“I hate you!” Polly declared when I finally, with the help of
Cheyenne, managed to extract her from her infant swing. Brent had left
us to our own devices as soon as he’d cum. We were alone in the attic.
Cheyenne and I finished washing ourselves. We were quite clean now, and
ready for whatever the day portended. We took Polly to the baby pool
and ran in more water and washed her too. Cheyenne placed more towels
around the pool to keep our knees dry. Someone would have to vacuum
this room’s rug quite well after we left, at least where the pool was.
We’d not been too careful about keeping the water where it belonged. Oh
well, I told myself. There was semen on the rug too, where Brent had
dribbled after cumming in my mouth. Maria, no doubt, would clean up
after us, or perhaps Kelly. It was our job merely to play.
When Polly was clean as a newborn Cheyenne and I got her out of
the tub and dried her off. I slapped her bottom. “Go downstairs,
Polly, and find someone to play with,” I told her. “Cheyenne and I have
business to attend to.”
“I WILL!” Polly said sulkily. She was still upset about being
fucked to death in the infant swing. She padded off across the rug,
managed to get the attic’s trap door up (after dropping it twice), and
scooted herself down the ladder just as fast as she could.
I looked at Cheyenne. I put a hand on her shoulder. “Let’s do
our makeup,” I told her. She was quiescent. She let me lead her to the
toy cupboard. I found a compact for each of us and a makeup kit for us
to share. I took her to the children’s table. We sat on the hard
little seats and did our makeup, our knees up to our chests, our legs
wide, showing our slits. I made her rouge her nipples when she’d
finished her face. I powdered her pussy for her.
“Come along,” I told her. I stood up, she stood also. I took
her hand. We went to the trap door and I went down the ladder. She
followed. I gazed up at her bottom as she came down after me.
“Should I shut the door?” she asked me. She meant the trap
“Leave it open,” I told her. “The place must be tidied up.”
“Okay,” Cheyenne replied. When she was standing beside me I
took her hand again. I circled a fingertip around her nearest nipple.
“It’s time for your whipping,” I told her simply. I don’t know
if she believed me or not. But she let me lead her, and I took her to
my room.
“We’ll use my bedroom,” I said to her. I opened the canopy so
she could get up within my bed. I made her stand on my bed while I
knelt behind her. I was quite aware of her bottom, jiggling sweetly in
front of my face, and I knew she was too. I kissed it, once on each
cheek. It was creamy and white. She was ready to enjoy new adventures
with it. I reached around her hips, got hold of the post to which she
would have to be tethered. I snapped it up from the wall and latched it
onto her dog collar. We were fortunate, having our manacles always on
us, keeping us ready for punishment.
Cheyenne opened her mouth and waited while I flipped up the
second post, the one that lay atop the first and held the soft rubber
ball. When it was up I stood and bent her head gently forward. She
accepted the ball within her mouth. I stroked her hair.
“This is going to hurt,” I told her. I lifted her hands high
and then bent them back and attached them to the rear of her dog
collar. I kissed her face. She had nice blushing face cheeks. Her
lips were stretched over the ball, as if it were some huge cock forcing
itself into her mouth.
Rose peeked within the canopy. Had Polly told her what I had
planned for Cheyenne? “There you two are!” Rose exclaimed.
“I’m going to give Cheyenne her judicial whipping now, with
your permission,” I told Rose. “She wants to be a domme, but she can’t,
can she, until she’s had her whipping?”
Rose put a hand to her throat. “You are not qualified, dear,”
she told me. “You might injure her.”
“I’ll do my best not to,” I replied. “You can supervise me if
you want to.”
“Alright,” Rose answered. “But afterward I’m going to insert
your butt plug. It’s time we began widening your hiney.”
I gulped. For a moment I just stood behind Cheyenne, caressing
her bottom cheeks with my hands. Cheyenne jerked now and then, why I
don’t know.
“Okay,” I said finally. Rose nodded.
“Be good, Cheyenne,” she told my sweet victim. “This will give
you more privileges at the castle. Although, I daresay, I’ve hardly
restricted you so far, as I should have,” she smiled. “Nonetheless, all
girls must have this, so don’t despair. Keep your chin up. Louis and
Andre should be done with Brent’s wife by now. I’ll invite them all in
to watch. I’ll have Maria bring some food and we’ll have quite a
celebration while you suffer. You can be our centerpiece, Cheyenne,
inspiring us all!”
Polly padded into my bedroom. Carefree, innocent, she sucked
her thumb as she carried the satchel of implements with which Cheyenne’s
bottom would be whipped. I had not even thought of the implements yet.
I guessed Polly must have, in fact, told Rose of my plans, and now all
was set in motion. I had been so intent on securing Cheyenne to the
post above my bed that, I guess, I must’ve simply thought of using my
hand to paddle her. It shows you what a ‘bush-leaguer’ I was. I guess
it meant I belonged at Rose’s Cunt Castle after all, since she was,
according to Glenda’s boyfriend, hardly the maven of S&M she claimed to
be. Yet as I watched Polly plop down the bag on the bed beside me, and
unzip it, and Cheyenne’s quivering bottom cheeks as she saw, in a
mirror, all the insidious implements it contained, I think Cheyenne, at
least, considered herself in for more pain than she wished.
I drew from the bag a half-inch wide lash made of elegant
snakeskin. It was long and promised to curl with deadly force into the
soft waiting cheeks of Cheyenne’s bottom. I think the prospect of
showing off her white bottom and daring me to whack it seemed less
intriguing to Cheyenne, even as Andre and Louis, our loves, stepped
within my bedroom to watch. Despite the rigors of entertaining Brent’s
wife, their cocks hardened the minute they saw me with Cheyenne. She
mewled a protest but neither of them made any move to rescue her.
Chivalry in this case meant refraining, not interfering.
“My, you two are eager beavers this morning!” Rose complimented
the boys. “I’d have thought Brent’s wife would have drained you both.”
“We gave her our all… or so we thought,” Louis mused. He
glanced down at his own cock, as surprised as the rest of us were that
it could rise again so quickly. We were all deliciously naked, except
for the manacles Cheyenne and Polly and I wore every day around our
ankles and wrists and throats. Rose had on a little robe that did
nothing to hide her charms. It was belted round her waist, but had been
pulled open to show her breasts and was so short it barely covered her
bottom, while in front it wafted open to let us all see her pubis. In
any event it was nearly transparent, despite being adorned with
transparent lace flowers, so that anything the robe hid was, in fact,
not hidden at all, despite being covered. Andre and Louis were naked
from their toes to the tips of their heads (and their newly risen
cocks). Nonetheless Rose passed them a comb and made them comb their
hair so they’d look presentable for our little party.
Kelly entered. She was wearing silk stockings with slight runs
in them. Her maid’s hat was on, as well as her garter belt, which held
up her elastic-free stockings. Otherwise she was nude, except for
splotches of mustard someone had squirted on her. In her hand she held
a bottle of French’s mustard.
“Sorry! I couldn’t get it away from the kids!” Kelly sighed.
She was fresh from the nursery, I guessed, the children’s nursery in
which Brent’s two daughters and Johnnie were being kept entertained. A
shiver went down my spine. If Kelly wasn’t in the nursery, who was?
And I knew in an instant, despite trying to keep the thought out. Brent
was there. And his wife, having had her brains fucked out by Louis and
Andre, was, as one might say, ‘indisposed.’ She might even still be
tied down in a bedroom somewhere, allowed to sleep after her raping.
Kelly also carried a bag with her. In it were party things.
Rose opened it, passed out hats. She gave me one. It was a little
cone-shaped party hat and I put it on my head, tucking the string
chin-strap under my chin. I looked silly in it. I could not put one on
Cheyenne because of the post in her mouth, but I tried anyway. Louis
and Andre donned hats, as did Polly and Rose. Kelly left to fetch us
some treats.
“Keep an eye on the nursery too, if you can!” I called after
her. Rose scolded me.
“It is none of your affair, dear. Don’t be prudish,” she
said. She handed me the bottle of mustard. “Squirt it onto the lash.
It will make it sting more.” I took the mustard with tentative hands.
Cheyenne mewled again.
“No, it isn’t Grey Poupon,” I told her. “Sorry.” It was
French’s mustard.
“I call it Grey Poop!” Polly volunteered. “I don’t like that
“Try to be a little grown up, Polly,” Rose admonished. She
straightened the girl’s party hat. Polly picked up a party favor and
blew on it. She seemed startled when the curled-up end of it shot out.
Then, after enjoying this new toy a few times, she decided to attack
Louis and Andre’s erections with it. They laughed as Polly bent down
and fired her party favor at them, hitting their cocks with its
unfurling tail.
Meanwhile, I took my snakeskin lash and squirted French’s
mustard all over it. Cheyenne seemed mesmerized. She was the center of
attention of all of us, or soon would be. Rose told Polly to behave
herself or she’d find herself joining Cheyenne. Kelly returned, perhaps
having found a tray downstairs already prepared by Maria. She offered
us wafers with cheese, bits of meat, celery dip and sprigs of oregano.
Rose said the dip had an ancient aphrodisiac laced into it to make us
more, as she put it, “active.” I was concentrating on preparing my lash
with the mustard but she offered me a wafer and made me eat it out of
her hand. I felt my nipples perk up a little as I swallowed it. Polly
munched down several wafers, saying she was hungry. A minute later she
dropped to her knees and eagerly began playing with both Louis and
Andre’s cocks. It was amazing to see her, a little girl down on her
knees, wearing a party hat, fondling Louis and Andre’s organs as if they
were sausages that needed skinning. The men, amused, each let her play
with their manhood. Rose warned Polly not to make them cum.
“You’d better begin, darling, we haven’t forever,” Rose told
me. I lifted my snakeskin lash and twirled it about. It looked
deadly. I bent and kissed Cheyenne’s bottom cheeks to remind her that I
loved her. We were just playing. I wanted to see her squirm a little.
And, if I could manage it, this would count as her official penal
whipping that would make her a proper young lady at the castle.
I dangled the tail of the whip into the cleft of Cheyenne’s
ass. I let her feel the pointed tail drawing up and down between her
tensing cheeks.
“You are too long about it,” Rose told me. She put her knee on
my bed, took the whip from me, lifted it, and summarily brought it down
on Cheyenne’s ass with a loud SNAP! Cheyenne screamed, drew her cheeks
in as it hit, then bucked her bottom outward to try to get rid of the
WHACK! THWACK! Rose rewarded the girl with two more cracks of
the whip, each just as awful as the first.
“My, what nice lines you deliver,” I heard over my shoulder.
It was Bambi, nude as we were, with a party hat on. I gulped. Just
seeing her made me afraid. Rose returned the snakeskin lash to me.
“Show Bambi what a good whipmistress you are,” Rose told me. I
swallowed again and accepted the lash. I looked at Cheyenne’s bottom.
There was no sense in sparing it now. Three angry red lines
crisscrossed its creamy white surface. Her cheeks, so lovely, looked
like some mean animal had lashed out at their satin beauty. With
trembling hands I lifted the lash, holding it with both my hands, as if
to reassure myself that I wouldn’t drop it, and I brought it down upon
Cheyenne’s hiney.
“Yeoooch!” Cheyenne screamed a gag-muddled scream. I looked
and saw I had barely left a mark.
“Just one hand, use the wrist to inflict the blow,” Rose told
me. She reached out and took one of my hands, making it hold the lash
all by itself. Then she drew my arm back and together we brought the
lash down on Cheyenne.
WHAHACK! The lash scored a double hit. It struck Cheyenne’s
left cheek and then rippled across to her right. The girl howled and
shook her bottom as if she were being paid to. The men laughed.
“This is better than a strip bar!” Andre crowed. Polly had
taken to sucking his cock. She was bobbing her head furiously up and
down his shaft, deeper than she might ever had attempted, but for the
naughty crackers. Andre absently stroked her hair, happy for the
attention, but more intrigued by the punishment of Cheyenne’s adorable
bottom. With her other hand, Polly kept Louis erect and aware. I saw
he was dripping pre-cum and prayed she didn’t bring him off in her
cracker-induced ardor. She was just a child, given to impulses. I
hoped Rose kept an eye on her. Louis gazed at me, enjoying the
movements of my figure, the bouncing of my breasts against my chest, the
allure of my bottom. He seemed oblivious to the fact that little Polly
was playing with his penis although, no doubt, at some level he must
have felt it, for his balls were drawn up tightly and his peehole
glimmered with the liquid jewels of his pre-sperm.
“Make her really buck and move!” Louis urged me. He had his
hands on his hips, as if he were some prison warden, giving orders to an
underling. I nodded, politely. I put my hand to my throat, steadied my
hand, and lifted it, unassisted this time by Rose.
“Remember to use your wrist,” Rose reminded me.
Cheyenne, watching from a mirror, drew in her aching cheeks and
held them as if against a mighty storm. And then I let her have it.
WHACKCK! I managed a double-strike. It was harsh. Cheyenne
screeched into her ball-shaped gag and let her bottom cheeks bound and
waggle and dance like any common slut on a dance stage. I smiled at her
lack of composure. This was fun! How embarrassed she must feel. I
drew back my lash and hit her again.
“Now wipe off the mustard and use a new implement,” Rose told
me. She handed me a rag but moistened it with a bottle of alcohol. I
grinned and took the rag she offered me. I rubbed it over Cheyenne’s
ass cheeks. The girl hollared as she felt the stinging alcohol rubbed
over her wounded bottom.
“You’re getting the hang of it,” Bambi told me. She knelt on
the bed beside me and made me shiver as she palmed my bottom. Did she
have plans for me? I looked at Rose. I wanted to tell Bambi to go away
but Rose seemed to enjoy having her. Bambi slapped my bottom and told
me to pick the martinet. “That will really make her regret showing off
her ass in public!” Bambi crowed.
I turned and kissed Bambi on the mouth, still holding my
alcohol wipe, still tending to Cheyenne’s bottom with it. I knew I
shouldn’t encourage her, but I couldn’t help it. Something about her
intrigued me, especially with Louis and Andre watching. “You are
utterly, utterly wicked,” I told Bambi. She accepted my kiss and delved
a finger into my bottom hole. At the same time she rubbed herself,
juicing her slit.
“Show me what a good whipmistress you are,” Bambi smiled.
“Play with me while I do it,” I answered.
“Okay,” she said, and began frigging my slit for me, from
behind, bending down so she could really get at me. I knelt with my
legs wider apart on the sheets. Cheyenne would really feel some
punishment now. I couldn’t help it. I was hot and bothered now, and I
needed something to distract me.
I lay aside the alcohol wipe and selected the martinet from the
bag. It had been boiled in starch to make it stiff. I raised it,
watched as Cheyenne’s appealing bottom waved in front of me to attempt
to avoid the blow. Her ankles were not tied. She might have kicked
back at me at any time but, so far, had contented herself with
stretching her calves upward, or stamping her feet upon the bed. She
was well-controlled, despite her pain-rent contortions. She was a good
girl. I would not be too harsh with her, I decided. I brought the
martinet down firmly, ‘judiciously,’ one might say, given that this was
to be a judicial whipping. Cheyenne groaned and kicked out, sideways,
thankfully, while I watched her antics, Bambi all the while intrusively
massaging my slit. She palmed by bottom, as if preparing it for a
whipping of its own. I lofted my martinet and hit Cheyenne’s ass
again. She howled, shook her breasts, her bottom.
“No more! No more!” I heard her cry, looking at me wide-eyed
in the mirror.
“You’re doing very well, Cheyenne,” was all I said in reply.
To console her, but in a sadistic way, I passed the alcohol wipe over
her ass. She screeched into her gag and stamped her pretty feet on the
bedsheets. She was rumpling my bed quite badly. And I had thought her
so good. I gave her another blow from the martinet. She cried out,
began crying.
“Now we’re getting somewhere!” Bambi said from behind me, and
slapped my bottom again as if to remind me of her own intentions. Well,
I’d cross that bridge when it came to me.
I took up a thin little whip next. I wiped it through the
alcohol rag to make sure it would be as insidiously painful as I could
make it. Cheyenne was beside herself now, bawling over the bulging
ball-shaped gag, which kept her jaws wide apart, letting her tears flow
freely. Polly had looked up from her sucklings of Louis and Andre to
watch. She had a look of concern on her face that preschool children
show when they see another child who’s hurt. Rose patted her head and
told her to go back to enjoying Louis and Andre.
I saw Kelly appear with a teapot. She poured Rose a cup of hot
tea. Glancing at me, Rose took the cup, drank from it, and held the
fluid in her mouth. Then she knelt before Louis, drew Polly’s hand off
him, and put her mouth over Louis’s cockhead.
“Yeeeowww!” Louis groaned. He had not seen her coming, he was
so entranced with me, and my whipping of Cheyenne’s bottom. Rose held
Louis’s penis delicately within her mouth, keeping his shaft still with
gentle fingers upon it, her sharp nails careful not to scratch him. She
made him feel the full effect of the hot tea on his penis head. Then,
spluttering at last from the hilarity of it, she lost her mouthful of
tea, spilling it on the carpet, and set to sucking Louis’s prick gently
to make him feel better. Eagerly Louis thrust his penis into her mouth
to assuage the sting from the hot tea. Kelly, though, feeling playful,
or perhaps on instructions from Rose, given beforehand, took her teapot
and maliciously poured hot tea onto Louis’s ass.
“Yeeeeoowowoch!” Louis cried. His ass shot forward to avoid
the tea, burrowing himself even deeper into Rose’s mouth. Kelly
laughed. She did not desist, but playfully aimed the teapot at Louis’s
ass again and poured once more. He groaned and urged his hips forward.
Kelly made him take yet more, pouring the tea inbetween the cheeks of
his ass. Then she went to Andre and gave him the same treatment. Polly
sucked his cock so it, at least, would feel better. And she got the
full force of his erection as he attempted to arch his bottom out of the
way of Kelly’s tea. Neither man, however, did more than thrust himself
forward. To change the position of his feet, to run away, would have
been unmanly. Each stood his ground and did his best to withstand
Kelly’s burning tea. It was not so hot that it could scald him. She
had made sure of that. It was just hot enough to add to the fun of our
I gave Cheyenne a goodly number of strokes with the little
whip. Bambi kept at my own ass, exploring my cleft, my hole, tickling
my cunny also, to keep me excited.
At last I picked up the riding crop. It was a short,
no-nonsense crop. I pressed it to Cheyenne’s bottom, marking out the
place I intended to hit with it. She cried profusely, watching me
through her tears in the mirror, knowing that I would put a welt right
where I’d impressed the crop into her skin, if my aim were true. I drew
back my hand.
“Here’s your welt, Cheyenne,” I told her. Then I hit her as
hard as I could, right where I’d meant to. Cheyenne hollared over the
bulging gag in her mouth. She let an outburst of tears blubber forth.
In back her bottom strove and bucked and squeezed. She kicked back at
me, striking my boobies with her heel. In answer, quite promptly, I hit
her again with the crop, awarding her a second weal for her gross
misbehavior. Cheyenne screeched and stamped her feet on the bed, but
wisely avoided kicking at me again.
I flopped down on the bed. My job was done. With frightened,
but sexually-heated eyes, I watched as Bambi drew a strap from the
whip-bag and curled it through her fingers. Then, with my ass poised
high to receive it, she brought it down hard on my bottom.

I walked as daintily as I could, but my bottom hurt and it
moved with an impulse of its own. I was wearing a dress so small it lay
high on my ass, lying neatly across its upper curve but showing all
beneath. Within my cleft a large dildo had been driven. I hoped the
guests would not notice. I advanced to their table with my pad in hand,
ready to take their order. Except for my nothing skirt I wore only a
chiffon scarf, tied round my neck. I’d been freed of my manacles. In
their place I did, however, wear small lace gloves on my hands, and
hightop black booties. But my bosoms hung free, my belly was bare, and
my thighs, my calves, all were naked. In front my dress dipped just low
enough to almost hide all of my pubis. A little showed under the hem.
It was not quite long enough to hide all of me.
“Good evening sir, madam,” I nodded. I had a neat little
maid’s cap on my head. The man gazed at my tits musingly for a moment,
saying nothing. Then he let his hand slip beneath my skirt and he
tugged very lightly at my pubic mound.
“How sweet,” the gentleman’s lady friend said. There was a
second couple at the table with them and they smiled at me, at each
other. The women wore party dresses. The men were in tuxes.
As I stood taking their order, the woman closest to me touched
my thigh and turned me so that she could admire my heinie. She gasped
when she saw the big dildo stuffed into it. It had a flanged end to
keep the whole thing from going up me. It was my job to walk
tight-assedly, keeping the thing up me. Rose had decided it would teach
me ‘bottom control,’ and had denied me a g-string chain at the last
minute to hold the dildo in place. From my dildo a plumed feather grew,
as if to show off that which made me so uncomfortable. The woman gasped
as she saw the source of my feather.
“My, dear, you’ve got quite a dong stuck up you,” she breathed.
“Oh, let me see!” the woman with her declared. I was made to
show my ass to them all. Their order was temporarily forgotten. I
blushed deeply as they examined my bottom, touched my plume, caressed
(though the occasion did not call for it) my moistening slit.
When at last they had satisfied themselves, they made me write
down the rest of their order. Then I went to the kitchen with it, all
of them watching my ass as I walked away. I felt mortified. Rose would
not have wanted it any other way. I was a newly-minted resident of Cunt
Castle now. I was one rank up from novice love slave. I was
experienced now, both having received and given a whipping. I felt
accomplished. Despite my embarrassment I walked as one does when she is
proud of her place in life. I let them see the still-fading marks on my
bottom from the strapping I’d let Bambi give me. I’d let her…I could
not believe it. I’d stuck up my bottom to her and asked for it. How
ridiculous, how selfless, how daring…but I’d done it. And she’d
strapped me quite vigorously. Rose had been surprised at my boldness.
Our party had disintegrated after that, all of us but Cheyenne fucking
in and around my bed like wild Indians. At last, remembering Cheyenne,
we unfastened her from the post and encouraged, with not inconsiderable
effort, Louis and Andre to become hard one last time and do her. They’d
been called upon again and again that morning, but somehow we managed to
inspire new sperm in their balls. They were made to pump it into poor,
crying Cheyenne, who received it pettishly, but thankfully, I’m sure,
after all I’d made her suffer.
Now I was enjoying my new rank as an experienced love slave. I
was the same rank as Joanne and Sylvia now. I was in charge of serving
meals in Cunt Castle’s guest dining room. I didn’t cook them, merely
took orders and kept the guests entertained. And, simultaneously, I was
having my bottomhole widened. At least as much as I could stand it. I
was trying my best to accommodate Louis’s wishes. Rose said I could
cheat a little if I wanted to, and take the dildo out now and then, but
I was trying my best not to. Each day she promised to give me a larger
one to hold inside myself. Sometimes the g-string chain would be used.
Today, though, she wanted to see if I could keep it within myself by
holding my asscheeks tight as I could. It was kind of hard, given how
big the dildo was, and how much it stretched and widened me. Yet I
tried, biting my lip sometimes, getting help at other times to stick it
back up me if it started to come out.
“Four chicken dinners on table one,” I announced to Brent,
entering the kitchen. He’d been found doing unspeakable things with his
own daughters in the children’s nursery and had to promise to work in
the kitchen for a week to avoid having his wife told about it. He wore
a chef’s hat. His hairy chest was bare, his cock hard, despite the
closeness of the grill he slaved over. He did not seem unhappy. I
think he was intrigued with me, and the promise and availability of my
body. Well, I didn’t have to keep the chef happy, I reminded myself,
just the guests. But he looked enticing with his big cock, working
manfully over his grill.
“Alright, I’ll put four chickens on the grill,” Brent told me.
Currently he was roasting hot dogs, for Rose’s lunch, out back in the
dayroom with Polly and Louis and Andre and (sitting on pillows)
“Don’t get your own too close to that,” I reminded Brent.
“How thoughtful… may I put it someplace where the sun doesn’t
shine to keep it warm?” he asked me. He glanced at me.
“Maybe later,” I suggested. I began pouring drinks for my
guests. Two Bloody Marys and two Gin and Tonics. Brent gazed
approvingly at my ass.
“I’m glad you’re wearing that thing,” he told me. “You’ll have
trouble taking me, big as I am.”
“You’re no bigger than my Louis,” I replied.
“Still, you’ll feel me quite well, I can assure you, no matter
how receptive you try to make that pretty little ass of yours.”
“You have a cute butt yourself,” I replied. “Have you ever
thought of having one of those broiled hot dogs stuffed up it?”
“Hey, I was only trying to be friendly,” Brent said.
“So was I,” I replied. “Remember, I’m qualified to be a domme
now!” He shuddered and left off watching my heinie and went back to
cooking his dogs and my chickens. “Nice and spicy,” I reminded him.
“You know, the chickens…”
“Oh, it will be nice and spicy, when I fuck you,” Brent said to
“We’ll see…” I called to him, and left the kitchen, walking
carefully, carrying the drinks for my guests on a small silver tray.
They admired me as I walked across the room toward them, my breasts
jiggling, my steps mincing to keep the dildo from popping out of me. I
was submissive. I was happy. They would rape me before their dinner
was done but I told myself not to worry about it. I had learned to
serve. When I arrived at their table one of the women picked up a
cannister of Cool-Whip. She’d kept it hidden ‘til now, but I guessed
she must have fetched it from the kitchen before they even sat down.
Guests take liberties like that, sometimes, at the Castle, especially if
they’ve visited before.
I lifted their drinks one by one from my tray. Bending
forward, my breasts dangling, I served each of them their drinks. As I
stood erect to leave the woman with the cream stilled me with a hand on
my thighs. Then she lifted up the front of my skirt. She aimed the
whipped cream at my pussy. I tried not to flinch. She depressed the
top of the can and I felt chilly cream squirt all over my mound. Then
she replaced my dress.
“There. Now I don’t have to worry about my husband looking at
your pussy each time your dress flips up,” she said to me. “As for your
nipples, I have a more permanent solution.” She put down the can of
cream and opened her purse. I gasped as I saw her draw out two nipple
clips. She put her hand to the small of my back and made me lean
forward to receive them. I winced as each was clipped on to my erect
nipples. It hurt! I tried not to cry out but I couldn’t help myself.
The clips were heavy. I worried that they might make my breasts sag.
They did draw my breasts downward a little. I was proud of my high,
firm breasts. I didn’t want them ruined.
“Hurry with our dinner and I’ll take the clips off when it
arrives,” the woman told me in a no-nonsense tone.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said with an abashed look. Despite my pride
and my self-confidence, she’d found a way to bring me down. I turned
and, struggling to hold back my tears, I walked to the kitchen. I could
feel my breasts bobbing and hanging with each of my steps. They felt as
if Christmas ornaments had been hung from them. I was acutely aware of
the clips. They made me think of my breasts in new ways. I was a thing
on which objects could be hung, for amusement. Brent laughed when he
saw me come into the kitchen.
“Don’t expect me to allow you to take those off in here,” he
warned, as he saw me reach up to try to dislodge one of the clips.
“You’re mean,” I pouted.
“Clipped and creamed and stuffed,” he said, flipping a chicken
on the grill, admiring me as he spoke. “I’d say you’re pretty well
accounted for, young lady.”
“Just hurry up and get those chickens cooked!” I snapped.
“Only if you play with me while I do,” he answered. I agreed,
went up to him, and took hold of his dick. I fondled it with my
fingers. I drew it dangerously close to the grill, so that he had to
yank himself back to keep from getting burned. He laughed. I giggled,
feeling the weights jangle on my breasts. I was still happy, after
all. Life was strange here at the castle, but I hoped it never ended.

After my exhausting service at lunch I was taken upstairs by
Sylvia and Joanne. They bathed me in my tub. Joanne plumped up my
breasts and tweaked my nipples. They felt good. I was glad I was free
of those awful weights. Sylvia experienced difficulty in bathing me.
She was bound into a tight corset. Her hair was long, loose, combed
back and pinned into place by a small pair of barrettes. She was naked
except for her corset. It did not cup her breasts, or cover them. It
left them as free as if she were an Indian maiden, untried by men and
unbroken. Her legs, her ankles, even her feet were bare. But the
corset bound her middle like an iron grip.
“Take it off,” I told her. I rubbed one of my nipples with my
hand. It ached from the clamp. I did not want to see her constricted
so. There was no need. She was slim and beautiful.
“No,” Joanne cautioned. She took my hand from my breast and
kissed it, then placed it into the bubbled water of the bath. She
fondled my breast for me. I was to do nothing. They had even wiped me
after my potty. “She is wearing it for her branding. It will constrict
her waist even more and plump out her bottom.” I gasped. I looked at
Sylvia. She was not as nonplussed as she’d been in earlier days. She
nodded, said nothing. “Just do her hair. I’ll do the rest of her.
That way you won’t have to bend over so much,” Joanne told Sylvia. Then
she confided in me: “We help and support each other as much as we can.
Our masters are very demanding.”
“I have not seen your…” I paused. I let my breath catch. I
did not want to say the word. “Master.”
“Rose is doing us herself. She receives instructions every
evening by telephone,” Joanne told me. “We have no idea what our
masters are up to.”
“Sleeping with other women, I’ll bet,” Sylvia said dolefully.
“You wish. Then you think that would give you an excuse not to
go through with your branding,” Joanne sniped.
“They could be, you never know…” Sylvia suggested.
“Or maybe they aren’t. Maybe you’re just scared,” Joanne told
“Well, it’s my bottom that’s being branded, so I can be scared
if I want to,” Sylvia said.
They washed me in silence. When I was all freshened up I put
on a simple pair of panties and went down to the parlor. I eschewed
heels. It was warm out. I wanted to be barefoot. The castle was
lightly air conditioned, but Rose liked to keep it as natural as
possible. When I went into the parlor the windows were open. The
curtains were drawn, keeping the interior shady. A warm wind billowed
the curtains when it could and showed peeks of the parlor’s
inhabitants. I sat down among them. There was Andre, with Polly beside
him, clad in white panties as I was. Did we think alike? Louis was on
a loveseat near their couch. He wore a casual jacket and long pants,
plus loafers. Rose sat on a chair by herself, making another pouch out
of yarn.
“What are you knitting?” I asked her. Self-consciously I sat
down on the loveseat beside Louis. I pretended not to notice his eyes.
He drank me in, admiring my slim young figure and my uptilted breasts,
swinging free, my too skinny legs and my hair that I liked to wear free
and unfettered. I had my manacles on, of course, and my collar. I
never took those off. They were the symbols of my servitude to him.
“It’s for next Christmas,” Rose told me. She did not look up.
Maria came in with a bowl of oysters in hot tomato sauce. She handed
them to me. I saw Polly’s bowl had been set aside on the cocktail table
that fronted the couch she shared with Andre. She alone hadn’t touched
her oysters. Andre was finished, Louis was just polishing off his own
bowl. “When Christmas comes I’m having a very handsome young man over,
a virgin,” Rose said. Some ladies and I will get together and break the
lad in. “I don’t know who it must be, but I’ve got my requirements. He
must be young, preferably a little under 18, and shy. We like shy boys
at Christmas. He must be a young athlete. His cock must be
indefatigable, of course, which shouldn’t be a problem if he’s young,
which of course he must be.”
“How will you meet such a lad?” I asked, intrigued. I almost
envied whoever it would be. He would be royally feted, knowing Rose.
His only job would be to stay hard. How wonderful to be young and spend
Christmas with a roomful of ladies. He would come to the castle a boy
and leave quite the young Man, his cock probably aching and his balls
feeling like emptied-out sacks.
“I’m going to sponsor a surfing competition,” Rose said. She
threaded her yarn carefully through the evolving network that was
forming a perfect cock pouch for her Christmas boy to be. “In Brazil,
not here. Too many surfers would spoil the remoteness here. We’re
still pleasantly unknown here at the castle. But in Brazil, where the
boys are, and where I wish them to stay, except for specially invited
guests, I’ll sponsor a little surfing competition next December. The
waves will be up and, no doubt, so will my competitors. They’ll all be
strutting and showing their stuff to win the prize but myself and my
friends will be picking the winner of the real prize.”
I accepted a chilled glass of Arcticle beer from Maria, sipped
it. A foam mustache formed on my upper lip. Louis reached over and
wiped it off. I pushed his hand away. I wanted to hear Rose, not play
with Louis. “So some hunk will get the money prize, some experienced
man, no doubt, but you’ll be looking for someone else?” I asked.
“Yes,” Rose said. She finished her yarn pouch and held it up
proudly. It was large, fit for a stallion, but with a slenderness to it
that befitted a young, slim, still-growing lad. “He’ll be dejected that
he came in fourth, or fifteenth, or twenty-ninth, but I’ll console him
with my own special consolation prize, awarded privately. Like I said,
I have no idea who it’ll be. That’s what makes it fun, I guess. He’ll
be healthy and young and shy, which means he won’t have experienced
girls before. No VD, no herpes, none of that. Just a healthy young
thing, ready to fuck.”
I felt my eyes shining. It sounded very fun. I wanted to be
there, but I knew it would just be Rose and her closest friends, all
older ladies, hungry to be laid by a boy who, thinking himself doomed to
virginity, would suddenly find himself fucking like mad.
Louis reached out and toyed with my nipple.
“Louissss,” I complained, and pushed him away. He refused to
“How’s the restaurant business?” he asked.
“Well, if you must know, it’s practically wore me out,” I said
to him.
“Good. Then at least I know who you’re fucking, and when,” he
answered. I turned to him.
“Is that the only reason you’re making me play waitress–to
keep control of my love life?” I asked him. There was a touch of anger
in my voice. He plucked an oyster from my bowl and forced it between my
“Eat,” Louis commanded me. I munched on my oyster.
Sylvia floated into the room. She sat her bare bottom down on
the couch beside me.
“You didn’t require her to have her dildo put back in after her
bath,” Sylvia said to Louis. She reached out and stroked my fanny.
“Never mind that,” Louis said. “I’m going to do her myself,
every night. I’ll keep myself inside her until morning.”
“You’ll have to stay HARD until morning,” Rose laughed. She
picked up her mug of Arcticle beer and swallowed down a big mouthful of
it. Her breasts lifted with her arm. She wore a simple cotton blouse.
It was loose and sheer. It hid nothing, letting her nipples show. They
grew pointedly into her blouse as she considered my fate at the hands of
“I can stay hard all night,” Louis said casually. Rose touched
her throat, set down her beer on a low Rosewood flower stand beside her
“She’ll twitch and squirm her bottom all night,” Rose said.
“Think you can stand it?”
“Yes,” Louis replied, and I felt my own nipples perk up,
hearing him. Sylvia caressed my bottom and then lifted her hands to
accept a bowl of oysters from Maria. She cared for us well.
“I want Polly branded,” Andre said. Polly found herself
looking shocked and gazed about herself in wonderment. “Unless she eats
her oysters, that is,” Andre added. Polly glanced into her untouched
bowl and then looked away. “Yuck!” she declared. She was being a
little theatrical, I think.
“Andre dear, you must pick an older girlfriend if you wish to
see her branded,” Rose said. “Polly is too young. She must be full
grown before you can have her permanently altered.” Polly let out her
breath in a loud whoosh. She and I both knew we’d never be as old as
21, or even (alas) 18!
“Then I want her butthole enlarged,” Andre announced.
Rose giggled. I think all of us giggled. “She must be at
least 14 for that,” Rose said. She glanced at me. I smiled. I liked
the idea of being widened naturally, by my boyfriend’s own cock. Let
him put it up me and widen me with it. If he could keep himself hard
all night, despite my squirmings, then I deserved whatever he did to
me. I let Louis put another oyster in my mouth. I chewed, I swallowed,
he fed me another one. I was his pet. Behind me I think Sylvia was
wondering if an oyster could be put up my fanny, but she contented
herself with just speculating, palming and caressing me as she munched
on her own oysters. They dripped with tomato sauce.
Polly stood up matter-of-factly. She stuck her thumbs into her
white cotton panties and shoved them down her thighs. She kicked them
off. She turned to her boyfriend and carefully opened his zipper.
She’d caught him the other day, by accident, and almost been spanked for
it. She knew better now. Andre sprang out of his trousers hard and
excited. He had a big one. Too big for Polly, I think, but she
declared that she would sit on it. She parted his big thighs and placed
herself between them. Then she turned around, showing him her bottom,
and she proceeded to attempt, standing on her tippie toes, to impale her
heinie on him. It was a losing battle. She was too young and tight and
he was too huge. Polly reached back and opened the bare cheeks of her
seat and strove mightily, in her girlish way, to pop herself on top of
him. We all laughed a little, enjoying her antics. At last she
contented herself with just sitting in his lap. She wriggled onto the
big snake of his prick, feeling him slithering underneath her. Rose
watched, fretting aloud that Andre would sperm the soft fabric of her
sofa. It must have been a comfy seat for him, caught between the
cushiony bare bottom of Polly and his own trousers, with the sumptuous
sofa just beyond.
“Ah, let me take my pants off,” Andre groaned with happiness.
“I was just about to suggest that you put your cock away,” Rose
intoned. I don’t want to have to wash my couch.
“I can hold it,” Andre replied. He unbuckled his belt and
began shifting his pants down off his butt. A moment later and he’d
gotten them down far enough to allow his bare, hairy ass to rest
directly on the sofa. Polly bore down on his crotch with her fanny,
after rising up a bit for him so he could bare himself to her. “God,
this is Heaven,” Andre groaned. His dick was embedded directly within
the spheres of Polly’s ass now, with the deep, rich sofa supporting his
cock underneath. His pants, neatly pressed and fashionable, were down
at his knees. They kept his knees close, making an even tighter
enclosure for himself and Polly’s squirming tushy.
“Polly, dear, don’t let him sperm my nice couch,” Rose pleaded.
“He’s the one with the penis. Not me,” Polly replied. She was
churlishly indifferent. She ground her soft pumpkin more wildly,
shaking her breasts, lifting her arms.
“Please, Polly, don’t wriggle your bottom on purpose!” I
scolded her. “You’re wiggly enough without doing a lap dance on him!”
“God, I don’t think I can hold it after all,” Andre moaned.
“I want a lap dance too,” Louis told me. I finished the oyster
in my mouth and put my oyster bowl on the floor. Maria came in, picked
it up. I unzipped Louis. I bent low and kissed his prick when I’d
drawn it out of his underpants. Right on his peehole I kissed him,
quite boldly.
“Hi,” I said to his peehole. I was feeling frisky.
“Hi,” Louis replied, speaking for his penis.
“Come and sit in my lap, dear,” Rose said to Sylvia.
“But you don’t have a penis!” Sylvia replied.
“No matter, I want to talk to you about your branding,” Rose
said to her. As I shucked off my undies and got into Louis’s lap Sylvia
stood and walked over to Rose. Our hostess pushed down her own small
plaid skirt and welcomed Sylvia into her lap. They kissed. I turned
and kissed my Louis. Andre gritted his teeth and prayed aloud that he
could hold himself back just a little longer.
Kelly entered. She walked over to Polly and took hold of the
girl’s arm. Polly gazed up at her wide-eyed as Kelly lifted Polly
bodily from the couch.
“What do you have there, dear?” Rose asked Kelly. She lifted
her mouth from Sylvia to inquire of her maid. Kelly held a pitcher.
“Warm cream,” Kelly replied.
“Ah, Maria must’ve thought I wished it. We did this once
before. Alright, spoil the couch, then,” Rose said.
As Polly and I watched, Kelly aimed the pitched of cream at
Andre’s crotch. He was hard, hairy, breathless, close to cumming.
Kelly wore a simple skirt, stockings, high heels, but nothing else
except her maid’s hat. With her breasts swaying freely, she arched her
pitcher, leaned forward, and poured the rich, hot white cream directly
onto Andre’s stemming cock.
“Ahh, Chrissakes!” Andre howled. We watched as the cream
splashed onto his dick, found its way to his balls underneath, and made
a white mess of his pubic hair. When Kelly had made Andre slick with
the cream Polly was told to resume her lap dance. A little gingerly she
retook her seat, wetting her bottom in the cream as she sat down on
Andre. Then she began to wriggle once more, lifting her arms and
letting her breasts shake. Her bottom moved like quicksilver. Andre
gritted his teeth and waited for his orgasm. There was no question of
his sperming the sofa now. Permission had been given. He ached to hold
himself back now, knowing he must loose himself. Men always like the
forbidden. Now that Rose was permitting him to cum, he didn’t want to.
But he wasn’t about to make Polly stop her wonderful dance.
I was next. Kelly came to me, made me get up. She stood
admiring Louis’s manhood for a moment, then doused him with the cream.
She emptied her pitcher in his lap. Louis tried to look calm but his
cock twitched under the pouring cream, clearly enjoying the decadence,
the warmth, the deliciousness of it all. When Kelly was done I climbed
back onto him and made him accept my squirming bottom in his lap.
“I can hold on longer than you,” Louis boasted to Andre.
“You had a later start than me,” Andre replied through gritted
teeth. He was farther along than my boyfriend and teetering, perhaps,
beyond the point of release, when the male knows he must cum but is
hoping for a few more seconds on the precipice. I saw the muscles in
Andre’s neck tighten. He let his head fall back. Yet Polly felt
nothing yet. She kept at him, moving her heinie in tight little
circles. Then Andre let out a hollar and I knew he must be cumming, for
Polly looked up at me like some child just wetting her diapers. Andre
came and came and came. Polly forgot to keep dancing and Andre took
hold of her small childish waist and urged her to move briskly upon
him. Haltingly she tried to start again. But she was used to being
naughty, not making peace with sex and enjoying it. She could not bring
herself to squirm on him now that he was actually cumming. I think she
wanted to stand up but Andre held her tightly to himself. Rose tutted.
“Squirm, Polly. He needs it most now,” Rose urged. Polly just
sat still, feeling his seed squirt itself underneath her heinie. “She
must be trained,” Rose lamented. I moved my fanny faster and vowed not
to stop until Louis had spermed me completely. I did not want anymore
training. I just wanted to enjoy Louis, he and I together in my bed.
“Stop,” Louis said. He touched my shoulder. “Let’s go
upstairs and get started on your receptivity training.”
“My what?” I asked. I sat still as he wished.
“Spooning,” he said.
“Oh.” He wanted to stick his thing in my butthole. “Alright.
But it’s only early afternoon,” I answered.
“We are lovers,” he replied.
I rose from his lap. He took my hand. We bid farewell to
Rose. Polly was being put over Andre’s knee to smell his sperm on the
couch and get a spanking for failing in her lap dance. Sylvia, rising
off Rose’s lap, begged to spank Polly for Andre, to save his hand the
work of it.
Louis and I mounted the staircase together, his arm around my
waist. I felt my wet bottom wiggling distinctly behind me. I did not
want him up my ass but, but… I wanted to please him. In the distance
I could hear Polly blabbering that she needn’t be spanked. Then there
was a crack of palm to bottom, and Polly, I knew, was being spanked over
Andre’s knee, by Sylvia’s hand. It was a light, distinctive smack, like
a woman would give another woman. Polly disliked it all the same. She
blubbered her penance. Her voice and her screams faded as Louis guided
me up the stairs and to my room.

The sounds of insects was heavy, continuous. It was
mid-summer, the mating season. The air was warm and still.
I had been watching the phases of the moon from my bedroom
window at night, lying over a bolster, with my Louis slowly, inexorably,
working himself into my bottom each night. We played at it. We spent
all night at it. He would prepare me with vaseline and then finger me,
finally putting himself in. I would lie beneath him, captive, complete
somehow, with his penis up my fanny, fingering my pussy, or letting him
finger me, both of us feeling our need, toying with it, putting it off,
finally releasing ourselves to it. When the new moon came it was time
for Sylvia to receive her brand.
I gazed at Sylvia. She looked sheepish, frightened. She wore
just her corset, her breasts quite free, with little sandal-like heels
on her feet to make her seductive. I showed her the twin brands that
would be pressed simultaneously into the flesh of her bottom, right
beside her anus, within the crack of her fanny where only her lover
would ever peer, afterward, keeping her all to himself. I let her touch
them. They were cool, fresh from the cellar.
“They’re so small,” Sylvia said aloud. She pressed her
fingertip into the surface of each one. The disk was about half the
size of her fingertip, with a small V on each. I think she was trying
to console herself to the branding.
“Yes, they’re small,” I replied. “Fashionably small, Rose
says. She is merciful, is she not? She wants me to do you.” I
swallowed hard. Sylvia, without meaning to, copied me. We were
partners in crime, but it was her bottom that was on the line. The fire
in the parlor fireplace glimmered beyond, throwing out soft light on the
two of us. A metal bar stood in front of the fireplace, waiting to
receive the brands. They would lie atop it, being heated by the
simmering flames. Then, hot and burny, they would be pressed into the
fold of Sylvia’s pried apart bottomcheeks.
“Come, you two. Enough chit-chat!” Rose said. She walked into
the room wearing a scarf on her head, a full blouse, and an ankle-length
skirt. She was the very picture of modesty, but she did not have modest
plans. A wooden trestle stood in the center of the parlor. Rose held
two leather thongs in her palm. They dangled, they were thin. I gazed
at them, at the wooden log that formed the top of the trestle. I was to
tie Sylvia down. There could be no more musings, no more shared words
of condolence.
With my bottom as naked as Sylvia’s, I walked to the
fireplace. I lay the branding irons carefully into the slots on the
metal bar. There was a second bar just beyond the first, running
parallel to it, so that the branding irons would be supported properly
as they lay over the coals of the fire. There were twin dips in each
bar to receive the irons. I set them down and returned to Sylvia. She
was standing with an abashed look on her face, feeling her bottom with
her hands. I brushed her hands away.
“Be brave,” I told her.
“I’ll try,” Sylvia replied. I lifted a hand to her eye and
wiped away a tear. She bit her lip. She was clad in a corset but I was
entirely nude. I would have to be careful of the brands, lest I burn
myself. Rose had dictated all. She wished for us both to be
sensitive. Our bare skin guaranteed it.
“You’ll need a gag,” I said to Sylvia. We’d grown close during
the last day of her freedom. We’d played in the pool that morning,
before the sun became too bright. We’d swum like seals, buck naked,
with Polly floating bare-bottomed in an innertube.
All was arranged. I went to the couch, picked up a leather
gag. It was a new, freshly refurbished couch. It had flowers on it.
The gag was a simple strip of canvas. I returned to Sylvia. I took her
to the trestle in the center of the room. It was low to the floor. I
made her kneel down on a soft, broad platform in front of it. Then I
pushed her forward so that her weight pressed onto the trestle. She
dipped her back in the process. She showed me her bottom like an animal
might, hoping to be made a mother by some steed. I kneed her legs
apart. She allowed me to put her into a wide-kneed posture, kneeling on
the platform in front of the wooden trestle. There was a spreader bar
lying on the floor and I picked it up, placed it between her opened
knees, and bound them to either end of it. Then I snapped chains along
the sides of the platform up over the spreader bar’s center. Now she
could not rise, no matter what. And she could not close her legs. The
platform was deceptive. It looked lightweight, but it was actually a
heavy block of broad, dense redwood underneath its soft covering. It
took two men to lift. Sylvia would not get up again until her legs were
I placed her wrists softly atop the trestle’s hard, polished
wood. A whole log formed the top of the trestle, cut and polished with
many layers of wax. When Sylvia was properly positioned, bent forward
with her bosoms cushioning themselves against the wooden trestle, I
gagged her. Pushing the canvas gag deep into her mouth, forcing her
lips apart, I pushed her tongue back. Speaking was no longer an option
now for her. A guttural moan, a pleading whine, a stifled
acknowledgement, perhaps, but dictation, conversation, usually so highly
prized in the parlor, was now out of the question.
I fetched the thongs from Rose. They were soft but thin, raw
leather cut into two identical strips. Sylvia waited with her wrists
resting on the trestle. Her fingers hung beyond it, dainty, the nails
brightly polished. I bent down and bound the thongs round Sylvia’s
wrists, pinning them to the trestle.
“These will cut into your wrists a little,” I warned her.
“I know,” she gulped. The gag made her difficult to
understand, but I knew what she said. It was what I would have said if
I were her. It was Rose’s wish that the thongs be unplaited. Let
Sylvia strive to keep calm if she didn’t want wristburns from the thongs
as well as burns on her bottom. It was an additional test, one we all
knew Sylvia would fail. It did not matter if she passed or failed, only
that she have an incentive, however small, to behave as best she could.
There was a final precaution. A stump stood upright in the
floor, bolted there by the men who’d set up the trestle and the
platform. Atop it lay a cushion. Sylvia’s tummy pressed against it.
There were ropes coiled around the stump. I lifted them, bound them
round the small of Sylvia’s back. They were mercifully broad and soft.
I knotted them securely so she could not buck or rear as the brands were
Maria brought tea. She served Rose and Rose thanked her,
sipped her tea. Before leaving, Maria gazed at Sylvia. How amazing it
must seem to her, to see this beautiful young woman being bent double,
waiting to be marked by a brand on her lovely bottom as if she were a
cow that might run away to another pasture. In a way, she was like a
cow, for her master wanted him all to himself. Any man who dallied with
her forever after would encounter the brands, and see that she belonged
to another.
“The brands are hot now,” Rose observed. I had been slow in
tying Sylvia down. I did not want to break my nails, knotting the
insidious thongs, or the tummy ropes. I kissed Sylvia on her cheek for
luck. Then I stood up, brushed my hair back. I patted her bottom to
reassure her.
“I’ll try not to make it hurt,” I said, but I knew it would
burn terribly, and she did too. That was it’s purpose. Polly entered
at the doorway and stood there naked, clutching her bottom. Andre came
up behind her and took her by her shoulders. Would she be next? We
both knew she wouldn’t but still, I felt butterflies in my tummy, just
seeing her there.
“I don’t want to ever be branded,” Polly intoned in her sweet,
high-pitched voice.
“Neither do I,” I told her. Sylvia, hearing us, knew she had
no choice, and felt remorseful, I think. I heard her whimper.
I picked up the brands. Cool handles of cork, swathed in
velvet, kept me from being hurt in picking them up. I walked carefully
to Sylvia. I held the brands far out from my body so my wriggling tits
wouldn’t bump their devilish spheres, or my tummy, or any other part of
me. Louis appeared in the doorway. He brushed past Andre and Polly.
“Louis, come and sit,” Rose beckoned to him. He went to her
and stood beside her solitary chair. Gently, quickly, she unzipped
him. He drew in his breath as he felt her draw out his cock. My brand
was just a few feet away.
“Yes, Louis, how vulnerable you feel, hmmm? What if you’ve
mistreated Fleury, and she suddenly decides to get revenge on you?” Rose
put two fingers beneath Louis’s cock, slender fingers, his cock big and
meaty, and lifted him up for me to examine if I wished, as I held the
deadly brand.
“Don’t squeeze your cheeks,” I said to Sylvia. I touched the
inside of her furrow. She flinched. “It’s just my finger,” I told
her. She said something, I couldn’t understand it. I brought the brand
close to her ass crack. I let her feel the heat of it.
“Don’t allow it to cool. Press it right in. Now!” Rose
ordered me. I bit my lip. I pressed into the flesh of Sylvia’s bottom
with all my might, using not my finger but the brand itself. She
howled. I think I lost some of my hearing, she screamed so loud. As
she screamed I realized I’d forgotten the other brand. She would have
to suffer twice. “Hold, hold, hold, ten seconds must pass,” Rose said,
counting to herself. I closed my eyes and kept the brand pressed hard
against her bottomflesh. I could smell the skin as it sizzled, like
meat over a roasting pit. Sylvia tossed her head frantically. Her long
hair was still streaming, threshing, when I reopened my eyes. Rose told
me that the time was up. I lifted away the brand. Deep in the cleft of
her wide-apart bottom, right next to her anus, there was an angry red
V. Her brand. I stood up and rushed to the fireplace. I did not want
to make her wait.
Fetching the other brand, I returned to her. She was sobbing
in a loud outburst of tears. Her bare legs, pinioned to the platform,
shivered, her bare hips strove to break free somehow of the tummy rope.
I got down behind her, put my fingers within her frantic buttcrack, and
stabbed the second brand home. Rose counted off the time. When she hit
10 I lifted up the brand. I felt vastly relieved that the whole
procedure was over. I was wet with my own sweat. Trembling, I stood up
and returned the awful brand to the fire.
Louis was guided to Sylvia by Rose. She had been frigging him,
and he was deathly excited by seeing Sylvia branded. It was a simple
matter to bring him off. Gladly he loosed his soothing sperm into the
crack of Sylvia’s bottom. He did not fuck her. He merely stood over
her and showered down his love juice. I don’t know whether she
appreciated it or not. She was in too much agony to care much either
way, I think. I ran to her and knelt in front of her and patted her
hair and kissed her face. We all consoled her then, Polly and Rose and
myself, and Louis, and even Andre who, with a little help from Polly,
found himself emptying his balls into Sylvia’s bottom crack. Maria
brought a bowl of cool water and we bathed her face with soft clothes
and then, kissing her bottom, tasting the sperm of our boyfriends, we
poured the cool water over her bottom. When we untied her she rose
shakily to her feet, lifted by Andre and Louis, and she thanked us.
Amidst her free-flowing tears she thanked us. We took her to her room
and bedded her down. For the next three days we took special care of
her. My role became that she’d assumed toward me. I joined Joanne in
bathing and feeding her and seeing to her potty. Louis and Andre fucked
her every day, to keep her happy. They fucked her in her cunt. They
were forbidden to touch her bottom.