In other circumstances, they might have been prone to giggle, or smile and talk. But not now. This was a somber ritual, something their masters watched with keen, judgmental eyes. So, the slaves kept silent, dressing with care until every garment was restored to their bodies exactly in the way their master had placed it the day before.
To their dismay, it was far more difficult bearing the torture of their clothes this time. Their skin was raw, and beneath the flesh there were a hundred tiny aches and pains—all revived as they replaced each clamp, mouthpiece and invading dildo. Once finished, they presented themselves to their masters—finding as they did, a substantial peace invading their bodies despite the discomfort.
Like every other day in this exercise in submission, they were well worked about the ass with paddles and straps until their exposed behinds were glowing brightly. Then like good slaves, they learned to strut their wares, display themselves like statues about the house, and otherwise do the bidding of their masters. These were all rudimentary functions of their status, though it seemed as though there were some ulterior purpose to their efforts. If there were, however, they weren’t advised by any loose-lipped master.
After a long day, it almost seemed extraneous for another reading from Christian Barth’s book. Laney, Sandra and Elise were languid, tired slaves, afraid of spending another night in darkness, but sure that would be their fate. Their costumes cut. And where their tender skin was pinched, they could hardly stand the agonizing bites. They warred between their hungers, one for freedom and one that would drive them deeper into the feel of their restraints. Their minds were weary looking forward to sleep, while their stifled bodies sat waiting for the fire in them to flame.
Instead of moving to the library, the three trudged upstairs to the second floor leashed at their collars, each trying to look as starched and perfect as they had in the morning. Moving down the hallway past the bedrooms, they came to a door at the end of the corridor where they hadn’t been before. Inside, the unexpected scene delighted their eyes, with the room looking like one gigantic playroom, a sensuous brothel of lounges and pillows and diaphanous curtains, which seemed to float on the tropical breeze wafting through the windows.
Ordered to kneel, they took their places on the floor and respectfully listened to the words Erik recited…
On slave eroticism… use the desire bred in the structures of slavery to enhance the sexual stimulation. It will come naturally, born from the extremes and the physical awareness challenging the slave. Everything becomes erotic. The skin sensitized, the orifices thirst for pleasure and the body becomes a magnet for ecstasy. Every movement, every touch, every kiss rife with passion…
As he spoke, Erik’s hand was at Laney’s neck. He sat behind her with his slave inside his parted legs facing forward. Pulling her close into his crotch, he passed his fingers over the leather of her bodysuit until they came to rest on one breast where they lightly dabbled with the pincher squeezing her nipple to its shocking sensitivity. She drew in her breath. Even with the ballgag in her mouth a tiny sound escaped. Tugging on the pincher for a moment, Erik finally yanked it off, and Laney’s cry amplified in volume.
In front of her, Sandra and Elise were likewise teased as their master’s hands roamed their flesh finding points of pleasures, finding pain behind the release of clamps, and small cries of delight when bits and ballgags were removed. Bodies charged, the three women came together with female hands on female bodies—and male hands guiding their movements. Laney kissed Sandra on the mouth as she would any other lover, and her cunt clenched, finding moments later an erection entering her tight space from behind. She bore down hard to milk the cock, while her hands groped at the great wealth of Sandra’s breasts. Even while being fucked, she buried her face in the sweaty cleavage, basking in the feel of Sandra’s infinite softness as the velvet skin brushed her face. Hugging Sandra’s ass from behind, Elise burrowed her face into the woman’s broad ass, moving directly toward the warmly pungent cunt with her mouth. With both women pleasuring her, Sandra’s orgasmic belly spasmed as she arched her back and found an erection at her lips. Drawing it inside her mouth, she began to suck.
The third erection breached Elise’s ass, darting inside the once impaled channel with a fervent move toward climax.
Time moved on and the orgy shifted, as bodies turned and twisted, and joined in other fashions, as climaxes took shape and ended in screams…as whimpering lovers sought new lovers…as cocks bloomed and dwindled, leaving the scent of spent sex on cushions below, and on female thighs and female faces, and female lips—smiling now.
Small pains were soothed, while new lovebites surfaced on well-used skin. Sighs, satisfaction and great bursts of carnal lechery led them far into the night.
At the end, just before dawn, just before the first light of sunrise appeared in the east, the slaves, minus the bits and gags and the other embellishing tortures of their costumes, were lead to the vault again and caged as before. This time they slept more peacefully. And though they weren’t gagged, they didn’t say a word. Too exhausted to utter a sound, they fell asleep.
***
As the masters moved out of the vault into the cellar corridor, the heavy door hit hard against its frame and secured the cloistered burrow for the night. The three men moved in silence toward the stairs, Erik pausing before he started upwards, saying as he turned around, “Any of you wonder about what we’re doing here? We’ve just locked the women we love in cages…”
The comment startled the others speechless for a moment and they stood together considering Erik’s question until Matthew finally answered. “Yes. I think about it very late at night, wondering what’s happened in my old world that I’d invent this one.” They started up the stairs.
“Like there’s something we’re not seeing happening here?” Erik wondered.
“Yes, like there’s something we’re not seeing,” Matthew agreed. “I’ve felt manipulated by some outside force since we stepped on the boat.”
“That long?”
“Yes, that long. I’ve traveled on the open ocean in boats far smaller than our craft…I’ve never been spooked by a storm, but I was during that one… and then the minute we landed on this island… and when we opened the unlocked door. Now, every time something jumps out at me that satisfies my most base desire… I see this unseen hand placing it there… and the obscene images it puts inside my mind.”
They were at the top of the stairs.
“You sound possessed,” Jason tried to laugh it off. “Me? I’m leading with my dick…and seeing that the women in the vault aren’t rebelling, I don’t question what I’m doing. At least not consciously.”
“I wonder if that’s safe for any of us?” Erik considered as he pushed the door wide open and they stepped into the main floor hall. When they reached the living room, they were su
rprised to see Archibald Devane standing by the dining room door just as he had the day they first laid eyes on him.
“Gentlemen…” he nodded obsequiously, with the tone of his voice having a fawning ring that made them wary.
“What are you doing here?” Erik asked.
“Letting you know that I’ve made the arrangements we talked about yesterday.”
He’d jarred their memories back to the conversation on the veranda. “That’s good,” Erik replied, although he’d been vague about that conversation, and wasn’t sure now exactly what they’d agreed to then.
“Well, then,” Devane smiled again, the same crooked sort of indiscernible smile they’d seen before. He turned and waved, “In the morning.”
“Does anyone wonder about that man?” Jason blurted out once Devane was gone. “There’s something creepy—voyeuristic about him.”
