Enslaved on an Alien World Ch 02
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Enslaved Chapter 27 free porn video
Glenda Osman was appraising her new quarters. She was not exactly crazy about Scottish baronial halls – nor Scottish weather - but she had to admit there were compensations.
Quentin had spared no expense in furnishings and decor; her private bedroom and drawing room were as comfortable as she could have wished. I am living like a ‘Lady’ she told herself. Like a ‘Lady’ of Edwardian times. That was quite something for a girl who was brought up on the wrong side of the tracks in Tulsa.
Still, all that was quite a time ago. She had come a long way since then.
“Rosalie . . . how are you making out with the unpacking?” Glenda’s voice was sharp. Domineering. It was the kind of tone she could use with Rosalie . . . a young woman who was in hock to her up to, and even over, the limit.
“Nearly finished, Glenda . . . I’m sorry . . . I mean, nearly finished, Ma’am”.
A faint smile crossed Glenda’s thin lips as she continued to comb her hair in front of the dressing table mirror.
“Do you know, Rosalie,” she said, “that, if you were one of those two girls we have now got downstairs, you could have a cane laid across your bottom for such an error?”
There was quite a silence from the adjoining room.
“I . . . I’m sorry . . . I’m trying to get used to it . . . Ma’am . . .” said Rosalie. You’ll understand . . . I’m not used to . . . to being a lady’s maid . . . Ma’am . . .”
“Well, you better get used to it fast,” snapped Glenda.
How lovely it was to have other women in your power! As Rosalie was. Yet, compared with the two girls in the cellars, Rosalie was fortunate. It really was a most remarkable set-up. Still almost unbelievable. And how clever Osman was to have arranged it all.
Yes . . . there were many things to compensate for the gloominess of Cragness and the damp Scottish weather!
Glenda wondered vaguely what Osman was up to at that moment. Probably having a little fun with his two slave-girls. Well, he was perfectly entitled to that and she certainly didn’t mind a bit.
She could have some of her own fun later on. As often as she wanted.
Glenda felt a warm glow deep inside herself. Those two girls were really something. There seemed nothing they would not do to try to please her. At least, that had been her experience aboard the ‘Paradise’ brief as it had been so there didn’t seem any reason why things should change now.
Dark-haired, dark-eyed Rosalie came into the room and, as she had been told to, curtsied. It was a brief, almost casual gesture of respect . . . and, at once, Glenda’s thin eyebrows went up.
“Once again, Rosalie,” she said, “You could have earned yourself a taste of the rod if you were either Julia or Melissa. When you curtsey to me, do it properly. As if you mean it.”
Biting her lips to restrain her fury, Rosalie did as she was told. Her hate for Glenda Osman was unbounded but she was fully aware of the hopelessness of her position.. If she didn’t play it Glenda’s way she knew she was destined for a lifetime in some foul prison.
On the other hand, she reflected, compared with those two below she was lucky. In fact, after all she had heard, she could hardly wait to see these ‘slaves’ of Quentin Osman’s. For, to Rosalie, it was past all comprehension how two women of that kind and class could have been reduced to such appalling circumstances. Even though, under blackmail, she herself was virtually turning somersaults. Still . . . there were limits.
“That’s a bit better,” said Glenda condescendingly. Rosalie bridled . . . but then Glenda smiled. “Sorry, Rosalie,” she said, “but I can’t help overplaying my hand, I suppose. When you’ve got a
good one, you might as well. No doubt I’ll ease up on you when I’ve got Julia and Melissa to play with.”
“I . . . I’m glad to hear it . . .” mumbled Rosalie.
“Just remember,” said Glenda, “that they’re your servants, too. Especially when Quentin and I are not here. How does that feel?”
Rosalie’s dark eyes brightened. “Not bad . . . not at all bad . . .” she said.
“I suppose,” said Glenda, “I’ve just been trying to emphasise my control over you. For security reasons as much as anything.”
“I understand,” said Rosalie a little wearily.
Glenda suddenly opened her arms. “Come, my dear,” she said, “let’s make it like old times. Just for a little while anyway . . .”
Rosalie smiled.
It was an unexpected but most acceptable invitation. It meant that, for a while anyway, they would be equals. Indeed, she might even be in command. For Glenda could be made a slave to sex.
Rosalie went into the welcoming arms and kissed Glenda fully on the mouth.
“Why do you treat me in such a b**stly way, Glenda?” she asked as they broke away.
“Because . . . because . . . I enjoy doing so . . . I suppose,” answered Glenda.
“Bitch!”
Glenda slapped her playfully. “You can be a bitch too “I guess so . . .”
“Think of being a bitch with Julia . . . or Melissa.”
“I’m sure looking forward to something on those lines.”
“They’re delicious, believe me. And you can make them do anything.”
“Sounds the greatest.”
Both women were, by then, undressed completely. With arms around each other, they moved towards the bed. Mouth pressed to mouth, body to body. The weak and the powerful fused naked together, as one.
“Darling . . .”
“MMMMMMM . . .”
“Isn’t it lovely?”
“Mmmmmmmmm . . .”
Quentin lit a small, black cheroot, seated himself in a comfortably padded chair and turned his attention to the television set in front of him. It was operated by a similar press-button computer-console to the one he had used in the Punishment Room below.
Flick . . . flick . . .
The picture glowed into life, in full colour, to reveal Julia and Melissa still seated, facing inwards, on the velvet covered chairs. Fulsome, rounded buttocks, slightly compressed, on the edge of each seat. Two beautifully curvaceous bottoms. Bottoms which belonged to him.
Flick . . .
The camera changed so that Quentin had a front view of the two girls. The expression in the eyes of each, and on each face, was worth seeing. Despair . . . shame . . . horror. Yet . . . and yet . . . was there not also a suggestion of a****l lust?
Both girls, reflected Quentin, had been in that position for about an hour. Each with a massive dildoe thrust within her. Surely that must be having some effect? Even if it were an effect not truly wanted?
Yes . . . yes . . . that must be so! Quentin grinned.
He had been planning a little game . . . and it would shortly be time to get it under way. He looked at the two smooth backs as he flicked back to the original camera . . . saw the swelling hindquarters . . . the long thighs straddling the chairs. It would be difficult to make a judgement between the excellence of either girl.
Then Quentin contemplated what was concealed from him. What was within them . . . Because he had ordered it.
That pleased him mightily.
And the thought of what he was shortly going to do pleased him even more.
Flick . . . flick . . .
The screen went blank.
And, at that moment, Glenda and Rosalie walked, arm in arm, into the room.
“Curtsey to the Master,” said Glenda, giving Rosalie a playful slap on the rump.
Pulling a face, Rosalie did so and Quentin couldn’t help grinning.
He had to admit that the young woman looked most fetching in her black satin maid’s outfit, with its conventional frilly white apron . . . and it occurred to him that Julia and Melissa would look even more fetching in similar but far more abbreviated and revealing versions when they had to play the role of ‘maids’. That was something that Glenda had suggested and he fully approved the idea. It would do those two good to be at Glenda’s beck and call, he thought, for his wife had already proved herself a natural dominatrix.
“Been briefing Rosalie again?” enquired Quentin.
“That . . . and other things,” replied Glenda with a smile.
“Oh I see.” Quentin grinned again. His wife’s lesbian activities were - and always had been - an open book to him and, again, he fully approved.
“You needn’t worry about Rosalie, my dear,” said Glenda. “She knows the form and is very much one of us. Isn’t that so, Rosalie?”
“Oh yes . . .” came the reply. “Ma’am,” she added after a pause.
“You can cut that out now, Rosalie,” said Glenda. “I was only pressuring you to begin with. To see how you would react.” Glenda felt happily satisfied by what Rosalie had done to her and no longer felt any need to demonstrate her power.
“Thanks,” said Rosalie with a happy smile.
“Like I told Havers,” said Quentin, “you can have a lot of fun here if you keep to the rules and play it right. And keep your mouth shut, of course.
“Don’t worry . . . I will,” replied Rosalie. “Frankly, I’m intrigued. Who wouldn’t be?”
“Like to see them?” asked Quentin.
“Yes . . . I reckon I would,” answered Rosalie. She looked surprised when Quentin began to flick his switches and the colour picture of Julia and Melissa filled the screen.
“Closed-circuit TV,” explained Quentin. “Wired for sound, too.”
All three gazed at the naked backs and buttocks . . . and Rosalie gazed in most fascination of all. She could scarcely believe what she was seeing, even if it wasn’t in actuality but only on a screen.
“Why are they seated like that. Doesn’t look natural to me,” said Glenda.
Quentin laughed and gave an explanation for the postures of the two girls. Glenda joined in the laughter but Rosalie simply looked incredulous.
“You mean . . . oh my God . . . you mean that Miss Judith sent replicas of Ahmed and Jason?” said Glenda, when she could catch her breath.
“My . . . what a woman! What an idea! I’d love to have seen their faces when they saw those two great black dongers again!”
“You can see their faces now,” said Quentin.
He flicked the switch so that they had a front view. Then he zoomed in to Julia’s lovely features . . . seeing her resigned but despairing eyes and tear-stained cheeks. The full mouth gave a sudden quivering twitch.
“She’s been crying,” said Glenda, as if that were something unnatural.
“I guess she’s not too happy at having to sit there all this time with that thing up her,” said Quentin. He spoke as if he had played no part in the matter!
“I should have thought she would be getting rather excited by now,” said Glenda with a sardonic chuckle.
“Perhaps, she is,” said Quentin. “But that wouldn’t necessarily. Make her feel much happier. The girl must have a little pride left.”
“Not much, from what I’ve seen,” replied Glenda.
Quentin smiled broadly. “No, perhaps you’re right, my dear . . .”
“It’s incredible,” said Rosalie. Her voice was almost a whisper.
“How can they be made to stay like that? I don’t understand it . . .”
“You haven’t seen what they do to them aboard the ‘Paradise’,” said Quentin. “If you had, you would understand better.”
The dark-haired young woman shuddered. “It must be awful,” she murmured.
“It is,” agreed Quentin. “A girl very quickly learns to behave herself aboard that vessel! To obey . . . whatever the order is. Do you know, Rosalie, a girl can get a dozen strokes of the cane across her naked bottom simply for being a little slow to obey?”
“It’s almost impossible to believe,” replied Rosalie, shaking her head from side to side. Her eyes never left the screen.
“But it’s true,” confirmed Glenda.
“How can they stand it?” queried Rosalie.
“No option . . .” grinned Quentin.
“I didn’t quite mean that,” said Rosalie. “Their skin. It’s unmarked. You’d think they must be covered in scars.”
“That’s the only part that it’s difficult for anyone to understand,” agreed Quentin. “In fact, it’s a minor miracle really. A medical miracle.”
Then he went on to explain about the healing lamps and special ointment which eradicated weals and welts in a matter of hours rather than have them lingering on for days and even weeks.
“I see,” said Rosalie wonderingly, a hand going to her mouth.
“That really is amazing. And . . . in a way . . . makes it even worse for them . . .”
“Quite so,” nodded Quentin. “They’re always fresh and ready for whatever’s handed out to them. You can give it to them as hard as you like one day . . . and then do the same again in twenty four hours.”
Quentin switched the camera from Julia’s tear-streaked face back to her buttocks, moving in close. So close that all of them could see the occasional twitch and quiver of the soft flesh.
“I do believe she is getting excited,” said Glenda with a little laugh.
“Maybe,” said Quentin perfunctorily. “Look at that bottom, Rosalie. Smooth as a baby’s, isn’t it?”
“Yes . . .”
“Yet, if I gave Julia a birching within the hour - say eighteen strokes - and then put her under the lamps this evening, her bottom would look just as it does now by this time tomorrow.”
They all gazed at those swelling, gibbous-moons of buttock flesh . . . each thinking of just how much that area must have suffered in the last six-months or so. Perhaps Quentin got the most satisfaction from the thought for, after all, he had been the instigator of Julia’s downfall.
“How long you going to keep them there?” asked Glenda.
“Not much longer,” replied her husband. “In fact, I’m going down there now . . . to have a little fun. Like to come along?”
Glenda and Rosalie looked at each other in sudden excitement and together replied in the affirmative.
“How’s Jason feeling, Melissa?”
Standing behind the ornate chair, Quentin looked into the lovely face, seeing eyes clouded with misery, wide lips trembling a little.
“As . . . as ever, Master,” answered Melissa in a low but remarkably controlled voice.
“What’s that supposed to mean, girl?”
“B-Big . . . and . . . strong, Master.”
“That must be nice for you. Even if it isn’t the real thing, eh?”
“Y-Yes . . . M-Master . . .”
“Been up you longer than usual, too, eh”
“Y-Yes, Master . . .”
Rosalie, standing alongside Quentin, was looking half in fear, half in fascination at the lovely woman being so degraded. It was still beyond her comprehension how anyone could submit to such things. And to remain so seemingly composed and submissive.
Quentin moved on to Julia. “And how is it with you, my pretty one? Enjoying yourself”
“Y-Yes . . . M-Master.” Julia’s reply was huskier and a fraction less controlled than Melissa’s.
“Bet you wish it actually was Ahmed . . . and he was just about to give you a real solid fucking.”
Julia’s features twitched. A tear rolled out of the corner of one eye and down a damp cheek.
“Well?” demanded Quentin.
“Y-Yer . . . ess . . . y-yes . . . Master . . .” whispered Julia, nodding her head.
Rosalie had never before seen such wretched despair in any human being’s eyes. Which was not surprising.
“Well, I’m afraid I can’t arrange that, Julia,” said Quentin, “randy as I’m sure you’re feeling. However, I think something can be done to help.”
Quentin strolled across the room and produced a slim, supplelooking cane from an antique, Edwardian-style cabinet. He ran its smoothness through the fingers of his right hand as he came back to the two chairs standing side by side. He lightly tapped first Melissa’s bottom with the rod and then Julia’s. Both sets of nates gave an involuntary convulsive twitch. Glenda smiled complacently; Rosalie continued to look on in enthralled disbelief.
Both women had now moved round to the fronts of the chairs.
“Listen carefully,” said Quentin, continuing his fight tapping with the cane, first upon one, then the other, “I have some orders to explain to you. Orders which you will obey. These orders are designed so that you can satisfy your desires, you randy bitches.
But you will satisfy them at my pace. And mine alone. I hope I make that perfectly clear.”
Julia and Melissa remained silent. The tension within them was evident. Two pairs of hands clasped the tops of the chairs, the knuckles white. The soft flesh of buttocks and thighs was trembling with apprehension.
“My orders,” continued Quentin with calm authority, “will come in the form of numbers. One . . . two . . . five . . . seven . . . ten . . . Any number I choose. You will respond to those numbers. At least, the girl I am addressing will respond to that number. Let me give you an example. Let me begin with Julia. I call her name . . . then I give the command ‘one’, possibly giving her a cut with the rod as I do so. Julia at once raises herself until only Ahmed’s knob is within her. She remains there until I give her a further order. That could be ‘three’ or ‘six’ or ‘twelve’. Whatever I like. And Julia will raise or lower her haunches that number of times. I hope I am making myself perfectly clear?”
“It sounds quite clear to me,” said Glenda with a sadistic laugh in her voice.
“Do you understand, Julia?” asked Quentin.
“Y-Yes, Master,” came the whispered reply.
“And you, Melissa?”
“Yes, Master.” Melissa’s voice was loud by contrast.
“Good . . .” said Quentin in an almost soothing voice. He flexed the cane in his fingers. “We’ll begin with you then, Melissa.”
Quentin laid a wristy cut across the top of the girl’s swelling nates.
“One!” he said.
Melissa gasped . . . squirmed . . . then her long thighs levered her haunches up, until only the knob of the black dildo remained within her. There she remained, muscles tense and quivering.
“Good . . .” remarked Quentin complacently. Then he turned his attention to Julia. “Three!” he said.
The cane slashed across Julia’s upper nates as the order came.
Then the haunches came up . . . went down again rather more quickly . . . then came up once more. Julia gasped and shuddered as she made each movement.
“Excellent,” said Quentin with the same sort of complacency.
“You both seem to have got the idea quite quickly.” He strolled up and down, surveying each set of raised hindquarters. “I expect you’re anxious to get on with it girls, but I’m afraid you’ll have to do it at my pace.”
Glenda was smiling hugely. Rosalie still looked nervous and disbelieving . . . yet fascinated all the same.
Coming back to the quivering Julia, Quentin tapped her bottom with the cane. “I want the next lot done slowly,” he said. Then, as he rapped out the command . . . “Twelve”, the rod bit again.
With a yelp, Julia lowered her haunches, as slowly as she could. A groan came from her as her buttocks touched the top of the velvet seat. Then she came up again.
Slowly . . . very slowly . . .
Then down.
Another groan . . .
UP . . .
Slowly . . .
Down . . .
Another groan . . .
UP . . .
The nates clenched convulsively.
Down . . .
“Hhaaa . . . aahhh . . . ” moaned Julia.
UP . . .
Julia gave a quick little squirm as, for a moment, she remained poised at the top . . . and the big, purple phallic head escaped her briefly.
“Grip it, girl!” rapped Quentin . . . and his cane bit again.
Julia sank down with a gasping squeal.
UP . . .
The soft under-flesh of the thighs all a-quiver.
Down . . .
“Hhhhaaa . . . aaaahhhhh!”
The bottom now squirming on the velvet seat.
UP . . .
Once again Julia raised her haunches high . . . and this time she remained there. The cycle she had been ordered to make had been completed. She was breathing heavily already, her thighs trembling, her lush nates constantly twitching.
Quentin came round before her and smiled into her distraught face.
“Patience, Julia, patience,” he said softly.
Quentin came round to Melissa’s upraised hindquarters, tapping them lightly.
“Now, my beauty,” he said thickly, “twelve from you . . . but fast!”
The cane slashed across the nates and Melissa, with a gasp, jerked squirming down. Then, almost instantly, up again . . .
Down . . . up!
Down . . . up!
Down . . . up!
The shapely nakedness bouncing and quivering . . .
Down . . . up!
The solid black rubber root thrusting up between the splayed and trembling thighs . . .
Down . . . up!
Melissa’s knuckles white as she gripped the ornately rococo top of the chair . . .
Down . . . up!
Melissa now panting a little, her whole body trembling tensely as she remained poised at the end of her cycle, sex lips gripping the large phallic head of the dildoe.
“Good . . . good . . .” murmured Quentin, almost to himself, it seemed. The intense pleasure he was receiving glowed from his pale blue eyes. In his book, there was nothing to touch having such power over two lovely young creatures . . . and to degrade them so utterly!
Glenda, eyes dancing with cruel amusement, went round and gazed at Melissa’s face.
“How does it compare with the real thing?” she asked.
“A-Al . . . most . . . the s-same, M-Mistress,” replied Melissa, in that low-pitched, cultured voice of hers.
“But not quite?”
“No . . . Mistress . . .”
“No black hands to squeeze and maul you, of course . . .”
“N-No . . . M-Mistress . . .” Melissa had lost almost complete control of her lips. They were loose and down-turned.
Glenda moved on to Melissa’s companion-in-distress.
“You’ll be missing those hands, Julia?”
“Yes . . . Mistress . . .” The reply a hoarse whisper.
“You like having your tits played with, don’t you? And your arse?”
“Y-er . . . ess . . . Mistress . . .“
Glenda was smiling almost savagely. “I wonder when your Master is going to let you come. Can hardly wait, can you?”
“No . . . Mistress . . .” An almost indistinguishable whisper. A tear squeezed itself from the corner of Julia’s right eye and ran slowly down her cheek.
Quentin, who had poured himself a large Scotch from the nearby drinks-table, came strolling back.
“Like anything, my dear?” he enquired to Glenda.
“No thanks . . .”
“Help yourself, Rosalie.”
“Thanks . . . I will . . .”
Rosalie, who was trembling inside - partly with excitement, partly on account of the bizarre horror of the scene - poured herself a large brandy and drank it straight down. Then she poured another one and, almost immediately, began to feel better. More confident, more relaxed. She looked at the naked pair, utterly shamed, with their hindquarters raised and quivering. Christ, she thought, with a tingling in her scalp, what must it be like to be one of them! Yet a sadistic little smile was playing over her lips. She was beginning to enjoy herself. Catching Glenda’s eye, she winked, and Glenda winked back.
“Both of you,” said Quentin. “One.”
With a combined sigh, Julia and Melissa lowered themselves, their curvaceous buttocks projecting slightly over the edge of the velvet covered chair seats.
“Both of you . . . two . . . slowly . . .”
Up they went, then down they came, at a measured pace. Julia uttered a little moan as she sank. Quentin grinned then paused, sipping his drink contemplatively.
“Both of you . . . four fast!” he ordered.
Joggling and quivering, the two bottoms rose and fell rapidly, each performing little squirming motions as they descended.
“Julia . . . five . . . fast.”
Julia instantly worked herself vigorously up and down, head thrown back, gasping uninhibitedly. However, such was her vigour . . . or maybe because of the sensations she was rousing in herself . . . she did not check herself at the fifth movement, when poised, but descended.
Instantly Quentin leapt forward and lashed the cane across Julia’s quaking bottom.
“I said five, trollop!” he bellowed.
Two more slashing cuts
“Five . . . so get it up. UP!”
Two more cuts . . . and a squealing Julia’s bottom came squirming up. The black dildoe was now glistening with her juices.
“I know how much you want it up you,” said Quentin, “but you’ll do it my way!”
There was a prolonged pause while Quentin surveyed the quivering female flesh so completely at his command. Alongside him, Glenda and Rosalie gazed with almost equal relish.
“Melissa . . . twelve slow . . . then twelve fast . . .”
Melissa’s bottom began to rise and fall. Her teeth were clenched, eyes closed and she was whimpering down her nose. The intensity of those whimpers intensified as her hindquarters bounced furiously up and down during the last dozen movements. Perhaps more by luck than good judgement she managed to remain in the poised position. Her white shoulders were heaving, the trembling of her under-thighs had increased.
“I believe she’s almost coming,” said Glenda.
“I’m not surprised,” nodded Rosalie. She was fascinated by the size of the object the girl was having to take in.
Quentin’s cane tapped Melissa’s bottom. “Are you?” he enquired.
“Y-Yes . . . hhaaahhh . . . y-yes . . . M-Master . . . almost . . .” came the panting reply.
“Well, you can stay there for a bit,” smiled Quentin. Then he turned back to Julia and whip-lashed the cane across her bottom.
With a yelp of pain, the girl descended involuntarily and instantly got another vicious cut. “Did I tell you to move? Up up . . . you randy bitch!”
Sobbing, Julia raised her hindquarters.
“M-Mercy . . . Master . . .” They heard her plead faintly.
“She wants you to let her come,” smiled Glenda.
“Well, if she does before I tell her to,” said Quentin, “I’ll birch every inch of skin off her backside! Did you hear that, Julia?”
“Yer . . . ess . . . Master.”
“Right then, my girl, let’s have that lovely arse of yours in motion again. Six, I think . . . slow . . . followed by six fast.”
There was a faint squelching sound as the dildoe slid in and out as Quentin had directed. Julia continued to gasp and squirm, with head thrown back and teeth clenched and bared. The effort she was having to make was obvious.
“Melissa . . . another dozen . . . slowly . . .”
It was Melissa’s turn again . . .
Thus, for something like another five minutes, Quentin, like a musical conductor, continued to orchestrate his two performers.
Sometimes there were solo performances, sometimes there were duets, sometimes the tempo was fast, sometimes slow. And, with every moment that passed, the mounting a****l lust of the two women became more evident. Yet, with quite a degree of artistry, Quentin was able to control it. By giving timely pauses . . . by slowing the tempo . . . or by threatening the direst punishments if his reading of the score was not adhered to!
At long last, with both girls sobbing as they slid slowly up and down the gleaming black objects, Quentin gave the order they had been aching for.
“Alright . . . both of you . . . now you can go all the way . . .” The frenzy of female flesh was brief but fantastically furious.
Mouths wide, gasping and crying out, Julia and Melissa bounced up and down wildly and uncoordinatedly. They were lost to lust. No longer caring what they did. Or who saw them do it.
The only thing that mattered was the moment of release . . . And swiftly it came to both.
In perhaps no more than ten or fifteen seconds, both girls were squealing as they writhed convulsively in orgasm . . . the strength of which was most apparent. It seemed to go on and on . . .
Until both slid down, slumped against the back of the chairs, moaning and whimpering in slaked exhaustion.
There was a look of the utmost satisfaction on Quentin’s face as he continued to gaze at the still-quivering bottom flesh . . . flesh that was now criss-crossed with a multiplicity of weals.
“You can’t say I’m a bad Master, can you?” he enquired of the two watching women. “You have just seen how much I let these two enjoy themselves!”
Quentin had spared no expense in furnishings and decor; her private bedroom and drawing room were as comfortable as she could have wished. I am living like a ‘Lady’ she told herself. Like a ‘Lady’ of Edwardian times. That was quite something for a girl who was brought up on the wrong side of the tracks in Tulsa.
Still, all that was quite a time ago. She had come a long way since then.
“Rosalie . . . how are you making out with the unpacking?” Glenda’s voice was sharp. Domineering. It was the kind of tone she could use with Rosalie . . . a young woman who was in hock to her up to, and even over, the limit.
“Nearly finished, Glenda . . . I’m sorry . . . I mean, nearly finished, Ma’am”.
A faint smile crossed Glenda’s thin lips as she continued to comb her hair in front of the dressing table mirror.
“Do you know, Rosalie,” she said, “that, if you were one of those two girls we have now got downstairs, you could have a cane laid across your bottom for such an error?”
There was quite a silence from the adjoining room.
“I . . . I’m sorry . . . I’m trying to get used to it . . . Ma’am . . .” said Rosalie. You’ll understand . . . I’m not used to . . . to being a lady’s maid . . . Ma’am . . .”
“Well, you better get used to it fast,” snapped Glenda.
How lovely it was to have other women in your power! As Rosalie was. Yet, compared with the two girls in the cellars, Rosalie was fortunate. It really was a most remarkable set-up. Still almost unbelievable. And how clever Osman was to have arranged it all.
Yes . . . there were many things to compensate for the gloominess of Cragness and the damp Scottish weather!
Glenda wondered vaguely what Osman was up to at that moment. Probably having a little fun with his two slave-girls. Well, he was perfectly entitled to that and she certainly didn’t mind a bit.
She could have some of her own fun later on. As often as she wanted.
Glenda felt a warm glow deep inside herself. Those two girls were really something. There seemed nothing they would not do to try to please her. At least, that had been her experience aboard the ‘Paradise’ brief as it had been so there didn’t seem any reason why things should change now.
Dark-haired, dark-eyed Rosalie came into the room and, as she had been told to, curtsied. It was a brief, almost casual gesture of respect . . . and, at once, Glenda’s thin eyebrows went up.
“Once again, Rosalie,” she said, “You could have earned yourself a taste of the rod if you were either Julia or Melissa. When you curtsey to me, do it properly. As if you mean it.”
Biting her lips to restrain her fury, Rosalie did as she was told. Her hate for Glenda Osman was unbounded but she was fully aware of the hopelessness of her position.. If she didn’t play it Glenda’s way she knew she was destined for a lifetime in some foul prison.
On the other hand, she reflected, compared with those two below she was lucky. In fact, after all she had heard, she could hardly wait to see these ‘slaves’ of Quentin Osman’s. For, to Rosalie, it was past all comprehension how two women of that kind and class could have been reduced to such appalling circumstances. Even though, under blackmail, she herself was virtually turning somersaults. Still . . . there were limits.
“That’s a bit better,” said Glenda condescendingly. Rosalie bridled . . . but then Glenda smiled. “Sorry, Rosalie,” she said, “but I can’t help overplaying my hand, I suppose. When you’ve got a
good one, you might as well. No doubt I’ll ease up on you when I’ve got Julia and Melissa to play with.”
“I . . . I’m glad to hear it . . .” mumbled Rosalie.
“Just remember,” said Glenda, “that they’re your servants, too. Especially when Quentin and I are not here. How does that feel?”
Rosalie’s dark eyes brightened. “Not bad . . . not at all bad . . .” she said.
“I suppose,” said Glenda, “I’ve just been trying to emphasise my control over you. For security reasons as much as anything.”
“I understand,” said Rosalie a little wearily.
Glenda suddenly opened her arms. “Come, my dear,” she said, “let’s make it like old times. Just for a little while anyway . . .”
Rosalie smiled.
It was an unexpected but most acceptable invitation. It meant that, for a while anyway, they would be equals. Indeed, she might even be in command. For Glenda could be made a slave to sex.
Rosalie went into the welcoming arms and kissed Glenda fully on the mouth.
“Why do you treat me in such a b**stly way, Glenda?” she asked as they broke away.
“Because . . . because . . . I enjoy doing so . . . I suppose,” answered Glenda.
“Bitch!”
Glenda slapped her playfully. “You can be a bitch too “I guess so . . .”
“Think of being a bitch with Julia . . . or Melissa.”
“I’m sure looking forward to something on those lines.”
“They’re delicious, believe me. And you can make them do anything.”
“Sounds the greatest.”
Both women were, by then, undressed completely. With arms around each other, they moved towards the bed. Mouth pressed to mouth, body to body. The weak and the powerful fused naked together, as one.
“Darling . . .”
“MMMMMMM . . .”
“Isn’t it lovely?”
“Mmmmmmmmm . . .”
Quentin lit a small, black cheroot, seated himself in a comfortably padded chair and turned his attention to the television set in front of him. It was operated by a similar press-button computer-console to the one he had used in the Punishment Room below.
Flick . . . flick . . .
The picture glowed into life, in full colour, to reveal Julia and Melissa still seated, facing inwards, on the velvet covered chairs. Fulsome, rounded buttocks, slightly compressed, on the edge of each seat. Two beautifully curvaceous bottoms. Bottoms which belonged to him.
Flick . . .
The camera changed so that Quentin had a front view of the two girls. The expression in the eyes of each, and on each face, was worth seeing. Despair . . . shame . . . horror. Yet . . . and yet . . . was there not also a suggestion of a****l lust?
Both girls, reflected Quentin, had been in that position for about an hour. Each with a massive dildoe thrust within her. Surely that must be having some effect? Even if it were an effect not truly wanted?
Yes . . . yes . . . that must be so! Quentin grinned.
He had been planning a little game . . . and it would shortly be time to get it under way. He looked at the two smooth backs as he flicked back to the original camera . . . saw the swelling hindquarters . . . the long thighs straddling the chairs. It would be difficult to make a judgement between the excellence of either girl.
Then Quentin contemplated what was concealed from him. What was within them . . . Because he had ordered it.
That pleased him mightily.
And the thought of what he was shortly going to do pleased him even more.
Flick . . . flick . . .
The screen went blank.
And, at that moment, Glenda and Rosalie walked, arm in arm, into the room.
“Curtsey to the Master,” said Glenda, giving Rosalie a playful slap on the rump.
Pulling a face, Rosalie did so and Quentin couldn’t help grinning.
He had to admit that the young woman looked most fetching in her black satin maid’s outfit, with its conventional frilly white apron . . . and it occurred to him that Julia and Melissa would look even more fetching in similar but far more abbreviated and revealing versions when they had to play the role of ‘maids’. That was something that Glenda had suggested and he fully approved the idea. It would do those two good to be at Glenda’s beck and call, he thought, for his wife had already proved herself a natural dominatrix.
“Been briefing Rosalie again?” enquired Quentin.
“That . . . and other things,” replied Glenda with a smile.
“Oh I see.” Quentin grinned again. His wife’s lesbian activities were - and always had been - an open book to him and, again, he fully approved.
“You needn’t worry about Rosalie, my dear,” said Glenda. “She knows the form and is very much one of us. Isn’t that so, Rosalie?”
“Oh yes . . .” came the reply. “Ma’am,” she added after a pause.
“You can cut that out now, Rosalie,” said Glenda. “I was only pressuring you to begin with. To see how you would react.” Glenda felt happily satisfied by what Rosalie had done to her and no longer felt any need to demonstrate her power.
“Thanks,” said Rosalie with a happy smile.
“Like I told Havers,” said Quentin, “you can have a lot of fun here if you keep to the rules and play it right. And keep your mouth shut, of course.
“Don’t worry . . . I will,” replied Rosalie. “Frankly, I’m intrigued. Who wouldn’t be?”
“Like to see them?” asked Quentin.
“Yes . . . I reckon I would,” answered Rosalie. She looked surprised when Quentin began to flick his switches and the colour picture of Julia and Melissa filled the screen.
“Closed-circuit TV,” explained Quentin. “Wired for sound, too.”
All three gazed at the naked backs and buttocks . . . and Rosalie gazed in most fascination of all. She could scarcely believe what she was seeing, even if it wasn’t in actuality but only on a screen.
“Why are they seated like that. Doesn’t look natural to me,” said Glenda.
Quentin laughed and gave an explanation for the postures of the two girls. Glenda joined in the laughter but Rosalie simply looked incredulous.
“You mean . . . oh my God . . . you mean that Miss Judith sent replicas of Ahmed and Jason?” said Glenda, when she could catch her breath.
“My . . . what a woman! What an idea! I’d love to have seen their faces when they saw those two great black dongers again!”
“You can see their faces now,” said Quentin.
He flicked the switch so that they had a front view. Then he zoomed in to Julia’s lovely features . . . seeing her resigned but despairing eyes and tear-stained cheeks. The full mouth gave a sudden quivering twitch.
“She’s been crying,” said Glenda, as if that were something unnatural.
“I guess she’s not too happy at having to sit there all this time with that thing up her,” said Quentin. He spoke as if he had played no part in the matter!
“I should have thought she would be getting rather excited by now,” said Glenda with a sardonic chuckle.
“Perhaps, she is,” said Quentin. “But that wouldn’t necessarily. Make her feel much happier. The girl must have a little pride left.”
“Not much, from what I’ve seen,” replied Glenda.
Quentin smiled broadly. “No, perhaps you’re right, my dear . . .”
“It’s incredible,” said Rosalie. Her voice was almost a whisper.
“How can they be made to stay like that? I don’t understand it . . .”
“You haven’t seen what they do to them aboard the ‘Paradise’,” said Quentin. “If you had, you would understand better.”
The dark-haired young woman shuddered. “It must be awful,” she murmured.
“It is,” agreed Quentin. “A girl very quickly learns to behave herself aboard that vessel! To obey . . . whatever the order is. Do you know, Rosalie, a girl can get a dozen strokes of the cane across her naked bottom simply for being a little slow to obey?”
“It’s almost impossible to believe,” replied Rosalie, shaking her head from side to side. Her eyes never left the screen.
“But it’s true,” confirmed Glenda.
“How can they stand it?” queried Rosalie.
“No option . . .” grinned Quentin.
“I didn’t quite mean that,” said Rosalie. “Their skin. It’s unmarked. You’d think they must be covered in scars.”
“That’s the only part that it’s difficult for anyone to understand,” agreed Quentin. “In fact, it’s a minor miracle really. A medical miracle.”
Then he went on to explain about the healing lamps and special ointment which eradicated weals and welts in a matter of hours rather than have them lingering on for days and even weeks.
“I see,” said Rosalie wonderingly, a hand going to her mouth.
“That really is amazing. And . . . in a way . . . makes it even worse for them . . .”
“Quite so,” nodded Quentin. “They’re always fresh and ready for whatever’s handed out to them. You can give it to them as hard as you like one day . . . and then do the same again in twenty four hours.”
Quentin switched the camera from Julia’s tear-streaked face back to her buttocks, moving in close. So close that all of them could see the occasional twitch and quiver of the soft flesh.
“I do believe she is getting excited,” said Glenda with a little laugh.
“Maybe,” said Quentin perfunctorily. “Look at that bottom, Rosalie. Smooth as a baby’s, isn’t it?”
“Yes . . .”
“Yet, if I gave Julia a birching within the hour - say eighteen strokes - and then put her under the lamps this evening, her bottom would look just as it does now by this time tomorrow.”
They all gazed at those swelling, gibbous-moons of buttock flesh . . . each thinking of just how much that area must have suffered in the last six-months or so. Perhaps Quentin got the most satisfaction from the thought for, after all, he had been the instigator of Julia’s downfall.
“How long you going to keep them there?” asked Glenda.
“Not much longer,” replied her husband. “In fact, I’m going down there now . . . to have a little fun. Like to come along?”
Glenda and Rosalie looked at each other in sudden excitement and together replied in the affirmative.
“How’s Jason feeling, Melissa?”
Standing behind the ornate chair, Quentin looked into the lovely face, seeing eyes clouded with misery, wide lips trembling a little.
“As . . . as ever, Master,” answered Melissa in a low but remarkably controlled voice.
“What’s that supposed to mean, girl?”
“B-Big . . . and . . . strong, Master.”
“That must be nice for you. Even if it isn’t the real thing, eh?”
“Y-Yes . . . M-Master . . .”
“Been up you longer than usual, too, eh”
“Y-Yes, Master . . .”
Rosalie, standing alongside Quentin, was looking half in fear, half in fascination at the lovely woman being so degraded. It was still beyond her comprehension how anyone could submit to such things. And to remain so seemingly composed and submissive.
Quentin moved on to Julia. “And how is it with you, my pretty one? Enjoying yourself”
“Y-Yes . . . M-Master.” Julia’s reply was huskier and a fraction less controlled than Melissa’s.
“Bet you wish it actually was Ahmed . . . and he was just about to give you a real solid fucking.”
Julia’s features twitched. A tear rolled out of the corner of one eye and down a damp cheek.
“Well?” demanded Quentin.
“Y-Yer . . . ess . . . y-yes . . . Master . . .” whispered Julia, nodding her head.
Rosalie had never before seen such wretched despair in any human being’s eyes. Which was not surprising.
“Well, I’m afraid I can’t arrange that, Julia,” said Quentin, “randy as I’m sure you’re feeling. However, I think something can be done to help.”
Quentin strolled across the room and produced a slim, supplelooking cane from an antique, Edwardian-style cabinet. He ran its smoothness through the fingers of his right hand as he came back to the two chairs standing side by side. He lightly tapped first Melissa’s bottom with the rod and then Julia’s. Both sets of nates gave an involuntary convulsive twitch. Glenda smiled complacently; Rosalie continued to look on in enthralled disbelief.
Both women had now moved round to the fronts of the chairs.
“Listen carefully,” said Quentin, continuing his fight tapping with the cane, first upon one, then the other, “I have some orders to explain to you. Orders which you will obey. These orders are designed so that you can satisfy your desires, you randy bitches.
But you will satisfy them at my pace. And mine alone. I hope I make that perfectly clear.”
Julia and Melissa remained silent. The tension within them was evident. Two pairs of hands clasped the tops of the chairs, the knuckles white. The soft flesh of buttocks and thighs was trembling with apprehension.
“My orders,” continued Quentin with calm authority, “will come in the form of numbers. One . . . two . . . five . . . seven . . . ten . . . Any number I choose. You will respond to those numbers. At least, the girl I am addressing will respond to that number. Let me give you an example. Let me begin with Julia. I call her name . . . then I give the command ‘one’, possibly giving her a cut with the rod as I do so. Julia at once raises herself until only Ahmed’s knob is within her. She remains there until I give her a further order. That could be ‘three’ or ‘six’ or ‘twelve’. Whatever I like. And Julia will raise or lower her haunches that number of times. I hope I am making myself perfectly clear?”
“It sounds quite clear to me,” said Glenda with a sadistic laugh in her voice.
“Do you understand, Julia?” asked Quentin.
“Y-Yes, Master,” came the whispered reply.
“And you, Melissa?”
“Yes, Master.” Melissa’s voice was loud by contrast.
“Good . . .” said Quentin in an almost soothing voice. He flexed the cane in his fingers. “We’ll begin with you then, Melissa.”
Quentin laid a wristy cut across the top of the girl’s swelling nates.
“One!” he said.
Melissa gasped . . . squirmed . . . then her long thighs levered her haunches up, until only the knob of the black dildo remained within her. There she remained, muscles tense and quivering.
“Good . . .” remarked Quentin complacently. Then he turned his attention to Julia. “Three!” he said.
The cane slashed across Julia’s upper nates as the order came.
Then the haunches came up . . . went down again rather more quickly . . . then came up once more. Julia gasped and shuddered as she made each movement.
“Excellent,” said Quentin with the same sort of complacency.
“You both seem to have got the idea quite quickly.” He strolled up and down, surveying each set of raised hindquarters. “I expect you’re anxious to get on with it girls, but I’m afraid you’ll have to do it at my pace.”
Glenda was smiling hugely. Rosalie still looked nervous and disbelieving . . . yet fascinated all the same.
Coming back to the quivering Julia, Quentin tapped her bottom with the cane. “I want the next lot done slowly,” he said. Then, as he rapped out the command . . . “Twelve”, the rod bit again.
With a yelp, Julia lowered her haunches, as slowly as she could. A groan came from her as her buttocks touched the top of the velvet seat. Then she came up again.
Slowly . . . very slowly . . .
Then down.
Another groan . . .
UP . . .
Slowly . . .
Down . . .
Another groan . . .
UP . . .
The nates clenched convulsively.
Down . . .
“Hhaaa . . . aahhh . . . ” moaned Julia.
UP . . .
Julia gave a quick little squirm as, for a moment, she remained poised at the top . . . and the big, purple phallic head escaped her briefly.
“Grip it, girl!” rapped Quentin . . . and his cane bit again.
Julia sank down with a gasping squeal.
UP . . .
The soft under-flesh of the thighs all a-quiver.
Down . . .
“Hhhhaaa . . . aaaahhhhh!”
The bottom now squirming on the velvet seat.
UP . . .
Once again Julia raised her haunches high . . . and this time she remained there. The cycle she had been ordered to make had been completed. She was breathing heavily already, her thighs trembling, her lush nates constantly twitching.
Quentin came round before her and smiled into her distraught face.
“Patience, Julia, patience,” he said softly.
Quentin came round to Melissa’s upraised hindquarters, tapping them lightly.
“Now, my beauty,” he said thickly, “twelve from you . . . but fast!”
The cane slashed across the nates and Melissa, with a gasp, jerked squirming down. Then, almost instantly, up again . . .
Down . . . up!
Down . . . up!
Down . . . up!
The shapely nakedness bouncing and quivering . . .
Down . . . up!
The solid black rubber root thrusting up between the splayed and trembling thighs . . .
Down . . . up!
Melissa’s knuckles white as she gripped the ornately rococo top of the chair . . .
Down . . . up!
Melissa now panting a little, her whole body trembling tensely as she remained poised at the end of her cycle, sex lips gripping the large phallic head of the dildoe.
“Good . . . good . . .” murmured Quentin, almost to himself, it seemed. The intense pleasure he was receiving glowed from his pale blue eyes. In his book, there was nothing to touch having such power over two lovely young creatures . . . and to degrade them so utterly!
Glenda, eyes dancing with cruel amusement, went round and gazed at Melissa’s face.
“How does it compare with the real thing?” she asked.
“A-Al . . . most . . . the s-same, M-Mistress,” replied Melissa, in that low-pitched, cultured voice of hers.
“But not quite?”
“No . . . Mistress . . .”
“No black hands to squeeze and maul you, of course . . .”
“N-No . . . M-Mistress . . .” Melissa had lost almost complete control of her lips. They were loose and down-turned.
Glenda moved on to Melissa’s companion-in-distress.
“You’ll be missing those hands, Julia?”
“Yes . . . Mistress . . .” The reply a hoarse whisper.
“You like having your tits played with, don’t you? And your arse?”
“Y-er . . . ess . . . Mistress . . .“
Glenda was smiling almost savagely. “I wonder when your Master is going to let you come. Can hardly wait, can you?”
“No . . . Mistress . . .” An almost indistinguishable whisper. A tear squeezed itself from the corner of Julia’s right eye and ran slowly down her cheek.
Quentin, who had poured himself a large Scotch from the nearby drinks-table, came strolling back.
“Like anything, my dear?” he enquired to Glenda.
“No thanks . . .”
“Help yourself, Rosalie.”
“Thanks . . . I will . . .”
Rosalie, who was trembling inside - partly with excitement, partly on account of the bizarre horror of the scene - poured herself a large brandy and drank it straight down. Then she poured another one and, almost immediately, began to feel better. More confident, more relaxed. She looked at the naked pair, utterly shamed, with their hindquarters raised and quivering. Christ, she thought, with a tingling in her scalp, what must it be like to be one of them! Yet a sadistic little smile was playing over her lips. She was beginning to enjoy herself. Catching Glenda’s eye, she winked, and Glenda winked back.
“Both of you,” said Quentin. “One.”
With a combined sigh, Julia and Melissa lowered themselves, their curvaceous buttocks projecting slightly over the edge of the velvet covered chair seats.
“Both of you . . . two . . . slowly . . .”
Up they went, then down they came, at a measured pace. Julia uttered a little moan as she sank. Quentin grinned then paused, sipping his drink contemplatively.
“Both of you . . . four fast!” he ordered.
Joggling and quivering, the two bottoms rose and fell rapidly, each performing little squirming motions as they descended.
“Julia . . . five . . . fast.”
Julia instantly worked herself vigorously up and down, head thrown back, gasping uninhibitedly. However, such was her vigour . . . or maybe because of the sensations she was rousing in herself . . . she did not check herself at the fifth movement, when poised, but descended.
Instantly Quentin leapt forward and lashed the cane across Julia’s quaking bottom.
“I said five, trollop!” he bellowed.
Two more slashing cuts
“Five . . . so get it up. UP!”
Two more cuts . . . and a squealing Julia’s bottom came squirming up. The black dildoe was now glistening with her juices.
“I know how much you want it up you,” said Quentin, “but you’ll do it my way!”
There was a prolonged pause while Quentin surveyed the quivering female flesh so completely at his command. Alongside him, Glenda and Rosalie gazed with almost equal relish.
“Melissa . . . twelve slow . . . then twelve fast . . .”
Melissa’s bottom began to rise and fall. Her teeth were clenched, eyes closed and she was whimpering down her nose. The intensity of those whimpers intensified as her hindquarters bounced furiously up and down during the last dozen movements. Perhaps more by luck than good judgement she managed to remain in the poised position. Her white shoulders were heaving, the trembling of her under-thighs had increased.
“I believe she’s almost coming,” said Glenda.
“I’m not surprised,” nodded Rosalie. She was fascinated by the size of the object the girl was having to take in.
Quentin’s cane tapped Melissa’s bottom. “Are you?” he enquired.
“Y-Yes . . . hhaaahhh . . . y-yes . . . M-Master . . . almost . . .” came the panting reply.
“Well, you can stay there for a bit,” smiled Quentin. Then he turned back to Julia and whip-lashed the cane across her bottom.
With a yelp of pain, the girl descended involuntarily and instantly got another vicious cut. “Did I tell you to move? Up up . . . you randy bitch!”
Sobbing, Julia raised her hindquarters.
“M-Mercy . . . Master . . .” They heard her plead faintly.
“She wants you to let her come,” smiled Glenda.
“Well, if she does before I tell her to,” said Quentin, “I’ll birch every inch of skin off her backside! Did you hear that, Julia?”
“Yer . . . ess . . . Master.”
“Right then, my girl, let’s have that lovely arse of yours in motion again. Six, I think . . . slow . . . followed by six fast.”
There was a faint squelching sound as the dildoe slid in and out as Quentin had directed. Julia continued to gasp and squirm, with head thrown back and teeth clenched and bared. The effort she was having to make was obvious.
“Melissa . . . another dozen . . . slowly . . .”
It was Melissa’s turn again . . .
Thus, for something like another five minutes, Quentin, like a musical conductor, continued to orchestrate his two performers.
Sometimes there were solo performances, sometimes there were duets, sometimes the tempo was fast, sometimes slow. And, with every moment that passed, the mounting a****l lust of the two women became more evident. Yet, with quite a degree of artistry, Quentin was able to control it. By giving timely pauses . . . by slowing the tempo . . . or by threatening the direst punishments if his reading of the score was not adhered to!
At long last, with both girls sobbing as they slid slowly up and down the gleaming black objects, Quentin gave the order they had been aching for.
“Alright . . . both of you . . . now you can go all the way . . .” The frenzy of female flesh was brief but fantastically furious.
Mouths wide, gasping and crying out, Julia and Melissa bounced up and down wildly and uncoordinatedly. They were lost to lust. No longer caring what they did. Or who saw them do it.
The only thing that mattered was the moment of release . . . And swiftly it came to both.
In perhaps no more than ten or fifteen seconds, both girls were squealing as they writhed convulsively in orgasm . . . the strength of which was most apparent. It seemed to go on and on . . .
Until both slid down, slumped against the back of the chairs, moaning and whimpering in slaked exhaustion.
There was a look of the utmost satisfaction on Quentin’s face as he continued to gaze at the still-quivering bottom flesh . . . flesh that was now criss-crossed with a multiplicity of weals.
“You can’t say I’m a bad Master, can you?” he enquired of the two watching women. “You have just seen how much I let these two enjoy themselves!”
Haven
- 16.07.2022
- 11
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