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| "Janine and Dan Savage sitting in a tree, K. I. S. S. ... er no, maybe not..." |
Well, given the fabby fabby podcast release of The Ingénue this week gone, what else shall I excerpt for Blue Monday but this ... and if you like it you can listen to the whole story, read by the délicieuse Rose Caraway, for free here
“Take a look.” When she did not obey, he added, “Are you afraid? How can you be afraid of me, Zephine?”
How could she be? Her pride prickled. He was bound, spread-eagled - helpless. He could not be more vulnerable, nor less of a threat to her. Why then, was she feeling like this?
Clumsily, she pulled aside the flaps of silk. They clung to him a little, as if his skin was damp, and she felt against her hand the impatient nudge of what lay beneath. Then the cloth was gone, and she could see.
He was nothing like a statue from the Louvre. He was flushed dark, hairy - and erect. His phallus stood out at an impossible angle, to what seemed like a monstrous size. It looked like a weapon.
“Now touch it.” They was no mistaking the authority in his voice. And Zephine had run dry of protest or questions--of any words at all. She looked once into his eyes and then obeyed, running her fingers down its shaft. It kicked against her as if in irritation and she jumped.
“Take it in your hand. How does it feel?”
Her fingers barely circled its girth. “Hot,” she whispered. “Hard.” There was a peculiar satisfaction to its bulk and strength too, though she couldn’t put that into words.
“Do you like it?” His voice was a murmur now. “It likes you, Zephine - very much.”
She didn’t know if she liked it. She just knew that this made her feel as if nothing else in her life had ever mattered, in comparison. “My aunt will be so angry,” she said, with wonder. To her surprise a surge ran through the flesh in her grasp and it grew even harder.
“Yes.” His eyes were darker now, the pupils dilated. “She will beat me.”
Zephine’s own eyes, which had been strangely heavy, shot open. “Surely not!”
“She will. With a riding crop, or a garden cane, or a leather strap.”
“She can’t do that to you!” Doubt crept in then: “Can she?”
“She’s done it before, Zephine. She left me covered in broken welts, all across my chest and my thighs and my derrière.”
“What for?” In her shock, Zephine could not help thinking of the flagellation of Christ. In the church at her school the Stations of the Cross were depicted with wax models of startling realism. One in particular--the whipped and bloody body of Christ, kneeling in his agony--always drew her, horrified and fascinated and full of pity. She feared it, but she’d spent hours gazing at it. She wondered if Piotr would resemble that, if he were to be horse-whipped.
“For her pleasure.”
She swallowed. “I will let you go.” Yet her hand did not desert its post gripping his thick meat. He shook his head, just a twitch.
“I don’t want you to, Zephine.”
“But it will hurt!”
“Very much so.”
“Aren’t you frightened?”
“I’m sick with fear.” His lip crooked in a thin smile. “You’re my only comfort, ma chérie. Move your hand, Zephine; move it up and down my cock.”
“I...I don’t think I should.”
“But you must. And if you do, I will tell you what else happens at these parties your aunt throws.”
Zephine bit her lip, but her resistance was only momentary. She wanted to know; indeed she felt she had to, now. Her hand began to slide up his shaft, stroking the hot flesh.
“Good girl. A little firmer. Oh...yes, that’s right. ” He cleared his throat and blinked, his eyes starting to lose focus. “Tonight...Oh, there’ll be so many people here tonight, Zephine, after you are tucked safe in your virgin bed. People from the highest and most respectable echelons of society; and from the lowest, though the poor must be very beautiful to be invited inside these walls--or prodigiously talented. In the twilight the torches will be lit, musicians will play, and all the food and drink you might ever want will be laid out upon the tables. Our salvers will be the bare bodies of young women and men, their nipples garnished with cream and gold leaf, their open thighs displaying the most delectable of banquets. A bath will be filled with champagne, and in it will lie a young beauty, offering her cup for anyone to drink from. From under the trees, in the dark, will come soft cries of pleasure and sharper gasps of pain.
“But do not worry Zephine: on a night such as this the pain is only part of the pleasure. The world is turned upside down in this place and the ancient iron-clad laws of civilisation are dissolved. Men are used as women; women rule as men. The rich bow before the poor, and the great beg indulgences of the lowly. Tonight, were you to mingle with the guests, you might see a bishop on his hands and knees, a bridle about his head and a bit in his mouth, being ridden by a fair whore clad only in spurs, while another jade plunges a huge horsetail plug between his willing cheeks. You might see a general of the army spread-eagled upon the lawn, and a queue of matrons taking it in turn to straddle him and lift their skirts so that they might relieve themselves upon his face. You might, if you were inclined, seek me out here among the roses.”
Beneath her hot, tightly corseted dress Zephine was melting, her body dissolving into trembling boneless weakness, her long drawers clinging to her moist skin and growing sodden with the flow of her sex. She felt almost as if she would faint, and it was all she could do to cling to the great solid stake in her hand. “And what ...what will they be doing to you?” she asked.
“They will do anything they like."
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Best Bondage Erotica 2011 at Amazon US : Amazon UK
1 comment:
Mmm, Anne-Ricetastic. Such a lovely vision.
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