Pleasure in the Pillory

My ordeal was not yet over, Charisma "staked" me out on the rubber sheet for my final hour's fun and games, leaving the wicked breast "pillory" on me. No sooner had I been pinned onto the sheet than Charisma enjoyed herself licking me to a noisy orgasm, while my employer, Patricia, amused herself by giving me some whip strokes with the little titty torturer she had in her hand.

After my orgasm, Charisma, then Patricia, sat on my face and encouraged me to bring them off with the manipulations of my tongue.

At last the session ended, and I was released, my body rubbed with soothing lotions and I lay back in a wonderfully relaxing hot spa, as both my mistress and her assistant plied me with glasses of Dom Perignon. It was a "marvellous way to complete the afternoon's entertainment", as Patricia remarked.

Sadly, it was also the end of the brief Indian summer, which meant no more punishment sessions outside in the secluded garden, but that didn't mean an end to my sex games with the author and her black beauty of an aide. The pillory parlour, as Patricia called it, was the scene of my weekly submissive sessions.

In between, there was much work to be done on the book, which was almost complete. Early in autumn, Patricia announced that her agent was visiting. "She's in her mid-40s, my dear Penny," she told me, "but I think you'll like her. She's got the greatest breasts I've ever licked – your's and Charisma's excepted, of course."

The next day, Charisma put on her sexy leather "chauffeuse's" uniform and went to Dover to collect Patricia's agent. When she had left and after we had done some revision work, Patricia asked me to go upstairs and put on one of my sexy little black dresses. "Underwear will not be necessary," she informed me.

In the bedroom as I changed I wondered if the lack of lingerie was a signal that I was to be "displayed" to my boss's agent, then dismissed the idea. I should have known better by now - how silly of me!

Downstairs in Patricia's work study, I was introduced to a striking-looking woman. "Penny, my darling, this is my agent, Karla Karson – Karla, meet the best historical researcher I've ever had," said Patricia, effusively.

Karla stood from her chair opposite my employer's desk and held out a beautifully-manicured hand and gave me a strong, firm handshake. She was an impressive woman – her wheat blonde hair was cut in a deliciously short crop, which highlighted her lovely round face. She wore hardly any make up, which seemed to accentuate her deep blue eyes.

But it was her height – over six feet in her high heels – and her figure which stunned me. She wore a crisp, white blouse which was unbuttoned down to the fourth button, thus displaying lovely firm mounds of breast flesh, with a cleavage to die for! Her middle was encased in a tight black leather miniskirt and her thighs gleamed beneath shiny stockings. I hoped she was wearing a suspender belt! I

love

suspender belts!

"Hello, Penny," she said in a deep, husky voice, "I'm delighted to finally meet you. Patricia has hardly stopped talking about you to me since she employed you. I'm told you have, how can I put this? Peculiar talents."

My boss laughed and interrupted her agent: "Oh Karla, cut the crap and ask Penny to show you her figure – you know you can't wait!"

Karla grinned at me. "Take no notice of her for once, my dear," she said, in that gloriously deep voice. Then she stepped forward and pressed her fantastic upper body against mine. Her breasts were so firm beneath the blouse, then her hands were cupping beneath my buttocks.

Her mouth sought mine and after a brief kiss – her lips tasted of chocolate, I thought – she smiled down at me and whispered: "Shall we go upstairs? I think Patricia has a couple of pages she wants to edit before she gives me the manuscript. Let's go!"

I remember looking at my employer. Part of me was aching to go upstairs with this ravishing tall beauty, part of me was seeking that permission from Patricia.

The historical romance writer plonked herself down in front of her screen. "Oh, go ahead, Penelope," she said, in a mock petulant voice, "take no notice of poor old cuckolded me, you go and enjoy your carnal lusts with my agent, the viper!"

Karla roared with laughter, picked up her Versace tote bag, slung it across her shoulder, making her breasts strain and heave at the starched blouse and held out her hand. "Come on before the 21st century's answer to Barbara Cartland has another hissy fit, darling," she said, and marched me out of the room.

As Karla closed the door, my employer screamed: "Barbara Cartland? That over-rated old bag, you'll pay for that Karla."

Karla laughed: "If it hadn't been that, you'd have found another excuse, you wonderfully wicked writer, you."

On the way upstairs to my room, Karla kept my hand in her firm grip, and occasionally nuzzled against my neck and kissed me on the throat, murmuring pretty things like "I want you", which, by the time we had reached my bedroom door had changed to "I

need

you!"

Once inside, I felt Karla's hand unzipping the back of my dress, which was soon a crumpled heap at my feet. I kicked it away, I didn't think I'd be needing it for a while.

"Feet apart, wider, darling," she Karla, "I want to get a good look at you!"

I obeyed her command, feeling my nipples erecting, my pussy starting to moisten – what a lie, it had been moist for several minutes.

Karla looked at me critically, then held out a hand and cupped my 37-inch breasts. "Wonderful," she murmured, "so lovely and heavy, the nipple is so erect, like it's begging for worship."

Her hand traced down my belly, across my abdomen, flicking in my navel on its downward path, then caressing my mons before alighting on my shaved snatch.

"Oh fuck," she said, the word sounding harsh from such a cultured accent, "you're soaking! I love that!"

Then her hand was removed and she began to unbutton the remaining buttons on her blouse. When it was totally undone, she "flashed" the garment across her breasts, giving me a glimpsing little tease before throwing it on the bed.

It was my turn to admire. Her breasts were big, like footballs, but the

nipples

! They were magnificent, they were the most suckable nipples I had ever laid eyes on.

I stepped forward and placed my face against her big bobs, feeling their firmness.

"They're 40 inchers and no, they're not natural," she told me, in a husky whisper, "and I don't care. At 45 I'm old enough to have what I went, when I want it, and I'm proud of them. I damned well should be, they cost enough."

But my mind was elsewhere. I took her left breast in my hand, cupped it and sucked on the nipple. The nubbin was dark brown, almost black and it was erect and large and I had it all in my mouth. It was like sucking on a thumb, it was so big! And around it was this marvellous, large round areola, as dark as Cadbury's chocolate. I was in love!

Then I moved to her other fantastic nipple, as erect as its twin sister, and as demanding of oral attention and adoration. As I sucked on the right breast, I was aware of Karla's hand moving behind her and unzipping, then stepping out of her miniskirt.

I stepped back, not really wanting to let go of the-oh-so-tasty nipple, but eager to check out the rest of this gloriously wanton woman. And yes! She was wearing a gleaming, shining, glistening black satin suspender belt around her lush, lovely hips, holding up those sexy seamed stockings.

I knelt and stared at her snatch. A small copse of fair pubic hair – she was a natural blonde, I was pleased to see – nestled on her mons but below it her Brazilian had provided a succulently naked pussy, its lips thick and inviting. I pressed my mouth against her labia, licking and tasting the superb tang of her sex juice.

But Karla pushed me away and pointed to the bed. "On it, thighs wide, I've got a present for you," she demanded, and kicking off my last remaining vestiges of apparel – my high heels – I climbed onto the bed.

From her Versace bag, Karla produced a purple rubber dildo, it must have been seven or eight inches long. It had some sturdy rubber straps attached to it and when she stepped into them, keeping her stockings and suspender belt on, I saw that it fitted tight and snug around her. The cock waved in front of her as she kicked off her shoes and climbed onto the bed.

I was curious to feel the thick rubber thing, with its heavy rubber ball bag below the shaft, but Karla kept me waiting, starting me off by using her mouth on my sopping sex. When she was satisfied that I was totally ready for her monster cock, she placed the cool rubber tip of the big machine against my cunt lips, looked down at me with an evil smile and whispered: "Relax, darling, Karla's going to fuck your brains out."

I tensed momentarily, then relaxed as she lay on me and kissed me hungrily on the mouth, then the big rubber prick was sliding up my sex, driving deeper and deeper. Had it been the real thing, I would have been revolted, but it belonged to one of the sexiest women I had ever laid eyes on. I kissed her back passionately, welcoming the invasion of her rigid rubber ramrod.

And now she started to fuck me, her buttocks clenching and unclenching as she thrust on me, using her strap-on to drive me wild, smothering me with kisses all over my mouth, face, throat and ears.

"I love you, I want to fuck you forever," she whispered, in between her fevered kissing.

"I want you to fuck me forever," I replied, my hands stroking her sumptuous bum, stroking her, probing at her anus as she thrust up and down on my body.

Then I began to feel the slow but inexorable surging of my climax and I hissed: "Roll me over, I want to be on top, you marvellous minx!"

Karla obeyed, instantly slithering beneath me until I was impaled on top of her, the dildo moving me closer and closer to my impending climax.

I raised myself on my fists, until my arms were straight. My boobs hung down just above her sweet, smiling face, then I made my last demand: "Suck my nipples, now, do it!"

Karla's mouth encircled my left nipple, sucking, nibbling and licking at the engorged little cherry, then she traced her tongue across my breasts to the right nubbin, where she repeated the tantalising teasing of my titties.

Soon I felt a tremor flow from my breasts, down through my belly to my clitoris and then I was shouting and yelling "Yes, yes, I'm coming, Karla, I'm coooooming!" and with a huge bellow of bliss I bounced up and down on her as the delight of my climax smashed through me.

I climbed off her ramrod stiff rubber monster and collapsed beside her. "Fuck, that was huge," I said, kissing her on the cheek.

Then Karla was peeling the strap-on from her lovely body and handing it to me. "Now it's your turn, darling," she said, handing me the implement.

I climbed from the bed, tugged the straps up my bare legs and thighs and climbed back up on her again. As I did, Karla knelt in front of me and took the rubber tip into her mouth and sucked deep on the phallus. "Oh, that is so divine," she said, tasting the residue of my sex juices on the dildo, before lying back and allowing me to thrust it deep into her lovely cunt.

"Oh fuck, that's so great, yes, fuck me, fuck me," she gasped as I began to work up a steady tempo of thrusts in her well-lubricated sex tunnel.

It took only a few minutes for her climax to signal its imminent arrival and, as I had before, Karla insisted on rolling on top, thus allowing me to suck at her stupendous nipples as she crashed her way to the Big O.

For minutes we lay side by side, panting, then calming, then kissing and stroking each other, until Karla announced: "Time to see if Patricia's put the finishing touches to her manuscript, darling. Come on, we don't need clothes."

And with that we walked hand-in-hand downstairs, me nude save for my high heels, Karla in high heels and still wearing that incredibly erotic suspender belt and stockings outfit.

Back in Patricia's office, the famous historical writer looked up as we entered, but showed no surprise at our nudity.

"Well," she said, a broad smile spreading across her face, "what did I tell you, Karla?"

Karla laughed and gave me a love pat on the buttocks. "She's as good as you said, if not better," she told my boss. "I've got to commend you, you sure know how to pick 'em. Now, is that disc all ready for me to deliver to your publisher."

Patricia placed a package on the desk: "Yes, it's finished, and I'm very pleased with it. But there's one thing I'm not pleased about – Charisma!"

And at the shouted command, the lovely black bird entered the office from a side door, clad only in a gleaming red PVC bikini and shiny black leather boots which came half-way up her strong, muscular thighs and provided her with a delightfully dominating appearance.

In her hands was a set of rubber handcuffs which she quickly and expertly snapped over Karla's wrists, a Karla, I noted, who did not seem to be struggling unduly.

"What the fuck is going on?" asked my employer's agent, who seemed to know very well what was going on. But her mild protest was snapped off in mid-sentence by Patricia.

"The thing I'm not pleased about is that Barbara Cartland crack, my dear Karla. Don't think I've forgotten it, because I haven't, and don't think I've forgiven you – at least not yet."

Then, addressing her assistant she ordered: "Take her down to the parlour, Charisma, Penny and I will be along in a few minutes. When we get down there I want to see that slut of an agent of mine in the flogging frame, OK?"

"Very well, madam," said Charisma, with an evil smile on her face. Then, with a sharp tug on the lovely blonde's shoulder, the black bird snapped: "Come with me, Ms Karson and let's get you ready for your little correction session. Barbara Cartland, indeed!"

Patricia grinned at me and rose from her chair. Then, as she stepped out of her superbly tailored but severe little red Armani dress, she asked: "And my dear little researcher, how did you get on with my lovely agent?"

I drank in my employer's beauty – her 40-inch breasts were thrust into stunning uplift by a black satin quarter-cup bra, her lovely middle was garbed in a tiny little satin g-string.

Then, dragging my gaze away, I stammered: "Oh, madam, she's so lovely. And so passionate."

"Had her way with you with her fucking strap-on, did she?" grinned Patricia, as she moved behind the desk and took me by the hand.

"Yes, and then I reciprocated – I've never used one before," I told her.

"Well Karla loves her strap-on," said the historical writer. "But there's one thing she loves even more."

"What's that?" I asked, stepping into my boss's arms and giving her a long, lingering kiss full on the mouth.

Patricia laughed. "An erotic flogging – and an erotic flogging's just what she's going to get. And after that we'll give her an orgasm to remember. Ready?"

I nodded eagerly, and we set off for the pillory parlour.

Down in the basement, we found that Charisma had strapped the lovely 45-year-old blonde into the flogging frame, her body taut and sexy, bound as it was by the strict straps. Charisma had, I was pleased to see, left Karla in her suspender belt and stockings and high heels.

Charisma rose from the kneeling position she had adopted in front of Patricia's agent and wiped her lips, savouring the tangy aroma she had tasted from the blonde's pussy. "She's all ready, madam," said the black bird, standing back to allow Patricia to stand directly in front of the pinioned prisoner.

"So, my dearest Karla," said Patricia, relishing every word. "I'm this century's answer to Barbara Cartland, eh? Well, you're going to pay for that, my pretty one. Charisma – fetch me that pussy punisher."

Her assistant walked to the well-equipped bench full of flogging paraphernalia and returned to her boss holding out a stiff-shafted black leather implement. It was about a yard long with a wicked leather strap at the punishment end, consisting of a square about two inches by two inches.

Patricia stepped in front of the naked woman – you can't really call a suspender belt and stockings "clothes", can you? – and ran the tip of the flogger across Karla's lips.

"Now, my pet, Dame Barbara Cartland. How many letters is that?"

Karla pondered, then answered: "Er, dame is four letters, Patricia. Barbara – let's see, 'Barb' is four letters, and 'ara' is three that makes seven. Seven and four is 11."

"And the Cartland bit?" snapped Patricia.

"Er, 'Cart' is four letters," said Karla, "and 'land' is another four – that makes eight. Eight and 11 is 19."

"Hmmm," said my employer, tracing the flogging tip down Karla's throat, then running it over those glorious big breast mounds. "Nineteen – that's not a very tidy number, is it?"

"No, Patricia," said Karla, looking down as the flogger continued its traced path down her belly, over her abdomen and between her splayed thighs.

"So we shall make it 20 – that's a much nicer, rounder number, isn't it, my sweet little slut of an agent?"

Karla nodded, making her wonderful boobs tremble slightly.

"Right," said Patricia, "I'll start with your left nipple, move on to the right and then punish your pussy. Ready?"

Karla nodded again, and again her beautiful breasts bobbed.

Taking the flogger in her left hand, Patricia stepped off to Karla's left side, then placed the leather-tipped flap against the victim's heaving left breast. She pulled her arm back, laid the flap on the nipple, large and engorged, then flashed into the stroke.

"Aieee," Karla yelped as the pain coursed through her lovely breast. But the yelp had hardly died than Patricia's next blow was smacking once more against the nipple, the breast bouncing erotically at the impact. This time, Karla grunted an agonised "Arrrgh" as she felt the flogger do its painful work.

Partricia struck her agent's left nipple eight more weighty blows, dragging a little scream, or grunt, or imprecation from her employee with each stroke, then moved over to Karla's right side. Switching the flogger to her right hand, she repeated the 10-stroke punishment.

After that batch of 10, Patricia stood almost directly in front of the lovely woman's naked, bound figure. This time, she placed the leather flap along the agent's weeping, sopping-wet quim. A long, slow stroke and Patricia placed the leather to Karla's mouth and made her kiss it.

Then the flap found its way back to the beauty's bare box and Patricia began to whip the leather up against Karla's sex trench. With each blow, the blonde writhed and bucked and arched, throwing her body about, her breasts bouncing and jumping as she experienced the flagellation.

Then, the merciless woman retraced her original path of pain – first the left nipple, then the right, then the pussy, until she had completed the allotted 20 strokes on each target.

Patricia handed her implement of correction back to Charisma, then fetched a stool and placed it directly in front of the still writhing, still wriggling blonde.

"Righto, girls," she said to Charisma and me, "take a titty each, while I work on her poor old pounded pussy. You ready for this, Karla?"

"Don't keep me in any more suspense, pardon the pun," gasped the literary agent. "For fuck's sake get started, please, I beg you!"

And Patricia leaned forward and placed her tongue gently onto the woman's pussy lips, an act which drew a sharply hissed intake of breath from Karla. As Patricia's oral adoration began, I bent to take Karla's magnificent left nipple into my mouth, while Charisma did the same to her right nipple. Each contact draw sharp, sudden intakes of breath.

Then we all began to suck from our various stations on Karla's nipples and pussy, acts which must at first have added to her pleasant pain, but which, as we continued our licking and sucking, turned to intense pleasure as she began to give in to the lust coursing through her bound body.