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His mood was calm; and after the sex he was stringent with his rules. He almost smiled, and reaching down, loosed the tight grip of the restricting clasps. Pulling them off, Elise winced unhappily as each nipple spiked with pain, then caused the suffering slave to shudder as though another wave of orgasm would wrack her body. Seconds later, there was nothing but relief and a degree of comfort she hadn’t felt in some time. The abuse had served its purposes as much for her as the masters she’d satisfied.
“Up, slave,” Darius prodded Laney with his boot. “Untie your sister from her bondage, but leave the ropes around her breasts. I’m not quite finished gloating at this triumph.”
With a fresh burst of energy, Laney moved to her feet and hastened to Sandra’s side where she lovingly removed the straps and cuffs that bound her friend to the rack. Lifting her to her feet, she steadied Sandra in her arms, until she could step back and untie the ropes around her groin. As ordered, she left the upper bindings in place.
“Seems you’ve fared well, sluts. Now upstairs,” Darius ordered.
He pushed the trio forward into the cellar corridor, which seemed much more inviting than it had been earlier that evening. They made their way swiftly through the pitch-black air before them, sensing the path toward the stairs more by intuition than by feel of hand. Glad to be barefoot, they moved with ease, and despite their fatigue and the great soreness in their bodies, they were almost giddy having passed this most recent test of their slave life—if not passed, at least endured. They couldn’t imagine being more slave-like in their behavior, more within the rules of Barth’s design. Though they imagined that their present euphoria would be short-lived, for the moment, it gave them a piece of bliss to dwell on until they faced their next trial.
Chapter Ten
After the long and arduous session in the cellar, the upstairs rooms of the estate house were surprisingly rife with sexual energy, and the scene quite different from the dungeon of the house.
What had once been an uncomplicated living room with a simple fireplace and a few scattered and shabby couches was transformed again—becoming even more fresh and festive while the sexual activities had taken place downstairs. It was amazing to the eye—but suspicious. What spirits were working here? What sorcery that could alter the mood of this tiny world, and change even the look and nature of fixtures and furniture. The entire room looked like a delightful den of licentious lechery, designed for an orgy with mats, pillows and lounging sofas throughout the room. The smell of potent incense mixed with the salt air drifting through the open windows. The candles’ flames now writhed like sensuous dancing whores, making lewd shadows on the walls and languid bodies. Bathed in a sweet erotic glow… lit with melodies from the old Victrola, and more basely, the sounds of making love… the room seemed a sumptuous lair, where the tongue could taste the essence of sex and the body could breathe arousal.
Unlike their first entrance into the living room several hours before, this time, the trio of slaves were wholly ignored. To dispense with them quickly, Darius and Essex took each to an alcove at distant places in the room, and tied them there—not uncomfortably with great restraints, but so they were anchored with their wrists and ankles unable to move but a few inches in their assigned space. As soon as they were secured, the three were left to gaze at the undulating orgy of languid bodies engaged in another and seemingly endless exhibition of sex. These scenes of copulation were far more ordinary compared to the wildness of the sadomasochistic rites just finished. And yet, they were passionately executed by bodies teeming with need and unhampered by restraints. Fancy clothes were discarded and bodies writhed against each other. Thighs met pussies; and mouths met cocks; while the redolence of male and female nectars mingled in a pungent aroma of lust.
The only bodies not participating in the delightful couplings were the three tied to O-rings in their separate alcoves. One would have thought the slaves would be too exhausted to be aroused, but the sights before them made their spent pussies itch, their nipples draw into knots, and their mouths water as they thirsted with parched lips, seeking more. This time, however, they were denied any pleasure, while they remained the raw inspiration for the crimes of passion exhibited before them.
There were no whips to mark their skin, no phalluses, fake or real to screw their mouths and groins, no pinches, no racks, nothing but simple bondage. And still, this was torture, the worst sort, delivering them a full-blown pain to sting their hearts. Instead of offering their bodies, they were forced to watch as their masters, the men they loved, were taken by the charms of voracious women, who zeroed in on their cocks and sucked them dry, only to stimulate those organs again. As though the three had the same restorative powers for sex as women, Jason, Erik and Matthew seemed invincible, riding mouths, cunts and asses, while their happy faces reported their savage bliss.
This orgy had a pulse of its own, the energy rising and falling—sometimes brisk, with fast-paced screws, and other times more lethargic as the bodies snaked erotically in time to the languorous music on the phonograph.
For a time, Erik took three women. Engaging in a vigorous screw, he went from cunt to cunt to cunt as though he might go on all night in his vigorous pursuit of pussy. Jason, having focused on a buxom redhead, spread the woman’s legs wide, holding on to her ankles while he knelt between her thighs and banged her pussy in a gentle rage. His fiancée gazed on longingly, with her body hot and her thighs screaming to be held that way. Her inner muscles tensed as though it were her pussy where he’d placed his cock.
Unlike his friends, Matthew’s passion was more remote. He chose his lovers deliberately, moving from one to the next, preferring to assault asses and fuck from behind in the ruthless fashion that suited his detached temperament. Elise’s longing eyes moved with him from slut to slut as though she were diving into this lust. Though Matthew seemed to take pleasure in the mindless grope, Elise sensed that her husband would be happier in circumstances where each lover knew exactly how to screw him, how to suck his cock, and with her personal experience, how to squeeze the luscious cream from his erupting stalk.
Inside her own small corner of the room, Laney drifted in and out of consciousness as though she were inebriated. For a time, she watched Erik feeling disconnected from the reality of their relationship. She watched him fuck feeling little desire of her own, then her eyes moved on to Jason, Matthew, Essex, Darius, and even Gina. She settled on the woman for a while, thinking that there was something familiar about her—beyond her knowledge of the bitch on Marquis Island. But no details registered now as no real thought could push its way inside her brain. Perhaps she should feel left out, jealous of her husband’s passions with other women and jealous of the women who reveled in him. But at the moment, Laney was too drained to feel much of anything but the gentle and unrequited ache between her thighs.
***
The morning came to the island sweetly. At dawn, the sound of sea gulls and the surging of the ocean could be heard through the open windows. A balmy breeze cleared the air of the potent odors from the night before.
Barth’s living room looking like a ship wrecked on a lonely strand of beach; and with the luster of the evening having faded, its shabbier look returned. Yet, it was not an unpleasant sight, the awakening Laney thought as she peered around her. The room was restfully easy to gaze on after a night of such highly-sexed extremes. The world of Marquis Island was no different than it had been, just messier and less involved in broad dayligh
t.
Laney, Sandra and Elise had slept tethered together in a corner where there were pillows enough to allow them some comfort. The rest of the guests were scattered throughout the house, most in the rooms above. Before the slaves had been released from bondage, they’d watched as Erik and Matthew moved upstairs with women clinging to their nude bodies. Jason left the house with a woman on his arm, laughing and kissing her face as though they’d known each other for years. Where he slept the night was anybody’s guess.
With daylight, the house began to rouse, and Darius appeared to the slaves first. He was fully dressed—in black again. The tip of his boot nudged Elise’s arm. “Up, slaves.”
Elise crawled from her sleepy-eyed stupor and looked up. Seeing the somber expression on the master’s face, she pulled up quickly, drawing the sleeping Sandra with her. Laney followed on her own. The three were disjointed, still connected at the throat with chains joining their collars, and their feet shackled to the floor. Darius gave them a moment to settle themselves, and then removed the shackles and led the trio into the mirrored room.
“Your costumes are here. Get dressed as you have before. Breakfast is being prepared in the kitchen, you’ll serve in the dining room when we’re ready.” Before he left, Darius removed the collars and chains from around their necks so they were free to move about.
Finding the familiar costumes of restraint, the three quickly dressed—Elise in her pony gear, Sandra in her ivory corset, and Laney in her black leather suit. It would seem that returning to these clothes might be a pleasant reminder of the several days spent in the confining attire. And yet, their discomfort in these costumes had only increased after their day without them. Every tightly fitting strap, cinch and cord, cut more severely into their flesh. The pinchers and claws bit into already battered skin; and the bits and ballgag at their mouths seemed even crueler than before. Wearing the spike heels only made the strain on their sore bodies more obvious.
Nonetheless, the three slaves moved adroitly into the kitchen as though they were long-experienced slaves, and these discomforts were just part of the game they lived with. Perhaps, by then, the annoyances had become friends—a sign that there was a master who cared enough about them to have designed such delightful misery. Perhaps it was a sign of their profound acceptance of their subordinate status, that the pinching, squeezing, aching burden of their attire was something to guide them toward sexual pleasure—even now after an arduous day of physical endurance.
The three were quickly turned into kitchen slaves at the disposal of an experienced cook who, with the two maids, had served food the previous day. Following orders, the trio worked fast, setting the large dining room table for a full buffet brunch—amazing what kind of feast was still possible in these primitive circumstances.
Looking longingly at the food, they wondered how long it had been since they’d eaten. Their stomachs suddenly seemed so empty, they thought it had been days since they’d been fed, when it was really just a scant twenty-four hours. If they could have just one morsel to appease their hunger, but there wasn’t even a chance for them to sneak a bite or two with their mouths bridled and gagged.
Once the food was ready, they were ordered by one of the maids to wait for further instructions. They stood like statues in front of the dining room columns, their bodies alert and somewhat proud in their high heels. Despite their sore feet, they kept their elegant posture, displaying themselves for what would likely be another thorough inspection.
As the hungry guests straggled into the dining room, they generally ignored the three costumed slaves in order that they might satisfy their physical hunger. A couple of masters appraised them with haughty glares, but they were otherwise passed over. Even Erik, Matthew and a very tardy Jason seemed to have little use for them now.
Only after the bellies of these exhausted guests were full did they bother to acknowledge the presence of the costumed chattel.
