Late Nights and Early Mornings
Tabitha Adams got up to pee at about three a.m., sliding out from beside Paul and padding down the hall to his bathroom. Their bout of sex earlier hadn't been quite as comfortable as she told Paul; on the other hand, it had been very rewarding, since the orgasms produced had been real. It had been a long time since she'd let herself go like that; even when she was supposed to be kicking back with friends, sex had usually been something given in trade for dope or some other favor, and thus, in her mind, business. And business transactions meant that the customer got what he (or occasionally, she) paid for, not that Tabitha got her clit tickled. Clit tickling was something usually done in relative solitude, while Tabitha fantasized about, um, well, somebody like Paul, actually... Hmmmm... Tabitha collected a wad of toilet paper and patted herself dry, resuming her thought process. The last week or so had been pretty wild, what with that fuckin' bastard kidnapping her and fucking her over, Armand fucking Wilson riding to the rescue when she hit the hospital, and Paul. Apparently, they'd pushed the dope outta her, mostly; the urge to get more hadn't disappeared totally, but she had no driving urge to do anything about it. Given the fact that the pursuit of her next fix had been one of the driving forces in her life for a long time, she felt both relieved and bereft of focus.
Then there was Paul. Tabitha stood in the door to the bedroom, gazing down on him in the dim light of a streetlight filtered through his half-closed curtains. The thing about Paul -- one of them, at least -- was that he didn't want anything from her. Come-ons that would have gotten her spread in no time sent him off to hide for a day, instead; rather than him chasing her, SHE was chasing HIM -- and having a tough time of it. Was that the sole attraction, she wondered? Why throw herself at someone who didn't want her?
But that wasn't it; Paul's attitude didn't reflect a lack of interest, but rather a feeling that Tabitha was trying to pay him for something not owed. Married to that was a naturally suspicious nature that mirrored the instincts that kept Tabitha alive and generally unscathed -- except for the most recent incident, anyway. Generally, what Paul got, he bought and paid for -- people offering him free stuff caused him to look the gift over VERY CAREFULLY, checking to see if it was a Trojan horse or something. Tabitha understood that, but she'd offered herself, anyway, and not taken 'no' for an answer -- and, frankly, she'd been highly pleased with the result. And as for Paul's protestations that she owed him nothing, THEY were absolute bullshit, as the fight in the restaurant parking lot a few hours ago had clearly proven. Sure, old man Wilson was paying him to protect her, and no doubt he'd collect his pound of flesh for it -- but tonight had been kind of a date, at her insistence; it had been dangerous and maybe stupid, and Paul had been in control and handled it. Nonetheless, Tabitha put the whole thing aside and put up the excuse that she needed to know if her moneymaker was working again -- something that had HIM doing HER a favor, rather than anything smelling of payback. But the reality was that Tabitha felt an imperative to reaffirm her femininity -- not that she could have expressed the concept -- and THAT required someone who would appreciate the effort. THAT was why she hadn't picked Scott, for instance -- or any other of the available men in the safe house, or an old contact like Julio. Any of them would have taken what she offered without thought, which would have done nothing to affirm its value. The very fact that Paul was leery of the offer implied that he valued it and provided Tabitha what she was looking for; when he finally accepted, she made sure that it was good for BOTH of them, treating the tryst romantically rather than as a business transaction, because she needed to remind herself that she was a woman, too, not just a hooker. It had worked, fabulously -- but what was next?
Paul cracked an eyelid. "Coming back to bed?"
"Howcum you're awake?"
"I'm a light sleeper. Goes with the territory." He eyed her for a second. "I know I'm ugly and all, but how long is it going to take you to work up the nerve to get back into bed with me?"
"Ugly?" Tabitha broke from the door and strode toward the bed, "I SEEN ugly, Honey, and you ain't it! Actually, I was takin' in how good your big ass looked sprawled across this bed!" She crawled onto the bed beside him. "You all lively then?"
"One hole to go then. Wanna try some ass?"
"What? I, uh, never..."
Tabitha, who had knelt up, eyed him over her shoulder, eyes twinkling. "So I get to pick a cherry?"
"Yeah, I guess so," Paul grinned back.
"Okay, bring it over here, and I'll get it wet," Tabitha directed. "I gotta warn ya, it's not your average ass -- it's a smart ass!" Tabitha grinned from ear to ear.
"Ohhh, boy!" Paul rolled his eyes, but Tabitha wrapped her big, soft lips around his half-hard cock and his next noise was a grunt. She just gulped him down, then tightened her lips and withdrew, dragging them over the entire length of his cock. Then she did it again. By the end of the second pass, Paul was rock solid. Next, she laved spit on it and backed off, leaving it dripping.
"I don't suppose ya got any lube?" she asked. Paul shook his head apologetically. "Wet a finger then?"
"Sure." Tabitha turned back around and Paul wet a finger with spit (not doing as good a job as Tabitha had on his cock), and gently working it into her rectum. It WAS a smart ass; her sphincter didn't fight him.
"Wetter is better," she admonished, so Paul re-wet his digit by spitting in the cleft between her ass cheeks, since licking the finger didn't seem to be a good idea.
The whole anal sex thing wasn't something that had occurred to him; usually, just getting the regular thing was enough of a problem. Still, homosexuals seemed to like it, and the tale was that some women did, too... "Do you like this?" he asked as he nosed his drippy erection against her sphincter.
"Ummm, not somethin' I ever did fo' fun," she replied, "But it's kinda a premium option, if ya know what I mean, so I do it. Don't hurt if you are prepared an' you do it right. Ahhh, easy! We AIN'T doin' it right!"
Paul stopped dead, about halfway in. "Sorry. What can I do?"
"Mmmmm, spit ain't gettin' it. Go any oil? Butter?"
"One or the other. One sec." Paul backed himself out; he wasn't visibly icky, so he stopped worrying about it and headed for the kitchen. Butter and oil weren't exactly bachelor's supplies, but he'd been in here a while, so he had SOME domestic coverage... "Butter's in the fridge -- that'll be cold. Oil?"
"Butter still might be easier ta get in deep, Honey -- but we can try oil. Get 'em both an' we'll see..." Tabitha nonchalantly draped herself over the kitchen table.
"Here?" Paul asked, turning from the cabinet with a bottle of cooking oil.
"Easier ta clean up than a bed," Tabitha replied, matter-of-factly.
Paul shrugged and started trying to coax oil into her sphincter -- a trick if there ever was one. But Tabitha helped by relaxing, and soon his index finger was running in and out pretty smoothly. "Gotta take it easy," Tabitha observed, "or it'll get TOO slick an' ya won't feel anything. Le's try it." Paul made insertion again and slowly started working his way into Tabitha's rectum, but again, at about halfway, Tabitha grunted and waved for him to stop. "Uhhh! Still bad in there, deep. Sorry!"
"Hey, it's... okay," Paul replied.
"Le's go in the bathroom and wash the oil offa me an' the... whatever offa you, then we can go back to bed an' you can poke my pussy some more," Tabitha suggested.
The pair headed for the bathroom, Paul making the pro-forma demurral, "You don't have to..."
"You gotta boner, an' I gotta itch, 'way up inside. Le's not complicate things by keepin' score," Tabitha replied. "Can I use that?" she asked, motioning to a washrag on the bar.
"I don't put them up for show," Paul replied, displaying the forbearance not to add, 'like women do.' Tabitha wet the cloth after warming the water and washed him first, removing what little mess he'd collected before rinsing it out and applying it to her ravaged backside. There WAS a little crap there -- but it was only visible on the washrag, not on his cock. Paul took the rag from Tabitha and did a little more thorough job on her ass, since he could see the mess and she couldn't.
Tabitha reached back with a hand and captured Paul's erection, giving it a maintenance squeeze, "C'mon, Lover, let's put that to work! You make me cum like that again, I might get addicted!" Paul grinned and tossed the washrag in the sink -- three a.m. wasn't the right time to do laundry, especially with a woman holding his dick... Tabitha turned and headed for the bedroom, leading him by his tool.
The next few seconds had a flow to them that Paul didn't think any other woman could have managed. Tabitha crawled onto the bed and knelt up, dragging him along until she needed the hand to crawl forward, then reached back and captured him again as he crawled up behind, plugging him into her pink opening without fanfare and CERTAINLY without any trouble! Once her vagina had captured his glans, it went snug and Paul pushed himself balls deep into some of the most incredible pussy he'd ever had! It was hot, wet, clutching -- luxurious -- and it milked him gently on the outstroke. Tabitha fitted her hips to his height and dropped her torso, which added pressure from her pubic bone to the mix, but also added contact with his pubic hair, swinging balls, and even some shaft action for her clit. "Go to it, Lover!" she urged, "Give Mama a big one!" Paul set up a pace that was brisk but not punishing, and the pair settled in for the ride.
Paul was surprised that he even rose to the occasion; the last time he'd had two orgasms in anything resembling quick succession had been early in his second marriage. To be working on a third the same night, well... Apparently, however, the intervening nap had recharged him somewhat; certainly, he was having no problem providing a sustained attack...
Tabitha was resting her head on her forearms and grunting softly with every stroke. Paul would have been gratified to know how well he was actually doing, because Tabitha was enjoying his efforts immensely. Sex for fun had stopped happening a LOOOONG time ago -- somewhere about the time that her abandonment by Nate's father had raised prostitution as a career choice. Ever since then, sex had been the job, more or less, and relief had been something handled by solitary masturbation -- or dope. Working sex was all about making your partner enjoy it to the point that he got off rapidly and hit the street; Tabitha had developed techniques that worked very well for a male but didn't expose her to much in the way of sensation. Add the fact that she needed to concentrate to employ them and the fact that she was a slow starter, and a john seldom challenged her.
This evening, though, with Paul, she'd put those techniques away in order to see if sex for fun was still possible -- and, surprisingly, it was! In fact, it was damned good! Right now, she was looking for hers, putting her cunt in the right places to make it feel good and get a solid stroke on her clit, and she was letting Paul do the work, rather than concentrating on coaxing him to juice -- and the freedom to enjoy herself the situation granted was intoxicating in itself! Paul was slammin' away, but it wasn't any jackrabbit thing and her pussy could take it -- besides, her clit was lovin' it, getting a slap from his big ol' balls on every stroke! By now, she'd have squeezed most johns dry twice; it would have been all over, the john would have been dressed and gone, and if she'd gotten a little tickle, maybe she'd be diddling herself before going back out. But she was just lettin' instinct handle her pussy, and Paul was pistoning in and out like he had a full tank of gas and nowhere to go, and Tabitha was startin' to lose it... "Uummm... Uummm... Uummm... Shit, that's good! Uummm..."
Paul didn't know whether to believe her or not -- but if it was acting, it was GOOD acting! Hookers usually insisted that you were driving them nuts in an effort to peak your excitement -- which could be an irritant, since making it last was preferable. The other side was the 'instant on' thing they had afterwards that, if you thought about it (and Paul did), was a prime indicator that all the excitement during the act was faked. For that reason, hookers ran behind amateurs -- even the low-end desperation cases he usually ended up with -- in Paul's hierarchy of available sex partners. Tabitha had been pretty flashy earlier in the evening, which was suspicious -- but this time, she was a lot more subdued. Paul wasn't worried, though, because he could feel a tension building in her -- one which experience told him was a real, believable arousal. If she WANTED to fake it, undoubtedly, he'd never know the difference -- but theoretically, that wasn't the point of the exercise, so why worry? "Is there anything else I can do for you?" he huffed.
Tabitha blinked, and turned her head to the side so she could get a look at her husky lover. What could he do for her? Wow! When was the last time she got THAT question? And when was the last time she'd been in a position to accept? "No, Baby, you're doin' jus' fine!" she gasped. "You keep doin' that, an' in a bit I'm gonna be one happy gal!"
An answer didn't seem to be required, so Paul just worked on maintaining his rhythm. Tabitha obviously wasn't bringing her professional tools to bear, but this was still hands-down the finest piece of ass Paul had ever had! Habit and instinct had her clutching him gently with her vaginal muscles, a practiced, educated response well beyond the capability of most women. Only the fact that he was in recovery from a couple of huge orgasms kept him stable -- but that would be short lived, in any case...
Tabitha started seriously losing control; Paul had her clit, and her G-spot -- and her brain, for that matter -- all going at once, and she couldn't just wait passively for the big bang any more. Instincts that seldom kicked in overrode programmed responses and she started to hunch to get that extra little bit, tuning her position to present herself for heavier impacts. "Uuh! Uuh! Uuh! Uuh! Go Lover! Oh, Lordy! Uh! Uh!! Uh!! UUH!! OH, GAWD!!!"
Paul was rapidly drawn into the maelstrom as her pussy's clutch on him intensified and she wailed and rocked herself back into him. Suddenly, they were grinding themselves together while she clutched and milked him -- and all thought of getting her to another of these left him as her inner lining found some combination of contractions that provoked orgasm in him without any warning whatsoever! "Jeezus!"
Tabitha hunched there for a moment, panting, but Paul had apparently finished, too, "You done, Baby?"
"Yeah." Paul was absently rubbing her hips and her ass.
"Okay, jus' leave me like this. I don' think I can move..."
Paul chuckled and got up to get a washcloth. After washing himself off, he rinsed it and carried both it and a towel to Tabitha. "Do I need to straighten you out or something?"
"No, I jus' didn't want ta dribble on the bed, so I figgered I'd keep it in the air. 'Sides, I was fresh out of energy..."
Paul started wiping her vulva with the washrag, "So, I gather that it works?"
"With the right pecker in it, anyway," Tabitha agreed. "That was... shit... damn good!" Clean and dry from the towel, she gingerly rocked forward, straightening her legs and stretching out. "Think y'all could cuddle an old whore while we get in another nap?"
Paul shrugged and nodded. "I can do that." He tossed the washrag and the towel into the bathroom and crawled up onto the bed, pulling her against him. It only took a few moments for both of them to start snoring.
Randall staggered up off the open couch and wandered toward Mary's bathroom, bumping into things here and there due to the unfamiliar territory. This piss seemed to take forever, which Randall found amazing, but earlier in the evening there had been other imperatives. Exiting the bathroom, he discovered that the situation had changed; by the low light of a bedside lamp, the trio were writhing on the bed. Stick hopped up and grunted, "Figured we'd give ya some light..." as he passed by on the way to the bathroom. Teddy and Mary remained on the bed and Randall slowed to make out what was going on.
It was a sixty-nine. Teddy's head was up between Mary's heavy thighs; Mary lay on her side with one leg cocked up and lapped and nibbled at Teddy's glans. Randall eyeballed it all for a moment, then winked at Mary, who just happened to be facing him, and passed on -- to discover Darla Jean hanging over the foot of the couch. "What are they doing?" she asked.
"Soixante-neuf," Randall replied.
"Kewl!" Darla Jean craned to get a better look.
There was a pop as Mary's mouth cleared Teddy's glans. "You're gonna hurt your neck, Darla Jean! Come on over -- there's room on the bed..."
Randall quelled his concerns as Darla Jean circled the couch -- but then she made it easier by capturing his hand and wrapping his arm around her waist, murmuring, "Come here, Sweetheart." The pair sidled up to the bed, where Mary had resumed compensating Teddy for his tongue work.
"Whazzup?" Stick greeted them, announcing his return.
"We're just watching..." Darla Jean murmured, embarrassed.
Stick grinned. "Mebbe we oughta do a pussy-eatin' study..."
"Some of us need to practice first," Randall replied, but he was easy about it.
"Mmmm, maybe. Why don'cha set her there an' get you some?" Stick offered, waving at a corner of the bed.
The surprised glint in Darla Jean's eyes was all Randall needed. "There are worse ideas..."
Randall led Darla Jean to the foot of the right side of the bed as viewed from the head, where she could watch Teddy work on Mary, but Stick forestalled him. "I'm gonna be changin' shit here. Better park there 'til we get organized," he recommended, pointing to the other corner at the foot, which was closer to where Mary was servicing Teddy's erection. "Y'all can go anywhere ya want, once things get settled." That said, he rubbed Teddy's shoulder, "Lemme take over there, Ted. I got somethin' for ya." Teddy glanced up, took in Stick's erection, and nodded, rotating himself back and away so that Stick could insert his narrow frame into what was now a daisy chain with his head replacing Teddy's at Mary's vulva and Teddy, effectively upside-down, going to work on his cock and balls. This draped Stick at an angle, his head buried in Mary's crotch at about the center of the upper part of the bed and Mary's legs gathered more on the upper right corner, his legs extending down and to the lower right corner, almost draping over, while Teddy engaged his erection somewhere in the middle of the lower right quadrant of the bed then draped almost crosswise of the bed past the point where Mary suckled HIS erection.
"Let's go up to the head," Randall suggested. The head of the bed on the left side was the location most open, so he settled Darla Jean with her ass on the edge of the bed, laying back on her elbows. This provided Darla Jean a prime view of Stick lapping at Mary's twat and a somewhat more distant one of Mary absorbing Teddy's cock. If she cranked her head back, she could see Teddy at work on Stick's erection, but it was more difficult. Randall lifted her spread heels to the edge of the mattress and murmured, "Let me know how I'm doing -- not stupid, fakey stuff -- just what's good and what isn't. I want it to be good..." And with that, he knelt up, leaned forward, and started tongue-lashing her inner labia. In a moment, Darla Jean was adding her own notes to the symphony of liquid sucking sounds and low moans being made by the other three.
For Darla Jean, this was a dream come true! Within inches of her wondering eyes, Stick was whirling his tongue all over Mary's twat, drifting here and there and alternating long laps with suction on Mary's thin inner lips and the hood of her clit. Looking up Mary's body, she could see her working a mouthful of Teddy's chubby cock, lovingly suctioning it. Added to all the visual stimulation, Randall was setting HER twat on FIRE with his tongue! "Oooohhh! Easy! Not at the clit -- go alongside! It's too intense! Oh, God! Yeah! There!" Randall laved a bit along her clitoral hood, alternating sides, and she moaned, "Poke at my hole! Uhhh! Along the top -- yeah! Okay, now go back..." The other three were SOOO exciting, but Randall was KILLER!! Taking his cue from her directions, he rotated through attacking her labia, clitoral hood, and quick pokes at her vaginal opening, keeping the sensations fresh, everywhere, and making her moan and squirm.
Darla Jean's moans were music to Randall's ears. He wanted her hotter than a pistol, as long as it was him making it happen! He ramped up the intensity of the attack, intent on bringing her off.
Stick backed off Mary a moment so he could talk, "Hey Randall, watch this!" Randall popped his head up so he could see, and Stick, with great ceremony, wet his finger and started working it around Mary's sphincter while going back to laving her clit.
Mary moaned intensely, and began to thrash. "OOOOO, GAAAAA!" she squawked around Teddy's cock, then her whole lower half started to shimmy! Her ass clenched and quivered, and her anus pulsed open, allowing Stick to insert his finger tip -- which seemed to set her off even harder!
About that time, Randall slipped a finger into Darla Jean' twat to replace the tongue work he'd been doing so he could watch. Darla Jean arched and gasped. Then Randall decided that Mary had probably provided all the entertainment she was going to, so he went back to tonguing her clitoris. Darla Jean pinned his head in place, undulating slowly. "Rub me... a little higher... There!" she gasped, as Randall, following instructions, worked his finger along the upper surface of her twat, apparently finding her G-spot. "Ooohhhh! Mmmm! Mmmm!! Mmmm!! Mmmm!!" The undulations got fiercer and Darla Jean crushed Randall's face to her pulsing crotch as she slid over the top and into ecstasy, "OHGODOGODOGODOGOD!!!" In a moment, she let go and collapsed, gasping, "Oh, that was Heaven, Sweetheart!"
'Sweetheart, huh?' Randall thought. 'Well, that isn't too bad, I guess...' He got up and pressed his diamond hard erection into her weeping vagina, sliding home in a tunnel still dripping with spit and feminine lubricants. Darla Jean's response was, "Mmmmm, don't you want me to suck it?"
"Some other time." Randall wasn't backing out of THIS unless he had to! Resting his hands on her hips he set up a stroke between her upraised knees.
Darla Jean had made the offer because everyone else was doing oral work, but she wasn't going to press in the face of Randall's efforts! How could he be so good? Her twat LOVED his cock -- it hit ALL the right places. Hell, it hit ALL the places! She could lay here like this and take his pounding... Except she couldn't -- not passively, anyway. Already, she was gripping his waist and corkscrewing her twat onto his cock as he drove it in, her ass going a mile a minute.
Stick, having finished Mary, was watching the couple while Teddy bobbed on his cock. "Shit! She's a dancer, ain't she, Randall?"
Randall grinned tightly and nodded, but he needed his breath and as few distractions as possible, at this point. Once Darla Jean got going, it was tough to figure out who was in control, under the best of circumstances! He concentrated on matching Darla Jean's slowly accelerating series of gyrations, watching her face redden and her small breasts wobble to her panting breaths.
Stick looked down at Teddy, "Hey, Man, Mary's wet -- why don't you see if you can get it in?"
Ted disengaged from Stick's cock, wetly. "What about you?"
"I was thinkin' 'bout that sandwich thing we did the other night..."
"Lube's in the nightstand," Mary offered, pulling off Teddy's mushroom glans. "C'mon Teddy, I'll kneel up."
"What about..." Teddy nodded at Randall and Darla Jean.
"Oh, I think he's over the whole queer thing, for now," Stick grunted. " 'Sides, they're busy." Teddy nodded and scrambled up to get the lube while Mary rolled up onto her knees. In a moment, he was fitting his fat cock into her vagina -- mashing it in with some difficulty, the effort of getting it past the ring of muscle at her opening distorting his spongy glans. Randall, having soaked up at least the fact that they were changing position, nudged Darla Jean, who watched this new act with glassy eyes.
Teddy's glans popped through, and Mary grunted, "Gawd, I'm plugged! Take it easy, now!"
"Y'all can do the movin' for now," Stick directed. "I need Ted to hold still while I get him ready to be the next piece." He swatted Teddy on the ass, gently. "Lean forward an' grab Mama's love handles, Ted." Teddy did so, and Stick started working lube into his anus with his finger.
Randall, watching with glassy eyes, hadn't put two and two together -- too much of his mind was taken up with the feel of his cock plumbing Darla Jean's depths. Darla Jean caught on, though, and swiveled her attention back to Randall. How would he handle this?
Stick applied one, then two fingers to Teddy's asshole, and Randall just couldn't go on being dense. "You're.. not gonna..." he wheezed.
"Yeh," Stick replied, matter-of-factly, "I am. Ted likes it. You don' hafta watch..." He wiped his lubricant-smeared hands on his erect cock and knelt up behind Teddy. "Here goes!"
Randall couldn't have looked away if it meant electrocution -- and neither could Darla Jean! Teddy's head came up and he grimaced, but if anything, it looked like he was trying to aid the impalement. Stick took his time, taking little nods from Teddy as his cue to go for another inch or so, so it took a good minute and a half before his nappy pubes rubbed Teddy's ass. Stick backed off and sawed in and out a half-dozen times, then grunted, "Okay, Ted. It's all yours!"
Mary stopped moving, and Teddy started, shuttling himself between being balls-deep in Mary and having Stick balls-deep in him. Both of his partners adjusted themselves to the stroke, and Teddy started driving the train toward completion, an act they'd done in a slightly different variation before. Both Teddy and Stick would grunt on every back-stroke, but that didn't keep Teddy from pumping. Mary would moan as Teddy plowed into her, adding a bit of syncopation to the act.
Randall and Darla Jean watched, amazed, their own activity slowing for a moment; obviously all of the participants in the little train that Teddy was acting as the engine for were enjoying themselves -- something Randall found starkly amazing. Teddy's face was a rictus, but he was panting like a steam whistle, and the occasional intelligible noise was a "Good..." or "Yeah..." But then Randall and Darla Jean's own arousal picked up again, overpowering the urge to watch someone else despite having been triggered by it, and they began paying attention only to their own act again.
Teddy ran things for a while, but Stick started feeling some urgency and, timing his stroke, started applying an exclamation point to Teddy's impacts on Mary's vulva. The little bit extra that Stick was applying to his prostate upped the ante for Teddy, too, and the trio began to rush toward completion.
They failed to arrive before Darla Jean and Randall, however. Every time Randall added fuel to the fire, Darla Jean found a reaction that spiraled things higher! At this point, despite the fact that they were setting a pace that threatened to start a fire from the friction if lubrication should momentarily fail, Darla Jean was urging Randall with both hands on his hips and gyrating at a frantic rate, her ankles crossed behind his back! "OOOOO Lover! I'm so close!" she panted, eyes wild. Randall, deep in the sensations of the moment, found an additional millimeter of throttle and they both red-lined, Darla Jean screeching, "O GOD! YES!! YES!! YES!! YESSS!!!" while she crushed him to her with her heels. Randall's answering detonation was quieter, but no less intense as he tried to force himself into her tightly squeezing snatch, swelling and surging, his consciousness riding the wave of the first pulse of his ejaculation.
In a moment, it was over, and Randall, on wobbly knees, lifted Darla Jean's hips to slide her further onto the bed so he could collapse atop her. This put her back up next to Mary, who was in final approach. Listlessly satiated, she smiled up at Mary, "Good, huh?" Idly, for no reason she could name, she reached out and collected one of Mary's big nipples and began to fondle it.
"OOOOOOOO, GAWWWWDDD!!!" Mary went off, jumping and shuddering, her ass shimmying. Teddy's eyes bulged; territory that he'd thoroughly plowed went from slowly renewing the fight to actively contesting his thrusts, ratcheting up the sensations unbearably. Stick, of course, continued to plow remorselessly into his ass, and Teddy, caught between a rock and a hard place, got the juice squeezed out of him, "AAAAAAWWWWWW!!!!" His fat cock let go of another seeming quart of semen, and his ass, working to assist, wrung Stick, who was already on the edge. "HOT DAMN! JEEZUS!!" Stick ranted, crushing himself to Teddy while cum gouted from him into Teddy's spasming colon. "FUCK, that's good!"
Randall lay collapsed across Darla Jean, watching the climax blankly. Apparently, it was pretty good for everybody... Stick turned to him and urged, panting, "You gotta try her ass, Man! It's different, but it's damn good!"
Randall just nodded, not really sure what to say. Darla Jean, though, had a comment, "Oh, he will. Randall owns ALL my cherries, don't you Sweetheart?" Randall just grinned.
"I gotta flatten this mess out for a nap," Stick grunted. "Y'all think ya can go back ta the couch?"
"Sure." Randall started looking for energy, while Stick started hefting Teddy under the shoulders to get him off Mary. Teddy was a rag doll, totally wasted, but his erection was still stuck in Mary like a dog's knot.
"Pull, Mary," Stick directed, and Mary lunged forward. There was a pop, and Teddy was free and a huge creampie started pouring from Mary.
"Wow!" Randall exclaimed, watching the flood pour out. Darla Jean's wide eyes also tracked the flow.
"Yeh, Ted makes the stuff by the gallon," Stick chuckled.
Randall got his arms under Darla Jean, scooping her up as Mary waddled off the bed and headed for the bathroom. "One day, I'm gonna remember to keep a towel handy," she chuckled.
Irma Nally lay in her bed, glaring. Mary was OBVIOUSLY having another wild sex party with THOSE BOYS! But she dared not get up, because Arthur was there in HIS bed, glaring back -- just DARING her to interfere! Irma had NO IDEA what had gotten into Arthur, lately... 'I am by God gonna have a word with the Frick boy's mother,' Irma thought. 'THAT will put an end to HIS little party...' What to do about the black boy was, alas, nowhere near as clear...
Ed's alarm was yammering, but when he pounded the bedside table trying to hit the shutoff, it wasn't there -- and the bed was moving! "Git offa me, ya ol' bastid!" it ranted, "An' how do ya shut dis thing off?"
"Big button on top!" Ed yelled. Things went deafeningly silent -- too silent to cover his muttered, "Silly bitch..."
Ed rolled over and Velma crab-walked out from under him, muttering, "Y'all got DAT right..." Ed grunted and glared at Velma, so she waved an arm angrily, "G'wan back ta sleep!" She shuffled off to collect her nightie, grumbling, "Lays on toppa me, squashin' me flat fo' four houahs..."
'Big bitch was soft, too,' flickered through Ed's mind. "Next you'll be wantin' a bigger bed."
The voice in his ear let him know he'd drifted off for a few seconds, "Ah got one. Ah'll be back in an houah." Soft lips grazed his neck. Ed drifted off wondering if he should just relax, or complain about it.
Velma closed Ed's door and turned to discover Inez standing there, bug-eyed. "I knocked on your door when you weren't in the kitchen," the Hispanic woman stammered.
Velma gathered herself. "Ah'll be along in a bit -- ah gotta showah. We gotta shitload a' young folk in da house, so y'all bettah cut up some mo' fruit fo' cereal." She stopped, frowning. "Bein' it's Saturday, mebbe they'll wanna eat a real breakfast... Da Boss will probly want them tortillas, though." Inez nodded, recognizing a dismissal, and headed for the kitchen. Velma arrived in the kitchen before six; the two women didn't discuss the meeting in the hallway, but Inez watched Velma wander out the door with a cup of coffee at six-thirty with a bit of a 'deer in the headlights' look.
At six-thirty, Velma went through Ed's door like she lived there, figuring it was best to brazen it out. Placing the coffee on his nightstand, she leaned over to kiss his neck again. "Time ta get up."
Ed flicked at his neck like he'd been bitten by an insect. "What're ya doin' leaving lip marks on my neck all of a sudden?"
"Scarin' ya ta death," Velma simpered. "They's coffee dere on da table..." She swept out.
"Ya got THAT right," Ed muttered to himself.
Inez tottered off to take Jason his breakfast at seven -- and came back at seven-thirty with a pattern of suspicious wet blotches on her peasant blouse and a scarlet blush. Recent experience allowed Velma to identify the product by smell. "Honey, yo' bettah change yo' blouse; Mistah Jason's spunk be smellin' pretty strong, dere..."
"I... can't," Inez replied miserably.
"Oh. Well, we'll wait an' see if da Boss or Miz Sharon don't change Mistah Jason's mind. Best put on a apron, anyhow." Inez did so gratefully.
Ed wandered in about seven forty-five. Velma gave him the eye over taking an hour and a quarter to get organized, to which Ed bristled, "What? It's Saturday..."
"Nuthin'." Velma pretended unconcern. "What'cha want for breakfast, ya rapist bastid?" Inez gave the pair a sidelong look, but said nothing. "Where's dat coffee cup?"
"Shit." Ed glanced out the door.
"Y'all probly got eight of 'em in yoah room..."
"Yeah, yeah," Ed waved it off. "I'll get 'em later. Got any bacon? Crisp, not that fat sloppy stuff..."
"Ah kin make some. Y'all want another cup o' coffee?" Velma was already drawing it from the pot. Inez, watching the byplay, having been clued in that it was unusual, watched Ed squeeze Velma's ass as she bent to place the cup before him. "Dat ain't yoah's," Velma objected, but it was matter-of-fact, and accompanied a look of smug satisfaction that confirmed the couple's status to Inez beyond doubt. Ed's grunted, "Mebbe," wasn't accompanied by any immediate movement, either. Inez watched Velma fuss over Ed in totally unprecedented fashion for several minutes, smiling.
"Little one..." A heavy hand settled on Leticia's back. "Time to get up. You drink from Boris again before you go." Leticia suddenly realized that the lumpy mattress she was laying on wasn't. Struggling up, she got herself oriented and backed off Boris' thick body. Boris immediately sat up. "First, I go make water. You come, too -- clean Boris up." Boris's pubes were gooey, probably from the seeming quart of jism he'd filled her with the night before. Boris took her by the wrist, but she followed him meekly into the bathroom. The previous night had been a revelation -- and a confirmation. Deep inside, Leticia harbored feelings about the role of the races that many of her sisters might have taken issue with; in her world, white men were the root of all power. White men ran the world -- and white women who had sex with -- or worse -- submitted themselves to the arrogance and brutality of black men were fools who were doing little better than going out to the barn and rutting with the livestock. THAT was why Leticia reacted so strongly to Nora's pursuit of Nate -- not out of any outrage over the fact that she was taking Nate away from her black sisters, but rather disgust that she would lower herself to Nate, squandering her birthright! Leticia gravitated to Armand in an effort to improve her lot and those of her children by submitting herself not just to a white man, but one who understood power. Leticia had experienced the ego, anger, and lust of black males and knew it for what it was -- bravado, an angry reaction to a world where they would never be ascendant. Armand had attracted her powerfully by his subtlety, his effortless use of his REAL power and his sexual magnetism -- but she hadn't been good enough, and the dream had slipped away. Last night, however, after having her submit to Sharon -- which was, after all, an extension of the natural order of things -- her Master had gifted her with the lesson that the raw power of the male existed even in the least of his servants. Boris had been amazing, and she had responded to him powerfully, just as she did now...
While Boris urinated copiously, Leticia dampened a washrag in warm water; when he was finished, she went immediately to work on his pubes, clearing their mixed juices from his crotch. When she was done, he directed, "Sit. Open your mouth." Leticia lowered the seat, but not the lid, and settled on the toilet, for she, too, had to pee. Boris stepped forward and slid his still-soft shank into her mouth, cupping the back of her head to bring her forward onto it. Leticia offered no resistance at all as she laved his member with her tongue, drawing satisfaction from his hisses of pleasure and the growth of his member in her mouth as she tasted the last dregs of his urine that hadn't been released into the bowl. Soon it was swollen and solid and Boris was driving her onto it in a regular rhythm. Leticia forgot about urinating -- she was too busy with other things.
Boris reflected that the scrawny negress gave a fine blowjob; she had thick, soft lips and knew enough to keep them clamped tightly around him without overdoing it. She also managed to keep her teeth out of the way and her tongue working the underside of his member -- Boris was going to miss this. On the other hand, somehow, he knew she'd be back... "Da. Da. We finish soon, little slut. Yessss..." He enjoyed himself thoroughly, moving her head about as he wished over a period of several minutes.
Boris surprised Leticia. Instead of pouring his copious load down her throat, he stepped back at the last moment and shot it all over her face, neck and breasts! Stepping back in, he grunted, "Clean me," and Leticia collected the last dribbles in her mouth, while wet white goo dribbled down her front. In a moment, Boris stepped back and grunted, "Go, now, and see both Charles and Mistress Sharon. Tell them Boris was pleased with your effort. Do not dress and do not clean up until one of them tells you that you can." He followed her to the door of his suite and watched as she furtively stuck her head into the hallway and began to cover up. "Hands at your sides!" he barked. "You will wear Boris's seed proudly! Do not cover up!" A quick swat on her ass for emphasis nearly lifted her from the floor!
"Yes, Boris!" she squealed, and minced off down the hallway. Boris chuckled. If Leticia was inclined to be haughty, HE certainly hadn't noticed it!
Finding Charles was easy; he was still in his quarters. He listened poker-faced to her by-rote recitation of Boris's instructions and wondered briefly if he should add to her bukake load, but decided against it; let Boris have her -- the Wench took all of Charles' spare seed as it was, and she wasn't really getting enough... "Go see Sharon -- she's in charge of your wardrobe. I last saw her with Mr. Wilson -- you can either check there or check her quarters first. Either way, you stay as you are until she tells you differently, and that includes looking like a cum dumpster. Understood?"
"Yessir!" Leticia headed out the door, head up. Did she dare disturb Master, or was it safer to wander half of the house naked, gooey, and smelling of sex? Well, Master's rooms WERE closer...
Charles hit the intercom. "Wench!"
The Wench struggled up in her kennel and answered, "Sir?"
"My room! Now!"
"Yes, Sir!" 'Oh, goody! I'm gonna get some dick!' the Wench thought. Things had been slow around here for the last few days, especially since Mistress had taken over handling much of Master's overflow... She hustled out of her rooms, combing her fingers through her hair.
"Master?" Leticia's voice came hesitantly across the intercom when Armand acknowledged the buzz. "Is Mistress with you?"
"Actually, she is," Armand replied, jostling Sharon to get her going. She'd awakened at the buzz, but she wasn't truly conscious yet; the shake alerted her to her environment.
Armand gave her the eye, and Sharon rapidly got a grip. "Yes, Leticia?"
"Boris instructed me to report to both you and Charles, Mistress. And Charles sent me to you, saying that you are in charge of my clothing..."
"Mmmm, yes..." Armand had directed that. Sharon arched an eyebrow at him, and he nodded assent. "Come on in." She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. Leticia entered diffidently, displaying her sticky chest. "Is that what I think it is?" Sharon asked.
"Yes, Mistress. It's Boris's... cum."
"So Boris wasn't pleased?"
"Oh, no, Mistress!" Leticia gathered herself in. "I'm instructed to inform you that I was satisfactory."
"Uh huh," Sharon replied dubiously. "So why the mess?"
"I think he was... marking me," Leticia replied. "You were to see it."
Armand grunted. "Call him."
Sharon picked up the house phone, and put it on speaker. In a moment, the heavy voice answered, "Boris."
"Boris, this is Sharon. Leticia says she was satisfactory -- is that true?"
"Da," Boris rumbled a laugh. "Yes. Very much. Why?"
"I was wondering why you spewed on her."
"Was... humiliation. I sent her to find you both, so she could be seen. She was to be humiliated, yes?"
"Yes, she was," Sharon tittered.
Boris's voice became stilted, formal. "I thank you, Madame. I had a very pleasant night. Please thank Mr. Wilson for me."
"I'm here, and you're welcome, Boris," Armand replied, pre-empting Sharon. "But we're not done with Leticia, and it appears that you did a good job with her. I think we'll remand her to your tender mercies again tonight for say, anal sex?" Leticia's expression was priceless; the whites showed all around her irises as she contemplated absorbing Boris's thick cock via her tiny anus. "And anything else you care to dream up -- but at least that," Armand amended.
Boris rumbled a chuckle. "Da. Yes, sir. I will make a point of it. Is she there?"
"My little black slut," Boris directed, "You will go back to Charles, and have him fit you with a... plug. It should be of medium size. Anything else he or Miz Sharon wishes to add to this you will also accept from them. You will come to me when you are done for the evening wearing this plug. Be sure you also bring a lubricant. Do you understand, Little One?"
"Wait!" Sharon interjected. "I am in charge of your wardrobe, as I understand it..."
"Yes, Mistress," Leticia was properly wary.
"Do you have a bikini? Preferably something bright, to set off your coloration?"
"Yes, Mistress, I have a yellow print bikini..."
"You may wash, and put it on. It is your uniform for the day. Charles will integrate it with whatever he does to you," Sharon directed.
"Yes, Mistress." Sharon waved, and Leticia got out of there. In the background, Boris laughed.
"Get Charles," Armand directed, "and keep Boris on the line."
"I... don't know how," Sharon admitted.
"Watch." Armand set up the sequence. "Got it?"
"Umm, yes, I think."
"Charles," the speakerphone emitted.
"Charles," Armand said, "Leticia will be visiting you, wearing a bikini, to get a medium-sized butt-plug. Don't we have some horse tails?"
"We do, Sir," Charles agreed.
"See that she gets one. Modify the bikini bottom so that the tail itself is exposed." In the background, Boris's laugh rumbled again.
"Yes, Sir." You could hear Charles' smile. Frankly, he hated being distracted while the Wench knelt servicing his cock, but when duty called, it might as well be pleasant...
"That's all. Good morning, gentlemen." Armand closed the connection. Turning to Sharon, he frowned, "Now, what am I going to do with you?"
"Ummm, sex?" Sharon offered.
"Good idea. Anal is the subject of the morning, and you require an object lesson. Kneel up."
Sharon opened her mouth, thought better of it, and knelt up. There were times and places you fought and argued, and there were times and places you didn't -- and this was one of the latter.
The penetration was painful -- for both of them. Armand insisted on going in dry, despite the discomfort to himself, as an exercise in control. Well, it wasn't the first time, and it wouldn't be the last; Sharon hunkered down and pushed, doing her best to open up her cringing sphincter. It hurt like Hell, and Sharon hated it -- at least, the part of her that wasn't masochistic did... Once he'd popped through he sawed back and forth fairly gently, using short strokes to collect and spread her colon's natural lubricant, rather than jamming away. It took a bit longer, but it didn't positively ruin Sharon -- and he was there to demonstrate control, not bench her. Besides, she'd generally been good...
Finally, things got going and he could take a decent stroke -- which presented an excuse for an occasional swat on her ample ass to tighten her up. "Go ahead and masturbate," he directed -- that would tend to help, too.
Ultimately, it was a pretty good ride -- for both of them. The rough start detracted from things by irritating the surfaces where they were joined, but things got slicker and the faint buzz left over paradoxically lent its support to the contrasting pleasure. Armand didn't worry about Sharon -- that would have been out of character -- but the grant of masturbation and the perverse stimulation of having her ass slowly reddened brought Sharon to a point where when Armand buried himself and started painting her insides with his semen, her triumph at success combined with a few final tweaks of her clitoris brought a satisfying little cum. For Armand, it was as much about visualizing his plans for the aftermath as it was about the ride itself...
Armand waited for a few seconds after her soft grunt of completion, then swatted her on the ass. "Clean me up," he directed.
Sharon sighed and grimaced; she knew better than to go get a washrag. She crawled forward, releasing Armand's member. Armand stopped her momentarily while he collected some tissues from a box on the nightstand and stuffed the wad into her still gaping anus, then grunted, "Okay." Sharon rotated, dreading what she'd find; she hadn't been prepared for this morning's little escapade by an enema, so the chances were... yeah, Armand's cock was streaked. She glanced up, realizing as well as he did that her humiliation and disgust were fueling his pleasure, then steeled herself for the dirty deed. God, cleaning shit off a cock with your mouth was just... nasty! Somehow, she managed not to vomit -- although she DID retch a couple of times.
Armand allowed himself a tight grin. This humiliation was at least as important as the pain/pleasure preceding it... When she was done, he pushed her away by her shoulder, deliberately spurning her. "Go clean up," he directed, "and on the way tell Inez I want an egg and chorizo burrito, grapefruit juice, and coffee."
"Yes, Armand." Sharon staggered gratefully toward the master suite's bath and stuck her head under the faucet. Yuck!
Armand let this ride for a minute or so, then got up and sauntered into the bath, "Are you still here? Get going, before I decide to use you for a urinal! Oh, and you might want to remove the tissues, although they make a cute tail..." Watching her attempts at tissue removal from her now closed anus offered further amusement, but it was short-lived, as Sharon took her instructions to heart. "Clear all of these clothes out of here," he added, "but don't put anything on until you get to your rooms..." Sharon sighed and gathered up Leticia's and her things from the floor on the way out.
The kitchen was on the way, so it made no sense to call in an order -- besides, she KNEW what Armand wanted of her. Entering the kitchen, she went straight to Inez, more or less ignoring Ed -- although she was fig-leafed bit by the bundled clothing in her arms. "Armand wants a... burrito? Egg and..."
"Chorizo, Miss?" Inez supplied.
"That was it. Grapefruit juice and coffee." Sharon turned to walk out.
"Ma'am?" Inez asked.
"Is that today's uniform?"
"Oh!" Sharon tittered. "No, this is temporary." She wandered out, still chuckling. If Ed saw her ass, so what? There was enough of it...
Ed pretended to be blasť about the whole thing -- something assisted by the fact that he'd seen it all before, whether he could admit it or not. Besides, he was amused by the fact that Velma suddenly appeared behind him and started rubbing a shoulder. He lifted an eyebrow and grinned at her, "So..."
"Aw shut up..." Velma, embarrassed, moved off.
"Maybe YOU oughta wear the uniform of the day..."
"Ah'd kill folk. Dey'd choke ta death if Ah walked in while they was eatin'."
Ed let it ride.
Leticia showered quickly, fished out her yellow bikini patterned with white flowers, and headed off to report to Charles. When she knocked, his "Enter!" appeared strained, for obvious reasons. "Wait there," he directed, pointing to a spot by the door, while he, standing, poured cock to the Wench, who was kneeling on his bed, obviously happy to be on the receiving end, by the look on her face. She was obviously one happy white slut, a beatific smile on her face as she rammed herself back at Charles, her small titties jiggling. "Put your head down, Wench!" Charles directed, and the ex-model ay her head on her crossed arms, taking his thrusts with soft grunts.
This went on for a good five minutes, during which Leticia watched the Wench get one obvious cum, and possibly more. Towards the end, Charles grunted, "I'm going to ask Armand if I can get children on you; it'll keep you busy and give you a bit more of a figure... You want to be a mother?"
Perversely, the Wench went nuts! Charles, amazed at the results of what had been an idle taunt, lost control and gouted into the Wench's spasming vagina while the Wench jack-hammered herself back at him, her eyes totally gone wild, wailing reedily through paralyzed lungs. After leaning on her a moment to get his breath, he gasped, "Where did THAT come from? Did I trigger the alarm on your biological clock?"
"Ummm, I guess, Sir," the Wench replied, "Something in my head got a kick out of it. It might have just been the fantasy, though..."
"Maybe," Charles grunted. Turning his attention to Leticia, he directed, "You, get over here and clean me up!" Leticia moved to obey, while the Wench looked a question over her shoulder. Charles responded, "Leticia is being punished for forgetting herself and her station, and I suspect that it is going to go on for a while. You may actually discover that her station is, in effect, temporarily below yours, since I suspect that your Master plans to remind her that she is a slut and a cum-dumpster. Aren't you, Leticia?"
Leticia went a bit grey at this while she knelt before Charles, but her voice was clear as she replied, "Yes, Sir."
Charles' member was already softening as he withdrew it from the Wench and presented it to Leticia, but it was quite gooey. "Get to work," he instructed. "Wench, stay where you are."
"Yes, Sir." The Wench had a good idea where THIS was going...
Leticia didn't. She was concentrating on sucking the combination of Charles' and the Wench's juices from his cock, scrotum, and pubes -- so it was with some surprise that she received Charles' next instruction when she settled back onto her heels. "Now clean out the Wench," he directed, "and make sure she enjoys it!" Leticia grimaced in surprise and disgust, prompting Charles to add, "What? It's white man's sperm. And it's in a white woman's pussy. You felch it out -- NOW!" Turning to the Wench, he added, "Sit up on the edge of the bed so you drain. Use her for your pleasure, while you're at it."
"Yes, Sir." The Wench plastered Leticia's face to her runny vulva. "I'm hearing a lot of racial stuff, here, Sir..."
"Leticia saw fit to disparage Miss Nora and her choice in boyfriends. If this was a perfect world, I'd have young Mr. Adams ride her bareback until she threw him a child, but that would probably disrupt his relationship with Miss Nora. That being the case, we're reminding her that she arrived here in pursuit of white dick, and that there is plenty of it around here for the likes of her worthless black ass... It won't hurt her to suck a little white pussy, either -- she did Sharon last night, didn't you, Dear?"
The Wench let her up for air, and Leticia responded, "Sir?"
"Did you suck Mistress Sharon's twat last night? Answer up, or I'll have you eat ALL the female servants, starting with, say, Velma..."
"I-I did, Sir! And she used a strap-on on me, too!" Leticia's eyes were wide. Velma? He wouldn't! He couldn't! Could he? Ohmigod!
This concern was rapidly superseded, however, as Charles circled behind her and began probing her ass through her bikini bottoms with a finger, "Back to work!" The Wench supported Charles' directive by again drawing Leticia to her crotch. Rising, Charles wandered off for a moment, to come back with a felt-tip and scissors. "Oookay," he murmured, again probing for Leticia's anus through the cloth. Having found it, he marked the spot with the felt-tip. Looking up, he asked, "How's she doing?"
"The cleaning's about done, I think," the Wench replied in a strained voice. "We're getting to the fun part."
Leticia silently wondered if she was in agreement with the Wench -- well, maybe by comparison. Sucking mixed goo out of another woman's pussy was pretty damned embarrassing, and while either cum or pussy juice grew on you, the mixture wasn't all that great... Fortunately, the Wench had a big, easy to get at clit and wasn't a slow starter. Leticia had participated in a little all-girl fun in her modeling days, too, and although she preferred to receive, she was no stranger to giving head.
Given the opportunity, the Wench was letting go and having fun, clutching the black woman's face to her in a tense but gentle grip. Leticia obviously knew what she was doing; the Wench's clit was on fire from the tongue-lashing it was getting! "There! Yeah! Oh, God! From the top! The bottom's too... Aah! Sensitive! Gimme a finger! Umm! Yes! Easy -- fingernails! Ahh! Ahh! Umm!" The Wench began to arch her back and shake -- it wouldn't be long, now! Her head was buzzing and her nerves were twitching; she was about to sample the raw pleasure of having her clit mauled for the first time in several days! The Wench, now that her sexuality was released, loved to fuck -- it brought rich, smooth, powerful orgasms -- but sometimes the sharp, raw, intense blast you got from a direct attack on the clit by a soft tongue was just the thing... The Wench's eyes rolled up as her body was bathed in the fountain of sparks radiating from her engorged clit. The tendons of her inner thighs stood out in sharp relief as she tensed, grunting and grasping, her arms locked rigid as she held Leticia in place while somehow not crushing her head, "AAAAAHHHH!!!" She undulated once, twice, three times, before collapsing back onto the bed. "Ummmmm, that was nice!"
"Good," Charles approved. His cock was attempting to muster resources for another erection from watching, but suspicious that chasing another orgasm in such a short space of time would be a frustrating waste, he passed on encouraging it directly. "Stand up!" he ordered Leticia. When she was vertical, Charles again probed her with a finger, locating and marking the location of her cringing sphincter and marking it with the felt-tip. "Okay, take off the bottoms."
Leticia gave him a look, but stepped out of the bikini bottoms; the last twelve hours or so were a trip back to when she took her run at Armand, and those memories had brought with them an appreciation of the consequences of disobedience. That this WASN'T Armand had recently proven irrelevant; Armand hadn't messed with her much, but his chosen instruments had been serious about putting her through her paces. She put the bright swatch of cloth in Charles' hand. Charles turned to the Wench, "Get me a tail -- medium plug -- and some lube." The Wench was off the bed like a shot. "Bend over the bed," Charles directed Leticia.
He spent the next couple of minutes probing Leticia's pussy for lubrication, then probing her ass with the wetted finger. When the Wench returned, she had two tails on medium butt-plugs, one a long horse tail, and another with a short, corkscrewed pig's tail. Charles glanced at the latter and chuckled, then waved it in front of Leticia. "Next time you get THIS!" Turning to the Wench, he directed, "Mount the horse tail. I've been working her ass a bit -- see if it'll go without lube." In the meantime, he went to work on the bikini bottoms, cutting a vertical slit between the two marks he'd made and extending a bit beyond.
The Wench rounded on Leticia. "This isn't going to be pleasant," she warned, and began forcing the butt-plug into Leticia's protesting anus. "Push like you have to go," she recommended, "It'll help you open up." This wasn't the first time Leticia had taken a butt-plug, but the others had been while she had Armand's primary attention, which had been a while back. She grunted in pain, gritting her teeth, but the Wench's advice DID help, some... Charles' fingers had opened her up to the point that the relatively narrow tip was no problem, but it kept getting thicker and thicker until she was sure she was going to tear...
Then, mercifully, the head was past her sphincter and it closed around the narrower neck. Charles tossed the bikini bottoms at the Wench. "Get her into this. The tail goes through the slit. Move her around and make sure she has full motion." Turning to Leticia, he added, "This is your uniform of the day. Do not remove the tail, except for obvious reasons. Return to the Wench at five for an enema -- Boris will want you clean. Now get out of here, both of you! Now!"
"B-but..." Letica sputtered -- she wasn't in the bottoms yet.
"Go like that! The Wench can fit you at her kennel. Get out of my sight!" Charles roared. They hurried out, leaving Charles grinning at the picture Leticia made trying to hide her exposure as they took off down the hall.
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