Eighty One – Laura's Story Pt. 11

The tightening in her throat made her choke and the prospect of having to perform oral sex on another woman horrified her almost as much as being forced to do it thrilled her. “Go ahead,” was all Amelia had to say.

As her face neared the target Laura closed her eyes and used her tongue to wet her lips. First contact with the warm, moist flesh had shocked her and the hair had tickled her top lip. Crouching at her side, Amelia whispered some advice. “Just do what you like having done to you.” She loved it when Andrew teased her, ran his tongue along her lips, flicked around her clit and then moved on, and it seemed as though the plump woman appreciated it as well.

When Laura felt the woman push herself forward she took it as her cue to probe deeper. Sliding her tongue in as far as possible she pressed her face onto the warm flesh. The outer edges of the distended lips felt cool against her cheeks and she wondered if hers were like that, she must remember to ask Andrew.

Small groaning sounds could be heard from above and the plump thighs began to move as the woman ground her sex against Laura’s face. Liquid started to seep into Laura’s mouth and the taste of the woman became more pungent, that was something else to ask Andrew about.

The groaning turned to moaning, interspersed with expletives and praise. The hips moved faster and pressed harder as Laura moved her attention to the swollen, red nub. Gentle nipping with her teeth and pulling with her lips forced the body to stiffen and contract, she knew that feeling very well. After swallowing down the fresh flow of bitter liquid she eased off her efforts, culminating in gentle licks, almost loving kisses, as Amelia’s tender fingers softly caressed her hair.

“You’re good with that tongue young lady,” the woman said, and then with a smile she added, “and that reluctance soon passed didn’t it. My God, I thought you were going to make me pass out. It looks like pleasuring women turns you on.” The onlookers laughed and Laura cringed from the shame. In front of all those people she’d got carried away, blurring the lines between forced and eager. She had enjoyed giving pleasure to another woman. She could feel the sticky juices drying on her face and desperately wanted to satisfy the throbbing down below. She hoped that her Grandmother wasn’t looking down on her.

Since the announcement that the main event would start shortly a low hum of anticipation had hung in the air. Mistress’s straightened their clothing and their slaves returned to kneel at their side. The waitress’s continued to replenish drinks and clear away empty glasses.

Amelia frequently leaned over to whisper, discretely keeping Laura informed. “This could be your make or break,” she said, “some are lucky, some aren’t.” That particular piece of information however, did little to inform or comfort. Once all those present had returned to the room and settled, the proceedings began.

“Good evening ladies,” the mistress of ceremonies said, in order to bring the meeting to order. “As we all know we are here once again to settle the dues for this month. I guess it seems to come around faster for some of us than others.” Polite laughter could be heard from some of the mistress’s. “As usual the first draw will decide which of us will recover the debt and the second will decide who will pay the debt. Good luck everybody.” She then called for one of the waitress’s to bring a glass bowl from the bar. Making a point of showing the number on each ball she dropped all eight into the bowl. The girl who had brought the bowl was asked to turn her head, swirl the balls and pick one at random. She then passed the ball to the mistress. “Who’s number four?”

“I am.” A slim dark haired woman answered. Laura heard a sharp intake of breath from more than one source and general murmuring around the room. She looked up to Amelia who quietly answered her unasked question.

“She has a reputation for being cruel, quite sadistic in fact. Although there will be one or two here who will now be hoping they’re chosen.” Laura frowned, conveying her disbelief. Amelia’s slow nod confirmed it to be true.

“Surely none of them would want that,” Laura said looking around the room, “they all look so…so normal.”

“So do you, go’s to show you never can tell doesn’t it.”

The ramifications hit Laura. If she was lucky enough to be chosen she would earn the chess piece, but at what cost? ‘Quite sadistic,’ what the hell did that mean? Her apprehension grew.

“Now then,” the woman announced, “all eight balls are back in the bowl, so if you wouldn’t mind, dear.” The young girl drew out another ball. Laura expected her heart to beat its way out of her chest. The woman looked at the ball then slowly looked around the room, drawing out the tension. Laura pushed her clenched fists into the soft carpet in an effort to stop her hands from shaking.

“Number three.” Audible sighs of relief could be heard around the room. To her left Laura saw the unfortunate subject rise. She was tall and slim, bordering on skinny even. Her breasts could only be described as small but the aureole’s large and dark with hard, pronounced nipples. Her long dark hair had been taken up into a tight ponytail, highlighting the immaculately made up face. The distinctive aquiline nose and dark eyes–hinting of Mediterranean origins–suited her and formed a major factor in her attraction. She made her way to the front and stood facing the gathering.

“Are you willing to pay for the pleasure these ladies have received this month?” she was asked, the mistress sweeping a hand toward the kneeling submissives.

“Yes Ma’am”

“Very well.” The mistress spoke to the young girl who had been holding the bowl, who then went over to the winning mistress. She also spent a few moments speaking quietly to the girl who then nodded, returned to the front and took hold of the woman’s chain before leading her from the room. Keeping her hands behind her back and her head held high she walked from the room with grace and dignity, but as she passed, Laura could see the fear in her eyes.

“Never mind,” Amelia said, smiling, “perhaps you’ll get another chance, but only if you want to of course.”

The room hummed with chatter as they all awaited the return of the chosen victim. Ever since the draw Laura had been considering whether to accept disappointment or relief as her primary emotion. It was true that for the time being the chance to win back the outstanding pawn had eluded her but she had to question whether or not that was a bad thing. Securing the pawn now would eradicate future opportunities to try again.

An expectant hush rapidly spread through the room as the bedroom door opened. All heads turned to watch the wretched figure emerge. The ankle boots with impossibly high heels made walking a trial. Each step became a test of balance especially without the use of her arms which were secured by wrist cuffs to a ring at the back of the wide, stiff collar. The silk stocking pulled tightly over her head had distorted her facial features leaving the formally attractive woman unrecognisable. Over the stocking, black tape had been wound very tightly around her head distorting her jaw and forming a very effective if uncomfortable gag.

Laura noted the facial expressions of those who watched the slow, agonized walk. Some with half screwed up faces sympathized with her plight, others were wide eyed, their tongues slowly wetting their lips, clearly relishing the spectacle before them.

Eventually she reached the long narrow table strategically placed before the audience. A gentle tug on her collar passed as the unspoken instruction to lean forward, pressing her small breasts onto the polished mahogany surface. The discomfort probably turned to relief as her slim legs and ankles no longer bore her weight on those perilous heels. With her head fixed below the table and her ankles stretched obscenely wide and bound to the table legs, movement became impossible. Every so often she would raise her head, no doubt hoping to learn a little of her fate, but the strain on her neck soon became too much and her head dropped back over the side. They say that the anticipation and the agony of the wait were worse than the outcome, she would soon find out how wrong that was.

The victim couldn’t have seen her assailant approach from behind; the only clue to her arrival being the hush of expectation which spread through the room. Casually flexing a thin metal rod the mistress took up her position, carefully adjusted her footing, checked her balance and lined up the first stroke. The graceful movement looked effortless as the long rod whistled through the air before meeting the taught flesh with a loud ‘thwap’. For a split second the silence was deafening, before an eerie howl filled the room. The next stroke landed before the sound dissipated causing the volume to return to its previous level. The horrifying shrieks seemed to spur on the attacker fuelling her sadistic desire to cause further suffering. Before long the woman’s futile struggling diminished as exhaustion overcame her ineffective attempts to avoid the ceaseless barrage of slashes. Even though the tape gag reduced the volume of the screaming and shrieking the level of suffering the poor woman experienced was obvious. As each lash from the rod found its target her head thrashed from side to side causing sweat and saliva to fly in all directions. The juices flowing from between her legs were spread nearly as far by the impact of the rod.

The mistress’s years of experience confirmed just the right moment when the victim had been taken beyond a point where she thought she could endure no more, but only for that occasion, and the punishment stopped.

It took several minutes before the crying and sobbing reduced to a constant mucus driven snivel. The woman’s own mistress knelt beside her, cleared the damp mass of tangled hair from her face and whispered words of praise and support as she commiserated over her suffering.