A couple of weeks after her ordeal as the ”Offering” at the Manoir, Tara receives a call from Sir Charles.
“How are you, my dear?” asks the old man.
“Feeling great, thank you. I’ve completely healed from our last meeting; no more marks, no more pain.”
“That’s great to hear.” He pauses for an instant, then resumes. “I have a favor to ask from your husband and you.”
“Please, go ahead,” she invites him.
“One of our most valued members has requested a special session and would like you to be our slave for the night.”
At these words, Tara’s breathing tightens, and she feels her heartbeat quicken.
“That would be for this Friday night,” Sir Charles goes on. “The party theme is pain. Your pain. We will beat and abuse you all night long. Would that be suitable for you?”
On hearing this, she almost drops her phone. Her mind already racing, thinking about the unbearable pain her body just went through a couple of weeks ago, but also the incredible pleasure it procured her.
“How many people?” she worries.
“Just the four of us,” answers the man with a chuckle. “No big deal.”
Tara stays silent for a few seconds, thinking this over.
“Ok.” She finally says, closing her eyes, sealing her fate.
“Perfect,” approves Sir Charles. “See you on Friday.”
As he hangs up, Tara lets out a deep sigh. Now she has to tell Marc about this new meeting.
She has no doubt he’ll be more than happy about it. Seeing her abused and humiliated the way she was last time gave him a thrill beyond words. And, when she was finally fit to make love again, it was with fervor and passion that he took her.
And, when her body could take a beating again, he took great pleasure in making her come again and again, belting and spanking her. Now, they have a chance to live all this all over again. Yes, Marc is going to be happy.
***
As last time, Sir Charles welcomes Marc and Tara from the top of the steps. With one difference: he’s not alone. A woman accompanies him this evening.
Tall, her body is wrapped in a long black coat, and only her legs, encased in high leather boots, are visible. The top of her face is obscured by the shadow of a hat, from which her long blond straight hair escapes. Only the tip of her fine, straight nose and her full, blood-red lips are visible.
Marc recognizes her at once. She’s the dominatrix who sodomized Tara the last time. Her wife has no chance to remember her as she never saw her, only felt the pain she inflicted. And she seemed quite good at it.
“Good evening,” Sir Charles greets them. “This is Susan. She’s the one who requested your presence this evening.”
At his side, the woman inclines her head slightly.
“I had the opportunity to enjoy this charming slave for a short ride, and I loved it. But it was far too short,” she explains. “Tonight, I’d like us to go further. I’d like us to get to know each other better.”
She raises her head a little, uncovering her eyes. Her icy blue gaze pierces Tara as a ferocious smile forms on her lips, leaving the young woman with no doubt about the treatment that awaits her.
“Well, now that introductions are made, let’s get down to business,” proposes the old aristocrat. “Please, come in.”
Marc and Tara follow their hosts into the manor house. As Sir Charles had promised, there’s no one else here but them. Their footsteps echo through the corridors of the deserted building.
For Tara, there’s no special preparation this time. No bath, no make-up, no staging – this is a private session, not a show.
They pass through the salons but don’t take the stairs to the cellars. Instead, they go out onto the terrace and into the alleys of the formal gardens. Marc and Tara are surprised; they’d never set foot outside the mansion before. The only torture chambers they know of are the manor’s cellars. It seems the place holds other surprises.
Sir Charles leads them almost to the bottom of the garden, to a concrete structure, similar to a machine room, hidden in a corner.
“This is my private room,” he explains, opening the door and ushering them in. “A place accessible to only a select few.”
The inside has nothing to do with a machine room and everything with the pleasure of inflicting pain.
Looking around, Marc and Tara are not surprised to see a number of devices similar to those they have observed in use in the cellars. There are a couple of vertical posts with high crossbars – whipping posts – along with a number of various kinds of benches, usually padded and with rings and straps for binding the victim.
Chains hang from the ceiling in several places, and there are some waist-high bars obviously for bending a victim over. A couple of tables, a large X-shaped cross, and a few other unidentifiable items complete the furnishings.
There are several cabinets along one wall, and Sir Charles leads them over. He begins opening doors and drawers and showing them a variety of cuffs, straps, chains, and other binding devices, along with a truly vast collection of whips, crops, straps, canes, paddles and other flogging instruments.
“Remember. If at any time you don’t like something or want us to stop, just say so,” he states, looking at Tara. “Your safeword for tonight is kiwi.”
The young woman answers with a curt nod, still looking around. In addition to the binding devices and the beating instruments, she sees several vibrators, dildos, butt plugs and nipple clamps of different kinds.
All these instruments of torture send a shiver down her spine, a mixture of apprehension and excitement, as she knows well quite a few will be used on her tonight.
Her reaction hasn’t escaped Susan, whose ferocious smile stretches a little wider. Hanging her hat and long coat on a peg beside the door, the dominatrix appears in all her splendor.
Aged around forty, her slender, lanky body is that of an athletic woman, with toned, perfectly sculpted muscles. Stripped of her clothing, she now wears only black leather undergarments that bring out her pale skin tone.
Her long blond hair, pulled back into a high ponytail, highlights the perfect oval of her face. Her full lips and elongated eyes further enhance her femininity.
She has the allure and poise of a Nordic goddess. Her generous breasts, with their bouncing nipples, almost spill out of her slender bra. The slenderness of her long, shapely legs is underlined by her high leather boots.
Thin black leather panties barely conceal her hairless crotch, highlighting her narrow hips and flat, toned stomach.
Hands on her hips, she points at Tara with her chin.
“I believe you are a bit overdressed, my dear,” she says in a flat tone.
Tara needs no further instructions. In a matter of seconds, she divests herself of her clothes and folds them neatly before depositing them on a chair. Completely naked, her flaming red hair illuminating her alabaster skin, she kneels before Susan.
Legs spread, hands resting on her thighs, back straight, and head bowed, she submits to the dominatrix’s authority. Docile, she offers her carefully waxed intimacy for all to see.
“Good,” Susan appreciates. Then she turns to Sir Charles and Marc. “Aren’t you too warm in there?” she inquires, ironically.
The two men simply smile in reply and take off their clothes in turn.
“Let the show begin,” says Sir Charles.
Taking a set of wrist and ankle cuffs, made of sturdy leather, well padded, with metal D rings attached, he puts them on Tara. Then he lifts her up and places her between the two wooden posts.
Using short pieces of rope, he ties each writ to an eyebolt at the top of the posts. He then uses more rope to spread her legs wide apart and tie them to the bottoms of the posts. Stretched wide and tight, Tara waits for her upcoming punishment.
From the corner of her eyes, she sees Susan picking up a cat-o-nine with two-foot-long lashes. The tails are single pieces of flexible soft leather, about a half-inch wide. Well oiled, not stiff and cutting, these tails will undoubtedly sting but not cut into the flesh.
“There won’t be any warmup tonight,” she warns. “For Pain is the theme of the night, pain you will feel, young slave.”
Susan then raises the cat and lets a hard stroke fall across Tara’s ass. A sharp cry escapes her lips as the leather leaves a red stripe on her backside.
Admittedly, Susan starts easy and seems to get progressively harder, until reaching a truly severe level.
The blows fall on the helpless victim, leaving her skin red, causing her to jerk against her bonds. Crying and screaming, she tries frantically to pull away, to no end.
Spreadeagled between the wooden posts, Tara can’t escape the leather tails that burn her skin. All she can do is moan and yell as the lashes leave crisscrossed red marks on her back and buttocks. Some blows even strike around her front and even her breasts.
After twenty blows, Susan puts away the cat-o-nine and takes another instrument: a single-tailed whip. It consists of an eighteen-inch wood handle topped by a four-foot braided leather lash. The single tail is fashioned of three pieces of leather, braided together, and ending with three inches of each of the separate leather pieces.
It also seems fairly soft, but, looking at it, Marc is sure it will hurt a lot more than the cat. The look on his face must have indicated just that because Sir Charles leans over to him.
“It looks pretty vicious and can do some damage if the wielder is not careful, but just watch,” he says. “Susan knows how to use it, and all she will do is leave a few small welts on your wife’s bottom. They’ll be gone in a day or two.”
Marc is not sure how much of that to believe as Susan brings her arm down in a long, graceful arc, sending a singing blow down across her tight buttocks. The three-fingered tail wraps around her left hip.
She lets out a squeal, and her feet seem to almost do a dance for several seconds as she assimilates the pain of the stroke. A red line appears across her smooth skin. A second blow follows the first with a similar squeal and dance.
Marc can see the red lines appear and hear the effect of the snapping leather in the sound of her voice as she cries out. To no surprise, he feels himself growing hard at the sight.
Susan continues to whip Tara until she reaches twenty lashes. The poor victim is unable to hold back her cries since the tenth lash has landed.
Tears are flooding down her cheeks as Susan and Sir Charles remove her from the whipping posts and lead her over to a padded bench.
Tara is placed at one end of the beam, facing it. Her legs are widely spread, and her ankles are anchored to the supporting A-frame of the unit. She is then bent forward along the beam. That leaves her stretched along the length of the padded cross member, her breasts hanging down on either side. A wide leather belt is firmly tied around Tara’s waist, forcing her to arch her back, putting her bottom slightly higher and fully exposing her private parts.
Despite the tears on her face, Marc can see she’s smiling. She looks as though she is full of pride for having undergone the ordeal, so far.
“I am going to wipe that smile from your face,” warns Susan with a stern voice.
Taking up the cat-o-nine again, she starts applying some lashes to Tara’s bottom, but also whipping her flank and even the sides of her breasts.
When the young woman starts crying again, she stops and picks up the single-tailed whip. She delivers three harsh strokes in rapid succession, each bringing a cry and a red welt.
Susan goes on until she reaches twenty. The final lash is especially hard, wrapping the ends of the tails down into the crack of Tara’s ass, bringing a sharp scream from the bound woman.
“I guess she is hot enough for you now, don’t you think?” she says, turning to Sir Charles.
“Perfect,” replies the old man, moving forward with his sex fully erect.
Standing behind Tara, he places both hands on her red cheeks. The touch of the hot, red, firm flesh further stiffens his rod. Grasping her hips, he pushes himself against her. As his steel-hard penis touches her entrance, he discovers Tara is soaked and dripping. At once, Sir Charles plunges into that tight, wet tunnel which clamps onto him with a grip nearly beyond belief.
Feeling that rod of flesh entering her, Tara strains against her bonds and throws her head back as far as her bound position allows. She begins to groan and moan, driving Sir Charles even harder. Pounding violently in and out of that willing body, he drives hard into her, letting his weight crush her bound body against the beam.
After a few minutes of this, the old man can hold no longer. Shoving himself to the hilt into her pussy, he grabs her hips and pulls her back tightly against his groin. As his seed spurts into her bowel and he lets out a groan, Tara begins to wildly convulse, stricken by her own climax.
Marc watches his wife with a loving smile as she comes hard, both from the beating and the abuse. He is happy for her even though he does not really understand how much pleasure she can get from all this pain.
Watching him, Susan seems to have read his mind.
“Everyone is curious when they first witness things like this,” she says. “You’ve been with her for quite some time already. You should know what makes her feel good.”
“Yes. I know what kind of pain she wants,” he answers. “I just do not get it. How does she get pleasure from all this.”
“Same way you are getting excited to see her suffer. But it’s not just the sting of the whip. Part of what makes it exciting is the helplessness.”
She looked over at one of the whipping posts.
“Imagine yourself there, your arms pulled high above your head, bound so you can’t move them. You’re stretched up on your toes, the muscles along the backs of your legs stretched taut, while you wait for whatever is to come. Doesn’t that idea excite you?”
Marc realizes he is breathing slightly faster.
“I’m not sure. I think it does, but I still don’t see why.”
“Look. Let me tie your hands to it, and then you can tell me what you feel.”
The man isn’t sure he wants this, but on the other hand, he isn’t sure that this isn’t exactly what he does want. His mind is mixed up, but he has to admit the picture of being bound helpless is having an effect he could never have imagined.
Susan takes Marc’s silence for acquiescence and moves to pick up a pair of leather cuffs, which she starts to buckle around his wrists. He is almost ready to pull his arm back, but the first touch of the leather unexpectedly sends a shiver up his spine.
He lets her apply the cuffs to his wrists, finding them actually quite comfortable. Susan then leads him over to one of the whipping posts. This is a pole, about five inches in diameter, set vertically and reaching a height of eight feet. About seven feet off the ground is a cross beam two feet or so in length.
Susan moves a small block of wood over to the base of the post and has Marc stand on it. She then uses chains attached to the ends of the crossbeam to pull his wrists high and apart. When she has the cuffs secured, she moves the block, which leaves the man stretched and not quite able to keep his feet flat on the floor.
The overwhelming helpless feeling that Marc is suddenly experiencing somehow seems to excite him sexually. He can feel his member begin to harden even more, and the exposed skin of his back feels now super sensitive to even the slightest of air movements.
Susan moves up beside him and lets her fingers trail down from his armpits, along his ribs, to his waist.
“Well, Marc, what does it feel like?” she asks as she sees him shuddering.
“I’m not sure,” he replies. “I’ll admit it excites me, but I can’t really say exactly what I’m feeling.”
“It can be a unique sensation,” Susan says. “Being stretched. All of your body available for whatever your captor wants to do.”
A ripple of movement and excitement goes through him again.
“Tonight, you will experience a number of different things,” she goes on. “I am going to work you over. Just relax and enjoy it. I will!”
The strain on his arms is quite strong, but he knows he will be in this position for a while. Susan goes over to one of the cabinets and soon returns, bringing with her a selection of whips, crops and paddles.
Looking at the instruments, Marc feels himself beginning to sweat. Susan is holding a small cat-o-nine, used to “warm” the victims before the punishment sessions. She approaches him, swinging the tails back and forth.
Marc stares at the swaying leather strands as she nears, his eyes following the mesmerizing movement. Susan stops about two feet in front of him and looks directly into his eyes.
“Just flow with it,” she quietly said. “You’re going to like it.”
The long leather tails look like they could slice his skin into ribbons. Imagining such a thing might be really arousing, while the actuality might provoke an entirely different response. Susan again looks into his eyes, and then, still swinging the cat slowly back and forth, she moves around behind him, out of his field of vision.
He can hear Susan moving behind him. Then it becomes quiet. He can no longer sense any movement of the leather flails, and even the breathing of the woman is so shallow and quiet he can not discern it.
Then his ear detects a sudden movement of air a fraction of a second before he feels the leather strike his buttocks. His tension is such that this first touch of the instrument causes him to clinch his muscles and jerk hard against his bonds. He gives a partly strangled cry, largely at the surprise, because the blow itself is not really that hard.
A second stroke follows this first. And a third. And a fourth. Each blow is harder, and each begins to sting. For a novice like Marc, the touch of a cat is a complex feeling.
There is, of course, the sting of the end of each individual leather strand as it snaps against the flesh. This can be either a small sharp pain that is gone nearly as soon as it arrives, or it can be a burning pain that lingers. The force of the blow is not what determines this but rather the sudden curve of the tip.
A person who has experience – as Susan seemed to – can control this effect at will. But there is more to the feel of the cat. The body of the cat – that is, the aggregate mass of all the tails where they are clustered together – also provides a unique feeling as it contacts the flesh. This blow is more of a flat, hard impact than a sting. It, too, can be controlled by a person knowledgeable in the use of the instrument. A cat can, of course, inflict severe injury, both bruising and cutting slices, if the wielder wishes. However, it can also provide unmatched sensations to the skin without perpetrating true damage.
This is what Susan accomplishes. Marc is in pain. Both the slap of the leather bundle and the sting of the individual tails send his nerve endings into overload. The lashes grow stronger, and soon he finds himself crying out as each set of stinging lashes meet the skin of his buttocks.
He can feel the heat, the pain of the stings lingers, and his skin becomes even more sensitive. But a strange thing happens. At first, the blows only hurt. But soon, the heat and sting begin to provide a different form of stimulation.
Susan has already delivered a dozen or so strokes when Marc notices that his member is hardening into a rigid rod and that he is actually arching his rear out in anticipation of the next blow. The pain is still there. But it is also being converted into an intense sexual stimulation.
Susan goes on until thirty strokes hit his back and buttocks before stopping. Out of the corner of his eye, Marc sees her nod. In his state, his mind clouded by contradictory sensations of pain and pleasure, he doesn’t quite understand what’s going on.
When he sees Tara standing before him, smiling, he sketches a thin smile in response. Looking first into his eyes for several seconds, she then reaches down to grasp his hard rod and gives it a quick squeeze. Her eyes left his, and she bends forward to plant a warm kiss on the sensitive end of his excited organ.
As she steps away, Marc sees movement on his left. He turns his head just in time to get a single glance of Susan, riding crop in hand, moving behind him. He knows then what is about to come and begins to sweat a little more.
The first slash of the crop lands across his already hot right cheek. The crop, like the cat, delivers a multitude of sensations with each blow. The shaft – in this case, a flexible bamboo encased in a thin layer of leather – leaves a line of fire, as though one is touched with a hot poker.
The leather loop at the end slaps against the flesh as it completes a high-speed arc when the shaft stops against the flesh, with the result that a wider slap spreads a sharp, flat pain over several square inches of skin.
Marc merely reacts to a pain greater than the cat had provided. For his buttocks, “warmed” by the cat, the hurt again transmutes itself into sexual stimulation.
Susan quickly strikes his left cheek and then begins to beat him in earnest.
Kneeling right in front of him, Marc can see Tara looking on with rising looks of lust on her face as he tries to jerk and twist away from the attack. Of course, stretched as he is, there is nothing he can do to avoid the blows.
Susan gives him three dozen strokes, not limiting herself to his now flaming buttocks, but rather beginning to spread blows onto his thighs and back. Marc cries out, jerks and twists, but never even thought of calling “red” to stop the flogging.
At last, the striping with the crops stops, and Tara rises in front of him. Stretched up on tiptoe, she brushes her lips against his as her hand lightly caresses his throbbing cock.
“I think you like that, Lover,” she whispers, as she runs her hands over his abused rear end.
Then she steps slightly away, and Susan approaches. One look at the instrument she is carrying, and Marc nearly loses his resolve to let this new experience continue.
She is holding a single-tailed leather whip. Its handle is about two feet in length and carries a single, tapering tail nearly five feet long. The leather looks soft, but Marc knows such a weapon can cut a man deeply. Despite his trust in the dominatrix, he is sure this will hurt worse than either of the previous torments, and, suddenly, he is not so sure he can handle it.
Again Susan must have read his eyes because she comes close once more and whispers.
“You can take it. Just lose yourself to the feeling.”
She lets her hand slide slowly down from his face, across his chest and stomach, and along his turgid rod. Then, Susan moves behind him, out of his sight, and he tenses for the first blow.
Time seems to stand still, and it feels like an hour before he finally begins to let his muscles relax slightly. At that instant, the sinuous leather ribbon sails through the air and strikes his right cheek.
It wraps across his buttocks, forming itself to the curve of his rear, and the tip of the flashing tail continues on around his thigh and lands with a searing snap against the front of his left thigh at the point where it meets his upper body.
For Marc, it feels like molten iron is dropped in a line across his flesh, and a puddle has spilled in the crease of flesh where his leg meets his body. He screamed as the pain is like nothing he has ever felt before.
But in some incomprehensible way, it also stimulates and excites him. The blow drives his body forward against the post, but it also seems to drive his hips, led by his stiff rod, forward, and he feels overwhelming sexual excitement as though his tool is sliding into the tightest and hottest of women imaginable.
Susan pauses for several seconds to let him get his breath back. Then, another searing blow wraps itself across Marc’s rear and around to his right thigh this time. Again he cries out and again feels the unbelievable sexual excitement as his hips and rigid member strain forward.
On Susan’s signal, just before she strikes again, Tara leans her head forward. When the third stroke burns its trail across Marc’s tormented flesh and drives his hips forward with an unstoppable thrust, Tara’s warm, wet mouth engulfs him. Her hot tongue slides over the head of his strained member as it shoves deeply into her willing mouth.
Susan gives him another four lashes. Each of which leaves a hot, red welt, without breaking or otherwise damaging the skin. And, each time, he plunges hard into Tara’s mouth as she licks and sucks him with encouragement.
When the last stroke lands and he rams his hips forward, Marc releases his juices in several hot, hard spurts into Tara’s hungry mouth, losing any semblance of control. As he hangs limply from his bonds, he realizes with surprise that he never even thought of trying to stop the flogging, even when those terrible burning strokes landed on his skin.
Susan releases Marc from the post, and Tara presses herself against him, her hot, bare body and willing mouth beginning to arouse him once more, even so soon after that exhausting climax. She holds him like that, kissing and teasing him for several minutes. At some point, Marc thinks his ordeal is over. But Susan approaches with new items.
“The night has just begun,” she informs him, presenting him with ankle cuffs.
Without resisting, he lets Tara put these new restraints on him.
Then, Susan takes him to the chains, and he is soon bound tightly, stretched to the ceiling, his hands spread two feet apart and his feet barely reaching the floor.
“Slave,” Susan indicates in a strict voice. “In position.”
Fascinated, Marc watches as Tara moves over to face him, and Susan binds her wrists to the same point as his own. Feeling his wife’s hot body against his, her breasts rubbing his chest, has a strong effect on Marc. In no time, his penis is back to full strength, a turgid steel rod, painfully straining.
Lightly scratching the rigid member with her long polished nails to tease it a bit more, Susan finally grasps it, and clenches it almost painfully. Then she slowly moves it up and down against Tara’s slit, drenching it in the young woman’s juices. With Susan’s help, the turgescent cock buries itself to the limit in Tara’s hot tunnel.
Her work done, the dominatrix picks up three leather belts and uses them to bind Marc and Tara together at the waist and the tops of their thighs. She finishes by fastening Tara’s ankle cuffs to the outside of Marc’s.
The sudden intertwining of their bodies provokes a deep emotional reaction in both lovers. Their lips lock with each other as their tongues start playing.
They are still kissing, their tongues tangling, when the first stinging lash of the cat-o-nine strikes Marc’s ass and wraps around Tara’s. Each stinging blow transmits itself to the other one through their clinching muscles. Each reaction to a lash is met, reflected, and amplified by the other.
And Susan is not the only one holding a cat. As she attends to Marc’s back and buttocks, Sir Charles does the same to Tara’s. And both are very good at what they do. They know exactly how hard and frequent to make their lashes to hold the couple at the highest possible level of arousal, but prevent them from coming.
They strike at irregular intervals and with different strengths. Their targets vary, and neither Marc nor Tara can tell where or when the next lash will fall, nor how hard. They mostly go for the buttocks, but also the legs, the backs, and the flanks.
Through the punishment, Marc and Tara lose track of time. Some of the strokes are really hard and leave angry red lines. Others are almost caress. A sudden hard stroke to Marc’s ass, burning like fire and driving his hips forward, plunging him deeper into Tara’s pussy, almost sends him over the top. Other times, when he is nearing the point of no return, an almost gentle lash hits his sack, bringing him instantly back down. And Sir Charles is doing exactly the same to Tara.
Hanging by their wrists, Marc and Tara are poised on the edge, becoming even more aroused, more desperate to come when, suddenly, the lashing stops.
“You two seem to be enjoying this punishment all too much,” comments Susan. “I think we should do something about that.”
Looking over, Marc and Tara notice that their tormentors are now holding riding crops. The same Susan had used on Marc earlier. With a whistling sound, one of the crops swishes through the air and terminates with a line of fire across Marc’s ass. In the following instant, another whistle and Tara’s scream joins her husband’s in unison as her pubes drive hard against him.
Five times in a row, at very rapid intervals, the crops fall on their offered defenseless backsides, each time leaving a thin red line.
Marc and Tara’s screams reverberate around the room moments after the final blow. Exhausted, moaning, their bodies still intertwined, pressed together with heated passion, the two lovers are on the verge of orgasm. Despite the pain and tears streaming down their faces, their lips find each other in a languorous kiss.
“We’re almost there. A little more effort and the reward is at the end of the tunnel,” Susan announces wryly.
Unlocking their ankle cuffs, she lowers the chain, forcing them to kneel, Marc’s turgid rod still buried to the hilt into Tara’s drenched sheath. Once on their knees, their arms stretched over their heads, their bodies still pressed against each other, she attaches a spreader bar to Marc’s ankle cuffs, keeping his legs wide apart. Sir Charles does the same to Tara.
“This is going to be something very new for new, my dear Marc. Do not resist. Relax. And you will love it. I sure will.”
Marc is not sure of what is coming next, but Tara already knows.
The young woman feels Sir Charles’s fingers entering her anus, spreading some kind of lube into it. Soon, they move rhythmically in and out of her rear hole. Through Tara’s membrane, Marc can feel the movements, a fact that drives him even higher and makes his shaft even more rigid.
He can also feel when Sir Charles removes his fingers and begins to push his hard, burning rod inside to replace them. Totally submissive, and used to this kind of penetration, Tara pushes back, welcoming the intruder in her tight passage. And when he is totally in, she locks her mouth against her husband’s.
Suddenly, Marc feels a finger touch his anus. Cold, covered with some kind of lube, Susan’s finger begins to rub his rectum’s entry. It is not long before she pushes it into his rear and twists it around.
Marc jerks in his bonds and is surprised when this intrusion results in a nearly instant arousal. To his virgin anus, the feeling is both strange and extraordinary.
Susan plays with him for a couple of minutes, loosening the tense muscles of his sphincter, then removes her finger. Second later, Marc feels something else begin to push against his small opening. In his mind, he remembers the strapon Susan used on Tara and is suddenly afraid he can’t take it up his rear without overwhelming pain.
“Don’t be afraid,” she whispers. “It will be alright.”
Leaning forward, Susan kisses his back and continues her slow pressure, driving the plastic shaft into his virgin bottom. Not forcing the entrance, as she did to Tara, the dominatrix takes it easy, sliding slowly into the extra-tight tunnel.
As Susan plunges into him, Marc finds himself opening to her. His muscles are relaxing and actually welcoming the intruder. The sensation of that long shaft sliding into him is far more exciting than he expected. That, combined with the wonderful feeling of his cock buried into his wife’s warm pussy is just unbelievable.
After a couple of minutes, he is relaxed enough that Susan can begin thrusting deeply inside as Sir Charles is doing the same to Tara.
Soon, they set up a kind of rhythm, the four of them moving together.
The young woman can feel the old man’s hands on her hips as he plows vigorously into her. His breath on her neck as she kisses her husband deeply.
Marc feels Susan’s kisses on his neck and shoulders, her breasts rubbing against his back, her legs under his buttocks as she forces her way through his tight passage.
They continue moving in rhythm until Tara starts coming under Sir Charles’s assault. That sets off a chain reaction. His penis suddenly clenched by her pussy, Marc can’t hold himself further and begin to spurt into her. Behind Tara, Sir Charles plunges one more time into her before shooting his load with a huge groan. Sensing all this, Susan drives her plastic phallus into Marc as deeply as she can and hold it there, her legs pressing against his as she convulses into climax.
They stay like that; bodies pressed together with heated passion, for a few moments. Then Susan and Sir Charles extract themselves and unlock the prisoners from their bonds.
“I believe it was a good night,” states Sir Charles. “Time for you to rest, now. Rooms are available in the manor. Just help yourselves.”
Sore and exhausted, Marc and Tara walk back to the building. After stopping for a long shower to clean up, they go to bed and fall asleep almost right away.
Still, in the back of his mind, Marc promises himself to exert some kind of revenge on Tara. That experience as a sub for a dominant like him was not exactly to his taste. Yes, he has to admit he had some pleasure, but it was nothing compared to the one he gets from dominating his wife. And he intends to remind her of this as soon as possible.