The House of Lesslie Ch. 02

"Oh, didn't I mention it?" I laughed, reveling in my driver's humiliation. "Our little cocksucker is a married one, dear Caroline! I read it in his files. Married for two years, surely to a nice Missus who wonders why her husband's mouth tastes like shit and cock every day he comes home to her!"

"That's beautiful," whispered Caroline, thinking about the sheer depravity of it.

"Isn't it, though?" I smiled between two smoke-filled breaths, taking turns with Caroline in keeping my cock clit hard by stroking it.

"She doesn't know, Mistress," Andrew whispered. "Please, don't –"

"It's hardly fair to her," I said. "Now, is it? She should watch you, and perhaps that is what I will do to her. Make her watch her cocklapping dog of a husband scream with painful pleasure as his cunt bowels gets ripped apart by a filthy nigger cock. I'm sure James would love that. Wonder why he hasn't done it, already."

"He and I have –"

"– a what?" I asked. "An understanding? A deal?"

I laughed.

"He is my whore," I told Andrew. "He may own your shithole, but I own his. I haven't used it yet, but I will, and he will scream, Andrew. He will fucking scream for thinking that he is entitled to make such a deal with you. Now, stop."

"Mistress?"

"Stop the car. Pull over."

"We are on the motorway, Mistress."

"I know," laughed. "It wouldn't that much of an embarrassment, if what is going to follow were to happen in any kind of privacy, now, would it? There! There is a good spot, faggot, right there."

The spot was to the side of the motorway, underneath one of the signs and making sure that the Rolls and everything that would happen was going to be recorded by the police. Oh, how a mistress liked me loved Big Brother! So many would be my audience, and who knew? Perhaps it would even make it to the news!

Andrew stopped the Rolls at right spot.

"How did it feel, whore?" I asked him. "When your shit cunt stretched around James' cock? Hm? I bet it felt like it was an entire fist burrowing deep into you. Bet that is what you thought, eh?"

I leaned down to Caroline.

"But I bet he has no idea what it would really feel like, darling."

Caroline understood. Caroline smiled.

"No, Mistress," she said.

"Want to do the honors?"

"Oh god, yes," she whispered, her eyes fierce and furious, her breath ragged and shallow. "May I?"

"Show him," I said to her.

VII.

"Get out," I ordered Andrew.

His eyes had widened at the idea of what I had just suggested.

"Can't leave the audience waiting," I laughed at the cameras outside, their black electronic eyes staring down at the car. Somebody somewhere was very likely wondering what the fuck would be the reason for stopping such a car right beside the motorway.

I giggled quietly.

"Get! The! Fuck! Out!" I shouted.

Andrew submitted, opening the driver's door and walking to the back, opening the doors for both Caroline and me. We stepped out into the day. I saw that – despite all of his huffing and puffing – Andrew's cock had visibly hardened at the thought. Yes, I said to myself, I would definitely have to make his wife watch.

I dropped the remains of my cigar. I nodded at Caroline.

"The trunk," I said. "Fetch them for me, will you?"

Caroline nodded. She knew what I was talking about, for she had helped pack them into the huge assortment of suitcases and boxes we had taken with us.

They were made out of leather, with their lengths adjustable to your needs, and they were sturdy and would suffice for what I had in mind. Andrew waited obediently at the side of the car, every now and then a nervous glance directed at the cameras.

The straps would fit well around his wrist, the chains would make a perfect fit for the mirrors on each side of the Rolls.

"Strip!" I ordered him. "Get off that fucking uniform and present yourself!"

He was so wonderfully ashamed as he took off the uniform, nervously glancing at the cars that passed us by, trying to cup his cock and balls with his hands, trying to hide the fact that his shaft was ever hardening through the humiliation.

"Is that how he treated you?" I asked Andrew. "What you are trying to hide from your wife, the fact that you are a wonderful whore?"

"Yes," Andrew admitted weakly.

"Well, whore," I said. "I don't believe in secrets. Only openness. And you love her, your wife, don't you?"

"I do, Mistress."

"But you love cock even more, don't you?"

"No, Mistress, I –"

"No," I said. "No, that's not what you love. Not cock, no, you love to be put in your place. You always loved that, right? You love that you are a whore, and it doesn't matter who you serve, but I bet -"

I interrupted myself to silently give the order to Caroline. Her fragile frame had appeared behind Andrew and now had clawed her hand into his hair, pulling it back and his head with it, making him scream.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaah!"

His hands flew up in an attempt to defend himself, but to no avail. Every move only resulted in his hair being pulled harder, his screams becoming louder.

And his cock thickening with lust.

Caroline snapped the chains around his first wrist, allowing him to struggle a little bit, then pushing her feet against the insides of his calves, making him lose balance.

Oh, how delightfully wicked she had become after only one day with me! How quick of a study she had been!

"Aaaaaah," he screamed. "Oh god, please –"

The second wrist was chained much quicker, much faster, with both of the leather straps now in Caroline's hands, her pulling his arms behind his back, then pushing her boot into his back, forcing the faggot whore down on the dirty and moist tarmac.

He raised his head towards me, a silent plea in his eyes.

"I bet," I said, "that deep inside you, you wish for her to see you like this, isn't that right? A whore for anyone to see?"

"Oh god," Andrew panted in pain. "Oh god. Oh god."

"Smile, faggot," I laughed. "You're about to become a YouTube sensation."

I had pulled out my smart phone and started recording my driver's plight, making sure that despite or rather because of the pain his erection had become so thick that there shouldn't be any blood at all left for his big head, all of it rushing down to the little one, angrily pointing at the tarmac and wiggling around as Andrew thrashed in the steel grip provided by my delightful Caroline.

I put the tip of my boot against it, lifting it up for everyone to see, to the soundtrack of my harsh laughter. Oh, what would his wife do when she found out? I wondered. I hoped. That somewhere inside her she had always known. And that she would delight in the prospect of joining her husband.

"Don't you wish it would be her?" I asked him as my leather-clad foot started rubbing the underside of his shaft, making it twitch. He didn't answer. Not right away. A nod to Caroline provided an incentive. She pulled. The scream that followed from having his arms pulled back even further, with her boot pressing down on his back, her high heels drilling into his soft flesh, was even louder than before.

"Yes!" Andrew screamed, tears welling up in his eyes. "Yes, I want it to be her!"

My smart phone recorded his confession. His breaking point and then some. His eyes, staring at what he knew would be his wife at some point. Wanting. Needing. Being afraid of it.

"Why," I said, "that wasn't too painful to admit, now, was it?"

I nodded to Caroline. Andrew now understood. He pleaded, begged, wanted, needed, oh, there is nothing more beautiful than all those conflicting urges play out on a slave whore's face!

"I mean," I said to Caroline, "that really wasn't that painful at all, right?"

She snarled a laughter. And dug her high heel deeper into his back, making our faggot driver yelp like a beaten dog.

"This is what he really is," I said into the smart phone's camera eye, talking to a wife that I had not yet met and already had humiliated more than ever before. "Just a whore, darling! That is how he wishes you to treat him. And you want to, don't you? You have thought about it, right? Oh, I bet you have. I bet you are watching this, clawing into your cunt right now. Wishing you were here. With us. And him."

I let Caroline secure the leather straps to the side view mirrors of the Rolls, making sure not a single second of our delightful show would be missed, allowing Andrew's wife to get a full view of her husband's slave whore worshipping skills.

On a tarmac of a motorway, his arms pulled back so far that his shoulders were just about to pop out of his shoulders, his cock so hard it would hurt just touching it.

And his ass cunt ready for the taking.

"Let me show you how exactly your husband loves," I said to the camera.

"Fist his cunt," I ordered Caroline, giving her the order she had already been craving for. "Show his wife and show his nigger lover how exactly a male cunt can get fucked by a woman."

"With pleasure, Mistress," Caroline said, getting into position and using one of her gloved hands to push him forward, further putting weight and strain on his shoulders and joints, as her other hand started spreading his male shithole, delightfully hairy and now wet with fearful sweat.

"God," he groaned as her fingers started to touch all around his tightened rosebud, his shit cunt muscles. There was no invasion, not yet, only a rub that would prepare him for the taking.

"He's so fucking wet, Mistress," exclaimed Caroline proudly. "He's a fucking whore for pain! I wonder how often he slides a rubber cock in that filthy, wet shit hole when he's sure he's alone."

I lifted Andrew's face towards the camera, forcing him to look at me. At it. At his wife he knew would be watching, while Caroline probed his cunt, slid the first finger deeper inside, his shit muscles relaxing around it, sucking it in, despite the pain, oh that wonderful pain that had made his ass wet and slick.

"Have you done that, whore?" I asked him. Sure to record his answer. "Have you hidden it from her? When she was away? And you were alone? In the bathroom perhaps? Backed up against the wall? Sliding a rubber cock into your shit-filled faggot ass?"

Andrew mumbled something.

I ordered him to fucking speak up.

"Yes!" he whined. "I've fucked myself!"

"Oh, yes!" I snarled happily, before telling to Caroline, "that confession surely deserves more than one finger, don't you agree, darling?"

As a reply, Caroline shoved in a second.

"Gaaaaawd," Andrew screamed. "Don't –"

"Don't stop?" I asked. "Tell her. Tell your wife how sloppy and loose your shit cunt feels when you are fucking yourself while she is away. Just talk right into the camera, don't be shy!"

"I love –" Andrew said to me, to her, to the world. "I love how it feels. Oh god. Oh god, more. Put in more of your fucking fingers, I want more! I love to have my shit cunt filled. I always have. Since school! I didn't, oh god, I didn't want you –"

"– to know?" I asked. "Are you that ashamed of yourself, whore? To not tell the woman you love? To rather be fucked by a nigger cock to get a job? Or did you take the job to get fucked regularly by a nigger cock? Oh, that's right, we haven't told her that part yet, have we?"

I switched the phone's camera to record my cruelly smiling face.

"Darling," I said to Andrew's wife, "your husband's been fucking one of my slaves! A big nigger slave, to boot! Sliding his tongue all across that black, massive dick, all those long hours at work, that's what he's been doing. Shameful, isn't it? You agree that this alone is worth some kind of punishment, right?"

Another nod to Caroline.

Another finger shoved into his shit cunt.

"He loves this!" shouted Caroline happily. "Mistress, he's got a completely fucking loose cunt muscle, so much so that I'm sure if he's willing, he could take two cocks there, easily!"

"That's right," I said. "James' cock stretches you out, so much so that you want to sit on it again and again, adding his black milk to your flaky shit for a chocolate milkshake! I have seen him do it, myself! To mother! And what a fucking good milkshake that must have been!"

"Tell her," I said to Andrew. "Confess everything!"

"He fucked me," Andrew screamed, panting in pain and pleasure from Caroline's finger scooping out the inside of his bowels. "He fucked the shit out of me! He made me shit it out! All of his cum, he made me shit it out! Don't stop, please, don't you stop fucking me!"

"Don't you wish your wife would do this to you?" I asked.

"Yes! Yes! Yes!" Andrew felt the rest of Caroline's fingers slip into his cunt, her hand disappearing past his impossible stretched ass cunt ring, fleshy nerves screaming in lust and humiliated pleasure. "I want it to be you, honey! I want it to be you fucking your worthless whore's shit cunt! I always wanted it to be you!"

"See?" I said to the camera. "Still loves you, he does. And now he will be yours. If you still want this worthless whore, with his wonderful depravity that could be all of yours to take, just like we are taking him. This is an invitation, darling. Don't miss out."

"Fuck me!" Andrew roared, no longer sure if he was talking to his wife, to me, or begging Caroline to push herself even further into him, something she was only too glad to do, syncing up with his angry, pleading, sobbing shouts.

"Fuck me! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck me!"

His cock, already engorged to the point of no return, rose up for the camera, smiled a wet, pre-cum filled smile, toothless and yet angry, before erupting, a cum-filled confession that splattered onto the ground and leaving him shaking and twitching for a good minute.

Caroline kept her hand inside him throughout his cum. His ass cunt clamped down around her wrist, begging her to stay inside without words, the scream of his orgasm penetrating the air just as violently as she was penetrating him, just as harshly as his wife would soon do, so I hoped. Then she slid out of him, her leather gloves soiled.

And allowed that tangled mess of flesh to collapse in shame and pride, a thick, white puddle of cum in front of him.

I switched off the phone. I put my arms around the crying and sobbing man in front of me. I told him that I had given him freedom. Freedom in all the slavery that would follow. He thanked me. After all that, he thanked me.

I felt proud.

It was shaping up to be a good morning.

VIII.

I forced myself out of bed, several weeks later, here and now.

Oh, yes. I had been a good morning, that one. And the one after that, because with each new day, the perversion of Caroline had grown, until she was now with me, changed and transformed, that wonderful wicked thing that she had become.

That I had made.

I pulled at the chain that connected to her collar.

The pain from the spikes digging into her neck and throat made her wake up. She crawled up from her place at the end of the bed, where she had curled up throughout the night and kissed me with a low purr.

"Today is going to be a good day," I told her.

"I am looking forward to it, Mistress."

As did I.