This story contains adult material and, if you’re not of age to read that/don’t like what you see here, don’t read it.  I think it goes without saying that some of the acts that take place in this work of fiction should never be attempted by anyone, professional or otherwise, living or dead.  Rape is bad, M’kay?

It is unseasonably cold outside for so early in September and the skies are clouded gray with the threat of an early snowfall or a downpour of freezing rain.  This being a suburb of Denver, the wind and the promise of worse to come, has deterred almost no one from their daily business.

Thus, no one in particular notices the two women enjoying a late lunch, in a tiny Italian restaurant called Cecilia’s.  Their table is a corner one and the blonde, bundled up in her fur-lined white winter coat despite relative warmth of the restaurant, is bunched up next to the wall.  Anyone looking at her would say she looked trapped, but fortunately, no one is looking at her.  Her blue eyes are on her plate, intensely studying what had been described to her as a gourmet mixture of baby greens and had turned out to be an intensely unsatisfactory meal.  She pulls her coat around herself, tighter, and the red fur lining tickles her chin. 

“I don’t like it, Eliza,” she says to her dinner partner, at last.

“Why ever not, Flora?” asks the other woman, a hint of amusement in her voice that suggests she knows exactly ‘why ever not.’  Eliza is Flora’s opposite in many ways, with dark hair to Flora’s ash blonde, delicate boned and slender to Flora’s prodigious bust and curves, a porcelain doll to Flora’s warm tan. 

Both women have one particular interest in common, however, and this is what has brought them together over lunch.

“Why isn’t Kara here, again?”

“I told you, she had to work.  Apparently the florist’s business is more cutthroat than either of us can imagine.”

“Goddammit…You’re quite sure he’s 18?”

“Of course.  I’m pretty damned sure he’s a virgin, too.”

“But the recruits-”

“Need someone to train on, anyway, and I’m tired of borrowing Andrew, since my last pet’s unfortunate accident, and I know damn well you hate sharing him.  I know my girls.  Can I trust that you know yours?”

“Of course,” says Flora, offended.  “Andrea is practically my sister, I’ve just been waiting for her to come of age so I could bring her in!”

“Okay, so, if we know the recruits aren’t going to freak out when they realize we keep slaves-”

“An unwilling slave-”

“Debatably, my dear, there’s no other kind.”

This stops Flora in her tracks.  She swizzles a breadstick violently in the remains of her salad dressing and takes a vicious bite out of it.  Eliza smiles crookedly and goes back to her tiramisu. 

“I’ll be there,” says Flora.

Inwardly, Eliza rolls her eyes.  As if the Vice President of the Denver chapter of the Heartbreakers’ Society would miss an initiation night. 

“I’ve got a few things to take care of,” she says adjusting her wine-colored turtleneck and gathering her long, leather trench coat about her slim shoulders.  Her straight hair spills down the back of it in a cascade of black on black, a silky length that even Flora, with her long blonde tresses, secretly envies.  Flora scampers outside, tan skirt whipping around her knees and Eliza strolls leisurely through the bitter wind to her car, a luxurious older model Lexus that she’s had for many years.  She’s taking the day off, today, but she’s going in to work, now, to pay a surprise visit to one of her coworkers.

The severe click of Eliza’s heels on tile turn few heads as she enters the office where she works, everyone here is used the sound, by now.  Nonetheless, a few men’s eyes cut her way as she sweeps into the building, her leather coat trailing like a cape, her long hair fanning out behind her.  These men watch her until she disappears into the elevator, adjust themselves and hope no one noticed their momentary indisposition.

Eliza noticed, of course, she always does, and as the elevator ascends, she reminds herself to consider bringing one or two of her better looking admirers into the fold, perhaps as a gift to the one of the new girls.

She gets off the elevator and smiles kindly at the blonde secretary, a young-ish thing with a hippie name and a yellow, lacy dress that borders on unprofessional and raises Eliza’s well-manicured eyebrows. 

“Daffodil?” she asks.  “Is Andrew in, today?”

“Why, yes, Ms. Powers, he is.  He, um, asked me to hold his calls for the next hour, though.”

Eliza smiles, winsomely.  “I rather expect I’m the reason he asked you to hold his calls, dear,” she lies.  “We have a meeting scheduled.”

“Oh, um, I see.  Well, I guess I’ll buzz you in?”

Eliza waits politely while the secretary does just that.

Eliza enters the vast office and quietly shuts the door behind her, locking it.  She never takes her eyes off the pale, older business man frozen with fear behind the desk that, along with a panoramic view of the city through the vast windows, dominates the room. 

“Strip and come here,” says Eliza.  She checks to make sure that they will not be disturbed and the man, Andrew, hastens to obey, to turn off the intercom and to close the blinds that shield the world’s eyes from his office. 

“Master,” he says, in a voice softened by fear and training.  Eliza smiles at the title that she and the other officers in the Heartbreakers’ Society prefer to be addressed by.  It took a while to train Andrew to use it, but he is a quick learner.  “Master, I didn’t know you were coming.  I might have prepared.”

“Have you something to prepare, Sugar?”

Andrew, slave name of Sugar, is forty-something, some few years older than Eliza, and has gone a bit to seed-his short-cropped blond hair is lightening to white and he has gained a layer of fat that hadn’t been there in his thirties.  He has broken into a cold sweat in his three piece suit, which he rapidly sheds.  His pale face has gone paler with fear, not just anticipation, Eliza realizes, and now she sees why.  In her three inch heeled boots, she towers over his barefoot form as he cowers before her.  He is about to strip off his shorts, but Eliza stops him with a soft, but commanding, word. 

“What are those?” she asks.

“What?  What?” he whimpers, knowing exactly the answer to his question.

Eliza strides across the thickly carpeted floor, seizes the elastic of his underwear with an immaculate, pink nailed finger and snaps it.  He jumps.

“I’m sure that I told you to wear your pink lace panties, today Andrew.  What are these?”

“Uh,” says Andrew, showing off the brilliant mind that had got him this corner office.

“They look, to me, suspiciously like white cotton y-fronts.  Do my eyes deceive me?”
       “No, Master.”

“I thought not.  Why, Andrew, are you wearing them?”

“Oh, please Master!  I did wear the pink ones, I swear I did, but they were so itchy!  I just took them off for a little while!”

“Andrew, are you under the impression that you are too good to wear women’s clothing?”

“No, M-”

“Do you think that, as a man, you are entitled to any more comfort than a woman?” 

“No, M-”

“Have you not seen what your Circe-forsaken secretary is wearing today?  What do you want to bet she’s wearing a bra and panties to match?  Shall I invite her in to check?”

“Oh, please, M-”

“Take them off, before I tear them off, and be thankful I’m not letting her in to see what a disgrace her boss really is.”

Andrew all but falls over, throwing himself out of the offending garment.

“Now,” said Eliza, taking a seat in Andrew’s high-backed, comfortable office chair.  “I want you to undress me, starting with my feet.”
       Andrew rushes to obey, kneeling naked before her and slipping her boots off with reverential tenderness. 

“You are not allowed to kiss my feet, today, slave, because you have been very bad.”

“Yes, Master, I have misbehaved.”  He unrolls her knee high silk stockings, hands atremble with lust, and barely restraining himself from taking her rosebud pink toes into his mouth, to suck and worship with his tongue.  As he undoes her pants, she strips off her close-fitting sweater, and rises to allow him to help her out of her professional-looking slacks.  She stands, now, in black leather bra and bikini panties, so much flawless skin bare and her small, but round, breasts inviting Andrew to take each mouthful of flesh and suck and kiss their nipples to hardness.  He knows he will not be allowed, not today.  His shaft has grown to full height and stiffness, now, and Eliza bids him to kneel on his own suit jacket and spread his ass fully open for her.  He obeys and it bobs and bounces around, making him look foolish. 

The wind blows and it is so quiet in his office that he can hear its insistent wails as Eliza stuff his mouth full of his cotton shorts and forces his forehead down to the carpet.  He sees, out of the corner of his eye, the beautiful woman go to her carelessly discarded coat and, from a secret chamber sewn into the lining, extract a riding crop of the same black leather as her bra and panties.

Andrew swallows his fear around his own pre cum stained shorts and when the first blow hits his raised ass, he moans, softly so as to not alert his secretary to his distress.

Three cracks with the crop in a row and he knows that Eliza is not hitting him nearly as hard as she wants to, nor as hard as he deserves.  He fears that the sound will carry as the rapid-fire snap of leather on his reddening ass sets his whole body on fire with a delicious, sting-y sensation that is, for Andrew, more pain than pleasure.  He feels his skin tingle with warmth beneath Eliza’s blows and the slight chill that has seeped in from outside gives way to uncomfortable heat.  He’s glad, now, that he’s kept the thermostat down, today, as beads of moisture collect at his hairline and seep into the carpet.  His cock is still hard and, as Eliza punishes him with the crop, the tip rubs against the silk lining of his suit jacket.  His balls tighten and more pre cum leaks from his cock head, staining the fabric on which he kneels a darker shade of gray and likely ruining it.  Eliza sees the slave’s balls contract and strikes him a blow on his vulnerable and exposed asshole.  He stifles his scream, biting down hard on his gag, and it comes out as a desperate groan.  His entire body has gone as red as his well-cropped ass with the effort to keep from crying out.  His poor anus contracts as if trying to escape another painful blow. 

Eliza pauses and allows Andrew’s harsh breath and the wind’s low moans to mingle in the spacious office.  She’s wet; Andrew can smell it through the buttery soft leather as he comes back to himself, pain sharpening his senses instead of dulling them.  Then, she strikes one more blow, this one to his shaved, red scrotum.  This time, the only sound the breath she’s knocked out of him, coming out in a whoosh tinged with a whimper. 

“Dress,” she commands him.  “I was going to let you eat my pussy, and maybe even cum, but you’ve been a bad boy, and you haven’t begun to earn it.”  Eliza dresses herself and reapplies her pastel pink lipstick, while Andrew lies there, recovering.  She won’t repeat her order, not just yet, because she’s too busy admiring her handiwork on the tapestry of Andrew’s red-splotched ass and because she’s not sure he can move, just yet.  She rifles through his desk drawers, looking for the infamous itchy pink panties.  When she finds them, under some errant paperwork that made the rounds at the last board meeting, he’s up and gathering his clothes.  He staggers to her, takes the panties without being ordered, and slips into them. 

“Andrew?  Sugar?”

“Yes, Master?”

“You will be at my ranch no later than four this afternoon.  By four-thirty, you will be locked in your cell and wearing nothing but your pink panties.  Flora will be there, and she will see to it that you have obeyed me.  Understood?”

“Yes, Master.”

“If you fail me in this, you will be subjected to a worse punishment than ever before.  Understood?”

“Yes, Master.”

“It’s three, already, so you should probably get going, shortly after I leave.  Tell your secretary that you’re feeling a touch off-color; it won’t be a lie, after all!”

As she leaves, she hears Andrew telling his secretary that he is coming down with a touch of the flu and will be leaving shortly.  Eliza smiles and wonders if the secretary even has a clue.

She navigates the suburban streets, attracting no attention with her posh car and young professional appearance.  She could be just another housewife coming home from a shopping trip, or a young working woman on her way home to husband and kids.  Eliza is waiting for something, a call, and when she receives it, she will make a call of her own, and pick up something she’s been wanting for herself for a very long time.  The call does come, shortly after she’s slid the sleek car into park, and she’s about to leave when she notices something.  The prey has come to her.

The pair walk down the sidewalk, heedless of the cold, gray weather that has descended upon them.  A boy, 18 years old and a high school senior, dressed in the uniform of his private high school, and a college girl in a hot pink dress and heels better suited for a cocktail party than attending classes.  She has the boy’s coat on over her slim, otherwise bare, shoulders, but she’s still shivering.  They’re both blond, this young man and woman, though the girl is tanned and her gold hair is in loose ringlets, the most charming and natural thing about her.  The boy is pale and his hair has a watery color to it that is not at all appealing, though it falls stylishly over his blue eyes.  There is a flush to his cheeks that is either from the wind or simply his proximity to a girl that is model tall and thin and dressed the part, too. 

Eliza hangs up the phone quietly, as if she’s afraid she might disturb her quarry and send them running, like gazelles with a lioness after them.  She cracks the window ever so slightly to listen as they talk.

“Thanks for walking me home, Izac,” says the girl.

“Anytime, Layla.  It’s nice to hang out with you, now that you’re in college and stuff.  I, um, you know, if you want to hang out some more, my church is having a pizza party, this next Wednesday.”

Eliza rolls her eyes and stifles the urge to jump out of the car and slap the boy silly.  A church party is not, she feels, a good place for a date, not a first one, especially, though maybe a last one.  Layla, however, merely giggles and says, “I’d be glad to.  Pick me up at four-thirty?”

“Yeah, I-”

The young woman bends-she is taller than him in her heels, she has to bend-and plants a gentle, chaste kiss on the boy’s pale lips.  The kiss smears her bright pink lipstick on his mouth and making him go the shade of a beet beneath his colorless hair.

Eliza tries not to gag on the sweetness of it all, while somewhere in the back of her head, the innocence of the scene before her actually turns her on.  The girl gives Izac back his coat and rushes, as quickly as she can rush, into the split level before which Eliza has parked.  The door closes and Eliza springs, calling Izac’s name.

He looks around guiltily, as if such a chaste kiss is some kind of illicit sin, to be covered up at the earliest possibility.  He sees Eliza and his sense of shame, as yet unearned, deepens.  He goes to her, pokes his head in the now fully-opened passenger side window and says, “So, um, did you witness all of that, Aunt ‘Liza?”

“I’m not your aunt by any stretch of the imagination.  And yes, I did witness that.”

He moans, humiliated.  “Don’t tell dad, okay?”

“Your secret is safe with me.  Speaking of your dad, he sent me to pick you up.  He’s working late, tonight, and he doesn’t want you to stay home alone.”

The boy’s embarrassment gives way to exasperation here, and he slumps, right there in the car window, like he’s just up and died of the humiliation of it all. 

“Come on, kiddo.  The ranch isn’t so bad.  Flora made her world-famous fudge, when I told her you were coming over.”

He raises his blue eyes to Eliza’s silver ones and says, “I’m 18 years old and my dad won’t even let me stay at home alone over night.  He’s been such a controlling jerk since mom died, like my having a car or being independent at all is going to make me get cancer, like she did.”  He slams open the car door, throws his skinny self into the passenger seat, and slams it closed, again. 

“I’ll talk to him, soon.  He does seem to be taking it to the extreme.  One wonders what he’s trying to protect you from.”

“The world.”

Eliza smiles, faintly.  “So, how was your birthday, last week?  Sorry I couldn’t make it.”

“It was pretty good.  Say, Eliza, you go to church, don’t you?”

In a manner of speaking, she wanted to say.  “I attend worship services regularly, yes.”

“I was gonna invite you to my baptism, yesterday, but dad wouldn’t let me.  He’s such a jerk.”

“Your, um, oh?”

“I’m ready to become a real leader in our local flock.  I invited Layla to church with me, maybe she’ll get saved.  Of course, it’s ungodly for females to be leaders in the True Church and your souls aren’t as important, Pastor doesn’t think, as those of men.  But still, I think you have a special sort of importance, you bear the children, after all.”

Eliza is shocked at the turn of this conversation and, though she knows that all the words in that bit of logorrhea are technically words, she isn’t sure she likes them strung together like that.  She wants to say that if he ever tells her he has “something on his heart,” she’ll smack the stupid out of him.  She also wants to ask if his dad knows or, worse, encourages him.

She asks, instead, “Do you go to church, often?”

“At least three times a week,” he says, the sin of pride creeping into his voice.

“When I was a kid, they only had it once a week.  So, does your dad go with you?”

“Usually, when he can get away from work.  I’d like him to take a more active role, but he just doesn’t have time.”  The boy’s face crumples into an entirely unappealing frown.  “I just don’t think that’s godly, spending so much time working that you have no time for Jesus.”

‘Circe,’ thinks Eliza, ‘no wonder he’s still a virgin.  I’d almost doubted that, until now.’

“When did you start at this church?”

“Oh, a few years after mom died.  Dad thought it was a pretty solid place for a church home.  I’m glad he did.”

She lets him ramble on about church, school and more church, glad that he never let her get a word in edgewise, since she wants to think.  She hadn’t known that the boy was being set up to become a woman hater in a church that encouraged the stifling and (likely) abuse of women and girls.  She’s not, however, surprised that his dad is behind it.  That is one of the major reasons behind tonight’s forced intervention on this boy’s behalf, by the Heartbreakers’ Society. 

They pull in at Eliza’s sprawling country home and the Society’s Colorado headquarters.  Eliza wastes no time in ushering the boy into the dining room where he tucks into the homemade fudge and the tall glass of milk.  Eliza excuses herself and when she comes back, the boy has passed out from the potent sleeping potion in his little snack.

TBC

There are three young women in Eliza’s spacious kitchen, all Izac’s age and all scantily dressed.  The room is lit with candles against the gloom of twilight, which is just beginning to bloom into true night.

“When do we start?” asks a thin girl in silvery, high-heeled sandals.  “My feet are killing me.”  She tugs the dress higher over her small breasts, wishing she’d worn something, anything else.  The big, fuchsia blooms that sprawl across her pretty pink dress are a mockery of impending snow.  Her only concession to the weather, aside from a coat now hanging in Eliza’s closet, is the length of her dress, which hits below her knees. 

“Rhiannon,” says a curvier, darker girl, exasperated.  “We have to wait until Kara and her friend get here.  Eliza said so.”

“Andrea’s right,” said the petite redhead, who has been standing silently by the sink, all night, presumably lost in thought.  “Eliza says she has a surprise for us, that’s why we’re waiting in here, you know.  If your feet hurt, take off those ridiculous heels.” 

Rhiannon glares at her and tosses her mane of golden brown curls. 

“You’re one to talk about ‘ridiculous heels,’ Gemma,” she says, nodding towards the redhead’s six-inch black spikes.  Rhiannon’s brown eyes can’t help but trace up Gemma’s slender ivory legs to the hem of her blue Catholic schoolgirl skirt.  They may be ridiculous, but she looks good in them.

“Yeah, but I know how to walk in them.”

Any further comment in belayed by Flora, sweeping into the room dressed to make the girls, in their provocative outfits, look like nuns.  She has undergone a transformation since her lunch with Eliza.  The only spots of color on her are the deep red high heeled pumps she has donned for the occasion, her talon-like nails and her ruby-painted mouth.  The rest of her is white, white, white, turning her tanned flesh to something more like Gemma’s ivory, like a herald of winter to come.  The robe she wears is floor-length, but see-through and it parts just below her high, prodigious breasts, which are bare beneath the silk, and leaves her shaved pussy entirely exposed.  Rhiannon can see her nipples clearly through the thin silk and she doubts that they’re hard because of the cold.  It’s actually quite warm, in here.

“Is Kara here, yet?” Flora asks, running an absent hand down the laced front of her bodice, loosening it ever so slightly.  “Your surprise is almost ready.  I at least want Kara and her girl here to see what we’ve got you.  I’m afraid Rosa-that’s Kara’s girl-won’t be interested in it, at all, but nonetheless.”

“No,” Andrea answers and, despite her semi-scolding of Rhiannon, earlier, a sulk has sneaked into Andrea’s voice.  Her dark hair, a charming pixie cut, falls into her eyes, and she brushes it away, rather fetchingly, if Rhiannon does say so, herself.  She notices, also, that Andrea has goose bumps running down her tea-colored legs, from the hem of her dark magenta mini-dress to the strap of her clear, heeled sandals.  Rhiannon would like to warm those legs with her mouth, kissing the other girl until she grew so hot and wet that the impending ice storm brewing outside would flee to cooler climes.  Instead, she saves that hot need building inside her for the ceremony to come.  The Heartbreaker’s Society has something special in store for them, something rare, she is sure.  Eliza has explained what the Society is about and what they do, and Rhiannon thinks that it, in and of itself, is a rare jewel of an organization.

  Everyone jumps when Kara comes in the door, leading a beautiful woman with thick, straight red hair down her back and breasts that strain against her warm, yellow sweater.  The red haired woman takes in the assembled group, lingering on and blushing at the sight of Flora, and then looks down at her own long, gray pencil skirt.  “Oh,” is all she says.

“Well, I did tell you, dear,” says Kara, in her ever-so-faint British accent.  Kara herself stands a head shorter than her partner and new recruit, though she exudes much more confidence.  This may be owing to the fact that Kara, herself, is bedecked in nothing more than a purple corset, embellished with burgundy and gold and a skirt that recalls Flora’s robe in that it leaves little to the imagination.

Gemma studies the new arrival.  “Why didn’t I think of that?” she mutters, and Rhiannon says, back, “because Eliza told us to ‘dress sexy.’”

Gemma watches Rosa as Kara and her partner are admitted into the other room, blue eyes lingering on Rosa’s pert behind.

“Well, there are different kinds of sexy,” she says, when Rosa is out of hearing.  “And this,” she indicates her exposed midriff with a dainty hand, “is kind of scant for a night like tonight.”

When Izac comes to, it’s already full dark, outside.  What little light has leaked through the clouds from the nearly-full moon illuminates nothing.  He’s groggy, still, from the potion he wolfed down with his milk and fudge and he’s not entirely sure where he is or how he got there.  He’s feeling rather stiff, in more ways than one, and this makes him unbelievably uncomfortable.  As he becomes more aware of his surroundings, he realizes that he’s laid out on the carpet, in an unfamiliar place and that he’s stripped, but for his shorts.  What’s worse, he can feel an unwelcome breeze about his hard cock and he realizes that his shaft has escaped the confines of his boxers and is now pointing skyward, like a miniature flagpole, with nothing between it and the world but the dark of night.  This won’t do, Izac decides, but when he tries to rise, he realizes that he can’t move. 

He remembers, now, what he was doing before he found himself in this unspeakable predicament.  He remembers sweet chocolate and delicious, ice cold milk.  But nothing after that…his eyes begin to adjust to the dark and shadows become recognizable as antique furniture, not especially comfortable, but beautiful and valuable.  He knows where he is now, that he is nearly naked on the floor of a family friend’s living room.

God, what if one of Eliza’s two female renters was to walk in and see him like this?  Some church leader he’d be, found all but naked on the floor of an older woman’s living room, just days after he’d committed to being a true follower of the way.  He wills his hard cock to wilt, but the traitorous thing only grows harder and arousal rises in him, unbidden, at the thought of being found like this, so helpless.  If plump, big-titted Kara were to walk in on him in this state, why, she could just sit on his cock and have her way with him.  Maybe she and Flora both would stumble upon him and…

“Eliza!” he calls, swallowing his considerable pride.  “Eliza, help!  But close your eyes, I’m not decent!”

“This is true,” says Eliza, frighteningly close by.  “You’re not decent and you never were.”  The lights come on, now, and he sees her, but at first he doesn’t register that it is, in fact, Eliza Powers.  She has shed the dark, conservative clothing he is accustomed to seeing her in and donned something jewel-tone emerald green that leaves her flat midriff exposed from the tops of her jutting hips to the bottoms of her breasts.  She leans over him to look into his eyes and he can smell her, cinnamon breath and a perfume of roses and patchouli, with a hint of smoky leather underneath it all.  He moans in horror and arousal as she runs her pink fingernails down his chest, leaving faint marks and snagging his blond chest hair.

“This has to go,” she says, and plucks a single blond curl from the young man’s belly.

“What are you doing?” he cries.  “God, what are you doing?  Are you out of your mind?  God help me!  God help me!”

“God isn’t here, Izac,” says Eliza in a mockingly cheerful tone.  “Just us!”

Izac looks around, now, and sees Kara and Flora, dressed in even more outlandish clothing than Eliza.  He sees a pretty redheaded woman that he doesn’t know.  She’s staring at him like she’s never seen a male, before.

“Help!” he calls to her, and she just carries on staring, mouth ajar, until he descends into curses that his Pastor would be shocked to hear issuing from his mouth.  Eliza boots him in the ribs, then, with her sleek green pumps, and he descends into tears.

“Izac, in a minute, you’re going to find out exactly why we’ve brought you here and why we are about to do things to you that you’ve fantasized about since you were a boy.”

He quiets his tears as much as he can, desperately wanting an explanation for his current situation.

“First, an introduction.  We are members of a worldwide organization of very capable witches, called the Heartbreaker’s Society.  We are all women; we only accept male slaves and we fully believe in the cause of Female Supremacy.  Our chapter of the society is small, but loyal, and we are adding to it, tonight.”

“When my father finds out about this, he’s going to kill you!” Izac barks, in desperation.

Flora rises from her seat on the damask couch and ushers the three young women in from the kitchen.  They each recognize Izac and Izac, eyes blurry with tears, recognizes them, but it is Gemma who speaks first.

“Why, it’s the stupid, spoiled little shit!  Izac, that’s quite a fine piece of meat you got on you, there!  I’m surprised!”

“Help!” Izac begs, more softly now, growing resigned to his fate.  A fresh wave of tears washes over him and the girls giggle. 

“This is a nice surprise you brought us, Ms. Powers,” says Gemma.  “Really nice.”  Her eyes sweep over Izac’s hard length, again.

Eliza acknowledges the compliment and beckons Andrea forward.  “Tell us what this boy did to you, Andrea, to deserve to be made your slave?” she asks.

“Izac has picked on me since the day we met, our freshman year in high school,” she says, not fully comfortable talking about it in front of so many people.

“He called you racial slurs, didn’t he, because your mother hails from South America.  He called you fat and ugly, too, though anyone with eyes can see that you are not.”

Andrea nods curtly and fixes the crying boy at her feet with a stare of absolute hate.  A string-thin strap of her dress has slipped off her smooth, dark shoulder and Izac, through his tears, sees that she is beautiful.  He isn’t sure why he never saw it before.  He wants to touch her, to run his hands everywhere and to sink his hard length deep into her wetness.  He wants to make her cum harder than she’s ever cum in her life.  And then he wonders why, in his predicament and being who he is, why he would ever want such a thing.

“Is it true, Izac?  Did you do those things?” Eliza asks in a gentle, frightening voice.

“Y-yes.  I’m so sorry, Andrea, please don’t let them hurt me!”

Andrea spits on him, then.  “There’s no forgiveness for your kind.”

“Rhiannon,” Eliza says in that same calm tone.  “What did Izac do to you that he deserves the merciless slavery he is about to be plunged into?”

“Much the same thing as he did to Andrea, but I’m white, so he couldn’t very well use his racism on me.  He called me ugly, because I turned him down for a date our sophomore year, and he never let up on it, he was so bitter about being rejected.  He spread rumors about me that are still believed to this day.”

“I never meant it, Rhiannon, I swear!”

“Did you do these things, Izac?” Eliza demands of him, sharply, this time.

“Yes, yes, but I didn’t mean it and I’m sorry, now!”

Rhiannon turns her back on the pleading boy.

Gemma needs no prompting from Eliza to speak her piece. 

“That good for nothing little shit gave me the nickname “scholarship slut” the minute he realized that I’d got into his little private school on pure talent, whereas he got in on his daddy’s money.  I’ve had no end of hell from my classmates and it’s mostly his fault.”

Izac can no longer bear it and screams, “You don’t deserve to be there, you stupid skank, you’ll never be anything but a pothead whore, like your damn mother!”

Gemma launches herself at him, then, kicking, punching and scratching, until her two classmates pull her off.

“Save it for when you fuck him,” Rhiannon whispers, soothingly.

“I think it’s obvious that dear Izac deserves to be Gemma’s slave for as long as he lives and that he is entitled to no mercy from her.”

The scratches on the boy’s chest, from Gemma’s nails, are raised and pink.  He’s gone back to crying, softly now, knowing what is going to happen to him and unable to stop it.

“Do I have to fuck him?” comes a small voice from the far side of the room.  There is general laughter, not unkind, from the other women and the speaker, Rosa, of course, goes pleasantly pink in the cheeks.

“No, love,” says Kara, taking Rosa in her arms and kissing her soundly on the mouth.  “I have a special initiation ceremony planned for you.”  Kara’s lovely hand traces the taller woman’s wool-swathed breasts and Rosa’s green eyes glaze with desire. 

“If I may, I’d like to take my initiate upstairs, to begin her induction into the society,” Kara says, her voice just above a whisper, but heard above Izac’s whining.

“Of course,” says Eliza, with a genuine smile.

“Come, love,” says Kara, and leads Rosa gently upstairs.

Flora, who had disappeared after herding the girls in from the kitchen, makes a reappearance, now, a middle-aged man in tow.  The man is naked and leashed, though there is a pair of hot pink lace panties pulled comically over his head and he his cock is decorated with an equally comic candy ring.  The girls and Izac can see that he is hairless below the neck and Rhiannon gives him an appreciative look, thinking, perhaps, that he looks very good for his age.

“Father?” Izac asks.

“Izac?”

The boy begins screaming, then, calling to the older man for help and, to his credit, Andrew lunges for his son before Flora, with an almighty yank on his leash, sends him stumbling backwards.  Andrew falls on his ass, tries to rise and has his feet kicked from under him by Flora.

“Why?” Andrew asks the room at large, over his son’s din.  “Why have you brought my son into this?”

Izac, seeing that no help in forthcoming from even his own flesh and blood, falls to sobbing softly, defeated.

“Do you think that I don’t know what you’ve been doing, lately, Andrew?”

Andrew contrives to look puzzled and only manages to look both constipated and guilty as hell. 

“Do you think I don’t know about that wingnut church you’ve been sending him off to?  What is this, some kind of half-assed rebellion?  And meanwhile, you should hear how he’s been treating these girls.”

Andrew darts a look at the accusing faces of the three girls, secretly surprised that there aren’t more.  He’s heard, alright, down the grapevine, how his son regards those who are less popular than he-and he hasn’t cared, until now. 

“We were forced to stage an intervention,” Eliza says.  “That you shall be present for this intervention is your punishment for treason against the society.  You had better be thankful that your punishment is not much, much worse.”

Andrew groans and slides a feeble hand across the carpet towards his son, who would reach out and take it, if he could.

“Please don’t make me rape him,” begs Andrew, tears in his voice. 

Eliza pulls a face and Andrea looks to the boy’s father with renewed interest.  Flora gives her slave a kick.  “Don’t be disgusting, incest is against society rules.”

“Indeed,” says Eliza.  “I’m allowing the two of you to share a cell, tonight.  If there is any…misbehavior, I shall see to it that you are separated.”

Andrew is sickened by the implication that he would harm his son so, but he says only, “can’t you just punish me and leave the boy out of it?”

“Too late for that.  Right, girls, Andrea, you’re first,” Eliza says, beckoning the chestnut haired girl.

The other two, disappointed, take their seats on throne-like chairs to watch.

“But-but-Eliza, I’ve never-I’m supposed to wait, the church says I have to wait until I’m married, please, I’ll do anything else, I’ll clean your toilets for the rest of my life!  Please don’t let them do this to me!”

The room bursts into laughter, here, and when Eliza regained her breath, she sweeps tears of mirth from her eyes and gasped, “I thought so, I really did!  But this is outrageous!  What are you, twelve?  A bunch of beautiful women about to fuck your brains out and you all hard and ready, but you’re offering to scrub toilets?”

“My boy,” says Flora, “you’ll do your share of domestic chores for us, but it won’t spare you being fucked, whenever any given one of us wants it.”

“You will also last for as long as we need you to last,” Eliza tells him.  “I did mention that we were witches and that tonight we celebrate a very important ceremony.  This spell will ensure that all goes well, tonight.”  She cleared her throat and sang,

“Autumn comes, we gather in night

Circe and Morganna to call

sacrifice, half-pure, shining bright.

No blood, self-righteousness to fall.

Heaven shut, make his home in hell

until he sees you-holders of

his sex, cock enslaved by this knell.

to know then, bondage-never love.

Hold him, oh ladies bright and dark.

Night folds your Queens in her embrace

witches our sacrifice to mark

Goddesses, aide this spell, our race,

may this slave never be set free.

Please aide us, hear our humble plea!”

       In the silence that follows, the shadows around them deepen and the lights that dot the living room grow paradoxically stronger.  The men in the room try to shrink in on themselves, Izac closing his eyes and Andrew curling into a ball at Flora’s feet, exposed ass inviting a well-needed slap.  The new recruits feel the change, too, and it energizes them

“Flora wrote that just for you, Izac,” says Eliza.  “You should be proud, it’s the last bit of pride you’ll have in a good while.  Andrea, go to it.”

Andrea doesn’t need to be told twice.  She slides the thin straps of her mini dress down shoulders the color of weak tea and takes the triangles of nearly-purple fabric that cover her breasts in her hands.  She pulls the dress over her head, revealing a close-trimmed pussy dripping with arousal.  Her nipples, small and dark, have come erect and, as she lowers herself onto the young man’s hard, mushroom headed dick, she leans so that the full globes of flesh brush his face.  His five o’clock shadow prickles against her tits and she says, “Suck them, and if you bite, I’ll kill you.”

He gasps, then, feeling her hot, human warmth against his skin and the inviting sheath of her cunt enveloping him with her wetness.  It feels dirty, what she’s doing to him as she slowly takes his length inside her, and this turns him on. 

Then, she begins to bounce on his hardness and the rubbing sensation makes him moan and thrash his head about-he can move that at least-and he takes a mouthful of her young, firm tit into his mouth to suck. 

Izac has masturbated, before, figuring that his own hand couldn’t render him impure, but he hasn’t been prepared for this sensation, this hot all over his skin and under it as the girl’s tight channel strokes up and down his length.  The heat suffuses his entire body and he feels his muscles involuntarily spasm beneath her weight.  For the first time, he is grateful for the spell that Eliza surely cast to keep him spread-eagled like this, completely at their mercy.  He doesn’t want them to know how he enjoys this ultimate violation of his will. 

And the taste of her, he’d never stopped to consider that strange, unique taste of a woman’s clean skin beneath his tongue!  A thin sheen of fresh sweat has come over her beautiful skin and his tongue, lapping the soft smoothness of the mound of her breast, relishes the taste.  He smells the salt that mingles with her makeup and her sweet, fruity perfume.  The hollow of her neck, as she bends over him, closer and closer to his face, smells most strongly of this perfume, a scent that belongs on a younger, more innocent body than the one above him.  He inhales it and wants to cum, needs to cum, as he looks into her unseeing, half-mast brown eyes and her parting, pink lips.  Her tongue darts out to lick her lips, swiping the remains of her lipgloss away and making Izac wish more than ever to kiss her, like he’d never kissed any girl before, least of all poor Layla. 

He wants to kiss down her throat, lingering near that sweet patch of perfume which she is swiftly sweating off, and bury his face in her breasts.  He wants to taste her slicked cleavage and he supposes he can do all of this, but he is too afraid to move his head from his task and sample the rest of her warm titflesh.  Then, she pulls away, intending to force her other breast into his mouth, and he risks punishment by sinking his face into her cleavage, nuzzling, licking and kissing, striving to please as well as to taste every inch of her that he can.

She responds well, moaning aloud as he sighs and grunts against her, he straining his neck to reach every bit of flesh he could with his probing tongue.

The crowd watches, Flora surprised at this development, Eliza with a knowing smirk.  Gemma reaches beneath her skirt to rub herself through the white cotton of her panties.

Izac wishes with all his heart, now, that he could respond to Andrea’s body above him, and damns the church, for the moment, to hell.  He likes it, here, beneath a healthy young woman’s body, at her mercy, but he also wants to kiss down her belly, to lick the cavity of her naval and run his hands up and down her sides and maybe plant his lips there, too.  He wants all of her and, because he is a slave, because he has been very, very bad these last few years or all his life, he will never again have all of what he wants.  He feels her thighs tighten around his hips and her muscles begin to contract.  He can’t cum, he’s on the edge with her, but he can’t cum and, as she climaxes with a sweet moan of pleasure that makes his body ache with longing, he begins to whimper from frustration.  He would lick his own cum from between her legs just to climax inside her.  In fact, he wants to lick his seed from out of her, just to taste her wet pussy, to taste her mingled with himself.  She pushes off him as her orgasm fades and, as a parting gift, gives him a mocking kiss on the forehead and then on the mouth.  He returns that last kiss with a fervor that surprises everyone but Eliza and Andrea breaks away, laughing and leaving Izac still hungry for more.

“I can’t believe I just took your cherry, of all the people in the world, and in front of all these ladies, too.”  She pulls her dress back on, but sits splay legged by the couch, so Izac can see her reddened cunt and the drying girl-cum there that he so longed to taste.

“Rhiannon?” calls Eliza.  “You’re next, my girl.”

The girl with the sandy ringlets brushing her jaw rises and, with one dainty hand, unzips her strapless sundress.  With a sound like a silk sheet slipping off a bed, it falls and pools around her ankles.   She gives one look to Izac’s prone form, his face pink, his blue eyes silvered in the dim light, and steps out of the puddle her dress has made at her feet and kicks off the playful yellow and green lace shorts she wore beneath it, exposing her shaved pussy.  She mounts the panting boy at her feet, with her shoes still on, and begins to fuck him.

The first thing Izac notices about Rhiannon, once she has mounted him, is the smell of musk.  He can smell her cunt juices as she fucks up and down on him, much stronger than Andrea’s, and it’s intoxicating him.  Her skin is cooler than Andrea’s, too, creating an interesting sensation as she grinds against him and, arching her back, fondles her champagne-glass-sized tits.  Her pink nipples harden under her own touch and, as she bounces on him, using him like the sex toy he has become, she begins to moan loudly, though she is only just on the edge of cumming.  She slows, then, willing herself not to let go until she’s good and ready.  This, both the sex and the humiliation of Izac, feels too good to end so soon.  Izac looks longingly up at the girl that he had a crush on his freshman year in high school, naked and fucking him, and he can’t even run a hand down her flat belly or kiss her tiny breasts with the sort of worshipful laving he’d given to Andrea’s.  He glances to the folds of Andrea’s cunt, where she sits, spread and inviting him to play, again, maybe this time with her round ass, which he would like to squeeze and fuck and maybe even spank, lightly so as not to mark her beautiful skin; he’s sure he’ll die before he gets to do that, to any of the society members. 

Rhiannon has picked up the pace, again, and he moans, unable to focus on the cunt of the girl who took his virginity with this equally pretty little thing fucking away on top of him.  The smell coming from her pink slit as she slicks his cock with her sticky wetness has pervaded the room.  Despairing, Izac notices his dad over Rhiannon’s slender, white shoulder, sees the expression of arousal on the older man’s face. 

So, his old man is enjoying the sight of his only child’s rape?  Izac doesn’t even know if it is rape, anymore, it feels so good.  He would, possibly, say no if they asked him, now, to participate in their wonderful little sex games, but only because he still has some pride left.  He begins to cry again, feeling childish and unmanly as the women in the room laugh at his sobs.

Rhiannon cums, as he cries, spurred on over the edge by the sight of his tears.  If he could cum, now, he would, Rhiannon’s clenching cunt milking him as it is.  But he can’t, and he feels the pressure that is both pleasure and pain, in his balls.  Beneath Eliza’s spell, the one that keeps him paralyzed on the carpet like this, Izac shakes and twitches and tries to arch his back.  His neck arches, instead, and the crown of his head nearly touches the carpet, sending his shed tears dripping towards his hairline. 

As Rhiannon dismounts him, he’s still in a haze of desire and agony.  He doesn’t even notice Gemma, disrobing before him, until she has stripped down to her black bra.  She tosses her fragrant panties on his face, saying, “I don’t want to look at your ugly mug while I do this, you disgusting freak.”

Izac is sorry that he won’t get to take in Gemma’s tiny, lovely body with his eyes.  He catches a glimpse of her smooth cunt before she tosses her simple white cotton panties in his face and he would like to watch while she engulfs him with her heat. 

He feels her around him as she takes him roughly inside her and he has time to imagine her tossing her flaming mane of auburn curls and the paleness of her flawless skin against his before she begins to scratch him.  He yelps as her long, royal blue nails bite into the skin of his chest, grazing his erect nipples painfully.  He gasps as she does not let up, instead beginning to slap him, not lightly and teasingly, but hard.  This turns to punches, hard blows.  He retreats, mentally, to a place where all he senses is the smell of girlcum in her cotton panties and the smell, beneath that, of cheap plum and almond perfume and of the weed her mother smokes near constantly.  He’s floating in a cloud, now, a warm, pleasant feeling and, as he comes out of this place where he has retreated, with only Gemma’s smell for company, he feels her fucking his hard cock and swearing loudly at him. The pleasure and pain that is sex in this living room, under Eliza’s sung spell, hits him full force and brings him back around. 

Every part of him hurts, in some way.  Between his legs, he aches for release and his neck has begun to hurt fiercely.  Worse are the welts he feels rising all down his chest and midsection.  He realizes that he has taken the crotch of Gemma’s panties into his mouth and begun to suck her juices out of them.  This humiliates and disgusts him, but the taste is pleasant, not what he expected, in fact, and the heady, enjoyable flavor fills his mouth. 

It takes him halfway to that space where he had hung suspended, unaware of anything but Gemma and, to some degree, himself, then plops him back down into painful reality, where he can feel everything that has been done to him, tenfold.  Gemma has cum and, as she dismounts, she takes her panties, letting him see her in all her glory.  She’s panting with the exertion of having fucked him so hard and well, she’s red from her fiery hairline to the tips of her lovely breasts and he can see her straight, white teeth through her red-painted lips.  He wishes he’d been better to her, before, not just because she’s beautiful and he’d have liked to actually date her, but because she’s so regal, even standing here naked and panting, still recovering from her strong orgasm.  He wishes he’d noticed, before, how all of these girls had been more than he deserved-and that he’d hated them for it.

Eliza has taken off her clothes, now, the scanty dress that was, in some ways, more modest than just about everyone else’s attire, excepting Rosa’s.  She’s standing in just a black leather bra and panty set and she’s in the process of removing those.  It’s gross, Izac thinks, to see this woman, an old friend of his dad’s, stripping before him.  She’s old, for fuck’s sake, or at least, she’s older than him. 

But she’s also very beautiful, he sees.  She’s fit-not an ounce of unnecessary fat on her delicate frame-and she has aged very, very gracefully.  Her slit is bare, like Gemma’s and Rhiannon’s, and when she parts to engulf him, he can’t stifle a moan.

She leans over him and he closes his eyes, wanting to shy from seeing this woman’s face as she fucks him, this woman who he’d thought of as being almost like family.  This sharpens his other senses and he smells her, like he had Gemma, leather corrupting the smell of flowers on her skin.  He hears the laughter and whispers directed at him from the watching women; hears his father’s groan of despair, and feels Eliza’s smooth and still-taut skin rub against him.

He’d wriggle uncomfortably, if he could, and doing so would no doubt bring him into closer contact with the woman straddling his helpless form.

“Open your eyes, Izac, so I can look you in them while I’m hurting you,” Eliza commands.

Unwillingly, feeling his eyes tear up, he complies.  Her silky, dark hair falls across his chest as she gyrates on top of him and he meets her eyes, his watering blue eyes on her hard steel.  She fucks him slowly, pleasuring herself with no regard for him, and he bites his swollen lower lip in ecstatic agony.  His eyes narrow to slits of ice as he grunts in desire, but he keeps them fixed on Eliza’s.

She takes a nipple between her pinching, pink fingernails and pulls, hard, eliciting a yell.  She twists the little bit of pink flesh, nails digging in and the young man goes red in the face, with pain instead of humiliation.

“Keep your eyes on me!” Eliza barks and Izac complies, letting his tears roll freely down his face, no longer concerned with the humiliation of the situation, focused only on the pain.  The heavy weight in his groin cannot grow anymore, but it feels like it’s trying to, the cum inside him wanting to boil out through his dickhead, like a river dammed in by a nonexistent cock ring.

Eliza keeps tormenting his nipples, both of them now, and harder than he’d have thought possible, without pulling them off or breaking the skin.  Her slender fingers are like clamps and when she removes one hand to slap Izac’s face, his nipple continues to hurt like fire.

He breaks eye contact, again, when she starts to hit him across the face and the blows quickly escalate to punches that leave him with a bloody nose and a split lip.  He struggles in vain to escape her punishing hands as she squeezes his still-throbbing cock with her cunt and his hips with her thighs.  His chiefest desire, right now, is to return to that soft, cotton cloud that held him in its embrace while Gemma was fucking his brains out, but he can’t.  He feels her pink lipsticked mouth on his chest and then on his belly, pulling out hair, with lips and teeth.  The punches subside as her orgasm grows nearer, building in her flat belly like a roar.  She takes him by the hair on his head, instead, and pulls him up so that he can’t miss a detail of what she’s doing with her mouth. 

“Watch,” she says, simply, her voice harsh with passion.

She bites him, hard, on the nipple and he thinks surely, this time, she’s bit it clean off.  She hasn’t, though, hasn’t even drawn blood that he can see.  She lifts her face and moves down his skinny chest, nipping as hard as she can, though there isn’t much of him to nip.  She pulls him out of her and sinks her teeth into the hollow of his navel, finding more purchase there for her questing teeth.  The young man keeps his eyes on her, though she releases her hold on his hair with a solid yank and sets to scratching him all down his throat to his torso, to his belly.  Izac sees Eliza take his long, hard cock in her mouth and screams as she begins to nibble, as well as to suck and lick her juices from him.

Izac knows he can’t take any more of this, but he does, because he has to.  Eliza remounts him after a sharp nip to the glans.  Despite the spell that Eliza has cast upon him, he has begun to leak pre cum and a bit is left on her bottom lip.  As she begins to fuck him again, she licks the fluid off and seizes Izac by the jaw.

“Open it,” she says and, after a pause and a stinging slap across his lips, he opens his mouth and she spits into it.  He swallows, gagging, but knowing it is expected of him.  He wishes more than anything that he could float away from himself, again, and just feel the pleasure of being used as fuckmeat.

She leans over him, biting and nuzzling along his prickly jaw and toothily sucking his neck and throat.  His neck arches into her bruising kisses and, as she grazes his Adams apple with her hungry mouth, she begins to cum.  She moans once against his throat, sending vibrations straight to his poor, blue balls.  Eliza then forces herself up to plant a lascivious kiss on his mouth, giving his lips much the same treatment as she has given the rest of him.  As she cums, she violates his mouth with her tongue, both of them tasting the high, sweet notes of metal from his bloody lip.  Izac won’t dare bite her, though perhaps an hour before, he’d have torn her tongue out of her head with his teeth.  Now, he kisses her back, glad for the chance to taste a beautiful woman’s mouth and allow her to explore him.  Though he’s kissed many girls, before, he’s never done it quite like this.  It occurs to him to wonder if this might be something to do with age and experience, and he supposes he should reconsider his stance concerning the un-fuck-ability of older women. 

When Eliza pushes herself off him, pale skin pretty with a blush caused by pure exertion, he looks around at the crowd that he had momentarily forgotten about.  The other women in the room have fingered themselves wet, even the ones who have fucked him to their own completion.  They want more and Izac wonders if they’ll get it, wonders if he wants them to fuck him again, and again, until sunrise perhaps dissipates the spell Eliza has cast.  He just wants to cum, by now, and he’s very afraid that his cock will burst before they let him have the release of orgasm.  Andrea, in particular, has stroked herself so that a wet patch has grown underneath her splayed knees, soaking the carpet with her cum.

Flora has unlaced her robe, though her hands now tremble with want, and she shucks the white silk that drapes her.  Her body was hardly concealed by the sexy bit of lingerie which she has now cast off, but seeing her without it, she’s even more on display.  Flora revels in this, as she goes to mount the society’s newest pet. 

Like Rhiannon, she declines to remove her heels before lowering herself onto him.  She pauses once she has forced him into her, to the hilt, and takes him in with blue eyes both amused and aroused.  She smirks, leans over his face and licks up the coppery redness from his bloody nose, blood that was smeared across his face during Eliza’s relentless assault.  Her breath is sweet and mint-y on his face as she licks, almost playfully, tickling his pale skin with her tongue.  As she slides him in and out of herself, slow and deep in her thrusts, she lets up on the laving kisses and presses the boy’s face into her pendulous breasts.  He licks her, not needing to be told as she smuggles his face into her cleavage.  He’s both exhausted and painfully aroused, having been on the edge of orgasm since Andrea’s clenching cunt muscles had pulled him to that point of no return. 

He can breathe nothing but Flora, now, and it’s making him dizzy, sending him to that space beyond himself, just a little, but he needs more pain than Flora is giving him right now, something less than Eliza had given, to get there entirely.  He’s not even sure he can get there, that his experience with Gemma wasn’t a fluke or a hallucination. 

In the dark of Flora’s flesh, he smells something like vanilla, and a hint of some night-blooming flower beneath that.  Her skin tastes clean under his tongue, like fresh, healthy sweat and he wishes he’d had this experience like a normal young man might have; long before now, tangled in the white cotton sheets of his bed, at home, with someone he cares about.

He cries into Flora’s warm body and she pulls his face back into the relative brightness of the living room. 

“Yes, cry for me, I want to see you broken,” she says with a smile and she leans down again, to drink his tears, licking his cheeks like they’re covered in some kind of fine wine.

He obliges her, sobbing brokenly and no longer caring who sees him or that everyone but his own father is laughing at his misery and aroused by it.  His life has been torn from him.  He wishes he could go back, not just to savor his freedom but to change the way he’d been, so that none of this would be necessary and perhaps could be avoided, altogether.  Assuming, of course, that he still wants that.  He’s not so sure what he wants and what he doesn’t, anymore.

He feels a tightening in his loins that pulls muscles in his gut and legs and his eyes snap open.  For a brief moment, he sees two beautiful women that disappear when that moment has passed.  One has ivory flesh and flaming red hair, the other, dark tresses, against blue-black skin.  They are both tall and beautiful.  The dark woman is naked and proud, her partner dressed only in a brief chemise of forest green.  They smile at him, cruelly, and when they vanish, he feels himself begin to cum inside of Flora.

Light flashes before his eyes and he feels a stab of pain in his head, before pleasure like he has never felt before, unbelievable pleasure, suffuses his entire body.  It’s like an electrical current shooting through him, tingles of static colliding around in his veins and setting him on fire, so that even his teeth hurt with the feeling of it.  He’s shooting rope after rope of pent-up cum into Flora’s body and with each shot Izac feels another jolt go through him, so much pleasure it’s actually more like pain.  Those feelings are married, now, in Izac’s eyes; he will never be able to separate them. 

He hears someone moaning, two someones, actually, and he realizes that one of them is him.  Dimly, as he comes back to himself, he understands that Flora is also cumming, milking his dick like Andrea had tried to. 

When it has ended, he realizes just how much he aches.  He’s coming down, now, and he feels a sharp sense of shame and anger that he hasn’t felt since before Andrea began to fuck him in earnest.  He curls up in on himself and realizes that he has been released from the spell that had held him prone.  He hasn’t the strength to lash out at his tormentors, but he would like to.  Instead, he just cries some more.

Izac feels someone’s arms around him and he jumps.  It’s his father.  He pushes the older man away, sickened by his father’s ridiculous attire or lack thereof, and (worse) that his father has grown hard, watching his son be fucked by multiple women.  Andrew hadn’t done anything to stop…what had happened.  Izac is still not sure if he was really raped.  After all, doesn’t that stuff only happen to girls?  And it had felt so good…

He pushes away from that feeling, and when his father reaches to embrace him again, he leans into the older man and allows his father to offer comfort.  Andrew covers his son’s body, as much as he decently can, with his own and whispers words of meaningless comfort in Izac’s ear.

As Andrew rocks his grown son like a child, Eliza takes a scimitar from a display case in the far corner of the room. 

“Kneel,” she instructs the initiates, and they obey.

The three 18 year old girls are disheveled, but clothed, again.  As they kneel before Eliza with her curved sword, they look far more vulnerable than they ever did naked, fucking their hated enemy.  Eliza kneels before Andrea, first, the sword between them.  The tip of the blade digs lightly into the carpet as Eliza and Andrea stare into each other’s eyes, their faces bisected by gray steel.

There is enough of a pause as Eliza studies Andrea for the latter to grow very uncomfortable, but she holds Eliza’s gaze.

“You have the most striking eyes,” Eliza says and the other woman jumps, a bit.  “They’re almost like tigers eye stones, or drops of honey.”

Another pause, in which the initiate relaxes somewhat.

“Do you swear to keep the laws of our society, wherever it is reasonable for you to do so?”

“Yes.”

“Do you agree to never attempt to free a slave of the society, unless otherwise instructed to do so by the President, not just of your chapter of the Society, but of the Society as a whole?  Do you swear never to knowingly aide and abet someone whose goals are directly counter to those of the Heartbreakers’ Society?”

“Yes.”

“You know, of course, that no power in heaven or on earth can save you if you should decide to knowingly break those vows?”

“Yes.”  There was a slight quaver in her voice, this time.

“Then, with Flora Allen and all the goddesses as our witness, you are now a freshman member of the Heartbreaker’s Society, with all the rights and responsibilities that entails.  During your time as a freshman member, your Society name will be Tiger’s Eye,” she paused again, and smiled, “to be shorted to Tiger, if and when you so wish.”

The girl smiles back and nods.

“You may rise.”

The newly christened Tiger allows Flora to help her up and to the couch to watch the rest of the initiation.

Eliza kneels before Rhiannon, next, and repeats what she’d asked Andrea.  Naturally, Rhiannon doesn’t hesitate to answer the affirmative to every question.  She doesn’t even hesitate at the last bit-where death or worse is promised to anyone who dares lie or even change her mind.

“You share a name with a Norse goddess and also with many witches in the history of the Heartbreaker’s Society who held great power and respect.  For this, your name shall be Maga, the Italian word for sorceress.”

The young woman beams and rises, at Eliza’s prompt, to sit on the couch with Flora and Tiger.

Gemma is the calmest of the three, perhaps because she’s seen the others survive initiation without being sliced to ribbons by Eliza’s ceremonial sword.  In fact, Gemma is rather giggly about the whole thing.

This, rather than prompting discipline, gets smiles from the two senior members. 

“You shall be called Sapphire, for the color of your eyes and, of course, because your name is Gemma,” she tells the young woman, stroking her face, gently.

Eliza plants a kiss on the redhead’s lips and says, “I have high hopes, for all of you girls.”

Flora disentangles herself from Andrea and Rhiannon, then rises to address the males.  They still huddle together on the floor, a naked, pathetic mass.  Andrew’s pink panties have fallen to hang comically from one ear.  Flora rips them from him and deals a blow to the side of his head. 

“You two will be allowed to sleep in the same cell, for tonight, but any misbehavior-and I mean any, at all, will prompt a change in sleeping arrangements.”

“Yes,” says Eliza.  “We can deny you anything, for any reason and we are being very kind to allow you to spend time together, at all.”

“Yes, thank you, Masters,” said Andrew.

“Izac,” said Eliza, “you will address all senior members of the Heartbreakers’ Society as ‘Master.’  Our freshman members shall be called ‘Mistress.’  Is that understood?”

“Yes M-Master.”

“Good boy.  Flora, please take them downstairs so they can get some sleep.  Izac, in particular, has a long day ahead of him, come tomorrow.”

Eliza gathers the newly minted members to her.  She’s still naked.  Her pride is such that she needn’t put on anything to cover herself, now that the sexual part of tonight’s festivities have concluded.

“It’s been a while since I was a freshman,” Gemma says, a bit ruefully.  “Hadn’t planned on being one, again, for at least another school year.”

“I trust you don’t mind the title?” asks Eliza, dryly.

“No, not at all!  In fact, I think I’m going to enjoy it, especially as initiation seems to have consisted mainly of a mind-blowing orgasm.”

Everyone laughs. 

“I want to show you another piece of magic, in just a minute.  Flora is responsible for this one.  I can work it, if I have to, but I generally don’t get the results that she does.”

“Oooooh, what is it?” asks Rhiannon.

“You’ll see.”

The door through which Kara and her initiate had departed, long before, cracks open and Kara, naked beneath a long, fuzzy, scarlet bathrobe, peeks out.  “Rosa is an official member of the Society.  Her name is Lamb, now.”

“You look exhausted,” says Eliza.  “We’re through down here, if you want to go to bed.  I’m just going to show the girls one of Flora’s little tricks and then we’re through for the night.”

“Thank Circe you said that,” says Kara.  “She about wore me out.  Wore herself down, too, she’s out cold.  ‘Night, all!” 

Kara fairly runs up the stairs to bed, where her beloved Lamb is asleep, waiting for her.

“Oh, Flora, you’re back,” says Eliza.

“That reminds me,” says Rhiannon.  “What do we address you as?  Surely not Master,” she laughs, but Eliza can tell she’s uncomfortable.

“You girls can call us by our names, as you always have,” says Eliza. 

“If you like, you may call us Ma’am, or Ms. Powers or Ms. Allen.  But we view you as our equals, in almost all ways-you’re younger and less experienced than us, but we don’t think of you as we do our slaves, or even normal citizens,” says Flora.  “I guess you could say that you’re kind of special.”

“Like you,” says Andrea.

The senior members smile. 

“Indeed.  Now, Flora, I would like you to show our newest members your scrying mirror.”

“Oh, of course!”  Flora scurries upstairs, the way Kara had gone, leading Eliza and the girls with her.

They enter a dark room, one cluttered with artifacts that the new members would all like to know more about.  One wall is covered, floor to ceiling, with a large, black-backed mirror.  Eliza lights a candle and the girls notice that the mirror doesn’t reflect quite right.

Flora approaches it and lays her palms flat on the strangely muted surface.  It begins to bubble beneath her hands and the girls shrink back, slightly, despite knowing that Flora would do nothing to hurt them.  The silvery bubbles blur into colors, in spots, and then into shapes, until they form into a clear image of Izac and Andrew, curled up in a cinderblock cell.

Iazc is still whimpering unappealingly and Andrew strokes his hair, cradling his son in his arms.

“It’s not so bad, you know,” says Andrew, “once you get used to it.  I think you’ll grow to love it.”

The girls are shocked as the older man’s voice reverberates out of the mirror.

“I don’t want to love it,” Izac snaps, his voice breaking.  “Why did you start sending me to that church, anyway, when you knew what kind of person Eliza was and what she would do to me?”

“I wanted to protect you, Izac.  I thought if I got you as far away from the kind of person Eliza associates with that you’d never be in any danger of falling in with her kind.  I didn’t think she’d stoop to this.”

“Well, she did.  How did you even get into this, or do I want to know?”

“After your mother died I…I was lonely.  Men have certain needs, Izac-”

The boy snorts.

“Well, we do, you know.  You’d have come to understand.  Whether once you were married or otherwise-and forgive me if I say I strongly suspect otherwise-you’d have understood.”

“So, Eliza invites you out for dinner and you end up tied to the bed and before you know it, she’s enslaved you to this fucking cult-”

“Izac,” the older man says, his voice gentle. 

“What, I guess she asked you, first?”

Andrew looks ashamed.

“She told me they always do.”  His voice is barely audible.

“Oh, so I guess I’m a special case, am I?”

“That’s true,” says Eliza, over the males’ conversation.  “We almost never take a slave without their permission.  Once they’re in, it’s another matter, but he *is* a special case.”

Izac has dissolved into tears, again, while Andrew reassures him that it’s not as bad as all that.  When his son’s tears show no sign of abating, Andrew sighs.  He cradles the boy closer, then, and begins to sing an old children’s hymn as the boy cries himself to sleep.

In a room far above, the group of women giggles over this humiliating scene.

“Sweet Circe on a cinnamon bun, Eliza, are you sure he’s 18?” asks Flora.

Eliza laughs aloud.  “I am.  I think he’s just very, very sheltered.  His father has, after all, been trying to protect him from us for a such a terribly long time.”

“We see how that turned out,” says Gemma.

“So, is this all we have by way of a security system?” asks Andrea.  She colors when Flora’s face falls, ever so noticeably.  “I mean, I just thought I’d ask.”

“It is not all we have,” says Eliza, “since Flora can’t very well be here all day, with her photography business and all.”

“Yes, and I suppose that would be very boring,” Andrea agrees, quickly.

“Andrew will have to be punished for that little bit of defiance, I’m afraid,” says Flora.

“This is true,” says Eliza.  “We have been letting him get away with too much for too long, on the basis that he never seemed to be doing anything *big.*  You see what came of that.”  She gestures at the now-darkened scrying mirror.

“Tiger, I’m setting you a task, tonight,” says Flora and stifles a smile at the hangdog expression that flits across Andrea’s face.  “You are to devise a punishment for Izac’s father, something we can do tomorrow morning.”

Andrea perks up a bit at this.

“You are, of course, not to use magic yourself, but if you find yourself in need of a minor spell, I intend to be up for a few hours.  I’ll be in the living room.”

“Can I put on some real clothes, first?”

Flora laughs.  “Of course you may, you’re not being punished, Andrew is.”

Andrea isn’t sure of this, but she hastens to obey-and to put on a nice sweater and some jeans. 

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.”