CFNM Revenge Tales (8 page)

“So tell me how many
days a week do you have to pump iron to keep that sexy body of yours in tip top
condition?”

“More or less everyday,
it helps working at a gym.”

“I’d say,” said
Christina, eying him from the other end of the chaise lounge.

“I wouldn’t mind
seeing you all hot and sweaty,” said Penelope, fixing him with a naughty grin.

Marco somehow managed
to maintain his composure and didn’t spill so much as a drop of the champagne.
Yet, as he moved on to Rosie and their eyes met for the briefest of instances,
before her gaze drifted down, he felt his cock harden a little. When she looked
back up a wide smile creased her face.

“I think the five of
us can get Marco all hot and sweaty.”

He visibly gulped, but
suddenly felt a tremendous buzz the likes of which he’d never felt before. As
he finished pouring the champagne, Rosie peeked at the contents of the goody
bag. The items as Amanda had said were not only suggestive, but as it turned
out also highly appropriate for Marco. Rosie laid the four simple items out on
the table for everyone to see. They included: a small bottle of lube, three
small fluorescent rings, a stopwatch and a blindfold.

“Hmmm” said Rosie, her
hand hovering above each of them. “What shall we start with? I think its time
Marco showed us what that body of his can do.”

She picked up the
stopwatch whilst simultaneously returning her gaze to a more anxious Marco.

Ten minutes had passed
and Marco had lunged, squatted, pushed and pulled his way through a more than
vigorous workout routine, whilst the five girls had sipped their champagne
enjoying every second. It looked like Marco was too, in one long obvious
respect. His penis, which had twirled, jiggled and spun like the rotator blades
of a helicopter as he’d exercised, was now noticeably stiff. Rosie looked him
over, nodding, pleased with what she saw. She had one last exercise for him to
perform.

“I want you to sprint
on the spot, just like the treadmill in the gym,” said Rosie, enjoying this
newfound power.

Marco shook his head knowing
he should have expected as much.

“On your marks, go.”

Rosie clicked the
stopwatch. Marco began a reluctant sprint, feeling ridiculous.

“Come on you can do
better than that,” said Christina.

Marco sped up and his
legs whirred, his balls bounced, his hard penis slapped ever more forcefully
against his six-pack.

“Get those knees up,”
shouted Rosie good-naturedly, but taking her revenge with unapologetic relish.

It was well passed the
minute mark when Rosie finally called time. Marco was panting, his legs were
burning, his blood was definitely pumping and a light sweat covered his body.

“So Penelope, you said
hot and sweaty, that good enough for you?” asked Rosie.

“I’ll say” came the
quick reply.

“It looks like Marco
likes being our slave,” said Bianca, referring to his stiff penis with a direct
glance.

“Or maybe its having
Rosie as his personal trainer,” Christina surmised.

“So which is it
Marco?” asked Denise.

Marco looked at them
still panting for a second, before that roguish grin of his reappeared.

“It’s having five sexy
women in front of me."

“Arhhh, isn’t that
sweet,” said Bianca.

Rosie looked at him
twirling one of the fluorescent rings on one finger.

“I think its time we
had some fun with these,” she said smiling.

The five girls had
Marco stand still as they each took aim at him and his big target. Whenever
they were successful the girls whooped in delight and made sure upon retrieving
the ring, to give Marco a little tickle, or a subtle stroke, ensuring his
hardened state for them. They were all having so much fun that when Bianca
spotted on the old grandfather clock that it was nearly midnight, they were all
taken by surprise. That meant just five minutes until it was officially Rosie’s
birthday.

“I think Rosie should
remember this night forever,” said Christina, picking up the lube and moving to
Marco with a naughty grin. She placed a hand on his firm shoulder. “I get the
feeling you will too.”

She whispered
something in his ear that was all but inaudible to the others. Marco raised an
eyebrow, but seemed to give his consent, muttering, “What the hell.” All that
coaxing and teasing had taken him beyond desire, by now he had little left to
be bashful about. Christina proceeded to flip open the lid of the lube and
drizzle a healthy dose of the liquid onto his stiff member. She smiled as he
exhaled pleasurably and the transparent lube coated him.

And so with girls all
seated and the minutes and then seconds ticking down to midnight, the women
whooped and cheered as Marco put on a performance of pure, primitive, pleasure
seeking passion. On the hour mark just as the great-grandfather clock chimed,
the explosive show climaxed with a bang.

The five women hugged
and kissed, still laughing at what had just occurred as they jubilantly
congratulated Rosie a happy birthday. It was certainly not one to forget. Marco
meanwhile was bent double from his excursions. It was only as Rosie approached
that he pulled himself up straight, his semi hard penis still deflating.

“Congratulations,”
Marco dredged from somewhere.

Rosie turned and
picked up the now cum splattered silver tray and empty bottle of bubbly.

“Here,” she said
passing them to him. “Looks like we’re out of champagne.”

She glanced at the
door, then back at Marco. He took the tray and bottle, catching her drift. But
just as he passed her, Rosie gave his ass a gentle slap and as he turned their
eyes met again for the briefest of seconds. In that look they new there and
then that their relationship was going to be a little different. The evening
had been one of empowerment and liberation, and Rosie’s trips to the gym from
now on were going to be interesting to say the least. As Marco disappeared on
his errand, Rosie rejoined the girls.

“That’s another thing
ticked off your bucket list,” Christina was saying.

“That’s something
ticked off all our bucket lists,” giggled Bianca.

And the girls weren’t
finished with Marco, not by a long shot, they had plenty more uses for him. By
dawn they’d have tested his endurance to the limit.

“Now,” said Rosie
looking around her. “Where’s that leash?”

The career of Conrad
Jenkins was on a sharp, upward, trajectory. As a senior politician in his early
forties, he had reached the top echelons of political life, the inner circle as
the media liked to coin it. He was man who kept to the shadows, yet his
decisions had the power to influence millions, and didn’t he know it. Those
beneath him in the food chain definitely did as they tip toed around him,
cowering to his demands.

To them he was a man
who exuded a strong, powerful authority, and was not to be crossed. In short
many considered him someone destined for even greater things, whether they
liked it or not.

Appearances can be
deceptive, however, and when the layers were peeled back Mr Jenkins had a very
surprising delectation, very surprising indeed given the pillar of power he
portrayed himself to be. You see once a fortnight, every Thursday evening
without fail, he would visit a lady by the name of Amber Steel.

Miss steel a flame
haired women, in her twenties wasn’t your old fashioned mistress. No, not at
all, she was a woman firmly of the twenty first century, quite unlike the meek,
servile mistresses, of generations past, whose bodies were used purely for the
sexual gratification of paying customers.

You see Miss Steel
would spank, whip or beat Mr Jenkins, depending on whatever mood took her.
Whether it was the loss of control that got him off, who knows. What was
certain was that he got an almighty kick out of it. Certainly enough of one to
put his ruthless ambitions in jeopardy, for if anyone was to get wind of these
secret meetings, he would not only be utterly humiliated, but his career would
lie in tatters.

Unfortunately for Mr
Jenkins he’d developed some very serious enemies who regarded him as a
spineless, corrupt, heartless individual. They weren’t far wrong. The most
feisty and garrulous of them was none other than an opposing politician by the
name of Carla La Verne. Ms La Verne had become irritated in the extreme not
only at the policies Mr Jenkins had overseen, but also at his snooty and
disdainful character.

When he introduced a
new set of tax hikes that promised to have a severe and detrimental impact on
the hard working people she represented, she decided enough was enough. There
was no way she was standing for this, from a man born into privilege, who’d had
doors literally and metaphorically opened for him his entire life.
       
As
one of the few people who had the guts and determination to take him on,
resourceful Carla, decided to do a little digging. It wasn’t long before she
learned of Mr Jenkins secret hobby, if you can call it that.

She was ready to even
a few scores.

The following Thursday Mr Jenkins left the jaded palace of
powers from which he worked, leaving any unfinished tasks to his hard pressed
underlings. In his chauffer driven Mercedes, he headed for his usual
appointment with Miss Steel. Through the blacked out windows he could see
people scurrying about their business, ‘damn fools,’ he muttered to himself,
viewing them as blind rats, intent on satiating whatever ambition or sinful
desire that popped up into their little heads. He shook his head, if only they
knew how worthless, how futile their existence was, just small cogs in a
ceaseless, overarching machine.

He quickly put such
thoughts to the back of his mind, however, their problems aren’t mine after
all. As the car crept along he felt a tingle of excitement, wondering what
punishments she had in store for him today. Rounding a corner onto a suburban
tree lined street he told the driver to pull over. He’d approach on foot, as
usual always conscious not to draw attention to himself, always wary of prying
eyes.

The house itself was a
respectable detached Victorian semi, in a desirable part of town no less. From
the outside there was no indication of the somewhat sordid goings on that
occurred. Mr Jenkins descended the steps to the basement apartment from which
Miss Steel worked. Having buzzed and identified himself the door unlocked,
enabling him to enter.

Following his usual
routine, he undressed in the small closet sized room by the door, folded his
clothes nice and tidily, before making his way along the narrow corridor and
into the padded red room, from which Miss Steel conducted her sessions. Here,
in just his white boxers, he knelt on the light wooden floorboards and awaited
his mistress’s arrival.

Just as his knees were
beginning to feel sore, he heard the clicking of heels. Miss Steel. She entered
looking every inch the femme fatale, dressed in a tight black leather corset,
and a matching short skirt and spiky heeled boots. Fishnet tights covered her
slender legs, and a green bow was tied between her pert, porcelain breasts. She
couldn’t help but smile when she saw Mr Jenkins. Today he was in for a big
surprise.

“Up,” she said,
commanding him to stand in her unmistakably Russian accent.

Mr Jenkins did as he
was told.

“Scoot back to the
wall.”

Again he did as
ordered, anyone who knew him by his public persona would have been astonished
by his subservience. Connected to the wall was a metal frame in the shape of an
‘X.’

“Spread your legs and
raise your arms for mistress.”

Miss Steel proceeded
to pull leather straps around his waist and thighs and lock his wrists and
ankles into cuffs attached to the metal frame. When she’d finished, she stood
back to admire her handiwork. Mr Jenkins stood spread eagled, in the same X
position as the structure to which he was attached. He was going nowhere, no
matter how much he struggled or protested. The finishing touch was a
blind-fold.

“No peeking for you,”
she said, coquettishly covering his eyes.

Having followed the
directions she’d been given, Miss Steel left the room. Mr Jenkins assumed it
was all part of the game, all part of the teasing, showing him who was boss,
making him wait. He pushed lightly against his restraints testing them. They
didn’t budge an inch. He didn’t feel any distress, however, quite the opposite.
Despite the bonds he felt extreme relaxation, a meditative tranquillity
overcame him as he accepted his complete and utter loss of control.

The room was warm,
comfortable and noiseless. His senses felt heightened in the darkness of the
blind-fold. Feeling an itch on his noise, he tried to rub it unsuccessfully
against his shoulder, but stopped as the silence was broken by the sound of approaching
footsteps.

They entered the room
and stopped in front of him for a moment, before coming closer. He felt warm
breath, the smell of perfume, which he inhaled enjoying the soft scent of
lavender. He imagined Miss Steel’s ample breasts and what wicked punishments
she had planned. He felt a hand on his chest and then a painful tug as a single
hair was plucked from his chest.

The hand moved up to
his face, a finger tapped his nose, before moving towards the blindfold. As it
was removed and his eyes blinked adjusting to the light, they widened in shock.
Standing before him, holding the blind-fold was none other than Ms Carla La
Verne, his political opponent, arch enemy and soon to be bête noire.

She looked professional,
dressed immaculately in a crisp white shirt, smart black skirt, sheer black
tights and polished shiny black heels. Her outfit contrasted sharply with that
of the normally powerful Mr Jenkins, who looked ridiculous chained in just his
white underpants.

“What’s the meaning of
this, what are you doing here, this is outrageous,” his words stumbled out,
over one another as he looked at her gobsmacked.

She held a finger to
his lips.

“Shhh, that’s enough
talking for now.”

Her voice was smooth, silky,
with a husky intonation.

She stepped back
slightly and withdrew a pair of silver scissors from behind her back, raising
an eyebrow as she ran a finger along its sharp edge.

“What am I to do with
you Conrad, what am I to do?”

Mr Jenkins looked at
her in shocked bewilderment, before violently rattling the metal structure he
was cuffed to. Just as before his bonds didn’t budge an inch.

“Get me off this
infernal thing,” he shouted enraged, demanding to be let lose.

He looked at her
seething, his breathing had become heavy, his face a furious red.

“All in good time, all
in good time,” she said unfazed, ignoring his complaints. “First I have a few
demands.”

She stepped forward,
scissors in hand.

“Keep still,” she said,
running the sharp blade gently against his chest. “I wouldn’t want there to be
any accidents."

He winced feeling the
cold steel against his soft, bare, skin. Much to his horror she went lower,
running the metal gently over his cotton boxers.

“Nice pants,” she said,
snapping the waistband. “Lets see what’s underneath shall we.”

She looked him in the
eye as he squirmed before her, panting, trying in earnest to move his body away
from her. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple, he was gasping in stunned
panic like a stranded fish out of water. He almost felt like he was losing
consciousness.

Carla proceeded to
crisply cut both sides of his boxers, removing them fully with one gentle tug.
She exposed his dangling little penis, his disproportionally large, low hanging
balls.

“Looks like you’ll be
going commando,” she said, tossing his pants aside dismissively.

He looked at her
speechless, mouth still agape.

She stood before him, one
knee bent, arms folded, with an amused grin as her gaze drifted downwards.

“What do you want?” he
asked glumly, regaining some composure.

“Now that is the
question.” She tapped her lips, in no hurry. “Hmmm, what do I want, maybe just
some fun or maybe for you and your cronies in government to stop making
people’s lives miserable. I’ve had enough of your smug, arrogant, self-satisfied
style of doing things. I expect you to follow my orders from now on.”

“Hah,” he said,
shaking his head. “Not in your lifetime.”

“I don’t think you
understand me Conrad,” she said, moving forward holding his head still by his
chin. “This is non negotiable, and in any case I don’t think you’re in much of
a position to negotiate. Do you?”

He scornfully looked
away. She let go and turned to her left, surveying a row of hooks and a metal
shelf. They contained whips, clamps and various bondage regalia that looked
like medieval instruments of torture.

“First things first
though, time for that fun.”

He could only watch as
she extracted a riding crop from a hook and turned towards him with a wicked
smile.

Ms La Verne held the
crop behind her back, poised ready to strike. As she swung Conrad flinched,
wincing in anticipation, his eyes tightly knitted shut. She stopped at the last
moment, a whisker away from striking his cheek.

“I’ve had enough of
you sauntering about like you’re the King of England,” she said, running its
leather tip over his face, ‘From now on you’ll be doing as I say. Understand?”

He was silent, glaring
at her with narrowed eyes as he weighed up his limited options.

“What’s the matter,
cat got your tongue?” she continued, running the leather tip over his lips, down
his neck, chest and stomach.

She stopped in
surprise noticing his stiff little penis. It was a clear and undeniable signal
of his arousal.

“My Conrad you really
do enjoy this, how very interesting, how very interesting indeed. If I’d known
you liked being so submissive, I’d of had you under my control far sooner.”

He dropped his head in
shame, unable to look her in the eye. For once he couldn’t bluff or lie his way
out of a situation.

“You know a man like
you should be very careful. For if these little visits of yours were to come
out, so to say, you’d be in quite a pickle.”

“You wouldn’t,” he
said looking at her nervously.

“Wouldn’t I?”

She paused enjoying
his discomfort.

“I mean what would
your colleagues make of this,” she said, giving his sensitive bellend a short,
sharp, smack.

“Or that lovely
devoted wife of yours,” she continued, smacking it a second time.

“And those kids of
yours, think of their horror when they grow up and learn daddy lost everything
because he liked to be humiliated.”

She finished with
three further, well placed smacks of the crop. Each went through him like a
painful jolt of electricity.

“Please!” he begged, cracking
as any composure he’d managed to maintain deserted him entirely. “I’ll do
anything, just don’t tell anyone,” he pleaded.

“As if I’d be so
mean,” she said returning the crop to its hook, before delivering her fatal
blow, her coup de grace.

“Aren’t phones
wonderful things, they perform so many functions nowadays,” she said,
retrieving hers from a pocket and holding it up.

“A little insurance to
ensure you follow my orders. Smile.”