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  He gasped as he stared at her. Her cunt had been depilated, so that it was a soft pink fig at the apex of her sleek, long, beautifully-muscled legs. The admiration on his face gave Iris a warm glow, though assuredly she had lain with many a man-and with Marjorie Sayers and Elvire de St. Cyr as well. But the open, uncomplicated admiration and desire he had for her was neither sadistic nor degrading, simply that of a passionate mature man who coveted-with all his prick and balls and spunk-the lovely, lithe youth of a charming female, and this she recognized.

  Her arms wound around him and her soft pink-lipped cunt nudged the tip of his throbbing sphere. He groaned at the sweet friction and his groan was muffled in her soft clinging lips, as her tongue renewed its assault within his mouth. Her slim long fingers gently pinched and stroked his bottom, one of her fingers insinuating itself along the crease between the cheeks of his behind and pressing his asshole, sending waves of savage yearning through him.

  "How does my master wish to fuck me? Or would he rather have me kneel and open my bottom for him?" Iris whispered.

  "I'd rather fuck you, sweet little devil," he panted hoarsely. "Let's go to bed!"

  Promptly she stretched herself out on the huge bed, her thighs wide, holding out her arms to him. He knelt between those lovely long legs, and she put one hand to the tip of his cock and guided it into her citadel. He sank down upon her, sheathing his sword in a single thrust, and groaned aloud at the exquisite clamping of her vaginal walls against his rigid ramrod. Young though she was, Iris was magnificent, a true artist when it came to fucking, just as the other two slaves had told him: it seemed to him that the muscles in the walls of her soft humid sheath clamped and ground and clenched his delving prick as if to coax out every drop of spunk at the very base of his balls.

  He recognized also the wisdom of Claire's charming suggestion in ridding himself of the first brunt of his gism. For now, deep inside of her, he could feel and taste to the utmost the lingering bliss of her cuntwall-kisses without being prematurely forced to give up his essence. And slowly he withdrew, and then as slowly pressed back home to the balls, until suddenly Iris wound her long legs over his bottom, arching up her cunt so that she might receive at the most exquisitely frictioning angle the shock of his digging prick. Hugging him with her lovely arms, she fused her mouth to his.

  Now he quickened himself, feeling her body trembling and vibrating like a dynamo, and knew that her climax would not be far off. He thrust his tongue between her eagerly yielding lips, felt her own return, and suddenly his body was shuddering with such rapture as he had not known since he and beautiful Diane had fucked in those happy days before her tragic and unexpected death.

  The smell of the frangipani and of the musk mingled now with the delicate and subtle perfume of Iris's naked flesh and of her cunt-juices and of all that distillation that was her femininity.

  Slowly and inexorably he felt his sap rise up within him, and then, with a cry, he could hold it no longer. Pumping and jerking and thrusting himself, he was abetted by Iris's eager weavings and buckings, until suddenly they rolled over and over as the shattering spasm seized them both.

  For a time, all was silent; then Iris said something in a language he did not recognize.

  "I beg your pardon, my dear?" he asked.

  "I said, 'five minutes of splendor,' my beloved master," she said, raising herself up on one elbow. She reached out to him and lightly ran a finger down his hipbone and the inside of his thigh, and to his surprise he found himself shivering pleasantly. "Would my master care to sample with me some.. .more complex and extended pleasures?"

  Her husky voice deepened slightly. "I promise you.. .I am the most delicious of teachers."

  CHAPTER ELEVEN - MAID AND MISTRESS

  It was twenty-four hours after the disaster to the Anastasia.

  In the subterranean vaults, ingeniously constructed under this remarkable building in the atoll's very center, there was more than an arena to delight the rulers of and those honored guests whose penchant it was to enjoy the ecstatic suffering of captives subjugated by pain and shame and sexual conquest to the most docile degree of submission. There were numerous dungeons, torture chambers, "exercise rooms," as well as a large salon where erotic movies could be shown, furnished with low divans so that those who watched could imitate the protagonists on the film with their own imaginative coupling.

  In one of these dungeons, Magala Khan and his beautiful Sathana had come to amuse themselves with their two new slaves, the haughty heiress, Marcia Chalmers, and her beautiful maid Jacqueline Wilson.

  At the order of the Hindu potentate, the two young women had been led in by the retainers, Tom and Sam. They had been given excellent clothing, as sophisticated as any they might find in the shops of Paris or San Francisco. This was done so the the poise and confidence this attire would usually give them could be more cruelly taken from them when they found themselves about to confront their master and mistress.

  At the order of Magala, Marcia had been led in front of a heavy wooden stake set into the floor of the dungeon, her arms bound behind her to the stake, with a light cord circling her calves. Jacqueline, at Sathana's orders, had been placed against a St. Andrew's cross made of solid teakwood, with spring-locking metal rings that passed around her ankles and wrists.

  Magala Khan moved forward and removed Marcia Chalmers' blindfold, while Sathana did the same for Jacqueline. The patrician redhead uttered a horrified cry as she recognized the handsome and virile Hindu.

  "My God! Where am I? Certainly we aren't back in Hong Kong?"

  "How stupid you are, Marcia," he mocked her in a deep, resonant voice. "You know better than that. Last night you were shipwrecked and brought here to this island, where I am one of the rulers. You are right, we did meet in Hong Kong, and you refused my gift. Also, perhaps, you may recall that I told you we would meet again, but this time we will play a different game than the one you had thought then to play with me."

  "What game is that?"

  "Simply that you are my slave. I believe you were conscious during the presentation in the assembly hall. Just as your maid, Jacqueline, is the property of my beautiful attendant, Sathana. Now, my dear Sathana, it is time to inspect our new slaves."

  "I agree," Sathana said, softly.

  The two therefore untied Marcia Chalmers from her stake, only to lead her to the center of the dungeon from which there dangled a trapeze bar and a pair of metal gyves affixed to a solid chain. These gyves were now affixed to her wrists, and Sathana moved to the wall a pressed a button. Instantly the trapeze bar rose, and Marcia found herself standing on tiptoe.

  Then the beautiful Eurasian returned to aid her lover in stripping off every stitch of Marcia s clothing, until she was as naked as the day she was born, and those beautiful breasts pantingly rose and fell. For the first time a man could behold the thick, dark-reddish foliage of her virgin cunthole.

  With a shriek, she tried desperately to clench her thighs together to hide the intimate treasure, and she flung back her head until her coppery-red hair danced in its long pageboy against her shoulder blades.

  Sathana, an expert at this kind of preparation, deftly unhooked the tabs of the garterbelt, rolled down the stockings, and then removed the garterbelt itself. And now all was in readiness for the subjugation of haughty Marcia Chalmers, demivierge, prick-teaser, who now at twenty-five neared the final hour of her vaunted virginity.

  "Bring the little coffer, my dear," Magala Khan suggested. The beautiful Eurasian inclined her head in a sign of deference to her lover and lord, and walked to a tabouret beside the wall where a little coffer reposed. She brought it back and handed it to Magala Khan, who opened the lid and showed the content to the horrified Marcia. Inside were scores of infinitely tiny, sharp, hair-fine pins, whose heads were colored green.

  "In my county, Marcia," he said ironically, as he showed her one of the pins, "it is the custom of the ruling Raj to award a decoration to some foreign
er who has achieved success in his country, or who has performed for the state some act of loyalty or the like. No woman has ever slapped me, save you, so you shall have the decoration now. The emblem of my house is the falcon, the bird of prey who soars high into the sky and swoops down upon the unsuspecting rabbit or squirrel, or even a young deer."

  And with this, standing to her right, and cupping her breast in his left hand, Magala Khan lifted up that lovely globe and calmly pressed the sharp pin straight into the flesh of the aureole, and on, until the pin was embedded up to its head in her tender bubbie.

  "Aiieeeooowww! Oh, stop-Oh my God, the pain, the pain!" she screamed, straining at her bound wrists until the trapeze-bar squeaked in protest.

  "My lord," Sathana softly interposed, "this white bitch is likely to kick a bit as this delightful decoration proceeds. Would it not be better for me to bind her ankles well apart, so that if my lord likes, the design may be carried down upon her haughty belly and even lower?"

  "A capital idea, my dear. You think of everything."

  Magala Khan chuckled. Handing Sathana back the coffer, he turned to a small wooden chest standing nearby, opened and took out several lengths of hemp. These he carefully affixed around each of Marcia's ankles, fastening the free end of each to a metal ring in the floor, so that she not only found herself tractioned firmly, but with her legs spread almost more than a yard wide, exposing her cunthole in the most obscene way imaginable. Then, without a word, Sathana once more proffered the coffer. He leisurely dipped his right hand into it and took out another pin, holding it up before her glazing eyes before driving into place. Her shrieks were endless and deafening. She twisted and kicked trying to hurl herself this way or that, babbling pleas alternating with curses, and even sometimes humble supplications for mercy, and her body was dripping sweat as he slowly lingeringly pursued his sadistic task.

  Soon one aureole was complete circled with pins of varying colored heads, framing the plump, darkening coral bud of her nipple. Then he passed to the other aureole, and now her eyes rolled in their sockets and her cries became raucous.

  Sathana brought a silver flask containing a cordial brewed from the leaves of a rare South American shrub, which was at once a strong stimulant, and also soothed the jangled nerves of pain: the perfect combination of effects in these circumstances.

  Then Magala Khan went back to work. On her belly, using only the color-headed pins, he designed a falcon poised in the air to strike his prey. By this time she was almost fainting, the exquisite little stabs of those tiny pins was unspeakable torture. As he continued to drive them in up to the head, her nerves were exacerbated almost to hysteria. Sathana mocked her: "And this is a courageous woman with whom my master wished to sleep, whom he actually asked to fuck? She is like a child-although most of them are better trained than that!"

  "The box is still full of pins, yes?" he assured the screaming redhead, whose twisting gyrations were becoming livelier and more abandoned as the cordial took effect. "I think I shall perhaps emblazon my falcon on each of your inner thighs, and then on each of your tempting bottom-cheeks. I have a great sentimental attachment to my falcon, you see."

  "No, my lord. You know how dearly you wished to flog that latter place," Sathana put in.

  "My dear, you are so right," he chuckled. Then she whispered into his ear and his eyes widened.

  "By Lord Buddha, you always hit upon the idea that most makes my prick burst! Prepare the other trapeze then, and we will inspect your new slave's charms," he ordered, and it was the turn of poor Jacqueline Wilson. She still had on her blindfold and was fully clothed. She had heard her former mistress's shrieks and pleas, and she had shook uncontrollably in fear. She was tied in her turn to the stake and the blindfold was removed.

  "Oh my God-Oh, how horrible!" she gasped, and then covered her face with her hands. Sathana deftly touched her fingers here and there on the silver cape, on the artfully concealed little hooks and fasteners holding the silver cape; it fell, and she was divinely naked, her cunt hair was crisp, thick, but evidently cut with scissors so that it framed her lips and did not reveal them. And thereby the soft, beguiling pink lips of her cunt were all the more exciting and enticing.

  Magala Khan now doffed his robe, and Marcia Chalmers' tear-blurred eyes gazed with incredulous horror on the mighty prick that stood out from his hairy loins.

  "Come now, Jacqueline," Sathana ordered, "if you don't want your breasts and belly and legs decorated like your former mistress, you'll help me now," and, fear overcoming shame, the former maid was soon stripped naked, blushing scarlet before this Eurasian beauty whose nakedness secretly troubled the beautiful brunette. And now that Jacqueline was naked, it was observed that although she might not have the spectacular appeal of Marcia, she was beautiful and fuckable in her own right.

  She was about an inch shorter than her mistress and her breasts were softer, as round and as lovely, but her curves were more both more pronounced and more promisingly and resiliently well-muscled than Marcia's leaner but still elegant form. Her legs were delicious, perhaps a little plumper than Marcia's, as were her calves. Her warm skin, the adorable crinkly heads of her nipples, the soft thatch of her brown pussycurls, and the exquisitely defined modeling of her muscles, made her altogether a tasty morsel.

  Sathana now went to the wall and pushed another button, lowering the second trapeze bar next to the one where, moaning hysterically, the naked Marcia hung. She and Magala Khan then, despite Jacqueline's fearful pleas, locked the dangling cuffs around her wrists, hoisted her up until she, too, was on tiptoe, and then spread apart her legs and fixed her ankles with cords, tying the free ends again into a set of metal rings in the floor. And then Sathana, with a leather strap with buckled ends, wound this belt around the waists of the two young women and bound it tightly. Instantly Marcia's screams were redoubled, for the pressure of her maid's body against her intensified the pain of the pins in her body. In her turn, Jacqueline felt the soft, insidious friction of Marcia Chalmers' cunthole.

  "Now that is the proper way to reunite maid and mistress, my lord," Sathana snickered, as she picked up a three-pronged leather martinet, gleaming and polished, its thongs fixed to a gleaming teakwood handle. In her right hand she held another whip, a leather dog-whip.

  Slowly and masterfully, the Hindu potentate and his Eurasian consort whipped the two shrieking naked women. The trapeze bars creaked in protest as they twisted and struggled under the biting kisses of the lash. Marcia was babbling, near the breaking point, for the pins were torturing her nervous system unspeakably. But Jacqueline had begun to feel the secret throbbing of pussy-lust; now as a sort of assuagement, each time Sathana's whip cracked over her bare ass, the lovely brunette rubbed herself furiously against her former mistress's cunthole. By the time twenty lashes had been laid on, Jacqueline was twisting and writhing in heat, while pleading that no more be laid on. Five more lashes, and her body shook with tumult as she gave herself up to pleasurable release.

  At once the flogging ceased. Jacqueline was freed. Sathana whispered to her, "You will go kneel in that corner on your palms. When I have finished assisting my lord, I will take you into my bed. If you don't gamahuche me and lick my asshole lovingly, slave, we'll come back to this dungeon alone, and I'll show you other delightful ways to teach a girl obedience. You understand?"

  "Oh, yes, mistress," Jacqueline plaintively sobbed. Released, she bowed her head and kissed the feet of the beautiful Eurasian woman.

  Once she had gone to the corner and faced the wall in that demeaning pose, Magala Khan and his mistress confronted the half-conscious Marcia. Sathana had exchanged her whip for a short curry-brush and Magala Khan had taken what looked like a wooden ping-pong paddle, and he tapped Marcia's clenching, shrinking bare bottom-cheeks menacingly. Now the sound of the paddle cracked wickedly against flesh, followed by piercing screams and Sathana, her left hand cupping one of Marcia's heaving breasts, began to rub the bristles of the brush right into
the redhead's virgin cunt.

  "Stop! Eeeeee! I'll do anything in the world if you'll only stop. You're killing me!" the redhead shrieked.

  "You're finally learning sense. Now then, Marcia, if I have the whipping stopped, will you obey me?" He came around to face her, cupping her chin in his left hand, letting her see the paddle in his right.

  "Ooooh, y-y-yes-oh, have pity. I can't stand any more-Oh God, have pity!" she sobbed.

  "Then ask me to fuck you," he commanded and he reached forward and pinched her nipple cruelly, then lightly slapped the center of her bubbie with the swift motion of his left hand. She flung herself backward madly, her body shaking like a bag of old clothes, her wrists jerking as she tried to break them loose from the gyves which held her tightly on tiptoe. Again the brush ground against her cunt, then a third time and a fourth. Finally Marcia Chalmers, broken, sobbing, babbling, crying for mercy, no longer the haughty lady, found herself mouthing the formula that Magala Khan desired: "Please, Master, I beg you humbly to honor my cunt with your great big prick."