Originally published as two parts - we now bring you SLAVES OF JANICE - the complete story in one volume.
Two young men compete for the sexual favours of Janice - one of the hardest dominatrices I`ve yet come across. The competition between these two homophobic men in 60`s Britain is FIERCE!
The action is hard, furious and painful in this searing story. Whilst the young men compete on many levels, there is no proper gay action here - indeed such a thing would be unthinkable - though they do have to complete the painful tasks set them under the watchful eye of one or more female mistresses.”
Nipple fights, blowjobs, cock torture and ball torsions abound together with induced erections and ejaculations, as well as the punishments - cruel plimsoll blows to arses, shoulders, inner thighs, lower abdomens, erect penises and balls which continue even after ejaculations.
There are many endurance contests, such as Janice’s knees grinding into bollocks until she gets a submission, and other situations where submission is not an option.
This is hard stuff indeed from Anaconda - a pain specialist. And of course, there is THAT contest, the one we do not speak about.
Includes Erotic Wrestling!
EXTRACT
There are many ways to narrate a story, but this account must start at
the beginning. The players did not enjoy the benefit of hindsight and
neither shall we.
Christopher and Lawrence had recently celebrated their
eighteenth birthdays, just allowing time to tick by before the end of
term. Their lives were all very boring, until two rather strange
incidents occurred exactly a week apart.
At the end of the last period on a wet Thursday afternoon,
Lawrence and Christopher were indulging in innocent nude horseplay
following their showers after their physical education lesson. Their
parents insisted that they shower at school, to save the cost of hot
water at home. Most of the other boys preferred to escape quickly,
when so permitted.
Their skylarking consisted mainly of trying to sting each
other’s arses with damp towels, swung wildly whilst they jumped and
climbed around the benches in the male changing-area. Christopher had
received a humdinger blow to his right buttock. His retaliation missed
and landed full force on Lawrence’s genitalia with a loud thwack.
“What are you two queer creeps up to?”
It was Veronica, the class bicycle, standing far too close to
their naked bodies.
This was an unjustified insult as Lawrence and Christopher
were two exceptionally homophobic and reasonably handsome young men,
both devoid of a single gay bone in their bodies. They lived in a
small town within the British Isles in the early nineteen-sixties.
It was a place where any homosexual behaviour was not only a
crime in the eyes of their God, but also contrary to the law of the
land. Their God was an unforgiving and vengeful God; a deity who
regarded all sex as a sin. The law was equally unforgiving, but was
not so all seeing due to its one blind-eye.
Both were soon to leave school lacking useful qualifications,
despite their parents forcing them to stay the extra three years.
Neither would be able to get a job, even if they had wanted to. Drink,
drugs and petty crime suited them better - a modest amount of pick
pocketing, shoplifting and joy riding (before it got that most
inappropriate of names).
The lads also had a kind side to their characters, such as
helping younger kids to reduce weight by removing their lunch money.
Moreover, on Friday nights after a few beers, they enjoyed the sport
of queer bashing. Christopher and Lawrence could see no harm in
queer-bashing, just good clean fun.
Their insulter, Veronica, was a slim, full-breasted blond.
She was highly desirable apart from the acne that covered her face.
Her deep cleavage was clearly visible where too many white-blouse
buttons were undone. Had she been a boy, her numerous conquests would
have made her a stallion rather than a slut.
“Just a bit of fun, Veronica. Fancy a fuck whilst you’re
here?” Christopher retorted.
“Not today, but I do appreciate your well-considered, cool
chat up line. I have bloody-waste-of-fucking-time syndrome.”
For all his talk, Christopher was ill prepared to consummate
his offer. He had no idea even how to start to make love to a woman.
He also failed to recognise Veronica’s sarcasm. Lawrence and he had
both held their towels in front of their genitalia, signalling their
virginity as clearly as flashing neon signs.
“Don’t you girls hit each other with towels?” enquired
Lawrence.
“That’s far too tame for girls. Nipple fights are better.”
“We’ve done nipple fights. Nothing special about them.”
boasted Christopher.
Unusually, he was telling the truth. Nipple tweaking had
become a very popular sport amongst the boys. Normally tweak and run,
but Lawrence and he had engaged in nipple contests before.
“I don’t believe you. Torture each other’s nipples. I’ll give
the winner a gobbling.”
Veronica expected Christopher and Lawrence to make their
excuses. She had failed to take into account how desperately these
lads wanted erotic contact with a woman. When they dropped their
towels and grabbed each other’s nipples, she could see them both
already fully hard with the prospect of entering her mouth. The
contestants gave her one hell of a display. She felt her own
lubrication increasing as they pinched, twisted and pulled. Minutes
passed with no sign of submission. The strain showed on their faces
and flexing muscles. Their newly showered bodies already covered in
sweat; reddened and bruised nipples, all for her. The smell of their
masculinity and their nude physical contest, only inches from her
face, was just too much.
As Veronica’s orgasm swept over her, she resolved to put them
out of their misery. She grabbed both erect cocks and wanked
vigorously. Lawrence and Christopher redoubled their efforts to make
the other capitulate.
Lawrence yelled, “Submit!” as he came. Veronica continued to
rub him throughout his ejaculation, whilst she dropped to her knees to
fellate Christopher. When Lawrence moved away, she pulled
Christopher’s foreskin back up, held his cock tightly and forced her
tongue inside his foreskin to caress his glans and the inside of his
cock-cover. The stretching and intimate friction had the desired
effect.
“I’m coming!” shouted Christopher, as a gentlemanly alert to
prevent Veronica receiving a mouthful of spunk. She ignored him and
swallowed greedily, as his pent-up frustration shot out. She kept
licking and pushing him in and out of her mouth during his
ejaculation.
“Thank you. That was very kind, Veronica,” Christopher
murmured incongruously as he tried to move away. Veronica, however,
was shaking with her second orgasm. She held Christopher in place
firmly by his balls, to retain her lollypop. When he asked her to
stop, she mercilessly crushed those bollocks. He cruelly pulled her on
her hair, but this only made him double over in pain when she
intensified her grip on his tormented testicles.
“I’ll stop if you really want me to, but I will tell all the
girls what a lightweight you are. Maybe Lawrence would be more
appreciative.”
“Only if you let me touch your tits.”
She removed her top and bra to reveal exquisitely firm
breasts with small brown nipples. Christopher gasped when he saw them.
She ordered him to lie on the floor and crouched over him to continue
the blowjob. He struggled for breath as he handled her mammary globes.
He had never seen a pair of breasts before, never mind touched any.
The swift arrival of his second ejaculation startled
Veronica. She was disappointed, sure that he would now be finished.
She enquired,
“Do you want a tit fight?” as a windup.
However, Christopher slapped both her breasts hard with the
flat of his hand.
“OK, I should have specified a nipple fight. Don’t be gentle;
women’s nipples are tougher than men’s.”
Veronica went down once more as Christopher took her at her
word. The harder he pinched, pulled and twisted her nipples the faster
she worked on his cock. She tortured his already sore nipples at the
same time, but he did not care. Although, technically, he was still a
virgin, he now considered himself a man. Christopher’s endurance
genuinely impressed Veronica. Neither had noticed Lawrence as he
showered, dried, dressed and left. By Christopher’s fourth
ejaculation, Veronica’s mouth and tongue ached with fatigue, but the
assortment of pains in her nipples repeatedly brought her to orgasm.
She decided to end the session. Abandoned his nipples, took
one of Christopher’s balls in each hand and slowly applied pressure.
This only succeeded in exciting him more. Veronica crushed him with
her full force. He came in her mouth. She slobbered,
“Time to call it a day.”
“Well past time, if you ask me,” interrupted Mr. Dickens, the
school caretaker.
Dickens stood looking down at them. A scarred and weathered
man, in his mid-forties, he wore a faded blue shirt with a green tie
underneath his knee-length, khaki linen-coat. Immaculately creased
trousers and highly polished shoes showed under his buttoned coat. He
was known as Dicky-leg Dickens, but never to his face. His
disfigurements were the product of the war that he scarcely survived.
When asked for his first name, he always replied “Mister”.
His face was the picture of disgust as addressed Veronica.
“I should have known it would be you, yet again. You’ll end
up working the streets, you randy whore.”
“Make yourself scarce, Christopher!” ordered Veronica.
“I’ll have to report you. How many times have I warned you to
keep away from the physical education building? You have no idea of
the danger you are in. You’ll end up pregnant with a dose of the clap.
Perhaps worse.”
“You will not report me, Mr. Dickens. Maybe I should call you
Charlie boy.”
“How very original. Charles Dickens! If I had a penny for
every time I heard that.”
“You won’t report me, ‘what-the-Dickens’, because I’m going
to give you a gobbling.”
“That’s more than my job’s worth, Miss. Six warnings are
already five too many.”
“If you tell the headmaster my little secret, then I will
tell him yours.”
Christopher left without washing or saying goodbye.
Veronica removed her short skirt to show her attractive
suspender belt and stockings. Her large navy time-of-the-month
knickers somewhat spoilt the picture. Dickens threatened to call the
headmaster. Veronica winked at him and whispered,
“You’re not calling anybody, Charlie boy. You are going to
get your balls slapped and your nipples pinched, because you have
threatened me. You will then receive an amazingly slow licking and
suck-off as a reward for your silence. I’ll make you come in my mouth.
If you are man enough I will keep going and gobble you again.
Afterwards, you will tell me your first name and allow me to shower in
private.”
Dickens was not a man known for his sense of humour. However,
he burst into the loudest of belly laughs. He was still chuckling as
he mocked,
“Tell me Veronica, exactly why would all that happen?”
“Because I have been observing your clothes line, Charlie
boy. You hang some of your washing out to dry, but never your work
trousers or shirts. Your linen coat is always buttoned up when it’s
drying.”
Not a single word emerged from Dickens’ mouth while Veronica
undid the top five work coat buttons. He remained silent when she
found the lower seven buttons to be false and the fabric securely
stitched together. Dumbstruck, when she slid it from his shoulders and
let it fall to the floor. His face reddened only slightly as Veronica
spoke.
“You kinky bar steward. Now I appreciate why you change into
jeans before climbing a ladder. So much more than I expected!”
Dickens presented an icon of erotic ingenuity. A thick
leather belt around his waist supported two cut down trouser legs with
braces. Linen straps, connected to that belt, prevented his truncated
shirt from riding up. He was stark bollock naked, from his nipples to
the middle of his thighs. His body’s central section contained the
same white scar tissue as his hands and face.
This was much as Veronica had expected. However, what amazed
her was the sight of his heavy gold nipple rings pulled tightly
towards each other with knickers elastic. What intrigued her most was
a device, which connected his hairless cock to a band around the top
of his right leg. She examined it closely, before asking,
“Exactly what does this do?”
Still Dickens remained silent. Instead, he walked up and down
the boys’ changing-room.
“Very clever, Charlie boy. Perverted, but creative.”
Every step he took pulled on his cock, causing its gradual
engorgement. Dickens looked tremendously embarrassed. Veronica’s
curiosity overcame her mild repulsion.
“Keep walking.”
Dickens obeyed; he paced up and down until he was fully erect
due to the device’s tugging. His huge cock also had a white scar
running its full length. At last Dickens spoke,
“Does the female detective still require action? Or is she
out of her depth and getting worried?”
“Now I know why you walk with a hobble. Funny when one thinks
about it. Your erection making you walk with a limp! Let’s get on with
it, big man.”
“OK, but not here. This is a very dangerous place for a randy
young woman.”
Veronica was not a cautious young lady, but even she could
see that going to the caretaker’s cottage would be foolhardy. She
showered and dressed in the male changing-room whilst he adjourned to
change. He drove her to an ivy-covered country alehouse where he drank
light mild and she sipped brandy diluted with Babycham.
They discovered much about each other, as they drank. He was
a vegetarian, she a meat lover. As she sprinkled salt from its blue
wrapper onto her crisps, Veronica explained that she would eat
potatoes only if fried or roast. Then stated that the only other
vegetables she would eat were baked beans and Heinz spaghetti.
“I’ll buy you a spaghetti bush,” he offered, without as much
as a grin.
Dickens had been a top royal air force fighter pilot, shot
down in flames three times. After the war, nobody wanted a hero with
one slightly burnt retina, so he became a school caretaker. No woman
had wanted his disfigured body; consequently, he amused himself with
mild self-induced pain.
Veronica questioned him on the subject of his duplicitous
clothes. What would happen if he were ill or discovered? He replied,
“You have caught me out, but nothing has hurt me. I still
need the danger to keep me alive, Veronica. A modest quantity of pain
distracts me from the itching in my scars. My hidden nudity and
concealed arousal help me to smile at the sanctimonious staff.
Teachers don’t even see me, until they need something done.”
They chatted throughout the evening. Later, in the car park,
she delivered her promised tortures but found his pain tolerance
levels astounding. Veronica pulled and twisted his gold rings like a
barmy banshee. This only aroused him to full erection. Dickens
confessed that he sometimes suspended himself from these rings.
As he kissed her breasts, she slapped his balls until her
hand hurt. Dickens challenged her to squeeze his testicles until he
could take no more. Veronica used both hands, one on each ball.
Compressed them with all her might. Dickens puffed and squirmed but
gave no sign that he would acquiesce.
When her hands cramped up, she enquired,
“How can I hurt you enough?”
“You could try a full twist with a pulsating squeezing.” This
at least got him sweating and moaning. Veronica kept the twisting and
squeezing going as she went down on his engorged cock.
When Dickens came in her mouth, Veronica’s orgasm hit her in
waves. Her hands found new strength and Dickens’ body went rigid with
pain and exhilaration. She spoke with his cock still in her mouth.
“Do you want me to stop?”
“Not when the party is just getting started!”
She kept fellating, twisting and squeezing as multiple
orgasms racked her body. Finally, he ejaculated again. He thrashed
around as he came in her mouth. She kept applying the pain, expecting
him to signal submission. It looked as though he would try for a
third.
Suddenly, there was a beam of light from a torch. It shone in
through the steamed up driver’s window. Knuckles tapped on the window.
In a chaotic panic, they disentangled their bodies. Dickens drove off
at speed, narrowly missing a police patrol car parked in the pub car
park entrance. He raced through country lanes; clearing condensation
from the windscreen as he drove. He switched off his lights off at a
junction, then turned right and pulled into a farm driveway shortly
afterwards.
They hurriedly dressed, waited in silence as the blue
flashing light sped passed.
“Are you trying to kill me?” she asked.
Dickens thanked her for a wonderful evening, but told her
that it would be inappropriate for them to date again. At least until
she was a little older. He severely cautioned her never to play in the
male changing-room. He informed her that she was an exceptionally
lucky woman to be able to reach her orgasms so easily.
Dickens drove her home. As she got out, he enquired,
“Do you still want to know my first name?” Veronica shook her
head, smiled and blew him a kiss.
Margaret Dickens drove home happy for once.
