Message-ID: <15144eli$9809110042@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/15144.txt> From: np98rb@mail.telepac.pt (Christine & David Stevenson) Subject: Under Control part twelve of twenty eight Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Original-Message-ID: <35e93ac3.7366125@news.telepac.pt> Under Control - part twelve of twenty eight by mailto: VictorBruno@mschristine.com this story remains copyright Victor Bruno, release to publish granted to Christine Stevenson. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - PAUL COULD NOT remember the culmination of his ordeal. All he knew was that, at some stage it was at last over, that the wire had been un-noosed, and that he was crawling across the smooth wooden floor behind Delia's red high heels as she led him on an iron collar and chain. The pain in his genitals did not seem to have lessened despite his release. Then he found he was fastened by a shortened length of chain, by the collar, to a large ring set in the side of a kind of stone horse-trough filled with water. The two naked slave-girls who had unwittingly brought him such agony were also fastened to the ring, one on each side of him. He felt their hot and sweating flesh quivering as it pressed to his. Finally the girl who had been fastened to the whipping block was added to the iron ring. The comparison with cattle once again came to his mind . . . especially when the girls began to plunge their heads and faces into the water to cool them and also to drink greedily. Paul did likewise and slowly began to revive somewhat. I have survived again, he reflected . . . though at one time it had seemed he must lose his manhood. Stoically he absorbed the pains in his tenderest of flesh and the throbbing weals across his buttocks. The girls crushed alongside him would, he knew, be enduring similar pains. It was unthinkable that he should show himself weaker than they. As he had often done before, once again he fought down the feelings of unmanly helplessness within him and summoned up reserves of will and strength. After a while he cautiously raised his head and looked around. Delia seemed temporarily to have disappeared. The four of them were alone, shackled together. Slaves of Delia . . . of Miss Mandy . . . owned body and soul by Mrs. Dupont! Paul turned his head and looked at the girl on his right. She was the brunette and the slightly more curvaceous of the two whose nakedness had been squirming and juddering before him for the last two hours. Her pretty features were distraught and her dark eyes looked at him with a kind of blank horror. "It . . . it wasn't your fault,' he whispered hoarsely. There was no response. "I forgive you," he added. Then, on a sudden impulse, he raised a hand and fondled one of the girl's fulsome, pendulous breasts. What was there to stop him? Why should he not take advantage of any such rare opportunity? He felt her shudder and recoil a little. "Don't . . . oh . . . d-don't . . ." she choked hoarsely. "Why not?" said Paul, continuing to fondle her avidly. "We . . . we're both . . slaves. And . . . I haven't had a woman for . . . for months . . ." The girl moaned . . . and went on shuddering slightly. Then she closed her eyes and seemingly resigned herself. What else could she do chained in such close proximity? Despite everything, Paul's lust increased and he began to do the same to the girl on his left. She too shudderingly resigned herself. Paul, an amalgam of pain and pleasure was unable to control himself despite being hideously aware of the dangers of his actions. Oh God . . . how marvellous it was to be able to feel and fondle a woman's body again freely! Not under restraint, or with touch limited by female command . . . but just as he wanted to. Because he and these two girls were equals. For all of them were slaves, and the women he was touching would not at any moment make him suffer. "You . . . you beauties . . . you lovely little beauties," he panted hoarsely, "How I'd love to fuck you . . . both of you!" Momentarily the menace of Delia was forgotten. Nothing else mattered but that close proximity of female flesh. Despite the awful intensification of pain where the wire had cut, Paul quickly came to full erection again. The thought of mounting one of the girls from the rear occurred hotly to him before he realised the impossibility of doing so. First there was the hideous danger of Delia's return - and the certain fearful consequences - and then the length of the chain on which he was held was too short to allow any such thing. So he had to content himself with fondling the soft, quivering female flesh and other intimacies while each girl whimpered, cringed and twisted away as best she could. Accustomed as they might be to such attentions from Madame Dupont's guests, it was no easier to bear to be thus treated by a fellow sufferer! The sound of the door of the Punishment Room slamming made the hair on the nape of Paul's neck rise. Swiftly he jerked his hands away and wished he could as quickly subdue the evidence of his lust. Delia would show no mercy, he was sure. Like the sound of doom, her high heels came clacking across the floor of the chamber. Paul began to pray inwardly. Realising once more how kind his mistress was to keep him in a restrainer. It seemed that his prayers were answered, for Delia made no comment of any kind as she unshackled the chains from the ring bolt. Had she noticed? Or was she ignoring the incident? "Feel better for the drinkies?" she enquired in a sneering voice. There was a murmuring of affirmation and humble thanks from all four of them. Such fawning and grovelling, Paul had quickly realised, was an essential requisite of this new mass slavery in which he found himself. "Come along then," continued Delia, "you're to be locked up for the night." Leading her flock behind her, she made off long-striding across the chamber. All four were still on hands and knees, since no order to the contrary had been given; but Delia's pace made it virtually impossible to continue in that fashion. As did the others, Paul came up on to all fours. The soft haunches of the girls on either side of him bumped and slapped against his as they hurried forward. What a spectacle we must make, thought Paul. Once again the resemblance to animals pierced him. Having left the Punishment Room Delia proceeded to lock away her charges in various cells. Paul's turn came last. He was unceremoniously booted in by his new, young slave mistress and fastened to the wall by the chain. "Miss Mandy will be seeing you in the morning," said Delia with a menacing grin. Paul felt the sickness of dread rise up within him as he looked up at this lovely creature, now so briefly and fetchingly clad again in red leather. It scarcely seemed possible that she had brought him such torment that evening. Yet she had . . . she had . . . and would be only too happy to bring him more in the future! "Yes . . . Miss . . . ." he nodded wretchedly . Then Delia turned, the steel door opened and slammed with a hollow clang, the key turned in the lock. Paul was alone once more . . . but, of course for the sleeping, naked figure of Karen chained to her bench-bed on the far side of the cell. Understandably, she lay with her lush hind quarters uppermost, though they were partially turned towards him. He surveyed the vivid, bright red weals that encircled the girl's buttocks, knowing just how much each one of those had hurt. For had he not received precisely the same? Indeed, the pain from his own weals seemed scarcely to have ebbed at all and he turned on to his side to ease it a little. He continued to contemplate Karen's shapely nakedness whilst recalling memories of the intimate contact he had so recently had with the other two slave girls. The lust began to mount within him again. It was at that moment that Paul realised his wrists had not been secured to the iron collar about his neck, as was customary with Gloria . . . nor had a leathern restrainer been put on him! No doubt, unaccustomed to male slaves, Delia had over-looked these small but important details! With something like a moan, Paul gripped the hard solidity of his root. He could scarcely believe what had happened . . . and the opportunities it gave him. Such was the strength of his lust, the risk element seemed remarkably small. At least, in the heat of the moment, he told himself it was. Oh God . . . how long was it . . . how long since? His hand began to pump luxuriously. Oh the joy . . . the delight . . . the relief! After so, so long! An eternity since his divine mistress Gloria had permitted him such liberties. How many times, he wondered hotly, will I have strength to do this tonight? For the moment, tomorrow did not matter. Nothing mattered. Nothing but the fierce ecstasy of desire that was throbbing through him. "Oh Gloria . . . Oh Gloria . . ." he moaned softly as images of his mistress filled his brain. Slow . . . slower . . . he told himself . . . or it will be too soon. Slow . . oh slower . . . . yet how could he? It was too good. Mouth slack, eyes glazed, he focused on Karen's ripe nudity and let memory after memory click through his lust-heated brain like a swift-operating photo-slide show . . . . The naked girls in the orange grove, exposing themselves so blatantly while Delia had wielded the strap . . . Oh powerful woman . . . The intimate revelations that continued as they were herded back to the Big House . . . The scores of other naked beauties he had seen . . . The intimate revelations that continued as they were herded back to their cells . . . and when they were subsequently thrashed simultaneously . . . cruel women . . . Oh . . . cruel . . . cruel women . . . "Aaaah . . . ." The juddering flesh of the slave girls enduring the cruel discipline of the Saddle Strap . . . Delia herself . . . . so blonde, so beautiful, so utterly dominating . . . "Aaaah . . ." The stark, close-up nakedness of her magnificent body . . . Oh God . . . oh God . . . he could not hold out . . . no . . . longer . . . no longer . . . Oh . . . oohh . . . the utter, utter joy of it . . . Nothing . . . nothing else mattered . . . Then, gasping and groaning as the final explosion hit him, Paul's whole mind was being filled by vivid images of the woman who, above all, truly dominated his life . . . That woman was Gloria. Gloria the supreme being. Gloria, of whom he was in adoration. Her very basest slave . . . Gloria . . . ahh . . . yes . . . yes . . . . it was Gloria he was truly serving . . . She . . . the supreme Goddess . . . . she . . . she . . . . Yes . . . she . . . she . . who had denied him for so long . . . "Aaaaahhh . . . . aaaahhhhh . . . ." She . . . she . . . cruel goddess . . . she . . . . "Aaaaahhhhhh . . . ." Images of Gloria melded in his mind with joyous sensation. "Aaaahhhhhhhh . . . . aaahhhhhhhh . . . . aaahhh . . . aahh . . . aahh . . . ahh . . ah . . ah . . ." Paul, eyes closed, body quivering, utterly slaked; slumped down, huddled up on the hard bench . . . For the moment, he was content. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - This story is being released as an illustrated web book, for autoresponder details of Victor Bruno Books available please contact VictorBruno@MsChristine.com http://www.mschristine.com/bruno.html Also published as text simultaneously on...... ------------------------------------------------------ The DOMestic mailing list is free of charge. Subscribe in subject line:- DOMestic@Ms-Christine.com Moderated by David & Christine Stevenson. 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