Five Naughty Nights

Night One

The blond girl hung her head in shame. She had displeased her master yet again! She was no novice, or at least so she thought. She had been playing the game for months now. Why, oh why, did she forget the clamp?? The one little item, the one most important little item!! Hadn't he said specifically to wear it to his house that night? What a disappointment she was. Well, now she had hours to think on her forgetfulness. She knew he'd leave her in his playroom till he came back and let her out. And she knew that with how upset he was with her, it could very well be quite a while.

The position wasn't so bad really. Her legs to the side, wrists bound loosely behind her back. Naked, of course, and except for the little black butt plug, no ornamentation either. She could have easily slipped out of the wrist cuffs, her legs were bound so loosely that changing sides when they cramped up was simple. The room was lovely, if slightly cold. Plush carpet, dark purple, low bed, also dark purple. The walls were completely bare except for the necessary items he needed to discipline her...whips, ties, plugs, blindfolds, etc. The sterility, coldness came in the guise of the naked fluorescent bulbs hanging from the ceiling. Just swinging there like dead weight. If it weren't for those damned bulbs, she could have comfortably stayed in the room all night.

She awoke with gasp...the door banged against the wall, thrown open with force. "I've been watching you sleep. I was wondering how long you would stay in dreamland. Seems you're not contrite enough to even stay awake, are you?" The chilling voice of her master came to her ears. She realize he had probably been home for hours, she had no idea how long she'd been asleep for.

She whimpered, knew she made yet another mistake. She didn't even dare look at him. He came up to her and unbound her hands and feet. She could feel the disapproval in his movements. Lips pursed, he led her over to the bed, where he bent her over it.

"Looks like the plug's still in place. At least you managed that," he said as he brought a long slim whip over from a wall mount. "Now, I'm going to wake you up." A few light strokes with the black snake on her ass made her instantly aware. She arched her back more, offering more of her thighs and backside to him. "Good girl. Good position," he praised her. "I think maybe you need a little more stimulation." After only a few strokes, he replaced the black snake, and brought out the cat o' nine tails. "Maybe this would do you better," he said as he flogged her, from neck to ankles. She groaned with pleasure as he kept on whipping her. It didn't hurt in the least, but she knew the next device would.

"Once your skin is nice and pink form this, I'll take out my earlier displeasure on you," he informed her in a voice that made her weak and want him more than anything. After a very short while, it seemed, she saw him take another stroll to the wall.

"Hmm, what should I choose,"...his hand lingered over an enormous butt plug...then over a spiny sharp little wheel....then over a flat black paddle....finally coming to rest on a slim, black instrument with two leather leaves. The clapper.

"Oh, no, please master," she whispered. "I don't know if I can."

"Shhh, you can and you will. I promise, I won't do too much, but you did upset me earlier." He stared lightly paddling her calves, slowly working his way up to the backs of her knees, inching over the sides of her hips, deliberately avoiding her ass as he made his way up her back, then back down along her sides. By this time, she was arching and moaning, just dying to show him that she was sorry, it was a mistake, she had been so busy at work all day and had simply forgotten the clamp at home. The clapper was done lightly, but to her, still uninitiated despite her own feelings of advancement, it was done with brute force. He knew this, and smiled at how naive she still was.

Once he got to her beautifully shaped rear, he went harder, knowing that part could take it without any real damage inflicted. She bucked and cried, but didn't dare get up--that would invite only harder and deeper punishment. Her rear turned a slightly red color, and he knew to stop there...for now, till she was more experienced. He reached between her legs, just checking to see her reaction to his handiwork, and found that she was actually quite pleased by his punishment. The tips of his fingers found a warm wetness, a softness and openness he didn't sense upon his arrival home. He couldn't let her see that he was happy about this though. Instead, he rechecked that the plug was still firmly in her ass, then turned her around and sat her down on the edge of the bed. An edge that was perfectly fitted for his height and her mouth.

"I want you to swallow all of me, no words, just actions. Show me you're sorry," he said as he guided her lips to his cock. She didn't utter a sound, just wet her lips and took him all in her mouth. "Good girl," he moaned. He was already erect, but now he was literally dripping in her mouth too. He knew she needed lots of work, but they had lots of time. The first lesson tonight would be patience...patience for her. So, she could fall asleep while on punishment, huh? Well, he'd see to it that she'd have a very restless night. Without warning, he exploded into her mouth, filling it, holding her head tightly against him so she'd have to swallow it. She gasped for air, and he let her go. Pulling her to her feet, he turned her around and marched her to the door. He turned off the playroom light, and led her to his bedroom. Let her try to sleep without her release, and with the butt plug in, he mused.

Night Two

She stood before him, expecting homage, but receiving only scorn, her captive sneering even as he knelt in front of her. Alia wasn't used to this behavior. All the other men brought to her were respectful at best, fearful at worst. As matriarch of the Congo's best and first tribe, she was to be honored and worshipped at all times. Her wisdom and justice were what led her tribe to win battle after battle. She was the one who called the animal's spirits to her when her people needed food. She knew the secrets of the healing plants. And here was this white man, insolent and stubborn. He was the one who had been caught trespassing on their lands, something about exploring, mapping out uncharted lands. What a fool--their land had been charted and recognized for thousands of years. Maybe not by white pole, but by the people who mattered.

Her dark, ebony skin gleamed in the sunlight as she stood proud and tall before this disgusting version of a man. He was captured by her warriors, women all, and brought here. They didn't want to kill him, in case she wanted to make him her concubine number 14. He wasn't bad looking, maybe if he was cleaned up a bit. The warriors had roughed him up on the way to their encampment, apparently he had been trying to run away; he got a beating for that. His eye was swollen and his upper lip was cut open. It looked like the butt end of a spear had caught him. Maybe a fist too. Idiot. He sound have surrendered. She looked at his bowed head, forcibly bent. He was tied, kneeling, arms behind his back and bound to his ankles. Another rope was wrapped around his neck, compelling his head downward. If he tried to look up, he'd suffocate himself. His hair was dirty blond, more dirt than blond in it at the moment. Blue eyes, a color she'd never seen before. Must be a birth defect, she thought. But other than that, he looked perfectly fit.

"Aisha, Samara, come here!" she called to her women. These women stayed at camp, cooking, cleaning, tending the children. Sadly, they just didn't have what it took to be a warrior. So they did domestic chores.

"Yes, Mother?" Everyone called her Mother; she was the life force of the tribe.

"Take this thing away to be cleaned and washed. Inspect him, make sure he had no fleas or lice. Shave him, except for the hair on his head. I want him ready for my personal inspection by midday." The women hurriedly escorted the poor man up. Alia turned around, and went to meditate on what to do with him. Her flowing ceremonial garbs, multicolored and adorned with feathers, trailed on the ground as she walked to her favorite spot in the forest to sit and think.

"Get your hands off me...what, what are you doing?" cried the man in the native tongue. He had studied it for years, had learned all about the native people, but never thought he would be their captive. He had come in friendship. Other white men had done the same, why were they treating him differently? He explained he was mapping out the Congo, trying to discover its secrets. But the women didn't want to hear it. They said he was like all the rest, whacked him on the head, then tried to kill him when he tried to run away. Now these women were stripping him, dousing him with buckets of ice water, soaping up a root and scrubbing him down so hard with some loofah plant that he thought he was being punished again. He thought better of running when he looked up and saw the warriors standing in a ring around the women washing him and himself. It amused them to see him squirm. So be it, he thought. I'll let them do whatever they want to me.

Two hours later, completely shaved, naked, the skin almost rubbed off, hair tied back, he was thrust into Alia's tent and tied to a pole in the middle. Ten minutes later, the leader walked in.

"What's your name?" she demanded.

"Aaron," he replied.

"From now on, your name will be Number 14, do you understand?" Alia said as she walked around him, eyes resting on every inch. She was pleased to see he had a large member, low hanging balls. She liked that in her slaves.

"Listen, I'm not here to serve you!" shouted Aaron, suddenly scared at how far this had gone. Would he really be stuck here, in the middle of the jungle, forever as her concubine?

Alia took a step closer to him, grabbed his chin in her hands, and stared into his eyes. "You are now mine. I want a new husband. You will be him and serve me. I will demand oral servitude. You will get nothing except food and shelter in exchange. This is your new life. If you don't obey, or defy me, you will die. My warriors are just waiting for the chance to kill a slave like you. You're worthless to them, but you might have some worth to me. Understood?"

Aaron felt numb. What about his wife? He had no children, but he was planning on having some with her someday. She was back in Ireland, all alone. Granted, he didn't love her, but she was the belle of the village; she was his.

Alia took out a bamboo stick and showed it to Aaron. "I like my men whimpering and begging," she started. "As Ruler, I like games. We will play a game. I will free you, but I will leave your hands bound behind your back. You serve me well, worship at my shrine, pleasure me till I say stop, and you won't get hit. Understood, Number 14?"

Despite his fury at being treated thus, Aaron felt his cock beginning to grow. Damn it! Why now!! He couldn't control this woman, now he couldn't even control his own body. Alia saw his discomfort and grinned. "I think you like your new Mistress, Number 14."

She unbound his hands, then reclined on her leaf and fur bed. It was surprisingly soft. She spread her legs and beckoned him forward. "Be warned Aaron, if you hurt me in any way, your skin will be ripped from your body. Pleasure is what you will give me. Pain is what I will give you...and maybe some pleasure too."

Aaron walked up to her and knelt before her. She was truly beautiful, all smooth black skin and smelling of honey and flowers. The only pink part of her was right where he was supposed to rest his tongue. He hesitated. She picked up the bamboo stick, presumably bought from Chinese traders, and whacked him hard on his shoulders. He yelled in surprise and pain.

"Eat, worship, devour, but do not hesitate, Number 14." Aaron, hard as could be, shoulders smarting, but not exactly fearful of her, lowered his mouth to her, and began to fantasize about his wife, pretending Alia was her. He could do this if only he thought about his wife. He found he enjoyed the taste of her, her wetness as she lifted her hips into his mouth, her movements as she ground against his lips. Suddenly, out of nowhere, she hit him again, this time lighter, but enough to sting. "Better, softer, slower!" she commanded. He inwardly rebelled at first, then realized he almost wanted to please her. He did as she said. It must be my throbbing cock thinking, he thought. God, it had been weeks in the jungle, so long without a woman. If he could just cum, he could think clearer.

Alia, meanwhile, was cumming. Thoroughly enjoying her new plaything, finding she didn't mind the blue color of the eyes, looking at his stiff frame, knowing he was bursting to relieve himself with her, gave her pleasure. One...two...three.....four times, she came. He was good, but how much of that was attributed to his own aching needs? She wanted to find out.

"Rise, 14." Aaron stood before her, surprisingly sad to stop. He wanted more. He could taste her juice on his lips, and it wasn't enough. But he obeyed. "You may enter the Queen, but just this one time. Only because you've shown you are eager to please after all. I'm not sure why this change in attitude from earlier, and I don't expect you to stay so obedient, but you will be rewarded for this. Kneel before me again, but use your manhood this time."

Aaron practically stumbled over himself, kneeling, with arms still bound behind his back. Alia took his cock in her hands and guided it into herself, feeling the tingles from the orgasms she had just had. "Hold back 14, let your Queen come before you do. I will tell you when you may."

Aaron thrust into her, trying to be slow, fighting the urge to just take her roughly. The slower he moved in and out of her, the closer she came to orgasm. She reached down and stroked her clit with one hand, while the other still held the dreaded bamboo stick. Watching her, Aaron almost couldn't control himself. Just when he thought "I can't go anymore," Alia moaned as release washed over her. "You may 14, now, come now!!" and Aaron felt it rush out of him. All he had been holding back, weeks of built up frustration, found its way into Alia. When the last spasms were over, Alia sat up and smiled at him. The only smile he would get from her for a while, he'd come to find out.

"Very good, 14. Now, wash yourself, you will be rebound to my pole and you will be awaiting my pleasure this evening. The first rule is: your cock will be hard when I walk through the flaps. Understood?"

Aaron meekly gave a nod and he withdrew, promising himself that somehow, someday soon, he would get away from here and back to his wife. But for now, it was serve or die.

Night Three

The Baroness stormed through the stone hallways, furious. The tapestries fluttered at her passing, her long red velvet dress brushing the edges of them. Her dark hair flew out behind her, long since come undone from the perfect coiffure that had contained it during the ball.

Imagine, the whole court of King Louis XII laughing at her—her!! All because that stupid aristocratic girl had divulged their secrets to a gossiping maid, who in turn told her mistress, who then announced it to the Court. Well, Clarice would pay, and pay dearly for her flapping tongue!!

Clarice was sitting before her harp, trying in vain to make it sound remotely like music. She was never any good at instruments but wanted to impress her peers so much that she had been working at the harp for months. She even hired expensive private tutors but to no avail. She was hopeless. She tried to put aside the disappointment she felt when she fumbled yet again on the basic notes. At least she knew she was good at one thing—pleasing Adele. Her mentor and lover was only three years older than her, but knew so much more than she did. At age 18, Clarice had been sheltered from the world until she had met Baroness Adele Bazinet when her mother had sent her to Court, in order to increase her social status by way of employment as a lady-in-waiting. Clarice had been shy at first, overwhelmed by the majesty and pomp surrounding Versailles. But after a few months under Adele's tutelage, she flourished into a flirty, bouncy, happy lady-in-waiting, perfect for Adele's image.

Adele didn't knock at Clarice's doors, but flew in on wings of rage. Clarice looked stunned. Her blank face stared at Adele's, waiting for an explanation.

"How dare you!! You simpering little cunt!! Didn't I mention discretion above all else!? What was the first thing I said when I took you under my wing? Silence!! I'm furious with you and myself for trusting you. You will be punished severely!!" Adele started on a tirade, unable to control herself. "Do you know what just happened? Lady Beauchamp, that old hen, heard of our trysts. And how do you think she learned of them? Through her maid, who said you told her! Now the whole Court is aware of my proclivities, and I'm the butt of all their jokes! Do you know how long it will take to repair my image!!?? How hard I've worked for my place there!!??"

Clarice saw immediately that she had transgressed, in a big way. Of course, all that would come of this was a little reputation problem that would be quickly swallowed by the next scandal, but that didn't matter to Adele, who would forever remember this moment of public humiliation.

"I'm...I'm sorry..."stumbled Clarice, unsure how to make this right. She knew Adele liked to be dominate, whip her, spank her, make her wear her poodles collar and drink from their bowls, and she loved those games as well, but she wasn't sure playing a game now would fix the problem. She hoped vainly that maybe, if she could just show how sorry she was, Adele would forgive her and keep her as lady-in-waiting, not dismiss her. That would be a horrible fate, thrown out of Court for betraying her Lady's trust. She would never find another mistress, ever. And, even though she didn't want to admit it to anyone, she did love Adele immensely. Adele had shown her a world of sensual pleasures her little province back home had denied her. She was enamored of Adele's long black hair, hazel eyes, and beautiful lips. Clarice had always found herself drawn to the farm maids, but never acted on this. One didn't openly show affection for the same sex. That was kept for behind closed doors.

On the verge of tears, Clarice begged Adele to let her stay; she wanted to drop to her knees and kiss her feet, anything to show how abjectly miserable she was for violating her trust. Suddenly, Clarice did just that: knelt before Adele, lifted the hem of her dress, and kissed her ankles, the tops of her pale feet, even her beautifully wrought slippers with gems sewn into them. The gems were harsh against Clarice's lips, but she didn't care. As long as she was forgiven, she'd do anything.

"Get up, you filthy girl," Adele demanded. She jerked her foot away, causing Clarice to fall backward. "So, you think you can re-earn my trust, you stupid maid? You deserve a beating, a whipping so harsh, you won't be able to show your face in Court for weeks for fear of someone touching you by accident. Stand up, now!!"

Clarice, slightly scared of her Mistresses tone and in new territory, stood before her. Adele roughly turned her around, ripping the laces from her outer dress. She pulled the dress off Clarice's shoulders, let it drop to the floor. She took a stiletto, cut the laces of Clarice's corset and ripped the pantaloons from her. Adele called her two poodles into the room, took off both their collars, and strapped both collars, one on top of the other, onto Clarice's neck. Clarice felt the hard leather bite into her skin; these collars were made for dogs, not humans.