Stars and Stripes

Mario came up behind me. 'Watch this,' he said, 'she isn't a squirter, but she does have pretty orgasms.'

Ahmed stood on Lidia's opposite side from me, and had picked up a long, thin cane. I gasped when I saw the force he used, drawing his arm right back and lashing the girl's poor arse with every ounce of his considerable strength. She cried out and squirmed, and her right hand was down under her belly and between her legs, as a bright red welt appeared across both cheeks of her white arse.

Stroke after stroke he rained down on her, his face a picture of grim determination, and something else -- lust? Her behind was soon a mass of livid red stripes, all the way from just below her waist to the top of her thighs, and now she was writhing around between strokes, her busy fingers massaging her very visible clit, then opening her cunt wide, for, I thought, the benefit of the camera. As what must have been about the twentieth stroke cut her tender flesh, she bucked, her whole body quivering, and a stream of white fluid oozed from her cunt, as she screamed climactically. Ahmed threw down the cane

and Mario yelled, 'Cut!'

I went to unfasten the girl's ankles, and found that she was crying, sobs shaking her body. I put my arms around her, and she held on to me.

'I sorry!' she said, at length, 'was very good, no?' I'd didn't know what to say.

Mario seemed to be telling Ahmed he'd done a good job, then he turned to me. 'What did you make of that, Lisa?'

My mouth opened and shut, and nothing came out. Mario laughed. 'Takes a bit of getting used to, doesn't it?' I nodded, and he said, 'I haven't got around to saying so before, but you look good in the dress.'

'Thank you.'

'You look as if you like wearing it.' I nodded again -- words were giving me problems.

'Why's that? -- it must be very uncomfortable, laced so tight you can hardly walk, especially in those shoes.'

'I...I don't know.'

'Discomfort and pain are sometimes arousing, I think,' he said, smiling, then he ran his hand down my back, to my buttocks, where it stopped, and sought the little gap in my dress, where it was laced up. I felt his finger softly tracing the cleft in my arse.

'I'd like to fuck you, Lisa,' he said, 'would you like that too?'

Again I nodded, looking into his dark brown eyes, and managed to say 'yes, please.'

'Good,' he said, 'after dinner, we can go to my room. Dress for dinner tonight, I don't want you to work.'

'But... the other girls, like Lucia?' I didn't want to get the wrong side of them.

'That's OK, they know you're different, only working until.....' He didn't finish the sentence. I felt naked when I came in for dinner. After the tightness of my 'uniform' I had slipped into a long white silk gown, backless down to where the dress came to a 'v' just where my arse-crack started. It was feather-light, and I wore nothing underneath, so that my breasts were loose, jiggling as I walked.

When Mario stood and kissed me on my arrival at the table, he trailed a hand down my back, as he had done an hour or so previously, but I was acutely conscious of his big hand on my naked back. He twirled me about. 'Your back would look so pretty with some stripes,' he said, as if he were talking about my wearing different ear-rings or something.

'I really don't know,' I said, anxiously.

'But I saw your face, watching Mrs Stimson's whipping. You looked excited.'

'I was,' I admitted, 'but that was watching somebody else. I don't think I'd want that done to me.' I shuddered.

'We'll see,' said Mario, helping me into my chair, 'for now I'd just like to say how lovely you look.' He sat down next to me, and during the meal, ran his hand up and down my thigh, sending shivers right through me. As we were waiting for our sweet, he leaned over and stroked my hair, looked as if he was about to kiss me, then said quietly, 'I'd like to have you pierced. The girl is here tomorrow -- you don't mind, do you?' I could hardly say no, and just nodded dumbly, wondering just what piercing he had in mind. I had often thought of having my navel done, and almost went to have my tongue pierced with the girls from college, but just didn't get around to it. I had, after all, I thought, been envious of Nadia's adornments, back at the studio in London.

I forgot all about such things when, after coffee, Mario stood and extended a hand to me, lifting me graciously to my feet. 'Come on,' he said, 'I don't want to wait.' Neither did I!

I looked around his sitting when he came in and closed the door behind him. It was beautifully decorated, with two big overstuffed sofas and fine antique furniture.

'Make yourself comfortable, Lisa,' he said, 'I won't be a minute.'

But when he returned, I got a big shock. With him, holding his hand, was a girl I hadn't seen before. She was very petite and looked Asian, in a pretty, demure sort of way. She wore a black silk slip and fluffy white high-heeled mules.

'This is Rita,' he said, 'my wife.'

He saw I was completely in shock, and laughed, in a not unkindly way, and said, 'She'll help us, won't you, darling?'

'Oh yes,' she said, 'you know I will.'

I didn't know whether I should just run out there and then, and get a taxi away from this madhouse, but seeing Rita's lovely face, framed by shoulder-length black hair, I sighed as she approached me and stood on one leg so that she was nearer my level for a kiss. She stroked my dress as she did so, and said, 'I think my husband would like me to undress you.' She looked round and when he nodded his agreement, she reached up, her slanted, kind eyes still on mine, and slipped the spaghetti straps from my shoulders. Going around behind me, she slowly slid the dress down, off my breasts, down over my hips, until I was standing naked before Mario, who had changed into a dressing gown.

'Very nice!' he said, 'get her ready for me, will you, Rita?'

Rita led me to the sofa, and signalled that I should kneel on a cushion in front of it, then she was behind me, herself kneeling on the carpet. I felt her hands between my legs, then she was massaging my clitoris, expertly teasing the little bud to erection with one hand, whilst the other slid into my now-drenched cunt. I squirmed with pleasure as she brought m to the very brink of an orgasm, before withdrawing both hands and crawling away. The sense of loss was real, but she was back in no time, and, looking back with my head on another cushion, atop the sofa, I saw that she had a long, knobbly glass dildo, thin and tapered, well lubed, in her hand. Infinitely gentle, she introduced this oh so slowly into my anus, which hadn't then been penetrated for several days, since, in fact, I was used by Marty back in London, what seemed like a century ago. It felt lovely, and kept me right 'on the edge.' Then I heard her say something to Mario, and he was behind me, then, without ceremony, he drove what felt like a monstrous, stiff, organ straight into my poor arsehole. I let out a fearful, long drawn out gasp as he invaded me, then moaned as he drove his impossible length into me so hard I felt sure he was tearing me, but, amazingly, Rita had crept onto the sofa beside me, and was kissing my lips and kneading my breasts. When I came, it was in a tearing, rushing climax, as if I couldn't wait to cum again -- and I did, twice more, while Mario was pounding my rectum, and his wife had switched her attention to my cunt, reaching beneath me to nip my clit between her fingers.

'Oh Christ!' I exclaimed, as he finished, and it took the last ounce of my breath.

'I think you'd better sleep with us tonight,' said Mario.

'Yes, I don't think my legs will get me far,' I said. And sleep I did, immediately I hit the satin sheets.

When I awoke, Mario was nowhere to be seen, but Rita was holding me in her slender arms, and I dozed off again, until sunlight streamed through the window. Feeling fully refreshed, I accepted the offered towelling robe, and let Rita make me a coffee. No words were spoken, but the silence was comfortable.

After a while, Mario appeared, smiling -- he always seemed to be smiling. 'I'll outline the day for you, Lisa,' he said.

I looked up at him. 'First, go down as you are to the room on the left of the dining room, and meet Matilda. When she has done with you -- it won't take long - you can go put on your uniform. I'd like you to assist at an outdoor shoot. That's the morning taken care of. Then, this afternoon, we're filming a show -- some audience participation stuff. You can help out with that, too -- OK?'

'OK,' I said, but remembered with a shock what he had said about having me pierced -- that must be why I was due to meet Matilda, I thought, with new trepidation.

Matilda turned out to be forty-something, tall and strong-looking, her hair no-nonsense short and brown with grey streaks. She wore a clean white lab-coat.

Thankfully, she spoke a little English, and soon I was seated in a reclining chair, while she efficiently pierced my tongue, first deadening it slightly with some sort of spray. I wasn't consulted about what she placed there -- it was a silver dumbell affair, which was going to feel very odd in my mouth for a time, and get in the way of eating, I thought.

Then she attended to my navel, and I couldn't believe how quickly she had me fixed up with a silver ring, from which hung three silver chains some three inches long, with little baubles at their ends.

I was about to get up and go, when she put a hand on my shoulder. 'Now we do the important one,' she said, and bent to fiddle about beside the chair. I looked down and saw to my horror that she was swinging out stirrups to turn the seat into a sort of gynocologist's chair. I now knew what the 'important one' was. She put my ankles into the stirrups, and clicked closures over so that I was firmly held in place.

Then, peeling back my robe, she bent down to look carefully at my shaven pussy. A gloved hand parted my labia, and I felt an unbidden little thrill, as she tweaked my clit.

I tried to see what she was doing, but she pushed my head back, none too gently, saying, 'Better you no look. No anaesthetic for this. If anaesthetic, no can do.'

There was the sound of instruments being moved around on a metal tray, then she ws between my legs, and I felt my sensitive clitoris being manipulated. I was terrified, and the more so when I felt the sharp, excruciating prick of metal against my most tender place. But before I could protest, there was a sudden, agonising, terrible, thrilling pain as my clit was penetrated.

Seconds later, Matilda said, 'Now you look,' and held a hand-mirror up so that I could see -- my clitoris was adorned with a neat silver ring. 'Later, your lover hang something there,' she said.

'I don't have a lover,' I replied.

'Soon you have,' she said, then continued, 'You no have sex en el coño for four days, OK?' She gave me some antiseptic cream, and sent me on my way.

I wriggled into my tight dress and went in search of Lucia. When I found her, I spun around so that she could see I needed her to lace me up, then we both minced off to where Mario had told us to meet, at the entrance to the finca. It was fairly cool still, but warming up quickly as Mario came out of his office, leading one of the girls, a slender, willowy brunette, wearing a button-through cotton dress and heels, her wrists cuffed behind her. Lucia evidently knew her already, but Mario introduced her to me as Tamara.

A small film crew was assembling, and wheeled out a mobile unit, as Mario instructed us to lead Tamara slowly out, behind the camera. We did so, up a wide earth path into a copse of gnarled cork-oak trees. The unit stopped in a clearing, and it was then that I saw another woman had followed us, a statuesque blonde wearing a black silk cloak, clasped tightly around her neck. Needless to say, she wore high heels, higher even than mine, and carried a huge whip, with a thick handle. Mario said, 'Right, Felicia, are you ready?' The blonde nodded, and he told me to uncuff Tamara's hands, then had Lucia tie a stout rope firmly around her wrists. We were now being filmed, and Lucia had to repeat the tying process for the camera. Mario then threw the rope over an oak-branch way above our heads, and pulled down on it until Tamara was stood on tip-toe, beyond the height even lent to her by her heels. Mario secured the rope to the tree-trunk, then nodded to Felicia, who whirled the whip around spectacularly, then struck the helpless Tamara a stinging blow, which wrapped the braided thong of the whip around her slim waist, causing her to cry out plaintively. As Felicia withdrew the lash, a red line circled Tamara's waist, soon matched by another at the bottom of her buttocks, then a bright red welt just below the girl's breasts as Felicia used all her strength, and the girl screamed in agony as the whip fell. Now she was crying out with every cruel stroke, and writhing in her suspended condition. A Blackbird sang prettily from nearby, in a bizarre counterpoint to the brunette's whimpering, as Felicia wound up for another vicious blow, this time wrapping the whip around Tamara's upper thighs. As she wound up for the next stroke, her robe fell open -- doubtless for the benefit of the camera -- and there was a glimpse of her naked, shaven body. I was horrified by the whipping, but completely fascinated, spellbound, by what I was witnessing. I couldn't help trying to transfer her pain to my own body, as I watched her writhe under the whip. How would I be able to take it? I think I had by then accepted that it was only a matter of time before I agreed to be whipped, though I couldn't have said why that was.

So much had happened to me in these last months, and now I had had my body marked, 'decorated' with my piercings -- somehow I felt I had crossed a threshold, but, switching my attention from the brutal but exciting scene before me, I dwelt for a moment on my own discomfort. I was constricted terribly by my dress, tottering on my heels, and still sore from my piercings, especially the one in my clit -- so why was I dripping wet? My attention was back on Tamara, as the camera moved in for a close-up of the nice ladder-pattern of red stripes Felicia's whip had created, and the girl was looking proudly, defiantly, it seemed, at her tormentor.

Mario told Lucia to take her down and lead her away -- 'back to her cell.' Then, off-camera, he told me to take her to her room and soothe her marks.

She had enough English to direct me to her room, just around the corner from my own, and when I eased balm into her wounds -- which, in truth, were nothing more than surface stripes -- she wriggled around and moaned with pleasure, wanting to kiss me. I let her, and, although my tongue was still raw from its piercing, I had my first sensation of introducing my stud into another mouth - It was a new experience. I wanted to ask her about her feelings as she was being whipped, but my Spanish wasn't up to it. I contented myself with her embrace, but it was almost time for lunch, and I had to let her get dressed.

After lunch, we had time to rest, because the show wasn't due to start until six o'clock, so I took a long siesta, then Lucia and I, giggling, laced each other into our dresses, and helped each other with hair and make-up -- we wanted to make a special effort for the show, though I couldn't imagine what form it would take.

By about half past five, people were staring to roll up, almost all in expensive-looking cars, and all dressed formally -- the men, greatly in the majority, in tuxedos, the women in evening dress. I asked Mario, ho was watching their arrival, why the formality.

'We're filming it,' he said, 'and we find it goes down well if we dress up.'

We walked over to the 'dungeon' and I saw why it was that we had filmed an outdoor sequence that morning. The manual staff had been busy, and had transformed the torture chamber into something closely resembling a theatre, with red velvet drapes everywhere and a circular stage, surrounded by tables and chairs. Extending from the high ceiling down to the stage's centre was a 'stripper's pole.' An upholstered couch was set beside the pole. Already seated were perhaps a dozen people, grabbing front row places, as others were now arriving. By six o'clock, the room was full, with no seats left vacant, and classical music providing a background in the subtly-lit auditorium. Soon after the hour had passed, a spotlight flicked on, and Mario, suave in a white tux, stepped on stage, and announced, first in Spanish, then in English and German, that the show was about to begin.

'A lovely girl will appear on stage in a moment,' he said, 'and dance for you. I think you will enjoy her. Then we shall hold an auction. The winner will get to whip her as he -- or she -- sees fit. Another two girls will follow. Proceeds will go to cancer research. Before we start, I should like to tell you that our young ladies are all not only willing, but eager, to be punished in this way. You will find masks on your tables, in case you wish for anonimity when we start filming. The first girl on stage, is the lovely Marga. Enjoy!'

Lucia pulled me back down the aisle towards the entrance, and I realised then that we had to escort the girl to the stage, lending some sort of atmosphere to the scene. Waiting by the door was the olive-skinned honey-blonde who had been the unnamed star of the second scene I had seen on film, way back in London. She was now clad in a flimsy royal blue silk dress, which seemed to float around her as she walked between us, its hem just above her knees, and her slender, stocking-clad legs perched on impossibly high heels. She was smiling as I followed Lucia's example and we left the stage to Marga, going back to stand beside Mario, at the back of the huge room. A gentle blues number played, and Marga started to dance, swaying sexily to the slow rhythm. Her long-fingered hands ran up and down her thighs, now just smoothing down her dress, now teasingly lifting the hem, to reveal lace stocking tops and the pale flesh above. Then, when she raised her skirt a little more, black lace panties, tied at the sides with big red ribbons, came into view. But Marga was an expert stripper, and was enjoying herself as she teased. The music changed, and that was her signal to reach up under her dress and pull open the red ribbon-bows, the whisk her panties off, throwing them into the audience, where a florid-faced man put them straight to his face like a handkerchief, causing a small reaction from the assembled crowd. But Marga's skirt was covering her decently by now.

Mario tapped Lucia on the shoulder, and she walked towards the stage.

'Me too?' I asked Mario, in a whisper.

'No, my dear, Lucia knows what to do.'

Indeed she did, stepping onto the stage with difficulty in her tight dress, and swaying to the music as she moved in behind Marga, and unzipped the back of her dress, then eased it from her shoulders. Marga was wearing a half-bra, which left her nipples poking out through a lace frill above its platform. But Lucia unclasped this, and pulled it away, leaving the girl with the silk dress around her waist.

Lucia returned to us, and Maarga slowly pushed her dress down over her hips, first showing the audience her pierced navel, decorated with a long silver chain, then her clean-shaved mound, her pussy-ring glinting in the spotlight. She was now clad solely in hold-ups and heels.

Marga began to dance to a slow rhumba, using the pole skillfully, and then sinking onto the couch, where she sat, legs wide apart, toying with her glistening pink pussy. I looked around the audience and saw that some men were masturbating quite openly, and that one who was accompanied by a woman was being entertained by her, her hand disappearing into his trousers, while he was caressing her breast through her elegant evening gown.