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Elise tensed first, her body thoughtlessly thrashing against the woman’s mouth now sucking in her juices. The longhaired slave began to moan, at the very moment that Sandra’s eaten cunt was starting to cum, and the two whipped about in a raving frenzy of culmination. Between them, Laney, much slower to her orgasm than the others, held fast. She could feel her friends struggling to stay linked, but there was nothing she could do to ensure the unbroken circle—not with her own vagina beginning to clench, and her sex juice flooding on to her lover’s face. For a time, she thought she might have enough power to keep their hands locked tight; but suddenly, with Elise jerking one way, and Sandra’s body wrenched in the opposite direction, the tear was made between the three. Their fingers slipped from each other’s grasp, and the two didn’t notice their failing until it was too late. Half the room saw the breach and watched the slaves’ frantic, only slightly conscious efforts to regain their hold. Even then, as their loins exploded and they hung on tight, the damage had been done and the company was satisfied that they’d see these slaves in another kind of bondage very soon.
“Have we ever lost a game?” the master in the black attire moved into the forefront again. An answer to his question was unnecessary.
Chapter Nine
Laney, Elise and Sandra were taken from the living room into the mirrored dressing room where they’d first been attired in their costumes of restraint. Their hands hand been tied behind their backs with rope, and they we
re left alone in the otherwise empty room to rest. No pillows, no easy way to get comfortable, they did the best they could in these sparse circumstances, leaning against the damask papered walls, and closing their eyes. Despite their sweaty bodies, the unwiped female cum at their snatches, and their hot, confining ball gowns, they managed to nap, beings too exhausted to think about their discomfort.
Like many of the rare moments when they were alone together, they might have spoken to each other. It had seemed like an eternity since they’d had a conversation. In fact, they hardly spoke to their masters except to answer questions with clipped replies, and occasionally ask one, which might lead to another question, or might well be frowned on. There were questions in their whirling minds now. The evening had stunned them, taking such an unexpected turn. Where had these men and women come from—how had they suddenly materialized on this remote island? Who brought them here, Devane? That seemed logical. But who were they? And could it possibly be that one of these gentlemen was Christian Barth himself—perhaps the master wearing all the somber black, or the distinguished fellow who first perused them with such curious interest. Devane had said his employer was an invalid—but he had no reason to tell the truth if it served him to do otherwise.
Though their minds were filled with such imaginings, their questions remained unspoken; and the discussion between friends that might have taken place was lost to a needed rest. Maybe another day… or another lifetime the answers would appear. Today, they preferred to sleep.
***
In the living room of the estate house, the party continued. Considering the wildly erotic end they’d all just witnessed, it was surprising to see the guests switch moods so quickly. Any immediate thoughts of sex dwindled away as the slaves were removed from the room.
It looked as though it had been some time since these people had last been together. Like old friends, they greeted each other with some hugs and a good deal of jovial conversation. Devane had shipped in wine and food for the occasion—even two housemaids to serve the party. Knowing the inclinations of this crowd, it was surprising that these domestics were not chatteled slaves, or dressed in scanty costumes. Instead, they were quite appropriately attired in black dresses with white aprons, just as they might be attired in any formal household.
The wine was vintage. The food simple—considering that cold food had to be kept on ice—but still quite elegant. As sadists go, this group had manners, exquisite taste and a fine sense of humor. The picture seemed too perfect in Erik’s eyes.
“You find these people sort of odd?” he whispered to Jason.
“If you want to put them in the ‘odd’ category, we’re odd, too.”
“Yes, but…” he couldn’t quite name his feeling.
“It’s as though they were ready for this,” Matthew mused instead. “Like they were expecting this scene … planning it in advance, sitting just off the beach in a boat, waiting to come on shore.”
“Yes, exactly,” Erick agreed.
“I don’t know,” Jason shook his head. He was reflecting on how the day began when a boat arrived that morning with eight guests, who quickly moved into the house as though it were home. They found rooms upstairs; and all but two shed their clothes and took to the beach—some naked, others in swimsuits. The new masters then briefly conferred with the pair that remained in the house on matters concerning the presentation later that day.
What was so curious about these guests was their age. While several were clearly old enough to have partied on Marquis Island when Barth reigned, at least three were too young to be playing S&M games in the late seventies. It had been over twenty years since the island had seen such action—if Devane could be believed. Then again, it might be prudent to discount the veracity of the man’s stories.
The daytime had apparently been set aside for innocuous play, while Erik, Jason and Matthew had kept their chattel contained in the vault. The slaves were well aware of something special about to take place, but they had no idea that there were new players in the contest for which they were the prizes.
What had been so strange about the evening’s festivities, however, had amazed all six residents of the house. Instead of a small gathering with eight new participants, the number had swelled to well over twenty. Where these other people had come from, even the masters didn’t know. They seemed to materialize out of nowhere. Would they disappear as easily?
Now, Barth’s living room on Marquis Island looked very much like an average cocktail party with a similar sort of small talk and lively banter that they might see at home. The mood could easily lull them into thinking there was nothing awaiting them this night; that the women they loved weren’t lying exhausted in a nearby room, ready to face the worst part of their ritual presentation.
Before they could further discuss their concerns, however, Erik, Matthew and Jason were lured away by other guests toward three separate corners of the room, engaged in conversations about the stock market, Broadway theatre, and the politics of the environmental waste and the greenhouse effect. For Matthew, a banker, Jason an assistant theatre producer, and Erik an environmental management consultant, the topics immediately threw them into familiar worlds far from the one they were living on the island. It took some time before they realized how well their attention had been diverted.
***
When the mantle clock tolled the hour with eleven tuneful chimes, the sound could be heard in the empty room where the three wasted slaves remained docile and adrift in their light dreams. When the door opened, it did so with a creak, and the sound of the chimes magnified, drawing the three from their reverie into consciousness.
The trio of dominants entering the room was swift, going to their slave of choice and placing yet another new collar around the slave’s gentle neck. With leashes attached to each, they tugged the women to their feet and led them through a door, which opened into the back hallway. The distinguished gentleman who’d already announced his intentions for Elise pulled at her collar with a not so genteel jerk, making her almost stumble. “The name is Essex,” he informed her. She nodded in acknowledgement, then turned her attention to her current task. After so much time upright, followed by her brief rest, the balls of her feet now ached with every step she took. How could she hope to walk? Knowing that she had little choice, Elise moved forward as fast as she could in an effort to keep up with this master.
Following close at her heels was the master clothed in black. “You’ll know me as Darius,” he told Sandra directly as he drew her into the narrow corridor.
Picking up the rear, Laney had already been inadvertently introduced to the Mistress Gina, who threw her sequins around like pennies and her rancor like a splash of turned wine.
Reaching the cellar stairs, the six halted at the top while Master Essex opened the door and attempted to light the darkness below with the insufficient glow from his stubby candle. Moving away from the opening, he prompted Elise forward with a warning, “The stairs are steep, there’s little light.” Something she already knew. “I’d suggest you walk carefully since the only thing that will catch you if you slip will be this leash on your collar.” He gave the thing a jerk so she’d remember the tether.
Trembling, Elise bit her lip, squinted, and then slowly took one step downward hoping she was judging the distance accurately. If only she had her hands to help her balance, there would be no problem making the descent. But with them still securely tied behind her back, she had to use her wits and intuition and a little prayer to keep her on her feet. She’d traveled this path several times since her slavedom began—each night descending to find her bed in the vault, and then returning upstairs in the morning. At least those trips were taken with her hands free so she had some control over the hazardous journey. Though Elise shook with fear at each tentative step, she finally reached the dirt-packed floor. Breathing a relieved sigh, she waited for her friends to appear from the darkness above.
There was something curiously animated about the under
