Enslaved on an Alien World Ch 02
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Enslaved Chapter 63 free porn video
“That was a hiding she won’t forget in a hurry,” remarked Quentin. He and Melissa were seated in the cool of one of the smaller drawing rooms of Maison Jaune. In attendance were Maria and Heidi. Both were naked but for white calf-length boots with very high heels, and small white linen aprons which concealed neither girl’s breasts nor her smoothly-shaved pubic mound. They were worn simply as a decorative symbol of servitude.
“She deserved it,” replied Melissa callously. She was dressed in a lightweight pale-blue pyjama-suit and, thought Quentin, looked most fetching. He was lucky to have such a beautiful, understanding and competent wife.
“Oh, I agree,” nodded Quentin. “Can’t have disobedience in a slave, can we? Still, if Simone wants to learn the hard way, that’s her affair.” He drained his glass and snapped his fingers... and blonde Heidi came hurrying to his side, apple-round breasts swaying delectably, the soft flesh of her thighs quivering with her movements.
“Yes, Master?”
Quentin said nothing but merely pointed to his glass. At once Heidi turned and went to fetch the bottle from its ice-bucket, thus favouring Quentin with a view of her soft-bouncing bottom as it swung seductively from side to side. That too, he reflected, had felt plenty of the rod in its time. And, doubtless, would continue to do so on occasions! Heidi came back, seemingly unmoved, her pretty face set. Yet there was a dullness of despair in her blue eyes. She had become used to being nude under the gaze of both men and women... to obeying their orders, however difficult or repellent they might be. She had suffered enough already and wished to suffer as little as possible in future. Thus, in mind, spirit and body, she now submitted. And obeyed. Carefully she poured the chilled white wine into her Master’s glass. Oh yes... it had become natural for her to think of Quentin as that. Just as she thought of Melissa as her Mistress.
“Do you know, Heidi,” said Quentin with a smirk, “you’ve got very good tits. Nicely round, nicely firm.”
“Th-thank you, Master,” replied Heidi, bobbing a half curtsey which set her breasts bobbing too. Casually, Quentin fondled one of them, tweaking the rose-pink nipple. Amazing, her thought, to realise that but a few months ago, if he had attempted to do any such thing, this girl would have gone berserk. Screaming the place down. Now he could do anything he liked with her... and she accepted it. More than that, she CO-OPERATED.
Quentin transferred his hand to Heidi’s taut-skinned bottom. Buttocks also beautifully rounded. So smooth, so young. I reckon, thought Quentin, I am beginning to prefer this blonde to her dark haired sister, Maria, just a year older. But there wasn’t much to it. Both made a superb fuck... and Melissa had seen to it that they had been taught to suck superbly. He gave the buttock cheek a gentle slap.
“Go and serve your Mistress,” he ordered.
Heidi moved across to Melissa and poured more wine. As always when near Melissa, Heidi trembled inwardly. She was in mortal dread of this sloe-eyed woman. Not surprising in view of all that she had done to her... and was still capable of doing. It was true that women could be crueler to their own kind.
Quentin glanced at his watch. “Another half hour and I’ll go and stick that dildoe up her,” he said.
“Yes... you do that, dear husband,” nodded Melissa with a brief, tigerish smile. “And don’t be too gentle about it. That arrogant cow deserves everything that’s coming to her!” That was a statement it would have been remarkably difficult to justify... but it was how Melissa thought. Why... that haughty-looking French aristocrat had actually insulted her! Well, she had been made to feel, and look, a lot less haughty. By Melissa personally.
Simone, it must be said, had now remained secured over the Punishment Block for an hour and a half, following her thirty-stroke caning by Quentin. She had received a stimulant injection to ensure she was fully aware of the agonising throbbing-burning of every single weal which encircled her buttocks and thigh-tops. Simone was fulsomely curvaceous in that area. The weals were long. She was moaning softly but almost continuously, except when shaken by a series of deep-groaning sobs. No sound could have better epitomised the bottomless pit of her wretchedness and despair. But it was a sound which did not reach the drawing room.
“I think I’ll go and do a little shopping,” said Melissa, getting up and tossing the remains of her glass into Maria’s face. The girl, who had been standing attentively alongside, uttered a little gasp but did not move.
The wine trickled down over her breasts, which were as rounded as her sister’s but just a shade larger.“You girl, come dress me in something else.”
“Yes... M-Mistress,” said Maria meekly and followed after Melissa.
“Spoil yourself,” called Quentin as his wife disappeared.
“Have fun... “came her answer from a distance.
‘Fun’ began for Quentin when he returned to the Main Hallway a short while later. It was there that the Punishment Block had been set down temporarily. It had been a birthday present from Melissa and was of somewhat unusual design. The victim placed over it had her torso falling straight down its front, her neck secured in a collar and her wrists linked to that collar. Thus her buttocks were at the apex, thrust up high by a leather bolster... a posture which offered, most particularly, her lower buttocks and thigh tops for attention. A most sensitive region. The thighs, which sloped down at an angle of about forty-five degrees, were not secured, but the calves were trapped under a heavy wooden trestle. But the main securing strap was a broad one which buckled around the waist at the front side of the bolster. Thus the girl was held rigid from waist to head, forced to keep her bottom squarely presented yet permitted some limited movement in that region. Simone had taken full advantage of that small freedom whilst being caned by Quentin! And, although held down by the heavy trestle, her lower limbs had repeatedly kicked and splayed as her torment had mounted.
Listening to the moans, Quentin surveyed the weal-striped hindquarters. By God, he thought, I really gave it to her that time! It was the worst thrashing she’d yet had from him.
Those long weals... red-mauve tracks, crossing and criss-crossing everywhere. She’d be mighty glad when he sent her for treatment. A spasm of those groaning-sobs shook Simone. Was she aware of his presence, he wondered? He picked up the rod he had used... and tapped Simone’s bottom lightly.
The woman screamed uninhibitedly in stark terror...
“Well, my slave,” said Quentin loudly... and with a casualness he did not feel. “Are you now sorry you disobeyed your Master?”
Another and louder series of sobs, but no coherent answer. Quentin tapped again. Simone squirmed and shuddered uncontrollably.
“M-Mercy... “came a hoarse croak. Despite her injection, Simone’s mind was still half-wandering. The pain was too intense.
“Are you hearing me, slave?”
“Y-er... esss... u-u-ughhhh... y-yess... M-Master... ugh... uuggh... uuugghhh.”
“Then answer me!” Quentin tapped rather harder... and Simone screamed again.”
“M-MERCY... AAAAGGGHHHH... M-MERCY... M-MASTER!” Simone was half-crazed with dread.
“I shall repeat the question,” said Quentin heavily. “Are you sorry you disobeyed your Master?”
“U-u-ughhhh... u-u-u-ugghhh... y-y-uuughhh... es... y-yes... M-Master...” Simone managed to choke.
Quentin smiled faintly. Who wouldn’t be, with a bottom in that state, he thought! He felt no remorse. It was not in his make-up. Well, perhaps that is not entirely true. There had been odd moments of remorse... even pity... in the early days of Julia. But he had hardened a lot since then. Perhaps Melissa’s example had something to do with that. Now, if a slave... a plaything... had to suffer, so be it!
“Do you recall WHY I had to cane you?” asked Quentin.
There was a long pause, broken by more heaving sobs. “Y-Yer... Y-Yer... ess... M-Master...” Simone said at last.
“Because you were disobedient, slave, eh? And that I will NOT have!”
“Mmmfff... u-u-ughhhh... mmmfff... u-u-ugggghhh...”
Quentin watched the repeated quivering contractions of Simone’s sumptuous buttocks. This was some woman. Plenty of meat on her. She made a pleasant contrast to the younger, riper charms of Maria and Heidi. Not that Simone was by any means fat or overweight. It was just that she was generously and maturely made.
“You refused to have that dildoe up you. Very foolish. Since it’s going up you in any event...”
“Mmmfff... u-u-ughhhh... Oh God... n-no... oooo... h-have mercy... have mercy... kill me... r-rather...”
“Don’t be foolish, woman, “said Quentin briskly. “You’re here for my amusement. And to serve me.”
“U-UUUUGGGGHHHH...” One long groan seemed to say it all. This was utter defeat. Utter degradation.
Quentin took the black dildoe off the table. It had a purplish knob and glistened with the grease with which it had been coated.
It was six inches long and not particularly thickly girthed. In due time, Simone would be taking a nine-inch dildoe and solidly-rounded with it. This was but the first state. She had to be stretched. In a certain sense, it could be called a ‘merciful’ procedure, reflected Quentin. To be bum-fucked by Cassim, when in a virgin state, would have been a true savagery. A mutilation. No point in that, really. Best this way...
“Open your thighs,” ordered Quentin. He held the dildoe ready. Despite Melissa’s injunction, he intended to go easily.
The thighs remained closed.
Simone groaned horribly again.
“Do you want to feel the rod again?” Demanded Quentin in a voice of steel.
Hesitantly... so reluctantly... those thighs parted.
“You’ll soon get used to it,” said Quentin, rather like a kindly doctor with his patient. He pressed the knob of the dildoe to Simone’s anus. She began to wriggle as best she could... but she could not wriggle far. Quentin had her at his mercy.
“NO... OOOOOOOOOO!” It was a shrieking cry as the knob forced its way in. “DON’T... FOR GOD’S SAKE... DON’T... NO... OOOOOOOOOO!”
Quentin paused. There was no hurry. Anyway, he was enjoying the moment. “I could give you the lot in one, slave,” he said, “if I felt like it. So think yourself lucky!”
However, from the horrible sounds Simone was making, she obviously did not consider this her lucky day.
Another inch...
Another shrieking cry... and even more desperate.
“Think yourself lucky it’s not Cassim’s prick,” said Quentin, “he’d be in far more of a hurry...
Another inch...
Simone’s shrieking began to become hysterical. Her pleas would have melted a heart of stone. But not Quentin’s. Grinning with sadistic lechery, he continued to force the dildoe in... inch by inch..every minute or so... until only its black base was visible.
Simone’s shrieking had ceased. She was nearly insensible. Groaning again. It seemed to Quentin that a further injection was required. Two a day was the maximum. He gave it to his helpless victim... whose awful sobbing and weeping filled the Hall as she revived.
“You’re staying there for another couple of hours,” announced Quentin. “By that time, it will be beginning to feel like a normal part of you...
“Uuuuuurrrrrffff... uuuurrrrrfffff... uuuuuurrrrrrffffff...”
“For the next few weeks,” continued Quentin, “you’ll have one up you for eight hours a day. Every day. And they’ll get bigger. By the time I’ve finished, you’ll be taking nine inches. Like Julia and the girls now can. Nothing to it, my beauty!”
He gave Simone’s scarred bottom a none to gentle slap. Was he getting through to her? Did she understand? Or was she too distraught? It didn’t matter much. She’d hear all the glad tidings again on the morrow anyway!
“Uuuuuurrrrrrffffff... uuuuuurrrrrrffffff... uuuurrrrrfffff...”
No... it did not seem that, at the moment, Simone was quite COMPOS MENTIS. A pity, but no matter. Quentin swung on his heel, left the Hall and returned to the small drawing room.
Maria and Heidi were still in silent attendance. Each curtsied as Quentin entered. Lighting a small cigar, Quentin surveyed them both at his leisure. From a distance and closely. They were his possessions. Like objets d’arts. To be admired, used, then sold when no longer required. A nice feeling that. Also nice to know that he could have either or both any time he wished. As it happened, he was feeling rather lazy. More like drinking. Perhaps, during a drowsy afternoon, he would have one of them suck him. Something that didn’t require a great deal of effort from him. Thank God for Madame Vesta’s pills... they kept him in fine sexual fettle. Without them, Quentin did not think he would be able to perform half as well as he did, which was like that of a man in his early-forties rather than mid-fifties.
I’ll sit by the pool under an umbrella, thought. Have some more wine, then a light lunch. Perhaps Melissa would be back by then. But it didn’t matter very much. The two of them worked more and more independently these days. It suited them both well. There was not the slightest animosity about each other’s activities. Melissa could have her ‘studs’, laid on by Madame Boite, while he could do whatever he desired with the various women he possessed. Quite a set-up. Indeed, for one of Quentin Osman’s temperament, one could have called it perfect!
Coming to the k**ney-shaped pool, Quentin was rather surprised to find it empty of water.
Instead, there was a naked figure within its blue-walled depths. It was Julia. And she was scr****g and rubbing and scrubbing green slime from the sides and floor of the pool. She was, it seemed, about halfway through her arduous task. Quentin stood silent... watching... hearing Julia’s heavy breathing, seeing the sweat on her naked body. Yes... it must have been hot enough down in that pool at that time of day, even it one were not working, as she was.
Incredible, reflected Quentin, that this was once my fiance. A woman who, through her beauty and domineering arrogance, had once controlled him. Reduced him to pulp by her sheer sexuality. Had been able to order him around like a little boy... because he was so mad about her. And, all the time, she had been cheating him. Both financially and with other men. When he had found out, Quentin had had a series of fits of rage that had verged on madness. Only in the nick of time had he discovered Madame Vesta’s incredible organisation, and in a pretty short time Julia had been consigned to the ‘S.S.Paradise’ and, thereafter, to a life of perpetual slavery. How long ago that all seemed! Yet there Julia still was. Alive. And still suffering. How delightful! How absolutely delightful!
Many men had wanted revenge on faithless, hard and calculating women. Quentin had had it in full measure and that revenge was of the sweetest.
He seated himself under a colourful umbrella and continued to watch Julia’s efforts. Tired as she was, it was remarkable how she kept going. Doubtless Melissa had set her this back-breaking task, with a very nasty threat to go with it! Yes... oh yes!
Her body is still as lovely as I first remember it, thought Quentin, despite all it has had to endure. How incredibly resilient is the human mind and frame, even under the most arduous conditions. Somehow it adapts. Had not tens of thousands survived years in German and Russian camps under conditions far more appalling that Julia had to endure? Yes... they had. And now Julia was surviving. Despite all her suffering.
“Julia...” said Quentin softly.
The naked sweating woman went on scrubbing.
“Julia,” he said again, more loudly.
The scrubbing motion stopped; Julia sagged nearly to her knees, then turned. Her anguished face was almost unrecognisable. Her hair was a matted mess; her mouth awry. Here was a woman near the end of her tether.
“M-Master...” came a sighing gasp, then Julia sank to her knees, head bowed.
True... TRUE... submission, though Quentin, looking down happily. “Come up here, slave,” he ordered.
Weak-kneed, Julia climbed the wooden ladder, fell as she reached its top, then staggered towards Quentin’ chair. There she fell to her knees, head bowed, shoulders heaving. The sweat on her skin glistened in the sun.
“Working under your Mistress’s orders?”
“Y-Yes... hah... yes... hah... Master...”
“Finding it hard going?”
“Y-Yes... yes..rather hard... M-Master...”
“How long have you got, slave?”
“Un... until... this... evening... Master...”
“And if you don’t finish?”
“I shall get a whipping Master... “
“Ahh... not a caning... or birching... but a whipping, eh?”
“Y-Yes..yes... M-Master. M-My... my Mistress s-said she would ... would use her w-whip...”
Quentin inclined his head sagely. “I can see why you are putting your back into it, Julia,” he said.
Julia said nothing. Her head remained bowed. One could see the exhaustion in her body. Quentin smiled. It was good... good. This attractive young woman was his first and paramount slave, the sadistic pleasure he got out of her was beyond compare!
At Quentin’s side was a bell. He rang it... and Maria and Heidi came scampering out of the house, breasts dancing, flesh all alive-oh!
“Bring me another bottle of wine,” he ordered. “And two glasses...”
“Yes... yes... Master... at once...”
It was Heidi who ran the fastest and returned with a laden ice-bucket. She got no thanks. Quentin simply slapped her bottom and told her to go back inside with her sister. The two teenagers scampered off again. Nakedly nubile. Under other circumstances one could have imagined both of them perfectly happy!
“Julia...”
The dark head came up. Eyes blank, features distorted, a mouth virtually out of control. But still recognisably Julia. His Julia.
“M-Master?” Pathetically weak. A voice in submission. Oh dear god, if only he had a recording of that voice of yesteryear! What an enchanting contrast it would make...
“Sit down here...” Quentin indicated the chair opposite himself. One which Melissa would doubtless have been occupying if she had been at home.
Julia did not seem to understand. Her mouth sagged a little, her eyes darted from side to side. This must be just another trap. Surely.
“Did you hear me?”
“Yes... y-yes... Master...”
“Then do as I order!”
“Yes... oooh... yes... my Master...”
Julia rose quickly and hurrying to the chair, seated herself. Her sweat-covered body was trembling. Quentin smiled benignly then he filled the glass alongside Julia. “Have a drink,” he said.
There was a dazed, non-comprehending look about Julia. She felt as if she were in a dream. “I... I... h-have my w-work... Master,” she said.
“You have my order,” replied Quentin.
Without delay, Julia picked up her glass and drank. Fast and deep. An empty glass went down... and Quentin refilled it. Julia drank again... out of sheer thirst more than anything.
“This little interlude may get you whipped,” smiled Quentin. “On the other hand it may be worth it...”
“NO! Oh... n-noooo... Master...” Julia came half off the chair and fell to her knees. “P-Please... please... let me go back to work...”
Quentin smile again. “I would have thought you would appreciate a break.“
“M-Master... my Mistress... w-will... whip me... oh god... Master... I beg you to let me g-go... b-back... “
Could this be Julia? His original Julia? Begging to go back to a task designed to drive her to the verge of utter exhaustion? Yes... it was... oh it was!
Quentin re-filled Julia’s glass... and his own.
“Relax girl,” he said condescendingly. “You don’t often get a chance to do so.”
“P-Please... Master... I must w-work.”
“Just do as you are told Julia,” said Quentin sternly. “You are still my slave... as well as being that of your Mistress...”
Julia sobbed and her head bowed momentarily again. “I... I would never disobey you... M-Master...” she managed to say.
Quentin smiled an indulgent smile. Oh joy... oh bliss! Oh how different from former times. Though he had degraded Julia time and time again... to the limit... there was still an exquisite kind of joy in continuing to debase her.
How long would it continue, Quentin wondered?
Surely there must be a limit...
Had he not had everything he could possibly want from this woman-creature?
Revenge above all...
Sexual satisfaction...
Sadistic satisfaction...
Complete mastery...
Her utter, utter degradation...
Her utter, utter grovelling servility...
What more could her ask...
What more could he want...
Nothing. He had conquered her completely.
“Would you like me to fuck you, Julia?”
“I... ahh... I should... b-be most honoured... M-Master...”
“I am sure you would. But, at the moment, I am feeling a little bit lazy. Anyway, I am reserving myself for one of those youngsters this afternoon.”
“I... I understand, M-Master...”
“You may go back to work, slave.”
“Thank you... Master...”
Julia rose from her chair, bowed low and returned to the bottom of the empty pool. Quentin saw the effort she had to make to take up her brush and start scrubbing again. But then, if she did not, Melissa would whip her. That was a most potent incentive!
Quentin sat back and idly contemplated the luscious curves of Julia’s hindquarters. Oh what a pleasure they had given him... one way or another!
The girl had guts. No doubt about it. After all she had gone through. Quite incredible she should have kept her looks as she had done.
Perhaps his first choice had been right after all.
It was just that damned arrogant temperament of hers... all the same a plan was beginning to form in his mind.
“She deserved it,” replied Melissa callously. She was dressed in a lightweight pale-blue pyjama-suit and, thought Quentin, looked most fetching. He was lucky to have such a beautiful, understanding and competent wife.
“Oh, I agree,” nodded Quentin. “Can’t have disobedience in a slave, can we? Still, if Simone wants to learn the hard way, that’s her affair.” He drained his glass and snapped his fingers... and blonde Heidi came hurrying to his side, apple-round breasts swaying delectably, the soft flesh of her thighs quivering with her movements.
“Yes, Master?”
Quentin said nothing but merely pointed to his glass. At once Heidi turned and went to fetch the bottle from its ice-bucket, thus favouring Quentin with a view of her soft-bouncing bottom as it swung seductively from side to side. That too, he reflected, had felt plenty of the rod in its time. And, doubtless, would continue to do so on occasions! Heidi came back, seemingly unmoved, her pretty face set. Yet there was a dullness of despair in her blue eyes. She had become used to being nude under the gaze of both men and women... to obeying their orders, however difficult or repellent they might be. She had suffered enough already and wished to suffer as little as possible in future. Thus, in mind, spirit and body, she now submitted. And obeyed. Carefully she poured the chilled white wine into her Master’s glass. Oh yes... it had become natural for her to think of Quentin as that. Just as she thought of Melissa as her Mistress.
“Do you know, Heidi,” said Quentin with a smirk, “you’ve got very good tits. Nicely round, nicely firm.”
“Th-thank you, Master,” replied Heidi, bobbing a half curtsey which set her breasts bobbing too. Casually, Quentin fondled one of them, tweaking the rose-pink nipple. Amazing, her thought, to realise that but a few months ago, if he had attempted to do any such thing, this girl would have gone berserk. Screaming the place down. Now he could do anything he liked with her... and she accepted it. More than that, she CO-OPERATED.
Quentin transferred his hand to Heidi’s taut-skinned bottom. Buttocks also beautifully rounded. So smooth, so young. I reckon, thought Quentin, I am beginning to prefer this blonde to her dark haired sister, Maria, just a year older. But there wasn’t much to it. Both made a superb fuck... and Melissa had seen to it that they had been taught to suck superbly. He gave the buttock cheek a gentle slap.
“Go and serve your Mistress,” he ordered.
Heidi moved across to Melissa and poured more wine. As always when near Melissa, Heidi trembled inwardly. She was in mortal dread of this sloe-eyed woman. Not surprising in view of all that she had done to her... and was still capable of doing. It was true that women could be crueler to their own kind.
Quentin glanced at his watch. “Another half hour and I’ll go and stick that dildoe up her,” he said.
“Yes... you do that, dear husband,” nodded Melissa with a brief, tigerish smile. “And don’t be too gentle about it. That arrogant cow deserves everything that’s coming to her!” That was a statement it would have been remarkably difficult to justify... but it was how Melissa thought. Why... that haughty-looking French aristocrat had actually insulted her! Well, she had been made to feel, and look, a lot less haughty. By Melissa personally.
Simone, it must be said, had now remained secured over the Punishment Block for an hour and a half, following her thirty-stroke caning by Quentin. She had received a stimulant injection to ensure she was fully aware of the agonising throbbing-burning of every single weal which encircled her buttocks and thigh-tops. Simone was fulsomely curvaceous in that area. The weals were long. She was moaning softly but almost continuously, except when shaken by a series of deep-groaning sobs. No sound could have better epitomised the bottomless pit of her wretchedness and despair. But it was a sound which did not reach the drawing room.
“I think I’ll go and do a little shopping,” said Melissa, getting up and tossing the remains of her glass into Maria’s face. The girl, who had been standing attentively alongside, uttered a little gasp but did not move.
The wine trickled down over her breasts, which were as rounded as her sister’s but just a shade larger.“You girl, come dress me in something else.”
“Yes... M-Mistress,” said Maria meekly and followed after Melissa.
“Spoil yourself,” called Quentin as his wife disappeared.
“Have fun... “came her answer from a distance.
‘Fun’ began for Quentin when he returned to the Main Hallway a short while later. It was there that the Punishment Block had been set down temporarily. It had been a birthday present from Melissa and was of somewhat unusual design. The victim placed over it had her torso falling straight down its front, her neck secured in a collar and her wrists linked to that collar. Thus her buttocks were at the apex, thrust up high by a leather bolster... a posture which offered, most particularly, her lower buttocks and thigh tops for attention. A most sensitive region. The thighs, which sloped down at an angle of about forty-five degrees, were not secured, but the calves were trapped under a heavy wooden trestle. But the main securing strap was a broad one which buckled around the waist at the front side of the bolster. Thus the girl was held rigid from waist to head, forced to keep her bottom squarely presented yet permitted some limited movement in that region. Simone had taken full advantage of that small freedom whilst being caned by Quentin! And, although held down by the heavy trestle, her lower limbs had repeatedly kicked and splayed as her torment had mounted.
Listening to the moans, Quentin surveyed the weal-striped hindquarters. By God, he thought, I really gave it to her that time! It was the worst thrashing she’d yet had from him.
Those long weals... red-mauve tracks, crossing and criss-crossing everywhere. She’d be mighty glad when he sent her for treatment. A spasm of those groaning-sobs shook Simone. Was she aware of his presence, he wondered? He picked up the rod he had used... and tapped Simone’s bottom lightly.
The woman screamed uninhibitedly in stark terror...
“Well, my slave,” said Quentin loudly... and with a casualness he did not feel. “Are you now sorry you disobeyed your Master?”
Another and louder series of sobs, but no coherent answer. Quentin tapped again. Simone squirmed and shuddered uncontrollably.
“M-Mercy... “came a hoarse croak. Despite her injection, Simone’s mind was still half-wandering. The pain was too intense.
“Are you hearing me, slave?”
“Y-er... esss... u-u-ughhhh... y-yess... M-Master... ugh... uuggh... uuugghhh.”
“Then answer me!” Quentin tapped rather harder... and Simone screamed again.”
“M-MERCY... AAAAGGGHHHH... M-MERCY... M-MASTER!” Simone was half-crazed with dread.
“I shall repeat the question,” said Quentin heavily. “Are you sorry you disobeyed your Master?”
“U-u-ughhhh... u-u-u-ugghhh... y-y-uuughhh... es... y-yes... M-Master...” Simone managed to choke.
Quentin smiled faintly. Who wouldn’t be, with a bottom in that state, he thought! He felt no remorse. It was not in his make-up. Well, perhaps that is not entirely true. There had been odd moments of remorse... even pity... in the early days of Julia. But he had hardened a lot since then. Perhaps Melissa’s example had something to do with that. Now, if a slave... a plaything... had to suffer, so be it!
“Do you recall WHY I had to cane you?” asked Quentin.
There was a long pause, broken by more heaving sobs. “Y-Yer... Y-Yer... ess... M-Master...” Simone said at last.
“Because you were disobedient, slave, eh? And that I will NOT have!”
“Mmmfff... u-u-ughhhh... mmmfff... u-u-ugggghhh...”
Quentin watched the repeated quivering contractions of Simone’s sumptuous buttocks. This was some woman. Plenty of meat on her. She made a pleasant contrast to the younger, riper charms of Maria and Heidi. Not that Simone was by any means fat or overweight. It was just that she was generously and maturely made.
“You refused to have that dildoe up you. Very foolish. Since it’s going up you in any event...”
“Mmmfff... u-u-ughhhh... Oh God... n-no... oooo... h-have mercy... have mercy... kill me... r-rather...”
“Don’t be foolish, woman, “said Quentin briskly. “You’re here for my amusement. And to serve me.”
“U-UUUUGGGGHHHH...” One long groan seemed to say it all. This was utter defeat. Utter degradation.
Quentin took the black dildoe off the table. It had a purplish knob and glistened with the grease with which it had been coated.
It was six inches long and not particularly thickly girthed. In due time, Simone would be taking a nine-inch dildoe and solidly-rounded with it. This was but the first state. She had to be stretched. In a certain sense, it could be called a ‘merciful’ procedure, reflected Quentin. To be bum-fucked by Cassim, when in a virgin state, would have been a true savagery. A mutilation. No point in that, really. Best this way...
“Open your thighs,” ordered Quentin. He held the dildoe ready. Despite Melissa’s injunction, he intended to go easily.
The thighs remained closed.
Simone groaned horribly again.
“Do you want to feel the rod again?” Demanded Quentin in a voice of steel.
Hesitantly... so reluctantly... those thighs parted.
“You’ll soon get used to it,” said Quentin, rather like a kindly doctor with his patient. He pressed the knob of the dildoe to Simone’s anus. She began to wriggle as best she could... but she could not wriggle far. Quentin had her at his mercy.
“NO... OOOOOOOOOO!” It was a shrieking cry as the knob forced its way in. “DON’T... FOR GOD’S SAKE... DON’T... NO... OOOOOOOOOO!”
Quentin paused. There was no hurry. Anyway, he was enjoying the moment. “I could give you the lot in one, slave,” he said, “if I felt like it. So think yourself lucky!”
However, from the horrible sounds Simone was making, she obviously did not consider this her lucky day.
Another inch...
Another shrieking cry... and even more desperate.
“Think yourself lucky it’s not Cassim’s prick,” said Quentin, “he’d be in far more of a hurry...
Another inch...
Simone’s shrieking began to become hysterical. Her pleas would have melted a heart of stone. But not Quentin’s. Grinning with sadistic lechery, he continued to force the dildoe in... inch by inch..every minute or so... until only its black base was visible.
Simone’s shrieking had ceased. She was nearly insensible. Groaning again. It seemed to Quentin that a further injection was required. Two a day was the maximum. He gave it to his helpless victim... whose awful sobbing and weeping filled the Hall as she revived.
“You’re staying there for another couple of hours,” announced Quentin. “By that time, it will be beginning to feel like a normal part of you...
“Uuuuuurrrrrffff... uuuurrrrrfffff... uuuuuurrrrrrffffff...”
“For the next few weeks,” continued Quentin, “you’ll have one up you for eight hours a day. Every day. And they’ll get bigger. By the time I’ve finished, you’ll be taking nine inches. Like Julia and the girls now can. Nothing to it, my beauty!”
He gave Simone’s scarred bottom a none to gentle slap. Was he getting through to her? Did she understand? Or was she too distraught? It didn’t matter much. She’d hear all the glad tidings again on the morrow anyway!
“Uuuuuurrrrrrffffff... uuuuuurrrrrrffffff... uuuurrrrrfffff...”
No... it did not seem that, at the moment, Simone was quite COMPOS MENTIS. A pity, but no matter. Quentin swung on his heel, left the Hall and returned to the small drawing room.
Maria and Heidi were still in silent attendance. Each curtsied as Quentin entered. Lighting a small cigar, Quentin surveyed them both at his leisure. From a distance and closely. They were his possessions. Like objets d’arts. To be admired, used, then sold when no longer required. A nice feeling that. Also nice to know that he could have either or both any time he wished. As it happened, he was feeling rather lazy. More like drinking. Perhaps, during a drowsy afternoon, he would have one of them suck him. Something that didn’t require a great deal of effort from him. Thank God for Madame Vesta’s pills... they kept him in fine sexual fettle. Without them, Quentin did not think he would be able to perform half as well as he did, which was like that of a man in his early-forties rather than mid-fifties.
I’ll sit by the pool under an umbrella, thought. Have some more wine, then a light lunch. Perhaps Melissa would be back by then. But it didn’t matter very much. The two of them worked more and more independently these days. It suited them both well. There was not the slightest animosity about each other’s activities. Melissa could have her ‘studs’, laid on by Madame Boite, while he could do whatever he desired with the various women he possessed. Quite a set-up. Indeed, for one of Quentin Osman’s temperament, one could have called it perfect!
Coming to the k**ney-shaped pool, Quentin was rather surprised to find it empty of water.
Instead, there was a naked figure within its blue-walled depths. It was Julia. And she was scr****g and rubbing and scrubbing green slime from the sides and floor of the pool. She was, it seemed, about halfway through her arduous task. Quentin stood silent... watching... hearing Julia’s heavy breathing, seeing the sweat on her naked body. Yes... it must have been hot enough down in that pool at that time of day, even it one were not working, as she was.
Incredible, reflected Quentin, that this was once my fiance. A woman who, through her beauty and domineering arrogance, had once controlled him. Reduced him to pulp by her sheer sexuality. Had been able to order him around like a little boy... because he was so mad about her. And, all the time, she had been cheating him. Both financially and with other men. When he had found out, Quentin had had a series of fits of rage that had verged on madness. Only in the nick of time had he discovered Madame Vesta’s incredible organisation, and in a pretty short time Julia had been consigned to the ‘S.S.Paradise’ and, thereafter, to a life of perpetual slavery. How long ago that all seemed! Yet there Julia still was. Alive. And still suffering. How delightful! How absolutely delightful!
Many men had wanted revenge on faithless, hard and calculating women. Quentin had had it in full measure and that revenge was of the sweetest.
He seated himself under a colourful umbrella and continued to watch Julia’s efforts. Tired as she was, it was remarkable how she kept going. Doubtless Melissa had set her this back-breaking task, with a very nasty threat to go with it! Yes... oh yes!
Her body is still as lovely as I first remember it, thought Quentin, despite all it has had to endure. How incredibly resilient is the human mind and frame, even under the most arduous conditions. Somehow it adapts. Had not tens of thousands survived years in German and Russian camps under conditions far more appalling that Julia had to endure? Yes... they had. And now Julia was surviving. Despite all her suffering.
“Julia...” said Quentin softly.
The naked sweating woman went on scrubbing.
“Julia,” he said again, more loudly.
The scrubbing motion stopped; Julia sagged nearly to her knees, then turned. Her anguished face was almost unrecognisable. Her hair was a matted mess; her mouth awry. Here was a woman near the end of her tether.
“M-Master...” came a sighing gasp, then Julia sank to her knees, head bowed.
True... TRUE... submission, though Quentin, looking down happily. “Come up here, slave,” he ordered.
Weak-kneed, Julia climbed the wooden ladder, fell as she reached its top, then staggered towards Quentin’ chair. There she fell to her knees, head bowed, shoulders heaving. The sweat on her skin glistened in the sun.
“Working under your Mistress’s orders?”
“Y-Yes... hah... yes... hah... Master...”
“Finding it hard going?”
“Y-Yes... yes..rather hard... M-Master...”
“How long have you got, slave?”
“Un... until... this... evening... Master...”
“And if you don’t finish?”
“I shall get a whipping Master... “
“Ahh... not a caning... or birching... but a whipping, eh?”
“Y-Yes..yes... M-Master. M-My... my Mistress s-said she would ... would use her w-whip...”
Quentin inclined his head sagely. “I can see why you are putting your back into it, Julia,” he said.
Julia said nothing. Her head remained bowed. One could see the exhaustion in her body. Quentin smiled. It was good... good. This attractive young woman was his first and paramount slave, the sadistic pleasure he got out of her was beyond compare!
At Quentin’s side was a bell. He rang it... and Maria and Heidi came scampering out of the house, breasts dancing, flesh all alive-oh!
“Bring me another bottle of wine,” he ordered. “And two glasses...”
“Yes... yes... Master... at once...”
It was Heidi who ran the fastest and returned with a laden ice-bucket. She got no thanks. Quentin simply slapped her bottom and told her to go back inside with her sister. The two teenagers scampered off again. Nakedly nubile. Under other circumstances one could have imagined both of them perfectly happy!
“Julia...”
The dark head came up. Eyes blank, features distorted, a mouth virtually out of control. But still recognisably Julia. His Julia.
“M-Master?” Pathetically weak. A voice in submission. Oh dear god, if only he had a recording of that voice of yesteryear! What an enchanting contrast it would make...
“Sit down here...” Quentin indicated the chair opposite himself. One which Melissa would doubtless have been occupying if she had been at home.
Julia did not seem to understand. Her mouth sagged a little, her eyes darted from side to side. This must be just another trap. Surely.
“Did you hear me?”
“Yes... y-yes... Master...”
“Then do as I order!”
“Yes... oooh... yes... my Master...”
Julia rose quickly and hurrying to the chair, seated herself. Her sweat-covered body was trembling. Quentin smiled benignly then he filled the glass alongside Julia. “Have a drink,” he said.
There was a dazed, non-comprehending look about Julia. She felt as if she were in a dream. “I... I... h-have my w-work... Master,” she said.
“You have my order,” replied Quentin.
Without delay, Julia picked up her glass and drank. Fast and deep. An empty glass went down... and Quentin refilled it. Julia drank again... out of sheer thirst more than anything.
“This little interlude may get you whipped,” smiled Quentin. “On the other hand it may be worth it...”
“NO! Oh... n-noooo... Master...” Julia came half off the chair and fell to her knees. “P-Please... please... let me go back to work...”
Quentin smile again. “I would have thought you would appreciate a break.“
“M-Master... my Mistress... w-will... whip me... oh god... Master... I beg you to let me g-go... b-back... “
Could this be Julia? His original Julia? Begging to go back to a task designed to drive her to the verge of utter exhaustion? Yes... it was... oh it was!
Quentin re-filled Julia’s glass... and his own.
“Relax girl,” he said condescendingly. “You don’t often get a chance to do so.”
“P-Please... Master... I must w-work.”
“Just do as you are told Julia,” said Quentin sternly. “You are still my slave... as well as being that of your Mistress...”
Julia sobbed and her head bowed momentarily again. “I... I would never disobey you... M-Master...” she managed to say.
Quentin smiled an indulgent smile. Oh joy... oh bliss! Oh how different from former times. Though he had degraded Julia time and time again... to the limit... there was still an exquisite kind of joy in continuing to debase her.
How long would it continue, Quentin wondered?
Surely there must be a limit...
Had he not had everything he could possibly want from this woman-creature?
Revenge above all...
Sexual satisfaction...
Sadistic satisfaction...
Complete mastery...
Her utter, utter degradation...
Her utter, utter grovelling servility...
What more could her ask...
What more could he want...
Nothing. He had conquered her completely.
“Would you like me to fuck you, Julia?”
“I... ahh... I should... b-be most honoured... M-Master...”
“I am sure you would. But, at the moment, I am feeling a little bit lazy. Anyway, I am reserving myself for one of those youngsters this afternoon.”
“I... I understand, M-Master...”
“You may go back to work, slave.”
“Thank you... Master...”
Julia rose from her chair, bowed low and returned to the bottom of the empty pool. Quentin saw the effort she had to make to take up her brush and start scrubbing again. But then, if she did not, Melissa would whip her. That was a most potent incentive!
Quentin sat back and idly contemplated the luscious curves of Julia’s hindquarters. Oh what a pleasure they had given him... one way or another!
The girl had guts. No doubt about it. After all she had gone through. Quite incredible she should have kept her looks as she had done.
Perhaps his first choice had been right after all.
It was just that damned arrogant temperament of hers... all the same a plan was beginning to form in his mind.
Bree
- 29.03.2021
- 21
- 0
