Slave Island Page 6

  His right hand now disappeared between their bodies, and Dorothea Petroff, absolutely wild with shame at the frantic and secret knowledge that her body was beginning to quiver and respond to this detested violator, again uttered a plaintive scream, again raised her head, staring at her nieces, tears running down her cheeks, while her fingers clawed at his neck and shoulders in a futile effort to disengage herself from his odious constraint.

  "Oh, God-please, take your fingers out of me-I can't bear it-it's intolerable-it's inhuman, oh, what shame in front of my own nieces! Ahh! Stop it, I implore you, I beseech you, oh, have me, have me since you must, but not this humiliation, not this shame!"

  His only reply was to quicken the frigging of his right forefinger against her slowly stiffening pink nodule of delight, that dainty morsel snugly concealed with the cowl of pink pussy-flesh which was the apex of her most intimate emotions. And at the same time, he plunged his other forefinger back and forth inside her rectum so that she was triply besieged by the most devastating carnal tribulations.

  The violence of his fucking, for all her attempts to remain stoic and silent, forced sobbing groans from the luxuriously opulent naked woman. She continued to claw and shove at him vainly with her ring-adorned, beautifully manicured fingers, and her head turned from side to side, her eyes wild as she felt the savage perforations of his cock deep in her crevice. And yet, the worst of all for Dorothea Petroff was the atrocious knowledge that his fingers were drawing her closer to the same response that she would have given her own husband or to an adored lover, and this left her pitifully distraught. "Aaahhh!! ! Oh, don't, I beg of you! You're hurting me-oh merciful God, I want to die, it's too shameful, too horrible! Please stop, at least take your fingers out of me, oohh, aahh, I can't bear it, oh please, please, have mercy!"

  Tanya was completely dissolved in tears as she steadfastly hid her face so as not to have to look at the violation of her beautiful, naked aunt. But Olga watched with shadowed eyes, trembling lips, flaring nostrils, as if unable to believe what was taking place before her eyes.

  "Now, Dorothea," he hoarsely shouted as his own furious passions reached their turbulent climax, "now you're going to feel in that haughty cunt of yours what a serf's sperm feels like! Get ready, you fat cow, I'm going to flood your twat!" And with a last vengeful thrust, flattening her as he crushed his chest down over her panting breasts, his finger wriggling about in the clenching canal of her rectum, his other finger twirling her stiffened clitoris, he shuddered violently as the explosive spasm burst within him. Dorothea Petroff uttered a woebegone sobbing cry: "Ugh! It's bursting into me, oh, the shame of it, to make me pregnant from such a horrible beast-ohh, dear God, it's intolerable!"

  He drew out of her cunt and staggered to his feet, gloatingly and triumphantly staring down at her heaving and sprawled nakedness. The thick tufts of her pussy-hair were matted with glistening spunk, and the insides of her milky thighs jerked and twitched convulsively, telltale evidence that she was near her own climax despite all of her abhorrence.

  But if she thought that she had expiated her heart-lessness of the past by being fucked, poor Dorothea Petroff was in for an atrocious disillusionment.

  He bent down, twisted his fingers in her disheveled hair, and yanked. Shrieking, her hands trying to grasp at his to free herself from that agonizing traction on her tender scalp, she rose to her feet, tears flowing down her cheeks. He dragged her thus to a nearby palm tree, and ordered her to embrace it with her arms and to press her belly and breasts and cunt against its rough surface. This done, he took the rest of the coil of rope and wound it around her waist and then under her armpits and round the tree, knotting it snuggly. Then he looked about for a suitable instrument with which to flog her. The prickly, scratchy limb which he had earlier discarded would serve admirably; he stooped to retrieve it.

  "Now then, you arrogant, haughty bitch, you inhuman aristocrat, you guzzler of champagne and strawberries," he mocked the sobbing woman, "for the switching that I promised you. It will not be quite so brutal as that which the Cossacks bestowed upon my wife and mother. But I hope that you will try your utmost to remember the lesson. Because, when I have finished, I am going to give you an order. And if you don't carry it out at once and without the slightest show of repugnance, Dorothea, what I shall give you now will be like a lover's caress, I promise you."

  With this, raising the switch high in the air, he slashed it down straight across her hips. The naked matron uttered a scream, penetrating and poignant, trying to grind herself against the coarse, scratchy trunk of the palm tree to which she was fixed. She turned her head and her eyes, swollen with tears, fixed on him in a pathetic appeal to which he was utterly deaf. All he could see was the fiery streak that marred the milky perfection of her naked skin.

  "Filthy coward!" Olga raged, jerking with all her might at her bonds. "Oh yes, you're quite a hero, Ivan Tenkovich! What harm did my aunt do you? Only a coward would try to gain his revenge from women. It was my father who had your wife and mother punished, so why do you not have the courage to face him?"

  He stopped and walked back to her, then viciously kicked her in the hip as he stood looking down at her. Olga groaned and winced, but set her teeth against her lower lip almost to the blood to keep from crying out as she glared back at him mutinously.

  "Your turn is coming, Princess Olga," he sneered. "You are already adding to it. Be careful you don't add too much, or you won't be able to pay the reckoning. The fact is, all of you are here now with me. And if the Prince, damn his soul to eternal hell, were here with you, I would kill him with my bare hands! What do you, a pampered aristocrat who has had everything her own way since the day she was born with a silver spoon in her mouth, know about suffering and justice?" With that he returned to the sobbing Dorothea Petroff who had turned her contorted face to look back at him. When she saw him raise the switch slowly, grinning like a fiend in his gleeful anticipation, she uttered a scream and pressed herself frantically against the tree, trying to hide herself. The switch hissed down and slashed over the base of her buttocks, so that the entire spacious posterior seemed to be framed by two angry red weals. A scream of torment was torn from her by that new stroke, and her body quivered and jerked against the rope that coiled around her and forced her to embrace the rough bark of the palm tree.

  Then, with the mastery of a true flagellant, Ivan Tenkovich began to whip the naked woman. He would lay two or three cuts horizontally over both globes of her buttocks, descending form the tops of her hips; then after a pause while he watched her squirm and twist, and drank in her sobs and cries, he whistled the switch across the base of her behind and on upwards a few times. Then after still another pause, and this was the most torturous of all for Dorothea Petroff to endure, he would apply the with vertically, crisscrossing with the angry darkening welts already imprinted on her fine milky skin, and patterning her ample, jutting naked asscheeks with violated-looking striata. Her screams were deafening now, and her babbled pleas for mercy were almost incoherent.

  Finally he lowered the switch right between the base of her behind, pressing the tip up against the most intimate groove of all, which led to the mysterious ambery channel of her rectum. He demanded in a thick shuddering voice, "are you now disposed to obey my every order, Dorothea? If I free you, will you carry it out without the slightest show of rebellion or distaste? Speak quickly, for I have only half begun with your whipping!"

  "Ohh-aah-aii-I-I can't stand-any-anymore.. .oh my God, have m-mercy on me, I beg-beg of you.. . yes.. .anything.. .only in the name of mercy, put down that horrible switch.. .I'm raw and it burns and I'm going to faint.. .ohhh!"

  "We'll soon see, bitch," he chuckled. Taking his knife, he cut her loose, and Dorothea Petroff crumpled onto her knees, her hands at once rushing to her stripped and aching bottom, while she sobbed heartrendingly, her face drowned in tears, congested with agony and shame. He watched the way her big ripe breasts pantingly rose and fell, jiggling in all
their luscious milky ripeness. Then his eyes studied the two young sisters, seeing how Tanya wept convulsively, with her face still obstinately turned away from this terrifying spectacle; and proud Olga who watched with quivering nostrils and parted lips.. .as if she were excited in a perverse way for the suffering for her own aunt. A flaming hatred against her rose in him; yes, he well remembered how this vapid, haughty little girl, just out of puberty, had tittered and giggled and whispered to little Tanya while the Cossacks had plied their leather thongs over the jerking and twisting naked bodies dangling from the rafters of that barn on that unforgettable afternoon. He ground his teeth with implacable fury, swearing to himself to make Olga Rubutsoff know the full degradation which he intended, savoring in advance his conquest of her. She would be last, the very last. First there would be Tanya.. .but not until Madame Petroff had acknowledged her fealty to him. Yes, the old order had changed, yielding to the new: now this aristocratic matron would beg to take orders from a lowly serf!

  "Very good, Dorothea," he mockingly applauded. "Now let me test this newly found obedience. Do you see my prick?" He pointed to its limp, greasied, and dwindled form between his hairy, wiry thighs, the switch still in his right hand. "Answer me! When a master speaks to his slave, she answers at once or she is flogged! I do not think things have changed that much; I seem to recall that on your brother's estate, the knout and the nagaiga were inflicted for the same reason. Speak!"

  "I.. .I.. .see-see it," the woman faintly managed, a wave of scarlet flooding her tear-stained face.

  Both Tanya and Olga uttered a shriek of incredulous horror. Without a word, he went to Dorothea and twisting his left hand in her hair once more, lashed her twice across those big shuddering milky breasts, drawing the most inhumanly strident screams for mercy as she jerked and twisted, her body swaying and weaving in the most lascivious manner.

  "You are thick-witted, Madame. Let me tell you a last time. Whenever you address me, it will be with the title of 'Master,' and failure to do this will cost your fine white skin dearly, as it just has. Now, answer my question again!"

  "Y-yes, I.. .I see it, m-m-Master," Dorothea Petroff finally pronounced, shuddering with revulsion.

  "Well, then, bitch, you must see that it is sticky from its work in that fat, tight, neglected cunt of yours. You must clean it and prepare me for your nieces. Come here to me, put your arms around me, and with your lips take my cock into your mouth and suck it lovingly, and rub your tongue nimbly over all of it."

  "You degenerate, you horrible, inhuman animal!" Olga stormed, "Oh, if my father were only here! If I were only free and had a weapon, I would kill you myself!"

  But this time he ignored the older beauty. "I am waiting, Dorothea," he said with a greedy smile, standing with his legs astride, his left forefinger pointing to his sticky prick, the terrible switch still brandished in his right hand. "And a master does not tolerate that a slave take her own time to carry out an order that he has given her. At once, bitch, or back to the tree you shall go, and this time you shall have your whipping on your titties and on your fat cunt!"

  Dorothea Petroff, groaning and sobbing, desperately hurried on her knees towards him. The two sisters gasped simultaneously, unable to believe the testimony of their eyes. Their haughty, beautiful aunt actually crawling on her knees to that horrible little man, meekly bowing her head at his filthy language which sullied and offended them both as it certainly must her.

  "Don't tell me that at your age you've never sucked a man off, Dorothea?" he taunted the sobbing, trembling woman, who was now wringing her hands in despair at the prospect of carrying out so vile an order.

  "No, oh God, never! I have never done that for any man! Oh ask me anything else, in the name of reason-but don't humiliate me so before my nieces!"

  CHAPTER SEVEN - ISLAND MASTER

  The presentiment which had made Ivan Tenkovich row his three victims to the western side of the little atoll had been wiser than he knew. For at the very moment that this former Russian serf was about to compel the weeping and ravaged Madame Dorothea Petroff to suck and lick his cock, about half a mile to the east a most unusual scene was taking place. Had ' the vengeful steward of the Anastasia followed the suggestion of the three unfortunate women who had fallen into his hands and gone on to explore this uncharted little speck of land in the middle of the vast Pacific, he would have believed himself either attacked by fever or suffering from the illusion of a mirage.

  Just beyond the large grove of palm trees was a kind of valley, almost jungle-like in the primitive abandon of its flowers such as lycopersica and flowering pimalia, and many wild varieties of hibiscus. There were clumps of exotic bushes and plants defying description, many of them unique to this isolated atoll. But about three hundred yards from this valley there was a steep incline about fifteen feet high and just over that little I hill, one saw the incongruous spectacle of a rambling J white building, spreading for nearly the size of a city block, one story high, made of polished ersite. To the left, as you faced it from the hilltop, there was a curious kind of cupola atop a small rectangular building that was no larger than an average cottage. It was from that cupola, actually a highly developed and remarkable scientific electronic laboratory, that the deceptive signals had been transmitted which had made the steamer run upon the magnetic reef!

  No! No genie of an ancient lamp had appeared to convey those two buildings and all their marble out of nowhere down upon this Godforsaken little speck of Pacific. It had been due mainly to the genius, the perverse and singular genius of a man who called himself Lord Henry Philbrock.

  Lord Henry Philbrock was fifty years of age, tall, wiry, with sparse graying hair that had once been black. His face was sardonic with mercilessly cold blue eyes, a hawk-like nose, and the thin ascetic lips which marked the sadist. Fifteen years ago he had held a high post with the foreign office in London. His father had left him an enormous legacy, derived mainly through realty rentals on buildings which the former had owned in the very slums of London.. .thousands of pounds had come into the hands of Lord Henry Philbrock through his father's greed and the exploitation of the poor. But since the son had even fewer moral scruples than the father, he'd suffered no guilt in accepting that legacy.

  Lord Philbrock had, from the beginning, been a passionate cocksmith. He celebrated his eighteenth birthday by seducing his younger siblings' governess, quietly crawling into her bed late at nigh, after she had gone to sleep and his parents left for the opera, and commencing to titillate promising areas of her supine form.

  She was a beautiful German blonde whose husband had deserted her, and when she found that a virile young man had entered her room, crawled into bed with her, and was now gently assailing the mossy gates of her cunny, it had taken all her will power to continue to feign sleep.Finally, she could stand it no more: "About an inch further down, young man," she said; "and, I think, just a trifle slower.. .ah! Excellent!"

  This initial success had given Lord Henry Philbrock the impetus he needed to pursue his chase of every seductive and desirable female who came within his broadening horizon. At the age of nineteen, thanks to his wealth and his father's indulgence (his mother was a society-minded woman who really did not care for either husband or son so long as she had money for jewels and furs and fine clothes and entertainment), he had a bachelor apartment a few miles from the family mansion in which he had installed a magnificently beautiful thirty-year-old divorcee as his mistress. She, being as perverse as he, taught him what he had not already practiced but which he had assuredly read about, for even at that age, Lord Philbrock had devoured every erotic book that he could order from the bookstalls of Paris, London, Berlin, Budapest and Vienna. And since she was herself an incipient masochist, she taught him the voluptuous use of the whip, a practice for which he had the greatest aptitude because he wholeheartedly believed in the precept of Nietzsche: "When thou goest unto woman, take thy whip."

  By the time he was twenty-five, he had half a
dozen mistresses installed throughout London, Paris, and Berlin, women who could give him every kind of love, from the enthusiastic cringing of his favorite submissive to his partnership with a tall, blonde, masterful bisexual, who arranged sessions for him at which two or three other women would be present so that he could fuck one while the others indulged in lesbian antics, culminating in a bondage scene involving the whipping and fucking of one of the women, who would dress in decidedly lesbian and affect to not care at all for men-at first. Such scenes were facilitated via liberal amounts of that universal lubricant, money. And Lord Henry Philbrock's perverse proclivities grew apace.

  Throughout his life, as a kind of recurring motif, there was always the dream of living in a civilization where sexual slavery was legal and every form of erotic liberty and license was permitted.

  At thirty, he fell desperately in love for probably the first time in his life, with a magnificent beauty by the name of Madeleine DuCours. She was twenty-seven, with jet black hair and strikingly animated, intelligent features, conversed in several languages, and was beautifully dressed. She was also exquisitely passionate. But she would permit him everything except fucking; she had even gone so far as to French him once on an impulsive and capricious dare in a private box at the opera in Covent Garden. The box was dimly lighted, and Madeleine had crouched between his knees with his overcoat flung over her to hide her from other spectators, while she unbuttoned his trousers, drew out his cock, and feverishly sucked it until he spurted into her mouth.