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From: Andrew Roller <roller39@IDT.NET>
Subject: Chambers of Love part 12 of 18 (NND)
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_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
CHAMBERS OF LOVE
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Chapter Twelve
We were allowed to spend several languorous days healing. True
to his word, we were treated like princesses. The count's staff
answered our every beck and call, however frivolous. There seemed no
end to what we could ask for, provided we didn't ask to leave the
castle. The count was mostly gone during this time. He said he had
important business to attend to.
One evening after dinner Burton laid out some teensy red
bikinis for us and told us to put them on for the count. We did so,
expecting the count would take us swimming. The suits had little
nothing bras that, when tied, clung desperately to our titties. My
nipples were erect just looking at myself in such an abbreviated outfit
and the little bra accommodatingly let them stand out in sharp relief.
Julie laughed and rested her finger on one and then pushed it in like a
button.
"I think I've pushed the hot button," she laughed.
"No, that's down there," I said, pointing between my legs, but
I didn't let her touch me there. Her nipples were poking into her
flimsy bra cups too and we exclaimed at the count's capacity for
naughtiness.
The bikini briefs had to be tied along the sides. Only a
thread-like string (once tied) connected the front and back panels. I
tried to yank my suit up high enough to cover my butt crack completely
but I couldn't. In front, stray pussy hairs wisped out the top of my
panties, riding low on my hips. When I walked, the too-small swim pants
quickly wedged in my ass crack. I straightened the panties as best I
could. Julie suffered the same difficulties.
We were astonished, then, when Burton re-entered the room with
new boots for both of us. We were to wear these too. I began to get
the sinking feeling we weren't being taken swimming. Burton helped us
into the boots, which fit snugly all the way up to above our knees.
They matched the color of our swimsuits and were brightly polished, with
high heels in back. A bit later he returned, unlocked our collars, and
took them off. Then he tied a slim red ribbon around each of our necks.
"Burton," I asked, "What's going on?" I stood there with my
hands on my hips like some goddess out of Diamonds are Forever.
"Wouldn't know, ma'am, I just do as I'm told," he said. I
dropped my arms beside me in exasperation and plopped on the bed,
feeling my panties shoot up my ass crack for the zillionth time. Burton
scuttled out.
Master arrived and said we were in for a treat. He hustled us
into his carriage and we spent the next twenty minutes jostling out of
our tiny bras as the horses sped us along. Finally we pulled up before
a greathouse and were taken inside. A small gathering of men and women,
all in their 40's, greeted us in a parlor. To our intense embarrassment
Julie and I found that we were the only ones there in bikinis. The
rest, introduced to us as French men and women of very high rank and
station, mingled about in formal wear. No one spoke English, though we
were spoken to and aperitifs were placed merrily in our hands. Waiters,
oblivious to our near-nudity, courteously offered their carefully
balanced silver snack trays to us. We hadn't had dinner yet and so
helped ourselves to what they offered, which proved delicious. We hoped
that the count was merely bringing us along to show us off to his
friends, nothing more.
Soon the party was called downstairs, and we found ourselves in
a newly constructed dungeon. The appliances within cast moving shadows
on the stone walls, lit by flickering torchlight. I began to worry
then, as did Julie. Our pert bottoms hanging out of our panties, our
teensy bras just barely containing our boobs, we traipsed about and
listened attentively as the host described all the various machines,
some of which he'd modelled specifically on the count's.
When the tour finally concluded the host asked if there might
be any volunteers to try out his new equipment. The count tapped Julie
and I each lightly on the bottom. I trembled. Julie turned her head.
"Please, monsieur, no," she said plaintively. He ordered her forward,
and me. With twitching heinies and wobbling tits we reluctantly stepped
up to our host.
He introduced himself to us only as "Pierre." He was darkly
handsome, with wide shoulders. He said we looked delightful and
reminded him of the girls on the beach who used to cheer him on when he
was a professional swimmer. He ran his fingers through our hair and
commented on how perfect it was. He said we didn't need any make-up,
but what we'd put on was just right. He gazed admiringly at our long,
polished fingernails.
Pierre said he'd like to make a special gift to us of high
heels, and would we take our boots off to accept them? A bench was
nearby and so we sat down and he eased off our tight boots for us. I
told him we'd gladly accept any gifts of clothing he might offer. He
laughed, several women tittered.
Shod in new, precisely fitting heels, we stood once more and
walked in them to get their feel. They had very long spikes in back. I
teetered on mine at first, as did Julie. Gallantly he took our arms and
walked us back and forth in them. I was quite conscious of my hips
swinging alluringly in my itsy-bitsy bikini, and blushed about it. He
asked what was wrong and I said nothing was wrong, the heels were
beautiful.
Having gained a relative degree of composure in our new heels,
he then asked us if we might accompany him as his special guests as he
pointed out a few more machines. We said we would, knowing no other
response that would be acceptable in a locked dungeon. The crowd
trailed behind as we walked. Then, to my surprise, the tour concluded
and we all went back upstairs. A small dinner was served in the dining
room, and we ate with everyone else. Then there was dancing, and Julie
and I enjoyed a dance with every man there. We were quite popular.
Finally the count announced that it was our bedtime and took us back to
his castle.
"Did you enjoy your evening?" he asked in the coach.
"Yes!" we gushed. "It was delightful."
"I thought you deserved a night out," he said. "If only for a
few hours."
He said he had lied about it being our bedtime. He knew we
usually slept at least until noon, and were still quite awake, even
now. We shared a round of drinks in his bedroom and then he said it was
time again to go play the night away in the dungeon. I looked at Julie,
and she at me.
Downstairs the doorbell rang and Burton let in Elle and Erica.
They were bright and cheery and full of warmth. They came upstairs to
the bedroom, Elle in her nurse's uniform but with a skirt round her
waist. Erica sported a casual blouse, open jacket with no sleeves, and
knee-length dress. They complimented us on our taste in swimwear. Elle
gave us a quick physical, but said she did not need to check our pussies
or hindquarters again.
"Did you bring the smelling salts?" the count asked.
"Don't I always?" Elle replied.
"We shall need them quite a lot tonight," he said. "Perhaps
even for you." Elle looked away, said nothing, seemingly dismissing it
as a joke.
***
As Julie and I were led downstairs I wondered if we were doing
the right thing. Before we had not known for sure what we were getting
ourselves into. It had been like at the great house, where in the end
the dungeon had not been part of the festivities. (Though, reflecting
again, I realized that at this very moment they were probably using
it.) Julie and I had no excuse for the suffering we got ourselves into
tonight. It was perfectly obvious that we were going to be told to shed
our bikinis and "assume the position," as it were. I wondered if Tom
would be there.
The count shut the wooden door of the dungeon behind us.
Trembling, Julie and I gazed at one another. Should we go through with
this? Could we bear to? Was there any way at all to get out of it?
Asking the count for a reprieve would probably only add to our trials.
"Well girls, let's get those cute things off," Elle stepped
forward and said. She unzipped her skirt in back and it fell to her
ankles. Erica began disrobing. To my surprise, the count also.
"Mayn't we keep on just our panties?" I asked pleadingly. Elle
looked at the count.
"All right, I suppose, for a little while," he said. "If you
can." I puzzled at his last statement, but reached back and undid my
bra even as Julie released hers. Our tits popped out quivering, stiff
nippled, obviously ready for attention even if we weren't.
Elle had me unbutton her blouse as before. I softly cupped her
breasts one by one and sucked the nipples hard. When I drew my mouth
away, my tongue extended, a string of saliva remained connected between
me and one of her teats. Finally it broke. She and I couldn't help
giggling. Erica asked Julie to help her undress and together they
stripped her down to her panties.
Despite my apprehension, the atmosphere was more casual
tonight. We were a bit like old friends, fellow travelers on some
now-familiar road. The count sent a chill down my spine, however, when
he ordered us to partake of another round of drinks at the dungeon's wet
bar.
"But I don't want to drink any more," I whined.
"Ah, that's what I like! An eager beaver who wants to get
right on with it," he exclaimed.
Elle advised I accept the liquor. "For you, dear, its
anesthesia," she said, and set me all a-tremble. Julie was looking
fearful too.
Trying not to, we sashayed in our bikini bottoms along with the other
women over to the wet bar. The count, handsomely naked save for
slippers, led the way. His cock was delightfully hard.
The count poured a round of drinks and told us to turn them
bottoms-up. We did, and I spilled mine down my front. The booze stung
my uprisen nipples. The others laughed, even Julie. The count said we
must share and share alike, Julie and I. Elle clipped Julie's wrists
tightly behind her. Julie's breasts jutted out in all their glory,
nipples risen and hard. Delicately the count then poured whisky over
her teats, and she smiled in astonishment and gasped, feeling the light
sting of the alcohol uncomplainingly. Then the count drew open the
front of her bikini panties and poured a stream of liquor right into
them. They were so tight they filled right up and overflowed out the
top. Then he released the panties and they snapped shut, the liquor
running down Julie's soft thighs. The count turned her around then,
Elle releasing her wrists.
The rear of Julie's panties was wedged in her ass crack. The
count scolded Julie and told her to fix her panties. Carefully she drew
them out of her ass and spread them with her palms smoothly across her
bottom. She knew it was only for play, that a few steps would get the
panties stuck right back in her crack.
"Perhaps this might act as a kind of glue," the count offered,
and pulled open the back of her panties and filled the space between
them and her deliciously white quivering globes with booze. Then he
snapped them shut, to a delighted "ouch!" from Julie. My panties were
then accorded the same treatment.
With wet panties and expecting even worse things for our
hineys, we followed the count deeper into the ominous recesses of the
dungeon. The liquor did not work as glue and so Julie and I found
ourselves constantly fixing our panties, for the count had scolded her
about it.
With mincing steps we approached a rack of spanking implements,
where the count had paused. He said Julie and I were brave little girls
and deserved a reprieve. To their astonishment he ordered Elle and
Erica over some nearby trestles. I heard a door creak in the
background. The girls would not comply and stood arguing with the
count. Then Tom appeared, grinning from ear to ear and naked as a
jaybird. His cock was breathtakingly hard, bobbing freely as he strode
in amongst us.
"Thank you for coming, Tom, help me get these girls over the
trestles," the count said.
"'Course," Tom said merrily, and grabbed me by the arm.
"No, no," the count said, and indicated Elle and Erica. The
two men quickly overpowered the women and led them tottering to their
fate. In very little time they were bent head down over the trestles,
arms and legs tightly tied. The count let them keep their cotton
panties on for protection. At least they were blessed with
regular-sized panties, not micro-undies like Julie and I wore. Then the
count told Julie and I that we were to cane the womens' bottoms until
the seats of their undies were "properly threadbare," as he put it. I
said that would take a lot of whipping but he said the panties were
actually fairly fragile and it should not require too much time.
So, still wearing wet panties, naked otherwise, Julie and I
were invited to select our choice of whippy canes. I swung mine through
the air several times for practice and then advanced on Elle. I felt
sorry for her but I could not disobey the count, or he would put me
right in her place. Or add me to the lineup.
"No! She doesn't know how to use it! She'll kill me!" Elle
screeched.
"There's always a first time for everyone," the count replied.
"You're a big girl. You should be able to take it." Tom laughed.
Julie and I couldn't help giggling at these grown women and their fear.
They seemed so self-confident the night before in the dungeon,
reassuring us even as they whipped us. Now the tables were delightfully
turned.
The count told us to begin. Julie and I swung, and both
missed. We tried again. Julie hit home, but I struck Elle's thighs.
She cried out an angry complaint. Finally we both got our aim right,
and increased the intensity of the blows under the count's watchful
encouragement. Gradually I got a zest for the thing. I stung away,
relishing the bouncing of Elle's full, womanly arse. Tom and the count
spent as much time admiring Julie and I labor away in our wet panties as
they spent gazing at the alluring reactions of Elle and Erica. Of
course our undies bunched in our ass cracks and there was no chance to
adjust them. Perspiration ran down my nimble form as I worked on, Julie
huffed and puffed and sweated too. Nimbly we learned some of the art of
it, the all-important wrist action, how to skate the crop over the
bottom, imparting a distinct sting but not injuring the flesh.
I scored my first tear after a bit. Elle's panties were
beginning to crumble under the beating. Julie too was soon tearing up
Erica's undies, which were even thinner than Elle's. When we finished,
panting, both girls had seats in their panties which were practically
useless. The cotton stretched over Elle's lovely bottom was shredded
beyond repair. Her own ass' bulging as she shifted her twin globes
threatened at any moment to send her entire bottom right out the back of
her panties. Erica's hiney was in a similar predicament.
The women were let up then, and stood ruefully rubbing their
butts, which only served to further ruin their ripped up undies. In
front, of course, their panties were perfect as ever, modestly covering
their pubises. The count then announced that it was time for Julie and
I to have our panties undergo a similar treatment. We looked in
astonishment at each other and quickly made to get our panties out of
our ass cracks, so they could provide at least some small modicum of
protection. We were ushered up to the trestles and bent right over,
making desperate adjustments in our bikini bottoms until the very moment
our wrists were bound. Even then I had to hold still and try not to
wiggle, lest my squirmings send my panties into my crack. The count had
ordained that Elle and Erica receive at least 50 "judicious" strokes of
the cane, and I knew we would get no less, regardless of the condition
of our panties; ripped, shredded, or hiding within the fold that creased
our bottoms.
Happily Elle and Erica took up canes of their own and advanced
upon us. The count had to warn them not to strike too harshly. "You
were not caned by them, but by me, with them acting only as my agents,"
he reminded them.
Elle took a few practice strokes and then laid into my seat
with a real whistler. "Yipes!" I cried, lurching up, and instantly felt
my panties slip into my ass. To my surprise, Elle apologized and
smoothed out my panties again with her hand. She said I deserved as
much protection as I could get. Again she struck, this time more
lightly and I bore it like a soldier. She promised she would try to
concentrate her strokes on shredding the seat of my undies, but added
that this was difficult since they abruptly ended at the summit of my
hams, leaving the rest of my ass absolutely bare.
"It's tough to make the cane hit on the inrolling slopes of
your fanny and avoid the summits," she explained gently. "Perhaps the
tips of a well-placed cat would work better." I knew not to what she
was referring, and said nothing. The count gave his permission for
"cats" to both girls and Elle and Erica fetched them. When, down
between my wide-spread legs, I saw what was coming for me, I mewled out
a protest. Julie, trying ever so hard again to be the obedient slave,
the faithful wife, told me to hush. "We're better off if they get
absorbed in the art of ripping up our panties than just laying it on
bare," she whispered.
Elle returned to her station behind me, though in a more
directly facing position, due to the change in implements. She
unleashed the little tips and they went screaming right into the center
of my bottom, sending me bounding up toward the ceiling, howling in
pain.
Calmly Elle strode forward and fished my panties out of my
crack, smoothed them, checked them for tears. A similar process began
for Julie with Erica. This slowed the whipping immensely, but they
seemed to enjoy giving Julie and I time to savor each sizzling strike.
Gradually our panties ripped apart in back until our butts shone through
the few remaining fibers like rising moons.
"Ah, excellent. Well done, girls!" the count exclaimed,
clapping his hands. "Release the girls, please." Elle and Erica undid
us from the trestles and helped us stand. I felt a new kinship with
Elle. Yet, I felt, she did not want me to be her equal. I could tell
she hoped the rest of the night was devoted to my bottom, not hers, and
not both of us alternately either. This was not merely for the obvious
reason of wanting to avoid pain, but for ego reasons as well. She
styled herself (in this environment, at least) as domme or independent
observer, not as victim. As I stood beside Elle she adopted an attitude
of remoteness. The feeling she had shown for me over the trestle was,
indeed, in her role as domme. I looked away from her, for she only
stared ahead at the count, awaiting orders. He picked up a little bell
and tinkled it.
"Now, girls, I wish for all four of you to remove your
panties," the count smiled. "Such works of art must be preserved." A
look of dismay swept over Elle and Erica's features. Reluctantly they
reached down and took hold of the elastic waistbands of their undies.
Elle in particular, as dungeon doctor, was accustomed to taking off her
panties when she chose to, and not before.
"Now Elle, those failed investments I bailed you out of are
certainly worth a pair of used panties, are they not?" the count
grinned. With a huff of displeasure Elle shoved her panties down her
long, slender legs and stepped out of them.
"Collect the panties, Tom," the count ordered.
From the gloom of the dungeon Burton emerged. "You called,
sir?"
"Take these panties and have them delicately washed. The red
swimsuits have matching tops which are lying on the floor near the
dungeon's entrance. Fetch the tops and wash those also. They belong to
Kimmy and Julie, here. The slightly larger bra is Julie's."
"Yes, monseigneur," Burton said earnestly, bowing slightly, and
removed the collected panties.
"Ah," the count smiled at the four of us as we stood before
him, hands at our sides to allow him to observe the beauty of our
bushes. "Which do you prefer, Tom?" he asked.
"Well, I cain't rightly say, sir," Tom replied. He was a
British citizen, but had spent his entire youth in, of all places,
Iowa. He naturally retained the midwestern accent and demeanor. He
rarely called the count by his title and showed little deference, save
the deference that all midwesterners have bred into them. Now he showed
no more (or less) deference to the count than he would have shown to,
say, a proprietor of a feed lot in Iowa. Whether this was by design or
not I could not tell. "I fucked Elle and Erica last night, and they wuz
good, so's I got to say right now if I had my choice I'd want to take
either Julie or little Kimmy there for a ride on the big pego."
"I meant for whipping, Tom," the count said quietly.
"Oh!" Tom ejaculated. He glanced at the count. "You have a
more sadistic mind than I do sir, I must say. But I am doing my best to
learn the darker side of pleasure from you. I been readin' those books
you done given me, though I must confess I still cain't grasp the point
of it all."
"I was musing on that this evening, in my bedroom," the count
said. "Let us say you have just been ambushed by bandits. You fight
valiantly, of course, but they outnumber you and gun down your friend,
your only companion. You put your wounded mate on your horse and take
off down the road to seek medical attention for him. If you spur your
horse, will it run faster?"
"'Course it will," Tom said. "Ever'one knows that."
"And if you whip its rump will it run faster?"
"Ah, now your meanin' begins to appear to me," Tom said, a
gleam in his eyes.
"In fact, the spur and the whip might make the difference
between your friend living and dying, might it not?"
"Indeed it would, sir."
"As for the horse, he gets a fine run, probably exceeds both
his and your expectations as to his ability, and is improved by the
exercise."
"Yessir."
"Now, which female would you prefer to whip if I allowed it?"
We four females stood listening to all this, feeling like mares
in some horse show. I must admit it did give me a certain erotic
thrill, to be discussed like this. Would I measure up to the men's
expectations? I almost yearned to be put to the test. Especially by
Tom.
With a hand now placed thoughtfully under his chin, eyes
squinting in thought, Tom observed the four of us. "Well, there's Elle,
dignified, a doctor. It would be quite a thrill, sadistically speaking,
to rip off her professional garb and give her a sound thrashing. But
she's already standin' there nekkid, whereas I would have wanted her to
have just ordered me out of her office or somethin.' And then there's
Erica, a fine woman, and she fucks lustily, I must say, enjoyin' ever'
minute of it, too. Somethin' about a woman who enjoys it, you know,
it's fun while it lasts but afterwards you got no sense of conquest.
It's like, 'Hi! Fuck me! Fuck me again! I'm available!" Erica frowned
at this.
"Now Julie there, the loyal, obedient, wife. Yet skittish.
Her I would like to whip sometime. And then there's lil' Kimmy. I
don't think she knows quite what she wants in life yet. Sometimes she
resists like a tiger. Other times she tries hard as she can to be
dutiful and obedient. Yeah, I guess its Kimmy's lil' ass I'd most like
to punish, if only to help her make up her mind about bein' in this here
dungeon." I smiled, bowed my head, and felt a sudden sense of dread.
Tom had picked me! Over the other three, over even Elle.
"Ah, an excellent choice!" the count said. "It is her very
willfulness, her utter unpredictability, which I too find so alluring.
Kimmy, you have no panties on that we must worry about now. Before we
had to be careful to tear your undies just right...artfully, as it
were. But now we are presented with the canvas of your bare bottom,
where any mistakes will heal, naturally. Your bottom has not suffered
much tonight. Go to the rack and pick out something for Tom to spur you
with."
Shaking visibly, but still happy at having won the contest, I
approached the awesome display of instruments of flagellation. There
seemed to be a dizzying variety. I gazed up at them, teetering back and
forth on my spiked heels as I tried to find something innocuous. Even
as I searched I was still rubbing my behind from my previous
punishment. "I-I don't know, sir," I said at last. "There are too
many. They are all too wicked."
"Tom, perhaps you can help her," the count said. Tom strolled
up beside me. I couldn't help but shoot a glance at his lovely,
upstanding glans. He patted my bottom reassuringly.
"We'll find you somethin', missy," he grinned. "Say, I jus'
been readin' about this here," he said, taking down a martinet. It
looked a lot like a cat o' nine tails, but the thongs were all stiff,
not flexible. "Now the French favor these," Tom said. "Unlike a cat,
whose business end consists of knotted strips of leather, this here is
knotted strips of whipcord. Boilin' 'em in starch is what makes 'em
stiff like this."
"Kiss your master's choice, and thank him for his wisdom," the
count admonished me. I bent my head and placed a soft kiss on the
martinet where the cords joined the handle. With deep, liquid blue eyes
I looked up at Tom.
"Thank you, master, for your wise choice."
"Gosh darn ah almost came when you said that! Y'are a
bewitchin' little lady," Tom exclaimed. "Well, ever' witch I know was
ultimately tied to a stake. Lil' girl, we're gonna settle for a
whippin' post!" He grasped me by my blonde locks and led me forcibly
over past the trestles to an ominous thick post set in the floor.
Manacles dangled easily from its crown, down to just about where a
girl's upraised hands would reach them. I'd seen it earlier, going down
on the trestle, hoped I'd never be put to it. Now I would be.
Tom made quick work of chaining me to the whipping post. Only
my wrists were bound. I felt like a cowgirl in some old western. He
told me to stick out my bottom. He slapped it once and told me to stick
it out farther. The other three girls and the count gathered round to
watch. The count had Erica fetch them some drinks from the bar.
"Now, lil' lady, I cain't but say this is gonna hurt. But a
tight lil' ass like you got should handle it jus' fine." He squeezed
me, as if testing horseflesh. "Mmm, yeah. Feel the resiliency in those
soft cheeks. They should bounce very cutely indeed."
"Please," I whispered soulfully, almost conspiratorially,
gazing up at his square-jawed, high plains countenance. "Not-not too
hard. Just enough to make the count happy."
"Ah cain't promise nothin', miss. You'll get as I give you,
based on my readin'," Tom said. He remained close to me, would apply
the martinet from the side, rather than from behind me, as with a whip.
He turned so as not to hit his naked penis. I tried to keep this prize
in view as I braced myself.
Tom began by caressing my bare hiney with the stiff cords.
They felt strict, remorseless. Then he gave me a warning tap with
them. I flinched. At last he drew his arm up to his shoulder. I held
my breath.
"Oooch!" I cried, as the first strike splayed itself across my
upturned peach. It was riper now. Again he struck. Streaks of bitter
heat imparted their prints on my tushy. Again, and again, making me
jump and wriggle my ass now, shamelessly.
Splack! Splack! Splack! Rudely I shook my hiney at the count
and the assembled ladies. I flexed the cheeks, contracted them, tried
to spread them to throw off the burning heat. I shook my head, tossing
my hair like a mane, heedless of how badly I might muss it. My boobies
leapt, tossing my nipples about in front of a nearby mirror.
"Th-that's enough, Tom," I cried.
"Shucks, miss, I done barely warmed you up!" he replied, and
gave me a good hard one next. I bucked up my bottom like a bronco and
yelped a high-pitched scream.
"Wouldn't she look just lovely in cowboy boots?" the count
asked his female companions. They nodded. He halted Tom in the midst
of a downswing, telling him to lay off my bottom until boots could be
fetched for me. The count and the women came forward and "oohed" and
"aahed" over the marks already delivered, the women tracing the pink and
red lines with their sharp-nailed fingertips. Burton, meantime,
summoned by the count, went about getting the boots.
I was let down for a moment's respite and led gently by Julie
and Elle over to a wickerwork chair, the only kind of furniture in this
bit of the dungeon. Sitting down in this was hardly better than being
whipped.
"Oooch," I said softly, plaintively, as my sensitized bottom
spread its cheeks upon the interwoven network of rattan stems. This was
the sort of chair that when you got up from it, the chair left its
imprint on your bottom.
"Poor girl," Elle said, stroking my tousled blonde locks. I
felt sorry for myself and tears ran silently down my cheeks. Julie
knelt alongside me and kissed me compassionately, first on the cheek,
then on my throat, then on the upper swell of my right breast. Erica
playfully toyed with my erect nipples and told me to hang in there.
Burton presented a pair of smooth leather cowboy boots a few
minutes later. They were lined with felt. The girls helped me put them
on. They were brand new. The count bade me stand in them and I did.
They came to just above my knees in front, flared downward to just below
my knees in back. At my ankles they were drawn in snugly, giving them a
very stylish look. They had high, blunted heels.
I was ordered to parade myself back and forth in front of the
post. Bottom wobbling, I presented myself as gracefully as possible in
my new boots. They were very impressed. The count unlocked my collar
and tied on a red neckerchief. "Any other accoutrements you girls can
think of?" he asked.
"A little vest would be nice," Julie volunteered helpfully.
"Cowboy gloves?" Elle asked.
"Ah, enough! Put her to the post!" the count ordered. The
girls laughed. With helpful efficiency they led me tottering back up to
it, and Tom reigned me in. A moment later I was chained as before, but
the tushy I stuck out now was smarting badly. I wiggled it in the air
to try to cool it. Tom thought I was inviting him to begin.
"OW!" I cried, as new lines imprinted themselves on me. I
sobbed once, tried to hold in my tears.
SPLACK! SPLACK! SPLACK! Tom whipped me more swiftly now, as
if to build me toward some pinnacle of pain. I screeched and hollered
and danced about like I'd sat in nettles, all in my polished new boots.
The kerchief danced a jig of its own.
"Enough! No! Please!" I pleaded, looking right at Tom and
begging him to stop. My bottom felt like it was being branded now. He
licked his lips and ignored me. I looked and saw that he was stroking
his big thing. Behind me the count's penis was being treated to a
double blow job, as a kneeling Julie and Erica laved his member.
Occasionally one or the other would glance over her shoulder at me,
mouth wide, smiling, and glistening, as if to derive new erotic
inspiration from my plight. Elle watched me from behind the count's
back, where she stroked and pinched his muscular buttocks. Playfully he
thrust himself forward now and then, working his loins as if in the
throes of orgasm. The girls at his cock giggled and tittered.
"YEEEEOW!" I cried, as my poor bottom received yet another
correcting imprint upon it, the lines laying themselves over earlier
wounds. I cried raggedly between screams. All my imprecations to Tom
for mercy went unanswered. I swore I would run away as soon as they
unbuckled me. I stamped my feet and snorted, bawled my heart out, but
no one heard.
****
The next morning I stood inspecting my wounds in front of a
full-length mirror. I'd just awoken, prematurely, given the long night,
due to the plight of my bottom.
A sunbeam shafted pure morning sunlight through a window, right
onto my bottom. It was virgin-white no more. Cruel red lines spread
everywhere across it, interlinking along every centimeter of it as if to
form some metropolitan roadmap. There were several weals. I touched
them gingerly. The snake-like lumps were new to me. They scared me. I
wondered how long it would take them to disappear.
I had no one to blame for this but myself, wearing a slinky red
bikini down into a dungeon that only days before I'd been tortured in.
I bent over slightly and slivers of sharp pain went shooting up within
my ass and radiated over my legs and torso. Sitting down was definitely
out of the question.
"Oooh! Let me rub more salve onto that," Julie purred
admiringly. She was becoming one of them. They had spared her last
night, the count saying she gave exceptional head. Her marital
training, no doubt.
She rose from where she'd just awakened, on the cool sheets of
our bed. All soft and naked and her boobies wobbling, Julie fetched a
bottle from the nightstand, padded across the room, and slipped behind
me. She knelt and caressed in more cream. She kissed the small of my
back when she was done. Then she eased me back into bed and rolled into
my arms to comfort me. The plight of my bottom receded slightly as she
deliberately slipped a hand onto my pussy and softly rubbed me.
"The count said it's my job to comfort you," Julie said. "And
I intend to do my duty." She bade me relax, that she was just going to
rub me gently, playfully. I responded by giving her a playful hand of
my own. Together we went swooning into sleep.
30
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