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“How can any slave sport such a flawless bum!” one woman barked derisively.
“I wonder if they’ve bothered with the cane, or kept to leather?” another chimed in.
“One wonders,” yet another voice with a thick English accent piped up. “But see how the fluid leaks from their quims; they’re ready to fuck, I’d say.”
Whether admiration or humiliation, the comments put the bowed slaves in tears; though, at least while their faces were hidden, no one would see the truth.
Moving out of the crowd was the distinguished fellow who had worried that their truncated training couldn’t possibly produce decent slaves. Planning a more thorough examination, his hand was in Elise’s crotch, playing with her pubis. Moving higher, he parted the cleft to expose her anus. “Tight round bud; has it been worked?”
“A good deal,” Matthew remarked.
“Very good. I’d like to take this one in the ass after I’ve worked her over.”
The corpulent fellow with the wooden paddle was anxious to make such an examination. Though taking Laney as his first target, he toyed with her privates only briefly, giving her labia a good tug, and jarring her anus with his thumb. Stepping back, he spanked her bottom briskly, while the poor slave worked to stay on her feet. As the impact of the brusque smacks began to take their toll, she was sure the heavy chain at her neck would make her topple forward. It took every ounce of strength in her to keep her balance in the spiked high heels, and the help of Elise and Sandra, whose hands where there for support. When the man finally finished, Laney sighed heavily, hoping he’d move on.
“Oh, we’re just getting started with you!” the bitchy femme dom with the sequins and the attitude swaggered forward carrying a thong whip. She ran her long red nails over Laney’s red behind, scratching lines into the red surface and digging so deeply that Laney was sure she was trying to cut the skin. “Let’s see how much damage my cat can do.” She chuckled darkly. “If nothing else, you are a sturdy slave!” She gave her ass a good smack, and then the bosomy woman stood back, and in a fit glee, raised her arm and let the leather sail. As the thongs splashed on Laney’s hot ass, the shriek on the other end of that strike pierced the hushed room with a bone-chilling alarm.
While the beguiling dominatrix wielded her whip, two other femmes took turns with Sandra’s ass—one at her left cheek, the other at her right. The female dressed in black held a leather slapper; the one in grey satin carried a short cane. Working either cheek back and forth, the pair pelted the slave’s ass with sharp rhythmic blows until both mistresses lost breath and had to stop. Sandra was in tears, working as furiously as her friends were to endure the assault. She could feel the fire, and even more, the way the distressing warmth crept through her body and moved beyond her ass to the place of arousal. Despite this horrible trial—and perhaps because of it—her pussy was dampening more, and beginning to convulse as though the action of her inner muscles might generate a spontaneous orgasm.
Between these two, Elise felt the smack of several hands that enjoyed the feel of her naked flesh. The distinguished gentleman worked her for some time, diving his fingers into her cunt and ass as much as he laid in to her bottom with the palm of his hand. When he finally stepped aside, there was more punishment, as a continuous stream of guests pleased themselves with this slave’s glorious derriere.
With fingers hanging on to their neighbor’s skirts, the three battered beauties clung to each other, grasping frantically as their bodies bumped and jostled erratically to the varied rhythms of punishment.
Enrapt with sexual merriment, this company of strangers might have gone on forever with the raucous proceedings. The sexual energy of the room grew in great waves of passion as the slaves suffered each indignity. But after nearly twenty minutes of intense probing, spanking, whipping pleasure, the extreme positions became too unbearable for even lowly slaves to physically endure. Stepping in to break up the exhibition, Erik calmed the crowd with his even-tempered voice.
“Lest we get too overcome here…” he began with his voice strong enough to ease its way above the sound of striking leather and whimpering slaves, “let’s not forget that our evening has only begun.”
The attentive masters and mistresses slowly responded, moving away from the three. Then, the chains that anchored them to the floor rings were removed and the slaves were allowed to rise. With their skirts still tied back, the delighted crowd enjoyed the sight of these once fair asses blooming vibrantly, like the blushing petals of new roses.
“Back to back again.” Matthew ordered.
“And hold hands,” Erik added. Though he was about to name the next trial himself, another man appeared in their midst, boldly advancing on the scene to the immediate horror of the three scared submissives.
Perhaps it was his black attire—his coat, shirt and pants looking like midnight. Or his gaze, the way he seemed to look inside them, not at them; and the way that gaze suggested that he knew things about each one, private things—their thoughts, what they refused to say, or what they remembered in the dark when no one was around. The result of his appearance produced a sinister shiver through the trio, which moved on and rippled through the crowd to leave a cloud of darkness in its menacing wake.
The man in black had been a master many years, no one could doubt that fact. He’d been born with the gift and had used it during his long life; though it was almost impossible to tell his age. His hair was greying, but not yet white; and his ruddy face, while suggesting a man who lived in the out-of-doors, hid the number of years from anyone’s fair guess.
“Let’s not mistake who you are, anymore than we’d mistake who I am.” He spoke to the three almost cheerfully, forgetting the onlookers while circling the trio with his eyes moving from one to the next as he walked. “You’ve made your decision as slaves—an irrefutable contract that will never leave you. Oh, you may leave this island, you may walk back into the other world where you’ve lived before, but you are assured by the nature of your stay here, not to forget the choice you made.” He paused a moment, stroked his chin and then strolled in the other direction. “You’ve proven yourself in the short term, and done rather well—though you’ve hardly been tried as much as you will be before this presentation is over.”
The watchful slaves listened to his words—as did the entire room—all mesmerized by the power he had to contain them.
“You have, though,” he went on, “just by being here, having found this island paradise of lust, stirred the ethers with your stunning decision to accept the debasement of your character. You’ve brought us here, you’ve changed the lives of all these people…” his hand gestured broadly to the waiting guests. “Did you think you had such power?” he added rhetorically and didn’t wait for a response. “Of course, you don’t see it that way, do you? Your minds have been so bent out of shape you have no idea what you’ve done here, and I suspect it will take some time before you’ll figure it out—if you ever do.” He raised his eyebrows knowingly. “Some slaves don’t. It is pointless to laud a slave, to give them any merit at all—I sometimes get taken to task by my fellows when I speak this humanly to chattel—” he chuckled, “the problem is, we all suspect the truth…” he stopped short of naming that truth, and where he’d almost been jovial with these worthless specimens, he became unduly stern, staring at each one narrowly. His hold on their minds was cruel. His expression like ice, his eyes as chilling, and all three stared at him, rattling with terror. “Don’t let your masters down. If they suffer, you will only suffer more.” He stopped again, and with the character of a chameleon, he mutated one more time becoming quite lighthearted. “The game—it’s a very old game indeed—you lock your hands together as though the three of you are bound with rope that cannot be broken. Your skirts will then be opened, your pussies splayed, and then serviced by three women until you each orgasm. If, in the throes of passion, you let go the hand that holds yours—any one of you letting your fingers slip away if only for a second—you’ll all be taken to the cellar where another torture will begin. We have our eyes on you…there’s not a man or woman who hasn’t staked his claim to a mouth, a crotch or ass. If you fail, you’ll have to survive us all…and all the extremes that we collectively can employ. Oh, and we are a crafty and experienced lot of sadists.” He paused, walking the floor around the trio one last time. “A rather daunting prospect, isn’t it?” He smiled. “Trust me, the deck is stacked against your success.”
The nameless master let the sound of his voice linger, then he disappeared inside the crowd to watch as three women came forward on their knees, one at the feet of each slave.
The fussy Eighteenth Century gowns hid little from view once the kneeling ladies had rummaged through the sheets of fabric and found the splits in the skirts. There were tiny ribbons on either side, which conveniently pulled the garments wide apart and then tied off at tiny loops in the corset waist. Working with meticulous care, the three women completed the unveiling, showing to the room three lustrous pussies—one blonde, one brown, the third shaved bare as a babe. Ordered to stand with their legs wide, hands grasped firmly in the palms of the slave beside them, they were ready to be plucked off by the lips and fingers of women skilled in the art of cunnilingus.
With hands expertly moving along the tottering thighs, the women journeyed inward where plump labia throbbed and sticky nectar oozed to lubricate the fingers invading the steamy portals. They parted the moist inner lips, opening the sensitive folds of skin where the vaginas leaked more profusely as the eroticism gained energy. Tongues lapped at doorways, and circled around the buds of painfully aroused clits. Laney’s lover pulled back her prominent hood and sucked the sliver of flesh deep into her mouth tearing at the edges of sensation.
“Ah, no,” Laney’s mouth answered, though she was hardly saying no, and her whore ignored the plea.
The three slaves began to move as the powerful tongues worked the slits and their bellies began to spasm. Their crotches undulated, sometimes fitfully; and their heads fell loosely to the side, and then circled around while their backs arched and their bosoms beckoned hands to play.
The servant sluts continued on, each one sensing the rising, falling nature of their slave’s sexual response, gauging the intensity, mindful of the rhythmic breathing as the worked cunts began to hasten toward their climax. They worked with fury, seeing the movements of the three become more exaggerated as their need increased, though they backed away when the orgasm got too close. The sluts waited while the impatient slaves thrust their pussies wantingly in the direction of a pleasing mouth. But only when the crescendo fell away, did the sluts return to take the anxious trio to another peak. As the drama unfolded, great gasps, whimpers and excruciating cries of torment swam through the charged air, while the three escaped elsewhere in their minds, closing their eyes being lost in this physical luxury and the promise of release.
Beyond their frenetic circle, there were masters—and mistresses transforming into slaves—all moving in the same erotic rhythms, with thighs against thighs, crotches rubbing into asses, lips seeking flesh and heat and full-mouthed kisses. Long before its scheduled start, an orgy was about to commence in response to what they witnessed—though it quickly abated as the three central figures in this theatre began to spike with pleasure.
