Mr Martinet looks at the clock she will be here in five minutes. He smiles to himself and thinks of the scene he is going to play out to help Greg who had phoned a couple of weeks ago. He had been intrigued by his story and plight, but what convinced him to help is the way he had got his name and number. Mrs Mary Edwards is going to suffer before he extracts the truth from her.

Greg had started as an online dominant in a number of BDSM websites, before finding Penny and making her his real time submissive. That was just over two years ago and while it started out as an exciting adventure these past nine months it had drifted into tedious routine. He is sure that it will not be long before the relationship ends. They have talked about it but neither can see a way out and have resigned themselves to the inevitable.

Then last month he overhears the neighbour’s cleaner, Mary a plump woman who was most probably older than she looks, next door in the garden having a cigarette talking on her mobile phone about her weekend away, how she had been disciplined and used in every hole. She had laughed, no giggled like a girl as she had described some of the activities she had been made to do. Well she admitted to the person on the other end of the phone she did not need much persuasion. It was clear from the description of the things being done to her that she was a submissive and had been on a BDSM weekend. She mentioned her Master and it was obvious to Craig that this man is using her in very innovative ways with some interesting techniques. She also let slip how she had invited one of his friends round to the house she cleans, when the owners were away, and had been tied to their bed, which she reckons never saw any action, and had her arse used till she screamed the safe word. Her laugh at this comment was loud and dirty.

Later that day Greg ‘accidentally’ bumped into the cleaner, tells her how he had overheard her telephone conversation and asked her about the disciplining. Her face dropped and it is clear she has made a mistake. Then he uses this knowledge as a threat of telling her employers, who are good Catholics and have a very moral streak, to get the name of her disciplinarian along with his phone number out of her. In fact he continues to use the threat to ensure he has her a couple of times a week, always in the garden, always on all fours and always in both holes, Mary obviously loves having her anus used by the squeals of delight when he enters her, so the threat is just part of the game, or so he thinks, Mary knows different. The thought occurred that if the situation with Penny did not get resolved then Mary will be a more than adequate replacement until her can find a younger model again.

Greg tells all of this to Mr. Martinet when he phones him, after all he wants to get on his good side and does not want to be seen to be deceiving him. All he does is make Mr. Martinet angry, not with him but Mary. All he asks of his submissives are two things, first that no one but him uses their anus and secondly, all sexual activity is to be reported to him, either by asking in advance or by written report afterwards. Mary had failed on both counts. This was not the first time Mary has disappointed him, she will be dealt with in due course.

Penny parks her car in the side street off the main road, about 100 yards from the house she has been instructed to go to. It had been a bit of a shock, then a thrill to have Greg, her Master tell, no order her to visit another Dom he has been talking to. He explained that she is the price he has to pay for the help he has been given. Money has not changed hands, instead she is to be provided for him to use for the evening. The thought of being under the control of another even for an evening had been a daunting thought at first, but it became more exciting the longer the thought remained. She has to admit that life with Greg has become predictable. As she presses the button on the remote that locks the car she feels her breath grow deeper and her heart beat faster. Oh my god she thinks, will I be able to do this. Steeling herself she pockets the keys and walks back to the corner and along the main road.

The e-mail instructions have been very precise in what she should wear for the evening. The type of underwear, the shoes, the stockings, the skirt and its length along with the blouse which has to be unbuttoned to her navel. She is to carry nothing, no bag, purse or money. The only thing allowed is the keys to her car. The night is drawing in, and the sun has disappeared behind the clouds making the slight wind feel colder than it really is. When Penny turns the corner the wind catches the open blouse and makes it billow and expose more of her bra covered breasts than she wants. She pulls it back into place and notices that the car heading towards her has slowed a little as the man driving looks goggle eyed at her. The road is busy even at this time, but thankfully has no one walking on her side of the pavement.

The houses are set back a little with short driveways. Curtains are not dawn yet, but lights are on and Penny can see normal life going on. Hedges vary in size so a couple of houses are blocked out completely. She counts the houses along the road after finding the number of the first one so she can workout the one she is going to, it is further along the road than she likes as a few cars have honked their horns as she tries to keep her blouse from taking away all her dignity.

Mr Martinet looks across the room at Greg, who is examining his watch.

“Don’t worry, she will be here soon. I think she is both intrigued at what will happen and scared of letting you down, if what you have said about her is true.”

“It’s all true.” Says Greg a bit defensively as he covers his watch with the sleeve.

“Good.” Replies Mr Martinet, “Then I will have a most pleasant evening.” He smiles, but Greg looks less than pleased, he might even be having second thoughts.

Penny reaches the driveway of the house. It is detached with a porch, much like most of the others she has passed on along the road. She feels flushed and is sure she is red in the face. Her breathing is harder now and her heartbeat can be felt in her ears. She is unsure about what she has let herself in for, but she is also excited. She is sure it is just the wind chill that has made her nipples so hard, at least that is what she wants to believe. With a deep breath she walks up the drive. The gravel crunches.

The porch is lit up and as she reaches for the bell she notices an envelope stuck to the door. It has her name on it and the instruction ‘enter the porch and read me’. Her eyes widen and she bites her bottom lip. She looks around, but can see no one. Opening the door she enters the porch and takes the envelope down.

Inside is a short note with a list of instructions, she reads it carefully:

Penny, you will remove all clothing and place them in the wooden chest to the right of the door.

You will then knock three times.

Then kneel to the left of the door and wait.


Penny’s eyes widen, she reads it again. Looks around the well lit porch and realises that she will be seen by anyone passing. The hedge is quite high, but the gap for the driveway is wide. Another look makes her realise the porch is brick built for a third of its height, but glass to the roof. She figures that if she keeps low, then she will be able to get undressed without being seen and if she kneels down low, then she will only have her head and shoulders showing above the bricks.

With this plan in mind she starts to strip and keeping low she manages to get all her clothes off without being observed. Folding her clothes as she goes she places them in the chest. Hunched down she turns to the door to knock. Penny looks up as the door knocker is high and she will have to stand to reach it. Panic sets in. She looks towards the road to see cars going past the end of the drive. Surely they would be looking at the road and not down the driveways. Controlling her breath, Penny counts to three, stands with her back to the road and knocks three times quickly. Dropping back down before the third knock has finished. She turns and stares out at the road again. A couple are halfway across the gap. Have they seen her? No, they are to busy talking as they go by.

Penny kneels down low to the left of the door and waits. Her arms folded across her chest, shaking, ready to jump at the slightest noise.

Greg goes rigid and starts to rise as the knocks sound through the hallway and into the sitting room. Mr Martinet raises a hand and motions for Greg to remain seated. It is after all necessary for him to be out of sight of Penny when she enters the room.

“Wait. At least we know she has arrived and followed your orders to come to my house. It remains to be seen if she has followed the instructions I left at the door however.” Mr Martinet smiles at the puzzled look Greg gives him. “I have not told you the detail of what will take place this evening, only the outline. Now to see if Penny can be brought back into line and become the submissive you want her to be, we must test her and give you enough information from this evening to keep her off balance so to speak. She must never again feel comfortable in her submissive position, she must always be wondering what will happen next. I expect she is nervous if not a little scared of what you have let her in for.”

The puzzled look has not left Greg’s face. “I don’t understand,” he says.

“Let me explain and tell you the predicament your little slave is in right now while I make us some more tea.” As he leads Greg out to the kitchen he says, “ten minutes or so on that hard floor dodging the walkers and runners as they pass my drive should be long enough this time for her.”

He is right, Penny is a bundle of nerves as she kneels and waits. Each person that passes causing her to duck down. While she is not adverse to topless sunbathing, or being displayed at the BDSM parties Greg had taken her to. This is totally different. It is not a natural time or environment in which to be naked. She has been warming to the thought of grabbing her clothes out of the chest and running. It will be letting Greg down, but after she has explained he is sure to forgive. Isn’t he?

With the tea made and steaming in the cups, Mr Martinet leaves Greg to carry them back into the sitting room as he goes to the front door to introduce Penny to the next stage of her evening. He opens the door quickly causing Penny to jump and for a moment regret not making her move a few minutes earlier.

He gives her a cursory glance then moves into the porch and stands in front of the chest. He messes the neatly folded clothes tutting as he does, making sure that she knows he disapproves. Penny opens her mouth a few times as if to say something, but shuts it as quickly. He is taller and bigger than Greg and has an air of authority about him. Then to her utter horror he closes the lid of the chest, secures the clasp and threads a padlock through the ring. Locks it and puts the key in his pocket. Turning he looks at Penny properly for the first time and sighs.

“Kneel up girl, don’t slouch.” He barks.

Penny kneels up immediately, surprised at her involuntary reaction to his strong voice. Then realises her breasts will be visible from outside. Slowly she tries to lower herself without being obvious. But he clearly knows what she is doing and steps forward, places a hand under her chin and raises her head so she has to kneel up straight.

“My name in Mr Martinet and you are here at the bidding of your Master. Tell me girl, what is your name?” He is now holder her chin firmly and Penny can hardly move her mouth to reply.

“P..P..Penny… sir.” She manages to splutter out.

“Are you called that because like a penny you are worthless?”

Penny’s eyes widen, she is shocked, she has never been spoken to like this before.

“i… erm.. i… whaaaa.” Again Penny splutters but this time it is meaningless noises.

Mr Martinet looks straight into her eyes and sees how confused she is already. Good. He releases her chin with a flick. “Stand up and face the porch door.” Penny does not move. “Now,” he barks.

Penny jumps. She starts to move, but not quickly enough. Mr Martinet reaches out and grabs the single plait that Penny has been instructed to wear her hair in. She now knows why as it gives a good handle as she is hauled upright and turns her to the porch door to face the driveway and the main road.

“Put your hands on the door frame and lean into it. Stick your arse out.” To emphasis this last point he slaps her butt cheeks hard. “I have to get you ready to enter my house.” He smiles to himself and wonders just how confused she is right now.

“Ouch.” Penny’s bottom smarts at this slap. As she does not want another she places her hands on the door frame and looks down the driveway. She feels her ankles being tapped by his foot and opens her legs. She has never felt so exposed as at that moment.

Mr Martinet has discussed Penny’s acceptance of anal plugs with Greg and is appalled to find that they had never used anything larger than four inches. He has explained how that is not good enough and a regime of anal expansion is required. This will take the form of introducing larger and longer plugs over the coming months. Greg has agreed that Penny is comfortable with four inches and the fun of having her plugged had started to disappear. This is about to change. Mr Martinet can see that Penny is visibly shaking as he steps back into his house to the small table that has the tube of lubricant on it. He squeezes a good finger full out of the tube and stands behind Penny. With unerring accuracy his gel covered finger tip finds her puckered anus.

“Relax girl and let my finger enter you.” He says as it touches and then starts to swirl around the entrance before he pushes it in. Penny is not ready for the cool feel of the gel let alone the fact that this stranger is now driving his finger into her bum. Pulling and stretching the opening. She closes her eyes and grunts at the movement and the sensation. When he removes his finger she feels stretched and wet, very wet. She opens her eyes and looks down the drive at the little old man and his dog. He has stopped and the dog takes the opportunity to pee on the bushes. He just stands and stares at Penny and has obviously witnesses her being prepared. Horror rushes through her, but also a sigh of resignation.

“Ah, there’s old Harry and his even older dog.” Mr Martinet laughs at his own joke. Penny has not noticed that he has stepped inside and returned. This time he has the plug with him. Six inches long and shaped like an extended bomb. The end is broad and would dig into the cheeks on either side when fully in place. “You know,” he continues in a conversational tone, “he has the happy knack of walking that dog past here whenever I am preparing a girl to enter my house.” He laughs again, “think I’ll invite him in one day and let him have a play. How about tonight Penny? Should old Harry be allowed in to play with you?” She shudders and whimpers.

As Harry stands and watches, even with his failing eyesight he can see that she is a pretty girl, nice sized tits and is it a legal requirement these days to have their cunts shaved. Everyone that he has seen at this house has been the same. He isn’t sure what goes on, but he does enjoy watching the naked women as the next bit of the performance begins. Yes, it is very enjoyable to see this next bit. He can just make out the man behind the girl as he reaches down. He has one of those dildo things in his hand. Yes he has, looks like he’s lined it up and…….. Penny grunts again as she feels the end of the plug open her anus. She is trying to relax but it makes no difference, it is going in at the speed that Mr Martinet wants it to, which is quicker than Greg ever does. She can tell it is fatter and she feels her passage stretch to allow it in. But will it never stop coming, oh it is so long, she grunts again as it continues its journey into her anal passage.

Finally her sphincter closes around it so that only the flat round end protrudes from her. She can feel beads of sweat on her brow and she is breathing heavily. But now she can relax, it is over, it is in. She gentle tightens her bottom muscles which confirms it is much bigger than anything she had felt in there before. She feels full and strangely content. Her eyes refocus on the old man outside, he is tugging at the dog lead trying to hurry away. Harry has an important task to perform as usual after he has watched a young girl being plugged. The image will last long enough for him to have his pleasure. Then a cup of tea, yes that will round the evening off nicely he thinks.

Mr Martinet pulls first one arm then the other behind Penny’s back, the touch of cold steel and the click tells her that she had been cuffed. It registers on a subconscious level. Penny is not ready for the real world just yet. Her real world at the moment is six inches of hard plastic and the muscle spasms it is causing.

“Kneel by the door again girl. Now.” Mr Martinet barks the last word at Penny, knowing it will make her jump. “And say ‘yes sir’ after each instruction given. Do you understand Penny?”

Penny looks round, startled and not really knowing what to do or what has been said. She is still inspecting the plug with her anus muscles and starting to feel a dull ache now that the initial stretching has been done.

“If I have to repeat myself girl, then you will be thrown out as you are on to the main road. Do you understand?” He points this time to the spot to the left of the house door. Penny’s reeling senses some how managed to grasp that she should return to the position.

“Yes sir,” she whispers and groans when both she and the plug moved.

“Speak up girl.”

“Yes sir, sorry sir.” She manages between moans of discomfort.

Awkwardly, from the combination of the plug and the cuffs Penny kneels down and slumps to below the porch wall level. As she manoeuvres herself into a semi comfortable position, Mr Martinet steps back into the house and to the small table, re-emerging with a dog’s collar and lead in his hands.

He looks down on her and shakes his head. “Kneel up girl.”

“Yes sir,” Penny raises herself up squirming under the influent of the plug as her anus moves around it into the new position and conscious now that she will be visible, albeit only her head and breasts, from the road once again.

“Lift your chin girl.” As Penny does the dog collar is placed around her neck and secured by the buckle at the back. Mr. Martinet then clips the lead to the collar and lifts it up. Penny’s neck extends and then she has to kneel up further as Mr Martinet continues to pull upwards. The looped handle of the lead is slipped over a hook by the door, meaning Penny has to kneel with a straight back or suffer being choked. This has raised her to a full kneel and now even her navel is above the wall of the porch.

She turns her head slowly or tries to towards the road it is not easy with the lead pulling her head up and the collar tight against her neck. No one is there she sighs and sags, but immediately pulls herself up again as the collar digs in to her throat. As she turns back to the house and door again, she is in time to see it closing. She is alone in the porch, she is alone and naked, she is alone, naked and unable to move, she is alone, naked, unable to move and visible to anyone who cares to look. She would gulp if the collar allowed it. A tear forms in her eye. What has she allowed herself to be drawn into.

Greg looks up from his chair behind the door when Mr Martinet walks in and over to the table where his cup of tea is waiting. It is not possible to see what has taken place, but he had heard Penny’s voice and the tremble in it. She is scared, he can tell, but it seems she has done as she is told. Mr Martinet takes a sip of his tea before turning to face Greg.

“Your little Penny is almost ready to be brought into my home. I think she needs some time in the porch to think over what has happened and wonder what else will happen to her this evening.” He smiles then laughs at the expression on Greg’s face. “Don’t worry, she will be very willing and attentive both this evening and I suspect for quite sometime afterwards. She looks to be good stock and with a bit of training a useable sub. Nice body, are the tits as firm as they look?” Greg nods weakly. “Good I’m quite looking forward to handling her.”

Mr Martinet had explained to Greg that he thought that his and Penny’s relationship has started to move from Dominant and submissive to a loving vanilla one. Greg had agreed. He also warned that he will have mixed feelings towards Mr Martinet and what is going to happen this evening, but it is in the long run a good thing and that the situation can be turned around. The matter of fact and perfunctory manner that Mr Martinet is talking about Penny is a step along that path back to where the relationship should be. Penny is to be thought of as an object once he has that idea in his head the rest will be easy. That is the theory according to Mr Martinet. For the next fifteen minutes, while he watches Greg closely, Mr Martinet talks about Penny, her body, describing in a crude manner what Greg must do to her over the coming week.

“I think it’s time to bring the girl in don’t you Greg.” This is more of a statement than a question, after all Mr Martinet is in charge. Greg nods a little taken aback by the conversation that has just taken place. Besides he wants to see if he has the resolve to carry out what Mr Martinet has outlined and he is also eager to see Penny being handled by another. This is both a scary yet exciting prospect. He sinks back into the chair and the shadows, invisible to anyone coming into the room till they turn round.

Scared and shivering, Penny has spent the last fifteen minutes continually glancing down the drive at the main road. Freezing when someone walks past and breathing again when they do not look at the house. She has been displayed and paraded before, but this is different, this time she has been just left, being seen is almost an after thought to the position she has been left in. The door opens making Penny jump yet again. She has up to this evening been a confident and assured woman, even when she has submitted to Greg. But now! The sight of Mr Martinet brings relief as she hopes her ordeal is over. She is shocked that she is relieved to see a stranger who will do who knows what to her, just so this time alone will be at an end.

“Stand up girl.” He takes hold of the lead and pulls up. Penny quickly scrambles up to stop her weight from being supported by her alone neck. It is not easy with her hands behind her back and no other assistance is given or offered. As she moves for the first time in fifteen minutes, the plug of hard plastic in her anus moves; her anal muscles scream their complaint as they have settled around their new friend. She almost doubles up as a stomach cramp hit her, but Mr Martinet’s hold on the lead makes sure that she does not and that the pain is felt to its full. Once standing up right it subsides to a dull ache. He smiles at the expressions on her face she is pretty but looks so much better when in pain.

He pulls her towards the door, causing Penny to take a long stride to catch up. The muscles around the plastic plug complain again and Penny groans.

“Did you say something girl?” Mr Martinet stops suddenly and turns on her.

“Nnnnnno sir, sorry sir.” She is still in the doorway and fears being put outside again. She tries to lower her head not daring to look at him directly, wanting only the relative safety of the house.

“You will only speak when spoken to.” He glares at her. Turning he pulls on the lead and makes Penny take three steps into the hallway of the house.

“Kneel.” A sharp tug downwards forces Penny to her knees. Passing her he closes the door then starts to walk down the hall. Penny is forced to scramble up again or be dragged. Her anus complains again at the sudden movement. This time she suppresses the groan.

Penny does not have time to take in the surroundings as she is pulled along the hallway. She does notice the change under her feet though as she is lead into a room and the soft carpet is replaced by smooth, hard wood. He does not stop pulling till Penny stands in what she assumes is the centre of the room. It seems that all the lighting in the room, such that it is, is directed at the place she now stood, naked, cuffed and full of plastic plug. A light aimed at her prevented her from seeing the room properly, but she gets the impression it is sparely furnished.

“Stand there and stop shaking.” Mr Martinet waits a few seconds while Penny gains what is left of her composure, the lead is unclasped and thrown to the ground in front of her. “Better.” He continues. “Now open your legs wider girl, they should be at least three feet apart.” He makes the point of letting Penny see him look down her body then her legs to her feet. She has never felt so naked. She opens her legs.

Greg has bitten his bottom lip at they entered, knowing he has not to make a sound or Mr Martinet will end the evening and send them both home. He watches her gait as she tried to walk with the six inch butt plug secure in her anus. It makes him smile to see her obvious trouble as the unbending plug forces her anus muscles to adjust and readjust with each step. Now that she has stopped and has opened her legs, the end of the plug is visible as it nestles between her cheeks. His erection starts to grow.

“Did you shave your pussy this morning as instructed Penny?” His eyes have moved back up her body, Penny is red with embarrassment and now a little shocked at the frankness of the question posed.

“Y..y..yes sir” She manages to stammer.

“Then I will check to make sure it has been done properly.” Mr Martinet has always maintained that the first touch a Dom should make upon a sub must be sudden and intimate. As intimate as possible. The sub must be made aware through actions as well as words that they are just an object to be used as and when required. Any sign of warmth or care would undermine this, so the first touch is a bench mark. His hand shoots out and he grabs her pussy, his palm flat against the labia major, the heel on the mound and the fingers extended as far as possible. In this case they touched the protruding butt plug. Penny yelps and jumps.

“Quiet girl, you must expect to be handled intimately on a regular basis. Now keep still while I check your shaving ability.”

Mr Martinet starts to slowly grind his hand against Penny’s most intimate part, causing her to lift up on her toes and stare wide eyed and open mouthed as the motion becomes rough. With practised ease Mr Martinet bends his middle finger as he pulls back and up and positions it on her opening. It is wet. Then with a forward shove it slides effortlessly into Penny’s vaginal passage. A gasp escapes from her mouth. A few more circles and shoves with his hand hard against her sex and the finger is all the way in. The two fingers either side of the middle one then move a little inwards and take hold of the protruding edge of the butt plug. The circle and rubbing motion that he is now so rhythmically doing includes a new element as the butt plug is moved back and to. Penny’s legs nearly give way as it began it’s not to subtle movement deep inside her anus.

Greg starts to breathe hard as he watches his sub being man handled in this way, but keeps himself in check having been warned that it might spark a defensive reaction seeing Penny used. Mr Martinet takes the opportunity of Penny closing her eyes as she struggles to keep on her legs by looking at Greg and giving a reassuring nod. Greg is not reassured.

“Look at me girl while I handle you.” His voice is harsh and sounds a bit distant to Penny, but an extra hard rub made her eyes fly open. He looks straight at her and deep into her eyes, defying her to look away.

“You seem to have done a good job Penny. I cannot feel any bristling on my hand.” He smiles at the slightly puzzled look she gives back. The messages being sent from her body have already started to blank out all other thoughts and ideas. “You reach a satisfactory wetness very quickly as well.” He crooks his finger slightly inside her. It now rubs a little harder against her vaginal wall as he continues the hard circular motion. She whimpers in response. But her eyes never straying from his as they are locked tight.

“I want to ask you a question Penny.” His voice has now taken on a lilting tone. He knows that he has her full attention and the need for sternness has passed for the moment. “When did you masturbate last?”

“Wha….. ” Penny can hardly concentrate on what is going on in the room let alone a direct question.

“I told you not to make me repeat myself girl.” As he says this his hand starts to squeeze her labia as he circles harder. Penny whimpers again, but comes back to reality. “When did you masturbate last?”

“I… er… I …er…” Penny is having trouble now as the messages from her pussy floods her mind. She has never been manipulated like this before the sensation is overpowering. “Yesterday sir. My Master gave me permission to masturbate yesterday evening sir.” She manages to blurt out before moaning.

Mr Martinet continues with his manipulating of her pussy for a few moments, looking deep into her eyes, seeing more than she dare let him, then back in the lilting voice he used before he says, “I did not ask when was the last time you had permission to masturbate, I ask when did you masturbate last?

“I… er… I.. ooooo… I masturbated this morning sir.” Penny sags as this truth comes out. It has been an effort to for her to say this, he can tell. She clearly does not like to be seen to let her Master down and will have held out if she had known he is sitting right behind her.

“Why did you masturbate this morning Penny?”

Now that the initial confession is out, saying more is not difficult. “Because I was aroused at the thought of coming here this evening sir.” Realising what she has said she quickly adds, “Please don’t tell him sir. Please don’t sir.”

“I don’t think I need to tell him that Penny. I believe that you will tell him.” He smiles.

Mr. Martinet’s hand performs a few more circles, eyes locked onto each other, her arousal is almost complete the pupils give Penny away an orgasm is will soon follow.

“Where did this take place Penny?”

“In the bathroom sir. I said I needed the toilet before my shower sir. My Master often watches as I shower, especially if I am going to shave my pussy sir. I needed a little privacy sir.”

“Was it a good orgasm Penny? Did you enjoy it more because it was not permitted, or because you were thinking of the delights that awaited you this evening?”

“I don’t know sir. It is good sir. All I could think about was this evening sir.”

As Penny finishes her confession, Mr Martinet removes his hand abruptly pulling it back and away, denying her the release of an orgasm. Penny then realises that it had been his hand that had been keeping her upright. She falls to her knees. Mr Martinet looks over her head at Greg who has now moved to the edge of his seat. His eyes are boring into the back of Penny’s head. He is clearly angry by her confession. Greg thinks of how she will be punished for this, it has been a corner stone of their relationship that he controls her orgasms that she can only orgasm and therefore masturbate with his express permission. He will also make sure that she is not allowed any private time again for this misdemeanour. He had been unsure about letting this evening happen and is doubly so when he saw her stilted walk as she came in to the room. He has to fight his emotions as watches her being handled, but now, yes it has been worthwhile. He begins to wonder what other things she has been doing behind his back.

“Stay where you are girl.” Mr Martinet returns to the sterner voice as he sees Penny make an attempt to rise. She does not know it but her next performance is about to begin. With her hands still cuffed behind her back she grimaces as the after effect of the rough handling her pussy has just endured starts to kick in. How she wishes she could give it a soothing rub. But this just helps to keep her distracted as Mr Martinet takes a black blindfold from his pocket and puts it over her head, then eyes. Penny gasps as the world goes dark and disappears.

“I have a little service I wish you to perform Penny. But as is my want, I don’t want you to see me as you perform it. Besides not being able to see will heighten your other senses which will make it all the more interesting for you.” Over her head he motions for Greg to join him. This is a planned part of the session that Greg knows about. He takes a moment to rise and join Mr Martinet his expression like thunder. He feels animosity towards the Dom who has just handler his sub in this rough and harsh manner, but it is fading fast as his anger grows towards Penny and the perceived lies and deceit she must have practised throughout their relationship. Can he ever trust her again, that trust is about to take another bashing. He takes his place a little in front of Penny and starts to undo his trousers.

Penny, her sight deprived is aware that there is movement, but can not tell what it is and has no idea that it is Greg that has just stepped in front of her. Then she hears the sound of a zip and groans inwardly. He is just like the rest, get them naked then get your cock in their mouth. She feels a bit disappointed as the evening so far had been so different which has made it scary yet exciting. It has not been like this with Greg ever.

Once Greg has removed his trousers and underwear, Mr Martinet stands behind Greg and over his shoulder he speaks so as to make the sound of his voice seem to be coming from the right direction.

“Now Penny, open your mouth.”

“Yes sir.” There is a note of disappointment in her voice that is not unnoticed by both men.

“Now, now Penny that is not the attitude I expect from girl who is going to perform for me. I want a bit of enthusiasm.” He smiles as he said this. Oh if only she knew what is about to happen.

“Yes sir,” is repeated with only a modicum of liveliness. Penny opens her mouth and waits.

Greg, who has not stopped glaring at Penny all this time, takes a step forward and without any ceremony puts his cock in her mouth. Penny closes her mouth and is pleasantly surprised at the fullness of the amount of meat that she has to work with. If she had not known better she would have sworn it is Greg’s cock.

A pair of hands then grab her head and the fucking begins. Mr Martinet had instructed Greg not to hold Penny as he would do normally when being serviced orally and to use a different stroke pattern when he starts to fuck her mouth. This is easy with Greg being so worked up with her and the strokes in and out of her mouth are strong and hard, not like the gentler teasing that they usually do.

It is only a matter of seconds before Penny has to breathe hard and loud through her nose as she begins to struggle to keep up with the relentless thrusting that Greg is doing. Taking a silent step backwards Mr Martinet slowly circles the pair of them as they indulged in this viscous display of oral satisfaction. Watching, studying Penny as she struggles to keep up with the onslaught from Greg.

When passing in front of Greg’s eye line, he looks up at the man who has exposed his sub for the liar she is and thrusts harder. Penny gags and tries to cough, but each time her mouth and throat are full of fleshy cock head. She is wrong, he is not like the rest of them, he’s an animal.

After a few more circles Mr Martinet sits down by the low table that has his cup of tea on it. A little cold, but all the more refreshing for that. He sips and watches. Nice action from Greg he thinks to himself. But his eyes always stray back to Penny and how her body shakes every time her mouth is full of cock, the wobbling on her tits is particularly pleasant.

Not sure of how long Greg can continue this assault on Penny’s mouth without exploding in it, Mr Martinet quietly replaces the cup and gets up. They have planned a little surprise for Penny and he is about to execute it. With a nod to Greg to indicate the next phase of their plan he stands to one side of Penny. Greg gives a look back at him that still has anger in it but understands what is about to happen. He takes a firmer grip on Penny’s head and slows the action down to a more even pace.

Once it is obvious Penny has become accustomed to this more sedate mouth fucking, Mr Martinet squats down so that he can speak directly into her ear. Penny’s face twitches as if she senses something, but is unable to do anything as the cock makes its way back into her mouth.

“Are you enjoying that cock Penny?” With Mr Martinet’s voice coming straight into her ear, she knows it is not his cock in her mouth. She tries to pull back, but the hands that belong to the cock have a strong grip and she can hardly move. He smiles as she tries to struggle but Greg has her held tight. With another nod, Greg starts to fuck her mouth again with gusto.

“Good girl,” he continues, “I think that you will receive a reward soon. Now be gracious and accept it all, any spillage will be punished.”

Penny’s head is spinning now. Whose cock is it? She is sure that the arrangement is for her to be used by Mr Martinet only, yet he has brought someone else into the equation. Oh my god, is it that old man from outside, he did say he would invite him in to have a play. No the cock is too firm, the thrusts too brutal to be that old man, but who is it.

Should she tell her Master when she gets home? What will she do, he may tell him anyway. The thrusts are more forceful now, she knows the cock is ready. Then it is pushed deep, it enters her throat, she gags which only stimulates the head even more.

Then it erupts.

She feels the first spurt as the cock throbs, then a second and a third. She tries to cough but is held firm. It takes all her swallowing ability to get the thick semen to go down. Trying to breathe hard as she does, she thinks she is going to suffocate.

The cock is pulled back so that the head lies on her tongue and she is able to gulp and take the last of the sticky fluid. She is breathing hard not knowing what to do, waiting for she does not know what. This is nothing like the sessions with Greg, she wants to be with him now, to have him soothe her and calm her heart as it threatens to burst out of her chest.

The sight of her throat as it bulges and bobs as Penny receives and swallows the precious juice has been a very pleasant sight for Mr Martinet as he remains squatting next to her. Mind, Greg has made it easier by keeping his cock deep in her throat as he pumps.

“Very good Penny. Now clean the cock. You would not want to owner to think you were an ungrateful girl after the lovely semen they deposited in your mouth.”

Penny can only grunt in acknowledgement of this order and starts to lick the cock head as best she can given that the hold on her head has not lessened and movement is almost impossible. After a few minutes Greg has softened and pulls his cock out of Penny’s mouth. For the first time in twenty minutes Penny’s mouth is not full of blood hardened flesh that is trying to knock her teeth and tongue down her throat. She gasps and takes a huge breath. Then opens and closes her mouth a few times as she tries to get her jaw to move normally again.

“Say thank you to the nice man for allowing you to receive his semen Penny.”

Another gulp but Penny knows she must follow the instruction.

Sarah had been reluctant to come to this party. She was good friends with her colleague. Even though she knew he had a bit of a crush on her she had wanted to celebrate his birthday. But she now found herself in a room full of strangers.

Her thoughts had already turned to Dan. She should have been at home with him, patching their relationship together. It had been his fault, though, springing such a thing on her. She finished her third glass of wine.

From across the room came a lady in her late thirties. Sarah assessed her as she approached. She wouldn’t have guessed her age, in fact she estimated her to be maybe in her late twenties. Her skin was pale and unblemished, her green eyes sparkly and her brown hair perfect without a trace of grey.

Sarah was glad that this woman was dressed in clothes as revealing as the ones she was wearing. Clothes she had chosen to spite Dan by catching the attention of any man that may be there tonight. Sarah herself enjoyed a simple beauty and her blue eyes and blonde hair never failed to turn heads, especially coupled with the mini skirt and low cut top she had on tonight.

“Hi, I’m Cara.”


They shook hands and Cara took a seat beside Sarah. Immediately the conversation ran through the various topics of small talk. Despite the banal chatter Sarah found herself liking Cara.

“I noticed you looking a bit distracted when I came over.” Said Cara.

“Hmmm, yes. Man problems.”

“Oh? I’ve had my fair share of those.”

“Hopefully not like this one.”

Sarah was by now quite tipsy and found herself laying out the personal nature of her problem.

“I’ve been with my boyfriend for years and we now live together. Suddenly the other day he tells me he wants to try a threesome or maybe group sex. The cheeky bastard even says he’d be happy to share me.”

“And you’re obviously not keen?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t like how he thinks of me like that.”

Cara took Sarah’s hand and led her to a room in which they were alone. They both sat. Cara then proceeded to lay out a story that captivated her new friend.

Cara had been married at 21. Her husband, Greg, was several years older and already a successful businessman. In his spare time he ran an elite club whose members shared a common interest in erotic art. They were none of them artists, but all were collectors of either photos or paintings of men and women in various states of undress and ecstasy.

Greg had started this club with two of his friends. Cara liked these two other men and enjoyed wearing revealing outfits whenever they came around. Her husband had noted this. One day, when the three friends were drawing a club meeting to a close, Greg went and gave his wife some instructions.

As the men were saying their farewells Cara came into the room carrying the two friends’ coats. She was completely naked. The men drank in her sublime body, from her long legs, up to her firm thighs, the soft pink curtains of her pussy and the light brown trimmed hair above. Their gaze ended on her full breasts and nipples which stood bullet erect.

Cara maintained a blank expression as she handed them their coats. Greg ushered his friends out of the room. She didn’t ever find out what happened in the following weeks but before the month was over she noticed that her husband’s club had grown to over a dozen members.

“Must have been crowded.” Commented Sarah.

“Not really. We lived in a huge house, kind of a mansion really. The guys all got together in the library and there was plenty of space. Greg had bought some posh leather sofas. He didn’t tell me why we needed them, but I soon found out.”

Members were now being charged to be part of the erotic art club. In return they had use of Greg and Cara’s library and the occasional artist or photographer came in to give talks. Certain members were paying much more than others. In return they received a unique benefit. Cara.

At seven thirty on club evenings the regular members were shown the door. Those that had paid extra remained on the sofas. A small table set in the middle of the room was cleared of drinks.

Wearing nothing but black strappy heals Cara was led into the room by her husband. She paraded naked in front of the members then went to the table. She kneeled on top and pressed her breasts to the surface, exposing her pussy and anus to the men. Around the room erections grew and bulged in trousers.

Cara stayed in this position for five minutes whilst the men drank in the view. Greg then went to her, placed a hand on her ass and she stood and walked out of the room. In the following weeks membership grew to over thirty. Every week those who paid a premium had their fill of this beautiful woman.

Cara loved the attention. She had never felt so beautiful, so enpowered and so incredibly turned on. And so, when Greg suggested other tiers of membership she readily agreed.

Tier one members left at seven thirty, tier two after Cara’s naked appearance shortly after. But now there were usually six or seven members who were paying even more. The club wasn’t about erotic art any more. It was about Cara.

After eight the men on the sofas went quiet. Greg came into the room, followed by Cara who was still naked except for those high heals. She now carried a silver tray on which rested a tube of lubricant, three condoms, a glass dildo and a thick black butt plug.

She placed the tray on the small table and resumed her kneeling position. Now the members stood amd approached the real life work of art. They took it in turns to squeeze lubricant on their fingers and gently applied it in and around her orifices. Next they slicked the toys with the slime and penetrated her glistening pussy and tight ass.

At any one time there were hands cupping her breasts, tweaking her nipples. There were hands sliding the glass dildo in and out of her juicy hole, sometimes replaced by probing fingers. There were also fingers in her ass or the butt plug filling her completely.

Eight thirty came around and Greg would ring a small bell. All but three of the most elite members vacated the house. Whenever a member attained the elite they were handed a scalpel. They were then invited to make a small nick in Cara’s skin, just above the buttock.

This left a tiny raised scar and marked the number of men to whom Cara belonged. The knife was so sharp that Cara felt no pain, something Greg was very careful to ensure.

The elite who remained at the end of the evening were allowed to unzip their trousers and release their bulging erections, which by now were oozing pre cum. They had each taken a condom from the tray and now unrolled it over their hard members.

Each week the three, and there could only ever be three, changed positions. One lay on the table, his cock secreted hard in Cara’s pussy. Another stood at her head so that she could suckle him. The third stood behind and stuffed his throbbing erection into her ass. Each week Cara pleasured these members who paid handsomely for her body, and gleefully sought out their particular small scar on her body that indicated their ownership.

“Oh, wow. I’m breathless.” Said Sarah once Cara had finished her story. “I’m also a little bit turned on.” She giggled.

“It was an amazing experience. I’ve never had such powerful orgasms. Greg still runs the club but I’m no longer the main attraction. In fact we’ve been struggling to find my replacement.”

When the two women parted they hugged. Beneath Cara’s thin top Sarah felt about twenty small bumps along her lower back and gasped.

“What? You didn’t believe me?” Asked Cara.


“There are 20 marks on me. The club won’t let any more men own me.”

“You’re still, er, owned?”

“Yes. I service the guys’ needs every now and then, but Greg is my ultimate master.”

Sarah left the party with Cara’s number stored on her phone. She talked it over with Dan who thought it a fantastic idea. It took a couple more weeks for Sarah to gain the courage needed to go to the club. One thing she couldn’t agree to, yet, was the marking.

She was trembling with nerves as she stood outside Greg and Cara’s library, fully unclothed and carrying the silver tray. But she also felt comforted in the knowledge that Dan was just behind the door. She was also getting a bit excited.

At the sound of the bell the door opened and the feel of eight pairs of eyes taking her in was almost physical. She tried to keep her face neutral when she spotted Dan. Some of the men were in shadows. She took her position on the table. She watched as the men stood and came to her.

Up until that moment she hadn’t felt conscious about her nudity. But then she gasped as she recognised one of the men. Her colleague, the one she knew had a thing for her.

She suddenly felt very naked, surrounded by clothed men who were ogling her tits, her pussy and her wide open ass. As the other men began busying themselves with her orifices her colleague went to the tray and smiled at her. He picked up a condom.

Author’s note: I’ve always been drawn to the old Universal and Hammer Frankenstein films. The concept of a mad scientist, so intently focused on his goals that he will sacrifice his humanity to achieve them, appeals to me on many levels. I am attempting to meld these gothic horror films together with bondage themes, hedonism, and the transformation of often unwilling victims into sex objects.

Although set in modern day, the language used is almost Victorian – hopefully, this will not be off-putting. Personally, I think it helps set the mood for the piece.

This is intended to be the start of a sexually sadistic soap opera which will continue for some time.

Please, dear reader, comment and critique.


Island of Frankenstein – Chapter 1

In which we are introduced to the main characters in our play…

The great rock face of Stone Island rises from the Atlantic deep, 175 miles southeast of Portland Maine. It is an island in name only, more closely resembling a great black stone fist thrust above the crashing waves by some drowning Titan.

No shipping lanes pass nearby, and the deep ocean surrounding entombs the wooden carcasses of sailing ships which had strayed off course and been dashed against the cliffs.

Never populated, it is a cold, lonely place forgotten by the world.

The great waves crash against the hundred foot cliffs, but the fist remains defiant.

The tiny boat, a re-purposed tug, surged through the gray seas toward the dark rock.

The tall, thin woman stood on the pitching wooden deck and stared through the salt spray at the dark shape, “Is that it?”

The captain, a fat woman with gray blonde hair, spun the wheel left and right, trying to hold course in the gale, “Stone Island, we’ll be there in fifteen minutes if we don’t crash into it. Goddamned wind.”

The tall woman pulled back the hood of her cloak. She was beautiful, her features perfect. The salt spray washed across her high cheekbones, caressing her flawless skin. She tasted the salt on her full lips.

Men fell all over themselves just to talk to her wherever she went. This usually lasted until they looked into her crystal blue eyes, they almost always walked away then. They were cold, like staring into an arctic wind.

“You can stand in the wheelhouse with me, you know – goddamned cold in the wind,” the captain said in her Maine accent.

“I like the feel of the wind on my face.”

A massive wave rolled toward them and the boat climbed up, the diesel engines straining.

The captain cursed, and gunned the throttle.

The boat crested the wave and plunged down the other side.

The captain turned and looked: the woman still stood in the middle of the deck, a look of bliss on her face. “You ain’t scared of a fucking thing, are ya?”

“I’ve dared God to kill me a thousand times,” the woman said. “He’s either dead, or afraid.”

The captain laughed, “God? I don’t know, lovely, dead or not, He ain’t never been here.”

A wave crashed against the side, drawing a scream from the boat’s cargo.

The tall woman turned and looked at the stern. Two college students, naked and bound in chains, lay on the soaking deck.

“Aren’t you afraid your cargo will die of hypothermia?” the tall woman asked.

The captain shook her head, “He don’t care if they’re alive or dead – they’re just more fun alive. Besides, he only asked for the cunt – the boy with her is just a bonus. Almost there.”

The tall woman looked back at the looming cliffs. High above, a stone structure rose from the black rock of the cliff. A single light shone from a lonely window.

Elizabeth raised her perfect, heart shaped ass higher in the air to allow the robot to plunge the enema nozzle deeper into her colon. She sighed as her belly began to fill with the soapy water.

Igor, the Doctor’s artificially intelligent robot said in his polished British accent, “Would you like more, Elizabeth?”

“Mmmm, yes, please, Igor,” Elizabeth sighed as she absently rubbed her tiny clit. “And, could you? I mean, just a little?”

Igor began to slide the enema hose, which began at the end of one of his many arms, in and out of her anus.

She shuddered and moaned, “Just like that.”

Igor pistoned her tight ass harder, pulling the black tube back almost to the inflated ball at the tip before plunging back into her colon, “You now appear to enjoy anal sex more than vaginal, Elizabeth.”

“I enjoy what pleases Mason,” Elizabeth said.

The robot was made up of a central gun metal gray cylinder that walked on six hydraulic legs, and two dozen multi-jointed arms. He lashed out at her exposed ass cheek with a steel hand shaped like a paddle, “You are never to call the master by his first name. He is Dr. Frankenstein or Master. You know this, Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth laughed and moaned, “I like it when you spank me, Igor.”

A second slap reddened her other ass cheek, “Then ask me to spank you – do not insult your owner. Now, squat.”

She raised herself into a squatting position on the tiled bathroom floor, the enema nozzle still firmly lodged in her tight ass cunt.

A motor began to run somewhere inside Igor’s torso, and her bowels began to empty – their contents drawn back into the hose, down the robot’s hollow arm, and into his body.

Elizabeth looked at herself in the mirrored wall of her bathroom, squatting on the floor. Her skin was pale and perfect. She smiled at the sight of her lean muscled thighs, the thin pouting lips of her shaved snatch.

Her ass was perfect, her waist tiny.

She frowned at the sight of her chest. Her white chest was flat, her breasts non-existent. Her long, thick nipples looked out of place on her flat, flat chest.

Frankenstein demanded that her chest be on display at all times. Each nipple was pierced, both horizontally and vertically, with diamond tipped barbells. A thin gold chain hung down from her piercings, connecting the two nipples.

Elizabeth had the face of a doll: perfect high cheekbones, pouting red lips, and huge watery blue eyes. Long, flowing blonde hair framed her delicate face.

“Forward again, my dear,” Igor said.

Elizabeth lay her face on the cold tile and raised her delicious ass up. Warm liquid surged into her again, “Why is it that I can call Dr. Wycoff by his first name, but not Dr. Frankenstein?”

“Eric prefers that you call him by his first name, but then he is not your owner,” Igor said as he resumed his slow fuck of the girl’s ass.

“Mmm, that feels so nice, Igor,” Elizabeth said as her mind drifted, lost in the robot’s gentle ministrations.

How her life had changed from two years ago – it seemed like a dream now. She had been running the cash register at a small restaurant in Portland. Her life had been meaningless.

She could still see herself, over 400 pounds of disgusting fat, stuffed into sweatpants and a t-shirt. Her formless breasts had hung below her waist. Her hair had been thin and greasy.

No man had ever looked twice at her until that night. The two handsome doctor’s: Frankenstein, a tall thin man with a harsh face, and Wycoff, a short, frail man with kind eyes, had come into the restaurant and dined late.

Elizabeth had noticed them staring at her as they ate. She had felt so self-conscious she considered faking an illness and leaving early.

When they paid their bill, Frankenstein had taken her thick hand in his and asked her a question: are you happy?

Elizabeth had just stared into his piercing black eyes. No, she had said. I have never been happy in my life.

Frankenstein had smiled at her – it was not a friendly smile, but a smile of triumph. He had placed a card in her hand: Dr. Mason Von Frankenstein, Surgeon. On the back was scrawled: 118 Surry Street, Apartment 4, tomorrow night, 7:00 PM.

Elizabeth had gone home that night and resolved to throw the card in the wastebasket. She had not. She had resolved that she would not go to the address.

But, at 7:00 PM she had walked into the apartment on Surry Street.

She could still remember her shame as she stood before the two men, totally nude. She had never shaved her legs – what was the point? She had burst into tears as Frankenstein had begun examining her body, taking down notes as he probed her hairy flesh.

It had been Eric Wycoff who had soothed her. His warm brown eyes seemed to stare into her soul. He had whispered kindnesses to her as Frankenstein studied her the way one would a specimen in a jar of formaldehyde.

Igor interrupted her daydream, “Squat please.”

Elizabeth squatted down and felt the liquid drawn from her.

That night in Portland, she had died both figuratively and literally, she later learned. Six months later she was reborn into the beautiful, 85 pound sex toy she saw in the mirror.

“Now for your lubricant,” Igor said. Elizabeth leaned forward again and felt the warm, pink lube fill her rectum.

Igor pulled the enema tube from her ass with a pop, causing her to cry out and giggle. The tube slipped into an aperature in the end of the arm and disappeared.

Elizabeth reached back and fingered her well lubed hole with her thin index finger. She wiped away the excess lube with her finger tip, and then licked her finger clean. The warm taste of strawberries filled her mouth.

“Get dressed, they are almost finished with dinner,” Igor said as he skittered away on his metal legs.

Ted held Lisa close to him in the stern of the tugboat. He cocooned her naked body in his as best he could, but they were both drenched in the freezing salt spray. She shivered uncontrollably against him. “Give us a tarp or something at least, goddamn you! Can’t you see she’s freezing to death?”

“D… don’t antagonize her, Ted. She’s insane,” Lisa whispered. Earlier today, she had returned to her dorm room at U. of Maine to find the fat woman waiting for her. She had been packing away Lisa’s cheerleader uniforms into a huge steamer trunk.

She hadn’t even had enough time to scream before the woman had body slammed her against the wall and driven the long needle of a syringe into her ass right through her jeans. Lisa had awoken hours later stuffed in the trunk with her outfits.

She longed for that trunk now, anyplace warmer than the pitching deck.

Earlier, she had been yanked out of the trunk by her hair and dumped on the deck beside her unconscious boyfriend, Ted. He had stopped by her dorm to take her to dinner and found the fat woman pushing the steamer trunk from Lisa’s room on a dolly.

Ted told Lisa that the fat woman had pulled a gun on him and forced him to push the trunk to the docks. Once on board, the woman had given Ted the same injection.

When Ted finally came to on the boat, they were twenty miles out to sea.

The fat woman had them both strip at gunpoint. Lisa felt sick thinking about how the woman had looked at her body: like a shark contemplating a baby seal. She made Lisa pull off her sweater and toss it overboard. Covered only by the black lace of her Victoria’s Secret bra, the salt spray had instantly chilled her to the bone. Her long, thick nipples – one of Ted’s favorite parts of her body, had gone rock hard from the chill.

Her bra had gone overboard next. Lisa had heard the fat woman moan as her pert 28 B cup tits had sprung free. She had always been proud of her lean but curvy cheerleader’s body, but when the fat woman had licked her lips and slid her hands down the front of her pants and masturbated lewdly at the sight of her, Lisa had wished she were ugly.

All the while, the other passenger on the boat, a tall thin woman with terrifying eyes had looked on in mild disinterest.

Already barefoot, Lisa had pulled off her jeans next and tossed them in the sea. The fat woman had made her turn then, so that she could get a full view of Lisa’s long legs and narrow, firm hips. The woman had moaned out loud when she saw Lisa’s matching black lace thong.

She had demanded Lisa remove them immediately. But instead of having her throw the panties overboard, the fat woman had made Lisa toss them to her.

Lisa had wretched at what the woman had done next: she had put her bulbous nose to the cotton crotch and sniffed, then she had let her long tongue slide from her cruel mouth and lick them. She had smiled at Lisa as she stuffed the panties in the pocket of her rain slicker.

Lisa had collapsed onto the deck in despair, but her work had not been over.

The fat woman had forced her to strip Ted next. She had looked bored as Lisa had stripped him down to his underwear, then both their captors had gasped.

Dr. Mason Von Frankenstein stood looking out the large picture window at the rough seas below. The castle, perched high above the breakers, was an exact replica of the family home in Bavaria. The original had been burned two centuries before when his ancestor, Victor Von Frankenstein had committed his nefarious crimes against God and man.

“They’re late, Eric,” Mason said.

Eric Wycoff stood by the large fireplace and sipped his brandy, “The gale is very strong, Mason. I’m sure Captain Fletch is having a slow time of it.”

“Or, they were dashed against the rocks.”

Eric sat his empty snifter on the mantle, “I wonder if that might not be for the best, Mason.”

Mason turned to him and glared, “We need her.”

“The woman is a pariah, Mason. What she did in Japan was horrific – ten countries have her on most wanted lists.”

“Dr. Abigail Praetorious is a genius, Eric. Genius is never appreciated in its time.”

“A genius? Perhaps, but she is also a dangerous sociopath.”

Mason laughed and drank down his own brandy, “You call her a sociopath? And, what are you and I, my friend?”

Eric stared into the fire, “Touche.”

He was right, of course, Eric thought.

Eric’s field was psychotherapy and neuroscience – specifically the study of human will and personality. He had developed methods of breaking the will and molding the personality which made him a marked man with Interpol after the harem he had created for himself in Switzerland.

But, his crimes had been subtle. Most of the women he had procured were somewhat interested in him to begin with. He had merely made… alterations. His cock stirred thinking of the nights he had spent in Luzerne, watching his playthings writhing on the floor of his living room, exploring one another. He often wondered what had happened to them when he had been forced to flee to the states along with Mason in the dead of night. Several of them were insatiable – if they were not properly handled, they would literally fuck themselves to death.

Eric had not been discovered until after they fled – it had been Mason’s infernal experiments that had drawn the attention of the police.

Mason had become infatuated with a graduate student from the University of Luzerne where he was teaching anatomy at the time. Eric remembered her as a dark eyed beauty with graceful features.

To say his friend loved the girl was incorrect – Mason loved nothing but his work; however, he was infatuated with this thin wispy beauty. She was perfect he had said, in all things save one: she was too short.

Eric had known that this would end in sorrow – Mason was obsessive, and the girl’s height would be a constant nag on his conscious mind until he did something about it.

He could imagine the expressions on the faces of the police when they burst into the laboratory to find this lovely creature, frozen solid, lying in surgery, her legs severed midway down her thigh.

Mason had been bent over her, grafting another five inches of bone he had harvested from her hips into her thighs. Mason had fled the room leaving the poor girl incomplete.

The university had said nothing about the horror that followed: Mason’s freezing process had worn off and the girl had come back to life screaming in pain before she bled out and died.

As they fled Europe on forged Visas that night, Mason had asked him why he had done such a horrible thing to the poor beautiful thing?

Mason had replied that with five more inches of thigh and standing in six inch heels, she would have been the optimum height to ass fuck in a standing position.

Captain Fletch dragged the screaming college students by their chains onto the rough dock attached to the sheer cliff.

Lisa landed on her ass on the slick wood and Fletch laughed, “Mind the splinters, cunt. Don’t want ya marked up. You’re his property now, and he likes them pretty and clean.”

“I’m not anyone’s property, you cow,” Lisa spat.

Fletch yanked her to her feet by the chain around her neck, “Your ass belongs to the devil now. In a day, you’ll wish I had thrown you overboard.”

A tunnel had been cut through the black rock and ending at the dock. Carved stairs led up through the tunnel at a forty five degree angle. It was the only way into or out of the island.

Fletch watched as the tall woman began to walk up the stairs, her shapely ass swaying as she climbed. Fletch’s hairy twat began to throb at the sight of the ice queen ascending the stairs. She had this sudden image of herself wearing a dog collar, her tongue probing deep in the perfect woman’s ass.

Fletch shook her head to clear the erotic image. She could remember when she had been a commercial fisherman in these waters, could almost remember the faces of her husband and children before the fog that dominated her mind blocked those images from her mind.

One night in a room with Eric Wycoff and his drugs had turned her into a perverted servant. And, she loved it. Her life had been boring – now she could explore her darkest wishes, and did so on a regular basis.

She tugged both chain leashes and pulled her cargo to their feet, “Come, my lovelies. Your new master awaits.”

They followed the tall woman up the stairs into the dark.

Elizabeth walked along the stone hallway, her stiletto heels clicking with each step. She walked as she had been taught: one foot in front of the other so that her ass swung appropriately.

Igor walked slightly behind her, his six eyes observing her every move. Occasionally, he would tell her to correct some aspect of her movements – Elizabeth’s training had always been his responsibility, “Step down harder on the heels, it will cause your ass to quiver more sensually.”

Elizabeth smiled mischievously, “Yes, Master.”

Igor slapped her ass with the paddle hand, bringing a girlish giggle from her pouting red lips, “Do not mock me, wench.”

The robot surveyed her from head to toe and felt a surge of pride – her body had been created by Frankenstein, her personality had been crafted by Wycoff, but her sex kitten mannerisms were from his expert training. Igor had drawn on the classics: De Sade, The Story of O, and a healthy dose of Japanese Hentai.

They walked down the wide, curving stairs and into the great stone foyer.

Just as they passed by the large wooden front door, it swung inward. The heavy wind shrieked into the castle, bringing with it a tall woman wearing a black cloak and hood.

Elizabeth gasped, both from the cold, wet, breeze, and from the sight of the dark woman who approached her.

The woman pulled back the cloak, and Elizabeth gasped – the crystal blue eyes froze her to the bone.

The woman’s dark red lips parted, and she smiled slightly as she spoke, “I am Dr. Abigail Praetorious. Dr. Frankenstein is expecting me.”

Igor clattered past Elizabeth who had been struck mute by the woman’s entrance, “Welcome to Castle Frankenstein. I am the doctor’s assistant Igor. Might I take your cloak?”

Gail Praetorious gave the robot an amused smile, “A robot? Frankenstein is full of surprises.”

Igor took her cloak in a steel hand and clattered to the coat closet, “Dr. Frankenstein constructed me in his mechanical engineering phase, before he devoted his genius to continuing his ancestor’s biological endeavors.”

The Diary of Alissa Morrison

Age: 26

Profession: Television Reporter in Albany, NY

Born: Great Neck, LI

Graduated: Cornell University, Cum Laude (Communications)

Height: 5’2 and ½”

Weight: 117 lbs

Hair: Black

Breast Cup: D

August 12th

Dear Diary,

Unfuckingbelievable! My patience has been tested before and now it is being tested again. I have been a beat reporter for News 19 Albany for three years now. I keep waiting for my break, but I don’t know that it will ever come. God gave me a pretty face and a good brain, but he did not give me enough height! I used to wear 6″ high heels, but they started messing my feet up so badly I had to switch to 4″. I’m convinced height alone is the reason why I’m not in The City.

Dad told me to hang in there and I would get my break soon enough. In the meantime he is helping me out. Otherwise, I would have quit by now and gone into Public Relations. Our state capital is DEAD. Finding a decent restaurant or a good man is near impossible. Sure I can go into the city and meet random boys down there on the weekends, but I am getting tired of the quick hook-up. College ended almost five years ago. Enough already.

So today I got my latest assignment. D’Andre is in town this week and he is putting on a couple of shows at the Times Union Center. Supposedly he wanted a break from the big city (What a fucking idiot), and so he’s here a few days early. If you’re waiting to hear what D’Andre’s last name was, he doesn’t have one. He was born Reginald Brown and changed his name a few years ago.

In any event, who exactly is D’Andre? Well, according to Wikipedia he’s a 22-year-old black–, uh, excuse me, African American recording artist. Born in South Central Los Angeles, D’Andre’s debut album “Das Right, I’m a Nigga,’” led by the hit single, “Girl, the Sun Ain’t the Only Thing Risin’ this Mo’ning,” sold almost 250,000 copies last year, which does not put him in Jay Z / Kanye West territory, but makes him a pretty big deal, or so I’m told. Because I’m bored, I look up his album and can’t help but grimace as I read the names of the songs:

Ain’t No Baby Daddy

What What (The What Song)

I’m Type Nasty

(I like) Vanilla Bitches

Dirrrty Sheetz

Six Pack

(Gonna) Tear You Up

Dat Ass

Can’t Quit Dat Ass

Given the name of track #4, I imagine I will need to be on the defensive. Not that I have any interest in blacks. Judging from the photographs, D’Andre spends a lot of time at the gym. Before he dropped out of high school, D’Andre played wide receiver. He looks like he’s 6’4″ and he has a six-pack. Just ask him and he’ll tell you (in the song Six Pack he says it helps “reel in the bitches”) and is rarely seen in public with his shirt on. Gross, right?

Yes, Andre is a sexual predator and I will have to be on my guard with him, but I’ll be more than up to the challenge. I have wanted to be an anchorwoman since I was seven years old and when it comes to interviews I don’t back down from anyone. No exceptions.

The only reason D’Andre is even doing this interview is for publicity. He is having trouble selling tickets. The economy doesn’t help, and so his promoters are using News 19 to help them promote the show. That’s where I come in. I’m just being used. It’s depressing when I think about it, but I suppose there are less entertaining gigs out there. Plus I’ll ask D’Andre a few tough questions and shake him up a bit.

The funny thing is that my friend Gina would be jealous. That slut loves black dick! Not me. No way. For one thing, most black men are uncircumcised, or so I hear. This may sound racist, but they are kind of animals too. They have no respect for women and from what I hear they don’t like going down “there” with their tongue. Though I suppose the myths are true and black men are well hung. I think I would be worried about getting hurt. Nope. No thanks. Gina likes to say that once I try the dark chocolate that I’ll never go back. I always laugh when she says it, but seriously, she and I are different animals. She’s also bigger than me. The largest I have ever had was 7″ and I suppose it also felt good in a way, but I have no desire to take anything much bigger than that. D’Andre can keep his cock to himself and I won’t hesitate to tell him that if he tries any funny stuff.

So I meet with him tomorrow. I’m not racist or anything, but I am totally put off by this assignment. Black rappers in particular are such misogynists. I am not a women’s libber, but you better believe I support women’s rights and I will not allow D’Andre to speak down to me. If he does, he’ll get an earful from me. I won’t back down.

August 13th

Dear Diary,

What a confusing day. D’Andre is, in many ways, what I expected. He is a vile animal, who has zero respect for women and no personal manners to speak of. As expected, he showed up shirtless and emitted this musky, typically black smell that at first I hated and I’m not sure how I feel about it.

On the other hand, despite having dropped out of high school when he was 15, D’Andre was actually smarter than I thought he would be. He has a good vocabulary and probably could come off as an intelligent boy if he didn’t feel the need to speak his “black jivetalk” to me.

In any event, our first interview (I say first because at his insistence I am going back tomorrow for a second round) was interesting to say the least. As you will see at the end of the interview, he deployed some sordid tactics and tried to do some very inappropriate things. But I held my ground.

We met in his customized double-decker bus, which is currently parked outside the west end of the civic center. My cameraman Joe was initially on-hand for the meeting. D’Andre has a luxury room in the upper rear corner of the bus. It is just big enough for a pair of leather couches and D’Andre’s huge chair. The walls and ceiling are covered with mirrors. D’Andre was originally sipping a 40 ounce bottle of Crazy Horse Malt Liquor when I first came in.

Here is a transcript of the interview, word for word, because I recorded it.

D’Andre: Well isn’t you a site for sore eyes in that pants suit. Course it’d be better if you was wearing a mini.

Alissa: I’m not going to be able to interview you if you are drinking alcoholic beverages. It’s against company policy.

D’Andre: [turned to Joe] This girl serious?

Alissa: Yes I’m dead serious.

D’Andre: You gonna come into my house and tell me I can’t drink my fo’ty? Girl, you cray!

Alissa: I can see this is going to be a waste of time. Maybe I should leave.

D’Andre: Whoa girl. What yo producer gonna say if you don’t capture yo big story.

Alissa: He will understand when I tell him I felt my safety was threatened?

D’Andre: You in the safest place in the world. Ain’t nothing bad gonna happen to you in D’Andre’s love bus.

Alissa: Either put away the booze, or I’m out.

D’Andre: Okay, I’ll make you a deal. You tell yo cameraman to leave and I’ll put away my bevvige.

Alissa: Are you serious? Joe is part of the package.

D’Andre: Seems to me Joe could just mount that big camera on a tripod and then me and you can get down to bidness.

Joe: It’s okay, Alissa. If you want me to leave I will.

Alissa: Absolutely not. Don’t be ridiculous.

D’Andre: Oh I see. Daddy’s girl got to have her bodyguard here to make sure the niggah don’t threaten her person! D’Andre see how it is.

Alissa: What? Oh my God. Okay, fine, Joe. I’ll be fine. This won’t take more than a half hour. I’ll meet you outside.

D’Andre: [smiling] Oh, I see I struck a nerve.

[Joe leaves]

Alissa: There, now put the booze away. Or we’re done.

[D'Andre takes his time capping off the big bottle of beer. He leans back and puts his hands behind his head. He's wearing a white tank top and when he leans back I get a sense for just how big he is. His arms are massive. He clearly lifts weights. I can feel my heart in my chest, but I quickly regain my composure. This isn't my first rodeo. I have been to car accidents where police were removing dead bodies from crumpled vehicles. I won't let this guy intimidate me]

D’Andre: So I’m glad you wore those tight pants. Gives me a nice view of yo assets, girl. When the last time a man grip those hips?

Alissa: [I can feel myself blushing, but again I compose myself] So D’Andre, tell me what brings you to Albany?

D’Andre: You fo’ real? I’m here to run for Governor. What you think I’m doing here, girl? I’m here to get on the mike and get some of that green papuh in my bankroll.

Alissa: So it’s all about the money then.

D’Andre: Fuck yeah it’s all about the money. You think I’m doin this fo’ my health? Girl, it was up to me I’d have my crib in Hollywood, and drink fo’ttys and puff blunts all day long. But I ain’t there yet. Soon as I get me 25 million in the bank, I out. D’Andre don’t care about the limelight. I mean, don’t get me wrong. It’s nice when all them bitches and hos are calling my name, but I know what I want.

Alissa: And what’s that?

[D'Andre leaned forward in his chair so he was closer to me, and my position on the couch]

D’Andre: I want you, girl. Look at you with all that make-up. You so fine. And you’re such a little thing too. But you got that booty. D’Andre want to work you ovah!I

Alissa: Oh Jesus, can we stay on topic please?

D’Andre: You the topic I feel like talking about. And you smell so good too. What, you don’t like black dick?

[At this point I stood up}

Alissa: This was obviously a mistake.

D'Andre: Sit down, girl. I ain't laid a finger on you. What you can't take a compliment? White girls is so strange sometime. I tell a girl she got a fine little body with a nice figure and most bitches be fawning all over me. You got this look on yo face like you better than me or something? I'm a self-made man. How much money you bank last year anyhow?

Alissa: Fuck you! This is ridiculous

[D'Andre smiled. I guess I expected him to stop me as I shuffled in my chair. Instead he just leaned back and smiled]

D’Andre: Oh, I see how it is. You think you better than me because you got that fancy edumacation! Is that it? Well riddle me this then. How you think I got all my fancy lyrics?

Alissa: I don’t know. And I don’t really care.

D’Andre: Oh, she getting all indignant now. Well, here’s a scoop for you, pretty little white reporter lady. I may have dropped out of school. But I read one book a week.
Alissa: Oh really? What books are you reading?

D’Andre: I read the Da Vinci Code. I read almost all them John Grisham books.

Alissa: [laughing] That’s garbage writing, D’Andre.

D’Andre: Oh you gonna get all snobby when I tell you I read books? Typical stuck-up white bitch.

Alissa: Maybe so.

D’Andre: So you gonna put that comment in your little story about D’Andre.

Alissa: Probably not.

D’Andre: I didn’t think so. I’m guessing you won’t let them know that D’Andre thinks Alissa is a little Daddy’s girl, who ain’t never been with a real man, and probably never will be.

Alissa: Oh, and I suppose you’re a real man?

D’Andre: Das’ right I am.

[D'Andre stood and began to lower his gym shorts, which were already half way down to begin with]

Alissa: WAIT! Keep your cock to yourself, D’Andre.

D’Andre: [laughing] okay, settle down, girl. I don’t want to scare a little Daddy’s girl. Ha. You shoulda seen your face, going all prude on me, girl. It’s like you rehearsed that line in front of yo mirror at home.”

I could feel my face turning red and probably registering surprise over D’Andre’s perception and so I moved to turn the camera off. As soon as I turned it off, I felt D’Andre’s hands on me and he nudged me into the corner. I began to voice my protest as D’Andre persistently attempted to shush me. “I’ll scream rape,” I said, as D’Andre shoved me into a corner, his massive hands grabbing me by my waist.

“Take it easy, girl. D’Andre won’t touch yo private parts,” he said. “I promise.”

For some reason I stayed quiet. D’Andre sounded genuine. Plus, I think having his hands grip me had this odd affect on me. It made me not only fearful, but…this is difficult. Maybe a tiny bit intrigued. Then his scent hit me. I know I mentioned that I didn’t like the way D’Andre smelled, but I’m not sure I was totally put off by his scent. There was something about the way he towered over me and how small and helpless I felt as he held me against the wall. I can’t put my finger on it.

“What do you want?” I said, in as fierce a voice as I can muster.

I gasped as I felt D’Andre’s huge hands take hold of my waist. “It’s not a matter of what D’Andre wants. It’s a matter of what A-LISA wants and needs.”

“It’s ‘Alissa,’” I said, so softly that I couldn’t even hear my own voice. I began to feel this pressure from within my thighs. My face was burning. I couldn’t move.

D’Andre leaned forward until his nose was almost touching mine. My knees began to wobble, but I still didn’t move and I wouldn’t make eye contact with him. “Easy, girl,” he said. His thumbs were pressed against my hipbones and he began to rotate them in a circular motion. Now I felt tingling in my nipples. I guess it had been a long time. D’Andre pressed his thick chest forward and that’s when something snapped in my head and I regained my senses.

“WAIT!” I said. “Let me go.”

To my surprise, D’Andre released me. He stepped back and sat back down in his chair. “Okay, girl. Go ahead, you can leave.”

I grabbed the camera and my handbag and rushed out of there.

“Hold it, girl,” I heard D’Andre say. “We still haven’t finished our interview. “A-LISSA!” he said, making a point to get my name right. “We gots to get this right. Get my Stow-Ree told! I ain’t gonna lay a finger on you. C’mon girl!”

“I’m not a fucking girl.”

“Das’ just a figure of speech. D’Andre know you’re a woman. Come back tomorrow 3:00 sharp and we finish this thing the right way.

August 14th

Dear Diary,

Words will never adequately describe the type of confused emotions I am feeling right now. But I will do my best to recap the events of today.

My hands shake as I write this. My stomach is still unsettled as of this writing and I haven’t been interested in eating yet. It’s almost midnight and it has been eight hours since I left D’Andre’s suite. Since then, I took a four hour nap, followed by a bath. I took several ibuprofen and have used ice as necessary. I’m quite sore, but fortunately I am young and expect that the soreness will go away soon enough. I admit don’t know what to what to do next, but I suspect the process of writing about what transpired will help me gain clarity.

I wasn’t expecting to interview D’Andre again. I woke up this morning with the idea that I was going to tell the producer that I only got a little bit of footage and that he had gotten fresh with my physically. But then I drank an iced coffee and my attitude began to change. Why deal with all that messiness. D’Andre wasn’t going to cross the line because he didn’t want to go to jail for rape. That’s what I began to tell myself. Plus I thought of the way he backed off at the end of our meeting yesterday and I decided that maybe D’Andre wasn’t the worst guy in the world.

I recently just watched the 45 minute video replay of what took place (I have since destroyed the tape). Much of what happened took place off screen, but the audio came through rather clearly. Having heard the noises I made and the things I said! It’s no wonder why when I spoke to my parents a couple hours ago my voice was quite hoarse. This is not a good problem for a reporter to have and I have been feverishly treating my vocal cords with steam and tea with honey. In addition, I have been gargling plenty of salt water.

This will read somewhat like a confessional. In some ways I’m ashamed of what I did. In some ways I’m not. As I have written in the past, a girl has needs and I would only be lying to myself if I claimed those needs weren’t filled in a major way this afternoon.

D’Andre was off signing copies of Das Right I’m a Nigga’ at the mall today, so the meeting didn’t take place until 3:00 in the afternoon. When I told Joe that I didn’t need him to join me, he gave me a bit of a strange look and a wink. I then proceeded to snap at him and tell him to watch the way he addressed me. His wink turned out to be prophetic and now I owe poor Joe an apology.

So, without further adieu, here is the transcript of my brief conversation with D’Andre before things went a bit awry:

Alissa: So D’Andre, tell me how you first got into making rap albums?

D’Andre: How’s a man supposed to concentrate with you wearing that mini-skirt.

Alissa: Oh god, it’s not a mini skirt. It’s at the knee.

D’Andre: You know I don’t usually let bitc—um, women speak to me that way.

Alissa: I’m not your average hoe, I guess.

D’Andre: That’s what they all say.

[I gave D'Andre my best glare and he smiled]

Alissa: D’Andre, just so you’re aware, you aren’t my only assignment today. A tractor-trailer just jackknifed on I-90 and at least three people are confirmed dead. I could call the chopper and be there in ten minutes.

D’Andre: [laughing] Whoa, they give you all the big assignments, eh girl? You a big deal around here.

Alissa: I can see I wasted my time coming back.

D’Andre: Way I see it – I think it’s kinda interestin’ how you want to come back after I pushed you up ‘gainst the wall yesterday. I’d a think a little white girl like you want to get as far away from D’Andre as possible. Yet you back fo’ mo’.

Alissa: [blushing] I have a job to do. And you aren’t making it easy.

[D'Andre paused at this point. Upon reviewing the video I could tell that he was sizing me up. I'm embarrassed to say that I think he figured out something at this point]

D’Andre: Okay, fine, you win, girl. So, you may not have noticed this when you did yo’ research on D’Andre, but D’Andre not from the hood. D’Andre grew up in Culver City. D’Andre’s moms was a school teacher. She done whup my behind good til D’Andre get too big for her to lay a finger on me. D’Andre’s pops left D’Andre’s mom in the early going, but D’Andre’s pops done okay working in Real Estate and he kept feeding D’Andre’s mom them child support checks.

Alissa: Do you have any sisters or brothers?

D’Andre: Every black muthuhfuckin’ friend of D’Andre his sister or brother.

Alissa: Cute, but you know what I mean.

D’Andre: Hell no. D’Andre’s mom not even interested in sex after D’Andre was born. Probably didn’t help that D’Andre was 11 pound at birth.

Alissa: Wow. So how did you get interested in rap?

D’Andre: D’Andre’s father left his record collection and he too scared to come back and get it when D’Andre’s mom kick his ass out. My father had good taste. I grew up listening to Curtis Mayfield, Gil-Scott Heron, Easy E. I also listened to Led Zeppelin til D’Andre find out that those muthuhfuckers stole all their shit from them 1920s niggas like Robert Johnson. That explain why D’Andre like them white bread muthuhfuckers in the first place.

Alissa: So then, tell me—

D’Andre: Listen girl, I’m getting’ tired of all these questions. How about you and me get butt naked? You know that’s what you want anyhow, girl.

Alissa: [I sighed] Cut the shit.

D’Andre: ‘S’time you trust me, girl. [he leaned forward and lowered his voice] You know what I think? I think you a fully realized woman with a woman’s body and you been just waitin’ for a hard-hittin’ nigger come along and sweep you off yo’ feet, you know what I’m sayin’?

I think at this point I felt open to the possibilities. I remember feeling light-headed. I think maybe my body betrayed me, or my mind betrayed my body, I’m not sure. Either way, I didn’t have a strong response to D’Andre. I guess in retrospect a part of me wanted to know what it might feel like if I actually gave in. On the camera my face turned noticeably red when D’Andre made his indecent proposal. Finally I managed to open my mouth and softly say, “That’s not true.”

Letter from the author: As is the case in all the stories in this series, there is a lot of female domination, humiliation and even some bi-sexual acts by the male character. If this is not what turns you on, please move on. I never understand those of you who read these types of stories and then bash them for being what they are. Some people enjoy these types of stories and this is for them. So for those of you who enjoy that, please enjoy and let me know how it is. I love feedback, even negative feedback if it is constructive.



Barbara was fuming. She stomped around the room in her high heels and Greta could tell by the way her heels hit the floor and echoed against the brick walls that this was no time to do anything that would even slightly upset his sexy, beautiful mistress. Greta collected the stuff he knew Barbara wanted and stood as he watched her pace back and forth along the floor, mumbling to herself under her breath. He couldn’t understand everything she said, but suffice to say that Lois was in deep trouble.

“Fuckin’ fat assed slut thinks she’s gonna embarrass me (mumble, mumble mumble…….) I’ll show her who the fuck is in charge around…….” Her voice tailed off as Greta tried to hear everything she was saying in case she said something to him.

He knew something had happened last night at Miss Barbara’s party involving Lois the and lady that lives across the street Megan, but at the time he was in the other room sucking a big black cock to prepare it for one of his mistress’ female guests. He had heard the exchange, as it was loud in the other room, but with his attention focused somewhere else, he didn’t hear all the words that were exchanged.

“Gawd damn little bitch thinks she can get away with…….” Again her voice tailed off and Greta stood waiting for her to address him directly, not moving a muscle.

Finally she turned to him and without stopping to look him in the face she walked by him and said, “Do you have everything Mommy told you to get Greta?”

“Yes Mistress” he replied holding a handful of rope and other restraining items as the two of them ascended the stairs from the basement to the main level of her luxurious home.

“Good!” she spat back. “I’ll show that fucking little fat ass…….” He voice tailed off yet again

They arrived in the great room to find Lois, one of Miss Barbara’s other submissives, completely naked and kneeling on the hardwood floor with her knees spread wide. Her wrists were crossed behind her back and her head was looking down at the floor. Lois’ pussy began to tingle with anticipation as she heard the familiar sound of her Mistress’ heels on the floor as she was approaching. Barbara and Greta came to a stop in front of Lois.

“Ok my little fucktoy; prepare the slut for her punishment.” Barbara commanded the wimpy little man.

Greta reached out to Lois, “Come on Lois stand for me please” he asked in a kind voice.

Lois looked up to see her fellow submissive standing in front of her in his familiar girly outfit. That consisted of 5″ spiked heels, seamed stockings held up by a garter belt and a pair of frilly panties , all of which were pink of course. The panties were covering his less than impressive little pecker, which was locked away in its cock cage as usual. She extended her hand and stood with his help. She stood without a word as Greta restrained her D cup breasts so tightly with one of the ropes that the blood seemed to stop flowing to them. That was exactly how he knew Mistress Barbara wanted it.

As Greta restrained Lois he could not keep from looking to the corner of the room where his wife Marci was also on her knees; completely naked, except for the two alligator clamps on her nipples, with her hands cuffed behind her back and her chubby little legs spread as wide as possible. There was a puddle of her juices on the hardwood floor because stuck up her hungry little fat cunt was a vibrating 10 inch black dildo. She gyrated her hips slowly trying to gain as much pleasure from the monster fake cock as possible, and achieve at least a bit of an orgasm. She knew if she did, she would have to hide it, as she knew cumming without permission was strictly forbidden. Of course it was no use. Mistress Barbara was way too smart to allow even a small orgasm from her chunky little black cock whore. That was exactly why her legs were made to be spread. This way her clit could get no stimuli and her orgasm would be impossible to achieve. Mistress Barbara also knew just how high to turn the vibrator on; just high enough to torment, but not high enough to please.

When she was not trying like a wanton slut to make herself cum, Marci would glare at Greta as she watched him prepare that other fucking slut for their Mistress. She knew when her husband was smitten, and he was definitely smitten with this whore. She knew her D cup tits were the main reason he gushed over her when he though Marci was not looking. Yes Marci had DD tits, but Lois’ tits still sat high on her chest, not like Marci’s droopy cow udders. Marci knew he loved Lois’ big fat ass as well. Marci thought her own ass was better, but she knew Greta and she knew that any fat ass was a fat ass he liked. Marci would look at Greta until he caught her eye and then she would shoot him a death stare until he looked away, knowing his wife was pissed at him.

“Tie her up tight Bitch, or you will be the one taking the punishment.” Barbara barked at Greta.

Barbara also knew of Greta’s deep attraction and a deep affection for her sexy 42 year old slut, and she knew she better warn him now, because she had caught him having sympathy on her when Miss Barbara was punishing her in the past. She had actually caught him loosening the ropes once before when she had the slut tied up for over 8 hours because she had misbehaved. A real man would have taken advantage of the helpless slut, maybe fucked her mouth or her hungry little cunt, or even her big fat ass. However, little pussy boy Greta’s only thought was to help relieve her pain by loosening her ties. That had cost him dearly. Miss Barbara immediately released Lois and made her restrain him over a the coffee table in her great room and whip his narrow little ass 50 times with her favorite riding crop. Lois had felt terrible, as she did it knowing that not only had he been trying to help her, but now she was the one having to punish him for it. Lois had shown her appreciation to him a couple of days later by letting him jack off his tiny little penis into the toilet as he watched her massage her big beautiful tits and tweak her stiff nipples. Greta knew how much of a gift this was, because they both knew that if Miss Barbara had caught them, they would have really been in some trouble.

“Yes My Lady” Greta replied as he continued to prep his mistress’ slut.

“Tell me Greta,” Barbara inquired. “Do you like Lois’ big fat titties?”

“Oh yes Mistress, they are fantastic.” Greta replied.

“Do you like them better than your wife’s pig titties?” She teased, knowing she was putting him in an impossible situation with his wife right there in the room.

Greta paused only a moment to look at his wife in the corner, and with his eyes beg for forgiveness before answering, “Oh yes Mistress.”

“Tell her.” She demanded looking at Marci. “Tell your fat, black cock whore wife how much you like slut Lois’ tits better than hers.

Greta froze for another moment. He knew he had no choice, and all he could hope for was his wife to understand that his Mistress was making him say it. Yes, it was true, he did like Lois’ tits better, but to say it to his wife’s face was very humiliating for her and he didn’t want to do it. It was one thing to tell her that Mistress Barbara’s tits or butt was better than his wife’s, but this was just another one of Mistress’ sluts he was saying it about. He knew he would pay for this later when he was alone with his wife. He looked her in the face and said, “I do my dear, I do love slut Lois’ titties much better than yours. I want to suck them all the time. They are so much nicer that yours my love.”

Marci just looked at him with utter contempt as he droned on about the slut’s tits.

“Show her!” Barbara demanded. “Show her how much you lover that sluts titties.”

Greta enthusiastically obeyed. He grabbed Lois’ tied up tits and began to suck them hard and long. He squeezed them with his hands and sucked them with his mouth as he moaned appreciatively. Lois enjoyed the attention to her tits, but the ropes were tight and she could not totally enjoy the feelings the wimpy little man was trying to provide. After a few moments Barbara commanded him to stop.

“Now, go take those nipple clamps off the cow’s udders and show her what you do to sloppy fat tits like hers.” Barbara demanded

Greta knew what she wanted, and he didn’t want to do it. However, being the good little pussy boy he was, he complied. He went to his wife’s tits and removed the clamps. She screamed in pain as the blood rushed back to her freed nipples. They throbbed and throbbed as she shook her shoulders around trying to comfort her nipples. Then Greta grabbed each nipple with a thumb and forefinger and proceeded to pinch them and lift her heavy breasts off her stomach by the nipples. Marci cursed him the whole time.

“You fucking pussy. You’re gonna pay for this later you fucking no dick wimp. Fuck that hurts. Let go of my tits you fuck!” She screamed. “Why couldn’t I marry a real man?”

Greta continued with what he knew Mistress Barbara wanted. He grabbed both tits and sucked both nipples into his mouth.

“OH yeah,” Marci moaned. “That’s more like it wimp. Suck them, Yes.”

But just as she was starting to enjoy the feeling, Greta did as he knew he was supposed to and he bit down on the enflamed nipples with his teeth. He didn’t just nibble, no, he bit hard.

“FUCK!” Marci spat. “Son of a bitch! You fuckin’ bitch! Stop that!”

Greta didn’t stop. He continued to chew on her nipples until Barbara finally told him to stop. He finally dropped her saggy tits onto her belly and rose to his haunches. His little penis was throbbing in his cock cage and the spikes were doing him no favors. He dropped his head to his chest and listened as his wife berated him.

“You wimpy little fuck, I’m gonna whip that skinny little ass of yours so hard you’re not going to be able to sit for a week. Then I’m gonna rape that little asshole of yours so hard you’re not going to be able to shit for a week either. You fucking little fuck. I’ll show you who’s tits you love you fucking little weasel.” Marci was so mad and sore she couldn’t stop.

“Enough you fat whore!” Barbara commanded.

Marci stifled her rant, but shot daggers at her wimpy little man with her eyes.

“Come Greta” Barbara instructed.

Greta shuffled to his sitting queen and she lifted his chin with her hand. “Now we all know our wimpy little man likes slut Lois’ titties better than his fat whore wife’s, but tell me Greta do you like them better than Mistress Barbara’s titties?”

“Never Mistress! I could never love any titties more than I love yours. They are perfect Mistress, just perfect.” Greta told her.

“Yes Greta I know they are.” Barbara said to him in her best baby voice. “Now show these sluts how you worship Mommy’s perfect titties.” Barbara leaned back in her chair and pushed her sweet round C cup tits to the sky.

Greta shuffled forward and instantly began to gently and kindly suck her nipple. He leaned his head against her other nipple and like a baby he began to suckle the nipple in his mouth. Barbara grabbed his head gently with her hand and spoke to him like a baby feeding from his mother.

“That’s a good boy. Suck Mommy’s titty like the pathetic little pussy boy you are. Show these whores how to treat a real woman, not a fat slut like them.” Barbara told him.

Greta didn’t just suck her nipples, he worshipped them. He alternated back and forth showing each one his tender love while Barbara continued to treat him like a little baby. His little pecker was hard and throbbing and sore and uncomfortable as the cock cage tormented it with its spikes, but he didn’t care. All he wanted to do was service his Lady. Barbara did enjoy Greta’s talented tongue and she sat back for a while and enjoyed the feelings of it on her aroused nipples. Finally Barbara commanded him to stop.

“Enough Bitch! Now back to the task at hand.” She told him.

As his Mistress had ordered, he moved Lois to the center of the room, laid her on the floor face down and hog tied her hands and legs together above her head. Directly above Lois was a large iron ring mounted to the main beam that supported the second story of the house. Greta expertly fashioned a harness with all the rope and soon Lois was swinging from the ring face down about waist high with her legs spread wide and her head drooping toward the floor. The last piece of gear Greta was to put on her was a ring gag that went between her teeth and strapped around her head leaving her mouth stretched so far it would begin to ache in just a few minutes. Once she was ready, Greta informed his Mistress and she rose from her thrown.

She was dressed so sexy that all three of her submissive bitches were turned on by her mere presence. The leather corset hugged her perfectly flat stomach and held up her magnificent C cups as if two hands were displaying them for all to see. The leather g-string, black stockings and spiked patent leather heels screamed, “I am in charge!” The riding crop she wielded only accentuated the statement. Without saying a word, Barbara cracked Lois’s wide round ass cheeks several times with the riding crop causing Lois to yelp in pain. Then crouching in front of Lois, she administered ten smacks to each of her dangling tied up titties. Lois screeched with each lick.

“Greta, get those nipples hard.” Barbara demanded.

Greta eagerly crawled under Lois and sucked each nipple alternately. He loved sucking Lois’ tits and he relished the feel of them in his mouth again and again. The feeling was soothing to Lois’ suddenly throbbing nipples, although she knew there was only one reason Mistress got her nipples hard. Sure enough moments later Barbara was ordering Greta to apply the alligator clips to her fleshy nubs. Each nipple clamp had a chain attached to it and soon there were one pound weights dangling from them. The pain was intense as the clamps and the weight stretched her already sore nipples to extreme lengths, and Lois did her best to stifle her cries.

“The next time you treat a guest of mine like that at one of my fuck parties you dirty slut, I will cut you off from cock for 6 months. You understand me whore?” Barbara snapped at Lois. “If one of my guests says you have a fat ass, you will thank her kindly. I will have none of those catty fuckin remarks coming from you again you fat ass whore. My guests are just as important to you as I am. You will treat them exactly as you treat me. I don’t care if you like them or not. I know you hate that snooty bitch Megan, but that’s half the reason I invite her. And, when she is a guest in my house you will respect her. You get it slut?

Sniff sniff “Yes Mistress.” Sniff Lois replied.

“Come here wimp!” Barbara demanded.

Greta scurried to her side. Barbara removed his cock cage, and his little penis sprung to life.

“See this Slut?” she snapped again, pointing at Greta’s skinny 4″ dick. “This is all you will get for 6 months if you behave like that again.” She walked to the rear of Lois and administered 10 quick, harsh lashes to her bald exposed pussy with the riding crop. Lois screamed in pain again.

“Show this slut what she’s in for if she misbehaves again Greta.”

Greta loved the humiliation Miss Barbara was lavishing on him. Greta moved between Lois’ legs and slid his little man clit inside Lois’ dripping pussy. She was wet already because Lois loved pain and it made her insides all hot and her pussy dripped with arousal as Greta pumped her pussy with abandon.

“Oh yeah, that’s it big boy. Show this fat assed slut what a stud you are. Show her how much of a man you are. Show that whore how much pleasure you will be giving her for six months if she treats my guests like that again.” Barbara teased Greta. Looking directly at Lois she hissed, “Is that what you want, whore? Is that the kind of cock you want slut?”

“No Mistress.” Lois answered. “Please make him take it out.” She begged. “I need a real cock, please. I can’t even feel his little needle dick in me.” She looked at Marci with complete disgust and asked her, “How the fuck could you marry such a wimp? How could you even let that little thing fuck you? You are just as pathetic as him you fat cow!” With the ring gag in her mouth it was very difficult to understand her, but everyone got the gist of the insult.

The humiliation of her words only spurred Greta on and he fucked Lois harder and faster. He didn’t even stop when Barbara bitch slapped Lois across the face hard.

“Who the fuck do you think you are, slut? You think you’re better than that that pig in the corner? That’s exactly what I’m talking about. When are you going to learn some fucking manners?” She spat at Lois. Then she covered Lois’ tits with 10 more lashes from her crop. The pain of the whip along with the way the lashes made the weights swing made the pain unbearable. She began to whimper openly.

Behind Lois, Greta was so close to cumming and Barbara could see it. She ordered Greta to pull out immediately. Disappointedly, he withdrew from Lois.

“Clean him.” Barbara demanded. “Suck that pathetic excuse for a cock he has. Clean it good, and think about that tiny thing pleasuring you for six months.”

Greta inserted his tiny little pee pee into Lois’s stretched mouth. It was very hard to clean his penis, as it swam around inside her wide open mouth. She could only use her tongue and it was very difficult. While Lois was occupied with that, Barbara strapped on a 10″ dildo and walked behind her disobedient slut. Without any care, she buried the fake cock balls deep inside Lois’ cunt.

“Here’s your real cock, slut! I’m gonna fuck you so hard and so long, you’re gonna beg me to stop, you disobedient cunt” Barbara shouted.

The weights on the nipple clamps swung painfully back and forth as Barbara hammered Lois’ pussy relentlessly. The pain and the pleasure mixed within her body and she couldn’t help but orgasm quite quickly. Greta watched and stroked his little soldier the whole time. Barbara was really getting into it when she heard her cell phone ring. Barbara froze when she realized it was the ringtone for her ultimate lover, “Big Daddy”. She pulled out and rushed to her phone.

“Hello Big Daddy……..Uh huh……..absolutely…….I’ll be ready.”

She hung up the phone and screamed at Greta, “Come on my little fucktoy bitch, Miss Barbara needs to prepare for a visit from Big Daddy.”

“Right away Mistress.” Greta replied.

The two of them disappeared down the hall leaving Lois swinging in the middle of the room and Marci naked in the corner desperately trying to cum.

Fifteen Minutes later Barbara returned to the great room to find Big Daddy had already arrived. Barbara could see he was entertaining himself already. He had a hold of the ropes attached to Lois’ shoulders and he was using them to swing her back and forth as he drove his mammoth cock in and out of her overstretched mouth. This time the cock in her mouth was not swimming inside the ring gag, it was completely filling it. Barbara could here Lois gag a bit each time he thrust his manhood into her throat forcefully. Barbara turned and looked at her fat whore in the corner and could see the jealousy in her eyes as she knew Marci wished it was her mouth Big Daddy was fucking. The puddle between her legs was even bigger than before. She turned to Greta.

This is a fantasy story filled with mighty creatures, wicked sorcerers, magical weapons, and of course beautiful women with long shining hair and a true Hero, controlling his women with an iron fist. Well, apart from the fact that he’s not very heroic, and that the women mostly use their cunning ways to disobey him when they do not outright turn the tables on him…

*** Chapter One. The Wanderer and his first slave ***

Imagine the gloomiest city you have ever visited, or even seen. Then add incredible tall, dour, featureless buildings. Cover it with a thick cloud of cloying, sickly green-black smoke. Add towering, bare and ebony mountains. Cut it with a mournful, almost molasses-like river. And the piece de resistance, a population of humorless and cruel people; cold to the bone as they went somberly about in their gray cloaks, like they did in the City of the Dead. Yes, this was it. Welcome to Braghia, city of a thousand disappointments.

Braghia, the city of shadows, is renowned throughout the lands as having the best slave market to be found on the Olthan Sea. And, despite not having seen any before, I could not help agree. It has been claimed that the Gods made seven times seven times seven races of Men, and a fair number of them must have been represented here. Small, lithe Mariners, the elegant Narmosh, wiry Highlanders, Dust Men, and even some Forest Dwellers slowly wilting as they were being kept away from their precious soil, and many more besides. There were strong, healthy men, prisoners of war having made the unmanly choice between drowning and bondage. Beautiful women of all colors and shapes, with long shimmering hair down their backs, bred to the arts of pleasing men, or raided from their homes. I found it all disgusting, but nevertheless I was here to purchase one. The problem was, I just did not know who, and why.

The slave market was one of the few places in Braghia where one did not feel the claustrophobic pressure of the narrow, winding streets and the incredibly tall buildings, some rising more than twenty stories into the air. Worse perhaps, it was a place where the noise and jostling and stink and voices of a crowd of customers, vendors, and merchandise made me want to retch. It did not matter; whether in a shaded alley or a thick crowd, a knife could still be slipped into my back by a firedancer.

From the most alluring queen to the oldest, disease-ridding wretch, there were slaves available for any need and purse, and the local Twilighters were circling around like buzzards considering their next morsel. How could I find the one the prophecy had urged me to buy in all this? And would I be able to stand the impact of the perpetual, raw misery of the goods on display without fleeing.

Then, after a few minutes I found myself feeling conflicted emotions as I passed from holding pen to leashing post to metal cage. On one hand the despair of the slaves affected me, but on the other… Why did I feel so strange watching a prospective buyer examine a woman on a leash like she was a horse? What attracted me to this display of disregard for humanity? As I stood there, my ears red from shame, I heard another potential buyer discussing the advantages and disadvantages of a slave with her owner.

“This slave does not please neither my senses, nor my eyes,” the customer said. He was a native Twilighter, and with his pale white skin and jet dark hair hidden in his deep gray robes he did not look like a kind, welcoming master. Few of them did.

“But look at those big black eyes!” The owner held the slave, a young woman locked in a cast iron cage with a few other wretches, by her leather collar, forcing her face close to the bars. With his free hand he pointed at her eyes. She looked like one of the Sea People, the vast, olive-skinned majority of the lands to which her owner also belonged. She looked like it, but she was not. There was something curious about her, apart from the fairly obvious things such as…

“I told you, if I want someone to dally with, I will find an attractive, well trained specimen. A Green-eye, taught to fear the touch of men, for example. This… thing will be set to menial work, if she can be trusted, with that thieves’ cross marring her face.”

“But that is the only blemish on an otherwise perfect skin. Look at the golden texture of it, sir!” The owner seemed oblivious to the rancor of the customer.

“Yes, on a bald head, nonetheless. She is revolting.”

The aforementioned big black eyes fixed in fury on her tormentors. I drew closer, somewhat intrigued by all of this.

“It will grow out,” the vendor said, and added: “Seven krakens.”

“I’ll give you three,” the tall, pale customer added.

I felt my pouch, for some reason that I could not explain. I had exactly five krakens and seven spiked wheels left to me in the whole world.

“She’s got a lovely smi-” the owner started, but then stopped short.

“She does?” The sarcasm dripped off the customer’s voice like puss from a festering wound. “Then let me see it.”

“No, never mind,” the vendor said hastily. “Six krakens?”

“Yes, I do mind. Let me see the perfect teeth of this pretty thing!”

The young woman tried to pull away, and the official would have let her, but the customer stuck one hand into the cage and grabbed her neck, using the other to force her mouth open despite her vicious protests. I was now just a few feet away, and could cleary see the blinding white, even ivory of her mouth, marred only by a hole in the middle where her two front teeth should have been. With a display of ferocity the small, slender slave snapped out of the Braghian’s grip and used her incisors to bite down on his hand, making him pull it away, clutching at his wound. With an oath he pushed the cage with all his might, making the woman tumble backwards, before he stomped off in furious anger.

The official swore and gave the woman who was now struggling to rise a tongue-lashing while he loosened a leather whip from his belt. Her eyes narrowed, her face fixed in a grin caught somewhere between fear and resolute determination.

“I-If you put another blemish on her, I will deduct a kraken from what I am willing to offer,” I replied.

The pair of them became aware of me now, the woman’s face turning even more conflicted with emotion. But when her eyes met mine I felt a sensation of… Connection, maybe? A tinkle of recognition? Attraction? That beneath the scars, baldness, and missing teeth there waited the most beautiful woman in the world ready to spring forth into full bloom. Or if not the most beautiful woman in the world, then at least the woman I would hold in such a high esteem. There was no question now as to the true reason I had been sent to this slave market. I had to have her.

“And how much are you willing to offer, sir? Snow Man, are you? From up North then, I guess?” He put down his whip and smiled at me, as he started making an professional effort to become friendly. “Cold there now, as always? Never been there myself, though.”

“Yes, I am,” I replied. “Just arrived in this fine city. A little confused by all these tall buildings they have here and the crowds in this place…”

We chatted a little, the purpose of which was to make the other feel bad about being harsh in the upcoming bartering. The shadow of the sky reaching, black Tyrant’s Tower passed slowly across the market, letting everyone know that in the end they were all his slaves. The dark gray walls of the city had seen many a poor sinner being hunted down and punished by the Shades, the sinister sorcerer-guards who maintained a cruel order in Braghia.

“Now, about this beauty here,” he finally said and we turned to look at the slave. She stood upright, looking as proud as any caged, little woman can possibly do under the gaze of two big men.

“Her owner wants a full dragon for this one, but I feel bad for her and know you will take good care of her, sir, so I will let you have her for seven krakens.”

“Not too bad,” I replied. “If she were whole, that is. Let’s deduct one kraken each for the baldness, the thieves’ cross, and the teeth. I’ll give you four.”

“All right, I’ll deduct one kraken for the cross,” he replied with a smile as the woman stared blackly at me. I did not like that very much, and neither did I like words that were coming out of my mouth, but I had to get the price down to match my purse. “But you can just put a wig on her, and her mouth can stay shut, can’t it? Nothing like a silent woman, eh?” We laughed, but I groaned inside as the woman’s eye flung black fire at me.

“All right, add the wig. But if she can’t smile, then I will have to look at this silent frown for years and years instead,” I gestured at her mask of fury.

“Then we split the last kraken in half,” he said and extended his hand towards me, “for a speechless and smile-less woman. Five krakens and six spiked wheels.”

“Deal,” I shook his hand. I had just bought myself a slave.

Then, five minutes later, I was left with a single spiked wheel in my pouch, and a small, angrily-looking woman beside me.

“Sure you don’t want a leash for her?” The official looked at me with something approaching sympathy in his eyes, now that he had his money. “My friend, for this one I would strongly recommend it…”

I shook my head and awkwardly walked back into the vast maze that is Braghia with the woman beside me. She was indeed very short, and her bald head bobbed so low that it would have fitted perfectly under my chin if she had wanted to stay close to me. She did not want this, however. She was slender, almost famished-looking, but her body still managed to retain a somewhat feminine aspect to it, with nice, rounded hips and noticeable breasts.

The strange thing about her was her baldness. It did not look at if her hair had been shaved off, neither that she had some sort of disease that had made her lose it. It was just a hairless head. I had heard stories of sorceresses whose powers was tied to their hair, that the longer their hair the more powerful they were, and that the way to defeat them was to cut it off. But then I had heard many stories.

“So,” she said casually as we wandered aimlessly, as I unfortunately had no idea where my hostel was in this maze, up a relatively wide, busy street with where there was a market, and where offers to buy fruits and fish and vegetables and even meat were announced in almost surreal quietness. “So, you usually buy damaged slaves?”

“No, of course not,” I replied hastily. “What’s your name. Mine is-”

“First time, then. I should be proud, I guess. Honored, even.”

“Look, I did not mea-”

“I am your slave now, then?” She tugged at her leather collar and look up at me with narrow eyes. We stopped walking. People around us were shying away from her white slave robes, or maybe it was the thieves’ cross that did it.

“Yes, but wait until we get back to, eh, the Gutted Cod, on Shade Wharf, that’s the hostel where-”

“I must obey you, then, and be under your control? I have no privacy, no freedom? That’s what ‘slave’ means, isn’t it?” Her hands moved to her hips, which I was sure had to be a danger sign.

“Well, yes, but-”

“What luck I have to have been bought by you!” Even I could tell she did not mean that. “But, you have to be careful.”


“People rich enough to buy slaves are considered plum targets in this city.”

“But you were cheap,” I protested in my stupidity.

“By the blasted desert, yes I was, wasn’t I?” Now she looked interested over my shoulder. “But still old Chark the marrowpricker would like to put his dagger into your back, I see.”

“Who?” I spun around and looked wildly about me. The people closest to us looked exasperated at me, but that was it.

“See that man in the dark green tunic over there?” the slave’s hand pointed to a short, wicked-looking man buying one of those small, fried and intensely spicy fish-on-a-stick that they sell in Braghia, the food being one of the few redeeming qualities of the place.

“Is that Shark what’s-his-name? How do you know him? What did I do to him?”

“I have a thieves’ cross on my forehead, you know, and I know many people in the city. I think what offends him is that your money is not in your purse.”

“But I don’t have any-”

“Let’s watch him closely to see if he let’s up who he’s working with?”

That was good advice. So I looked at the man in the green tunic. I watched him pay for his fish, eat it, bow in compliment to the woman who had made it, and take a look at the other stalls nearby before he sauntered away. I could see no secret signs or dubious eye contacts with anyone. When I turned around to tell my slave, she, of course, was long gone.

I arrived at the Gutted Cod just as night fell, an actually quite decent hostel on the docks of Braghia. The staff had the characteristic unfriendly, yet courteous, behavior of Twilighters, and the room was clean. Hungry, my last spiked wheel spent on a frugal meal on the street, I stumbled wearily into my room. Everyone I had asked direction to the hostel had told me that it would take me ten minutes to get here, every twenty-something of the unwilling, reserved, almost hostile one of them.

I was angry and frustrated. The slave, of course, could not be found, even though I had searched for her. I had traveled for five weeks to get to Braghia and buy her, and now she was gone. My mission would not be completed now. I was a failure and I hit the brick walls in fury.

Deep inside me a little voice told me that she had every right to try to escape her bondage to me, but I never was one to listen to reason. Yes, she was my slave! Because, I muttered to myself, I had bought her! It was her duty to obey me, to meekly follow me around!

These angry thoughts had kept my feet moving for the last few hours, but as I lay on the hard bed in the tiny room and rested, my feelings changed. Slave. For a moment I had owned a woman with big, black eyes. Still owned her, technically. Right now she could have been kneeling by my bed, her face to the floor, all in awe of me. I breathed in and out deeply and shook my head. Earlier today I had cursed the existence of the slave markets, and now I dreamed about having a woman on a leash…

I sat up and drank a cup of water from the bucket that was filled by the maid every morning. ‘Stop thinking these thoughts!’ I told myself. But I couldn’t. That woman had to be mine! Bald and branded and toothless… Her place was at my feet!

“But you are gone,” I whispered quietly, knowing that the memory of her would stay with me for a long time.

Then, suddenly, I was interrupted by a sound coming from the small window high up on the wall. Fearing a firedancer had tracked me, I grabbed the ladle of the bucket in my right hand and tore the curtain aside. A pair of big, black eyes, irritated and weary, met mine.

“You?” I asked incredulously.

“Yes,” came her annoyed voice back to me from outside the small window. I had a room on the first floor, because they were by far the cheapest ones. The Twilighters of Braghia all aspired to live as high up as possible to show their social standing making it shameful, and for me affordable, to live on the ground.

“You came back?”



“Listen, can we discuss this outside? How long do you think a branded thief will be left in peace looking into your window?”

One minute later we stood face to face at the corner of the hostel, or as face to face as was possible when she was about a foot shorter than me. It was night now, and the yellow flames of the whale-oil lamps did not do much to illuminate the darkness, but I could see that she was wearing a colored (blue, perhaps?) coat now, instead of the white slave robes I had seen her in the last time, and that a hood covered her thieves’ cross.

“Why did you return, slave?” I asked. Why did I add the ‘slave’, now? She flinched.

“I am your slave?” Her voice was incredulous.

“Yes,” I breathed deeply.

“Who are you?” She uttered the words in staccato, putting stress on the middle word of the sentence. “Where do you come from?”

I hesitated. Feeling an urgent need to control the situation, I shook my head. No… “Why did you return?”

“Look, You want to own me, and control my life? For real?”

I paused. To control every aspect of her life. What she should wear, what she ate, when she woke and when she was allowed to sleep… What a horrible idea! Oh, and what a sweet, sweet idea. Had I ever felt these kinds of emotions before? Thinking back, a lot of conflicted memories suddenly became clear…

I realized she was still waiting for an answer as my thoughts flew wildly between experiences with the women I had known in my life.

“Why did you return?” I repeated, not because I insisted on getting my answer, but because I was not ready to answer her question.

She sighed and looked a me from under her hood. With an almost unwilling movement she grabbed the cloth and jerked it backwards, revealing a head covered in shadow.

I waited.

“Yes?” she said.

“Why did you return?” I repeated, confused.

“Because of this.”

“This what?”

She sighed and rolled her eyes. Then she stepped closer to me and bowed her head. “This.”

Her head was not covered in shadow, like the diffuse, weak lamplight had lead me to believe. It was covered by thick, black hair. Barely. The hair was less than a quarter of an inch long, but now that I realized it was there, I saw it made all the difference to her appearance.

Her head, which had resembled that of a gnome and had made her firm eyebrows dominate her face while her ears had seemed to stick out, was far better proportioned now. She was lovely, I realized as she raised those enchanting eyes of hers to look at me. Long eyelashes, so long that a gaze sent demurely up at you from a hundred paces would make your heart skip more beats than a drunken, amateur drummer.

But of course she did not gaze demurely at me or look at me in any other manner that could be interpreted seductively. Her face had an irritated air as she took a step back. “See now?”

“You have hair.”

“Well spotted!” She clapped as briefly as possible to even create an irony of applause. Silence fell.

“And?” I asked.

“And? You don’t think that is strange?”

“Well, yes of course, but-”

“No buts! Look here, I have lived on the streets for three years since I lost my position at the scullery back home; you know, since someone very smart figured out my baldness must be caused by a contagious disease. And now, with this cross on my face, I can never get another job. So my future is to keep stealing to feed myself, then be sentenced to slavery, and escape from the idiots who buy me. And all this in this filthy, ugly city! Do you, dearest owner, think that is any way to lead a life?”

“Well, no. But I don’t see how-”

“Do you know anything of magic?”

“Some. I am a Wanderer.”

“Which is a fancy name for a vagabond, I guess,” she shrugged, “but it beats my professional title.” Then she ran her hand over her head. “Twenty-two years, and never before a single strand of hair on my head. Never. Then I met you.”


“Yes. I felt the prickling in my scalp from the moment you appeared. Just after I made you fall for the easy trick I pulled, I felt my head, and there it was. Since then I have been thinking…”

“Thinking about?”

“Something happened to me when I was with you. You understand? My life is a misery, and here is a chance to escape from it. To feel magic. If I stay with you. As a slave, if need be!” She narrowed her eyes.

“Oh.” I hesitated. Then I added, “You know, I have come from the far north just to find you.”

“You what?”

“Yes. Well, it was like this… I was given a prophecy. A vision in the morning frost of the Lake of Seeing back at the Cloister where I lived. About journey to the south, to the City of Shadows, and a slave to be purchased. That is the short of how it was explained, though a friend of mine suggested the alternative interpretation that I was to spend the rest of my life as a mallard. But the slave from the prophecy? You.”

Her mouth fell open. “But why? Why?”

“Magic,” I winked at her.

“That’s not what I meant,” she muttered, before her face brightened in a smile. Her hand instinctively came up to cover her smile along with her missing teeth, but she had high cheekbones that called forth some nice dimples instead. I liked it. “So you need me more than I need you,” she said smugly. “In that case I think I want to negotiate my slavery.”

She did not finish her internal negotiations until later, and returned to peer through my window only just before dawn. I was awakened by her soft cries of “Mister! Mister!”

“Mph?” I replied, still being in a dream where seductive women were doing very explicit things to me, with me placed in various sorts of predicaments I am ashamed to say. Then the fear of firedancers jolted me wide awake in an instant, and I fell out of bed while becoming entangled in my blanket. Three things struck me at once. The first was the amazement that this dingy, little room had floorspace enough for me to lie straight on it. The second was that any firedancer would have had ample time to make me die screaming in a blaze of flame. The third was that the unnamed woman found my antics extremely amusing.

“What?” I said as I managed to free myself.

“Nice legs,” she said and winked at me.

I grumbled, turned around and put my pants and shirt on. Coarse hemp stuff, dull beige, but far better in this warm climate than my woolen clothes.

“Nicer buttocks,” she grinned, covering her mouth.

“What do you want?” I went over to the window. “I told you that I… That you still are my…”


“Yes,” I said, a bit embarrassed.

“Can’t we let the matter rest? Let me in, please. The sun will rise in a moment, and I still don’t want to be caught staring in.”

I shrugged. Last night I had told her that I expected her to accept her slavery, and she had left in a fury. At the time I had been consumed by desire for that power I had seen displayed in the slave market. Now it all just seemed silly.

“So,” I said to her as she sat on the other side of my bed, “now you can tell me your name, maybe?”

“Maybe,” she smiles pleasantly. If being in a room alone with a stranger bothered her, or if the dark looks the hostel watchman had given her had stung, then her partly amused, partly defiant manner did not betray it. “But I think that your tale has to be far more interesting than mine.”

“Please begin,” I said, determined to have my way. I had always been single-minded once I my mind was firmly fixed upon something, and this woman nourished this part of me like a mug of beer did a drunk.

She sighed theatrically and shifted her legs. She had a way of moving that I liked. Not very elegant, almost slightly clumsy even, but with an inner energy that spoke of a fiery soul. “My name is Moonshine.”

“Because of-” I began.

“Because of the baldness, yeah.” She passed her hand over her new-grown hair. It was at least the fourth time she did this since she had entered my room, and the only time she had done it consciously. “The light of Which of the Seven they refer to I am not sure, probably all of the less fortunate ones.”

“Has it grown more?” I asked. What kind of race was she really, this strange woman? There were bald people in the far north-east of the world where they say that the fabled Pearl Islands lie like so many paradises int the glittering seas that were seething with fish.

“Yes,” she nodded. “Half an inch it is now. I felt the tickling sensation when I told you my real name. I never did tell people my name since I came here because, well you know. But lying to you… It is so hard somehow…” She shook her head almost irritable.

“How about a new one?” I smiled as she started creasing her brow in frustration.

“A new what?”

“Name. How about… Nightbreeze?”

“Why?” She looked intensely at me.

“Well, now your head is dark like the dead of night, but there is also a feel of… wind about you?” Now why did I say that?

“Was that a missing tooth joke?” Her eyebrow shot up like an interrogator out of his chair when the accused man being questioned claims he has ‘done nuttin’.

“No, no. It was a reference to flowing hair that is to come.”

We looked at each other for a few moments, and then she gritted her teeth to unsuccessfully hide a little smile. “And what is your name? I’ll see if I like it. If not I will have to change it at my whim.”


“Huh? What kind of name is that? Why were you given that one?”

“Because I am thought to be persistent and annoying,” I smiled.

“Really? I would never have guessed.”

“Yes. My older siblings gave it to me as we grew up. It was,” I sighed, “decided quite early on that I was to become a Priest.”

“What kind of Priest? Why should you want to become that?”

“To weave the Eternal Spell of Winter, that’s their job. Some lunacy about containing the Beast of Flame, which is supposed lie sleeping in a dead volcano on a dull, little island. They take their dreary rituals and chanting so seriously, though. I was sent to their Cloister on an even smaller, even duller island to keep me away from home and to teach me discipline, open-mindedness, and patience.”

“And are they more successful with their rituals?” she asked with a straight face.

“Well, considering that they probably have bored the Beast of Flame to death with their endless recitals of forgotten spells and formulas, I should say ‘yes’.”

She laughed. That laugh was so full of emotion and life that I felt the edges of my mouth twitching in response. I would have to make up a lot of jokes now, because I had to keep this woman laughing! That would be a hard task, as I was not known for my sense of humor in particular.

“But you are not a Priest, are you?”

“I am a Wanderer.”

“A vagrant,” she interjected.

“A Wanderer is a traveling mystic given a charge by the Gods.”

“A tramp.”

“Having no home or ties to any country or faith or even family.”

“An outcast.”

“With no house and no earthly goods.”

“A bum.”

“Led by prophecies and the callings of the Gods themselves.”

“Aha! Madman! That was the name I was looking for! Thanks!”

I ignored her taunts with a rising sense of irritation, but then she broke out in an almost convulsive laugh.

“And I thought being a bald, toothless, branded thief was bad!” She kicked her legs about in a childish manner as she looked at me. Then she winked and grinned, passing her hand before her face. “So, you came looking for me? No-one has ever done that for me as far as I can remember.”

“Yes, but now it is your turn to talk. Tell me about where you come from, and how you managed to end up here. You are Sea People?”

“Did you dream about finding me, like a prophetic dream? Hey, it was not one of these wet dreams that men have, now was it?”

“Where do you come from?” I smiled. “And how did you come to be here? Are you of the Sea People?”

Our eyes met. She narrowed hers, but I did not blink. I had had staring contests before. In some ways my life had always been a long, long staring contest.

“By the Kings of the High! You are so stubborn! All right, mister stubborn owner! I am from the Great Slope. My mother was a Longleg,” she said, referring to the race of tall, black men that dominate the rough, southern lands, “and my father, too. Well, obviously he was not my real father as you can see. He left her when he saw I was not his child. So, I was working the fields of my mother’s family for many happy years until the Carmacians burned the land,” her eyes glinted a little. “Then I was beaten, my teeth knocked out, and I was driven away as a bad omen by the village elders. My mother stayed because she had four others to care for. I worked as a scullery maid in Port Maygo until I was offered a position in the kitchen that another girl wanted. Suddenly I was a bad omen once more. The first cut I got was for stealing a duck, and then the cross was completed for nicking a blanket in winter, which can get cold even there. Third time was a loaf of bread, and then I found myself on a slaver bound for lovely Braghia.” She looked at me for, I guess, any sign of emotion that would offend her.

“So,” I said slowly, “old Chark the marrowpricker doesn’t exist, does he? And neither does his knife?”

She laughed. “You didn’t figure that out until now? I never left the cages until you bought me. I spent hours even finding this place! Thank the Kings you are so cheap you accepted the shame of staying on the first floor, because I was never a good burglar nor climber.”

“But,” I said, “your race?”

“Interesting question. Bur more interesting still…” she sniffed and turned towards the low door of the room. “Why do I smell burnt wood all of a sudden?”

Firedancers! That was my first and only suspicion as the gray smoke began seeping into the room. It was no drunken patron having knocked over his candle in the night, no badly cooked breakfast being served. The firedancers had found me!

The woman, Nightbreeze, rose at once when she saw the fear in my eyes. As I grabbed at her she grabbed at the bucket of water. Then, as the door in matter of seconds went from dry wood into a blazing inferno that roared and unnaturally flung a vicious fire tongue at the bed where we had just been sitting, we lay soaking wet in the farthest corner. Which I could tell by the intense burning pain in my face and throat was not far away at all.

I understood at once that if we had been sitting on the bed our bodies would now be contributing to a cozy, crackling fire. Cinders flew wildly across the room, but our wet clothes shielded our bodies. Once I felt a searing sting on the top of my head, but I pawed fervently at it, and it left nothing but a mild irritation.

Then the flames died away like a candle being snuffed out, leaving a black carpet of orphaned smoke that was slowly pulled through the small window to join the poisonous smog of the greencoal-fueled, huge furnaces that heated every floor of the sky-reaching towers of the city, contributing to the Brooding Cloud that ruled over even the Tyrant himself.

Through the door, a dagger aflame in his hand, came an old yet hale man of my own race, a long beard a-flying, dressed in the fiery red garments that I had been dreading to see for so many weeks now. With terror I saw that in place of his eyes he had two gaping pits of molten lead that seemed to be in turmoil from some inner rage. Even his dagger-wielding hand seemed to be consumed by fire. His movement was carried on to a lunge at the charred, smoking bed, snarling “Flaming flesh! Fire in the heart!”

While I was gasping for breath and the firedancer was off-balance, Nightbreeze was moving. I noticed vaguely that she had risen, but then I lost sight of her actions in the smoke and confusion of the situation.

“Argh!” The firedancer suddenly screamed, a scream of pain and fear, and he seemed to almost topple over towards me, the fire of his jagged blade going out. The woman’s teeth were at work again, fastened to the man’s free hand like she were a dog of war. If she was able to be as vicious as this with two teeth missing, I dreaded the one who would have to face her with all her ivory in place.

The firedancer fixed his wrinkled, evil face fixing on the woman and the flickering tongues of fire from his molten lead eyes almost covered his countenance. With a growl he lifted his flameknife up high, shouting “Fire in the heart!” in a harsh voice. With a blinding light the cruel, jagged blade lit up again, a white-glowing instrument of slaughter. And merely a foot or two away was Nightbreeze’s exposed neck. In the light from the deadly dagger I saw two other men hovering on the threshold behind him. This was it. They had found me, and it was time to die and end my two month long career as a Wanderer. The only thing remaining to me was to try to show a small fraction of the courage which Nightbreeze had just displayed.

There! The bucket she had dropped after soaking us! Fumbling, losing my grip for merely an instant I caught hold of the rim. It was the only heavy thing in the room that he had not yet burned. I swung it. The blow hit him on the side of the head with all the force I could muster.

The knife, about to strike at the woman who was still locked to the firedancer’s hand like ferocious badger, fell to the floor like a smoking brand before extinguishing. My blow could not have hit true, because he lashed out a fist at me, narrowly missing, before he starting beating his tormentor savagely on her head.

I swung the bucket, again and again. I was never much of a fighter, but the weight of the thing and the pressure of the horrible rage and fear filling me was enough to send him senseless to the floor after a few hits to his head and jaw. There was a scuffling at the door, and I raised the bucket to defend myself against the two other men.

They were gone. Peeping my head out into the long, gloomy hall with the bare, stone walls, a typical expression of the twisted and dull tastes of the Braghians, I saw two street ruffians running headlong down the corridor, pushing past the hostel watchman running the other way. Of course. They had no desire to be bitten or hit by buckets, especially not when their employer had been taken down.

I had no time to thank Nightbreeze, who was wiping her mouth clean of blood on the firedancer’s shirt, before the hostel watchman rushed into the room. He was fat and sweaty and angry, unlike most of the Twilighters who were invariably gaunt and composed in their wickedness, and he held a wooden club with an heavy-looking metal head in his hand.

Why had we let criminals into his hostel, he wanted to know. And then he told me the price of a luxurious four-poster bed with goose-feather pillows, and claimed that it was the worth of the now burned-out little bench I had been sleeping on. I asked him in turn why he had let criminals into his hostel, and informed him of a sum that was perhaps somewhat in excess of what my now charred belongings were worth. He became angry and pointed at Nightbreeze’s thieves’ cross and claimed it was her who had let the men in. Then I became angry and point at his large belly and claimed it was that which had prevented him from coming to our rescue. Then he made some inappropriate comments about my mother’s reproductive customs, and I countered by making some inaccurate comparisons of his mother with various domesticated animals and their habits.

At that point our newly formed friendship deteriorated, and only Nightbreeze’s appearance between us as well as her assertion that we would leave at once prevented me from getting my head caved in by his club. A small voice of reason made me refrain from demanding back the rent I had paid in advance, and the woman ushered me past the watchman who puffed out his chest and stared at me like a bull at his worst rival. I, a learned man of peace, of course also puffed out my own chest and stared at him like some other masculine protector of territory, all the while praying he wouldn’t hurt me.

The street outside was, like most others in Braghia, drab and dreary; the gray unadorned walls had begun to grate on my nerves by now. From a window high up on the other side came the scream of a young man. A servant failing some task or a slave being made to play his master’s cruel game.

The sunlight only reached a few stories down, and where we were the mid-morning was nothing more than a feeble dawn. Only the typical tall, black carts pulled by sweating, running slaves were narrow enough to fit through these alleys, and woe to the man who did not find a portal to hide in when they passed. Somber, robed shadows passed us as Nightbreeze and I looked at each other, she finishing cleaning the blood from her mouth and I passing from fuming anger to depression.

“Here we are,” I said, kicking at the cobbles. “Wet, sunburned, hungry, and broke.”

“We can seek the warmth of the sun!” she grinned red-cheeked at me, hand covering the mouth. “And your skin is so fair that a little color won’t hurt it! And you could stand to lose a little weight,” she winked at me pleasantly.

“And money?” I asked, feeling my belly. It was not big, now was it? And could I do anything about the sunburns? I suddenly got a funny feeling, a prickling in my fingers.

“Well, I…” she began. Then her face twisted, and she seemed to suffer some internal turmoil. After a few seconds she growled angrily and jerked a money pouch out of her robes. “All right! The idiot who tried to kill us had this! Take it! Take it all! Feel free, and don’t mind me!” She almost threw it at me.

“What do you mean?” I caught the pouch before it fell onto the clean, large cobbles. It was heavy, far heavier than the one I had started out with. I knew the worshipers of the Eternal Fire Below were renowned for their wealth, but this…

“Why can’t I lie to you, Sleetspray? Why can’t I keep the lion’s share to myself and tell you that the remainder was all there was? The Kings only know you would buy it!”

“I didn’t force you to-” I begun.

“Of course you didn’t. I did. Me and my stupid head. I can’t lie to you!”

“Your hair has grown,” I observed. It had, the shining black hair was now long enough to even seem a little tousled.

“I bet it has,” she groaned and felt it with an irritating wave of her hand. “I wonder if it is worth it. Maybe I should just leave you here and seek my chances among those whom I can fool and deceive?”

She looked defiantly at me from a head down and two feet away. Beautiful now, despite the sunburn and the thieves’ cross and a few traces of blood around her mouth. So beautiful that I almost did not recognize her as the sorry thing I had bought yesterday. She meant it. I knew it. She was ready to leave. There was no joke in her eyes.

A clean cut is the easiest, my lovely, I thought. Then I opened the pouch, took out one of a few golden dragons that was in there, and tossed the leather bag back to her. “Thank you for saving my life. I wish you a happy one in return,” I said, bowed, and turned to leave.

After only three paces I was hit in the back by a small, leathery object. “Damn you to burn! Come on, let’s go eat. I am hungry.”

She had lied to me, even though she claimed she couldn’t; She wasn’t hungry, she was famished. She filled her thin, thin body with stew at the little taverna by the sea in the Magnoran quarter, filled it to excess.

I had finished eating long ago, and was studying my new friend, my first slave. How long since she last had been fed properly? The hood of her robe covered her cross and unfortunately also her big, black eyes, but now and again she looked up at me and smiled. I found myself waiting for these moments. In one hand she held a wooden spoon, shuffling the hot stuff into her mouth, which she put layer upon layer in her belly together with groa, the thin, soft bread that the Magnorans love so much. Her hands were still red from the heat of the fireball which the door at the hostel had turned into, and they had to be aching, just like mine were. Indeed, mine were still prickling, prickling with a desire to take those damaged hands in mine. Not in any romantic fashion at all, but with a desire to cure her. To heal.

“Give me your hand,” I said to her after some time as the prickling did not continue.

“Mrpmh?” she asked, looking up at me. I held out my right palm, and after moment’s hesitation and with a confused look she laid her left palm on top of mine. I did not feel her soft skin, only the hurting. With my remaining hand I covered hers and, as she lifted her glass to drink while still keeping an eye on me, released the tingling that I had felt. I released a soothing, a cooling, the touch of a tender velvet glove, of an ointment made from strange plants harvested under the stars in distant lands. And the soothing spread, I could both feel it and see it, from her left hand to the other, and to her face and neck. The sunburn disappeared, the lovely olive skin beneath resurfaced. Nightbreeze choked and gagged on her cider.

“What?” she said after she had gotten her breath back. “What did you do? Wanderer! Madman and mystic, what did you do?”

“I, well, I… Your skin was-”

“Yes, I got that,” she rolled her eyes. “But how come you never told me about your funky Wanderer abilities before?”

“I didn’t know I had any.”

“But now you know.”


“And? Tell me about them?” There was queer look in her eyes, an attempt at carefully concealing a hungry look beyond that for mere food.

I was about to start explaining about the tingling, made a false start or two, before I realized what she was asking. Missing teeth. Two old cuts, slashed and smeared with tar and now healed to become a permanent feature of her face.

“I don’t think so,” I sighed before I reached out to touch her forehead gingerly. The strange, tingling power to cure was still there, I could feel it. But it was not enough, I knew that as surely as if I had tried to wipe the cross off her brow with a damp cloth.

“Thank you for trying.” Her face fell. Somehow that pained me more than my own sunburn. “And thank you for healing my skin.” Then she grinned again, expertly covering her missing teeth with a piece of groa. “How about yourself, lobster-man? The pink shade you sport was a novelty, but now I find I prefer the paleness. Makes your blue eyes stand out, you know.”

I nodded, and as she finished eating I let the tingling fill my own body. Slowly the hurt lessened, and by her smile I knew my skin was healed once more.

“Now,” she said as she put her stew bowl aside and looked around. The taverna was possibly the best foreign place to eat in Braghia, with chairs and small tables instead of the long benches found in most places. This gave Nightbreeze’s thieves cross the privacy it required. A white cloth covered our table, and the cutlery was of metal. From here we could see out onto the still, sad waters of the fjord surrounded by those tall, dark mountains that held so many secrets in their midst.

“Now, you know,” Nightbreeze said. “I used to dislike the sea breeze and the howling wind of the Great Slope, but now I find it pleases me. Maybe it’s the salty smell of freedom, if I indeed am free?” She raise those nice eyebrows of hers with a little glint in her eyes.

“I am always seasick,” I noted.

“Me, too.” She grinned. “But now,” she fixed me with a business-like stare, “you owe me the answer to a few questions.”

“I do?”

“Yes, you do,” she fixed her eyes on me, and suddenly I felt the touch of her foot on the inside of my lower leg.

“Yelp!” My mouth dropped open. I looked at her. I looked around. A few of the tables were occupied by wealthy merchants deep in discussions probably involving huge sums of money. The waiters were discreetly leaving us alone, and the entire taverna was raised on a small dais to get the best possible view of the harbor and keep the patrons away from the passers-by. No-one could see what happened under the table-cloth.

“I like the look on your face now,” she snickered. “Mindless, almost! I’ve always wanted to do this, you know, have a man look at me like that, like I was the only thing that mattered in the world. But I’ve been ugly for so many years, and I never… Anyway, Now may I ask a few questions?”

“All right.” My throat was dry all of the sudden. Her right foot was naked, and her big toe was casually resting on my knee by now.

“I’ll ask them in increasing order of importance. Who was that man? Why did he try to kill us? How much money did he have? Remember that half of it is mine! And finally, do they serve dandelion tea here?”

I started laughing. A lot of emotion that had been closed up inside me since this circus begun was released. I had bought a slave. I had been attacked and attempted murdered. And my calling as a Wanderer had been, with the appearance of my strange healing powers, truly confirmed. I laughed so much that Nightbreeze had to order the dandelion tea herself, that sweet, spicy beverage so treasured that all but the more common, hardier variety was worth more than gold. But we were wealthy now, fair compensation for an attempted murder as we both agreed.

“He had quite a bit of money,” I confided to her. She merely blinked at that, and somehow I got the feeling she was not too interested. But her eyes still held mine from underneath her hood, and her foot returned to my knee.

“And why did he- Or even, how did he do the fire thing? The door burst into flame like a bonfire that was bathed in oil by some enthusiastic, drunker reveler! Who can do such a thing?”

“He was a firedancer,” I said, almost as if it did not matter now. I wore nothing under my pants, and I could feel blood flowing down to my groin like a waterfall fills up a… Whatever, I don’t know. Fills up something hard and slightly twitching.

“A what now? I didn’t see him do any dancing until you started banging him on the head with the bucket. You sure know how to keep a rhythm!” She almost forgot to cover her mouth as she grinned at me. I loved that smile. It was the kind that flows from the mouth to every part of one’s face. And when it reaches the eyes and they start to twinkle, then you are sure it is genuine. With eyes like hers the twinkling outshone even the cutest of dimples.

“Well, I…” I begun, feeling ashamed for my violence earlier and falling silent. Her foot was now resting on my chair between my legs. I had my belly pushed all the way to the table, and pressed my groin forward towards her toes, but there was still no contact…

I sighed, realizing that the only way I would be able to feel the touch I was craving was to keep talking. “Up north among the ice and snow where I come from there are many gateways to the fires in the deeps of the world. Huge, towering mountains of smoke, and bottomless fissures rending the landscape and releasing poisonous fumes. These places are taboo, for evil things of fire live there.”

“Such as…?” She was leaning across the table now, her face all eager. A toe, a single toe, brushed again my pants. Even that brief touch brought a gasp of pleasure from my mouth, and I hurried on with my story.

“Such as flamewraiths. Devils of fire and wind, murderously raging across the snow, seeking out all that lives. And powerful and sinister cindermen, who are half fire and half men, offspring of the fires of the earth and human women, sorcerers of great powers. They make their abode down there in the heat if they are not casting their shadows on our towns. They say the red dragon are hatched there as well. Also you have glowmaggots, small, twisted dwarves that serve the cindermen, or they have their own chieftains; they capture and enslave humans.”

“Just like you,” Nightbreeze winked at me, and sipped at the dandelion tea. “Mmm… I only ever heard of this before, but it sure is as good as they keep saying!”

I wondered of that was a double entendre, because as long as I kept talking she was rubbing her big toe up and down my shaft, making my speech throaty and labored, like I was in great duress. And in a way I was.

“And a firedancer is? A creature born of those eternal fires?”

“No, they are their human worshipers. They serve the mightiest of the fireborn demons, who teach them spells of fire and flame, of fiery destruction.”

“And they don’t like you and those priests chanting the spell of eternal whatsitsname?”

“Right, right!” I nodded fervently as I felt her other foot starting to climb up my legs. “Eternal winter, yes! Yes, the Order of Ygrim, Lord of the Falling Snow to which I belonged, they are our saviors. But not the chanting priests like I was. The Giants, the supreme warriors of the North, who are granted gifts of arms beyond mortal men, seek out the fireborn and vanquish them wherever they are found.”

“Why didn’t you become a Giant?” Slowly, slowly her feet were massaging my member, and her eyes glinted with pleasure as I kept talking despite my huge need to just sit still and enjoy her treatment of me.

“Do I seem like a fighting man to you?” I blurted out and closed my eyes, caught up in the throes of desire as my trouser-clad member was caught in a grip between her two feet. “No, my mother and father knew I was not a warrior, and Ygrim himself knows I would not have been much use to him as a Giant. No, I was to become a Priest.”

“But you hated the chanting?” One of her feet was now on top of my head, while the other played with my balls. I felt I was closer to lying in my chair than sitting on it as I did everything I could to get more pleasure from her touch.

“Yes, day in and day out I had to learn ancient, garbled verses by heart. Then there were the chanting, the processions, the dreary routing. I hated it. I love this!”

“I can see that,” she smiled and cocked her head. “But try not to show it as much. Please go on. The chanting was done to fight a flamingbeast or something with magic?”

“The Beast of Flame. You see, on the small Island of Merdon in the middle of the Sea of Blizzards stands a tall, tall mountain. No-one can approach this island, for the icy wind blows all ships away that try to approach, and the bottom of the sea is full of the bones of vessels and men who made the attempt. But this mountain they say is hollow, and it is said to be the nesting place of the most cruel and powerful fireborn devil.”

“The flamebeast?”

“The Beast of Flame, yes. No-one knows what it looks like, or rather everyone has their own idea of what is it supposed to look like.”

“Sleetspray, dear owner?”


“Please sit up in your chair. You are acting strange.” She smiled sweetly.


“Sit up. You are almost falling down.”

“All right…” I sat up reluctantly, but thankfully her feet followed my member as I did so.

“And don’t move again.” She chided me playfully.

“No, I won’t.” I would do anything to keep her stroking feet from disappearing.

“Good,” she grinned and pushed her left foot straight at my swollen head, pushing it delightfully firmly. She added in a mock, strict voice. “Hands on the table now, palms down. Straight back. Good. Stay completely still, we don’t want you to make a scene.”

“I won’t”, I repeated, doing what she said.

“Where were we? Ah, yes. The flamingthing. You priest people chanted to keep it imprisoned there on that island?”

“Yes. The small Islet of Merdinit is only a few leagues away from the island, and there the Cloister stands. Thirty monks in all live there, and all day long they keep chanting.”

“Well, it’s an important job!” Nightbreeze was totally fascinated, and she had not taken her eyes off me as I talked, not even when she drank her tea and smacked her lips.

“If, of course, the Beast of Flame exists.”

“Of course it does!” She rolled her eyes.

“Does it? How do you know? The Cloister has been there for four hundred years. Not a single flame from that volcano. Not one.”

“You have no sense of wonder, Sleetspray,” she said reproachfully and knocked both her big toes together, catching my head in the middle. The shock made me jump a little in my chair. “I told you to sit still, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did! Please don’t stop,” I entreated. Her massage and the sight of her face were bringing me close to my release, and I was becoming more and more desperate.

“Good, remember that now!” she chuckled and blushed, probably feeling proud and good that she was able to produce such emotion in me.

“You have no sense of wonder and no realistic outlook on the world. Here we are, two people who have just had something magical happen to both of them as some evil sorcerer and murderer uses his unnatural powers to try and kill us.”

“Listen, I stared at a stupid frozen mountain for untold months and years! It is dead and empty of all but for cold, lifeless stone.” I drew the words out against the direction of my lust and the need to simply agree with her. Come what may, I refused to change my opinion. Right now that was the only remainder of my old stubbornness left to me. “And that’s that.”

“And that,” Nightbreeze said with an open mouth while staring at something behind us, her feet gone in an instant leaving only an unsatisfied hope, “means the time for amusement is over. Turn around slowly now.”

I spun around. She groaned. But he didn’t notice, the firedancer didn’t, where he shuffled down the dock with his wounded hand wrapped with a bloodstained cloth and his head looking as blue and black as if he had fallen into an argument with a particularly ink-happy squid. I almost felt sorry for him. Then I remembered the red-dressed firedancers of my youth, how they had marched into our village, and the evil they had committed before the Giants had arrived. And I knew that this man must have followed me all the way from the North only to see me die with a flame in my heart, as a sacrifice and gift to his fireborn overlords. Almost I felt sorry for him, but only almost. I felt more sorry for myself, denied the pleasure that had just been a few minutes of Nightbreeze’s love and care away.

He was still feeble and confused from the treatment we had given him, bumping into other people as he walked towards us, veering from the majestic warehouses on one side of the dock over to the other where a dangerously slippery ten foot fall led down into the relatively calm, yet deep waters where all the tall, triple-masted ships lay at anchor.

“We must follow him,” I said abruptly, sense triumphing over lust this time. I did not want to meet this man again unprepared and uninformed. While laughable in his present state, a firedancer has powerful magic at his disposal and the flameknife was in a sheath at his belt.

“Yeah!” Nightbreeze grinned from ear to ear, an almost childish delight in her eyes, and now she did not even care about hiding the missing teeth as her hands were busy assisting her in getting out of her chair. “Good thinking, dear owner!”

I had never followed anyone clandestinely before, but I have a feeling that it would usually not be as easy as this. The man was completely oblivious to anything surrounding him, and on the short walk where he led us along the docks of the Magnoran quarter and then into the city proper again he was pushed aside by tall, burly dockworkers at least five times, stepped on four disgusting objects lying on the cobblestones, was nearly run over by three slave-driven carts (and once hit so hard on his shoulder that he spun round, still without seeing us), misunderstanding the business proposals of two prostitutes, and having his empty pockets unsuccessfully picked once.

All the while we went tagging along after him Nightbreeze was smiling. Clearly she was unafraid and eager to be doing something dangerous and exciting. Now and then she cast a quick grin my way, and I smiled stupidly back at her. Never a very brave man, still I now found myself wishing to seek out peril wherever it may dwell, if only I could do it together with her and her opal eyes and red, smiling lips.

Unlike their allies the Braghians the Magnorans were not averse to showing off their wealth and allegiances, turning the fronts of the tall, looming buildings in their quarter into a kind of colorful children’s wonderland. There were lights shining through glass bulbs of different hues, woven banners hanging down from high above and nearly touching our heads as we walked, proudly proclaiming which merchant house owned which buildings. Even the walls bore house colors. I found myself wondering why I had chosen to stay in a hostel in Braghia proper instead of here where the Sea People, greedy yet friendly, offered far more pleasing accommodations. But the Braghians were cleaner, more quiet, and their spicy food was better. Still, that was all that could be said for them. I had had enough of this place.

“The merchant house Garoth,” I said when the firedancer stopped and looked up at a building dressed in dark red and orange stripes. The depictions of flames were prevalent upon the tapestries hanging down from the heights above. A dragon’s head, almost charming in its tasteless pomposity, was placed above the massive column-flanked entrance portal.

“I am impressed,” Nightbreeze said as the firedancer chose not to enter the building through the portal, but rather disappeared into the alley on the far side from us. “How do you know the name of the house? There are so many of them!”

“The sign.”

“Those fiery letters?”

“Yes. ‘The Garoth, the Glorious House of Fire’.”

“You can read?” She looked genuinely surprised as we walked quickly up to the mouth of the alley.

“The priests at the Cloister have to spend hours studying ancient texts. I can read four languages, of which Olthian is the only useful one.”

“Showoff!” she stuck her tongue out at me before she peered into the alley while I stood waiting behind her. Her hair had grown even more in the short time since we had left the taverna. Two or even three inches I would guess, and the little light that reached down to ground level made it shine like black jewelry as she moved her head.

Nightbreeze stepped into the alley, and I followed her. “There,” she pointed. A door was set into the wall some thirty paces away. Here, in the little traversed alley, the Magnorans had not bothered to proclaim their greatness and the dull, dark gray of the Braghian walls made me feel small and exposed where I stood in their shadows. The door was low, narrow, and easily overlooked. It was a typical servant’s door, but was there a distinctive unused feel to it? Maybe it was the lack of any traces of the many feet that should have traversed it? The furnace, I knew, would be in the cellar. And no Braghian gentleman would ever suffer the shame of being found under ground. But for the worshipers of the Eternal Fire Below, closeness to the sacred heat of the earth was more treasured even than the heat of a huge coal fire.

“I heard and saw it slam shut,” my companion said with excitement in her black eyes. Somehow having her here, close to me, made the shadows brighter and less threatening.

“Should you or I do the climbing?” she said and looked up the walls. “I am not very graceful, but today I feel somewhat frisky and don’t mind giving the windows a go. “

“Cellar,” I concluded. If they were not down there, then it was physically impossible for any of us to climb up on the outside. And the thought of sneaking unseen up countless stairs of a busy building in the middle of the day was impossible as well, probability-wise.

“Why would he be there? Oh well, there no accounting for crazy people.” She shrugged her shoulders and looked at me as if she wanted to include me among the crazy. Then, before I had time to make a plan, she opened the door.

Inside there was a dark stairway, lit only by a small window high up on the wall, showing that it was possible even in Braghia to design an interior that was even more drab than the exterior. The stairs went both up and down, with a door leading into the building proper. As Nightbreeze tried to put a foot on the first of the steps descending into the darkness, I grabbed her arm.

“Ask my permission first!” I whispered.

“Ask what now?” she replied in a normal voice, trying to break free of my grip.

“My permission.”

“For what?”

“Before you attempt anything dangerous.” I tried to show her that we ought to be quiet.

“And by the Kings, why should I do that!?” Evidently, I had failed.

“Because…” I began. I realized that ‘because you are my slave’ would not be well received, and neither was that the real reason I was angry. I did not have time to explore my strange desires with everything going on right now. No, my concern was the thought of a flameknife in her chest, or just a rough beating by a servant discovering her here. “Because I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Her mouth turned into an ‘o’, and her eyebrows looked like they wanted to join her new-grown hair the way they moved up across her forehead. Then she give me a face like she wanted to lunge at the hand holding her and give me the same toothy treatment the firedancer had received. Finally she blushed ever so slightly and rolled her eyes. “Fine. Dear owner and master, I ask you permission to go down these stairs. Do I have to beg once for each step, or will a single request do?”

Greville Hambleton tried hard not to think of the ginger sissy; he was married to a fiercely independent woman who was very much in charge in the bedroom, and who knew all too well of Greville’s weakness for effeminate transgendered she-males. As he was often cuckolded, Tara his wife being partial to sampling cock, she turned a blind eye to his discretions. Like a lot of otherwise heterosexual males who enjoy the assertive control by the superior sex, he had a keen dominant streak which revealed itself with a preference for younger ladies, and even more so for sweet effeminate sissies. His cock stiffened as he thought of the call from Clara Bow, and turned his horse toward Honeysuckle Cottage, which lay no more than a quarter of a mile from the rear of the academy wall; there lay the promise of soft affection.

Martha Blandish smiled wickedly as she pulled the corset stay tight around the incredibly slender waist of Faith Merrick; the soft young thing she had been guardian of since being brought to her in her early teens. The smile broadened as she heard the familiar clip-clop of horse’s hooves outside the cottage. Faith’s cheeks quivered in the silk panties as the stay was tied and Martha squeezed the shoulder of the 23 year old, who still looked as though she were in her mid-teens.

“Well, this is going to be someone’s lucky day! What perfect timing; I told you he’d be along again soon, he knows how you pine for him.” Faith Merrick stood in tight corset, long slender legs in black stockings with a pert little bottom further accentuated by the restricting garment; her nicely proportioned breasts also made a little more prominent by the squeeze of the black Basque. The only thing that gave away her origins as once being Freddie Merrick was the bulge at the front of her panties; a bulge which increased on realising that Master Hambleton was paying a visit. He never came to see how Martha Blandish was respecting the tenancy of the cottage, which his family owned, though the amount paid in rental was always affected by his visits. Faith shyly covered herself with a white shawl as Martha put on her coat and opened the door to Greville.

“Oh! Mr Hambleton. I was just on my way out, but I’m sure Faith can make you a coffee.” Greville blushed as the portly woman winked at him as she passed and walked up the garden path. He closed the door behind her and his cock stiffened as he viewed the shapely figure of the T-girl who had attended the academy from the age of 17 until she was 22. She stood perched on high heels, the shawl just covering her panties; her long feminine legs shimmered in the black stockings, and her sweet vulnerable look made her all the more inviting. Greville’s cock stiffened to rigidity as he moved toward her and sniffed at her soft brown hair; his balls tingled urgently as he tugged at the shawl and Faith let it fall to the floor. Faith shivered a little as he squeezed her soft white upper arms and viewed her pretty little breasts and waspish waist in the corset. He smiled warmly as he noted the little bulge in the front of her panties.

“I’m so pleased to see you again Faith, I see you are pleased to see me too; are you going to be a good girl for your master today, or will I need to punish you?” Faith loved being submissive and was partial to being whipped or caned, bur she had not had relief in some time and was anxious to come whilst dressed in her new corset; it made her feel extra girly, not that there was a chance that anyone not knowing her would consider her masculine. Her boy-clitty bulged uncontrollably in her silky panties.

“I will be a good girl today. Please may I take master to my room and suck his cock?” Hambleton licked his lips and ushered the willing sissy to the stairs. He allowed her to walk two steps ahead; it was a pre-sex ritual that both enjoyed, he watched her sweet bottom as she stepped two stairs higher than he; she felt his eyes where his cock would shortly follow. In her bedroom she peeled off her panties and knelt submissively on the hearth rug, her little cock pointing excitedly. Greville stripped urgently, leaving his clothes on the floor; his cock rigid and needy. Faith’s anus tingled with pleasure as he moved toward her and let her sniff and lick his aching member. She smiled sweetly and looked up at her master with loving eyes as her soft lips slid over Greville’s bulbous bell-end, making him groan and shudder with pleasure. He grabbed her hair and thrust his cock deep into the soft warmth of her throat; far from gagging, Faith sucked longingly at the stiff cock she knew would soon be teasing her prostate.

Close to coming, Greville pulled his cock clear of her mouth and pointed to the bed. Without hesitation, Faith obediently lay down with her ass high in the air; she whimpered submissively as a strong hand clasped her hairless little scrotum and a tongue swiftly lapped at the musky perfume of her asshole. She felt the bed sag as he climbed on, then she clenched her effeminate little fists as her wrists were grabbed, and her little cock stiffened as his slipped sweetly in the crack of her ass, then probed deep into her tight pussy with no mercy, making her gasp with pleasure.

Martha stared then smiled wickedly as she viewed the rear wall as she walked up to the academy; at this one point, she could see between a close copse of trees and the rear wall, at a point where the small stream which ran through the grounds, left through an archway in the wall. She watched with interest from behind a large Oak as Bruce Janner lifted the railings like a gate, and tip-toed on stepping stones as he pulled it closed again behind him before disappearing into the grounds of the academy. Her pussy buzzed as she thought of catching him in the act; she would love to be in attendance to watch Clara Bow and other Directors of the academy, such as Tara Hambleton, serve punishment on an adult male. Young Janner would have to agree to whatever punishment or be exposed publicly, and Martha knew all too well how much Clara and Tara loved to cane males.

Pepper was feeling at home as she prepared herself for her first night at the academy; her nails were so pretty in pink and her friends giggled and joked from their beds, as Pepper too, slipped into the soft and luxuriant bed; this was one thing she had not expected of this stark academy. Her little cock stiffened on the silky sheets as her bottom clenched at the ceramic plug. She squeezed her puffy little breasts with her fingers and tingled as she recalled shooting her cream at the picture of the masked man. She was about to drift off to sleep when she heard Lucy talking.

“Don’t forget, it’s your turn tonight Hannah.” The brunette merely giggled in response, and then there was an audible clunk, which made Pepper look over inquisitively. The tops of the bedside cabinets were to be kept clear, except for a tumbler of water; this was one of the academy rulings; so Pepper was surprised to see Hannah’s ceramic plug also on top of the cabinet; why would she do this? Her question was answered as she heard the dormitory door creak open, and a hooded figure in what looked like a monk’s habit, strode silently into the room. Pepper gasped as she saw the habit drop, and a large male, naked but for a mask, slipped into bed with Hannah. The other girls were silent as gentle, male groans and soft pleasurable whimpering was heard from Hannah.

Cosmo Stafford’s cock remained rock hard as he fingered Hannah’s soft, hot little anus and felt the contours of her body; as a director of the company, he combined his fetish for fondling sissies with the task of checking their development. Key factors indicated their readiness for the outside world; body shape, scent, receptiveness and general submissiveness being the main points. Stafford never tired of the task; wanking as he surveyed them from spy-holes was exciting enough, but the feel and scent of their soft bodies was a real perk of the job. He knew the new arrival would know he was there; the thought of her wondering what was happening to her new friend excited him all the more and he grunted with pleasure as he spurted his cream all over the soft contours of Hannah’s naked body.

He kissed her forehead softly as he then took her little cock and milked her to orgasm. Pepper’s cock was rigid as the fear and excitement took hold of her, though she welcomed the noise she now heard her friend make; she was obviously being pleased. Stafford left as swiftly as he had arrived, and Hannah jumped from the bed, giggling and took herself to the en-suite shower. Pepper watched as the other two left their beds and went and sat on Hannah’s, awaiting her return. Pepper joined them.

Ella took the chain from their collars when they reported to her, together for the first time, in the morning. Pepper’s eyes were exceptionally bright this morning, and slave looked full of vigour and ready to carry out any command that befell him without the slightest hesitation. Pepper gripped his hand tightly, lest she should suddenly wake from this beautiful dream; she smiled to herself, the tenderness she felt in her bottom could not be down to any dream, she had been well and truly fucked and wanted the day over quickly, so as she could entertain her slave once more.

There was a slight tinge of sadness to the morning’s events though; Pepper’s friend Honey appeared in the charge of a large harem mistress with wicked whip in hand. Ella smiled.

“Say goodbye to Honey Pepper. We have found a suitable buyer for her and she is to be despatched today when he arrives for her. I know the two of you used to discuss your fantasies; you are beginning to realise yours, and Honey will be very pleased I’m sure, when she meets her buyer.”

Pepper embraced Honey and the two shed a tear as they hugged. Honey, a sissy of equally effeminate proportions as Pepper, had soft blonde hair in a long pony-tail and deep brown eyes. She eyed slave enviously as Pepper smirked with pride.

“Are you his? He looks like the sort you were always milking yourself over on ‘relief’ days. He’s very handsome.” Pepper went her customary pink as she gripped slaves hand and looked up at his muscular body with submissive puppy-dog eyes. Slave could not help but smile with pride too, as his cock swelled at the thought of last night, and of what was to come that evening when duties were over. His mind was already halfway up that pretty bottom already. Pepper and Honey cried a little more as they said their goodbyes; slave then took her at Ella’s command and they knelt together in a corner as the buyer’s arrival was announced. Honey was stripped completely naked, her cage removed and her hands were bound behind her back. Slaves cock rose at her sweet vulnerability; pepper took his hand and placed it on her bottom as we watched. He whispered to Pepper.

“What was her fantasy?” Peppers bottom squirmed on his hand as she enjoyed being fondled.

“She likes big black men.” She giggled softly as right on cue, Ella welcomed in a huge black man, dressed in Arabic style robes, loosely hanging. The robes showed a prominent bulge at the front, indicating that the man had been savouring this moment. He put his hand under Honey’s soft little chin and smiled as he surveyed her. He smiled all the more as her little cock stiffened and erected on realisation she was to be owned by a huge black man. He swept the robes to one side with his free hand, and little Honey gasped as he revealed a huge black cock. The massive velvety black phallus stiffened as he looked at his prize; he poked the bulbous greyish-purple bell-end under her nose and Honey sniffed excitedly at it, taking in his masculine scent. Without command she licked enthusiastically at the underside of his massive bell-end, sampling the salty taste of his sticky pre-cum which now oozed freely from his huge organ. He chuckled with satisfaction and at the delightful sensation of the petit sissy’s little tongue. Honey’s cock stiffened at the thought of the exquisite pain her little bottom would feel when this huge cock stretched her tight little anus to the limit. The man pulled his cock away, lest he should go too far. He nodded at Ella who came over and sat behind the sissy, holding her firmly. The large African knelt in front of honey and gently grasped her sissy cock. Honey eyed the huge phallus which was still on display and eagerly bucked in the man’s grasp; oh how she wanted to come. The man and Ella both laughed at her submissive impudence. He began to stroke the sissy’s eager little cock as he spoke.

“Now little Honey, I am going to make you come. If you make any noise whatsoever when you squirt, you shall have a whipping before my entire household staff, as soon as you arrive at your new home.” He stroked her vigorously making her pant with pleasure. He and Ella smiled at each-other, knowing exactly what the totally submissive sissy would do. Honey tried her hardest at first, to make it look like she wanted to comply. She watched his large black hand move rhythmically up and down her little white cock, teasing her oozing pink bell-end remorselessly , she eyed that huge cock, still on display; oh how that would hurt her bottom, she looked at his large features and imagined him brandishing a whip; oh how she would love to be whipped before an audience. It was all too much. Honey let out a high pitched squeal with gusto as she spurted in heavenly ecstasy. Ella and Honey’s new, huge black owner, laughed as she did so; she had certainly earned a whipping. The black man watched with pleasure as his hand teased the last spurts of cream from his new sissy. Hot white jizz dripped down his black knuckles. He held his hand to Honey’s mouth and she lapped his fingers clean without being asked; she knew her place.

The black man then bound his sissy ready for the journey; ankles bound, and a ball gag strapped in place, Honey’s little cock was erect again as the black man took a little something from his pocket.

“A gift for my new sissy; this will please you at all times and remind you that you are mine.” It was a vicious looking ebony butt-plug, shaped like an aerodynamic phallus with balls below, designed to tickle the wearer’s prostate. He grinned with satisfaction as Honey’s little bottom accepted the plug, the sissy making a muffled cry as her little bottom clenched around the intruder. Her little cock stiffened and pulsed as he produced a huge black silk sack; Honey was lifted to her feet and glanced lovingly at her new owner as he shut her out from the daylight, ready for her journey. The sack went right down to her ankles; further straps were applied around her knees, waist, arms and neck. Honey made muffled whimpers as she enjoyed full bondage, her little cock stroked at the silk; how she wanted a whipping now.

The huge man deftly picked up his prize and casually put her over his shoulder. The party followed him down to the outer courtyard where a donkey awaited him. The sissy was laid carefully across in front of the small saddle. The huge African making sure his sissy’s cock was erect up against her belly. Honey moaned as she squirmed in the darkness of the silk, her little cock teased against the leather clad back of the donkey. A tie then went under the donkey, from ankles to collar strap. Honey now felt completely bound and helpless; her cock pulsed with pleasure as the plug teased her anus and she squirmed in erotic heaven against the delicious bonds which held her. Before they departed the African spoke again.

“You will now begin your journey to another life. If you mess on my silk during the journey, you shall have a further whipping.” He smiled as he urged the donkey forward; the movement making Honey’s erect cock squirm continually, a huge hand on her bottom to let her know she was owned, which deftly fingered the plug in her bottom. He knew she would come and earn the extra lashes.

After watching the African depart with his new sissy, Ella turned to Slave.

“On the subject of Africans, you have an appointment to honour with Mistress Ayesha the day after tomorrow; make the most of your sissy tonight, I shall cage your manhood again in the morning in preparation for your visit. Pepper will manicure her when she arrives this evening to take you tomorrow, she will be my guest tonight as we have business to discuss; I’ll let her know of your fondness for each-other, I’m sure she’ll enjoy teasing you both about it, in one way or another.” Pepper gripped slave’s arm tightly; she wanted him all to herself now, but knew this was not possible. Ella smiled as slave reacted by kissing Pepper softly. Pepper smiled through the concern on her face; she was resigned to the fact that at least she’d be able to share him.

On a hill just a mile or so from Ella’s household, a huge black man on a donkey brought his beast of burden to a halt. His huge cock stiffened as the trussed silk bundle which lay helplessly before him, squirmed uncontrollably; plaintive sissy whimpers made his huge member pulse and poke upward in his robes. Honey’s sweet little buttocks were clearly outlined in the silk which held her captive. A huge black hand fondled her cheeks with delight, pressing firmly home the wicked butt plug. Inside the divinely soft prison, the sweat dribbled off Honey’s fragrant body under the hot sun. The man had brought the beast to a halt just as she was to come; he had thoroughly enjoyed the tease and knew what his sissy would do now. Now she squirmed for all she was worth without the aid of the donkey’s motion; the hand which now owned her pressed the plug sweetly in time with Honey’s bound thrusts in the silk against the leather padding. She flexed against the bonds which held her, controlled her; she felt the tightness of her wrists and ankles, the taut rope which went from neck to feet, keeping her in submissive heaven as she thought of that huge black cock stretching and hurting her little anus, writhing in ecstasy all the more against those bonds as she relished a whipping by the huge man, before an audience. Oh how she’d cry as the cruel whip punished her soft little bottom, oh how that huge black cock would hurt, Oh how the silk felt so exquisite as her stiff little sissy bell-end rubbed in satisfaction against it.

Honey wanted to pee and defecate at the same time, such was her complete submission to the situation; her little balls tingled the sweet alarm of her inevitable orgasm as she squealed into the gag. The huge cock, the whip, the audience, the silk; the black hand pressed hard on the plug as honey clenched in complete and utter ecstatic submission, her whole body was bathed in sensual pleasure as she stiffened and shot her cream, her little bell sliding sweetly now as she messed. The full impact of her bondage was realised as she tried to straighten out in full orgasm, only to enjoy the sweet sensation of rope about her neck and ankles, holding her at her master’s pleasure, making her spend all the more as she thought of the extra whipping. The black man laughed triumphantly as he cracked his whip for the donkey’s benefit; anxious to get his sissy home and relieve his aching cock. The sound of the whip added a sweet finale for Honey; her bottom clenching tightly at the plug as she heard its wicked noise. Her little sissy cock dribbling a final sweet tribute at the sound.

Another huge African was now in attendance at Ella’s fortress; Ayesha, no stranger to slave; he knew every nook and cranny of the magnificent woman’s beautiful physique, he had licked her clean before. The haughty bitch wore only a purple chiffon full length dress and a golden thong which barely covered her sumptuous womanhood; this was there purely as part of her schedule of titillation; she had been key in developing slave’s wanton urge whenever confronted by soiled panties. As she eyed slave with contempt on arriving, she had made sure he noted her deftly pulling the thong tight into the crack of her glossy black arse and evidently sweaty pussy. She would enjoy making him beg to sniff and lick the thong clean. She would make sure to wear the same thong tomorrow, to ensure that it was sweetly scented after the labours of two days, tucked tightly in her magnificent cleft.

Slave and Pepper were made to kneel in opposite corners of the room whilst Ella and Ayesha drank wine and discussed business and the topical fact that slave now belonged to Ella. Ayshea was so pleased that he had been wrested from the fat woman; she loved his services as did Ella and was often at the fortress. She was most interested at the developing relationship between sweet little Pepper and her favourite tongue. It was time for her manicure.

Slave was called over and made to hold Ayesha’s long, formidable, sleek black legs as Pepper daintily painted her toe-nails gold; the glittering varnish contrasting beautifully with her gorgeous dark brown feet. The black woman sniggered.

“I’ve decided to take both of you on slave’s appointment with me tomorrow; a sweet sissy will see what a male’s true position is amongst women, I may even have you perform before my womenfolk and their canes.” Pepper quivered as the black woman laughed, she was glad to be going with her love, but her cock and bottom tingled with fear at the prospect.

Honey whimpered as she saw daylight for the first time in an hour. She was surrounded by a crowd of black males with cocks as huge as her new master’s, sissies and nubile females of all races in various states of bondage, and before her in the middle of a courtyard amongst the smiling faces was her immediate destiny; a large padded leather pole with shackles awaited her.

June 2018
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