Gregory seated himself on the divan, straddling Marcia’s head with his knees, holding her streaming raven hair in his left hand and the whip in his right.
It was Marie who dragged the loosened, unbuttoned satin tights down to her haughty mistress’s knees, allowed them to repose, a lustrous, lascivious fetter.
“Oh… oh…“ groaned the unhappy Marcia, “What… what… are you going to do… oh… please… haven’t I suffered enough? Oh, Bob… Greg… darling Marie, kind, loyal Marie, take pity~ on me let me go now… oh… oh …“
“She’s in position,” said Marie, her eyes sparkling, her cheeks flushed, looking longingly at her lover, for the sight of Marcia’s magnificent, shivering, ivory bottom globes and the anticipation of their defamation caused in her loins a glowing desire to have Gregory solace her tingling flesh.
Marcia was ready for the act of vengeance which would complete her shame and so was Travers, for he too had been moved to lust by the spectacle of her proffered bottom hemispheres, oval, ivory, firm and trembling with apprehension-as if already they knew the fate of martyrdom to which their possessor was to be subjected and with that tempting shadowy vista Of her bottom groove visible to his delectating gaze.
“He knelt behind her, placed his left hand on her naked back and with his right hand spread the cheeks of her bottom wide apart.
She trembled, tried to turn her head and was rewarded by a terrible tug that made her shriek.
Suddenly, she felt the hot, throbbing head of Travers revitalized prong brush the dainty amber orifice of her bunghole; and she knew at last the terrible, shaming doom brought on her by her own iniquity.
Her buttocks shrank in, contracting lasciviously; she plunged her hands to them to repel the assault.
The whip, in Gregory’s vigilant hand, licked hungrily down the hollowing arch of her alabaster back, tracing its way with the shivering flesh.
“Ahha… ah… oh… oh… stop! Pity!” she shrieked.
Marie came forward and forcibly pulled her hands away from her menaced buttocks, condemned to sodomy in expiation for Marcia’s crime of demi-vierge deceit!
And the lovely blond, exerting all her force, drew Marcia’s wrists together and held them pinioned on her mistress writhing, welted, shivering back.
“Go ahead and ram her deep, Bob,” she advised, with a smile of sensual anticipation.
Travers knees spread Marcia’s beautiful legs as she knelt; once again, access to her maidenhead was facilitated His left hand maintained the parting of her bottom cheeks, his right now guided the prong to its destined sheltering.
“Wait,” said Marie suddenly, “a little unguent will make it easier!”
“Easier for her. She doesn’t deserve any pity but you’re right… I’ll oil my cock this way… so she can taste inside her bum hole just what I think of her!” And, as he spoke, Travers drew back his prong and dropped a large gob of spittle on the fiery tip and then returned it to that shuddering, shrinking amber orifice which his prying fingers forced her pouting oval bottom globes to show.
And then, without respite, without tenderness, he lunged forward with all his strength.
Marcia was maddened by the pain, the horror, the shame, her head dashed from side to side and only Gregory’s vicious tugs made her realize that she could only bring additional suffering to herself by struggling, a point further emphasized by two cruel lashes of the whip down her naked hips.
Shrieking, groaning, her buttocks contracting and weaving lasciviously, Marcia endured this second and viler defloration of her virgin orifice, until Travers’ vigorous prong was buried to the hilt in her quaking bowels and she sank, fainting, tottering, against the divan, Marie cruelly twisting her wrists to make certain her mistress would not swoon a second time~ Nor did she. Her body protesting with all its inflamed nerves against this unexpected, hideous martyrdom, Marcia, weeping, shrieking, writhing, pleading and sobbing, felt the friction of a male cock in that fastidiously dainty amber bunghole till at last, frenzied by the warm delight of her bottom groove, her ravisher spent gushingly into her.
But it was not finished for her even then, for when he had withdrawn his prong and seen the evidences of his pilgrimaging in her bottom orifice, Travers commanded her to “lick your own shit and cleanse my cock, you dirty little tramp, who thinks her shit doesn’t smell… humble yourself, you bitch!”
And when she refused, stunned, dazed, unable to believe the reality of such a task consigned her, Marie took the whip and stood behind her, while Gregory dragged her along the floor, on her knees, shrieking and the blond maid applied caresses of the thong across the oval buttocks and the wonderful, svelte ivory thighs till at last the unfortunate Marcia swore she would obey.
Then Gregory made her kneel on all fours, Marie standing behind her with the whip to guarantee her dutiful submission; he forced her to thrust her head between his thighs and in that position, facing Travers, accept with her lips the dirtied cock of her ravisher and suck and lick it clean.
And then~ and only then, did they leave her, this triumphant trio and locked the door upon her, leaving her broken, naked, weeping, fainting, prostrate on the velvet rug.
That was the beginning of her week as a prostitute in this imaginative brothel-a never-to-be forgotten week of insults, shame, torment and carnal subjugation.
On the second night, she was compelled to wear high heeled pumps, black mesh stockings, gloves that sheathed her to the shoulder and a black lace slip which allowed the creamy beauty of her naked flesh to be divined.
And, waiting on the divan, trembling as she had the night before, again; again, she endured that psychological martyrdom of hearing the key turn-in the lock … waiting with clenched hands and bated breath… to see… who should cross the threshold and prepare a new ordeal, of horror for her body and soul!
It was Jack Prentiss, another of her disdained suitors… for Marie and Bob had, sharing ideas in their plot, induced those scorned swains of the arrogant debutante to participate in the dйchйance of Marcia!
Prentiss compelled her to hold his penis in her gloved hands, then to remove her gloves and resume her caressing imprisonment of his organ in her naked fingers. She obeyed, her teeth set, her face flushed, trembling with rage and fear. Then he too commanded her to ask him to possess her; she refused, for the new day had given her fresh hopes of escape and she pleaded with him to aid her in fleeing this house of evil.
Adamant, deaf to her pleas, he too had recourse to the whip, tearing the slip from her body-and pursuing her through the salon, she frantic and seeking madly to avoid the lashes which attained her, till, exhausted, her body wealed and throbbing with the whip’s kisses on her naked flesh, she tearfully agreed to his command in the midst of this carnal scene, the door opened… and Charles Corland, a dark haired man of thirty, a wealthy lawyer and another of her suitors entered.
He and Prentiss had obviously arranged this session to their own common benefit; for now, stripping naked, he compelled Marcia to learn the art of applying her lips to a male prick, while Prentiss stood behind her with the whip Then, compelling her to kneel on all fours, Corland imbedded his stimulated cock into her anguished quim, while Prentiss made her, under the menace of the lash, kiss his own vigorous weapon as he stood before her. After Corliss had achieved his orgasm, the now lusting Prentiss took his place and again Marcia knew the shame of yielding her intimate nook of Venus to the sturdy, rasping, frictioning cock of the male ravisher.
On the third night, Glenn Wilson, still another of her suitors, taught her the shameful degradation of soixante-neuf, following which delightfully stimulating act he forced her to sit upon his lap, her bottom against his belly, impaling herself on his organ, while he palpated and squeezed her firm, pert breasts and bit her neck and shoulders till she shrieked with pain Marvin Corley, a wealthy banker of thirty-seven, then entered the salon during this sensual tableau and after Wilson had yielded up his essence into her seething cunt, the two naked men compelled, her to learn how two feminine orifices become one, Wilson ravishing her bottom hole and Corley taking stiff charge of her martyred cunt, they reversing positions after each had achieved orgasm and violating her again.
The fourth night was a nightmare of horror to her For this time, three disdained suitors, George Brainard, Doug Holloway and Paul Palmer entered the salon, to find her chained to the wall, facing them clad only in a long, white, flowing, diaphanous nightgown, in five-inch-high-heeled pumps, the key to the fetters hanging in a pendant from her ivory throat and descending to rest against the shadow triangle of her Venus mound, delectably suggested through the molding, fragile silk!
And, to her indescribable terror and shame, they calmly drew up a table, took out a deck of cards and began to play a hand of poker to see who should be first to possess her.
Brainard won, with a straight flush and, laughing evilly, rose from the table, began to disrobe, while his companions also undressed in preparation for their own pleasure with Marcia’s trembling body.
Brainard, a coarse, wealthy socialite of thirty-two who had inherited a fortune which enabled him to cater solely to his carnal pleasures, prolonged her agony by paying her lewd compliments on her charms as visible through the nightgown, then took the key, not without dallying for along moment in the ecstatic pleasure of palpating her apprehensive quim through the silk and probing between hey cuntlips with his forefinger to find her, clitoris, till, scarlet with shame and trembling piteously, she begged him to take her and end her ordeal.
He released her from the chains, made her kneel and kiss his organ.
Then, pretending to hesitate as to which position he desired her to yield herself, he made her take various poses: first, kneeling erect, cupping her breasts out to him; then on all fours, spreading her legs as far apart as she could; then kneeling with one knee placed on the edge of the divan and the other on the rug; then bending over and grasping her ankles-in which shameful pose he martyred her further by tickling her slit with one forefinger while he rimmed and probed her shi-inking bottom hole with the other.
Finally, his lust overpowering his inclination to humiliate her further and urged on by his impatient comrades, he made her go into the bedroom, bend herself back over the edge of the bed, pillow her head in her hands and spread her legs wide apart; facing her, steadying himself by applying his palms on the bedspread, he impaled her fiercely, telling his companions that this position was best for “touching bottom and scraping the sides of Marcia’s stretchable twat!”
And when he had done, Holloway and Palmer played a hand of poker for her body, Palmer winning and ravishing her on the floor, while Holloway squatted over her head and made her kiss and tongue his penis, repaying her for that ministration by having Palmer hold her hands behind and draw her with her bottom pressing into his surging penis, while Holloway ravished her as she stood, legs wide apart.
On the fifth night of that week of vilest shame, Marcia was turned over to Randall Young, a fetishist and voluptuary of thirty who was famous for his commercial illustrations; he entered the salon to find her naked save for one open-toed sandal and one stocking. He forced her to dress as if she were going to an evening ball; then she had to strip naked and this time dress for her boudoir. In negligee, satin panties and brassiere, mesh stockings and high-heeled pumps, she had to crawl on her knees to him on the couch and, taking off her negligee as she knelt, unfasten her brassiere and then mold and caress his penis with her own two breasts, which she had to guide and hold in her own trembling hands. Then she was ordered to masturbate him by rubbing her silkenmesh-sheathed calf against his fiery, throbbing cock; but, as this did not provoke the desired effect-for he purposely withheld his essence-it was with the arch of her high-heeled pump that she had to stroke his penis.
And when he had had inundated that beautiful black pump with the viscous lava of his sperm, she had to take off the pump, being careful to let none of the fluid escape and drink up the gism with her anguished lips and tongue.
Witnessing her obedience renewed his vigor and, forcing her to retain only one pump and one stocking, he possessed her by making her mount astride him, while he palpated her breasts and stroked her clitoris till, unwillingly, but overwhelmed, she achieved orgasm.
On the sixth and penultimate night, she was, made to entertain her own chauffeur, Henry, whose place Gregory had taken; and on the last night, Joe and Bill, the barbarous guards of the house of ill fame, had their way with her…
Two weeks later, in the Church of the Apostle, on fashionable Second Avenue, a wedding was celebrated, that of the beautiful debutante Marcia Thomaston to Gregory Matthews. The, absence of the bride previously had been explained to the press as an elopement of the happy lovers, who had now sought, after making sure of each other under civil law, to pledge their troth in the solemn ecclesiastical vows of their church.
The bride wore a magnificent dress of white satin, voluminous, with a long train, very modest in~ cut… quite opaque in concealing her charms. The blond Marie was maid of honor.
But; if the spectators had been gifted with penetrating vision, they would have remarked that Marcia’s attire consisted only of that full, flowing dress, black silk opera stockings which rose to her crotch and high-heeled black suede pumps- nothing more!
After the rice-throwing and merry jests typical of a wedding had been completed, Gregory Matthews limousine drew up in front of the church. The happy bride entered, together with her maid of honor-who carried her mistress’s, bouquet of lilies (ironic note! the flowers of purity) and her new, devoted spouse, who smiled at her tenderly and held her hand, but with an unseen grasp that made her tremble, so ardent and dominating was it! The chauffeur-Henry, to be sure-had his orders. The limousine swung away and drove off…
An hour later, the bridal automobile pulled up before the lonely house where Marcia had met her downfall and again the two guards came to~ open the door and, this time, gently-at least comparatively!-escort the beautiful, white gowned bride to the door.