A Desirable Property

A Desirable Property
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ISBN:  9781907753701
Author:  Nicole Dere
Word Count:  62,033
Format:  eBook



Chain of CommandChain of Command
Prisoners of PassionPrisoners of Passion
Star SlaveStar Slave

‘Turn,’ she went on. ‘This way. Bend over the wheel again. Put your arms up and hold on.’
   She made me turn around and spread myself with my front resting against the huge tyre. Obediently I stretched my arms up on either side of its thickness and grasped the oily metal supports. My breasts were squashed against the rubber now, as were my tummy and the insides of my spread-eagled thighs. She did not fasten my wrists but just left me clinging there, and a second later I understood why; she needed to use the leather belt as an instrument of chastisement. With the buckle end firmly wrapped around her fist, she brought it down in a flaring line of fire across the centre of my exposed buttocks. I screamed and twisted free of the wheel, clutching at my stinging flesh.

When their plane is hijacked and forced to land in the African state of Leontondo, lovely Jane Freeman and petite redhead, Moira Kinsella, soon learn that their chief hope of survival lays in total submission and surrender to the will of their captors, in particular the beautiful, sadistic Krista, whose passion for her victims is matched only by her cruelty.

Jane and Moira, together with young American Nicki Ginsburg and air-stewardess Anita Simpson, are also compelled to serve as amusement for General Koloba, Leontondo's ruthless dictator, and his henchmen.

Reunited with their husbands, Jane and Moira remain confined, during which time the quartet become involved in an exotically intricate combined relationship. Jack, Moira's domineering and manipulative partner, is involved in secret negotiations, so that instead of the freedom they hoped for, the other three find themselves sold as slaves to the infamous Lord Staith, prisoners on his tropical island of Kendu, from which there will be no reprieve.

Eventually we were moved to yet another, smaller room this time, but it was just as luxuriously appointed as the rest of the palace, where we saw a table spread with an appetising array of cold foods, and a well-stocked bar stood in one corner manned by another white-gowned male servant. The president and his three henchmen were waiting for us, and we noted immediately the opulent silk robes they wore - with nothing underneath them, as we presently discovered. But first, we were encouraged to eat and to drink. It was a testament to our resilience, or perhaps an indication of how far along the degrading road to fatalistic acceptance we had come, that we took full advantage of the delicious spread despite our anxiety.
   The excellent white wine made my head spin. I found myself answering the questions of my captors, even giggling at their bold remarks, and not even minding their playful gropes and amorous fumbling. Until they grew more determined, more intense, and the light-hearted party atmosphere evaporated as their intent became increasingly evident.
   'Now for a taste of something different,' the president announced with one of his usual guffaws of exuberant mirth, and I saw, and felt, the proprietary contempt in his gaze as it moved over our scantily clad, available flesh. The four men lined up their chairs and sat back in a row, their gowns gaping open to reveal their penises, some swollen already in semi-tumescence, others limp and shrouded still and hanging coyly between their thighs.
   'You...' the president's thick forefinger jabbed at me. 'I hear you're a splendid sword swallower. Come here.'
   Taking a deep breath, I settled obediently on my knees between his trunk-like thighs while my companions, without further ado, took up similar positions in front of the other men. For some reason, I was strangely aware of Joseph standing by the table, and of the other silent figure posted against the wall by the bar. But, despite my self-consciousness at being watched, I meekly took the limp stump of the president's penis between my fingers. It was warm, satin-smooth, and a drop of moisture gleamed at its tip.
   I gathered the rim of his foreskin between my thumb and finger and delicately slid it back, peeling free the shining head of the dome, and I shivered as I felt the throb of stirring life in my hand. I massaged it, from the thick spreading pad of his balls, up to the emergent helm, the beating increasing, the muscles pulsing until, after a few slow strokes, he was erect, hardening mightily, and the mushroom of his glans reared before me.
   I lowered my face, and carefully shaped my lips to fit over that shining globe, tasting the strong flavour of his fluid, lapping it from him onto my tongue. I stretched my jaws wide, breathing heavily, and took his swelling largesse inside my mouth until he filled it, to the back of my gagging throat. I plunged forward, spearing myself on him, taking as much of him into me as I could before I choked.
   The taste, the feel, the smell of him gripped me, absorbed me, so that I was no longer conscious of what was happening elsewhere. His great hands fitted round my head, his fingers wound themselves in my hair, pinning me helplessly to that rearing column. My head bobbed, I sucked and slurped and fought to breathe, until suddenly the increase of pressure and the lifting pull at my scalp told me he was about to discharge. My heart hammered in panic. When the initial surge came and his semen flooded thickly to the back of my throat, forcing me to swallow instinctively, I could not prevent my jerking away in spite of his fierce grip. I succeeded in dislodging his large erection from my lips, but knew I must make amends for what I knew was my failure. An instant later, my mouth was pressed against his still spasming penis, and I let his surging come flow thickly over my open lips and my tongue, and I even savoured its lubricious fecundity oozing thickly over my chin, dripping down my throat and onto my heaving breasts. Indeed, as the last wracking spasms went through him, I raised myself - his hands had fallen slackly away - and held his beating column tightly in my cleavage, between my breasts, and felt the final pumping fluids spill onto my perspiration-dewed skin.
   'You whore,' he gasped, slumping back in his chair, but his tone was entirely of replete appreciation. His vast body heaved like a beached whale. I fell back too, off my cramped knees, and found a towel thrust onto my shoulder from behind by the hovering Joseph. I held it thankfully to my face and endeavoured to clean myself, while my exhausted gaze turned to the scene on my right, where the three submissive figures were still crouched, their heads buried between their partners' thighs. It was many minutes before the last working head was raised, and then a servant took poor Nicky, picked on again for some reason, from the room.
   The men carelessly retied their gowns, and the president wagged an admonishing finger at the three of us. 'You girls,' he chortled. 'You white girls, you are all malayas. Prostitutes, all of you! Come, gentlemen,' he addressed his associates, 'we must punish these creatures for being so lewd.'
   With that foreboding statement, he reached out and pulled me up across his broad lap. I felt the smooth warmth of his meaty thighs beneath my tummy, and to my intense embarrassment, I could also feel the clinging wetness of the tiny triangle of silk that covered my vulva. My bottom was already bare, for the string that was a part of the thong had disappeared entirely in my intimate valley, and the slender black ribbons of the suspenders hid nothing. He did not attempt to slide down the tiny knickers, but struck open-handed at the quivering pale globes exposed to him.
   I wriggled and yelped, and kicked my stockinged legs in rapid little scissoring movements, which sent the high-heeled shoes flying but did nothing to deter the hefty slaps raining down on my bottom. Not that, deep down, I wanted to deter them, particularly. There could be no real resistance to whatever he chose to do to me, I knew that, and part of me found the certainty of my helplessness strangely sweet. These movements were part of the sexual manoeuvrings I knew men liked, and which, to be blushingly honest, I liked too, just as I even liked the scorching pain that spread through my rosily glowing behind, which I dimpled and clenched against his ringing slaps. His large hand was like a paddle, and the pain rose until I was squirming madly and my wet loins were grinding into his thigh.
   I was close to coming, but then the burning pain took over and my yelps became ever more genuine cries of agony, until I was threshing and sobbing and begging for mercy, scalding tears meandering down my face. I was not acting now, for his pleasure or mine; the torment was real, and unbearable.
   It was an agonisingly long while before he finally ceased the spanking. I hung there, blubbering, my bottom on fire. Only then did I register the similar howls of distress from the other prone girls. Panting, he flung me dismissively to the floor, where I sobbed more quietly and clutched my scorching bum for comfort. His broad face was split by a wide grin as he watched my shame and discomfort.
   A little while later, we had recovered a bit, the throbbing had subsided to a dull ache, had indeed been replaced by throbbing of another kind as we sprawled on the couches, with yet new partners in this sexual kaleidoscope we were caught up in.
   I was with the other bulky representative of the president's northern tribe, laying on his lap, over which my legs were draped, my head lolling in the fleshy cushions. The flimsy bra was hanging like a scarf around my neck, and my breasts were tingling from the attention they had received from his hands and his eager lips. One of those hands was now stretching my miniscule briefs to the danger point as it delved down over my mound to the open wetness of my sex. His stubby fingers were peeling back my labia, stroking the slippery inner surfaces until my thighs writhed with the excitement coursing through me. The suspender ribbons had snapped free of the stocking tops and dangled like miniature snakes about my hips, while the nylons themselves were dragged almost to my knees in what was undoubtedly a spectacle of raunchy debauchery. However, the effect of those scrabbling fingers at my centre sent such considerations flying from my whirling thoughts. In fact, my main concern was how swiftly my amorous assailant could divest me of these few scraps of clothing, when Koloba's bellow of laughter penetrated even my excitement. There, in the centre of the room, stood a newly bathed and scarlet-faced Nicky.
   At the president's enthusiastic urgings I, and the other two girls, who had been receiving equally rousing treatment, were bundled aside. Then, gathering their displaced robes about them, the men stood up and, at their leader's instigation, grabbed the weary blonde and hauled her over to the dining table. It had already been cleared of the remnants of the meal, and the luckless Nicky, her sobs only fuelling the men's desire, was spread face down on the polished surface, her arms and legs pinned out towards each corner.
   She knew only too well what was to happen. The magnificent rounds of her bottom were still marked with twin red patches from her previous chastisement. They dimpled enchantingly as Koloba stood over them and lingeringly explored their texture, and let his dark fingers press deep into the inviting narrow valley between her cheeks.
   'What a delectable bottom you have, my dear,' he rumbled, his voice full of warmth. 'So wonderful, so wonderful, and now we are going to warm it for you. After all, I hear tales that you are a troublesome young thing.' His bulky frame shook with mirth, and from the folds of his robe his penis rose impressively...

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A Desirable Property
Sunday, 19 January 2014  | 

Good book - Enjoyable read!

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