"Why don't you show off your lovely corset to me in the manner most suited to your dress," she said, taking the whip and rolling it between her palms. George began to walk around the room.
"Not like that!" she said, "You know the best way to show it off." At that, George got down on his hands and knees and began to crawl around the room.
"That's much, much better," she said, her eyes narrowing and growing dark. George crawled on all fours, first towards her with his head lowered, and then away from her, so that she could see his buttocks working up and down while one knee moved in front of the other. The slightly small corset fell to just about his waist. It revealed the entirety of his buttocks and a good portion of his white-fleshed back. His blond wig was slightly askew, falling to one side.
"Faster, crawl faster!" she demanded and George began to crawl faster, almost frantically, as if he were trying to escape his pursuer. George crawled around and around the room tirelessly while Madam Andre casually fondled her breasts and her clitoris.
"George, come here," she said after a time. He turned and crawled to her feet. She told him to turn around, so that his back was to her. He did so, and then she struck out with the whip, the quick leather strap landing in a loud crack on his buttocks. He pleaded with her to stop, which was part of the game they played. Of course, she continued. She whipped him a good ten times, until faint red welts rose on his back. Finally, she took mercy on him and stopped.
He reached behind his back and stuck his finger into his asshole, moving it in and out for both his pleasure and hers. She loved seeing him do this under her supreme dominant control, especially after she'd watched him crawl pitifully around the room, pleading with her and begging for her mercy.
She continued to fondle her breasts as she watched his finger moving in and out of his asshole. Then he got up on his knees, his other hand spreading his buttocks apart. Suddenly her foot lashed out, kicking him with her high-heeled shoes. He fell forward slightly, his finger buried high up in his own ass. He winced.
She ordered him to turn around and lick her cunt. As she leaned against the wall, she spread her legs wide for him as he bent his head into her lap, reaching out his tongue until it rested lightly on her outer folds. He licked around them and then stuck his tongue inside of her, twisting it in and out.
"Stick it in further," she commanded, and he complied. "Now withdraw it and suck on my clitoris." He withdrew his tongue and began to suck on her enflamed, red clitoris.
"Not so hard!" she said, so he sucked more gently, bringing Madam Andre immense pleasure.
"Ah, yes, just like that," she moaned. He squeezed her clit gently between his lips, teasing the end of it with the tip of his tongue. As her body surged with heat, she felt her usual need to satisfy the huge Frenchman.
"George," she said, her voice low and husky.
"Yes, Mistress," he answered.
"Are you ready, George?"
"Oh yes, Mistress. I am ready for you. I am ready for it."
"Is your asshole hungry, George?"
"Oh, yes, my asshole is hungry, Mistress."
With this, Madam Andre kicked George away.
"Get it. Bring it to me," she commanded.
"Yes, my Mistress," George said meekly, crawling away, looking back over his hairy shoulder, the black corset on his upper body looking utterly ridiculous and obscenely enticing. In his long blond wig, and sleek black boots, the huge hairy man did indeed look bizarre. It felt funny, and deadly serious at the same time. George was intensely thrilled every moment he wore the strange costume.
As he crossed the room on his hands and knees, his huge buttocks swaying in a voluptuous rhythm, Madam Andre again fingered her cunt. She stared at his hanging testicles swaying beneath him. She loved his balls. Sometimes, when she was intensely excited, she'd order him to kneel astride her face. Then, looking up at his heavy, hairy balls, which brushed against her face, she'd stick out her tongue. George would suddenly lower himself onto her face, his balls smashing into her mouth, over her nose. Then he'd raise himself and slap her eyes and cheeks with them. She thought of this as he crawled to retrieve what he so badly desired.
When he was once again before her, holding the dildo in his mouth like a dog would hold a bone, he lifted his eyes up to her. She took it from him, stood up and strapped it around her waist. She stood before him with the instrument jutting out from her loins in monstrous proportions and, her hands on her hips, looked down at him.
She knelt behind him and spread his ass-cheeks with her fingers, which dug into his flesh so far that she thought she'd touch bone. She drove the dildo into his ass. He groaned loudly as the instrument slid into his backside. He fell to the floor, supporting himself on his shoulder. He took his cock into his hand and rubbed it up and down, moving the foreskin roughly over it. His eyes were closed tightly in pleasure.
Madam Andre pumped the dildo in and out of him, watching his buttocks clench around it. This gave her a great deal of pleasure. Then she raised her arm high into the air and brought her palm down against his buttocks in a stinging slap. She did this over and over again as she pushed the dildo far up into his ass.
She heard a primordial groan escape from George's lips, as his buttocks clenched, and drove hard into him as she struck him. The toes of his black boots dug into the floor as he came violently into his hand, spurting out on his chin, which was resting on the floor.
"Oh, thank you, Mistress," he shouted as he came.
Chapter Nine
The other person in the chateau to hear Mrs. Melissa Staunton's wild orgasmic scream was Nellie, the maid, or "tweenie" as such maids are called in Europe.
She was alone in her own room, lying naked in bed, reading an erotic novel. When she came to a particularly hot passage, she would pause and masturbate for a while before continuing to read.
Next to her on the bed was her box of dildos and vibrators. She'd spent a considerable amount of the extra money she earned doing special things for her Mistress to buy these.
Nellie was devoted to Mrs. Staunton. In fact, her position resembled something akin to slavery. And Nellie loved it. She wouldn't have traded places with any girl she knew. She had just about everything she needed and wanted, and if she didn't, all she had to do was ask.
She'd often traveled to Nice to go shopping with Melissa. Maurice would drive the big limousine, and the trip was always a thrill.
Nellie loved to ride in the rear seat with the older woman, whom she often made believe was her own rich mother.
Nellie had many fantasies like this about Melissa. Nellie's real mother had died years before and she had grown up in the care of her grandmother who was an old drunk, to put it mildly. She drank from morning to night, played the horses and gambled.
Nellie's step-grandfather (her father was long dead) was also a drunk but not kind like her grandmother. Nellie hated him. The old man constantly grabbed her and this was one of the reasons she'd left home six months before her nineteenth birthday.
Lying on her bed in the Chateau, Nellie recalled it all, and shuddered. She closed her eyes, feeling as if she were falling into a delirious frightening nightmare. She remembered the old man catching her coming out of the shower. As surly as he usually was, this particular morning he was very hung over and in a particularly rotten mood. Grandmother wasn't home.
"Come here, you little bitch," he yelled from the other room, not realizing she was wearing just a towel around her waist. Her delicious breasts were dripping with water, her nipples tight.
"I'm not dressed, Grandpop."
"Who gives a damn, you wench, c'mere!"
Nellie knew better than to argue with the old man. He could be vicious. Often he'd whipped her naked bottom until it glowed pink.