Pleasure in the Pillory

Pleasure in the Pillory (F/F, D/s, BD, Interracial, WaterSports) by adoration ============================================================================

Pleasure in the Pillory Chapter 01 ============================================================================

It was an advertisement which changed my life. It sent me on an upwards spiral of pain and pleasure from which I never wish to descend.

Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Penelope Paulizter, and my parents

had a thing about all literation. Of course, if I had been the marrying kind that could have been ruined unless I had I married someone named Parker, or Patterson, or Pathanaiakos ... or Paulitzer. But since men don't interest me --

well, not in that way -- I'm stuck with Penelope Paulitzer.

The advertisement intrigued me. It was in a literary magazine and read, in a strict, no-nonsense way, as follows:

WRITER of historical romances (female) seeks researcher (female, preferably) for her next trilogy. The successful applicant will live in at the writer's home. Apply in writing to ....

And there was a box number. I say I was intrigued. It wasn't the baldness of the words, it was those two words in parentheses -- or, rather, the same word twice -- which caused me to consider applying. As I've told you, I'm not interested in men, but I am interested in women.

I dashed off an application, adding my degree in history from a university some way removed from the dizzy heights of Oxford and Cambridge -- but an MA is still an MA -- and told the advertiser a bit about myself. I even attached a picture.

I'm 34-years-old, I have dark brunette hair which falls to just above my shoulders, I have large breasts, with big nipples to match. I have a strong

pair of buttocks, lovely thighs and good legs. I am, as they say, in proportion. I'm also shaved down there, except for my mons, which has a little square splotch of hair on it. As one of my former girlfriends used to say "Shave by all means, Pen, but leave a little landing strip!"

About a week passed and to be honest I thought I'd obviously not even been short listed by the writer (female), but then my mobile went. I was in bed, lying in -- I was between jobs, or resting as actors say -- and stroking myself.

The voice was deep, rich and sounded like honey. "Hello, Ms Paulitzer," it said, "my name is Charisma Cundy and I'm calling on behalf of Patricia ..." And then she named this famous, I mean famous, writer.

"Patricia is very enthusiastic about your application and would like to meet you for lunch to discuss it. She notes you live in London and since she's based just outside Dover, she thought a quick trip up to town and lunch at The Savoy. Would that suit?"

Suit? I've never been in The Savoy, let alone lunched there, so I said it would be fine and took down the details.

A couple of days later, a Friday, and lunch loomed. I chose a smart, grey suit, the jacket was cut deep and I wore a shiny black lace slip over my bra. My cleavage was, I thought, mouth-wateringly, gobsmackingly sexy. The skirt was short, not short enough to look tarty, but it displayed quite a bit of thigh. As I've told you, I'm proud of my thighs.

I entered the hotel and walked to the restaurant which overlooks the Thames. It was hardly half-full. I gave the man behind the desk my name and said I was expecting to meet Patricia -- I gave her full name - and the dark-haired maitre d' looked impressed.

"As yes, signora," he said with traces of an Italian accent, "she's already

here. Follow me."

He took me to a table looking out onto the river and I looked at an extremely attractive, blue-eyed, brunette. She smiled and her brown hair shook deliciously. She was wearing a smart suit, not unlike mine, and her bosom looked majestic!

She smiled warmly: "Hi, Penelope, I'm Patricia. Can I get you a drink?"

I ordered a gin and tonic, she passed the order on to the Italian gentleman

and we both sat down. We made small talk as we awaited my g & t, then, when it was placed on the table, Patricia picked up her Bloody Mary and clinked glasses with mine: "Here's to what I hope will be a mutually satisfying collaboration."

It turned out that Patricia's new trilogy would be set during the tempestuous times of Napoleon, and Nelson -- or one of his officers -- would play a part. I told her I was particularly interested in this period of history.

She smiled and leaned forward, allowing me a fine glimpse of her upper breast curves. I liked what I saw.

"Now since the navy plays a part in these three books, I trust you have some knowledge of the history of the British navy," she smiled. "You know what Winston Churchill said, that the navy's tradition was based purely on rum, sodomy and the lash."

I sipped on my gin and returned her smile. "Actually," I said, "it's a fallacy that Churchill said that. I know the remark is widely attributed to him, but he never said it. Although, on one occasion, he did say he wished he'd said it."

Patricia looked at me coolly. "I'm impressed," she said, after a moment, removing any doubts I had that I might have "blown it". "Very impressed. Want the job?"

"Of course," I said, "it will be an honor to work for such a pre-eminent writer. It said in your advertisement that the position would be a live-in one?"

"Precisely," said the new employer. "I live in a large, old-fashioned mansion near Womenswold. Everything will be found, food, drink -- in social quantities only, of course ... and I think you'll find it very comfortable. When can you start?"

The honest answer was "Tomorrow", but I thought it more diplomatic to say: "Would Monday all right?"

Patricia handed me an envelope containing what felt like a wad of money. "That'll get you a ticket down to Dover. I'll pick you up. There's a phone number for the mansion and my mobile number's there as well. Come on down on Sunday, get settled in and we can start work on Monday."

The rest of the lunch was spent enjoying some fine food, a split of champagne and a wonderful bottle of Bordeaux. The next day, Saturday, I went to the library to kill time and to find out what I could about Patricia.

I read her titles, took notes on when and where most of them were based, read a biography that said she was born in Windsor -- was that why she interested in historical romances? ... was unmarried and was 48-years-old. She was also said by the Sun newspaper to be "one of England's hottest single totties". How crude.

Things looked interesting. Just how interesting they became were, of course, beyond my wildest dreams.

So on Sunday I took the train to Dover and on arrival struggled with my suitcase and briefcase to the gate. There, waiting for me, was Patricia looking -- well, pardon the pun, but Patrician. She was in a gleaming pair of red leather jeans, with a shocking white blouse, which was so tight it caressed her superb bosom. On her feet were what looked like white cowboy boots.

She leaned over and kissed me, softly on the cheek and murmured "Welcome, my lovely researcher" in a voice which was so suggestive I felt a tingle run down my spine, wet as it was with sweat after my long walk from the rear of the platform to the gates, lugging my suitcase.

Patricia took it from me and we walked to the carpark outside where, parked

in a regal space right in front of the station entrance in an area clearly marked "No Parking" was a gleaming Bentley Arnage.

"This is my runabout," Patricia laughed, handing my case to a tall, stunningly dressed black woman. After the ebony beauty stowed it in the boot, she turned and smiled at me. Patricia introduced us: "Penelope, this is my maid-cum-chauffeur-cum-general factotum, Charisma."

The black beauty smiled at me, displaying dazzling white teeth, flashing brown eyes and a leather, one-piece suit-clad body which would have turned heads at any supermodel convention.

"Welcome to dreary old Dover," she smiled, gripping my hand in a vice-like hold. "Right, madam, shall we make tracks?" As we climbed into the luxury interior, Patricia whispered to me: "She's 26, so far too young for you, my dear."

The mansion was set in its own private grounds -- several acres -- and I was

taken upstairs to my bedroom to unpack and settle in. Then Patricia took me on a guided tour of many large rooms, then showed me our office.

It was a large room, she had a rather cluttered work station. My desk was set apart from hers by about 10 feet. There were book shelves with an array of items -- all her own novels, of course, plus scores of reference books. It all looked extremely well-appointed.

Monday arrived and with it a sheaf of notes from Patricia. "I'm particularly interested in certain aspects of floggings conducted as disciplinary measures in the navy of the day," she told me.

The next day I had printed out page upon page of reports of judicial floggings ordered by officers in Nelson's fleet. "This one I think you will find particularly interesting," I said.

It was a report of a young sailor -- a lad in his late teens -- who was stripped naked and given 50 strokes of the cat. It was a "minor" offence. The indignities he was left to suffer after his flogging were pornographic in the extreme.

"Hmm, yes, I see what you mean," said Patricia, as she began flicking through my print-out. "Do you think it's authentic?"

I smiled. "Without a doubt it's a piece of the writer's own perverted mind," I told my boss. "For a start, it was rare, not to say unique, for a person to be flogged naked. And while sodomy played a large part in life below decks, it was certainly not practiced on the deck while a miscreant was still strapped to the flogging iron."

Patricia's eyes were flashing across the pages. "Yes, but very, very interesting," she said. "I'll try to incorporate some of this in my upcoming chapter. It's, er, well, it's stimulating, my dear."

I was pleased I had pleased her. The next day, she passed me a note asking for examples of punishments inflicted on people in the early 1800s in the pillory. Again, I found some extremely, how shall I put it? -- stimulating -- commentaries.

I printed several of them out and they were lying on her desk the next morning. "Some pretty awful things happened to people in pillories," I said. "Although, again, I have my doubts about the authenticity of some. In particular, the 19-year-old girl whose plight I have placed on the top of the pile."

Patricia looked at it immediately, soaking up every detail. Then she looked

at me: "Why do you have doubts, my darling researcher?"

I smiled. "It's obviously written for the arousal of both the writer and the reader," I said. "I'd guess it was written by a man, or by a woman with a penchant for wielding the lash. But, nonetheless, much of it is based firmly on historical evidence."

I noticed that as Patricia read the report of the poor girl's torments while in the pillory, she seemed to be grinding her inner thighs against each. One reader, I realised, was obviously getting aroused by the report!

The second week in my new employment began with Patricia saying she was popping into the village with Charisma for some "items". "Just answer the phone and take it easy," she said.

I did just that. Not that she got many phone calls. Only one, in fact, from

her agent, to say the BBC wanted to do an interview with her on discipline in the forces in the Duke of Wellington's time, they'd heard she was an expert. And that was it.

It was then that I decided to do some snooping. After all, a trusted researcher needs to know a lot about her boss so as to be fully efficient, correct? I sat myself down at her PC and noticed it was still switched on. I went to her control panel.

It was crammed with lots of boring things. Expenses. Tax returns. Speaking engagements. Then I came across something called "Pat's Private Places". Well, anything labeled "private places" is like a green light to me. I flicked into it -- and what a treasure trove!

The file was a cornucopia of pornography -- but very specialized pornography! It must have contained about 80 or 90 jpegs and all of them depicted the same scene, but with variations. In every picture a naked woman was shown in a pillory, a large wooden thing. It wasn't always the same woman, there must have been six different ones. Some were blondes, some were brunette, four were white, two were black.

The other common denominator was that seated on a large leather pouffe in front of the pilloried prisoner, was my new employer -- but Patricia as I never seen her, only as I had often wanted to see her.

In these pictures she was always naked, well, at least, naked from the waist up. Her breasts were stunning! Big, heavy things, but full, firm and eminently suckable. And in all the pictures the women were shown sucking, or about to suck, at her breasts.

I then noticed that all the women also displayed stripe-marked buttocks, obviously the result of prior flagellation. I was just about to place my hand beneath the hem of my dress prior to stroking my snatch than I felt hands on my shoulders!

"Well my pet," I heard Patricia's voice above and behind me, "I see you've found one of my little treasure troves." Her hands, as she spoke, were moving down to the upper crests of my heaving breasts.

Then she spoke again. "And tell me, my pretty little snooper, do these pictures interest you?" Her hands were now on my central breasts, still outside my blouse, but I was certain she could feel the erections of my nipples through my sheer black bra and satin blouse.

"Yes, madam," I said, in a whisper. My mind was still reeling. She must have tip-toed up behind me while I was engrossed in her porno collection.

"Let's look at one in more detail, shall we?" she said, in a quiet, not annoyed voice. "Try the one in the third row down, on the extreme right."

I pulled it onto the screen. A pretty blonde woman -- well, almost a girl, she could have been no older than 20 -- had her mouth open. She was just about to suckle Patricia's right breast, the one nearest the camera. My employer's nipple was engorged, her breast gleamed as if it was covered in sweat.

"What a lovely picture of poor Amanda's punishment," I heard the voice above me. Her hands were now cupping my breasts, her thumbs and forefingers kneading my nipples. I was getting wet, oh so wet!

"That's a nice picture of my breast, don't you think, my dear little Penelope?" she asked.

"It's lovely," I said, in a heaving voice. "It's glistening as if you've been in a shower."

Patricia gave a chuckle, low and sensuous. "A shower? Yes, a shower -- I like that. But it's not."

Then, as she continued her massage of my mammaries, she ordered me: "Try the next picture."

I obeyed. This showed Patricia dipping her left breast into a large metal basin, which was set in a hooped metal ring some foot or so beneath the girl's face.

"Now that could be champagne," she said. "Only it's not."

I maintained silence. Patricia was still kneading my nipples. I was getting

wetter.

"It could be beer -- oh, no, it couldn't. Beer is so mundane," she said.

Then, as she continued to arouse my thickened nipples, she said: "It couldn't be milk, could it Penelope? Wrong color."

I nodded. "No, madam, wrong color."

"Well, my little research pet," she said, "what do you think it is?"

I gulped. "Er, water, madam?"

Patricia chuckled. "Yes, of course it's water," she said, in a semi-condescending tone, "but a very special kind of water."

I felt a response was expected from me. In a voice that verged on breaking,

I said in a hush: "Is it your water, madam?"

"Of course it is," she snapped. "Now switch that infernal machine off, we won't need it again today."

I leaned forward, my breasts still prisoners of Patricia's clutches, and the images disappeared. Then I heard her again: "Do you trust me, my pet?" Her face was brushing against mine.

My heart was thumping away. "Yes, madam, of course I do," I said in an almost hissing voice.

"You know I won't harm you, don't you?" she said, her mouth brushing my ear, her tongue flicking across my cheek.

"I know, madam," I said, in a voice so low I could hardly hear it myself.

"Well come with me, child," she said, her hands at last releasing my heaving bosom, "I need to get to know you better before I take you to my little pillory parlor."

And with that the lovely woman took me by the hand and pulled me from her desk. We walked out of the office, across its thick carpet, whose depth of pile had obviously muffled her earlier approach.

Standing outside the office was Charisma, wearing another of her mouth-watering one-piece leather outfits. She looked excited, animated.

"Charisma, my dear," Patricia spoke, "I'll be needing you down in the pillory parlor in about an hour. Get into something more suitable. No, make that an hour and a half, Penelope and I are going to be occupied for a while."

The black beauty grinned and said "I'll be down there waiting for you, madam" and turned on her heel, displaying gleaming leather spread tautly across her glorious backside. Patricia took me by the hand again and we went upstairs to her sumptuous bedroom, my heart thumping all the way, my pussy soaking my panty gusset with every step I took.

Inside, Patricia took me to the large area in front of her massive four-po ster bed and turned me to face her. Then she lifted one hand beneath my chin and kissed me softly on the mouth. She tasted of honey and heather -- she tasted divine.

"Do you trust me, my pet?" she asked, looking deep into my eyes.

"Yes," I whispered, and then she began to disrobe me.

She started with the cuffs of my blouse. After each cuff, she kissed me. Then she unbuttoned the blouse and pulled it from my skirt. Then she kissed me. Then she threw the blouse to the floor and reached behind me to unzip my skirt. It fell to the floor and I kicked it away, instinctively. Again she kissed me.

I was now standing before her in my bra -- a black satin thing -- and matching, full, black satin panties, no stockings. She reached behind me and unhooked the bra with one deft movement and pulled it from my breasts. I glanced down. My nipples were engorged. She kissed me once more.

Then, still staring deeply into my eyes, she hooked her thumbs into the upper sides of my panties and pulled them to my knees, allowing cool air to waft onto my pulsating, sex-juice pouring pussy. I placed my feet close together and the sodden garment fell to the floor. I kicked it away. Another kiss.

Again came the question. "Do you trust me?"

"Of course," my voice said, but my brain really screaming "Make love to me,

now," but reining itself in.

Then Patricia walked away, to a large dressing table. She delved into a drawer and returned to me holding two leather loops, which she threw on the bed. "Lay down," she whispered, and I placed my naked body -- I'd kicked my high heels off -- in the centre, my hands flat by my sides.

My boss then took one leather loop and placed it around my upper thigh, and

snapped it tight against my flesh with a Velcro strap. It was then that I noticed another leather loop was attached to the larger loop. She placed my

wrist in it, then snapped that strap shut, too. My hand and arm were now shackled, as it were, to my side.

Patricia repeated this exercise with my other thigh and arm, until I lay bound on the bed. Then she stood off to the side and stripped. This time the disrobing occupied far less time, as if she was in a hurry to consummate our relationship.

The expensive cream-colored blouse revealed a shiny, black satin slip. The miniskirt revealed shiny black stockings and high heels. Then she slowed down.

The slip came off and I saw a black satin bra, black satin garter belt and black satin panties. Black satin! The words arouse me, the look arouses me. Patricia aroused me!

Then my lover-to-be took her slip and with one hand behind it, she pressed its smooth material against my weeping pussy. Then she traced it up over my mons, over my abdomen, fleetingly into my navel, then up between my breasts and finally laid it to rest on my mouth and nose. The aroma of my minge wafted over me.

Then she tossed the garment aside, her hands swooped behind her back and the bra was off, those majestic 40-inch breasts falling into their natural uplift. Patricia leaned over and pushed one shining cup against my sex trench. Another teasing path up my body followed, and then the cup was against my nostrils.

I inhaled my sexual perfume, then the bra went the way of the slip. Now she

stepped out of her panties. Oh my god, her pussy was adorned at the mons by

a sleek little pad of pubic hair, her sex was shaven -- the labia lips lush and full, begging for oral adoration. But before that I had to have her panties, of course.

This time, Patricia simply traced the gusset of the garment over my mons, then my belly, then my breasts, traversing each globe, then the wonderful scent of her snatch invaded my senses. The panties were sopping wet, a fact that made me so proud -- I was arousing her! Had they been dry, I would have been mortified.

The visit of her glorious, most intimate, garment was fleeting. It was soon

tossed aside, I heard her shoes hit the floor, then the wonderful woman climbed onto the bed and knelt over my face.

"So much for my residual perfume, my divine little Penny," she said, addressing me in the diminutive for the very first time, "now for the real thing!"

And her snatch was lowered to my expectant, panting, hungry mouth.

The taste was sensational. The musky mélange of sex juice and urine mingled

to provide me with a head-spinning aroma. My tongue wedged in between her labia lips, sucking on her rampant juices for all it was worth. Then I went for her vagina, moist as her labia, dripping with love lotion. Then her clitoris -- thick and swollen.

"Yes, baby, yes," she moaned, as she face-fucked me, "do it to me, oh yes, you've done this before, haven't you, you slut?"

But it wasn't a question, really. It was a statement and a statement I had no hope of commenting on as her minge mashed down on my mouth while I worked to bring her to completion.

The pent-up sexual tension between us was having its release now and there was no way she could hold out for long. I licked and laved at her throbbing sex and soon she was bucking and plunging on my mouth, her breasts swaying and jumping from her erotic exertions.

"Oh yes, oh yes, my sweet little pillory slave, suck me, lick me -- flat tongue there, on my clit, my clit," she panted as her climax smacked her around.

And as I sucked her to a shuddering orgasm, one of the world's most erudite

and brilliant historical writers was reduced to a one-word automaton as she bounced up and down on me: "Clit, clit, clit, clit." And then she was done.

Patricia fell off me, groaning with pleasure. I, too, was panting from my tongue-flicking task, but soon we both regained our normal breathing patterns and she smiled sweetly at me.

"You realize, my darling Penelope," she said, "that I have to put you in my

pillory for your naughty behavior?"

I nodded. "Of course, mistress," I said, eschewing the term "madam" for one

which I now deemed to be far more accurate.

She kissed me softly on my pussy-smeared nose and added: "But before we go down and join Charisma, there's the small -- or, hopefully large matter of your orgasm. I presume you will have no objection to me providing you with one?"

I tried to place my mouth on hers, but she pulled back. "Lie down, darling,

let Patricia do the work now," and with that she slithered down my sweat-stained body, kissing me on each lust-filled nipple on her journey, before she was lying between my thighs, her faces inches from my sopping snatch.

I spread my thighs wide, then placed my heels up on her beautiful bouncy buttocks. Her hands came underneath mine and cupped them. Then her mouth was on me, working its wicked ways.

I sighed as her mouth made its initial caress, a probing, long licking of my anus, a target that I had neglected to worship during my time between her lovely thighs. Was this an oblique criticism, an example of "This is what I like" from my new mistress?

I reveled in her licking at my rear passage, and then she was off on a journey around my sopping snatch, my cunt -- sorry, but that's the perfect word for it in this context -- my labia lips and finally my clitoris.

I had dreamed of this for so long, since our first meeting at The Savoy when I had unashamedly stared at her breasts, that the excitement of the occasion totally overpowered me. I felt myself writhing beneath her oral ministrations, then I was sobbing -- no, hissing: "Yessss, yessss, yessss."

Then, with a feeling of total relief, I came on her mouth, crying out wildly "I love you, I love you" over and over as my orgasm washed over me like a pounding surf smashing onto the sand. Then it was over, and she pulled herself from me as I panted and spluttered before sighing as the surf faded away and I came back down to earth.

Patricia lay alongside me, smiling at me as I recovered from my climax. Then she kissed me full on the mouth, and I could taste my own pussy juice on her lips as we clung together.

"Right, you wicked little witch," she said, breaking off the oral contact, "now for your punishment. Ready?"

I nodded eagerly. Although my stomach was in a churning, excited turmoil, something told me to trust this lovely 48-year-old woman. "Yes, mistress, because I trust you," I told her. And she kissed me again before swinging her legs off the bed and pulling me to the edge. She then placed my high heels on my feet, put her own back on and, with my wrists still tethered by the straps at my upper thighs, we made our way downstairs.

She led me to the back of the house, down a staircase I'd never seen before, into a corridor lit by harsh strip lighting. At the end stood a large oak door. On it hung a door knocker -- shaped like a pillory!

Beneath the knocker was a little white tablet with black lettering. The words read:

"Come into my parlor,

Said the mistress to the slave,

And I will whip you soundly,

If you dare to misbehave."

Patricia smiled at me, in what I think was meant to be a smile of reassurance. "Sorry about that rather dreadful doggerel, my little mischief, but I can promise you my novels read slightly better," she joked.

A rap on the door by Patricia was answered by the dusky 26-year-old, Charisma, wearing an outfit that simply took my breath away.

Her gorgeous 36-inch breasts were thrown up into magnificent uplift by a black leather, quarter-cup bra, her nipples standing out erect and large, surrounded by big black splotches of areola.

Like her employer she wore a suspender belt, only hers was made of black leather to match her push-up bra. Black silk stockings covered her lovely legs and she wore gleaming black high heels. Her pussy was bare, her genital region totally shaved, but with a glimpse of black streaks at her mons where her pubic hair had been. Her labia lips were shockingly pink in contrast to her dark, chocolate brown flesh toning.

Charisma grinned hugely at me and smiled: "Welcome to madam's parlor of pain, Penelope, do come in."

Patricia pushed me inside and now, for the first time -- apart from the picture file on my mistress's computer -- I saw the pillory. It looked daunting, overwhelming. It scared me, but at the same time excited me.

"Charisma, get our guest comfy in the pillory while I get her drink organized," said my mistress, shutting the door behind her and walking over to a large refrigerator standing in one corner of the well-lit room. I say well lit, but in fact the only lighting was a quartet of professional lights such as those used by studio photographers. They illuminated the scene of what was to be my punishment and my humiliation.

Charisma took me by the hand and walked me over to the pillory. She lifted the cross beam of the thing until it stood up vertically from the horizontal half beam below it.

"Over here, my dear," said the black beauty and I stepped up to the cross beams and the sturdy wooden central post of the implement.

The side where the miscreant stood was a wooden board, about four feet square. My heels made a clip-clop noise as I stood on it. I then leaned forward and placed my wrists and my neck in the lower halves of the holes. These were padded with thick rubber, to cushion the throat and wrists.

Then Charisma lowered the pillory's upper beam and bolted it shut. The effect was to totally imprison me, but Charisma had another item of bondage to complete my helplessness. She attached a gleaming metal spreader bar to my ankles, forcing them about a yard apart. This served to make me feel extremely vulnerable, of course.

My stance now had my body almost horizontal to the floor, but slightly above a straight line.

When Charisma had completed her task, my mistress returned to my position and placed a large metal bowl in the metal hoop below my face and sat herself down on the pouffe. It was of such a height that her breasts were directly in line with my mouth. They were lovely, the nipples hard.

Speaking of nipples, Charisma then asked: "Shall I nipple clamp her, madam?"

Patricia said "no". "I want her to concentrate on the taste of my perfume and the feel of your flogger, my dear," said the author. "Nipple clamps can come later."

I breathed a sigh of relief, which was dashed from me when Charisma walked around in front of the pillory. She was holding a single-stranded leather lash, which looked menacing.

"This is Charisma's lovely lash," announced my boss. "She will use it to sting you, but not break your flesh. It is a perfect implement of punishment, and she wields it like the professional whip mistress that she is."

By now Charisma was standing close to my pilloried head and I could detect a strong aroma wafting from her shaved pussy.

"OK, Charisma," said Patricia. "Give her a taste of the flogger before I give her a taste of something else. Oh, Penny, by the way -- you will address Charisma down here, but only down here, as Mistress Charisma, understood?"

"Yes, mistress," I replied. And then the lash struck me! I heard its hissing path of descent before I felt the stroke, but when the flogger cut across my ample bum cheeks it delivered a stinging shock of almost electrical fury.

"Thank-you, Mistress Charisma," I bellowed, taken aback by the strength of the blow.

Another hissing sound, another "Tisssssssh" as the flogger cut into me. Four more times Charisma struck me, alternating the blows criss-cross or diagonally across my buttocks as she prepared me for my next submissive test.

"Lovely, Charisma," said Patricia, after the sixth blow had descended, "I think our pretty little slave will have got the message by now."

"May I lick her now, madam?" I heard Charisma ask from behind me.

Patricia smiled sweetly at me. "I think that would be lovely -- what do you say, Penny? Can Charisma lick you down there?"

I got the distinct impression that whatever my response was, Charisma was going to lick me "down there", but I dutifully replied: "Yes, please, mistress."

Patricia nodded to her assistant. "It seems this randy little slut isn't content with merely being pleasured by my tongue, she also wants yours, my dear. Go ahead."

And the next caress I felt from Charisma was her tongue poking into my anus, then a comment: "She has a delightfully musky arsehole, madam. Very tasty."

Patricia laughed: "Trust you to start there, my dear. But yes, it is very tasty -- in fact, she's very tasty all over down there, full stop."

Charisma put her employer's statement to the test then, plunging her tongue

into my sopping wet pussy.

Then Patricia began her domination of me. "And speaking of 'tasty', let's give you a totally different taste treat now," she said. "Which nipple would you like me to dip in the urine first, my dear?"

I gulped. "Er, whichever one you wish to dip, mistress," I said, in what I hoped was suitable submissive-speak.

"Excellent, my dear, excellent," said Patricia, "you are playing your part to perfection."

And with that she dipped her engorged left nipple into the cool urine and presented it to my mouth. I sucked it and for the first time tasted the brackish, salty tang of her nectar. I had hardly sucked the pee from her nubbin, than she bent and lowered her right nipple, being careful to submerge just the bud and the areola into the piss.

Again I tasted the cold but tangy piss as her other nipple was presented to

me for adoration. The taste was strong, but I knew I was going to have to learn to love it.

"Lovely," said my mistress, "now for a slightly fuller immersion." And with

that she dipped about half of her large left globe into the urine. I licked and sucked around her beautiful breast, trying to concentrate on the wonderful firmness of her flesh than the salty, stingy taste of her piss.

Then the other breast was half-dipped into the liquid and I realised as I sucked and lapped at her breast that Charisma was bringing me close to a shuddering climax. I pushed and heaved backwards as far as was possible in my stringent bondage, craving relief from the black woman's tongue as she worked now on my clit.

As madam dipped almost all her left breast into the bowl, I let go a howl as my orgasm flooded through me. Patricia sat back, smiling sweetly at me as my pleasure erupted, her breast gleaming from its latest dip in the piss pot beneath my mouth.

Then, when I had recovered from Charisma's oral attentions, Patricia leaned

forward and allowed me to lick her breast all over, finishing at the nipple

as my final place of worship.

"Madam," said Charisma, after my last breast-cleaning task, "may I use the strap-on next?"

"Of course, my dear," said my boss, not even deigning to ask me! "And we'll

go with the nipple clamps for her next time, too, I think."

The next time? It was all over?

Patricia stood and smiled down at me, her pussy dripping wet from arousal, framed by the sexy black suspender belt and stockings. "Now it's time for walkies," she informed me, "can't be having you cast in that position."

And Charisma removed the top of the pillory frame and allowed me to stand, stiffly. Patricia moved in front of me and held out a hand. "Come for a little walk around my darling," she said, "and then we can get on with your pillory play. Down you come."

So I shuffled off the board and hand-in-hand with Patricia I moved around the room, easing the aches in my legs and back.

"Just let me know when you're ready for more, my darling," said my employer, as we walked ... well, she walked, I shuffled ... around the torture chamber.

After a few minutes, I turned and looked into her lovely deep blue eyes. "I'm ready for the pillory again, mistress," I informed her.

Patricia regarded me with a lovely smile, a smile that looked like one of intense gratitude. She stepped up to me, our breasts brushed and she ran one hand over my bare buttocks, one between my parted-thighs.

Then she kissed me softly on the mouth and told me: You know something, Penelope, my dear?"

"What, mistress?" I asked.

"I think you're just a sucker for punishment."

Pleasure in the Pillory Chapter 02 ============================================================================ ==== My delightful mistress had made a joke about me being a "sucker for punishment". To help underline her point and prove my devotion, I smiled softly and then

asked in a quiet voice: "May I have some more, please mistress?"

Patricia, one of the world's most famous historical romance writers, smiled

almost indulgently at me. "You sound just like Oliver Twist, child," she said. I know I was 34 and 14 years her junior, but "child"?

"And you know what happened to Oliver Twist when he asked for more?" she said, testing my knowledge of Charles Dickens.

"Yes, mistress," I said, slowly, "he got punished."

"And so will you be, my dearest little Penelope," she said, in a soothing voice. "Charisma, get her ready for the second part of her introduction to our pillory punishment. And Charisma."

The ebony beauty looked at her mistress: "Yes, madam?"

"This time the nipple clamps, I think," said Patricia with a smile.

Ebony grinned a wicked grin, and walked to the side of the torture chamber,

returning to where I stood, thighs wide thanks to the spreader bar. The black assistant was holding a pair of clamps, linked with a chain, in the centre of which hung a lead weight.

Charisma then bent and took my right nipple in her mouth, sucking it to a blood-engorged erection. She then clamped the metal vice on my hardened nubbin. The pain shot through my breast like myriads of tiny, torturing little sparks.

Charisma, watched attentively by her mistress, then sucked my left nipple before attaching the other clamp. Similar shocking spurts of pain shot through my lush, large globe.

As she stepped back, Charisma smiled at me, her hand cupping the lead weight in the centre of the chain. Then she let it go and more sparks flew through my mammaries as the weight dangled, making the chains attached to the clamps go tense.

I fought back tears, but Charisma laughed. "Really, Penny," she said, "it's

only a little weight, I'm being kind."

She then replaced me in the confines of the pillory and Patricia again resumed her seat in front of me.

"Now Charisma," the author told her assistant in pain, "each time after she

has sucked my breast clean give her a stroke with the broad paddle. It's time she had a different pain sensation to that of the lash."

Charisma placed her lash on a stand holding dozens of implements of punishment and walked back behind me carrying a large leather paddle, about six inches broad at its business end. I could almost feel its heat burn into me before the first blow.

Then Patricia dipped her entire left breast into the urine and offered it to me. I worked slowly on the full firmness of her glorious globe, trying to stave off the time when I knew I would receive the force of Charisma's paddling arm.

At last I could stave off the paddle no longer, and Patricia pulled back while Charisma did her worst. The pain from the paddle's blow flooded through my posterior, sending shooting pains up my body which, as I writhed from the blow, met the pains shooting down from my clamped nipples. The path of the two trails of agony seemed to meet in mid-stomach, about half way between the pain in my buttocks and the pain in my breasts.

"Lovely," said Patricia, as she watched me wince and grimace from the dual agonies coursing through me. Then she added to my discomfort but dipping her right breast into the amber nectar and offering it for my oral attention. I

sucked at the salty, tangy stuff, laving it from her lush big breast, then tensed as Patricia pulled away from my mouth again.

"Thwack," went paddle went across my upturned twin buttock cheeks, once more jolting my arse about as I tried to wriggle to relieve the pain, only serving once more to increase the throbbing in my poor boobs.

Patricia looked calmly at me and smiled. "I think you've had enough of my heavy old udders," she laughed, in a none-too-convincing put down of her lovely large breasts. She knew, and I knew that she knew, that they were sensational breasts for a 48-year-old.

"So it's time we replaced my poor old mammaries with some much younger, much firmer," she said, rising from the stool. "Pass me that paddle, Charisma," she said to her assistant, "and give her a taste of those 36-inches of sex appeal you're so proudly displaying."

The beautiful black bitch walked around and sat in front of me, her breasts

full and firm, sprouting lushly up above the supporting platforms of her quarter-cup bra. Her nipples were hard and despite the fact I knew she was going to dip them into a bowl of urine, I desperately wanted to suck on them.

Charisma lowered her left breast into the liquid, then offered me her breast. The central half of her globe was gleaming -- she had not immersed it totally in the urine. The breast was placed to my mouth and I sucked eagerly on her nipple, areola and firm breast. The tang was still unpleasant to my learning taste buds, but the touch of her boob against my mouth was heaven!

Then she dragged her flesh from my sucking mouth and Patricia swooshed the paddle down viciously across my arse. My buttocks did their dual dance, my breasts likewise and once more the pain seared through to collide with a gut-wrenching thump in mid-belly.

And so my discipline went on. Charisma dipping first one breast, then the other, into the bowl, and after each immersion came the singing swoop of my imperious mistress's paddle. At last, after about a dozen dips -- six per breast -- the bowl was emptied of urine.

"Right," said my mistress, when Charisma had pointed out the supply had been drained, "time to release her."

Charisma and Patricia then freed me from the pillory and the ebony mistress

unclamped the nipple devices from my aching breasts. Then, to heighten my agony, she lowered her mouth and sucked on each nipple in turn, sending soaring peaks of pain and passion through my breasts. It was agony, but it was also exquisite!

Patricia then came around and looked at me, looking almost solicitous -- a look which was a total sham, of course. "Poor Penelope," she smiled, not sounding in the least bit sorry, "now for some more boob fun."

I sensed Charisma kneeling below me, unbuckling the spreader bar. Patricia cupped my boobs and twirled the thumb and forefinger of each hand across my

tormented titties.

"Lovely breasts," she murmured, as she kneaded my nipples. "It was the first thing I noticed about you at The Savoy -- 'look at those bazookas', I said to myself."

I thought the word "bazookas" incongruous from a writer of historical stories set in the days of Napoleon or Nelson, but I smiled. "I once had a girl friend who called them WMD -- my Weapons of Mass Destruction," I informed her.

Patricia kept stroking me there, cupping and pressing my globes together, something I found absolutely divine. "Oh no, my dear Pen," she told me. "WMD, perhaps, but certainly not weapons of mass destruction.

"Let me think. I know -- it's still WMD, but let's call them Weapons of Masturbatory Delight!"

I laughed at her lovely piece of word play, but then felt worried. "Do you mean tit fucking, mistress?" I asked.

"Of course, pet," she said, still kneading, rubbing and fondling my mammaries.

"But, but," I tried to think of the words. "I'm not into boys, mistress, I don't want someone's cock tit fucking me, it's you and Charisma I want, not some filthy male with his disgusting cock."

Patricia laughed, a throaty, sexy chuckle. "Silly Billy," she chided me, "you don't have to have a revolting man's cock -- or a nice man's cock for that matter -- to enjoy a tit fuck. Charisma, get her prepared, she's obviously got a lot to learn."

The assistant took me across the chamber to a large black leather bench, but a bench with two metal poles attached to each end of its front. She made me sit on it, then lie back on the coolness of the leather. I was next made to wriggle until my paddle-punished buttocks were almost overhanging the edge of the seat.

Charisma then took my ankles and strapped them into cuffs at the top end of

each pole. This pulled my thighs away from my pussy, which was gapingly, lewdly displayed for my mistress and her assistant.

The black bird then stood facing my mistress, who was kneeling now in front

of my pussy. Charisma placed one foot on each side of the large bench, giving me a direct view up her glorious thighs to her pink-lipped, shaved pussy. I placed my hands up and cupped her full, firm buttocks.

Then I heard Patricia speak. "Now for your tit fuck, my darling, and I do hope you enjoy it." And then, for the first time I felt my pussy being fucked by a breast. It was an utterly amazing experience, an opinion I articulated almost immediately after I felt the author's first foray along my moist minge.

I felt her erect nipple rub first at my anus. "There, such a sweet little brown rosebud, does that feel nice, my pet?" she asked, as her erect nipple and the surrounding breast flesh stroked my anal entrance.

"It's fucking wonderful, oh, sorry, mistress -- yes, it's glorious," I told her.

"Charisma, teach her filthy little mouth some manners," was my mistress's response. Apparently, the "f" word was fine coming from her lips, but not mine, which I guess was OK, after all, she was the mistress, not me.

Even so, I was utterly unprepared for my punishment for my foul mouth. Charisma let loose a short, sharp burst from her pussy. I saw the stream descend from her labia lips almost in slow motion. It seemed to take seconds before the stream splashed against my mouth and nose. Then, with an incredible display of bladder control, Charisma halted her flow.

I licked my lips, tasting the salty spray which had anointed me, and then Patricia's nipple was on the move. From my anus, it moved upwards to my vagina, the erect nubbin trying, searching, probing to insinuate itself into my sex.

"And how is that, my darling?" inquired my employer. "Is that nice?"

"I've never had my cunt intruded by such a beautiful invader," I told her.

"Tut, tut," said my mistress, "you really have to mind your language, my pet. Charisma, a longer dose!"

And this time Charisma's flow lasted almost 10 seconds as she sprayed a liberal torrent of urine over my nose, mouth, eyes -- eyes which were clenched shut from the downpour -- and forehead. I smelt the stench of fresh urine drenching my face.

Then Patricia's nipple was moving between my sopping wet labia lips, then onto my clitoris. The feel of a nipple roving across my minge was unutterably sexy, I was so delighted by the contact I made every effort to hump against the breast as it brushed a path up and down my crotch.

Soon, with one hand cupping her big globe against my pussy, Patricia was literally fucking my minge with her breast and nipple, and soon the inevitable reaction rose in my groin, the prelude to a climax!

"Oooooh, yeeeees, ooooh, yeeees," I cried out, in a not very literate expression of my feelings, but one which pretty fairly revealed my thoughts to my two dominatrixes.

Patricia pushed her nipple and breast more firmly against my pussy, harder,

harder and then I was toppling over the cliff and crashing down to where my

climax came rushing up from ground level to meet me, pounding against my pussy, which was now alive with the sound of masturbatory music.

Finally, the climax subsided, ebbing away as I lay back, heaving, my breasts tingling, the pain from the nipple clamps fading to a sensual, wonderful throbbing.

Then Patricia stood and Charisma moved away from my panting body. The lovely 48-year-old stepped to the head of the big bench, and knelt again, this time placing her full breast, its nipple still engorged and stubby, against my mouth.

I ran my tongue across her breast, inhaling the perfume from my own sex which was fresh on her flesh. The breast had another aroma, of course -- that of her urine, which she had smeared on it prior to my pillory punishment. That and, of course, the fresh stream which Charisma had deposited on me for my injudicious use of those four-letter words.

Patricia rubbed her breast across my recently-stained face, working her breast into the traces of piss left on me by Charisma, and then allowed me to lick and lave at her boob again. Like a depraved little slut, I kissed and sucked eagerly at her perfumed globe of breast.

Finally, the lovely large breast was pulled from me and Patricia spoke to Charisma. "Now your turn to indulge her, my dear," she announced. "I'll stand over her, just to make sure she keeps her mouth clean."

This time, my lovely employer straddled above me, as Charisma knelt before my pussy. I reached up and cupped Patricia's large, yet firm buttocks, and once more felt a nipple graze along my sex trench, Charisma's first flickering starting at my mons, then moving across my clitoris, labia lips, vagina, then anus.

"There, my dearest Penny," said my mistress, as the black beauty commenced her run along my sex trench, "aren't you lucky -- it's a gang bang!"

I moaned but made no remark, concentrating as I was on the utter delight of

having my sex grazed by Charisma's fantastically firm breast, the nipple feeling like a little thumb as it pressed its way into my crotch.

Suddenly, to my amazement, I saw a spray of strong yellow liquid descend to

splash upon my face. I spluttered as I was struck, then Patricia stemmed the flow.

"But I didn't swear, mistress," I cried, at the same time licking my tongue

along my lips, sucking in the traces of her salty stream.

"Of course not, darling," said my employer, "that was for not responding to

my remark about a 'gang bang', you silly girl!"

I sighed. It was obvious to me now that whatever happened, however I behaved, my mistress was going to drench me from above with her urine whenever she felt like it. So I decided to throw caution to the wind.

"Tit fuck me, Charisma, fuck my cunt, fuck it," I cried, as the black girl worked her nipple-erect breast over my minge.

"No, no, Penelope," said my author-employer in a chiding tone of voice, "it

doesn't work that way. You will receive my urine if and when I decide to allow you to have it, not when you think you can force it from me. Now you're going to have to wait!"

I gave in, Patricia and Charisma were the bosses, I was their sex slave, I had no say in it. I lay back and decided to simply revel in the wonderful things Charisma was doing with my pussy.

Then I felt those old familiar stirrings in my groin and as Charisma increased the tempo of her breast work on my pussy, I roared to another frenzy of a tit fuck climax.

"There, there," said Patricia, soothingly from above me, "wasn't that wonderful, you lovely little slut?"

"Yes, mistress, it was lovely, so intense, so -- oh, so different," I said as I came back to earth after the Big O I had just experienced.

Then I was really jolted back to earth as my mistress let loose a strong stream of thick yellow piss directly onto my mouth. At first it splashed up in sprays of spume onto my cheeks and nose, and then I opened my mouth and began to drink her glorious nectar down. I knew now that I was her sexual plaything, and suddenly it seemed the most natural thing in the world to gulp and chug down her salty, strong cataract of piss.

After she had completed emptying her bladder, a task which took no more than 25 to 30 seconds, Patricia lowered her steaming snatch to my mouth and purred: "Clean me, my lovely little piss slut!"

I ran my tongue all along her labia lips, tasting the briny traces of her urine there, then in between the lips, licking and loving her for all I was worth. She accepted my oral adoration for a moment, then stepped back and Charisma lowered her pussy-stained breast to my mouth.

Again I tasted a fantastic, firm breast, its flesh smelling strongly of both my pussy and the urine which the globe had been dipped in and was now collecting by rubbing over my drenched cheeks.

"You love it, don't you?" said Charisma, as I worked at her beautifully sculptured globe.

"Yes, mistress," I whispered, as her erect nubbin grazed across me face, "I

love it, I love all of it."

Then my employer-mistress's mouth was kissing and eating my pussy. "That's good, my little researcher," I heard her say, as Charisma still rubbed her boob over my face, "because there's a lot more to come!"

She resumed eating at my minge for a moment or two more, then stood and with Charisma's help, removed my ankles from the straps at the top of the poles.

When I had got back on my feet, Patricia kissed me on my urine-stained face. "And now my lovely little plaything," she smiled, "do you think you're ready to show me what you can do with those lovely big boobs of yours?"

"Oh, yes please, mistress!" I said, with enthusiasm.

"Right," said Patricia, "get me strapped in." And with that my lovely employer lay on her back and placed her pussy to the end of the bench and raised her feet, so Charisma and I could strap her ankles into the restraints.

When she was in place, Charisma knelt beside me as I took my place, ready to perform my first "tit fuck".

"Which breast?" I asked the black assistant, cupping my big boobs in my hands.

"Whichever you're most comfortable with," said my employer's aide.

Since Charisma was on my left hand side, I chose to use my left breast. My nipple was erect -- due to my excitement -- and I traced it delicately over my mistress's anus.

As soon as I did, I felt Charisma's right hand reach behind my buttocks and

place her middle finger against my arsehole, then slide it gently up it an inch or two. It felt wonderful!

"There, stroke her anus, flick the nipple across it," Charisma whispered in

my ear, as her finger continued to play in my back passage. "She loves it, loves having her anus played with."

After a minute or so at the darkened orifice, I moved my nipple higher, to her wet, weeping cunt.

"There, she's all sopping for you, she's weeping tears of joy from that luscious cunt, isn't she?" Charisma whispered.

As if to follow the path of my nipple, I felt the black beauty's digit retreat from my anus and slide up my equally slippery vagina.

Mistress's breath was coming in gasping pants now as I played with my nipple at her cunt lips.

"Now the labia, like a feather, trace it over her lips," said Charisma, her

own finger rubbing around my lush lips down there, as I placed my hardened tit on Patricia's labia.

"Now up to her clit -- look, it's unhooded. Flick on it, she loves it, she loves it," said Charisma, her voice still an excited whisper.

As my nipple flickered across Patricia's engorged clitoris, Charisma's probing finger worked on my similarly aroused clit.

"Isn't it lovely?" said Charisma, as I played with my mistress's clit with my nipple.

"Yes, it's wonderful," I whispered back, fearful that if I spoke at a normal volume it would break the sexual tension which I could feel almost like a cloak in the torture chamber.

"And do you know what she's thinking while you pleasure her with your nipple?" Charisma whispered.

"What?" I hissed, dragging my nipple down to my employer's cunt again, then

tracing it back over the labia and then up to the clit once more.

"She's thinking of delicious ways she can torture that nipple when she's got you back in the pillory again. Isn't that wicked, poor little Penelope? You're pleasing her with your tits, she's just thinking 'How can I torture her?' Poor little Penny!"

And the sheerly erotic thought of what Charisma was saying made me go wild,

pressing my entire left boob hard against Patricia's now humping pussy as she graunched her groin against my large globe of flesh.

Then she was sobbing out "Yes, my darling, harder, harder, tit fuck me, tit

fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me ..." And on, and on, until at last she stopped the "fuck me" repetition and I felt a tremor run through her as a huge sigh signaled the completion of her climax.

"Now," whispered Charisma, "would you like her to thank you for giving her such a nice tit fuck, Penny?"

I nodded, looking into her dark brown eyes, then at her nipple aroused breasts, standing firm in her quarter-cup bra.

"Up you go, then, while I play with her a little bit longer," said the assistant.

I stood over my mistress's face, placing my feet on either side of the bench. This left me an inch or two from her mouth, so I widened my stance by some six inches or so on each side. Perfect! Now my minge was resting gently on Patricia's mouth.

Her hands then came up to cup my buttocks and as her tongue and lips started their oral adoration at my moistness, I saw Charisma starting to rub her taut, erect nipple up and down my employer's sex trench.

Soon I was experiencing little tremors, which sent shockwaves through my pussy as Patricia's experienced mouth worked me to the dizzy heights and then I was coming on her mouth, juice flowing from me onto her, and then as she sucked on my stiffened clitoris, I pounded to the completion of my orgasm.

As I did that I heard a sort of muffled keening sound coming from beneath my crotch and I realised that Charisma's tit fuck was bringing my employer to another shuddering, satisfying climax.

Charisma then unstrapped Patricia's ankles and the beautiful writer stepped

down from the bench and approached me, taking my chin in her hand and kissing me deeply on my pussy-and-piss-perfumed mouth.

"There, my darling," she smiled at me, "how did you enjoy your welcome to my little pillory parlor?"

I kissed her back, thrusting my tongue provocatively into her mouth. "It was the most exciting time I've ever had in my life," I told her.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it, my dear," she grinned, then she turned to her assistant, who stood watching us, her breasts gleaming on top of her platform bra.

"Clean up Charisma, there's a darling. I think that's enough research for one day!"

Pleasure in the Pillory Chapter 03 ============================================================================ ==== 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 parlor.

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 parlor, 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 labored 'olde fashioned' writing, there are some turns of phrase which are definitely modern," I told her. "And there are other giveaways. 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 labor 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 parlor"!

"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 organized. 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 toweled 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 areola. 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 molded 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 defenseless 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-colored 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-colored 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!"

Again I "enjoyed" an awfully strong-tasting pussy, the smell and taste of her urine harsh and brackish. For several minutes the athletic black woman worked on my face, as my mistress gave me another fucking with the dildo, before removing it with a plopping sound from my soaking pussy.

Then my first hour of punishments was over. The two women knelt and removed

my wrists and ankles from the straps which had imprisoned them, and I was allowed to stand and walking around, rubbing life back into my hands and feet.

After this, Patricia pointed to a piece of metal equipment on the table on the opposite end of the sun lounger. "Get it, Charisma," she ordered and the black woman moved to the table.

"Now, my darling," she said, smiling at me, "it's time for your outdoor pillory. You see, the one inside is a bit too big to bring out here, so I've gone to great trouble to get a new pillory -- one for your tits. Isn't that kind of me?"

I looked at the sinister piece of equipment and the evil look on Charisma's

face as she approached me with it in her hands.

Somehow kindness wasn't the word I had in mind.

Pleasure in the Pillory Chapter 04 ============================================================================ ==== I looked down at my breasts as I stood naked in the lovely little private garden, while my employer, Patricia, and her assistant Charisma, debated how to start my next hour's punishment.

My breasts thrust out beneath me like two oversized melons, the skin taut and stretched, veins showing across their voluminous spheres. This was because they were imprisoned in a sort of gunmetal grey pillory, which Charisma had placed on my upper body.

The "pillory" -- which was, in reality, a sort of breast bondage cage -- consisted of two lengths of metal which were curved across my body, one length going beneath my breasts, the upper one across the top of my big boobs.

Between the two cross-wise lengths, a similar piece of metal went from top to bottom, bisecting the other two. At the bottom of this upright strip of metal was a wing nut, which Charisma, with an evil smile on her face, had tightened until my breasts were trapped and stretched bulbously in the "pillory".

Beneath the outer extremities of the lower horizontal bar, cuffs held my wrists, so my lower arms from fingers to elbows were also horizontal to the ground.

Charisma looked satisfied with my predicament. "There she is, madam, all ready for some titty torture, if you so wish," said the lovely black beauty.

"And a delightful sight, too, my dear," said Patricia, who was now naked in

the strong sunlight, as was her partner in punishment. "I think you can commence the next hour of pretty Penelope's punishment with a couple of laps of the garden -- assisted, of course, by the buggy whip!"

"Any nipple clamps during that, madam?" asked the 36-inch busty beauty.

My employer pondered a moment, then replied: "No, we'll start her off lightly, I think, Charisma, we can increase the pressure a little later."

And with that, the 48-year-old historical romance writer went and stretched

out in luxury on the large sun lounger from where she had a perfect position to lay back to watch my next session of discipline.

Charisma walked over to the lounger and from the roof of its sun canopy plucked a long whip, which I had not noticed before, staked out, as I had been, on the rubber sheet on the ground. The whip was long -- almost five feet, I guessed -- and thin. It looked an evil weapon of punishment.

"Right," said Charisma, stepping beside my manacled, breast-bound body. "It's time for walkies around the garden. First we'll go for a leisurely two laps -- and with every step you take, you will bring your knees up smartly so that those lush young thighs are parallel to the ground. Nice and high prancing, like a proud young pony, OK?"

I nodded, realising that such a manner of "walking" around the garden would

involve quite strenuous exercise on my part.

"And don't worry about the buggy whip, slut," said Charisma, "it's mainly for show. Mainly."

And as the word "mainly" fell from her lips, Charisma stepped back and cracked the whip across my bum, sending a searing flash of pain through them. Accompanying the crack of the whip was a shouted "Get prancing!" and I set off around the garden.

The way I was ordered to march around the garden was tiring, and if I showed signs of getting some physical respite by not raising my knees high enough, Charisma was onto my failings like a flash and the whip would crack against my bouncing buttocks and a cry of "Higher" would leave me in no doubt that it was useless trying to fool her.

After two laps of this my body was pouring with sweat, my pinioned breasts were heaving and I was gasping. Thankfully, Charisma was true to her word about her use of the buggy whip -- she only gave me a couple of whacks with it during my two-lap torment.

I was then brought to a halt in front of my employer, who placed her champagne flute on a table by the sun lounger and stepped up to me.

"Really, Penny," she said, "such a fuss. You must be out of condition. I can see we're going to have to toughen you up. Feet apart!"

The last two words were a snapped command, and I thrust my feet wider. My mistress's hand slipped between my thighs and her fingers traced against the underside of my nates, then ran along my sex trench.

"Just as I thought," she said, bringing her fingers to her nostrils, "the little trollop is loving it. Here, Charisma, get a whiff of this!"

The black bird inhaled the aromas from Patricia's hand. "The slut," she smiled, "she's lapping it up. Time for those titty tormentors, eh madam?"

Patricia grinned and as she placed her fingers to my mouth for me to suck, she said: "The clothes pegs, I think, Charisma, they bounce around so prettily on pilloried breasts!"

From the table, Charisma produced two bright yellow, plastic clothes pegs, then she bent and sucked my nipples into erections before placing them painfully onto my hard nubbins.

"There, don't you look just the prettiest of pictures, slut?" she said, stepping back to admire her embellishment of my bound breasts.

"Two more laps -- no, make that three," ordered Mistress Patricia, "let's really get her sweating!"

And again Charisma cracked the buggy whip across my bum to order me off on the prancing route around the outer extremities of the lawn, breasts bouncing, pegs waving wildly around as I pranced, causing sharp little nips of pain in my nipples as I took every step.

Three times I panted and puffed my way around the "course", and then Charisma whipped me to a halt in front of my boss's recliner.

Patricia stepped up to me and snapped: "Part those feet!"

I obeyed and once more felt her hand caress my pussy, only this time it was

no mere peremptory exploration, this was an arousing, "Let me bring you to orgasm" stroking.

"Take the left peg off, Charisma," said my author-boss as she continued to run her fingers along my sopping sex trench.

The black beauty standing off to my left unclipped the peg and then started

to suck on my nipple. Little streaks of pain began to flood through the released nubbin as the blood flow resumed to my poor nipple! Still madam worked her wonderful ways at my pussy, as Charisma suckled on my teat.

Gradually I was nearing my big excitement, and sensing my nearing orgasm, Patricia called out: "Get the other peg off, quick, she's nearly there."

Charisma walked swiftly behind me and unclipped the other peg, then repeated the sucking, licking and kissing worship to my right nipple, sending more pain flooding into the extremity as the blood began to course through it once again. And as she did so, the black bitch placed her left hand on my buttocks and then pressed a forefinger into my anus until she had intruded into me almost to the knuckle.

The anal intrusion, the pleasure and pain sweeping through my nipple and the magnificent masturbation of my pussy now reached a wonderful climax and as Patricia concentrated on my clitoris, Charisma pulled her mouth from my nipple, planted a wet, smoochy kiss on my lips and chanted: "Come, bitch, come, bitch, come!"

And I did, with a bellowing roar of approval as my mistress's deft ministrations at my minge produced the most intense, satisfying climax!

As I was regaining my breath, Patricia smeared her fingers all across my pilloried breasts, then Charisma removed her finger from my arsehole and stepped in front of me to lick and kiss my bunched up globes.

"Another three laps for her, my dear," ordered my employer, once more reclining on the sun lounger. "Minus the pegs, you can put them on for the three after that."

Charisma again walked sedately around behind me as I pony pranced around the secluded garden, before once more whipping me to a halt in front of the lounger. This time, my mistress took delight in sucking my nipples to hardness and attaching the vicious plastic pegs to my nubbins.

"Give me the whip, darling," said Patricia, "I'll keep an eye on her while you lay back and enjoy a nice cooling glass of bubbly."

And as the naked black bird lay back and supped on a cold glass of Dom Perignon, I was once more set in motion around the lawn, this time by my boss, who tended to use the whip a little more often than Charisma, although her blows were, if anything, slightly more lenient.

As I pranced my poor breasts jumped up and down, but not with sufficient momentum to dislodge the pegs which punished my nipples on the three circuits.

After being slashed across my buttocks as a signal to halt, the masturbation process was, this time, reversed. As Patricia removed the peg on my left nipple and began to suck on it, Charisma's strong hand went to work between my outstretched thighs, her fingers tracing tickling little forays along the labia, into my cunt and across my clitoris, while my employer sucked at a painful nipple with her mouth, and invaded my anus with one finger.

As Patricia had done, Charisma called out the orgasm warning, and my boss walked around behind me, pulled off the other peg, and started sucking while she insinuated another forefinger up my arsehole.

Then, moments into the attack on my poor right nipple, I felt my climax soar through me and once more I shouted and shrieked my ecstasy as the Big O paid me another visit!

Once more my breasts were smeared with my sex juices -- this time by Charisma -- and my mistress bent to lick and lave at my stretched flesh as I calmed down from my excitement.

"Enough prancing," announced Patricia, when she had slaked herself on my taut boobs, "it's time we perked these pretty little titties up. Let's get her seated on the sun lounger, we do have two breast whips, don't we?"

Charisma grinned. "I've thought of everything, madam, I know how much you like to administer a dual breast flogging."

And Patricia led me to the lounger and sat me down in the middle of the furniture. I was glad to be able to sit down, but apprehensively aware that

my comfort was going to be short-lived!

My employer then sat beside me, on my right, while Charisma picked up two little whips from the table by the side of the lounger. She handed one to Patricia. They looked like gleaming strips of liquorish, about eight inches long, no more. They also looked cruel.

When they were seated on either side of me, Patricia kissed me lovingly on the mouth and whispered: "Thighs apart, place them on ours, darling."

I obeyed, allowing my pussy to be once more totally at the disposal of my two dominas. Patricia took advantage of my wanton display by placing her fingers on my sex and gently stroking me there, not to arousal, just a slow, tender stroking.

Then she looked across at her partner in pain and smiled: "Ready, Charisma?"

The black woman placed the short little whip which was in her left hand until it was draped across my left breast. "Ready, madam," she replied.

Patricia then laid the little whip in her right hand over my swollen right breast and kissed me softly on the cheek. "Beg us for it," she whispered.

"Please Mistress Patricia," I said, giving my employer precedence, "please,

Mistress Charisma, please flog my breasts."

Patricia let go a low, soft chuckle and kissed my cheek again. "It will be our pleasure, my dearest Penelope, and your pain, my dear," she said, and then they struck.

Both women timed their strokes so that each little whip cracked home on my poor, helpless boobs simultaneously. I arched my upper body, gave out a little squeal and then the twin tides of torment flashed through my breasts.

I had hardly settled down than the two women again whipped my poor boobies.

Again streams of pain coursed through my breasts, again they struck, again I squealed, my breasts bouncing as the dual dominas worked on me.

The first three strokes had been across the upper expanses of my naked globes, the next three cut into my lower breasts. And for the next three -- yes, you guessed it, they targeted my poor nipples, still suffering from the previous punishments of the clothes pegs.

"Aaaargh," I cried once, then twice, then three times as the electrical current-like strokes shocked my poor nipples.

And finally, I could stand no more. "Mercy mistresses, mercy," I gasped, as

the pain kept shooting through my battered breasts.

Thankfully, they ceased their flagellation, but then Patricia spoke: "Normally, I'd let you off, but I'm leaving it up to Charisma, my dear. I thought it was very rude of you to name me first when you begged us both to whip your breasts, so it's her decision. You plead with her."

And, as if to underline her point, Patricia whipped her little flogger down

across my right nipple once more, dragging a mewling "Unnnfffff" sound from

me.

Charisma brought her whip hand up to my chin and turned my head until I was

looking directly at her. "And now, my little slut, why should I stop flogging your breast? I'm thoroughly enjoying it, what can you offer me to replace that enjoyment?"

I blinked back tears, the pain still flooded through my breasts. "I'll eat you, I'll give you an orgasm, dear Mistress Charisma," I begged her.

"It's a tempting offer, you know I like your mouth," said Charisma, but she

was toying with me. "But I'll need more than a nice little bout of cunnilingus. Think pussy, but think outside the square of muff diving -- or maybe not. What else would you like from my pussy?"

It was blatantly obvious what she was driving at, but I hesitated. A mistake!

"Well, since you are taking your time to make up your mind, please excuse me if I continue to whip your lovely big breast while you think about it," said Charisma, her little whip cutting across my lower left globe.

The pain thrilled me again, but it was a thrill mingled with torment. The whips were small, but acutely painful on pilloried breasts.

"I've thought it over, mistress," I nearly yelled, as I saw her draw her whip hand back again. "I'll drink your pee pee!"

Charisma smiled, then kissed me full on the mouth. "You delightful slave," she said, "you just know how to please a domina, don't you?"

And then the statuesque black beauty stood and addressed our boss: "Release

her wrists from those cuffs, madam, I'd like to feel her hands on my arse as I give her my amber nectar."

Patricia complied with the request from her partner in punishment, then prodded me to a standing position. Charisma walked to the rubber sheet, gleaming on the lawn, and stepped into the middle, then turned and planted her feet about a yard apart, her minge moist and shining in the sun.

"Come on, you piss-drinking slut," she laughed, "crawl over here and start worshipping my pussy. I'll let you know when I'm ready to piss and I know we're on a rubber mat, but if you spill any I'll rub your face in it and make you lick it all up, savvy?"

I went onto all fours and began to crawl across the magnificently mowed lawn to the rubber sheet. On arrival at her strongly aromatic minge, I pressed my mouth against her mons in a kiss or adoration, then lowered my lips to her labia, then her cunt, then her anus.

As I began to move up and down her pussy, Charisma spoke words of encouragement -- and words of teasing.

"Ah yes, my dear little slut," she told me, "you know I like this. What a pity it has to stop soon while I piss."

I continued my word, and then, after a couple of minutes of cunnilingus, Charisma, her voice a commanding hiss, cried out: "Drink me, slut, drink me!"

And I placed my open mouth against her quim, hopefully sealing it watertight as her strong flow of salty urine gushed down my mouth.

The potent gusher must have lasted for 30 seconds, then Charisma pushed my panting face away from her minge, splatted one final burst of urine against

my upturned face, then pulled my head back onto her sex.

"Now bring me off, you piss-drinking harlot," she snapped, as I resumed my licking of her divine, aromatic sex trench.

At last, as she rocked and rolled on my hard-working mouth, Charisma's orgasm started to pour through her pussy and then she was shouting "I'm coming, go for the clit, suck it, flat tongue it, bitch, bitch, bitch!"

And then, with a shuddering, grunting upheaval she came hard on my sweat-pouring face.

With a sigh of pleasure, Charisma pulled away from my kneeling body and Patricia's pussy loomed into view. "We're going to stake you out again on this mat for your final hour's pain and pleasure," my employer told me. "Won't that be nice?"

I had my doubts, but responded like a good slave should: "It will be wonderful, mistress, thank-you mistress."

"Only I've changed my mind about putting you face down on it. Your pussy and mouth are so much more accessible if you're face up. Oh, and we'll leave the titty pillory on. Your breasts look so nice in it, I think."

And then she shuffled forward until her minge was settled on my mouth. "Now, darling," she told me, "your performance then was so arousing I've decided I want you to do an encore."

Her minge smelled strongly of sex juice as I worshipped along her labia.

"Oh, and by the way," she said, as I started my oral adoration of her quim,

"I'm afraid I'm busting for a piddle. Still, you won't mind that, will you, my sweet little sex slave?"

I ran one long, slow lick along her lovely pussy and then breathed in a hush, submissive whisper: "It will be my pleasure, mistress."

Pleasure in the Pillory Chapter 05 ============================================================================ ==== 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 "marvelous 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 parlor, 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 -- yours and Charisma's

excepted, of course."

The next day, Charisma put on her sexy leather "chauffeurs'" 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 plunked 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 marvelous, 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 marvelous 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 tantalizing 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 parlor, 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 parlor.

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, savoring 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 agonized "Arrrgh" as she felt the flogger do its painful work.

Patricia 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.

Some four or five minutes into the exercise, Karla's body started to writhe

in her bonds as the delights of her orgasm began their first low, slow surges, then she began to buck and heave in the flogging frame as the orgasm got closer and closer.

Finally, she could do nothing to stop the flood of orgasmic delight from engulfing her and with cries of "Yes, oh yesyesyesyes, I'm cooooming" she writhed and thrashed to a threshing, thrashing Big O.

As she calmed down, and Patricia stood up and planted a long slow kiss on her agent's mouth, Charisma and I removed her from the flogging frame.

Karla smiled at us, and in turn kissed both Charisma, then me before announcing, possibly with only some slight exaggeration: "Thank heaven we did that down in this lovely padded parlor or I'd have been heard in fucking Dover!"

The next day, Karla was off to London with the disc which she dropped off at Patricia's publisher. Some months went by, and then, in the depths of winter, my employer announced that we were off next week to The Savoy for a series of press conferences, a publisher's launch and cocktail party all to herald her latest history -- Torment at Trafalgar.

"We'll stay in a suite -- or rather, I will," announced Patricia. "Charisma,

you and Penelope will share an adjoining bedroom. I'm sure we'll all have a lovely time." Having checked in, Charisma and I made sure our employer's suite was fully stocked with champagne, spirits and beer to cater for the copious capacity of the press. But first there was a BBC TV crew, which drank only orange juice, followed by another from team from some commercial channel.

Next came he press and magazines, which made up for the lack of intake by the TV crews by making serious inroads into the bubbly and booze provided by myself, Charisma and a stunningly-attired Karla. Their combined thirsts, the agent assured me, was "par for the course".

By 5 o'clock Patricia announced she was "talked out about fucking Trafalgar" and took a bath, while Charisma and I had a quick, but passionate, sex session before we showered together and got ready for the publisher's launch of Torment at Trafalgar.

The function in the hotel's Siemens Room was attended by about 50 or 60 people and the man from The Times Literary Supplement immediately tried to launch himself on me. He was a tall, grey-haired and hawk-nosed old codger of about 60, but Charisma rescued me and introduced him to one of her dark-skinned lady friends. Later, I noticed he was talking intently to her in a corner, stroking her lush, leather-skirted bum.

But to be fair, The Times had been very kind to my employer's latest historical offering. The review in the TLS noted: "Her latest tome reveals a wealth of historical research which only adds to the torrid tale. Although the 'steamier' scenes were perhaps a trifle too detailed for this reviewer, they will no doubt increase the pulse rate of her many millions of fans around the world."

The Daily Telegraph, while somewhat more censorious, surely added to the book's readership when it noted: "Vivid descriptions of intensely erotic tortures for some of the male - and female -- protagonists, make for somewhat disturbing reading, a comment which will make not one jot of difference to this remarkable author's huge readership."

The Sun had taken a somewhat raunchier tack. "Phew, what a scorcher!" its reviewer had panted. "Floggings, punishments, hot sex and steamy nights as Horatio takes on the appalling Frog navy. Don't put it down -- it'll burn the furniture!"

Speaking of The Sun, an oleaginous little photographer carrying what looked

like to be a hugely expensive camera, persuaded Patricia to pose between me and Charisma for the paper's gossip column.

As we stood closely together on a little stage at one end of the room, he lewdly called out: "Come on, darlings, show us a bit more cleavage!"

The picture eventually appeared in one of The Sun's gossip columns -- but isn't the paper one long gossip column? - under the heading "A trio of bodices we'd like to rip". But I do have to confess we appeared to have acceded to his request over the amount of cleavage on show.

Finally, the speeches had been made, the last hangers-on drifted away, including the Times Literary Supplement man cuddling up to Charisma's friend, and Charisma and I flanked Patricia as we made our way back upstairs.

Outside her suite, Patricia said: "OK, Charisma, come in with me. Penelope,

I want you in my room in 10 minutes -- naked."

In my room, I stripped off but kept my high heels on, checked my watch, had

a quick vodka and tonic from the room bar, and opened the door to my employer's suite.

There, in the centre of the large suite, side-by-side stood Patricia and Charisma, both naked like me, both with high-heeled shoes on their feet, like me.

Patricia was holding a cruel-looking little leather lash. In her other hand

was a copy of what appeared to be Torment at Trafalgar.

I moved forward and stood in front of her. Patricia gave me a broad smile and held the book out to me. "Here, my dear," she said, "this is a little gift for you." I took the book and opened it. The inside first page had a scrawled inscription: "To my divine researcher, Penelope, all my love, Patricia."

"Turn to the dedication page," said Patricia, as she bent the lash, flexing

it into a sort of u-shape.

I read the dedication: "To Penelope, without whose assistance and inspiration this story could never have been told."

It was so sweet, what could I say?

The best I could manage was a rather feeble cliché: "How can I ever thank you?"

Patricia looked at Charisma and they both smiled.

"Well," said my employer, "for starters you can get down on your knees ...."