enovel The Black Widow Farm Author Unknown [Future Story Codes]

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The Black Widow Farm ....(89k)    by Author Unknown

CHAPTER ONE

The big woman dozed fitfully. Naked in the warm spring night, she sighed softly as one hand moved restlessly and settled into the downy nook between her thighs. As if even in sleep Tessa Dietrich was conscious of cunt. Her nostrils twitched and flared from time to time, responding to the musky odor exuding from the tawny skin of her body.

In spite of her professional calling, Tessa was a complete voluptuary. Even in her early years of nurse's training she had flouted the rules by drenching herself in aphrodisiac scent, thus alleviating the sterility of her on-duty hours with the spice of off-duty sensuality. And now, a decade later, she was still the same sex-oriented nonconformist with the same penchant for perfumes.

Throughout the rest of the huge house, upstairs and down, less pleasant odors suffused the atmosphere. In the Kolb Nursing Home, hospital smells reigned supreme. Even bouquets of flowers seemed to lose their fresh charm under the vigilant eye of Minerva Kolb as she made her supervisory rounds. Immaculately starchy in her white uniform, the well-scrubbed head nurse was more attuned to the stench of carbolic acid. Perfumes and such had no place in the well-ordered Kolb Nursing Home. Not for the resident staff, at any rate.

Nevertheless, asleep in her room in the nurses' quarters, Tessa Dietrich lay supinely oblivious to all but the aura of her own scented flesh. An abundant aura to match an abundance of flesh. Tessa's lushly proportioned body spanned nearly six feet in length; it lay in sprawled abandon and made the bed appear small by comparison. Even her golden hair added to the voluminous effect, long and luxuriant, tumbling in unchecked profusion; a few silky locks formed caressing curves over the great breasts that rose with each breath as if swollen by some strange kind of incontinent anticipation.

Or perhaps not so strange. A soft knock sounded at the door. Then a whisper-"Tessa?"

"Hmm?" The somnolent figure stirred.

Again the muted voice, a bit querulous but gentle and unmistakably girlish. "Tessa? It's me Jolene."

The big body on the bed came to life. "Door's open, honey-child. Come on in."

Slender but nicely rounded under the stiffness of her nurse's outfit, Jolene Slade entered and uttered an involuntary gasp of shock. "You you're naked...."

"Uh-huh. So what else is new?"

Jolene wrinkled her nose. "So much perfume! The room reeks of it. But it's kind of nice, I'll admit." Her wide eyes seemed riveted to the display of nude flesh. "Anyway, I'm supposed to wake you, isn't that right? You're scheduled for the remainder of the night shift, aren't you?"

"Yeah, I suppose so." Tessa glanced at the bedside clock. "But you're early, baby. By at least a half hour, I'd say."

"Well. .."

"How come you woke me ahead of time, huh?"

"Uh ... well, I thought I'd just hang around and chat while you get ready."

"Oh? Just chat? Is that all."

"Sure. But if you don't want."

"Come here, Jolene."

"Tessa, what-"

"Come here!" Tessa's arm reached out, hauling the girl down upon the bed. "Are you playing coy with me? I know what you came here for."

"Oh ... please don't...."

The nurse's cap fell to the floor. Tessa forced the protesting lips into her bare breasts. "You're getting fed up with old Minnie, huh? I'll bet that dried-up old bag is lousy in bed. Here, you like these? Kiss, kiss. Yeah, that's the way you like my big tits? Better than Minnie's, huh?"

"Ummm...."

"No wonder you came knocking at my door early. You knew I was waiting for you. Naked and perfumed and ready. You knew I wanted you, right?"

"I-I ... yes...."

"Okay. Give me that pretty little rosebud mouth, honeybunch. We don't have much time."

"But my uniform. Don't you want me to take-"

"Not now. I'm naked what more do you need? Naked and perfumed. Here, take a whiff, bury your nose in my sweet-smelling titties and get drunk on it. Loosen up, baby, loosen up and enjoy yourself. Come on now, isn't this what you thought of every time we looked at each other? And every time you got laid by old pruneface Minnie Kolb isn't this what you were thinking of?"

"Oh ... Tessa...."

"Don't talk. I just want to feel you. That nice hot mouth on my tits suck, suck. Here, give me your hand. Uh-huh. I always put plenty of perfume there too. You'll soon find out. You'll love my luscious cunt. Just wait till you taste-"

But there was no chance to taste. The door swung open and Minerva Kolb barged in. "Aha! So this is what goes on when my back is turned!"

Jolene hid her face in her hands, ducking down to cower at the foot of the bed, shuddering in fear and panic at the gaunt supervisor's ire.

Arrogant even in crisis, Tessa made no effort to hide her nudity. In an insolent gesture, she placed her hands behind her head and leaned back lazily. The posture threw her massive breasts into bold prominence, the still-aroused nipples jutting out like focal points for Minerva Kolb's field of vision. Tessa smiled sardonically, immediately aware of the effect of her tantalizing exhibition.

"All is discovered," she murmured dryly.

"Miss Dietrich, have the decency to cover yourself up." The supervisor licked her lips nervously. "And as for you, young lady" turning her wrath upon poor Jolene-"I'll take care of you later. Leave us. You just go to my room and wait for me there."

"I I oh, all right...." Regaining her poise, the little nurse appeared almost defiant for a moment. She picked up her cap and put it on, perching it at a jaunty angle in her mop of brown curls. Then, with a petulant shrug, she swung around and stalked out.

Tessa grinned. "The kid sure as hell needs taking care of. And right away, I might say; she's got hot panties. You busted in at the wrong time."

"You needn't try to brazen it out, Miss Dietrich. You're fired as of this minute. Bag and baggage, I'll expect you to be out of this place by tomorrow."

"Okay, okay, don't get your ass in an uproar. You can still have your fluffy doll to play with. Only it's too bad you came in so soon. I was going to teach her a few new tricks and you would have gotten the benefit."

"Shut your filthy mouth, you, you...."

"Hey, look out, you're showing symptoms of apoplexy."

Minerva Kolb got a grip on herself. "You'll regret your sarcasm, Miss Dietrich. Your behavior was deplorable enough without adding fuel to the fire. Now I'll see to it that you get no letter of recommendation."

"Is that so? Bullshit. Listen, Minnie, I've already got a job lined up, so I don't need any help from you. But just for the record, you'll write me a nice recommendation anyway. You know to whom it may concern...."

"I'll do no such thing."

"like I said bullshit. You'll write that letter or else. You wouldn't care to have the whole world find out what a cuntlapping old butch you are, would you?"

Cords of rage distended the supervisor's throat. But she obviously had no choice other than capitulation. "All right, you can have your letter. But I still want you out by tomorrow."

"Don't worry, this old folks home was beginning to bore me anyway. Except for Jolene, it's all been a drag. So just go write that letter and my severance check. As long as I'm not working tonight, I might as well catch up on my sleep. Shut the door on the way out, will you?"

Quite calmly, Tessa let her eyelids droop as she heard the sound of the closing door. For a little while she became engrossed in blissful contemplation of her new job. Then, as if nothing had happened to disturb her equanimity, she rolled over and slipped back into slumber. But again, as earlier, her mind and body felt that same sense of anticipation, a kind of sensual expectancy, and in her last conscious moment she looked forward to another interruption before morning. An interruption that she wouldn't object to at all.

Hours slid by. Business went on as usual in other parts of the hygienic smelling house. While in her own aphrodisiac atmosphere, Tessa Dietrich went on dozing contentedly. As well she might. She had accepted the sudden turn of fate and that was that. Nor did she have any qualms about it, either; it was in her nature to trust her own judgment. Even in her tender teens she had never lacked the courage of her convictions.

The tender teens were gone, alas Tessa was nearing the ripe old age of thirty but the years hadn't weakened her will. She was still the same domineering female who could make others dance to her tune. In adolescence she had learned that her body was desirable it gave her the power to sway those who gazed upon it with lust. And without understanding how or why, the assertion of that power became an important factor in her existence. Sex in itself was nice, but she recognized a far greater joy in imposing her will upon the boys and young men who wooed her so ardently. To conquer and subjugate was a thrill beyond compare. And it only served to reinforce her self-confidence when a long line of greedily aspiring males fell victim to her sorcery as she played her role of the blonde and buxom enchantress.

Later on, of course, there were females in that line. Since sexual fulfillment was secondary to conquest, Tessa found it amusing to broaden the scope of her activity. And in the hospital where she took her nurse's training, women soon became more attractive targets than men. More attractive and more tractable and certainly more available. Dozens of young and pretty probationers, overworked and homesick, made up a veritable gold mine of bright nuggets for Tessa to pick and choose from. And it was a simple trick to ease nostalgic pains and bind a trusting youngster to her bosom. Especially since that glorious bosom could be so remarkably binding, once its persuasive enticement had been sampled.

Almost any girl was a soft touch, but hardly less maneuverable were the older women who fell into Tessa's sphere of influence. Not that she cared much for withering blossoms, but certain mature ladies of rank and position had to be considered instrumental to her progress. Some the nurse in charge of trainees, for instance even represented a challenge. But the challenge was met forthwith and the unsuspecting nurse joined Tessa's small army of admirers and consequently opened the path to her graduation with the least amount of work and study. Tessa soon had the austere woman shedding her austerity and virtually crawling at her feet. And practically begging for the privilege of remaining in that condition of happy humility. like the youthful probationers, the head nurse was-glad to spend her free hours in captivity worshipping at the golden shrine between Tessa's firm-fleshed thighs; sipping its scented succulence turned out to be the most pleasurable of duties.

And in selecting gifts for her beloved idol, it was that selfsame head nurse who furthered Tessa's interest in perfumes. The years had passed, but Tessa still felt the same way about the enhancement of her physical assets. Nor did she douse herself any less lavishly these days, even though her favorite fragrance was an expensive import that she could ill afford. Regardless of one's status in the business of life and hers was pretty low at the moment Tessa was a firm believer in the olfactory appeal of well-tended female flesh; and, more specifically, in the seductive intoxication inspired by the combined redolence of commercially concocted essences and natural passion-bedewed cunt. To her way of thinking, a pussy unperfumed stood in dire jeopardy of becoming a pussy unpetted. And that calamity the end of the world! would never befall the--likes of Tessa Dietrich. Even now, languid in the aftermath of a partial day's work, her nude body was prepared for any eventuality. Asleep or awake, she was ready.

She was ready now.

Once again her hand slid down to the perfumed fleece at the crux of her thighs. Dreaming of cunt, no doubt. Dreaming of the rosebud mouth that would give her oft-idolized cunt its rightful due. Dreaming of the smooth-cheeked young face bestowing a shower of sweet-lipped kisses, wistful kisses, devout kisses humbly offered in adoration of the divinity of her cunt. Dreaming of a second visit in the night. . .

CHAPTER TWO

Elsewhere in the nursing home, the night had its usual quota of aches and pains and frayed nerves. Patients wheezed and coughed and complained. Annoyed attendants did as little as they could to maintain peace and quiet. Flowers wilted in their vases. Garbage cans rattled as the handyman did his nocturnal disposal-chores. Wherefore was this night different from all other nights?

In her still-scented room, Tessa Dietrich slept like a child on a holiday, a smile of anticipation curving her f ar-from-child-like voluptuous mouth. Until somewhere about four o'clock in the morning the door opened silently and a hushed voice spoke her name.

Tessa awoke with a start. "Hmmm? Oh, it's you."

"I I had to come back."

"Sure, honey, I figured you would. How's old Minnie? Did you get her calmed down okay?"

"Uh-huh. She's exhausted. Out like a light."

Tessa chuckled. "I'll bet."

"Well, you know how it is." Jolene's cheeks went pink. "She raved and ranted out of jealousy, mostly. But I cried a little and after that, well...."

"Spare me the details. Somehow I just don't find the picture of Minnie Kolb making love very appetizing."

"Oh, she's not all that bad. But maybe not very good either, although I'm not exactly a qualified judge. I am getting tired of her, I'll admit."

"So why don't you break off?"

"I I don't see how I can. She's been pretty good to me about money. I'm just out of training, so this nursing home deal was a nice break for me."

"Okay, so you're still hooked up with Minnie. But you didn't wear the old crow out and sneak back here just to talk about her, did you?"

"N-no. Tessa, she said you were leaving tomorrow. Is that right?"

"That was hours ago. I'm leaving today. So you came back to tell me good-bye?"

"Well, sure, but not just good-bye. I came to find out where you were going. Minerva said you had a job lined up. Where will you be? I I'd like to stay in touch with you."

"Hmm. You'd like to stay in touch. Come here to mama, sweetie-pie, and I'll put you in touch."

"Oh please, Tessa, I'm serious. Won't you tell me where you're going to be working?"

"Hey, why is it so important to you?"

"Well, I do like you, for one thing. But it's mostly because of Minerva, I guess you know the way I feel about her. I'd leave her if I had someplace to go. And I thought you might be able to help me. You might run into some kind of job that I could fit into without much experience."

"So it's only my help you're after, eh? Kid, that's a blow to my ego. But maybe you came to the right place. I'm going to run the infirmary in well, it's a kind of year-round resort, you might say and I'm pretty sure they'll let me have an assistant for the summer season. Anyway, it means three months in the mountains and a chance to break away from Minnie. Interested?"

"Tessa, I I'm staggered. Tell me more. Where is it? Will you have any trouble getting me in? When are you-"

"Slow down, baby. I'll tell you as much as I think you ought to know, and we'll take it from there. Okay?"

"Fine. I'm all ears."

"Ears aren't my kick, honey. I'm all tits and cunt. But about this place in the mountains well, it's like this. I had a patient some years ago, a woman named Winthrop Mrs. Valeska Winthrop and the two of us got pretty chummy. I saw her a few times after she left the hospital; it was fun, kind of, and then we just lost track of each other. Only I heard from her again recently; she looked me up in the registry just to offer me this job. Her husband died and she opened a resort for women and that's about it."

"Only for women? like a health resort? Fat women who come to diet and exercise and lose weight?"

Tessa shook her head slowly. "No, kitten, not if I know Valeska Winthrop. She wouldn't say much in her letters or over the phone, but I can sure make a guess. It's a place for gay women. Lesbians looking for action. And from what I understand, Valeska has a whole squad of young girls to entertain them. The girls live there all the-"

"Oh. You mean ... prostitutes?"

"That shouldn't shock you. But no, as a matter-of-fact, I'm almost certain that they're not real whores. Valeska wouldn't get involved in that sort of thing. Just once, she did drop a little hint over the wire; she said something about needing the right nurse meaning me to keep her slaves in good health. But when I asked for more inform-"

"Did did you say slaves?"

"Uh-huh. Slaves. How about that? I figured she might be putting me on at first, strictly for a laugh, but after thinking it over and remembering the old days, well, I'm not so sure. Valeska Winthrop is the kind of woman who can get away with just about anything. She used to have a personal maid who was practically a slave to her. I saw her whip the girl once and I mean Valeska really hit her with a whip maybe ten times, right smack on her bare ass and then the kid just turned around and kissed Valeska's feet and thanked her for the whipping. I swear I thought they were putting on a show for me, but I've changed my mind since then."

"Slaves...." Jolene shuddered.

"It might not be so bad for them. Who knows? maybe it's fun. Maybe they like being slaves. Anyway, I think I can wangle a job for you as my assistant for the summer. How does it sound to you?"

"I I'm not sure."

"No matter. We'll talk about it later. Right now you've got to repair my bruised ego, you know what I mean?"

"Oh...."

"I'm still naked." Tessa looped an arm around the girl's neck. "Feel how naked I am."

"Uh-huh. Nice."

"And perfumed."

"Yes. Oooh ... yes...."

"Hmm, let's see, what were you doing when we were so rudely interrupted a while ago? Remember?" Tessa's big body stiffened and then went limp. "Hey, you do remember."

"Mmmmm? Your breasts."

"You like them, baby? I've got great big tits so you can take your time and show me how much you like them. But your hand ... uh...."

"Hmm?"

"Feel. Right there. With your fingers. No, don't stop sucking my tits; I go for that. But always pay a little attention to my cunt. That's the way to make love to me. You do want to learn, don't you?"

"I do, I do. Teach me, Tessa."

"Sure, sure, you're doing fine. You like my cunt? You like the way it feels?"

"It it feels wonderful."

"I'll let you in a secret. It tastes wonderful, too. I've never had a girl who didn't tell me so. Will you tell it to me, Jolene?"

"I I've never ... you know...."

"That's true. You've never tasted my cunt. Poor kid, you don't even know what you're missing. Maybe I'll get bighearted and let you take a little nibble after a while. But the way you're kissing my tits, mmm, I think maybe I'll just keep you right up here for a long, long time."

"Tessa ... please don't tease me."

"Tease you, baby doll? But of course not. You want to suck my cunt? All you have to do is say so."

"Please. I I want to."

"Tell me. Say it. All of it."

"I want to kiss your pussy."

"Just kiss? That's all? Come on, Jolene, you can do better than that. If you want to suck my cunt, you'd better say so before I get tired and throw you out. Maybe you'd better start begging for it, yeah, you've kept me waiting so long. You want Tessa's cunt? Beg for it!"

"Oh ... please, yes, I'm begging, I do want it, you know I do, only I don't know how to say it, I just can't-"

"Say it!"

"I I your cunt, your cunt, I want to suck your cunt; oh, Tessa, let me suck your cunt."

"Yeah. Here. Now. Go, girl!"

"Ummm ... oh, thank you ... mmm...."

"See? Maybe it's fun to be a slave. When you're my assistant, you'll have to take orders from me. That's almost like being a slave, isn't it? Oooh, Jolene baby, suck me, suck me, suck my cunt with that pretty mouth. We're going to have fun together, lots of fun, you'll see. We'll be together all summer. Just wait till we get to the Black Widow Farm and-"

"Hmm? The Black Wid-"

"Shh, not so loud. Crazy name, huh? Valeska says she called it that just to keep the squares out. Black Widow Farm. But never mind about that, my pretty little assistant nurse, just get busy and don't let my cunt cool off. Or maybe you'd rather quit and go home to Minnie, huh?"

"No. Let me stay. I I'm so excited. Tessa, I think I'm falling in love with you. Let me stay with you and I'll suck your cunt forever. I want to. I love your cunt. I love to kiss it and suck it ... mmmm...."

"Sure, kid. Stay. You think I'd let you go now? Fat chance. You're mine now and old Minnie can go fuck herself. Oooh, yes, that hot tongue is wild! Listen, lover girl, after tonight I'll never let you get away. You're going to spend the rest of your life with my cunt in your mouth. Hey, you like that, huh? You really do love Tessa's cunt!"

CHAPTER THREE

Even for late spring the day was hot. Bold and blistering, the afternoon sun beat down upon the penthouse terrace to concentrate its rays on the near-nude body of the auburn-haired woman reclining in the canvas deck chair. But her expanse of exposed flesh seemed amply protected against the ultra-violet glare; tanning oil glistened on the smooth skin, skipping only the wispy bra and the bikini briefs that were little more than skimpy triangular patches of fabric. The filmy sheen anointed her shoulders, running down her arms to the scarlet-tipped fingers. It spanned the midriff evenly, thickening just a bit in the tiny navel cup where a few droplets had coagulated to catch and reflect the sunlight like a shiny jewel. Below the little panties the protective unguent continued down plumply curved legs to the lacquered toenails.

The woman's pose was one of total lassitude, utterly motionless. Even her deep red hair, casually disheveled, lay quite still in the breezeless calm. She looked like a life-size inanimate doll. Except that her body was a trifle too ripe and mature to be considered truly doll-like.

Nor was she inanimate. Under the dark glasses her eyes were closed, but Muriel Kern was awake and very much alert. And if her quiescent posture was false, so too was her imposing appearance of someone accustomed to wealth and luxury. She lived in the penthouse and felt at home lying on the terrace like one of the idle rich, but Muriel Kern seldom forgot the painful fact that she was merely an employee. A governess, to be precise. Governess to 15-year-old Dorian Abbott.

True, the job had its compensations. Even the title of governess was something of a misnomer, now that Dorian attended school daily and was no longer treated as a child. Nor was there a master or mistress around to give orders; Dorian's sole living relative was an uncle whose contact with her was more financial than personal. Hubert Abbott handled his niece's inheritance but had a fortune of his own and preferred the leisurely pace of Venice and Cannes to the hustle and bustle of New York. So the checks came in regularly and Muriel lived well. Extremely well, considering the bond of affection that existed between herself and her charge. But she was still poignantly aware that even the most fortunate of governesses fall into the category of hired help.

Hired help and without real security. During the last few years Muriel had given that problem a great deal of thought. Her job was safe enough now, but what of the future? The time was nearing when the little heiress would legally inherit the huge legacy of her long-deceased parents and be free to do as she pleased. And like all growing girls, Dorian Abbott had visions of a Prince Charming and marriage and children. Would there be room in her life for such a relic of the past as an ex-governess? Muriel could only see herself pensioned off like some faithful retainer, destined to spend her waning years in genteel but nevertheless somewhat impoverished and certainly lonely circumstances. A sad prospect indeed for someone so full of joie de vivre, so thoroughly attuned to the sybaritic pleasures of wealth and sensual self-indulgence.

But the prospect had brightened immeasurably in recent months, and Muriel was justly proud of her own shrewd strategy. Better yet, she had finally kicked off her last shackles of moral restraint and was no longer dubious about her role as the seducer and corrupter of an innocent young maiden. The role had become necessary to her future well-being and wasn't necessity the mother of invention? In this dog-eat-dog world she couldn't afford to sit back and wait and hope for some unforeseen miracle to happen, no, she had to rise to the occasion and be clever and strong enough to reach out and grasp every possible opportunity. Strong as Valeska herself even, although that did seem a mite far-fetched. Of all the resolute women on earth, Valeska Winthrop was undoubtedly the most---

Inside the penthouse apartment a door slammed and brought its message: little Dorian was home from school. Muriel remained immobile, wondering how long it would take the kid to change clothes and join her. Not long, surely; Dorrie too was anxious to go on exploring this new facet of their relationship. The cute little imp showed great promise along those lines, even though she was nowhere near advanced and experienced enough to truly appreciate the aberrant joys of Valeska's unique place in the mountains.

For that matter, who but a jaded sinner could fully relish the bizarre delectations of Black Widow Farm? Only a lesbian in search of new and divergent thrills would understand the brazen depravity of Valeska's enterprise. A woman like Valeska Winthrop herself, a lesbian who had gone beyond simple embraces to seek divertissement in the added excitement of sadistic supremacy, in the heady sensation of sovereignty, in the strange but scarcely fantastic satisfaction of dominating a slave girl to the point of total possession. Only such a person would be sympathetic to Valeska's cause and uncritical of her methods. Anyone else would be too shocked to enjoy the place and certainly too curious about its procurement procedures.

And that, of course the procurement of slaves was a secret known only to Valeska and her staff. To the paying guests Black Widow Farm was a pleasure resort, but to the inmates who provided that pleasure it was more like a prison. The girls were captives in every sense of the word; they came from all walks of life and shared only the common denominator of conditioned slavery. Some might have come voluntarily in hopes of earning money; others might even have been kidnapped by force; a few had probably been apprehended in some petty crime pilferage, for instance and had chosen to sign confessions of guilt rather than risk the disgrace of public accusation and trial, thus putting themselves at the mercy of whoever owned the impeaching document. But all of them went through a period of severe training that turned them into brainwashed creatures whose entire existence was geared to instant obedience and whose sole purpose was amuse and entertain the ladies who demanded their services.

Oh yes, Valeska Winthrop had her methods. Methods of procurement, methods of recruiting, methods of training, methods of conditioning. And methods of contacting the rich female clients, too, although even that was accomplished in shadowy secrecy. Despite a friendship of long standing, Muriel had only a vague notion of how Valeska managed to operate "the Farm" on such a scandalous basis and still keep it untouched by the glare of publicity and the scrutiny of the police. The local townsfolk and constabulary were deluded by its placid outward appearance, and none of them ever got beyond the perimeter of high hedges and metallic wire fences. Even the delivery trucks were stopped and unloaded at the distant main gate, ostensibly to prevent the male drivers from seeing the so-called "fat girls" in their skimpy exercise attire. No one unknown to the staff had ever penetrated as far as the second inner hedge that served as a precautionary concealment for the thick wooden stockade. No one even knew the confining barrier was there. And since the Farm was a lucrative source of income to the local merchants, buying the best of provisions and paying its bills on time, nobody voiced any objections concerning its inordinate desire for privacy.

Similarly, although with a far different motive in mind, the paying guests stifled their natural curiosity and refrained from asking unnecessary questions. After a single visit they accepted the pleasure-premise of the Black Widow Farm with great glee and quickly learned to regard its business operation as a taboo topic. Anyway, why spoil the fun? Did it matter where a slave came from or how she was trained? Of course not. It was ever so much more exciting to live in the weird sealed-off little world and look upon its more practical aspects through a veil of mystery. In a way it was even rather romantic, a journey backward in time, a trip into antiquity, a modern version of the olden days when every patrician woman was attended by a retinue of docile and devoted maidservants. Why spoil the fun by prying into its mysterious origins?

Muriel sighed, breaking her silence only for emotional release. The mere thought of Black Widow Farm was enough to make her impatient. Then too, the idea of seeing Valeska again had her all keyed-up, much as she hated to admit it. But no, it wasn't right to think of Valeska Winthrop as anything but a secondary issue; far more important was this business of gathering Dorian Abbott into the fold and consequently insuring her own future. And that too was a cause for impatience, considering how long it was taking the youngster to change clothes and come out on the terrace.

The sun tan oil felt sticky, but Muriel resisted the urge to modify her deliberately provocative pose. Her nerves quivered in tense expectancy. Each breath was a disappointment when it passed without interruption. Her lips thirsted for the kiss that was already minutes overdue, minutes that seemed like hours as they stretched one after the other and brought no sound of approaching footsteps. Waiting like this was sheer torture. And yet the thrill of anticipation was exquisite. But if something didn't happen soon she would explode into a million-

Ah! There it was. The noise. Footsteps. And at last the kiss, the sweetly clinging kiss of the sweet mouth of her sweet young charge. Such a delicious kiss, untutored and yet not quite innocent, seemingly impetuous and yet not quite casual enough to be a spur-of-the-moment impulse. And the tongue, the tiny tongue; was there ever such a sweet tongue?

"Mmmmm...." Muriel moaned into the open mouth. "I can feel it all the way down to."

"Hush."

"But I must. The way you're kissing me. I can feel it all the way down to my honey-pot."

"Honeypot? You mean this?"

"Ooh!" Muriel's body jerked, but her eyes remained shut.

"Some honey-pot. If you hadn't told me, I could have sworn it was a cunt."

"You rascal. .."

"Don't put the blame on me for saying it. Wasn't that what you called it last night?"

"Oh. Dorrie, you remembered."

"I remember everything you tell me, don't I? I even remembered your asking me to wake you up with a kiss if you were asleep. So why shouldn't I remember your cunt?"

"Such a precocious child."

"That's me precocious. I learn fast, huh? And aren't you glad! I'll bet you are."

"Mmmmmm...."

"Hey, you want to know what I was thinking about in school today? You'd be surprised."

"I hope it was about your schoolwork."

"No, don't scold me. And don't move, either; you don't even have to open your eyes. Let me just tell you what I was thinking about. And then I'm going to kiss you some more, a lot more, so please lie still and let me. Okay?"

"Uh-huh."

"I was thinking of your cunt. And mine. And the way we rubbed them together. Wasn't that nice?"

"Mmmmm ... nice...."

"And then when we oh, you know. like last night."

"Don't talk, darling, just kiss me." Muriel pursed her lips in an effort to avoid smiling at the sudden modesty; her youthful charge was so bold one moment and so bashful the next. But the bashfulness was inappropriate and had to be quashed. "Unless you want to talk about last night and how I sucked your cunt and then you sucked mine, and what I said when you wondered if we could both do it togeth-"

"Oooh ... let's.

"Hmm?"

"Together. Let's do it together."

"Shall we? All right. In a little while. But you promised to kiss me a lot more, didn't you? I loved it when you woke me up; I loved it all the way down to my honey-pot."

"You and your honey-pot. I'll suck out all the honey, that's what I'll do. Come on inside and-"

"Dorrie, no, don't ask me to get up. I'm still only half awake; my eyes are still shut. So kiss me, kiss me, kiss my mouth and rejuvenate me with your energy and then maybe I'll let you eat my honey while I take a little sip of yours. There now, isn't that a fair offer?"

"I'll show you how fair it is. I'll kiss you so hard that you'll be jumping up and-"

"No, dear, not hard. That's only for men; they have to prove how tough they are. Not for me, thank you. Just be my own sweet gentle girl. like before. Lick the inside of my mouth with your tongue."

"Oh. like this?"

Muriel moaned, deliberately inflaming Dorian's passion while holding her own in check. It wasn't easy. She had to be clever and strong, oh yes, it was all part of the plan and she had to make the most of every possible opportunity. Let the kid get good and hot first and then perhaps it would require less persuasion to make her agree that a vacation in the mountains sounded far more interesting than their usual summer stay at the Long Island beachhouse. The delay was bound to work. Especially since the sexy little minx seemed so enthusiastically eager to experiment and take part in a bit of mutual cuntsucking.

CHAPTER FOUR

Hot as the sun was, the kiss felt even hotter and Muriel could no longer remain motionless. Her hands reached and then fell back when they made contact only with thick towel-like fabric. Her eyes popped open as the kiss ended. And the sight increased her tingle of desire.

Dark hair hanging loose, Dorian was already tossing aside her terry-cloth robe. In a snug-fitting halter and shorts outfit, her slender figure only hinted at budding womanhood. Its coltish grace seemed to speak of aesthetic loveliness rather than voluptuous sex.

But not to Muriel. She knew better. She was fast becoming acquainted with the passionate sensuality lurking beneath that deceptive shell of youthful innocence. After all, she had stirred up that simmering cauldron with her own ladle, and the sight of the girlish body was a reminder of her own personal triumph. It made her feel passionate and sensual herself, viewed even through the cool green screen of her sunglasses.

"More kisses?" The dark eyes smoldered.

"Enough, enough. But let's stay here on the terrace a little while longer. You could use some sun yourself."

"Hmph! You don't like my kisses?"

"Silly. I love them."

"You know something, Muriel? I was almost tempted to give you a honey-pot kiss right out here. But then I figured some snoopy helicopter pilot might see a free show. You don't know how close I came, though."

"Such sexy talk. Stop it or I'll be dragging you into the bedroom, you wicked little scamp. And I'm really serious about getting a sun tan. If I don't get it over with in the spring, I'll blister when the summer comes."

"You're serious, all right. I never saw so much grease."

"Hmm? Oh, the oil. Want some?"

"Thanks, no. I brown okay without it. I'll have one of your cigarettes though, if you don't mind."

"Be my guest."

Dorian lit up and sighed contentedly as the smoke seeped from her nostrils. "Mmmmm, that's good. Even a cigarette is a luxury these days. That damn school! I'll sure be glad when the term is over."

"So will I. We'll have time for ourselves without having to worry about next day's homework. This should be a great vacation for us, now that we're more than just friends. The best ever, hmm?"

"More than just friends. Hey, let's go inside and do it, huh? My cunt sure feels-"

"Be patient, Dorrie. Anyway, as long as we're on the subject, we really ought to think about our vacation and reach a decision."

"What decision? Oh. You mean about that place in the mountains. But I already told you I want to go to the beach again this year."

"I know you did, darling, but we never did sit down and thrash it out between us. First of all, what's so important about the beach? After three summers in a row I should think you'd be tired of the same old thing."

"Well, I've got friends there, kids that I get to see only in the summertime. Sure, it's the same old thing but I always have a ball out on the Island."

"But you've grown up so much this past year. Do you still think you'll be happy with your little playmates?"

"Little playmates hah! Muriel, don't you figure they've grown some, too? Besides, uh, well, I was thinking about boy friends, if you know what I mean."

"Oh...."

"Don't look so sad." Dorian sank to the tufted canvas mat on the terrace floor, sitting cross-legged in an attitude of apparent defiance. "Don't worry, I'll have plenty of time for you. But the things we do together, well, that's just for fun, isn't it? like you said, we can play around but that doesn't make us lesbians. So how will I ever find a husband if I don't have boy friends?"

"Honey, you're only fifteen."

"Going on sixteen and getting older every minute. Anyway, what's so great about the mountains? I know the boss of the place is your friend, but it still sounds like some kind of stupid health farm to me."

"It's a health farm only to those on the outside. Inside, it's a pleasure resort. And by pleasure I mean sex."

"Sure, but it's all women. So who needs it? If I want that kind of fun I've got you, haven't I?"

"True, But wouldn't it be exciting to have a pretty slave girl around to attend us while we're making love?"

"A slave girl? Muriel, you're putting me on."

"Am I? Oh, it does sound incredible, I'll admit; you'd have to see it to believe it. But you can have a slave kneeling at your feet and ready to obey any command. Don't ask me how such a thing can be arranged; it's a secret and you'll just have to take my word for it. But the Black Widow Farm actually does provide slaves for the guests. And they're not maids or servants or anything like that, although they'll perform those services if you order them to. Make no mistake about it, Dorrie, those girls are slaves."

"Wow! I never heard of such a thing."

"Neither has anyone else except for the insiders. That's why it's so darn expensive, frankly."

"Expensive that's another reason to go to the beach. Where would we get the money? I may be rich, but you know I can't touch a penny of it without Uncle Hubert's okay. And I doubt if he'd approve of my going off to a-"

"Sweetheart, I've already thought of that.

Your uncle's last check won't cover it, but it comes close. And if we don't use the beach house, why not put it up for rent? Any real estate agent will be glad to handle the deal."

"Hmm, looks like you've thought of everything. Everything but me." Dorian snorted in obvious displeasure. "Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you but I still like the beach. Only there's no reason why you can't go and play with the slaves. I can get along by myself. And I guess we can scare up enough money to-"

"Darling, don't even suggest it! Of course you can get along by yourself; you're a big girl and you'd do just fine. But what about poor me? Don't you know how much I need you? No, I wouldn't dream of our spending the summer apart from each other. What kind of vacation would that be?" Muriel shrugged disconsolately. "Oh well, we'll talk about it some other time. Maybe I'll be more convincing, hmm?"

"Maybe but I doubt it." Dorian drooped lazily and rolled face-down upon the mat. "But there's no sense arguing about it, I suppose." She stubbed her cigarette out and then seemed to sink into tranquil repose.

But Muriel wasn't duped by it. The kid had sounded almost belligerent with that speech about separating for the summer. This was no time to pursue the issue. They had come uncomfortably close to quarreling, and the wisest course at the moment lay in patching things up.

"Dorrie...."

"Hmm."

"Friends."

"Sure."

"More than just friends?" The girl stirred. "Hey, are you hinting at something?"

"I'm hinting loud and clear. As a matter-of-fact, my honey-pot feels pretty tingly right now."

"Mine too. Any suggestions?"

"Uh-huh...." Muriel sat up and swung her legs to the floor. "One suggestion. I'll race you to the bedroom."

Dorian giggled. "No. Wait. I've got a better idea." She leaped to her feet and began tugging at the tufted mat. "Give me a hand with this. Over there in the corner. See? Over in the shade by the wall. Even a helicopter couldn't spot us."

It took only a minute. And less than half that time to unfasten their four impeding garments. But even as her bikini briefs were coming off, Muriel was responding to the girl's impatient mouth. Her nipples swelled and went rigid under the gliding tongue-touch.

"Damn! Muriel, you're so greasy."

"I'm sorry. Shall I go wipe-"

"No. It'll take too long. What the hell, if you can't lick 'em, join 'em isn't that how the saying goes?" With a roguish chuckle, Dorian left the shaded mat and grabbed the container of suntan oil. "Help me. Four hands are better than two. Or is that another saying?"

Back on the mat, she tilted the plastic bottle and poured the scented liquid on herself, front and back, slathering the stuff on, just standing there and letting it flow until there was none left. "There now. That ought to do it." She flipped the empty container away. "Help me spread it, huh?"

"Love to." Muriel's hands entered the game. "Hmm, I just thought of something. If this happened at Black Widow Farm we'd have a slave do the job on both of us."

"The slaves have all the fun, huh?"

"Could be. Mmmmm, your skin is so smooth."

"Don't dawdle. The only reason we're doing this is so that we can get to the main event."

Muriel had no intention of dawdling. The main event sounded just fine to her. All the more so, now that she had mentioned the Farm again without being reproached. The cause wasn't completely lost yet, not as long as she could find an opening to drop a sly reminder now and then. Even in the middle of sex, perhaps. Hmm, come to think of it, that was exactly the time and place to put on the pressure. In the middle of sex.

But she put it out of her mind momentarily and rubbed the oil in, her palms and fingers savoring the soft smoothness of each stroke, feeling the desire to linger and protract the delightful sensation but too far caught up in a need much more urgent. And then they were embracing again, collapsing to the mat and squirming and writhing as slippery flesh slid against slippery flesh.

"Cunts," Dorian muttered. "Let's rub cunts."

"Darling...."

Legs interlocked. Cunt slithered upon cunt. But after the novelty of the oil wore off, it was nothing they hadn't done before and the little girl's avid curiosity drove her toward a more spectacular finish.

"More than just friends...." A peal of wild laughter burbled from Dorian's throat. "I'll show you. I'll suck your hot cunt until you scream." She wriggled around, darting like a striking serpent, plunging her face into the oil-slick, passion-drenched hollow between Muriel's thighs.

"Yes ... Dorrie ... suck me. But if I scream, you'll never hear me. I'll be screaming right into your cunt."

"Ummm...."

And Muriel craned her neck to find the place, the luscious place, straining to nuzzle up inside the slippery-sweet cunt-lips to give her tongue freedom to lap the precious flesh and sip at her own wonderful fountain of youth. The overabundance of oil gave her a fleeting twinge of annoyance, but it also served to spur her to further action; she relinquished her grip on the domed buttocks and slid her fingers into the well-greased crack between them. Deeper and deeper, preparing the twitching muscles for what was to come. Until she was there, right there at the tiny hole, tapping it, probing it, using a single fingertip now to make certain of her aim. "Hey! Muriel, what-"

"Just loosen up. You'll love it. But don't stop to talk, darling, just suck my cunt."

"But-oooh."

"Doesn't that feel nice."

"Mmmmm...."

"My finger is in your ass. Such a soft ass. I'm fucking you in the ass-hole can't you feel it?"

The kid must have felt it, sure enough, because she was already duplicating the motion with her own hand, duplicating it precisely but with a touch of impetuous ferocity that made Muriel wince. But it didn't bother her much, and after the initial thrust the slim finger slipped in easily and had plenty of room to wiggle around. Plenty of room, and Muriel remembered that time when the dildo stretched her ass; it had sure hurt then but she was grateful for it now, grateful to Valeska for-

Valeska!

It jogged her memory and cleared her mind. Wasn't this the time for another sly reminder? Right in the middle of sex. Uh-huh. Right in the middle. And it wouldn't have to be very sly, either, not with so much going on.

"Dorrie. Can you hear me?"

"Ummm...."

"I just thought of something. Up at the Farm we could have slaves do this to us with their tongues. This, I mean." Muriel wriggled her finger. "Two slave girls, one for you and one for me. They'd be tonguing our ass-holes while we sucked each other's cunts. Wouldn't that be something?"

"Mmmmm ... hey, I'd like that. Let's go. The beach can wait till next year. Oh, I'm so hot. Suck me, suck me, suck my cunt and fuck me in the ass with your finger and I'll make believe it's a slave's tongue ... mmmm...."

Success!

But she still couldn't afford to relax, of course, and Muriel redoubled her efforts to send her young charge into an orbit of delirium, lapping the syrupy cunt-flesh and agitating the narrow ass-hole passage with her jiggling finger. Especially the finger; yes, it had been a stroke of genius to come up with this new stunt just when she needed it most. Although she could hardly take credit for improvising the maneuver, really, since it was the slippery suntan oil that had led her to explore the possibilities of the tight little ass. Anyway, it wasn't so tight now, it was practically swallowing her finger like a greedy mouth and she could certainly congratulate herself for recognizing its extreme sensitivity and for being cunning enough to seize the advantage and use it to attain her goal.

So it was only a matter of time now and she would be living it up at Black Widow Farm. Wouldn't it be great to see Valeska again! Valeska of the iron hand. Valeska and her whip.

Valeska of the cool audacity and bewitching poise and sophisticated sex technique that made her such an exciting tyrant.

Muriel shuddered in delicious rapture. She could almost feel that whip this very minute!

CHAPTER FIVE

The woman standing at the window of the luxuriously decorated office was possessed of a strange type of beauty, the kind that bespeaks carnality rather than comeliness. The coiffure of her jet-black hair was perfect and yet looked as if a toss of her head might send it cascading in wanton disarray. Dark eyes gleamed from under thin-penciled arched brows in an expression that seemed curiously half-surprised and half-somnolent as though she had just been awakened from a deep sleep. Her complexion was flawlessly smooth but impossible to classify in color; it mixed saffron with beige and could have been taken for either Mediterranean or Oriental in origin. Or perhaps even African, depending on just how the light struck it. Then again it might have been Semitic in view of the shape of her nose: it had a touch of the aquiline, just a hint, not necessarily ethnic, more--likely an indication of contumacious character. And again the impression of carnality was emphasized in her overly full and grossly sensuous lips; they were the lips of a hedonist, a woman who had crushed the grape of evil and had sipped all of its sinful distillations.

But if her facial features denoted concupiscence, so too did her body and with a kind of earthy splendor. Her slightest movement made her jutting breasts quiver and her sloping hips and rounded buttocks sway in boneless fluidity. Contoured thighs and calves slimmed down to trim ankles, and the mercurial motion of her flesh was further inspired by the high perch of her feet upon the towering spike-heels that she habitually wore. All in all, like so many of her friends and clients, Valeska Winthrop was a remarkably voluptuous creature.

There was a distinct difference though. Un-like her friends and clients, Valeska Winthrop made a living at it. A damn fine living. Outside the office window, the cleared grassy area merged with surrounding foliage and then forest, all safely enclosed by the wooden palisade; beyond that lay another wilderness that stretched to the protective metal fence and great hedge and it was all Valeska's. Bought and paid for. All hers, including the solidly constructed buildings and swimming pool that supplied the customary comforts of summer vacation to the paying guests of Black Widow Farm.

But it wasn't customary comforts that brought in the big money, of course, and Valeska made no attempt to compete for business with other mountain resorts. She was satisfied. Satisfied to the point of jubilation. Too bad she couldn't gloat openly though; how those snooty in-laws of hers would have gasped in shock! To this very day she bore no grudge against poor dear Zachary, but she would never forgive the rest of that socially conscious Winthrop clan and their snobbish-

"Valeska?" A timid voice sounded from the doorway.

"Hmm? Oh, it's you, Fleur. Come on in. Did you get the Throckmorton woman settled all right? Hagar Throckmorton that's quite a name. Do you think she'll fit in okay?"

"I'm sure she will. I asked Gina to help her get organized and then send her over here to see you. Have you decided which girl to give her?"

Valeska shrugged and took her seat behind the broad desk, slowly gearing her mind to the comparatively trivial problem. Blonde and delicately formed Fleur stood waiting anxiously, more like a slave than a mistress. Fleur was a good secretary, loyal, dedicated and in love with her boss but lacked the authoritative temperament that made Gina and Raquel and Undine so competent in their jobs as assistants in the training that turned frightened and often unruly damsels into subjugated slaves. Luckily there was no shortage of raw material coming in from the outside, so pretty Fleur held on to her position of private secretary in the daytime and privileged boudoir companion at night, always eager to demonstrate her devotion and never quite certain if the laughing threats to make a slave out of her were meant as a joke. Valeska had long since reconciled herself to Fleur's inherent meekness; actually it was rather charming and afforded her hours of unusual amusement especially during the summer season. By the end of the winter indoctrination period the thoroughly cowed slaves had lost much of their attraction; once broken in and reduced to near-mindless subservience, even the most beautiful of young girls left her unmoved and were devoid of interest other than for business purposes. So she was glad to have an adoring lover around when she felt the urge to let off steam, and consequently found it expedient to keep her tremulous but still free-spirited secretary at her beck and call. All the more so, considering Fleur's industrious efficiency and excellent judgment in the matter of sizing up new guests and ascertaining their specific requirements or desires or whims. At the moment, Valeska was in need of just that kind of information.

"No, I haven't made up my mind yet. I thought you might help me, Fleur. What was your impression?"

"Nothing very helpful, I'm afraid. I think Hagar Throckmorton has some definite ideas, but she seemed too shy to talk about them. I tried to quiz her a little, of course, but all I got out of her was vague generalities you know the type. You'll have to talk to her yourself."

"Uh-huh. How much time do we have?"

"Oh, a half hour at least."

"Good. Come over here and stand beside me while we mull it over, honey. I always think more clearly when I've got something nice and soft to play with."

"Oh...."

"Takes the place of doodling, I guess."

"But but how do you expect me to-"

"Hush. You'll manage. And stand still, will you?" Valeska went under the short skirt and took a caressing handful of Fleur's inner thigh. "I suppose we ought to give her an all-around girl for a starter, although I do hate the idea of switching later on. Hmm, I wonder if old Nell would be right for her. Nell is quite an expert at getting to the bottom of things."

"Well, she should be. After all, Nell used to-" Fleur broke off abruptly, biting her lips to partially suppress a moan of passion. Then, obviously struggling to maintain a semblance of calm, "But I doubt if Nell will fill the bill; she's too old and not pretty enough. Hagar Throckmorton did say something about how exciting it was to see so many lovely young slaves, and I assume that's one of her prerequisites."

"Yes, it usually is. Too bad for poor old Nell. In that case, we'll have to pick out someone who doesn't specialize. A good cuntlapper, preferably. Any suggestions?"

"Uh, not off hand. We've got half a dozen in that category and any one of them would-"

"Be quiet, dear. Let me think."

"Uh-huh."

Valeska closed her eyes and pondered the issue. Her fingers slid higher, meeting with no opposition as Fleur inched her legs apart. Dallying at a leisurely pace, the fingers stroked and tickled as if they had minds of their own. Once again a stifled moan sounded.

With a small smile curving her lips, Valeska nodded and opened her eyes. "The slave that Belinda Woodruff just gave up What about Sharon? Is she free? She's not working in the kitchen, is she?"

"N-no. I mean yes." Fleur's features were twisted in torment. "Sharon isn't in the kitchen. She's free."

"Well? What's your opinion?"

"She'll do just fine, Valeska. Unless the Throckmorton woman turns out to have some secret ideas. Anyway, we can't go wrong with Sharon. Shall I go get her?"

"Do that. But not yet, darling. I must say, I'm rather enjoying this."

"Oh ... please don't tease me...."

"But I like teasing you, don't you know that, Fleur? Don't you like being teased?" Valeska slid her hand up under the hem of the panties, fluttering her fingers and watching the agitated rise and fall of Fleur's rounded belly. "But of course you do. Your cunt is nice and wet already."

"I I'm hot. But if you're just teasing...."

"Such a soft pussy. Feel my fingers inside it? Can you tell when I touch the little."

"Oh!"

"Mmmmm yes, you can tell, sure enough. I'm getting hot, too. How much time did you say we-"

"Valeska!"

"You do have a delightful cunt, darling."

"Please...." Fleur caught the marauding hand in both of hers and jammed it into her moist flesh, shaking fervently, apparently on the verge of orgasm. "Oh, I love what you're doing to me, I love your hand in my cunt."

Valeska chuckled and withdrew, dropping her arm down to her side. "Save your mood for later, honey. Better run and get Sharon now." And again she shut her eyes and relaxed, taking a kind of perverse pleasure in her secretary's discomfiture and knowing full well that her command would be carried out immediately and without protest.

CHAPTER SIX

She sat there like that, eyes still closed, feeling somewhat aroused herself but quite content to wait until the business angle was cleared up. Decisions, decisions but never let it be said that Valeska Winthrop couldn't handle them. Dear old Zachary would have been proud of her.

Dear old Zach Winthrop she had married him for his money and had wound up getting a liberal education. The horny old bastard had sure taught her the ropes. And the marriage had certainly been a good one, especially after Zach showed an interest in her sporadic lesbian affairs and took to fostering them himself. Before long he was even digging up girls for her to play with. Society women too, matrons and maidens who couldn't find thrills at home and came to sample the peculiar brand of hospitality offered by Mr. and Mrs. Zachary Winthrop. Some came again and again, and pretty soon Valeska had a long list of willing females to share her bed. Even when Zach was away on business she played hostess to her unconventional friends and had fun. In fact, the only fly in her ointment those days was her snobbish in-laws. The high-and-mighty Winthrops had no idea what a lusty old rogue their Zachary was, and they resented the dark-complexioned foreign-looking woman who had married him.

But it all came to an end when dear Zach crossed a red light and got in the way of a truck. An end and a new beginning. That was when Valeska-to spite the virtuous Winthrops, probably decided to take up sex as a career. Lesbian sex, the kind that she had grown so accustomed to under Zach's tutelage. His estate had been disappointingly small, but there was enough to get started on her project. And again to spite the Winthrops, she named it after herself. The dark-complexioned wife lost her husband and became the sole proprietor of the Black Widow Farm. And nowadays her only real irritation lay in the knowledge that she couldn't brag about it to the upper-class Winthrops and rub their noses in the lower-class muck.

Oh, there were some minor irritations too. The same as in the beginning. Contacting rich clients and procuring poor girls for slavery had been easy enough, but finding and hiring trustworthy help was always a problem. Especially people like cooks and housekeepers, the kind who knew how to keep their mouths shut. And a nurse to run the infirmary, something that was definitely necessary when some mistress or guest meted out too much punishment. Her last nurse had fallen in love with one of the guests and traipsed off leaving the infirmary untended. No, the irritations never ceased but each was smoothed over in time.

Valeska came out of her reverie and riffled through the sheaf of papers on the desk. Her painstaking quest had paid off and she had a capable nurse again; Tessa Dietrich was due to arrive shortly. Along with her girl friend another nurse and Valeska wasn't keen on the extra expense, but she needed Tessa and could only accede to her request for an assistant. Not that the Farm couldn't afford it, really, but Valeska always had qualms about unknown quantities. She only hoped that this Jolene Slade person would fit in.

The letter from Muriel was a puzzler, too. Muriel Kern would fit in just fine but with a 15-year-old kid in tow? They were sure starting young these days. Decisions, decisions but what the hell, who could turn down an old and trusted buddy like Muriel? Maybe it would be fun to see how little Miss Dorian Abbott reacted to the happy debauchery of Black Widow Farm and its ever-compliant slaves.

There was a noise at the door. Fleur poked her head in and then entered the office, leading the slave by the customary chain-leash. Pretty brown-haired Sharon wore sandals and a scanty tunic, a costume suitable for greeting a new guest. Around her neck was the collar for attaching the leash, a buckled circlet of comfortably lined leather that was worn by every slave at the Farm. Rather like a imagine dog collar, it bore an inscribed nameplate and was precisely fashioned for perfect fit, an emblem of abased status that could be taken off for bathing and sanitary purposes but only with permission of the slave's mistress of the moment. Quite lovely, Sharon stood in the prescribed position with her eyes cast down, docile and demure, a typical inmate of Black Widow Farm, conditioned to instant obedience and thoroughly trained to give pleasure.

"I'm just in time," Fleur said, passing the end of the leash across the desk with a sigh of relief. "I just saw Gina pointing the way to Hagar Throckmorton."

At a peremptory gesture from Valeska, the slave crouched down beside her chair. Together they presented an interesting and deliberately impressive tableau that must have had its intended effect, judging from the expression on Hagar Throckmorton's face as she entered the office.

The amenities were accomplished in perfunctory order; the guest seemed quite ordinary in a matronly way and Valeska foresaw no difficulty in satisfying her. Once again the leash was passed from hand to hand; Valeska issued a quick command and the slave knelt and bowed her head low and pressed her lips to Hagar Throckmorton's shoe.

"Mistress? May I serve you?" Sharon's voice was shaky but rife with sincerity. "My mission in life is to make my mistress happy."

"Charming, charming...." Hagar beamed, a touch of pink coloring her cheeks.

"I'm sure you'll find her satisfactory. Sharon is one of our best bed-slaves, truly a talented tongue-artist." Valeska hesitated. "Unless ... well, unless you have some special type of activity in mind."

"Oh. Uh, you mean this girl doesn't do everything'? "

"All of our girls do everything or at least they can be made to. But there are certain specialties that require a somewhat different course of training, and in catering to a guest's distinct tastes we try to assign her the most suitable slave. Tell me, Hagar, was there anything in particular that occurred to you when you decided to come here?"

"Umm ... well, yes, I suppose so. Although I do find it a bit embarrassing to talk about."

"That's not uncommon, my dear. If I remember rightly, the friend who recommended you had a similar problem. Last summer she was here two weeks before we finally learned what she really wanted. I do hope you won't have that kind of difficulty. So please don't be shy. We all have our little idiosyncrasies, you know, and there's no need for embarrassment."

"I I understand. But it still isn't easy. Uh, let me put it this way my friend did mention something that intrigued me. Something about using the bathroom as a ... oh, I'm sorry, I just don't know how to say it."

Valeska smiled sympathetically. "But you already have, my dear. You've said ail that's necessary. No, I doubt if Sharon here is the right girl for you. As a matter-of-fact, I'm sure she won't do." She reached out and took the leash and tugged the slave back down at her side. "Fleur, what do you think? I'd say Hagar might be happier with either Prudence or Gwen, wouldn't you?"

Despite the underlying humor of the situation, Fleur's reply was sober and serious. "I agree. Sharon might prove satisfactory, of course, but she never did show any real enthusiasm for bathroom sex and she's somewhat inexperienced in that direction. Make it Prudence or Gwen, by all means. Or both, perhaps, if-"

"Just one, please," Hagar murmured. "One at a time, anyway. I'm rather new at this."

Valeska nodded. "Fair enough. Fleur dear, why don't you escort Hagar over to see Gwen and Prudence and let her make her own choice. Both are equally well trained, so it's merely a matter of personal taste. And by the way, Hagar, we usually speak frankly here, so when you get adjusted please feel free to relax and say anything you care to. We're quite fond of using words like piss and shit that sort of thing."

Again the guest's cheek's turned pink. But she appeared eager to embark upon her venture, now that the obstacle of her own embarrassment had been cut down by Valeska's immediate understanding of her desires. Hagar Throckmorton looked like a woman on the verge of discovering a whole new world.

"Shall I return Sharon?" the secretary asked.

"Do it later, honey. Her room is out of the way and I think Hagar is impatient to get started."

"The girls...." Hagar seemed puzzled. "Aren't they all quartered in the same building?"

"On the contrary," Valeska said. "Our slaves are forbidden to mingle with one another; each has her own room and can make intimate contact only with a mistress or guest. And when being taken from one place to the next a slave must always be kept on a leash. That's mandatory. A slave must never be allowed freedom; it would upset her conditioning and cause no end of harm. But I'm sure you'll become familiar with the rules soon. Fleur will answer any questions that come up."

That concluded the interview. The two women left and Valeska went back to perusing the papers on her desk, paying no attention to the slave kneeling beside her. But she was conscious of the sex-urge built up from her earlier scene with Fleur; her thighs felt damp and sticky; her breasts tingled-and she was exasperatingly aware that it would be a long time before the secretary finished her chore and returned.

And meanwhile?

Well, there was always the slave. Purely for physical release, nothing more. Slaves-in-training were stimulating and the winter indoctrination period was the best time of all, as far as Valeska was concerned. The conquest was the kick. But the end product like that abject creature down there was something to be thought of only in terms of monetary value. Still. .."Sharon."

"Mistress? Something I can do for you?"

"I'm feeling a little horny. Think you can take care of that annoying detail for me?"

"My mission is to serve you, dear mistress, to serve you and please you and make you happy."

Valeska shrugged despondently. The slave was just too damned compliant, too willing, too well conditioned. Fine for the guests but not for someone like herself. Only it might take Fleur as much as an hour to come back.

"Up, girl, help me with my panties. Uh-huh. Good. Now go down on me, Sharon, eat my cunt, suck it until I come. Don't touch me with your hands, just use your mouth. I want to feel that tongue of yours in exactly the right place." Then, scarcely a moment later, as the young face burrowed between her spread thighs, "Oh ... yessss ... suck my cunt, slave, suck the cunt of your mistress and perform your mission as you were trained to do. Suck my cunt ... suck ... suck...."

The girl was a superb cuntlapper, admittedly, but Valeska's response was heightened only when she closed her eyes and let her mind wander. Hmm, too bad there wasn't something new and different she could try with Fleur. But there was something exciting coming up shortly, oh yes, it would be fun to see Muriel Kern crack the whip over that fat ass and find out how the governess felt about being governed. They saw each other so seldom and Muriel was the kind of closet-masochist who hid her weakness and had to be conquered anew every time. like a virgin, practically. Mmmmm yes, whipping that unstriped lard-ass bottom was a joyous prospect. Such a-

"Oooh!"

"Ummm?"

"Go, girl, go! I'm coming. Suck!"

Such an agreeable way to make a living. Fleur tonight. Muriel within a day or two. Summer reservations at a peak. Money rolling in and piling up. Everything rosy. And a slave at her feet, a sucking slave, a slave symbolic of her conquest of the entire world. A fine cuntlapper, too, that slave. Terrific!

CHAPTER SEVEN

If there was ever a time to despair, this was it. Sharon detested working in the kitchen. And judging by what she had already seen, it was going to be worse than ever. Although she hadn't just seen, oh no, she had felt it too. Underneath her tunic a black-and-blue mark was forming where that fat slob of a cook had pinched her. And now the big woman was coming this way again, the cook named Yetta, obese and sweaty, an exultant smile on her evil face.

"You there. Sharon is that your name?"

"Yes, Miss Yetta, my name is Sharon."

"Okay. You'll be working with me today. Just stick close and I'll tell you what to do."

"But but I've already been given a job to-"

"Don't argue with me, girl. Someone else will finish shelling those peas." Yetta's hand shot out.

Sharon yelped. The hand had pounced and gripped. Her nipple was screaming in silent agony. The fingers felt like a pair of pincers.

"You don't like it, huh? You don't like it when I pinch your tit? Too bad. Such a pretty tittie, too." The pincers grip twisted, adding to the pain.

"Please ... no ... you're hurting me."

"So next time don't argue with me. Just remember what you are, that's all. You may be a pretty slave girl, but here in the kitchen you're just a piece of shit, understand? Now shake your lazy ass and follow me." The malevolent hand finally relented. "We're working in the storeroom today."

Sharon shuddered and bit her lips to keep from venting her sense of outrage. She had an idea of what the trip to the storeroom would entail. Sex. And if she resisted, more pain. Or maybe both, the way the ugly cook was carrying on.

It wasn't fair, it just wasn't fair. Nobody had the right to call her a piece of shit, nobody except her mistress. And a cook wasn't a mistress. Sure, a slave was supposed to be respectful and call the cooks Miss Yetta and Miss Catherine, but it was her duty only to work and make herself useful; she wasn't here to suck that dirty bitch's cunt. But if she complained, well, she would only get pinched again. Or worse. And besides, who could she complain to?

But she still wouldn't be Yetta's slave, she was a slave only to her mistress. Only she didn't have a mistress, darn the luck, and that was why she was stuck here in the kitchen. Oh well, she had only herself to blame. She didn't quite understand why that nice chubby lady had rejected her, but she knew she had failed as a slave. And in a way, this was her punishment for failure. Next time she would try harder and then maybe she would be accepted and have a mistress again. A nice mistress who would be a joy to please.

Next time. Oh sure. Here in the kitchen, everything else seemed so far away. Still, it might have been worse. The kitchen was pretty bad, but working for the housekeeper was simply terrible. Not the work itself but the way the housekeeper treated the girls. like a crazy woman, really, that was how Miss Beulah acted toward the slaves put in her charge. The cooks were smelly bitches who used force to get then-own way, but at least they were comparatively sane.

"In here, Sharon."

"Yes, Miss Yetta."

The storeroom was lined with shelves; there were no chairs and it was obviously a place for work. Sharon was relieved at the sight. But her relief was short-lived as Yetta's hand went under her tunic.

"You've got a nice ass, kid."

"Thank you, Miss Yetta." As long as the hand stroked and didn't pinch, Sharon made no protest.

"Yeah, a damn nice ass. Hey, I'm getting horny just feeling it. Yeah, real horny. Too horny to work, even. So I guess you'll have to do something about it, huh?"

"But but I'm supposed to work for you, not ouch!"

"Listen, you stupid little cunt, your ass will be purple if you don't stop arguing with me.

And your tits too. Here. Feel that, you shitty little-"

"Oh! Please!"

"Now you behave or I'll tear those tits right off and throw them in your face. Understand?"

"Please ... oh, don't hurt me, Miss Yetta. I'll do it, I'll behave, I'll do whatever you say."

"Yeah, I figured you would." Yetta released her grip and fucked up her grease-stained dress. "Okay, a little feel of your ass got me horny. So what are you going to do about it?"

Sharon knew the answer. But hard as she tried, she couldn't make herself say the words. She saw the big bush of hair; she knew she would soon be plunging her face into it but she still couldn't speak of it. How could she speak of the unspeakable?

But she didn't have to. Two hands shoved her down to the cement floor, a sharp rap on the back of the head guided her into the hairy crotch; she held her breath at the sickening stench and then at last surrendered to the inevitable and poked her tongue into the fetid flesh.

"Yeah, you got it, kid. Lick my cunt. Oh, that fuckin' tongue of yours! Suck!"

Sharon sucked feverishly, hoping to get the ordeal over with. It wasn't fair, it just wasn't fair to make her do this. Yes, next time she would try twice as hard to please some nice lady and be accepted as a slave. It was awful to be without a mistress. Awful to kneel on this hard floor and suck this dirty cunt instead of lying in a soft bed and making love to her mistress, doing what she was supposed to do, fulfilling her mission in life by giving her mistress pleasure. Next time she wouldn't be such a miserable failure ...

* * *

For a day or two, Mrs. Belinda Woodruff had suffered from a touch of boredom. Ordinarily she might have accepted it as a matter of course, since she had been bored often enough in the past so that it was practically a natural condition with her. But here at Black Widow Farm and at these prices! well, she was determined to do something about it. Even if it meant switching slaves regularly until she found the right one. Or until she found something to spark her interest.

Perhaps this new one would do. The girl's name was Audrey and she was tall and willowy and dark. A well-trained slave just like the others, of course, but then again each girl seemed different in her own way. Belinda could only hope for the best, even though she wasn't quite sure what she was looking for. A little excitement, that was all.

And maybe the change of scene would help, too. A room lined with mirrors? The idea had sounded pretty silly at first and it still did, really but the secretary in the office claimed that a number of the guests were enthused over it. And now, on the way to the new room with a new slave girl in tow, Belinda was feeling keyed-up by the prospect.

The outer door looked like any other. Belinda hung the "occupied" sign on the knob and then entered along with her slave. The sight stunned her momentarily; she had never seen anything like it. Damn! It was exciting, all right, and she felt herself tremble in sudden urgency. She hadn't quite bargained for such a change of scene.

There was a great bed in the center. No other furniture. Only it looked like a hundred beds because of the mirrors. On the walls and on the ceiling, nothing but mirrors. Shining sheets of glass that covered every inch of space from the top right down to the carpeted floor. And even the carpet was white and appeared to add emphasis to the reflections.

"Audrey, it's beautiful."

"Yes, mistress. I'm glad you like it."

Belinda pushed the door closed. That too had a mirror on it and formed an almost invisible seal with the rest. On the opposite wall a similarly lined door opened upon a mirrored bathroom; it broke the continuity and she moved quickly to shut it and make the effect perfect. Now there were a hundred Belindas and a hundred Audreys surrounding the real Belinda and the real Audrey. Reflections within reflections, an infinity of mirrors, separate images that were all one and the same. It was truly breathtaking.

"Get undressed, Audrey."

"Yes, mistress."

Belinda shivered in rapturous anticipation. The girl was shedding her garments obediently, but in these weird circumstances she looked more like a whore than a slave. A beautiful naked whore. A sultry, depraved whore. Only the collar around her neck marred the picture.

"Hold still, Audrey."

"Mistress?"

"I don't like the collar." Belinda fumbled with the catch. "There, that's better." She tossed the collar aside. "Hmm, you look like some kind of whore, a wicked whore. Honey, get up on the bed and stand there and pose for me. Show me what a good whore you can be."

Giggling coquettishly, the girl leaped upon the bed and stood upright in its center. Her arms went over her head in a seductive posture. And now there was a ring of a hundred naked whores, each with deliciously pointed breasts, each with a triangular tuft of tempting black hair, each with a pair of pink cunt-lips peeping through provocatively and with long, slender smooth-skinned legs and arms. Utterly fantastic!

Belinda sobbed in joyous response and tore her clothes off. She had to see herself like that, too. Naked. Frantically her fingers plucked and tugged and worked and at last she was ready. Ready and beautiful. Oh yes, she was proud of her blonde hair and blue eyes and sleek body, proud of the way she looked when she stood on the bed alongside Audrey.

They were together. And all about them were those lovely females in the mirrors. Audrey. Belinda. Audrey. Belinda. Standing still and yet whirling around and around.

And kissing now. Belinda. Audrey. Belinda. Audrey. Breast to breast and belly to belly. Kissing and embracing. Flesh against flesh. Audrey. Belinda. Audrey. Belinda. Had there ever been such a sight in the world before?

Not in my world!

Belinda's limbs turned weak. Audrey braced her for a moment and then they crumpled together, still entwined. Audrey's moan was a spur and Belinda became aggressive; it was as if a raging fever had gripped them both.

"Mistress?"

"Hmm?"

"What would you like me to."

"Suck me, Audrey, suck my cunt."

"Oooh ... yes...."

Belinda struggled to keep from shrieking aloud as the young mouth attacked her greedily. She could feel the lips actually munching on her flesh. The sensation was absolutely marvelous. And yet no more so than the remarkable vision that was caressing her eyes. From the left. From the right. Even from above. What a sight!

A hundred nude Belindas, blonde and beautiful. Covered only by the manes of a hundred Audreys. Long black hair spread fan wise, spraying outward like the myriad jets of a hundred dark fountains. Fascinating!

She didn't know where to turn her attention, it wavered between the Audrey here and all the Audreys there. Between the heat in her cunt and the cool perfection of those reflected pairs of pale buttocks. It was so hard to focus. But reason struck and she realized that the mirrors were merely mirrors. And this was real.

This, yes, only this the living, breathing, throbbing flesh, hers and Audrey's. The exhilarating mouth, the maddening fingers, the tongue delving into her cunt and that thick crop of hair tossing about in erotic abandon. It was terribly real and she was glad to be a part of it. Only she wanted to be more of a part than she already was.

"Audrey...."

"Ummm?"

"Swing around."

"M-mistress?"

"I want your cunt."

"Oh!"

The slave seemed surprised, but Belinda allowed her no hesitation. And when the slim young body twisted around, she was eager to give what she was receiving. But not before she stole a final glance at the walls. And up at the sharply etched reflection on the ceiling. A wail burst from her lips, a wail of frenetic joy and then the hot flesh settled and she shut her eyes and the picture went dark and she felt the moist thighs engulfing her face and mouth and she sucked the sweet fresh cunt and knew that she wouldn't have to suffer boredom again. Not while she had this delectable morsel to nibble on.

The thought brought a twinge of panic. Good grief, was she falling in love with a slave ?

The notion was painful but possible. And yet she was already beginning to have her doubts. Just thinking about it was enough to lessen the sexual stimulation; she could feel her tremendous passion waning and was no longer rubbing her face into the girl's wet cunt so ardently. Not that she minded the taste or the touch or anything like that, no, it was all quite pleasant. But something was missing, something was different, something had changed from a few moments ago.

Something. But what? She had found something to spark her interest and dispel boredom. Only to lose it again? To lose it suddenly and without understanding? Was it really involved with that foolishness about falling in love with a slave? No, it couldn't be. That idea just didn't seem reasonable, now that she was cool enough to view it objectively. And yet something was missing.

Something. But what?

Belinda tugged her face free abruptly, intent on viewing the matter even more objectively. And then she saw it, the stark beauty of it, the writhing flesh, the naked lust and in a surge of renewed excitement she began tonguing the hot cunt again. But this time with her eyes open. She had found that missing something. The slave wasn't important. Any girl would do. Just as long as she was here. Here in this room. Here in this marvelous place where every thrill was a hundred thrills. Here in this room of mirrors!

"Audrey ...

"Hmm?"

"Turn sideways."

"Ummm?"

"Hurry up, you stupid slave! Turn on your side. Uh-uh, that's better. Now play with my ass-you're a sexy whore and you're supposed to be pleasing me."

"M-mistress?"

"Use your finger. Stick it into my ass-hole."

"Oh ... like this? But it will hurt if oh!"

"like that. Feel it? It doesn't hurt much. Now, do the same thing to me. Ah ... yes...."

And now it was easier to see the wonderful picture, the many mouths and the many cunts and the many fingers plunging in and out of the many ass-holes and Mrs. Belinda Woodruff knew that her spark of interest had caught fire and grown into a blaze that would never die.

CHAPTER EIGHT

It was difficult to speak freely. Muriel just couldn't feel at ease and talk business in Valeska's bedroom. The bedroom was for sex, not discussion. And it had been such a long time, such a long time ...

"Oh, do stop fidgeting, Muriel. What's the matter with you? Are you nervous?"

"I-I'm sorry."

"Well, you should be. You're acting more like a child than a governess. Now calm down and tell me all about it. Just why did you bring that kid here to the Farm?"

Muriel nodded and took a grip on herself. Valeska's peremptory attitude helped and she launched into her autobiographical account of the insecure governess and her wealthy charge, skipping no details and waxing enthusiastic as her insidious plan unfolded.

"So that's it," Valeska said. "Money. The root of all evil. And you're certainly being evil, you know that?"

"Hey, don't yow go moral on me."

"Not a chance. I know on which side my bread is buttered. Okay, let's see if I have it straight. Basically, you want to corrupt the kid.

You want to hook Dorian Abbott on our kind of life so that she won't want any other. And then when she comes into her inheritance, you'll be in clover. Right?"

"Exactly. I want Dorian to give up the idea of marriage. I want her to forget about men entirely. I want her to savor the pleasures of owning a lesbian slave. And where better place could I take her than here? Valeska, will you help me?"

"Silly girl. Of course I'll help you. Actually, it will be quite simple. I'll just assign old Nell to her."

"Old Nell?"

"Uh-huh. An experienced slave. A voluntary slave, you might say, since she became one of her own free will. Don't worry, Nell will take care of the kid but good. Nell knows all the tricks and I'll order her to go all out."

"Thank you. I'm truly grateful."

Valeska smiled sardonically. "Grateful, huh? Well, you ought to be. Because I'm dragging myself in the mud just to help you. You're a sinful bitch, you know that?"

The sudden change of demeanor upset Muriel. Until she recognized the obvious reason for it. Of course. The business about Dorian was concluded. And after business, what? Pleasure, naturally. The bedroom kind of pleasure. The kind they had discovered together so many years ago.

"Oh please ... darling Valeska, don't be angry with me. I know I'm a sinful bitch."

"You'll have to atone for your sins."

"Yes. I'll do it. Anything you say." Valeska chuckled. "How about that? You're still the same masochistic cunt that vou used to be, huh?"

"N-no...." Muriel tensed at the accusation. "I I'm really not. I've never done this with anyone else. I'm a bossy type, Valeska, truly I am. But if it pleases you...."

"It pleases me. Does it please you?"

Muriel hung her head. The flint-like stare of those dark eyes was more than she could cope with. "I yes, it pleases me. You're the only one who can do this to me." She slipped to her knees and pressed her lips to the toe of Valeska's high-heeled pump.

"Hmm, just like old times."

"The only one, darling. You're the only one."

"And I do it good, don't I?"

"Ummm ... Valeska, I love you."

"Shit. You don't love me, you dumb cunt, you love the way I can lay a whip across your fat ass. Isn't that so?"

"I I yes, I love your whip."

"Damn right you do. Only I'm not ready to whip you yet. You waited this long for your whipping, okay, you can wait a little longer."

"Oh ... please...."

"Love my shoes, you cunt. Lick them. Lick my shoes all over, use your tongue and lap my shoes until they shine. And suck on the heel too."

Muriel obeyed feverishly, sinking deeper under the spell of the arrogant woman. The one woman in all the world who could dominate her.

Plying her tongue in servile obeisance, she shined Valeska's shoes. And with leeching lips she sucked each long slim heel into the vacuum of her mouth.

"All right, bitch, look at me. Pull your tits out. I haven't seen those big tits lately. Your ass can wait, I want those tits first. Hurry!"

Muriel hurried but not quickly enough; Valeska reached and grabbed and ripped savagely, tearing away the bodice and brassiere in a single ferocious swipe.

"Those big tits. You know what I want them for?"

They were hanging out, huge, naked, vulnerable and already quaking from the pain that had not yet been inflicted. Muriel cupped them from underneath, holding them up, thrusting the heavy mounds of flesh toward Valeska like a sacrificial offering of an ancient slave to an all-powerful goddess.

"Hit me. Punish me. Hurt me...."

A vicious slap made her bite her lip to keep from screaming. Another slap brought a moan from deep within her throat. The pain was horrible. But she felt her agonized nipples rise and swell and turn hot with voluptuous excitement.

"Just like old times," Valeska repeated. Then, abruptly, "No, not quite like old times. Not yet." She flailed away at the quivering breasts until the skin went fiery red and the nipples poked out like thumbs. "There. Now you're ready. Ready to have your ass whipped. Remember the position? Get your head down on the floor."

"Y-yes ... but my panties...."

"Fuck your panties. My whip will take them off along with your skin."

Muriel shuddered. There was a tautness inside her, a tight sensation brought on by combined fear and desire. She knew what was going to happen. The sweet scary tension was building up in her loins. She heard Valeska moving around behind her, moving around right in back of her ass.

"Here. The whip. Our favorite. Kiss it!"

Ah yes, such a long time! Muriel felt the tears coming to her eyes as she paid homage to the whip that was thrust under her face. Tears of gratitude. Tears of humiliation. Dripping tears that were incomprehensible but precious. Was it really and truly the same whip?

Crack!

The same whip. Crack, crack, crack the very same whip and it was tearing the panties right off her body. Shredding the fabric away to get at the flesh. The flesh of her ass, the soft defenseless flesh of her hot ass; the same wicked whip in the same masterful hand and at last she was here where she wanted to be, on her knees with her big naked ass stuck up in the air, on her knees at Black Widow Farm. On her knees and presenting her trembling ass for punishment to the Black Widow herself.

Jolene Slade had always thought of nursing as a proud profession, but now she wasn't so sure. Still, she had no right to complain. Minnie Kolb and the nursing home were far behind her. And regardless of the strangeness of her duties, she was with Tessa. The woman she loved. Tessa Dietrich. Being with big blonde Tessa made up for everything.

Although it was hard for anything to make up for this. Jolene grimaced at the sight of the girl's naked back. She had never seen such ugly welts. It pained her just to look at them, much less to rub the healing ointment into the bruised skin.

"I'm afraid this will hurt, my dear."

"That's all right, mistress."

Jolene scowled. She still couldn't get used to being addressed as mistress. But that was her own problem and it had nothing to do with this poor whipped kid. The slave's name was Linnet, a cute little thing, meek and mild and obedient even though her back must have been on fire. A little tender loving care would be just the right thing to-

"Hey, that's no way to treat a slave." Tessa's huge form filled the doorway. "Slap the grease on and get it over with, honey. You don't have to play Florence Nightingale for these shitty little brats."

"Tessa, must you talk like-"

"Damn! Won't you ever learn? Now slather that goo on and rub it in and stop wasting time."

"But there's no hurry, is there?"

"There is now. I need her. You there, slave what's your name? Yeah, I'm talking to you." Tessa's hand shot out and rapped the girl's head peremptorily.

"My name is Linnet, mistress."

"Linnet, eh? Okay, Linnet, I need you. I need your mouth and I need it now. I want my cunt sucked, understand? Now get down here and suck it." Tessa sprawled back upon the couch lazily and spread her legs.

With her back still undone, the slave slipped down in front of Tessa and began her task. There were no panties in the way, Jolene noticed; Tessa hardly ever wore any under her nurse's uniform these days. The sound of the slave's smacking and gobbling lips intermingled with Tessa's sigh of contentment. Jolene bent and went on rubbing the lotion into the bruises, embarrassed by the lewd display but nevertheless determined to complete her job as an efficient nurse should.

"Pretty good," Tessa murmured. "This kid is a fine little cuntlapper. Want to try her?"

"No, thanks."

"No? You're sure? She'd love to do it for you. Hey, you down there, Linnet, what do you say? Would you like to suck Mistress Jolene's cunt?"

"Yes, mistress, I'd love to. It gives me pleasure to make my mistress happy."

"You hear that, sweetie? The slave wants to make you happy. It gives her pleasure. Come on now, give the kid a break and let her nibble your pussy a little."

"Oh ... Tessa ... you know I don't care for-"

"Baby, don't hand me any excuses. Just get your panties off and park your ass right here next to me. And no fucking excuses, huh? Do it!"

Jolene did it. Her cheeks flushed scarlet as Tessa yanked the slave's head up by the hair and stuffed it right down between her spreading thighs. Immediately there was a wetness, a touch of lips, a hollow of mouth and then a tongue, a pointed tongue, a flicking tongue. The sudden intimate warmth made Jolene gasp and wiggle her buttocks.

"Good, huh?" Tessa grinned. "Honey, it's about time you caught on to this place and began to enjoy the fun."

"Uh-huh...." Trembling in embarrassed excitement, Jolene leaned over and hid her face in Tessa's bosom.

"Oh? You want me?"

"Tessa, I I love you...."

"You want to kiss my tits?"

"I I anything. Don't you understand? I love you."

"My cunt? You love my cunt?"

"Yes. You know. I love it. I love your cunt." Jolene's body jerked as the slave's tongue delved artfully gliding back and forth across her throbbing clitoris.

"Suck her, slave, suck your mistress good. Suck her until she comes and then swallow everything she gives you."

"Tessa, what are you-"

"Come in the slave's mouth, baby. And meanwhile, well, I'll make you a little gift. The kid just took care of my cunt, so you can have something else. Want my ass?"

"Oh ... no, please, why must you---? "

"No! Don't fight me. That's right lie back on the couch and look up at me. See? You see my nice round ass? Sure, you do. And you want it, you want Tessa's ass, you want to kiss it and love it and suck it. No, not yet! Stick your tongue out first, I want to see it. Make your tongue dance for me and then get it ready. Center it, I'm going to sit right down on your face, lover girl, so get your tongue in the right place. Oh yes, that's it, honey, that's what I want. Suck my ass, suck, suck and lick and lap and get your tongue right up in there, right up into my ass-hole."

Jolene struggled for breath. The mounds of flesh sank low upon her cheeks, dividing to accept the wedge of her face. And the tiny hole opened to accept the tiny wedge of her tongue. Only she hardly knew what she was doing; the slave was sucking her cunt and she was about to come right into that burrowing little girl's face and somehow she didn't care if she couldn't breathe, she just didn't care and even if

Tessa's great big beautiful beloved ass crushed the very life out of her she wouldn't care, no, she would just explode in the slave's mouth and die happily with her tongue in Tessa's hot slippery ass-hole.

"Suck her good, slave. You hear me, Linnet? Suck your mistress' cunt like you've never sucked before."

"Mmmmmm...."

"And you, Jolene, you like kissing my ass? It's kind of new to you, huh? Well, get used to it, sweetie; you'll be doing a lot more of it after this."

"Ummm...."

"Hey, point your tongue. Wiggle it around in my ass-hole and do a good job. If you can't do it right I'll sure as shit find somebody who can. There are a dozen slaves around this place who would love to ream my ass-hole."

Jolene increased her efforts. No, she didn't want Tessa to go elsewhere for her fun. She loved Tessa. And if this was what Tessa liked, well, okay. But just the same there was a kind of sickness in it, in this whole place, a kind of madness that pervaded Black Widow Farm; it was in Tessa now and Jolene couldn't help but wonder if it would happen to her if she stayed here for the entire summer. Certainly it was enough to drive anyone crazy.

But it was thrilling, she had to admit, thrilling to come into that open mouth down there, thrilling to send her tongue squirming around inside Tessa's ass-hole, thrilling just to stop worrying and simply feel the thrill of it.

CHAPTER NINE

Awakening slowly, Hagar Throckmorton felt the strange pressure between her legs and wrinkled her brow in an effort to figure out what was going on down there under the sheet. She must have been drunk last night. Yes, of course, she had guzzled a lot of booze in an attempt to gather courage, an attempt that had failed miserably and in the end she had just gone to sleep with the slave still lapping her cunt.

Damn! Another lost night. Not a total loss, really, since she had come at least three times before dropping off. Gwen was quite an expert. But regardless of her chosen slave's skill and in spite of her own prolonged pleasure, she wasn't paying all that money just to get her cunt sucked.

Oh well, it was her own fault. After drinking most of the bottle and almost working up nerve enough to go through with it, she had chickened out at the last minute. And now all she had was a hangover. But not a bad one, luckily. Nothing that a couple of aspirins couldn't fix.

Hagar stretched, flexing her muscles and making preparations to get out of bed. Her movement woke the slave and immediately she felt the warm lips kissing again. As if last night had never ended. Smiling weakly, she tossed the sheet aside and glanced down at the head of red hair bobbing between her thighs. Darling little

Gwen was certainly well trained in the art of pleasing a mistress. For a protracted moment Hagar seriously considered lying there and letting that agile tongue bring her to orgasm once more, just to start the new day right.

But minor as it was, her hangover intruded upon her enjoyment and she pushed Gwen away and swung her legs over the side of the bed.

"Mistress? May I help you?"

"No, dear. I'm just getting some aspirin."

"Can't I get it for you, mistress?"

"Umm ... no, I think not. I'll manage."

Hagar rose shakily and padded into the bathroom. She opened the medicine cabinet and found the aspirin container. She took two and gulped some water and then muttered a small oath as the little plastic bottle slipped from her fingers and tumbled to the tile floor, scattering a slew of pills all over the place. Wincing in annoyance, she bent to pick them up. But she just couldn't quite make it and she leaned back against the sink as a wave of dizziness swept over her. Anyway, why should she bother about such a menial chore when she had a willing and capable slave at her command?

"Gwen, come in here."

"Yes, mistress."

The girl entered, a lovely little thing, naked, obviously anxious to be of service. Her eyes glittered momentarily, but the odd light faded when she saw the mess of pills on the floor. She sank to her knees and began picking them up.

Hagar swayed, waiting for the two aspirins to take effect. But their action was slow; she felt a sudden lassitude in her limbs and had to sit down. On the toilet seat, naturally, the nearest possible place.

"Mistress?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you ... uh...." The slave's eyes were shining again. "Isn't there anything I can do for you?"

"Do for me?"

"Please, mistress? Aren't you going to pee?"

And then, almost as if it had all been rehearsed, Hagar nodded her head and parted her legs and raised one hand and crooked her finger in a lewdly, beckoning gesture. So simple. Who needed courage? This was what she had come to Black Widow Farm for. She knew it and the slave knew it. Why postpone the inevitable?

"Yes, dear, I'm going to pee. Interested?"

The slave giggled and set the aspirin container down. She crawled close and rested her chin on the front of the toilet seat, peering up coyly. "Let me help you, mistress? Please?"

"If you'd like, my dear."

"Uh, is there anything special I can do for you?"

"Well, I don't know. Gwen, this is rather new to me. So speak up what would you suggest."

"Use my mouth, mistress."

"Oh? How?"

"You know. like this. Use my mouth for a toilet. Pee in it. My mission is to make you happy, mistress. Won't you pee in my mouth and let me show you how much I love you? I'll swallow every drop."

Hagar's head throbbed, but it had nothing to do with her hangover. It was going to happen. The thing she had thought about for so long. At last. She leaned back and tilted her buttocks a little and saw the circle of the slave's open mouth centering itself just beneath her cunt. And then as if a jug of warm water had burst inside her belly the gush of golden urine spewed out. She focused her gaze on it, shuddering in delighted ecstasy as the stream poured into the living toilet of the slave's mouth. And at that intense moment she dropped her last vestige of inhibition.

"Drink it, slave, drink every drop. I'm pissing into your mouth, I'm using your mouth for a toilet, oh yes, and I'm going to do it a lot from now on. Every day. A dozen times a day. I'll piss on you and shit on you and-"

"Glub. Glurp. Glub...."

The noises were indescribable. But just too exciting to miss, and Hagar stopped talking and listened to the slurping sounds and couldn't help but recognize that in her own way she was making her slave happy. And rightly so. After all, wasn't this what sweet little Gwen had been trained for? Oh yes, from now on they would both be happy!

* * *

The woman was supposed to be her slave, but Dorian couldn't quite get her mind adjusted to that fact. Nell was so damned smart! Not disrespectful or anything like that far from it, actually no, she was obviously well-bred and welleducated and just plain clever. And experienced too, which made it tough on a teenager who was practically a beginner in sex. How could a beginner act bossy toward an old-timer?

Dorian resented her own youthfulness. In a place like Black Widow Farm, it wasn't easy to be 15 going on 16. And this plump blondeish woman assigned to her as a slave was apparently in her early forties. Somehow it just didn't seem logical that Valeska Winthrop should have made such an assignment and that Muriel should have agreed to it. Dorian felt pretty nervous about the whole business. Nervous enough to cast out the dea of any immediate sexual embrace, even though the slave appeared quite eager to please her.

"Nell, let's just relax awhile, huh? Sit down, I want to talk to you."

"Whatever you say, little mistress. But I do hope you're not dissatisfied with me. Are you?"

"I I don't honestly know. I can't figure out why they put the two of us together. You're so much older than me."

"Oh. I'm sorry, little mistress. I'm not young and pretty like most of the slaves. I know how ugly I-"

"I didn't say that. You're not ugly, Nell. Please don't look so sad; I'm really not criticizing you. I'm just not sure how to treat you, that's all. You're practically the same age as my governess. Don't you see how hard it would be for me to treat you like a slave?"

"Little mistress, I am a slave. I'm your slave. But since I'm not like the other girls, I guess you have the right to know more about me. It would put your mind at ease, I think. May I tell you something about myself?"

"If you think it would help, yes, do. The way you sound, for one thing, the way you use big words you know what I mean? You're more like some kind of schoolteacher."

Nell smiled. "How right you are. A schoolteacher. That's exactly what I used to be. Before I came here to the Farm and became a slave, I taught psychology in a college in California."

"Psychology! Wow!"

"Don't let it throw you. Psychologists are human, too. Or rather ex-psychologists, since that's what I am now."

"You're never going back there? You're going to stay here for the rest of your life?" Dorian hesitated. "Oh, I don't even know if I'm supposed to ask you this. But are you trained and conditioned to be a slave forever?"

"Ask any question you wish, little mistress. Perhaps that's why I was assigned to you as a slave because I can speak freely and give you the answers. You see, I was never trained or conditioned like the other slaves. I'm a volunteer, you might say. I came here as a guest once and liked the place so much that I just had to return. But by that time I had my own personality all figured out. I knew I was a lesbian and I learned that I was also a masochist so where better place could I find true happiness but at Black Widow Farm? I got down on my knees to Mistress Valeska and begged her to allow me to stay as a permanent slave. Believe me, it took plenty of begging; after all, I'm no spring chicken and I'm definitely not beautiful. But I convinced her to take me on and here I am."

"And you like it here? You don't want to leave?"

"Little mistress, I love it here. And if I did want to leave, where would I go? Back to the West Coast where everybody is phony? Even sex is phony out there. No, I left the smoggy sin of Los Angeles and traveled thousands of miles for the crystalline depravity of Black Widow Farm." Nell grinned wanly. "Hmm, I guess I do sound pretty pedantic, don't I? Just like a schoolteacher. But please don't let it upset you. I'm your slave. Your willing slave. Command me and I'll obey."

"Oh, that's silly and you know it. What if I told you to crawl around on the floor like a puppydog? I'm sure you don't have to obey a command like that. What I really want to know is just what you're supposed to-"

"Please, little mistress, won't you test me? Let me prove that I'm your willing slave? Let me stay with you; I'll carry out every order. And I'll be especially happy to do it for you. Because you're so young and beautiful. Because you're the most wonderful-"

"Okay, okay. But my name is Dorian, so I'd rather you didn't call me little mistress."

"Dorian...."

"No, I don't like that. Mistress Dorian. Or just plain mistress or ma'am or something like that."

"I understand. Yes, Mistress Dorian. Whatever you say. I'm at your service. Command me."

"Command you?" Dorian giggled. "All right. Let me see you act like a puppydog."

The plump woman dropped to the carpeted floor immediately and Dorian watched her, such a ridiculous performance and yet terribly exciting. The way the puppy responded to her orders, yelping and barking and racing around to please her. More obedient than any real dog.

"Here, puppy, lick my hand. No, don't kiss it, just put out your tongue and lap it yes, that's it, a doggy kiss. Uh-huh. Now this one. Lick my fingers. No, you stupid bitch, don't suck, just lick." Then, thoughtfully, "Nell, listen. I just called you a stupid bitch. You didn't mind? It didn't make you angry?"

"I I loved it, mistress. I'm a stupid bitch. I'm a slave groveling at your feet and you can call me any name you like if it pleases you."

"Uh-huh. Lick my shoes."

Nell bent low, her tongue eager. Tiny little mewling noises oozed from her lips as she lapped busily.

"Yeah, I get the message," Dorian said at last. "Okay, enough of that. You've proved your point. You don't have to be a puppydog any more. You're a good slave."

"Thank you, darling mistress, it makes me happy to hear you say so. Now is there anything else I can do for you? I'm sure there must be."

"Well, I'll think about it. Meanwhile, though, you might be making yourself useful. Take off my panties."

The slave complied enthusiastically, offering a wealth of compliments, sighing in rapture over how beautiful her mistress' body was. Nell's eyes were misty with passion as her fingers touched naked flesh.

As the panties came down, Dorian lifted her legs one at a time to let the garment be stripped away. She kept the second foot up and rested it upon a chair. Posing deliberately, she saw the woman licking her lips sensuously and then made a little imperative motion with her hand.

"Here. Nell, kiss me here."

The sudden reaction made Dorian catch her breath. She tingled as the nuzzling lips darted up between her thighs. Once begun, the kiss went on incessantly.

"Oh, you are a good slave, Nell. A lesbian masochist, is that what you called yourself?

Okay, here's my cunt to suck, my nice young cunt to feast on. Eat it, you bitch, you fucking whore, you goddam slave, lap my cunt and make me cream right into your sucking mouth!"

Again the response came, and Dorian was entranced. The wet mouth, the worshipful tongue, the soft hands sliding around to cup her buttocks and hold her close. The cuntlapping slave made a lot of noise and that was fun, too, the sound of that hot mouth on her wet flesh was just great.

So there was something to be learned here, Dorian decided, and she was glad that the old experienced slave had been assigned to her. After a few days with this smart bitch showing her the ropes, well, maybe this place wouldn't be so bad. Whatever she could learn from the old one would come in handy when she got herself some cute young kid to boss around. Although she was sure in no hurry to give this eager old broad up.

"My ass now, slave. Kiss my ass."

How nice! She didn't even have to move. Just stand here like this with one foot up on the chair. And that mouth was already ducking under and coming up on the other side. And that tongue! Better than any finger and it didn't need any goddam suntan oil to grease its way in.

"Ooh ... yes ... do it! Do my ass-hole!"

CHAPTER TEN

Leaning back indolently in the easy chair, Muriel sighed contentedly as the slave cradled her bare feet and worked diligently upon the toenails. Every now and then Muriel flicked the little leather quirt that dangled from her hand-not that the dutiful slave needed spurring, but only because she felt like it. And because she was aware that Wilma feared it.

Oh, yes, the slave girl was an absolute treasure, a willowy pale-skinned honey blonde with meek blue eyes, probably the most beautiful slave on the entire Farm. Muriel felt lucky to have her. Luckier still, knowing that the milky flesh wasn't inured to the whip. Most of the girls took a whipping easily and what fun was it to whip that kind of slave? No fun at all. It was exciting to see Wilma flinch every time the braided quirt made the slightest movement.

"Wilma...."

"Yes, mistress?"

"Aren't you finished yet?"

"Just about, mistress. Let me just...."

"Oh, never mind, they look pretty good. Don't you think so? Don't you like the way my feet look?"

"They they look very nice, mistress."

"You're not very enthusiastic, slave. Lift your face up here so that I can slap it."

"Oh! Y-yes, mistress...."

Muriel slapped the girl twice. With her open palm, since she had already used the whip on that bare ass a little while ago and had no desire to send the slave to the infirmary. Her hand was fine. She liked the way it thumped solidly against the quivering, reddening cheeks.

"There now, perhaps you'll show more enthusiasm when I ask if you like my feet."

"Yes, mistress. Your feet are beautiful. You have the most beautiful feet in-"

"Kiss them while you tell me about it."

The girl bent low and pressed her mouth to the freshly painted and polished toenails. A kiss of praise, a kiss of humility, and she kept murmuring complimentary phrases even through her busy lips. Muriel smiled down and accepted it as her rightful due. The soft lips were congratulating her, telling her that she had selected the perfect slave for her needs. Mmmmm yes, it was a joy to have such a girl at her beck and call. Too bad it couldn't go on when the summer ended.

And maybe it could go on, although Valeska wasn't easily persuaded to part with one of her trained slaves. Still, if the price was right. . .

Again Muriel sighed. The way things were going, prospects for the future looked rosy indeed. Yes, it was a stroke of genius assigning that experienced old Nell to take care of Dorian. And it left her free to be with Wilma much of the time. like now. She could whip Wilma and slap her face and kick her and take out all her stored-up hostilities on the humble footlicker. And if that wasn't exciting enough, well, she could always spend a little time in the privacy of Valeska's bedroom.

But no, she didn't want to think of that. The marks didn't show, but her ass still hurt. And anyway, thinking about Valeska and that special whip made her cunt ooze with passion. It was wrong to let her mind drift in that offbeat-direction when she had her own slave right here.

Such an obedient slave. Except that if it kept on like this, that hot mouth would be swallowing her foot. Beautiful blonde Wilma was certainly offering devotion. Muriel wriggled her toes as the servile tongue lapped between them in an effort that was obviously meant to please the mistress and at the same time beg for further privileges.

"Wilma...."

"Hmm?"

"That will do for now." Muriel brushed the instep of one bare foot against the girl's flushed cheek. "There's no need to overdo it, is there?"

"I I'm sorry, mistress."

"No harm done. You like my feet, eh? All right, you may have another kiss. Lick the sole, lick it nicely with your tongue so that I'll know you love doing it. Or you'll get the quirt on your ass again."

"Mmmmmm...."

Muriel shut her eyes. Ah yes, she had convinced her slave well. That delicious mouth. It could lick her foot or suck her cunt or kiss her ass and always with adoration. What a delight to have such a slave!

"Wilma...."

"M-mistress?"

"Let's try something different today."

"It pleases me to make you happy, mistress. Tell me what to do. How may I please you?"

"Move up close. I want your tits."

"Mistress? You want to-"

"No, stupid, just come up here where I can reach them. Hmm, not bad. Kind of firm and pointy. But can't these nipples get any stiffer? I'll bet they can. If I-"

"Ouch!"

"Hurts, eh? Hurts when I pinch them? Well, maybe they're hard enough now. Okay, slave, get down there and fuck me with your tits. Fuck me good, fuck me and rub your titties into my cunt and my ass-hole. Go. Now!"

And then Muriel leaned back deeper into the chair and tossed her legs up on the arms and opened her crotch to the soft invasion of the slave's breasts. She loved it, she loved the squirming and heaving and shoving, she loved the way each tit was jammed and twisted into her cunt, she loved the way each firm nipple was forced into the taut ring of her ass-hole. And most of all she loved Wilma's instant obedience to her every command. Although she found herself wishing that the bruised skin would heal quickly so she could wallop that tempting ass again.

* * *

Prudence didn't mind the work. Sweeping and dusting and making beds was a tedious chore, of course, but she was a good slave and did what she was told. No, the work wasn't bad, it was just that Miss Octavia acted kind of weird sometimes. A weird mistress was something to be expected, but Miss Octavia was just the housekeeper. Only she was even crazier than the real mistresses when she got going. Prudence hoped she wouldn't be chosen to take part in Miss Octavia's fun today. She hated the idea of being locked in the linen room like that.

But she would go if she was called. And it was her own fault, really, since she hadn't been good enough to get a nice mistress of her own the way Gwen had. Gwen was probably having wild fun with that mistress of hers.

Gwen.

No matter how hard she tried, Prudence couldn't manage to keep her mind off Gwen. She loved Gwen. And slaves weren't even supposed to be friends with each other! But still she just couldn't help it, and once in a while they passed notes to each other; oh yes, she knew Gwen felt the same way. She wondered if Gwen thought about her at the same time, though. It seemed pretty doubtful. Almost romantic, really. Still, that was exactly how she had first recognized her love for Gwen: they were in training together and learning how to eat-

"You there. Prudence."

"Yes, Miss Octavia?" Prudence's heart sank. All thoughts of Gwen fled from her mind. Well, no, she couldn't ever really forget her redheaded sweetheart; she could only envy her for having fun in some nice bathroom with some nice mistress. "Something I can do for you, ma'am?"

"Uh-huh. The linen room."

Prudence gulped down her resentment. Miss Octavia was only the housekeeper, but it was better to obey her instantly and pay her all the courtesies of a mistress. Miss Octavia could make trouble if she wanted to.

There were three other girls in the linen room when Prudence entered. On their knees in front of the throne. It wasn't a throne, actually, just a high-backed old-fashioned chair set up on a little platform. But as far as Miss Octavia was concerned, it was a throne.

Prudence knelt. She hated this business of treating the housekeeper like some kind of queen. It wasn't even sexy; no, Miss Octavia just sat there and talked and had her hand kissed and her shoes licked, things like that, she very seldom got naked and allowed any of the slaves to suck her cunt or ass or do any of the normal things. And as far as Prudence knew, the housekeeper had never indulged in the special excitement, that thrill of thrills, the thing that had brought Gwen so close to her during training.

That would have been okay. Miss Octavia was tall and skinny and gaunt and ugly, but Prudence wouldn't have minded if only the throne had had a hole in the middle. Then she could lie underneath it and do what she was supposed to do. With her mouth open, she could-

The door opened. "Heads down. To the floor."

Prudence touched the floor with her forehead. Alongside her, the other girls were doing the same thing. Miss Octavia's long legs were threading between them as they scissored by on the way to the throne.

"You first, Prudence. Have you been a good slave? Raise your head and answer me."

Prudence obeyed. "Yes, your majesty. If it pleases your majesty, I've been a very good slave."

"I hope so. And if it's true, then you deserve a fitting honor. Would you like to kiss your queen's right hand?"

"Oh, thank you, your majesty. It would indeed be a great honor and I shall be grateful."

"Come then. Do it."

Prudence moved forward hastily. She bowed over the proffered hand but was stopped at the last minute. The gnarled fingers poked at her lips and pried them apart.

"Open your mouth, slave. I must check and see if it's clean enough to kiss a queen's hand. I know some of the things that you've done with that filthy mouth of yours. Have you been somebody's shit-slave today?"

"No, your majesty."

"You're sure? The queen must never be touched by a dirty mouth. No shit? No piss? You weren't taken into the toilet by one of the mistresses?"

"Not once, your majesty." Prudence shook her head, glad that she was pleasing the housekeeper but sorry for herself just the same. Sorry that no one had chosen her today. Sorry that she couldn't be doing what Gwen was doing, taking care of some nice mistress in some nice bathroom. Having fun. Drinking and eating what the mistress gave her, enjoying the gush and splash and excitement of all that love in her mouth. But at least she wasn't making Miss Octavia angry this way. "I've been working all day, your majesty. My mouth is very clean. Please, your majesty, may I kiss your beautiful hand?"

"Yes, slave, you may. And go on kissing it lick my fingers while I attend to these less worthy slaves."

Prudence lapped at the ugly soiled hand, paying little heed to what was going on around her. She had a job to do and she was doing it. But she sure wished it could have been a more appetizing job. Kissing a hand wasn't much fun for a well-trained toilet-slave. Gwen had all the luck!

CHAPTER ELEVEN

At the dinner table, Belinda Woodruff and Hagar Throckmorton found themselves conversational companions. They learned that both came from the same city, but that was shortly dropped as a topic of discussion. like most of the guests at Black Widow Farm they were rather secretive about their personal lives; women came here for a vacation and left it all behind them after it was over. It was pleasant that way; the guests could talk about their own peculiar kicks freely and still feel safe in the knowledge that their paths would never cross again unless they came to the Farm next season, of course and no one would ever be approached in the sanctity of her own home.

Belinda and Hagar hit it off well together. As a second-timer in the place, Belinda was glad to meet someone like Hagar, someone who was far from innocent and yet quite unaccustomed to the strange ways of the Farm. She waxed eloquent in telling her new friend of the joys she had found in the mirror room.

"Mirrors, eh?" Hagar seemed a bit perplexed. "But why come here to Black Widow Farm for that? Seems to me you could put up some mirrors in your own-"

"Well, it's new to me. Valeska just had the mirrors installed recently, so I didn't realize how much I liked them. But I couldn't have them at home anyway; good grief, my husband would think I was crazy if-" Belinda bit her lip. "There I go, blabbing about myself."

"You're married, huh? Not me. I'm a free agent."

"Let's just forget it, shall we? But about the mirror room, you really ought to try it some time."

"No, thanks. I'm satisfied without mirrors. I've got a slave who's absolutely priceless. Such a dear girl. I only wish I could buy her and keep her. Is that possible?"

"Well, it's been done, I understand, but not very often. The girls become extremely valuable once they've been trained, and Valeska isn't anxious to part with them no matter how much money a client offers. Anyway, don't count on it, Hagar, unless your particular slave isn't very popular and has outlived her usefulness. Which one is she?"

"A little redhead named Gwen. Do you know her?"

"Gwen?" Belinda giggled, "so that's your kick. Oh yes, I know about Gwen. And I'm sorry to say that you just haven't got a chance. Valeska will never sell her. Gwen and Prudence are worth their weight in gold. You'd be surprised at how many women come to the Farm just to see them."

Hagar shrugged. "Too bad. But I'm glad you've discovered my special peculiarity, my dear. I thought I'd be embarrassed about it, but

I'm really not."

"Of course not. Nobody should be embarrassed in this place. Just enjoy yourself and the hell with propriety. And by the way, in case you're interested, well, the bathroom is completely covered with mirrors, too."

"The bathroom? Really? Hmm, your mirror room is beginning to sound interesting. I'd like to try it."

"Would you? I've got it reserved for tonight. Be my guest, if you'd like. Bring your slave over and join me. As a matter-of-fact, I don't have a slave of my own at the moment. I got tired of Audrey and haven't picked out a new one yet."

"Oh. But don't you have to go through some long procedure every time you switch slaves?"

"It's fairly simple. For me it is, anyway, since I change so often. I get bored with the same slave after a while and right now the mirrors are more important. Hey, you know something? Hagar, I'd love to see you and Gwen together. Couldn't I just watch and let you two have your fun?"

For a long moment, Hagar was silent. Then, "Oh, what the hell, why not? Everything else in this wild place is new to me, so I might as well try that too. A bathroom with mirrors. That sure sounds exciting. And an audience, yet. Belinda, I feel as if I had just been born. Yes, dear, I'll be glad to accept your kind invitation. Say when."

"Whenever the mood strikes you."

"The mood has struck, honey. I'm ready right now. Shall I go fetch Gwen?"

"Wonderful. You know where the mirror room is? Good. I'll be waiting for you there."

They rose from the table, maintaining a leisurely attitude but both aware of their mutual anticipation. Belinda waved good-bye and immediately went to the mirror room. Once inside, she undressed rapidly so that she could heighten her mood by viewing the naked images on the walls. Such pretty images. Pretty Belinda and all those beautiful reflections. Too bad Hagar was so plain-looking, but it didn't much matter, really. All these marvelous mirrors could make anybody look gorgeous.

In the bathroom, Belinda spread a towel over the edge of the tub and sat down to wait. From this vantage point she could see the toilet and all its reflections quite nicely. She only hoped that her presence wouldn't embarrass Hagar and keep her from relaxing. After all, it wasn't every day that a woman was called upon to piss and shit into a slave's mouth in the presence of a witness. So it was only right that she should make herself as inconspicuous as possible.

"Belinda? Where are you?"

"Is that you, Hagar? Is the slave with you?"

"Uh-huh. I fixed the sign on the door. Okay?"

"Fine. Get undressed out there, please, and then come on in here to the bathroom. The place is yours. Just forget I'm even here, huh?"

"Thanks. You do think of everything."

Belinda waited a few moments as she heard the rustle of garments. Then Hagar entered, utterly naked. She glanced at Belinda once and smiled; a smile of complicity then she sat down upon the toilet seat and spread her legs.

"Gwen."

"Yes, mistress?"

"I'm ready."

That was all it took. The nude slave came crawling in on her hands and knees. In front of the toilet, she crouched low and kissed Hagar's feet. Hagar wiggled her toes, making a little imperative motion under the girl's chin. Gwen lifted her head, an imploring expression on her face. She started to glide between the parted thighs.

Then, abruptly, "Stop a minute, Gwen." Hagar glanced over toward the tub. "Belinda, as long as you're here, we might as well acknowledge it. I see what you meant about the mirrors. No, you just can't hide in this place."

"Do you like it?" Belinda said.

"It's terrific, honey. But you've been kind enough to let me use it, so I won't have you feeling like an outsider. Please relax. I've lost all of my embarrassment. And I do mean all." Hagar pushed the slave's head away suddenly. "Gwen, that's my good friend sitting over there, so you must welcome her as your mistress too. Her name is Mistress Belinda. Go kiss her feet and ask her if she'd like to watch."

"Yes, mistress." Gwen raced to obey, sliding across the tiled white floor and offering the required kiss. "My darling mistress makes you welcome, Mistress Belinda. Would you like to watch?"

Belinda nodded, almost too aroused to speak. But the moment was too precious and she simply had to prolong it. Why not play Hagar's delaying game?

"Would I like to watch? Watch what?"

"M-mistress ... oh...." The slave appeared puzzled.

"Tell her, Gwen." Hagar's loud voice reverberated among the mirrors. "What can you do that would make it interesting for my friend to watch? Tell her!"

The slave kissed Belinda's feet again. Then, murmuring between kisses, "I am a toilet slave, Miss Belinda. My mistress is going to use my mouth and I will-"

"Gwen!"

The girl swung around at the sharp interruption. "Yes, mistress? Did I do something wrong?"

"I'm sure you can do it better," Hagar said. "Speak clearly and plainly and use the right words. And raise your head so that you can show what a fine useful toilet your mouth makes."

"Oh. Of course, mistress. I'm sorry for being so stupid." Gwen lifted her eyes to Hagar's face.

"This is my useful mouth, mistress, my toilet-mouth. See how big I can make it?" The girl's lips stretched broadly. "There. That's the way I'll hold my mouth under my mistress' beautiful cunt. And if I've been a good slave and beg properly, my darling mistress will pee into my mouth and make me happy. I'll drink it, I'll swallow every drop. I'll taste every delicious mouthful and let it slip down my throat and make my belly nice and warm. And then I'll beg for more, I'll beg and beg and maybe my darling mistress will take pity on me and give me a little bit more. When that happens I'll be in heaven and I'll know my mistress loves me. And afterward I'll stay right there and lick my mistress' divine cunt clean and then maybe if I'm lucky she'll raise her beautiful ass up just a little and let me turn over and lay my head back and put my mouth under her ass and-"

"That's enough," Hagar said.

Belinda trembled ecstatically, loving the words that came from the slave's lips and loving the sight of all the reflected images on the walls. "Oh, let her say it, Hagar. Please. Won't you let her talk some more?"

"Well ... all right. Go ahead, Gwen."

"Yes, mistress. like this." The girl swung around and tilted her head back, craning her neck and peering up into Belinda's eyes. "My mouth will be big again. Stretched wide. like this. And I'll beg some more, I'll beg until my darling mistress takes pity on me again and I'll look up at her beautiful ass and I'll see the pretty ass-cheeks separate and then oh, it's so wonderful, I'll see the little hole open up and the wonderful, marvelous thrill of it, oh yes, the beautiful shit of my beautiful mistress will slip out of the hole and hang there and fall into the toilet of my mouth and I'll chew it and swallow it and feel my mistress' love...."

Belinda patted the flushed face. "Yes, slave, I'll be happy to watch. Now go do it."

"Here," Hagar said. "Come here, my pretty little toilet-slave. I need you. I need your toilet-mouth."

And as the slave scurried to do her mistress' bidding, Belinda stared and felt as if her eyes were popping out of her skull. Wherever she looked here, there, on every wall, there on the johnny seat the exciting scene was the same. The mouth so close to the cunt. The pleading words. The straining tension in the ripples of Hagar's belly. A similar tension in the twitching muscles of Gwen's neck. Only the mirrored combination turned the scene into a hundred scenes and made it exciting to the point of sheer incredibility. Belinda had no memory of ever having received such a jolt in the past. She wondered if she would collapse if the tableau went on to its expected conclusion. She might even faint and fall into the tub.

But she was doomed to blissful ignorance. The tableau didn't go that far. She saw Hagar's urine flow into the slave's open mouth, she saw it swallowed, she heard the whimpering voice plead for more, she saw it given and at last she saw the tiny pink tongue perform its cleaning task. But that was all. Hagar stood up and there was no more begging.

Belinda felt a twinge of disappointment. She had wanted to see it to the end. Damn, she was hot! She might even have come right then and there if she had seen it, if she had seen Hagar's shit tumbling from her ass right into-

"Come on, Belinda, a session like that always leaves me limp. Let's lie down on the bed. Gwen, you stay here and be ready in case one of us needs you. Just wait there on your knees and lick your lips and think of your mistress. When the bathroom door opens I want your mouth to be ready."

"Yes, mistress. It's ready."

Hagar took Belinda's arm and closed the door in back of them. "Gwen is always ready, it seems. Care to try her? Peeing in a girl's mouth can be fun, you know."

"I-I don't doubt it. Maybe I'll see for myself sometime but not right now, thanks. Hagar, uh, if you really want to be nice to me...."

"Oh? You're steamed up?"

"Hot to trot and I don't mean with a slave girl."

"Darling! We're going to be the best of friends, you and I can't you just feel it? Belinda, just park that pretty body here on the bed and look at all the lovely mirrors and have yourself a time. I'm going to suck your hot cunt until you holler for mercy."

It was stupendous. Belinda came close to a swoon. The images on the walls whirled dizzily. But at the last minute she had to reach out and grab, she just had to suck her new friend's cunt, she had to give as well as receive. And somehow she didn't really mind that the taste was different. She knew that it had been licked clean, but how could a cunt be swabbed clean by a mouth that had already been used as a toilet? No, there were still a few drops left. And that too, somehow, added an extra fillip of excitement.

CHAPTER TWELVE

It had become a ritual, practically, and once again Muriel relaxed in the easy chair while the beautiful blonde slave Wilma fussed over her bare feet. But the performance had a special purpose this time; Dorian was due to come in at any moment and the display was being staged for her benefit. Let the kid see the lovely slave in action, Muriel figured, and there might be less objection to shelling out the money for the expensive purchase price. Valeska, after much persuasion, appeared willing to sell Wilma, but her price was well-nigh astronomical and would necessitate a cutting-down on their living expenses at home. Either that or some imagine wheedling to squeeze an extra check out of Hubert Abbott. In any case, nothing could be done without Dorian's approval and cooperation and so the time had come to impress the youngster and make her fully aware of the joys of owning a slave on a permanent basis.

Not that she seemed to need much impressing. Dorian's dark eyes glowed excitedly as she entered the bedroom and surveyed the intimate scene of the naked slave crouching at the feet of the naked mistress. Behind her, following dutifully on the customary leash, old Nell came in and immediately sank to her knees to await orders.

Muriel flicked her whip. "Wilma, go and greet your Mistress Dorian. Present yourself to her."

The pretty slave girl scampered to kiss Dorian's feet and utter the prescribed words of welcome. "I'm at your service, mistress; is there anything I can do for you?"

Dorian smiled and patted her head. "We'll see." She glanced at Muriel and then gestured toward the bed. "Remember that time out on the terrace? How about it? We've got two slaves to help us, just like you said. Let's have some fun, huh?"

"Darling, I'd love to." Muriel had all but forgotten the bizarre entanglement on the terrace at home, but she stood up and took Dorian's hand. "Fun, hmm? Let's do it."

No sooner said than done. In a matter of minutes she had her little charge's clothing off and they were writhing on the bed. Two sharp commands were issued and they became a happy foursome. Mouths to cunts, Muriel and Dorian sucked each other while the slaves tongued their asses. And for a little while everything became blurred in a delirium of delight.

But not for long. As soon as the first edge of passion had worn off, Muriel got her mind back into focus again. "Dorrie, you should try Wilma for a change. She's really very good. And quite beautiful, you must admit."

"Uh-huh. Let me catch my breath. Hey, that was really something. I feel wrung out."

"You liked it."

"I'll say."

"Then you're glad we came here for our vacation instead of going to the beachhouse?"

"Well...." Dorian shrugged. "Yeah, I guess so. Anyway, it's sure different. I still think about my friends at the beach now and then, but when Nell gets her tongue up my ass-hole they don't seem very important any more know what I mean?"

"Forget your friends, honey. And forget Nell too let Wilma show you how good she is. Do it now, won't you?"

"Okay. But I'm still kind of tired."

"You won't be for long. You'll see. Wilma is absolutely marvelous. And obedient too in fact I've never seen such a well-trained slave."

"Oh? Muriel, if Wilma is so obedient what the hell do you need that whip for?"

"For my own pleasure, darling. And as a symbol of authority, you might say. Besides, a touch of the whip is good for any slave. Care to use it?"

"Thanks, no. But I will use Wilma."

"Fine." Muriel rose from the bed and returned to her easy chair. "Nell, come here to me. And you, Wilma, see if you can't make Mistress Dorian feel good. I've been bragging about what an excellent cuntlapper and asslicker you are, so you'd better not let me down." She cracked the whip and both slaves were spurred to sudden action.

Dorian giggled. Muriel hauled Nell down between her legs but kept her gaze riveted on the bed. The giggling soon stopped and was replaced by soft sighs.

"How is she, Dorrie?"

"Great."

"If you get energetic enough to move, you ought to try sitting up on her face."

"Huh?"

"Sit on her face and rock back and forth. It's such a beautiful face. You can smear your cunt and your ass right down on top of it believe me, it's a thrill. It gets so damp and slippery. Much better than suntan oil."

The suggestion proved worthwhile, reviving Dorian's depleted energies; Muriel nodded in approbation as the activity on the bed began to grow fast and furious.

"Hey, this is terrific!"

"I told you so, Dorrie. But don't let her slow down with that tongue of hers. If you think she's getting lazy just reach down and pinch her cunt." Muriel stirred languorously as her flesh responded to Nell's mouth. "This ugly old bitch is pretty good too, but not my type. I like them young and beautiful."

"Me too, frankly. Ooh! Goddam! Terrific! She gets me hotter than Nell ever did."

"But of course, darling. The young ones are the best. Tell you what after this I think you ought to get rid of Nell and share Wilma with me."

"Get rid of Nell? Yeah, I guess you're right. I've learned a lot from the old bag, but it's time I started playing around with the young ones. Wilma is great. I didn't realize how much I was missing. But can Wilma take care of both of us? Shouldn't we get another slave too?"

"Perhaps. But I do want you to get to know Wilma. There's a reason. I'd rather not talk about it now, though, so we'll save it for later. But she's good, isn't she? Can you feel her tongue when you glide your cunt over it?"

"Damn right I can. And in my ass too hey, that's really something! How can she breathe?"

"She'll manage. Why worry? See how nice it is to have complete possession of a slave? Breathing isn't important to Wilma. Her mission is to give you pleasure."

"Yeah ... ooh...."

The squishy noises and the expression on Dorian's face told Muriel all she needed to know. Now she could concentrate on her own enjoyment for a while. Too bad the old slave down there sucking her cunt was so fat and ugly. Still, the sight of that big chubby ass was interesting. And since this would be her only time with Nell, why not take advantage of it?

Muriel came out of her languor and gripped the whip. She swung harshly, reveling in the way it slashed across the white skin. Nell moaned and increased the tempo of her lingual caresses, wiggling her face from side to side and getting in deeper. Muriel had the sensation of her cunt being wedged open; it stimulated her and she went wild with the whip. The slave's plump ass turned fiery red under the blows.

After a while, Muriel looked over at the bed to see Dorian staring at her queerly but with heaving emotion. And a heaving body too, jouncing up and down on Wilma's face. Muriel chuckled in satisfaction and went on whipping.

* * *

Damn! Back in the kitchen again. Nell felt a pang of resentment as she surveyed the busy scene. She had hated to leave the little mistress, although she had begun to feel just a bit weary of acting like a teacher to her. Or of leading her on, rather, since that was how it had worked out. No, it was more exciting to be a real slave and not have to lead an inexperienced mistress on. Except that she did hate getting stuck in the kitchen like this. It sure wasn't much fun to be ignored by everybody.

Those cooks were so stupid, leaving her alone all the time just because she wasn't pretty. They picked on the young ones only. Oh, if only she could make them understand just how much she needed some attention. But no, she had to keep her mouth shut and suffer in silent isolation. And meanwhile everybody else was having fun.

Some of the slaves didn't think it was fun, though. They were afraid of the cooks, apparently, and couldn't think of them as mistresses to be pleased. Obeyed, yes, but not pleased and that upset Nell even more. Damn them! She was a better slave than all of them put together. That dark-haired Audrey, for instance she looked mighty grim and frightened being led over into the refrigerator corner by Miss Catherine. The stupid slave didn't know what was good for her.

Nell couldn't resist the temptation to peek. Under the pretense of carrying on with her work, she managed to move in that direction unobtrusively. Until she was within range to see and hear the performance.

"What's the matter?" the cook was saying. "Don't you like the way my cunt tastes?"

"Please ... ugh...."

Nell saw Audrey turn her face away in disgust, and the reason was only too obvious. Of all the kitchen staff, Miss Catherine was the least sanitary in her daily habits. She bathed regularly, no doubt, but no more than necessary and despite her wiry stature, she sweated profusely and gave off a gamy odor as the day wore on. At the moment she must have reeked pretty strongly, so it was scarcely any wonder that poor Audrey was having trouble.

Poor Audrey? Nell winced at the thought. She would have given anything to take Audrey's place and kneel in front of that smelly cunt and worship it. Worship it with her nose and her mouth and her tongue and her body and soul! If only Miss Catherine would understand and-

"So you don't like it, eh? All right ... Miss Catherine whirled around, still holding her skirts high. "Here then, if my cunt doesn't please your highness, taste my ass."

"Oh...."

"Stop sniveling, you little bitch, or I'll give you something to snivel about. Now kiss my ass. Get your tongue right up into my ass-hole and-"

A door slammed at the other side of the kitchen and Nell had to tear herself away from the exciting scene. She looked busy and went unnoticed, but her thighs felt warm and moist and sticky and she kept licking her lips and thinking about Miss Catherine's cunt and ass and berating herself for being too old and unattractive to gain attention here in this place where the cooks were too foolish to recognize a real slave when they had one. Wouldn't they ever give her a chance?

It came an hour later. The chance. The big chance even though it started out purely by coincidence. Miss Catherine had gone to the toilet and then poked her head out the door, spying Nell nearby and barking her displeasure.

"Hey you! I just took a leak and there's no goddam paper in here. Go bring me a couple of rolls from the storeroom."

"Right away, Miss Catherine."

So it was just a coincidence, really, that she had been passing by at the moment, but Nell scurried off on her errand with hope in her heart. At last someone had taken notice of her presence. Now if she could only manage to make some kind of impression!

The toilet door was slightly ajar when she returned, but she didn't dare enter without permission. She tapped lightly and heard Miss Catherine's irritated voice.

"It's open. What the hell are you waiting for? Bring me that goddam toilet paper."

Nell entered nervously, pushing the door shut behind her on a daring impulse. The two rolls of paper dropped from under her arm; she stooped to pick them up and then remained there kneeling on the floor. Miss Catherine was lolling on the seat with her thin legs spread wide.

"Clumsy bitch!"

"Please forgive me, Miss Catherine."

"Okay, okay. Bring it here."

Nell scuffled along on the floor, struggling to hang on to the rolls of paper but determined to stay in a humble crouch and show the impatient cook what a willing slave she was. Miss Catherine's scowl turned to an expression of puzzlement as Nell looked up at her coyly.

"Service, huh, slave?"

"The best of service for you, Miss Catherine. I'm sorry I took so long." Nell spoke in pleading tones. "Is there anything I can do to make up for my clumsiness?"

"Huh? What do you mean?"

Nell lowered her gaze. The dark bush of hair was directly in front of her; the stale odor reached her nose and made it tingle. She licked her lips. Then, gathering courage, she inched forward until she was sure that her expulsion of breath could be felt by the secret flesh beneath the hair. "M-miss Catherine? I I could help you, couldn't I?"

"Help me? like you want to wipe my cunt for me?"

"Oh. Uh, not just wipe it, Miss Catherine. I could clean it. I could clean you with my tongue."

"Well, I'll be damned!"

"Won't you let me? Please? I do it for all the mistresses; won't you let me do it for you? I'm very good, really I am. I'll lick your beautiful cunt clean and you won't have to use any of this scratchy paper. I'll do the very best-"

"Yeah, do it! Do it, you slave bitch, get your tongue inside my twat and swab me good!"

Nell plunged eagerly. But once she made contact, the job of cleaning became only a pretense. She sucked Miss Catherine's cunt, she nibbled on the clitoris, she lapped greedily at the moist flesh, nuzzling into the thatch of hair and burying her face between the quivering cunt-lips.

After a while Miss Catherine loosed a long sigh. "Now that's the kind of slave I like. You're okay. You'll do this again for me, huh? Damn right you will. Next time I've got to take a leak I'll call you."

Nell glanced upward adoringly. "Any time, Miss Catherine. I'm always happy to serve you."

Then she closed her eyes and burrowed deep and found joy and excitement in the fact that she had finally broken the barrier and reached someone who would make her stay in the kitchen less onerous.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

They were on the way to the mirror room again and this time Hagar had an ulterior motive, a motive that went beyond their immediate pleasure. Only she wasn't having much success with it, now that she had broached the subject.

"I don't see why, Belinda." Hagar glanced back over her shoulder and let the leash out to full length so that Gwen could trail along out of earshot. The red-haired slave obeyed her gesture immediately. "We've become good friends, haven't we?" Hagar's sidelong scrutiny tried to fathom the expression on her blonde companion's face. "Do you think it's right to let our friendship just fade away?"

"But but we'll see each other again, Hagar. Right here at the Farm."

"Darling, you just don't understand. Of course we'll see each other here. But wouldn't it be nice to get together once in a while next winter? Just to talk over old times? Even if your husband is the jealous type-"

"Silly. My husband isn't jealous. But I'd rather he didn't know, that's all. Anyway, let's not discuss it now." Belinda's eyes sparkled as they approached the door. "I've got something else on my mind. Guess what."

Hagar shrugged as they entered. She unfastened Gwen's collar and motioned for her to undress. Again, almost instinctively, the slave obeyed and then hurried to the aid of her mistresses. Just watching the busy girl was enough to make Hagar envious and a bit resentful too she had talked to Valeska and found her adamant; Gwen just wasn't for sale.

Oh yes, such a slave was to be coveted, but Hagar refused to let herself stew about it. Especially since her charming new colleague was so provocatively beautiful. Beautiful but dumb. The "faithful" type, squeamish about cheating on her husband. Hah! Belinda Woodruff came to Black Widow Farm every summer and got her pussy eaten by just about every slave in the place. Only that wasn't cheating! Hah! A self-deluded wife, if ever there was one. Was she afraid of a little hometown clandestine indiscretion?

Naked at last, Hagar held out her arms and gathered Belinda into her embrace. "Look at us. Don't we look nice together? Hmm, I see what you mean about the mirrors."

"Oooh...."

"You're so beautiful, darling."

"We're both beautiful." Belinda trembled, then shook her head and pulled away. "I feel so sexy. But let's not put on a show for the slave."

"Uh-huh. You're right." Hagar swung her head. "Gwen, you wait here." She tugged Belinda's arm.

"But but where are we-"

"Hush, dear. I want to be alone with you. In there. I like those mirrors best. We can shut the door and see ourselves and make love. Anyway, you know how I feel about the bathroom. It's exciting to me."

Belinda's protestations died. In the bathroom they embraced madly, mouth upon mouth, tongue intertwining with tongue, fingers traveling over breasts and buttocks. Hagar moved her legs apart as she felt a hand probe intimately. She broke the kiss to murmur her pleasure.

"That feels so good, darling. It drives me wild when you touch my cunt like that. You have no idea. I still remember how you kissed it."

"Ummm ... I do too."

"Look. Look in the mirror. Belinda, you're beautiful. Touch my tongue with yours. like this. Mmmmmm. Oh, I love your tongue, darling it's so wet and warm. And pink see how it looks in the mirror? So pink and pretty."

"Mmra...."

"Keep it out, darling. So that we can see it. And so that you can make love to me. Would you like that?" Hagar pressed down on Belinda's shoulders. "Oh, that tongue, that pretty pink tongue; I can't wait, I simply can't wait for it any longer."

"Hmmm?"

"My cunt. My cunt is so hot for you. Go down on me. Yes. like that. My cunt is on fire; oh, darling, I'm getting dizzy."

"Hey, where are you-"

"Hush. I just can't stand up." With a calculated lurch, Hagar settled upon the toilet seat. "There. Isn't this better? Do it, darling, suck my cunt and cool it off for me. You can do it with your eyes open, I'm sure you can. See how beautiful you look in the mirror."

"Yes ... ummm...."

"Darling, darling Belinda. Suck. Oh, I just had a marvelous idea. When I get home the first thing I'm going to do is have my bathroom done over. Just like this one. Lined with mirrors. Then even if we never meet again I'll always be reminded of you every time I sit down to-" Hagar's body jerked. "Oh, I get so hot just thinking about it. I've got to, darling, I've just got to pee right here and now. Hold still and I'll-"

Ummmm?"

"Hold still! You must. Belinda, look at yourself in the mirror your mouth, your pretty mouth oh, darling, you know you want me to do it."

"Oh! Don't make me-"

"Ah ... now ... yessss...."

It was a lovely sensation. And a lovely sight. And a lovely way to cement a friendship. Hagar contorted and strained and pissed into the wide-open mouth and knew that she had found a potential slave and didn't have to feel envious about Gwen any more. The way Belinda was gulping it right down, well, this was the kind of woman who would do anything. Anything and everything as long as there were mirrors surrounding her. The kind of woman who could be made into a perfect slave. A toilet slave.

No a mirrored-toilet slave!

When the leeching lips thirsted for the last drop, Belinda shuddered in obvious orgasm and Hagar realized that her conquest had indeed been consummated. But she was aware that there might be some moments of embarrassment now and she stood up and glided out of the bathroom to leave Belinda alone and give her time to compose herself. And wash her face and rinse her mouth out, no doubt, since it was her initial venture at this sort of thing. After all, Belinda wasn't a slave yet; she would probably feel ashamed of what she had done and want to clean herself up.

Hagar shut the door to allow her friend complete privacy. And as for her own cleaning, well, there was little Gwen. On her knees beside the bed waiting. Waiting to be of service. Why not use her for that specific purpose? The poor kid would be disappointed at not getting the real thing, of course, but at least this was better than nothing.

"Gwen."

"Yes, mistress?"

"Clean me."

"Oh...."

"Don't worry, I'll have more later. I might even feel like taking a shit. Would you like that?"

"Mistress ... oh ... yes...."

"Good. Now get to work. Lick my cunt clean."

"Ummm...."

Hagar chuckled. A nice idea, this business of having two slaves instead of one. A slave to drink her piss or eat her shit and another slave to clean her up afterward. Hmm, wouldn't it be fun to get that other girl sometime, the one she had turned down in favor of Gwen? Prudence that was her name. Why not use the both of them? Not here in the mirror room, naturally, since that was Belinda's kick; no, it would be better to go elsewhere and keep it down to a cozy threesome.

An outdoor affair, perhaps? A picnic?

Hagar grinned. "How are you doing, Gwen? Don't you have me all tidied up by now?"

"Ummmm ... almost, mistress. But I can still taste a little peepee yet. It's so delicious."

"You rascal. You deserve a reward for being such a good slave. I'm going to take you on a picnic one of these days. A picnic in the woods."

"M-Mistress? A picnic?"

"Uh-huh. Just you and me. But we really ought to have someone along just to help out. Another slave. Tell me, dear, do you think Prudence would be right for us?"

"Oooh yes, mistress, Prudence would love it. She and I trained together, you know, so we're friends. Only you might get to like her more than you do me." Gwen sniffed petulantly. "Her toilet-mouth is bigger than mine."

"Never fear, you sweet thing. The best is for you and Prudence will get the leavings. She'll just do what you're doing now, she'll clean my cunt. Or my ass, rather, since it wouldn't be a picnic unless you got plenty to eat."

"Oh ... Mistress! I love you."

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Lounging on the bed, Dorian appeared completely relaxed and at ease, naked, smoking a cigarette and watching the scene unfold before her eyes. But her placid demeanor was deceiving, and she was conscious of the turmoil inside her. She just couldn't quite understand this need of Muriel's, this constant desire to inflict pain, and it was becoming more and more noticeable lately. Muriel had a collection of whips now, and poor Wilma had felt every one of them within the past few days.

Dorian watched with mixed emotions. Seeing the slave suffer hardly appealed to her, and yet she had to recognize a certain excitement in it. Especially since the lovely honey-blonde Wilma made such a delicately exquisite victim. Kneeling on the floor with her hands gracefully posed above her head, the girl's nude body was utterly vulnerable to Muriel's attack and breathtakingly beautiful in its submission.

Muriel was dressed and ready to go out; she was scheduled for a conference with Valeska Winthrop about the purchase of the slave. Before leaving, though and practically on the spur of the moment she had decided to give the slave a whipping. For no reason at all, seemingly, and that puzzled Dorian. She could understand the necessity for punishing a disobedient slave, but Wilma hadn't misbehaved in any way and pain for the sake of pain just didn't make sense.

It was exciting, nevertheless. Muriel kept stopping to caress the slave every so often, playing with her breasts and making the little pink nipples stand erect. Now and then she stroked the insides of Wilma's thighs, running her fingers up to penetrate the flaxen thatch and invade the soft flesh beneath it. But the caresses were scarcely more than cursory, rather like a small respite between spasms of the whip. Teasing the slave was apparently a thrill for Muriel; she kept alternating between pain and pleasure, eliciting rapturous tremors at one moment and agonized tears in the next.

Until Dorian could stand it no longer. "Muriel, hasn't she had enough? The poor kid is about to faint."

"I'm warming her up for you, darling. You'll see. She'll really be hot when I'm finished."

"She always is. Wilma doesn't need a beating; I've got no complaints about the way she takes care of me."

"I know, dear, but it's better like this." Once again Muriel bent and thrust her finger into Wilma's crotch. "Her cunt is nice and wet; she's all worked up. Besides, a slave should be whipped regularly and often or else she'll begin to think that her mistress doesn't love her."

"WeD...."

"You really ought to try it yourself, Dorrie. Believe me, it's very satisfying."

"Maybe. But I get all the satisfaction I need without that sort of thing. Wilma's mouth is enough for me. As a matter-of-fact, I'm ready for it right now. And aren't you going to be late for your date with Valeska?"

"Valeska...." Muriel's eyes glistened as if the name had some secret significance. "You're right, darling, I had almost forgotten. I'd better get over there in a hurry. But first I'll make sure that our cuntlapping slave doesn't disappoint you after I leave. I want her to be good and hot for you."

Muriel made sure. The whip lashed out again and again. Big tears formed under the slave's half-lidded eyes and rolled down her flushed cheeks. She moaned and bit her lips in an evident effort to keep from shrieking. Until, abruptly, Muriel administered one final cruel stroke and tossed the whip aside. And as if she was having trouble tearing herself away, her facial expression turned grimly resolute and she marched out the door with only a perfunctory farewell wave in Dorian's direction.

Still kneeling on the carpeted floor, thighs apart, arms in the air, the thoroughly chastised slave made no motion to wipe away the tears that streamed down her cheeks.

"Come here, Wilma." Dorian stubbed out her cigarette and spread her legs. "Come up on the bed."

"Y-yes, mistress."

"Suck my cunt."

"Oh ... yes, mistress."

The slave was hot, sure enough, and Dorian reveled in the sensation of the tear-drenched face burrowing into her flesh. Maybe there was something to be said for a whipping, after all; the girl was certainly passionate. But Dorian was too curious to he there and let herself be loved; she still couldn't quite grasp all the facets of this pleasure-pain thing.

"Wilma...."

"Umm ... mistress?"

"Stop a minute. Tell me something. Is it true what Mistress Muriel said about your need to be beaten? Would you love me more if I whipped you?"

"I I don't think so, mistress. I couldn't love you more than I already do. But if you did want to whip me, I really wouldn't mind. Because I love you so much."

"But you love Mistress Muriel too, don't you?"

"N-no, mistress. Not the same way. Please don't tell her; it would only make her angry with me. But I love you the most. I love you more than any mistress I've ever had."

"You do? Why?"

"Because you're so young and beautiful. Because you're so nice to me. I I just love you."

"Oh."

"M-mistress."

"Yes, dear?"

"I I wish I could be your slave forever." Then, in a piteous tone, "Oh, I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry."

"It's all right, Wilma. And maybe I can arrange it so that you'll have your wish."

"Mistress? Really?"

"Uh-huh. It's quite possible. But it's too early to tell yet-and besides, we've talked enough. I've found out what I wanted to know. Now show me how much you love me, my sweet slave girl. Give me your mouth."

"Oh, I love you, mistress. Your cunt is so beautiful; I could suck it all night and never get tired. I love your cunt so much."

"Do you? How nice."

"Mmmmmm...."

"And my ass. Do you love that too?"

"You know I do. Shall I ... uh...."

"Yes, dear. If you'd like. Just let me roll-"

"Mistress?"

"Hmm? Don't you want to?"

"Oh, I do, I do. But but couldn't I have both? You know like that other time? Please, mistress, won't you sit on my face so that I can have both your cunt and your ass? I like that so much. It makes me feel as if I'm smothering. As if you're smothering me with your love."

"You darling. I do love you. When you say things like that, I can really understand what you mean about wanting to be my slave forever. Yes, dear, I'll sit on your face and give you my cunt and my ass-hole. I'll smother you with my love. Now and forever. Because you're mine, Wilma, you're really and truly mine and I'll never let you go."

"Mistress. So beautiful. Ah!"

* * *

The madness was all around her, and Jolene could only wonder how much of it was in herself. But hers was different, of course, and she couldn't truly attribute it to the wild activities of Black Widow Farm. Her madness was for Tessa.

Tessa ... no one else ... only Tessa.

So it was a madness born of love, a madness of joy and beauty, a sweet madness. It had nothing to do with the cruel treatment of slaves. That sort of thing was for the guests, not for the hired help. And certainly not for the member of the honorable profession of nursing.

That was the way it should have been, anyway. Jolene tossed and turned in her lonely bed and bemoaned her loneliness. The night was cool, but her frilly baby-doll pajamas were uncomfortably damp with the sweat of her nervous impatience. She had bathed and perfumed herself in anticipation of lovemaking, but hours had elapsed since then and she was still alone. From a distance she could hear squeals and shouts and sounds of revelry; there was a party going on somewhere, a drunken party, and her lover was undoubtedly involved in it. Upholding the honor of the nursing profession meant little to Tessa. And it seemed to be meaning less and less with each passing day. Tessa had embraced the madness of Black Widow Farm.

Jolene shuddered. The seductive pajamas that she had put on to await Tessa's return felt soiled and wrinkled. She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, debating whether to go and bathe again. But there was a new noise at the outer door of the infirmary; she heard it slam and knew that Tessa was back at last.

The big blonde entered their bedroom, huge and powerful and devastatingly beautiful. And very drunk, obviously. She wore only panties and bra the rest of her garments were wadded in a little bundle that she tossed carelessly into a corner of the room.

"Not asleep yet, Jolene?"

"No. I waited up for you."

"How nice."

"What took you so long? It must have been some party." Jolene grimaced wryly as she saw Tessa stagger. "I guess you got drunk, huh?"

"Yeah. Quite a party. But I'm not too drunk to take care of my sweet baby. I'm glad you're awake. I'm feeling horny."

"Oh?" Despite her own eagerness, Jolene couldn't resist venting her impatience in a sarcastic tone. "What's the matter, didn't you get enough from the slaves?"

Tessa shrugged. "The slaves were okay, but I still left the party thinking of you."

"Well, that's some consolation, anyway. Want to take a bath and come to bed?"

"Nope. I just want you to suck my horny cunt." Tessa was already shedding her bra and panties. "Why so gloomy? You don't look very anxious. Okay, I know how to fix that." Naked now, Tessa moved close, lurching a little as she reached to lift Jolene's face for her kiss. "Gimme that rosebud mouth."

The kiss came, hot and wet and alcoholic; Jolene couldn't suppress her tremor of distaste. She loved Tessa but not like this. Even with the big slippery tongue probing her mouth and making her passion rise, she felt a twinge of revulsion. Was she expected to make love to Tessa's cunt after it had been sucked by a bunch of slaves?

"Tessa ... please don't...."

"Huh?"

"You smell like a distillery. You're drunk. Won't you even brush your teeth before you kiss me? You're slobbering all over me and I just don't like it."

"Slobbering?"

"Well. .."

"Listen, you little bitch, don't you dare talk to me like that. Slobbering hah! You sound like a nagging wife."

"I I'm sorry. But won't you please go and-"

"Bullshit! I'm drunk, sure, but I'm not too drunk to see that you're getting out of line. And baby mine, I'm not too drunk to pound some sense into you."

"Tessa? P-pound some-"

"You know what happens to nagging wives? I'll tell you. A nagging wife gets her ass spanked. And that's exactly what I'm going to do to you."

"You you're going to spank me? Oh, you can't mean that. Tessa, you must be kidding."

"Kidding, am I? You'll see...." Tessa parked her giant body on the edge of the bed. Her hand shot out to grasp and yank the nape of Jolene's neck.

Caught off balance by the sudden furious gesture, Jolene had no strength against the merciless fingers. She fell into position across Tessa's lap, struggling momentarily but then surrendering to the inevitable as the powerful woman held her captive. Belly down, she lay over the muscular thighs, her fingertips dangling to the floor on one side and her toes on the other. She felt awful. Except that the touch of Tessa's bare legs was getting her aroused. And anyway, maybe her lover was only teasing her. Maybe the spanking was just a threat that would evolve into a sexy embrace before it could be carried out. Maybe it would be a caress and not a-

"Jolene, do you know what I'm going to do to you?"

"I I'm not sure."

The baby-doll top was tucked up high. "You're really not sure, Jolene? I'll give you one guess."

"Please ... darling ... I."

"I said guess."

"You you...." It was so terribly shameful to say it. But she felt the cool air on her bottom through the baby-doll panties and she knew it was actually going to happen. Or at least the beginning of it. "You're going to spank me?"

"Exactly. And do you know why?"

"N-no...."

'Wo?"

"Well ... uh...." Jolene's head reeled as she sniffed Tessa's ever-present spicy perfume. "I guess it's because I acted like a nagging wife."

"Correct. You criticized me for slobbering, you silly little bitch, and I just won't have it."

"But but I really didn't mean-"

The apologetic words never got out. Jolene bit her lips as the huge palm whacked down. She yelped and as the strangled noise faded to a breathy whimper, the enormous hand smacked her buttocks again.

"Go ahead and cry, baby. Cry all you want to. But next time you'll know better than to defy me. I'm going to wallop your ass good. So cry, Jolene, but you'll still take what's coming to you."

The inevitable happened. Jolene took it. And she had never felt quite so degraded. The flailing palm hurt like blazes, but the pain of it was far less than the shame. The monstrous shame. The shame of being taken over a woman's lap and spanked like a little child. And the helplessness of knowing that nothing could be done to escape it. Could anything in the whole wide world be more humiliating?

Yes. One thing more. Humiliating. A sob burst from her lips when her panties were hauled down. Now the shame was beyond description, but the pain was worse too. Thin as the fabric was, the panties had been some protection. But there was only sensitive flesh now, uncovered and utterly vulnerable to the blows of that walloping hand. She got dizzy and thought she was going to faint.

Then, blessedly, the pounding palm stopped and it was over. Tessa's thighs spread and Jolene tumbled to the floor with tears streaming down her cheeks. She couldn't stem the flow and now she really felt like a chastised child.

"Look at me, Jolene. I spanked you because you deserved it isn't that so?"

"Y-yes. I deserved it."

"Good. Now I'm going to kiss you. I might slobber again, but if I hear another complaint from you...." The light in Tessa's eyes was frighteningly fierce.

"I I won't complain."

The kiss began. And with it came the slobber. Only it must have been intentional this time, there was so much of it, and Jolene tried to break away.

But she couldn't. The strong hands held her powerless; the crushing pressure at the sides of her jaw forced her mouth to remain open. And it was no longer a kiss, Jolene knew, it was another form of humiliation.

Her mouth filled with it. Spit. And there was nothing she could do but swallow the stuff. Spit. Swallow and gulp and drain her cup of degradation to the very dregs. She tried to close her eyes and make believe it wasn't happening. The madness again, the madness of Black Widow Farm, it was driving her lover to acts beyond endurance.

And yet it was happening and she could feel her own madness, her madness for Tessa and even now there was an excitement in her body and she wasn't putting up a fight anymore, no, the hands were gone from her face and were playing with her taut nipples, but she was still under the spell of Tessa's sensuous lips. On her knees, compliantly willingly? she was drinking the spit from Tessa's mouth.

The sweet spit. Yes, somehow sweet! And she knew she would never object to it again. She was ready to suck Tessa's cunt now, but there was no hurry. This was new and different, truly an exciting novelty. Her domineering lover was spitting into her mouth and she was swallowing it. As if the sweet spit had a sweet madness all its own.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

They strolled across the compound together, moving toward the outer fringe of thickly wooded area which surrounded the buildings but was still inside the palisade that marked the boundary beyond which no slave could ever venture. Plump, matronly Hagar was in the middle, holding a leash in each hand. Little red-haired Gwen walked on her right, a deferential pace behind, carrying a folded blanket under her arm. Prudence was on the other side, dark-haired, somewhat taller and slimmer and just a bit gangly, toting the heavily laden picnic basket. A threesome off for an outing in the woods.

"Now listen, you two," Hagar was saying. "I know slaves aren't usually allowed to be intimate with each other, but let's just forget that for today. Gwen, you did tell me that you and Prudence are friends, didn't you?"

"Yes, mistress. We were trained together. And we got along just fine."

"What about you, Prudence? Do you like Gwen? Do you think you can spend some time with us without getting jealous because she happens to be my favorite?"

"Of course, mistress. I like Gwen very much. And my mission is to please you and make you happy."

"Good. You'll get your chance."

They strolled. A mistress and two slaves apparently in agreement. But each was engrossed in her own thoughts, and the actual feeling of harmony was even greater than what showed on the surface.

Hagar quickened her steps as they left the main area and penetrated the foliage; the rising excitement was making her tense with anticipation. She had two slaves-two shit-slaves and she planned on using both of them. A sense of power had sprung up within her recently, the kind of power that was changing her into an entirely new person. She had conquered Belinda Woodruff. They would be seeing each other after the summer season came to its end. She had the phone number now and Belinda would never resist the temptation to come and see her bathroom newly decorated with mirrors.

But all that would take place at some future date, and right now it was a joy to be here at Black Widow Farm and get her money's worth. Wasn't it great to have a pair of pretty slaves so eager to do her bidding? Prudence wasn't as cute as Gwen, of course, the tall girl had a kind of awkwardness about her, almost a boyish quality. Had she been free and not a slave, Prudence would probably have become a butchy type, perhaps even an aggressive one. But that didn't bother Hagar; after all, it was Prudence's mouth that mattered, not her body or the way she carried herself. Humming under her breath, Hagar looked forward to a pleasant picnic.

And so did Prudence. What luck! At last she could be close to Gwen. Prudence could scarcely believe it. And she had waited so long for an opportunity like this. She was grateful to the mistress for arranging it. Yes, she would do all she could to make Mistress Hagar happy. She would be glad to drink her piss and eat her shit and demonstrate what a well-trained slave she was. But that wasn't important today. No, regardless of her conditioning, all she could think about was her love for Gwen. Prudence too hummed a little tune as they went deeper into the forest.

Gwen glanced at her and saw Prudence wink and blow a kiss. It was done quickly and covertly, but Gwen felt her heart leap inside her bosom at the implications of it. Yes, it was going to be wonderful to break the rules with permission! She was no longer envious because her friend's mouth could be stretched wider than her own. And anyway, the mistress had promised that Prudence would get only the leavings. Gwen felt like humming, but they were walking too fast now and she had to save her breath for the exertion.

"Hmm, this looks like a nice spot," Hagar said. "Unfold the blanket and let's open the basket."

The place was lovely, just a tiny clearing hidden among the trees. The silence was overwhelming. It was almost as if the birds had stopped warbling in the foliage. As if the gentle breeze had given up its incessant rustling of the leaves. As if the little woodland glade had suddenly become a den of privacy which no intruder might enter.

Hagar removed the leashes and collars. Then, as an afterthought, "It's really quite warm, isn't it? Let's be nudists today, shall we?"

The girls giggled merrily. They helped the mistress undress and then stripped off their own tunics and sandals hastily. And like three charming creatures communing with nature, the picnickers spread the sandwiches and soda pop on the blanket and sat around it to fill their tummies.

They were all hungry. But after a while, hunger became a secondary issue. Gwen and Prudence were soon satisfied; they spent their time picking out delicacies for Hagar and urging her to eat more and more. Until at last the mistress made a face and shook her head.

"I'll burst if I eat another bite. As a matter-of-fact, I'm just about to burst anyway."

Mistress?" Gwen's eyes were bright. "Is it time? I'm ready whenever you are."

"Yes, dear. It's time. Prudence, this picnic is in Gwen's honor, so I'm afraid you'll have to be left out for a while. You can gather up the plates and bottles though, and shake the crumbs from the blanket and fold it."

"Yes, mistress." Prudence seemed a trifle disappointed at being given only a menial task.

But Hagar's attention was already fixed on Gwen. At a peremptory gesture, the redheaded slave stretched out face-up on the mossy earth. She smiled yearningly and then opened her mouth wide.

Hagar feigned surprise. "Gwen dear, what are you doing with your mouth open? Good grief, a bee might come along and fly right into it."

"Not a bee, mistress." Gwen spoke jerkily, uttering disjunct phrases and parting her lips again between them. As if she had to offer an answer but was afraid she might miss something. "Not a bee. My mouth is open for something else."

"Oh? Tell me. What?"

"Whatever you care to give me, darling mistress. My mouth is your toilet."

"A toilet? Out here in the woods."

"Yes, mistress. Won't you ... please."

"I might. What would you like."

"Everything."

"Everything?" Hagar stepped over the upturned face. "But what does that mean?" Slowly, deliberately, she let her body double up and settle.

"I want it all, darling mistress. Won't you please pee in my mouth? Won't you shit in my mouth? Won't you let me be your toilet slave and drink your piss and eat your shit and make you happy?"

"And will it make you happy?"

"Oh ... mistress ... yes, yes, yes!"

Hagar strained. She peered down and saw the yawning mouth flooded with fluid from her body. She went on straining. Her position shifted slightly. She felt the shit ooze from her ass-hole; again she glanced down her aim may have been less than perfect, but the slave was quick to adjust. Gwen's lips closed upon the lump of shit and sucked it into her mouth as if it was a male penis. And then, for a little while, Hagar forgot everything but what she was doing. She just went on pissing and shitting and feeling as if every separate strain and release was a new orgasm.

Gwen gurgled and gulped.

Prudence stared wide-eyed.

And at long last Hagar stood upright and crooked her finger at Prudence. "Your turn now, slave. Come clean me. That's what I've been saving your mouth for. And your tongue. Do a good job on my cunt and my ass-hole."

Prudence scurried forward immediately, dropping to her knees and presenting her lips. She licked the cunt clean first and then crawled around in back to force her face between the buttocks and swab the hole spotless. It took her a long time. When she was through, Hagar moved away to lean against the trunk of a tree, quite depleted in every way. But she saw the girl's smeared face and went into a gale of laughter.

"Now you're both shitty, you darlings. Why don't you kiss each other? Yes, do that. Kiss each other. Right on the mouth. Kiss and taste your mistress' shit on your lips."

As if a starter's gun had barked to begin a race, Prudence dove for Gwen and pulled her into an embrace. She kissed her friend in seeming obedience, but she knew she was really doing it for herself. And as the response came, she knew that Gwen too was of a like mind. They were obeying the mistress, but this time their happiness stemmed from themselves.

And for the first time since her conditioning period, Prudence found herself in a state of ecstasy that went beyond any experience with a mistress. She loved Gwen. She wished that they could kiss each other with clean mouths. The taste of piss and shit just didn't fit into these romantic circumstances. But regardless of the taste, this was all-important and she licked the inside of Gwen's beautiful mouth and sucked her soft tongue and mashed her body close. Breast to breast, cunt to cunt, lips to lips and she had never known such paradise.

Leaning against the tree, Hagar came to life and began cackling at the strange sight. Those kids were actually dyking each other. Fucking, practically, except that neither of them had a cock to do it with. Only they seemed to be getting along very well without one.

Hagar stopped laughing and felt the surging sense of power again. It was her shit they were tasting. Licking each other's lips for more. No wonder they were so worked up. Even if the two had hated one another, the excitement between them would have been the same. The shit-slaves are still eating my shit! They love it! But they didn't hate each other, evidently, and that made it all the better. Such a lovely couple! Rubbing their hot cunts together. Shit-smeared mouth kissing shit-smeared mouth. Ah yes, such a charming sight!

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

When the news of Hubert Abbott's death came, Dorian had to wander off and be by herself for a while. A re-alignment of the jumbled facts and fantasies in her mind seemed expedient, if not absolutely necessary. First of all, Uncle Hubert was dead. The plane had crashed and burned in the Alps, leaving only a pile of ashes and charred wreckage to denote the passing of the last of her kin. Nor was she expected to fly to Europe and attend services, thank heaven; as a devout atheist, Uncle Hubert had insisted there be none. So her conscience was clear on that score, at least, and she wouldn't have to be a hypocrite and traipse halfway across the world and pay phony respects to a dead relative who had been pretty much a live stranger. How could she grieve when she felt no grief?

Not that she was happy about it. After so many years of trying to grow up in a hurry, she was almost afraid to face her new status. The death of Hubert Abbott had promoted his niece from childhood to adulthood. Just like that. She had responsibilities now. Her parents' estate was still being held in trust, but all of Uncle Hubert's money was now legally hers. She had always thought of herself as an heiress, of course, but she hadn't quite figured on the eventuality coming so soon in her young life.

Anyway, she had to face the issue and thrash it out and decide what to do.

And it wasn't easy. It wasn't even easy to be alone and think in this crazy place. There was always something weird going on, shouts and screams all interesting, no doubt, but certainly distracting. She yearned for the comparative peace and quiet of her own room in her own home.

Peace and quiet. . .

When the news of Hubert Abbott's death arrived, Muriel Kern took it differently. She was stunned, true, but now she had a problem of her own to cope with. Her employer was dead and the tragic fact was that the tragedy had come too soon. Entirely too soon. She had made great progress with Dorian even the deal to buy the slave had been subscribed to on all sides but as yet ; he hadn't made her own future secure. Her hold over Dorian was far from complete and she had expected another few years in which to finish her underhanded maneuver and get in solid with the kid. Fate had taken a hand and now time was running out on her.

Muriel was nervous. Luckily, she had a means of calming her nerves; wielding a whip usually had that effect. Given a choice, she might have gone to visit Valeska for a taste of that delicious whip, but the moment was hardly propitious and she had to seek solace right then and there. Cracking a whip over Wilma's ass would give her what she needed.

Calm nerves. Solace ...

It was going on when Dorian returned from her search for peace and quiet. Muriel had the biggest whip out and was laying it across the poor slave's backside. Dorian tried to watch without interfering but could tolerate it no longer.

"Muriel, do you have to do that now."

"Yes, honey, I have to. Besides, it's good for Wilma. How else will she understand that."

"Stop it!"

"Huh? Dorrie, what's the matter with you? I know you're upset about your uncle, but-"

"Just cut it out, that's all."

"Okay, okay. But that's no way to talk to your governess, is it, honey? Take it easy. Relax."

"Governess that's a lot of shit. I don't need a governess any more. You're fired."

Muriel dropped the whip. "Dorrie, you don't mean it. You're just saying it because you're so upset. I love you. Don't you love me?"

For a long moment, Dorian stood speechless. Then, in a musing tone, "Do you love me?"

"I do, darling. Very much."

"And do you want me to love you?"

Muriel caught the girl in an embrace. "But you do love me, don't you, darling?" The young body remained coolly rigid and Muriel sank to her knees abjectly and crushed her wooing lips to the youthful thighs. "I love you very much. And I want you to love me. If I can't be your governess, then let me be your friend. Let me be your companion, your secretary, whatever you wish. I'll work for you, I'll take care of your every need, I'll slave for you until my fingers are worn-"

"You'll slave for me? Shit! You don't know what it means to be a slave. Just ask Wilma she knows. It means getting your ass whipped. It means-" Dorian broke off abruptly, pulling free of the embrace and picking up the whip. "This is what it means!" She brandished it fiercely.

Muriel cowered.

"No, I'm not going to hit you with it. But maybe I really ought to just to make up for what you did to poor Wilma." Dorian grinned mirthlessly. "Hmm, I'm beginning to understand now. The whip feels just fine in my hand." She swished it haphazardly. "I like the way you look down there, Muriel. On your knees. That's where you belong. like a slave."

Muriel raised her eyes in a forlorn plea. "I I'll be your slave, darling." She lowered her gaze and crouched low.

"Will you? Hmm, what was it you said? A slave should be whipped often or else she'll think her mistress doesn't love her. Do you want me to love you? If you say yes, then I'll have to whip you. Do you understand that?"

"I-I understand. Yes. I'll let you-"

"You'll let me? Shit! I don't need your permission. I'll show you." Dorian reversed the whip and used the handle to flick Muriel's skirt high on her bent back. "Don't move, you bitch. I haven't decided to keep you yet, but one way or the other you've got this coming to you." She gripped the butt of the weapon again. "Wilma honey, I want to whip a naked ass. That one right there. Go yank those panties off."

"M-mistress?"

"Do it, damn you. Or it will be your ass that I beat. So do what I tell you. Tear them off her!"

The sight made Dorian suck in her breath. The big bare buttocks were truly a temptation; they seemed to be coaxing her to punish them. She struck once, more in curiosity than in anger. A sighing moan sounded and she saw the fleshy ass quiver and wiggle as if it hoped for more. She felt a tingling sensation in her loins. How strange that it should affect her like this. Such an odd thrill. Such a new thrill!

But she couldn't just hold the whip in her hand and analyze her emotions; she had committed herself and she had to go through with it. All the way. To the bitter end.

Or to the sweet end?

She swung again. And again. Not in curiosity, not in anger, oh no, in the heat of the passion that was ballooning inside her tense belly, that was how she had to whip the bare ass of the woman who had once been her governess and was now practically begging to become her slave. And wasn't it this same woman who had taught her to enjoy such depravities?

A reddish haze formed in front of Dorian's eyes. She lost track of everything but her own immediate sensations. The flesh turned pink in front of her, matching the fiery mist of her gaze. She felt only the ecstasy, the pure ecstasy of swinging the whip, the joy of the cruel contact of the wicked leather upon the trembling flesh. That naked ass was there for her to use; it invited violence-and she had years of stored-up violence to inflict on it.

The walls began to whirl crazily. And then even more crazily Muriel shrieked aloud and shuddered and collapsed flat on the floor. A series of jerks wracked her body and at last she lay deathly still.

Dorian tossed the whip aside. Only then did she realize what had happened. No, the woman wasn't dead. Just spent. Knocked out from a sexual climax.

"Muriel...." She moved around and nudged the face on the floor with the toe of her shoe. "You came, huh? You really made it. I guess maybe you do love me."

Lips touching the shoe in a fawning kiss, Muriel made little noises with her mouth. Choked noises that finally turned into audible words. "I came. I love you. I know you love me. Please don't send me away. Not ever...."

"No, I won't send you away. You'll belong to me just the same as Wilma does. Only things are going to be a lot different between us. At home, though, not here. We're getting out of this place as soon as possible. You'll help me conclude the arrangements with Valeska I'll pay her for Wilma and then the three of us are leaving."

"Yes. Whatever you say." Muriel went on licking Dorian's shoe until it was tugged out of her reach.

"Ooh, that got me hot. Wilma, come and be nice to me with that pretty mouth of yours. Suck my cunt. And suck it good or I might grab that whip again." Then, with a chuckle, "No, dear, your ass is too delicate for such a big whip. I'll use a smaller one if you should need punishment. Or maybe my hand. But you're such a good slave, you little darling, mmm yes, you suck so good that I'll have to invent excuses to beat you."

Wilma giggled happily.

On the floor, Muriel heard the sexy noises from the bed and felt excitement flow back into her near-lifeless body. The orgasm had drained her, but already there was a fresh flame rising inside her flesh, an unquenched flame that threatened to consume her if she didn't do something about it. She felt left out. She wanted to go to the bed and join the fun.

Did she dare? Was she a Frankenstein who had created a monster only to be intimidated by her own creation? Ah, but what an adorable little monster!

Muriel crept toward the bed. The shoe was gone now and she kissed Dorian's bare foot. Perhaps if she licked it for a while, the darling little monster would take pity and-

"Hey! Oh, it's you, Muriel. You're alive again, huh? Okay, make yourself useful. No, not on me that's Wilma's job. I like the way she sucks my cunt. But the poor kid deserves something for being such a good cuntlapper, so give her a little thrill down there. Lick her ass-hole. Or suck her cunt. Or whatever she puts in front of you. Do it, you bitch!"

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Prudence was terribly excited. At last she was with Gwen again. And they were alone!

It had come about partly by accident and partly by design. Both girls had done some sniffling and coughing, enough to warrant a visit to the infirmary. And now they were there together. Alone. Behind a closed door.

"I I'm scared. Prudence, how did you manage it?"

"I got friendly with Mistress Jolene. And with the big one too, that Mistress Tessa, although I wouldn't risk letting her know about us. Mistress Jolene is different. I don't think she--likes it here. Anyway, I told her that we were buddies and she understood."

"Oh. You were pretty brave. And I had no idea you knew so much about the different mistresses."

"Honey, I know a lot about this place. I keep my eyes and ears open. I even found out what happened to Wilma. Remember her? The pale-looking blonde? Well, she got taken away by a young mistress to become a permanent slave."

"Really? I-I wouldn't like that."

"No? Gwen, why not."

"You know. It would take me away from you."

"Darling!"

"Kiss me."

They kissed. The touch of Gwen's lips was comforting but strangely cool. Not deliberately cool, no, they loved each other and Prudence knew that she wasn't being turned down. And she felt cool herself, kind of; even with her tongue in Gwen's sweet mouth she just wasn't getting hot.

"Honey? What's the matter?"

"I I don't know. Prudence, maybe it's because we're both afraid. Maybe we're too scared to relax."

"No. I'm not afraid. I'll show you. I'll kiss you some more. I'll make love to you, I'll pet your pretty pussy until we both get turned on."

"Uh-huh."

They tried again. But it didn't work. Prudence couldn't figure it out. She loved Gwen and they should have been crawling all over each other by this time. Was it possible that she could be so much in love and not feel sexy ?

"Prudence...."

"Hmm?"

"Stop. It's no good."

"I know. But why? What's wrong with us?"

"I I can guess. We've been conditioned. We're toilet-slaves, not lovers. I think I'd get hot and really kiss you if it was like that other time."

"Oh. Hey, you could be right. When I kissed you I tried to taste the shit on your lips. Yes, I'm sure now, even though I wasn't conscious of it."

"You you feel the same way then? I'm glad. I thought maybe you didn't love me."

"I do love you, Gwennie. And you love me. But we'll just have to get together with your mistress again."

"Don't I wish we could. But I doubt if it will happen. My mistress is getting tired of me. She has a friend that she sees a lot of, another mistress, one named Mistress Belinda. So there isn't much chance for us."

"Damn!"

"I'm sorry, Prudence."

"It's not your fault, honey. Wait, let me think. I'm getting an idea. The nurse might ... uh...."

"The nurse you mean Mistress Jolene?"

"No, she wouldn't go for it. But the other one would. Mistress Tessa is pretty wild; I guess she'd try just about anything. Only I'd have to be careful and not give us away, you know what I mean? We can't ask her for any favors. But I'll bet I could drop a few hints and get her interested. I could tell her about the picnic."

"But but would she ... uh...."

"Why not? Doesn't everybody? I've got a hunch Mistress Tessa would just love to piss and shit all over two toilet-slaves and watch them make love afterward. Anyway, what can we lose by trying? Leave it to me, Gwennie. I'll fix it."

"Oh, I do love you."

* * *

Leaning back in the upholstered armchair, Wilma sighed in contentment as the plump woman cradled her bare feet and worked diligently upon the toenails. She smiled down at the way Muriel was treating her so carefully. Oh, it was a joy to be here in Miss Dorian's house and not have to worry about anything. She couldn't remember ever having been so happy. Black Widow Farm seemed like a vague shadow now, a part of the dim dark past that was all but forgotten.

"Muriel. .."

"Yes, dear?"

"You don't mind doing this for me, do you?"

"Of course not. I love to. You know how much the mistress treasures your appearance. If your feet weren't just perfect, she'd get upset. And then I'd be unhappy, too."

"Uh-huh. Miss Dorian is wonderful."

"Yes. Wonderful. Wilma, wouldn't it be grand if we could go on like this forever?"

"Mmmmm, that would be nice. But she keeps talking about getting married some day and if that ever happens, I just don't know what will become of us."

"True. With a husband around the place, we just wouldn't fit in. But I'm not really worried. I doubt if the little mistress will ever marry. She--likes us too much. She hey there, honey, hold still, I'm not finished with this one yet."

Wilma closed her eyes and let her dear friend Muriel go on doing her toenails. She felt calm and peaceful. Miss Dorian loved this way of life too much to allow some ridiculous male to interfere. After all, where could she find a man who would let her slap and bite and pinch and spank whenever she got the urge? Yes, and even use a whip too, although that was pretty much reserved for punishing Muriel. Muriel was so brave a whip across her back didn't frighten her at all. Sometimes she even acted as if she wanted to get-

"Wilma! Where are you?"

"I'm in here, Miss Dorian." She jumped up and pushed Muriel aside. "I'll be right there."

"Well, come on. I need you. And hurry up about it, you lazy little cuntlapper, or I'll take a hairbrush to that tender ass of yours!"

Wilma hurried. But not because of the threat. No, she even considered dawdling a little, just to make it come true. A small spanking never hurt anybody. And oooh, Miss Dorian got so worked up when she did it. So hot and sexy ...

Putting away the nail-polishing equipment, Muriel regretted being left alone but could only accept it as she had irrevocably accepted her demotion in status. She was a slave, the lowliest of the low, and somehow the thing that had happened to her was fantastic and exciting but too complex for comprehension. Was this what they called "sexual bondage" in the psychology books?

No, there were no chains binding her. Not the kind made of metal, anyway. And yet she could no longer think for herself anymore. She let her darling Miss Dorian do all her thinking for her. And the invisible chain that linked mistress and slave was far stronger than steel.

The invisible chain. Love.

But even if she couldn't understand her own mind, she knew what had to be done to preserve this paradise. In a way, she felt a bit guilty about it, since she was actually leading her beloved mistress farther along down the path of sin. Well, no, not leading, exactly but it amounted to the same thing. They were both fascinated by the whip. And as long as the roguish little tyrant had a willing and able ass to lay it on, she wouldn't go out seeking anyone else. Especially not a husband.

Funny about that. Miss Dorian simply refused to face up to the fact that no man could ever make her happy. She kept talking about giving up all these deliriously amusing pastimes and settling down to raise a family. Sometimes the darling child was just a wee bit stupid about-

Muriel shuddered. It was wrong to criticize Miss Dorian even in silent thought. What a whipping she would get if the fiendish little mistress ever found out! And those welts on her ass hadn't healed over from last night yet, either.

The welts. Muriel stepped in front of the big mirror to examine them. They were there, all right. Miss Dorian had really laid it on hot and heavy. And yet, looking back at it objectively, Muriel had no clear-cut memory of the blistering frenzy of that thrilling moment. She never really blacked out under the lash and still she couldn't quite recall it afterward. She didn't even know how hard she had been hit. And her lust-crazed mistress probably didn't know, either. They both got carried away. Hmm, maybe it would go too far some day. Such things could happen although it seemed doubtful. Too far and perhaps that slashing whip would kill her some day in an uncontrolled fit of sadistic savagery.

Oh well, so what? A short life and a merry one. She only wished she could go and be with her darling mistress right now. Right this very minute. But Miss Dorian was busy with Wilma and it wouldn't be fair to interrupt them. Nor would it be wise either, considering how thorough last night's whipping had been. Thorough enough to last a couple of days at the very least. Let there be no excuse for more punishment!

Still, it would be a good thing if she remained nearby just in case the unpredictable little mistress needed her. Sometimes the sadistic urge came up at odd moments, and sweet Wilma was just too frail and delicate, too precious to bear the brunt when it was a big urge. Wilma's delectable ass was made to be kissed, not whipped.

Muriel smiled into the mirror and swung around and went into the hall. Miss Dorian's door was ajar, but she didn't peek in. She knew better than that and she sighed hopefully got down on her knees and waited. Just in case.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The day was hot, deplorably so for the mountains. Lounging in her bedroom, Valeska thought about taking an afternoon nap and then decided against it. There was an annoying sense of restlessness in her. Things were going well at Black Widow Farm, almost too well, really, and it gave her a vague premonition of disaster somehow. The calm before the storm, as it were. But that was a superstitious attitude, of course, and she relegated it to the back of her mind.

After a while she called for Fleur to come in and fix her a tall frosty drink and keep her company. The lovely blonde secretary scurried around obsequiously and then sat down at the foot of the bed. As if she found temptation irresistible, her hand caressed Valeska's ankle lingeringly. But soon the fingertips began to stray upward.

"No, dear." Valeska smiled and shook her head. "It's just too damned hot today."

Fleur pouted prettily. "Not for me it isn't. But you're the boss. And such a beautiful boss. Can you blame me for trying to take advantage of the situation?"

Sipping her drink, Valeska shrugged and raised one leg to rest her bare foot against Fleur's thigh. Her devoted secretary had become a shade over-confident lately, a bit too certain of her secure place in the boss's affections. A sound thrashing was what she needed. But who could swing a whip in this heat?

Anyway, a little teasing always had a beneficial effect at moments like this. Valeska arched her foot, curling the toes as the sharp-pointed nails dug into Fleur's soft skin. The authoritative gesture brought a visible tremor of response. A whipping would be better, perhaps, but this slow and subtle type of torment had merit, too.

"Anything new in the office, Fleur?"

"Is that what you called me here for, darling? Just to talk about business?"

"My, my, your tongue is hanging out. Don't be so impatient. And do stop staring at my cunt. Yes, dear, let's talk about business. What's new in the office?"

Fleur blushed and turned her gaze away like a scolded schoolgirl. "Sorry. I didn't know it showed. You know how much I want you. But if it's business we're discussing, well, let's see. There's nothing very important just the usual details that come up every day. Linnet, for instance. I haven't figured out what to do with her."

"Hmm, that's right. It must have slipped my mind. Did the Atkinson woman leave on schedule? I thought sure she'd extend her stay."

"So did I. But she had to go. Something about reservations for a trip abroad. Anyway, she's gone and that leaves us with a shaved slave on our hands. Linnet's pussy is smooth as a baby's, which is exactly the way that Atkinson dame wanted her. Now we'll have to let the hair grow back in, I suppose, unless I can get one of the other guests interested."

"How does Linnet look?"

"Cute. Very cute. like an innocent little girl. I'd rather avoid putting her to work in the kitchen or letting the housekeeper have her."

"Uh-huh. I agree." Valeska stretched languidly. "Business talk bores me. Especially when everything is running so smoothly that there's not much to talk about. Maybe I'll take a nap."

"Oh?" Fleur's eyes pleaded. "I can think of other things to do. I know it's warm, darling, but won't you let me cool you off a little?"

"Cool me off?"

"You know. I'll make you feel nice and-"

"Wait."

"Hmm?"

"Go get Linnet."

"Linnet? What for? Why can't you let me-"

"Stop whining. I'm not sending you away, Fleur. I only want Linnet to stand here and fan me. You'll both cool me off that way."

"Oh. What an idea!" Fleur stood up eagerly.

"Put a little costume on her. Something suitable for fanning her mistress. A maid's outfit or something like that. Use your imagination, sweetie. Surprise me."

"Oooh, I know just the thing. You just lie there and let me arrange it. I know exactly what to do." Suddenly exhilarated, the secretary giggled and dashed from the room.

Valeska closed her eyes, quite pleased with her adoring lover's reaction, so amusingly jealous and yet so wistfully submissive. Yes, everything at Black Widow Farm was just fine. She had been somewhat vexed to see Muriel and young Dorian leave early, but the amount of money they had paid for Wilma was more than adequate compensation. Mmmmm, it was nice to be rich. Maybe she would take a vacation in the fall and flaunt her wealth in front of those snooty Winthrops. That would indeed be a pleasure.

In a half doze, Valeska heard the noises at the door. She lay still and then opened her eyes when she felt the air stirring. Standing next to her, Linnet was waving a broad fan. Pertly perched on the slave's head was a tiny maid's cap. On her feet were patent-leather pumps with pencil-slim high heels. Around her waist was a little apron; more symbolic than utilitarian, it was just barely big enough to conceal her crotch. Aside from that, her lovely young body was uncovered.

"Fleur. .."

"Is she all right?"

"Perfect, darling. Now make love to me."

Valeska squirmed in delight as Fleur's amorous lips touched her. The breeze from the fan felt great; she reached out and placed her hand on Linnet's thigh as a small sign of her approval and appreciation. Then her fingers glided up inquisitively to explore under the apron.

The slave quivered but kept on fanning.

The sensation was delicious and Valeska continued her investigation. The touch of Linnet's hairless flesh was a joy in itself. So smooth and soft. And the babyish cunt-lips were already getting slick with moisture.

The other sensation was fine, too. Fleur's mouth was greedy but infinitely skilled at bestowing rapture. The fluttering tongue sought the right spot and found it.

Valeska's fingers probed the dewy cunt. With the fan in her hand, the slave just stood there; the wave of her arm was her only motion. But her eyelids were partly shut now and her breathing seemed jerky and spasmodic.

A bit weary after a while, Valeska slid her hand down from beneath the apron. The dutiful fanning continued, but she could read disappointment in the way the girl's body sagged and seemed to go into a drooping posture. Linnet was unhappy. Not that it mattered, of course, since a slave's happiness wasn't important. But the poor kid deserved a break. And besides, it would be fun to keep Fleur disconcerted.

"Honey? Fleur?"

"Mmmmm?"

"Let the slave help you."

"Huh? I don't need any help." Then, in a tone of pained resignation, "Oh, all right...."

Valeska gave the youthful thigh a spurring pinch. "Go ahead, Linnet. Do you want to?"

"Oh yes, mistress. I'd love to. How may I please you?"

"Suck my cunt." Valeska reached down and nudged the secretary's bobbing head. "Do my ass-hole, Fleur. You've had my cunt long enough. I want your tongue in my ass. Quickly!"

Two mouths. Both anxious to please. But no, Fleur wasn't he king with her customary fervor. Valeska tensed and waited, just to be certain. Yes, it was true. The lips on her cunt were burrowing avidly, but her ass-hole wasn't getting the treatment it should have. Fleur was obviously jealous. And resentful at being forced to compete with a slave.

"Fleur...."

"Umm?"

"What's the matter? You too tired."

"Hmm? No...."

"No? Sure feels like it to me." Then, abruptly, "Okay, you lazy bitch, we'll have to do it the hard way." Valeska moved peremptorily, dislodging both mouths as she rose to her knees on the bed and looped one leg over Fleur's face. "Now suck my ass, damn you!"

She squatted oppressively, catching the upturned face directly between her buttocks. A whimper sounded, a muffled whimper, and then the tongue lanced up, hot and squirming, digging into Valeska's flesh.

Ah yes, her command was being obeyed. She caught Linnet's hair and hauled her back into place. And now she had both mouths again, feverishly active mouths, one crushed under the weight of her ass and the other going wild on her cunt. She jammed herself down hard, less interested in the slave than in punishing the secretary for her earlier reluctance.

Another whimper sounded. Valeska let up a little, just to give Fleur a chance to breathe. But the respite was deliberately short and she sat heavily again, making rocking motions with her torso and smearing the now-slippery crack of her ass back and forth on her squashed lover's nose and mouth.

Fleur gasped. But she never ceased her kiss, a sucking kiss, a tonguing kiss, the kind of kiss that Valeska had expected in the first place. Now she was doing it because she had to, not because she wanted to. Except that she was doing it so well and with such ardent artfulness that it surely must have become a labor of love to her by this time.

And meanwhile Valeska sat there and wriggled and twitched and patted the slave's head and ground herself down upon the secretary's face and felt like a queen on a throne. The queen of the world. Black Widow Farm my world.

So wasn't it silly of her to have dark forebodings about the future? What could go wrong? Everything was almost too perfect, in a way, so it merely felt like the calm before a storm. And anyway, who was afraid of storms? Was there ever a storm that Valeska Winthrop couldn't weather?

Never. Although the hot mouth on her cunt and that hot tongue up her ass were sure brewing up something ...

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The idea had piqued Tessa's curiosity the moment it was broached to her. In her usual forthright manner, she set about making the arrangements immediately. And now she had them to herself, both slaves, and couldn't help but feel excited by the bizarre proposition.

Still, she managed to remain calm enough to view it as simply an experiment. After all, she owed it to herself to try everything at least once. So why be squeamish? Other women at Black Widow Farm got their jollies out of using toilet-slaves. Some even used them merely for convenience. So it seemed only right that a paid professional nurse should examine all the possibilities even if just for scientific research. It would help her to understand the conditioning process more fully especially since the slaves had actually volunteered their services.

But now that the time had come, Tessa was in no hurry to get started. Excited, yes and perhaps she was only rationalizing her excitement but she still wanted to proceed carefully and with systematic logic. All the more so, considering how unexpected the slave's offer had been. Prudence had dropped enough hints to be almost explicit, but her numerous references to the involvement of a second slave added a certain complication to the situation. It could only mean that there was some hidden significance lurking beneath the surface. And like a good scientist, Tessa aimed to discover what it was. Although she already had her suspicions, judging from the way Prudence and Gwen were looking at each other.

"Listen, you two, you're both old-timers at this sort of thing, so let's not mince words. It's all new to me and frankly, I must admit I'm a bit puzzled."

"Puzzled, mistress?" A fleeting frown crossed Prudence's face. "But I thought you understood. Gwen and I are toilet-slaves. We'd like to be your toilet-slaves. It's what we've been trained for, so why should it be puzzling?"

"Because there are two of you, that's why. Were you trained to do it together?"

Gwen blushed and hung her head, apparently dismayed by the pointed question. Prudence looked scared, shuffling her feet like a child found guilty of mischief. For a long moment the query went unanswered.

Then, hesitantly, Prudence spoke up. "N-no, not exactly, Mistress Tessa. We were trained at the same time but not to do it together."

"I see. So it's your own idea is that it?"

"Well ... I guess so...."

"Kids, you'd better level with me. I've got a hunch you're breaking the rules. But I'm a nurse here, not one of the regular mistresses, so I'm not going to tattle on you. I could force you to talk-you know that, don't you? but then we'd be enemies and it wouldn't be much fun.

So why not trust me? Come on, tell me all about it."

Still fearful, Gwen nodded slowly. "Prudence, I think the mistress is right. Let's tell her."

"Uh-huh. It might get us into trouble, but we'll just have to take that chance."

"No trouble," Tessa said emphatically. "Or at least none that I won't take care of by myself. I said I wouldn't squeal on you, didn't I? Okay, that's a promise. Now come clean. Are you two kids in love?"

That broke the dam. In breathless rapid-fire phrases that sounded crazy in the beginning but soon began to make sense, the strange story was blurted out. Tessa listened in utter amazement, tossing in a question here and there and pressuring both girls into a full confession. The description of the picnic in the woods fascinated her. She was amused by the account of their subsequent clandestine meeting, smiling sympathetically at the plight of the two lovers whose previous conditioning prevented them from consummating their love. Nor did she feel bitter at the realization that her own part in the affair was that of a catalyst, more or less.

"Charming," she murmured at last. "Quite charming. I think I'm being conned, but I really don't mind."

"Oh, thank you, mistress." Gwenn kissed her hand. "Then we don't have to worry about being caught And you'll do it? You'll help us?"

"I'll help you. You've been honest with me, so it's the least I can do. Who knows? I might even enjoy it. But you'll have to help me first. You'll have to put me in the mood before I can do anything for you. Come on. Let's go into the bathroom. That's where we'll wind up anyway, so we'd better get started there. It gets pretty messy, I imagine, so we ought to be naked too. Undress, kids. And let's go."

It took only minutes. In the bathroom, naked now, Tessa stood upright in a regal pose and widened her stance. "Now get me hot. Both of you. Do my cunt and my ass. Give me a good tongue-lapping and I'll reward you for it."

The slaves sank to their knees and got busy. As the two mouths besieged her flesh, Tessa hardly noticed which one was in front and which in back. It didn't matter. Both mouths were equally adept. Equally stimulating. Both worked frantically and she soon became sexually aroused. But she was aware that it was still just a preliminary.

"Good ... good. Now suck. I mean really suck. As if you're sucking the piss and shit right out of me. Ah yes, that's the way. I'll be ready soon."

Obviously inspired by her announcement of near-readiness, the two slavish creatures simultaneously switched the style of their erotic endeavor. Caresses that had been amorously persuasive suddenly became almost coercive. Nor could they even be termed caresses really, since the strong suction of both mouths had a purpose that went far beyond the comparatively simple endearments of lesbian love. Tessa felt her insides stir and rumble; the tight-sealed contact of each pair of leeching lips was like an inexorable vacuum; her limbs grew limp and she knew that her body would never endure the wildly thrilling sensation of the depraved ordeal without collapsing.

She swayed precariously. "I can't stand up any more. This is too much! I'll fall. I've got to sit down."

The twin contact ended instantly. The girls pushed her toward the toilet. She stood there in a daze, prepared to give them what they craved but unsure of how to go about it. Was she supposed to sit down? If so, the position would be comfortable and conducive but scarcely feasible. It would leave no room for the covetous mouths.

"like this. See?" Prudence leaned her head back over the toilet bowl. But it was only a demonstration and she straightened up immediately. "You can do it to one of us like that. And the other will lick you clean afterward."

"Okay. Which one?"

A hitch developed. Both slaves desired the place of honor. But like all lovers in love, each was willing to cede to the other, and it began to take on the ludicrous aspect of an Alphonse and Gaston act. Until Tessa lost patience and came up with an idea of her own.

"Never mind about licking me clean later. You both want me to use your mouths right now, don't you?" She read their expressions and recognized eager agreement. "Okay. I think I've figured out a way. Wait for me. I'll be back in a couple of minutes."

She left them huddled on the tile floor. In the main room of the infirmary, there were some cane-bottom wooden chairs; she seized a pair of surgical shears and went to work on one of them, slashing a hole in the cane seat and widening it with her hands. The thing turned into an impromptu toilet with enough cane left around the edges for comfort and enough removed from the center to allow access from below.

The hurried job took only moments, but it felt like hours as her insides churned turbulently and yearned for freedom. Dragging the ingeniously doctored chair, she raced back into the bathroom.

"The hell with the toilet. I'll sit here." Tessa placed the chair in the middle of the floor and parked herself on it. "Get under me. Both of you. Share and share a-like. Drink my piss and eat my shit and don't argue over it; I've got plenty. So have fun. Kiss each other if you want to. Make love. Kids, I'm doing this for you, not for myself. So get under my ass and make the most of it."

The slaves needed no urging. Giggling in excited anticipation, they scrambled into position. Tessa glanced down and saw both faces eagerly upturned, jaws agape, the open oval of each mouth waiting to be used. And at last, uttering a small sigh of relief, she let her sphincter muscles go lax and give vent to all that the two slaves thirsted and hungered for. She could afford to be generous.

Somehow, though, her generosity became less important. While fixing the chair, she had lost the keen edge of passion aroused by the earlier lapping and sucking. Now, abruptly and quite miraculously her flesh was caught in the renewed grip of her own lust. She gasped and groaned and squeezed and became aware of the climax that was rushing to meet her.

A sexual climax? It didn't seem possible. I'm horny, she thought in wonderment, I'm pissing and shitting and it's making me horny as hell!

She heard the weird noises from below. Glurp. Glub. Noises that defied description. Slosh. Slurp. Grunts, gurgles, noises that would have been disgusting in any other circumstances but were actually spurring her toward orgasm. Incredible as it seemed, she had caught the contagion of the slaves' excitement and made it her own.

Fantastic!

The climax struck. At its peak, Tessa shut her eyes and surrendered herself to the hot thrill and came to the conclusion that the experiment had proven successful beyond belief. Only it wasn't just an experiment any longer, it was a novel and thrilling form of gratification that she would repeat again and again. The slaves wouldn't have to ask her next time, oh no, this was something that she would demand of them. And of Jolene?

Yes. Why not? Jolene was already her slave in so many ways, so why not this one?

For a long moment, Tessa sat there and enjoyed the delicious aftermath of her orgasm. Her body was drained, depleted, empty overwhelmed by the sensation of total catharsis. But the crazy sounds penetrated her peaceful reverie and she opened her eyes and peered down to see how the slaves were doing.

They were doing fine. Kissing each other, finger-fucking one another, piss-drenched, shit-smeared and obviously deliriously happy as they made love. Tessa leaned over and bent low to get a better view; it was just too good to miss even though her own passion had achieved fulfillment.

But it was awkward to sit and hunch over and stretch her neck just to see the sight, and she mustered up sufficient energy to rise from her seat.

"Mistress?" It was Gwen, wild-eyed, her face slimy with shit. "Do you want us to clean-"

"No! Don't stop. Here, I'll give you more room." Tessa lifted the chair and set it out of the way. "There now, you can roll around and make love all you want."

The girls embraced again and the tempo of their activity became fast and furious. Tessa moved to the toilet and sat down, tugging at the roll of tissue but never shifting her gaze from the writhing bodies on the floor. She didn't need any help. She wasn't too lazy to wipe her own ass. And besides, interrupting that charming scene would have been nothing short of criminal.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Much as she loved Black Widow Farm, there were times when Nell almost regretted her decision to leave the ivory-tower world of higher education and take up permanent residence in this far more sequestered ivory tower required by her own masochistic nature. Such times were few and far between, of course, but this was definitely one of them.

She had hoped to be sent to the kitchen. Her latest mistress a rather dull and unimaginative woman, really had stayed two weeks and then departed on schedule, and Nell had actually looked forward to a spell in the kitchen while awaiting her next assignment. It would have been nice to see Miss Catherine once again. The cook, was no beauty, but she certainly wasn't averse to using a volunteer slave. Nell licked her lips and shuddered in ecstatic recollection.

But there was no time for such memories now. She had to work. And that meant work in its most tedious and repulsive sense. She had worked hard in the kitchen, true, but at least there had been compensations. And here, well, there was only Miss Octavia.

Such a sad state of affairs. Nell scrubbed the bathroom floor and prayed fervently for deliverance. Laboring under the housekeeper's supervision wasn't her idea of being a slave. Other than issuing the necessary curt commands in line of duty, Miss Octavia always ignored her. Just like the cooks in the kitchen had done before she had been brave enough to catch the attention of Miss Catherine. Oh yes, they were all a-like, these peasant women who took care of the more mundane chores in the operation of the Farm; they picked on the cute young girls and didn't recognize a real slave when they saw one.

All a-like?

Well now, wasn't that something to think about? If they were a-like in one way, then maybe they were a-like in others. It scarcely seemed probable, but at least it was possible that a seemingly spontaneous display of eagerness to please might just impress Miss Octavia as it had impressed Miss Catherine. But the opportunity had to be perfect or else it would appear phony and bring only cold scorn.

Anyway, it was worth a try. Nell had heard intriguing whispers about the strange goings-on in the housekeeper's linen room. She had never been fortunate enough to attend in person, but it sounded interesting even if only half the rumors about it were true. Miss Octavia sat on a throne like a queen and all the chosen slaves bowed down to her and kissed her hands and feet. Something like that, anyhow. According to the gossip, they even addressed her as "your majesty."

What else was involved, Nell didn't know. The gossip was sketchy at best, since slaves were pretty much forbidden to communicate with each other. But like all rules, this one was broken often enough so that most of the slaves managed to keep abreast of the daily activities. Maybe the queen sat on her throne and wound up presiding over some sort of sex orgy, perhaps even a daisy chain.

Not that a daisy chain had much appeal for a truly masochistic slave, of course, but at least it was better than nothing. All work and no play makes Nell a dull girl and the more she thought about it, the more she became determined to catch the housekeeper's eye and earn an invitation to the linen room. With a little courage, she might even do it this very-

"You there! Nell! How long does it take you to clean a bathroom? Aren't you finished yet?"

"Just finishing, Miss Octavia." Nell felt her backbone wither under the disdainful glare. The housekeeper was tall and gaunt, a female Dracula practically; the mere sight of her was enough to inspire fear. "I've done all the rest and I'm just putting the final touches on the floor. Does it look all right, ma'am?"

"Let's see." Miss Octavia nodded grudgingly. "Not bad. Quite good, as a matter-of-fact. You're not much to look at, Nell, but I can't complain about your work."

A compliment? A compliment from Miss Octavia? Nell all but swooned in rapturous appreciation. And wasn't this the opportunity she had been hoping for? Now or never. If ever the time was ripe to take a chance, this was it.

"Oh, thank you," she gushed effusively. And summoning up all her nerve, she spoke the words, the daring words that would show how she felt. "Thank you, your majesty. I desire nothing better than to be a good and humble slave and gain your majesty's favor."

"Huh?"

The indignant eyes made Nell tremble. Aghast at her own effrontery, she slipped from her kneeling crouch to prostrate herself flat on the floor at the housekeeper's feet. She moved her head to kiss one dusty shoe.

Crack!

Nell nearly passed out as the shoe smashed into her face, striking her cheekbone and narrowly missing her eye. Another inch and it would have blinded her. But she couldn't think about that now, no, the long leg was still swinging, the foot was still kicking, the vengeful shoe was still hitting her. Not her face, though, just her body. It hurt. But she didn't mind it quite so much now. At least it wouldn't gouge out an eye or bash in her teeth. She groaned and lay motionless under the barrage of blows and the volley of vituperation.

"You old bitch!" Miss Octavia's tone was wrathful indeed. "What was that all about? Are you groveling to me just so I'll notice you? Listen, you ugly old cunt, I'll notice you when I'm damned good and ready and not before."

The tirade continued. And so did the kicks.

They were just as violent, but somehow it was less painful now. Miss Octavia kept moving around and aiming her blows. Aiming them with disturbing accuracy too, and along with her misery Nell felt a strange glow of excitement. She was rolling around now, responding to the push of the shoe that prodded her into position between spasms of kicking. Her breasts ached. Oh, the agony was fierce! And yet her nipples were aroused, her tits felt huge and swollen and passionate. Ah yes, passionate!

But it was nothing like the sensation she felt a moment later when an even more sensitive area of her body came under brutal attack. Her crotch was on fire. The toe of the shoe kept slamming between her legs. She wanted to close them and protect herself from the terrible onslaught. But she couldn't. It would probably kill her if she didn't-and yet she lacked the will to bring her thighs together. On the contrary, she couldn't stop herself from moving them wider apart!

A dry chuckle burst from somewhere in Miss Octavia's throat. Nell moaned in shame. But she spread her legs and arched her body into the swinging shoe as it jabbed into her ass and ripped into the wet and slippery folds of her cunt. As if it was fucking her. Yes, fucking, fucking! Her hot cunt was being kicked and bruised and fucked at the same time and all she could do was bite her lips to keep from shrieking aloud.

The shriek never sounded. The agony was great, but the onrushing ecstasy was even greater. Nell kept on biting her lips, but now it was only in silent supplication that nothing would prevent the pleasure-pain from reaching its goal.

Nothing did. A final kick became a thrust, a long and powerful poke, and Nell experienced a huge and shattering climax as the shoe plowed into the depths of her dripping cunt. She lay there, utterly exhausted.

"My shoe. You got it all wet, you filthy bitch. All wet and slimy. Lick it clean!"

Exhausted, on the verge of blacking out, Nell shook herself awake and came to life and did what she had to do. She licked the shoe that had kicked her. But she did it in gratitude as much as for the sake of obedience. The shoe that had fucked her. The shoe that had made her come. The shoe that had given Miss Octavia new stature in her eyes, a stature even beyond that of Miss Catherine in the kitchen. Was it any wonder that she felt grateful?

And when Miss Octavia was at last satisfied and turned to step away, Nell could only hang on to her legs and press one more servile kiss upon the leather and put her profound emotion into the words she uttered. The heartfelt words of homage to the austere woman who at that moment was truly her queen.

"Your Royal Majesty. I thank you. I am forever your humble slave. Forever!"

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Sleep evaded Dorian. She tossed about restlessly and wondered what was happening to her. Was it going to be one of those nights? Would she remain awake until she called someone in to ease the torment of her flesh?

Someone. Sweet submissive Wilma or fat-assed subjugated Muriel. It didn't much matter. Both represented the same thing. They were her slaves and she owned them but didn't they own her? Wasn't she nearing the point where she couldn't get along without them?

She hadn't figured on it going this far. Her stay at Black Widow Farm must have left an indelible imprint. Or nearly so, anyway. Thus far she just couldn't seem to wash it off. The poisonous corruption she had absorbed in that hellhole was too heavy a dose. Some of it would probably remain in her blood a long, long time.

No, she hadn't expected anything like the way it had turned out. The lust, the dissipation, the depravity; oh, she was really dabbling in perversion these days. She should have gone to the beachhouse on Long Island and spent the summer vacation with kids her own age. Normal kids. Those were the plans until she had let herself be persuaded to change them. Hmm, yes, a funny thing happened to Dorian Abbott on her way to the beach. Hah-hah. Funny enough to be pathetic.

But what the hell, why worry about it? Some fine day she would meet the right guy and get married and settle down and spawn a dozen babies. When that time came she would know what to do. The lesbian kick and the sadism kick out the window they would go. She could handle it. Those things weren't the same as narcotics or anything like that. Sure, they could grow and become a bit dangerous, but she would be okay as long as she recognized the evil in them. As long as she kept her head and didn't overdo it. That was the answer. So what was the use of worrying?

And meanwhile, well, as long as she was still awake, why not have some fun? All she had to do was press the button on the bed table and someone would come a-running. All it took was a flick of the finger. There. like that.

Then, almost immediately, "Miss Dorian?"

"Oh, it's you, Wilma."

"Yes, ma'am. Would you rather have Muriel?"

"Uh ... no, dear. Tell you what, though, let's make a night of it. I'd like both of you. Go get Muriel too."

As the girl scampered away, Dorian kicked the sheet off and lay naked, closing her eyes and making a silent demand for her two slaves to hurry. She needed a cuntlapper and an asslicker and she needed them soon. So they'd better get here pronto, damn them, or else well, just or else. And they both knew exactly what that meant!

* * *

It was the thought of her own possible insanity that plagued Jolene most. Was it really true that insane people didn't know they were insane? As a nurse, she had come across that statement often enough.

They were all crazy here at Black Widow Farm. Just yesterday that old slave named Nell had been brought to the infirmary with bruises all over her body. Bruises and lacerations and not caused by a fist or even a whip, no, the poor old creature had actually been kicked. And yet she was merely an example of what went on in this terrible place.

That was yesterday. Nell was asleep now. As a good nurse should, Jolene had treated her patient and kept constant track of her. Even now, lying here in bed and waiting for Tessa to come out of the bathroom so that they could make love, she was concerned with Nell's welfare. Maybe she ought to sneak over and take a peek and see if-

"Jolene?"

"Huh? Did you call me, Tessa."

"Yeah. Come in here, will you?" Jolene pushed the bathroom door open and grimaced sourly at her lover's shamelessness.

"Something on your mind? What do you want me for?"

"Keep me company."

"Don't be such a brazen hussy. Do you need company while you're sitting on the toilet?"

"Sure. Any objections?" Tessa's lip curled arrogantly. "If so, I know where I can find someone to-"

"Oh, so it's that again, huh? You're still bragging about your toilet-slaves. Do you really expect me to get jealous about girls like Gwen and Prudence? I may be in love with you, but that doesn't give you the right to make me eat your shit!"

"Nobody's asking you to, baby."

"You've hinted at it often enough."

"So who's hinting? When the time comes, Jolene, I'll tell you what I want. I don't have to hint. Anyway, I just sat down on the John and I haven't done anything yet-and I probably won't. I'm feeling too horny."

"Then come to bed."

"No. I'm horny right now. Right here. Come on, honey, suck my cunt. I need it."

"I'll be glad to in bed."

"Aw, don't be so prudish. Sex in bed can get pretty damn boring after a while. Let's try something new. And forget about Prudence and Gwen, will you? I'm not asking for anything like that." Tessa smiled and spread her legs in a lewd invitation. "Look. See how my cunt is hot for your pretty rosebud mouth? It's practically palpitating."

"Palpitating...." Jolene couldn't help grinning wryly at the quaint term. "Please, darling, come on to bed and I'll take care of those palpitations of yours."

"Honey?" Tessa's hand slid down her belly. "See? I can't wait that long. I need you now."

Jolene's smile faded. The sight of that moving hand held her fascinated. A fingertip was parting the hair now, the fleecy golden hair and even perched on the toilet, the big smooth-fleshed body looked alluring. Unable to resist the temptation, she glided forward and sank to her knees. The golden thatch jutted up to meet her and she lost herself in adoration.

Lost?? No, not quite. She could still hear the awful words that Tessa was saying. Ugly. Monstrous. Words intended for the ears of a toilet-slave, not a free woman who just happened to be in love with someone who had gone mad. Tessa was insane. Everybody in this place was insane.

And me? Am I insane too?

Jolene struggled to break free. But the huge hands were holding her head now, holding it, crushing it, forcing her mouth into the fleshy cunt. And then it came! She gagged at the flood, swallowing some of it in order to breathe.

"Take it, baby. Take and I'll know you love me. It doesn't taste so bad, does it? You like it when I spit in your mouth, so you'll learn to enjoy my piss too. You'll even love it! And I'll give you my shit too; oh yes, you'll soon learn to-"

It was more than Jolene's stomach could bear. Everything welled up and she vomited. All over Tessa. All over the floor. Right there on her knees, she retched in anguish as Tessa stood up angrily and spewed curses down at her.

When Jolene was able to function again, she was alone. Vaguely she remembered Tessa wetting a towel and wiping herself off and saying something about spending the night with more suitable companions. Gwen or Prudence, no doubt. Or both. But it no longer bothered Jolene. She didn't care any more about that. There was something she had to do. Something important. Something she should have done ages ago.

It was easy. She didn't even stop to put on a robe. She knew where the stuff was, the fuel oil, the kerosene, the gasoline, the winter supplies. The storeroom was never locked. And it seemed only fitting that a mad firebug should be naked. Especially in this madhouse.

She did the job swiftly. All the buildings were made of wood, and the flame was like a newly born monstrous beast that devoured everything in its path. And only when she finished and returned to the infirmary did she allow herself to think of the enormity of what she had done.

Even then her professional training took over and she went to check on her patient. Maybe she would give poor Nell a shot of morphine to put her out of her misery.

The patient didn't appear in need of it, however. Nell was sitting up in bed. "Mistress? Oh, I'm so glad you're here. You've been so good to me and I've never thanked you."

"Don't thank me. I'm a nurse. Just doing my job."

"No. You're a mistress. What can I do to please you? How can I make you happy? Won't you let me suck your beautiful cunt? Won't you let me kiss your ass?"

Demented. Just like the rest of them. Another maniac. Through the window Jolene saw the orange glow growing brighter. The holocaust. The end of the world. The end of this world. The end of Valeska Winthrop and everyone around her.

"Mistress? Let me? Please?"

"Yes. Now. Suck my cunt!"

Ah well, it was a nice way to go. Jolene flopped upon the bed and grabbed the slave's head and pulled the eager mouth between her thighs. She could see the flames now. Too bad she had to die along with the rest of them. After all, she was the only sane person in the place. But she couldn't go on living after what she had done. And she didn't want to go on living without Tessa. So it was the best way. The best possible way for all concerned.

"Suck my cunt, slave! Suck it until I tell you to stop. Suck it, suck my cunt, suck, suck...." Jolene kept murmuring the command over and over again. After that she sighed rapturously and lay still.

Just once, a moment later, she moaned and said it again. "Suck my cunt," and then, adding a silent final phrase, and we'll all go out in a blaze of glory ...

THE END
The Black Widow Farm ....(89k)    by Author Unknown





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