Date: Tue, 10 Jan 2012 16:21:37 -0500 (EST)
From: Adoration
Subject: Pleasure in the Pillory

Pleasure in the Pillory (F/F, D/s, BD, Interracial, WaterSports)
by adoration
============================================================================

Pleasure  in the Pillory Chapter 01
============================================================================

It  was an advertisement which changed my life. It sent me on an upwards
spiral
of pain and pleasure from which I never wish to descend.

Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Penelope Paulizter, and my parents
 had
a thing about all literation. Of course, if I had been the marrying kind
that
could have been ruined unless I had I married someone named Parker, or
Patterson, or Pathanaiakos ... or Paulitzer. But since men don't interest me --

well, not in that way -- I'm stuck with Penelope Paulitzer.

The advertisement intrigued me. It was in a literary magazine and read, in
a
strict, no-nonsense way, as follows:

WRITER of historical romances (female) seeks researcher (female,
preferably) for
her next trilogy. The successful applicant will live in at  the writer's
home.
Apply in writing to ....

And there was a box number. I say I was intrigued. It wasn't the baldness
of the
words, it was those two words in parentheses -- or, rather, the same  word
twice --
which caused me to consider applying. As I've told you, I'm not  interested
in
men, but I am interested in women.

I dashed off an application, adding my degree in history from a university
some
way removed from the dizzy heights of Oxford and Cambridge -- but an MA  is
still
an MA -- and told the advertiser a bit about myself. I even attached  a
picture.

I'm 34-years-old, I have dark brunette hair which falls to just above my
shoulders, I have large breasts, with big nipples to match. I have a strong
 pair
of buttocks, lovely thighs and good legs. I am, as they say, in
proportion. I'm
also shaved down there, except for my mons, which has a  little square
splotch of
hair on it. As one of my former girlfriends used to  say "Shave by all
means,
Pen, but leave a little landing strip!"

About a week passed and to be honest I thought I'd obviously not even been
short
listed by the writer (female), but then my mobile went. I was in bed,
lying in --
I was between jobs, or resting as actors say -- and stroking  myself.

The voice was deep, rich and sounded like honey. "Hello, Ms Paulitzer," it
said,
"my name is Charisma Cundy and I'm calling on behalf of Patricia ..."  And
then
she named this famous, I mean famous, writer.

"Patricia is very enthusiastic about your application and would like to
meet you
for lunch to discuss it. She notes you live in London and since  she's
based just
outside Dover, she thought a quick trip up to town and  lunch at The Savoy.
Would
that suit?"

Suit? I've never been in The Savoy, let alone lunched there, so I said it
would
be fine and took down the details.

A couple of days later, a Friday, and lunch loomed. I chose a smart, grey
suit,
the jacket was cut deep and I wore a shiny black lace slip over my  bra. My
cleavage was, I thought, mouth-wateringly, gobsmackingly sexy. The  skirt
was
short, not short enough to look tarty, but it displayed quite a  bit of
thigh. As
I've told you, I'm proud of my thighs.

I entered the hotel and walked to the restaurant which overlooks the
Thames. It
was hardly half-full. I gave the man behind the desk my name and  said I
was
expecting to meet Patricia -- I gave her full name - and the  dark-haired
maitre d'
looked impressed.

"As yes, signora," he said with traces of an Italian accent, "she's already

here. Follow me."

He took me to a table looking out onto the river and I looked at an
extremely
attractive, blue-eyed, brunette. She smiled and her brown hair  shook
deliciously. She was wearing a smart suit, not unlike mine, and her  bosom
looked
majestic!

She smiled warmly: "Hi, Penelope, I'm Patricia. Can I get you a  drink?"

I ordered a gin and tonic, she passed the order on to the Italian gentleman
 and
we both sat down. We made small talk as we awaited my g & t, then,  when it
was
placed on the table, Patricia picked up her Bloody Mary and  clinked
glasses with
mine: "Here's to what I hope will be a mutually  satisfying collaboration."

It turned out that Patricia's new trilogy would be set during the
tempestuous
times of Napoleon, and Nelson -- or one of his officers -- would  play a
part. I
told her I was particularly interested in this period of  history.

She smiled and leaned forward, allowing me a fine glimpse of her upper
breast
curves. I liked what I saw.

"Now since the navy plays a part in these three books, I trust you have
some
knowledge of the history of the British navy," she smiled. "You know  what
Winston Churchill said, that the navy's tradition was based purely on  rum,
sodomy and the lash."

I sipped on my gin and returned her smile. "Actually," I said, "it's a
fallacy
that Churchill said that. I know the remark is widely attributed to  him,
but he
never said it. Although, on one occasion, he did say he wished  he'd said
it."

Patricia looked at me coolly. "I'm impressed," she said, after a moment,
removing any doubts I had that I might have "blown it". "Very impressed.
Want
the job?"

"Of course," I said, "it will be an honor to work for such a pre-eminent
writer. It said in your advertisement that the position would be a live-in
one?"

"Precisely," said the new employer. "I live in a large, old-fashioned
mansion
near Womenswold. Everything will be found, food, drink -- in social
quantities
only, of course ... and I think you'll find it very comfortable.  When can
you
start?"

The honest answer was "Tomorrow", but I thought it more diplomatic to say:
"Would Monday all right?"

Patricia handed me an envelope containing what felt like a wad of money.
"That'll get you a ticket down to Dover. I'll pick you up. There's a phone
number for the mansion and my mobile number's there as well. Come on down
on
Sunday, get settled in and we can start work on Monday."

The rest of the lunch was spent enjoying some fine food, a split of
champagne
and a wonderful bottle of Bordeaux. The next day, Saturday, I went  to the
library to kill time and to find out what I could about  Patricia.

I read her titles, took notes on when and where most of them were based,
read a
biography that said she was born in Windsor -- was that why she  interested
in
historical romances? ... was unmarried and was 48-years-old. She  was also
said by
the Sun newspaper to be "one of England's hottest single  totties". How
crude.

Things looked interesting. Just how interesting they became were, of
course,
beyond my wildest dreams.

So on Sunday I took the train to Dover and on arrival struggled with my
suitcase
and briefcase to the gate. There, waiting for me, was Patricia  looking --
well,
pardon the pun, but Patrician. She was in a gleaming pair of  red leather
jeans,
with a shocking white blouse, which was so tight it  caressed her superb
bosom.
On her feet were what looked like white cowboy  boots.

She leaned over and kissed me, softly on the cheek and murmured "Welcome,
my
lovely researcher" in a voice which was so suggestive I felt a tingle run
down
my spine, wet as it was with sweat after my long walk from the rear of  the
platform to the gates, lugging my suitcase.

Patricia took it from me and we walked to the carpark outside where, parked
 in a
regal space right in front of the station entrance in an area clearly
marked "No
Parking" was a gleaming Bentley Arnage.

"This is my runabout," Patricia laughed, handing my case to a tall,
stunningly
dressed black woman. After the ebony beauty stowed it in the  boot, she
turned
and smiled at me. Patricia introduced us: "Penelope, this  is my
maid-cum-chauffeur-cum-general factotum, Charisma."

The black beauty smiled at me, displaying dazzling white teeth, flashing
brown
eyes and a leather, one-piece suit-clad body which would have turned  heads
at
any supermodel convention.

"Welcome to dreary old Dover," she smiled, gripping my hand in a vice-like
hold.
"Right, madam, shall we make tracks?" As we climbed into the luxury
interior,
Patricia whispered to me: "She's 26, so far too young for you, my  dear."

The mansion was set in its own private grounds -- several acres -- and I was
 taken
upstairs to my bedroom to unpack and settle in. Then Patricia took me  on a
guided tour of many large rooms, then showed me our office.

It was a large room, she had a rather cluttered work station. My desk was
set
apart from hers by about 10 feet. There were book shelves with an array  of
items
-- all her own novels, of course, plus scores of reference books. It  all
looked
extremely well-appointed.

Monday arrived and with it a sheaf of notes from Patricia. "I'm
particularly
interested in certain aspects of floggings conducted as  disciplinary
measures in
the navy of the day," she told me.

The next day I had printed out page upon page of reports of judicial
floggings
ordered by officers in Nelson's fleet. "This one I think you will  find
particularly interesting," I said.

It was a report of a young sailor -- a lad in his late teens -- who was
stripped
naked and given 50 strokes of the cat. It was a "minor" offence.  The
indignities
he was left to suffer after his flogging were pornographic  in the extreme.

"Hmm, yes, I see what you mean," said Patricia, as she began flicking
through my
print-out. "Do you think it's authentic?"

I smiled. "Without a doubt it's a piece of the writer's own perverted
mind," I
told my boss. "For a start, it was rare, not to say unique, for a  person
to be
flogged naked. And while sodomy played a large part in life  below decks,
it was
certainly not practiced on the deck while a miscreant  was still strapped
to the
flogging iron."

Patricia's eyes were flashing across the pages. "Yes, but very, very
interesting," she said. "I'll try to incorporate some of this in my
upcoming
chapter. It's, er, well, it's stimulating, my dear."

I was pleased I had pleased her. The next day, she passed me a note asking
for
examples of punishments inflicted on people in the early 1800s in the
pillory.
Again, I found some extremely, how shall I put it? -- stimulating --
commentaries.

I printed several of them out and they were lying on her desk the next
morning.
"Some pretty awful things happened to people in pillories," I said.
"Although,
again, I have my doubts about the authenticity of some. In  particular, the
19-year-old girl whose plight I have placed on the top of  the pile."

Patricia looked at it immediately, soaking up every detail. Then she looked
 at
me: "Why do you have doubts, my darling researcher?"

I smiled. "It's obviously written for the arousal of both the writer and
the
reader," I said. "I'd guess it was written by a man, or by a woman with  a
penchant for wielding the lash. But, nonetheless, much of it is based
firmly on
historical evidence."

I noticed that as Patricia read the report of the poor girl's torments
while in
the pillory, she seemed to be grinding her inner thighs against  each. One
reader, I realised, was obviously getting aroused by the  report!

The second week in my new employment began with Patricia saying she was
popping
into the village with Charisma for some "items". "Just answer the  phone
and take
it easy," she said.

I did just that. Not that she got many phone calls. Only one, in fact, from
 her
agent, to say the BBC wanted to do an interview with her on discipline  in
the
forces in the Duke of Wellington's time, they'd heard she was an  expert.
And
that was it.

It was then that I decided to do some snooping. After all, a trusted
researcher
needs to know a lot about her boss so as to be fully efficient,  correct? I
sat
myself down at her PC and noticed it was still switched on. I  went to her
control panel.

It was crammed with lots of boring things. Expenses. Tax returns. Speaking
engagements. Then I came across something called "Pat's Private Places".
Well,
anything labeled "private places" is like a green light to me. I  flicked
into
it -- and what a treasure trove!

The file was a cornucopia of pornography -- but very specialized
pornography! It
must have contained about 80 or 90 jpegs and all of them  depicted the same
scene, but with variations. In every picture a naked woman  was shown in a
pillory, a large wooden thing. It wasn't always the same  woman, there must
have
been six different ones. Some were blondes, some were  brunette, four were
white,
two were black.

The other common denominator was that seated on a large leather pouffe in
front
of the pilloried prisoner, was my new employer -- but Patricia as I  never
seen
her, only as I had often wanted to see her.

In these pictures she was always naked, well, at least, naked from the
waist up.
Her breasts were stunning! Big, heavy things, but full, firm and  eminently
suckable. And in all the pictures the women were shown sucking, or  about
to
suck, at her breasts.

I then noticed that all the women also displayed stripe-marked buttocks,
obviously the result of prior flagellation. I was just about to place my
hand
beneath the hem of my dress prior to stroking my snatch than I felt  hands
on my
shoulders!

"Well my pet," I heard Patricia's voice above and behind me, "I see you've
found
one of my little treasure troves." Her hands, as she spoke, were  moving
down to
the upper crests of my heaving breasts.

Then she spoke again. "And tell me, my pretty little snooper, do these
pictures
interest you?" Her hands were now on my central breasts, still  outside my
blouse, but I was certain she could feel the erections of my  nipples
through my
sheer black bra and satin blouse.

"Yes, madam," I said, in a whisper. My mind was still reeling. She must
have
tip-toed up behind me while I was engrossed in her porno  collection.

"Let's look at one in more detail, shall we?" she said, in a quiet, not
annoyed
voice. "Try the one in the third row down, on the extreme  right."

I pulled it onto the screen. A pretty blonde woman -- well, almost a girl,
she
could have been no older than 20 -- had her mouth open. She was just  about
to
suckle Patricia's right breast, the one nearest the camera. My  employer's
nipple
was engorged, her breast gleamed as if it was covered in  sweat.

"What a lovely picture of poor Amanda's punishment," I heard the voice
above me.
Her hands were now cupping my breasts, her thumbs and forefingers  kneading
my
nipples. I was getting wet, oh so wet!

"That's a nice picture of my breast, don't you think, my dear little
Penelope?"
she asked.

"It's lovely," I said, in a heaving voice. "It's glistening as if you've
been in
a shower."

Patricia gave a chuckle, low and sensuous. "A shower? Yes, a shower -- I
like
that. But it's not."

Then, as she continued her massage of my mammaries, she ordered me: "Try
the
next picture."

I obeyed. This showed Patricia dipping her left breast into a large metal
basin,
which was set in a hooped metal ring some foot or so beneath the  girl's
face.

"Now that could be champagne," she said. "Only it's not."

I maintained silence. Patricia was still kneading my nipples. I was getting

wetter.

"It could be beer -- oh, no, it couldn't. Beer is so mundane," she  said.

Then, as she continued to arouse my thickened nipples, she said: "It
couldn't be
milk, could it Penelope? Wrong color."

I nodded. "No, madam, wrong color."

"Well, my little research pet," she said, "what do you think it is?"

I gulped. "Er, water, madam?"

Patricia chuckled. "Yes, of course it's water," she said, in a
semi-condescending tone, "but a very special kind of water."

I felt a response was expected from me. In a voice that verged on breaking,
 I
said in a hush: "Is it your water, madam?"

"Of course it is," she snapped. "Now switch that infernal machine off, we
won't
need it again today."

I leaned forward, my breasts still prisoners of Patricia's clutches, and
the
images disappeared. Then I heard her again: "Do you trust me, my pet?"  Her
face
was brushing against mine.

My heart was thumping away. "Yes, madam, of course I do," I said in an
almost
hissing voice.

"You know I won't harm you, don't you?" she said, her mouth brushing my
ear, her
tongue flicking across my cheek.

"I know, madam," I said, in a voice so low I could hardly hear it  myself.

"Well come with me, child," she said, her hands at last releasing my
heaving
bosom, "I need to get to know you better before I take you to my  little
pillory
parlor."

And with that the lovely woman took me by the hand and pulled me from her
desk.
We walked out of the office, across its thick carpet, whose depth of  pile
had
obviously muffled her earlier approach.

Standing outside the office was Charisma, wearing another of her
mouth-watering
one-piece leather outfits. She looked excited,  animated.

"Charisma, my dear," Patricia spoke, "I'll be needing you down in the
pillory
parlor in about an hour. Get into something more suitable. No, make  that
an
hour and a half, Penelope and I are going to be occupied for a  while."



The black beauty grinned and said "I'll be down there waiting for you,
madam"
and turned on her heel, displaying gleaming leather spread tautly  across
her
glorious backside. Patricia took me by the hand again and we went  upstairs
to
her sumptuous bedroom, my heart thumping all the way, my pussy  soaking my
panty
gusset with every step I took.

Inside, Patricia took me to the large area in front of her massive  four-po
ster
bed and turned me to face her. Then she lifted one hand beneath  my chin
and
kissed me softly on the mouth. She tasted of honey and heather --  she
tasted
divine.

"Do you trust me, my pet?" she asked, looking deep into my eyes.

"Yes," I whispered, and then she began to disrobe me.

She started with the cuffs of my blouse. After each cuff, she kissed me.
Then
she unbuttoned the blouse and pulled it from my skirt. Then she kissed  me.
Then
she threw the blouse to the floor and reached behind me to unzip my  skirt.
It
fell to the floor and I kicked it away, instinctively. Again she  kissed me.

I was now standing before her in my bra -- a black satin thing -- and
matching,
full, black satin panties, no stockings. She reached behind me and
unhooked the
bra with one deft movement and pulled it from my breasts. I  glanced down.
My
nipples were engorged. She kissed me once more.

Then, still staring deeply into my eyes, she hooked her thumbs into the
upper
sides of my panties and pulled them to my knees, allowing cool air to  waft
onto
my pulsating, sex-juice pouring pussy. I placed my feet close  together and
the
sodden garment fell to the floor. I kicked it away. Another  kiss.

Again came the question. "Do you trust me?"

"Of course," my voice said, but my brain really screaming "Make love to me,

now," but reining itself in.

Then Patricia walked away, to a large dressing table. She delved into a
drawer
and returned to me holding two leather loops, which she threw on the  bed.
"Lay
down," she whispered, and I placed my naked body -- I'd kicked my  high
heels off
-- in the centre, my hands flat by my sides.

My boss then took one leather loop and placed it around my upper thigh, and

snapped it tight against my flesh with a Velcro strap. It was then that I
noticed another leather loop was attached to the larger loop. She placed my

wrist in it, then snapped that strap shut, too. My hand and arm were now
shackled, as it were, to my side.

Patricia repeated this exercise with my other thigh and arm, until I lay
bound
on the bed. Then she stood off to the side and stripped. This time the
disrobing
occupied far less time, as if she was in a hurry to consummate our
relationship.


The expensive cream-colored blouse revealed a shiny, black satin slip.  The
miniskirt revealed shiny black stockings and high heels. Then she slowed
down.

The slip came off and I saw a black satin bra, black satin garter belt and
black
satin panties. Black satin! The words arouse me, the look arouses me.
Patricia
aroused me!

Then my lover-to-be took her slip and with one hand behind it, she pressed
its
smooth material against my weeping pussy. Then she traced it up over my
mons,
over my abdomen, fleetingly into my navel, then up between my breasts  and
finally laid it to rest on my mouth and nose. The aroma of my minge  wafted
over
me.

Then she tossed the garment aside, her hands swooped behind her back and
the bra
was off, those majestic 40-inch breasts falling into their natural  uplift.
Patricia leaned over and pushed one shining cup against my sex  trench.
Another
teasing path up my body followed, and then the cup was  against my nostrils.

I inhaled my sexual perfume, then the bra went the way of the slip. Now she

stepped out of her panties. Oh my god, her pussy was adorned at the mons by
 a
sleek little pad of pubic hair, her sex was shaven -- the labia lips lush
and
full, begging for oral adoration. But before that I had to have her
panties, of
course.

This time, Patricia simply traced the gusset of the garment over my mons,
then
my belly, then my breasts, traversing each globe, then the wonderful  scent
of
her snatch invaded my senses. The panties were sopping wet, a fact  that
made me
so proud -- I was arousing her! Had they been dry, I would have  been
mortified.

The visit of her glorious, most intimate, garment was fleeting. It was soon

tossed aside, I heard her shoes hit the floor, then the wonderful woman
climbed
onto the bed and knelt over my face.

"So much for my residual perfume, my divine little Penny," she said,
addressing
me in the diminutive for the very first time, "now for the real  thing!"

And her snatch was lowered to my expectant, panting, hungry mouth.

The taste was sensational. The musky mélange of sex juice and urine mingled
 to
provide me with a head-spinning aroma. My tongue wedged in between her
labia
lips, sucking on her rampant juices for all it was worth. Then I went  for
her
vagina, moist as her labia, dripping with love lotion. Then her  clitoris --
thick
and swollen.

"Yes, baby, yes," she moaned, as she face-fucked me, "do it to me, oh yes,
you've done this before, haven't you, you slut?"

But it wasn't a question, really. It was a statement and a statement I had
no
hope of commenting on as her minge mashed down on my mouth while I worked
to
bring her to completion.

The pent-up sexual tension between us was having its release now and there
was
no way she could hold out for long. I licked and laved at her throbbing
sex and
soon she was bucking and plunging on my mouth, her breasts swaying  and
jumping
from her erotic exertions.

"Oh yes, oh yes, my sweet little pillory slave, suck me, lick me -- flat
tongue
there, on my clit, my clit," she panted as her climax smacked her  around.

And as I sucked her to a shuddering orgasm, one of the world's most erudite
 and
brilliant historical writers was reduced to a one-word automaton as she
bounced
up and down on me: "Clit, clit, clit, clit." And then she was  done.

Patricia fell off me, groaning with pleasure. I, too, was panting from my
tongue-flicking task, but soon we both regained our normal breathing
patterns
and she smiled sweetly at me.

"You realize, my darling Penelope," she said, "that I have to put you in my

pillory for your naughty behavior?"

I nodded. "Of course, mistress," I said, eschewing the term "madam" for one

which I now deemed to be far more accurate.

She kissed me softly on my pussy-smeared nose and added: "But before we go
down
and join Charisma, there's the small -- or, hopefully large matter of  your
orgasm. I presume you will have no objection to me providing you with  one?"

I tried to place my mouth on hers, but she pulled back. "Lie down, darling,
 let
Patricia do the work now," and with that she slithered down my
sweat-stained
body, kissing me on each lust-filled nipple on her journey,  before she was
lying
between my thighs, her faces inches from my sopping  snatch.

I spread my thighs wide, then placed my heels up on her beautiful bouncy
buttocks. Her hands came underneath mine and cupped them. Then her mouth
was  on
me, working its wicked ways.

I sighed as her mouth made its initial caress, a probing, long licking of
my
anus, a target that I had neglected to worship during my time between her
lovely
thighs. Was this an oblique criticism, an example of "This is what I  like"
from
my new mistress?

I reveled in her licking at my rear passage, and then she was off on a
journey
around my sopping snatch, my cunt -- sorry, but that's the perfect  word for
it in
this context -- my labia lips and finally my clitoris.

I had dreamed of this for so long, since our first meeting at The Savoy
when I
had unashamedly stared at her breasts, that the excitement of the  occasion
totally overpowered me. I felt myself writhing beneath her oral
ministrations,
then I was sobbing -- no, hissing: "Yessss, yessss,  yessss."

Then, with a feeling of total relief, I came on her mouth, crying out
wildly "I
love you, I love you" over and over as my orgasm washed over me  like a
pounding
surf smashing onto the sand. Then it was over, and she  pulled herself from
me as
I panted and spluttered before sighing as the surf  faded away and I came
back
down to earth.

Patricia lay alongside me, smiling at me as I recovered from my climax.
Then she
kissed me full on the mouth, and I could taste my own pussy juice  on her
lips as
we clung together.

"Right, you wicked little witch," she said, breaking off the oral contact,
"now
for your punishment. Ready?"

I nodded eagerly. Although my stomach was in a churning, excited turmoil,
something told me to trust this lovely 48-year-old woman. "Yes, mistress,
because I trust you," I told her. And she kissed me again before swinging
her
legs off the bed and pulling me to the edge. She then placed my high  heels
on my
feet, put her own back on and, with my wrists still tethered by  the straps
at my
upper thighs, we made our way downstairs.

She led me to the back of the house, down a staircase I'd never seen
before,
into a corridor lit by harsh strip lighting. At the end stood a  large oak
door.
On it hung a door knocker -- shaped like a pillory!

Beneath the knocker was a little white tablet with black lettering. The
words
read:

"Come into my parlor,

Said the mistress to the slave,

And I will whip you soundly,

If you dare to misbehave."

Patricia smiled at me, in what I think was meant to be a smile of
reassurance.
"Sorry about that rather dreadful doggerel, my little mischief,  but I can
promise you my novels read slightly better," she joked.

A rap on the door by Patricia was answered by the dusky 26-year-old,
Charisma,
wearing an outfit that simply took my breath away.

Her gorgeous 36-inch breasts were thrown up into magnificent uplift by a
black
leather, quarter-cup bra, her nipples standing out erect and large,
surrounded
by big black splotches of areola.

Like her employer she wore a suspender belt, only hers was made of black
leather
to match her push-up bra. Black silk stockings covered her lovely  legs and
she
wore gleaming black high heels. Her pussy was bare, her genital  region
totally
shaved, but with a glimpse of black streaks at her mons where  her pubic
hair had
been. Her labia lips were shockingly pink in contrast to  her dark,
chocolate
brown flesh toning.

Charisma grinned hugely at me and smiled: "Welcome to madam's parlor of
pain,
Penelope, do come in."

Patricia pushed me inside and now, for the first time -- apart from the
picture
file on my mistress's computer -- I saw the pillory. It looked  daunting,
overwhelming. It scared me, but at the same time excited me.

"Charisma, get our guest comfy in the pillory while I get her drink
organized,"
said my mistress, shutting the door behind her and walking over  to a large
refrigerator standing in one corner of the well-lit room. I say  well lit,
but in
fact the only lighting was a quartet of professional lights  such as those
used
by studio photographers. They illuminated the scene of  what was to be my
punishment and my humiliation.

Charisma took me by the hand and walked me over to the pillory. She lifted
the
cross beam of the thing until it stood up vertically from the horizontal
half
beam below it.

"Over here, my dear," said the black beauty and I stepped up to the cross
beams
and the sturdy wooden central post of the implement.

The side where the miscreant stood was a wooden board, about four feet
square.
My heels made a clip-clop noise as I stood on it. I then leaned  forward
and
placed my wrists and my neck in the lower halves of the holes.  These were
padded
with thick rubber, to cushion the throat and wrists.

Then Charisma lowered the pillory's upper beam and bolted it shut. The
effect
was to totally imprison me, but Charisma had another item of bondage  to
complete
my helplessness. She attached a gleaming metal spreader bar to  my ankles,
forcing them about a yard apart. This served to make me feel  extremely
vulnerable, of course.

My stance now had my body almost horizontal to the floor, but slightly
above a
straight line.

When Charisma had completed her task, my mistress returned to my position
and
placed a large metal bowl in the metal hoop below my face and sat  herself
down
on the pouffe. It was of such a height that her breasts were  directly in
line
with my mouth. They were lovely, the nipples hard.

Speaking of nipples, Charisma then asked: "Shall I nipple clamp her,
madam?"

Patricia said "no". "I want her to concentrate on the taste of my perfume
and
the feel of your flogger, my dear," said the author. "Nipple clamps can
come
later."

I breathed a sigh of relief, which was dashed from me when Charisma walked
around in front of the pillory. She was holding a single-stranded leather
lash,
which looked menacing.

"This is Charisma's lovely lash," announced my boss. "She will use it to
sting
you, but not break your flesh. It is a perfect implement of  punishment,
and she
wields it like the professional whip mistress that she  is."

By now Charisma was standing close to my pilloried head and I could detect
a
strong aroma wafting from her shaved pussy.

"OK, Charisma," said Patricia. "Give her a taste of the flogger before I
give
her a taste of something else. Oh, Penny, by the way -- you will address
Charisma
down here, but only down here, as Mistress Charisma,  understood?"

"Yes, mistress," I replied. And then the lash struck me! I heard its
hissing
path of descent before I felt the stroke, but when the flogger cut  across
my
ample bum cheeks it delivered a stinging shock of almost  electrical fury.

"Thank-you, Mistress Charisma," I bellowed, taken aback by the strength of
the
blow.

Another hissing sound, another "Tisssssssh" as the flogger cut into me.
Four
more times Charisma struck me, alternating the blows criss-cross or
diagonally
across my buttocks as she prepared me for my next submissive  test.

"Lovely, Charisma," said Patricia, after the sixth blow had descended, "I
think
our pretty little slave will have got the message by now."

"May I lick her now, madam?" I heard Charisma ask from behind me.

Patricia smiled sweetly at me. "I think that would be lovely -- what do you
say,
Penny? Can Charisma lick you down there?"

I got the distinct impression that whatever my response was, Charisma was
going
to lick me "down there", but I dutifully replied: "Yes, please,  mistress."

Patricia nodded to her assistant. "It seems this randy little slut isn't
content
with merely being pleasured by my tongue, she also wants yours, my  dear.
Go
ahead."

And the next caress I felt from Charisma was her tongue poking into my
anus,
then a comment: "She has a delightfully musky arsehole, madam. Very  tasty."

Patricia laughed: "Trust you to start there, my dear. But yes, it is very
tasty
-- in fact, she's very tasty all over down there, full stop."

Charisma put her employer's statement to the test then, plunging her tongue
 into
my sopping wet pussy.

Then Patricia began her domination of me. "And speaking of 'tasty', let's
give
you a totally different taste treat now," she said. "Which nipple would
you like
me to dip in the urine first, my dear?"

I gulped. "Er, whichever one you wish to dip, mistress," I said, in what I
hoped
was suitable submissive-speak.

"Excellent, my dear, excellent," said Patricia, "you are playing your part
to
perfection."

And with that she dipped her engorged left nipple into the cool urine and
presented it to my mouth. I sucked it and for the first time tasted the
brackish, salty tang of her nectar. I had hardly sucked the pee from her
nubbin,
than she bent and lowered her right nipple, being careful to  submerge just
the
bud and the areola into the piss.

Again I tasted the cold but tangy piss as her other nipple was presented to
 me
for adoration. The taste was strong, but I knew I was going to have to
learn to
love it.

"Lovely," said my mistress, "now for a slightly fuller immersion." And with
 that
she dipped about half of her large left globe into the urine. I licked  and
sucked around her beautiful breast, trying to concentrate on the  wonderful
firmness of her flesh than the salty, stingy taste of her  piss.

Then the other breast was half-dipped into the liquid and I realised as I
sucked
and lapped at her breast that Charisma was bringing me close to a
shuddering
climax. I pushed and heaved backwards as far as was possible in  my
stringent
bondage, craving relief from the black woman's tongue as she  worked now on
my
clit.

As madam dipped almost all her left breast into the bowl, I let go a howl
as my
orgasm flooded through me. Patricia sat back, smiling sweetly at me as  my
pleasure erupted, her breast gleaming from its latest dip in the piss pot
beneath my mouth.

Then, when I had recovered from Charisma's oral attentions, Patricia leaned

forward and allowed me to lick her breast all over, finishing at the nipple
 as
my final place of worship.

"Madam," said Charisma, after my last breast-cleaning task, "may I use the
strap-on next?"

"Of course, my dear," said my boss, not even deigning to ask me! "And we'll
 go
with the nipple clamps for her next time, too, I think."

The next time? It was all over?

Patricia stood and smiled down at me, her pussy dripping wet from arousal,
framed by the sexy black suspender belt and stockings. "Now it's time for
walkies," she informed me, "can't be having you cast in that  position."

And Charisma removed the top of the pillory frame and allowed me to stand,
stiffly. Patricia moved in front of me and held out a hand. "Come for a
little
walk around my darling," she said, "and then we can get on with your
pillory
play. Down you come."

So I shuffled off the board and hand-in-hand with Patricia I moved around
the
room, easing the aches in my legs and back.

"Just let me know when you're ready for more, my darling," said my
employer, as
we walked ... well, she walked, I shuffled ... around the torture  chamber.

After a few minutes, I turned and looked into her lovely deep blue eyes.
"I'm
ready for the pillory again, mistress," I informed her.

Patricia regarded me with a lovely smile, a smile that looked like one of
intense gratitude. She stepped up to me, our breasts brushed and she ran
one
hand over my bare buttocks, one between my parted-thighs.

Then she kissed me softly on the mouth and told me: You know something,
Penelope, my dear?"

"What, mistress?" I asked.

"I think you're just a sucker for punishment."




Pleasure in the Pillory Chapter 02
============================================================================
====
My  delightful mistress had made a joke about me being a "sucker for
punishment".
To help underline her point and prove my devotion, I smiled softly and then

asked in a quiet voice: "May I have some more, please mistress?"

Patricia, one of the world's most famous historical romance writers, smiled

almost indulgently at me. "You sound just like Oliver Twist, child," she
said. I
know I was 34 and 14 years her junior, but "child"?

"And you know what happened to Oliver Twist when he asked for more?" she
said,
testing my knowledge of Charles Dickens.

"Yes, mistress," I said, slowly, "he got punished."

"And so will you be, my dearest little Penelope," she said, in a soothing
voice.
"Charisma, get her ready for the second part of her introduction to  our
pillory
punishment. And Charisma."

The ebony beauty looked at her mistress: "Yes, madam?"

"This time the nipple clamps, I think," said Patricia with a smile.

Ebony grinned a wicked grin, and walked to the side of the torture chamber,

returning to where I stood, thighs wide thanks to the spreader bar. The
black
assistant was holding a pair of clamps, linked with a chain, in the  centre
of
which hung a lead weight.

Charisma then bent and took my right nipple in her mouth, sucking it to a
blood-engorged erection. She then clamped the metal vice on my hardened
nubbin.
The pain shot through my breast like myriads of tiny, torturing  little
sparks.

Charisma, watched attentively by her mistress, then sucked my left nipple
before
attaching the other clamp. Similar shocking spurts of pain shot  through my
lush,
large globe.

As she stepped back, Charisma smiled at me, her hand cupping the lead
weight in
the centre of the chain. Then she let it go and more sparks flew  through
my
mammaries as the weight dangled, making the chains attached to  the clamps
go
tense.

I fought back tears, but Charisma laughed. "Really, Penny," she said, "it's
 only
a little weight, I'm being kind."

She then replaced me in the confines of the pillory and Patricia again
resumed
her seat in front of me.

"Now Charisma," the author told her assistant in pain, "each time after she
 has
sucked my breast clean give her a stroke with the broad paddle. It's  time
she
had a different pain sensation to that of the lash."

Charisma placed her lash on a stand holding dozens of implements of
punishment
and walked back behind me carrying a large leather paddle, about  six
inches
broad at its business end. I could almost feel its heat burn into  me
before the
first blow.

Then Patricia dipped her entire left breast into the urine and offered it
to me.
I worked slowly on the full firmness of her glorious globe, trying to
stave off
the time when I knew I would receive the force of Charisma's  paddling arm.

At last I could stave off the paddle no longer, and Patricia pulled back
while
Charisma did her worst. The pain from the paddle's blow flooded  through my
posterior, sending shooting pains up my body which, as I writhed  from the
blow,
met the pains shooting down from my clamped nipples. The path  of the two
trails
of agony seemed to meet in mid-stomach, about half way  between the pain in
my
buttocks and the pain in my breasts.

"Lovely," said Patricia, as she watched me wince and grimace from the dual
agonies coursing through me. Then she added to my discomfort but dipping
her
right breast into the amber nectar and offering it for my oral attention. I

sucked at the salty, tangy stuff, laving it from her lush big breast, then
tensed as Patricia pulled away from my mouth again.

"Thwack," went paddle went across my upturned twin buttock cheeks, once
more
jolting my arse about as I tried to wriggle to relieve the pain, only
serving
once more to increase the throbbing in my poor boobs.

Patricia looked calmly at me and smiled. "I think you've had enough of my
heavy
old udders," she laughed, in a none-too-convincing put down of her  lovely
large
breasts. She knew, and I knew that she knew, that they were  sensational
breasts
for a 48-year-old.

"So it's time we replaced my poor old mammaries with some much younger,
much
firmer," she said, rising from the stool. "Pass me that paddle,  Charisma,"
she
said to her assistant, "and give her a taste of those  36-inches of sex
appeal
you're so proudly displaying."

The beautiful black bitch walked around and sat in front of me, her breasts
 full
and firm, sprouting lushly up above the supporting platforms of her
quarter-cup
bra. Her nipples were hard and despite the fact I knew she was  going to
dip them
into a bowl of urine, I desperately wanted to suck on  them.

Charisma lowered her left breast into the liquid, then offered me her
breast.
The central half of her globe was gleaming -- she had not immersed it
totally in
the urine. The breast was placed to my mouth and I sucked eagerly  on her
nipple,
areola and firm breast. The tang was still unpleasant to my  learning taste
buds,
but the touch of her boob against my mouth was  heaven!

Then she dragged her flesh from my sucking mouth and Patricia swooshed the
paddle down viciously across my arse. My buttocks did their dual dance, my
breasts likewise and once more the pain seared through to collide with a
gut-wrenching thump in mid-belly.

And so my discipline went on. Charisma dipping first one breast, then the
other,
into the bowl, and after each immersion came the singing swoop of my
imperious
mistress's paddle. At last, after about a dozen dips -- six per  breast --
the bowl
was emptied of urine.

"Right," said my mistress, when Charisma had pointed out the supply had
been
drained, "time to release her."

Charisma and Patricia then freed me from the pillory and the ebony mistress

unclamped the nipple devices from my aching breasts. Then, to heighten my
agony,
she lowered her mouth and sucked on each nipple in turn, sending  soaring
peaks
of pain and passion through my breasts. It was agony, but it  was also
exquisite!

Patricia then came around and looked at me, looking almost solicitous -- a
look
which was a total sham, of course. "Poor Penelope," she smiled, not
sounding in
the least bit sorry, "now for some more boob fun."

I sensed Charisma kneeling below me, unbuckling the spreader bar. Patricia
cupped my boobs and twirled the thumb and forefinger of each hand across my

tormented titties.

"Lovely breasts," she murmured, as she kneaded my nipples. "It was the
first
thing I noticed about you at The Savoy -- 'look at those bazookas', I  said
to
myself."

I thought the word "bazookas" incongruous from a writer of historical
stories
set in the days of Napoleon or Nelson, but I smiled. "I once had a  girl
friend
who called them WMD -- my Weapons of Mass Destruction," I  informed her.

Patricia kept stroking me there, cupping and pressing my globes together,
something I found absolutely divine. "Oh no, my dear Pen," she told me.
"WMD,
perhaps, but certainly not weapons of mass destruction.

"Let me think. I know -- it's still WMD, but let's call them Weapons of
Masturbatory Delight!"

I laughed at her lovely piece of word play, but then felt worried. "Do you
mean
tit fucking, mistress?" I asked.

"Of course, pet," she said, still kneading, rubbing and fondling my
mammaries.

"But, but," I tried to think of the words. "I'm not into boys, mistress, I
don't
want someone's cock tit fucking me, it's you and Charisma I want, not  some
filthy male with his disgusting cock."

Patricia laughed, a throaty, sexy chuckle. "Silly Billy," she chided me,
"you
don't have to have a revolting man's cock -- or a nice man's cock for  that
matter
-- to enjoy a tit fuck. Charisma, get her prepared, she's  obviously got a
lot to
learn."

The assistant took me across the chamber to a large black leather bench,
but a
bench with two metal poles attached to each end of its front. She made  me
sit on
it, then lie back on the coolness of the leather. I was next made  to
wriggle
until my paddle-punished buttocks were almost overhanging the  edge of the
seat.

Charisma then took my ankles and strapped them into cuffs at the top end of
 each
pole. This pulled my thighs away from my pussy, which was gapingly,  lewdly
displayed for my mistress and her assistant.

The black bird then stood facing my mistress, who was kneeling now in front
 of
my pussy. Charisma placed one foot on each side of the large bench,  giving
me a
direct view up her glorious thighs to her pink-lipped, shaved  pussy. I
placed my
hands up and cupped her full, firm buttocks.

Then I heard Patricia speak. "Now for your tit fuck, my darling, and I do
hope
you enjoy it." And then, for the first time I felt my pussy being  fucked
by a
breast. It was an utterly amazing experience, an opinion I  articulated
almost
immediately after I felt the author's first foray along  my moist minge.

I felt her erect nipple rub first at my anus. "There, such a sweet little
brown
rosebud, does that feel nice, my pet?" she asked, as her erect nipple  and
the
surrounding breast flesh stroked my anal entrance.

"It's fucking wonderful, oh, sorry, mistress -- yes, it's glorious," I told
her.

"Charisma, teach her filthy little mouth some manners," was my mistress's
response. Apparently, the "f" word was fine coming from her lips, but not
mine,
which I guess was OK, after all, she was the mistress, not me.

Even so, I was utterly unprepared for my punishment for my foul mouth.
Charisma
let loose a short, sharp burst from her pussy. I saw the stream  descend
from her
labia lips almost in slow motion. It seemed to take seconds  before the
stream
splashed against my mouth and nose. Then, with an  incredible display of
bladder
control, Charisma halted her flow.

I licked my lips, tasting the salty spray which had anointed me, and then
Patricia's nipple was on the move. From my anus, it moved upwards to my
vagina,
the erect nubbin trying, searching, probing to insinuate itself into  my
sex.

"And how is that, my darling?" inquired my employer. "Is that nice?"

"I've never had my cunt intruded by such a beautiful invader," I told  her.

"Tut, tut," said my mistress, "you really have to mind your language, my
pet.
Charisma, a longer dose!"

And this time Charisma's flow lasted almost 10 seconds as she sprayed a
liberal
torrent of urine over my nose, mouth, eyes -- eyes which were  clenched shut
from
the downpour -- and forehead. I smelt the stench of fresh  urine drenching
my
face.

Then Patricia's nipple was moving between my sopping wet labia lips, then
onto
my clitoris. The feel of a nipple roving across my minge was  unutterably
sexy, I
was so delighted by the contact I made every effort to  hump against the
breast
as it brushed a path up and down my crotch.

Soon, with one hand cupping her big globe against my pussy, Patricia was
literally fucking my minge with her breast and nipple, and soon the
inevitable
reaction rose in my groin, the prelude to a climax!

"Oooooh, yeeeees, ooooh, yeeees," I cried out, in a not very literate
expression
of my feelings, but one which pretty fairly revealed my thoughts  to my two
dominatrixes.

Patricia pushed her nipple and breast more firmly against my pussy, harder,

harder and then I was toppling over the cliff and crashing down to where my

climax came rushing up from ground level to meet me, pounding against my
pussy,
which was now alive with the sound of masturbatory music.

Finally, the climax subsided, ebbing away as I lay back, heaving, my
breasts
tingling, the pain from the nipple clamps fading to a sensual,  wonderful
throbbing.

Then Patricia stood and Charisma moved away from my panting body. The
lovely
48-year-old stepped to the head of the big bench, and knelt again,  this
time
placing her full breast, its nipple still engorged and stubby,  against my
mouth.

I ran my tongue across her breast, inhaling the perfume from my own sex
which
was fresh on her flesh. The breast had another aroma, of course -- that  of
her
urine, which she had smeared on it prior to my pillory punishment.  That
and, of
course, the fresh stream which Charisma had deposited on me for  my
injudicious
use of those four-letter words.

Patricia rubbed her breast across my recently-stained face, working her
breast
into the traces of piss left on me by Charisma, and then allowed me  to
lick and
lave at her boob again. Like a depraved little slut, I kissed  and sucked
eagerly
at her perfumed globe of breast.

Finally, the lovely large breast was pulled from me and Patricia spoke to
Charisma. "Now your turn to indulge her, my dear," she announced. "I'll
stand
over her, just to make sure she keeps her mouth clean."

This time, my lovely employer straddled above me, as Charisma knelt before
my
pussy. I reached up and cupped Patricia's large, yet firm buttocks, and
once
more felt a nipple graze along my sex trench, Charisma's first  flickering
starting at my mons, then moving across my clitoris, labia lips,  vagina,
then
anus.

"There, my dearest Penny," said my mistress, as the black beauty commenced
her
run along my sex trench, "aren't you lucky -- it's a gang bang!"

I moaned but made no remark, concentrating as I was on the utter delight of

having my sex grazed by Charisma's fantastically firm breast, the nipple
feeling
like a little thumb as it pressed its way into my crotch.

Suddenly, to my amazement, I saw a spray of strong yellow liquid descend to

splash upon my face. I spluttered as I was struck, then Patricia stemmed
the
flow.

"But I didn't swear, mistress," I cried, at the same time licking my tongue

along my lips, sucking in the traces of her salty stream.

"Of course not, darling," said my employer, "that was for not responding to
 my
remark about a 'gang bang', you silly girl!"

I sighed. It was obvious to me now that whatever happened, however I
behaved, my
mistress was going to drench me from above with her urine  whenever she
felt like
it. So I decided to throw caution to the wind.

"Tit fuck me, Charisma, fuck my cunt, fuck it," I cried, as the black girl
worked her nipple-erect breast over my minge.

"No, no, Penelope," said my author-employer in a chiding tone of voice, "it

doesn't work that way. You will receive my urine if and when I decide to
allow
you to have it, not when you think you can force it from me. Now  you're
going to
have to wait!"

I gave in, Patricia and Charisma were the bosses, I was their sex slave, I
had
no say in it. I lay back and decided to simply revel in the wonderful
things
Charisma was doing with my pussy.

Then I felt those old familiar stirrings in my groin and as Charisma
increased
the tempo of her breast work on my pussy, I roared to another  frenzy of a
tit
fuck climax.

"There, there," said Patricia, soothingly from above me, "wasn't that
wonderful,
you lovely little slut?"

"Yes, mistress, it was lovely, so intense, so -- oh, so different," I said
as I
came back to earth after the Big O I had just experienced.

Then I was really jolted back to earth as my mistress let loose a strong
stream
of thick yellow piss directly onto my mouth. At first it splashed up  in
sprays
of spume onto my cheeks and nose, and then I opened my mouth and  began to
drink
her glorious nectar down. I knew now that I was her sexual  plaything, and
suddenly it seemed the most natural thing in the world to  gulp and chug
down her
salty, strong cataract of piss.

After she had completed emptying her bladder, a task which took no more
than 25
to 30 seconds, Patricia lowered her steaming snatch to my mouth and
purred:
"Clean me, my lovely little piss slut!"

I ran my tongue all along her labia lips, tasting the briny traces of her
urine
there, then in between the lips, licking and loving her for all I was
worth. She
accepted my oral adoration for a moment, then stepped back and  Charisma
lowered
her pussy-stained breast to my mouth.

Again I tasted a fantastic, firm breast, its flesh smelling strongly of
both my
pussy and the urine which the globe had been dipped in and was now
collecting by
rubbing over my drenched cheeks.

"You love it, don't you?" said Charisma, as I worked at her beautifully
sculptured globe.

"Yes, mistress," I whispered, as her erect nubbin grazed across me face, "I
 love
it, I love all of it."

Then my employer-mistress's mouth was kissing and eating my pussy. "That's
good,
my little researcher," I heard her say, as Charisma still rubbed her  boob
over
my face, "because there's a lot more to come!"

She resumed eating at my minge for a moment or two more, then stood and
with
Charisma's help, removed my ankles from the straps at the top of the  poles.

When I had got back on my feet, Patricia kissed me on my urine-stained
face.
"And now my lovely little plaything," she smiled, "do you think you're
ready to
show me what you can do with those lovely big boobs of  yours?"

"Oh, yes please, mistress!" I said, with enthusiasm.

"Right," said Patricia, "get me strapped in." And with that my lovely
employer
lay on her back and placed her pussy to the end of the bench and  raised
her
feet, so Charisma and I could strap her ankles into the  restraints.

When she was in place, Charisma knelt beside me as I took my place, ready
to
perform my first "tit fuck".

"Which breast?" I asked the black assistant, cupping my big boobs in my
hands.

"Whichever you're most comfortable with," said my employer's aide.

Since Charisma was on my left hand side, I chose to use my left breast. My
nipple was erect -- due to my excitement -- and I traced it delicately over
my
mistress's anus.

As soon as I did, I felt Charisma's right hand reach behind my buttocks and

place her middle finger against my arsehole, then slide it gently up it an
inch
or two. It felt wonderful!

"There, stroke her anus, flick the nipple across it," Charisma whispered in
 my
ear, as her finger continued to play in my back passage. "She loves it,
loves
having her anus played with."

After a minute or so at the darkened orifice, I moved my nipple higher, to
her
wet, weeping cunt.

"There, she's all sopping for you, she's weeping tears of joy from that
luscious
cunt, isn't she?" Charisma whispered.

As if to follow the path of my nipple, I felt the black beauty's digit
retreat
from my anus and slide up my equally slippery vagina.

Mistress's breath was coming in gasping pants now as I played with my
nipple at
her cunt lips.

"Now the labia, like a feather, trace it over her lips," said Charisma, her
 own
finger rubbing around my lush lips down there, as I placed my hardened  tit
on
Patricia's labia.

"Now up to her clit -- look, it's unhooded. Flick on it, she loves it, she
loves
it," said Charisma, her voice still an excited whisper.

As my nipple flickered across Patricia's engorged clitoris, Charisma's
probing
finger worked on my similarly aroused clit.

"Isn't it lovely?" said Charisma, as I played with my mistress's clit with
my
nipple.

"Yes, it's wonderful," I whispered back, fearful that if I spoke at a
normal
volume it would break the sexual tension which I could feel almost  like a
cloak
in the torture chamber.

"And do you know what she's thinking while you pleasure her with your
nipple?"
Charisma whispered.

"What?" I hissed, dragging my nipple down to my employer's cunt again, then

tracing it back over the labia and then up to the clit once more.

"She's thinking of delicious ways she can torture that nipple when she's
got you
back in the pillory again. Isn't that wicked, poor little Penelope?  You're
pleasing her with your tits, she's just thinking 'How can I torture  her?'
Poor
little Penny!"

And the sheerly erotic thought of what Charisma was saying made me go wild,

pressing my entire left boob hard against Patricia's now humping pussy as
she
graunched her groin against my large globe of flesh.

Then she was sobbing out "Yes, my darling, harder, harder, tit fuck me, tit
 fuck
me, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me ..." And on, and on, until at last she
stopped the
"fuck me" repetition and I felt a tremor run through her as a  huge sigh
signaled the completion of her climax.

"Now," whispered Charisma, "would you like her to thank you for giving her
such
a nice tit fuck, Penny?"

I nodded, looking into her dark brown eyes, then at her nipple aroused
breasts,
standing firm in her quarter-cup bra.

"Up you go, then, while I play with her a little bit longer," said the
assistant.

I stood over my mistress's face, placing my feet on either side of the
bench.
This left me an inch or two from her mouth, so I widened my stance by  some
six
inches or so on each side. Perfect! Now my minge was resting gently  on
Patricia's mouth.

Her hands then came up to cup my buttocks and as her tongue and lips
started
their oral adoration at my moistness, I saw Charisma starting to rub  her
taut,
erect nipple up and down my employer's sex trench.

Soon I was experiencing little tremors, which sent shockwaves through my
pussy
as Patricia's experienced mouth worked me to the dizzy heights and  then I
was
coming on her mouth, juice flowing from me onto her, and then as  she
sucked on
my stiffened clitoris, I pounded to the completion of my  orgasm.

As I did that I heard a sort of muffled keening sound coming from beneath
my
crotch and I realised that Charisma's tit fuck was bringing my employer  to
another shuddering, satisfying climax.

Charisma then unstrapped Patricia's ankles and the beautiful writer stepped
 down
from the bench and approached me, taking my chin in her hand and  kissing
me
deeply on my pussy-and-piss-perfumed mouth.

"There, my darling," she smiled at me, "how did you enjoy your welcome to
my
little pillory parlor?"

I kissed her back, thrusting my tongue provocatively into her mouth. "It
was the
most exciting time I've ever had in my life," I told her.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it, my dear," she grinned, then she turned to her
assistant, who stood watching us, her breasts gleaming on top of her
platform
bra.

"Clean up Charisma, there's a darling. I think that's enough research for
one
day!"




Pleasure in the Pillory Chapter 03
============================================================================
====
The  first week rushed by, with me providing regular research for Patricia
to
work into her latest blockbuster, an occasional trip to her huge bed for a
sexual romp, but mostly it was work, eat, drink and sleep. And speaking of
sleep, at nights I often had to finger myself like crazy before drifting
off  to
sleep and dreaming wonderful, erotic dreams about being "punished" again
in her
pillory parlor.

It was, I learned, a delightful experience but one which only took place
about
once a week. "Familiarity breeds contempt, my dearest Penelope," she
reminded me
on one occasion when I dared to broach the subject.

"I am, of course, tempted to rush your lush young figure off to my little
chamber of delights every day," she laughed, "but we'd both soon get bored
with
that -- even the lustful young Charisma. No, my darling, less is  more."

About a week after my initiation into the pillory parlor, Patricia asked me
 if
I would research a particularly cruel torture, which she thought was
devised by
the French, named "la crapaudine".

I began my researches, although from my scanty knowledge of this method of
torment, I failed to see how she would be able to work it into her latest
novel.
But by then, of course, I had realised a lot of her requests weren't
necessarily
for the book -- many, I am sure were purely for her own perverse,  not to
say
perverted, tastes.

Upon finishing my work, I laid a sheaf of papers on her desk -- it was about
 10
in the morning and from memory a week and a day since my arrival at her
superbly-appointed mansion.

"La crapaudine," I announced, standing beside her immaculately-dressed
figure as
she swung her chair from side to side, allowing me a  mouth-watering
glimpse of
nylon-sheathed thigh on one of her crossed legs. I  wanted to kneel and
worship
her!

"And a summary, my darling researcher, what have you found?" asked the
48-year-old, blue-eyed beauty.

"Well," I said, gathering my thoughts, "I know it's got a French name, but
there
are reports that the torture device actually dates from the Chinese,
centuries
before the French picked up on it."

"Ah ha," smiled Patricia, "so we have the wily Oriental to thank for the
delights of this particular torment."

"Agreed," I said, "although it was also used by the wily old Red Indian
too, if
you believe some reports. Anyway, the Chinese realised centuries ago  that
to
torture someone, you didn't necessarily need to go into all sorts of
ingenious
methods of punishment -- you don't need complicated instruments,  large
wheels,
flogging frames, you name it."

Patricia looked at me with mock sternness. "Are you suggesting my pillory
and
the flogging frame downstairs are surplus to requirements, my dear  Penny?"

"Heavens no," I said, hastily, since I was looking forward to my next visit
 to
the pillory. "It's just that 'la crapaudine', as the French named it, is
an
extremely simple torture device."

"And?" said my employer, her hand sneaking down the front of her skirt and
delving towards her panties.

"Well, the victim is made to kneel on the ground, then bend the upper torso
 back
where his or her wrists are then tied to his or her ankles. So simple,  but
after
an hour or two, the victims would be screaming for mercy or to  reveal
whatever
information their tormentors wanted to know," I said.

"And you add the pain of the position to the fact that the victim was often
 left
out naked in the boiling hot sun and you have a torture from hell," I
added.

By now, Patricia's hand was definitely inside her panties, stroking at the
lovely shaved pussy which I so wanted to be licking and kissing.

"The top four pages are the ones which I thought might interest you to
start
with," I told her. "It's an extremely well-written article, but I'd  guess
it was
done by someone in 2005, sitting in front of a PC, instead of  in 1805 and
recording it with a quill pen."

"And your reasons for that, my dear?" asked my boss, her fingers now
definitely
strumming along her sex trench.

"Well, despite the fact that it's couched in deliberately labored 'olde
fashioned' writing, there are some turns of phrase which are definitely
modern,"
I told her. "And there are other giveaways. For example, you will  notice
that
the woman being tortured in this piece has a shaved pussy. I'm  not so sure
they
were all that much in vogue among French courtesans in the  1800s, although
I
could be wrong.

"And the scene where the soldiers force her to drink their urine and the
phrase
used later -- 'golden showers'. I think that's possibly the biggest
give-away. I
think 'golden showers' is definitely a modern term."

But Patricia was not really listening, she was reading the piece avidly,
her
fingers flying. I stood behind her chair and ran my hand across her
starched
blouse, cupping her 40-inch breasts in my hands. I leaned over and
whispered in
her ear: "This is turning you on, isn't it?"

"Oh yes, it's providing me with such delightfully naughty thoughts," said
the
beautiful brunette. "The thought of you out on that private little lawn,
away
from the gardeners' prying eyes, your knees held wide by a spreader  bar,
your
body glistening in the strong sunshine, your breasts heaving, your  begging
for
cold liquid -- and all that I and Charisma have for you is our  urine!"

Then she pushed the toils of my labor away and stood facing me, her hand no

longer in her panties. She held me by the shoulders and kissed me full on
the
mouth.

I kissed her back, then she placed her masturbation hand to my mouth and I
inhaled the gloriously heady aroma of her pussy.

"Forget work today, Penelope," she said, huskily, "the next chapter's
coming
along nicely anyway -- I'm way ahead of schedule. Come to bed!"

Three of the most wonderful words Patricia could ever say to me, surpassed
possibly only by that four-letter phrase "Come to my parlor"!

"Will I find myself outside on the lawn, panting in the steamy Kent summer
heat?" I asked, smiling at her look of sheer lust.

"It looks like it's going to be a nice day," said Patricia, looking out of
the
large bay window. "Yes my dear, you possibly may," she laughed, then she
took me
by the hand and led me upstairs to heaven.

Quickly, feverishly, we tore off each others clothes, until Patricia was
naked
save for a gleaming black suspender belt holding up her shiny, seamed
stockings
and her hideously expensive Manolo Blahnik black alligator halter  shoes.

I was naked, but for my far less costly high heels, but I didn't give a
damn
about her taste in footwear, the only taste I was interested in was the
one my
mouth would be experiencing when I kissed, licked and sucked at her  pussy!

Even so, when I knelt, the gleaming Blahniks were so shiny and giving off
such a
deep, rich aroma of leather, I couldn't help but place my lips gently  on
the toe
of one shoe, then licking the dagger-like heel, before tracing  delicate
little
kisses up her claves and thighs before flicking my tongue  into her
backside,
probing for the musky delights of her anus.

Patricia let go a low moan and turned slightly to place her hands on the
bed,
then widened her stance so the Manolo Blahniks were now a yard apart,  her
pussy
totally accessible to my panting mouth.

I gave her anus some more oral adoration before the stunning smell from her

aroused pussy dragged me inexorably down to her weeping cunt. My tongue
invaded
its velvety smoothness and then Patricia started to speak.

"Yes, my lovely little researcher, you know how to do this, don't you? You
know
your research into the naughty things drives me wild, don't you? You  love
getting me raunchy descriptions to read, don't you? You love how it  turns
me on!
You love it, lick it, lick it!"

And then I dived past her sopping snatch to her erect clit and sucked hard,
 my
nose thrust against her anus, inhaling its musky mysteries as I did so.
Then she
came with a grunt, then a gasp and collapsed onto the bed.

Climbing up beside her, I caressed her lush breasts and took on erect
nipple
into my mouth as she kicked her shoes to the floor.

"Mmmm, more, more, I love it," sighed my employer-mistress.

But I had to pull back. Something was worrying me. "Darling mistress?" I
said,
whispering the words into her ear, her hair smelling like a  freshly-mown
field
of wheat.

"What's the matter, Penny?" she replied, "am I disappointing you?"

I smiled and kissed her on the mouth. "No, never, mistress, never," I
reassured
her. "It's just that the 'crapaudine' seems such an -- oh, such a  stringent
punishment. Please don't put me in it."

Patricia smiled softly and returned my kiss. "Of course not, darling, but I

can't rule out some form of bondage out in that little private garden --
possibly
staked out on a rubber sheet, hands and ankles widespread, body  gleaming
with
lotion. Pussy panting for mouths. Begging for my piss."

Then she laughed, "Well, something along those lines, anyway".

"Oh my god," I sighed, "that's such a wonderful thought I'm getting wet
just
thinking about it."

"Good, because I don't want lick a dry pussy," Patricia laughed, pushing me

further up the bed and pulling my thighs wide apart, before placing her
hugely
experienced tongue on my mons, then diving down to my sex.

I luxuriated in the tender caresses of her highly educated tongue, and soon
 I
was panting to my own orgasm, grabbing her lovely brown hair and pressing
her
deeper into my crutch as the waves of passion flowed through me.

Then we lay back, cuddling and caressing, until Patricia stood and went to
the
window. "Yep, it looks like it's going to be a lovely summer's day," she
said.
"One of those real scorchers. Now, off to your bedroom, take a shower,  and
I'll
be along with Charisma after we've got things organized. You are in  the
mood for
some B and D, I take it?"

"No, I thought I'd do some work of my patchwork quilt," I laughed.

Patricia grinned: "That's just cost you another hour staked out in the
sunshine,
you wicked little bitch!"

I kissed her softly on her ripe, rich mouth and skipped away to my bedroom,

dived into the shower and washed myself in a wallowing soapy lather -- the
only
thing missing, which would have made it perfect, was Patricia.

Stepping from the shower, I used a little lady's razor to "freshen up" my
pussy,
removing any traces of re-growth, gave the strip above my mons a  little
crew-cut, then toweled down to wait for my mistress and her busty  black
beauty,
Charisma. My entire body was tingling in fevered anticipation  of the
erotic
wiles I knew they would employ on my poor, helpless  body.

The minutes dragged by until, finally, the door burst open and in walked
Patricia with her 26-year-old assistant, Charisma.

"OK slut," snapped my employer, slipping effortlessly into her dominatrix
role,
"get on your knees and crawl over here and start begging me for  it!"

As I got off my bed, I drank in the stunning, stern beauty of my two
dominators.
Patricia was wearing what would possibly be called a "sensible"  black
bikini -
"sensible" in that the bra was large, to accommodate her big,  40-inch
breasts,
and the bottom was also large, to accommodate her ample,  but beautifully
rounded
bum.

But that was where the "sensible" ended. In the centre of the bra cups were

cut-outs, which allowed her full, large nipples to protrude, giving a
glimpse of
about half the width of her also large areola. The panties also  had a
cut-out,
this time a wide gash which went from the lower half of her  abdomen down
to
between her legs, so her pussy was totally accessible.

Charisma was also erotically clad, as I had come to expect from the
darkly-attractive assistant. Her breasts were in the tight confines of a
white
bikini bra, which molded to her succulent 36-inch breasts, the outline  of
her
nipples thrusting at the material. On her hips hung a tight-fitting  white
thong,
which looked so yummy against her prominent pudenda.

I crawled across the floor to the black high-heeled shoes my mistress was
still
wearing -- Charisma was also powerfully shod, in a pair of white  leather
stilettos, to match her bikini.

Planting a kiss on the Manolo Blahniks, I began to beg for it. It was, I
learned, a ritual which excited my mistress no end. Needless to say, it
also
made me moist and runny.

After a moment or two of my pleadings, Patricia spoke: "Well, Charisma, do
you
think she's really ready for what we have in store for her today?"

The black woman's response was to bend over and place a hand behind my
buttocks,
then run her fingers into my snatch.

"She's wetter than the Thames in flood, madam," said the 26-year-old.

"Well, I've given the gardening staff the day off," said my employer, "so
we can
get down to the garden. Come on, slut, you can crawl there!"

And with that the two dominas turned on their sexily-clad heels and walked
to
the door, while I crawled on all fours behind them, along the lengthy
corridor,
then down the stairs, following the lovely jouncing buttocks of my  two
mistresses as they led the way.

Outside, in the warm summer's air, they walked around to the back of the
house
where there was a lawn, manicured like Wembley Stadium for an FA Cup
final. The
grass glowed green and shimmered, almost as if it was liquid. The  20 yards
by 20
yards expanse of turf was surrounded by a dense bush, some 12  feet high,
which,
when the large wooden gate to the area was closed,  provided total privacy.

Which was just as well, considering the things that Patricia and Charisma
were
going to get up to with me!

At the gateway, Patricia and Charisma removed their high heels in deference
 to
the close-cropped lawn and then I crawled in after them. In the middle of
the
area was a large, red rubber sheet, its four corners tied down to tent
pegs
hammered into the earth, making the sheet taut.

The women made me lie on my back on the warm rubber, then they fastened my
wrists and ankles into tight rubber straps set in each corner of the sheet.
 My
body was now stretched out invitingly for them.

Facing the sheet, was a swinging sun lounger, with a large canopy which
would
shield the occupants from the sun's rays. I, of course, would have no
protection. By the side of the lounger was a small portable refrigerator,
and on
the top of it an ice bucket holding a bottle of champagne. Two flutes
stood by
the bucket. On the other side of the lounger was a table holding  several
pieces
of equipment, which I sensed they would soon be using on my  defenseless
body.

After my dominas had liberally coated my naked body with suntan lotion,
they sat
on the lounger and looked down at me.

"Right, slut," said my mistress, "this is the sequence of events. For one
hour
you'll be there face up. If it gets too hot, this little fridge is well
stocked
with nice, cool liquid refreshments for you. You can probably guess  what
sort of
refreshments, can't you?"

"Yes, mistress," I said, my eyes squinting from the strong overhead  sun.

"And in the meantime, Charisma and I are going to enjoy a lovely bottle of
bubbly. Care to guess what bubbly it is?"

I hadn't the faintest idea. "I have no idea, mistress," I answered, quite
truthfully.

"Dom Perignon, silly," laughed my employer and both she and Charisma burst
into
peals of laughter. "So apt, don't you think, my darling little  slave?"

I tried to force a smile. "Very amusing, mistress," I said, somewhat
petulantly.

"The only trouble with Dom P is it makes me go -- pee, that is," said
Patricia.
"Yes, it seems to go straight through me, which can be a bit of a  problem."

"Why is it a problem, madam?" asked Charisma, joining in my verbal  teasing.

"Well, it's not so much a problem for me," laughed my employer.

"But you mean it might be for this lovely, staked-out naked slave here?"
said
Charisma.

"Yup," said Patricia, "but on the other hand, she secretly loves it, I
think."

Then my boss addressed me again. "After your hour's up on the sheet, we'll
free
you, put you in a sort of breast pillory and then we'll let you get  some
exercises around the lawn. After an hour of them, you'll be in  desperate
need of
a lie down, so we'll strap you down on the mat again for  another hour.
This
time, you'll be bottom up, so you can get a bit of a tan  on your bottom."

Charisma chimed in: "A bit of a tan, madam?"

"Yes," laughed Patricia, "in more ways than one!"

Then she stood, opened the bottle of Dom, poured two glasses, which they
chinked. "Here's to a really nice domme session," said Patricia.

Charisma laughed. "Oh fuck, I'll drink to that madam!"

Then my torments started. Charisma was the first to start. From the side of
 the
sun lounger, she picked up a long, wooden pole -- it was probably four  feet
long
-- attached to the end of which was a gleaming black dildo. The  imitation
penis
had obviously been coated with jelly, it glowed so darkly.  It also looked
quite
thick and about seven or eight inches long.

Kneeling on the grass, Charisma held the pole out until its dildo
attachment was
rubbing against my inner thigh. The black beauty then started  to teasingly
rub
it along my sex trench, before placing its helmet on my  vagina, then she
pushed
it slowly into me. The massive organ intruded my  cunt and then Charisma
stood
and sat back on the lounger.

I lay on the hot rubber sheet, sweat and suntan lotion pouring off me, my
pussy
invaded by the large rubber dildo and then Patricia and Charisma  started
to
caress, smooch and fondle each other, as they pushed the lounger  making it
sway
slowly back and forth in front of me.

Some 20 minutes into my bondage, and with more than half the Dom polished
off,
my mistress stood, slipped her bikini bottom down her lovely legs and
advanced
onto the rubber sheet.

"Sorry, sweetie," she said, in a voice not tinged with regret in the
slightest,
"but I simply must take a piddle." And standing astride my  sweating body
she
released a strong 20-second spray or urine onto my  breasts. When her
stream had
halted, Patricia fell to her knees and ground  her pussy onto my steaming
boobs.

Then, rising slightly, she presented her snatch to my face. "Now I'm sure
you'd
like to thank me for such a lovely golden shower, wouldn't you, you  little
slut?"

And without waiting for any response from me, my boss then lowered her
piss-smeared crotch to my mouth and proceeded to graunch on my lips and
tongue.
The taste of her lovely pussy was salty, brackish, and sharp.  Despite
this, I
licked her avidly.

As she was completing her pussy punishment, Charisma proceeded to fuck me
with
the dildo, calling out: "She's loving it madam, her pussy's wetter than
ever!"
How she could tell I hadn't the faintest notion, but she happened to  be
right!
The dildo made sucking, slurping sounds as it rammed into my  cunt.

After completing her ride on my mouth, Patricia stood and looked down at me
 with
a smile. Her pussy gleamed down at me, and I still wanted to suck  it!

"You must be thirsty after all the hot work on my minge, slut," she
announced.
"Charisma, get her a cool drink!"

>From the small fridge by the side of the lounger, Charisma produced a jug
of
yellow-colored liquid and a glass. Pouring from the glass, she pulled me
up
from the nape of my neck and allowed me to suck down the revolting, but
mercifully, cold liquid. Two more glasses followed, and then the jug was
empty.

Then the two dominas continued their drinking until Charisma whispered in
her
employer's ear, then stood and slipped off her white bikini bottom. You
didn't
need to be an Einstein to work out what was coming next!

The long-legged, busty beauty stood over me, then knelt until her knees
were on
either side of my face, her dark, chocolate-colored minge about six  inches
from
my face. Then the stream hit me with a blast, splashing all over  my
mouths, nose
and cheeks until, after a good 30 seconds drenching she was  done.

Then, just as my mistress had done, Charisma smeared her pussy all over the

region she had just pissed on. When she was satisfied she had sopped up a
good
deal of the urine from my face, she pressed her pussy onto my mouth and
hissed:
"Worship me, slut!"

Again I "enjoyed" an awfully strong-tasting pussy, the smell and taste of
her
urine harsh and brackish. For several minutes the athletic black woman
worked on
my face, as my mistress gave me another fucking with the dildo,  before
removing
it with a plopping sound from my soaking pussy.

Then my first hour of punishments was over. The two women knelt and removed
 my
wrists and ankles from the straps which had imprisoned them, and I was
allowed
to stand and walking around, rubbing life back into my hands and  feet.

After this, Patricia pointed to a piece of metal equipment on the table on
the
opposite end of the sun lounger. "Get it, Charisma," she ordered and the
black
woman moved to the table.

"Now, my darling," she said, smiling at me, "it's time for your outdoor
pillory.
You see, the one inside is a bit too big to bring out here, so I've  gone
to
great trouble to get a new pillory -- one for your tits. Isn't that  kind of
me?"

I looked at the sinister piece of equipment and the evil look on Charisma's
 face
as she approached me with it in her hands.

Somehow kindness wasn't the word I had in mind.




Pleasure in the Pillory Chapter 04
============================================================================
====
I  looked down at my breasts as I stood naked in the lovely little private
garden, while my employer, Patricia, and her assistant Charisma, debated
how  to
start my next hour's punishment.

My breasts thrust out beneath me like two oversized melons, the skin taut
and
stretched, veins showing across their voluminous spheres. This was  because
they
were imprisoned in a sort of gunmetal grey pillory, which  Charisma had
placed on
my upper body.

The "pillory" -- which was, in reality, a sort of breast bondage cage --
consisted
of two lengths of metal which were curved across my body, one  length going
beneath my breasts, the upper one across the top of my big  boobs.

Between the two cross-wise lengths, a similar piece of metal went from top
to
bottom, bisecting the other two. At the bottom of this upright strip of
metal
was a wing nut, which Charisma, with an evil smile on her face, had
tightened
until my breasts were trapped and stretched bulbously in the  "pillory".

Beneath the outer extremities of the lower horizontal bar, cuffs held my
wrists,
so my lower arms from fingers to elbows were also horizontal to the  ground.

Charisma looked satisfied with my predicament. "There she is, madam, all
ready
for some titty torture, if you so wish," said the lovely black  beauty.

"And a delightful sight, too, my dear," said Patricia, who was now naked in
 the
strong sunlight, as was her partner in punishment. "I think you can
commence the
next hour of pretty Penelope's punishment with a couple of laps  of the
garden --
assisted, of course, by the buggy whip!"

"Any nipple clamps during that, madam?" asked the 36-inch busty  beauty.

My employer pondered a moment, then replied: "No, we'll start her off
lightly, I
think, Charisma, we can increase the pressure a little  later."

And with that, the 48-year-old historical romance writer went and stretched
 out
in luxury on the large sun lounger from where she had a perfect position
to lay
back to watch my next session of discipline.

Charisma walked over to the lounger and from the roof of its sun canopy
plucked
a long whip, which I had not noticed before, staked out, as I had  been, on
the
rubber sheet on the ground. The whip was long -- almost five  feet, I
guessed --
and thin. It looked an evil weapon of punishment.

"Right," said Charisma, stepping beside my manacled, breast-bound body.
"It's
time for walkies around the garden. First we'll go for a leisurely two
laps --
and with every step you take, you will bring your knees up smartly so  that
those
lush young thighs are parallel to the ground. Nice and high  prancing, like
a
proud young pony, OK?"

I nodded, realising that such a manner of "walking" around the garden would

involve quite strenuous exercise on my part.

"And don't worry about the buggy whip, slut," said Charisma, "it's mainly
for
show. Mainly."

And as the word "mainly" fell from her lips, Charisma stepped back and
cracked
the whip across my bum, sending a searing flash of pain through  them.
Accompanying the crack of the whip was a shouted "Get prancing!" and I  set
off
around the garden.

The way I was ordered to march around the garden was tiring, and if I
showed
signs of getting some physical respite by not raising my knees high
enough,
Charisma was onto my failings like a flash and the whip would crack
against my
bouncing buttocks and a cry of "Higher" would leave me in no  doubt that it
was
useless trying to fool her.

After two laps of this my body was pouring with sweat, my pinioned breasts
were
heaving and I was gasping. Thankfully, Charisma was true to her word  about
her
use of the buggy whip -- she only gave me a couple of whacks with  it during
my
two-lap torment.

I was then brought to a halt in front of my employer, who placed her
champagne
flute on a table by the sun lounger and stepped up to me.

"Really, Penny," she said, "such a fuss. You must be out of condition. I
can see
we're going to have to toughen you up. Feet apart!"

The last two words were a snapped command, and I thrust my feet wider. My
mistress's hand slipped between my thighs and her fingers traced against
the
underside of my nates, then ran along my sex trench.

"Just as I thought," she said, bringing her fingers to her nostrils, "the
little
trollop is loving it. Here, Charisma, get a whiff of this!"

The black bird inhaled the aromas from Patricia's hand. "The slut," she
smiled,
"she's lapping it up. Time for those titty tormentors, eh  madam?"

Patricia grinned and as she placed her fingers to my mouth for me to suck,
she
said: "The clothes pegs, I think, Charisma, they bounce around so  prettily
on
pilloried breasts!"

>From the table, Charisma produced two bright yellow, plastic clothes pegs,
then
she bent and sucked my nipples into erections before placing them
painfully onto
my hard nubbins.

"There, don't you look just the prettiest of pictures, slut?" she said,
stepping
back to admire her embellishment of my bound breasts.

"Two more laps -- no, make that three," ordered Mistress Patricia, "let's
really
get her sweating!"

And again Charisma cracked the buggy whip across my bum to order me off on
the
prancing route around the outer extremities of the lawn, breasts  bouncing,
pegs
waving wildly around as I pranced, causing sharp little nips  of pain in my
nipples as I took every step.

Three times I panted and puffed my way around the "course", and then
Charisma
whipped me to a halt in front of my boss's recliner.

Patricia stepped up to me and snapped: "Part those feet!"

I obeyed and once more felt her hand caress my pussy, only this time it was
 no
mere peremptory exploration, this was an arousing, "Let me bring you to
orgasm"
stroking.

"Take the left peg off, Charisma," said my author-boss as she continued to
run
her fingers along my sopping sex trench.

The black beauty standing off to my left unclipped the peg and then started
 to
suck on my nipple. Little streaks of pain began to flood through the
released
nubbin as the blood flow resumed to my poor nipple! Still madam  worked her
wonderful ways at my pussy, as Charisma suckled on my teat.

Gradually I was nearing my big excitement, and sensing my nearing orgasm,
Patricia called out: "Get the other peg off, quick, she's nearly  there."

Charisma walked swiftly behind me and unclipped the other peg, then
repeated the
sucking, licking and kissing worship to my right nipple,  sending more pain
flooding into the extremity as the blood began to course  through it once
again.
And as she did so, the black bitch placed her left  hand on my buttocks and
then
pressed a forefinger into my anus until she had  intruded into me almost to
the
knuckle.

The anal intrusion, the pleasure and pain sweeping through my nipple and
the
magnificent masturbation of my pussy now reached a wonderful climax and  as
Patricia concentrated on my clitoris, Charisma pulled her mouth from my
nipple,
planted a wet, smoochy kiss on my lips and chanted: "Come, bitch,  come,
bitch,
come!"

And I did, with a bellowing roar of approval as my mistress's deft
ministrations
at my minge produced the most intense, satisfying  climax!

As I was regaining my breath, Patricia smeared her fingers all across my
pilloried breasts, then Charisma removed her finger from my arsehole and
stepped
in front of me to lick and kiss my bunched up globes.

"Another three laps for her, my dear," ordered my employer, once more
reclining
on the sun lounger. "Minus the pegs, you can put them on for the  three
after
that."

Charisma again walked sedately around behind me as I pony pranced around
the
secluded garden, before once more whipping me to a halt in front of the
lounger.
This time, my mistress took delight in sucking my nipples to  hardness and
attaching the vicious plastic pegs to my nubbins.

"Give me the whip, darling," said Patricia, "I'll keep an eye on her while
you
lay back and enjoy a nice cooling glass of bubbly."

And as the naked black bird lay back and supped on a cold glass of Dom
Perignon,
I was once more set in motion around the lawn, this time by my  boss, who
tended
to use the whip a little more often than Charisma, although  her blows
were, if
anything, slightly more lenient.

As I pranced my poor breasts jumped up and down, but not with sufficient
momentum to dislodge the pegs which punished my nipples on the three
circuits.

After being slashed across my buttocks as a signal to halt, the
masturbation
process was, this time, reversed. As Patricia removed the peg  on my left
nipple
and began to suck on it, Charisma's strong hand went to  work between my
outstretched thighs, her fingers tracing tickling little  forays along the
labia,
into my cunt and across my clitoris, while my  employer sucked at a painful
nipple with her mouth, and invaded my anus with  one finger.

As Patricia had done, Charisma called out the orgasm warning, and my boss
walked
around behind me, pulled off the other peg, and started sucking while  she
insinuated another forefinger up my arsehole.

Then, moments into the attack on my poor right nipple, I felt my climax
soar
through me and once more I shouted and shrieked my ecstasy as the Big O
paid me
another visit!

Once more my breasts were smeared with my sex juices -- this time by
Charisma --
and my mistress bent to lick and lave at my stretched flesh as I  calmed
down
from my excitement.

"Enough prancing," announced Patricia, when she had slaked herself on my
taut
boobs, "it's time we perked these pretty little titties up. Let's get  her
seated
on the sun lounger, we do have two breast whips, don't we?"

Charisma grinned. "I've thought of everything, madam, I know how much you
like
to administer a dual breast flogging."

And Patricia led me to the lounger and sat me down in the middle of the
furniture. I was glad to be able to sit down, but apprehensively aware that
 my
comfort was going to be short-lived!

My employer then sat beside me, on my right, while Charisma picked up two
little
whips from the table by the side of the lounger. She handed one to
Patricia.
They looked like gleaming strips of liquorish, about eight inches  long, no
more.
They also looked cruel.

When they were seated on either side of me, Patricia kissed me lovingly on
the
mouth and whispered: "Thighs apart, place them on ours, darling."

I obeyed, allowing my pussy to be once more totally at the disposal of my
two
dominas. Patricia took advantage of my wanton display by placing her
fingers on
my sex and gently stroking me there, not to arousal, just a slow,  tender
stroking.

Then she looked across at her partner in pain and smiled: "Ready,
Charisma?"

The black woman placed the short little whip which was in her left hand
until it
was draped across my left breast. "Ready, madam," she  replied.

Patricia then laid the little whip in her right hand over my swollen right
breast and kissed me softly on the cheek. "Beg us for it," she  whispered.

"Please Mistress Patricia," I said, giving my employer precedence, "please,

Mistress Charisma, please flog my breasts."

Patricia let go a low, soft chuckle and kissed my cheek again. "It will be
our
pleasure, my dearest Penelope, and your pain, my dear," she said, and  then
they
struck.

Both women timed their strokes so that each little whip cracked home on my
poor,
helpless boobs simultaneously. I arched my upper body, gave out a  little
squeal
and then the twin tides of torment flashed through my  breasts.

I had hardly settled down than the two women again whipped my poor boobies.

Again streams of pain coursed through my breasts, again they struck, again
I
squealed, my breasts bouncing as the dual dominas worked on me.

The first three strokes had been across the upper expanses of my naked
globes,
the next three cut into my lower breasts. And for the next three --  yes,
you
guessed it, they targeted my poor nipples, still suffering from the
previous
punishments of the clothes pegs.

"Aaaargh," I cried once, then twice, then three times as the electrical
current-like strokes shocked my poor nipples.

And finally, I could stand no more. "Mercy mistresses, mercy," I gasped, as
 the
pain kept shooting through my battered breasts.

Thankfully, they ceased their flagellation, but then Patricia spoke:
"Normally,
I'd let you off, but I'm leaving it up to Charisma, my dear. I  thought it
was
very rude of you to name me first when you begged us both to  whip your
breasts,
so it's her decision. You plead with her."

And, as if to underline her point, Patricia whipped her little flogger down

across my right nipple once more, dragging a mewling "Unnnfffff" sound from
 me.

Charisma brought her whip hand up to my chin and turned my head until I was

looking directly at her. "And now, my little slut, why should I stop
flogging
your breast? I'm thoroughly enjoying it, what can you offer me to  replace
that
enjoyment?"

I blinked back tears, the pain still flooded through my breasts. "I'll eat
you,
I'll give you an orgasm, dear Mistress Charisma," I begged her.

"It's a tempting offer, you know I like your mouth," said Charisma, but she
 was
toying with me. "But I'll need more than a nice little bout of
cunnilingus.
Think pussy, but think outside the square of muff diving -- or  maybe not.
What
else would you like from my pussy?"

It was blatantly obvious what she was driving at, but I hesitated. A
mistake!

"Well, since you are taking your time to make up your mind, please excuse
me if
I continue to whip your lovely big breast while you think about it,"  said
Charisma, her little whip cutting across my lower left globe.

The pain thrilled me again, but it was a thrill mingled with torment. The
whips
were small, but acutely painful on pilloried breasts.

"I've thought it over, mistress," I nearly yelled, as I saw her draw her
whip
hand back again. "I'll drink your pee pee!"

Charisma smiled, then kissed me full on the mouth. "You delightful slave,"
she
said, "you just know how to please a domina, don't you?"

And then the statuesque black beauty stood and addressed our boss: "Release
 her
wrists from those cuffs, madam, I'd like to feel her hands on my arse as  I
give
her my amber nectar."

Patricia complied with the request from her partner in punishment, then
prodded
me to a standing position. Charisma walked to the rubber sheet,  gleaming
on the
lawn, and stepped into the middle, then turned and planted  her feet about
a yard
apart, her minge moist and shining in the sun.

"Come on, you piss-drinking slut," she laughed, "crawl over here and start
worshipping my pussy. I'll let you know when I'm ready to piss and I know
we're
on a rubber mat, but if you spill any I'll rub your face in it and  make
you lick
it all up, savvy?"

I went onto all fours and began to crawl across the magnificently mowed
lawn to
the rubber sheet. On arrival at her strongly aromatic minge, I  pressed my
mouth
against her mons in a kiss or adoration, then lowered my  lips to her
labia, then
her cunt, then her anus.

As I began to move up and down her pussy, Charisma spoke words of
encouragement
-- and words of teasing.

"Ah yes, my dear little slut," she told me, "you know I like this. What a
pity
it has to stop soon while I piss."

I continued my word, and then, after a couple of minutes of cunnilingus,
Charisma, her voice a commanding hiss, cried out: "Drink me, slut, drink
me!"

And I placed my open mouth against her quim, hopefully sealing it
watertight as
her strong flow of salty urine gushed down my mouth.

The potent gusher must have lasted for 30 seconds, then Charisma pushed my
panting face away from her minge, splatted one final burst of urine against
 my
upturned face, then pulled my head back onto her sex.

"Now bring me off, you piss-drinking harlot," she snapped, as I resumed my
licking of her divine, aromatic sex trench.

At last, as she rocked and rolled on my hard-working mouth, Charisma's
orgasm
started to pour through her pussy and then she was shouting "I'm  coming,
go for
the clit, suck it, flat tongue it, bitch, bitch,  bitch!"

And then, with a shuddering, grunting upheaval she came hard on my
sweat-pouring
face.

With a sigh of pleasure, Charisma pulled away from my kneeling body and
Patricia's pussy loomed into view. "We're going to stake you out again on
this
mat for your final hour's pain and pleasure," my employer told me.  "Won't
that
be nice?"

I had my doubts, but responded like a good slave should: "It will be
wonderful,
mistress, thank-you mistress."

"Only I've changed my mind about putting you face down on it. Your pussy
and
mouth are so much more accessible if you're face up. Oh, and we'll leave
the
titty pillory on. Your breasts look so nice in it, I think."

And then she shuffled forward until her minge was settled on my mouth.
"Now,
darling," she told me, "your performance then was so arousing I've  decided
I
want you to do an encore."

Her minge smelled strongly of sex juice as I worshipped along her  labia.

"Oh, and by the way," she said, as I started my oral adoration of her quim,
 "I'm
afraid I'm busting for a piddle. Still, you won't mind that, will you,  my
sweet
little sex slave?"

I ran one long, slow lick along her lovely pussy and then breathed in a
hush,
submissive whisper: "It will be my pleasure, mistress."




Pleasure in the Pillory Chapter 05
============================================================================
====
My  ordeal was not yet over, Charisma "staked" me out on the rubber sheet
for my
final hour's fun and games, leaving the wicked breast "pillory" on me. No
sooner
had I been pinned onto the sheet than Charisma enjoyed herself  licking me
to a
noisy orgasm, while my employer, Patricia, amused herself by  giving me
some whip
strokes with the little titty torturer she had in her  hand.

After my orgasm, Charisma, then Patricia, sat on my face and encouraged me
to
bring them off with the manipulations of my tongue.

At last the session ended, and I was released, my body rubbed with soothing

lotions and I lay back in a wonderfully relaxing hot spa, as both my
mistress
and her assistant plied me with glasses of Dom Perignon. It was a
"marvelous
way to complete the afternoon's entertainment", as Patricia  remarked.

Sadly, it was also the end of the brief Indian summer, which meant no more
punishment sessions outside in the secluded garden, but that didn't mean an
 end
to my sex games with the author and her black beauty of an aide. The
pillory
parlor, as Patricia called it, was the scene of my weekly submissive
sessions.

In between, there was much work to be done on the book, which was almost
complete. Early in autumn, Patricia announced that her agent was visiting.
"She's in her mid-40s, my dear Penny," she told me, "but I think you'll
like
her. She's got the greatest breasts I've ever licked -- yours and Charisma's

excepted, of course."

The next day, Charisma put on her sexy leather "chauffeurs'" uniform and
went
to Dover to collect Patricia's agent. When she had left and after we  had
done
some revision work, Patricia asked me to go upstairs and put on one  of my
sexy
little black dresses. "Underwear will not be necessary," she  informed me.

In the bedroom as I changed I wondered if the lack of lingerie was a signal
 that
I was to be "displayed" to my boss's agent, then dismissed the idea. I
should
have known better by now - how silly of me!

Downstairs in Patricia's work study, I was introduced to a striking-looking

woman. "Penny, my darling, this is my agent, Karla Karson -- Karla, meet the
 best
historical researcher I've ever had," said Patricia, effusively.

Karla stood from her chair opposite my employer's desk and held out a
beautifully-manicured hand and gave me a strong, firm handshake. She was an

impressive woman -- her wheat blonde hair was cut in a deliciously short
crop,
which highlighted her lovely round face. She wore hardly any make up,
which
seemed to accentuate her deep blue eyes.

But it was her height -- over six feet in her high heels -- and her figure
which
stunned me. She wore a crisp, white blouse which was unbuttoned down  to
the
fourth button, thus displaying lovely firm mounds of breast flesh,  with a
cleavage to die for! Her middle was encased in a tight black leather
miniskirt
and her thighs gleamed beneath shiny stockings. I hoped she was  wearing a
suspender belt! I love suspender belts!

"Hello, Penny," she said in a deep, husky voice, "I'm delighted to finally
meet
you. Patricia has hardly stopped talking about you to me since she
employed you.
I'm told you have, how can I put this? Peculiar  talents."

My boss laughed and interrupted her agent: "Oh Karla, cut the crap and ask
Penny
to show you her figure -- you know you can't wait!"

Karla grinned at me. "Take no notice of her for once, my dear," she said,
in
that gloriously deep voice. Then she stepped forward and pressed her
fantastic
upper body against mine. Her breasts were so firm beneath the  blouse, then
her
hands were cupping beneath my buttocks.

Her mouth sought mine and after a brief kiss -- her lips tasted of
chocolate, I
thought -- she smiled down at me and whispered: "Shall we go  upstairs? I
think
Patricia has a couple of pages she wants to edit before  she gives me the
manuscript. Let's go!"

I remember looking at my employer. Part of me was aching to go upstairs
with
this ravishing tall beauty, part of me was seeking that permission from
Patricia.

The historical romance writer plunked herself down in front of her screen.
"Oh,
go ahead, Penelope," she said, in a mock petulant voice, "take no  notice
of poor
old cuckolded me, you go and enjoy your carnal lusts with my  agent, the
viper!"

Karla roared with laughter, picked up her Versace tote bag, slung it across
 her
shoulder, making her breasts strain and heave at the starched blouse and
held
out her hand. "Come on before the 21st century's answer to Barbara
Cartland has
another hissy fit, darling," she said, and marched me out of  the room.

As Karla closed the door, my employer screamed: "Barbara Cartland? That
over-rated old bag, you'll pay for that Karla."

Karla laughed: "If it hadn't been that, you'd have found another excuse,
you
wonderfully wicked writer, you."

On the way upstairs to my room, Karla kept my hand in her firm grip, and
occasionally nuzzled against my neck and kissed me on the throat, murmuring

pretty things like "I want you", which, by the time we had reached my
bedroom
door had changed to "I need you!"

Once inside, I felt Karla's hand unzipping the back of my dress, which was
soon
a crumpled heap at my feet. I kicked it away, I didn't think I'd be
needing it
for a while.

"Feet apart, wider, darling," she Karla, "I want to get a good look at
you!"

I obeyed her command, feeling my nipples erecting, my pussy starting to
moisten
-- what a lie, it had been moist for several minutes.

Karla looked at me critically, then held out a hand and cupped my 37-inch
breasts. "Wonderful," she murmured, "so lovely and heavy, the nipple is so
erect, like it's begging for worship."

Her hand traced down my belly, across my abdomen, flicking in my navel on
its
downward path, then caressing my mons before alighting on my shaved  snatch.

"Oh fuck," she said, the word sounding harsh from such a cultured accent,
"you're soaking! I love that!"

Then her hand was removed and she began to unbutton the remaining buttons
on her
blouse. When it was totally undone, she "flashed" the garment across  her
breasts, giving me a glimpsing little tease before throwing it on the  bed.

It was my turn to admire. Her breasts were big, like footballs, but the
nipples!
They were magnificent, they were the most suckable nipples I had  ever laid
eyes
on.

I stepped forward and placed my face against her big bobs, feeling their
firmness.

"They're 40 inchers and no, they're not natural," she told me, in a husky
whisper, "and I don't care. At 45 I'm old enough to have what I went, when
I
want it, and I'm proud of them. I damned well should be, they cost  enough."

But my mind was elsewhere. I took her left breast in my hand, cupped it and

sucked on the nipple. The nubbin was dark brown, almost black and it was
erect
and large and I had it all in my mouth. It was like sucking on a  thumb, it
was
so big! And around it was this marvelous, large round areola,  as dark as
Cadbury's chocolate. I was in love!

Then I moved to her other fantastic nipple, as erect as its twin sister,
and as
demanding of oral attention and adoration. As I sucked on the right
breast, I
was aware of Karla's hand moving behind her and unzipping, then  stepping
out of
her miniskirt.

I stepped back, not really wanting to let go of the-oh-so-tasty nipple, but

eager to check out the rest of this gloriously wanton woman. And yes! She
was
wearing a gleaming, shining, glistening black satin suspender belt  around
her
lush, lovely hips, holding up those sexy seamed stockings.

I knelt and stared at her snatch. A small copse of fair pubic hair -- she
was a
natural blonde, I was pleased to see -- nestled on her mons but below  it
her
Brazilian had provided a succulently naked pussy, its lips thick and
inviting. I
pressed my mouth against her labia, licking and tasting the  superb tang of
her
sex juice.

But Karla pushed me away and pointed to the bed. "On it, thighs wide, I've
got a
present for you," she demanded, and kicking off my last remaining  vestiges
of
apparel -- my high heels -- I climbed onto the bed.

>From her Versace bag, Karla produced a purple rubber dildo, it must have
been
seven or eight inches long. It had some sturdy rubber straps attached  to
it and
when she stepped into them, keeping her stockings and suspender  belt on, I
saw
that it fitted tight and snug around her. The cock waved in  front of her
as she
kicked off her shoes and climbed onto the bed.

I was curious to feel the thick rubber thing, with its heavy rubber ball
bag
below the shaft, but Karla kept me waiting, starting me off by using her
mouth
on my sopping sex. When she was satisfied that I was totally ready for  her
monster cock, she placed the cool rubber tip of the big machine against  my
cunt
lips, looked down at me with an evil smile and whispered: "Relax,  darling,
Karla's going to fuck your brains out."

I tensed momentarily, then relaxed as she lay on me and kissed me hungrily
on
the mouth, then the big rubber prick was sliding up my sex, driving  deeper
and
deeper. Had it been the real thing, I would have been revolted,  but it
belonged
to one of the sexiest women I had ever laid eyes on. I  kissed her back
passionately, welcoming the invasion of her rigid rubber  ramrod.

And now she started to fuck me, her buttocks clenching and unclenching as
she
thrust on me, using her strap-on to drive me wild, smothering me with
kisses all
over my mouth, face, throat and ears.

"I love you, I want to fuck you forever," she whispered, in between her
fevered
kissing.

"I want you to fuck me forever," I replied, my hands stroking her sumptuous
 bum,
stroking her, probing at her anus as she thrust up and down on my  body.

Then I began to feel the slow but inexorable surging of my climax and I
hissed:
"Roll me over, I want to be on top, you marvelous minx!"

Karla obeyed, instantly slithering beneath me until I was impaled on top of
 her,
the dildo moving me closer and closer to my impending climax.

I raised myself on my fists, until my arms were straight. My boobs hung
down
just above her sweet, smiling face, then I made my last demand: "Suck  my
nipples, now, do it!"

Karla's mouth encircled my left nipple, sucking, nibbling and licking at
the
engorged little cherry, then she traced her tongue across my breasts to
the
right nubbin, where she repeated the tantalizing teasing of my  titties.

Soon I felt a tremor flow from my breasts, down through my belly to my
clitoris
and then I was shouting and yelling "Yes, yes, I'm coming, Karla,  I'm
coooooming!" and with a huge bellow of bliss I bounced up and down on  her
as the
delight of my climax smashed through me.

I climbed off her ramrod stiff rubber monster and collapsed beside her.
"Fuck,
that was huge," I said, kissing her on the cheek.

Then Karla was peeling the strap-on from her lovely body and handing it to
me.
"Now it's your turn, darling," she said, handing me the implement.

I climbed from the bed, tugged the straps up my bare legs and thighs and
climbed
back up on her again. As I did, Karla knelt in front of me and took  the
rubber
tip into her mouth and sucked deep on the phallus. "Oh, that is  so
divine," she
said, tasting the residue of my sex juices on the dildo,  before lying back
and
allowing me to thrust it deep into her lovely  cunt.

"Oh fuck, that's so great, yes, fuck me, fuck me," she gasped as I began to
 work
up a steady tempo of thrusts in her well-lubricated sex tunnel.

It took only a few minutes for her climax to signal its imminent arrival
and, as
I had before, Karla insisted on rolling on top, thus allowing me to  suck
at her
stupendous nipples as she crashed her way to the Big O.

For minutes we lay side by side, panting, then calming, then kissing and
stroking each other, until Karla announced: "Time to see if Patricia's put
the
finishing touches to her manuscript, darling. Come on, we don't need
clothes."

And with that we walked hand-in-hand downstairs, me nude save for my high
heels,
Karla in high heels and still wearing that incredibly erotic  suspender
belt and
stockings outfit.

Back in Patricia's office, the famous historical writer looked up as we
entered,
but showed no surprise at our nudity.

"Well," she said, a broad smile spreading across her face, "what did I tell
 you,
Karla?"

Karla laughed and gave me a love pat on the buttocks. "She's as good as you

said, if not better," she told my boss. "I've got to commend you, you sure
know
how to pick 'em. Now, is that disc all ready for me to deliver to your
publisher."

Patricia placed a package on the desk: "Yes, it's finished, and I'm very
pleased
with it. But there's one thing I'm not pleased about --  Charisma!"

And at the shouted command, the lovely black bird entered the office from a
 side
door, clad only in a gleaming red PVC bikini and shiny black leather  boots
which
came half-way up her strong, muscular thighs and provided her  with a
delightfully dominating appearance.

In her hands was a set of rubber handcuffs which she quickly and expertly
snapped over Karla's wrists, a Karla, I noted, who did not seem to be
struggling
unduly.

"What the fuck is going on?" asked my employer's agent, who seemed to know
very
well what was going on. But her mild protest was snapped off in
mid-sentence by
Patricia.

"The thing I'm not pleased about is that Barbara Cartland crack, my dear
Karla.
Don't think I've forgotten it, because I haven't, and don't think  I've
forgiven
you -- at least not yet."

Then, addressing her assistant she ordered: "Take her down to the parlor,
Charisma, Penny and I will be along in a few minutes. When we get down
there  I
want to see that slut of an agent of mine in the flogging frame,  OK?"

"Very well, madam," said Charisma, with an evil smile on her face. Then,
with a
sharp tug on the lovely blonde's shoulder, the black bird snapped:  "Come
with
me, Ms Karson and let's get you ready for your little correction  session.
Barbara Cartland, indeed!"

Patricia grinned at me and rose from her chair. Then, as she stepped out of
 her
superbly tailored but severe little red Armani dress, she asked: "And my
dear
little researcher, how did you get on with my lovely agent?"

I drank in my employer's beauty -- her 40-inch breasts were thrust into
stunning
uplift by a black satin quarter-cup bra, her lovely middle was  garbed in a
tiny
little satin g-string.

Then, dragging my gaze away, I stammered: "Oh, madam, she's so lovely. And
so
passionate."

"Had her way with you with her fucking strap-on, did she?" grinned
Patricia, as
she moved behind the desk and took me by the hand.

"Yes, and then I reciprocated -- I've never used one before," I told  her.

"Well Karla loves her strap-on," said the historical writer. "But there's
one
thing she loves even more."

"What's that?" I asked, stepping into my boss's arms and giving her a long,

lingering kiss full on the mouth.

Patricia laughed. "An erotic flogging -- and an erotic flogging's just what
she's
going to get. And after that we'll give her an orgasm to remember.  Ready?"

I nodded eagerly, and we set off for the pillory parlor.

Down in the basement, we found that Charisma had strapped the lovely
45-year-old
blonde into the flogging frame, her body taut and sexy, bound as  it was by
the
strict straps. Charisma had, I was pleased to see, left Karla  in her
suspender
belt and stockings and high heels.

Charisma rose from the kneeling position she had adopted in front of
Patricia's
agent and wiped her lips, savoring the tangy aroma she had tasted  from the
blonde's pussy. "She's all ready, madam," said the black bird,  standing
back to
allow Patricia to stand directly in front of the pinioned  prisoner.

"So, my dearest Karla," said Patricia, relishing every word. "I'm this
century's
answer to Barbara Cartland, eh? Well, you're going to pay for  that, my
pretty
one. Charisma -- fetch me that pussy punisher."

Her assistant walked to the well-equipped bench full of flogging
paraphernalia
and returned to her boss holding out a stiff-shafted black  leather
implement. It
was about a yard long with a wicked leather strap at  the punishment end,
consisting of a square about two inches by two  inches.

Patricia stepped in front of the naked woman -- you can't really call a
suspender
belt and stockings "clothes", can you? -- and ran the tip of the  flogger
across
Karla's lips.

"Now, my pet, Dame Barbara Cartland. How many letters is that?"

Karla pondered, then answered: "Er, dame is four letters, Patricia. Barbara
 --
let's see, 'Barb' is four letters, and 'ara' is three that makes seven.
Seven
and four is 11."

"And the Cartland bit?" snapped Patricia.

"Er, 'Cart' is four letters," said Karla, "and 'land' is another four --
that
makes eight. Eight and 11 is 19."

"Hmmm," said my employer, tracing the flogging tip down Karla's throat,
then
running it over those glorious big breast mounds. "Nineteen -- that's  not a
very
tidy number, is it?"

"No, Patricia," said Karla, looking down as the flogger continued its
traced
path down her belly, over her abdomen and between her splayed  thighs.

"So we shall make it 20 ... that's a much nicer, rounder number, isn't it, my

sweet little slut of an agent?"

Karla nodded, making her wonderful boobs tremble slightly.

"Right," said Patricia, "I'll start with your left nipple, move on to the
right
and then punish your pussy. Ready?"

Karla nodded again, and again her beautiful breasts bobbed.

Taking the flogger in her left hand, Patricia stepped off to Karla's left
side,
then placed the leather-tipped flap against the victim's heaving left
breast.
She pulled her arm back, laid the flap on the nipple, large and  engorged,
then
flashed into the stroke.

"Aieee," Karla yelped as the pain coursed through her lovely breast. But
the
yelp had hardly died than Patricia's next blow was smacking once more
against
the nipple, the breast bouncing erotically at the impact. This time,  Karla
grunted an agonized "Arrrgh" as she felt the flogger do its painful  work.

Patricia struck her agent's left nipple eight more weighty blows, dragging
a
little scream, or grunt, or imprecation from her employee with each
stroke, then
moved over to Karla's right side. Switching the flogger to her  right hand,
she
repeated the 10-stroke punishment.

After that batch of 10, Patricia stood almost directly in front of the
lovely
woman's naked, bound figure. This time, she placed the leather flap  along
the
agent's weeping, sopping-wet quim. A long, slow stroke and  Patricia placed
the
leather to Karla's mouth and made her kiss it.

Then the flap found its way back to the beauty's bare box and Patricia
began to
whip the leather up against Karla's sex trench. With each blow, the  blonde
writhed and bucked and arched, throwing her body about, her breasts
bouncing and
jumping as she experienced the flagellation.

Then, the merciless woman retraced her original path of pain ... first the
left
nipple, then the right, then the pussy, until she had completed the
allotted 20
strokes on each target.

Patricia handed her implement of correction back to Charisma, then fetched
a
stool and placed it directly in front of the still writhing, still
wriggling
blonde.

"Righto, girls," she said to Charisma and me, "take a titty each, while I
work
on her poor old pounded pussy. You ready for this, Karla?"

"Don't keep me in any more suspense, pardon the pun," gasped the literary
agent.
"For fuck's sake get started, please, I beg you!"

And Patricia leaned forward and placed her tongue gently onto the woman's
pussy
lips, an act which drew a sharply hissed intake of breath from Karla.  As
Patricia's oral adoration began, I bent to take Karla's magnificent left
nipple
into my mouth, while Charisma did the same to her right nipple. Each
contact
draw sharp, sudden intakes of breath.

Then we all began to suck from our various stations on Karla's nipples and
pussy, acts which must at first have added to her pleasant pain, but which,
 as
we continued our licking and sucking, turned to intense pleasure as she
began to
give in to the lust coursing through her bound body.

Some four or five minutes into the exercise, Karla's body started to writhe
 in
her bonds as the delights of her orgasm began their first low, slow
surges, then
she began to buck and heave in the flogging frame as the orgasm  got closer
and
closer.

Finally, she could do nothing to stop the flood of orgasmic delight from
engulfing her and with cries of "Yes, oh yesyesyesyes, I'm cooooming" she
writhed and thrashed to a threshing, thrashing Big O.

As she calmed down, and Patricia stood up and planted a long slow kiss on
her
agent's mouth, Charisma and I removed her from the flogging frame.

Karla smiled at us, and in turn kissed both Charisma, then me before
announcing,
possibly with only some slight exaggeration: "Thank heaven we  did that
down in
this lovely padded parlor or I'd have been heard in fucking  Dover!"

The next day, Karla was off to London with the disc which she dropped off
at
Patricia's publisher. Some months went by, and then, in the depths of
winter, my
employer announced that we were off next week to The Savoy for a  series of
press
conferences, a publisher's launch and cocktail party all to  herald her
latest
history -- Torment at Trafalgar.

"We'll stay in a suite -- or rather, I will," announced Patricia. "Charisma,
 you
and Penelope will share an adjoining bedroom. I'm sure we'll all have a
lovely
time."
Having checked in, Charisma and I made sure our employer's  suite was fully
stocked with champagne, spirits and beer to cater for the  copious capacity
of
the press. But first there was a BBC TV crew, which  drank only orange
juice,
followed by another from team from some commercial  channel.

Next came he press and magazines, which made up for the lack of intake by
the TV
crews by making serious inroads into the bubbly and booze provided by
myself,
Charisma and a stunningly-attired Karla. Their combined thirsts, the  agent
assured me, was "par for the course".

By 5 o'clock Patricia announced she was "talked out about fucking
Trafalgar" and
took a bath, while Charisma and I had a quick, but  passionate, sex session
before we showered together and got ready for the  publisher's launch of
Torment
at Trafalgar.

The function in the hotel's Siemens Room was attended by about 50 or 60
people
and the man from The Times Literary Supplement immediately tried to  launch
himself on me. He was a tall, grey-haired and hawk-nosed old codger  of
about 60,
but Charisma rescued me and introduced him to one of her  dark-skinned lady
friends. Later, I noticed he was talking intently to her  in a corner,
stroking
her lush, leather-skirted bum.

But to be fair, The Times had been very kind to my employer's latest
historical
offering. The review in the TLS noted: "Her latest tome reveals a  wealth
of
historical research which only adds to the torrid tale. Although  the
'steamier'
scenes were perhaps a trifle too detailed for this reviewer,  they will no
doubt
increase the pulse rate of her many millions of fans  around the world."

The Daily Telegraph, while somewhat more censorious, surely added to the
book's
readership when it noted: "Vivid descriptions of intensely erotic  tortures
for
some of the male - and female -- protagonists, make for somewhat  disturbing
reading, a comment which will make not one jot of difference to  this
remarkable
author's huge readership."

The Sun had taken a somewhat raunchier tack. "Phew, what a scorcher!" its
reviewer
had panted. "Floggings, punishments, hot sex and steamy nights as  Horatio
takes
on the appalling Frog navy. Don't put it down -- it'll burn the  furniture!"

Speaking of The Sun, an oleaginous little photographer carrying what looked
 like
to be a hugely expensive camera, persuaded Patricia to pose between me  and
Charisma for the paper's gossip column.

As we stood closely together on a little stage at one end of the room, he
lewdly
called out: "Come on, darlings, show us a bit more cleavage!"

The picture eventually appeared in one of The Sun's gossip columns -- but
isn't
the paper one long gossip column? - under the heading "A trio of  bodices
we'd
like to rip". But I do have to confess we appeared to have  acceded to his
request over the amount of cleavage on show.

Finally, the speeches had been made, the last hangers-on drifted away,
including
the Times Literary Supplement man cuddling up to Charisma's  friend, and
Charisma
and I flanked Patricia as we made our way back  upstairs.

Outside her suite, Patricia said: "OK, Charisma, come in with me. Penelope,
 I
want you in my room in 10 minutes -- naked."

In my room, I stripped off but kept my high heels on, checked my watch, had
 a
quick vodka and tonic from the room bar, and opened the door to my
employer's
suite.

There, in the centre of the large suite, side-by-side stood Patricia and
Charisma, both naked like me, both with high-heeled shoes on their feet,
like
me.

Patricia was holding a cruel-looking little leather lash. In her other hand
 was
a copy of what appeared to be Torment at Trafalgar.

I moved forward and stood in front of her. Patricia gave me a broad smile
and
held the book out to me. "Here, my dear," she said, "this is a little  gift
for
you."
I took the book and opened it. The inside first page had a  scrawled
inscription:
"To my divine researcher, Penelope, all my love,  Patricia."

"Turn to the dedication page," said Patricia, as she bent the lash, flexing
 it
into a sort of u-shape.

I read the dedication: "To Penelope, without whose assistance and
inspiration
this story could never have been told."

It was so sweet, what could I say?

The best I could manage was a rather feeble cliché: "How can I ever thank
you?"

Patricia looked at Charisma and they both smiled.

"Well," said my employer, "for starters you can get down on your knees
...."