The Captive by Amber Jameson

but, obedient and pliant as ever, she remained as she had been placed.
    Megan rolled her smooth wooden drumstick along the hollow of the captive’s back, wetting it in the pools of perspiration gathered in the hollow between shoulders and buttocks. She placed the polished globe at the entrance of the girl’s body. This was slick with a slippery mixture of sweat and love sap. Megan played the globe between the wet silvery lips, feeling how these clutched tenderly at the intrusion.
    The kitchen staff gathered to watch the diversion and seemed not to mind the severe heat blasting from the fire. “Lift further, my dear,” Megan urged. “Let your admirers see how prettily your pouch opens for an audience.”
    Zacora, humiliated though she was, arched her buttocks as high as they would go, knowing that she would love the swirling sensation of a watched orgasm. She could feel her nubbin pressing hard against the drumstick, delighting in the polished smoothness. Suddenly, the wooden globe was pressed forward by Megan and Zacora gasped at the sudden thick intrusion. It was what was needed to bring her to her climax
    The assembled audience gasped as they watched the large globe enter the gaping, milky gateway and the glowing, erect nubbin jerk ecstatically on the polished stick.
    “Shall I remove it?” asked Gareth, reaching forward.
    “No!” said Megan sharply. “I wish it to be left in for the next stage.”
    Gareth stroked the girl’s glowing body. “She’s burning,” he said.
    Megan shrugged. “So am I.” She ran her sweating hands down her black dress, clinging tightly to her ample curves. She took the long thin lash from the top of her stocking, where she had placed it to leave her hands free. It made a sharp crack as she tested it upon the stone floor. The kitchen staff stepped back, not wishing to be in the path of the lash when it was cracked again.
    The finely cut leather whipped across the splayed buttocks and the girl murmured softly. It wasn’t a moan of pain, for the bulbous drumstick was still inserted. It was a moan of strange pleasure, hissed out between clenched teeth.
    “Again,” hissed the chef. “Let us see you measure her buttocks with the lash again.”
    The spread bottom tensed, ready for another lash of pain. Zacora could feel her breasts, one each side of the stool, become tender and swollen with the surfeit of desire. Hot liquid took slow streams along the deeply inserted drumstick and she knew that she presented a most lewd sight. Somehow this thought made the molten heaviness in her belly all the greater.
    The lash snaked around her tender body; first from one side and then the other. The thin strip of leather was becoming wet as it soaked up the salty fluid of Zacora’s sweat.
    Light-headed and satiated, she softly murmured that her orgasms were many. The stone floor around the stool was dark with a mixture of fluids. Her golden hair was saturated, falling in many tiny ringlets around her.
    “Enough,” said Megan.
    The kitchen workers fell back, returning to their tasks. The chef stared down at the girl, gleaming and shining in the firelight; stared down at the buttocks striated with fine red lines; stared dawn at the polished intrusion in the liquid heat of the sex pouch. His climaxes had come fast and furious as he watched the lashing and he too was now satiated.
    Gareth could not restrain himself. In watching the lovely Zacora take her discipline, he found it necessary to seek out the kitchen maid. Petticoats swished high over her head, he flung her face down upon the scrubbed deal table and took her from the rear. To mimic Zacora he made the pretty little buttocks hotly inflamed with the flat of his palm before spreading them to their limit.
    The female entrance of the maid was creamily lubricated, open and ready and Gareth plunged in with gusto. She wriggled her bottom, which encouraged him to go in to the hilt. He could feel her cushiony flesh stretch with his wide girth and he