Learn about the ins and outs of wax play with Depraved Eros!
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, and we are in no way advocates of any kind of abuse, non-consensual behavior, crossing any hard limits, putting any one in harm’s way (physically/mentally/emotionally/spiritually), or violating one’s boundaries/what was pre-negotiated.
With this being said, enjoy the story!
For Part 1 Click Here
Stomping my feet through the coffee shop like an angry child, I move through the crowd with my head down, hauling soaked ass to the exit. I don’t even want to know how many eyes are on me as I leave. I don’t want to know who saw it- I don’t want to know anything. I can never come back here as long as I live. Ever again.
You’re still holding onto my hand as I’m pulling you behind me. The same hand that just made me cum in a corner. While I want to be angry and throw a tantrum, I can’t stop thinking about the way your calluses felt when they rubbed me from the inside. God, that was incredible.
I finally break through the clunky door, leaving my humiliation in that stuffy room behind me. The fresh air is everything I hoped it to be. The light breeze cools my skin when it hits my sweat. I let go of your hand, turn away from you, close my eyes, and take in the biggest breath I can fit inside of my lungs.
What can I even say right now? I’ll never be able to order an iced drink EVER again without thinking about my under the table orgasm.
My entire body is tingling with the afterglow of your indecent touch.
Embarrassed as I am, I have to admit- it was pretty fucking hot. The way that you maintained eye contact with me the entire time. How you slipped your fingers inside of me when I least expected it. How you commanded me to hush, when all I wanted to do was scream profanities.
“Fuck yes! Don’t stop! Oh shit! I’m cumming!”
I don’t think I’ve ever felt more sexually exhilarated. This is definitely not something I do every day. I mean, it’s something that I’ve dreamed of doing. Not even that- I didn’t even know it was a thing that could happen until it happened. And now that it happened, how will a plain ol’ finger fuck on the couch while watching a movie EVER live up to this?
This was priceless.
So why am I acting like such a brat? Pulling you through the store and turning away from you? Letting my embarrassment overcome me? Oh shit-
I am being very, very bad right now.
You are going to punish me for storming out of the coffee shop like a little girl mad at Daddy for not buying her an ice cream cone.
I’ve never been in trouble with you before.
The thought chills me. My nipples stiffen.
I stand for a few moments more, grounding myself, building the courage to look you in the eyes again.
I command myself to turn back around to face you. I’m wearing a look of shame. I’m so sorry, Sir.
You make me feel things I’ve never felt before.
You look unphased by everything that’s just happened- my obnoxious, obvious orgasm, my less than smooth exit from the store, the fact that I nearly ripped your arm out of its socket when I made my escape.
You’re standing there with your arms crossed, drinking the last few sips of your americano. You’re a beautiful looking man. You’re completely unreadable when you want to be.
“I’m sorry I’m behaving so poorly, Sir,” I mumble while staring down at my feet.
“Ah ah ah,” you say with a wag of your sticky cum covered finger. “Be a good girl and look up at me”.
Shit. You ARE mad. I AM in trouble.
I take in another deep breath as I lock eyes with you. “I’m sorry, Sir”.
I brush a few droplets of sweat away from my temple, feeling insecure and not knowing how to hold myself.
You drop your arms and take a slow step towards me. Another, and now another. I can feel the heat of your breath and smell your musk. When you’re right in front of me, you cup my chin in your hand, keeping stern eye contact, and quietly ask “Did you not like it? Did it not feel good? Did you not shake with complete satisfaction? Because from where I was just sitting, in that room full of bankers and soccer moms, with my fingers deep up inside of you, you seemed to have enjoyed it very, very, much”.
I let out a small moan. Even your words fuck me the right way.
With my face still balancing in the palm of your hand, you lean forward, give me a gentle kiss on the forehead, and then step back, beginning to walk away. You toss your empty cup in the trash as you go.
No! Wait! Where are you going? Don’t go! Please don’t go!
“I’m sorry, Sir! Please! Let me thank you properly,” I shout after you.
You’re just stepping off of the curb, heading towards where I assume your car is parked, when you hear my plea, and stop dead in your tracks. You pause for a moment, and without turning to face me, you ask, “How will my naughty girl repay me?”
My eyes widen. You’ve never called me your naughty girl. I’m your GOOD girl. I do as I’m told.
I stare at the back of your messy head of hair and the plain black T-shirt covering your broad shoulders that I so terribly want to claw up, before I shout “Let me please you! Right now. Wherever- however you want!” I glance nervously around, hoping nobody else hears me.
You slowly pivot on your feet. There’s a hard edge to your eyes. You begin walking my way. “Wherever I want?” you ask.
The familiar rush of heat that you often project upon me tickles my cheeks and snaps at my clit. My lips part and I gasp, “Yes. Anywhere”.
I reach forward and rest my hand on your chest. “Let me thank you,” I add, following with a daring, light kiss directly to your mouth.
Your smirk returns as you release the kiss that I’d rather keep holding. Your hand reaches up and now rests on top of mine on your chest. Your eyes are filled with an emotion that I can’t quite pinpoint.
Fuck. You are such a dangerous man.
Holding my hand still, you smoothly begin to ease my palm down the front of your body. Inch by inch you let me feel you, until- I’m there.
You let out a deep breath that sounds more like an “mmm” than an exhale, as I make contact with what I’ve been craving for weeks. Maybe you’ve been craving this too.
See, naughty girls can be good.
You bring up your free hand, and carefully move my hair behind my shoulder. You lean your impeccable mouth down to my ear, graze my skin with your moistened lips, and whisper, “Take me around to the back of the store. Find the filthiest place you can- and kneel”.
My legs threaten to give out, and I feel a gush of pleasure start slipping from between my thighs. You are going to be the death of me. The hottest, fucking, death of me.
“Yes, Sir.” I obey, entranced by the lingering feel of your lips on me.
“Good girl,” you reassure me, with a nudge to let me know that you mean now.
Another gush of pleasure.
I’m not sure who is going to enjoy this more-you or me.
I lead the way around to the back of the brick building. Your hand is resting on my ass again. It feels so good when you touch me. It feels good when you even LOOK at me.
There isn’t much privacy here, but I don’t think that you’re particularly concerned with being caught, seeing as how you just intentionally had your way with me in the middle of a latte convention.
The filthiest place, you say? Well- I guess I’m going to have you behind the dumpsters then, Sir.
I give you a glance over my shoulder, and lick my lips. The look on your face is reminding me that this is still a punishment. So, I drop the smile and continue my march of shame to the trash.
The moment we’re behind the dumpsters, you hold up your hand, signaling for me to stop. “On your knees,” you command.
I look around at our surroundings, then glance to to the ground. Gravel, and garbage, and what might even be shards of broken glass. You can’t mean right here, in this spot.
“On your knees, NOW,” you repeat.
This is going to hurt.
The tone in your voice and the look in your eyes tell me that this is not optional. If I’m going to continue to be your good girl, this is necessary.
I take in a nervous breath. “Yes, Sir,” I whisper, looking you in the eyes as I lower one bare knee to the ground, and then the other.
I flinch as my skin collides with the sharpness beneath me. I can feel every single speck of dust between me and the hot concrete. I remind myself that I deserve this. I want this.
You take a step closer to me. I raise my head to look up at your face, and without a word, you begin undoing your belt.
The pain in my knees is increasing by the second. I’m severely exposed. Anyone could see us. But somehow, this form of torture makes me feel alive. When this is all over, I’m going to have the taste of you in my mouth for days, and the scars on my knees for a lifetime.
I waste no time gawking at what I find inside of your pants. I’m being denied that luxury as a consequence of my actions. I take you into my mouth, and simultaneously dig my fingernails into the skin of your exposed hips.
I hear you gasp, and feel your body jerk as you experience both relief and discomfort at the same time. I stare up and bat my eyelashes, as if to say “Oh, I’m sorry, Sir. I didn’t mean to”.
Your smile widens.
I obviously meant to. But I know you’ll play this game with me.
Your smile soon fades, and you let your head fall back. You’ve been waiting to feel my mouth on your cock. You’ve been needing it for months.
Your breathing is picking up, and you’re beginning to thrust in response to my anxious sucking.
Knowing that I’m the good girl pleasing you, here in this moment, excites me on a whole new level. I rapidly work my mouth up and down your shaft. There’s no time for teasing your tip with my tongue. This is a matter of urgency. I’m down here on my knees bleeding because I so desperately want to hear you groan as you fill up my throat with forgiveness.
Little groans start slipping out between your breaths as you get closer to accepting my apology. I glance up again, and the eye contact gives you a swift push. You release a grunt.
I begin moaning, vibrating your cock with my vocal chords, which gives you an extra slap of stimulation. I bring you in and spit you out, over and over again, sucking until my cheeks are sore and my throat is raw.
Forgive me. Forgive me. You have to.
You grab a fistful of my hair, steadying yourself as your groans turn to gasps. You’re so close I can literally taste it.
Forgive me! I’m a good girl! I’m YOUR good girl!
I’m choking on the intensity of your demands, tears pour down my cheeks. My mascara must be a mess and my lip tint long gone. I’m not sure I can take anymore.
I look up a final time- “Cum for me, Sir. Cum for me. Forgive me. Cum for me”.
This time, behind a dirty dumpster around back of the coffee shop that you finger fucked me in, it is you, Sir, who is obedient to me.
It is you now, who can’t hold in your profanities. It is you, who can’t hold your hips still. It is you, who cums for me.
Your hands grip onto the back of my head, and with a guttural growl, you give me everything you have.
My mouth fills, and as I choke down every last drop of you, you give me a nod that nearly makes me cum alongside you.
I am forgiven.
I take my time sliding off of you, savoring every lick. I’ve never tasted such salty sweetness. I don’t want it to end.
You stand above me observing my makeup-streaked face and red, swollen lips. I must look like I’ve been through hell. And in a way I have. However, this hell I would gladly choose over heaven.
When you’ve finished fastening your belt, you extend both hands down to me. You touch me with such gentleness now.
I accept your reach, and let you lift me off the ground, grimacing as I bend and straighten my battered knees.
You wrap your strong arms around me, bring my head to rest on your chest, and hold me. We stand for a few moments in silence as we settle.
A gust of wind picks up and brings with it the acrid scent of spoiled food and waste. Ah yes, reality- We are standing behind a dumpster.
“Come, good girl. Let’s get you cleaned up,” you say with a chuckle and a playful kiss to the cheek.
I take your hand in mine as our much anticipated rendezvous finds its demise. “Yes please, Sir,” I answer, unable to break my smile.
Oh, Sir, I don’t think either of us will ever drink our coffee quite the same again.
About the Author:
Paige is a 34 year old dreadlock mama, currently living in Virginia, exploring her deepest desires to be primally dominated. She has spent the last 12 years as a housewife, but has quietly fantasized long enough, and is now beginning her kinky journey to self realization and true pleasure. Paige writes erotica based off of a combination of personal fantasy and experience.
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The dark desire is made up of feelings we normally resist. It is an ambivalent and intense form of pleasure. And it is addicting.” – Alexander, the Consigliere.”
This story is taken from my life. I have changed only names and locations for the protection of those who have meant so much to me. I hope to help the willing reader understand us all better. I recognize that events recounted in this story will not make mine an easy task, but I am not about that which is done easily.
Vienna and surrounding area
The sun was shining and from the heated cabin of my Audi TT. I drove south on the old Trieste highway through the industrial area of South Vienna. I had an appointment with Federico, my mentor from The League, in our community’s “castle,” which was actually more of a huge, old estate, in which The L’s headquarters were located.
Though it looked like spring through the windows of a heated car, it was icy cold outside. As always, the wind blew across the lower Austrian plain and kicked up dust clouds here and there. There wasn’t much snow left on the ground, only crusty, hard remains in the shadows. I was assigned to pick up Cora on the way.
I’d known her less than a month but was already intrigued by her. Cora was in her early twenties, a bit younger than me. She was slender like me and a bit taller. She had a wonderfully bright complexion, long, straight dark hair, and fascinating greenish-blue eyes. She also had large, firm and delightfully round breasts adorned by the most beautiful nipples I had ever seen. They were rosy, long and nearly always erect.
Cora worked for an advertising agency in Vienna owned by a huge printing company belonging to her husband’s family. Albert, her husband, was only twenty-eight and already working on his second marriage. I would have liked to know what went wrong with Albert’s first attempt at matrimony but Cora rarely spoke of him at all and I didn’t press details. I suspected history would soon repeat itself where Albert was concerned. Cora didn’t seem a particularly happy wife. If she had been, she wouldn’t be making this journey with me.
Cora was brought into The League by Alexander under unusual circumstances. Alexander was not only a virtual brother to Federico, my mentor, but also a respected adviser, organizer and philosopher in all matters concerning The L. I was far from the only one to benefit from his advice. His network of important contacts stretched far beyond its boundaries. “The Consigliere” wasn’t only his nickname in our group. Anyone who has seen “The Godfather” or read the book that inspired the film will understand. Where there is power there is need of wisdom. Alexander was the source of wisdom to many in different walks of life.
Where does wisdom come from? Unlike some I members, to whom “Story of O” was holy writ of which they’d memorized nearly every word, The Consigliere wasn’t much interested in the The League’s bible. He seemed to know and understand it better than anyone else involved, but was more interested in the psychological and mental aspects of the life it described, rather than the physical acts so important to everyone else. He was more curious about the women who were drawn to this life. He viewed his own physical desires and moods in a similarly detached way, which was quite the contrast compared to the other men I knew, who were nothing if not self-absorbed. This is not to he didn’t take advantage of the opportunities – the treasures one might say – his unique position afforded him.
Other women had confirmed my instinct about this. The Consigliere was renowned as a damn good fuck. He had a cock that was just the right size and thickness, nicely shaped and very well groomed. Even the smell and taste of him seemed to leave a lasting good impression.
Please excuse me. I’m losing my train of thought, as tends to happen when I think about sex. Many men may command me from time to time, but my cunt rules me always.
Back to Cora.
Escorting her was something of an honor. I had never seen the Consigliere bring a woman into The L to make her an O. It was just as uncommon that Cora’s husband had absolutely no clue about any of this.
I followed the directions until I arrived at a large, green-painted metal gate. It opened silently and I drove up the cobbled road into the estate. Everything here smelled like money. At the end of the winding drive stood a spacious, architecturally modern house with vast windows and a wonderful view all the way down to Baden. In the doorway stood a tall, fit-looking reddish-blond, man wearing horn-rimmed glasses. He was well dressed in grey flannel slacks with perfectly ironed creases, a white shirt and a blue cable-knit cashmere sweater.
He examined me casually as I got out of my car, as he would have either the car or me with the intention of acquiring either or both.
I wore a black coat with a fur collar but underneath only a skin-tight, black sheath-dress, which left no doubt I was completely naked underneath. You could have seen even the most delicate underwear through this material. I’d accessorized it with black stay-up stockings and Bordeaux-red peep-toe shoes. They matched my tightly worn velvet collar, which had a silver ring at the front. I had also affixed a red clip in my blond hair, a slightly whimsical touch of the sort I enjoyed showing off in solemn circumstances.
“Good morning,” I greeted him cheerfully. “I’m Cora’s ride to the Soiree.”
If the man registered my ironic tone – for it was Cora who would be ridden in due time – he didn’t show it.
“Please come in,” he said pleasantly with a sweeping gesture of his right arm. “You’re Sabrina, right?”
He had a German accent. As I write these words in German this may seem a peculiar observation, but to any Austrian that accent is as unmistakable as the tri-color flag.
“Yes. And you’re Albert?”
He nodded and stepped to the side. The foyer was at least as large as my living room.
“Cora is almost ready. May I help you out of your coat?”
I let him pull the coat off my shoulders and hang it up, trying not to smile too obviously as he looked me over in even greater detail. I enjoy being looked at, especially by those who for whom a look would be the best for which they might hope.
We continued into a sleek, all-steel kitchen adequate to a small restaurant. He offered me some coffee while we waited for the advent of Cora.
“Yes, please. Espresso. Black with no sugar.”
I had a look around, enjoying the view through the kitchen’s glass wall. There was a broad marble terrace outside, and below that a large swimming pool.
I was well aware how my ass cheeks showed through the dress and wasn’t surprised to feel his gaze on me.
“Cora’s told me a bit about you. She likes and admires you very much. She says she wants to be just like you.”
I highly doubted that, couldn’t quite smother a laugh.
“Thank you, and Cora also, but I’m not exactly a suitable role-model.”
This time Albert laughed.
“I imagine that would depend on the intended role.”
He leaned back against the kitchen counter and studied me uninhibitedly from top to bottom.
“So, this seminar you’re attending over the weekend; what does one learn there?”
I looked at him with a raised eyebrow and set the coffee cup down. How much did Albert already know? How much was I meant to tell him? Not much and as little as possible, I presumed. His gaze lingered on my thighs. The dress ended a short distance above where my stockings began. If I were to have sat down on one of the barstools at the long marble counter, I would have been quite exposed, given my lack of panties.
“It’s about self-discovery: mental power, inner confidence, overcoming difficult challenges. It’s about becoming a stronger woman.”
He lifted his eyes to mine and laughed humorlessly.
“Ah. A typical women’s seminar, yes?”
I smirked. As I’d surmised, he was clueless.
“More than you think, my dear.”
I tried to imagine the look on his face if he could see his Cora naked, hanging from a hook on the ceiling, as the men whipped her. She would feel the lash for the first time in front of others this weekend, the Consigliere had said.
“Well, I hope you have fun. Unfortunately on Sunday I have to leave on a business trip. I’ll be gone all next week.”
“Don’t worry. Cora will learn and experience many new things to occupy her attention.”
And you won’t be able to admire her welts when she gets back.
“Are you talking about me?”
Cora appeared on the steps, walking almost silent in her stockings.
Albert looked a bit irritated when he noticed that Cora and I wore nearly identical dresses. It was a lot more spectacular on Cora, her amazing breasts filling it out to the point of exposing much more of her anatomy than mine. Thank God she wore a black scarf over her shoulders. Albert would surely have seen how temptingly her large nipples showed through the thin material. He might have asked even more questions I’d have to evade.
“My bag is already in the foyer, I just need to grab my shoes,” she said, as casually as if we were going skiing for the weekend.
We said our goodbyes at the front door. Cora kissed her husband lightly on the cheek, threw her bag in the back seat and slipped elegantly into the TT.
I was concerned that Albert would observe as we got in the car that neither of us wore any undergarments, but he turned around and disappeared into the house before I could even start the motor. That little glimpse of Albert’s departing back told me all I needed to know about Cora’s marriage.
We were barely to the street when Cora shrugged the scarf from her shoulders, reached into her purse and pulled out a blue velvet collar. The collar was identical to mine except for the color, which matched her royal blue pumps perfectly.
“May I smoke in the Car, Sabrina?”
“No, my dear. And because you have your legs crossed, you will now spread them as far apart as you can. Then you can lift your ass and slide the dress up. Now!”
She looked at me, terrified.
“But you can see in through the top of this car and…”
“Do it now or you’ll be sitting there naked the entire trip as I drive next to every semi-truck I can find. Do you understand?”
She sighed in a lovely way as her ass-cheeks touched the leather seat. Anyone passing us on the right would be treated to a spectacular view. I would enjoy sharing it with them. I do have a sadistic side to which the masters are oblivious, though it’s common knowledge to the other Os.
As we drove through the rolling countryside Cora told me her version of how she and the Consigliere met by chance at a party. She was waiting for Albert to pick her up and take her to dinner but he was delayed. Alexander had gotten her a fresh drink and invited her to sit down with a couple of other men he knew from work.
According to Cora, an entertaining if superficial conversation unfolded and one drink led to another. Albert never did show up or even call. Alexander invited Cora, who was more bored than impatient, to go for a cup of coffee. She found him a sophisticated and pleasant conversationalist but no one she would expect, or hope, to encounter again. Such is the perpetual ambivalence of women like us. No doubt a receiver she didn’t know she possessed had picked up a signal that Alexander always broadcast effortlessly.
Just three weeks ago, so she said, she had told Alexander in a tone of utter conviction that she would NEVER let anyone hit her. Now she sat beside me knowing she would soon be whipped in front of an audience. Yesterday on the phone, she admitted that she was addicted to the Consigliere’s cock.
Exactly how the Consigliere was able to inspire Cora’s sudden change of heart, I do not know. A certain special propensity must already exist in us, meaning it cannot simply be sown and then watched ‘til it grows.
There are men that know about these mysterious inclinations. They recognize the dark desire deep within us and know how to expose it.
To liberate this desire is yet a completely different thing. It takes courage, strength and personal charisma and requires these attributes in us also. And the circumstances in our lives must permit the process to occur. It’s much harder for a single mother with two children to live out her fantasies than for a carefree model and part-time student like me.
Cora seemed right for Alexander’s intentions in many ways, including her initial resistance to them and the speed with which it collapsed. But we wouldn’t know for sure if his instincts were as correct as usual until Cora’s fantasies were tested against the realities of being an O.
Twenty minutes later found us stuck in traffic on the Südautobahn. There was an accident ahead. Cora tugged nervously at the seam of her dress. Her pussy, decorated only with a miniature strip of dark hair, was quite visible against the black leather of the seat. When we pulled alongside a Polish tour bus she looked to me for mercy.
“Forget it, baby.”
I glanced at the clock and scrunched my nose. We were in danger of arriving late. Sir Franklin, the Lord of The Castle, would punish us for this irrespective of Alexander’s plans for later. All too familiar with this game I worried less about myself then about Cora.
The sun disappeared and it began to rain lightly. Ten minutes later the outside thermometer read three degrees Celsius, the rain slowly turning to snowfall. Perfect weather for Sir’s style of punishment.
Cora noticed my uneasy glances at the clock. “Are we late?”
“We should call, no?”
I shook my head.
“That won’t help.”
Cora shrugged her shoulders.
“Then the men will just have to wait.”
“That they will, waiting to punish us when we arrive.”
“Punish us? What for?”
“Punctuality is an important requirement at The Castle.”
“But there was traffic. You can’t do anything about that. It would be unfair to punish you.”
I had to laugh.
“That doesn’t matter, believe me. And it’s not just me who will be punished.”
Now she looked at me, surprised and apprehensive.
“What they will do to us?”
“Better not to know. Try to relax for now and be brave when we get there, okay?”
She set her pretty little jaw as steadfastly as she could and continued to pull nervously at her dress.
We arrived a full twenty-five minutes overdue. It was snowing heavily and the icy wind blew strong as we approached The Castle. It was invisible from the country road. The overgrown bushes were so high it was impossible to guess what lay behind, which was probably for the best. I turned onto the gravel track and drove around the curve through a high wrought iron gate mounted between two concrete columns, each more than three meters tall. A chain link fence connected to the columns encircled the entire compound. I’d heard it could be electrically charged, which was entirely possible though likely intended to keep people out rather than in. Besides the girls in residence, Sir Franklin possessed an expensive art collection accumulated by his family over several decades.
The gigantic Herrmann stood next to it with Imre, the small, fat sixty-year-old Hungarian man who always looked unwashed and unkempt. They took care of maintaining Sir Franklin’s estate. Both wore wool hats, gloves and anoraks.
“Listen, Cora,” I warned, “you must do exactly what they tell you without any questions or backtalk. Anything you say at this point will only make things worse. Understood?”
“A word you would be wise to forget.”
I stopped at the gate and rolled down the window. Herrmann merely looked at the clock and gestured for us to get out of the car.
“Twenty-seven minutes, ladies. Please remove your clothes. All of them. Both of you.”
I took off my coat immediately and threw it in the car. Cora stared at me, paralyzed with fear and confusion
“Now!” I hissed at her over the roof of the TT.
Herrmann drove the car towards the great house, more than a kilometer from the gate. Inside the gate a tractor was parked just off the asphalt. This was Imre’s favorite toy. Two other men dressed in work clothes similar to Imre’s stood by. Imre waved us over to the tractor. A pair of ropes hung from the back of it to the ground. Imre had us stand, naked and shivering, behind the tractor. He cuffed our hands behind our backs with heavy police manacles.
The men grinned at us in a way as dirty they were. Cora screamed as one of them began to squeeze her breasts and then abruptly grabbed her crotch. Already her first mistake.
A step ahead of him, I pointed my breasts in his direction and spread my legs for easier access to my pussy. Unlike Cora, I had been through this before.
The guy drilled his fingers into my hole and seemed surprised to find me soaking wet. There was a time when that would have surprised me too.
They tied the ropes around our middles, feeding the loose ends over the waist cinches and between our legs. As usual, it was the rough hemp they favored. I don’t know where they found it – Japan I suppose – but it was unique for its prickliness. They threaded it out over the front of the constricting loop around our bellies, forming a uniquely uncomfortable harness right where we wouldn’t have wanted it. Then they tightened the hemp deep in our crotches, biting into our clits and anuses so it would rub painfully with every step on the walk we were about to take. Cora stood completely stiff, staring at me with huge eyes. She squeaked again softly as her guy finished his rope-work and pinched her very stiff nipples. From there the ropes hung slack to the tail of the tractor, but not for long.
Imre and the boys jumped on the tractor, cranked the noisy starter and put the machine in gear. A tractor doesn’t move very fast, but fast enough to force us into a light trot. The rope between our legs was hellish as we stumbled behind it. The cold ground under our bare feet made everything worse.
About two hundred meters beyond the gate Imre turned left onto a path through a field. I sighed a little. The hope that we’d merely have to run behind the tractor for a kilometer on the gravel road was shattered. Cora began to gasp and sob.
“It… it hurts so bad, Sabrina, please… oh God…”
“Knock it off. Concentrate on moving. The more you balk and whine about it, the worse it gets.”
She staggered along next to me. I tried to run as bow-legged as possible. I knew nothing could make the trip less miserable but it’s human to try. The two Hungarians in the heated tractor watched us and laughed.
We stumbled along for more than a kilometer. Our feet felt like blocks of ice, feet that didn’t belong to us. Finally, we arrived at a small shed where Imre stored farm and landscape equipment.
The tractor stopped short and Cora fell momentarily to her knees. Through the dirt I could see the small wounds on her soles. Cora quaked like an aspen, unable to control her sobbing. I remained standing, trying to ignore the pain and the cold as best I could, but I couldn’t keep from shuddering violently. I always try to avoid giving such men the satisfaction of seeing me suffer.
The Hungarians dismounted. Imre went into the shed and the other two men, with their dirty grins and dirty hands, grabbed the ropes through our pussies. The guy next to Cora brutally pulled her to her feet by her hair.
My equally charming companion took me by the chin and turned my face towards his. He kneaded my breasts, pulled on my erect nipples then grabbed me brutally between the legs. Apparently he was expecting a reaction, but he would not receive one from me. I listened as Cora cried out next to me, beginning to beg, the thing I will not do. It only inflames their ugly desires.
“Ahhh… oww… please, don’t… no… ahhhh, please stop!”
My Hungarian placed his hand on my shoulder and forced me to the ground. Nothing subtle about that gesture. I went down on one knee and watched him unzip his pants. A stiff, thick cock with a red head jumped out. I closed my eyes and tried to ignore the smell. I put my mouth over it and began to move my head back and forth, sucking with all the skills I’d acquired through so much practice. The man groaned. Good. This wouldn’t take long. In a couple of minutes he clutched me by the hair and started fucking my face. He hardly had time to enjoy choking me a bit before he shot his load into my throat. I swallowed everything. I don’t have to enjoy the work to take pride in it. As he pulled out I looked up at him with the same stoic gaze I’d given him before.
I listened behind me as Cora gagged and coughed. Her guy liked to curse and bark orders, as weak men do when some accident gives them a little power for a moment.
I was more concerned with Imre , who approached with two thin hazelnut branches, each more than a meter in length. When Cora’s guy finally finished, splattering her face as she turned away reflexively – a dangerous mistake but in this case immaterial as our punishment would soon get worse anyway. They brought over a large wooden block and laid me across it with my ass in the air.
Imre stepped in behind me and extended his arm. I closed my eyes. The branch whistled through the air and landed right across my backside. It burned like hell but I kept my lips tight and didn’t utter a sound. He did it again and again. I believe I took about two-dozen very severe strokes. Imre then stood in front of me, handing off both sticks to his henchmen.
“Now you get beating from others while you make me happy too. Good?”
I nodded, actually happy that the inexperienced Cora didn’t have to deal with that.
“Gari hit you, you blow me.”
Immediately I had his cock in my mouth as Gari beat my ass. He wasn’t as accurate as Imre, hitting my back and thighs as well. If he left marks that cost me work I’d make sure I wasn’t the only one who suffered. In our feudal world Imre was a serf and I was his lord’s property. He took longer to come than Gari needed for the two-dozen more strokes. As the hissing and thudding subsided and Cora continued crying, I gulped Imre’s sperm.
Cora looked over at me, finally, through tear-filled eyes.
“Sabrina… oh God… your butt…”
I just shrugged. The sticks had been light and I doubted there was any lasting damage to my hindquarters. When a girl is whipped often her ass becomes like a boxer’s hands, though much smoother we hope. Imre climbed back up on his beloved tractor and we marched on, searing pain burning our legs, and feet, all the way to The Castle. My tail feathers were in flames.
Click here for Part 2
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