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Pride And Perversion Part Two (Ted Edwards)


Pride And Perversion Part Two by Ted Edwards

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Eduardo Fernandez is a mass murderer and sadist. Victoria Melville-Richmond was a beautiful, poised English aristocrat, but she's stopped being that, because now she's his sex-slave, thrashed into submission by the came, crop and strap and performing any perversion at his command. The twist is that he didn't capture Victoria for her own sake: the one he really wants is her sister Mary, who was responsible for the most humiliating episode of his entire life. Now, with Victoria broken, Mary is on the way to search for the sister that everyone else thinks is dead. Can he rely on Victoria to help him break Mary, or will he find that having two sisters to deal with will be more complicated than he imagined? How will aristocratic pride measure against sadistic perversion?

'Pride and Perversion 2' is the second and concluding volume begun in 'Pride and Perversion'.

Product type: EBook    Published by: Fiction4All    Published: 02 / 2010

Also Available in Paperback - Click Here

No. words: 40753

Style: Male Dom - M/F, Sado-Masochism (SM)

Available Formats: Palm  MobiPocket (MOBI)  EPUB  Sony Reader (LRF)  PDF  MS Reader  This book has a format which can be downloaded to Kindle

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Excerpt

Prologue



“Waggle your tits at me, Vicky.”
The tall, statuesque brunette with the delicate features of an aristocrat with her hands linked behind her head duly obliged, smiling as she did so. To obtain full effect, she dipped her knees and swivelled her hips at the same time that she shook her shoulders, with the result that her naked breasts gyrated.
The man on the sofa smiled broadly and clapped his hands. “Lovely, Vicky! A truly lascivious sight!” His head cocked slightly as his gaze moved from her face, lingering on her full, perfect breasts and went to her groin before moving back up. “Show me your cunt.”
Still smiling and with an eager-to-please, almost dog-like look of devotion on her face, the tall girl spread her knees and cocked her hips forward so that her sex was displayed.
“You’re wet. I can see it shining.”
“It’s you, sir. I get wet thinking of your cock.”
“Do you, now? Do you know something, Lady Victoria? I think you’re a slut.”
“I am, a slut, sir. You made me into a slut.”
‘Yes,’ he thought, ‘sir is better than master. I’ll stay with that.’

***

“Mr Bailey,” said the blonde-haired girl, leaning on the desk with her arms stiff and fists balled, “I don’t care how dangerous it is, or what the reputation of this tin-pot wop colonel or general or whatever is. My sister is somewhere in that damned country and I want to get her out. And there’s nothing that you, the Foreign Office or all the queen’s bloody men can do to stop me!”
The man behind the desk sighed, but kept it inside. Damn these aristocratic bitches who thought they were still living a hundred years ago, when most of the world was coloured pink and ninety per cent of the population called the rest ‘Sahib’. He swallowed an impulse to shout some common sense at this stiff-necked silly cow who wouldn’t take no for an answer. He might vote Labour and wish her and the rest of them banned, gone and forgotten, but they were a reality and could cause all sorts of trouble for a civil servant who was just trying to do his job. He’d try reason one more time and then the stupid cow could damned well do as she bloody well liked.
“Lady Mary,” he said, patiently, “all the evidence points to the tragic and unfortunate fact that your sister is dead. I’m sorry to have to labour the point, but it’s been almost two months…”
“Two bloody months while all you’ve done is sat on your blasted hands and done nothing!” she cried. “Two wasted months!”
The sheer injustice of it almost snapped him, but once more he forced himself to be calm. “That just isn’t so!” he protested. “We have made the most rigorous enquiries and together with the forensic report from…”
“But she was seen! An unidentified European women woman in a hospital, unconscious! Have you checked that?”
He shifted in his chair uncomfortably. “I did hear that there was some such report, but it was extremely vague entirely uncorroborated. I’m afraid to say that there are people who make mischief, even in tragic circumstances.”
“Well, I believe it! I’m going, with or without your help!”
“Lady Mary, I most earnestly advise against it. Quite apart from the political situation, the country is fearfully dangerous from the point of view of health.” He thought about the military attachĂ© who had returned from there at about the same time that the blasted woman had gone missing; fit and healthy one minute and the next laid up in isolation with what the doctors apparently said was the most vicious combination of poxes that they’d ever seen. “And if you go up-country, which I fear will be necessary, then the embassy won’t be able to help you. It really is far too dangerous. Even in the capital isn’t safe. The terrorists have snatched and killed three businessmen in the past year.”
“I don’t care. I know that Victoria is alive and I won’t leave her there. If the embassy can’t or won’t help, I’ll get some friends from the SAS to give me a hand.”
He almost swallowed his tongue. The SA… You will do no such thing! Even if the Ministry of Defence authorised it, which they most assuredly will not, they will not be granted visas by the Innocentian authorities. Which, I very much fear,” he felt a surge of gratification and quite unjustified – and, if he was perfectly honest with himself, unfair - satisfaction as he played his trump card, “will be the case for you. Going on their past record, they will refuse you entry.”
A look of triumph crossed her beautiful features as she fished in her handbag and then slapped her passport on to the desk in front of him. “Than what’s that?” she snarled. “Fish paste?”
He stared at the entry visa stamped in her passport and a feeling of awful, inevitable doom settled in his stomach.

***

“Do you know what my favourite part of you is at the moment?”
“No, M… sir.”
“Your tongue, especially when it licks, laps and pokes into my arse-hole. It makes me wonderfully stiff.”
“Do you want me to lick your arse-hole now, sir?”
“D’ye know, I think I would? On the bed, hands and knees. Twenty minutes of that and then a nice, long suck. Would you like to do that, Vicky?”
“Yes, please sir!”
He gazed at the beautiful, eager face – the face that he had made eager – and wondered what she would think if she knew that he was going to starting hurting her again soon. Hurting her a lot, because the telephone call that he’d had just fifteen minutes ago said that by the London embassy had reported that a visa had just been issued to The Honourable Mary Melville-Richmond. She wasn’t on her way yet, but it wouldn’t be long.

***

Donald Bailey was a man who liked a nice, quiet life, though he might have amended that to read: a nice, quiet, predictable life, something of which his wife of fifteen years – who would have enjoyed the odd good time and/or mad fling - was painfully aware. So, as usual on every week-day, she laid the Times – though she’d never understood why a life-time socialist would read that particular paper – neatly folded, lead story up beside his scrambled eggs, then went and busied herself in the small conservatory they’d built off the kitchen. True to form, he came down, sat at the table, shouted ‘good morning’, started eating and then looked at the front page only, leaving the rest and the crossword for the train journey. Invariably, once he’d sat down, there’d be silence for the ten minutes it took him to eat and read, drink two cups of coffee, come into the conservatory to peck her cheek, say ‘goodbye’ and then leave, collecting his bowler, umbrella and brief-case at the door as he left. It was unvarying. Predictable.
Today, however, there was precisely one minute of silence before she heard him splutter, utter a strangled cry of ‘Oh, my God!’ accompanied by the noise of his chair clattering as it fell. Alarmed, she ran back into the kitchen to find him standing, gazing down at the front page of the Times and looking as if he’d just read his own death sentence.
“Donald!” she cried. “What’s wrong? Are you ill?”
“Oh, my God!” he said again and then looked at her, his eyes unfocussed. His face was chalky white.
Thoroughly alarmed now and spotting a coffee stain on his normally immaculate shirt, she went to him. “Donald? Whatever is it?”
“Oh, my God,” he groaned and handed her the paper.
She took it and read, seeing nothing until his shaking finger pointed to an article near the bottom of the page.
‘Lady Mary Melville-Richmond Reported Missing’ she read. Puzzled, she looked at his strained face.
“They’ll all be out now,” he croaked, “the bloody lot of them, all blaming me and screaming for blood. And I told her not to go!”


Chapter 1

“Are you obedient, Vicky?” he asked.
“Yes! Yes! I’m obedient! Oh, please, no more.”
He looked her and the new rig that he’d devised to hold her, or more accurately, Mary, who’d soon be where her sister was, a thought that further stiffened his already-erect penis.
Victoria Melville-Richmond, proud scion of the English aristocracy who had spent so long defying him, but had eventually broken as he knew she must, was a mass of red welts from her shoulders to her thighs. This latest beating probably hadn’t been necessary, but he wanted to be sure that he wouldn’t have to divert too much time from bringing her sister to heel to re-taming an errant Victoria, who had re-discovered family loyalty. She would, of course; it was inevitable, but she could be brought back to heel so much easier with fresh memories of the sort of pain she was suffering now. It had to be so, because Victoria was going to be inflicting some of the pain on Mary and he was looking forward to watching the reactions and interaction.
He examined the device into which Victoria was fastened, checking it for signs of stress or wear and then her for scuffs and bruises it, rather than the strap he’d been using had caused. It all looked perfect; what a good idea it had been. He moved round it, ignoring the sobbing Victoria, who could do nothing but stand there and weep, with the tears spilling down her unmarked front. He always found it difficult to mark those wonderful breasts, though a half-dozen wouldn’t be too bad. And the beauty of this little device was that he could give her those whacks here and now, if he liked.
He could, but he wouldn’t; he’d let her wait, thinking it was over for this session. Instead, he leaned on one of the posts and examined his invention: two pillars about eight feet wide with loops cemented in at intervals all the way up. Well, they didn’t count, because they were already here, but then he’d specified this place, so he could take credit for them, he supposed. But the clever bits were the foot-wide strips of heavy-duty rubber a quarter of an inch thick that extended from each pillar to rods on either side of the high collar that she wore. Another pair did the same thing at waist level, without the need for the rods, so that her waist was effectively wrapped in a belt of rubber that protected her kidneys. Her arms were lifted and fastened to the top straps, leaving her entire body available and able to move within limits, while even stretching the rubber a fraction occasionally. Yes, it was a masterstroke.
He pushed himself away from the pillar and went to stand in front of her. Her head was down, but she seen him coming and lifted it, looking at him with eyes that were brimming with tears. Even like that, she was stunningly beautiful. The full lips trembled, but she didn’t speak; that was one of the first lessons she’d learned. On an impulse, he leaned in and kissed her, ignoring the salt tears and snot. Her tongue met his, just as he knew it would. He pulled back.
“Do you know why I’m hurting you, Vicky?”
“Y… yes, sir. B… because you want me to help you to … to tame Mary.”
“Tame her?”
She blinked, paused. “Hurt her, sir. Break her, as you did me. So… so she’ll beg to suck your cock.”
“And are you going to help me?”
“Yes, sir. Because I must, sir. And because she was horrid to you.”
“Yes, you must.” His hand went to her breast and found the nipple. She thrust forward, offering herself. “I’m going to hurt you some more, Vicky.”
She blinked, shedding new tears. “You don’t have to, sir. Truly.”
“I know that, but I’m still going to do it. I’m going to give you six across the tits, Vicky. And then I’m going to tie you face up over a nice, spiky gym mat, wear a bristle apron and fuck you. Do you know why I’m going to do that, Vicky?”
She was weeping harder than ever. “No, sir.”
“Because Mary’s here, in the country. She’s going to arrive tomorrow. And the first thing that you’re going to do is cut of the top off her little finger.” He stepped back and lifted the strap. She didn’t scream until he buried his cock into her and then, quite deliberately, laid his full weight on her. She hadn’t done that for a long time.

***

Fernandez remembered the scene when Victoria had been brought into this office and held by a couple of his men on the other side of the desk. She looked as if she’d wanted to strangle him with her bare hands and her sister was no different. Mary, like Victoria before her, was gagged with a dirty piece of cloth, but the look in her eyes was identical. It was odd, he mused, noting that the top two buttons of her white blouse had been ripped of at some point, that their reactions to captivity were so similar, because in almost all other respects, they looked quite different. Victoria was tall, slim, her figure svelte, curving gently, the breasts perhaps too large for the body that carried them, though he wasn’t going to argue or complain about that. Mary was almost exactly then same height, but her build appeared to be slimmer, the carriage even more erect, which made her seem taller. She had a fit, alert look about her, with crinkles at the side of her eyes and the slightly weather-beaten features of one who spent a lot of time outdoors. She was the horsewoman of the pair, of course and if she spent as much time in the saddle now as she had when he’d first seen her, she’d certainly be fit enough. He grinned inwardly: it’ll be him in her saddle soon enough.
She hadn’t recognised him, that was clear. Not too surprising, since he had changed in the seven years since their last meeting. He was wearing his uniform, too, which would make a lot of difference. His eyes roved over her as far as the desk would allow, his imagination stripping her, just as it had when, as a sixteen-year-old, she’d teased and flirted with him in the stables, having enticed him there. He remembered how his blood had boiled and now his cock had strained his trousers and how suddenly it had all ended with a shock like a cold shower when she called him ‘a greasy little dago prick’ and had actually slapped his face and spat at him when he took her arm. He remembered her laughter as she spun, neatly evading his lunge and ran out of the stable; laughter that echoed around the stone yard and still did so in his brain.
That was bad enough and despite the three burly toughs who’d cornered him in the same stall a few minutes later and beaten the shit out of him, it was – almost - the thing that had burned deepest. She’d worn a white blouse then, too, he remembered, that and tight riding trousers that hid nothing, even showing the cleft of her sex. Now she had a blue jacket over that white blouse and a matching blue skirt; what they called a ‘twin set’, he thought, having heard the expression. All wrong for this country, but then they’d taken her in the capital in a typical guerillero snatch attack, just like three others this year.
He looked up at his sergeant major, who was standing behind the women, grinning slightly.
“Any trouble, Alfonso?”
A shake of the head. “Not a thing, mi Coronel. A few rounds in the air and those cowards just ran away.” He made a ‘tsssk’ sound with tongue and teeth,” the people they recruit for the police…” he shrugged and smiled.
Fernandez nodded, relaxing slightly. Those ‘few rounds in the air’ were from an AK-47, the universal weapon of terrorists everywhere, so when the easily-identifiable 7.62mm cases were found, there could be only once conclusion: Lady Mary had been snatched by terrorists, who might or might not make a ransom demand: they were very erratic and unreliable about such things. Then again, he mused, smiling inwardly: since the ‘terrorists’ were a creation of his own fertile imagination, giving him freedom to roam the country doing what he liked in the name of ‘law and order’, they could be just as erratic and unreliable as he chose them to be. The other three attacks had been his doing, too: if businessmen refused to pay for proper protection, then they deserved what they got; which in their cases was a post-mortem bathe in a crocodile-infested river. It encouraged the others.
“Why is her blouse torn?” he demanded.
The big NCO looked as innocent as was possible for him to, given his looks. “She didn’t want to get out of the car,” he said, wide-eyed. “There was a struggle…” He didn’t add that he’d shoved his hand inside and had a bloody good feel. After all, he’d done the job, so he was entitled to something, wasn’t he? True, the Colonel had given him the American girl, who was a pretty good fuck, but he hadn’t had a sniff at that dark-haired English slut. Now that was high-class fuck-meat and he’d love to have her! He wondered where she was.
Fernandez gave him a long stare, suspecting the truth, but he brushed it aside; the man was entitled to a feel. He let his eyes move back to Mary, who was hating him with her eyes and struggling against the grip of the two men holding her.
“Take the gag out,” he ordered.
“She is very loud, mi Coronel,” warned the sergeant major.
“I expect she is, but she’ll settle down soon enough. Take it out.”

***

For a second or two after the cloth was untied and the rag that had been stuffed into her mouth removed, there was silence. She gave a grimace of utter distaste, made a dry spitting motion as if to rid herself of a foul taste, seemed about to wipe the back of her hand across her mouth before being abruptly reminded that her hands were hand-cuffed behind her. That’s when the silence was broken.
“What the hell do you mean by this?” she stormed at him. “I am a British citizen! You cannot treat me like this! I demand that you release me immediately, or it will be the worse for you! I warn you, I am highly placed and can cause you more trouble than you imagine! Why, you cheeky…!”
That last was in response to the fact that Fernandez had just given an elaborate yawn, bringing his hand to his mouth and then glancing ostentatiously at his watch.
“You insufferable little man!” she raged, clearly tugging with her hands and getting nowhere. “Take these damned things off me immediately! “I am…”
“The Honourable Mary Melville-Richmond,” he said easily glancing at her then looking down at his desk as if he wanted really interested.
There was a fractional silence, during which he lifted his eyes to hers once more. She was staring at him, eyes narrowed, but there was no recognition there. He didn’t expect there to be any, since the last time they’d met he’d been nothing more than an insignificant worm in her eyes. He felt the familiar fury mingled with shame building in him again as the memory rose, unbidden. He’d still been in the stable box where they’d left him when one of them came back about five minutes afterwards. He didn’t know it at the time, but he had three cracked ribs, three broken fingers and a dislocated jaw, as well as pain from his balls that swamped everything else, since they’d put the boot in there more than once. So he was in no condition to protect himself or even to protest much when he was thrown over a bale of hay, face down, his trousers pulled down and he was sodomised, callously and expertly. He might have forgiven and forgotten the beating, but the shame of that last act burned in his Latin soul like acid. He hadn’t given up hope of finding the man one day – and when he did, there would be no mercy and a long, lingering death – but he could and had laid hands on the cause of it all.
She stood opposite him now, red faced, hair dishevelled, furiously indignant and completely ignorant of the pain and humiliation that was coming her way. Quite apart from the surprises that lay in store, too. This was a moment to be savoured and enjoyed to the full and he revelled in it.
“What are you smirking about? You do speak English, don’t you? How do you know who I am? And why am I here in these bloody hand-cuffs? Get them off me this instant!”
Her agitation was doing interesting things to the content of her blouse, her noticed; he wasn’t the only one: Alfonso, his trusted right hand, had sidled round from behind his men and was admiring the view with an open gaze. Time to push the game along a little; but not too fast, not when – once he’d pushed down that corrosive memory – he was enjoying himself so much.
“You really must get out of the habit of giving me orders,” he said mildly. “You aren’t at Martingrove Hall any more, you know. You’re in Innocentia, my country.”
“I don’t care what bloo…” the angry flow stopped and she looked at him with narrowed eyes once more. “What do you know about Martingrove? How the hell…?”
He grinned and removed his high-peaked uniform cap, smoothing his hair before he put it on the desk. Her eyes seemed to narrow even further, but there was still no recognition in them. “You don’t remember me, do you? The little dago-boy under-footman who you enticed into the stables and then had three of your bully boys kick the shit out of?”
She remembered the incident, because he eyes suddenly widened and she drew in a quick breath. Then she shook her head, disbelieving. “No, you aren’t… can’t be!”
“Oh, I was a lot younger then, Mary. Seven years younger. So were you, but you filled out those tight riding breeches well. You’ve grown up and filled out a few more things since then,” he finished, looking at her breasts with frank admiration. True, they weren’t as big as Vicky’s, but they appeared to be perfectly shaped.
She’d lost colour, but now she found reason to puff again. “Don’t you…!” she stopped, peering at him with the faintest hint of recognition. “Are you…?” She shook her head again. “You can’t be! It was a joke, only a joke. A prank, to teach you a lesson!”
“Oh, you taught me a lesson, all right. You taught me to hate you and your kind, a lesson reinforced by your father who sent the letter of dismissal to the hospital your little joke landed me in. Dismissal without pay, I might add. And did he have a hand in having me deported, too? Was he behind those ‘irregularities in my papers’? Quite a joke for a little dago, wasn’t it?”
She thought fast, like her sister. There and then, he decided to change his plans and leave her finger until later so that he produce Vicky at a really dramatic moment and he’d just thought when that would be.
“I… I’m sorry about that,” she blurted. It sounded awkward, as if she didn’t apologise much. “It… it was only a joke.”
“So is all this, My Lady,” he responded, raising his arms to encompass their surroundings. “This is all one, big joke, designed to amuse you. You’ll be enjoying it for some time to come.”
“What do you mean? You can’t keep me here! I have to…” she broke off and bit her lip.
“Have to what, Mary?”
She flared “Don’t be so famili…,” she choked it off. “I… I have to find my sister. She’s missing.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Missing? Truly? How unfortunate. You must give me a description and I’ll get my men to look for her while you’re here… er, enjoying the joke.”
“I don’t want to be here! Look, I’ve said I’m sorry. Let’s just leave it at that!”
He pretended to consider it but then shook his head. “No, I think we’ll do things my way,” he said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…” he looked at Alfonso who, having no English, had been unable to follow the conversation. “I’ve changed my mind,” he said. “We can do the finger later. Get that jaw spreader on her, strip her in here and then get her up on the ropes, same as you did her sister.”
“Sure thing, mi Coronel. Do we get to play with her?” he asked hopefully.
“Not yet. Keep your hands to yourself, though why I bother saying that I don’t know, because you’ve already had a feel if I know you. But if you want a surprise , hang around and I’ll get the other one to give you a treat.”
The grin was huge and grew wider as the joke occurred. “You want me to hang around while she’s hanging around, eh?” He guffawed, clearly keen to know just what form this ‘treat’ would take.
Fernandez allowed himself a smile; it wasn’t too bad a joke, given his usual ponderous style. But then the woman was back at it and he had to switch back to thinking in English while Alfonso headed for the cupboard.
“What do you mean, you’ll do things your way? You’ve got no authority to hold me here! When the embassy hears about this, you’ll be in real trouble, I promise you!”
“Mary…”
“And don’t call me ‘Mary’! I’m ‘Lady Mary’ to you!”
Just like her sister. Lovely! He saw Alfonso coming back with the stainless steel wire contraption in his huge hands. It was quite a job to fit on a conscious subject, but he had no doubt about his man’s ability to get the job done.
“I’m sorry you feel that way, Mary, because that’s what I’m going to call you. Now, if you look to your right, my Sergeant Major has something for you. If you’ll be good enough to open your mouth?”
She took one look, shrank back and started screaming, a high, shrill sound that cut of abruptly as Alfonso made a blade of his hand and jabbed its stiffened fingers into her stomach. She doubled up, gasping for breath, mouth gaping, but she was pulled upright - by the two men with one hand each on her breasts, he noted wryly – while her head was hauled back by the hair. It really was a neat and slick job.
“Well done!” he said. “Now, let her get her breath back and then use that damned great knife of yours to strip her, Sarn’t Major. Nice and slow. And you pair,” he glared at the two soldiers, “keep your bloody hands to yourselves. Look, don’t touch, except her arms.”

***

When she was returned to full comprehension, Lady Mary made quite a fuss about having her clothes cut from her. Unfortunately for her, all her protests came out as inarticulate grunts, because her mouth was held very firmly open by the jaw spreader. It was exactly the same one that Victoria had worn for her initiation, but that was where the similarities ended, because Vicky had passed out when the top joint of her little finger had been chopped off, which allowed them to strip her and string her up without difficulty. Mary, on the other hand, was wide awake and protesting furiously, if incoherently, every step of the way.
Her hair was the palest of blondes and her eyes were a clear, almost startling blue, but her face wasn’t the pale, fragile, porcelain of her sister: is was deeply tanned, almost weathered, though that colour stopped at a clear line just beneath her hair. The skin of her upper chest, revealed by the torn blouse was pure, milky white; a contrast to the tanning brought on by her outdoor life. As the stripping went on, accompanied by a good deal of kicking and what must have been cursing, though the sounds were quite incoherent, the body that was revealed was that of a very fit young woman with a pair of tits that were firm, but which did tend to sag a little; but then she’d bounced up and down on a horse for a good part of her life, so that was to be expected. But there wasn’t an ounce of fat anywhere on her, plus a beautiful pair of tip-tilted nipples adorning each breast. When that tan faded, she’d be a picture of milky-white perfection, he thought, but by that time, she’d be anything but milky-white inside; except and he grinned at the thought, where she was coated with his spunk.
‘Nice,’ he thought, as she was held erect by his men, facing him, her head hanging as she wept in shame and anger, ‘very nice indeed. This is going to be a real pleasure!’ “All right, he said, “take her out there and fix her up.” He didn’t go with them; there’d be fumbling and poking and he didn’t want to have to keep on at them to take their hands off and their fingers out; they’d earned some fun.


Reviews

Hard hitting as always, this is a worthy continuation of the first part. Some places of the story didn't quite flow as they usually do with Mr Edwards but still a highly enjoyable read. 4 out of 5 (Hardman)

An awful lot of time spent on the main male character's thoughts. 2 out of 5 (scooby)

This little Latin Colonel, transform those English arrogant aristocratic women into total slaves. They filled all and any orders from their master, with no further thought and / or hesitation because they’d recognized that, if they let themselves think too much about things, then they’d say or do something that would earn them more pain and that was one thing they’d had far too much of. They no longer thought of themselves as the Honorable English Ladies -Richmond, but as his cunt’ or ‘slut’ or whatever other name he wanted to call them. Theirs function was to please him and absorb his spunk or sometimes his piss wherever he wanted to put it; they were a body with holes and hands who had been conditioned from having to please to wanting to and regarding any orgasm they were given as a gift from theirs god. They didn’t know it, but the thoughts and theirs state of mind weren’t entirely all of theirs any more but father of theirs master. 4 out of 5 (Ruthy)

Best book 2 books on the breaking of slaves I have read. Generally I don’t like punishment-only books. This has both sex and the punishment all leading to surrender. Well done! Needs a third book to finish the story of Vicky and Mary! 5 out of 5 (Bigrdr)

Author Information

Author of over 25 hard BDSM style stories featuring slave training, slave trading, strict bondage, male domination and sadsim.

 

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