Slave Lover by Marco Vassi Read Free Book Online

pulled her cunt up to be met by her own, and ground her pubic bone into the other’s clitoris, and sucked deep kisses from her lips.
    Now it was a time of demand. The earlier mode of interdependent tripping was finished, and the emphasis shifted to total dependence. With each thrust, with each caress, with each kiss, with each look, Madge demanded response. The essence of her lovemaking was to rouse the other to respond, to evoke the most thrilling expressions, the most wanton gestures. A dozen times Constance tried to roll over onto her belly so that she would offer her vulnerable buttocks to Madge’s control. And the tiny movement was always met by a smile of smirking superiority. This wasn’t an exchange in which Madge hoped to give and get, but a military program which she was trying to win. She wanted Constance to surrender, not to her, but to herself. She wanted Constance to display herself, to open herself, to put herself on parade, and then to allow Madge and the others to feast on the garden of sprouted delights.
    Madge slid to one side and, licking Constance’s breast, brought her right hand between the other woman’s thighs.
    “Open it, baby,” Madge said, “open your luscious cunt to the world.”
    And when Constance had spread her legs as wide as she could, Madge simply slipped her fist into the wildly dripping hole. There was no pain, no strain. Only a swelling rapturous pleasure, a yielding. Constance lifted her legs high in the air and opened them to the skies while Madge, frowning in gentle concentration, worked her fist in and out with lugubrious ease.
    “Oh, let me,” Sally breathed.
    “Me too,” Sheila added.
    And one by one the other women took their turns, Madge pulling her slime-coated fist out and each of the others shoving theirs in. Constance did not make a sound or move an inch. She was lost in a cotton-candy revery of pure immediacy. She was lying in a strange room in a horrible prison while three women took turns fist-fucking her and all she could think was that this was the most sublime thing that could ever happen to her and that she never wanted it to end.
    And yet it did. Fatigue, the natural cessation of certain rhythms, an orgasmic glut, all combined to push the four ladies back from their endeavor. And, as is often the case at such moments, when they had rested a bit, and smoked a bit, and peed and run combs through their hair and put their robes and various bits of clothing back on, they realized they were hungry.
    “Well, let’s go down to the kitchen,” Sheila said.
    “Oh, why bother?” Madge replied. “Let’s call room service and have them bring something here.”
    “It’s pretty fancy,” Constance said. “Even hotels don’t provide meals at all hours of the day.”
    “Well, it’s a twenty-four-hour place,” Madge told her. “The johns come in at all times and the sessions go around the clock. When you do your first session without a blindfold you’ll see what it’s like. Anyway, all the antics make the customers hungry, and at the prices they pay, the establishment wants to keep them well fed.”
    “It gets like a gambling casino,” Sally continued. “And it’s like each of the slabs or pieces of equipment is a table. One is a roulette wheel and another a craps table and another black jack. And while each girl belongs to the man or men who paid for her, they almost always let other men have her too. So the men kind of wander around the room, trying to find out where the action is.”
    “And we’re the games,” Madge said bitterly. “They hang us up and spread us out and spin us around and whip us and shove things in us and piss on us and we don’t mean any more to them than any other toy they use to amuse themselves.”
    There was a moment’s silence.
    “Anyway,” Madge continued, “that’s why the kitchen is always open. And as to room service, well, why look a gift horse in the mouth.”
    “The menu is in the desk drawer,” Sheila said