Macho Sluts (24 page)

Roxanne had freckles and a turned-up, defiant nose. Her hazel eyes were clear and determined. She refused to look at anyone but Alex. The girl was no coward, but she was obviously relieved to find that her master was there. Tyre loved the look of her. She was the ultimate bar-femme, dressed up to play the whore for her butch. She might be a slave, but she was also tough. Try to separate her from Alex, and she'd go after you with a broken bottle. It wasn't, Tyre realized from the set of that grim little jaw, Roxanne who doubted the nature and the quality of their relationship. It was Alex—who was explaining to Roxanne and all of them that she was giving them her “flashy piece of trash” for the evening, to do with as they liked.

The pack stood in a small circle around the master and her property. Of course, Roxanne had an out. “All you have to do,” Alex whispered, kneeling to plunge her hand between Roxanne's corset and her breasts, “is tell me you don't belong to me, and you can walk.” She rubbed her nipples, producing a moan, and then stood, and moved right up to her. Roxanne knelt over her boot and wrapped her arms around Alex's thigh. She stared defiantly at the women behind Alex, and openly rubbed her pussy against the steel toe of Alex's engineer boot.

“Put rings in me now,” she said. Her voice was high and clear. “I'm not going to change my mind. I belong to you and walking out wouldn't change that any more than it would make water run uphill. Beat me. Brand me. Let these bitches wear themselves out on me if it will entertain you. But I belong to you, Daddy.”

“Well, for now you belong to them,” Alex said, and the pack closed in as if on cue. Michael had taken her cock out again, and she finally got the blowjob she had been craving ever since Alex ran her fingers along the inseam. She worked her entire length back and forth in Roxanne's throat until she made tears come, then pulled her off and handed her to Anne-Marie, who shooed the girl under her latex skirts. There, Roxanne's tongue found a pair of salty, wet lips held between cool, smooth, chemical-tasting latex panties, and Anne-Marie kept her there until the taste of both was firmly imprinted in her mind. Kay made her kiss her boots, and only allowed her to rub her face over EZ's denim crotch, although EZ ground her pubic bone into Roxanne's face long enough and hard enough to reach a minor climax. Kay cuffed her shoulder and pushed Roxanne over to Joyous Day, who untied her leather-and-fur bikini and rubbed the inside of it all over Roxanne's face. Then her dark hands closed over the blonde head and pulled it between her thighs to service her. Chris, standing next to Joy, unzipped her leather pants, and Joy pushed her hand inside them. She made Roxanne lick her fingers, and used the wetness to jerk Chris off. Every time Joy got close to coming, she made Roxanne stop going down on her long enough to lick Chris's cream from her fingers. Then Joy rubbed the moisture into Chris's vulva, over and over again until Chris sobbed and came all over her hand. Chris had been hanging onto Joy's full, brown breasts, and now she held them up to her mouth and sucked hard on Joy's nipples while Roxanne held on to her tattooed thighs and licked her quickly and lightly to orgasm.

Tyre didn't feel like coming yet. She had Roxanne spread her legs wide and lean back, bracing herself with her hands flat on the floor. Then she put her foot up on the girl's mound, and carefully tucked the high heel of her boot into Roxanne's pussy. The chained girl was terribly excited after experiencing so many orgasms vicariously, and she tried to tilt her hips and take all of the boot-heel. Tyre knew it was the wrong angle to go in without hurting her, so she kept Roxanne at the edge of danger and climax and surprised herself by masturbating at the spectacle until she came, relishing Roxanne's frustrated and tear-spattered face.

“So you think we're going to wear ourselves out on you?” Alex asked her.

“Yes. I want more!” Roxanne cried.

“Oh, I don't think that will be a problem,” Alex said drily. “Next?” She helped Roxanne to her feet, untied and loosened her corset, then put her back on the floor.

Kay and EZ had moved over to the sling. EZ was perched on its edge, swinging. Kay was applying an emery board to her nails. They gave each other a quick, conspiratorial smile.

“How's the old manicure?” Kay asked EZ.

EZ stretched out her hand and examined her fingertips.

“Flawless,” she said. “Soft as a baby's bottom. How's yours?”

“Down to the knuckles,” Kay averred. “Where do you think they hide the grease in this establishment? It don't look to me like Mama's gonna fry much chicken in this here restaurant.”

“Why, you near-sighted fool, there's a whole fucking five-pound can of it hanging from a chain right over here.” EZ hit it with her elbow and made it swing.

Kay pretended to start at the sight of the dangling, industrial-sized tub of Crisco. “Think that'll be enough?” she asked.

“Hell, I never bother with the stuff myself,” EZ boasted. “I just make 'em spit on my hand. And if that don't get it wet enough I ram it down their throats.”

Kay made a little ticking noise of disapproval with her tongue. “You talk like trash, girl. Cruuude.”

EZ grinned. “That's the way they like it. I'm not responsible for the taste of trash. I'm just the garbage collector. Out of the gutter and into the sling, that's my motto.”

Kay nodded, staring off into space. She seemed to have forgotten their conversation.

“Slave!” EZ snapped. “Look at me, fuck-face.”

Roxanne reluctantly came to her knees and barely turned her face in the direction of the sling. She did not care to be addressed in that tone of voice by someone who had not been properly introduced. Who did this punked-out boytoy think she was, smoothing the platinum stripes in her dark topknot? Alex yanked her head up. “Look her in the eye,” she hissed. Roxanne complied. She was very pale.

“You ever been fisted in the ass?” EZ demanded.

“No, but I—” A yank on her hair shut her up.

“Wanna bust up a virgin ass?” EZ asked Kay.

Kay shrugged. “Feels the same to me, whether they've had it one time or twenty-two. Think she's been cleaned out?”

“You! Slave! Answer her!” bellowed EZ.

“No,” Roxanne said—almost inaudibly.

“Well, forget it,” Kay said. “I'm not interested in slaves who are literally full of shit.” And she gave EZ a meaningful glare, which was broadly ignored.

Anne-Marie bustled over with a collar in one hand and a leash in the other. “If I might prepare her for your ministrations, ladies?”

“Would you be so kind?” Kay said.

“Certainly. It's so nice to feel useful,” she beamed. She buckled the collar around Roxanne's neck, snapped on the leash, and slipped the wrist-strap over her hand. “On your feet, dear,” she said. “Do we remember how we walk on a leash?”

“Small steps, keep the chain taught, do
not
bump into the person leading you,” Roxanne repeated. “Ma'am.”

“Shoulders up and back,” Anne-Marie added. “Proud posture at all times, even the most humiliating.”

“Yes, of course, ma'am. I am forgetful, ma'am.”

Alex had raised one eyebrow. “Never saw this side of her before,” she remarked to Tyre.

“Yeah, I thought you didn't know much about all that frilly Victorian stuff,” Tyre said. “Live and learn.”

“And the penalty for forgetfulness is?” Anne-Marie prompted gently.

“A dozen of the best,” Roxanne said with resignation. “Ma'am.”

“At least you remember your manners. I am going to miss you. Come along to the operating table, dear.”

The badgirl dancing shoes teetered after the sensible white nurse's flats, taking tiny steps. Roxanne kept the leash taught. She did not bump into the person leading her. Her shoulders stayed up and back, making her tits jut defiantly at Anne-Marie's broad shoulders. The domme walked her to the foot of the table until her hips touched it, unclipped the leash, then bent her over with a hand between her shoulderblades. Roxanne made an unhappy puppy noise when her bare flesh was plastered over the cold steel surface of the table.

“You'll stay put on your own, won't you, dear?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“So much less fuss and muss.” Anne-Marie took the enema bag off the IV stand and opened a hitherto-invisible door in the dungeon wall. A small bathroom lay behind it. The pack sauntered over to watch and comment upon Roxanne's buttocks, twitching in anticipation as Anne-Marie turned the taps on high, filled the red rubber bag to its gills, and screwed in the stopper. She had already clipped the hose shut, and now she brought the bag back to the table and opened her doctor's bag, perched at the head of the table. Michael took the bag from her and hung it upside down. Anne-Marie took nozzle after nozzle out of the bag, and rejected each one. Finally she lubricated the bulb of the Bardex, hooked it up to the enema bag, and pushed the balloon into Roxanne's ass. Then she inflated the latex sphere. Roxanne's asshole was completely sealed. Anne-Marie then emptied the swollen bag with ruthless efficiency, ignoring Roxanne's stifled cries. “It's just nice warm water, dear, those cramps won't last long,” she said, patting her fanny. “Now we'll just stir it up inside. A dozen of the best, I believe you said?”

Tyre knew that one of Michael's favorite things was a blowjob from someone who was being worked over. She smiled and shook her head when her chauffeur, who really was an ex-Marine, climbed up on the table and forced Roxanne to lift her head and watch her unzip her fly. Michael and Anne-Marie were also old friends, and the nurse shot Tyre a look of delight. “Don't think you got enough of this Marine Corps meat,” Michael said, and shoved it down her throat just as the first stroke of the cane landed in the crack between Roxanne's buttock and upper thigh. Alex winced, but Roxanne held steady, her head bobbing up and down Michael's cock, as the characteristic double-weal came up, livid on her fair skin. Anne-Marie bided her time. Tyre walked over to Michael, unbuttoned the high-necked, dark-blue tunic with narrow red piping and began working on her nipples with her sharp nails. Her cruelty was passed on to Roxanne, who found herself choking on the energetic cock in her throat, and Anne-Marie chose just that moment to strike her again.

“Alex,” said Joy, putting a hand on her shoulder, “you are not used to lookin' at this from the outside. So tell me, do you like it?”

“I—”

“You mus' remember how good it make you feel to whip her yourself, I think. How good it feels in the muscles of your arm and here.” Joy put a hand between her breasts. “Your heart is poundin' and poundin' like a drumhead that's gonna split. Feel yourself.” She took Alex's hand and put it on top of her codpiece. “Come on, girl, half the women here playin' with themselves. Check out your stuff. She gonna hit her soon again I think—yes. You feel your clit jump? Oh, yeah, this is good for you and for her. She like it so much, Alex, see how still she hold herself out of pride for you? That's a beautiful ass she got. I mus' say I want another handful of that girl of yours all t'myself.” Joy chuckled and mock-punched Alex on the point of her chin. “You seriously twisted girl, I like that ver' much, just don't try to straighten out now, or you break.”

Kay was hauling EZ, who had gone AWOL to the bar, back into the circle by her ear. “You got eight hours of music set up at the very least,” she said. “We don't need you providin' a sound track for the rest of the fucking decade. Now park your butt here and watch this action with me or go play on the freeway.” She smacked her ass, then slid her hand into EZ's back pocket. “I thought you said girls just played around with this shit. So far I'm in no danger of fallin' asleep. Whyncha just admit you don't know what the fuck you were talkin' about? Or do you maybe like boys better'n girls after all, dipshit?”

“Kiss my ass,” EZ hissed.

“Oh, I will, if I can beat it first,” Kay said lazily. “Ouch! God, that has got to hurt about as much as bein' hit by a truck.”

Ten of the twelve “best” had been administered. Anne-Marie gestured to Michael to remove herself. “We must let her concentrate,” she said absently, adjusting her cap. Tyre released Michael's nipples and helped her off the table. They swaggered arm-in-arm over to Kay and her buddy.

“I gotta get stoned,” EZ said, and produced a joint from behind her ear.

“Why do you think they call it dope?” Kay asked, handing over her lighter. EZ gave her a guilty look, Kay gave her an amused one, and they both giggled.

The last two strokes were administered so quickly they elicited a single scream. Roxanne did not raise her torso from the table, but she kicked. Anne-Marie barely jumped out of the way in time. “That was naughty, dear,” she said. “Ponies prance, ladies dance. Tyre?”

Roxanne put her head back down and just listened to Tyre stalk over to the horse and unrack her cane. It was thicker and longer than Anne-Marie's favorite size, and not as flexible. Alex perked up and watched closely, curious to see how Tyre would handle this piece of equipment.

Tyre stood behind and slightly to one side of Roxanne, tapping the cane on the toe of her boot. “What's the damage, Anne-Marie?” she asked.

“How vicious do you feel, Tyre?”

The madam considered. “Why don't we just make it one,” she said, “with one for practice.”

Alex was disappointed. Two strokes (one and a half, really) didn't sound like much of a show. Maybe Tyre didn't like administering corporal punishment.

Tyre folded her right arm across her chest. The cane stretched out at a right angle to her body. Then it flew toward its target, impelled by a series of three snaps, from shoulder, elbow, and wrist. It landed with an audible “thunk,” and rebounded out of the channel it had made for itself in Roxanne's thighs. Roxanne seemed to have crammed a whole fist into her mouth, but she did not scream, jump, or kick. “That gives me the distance,” Tyre said pleasantly. “Now for the home run.”