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Chapter 4
Dawn breaks to find Andrew tied between a pair of columns that form the entryway to Eliza’s dining room. His arms are bound tight, but his feet are free, not that this is any help to him, at all.
Flora holds Izac steady. Both males are as naked and vulnerable as they had been the night before and Andrew now wears nothing but a mocking crown of thorns on his head and a collar of the same around his neck. Andrea had made it the night before, from the skeleton of a climbing rosebush she’d found growing up the side of Eliza’s house. The thorns that jut out into Andrew’s flesh are large and sharp-they slice his skin with every movement and thin tracks of blood trail down his face and neck everywhere they touch. They do not compare, however, to the jagged barbs on the stiff, branch-like device that is being used to whip him.
Under the light of a full, cold near-Autumn moon, Andrea had ventured into a far corner of the ranch house’s garden and emerged with a cutting from a rosebush. Something old and near-dead that Eliza hasn’t managed to have removed and that put some punctures in the flesh of Andrea’s hands even as she carefully cut it and brought it inside.
Eliza swings the makeshift cane, now, her hands undamaged by the savage instrument by means of a handle that Flora and Andrea had, together, crafted.
The skin of Andrew’s back is in shreds as everyone looks on, Izac whimpering while Flora whispers in his ear that it’s all his fault. Andrea looks particularly smug.
“Hey Andrew!” Gemma yells. “Look at this!” She takes the opportunity to deep throat a peeled banana and Andrew’s cock twitches in response, his eyes horrified and desperate. He shrieks as a blow cuts across his shoulder blades. A puddle of blood has pooled at his feet on the hardwood floor. He tries to dance away from the rose whip, eliciting laughter all around, and calling attention to his ass, which bounces around rather fetchingly as he tries in vain to escape.
Kara is on the phone in the kitchen-Izac hears her over his father’s cries of pain, telling his school that, “Izac won’t be in, today, no, bronchitis, probably won’t be back for at least a week.”
She’s cheerful, perky, a perfect imitation of Andrew’s secretary and Izac feels a fresh wave of despair over his situation.
The whipping finally ends when the early morning light has suffused the room with gold, even through the curtains, and Eliza heads off to work. Andrew, of course, has little excuse not to be in this morning, when he left so early the afternoon before. Flora dresses his considerable injuries and sends him off to earn his six-figure salary in full.
“I wish I could be here to see help you train Izac,” says Gemma with genuine feeling, as she slings her schoolbag over her shoulder.
“You could skip, you know. You never miss, anyway and I’ll be your mom would call you in, in a heartbeat, if you asked her,” says Rhiannon
“My mom wouldn’t even notice I was gone, in the first place. I call myself in sick, when I have to. I just don’t like missing class and I’m going to be late as it is.”
“Well, have fun, anyway,” says Andrea. “You can brief us when you get back.”
Kara ushers Gemma out to her car, where Rosa is already waiting, leaving the slave and his new owners in the relative morning peace.
“First things first,” says Flora, pushing herself to a standing position using Izac’s shoulders. “Izac, if you want to eat in this house, you have to earn it. To earn your breakfast, you must first submit to a spanking for the viewing benefit of two beautiful ladies.”
Flora pulls out a chair from the dining room table, an uncomfortable and intricately crafted number that is at least a century old, but still sturdy. She bids Rhiannon take a seat on it and Rhiannon does, smoothing the yellow silk of her brief dress. Flora beckons Izac and, when he hesitates to obey, Andrea wastes no time in seizing him by the arm and dragging him to the other young woman.
He offers little resistance, perhaps because he is in pain from the trials of the night before, but also likely because he no longer knows how. Since his enslavement, things that came easily to him, less than twenty-four hours before, seem out of reach. His entitlement and confidence seem to have belonged to someone else and he can barely remember how to say no.
Flora quickly sets up her camera, intending to get a few shots to make up for her absence at the office, today.
Rhiannon and Flora pull his limp body down over Rhiannon’s knees and his cock brushes Rhiannon’s smooth skin and the silk chiffon of her dress. He feels himself grow hard as a weight sinks into his groin, though he tries to stave off the inevitable. This grows even more impossible as Rhiannon caresses and prods his ass with her fingers. The flaxen hair that decorates his chest has not touched his back or the cheeks of his ass, she notes, though what little flesh there is to backside could be a bit more toned.
“We’ll have to work on that,” she says and, with one more smoothing caress down his back and buttocks, she lays a blow across his ass.
It isn’t an especially hard smack, though the sound of it seems to echo in the otherwise silent dining area. Izac’s ass tenses up, nonetheless, and the next blow causes him to cry out, though it wasn’t any harder than the first.
“Quiet, you!” Flora snaps. Rhiannon hits him, again and again. As his ass grows redder, the blows grow sharper and quicker, until she’s peppering his ass with slaps. She shows no mercy to the squirming young man, hitting him as hard as she can as he muffles his cries of pain on gritted teeth. Tears track down his face from blackened eyes, into his mouth, where he tastes them like shame. It barely registers on his tongue as he gasps and tries not to scream.
His ass is a perfectly even cherry red, now. He can’t see it, but he’s sure it is-if it isn’t burned black with the heat of Rhiannon’s punishing hand. When she lets up, he is surprised and horrified to find that he has grown hard.
Andrea and Flora, who have watched the spectacle with arousal, notice this and Flora involuntarily thrusts her pelvis, ever-so-slightly, in his direction, just once. Just once is enough to coax a drop of pre cum from Izac’s cock as he is made to kneel, facing his former classmate and her mentor.
“I think,” says Flora, “that our little show has had some unintended results.”
Shamefaced, Izac looks down the floor, where the pearly drop of fluid has fallen. He has a strange urge to lick it up, an urge he does not obey and that only worsens his intense humiliation.
“I tell you what, boy,” says Flora. “Your spanking has given me a bit of a boner, too, in a strictly ladylike way. I’m not touching myself in front of you, you dirty boy, and it’s beneath me to go hide in the bathroom. If you’ll do me the kindness of taking care of my needs, I’ll let you have some relief, yourself.”
She doesn’t wait for an answer-she just strips her pink dress off in a single, fluid motion to reveal herself in all her glory-her cunt dripping and open with arousal.
Izac smells her musk in the air and he twitches, wanting to sink his flesh into hers, but when he goes to her, she pushes him to his knees.
“Have you ever licked a woman’s pussy, boy?” she asks.
He shakes his head, mutely. He’s closer to the source of the smell, now, and he can’t tell if he likes it, anymore. It’s a strong smell and he’s not sure what it will taste like, or if he will like it. But, he has no choice.
“I’ll teach you, boy,” says Flora. “It’s a skill you’ll need to hone if you’re to survive in this household.”
He extends the tip of his red tongue to caress the smooth, pale skin of her outer lips, tasting salty sweat. He tastes nothing too offensive and his next lick is bolder, deeper into Flora’s folds to the pink slickness inside her.
He is pleasantly surprised by her flavor-she tastes mild and sweet, like kissing someone, but better. She tastes like a girl, he decides, as she sighs and leans back against the wall to brace herself.
“Like that, boy, ooooh, right there, but don’t lick a hole in it,” she says, as he focuses his efforts on one particular mound of flesh beneath his tongue.
“Oh, don’t do that, either,” she says, seizing a handful of his hair as he sinks his tongue into her vaginal cavity. She pulls him back, ever so slightly, and he obligingly refocuses his efforts. Flora has grown wetter and hotter and, with that, her taste has changed somewhat. Her cum has begun to taste like sugared tears, to him, and this makes him, for some reason, ravenous for more and more of her pussy. He swirls his tongue around that swollen little bead of nerves and skin and delves into the delicate, silky folds of her skin and reaches to stroke himself. The movement of his hands to his swollen cock results in a sharp slap on the shoulder.
“Not yet,” says Flora, her voice gone harsh with lust.
He moans into her and laps her cum desperately.
She cries out, then, and slides down the wall, ivory paint wet with her sweat. Izac holds her up as best he can, placing his hands under her ample ass, as she suffocates him with her wet cunt. She’s cumming, now, and she squirts into his mouth. He swallows it, feeling it coat his throat like a particularly delicious, strangely primal tasting egg white. He strives to lick the rest of her wetness up, as the weight of her forces him to recede and she slides the rest of the way down to the wood floor. She pushes him away.
“No more, for now, boy. You’ve done well. I had considered that, had you done poorly, my pussy might be your morning meal in full. But you did wonderfully, for a beginner. Now, you may have some relief for yourself, my dear.”
She made him lie down on the brightly lit floor, his cock standing up straight.
“Just a moment,” she said, fetching her camera. She adjusted a few things on the device and said, “You may begin.”
Izac hadn’t planned on being photographed. Oh, sure, she’d taken some snapshots of him while he was being spanked. But he hadn’t been able to help that, he was at his classmate’s mercy, but now-he takes his cock in his trembling hand. Now he has some choice in the matter. Instead of resisting, and earning another round of pain to his already abused ass, he takes his willing member in his hand and begins jerking. He closes his eyes as Flora takes the first shot. The shame fills him, not softening his dick, but making him want to cum all the more. He wants Flora to take pictures of him whacking off and show them to whoever she likes, he wants the women in the room to see him, all hard and helpless and needing. He feels vulnerable and the fact that he also feels good-so, so good-does not escape him.
The cum shoots out of his cock, washing down his twitching dick as he moans, not caring if the girls hear him cry out like a whore, and making a huge, sticky mess.
Flora and the girls are pleased with the pictures and sit oohing and ahhing over them for a while, as Izac lies prone and horrified with himself.
He’s never used the word “slut” to describe a man, before, but he feels like one, now. When Flora brings his meal of orange juice and frozen waffles into the dining room and sets them on the floor before him, he barely stirs. She has to kick him to get him moving and the numb, shamed look in his eyes, when he finally opens them and begins to eat, makes Andrea flinch.
“I was going to have Andrea piss in your juice, dear Izac, but you’ve just done such a good job training, today, that I think we’ll save the piss for later,” says Flora.
The girls laugh nervously, but Izac doesn’t think Flora is joking. There is nothing so outrageous, anymore, that he believes it can’t happen to him.
He eats, though he is no longer hungry, though he can feel the acidic juice bubbling in his stomach and threatening to come back up. He doesn’t know when he’ll have another meal, so he forces it all to stay down.
“Now, girls,” says Flora, when the last crumb of waffle has disappeared from Izac’s plate. “It’s time for you to learn how to insert a buttplug. In our slave, of course, not yourselves.”
There is laughter all around.
Izac’s stomach clenches, again, and he swallows his rising gorge.
Flora produces a small, vaguely egg-shaped object with a wide base and a small bottle from her bag of photography equipment.
“Girls, when plugging a male’s asshole, or anyone’s, for that matter, you must always remember to use an actual plug-regular vibrators get lost up there and they’re a bitch and a half to get out.”
“My mom’s a doctor,” says Andrea. “I’ve heard the stories.”
Rhiannon gasps and then giggles.
“Well, I don’t think we’ll have to go to the emergency room, as such, since we have spells that can help us in such prediciments,” says Flora. “But you’ll be a while in learning those.”
She turns to the slave.
“Izac, I want you kneel on the floor with your ass in the air and your forehead on the floor. Then spread your knees, while keeping your feet pressed together at the soles. Can you do that, boy?”
Izac obeys, moving as if on autopilot.
He lays his arms out in front of him, palms up, as if begging. Flora nods approvingly.
“Very good boy.”
She beckons the young women to inspect Izac’s exposed asshole. It is puckered and tight, never before penetrated by so much as a finger. He tenses and gasps as Flora’s cool finger takes a dab of oil from the small bottle she’d stored in her bag and massages it firmly into Izac’s hole. He’s unused to such stimulation on this tender spot and so his balls begin to tighten almost immediately, as Flora works her way into his last virgin orifice with a probing digit. She stretches him and scratches him, with her talon like fingernails, and soon she two fingers inside him, then three. His lithe, young body thrusts into her touch, forcing his ass even higher into the air.
He opens his mouth to moan into the blond wood his face is pressed into and that’s when Flora slips the plug into him. The pressure hurts, like when she slid the first finger into him, the smooth edges not cutting into him like Flora’s long nails had. But, like Flora’s invasive probing, the plug feels good. It is, in fact, pressing against a little part of him that he wishes it would press harder. It feels like it is only just tickling something that needs more pressure to be anything more than a maddeningly light touch. The plug hurts, but he finds himself wishing it was much, much bigger and longer. He wiggles and shifts, trying to stimulate this spot some more, but he can’t and the weight builds in his belly, again, mocking him with teasing pleasure. ‘I just came,’ thinks Izac. ‘Isn’t it supposed to take longer than this for me to get all horny, again?’
Flora takes a few more snapshots, while he’s lying with his ass aloft, all while explaining some of the finer details of plugs and male asses to her pupils.
“The plugs we use on you,” she says to Izac, “will increase in size as your ass stretches to accommodate them. You will find yourself taking larger and larger toys, until one day you will be able to take a whole army of big-cocked men relentlessly fucking your ass without tearing.”
Izac shivers at the thought. He thinks of his church, now, and of how much more they would hate him if they knew what might lie in his future.
Bad enough that he has been violated in every way he can imagine, by a group of women. They’d excommunicate him for sure if they saw how little he’d fought to maintain his honor in the face of these sex fiends. But to be raped by a pack of big, hairy men? Unthinkable.
Flora slaps his sore ass.
“Up!”
She looks into his blue eyes, now clouded with shame and tears, and sees the exhaustion there.
“You’ve been very good, today, my boy. You didn’t sleep much, last night, did you?”
“No, Master,” he mumbles.
“I think it’s time for you to rest. Girls, if you’d like, help yourselves to anything in the fridge and read those books Eliza gave you, the elementary magic ones.”
She takes the slaveboy by the arm and pulls him away.
The girls hear her speaking to him, as they exit, saying “You pray all you want, no one will hear you, but if you remove that butt plug, there’ll be hell to pay.”
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