Star Slave (8 page)

‘I know we don't need this shit to have fun, baby,' Magda smiled, shaking the black dildo between a thumb and finger in a lewd yet engagingly frank gesture. Felicity continued to stare saucer-eyed at the figure looming over her, and at the glistening phallus thrusting surreally from the black shiny loins. ‘But it can be quite a turn on. For you and me.' The seductive tones sank even lower, grew more throaty. ‘I like to penetrate, baby. You know, it can be a hell of a thrill. To feel your pussy bumping up against a babe's, to be in her, grinding away.' The strong face took on a suffused, dreamy expression, the eyes heavy-lidded with sensual promise. ‘And I know you like being shafted, baby. We can fool around girlie-wise later. Right now, let's ride!'

‘No,' Felicity whispered, but let herself be laid back on a cushion, her legs spread wide, before the athletic form lowered itself gently between them and carefully eased the shining dildo into the narrowness of the moist orifice waiting to receive it. Her legs came up around those sculptured thighs and driving buttocks, upon which her pink heels drummed with increasing urgency.

Felicity moaned, her dark hair tossed back and forth on the cushion. The rigid object burrowing away inside her was a source of both acute discomfort and wild erotic thrill. She felt its stabbing invasiveness filling her, skewering her narrow sheath, which spasmed powerfully even against the burning pain. Magda's breasts brushed against her face. She felt the erect nipples rub over her cheeks and nose, and strained frantically to nuzzle and lick at their rubbery hardness. The breasts themselves were firm, sculpted as though of marble, and Felicity's whirling brain wondered vaguely why they should be so solid, and not softly yielding like her own.

Then, suddenly, the pain flared, the torment stepped up, as Magda began to lunge frenziedly, battering her against the power of those muscled thighs, the pounding hardness of the stomach, until Felicity was crying, tears cascading from her, begging her assailant to stop. ‘Please - oh please! You're - it's hurting. Oh God!'

Magda gave one last deep thrust that seemed to pierce Felicity through to her womb, and the tortured figure swamped under the possessed fury screamed shrilly. The wonderfully sculpted buttocks bunched, Magda held herself above the writhing figure transfixed beneath her, holding her weight off Felicity. Several inches of the black dildo were visible between them, spanning their heaving stomachs like some weird umbilicus, before, with a convulsive shudder, the powerful form heaved off the smaller.

Magda gave a deep grunt, rolled away from the sobbing girl, the phallus buckled obscenely, before the large hands ripped it savagely from her loins and cast it aside, to reveal yet another covering, this time of snug satin which hugged the outlines of her sex.

‘My love,' Magda crooned, gathering the slim figure, covering her again, but this time with a purely feminine contact, all flowing tenderness, hands and lips and body caressing and soothing. The wonderful mouth held Felicity's until she felt her lungs would burst, and her senses reeled.

Then it left her, only to set her body afire as it traced its slow path over her flesh. It fastened on each nipple in turn, suckling until her breasts blazed with arousal, after which it moved with sweet torment down over her quivering belly. It bit and nuzzled and lapped at the conflux of her thighs and loins, before settling on the raw sex lips which still throbbed with the rough penetration they had endured.

But the pain was soon lost in the overwhelming desire conjured by the feathery strokes of the tongue that probed her slippery folds and sought out the beating bud of her clitoris. Felicity shuddered in transported delight, her fingers lost in the thick black hair that spilt profusely over her gaping thighs and her gently undulating belly. The tongue grazed, moved, ate hungrily at her exposed core, until Felicity's buttocks nipped ecstatically and lifted clear of the floor at the climax thundering through her, over and over, until she sank back, drained, every muscle limp. She wept in an excess of relief, and settled with total surrender into the arms and the body which cloaked her in their encompassing love.

 

Felicity guided the patient horse nervously along the woodland track. It was more than two years since she'd done any hacking, and she had never been at ease on horseback. She was beginning to regret her bravado in accepting Lord Burnopside's invitation to ride. Even then, she had half hoped that her supposed afterthought of not having any togs would get her out of it, but his lordship had assured her that they would find something suitable.

And they had.

She was astonished at the snugness of fit, and the pristine condition of the clothes a maid brought to her room, right down to the calf length highly polished boots and the checked riding jacket with its nipped waist. There was even a striped silk tie and jewelled pin to go with the dazzling white shirt.

‘You look splendid, my dear,' his lordship grunted, when they met at the back of the mansion.

She had tried not to show her anxiety, and her mount was steady enough, but she was glad that the wooded area on the sloping hill above the mansion necessitated their slowing to a walk. She had also swiftly realised how sore she was after the astonishing love play she and Magda had indulged in.

Now, the rubbing of her crotch against the saddle rekindled her memory of the weird event. Not only the pain was recalled. To her chagrin, she felt her briefs clinging stickily beneath the thick stuff of the jodhpurs. She glanced round. There had been about six of them in the party, but they were all widely spaced now, some of the more experienced having gone ahead and beyond sight. Only Lord B himself was still with her. He moved up to her side.

‘It opens up a bit here,' he said. ‘We'll give' em a bit of a gallop, eh?'

Somehow she managed to cling on during the terror-stricken minutes which followed. She was too frightened at the time to be aware of the undignified spectacle she must surely present, as she clung on, hanging over her mount's neck, red faced and whimpering with fear, her hard hat hammed down over her nose.

Afterwards, back at the stables, he carefully lifted her down, his hands gripping tightly at her waist, and she marvelled at his strength, despite his advancing years. Of course he was still handsome, in a time worn, craggy sort of way. His silvery hair and moustache suited him. He was attractive in the way older men could be. She wondered at his age, and blushed as she found herself trying to picture him as a sexual partner. He looked older than daddy. He must be well into his fifties - at least, she guessed.

They went through the kitchen garden and in by the butler's pantry. There seemed to be no one about at all, the house strangely silent, but there was a smell of cooking and some noise of bustling activity from the kitchens.

He sniffed appreciatively. ‘Ah! Sunday lunch. Always takes me back, that smell. So nostalgic.' He smiled at her in the dimness. ‘Come on, young lady. I've some stuff that should help with the stiffness.'

He held her arm as they went up the wide staircase. On the first floor she could hear voices and the click of billiard balls. She wondered where John was. Or Magda.

He was leading her off to the right. ‘I'd better go and change,' she murmured. ‘I'm—'

‘In here,' he cut her off abruptly. ‘Come on.' He spoke firmly in a no-nonsense tone, and she obeyed him. The room was quite small and very modern compared with most of the guestrooms. It was comfortably furnished, with a low bed against one wall. She guessed it was his room. A modestly sized bathroom opened off it.

‘Sit.' He gestured to a round-backed chair, and she did as she was told, feeling her awkwardness growing.

‘Give me your foot.' He bent as he spoke and picked up her right one. With a series of tugs he managed to haul the boot off, and then did the same with the other. ‘Get your things off,' he said, his voice thickening. ‘I'll run a bath for you.'

Her face blazed. ‘Please, I'd rather go to my room, if you don't mind.' She hung her head, unable to look at him.

‘I don't mean you any harm, my dear,' he said gravely. ‘Nor would I ever dream of forcing myself upon you. You know that, don't you?' His crooked finger lifted her chin, and she felt the tears start in her eyes once more. ‘I'll run the bath for you. Then I'll arrange for your massage.' There was a slight pause, before the husky voice continued even more softly. ‘You know I care a great deal for you, Felicity. As a person. I don't mean just for your looks - though you are staggeringly beautiful.'

She murmured an automatic denial, blushing even more.

He turned away and went through to the bathroom. ‘There's a robe on the door there,' he called, and she heard the sound of water beginning to splash into the tub. ‘Slip it on, if you'd rather. ‘

With a sensation of helplessness which she somehow felt had been with her for most of her brief stay, she unbuttoned the jacket, slipped it off and laid it on the bed. She unfastened the belt and stiffly bent to drag off the riding breeches. Hastily, she shrugged off tie and shirt, then bra and pants, before reaching gratefully for the thick woollen robe, after which she sat and pulled off the thick stockings.

‘In you get.' He stood in the doorway, smiling. ‘Come on, take your time and have a good soak. Then I'll get someone to massage you. You'll be right as rain by lunchtime, I guarantee.'

She stood and edged past him. There was a wonderful fragrance in the air, and the large tub was full almost to the top with a swirl of thick creamy foam. She stood, blushing, not knowing what to do, and he put his hands on her shoulders, picking up the lapels of the robe. She undid the sash and let him take the garment off her, blushing from top to toe and aware of every inch of her nakedness.

He turned away and hung the robe on the hook on the back of the open door. ‘Hop in,' he said again. ‘I don't think it's too hot.'

Feeling very vulnerable and foolish again, she stepped into the water and slid down thankfully beneath the concealing lather, savouring the frothy caress bubbling up over her breasts. She was decently covered again, only her shoulders and arms showing. She tensed as he leaned down close, but he merely wadded a towel and fitted it behind her head. ‘Now you just lie there and relax. I'll go and see about this massage. Don't nod off and drown, will you?'

 

The mansion felt oddly deserted when the riding party had left. John wandered into the library, moved restlessly along the shelves of books, idly pulling one out now and then and replacing it after only a brief glance.

‘Not into outdoor pursuits?' The deep, rich voice startled him. He had not heard Magda enter. ‘I can't say I blame you. Neither am I. I prefer pleasures of a more subtle type.'

He felt a tremor that was almost like a frisson of fear. It thrilled him. ‘I can believe that,' he said. His throat felt dry, his heart racing. There was something; an indefinable but immensely powerful excitement which seemed to grip him. Magnetic Magda, he mocked, striving to keep a tight control over his feelings.

‘You're as delightful as your gorgeous cousin.' Magda's voice was like dark velvet caressing him. He cleared his throat. ‘Am I? I shouldn't have thought you would find me quite so appealing.'

‘Oh, but I do.' She came to him, and placed a perfectly groomed hand on his sleeve. ‘Are your tastes as exotic as hers?'

He was quivering tautly now. ‘Oh yes. At least, perhaps more so, if you'd like to try me.'

She laughed, a rippling chuckle, and leaned in close.

He saw the full, vividly painted lips approach, pursing as they came, to settle fragrantly on his own uplifted mouth. The contact was gentle, but lingering. ‘Come with me, Johnny. You don't mind if I call you that, you dear boy?'

The room she led him to was high up, on the mansion's third floor, discreetly hidden away from the main part of the building. There were no windows, and the harshly brilliant strip lighting overhead revealed a bare room, with pale walls on three sides. The fourth, opposite the door, consisted entirely of floor to ceiling mirrors. A series of ropes and metal bars, like trapezes, hung from the thick beams traversing the room overhead. At the ends of several of the ropes were metal rings, from which in turn dangled lengths of chain. There was no furniture, but on a wall rack John saw various instruments of punishment, from whips to leather straps, slender canes, and bundled birch rods. The thick carpet was a rich dark blue.

‘I want you to undress for me, Johnny.' The dramatically made-up eyes were alight with mischief as she smiled at him warmly.

Again, he found it hard to speak. ‘What about you?' he managed.

She chuckled. ‘I asked first. Now come on, I promise you'll love it.'

With a feeling of helplessness, which was all part of the excitement that made his prick throb, he obeyed, bending to slip off his shoes, shrugging off his pants and shirt, the patterned socks, and finally, with only a slight pause, pushing down the tiny black briefs. He stood there and forced himself not to cup his genitals, his toes flexing in the carpet with deep embarrassment.

‘Come, give me your hands.'

Afterwards, he reflected on the strange power she was able to exert over him, and on his own willingness to allow her to dominate him totally. But as she spoke his arms lifted almost of their own accord. He felt her power, but was incapable of analysing it, indeed, incapable of any coherent thought over the drumming of his blood.