The distant rattle of her Master’s belt buckle sent a sudden thrill through Meredith; it made her dizzy with excitement to know that even after pleasuring himself with this woman twice, he could still get it up for her. There was only an instant for her to think about that before the thick head of her Master’s cock violated her, big enough to stretch her open painfully in the first instant of penetration even after she had been opened up first by two of Yvanna’s slender fingers and then by three of Phillip’s thick ones. But the flood of juice that met the Master’s cock as he sank into her slicked the way so amply that by the time Meredith was thrusting herself violently onto Phillip’s cock, only cascading waves of pleasure were exploding through her near-naked body. She devoured Yvanna’s cunt with newfound fervor as the older woman moaned and cried out, seizing Meredith’s head with both hands to force the girl’s eagerly suckling mouth more firmly against her shaved cunt. The feel of that possessive gesture was what finally drove Meredith over the edge into an intense orgasm, and her tongue only worked faster as ecstasy flooded through her. Her hips, too, picked up force, pounding her cunt so hard onto Phillip’s cock that he grabbed her hips and forced her to hold still while he ravaged her – ten thrusts, twenty, thirty, while Meredith continued to come, soaring high on her orgasm even as her swift tongue brought Yvanna off – and then Phillip let himself go deep inside her, inundating Meredith’s cunt with the same blessed issue that had so flavored Yvanna’s.
Whimpering hungrily, Meredith continued to lick even as Yvanna reclined on the sofa, practically hanging off of it. The older woman thrashed back and forth, moaning loudly as Meredith serviced her too-sensitive pussy. Finally, Yvanna pushed Meredith off, and the young blonde looked up panting, her mouth and chin running with the thick juices of Yvanna’s cunt and the pungent savor of Phillip’s come.
“Not bad,” said Yvanna breathlessly. “She’s taken to it quickly. Phillip, I think she’ll learn to become quite a little cunt-licker before the wedding, don’t you?”
Behind Meredith, Phillip chuckled. He leaned over his slave, pressing her into the sofa as he kissed his ex-wife tenderly.
“She’d better,” said Phillip when his lips left Yvanna’s. “You remember which wife Yvanna is, don’t you, Meredith?”
Her face cradled in Yvanna’s lap, Meredith said softly:
“Yes, Sir. She’s your fourth wife.”
“I thought we’d work backward,” said Phillip cheerfully. “Antonia’s flying in next week.”
“Mmmm,” cooed Yvanna. “She’s the one with those fantastic tits, isn’t she?”
“That’s right,” said Phillip.
Yvanna laughed lightly. “I don’t have to be back in Paris until the fifteenth. I think I’ll stay for that. Unless it’s an imposition, Phillip?”
“Not at all, my dear,” said Phillip. “Meredith, you’ll be happy to keep our guest entertained while she’s here, won’t you?”
Meredith affectionately kissed Yvanna’s ivory thigh, her blood quickening at the scent of her Master’s pleasure still wafting from deep inside.
“Yes, Sir,” she said breathlessly.
Yvanna caressed Meredith’s face and stroked her hair with her long, thin fingers.
“It’s so sweet of you to let me try out your fiancée, darling,” said Yvanna to Phillip. “She definitely passes the test.”
THE PLEASURE CHATEAU by Jeremy Reed
WHEN BETTY CAME to she was lying on leather. The black surface mouled itself to her body. Someone had sprayed her hands with gold body paint, for they became instantly visible to her as two fluorescent toads squatting on either side of her. She was lying face down, and the positional arrangement of her hands and feet was such that she couldn’t move. But there was no crudity of handcuffs or shackles. Some sort of invisible adhesive tape secured her immobility. Betty rested her head on the point of her chin. She was lying facing a blank maxi-screen. The room was lit by two flaming torches, one protruding from the mouth of a white statue, the other socketed into a kneeling marble form. The pervasive stillness was like being at the bottom of a lake. Betty imagined panthers, jaguars, pumas, slumped down beside her. Black on black.
What she recalled was the bizarre dinner table, the conspiratorial stretches of conversation that had been issued wide of her, the unnerving silence that pervaded the château – and green – the man’s lenses that had fixated her, as though she had confronted an alien with emerald VR contact lenses instead of eyes. Her mind was busy reassembling fragments of the narrative. The woman talking to her from behind the limo’s partly open window, and the other one in the moulded leather skirt, the sexual liturgies delivered by the midget and the two oriental pashas, the hints at a menagerie contained within the house. Visuals flashed across consciousness. She had found herself in this position often in the past, but always voluntarily. Dungeon bondage was one of her specialities, an elegant cigarette drooping from her cherry gloss lips as she hung suspended from a chain, a man kneeling in front of her, blowing her engorged erection. It was so close to death, and the mutual stimulus came from this recognition. Betty regarded each S amp;M trip as a pre-death initiation. She often hoped to die in an act that was as flagrantly anti-social as it was self-debasing. Violating convention by bringing its administrative bureaucrats down to their gold-plated knees for her whiphand was part of Betty’s attraction to being a prostitute. It allowed her to undermine those proponents of political correctness – politicians, bankers, accountants, lawyers – the whole glitterati of moral pretence had opened wide for enemas, or shouted obscene imprecations as the whip had established slats like a blue Venetian blind across delicate flesh.
Betty blamed herself for having ended up captive at the château. She should have considered the possible dangers in being transported out of town. She usually dictated her own reference points, and only rarely and to her detriment allowed a client this prerogative. Her neck was free, and she hadn’t been blindfolded. She could assess the sizeable dimensions of the room in which she was bound. The torches assisted her in this. They gave proportion to the dark. Betty anticipated anything. She was doubtless being watched on a closed circuit screen, and she knew at some stage the four people would impose their needs on her vulnerability. She remembered on another occasion having been whipped with pink roses – the man had gone on and on striking her oiled bottom with the generous heads, and when they snapped on their stems, he would place the flower to his lips and then float it in a large terracotta bowl of red wine. Betty wondered if they were discussing among themselves what they would do to her. It should be the preferences entertained by the implacably cool men and the aesthetically perverse women. Tyrannical pleasures of every kind had been carried out on Betty’s submissive body. She had acquiesced to bondage because she trusted in the master’s ability to modify his threats. Here the terms were potentially unconditional, as no demands had been raised. Her subjective fears were of orgiastic violation, at least of the kind that appeared to exploit her nature as a woman who possessed a penis. Betty liked the contradiction. To receive an orgasm as a diva and to impart that received pleasure to a woman, was to her a complementary unity.
Without warning the screen became animated. Betty was looking at an intimate love scene between Leanda and Nicole. She knew she would be punished for being made a voyeur to their amatory games. Leanda was down on all fours, her bottom filmed by a transparent pink triangle. Nicole’s tongue was working like a hummingbird’s across her slit. Occasionally she would pause, and apply a lipsticked pout to Leanda’s bottom. She would leave the outline of a red carnation on her cheeks, and then return to stimulating Leanda’s pussy. Nicole’s bottom was framed in identical panties. There was now someone behind Nicole, only the buttocks were male, despite the extreme delicacy of the cunnilingus being delivered. And Nicole was instantly excited. She began transmitting to Leanda something of the pleasure being imparted to her. Her bottom was rotating to the man’s tongue. He had instantly found the exact location of her excitement. The three of them continued in this chain of oral stimulus, only after a time Nicole offered Leanda’s haunches to the man, and she by lying on the floor in the opposite direction to the couple, and by inserting her head between the man’s parted legs, was able to suck his genitals in concourse with the rhythm he had struck up with Leanda. Nicole teased his balls like sweets. She pecked them tentatively, lipping them as a fish might the surface of a lake. The man had now slipped down Leanda’s pink panties, and had worked himself fully into her back passage. Leanda was impaled on his deep, slowly articulated strokes. He was enjoying it, and intent on making her wait. Nicole kept on nibbling, her legs spread wide, while a fourth androgynous partner entered the scene, and squatting in front of Nicole lifted her on to his engorged cock, establishing by that a complete quadruple geometry. This rhythm continued with each partner building towards climax. Nicole’s legs were hooked right over the kneeling man’s shoulders. As she moved convulsively towards orgasm, so her tongue manipulated the other man to thrust conclusively into Leanda. There was a slackening of the tension that had sustained the four.