“Oh my God, I’m coming!” Deana
Garrett screeched. “Come on, Louie, put your hand down there or kiss me or fuck
me or something. This damned thing is getting to me!”
Her big, heavy-lidded eyes looked
at the girl lashed securely to the enormous round oak dining table, her body a
mass of welts and bruises and tiny trickles of blood. A few burned places
looked oddly white against the discolouration of her skin and yet her long hair
and her clear, green, fear-filled eyes still showed what devastating beauty she
possessed.
“Get Rocco to take care of you,”
her husband said absently. “I’ve never had a chance to tickle a broad and watch
how she hurts herself when she twitches like this.” He demonstrated by trailing
a large feather, its tip curling and moist, between the thighs of the helpless
girl with one hand while he used a fox tail across the soles of her feet. The
girl’s muscles twitched like frog legs being cooked in a pan.
“You do something for me, Dan,”
Deana half-commanded, half-pleaded. “Remember when I took care of you even
though you were hurting me with that big dong of yours. Come on, sock it to me
now. I’m not doing you any favours this time; you’re doing me one.”
“Oh no, I’m not. After I put in my
two hundred fifty for this party,” the big, coarse man growled, “I’m getting my
nuts off in Laura here. I don’t care what condition she’s in. I’m horny as
hell.”
“Why not get Peg to eat you?” Maria
Ponzi suggested to Deana archly, casting a sidelong glance at Peg Jacobsen. She
smiled inwardly as this suggestion of lesbianism forced Peg’s face into a
stiff, tightly self-controlled smile.
“Perhaps Arvid?”
Peg suggested, looking questioningly at her husband.
“Why not?” Arvid
asked. “I can’t even enjoy myself when Peg’s menstruating so I sure couldn’t do
it with this girl and all that blood.” The way he said it, “enjoy” sounded like
“enyoy.”
“But I want to watch,” Deana said.
“So you lie down on your back, Arvid.”
“Remember, a lady always rests at
least half her weight on her elbows,” Louis Garrett told his wife as he brought
out a quill pen with a curly ostrich feather and began trailing it over Laura
Carrington’s hurt and sensitive nipples.
Rocco Ponzi went around filling
everyone’s glasses. His wife, Maria, her superlative breasts thrusting outward
proudly thanks to their exciting proportions and the artful way in which she
carried them, unsupported by a brassiere, lit incense, looking like a pagan
priestess in her topless garb, the flickering candlelight reflecting in her
sweat.
Now she picked up a four foot long
leather whip with ten tongues and lovingly ran the leather over her cupped
palm.
“My turn again,” she said softly.
“No, not so soon, please,” the tied
up girl begged, her swollen upper lip looking oddly kissable and beestung. “Please let me have just a few minutes, just five
minutes, to get my nerves to stop twitching like this.”
“It’ll take your mind off Louis
here and his damned feather,” Maria said, unmoved.
She drew the whip back and let its
long leather strips bite in a fan-shape across Laura’s sore chest and belly.
One of the straps actually caught her full across her left nipple. The “Thwack”
of the falling leather seemed a beat in the cello rumble coming from the costly
hi-fi.
“Oh, OH, OH DAMN, but that hurt!”
Laura shouted in agony. “‘For heaven’s sake don’t hit me any more with that. I
haven’t any place on me that’s not on fire already!”
As if in negative reply, the
fan-shaped marking of the cruelly supple whip raised a purple and red design on
Laura’s left upper thigh, a big elm tree shape with one corner seemingly anchored
at her belly button.
Laura’s eyes closed and fresh tears
coursed out of the outer corners and down to her ears. Her body trembled from
the horror and the pain of it. Louis decided he’d trace the pattern the flail
had just formed on the girl’s pain-wracked body with his fuchsia ostrich
feather.
Maria watched the man’s lean
features, the high cheekbones, the dark, sunken eyes. She watched the thin lips
smile as Laura felt the mockery of the tickling after the pain. Then the whip
slashed the air again with its oddly sighing sound and when it landed, the
feather was broken and there was a break in the pattern of the new marking
Maria had made on Laura’s body. That was a tiger-striping in red that the whip
had made on Louis’ arm. The broken feather looked like a candle that had been
snapped near its base.
Louis looked at the sore arm, half
turned to Maria in protest, and then fainted right across the body of his wife
on the floor.
“Oh hell, Arvid,”
Deana snarled drunkenly, “that tore it for me.”
“Then will both you get off of me?”
Arvid gasped beneath the enormous weight of Deana.
“I’m out of the mood too.”
Deana stood up, letting her
husband’s head hit the floor as he dropped from her body. She yanked the whip
out of Maria’s hand where it had been drawn back for a slash right across the
girl’s most sensitive region. Then Deana threw Maria down with one shove of her
powerful left arm and she hit the woman exactly where she had intended to hit
Laura with the flail. As Maria shrieked in pain, Deana yanked up one leg,
shoved the flail handle in the orifice thus exposed, and warned the dark
beauty: “Take that out before I say it’s okay and I’ll shove it all into you!”
Rocco Ponzi, Maria’s husband,
jumped onto the table, one foot actually stepping on Laura’s breast, and then
he launched himself through the air at Deana. Dan Morgan, in an odd show of
chivalry, chose to catch the foot that had been stepping on Laura and shove it
high in the air. As Rocco fell to one side, Deana slashed at his head with her
big hand. “I’ll give you a damned whole body massage if you try to jump me
again, you bastard,” the furious Amazon snarled.
“And what’s the idea stepping on
her?” Dan asked.
“Look, she’s just a whore,” Rocco
whined, looking up at his two big assailants. “Probably a hooker.”
“Well, I ain’t
shoved it into her yet,” Dan said by way of explanation.
Deana swaggered over to a table and
took a cigarette from a box there, lit it and took a deep, deep drag, then let
the smoke slowly trickle out of her nose.
“I think I’ll fix her so you
won’t,” Deana said, recalling her rejection by Dan of awhile before. Suddenly
she reached forward and held the lighted cigarette’s glowing ash directly
against Laura’s clitoris.
Laura emitted one piercing scream
and fainted. Dan’s doubled fist connected squarely with Deana’s jaw and the big
woman dropped. Arvid and Peg had backed away,
horrified at the pattern this orgy was taking. Now they went into the other
roam to wash up, dress and go.