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Based on the novel Shadows of a Painted Lady by Lizbeth Dusseau © Copyright 2002. All rights reserved. May not be used without the permission of the author.
The house was freshly painted, the garden tended neatly—though it could use a little more imagination. It had been some years since Haliday House had last seen occupants—sometime in the middle 1940’s when it was a sanatorium. Its current owner was a distant nephew of the original Haliday. He found the house in disrepair, though his imagination sprouted wings when he saw the raw material of his fantasies appearing so beautifully before his eyes.
The secret society to which he belonged needed places as intriguing and austere as this one to give their purposes a place to flourish. It was the end of the 20th century, and yet, this Haliday maintained the etiquette of bygone times while practicing arcane sexual mores. Small gatherings were held for the lustily inclined, for those disposed to the darker pursuits of the sexual psyche. They practiced wit and gentility by day and sadomasochism in the evening hours, turning submissive women into slaves—at least for a day or two, or when they were under the roof of the newly renovated Victorian House. It was a gracious place, white framed and trimmed with green to match its fertile lawn. Clubs like this one were hard to find—especially in the Midwest. The lovely ‘lady’ had become a haven for those who knew that their sexual practices would be shunned by the current fashion of politics and social thought. However, those who came to Haliday House parties liked being unusual, since that made their soirees jump with sexual magic.
“Chelsea!” Master Haliday’s voice split molecules into pieces in the sultry, heated air. It cut in timbre through a half-dozen conversations, startling a sleepy crowd of Haliday guests awake.
“Yes, sir,” I awoke from my own languid stupor to the thrill of that voice.
“I need you now.”
I gulped visibly and bit my lip as I stared at Sir Haliday from the parlor floor in wonder. All afternoon my fears had been on edge, my tummy—one minute clenched, the next overpowered by suggestion. Every atom seemed to speak to a longing I could not shake. What was it happening all around me? Was I being paranoid to think that there were eyes trained on me specifically? I loved the attention, but this time I was afraid.
Scrambling to my feet, I almost stumbled in heels too high for me to walk in. My thighs were already weak, feeling like pillars that might at any second crumble into dust beneath me. The polished hardwood floor was slick, which made the few steps I negotiated toward the man more chancy. But I managed.
The room began to fill with Masters, while their submissives, either peeking into the parlor door or clinging to their masters’ sides, looked as perplexed as I was. They were as unknowing as I was. Some looked longingly; others trembled with fright, perhaps mentally putting themselves in my tall high heels. I was struggling. I’m sure everyone could see that.
The Masters stood in a ring around the room, a few choosing to take their seats. They looked a bit like vultures. I looked for my master, Nathan, not finding him. Perhaps I sought his comforting glance, but then he’d set this affair in motion. His expression would be as determined and grim as all the other masters’ were.
Thankfully, Sir Haliday ordered me to stand facing the wall. Once there, I spontaneously closed my eyes.
Where was Nathan now, I wondered? I couldn’t make out his presence in the room. The commotion was too intense; and the power of authority coming toward me was so immense that the stares were indistinguishable one from another. Normally, I knew when my Master was watching me. Now, he seemed to meld with the others.
A dozen angry beasts seemed to be battling inside my trembling frame.
Sir Haliday stood with me, just off my right shoulder. Grabbing a leather hood from his own submissive, he covered my head, effectively walling me away from all the sights and sounds around me. I found it difficult to breathe—and that breath, hot and labored inside the stiff, confining hood. With one deep breath, I tried to relax, but my thighs were like jelly and my pussy felt as though it were a runaway train. My guts were tightening as I bottled the emotions of fear and thrill inside—afraid they’d splash all over me in tears or laughter. I wanted to giggle and I wanted to cry.
The cries felt like relief, perhaps the laughter, too.
“This piece of property belongs to Master Nathan Bastian,” Sir Haliday announced. “He’ll be selling her to the highest bidder. I’d suggest an inspection first.” He jerked my arm. “Turn around.” He roughly turned me so that I stood before my audience face forward. I felt strangely dehumanized. But for the purposes of a slave auction that was appropriate—it was the body and its use that was important in these matters.
“Take off your clothes,” Haliday ordered.
“I didn’t call for you to speak,” he rudely jerked me so I’d get his message clearly.
Silently, I said, I’m sorry.
Obeying the command, I inched my long dress up my legs, at first, moving too rapidly for the pleasure of Sir Haliday who acted as the auctioneer.
“Slower,” he ordered.
I let the hem drop several inches then started over, moving slowly, taking my time, as though this were a striptease for the sport of arousal. Perhaps it would serve that function for a few horny Doms. And yet, I’m sure in these formal surroundings, their cocks would remain contained inside the trousers of their evening suits. They were a stodgy Old World crowd who relished displays like this one for every bit of sadistic pleasure they could glean from the humiliation of a slave.
Taking my time, I hiked my skirt carefully to avoid more criticism. If being auctioned made me afraid, being imperfect tore my insides into shreds. Slaves were valued for their ability to perform such things under pressure and with poise. I could not let my earlier faltering destroy me now.
The skirt reached my hips, which were encircled by a black garterbelt. The lacy fabric stretched across my undulating abdomen, while four long garters held a pair of silky stockings in their clasps. My sexual arousal bloomed as I realized that the eyes of my audience were focused there. A small black panty covered the truly important parts, where between my thighs a beautiful bush of blonde curls protected the inner folds of my sex. Should I be inspected, they would have found me sopping wet.
Moving slower still, I drew the dress along my torso, finally pulling it over my breasts. I was naked underneath, braless. Even sightless, I knew that my nipples had hardened and poked through the fabric of my dress. With the air hitting the bare nubs, they stiffened further, like so many times, standing at attention, pink and proud, begging for a pair of lips to tease them. That, of course, was what they were for. To seduce. To suck. To stimulate the regions down below in preparation for fucking.
Finally, drawing the dress off over my head, I tossed it to my side, while almost stumbling on my fear-weakened legs. I determinedly tried to right myself, only accomplishing the feat with the help of my auctioneer’s firm grip.
“Take off those underclothes,” he tore at me, “you don’t deserve to wear them. I’m sure your owner will want them back for his next slave!”
Unnerved by his cruelty, I cried more earnestly behind the mask—which only made me thankful that I was wearing it. Surely, Sir Haliday would heap more ridicule on me if he knew that my eyes were burning with tears of embarrassment.
I stepped from my heels. Then, unhooking my garterbelt, the tiny garment drooped until I could push the stockings down my thighs and over my feet.
Just as I was about to remove my panties, Sir Haliday stopped me. “Is there a submissive who’d like to remove this last article of slave clothing and present it to her master?”
Filling the anxious second, a woman scampered forward on her knees and pulled the panties down in what felt like a loving, longing, sisterly gesture.
Naked, there was nothing to protect me now.
“She’s used goods, gentlemen. Perhaps you’d like to see if she’ll be of any value.”
I could feel Sir Haliday back away. I stood alone, quaking from the Master’s mockery. As if a hoard of feasting tigers was descending on my body, I was pawed by hands, inspected, probed and poked. Several pairs of fingers stabbed my cunt, almost fucking me, but waiting for me to make some sensuous response. It was impossible not to react with at least some degree of natural delight. After all, I am a masochist who thrives on such abuse.
They slapped my breasts, tugged at my nipples until I was tempted to shriek. I held in the feeling of pain, taking a long deep breath and focusing on what that pain contrived in my fondled crotch.
“Bend over!” the auctioneer ordered pressing a firm hand on my back. “And spread your cheeks.” My body was hot with this new humiliation. But I tentatively obeyed him, placing my hands on my bottom. “Yes, slave, let them see your anus,” he encouraged.
Taking an ass cheek in each hand, I firmly grabbed the flesh and pulled the two apart. The horrific degradation hit me with a cruel blow; at the same time, sweeping me with a rush of sexual excitement unlike anything I’d ever known.
Sir Haliday then pulled me upright and the intense inspection continued with fingers probing my intimate places. One long thin digit entered my ass with a sharp bite. It must have been a woman’s finger, I thought to myself, with its polished nail jabbing me like the blade of a knife. Either Mistress Jane or Mistress Victoria, I decided. Although I figured it was Mistress Jane; Mistress Victoria was too haughty to fool with ‘used goods’.
With a second rude jab at my anus, a pained ‘ouch’ threatened at my lips, but I kept quiet. The inspection couldn’t last forever.
“Crouch!” Sir Haliday barked.
“Yes, down!” He pushed my shoulders with his steely hand.
In the humbling squat, my pussy was spread wide open for every eye to see the truth glistening there in an obvious display of my slutty arousal. Did I have no shame? I wondered to myself.
“Hold up those breasts,” he blared.
I pushed my fair breasts into a cleavage, while trying to adjust to the awkward pose. My ankles ached so that I could hardly stand the position. My nerves faltered. I wanted to tell them how much this hurt, that I couldn’t tolerate the pain.
“Let the bids begin,” the auctioneer finally bellowed. And thankfully, he pulled me to my floundering feet.
Sir Haliday helped me balance as the bidding commenced… twenty-five, fifty, a hundred… During the bidding Sir Haliday smacked my ass at intervals, reminding me to stand up straight. I did my best, but I was quaking like a leaf in spring. Confusion filled my mind—who would bid and who would buy? Was Nathan really serious about the sale? Was this really happening? And then finally, silence. A loud, premeditated silence screamed all around me.
“That’s it, we have a buyer,” Sir Haliday suddenly announced. He grabbed my arm so hard that I was sure that bruises would remain. “I’ll take your purchase to the dungeon where you can abuse her as you wish. Although, it’s customary to invite the attentions of the other Masters to break your chattel in; is that what you want?” I presume he was asking my new owner.
I couldn’t see him but I could feel the way his lust and savagery ripped another masochistic thrill through my teaming body. I can only guess that he agreed.
Pushed from the room, I was roughly handled as I made my way to the cellar stairs guided by Sir Haliday’s commanding hands. As I decided those precarious stairs, I could feel a firm hand on my ass, another with fingernails sinking into my shoulder.
“Suspend her!” the order came quickly once we were in the dungeon. Sir Haliday backed away and two hands grabbed for my wrists, placing them in tight cuffs and drawing them above my head, high enough so that I had to stand on tiptoe from the stretch.
The first hands on my body grabbed either side of my waist—they were not Nathan’s. He’d not purchased me. Nathan’s hands would be warm; these were cool.
After positioning me the way he wanted, I was suddenly attacked, struck by a rain of strikes from paddles and leather spankers, which made me jump erratically with every blow that smacked my cheeks. I contained the need to cry, remembering the submissive requirement with every bit of strength I could summon.
My front and backsides were flogged in a simultaneous rhythm that had me jerking wildly and unable to follow the path of any strike to an erotic end. The pain grew rich, but complicated. I began to sweat, my eyes fill with tears again. These, however, were not tears of grief or horror, but tears of relief. Relief washed through me, bewilderingly so. Though I was in the middle of this new owner’s insidious wrath, from somewhere outside the act, I could feel Nathan standing over the proceedings, directing the scene as if it was a play and I was on stage.
I was abused, but loved, delivered into subspace by a dozen hands extended by whips and paddles to bite and smack and revel in the resulting pain… told not in the expression on my hooded face, but in my body that jerked like a frenetic puppet.
Other hands and other implements were tenderer. There was no bite, no sting as fur and feathers tickled my roughed skin and bruised flesh.
After my stint suspended, I was taken down and thrust against the St. Andrews’s Cross, bound at my ankles and my wrists. A single tail whip flogged at the dangerous territory along the inside of my thighs, where every strike produced a shrill but silent cry from my muted lips.
The aroma of perfume suddenly reached my nostrils. Moments later, some gentle lady with fur covering her hand stroked me between the cuts that burned. Cuts from the single tail continued to mark my back with small wounds I’d remember lovingly when my ordeal was over.
Ah! yessssssss, I was content to think without speaking. “More!” my body screamed.
Finally pulled from the cross, I was taken to a spanking bench, laid face up where the torture increased. My breasts and cunt were not as accustomed to abuse as my well worked ass and wanting shoulders. Every strike against my pubic mound worked its way in pain far beyond the point of impact. Yet, every strike against my front side was altered with the feel of someone’s sensuous hand gliding kindly over the damage. A soothing bath of textures took what pained me grievously and transformed it into another experience of being loved.
Rocked inside this strange cradle of love, I remained helpless, lost and grateful… what more could I ask of life than to give me this kind of satisfaction? I could go on forever…
“Your new master wants you to himself,” Sir Haliday suddenly announced in that same bold voice of authority. Reality boldly rode back in my mind on a gallant stead, and jerked me awake.
I trembled then, afraid of the face of my owner, yet knowing I would serve whatever man appeared to me. The bodies in attendance drifted off, like specters walking through a foggy night. They quit me, leaving me in the cold. Even Sir Haliday disappeared… I almost missed him…
The laces on the hood were loosened. Then a firm hand pulled me upright and to my feet. I was prepared to see the features of my new Master’s face, what strength, what purpose he’d employ. A lot can be learned about an owner in that first meeting…
The hood started to wiggle free, inching up over my chin… I could hardly breathe when I awakened.
“Open your eyes.” I heard a hushed and familiar voice.
Obeying the command, my eyes fluttered open to see the face of my owner—my husband… Nathan.
“Oh, my! It was you,” I whispered, staring upward into his beautiful face.
The smile, so generous and rich, melted all my remaining fears with love.
Falling to his chest, he held me tight to him and his beating heart. He stroked away my tears, engulfed me in his love.
It was you! I smiled to myself.
I wanted to wilt at his feet in service to him as his slave. But he didn’t ask that of me now.
All in good time, I thought, as he led me from the dungeon, into the cellar, then up the stairs. All in good time.
THE PATIENT IN ROOM 435
From Nurse Nancy Misbehaves, Copyright ©, by Lizbeth Dusseau, all rights reserved
“Nurse McCarron,” the sexy Dr. Creighton addressed his pretty voluptuous nurse… his words dripping with lust—“while Nurse Thompson covers your shift, there’s a patient in room 435 who needs your attention. Go to his room, bend over and show him your ass. Tell him all the lurid details. Then let him know that you’re his to use. Whether you’re ready for a cock as large as his in your ass, we really don’t know.” The doctor, who had his hand on her behind, snaking its way into her anal cleft drove his fingers into her backdoor. “But you’ll find out tonight. Call it part of your punishment, and by all means,”—he paused because this was important for her remember—“seduce him. Show him a good time and love every minute. It seems to be what you do best.” The unexpected contempt in the doctor’s voice was disturbing. Not that she hadn’t heard the same tone from the other doctors; it bothered her more coming from this source. She didn’t understand what was behind it, what he wanted from her. Maybe this wasn’t supposed to make sense—it probably never would. Regardless, she felt like an utter failure in his eyes, nothing to him but a thing to abuse—which he did with a style that only made her want him more. She really wanted to be the good slut, the perfect slut, the perfect submissive. Impatiently, Dr. Creighton smacked her ass dismissively as he shooed her out. “Get going, the man’s waiting.”
She was tempted to look back, but she’d only communicate to him her desperate longing for him, which seemed to crowd out every other feeling. Better not let him know, not yet.
435… 435… she tried to remember who was in that room. But it had been several days since she’d been on that floor, and by now, the private room had probably changed patients. Like the rest of hospital at night, this floor was dimly lit and quiet. The nurse on duty had her back to her, as Nancy crept down the hall and stopped before room 435. Taking a deep, anxious breath, she silently slipped inside, immediately seeing that the privacy curtain was partially drawn. “Hello,” she quietly called, being afraid that she might startle a sleeping patient.
Hearing no response, she moved closer to the bed, at the moment, unaware that someone was moving in behind her. She pulled the curtain back just slightly. The bed empty! An intuitive tingle tickled the back of her neck, then raced down her spine. She stopped short.
“Don’t move. Don’t turn around,” she heard a man speaking. A familiar voice? Was that possible? She waited for him to say more, and when he didn’t, she recalled Dr. Creighton’s very specific orders.
“I’m supposed to show you my ass,” she told her unseen patient.
Again, when the man didn’t reply, she went ahead with her instructions. Bending over, she reached behind her and flipped the hem of her skirt over her bottom. A light from the outside window illuminated the setting, giving her fair ass cheeks a pale and pearly luminescent glow.
Remembering Dr. Creighton’s command, and wanting to do exactly what she was told, thinking that it might actually be Dr. Creighton behind her right now—if she weren’t only that lucky—she braced herself on the bed before her and began to sway her behind in a lurid fashion that would be hard for any man to resist. She massaged her cleft with the rolling movement of her legs and hips. If only she could turn around, she’d attract him with her breasts—always her favorite asset to expose. But following her orders to the letter, she used the twin mounds to entice her prey, and after a time reached back with one hand to massage her ass and all the tender places that had been so terribly abused. How they ached for attention!
While playing with her malleable flesh, she spoke in a sexy, hushed whisper, “Ooo my, I’m awfully hot… in fact, I think I’m about to cum.” She felt the impact of her words through her body. Oh, yes! A hard fuck was exactly what she needed now. “Ah, Sir, I’m yours to use. Pleeeeese, put your cock in me, please.” She could feel her bruised pussy start to spasm again—would it be disobeying orders if she came spontaneously? She hoped not; she so close to cumming that any second she expected the climax crash around her. Her undulating body looked like a cat on the prowl, a cat in heat, as her long legs continued to shift back and forth and her hips continued to roll. When the man finally reached out and touched her bottom, her entire body gasped. For a second, she was so dizzy, she was afraid she’d faint.
Nancy quickly regrouped, hissing sensuously, “Yes. Oh, just like that, yessss,” when the man began to massage her pussy and clit. His fingers traveled the length of her cleft, moving at will. Damn! She wanted to fuck! “Oh, please take me,” she encouraged her silent patient. Mimicking Dr. Creighton’s technique, he swathed her pussy in her own juices. Then running his wet fingers to her anus, he smeared the taut rosette in a gentle massage and began to probe the opening.
Oh, yes, she wanted to fuck. But anal sex? Her conflicting feelings had no resolution. But the more the man toyed with the tight entry, the less invasive the feeling was. Even though she dreaded the act, she remembered the instructions and begged him to use her. “I’ll bet you’d like to cum in my pretty ass,” she purred for him in a honey-coated twang. “It’s sooooo tight. Just think of my muscles squeezing your dick.” Her breathless urging was having its effect. She heard the rustling of his clothes, a zipper going down—this wasn’t a patient, that’s for certain—and then she felt the firm feel of a stiff cock against her ass. “Oh, yes, that’s it, darlin! Cum in me, stick that hot dick in my ass and fuck me hard. Yes, fuck me hard!”
By then, she almost believed herself. His fingering had opened her anus the way the anal plug did—but even more so. He scoured her deeply, lubricating her for that inevitable first thrust of his erection. When he finally pulled his fingers out, she shivered with fear, knowing what came next.
“Easy girl,” he spoke again in a quiet hush, a comforting hush that thrilled her almost as much as what he was doing to her behind. His cock was poised to strike; she could feel the head testing the opening. ‘Whether you’re ready for a cock as large as his in your ass, we really don’t know… But you’ll find out tonight.’ Dr. Creighton’s message echoed in her thoughts, as she imagined the size of the cock that was about to answer the pressing question. She envisioned something humongous, the kind that her pussy only liked when she was really really horny. Well, she was really really horny now, but in her ass? She quivered again from her neck to her toes.
Relax, she heard her inner voice. As she felt the stiff thing begin to slip inside the narrow hole, she finally forced her body to calm.
“Easy now,” the man spoke again, in a voice that continued to confound her, even though, she was almost sure who this ‘patient’ was.
As advertised, the man had a sizable erection; no doubt about that. The huge member inched its way beyond the opening, widening the channel to accommodate its generous size. Suddenly, her patient ended his unhurried entry and lunged forward until his entire dick was lodged in her ass.
“Oh, god, nooooooooo,” she gasped, pleadingly. She was sure the hurt would make her scream, and was about to cry. But then, to her bemusement, the impaling didn’t hurt, not the way she expected it to. Though it seemed as if he’d ripped her wide open, there was no pain, just an ungodly, unmanageable sensation. He began to move in her with the same in and out rhythms of vaginal sex. Something she was used to. But this was a selfish fuck, driven by the lust that commands men’s brains and transforms them into beasts. Yes, that was it! The fuck was beastly, abusive, like rape, like an invasion of her privacy, as if he were trying to assault her spirit, trying to own her, which, at the moment, he surely did.
Her insides felt as if they’d been pried open. Her sexual juices trickled down her thighs. Then her pussy spasmed, ejaculating a flood of liquid that dripped to the linoleum floor. She wanted to play with her sex, make it cum—just as the patient was going to cum. He must have known! Mercifully, he reached around, snaking his fingers toward her pussy hole. Finding the prize, he clutched her throbbing clit firmly between his fingers and the fucking picked up speed. While his dick pounded her in a merciless gait, she gave in to the wild mélange of sensations, realizing that that at any moment, they’d be cumming simultaneously.
“Yesssssssssss,” she hissed, sucking in air. “Fuck me harder!” she demanded, as if she was in charge. Heeding her command, her unseen lover pinched her clit tighter still and rammed her hard. With just a few more meaningful thrusts, she was cumming all over his hand, writhing her hips in a crazy dance, and squeezing the cum from his erection. At the moment of climax, he withdrew his fingers from her clit, and grabbed both of her ass cheeks in his hands. An instant later, he jetted a load deep into her channel. His guttural noises resounded in her ears. They made her spasm again, until he stopped hanging on, stopped ejaculating and finally withdrew his spent organ.
Nancy’s legs felt like rubber; her ass as if it was still wide open. A cool burst of air soothed her heated body, but not the throbbing sensation, which seemed to go on as if it would never stop. Feeling a bit dizzy, she collapsed forward onto the table.
Unfortunately, she had little time to recuperate before her assailant was barking commands.
“Clean up the mess, nurse, and pull yourself together. You’ve got work to do.”
“Yes, sir,” she immediately responded. She was certain… but not quite certain. The voice seemed to mutate every time he spoke to her—her memory was fuzzy, even her recent memory of Dr. Creighton’s voice. Could it have been Dr. Lyman, or Dr. Stone? Certainly, it wasn’t Dr. Merriman; his gravelly tone was distinctive—and it didn’t match this horny patient in 435. Yes, it could have been Dr. Creighton. Then again, it could have been a patient in street clothes, and not one of her doctors. Would they tell her the truth? Probably not.
Nancy’s ass hurt long after the fucking was over. She felt as though someone had scraped her insides, leaving the channel feeling as raw as the cleft of her ass felt from being spanked. But she was also more subdued, feeling calmer and more peaceful than she could recently remember. The discomfort that remained nurtured that state of being. This was a quiet feeling, a sensuous quiet that seemed to have climbed inside her bones and settled in like a cat settling in for a long nap.
She walked home at four that morning, her head still in the clouds, as she dreamily made the ten-block trip to her apartment. She wasn’t sure what possessed her to leave her car in the lot and take it on foot. Something about the early morning breeze she decided, perhaps, the bracing feel of something inherently cool on her flushed skin. Maybe it was a defense against that angry feel of her body begging to climax again. Like taking a cold shower, she was invigorated and revived, but not aroused when she finally turned the knob on her front door and let herself inside. The only thing that kept her from falling asleep right away was the gnawing need to know who the man was that took her ass. She knew who she wanted him to be. But just as surely as she fixated on that possibility, she’d find out she was wrong. What a disappointment that would be.
Suddenly she felt him tense and straighten up, and she turned to look over her shoulder to see Katerina standing in the doorway — imperious Katerina looking down on them in that characteristic pose of hers: hands on hips, her long tapering torso now encased in the black armor of the tight bustier. She made an imposing figure, tall legs set apart in a widened stance, shimmering black stockings held in place halfway up her long thighs by the elastic stays, and sleek boots of gleaming leather with wicked stiletto heels.
In her right gloved hand she held the paddle they had purchased earlier that day, and the ruthless determination of her hard lean features made it clear, that this was no longer a sisterly shopping companion.