"What do you think that son of a bitch is going to do to us now?" asked Michael, his hands tied securely behind his back with a short length of rope. "I'd love to cut his balls off, I really would!"
"Shush, Michael," said Sheryle, not wanting to hear such things about Mr. Stanton. "He might hear you. You wouldn't want to make him mad."
"You sucking up to him or something? I've seen the way you look at him. It's like he's some sort of a God. Has he hypnotized you or something? You aren't even thinking about escaping from here any more, and we've been here for months and months."
"That's not true!!" she flared. "I am, too, thinking about getting away. It's just that…"
"Yeah, what is it?" demanded Michael.
"It's just that he keeps such a close watch on us. We can't possibly escape at the same time. When he has you tied up he's with me and sometimes he has both of us together so he can watch us and…"
"And you have given up trying to get away," said Michael bitterly.
She wanted to reassure him, to let him know that her feelings for Mr. Stanton weren't the same as for him. Mr. Stanton was strong, masterful, everything that Michael wasn't. But she could forgive Michael because he was so young. When he got older he might be able to command her like Stanton did now. She had learned much about herself and that she needed a powerful, commanding man to tell her exactly what to do was part of that self-discovery.
"There is a way," she said, hating herself for this. "I noticed that there was a…" She suddenly bit off her words as she saw the door to the bedroom opening. It could be only Mr. Stanton.
And it was. She had never seen the man looking more like a God than now. He was stripped to the waist and had oiled his body so that he gleamed a dull coppery in the light. He wore tight leather pants and calf-high boots. The butt end of his whip was stuffed into the top of his right boot, where he could reach it in a hurry, if needed.
Sheryle vowed that he wouldn't need it today. She still had the welts from the last beating he had given her. He had laid out the most tempting meal she had ever seen. As the food rolled across her tastebuds, the man had whipped her. And afterwards, he had fucked her. While she was still feeling the nice warm glow of a good fucking, he had whipped her again. In her mind and body, she was mixing pleasure and pain together into a heady concoction. It was becoming possible for her to climax when he whipped her. She didn't understand how this was possible, but it was happening to her. Pain and delight were almost the same thing now, thanks to the man's careful program of whipping her while she was doing enjoyable things.
"Perform!" the man said, his voice cool and aloof. It was almost as if he didn't care about them. But Sheryle knew differently. He cared. Otherwise, he wouldn't whip her like he did. If he thought she was a nothing, a huge zero in the equation of life, he wouldn't give her the time of the day. Instead he made sure she received discipline that would enforce his rules. He thought she could learn and she knew she wanted to please him.
"How?" she asked, knowing what the answer would be.
She wasn't disappointed. He jerked the whip out of the top of his boot and landed a stinging blow across her naked shoulders. The lick of the lather made her cringe a little, but it also did things to her pussy that she was beginning to love. Her cunt started to churn and boil inside, knowing that the best was yet to come.
"Fuck her," Mr. Stanton said to Michael. "Now! Do it now!"
The whip lashed out again and cleverly cut through the bonds holding the youth's wrists. Michael blinked twice at the power shown in the lashing. The whip had never done that to his flesh. But the message was clear. It could be that powerful any time that Stanton wanted.
Michael hesitantly approached the naked delights offered by Sheryle. He swallowed hard, looking into her green eyes. She was as lovely now as she had ever been, perhaps more so. He didn't quite understand the change that had come in her. She glowed now, radiating a sexuality that was almost frightening in its intensity. He knew he could be happy fucking a chick as lovely as this, as willing and hot.
She didn't move as he approached. At the last instant, she turned her back to him and shoved out her ass. Her hands came behind her back and beckoned him on. She wanted to fuck her in this position, standing up. Michael gripped the girl's slender wrists and pulled her arms back in what must have been a painful position. She moaned and shoved her ass back in wanton invitation. He didn't understand why she got off on pain now, but it was obvious she did. And he wasn't going to turn her down.
The sight of her perky, smoothly curving white ass being thrust back for him to fuck was more than any man could have endured. His prick began to stir, rising slowly, stiffening to the point where the hard-on actually hurt him.
"Fuck her," said Stanton. "Now! Don't hesitate. Give it all to her."
The whip lashed across Sheryle's tits, giving her an intense pain into her chest. She had felt her nipples beginning to harden with lust when Michael had pulled her arms straight back. The way she shoved her ass into his crotch was designed to open her pussy wide to him and it did. She felt his cock moving up from under her wide-spread pussylips. Glancing down, she saw it homing in on her cunt hole like a rocket seeking out the hot tail pipe of an enemy fighter plane. Trembling at the mere touch of his cock against her super-heated pussylips, the girl cried out when his cockhead sank into her cunt.
"Fuck meeeee!" she sobbed. "Give it all, to me. Fuck me till I burn up inside. I need it!"
"Silence!" screamed Stanton, using the whip liberally on her heaving belly. She was soon crisscrossed with the fiery red welts from his whip. Bent forward as she was, her ass pressing into Michael's crotch, the man had a perfect shot at her body. With her arms pulled back on either side of her body, the flesh of her tits tightened and made every impact of his whip even more telling.
Sheryle felt her body filling with pain even as the delight-giving prick reamed her out. She loved the feel of that cock hot and hard inside her cunt. It made her cunt walls strain to expand enough. The very nerve endings all along her fuck tunnel sang in joy as Michael rammed in deeper. When he was fully buried, his balls wetly slapped forward, giving her cuntlips an extra treat.
All this joy was alloyed with the pain Stanton's whip delivered. He whipped her with a vigorous melody now, never breaking the skin but always inflicting the maximum in pain. She knew he would never permanently mark her, he never had. But he would give her pain during the very time she was experiencing the most intense pleasures a human could feel. She came.
And what confused the girl the most, she didn't know if it was from the prick beginning to fuck her with slow, sensuous movements or the whip singing its song of misery.
"Aiceecee!" she moaned, both pain and wonder filling her totally. Her tits were almost raw from the whip. She remembered the lampshades in the man's dining area. She didn't want her precious titties to end up skinned and stretched over a wire frame. Stanton was capable of anything – if she didn't give him the pleasure he demanded.
"Fuck me, ohhh, God, Michael, God! Fuck me good. Give it all to my poor little pussy!"
The youth pulled back harder on her arms until she thought she was going to break down the middle. He needed the pressure on her arms for the leverage it gave him. He couldn't get enough otherwise to really fuck her cunt. His prick speared deeper and deeper into her pussy until she felt the familiar sexual tensions about to break inside.
When she came again, she knew it was strictly from the fucking. Her cunt was sopping wet no drenching the youth's fuck stick. He had to fuck faster to give her the divine friction she needed. Her cunt-juice was almost too much for him.
But he managed to fuck her like she desired when the whip landed across his tensed buttocks. He jerked into her harder than ever before. Sheryle loved the spasmodic fucking. The pain was leaving her own body, driven out by the wonderful feelings of his prick. Better that Michael experienced a little pain than her, she thought selfishly.
Mr. Stanton flailed wildly at Michael's ass, making sure that the youth gave her all the power in his fucking that she could have wanted.
He drilled harder into her cunt, then twisted around a little. She felt his cock jolt every time the whip landed on his ass. The pain transmitted to her body in the form of such electric desire that she came and came and came. She couldn't hold it any longer. She didn't understand what was happening to her, but knowing that Michael was being whipped excited her. Feeling his body react with every whip blow built up her own passions until she was lost in a constant teeth-rattling come.
"Mooore!" she moaned out. "Give it all to me! Fuck me good, fuck me hard, but fuck meeeee!"
The sound of leather against bare flesh came to her ears. It was music. She had to have more. Bending forward, thrusting her arms back until her shoulders threatened to break, she got even more of his hard-on up her cunt. She came again. She couldn't stop herself now. The tremors passing through her were like major earthquakes.
The suddenness of Mr. Stanton's whip lashing across her pussylips brought her off more intensely than she had ever come. She thought the top of her head would blow off. When the man landed his leather whip on Michael's balls, her cunt surged with the impact of hot jism. The youth shot out his cum with the power of a firehose.
Both of them were wracked with the intensity of their comes. And when Michael's prick began to go flaccid, she was actually sated. The girl was emotionally and physically drained, thanks to the whipping. Stanton had done the very thing necessary to get them both off to the maximum.
"God, I didn't think I could do it," said Michael, his body heaving in sweaty exertion. "And look, that bastard actually got off on us!"
A tiny puddle of jizz spread out on the thick rug in the middle of the room. Stanton had gotten his rocks off while he was watching them fuck, while he was whipping them both.
"So?" asked Sheryle, not really caring.
"So the man's a sicko, that's what. We've got to get out of here!" Michael looked around the room guiltily, but Stanton had left as quietly as he had entered. His comings and goings were never watched by anyone.
"Do you really think we should try to escape?" asked Sheryle. "After what happened to us before? Those dogs could rip our throats."
"Better that and death than being sex slaves here the rest of our lives. That man can kill us any time he wants and no one will know. Sheryle, we've got to escape!"
"Well, okay," she said reluctantly. "I think I've found a way out."
"You have!" Michael's face lit up. For a moment, Sheryle was happy again. They could escape and continue on their way to California. They could live together in a beach house…
"Tell me, dammit, tell me. How? How do we get out of here?"
"Th-the door's open now. There's a window down the hall that has a broken lock on it. If we can tie some ropes together, we can lower ourselves into the lawn and get away."
"Dress! Get some clothes on." Michael hurriedly climbed into the pair of shorts that Stanton had allowed him. Sheryle got into a simple dress hanging in the closet. She remembered with great fondness the ball gown that Stanton had once given her. Black velvet, low cut, feeling like a million dollars against her naked flesh. And the string of diamonds he had put around her neck, too. That had to be worth a fortune. She remembered all that – and how he had ripped the dress off her and humiliated her later by smearing her body with grease and allowing one of his dogs to lick it off.
Then the dog had fucked her.
She had never told Michael about that because it was such a painful memory. Humiliated by a dog! She finished dressing and quickly knotted together the ropes in the room. It seemed long enough.
She opened the window at the end of the hall and tied one end of the rope to a nearby table leg. It would have to do.
"Hurry, Sheryle, hurry! That son of a bitch might come back at any second."
She seemed to be in a daze. Hardly knowing what she was doing, she slid down the rope. The burns on her hands were inconsequential compared with the prospect of freedom. The air blowing into her face convinced her that she was free once more. Free!
The pair ran off hand in hand across the well cared-for lawn. No dogs nipped at their heels. In less than ten minutes they had reached the highway again. The bright summer sun blazed down on them. For six months they had been prisoners in Mr. Stanton's mansion. She managed to get a car to stop. Michael climbed in first. Sheryle stood there looking at him in the car, Michael beaming and looking like a little boy again. She slammed the door and said, "Go on without me. It's better that way."
The car drove off before Michael could protest. Sheryle watched the car round a curve in the road, then turned back toward the house where she had been imprisoned – toward the house and the only real man she had ever found in the world.