To Protect and Serve Ch. 04

Shane came in her mouth with little warning. He pulled out until only the head remained inside, then spurted several waves of warm jizz onto her tongue. "Swallow it," he growled, "and clean up the mess.

Shamira happily obliged, swallowing his seed and then gently sucking and licking his softening member until it glistened with the moisture from her mouth and that was all. He stepped away and tucked himself back in, and then picked up the belt again. Moving to the side of the desk, he brought it down, making her back tingle. The rest of her was already tingling from what Henry was doing. She getting strapped and fucked at the same time, and she couldn't believe how good it felt.

Their whole world revolved around her at the moment. Just for shits and giggles, she "strained" against the handcuffs, making sure every muscle of her arms, back, and shoulders was flexing to its utmost . . . so they knew the power of the animal they had captured. She wondered if it was just her imagination, or if Henry actually picked up the pace at that point.

It wasn't her imagination. The sight of that Greek-statuesque body rippling, perfectly bronzed skin covered with sweat . . . it made him want to cum just thinking about it. But he wasn't ready yet. He concentrated on avoiding release until she was ready. There was something he wanted to see first.

Her skin was stinging badly now, but Shamira wasn't going to complain. Not this time. She wasn't going to back down and dammit, she wasn't going to feel bad about this. Instead, it was just going to be another fantasy down. She felt that familiar feeling building in her core. Her pussy tightened again --

Henry felt Shamira's orgasm begin, so he stopped all motion. He just let her body do all the work, clenching down on him. The pressure on his cock was mind-blowing, and he quickly came deep inside her body, milked dry by her sex.

"Follow me," Shane said. "Leave your shorts where they are."

'As if I have a choice,' she thought. With her shorts still around her thighs and a trickle of cum trying to escape from between her nether lips, she made her way out into the common room. He lowered the chain from the ceiling in the center of the room and attached the D-clamp to her cuffs, then hoisted them as high as they could go, again, without dislocating her shoulders. That left her bare-assed, bent over, with both feet on the ground, staring at the floor, her arms straight, and secure at an awkward angle behind her.

"Let's see," Shane muttered, looking around. Seeing nothing else that would work, he took off his silk tie and tied it around her eyes. "As with Renata, you will be on display until midnight meal. In that time, you will be subject to the whims of any member of my House who seeks to amuse himself or herself with you. Even the other submissives can partake in whatever you have to offer. Do you understand?"

"Yes Sir," she replied. Blind and pseudo-helpless, she was left alone with her thoughts. She heard Shane's voice come on the intercom, announcing her fate, as it were. Her first thought, strangely enough was disappointment. What if no one showed up? What if no one felt her worthy --

Footsteps approached . . . two pairs. Shamira heard something being scooted around in front of her, possibly a chair. She heard a body settling into fabric, then someone grabbed her head and pulled it down until her face met bare pussy. Then she heard Shane's voice again.

"Your suitors will not identify themselves," he said from nearby. "You will not ask permission to climax, because they will not answer."

Shamira felt something smack her ass from a third party. It stung a lot, and was thinner than the belt had been. Harder. A reed maybe? A switch? It struck again, and she gasped.

Shane continued. "Pleasure whoever approaches you without question or hesitation until I release you."

Shamira began to devour the pussy in front of her, wondering all the while who it belonged to. All she could use was her mouth and tongue, but she was up to the challenge. And whoever it was that was whipping her kept up a good pace, striking her ass and upper thighs. And to her own surprise, she was in no hurry to provide the recipient of her oral pleasure a quick "happy ending." The pain she was experiencing made her feel . . . amazing and besides, it was her duty to pleasure her captors. So she licked, sucked and nuzzled for a while before the woman finally climaxed. Then whoever it was switched places with the person who had been lashing at Shamira. Another pussy. Another woman.

'I'll bet one is Monique and the other is Lillian,' Shamira thought, proud at her logic. It made sense that the two lovers would play together. She set her mouth to work as someone spanked her ass with a bare hand. Shamira liked this kind of spanking better. It was more personal. This person stopped sometimes to finger Shamira's sex as well. Unfortunately, the captive woman was able to finish off her second visitor, so she was left unsatisfied.

Shamira lost track of the next hour, but she was visited by everyone still in the house at least once. She had orgasmed two more times, swallowed multiple men's seed, and was dripping more down the inside of her thigh. Her face felt sticky from all the female expenditures that she had coaxed forth. She knew Renata wasn't there, and she thought Banshee and Reaper were both off on business, but that left Shane, Monique, Raul, Bjorne, Lillian, and Clara --

'No,' she thought, 'Clara hasn't been here.' She wasn't sure how she knew, but Clara hadn't partaken of the offering. Shamira wondered if she had done something wrong, because she knew Clara's body, and she knew she hadn't experienced it. Her skin was on fire, her shoulders ached, but the only thing she could think about in her few quiet moments. Was it because Clara had gotten enough of her during their trip together? Had she become old hat to the beautiful Native American?

She felt someone pulling at the front clasp of her leather bra, and it startled her. Shamira hadn't heard anyone enter the room, but it could have been because she had been deep in thought. When her breasts popped free, the intruder attached clamps to her nipples, and she could feel small weights pulling downward. She gasped. Then she felt slaps to the sides of her breasts. Shamira inhaled deeply . . . definitely Clara. She smiled. Her friend had arrived at last.

Clara was content to treat her comrade's breasts like pinatas for a while, slapping them repeatedly as if expecting to get a surprise. She stood up and raked her nails across the taut skin of Shamira's back, digging them into that already tortured ass.

Shamira felt something being pressed against her asshole. It felt slick and slimy, and the head of whatever it was felt enormous. Her sphincter stretched, and she had to bite her lip to keep from screaming. Then it was in, and something wider pressed against her ass crack.

'So THAT'S a butt plug,' she thought, seeing stars despite the blindfold. Then she felt Clara pull her head up using her ponytail as leverage. Next, Shamira's lover jammed something deep into her pussy, some kind of dildo of above average length and width. Clara started to pump hard with the sex-toy, thrusting so hard that Shamira expected to feel the head of the fake cock pop out of her mouth. She felt so full with her ass stretched and her pussy filled to the brim with sex toy. Clara leaned in several times to lightly bite areas of reddened skin, and it drove Shamira wild.

Shamira quickly experienced another orgasm, but Clara wasn't done. Somehow, her strokes were keeping the muscular vamp on the edge, inducing multiple climaxes in rapid succession. Shamira could barely stand, but she couldn't sink any closer to the ground. Her legs burned due to the exertion of keeping her standing. This was Clara's torture . . . death by climax. She was testing Shamira's will. It was a test Shamira was determined not to fail.

Despite the deep, fiery discomfort in her legs, her ass, her arms, her tits, and her shoulders, Shamira stayed mostly standing. The clamps disappeared from her nipples to be replaced by a gentle mouth and soft tongue. Shamira climaxed again, just from this sensitive manipulation of her breast flesh.

A body settled into the chair in front of her and Shamira's head was pulled down. Another bout of cunnilingus, but Shamira was up to it. She knew Clara's likes and dislikes . . . she knew how to pleasure this woman more than anyone else alive. She would not go for the clit right away. She would tease her way around, sucking on the inner labia, licking the outer. She would push her tongue deep, widen it, licking the woman to her core. Then she would turn her attention to the clitoris, sucking on it until Clara bucked those slim hips against Shamira's face, covering it with cum. So that was what Shamira did . . . and Clara reacted just as she should. Several times.

Shamira had once trained for three hours a day minimum to keep her body in shape. She had run races, participated in body-building competitions, and had been an avid hiker. Never in her life had she felt so completely exhausted as she did at that moment. Someone, probably Clara, lowered the chain from the roof a bit more so the D-clamp could be more easily removed. Shamira wanted badly to sink to her knees, but she wouldn't do it. Not until she was given permission. The cuffs were removed, and so was the blindfold. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the light again, and the first thing she saw was Clara's grinning, beautiful face.

"Not bad," Clara said, 'for a beginner." She put a finger under Shamira's chin, raised her face, then kissed her.

Shamira could still have been blindfolded and STILL known this was Clara. Clara's kisses were unmistakable for any other experience on Earth. They were everything Shamira need them to be, which at the moment was soft and lingering.

"Time to get you cleaned up for dinner," Clara murmured at last, reluctantly breaking her lip-hold.

"Join me?" Shamira asked. "Mistress Clara?"

Clara smiled again. "Of course, my pet. I still need to get that butt-plug back from you."

Needless to say, they were a little late for dinner.

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The next evening . . .

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Shamira was plastered against the wall of Banshee's room, unable to move. She wasn't bound by chain or rope of any kind. She was a captive of a fear so pure and primal that it had existed since mankind first walked upright. Across from her, in perfectly maintained glass habitats, was Banshee's collection of spiders.

The Japanese assassin, who had gotten back earlier that day, actually had a quirk to her mouth. She wasn't well known for smiling, but she was vastly amused by this reaction. It had been decided that Shamira needed to get over this phobia, and she had shown up in the early hours after dark to start her therapy. And Banshee had a lot of therapy. She had one of each of the ten most venomous spiders on the planet, including North American favorites the Black Widow and Brown Recluse, along with some gems like the Red Back and Funnel Web spiders. Every major continent was represented. After the venomous ones were the spiders that really freaked her out -- tarantulas. They were bigger, hairier, and altogether capable of scaring the ever-loving shit out of Shamira.

"They can't get you," Banshee explained for the millionth time. "I promise. I've never had one break out of its habitat and run a vampire to ground. Not even once. And you've never even been bitten?"

Shamira slowly moved her head from side to side. Her skin was trembling and heart was beating involuntarily. She didn't want to be there. She didn't understand what had possessed her to even try.

"You do realize that you're immortal don't you? Their venom wouldn't even work on you," Clara said from the doorway, trying to be helpful. Admittedly, the woman's arrival did make Shamira feel a teeny-tiny bit better.

"Actually, that's not entirely true," Banshee replied. "Some have a venom that causes necrosis rather than invading the blood stream and . . . this isn't helping isn't it?" she asked as Shamira tried to physically push herself through the wall behind her.

"No, you're being the opposite of helpful," Clara said, moving to Shamira's side. "Listen, you can do this," she told her friend. "Mind over matter. You've been able to do everything else you set your mind to, so this should be a cakewalk."

"An evil, eight-legged cakewalk," Shamira muttered.

"They are not evil," Banshee replied primly. "Stand over there." She waited for Shamira to slowly make her way to the appointed spot. Then she opened up one of the enclosures and let a hairy monstrosity walk onto the back of her hand. "This is a Chilean Rose tarantula. I just call her Rosita." Rosita lumbered carefully up Banshee's arm. "Beautiful, isn't she?"

Shamira was willing to bet the devil himself would be beautiful too. One was still supposed to keep one's distance.

Banshee pointed at another cage. That's a Golden Silk Orb-Weaver . . . the kind that Shane's hopefully new acquisition turns into. The web actually seems golden when it reflects the light, hence the name. You're going to have to get a little closer than that to see it."

"What part of 'abject terror' are you having a problem comprehending?" Shamira asked. 'Mind over matter,' she thought. 'None of them can kill you. Blood-based poisons won't work on you. You can do this.' Her mind seemed more confident than her feet, because they still weren't moving. Banshee seemed to realize that Rosita's presence in the open might be contributing to the woman's unease, so put her away. "Would you like to try coming a little closer?"

Shamira willed her feet to move one step forward, and then another. She was a full yard from the wall, and every limb she had began to shake. Her eyes were fixed on that little glass cell with golden webs. The spider itself was a mix of yellow, black, and red, and looked to her like something out of Starship Troopers. It was just sitting there, not moving at all, but Shamira was convinced that one of those beady little eyes was looking at her, thinking about how it would like to bite her pump venom into her system and --

Someone touched Shamira's shoulder. She screamed so loud that several spiders hid in the back of their habitats, Banshee glowered, and Clara was staring incredulously over Shamira's shoulder.

"Did I come at a bad time?" Henry asked to Shamira, who was back against the wall and looking unlikely to move again.

"You . . . are . . . an idiot," Banshee said, poking Henry in the chest.

"I just wanted to --"

"Idiot!"

"Uhm, I think I'll be going --"

"Idiot!"

"Shamira,Ineedtotalktoyouassoonasyou'reavailable.It'sbusinessnotpleasure," Henry replied in one fell swoop, then quickly fled the room. Banshee was an assassin, and she'd been doing her job for one-hundred and seventy years, and wasn't the sort of person you wanted to antagonize.

Shamira started inching her way along the wall towards the door.

"Stay!" Banshee said.

Conflicting fears clashed in Shamira's head . . . spiders or Banshee.

"Come here!" Banshee barked.

'Banshee is scarier,' Shamira thought. 'For now.'

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To be continued . . .