Madame F Pt. 01

Please read this before reading the story.

Although my stories are typically BDSM in their subject matter, they are certainly not genre/lifestyle/romantic BDSM stories, where one can expect care, consent, safe-words, and a code of conduct that keeps real people safe in real relationships. My stories are pure fantasy, and much darker—please don’t read them if this will upset you. This is why I am recategorising my stories to the Non-Consent/Reluctance category.

*****

There was no going back. Well, I suppose, looking back, that I could just have said 'No, I've changed my mind', and left.

But at the time, it seemed inevitable.

There we were, the three of us, giggling, nervous, blushing, looking at the others and alternately thinking 'what a slut!' and 'god her tits are lovely -- I wonder if mine are good enough?' Each of us was kneeling, thighs wide spread, on our own small low table, arranged in a shallow arc, so each could see the others, but such that we were all facing the shadowy group of armchairs -- empty now, each of us illuminated by a bright spotlight in the chocolate gloom.

Each of us wearing a satin corset, topped off with a gauzy bolero which did nothing to hide and everything to accentuate the nakedness of our upthrust bosoms, and fringed with a tiny pleated skirt, which likewise served only to draw attention to the nakedness and shaved condition of our spread pussies.

We'd never met before, though we were all there through Madame F.

I imagined the other two were go-go dancers, or escort girls, or strippers -- something of that sort -- Madame F's line of trade. Me, I was just a stupid young girl who liked to hang out.

Of course, I didn't really understand, but I would never 'hang out' again. Three months before after I had gatecrashed a party at her house, Madame F had seduced me -- my first lesbian experience -- and I had loved it. She said she had noticed me because of my dancing, and would I stay the next day too, and dance for her and her friends the next evening?

And of course, I said yes - the alternative being my crummy, roach infested apartment, shared with four other hopeless types, many many empty bottles, dirty sheets, broken settees, inflatable mattresses that leaked ...

So I stayed, and the sex was incredible, and she was wonderful, and the food was amazing, and the drugs were good, and the pool was glorious, and the peace...

So that evening I happily danced, for her and a few girlfriends, really making a show of myself for F, and truth be told, quite enjoying making a spectacle of myself for her friends, liking their crude, but flattering commentary on my tits, my ass, my legs, my slutty moves. I loved dancing, knew I was good at it - to be honest I wasn't sure I was any good at all at anything else.

And when she encouraged me to strip, I did, Two of the friends stayed and I got gang-banged by lesbians. Well sort of raped really, in that they didn't ask my permission before tying me up and gagging me, then taking me roughly, one after the other, a thick, black rubber strap-on in my pussy, and my face full of muff, my poor nipples getting pinched, pulled and bitten.

But I came a few times, and when they released me I didn't scream or fight, just wept a little, and allowed F to bring me to a crashing, humiliating but wonderful orgasm with a lazy finger at my clit before they untied me, after which I meekly ran and fixed drinks for them, and let them play with my tits, and first giggled, then moaned when they fingered my pussy, played up to them, happily allowed myself to be dragged down and roughly, invasively kissed and groped.

Then I danced for them again, naked but for my high heels and stockings this time, playing with a nasty looking whip/dildo combination that Madame F had produced, running it all over my body, caught up in the moment, licking my lips, smiling and batting my eyelids at them, being as provocative as I could, until Madame F dangled a pair of delicate, but still very efficient handcuffs at me , and said;

"Time for you to be restrained again, pretty."

I was not too sure I wanted this , but wasn't strong enough to say it, and so looked a plea into her eyes -- which just smiled back at me, cool and amused, until, weakly, I made a wry little face, and giggled, and said;

"OK, if you want me in chains!"

- and meekly let her cuff my elbows together behind me, then my wrists, then my ankles, after which they (of course) whipped me until I screamed and begged and cried, and then gang-fucked me again.

And I came some more. Lots more, in fact -- crying and moaning, gasping and screaming my pleasure, utterly lost in the gorgeousness of being ruthlessly fucked by strangers. And when the girlfriends left and I was curled up on Madame's lap, crying softly, and she said ;

"That little flogging got you really hot, didn't it, lovely?"

I couldn't deny it and flexed myself to allow her probing fingers better access to my poor, sore pussy.

"Well, we'll just have to make sure you get whipped a great deal more often, then, shan't we?"

Shortly after which I came again, quivering helplessly, without a hint of protest at the idea.

The next morning she laughed at my ginger, stiff movements, and kissed me sweetly.

"More than worth it!",

she whispered in my ear, as she slipped me a $500 bill, then continued;

"I'll be out of town for a few days -- I'll call you. Oh, and get your pussy shaved properly -- a sweet little brazilian please."

And she was gone, leaving me to ponder the speedy transition from lover to whore.

She hadn't got to me, not really, or so I told myself; but after a couple of days I began to spend more time waiting for her to call, wondering if she'd call, planning what to wear when I saw her next, remembering how it had felt to be treated so crudely by three beautiful older women, and masturbating my newly shaved pussy while thinking these things, than I was anything else. I was losing interest in other parts of my life.

What had happened to me was so surprising, so intense, so much more real than anything had been for years, that began to lose any perspective I might have had - which wasn't much, after two years of racketing around without any real purpose.

Eventually I did the one thing I'd been promising myself I wouldn't do. I rang her assistant. Who stonewalled me. And then rang her again a few hours later with the same result. And then again the next morning.

"Ah yes, C. Madame asked me to give you a message. She is now a little irritated by your calls. She specifically told you that she would call you when she next wanted you. If you wish to hear from her again, there is a little service that you will have to perform for her. You will not see her, but you will serve her pleasure nevertheless. Are you interested?"

I had got quite indignant during the speech, and just put the 'phone down, fizzing with anger. How dared she have her PA speak to me like that? Five minutes later I had realised that I would lose her for ever if I didn't play along. Ten minutes later I was back on to her assistant, claiming my 'phone had just gone dead.

"But you heard that there is something you can do for Madame?"

"Yes."

"And you are willing?"

"Y - yes."

"She'd like you to go dancing again at 'G's' tonight. Wear something sexy, but not much of it, and go with the flow. That's the message."

And she couldn't or wouldn't tell me any more. So did I go? Of course I did, and wearing my flimsiest, slinkiest minidress, high heel strappy sandals, a tiny thong and slinky brassiere. And I got myself a bit drunk, and I danced. And danced, and still nothing beyond the usual stupid guys making come-ons.

I was waiting for something more sophisticated. And then I got it -- a seriously elegant woman, about 35 or so, olive skin, long black hair, deep green eyes in a flawless face stood swaying lithely in front of me. She was so impressive, so gorgeous, it took me a little while to realise that it was one of F's friends who had left after I had danced first the other night.

She smiled a lopsided smile at me, and began to dance more with me than in front of me. I smiled back, nervous, but with a tingling in my belly. God, but she was lovely. If she had reached for my pussy then I wouldn't have pulled away. Instead she just danced for a while.

Then she leaned over and said, softly, in my ear;

"I'm sorry I missed seeing you whipped."

There was no real answer to that but a blush. My heart began to hammer, and my nipples tightened. She knew what had been done to me the other night! And that she was here meant F had told her about me, which meant she knew I had come for them -- knew I had been unable to avoid my own response after being whipped and gang-fucked by strangers.

She stood back from me and watched. I looked up, wanting to see her eyes, see what she thought of me, frightened, but needy too. Her smile was like hot acid -- I was set on fire and scourged by it. She knew everything and was obviously going to exploit my weakness to the full. I was drowning in her gaze -- had to look away, utterly confused, my heart thumping, knees weak. I wanted to run, but couldn't. I wanted her to take me in her arms, there and then, but she didn't. I looked back at her, knowing, but not caring, that she would see the weakness in my eyes.

"Please, what do you want me to do?"

"Dance sexy for me now. I want to see your panties."

And she lifted my chin and stared deeply into my eyes, until my nerves got the better of me and I looked down and bit my lip.

"Show me what a little slut you are!"

And her voice, her look was so assured, so wonderfully strong, that I wanted to please her, really wanted her to find me sexy. Really wanted her to like me. She knew what I was like! I wasn't going to be in charge of what happened next. Thinking about whether she would tie me up. Hoping she wouldn't hurt me... but imagining it anyway...

Terrified and excited at the same time, I smiled a tiny smile at her, and began to move. Daring only little glances up at her as I swayed, to see if she was watching, to see if I was pleasing her, I danced as sexy as I knew how, forgetting where I was, lifting the hem of my flirty minidress, running my hands over my body, parting my thighs widely, until she caught my hand and pulled me to her.

"You understand you're going to get beaten and fucked tonight girly, don't you?"

I couldn't answer, couldn't do anything but tremble; my eyes trapped by hers, helpless. Slowly, a crooked smile spread across her face. She was sure of me. I didn't need to answer. Deliberately, she ran a hand up my thigh and up into my crotch. It was obvious to both of us how aroused I was, even without the little gasp I couldn't hold back as she pinched at my poor clit between two long, lacquered nails, but which made her laugh.

"You are easy, little whore. Come over here and dance for my friends. I want them to see what a delicious little slut you are, before we take you away from here and brutalise you."

Shocked at the thought of others, I nevertheless followed her obediently across the dance floor, smiled a desperate, frightened little smile at her friends, two women and a man, and looked down, blushing as she told them that I was theirs for the night, courtesy of Madame F, that I was already excited, had a wet pussy even though she had told me I would be whipped and gang-fucked, that Madame F had told her to be cruel to me, because I liked it.

She didn't seem to care who overheard -- and people did, and stared at me and her. And I just stood there, trembling while they looked me over, gazes that hardly touched my face, but lingered at my tits, my thighs, my ankles, desperately ashamed, horribly embarrassed, completely entranced.

This time, when she asked me to dance, I was nervous, unable at first unable to get moving, but gradually I got going, doing my best to lose myself in the dancing, so I wouldn't have to think about what might, no would, happen later.

And it worked: I wriggled my hips and shook my breasts for them, and swished my hem to show them the tiny thong, lost in my moist slit after the woman's (I still didn't know her name) thorough investigation of my tingling pussy. I found I needed to see what they thought of me, so I made little glances and saw how they were looking at me -- cool, amused, predatory; exchanging lazy comments about my tits, my ass.

Other people were looking at me as well, women sneering, men leering, and for the first time I really felt like a whore. I should have walked away, but I didn't. Instead I began to feel pleased with myself, with my attractiveness, embracing the idea that these strangers were going to use me as a sex object without the slightest interest in me personally, and it made me go weak at the knees.

The tall blonde one caught my eye then, and I looked away, then as quickly found I had to look back, letting her see right into me, probing me, seeing that I was going to let her do what she wanted to me, that I wanted her to use me, that I would respond to her desires, whatever they were. All this in a split second that left me reeling, while her only response was a mildly amused, cool smile. I was nothing to her, apart from perhaps a little passing fun.

I wanted to die then, so weak and helpless and unnecessary did I feel. I knew I would do anything for her, anything at all, just in the hope of getting some spark of human warmth from her. They had finished their drinks, and paid the bill, and then it was time to go; meekly I went along with them, the man bringing up the rear, opening doors for me, smiling at me in a friendly way, even making small talk, to which I could hardly answer.

Once outside, they led me round the corner to a quiet alleyway;

"Legs apart, and stand still, cunt." said Cool Blonde.

Breathing fast, I couldn't at first understand what was said, couldn't relate it to me. But then I finally understood -- I was the 'cunt'. A tiny surge of protest rose in me, then died as quickly: confronted by her calm, firm expression, and I blushed and slowly obeyed.

Instantly, the man restrained my wrists behind me as a hastily removed belt was used to tie my arms above the elbow while another was looped around my neck. While this was happening my thong was cut away and fingers got busy at my hot juiced up pussy, my little tight skirt rucked up around my hips. Someone else cut the shoulder straps of my dress and bra, exposing my breasts, shamelessly offered up by the bra.

Within a few short seconds I was transformed into a half naked and helpless sex toy, weak and trembling. The man behind me had to support me, or my legs would have given way. He chose to do this by crudely grasping my crotch from behind with one hand, lifting me slightly, while winding my hair into the other, forcing my head back.

Green Eyes had at least three fingers in my sex and a thumb on my clit. I was writhing, but not seriously offering any resistance -- resistance didn't occur to me as strange, soft gasps and cries were forced from me.

"Like this, don't you slut?" she asked.

She forced my chin up with her other hand. I saw Cool Blonde either side of her, obviously enjoying the sight. I bit my, lip, trying to keep quiet, not to betray myself. I didn't trust myself to speak.

"Maybe she doesn't like it after all? Okay bitch, we'll let you go. Do you want us to do that?"

I still couldn't speak. She took her hands from me, jerked her chin at the man behind me. I was released, the ties removed as quickly as they had been applied. Then all four of them turned and walked away, leaving me, naked breasts cool in the night air, feeling as sick and desperate as I could remember feeling when abandoned by any lover. And what if Madame F was displeased - if this was failing her? It certainly wasn't 'going with the flow', was it? I sank to my knees, in torment for a few seconds of indecision, then;

"Please, please, no, don't ... I do... I do like it!... Please."

Ignored, I cried out in desperation, reaching out;

"Please!"

And at last they turned, stood staring at me, then slowly returned. The man stood directly in front of me, unbuttoning his fly to release a semi stiff prick, thick and veined. I knew what was expected of me -- I had to do this, or be spurned.

Tears were in my eyes as I opened my lips and leaned into him, taking the fat cockhead into my mouth, tasting the strange taste of a strangers cock even as my arms were drawn behind me and tied once more, leaving me at his mercy as he began to crudely fuck my throat, without interest in any technique on my part, just thrusting deep into me, making me gag, as I was held from behind. And I made myself relax, allow myself to jerk like a ragdoll as he fucked my mouth, tits bouncing around, my own weight helping him penetrate me more deeply, the tears flowing thick and fast, and then mixed with jism as he came in my mouth and it spurted from my nostrils.

He shouted with laughter as he came, jerking out of me, come spattering my face and hair as I collapsed in a heap, nipples scraping on the sharp gravel. I was broken.

The rest of the night was like a black, gold and red dream.

Kicked viciously in the cunt with a pointed shoe, I was made to stand and half dragged, half walked to their car, where I was bundled into the boot like a parcel.

At a big house, I was stripped, then handed a tiny frilly apron, and made once again to serve drinks, while they entertained themselves firing hard paper pellets at me from little air pistols, giving themselves points for hitting my tits and nipples. I was frightened to begin with, and the pellets stung, but gradually I made myself calm down, and and found myself giggling, a little hysterically.

I saw where the power lay, too, and began flirting as much as I could all the time with both the hostess -- Green Eyes - and with Cool Blonde, encouraging them to touch me, giggling weakly when they demanded that I play with my nipples for them, or lift my apron so they could shoot at my poor pussy.

Later I was sodomized with big strap-ons, then double penetrated with the man in my ass and a strap-on in my pussy, during which I orgasmed loudly and desperately, gasping, sobbing, begging them to fuck me harder.

After which I was thrashed by all of them, not tied up or gagged, just locked, naked but for stockings and heels and the silly little apron, into a large empty room with four sadists with riding crops. I ran and crawled, cowering, squirming and begging, screaming with fear, and they thrashed me mercilessly until I pissed myself with fear and pain.

I collapsed on the floor, lay there, gasping, trembling, weeping, whimpering, while they laughed and swapped comments about times I had been hit, ' .. right across her nipples, bullseye, did you see?', and '.. between her legs and across her ass at exactly the same moment, that was some high note she reached!'.

Then two of them left, leaving Green Eyes and Cool Blonde, who took me upstairs and gently showered me, calmed me slowly, kissed me gently, played with me, soothingly, applying creams, at last then stroked and fingered me until I was gasping with helpless excitement. Then they began to speak to me softly, smiling, stroking me, feeding me sips of some sweet and potent cocktail.

They wanted to whip me some more, they said -- it would be cruel, they would hurt me as much, maybe more than before -- they wanted to hear me scream and cry again. But they wanted me to ask them for it. I cried, I shivered, said I couldn't. Begged to be allowed to please them any way I could, just as long as they didn't whip me.

Stroking me, licking me, kissing me deeply, making me quiver with desire, they explained again. They wouldn't whip me unless I asked for it. But whipping me was what would please them, so would I please, clearly, firmly, beg to be whipped, cruelly whipped?