Pleasure in the Pillory

The first week rushed by, with me providing regular research for Patricia to work into her latest blockbuster, an occasional trip to her huge bed for a sexual romp, but mostly it was work, eat, drink and sleep. And speaking of sleep, at nights I often had to finger myself like crazy before drifting off to sleep and dreaming wonderful, erotic dreams about being "punished" again in her pillory parlour.

It was, I learned, a delightful experience but one which only took place about once a week. "Familiarity breeds contempt, my dearest Penelope," she reminded me on one occasion when I dared to broach the subject.

"I am, of course, tempted to rush your lush young figure off to my little chamber of delights every day," she laughed, "but we'd both soon get bored with that – even the lustful young Charisma. No, my darling, less is more."

About a week after my initiation into the pillory parlour, Patricia asked me if I would research a particularly cruel torture, which she thought was devised by the French, named "la crapaudine".

I began my researches, although from my scanty knowledge of this method of torment, I failed to see how she would be able to work it into her latest novel. But by then, of course, I had realised a lot of her requests weren't necessarily for the book – many, I am sure were purely for her own perverse, not to say perverted, tastes.

Upon finishing my work, I laid a sheaf of papers on her desk – it was about 10 in the morning and from memory a week and a day since my arrival at her superbly-appointed mansion.

"La crapaudine," I announced, standing beside her immaculately-dressed figure as she swung her chair from side to side, allowing me a mouth-watering glimpse of nylon-sheathed thigh on one of her crossed legs. I wanted to kneel and worship her!

"And a summary, my darling researcher, what have you found?" asked the 48-year-old, blue-eyed beauty.

"Well," I said, gathering my thoughts, "I know it's got a French name, but there are reports that the torture device actually dates from the Chinese, centuries before the French picked up on it."

"Ah ha," smiled Patricia, "so we have the wily Oriental to thank for the delights of this particular torment."

"Agreed," I said, "although it was also used by the wily old Red Indian too, if you believe some reports. Anyway, the Chinese realised centuries ago that to torture someone, you didn't necessarily need to go into all sorts of ingenious methods of punishment – you don't need complicated instruments, large wheels, flogging frames, you name it."

Patricia looked at me with mock sternness. "Are you suggesting my pillory and the flogging frame downstairs are surplus to requirements, my dear Penny?"

"Heavens no," I said, hastily, since I was looking forward to my next visit to the pillory. "It's just that 'la crapaudine', as the French named it, is an extremely simple torture device."

"And?" said my employer, her hand sneaking down the front of her skirt and delving towards her panties.

"Well, the victim is made to kneel on the ground, then bend the upper torso back where his or her wrists are then tied to his or her ankles. So simple, but after an hour or two, the victims would be screaming for mercy or to reveal whatever information their tormentors wanted to know," I said.

"And you add the pain of the position to the fact that the victim was often left out naked in the boiling hot sun and you have a torture from hell," I added.

By now, Patricia's hand was definitely inside her panties, stroking at the lovely shaved pussy which I so wanted to be licking and kissing.

"The top four pages are the ones which I thought might interest you to start with," I told her. "It's an extremely well-written article, but I'd guess it was done by someone in 2005, sitting in front of a PC, instead of in 1805 and recording it with a quill pen."

"And your reasons for that, my dear?" asked my boss, her fingers now definitely strumming along her sex trench.

"Well, despite the fact that it's couched in deliberately laboured 'olde fashioned' writing, there are some turns of phrase which are definitely modern," I told her. "And there are other give- aways. For example, you will notice that the woman being tortured in this piece has a shaved pussy. I'm not so sure they were all that much in vogue among French courtesans in the 1800s, although I could be wrong.

"And the scene where the soldiers force her to drink their urine and the phrase used later – 'golden showers'. I think that's possibly the biggest give-away. I think 'golden showers' is definitely a modern term."

But Patricia was not really listening, she was reading the piece avidly, her fingers flying. I stood behind her chair and ran my hand across her starched blouse, cupping her 40-inch breasts in my hands. I leaned over and whispered in her ear: "This is turning you on, isn't it?"

"Oh yes, it's providing me with such delightfully naughty thoughts," said the beautiful brunette. "The thought of you out on that private little lawn, away from the gardeners' prying eyes, your knees held wide by a spreader bar, your body glistening in the strong sunshine, your breasts heaving, your begging for cold liquid – and all that I and Charisma have for you is our urine!"

Then she pushed the toils of my labour away and stood facing me, her hand no longer in her panties. She held me by the shoulders and kissed me full on the mouth.

I kissed her back, then she placed her masturbation hand to my mouth and I inhaled the gloriously heady aroma of her pussy.

"Forget work today, Penelope," she said, huskily, "the next chapter's coming along nicely anyway – I'm way ahead of schedule. Come to bed!"

Three of the most wonderful words Patricia could ever say to me, surpassed possibly only by that four-letter phrase "Come to my parlour"!

"Will I find myself outside on the lawn, panting in the steamy Kent summer heat?" I asked, smiling at her look of sheer lust.

"It looks like it's going to be a nice day," said Patricia, looking out of the large bay window. "Yes my dear, you possibly may," she laughed, then she took me by the hand and led me upstairs to heaven.

Quickly, feverishly, we tore off each others clothes, until Patricia was naked save for a gleaming black suspender belt holding up her shiny, seamed stockings and her hideously expensive Manolo Blahnik black alligator halter shoes.

I was naked, but for my far less costly high heels, but I didn't give a damn about her taste in footwear, the only taste I was interested in was the one my mouth would be experiencing when I kissed, licked and sucked at her pussy!

Even so, when I knelt, the gleaming Blahniks were so shiny and giving off such a deep, rich aroma of leather, I couldn't help but place my lips gently on the toe of one shoe, then licking the dagger-like heel, before tracing delicate little kisses up her claves and thighs before flicking my tongue into her backside, probing for the musky delights of her anus.

Patricia let go a low moan and turned slightly to place her hands on the bed, then widened her stance so the Manolo Blahniks were now a yard apart, her pussy totally accessible to my panting mouth.

I gave her anus some more oral adoration before the stunning smell from her aroused pussy dragged me inexorably down to her weeping cunt. My tongue invaded its velvety smoothness and then Patricia started to speak.

"Yes, my lovely little researcher, you know how to do this, don't you? You know your research into the naughty things drives me wild, don't you? You love getting me raunchy descriptions to read, don't you? You love how it turns me on! You love it, lick it, lick it!"

And then I dived past her sopping snatch to her erect clit and sucked hard, my nose thrust against her anus, inhaling its musky mysteries as I did so. Then she came with a grunt, then a gasp and collapsed onto the bed.

Climbing up beside her, I caressed her lush breasts and took on erect nipple into my mouth as she kicked her shoes to the floor.

"Mmmm, more, more, I love it," sighed my employer-mistress.

But I had to pull back. Something was worrying me. "Darling mistress?" I said, whispering the words into her ear, her hair smelling like a freshly-mown field of wheat.

"What's the matter, Penny?" she replied, "am I disappointing you?"

I smiled and kissed her on the mouth. "No, never, mistress, never," I reassured her. "It's just that the 'crapaudine' seems such an – oh, such a stringent punishment. Please don't put me in it."

Patricia smiled softly and returned my kiss. "Of course not, darling, but I can't rule out some form of bondage out in that little private garden – possibly staked out on a rubber sheet, hands and ankles widespread, body gleaming with lotion. Pussy panting for mouths. Begging for my piss."

Then she laughed, "Well, something along those lines, anyway".

"Oh my god," I sighed, "that's such a wonderful thought I'm getting wet just thinking about it."

"Good, because I don't want lick a dry pussy," Patricia laughed, pushing me further up the bed and pulling my thighs wide apart, before placing her hugely experienced tongue on my mons, then diving down to my sex.

I luxuriated in the tender caresses of her highly educated tongue, and soon I was panting to my own orgasm, grabbing her lovely brown hair and pressing her deeper into my crutch as the waves of passion flowed through me.

Then we lay back, cuddling and caressing, until Patricia stood and went to the window. "Yep, it looks like it's going to be a lovely summer's day," she said. "One of those real scorchers. Now, off to your bedroom, take a shower, and I'll be along with Charisma after we've got things organised. You are in the mood for some B and D, I take it?"

"No, I thought I'd do some work of my patchwork quilt," I laughed.

Patricia grinned: "That's just cost you another hour staked out in the sunshine, you wicked little bitch!"

I kissed her softly on her ripe, rich mouth and skipped away to my bedroom, dived into the shower and washed myself in a wallowing soapy lather – the only thing missing, which would have made it perfect, was Patricia.

Stepping from the shower, I used a little lady's razor to "freshen up" my pussy, removing any traces of re-growth, gave the strip above my mons a little crew-cut, then towelled down to wait for my mistress and her busty black beauty, Charisma. My entire body was tingling in fevered anticipation of the erotic wiles I knew they would employ on my poor, helpless body.

The minutes dragged by until, finally, the door burst open and in walked Patricia with her 26-year-old assistant, Charisma.

"OK slut," snapped my employer, slipping effortlessly into her dominatrix role, "get on your knees and crawl over here and start begging me for it!"

As I got off my bed, I drank in the stunning, stern beauty of my two dominators. Patricia was wearing what would possibly be called a "sensible" black bikini - "sensible" in that the bra was large, to accommodate her big, 40-inch breasts, and the bottom was also large, to accommodate her ample, but beautifully rounded bum.

But that was where the "sensible" ended. In the centre of the bra cups were cut-outs, which allowed her full, large nipples to protrude, giving a glimpse of about half the width of her also large areolae. The panties also had a cut-out, this time a wide gash which went from the lower half of her abdomen down to between her legs, so her pussy was totally accessible.

Charisma was also erotically clad, as I had come to expect from the darkly-attractive assistant. Her breasts were in the tight confines of a white bikini bra, which moulded to her succulent 36-inch breasts, the outline of her nipples thrusting at the material. On her hips hung a tight-fitting white thong, which looked so yummy against her prominent pudenda.

I crawled across the floor to the black high-heeled shoes my mistress was still wearing – Charisma was also powerfully shod, in a pair of white leather stilettos, to match her bikini.

Planting a kiss on the Manolo Blahniks, I began to beg for it. It was, I learned, a ritual which excited my mistress no end. Needless to say, it also made me moist and runny.

After a moment or two of my pleadings, Patricia spoke: "Well, Charisma, do you think she's really ready for what we have in store for her today?"

The black woman's response was to bend over and place a hand behind my buttocks, then run her fingers into my snatch.

"She's wetter than the Thames in flood, madam," said the 26-year-old.

"Well, I've given the gardening staff the day off," said my employer, "so we can get down to the garden. Come on, slut, you can crawl there!"

And with that the two dominas turned on their sexily-clad heels and walked to the door, while I crawled on all fours behind them, along the lengthy corridor, then down the stairs, following the lovely jouncing buttocks of my two mistresses as they led the way.

Outside, in the warm summer's air, they walked around to the back of the house where there was a lawn, manicured like Wembley Stadium for an FA Cup final. The grass glowed green and shimmered, almost as if it was liquid. The 20 yards by 20 yards expanse of turf was surrounded by a dense bush, some 12 feet high, which, when the large wooden gate to the area was closed, provided total privacy.

Which was just as well, considering the things that Patricia and Charisma were going to get up to with me!

At the gateway, Patricia and Charisma removed their high heels in deference to the close-cropped lawn and then I crawled in after them. In the middle of the area was a large, red rubber sheet, its four corners tied down to tent pegs hammered into the earth, making the sheet taut.

The women made me lie on my back on the warm rubber, then they fastened my wrists and ankles into tight rubber straps set in each corner of the sheet. My body was now stretched out invitingly for them.

Facing the sheet, was a swinging sun lounger, with a large canopy which would shield the occupants from the sun's rays. I, of course, would have no protection. By the side of the lounger was a small portable refrigerator, and on the top of it an ice bucket holding a bottle of champagne. Two flutes stood by the bucket. On the other side of the lounger was a table holding several pieces of equipment, which I sensed they would soon be using on my defenceless body.

After my dominas had liberally coated my naked body with suntan lotion, they sat on the lounger and looked down at me.

"Right, slut," said my mistress, "this is the sequence of events. For one hour you'll be there face up. If it gets too hot, this little fridge is well stocked with nice, cool liquid refreshments for you. You can probably guess what sort of refreshments, can't you?"

"Yes, mistress," I said, my eyes squinting from the strong overhead sun.

"And in the meantime, Charisma and I are going to enjoy a lovely bottle of bubbly. Care to guess what bubbly it is?"

I hadn't the faintest idea. "I have no idea, mistress," I answered, quite truthfully.

"Dom Perignon, silly," laughed my employer and both she and Charisma burst into peals of laughter. "So apt, don't you think, my darling little slave?"

I tried to force a smile. "Very amusing, mistress," I said, somewhat petulantly.

"The only trouble with Dom P is it makes me go – pee, that is," said Patricia. "Yes, it seems to go straight through me, which can be a bit of a problem."

"Why is it a problem, madam?" asked Charisma, joining in my verbal teasing.

"Well, it's not so much a problem for me," laughed my employer.

"But you mean it might be for this lovely, staked-out naked slave here?" said Charisma.

"Yup," said Patricia, "but on the other hand, she secretly loves it, I think."

Then my boss addressed me again. "After your hour's up on the sheet, we'll free you, put you in a sort of breast pillory and then we'll let you get some exercises around the lawn. After an hour of them, you'll be in desperate need of a lie down, so we'll strap you down on the mat again for another hour. This time, you'll be bottom up, so you can get a bit of a tan on your bottom."

Charisma chimed in: "A bit of a tan, madam?"

"Yes," laughed Patricia, "in more ways than one!"

Then she stood, opened the bottle of Dom, poured two glasses, which they chinked. "Here's to a really nice domme session," said Patricia.

Charisma laughed. "Oh fuck, I'll drink to that madam!"

Then my torments started. Charisma was the first to start. From the side of the sun lounger, she picked up a long, wooden pole – it was probably four feet long – attached to the end of which was a gleaming black dildo. The imitation penis had obviously been coated with jelly, it glowed so darkly. It also looked quite thick and about seven or eight inches long.

Kneeling on the grass, Charisma held the pole out until its dildo attachment was rubbing against my inner thigh. The black beauty then started to teasingly rub it along my sex trench, before placing its helmet on my vagina, then she pushed it slowly into me. The massive organ intruded my cunt and then Charisma stood and sat back on the lounger.

I lay on the hot rubber sheet, sweat and suntan lotion pouring off me, my pussy invaded by the large rubber dildo and then Patricia and Charisma started to caress, smooch and fondle each other, as they pushed the lounger making it sway slowly back and forth in front of me.

Some 20 minutes into my bondage, and with more than half the Dom polished off, my mistress stood, slipped her bikini bottom down her lovely legs and advanced onto the rubber sheet.

"Sorry, sweetie," she said, in a voice not tinged with regret in the slightest, "but I simply must take a piddle." And standing astride my sweating body she released a strong 20-second spray or urine onto my breasts. When her stream had halted, Patricia fell to her knees and ground her pussy onto my steaming boobs.

Then, rising slightly, she presented her snatch to my face. "Now I'm sure you'd like to thank me for such a lovely golden shower, wouldn't you, you little slut?"

And without waiting for any response from me, my boss then lowered her piss-smeared crotch to my mouth and proceeded to graunch on my lips and tongue. The taste of her lovely pussy was salty, brackish, and sharp. Despite this, I licked her avidly.

As she was completing her pussy punishment, Charisma proceeded to fuck me with the dildo, calling out: "She's loving it madam, her pussy's wetter than ever!" How she could tell I hadn't the faintest notion, but she happened to be right! The dildo made sucking, slurping sounds as it rammed into my cunt.

After completing her ride on my mouth, Patricia stood and looked down at me with a smile. Her pussy gleamed down at me, and I still wanted to suck it!

"You must be thirsty after all the hot work on my minge, slut," she announced. "Charisma, get her a cool drink!"

From the small fridge by the side of the lounger, Charisma produced a jug of yellow-coloured liquid and a glass. Pouring from the glass, she pulled me up from the nape of my neck and allowed me to suck down the revolting, but mercifully, cold liquid. Two more glasses followed, and then the jug was empty.

Then the two dominas continued their drinking until Charisma whispered in her employer's ear, then stood and slipped off her white bikini bottom. You didn't need to be an Einstein to work out what was coming next!

The long-legged, busty beauty stood over me, then knelt until her knees were on either side of my face, her dark, chocolate-coloured minge about six inches from my face. Then the stream hit me with a blast, splashing all over my mouths, nose and cheeks until, after a good 30 seconds drenching she was done.

Then, just as my mistress had done, Charisma smeared her pussy all over the region she had just pissed on. When she was satisfied she had sopped up a good deal of the urine from my face, she pressed her pussy onto my mouth and hissed: "Worship me, slut!"