The black widow rises, p.15
The Black Widow Rises, page 15
Her hands come up and I can see that she is stroking them both at once, sizing them up, ready to feast. God, to just be able see how wide her grip has to be on their solid lengths of thick meat! I have umpteen times gawped with delight at porn-star cocks on my computer screen and I know my face then looks like hers does now. Castor is the chosen one. Her face goes out of view, blocked by his backside as she leans across to him. Her ecstatic, full-mouthed moan and the slight sinking of his knees tell me that she has engulfed him with deep greed. His hands clench but stay at his side. That weak fuck Lionel couldn’t manage this simple self-discipline, nor could Samson. She gorges but she is in control.
Pollux does not have to wait long for his turn and her moan of delight is just as loud. I need to see. I need to watch them stuff her dirty mouth. I want to see their shafts thick-wet with her spit and red-smeared from her lipstick. What would it gain me to break rank now? I’d get the sight of them but not the feel inside. I would be sent away. What if I overruled her; merely kicked her aside and ordered them to dance to my tune? But these are no snivelling slaves like Drummond, easy to abuse and shape. They know how to play a composed game, a longer game that brings the rewards. Don’t any of these fuckers understand what I’m capable of?
“Close your eyes, Anoushka,” says the Mistress, her face once more appearing between the guys’ thighs, a dribble of wet down her chin, “and then come towards me. When I say stop you are to kneel. Keep your eyes closed until I tell you or it will be over.”
I’m obeying her pronto, sliding from my seat and shuffling forward on my knees, forgetting in my urgency to prowl their way like a sexy, in-control cougar. She stops me – at a guess, since my eyes are obediently closed – mere feet from where she sits. I can smell the leather and latex of the guys’ outfits. Their bare cocks will be within reach. My heart is pounding. I hear her rise and then feel her kneel beside me to my right, our shoulders touching.
“Remember, keep those eyes tight shut, Anoushka. I will be watching. And keep that mouth closed too. Press your lips together and keep them like that.”
I am almost quivering with need. Spent air comes in quick blasts from my nostrils. I don’t sound like a goddess. I doubt I look much like one either. In my mind’s eye we girls each have a ready cock right in front of us. I am sure I can smell the scent of leaching prick. The spit gathers in readiness behind my pressed-together lips.
“Rub your cock all over her face,” she says. I don’t know who this is to but if the guys have not swapped places I imagine it is Castor. I’m still thinking this when it hits my cheek. It shocks me but I manage to keep eyes and mouth shut. I have never been slapped by a cock before. It comes again, crushing the inside of my cheek to my teeth and causing a light, dirty-sounding slap. Then the press stays, warm to my skin. I can feel the pulse of him, the heat of pumping blood. I can feel the utter stiffness. I have to say, although it is wonderful, this shaft pressed to me, it doesn’t feel huge. It doesn’t feel like the Queen of Pleasure made flesh pressing at me.
Then I hear her greedy guzzling again, her moans of satisfaction. I don’t have to look to know that she is not getting the same teasing treatment as me. She has Pollux in her mouth. Her slurps are not subtle. The prick at my face is guided methodically across it, a wet tip sliding in its own pre-come trail over my lips, up over my nose and across each eye, across my forehead and over the cheeks in turn, trying not to let any bit of skin go untouched. All the while I long for it, driven crazy with hunger by her slurps and moans. I used to fellate my husband with some enthusiasm. I never thought I would see the day when I was willing to beg to gorge upon a cock.
Then the press at my shoulder goes and before I know it I have both erections at my face, two tips tracing journeys, two stiff lengths slapping my cheeks and lips. Again, this new one feels swollen enough to burst but not massive. How is it that Drummond seems to be the only man alive to pack the kind of cock I see so often on my computer screen? Still, it takes everything – everything – to keep my hands beneath me and not reach up to grasp them, to tug them furiously, to force them one at a time and even together into my begging mouth. I am almost screaming my frustration when she orders them off me.
I hear movement around me – perhaps more clothes coming off, I’m not sure. I sense someone back beside me although there is no contact this time. Then I hear the slurps of delicious cock-sucking again. She is insatiable! But could I stop myself? She hasn’t had Castor yet and he will certainly need a turn. The noises are so rude. They give a perfect mental picture of deeply sucked prick. His sighs tell of her good technique.
“Open your eyes now, Anoushka,” she purrs.
I obey instantly and my mouth falls open too. She is pressed cheek to cheek with Pollux but it is his mouth engulfing half of Castor’s prick. The sight almost has me coming. It is a bigger threat to my ability to restrain myself even than the feel of a cock sliding across my lips. The slave does it with huge enthusiasm and the erection looks delicious, with the pronounced upward curve of the shaft and the exposed smooth head, all covered in glistening saliva and rigid fit to burst. She makes me watch. She takes turns herself and keeps her taunting, lust-bright eyes on mine all the time. If she gave me permission to frig now, if she teasingly waved a dildo at me and told me that using it would mean foregoing the bliss of these cocks inside me later, I’m still not sure I could stop myself from taking it, even with Drummond in the room. I am at the very point of giving in to my fingers when she orders a change.
“Worm, take her downstairs to the dungeon and put her in the box with you. Anoushka, go with my husband now.”
That’s all she says. I am almost in a trance of longing as I get off my knees and allow her pathetic, massively crotch-bulging husband to show me downstairs. I can’t even register that I’m to be put inside a box. She could have told him to set me on fire and I’d still have gone down there with him. The box is a rectangular one in clear Perspex. It is maybe three feet high and wide and double that in length. It has three circles a foot in diameter cut in spaces lengthways in the top plane. This is for heads to poke out of, or for rude things to be stuck through; there is always good reason for any feature of specialist BDSM equipment.
Spotlights shine on the box leaving the periphery of the dungeon in darkness. All the action will happen here. I can’t think of any other situation when I would be willing to get in there with this horrible man but I am doing it. The whole side facing me opens as a door and I crouch down and ease myself in, feet first. He follows behind and closes up. There is just enough room to sit side by side but I instead use my spiked heels to force him into as little space at the other end as he can fit into. I hear his wife’s heels on the stairs. Thank heavens she hasn’t made me wait long, although constriction in here might see me driven mad before those cocks can get inside me.
I already know much of what could happen here and tremble because of it. I’ve watched the videos. Two men, at least one of whom shows bisexual tendencies, plus one woman: it gets the imagination racing. I cannot turn easily to witness their arrival but they come round so that they are visible in front of me. Clothes have been removed in readiness. Madam Destiny has shed her hot pants and top to stand in boots and body stocking. I have my first view of her juicy, vulgarly fat-lipped cunt. It is gorgeous. You could eat it for hours. The body-stocking is crotchless so there would be nothing to hinder you. Again, I don’t know how I stop myself from sliding my hand down my skin-tight leggings. The boys are still proudly cock-swollen. Pollux is nude whilst Castor retains his chaps and boots. Both have chrome bars through their nipples. Both are going to let me watch them have the time of their lives.
“Remember, you do not touch any of us. You do not make a sound,” threatens the stern-faced Mistress, bending forward across the box so that her breasts, held back by the stocking, hang through the central hole cut in the top. She is serious now because a fucking is coming her way. Castor is behind her immediately, reaching down between her thighs. Her face tells me his fingers have found her wet snatch. Pollux is there too, sucking upon index and middle finger and reaching behind her too. She gasps and curses and I know these too have slid home.
I won’t be able to see much of this, clear Perspex or otherwise. Angles will prevent it. Hard boxes are not the best or most comfortable places for sex. My imagination will have to conjure the images and it will do, for sure. It will be as much about the sounds, the faces screwed up from the extreme sensations, the rapture. She is fucked first by Castor, bent over like this. If I crouch down I can see his balls swinging back and forth and slapping against her. There is going to be no modesty from me. I will gawp with the best of them, fight Drummond for the optimum position, however it makes me look. When Castor has had his fair share he pulls out to give his bandmate a turn, climbing up to sit atop the box, his bare ass through the circle above where my head has just been and will now be again. He is right there. I want to do the rudest thing I can think of doing – something so beneath any goddess. I want to lick him there. I want to take his hanging balls into my mouth and suck on them but I daren’t, because then I will be ejected and thus miss what I know is coming.
She sucks him. I see his balls churn in their sack. He sucks him. Then he repositions, sliding on his back so that the butt now pops through the central cut-out. She clambers up, squatting astride him. I can see the spiked heels of her shoes from below. I can’t see the entry but I hear her long, low moan. My hips are bucking involuntarily, my puss silently shrieking for such fulfillment. She rides him, gasping and cursing with joy. Drummond’s face is puce. I might almost feel sorry for him if I gave even the tiniest fuck.
She comes off him and I catch a glimpse of her cunt, open and saturated. Then Pollux climbs on and I can’t help but let loose a whimper. I hadn’t expected quite this, quite so soon. My heart is almost running out of my chest. He does just as his Mistress did, squatting and forcing himself down onto the erection, the pain and thrill etched onto his face. He places hands on his friend’s chest and rises and falls, riding that stiff, curved cock. Madam Destiny is there to smile cruelly down at me. She has got me beaten and beside myself again, there are no two ways about it.
So the fantasy is made real, right above me. I can press an eye right to the top of the box so that only half an inch of Perspex separates me from their fuck. I can poke my head out as she lies there on her back with legs apart and smell her cum flowing from her. I can smell her again as that sexy backside drops down through the hole at the end. I get to partially see them sinking their cocks into her: Pollux in the conventional hole, Castor in the tighter one, taking turns. I get to see them both inside her at once, stretching her to limits I cannot begin to imagine. I get to see Pollux face down, cock and balls stuck inside the box through the central cut-out as Castor lies on top and enters him. I nearly suck on that cock. I think Drummond nearly does too.
I get to see her with a long, thin strap-on making Castor take some of his own medicine – first merely bent over the box, then when he is lying atop his friend, inside him. Then there is a variation of this with her in the middle. I am almost delirious by this point. My puss feels as melted as the ice beneath Samson’s feet the day he died. I don’t think she cares about me anyway. The box was here for Drummond and I just happened to muscle my way in. She just played along and let me see how powerless I am in comparison to her. She climaxes over and over again and I am not even allowed to touch myself. I daren’t now for fear of missing out, which might kill me on the spot.
The one saving grace is that the guys are not yet spent. She must be finished soon; they have fucked every bit of strength out of her, demonstrating incredible resilience. And then suddenly it is happening. With a grunt, Castor slides out of her behind and forces his erection down through the hole at the centre. The cuckolded husband, hunched where I pushed him, must know what is required of him and quickly goes onto all fours, right into the firing line, eyes closed tight, taking the copious bursts of seed to the face. With it still dripping off his chin, the Mistress uses her last strength to deliver him the ultimate blow, doing something I did not think a goddess would deign to agree to and allowing Pollux to finish in her mouth.
She sits slumped against the box, her chest heaving, her head turned so I can see the delirium there. I am edgy, panicked, fearing for what is left for me, but then I have never gone from this place without her giving me a huge climax. The men will recover. I just have to hang on. They are going, picking themselves up to get a drink perhaps, to get hard at the thought of using me next in the same way. She rises and goes into the shadows briefly. I can barely see her. Then her voice is behind me, still throaty with lust.
“Drummond, you are to stay in the box and not look at Anoushka. You are not to move until you are sure she has left the dungeon. Do you understand? When you do you may come to see me in my private chamber. Anoushka, you have done exceedingly well. I never thought you could show such self-restraint. Here is your reward.”
A single dull thud comes from a swift, hard contact against the side of the box I’m leaning back upon. I swivel round to see but I can’t quite tell what is going on and in the end I crawl out of the box and onto weak legs to register what she has done for me. The answer almost has me shrieking. Suckered to the door of the plastic box is a dildo. That is all I get: one fattish but slightly limp latex cock to ride. She knows of the indignity of having to do such a thing, how ungoddess-like it would be to be so full of unquenched lust to have to pull down my rubber leggings and force myself back onto this toy, riding it like a wanton bitch whilst her husband squatted a few feet away. I mean, how the hell could she think I could bring myself to do it? I could frickin kill her for this, for the insult and the trickery!
I do it, of course – ride the dildo I mean, not kill her. I can’t prevent it happening, despite the shame burning me. It is inside me before the sound of her heels on the stairs has left my ears. She has done me again but there is no way around it. I just have to hope Drummond does what he is told and keeps his eyes shut. But would you? I can’t even see him, bare ass stuck out towards him as I am, whimpering and trembling as the thick rubber fills me and the nasty red cloud takes me over. I daren’t look over my shoulder to confirm what I know no one would be strong enough to avoid doing.
“You better not look at me, you fucking shrimp,” I warned him, but my leggings were already round my thighs and the dildo at my entrance and I was forcing myself back upon it. My noises shame me further. I sound more wantonly desperate than ever, more like a fuck-pig. Even if he had wanted to obey his wife the sounds coming from both ends of me will force him to look my way. He will see it all. I am showing him my everything.
“Don’t you fucking look,” I gasp, pointlessly. “I’m going to make you pay for looking. I’m going to take you away from that bitch wife of yours and show you what it is to be fucked by a true goddess! You are going to give yourself to me for having the audacity to see me like this!”
I am gabbling, and in my mind the shame is only slightly eased with the thought of Stark watching me, not Drummond. The reality is going to bring me more dreadful memories than I think I can bear. Thankfully, all of it is soon to be blotted out anyway, because another huge orgasm under this roof is about to break over me, and all my words dry up as I ready myself for the hit and hope I can keep on slapping my backside against the Perspex box with the dildo stuck to it. Will I ever reach orgasm in this house without my cheeks burning and all my dignity scattered?
I don’t even speak to Madam Destiny on my way out. I have to crawl up the stairs as soon as I can find strength to pull my leggings back up and get out of there with something like a clear head. I don’t look at Drummond. I tell myself he has spontaneously combusted and will take this secret to an early grave. Death solves so much. She is in her private chamber waiting to give him whatever reward he earned for seeing her fucked to kingdom come. The pale average-cocked bandmates have slunk off to be bisexual elsewhere, but they will undoubtedly be doing it with less humiliation running through them than I have. I get in my car, my legs almost too weak to press the pedals, my hands almost too shaky to start the engine. Just as I do, my phone bleeps from the passenger seat, informing me of a message received. I already know it is Mr Anonymous. I have barely any adrenaline left to give but I manage some.
I am going to beat your arse with my long, stiff cock, his message reads. I am almost crying with shame and a desire I cannot seem to sate.
Chapter Ten
Hot Yacht Action
The wake is held on a luxury yacht moored in the swankiest of marinas. It meant the bereaved having to drag ourselves an hour through traffic from the church to get here, which doesn’t smack of convenience. The whole thing was shanghaied by a senior partner at Samson’s firm, apparently to aid in giving the deceased the send-off he deserved, but more likely so that the senior partner could show off what a tremendously wealthy and tasteful fuckstrocity he truly is. There is no champagne here, goddamit – maybe adjudged a tad too celebratory for a funeral. I settle for vin of the blanc variety since they aren’t even doing cocktails. What kind of a shitmungus party is this senior partner throwing?
Heidi looks gaunt and ashen, nothing like the girl I have in mind when I lie in bed. I sincerely hope she gets herself back to normality soon. This current ugly phase is most distracting. If she is not going to be the pussy-itcher I have come to know and love, what will be the point of her as a friend? Indeed, there are others around our circle with the same wicked sense of humour – that haughty Persian lady married to Gregor, for instance, with her nice plump ass built for spanking. She does have quite a big nose, though. Is this something I could make myself look beyond?
