Her pussy! She'd forgotten to expose it properly by holding up her dress. Not wanting any further punishment added to what she might already receive she hastened to pull up the hem of the cheeky little number. Oh, god … here it came, the cool, open-air on her swollen sex lips, the luscious crack visible for all these men to see. Julie had been told before by men that she had a lovely sex organ, full labia, sculpted, very pink, more than a little apparent when she put herself in position like this.
"Spread your legs,” Giovanni tore away the remaining scraps of her dignity.
Julie complied, fully revealing her sexual readiness.
"You will count the blows to ten,” he informed her.
A shiver passed down her spine. Ten seemed an especially large number, large indeed given her lack of experience. Really the one smack had seemed more than sufficient before with Grigori to make things happen sexually. She could scarcely imagine the effects of so many.
Grigori rubbed his hand on her to begin with and she moaned at once, shaking her tailbone in response. She felt humiliated because this made it seem like she was enjoying this kind of treatment, which of course she was not.
Was she?
Grigori removed the hand, creating a sudden void. Julie whimpered in need. She was answered with a heavy crack of his palm, dead center to her soft, round globes. Her pussy twitched in reply. She needed the man's cock. Hard and fast, right here in front of Giovanni and his minions. Let them all see what a lover the Dasklovian was. Let them see how he played her, bringing out her sweet, sexiness, making her scream like a whore and sigh like a kitten.
She was proud of him for this. And she was proud of how they were together, two, and of all the things they'd managed to learn of each other's bodies in just one afternoon's love making. He knew, for example, how sensitive her breasts were, and how important it was for a man to take the time to play with them. And she'd learned that it drove him wild when she rounded her tongue into a groove and ran it over the scars on his breast, the deep grooves from the angry bear.
She smiled, in spite of the pervasive stinging.
"You've not begun the count. We will start again,” declared the Maestro.
Oh, fuck. She'd just day dreamed her way into an extra spank.
"One,” she recited loud and clear as Grigori administered a fresh ass slap.
Grigori established himself a rhythm, delivering the next four in rapid succession. She rattled off the numbers, feeling herself drifting like it was someone else's ass, someone else feeling the hot burn, the sweet sting, each new impact pulling the cords inside her tighter, making her need penetration more and more. She wasn't above begging now, if it came to that.
At the halfway point Grigori stopped. The Director was telling him something. She braced herself for the worst.
"Julie, do you know what our Grigori did when he was attacked by that bear, the one that left its calling card? Come now, I know you are interested. You stare constantly at the wound."
"Yes…” she confessed her interest. “Tell me."
"He begged the authorities not to destroy the animal. Refusing medical treatment himself, he hugged the animal after the accident for over an hour, attempting to protect it."
Grigori's hand was back on her behind, caressing. She shook her head, not wanting to feel anymore tenderness for Grigori than she already did.
"It's true. Though I don't think you are surprised, are you?"
"Please,” she exclaimed. “Tell him not to…"
Too late-Grigori's finger had found its way to her pussy.
"I knew you would respond to him like this if I brought you together. One look,” Giovanni declared, “at you, at him … it was child's play."
Julie called out in Dasklovian for the man to take her.
"Not bad,” the Director said. “You are indeed a quick study."
Grigori spanked her instead. The pleasure and pain were melding now, one into the other.
"I have changed my mind,” Giovanni announced. “I have decided I am going to make a film after all, one unlike any that has ever been done, Julie. You have Grigori to thank that I going to try to enact a very old vision … the first I ever had, indeed, the only real one. Do you know the film Swept Away? It is one of the simplest, most profound ever completed. One man, one woman on an island. A blonde goddess, upper class, and a lower class seaman. Stranded on an island, by her carelessness. He takes command, finds his place as a male. In order to survive she must go to him, on his terms as a slave. They unlock primal passions. She cooks and cleans for him, she serves on her knees, she surrenders her body for his brute pleasures. Her sex entirely ruled by his cock. It works by the very accident of the thing, by their very anonymity. Of course it is all undone by their rescue. The spell is broken. They land ashore, their two worlds pull them apart. He seeks to get her back, but it cannot be. Wealth, you see, has the strongest bonds of all."
The Director called out to one of the servants. She could not follow the Italian. The meaning became clear enough, however, when the man returned with the devices, turning them over to Grigori.
"Ambrosiano, no…"
Grigori inserted the plug into her ass, splitting and filling and frustrating her.
"Damn it,” she exclaimed. “I'm not your love toy."
"But you will become such, my dear. As will Grigori.” The Director instructed the man to put the vibrator inside her clenching, spasming pussy.
Julie's nails dug into the tablecloth. Shamelessly, she fucked the edge of the table. Giovanni made a remark and she was smacked again on her throbbing red ass. What did the man mean-that they would both become love toys? Did he mean to dominate them both?
"No move,” said Grigori, employing two of the English words she'd taught him.
The vibrator hummed away, exercising its nasty little control over her impulses. Combined with the degrading butt plug, it made Julie feel very much like a love toy, an object for visual … and tactile amusement.
Yes, she needed this. To be used by these men, to be reduced, all the way down to a level of sheer lust.
"Let me please you,” she heard herself say. “I want to be good … I've learned … my lesson.” Julie grit her teeth against the orgasm. It was a clitoral one, those tiny, devious ones, wasp stings of pleasure, followed by waves, itching roiling, buzzing wings, persisting.
"Were you given permission to come, Julie?” The Director administered a corrective spank through the hand of the Dasklovian.
Julie groaned, thrust headlong into another orgasm. “No,” she moaned. “S-sorry."
Giovanni gave more instructions. Grigori adjusted the device…. oh god, he was turning up the speed. And now he was … leaving her. Returning to his seat.
"I hope you don't mind if we eat?” Giovanni asked. “We really don't want to keep the kitchen waiting too long."
"Bastard,” she managed to hiss. “Heartless bastard."
The Director raised his glass, oblivious. “A toast. Strovaya. To life and love."
"Strovaya,” repeated Grigori with robust conviction.
They commenced to eating, a slow, elaborate fair in the Italian style. Unlike an ordinary Italian meal, however, there was no conversation. The only sounds were the scraping of forks on the plate, the sucking of wine through lips of red and the whirring motor of the vibrator deep inside her tortured pussy. She couldn't help the orgasms, one after another, making her whimper and beg, nibbling at her own hand to stifle the outright screams. It felt like she'd leaked a river; she was so damned over-stimulated, puckered and pulsing with deep soul horniness. These little buzzing climaxes. She needed dick and she needed it now.
"Ambrosiano,” she called hoarsely, hardly recognizing the sound of her own voice.
"Signor Ambrosiano,” he corrected, reminding her of her status.