Soon after my husband returned from sea, we moved to South Carolina his new duty station and rented an apartment.  The apartment building wasn’t the nicest of neighborhoods but it had to do with the small amount of money he was earning.  His paycheck barely covered our car payment, apartment, food, and diapers so we found ourselves living paycheck to paycheck all the time.  Not long after we arrived in Charleston, my husband had to leave again to sea, leaving me alone in a strange new place with no family or friends to help me out if I had any trouble.

It was my first time living away from home on my own, learning to manage a household, raising a brand new baby and dealing with no sex on my own was very challenging.  The only person I knew was the building manager Carl, who lived above us.  My husband and Carl hit it off and he would invite him over almost every night to sit around drinking and talk sports.  So my husband asked Carl to check on me from time to time while he was out at sea to make sure I was ok which Carl was glad to do.

I managed things pretty well for the first two months while my husband was gone with Carl checking on me from time to time.  Carl would help me carry in my groceries and stop in to make small talk usually in the evenings always being very flirtatious and funny.   But in December, about a month before my husband returned I ran into some money trouble.  I had budgeted enough for bills and to go buy Christmas presents for everyone and send them back home to family.  I spent to much money on gifts by mistake, then my car broke down that required me to spend most of our remaining money for the month to get it fixed.  My rent was due and my misfortune left me about $300 short.

Carl stopped by to pick up the rent check that morning and I broke down crying telling all about my problem.  I told him I was afraid of disappointing my husband and worried that if he found out he would get very upset with me.  Carl told me that he would love to help me out but he couldn’t just let me skip a month of rent and he didn’t have $300 to hand out for nothing.  He told me if I was interested, that there was a possible way to earn that money.  I told him that I couldn’t work because daycare would cost too much and I have no one to watch my son.  He said the job did not require me to leave home but I probably couldn’t handle it.  I told him I am a very hard work and never quit, so give me a chance.  He proceeded to tell me that I could earn the money for rent by performing sexual favors for him.  I stood there in total shock with my mouth hanging open not believing what had just been said.  He told me to think on it, and he would check back with me that evening to get my answer or the rent.  Newly married for just a year did I really want to cheat on my husband and chance ruining my relationship?   Plus, I was very sexually naive having only been with two men in my life, and being a slut went against all the Catholic beliefs I was raised on.  Strangely enough, I found myself turned on by his proposal and began to wonder if I could actually go through with it. 

At 8 pm, I had just put my son down asleep in his crib when Carl returned looking for my answer.  He had a huge grin on his face and looked very pleased when I told him I would do it since I had no other choice and needed the money.  Not to mention, I was pretty horny for not having sex for over 2 months and wanted to get fucked pretty bad.

 Carl grabbed me by the hand and led me to my bedroom and told me to undress because he was dying to see my young hard body naked.  As I undressed out of my little tight shorts and t-shirt, he began undressing himself.  At 48, Carl was in pretty good shape but had a slight beer belly.  He was 6 foot tall, built like a football player, black, and standing next to me he dwarfed my tiny body.

He ravaged my body with his eyes, telling me to lie on the bed in different positions so he could get a good look at what he was paying to enjoy.  I pushed my 36C breast together showing him my hard nipples pulling on them one at a time.  Then I spread my legs showing him my freshly shaven pussy slowly running my fingers across my moistening lips.  Finally, he asked me to bend over doggie style, so he could see my sexy little ass.  It surprised me that he didn’t just jumped right on, attack me, and do his business, but actually enjoyed making me wait for him.  I was getting turned on more and more as he made me wait for him to touch me.

He was standing by the bed rubbing his hard cock through his boxers which I could see a distinctive bulge.  Then he told me to slide to the end of the bed and remove his boxers for him.  As I got to the end of the bed, he bent down and kissed me on the lips as my hands found his boxer and slid them down to the floor.  As we broke from kissing and he stood up, I saw the biggest and thickest cock I have ever seen in my life.  His cock was pointing straight out at me and had to be at least 10 to 12” long and thick as my wrist.  He didn’t have to say anything to me; I instinctively took his big cock in both hands and began stroking him mesmerized by its size.

He told me to put it in my mouth and suck his cock, so I tried my best to fit as much as I could but it was only the tip.  As I sucked his cock, he ran his hands all over my tits, ass, and stopping on my pussy driving me wildly insane.  His big fingers found their way to my clit rubbing it in slow small circles, then sliding one, then two, fingers deep inside my aching cunt.

He told me to slide back up on the bed so he could eat my sweet pussy.  Working his way kissing up my thighs and burying his face in my sopping wet pussy made me come like never before.  Once he had my pussy-dripping wet, he asked me if I was ready to take his big cock.  I said I hope so, but I am scared because I never had a cock bigger the 6”.  I told him to wait a second and got a condom from my husband’s nightstand and placed it on Carl’s cock.  The condom was super tight on his huge meat stick and barely went halfway down his shaft then I begged him to fuck me.

He slowly placed the head of his huge cock against my cunt lips, slowly rubbing it up and down on them.  Then he slowly slid his cock it into my wanting cunt letting me adjust to the huge girth.  As I adjusted to his size he slowly began driving his cock in and out of my aching pussy.  God, it was huge!!!  It hurt so good and I was cumming over and over again with every deep thrust, but he was still only getting half of it in me.  So, he told me to climb on top and see if it was more comfortable that way.  So, I slid down on his massive tool feeling it reach into my stomach.

I was riding his cock really hard as he sucked on my breast and slid his finger in my ass (never had that done before then) making me shake with the most intense orgasm ever.  He told me that his cock was ready to explode but he wanted me doggie style.  So he got behind me and really began to give it to me harder than I thought possible.  As I looked down at his huge tool going in and out of my pussy, I saw that the condom was lying on the bed and he was riding me bare back.  And before I could move he began grunting and pulling me back out his long cock filling my pussy full of his seaman.  He pulled his cock out and stared at my pussy as I lay on the bed trying to recover from the hard pounding I just received.  And told me that he hope my husband doesn’t get mad at him for ruining my pussy with his big cock.  While I was wondering how I am going to explain to my husband being pregnant with a black baby.

But, for a large slice of the populace, we fail entirely to teach moral values. Our children are introduced to sex at an early age, shown the mechanics of reproduction, but we rarely explain the emotions that go with the act. We show them how to screw each other and make babies that they cannot cope with, creating more social problems in an insidious spiral of descent. We fail to teach them, because we don’t know ourselves.

So is it any wonder, that the youth of today has little in common with their parents? Is it any wonder that they rebel, or please themselves, given the lack of moral guidance we, as a generation, offer to their development? How can we expect compliance and conformity when we seem to discard or ignore our kids after they get to school age?

This following story alludes to under aged sex. I am not someone that subscribes to sex with minors, so please do not think that the case; I abhor it. It is mentioned merely as a background comment or rather, a painting of how real life is these days.

One last comment; for the American readers, in the UK, our age of consent and legality is two years less than yours. At sixteen, it is legal to screw your head off, if you want. I have no feelings either way about that, just wonder at the preparedness of such a person to handle the often harsh and consuming emotional rollercoaster of human interaction. At my advanced age, I still find emotions a confusing and dangerous area of our persona.

 

 

 

Abigail

 

 

At fourteen years of age, Abigail had left the straight road, dropping out in a spiral of self-loathing, mixed with more than a small amount of defiance and rebellion. A heady concoction that took her to places only the truly down and out would ever visit.

 

At fifteen, she had turned her back on the education system. The rules and regimentation of an orderly day did not fit within her chaos of life. Resolutely, she refused to go to school, sparking off furious rows with her mother, who in exasperation, washed her hands of her daughter and threw her out of the family home and into the clutches of the welfare state.

 

The fights were not all about school. Two women in a small space with convergent ideologies is a match made in the suburbs of hell. Increasingly, the close bond that had been mother and daughter eroded until the inevitable crash. It was predestined that they would clash in spectacular style, their characters being so close that it could be thought Abigail was cloned from her mother; it was predestined as an outcome, but vastly hastened by the sudden departure of her father.

 

Neither mother nor daughter had any inkling of his intention to up stakes and run from their lives and not leave a forwarding address. What he left were debts that amounted to twice their annual income, the hangover of his gambling, a house part owned by the bank, an ancient car with more curiosity value than ability to run or realise any money and an envelope on the table with two words scrawled in haste on the outside; I’m sorry.

 

He had left with all of his clothing, what money was in the house and Abigail’s piggy bank that might have had twenty pounds in loose change in it. Her mother’s paste jewellery had been tipped out of her box over the bed so that he could take his birth certificate and some commemorative coins that had been collected and stored with her rings. They never heard from him or had any idea where he might have fled. For the two women left behind, there was no closure, it was as if he had suddenly died, they were emotionally and financially destitute and, because he hadn’t died, had no income as such from a pension or insurance.

 

It wasn’t just their meagre valuables he took, just as effectively, he took from them the bond they had shared, leaving them bereft of even the ability to turn to the other in solace and comfort. They blamed each other and themselves simultaneously, drawing lines and barriers that neither had the tools or inclination to ever remove.

 

At sixteen, Abigail was on a fast track to oblivion. For some short time, a guy she met on the road someplace, had fed her, then introduced her to drugs and then put her to work on the streets. She had been popular at first, a nice fresh face, an unblemished teenager; blonde haired and firm breasted, she had been all the rage. It lasted for a short time at least, but then, as drugs always do, her body started to show the rigours of abuse and deprivation of food.

 

In a matter of months, Abigail was totally on her own, relying on handouts and whatever she could scrape from the back streets. Tricking where she could to raise enough cash for her next hit, then crashing wherever she stopped until the craving for heroine woke her and the process started all over again the next day.

 

That was how Paul found her. Alone in the street, soaked through by incessant rain that had steadily drizzled all day and hardly able to stand from enforced DT’s. He was pretty much the worse for wear him self; the party he had left a little earlier was taking its toll, or at least the amount of alcohol he had consumed. He weaved an erratic path through Bermondsey, blindly staggering his way to his converted warehouse beside the river.

 

It was not how Abigail liked to remember it in later times; instead, she concocted a story of how he had entered the smoking room at the office, nervous and unsure of his new surroundings and the people he found himself in company with. First days had that effect on most; she liked his vulnerability and struck up a conversation. They had gone out for a meal or something; he was new to the area and had yet to find his bearings. She couldn’t be certain, but it was either the third or forth date that they fumbled around in bed, hardly a momentous occasion and somewhat less than memorable. It almost finished the relationship there and then, but they got to know each other and sex gradually got better. A more acceptable story than the truth; She even got to believe in it and covered up the past effectively, but that is some way ahead.

 

She was curled up almost into a ball; perched on the kerb with her arms tucked around her knees. Abigail rocked slowly back and forth, waiting for the cramps to subside before trying to find some shelter and if she could, hook up with one of her street outlets for her daily trip to a less painful place.

 

Oblivious of the rain that had soaked through his jacket, shirt and everything else he wore, Paul sat beside the girl, even matching her rocking motion with his own.

 

“Twenty pounds for French,” She informed him without looking up. “Or twenty five for sex; thirty for Greek.”

 

“What?”

 

“I said, twenty for French, twenty five for sex or thirty for Greek.” She still hugged her knees to her chest, but glanced at him, waiting for his choice and the exchange of money. She needed the cash.

 

“I ain’t got a clue what you’re talking about.”

 

“Listen mister, do ya want to fuck me, get sucked or what? It’s gonna cost ya whatever.” She impatiently asked him, pausing her rocking and reinforcing each syllable with a nod of her head.

 

“Don’t want to fuck you.” He was somewhat confused and more than a little affronted at the same time, he was trying to make some sense of how the conversation had started so badly. “I don’t want to fuck you.”

 

“Well if you ain’t here for business, are ya carrying?”

 

He shrugged, both shoulders almost touching his ears in an exaggerated expression. It seemed a safe way to answer her question that he didn’t understand at all.

 

“If you ain’t carrying and you ain’t here for business, you can fuck off. Okay?” She turned and looked at him full in the face, her lips curled back in a snarl as she mouthed the words.

 

Paul was almost sobered by the vehemence of her voice. But, more than the viciousness of the sound was her dead eyes. She looked at him, but the expression of her words didn’t reach her eyes. It was as if he was looking into two pools of dead, grey water. They stared back at him, utterly lifeless, but at the same time, unfathomable in depth. He realised that she might have been pretty once, but was now emaciated, her skin sagging like curtains around the sockets of her eyes and cheeks where the fatty tissues under had been used up by her body. Her hair hung in lank strands, dirty and uncut or cared for and he became aware of her smell for the first time. Involuntarily, he shifted away from her a few inches, shuffling his bottom along the quartz of the kerbstone.

 

If he were to be asked later, it would be quite likely that Paul would not be able to provide a good reason for his actions, but without any thought, he grabbed her arm, painfully aware at how his hands easily encircled her, then yanked her to her feet and began to drag her like a rag doll along behind him.

 

She started screaming and feebly trying to tug her arm away from his grip.

 

“I ain’t got no money, so it ain’t worth robbing me.” She screamed at him, spittle flying from her lips and adding to the rain already seeping through his clothes to his skin. Paul didn’t answer her, but just continued to drag her unceremoniously by the arm towards his home.

 

“If ya gonna rape me you bastard, you might as well do it right here and now and let me get on with things.” But, Paul ignored this as well.

 

Eventually, they made it to his recently moved into apartment in the converted riverside warehouse. She had continued to scream and rage at him loud enough to wake half of London. At three in the morning, anyone on the street was far more interested in their own private business and disinclined to intervene with what was probably a domestic spat, so their progress was completely unimpeded and not noteworthy.

 

He adjusted his grip on her arm to unlock the security deadlocks and punch in the numbers for the alarm. Then adjusting his grip, he shoved her from under the armpits up the staircase and into his new residence. At the top of the stairs, Paul paused and took a second to think, now that he had her here, where to put her. Throughout the trek to his apartment, he hadn’t given too much thought to why or what he was going to do with this skeletal girl, just a singular, unexplainable purpose of rescuing Abigail from the street.

 

He opted for the spare bedroom. It was unfurnished as yet and he could lock her in behind a stout door. There was an old loft access where the floor sacks were hauled up, but it was two storeys up and concrete below so escape was not feasible through there.

 

Unceremoniously, he dragged her to the room and pushed her inside, pulling the door shut even as she span to claw at the closing portal. The key turned and her yelling was muffled to a tolerable level.

 

So began her slow and painful break from the monkey. Days when Abigail couldn’t control her body, shaking and going into spasm. Unable to keep food down at times, even when she could be forced to ingest anything solid, what ever she swallowed was ejected from her, forcefully.

 

Abigail could not control her temperature, alternately shivering and sweating. She had no control of auto-functions and really, became child like or incontinent as an aged person might after their reasoning leaves. He threw away most of her clothing, replacing it from items bought in a charity shop then, throwing them away as well when she soiled them beyond redemption. He found that tracksuits were easiest to clean and lasted longer than pretty much anything else. He would remove her dirty clothing in the early days, dispassionately looking at her emaciation and the needle tracks in her arms, feet and groin. He was as far from sexual interest as it was possible to be; the sight of her body made him cringe and renewed his resolve to heal her.

 

After four or five weeks that seemed like years, she began to settle down, managing to take sustenance and process it in the normal way. Her violent moods subsided and, gradually, like the regeneration of scar tissue, she became a person again, even holding conversations with Paul, but always as a long-term hostage might talk to their keeper. She held back and would not open, even on mundane topics, giving only enough information to be an active party in the dialogue.

 

Paul still kept her locked in the room, knowing that at the first opportunity, she would bolt and be lost for ever with an inevitable outcome, one needle too many perhaps or a violent death in an alley. He still didn’t know why he was doing this for her, someone he didn’t know at all, a complete stranger. But, he recognised in her, something of the wounded animal that triggers an emotive response occasionally; he put it down to that.

 

Paul decided after eight weeks of captivity that she could be trusted to have the run of the warehouse apartment. He left the door to her room unlocked and open. Abigail didn’t emerge from the safety of her cot for two days, but then stepped timidly over the threshold at his encouragement. She still had something of the trapped animal about her; each step could be considered furtive or exploratory, keeping her escape route firmly fixed and ready for flight, straight back to the familiarity of her room with its cot and bucket.

 

The worst of the cold turkey was over to a degree, at least the physical part was, but deep mental scars take far longer to heal, if ever fully. Abigail was scared at a fundamental level, leaving her unable to rationalise or function properly.

 

They began to eat together. Simple food that he thought she would be able to digest; soups and pasta being their staple diet. There were beneficial side effects; Abigail began to put on weight, filling out bit by bit while Paul lost some of his excess and felt the fitter for it. But, often as with television or music, her attention wandered until she sat there, almost catatonic in a far away place, her food left to cool into a congealing mass. Over a period of weeks, the vacant spaces became less and less often and diminished in longevity, while her cognitive state became longer. She chose to be in her room for longer times, but with the door open and not as any kind of barrier. Paul bought her a television and a radio so she could be on her own if she wanted. He bought books for her to read and allowed her to do as she pleased, but insisted that they eat together, cook and wash up.

 

He was pleasantly surprised to find that Abigail was a good cook, inventive and adventurous with everyday ingredients. She continued to regain the flesh over her bones.

 

She had been with him for nearly six months now.

 

Although they were sharing time and talking, Paul still didn’t fully trust her, believing that her full recovery was still a long way off in all probability; that the emotional scars were only scabbed over and could be reopened at any time. He had to go to work. Each day he took great care in dead locking the entrance door so that she couldn’t open it from the inside. It became something of a ritual, turning the key once, hearing the tongue engage then a second turn that locked the door and disabled the latch on the other side. So it was a shock for him to find his door wide open and swinging one day after work. Fearing that the bird had flown the nest, Paul ran into the building, yelling her name, with a sinking feeling, knowing she wouldn’t be there. Abstractly, his mind took in the fact that the lock or door hadn’t been damaged in anyway. His calls went unanswered; the apartment was empty, he stood in the middle of the living room, lost and alone.

 

For an hour or so, Paul wandered around feeling an acute sense of loneliness and failure. She had been making such good progress. Her body had pretty much recovered from the rigors of drug abuse and the regular intake of food had regained much of her natural body mass and skin tone. He put the television on then turned it off again. Inserted a CD in the player, but didn’t press play. He couldn’t settle into any one place, his mind in turmoil; should he go out and look for her or stay and hope she came back?

 

Abigail had the advantage of him where the street was concerned. She would know the hidey-holes better than most of the city dwellers and certainly better than he would.

 

He was still dithering when the entrance door banged shut.

 

Abigail’s tousled head appeared over the banister with a smile plastered across her lips. Wordlessly, Paul rushed over to her as she reached the top tread and threw his arms around her in a bear like embrace. Relief and other emotions coursed through his veins, mixed with a large helping of adrenalin.

 

“I thought I’d lost you he managed to breathe into her hair.” Then, without waiting for her to respond, he kissed her mouth, crushing her lips against his teeth and taking her breath completely. Paul picked her up from the floor, her weight easily distributed in his arms. He continued to kiss her, breaking only to gasp and then cover her with his mouth again as they traversed the floor to his bedroom.

 

Her head hit the doorjamb, but neither was really aware of it, the moment too consuming for external stimuli to have much effect. Her clothes were almost ripped off of her slender body as his hit the floor in a blur of motion and desperation to become naked. They collapsed on the bed in a tangle of arms, legs and hands that grasped and gripped. She wriggled and managed to lie on her back while manoeuvring him between her parted thighs.

 

There was no nicety about their coupling. Abigail thrust her hips forward in unison as Paul thrust into her body in a union that had one common goal. He fucked into her as she fucked him back in a riot of rhythm. It was sex in its rawest state that culminated in their respective explosion of orgasm, she first, then Paul, feeling her wetness splash against his inner thigh, shot his seed with a final pelvic thrust that had her head hitting the wall.

 

The act was completed in little more than a few minutes, but the intensity of emotion and urgency had made it an experience that left them bereft of the ability to talk for a while. Instead, they lay together, her head in the crook of his arm while he stroked her neck, shoulders and breasts as they calmed down from the initial frenzy of lust and then they laughed. They laughed until laughter became a little crazy, resulting in hiccups that had them giggling all over again.

 

“What is Greek anyway?” Paul asked after the expression she had used when he first met her popped into his mind.

 

Abigail lifted her chin and looked into his eyes as she told him that Greek was in the ass and that it was something she had endured on too many occasions. It was time for her to bear her soul and tell him just what it was like on the street. Abigail let him know of the times she had been fucked by many men at once until cum was dripping out of every orifice. How she was used and abused then discarded like a Christmas puppy. She told of how some guys liked to beat up on her or how they shit and pissed over her nakedness while her pimp looked on and applauded the bestial use of his girl. Abigail told him that after a while, she didn’t care what they did to her, that pain hardly registered and her holes were only entries into her body that fed her need for more drugs. She told him of a pregnancy that was beaten out of her by the pimp. She told him all of it; the worst times and that all she had to look forward to, was death from an overdose. Killing herself would have been easy, but the craving for heroine kept her alive for the next hit.

 

During her sad tale, Paul had stroked and caressed Abigail, soothing and supporting her as it unfolded. He paused as she concluded, his hands ceasing movement. She took it as rejection, thinking that he would was too disgusted by the deprivations she had sunk to. She cried, tears coursing over her cheeks. She sobbed in despair, unable to articulate her utter desolation. But, then he resumed his caress and turned her head to face him. Gently and with great care as if she were a fragile doll, Paul kissed her mouth and drew her body to him. Relief flooded her; she clasped him and kissed him back, forcing her tongue between his teeth to explore his mouth.

 

“One day,” She murmured, “we will do Greek and it will be the right time, but for now, I think French is the language of the day.”

 

With those words, she bit his lower lip and then shoved her self down, kissing his chest, stomach and then his cock. Paul relaxed back, tucking a pillow under his head so he could watch. He pulled her blonde hair away from her face, studied her lips as they slowly parted and swallowed his shaft.

 

Abigail expertly sucked him into her mouth, drawing her cheeks in to create a vacuum as she lifted; then blowing them out as she descended again. Gradually, she increased the depth of his penetration, allowing a little more of him to pass her lips in a slow, tantalising rhythm, feeling him stiffen and leak small globules of pre-cum. She adjusted her position and sat on his legs so that he would not thrust, she wanted to make all the movement so that the exquisite sensation would be magnified.

 

Paul hardened at her insistence. The warmth and sucking of her mouth drew blood into his organ, building the pressure, but oh so slowly. It was almost a delicious pain between feelings of relief as she sank back down his shaft. He could never remember having a woman give him so much intense pleasure from fellatio before. It wasn’t a first for him, but certainly was a first in the delicious thrill it was affording his neural network.

 

By now, she had him in the back of her throat, still keeping the slow but insistent tempo, just longer strokes. She could feel his imminent release and ignored his feeble attempt to lift her off of his pulsing cock. Abigail was intent on taking him to the edge and beyond; she had every intention of swallowing his cum. The trick was to know exactly when he would explode and make sure it was on a down stroke that had him right at the back of her mouth. Paul made it easier for her to judge the precise moment, he groaned and mini thrust. Abigail lifted her head and then began a long descent down his shaft, feeling him dry heave first and then shoot the first of three or four spurts. She didn’t stop sliding him into her until his cock was fully down her gullet and her lips grounded against his pubic bone. She was rewarded by his final spurts that she swallowed comfortably. She lay still, keeping him in her mouth until his tremors subsided and he was totally spent.

 

So began their life together in a loving relationship. Their sexual partnership developed in a fruition of learning and awareness that progressed from the one two one sexual exploration, to them joining a club.

 

The journey for them was not so long perhaps, but had many twists and turns until they had exhausted every conceivable position and scenario between two people. Abigail gave herself to Paul in love and implicit trust. Paul accepted her love and returned it as fully. Together, they set off on a voyage of sexual discovery.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Club.

 

Their invitations arrived in a pink envelope in Monday morning’s post. Neither of them had really expected their application to be successful, but now that it was and had become a reality, their excitement was tinged with some trepidation.

 

Paul and Abigail had visited many on-line sites, spending time in front of a web cam, sharing their sexual appetite with anyone in the world who wanted to watch. It is a fast growing network of like-minded people who enjoy performing to an audience of anonymous faces whose web cams were on at the same time. They didn’t need the extra incentive of knowing that sometimes, hundreds of people were watching them screw each other. They didn’t need the buzz, but it made for some really hot sessions and, for some reason, made Abigail all the hotter in her performance.

 

Neither had too much by the way of inhibitions, she, because of her past abuse where she was used so badly and emotion had been non-existent in her liaisons, Paul, because he found in Abigail, someone who was not afraid to express herself sexually in the knowledge that he cared deeply for her.

 

They could monitor how many viewers they had, a simple counter ran alongside the images of their bodies on the seventeen-inch screen and a tool bar at the top of the page showed instant messages from the observers. They rarely answered the messages, preferring to remain in the room to converse, unless they were too busy with each other to type.

 

They liked to surf the net as well, sharing the excursion into lust and porn as a partnership. They shared fantasies where another was introduced into their play, but these were just fanciful notions that added to the spice of their lovemaking.

 

Abigail was flat on the divan, her head propped by two pillows as Paul thrust between her parted thighs in a classic missionary position. Her knees were drawn up to give him a greater access to her body and allow their pubic bones to grind against each other. The session was already well into the latter stages, with both coming towards the reward of orgasm.

 

The web cam faithfully recorded the action scenes and relayed them around the world, bouncing their heaving bodies off satellites in orbit at eight frames per second. Perhaps as many as three hundred registered accounts were at least watching in part, or had their cam open on a screen somewhere. As the passion mounted towards the inevitable conclusion, so the amount of voyeuristic viewers increased; they were oblivious, too intent on each other to notice.

 

Her hands drifted from her breasts and clasped Paul’s waist, digging nails into the soft skin of his back. Perhaps she dug a little more than customary or her nails were a little sharper, because Paul yelped and grabbed her hands in his, while he supported himself on her lower torso. Bringing her wrists together, Paul clamped them in his large hands and pushed them over her head to hold them there, away from his back and under his control.

 

It was as if a switch were suddenly hit. Abigail, realising she was virtually pinned and restrained, went into overdrive, her hip and pelvis came up and crashed into Paul, she dictated the pace and urgency, driving him deep inside her body as if in desperate need of his length and seed. She thrashed her head from side to side, screaming his name over and over as she smashed through a climax and orgasm of proportions hitherto unknown between them. He held her wrists in a strong grip and tried to stay on top of her as she writhed and bucked under him in a frenzy of motion.

 

Abigail came in a gut wrenching spasm that had her pull up her knees to her chest. Her teeth gritted together in a rictus like grin, every muscle taut and bunched as another wave passed through her, then another, slightly less, then more, in diminishing ripples like period cramps that squeezed and let go.

 

Paul withdrew from her sex, but held her hands still, locked above her head in his grip. He knelt beside her and slowly rubbed himself with his free hand until he reached his own climax and sprayed her body with his secretion.

 

He was somewhat startled by Abigail’s sudden frenzy, but didn’t say anything, preferring to just enjoy the fervour and exhilaration of the moment. He retrieved a towel and cleaned her off. It wasn’t until later that she broached the subject, giving him the opportunity to ask what had happened to cause her to react so violently.

 

“I had this sudden image of being tied up when you clasped my hands together.” She told him. “It just did something to me and as you could see, all hell broke loose. It was like an electric current was passed through me.”

 

Subsequent excursions of mild bondage had similarly devastating effects on Abigail. They experimented with tying her hands, feet or knees using his neckties at first, then buying soft braid lanyard lines from a chandlery. The marine ropes were soft to the touch and didn’t abrade her skin or chaff. Each step took her to new places and heights of ecstasy, gradually setting the lines of submissive and domination.

 

They shopped for the paraphernalia of S&M, visiting the sex shops of Soho and Anne Summers. In a matter of months, Abigail was the possessor of several leather harnesses and bustier outfits. They found nipple and labia clamps, trying them out gingerly at first, but then getting into the swing of it with a passion. She loved the sensation of being restrained with cuffs and a choker collar that had loops for chains or rope to pass through. Some of the toys they acquired bordered on pain; she liked a leather look whip, but shied away from a riding crop. They established the boundaries of her endurance and enjoyment thresholds by trial and error, experimenting and then evaluating the effects caused by the vast array of toys.

 

The ultimate for Abigail was reached with a newly bought set of labia clamps with soft rubber inserts. The clamps were attached to a chain that they passed through one of the loops on her choker. Two further clamps, also attached to a chain, pinched her nipples in what looked to be a cruel grip, but was in fact, quite comfortable. The chain to these was also passed through a loop on her choker. The effect of any movement on her part pulled her lips apart to expose her delicate clit and simultaneously tightened the chain attached to her nipples, pulling her breasts up and tightening the grip of the clamp. Paul added a blindfold to the ensemble and then tormented her sensitive nub with the tip of a dolphin vibrator, causing her to squirm; adding torment to her nipples and cunt by pulling on the chains. It was a delicious torment that had her screaming a climatic spasm. She soaked the bed with a torrent of cum that splashed all over Paul’s face and shoulders. Had the sound been up on the computer, they may have heard a collective sigh from the watchers of their cam.

 

Abigail and Paul’s surfing habits changed to reflect their newfound interest. Together they discovered bdsm sites, viewing the images and then applying some of them to their own play. A natural progression was for them to join and chat with other people who shared their sexual predilections.

 

Over a period of time, they had developed a network of cyber-friends from around the globe, sharing fantasies and scenarios that were mutually rewarding. They conversed while appearing on web-cam and acting out various configurations at the behest of viewers whose suggestions sometimes bordered on the outright bizarre. Abigail’s sex was simulatedly abused, being whipped and tortured by Paul who was taking instruction from the anonymous voyeurs on the other side of the cam. Not knowing where they were going to be led or in which direction the requests would take them served as a teaching method for them both. Paul found himself doing things to Abigail that would never have occurred to him, taking her to limits that he might have been fearful of otherwise, for Abigail, it was a delirium of sensual and torturous delight of discovery. She found in her body, a capacity for pleasure that by far exceeded her wildest dreams and all in front of an anonymous audience.

 

It was having an audience that realised their liking for exhibitionism. They discovered that they both enjoyed the fact that they were there to be watched; it added to the overall excitement and enhanced both of their climaxes, knowing that their essences were shared with so many people.

 

A tentative invitation came from one of the sites they regularly visited. Would they like to attend a private party in Milton Keynes; of members who held a common interest in Bondage and sado-masochistic tendencies? The club was established some ten years ago and had irregular private functions, usually at someone’s house. It wasn’t a huge leap for them both; they accepted the invitation and waited for the printed version.

 

The party was arranged for the following weekend, it would give them the whole week to prepare, pack and make sure all of their toys were charged and cleaned. Neither really knew what to expect when they arrived. Obviously, they would be an attraction, having been the subject of many of the club member’s favourite entertainment for some while now on the Internet, but they had no experience to draw from of exactly what happened at these gatherings or what they would be required to do. Both Paul and Abigail were looking forward to participating, but were somewhat unsure at the same time.

 

Saturday came at last. The invitation may have only arrived five days before, but the time in between had dragged, feeling like five years. The house, when they eventually found it, was set in its own grounds of half an acre or so, surrounded by a stone wall and wrought iron gates that interrupted the gravel drive.

 

A footman in full livery took the keys of Paul’s M3 and asked them to wait on the marble steps while he parked the car. They turned in unison to take in the massive portico at the top of the steps and then, both jumped when the footman cleared his throat behind them.

 

The huge oak doors at the entrance, led into an equally impressive hall lit by a crystal drop chandelier hanging from the ceiling several floors up. Twin stone stairs rose in front of them in sweeping arcs that led to a first floor landing which was almost as big as Paul’s converted warehouse apartment.

 

The interior of the building was grandiose, each level and room decorated and panelled in what appeared to be a Regency style, but the main hall where the rest of the guest were already seated around a long dinning table was by far and away, sumptuous. The carpet threatened to swallow feet whole in its pile. The walls had panels of raised plasterwork female figures, painted white and blue to resemble Wedgwood. The ceiling was slightly vaulted with flutes coming together at six lighting points where chandeliers hung from ornate plaster roses.

 

The Footman, who had shown them up the curved staircase, closed the tall doors behind them and announced to the room; “Paul and Abigail are among us.” He reopened the doors and left, his tails almost being caught between the door edges.

 

Paul nervously stood with his weight on one hip, something he had done since his childhood when he was in trouble, and regarded the sixteen pairs of eyes that, as one, had swung around from looking at the only figure standing at the opposite end of the table.

 

“Ah; welcome our guests my friends.” He waved his hands in an upward motion, indicating that everyone around the table should stand. Although no one was looking at their host, they stood in silence as one unified body and then sat at his command of an opposite motion of his hands.

 

“Pray, be seated.” He indicated the remaining two chairs closest to Paul and Abigail. The mystery of how the other guest knew when to stand and sit was solved. A large mirror was hung, angled down, over the double doors into the hall.

 

“You are punctual, I like that.” Their guest fixed them with a stare then, as if in dismissal, his attention took in the whole table. “To conclude our business before dinner is served, the thirtieth of November is to be our grand ball, we shall have space for all of our members and twelve guests only, so please make sure you announce them early. Unless there is any other business, I propose we dine.” He paused to see if any one had anything to say, then satisfied by the silence that was returned to his suggestion, picked up a brass bell beside his place setting and rang it.

 

After countless courses of food, the meal at last finished, the ladies were asked to retire to their own room. As one, the eight ladies around the table rose and lightly grasped Abigail’s arm to lead her into an adjacent room.

 

The men left the table to the servant’s ministrations and headed in the opposite direction to the women, passing through an ornately carved door into another sumptuously decorated drawing room. Lounges were arrayed in a rough semi-circle around what appeared at first glance to be a giant hooker that steadily bubbled over a small flame. The men arranged themselves in no particular order and drew from the pipes. Paul found the smell unattractive and declined gracefully when he was passed one of the smoking tubes.

 

“So, for tonight’s entertainment we have Paul’s young lady Abigail. The usual rules apply, but one word of warning, it is her first time, so, please my friends, be especially understanding of her nature.” The host had at some point donned a smoking jacket such as would have been fashionable in the nineteen twenties perhaps. Having said his piece, he sat and drew heavily on the nearest brass ferrule.

 

Paul felt somewhat bemused by the turn of events. They had gone to the club expecting to be engaged in sex games involving some bdsm, but hadn’t considered this old fashion style of reserve. Neither of them really had much in the way of expectations based on facts, but this seemed at odds, totally.

 

A few minutes later, the doors to the drawing room opened and, with a flourish, the ladies entered. They had changed clothing to long dresses of varying dour colours that would have reached the floor, but had been pulled up in panels and attached to a belt. Splits between the panels gave a tantalising glimpse of the bare legs and thighs under the heavy brocade like fabric. The necklines plunged to below the breast line, in each case; the women’s breasts were exposed, pushed up and separated by bones or under wire support.

 

All of the women were similarly dressed except Abigail. She was totally naked with her hands and arms secured behind her with a criss-cross lattice going up to the elbow, effectively forcing her small, high breasts forward.

 

Her mouth hung open as if in a silent scream, but Paul could sense her heightened excitement by the slightly up-curve at the corners of her sensuous mouth. He saw the reddened welts across her buttocks and lower back and guessed that she had been the recipient of some correctional treatment. As far as he was concerned, she had never looked lovelier, immediately, he wanted her; more, he felt a need of her that was almost painful.

 

“Ah ladies! Excellent, bring the child to the front.” Their host directed the positioning of Abigail so that she stood in the centre of the circle of seated men.

 

Abigail’s head sunk to her chest as if in abject shame, but Paul’s intimate knowledge of her body told him by the hardness of her nipples, that she was as aroused as he was and was performing for the delight of her viewers.

 

The host stood and addressed Paul.

 

“Paul, would you please be up-standing to introduce us to this delectable woman. Please take her to each of the guests in turn for their inspection.” He sat in the chair Paul had got up from.

 

Gently taking her bound arm, Paul led Abigail to stand in front of the first guest to the right of their host’s position. He had her stand with her feet slightly parted and lifted her chin so that she could not look directly at her admirer. The Guest’s hand snaked out and cupped her breast, weighing it as he might a ball. Seemingly, he was satisfied with the result, his fingers pried at her labia, brushing the side of his hand over her sex; then he lifted it to his nose to savour her mustiness. She shuddered at his touch, but stood firm and waited for instruction. He nodded his release; Paul led her to the next who also inspected her, probing at her lips and tasting her wetness.

 

In turn, each of the men examined Abigail’s body; one had her turn around so that he could closely examine her anus, pushing the tip of a finger into her forbidden entry until he signalled his satisfaction. At last, Paul had Abigail stand in front of their host. He cast an appraising eye over her form, taking time to study her in total from toes to the crown of her hair, his fingers steepled together in concentration. Soundlessly his gaze traversed her body, seemingly taking every facet and flaw without any outward show of emotion. Abigail was starting to fidget, wondering what he though of her. His question, when it came, surprised her.

 

“You are clean now?” It was asked in a soft voice.

 

She nodded, knowing that the needle tracks had given her away. They served as, and would always be a reminder of her tragic past.

 

“How long?” He demanded to know

 

“Over a year.” She replied nervously.

 

 “Good.” In that simple one word, he had signalled her acceptability. “Kneel.”

 

Awkwardly, Abigail knelt at his feet and waited for his command.

 

“You do not wear the mark of an owner I see. As such, you are the property of all in this room, to be used by those in this room as they see fit. You will comply with their instructions and be glad of the attention. You will not be harmed in anyway and, should you wish it, can leave at any time, but only as you are now, naked as you were born. Do you understand?”

 

“Yes…Master.”

 

He pulled his smoking jacket apart and undid his zipper to expose a hooded cock. His hand rasped the top of her head and tilted it back a little. She parted her reddened lips to accept his length. Slowly and insistently, he tilted her head back to its normal position, impaling her on his cock as it slide into her throat. Then he began an excruciating slow mouth fuck that went from the tips of her lips to the base of her tongue. The pace was agonisingly slow, relentless and insistent, until she felt him twitch. Soundlessly, her pushed her head down on his shaft and came in her throat. It felt impersonal, as had the tricks in her old life and in some ways, was as if she had been used only to be discarded like so much trash, just as her customers had abused her body in those days.

 

Her next partner was more interested in satisfying himself in her cunt. With little ado, he was inside her body, thrusting and grunting like a pig in rut while she impassively lay on the leather chesterfield settee. He lasted for a short while only before coming inside her and passing her on to his neighbour.

 

One by one, the men either fucked her, had her suck them or just masturbated over her skin. By the end of a full circle, Abigail was dripping with semen from her mouth, sex and body. She was returned back to their host somewhat the worse of wear, but completely unsatisfied herself.

 

At a signal of his hand, the circle broke up and people stepped away, hooking up with the ladies who had remained in the background, silently watching Abigail’s progress around the room.

 

She was laid flat on a settee, her bounds released and legs spread wide. Before Abigail had a chance to organise her thoughts, Juliet, one of the ladies who had prepared her, had attached her mouth to Abigail’s sex, drawing her clit between her teeth and sucking blood into the hardening nub. A cock, she didn’t know who’s, was pushed into her mouth and unknown hands kneaded her breasts and pinched her nipples. She did her best to swallow the cock, but was hampered by the lack of available space; also, the sucking of her clit was lessening her volition to be determined at anything else other than the onrushing climax of her own.

 

Before her climax had fully subsided, she was flipped over by strong hands, her knees placed either side of some one’s head lying beneath her and another cock forced into her mouth from someone standing at the end of the settee. Another cock was edging at her anus, trying to find entry; Abigail could do nothing about it, either to prevent entry or help. She swallowed come and flooded the face below her with her own secretions.

 

The cock was at last successful, the bell shaped head passing her sphincter and entering her passage. She cared less about the entry, being as she was, swept along on a tide of euphoric highs as each of her lovers entered her or licked at her most sensitive parts. Gradually, she became aware of the thrusting her anal passage was getting. It was almost savage in pace and relentless in the depths it plunged. Paul had fucked her in this position before, but always with a care that bordered on over caution. She was being reamed hard and by an experienced cock. She felt her body open up for her lover, felt her muscles relax in acceptance of his ownership, as she relaxed, so he found new depths in which to delve until she could feel his balls banging against her coccyx. He exploded inside of her, having brought her to a shattering climax. His cock slid out of her, bringing with it, most of his seed to pool on the leather between her knees.

 

Over the course of the evening, Abigail was used by anyone who wasn’t currently engaged, some times, even those already coupled, pulled her into their clutches and invaded her body with fingers, tongues, cocks or whatever was available. She was treated as a whore might be, by one or many at a time. Abigail loved the abandonment of what she had become her body, somehow took the invasion and violations and responded many times over.

 

She was aware of Paul at the periphery of her vision and consciousness, but would not have been able to say if he had touched her since taking her arm and standing her in front of the host.

 

AT last, the night ended. Paul took her home but either, didn’t have the energy left, or was being considerate of the delicacy she was inevitably suffering from to do very much more than hold her tenderly as they slept.

The gift

 

 

The leather mask he wore seemed to be seamless. The only breaks in the smooth black leather were slits for his eyes and holes to breathe through, no mouth. She could hear the whisper of his accelerated breathing as he bent over her prostrate, naked body.

 

Abigail noticed the definition of his musculature as his skintight suit rippled with his movement. His biceps accentuated by the refraction of light as it bounced of the shiny material. Somewhat abstractly, in a corner of her mind, she thought he had to be extremely hot, trapped in the encompassing embrace of his costume. 

 

His two accomplices were similarly dressed, but wore carnival type eye masks. As with his suit, their breasts and form were there to be seen, not at all hidden by the material, but rather enhanced. The two female acolytes hovered closely, acting as aides to him, checking on her ritualistic bonds, that although were not terribly strong, served to restrain her in a classic spread eagle position over the cross shaped wooden altar. They were only in her peripheral vision, never staying in one place long enough for her to really study them. Not that she was very much interested in the two women; her attention was fully focused on him as he stepped between her parted and bound legs. Her neck was beginning to strain at trying to hold it up without support.

 

He had not touched her up to now; it wasn’t necessary, just the anticipation and implied threat were enough to have her quivering. The uncertainty of what was to happen, only increased the nervous quickening of her heartbeat and each lungful of air was chased by another as if the first was unsatisfactory in volume.

 

Abigail was determined though not to weaken and utter the agreed words that would stop the ceremony instantly. What was the word anyway? Amber, Amethyst? Something like that she thought, a semi-precious stone she was sure. Then she remembered; it was of course, her birthstone, sapphire. She committed the word to memory and then as quickly dismissed it because she had no intention of using it.

 

“Abigail, you can stop this at this moment or you can see it through. What is your choice?” The leather muffled his voice. She watched the mask move with the working of his jaw, but the question was clear enough for her to understand exactly what he was asking.

 

She only nodded in answer and caught the movement out of the corner of her eye of the blonde acolyte as she wheeled a stainless steel instrument trolley to his left.

 

“You desire the mark of your master?”

 

Again she nodded her assent, mouth unable to form the words in the mixture of fear and excitement. Her heart beat a little harder and faster, knowing the moment was approaching quickly.

 

“You remember the word?”

 

Her mind wandered and distractedly, she watched the play of the strong spotlight on the shiny leather as it moved with his speech. It was as if she had switched off somewhat, a preservation of sanity perhaps, a detachment, so that she didn’t have to realize the enormity of what the change in her life would be.

 

“Do you remember the word Abigail?” His disembodied voice sterner this time, as if not used to repeating himself.

 

“Sapphire” She pulled the name of the stone up and repeated it to him as quickly as she could.

 

“The next time you say that word, this will stop. You do understand that don’t you?” His voice had softened a little, but still held a timbre of authority that brooked no nonsense.

 

“And you are prepared to wear the brand and mark of your master?” His questions seemed annoying more than anything, but she supposed he had to be sure, because once done, it was irreversible.

 

“I understand and comply. Please mark me the sole property of my master.” It was the pre-planned and practiced response required in the ritual. She had learned the words and now repeated them verbatim.

 

He nodded once and then turned to the instrument trolley that was within easy reach of his left hand. Idly and still in a detached corner of her mind, she wondered if he was naturally left handed. Abigail couldn’t keep her head up any longer and lay back to watch him in the mirror on the ceiling.

 

Her mind wandered again, remembering the time that she and Paul had met. Although it had been only eighteen months now, the time had flown in one sense and felt like a lifetime ago in another. He had entered the smoking room at the office, nervous and unsure of his new surroundings and the people he found himself in company with. First days had that effect on most; she liked his vulnerability and struck up a conversation. They had gone out for a meal or something; he was new to the area and had yet to find his bearings. She couldn’t be certain, but it was either the third or forth date that they fumbled around in bed, hardly a momentous occasion and somewhat less than memorable. It almost finished the relationship there and then, but they got to know each other and sex gradually got better. This was the story she had concocted and overlaid on the truth. It was a happier event and effectively blocked out the realities of her formative life.

 

It was accidental really, that they discovered her penchant for the stronger form of sex. She could picture clearly how it happened, an innocent clasping of her wrists together, above her head in one of his large hands as he pushed into her that evinced her first really devastating, whole body climax. That was all it took to set them on a voyage of discovery and truth towards the end result that was today’s ritual. They searched for and found some Sadomasochistic and bondage videos that were watched intently before copying the action, as far as possible, given the limited resources of his flat. Eventually and to take their sex to another level, they joined a private members club of like minded individuals, where almost anything went. The access to costume and equipment helped in the development of her sexual awakening and his earned mastery of her body and mind. The bond they wove was based on mutual respect for each other and a shared desire for her to blossom into fulfilment.

 

The club was fine, but had one drawback, as an unmarked slave; she was there to be used by anyone who wanted her it proved to be too near her unhappy child and young adulthood. Being fucked, whipped or beaten by others had a certain thrill for both of them, but also started to drive a jealous wedge between them. They decided to explore her sexuality alone once more.

 

Her mind snapped back to the present, she realized she had missed nothing while she had been on her flight of memory.

 

He picked up a cloth that was covering something on the tray of the stainless steel trolley. From her changed perspective, it was as if she were watching the preparations of a surreal operation, where the surgeon had swapped his green scrubs for leather. He laid the cloth aside, but only partially uncovered the tools of his trade below.

 

An attendant leather clad nurse picked up a large pair of scissor like clamps and gripped white gauze in their pointed jaws, locking the handles together on the ratcheted device. She passed them to him in his left hand that appeared to be his right in the mirror image. Disturbed, the aroma of surgical spirit pervaded the small room.

 

She gasped sharply at the coldness of the cloth as he wiped it over her mons, soaking her downy hair, making the dark blonde hair appear black, then it was manipulated into her vulva, cleaning and de-contaminating her sex. She watched his latex covered hands and thought, how slender they were, almost feminine with long thin fingers. The spirit stung a little at first as alcohol very often does in her most sensitive does, something she and Paul had discovered accidentally one day when he had gone down on her with alcohol in his mouth.

 

Her masked surgeon placed the used clamp and cloth on another trolley to his right, her left as she watched. The arrival of the trolley had escaped her, but Abigail didn’t miss the anticipatory lick of lips his attendant on that side unconsciously did. She wondered what was going through the woman’s mind and tried to imagine what the view to the acolyte would have looked like.

 

Coldness made her gasp again and snapped her attention back to the main attraction. He was applying water from a kidney dish with another pair of clamps and a soft material that looked like cotton wool. Just as a surgeon, he held his gloved hand out and had an old fashioned soaping brush slapped into his waiting palm. He dipped it into the water and then into a soap dish, swirling it around until the bristles were laden with lather.

 

Carefully with a finger, he moved her labia to one side as he brushed the rich suds over her sex, taking extra care to make sure he caught the whole of her surface. Then he swapped hands and repeated the procedure, equally as careful to rub in the lather. Finally, he brushed her pubic vee and turned her dark haired pussy into a white swirl of foam.

 

He held out his open palm again after placing the used brush on what was now obviously the discard side. A closed cutthroat razor was slapped into his palm. Each stage completed in practiced ease and total silence. Deftly, he flicked open the blade and turned back to Abigail’s sex. She had an irrational momentary panic that he would cut her, but it passed in a fraction of a second. Her muscles had tensed at the same time and relaxed as the panic receded.

 

The first pass of the cold steel removed a sliver of foam and the hair that had been worked into it leaving what looked like a scar to one side of her mons. He worked in silence, slicing off foam in sure passes, manipulating her lips to one side or the other as he removed the hair between her labia and inner thigh where leg joins torso.

 

Satisfied, he stood back to view his handiwork, peering through the slits of his mask to make sure all hair had been removed. Obviously from his placing the cutthroat on the discard tray, he was satisfied with the result. Abigail was not one of those who like to shave her pubic hair too much, preferring the natural look and the musk her sweat soaked hair produced on her fingers when she frigged herself. It was odd, looking at her recently shaved pussy in the mirror, in a way it made the experience slightly more disembodied, as if it were someone else on the cross shaped table instead of her.

 

Her nasal receptors registered the smell of surgical spirit as he again wiped her with a soaked swab between the jaws of yet another pair of clamps. It stung rather more this time as the spirit permeated into open pores recently exposed by the razor. She involuntarily tensed and flinched as the spirit burned. He looked up and into her eyes, watching for her reaction and pausing in his operation to see if she would yell Sapphire. Abigail raised her head and stared into his blue eyes, almost defiantly and clenched her teeth as the burning sensation slowly passed. She let her head fall back and continued to observe in the mirror as a student might in a training hospital.

 

Content that she was not going to cry out the stop word, he turned to the tray and removed the cloth completely, placing it on a shelf under the top tray. Her eyes followed every movement, concentrating on the long thin, latex covered fingers. She realized that her mind was wandering a little, but his next movement had her attention in sharp contrast. He picked up a small wooden rounded tool that resembled a mushroom. It was transferred into his other hand when he picked up a wickedly curving sliver of steel, similar to a suture needle, but with no thread attached.

 

The attendant on his right approached and held the wooden tool while he pulled her labia forward, pinching out her clit to expose the hidden treasure. She placed the rounded end against the side of her teased out clit and waited.

 

Abigail knew she was leaking her feminine juice, any foreign touch to her female vestigial cock almost instantly had her creaming and his fingers pinching her most sensitive nub had her fluids flowing over her puckered anus.

 

He paused again and once more, looked at Abigail. This was her last chance to back out, but all it did was prolong the inevitable. No words passed her lips, but she signalled her consent with a slight nod of her head.

 

He knelt, his nose level with her open and soaked sex. With infinite care, he placed the tip of the needle on the opposite side of her clit to the block, still held in place by his aid. Abigail tensed in anticipation of the pain that she was expecting, but her determination did not waver in the slightest. This was her ultimate sacrifice to her master, the irrevocable wearing of his mark.

 

Trying to be dispassionate, she observed in the mirrored ceiling and waited for what seemed to be an interminable length of time for him to make the fatal stab. In the blink of an eye, he had pushed the deadly sharp needle through and against the block. Abigail waited for the pain, but it didn’t come. The second swab must have carried a localized anaesthetic or something. She watched as a bead of blood welled around the needle and was quickly wiped away by the other attendant.

 

Her hooded surgeon picked up a silver ring that was opened. Equally as carefully and considered as all of his movements had been, he pushed the end of the wire loop into a socket on the end of the needle and pushed both of them through her clit. He discarded the needle and locked the silver loop with a small snap as the two ends closed and connected with no obvious join.

 

Once again, he lent back to survey his handiwork while his aids put the instruments away and silently wheeled the trolleys out of sight. He nodded his satisfaction and stood up. Abigail was able to clearly see how she looked, manacled with her master’s ring in her most secret place. She liked the sight of her naked pussy and the way the silver ring shone in the reflected light. She was now and forever, his property, too late to back out now, even if she wanted to. The surgeon had made sure that the ring was far back on her clit, effectively pushing the nub forward and keeping her hood open. It looked fantastic and the culmination of hers and Paul’s desire.

 

But, it wasn’t to be the end of the ritual. Abigail had also chosen to be branded. Such was her dedication to her master Paul that she had decided to show him her devotion and service with the ultimate mark, his initials burned into her skin. Really, there was no choice though. Since she had met Paul and had been introduced to servitude and mutual love through their shared sexual practices, she knew that she would eventually show her master just how much he meant to her in this fashion.

 

They had discussed this ritual many times. The biggest problem they had experienced in the club had been her lack of ownership. Unbranded or marked, she was public property once passed the doors. Although they had enjoyed her debasement at the hands of some skilful masters and mistresses, they preferred to remain loyal and monogamous. Occasionally only, dabbling in group, or voyeuristic practises on their increasingly infrequent visits to the private club. They had seen the ritual in one of their collection of videos and fantasised her marking to the extent of buying a clit clamp and indelible markers to paint his initials on her breast.

 

The last time they had visited the club, Paul had mentioned their fantasy to someone who made the introductions to the Surgeon Master and after a few consultations they were now at this point.

 

She felt the heat of the brazier as it was pushed silently to her side. She had been pleasantly surprised by the lack of pain in her piercing, but knew this ordeal was going to be extremely hard to endure. Her resolve wavered a little; the word sapphire almost escaped her lips, but was stifled as she bit her lower lip. The surgeon noticed her trepidation and peered into her eyes, waiting to see if she would cry out the terminal word. He waited and was then satisfied that she had overcome the brief anxiety attack.

 

Wordlessly, he moved to her side and picked up the branding iron. She and Paul had had it made for them out of wire shaped into his initials PS that stood for Paul South. He inspected the lettering and then placed the iron in the hottest part of the white-hot coals to heat it up. In morbid fascination, Abigail watched the wire smoke a little as the protective oil was burned off. She watched as it went from black to cherry red into bright red as the heat of the brazier raised its temperature.

 

His fingers wrapped around the insulted handle of the iron and brought the glowing end up to his eyes, satisfied that it was hot enough; he turned back to Abigail and place one gloved hand on her breast and slowly brought the red hot end towards her white skin. She couldn’t look and turned her eyes away. Paul looked back at her through a glazed partition. Their eyes met and locked just as the intense pain of the burn registered in her brain.

 

She cried out, screaming his name through clenched teeth and saw his tears roll over his cheeks and the light of pride in his eyes. Her own eyes squeezed tightly shut and her muscles went into spasm, causing her to shiver violently. She desperately wanted the smell of her cooking flesh to pass, the shock and stink was making her feel sick.

 

She hardly noticed the removal of the brand or the slap of a cooling lotion and gauze over the burn. Gradually, the pain became bearable, but she was unable to see the result where it had been covered. Shamefully, she realised that her bladder had vented, the piss being mopped up by one of the leather clad acolytes.

 

“You have done well daughter.” His voice was still muffled by the mask, but was clear enough for her to hear. Abigail could only nod in acknowledgement.

 

 

Paul rushed to her side whispering words of endearment. He wanted to throw his arms around her and take her away. He had watched the whole operation from beginning to end never taking his eyes from her throughout.

 

“I love you.” He breathed into her tear soaked ear. Her bonds were removed and Paul was advised that the gauze should stay on for a day or two, but then should be removed so that a scab could form. Once that had fallen off, his initials would be forever emblazoned on her left breast, just above her heart and his silver ring would stay through her clit, forcing the sensitive nub forward to rub constantly on her clothing and make her perpetually ready for him.

 

“I love you too Master. May I get down from this altar now?” He was thrilled that she had asked in the correct manner, but knew he wouldn’t have punished her, not now that she had given herself, body and soul to his and their shared desires.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 Anita would never confess the fact that she had sex dreams involving her and Pradeep. His penis was enormous, and yet it always fit into her cunt perfectly. More than once she had awakened, crying out his name while her juices dripped obscenely from that maw between her legs. More than once she had been tempted to see what might occur if she gave him a brief glimpse of her bare breasts. Subconsciously she hoped that just once he might walk into her bathroom while she showered and confront her in her nakedness.

 She realized that he had his own life and thanked her lucky stars that he no longer lived under the same roof, because sooner or later she would succumb to the temptations of the flesh and release those hidden forces that she struggled to contain. She would have been both mortified and exalted if she knew that he was fighting the same struggle as she. Anita was so taken by her thoughts that she seemed oblivious to the presence of her two visitors. When one of them spoke she was startled, then flustered, as if he had been privy to those naughty thoughts that had just been running free inside her mind.

 To delay the inevitable Anita asked if she could change her clothing before leaving with the men. The reply from one of them shocked and warned her of the type of fate that awaited her.

 "I wouldn't mind a nice slow strip tease from you, but in a while I'll be seeing every square inch of your naked body once we get you to where we're going. The boss wants you over to his place in thirty minutes, which doesn't leave us too much time to tie and gag you before we put you in the trunk of the car for the drive."

 Anita offered no resistance as they tied her wrists behind her back and roped her upper arms tightly together, making her muscles ache from the tension. Worse still was the filthy rag that one of them stuffed into her mouth while the other followed up with a strip of tape to keep the gag in place. Anita's body stiffened as one of the men squeezed her pillowy tits while his companion stuck his tongue into her ear and tickled the sensitive flesh with its tip. Anita was embarrassed by the way her nipples were hardening as the man continued to maul her big tits. The stimulation of her inner ear was also having its effect as her breathing became ragged and she felt the crotch of her panties begin to get wet from all the sexual stimulation her helpless, curvy, voluptuous body was receiving from these two brutes.

 "I wish we had ten minutes extra so I could tear off her clothing and rape her juicy cunt until she climaxed."

 The other grinned and tickled her ear lobe with his tongue before running it over the area on the side of her neck, bringing Anita to a boil against her will. Her legs began to tremble as she was brought closer to an embarrassing loss of self control. Anita began to wonder how large a cock the man squeezing her tits possessed. It had been many years since she had enjoyed being stretched by a long, thick length of male meat. Part of her, the wicked portion that usually came out only in her erotic dreams about her son, put in a surprise appearance and the wetness between her legs grew, becoming noticeable even to her assailants. A knowing hand began to rub between her trembling legs, probing her wetness and what it revealed about this charming, well mannered, mature woman.

 "I think we have a whore on our hands rather than a member of the upper class. Won't our boss be surprised when he sees how wet her cunt is. I think she's looking forward to being properly fucked by some real men for a change. Let's get her into the car before I lose control, throw her on the floor and rape her good. I know that's what she really wants for us to do to her. God what a whore this one is! I almost feel sorry for the poor son of a  bitch who owes the boss so much money, having to depend on this whore to bail him out of his troubles. I'll bet she'll have him eat her cunt and fuck her morning, noon and night if she manages to get him out of the debt that he owes us."

 They draped a shawl over Anita's body before taking her out to the car and placing her in the trunk. She deeply regretted wearing Western clothing at this point since her dress bunched up almost to her waist once they had rolled her bound body into the cavernous trunk of the powerful automobile. This revealed to her captors that she was wearing only a pair of very brief panties beneath her dress. Immediately one of them pressed his hand to the wet crotch of the undergarment and chuckled.

 "This one is in heat already if the amount of cunt juice staining her sexy panties is any indication. I can hardly wait to fuck that hot cunt and hear her moan and plead for more and more cock as we do her again and again while that loser son of hers watches and probably wishes he could be tearing off a piece of that hot wet poon himself." His partner sniffed the air and added.

 "She stinks of cunt, just like a cheap whore that gives blowjobs behind the buildings for less than a hundred rupees and is happy to get that much for her efforts. I wonder how many times she will have to be fucked to make up for the debt that spineless son of hers has incurred with the boss. I can't imagine the number of times she'll have to spread those plump legs and happily welcome a length of hard cock into that hairy mouth to plow another  furrow deep within that stinking slit as she begs for her customer to fuck her harder, faster and go deeper into that well stretched sex trench."

 These words coming from one of the lower class cut Anita to the bone and she could not stem the tears that sprang from her eyes. Then the door to the trunk slammed shut leaving her to her fears as to what would likely befall her in the future. The ride was quite rough, throwing her bound body from one side of the trunk to the other and making her nauseous as she inhaled the car fumes as well as the odors of whatever it was passing over. Anita fought to remain calm and prevent herself from vomiting. She knew that if she began to throw up in the confines of the trunk the stench would be unbearable and the possibility of actually choking to death from her own vomit would be quite high. These factors made her will to survive grow strnger and so she steeled herself for whatever was about to occur to her. She was quite willing to suffer any pain and endure any humiliation if it would prevent her son from harm. Little did she realize the depths she would have to sink to in order to satisfy these mongrels. There was no way that her imagination could conceive of the terrible things that would be done to her naked body, and what she would be forced to do in order to entertain the deviants that would be doing their best to reduce her to a status lower than even an animal.

   
                                                                       ( To be continued )

      

As Jada's orgasm began to subside Amy looked over to see me sitting on the couch with my raging hard-on in my hands. She slapped her sister on the ass saying, "come on we have company." They both crawled over to me still on their knees and Jada began tounging my balls. I knew I wouldn't last long when Amy lowered her warm lips down my shaft. These two beautiful women sucking my cock was more than I could handle and it wasn't long before Amy swallowed every inch of my cock making me release my seed deep in her throat, with the second two shots splattering her face with my sticky cum.

After I blew my load on Amy's face I was surprised to see Jada start licking my cum from Amy's face. Then I watched as the two embraced in a loving cum-swapping french kiss and began rubbing each others soaking pussies. I was already feeling that familiar twitch in my crotch as my cock began to return to a full hardon. Amy shoved Jada onto her back and climbed on top of her shoving her sweet pussy into Jada's face. They immediately climbed into a 69 position with Amy on top, and both diving their gorgous faces into each others pussies.

As soon as my hard-on returned I went over to join the pile of sweaty flesh cumming all over the floor. As I crawled over to the two I saw Amy's tight little ass pointing into the air as she ground her hips into her sisters face. The opportunity was irresistible so I didn't hesitate in lining my cock up with her puckered hole. I rubbed my precum around on her asshole and started pressing in. She started screaming and grunting first in pain then in pleasure as I slid deeper into her ass. Jada buried her toungue deep into her sisters puss as i slammed my cock into her ass. Amy went nuts and started bucking and arching her back, slamming her pussy into Jada's face. Amy's tits were swinging back and forth as she met my strokes evenly as her orgasm shot through her body. The room was filled with screams and moans of pleasure and the sound of my hairy sac slapping against Amy's toungue filled pussy with each stroke of my hard shaft. I couldnt hold my load much longer when she started spraying cum out of her pussy all over her sisters delicate face. I just started pounding faster as Amy started screaming, "fuck, fuck, fuck, YESSS, Fuck... FUCK MY ASS.... YESSSSS!!!!" I felt my balls tightening up so I slammed in all the way to the hilt as she squeezed her ass tight around my pulsating cock as I shot load after load after load of cum deep into her ass. I collapsed on the floor completely exhausted, thats when I heard her sister saying, when do I get my turn with him...

I know this one might not be as good as the first two but I thought I would post it to see what you all thought, but please if you're going to be critical at least give constructive criticism. Don't just say learn to spell without giving any examples of errors... I'm not going to name, names on that one...

I would arrive around 7 pm each evening just after my mother had bathed him, put him into his pajamas and got him into bed.  Mr. Barnhart and I would talk and crack jokes until around 8 before he would go off to sleep.  He liked to tease me about my tight clothes and young body telling me that if he didn’t wake up at least he would go with my pretty image in his mind.

My father fell and hurt his back which required my mother to spend more time at home. So I had to go to Mr. Barnhart’s house even earlier and perform all the duties she had to do like make his dinner and prepare him for bed.  My mother asked me if I could handle it and I told her that it was no problem even though I was nervous about having to bath him.

The first day came with me taking on all the responsibility that my mother left to me.  I made him dinner and sat down to eat with him which he seemed to really enjoy.  During dinner, he was more up beat than normal and his eyes were darting up and down my body.  It probably didn’t help that I was wearing loose baggy short that rode up my thighs and a white t-shirt that clung tightly outlining the shape of my breast.

It came time for me to bath Mr. Barnhart.  I wasn’t looking forward to doing it but strangely I was intrigue on how he would look naked.  I prepared his bath for him then entered the bedroom to help him get undressed.  He was nervously joking around with me about seeing him naked and I told him not to worry. 

Slowly I removed his shirt revealing a wrinkly older man that during his younger years was probably damn hot.  Then shoe and pants came off next leaving him standing there in just his boxers.  When I was about to remove his boxer, he looked me right in the eye revealing his building excitement and pleasure.

 I smiled and slowly pulled his boxers off releasing his semi hard dick and huge sagging balls.  I stared at his big balls in amazement wondering how they could be so darn big and he caught me staring and smiled. 

I helped him to the bathtub and assisted him into the warm water.  I couldn’t help myself from checking him out in the bathroom mirror.  I grabbed a washcloth and lathered it up and began washing his chest and back.  As I rubbed down his chest to his stomach, his cock began to twitch and grow harder and harder.

The water in the tub splash up on to me getting my white cotton t-shirt soaking wet making my nipples clearly visible through the thin material.  His eyes were glued to my chest were he could clearly see my hard nipples poking out and large brown areolas.

I asked him if he needed help washing his privates and he told me that he did.  So I rubbed the washcloth between his legs lathering up his balls real good.  Cupping his balls with the other hand I ran the washcloth up his shaft pulling and pushing it up and down making his cock grow nice and hard.

He began moaning and laying his head back with his eyes closed as I stroked fast and squeezed his big balls.  He slid his hand over to my breast rubbing my hard nipple and squeezing my firm breast. It wasn’t longer before he began to shoot huge jets of cum from his thin long hard cock.

I helped him from the tub and he kissed me on the cheek thanking me for a great bath. He got ready for bed and laid down to watch television.  I left him alone for awhile but couldn’t get what just happen out of my mind.  I was so damn horny and needed relief.

I undressed and walked completely naked into his bedroom and his eyes almost popped out of his head.  I told him that he got to cum earlier and now it was my turn.  He told me to get on the bed and play with my pussy for him.  I pulled the sheets down and took of his pajama bottoms, climbed up on the bed, and played with my wet cunt while I stroked his growing cock.

My hot young body was driving him wild and he stared fingering my pussy paying good attention to my clit.  He was skillful at using his hands and got me extremely hot.  I took his 7” cock into my mouth working up and down the shaft and taking his huge balls in my mouth.

Realizing his cock was beginning to pulsate, I squeezed his balls taking his cock deep into my mouth making sure that he exploded deep in my throat.  When he came, it set me off and my pussy began shudder over and over again.  I climbed off the bed and kissed him good night. That night was the first of many fun baths that we shared together.

 

Five thousand years ago a great rock fell from the skies into the oceans of Earth. Waves the size of mountains crashed down on the shores of civilization, destroying the world men had made. From the ashes of destruction, New Earth arose…a brutal, hostile land…

 

 

 

      Verik walked down the narrow cobblestone alley of the noisy market, ignoring the way men looked at him from the corner of their eyes.

 

      “Fresh vegetables. Best in town!”

 

       Merchants hawked their goods in a singsong shout, holding up their wares to the passing crowd in the bright sunshine.

 

      “Fresh bread. Best prices!”

 

       Wooden stalls crammed close to the ancient black stone walls on both sides of the alley, barely leaving room for men to squeeze by.

 

       Verik looked into all the stalls, savoring his first day of freedom. After five summers behind dull grey walls, the bright colors splashed across his eyes like a blast of ice cold water. Slabs of raw meat hung from hooks; fruits and vegetables filled the stalls with raging color - red, yellow, green. In the stalls, men in coarse sleeveless tunics and heavy cotton trousers haggled over goods, shouting at merchants.

 

       A man cooked succulent lamb on skewers over open fire. The delicious smell of roast meat barely hid the sharp odor of the unwashed men crowded into the small market in the afternoon heat.

 

       Anyone could tell the merchants weren’t locals. They wore fine silks, had soft, clean hands. No man wore silk in a mining town like Nequir.  The grime of the mines clung to the men in the market like a light soot. Hard labor in unrelenting heat deep under the earth, where one misstep could send a man plummeting to his death, had toughened the men of Nequir; made them harsh and unforgiving like the mines they worked.

 

       The miners walked through the market, men made hard by a ruthless underworld, swords at their side, looking at Verik with wary eyes. A path cleared for the gladiator as men moved out of his way, trying not to stare at the perfect black circle on his forehead. Even the miners, infamous for their fierce ways, wanted no trouble with Verik the Scythe.

 

       The tattoo on his forehead was a final parting gift of the Prison Council, condemning him to life among the lowest caste – the Unforgiven, or caijeen, murderer. No one would dare call him caijeen to his face though; unless they thought it was a good day to die.

 

      Five summers he’d served for killing a worthless coward who cheated him over dice. He’d do it again in the blink of an eye. But he’d bury the body deeper next time.

 

      When they sentenced him they gave him two choices – ten summers in the rock quarries where men died slow, lingering deaths or five summers in the arena as gladiator where men died swift, hard deaths. He’d chosen the arena and risen to the top fast, a vicious warrior who slit the throats of countless men without a second thought, cheered on by roaring crowds.

 

      “Spare a copper for a poor man Sir.”

 

      A beggar shoved a wooden cup at Verik. The man had one eye covered with a white, milky film. Men close by watched, pretending to bargain for goods. Only a blind man would beg Verik for anything.

 

      “A silver token my friend,” Verik said, dropping the heavy coin into the beggar’s cup. His victories in the arena had made him a rich man. “Mind you guard it well. Thieves are all around,” Verik said loud enough for the men watching to hear.

 

      “Thank you Sir. Bright blessings,” the beggar said.

 

      “Only his kind would steal from a beggar,” a man close by said.

 

      “You say something friend?” Verik said, turning on him with dark, empty eyes that froze the man’s heart.

 

      “You’re mistaken,” the man said, not looking at him. He paid the merchant. “No one wants trouble with you gladiator.”

 

      “Blessings to you then,” Verik said, walking on.

 

      “Murdering scum should be in prison, bringing gold to our town,” Verik heard the miner say.

 

       “He could have killed you fool,” the rug seller said. He was one of the few locals in the market.

 

      Verik wasn’t in the mood to kill anyone. He could have challenged the man to a death duel for insulting his honor. Even caijeen had the right to that. He let it go.

 

        When this is done, I’m buying me a virgin bitch. That thought had been his driving obsessesion in prison. Sweating through hours of grueling training under summer’s hot sun, he’d thought of nothing else. Every time he used a prison whore, he thought of the temple virgins. He’d waited a long time. By night fall he would own the tightest virgin slave ass the temple had.

 

       He stopped in a stall near the end of the market selling tunics. His tunic was old and stained with blood. The tall thin merchant stood beside his stall, outside his house.

 

       Emir the cloth merchant looked at the black mark on Verik’s forehead. No matter. Silver from a gladiator would put just as much food on his table as silver from a brother of the temple.

 

       Kali, Emir’s beautiful slaveboy, looked up at Verik instead of dropping his eyes decently. The boy took in his sensual lips, his cruel black eyes, the way Verik’s sweaty tunic clung to his hard, muscled chest.

 

      “How much?” Verik said to the merchant, fingering a linen tunic, looking at the boy.

 

       “The tunic is thirty silver tokens. The bitch isn’t for rent,” Emir said.

 

      “Why not?” It was common for merchants to rent out their slaveboys to earn extra silver. “He looked at me like a whore. I’ll be quick with his ass,” Verik said, rubbing his crotch, looking at the luscious red-haired boy.

 

       Emir slapped his boy’s face. “You looked at a man? Get inside you whore.”

 

      “Why Sir?” Kali said, looking at Verik’s thick arms, tanned and hard with muscle. His big strong hands were made to grab a boy’s ass. “He’s caijeen. We pay and we can look at his kind every night.”

 

      Emir backhanded his boy and sent him sprawling to the ground.

 

      “Get inside you little fool,” he said. “Your ass will feel the whip tonight bitch.”

 

      The slaveboy scrambled to his feet and ran inside.

 

        “I beg you to forgive the insult. He’s only a slaveboy. Anything I have is yours for the asking,” Emir said, spreading his shaking hands over his merchandise. The insult was enough to get him killed.

 

      “Why whip him?” Verik said. “For saying what men don’t have the guts to say to me?”

 

      “Some things are better left unsaid.”

 

      “Like caijeen and murderer?”

 

      Suddenly five summers of pent up rage erupted in Verik. He banged his huge fist on the wooden table. Cloths and tunics scattered to the ground. Emir nearly jumped out of his skin, sure he was a dead man.

 

      “Fucking mark’s going to make me kill someone.”

 

      Kali rushed out of nowhere and fell to his knees.

 

       “Please don’t hurt my Master Sir,” Emir’s boy said, kissing Verik’s feet. “It was my fault.”

 

       The merchant swooped down on his boy, snatching him out of the gladiator’s reach.

 

      “Get inside,” Emir said, but his slaveboy clung to him, crying.

 

      Looking into the boy’s terrified eyes calmed Verik. There was no honor in frightening a harmless man and his slaveboy.

 

      “Sorry I scared you boy,” he said, and turned his back on the merchant.

 

      Verik walked on, making his way through the crowded street, turning his thoughts to the temple. The thought of virgin ass made his swelling cock hard under his rough trousers. He knew how it would be with the bitch. Back at the gladiator house, the whores all trembled when they came to his rooms. He’d grown used to taking slaveboys by force. He used their ass and sent them away, whimpering and crying.

 

      “Ease yourself with a whore Sir?” a boy’s soft voice said behind him.

 

      The slaveboy backed away when he saw Verik’s black mark. He grabbed the whore’s red tunic, quick as a snake.

 

       “Come here bitch.”

 

       The slaveboy looked up at him, and the gladiator was lost. The crowd melted away. He saw only the boy whore’s soft brown eyes filled with miserable shame.

 

       The helpless misery in the boy’s eyes seduced the darkness within Verik. Wicked lust gripped him like a fever. His swollen cock strained against his trousers. Suddenly he thought how fucking hot the bitch would look squirming under him, crying, begging for mercy.

 

        “How much to ease my cock with your whore ass?”

 

      The boy glanced back at the whorehouse, but there was no rescue, just another slaveboy who ran inside at the sight of Verik.

 

      “One hundred silver,” the boy said, looking down at the big bulge in Verik’s trousers.

 

      He grabbed the boy’s face and ran his fingers over the whore’s ruby lips and caressed his soft, pink cheeks. His honey colored hair fell to his shoulders like the finest silk. Looking into the boy’s eyes, the temple seemed far away.

 

      A tall bald man, tanned and muscled, stood in the shady doorway of Slave’s Oasis, watching the gladiator with his whore. Now he knew he was cursed. Ajef spit in the dirt. Verik the Scythe showing up at his whorehouse – of all the luck.

 

      “You’ll have to pay to use my property,” Ajef said.

 

      “How much to use the bitch?” Verik said, pulling the whore close.

 

       The boy was soft and smooth against Verik’s hard body. He slid his hand up under the whore’s tunic and fondled the boy’s pierced cock. He loved the feel of a slaveboy’s limp cock. It thrilled him to use a boy’s ass and know the bitch couldn’t come.

 

      “Two hundred silver to use the whore,” Ajef said, hoping the gladiator would move on.

 

      “The bitch said one hundred,” Verik said, rubbing his hard cock against the slave’s round ass. The pretty slaveboy trembled in his grip. Nothing new.

 

      “Bring him inside,” Ajef said, backing down. He’d seen Verik’s work in the ring. “I’ll make you a deal.”

 

       Like all places in Nequir, the inside of the whorehouse was dark, carved out of the black stone prisoners quarried. Without any windows, the torches spread around the small room cast shadowy light that hid more than it revealed.

 

       As soon as Verik sat at one of the dark wooden tables, the whore sat on his lap, spreading his legs across him so the heat of his ass pressed up against his swollen cock. The boy writhed on his lap, sliding his hands up under Verik’s tunic, caressing his smooth, muscled chest. “Let me pleasure you Sir,” the boy whore whispered into his ear, licking the sweat from Verik’s tanned body, running his fingers through the gladiator’s long, black hair.

 

       The feel of the slaveboy pressed so close was maddening. Verik grabbed the boy’s hips and pushed his naked ass down so his thick cock nestled in the crack of the boy’s ass.

 

      “You were always my favorite in the ring Verik. You’re welcome among us again,” Ajef said, looking uneasy.

 

      Verik saw the way the man’s eyes avoided the tattoo on his forehead.

 

      “Am I?” he said, looking into Ajef’s eyes.

 

      Ajef was a pitiless loan shark who collected debts with a sword. He didn’t scare easy. But when Verik looked into his eyes, he knew death was forever a heartbeat away.

 

      “You served your time. Justice is done,” Ajef said, sounding harsher than he meant to.

 

      Verik ran his hands over the squirming slave’s smooth ass. The boy had lifted his tunic to lick the sweat off his chest.

 

      “I’ll pay for the bitch now.  How much for three hour glasses?”

 

      If Verik stayed that long, Ajef would lose a whole afternoon of business. He chose his next words carefully, trying to sound casual.

 

      “I have a special room for a man like you. Let me show you,” Ajef said, turning to lead the way.

 

      “A man like me?”

 

      The barely controlled fury in Verik’s low voice stopped the whorehouse owner in his tracks. The slaveboy on Verik’s lap looked up, afraid. He Verik pressed the boy’s face back to his chest; he liked the whore’s hot tongue licking his sweat.

 

       “I meant only a man who - ”

 

        “You’re the third man to insult me since I left prison this morning. I let the first two live,” Verik said, looking up at Ajef in the flickering light.

 

       Ajef said nothing. He’d seen that look in Verik’s eyes in the arena. Just before he slit a man’s throat.

 

       The slaveboy slid to the floor and knelt between Verik’s open legs, massaging his hard cock, kissing him softly through his trousers, pressing close, intoxicated with his scent.

 

       “You got something to say to me or can I pay for the whore?”

 

        “Be reasonable Verik,” Ajef said, desperate. “I’ll lose customers the moment men see you. I have to eat and feed my whores. I’m just a poor businessman.”

 

      “You’re a thief and a liar. At least you’re not a coward.”

 

       For a moment, Ajef was sure the gladiator would pull his sword and slice through his guts.

 

      “Show me the room,” Verik said, coming to his feet.

 

      He followed Ajef and the boy up narrow, twisting stone steps and down a low stone passage past dark wooden doors, deep into the rocky guts of the mountain behind the whorehouse. Ajef opened one of the doors, revealing a small room carved out of the wall. The inside was like a cave. A single torch hung on the rough walls, showing a high pile of fine, soft furs.

 

      “This is my best room,” Ajef said.

 

      Verik walked past him, pulling the slaveboy behind.

 

      “Here,” Verik said, reaching into the pouch at his waist. He paid for the whore.

 

      Ajef took the silver. “Nahji is my hottest bitch. Enjoy him,” he said and left, leaving Nahji in the doorway, watching the darkness swallow his Master.

 

      He turned to Verik, who was already naked in the furs, lying on his side. In the glowing torchlight, with his thick cock jutting up to his navel, his hard body, he looked like a merciless god, ready to demand sacrifice and suffering.

 

      “Lock the door and get over here slut.”  

 

      Nahji hurried to kneel in the furs beside Verik. Suddenly alone with the gladiator, Nahji couldn’t help but think of the hard feel of his cock when he sat on his lap. The boy prayed he would come in his mouth. But he didn’t think so. In the firelight, so close he felt his breath, he saw what a harsh man Verik was.  It wasn’t just the way he looked, it was the arrogant hardness in his eyes – the way he was sure no one would dare say no to him. He dropped his eyes to the furs.

 

       Verik ran his rough hands slowly over Nahji’s ivory skin, enjoying the feel of his young, slender body, so soft and afraid. Something about the boy begged a man to use him hard and hurt him bad.

 

      “Look at me whore,” Verik said.

 

      Nahji raised his eyes - light brown and full of helpless suffering that drove Verik crazy with dark lust.

 

      “Use me for your pleasure Sir,” the boy said.

 

      Looking into the slaveboy’s eyes, Verik knew even after he fucked the boy hard and made him scream, he would whimper at his feet, accepting his fate - serving the hard pleasures of wicked men.

 

      “I’ll please you any way you want Sir,” Nahji said, twisting his tunic in his trembling fingers. “Just please tell my Master you enjoyed me or he’ll punish me bad.”

 

      “How?”

 

       The boy turned around, taking off his tunic. His back was a criss cross of scars. Verik sat up – running his fingers over the scars with the thrill of a man touching priceless diamonds.

 

      “Your Master did that?”

 

       “If men don’t find me pleasing, my Master whips me while they watch,” the boy said, turning back to Verik. “Then he charges extra to rape my ass.”

 

       Verik ran his fingers down the whore’s back, looking into his eyes, feeling the scars that twisted through his soft flesh. A boy like him was meant to have scars like that. Something in his eyes drew brutal men to him; the kind who would take pleasure with him while he screamed. He was irresistibly drawn to the boy.  His pulse raced, his cock throbbed unbearably. A drop of liquid oozed from his swollen cock head.

 

      “You ready to get fucked good and hard bitch?”

 

      Nahji nodded, unable to take his eyes off Verik’s thick cock.

 

       “Good,” Verik said gently, caressing the boy’s soft face, feeling how his tender body trembled. “First I’m reaming your whore ass, then I’m telling your Master to whip you real hard. I’ll pay double to rape you after he scars you up.”

 

       “No, please,” Nahji said, crying. He grabbed Verik’s arm. “Anything you want. He likes to hurt me.” The boy’s pounding heart made his voice jagged with fear. “He uses me after those men leave.”

 

      “You’ll please me bitch?” Verik said, getting up.

 

      Nahji nodded frantically. “Anything you want Sir.”

 

      “Get on your knees for me whore.”

 

      Kneeling, looking up at Verik, Nahji felt like he was at the feet of a god. Verik’s swollen cock jutted out between his thick legs, sculpted with muscle. His flat belly was ridged and hard. Veins ran around his rigid cock. He had never wanted to suck cock so bad.

 

      Verik saw the hunger in the whore’s eyes.

 

      “You want my cock in your mouth bitch?”

 

      “Oh Gods, yes,” Nahji said. He couldn’t hide it. He was desperate to service him.

 

      Verik teased the whore, wiping his hard dick along the boy’s hungry lips.

 

      “I’m going to fuck your ass long and hard,” Verik said, looking down into the boy’s eyes.

 

      “I’ll take your cock Sir. I’ll please you,” Nahji said, licking the taste of Verik’s cock from his lips, unable to think of anything except how good his cock would feel pounding down his throat.

 

       “I love knowing what they did to you,” Verik said, looking at the thick gold ring pierced through the center of the boy’s cock shaft. “I wish I had been the one to pierce you and make you into a pleasure bitch.”

 

       The boy’s cheeks flushed red with shame.

 

       “You’re always hungry for cock, like a whore, aren’t you?”

 

      Verik pressed his hard dick against the boy’s smooth lips. Nahji opened his mouth wide, eyes closed, hot for his cock, ready to take his load.

 

      “Answer me boy,” Verik said, keeping his cock out of reach.

 

        “I don’t get hard anymore Sir. But I still have needs,” the boy said, breathless with desire; ashamed of his need. He hated knowing that he would never come again.

 

       Verik slapped the boy’s face hard. “Say it bitch. Tell me what you are.”

 

       “Look what he did to me,” the boy said, touching his limp cock. Tears slid down his cheeks. “I’m a serving whore. Men pay to use my ass. No matter how much they hurt me, I’m always desperate for more cock.” He looked up at his tormentor.  “All I get is pain from men like you.”

 

       The dull rage in the slaveboy’s eyes made Verik think how good the boy would look on all fours screaming when he took his ass.

 

       “That’s what you’re for slut. To give men like me pleasure with your screams.”

 

       Verik pulled the whore by his hair, forcing the boy’s face into his crotch.

 

      “Service me, you cock sucking bitch,” he said.

 

      The moment Nahji opened his mouth, Verik yanked his head back and shoved his cock deep down the boy’s throat.

 

       Before they pierced him, Nahji would have been rock hard servicing a man like Verik, with a big cock stretching his mouth. The boy knew he would rape him and make him scream. He still wanted his cock. He couldn’t help it.

 

       Verik fucked Nahji’s mouth hard and fast, looking down at the whore’s soft red lips stretched tight around his driving cock. Being inside the boy’s hot mouth, seeing him on his knees, afraid, drove him wild with lust.

 

      “Hot bitch mouth,” Verik said, throwing his head back, humping the boy’s face.

 

      The sound of his hips slamming into the whore was loud in the darkness of the quiet room. Verik held the boy’s hair tight, fucking his face in a wild, sadistic rhythm, pounding the back of the boy’s throat. In the orange light of the single torch, he towered over the slaveboy, pumping his hips in long, hard strokes.

 

      Nahji took his deep strokes, moaning, even though it hurt him. He wanted a load so bad he could taste it. The boy would have given anything for his cock to get hard so he could come with Verik’s load shooting down his throat.

 

      Verik gasped and moaned, feeling the hot tightness of the boy’s gagging throat spasm around his cock head.  It was so fucking hot to use the bitch and know he couldn’t come. He groaned, feeling his balls clench hard - he was about to shoot. He tried to pull out of the boy’s mouth, but Nahji pressed his mouth down onto his cock, aching to take his load. Verik slapped the whore, and pulled out of his mouth, breathing hard.

 

      “Think I’d waste a load in your mouth?”

 

      “Come in my mouth,” Nahji begged, licking Verik’s slick cock. “Please.”

 

      “No way bitch. You’re taking my load up your whore ass,” Verik said, pulling on the boy’s hair, forcing him to look up into his eyes.

 

       “And after I’m done making you scream, you’ll still be desperate for my cock.”

 

       Nahji looked down at his limp cock, ashamed; he knew Verik was right. Serving men was a nightmare of frustrated need.

 

       “I need to come,” Nahji shouted at Verik, his eyes afire with rage. “Gods. I can’t stand it. Always aching. No release. I hate him.”

 

       Verik laughed. “Why should you come like a man? Get up there.”

 

       He threw the boy to the furs and lay on top of him, looking down into his eyes, rubbing his hardness against the boy’s useless cock.

 

       Nahji’s legs fell open; he rubbed himself against Verik’s hard cock.

 

       “See what a serving slut you are?” Verik said.

 

       He kissed the side of the boy’s neck softly, whispering into his ear.

 

       “You want my cock even if you know it’ll hurt. You want to feel me tearing into your tight little hole, don’t you bitch?”

 

       Verik slid his hot tongue across the boy’s hard nipples. Nahji cried out in pleasure, bucking against Verik’s hard body.

 

       “You need my cock inside you boy,” Verik said, licking the slaveboy’s nipples one after the other until the boy arched his back, pressing against Verik, tossing his head back and forth.

 

       “Yes. I want it,” Nahji said. He couldn’t help himself. “I want your cock.”

 

       “Even if you can't come?”

 

       Verik wet his finger, playing with the boy’s hole while he licked his nipples.

 

       “Yes,” Nahji said. “Yes. Fuck me, please.”

 

       “Look at that, you desperate whore.”

 

       Verik rolled onto the furs, grabbing the boy around his waist so he was on his side with his ass pressed up against his hard cock.

 

       Verik grabbed the boy’s hair and pulled his head back.

 

      “You know what I’ll be thinking when I fuck your bitch ass?” he whispered into the boy’s ear.

 

      Nahji moaned at the feel of Verik’s hot tongue on his neck.

 

      “I’ll be thinking how you’re a serving slut, how you’ll never come,” he said. “This is all you’re good for now.”

 

      He reached between the boy’s legs and grabbed his balls, pinching the soft tender flesh until the boy screamed and writhed in his grip. Verik moaned in pleasure. The thrill of the boy’s cries of pain as he tortured his balls viciously was nearly unbearable.

 

      “You scream so good boy,” Verik whispered into the boy whore’s ear.

 

       He dug his fingers deep into the boy’s balls, twisting, squeezing, looking into Nahji’s face, twisted into a mask of agony. He ran his hand over the boy’s luscious young flesh, loving the feel of the whore trembling against him.

 

      “Is that bitch hole all sewn up for me?” he said into the boy’s ear.

 

      Nahji gasped for breath in his arms. His pain wracked balls made his body tremble all over; hysterical tears choked his words.

 

      “He had the temple sew my ass last summer,” the boy managed through his tears.

 

      Men who owned whores had their asses tightened up so they gave men more pleasure and brought in more silver. It was agony for a cut slaveboy to have a man in his tight ass.

 

      “What about your pleasure bead,” Verik said. “You feel anything up your whore ass?” He hated fucking a bitch who felt pleasure up his ass. It wasn’t decent.

 

      The boy shook his head. “No. My Master took my pleasure. I only feel pain when men use me.”

 

      Verik pushed the boy onto his back and lay on top of him, looking down into his suffering eyes.

 

      “You want my cock bitch?” he said, pressing his thick cock against the boy’s hole.

 

      “No, please don’t – it hurts,” the boy said in a sudden panic.

 

      Verik laughed and put the boy’s legs up on his shoulders, opening the whore’s ass to him. The sight of the boy’s tight, pink pleasure hole in the glowing firelight made Verik wild  - he ached to tear into him and make him scream. He slid his finger into the boy’s mouth, and made him lick it.

 

      “Your fuck hole is good and tight boy, like a bitch should be,” Verik said, pressing his wet finger against the boy’s impossibly tight hole.

 

      “Oh fuck,” Verik said when he felt the hot tightness inside the boy. “I’m going to rape this whore hole so hard, boy.”

 

      Verik guided his cock to the boy’s hole and leaned over the bitch, pinning his arms to the furs. The whore panicked the moment he felt Verik’s thick cock pressing against his tight hole.

 

      “No! Don’t,” Nahji said, in an ecstasy of fear. “It hurts so bad up my ass. Please.”

 

      Verik was relentless. “Take it like a real desperate serving slut. Work your ass onto my cock,” he said, looking down into the boy’s eyes, wild with terror.

 

      Nahji hesitated. Every inch would be a small agony. He couldn’t bring himself to obey. He just couldn’t.

 

      “Do it bitch,” Verik said, inches from Nahji’s face in the shadowy firelight. “Or I won’t wait for your Master. I’ll carve your pretty little face to pieces and pay him to buy another whore.”

 

       The boy knew he’d hurt him bad if he disobeyed. He Nahji pressed his ass against Verik, working his tight hole onto his cock, moaning, gasping in pain.

 

      Verik looked down into the slaveboy’s eyes, feeling how the whore’s hole resisted him, seeing how he suffered, pushing his trembling ass against his hard cock, whimpering, afraid.

 

       “Your hole is fucking tight.”

 

       “Oh Gods, it hurts - please! -” the boy screamed.

 

       “Shut the fuck up and take my cock bitch.”

 

       At last, the head of his cock entered the boy’s incredibly tight, hot hole. The slaveboy’s whimpering and begging drove Verik crazy.

 

      He grabbed the boy’s ass and rammed his cock deep into the whore’s deliciously tight hole. Nahji screamed, struggling, begging for mercy. The boy cried in a frenzy of tears, gasping for air, trembling against him.

 

      Verik used the boy’s ass brutally, fucking hard into him. The whore’s quivering ass grabbed his cock tight, massaging his thick meat on every driving stroke; Verik moaned and gasped in pleasure.

 

       He leaned close, looking straight down into Nahji’s tormented eyes.  Pain looked so good on the boy. He looked beautiful -  whimpering, crying, so full of suffering; he wished he could save this moment forever.

 

      “Fucking hot whore hole,” Verik said, groaning with every stroke. He couldn’t believe how hot and tight the bitch felt. The boy’s hole was incredibly sweet.

 

      “See how I use you bitch? And after I’m done, you’ll still be hungry for cock,” he whispered into the boy’s ear.

 

      Verik showed him no mercy. He used the boy hard, coming nearly all the way out of his hot hole, then slamming back into him.

 

      “This is nothing,” Verik said, looking down into the boy’s eyes, stroking into his tight ass. “Wait ‘til I mount you like a bitch on all fours and rape you.” He kissed the boy’s neck, licking his soft, tender flesh.  “I’m going to make you suffer boy,” he whispered into the whore’s ear.

 

      Nahji cried pitifully, screaming when he rammed the boy’s tender hole again and again. Verik fucked the boy in a hot rhythm, turning the whore’s ass red with his savage strokes, until he finally pulled out of him.

 

      “Get on all fours boy. I’m going to mount you like the serving bitch you are.”

 

      Nahji put his sore ass up, whimpering, begging – but Verik paid no mind to the boy. He grabbed his hips and mounted him from behind, driving his cock deep into the boy’s abused hole. Sweat slid down Verik’s chest as he fucked the boy’s hot hole with in a wild animal fury.

 

      Verik pushed the struggling boy to the furs, laying on top of him, kissing the scars on his back while he fucked his pleasure hole. He loved the feel of the boy’s hot hole pulsing around his throbbing cock meat. The sight of the boy’s abused back drove Verik crazy. He plunged faster and faster into his ass, running his fingers over the scars, the boy’s cries for mercy echoing in his ears.

 

      “You fucking serving bitch. Say it boy. Tell me how you’ll never come.”

 

      Nahji said it again and again, driving Verik mad with savage lust. He truly fucked the boy whore in a frenzy, driving his hips into him so hard the boy’s whole body shook. Verik grunted and moaned, panting hard, his eyes squeezed shut. Every muscle in his hard body stood out in the orange firelight. Sweat ran down his back. His hips pumped hard.

 

      “Take my load you fucking whore,” he said in strangled voice and drilled into the boy, going suddenly rigid, moaning as his cock exploded and shot load after load of hot come up the boy whore’s ass.

 

      He collapsed on his back beside the crying boy, breathing hard.

 

      “Please don’t tell my Master I didn’t please you. I obeyed,” the boy said. His trembling voice squeaked on the ragged edge of hysteria.

 

      Verik looked at the crying boy. Sometimes he couldn’t stand the sight of his own face in the mirror.

 

      “I won’t boy,” he said softly, caressing the boy’s arm.

 

      The slaveboy pulled away from his touch. Verik was used to it. He looked up into the darkness, waiting for the whore’s tears to stop.

 

      “You won’t Sir?” the boy said, turning to Verik.

 

      “No.”

 

      “Thank you Sir,” Nahji said, falling on Verik’s chest, crying softly, resting against him, looking up into his face.

 

      He looked down at the whore resting on him, pushed his hair back from his tear-streaked face; even now the boy had the look of helpless suffering that had nearly driven Verik mad. He had to own this boy.

 

      “I’m buying you boy.”

 

      The whore tried to get up, but Verik pushed him down, made him lay on his chest. He stroked the boy’s face gently.

 

       “I thought I wanted a virgin. I was wrong. I want a boy like you.”

 

      “My Master’s whores aren’t for sale Sir,” the boy said.

 

      “Your Master’s right arm would be for sale if he could make a profit.”

 

      Verik suddenly sat up, pushing the boy aside. He grabbed his sword from the floor. He’d heard something at the door. He was sure of it. He looked around the small room.

 

      “Get over there in the corner,” Verik said, motioning with his sword.

 

      “Sir, what’s - ”

 

      Verik slapped the boy’s face. “Do it. Now. Keep quiet,” he said in a low whisper.

 

      A loud knock on the door boomed in the small room.

 

      “Open up,” a man’s voice said.

 

      “I’m using a bitch,” Verik said, putting his sword down long enough to pull on his trousers. “Leave me alone.”

 

      “Open the door gladiator scum.”

 

      The door shook in its frame two, three times. Nahji cowered in the corner.

 

      Verik opened the door, his sword in hand. Two soldiers pushed into the room, their swords drawn. A third man came in behind them – Khaliz – he should have known.

 

      “Get his sword,” he said to the soldier closest to Verik.

 

      The soldier hesitated. Like all men in Nequir, he’d cheered on the gladiator in the arena.

 

      “Give me your sword,” he said with more authority than he felt.

 

      Verik dropped it at his feet and spit on the ground.

 

      “I’ve done nothing,” he said to Khaliz, head of the militia in Nequir.

 

      “That’s not true Verik. You’ve made loads of gold for our little mining town. Men come from all over to see you fight.”

 

      He walked past Verik and sat on the furs, a bulky bearded man with narrow, harsh eyes. “Now that you’re a free man, we stand to lose a lot of gold.”

 

      “I told you when you let me go, I’m not signing on again.”

 

      “I know. That was a pity. I had to kill a man because of you. A poor cloth merchant.”

 

      Khaliz smiled, looking more crooked than a coiled snake.

 

      “He was an innocent man. He had nothing to do with me.”

 

      “You argued with him at his stall. There were witnesses.”

 

      “I left him in good health,” Verik said.

 

      “Three witnesses will testify they saw you come back and go into the man’s house. He was found a little while ago with his throat slit from ear to ear. That was your favorite way to dispatch men wasn’t it?”

 

      “You fucking scum,” Verik said, heading for Khaliz. The two soldiers crossed their swords in front of him, stopping him.

 

      “You should have signed on again. You would have been a free man. All the bitch ass you wanted, gold, fame. You’re a fool,” Khaliz said.

 

      “I’m not fucking going back. I’ll die first,” Verik said, knocking the swords away.

 

       His talk was distraction. In his mind, all three men became targets. He could take all of them. He’d worry about getting out of the whorehouse later.

 

      At a nod from their commander, the soldiers lowered their swords. That surprised Verik.

 

      “Get the bitch,” Khaliz said.

 

      A soldier dragged the boy out of his corner and threw him at the commander’s feet. Khaliz pulled the frightened boy by his hair and pressed a dagger to his throat.

 

      “Please Sir. I’m nothing. Just a slaveboy.”

 

      “Shut up bitch,” Khaliz said, looking at Verik.

 

       He pressed the point of the knife closer to the boy’s throat, drawing a drop of blood.

 

Nahji cried out. “Don’t kill me - please.”

 

       “Your word that you’ll come with us or I’ll slit the whore’s throat,” Khaliz said.

 

      Verik had to get the boy clear before he could do anything.

 

      “Let him go. I’ll come with you.”

 

        Khaliz let the boy collapse to the floor. Nahji ran to the only safety in the room – Verik – and collapsed against him. He pushed the boy behind him, wishing he’d strapped on his short sword.           

 

      Seven men came running into the room, all big, hard men, their swords drawn. Ajef was one of them.

 

      “Get the fuck out of my whorehouse Khaliz,” he said.

 

      “This man is under arrest,” Khaliz said. “I’ll shut you down for standing in the way of the law.”

 

      “The law doesn’t say you can arrest a man inside my whorehouse. You think the Town Council will be happy you ruined my business? No business, no taxes – no gold in their pockets. Get out. I’ll send him outside.”

 

      Ajef was right. The Town Council wouldn’t be pleased. The taxes on Ajef’s back room gambling had made men on the Council rich.

 

      “You better send him out,” Khaliz said, leaving, motioning his men to come with him.

 

      “I have no use for gladiator scum,” Ajef called after him. “Get dressed,” he said, turning to Verik.

 

      “I’m not going back to the arena,” he said.

 

      “I’m not sending you back. Khaliz is scum. You served your time. Hurry up.”

 

       “Why are you helping me?” Verik said, fully dressed, his sword in hand.

 

      “Because the only difference between you and me is that you got caught.”

 

      It was a fair answer. “I want the bitch,” Verik said.

 

      “What?” Ajef said, standing in the doorway, looking down the hallway.

 

      “I want him,” Verik said, pointing to the boy sitting on the edge of the furs. “Here.” He gave Ajef ten fifty token gold pieces.

 

      “He’s yours,” Ajef said, hefting the weight of the gold in his hand.

 

      The boy ran to kneel at Ajef’s feet. “No. Let me stay Sir. I make you a lot of gold,” he said. Nahji grabbed his trousers, pleading. “Don’t sell me to him Sir. He’s a monster.”

 

      “Watch what you say about your new Master boy,” Ajef said, pocketing the gold pieces.

 

      Verik grabbed the boy. “Let’s go.”

 

      Nahji struggled with him, trying to twist out of his grip.

 

      “Stop it,” Verik said, annoyed. “Don’t make me hurt you. You’re mine now. Obey me and I won’t put anymore scars on your back.”

 

       Nahji stopped fighting and looked up at him. “You promise?”

 

       “Obey me and I won’t whip you like that. Don’t piss me off boy. You’ll be sorry. I promise.”

 

       Looking up into his dark eyes, Nahji knew that, for good or bad, Verik would keep his word. He let the gladiator take his hand and followed after him.

 

      In the whorehouse, at a signal from Ajef, two men went out to distract the soldiers. Within moments, they were fighting with each other outside the whorehouse, brawling on the ground. A crowd of shouting men gathered, blocking the view of Khaliz and his soldiers.

 

      Ajef led Verik and the boy through the whorehouse to a crammed storage room. He pushed an empty wooden crate over and stepped through the door that opened in the stone wall. Verik and Nahji followed into the darkness beyond.

 

      Ajef grabbed the two torches mounted on the wall, giving one to Verik.

 

      “This way,” Ajef said.

 

      Verik followed close, keeping the boy near.

 

      “Where are we?” Verik said.

 

      “Inside the mountain behind the whorehouse. No one knows how old these tunnels are,” Ajef said, peering into the darkness.

 

      They came to a turn in the tunnel and Ajef stopped. A river of water ran by.

 

      “Follow the water. It leads all the way out to the docks. You can get a boat there.”

 

      “What about Khaliz?”

 

      “Let me handle him. Safe journey,” Ajef said and turned back the way he had come.

 

       Verik and the boy walked into the deep darkness, following the river. The farther they walked, the hotter it was. They walked endlessly, sloshing through the warm water, surrounded by darkness. Verik pulled the boy on, thinking of how they’d get out of town.

 

       Up ahead a smudge of light surfaced in the liquid darkness; Verik smelled the sea. He pulled his sword, not knowing what to expect outside.

 

       They emerged into a dark, deserted alley. Night had fallen. He put his sword away; his black mark was bad enough. Nahji watched Verik rub dirt on his face, trying to make the mark look like just another smudge. No one would take caijeen on their boat.

 

       They walked down the narrow alleyway and came out on the busy docks. Verik chose a small ship and asked around for the captain.

 

       “Where you headed?” the man said, looking Verik up and down.

 

       “Emyhr. You going that way?”

 

       “I’m going to the island. You got to make your own way to the town.”

 

       “How much?”

 

       “Twenty five gold for you and the boy.”

 

       “No,” Verik said, turning to go.

 

       “How many men you think will take caijeen on their boat?” the captain said. “The patrols been here. You got a price on your head.”

 

       Verik turned on him, not sure what the man wanted.

 

       “That dirt don’t fool me,” the captain said. “Twenty five gold or swim. No one will take you.”

 

       “Why don’t you turn me in?”

 

       “To that Khaliz scum? Everyone knows you didn’t kill that merchant. You always fought with honor. I’ll take you. It ain’t none of their business what a man does when he’s served his time.”

 

       “You have my thanks,” Verik said.

 

       “I’ll take your gold instead,” the captain said.

 

       Verik counted out the gold and gave it to him. The captain let them on board and left to go finish loading his ship.

 

       Soon, the ship got underway. Verik sat down and pulled the boy between his legs. He wrapped his arms around Nahji, looking out over the dark water.

 

       Verik had heard about Naj Roh in prison. His mark wouldn’t matter there. They forgave everyone, as long as they obeyed The Ways of the temple.

 

       “We’re going to Naj Roh Sir?” Nahji said.

 

       “You’ll like it there boy. It’s a holy town.”

 

       Nahji knew about Naj Roh. No slaveboy wanted to end up there, where the

 

 

 

     

 

 

 

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We quickly dressed and went back to the party.  We came out of the bedroom and Greg gave me funny  look, I gave him a wink and he understood where we'd been.  I went back to the kitchen to make more cocktails and Kim went back to the party, my cum dribbling into her already soaked panties.

I was listening to one of Kim's friends murder I will survive when Greg came into the kitchen.  He stood behind me and rubbed his hard dick into my back.  "I was a little jealous when I saw you come out of your bedroom buddy,"  he whispered in my ear, "any chance of you doing something about my little problem down here?"    The one word that doesn't describe Greg is little.  I reached behind me and rubbed his dick, "I'm sure I can think of something," I told him.  We'd been running the party like being at a bar and people would come to the breakfast bar, ask for a drink and be served.  That way we were sure the party wouldn't end up in the kitchen!

I went to the fridge and took out some drinks and placed them on the work surface.  I then took down Kim's apron from the hanger and put it on.  i could see by Greg's face that he was confused.  I then proceeded to drop my jeans (I'd stopped wearing underwear) to reveal my white butt to him.  He got the message and stood behind me.  We'd done this thing before where someone stand behind you and puts their arms under yours and you put your arms behind you.  So his arms were serving the drinks, my arms were unzipping his pants and positioning his hard dick so all he had to do was push.  He entered me no problem and he started to pound his dick into my butt.  The only problem was that my dick started to get hard so I had to lean against the cupboard to stop the apron lifting up. 

Some guy came to the bar and asked for a beer so Greg fumbled for a bottle while still keeping the rhythm of his dick pounding into my butt, the guy thought it was real funny but little did he know what was going on behind me.  The only problem with having sex in public is what do you do when you want to shoot your load?  Fortunately for us someone was singing a rock classic and we could pretend we were singing.  Greg's pace quickened and I knew he was about to shoot his load.  I really wanted to quickly drop to my knees and let him shoot his load into my mouth but knew that would have to wait until later.  I felt Greg give one last  push and felt his wad shoot into my butt.  He pulled his dick out wiped it on a kitchen towel and did up his zipper.  then he bent down and as he pulled my jeans back up licked my butt and his cum oozing out of it.

god I loved living here.

The party didn't end until 3 in the morning and once everyone had left the three of us stood there looking at the mess.  "Shall we clean up now?"  Kim asked.  "No, I vote we head to bed," said Greg, "I'm kind of washed out."  We both giggled and Kim asked why.  When we told her what we had done she couldn't believe it but we were only halfway through the story when she put her hand into her panties and started to rub on her clit.  "You boys," was all she said.

I love eating Kim's pussy so I pushed her into the bedroom took her panties off and started to lick her pussy.  She was so wet and was soon grinding her hips against my face.  Greg was stood at the door watching at first then he stripped off and went and sat legs astride Kim and put his big dick in her mouth.  She was sucking his big hard dick as I was lapping up her pussy while freeing my own dick and rubbing it like hell.

Kim came with a loud shout.  Greg took his dick from her mouth and we all three lay on the bed.  Greg and I with huge boners and Kim with juice running all over the bed.  I started to rub Greg's dick with one hand and stuck my fingers up Kim's cunt with my other hand.  Can life get any better than this?

Greg moved to position himself on top of Kim and she opened her legs to let him in.  His big dick disappeared up her cunt and his ass started to move up and down.  I licked my finger and then stuck it in his ass - he loved it.  He was pounding away at Kim's pussy but shouted to me to put my dick in his ass, "fuck me man, fill me with your dick."  He didn't have to tell me twice.  I rammed my dick up his ass and started to fuck him hard.  The noise that was coming from the three of us was loud but we didn't care we were horney and needed to get some fucking done.

You would hear Greg's ball slap against Kim's ass then my balls slap against Greg's ass, it was an awesome sound.  We all came one after the other, me coming last and shooting my load into Greg's ass, Greg shooting his load into Kims cunt.  when we were soft we pulled out and just lay on the bed with cum all over us.  That's how we fell asleep.

The next morning we got up and started to clean up.  Greg and I went to take the trash out and we saw the couple from downstairs.  "Sounded like the party got going when everyone left last night?"  Mike said.

Greg and I looked at each other.  "But we had the best fuck listening to you I don't think I've ever come so hard,"  Kate said.

"Well maybe one time you might like to stay for our after party party," I said.

"Maybe!"

My wife and I had seen both of them walking in the park before, just never together. We usually saw the woman walking with her husband, pushing her baby in a baby carriage.  We had chatted with them once or twice, and I had wondered how two blonde-haired, blue-eyed people had wound up with an olive-skinned, black-haired baby. Had I not seen the woman pregnant a few months before, I would have assumed that they had adopted it. Now I understood that the baby was probably not her husband’s at all, but the child of this man she was now kissing, who also had black hair and olive skin.

            When we saw the man he was usually running. He ran countless laps, always shirtless, and his face and body were so perfect that I had always thought he must be an underwear model or something. Sometimes when he ran past us, I would glance at my wife, to see what her reaction was to him. I was secretly jealous. I felt sure she was looking at him, that there was desire in her eyes. When I finally asked her how she felt about the man, she shrugged as though she had not paid him a thought.

            It was obvious enough to us no that this was the woman who had moaned, and that her moan had not been one of pain—or at least not a bad kind of pain. She moaned again, as if to reassure us that this was the case, as she kissed his muscular neck.  I had always thought the woman was very pretty, and now I was burning with envy as she kissed the man’s brown chest, sucked on his nipples, bit each “can” of his “six pack.” She paused to strip off her clothes. Her body was very different from my wife’s. She was thin, pale, with small breasts and narrow hips, while my wife was full-figured, with café-au-lait-colored skin, broad hips and full breasts—an oldfashioned beauty, the sort of woman who looks like she’s designed to bear children.  But I thought both this woman and my wife were beautiful in their different ways. This woman’s body reminded me of a girl’s, only beginning to develop. Were it not for the faint remnants of stretch marks, I would not have believed that she’d so recently had a baby.

            With her girl-like body now naked, she went down on to her knees before the man. While tonguing his belly button, she tugged down his jogging shorts. He was wearing a jock strap beneath. The white straps cut across his hard brown ass. The mesh pouch up front was bulging. The blonde woman slipped her fingers beneath the waistband and pulled down his jock strap. Out flopped his half-hard cock. How big it was, I don’t know.  It was probably quite big. It was certainly bigger than my six-incher, but it was difficult to tell exactly, partly because the size of his body no doubt made his cock look smaller than it was, but mainly because his balls were so big. They seemed almost out of proportion to the size of his cock. They reminded me of the testicles one sees on a stud bull or stallion. It was his balls, more than his cock even, that had been filling up the pouch of his jock strap.

            The woman licked and sucked at his balls, taking one into her little mouth, and then the other. To take them both in at once would have been impossible. She began running her little pink tongue up and down the length of his cock, which was now getting hard. She took the head between her lips. He slipped his fingers into the loose knot of silky blonde hair behind her head, and pushed his cock into her mouth.

            I thought my wife would be offended by all of this. She has always disapproved of marital infidelity in general, and she has always said that sucking penis is degrading to women. I was sure the way he had her head palmed in his big hand and was pushing it back and forth on his cock would offend her especially. And so I was surprised when I glanced over and saw my wife entranced by what she was seeing. Her full lips were parted. Her dark eyes were wide, the pupils dilated so that they looked almost black. Her chest was heaving. She could not quite catch her breath. She was holding on one of the juniper branches so tightly that her knuckles had gone white. I had never seen her this way before. She was so caught up in watching the couple that she didn’t even realize I was staring at her.

            When I looked again out though the branches, I saw the woman was on her hands and knees, and the man was behind her on his knees (his jock straps and shorts still down around his ankles) positioning himself to push his cock into her pussy. Though I knew she’d just had a baby, I was scared for her. He was so big, and she was so thin and frail and girl-like, with those narrow hips, that I half-thought that he would tear her apart. But when I leaned a little to the side, I could see that her pussy looked swollen, open, red, glistening with wetness—ready for him.  He slipped into her easily. She moaned and clawed at the long grass, pulling out handfuls. He pounded away at her, his pelvis slapping against her small, girl-like ass. I stole glances of my wife, who had pressed her hand to her chest, as though her heart hurt.  

I don’t know how much time passed. I don’t how many times I thought that the blonde woman must be coming, judging by the way she moaned and panted and cried out, when the man, who had not said a word until now, asked,

            “Do you want it?”

            “God yes,” she said between clenched teeth.

            She thrust her ass back and up. He drove his cock in to the hilt, stiffened, and stiffened again. He was holding her by the pelvis to keep himself in as deep as possible. When he finally relaxed and slipped out of her, a long thick strand of semen hung between the head of his cock and her swollen pussy. He wiped it on her ass, leaving a wet shiny smear on her white skin. He stood, pulled up his jock strap, arranging his big cock and balls to fit them inside the pouch, and then pulled up his shorts. He resumed his jog, going out the garden gate on the far side of the hidden garden.

            The blond woman lay on the grass, which was all torn up from her clawing and tearing at it. She felt around for her clothes. She slipped on her panties inside out, put on her shorts. She found her bra and stuffed it into her bag. She put on her t-shirt without it, so her little breasts hung loose, and we could still see their forms, the still-erect nipples, through the thin fabric of the shirt. She put back on her socks and her walking shoes. She then stood and went to what I had been too busy watching her and the man to notice before: a baby carriage. The same baby carriage that she sometimes pushed with her husband.  She leaned over the opening of the carriage, made some funny faces to her baby, talked-baby talk to it, reached in to carress it..  As she pushed the carriage towards the gate, humming a tune, I could see a big wet mark on the crotch of her walking shorts where the man’s semen was dripping out of her.

            My wife said very little about what we had seen. When I asked her if it had excited her, she shrugged and said, “Of course not.” I tried to make love to her, hoping that what we had seen had put her in the mood, but she pushed me away, as usual, telling me she didn’t feel like it. She went to take a bath, and stayed in much longer than usual. . 

The following day was Monday. As I work late, my wife usually goes to the park alone on weekdays. She’s concerned about her weight, though I tell her again and again her full figured body is sexy. 

All morning at work I was worried of what might happen if my wife saw the man while at the park. Would she make eyes at him? Would she make some excuse to speak to him? How far would she go?

            After lunch I went to my boss and asked him for the afternoon off. He gave it to me. When I mentioned that I might need several afternoons, he told me to take them and not to worry.  I’d always been a good, reliable worker, and he wanted to show his appreciation.

            I was waiting at the park, sitting in a gazebo where I knew my wife never went.. When my wife arrived at the park, she was dressed as usual, in gray sweat shorts, a black t-shirt, and walking shoes. Her body was smooth and soft and full.

            She began to walk our usual route. I could see her all the while from the gazebo. She was on her second lap when the man, running shirtless as usual, ran past her. Even from a distance I could see she was watching him from behind, admiring the breadth of his shoulders, the tapering waist, the muscled ass and legs. Still, I was surprised when she began running after him. My wife never jogs. She had to practically sprint to catch up with him, and when she finally alongside him it was difficult for her to keep up. When it seemed that he would leave her behind, she grabbed his hand. This slowed him down. He smiled, but did not seem especially surprised.  They jogged, more slowly now, hand in hand to the gate of the hidden garden.

            I ran as fast as I could to the opening in the hedge we’d found the day before. By the time I got there, they were already kissing. My wife had never kissed me the way she was kissing him. She looked hungry. She bit and sucked on his lips. She licked his neck. She then stood back, remembering what the blonde woman had done, and removed her clothes. In a moment my wife’s full light-brown breasts, with nipples only a half-shade darker, were exposed in the sunlight. She was naked except for a pair of gray cotton panties. She licked his sweaty brown chest, sucked at his big dark-brown nipples, bit at each “can” of his “sixpack,” just as the blonde woman had done—play-biting at them, sucking and licking the sweat out of the ridges between.

            She went down on her knees. She tongued his bellybutton, tugged down his shorts and jockstrap all at once. Out flopped his fat, half-hard cock, those tremendous balls. For a moment she just stared at it. She closed her eyes and licked his cock. Her nostrils flared and quivered. The cock-smell must have been very strong, with all the sweat and running. She licked his balls, took one, then the other into her mouth. She ran her pink tongue up the length of his shaft. She kissed and sucked at the throbbing head. In a moment he’d worked his fingers into my wife’s thick dark hair, pushed her head onto his cock, and was fucking her mouth, or rather having her fuck him with her mouth. Nothing on him moved but his hand, and that only enough to guide her head back and forth.

My wife hardly ever sucks me, and she had never sucked me the way she was doing this guy. You could see her tongue working inside her cheek as she swirled it around the head of his cock. She deep throated him, so that her lips touched the stubble of his pubic hair. Every so often she paused to lick and kiss the throbbing veiny shaft.  But mostly she simply sucked, moving her head back and for to the rhythm set by the pressure of his hand. The man closed his eyes, tilted his head back, looked down to admire the beautiful woman who was my wife, sucking his cock so hungrily. He closed his eyes again, tensed. Every muscle on his sweaty muscled body stood out. He groaned, holding my wife firmly by the head. I wanted to call out then, to put a stop to it. But it was too late. He was coming into my wife's mouth.

            “Mmm,” she mewled, taking his hard muscled ass into her hands to hold him close.  “Mmm.” 

She swallowed again and again, but could not swallow fast enough. A trickled of semen ran out the corner of her mouth. She licked it back in quickly with her tongue. When she saw a little remaining semen about to drip from his cock, now only half hard again, she lapped that up too.

            He pulled up his jockstrap and shorts, did a couple of stretches. My wife, still on her knees, watced his muscular body flex with awe. He was about to resume his jog when he noticed my wife’s eyes were very bright.. Between her legs a dark wet patch soaked her panties. She looked down where he was looking, saw how wet she was, covered the spot with her hands, and blushed pink in a way that I’d never seen her blush before.

            “Look,” he said, feeling sorry for her.  “I’ve got three more laps. If you like, I can come back when I’m done and . . ..”

            My wife nodded rapidly. Her eyes lit up even more. She smiled. (She has a very beautiful smile).  

            The man ran out the gate and resumed his jog. My wife slipped on her t-shirt, not bothering with the bra or her shorts. She took from her bag a condom, not the condoms that I use on her, but  some she’d bought especially for the occasion, the extra-large size. After a moment’s hesitation she tore open the foil packet, took the condom out. She was sitting on one of the stones, her legs spread without her seeming to notice it. The wet patch at the crotch of her panties had grown bigger than ever. The entire front of her panties was soaked, made transparent with wetness, so that the dark area of her pubic hair was visible through the fabric.

            She fidgeted, looked at the gate. She touched herself, again without thinking about it, then caught herself and stopped, wanting to save herself for him.  She stood, paced the grassy area, still torn up looking by the other woman. She found a patch, a little closer to where I was, that was fresher looking. When the man ran back in through the gate, she pulled off the shirt at once, again exposing her breasts.  She pulled off her panties too. Her black pubic hair was glistening, the curls nearest her slit already wet. 

The man actually took off his running shoes as he sized up my wife, who was waiting to be fucked.  He removed his shorts and jock strap, stood before her with nearly hard cock and those tremendous balls.  At the sight of them my wife put her hand behind her back, dropped the condom into the long grass.

            I was worried. She wasn’t on the pill. I thought about coming out of the bushes, putting a stop to what was about to happen, or at least trying to. But then I remembered how when we were first married she sometimes let me fuck her without a condom if I agreed to pull out before I came. I thought maybe she would do that.

            I have always thought my wife’s pussy was small and tight. It had always felt that way to me on those rare occasions when she let me fuck her. It had never occurred to me that her pussy felt small and tight because she was never very excited. Now, as she went down on her elbows and held her full round ass up for him, I could see her pussy was open, swollen, glistening wet, and very red against the black of her pubic hair. It looked inflamed. Hot. He went down on his knees behind her, slipped his big cock into her easily. It made a wet sloshing sound as it went in, as though he were dipping his cock into liquid.

            “Jesus, you’re wet,” he said under his breath.

            He fucked her much as he had the blonde woman, and she seemed to enjoy it even more. She too tore out handfuls of grass. She too thrust her ass back and up to meet his thrusts. I had never seen her this way before. She was making all sorts of sounds that I had never heard before—sounds so different than the feeble attempts at faking orgasms she’d made with me. She moaned. She screamed. She said, “Oh Jesus” and “Oh God,” and especially “fuck me, fuck me,” over and over.  She cried out, "No!," then "Yes, yes, yes!"  She said she’d never been fucked this way before. When she began to get really loud he told her that she needed to keep it down. The people walking on the track might hear. She bit her finger, but still she made sounds. She whimpered, she sighed, she cooed and oooohed and ahhhhed. All the while her pussy made that wet shoshing sound as he fucked it. “God I’m going to cum,” she said. “I’m going to cum . . . I’m going to. . . “ She bit her finger. She screamed onto her finger.

            “Do you want it?”

            “God yes,” she said in a voice that did not sound like her own.

            Again I wanted to call out, run out of the juniper hedge and push him away from her. But I just sat there, paralyzed by the site of of my wife's ecstacy with another man. He grabbed her by the pelvis—much wider than the blonde’s pelvis had been—and plunged as deeply as he could go. His whole body stiffened. He was coming into my wife's pussy--something she'd never let me do. She wasn't on the pill. He was filling her with his sperm, and she was loving it.  She was panting, sweating, smiling.

            “I can feel it shooting inside of me,” she said, laughing.

            He pulled out. There was a strand of thick white semen dangling from his cock. He wiped it on her ass,  leaving a wet smear. He dressed, and jogged away.. My wife, like the blond, did not recover so quickly. She lay on the grass a long time, sighing. Her legs were spread. Semen oozed out of her pussy, pearly white against her black pubic hair.  When she finally got dressed and left, the crotch of her sweat shorts were soaked. I ran out from my hiding place in the hedge just in time to see her leaving the park. She was blushing, discreetly trying to cover her soaked crotch with her hand. The other walkers were staring at her. One woman--a very pretty brunette--gave her a knowing smile.

            I went to the juniper hedge every afternoon for the rest of the week. I watched the man fuck my wife again and again. He fucked her standing up against the rocks. He had her sit on top of him and fucked her from below. He fucked her doggie-style again. She sucked him off I don’t know how many times. (One evening when I gave her a hug she burped and her breath smelled of his cum).  But mostly he fucked her in the good old fashioned missionary position. She had always told me that she found missionary style degrading, but she seemed to like that best with him.  

            So my view was mainly one of his broad back, her shapely hands caressing it and clawing at it; his hard brown ass pumping away between her legs, with my wife’s full thighs spread wide on either side; his enormous balls just below, with an occasional peek of her pussy stretched around the thick veiny shaft of his cock, and, more often, her asshole, as he moved in and out of her.

            I once saw while she was coming for the umpteenth time something I could hardly believe: a big brown turd oozed out of her asshole. He had quite literally fucked the shit out of her. She was so embarrassed when she realized what she’d done that she turned deep red. She apologized, cursed herself under her breath.  He told her not to worry about it, like someone who’d seen such things happen before. Evidently to prove to her that he didn’t think she was disgusting, he had her wipe herself clean, led her to a clean area of grass,  and  gave her a good long ass-fucking. Needless to say she'd never let me do that before either. She screamed, biting her finger all while, with a combination of pain and pleasure. She left the park with his semen oozing out of both holes that day.

            I often was not alone in the cave-like opening inside the hedge. Old men whom I had seen sitting on park benches, boys I’d seen skate boarding, young bachelors who took evening strolls, men who normally walked with their wives, including the husband of that blond, were often kneeling beside me, watching my wife get fucked in every possible manner. They undid their pants, pulled out their cocks, and beat off to the sight of her being fucked, coming as my wife came, soaking the earth with their semen.

            On one occasion my wife was waiting on the rocks for the man when a woman appeared in the hidden garden, not the blonde woman, but a good-looking redhead we’d seen jogging before. My wife was half-jealous, half ashamed, judging by the pink color of her face and her flustered expression. The red-head sighed, reached into her fanny pack, and took out a quarter.

            “Heads or tails?”

            “I beg your pardon?” asked my wife.

            “Call it. If you win you get your choice, his cock or his mouth.”

            The redhead prepared to throw the coin. My wife, not knowing what else to do, called out, “Tails!”

            “Too bad for you. It’s heads." She showed her the coin on the back of her hand.  "I want his cock. I need a good cock today. Don’t feel bad though. He’s very good with his tongue, you know. But you don't know, do you? Oh! You’re in for a treat.”

            When the man arrived, he did not seem at all surprised that two beautiful women, one of them married, were waiting to be fucked. They both began kissing him, my wife taking one side of his neck, the red head the other. They each took a nipple, each took a ball. They took turns sucking at his cock, and licked it at the same time, their tongues meeting at the top.  When it was good and hard, he lay down on the grass. The red head sat on his cock, my wife on his face. They faced each other as they rode him, each bouncing up and down, my wife's full breasts bouncing on one side, the red head’s smaller perkier tits jiggling on the other. They came at the same time, and afterwards rested their foreheads together.  

            At home my wife was relaxed, happy, more satisfied than I had ever seen her. She was kinder to me, and though she still did not fuck me very often, and then always with a condom, faking her orgasm to get me to come more quickly, she did show a kind of motherly-sisterly affection towards me. She even jacked me off and sucked me now and then, always careful to avoid getting my semen into her mouth, no doubt feeling sorry for me, now that she understood something of how I must feel.

            Soon her belly began to swell. Her breast and thighs grew heavy. When she finally announced to me that she was pregnant, she said that the condom must have leaked. She seemed very happy.

            And so now when we walk in the park together and pass the blond woman and her husband, my wife--waddling along with some difficulty these days--touches her swollen belly and smiles, and the blonde, whose belly is also swollen again, does the same, as though they’re sharing a secret.

            And so now, when we pass the juniper hedge and hear a woman moan, my wife only sighs, no doubt wishing that it was she who was being fucked.  

             

 

                

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While trying to shift around so the world wouldn’t know that I had a huge boner, my eyes found Ashley. Ashley was raised in southern Mississippi and was your typical southern belle. She’s the kind of girl next door that everyone knows and loves. In spite of her squeaky clean image, her 36D breasts were about ready to pop out of the low cut blouse she was wearing. The second she saw me, she ran over to me and gave me a hug like always. She pressed every bit of her body against me, and I could has sworn she noticed the huge bulge in my pants, but she just smiled at me and took her seat two rows away from me.

Through the entire class, Casey and Ashley were passing notes to each other like always. They could hardly contain themselves as the teacher asked about what they were writing. Ashley said that since Casey was gone the previous class, she was informing her of the specifications of the “Religions of the World” project that we had due next week. I couldn’t believe that she actually bought it. I figured that they were just discussing what they were going to be doing that weekend after the cheerleading competition. I didn’t really think much of it.

After look at that clock for what seemed like an eternity, the bell finally sounded that it was time for lunch. And since it was a half day, I started to pack up my stuff and head for the door. I figured since it was a half day, and the cafeteria food sucks, that I would just eat at home that day.

I then felt someone’s hand lightly tap me on the shoulder. As my eyes trace up the perfect legs, I realize its Casey. “Hey Ben,” she said. “I know that we haven’t really gotten much of a chance to hang out since got busy with cheerleading again, so I was wondering if you wanted to have lunch with me?”

“Sure,” I replied. I wasn’t really hungry at the moment, but I’ve never been one to pass up an opportunity to hang out with a hot girl, especially one as hot as Casey. On our way to the cafeteria on the other side of campus, we run into Jillian. Jillian is Casey’s shadow in every way possible; her bright blue eyes are veiled by her light brown hair. With her tight body and cute face, she’s the kind of young girl that grown men don’t want people to know they fantasize about. When ever I saw her, she always seemed very shy, but some reason, she seemed almost giddy today. Casey and Jillian were whispering back and fourth very fast, but I couldn’t make any of it out.

We finally reach the doors of the cafeteria, and as I walked through the door, I had a girl on each arm. I started to make for a good spot at the table, but Casey pulls hard on my arm. She then walks past all of the tables in the cafeteria and goes into the kitchen. Jillian follows suit. I was confused as to why we were going back there, but I followed them through the thick wooden door.

“Casey? Jillian? Where’d you go?”

I jumped with a start as the door slammed behind me. “Take off his pants now,” said Casey, and Jillian immediately pushed me up against the giant metal table and started tugging on my jeans. They fell to the floor along with my boxers, revealing my semi-hard eight inch cock. “Get him ready for me,” Casey ordered.

“Yes mistress,” Jillian replied and immediately got on her knees, took my semi hard dick in her tiny hands and started to massage it. Feeling those warm fingers work themselves masterfully around me made me harder than I’d ever felt before. I could see the look of lust in her eyes as she really began to put force into her hands. The veins in my dick began to bulge as I saw her begin to bring her lips to the tip.

“How does he taste?” said Casey in a very authoritative tone. Hearing an outside voice brought Jillian back from the world she’d previously been lost in.

“Good mistress,” replied Jillian, as if she were a small child being rebuked by her mother for getting into the cookie jar.

“And why did you taste him without my permission?”

“Sorry mistress. I had no right,” she said remorsefully. Immediately Jillian got up and pulled a metal chair up to the table.

“I’ll forgive you just this once,” Casey said in an almost cold tone, “but next time, consider the consequences of your actions.”

“Thank you Mistress, you are so kind,” uttered Jillian.

Casey then sat in front of my spread legs as I sat on the kitchen table. “Close your eyes and focus on the feeling,” she said. For a brief while, I wondered what was going on, and then I felt a burning sensation on my dick. I winced and groaned. The pain seemed intense at first, but then the warm substance conforming to every bulging vein of my rock hard dick began to feel absolutely amazing. I could hardly contain myself anymore. The blindfold was then removed, and I saw Casey sitting in front of me with my dick covered with layer after layer of warm, melted cheese. She then wrapped two slices of warm bread around my dick, and seeing that little innocent girl with that sandwich in her small hands was by far the hottest thing I’d ever seen. She lustfully looked me in the eyes as she slowly inched my dick toward her waiting mouth. And then finally, she took 2 inches of the manwich in her mouth and took her first bite. It was as if my entire world had been turned upside down. Her teeth grazing against my dick felt almost painful but completely pleasurable at the same time. She continued to push me farther and farther in, eating away at the bread as she went. Finally all the bread was gone, and all that I had left on me was the warm melted cheese. She then slowly began to slip it in and out of her mouth. I had never felt anything so amazing in my life. She was sucking so hard I thought she might never be able to take me out. And just when I thought it couldn’t get any better, she stuffed my entire eight inch, cheese covered hotdog down her throat. I couldn’t hold back any longer. “I’m going to cum,” I moaned softly.

Casey then bites hard at the base of my dick. “What the hell Casey?” I screamed.

“What gave you the idea that you had the right to cum in my mouth? You are not getting this for your pleasure, but for my nourishment. I have a cheerleading tournament later tonight and I’m going to need to get my strength up.”

All of the sudden, I heard the door knob slowly begin to turn. I started to panic… here I was, sitting on a table with my pants down in front of two underage girls. If the wrong person came in, they could assume the worst and I could go to jail… I grabbed my jeans and tried to hide my shame as the door slowly inched open........

Part 2 Coming soon if you email me about it at blacklight_33@hotmail.com