Poor Little Rich Slut (17 page)

Someone moved in close to me, shoved a long-necked beer bottle into the opening in the hood and began to pour. I gulped as fast as I could, but some of the beer spilled out, dribbling down my chest. I wanted to stop—enough was enough—but I was forced to take the entire thing, or let it flow out of my mouth.

Another body moved from the shadows to a spot just beyond the blinding lights. I could see a hulking form and make out a large and muscled man, but that was all. The harsh glare hurt my eyes.

“Spank her breasts and that pretty pink cunt.”

With the order given, two people moved in closer. The first stood directly in front of me and began hand-slapping my tits. First one breast then the other, back and forth, again and again; the pain was sharp and stinging. My cries hit the air, raising a turbulent sound until the spanking stopped. My breathing quickened, but I had no time to relax. Seconds later, my pussy felt the harsh sting of a wooden ruler smacking my pubic mound and the valley below. The strikes were leveled directly on the
tenderest
part of my flesh. I was so aroused that for a time, the spanking hardly hurt. I felt the sensation as pleasure and began to vent the feeling, moaning and writhing against the slat behind me as if I might cum. I was just that close.

But then the strikes of the hard wood took a sudden painful turn, coming on faster and more viciously. My erotic feelings fled me and I began to cry. Fear and pain ripped through my body as I sensed there was no Garrison Tate looking on.
No one to rescue me.
Irrational as it was, I was certain that I’d been abandoned by my sexual mentor and was cast to a vicious pack of wolves. Even Robert Harrington’s presence at that point would have assured me that I’d be all right. But with each strike of wood again my exposed pubis, I feared for my life and my sanity. My emotions were out of control, one minute high with sexual excitement, the next overtaken by the frightening terror swarming my mind like an invading army.

Then, suddenly, all was silent but for a faint echo of the previous minutes. I breathed a little easier and tried to feel the sexual fire in me again. I know it hovered close by waiting to reappear.

Another beer bottle was forced into my mouth and upturned. I gulped hungrily, not realizing until then how thirsty I was.

“Tell me what you want, bitch!” the belligerent man came on me again; this time he was crouched at my feet and I could see his face plain as day. The hard-set jaw, the remote and fearsome light in his eyes—his threatening visage had me worried. But it was a face now, a human connection, something to hang on to. Surely, he could see in my eyes the hurt and fear that settled there. His hand was in my crotch, caressing the soft, wounded flesh with surprising tenderness.

I moved against it, unthinkingly, gasping inwardly as the fact of my arousal became clear to me and to him.

“Tell me!” The command was no less intense than the previous one, but he did speak more softly, as if to me alone, as if to be kind. “What do you want from me?”

“I want to cum,” I told him hopefully.

His face broke into a terribly scowl and he pulled his hand away.

“Bitch, you get nothing so sweet from me!”

He stood up, towering above me.

“You sorry, miserable, slut!”

I quaked, terrified, as his venom poured out on me. Tears threatened in my eyes.
Why was he saying this?

“You want to cum, bitch? You want pleasure? Well, you give me mine first.” He took my leather-covered chin in his hand. “Look at me.”

I didn’t dare not.
He pinned me with his eyes.

“Sluts like you disgust me. You play at this game, thinking you’re so good but you aren’t worth a lick. You lowly little shit.”

I couldn’t help staring into those dark, demented, evil-looking eyes. A shuddering thrill coursed my body as if I actually liked being treated this way.

“Your mentor tells me that you’re some rich slut.” He laughed at that. “But you know what I think? I think it’s all just a sham. You’re nothing but a worthless nobody. That true?”

I shook my head no, not knowing what to say—and that was the wrong thing to do.

“No? You think you’re somebody, somebody special, like we should be grateful that your sorry bitch ass is here to perform? You think that, slut?”

Still speechless, I shook my head again.

“What?” he laughed scornfully. “You don’t know anything, do you?”

I stared expressionless, feeling weary and unsure.

“Well, Heiress, you know what we do to filthy rich sluts like you? We take ‘em down,
all
the way down so they are groveling for everything they get. We make them suffer and we sure as hell don’t let them cum. You’ll be pleading for mercy before this night is out; I promise you that.”

He shook his head and snickered.

“Yeah, you come to
my
house, you play in
my
world,
you’re
going to get a dose of everything you’re owed, little heiress. And it ain’t gonna be pretty.”

Now I knew it was Garrison behind this, but I had more reason to worry…
the man called me heiress, he knew who I was. Did he know my name, too?

“Madeleine, you come here and get the little rich girl roused?” He motioned to the sidelines and a
waifish
, blonde girl with short, feathery hair appeared, moving directly to my side. She fondled my privates with her fingers and almost instantly, I could feel my juices flowing out over her hand.

“See what she is? Nothing but another lousy cum-slut,” he spoke to the audience beyond the lights,
then
he whipped back around and spoke to the girl, “don’t you dare let her cum.”

“No, sir,” she sweetly answered. She peered up at me with an impish grin.

Other hands reached in from behind and began to play with my breasts. Responding to the glorious feel of their hands caressing my flesh, I quickly drifted into a delirious and pleasurable stupor. The slow build brought me within seconds of a crashing orgasm. But those fondling hands suddenly withdrew. After that, my exposed and dangling bottom became the object of attack as several fingers began a sensuous massage of my back door, poking carefully at first, then those invading fingers sunk ever deep, opening me wide. Again my body felt the
crescendoing
swell of arousal and need colliding, and my orgasm threatened to explode despite the master’s vow. But just before that happened, the invading hand withdrew. I’d been denied again.

“Oh,
gawd
, no, no, no,” I shook my head, groaning inside the hood.

“What was that you said?” the master confronted me.

I froze and looked up into his eyes pleadingly.

He laughed a full belly laugh and turned to those behind me. “Bring her closer to the front of the cage. The slut’s had enough for now.”

Over the next several minutes, two large men lifted the chair with me in it and repositioned me so that my open thighs were no more than inches from the bars of the cage. The spotlights were turned off and everything around me dimmed. I was blinded for several minutes as my eyes adjusted to the setting and I could peer at the room outside of my cage. The commotion died behind me, the master left, and to my left, I heard the sound of a padlock clicking shut. I turned just enough to see that I’d been locked alone inside the cage. I didn’t panic since the room beyond me crawled with people—some quite literally crawling—as the scene of an erotic masquerade ball played out before me. Most of those attending were dressed in some sort of fetish fashions, leather, lace, kinky costumes,
slutty
off the rack attire. Many were masked, while others wore heavy make-up, which disguised appearances as much. Some wore hoods like mine. Some were naked like me.

As far as I could tell, I was the only caged submissive in the large room—which seemed to be an aging vacant warehouse. Perhaps it was a nightclub; there were spotlights and colored light arrays shining down from the ceiling. Above the music, I could hear the sounds of whips, of paddles, of screaming, sobs and laughter. Still delirious from whatever I’d been drugged
with,
my mind reeled on without focus, darting from one picture to the next. As the mind-numbing daze continued, my arousal abated into a slow, gentle roar, nothing as noxious as it had once been.

I was relieved, at least for a
time, that
I was left to myself; I needed to catch my breath. It didn’t take long, however, before I realized how much my body ached. My arms cramped, my legs were sore and the two beers I’d quickly downed were now settled annoyingly on my bladder. I had to piss.

When the attention in the room turned back to me, those outside the cage reached in and played with my body again, bringing back the rush of sexual feeling I momentarily lost. But my distress grew as my arousal climbed. Even with the hood on, it must have been possible to see the way I grimaced. Now outside the cage with the others, the cruel master peered at me, gloatingly.

“What’s the matter, princess slut?”

I refused to speak.

He reached in with his large hand and began to fondle me as he had before. I rode his hand, straining against the ropes. The crowd around the cage grew bigger and more rowdy. They came with canes and prods, leather
slappers
and wooden slats. They might as well have spat on me. The master poked my belly with a
billy
club. “How’s that feel?”

I breathed in sharply.

“I think you like it.” He kept on poking my belly. Then he reached in a little further and shoved the blunt, rounded end of the club up my ass. I thought then I’d lose everything in my bladder; I could barely hold on. “What’s the matter, Heiress, don’t you like it?”
I shook my head.

“Tell Master why you fret so,” he said, as if he were talking to a child, mocking me. I shuddered deeply, again feeling as if I was about to explode my body fluids,
my cum
and piss, all over the cage.

He pressed my bladder with his hand.

“Bet she has to piss,” someone else said.

“Is that so?” he asked.

I nodded yes.

“Not good enough. You tell me you have to piss, I’ll let you.”

I took a deep breath while trying to decide if I should give in. But his jibes and his prodding became too intense and I finally blurted out:

“Please, Master, may I piss?”

“What was that?” Of course he’d heard me.

“Master, may I piss, please?”

“Hum? I didn’t hear you?”

The game was cruel but I had no choice but to play.

“Please, Master, I need to pee!” My voice rose up.

He turned to the crowd around me. “Did you hear that?”

The crowd loved the game.

“I’m afraid we can’t hear you, slut.” He started to walk away.

“Master, Sir, please, I beg you,” I shouted, “may I please pee?”

He turned back slowly and smiled.

“Why of course. Go ahead and piss.”

There? Piss right there. My eyes questioned him though I didn’t open my mouth.

He laughed seeing my distress,
then
scowled. “Someone get a bucket for the bitch. I don’t want her dirtying my cage.”

He turned away, while those behind him stayed. A bucket appeared in the hand of the blonde waif-girl and was set between my legs and under my crotch. “It’s the only way you’ll get out of there,” she whispered to me. “Trust me, I know.”

Madeleine exited the cage, locking it again, while I contemplated my dilemma. The only way I’d relieve myself was to piss right there before the dozens who looked on. While I could barely hold my
bladder, something stronger, some will
, some tattered pride remained and when I actually tried to pee, I couldn’t force myself.

More jeered at me, more reached in to torment me. My horniness waned as my discomfort grew desperate. I kept telling myself that I had to go… and finally, little by little, the tight clench in my body weakened. A drizzle of warm piss leaked. Then I closed my eyes and breathed deep and everything let go. My pee splashed against the metal bucket in a long, steady, noisy stream. I could see them jeering at me even with my eyes closed.

All that I could think at that moment:
if only they could see my face!

With the hood on, I was a non-person, nobody, just a body, just a cunt and ass and a pair of tits. Yes, of course, master could call me an heiress and claim I was some rich-bitch society girl, but no one would know for sure.

Inside my brain, this little voice kept screaming from afar—
If only they could see your face, Eleanor.
I heard that
slutty
, self-destructive submissive calling to me, shouting at me to reveal myself as the pissing little cum-slut. I wanted to expose myself!

But, just as clearly as I heard that rebellious woman, my sane self called back to me,
Dear God, Eleanor, what have you become?

I became so lost in my thoughts that I didn’t realize I was no longer alone in the cage. The bucket had been taken away and someone pulled the chair back from the bars. Master crouched in front of me again.

“So, does humiliation feed your lust, too?” he asked, as again he tickled my privates with his fingers. I thought for a moment that my sex had gone numb. The heavy weight still hung annoyingly from the chain and the sexual ache in me had been so great that I couldn’t feel much of anything. But then his human hand, the simple touch brought all the sweet sexual feelings back again and I wanted to cum. The need rose up angrily and I thought I’d explode, permission granted or not I’d explode and get it over with no matter what the consequences might be.