Flames of Necessity Pt. 12

This was Miles' first sight of the woman simply known as Madam Zandra, and would be the last time he saw England. The tanned woman sneered down at him as Myra had him stumble on his knees to her, the leash pulled tighter as he was moved close enough to smell the sweet perfumes of the woman who would now on own him, and would control his destiny... his cock boning as Myra passed the leash to her.

"Greetings Madam Zandra, so good to see you again under such special circumstances... this was my husband, now your property... I trust you'll see to it that he receives the treatment he has earned himself." She flicked her nose pompously in the air with her head slightly turned, and one of the uniformed women came to claim the prize that was now hers.

"Thank you Myra, the whip will soon have him forget he was ever married to you... and if not, the African woman I've agreed to sell my next white male to, will certainly see to it." As Miles' cock boned at the promise of his destiny while the women sneered down at him, he attempted to feign a protest at his fate... and was promptly gagged by the uniformed woman, so as his cries from the lash would be given out in vain when aboard. The crowd of watching women applauded loudly as they saw Miles for the last time, led away to know a journey to enslavement. As Miles was eagerly bundled aboard with the spiteful applause ringing in his ears, it continued as Ruby approached on the path, with Sheppard stumbling along on his knees, leashed and bound at the wrists, already gagged to halt any protest. A delighted Zandra grinned as the leash was handed to her, and a further flick of her nose was required to summon another uniformed woman, after Ruby made her disclosure.

"A bonus for you Madam Zandra, he likes to masturbate, so you may wish to see him castrated and sold as a eunuch." Zandra grinned wickedly, on seeing a cock that was played with regularly, stand high and rigid in a masochistic awe as the leash was then handed to the uniformed woman.

"We shall see... he'll earn me more with his balls intact, but we'll soon have him taught that his semen is only released at the behest of womanhood..." She flicked her fingers at the uniformed guard.

"See him shoot his mess in captivity for the first time... then cage his cock when flaccid, and see he knows the whip." As Sheppard was tugged away to join Miles as part of her cargo, the tall and tanned woman stepped elegantly upon the path up to house.

"Come let's enjoy the party before I leave once more." As Miles was being assisted below the deck of the luxurious yacht by three more smiling women, he could just hear the laughter of Myra for the last time... but he could also hear the crack of a whip being flexed as he descended, a sound he'd come to be more than familiar with. Barker's erection pulsed hard and wanting, on seeing the two males consigned to a fate as yet unknown, but their absolute enslavement to womanhood in no doubt, Thelma's smug and contented smile, echoed by every woman there, as the trivia of masculine disposal was executed, and they could now all discuss the pleasures they'd likely face, with the woman who now owned them while enjoying their party.

*** *** ***

Horace cowered naked in the corner he'd been sent to, though gimp masked, it was apparent to the very appreciative but small audience of select women, that this pathetic and defeated example of masculinity was the former member of English nobility now owned by their host. Frau Gessler. Though they also appreciated the interest shown in their country by a certain English nobleman and his woman, Mrs Simpson, they preferred to see males of his standing shown their true place like this one, and were sure that things were just so in private, where that other male was concerned. Horace's standing erection as he watched his Mistress and owner perform her dominance upon another male, only reinforced the contempt they already harboured for him... and served to further their sexual excitement as they awaited their opportunity to vent their spite on him with the cane.

These were the only times in which Frau Gessler was seen in her authoritarian guise, dressed in the pomp of full uniform these days; things had moved on politically and socially, and it was no longer seen as correct for women to be in uniform, unless directly involved in the militia. Such was Frau Gessler's appetite for the fetish of dominating in a uniform, and such was the submissive pleasure generated by males seeing her that way, she had many uniforms made up privately for her and her maids... and continued to impose her strict authority over masculinity whilst crisply attired.

Horace watched as the bound male, himself an army man, was given a thorough whipping by his Mistress and uniformed maids, his writhing and moaning under their whips, greeted with enthusiasm by the viewing women as he was shown his place, none more so than his wife, who applauded loudest at seeing her pathetic husband suffer. A friend of Agatha's, she and her dominated husband were to stay at Frau Gessler's for a few days, and apart from dominating him herself, there was nothing she liked more than to see him dominated and thoroughly humiliated by other women. It was more than apparent from his boning cock, that her husband approved of her fetish too, the whips seeing him to a a submissive heaven of his own.

Horace watched jealously as Agatha removed her tight skirt whilst one of the maids did likewise, the other two smiling accomplices dragging the writhing and smarting male into a suitable position upon the bed on which he lay, the removal of skirts revealing no underwear, and two cunts in urgent need of satisfaction. The male gasped, his cock pulsing and boning as the lithe maid straddled his head, and delighted the female audience as she descended upon his face, he straining his neck in impatience to greet it, his snorts and grunts confirming his pleasure in being face-sat. Now the mature Frau straddled his waist, her knee length black boots and crisp grey tunic and cocked hat, somehow emphasising her femininity as his grunts at the maid's cunt increased in pleasured volume as Agatha enveloped his cock with her moist and neatly shaven cunt.

It was as the maid lifted and then teased her cunt hard against his face, that Horace realised how similar looking the male was to he, but a thought which would tease his mind with a possible opportunity later, didn't enter his head at that point, so engrossed was he in watching Agatha queen him with pompous authority, riding his cock in putting him to good use, her eyes drifting toward Horace's as her orgasm approached... having him know that he was soon to know a humiliating duty and the cane from the watching women.

Horace longed to masturbate as he thought on what was to come, but knew he was guaranteed a spend, as he watched his owner moan as she rode her whipped conquest majestically, he, writhing and snorting as both female mounts moaned lustily to orgasm, the women applauding loudly as his pathetic moaning changed to an exerted groan as the semen burst from his cock to fill Agatha's sated cunt. Horace watched as the cock glistened, slick with semen as Agatha humped her ripe cunt up and down on it, ensuring her defeated conquest gave up a worthy load in surrender... and bound, whipped, and humiliated before his spitefully dominant wife and a select audience of goading women, his spend was worthy indeed.

The erotic pageant of feminine dominance was far from over though, the audience of women making it patently obvious with their sneers toward the English nobleman, that knew of the humiliating debacle to follow, and their spiteful lust to witness it. As Agatha dismounted her spent conquest, he was rolled to the edge of the vast bed to gratefully receive a caning from his wife for being with another woman, a caning which would not stop until he soiled the sheets with a second and most deserved surrender, but this sadistic entertainment was secondary to that sought by the audience of women, as they too, flexed canes impatiently.

Horace's stiffly erect cock was noted with contempt by the women, as his Mistress lay back on the bed, her calves taut in the black leather boots and displayed to lustrous effect along with her broad thighs, the gape of her cunt exquisite as she pumped it with the muscles of her midriff, having the warm semen ooze from her sated slot, the silky liquid slipping down to grace her heated pucker. She had no more than to click her fingers, then point a manicured finger to her cunt, to have Horace leave his corner, and crawl to her on all fours as the select group of dominant woman goaded his pathetic obedience. Their spite did nothing to quell his ardour for the service he knew he was to perform, simply increasing his erotic sense of absolute submission to femininity.

Horace lapsed into an erotic bliss of wanton submission as the goading matriarchs saw him to the cunt he worshipped, with their canes stroking his backside, delighting in his belittlement as that cunt had been graced by another male's tribute. That tribute may have been made in utter surrender, and that male no more worthy than he, but another male's seed it was, and as Agatha pulled her broad and attractive thighs back to display the evidence of another male's pleasure in total surrender, his cock boned readily upon the silken sheets as he sniffed at the tangs of the equally silky cunt, ripe, used, and beckoning his cleaning duties. Agatha sneered with pleasure, her cunt already seeking the further stimulation that her absolute dominance over him generated. She had little need to instruct him, but the renewed buzz from her clitoris, glistening with silky semen, encouraged her voicing her spite for him.

"Lick it clean Horace, every last drop... cunt first, then arsehole... we'll then see your pleasure in surrendering your own seed, with a little further encouragement from the ladies." Horace was already humping his stiff cock at the sheets as his tongue extended to her slot, and scooped a morsel of slimy semen from between the slippery folds of her cunt, the women laughing as he swallowed the first sample. He'd gagged when first confronted with the task, but now relished the acrid taste of other male's seed, the performance having him descend into a blissful humiliation, cementing the bond between her absolute dominance and his submission, her arrogant and spiteful pleasure in putting him to good use, confirming the status of both was just how it should be, especially degrading for him before an audience and doubling his masochistic excitement as canes were made ready.

The doing of the army man being caned close by, and his groans as he came a second time, triggered by Agatha's words to Horace as much as his wife's sadistic enthusiasm with that cane, served to remind Horace of where the silky mess he was eagerly devouring came from, increasing the vigour of his tongue as he had it delve deep between her labia and up to the hood from which poked her freshly excited clitoris. A finger came down to greet it as she pulled her gracious thighs back a little further and gasped with spiteful pleasure.

"Arsehole now,... the canes await you too..." Horace didn't hesitate in retracting his tongue, slippery with semen and her juices, then looping it lovingly, pressing it hard to slip over her spicy pucker, his cock ready to shoot its own mess at the savoury taste as his tongue flicked the blob of now highly seasoned cum into his mouth, the sheer contempt of the watching women aroused to a zenith by it, their cunts moist at witnessing a true cur... deserving every ounce of their spite in applying the canes they now flexed impatiently.

As Horace slipped his tongue deep into the tight warmth of Agatha's anus, the delicious song of whooping canes cutting the air, told him that contempt was to be vented in spitefully physical earnest, the smarting sting from all four of them confirming his deserved punishment, his flesh immediately glowing with the red stripes he'd duly earned himself. With his tongue probing deep in his Mistress's anus, he sniffed eagerly at her cunt, knowing he'd soon be made to sniff at four more ripely aroused cunts and equally savoury anuses after his Mistress was sated.

He thrust longingly at the sheets at the prospect of humiliation to come as Agatha moaned to a second orgasm, then deservedly brought to tears by the strict applications of the canes by the haughty matriarchs, he spurted his seed to the sheets in pure masochistic ecstasy, the sneers of those caning women, ensuring he soiled the bedding thoroughly.

It was the following evening, whilst he knelt in attendance to his Mistress in the maid's dress she'd had made for him, that Horace thought once again, on how similar in both looks and stature was the army man to he. Brought into the dining room on a leash, the male erected hard as he was offered sustenance in a dog bowl at the feet of his host, his pleasure at being humiliated, also matching Horace's as his strict and pompous wife stood over him, thoroughly enjoying this excursion which allowed her to demonstrate her complete control over her dominated husband elsewhere. Horace erected himself, on seeing the curt pleasure in the eyes of both the wife and Agatha, as a male who'd obviously be so dignified and pompous himself in daily life, scoffed at the morsels to show womanhood the cur he truly was.

Though aroused at seeing Agatha's pleasure at the belittlement of yet another male, Horace's rational mind now thought of genuine escape. Though he thoroughly enjoyed being owned and humiliated by Frau Agatha Gessler, he was very wary of the political situation where he was - and the fact that he was English - and what little information he'd secretly gleaned through day old discarded newspapers on occasion, he'd seen that relations between the two nations were deteriorating rapidly. Paperwork and an ID of some kind would be necessary for travel back to England... and the cur at the dog bowl might just provide it.

The following evening saw a further debacle resulting in Horace treated to a another sample of the army man's semen, the wife then having the pleasure of caning him to orgasm whilst her husband was allowed to masturbate in jealousy, kneeling in a corner and shooting a second was of cream whilst watching Horace receive feminine justice at the hand if his strict wife. The two women had then imbibed a great deal of wine, and had laughed hysterically as the husband was treated to as much... made to lap it from the favoured dog bowl. With Horace allowed to lie upon the floor at one side of the bed by his Mistress, and the male on the other while the two women resided in comfort, three were soon soundly asleep - the male equally soundly, on being used to habitually residing on a hard floor by his wife's bed. Horace remained wide awake, no wine to assist slumber.

Horace moved slowly and stealthily from the room, and equally stealthily down stairs to the cloakroom where the maids had whipped the husband to on his arrival, his wife indifferent to his treatment but quietly glad of his being shown his place by servants, as she indulged in greeting Agatha. Horace had seen him emerge from the room, stripped, leashed... and boning erect on receiving such a flesh warming reception from young ladies as sternly dominant as their mistress. It being the early hours now, those stern maids were also at rest, as he entered the cloak room, closed the door quietly, and turned on the light.

Horace gasped with satisfaction at finding all the necessary papers in the top pocket of his jacket, and a very useful amount of cash in the wallet. There was no passport of course, but he'd worry about that later, when he reached the various borders he'd encounter. He tried the clothes on for size, and though a little baggy, they were next to a perfect fit. He turned the light out, left the room, and crept to the front door, easing it open and taking a sharp intake of the cold night air, then began his bid for freedom from Frau Gessler... though he knew he'd never be permanently free from the ownership of one woman or another.

***

Two months after the Dorset party, a yacht had sailed into a secluded port on the North African coast. Though primitive and remote, it was well known to Madam Zandra and her crew, bereft of any interference from Customs Officers, or any border authorities, it was ideal for the trafficking of goods, be they contraband... or human.

Miles erected hard, in submissive and masochistic anticipation, as he was led naked and on his knees, out under the baking sun onto a creaking jetty, his awkward progress upon the hot wooden boarding, gleefully appreciated by women dressed in flowing silks, delighted to see a white male shown his place by a non-white woman, his rude erection showing that he'd long been taught to enjoy his submission upon the journey, that stiff erection aided by a broad girthed and textured anal plug, which he'd also been introduced to on the journey, each tortured movement on his owner's leash, stimulating him lustily as he resigned himself to a fate at the hands of an African woman, who's hatred for white authority had been made so apparent to him by the goading feminine crew.

His cock pulsed and jutted at the rich applause and sneers received from the growing crowd of dusky and silk clad women as they neared the end of the jetty, then pulsed rigid on noting the spectacle of three males hanging upon a sun-bleached gallows, naked, bound, and hooded. Zandra grinned enthusiastically as she continued to tug him past the gory sight.

"Three Arabic gentlemen, caught slaving along the coast... had their human goods been white, and male, they'd have been made most welcome, as are we... as those goods were neither, they were welcomed by the gallows... after a fair trial by the local Berber women, of course." Miles knees stung on the scorching sand as the entourage of female crew members, one with an equally naked Sheppard on a leash to offer further native delight, grew as the plethora of women, now warbling loudly to make their approach evident, drew solemnly up the dusty sun baked road between the few whitewashed buildings, and creating a rise which allowed Miles a glimpse of the distant interior, it's vastness dotted with palms and a far off verdant plain, he saw a row of white tents as the high pitched warbling from the women intensified. Zandra tugged his leash hard, and sneered with curt satisfaction as the fold of the largest tent swung open.

"Your new owner... and somewhere far beyond, a city which'll be the last you ever know." Miles gasped, his cock boning and standing high in a salute of absolute submission, as two grinning women held the folds of the tent open, and a tall African woman emerged, naked but for elegant sandals and a stiff whip she flicked as she strode elegantly toward her prize, a prize which she'd show proudly as her property on a daily basis, when they arrived at her home. Miles' anus tingled with both fear and masochistic appreciation as he studied her broad hips, full breasts with nipples standing hard, those orbs and her entire shapely body glistening it's dusky black flesh in the hot sun, he noble facial features accentuated by her hair cropped short, her look, one of an arrogant and haughty dominance which would not be denied.

Miles had seen few black women, but none that looked like the godly apparition which confronted him now, her hips striding toward him, brazenly displaying a shaven cunt which seemed to threaten to consume him... and she didn't stop until close enough to have him sniff for the perfumes of its arousal, and aroused she was, at the prospect of owning a white slave, which had now become a reality as Madam Zandra handed her the leash.

"Yours, Queen Isha, you'll find him obedient to your every whim." As the African woman sneered with pleasure at the feel of the leash, Zandra looked down at Miles with sheer contempt.