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| Giselle, Clarize - a Love Story | Back to B | Back to main page |
Collected by Djian
updated sep 11 - 2008
Index | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 |
Giselle, Clarize - a Love Story
by angiquesophie
PART 3
Chapter 12
There still were days when the sun mustered all its waning powers to dissolve the creeping mists. Days when it still could incite the hills with a shattering splendour of gold and orange flames. But more often now the winds thrashed the windowpanes. Thunderous rainstorms shook the building.
Autumn had come to the Villa.
Clarize.
Brigitte had cried her heart out after she learned what had happened to her lover. She had begged to see the body. At least to receive a handful of the flowing mane and dry her tears with it. Angique and her new sister Giselle had spent many hours with her in the big and comfortable master bedroom. She had slept with them in the four-poster bed.
They had bathed her over and over. They groomed her bruises with sweet ointment. They soothed her, talked to her until their throats could only whisper. And they tried to make her drift off into the glow of their lovemaking.
After two days and tear-drenched nights, Angique decided the mourning should stop. She took Brigitte out of her room. She chained her to a horizontal bar at the centre of the cage, deep down in the bowels of Villa d' Este. Her armpits were hooked over the bar. Her ankles were chained to a lower one. It made her hang with an arched back. It pushed out her upper body and abdomen.
Giselle crouched outside the cage to watch in silence.
"Listen, girl", Angique said. She walked in front of her dangling slave. "You should stop accusing me, it has been enough. I am not to blame. It was you who sacrificed Thibault on the altar of your selfishness. Do you understand that?"
Brigitte's sobs made her tits tremble. Her eyes were closed. Her head lolled from left to right.
"I presume you don't", Angique went on. She produced a short leather whip. It had a long tail of braided horsehair that trailed from its tip. She stopped in front of the girl and forced her to look up. The face was a ghastly pale. The flesh around the eyes looked puffed and red.
"I think you make yourself ugly for me to have your revenge. You blame me for his death, don't you, Brigitte?"
The girl stared, but said nothing.
"Tell me, Brigitte. You must tell me what you really feel. We need to get this out of your miserable soul. Let me help you find a way back into reality. Tell me!"
The last words rang through the vaulted cellar. They echoed all around and made the girl stiffen her body.
"I... I..." she said. Then she slumped her head on her chest and cried again.
Angique stepped back. She let the whip land on the exposed tits. They shook under the impact like pale jelly. The girl gasped, and her gasp was echoed by her sister's throat.
Angique stopped after six strokes on each side.
"You know, Brigitte", she said, her voice strained by the exercise. "This whip has been braided from the hair of your lover. Can you feel his anger?"
And she made it land on the flesh again and again.
Brigitte let herself slip off to a place only she knew. A place that smelled of lavender fields. It closed around her like the softest of pillows.
Angique saw where she tried to go. She would have nothing of it. She increased the flogging and screamed her insults. She tortured the girl's nipples with her teeth and nails. Then she drove the slick handle of the whip up her cunt.
"Don't you flee from me, you damned bitch!" she cried. She attacked the tits with her exposed talons. Their flesh shone in a glowing red. "You bloody egoist and dirty traitor. Get here, get back to me!!" By sheer will she dragged her slave back from the gates of consciousness.
"Now... TELL ME!"
Brigitte's eyes opened wide. The present seemed to flow back into her gaze. "I?", she croaked. "I did? Nooooo..."
"Yesss...", Angique hissed. She pushed her face into the girl's. She kneaded her breasts with merciless fingers. "It was you, honey. It was you who took his innocence. You, who turned him into your lover, and you who threw your arrogance right into my face. You put your disdain on display for the whole world to see. Oh, my, Brigitte... did the innocent creature have a chance? Did I have a choice? You forced yourself on him. Then you used him to ridicule me. Now he is gone..."
The girl gasped. She hung even heavier in her chains. Her sister moaned in sympathy.
"Oh, nooooo. Please Angique, nooooo... Pas moi. Pas moi!"
"Yes, Brigitte. You did. It was you. It was your arrogance that killed him. You knew you could never have him. But you were a coward. You dared not confront me over him. You preferred to betray your love and let him down. You could not find the courage to claim him. Yet you could not let him go and save him. You could have saved him, Brigitte. But you found an excuse and ran. You abandoned the both of us."
There was a long silence. Then the girl mumbled a few words.
"What did you say? Speak louder, girl", Angique said. She held Brigitte's chin in her fist.
"Please let me die, Mistress. Je veux mourir."
Autumn coloured the trees on the Italian mountains around Lago Maggiore. Night fell early. Pale wraiths of mist crawled around the Villa. All day the mountainside echoed with the shots of hunting parties. Each crack made the Canadian girl wince inside the walls of her tiny bedroom.
She had stopped crying for the death of her lover. There had been no tears left. No strength to feed her anger. The sudden insight that Angique had given her, had estranged her from herself. She was not the girl she had been. Or thought she had been. Not anymore. She felt left behind in limbo. She could not remember who she'd been. Yet she did not know who she might have become. A new woman, maybe. New, yet eerily familiar.
Of course Angique was right. She and no one else had caused her lover's death. She had acknowledged the treason in her heart. She knew the fate of sweet Thibault had been caused by her arrogance.
Guilt struck her down. She had begged Angique to allow her to take her life. But Angique had closed her mouth with a kiss. She had brought the girl's body to a shattering climax. Then she had looked down on her still twitching body. And she had declared her fate.
"Brigitte, you must live with your sin. You must live with it until I shall set you free."
She had turned on her heels and walked out of the cage. She threw a key to the crouching blonde and left. Giselle took it. She opened the locks of her sister's chains. Then she lowered her carefully to the floor.
"I love you, Brigitte", she whispered. "I forgive you. I shall always be your sister."
She then hugged the broken girl and cried with her.
Brigitte knew that her newfound guilt robbed her of the last remnants of confidence. There was a deep sense of shame in her. But there was also a contradictory pride. A pagan, bloody pride. She had made the ultimate sacrifice on the altar of her goddess. It shone with alien splendour. It dazzled her wide-open eyes and ignited a glow in the throbbing depths of her flesh. The sheer primitivism of it all appalled her. Dwelling on it made her eyes sting and her weak body tremble.
She needed the strength of the American girl to cope with this strange new world. She held on to Giselle's strong body. It anchored her to a reality that otherwise might have slipped through her groping fingers. Then, at last, she reached the very bottom of her misery. The ultimate place she could not fly from. And she found a kernel of gratitude for Angique sparing her life.
She also knew that it would never be hers again.
Two nights later Angique asked Giselle to prepare Brigitte. She was to ready her for the final ritual. A ceremony to lift the heavy sins off her guilty soul. A catharsis that would clean her conscience and flush her soul from all remnants of responsibility. It was a ritual that would set her free.
Giselle chained her sister to the marble at the centre of the cage. Then, together with her Mistress, she took Brigitte to the pinnacles of lust. They pushed her into her very own universe of ecstasy and left her floating on a cloud of bliss.
Then they branded her left ass cheek with the white-hot lily. Angique baptized her in a gush of golden showers, and named her Clarize.
Brigitte died that night. She took her unspeakable guilt with her, down into the darkest grave of oblivion.
New Clarize was welcomed by her sister and her Mistress. She was free now of all guilt and inhibitions. She was set free to serve the one who had taken her life. She would be allowed to serve Angique and please her sister. She also was allowed to serve the Great Dane and Angique's monstrous black leather strap on dildo. She would call them both Master. She would beg them to honour all her orifices, whenever they pleased.
Ultimately she had been set free to service all cocks and cunts her Mistress had in store for her. She would do that with utter pleasure, wherever and whenever the woman decided.
She thanked her Mistress and was reduced to tears. She felt proud to have been chosen.
She pleaded that she wasn't worthy to feel this free.
When summer came to an end, Clarize had turned back to the world of the living. The blush had returned to her skin, the sparkle in her eyes. Her groin welcomed the familiar need. A quick response revived her aching nipples.
Her fondness of the Dane had grown into genuine affection. She taught her blonde American sister how to submit to the spicy, unconditional love of animals. She made her lose the fear of horses. Sometimes they rode together for hours. They found secret places to drown the heat of their passion in floods of sperm and girlie juices.
Giselle for her part taught her sister how to stop thinking. How to accept this fate she knew had always been hers. How to trust even when trust was violated. How to leave disgust behind like Giselle left it behind with their Master Brynn. Or like Giselle accepted the many cock-wielding guests that Angique expected them to entertain.
The Mistress was away for long stretches of time. She left them in the care of the woman Maria. Many days, though, they depended on each other. They knew it pleased their Mistress when they made love to each other in her presence. But lonely days stretched into weeks. And in their shared pleasure grew a part that rapidly became a private playground. They did not know if they were allowed to use this playground. But it proved time after time impossible for them to do without.
Clarize's hair had grown back. When it was long enough, Angique took her to a salon in Milan. She had it changed into a warm auburn red. She also bought her an expensive wardrobe of outrageously designed silks, leather and latex. And she had ordered her left nipple pierced to wear a white gold loop. An emerald French lily dangled from it.
Angique took her to a clinic where they had lasered the follicles of her pubic hair. She also had the hair in her armpits and on her legs removed. There would never again be a single hair below her neck to spoil the perfect smoothness of her skin.
Milan was all she had been dreaming of for so long. Now here she was. She walked proudly with her Mistress. Her left tit ached with the new jewel. Her lasered cuntlips tingled with every careful step. They were two dazzling beauties. They immersed themselves in the wealth of European fashion and glamour. It was a day of pure candy and they spent it like spoiled, giggling girlfriends. When they turned in for the night in one of Milan's most luxurious hotels, they made love in all the ways available to women, and more.
But when they returned to the Villa, Angique chained her down to the marble slab. She flogged her until all of her skin screamed for mercy. Then she left her there for two days and a night.
Brynn was her only companion.
Around that same time Giselle had disappeared from the Villa. Nobody seemed willing or able to tell Clarize where she might be. She dared not ask the fickle woman she now called Mistress, even in the intimacy of her dreams.
Maybe Giselle had been lent to one of the friends of Angique. Or sold off. Or maybe she had been sent back to the States. But when she heard the cracking shots of the hunters, she cringed. She knew that with her Mistress even the cruellest things were possible.
With an aching heart she searched inside herself. Could she have given her Mistress another reason to punish her arrogance?
Bordello.
She waited for her seventh guest of the night. Or was it still afternoon? Maybe it was morning already. Maybe it wasn't her seventh guest. It might as well be her ninth, or her thirteenth.
She sat on her oil-drenched calves. Her thighs were spread. Tingling sensations echoed in her tender cunt lips. She savoured the sated feeling of being used thoroughly. It lingered in her deepest niches, in her throat, and in the stretched muscle at the entrance of her ass hole.
Her body arched back provocatively. But her eyes were modestly cast down. Her nipples stood out. The left one was pierced with a white gold ring. An emerald lily dangled from it. She was totally naked, but for the leather cuffs around her wrists and ankles. A tight metal collar clutched her throat. Each square inch of her tanned body shone with fragrant oil. Her hair was slicked back into a ponytail. Over her right foot, where her ass cheek billowed out, the brand of a French lily marked her skin.
This place was called Bordello. The old woman had told her its name. It was a room with no windows. There were no colours but red. Red damask had been stretched over the walls. A huge bed stood covered with red satin pillows, red satin sheets, and red silk draperies. Her knees sank deeply into the red carpet. And even the lovely Japanese lacquered armoire was a shining red. All was red, except for the ceiling. The ceiling was a single, square wall-to-wall mirror.
She knew of only one door. It was almost invisible when closed. When it opened, her heart would leap with sudden electricity. She never knew who or what might cross the threshold to her silent cell of sexuality. But she knew there would be yet another opportunity to serve her Mistress. That certainty never failed to moisten the lips of her swollen sex.
She had been in here for days now. She only had left the room to visit the bathroom, where she restored her ravaged body to perfect splendour. She ate in this room. She slept in this room. But most of all she was fucked in this room. Mornings, afternoons and nights a constant stream of men and women visited her. Often they came as couples or groups for her to pleasure. They fucked her and ate her. They filled her throat and the depth of her bowels. She got double penetrated or even fucked in all three orifices at once. She remembered the visit of two lesbians. They used her with huge latex strap-on dildos. And once she'd had a session with six young studs that never seemed to end. They left her with a frosting of sperm on her face and chest, her thighs and belly.
A big woman visited her with two Labrador dogs. She'd had to suck them and receive them in her asshole. Many men had tied her down to the bed. Or they found other ways to submit her to bondage. They tortured her tits. They glazed her bare cunt lips with seething candle wax.
"Here I am. I kneel and ponder my fate. I wait for new patrons who will bring me new tortures. They shall offer me new ways to service my Mistress. It is my pride to accept that. To invite it. It has become my life. It is who I am. I know that now.
Sometimes I wonder about this girl Kristie. I knew her once. She was a healthy girl who worked hard. She loved to exercise her body. Kristie shared her life with uncomplicated friends. It was a dull life. Her days and nights had no meaning. She shared them with meaningless people. She worked with them in a meaningless job. She spent days at the beach with them. She spent her nights in discos.
Kristie lived her life for Kristie. She believed she had a life of her own. She thought she could live it for her own pleasure. She was independent. Another word she once knew. Or did she?
I knew that girl. Or did I? Not really. She was a selfish, silly girl. I remember her like I remember my old friends from high school. Like I know my colleagues from the restaurant. Like I remember my mom, my sis, my real sister, I mean. But I know I am not she. Not now. Not ever do I want to be her, anymore.
I am Giselle. I am Angique's girl. That thought makes my blood surge. My body and soul are Angique's. She is the woman I need to call Mistress. I cannot live without her anymore. She is the woman who watches me as I try to please her. The woman I convince myself of watching me through the overhead mirror. Giant cocks ravage my body and take me to climax. Angique watches me. I smile widely upwards into the mirrored ceiling. Fat splashes of sperm hit my face.
I know this is my world. My world is right".
Giselle felt happy. She felt sated. There was nothing she craved for. She just needed to serve whatever entered her little red room. Her Mistress would watch from above.
Her memory had become a limited place. Hazy walls had enclosed it. They moved and boiled with shapes too misty to declare themselves. Of course she remembered the Villa. She remembered her new sister Clarize. It was a clear memory. It always filled her with a glow. It made her yearn to have the girl with her. To have her here and share her services.
She had envied Brigitte the moment she came back to the Villa. She had been jealous. She feared the girl would destroy the special bond she had with her Mistress. Giselle had been baptized and marked. She had been pierced and branded to be the sole property of her mistress Angique. For a while she had been the one and only pet. Or at least that was what she thought she was.
But her envy had dissolved in the vast ocean of time-torture that Angique had submitted her to. When she surfaced and found the new girl in the dirt of her heart-rending misery, a new feeling had bloomed. They had grown close in the weeks after the shattering events in the stables. The ultimate baptism had glued their fate together. They had shared fears and ecstasies. Giselle saw her agonies mirrored in Clarize's eyes.
They had taught each other to accept their fate. They shared their nightmares. They fought their doubts. Together they found the courage to enter a new world of unconditional slavery.
One memory rose from the fuzzy edge of shadows. It shone with remarkable clarity. It brought back sounds and smells. It even echoed the incredible passion she had felt at the time. The lovely Summer Room of the Villa took shape before her mind's eye. The light came from a golden afternoon sun. As always it shone straight through the huge windows at the end of a cloudless day. It painted the two girls' naked bodies in stark contrasts of golden flesh and deep dark shadows.
Giselle remembered the cool slick leather of a crop against the palms of her hand. She stood very straight and held the instrument behind her back. She watched Clarize before her. Clarize had been pulled up at her wrists by a chain from the ceiling. Only the tips of her toes touched the floor. Giselle remembered now that her sister had not been blindfolded, nor gagged. Inside the new circle of short, auburn hair her face was composed. She even smiled. It was a smile that drove Giselle's heart up against her throat. She felt it throb with racing urgency.
Angique had not been there. She had not even been at the Villa. But she had left a note that morning. It showed an antique etching of two girls, both naked. One was chained up at the wrists. The other wielded a whip that touched the right nipple of the captured girl. In Angique's spidery handwriting only a time had been jotted down below it: 1700, Summer Room, it said.
Giselle had taken the note. She visited Clarize in her tiny room. They kissed and fondled each other as they often did of late. She just loved to feel their bodies' touch. To feel the warmth of it, the consolation. They usually helped each other groom their bodies. They shared showers and took each other's enemas. They dressed each other's hair and applied make up. All the while they touched and caressed their bodies to a level of arousal.
For a while they discussed the notes (Clarize had received a similar one). They decided the mistress wanted them to join in the illustrated activity.
"The crop I hold is a gift from Mistress. Angique calls it Angelthorn. She thoroughly flogged me with it and fucked me with the smooth handle. Then she handed it over. She told me it was my new Master. I should thank him for what he had done to me. So I sank to my knees. I kissed the leather with trembling lips. I thanked him for flogging me and bringing me to orgasm.
Angique then told me I should always sleep with my new Master. I should slide the handle between my sweet round tits. The little leather triangle at the tip should touch the top of my bare slit.
Ever since that day I hug my Master between my breasts before I go to sleep. I present Angelthorn to Mistress whenever I deserve to be punished. I beg her to use him on me. I need him to improve my attitude with his fiery kisses.
The same instrument of exquisite torture now rests in my hands. My eyes roam the wonderful body of my sister."
"Are you comfortable, sweet sister?" she asked.
Clarize only nodded and widened her smile.
"Please honour me, darling Giselle", she said. "Make my skin bleed its love for our Mistress."
The words made Giselle gasp. A surge of affection rose inside her. She displayed Angelthorn on her open palms. Clarize uttered a little squeal of joy.
"Ah, cet honneur, ma belle", she sighed. "Your sweet master to kiss my skin. Merci, ma petite soeur. Oh mon Dieu, tu me rends si heureuse."
A tear leaked from her eye. Her lower lip trembled. Somehow the air seemed to close in. Giselle stepped forward and cupped her sister's face. Then she licked the salty tear away. They kissed deeply. Their tongues wriggled like mad pink fishes. Then Giselle took a step back as she had seen her Mistress do. She made the tip of the Thorn flick her sister's nipple at the end of a perfect arch.
"I close my eyes. A shiver runs the length of my spine. I remember the rush of power in my veins. I see my sister's knees buckle under the impact. But more than that I remember the squirt of hot moisture. It runs down my own thighs when I repeat the onslaught. I etch pink welds on Clarize's immaculate flesh."
After a number of strikes the climax had built strongly inside her. She wasn't able to aim anymore. The Thorn fell from her powerless hand and she stumbled into the dangling body. She came with incredible force. Her arms closed around her sister who shook with her own orgasm. She screamed Giselle's name at the top of her lungs.
They both knew how the moment changed their life. Giselle had untied her sister. They had both sunk to the cool floor and gasped for air. They held each other in a tight embrace.
Giselle declared her love. But Clarize had closed her mouth with deep and endless kisses. They had lain there for at least an hour. Then Giselle had carried her sister off. She bathed her. After that she dressed the ugly bruises with soft oil and even softer fingers.
They were true sisters now. Their fate had been linked and tied into an unbreakable knot. There was no way back.
For three days and nights they repeated the ritual. They punished their skins and flogged their sexes into a rage of climaxes. When their mistress returned, their bodies were a craquelé of welds and bruises. Their skin was a spider's web of painful lust. They flung their naked frames at Angique. They kissed her and thanked her for bringing them so close together.
Angique smiled. She picked up Angelthorn and buried it deep inside the black trunk. She closed the lid and took the key.
"No more of this for a while, sweet children", she said. "I must fear for your lives." Then the three of them had made love on the huge bed. They had not slept before the first daylight.
The morning of the next day Angique had woken Giselle. She told her to prepare for a journey. The girl was only half-awake. But an hour later she found herself on the backseat of the limousine. She was as naked as she had been in the Villa. All windows had been blinded. Arnold was as uninformative as ever.
The journey took at least three hours. When they arrived at the stern castle-like building, she had no idea where she was. Arnold got her out of the car. He led her to the front door. There he left her standing in all her bruised splendour, and drove away.
She rang a bell. A woman who could have been the twin sister of Maria opened the door. She bade her to come in. Then she clicked the eye of a leash onto her collar and brought her to the room she was in right now.
"A sigh leaves my throat. I sit even straighter. The door opens. Two heavy built Negro gentlemen step into the red Bordello room. One of them kicks me. He growls at me to take his mighty black cock into my white trash, dirty throat. I know him. But I know him with another girl's memory. A memory that knocks at the back of my mind. It won't enter.
I crawl up against his expensive slacks. I open his fly with trembling fingers."
Exposed.
Angique reclined in the smoothly rounded leather club chair. She watched the autumn storms rage against tall windowpanes. Her eyes were half closed. She saw the world through the haze of her lashes. So snug it was, so entirely relaxed. She felt the blaze of the fire caress the left side of her body. It glowed right through the blood red silk of her robe.
She sipped a cool, dry mouthful of Pinot Gris. The glass rotated in her fingers as she looked over the rim. Isn't my world perfect, she mused. And she watched the two lovely creatures sharing the room with her. One was huge and dark and furry. His broad head rested between impressive paws. He lay flat on the oriental carpet. The other was pale and naked. Her sleek body stretched alongside the hound. A small hand scratched his head behind the ears. A full-lipped mouth whispered sweet words as she kissed the nose.
"The way she touches him, so easy, so natural. The way he succumbs to her soft and sweet caresses. The girl arouses him as soon as he scents her presence. Of course he has been trained that way. But I never saw him get this nervous and protective before. Not even with bitches of his own kind."
Angique knew how easily the girl's heat was ignited lately. She only had to be around his vigorous maleness. Her nostrils flared, her pupils dilated when he was brought to her. It seemed impossible for her not to touch him. She couldn't resist pushing her swollen nipples into his fur. She just needed to caress the steel muscles that rolled so easily under the shining pelt.
But yes, Angique also knew why the girl directed all her lust towards the brute. It made her sigh with frustration. Far from breaking her, she had let her escape yet again. The torture of her isolation and the loss of her lover had not torn down her fortress of reservation. Brigitte had been taken to the grave, but it did not free Clarize. Angique had shaken her to the core. Through wide gaps in her defences she saw her throbbing heart. It lay exposed for her to grab. But she could not take it and have her. Her spirit must be intact. She must offer it of her own free will.
She had not done that.
Another sigh escaped her mouth. The girl was too busy to notice. The bitch was very close, right now. Angique could smell it. Even the pink skin around her nipples swelled into aching tightness. Her hidden cuntlips strained against the smooth leather that cupped and guarded her entrance. It was once more impossible for her to touch her screaming clit. If she'd spread her thighs now, her moisture would seep from the edges. It would run down the tender skin where loin and leg unite. Sweetest hell it must be for her. She forever dwelt on the brink of ecstasy. But she was not allowed to cross it.
Maybe she wasn't aware what she was doing, Angique mused. Maybe she even had convinced herself that she pleased Brynn and Giselle as a way to pleasure her Mistress. A save pleasuring by proxy. It kept her soul from plunging into her Mistress's blazing sun and being consumed.
"In the end she only fears me. She fears my dizzying swing of emotions. My cruelty. She fears my opaque scheming. My omnipotent ability to know her deepest thoughts. It hurts me to know it is just fear that keeps us joined."
Angique spoke the girl's new name. She felt her heart sink when Clarize's eyes met hers. Guileless affection had filled the blue oceans to the rim. They suddenly darkened into guarded attention.
"Oh my God, why can't I have you, sweet girl? I freed you with holy baptism. I branded you to make you mine. I collared you. I pierced your nipple with my sign. But still the cloud hovers. How far do we have to travel to meet each other?
Must I admit my failure?"
She looked stunning with her short auburn hair. Her face shone above her leather-circled throat. The smooth silkiness of her skin contrasted sharply with the narrow straps that laced her lower body. They marked her Mistress's dominance. They also stated her submission. They closed the gate of her garden.
"I think it is about time the world should see how far we have come, sweet bitch", Angique said. A sudden flare of excited anxiety washed the clouds off the girl's face.
"Oh yes, yesss Mistress... thank you, thank you! You hear that, Brynn? Mistress is proud of us. She wants the world to know."
She crawled on all fours over to her Mistress. She clutched her calves and kissed the painted nails on her toes. Angique grabbed her hair. She buried her green piercing gaze into the wide-open eyes.
"Is that truly you, Clarize? Is that really what you think?" she whispered.
The blue eyes widened even more in utter confusion. Clarize shook her head and said: "Please, Mistress, don't doubt your girl. She carried a heavy guilt. Please don't add new weight to it."
A silver tear formed at the corner of her eye.
"Maitresse", she said. Her lips quivered. "S'il vous plait, de patience... Please have patience with this ungrateful girl. She will come around. She will be perfect. Really, she will."
She dried her wet cheeks on the skin of her Mistress's feet.
The girl that stood firmly on her silver stilettos. Angique walked around her. She admired the slender legs and high, tight ass. She took in the bare, painted tits and silver skullcap. Her pale soft throat was encased in silver leather. Her eyes sparkled behind slits in a silver mask.
"Something's missing", she whispered under her breath.
"Arnold must be waiting for us in the car by now, but something's missing."
She circled the girl again. She caressed her body with the soft tip of her crop. She kissed the aching nipples with it. They pointed dark and green out of their silver painted haloes. Then she touched the cup that covered her slit. She stroked the high, round buttocks. They were dressed in silver chains. At last she poked at the silver plug deep inside the painted rosebud. It stretched it into a perfect O.
"You look so lovely now, sweet girl. Do you feel beautiful for me?"
Clarize's green lips tried to stretch even further. A sun rose over her face. She stood even straighter and nodded. She was unable to speak because of the silver ball gagging her mouth.
An inaudible moan stuck in her throat.
Then Angique walked over to a huge black trunk. It stood half hidden in a shadowy corner. She felt the girl's eyes follow her through the mask. She opened the lid and looked inside.
"Something pretty."
She took out a small, black jewellery box and placed it on the palm of her open hand. She stretched her arm until the box was right before the girl's face. Then she opened the lid to show her the content. It lay displayed on purple silk.
The girl's wide eyes flashed behind the mask. There was fear for the unknown. Fear for the pain the objects promised. But there was also curiosity for what might be in store for her. For a renewed experience of the mysterious miracle: to feel ugly pain turn into waves of pleasure.
On the purple silk were two bright silver jewels. They were half an inch long filigree hoods. Attached to them were fragile chains. Two lovely silver French lilies dangled from them.
Angique reached forward with her mouth. She licked the inside of the girl's ear, then whispered: "Pour toi, mon chou; please present your left nipple."
She carefully removed the white gold piercing. Then she picked an ice cube out of the cooler and ran it around the shivering flesh. She sucked the cold drops off it. She smiled at the incredible firmness and at the girl's muffled moans.
Then she took the first jewel out of the box and warmed it slowly in the curl of her tongue. She slid it over the hard, extended tip. Her fingers turned it tight and tighter, until it clamped itself on the strangled flesh.
She iced the right nipple too, and applied the second hood. Then she attached the chains to the collar. They were short enough to pull up the nipples and made them point slightly upwards. She stepped back and marvelled at the sight. The light sparkled on the filigree. The dangling lilies tingled at every breath.
"You are perfect now, sweet love... just perfect. Let's go and collect Brynn. Maria made him look gorgeous too".
She attached a leash to the silver collar, pulling softly as she led the way. She loved to imagine how the girl behind her must feel. She imagined how the delicious stretching in her thighs and calves must feel at every high-heeled step. How she must feel the fullness in her bowels from the silver plug. How her nipples were tugged by every sway of her lovely tits. My girl, she thought, how I envy you. Please be my sweet silver angel tonight.
They left the huge master bedroom where the girl had been dressed and painted. Her Mistress had adorned her with ancient jewellery. She had locked the entrance to her dripping garden, and blocked the portal of her mouth. She had closed her tight rear entrance with a cone of heavy silver.
When they entered the hall, the giant Dane welcomed them. He was chain-leashed. A stubborn Maria held him tightly. He tugged and yelped when he saw his glorified bitch.
"Look, Clarize, look at his brutal beauty."
The girl gave a muffled moan. Angique knew she died to run to her gray canine Master.
Maria had adorned him beautifully. She had covered the huge head with a silver leather mask. His fur had been brushed into a gloss. It highlighted his muscles as they rolled at every move. His paws were wrapped in silver kid leather. His loins and hips had been strapped with silver leather too. When they came closer they saw that his massive cock hung encased in the same material. It was tied with silver leather thongs.
He was in a state of high arousal.
Angique watched her girl. She saw her breasts rise and fall in rapid breathing. Each breath sent jolts through her capped nipples. Little ripples ran down her skin. She looked as nervous as a full-blooded mare.
"Go and look after him, love", Angique whispered. Clarize ran towards the hound on her towering heels. She knelt beside him and pushed her pale, painted body into the dark gray fur. She rubbed her face against the giant head. Then her hand crawled towards his side and under his panting belly. The fingers closed around the exposed head. It leaked tiny drops of crystal clear slime. Her other hand stroked the dogs muzzle. His broad moist tongue licked her face.
Angique pulled at her leash and said, smiling: "Sorry, lovers... we really must go now. Can't let them wait, can we?"
The weather outside was cold and damp. It was misty. Angique gladly accepted a mink cape. Arnold wrapped it around her bare shoulders and exposed chest. Clarize shivered. She tottered towards the car, holding on to her panting Master. Arnold opened the door. He helped Angique into the rich tan leather interior. The hound and his bitch were left standing in the cold. He carefully closed the door. Then he walked around and opened the back hatch. He stepped aside to let Brynn jump in. He then growled something inaudible to the trembling girl and shoved her inside with the dog.
"The car was heated and very comfortable. I reached for the little refrigerator and poured a glass of chilled white wine. It was an excellent Touraine from the Loire Valley. I heard my sweet companions shuffle behind the separation in the back. It made me smile while I nipped. I felt the fruity liquid slide down my throat. How far the girl has come already, I pondered once more. The car almost soundlessly pulled off.
Far enough, I prayed. Yet not too far. There should be room for surprises."
The landscape hid in darkness and shrouds of mist. The car followed the curves and hairpins down the mountain. The silent lake bathed the reflection of a fat, full moon. The limousine seemed to float. It detached its passengers from the reality of a bumpy road.
Angique wasn't able to look into the back compartment. She tried to imagine her pretty girl curved tightly against her beloved brute. She imagined how she hugged him for warmth and companionship. Ah, and for safety, Angique mused wryly. The girl could no longer escape the omnipresent lust her Mistress trained into her relentlessly. It was a horny lust that tore through her shaking body every conscious and unconscious moment of her life now. She could no longer negate it, even if she'd wanted to. But she could focus it away from the woman she feared. So she focused it on Giselle, her innocent, sweet sister. And she focused it on this innocent hound. He was a lover she could predict. So she could trust him and feel save with him. Only this way the choking lust would not run away with her. It would not take her to places she feared. Places that were beyond the last rim of her crumbling control.
It was easy to imagine Clarize's arousal. Her trembling fingers would touch the steel muscles under the hound's sleek fur. His uncomplicated sexuality would engulf her raw senses. Deep inside she would sense the growing hunger for his creamy fluids. It was an appetite that seemed to never leave her lately. Drinking sperm seemed to turn into an addiction. To get it and to swallow it occupied her fuzzy mind.
It also left her Mistress in a state of envy.
After they reached the Strada Statale, Arnold stepped on it. They sped into the early night. Angique slid deeper into the leather. She felt her temperature rise, just anticipating the events to come. Her furs dropped off her shoulders and she smiled. Oh yes... the girl would be a great success, of that she was certain. Her stunning beauty and incredible appearance would be the pièce de resistance de la soiree. The ease and grace of her new found pride would reduce them to sighs and whispers. The groomed brutality of her canine Master would even silence the Comtesse and her snobbish friends.
She'd teach the old nag a lesson. Yes, she would.
"I finished the glass and looked out of the window. Five more minutes and we would reach the house. Funny, never before had I been this nervous... in such a wonderful way."
The Mansion was a lovely, elegant Rococo styled building. It was set in a park of undulating lawns. There were dark shimmering ponds and age-old beeches. The car drove up the winding driveway. The house stood against the darkening sky like a fully lit Christmas tree. Arnold stopped right in front of steps that led up to the front door. He opened Angique's side of the car. He helped her out, and wrapped the fur around her shoulders.
Then he opened the back hatch. Brynn jumped out. The girl followed. She stood a bit forlorn and hugged herself against the chilling wind.
"Stand straight, be proud, girl", Angique called out. Then she took the leash. She tweaked one of the encased nipples. She gave her an encouraging smile and led her toward the entrance.
The silver and gray dog fell in step. Clarize took him by his studded collar. Angique looked back and felt her breath stick in her throat. She watched the pale silver and blue girl on her towering legs stride next to the perfect brute. Her bound hips swayed. Liquid moonlight slithered down her curves.
Angique stepped towards her. She whispered in her ear:
"Now behave, sweet girl... let me be proud of you".
The girl stared back out of wide eyes and dilated pupils. Her mouth was unable to express what she felt. Just a low moan escaped her stuffed throat. Then she and her master were led away by a valet. They would join their companions in preparation for the night's entertainment.
Inside about a thirty people were standing around in clusters. They were talking and drinking around a lovely dressed, huge dining table. It was laden with glasses and porcelain, and lit by hundreds of candles. In the corner an all female chambre orchestra of six Oriental girls played Mozarts Kleine Nachtmusik. All of them were totally naked. Their pink bodies blushed in the warm candlelight.
Angique accepted a long stemmed glass of kir royal. She started mixing.
