AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Should the process of abuse raise the erotic desire of the master—which it commonly does in such a highly charged environment, feel free to use your beaten slave in any sexual manner you choose. The indignity of such physical violation only enhances in the slave the servile state of abdication.”
Erik paused to gaze at Jason and Matthew, as this message from the Master Christian Barth became clear in their minds—he might as well have been writing a script.
“I thought we might draw lots to see whose slave is abused first,” Jason suggested. There was something particularly unnerving about these words coming from that source. Jason, normally the least somber of the three, seemed to be as much the ringleader for this scene. But make no mistake, the fervency in all three men drove the bargain to these inevitable ends, as much as the island, the house, Christian Barth’s crude missal, and the scorching fires ignited in the loins of these three astounded women.
“Fair enough,” Erik said. Opening the deck of cards on the table, he turned them face side up and pulled three queens from the stack. “Jason’s slave will be the Heart, mine the Spade, and Matthew’s bitch the Club.”
“Last time they’ll be thought of as queens,” Matthew chortled from his own dark space. He took the cards from Erik, shuffled them on the table, then laid them flat so no one knew which was which. “Draw our lucky slave, Jason,” he said.
The smirking master strode forward, considered all three cards, then quickly whisked one away, holding up the Queen of Spades so everyone could see.
Laney shivered silently in her collar as Erik stared her way. What protest might have appeared inside her throat was cut short by fear; and more importantly, the desperate desire that seemed to have replaced her sanity and arguments with an unexpected lust she could not squelch. Some vein of passion, like a vein of pure gold, seemed to have been tapped in her, and now mined, held forth an unending supply of rare desire from which to see this through.
“And will you do the honors with the slave?” Erik asked his friend.
Jason’s eyes burned with fire as he nodded his agreement and moved swiftly to the trunk of treasure, plucking from inside a short leather spanking strap. In his hand, the hefty two-inch leather almost brushed the floor. Laney’s gaze focused on the horror, though the look of the leather and the intensity of Jason’s firm fist gripping the thick handle lured her entire body. Her life had taken this twist without her conscious mind grasping—no thoughts seemed to get through now, no reason seemed to have any sway; there was no logic guiding her. Just lust. That pure vein of molten passion.
“On the table, ass end up,” Jason ordered.
Looking at him meekly, Laney crawled on hands and knees to the coffee table, slinking like a stalking animal, her ass swaying as though this were an invitation; though Jason hardly needed the seduction to lure him to her. He came on with the full power of a master’s lust guiding.
“Put your head on the table and raise your ass,” he ordered. Laney complied. “Spread your knees.” She did that, too. “Wider,” he commanded grimly as though he were displeased. She obeyed, though the position was difficult to manage and disgustingly lewd—just as Barth would have demanded.
Her ass was high, the two orbs tight, the tawny skin stretched, her thighs quivering and her exposed pussy wet with female cum. She flexed and clenched while pretending to relax, though there was not a muscle in her body that was not tense and teeming with anxiety as she awaited the first strike.
Jason stood back to appraise his target while all eyes focused on the show. The two waiting slaves watched petrified, while the two men witnessing were moved by the same strong hunger for domination. Their fingers were as itchy as this new master’s, but their appetites were on hold. A degree of patience seemed to breed in them along with their lust.
The first smack of the spanker fired hotly across the expanse of Laney’s ass.
She shrieked aghast as a surge of sensation splashed against her skin.
The second smack came down as damagingly; and the slave’s ass churned uncomfortably as another and another and another rain of sharp thwacks shot painful arrows through her. Though the heat of the spanking grew intense, her shrieks died off as though she unconsciously knew she should not protest with any venom. Her discomfort doubled and redoubled. But, her lust didn’t die, nor could she squash the crude sensuality barreling through her in great waves, choking all her senses.
Soon, an even rhythm grew between the slave and master as the beating on Laney’s ass proceeded. Her body caught up with the pain and used it to her advantage. “Ah, ah, ah, yessssss,” she was seething quietly under her breath, even though the whole room heard her when her distress changed to pleasure. Even with Jason coming on more strongly, she bore the pain with grace. Her mind swam with pictures, as if Christian Barth’s slaves were sending her images from the past, of ecstasy and untold pleasure inside the depths of pain.
In time, Jason broadened his target, aiming lower to the base of her ass and the tender back of her thighs. With such abuse, Laney crawled into the corner of her soul feeling beaten but not vanquished, feeling burned but not consumed.
When Jason stopped, his erection was at her pussy’s door, thrusting meanly to get off. The act was swift and certain, and Laney’s response not unexpected. He tripped her climax before his shot off inside her. When he was finished, he pulled her back, her scorched ass resting on her heels, and made her lick the remains of his cum from the head of his dwindling erection. They’d never been intimate, but now his sexual use of her seemed as normal as any odd act in this odd place.
“Now, get back on the floor,” he ordered. Turning to Erik, he added with a wry twist, “Your slave knows what she wants, she climaxed.”
“Perhaps those who fear the most have the most desire to burn off,” Erik suggested. “Shall we attend to the other two?”
“Creatively,” Matthew said, moving to the waiting Sandra and clamping her collar with a leash. He tugged her toward one of the alcoves fitted with both O-rings and an empty pedestal. Thrusting her belly down over the marble post, he then wrapped her hands with rope and affixed both wrists and ankles to a pair of bolts. Moving to Elise, he dragged her toward another alcove and bound her over a pedestal in the same fashion. Finally, pulling Laney along, she too was bowed over marble, tied in position. “I think these postures might mimic what old Barth might have done,” he said, observing his artful handiwork. “They’re locked secure this way, ready to be whipped or spanked or otherwise generally abused. What do you think?” He turned to his friends.
“I think our minds are becoming as devious as our hosts’,” Erik suggested. He took a paddle from the trunk and strut from bared ass to bared ass whacking each one until it was hotly colored. Even Laney’s ass took more abuse. Matthew followed with a riding crop, repeating the same rough treatment, and Jason added a few smart smacks of his leather spanker to Sandra and Elise’s roughed up behinds. Before they were finished, Matthew exploded his cum over Sandra’s spanked behind, and Elise, untied and pulled from the pedestal, took Erik’s erection into her mouth, sucking until the orgasm thundered through him and his cum spilled down her mouth and chin.
Resting from their tiring labor, the three men washed a few pretzels down with beer and finally untied their slaves, bringing them back to the fireplace on leashes.
In that remarkable hour, the nature of their stay on Marquis Island was written. No one had disagreed, there was not one protest—not even the thought of one passed through their minds. The transformation was complete, but eerie, even dreamlike, as though they were all the puppets of an unseen master who, with sleight of hand and wily schemes, directed their unspeakable acts.
Three slaves slept at the footboards of their master’s bed that night, contentedly, while in the minds of the men who relished the comfort of real mattresses, more wicked thoughts of domination appeared in their minds. They woke startled by what their dreams had to tell.
Chapter Four
The hypnotic winds whipping the island did not cease the next day—but seemed to blow harder still.
The next morning, the three collared slaves were turned loose in the kitchen to make breakfast, which they did naked, with gags in their mouths to prevent them from speaking. Matthew seemed to think it would be best that they did not talk among themselves. The others agreed.
