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I hear Tasia’s voice and follow it to a sitting room at the back of the house. With her back to me, she can’t see me standing off to one side with bated breath, waiting for their play to commence again.
Peach bends forward as she had in the garden. Her hands remain tied behind her, her face pushed against the plush blue carpet.
“You tease me, Samantha Clarisse, and you pay. I see the way you want this, the way you rant at me with your foul mouth, and yet you cannot deny what your body craves. You took far too long to give in to me, and I will not be easy with you for this mockery.”
The black stick she wielded in the garden is the same one in her hand. The sleek thing is nearly two feet long, though seeing it now, it has a handle which Tasia grasps firmly, and a rounded end like a dildo. She has greased Peach’s ass and is now forcing the thing inside her.
Peach cries out in agony, she’s not as easily violated there as I am, her sphincter never wants to give way.
I wince feeling the pain in me. The rod slips in grudgingly to Peach’s woeful pleas.
I want to rescue her, but Peach would not be yielding to this treatment unless she wanted it. The woman fucks her ass with the rod, until I think there’s surely ten inches impaled inside. I’ve never had such luck with my lover’s ass. Does she need this cruelty; does she crave being pried apart like this? I can understand the obsession for it is my own, but I never believed it would arouse Peach so. Have I neglected her desires as I’ve obsessively explored my own?
“You should be violated often like this, Samantha Clarisse, I’m sure your little brat is totally deficient in this way. You love this, don’t you? Admit it.”
“Yes, Anastasia,” Peach whimpers. I hear an earthy arousal in her husky voice.
Tasia twists the rod again and pushes it deeper.
An anguished moan escapes Peach’s lips. “Please bind me Anastasia,” she begs, resorting to our hostess’ formal name, as if she’s addressing her mistress.
“You have a lot to catch up on, a lot to prepare for,” the dark mistress says. She exudes a self-satisfied manner of which I am in awe.
The woman turns away from Peach and disappears beyond the open doorway. I back into the hall to be out of sight when she returns. I can’t believe I watch this without attempting some rescue. It would be futile, I know, but I feel as if I’m an accomplice in this rape, remaining passively immobile. I should leave, I think, but I can’t. I watch hypnotized as Tasia returns to Peach.
The mistress makes Peach stand. The act is awkward with her hands still bound behind her with the sash, but Tasia gives her no assistance. Once Peach is standing, Tasia lets her hands free, though she immediately binds them in front of her body with leather cuffs. A two-inch wide collar appears encircling Peach’s neck. Her expression is one I’ve never seen before, some blissful vacancy in her eyes, while her mouth forms a mirthful smile.
The smile is brief though. It vanishes into a painful grimace when Tasia clamps a chain to the collar, then runs the thing between her legs and fastens the other end to the back of the collar. It looks as if the chain will cut deeply into her cunt, especially as Tasia yanks it with her leather-gloved hand.
“Yeeeaw,” Peach pants aloud.
Is the binding more than she can bear?
“You’ll sleep here tonight, let your brat despair alone in your bed.” She pushes Peach somewhere beyond my sight.
I dash from the doorway and race up the stairs afraid of being caught aroused by such ungodly passions.
I jump into the bed, hiding inside the downy soft covers, wondering how Peach will sleep, bound the way she is. Where? From what pagan source has this obsession of hers risen? This is my providence, I declare to myself as if the silence will speak back. But the silence doesn’t speak, it whispers only that I envy Peach. I envy Tasia’s attention to her.
I block that thought immediately but I find my cunt wet and my clit hard and throbbing. I rub myself fast wanting to get away from my thoughts, but the orgasm doesn’t come easily, as if my sex angel refuses me the pleasure until I see myself so bound and abused the way my eyes saw Peach tonight. I play with myself forever it seems, taking all the twisted turns my mind creates until, at last, I cum.
Chapter Eight
I don’t see Peach in the morning, not right off.
I charge my way to the breakfast table thinking it will be Tasia and me alone, but there are two genteel lesbians sitting with her, the three chatting conventionally about the flowering plants outside the window.
“Where’s Peach?” I ask.
“Samantha Clarisse is indisposed this morning, my dear.”
I hate the stickiness in her voice. Those eyes of hers that moved me on our arrival are trying their best to woo and calm me now. But I’m beside myself with a thousand worries for Peach, and for me.
“I need to
see her now,” I say, demanding.
“She’s sleeping; I wouldn’t want to disturb her.” Tasia returns to her other guests while I turn away.
