Ascent to Beauty Part 3
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Ascent To Beauty: Conclusion free porn video
Ascent to Beauty: Conclusion
By latexslut
Desiree gloated in the sudden silence, as the warbling,
pounding music-noise faded and people stood like statues,
they eyes turned gazing up to her on stage. In adoration,
she thought. Her attention on her disciples - they are my
disciples, would be, if not for Chantel - was shifted as
above, Leslie began to scream and totter down the stairs.
"You bitch!" Leslie screamed, storming down. "You get your
evil ass right out of here!"
Her voice carried shrill, and Desiree turned to one of her
gunmen, calmly raised one hand, pointed towards Leslie with
two fingers. The leather cloaked man, nodded, and quick as
lightning, holstered one gun, and brought out another,
aimed and fired.
Chantel lost her composure and screamed. "No! Not Le Les!"
The dart flew straight, hit Leslie in her left breast.
Desiree hadn't hired dummies with Mike's money. They were
experts and knew what they were about.
Leslie shrieked, turned back to Chantel, eyes showing
sorrow, and slowly slumped onto the landing of the stairs.
"You see, Chantel," Desiree said, smiling deliriously, this
was so delicious, "I have darts and I have bullets. What I
use, will be your choice. I am not here to kill people. I
am here to wipe that arrogant smile off your face. You
cow."
Chantel was literally speechless, standing there, trembling
in rage. She was furious for this invasion of Her Realm,
angry at her lack of foresight. Rage for the invasion and
fierce anger at herself, for letting slip the need, always,
to protect oneself from all the angles. All the points of
attack.
"And now," Desiree's eyes had slipped over to the Cum Pit.
"I see you are a hypocrite. My slut in your cum pit. And
you put me in jail. Jail! Fucking Jail, because I wanted to
use what I hired you to train! For so much less than this!"
Desiree brought her voice calm with an effort. The
microphone had squalled at that last outburst.
Her mind had skipped a loop and she knew it, but it was
best not to let it show. She was at a different level now.
She was a Goddess to men and women and sissies. And they
were hers to make sacrifice. But her peons didn't realize
that yet; Desiree knew that at least.
She was pleased by the silence. They were in awe of her.
They were waiting for her next words.
So she said them and was pleasantly surprised by the
reaction, even as she signalled with her hand four spread
fingers to the same gunman, and then over the crowd. "Put
her, the cow, in the cumpit with her lover."
The crowd of several hundred shifted. There was a drawing
of lines. Desiree saw it clearly.
There were those that were loyal to Chantal, for favours
past and kindness given. And there were the brutes and
bitches and others who had paid Chantal for spectacle
before, and now wanted more.
Chantal saw it too. Her mind fell into a flurry of panic.
Desiree was right! I used slut exactly as I didn't let
Desiree. I was a fool, and now I have been invaded and now,
now, the unthinkable. The absolute horror. It showed on her
twitching face and she became paralysed in panic.
The melee began, but it was brief. Chantal's loyalists were
darted even before they could protect, and men, large men,
clambered up the steel stairway to take Chantal. To the
cumpit.
"I am not stupid, cow," proclaimed Desiree, as they dragged
Chantal's paralysed body down the stairs. "It's all begun
to make sense to me. You are fectophopic. You love men! And
kinks, but hate, fear, sperm and cum. You toy with it; I
see your creation here, and your sissies. But having cum on
you, or in you would make you claw your eyes out. Let's
see."
And Desiree broke into a crazed cackle of laughter.
...
Slut saw the mob throw his Mistress Chantal high over the
rails of the cumpit. Down she fell and landed with a smack
in the muck of cum.
Mistress Chantal's paralysis was instantly broken and she
began to scream, long loud anguished cries of sheer terror.
She rolled over in the cum, tried to get up, dazedly, fell
and screamed more. Slut thought that Mistress Chantal might
break a lung screaming like that.
Slut wanted to help. (S)he wanted to say something but his
mouth was so dry and salty. (S)he crawled over towards
Mistress Chantal, but She was mewling wildly...
...
Dianna began to realize something was wrong. The cocks in
her hand and mouth and pussy were gone, and the incredibly
excellent music had stopped. Now instead, there was boring
talk from the microphone and she could hear Chantal
screaming. She knew she wasn't the smartest roof in the
basement, but instinct now, was screaming at her to lay
low. Silently, with a lithe grace of movement, like the
gymnast she had once been, she unlocked her legs from the
bars and slid off down into the Cum Pit, and slithered out
of sight line, in the corner, waiting and wincing to the
wild movements and shrill screams of Mistress Chantal
before her.
...
Kimba sensed immediately what was wrong. She felt it in her
bones. She had known this before, from the ex-wife, before
Mistress Chantal had rescued her. She stopped her foreplay
sucking in a heartbeat, received a blow on her skull and
used that to play dead on the floor of the Cum Pit, laying
there silently, listening.
From what she could hear, the situation was steadily
worsening, and there was nothing, nothing! She could do.
Not now, not yet. She lay there silent, watching. Waiting.
...
Desiree was on the stage, barely able to stand, enjoying
yet another orgasm at the power she held, and the dominance
she was displaying, and humiliation of "Mistress Chantal".
She had come so many times that it was almost all she
wanted to do, except punish painfully "cow Chantal" and her
slut betrayer, Henrietta, Chantal's calfling. She had paid
her gunman, and given herself to them, willingly, over and
over again. But always on top, and always with a hand on
their ears, telling them that She was in charge.
The crowd had grown silent, awestruck. A few of the more
brutish were pumping wildly at the scene of Chantal's
hysterics, but most had simply become hushed. Desiree
decided that now would be a good time to be leaving, before
the mood of the crowd changed and before the cops came. She
motioned again to her favourite gunman.
He fired a bullet into the twirling glittering glowball and
the people before her, her peons, scattered.
Desiree turned to the other gunmen. "Put those two in the
van. It's time to go."
...
Now they were in the van, but actually was an RV. In the
front, driving, were two of the gunmen, with their cabin
dark. The opening did not let too much light in, which was
good for them, for the sleet was falling and they were
driving fast. Occasionally, the wind whipped against the
frame, rocking it.
Chantal was in the back, bound by wrist and leg, and
gagged. The gunmen had had to, for in her hysterics, she
had practically pummelled any one who got close to her. All
of the gunmen carried bruises from carrying her to here.
Now Chantal's eyes were rolling, almost catatonic.
Henrietta was kneeling before Desiree, her favourite gunmen
next to her, reclining easily, sleepily. It had been a hard
night. Exciting and fast and pleasurable, but he was tired,
and sipping a drink.
Desiree was laying back, legs splayed, looking dreamy as
the RV roared down the interstate.
Now she began to talk, a little spittle running down her
mouth, in a voice so soft, it carried venomous evil. "Slut,
do you know what I'm going to do with Chantal? Your cow?"
Slut shook her head, fearing the worst; feeling trapped, by
the light, the movement, the hopelessness.
"I'm going to put the cow into a crystal coffin, fill it
with cum, put in a breathing tube and listen to her scream.
Do you like that, slut?"
Slut shook her head, weeping.
"Wrong answer, slut," Desiree whispered to her husband.
"You will get to hear her scream every night. Every night."
Slut barked a cry of despair.
"And do you know what I am going to do with you?" Desiree
said, her windy voice rising a bit.
Slut shook her head again.
"I'm going to tattoo you. Everywhere. Big letters and
little, all over your body, your face, your head. I'm going
to rip off your fingernails and tattoo you there. You won't
be able to go out, except in a latex mask, if I ever to let
you out of your little prison, which will be my pussy."
In spite of himself, crying, he had to ask. "What sort of
tattoo, er, Mistress Desiree?"
"That's better, you piece of shit. Nothing much. Just
"Chantal's mistake. All over you."
Desiree began to laugh. Hysterically. And stopped, sombre.
She unzipped her PVC catsuit to below her crotch, and still
laughing excitedly whispered, "Enter your prison now,
slut."
Henrietta glanced up quick at the gunman, who was now
paying a bit of attention, and then back at his wife's
pussy. (S)he noticed immediately an aroma of cum mixed with
cum, a lot of it, and saw that his wife's pussy was beyond
moist, beyond wet. Mistress Desiree was in full flood.
"Now slut."
Henrietta crawled a bit, was startled by the music that
someone had apparently just put on. ACDC, Highway to Hell,
and began to lick. There were many flavours there, in
Mistress Desiree's pussy. The flavours of many men.
Desiree leaned back, and quickly, for she had become
attuned, began to come.
And then...
Bump, the RV swerved, just a bit.
...
Dianna wasn't all insipid and unaware. She knew she wasn't
the largest Skyscraper in the village, but did know that
she knew a few things. Housecleaning, pleasing, being
sexual and looking slutty. And she knew how to drive. Her
first boyfriend, the asshole who had beaten her, probably
because she was so good at it, had shown her the stickshift
on his Chevy Nova. Both how to shift it, and how to fuck
it.
Now Kimba was in front of her face, screaming, taking
charge. "Get the limo. Get the fucking limo!"
"Wha? But there's more dicks here?" Though, with the
departure of Desiree and her treasures and gunmen, there
was only a silent murmuring in the crowd.
Kimba slapped Dianna, hard. "Wake up. Chantal is in
trouble!"
"Car?"
"Limo, Doorknob. Get it. I will get Leslie. Now. Now. Now!
Move it!" Kimba was shrill.
The maleness came out in her, and she moved like grace. She
stumbled out of the Cum Pit, the keeper was no longer there
and she rushed up the steel steps to get Leslie. She tried
to pick her up, but said to herself, grimly, this girl has
gained a couple, but then she barked out this:
"This girl needs to get to the hospital. Put her in my
limo."
Instant, two men picked up the limber Leslie and carried
her to the exit.
The limo was there, Dianna at the wheel.
"Put her in," Kimba practically screamed. "Do you know how
to drive, doorknob?"
Dianna felt her pussy. For once, she had a good comeback.
"Do you know how to scream? Get in."
...
"Oh Yes! Slut! I will keep you in my pussy prison forever!"
Desiree was cumming.
Bump. The RV slewed a bit more. The gunman became more
alert.
Slut felt it, and it wasn't in his wife's bones. Slut knew
his wife was cumming now, and wouldn't notice his absence,
so (s)he fell back, as if kicked, and fell onto Chantel,
holding her.
...
"Dammit!" exclaimed Dianna. "I can't just knock them off
the road!"
"Take the chance!" Kimba was screaming. "It's their only
chance!"
Leslie said, "Mubba?"
...
Henrietta fell into the arms of Chantal, wrapped himself
around her, and reached for the support loop behind.
Whispered, though Chantal wasn't able to listen, "Hold on."
Bump. And now the RV careened wildly.
Spinning, turning, now flipping. Over and over again, the
sound of smashing metal, screeching on sleet covered
pavement, And then over again, sliding now into something
solid. And with a heave, and a crash, stopped. And
Henrietta, weakened arms and all, held rigid.
...
The sleet had turned to hail. The ravine beside the road
was mud. Henrietta untied Chantal laboriously. They tumbled
out of the back doors. Desiree had been tossed through the
shattered sunglass and lay, seemingly peacefully, half in
the stream that had started, and half out. The gunmen, all
of them were either dead or unconscious, or maybe even now,
were straggling down the freeway. It was over.
Henrietta was the most bruised, being the pillow for
Chantal, as they rolled. Now her arms were numb, later they
would be extremely sore, from the adrenaline flow.
Chantal was shaking, but present again, sitting weakly on
the fender of the limo.
Dianna said, "Let's go kick the shit out of the bitch!"
Kimba agreed, "Let's kick her to death, then drown her, and
then eat her."
It was an excitement of fear.
Henrietta, slut, looked wild eyed. "No! That is not how it
should be!"
Chantal, in the pouring hail looked at her. "Slut?"
"You made her this way, Chantal. You made her like this! We
can't hurt her anymore! She doesn't deserve this!"
Chantal was cold, shaking from that, and all that gone
before, but still she made her voice calm. "Girls, enough
is enough. Slut is right. Let Desiree be. Enough is enough.
It is our time to find our light. Enough of the dark. This
is where it can get you too."
Chantal shuddered...
...
"Girls, let's be quick on this now," Chantal said.
They were at sluts house, with all the memories.
"Kimba, get slut cleaned up and ready to go. Everyone is to
wear simple clothes. I don't want anyone to stand out.
Tonight we go to my yacht and depart." From this weary
world, She thought. Time to get away from the dark. It is
time.
Leslie, Kimba and Dianna scrambled about. Gathering what
little things they needed, most could be bought, anyways,
and getting dressed in what could look as a Sunday jaunt on
a yacht.
"And Kimba, no latex for slut. Make her a sailor!" Chantal
was smiling, but her hands were shaky. She shuddered, that
was close. Too close.
Henrietta came out a few minutes later, naked.
Kimba said, "I don't know what to do? The wig is glued, and
the make up is tattooed."
Dianna was now in heels, and sailor dress, white and blue,
and short skirt. Looking benign and slutty. Her hair was
curled.
Chantal laughed a bit, croaking... it had been a near
thing. "Why is she standing on her toes, why is her butt
clenching?"
"My tummy hurts," said Henrietta. "I can't lower my heels!
My pussy is empty. I am sorry."
"Key H. Rist!" Chantal said. "She needs her boots, plug and
corset. So do it!"
"Yes, Ms Chantal. Right away."
"So much for fitting in."
So it came to be, that, slut was put back into her plug, a
g-string, her corset and stockings, and five inch knee high
boots, and happy.
...
They arrived at the marina, as the dawn began to say hello.
The sleet had stopped, but it was still very cold. The
yacht waited. All of them were anxious. Everyone, except
for slut, and maybe Dianna, wore low-key clothing. Warm.
Henrietta turned to Chantal. "Thank you, Chantal, for
taking care of me."
Chantal threw her a brick hard slap. "You are welcome,
slut. But I am your Mistress. You need more training, I
see."
"Yes Mistress Chantal."
...
Later...
Slut lay with Her Mistress, the sun beaming down, the wind
slight, the heat warm.
She was dressed in 5 inch mules, a one piece corset
swimsuit, her wig, falsies, and tattooed makeup and
earrings, so many.
Leslie and Kimba curled around on the foredeck, around
Dianna, lazing about.
The deck man, steering the boat, was well paid, and allowed
to see. And steered them away from the scuminess of LA.
"I love you Chantal," slut said.
Chantal smiled, at the sun, then clocked her slut with her
fist. "I am your Mistress. Slut, never forget." Now,
Chantal didn't seem much to care, but discipline was, of
course, discipline.
"Yes, Mistress Chantal." And slut snuggled.
And the wind blew warm.
Finis
Authors note: I am so very sorry about the sketchiness of
this story. If i were a more discipline writer, it would
have made more sense. I think. And I do apologize for being
hasty. I will fix this story soon. And thank you, dear
readers, for your patience.
Elissa
- 16.01.2022
- 7
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