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The Essence of Helena

By: The Essence of Helena



'What do you say? Come on, it feels real nice!'

'I don't know,' I said, 'I don't know.'

She led me to the bathroom, and sat me down on a plastic stool by the shower, then snipped away all the longest hair with her nail scissors before lathering my whole pubic

area thoroughly. Then, with a new razor, she started to shave, taking infinite care to get absolutely every vestige of hair from my mound, around my labia, between my pussy and my anus, and all around the crack of my arse. She took a long time over it, and well before she was finished, she had me quite excited as she worked her gentle way around my tender pussy. After she had finished, she worked soothing lotion into the whole shaven area, and told me I should have to keep up the shaving regularly from then on. When I stood and walked about, it felt very strange, and Mitzi assured me it would feel lovely when I went out into the open air without panties. I was soon to find out.

When the door-bell sounded, I was dressed in the dress we had chosen and a pair of stilettos I had bought on 34th Street the day before. Although I was decently covered, I felt obscene as I walked out to Don Vicente's car naked and shaven under my thin cotton dress, and when I glanced at Mitzi, I could see the darkness of her nipples through the translucent cotton of her dress.

Don Vicente complemented us both on our appearance, and fondled my knee briefly as he threw the Lexus into 'drive' when we set off for our destination.

We drove out up the Hudson River for about half an hour north of Manhattan, and turned off on a wooded bluff overlooking a bend in the river. There, hidden amongst the trees, was a big, low, rambling mansion set in fine gardens. A big party was taking place, far different from any type of barbecue I had ever attended before, all the women young and elegant, the men all looking relaxed and attractive.

When we got out of the car, I nudged Mitzi and said, 'I think we strayed onto a film set!'

'Relax!' she said, 'you'll be fine,' but I was acutely conscious still of my naked, shaven pussy, the breeze wafting around it as I walked around the lawns, and every time I caught a guy looking at me, I felt sure he could tell I was wearing nothing under my dress. After a while, I began to enjoy the sensation, especially when I got used to seeing them looking openly at Mitzi's tits jiggling as she walked, their points clearly showing through the flimsy white cotton. She obviously revelled in the attention. My new stilettos also gave me a lovely sensation – the highest heels I had ever worn, their discomfort was like a reminder of my sexuality. I was learning new things about my body all the time.

Don Vicente had been talking to friends, and had left us to our own devices for some time, but when the three-piece band started playing, he came over and led me to the maple dance-floor and we danced for a long time. I loved to dance, and he told me he liked the way I followed the rhythms. I told him that it was in my genes, as my mother had once been a professional dancer. But slow numbers were a new experience for me, in my near-naked state, and when Don Vicente's hand crept down to my buttocks during a smoochy rumba, I knew he could tell I wasn't wearing anything under my dress. And, unless I was mistaken, he had a growing erection pressing against my body as we danced.

The band called for an interval, and we went to sit down. Mitzi was nowhere to be seen, but the gathering was considerable, and the grounds extensive, so I was unconcerned.

We sat together on a lounger, and Don Vicente fetched me a drink – some vodka cocktail concoction – then took my hand in his.

'Helena,' he said, 'I am much older than you, as you know. I also believe, however, that our needs may coincide at this moment. Your friend Mitzi has just consented to become to my friend Mariano what I think you may become to me.'

'But…but – he has just whipped her!' I said, aghast.

'Yes, my dear, that's right, she was punished late last night – I was watching.'

'You watched?'

'Now you're really shocked. Yes, I watched him whip her. But I didn't stay to see them make love afterwards.'

'And you think I will want you to do the same to me. You must be insane!' I spat out the words, and stalked off, looking for my friend. 

I sought her all over the gardens in the late afternoon warmth, and it wasn't until quite a bit later that I found a little gazebo by the side of a lily pond. It was closed on three sides, but when I walked quietly around it, what I saw made me pull quickly back. There was Mitzi, over a wooden table, dress around her waist, her feet barely touching the ground, legs apart, with a young blond guy, who could have been no more than twenty years of age, pounding her in the arsehole with his impressive cock, while she held her arse-cheeks apart with both hands, the better to accommodate him.

And she was saying to him, distinctly, 'Fuck me, fuck me in the arse, you horny bastard, fuck me in the arsehole.'

I stood back in the cover of the bushes, where I could just see the erotic scene, and, reaching under my skirt, found my naked slit, already seeping secretions. I felt my clit harden instantly, and my vision started to blur faintly as juices welled within me.

Then a terrible, awful thing happened. I felt a hand on my shoulder. I spun around in panic, and was looking into the sardonic face of Don Vicente. He had a finger to his lips, and I stifled a scream. Things took on a pace of their own: he grasped my wrist and pulled me gently away to a safe distance, at the other side of a copse of trees, and took me in his strong arms. Suddenly I was kissing him with a passion I never knew was within me letting his tongue explore my open mouth, while his hands roamed over my breasts, teasing my nipples to hardness, through the thin material of my dress.

'Come,' he said, and led me to the house, up some stone stairs, along a corridor and up a short curved staircase into a small bedroom.

I got onto the bed, and he stood beside it while I pulled down his zipper, and released his cock from its prison. I gazed at it wonderingly for a moment, then instinctively took him into my lips, sucking his whole length, taking him deep into my throat, watching the ecstasy in his eyes.

But I knew I had to have him inside me now, and be a virgin no more. I pushed him away, and lay back, impatiently fishing a pillow out from under my head, and then ramming it under my arse.

'Come on, then,' I said to him, 'fuck me!'

He was hard as a rock and tore my maidenhead without any problem, scarcely noticing my little scream as he forced his way into me, but the pain was nothing compared to the wild joy his fucking brought me, when I sheathed him in my agile young cunt, and as I came in glorious technicolour, and he flooded me with his red-hot spunk. 

'I really didn't know you were a virgin, Helena,' he told me, while he was still inside me.

'Not any more,' I said, 'thank you!'

He looked at me to see that I wasn't being sarcastic, and then said quietly, 'I'm sorry if I shocked you with what I said earlier. Your friend said she thought you might be interested. Incidentally, the guy in her arse just now was Mariano's chauffeur.'

His eyes were laughing as he said this, and I was still so full of him, both literally and figuratively, that I didn't want to consider anything beyond that moment.

I kept him inside me, and I somehow knew I could arouse him again, if I could keep him there a while. Gradually, very gradually, I started to move, to nibble his ear, and to rub my firm breasts up and down his hairy chest, grazing my sharp nipples against him until he bent down and bit them, one after the other, causing me to cry out, and him to harden inside me perceptibly. I remembered something I had once read in an erotic book, and, reaching behind him, shoved my long-nailed forefinger hard up his rectum. His rod stiffened instantly and fully, and he started to fuck me again, slowly at first, but then in a hard, fast rhythm, pounding in and out, slapping his balls against my arse as he reached his full length inside me. I flexed my cunt-muscles to pull him into me and release him alternately, and he grunted his satisfaction. I felt a sensation of utter control, and knew I could let him shoot his load when I wanted, so timed it to my own rushing, welling, screaming orgasm, then drained him of his seed.

Mariano was due to arrive later, and would go with Mitzi to pick up his car, so Don Vicente told me that he would take me home alone.

On the way, he told me that Mariano had told him that Mitzi was going to live with him as his slave at weekends, but stay in our apartment during the week. He would support her financially.

'I am prepared to talk about a similar arrangement for ourselves, whenever you wish to discuss it,' he said, as he dropped me off at the apartment.

'I'll think about it,' I heard myself saying. Did I really say that, I asked myself? 

Again, he merely gave me a formal goodnight kiss, and quickly left.

I was already in bed, half asleep, when Mitzi arrived home. She dropped into bed and was asleep in seconds, breathing deeply and peacefully.

Breakfast was our usual hurried affair of toast and coffee next morning, so there was no time to talk, and we left to get the Metro downtown to our respective workplaces with promises to chat that evening.

When I got home, Paula was sat at the kitchen table, eating a croissant, and looking happy, her mouthful of white teeth contrasting beautifully as ever with her dark skin when she grinned. Mitzi came out of the bathroom just as I arrived, her hair wrapped in a towel. They had been talking about me, and I should have been annoyed, but when Paula got up and took a bottle of champagne out of the fridge, I had to laugh.

'Don't tell us you haven't got something to celebrate!' she said, popping the cork.

I certainly felt as though my life could now enter a new phase. 

'But how did you know?' I wanted to know.

'Oh, come on, girl,' said Mitzi, 'just which banana boat do you think I arrived on? Anyway, I know you know about my arrangement with Mariano.'

She then showed us a beautiful silver and diamond collar that Mariano had given her.

'He wants me to wear this whenever I am out of the apartment – it sort of denotes ownership,' she said.

I whistled softly, 'It sounds a bit heavy to me,' I said.

'I'm proud to be his slave,' said Mitzi, 'nothing has ever given me so much pleasure in my life.'

I sipped the champagne with my two friends, and pondered the events of the weekend, wondering at my own reaction when Don Vicente had proposed an 'arrangement,' which I ought to have found outrageous.

Paula passed a hand across in front of my face. 'Hey, anyone at home?'

'Sorry,' I said, 'miles away!'

'Thinking about Vicente's proposal?' asked Mitzi.

'Shit – you know about that, too?'

'Of course! And you are interested, aren't you?'

'I….I don't know, really I don't.'

'I think you do,' said Mitzi, smiling. Then, as an afterthought, she asked, 'By the way, did you go without panties to work today?'

By way of a reply, I raised my knee-length skirt until they could see my naked pussy.

I was, in truth, enjoying the feeling of nakedness under my outer clothing – it gave me a sensation of availability, of sexuality, that I had craved, and being clean-shaven was also very stimulating to my senses. I think these may have been factors in making up my mind. I had, it was true, only a vague idea of what being a 'slave' entailed, but I simply liked the sound of it.

It took me two days to get around to phoning Don Vicente, and when I did, I got a secretary, who only put me through with reluctance. He came on the line.

'De Alcaráz speaking!'

'Don Vicente?'

'Who is this?'

'Helena.'

'Oh. My dear. How can I help you?'

'I've been thinking………..about your proposal. Can you talk?'

'Of course. I hope you have decided to accept?'

'Well, yes, but I'm a little scared, I suppose. I don't know what to expect.'

'You don't need to be afraid my dear. I'll pick you up tonight at eight, and tell you what you need to know.'

All day I was in a kind of dream state, not knowing what I expected of my new Master, only that he was, indeed, to be my undisputed Master

When he called for me, punctually at eight that evening, I was ready, dressed in a simple flared burgundy cotton miniskirt, pale blue silk blouse and stilettos. He drove me to an apartment I had never seen before, in a condo on the Upper West Side, with a uniformed doorman and a lift with polished brasswork.

Once inside, he presented me with a Martini, and told me to sit down while he outlined the rules he expected me to follow.

He said, 'These are the conditions under which I expect you to work, and which I expect you to agree to,' and he passed me a sheet of paper, laying down the rules:-

1.You are to come to me every Friday evening after you finish work, at this address. 2.You will have a room here for your use, which will contain all the clothes, jewellery, cosmetics and so forth that you need.

3.While you are here, you will address me as 'Master' and submit to my requirements.

4.You will return to your own apartment each Sunday evening at ten thirty.

5.You will receive adequate remuneration for your services, paid monthly in advance.

6.You will reveal to no one the presence or whereabouts of these premises.

7.If you agree to the above conditions, you will make a commitment to me. You have the option of cancellation after one weekend, always respecting condition Nº 6, above. 

There was a space for my signature, and he passed me a gold Mont Blanc pen. I read through the form, and signed.

'But I still don't know what I'm supposed to do, really,' I said.

'You will, my dear,' he said, 'I'm going to show you how to get here from the Metro, and then we can leave the details until Friday, can't we?'

I nodded dumbly, and somehow got through the next couple of days.

Friday evening, and, as per Don Vicente's instructions, I caught the Metro, dressed in the same simple skirt and blouse I had worn two nights before, and with nothing but a small purse. I found the condo with ease, and the black doorman, whose name was Wilmore, was expecting me, and handed me a tiny envelope which contained a key. I rode up to the sixteenth floor, and let myself in. 

On the hall table was a single red rose, with a note propped against it, written in Don Vicente's neat hand.

It said: Your room is the third door on the right. Put on the clothes you will find on the bed. I shall be home by nine.

I glanced at my watch, it was just after eight. I had plenty of time to make myself beautiful for my new Master.

I stood and marvelled at the regency splendour of the room he had prepared for me. It had a huge four-poster bed, a great range of mirrored wardrobes, and an en-suite bathroom, equipped with a vast range of perfumes and toiletries.

There was time later to explore the wardrobes and cupboards. For now, he had laid out my clothes on the bed. I picked up a gown of scarlet silk as fine as gossamer. I undressed, in a hurry to try it on. It was long, floor-length, with a high neck and long sleeves, but completely backless. I climbed onto the matching platform-soled, needle-heeled shoes, and cinched the silver chain he had left there around my waist, but then, as an afterthought, decided that the chain was meant to go under the dress, as an adornment for when I was naked, so I hiked up the skirt and slipped the chain on under it. I tried walking around in the amazingly high heels, and found it difficult at first. 

Looking in the mirror, I found that the thin silk of the dress concealed nothing. My nipples poked out provocatively through the material, and when I touched them just a little, they hardened and stood out more. I fitted in the long silver ear-rings he had put out for me, attended to my make-up, and brushed my hair carefully.

I had just finished when I heard the door open, and went into the corridor to greet Don Vicente.

'Hello, Master,' I said.

'You look lovely dear,' he said, 'I'll go and get ready.'

'We're going out?'

'Yes, to some friends.'

'Oh!' I must have sounded disappointed, 'won't I be a bit………….?' I looked down at my dress.

'You'll be perfect, my dear.'

He disappeared and left me in the lounge, wandering about looking at bookshelves, but he was back in ten minutes, dressed in a tux, with a white turtle-neck dress-shirt. He threw me a fur wrap he must have had ready, which I draped around my shoulders.

'Come on then, we're off!' he said, and ushered me out and down to the porch, where Wilmore gave him the keys to his Lexus, which was waiting, engine running, at the kerb.

We went perhaps ten blocks, and pulled up outside a block similar to the one we had left, to be greeted by another black doorman. Up in the lift we went, and stopped at the tenth floor, where we were met out of the lift by a silver-haired man, ten years older than my Master, whom he introduced as Sir Marcus. 

'Please, please, no titles, Vicente,' he said, as he gave me his arm and we were led through double doors into his luxurious home. The other guests were sat around the table. Marcus' partner, Zeta, was a willowy blonde of about thirty five, with aristocratic looks, wearing a fishnet top, through which rouged nipples jutted, and from one of which hung a large, dull metal ring. Another couple were introduced as Klaus, an artistic-looking type with wild hair, and his companion Lotte, who had purple, spiky hair, and piercings in so many places that could be seen that I was left wondering how many more she had that were out of sight.

We sat down with them, and were served dinner by a tall, slim, jet-black maid, wearing nothing but white baby-doll pyjamas and fluffy white mules. Sir Marcus caressed her buttocks while she was serving him, but it didn't seem to put her off the task in hand. 

The conversation was like that at dinner anywhere, and, when we had finished, our host bade us all walk through into the huge split-level lounge, where he invited us to ssit around on the couches provided, whilst the maid wheeled out a huge, flat-screen television. 

'I know you all hate watching holiday videos,' he said, smiling, 'but you may find this one a little different. We shot it in Florida last month.'

The maid dimmed the lights, and our attention was on the screen, as we saw that the scene was a sun-lounge full of tropical plants, with a huge couch, upon which reclined Zeta, wearing a long silk nightdress. Slowly she stood, and made a show of putting a CD into a player. A sensuous beat started, and she danced. I had to admit she moved with artistic elegance, taking advantage of every curve of her supple body, now raising the hem of her gown to show her buttocks to the camera, now pulling aside the flimsy bodice to reveal her adorned breast, and cupping it in her hand. 

The beat changed, became slower, and she lowered herself gracefully onto the couch, drawing the gown up her long legs to reveal a shaven mound. Suddenly, she flung her legs wide apart, to reveal the wide pink gash of her pussy, which, like her breast, bore a ring, dangling from a pierced clitoris-hood. To emphasise her action, she put the fingers of both hands between her legs, and held her labia stretched apart, so that the dark hole of her cunt was open, available.

Now the black maid – whose name I hadn't been given – came naked on to the scene, carrying a huge double-ended rubber dildo. She pushed it straight into Zeta's waiting vagina, causing her to moan nicely. Then she manoeuvred herself into position so that she could get onto the other end of it and the camera could follow its entry into the neat contrasting pinkness of her cunt. Soon they had their long legs, black on white, entwined on the couch, making a pretty picture, as they fucked each other enthusiastically.


The Essence of Helena



It was then that I was aware of a hand on my leg, and was surprised to see that Lotte had joined me on the lounger. When I looked around at her, she pulled me into an embrace and it was a new experience to feel the rasp of her tongue stud in my mouth. I wondered fleetingly what it would feel like against my clit, and felt a little trickle forming between my legs. But then, as, on film, a young blond stud I didn't know moved into camera and took the place of the dildo, at least where Zeta was concerned, Klaus appeared and snatched Lotte away from me by the arm, saying, 'Hey, my turn, bitch!'

My reaction was swift. I slapped him hard across the face. I didn't like him anyway – he smelt of alcohol, or worse, and, well, I just didn't like his attitude.

Don Vicente saw what had happened, and spoke to Sir Marcus, and then they both went over to talk to Klaus, who was sulking in the corner, the video forgotten. I had ruined the evening.

'Come on,' said Don Vicente, 'we're going home!'

He didn't speak as we went down in the lift. 

When we got into his car, I said, 'I'm so sorry, Master!'

He was silent a little longer, and then said, 'I had hoped I could introduce you to the relationship between pain and pleasure before punishment became necessary. You have seen fit to force my hand.'

As soon as we got into the apartment, Don Vicente told me to go to my room and undress. I did so, and was stood, shuddering, in my heels, wearing nothing more than the silver chain around my waist when he slipped through the door into my room.

My eyes widened in terror when I saw he was carrying a riding crop. I was going to be beaten!

'Kneel!' he said, 'and hold your hair up on top of your head!'

I obediently knelt, trembling through my whole body as I did so. He stood back behind me, and I heard the crop swish through the air as he tested his arm.

'Mmm,' he muttered, in satisfaction, then, when I heard the next swish, there was an awful 'crack,' and the most dreadful stinging pain across my upper back.

'Oh!' I cried.

'Quiet!' he said, 'or I shall have to double your dose.'

Another rush of air, and I bit my lip, as the terrible instrument struck me slightly lower, causing me to writhe in agony.

'That's better!' he said, 'after another few, you will be eager for more, believe me!'

I didn't believe him, and shook my head as he brought the crop down again across the tender small of my back, and I moaned quietly, as a tear escaped and ran down my cheek. He saw and wiped it away, kneeling beside me. Whilst he was there, he ran his hand down the front of my body, and I opened my legs to let him feel my slit.

'You're wet through!' he said, 'I'm going to give you three more strokes.'

He stood, and lashed me viciously, first just above my buttocks, then twice, quickly, across the most tender part of my arse-cheeks, one each side.

'Now,' he said, when he had finished, 'perhaps you will have learned that you should make yourself available when I take you out to friends' houses!'

'But Klaus is gross!' I said.

'A slave is not qualified to make such judgements,' he said, 'I shall prepare you in time.'

'Thank you Master,' I said, meekly, and he smiled then, and helped me up from the floor.

He said he had work to do, and sat in his study, while I watched television in the lounge, for perhaps an hour, and then he told me to go and wait for him in his bed.

That night, he loved me caringly, tenderly, entering my body almost apologetically, and letting me climb on top of him, so that I didn't feel any pain on top of the damage he had caused by whipping me. But when he traced my welts with a questing finger I whispered that I had had an orgasm while he was whipping me, and told him that I should love him forever.

Next morning, whilst we breakfasted, I was wearing just a silk negligee, and he passed a little velvet-covered box to me. At first I thought it might be a ring, and opened it with trepidation. I found it contained two little gold clamps, and a fine gold chain. 

'What are these?' I asked.

'Nipple clamps,' was his reply, 'come here!'

I let him cup my breasts in his big hands, and felt my nipples harden and grow instantly under his fingers, as he tweaked them, and then he fitted the little clamps to them, and I cried out at the sharp pain, which increases alarmingly when he tightened them down.

'That looks lovely,' he said, seeing the little chain hanging between my nipples, 'I think you can wear them all morning, anyway. And there's something else!'

I wondered what other agony he was going to put me through, but didn't have long to wait. He told me to bend over the kitchen table, and he raised my negligee. I thought he was just going to rub oil into my welts when he traced those on my buttocks with a fascinated finger, but he had a tube of KY jelly, and was easing a quantity of it into the crack around my arsehole. 

I started a little as his finger slipped into my little puckered hole, and then felt a new sensation when he stabbed it right in, way past my anal sphincter, bringing an odd mix of discomfort and what? Pleasure? No, it went beyond, it was into the realms of ecstasy, it was a totally undreamt-of feeling – I knew then I should want more, much more, of this, that I was entering a new world of agony and delight. But what was my Master doing? He was introducing something into my arsehole that didn't fit, and he had to shove hard to get it in there.

'It's a medium butt-plug,' he explained, 'a new model with a flange, so that it stays in.'

Now it really did hurt, as the foreign body invaded my poor anus, and I felt sure that, despite the lube, he was tearing me, as he worked the alien rubber plug right up inside, filling me.

'It's going to feel really awkward at first,' he said, ' but it's the only way to train your arsehole for what I want from you, my dear.'

He made me practice walking up and down with the plug and the nipple clamps in place, and then told me to get dressed so that he could take me shopping and to lunch.

For the first time, I examined my wardrobes. They were well-equipped, to say the least of it, and I took a long time before I chose a dress to wear. I put on a Versace back dress cut deep to the waist at the front, so that the chain between my breasts would show as it crossed my cleavage. The dress was mid-thigh length, and I wore black stockings and a garter belt, and impossibly high stilettos. I was acutely aware of the butt-plug, as well as the nipple clamps, when we went out, and Don Vicente asked me if I still had the plug in place when we were in a taxi headed for Bloomingdales. When I told him that I had, he glanced around, and suddenly told the cab-driver to stop.

He did so, and we were next to a grey plastic public pay-toilet. My Master paid off the taxi, then led me into the toilet, and pushed me up onto the wash-hand-basin. Parting my legs roughly with his knees, he opened his trousers and I saw that he wasn't wearing boxers. His engorged and rigid shaft was in his hand. Without preliminaries, he rammed his full length into me, causing me to cry out sharply. He fucked me in six or seven vicious thrusts, driving my sore and ravaged back into the taps behind me, then he grunted and came in a huge spurt, filling my body with his hot sticky cum.

I did my best to clean myself up before leaving the hot plastic cubicle, giggling as I stepped out into the sun, but acutely uncomfortable nonetheless, with the intrusive plug an ever-present reminder in my arse, my nipples protesting with the agonising pain of the clamps, and now the feeling that cum was going to ooze down my legs at any moment. Add to that my teeteringly high heels, and I was learning the value of suffering in the interests of sexual satisfaction.

My Master took me into some exclusive shops on Fifth Avenue, where I raised eyebrows, and he bought me jewellery and perfume, then we had lunch in a good restaurant.

We then took a taxi to Chinatown, and, in a little specialist shop, he had me fitted for a corset. A tiny Chinese woman came and had me strip, while Don Vicente sat and looked on, then she took my vital statistics, and went away, leaving me standing there, acutely embarrassed by my butt-plug and nipple-clamps. After a few minutes, she was back, with a white, whale-boned garment, which she offered up to my waist and told me to hold in position at the front, while she laced it up at the back.

When she did so, her strength was amazing, and I thought I should pass out with the constriction of my waist. When I looked in the mirror, the corset pinched me in like an hourglass, thrusting my tits out on its platform, so that my clamped nipples pointed up at forty-five degrees, and also having the effect of making my buttocks, still showing the signs of my whipping, bulge outwards as if in invitation. I instinctively felt around to make sure the plug wasn't going to pop out with this new pressure.

The Chinese woman at last released me from this torture, and told me that this was only a trial garment – my own would be ready next week, and my Master issued more instructions and handed over money before we left. 

That evening, he had invited Sir Marcus, Zeta, Mariano and Mitzi to dinner, and had engaged the services of a firm to do the catering. Sir Marcus was bringing his slave, Mary, he said – I realised that was the tall black girl who had waited table at their apartment.

My first shock of the evening came when I asked my Master what I should wear.

'Nothing,' he said, 'just shoes and jewellery. I have agreed with Marcus and Mariano that slaves will be naked this evening. Keep your plug in, but you can remove your clamps if you wish.'

'Thank you Master,' I said.

When I removed the clamps, the pain was terrible as the blood rushed into my deprived nipples, and it was a while before they recovered sufficiently for me to rouge them nicely, along with my pussy-lips, which would be on display during the evening.

I chose a pair of stiletto-heeled sandals which laced right up my calves, fastened a heavy silver chain about my waist, and completed my ensemble with silver pendant ear-rings and bangles.

Mariano arrived with my friend Mitzi, swathed in a fur coat, which I took from her at the door. She was, like me, naked, but as she preceded me into the lounge, I saw a glint of something between her legs. When she turned to me, and I asked her what it was, she showed me – she had had her labia pierced, and it must have been done some time, because from the ring which went through her lip, a little chain of three more links had been hung. It swung nicely as she walked. She smiled at my fascination, and fingered the faint stripes on my buttocks. 'Mmmm,' was all she said.

As Mariano greeted me, the doorbell rang again. It was, of course, Sir Marcus, accompanied by his blonde wife and their gorgeous black slave, wearing a white fur coat, which she shrugged off and gave to me. I had to stretch to kiss her, but her embrace was fragrant, her breasts firm against me. But I carried the image in my mind of her pink cunt, being penetrated by the huge dildo as she made love with her mistress on film. She wore no jewellery except a gold anklet.

Her mistress, the blonde Zeta, was dressed in a long black translucent gown, completely backless, which revealed more than it concealed. She was naked underneath it, and every detail of her arcane piercings could be seen without difficulty.

Dinner was served by two nervous young women from the catering company, who found it difficult to take their eyes off the naked diners, but didn't really dare look at them either. 

When they had been paid off, and we all went through into the lounge, Zeta confronted my Master.

'Vicente, darling,' she said, 'you are such a sweetie. I really don't think you've punished your new slut properly. Where are her stripes?' 

I listened, horrified, then she came and pulled me up from my seat, and spun me around. 

'Look,' she went on, 'hardly a mark on her! I think we should see her properly whipped. But I see you've plugged her. That's something. Are you going to loan her to Marcus?'

'I thought I'd keep her for myself,' said Don Vicente.

'Don't be silly, darling,' she said, 'you'd tear her in half. If you want an arsehole, why not have the other slut? She's got one like the Greenwich Tunnel. Now, let's see to this slave of yours.'

I was trembling when Zeta got to her feet, and went over to Don Vicente. He seemed to be under her spell, at least to some degree, and meekly rose and went over to the wall, where he pressed a button. A whirring noise sounded, and I looked up to see a metal ring, on the end of a sturdy chain, descend from the ceiling to something above head height. Then my Master came over to me, took a pair of silver handcuffs from his pocket – he had been prepared for this all along! – and led me into place under the ring.

The ring turned out to be, in fact, a snap-link, and he quickly clipped the chain of my cuffs into the link.

'What shall it be?' he asked Zeta.

For an answer, she went to his sideboard, where she obviously knew he kept his instruments, and took out a leather bull-whip. I thought she would hand it to my Master, but she had decided to mete out the punishment herself, and, without warning, she lashed me viciously across the lower back, the end of the thong snaking around so the tip stung right around to the side of my stomach. I cried out in agony, but to no avail, and she took aim again and gave me a savage, stinging stroke across my tender buttocks, which had me writhing against my bonds and moaning in pain. She told me not to cry out, but made this near-impossible by lashing me unexpectedly across the tits, and I sobbed, tears coming unbidden, when she changed tack and concentrated on my sensitive thighs, even striking my freshly-shaven mound with the very tip of the lash. My agony was mingled with the most intense and indescribable passion, and when she asked me if I could take another stroke, I heard someone – it must have been me – saying, 'yes, yes, please, I'm cumming, hurt me, hurt me more.'

When she had finished, and I had had my second orgasm, she unclipped me, pulled the butt-plug from my arsehole, and carried me bodily to a couch.

She lay me down on my belly, slipping a cushion under me, and called Sir Marcus over.

He already had his pants undone, eager, having watched my whipping. Tentatively at first, he tried my arsehole with his finger. It was still tight, despite the day's discomfort with the plug, and he called for Mary to pass him some lube. I felt a great deal of anticipation, in spite of being in pain from the wounds Zeta had inflicted on me. One orgasm just isn't enough, and neither are two, for me. I somehow knew that it was in this way that my pleasure was going to be maximised, and couldn't wait to be fucked in the arsehole.

At last I felt his crown pushing, pushing its inexorable way, much much broader than any plug, as he eased his way up my tube, in, in, past my tender region, past my sphincter, then, Oh, oh, he was right in. Right in my arsehole! I held him there, loving the feel of having a real cock in my anus, as he started to drive up and down my velvet sheath, and I moaned and felt juices come welling up in my cunt again. I came, again, and my wounded back, sore tits, lashed thighs, all were forgotten as he drove in and out, in and out.

'Oh, oh, fuck my arse, you lovely, lovely man,' I yelled, and he growled, stiffened, and came, shooting a hot load of creamy spunk right up into my bowels.

He pulled out and we lay together, watching the scene around us, he hardening again, despite his fifty-something years, as my Master was pounding Mitzi's cavernous arsehole over the coffee table, while Mariano was being straddled by Mary on another sofa, whilst her mistress, Zeta, was sat on his face.

I had come quite a way from my mountain village.