BDSM Fetish Library

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Swann, Leda, - Sugar and Spice

Even the primmest Victorian garb cannot mask Gwendolyn’s delectable attributes ;yet her handsome husband regards her with icy disdain. She has but one chance to save her marriage and avert a future of dashed hopes and despair . . . and it requires a visit to a house where sensuality reigns.

Unable to satisfy the needs of the man she adores, Lillian is devastated when he seeks the amorous attentions of another. But there are passionate lessons to be learned if she joins the lovers in their erotic hideaway. . .

To possess a bride as voluptuous and exciting as Cora would be any man’s dream, yet Gareth cannot understand why the woman he wed despises him so. Still, he will not give her up without a fight, though it may take extraordinary imagination to make Cora’s most wicked secret fantasies come true.

So sweet. . . So hot!

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Vickery, Samantha, - Getting Toasted

Miss Sex and the City? A little old for Cinderella? Then try Samantha Vickery’s debut novel, Getting Toasted! ‘Sitting here at this table today Jessie is one step closer, a step closer to that pot of gold. A step closer like a toast to your future.’ Jessie Whitetree loved Toby but lost him. She met Stuart but they lost touch. Then she found Harry but he lost his temper. Jessie does not wish for much. All she really wants is an old fashioned love affair and she is determined to get it! Follow Jessie, to Bath and Venice, as she leaves her loved ones behind and embarks on the journey of her life where just maybe she can meet her Prince Charming and make all of her dreams come true.

“Reporter Sadie Thomas is posing as a cybernetic prostitute on a Saturn mining colony to get the lowdown on the intergalactic sex industry and she has no idea that her cover is about to be blown by a duo of vice detectives from old Earth: handsome Holt and his partner, streetwise stud Blakely. Soon she’s uncovering an even hotter story with them and having her inhibitions slowly, seductively stripped away by a sizzling mind link with both men that makes her hungry for all they’ve got to give. As their investigation takes them to the wildest corners of the galaxy, Sadie can’t resist pushing their passions into overdrive and past the danger point to a realm of mind blowing, limitless pleasure . . .”

“Naughty Schooling”
(Previously “RIDING THE JAVELIN”))
By
David Shaw

Copyright. D. Shaw 2002.
The right of D.Shaw to be identified as the author of this
book has been asserted in accordance with Section 77 and 78 of
the Copyrights and Patents Act 1988.

The best fun I had at school was when I got in with Jodi Malenger’s gang.
This was in England, way back, but Jodi wasn’t English, he’d been born in
Estonia or somewhere like that and his family had moved over when he was
young.
Anyway, wherever he was from, he was the toughest and cleverest kid I’d
ever met and anybody lucky enough to hang out with him was guaranteed
plenty of fun. Partly because his family was well off, but mainly because
Jodi seemed to be able to get away with anything where girls were
concerned. You could take the poshest, most stuck up bitch in the school,
and she’d like nothing better than being dragged off somewhere by Jodi.
What’s more, most of them didn’t seem to care much if his friends tagged
along with him. But what really showed me how good Jodi was happened one
afternoon when we had Linda Beresford trapped in the gym storeroom at
school.
We’d been after her for quite a while, and she knew it as well as we did.
She was a plump little half pint of a blonde who giggled a lot, especially
when Jodi goosed her. This particular afternoon we’d seen her hanging
around down the gym area just as everybody was leaving. Now she must have
known that Jodi had bribed the caretaker into giving us a spare set of
keys for that area; every other kid in the school certainly knew it. She
must have known as well that to hang around near the sports storeroom at
the end of the day was tempting fate. If you were in that corridor when
the last bell went, and you happened to be a halfway decent looking girl,
then it was trapping territory. Jodi would suddenly appear at one end of
the corridor and two more of his gang would come around the opposite
corner at the same moment.
One minute later the storeroom door would be unlocked and the girl — or
girls — would find themselves on the other side of it. Then the door was
locked and the squealing began. But this time we got careless and didn’t
lock the door as soon as we should have done.
It was Linda’s fault. She’d obviously been waiting a while for a chance to
be the centre of attention and she was really stacking on the drama as we
ruffled her feathers. Every time a hand grabbed her there was more noise
than a catfight. Not that it stopped her giving us coy “come on” looks
from underneath her disarranged hair as she weighed the opposition up. In
fact she had unusually heavy odds to face that day because there were five
of us there. Jodi was the one who really mattered though — short and
broad shouldered, with the face of an angel and the mind of a sewer rat.
The rest of us just followed whatever he did.
There was Will, the biggest and oldest of us all, not very bright, but
always strong and willing. Micky and Jacko were both highly respected in
the school because they’d fight anybody any time. I was there because I
was pretty handy with my own fists. And each of us would have followed
Jodi into just about any situation. Incidentally, my name’s Andy.
Anyway, we’d made a circle around Linda to give her some heavy petting,
just as an introduction. She was making it more sporting by trying to keep
pushing our hands away, although with odds of two against ten most of the
grabs getting past her defences, which was why she was making so much
noise. After a few minutes though she changed her tactics and just stood
there, giggling and telling us we’d better let her go or else we’d be in
trouble.
Fat chance. Standing there with her ripe little figure neatly fitted out
in a white shirt and short brown skirt she looked good enough to eat. Mind
you, she was a lot less neat than she had been, with her shirt half pulled
out and her tits hefted around so much they’d just about popped out of her
bra cups. We’d soon finish that job off anyway, that was for sure.
“OK boys, let’s try for three falls and a submission.” Jodi said.
“What are you doing?” Linda asked as Jacko and Will walked her across the
storeroom.
It was a pretty stupid question because she was being taken towards a pile
of judo mats that had been stacked in the middle of the room and it was
obvious what they were there for. And, again, I would have been surprised
if Linda hadn’t heard stories about some of the past performances of the
top of those mats. As Jodi had said, there’d certainly been plenty of
submissions on top of them.
One of the most satisfying of them had been by Miss snooty nose-in-the air
Janet Saunders, the head girl. She’d been photographed stretched out on
top of the mats without a stitch on, giving everybody a demonstration of
how to sixty-nine with the boy underneath her. Jodi, in point of fact, but
you couldn’t see much of him except his cock, with Janet frantically
licking away at it as if it was a melting ice cream cone.
Oddly, it was Will who’d provided the finishing touch. In some dusty
corner of the room he’d found a bundle of paper union jacks on sticks,
probably meant to be waved around by the school kids during some long
forgotten royal visit to the town. He’d finally found a use for one of the
flags by pushing the stick up Janet’s bum, then making her carry on with
Jodi while we snapped her with a cock at one end and the flag flying at
the other one. A very embarrassed girl she’d been, and she had to do some
more very embarrassing things to keep that photo safely hidden away.
Anyway, to get back to what I’m telling you about, Linda was stood at the
side of the mats. She was doing a lot of heavy breathing but she wasn’t
screaming, or crying either, so it was on to the next round. Jodi sat down
on the mats in front of her before reaching out with skilled hands to
unhook and unzip her skirt. Linda made a few more protests, just for the
record, and then decided to shut up as her skirt fell down. Of course this
wasn’t the first time we admired her bared legs, we’d seen them plenty of
times before when the girls had been playing netball. But this time we
were going to see a lot more than just her legs. We told her that as well
as we gave her another good touching up.
Micky and I had a bum cheek each to play with, whilst Will and Jacko
swooped onto her tits as their own special areas of interest. Jodi put his
hand down between her thighs, below the gusset of the briefs — just
below, yet not quite touching.
“Bend your knees, Linda.”
She gave out a higher pitched squeal than anything she’d yet managed, then
lowered her quim half an inch onto his fingertips as if she was getting
into a hot bath. Like they say, a bird in the hand is worth having — and
by the time she gets to that stage she’s certainly going to be had.
Anyway, that meant the preliminaries were over. Linda Beresford was
showing every signs of having joined in the spirit of the party and
panting as Jodi made himself at home.
“Oh, God, you’re going to do it to me, aren’t you?”
Jodi rubbed her with his fingers in a way, which had her wriggling like a
dog having its stomach scratched.
“No, girl, you’re going to do it to us. But if you’re really nice about it
we may give you some good fucking on top of these mats as well. We’ve got
plenty of Frenchies and we don’t care how many you use up.”
Jodi was speaking as if he was almost bored.
“Strip her off and throw her on top of the mats. Let her keep her shoes on
though. I know her legs are in the right position for a good shag when the
laces are hanging straight down.”
Getting a giggling Linda out of her shirt was a job nobody minded lending
a hand with. Especially as we managed to finally bounce her starboard tit
clear out of its cup in the process. The plump mound of white freckled
flesh was lifted high up on top of the now redundant tit harness, showing
off a nipple that looked as hard as walnut and felt as hard as one when I
nipped it between my fingers. Linda called me a randy bastard and that
made everybody grin.
Will unhooked her bra and threw it away. Jodi stood her aside his legs
before hauling both of her tits down to his mouth, giving them a good
kneading and some playful bites. Linda’s eyes seemed to be rolling around
in their sockets, pretending to be so distressed but making sure we were
all watching her being treated like that. I reckoned it was exactly what
she’d been waiting forever since she’d hung around in the corridor.
“I’ll make her tits shake more than that when she’s riding on my cock,”
Jacko promised loudly, with Linda quivering in response as though electric
shocks were going up and down her spine.
“Drop them for us, you little prick teaser,” Jacko demanded, and Jodi
nodded his head in agreement.
With practically no hesitation at all Linda slipped her hands into the
sides of her briefs and pushed them down as far as she could, which wasn’t
far since she was standing straddle legged, but far enough for us to see
everything that mattered. She had quite a nest of light brown hair down
below, a physical detail, which was quickly covered by Jodi’s right palm
as he fingered her. The rest of backed up his good work by grabbing
whatever we could. Linda threw her head back, saying “Shit! Shit! Shit!”
until Will put his lips on hers and gave her a taste of his tongue.
“I think we’ve got a hot one here,” Jacko said.
It was a pretty fair statement because Linda’s hands were darting around
like butterflies, stroking Jodi’s arm that was fingering her, running over
Will’s head as he tongued her. It was just then that I heard a female gasp
of outrage and it certainly couldn’t have come from Linda. We spun around
and gaped at the teacher who was standing next to the mats, watching
everything that was going on with eyes bulging out like a dead cod’s on a
fishmonger’s slab.
Mrs Dunkley her name was, an English teacher, but not a very good one. I
mean, she knew all about her subject but she’d been away from teaching for
a long time and the schools she been at before must have been much better
behaved ones than ours, because she was piss weak at enforcing discipline.
She’d only been at our educational slum for a month or so but we’d really
made things difficult for her in every class she’d taken with us. Ma
Dunkley was what Jodi called her and, naturally, he’d caused her more
trouble than the rest of us put together.
Yet there was one thing about her, which did have all our interest. Well,
two things in fact. She wasn’t the flashy type, being middle aged and
pretty quiet, but she wore tight sweaters all the time and underneath
those sweaters were the biggest set of tits we’d ever seen. No arguments
about them being padding either — no padding ever made could have swayed
around as enticingly as those two mounds did. Apart from that she was dark
haired and dark skinned, with just a wisp of hair on her upper lip.
Italian or Greek blood in the family perhaps, with a good full arse that
twitched along underneath her pleated skirts almost as nicely as her
bazoons bounced on ahead.
Another thing we’d all noticed about her was that in anything except high
summer she always wore boots, which reached up, almost to her knees. There
had been a lot of speculation about those boots and whether maybe she was
sexier than she let on, wedding ring or no wedding ring.
So, there we were and there she was, and the shit had fallen into the muck
spreader all right. As soon as she’d reported this little lot we’d all be
on our way to a police court and probably Borstal institutions. And that’s
what might have happened if Jodi hadn’t been there. Because Jodi was
always fast, always dangerous and a born leader. Whilst the rest of us
were still too stunned to react he was moving, pushing Linda away so hard
she would have fallen if we hadn’t been clustered so closely around her.
Then I almost went over myself as he knocked me out of the way, heading
towards the opened door.
For a second, just for a second, I wondered if he was running away. But
even before the thought was formed I saw him slam the door closed and turn
the key in the lock, the thing we should have thought to have done first
before we got started on Linda. Yet what he did next had me totally
confused because he disappeared out of sight behind a storage rack, taking
the door key with him.
Which left the rest of us hanging around like non-speaking extras in a
play after the main character has disappeared down a stage trapdoor. Linda
was the only one who could think of anything positive to do, by pulling up
her knickers.
Under any other circumstances I would have been laughing at the expression
on her face. Linda Beresford did not look like a girl duly grateful for
being saved from a terrible fate at the hands — and dicks — of a bunch
of hooligan boys: she looked more like a gymkhana rider whose horse had
gone sprawling at the first fence; lots of exertion, lots of build up, but
no jumps. Though Ma Dunkley distracted my attention quickly enough with an
angry shout.
“Malenger, come back here!”
Well, he did, back out from behind that storage rack as quickly as he’d
gone behind it. And in his hand was a javelin. Which, just in case English
is your second language, is a metal spear with rather a sharp point at one
end. People with nothing better to do go out on an athletics field to see
how far they can throw them. Another fun recreational thing you can also
do with the sharp end of a javelin is to stick it into a big tit. If you
want to attract the attention of the owner of the aforementioned big tit,
I can assure you that it’s an effective way of doing so.
“Back! Back against the wall, you fat bitch!”
I was thinking to myself, “This is crazy, we can’t do this to a teacher”,
but it was happening anyway, as things always seemed to do when Jodi
wanted them to. Ma Dunkley took two steps backwards under the pressure of
the javelin’s tip, and then tried to stand her ground.
“Malenger, you must be mad! Put that down at once.”
Well, and so he did. He leaned forward, dropped the javelin’s point and
pushed it forward straight between her knee high boots.
“Come on you useless bastards, give her a lift,” he called out to us.
Ma Dunkley didn’t understand what he meant but we did, because another
thing you can do with a javelin for fun and profit is to use it to
persuade a girl to see things your way. Remember I mentioned a certain
Janet Saunders as an excellent example of an enthusiastic female
submission? Well, it had been a ride around the storeroom on a javelin,
which had quickly and easily brought her to that way of thinking. But to
do it to a teacher …
“Come on!” Jodi urged, and so we did. What the hell, it had to be worth
whatever trouble it eventually got us into. So I grabbed the point behind
her and Micky took hold of it as well, while Jacko helped Jodi in front.
That was all there was room for, four pairs of hands, but it was plenty.
We lifted the javelin nice and level, straight up between Ma Dunkley’s
legs, hoisting her pleated skirt in big folds in front and behind her.
Then we got her weight on top of the javelin and raised it up higher yet,
until she was on the toes of her boots. She shrieked like a factory
whistle spitting out steam, leaning forward over her rucked up skirt to
grab the javelin through the folds, holding on next to Jacko’s and Jodi’s
hands as she desperately tried to lift herself above the metal shaft. I
could understand why — it must have been a rough experience to have your
cunt split apart on something like that.
“Walk her!”
Well, walking her isn’t quite what happens. The point is that if you lift
the rider high enough she can’t walk, and she can’t rest her weight on the
ground, it’s all pressing down on those soft sensitive areas between the
inner thighs and that round strip of aluminium. The javelin bowed
underneath Ma Dunkley’s weight but it didn’t stop us from lifting her
right off the floor and taking several shuffling steps as she swayed from
side to side, screaming out in fear and pain as she found out she was
balanced on the next worst thing to a knife edge.
“Oh God, oh God, stop it please! Please — please — please!”
“Down with her. On her tiptoes though, that’s all. Will, you take my place
here.”
So there was the scene, Mrs Dunkley with her skirt piled up, legs straight
and clamped hard together, bent forward from the waist and still clutching
onto the javelin. She smelt nice — rosewater, maybe. There were white
flecks in the tightly stretched grey sweater. Her bra straps were clearly
visible through the material and I cursed my bad luck in being behind her,
instead of in front with Will and Jacko. I could see them gloating at the
sight of her big bristols being squeezed into view between her
straightened arms. Still, we had a consolation view of her legs, partially
revealed by the upraised skirt. Lots of smoothly rounded flesh all nicely
wrapped up in dark pantyhose.
“Malenger — Jodi. Please, this is silly.”
No doubt about her tone, she wasn’t demanding anything now, she was asking
us not to hurt her anymore. And we all knew that one or two more quick
rides would have the teacher begging to do something else — anything at
all. My imagination went into overdrive at the thought of having those
legs wrapped around me and those tits in my hands. In an instant my cock
was as rigid as the javelin.
“Keep her like that,” Jodi snapped.
Still moving as quickly as a striking ferret, he reached out to Ma Dunkley
and gave one of her earrings a sharp tug, making her cry out again.
“What do you think about that, Mrs Dunkley? One of the girls you’re
supposed to be looking after and here she is in a storeroom showing a
bunch of boys everything she’s got. However did that happen?”
“I don’t know.” She was answering quietly, and quickly. What with one
thing and another I guess there wasn’t much choice. We all knew Jodi would
twist Ma Dunkley’s ear or ride her on the javelin again if she tried to
talk back to him.
“I was walking along the corridor and I heard the noise, so I came in.”
Jodi put his other hand on the nape of her neck, underneath her long black
hair, and gently massaged her neck muscles.
“Now that’s a funny thing, right there. Yeah, Linda was making a lot of
noise at first but she quietened afterwards. Pretty hard to hear her from
way out there then. My idea is that you heard her all right, only you
waited a while before you came in. Were you waiting because you thought
you might make a deal with us?”
She tried to turn her head towards him pulled but couldn’t because Jodi
pulled on her ear to make her look straight ahead. We all heard her gasp
again.
“A deal? What do you mean?”
“I mean that we’re the lads who’ve been giving you the most trouble in
your classes. But if you caught us with Linda you could either get us
thrown out of the school or threaten us into behaving ourselves in
future.”
“No, I never thought that!”
“Ah, but I say you did. And I say that people who go in for blackmail
deserve to be blackmailed themselves. What-do-you-think-about-that?”
He emphasized each of the last words by tugging on her earlobe again each
time he spoke. The teacher gave a little gasp with each tug. Jodi was
showing her again how much she was under his control
“Now let me get this clear in my mind, Mrs Dunkley. Is anybody going to
come looking for you soon if we keep you here? And before you answer,
you’d better know that if you lie to us, I’ll personally push this javelin
right up your arse.”
“No.” She was whispering, her voice shaking. “No, but the caretaker is
probably still around.”
“You don’t need to worry about him. He knows when to be deaf. So it looks
like you’re going to be with us for quite a while. Never mind, I guess we
can find some interesting ways of passing the time.”
We were all licking our lips at that, though Mark and I were still cursing
our luck at having to stand behind Ma Dunkley and not being able to see
her face. I wondered if Jodi could put her completely under his control,
the way he seemed able to do with all the girls. He’d certainly faced a
lot of defiance from Janet Saunders at first, yet a few minutes on the
javelin had turned from a Head Girl into a girl who’d much sooner give
head than ride the rail again.
“Linda, come over here.”
We’d almost forgotten about Linda, which was quite something, since she
was still only wearing her briefs and her socks and shoes — oh, yeah, and
her necktie, which had somehow got left behind when her shirt was pulled
off. She looked as juicy as ever; yet a lot more nervous than when we’d
been mauling her.
“Jodi, I don’t want to get involved in this.”
“Fair enough, I don’t want to make you change places with Ma Dunkley, but
I will do if I get anymore of your lip. Go on the other side of her.”
Linda obediently walked around past Mark and me. I never thought I’d let a
pair of bare tits go by without taking a grab at them but I had to then.
Linda ended up facing Jodi across the javelin with the teacher perched
between them.
“Right, Mrs Dunkley, let’s start getting to know each other a bit better.
An introduction would be nice. Normally, of course, I’d shake hands but
you seem to be using both of yours at the moment. So what we’ll do is to
have a little rule which starts right now.” Jodi tweaked her ear again,
getting another gasp. “Are you listening, Mrs Dunkley?”
“Yes, I’m listening.”
“Right, the rule is this: every time somebody squeezes one of your tits
you introduce yourself with your first name and say ‘I’m very pleased to
meet you’. You understand the rule, Mrs Dunkley?”
Her answer was music to our ears, mumbled but obedient: “Yes, I
understand.”
To me, this was incredible. Ma Dunkley was almost twice our age, a
teacher, a married woman, and whatever we did she should have been able to
dominate us. If Jodi hadn’t been there she would have done. It was his
personality, his determination to dominate her instead and his readiness
to hurt her as much as necessary which was beating her down. Unless of
course she wanted to be in this situation. Maybe she had been waiting
outside, getting up the courage to walk in and betting that this was
indeed the way it was going to turn out. Who could tell why a woman did
anything?
Jodi left one hand on her neck, took the other one from her ear and let
his outstretched fingers slide gently down the side of one of the arms
pushed straight down in front of her as she still kept trying to relieve
the pain of being on top of the javelin. I thought she must have been
getting very tired of being in that position.
“Hmm, just to make it more interesting yet, we’ll make a second rule.
After you’ve introduced yourself, you’ll do whatever you’re told to by
anybody who’s holding one of your tits. Have you got that?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve got a name.”
“Yes, Jodi.”
“So what happens when I squeeze one of your bouncers?”
She spoke very quickly: “I say, ‘Hello, my name is Christine and I’ll do
whatever you tell me to.’ ” It seemed to me that she was in a hurry to
show how compliant she was. Not only tired but probably sore as well.
“Right, let’s try it.”
There was enough tension in the room to run a power station as I saw his
hand move around in front of her. The javelin quivered in our hands and
the teacher gasped, then said: “Hello, my name is Christine and I’ll do
anything at all that you tell me to.”
That broke the tension up, for the moment anyway. All of us chortled in
delight at her surrender until Jodi held his hand up for us to be quiet
again.
“Not bad, but fair turn is fair play. The same rule applies to you,
Linda.”
He must have moved his hand over to her titties because she got pulled
forward and bent over until she was almost leaning on the teacher. She’d
been taken by surprise: “Oh God, what have I got to say? My name is Linda
and I’m very pleased to meet you, Jodi, you bastard.”
We laughed at that as well, until Linda gave a real screech of pain. “I
don’t allow back chat from any female in here. In this room they do as
they’re told.” He must have given her tit a real screwing with his hand
because she cried out again.
“OK, so to make it clearer, from now on, whenever an udder gets pulled I
expect to hear the bitch that owns it to say her name and to say she’ll do
whatever she’s told to. Let’s try this one again.”
Linda didn’t need telling twice: “My name is Linda and I’ll do whatever
you tell me too.”
Then the teacher spoke up again, clearly feeling Jodi’s hand giving her
the cue again: “My name is Christine and I’ll do whatever you tell me to.”
Jodi laughed. “Things seem to be coming along nicely. Now, Christine,
let’s talk about deals. You’re certainly not going to be in any position
to blackmail us, but we can offer you a good deal instead. If you’re nice
to us we’ll stop causing you trouble in your classes. Not only that, I’ll
make sure nobody else in the school gives you any trouble either. Would
you like that?”
“Yes, Jodi, I’d like that.”
“Quite sure?”
“Yes.” She was almost shouting back at him, answering as quickly as she
could. I could see her arms trembling as she kept them pressed down on the
javelin.
“OK, but if we do that for you, you’ve got to do something for us. Is that
fair?”
“Yes — yes!”
Jodi chuckled and then Linda blurted out loudly: “My name is Linda, how do
you do and I’ll do whatever you tell me too.”
I still couldn’t see exactly what was going on but it was obvious that
Jodi had grabbed one of her tits again and she was gabbling out the words
he’d taught her like a trained parrot.
“Well done, Linda. Now, girl, what do you think you’d have had to do for
us if Christine hadn’t come in and spoilt things? What do the other girls
tell you they have to do in here?”
“They say they have to suck your cock, Jodi.”
That got a laugh. Will and Jacko weren’t looking at her though; they were
staring at the teacher’s face to see her response. They were both grinning
from ear to ear and I wished once again I were in their place.
“Just my cock?”
Linda certainly wasn’t being coy now. She was answering up loud and clear:
“No, you make them suck all your mate’s cocks as well, and afterwards they
get shagged by everybody.”
Jodi shook his head in mock sorrow: “Who are these horrible girls, and why
are they saying such terrible things about me?”
You know how sometimes you start laughing and you can’t control it –
you’re sort of gasping with in growing breath? I reckon we’d all reached
that stage by then and Linda was laughing along with the rest of us. The
thing was, we didn’t want to piss arse around and hold things up by
laughing, and we wanted to hear what the teacher had to say. She certainly
wasn’t laughing though. Mick and I were fascinated by the way her leg
muscles were flexing underneath those dark stockings as she wriggled
around on top of the javelin trying to find a position — any position –
which wasn’t so uncomfortable as the one she was in.
I could certainly understand that because my forearms were aching with
effort of holding her up on tiptoe.
Finally, at long last, we stopped chortling and carried on with mere
gloating as Jodi moved one hand away from the back of the teacher’s neck
and gripped her earring again. He must have moved his other hand as well
because she said — almost shouted: “My name is Christine, how do you do
and I’ll do anything you tell me to.”
“Will you really, Mrs Dunkley? Or may I call you Christine? Now you’ve
just heard what Linda thinks we’re going to make her do. She thinks I’m
going to make her suck my dick while everybody else in here watches her do
it. Do you think I’d do something like that, especially with a lady like
yourself here having to watch such a dirty little scene?”
“Jodi, I’m absolutely sure that she’s going to do whatever you tell her
to, just as I’m sure that I’m not getting off this javelin until I agree
to do everything she does.”
I looked at Mick and he looked at me, and he was as surprised as I was. We
could hear the strain in her voice from being straddled on top of the
javelin yet otherwise Mrs Dunkley seemed pretty calm as she admitted she
was ours to do with as we liked. Oh God, make this afternoon last forever.
“Well, yeah, that sounds like a reasonable offer,” Jodi said, still
playing it really cool. “Tell me, Christine, are you really saying that if
I let you off this javelin you’ll suck us all off.”
“Yes. Jodi, please, I am offering to do whatever you want. Couldn’t you
lower me down now, please?”
“I’ll tell you what we’ll do. We’ll lower you on to your heels and Linda
and I will take your sweater off. If you behave that far perhaps we won’t
lift you up on your toes again. Do you want to do that?”
“Yes, Jodi, yes please.”
He laughed. “Now that’s what I like to hear. But I’m still waiting for
some detail about what you’ll do for us. Make it sound interesting and
we’ll let you down.”
“Oh God. Jodi, I’ll go down on my knees for you. I’ll go down on my knees
in front of you with everybody watching and give you a gobble.”
My toes were curling as I was listening to this. God, but Jodi had soon
put this middle-aged bitch back into her box. And everybody knew that she
was going to have to do what she was promising she would.
“Well, that sounds fine. But suppose we started by stripping you to the
waist and letting all the lads play with those big knockers of yours.
Would you rather do that than be left where you are?”
“Yes, Jodi, please, please, play with my tits, all of you, please.” I
couldn’t believe how desperate she was sounding. Either that javelin was
really hurting our captured teacher or she was making a good production of
sounding as if it was.
Naturally, the more desperate she sounded, the more Jodi spun things out.
“Hmm … well, I’ll ask the lads about it. OK guys, is anybody interested
in playing with Mrs Dunkley’s big fat bristols?”
He certainly had our approval on that notion, and we all snarled in
approval like a wolf pack around a trapped deer.
“OK, the motion is carried unanimously. Now, would all those who’d like to
fuck Mrs Dunkley as well please lift her up to show approval in the usual
manner.”
She shrieked in pain as we gave her another swift lift, wriggling on top
of the javelin again as though it were an electrified fence. Maybe it was,
because there was enough excitement shooting through my body alone to have
put a high voltage charge into the steel shaft. Jodi tugged the teacher’s
earring again to make sure she was listening.
“So how about that idea, Christine? You think this might be a good time to
get put on your back and give the class a practical demonstration in sex
education?”
“Yes, Jodi, yes, yes! Anything you want!”
Jodi giggled: “Does that include multiple choice answers?”
“God, yes, I’ll take all of you on — all of you! But for fuck’s sake let
me down, please!”
It seemed that what we had on our javelin here was a teacher who’d been
taught a quick and very successful lesson in learning to do what she was
told. If she hadn’t known much before about how to enforce discipline
she’d certainly come to the right place to learn. Jodi enforced her
surrender with quickly delivered demands.

“Right, lower her onto her heels. Linda, grab her sweater at the bottom.
Christine, hold up your arms or we’ll hold you up again.”
The teacher let out a great shuddery sigh of relief as settled her back
onto her heels. As Linda and Jodie tugged at the tight fitting sweater she
instantly held her arms up over her head and kept them there as the
material was rucked up until her bra strap came into view. It was as wide
as my thumb, satin white, with silver metal double clips. Sexy, but not
much of a consolation prize for what must be visible from the front.
Surprisingly, it was Linda who made the first comment from that viewpoint:
“My God, look at them.”
If there’s ever been a more unnecessary suggestion I can’t imagine where
or when it was made. Will and Jacko nearly had their eyes popping out of
their heads and even Jodi looked startled. Then he and Linda jerked
sweater up further until it was caught up around the teacher’s raised
elbows and wrapped around her head.
“OK, take that javelin away. Push her up against the storage racks. Hold
her there. Keep her arms up.”
We did as he said in a flurry of movement, pushing the teacher back
against the racks and holding her wrists up above her head, although all
you could see of it was a pile of disarranged black hair protruding from
the top of the sweater. She certainly couldn’t see a thing, which saved
her at least one shock as Jodi pulled out his flick knife. All he wanted
it for though was to cut a couple of lengths off a roll of lane marking
tape.
“Put her wrists up against the supports.”
Will and Jacko stepped apart to hold Christine’s wrists against the
vertical shelving struts. When they did they revealed the stiff white cups
of her foundation bra. My immediate thought was that they must be padded
after all, because surely to God she couldn’t walk around all day
supporting that amount weight in front of her?
“Christ, you could carry a week’s shopping home in those cups,” Mark
declared, sharing my disbelief.
Not that we had much chance to admire the sights because Jodi immediately
stepped in front of Christine as he tied her wrists to the struts. There
was no resistance; she simply stood against the shelves as she was
secured. Jodi stood back, with the rest of us crowing around him to take
in the view again.
“One teacher, almost ready for lessons,” Jodi said happily.
By God, was she ever! Sweater up around her face, boobs out on the shop
window, the waist band of her skirt jammed around her wide hips and the
top of a white girdle just seen above it with a couple of rolls of stomach
fat resting on top. Not that she didn’t have a pretty good figure without
even taking into account those fantastic udders. A bit overripe maybe, but
what could you expect at that age. As for that pleated skirt and those
boots underneath it — well, it looked as if Christmas was coming early
this year.
Jodi began unbuttoning his shirt. “Go over and introduce yourselves, guys.
You know what to do. Linda, you lazy bitch, come here and unlace my
shoes.”
That time I must have been slow off the mark because Mark beat me, if
you’ll forgive the pun. And he was behind Jacko. Not that Mrs Dunkley knew
the difference. She just knew we were taking turns at feeling her tits and
as she was fondled she said loudly again and again that her name was
Christine, she was very pleased to meet us, and she’d do whatever we told
her to. Again, there was no doubt about how effective Jodi’s training
techniques were. Not that I cared much about anything but being stuck at
the end of the queue for copping a few feels.
“They’re for real,” Jacko announced loudly. He had his hands on each of
her cups but not for long as Will elbowed him aside and grabbed one for
himself.
“My name is Christine and I’ll do whatever you want,” the teacher said
again, loud enough for us to hear even though she was partially muffled by
the sweater across her face. Mark got in between both of them, lifted up a
roll of the sweater high enough to reveal her mouth hanging open and put
his mouth against hers to see what the reaction was. He was also copying
Jodi’s methods by holding one of her earrings but he didn’t seem to need
to do much with it to get the results he wanted. Of course I was going
frantic and in the end I had to pull him off her so I could get a turn.
By then Will and Jacko were pulling up Ma Dunkley’s skirt and I was
finally able to get my fingers on both of her cups. One touch and I found
out what everybody else already had done, that these were the genuine
items. The heat coming from them was proof enough without even needing to
feel the lumps where her nipples were pushing against the stiff fabric. I
wondered how she’d react to another tonguing and gave her lips a little
lick. What I got back immediately was a length of flesh that pushed into
my mouth like a cow cleaning out an oat trough.
Mrs Dunkley probably had no idea who she was French kissing and just as
probably couldn’t have cared by then anyway. I pushed two fingers down
between the rolls of flesh squelched up out of the top of the bra and
swirled things around a little. The storage rack she was tied to began
rattling as she snorted through her nose, then started trying to lick my
tonsils again. Mind you, I think that was mostly due to what Will and
Jacko were doing around her panties. Mark came crowding in again as well,
taking hold of the nipple I’d abandoned only for a second. It was a real
gold rush, everybody staking out a claim wherever there was a chance. Not
that you could complain, there was more territory going spare there than
was in Alaska.
“OK, pull the sweater up a bit,” Jodi, told us. “I want her to see this.”
I heaved the bottom of the sweater up clear of Christine’s face. Her
eyelids had been closed. They opened though as soon as the light fell onto
her flushed cheeks and she stared into my face in a way that seemed to
have trouble getting focused. “Oh, Christ, Andy, what are you all doing to
me?”
“Getting you ready for a good fucking,” I told her truthfully and the
storage racks rattled again as she twitched like a shot rabbit.
“Out of the way, lads.”
We reluctantly moved out of the way. Jodi was naked now, facing an equally
naked Linda. They were side on to Christine, looking at her as Linda held
Jodi’s stiff cock in her right hand, rubbing it gently as if trying to put
a polish on it.
“How about doing this for me, Mrs Dunkley? Would you like to do this for
me?”
She didn’t seem to have much difficulty in fastening her gaze on his cock.
She was trembling but her voice hardly quivered as she answered.
“Yes, alright.”
Jodi walked over to her. The sight of the opened knife he was carrying had
her trembling even more, especially when he held it up close to her.
“Are you right handed or left handed.”
“Right handed.”
He slashed through the tape around her right wrist. She immediately
lowered her hand and held his cock just as Linda had done, working his
foreskin back and forth in quick movements. Jodi’s knife dropped lower,
underneath her bra strap and she gave a little grunt as he cut through it
with one quick movement, letting her entire upper works tilt over to one
side like a collapsing bridge. Then he moved his face next to the
teacher’s and put his lips on hers, his free hand stroking her bottom. I
could see her fingers gripping tightly around his cock and that she was
squirming around again. Jacko and Will were on either side of Linda,
pulling at her neat little tits at the same time as they were trying to
get their clothes off as quickly as they could. That seemed like a good
idea — in fact they were both good ideas but the lads were having trouble
in sorting out their priorities.
Jodi stopped tonguing Christine and leaned back to use his knife again.
The other strap fell apart and the bra cups slid halfway down her bust. We
stared open mouthed at the size of her partially revealed tits, no lighter
in colour than the rest of her skin, with a speckling of four or five
beauty spots on the upper slopes of the right one, like base camps on the
slopes of Mount Everest. Mark — and I swear to God this is true — yelled
out “Dam Busters” at the sight of all the tit meat that was spilling out.
We pissed ourselves laughing as Ma Dunkley went even redder in the face
and even — if you can believe it — even more embarrassed. She still kept
pumping away at Jodi’s cock though, not missing a beat. He dropped his
knife on the shelf, grabbed the bottom part of her bra and dragged it down
until her tits were hanging totally free. We gaped at the sight like
tourists seeing the pyramids for the first time.
“OK, take her over to the bars.” Jodi snarled, stepping back, but giving
Ma Dunkley’s nips a squeeze to be going on with. They were swollen out to
the size of half eaten plums, a natural match for the tits they belonged
to. Jodi picked up his knife again and slashed through the tape still
securing her left wrist.
“Mark, get another javelin,” he ordered.
I guess we all wondered what was in his mind, but it was a fair bet it was
going to be pretty entertaining. Not that we didn’t have entertainment
enough, frog marching our now firmly cowed cow of a teacher on her way to
the grand finale of a public screwing. I was holding one of her arms and
Jacko had the other, still up over her head and still entangled in the
sleeves of her jumper. That way the material was down over her eyes again,
which was a pity because what Jodi was arranging near the mats was quite a
scene.
Not that it mattered much because as soon as we stopped by the mats the
first thing we did was to lift the sweater off and throw it aside. Ma
Dunkley’s mouth dropped when she saw Linda. A long time ago a section of
climbing bars had been taken down from off the gym wall and stacked away
inside the storeroom. Too many kids falling off and hurting themselves I
suppose. Anyway, there it was, about eight feet high and ten feet long,
leaning against the end wall. And on it, arms and legs outstretched, was
Linda, still wearing that school tie and her shoes, but nothing else. Her
feet were about three feet off the floor and standing in front of her was
Andy, holding the javelin. The back end was tilted down; the sharp end was
nestled between the lips of Linda’s cunt. She was staring straight down at
Andy’s hands and if Doctor Who’s Time Machine had appeared in the
storeroom right then I don’t think she would have even noticed it.
Of course Andy had never thought of that by himself. It was Jodi who’d
arranged the scene, just as it was Jodi who was enjoying himself most by
watching Ma Dunkley’s reaction. Mark handed him another javelin and Jodi
made a mock show out of feeling the tip for sharpness and blowing on it.
“OK, Christine, put your back to the bars and climb up alongside Linda.
It’s easily done, just like going up a ladder backwards and plenty of hand
grips to help you.” He held up the javelin. “If you think you need any
extra incentive, just let me know.”
She was plainly baffled, but certainly not in any mood to argue. She let
us push her unresistingly up against the inclined bars, then grunted and
puffed as she went up a few bars, until she was level with Linda and in
the same position, arms outstretched at the level of her shoulders to keep
her balance. There was something of a double crucifixion scene about it,
an impression reinforced by the spear-like javelins. Nothing but sinners
here though, or at least they would be by the time we’d finished with
them.
Maybe the religious thoughts lingered for a moment or two though, because
when I looked up at the teacher’s swaying tits I thought it was a pity we
couldn’t take her into church and lay her out on the alter at harvest
festival time — just the way she was, naked, plump and full of nature’s
bounty. Maybe it would have put the Vicar off his sermon but what the
hell, it was the thought that counted. Jodi’s next words certainly gave
Christine even more to think about.
“Right, let’s have some teat pulling here.”
No problem. It was like a crowded tube train with everybody strap hanging
though a lot more interesting. I started off with the only free tit I
could get hold of — one of Linda’s, worse luck. Never mind, I also found
that her pussy was at just the right height for me to give her clit a good
licking and I also had another hand in the complicated manoeuvring going
on underneath the teacher’s skirt. Perhaps it helped to take her mind off
the assorting handling her massive boobs were getting, though not very
much. Not judging by the squeals she was making and the way the bars were
rattling — you’d have thought a gorilla was shaking them. Linda was doing
plenty of squirming and shouting herself. When I let somebody else tongue
her and looked up her head was arched back, her mouth hanging open and she
was twitching her hips around as if she was being tickled up the twat with
a feather duster.
“OK, Andy, fetch the camera.”
Trust me to get stuck with the worst job. Still, somebody had to keep a
nicely detailed record of the teacher and her best looking pupil being put
through their paces.
When I came back with the Olympus 35 and the flash bulbs both of our
victims cried out in protest. That camera was going to be an instrument of
fate for them and they knew it. Linda had probably been expecting it from
the start but the teacher gave a despairing wail as I started getting in
some good exposures.
And it was when we started getting some good exposure of Christine herself
that I began to suspect that maybe she had expected to find herself doing
some pin up work. Because once the lads had pulled her skirt and girdle
off, there were tiny little lilac collared panties underneath her
pantyhose. Well, tiny compared to the width of her hips, which shook like
a Turkish belly dancer’s when Jodi trailed his fingertip along the damp
gusset of the panties.
“For God’s sake, Jodi. I can’t stand much more of this,” she moaned.
“Don’t keep me hanging around anymore, just fuck me, please!”
Yeah, well, she had a sense of humour, you had to give her that. We
grinned at each other, and at Jodie. And Jodie, the bastard, he told the
other guys to leave Linda alone for a while and everybody to squeeze
Christine’s tits and put their hands up between her legs. While they were
doing that he slit the pantyhose on the seams, rolled it down her legs,
and then slashed it again until it was in shreds around the top of her
boots. It was skilful work, leaving her with nothing on but her sexy
panties as hand after hand rubbed her mound of Venus and twiddled with
those big nipples. And whilst all that was going on I took snaps of the
teacher, some standing back, some in close up with hair all over her face,
lips drawn back, mouth open and her teeth clenched like a fox going down
underneath a pack of hounds.
Oh yeah, and I also got a couple of nice shots of poor deserted Linda,
hanging up next to the teacher and with one of her hands down at her cunt,
giving herself a wanking and not caring who took a picture of her doing
it. But then I made her stop it, and got another nice shot of her
clutching the bars and swearing at us with every filthy word she could
think of as we left her on the shelf for a while.
“You rotten bastards, do it to me then, if you’re going to! Fuck me, fuck
me!”
“Me as well!” Christine wailed.
That caused some serious laugher before Jodi finally got things back on
track by slashing Ma Dunkley’s panties and pocketing them as a trophy. She
had a patch of black hair as coarse and curly as a short horn’s forehead
and the same kind of bovine stupefied satisfaction as the guys lined up to
lick her, with Linda as a side order. If Christine had been swinging her
hips before, what she did then would have made her the toast of the
Istanbul belly dancers’ academy.
I guess that if you want to talk about tenderising your meat that was the
time. The meat was hanging up there, fondled, stroked, tongued and their
nipples sucked as if it were milking time. The lads were yelling and
holding up their fingers in triumph to prove that love juice was coming
out of both cunts like honey oozing out of a hive: there was nothing those
two hanging on the bars weren’t game for by then and they wouldn’t have
cared if they were on the newsreels, let alone any photos I was taking.
Jodi got Linda to stand face to face with the teacher on the bars, her
legs on both side of Christine’s, her face against the woman and kissing
her in full French style as we fingered both of them like fury. There were
yells of approval as they did a full bumps and grind routine against each
other. Then we let them down and put them on their knees, side by side.
This was the great moment. First Jodi had Linda take his cock in her mouth
while the teacher held it steady for her. She was watching the action very
closely, although it didn’t last long before Jodi ordered a change over.
No, Christine didn’t hesitate for even the blink of an eye before she was
sucking on Jodi’s monster like a vacuum cleaner salesmen demonstrating the
latest product. Nothing left on her but her boots, big white arse sticking
out, huge tits shaking and her eyes staring up at Jodi as she did
everything she could to earn a fuck. She bloody soon got it as well.
“OK, let’s take her,” Jodi ordered.
We threw her on top of the mats and everybody held Ma Dunkley’s legs as
far apart as we possibly could. She was shivering and her teeth were
chattering as if she was cold, but she wasn’t, not with the exercise she
was getting from jerking her honeypot around. She could barely keep it
still as Jodi rammed his length into her and then she yelled out like
she’d scored a goal at a cup final and called us all shits. Then Mrs
Dunkley’s eyes kind of rolled back and she shouted out wildly: “Fuck me,
you little bastards, fuck me!”
Somebody else threw Linda across the mats the other way, face down across
the teacher’s stomach, and both Jodi and Ma Dunkley were playing with the
schoolgirl’s cunt before Will filled it with his cock. During the cross
fucking afterwards the teacher kept stroking Linda’s hair and bottom all
the time the partners were changing for both of them. Even after all this
time I still have to take the photos out sometimes and look at them to
believe it really happened.
Afterwards though was even better. Once we’d de-spunked ourselves for the
first time in those hot cunts we had an afternoon of cock sucking that was
simply amazing. Thank God females talk so much that they’ve all got more
muscles in their mouth than anywhere else: without that natural training I
don’t think either Linda or Christine would have got through that massive
mouth to cock resuscitation session without RSI of the jaw.
It was strictly two on one. Each of us took a turn lying on our back on
the mats. Christine and Linda stood on each side of the pile and worked
alternatively — two minutes each and they had to touch bottom at least
once every turn or get their tits twisted. Just to make it more
interesting, the one who was watching had to tell us all about a really
good fucking she’d had, or a way she wanted to be fucked. Truth to tell,
Linda wasn’t much cop at either. She hadn’t had any major experiences
before we’d taken her in hand and she didn’t have much imagination.
Mind you, some of Jodi’s notions combined with a lot of fingering had her
going off like a firework display. He was going to sit her on top of a
jumping horse, at one end, put a javelin through the hand holes and tie
her ankles to it. Another length of rope through the hand holes at the
other end, bend her forward, tie her wrists to the ends, and she’d be bent
forward like a jockey on a real horse, her bum hanging over the end of the
box and not able to see behind her. Then we’d call around all our mates
and let them form an orderly queue for a good healthy work out in the gym.
Plenty of hard spanking, plenty of oil and lots of cocks jerking in and
out of Linda’s cunt and ass as somebody kept the score on a blackboard she
could watch. Magic!
Christine was listening to all this as she was working on Will’s cock, and
really giving it her best. But when Jodi said maybe it’d be even better if
we mounted the teacher at the other end of the box as well she nearly went
into labour on the spot just thinking about it. Will still says he thought
she was going to suck his cock out by the roots. He came in her mouth and
never saw a drop to prove it. We just about had to drag her off him like
pulling a tiger away from a piece of meat. Mark and Jacko were kind
hearted enough to finger her cunt, something she desperately needed doing
for her by then. It’s the first and only time I’ve ever seen a woman tap
dancing during an orgasm — those boots sure were made for coming!
Of course there was no way we could really do anything like that at the
school, more’s the pity. It would never have been hushed up and we’d all
have been in the deepest shit. But there was no reason at all why we
couldn’t do a deal with some of Jodi’s out-of-town mates for a great big
party well off the beaten track. Everybody to bring as many cunts as
possible, whether willing or getting an offer they couldn’t refuse.
I won’t bore you with all the sordid details but the logistics were neat.
Jodi managed to borrow a cattle truck and we cleaned it out until it was
spotless, then filled it with clean straw. When we did the rounds to pick
the gals, the eager ones and the reluctant ones alike, their eyes nearly
popped out when they saw what Cinderella’s coach was.
But that was nothing, nothing at all; compared to the way they looked when
we got to the field the rendezvous was arranged for. There must have been
forty guys or more waiting on the grass, motor bikes and a few cars parked
all over the place. A good job it really was a remote place because most
of the fellows were already stripped for action. Pretty sensible because
if you took something off in that truck you’d never find it again. Anyway,
the male mob gave a great cheer as the truck came into the field. And the
sight of all those female eyes staring through the slats in the back of
the truck: now that really was an eye-popping occasion. The slats were
good though, lots of useful handholds and you could piss out the side
whenever you liked. All the girl’s gear went overboard through them as
well. And with a ladder and a camera some of the great orgy shots of all
time were on offer from any angle you wanted. Yeah, someday I’ll have to
tell that story in more detail.
The End

THE CAPTIVE by Amber Jameson
Copyright Amber Jameson

CHAPTER ONE

Laughter, musical and happy, drifted across the castle garden. The girl was as beautiful as her laughter, a rare beauty that came from within.
Her gown was of fine thin silk, a simple shift, caught below the breasts by a narrow thong of gold. He could see through it the shape of her long legs. And oh those breasts! His mouth watered as he gazed at them bouncing freely under the unrestricting silk.
He was still sweating hard from his fencing lesson as he stood taking his breath, leaning against the castle gallows. The exercise had made his blood flow fast at the sight of her and the badge of his masculinity was rising painfully beneath his short leather practice tunic.
Her name was Zacora. He had noticed her before, and enquired.
His father promised him that as soon as he had taken part in his first joust he could choose a girl as his wife. Could he wait that long? No! The fencing master had told him there was much work to do before he was ready for a tournament.
Still his desire grew. It was too much. Clenching his fists, Ogham howled, howled aloud like an animal.
There was a sudden silence on the castle lawn and and then Zacora came running. The very sight of her approaching him was an aphrodisiac and the pain in his groin was unbearable.
“Are you ill?” Her voice was like music; each word stroked his belly and caressed his penis.
“Not now!”
The two young people stood together in the menacing shadow of the gallows. Zacora lowered her sapphire blue eyes and folded her hands at the top of her thighs, just as she had been taught to do in her lessons in womanhood.
Breathing was difficult for Ogham. The girl’s sex was clearly outlined by her white silk dress and the way her hands lay at that very point.
“What have you learned today?” he asked, taking in the creamy bare skin of her arms and imagining what they would look like bound to the gallows. And those long legs coiled around the post to open her up. He had to close his eyes, screw them tight, he could not bear to see her, the thoughts of that luscious body bound and at his mercy were too much.
She stretched out a hand to stroke his chin, still smooth with youth. Her obvious concern made Ogham hide a smile. This was going to be easy.
He gave a brave grin, shaking his head. “You haven’t told me what you learned.”
“Oh, how to kiss a man’s penis with the vagina.” She related it so matter-of-factly and yet her eyes were still lowered modestly.
Ogham’s throat seemed to be closing with desire, but this girl wasn’t what his father would choose for him. Or allow him to choose. Rumour had it that although her father was a nobleman, her mother was a mere chambermaid. It was her beauty which brought her to court and the classes for the young ladies.
“Anything else?” he asked.
Zacora shook her head, her long golden hair waving like spun silk and catching the sun to throw out silver highlights. “There wasn’t time.” Although her head was still bowed with submissiveness, there was laughter in her voice and he could see her eyes twinkling.
“But you’ve been in there all morning!”
“I know, but one of the girls was disobedient.”
She looked up at him. Her wide soft lips were parted and he could see even white teeth and the pinkness of a tongue tip. He could imagine all of these engulfing his painfully hard penis. She seemed to be inviting him to place his whole length in her mouth.
“What did this girl do? This disobedient one?” It was difficult for him to speak, so great was his need. He was ready for a woman, must have one, no matter what his father said.
Zacora lifted her dress, unveiling the creamy length of her athletic legs right up to the silver triangle of hair, for she was naked beneath. Ogham held his breath. “The girl pleasured herself,” she said gravely, pouting her sex and opening it by pulling at the firm young lips.
He could see everything! The pink folds, shining in the sunshine and the hardened bud of her clitoris. The folds shone with moisture and even with his limited experience of women, Ogham knew what that meant. She was ready for him.
“Was she punished?” His hands were sweating and his body glowed with need. He had the fire of a man in him.
“Indeed she was,” said Zacora. “It was Peeka. There she is. She got her bottom smacked very thoroughly.”
Ogham followed the direction of the delicate pointing finger and saw another fair girl, pretty but not as beautiful as Zacora. She seemed none the worse for wear. He held out his hand. “Let’s go into the forest and you can tell me all about it.” Keeping his voice light and carefree was a problem, but he managed it.
The folds of fine gossamer silk were allowed to fall, hiding the sex treasures once more, and Zacora lowered her eyes. “I can tell you here,” she said meekly. “I do not wish to disobey you, but no girl goes into the forest.”
“Unless she is betrothed?” That was what she would be thinking. He grabbed her hand, holding it cruelly, squeezing her fingers.
She nodded. “Unless they are betrothed.” Her golden head was still lowered, but his touch, though painful, stimulated her. Her body was flushed and a lethargic heaviness lay in the nakedness of her belly.
“I like you,” he stammered. “I like you very much.”
Did that mean they would be betrothed? Zacora looked up at him shyly, that same inviting smile on her lips. Soon he would be a knight, riding into battle and leaving his wife behind, safe in her chastity belt. Perhaps he would indeed ask her to be his wife if she encouraged him. Just a little!
“Perhaps we could go a little way,” she said. “Just into the edge of the forest.” She wanted to so much. Hesitantly, reluctantly, but driven by desire she could not control, she began to walk with him across the lawns to the thickly wooded wilderness beyond the castle grounds.
“Tell me about Peeka.” In the green light of the forest, ever changing as the breeze moved the abundant leaf canopy, his voice was steadier. “Tell me how she was punished.” He knew it would be punishment for himself to listen. The story would increase the pain in his organ until he could bear it no longer.
She took a deep breath. Talking about another girl was better than worrying about herself, worrying lest she be seen in the forest with a man to whom she was not betrothed. “It happened when the Master was describing how a woman should ripple her vagina along the length of a man’s cock.”
There was no trace of embarrassment in her voice as she told the tale, but then a woman’s whole life was devoted to giving a man pleasure.
“Peeka lifted her dress and used one of the Master’s pleasure tools inside herself, before she was given permission.”
“Very disobedient!” Ogham pressed Zacora’s willowy figure to him, feeling the sweep of her hips and the jut of her buttocks, and she hardly resisted at all.
“The Master was furious!” Now Zacora nestled against the strength of Ogham’s young body. “The stupid ignorant girl had taken her own virginity, you see, there in the class. We are taught to wait until it is taken from us in whichever way our man requires.”
“Of course.” Ogham swayed against her. His legs had lost their strength. “So she was whipped?”
Zacora nodded. “She was placed in the stocks, completely naked, and we were all made to watch or help.” She turned to him with wide innocent eyes, eyes which made him feel that he was drowning in his own sexual need. “Each wrist and her neck were clamped in the heavy wood of the stock, while her back and bottom were pressed out ready for the birching.”
“And her legs, were they free?” With one hand slipped securely round Zacora’s waist, he let the other stray to her breasts, one after the other. The nipples sprang to hard little pips under the silk. She was so receptive, he thought. She learned her lessons with the Master well.
“No!” she exclaimed. “They were shackled and spread well apart and the Master made Peeka keep the training phallus in her vagina.”
“Was there any sign of humiliation?”
“She didn’t cry,” Zacora told him, “in fact, she pouted her quite plump buttocks high.”
“She was ready, then?”
Ogham’s male sword, cramped in his tight breeches, squirmed against the restriction of the leather. With Zacora nestling under his strong arm the thought of Peeka almost asking to be birched, plump and naked, was too much.
“Hm,” agreed Zacora, cuddling closer. “Very ready, The Master showed us how her juices trickled copiously down the phallus and even…” She paused, looking up at him, her eyes wide and her lips moistly parted. “Even down her thighs.”
A sigh, long and painful, whispered along the path which they were treading. Ogham had never had a woman although his father had told him what it was like to sink into the joyous welcome of female parts. All women in Lokara were taught how to pleasure a man to the full.
“Describe Peeka’s bottom,” he begged.
Zacora stopped, resting against the massive trunk of an ancient oak. She closed her eyes, not seeing Ogham rub his painfully erect shaft. “Her bottom was spread wide by the shackles.” She traced her hands to the shape of well opened buttocks and widely splayed legs. Her long fingers also traced a vertical line to denote the deep cleft. The fingers stroked away from her body, depicting the voluptuous curves of each buttock cheek. “We could all see her rose hole and it was pulsing madly. The flesh of her bottom cheeks quivered, The Master says that plump buttocks always quake more than slim ones when they are waiting for a blow to fall.”
Ogham’s green eyes were wide as he stared at Zacora’s beauty. She was describing the scene so vividly that he felt that he was in the training room with them. He approached her tentatively, looking at her fairy-like beauty hidden only by a single layer of gossamer-fine silk.
“The Master took the training phallus from Peeka,” Zacora continued. “It was then that she started to cry. She said she felt deprived without it. The Master laughed at her and, almost immediately, rammed the most monumental phallus into her, the type given to men as a betrothal present, up into Peeka’s vagina, so she was on tip-toe.”
The young squire placed his hands against the trunk of the oak, pressing the heat of his body against the girl. “Describe Peeka’s cunt,” he grated crudely.
The coarse word didn’t offend Zacora, it excited her. Her golden head, with the mass of curls tumbling over her shoulders, leaned back against the tree. Her unfettered breasts felt full and swollen and the nipples pressed hard against the thin silk, hot and inflamed. Her mound felt more puffy than usual, pouting out towards this handsome squire. Surely this was what all her training was for; to please a man such as this, to snare him in her charms?
“Peeka was standing on tip-toe in the stocks to display her bottom and sex pouch properly, that’s what we’ve been taught, you see, all our lives, to make ourselves pretty and subservient to men.”
Ogham nodded. Quite right too!
“In the centre of Peeka’s folds was the thickness of the training phallus, opening her vagina to the full. Her clitoris was juddering and was so swollen and scarlet I thought it was going to burst. The folds were swollen too and fluttering like butterfly wings. It was then that the Master struck the first blow.”
“Does Peeka have a very pale skin?” Ogham was leaning the whole length of his body on Zacora’s and squeezing the pliancy of her breasts.
“Oh, very,” she nodded. Her nipples were being pinched cruelly and the breast flesh was kneaded like dough. It was her duty, she knew, to bear whatever pleased a man. “Much paler than mine. Her skin is almost white, whereas mine is creamy.”
Ogham was lifting the silk which swathed Zacora’s slender but curvaceous bottom. “What colour did her flesh become after the blows?”
“The first blow of the birch made a single scarlet stripe. Peeka flinched, but simply pressed her bottom out further for more.” Zacora allowed the young squire to spread her own cheeks wide, his fingers digging painfully into the most delicate flesh of her rear valley. “She couldn’t move very much because the stocks limit any wriggling.”
“Have you ever been in them?” The delight of visualising the gorgeous Zacora naked in the stocks was unbearable.
She lowered her eyes, thick honey-blonde lashes sweeping her cheeks. “By the time the Master had finished there were ten very red weals across Peeka’s pale skin, each exactly parallel with the other and mostly gathered across the plumpest part, where the cheeks curve down. At least two were striped across Peeka’s sex lips.”
“Stop!” ordered Ogham. “You haven’t answered my question.” He could feel a sheen of sweat beading his face. “Have you ever been in the stocks?”
Zacora’s long thighs were open as he pressed his taut young body to hers. All her training had prepared her for this day and she wanted to enjoy it to the full, but there was still a small nagging doubt in her mind. Did he really like her as he said? She should not be behaving like this with a man to whom she was not betrothed, but surely…
“The stocks!” he hissed. “Wouldn’t you like to experience what Peeka experienced?”
His strong young fingers were spreading her open, her buttocks, her sex lips. She knew he could feel her sex sap trickling warmly from the folds, soaking her clitoris which was pressing against his questing finger tips. Her will was gone. He sighed, grasping her hand. “Come on!” he growled hurriedly. “There won’t be anyone in the training room now!”
It was early afternoon and most of the court was resting. There were a few guards on duty, but none stopped the two young people as they returned to the castle and entered the empty echoing training room. The stocks stood ready, sombre dark wood stained with old blood in places, the carefully placed holes for neck and wrists beckoning Zacora. She shuddered at the sight of them. The equipment seemed to be much more threatening when the other girls weren’t there.
“Strip!” ordered Ogham. His voice was very commanding for so young a squire. “Strip for me! Is it not what you are taught to do?”
It was. But…
“Now!” he said again, even more sternly this time.
Obediently, as she had been taught, Zacora gathered the fine silk in her hands and lifted the hem, feeling very vulnerable without the film of gossamer swirling around her body. She bowed her head and folded her hands at the silver fronded crotch. She wasn’t ashamed of her body, standing there naked didn’t humiliate her, for she had been born to please her masters, the nobles of the kingdom.
Green eyes glittering, Ogham watched every move, every sway of her young limbs, the sheen of moisture on the neatly trimmed bush of silvery blonde hair at the top of her thighs.
“Let me see you in the stocks!”
Now she hardly hesitated. With long easy steps she made her way to the sombre punishment implement. “This is just a game? It must be a game we are playing. You won’t lock me in, will you?”
Ogham said nothing, but helped the young maiden to place her slender neck on the curved block and place her wrists in the slots. The solid sound of wood on wood as he brought down the top half of the fiercesome contraption, made his penis swell yet more. He hesitated, wondering whether to slip the hasps of the padlocks, but the hesitation was only momentary. In a second it was done. The girl was caught fast.
At each end of the room there were windows, long and dusty. The grime made them act as mirrors and Zacora could see her naked backside lifted in the air. Ogham was shackling her ankles in the floor manacles so her legs were splayed, revealing her sex slit to the full. Unlike Peeka there was no need to stand on tip-toe, for Zacora’s legs were long, she simply hollowed her back, posing her sex upwards.
“What shall I beat you with?”
“You must not beat me. I said it must be a game!”
He was standing behind her, his hands resting lightly on her buttock cheeks, his thumbs pressing the puffy lower edges of her sex lips.
She had no idea whether he was clothed or naked for he was bending low, examining her minutely. In that position she could not see him reflected in the grimy windows, but she knew that he could see every detail of her sex folds. What he was doing was no lover’s caress and, for the first time, she felt shamed and humiliated.
He felt her tension and released his tight grip. “Are you going to scream?”
She shook her head, swaying the silky tresses from side to side. It would do no good to scream. There was no one within sound of them. And if there were, she would just be found with a man to whom she was not betrothed. She would be disgraced. Better not to be rescued. She had fallen into a trap and must make the best of it.
A laugh, cold and without mirth, rasped in her ears. “I think, just in case, we’ll use the tongue bar.” She heard him move across the room and then the chink of metal as he sorted through the Master’s equipment. Returning to her, he held the device for her to see. She swallowed hard. It was a painful contraption.
A bar of iron with balls at each end was placed in the victim’s mouth, depressing the tongue and held in place by a leather strap around the head. As he tightened the buckle, pulling it unmercifully, so that her head was shaken from one side to the other, he was breathing hard.
He moved to stand in front of her. A hot bulge was close to her helpless face. She could feel his penis throbbing like a caged wild animal.
“Yes!” he said. “Excellent!”
Zacora would have protested if it was possible, but her soft lips were fixed by the iron gag. There was no escape, she realised. She was trapped, completely trapped, but this sense of total helplessness gave that wonderful feeling of lethargy. Her eyes felt heavy. There was a liquid whirling in her belly; a melting heat. Her sap, as she was warned would happen when the time was right, was drooling down her pale thighs, hot and sticky.
Before that day in the beauty of the Lokara springtime, she never realised that being vulnerable could make her aware of her powerful sexuality.
Ogham held the polished wooden phallus before her eyes. Her sapphire orbs widened with fear. He wouldn’t use that, surely! She was a virgin and must remain so until her betrothal.
Straining her neck she looked up into his deep green eyes. They glittered with cruelty in a face lightly tanned by days spent practising on the tournament field. His leather tunic lay discarded on the wooden floor and his lithe young chest was bare, heaving as he stood over her. Hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his breeches, he slid them down over his hips and thighs. Zacora could not gasp for the device clamped in her mouth would not allow any sound to issue from her mouth.
After giving her a glimpse of the monstrous swaying penis he disappeared from view. An image of it remained in her mind. Darker than his body skin, but still a pale flesh colour, it shone as if the skin was stretched to the limit. At the end was the globe, a perfect rounded cone, glistening with a sheen of its own dew. Below it hung the sac, full and taut, the two hard balls neatly drawn high between his muscular thighs.
She felt his hand smoothing over the firm curves of her bottom. He investigated their texture by pressing the two perfect hemispheres together and then parting them so that he could see every crease of the tight rose hole.
“Such perfect globes,” he murmured, “should be warmed by the birch or the paddle. Which do you prefer? But, of course, you cannot speak.” He gave a light laugh and showed her the two implements he had chosen; one in the left hand and one in the right. In his right hand was the birch and in his left was a broad bladed paddle.
It was difficult to believe that only that morning Zacora had watched plump Peeka’s buttocks quiver and redden under the swish of the birch. She had watched two narrow welts appear from one broad buttock, across the plump and tender sex lips, to the other buttock cheek. It was almost possible to feel the pain for the girl, but Zacora longed for the excitement which Peeka obviously felt. The memory of the trailing silvery sex sap running from the newly broken gateway was a clear picture in her mind.
“Choose!” he insisted.

Zacora nodded to the left, to the paddle.
Ogham grinned broadly, slicing the chosen implement through the air and then slapping it across his own palm. He gave a grimace at the stinging pain and she hung her head, wishing that the game had never started.
He walked behind her, his paces slow and measured. She felt him smooth the paddle over her poised buttock mounds, measuring the stroke. As her excitement increased, her breasts became tauter, serving to heighten her excitement. She felt her open sex folds swell, making them more vulnerable and more clearly revealed. The humiliation began in earnest.
“You have no right to be at court, you dirty little bitch!”
Surely he had not said that! Then the paddle fell, swiping across the full bottom mounds. The sound of the thinly sliced wood hitting flesh was loud and echoed through the empty school room.
“You are not nobility!” The paddle slapped again, giving a burning stinging pain, overlapping the last.
I was invited to court, she wanted to say, but the iron gag prevented any sound. And I am nobility. You have no right to say that I am not.
Again the paddle slapped. Her firm, well-lifted bottom was on fire, but below that, her sex pouch was heating and melting. The juices were flowing from virginal folds.
“I’m going to fuck you.” The words were rasped cruelly and smacked her ears like a blow from the paddle, but at the same time they were as stimulating.
The paddle slapped lightly at the soft, pouting sex folds. The blow wasn’t hard enough to hurt, but it was more shaming than any given previously. It caused a squelching sound as the thin piece of wood pressed the liquids gathered between the inflamed leaves.
The paddle slapped down viciously on the uplifted buttocks, so beautifully rounded, sliding down at the end of the stroke to the open folds which dripped with her fluids. The continued discipline coloured them, Zacora knew that. It gave them a rosy glow where once they had been creamily pale. The punishment made her hot inside as well; the beautiful melting heaviness opened her up yet further.
The strokes of the paddle seemed unending. Her bottom flesh was a rounded fire, but the moist crease between them was hotter. Swollen folds created to take a man’s sex sword. She wriggled, hollowing her back to present her moist silky entrance with the puffy silvery fronds at the best angle for him.
His breathing was harsh and quick. She knew that he was standing behind her, gazing at the scarlet welts which merged into two burning, swollen mounds. There was pain as he grasped the punished flesh to open it yet further. His thumbs spread the puffy lips, smearing the dew on the silver curls as he opened them fully. A flush suffused her face as she realised that he could see everything; every fold, every crease, every drop of sap and, in the centre, her swollen bud, pert and jerking.
Zacora wanted him to touch that, but he ignored it and she felt tears of frustration well in her moist eyes. But she knew that she must please him first. Her own pleasure was in what he gave her by bonding her in the stocks, making her feel vulnerable and by making her bottom glow.
There was a pressure at the silky entrance, a growing pressure, Zacora felt her eyes widen as she looked up at the vague reflection in the grimy window. Ogham was standing behind her, bracing himself on the heated mounds of her bottom and pressing himself against her.
At first the pressure was pleasant. It was a meeting of moist flesh, her own and his. She was helpless. She had no control over what he did to her. The pressure increased, pushing into her pitilessly. She could feel her vagina gateway being pushed open.
With a final thrust he was inside her. She heard him sigh pleasurably. The pain was a mere pinprick compared with the fire he had created in her helpless bottom.
For a brief moment he was still, as if he wasn’t sure what to do next. The young squires were taught to fence and joust, but the sexual pleasing was left to the ladies of the court.
Knowing her duty, she gyrated her heated and punished flesh against the coolness of his groin. Her well-trained vaginal muscles caressed the thick length of his cock. She heard Ogham groan and he began to quicken his movements. Her flesh drew on his, pulling his penetrating shaft into her wet cushiony pillow.
A squire so young and inexperienced could not take a long caress. It had been hard for him to contain his seed in all the long moments of stimulating punishment.
Zacora felt her painfully confined breasts swell as she recognised his growing need to let go. His pumping was frantic; his vigorous young balls bounced rhythmically on her lifted and open sex lips. His organ seemed to be pulsating against every part of her nether regions. His seed emptied into her helpless body in a great rush of fluid heat. She offered him her opening, taking the torrent as it filled her. The young squire gave several more jerks into her, making sure that every drop drenched her newly opened pouch.
At last he pulled out of her, leaving her frustrated. Her own pleasure did not quite reach the peak, although her bud had throbbed close to it.
“You will be disgraced,” he rasped.
She knew it was true but, muted, by the iron gag, she was unable to reply. Why, her mind cried. Why had he abused her so?
“My father will send you from the court.” He laughed, the sound shrill with contempt. He wiped the end of his drooling globe across the burning mounds of her buttocks. “Perhaps I shall suggest that you should be strung on the gallows, naked with your legs splayed for all to see how you have been despoiled.”
Ogham moved to allow her to see him. His penis, although so recently emptied, was partially erect and slick from the mixture of their juices. Slowly, he released the leather strap which held the iron gag between her lips.
Relieved, she glossed her lips with her tongue. “Peeka wasn’t treated so cruelly,” she whispered. Her mouth felt dry and her voice was hoarse through the long confinement with the gag.
“Peeka is a nobleman’s daughter.” he sneered.
“So am I.”
“Not legitimately.” He posed his sperm soaked globe at her mouth, pressing it between the soft lips. She could taste the salt, and such was her training, her tongue wrapped around it automatically in a moist caress.
“You’ll be auctioned,” he told her, pressing his length into her mouth. She took it as she had been taught, using the smooth, unresilient phalli. This was warm, pulsing and growing thicker as she sucked upon the living, throbbing length.
As she sucked obediently upon the young master’s flesh, she thought how unfair it was that she should be humiliated in such a way. She saw herself on the gallows, her arms outstretched and tied at the wrists. Her breasts would be taut, but the nipples erect on the flattened flesh. The occupants of the castle, including the guards, would be at liberty to look up at her splayed legs and would see each moist fold.
“My father will delight in leaving you on the gallows until the auction,” he sneered.
Miserably, she sucked his hard length. Her duty was to pleasure the man, no matter what imagined wrong he may have done.
In the land of Lokara a man could do no wrong. Zacora had been taught that from childhood.

CHAPTER TWO

It was auction day in the neighbouring land of Vakir and there was a churning sensation in Harold Meleagan’s belly. Something wonderful was going to happen. He felt it in his organs, especially his male organs.
From the very moment he woke he knew that this would be a special day and when he saw the imported girl on the podium he knew that his gut feeling was right.
She was introduced as Zacora. Taller than the other girls; graceful, willowy, but full blown. Aristocratic. She was just what he needed to be his consort. She would compliment his accumulated wealth exactly.
It was the hair which caught his attention first. Among all the dark-skinned beauties, the pale skin, sapphire blue eyes and the golden hair streaked with silver made his blood run hot. The same hair, lightly curled, grew lushly from the pouting mound of her sex and tickled the tops of her perfect thighs. Yes, mused Harold, the sex hair was lush but neat, no beard to tangle with a man’s enthusiasm. He adjusted his organ which was rearing mightily beneath his silken robes.
“This one says she is of noble birth,” claimed the slave master.
Harold gave a quiet smile of triumph, knowing that his feeling had been correct, but there was crude laughter, a sound of disbelief, from the crowd of potential buyers. They were a mixed bunch. Some of the poorer ones just came to look, for the slave auction was always an entertainment. This was especially so when the girls destined to be sexual playthings were put upon the platform. They were always naked and always fearful. Some of them wept and pleaded to be allowed freedom.
His eyes remained fixed on the girl called Zacora. There was something about her. She was very special. It seemed that she had all the knowledge of every nuance of sexuality and yet she had the innocence of a cherub. He hugged himself, determined that she would be his; his consort to sit beside him on the… no, he chided himself, he must not think that far ahead.
He peered from his carriage at the crowd. They were rowdy that day. Mostly they were peasants come to town for the market, which was held on the same day as the auction. They were dressed in rough tunics, men and women alike, short and hardly decent. Their legs were bare apart from thongs of leather criss-crossing the flesh to hold the plates of rough hide to their feet. Baskets of produce were held on their hips or balanced on their heads. This method of transport of their wares hoisted their crude clothing yet higher, leaving their unfettered genitals free in the morning air. Such nudity encouraged sexual freedom and it wasn’t unusual to see a couple take advantage for a quick release of their pleasure on the cobbles of the square amidst the debris of the market.
Harold shuddered at the crudity of it all. His companion, Megan, his Aunt, clearly revelled in it. Sometimes he wondered how she could be an Aunt of his. A strange woman, Megan, enjoying anything which smacked of the lower orders.
Amidst the mixed crowd there were some merchants, men like Harold, but he liked to think that he had risen above them. Their women hung on their arms. Wives were left at home and these pretty creatures were playthings, bought at previous auctions.
As they waited for the auction to begin the merchants took the opportunity to squeeze the breasts of this particular girl, beautifully highlighted by the flowing robes of rich silk. Others were bolder, folding the fine material until it was draped over the soft curve of the belly and it fell in delicate pleats like curtains framing the lushness of a sex bush they would delight in fingering.
Some of the other women displayed showed embarrassment or humiliation at such inspections by potential buyers, others were delighted. The latter would arch their back to give the merchant full access to the moistness of her sex. She would smile, urging him to bring her to orgasm.
Around the outside of the square there were carriages, carrying nobles, rich merchants like the Meleagans, and minor Princes from neighbouring lands. Harold saw one of these watching eagerly as the golden haired beauty was fondled and groped by the slave master. Harold smiled, slotting his eyes. The Prince of Vakir! The weakling was fast losing control of his life and his land.
The Prince stared unblinkingly as the slave master lifted up each full breast, cupping it and stroking the nipple.
The girl, Zacora, showed no sign of humiliation. She looked proud as her breasts were fondled in such an intimate manner, as though it was the slave master’s right to treat her thus. Harold nodded approvingly at the girl’s demeanour.
“She takes pain well, ladies and gentlemen,” said the slave master. He held up a toothed device which flashed silver in the morning sunlight. Carefully, this was placed over one pink nipple. The man, smiling at his audience, let go and there was an audible click.
The blonde slave arched her willowy body backwards and the crowd made a whispered sound of appreciation. It seemed that the arch was not a distortion caused by pain, but to show her new adornment to the best advantage. The crowd saw the silver nipple clamp pinching the delicate skin into the toothed circle. The slave said nothing, but her wide, soft lips curved to a slight demure smile.
The crowd murmured their appreciation of the girl’s conduct as the other breast was treated in the same manner.
“These devices,” said the slave master, “although causing slight pain, do not mark the flesh, so there is no detraction in the value of your potential property, ladies and gentlemen.” As he gave the clamps extra twists Zacora remained still, subservient and passive, but oh so beautiful. Harold nodded again. Oh yes, she would suit him very well.
The slave master pulled the clamps to demonstrate how the nipples could be moved up down or around and still cause no damage to the goods. He and the auctioneer had worked together for many years and had done well in their merchandising of human flesh. Now they were dressed in the fine rich raiments of merchants. The goods they enjoyed the most were the girls destined to be the sex slaves.
Harold cast his dark intelligent eyes back to the Prince in his ornate carriage across the square. He was smiling. Handsome, with fine delicate features, the Prince was supposedly desperate for an heir. If the girl was truly of noble birth that would suit the Prince very well. A shame the man was destined to be disappointed.
“Megan, my dear,” whispered Harold, “would you care to have that fair beauty as your newest toy?” He could let Megan play her little games and see how she behaved. If Zacora seemed to be suitable in every way, he mused, then he would see.
Fascinated, her mouth open with delight, Megan was staring at the podium. The slave master was demonstrating how the girl was fully broken in for sexual pleasure.
“The story, ladies and gentlemen, will amuse you.” The slave master was kneeling at Zacora’s feet, his neatly trimmed beard close to but not touching her open sex. “She claims that she was tricked by a young squire who took her virginity.”
The crowd sniggered as they watched the slave master use both hands to open the plump silver fronded sex lips. He urged the girl to widen her long legs and bend them to give him full access. It was very moist and he slicked a finger through the parted lips, holding it up for the crowd to see. He then held up a smooth wooden peg, polished and dark, almost but not quite imitating a man’s penis. “Observe, ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “that she has been fully prepared for service.”
The crowd was silent, waiting and craning forward, eager to see the fair slave demonstrated. The girl’s eyes were wide and moist with unshed tears, Harold noticed, but she stood quite still and proud. She might be humiliated by the slave master’s actions, but she seemed to accept them willingly, as though she had been trained to do so. He liked that. He liked that very much.
The slave master, in his richly hued satin, knelt with thighs spread at the slave’s feet. Even at this distance across the square Harold could see the man’s erect cock spearing upwards under the robe. Even the slave master, with his vast experience of girls destined to be sexual playthings, was excited by Zacora’s compliance.
The polished rod of wood was offered upwards by the slave master, like a relic to some sensual god. He held it reverently in both hands against the peachy smoothness of the girl’s shivering belly. She looked straight ahead while the slave master was intent upon his task. Many girls would have sobbed or screamed at this humiliation, but Zacora seemed to expect it. It was part of her life, Harold could tell.
Now the polished phallus slid back down her belly, very slowly, stroking the fine silk until the wood reached the downy softness of the silvery bush.
There was not a whisper in the crowd. Harold had never seen them so intent upon the slave podium. The other girls, darker, shorter, not quite so beautiful but attractive enough, were shuffling restlessly in their light chains.
The gleaming rod, so smoothly polished by a skilled craftsman, entered the girl, pressing back the sex folds firmly with its girth. Harold could see a trickle of the girl’s lubrication ooze down the hard stem. Her face was passive, showing no expression apart from the gleam in the sapphire blue eyes and a slight parting of moist lips. This was nothing new to her, Harold realised. He saw the mound jut forward a little, the fronds parting to show the swelling inner lips and the pert bud hugely erect for all to see.
In the square there was silence apart from quickened breathing amongst the crowd and the occasional metallic chink of the slave’s chains. Harold, himself, leaned from his carriage, with Megan at his side.
“Can we have her?” said Megan. Her plump breasts, rising from her brief dress, were flushed with excitement and they rose and fell rapidly.
“I’ve said so, haven’t I?” His tone was terse, for his male sword was painful in its wanting. “But we must see how the auction goes.”
“Oh, we’ll outbid anyone here,” said Megan confidently.
Harold nodded to the soft featured Prince, gazing longingly at the girl. “Don’t be too sure,” he said.
Megan tossed her head in disdain and turned to more interesting sights on the podium. The blonde girl, hair streaming in soft shimmering coils down her naked back, was in the full throes of orgasm. The polished wooden rod was slicking back and forth, in and out of the girl’s convulsing entrance.
Harold groaned softly in delight as he saw the phallus withdrawn and held up to the crowd. It was thickly coated with the girl’s love sap. She gave a soft whimper of pleasure. Her chained wrists were linked behind her head and Harold saw them tighten as she reached her peak.
The crowd gave a communal sigh and the slave master rose to his feet, holding the steaming phallus in his raised hands. Everyone could see the liquid from the depths of the girl’s body dripping hotly down the slave master’s raised arms.
A great cheer went up and, seeing the enthusiasm which the slave master’s demonstration raised, the auctioneer stepped forward, anxious to start the bidding while so much interest was aroused.
“Zacora,” he introduced, pulling the blonde girl forward by a thin gold chain decorating her waist. “Of noble birth, so we are told and betrayed by a noble young squire.” The last few words brought scattered laughter among the crowd.
Harold’s eyes did not leave the girl’s willowy, but ripe, figure. Zacora, he breathed. Even her name was beautiful, mystical, magic. The deep sapphire eyes stared over the heads of the crowd, the soft lips parted and moist. The proud breasts were high, forced so by the position of her arms behind her head. The nipples were pinched by the silver devices held by cunning clips and teeth.
The auctioneer traced the gentle curve of the waist, so cleverly enhanced by the simple addition of the gold chain. He stroked the tiny swell of the belly before turning her round to sweep his hands over the fullness of the bottom cheeks, parting them to show the tight pinkness of the rear mouth with delicate wrinkles like the spokes of a wheel. “Tight, you see, ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “so wonderfully tight.”
The bottom mouth flexed involuntarily and Harold felt his groin tense. He loved the secretiveness of buttocks in a beautiful girl. There was something forbidden about their loveliness which he found it hard to resist.
The girl was made to open her mouth, to draw out her tongue to show its pink cleanliness. The auctioneer nodded to the slave master as a signal.
The slave master lifted his richly woven robe to expose the magnificence of his penis. Zacora was pushed to her knees and her mouth was forced wide. The satiny globe, slick and purple, was pressed into the available orifice. It seemed to Harold that the shaft was being swallowed eagerly as the girl massaged the tightness of the rim with her soft lips. The agile tongue flicked back and forth over the slipperiness until, very slowly, the thick girth was swallowed and Zacora’s soft lips nestled in the crisp curls of the slave master’s pubis.
A communal sigh of satisfaction was drawn from the crowd. Zacora’s lips slid up and down the thick shaft, caressing it at each slick passage. She gave his sperm sac a pat with her tongue at the end of a caress. The magnificent organ began to throb and, suddenly, he pulled from her, turning to the crowd and holding his shaft proudly in both hands. A great fountain shot from it, splashing the nearest onlookers with hot, creamy jets.
Zacora, head held proudly and hands linked in her tumbled hair, allowed the slave master’s spillage to lie upon her pale cheeks. A pearly droplet hung upon her soft lower lip and she sucked it lovingly into her mouth.
“A thousand drachma!” The voice was loud, urgent.
The crowd looked towards its source. A Prince in a suit of cloth of gold and a solid gold codpiece stood close to the podium. He held a leather bag, thrusting it at the auctioneer.
“Two thousand!” Harold remained in his carriage, unlike the anxious Prince.
Bidding became fast and furious. No such sums had been taken for sex slaves before. The crowd murmured delightedly. It reached thirty-five thousand and the Prince shook his head as he walked dejectedly to his carriage. The horses were whipped furiously by the driver and the carriage scattered the crowd as it hurtled from the scene.
“We got her!” exclaimed Megan. Her plump figure, covered only by a very brief black silk dress, jiggled excitedly. Her breasts were fighting each other under the silk like warring little animals. “I’ll use her to teach my clients a few new games.”
Megan, much to Harold’s disapproval, had set herself up as part-time harlot. “It’s a hobby,” she told him. “I’m not efficient as a housekeeper, so I can’t help you very much round the castle and I’ve got have something to keep me out of mischief.” It went much against the grain to agree for it did not help Harold’s social standing in Vakir and he had ambition, great ambition. The Meleagans would be the top family in the land before very much longer. He had sworn an oath to that.
“Yes, my dear,” replied Harold at last. “It has been a very satisfying morning.” He turned to Megan’s son. “Gareth, my boy, order a sedan to pick up the slave first thing in the morning.”
“Why is it always me?” grumbled Gareth.

CHAPTER THREE

Zacora watched the carriage drive away from the market place. The audience, too, slowly drifted to the neighbouring villages, leaving debris of rotting fruit, mouldering in the hot sun. She sighed. It was all so different to the tranquil existence she had led before.
“What are you waiting for, stuck up bitch?” hissed a voice behind her.
She looked round. One of the other girls, small, dark and scowling with venom, was glaring up at her. “Suppose you think you’re something because you fetched a big price.”
Zacora shrugged miserably, her eyes lowered.
“Well, you’re not, see.” The girl, quick and lithe, slipped her hands, manacled with the links of chain, around Zacora’s slender body, catching the nipples in the links. The pain made tears glaze the sapphire eyes, but Zacora kicked backwards, feeling her toes sink into moist sex flesh.
“Stop that, you hellcats!” boomed the slave master. A whip snaked around the two struggling young naked bodies. “Get down to the cells to await transport.” The whip lashed again as the two girls disentangled themselves, catching Zacora across the softness of her breasts and the other girl across her small pert buttocks. The lash struck again, not for any other reason than to give the slave master pleasure.
The cells were dark and cavernous. A jailer greeted the group of girls as the slave master ushered them into the rank filth of the cells.
“Auction finished?” The jailer, wearing only a scrap of worn leather, gathered to a pouch, looked up smiling. He scratched at his groin with a huge key hanging from a bunch on his wrist.
“Get this place cleaned up,” ordered the slave master. “It stinks.”
The jailer, a huge man, shrugged, using the key to scratch his long, thick greasy hair. “Don’t matter. Slaves don’t matter.”
“They matter a great deal!” yelled the slave master, so loudly that the noise, echoing through the stone cells, made Zacora’s ears ring. “They are sold goods. They have to stay in good condition.”
Zacora felt a rough hand close upon her upper arm. She flinched, looking up into the grinning dark face of the jailer.
“This is an unusual one,” the big man hissed. “All these golden curls and this…” He caressed the fluff of her pubic bush.
Zacora stiffened, but the soft silver curls of her mound were automatically thrust forward. Her long legs, muscles tense and nervous, were splayed as far apart as her ankle manacles allowed.
The jailer cupped Zacora’s sex, stroking the valleys where her thighs met the silver fronded lips. “Nice and full,” he remarked, “for such a slender girl.” He slid the flat of his palm along the lips, so delicately sprinkled with fine silver curls. “A virgin, I suppose?” He consulted a list given to him by the slave master. “Must be at this price. Thirty-five thousand! A record, isn’t it?”
The slave master nodded. “It’s a record to be sure, but she isn’t a virgin.”
“She isn’t?” A heavy sheen of perspiration broke out on the jailer’s face and body and his rough fingers prised open the fullness of Zacora’s sex lips, feeling the slippery coating of sex sap oozing along her folds.
“Lost her virginity to a noble’s son, stupid wench!” sneered the slave master. “So she ended up here. Told some lies about being betrothed to him.” But Zacora looked back at the slave master proudly, knowing the truth of her terrible betrayal.
“The Meleagan sedan will pick her up first thing in the morning,” the slave master advised the jailer, who was licking his lips with eagerness.
The other bought slaves slumped down against old walls, slimy with oozing damp and green with a heavy growth of algae. Some settled down to sleep as they waited to be taken to their new owner’s homes and some sobbed quietly, making the chains which held them captive rattle metallically. Only Zacora stood proudly, as still as a statue.
The jailer circled round her, his rough, gnarle