A Gentleman's Property Page 3

  "This hair of yours really is a nuisance, but luckily I have my comb here," and the youth drew a rather grubby specimen from his pocket. Mary felt him yanking the hair none too gently to one side and then the other of her crevice, sometimes snagging the comb in a tangled patch of hair, causing her to wince and cry out, and the first time nearly to fall from her precarious perch. As the work continued the teeth began to scrape across the lips from time to time, creating sensations equally disturbing to the helpless young woman, though not because they were at all painful. She felt her clitoris begin to stir within its hood of flesh.

  When Ogden had cleared the field for action, he opened her wider with the finger and thumb of his left hand, and inserted the nozzle of a can of lubricant into her cunt with his right. He squirted vigorously, again nearly causing Mary to lose her balance as the cold liquid splashed against the mouth of her womb.

  When the oil began to drip from Mary's sex - a sensation which for some reason she found more shaming than anything that had gone before - Ogden was ready to smear it backwards and forwards from the crack of her arse to her belly button. Soon her forest of pubic hair was soaked, and she felt her clit beginning to poke free from its sheath.

  When the flow of oil had slackened, Ogden slowly inserted his toy into the glib sheath. The central rod went in very smoothly, but the loose folds of rubber tended to progress more slowly and to bunch at the base of the rod, so that the inventor had to force them within her lips with his fingers when the rod was fully inserted. He then began a rhythmic squeezing of the hand pump, and Mary felt the balloon slowly expanding within her as it filled with air. But the expansion of the balloon forced the folds of rubber to smooth themselves by creeping, with increasing difficulty, up the sensitive walls of her sheath.

  In normal circumstances it might have been a most painful experience, but the plentiful lubrication transformed it into the most disturbingly intimate and delicious caress. And Mary was guiltily aware that not all the lubrication was artificial. The erotic scenes all about her, the obvious excitement of her tormentor, her unaccustomed nudity - all had done their work, and she had to admit to herself, though to another she would have denied it to the death, that her own lubricity was adding to the wetness of her cunt. It would have been useless to deny the effect produced on her clit by the slithering of the balloon. From his vantage point between her legs even Ogden could see it emerging further from its sheath, and growing larger by the second. Even he could see it twitching.

  "O Miss Bowdler," croaked Ogden, poking his head out, so that Mary could just see his glasses glinting if she peered down between her breasts, "you really are going to be a hit with our piercing enthusiasts. This extra little pinkie of yours looks very flushed. Can you feel if I blow on it?"

  Mary could feel it so intensely that the sudden shock of the sensation nearly caused her to topple forwards from her perch, and gave Ogden a welcome opportunity to steady her by clamping a sweaty hand on her pubic bush.

  "It looks awfully red and inflamed, honey. Perhaps if I were to suck on it a little it would help?"

  Before Mary had a chance to speak - and she really couldn't have said what her reply might have been - she felt the gold of Ogden's spectacles scraping against her thighs, and then all other sensation was blotted out as his fleshy lips closed on her clit, and his tongue began to flick across it. Mary closed her eyes and abandoned herself entirely to pleasure, ceasing to take the slightest interest in anything so trivial as balance. Ogden was obliged to clamp his left hand on her buttocks to prevent her from collapsing. After a few licks the boy held his tongue experimentally rigid, and was fascinated to feel the engorged clit throbbing against it. It seemed as fat, and as hot, as a sausage fresh from the barbecue.

  "Now not too fast, Mary," said the evil youth, suddenly removing his lips, and leaving her hovering on the brink of satisfaction. "Business before pleasure, as my first whore used to say - I bought her out of my pocket money. I reckon we can inflate the cuntmeter a bit more yet, and when we do you'll find little other stimulus is necessary."

  He spoke from long experience of his strange device. Many a slave had panted and screamed her way to orgasm on his library steps as she felt her wet cunt filled to bursting by Ogden's patent balloon. He now began to work the air pump again, and Mary felt each squeeze simultaneously not only in every part of her sheath, but in the very tip of her clit, which seemed to her to be growing in rhythm with the balloon, as if it too were filling with air - hot, hot air.

  "That's it," said Ogden, taking a reading from the dial of the valve, "and it's a record!" He jumped up, made a note on her form, and then scrambled onto the desk behind Mary, and fastened her wrists into cuffs which he drew from the ceiling. She heard him jump down and, as if a long way off, take something from the drawer of the desk. Then he came back into sight, dragging his chair, and sat down about a yard in front of her, a position from which he could command, even at his lower level, a good view of her flushed face. Her neatly piled hair had become partially unravelled, and had fallen over one eye, and sweat streaked her careful makeup. She was panting heavily, and grinding her hips as if seeking desperately in mid air for some solid object, were it only the hilt of a dagger, against which to crush her tormenting clit.

  From behind his back Ogden produced another toy, a feather mounted on the end of a cane, and reaching up, tickled the end of Mary's nose.

  "Does that feel good, baby, or would you rather I used it somewhere else?"

  "Oh, somewhere else, please, sir!"

  "Here, perhaps?" And Ogden flicked the feather back and forth across her shaved armpits.

  "Please, please!"

  "Or here?" This time her nipples were tickled, and it was nearly enough. Nearly, but not quite.

  "Sir, sir!" she screamed, like one of Ogden's former school friends trying to attract the master's attention.

  "Well, Mary, where would you like me to use it?"

  "My clit, sir," panted Mary, all reticence gone, "please tickle my clit!"

  Before complying the boy hobbled over to the wall, his erection hampering easy movement, and switched on some powerful floodlights, which lit up Mary's body as though she were back on stage. Their sudden heat on her flesh was almost enough to bring her off. Ogden returned to his seat, carefully positioned the tip of the feather an inch below her cunt, and ran his eyes up her body. Mary's belly appeared much tauter than when he had first seen her naked, and her navel was pulsating in a peculiarly exciting manner. Her breasts seemed larger and tighter, and her nipples, if possible, even longer and harder. Her chest and neck were stained a deep red only exceeded by the violent flushing of her face. Her mouth hung slackly open, and mingled sweat and saliva dripped from the point of her chin.

  Fixing his eyes upon her face, for that was where he passionately loved to see a woman's orgasm, Ogden raised the cane slightly. He did not need to look down to tell when it had touched Mary's clit. Her eyes were all he needed to guide his movements. Only two flicks of the cane sent her plunging over the precipice of pleasure. She began to jerk so violently that Ogden feared dislocation, and she pulled up her knees with such force that the heavy steps momentarily left the ground, and the heel of one of her shoes snapped under the strain. Her panting gave way to an unearthly high-pitched squeal, she went rigid for a few seconds, and then slumped forward in a dead faint, supported only by her wrist cuffs.

  "Wow!" said Ogden.

  In the next cabin the member assigned to camera operating duties eased his cock into a slightly less uncomfortable position, and tried to remember which of the slaves were available for immediate use.

  The Hairdresser

  "This is what I always fantasised about doing in my salons," confided Roland Climp, as he reverently shampooed Mary's pubic hair. "All those duchesses and film stars with their cunts in the air, and my comb teasing their clits."

  She coul
d hear but not see the internationally famous stylist on account of the strange device to which she was attached. It was a pillar some four feet high, securely bolted to the floor of a cabin. On the flat top of the pillar were fixed a small saddle like seat, and in front of it a sunken basin with hot and cold taps, which drained through the interior of the column. Mary had been lifted onto the seat and her legs had been pulled widely apart to either side of the basin, which left her cunt lips and pubic hair overhanging its rim. Her feet and knees were tightly attached to cuffs embedded in the column, and then she was bent carefully backwards until her head was hanging halfway to the floor. Her hands were fastened to the same rings as her feet, and she found herself trussed in a position which obscenely presented her cunt as the centre and high point of her body.

  It was the day after her exhausting and humiliating session with Ogden Frankenheimer III. When she came to after that ordeal Mary found herself locked in a small cabin with no porthole, which was to be her home for the voyage, when not otherwise engaged. As it was entirely unfurnished except for a surprisingly comfortable bunk, Mary had soon resigned herself to sleep. During the night the ship must have weighed anchor, for when she woke again she could feel it rolling gently. Before long Sir Roger had arrived with a breakfast tray, and after she had eaten he took her to a bathroom, and supervised her ablutions.

  "You must never squat right down when you pee," he had told her sternly. "We like to see the golden stream, and to hear it hiss in the bowl."

  When she had made up her face, Sir Roger had delivered her to Roland Climp, and assisted the famous coiffeur to mount her on this new throne of shame.

  Mary had no direct experience to call upon, for a visit to a Climp salon had always been far beyond her means. In her world it was something a girl might aspire to once only, as part of the wedding ritual. Nevertheless she did not believe that the hair of the film stars and society beauties who could afford his services ever received the loving and detailed treatment now being lavished on her pubic thicket. It felt as if every individual hair were being teased out and separately washed, not once only, but three times. This was a slow process, and seemed even slower to Mary, in her uncomfortable and embarrassing position. She longed for it to stop, but when it did would have been glad to have it resumed; for now she felt a shockingly hot and powerful blast of air directed against her mount, and Roland Climp giving it perfect access to her sweating skin by flicking her bush this way and that with deft strokes of his comb.

  It is impossible to dry a woman's pubic hair by this method, certainly not a growth as luxuriant as Mary's, without directing some of the hot air onto her labia. Had she been calm - had it been possible for her to imagine being calm and discussing such a subject - Mary would probably have admitted that. But distraught as she was, she felt that each stab of heat against her lower lips was a premeditated assault upon her ragged nerves. Mary's clit had betrayed her again by beginning to emerge from its hood in response to the play of Roland's soapy fingers through her hair, and now the darting of his comb caused it to stiffen even more. At once the blasts of hot air began to concentrate upon it, and Mary was confirmed in her view that this seemingly utilitarian implement was being used with a foully lascivious purpose.

  "Really, Mary! Do try to be more professional," said Roland, with an ironical assumption of severity. "Remember that you are here as a model, and not for your own pleasure. I will concentrate on another part of the job until you are calmer."

  Climp's new activity tended only marginally, if at all, to the calming of Mary's frenzy, for laying aside the dryer he began to draw together small clumps of Mary's pubic hair and to twist them tightly into plaits of an extraordinary neatness and uniformity. With each he incorporated threads of silk in a multitude of brilliant colours. He worked with great speed and dexterity, but even so the job seemed to Mary to go on for hours. Not that she was anxious for it to stop. After the first shock she found that this long series of slow, regular tugs produced one of the most delightful sensations she had ever experienced. It kept her hovering on the very brink of fulfilment, but somehow was never quite enough to send her plunging over.

  "Harder! Just a little harder, master, please!" she kept involuntarily exclaiming, but the expert Mr.Climp maintained exactly the same pressure with every tug. The severity of the plaiting forced Mary's prominent mount of Venus into a multitude of little peaks, and left the skin between so tight that she feared that at any moment it might split into a thousand cracks like the dry bed of a stream. When Climp had finished, Mary's pubic hair seemed to have vanished entirely, but the whole area from her arse almost to her navel was covered with what looked like piles of tightly rolled miniature parasols. Climp had carefully laid them to one side or the other to leave her crack entirely exposed.

  "The next step, Mary, is to paint your cunt. Gold for the lips, I think - if there is enough on board! - and scarlet for the clit. I used to apply it with a tiny brush, but it wasn't a success. The wretched slaves would have an orgasm no matter what threats I made, and then the clits slunk out of sight and ruined the whole composition. So now I use these little sprays, which are very accurate and very gentle. Don't you dare to come, now, or I'll shave your head."

  Mary might not have been able to control her body despite this threat, for she found that the sensation of the spray was far from gentle, but fortunately her experienced tormentor found means to divert her attention. He had begun by spraying the gold paint over her inner lips, but the feel of his soft fingers holding her open, and the tickling of the paint as it settled on her intimate flesh produced convulsions that warned him to pause. Climp was prepared for this, and he immediately snatched up a thin cane and brought it down sharply on the undersides of poor Mary's dangling breasts, first one and then the other. For a few moments she screamed and made the feeble ghost of thrashing which was all her bondage would allow. Then she hung quietly and sobbed, and in this interval Climp was able to complete the painting of her inner lips. He took from his pocket a clever device designed to hold a wet cunt open without smudging the paint - the club possessed hundreds of no less arcane implements - and left her for a while.

  Later the same process was repeated on the outer lips, and when they were dry it was the turn of Mary's clit. The hairdresser masked the surrounding flesh with tissue, and then directed the shortest and lightest possible burst of scarlet paint onto the inflamed organ. Immediately it began to throb and Mary to pant, and it took several applications of the cane not only to the breasts but also to the nipples before Climp could safely finish his design.

  When the paint was quite dry Sir Roger was summoned again to help remove a very sore and stiff Mary from her undignified elevation. She was allowed to relieve herself while the two men watched critically, and was then placed in a more conventional hairdresser's chair while Climp made up her face and arranged her hair in an elegant beehive. But she was tied with her thighs widely spread and her buttocks raised so that Sir Roger could periodically tickle her clit with a feather, and thus keep it and her in a state of barely suppressed excitement.

  "Now Mary," said Climp, when he was satisfied with her face and hair, "on your knees, and we will prepare you to meet some more of the ship's company."

  Straps were applied just below Mary's knees, and a beautifully decorated wooden pole some eighteen inches long was fixed to them, forcing her to keep her legs apart. She was told to lean forward and take some of her weight on her hands, and a similar arrangement of cuffs and pole was used to separate them. This pole, though, had a three inch chain attached to it midway between her wrists, and very soon Mary found her neck collared and dragged down to be fastened to this chain. Her chin was now practically on the ground, and her back was forced into such a sharp dip that her widely splayed arse was much the highest point of her body, and much the most prominent. The dozens of little plaits into which her pubic hair had been tied, and which before had rested against her body, no
w hung down like so many festive stalactites.

  "You are so beautiful, Mary, that you really ought to blow your own trumpet," said Climp with a smirk, "but I fear that by the time you have crawled to the saloon you may not have the breath for it, so we will let you ring your own carillon instead."

  The hairdresser lowered himself onto his back, and thrust his head between Mary's thighs, for all the world like a man about to service a car. But what Sir Roger passed him were not spanners and wrenches but little golden bells, which Climp deftly tied to the end of each plait, where a loose strand had been left protruding for the purpose. He worked so neatly that at first Mary hardly felt a thing. The bells were not individually very heavy, and it was only when half a dozen had been applied that she began to notice a weight dragging upon her sensitised mount. By the time twenty had been attached she felt an urgent need to lower her belly to the ground, but her position would not permit it. She could only peer back between her heaving breasts to see the last of the tormenting bells fixed in position. By this time they formed such a thick cluster that she could see nothing beyond them.

  She had been holding herself very still during this process, in the hope that it would reduce the discomfort, so the bells had only rung out individually, and in a muffled fashion. Now Climp emerged from beneath her body, and after complacently surveying his creation, slapped Mary firmly on the right buttock, sending her shuffling forwards on hands and knees. The bells were set swinging wildly against one another, and against the poor girl's thighs and stomach, and the two men were able to enjoy their full music.

  "Alright, Mary," said Roland Climp, "it's time to make your debut."

  Lady Lathom

  Mary's journey to the great saloon was slow and humiliating. Her bondage made it painful to move at all quickly, but Sir Roger and Roland Climp, walking behind her on either side, urged her on as fast as she could possibly go with wicked flicks of their riding crops. Her agitated movements set the bells to work, and brought several men to their doors to watch her go by. Then her keepers would stop Mary while they displayed her adornments. In one cabin Mary caught a glimpse of a long-legged brunette of the showgirl type, dressed only in high-heeled gold slippers, who was impaled on a monstrous dildo mounted on a pole emerging from the floor. Despite this handicap the woman was tap dancing vigorously - on the spot of course - to a ragtime tune.