The Count of Monte CristoChapter 58 M Noirtier de Villefort
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I did not need to watch the screen to know how my plaything spent that restless night. As I enjoyed my morning tea, the screen showed my girl kneeling in position, awaiting her fate, her choice obvious in her perfect posture. As I finished my tea, she never moved, patience is a priceless virtue for a slave.
Entering the dungeon, I took my accustomed seat and made the necessary signal, the cell's door lock clicked a moment later. Still my plaything remained still, awaiting my command. "Come, kneel before me." I watched her approach, waited until she was in position, her face tilted up, a look of calm acceptance upon her face, with just a hint of that inner spirit, enough to maintain her composure.
"Today is the first day of your punishment, it starts now." A brief hand signal and the dungeon door opened. Both Gore and '3' entered. The look of confusion upon my plaything's face was priceless as '3' walked directly into the cell and placed a neat stack of clothes upon the bed. "Return to the cell and dress, quickly, or your breakfast will be cold." Shock turned to near panic as my plaything hurried to obey, '3' assisting her to dress in the clothes she had worn to the interview, now all freshly laundered.
Once my girl was dressed, '3' used the make-up from my plaything's handbag to re-create the look of that first meeting. A very confused plaything returned, but before she could kneel, I spoke again. "Do not kneel, take your place for breakfast." I indicated a small table and chair that Gore had set up, the contents of the breakfast tray he had brought in now laid out ready. As my plaything approached, Gore took hold of the chair back, seating her perfectly, before standing to one side, the perfect waiter.
I doubt my plaything tasted very much of the excellent breakfast laid before her. She ate in stunned silence, turning her head slightly to glance at Gore, or myself, before quickly returning to her task. Once my plaything had finished, Gore again held the chair back, assisting her to rise and approach me. I too stood, stepping forward to meet her. "This way, your chair awaits." I guided my girl to a comfortably padded straight backed chair. "Sit." Once seated, I attached the wide cuff-like velcro pads that secured her ankles and wrists to the chairs legs and arms. "Sit back," my plaything's head now rested in the sculpted padding of the head-rest, a short chain attached to her collar, restricting her movement, preventing her from looking away.
My plaything now sat, restrained and fully clothed, before a large mat. On the centre of the mat, '3' knelt facing her, masturbating. '3's' now lightly oiled body glistened under the lights, her hands graceful as her fingers worked, pleasuring herself even as they moved to draw attention to her rapidly growing arousal. It was obvious that '3' was not simply pleasuring herself, but doing so to arouse my plaything, who shifted slightly in her bonds, no doubt very aware of being fully clothed for the first time since her arrival.
'3's' finger tips traced languidly across her body, moving with seemingly aimless intent. Little by little her body revealed the growing intensity of her arousal. The slight flush of her neck, the deepening pink hue of her earlobes. Her eyes slightly hooded, lips appearing more luscious. The blush reached down between her now sensitive breasts, nipples already stiffened, areolae swollen and reddening. Her stomach tightened, hips rolling to offer her audience a better view of her sex, between legs that parted wide, thighs taut. Every part of her body seemed to grow more alive, more sensual, more available.
There was no rush, no hasty urgency to cum, by the time '3' reached the ragged edge of orgasm, my plaything was flushed, brow beaded with perspiration, panties soaked between her parted thighs. '3' stopped, an instant before cumming, then simply remained kneeling whilst Gore joined her. He too assumed a kneeling position, facing my pet, then began to slowly masturbate for her pleasure. One hand wrapped around his shaft, long strokes working to simulate a well trained pussy, the other cupping his balls, kneading them gently, then rolling his hand, thumb and forefinger encircling the base of his scrotum, twisting and pulling, not violently, rhythmically, prolonging his already impressive control.
By the time he too approached close to orgasm, my plaything was trying hard to get relief, her squirming was however, pointless, there was no way to touch or stimulate her body unassisted. Her moans of unrequited desire accompanied Gore and '3' as they turned their attentions to each other. My plaything's torment was only just beginning, with a lesson she had never expected. Being unable to serve can be a torment all it's own.
It took a long time before both Gore and '3' were at the very end of their control, each pushing themselves in order to prove their devotion. Finally they parted, kneeling side by side, facing my chair. Both straining to remain still, despite their heavy breathing and trembling, sweat soaked bodies. I paused, glanced at my plaything to include her, then spoke, "which of you should I choose to pleasure me?"
Before my two kneeling slaves could speak, my playthings voice, hoarse tortured cry broke the silence, "Please, Mistress, please allow me to serve you, please, I cannot bear it, please Mistress, I beg you, please..." Her cry fading as she ran out of breath.
Ignoring my plaything I stood and crossed the mat to stand before my slaves. "Stand." Both rose gracefully as I turned to face the dungeon door, taking Gore's rigid cock in my left hand, and hooking three fingers of my right into '3's' liquid cunt, I led them from the room, leaving my plaything seemingly alone, restrained, my final command to my slaves ringing in her ears... "You may both serve me, in my bedroom."
I feel the frustration and desire grow as I watch the girl touch herself, my panties getting damp and my pussy aching, even more so when it's the guy's turn, let alone when the carress and play with each other. And I see that glimmer in their eyes again while they are at it, and I want that too. I want to myself, I want to have her fingers in my pussy, I want to ... be with her ... serve her. Please her and be pleased likewise. And, most of all, I want to get to that point where I can choose, where I have a choice again. It's all easier, now that I know there is such a point.
I'm fuming, mad and angry at her for being ignored and left out as I watch them leaving, trying to rub my pussy on the chair's padding, of course in vain.
But gradually the anger recedes and I calm down. True, I'd still like some good sex, with either of the three, but I obviously won't get that, not today anyway. The question is, what am I supposed to do to get to that point?
Hmm. Difficult. Ok, step by step. I am her slave. A sex slave, as far as I know. I accepted that fact, not exactly on my free will, but I accepted to try and do my best for the time being. What would a good slave, like that other girl, do? What would her goal be in this situation?
I think she would accept her punishment with grace and do better next time. So that's what I will do too.
I returned to the dungeon, still accompanied by Gore and '3'. Both had both finally been granted release and were thus both tired and happy, though to look at them you couldn't tell, both were freshly showered and restored to their usual appearance. My plaything had obviously had time to consider her situation and review her choices, all whilst still fully clothed, horny and tied to the chair.
The sound of the velcro tearing apart roused my plaything from her day-dreams, '3' deftly released the pads and stepped back. "Stand and strip," I commanded my girl. She responded without hesitation, quickly slipping off each garment and folding them to form a neat stack on the chair. Once naked, but for her collar and cuffs, she knelt before me, posture once again perfect, but this time with a very different expression on her beautiful face. '3' collected the pile of clothes and left us to carry out her instructions.
Meanwhile Gore had been busy preparing for the afternoons entertainment. I used the crop to have my plaything rise and guided her over to an area close to the cell, where Gore had just completed my instructions. Having used the crop to halt my girl in the standing 'present' position, I brought the crop smartly across her ass cheeks, catching her by surprise, her scream of pain bitten off as she fought to get herself under control and stepped back into position.
"That is what the crop feels like, the skin is not broken, but the welt will remain for several weeks before it fades. The next part of your punishment is 200 more like that." I paused to let my words sink in. "However, you may reduce that number upon these machines." I used the crop to indicate the first one, a modified exercise bike, "Get on it." My plaything approached the bike, placing one foot on the frame above the pedal box in order to straddle the seat, from which two short dildos projected, both had already been smeared with lubricant. Gingerly she lowered herself onto the seat, impaling herself. "Now take those two clips and attach them to your nipples." The clips were connected to the handle bars by thin elastic cords, their length calculated to require the rider to lean forward at an uncomfortable angle, however they had sufficient stretch for the rider to sit upright, providing the rider did not mind the constant pull upon the clips. "Now place your feet on the pedals and begin." My plaything soon realised that the seat had been purposely adjusted to high, the only way to pedal was to rock from side to side. After some minutes the counter on the handlebars changed from zero to 1 and I allowed my plaything to stop and dismount.
Again the crop guided my girl to the next piece of equipment, a rowing machine. The seat also had a dildo protruding from it, again pre lubricated, as well as another pair of clips that were attached to wires coming from the control box. "On you get," I instructed my plaything, who once again sat down carefully, this time filling and stretching her ass just a little bit more. "Now attach the clips and start rowing." I was not sure if my girl recognised the clips from the tens unit, but she soon found out. A scream, part surprise, part shock, announced that she had completed one cycle. Another nine and the counter changed from zero to 1. Only then was my plaything allowed to stop and get up again.
Guided by the crop, my plaything moved to the third and last piece of equipment, a traditional 'horse', this one adjusted so that once astride, the users feet did not touch the floor, the horizontal bar had the traditional inverted 'v' shape and was covered in what appeared to be lubricant. "Do not mount it." I commanded, it's use is simple, you just sit astride the 'horse' your weight supported on your sex. If you choose to use it, once astride, simply start the stop-watch mounted on the end. Every minute you endure counts as 1 stroke, but..." I paused to ensure my plaything listened carefully. "You must use the equipment in the way you have been shown, and in the same order, get that wrong and you receive all 200 strokes with the cane."
I guided my girl back to the cell. "You have until morning to use the equipment, the cell door will not be locked, the dungeon will be," I pointed the crop towards one of the cameras, "Go exploring in the dungeon and you will get all 200 strokes, regardless of how long you spend on the equipment." My plaything knelt obediently before me, her new expression still plain upon her beautiful face, we both knew she accepted her punishment and would try her best to avoid receiving any strokes with the cane. "You may spend the time as you choose, your dinner will be served in the wall bowls, do not disappoint me by using your hands."
I turned away and after re-setting the counters to zero, I left the dungeon, as I walked away, I wondered how long it would be before my plaything found out that the 'lubricant' on the 'horse' contained a mixture of chilli oil and tiger balm...
As the dungeon door closed behind me, the opening notes of "Let's get fucked up" by The Cramps filled the dungeon, it was set on repeat.
"Let's get fucked up" ... Never were more fitting words spoken. Or sung, as is the case. Despite feeling like somebody has just punched me in the solar plexus and knocked the air out of me I smile briefly. She actually seems to have some sense of humor. Who would have thought. But the smile turns quickly into a wretched grin.
There's reason enough for the smile not to last. First, the predicament I'm facing. Then, the welt on my ass. It still stings terribly. I'm pretty sure I wouldn't survive 200 of those lashes. At least I didn't reach behind my back to rub it when she whacked me, I'm sure Mistress wouldn't have approved.
I'm pretty sure I can get the count down on the bike and the rowing machine, after all I went to the gym at least twice a week and spinning and rowing were the exercises I liked the most. The horse looks just evil. I can imagine what it's going to do with my pussy. I definitely don't want to sit up there.
Well, one thing is sure: It's going to hurt and it's going to be tough and the longer I wait, the less time remains, so maybe I should just get started since failing is definitely no option.
So I climb on the bike, feel the dildos stretch and fill me, not exactly liking it, but it's not too bad either. I could live with that feeling. But I know I'll have to slide on the saddle to reach the pedals. Oh, right, and the nipple clamps. Those, too. Mustn't forget torturing the nipples, do we? I wince as I clip them on, taking a second to catch my breath when the fierce pain shoots through my breasts.
Then I start pedaling. In the beginning it's easy. Not very comfortable, but not too painful either, as long as I lean forward to ease the pulling on the nipple clamps. The dildos even produce some nice feelings with my body's and my leg's movement. But it doesn't remain easy, let alone pleasurable, for long. I have the counter up to 50 when my perineum starts to hurt as if someone is taking a rough file to it. My lower back hurts too from leaning forward. I straighten up, but of course that makes me grit my teeth when the clamps dig into my nipples and pull them outward. I feel a rivulet of sweat trickle down my spine and disappear in the crack of my ass. I stop for a moment, trying to catch my breath, which isn't that easy for no matter how I position myself there's always at least one part of me hurting, and hurting quite badly.
I need a plan. A good one. Like, how to get through that. And I need earplugs, too. I like The Cramps, I really do. But I like to listen to them in a crowded club with a drink in my hand and a line of coke up my nose, not straddling a bike naked and having a dildo up my pussy and one up my ass.
But no. I don't need a plan and I don't need earplugs and I don't need no booze or coke or even a break. All I need is the will to pull myself together and keep doing what I'm doing, cycling when I'm on the bicycle, rowing when I'm on the rowing machine, sitting on the horse when I'm ... well, sitting on the horse ... It will hurt, but I must succeed. And I will succeed!
I'm less sure of that when I reach halftime some hours later. I'm still sitting on the bike, clenching my teeth, my legs pumping but the pace agonizingly slow, forcing my eyes closed so as not to torture myself by watching the counter all the time, yet opening them every other second only to find out that it's still 98, and then, an eternity later, 99. Finally the counter goes up to 100 and I take my feet off the pedals.
I know that this was the easy half, as I lean forward to rest my head on my forearms for a minute, my pulse racing, my breathing heavy, not to mention the pain and soreness in my pussy and ass. I almost forget to unclip the nipple clamps, not to mention my nipples which are grossly enlarged. I unclip them and start to dismount off the bike when the blood rushes back into my nipple and the pain hits me. My nipples feel as if they're being dipped in molten iron, except that the pain isn't just on the outside but spreading through the breasts. I howl with the pain, rub my tits, try to make the pain go away, but it takes ages until it finally recedes.
After a while I manage to walk to the cell, and if John Wayne had been there he'd watched my broadlegged staggering with envy. I definitely don't want to pee, I can imagine that it won't feel nice. But I have to. At least this time I'm prepared and don't scream when it hurts. I try the faucet, but there's no running water. Probably to prevent me from cooling all the parts of me that feel like they're on fire.
Ok, time to enjoy dinner. Except that I'm no dog and eating dinner on my knees, out of a bowl is bad enough, but doing it without using my hands is even worse. But I find out that it doesn't feel as bad anymore as it did yesterday, or whenever it was I ate like that for the last time. Of course I'd very much prefer to sit - ok, probably not sit, not right now anyway, what with the pieces I usually sit on being in the condition they're in - at a table and eat with fork and knive, but to eat like this is kinda hot in some very perverted way. If I hadn't other things on my mind I'd probably spend some time trying to figure out why it feels kinda hot. But as it is, all I can think of is the machines and the counter, which at the moment stands at a solid one hundred and will remain there if I don't move my ass soon.
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