Enslaved on an Alien World Ch 02
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Enslaved Chapter 68 free porn video
One morning, towards the end of that first week, Quentin joined Julia on the sun-deck. “What gives?” he enquired pleasantly.
Julia, looking through her glasses, replied: “She’s being bum-fucked by the nigger...”
Quentin picked up his glasses and also looked. He focused on the reflection of Melissa’s face, and saw the revulsion vividly displayed on it. Her eyes were screwed tight, her mouth was slack and sagging, saliva dribbled down her chin.
“Doesn’t appear to be enjoying it,” he remarked.
“I should hope not!” replied Julia with a little laugh. Her glasses were put down after a rather furious climax had ensued. “She’ll be having a rest tomorrow, though.”
“Oh?”
“Yes... I’m giving her a whipping...”
“Fair enough. Revenge is sweet, eh?”
“She’s getting two whippings, with a week between them, each of twenty-four strokes.”
“Mmmm... sweet indeed!”
“I shall have her brought up here to be flogged.”
“Why not?” Quentin snapped his fingers and the attendant slave came obsequiously forward with a drink. “Oh, by the way, I was having a word with Miss Judith just now.”
“Oh yes?”
“Do you remember that woman I employed at Cragness. Rosalie?”
Julia’s eyes flashed with sudden interest... and hatred. “Am I likely to forget her?” she asked. “Of course, you had her sent here, didn’t you?”
Quentin raised his hand. “Don’t get too excited, my dear. I’m afraid she’s no longer here.”
“Damn,” said Julia,looking most disappointed. “Where is she then?”
“That I don’t exactly know. It seems she had a minor heart-attack while on the treadmill, or it may have been the crank. Anyway, since she could obviously not undergo that sort of thing in future - and survive, they disposed of her.”
“Disposed?”
“Sold,” said Quentin. “To some slave-trading set up. She’ll be in some rich bastard’s harem by now, you don’t get heart-attacks working your arse.”
“I hope not,” smiled Julia. “If you do, Melissa’s overdue for one!”
Quentin guffawed. For a while the two sat in silence. Will I marry her one day or not, he wondered? It made very little difference. It might slake Julia’s ego somewhat. There was plenty of time to consider. He noticed absent-mindedly that the Negro had left the foredeck and a muscular white brute was coming up the companion-way.
“Happy, my dear?” he enquired solicitously.
“Ecstatic...” answered Julia.
And picked up her opera-glasses again.
That afternoon after lunch, Quentin took a rest in his cabin. He awoke with his customary feeling of randiness, to find his ravishing Creole slave-girl kneeling submissively by his bed, hands on top of her head. She had been in the same position when he had dozed off. What a beauty she was! Those eyes! That mouth! Those lovely tits! And the colour and feel of her skin... superb.
“Good afternoon, Princess,” he said lecherously.
“M-Master...” said Carlotta. As always, she seemed to flinch fractionally at the use of her title.
“Master indeed my girl,” said Quentin. His eyes roved over the superb body which was his to enjoy during his stay. What then should he extract from it that afternoon? He considered... then decided. “So I shall demonstrate my mastery, slave,” he continued. “Go to the second drawer and bring me the rod you will find there.”
Carlotta’s sloe-eyes dilated fractionally with fear. She bit a fulsome lower lip. But she did not delay to obey. Contentedly, Quentin watched the girl’s prancing-stride and the delectable swing of her hindquarters. His, all his! The drawer was opened and Carlotta came back with the rod. It was the lightest, slimmest rod in Quentin’s whole collection, four foot of hard and whippy whalebone, kitting needle thin. Designed to sting but not to over damage, designed to be put to use for a long time.
Still nude, hairy and a little too paunchy, Quentin got off the bed and seated himself in an armchair. On her knees again Carlotta handed him the rod.
“Let’s have your backside up,” said her Master.
A quivering of the mouth, but again no delay. Carlotta swivelled round, placed her nose to the floor and thrust up her magnificent hindquarters abjectly. High and uninhibitedly, as she must, the thighs splayed wide. Quentin licked salaciously wet lips as he studied his possessions at leisure. He was about to play a little game which gave him a great deal of amusement.
Lightly, the rod tapped Carlotta’s bottom flesh. It flinched and quivered. Then a harder tap. Another... another. They were not painful taps but simply designed to arouse nervous dread. Suddenly, Quentin slashed the rod through the air. It whistled shrilly but did not fall on flesh. With sadistic amusement, Quentin saw the convulsive contraction of lush nates.
Oh what a delightful spectacle!
The light tapping was resumed... interspersed with slightly harder cuts, which made Carlotta gasp a little. Then the rod slashed again, and this time it did fall on flesh. It arced across Carlotta’s buttock cheeks, leaving a thin but vivid weal behind.
The girl uttered a pitiful little cry and squirmed convulsively. Quentin watched that squirming with infinite pleasure.
Tap... tap... tap...
A flick...
Tap... tap... tap...
A harder flick...
Tap... tap... tap...
A wristy cut...
“A-Ahhhh!”
A violent switch through the air...
Followed by a frantic clenching of dread.
This lovely girl’s nerves must be stretching and stretching; becoming as taut as elastic bands. She never knew when the vicious cut was going to fall. And meanwhile, she had to endure those little flicks and cuts.
Oh what fun it was!
Oh what a delightful spectacle it made!
All that luscious, young female flesh twitching and quivering almost incessantly. Waiting to be sent suddenly squirming with pain! Pain that might come the next moment. Or in five minutes time, she never knew.
For Quentin never knew.
He was simply content to play this sadistic cat-and-mouse game which, after half and hour or so - and perhaps twenty viciously hard cuts later - usually had Carlotta weeping and begging hysterically. Not so much on account of the pain but because of the raw raggedness of her nerves.
It was a wonderful moment for Quentin, surgingly rampant, to take her. Either slowly and surely, with easy rhythm... or with a kind of bestial savagery.
The method simply depended on his mood.
After all, he was the girl’s Master. As she admitted.
On the following day, at midday, Melissa was duly whipped by Julia. She was brought up on to the sun-deck by Miss Judith and there hung by her wrists.
It seemed to Julia that her ex-tormenter had aged quite considerably. Her once bright green eyes were now dull and lifeless, her features had become slack. One eyelid would flicker and the mouth seemed to slant at an angle, the lips almost constantly trembling.
Though invited, Quentin did not actually attend this little ceremony of revenge. He sensed that Julia might enjoy herself more on her own. Certainly it was not on account of any feelings of guilt or compassion he might have over Melissa! When you live by the sword, you must be prepared to die by the sword!
That day, Melissa did not die. But there is no doubt that she wished she might as Julia’s long, snaking rawhide whip lashed again and again across her back, buttocks, breasts, belly and thighs.
It was an unhurried whipping, each stroke interspersed with callous comment and cruel questions from Julia...
“How are you liking it, you bitch!”
“Scream then... I love to hear it...”
“Oh yes... it hurts across the tits, doesn’t it?”
“Remember how you used to whip me, cow?”
“Oh God... that bottom’s made for a whip!”
The empty sky above was filled with Melissa’s awful shrieks as she twisted and threshed and kicked like a puppet on a string.
Her heart-breaking screams for mercy were simply a joy for Julia’s ears. Three times she fainted... and three times was quickly revived.
When at last, Melissa had been removed, Julia sank panting in to a chair. She found herself trembling uncontrollably... such was the infinite satisfaction and cruel pleasure she had received from the merciless flogging she had just handed out.
It was one, in her view (and perhaps rightly!) which was perfectly justified.
Julia drank two very large brandies and found herself steady again. In another week, she thought contentedly, the performance would be repeated.
THE END
Julia, looking through her glasses, replied: “She’s being bum-fucked by the nigger...”
Quentin picked up his glasses and also looked. He focused on the reflection of Melissa’s face, and saw the revulsion vividly displayed on it. Her eyes were screwed tight, her mouth was slack and sagging, saliva dribbled down her chin.
“Doesn’t appear to be enjoying it,” he remarked.
“I should hope not!” replied Julia with a little laugh. Her glasses were put down after a rather furious climax had ensued. “She’ll be having a rest tomorrow, though.”
“Oh?”
“Yes... I’m giving her a whipping...”
“Fair enough. Revenge is sweet, eh?”
“She’s getting two whippings, with a week between them, each of twenty-four strokes.”
“Mmmm... sweet indeed!”
“I shall have her brought up here to be flogged.”
“Why not?” Quentin snapped his fingers and the attendant slave came obsequiously forward with a drink. “Oh, by the way, I was having a word with Miss Judith just now.”
“Oh yes?”
“Do you remember that woman I employed at Cragness. Rosalie?”
Julia’s eyes flashed with sudden interest... and hatred. “Am I likely to forget her?” she asked. “Of course, you had her sent here, didn’t you?”
Quentin raised his hand. “Don’t get too excited, my dear. I’m afraid she’s no longer here.”
“Damn,” said Julia,looking most disappointed. “Where is she then?”
“That I don’t exactly know. It seems she had a minor heart-attack while on the treadmill, or it may have been the crank. Anyway, since she could obviously not undergo that sort of thing in future - and survive, they disposed of her.”
“Disposed?”
“Sold,” said Quentin. “To some slave-trading set up. She’ll be in some rich bastard’s harem by now, you don’t get heart-attacks working your arse.”
“I hope not,” smiled Julia. “If you do, Melissa’s overdue for one!”
Quentin guffawed. For a while the two sat in silence. Will I marry her one day or not, he wondered? It made very little difference. It might slake Julia’s ego somewhat. There was plenty of time to consider. He noticed absent-mindedly that the Negro had left the foredeck and a muscular white brute was coming up the companion-way.
“Happy, my dear?” he enquired solicitously.
“Ecstatic...” answered Julia.
And picked up her opera-glasses again.
That afternoon after lunch, Quentin took a rest in his cabin. He awoke with his customary feeling of randiness, to find his ravishing Creole slave-girl kneeling submissively by his bed, hands on top of her head. She had been in the same position when he had dozed off. What a beauty she was! Those eyes! That mouth! Those lovely tits! And the colour and feel of her skin... superb.
“Good afternoon, Princess,” he said lecherously.
“M-Master...” said Carlotta. As always, she seemed to flinch fractionally at the use of her title.
“Master indeed my girl,” said Quentin. His eyes roved over the superb body which was his to enjoy during his stay. What then should he extract from it that afternoon? He considered... then decided. “So I shall demonstrate my mastery, slave,” he continued. “Go to the second drawer and bring me the rod you will find there.”
Carlotta’s sloe-eyes dilated fractionally with fear. She bit a fulsome lower lip. But she did not delay to obey. Contentedly, Quentin watched the girl’s prancing-stride and the delectable swing of her hindquarters. His, all his! The drawer was opened and Carlotta came back with the rod. It was the lightest, slimmest rod in Quentin’s whole collection, four foot of hard and whippy whalebone, kitting needle thin. Designed to sting but not to over damage, designed to be put to use for a long time.
Still nude, hairy and a little too paunchy, Quentin got off the bed and seated himself in an armchair. On her knees again Carlotta handed him the rod.
“Let’s have your backside up,” said her Master.
A quivering of the mouth, but again no delay. Carlotta swivelled round, placed her nose to the floor and thrust up her magnificent hindquarters abjectly. High and uninhibitedly, as she must, the thighs splayed wide. Quentin licked salaciously wet lips as he studied his possessions at leisure. He was about to play a little game which gave him a great deal of amusement.
Lightly, the rod tapped Carlotta’s bottom flesh. It flinched and quivered. Then a harder tap. Another... another. They were not painful taps but simply designed to arouse nervous dread. Suddenly, Quentin slashed the rod through the air. It whistled shrilly but did not fall on flesh. With sadistic amusement, Quentin saw the convulsive contraction of lush nates.
Oh what a delightful spectacle!
The light tapping was resumed... interspersed with slightly harder cuts, which made Carlotta gasp a little. Then the rod slashed again, and this time it did fall on flesh. It arced across Carlotta’s buttock cheeks, leaving a thin but vivid weal behind.
The girl uttered a pitiful little cry and squirmed convulsively. Quentin watched that squirming with infinite pleasure.
Tap... tap... tap...
A flick...
Tap... tap... tap...
A harder flick...
Tap... tap... tap...
A wristy cut...
“A-Ahhhh!”
A violent switch through the air...
Followed by a frantic clenching of dread.
This lovely girl’s nerves must be stretching and stretching; becoming as taut as elastic bands. She never knew when the vicious cut was going to fall. And meanwhile, she had to endure those little flicks and cuts.
Oh what fun it was!
Oh what a delightful spectacle it made!
All that luscious, young female flesh twitching and quivering almost incessantly. Waiting to be sent suddenly squirming with pain! Pain that might come the next moment. Or in five minutes time, she never knew.
For Quentin never knew.
He was simply content to play this sadistic cat-and-mouse game which, after half and hour or so - and perhaps twenty viciously hard cuts later - usually had Carlotta weeping and begging hysterically. Not so much on account of the pain but because of the raw raggedness of her nerves.
It was a wonderful moment for Quentin, surgingly rampant, to take her. Either slowly and surely, with easy rhythm... or with a kind of bestial savagery.
The method simply depended on his mood.
After all, he was the girl’s Master. As she admitted.
On the following day, at midday, Melissa was duly whipped by Julia. She was brought up on to the sun-deck by Miss Judith and there hung by her wrists.
It seemed to Julia that her ex-tormenter had aged quite considerably. Her once bright green eyes were now dull and lifeless, her features had become slack. One eyelid would flicker and the mouth seemed to slant at an angle, the lips almost constantly trembling.
Though invited, Quentin did not actually attend this little ceremony of revenge. He sensed that Julia might enjoy herself more on her own. Certainly it was not on account of any feelings of guilt or compassion he might have over Melissa! When you live by the sword, you must be prepared to die by the sword!
That day, Melissa did not die. But there is no doubt that she wished she might as Julia’s long, snaking rawhide whip lashed again and again across her back, buttocks, breasts, belly and thighs.
It was an unhurried whipping, each stroke interspersed with callous comment and cruel questions from Julia...
“How are you liking it, you bitch!”
“Scream then... I love to hear it...”
“Oh yes... it hurts across the tits, doesn’t it?”
“Remember how you used to whip me, cow?”
“Oh God... that bottom’s made for a whip!”
The empty sky above was filled with Melissa’s awful shrieks as she twisted and threshed and kicked like a puppet on a string.
Her heart-breaking screams for mercy were simply a joy for Julia’s ears. Three times she fainted... and three times was quickly revived.
When at last, Melissa had been removed, Julia sank panting in to a chair. She found herself trembling uncontrollably... such was the infinite satisfaction and cruel pleasure she had received from the merciless flogging she had just handed out.
It was one, in her view (and perhaps rightly!) which was perfectly justified.
Julia drank two very large brandies and found herself steady again. In another week, she thought contentedly, the performance would be repeated.
THE END
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