For Part 2 click here
For Part 1 click here
Wherever there is enough money there is a woman willing to do nearly anything to get it.
Tonight was Daniela’s first public appearance since losing her final hunt. I can imagine why she’d stayed out of circulation for a while after that gruesome experience.
Herrmann slowed down a bit and we turned into a parking area in front of a well-lit pub. The parking lot was huge. On a Saturday night it was bustling with about a dozen small and large semi-trucks, many motorcycles and ranks of cars.
Herrmann took his time finding a spot while Daniela squirmed miserably in her seat. He finally parked and got out, walking around the vehicle and opening the sliding door to the middle row. Since Daniela sat to the far left we all had to climb out with her. I wasn’t standing next to the car for twenty seconds before someone whistled loudly and a man’s voice shouted something in Slovakian.
Daniela clasped her gown in front of her to cover her naked breasts and looked to Herrmann for help. He motioned with his head for her to follow him and walked toward the pub. The man who had whistled gathered up some of the others standing by their motorcycles. A crowd began to form, cutting off Herrmann and Daniela. It was difficult for Daniela to hold her gown shut in the front but she did her best, too well aware of what could be revealed at the slightest misstep. The urgency of her pent-up need made concentration even harder. Not a great condition to be in when entering a place like this.
I turned to Federico.
“Do you really think this is a good idea?”
He peered after them, just like Franklin and the Consigliere. He waved away my concerns with a casual hand gesture.
“You don’t have to worry about this, Princess.”
My insides frequently boiled with anger when Federico and Franklin were together. They brought out the worst in each other. Often Alexander’s good sense kept them out of serious trouble but I always worried about Federico’s impulsiveness and what consequences it might have during a momentary lapse of Alexander’s attention. I saw Herrmann and Daniela stop and stand in front of the group, but due to the noise from the traffic, I couldn’t make out what was being said. I mean, Herrmann was two meters tall and about as wide, but against these six or seven guys he was really going to have some trouble if things got serious.
Cora nudged me. She was able to hold the gown together at the top to hide her breasts, but if you were to have looked closer, you could have seen her naked pussy.
“Can Herrmann speak Slovakian, or who is in charge now?”
I shrugged my shoulders carefully, clutching at the front of my own gown. Just meters in front of us, two juveniles walked by and stared at us blatantly.
“No idea. Really, no idea.”
The men suddenly burst out laughing. Daniela pulled up the gown in the front. Everyone stared at her as she displayed herself. That seemed to work, as Daniela closed her gown and disappeared into the venue with Herrmann following slightly behind. The crowd, however, seemed to be waiting for her return. Cora and I stood next to the car, clasping our clothing and hoping this small interruption would soon pass. I had a bit of experience with these “open” sessions and knew how fast something like this could get very uncomfortable. Cora was cold and nervous about her approaching initiation. This situation wasn’t helping with that either.
Daniela and Herrmann emerged from the building side-by-side after about ten minutes, the time it usually takes for a woman to use the restroom. Everything seemed to have gone well inside. In front, however, the men with the motorcycles were still waiting. I looked at the Consigliere and then to Federico. Alexander leaned on the open passenger door where he carefully observed the situation. I knew some things about Alexander’s past that were slightly reassuring. He was no stranger to tense encounters.
Federico and Sir Franklin went on discussing trusts and paying little attention to what was happening outside.
My eyes met Federico’s. He detected my irritation at what I felt to be a completely avoidable and possibly perilous interruption of our journey.
“Relax, Princess. Herrmann has things under control. If you annoy us, I will think up something very special for you during the Soiree tonight, understood?”
I knew this threat from Federico was to be taken seriously. He wouldn’t hesitate to make good on it, possibly resulting in a great challenge for me. My sore ass was a cautionary reminder of what that could mean. I don’t know and will never know if I ever really loved Federico, but at that moment I was quite sure I hated him.
At the same time, what he said triggered a surge of fear, anticipation and horniness in me. I had been hot between the thighs all day. Familiar with the soirees, I knew I would be had by many men with plenty of crops, whips, wax, and more to cause me pain or pleasure at their will.
As always, these prospects inspired a delicious fear hard to describe. It was exactly this edgy apprehension that made my cunt drip like a leaking faucet. My dark desires.
Herrmann and Daniela stood in the middle of the group for a few moments. They were all laughing and talking in Slovakian. Again, I was reminded of what a useful man he was to The League Herrmann was. The guys all laughed now, one of them rubbing his crotch. We were not safe yet.
Herrmann stepped behind Daniela, pulled her gown apart, removed it and laid it over his arm. He took her by the wrists and held them behind her head. What remained of the dress now presented her breasts and pussy perfectly. For ten minutes the hands of the lead motorcycle guy were all over her. At one point I heard her scream out shrilly. She told me later that the guy in leathers had rammed three fingers all the way into her cunt.
Fortunately for her, ten minutes was all they got. Herrmann pushed the mob to the side and Daniela, stumbled on uneasy legs across the parking lot towards us. She was shaking hard when she got in the car.
“Let’s go ladies,” Herrmann said. “The show is over.”
Cora and I helped the still-trembling Daniela back into her costume. She looked none the worse for her ordeal but the memory of terror lingered in her eyes.
We drove south from Bratislava in the direction of the Danube. In a small and unremarkable village, Herrmann suddenly turned up a narrow but well paved alleyway. After about a kilometer the asphalt ended at a wrought-iron gate, which stood open.
Spotlights had been affixed on both the yellow-painted stone pillars to light the entryway. Between the two pillars stood six men in black suits. Their heads were all shaved and the smallest of them was the size of a refrigerator. Their purpose in being there wasn’t hard to guess.
Herrmann uttered a code word to the chief security guy, who had a headphone plugged into his ear. Herrmann showed him our six invitations. We were waved through. Yet another security guard showed us to our parking spot. The three of us women teetered along the white gravel, followed by our Mentors, toward the entrance. Torches burned everywhere. Their warm light mixed with the long shadows poured into the courtyard, creating an unearthly golden glow. The house was long and large with a flat roof in the contemporary style. It oozed wealth, typically for the locations of soirees. The wind was bitterly cold under my gown. My feet were like blocks of ice in those sandals, but comfortable compared to yesterday’s harrowing hike through The Castle’s fields.
A final security detachment greeted us at the entrance, checking our invitations one more time. Nothing here would be left to chance except our fates. The double doors opened and we stepped into the warmth of a sprawling hallway. The melody from the 1975 film starring the wonderful Corinne Clery drifted from hidden speakers.
In front of a mirror on the back wall stood a woman of fifty-something in breathtaking O garb and a golden mask. She greeted us with an elegant curtsey. She had large, natural looking breasts with dark areolas and erect nipples, supported by her bodice like ours. From her fully shaved triangle hung silver chains that jingled softly as she moved. The woman introduced herself in English as Nadine and ushered us into a side room while the men were taken into the bar area by another blond woman who seemed to appear out of nowhere, dressed identically to Nadine. I recognized her but not from The League. It was not unusual to run into guests familiar from elsewhere at these events, but bad form to mention it. I was still trying to figure out who she was when three men dressed in livery appeared in the deep, narrow coatroom. Each held a thin fiberglass cane in hand. Nadine spoke softly.
“These men will do the inspection, ladies. Remember the rules of an O. They are taken very seriously here and the punishments are harsh.”
With that, she was gone. I looked down obediently and listened as her chains jingled off into the distance. The men with the fiberglass canes circled us, closely checking out every detail of what we wore, how our faces were made up, our postures and the neatness of our trimmed foliage. We must have passed muster, as we were shown out into the vast, high-ceilinged entry hall.
On this chilly March night, not far from Bratislava, Cora would or would not become an O of The League. Federico and I had only been to a “Nuit d’ O” once before. At such events the elements of the novel and film weren’t merely mimicked. They were literally reenacted. The women at this soiree all wore beautiful dresses like ours – the garments worn at Roissy: expensive materials meticulously fitted, tightly laced bodices and strategically draped-open skirts. Everywhere I looked I saw naked breasts, exposed pussies and bare asses. Most of the women were shaved completely, though some had small, trimmed triangles or “landing strips” as the Consigliere liked to call them. Many of the women wore rings or chains on their nipples and bits. Some had tattoos on their breasts, pubic mounds, or derrieres with the symbol of O, or some design indicating ownership by a certain man. I saw at least four women with brandings on their tailbones or shoulders. I was spared such things primarily because Federico understood the ins and outs of the modeling business and knew that tattoos, piercings, and brandings would have ended my promising and lucrative career.
All of the women wore very high, very beautiful and very expensive shoes. Many also wore silk stockings. I think Cora and I were the only women with naked feet in sandals. This may have had something to do with the time of year, when the cold always reminded us of how easily we could be made to suffer, but more likely our lack of stockings reflected the love for beautiful feminine feet shared by Federico and the Consigliere.
I found this kind of initiation much more elegant and dramatic than the ones held in The Castle, which were less formal and more practical. I really liked the exquisite costumes, the splendid house, the elegant atmosphere, the candles, the music and, of course, the champagne.
The liveried men instructed us sternly in Slavic-accented German. We were to keep our eyes averted in the presence of all men and were only allowed to speak if spoken to. We were to keep our legs apart at all times and forbidden to cross them under any circumstances. Our painted lips were to be slightly parted at all times, whether to receive a tender kiss or a hard cock.
If any of the men present, including all guests and servants of the house, showed even the smallest interest in us, we were to touch our breasts, asses or pussies and encourage further exploration. The degree of our availability was signified by the colors of our collars. The liveried men explained the meaning of each color, though Daniela and I were already familiar with how they were coded.
Green collared O’s were not to be used prior to the midnight ceremony, although they could be touched and examined everywhere. The only green collars were worn by Nadine, the wife of the owner of the house and organizer of the event, and by Cora. A black collar meant only sexual play was allowed: no restraints, no suspension, no whipping. For blue-collared O’s, torture of any kind was permitted but no sexual use. Not surprisingly I saw only two of these. Either the wearers were extreme masochists or their owners had purely sadistic motives.
Red-collared girls like me were assured of a busy night. We were subject to nearly unlimited sexual use – oral without a condom, including swallowing service, (thanks, Federico.) as well as vaginal and anal penetration with protection. I was happy with the last part because this wasn’t always the case in The League.
I knew I could and almost certainly would be tortured in one way or another. I felt a little shaky in the knees at the thought but also a fresh upwelling of heat through my sore cunt. My body thinks with more than one organ at a time it seems.
It was the job of the liveried men to assure that any misunderstandings were taken care of discreetly and that the rules were followed to the letter.
All of the attendees seemed aware that tonight was Cora’s initiation and that she would receive her ring. She was congratulated by many of the other women and assured that everything would be wonderful and that she should enjoy the process of becoming an O. As if whips, clips, wax, and who-knows-what wouldn’t hurt like hell and the men wouldn’t act like complete animals who expected to brutally ram an O in the cunt, ass or mouth this would surely be a delightful occasion for Cora. I looked away so she wouldn’t see my sardonic grin.
My rump was still covered in severe marks from yesterday. The hazelnut switches didn’t just hurt at the moment of impact. The pain lingered long afterward. Imre and his colleague had really hit me hard. Their forty-eight strokes had left my ass cheeks a deep red color, severely welted and even lightly cut in a few places. Looking in one of the grand, guilt-framed mirrors on the walls I saw how my bottom glowed underneath the canopy of my hiked up dress like a baboon butt. Nobody seemed troubled by the evidence of my recent punishment. Such marks were seen as trophies by many of the women. I received plenty of admiring looks and not one bit of sympathy. I doubted they knew or cared what sins I’d committed to win those trophies.
We sat at one of the polished wooden tables spotted around the green marbleized walls – okay I stood most of the time because of my baboon butt – sipped champagne and scooped delicious canapes from passing trays. We socialized with other O’s but lowered our eyes when any of the liveried men came near us. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, a tall, stout man appeared – dressed in a dinner jacket like many of the others but decorated with a red sash appropriate to the opera ball – and asked us to follow him in a straight line. We hurried along behind him in a neat rank as we’d been taught. Following him through the entryway past a bar with a piano, I began to wonder what the owners of this house did all day long. Probably, like most of their class, not a lot. We clacked on over the marble floor in our high heels to a narrow, curved stairway winding down toward an underground level.
It was cooler down there but still not uncomfortably cold, in contrast to the cellar of The Castle, where simply being naked in winter was a punishment in itself. Electric torches with retro-style bulbs flickered everywhere, casting a subdued light to go with the low music. Vangelis was still a favorite of orgy crowds then, which probably dates me in a way I’d wiser avoid. We arrived in a large, vaulted area of old stones and arches, like a catacomb. It must have cost a fortune to construct this medieval retreat beneath a modern mansion. On one wall at yet another bar (hardly in short supply around here) about thirty men in evening dress loitered and gawked, drinks in hand. Due to the averted-eyes ruIe I couldn’t count them accurately, eventually a matter of direct concern no doubt. Our group of about twenty O’s lined up at the wall opposite the bar. We kept our hands at our sides and stood with our legs a bit apart, so the men could see everything that interested them, all framed perfectly by the ingenious design of our dresses.
I’d sized up a few of the O’s before in the waiting room. The oldest of us was in her mid-forties with billowing breasts (one adorned with an “O” tattoo), short black hair and relatively heavy makeup. Her O dress was brown and beige and her noticeably long labia were decorated with three heavy metal rings. She was attractive and quite poised with a haughty look about her.
The youngest one was barely twenty, thin but busty, with curly dark brown hair and a very pretty if rather empty face. She wore an obviously cheap O dress in red and black with a pleated skirt simply slit in front and back. He skin was light, almost white. She could barely walk in her very high plateau sandals, which were a whorish red to match the dress. Her red fingernails and toenails also matched and gold rings decorated her nipples.
It had been made clear during our training that we were not to develop personal affections among us (though of course we did), but rather to concentrate on competing for the men’s pleasure. So I did what I’d learned to do – remain cool, friendly and remote from my sisters lest someone else’s problems become mine. Still, though unspoken, my worries about Cora remained at the back of my mind. I’m not quite the heartless bitch I often appear. She had many of the qualities of an O – powerful appetites and a certain appreciation for the aphrodisiac effects of fear and pain. But The League was not a weekend resort where one came and went. It was a life to be lived inside The Castle or out. I wasn’t sure Cora was right for that life. This was one of those problems not to be made my own.
We were introduced one by one. One of the liveried men read from a list that included real names as well as nicknames of the men and O’s. Each of the men stepped forward to be presented with his O and to enumerate her likes, her dislikes and her limits. Federico surprised me with the announcement that I would be available orally without protection. I had highly regarded skills in this department and preferred to demonstrate them bareback, though not with so many strangers in attendance. Moreover, I don’t like the taste of semen mixed with alcohol and knew that by midnight there would have been plenty of drinking. I wasn’t sure if this was a demonstration of pride in the skills of his O or revenge for my equally well-known attitude, which annoyed Federico and almost all the other members of The League at one time or another. Otherwise, I was free to be used without any unusual restrictions. Genital or anal penetration required condoms and senseless beatings that could cause irreparable damage were frowned upon in these circles. But clearly, I would be harshly tested that night at my mentor’s instigation. From Federico, who understood me better than anyone, I got something I could find nowhere else, but that didn’t stop me from detesting the way he took advantage of my vices for his own amusement. He and I were both ever aware of my divided soul.
Cora was last in line. The liveried man even bowed as he announced the initiation of a new O. Alexander stepped forward and almost tenderly guided Cora to the middle of the room. She looked exceptionally beautiful this evening. Her wonderfully firm breasts with their long rosy nipples (particularly erect now from arousal and apprehension), her fair skin, long, straight, black hair, her delicate hands and feet – would wake the dead. Such charms worked to the advantage of any O going through the initiation. Most of the men were successful in business, the majority in or near middle age. They were not young stallions that could last for hours. Most of them depended on some kind of chemical support. Asian Kamagra jelly was definitely a favorite. Some considered it more effective then Viagra, though that belief may have had more to do with its perceived powers than its chemical composition. Only two or three orgasms in the few hours could be expected from these men (with a few notable and rather frightening exceptions). For a girl as desirable as Cora, most couplings would be brief and the presence of so many other attractive women would keep her from being utterly overwhelmed.
Still, nearly all of the men would save their last shot for the new O, who was only available after her midnight whipping. For more experienced O’s able to appreciate so much attention for its own sake, such desirability offered different advantages. I do like cock and the number of men who would be interested in me would be typically high. Yes, I am that kind of woman. Some men find me intimidating but those who don’t are precisely the ones I prefer.
Connected to the large room with the bar were a few smaller rooms equipped with various specialized furnishings. I didn’t see all of them, but in some there were beds or mattresses while others were equipped with rings everywhere, anchored to the ceiling, walls and floor for conveniently fastening an O to any purpose. There were also implements of torture – racks, wheels, hoists, whipping frames, impalement stands fitted with dildos of all sizes and types. Descending those stairs to this place was like a journey back to the middle ages, or perhaps to hell itself.
After the introduction, the liveried men walked down the row of women and attached leather wrist and ankle cuffs with rings to each of us so the men wouldn’t have to tie or untie us every time they wanted to fasten us to something. As the last padlock clicked shut on my right ankle-cuff, two large- bellied older men strolled over for a look. I lowered my eyes, gladly in this instance. One of them took me by my upper arm and led me toward a room in the back. Neither of them said a word. They stood me in front of a type of pillory and explored my body with their hands.
“Wet.” said one of them with a strong Slavic accent, his fingers already in my pussy. The other unzipped his pants and brought forth a wrinkled, semi-stiff penis. The view wasn’t much better down there.
“Blowjob without a condom, yes?”
I nodded and wanted to drop to my knees and make quick work of these two, but the other man held me up by my arm. They opened the pillory, which had holes for my hands and neck, pushed me into the thing and locked it down. I stood, bent forward, at a ninety-degree angle. The guy who wanted a blowjob shoved his penis in my mouth while the other one groped my painfully raw butt. He said something to his friend in their language and they both laughed. He roughly kicked my feet apart. I felt his hard penis on my asshole.
I hate anal sex except when I don’t. Then I love it.
He pushed relentlessly past my sphincters. Though he’d slapped some lube on his cock, a stabbing pain shot up through my body. I screamed into the stomach of the man standing in front of me. That must have pleased him, as he immediately ejaculated into my mouth. As soon as his buddy was done with my backside they ambled out with a final slap on my poor ass, leaving me standing in the pillory. Everywhere I heard the sounds of the party cranking up: whip cracks, cries of pain and cries of lust. Lifting my head as far as I could, I noticed a sort of peephole in the wall in front of me. Through it I could see into the next room where three men were fucking a slender redhead in a snow-white O-dress. They rolled her onto her back, blocking my nice view with a black tuxedo jacket. I was starting to hate this pillory thing already.
Click here for Part 4
About the Authors:
Ernest Greene is the author of the well-renowned novel for Daedalus Publishing, Master of O, reinventing the BDSM classic Story of O set in modern Los Angeles and told from the master’s point of view. His previous work includes co-authoring Coming Attractions, the Making of an X-Rated Video with Dr. Robert Stoller (Yale University Press, 1989) and shared credit with his spouse, Nina Hartley on Nina Hartley’s Guide to Total Sex (2006), from Avery Press, a division of USA Penguin Group.
Greene is a longtime member of the Los Angeles BDSM community, joining Threshold when it was still an affiliate of The Society of Janus. He served six terms as Threshold coordinator between 1989 and 1995. He continued to do orientations for new members thereafter and participated in numerous outreaches to academic groups.
Since 1985, Greene has concentrated his efforts mainly in adult entertainment and adult sex education, serving as Executive Editor of the best-selling fetish magazine Hustler’s Taboo since 1999 and most recently as Chief Associate Editor for Hustler’s All-Sex issues.
Ernest Greene, has participated in the production of adult video for three decades as a performer, writer, director and producer. His body of work comprises over five hundred titles, including AVN award winners Strictly for Pleasure, Mask of Innocence, Tristan Taormino’s Ultimate Guide to Anal Sex for Women and Jenna Loves Pain. With his wife, Nina Hartley, he has served as producer and director of the Nina Hartley’s Guide series of adult sex education programs for video market leader Adam&Eve Pictures. The series has sold over three quarters of a million videos to date and now comprises forty titles. His own erotic features for Adam&Eve, O – The Power of Submission, Surrender of O and The Truth About O have thus far seen sales nearing 100,000 units, making them among the biggest selling X-rated feature titles in recent years.
Greene is particularly well known for his groundbreaking approach to the presentation of unconventional sexuality related to consensual domination and submission. He has been active in the BDSM community for nearly thirty years, conducting workshops and seminars and serving as an officer of community groups. He is a retired six-term coordinator of Threshold, Southern California’s oldest active pansexual BDSM organization. His activism also extends to the world of adult video production, where he held the position of chairman of the board of directors of The Adult Industry Medical Healthcare Foundation (AIM) for seven years and to his commentaries on the adult industry Blog for Pro-Porn Activism.
Nina Hartley is a pioneering feminist sex worker, using her body in the service of promoting a sexually sane and literate society. She is thrilled to see a new generation of sex-positive performer/activists take its space and spread the good news about sex. Active as a performer since 1982, her rock-solid commitment to the importance of sexual autonomy has fueled Ms. Hartley’s career in adult entertainment. As a performer, director, writer, educator, public speaker, and feminist thinker for all, no matter their orientation, she’s traveled the world to deliver her message. She believes that sexual freedom is a fundamental human right and welcomes the new social media opportunities for spreading her message of knowledge and empowerment to the widest number of people. She’s the author of, “Nina Hartley’s Guide to Total Sex,” from Avery Press. Putting to use her B.S. degree in nursing, she and her husband, Ernest Greene, have produced the million-selling sex-ed video series collectively known as “The Nina Hartley Guides,” from Adam & Eve, currently in its 38th episode. Still active in front of the camera, she and her husband live in Los Angeles.
Ernest’s Website: masterofo.com