her skirt. Greta took the hint and pulled it down, finding it hard work to release the Mistress from the confines of the figure-hugging skirt. She wore nothing under it, as I had suspected, and was left naked but for her heels. She looked from Greta to me in a challenging way. I stood, a cut-glass tumbler of malt whisky now in my hand, and sensed my evening’s role.
‘Kneel down!’ I told her, then turning to Greta, ‘you, fetch me the tray, from the sideboard!’
My Mistress obediently knelt on the cold parquet floor. I swept her hair over her shoulder, so that it fell over her breasts. I couldn’t resist leaning over and tweaking a nipple.
‘Hands on the back of your head!’ I told her harshly, aping the way she had often spoken to me. She obeyed. Greta was stood beside me with the tray, from which I selected a long leather riding whip.
‘Are you sure you want me to hurt you?’ I asked her.
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘Yes, what?’ I demanded.
‘Yes, please, Julie,’ she said.
I bent and kissed her, long and hard, my studded tongue probing deep into her mouth, my hands fondling her breasts with supreme gentleness, then I pulled away.
‘I’m going to hurt you now,’ I said, ‘if that’s what you want me to do?’ I wanted to hear her ask for it again.
‘Oh yes, hurt me, please, Julie, hurt me a lot,’ she said.
I picked up the whip and tried out its feel, its satisfying ‘swish’ as its harsh thong flew through the air, then I flicked my Mistress’s back, just above her shoulder blades, with its very tip. It made an instant red mark, and must have stung, because she flinched.
‘Be still!’ I admonished her, ‘or you’ll have to be tied up.’
I now whipped her in earnest, a fierce, whistling stroke, right across the shoulder blades, which made her moan and writhe nicely, as a lovely red wheal formed instantly right across her pale flesh. Greta, stood close by, turned away.
‘You have to watch, Greta,’ I told her, ‘you will see how important the whip can be.’
I lashed Mistress Rosa three or four times more, bringing up the start of a ladder of fine red welts, and her groans were changing so much in intensity, that I knelt beside her and put my hand to her crack. She was soaking.
‘Oh Julie,’ she implored, ‘don’t stop now!’
I gave her four or five more vicious strokes, and heard her scream in a way that told me beyond any doubt that she had just cum violently. Her back was afire, red wheals making a pattern right down to her waist.
‘Thank you darling,’ she said, then, in case, I suppose, I had forgotten, ‘back to normal tomorrow!’
I detailed Greta to anoint her with balm, while I pulled up my skirt and quietly masturbated myself to my own essential orgasm. It came quickly and easily as I remembered what I had just done to my Mistress.
When I got to my bedroom, Greta was waiting by my door.
‘Can I sleep with you, please, Julie?’ she asked, ‘I’m so excited.’
I nodded, and let her into my bed. I knew my Mistress would want to train her, if she was to be indoctrinated as a slave-girl, or anything of the sort, but I saw no harm in employing the ‘casting-couch’ – after all, it wouldn’t be the first time!
Sherry
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