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Collected by Djian
updated juni 29 - 2008
It is complete fiction refers to nobody in the real world and is for Another story by angiquesophie Giselle, Clarize - a Love Story | Ma P'tite
reading by adults (over 18) and even then only by those who know
the difference between fantasy & reality
(MF+/f, BDsm, slavery, spank, pierc, beast, rough)
Bordello
by angiquesophie
Copyright© 2007 by angiquesophie
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."
The end...