de:cadence

I woke up.

Even after having taken over the House of Lesslie weeks ago, each morning was still the same, and came with the same feeling of disorientation, in need of a few moments to adjust to the realities around me, as new as they were.

The bedroom around me was still darkened by heavy, burgundy curtains that allowed only a sliver of the early morning's light into these old halls, waiting for the mansion's thick walls to be woken up by it, a caress much softer than what I would have preferred.

Still, I woke up.

Stretching myself around the latex sheeting that had replaced mother's choice for beddings, which had been mostly satin and silk. She had always been such a traditionalist about certain things, I thought to myself in that moment, letting the warmth of the red rubber wash over me, showering my own naked body with its slick wetness. It moved around me like waves of blood, birthing me to the new day.

I preferred things that were industrial in their nature, as far removed from the natural order of things as possible. It was a preference gathered in my years of travel, and said preference was now slowly seeping into my immediate surroundings, little by little, day by day, transforming my family's home into my own and forcing the very fabric of the mansion to bow down to my force, bend to my will.

True dominance takes time and effort, and submission - whether it was by people or environments - would always and forever be a work in progress, never quite finished but always somewhat imperfect, thus waiting to be pushed beyond their natural boundaries.

The master bedroom was the first thing I had taken control of. While manners and methods of conducting your daily affairs in the mansion were of utmost importance in establishing your dominance over servants as well as over clients and business contacts, it was here in the bedroom that true decadence had to be asserted, where deviousness was born like a perpetually wet flower that took root in the very heart of the mansion itself, and then spread through the floors, grew on its walls and pushed its thorns of pain into the bodies of those living here.

It had taken me ten years to transform myself, but the time that it had taken for the first changes to take place in the Lesslie mansion had only been weeks. Perhaps not the busiest weeks of my life so far, but most certainly the most challenging.

The master bed had been reworked with great care by some of London's best industrial artists, and where once had been a wooden 17th century monstrosity of pillows, satin sheets and silk cushions was now a complex construct of hardened iron that had been drilled into the marble floor, penetrating mother's memory with cruel intentions and full intent to overpower her workings.

It was not that I didn't cherish those memories that had been forged here, in the decades she had ruled the House of Lesslie with her smooth touch and unforgiving cruelty.

I did cherish them, far too much, and in these moments, in the drift between sleep and waking, I feared I would drown in them and not return, if I let them come too close to my conscious mind.

After all, this was the room that birthed me.

Both as a boy named Sebastian, and then later again as what I would become, the shemale I had chosen to be, no longer held back by the confines of my natural body, no longer caged by how others saw me.

I allowed myself to fall into that feeling.

I allowed myself to slip back into sleep.

There was still so much to do, so many things to prepare.

II.

"Do you like your position here, darling?

I made it sound casual, not too much like an order while I placed my cigar between the teeth of the sculpted ashtray mouth on mother's desk, imagining it to feel the burn dripping down into a slave's throat, its sparks hissing as they went down.

I had drunk most of Caroline's cunt wine, with only a thin coating of it sloshing against the insides of my wine glass. It taste lingered in my mouth, its warmth filling my belly.

"I have no right - "

Caroline stopped herself, fearing to offend me.

"I am not my mother, Caroline."

"No, Mistress."

"Do you love me, Caroline?"

The gorgeous Irish girl trembled a little. It was not often that a slave, be it whore or maid, was asked this question. Most of them, they entered service willingly, and loved their shame and humiliation, never expecting, never daring to dream to be treated in any other way than filth.

"I love you, Mistress," came the whispered reply.

"Did you love my mother?"

Caroline hesitated.

It was clear mother had not ever shown her this kind of intimacy, such care for her thoughts or emotions. I could see the Irish girl's thoughts racing, wondering what would be the proper etiquette, what might be the answer that would please her new goddess.

"I loved serving her needs, Mistress," she finally said.

"You are one of the mansion's piss whores, aren't you?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"How many of you do I own?"

"Your mother bought me at an auction, Mistress, together with five others."

"A collector's item, then, are you?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Is it what you desired to be, darling?"

"I desired to find my place, Mistress."

"Don't we all, darling?" I thought about it for a moment, on this first day of my new duties, all of which would come crashing down on me soon enough and would not leave time for any kind of conversation, not until I had established myself in the ranks of those who had worshipped mother. I repeated, slightly more quiet and more to myself, "don't we all?"

There was a beautiful innocence in that girl in front of me.

Don't get me wrong, my darlings. Slaves are a dime a dozen, and those who entered the services of my family had often many reasons other than subservience to do so. If you wanted to disappear, from debt, from a scorned lover, from the world, the House of Lesslie was more than happy to provide you with that opportunity.

At a price, of course.

If you gave yourself to us, you would be cared for, would be given an opportunity of a life time, but for that, you would also have to be enslaved for a minimum contract of five years. There would be no questions asked, only orders given.

And so, this may have been the first time dear Caroline had been asked anything since she had entered the household. She reminded me of those I had lifted up in the years that now were behind me.

"Present yourself to me," I said.

Without objection, without shame, Caroline began to let her body flow out of the maid's uniform, a ghostly white form of perfection given flesh, curved and strong and shuddering a little as the air touched and caressed it.

I took in that image, with an eye sharpened through experience, looking for the soul underneath the skin, trying to find any blemishes, and imperfection, for this would be my raw material, the canvas I'd use to build her, to make her a piece of art.

I walked over to Caroline, felt her skin underneath my fingertips, the smallest, simplest touches. She inhaled sharply, her mouth slightly opened, the inhale quickly becoming a hiss, then a low, guttural moan.

She could be useful, I thought to myself. I blew smoke on her hardened nipples, warming them to my touch that followed, slow and gentle, watching her whitened cunt lips becoming engorged by it, that simple display to her mistress, her piss slowly drying on the inside of her thighs as it was replaced by thicker, creamier juice that started to pour from inside her, enough of it to have my fingers scoop it up.

I brought it to my mouth and tasted it. It was flavored with salt, syrupy and mingled well with my saliva. Yes, she definitely could be useful.

"And what is the place you wish to be, darling?" I whispered into her ear as streams of smoke escaped my body and washed over our faces, a fog of lust that engulfed my little darling whore's eyes and mouth.

"Any place my mistress wishes me to be," Caroline replied.

I cupped her breasts from behind, my gloved fingers lifting them up, weighing them, as if my hands were a scale. It caused another small whimper that came out of the Irish girl's mouth, and despite her rigid posture, her training so far, she couldn't resist arching her head back and closing her eyes, just a little, her waterfall of hair falling into my face.

Without warning, I took one of her nipples between my thumb and forefinger and twisted it around. The guttural moan rose to a high pitched scream that started in her chest, lungs of air and lust, expelled through the pain.

I laughed quietly.

She still tried to maintain her posture, even as my other hand reached down from behind, found her ass and parted those cheeks, not once relenting, not once stopping to turn and twist that nipple, adding to her pain.

Sweat began to pour out of her, and with it, a smell of desire and deviance, running down her naked body and gathering in those holes and crevices that were my property.

I slid my fingers into her, slickening the rubber with her flowing cunt juices that quickly became white and frothy around the latex black. Tears followed the sweat, single, quiet little rivers of pain that streamed down her cheek as her nipple remained locked in that cage of pain, sending signals through all of her nerves and telling her to move, to get away from me, to run, to escape.

And she didn't flinch.

She didn't speak.

What wonderful raw material to work from, I thought.

I could have chosen anyone, I knew. It was the randomness of this choice that surged through my own body, the knowledge of such power, to lift somebody up from their destined station in life or to drop them into the darkest depths of despair.

Between my fingers, Caroline's filthy, sweaty shithole opened up, allowing me to enter her through her ring of flesh that otherwise would be a barrier, never meant to be broken or defiled, but now a willing ring of muscles and nerves.

There was barely any resistance as she opened up, opening her gates to her back and allowing me to discover her insides, a wet and delightful mess that had been stored there, full of rich, earthy flavor and wonderfully soft. My fingers buried themselves into her guts to dig it up, to feel it swirl around, to scoop it up.

Caroline moaned. Those yelps of pain, replaced by a deep, humming rhythm of gasps as she understood and found her own pleasure from it.

"Show me," I whispered to her as I added a second, a third digit into the depth of her guts, playing with the soft shit that met them, tried to drown them, wet and moist and ready to come out and play.

I withdrew from her, little soft specks of shit clinging to my latex fingers that were brown, chocolate smears of perfect quality.

I walked around her, leaving her gasping shithole open from my touches, from that wicked invasion that would be merely the first of many to follow. I wanted her to see this. To understand. And worship it.

Standing in front of her gasping, ghostly body, I presented Caroline with what I had found inside her, three fingers of soft, smelly shit.

"Please, Mistress," she whispered, ah, yes. Fear, for the first time.

"There is nothing here to be afraid of," I said in a calm voice, soothing her angst, "because there is nothing here that doesn't deserve worship, Caroline. Do you understand?"

"Mistress, I don't," she whimpered.

"Let me show you, darling," I said.

I took a single, deep drag from my cigar and kept it, caged it deep inside my own body, before presenting the shit-covered fingers to myself, sliding them between my lips and letting my tongue meet up with what Caroline had gifted me. It was soft, brown and tasted salty, with just a little hint of nuts as it burned itself into my taste buds, enticing and exciting me in anticipation.

"Mmmh," I whispered, releasing the smoke from within myself as my mouth swallowed up the brown smear, my fingers spreading it on my lips, mingling the taste with that of my lipstick.

Caroline's eyes were bulging. She had known, of course, that there were toilet whores in the mansion, trained, willing and lusting after those tastes, but to find her mistress to accept and willingly devour the waste of one of her lowest slaves - a slave whose name she had not even known hours earlier- made her already raw nerves send out a powerful signal of pleasure that exploded between her cunt lips, blinding her to everything else in the room, including me.

Clear and thick girl cum rushed past her cunt lips as she watched me delight in the taste of her shit, flaking on my lips as I slid my cigar past the brown stains and let the tip of it burn brightly, in deep orange and red, a glow that only seemed to be surpassed by the hellish spark she could see in my eyes.

"Oh.. god," she whimpered as the floods of her own hellish lust rushed through her to overwhelm any kind of decency that may have been still there, holding it all back, but no more. Her body expelled it, with such force that it gushed through her cunt and out of her body, squirts of depravity that made her legs tremble.

"All of you tastes good," I told her.

I leaned in and brought my lips to hers, looking for a sign of revulsion. But there was only acceptance, with our lips locking around gaping moths and tongues licking each other. And Caroline's body shuddered under the newfound sensation, newfound tastes, just as I had hoped, greedily lapping up that warm goo from my lips that had come from deep within herself.

Between us was now filth, shared.

I left it in her mouth, allowing a string of spit to connect us for a moment longer as I withdrew, like a shiny temporary chain that had been wrapped around her soul, before I wiped it off from my lips.

"Do you want to become?" I asked her.

"Like you, Mistress?" she whispered back, shivering at the thought.

"Is that something you aspired to, darling?"

I laughed.

"Is there cruelty in you, dear Caroline?"

"I don't..." she began. "I don't know, Mistress."

"Would you like for me to find out?" I lifted her chin and forced her to stare up at me, her goddess, her lover. The answer was a pain-filled, lustful hiss.

"Yesss."

"Then squat for me."

There was a moment of hesitation, quickly remedied by a kick against the inside of the Irish girl's calves, forcing her legs to re-adjust to a new stance, making her squat on the carpet in mother's former office.

I knew how I wanted to mark it as my territory, I thought. And knew I had found the right plaything to do so. There was always one, hidden amongst the ones flashier and bigger and louder, always one who had the potential to become a piece of art, if given the chance.

And here was hers. Let us see what she was made of, shall we?

"Do it," I said.

I let her squat there for a good minute or two, allowing her muscles to burn, that muscle burn to spread throughout her whole body as she strained, still unsure what exactly it was her new mistress wanted from her.

Then I clapped my hands, calling for James.

The mansion's major domus had been waiting outside, on the other side of the door, always close enough to hear my voice or respond to a command. And he entered quietly, that hulking man in his uniform, with barely a raised eyebrow at the display that was unfolding in front of him. Being mother's lover and favorite, he thought that he had seen it all, had partaken in most things that had happened in this office.

And that is why I wished for him to be here.

I wanted that particular audience.

To show how wrong he was.

"Fetch me a whip, James," I ordered. He nodded slightly and opened one of the office's cabinets. I knew, of course, where mother had stored her toys, but not only did I not wish to divide my attention between sweet, sweet Caroline and such a mundane task, I wished to show James what exactly had become of that 20-year old boy he had known prior to my wander years.

"The cat," I ordered him.

With another nod, his large hands took out one of the heaviest whips, a bushel of tight leather strips that hang down from a long grip shaped like an ebony, uncut cock. It looked small in those mighty hands, was not made for somebody his size to handle.

It was perfect for me.

I stared at the squatting Irish girl. Sweat had formed on that beautiful, ghostly skin of her, dripping down her body, gathering between her legs before falling down, droplet by droplet, onto the office's carpet.

It was some kind of Persian monstrosity, likely to have been in the family for generations and worth more on the open market than most slaves I had ever bought or sold through my underground network of clubs that I had established in the past five years, catering to the filthy and decadent.

It had been one of mother's favorites, and just like James, it would soon find out what place it had in the new order of things.

My lips, stained from sweet Caroline's filth, brown and purple, lipstick and shit, curled up to a cruel sneer.

Three minutes now, maybe four, and the cramps started to happen. The muscle burn had grown throughout her entire body, had set it alight, was burning it down to fiery ashes as the calves and thighs began to cramp out, releasing more pain into my sweet new whore's nervous system.

Caroline grunted. I reveled in that sound.

I opened my palm to James, not looking at him, demanding in silence. The ebony cock, made from wood and leather and other fine, fine things slid into the open palm, my fingers slowly closing around it as I felt my hand's power, its might, only moments away from my demonstration.

"Will that be all, Mistress?" James asked beside me.

"No, James," I said. "I wish for you to witness this."

The weight of the whip's handle was confirmation of my own position in this room, an affirmation of my violence, threatened and soon to be realized.

With merely a flick of my wrist, the cat lashed out, whooshed through the air, its leather strings picking up speed to find their target, sweet Caroline's breasts, already shaking from the strain I had put her under.

The leather connected with a harsh sound, a violent caress that created a blinding ball of fire spreading outwards from those points on Caroline's body it had touched, leaving behind reddening flesh.

"Owwww!" Caroline screamed.

The leather returned to me, cutting once again through the air as I listened to the symphony of pain I had caused.

"Did mother ever treat you like this, darling?"

Another flick of the wrist, followed by the almost penetrating sound of flesh accepting punishment. Caroline, for all that pain, did not leave her position, still squatting.

But she screamed. Oh dear god, yes, how she wonderfully she screamed.

And each scream ended in a sob, and each sob in a whimper and a guttural moan.

"Ngh!" Caroline sobbed as the whip hit her body a third time, leaving strips of reddened flesh across her chest and belly, her breath ragged and in shortened gasps.

My voice rose up from inside me, hardened and cutting through the air with just as much viciousness as the whip prior.

"Did mother ever give you that much attention?" I asked.

"Ngh!" Caroline sobbed, before that moan formed a single, strained word, flowing out from her lips, not only affirmation but a depraved kind of glee that she found in my treatment of her. Yes, she was going to be worthy of my attention, all right.

"Noooooooooooo!"

Another whoosh of leather pain stripped the truth from Caroline's body, lash by lash, coming in gasps between painful breaths.

"But you believe you deserved it, didn't you?"

"Ngh!"

"Say it, darling."

"Yes!" Caroline shouted, that anger released into that one shout, exposing now not only her body, her cunt and ass to me, but baring her soul. "Yes! Yes! Yes!"

"Watch this, James," I whispered to the major domus at my side.

"Show how much my mother is worth to you," I snapped at Caroline. "How much more you love me for giving you what you crave! What you need! Show me that you are worthy of that attention!"

I stepped over to the squatting Irish girl, still not changing her position, although her thighs and calves had to be killing her by now, all of her body aching for that release, that pain turning to pleasure, surging through her insides and making her lose control, finally. This is what I wanted James to see. What I wanted him to hear.

"Defile her for me, darling," I said to Caroline.

And there it happened. That loss of control culminating in her cunt releasing it first, a gushing, honey colored stream of piss that squirted with full force on the expensive rug as she pissed on those who had never seen her as anything but a piss whore, as somebody worthy only to give glasses full of herself, but never worthy of more.

Good! I smiled to myself.

"Piss on her, Caroline," I said and lifted her chin up with my gloved hand, made her gaze into my eyes, filled with loving cruelty I was willing to share, to teach, to give and receive. "Piss on that filthy whore who has stopped you from becoming!"

"Mistress!" gasped James behind us, shocked by such a display of dishonoring the past and its legacy. I laughed. I laughed louder and harder than ever before. This was mine now, and Caroline's hot, gushing stream of golden piss washed away those memories of the past, flooding it with the depravities of the future.

"Shit!" Caroline screamed as the rest of her body felt the loss of control, and there I saw it, the same spark I had seen every now and then in other women's faces, that cruelty, now no longer buried and locked deep inside their souls, but free to roam. She became worthy of being a companion to me, more than a pet, but a bitch in her own right.

"Shit!" she shouted. "Oh god! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"

"Don't hold back!" I said, my eyes gleaming, my face beaming with joy.

And from her already filthy shit hole, it emerged, proper and slowly, with each new grunt. A darkened thing, hard and like a thick black cock that slowly snaked its way out of her inside, out of her guts and forming a long turd that slowly dripped out of her.

It hung there, with Caroline's ass muscles clamping down on it, not quite ready to release it, her anal cunt squeezing it with all of its might as a long, violent cum started to shake her body, as her belly and pussy were burning with its might.

An obscene cock of shit that was briefly sucked back into her already shaking and shivering body, the scream now completely turned into an outburst of cruel pleasure, a display given for her and me. I smeared some of her earlier shit across her face and kissed it from her white flesh.

"Shit! Shit! Shit" she screamed and released her tight grip on the shit cock that dropped onto the carpet, her final throes of her orgasm making her lose control of her calves and thighs.

Panting, she dropped on her knees in front of me.

Her ass touching the brown, beautiful mess she had made on mother's carpet, squashing it with her squirming butt cunt, reveling in its warmth as she purposefully spread its stain on the rug.

"Thank you," she panted. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

"It was nothing, my sweet Caroline," I whispered to her.

I lied, of course. It was everything. I lifted her up, gently, and pulled her close, the aftershocks of such a violent cum still holding her body in its grip, one wave after another, each one a little less intense than the one prior.

Until she cried in my arms, tears of joy and exhaustion. I knelt down in front of her and held her tight, my hands running through that red waterfall of hair, now matted and sweaty, little curls that fell into her face as she cried on my shoulder.

I lifted her up with my, made her rise.

Made her my companion.

The soft flakes of her rich, warm and earthy shit dropped from her thighs down to the ground, further soiling my own past and giving way to a new beginning.

This is what I had wanted James to see.

The black mass of muscles that stood behind us was quiet, marveling at such a display, but knowing that he had seen nothing yet. Oh, yes, I wanted to prove it to him. That I not only was an heir to his lover and mistress, that not only this mansion and all of its deviance was my birthright, but that I would lead it to a darker future than thought possible.

That would be my legacy, then, I thought, amused.

"Clean it up, James," I told him as I led a very naked and very satisfied Caroline past him, briefly giving my attention to his hardened cock that strained against the insides of his uniform's pants.

"You can use the male toilet slaves to do it," I told him as we stopped at his side, my smile ever crueler than before while I stroked Caroline's cheek.

"Unless, of course," I whispered to him, "you would like to do the duties yourself."

My laughter followed me out of the office, only looking back once to see James kneeling on the rug, his body on all fours, sniffing at the gooey goodness Caroline and I had left on mother's Persian monstrosity, a heap of cum spray, piss and shit that was evidence of the fact that a new monster had taken hold of all things here.

And that monster was me.

James began to scoop it up. And smeared it on his black, fleshy face, trying to worship me in the only way I allowed him for the time being. I laughed at him. His lips parted, his tongue slipped out to catch that taste, to swallow it up and digest it.

I laughed. And so did Caroline.

I would change her.

I would transform her.

And I looked forward to it.

III.

It had not taken too long, that change.

Some require months of training, some will never outgrow their station in life, but Caroline had been a quick study. A student of such wicked delights that it surprised even me. There had been others before her, of course, and there surely would be others after, but in all of my travels, only one had come even close to the levels of debauchery sweet, sweet Caroline seemed to be capable of.

And I tried to not think about that one too much.

IV.

I woke up again. Still sleepy and content, but now also more fully aware of my surroundings. Had it only been weeks? It felt longer, that time, and each new day, although filled with depravity and decadence, also had given me more than my fair share of work as I had begun to tighten the reigns in and outside the mansion.

Thankfully, I didn't have to do it alone.

She was the end of the bed, curled up like a sleeping cat, that companion I had chosen to change, to transform. And how much she had changed! How beautifully filthy she had become! Around her neck was a steel collar, spiked metal that would prick her delicate throat at the slightest touch, that would signal my desire for her at the slightest tug on the steel that led from her collar to my hand, chain links wrapped around my fingers, even in sleep, never letting her go.

The darkened bedroom made her shape a shadow among others, but knowing that she was there filled my mind and heart with perverted pleasure.

Oh, yes. How much she had changed!

It had begun with a shopping trip, as all women know. What else?

It is shopping that fashions us, makes us, allows us to be who were are, deep inside, giving an expression to our souls, shaped in clothes and ornaments and accessories.

And so, with a trip down to London I began the transformation of Caroline.

It was on my second day with her when I had told her. What we would do that day. And the day after that. And the day after that. Her skin was a canvas, her soul a diamond in the rough, waiting for me to be shaped and given form.

"Am I not pleasing enough for you, Mistress?" Caroline asked.

"You are a pleasure, my darling," I said. "But not pleasing. Not as much as you can be. And not nearly as much as you will be."

Caroline raised an eyebrow, not quite following.

But she would know, soon enough.

"Besides," I told her. "You have outgrown that maid uniform now, haven't you?"

She beamed, proudly.

"Yes, Mistress."

"See?" I said. "And that means you will need new clothes. And, oh well, a new everything, really."

"Will you change me, Mistress?"

"I will, my darling."

"Change me into what?"

I laughed softly.

"Anything I wish you to be, my darling."

I called up James to arrange for everything. He knew the right places, had dealt with the right people. Experience was a commodity not easily traded, I thought. One of those days, and soon, I would have to express my gratitude, for oh so many things, but that day I wanted to celebrate and cherish.

And so I left it there, alone, in some darkened future, for me to arrive later.

It also pleased me to make him wait. And suffer. And anger him every now and then, for that would make that day so much better, perhaps even painfully so.

After an hour, numerous phone calls and some threats to the lives and wellbeing of various business partners' families, all had been put into motion, he informed me with his dark, somewhat disappointed sounding timbre.

"I have booked you and... your pet the penthouse suite at the Carlton," he said. 0

"All things you have asked for have been delivered, Mistress."

"Thanks, dear," I said, giving him just enough of my attention to make him feel that it would never be enough, that he would never be to me what he had been to mother.

Outside, the Rolls was waiting for us, and in it, the driver who had picked me up from the airport yesterday. Andrew, his name was. Andrew Stanton. Andy, to his friends, he would later tell me.

He was waiting at the side of the car, its doors already opened, a warm, moving cage for an early winter's journey, and most appreciated.

It had gotten colder. Had yesterday been covered with frost but still remembering the days of summer's glory, dying far too slowly, this morning was a promise for a harshness that would soon take a hold in all of England. It was a strict mistress, England's weather was, and I greeted it as my sister, kissing the air with my breath, gifting it my body's warmth as sacrifice, in exchange for a biting cold that filled me and my soul.

"Did I anger Master James, Mistress?" Caroline asked behind me.

"He is not your master, darling," I told her, without turning around. "None of those here in the mansion will have any kind of control over you anymore. None but me and only me."

"Thank you, Mistress."

"But yes," I said. "You have angered him."

"Why, Mistress?"

"You are a sign of things to come, darling."

"A sign?"

"It's why I chose you. Now, hush. Get in the car."

Andrew helped her into the back of the Rolls, nodding and bowing down to her after having listened intently to our conversation. I followed, not needing any help of his and releasing him from that particular duty by a nod of my own.

Inside, Caroline had spread her body onto the back of the couch-like seats, a child of joy, exploring the surroundings, the little bar and its crystal glasses, having never partaken in this kind of luxury before.

"Do you like?" I asked her.

"Oh, Mistress," she beamed. "I love!"

"Good. After all, you'll be here with me for the next three hours, until we reach London. Could have taken the helicopter, of course, us. But here is lesson one. If it is worth doing, darling, then it is worth doing in style."

Caroline nodded, slowly.

"And being holed up for half an hour in the back of a helicopter," I added, "is hardly a proper means of transportation for a bitch goddess, wouldn't you agree?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"And I am sure we will find ways to pass the time, you and me."

I winked and turned my attention to Andrew.

"Drive," I said.

Three hours. That was a good, long drive.

And plenty of things to do to pass the time.

"As for James," I said, loudly enough to ensure the driver would be able to follow, "he is angered and jealous, yes, but I am sure he will find somebody else to take it out on. Isn't that right, Andrew?"

"Mistress?" came the reply from the front of the car.

"Didn't I tell you yesterday, Andrew?" I laughed. "That I would want to hear all about it? We have three hours, her and me. And I am sure you have a delightful story to tell how you became a faggot whore for nigger cock."

Caroline's eyes widened as she heard this.

"Oh, come now, darling," I said. "You must have known that James loves to fuck filthy ass cunts, and that he likes to indulge himself almost as much as I do."

I let my hand slide into the cigar box next to the bar in the Rolls' back, crushing the tobacco leafs slowly between my fingers as I rolled it back and between them.

"Entertain us, Andrew," I said, finding the lighter and letting its flame flicker around the cigar's tip, greedily sucking in the first fresh wave of smoke.

"Yes!" Caroline exclaimed excitedly. "Entertain us!"

I had dressed appropriately, of course, and by that I mean that I had dressed in such a fashion that would allow me and Caroline to have easy access to the most precious of her and my belongings. I had chosen a strict pencil skirt that hugged my thighs tightly, with a black leather corset, thickened and tightened by an array of metal buckles that made breathing delightfully hard to do, with my breasts spilling over its trim and into a simple white blouse.

On my head, carefully positioned, a fur hat with a lace veil that covered my eyes and let me see the world in front of me through a dozen beautifully structured bars, immediately reminding myself of the fact that we all - in our own little ways - were prisoners of some sort, and that thought made my girl cock harden with joy.

I slid up my pencil skirt to reveal it to the others in the luxurious car, just as we passed through the main gates and left for the motorway.

It rose up from the darkened hole between my legs, a white snake searching for something to play with, only to be met by the strong grip of my own hand, pulling it forward further and revealing its head, a monstrous shape that crept from its protective skin and blindly surveyed the world around it, its fangs my steel piercing that tingled as the skin left it free and open.

It wasn't hard. Not yet.

"There is nobody in this car," I said between drags off my cigar, a dragon's smelly, filthy breath coming from deep within me, "who doesn't love cocks. Isn't that right, Andrew?"

"Yes, Mistress," came his reply.

"And if you entertain us well enough," I said, "you might even get a raise out of it."

That laughter, cruel and confident, now came from Caroline. Yes! It was of her own depravity, of her own making, that cruelty that would humiliate others now.

"A raise out of your Mistress's cock," she said. "What could be an incentive better than that, for a faggot whore like you?"

I had dressed her as well, in more simple clothes, not yet ready to accept the glamour I soon would gift her. She did adhere to the dress code of my liking, though, her hands covered by short leather gloves, a shirt of the deepest black, with a black tie and matching black pants. I had ordered her to slick back her hair, which was now shaped in a 1930s style, still too long for my tastes, but giving her a more androgynous look.

Her hands reached out to my cock and were wrapped around my own, working it with slow, easy strokes that made me moan as my lips clamped down on the cigar between my lips.

"Was this what you did to him?" she asked cruelly. "Did you have your hands around his fat nigger cock?"

In the front of the Rolls, watching our lewd display through the car's rearview, Andrew squirmed and blushed slightly, although it was not clear whether it was from being embarrassed or aroused. Whatever it was, it sure made him uncomfortable, I thought giddily.

"Answer her!" I snarled at him.

"Or did you do this?" Caroline asked, before she leaned down and slipped the mouth between her stroking fingers, sliding it across the piercing that divided my piss slit, wetting it with the tip of her longue. I hadn't cleaned it. It stank of filth and raunch and my morning piss.

"Mmmmh", moaned Caroline. "Cocks are best when they're filthy, aren't they? Wouldn't want to suck a dick that has been cleaned, myself."

"Answer her, faggot!" I snarled at Andrew again.

"Yes –" whispered Andrew. "He made me suck his filthy cock, Mistress."

"Tell us," I demanded.

I myself had been witness to James' animalistic appetites, once having him watched with mother, but I had never seen how he treated the male filth. Something, I thought as Caroline's tongue started to drip fat globs of spit on my hardened girl cock, I would have to put on my bucket list. Each of my moans made me clamp down harder on my cigar, each breath took in more smoke that burned down in my body.

"Tell us exactly how you have become a nigger cock worshipping faggot, bitch."

VI.

"I was unemployed, Mistress," Andrew said, swallowing his pride as he began his story. "Half a year, nothing in sight. You know how it is, these days."

I laughed harshly.

"Can't say I do, whore," I snarled. "Continue."

Sweet Caroline took it as a sign that her cock sucking was pleasing to me, and it was, it was experienced and possessed the right level of harshness, alternating between slow tongue-washing and allowing herself to have my thickened clit disappear deeply into her throat. I pushed her head down further on my engorged, pierced shaft, a throaty sound escaping my own throat that rattled through my closed teeth.

But the order was given to Andrew, who spoke in hushed, embarrassed tones.

"I had no choice," he said.

"We all have a choice, whore," I said, before adding to Caroline, "Isn't that right, my darling bitch?"

"Mmmh," mumbled Caroline, my cock in her mouth allowing nothing more, but the vigor of her sucking increased.

"Good bitch," I told her. "Good bitch, yes, bathe my cock in your fucking mouth, bite down on it, you filthy whore, yes, give your mistress some fucking pain!"

Caroline moved her head back, let my cock slide out of her throat, cupped by her tongue and grasped the pierced crown with her teeth, biting down on hard metal and slowly moving back her head, stretching my piss hole. Electric shocks of decadent pain shot through my shaft.

"Yessss!" I hissed. "Give it to me, bitch! Show that you understand fucking cruelty! Fuck, yes! Harder! Pull on it harder!"

In the front of the car, Andrew swallowed.

"You wish you were here, don't you, faggot? To worship a cock with your mouth, that's why you came into my employ! To feel it fill your worthless cunt mouth, fill it with my spray of piss and cum, right?"

"Yes," came a whispered reply.

"I knew it!" I snarled. "Once you've had cock, you want it all the fucking time! Especially if your first taste of it was big and black, and packs a gallon of cock milk, right? Did he flood your mouth, my darling James, did he make you choke on his thick black cock milk?"

We had in the meantime reached the motorway, and Andrew, somewhat preoccupied with what was going on behind his back, still managed to drive the Rolls at a leisurely pace, I had to give him that. Seeing his eyes in the rearview glazing over with lust, I wasn't sure I would have been able to do that.

"Did he stretch your filthy shit cunt, whore?" I demanded to know. "Did he make it loose and filled it up with himself, so deep that you thought your bowels would burst?"

"Yes... Mistress," Andrew replied.

"Must be hard," I said, knowing that the mere memory of this experience had made him exactly that, "to come back to the wife after that?"

In my lap, Caroline stopped worshipping my cock, opening her mouth in disbelief, little strings of my cock juice and her saliva pouring down from her lips.

"Oh, didn't I mention it?" I laughed, reveling in my driver's humiliation. "Our little cocksucker is a married one, dear Caroline! I read it in his files. Married for two years, surely to a nice Missus who wonders why her husband's mouth tastes like shit and cock every day he comes home to her!"

"That's beautiful," whispered Caroline, thinking about the sheer depravity of it.

"Isn't it, though?" I smiled between two smoke-filled breaths, taking turns with Caroline in keeping my cock clit hard by stroking it.

"She doesn't know, Mistress," Andrew whispered. "Please, don't –"

"It's hardly fair to her," I said. "Now, is it? She should watch you, and perhaps that is what I will do to her. Make her watch her cocklapping dog of a husband scream with painful pleasure as his cunt bowels gets ripped apart by a filthy nigger cock. I'm sure James would love that. Wonder why he hasn't done it, already."

"He and I have –"

"– a what?" I asked. "An understanding? A deal?"

I laughed.

"He is my whore," I told Andrew. "He may own your shithole, but I own his. I haven't used it yet, but I will, and he will scream, Andrew. He will fucking scream for thinking that he is entitled to make such a deal with you. Now, stop."

"Mistress?"

"Stop the car. Pull over."

"We are on the motorway, Mistress."

"I know," laughed. "It wouldn't that much of an embarrassment, if what is going to follow were to happen in any kind of privacy, now, would it? There! There is a good spot, faggot, right there."

The spot was to the side of the motorway, underneath one of the signs and making sure that the Rolls and everything that would happen was going to be recorded by the police. Oh, how a mistress liked me loved Big Brother! So many would be my audience, and who knew? Perhaps it would even make it to the news!

Andrew stopped the Rolls at right spot.

"How did it feel, whore?" I asked him. "When your shit cunt stretched around James' cock? Hm? I bet it felt like it was an entire fist burrowing deep into you. Bet that is what you thought, eh?"

I leaned down to Caroline.

"But I bet he has no idea what it would really feel like, darling."

Caroline understood. Caroline smiled.

"No, Mistress," she said.

"Want to do the honors?"

"Oh god, yes," she whispered, her eyes fierce and furious, her breath ragged and shallow. "May I?"

"Show him," I said to her.

VII.

"Get out," I ordered Andrew.

His eyes had widened at the idea of what I had just suggested.

"Can't leave the audience waiting," I laughed at the cameras outside, their black electronic eyes staring down at the car. Somebody somewhere was very likely wondering what the fuck would be the reason for stopping such a car right beside

the motorway.

I giggled quietly.

"Get! The! Fuck! Out!" I shouted.

Andrew submitted, opening the driver's door and walking to the back, opening the doors for both Caroline and me. We stepped out into the day. I saw that – despite all of his huffing and puffing – Andrew's cock had visibly hardened at the thought.

Yes, I said to myself, I would definitely have to make his wife watch at some point.

I dropped the remains of my cigar. I nodded at Caroline.

"The trunk," I said. "Fetch them for me, will you?"

Caroline nodded. She knew what I was talking about, for she had helped pack them into the huge assortment of suitcases and boxes we had taken with us.

They were made out of leather, with their lengths adjustable to your needs, and they were sturdy and would suffice for what I had in mind. Andrew waited obediently at the side of the car, every now and then a nervous glance directed at the cameras.

The straps would fit well around his wrist, the chains would make a perfect fit for the mirrors on each side of the Rolls.

"Strip!" I ordered him. "Get off that fucking uniform and present yourself!"

He was so wonderfully ashamed as he took off the uniform, nervously glancing at the cars that passed us by, trying to cup his cock and balls with his hands, trying to hide the fact that his shaft was ever hardening through the humiliation.

"Is that how he treated you?" I asked Andrew. "What you are trying to hide from your wife, the fact that you are a wonderful whore?"

"Yes," Andrew admitted weakly.

"Well, whore," I said. "I don't believe in secrets. Only openness. And you love her, your wife, don't you?"

"I do, Mistress."

"But you love cock even more, don't you?"

"No, Mistress, I –"

"No," I said. "No, that's not what you love. Not cock, no, you love to be put in your place. You always loved that, right? You love that you are a whore, and it doesn't matter who you serve, but I bet –"

I interrupted myself to silently give the order to Caroline. Her fragile frame had appeared behind Andrew and now had clawed her hand into his hair, pulling it back and his head with it, making him scream.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaah!"

His hands flew up in an attempt to defend himself, but to no avail. Every move only resulted in his hair being pulled harder, his screams becoming louder.

And his cock thickening with lust.

Caroline snapped the chains around his first wrist, allowing him to struggle a little bit, then pushing her feet against the insides of his calves, making him lose balance. Oh, how delightfully wicked she had become after only one day with me!

How quick of a study she had been!

"Aaaaaah," he screamed. "Oh god, please –"

The second wrist was chained much quicker, much faster, with both of the leather straps now in Caroline's hands, her pulling his arms behind his back, then pushing her boot into his back, forcing the faggot whore down on the dirty and moist tarmac.

He raised his head towards me, a silent plea in his eyes.

"I bet," I said, "that deep inside you, you wish for her to see you like this, isn't that right? A whore for anyone to see?"

"Oh god," Andrew panted in pain. "Oh god. Oh god."

"Smile, faggot," I laughed. "You're about to become a YouTube sensation."

I had pulled out my smart phone and started recording my driver's plight, making sure that despite or rather because of the pain his erection had become so thick that there shouldn't be any blood at all left for his big head, all of it rushing down to the little one, angrily pointing at the tarmac and wiggling around as Andrew thrashed in the steel grip provided by my delightful Caroline.

I put the tip of my boot against it, lifting it up for everyone to see, to the soundtrack of my harsh laughter. Oh, what would his wife do when she found out? I wondered. I hoped. That somewhere inside her she had always known. And that she would delight in the prospect of joining her husband.

"Don't you wish it would be her?" I asked him as my leather-clad foot started rubbing the underside of his shaft, making it twitch. He didn't answer. Not right away. A nod to Caroline provided an incentive. She pulled. The scream that followed from having his arms pulled back even further, with her boot pressing down on his back, her high heels drilling into his soft flesh, was even louder than before.

"Yes!" Andrew screamed, tears welling up in his eyes. "Yes, I want it to be her!"

My smart phone recorded his confession. His breaking point and then some. His eyes, staring at what he knew would be his wife at some point. Wanting. Needing. Being afraid of it.

"Why," I said, "that wasn't too painful to admit, now, was it?"

I nodded to Caroline. Andrew now understood. He pleaded, begged, wanted, needed, oh, there is nothing more beautiful than all those conflicting urges play out on a slave whore's face!

"I mean," I said to Caroline, "that really wasn't that painful at all, right?"

She snarled a laughter. And dug her high heel deeper into his back, making our faggot driver yelp like a beaten dog.

"This is what he really is," I said into the smart phone's camera eye, talking to a wife that I had not yet met and already had humiliated more than ever before. "Just a whore, darling! That is how he wishes you to treat him. And you want to, don't you? You have thought about it, right? Oh, I bet you have. I bet you are watching this, clawing into your cunt right now. Wishing you were here. With us. And him."

I let Caroline secure the leather straps to the side view mirrors of the Rolls, making sure not a single second of our delightful show would be missed, allowing Andrew's wife to get a full view of her husband's slave whore worshipping skills.

On a tarmac of a motorway, his arms pulled back so far that his shoulders were just about to pop out of his shoulders, his cock so hard it would hurt just touching it.

And his ass cunt ready for the taking.

"Let me show you how exactly your husband loves," I said to the camera.

"Fist his cunt," I ordered Caroline, giving her the order she had already been craving for. "Show his wife and show his nigger lover how exactly a male cunt can get fucked by a woman."

"With pleasure, Mistress," Caroline said, getting into position and using one of her gloved hands to push him forward, further putting weight and strain on his shoulders and joints, as her other hand started spreading his male shithole, delightfully hairy and now wet with fearful sweat.

"God," he groaned as her fingers started to touch all around his tightened rosebud, his shit cunt muscles. There was no invasion, not yet, only a rub that would prepare him for the taking.

"He's so fucking wet, Mistress," exclaimed Caroline proudly. "He's a fucking whore for pain! I wonder how often he slides a rubber cock in that filthy, wet shit hole when he's sure he's alone."

I lifted Andrew's face towards the camera, forcing him to look at me. At it. At his wife he knew would be watching, while Caroline probed his cunt, slid the first finger deeper inside, his shit muscles relaxing around it, sucking it in, despite the pain, oh that wonderful pain that had made his ass wet and slick.

"Have you done that, whore?" I asked him. Sure to record his answer. "Have you hidden it from her? When she was away? And you were alone? In the bathroom perhaps? Backed up against the wall? Sliding a rubber cock into your shit-filled faggot ass?"

Andrew mumbled something.

I order him to fucking speak up.

"Yes!" he whined. "I've fucked myself!"

"Oh, yes!" I snarled happily, before telling to Caroline, "that confession surely deserves more than one finger, don't you agree, darling?"

As a reply, Caroline shoved in a second.

"Gaaaaawd," Andrew screamed. "Don't –"

"Don't stop?" I asked. "Tell her. Tell your wife how sloppy and loose your shit cunt feels when you are fucking yourself while she is away. Just talk right into the camera, don't be shy!"

"I love –" Andrew said to me, to her, to the world. "I love how it feels. Oh god. Oh god, more. Put in more of your fucking fingers, I want more! I love to have my shit cunt filled. I always have. Since school! I didn't, oh god, I didn't want you –"

"– to know?" I asked. "Are you that ashamed of yourself, whore? To not tell the woman you love? To rather be fucked by a nigger cock to get a job? Or did you take the job to get fucked regularly by a nigger cock? Oh, that's right, we haven't told her that part yet, have we?"

I switched the phone's camera to record my cruelly smiling face.

"Darling," I said to Andrew's wife, "your husband's been fucking one of my slaves! A big nigger slave, to boot! Sliding his tongue all across that black, massive dick, all those long hours at work, that's what he's been doing. Shameful, isn't it? You agree that this alone is worth some kind of punishment, right?"

Another nod to Caroline. Another finger shoved into his shit cunt.

"He loves this!" shouted Caroline happily. "Mistress, he's got a completely fucking loose cunt muscle, so much so that I'm sure if he's willing, he could take two cocks there, easily!"

"That's right," I said. "James' cock stretches you out, so much so that you want to sit on it again and again, adding his black milk to your flaky shit for a chocolate milkshake! I have seen him do it, myself! To mother! And what a fucking good milkshake that must have been!"

"Tell her," I said to Andrew. "Confess everything!"

"He fucked me," Andrew screamed, panting in pain and pleasure from Caroline's finger scooping out the inside of his bowels. "He fucked the shit out of me! He made me shit it out! All of his cum, he made me shit it out! Don't stop, please, don't you stop fucking me!"

"Don't you wish your wife would do this to you?" I asked.

"Yes! Yes! Yes!" Andrew felt the rest of Caroline's fingers slip into his cunt, her hand disappearing past his impossible stretched ass cunt ring, fleshy nerves screaming in lust and humiliated pleasure. "I want it to be you, honey! I want it to be you fucking your worthless whore's shit cunt! I always wanted it to be you!"

"See?" I said to the camera. "Still loves you, he does. And now he will be yours. If you still want this worthless whore, with his wonderful depravity that could be all of yours to take, just like we are taking him. This is an invitation, darling. Don't miss out."

"Fuck me!" Andrew roared, no longer sure if he was talking to his wife, to me, or begging Caroline to push herself even further into him, something she was only too glad to do, syncing up with his angry, pleading, sobbing shouts.

"Fuck me! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck me!"

His cock, already engorged to the point of no return, rose up for the camera, smiled a wet, pre-cum filled smile, toothless and yet angry, before erupting, a cum-filled confession that splattered onto the ground and leaving him shaking and twitching for a good minute.

Caroline kept her hand inside him throughout his cum. His ass cunt clamped down around her wrist, begging her to stay inside without words, the scream of his orgasm penetrating the air just as violently as she was penetrating him, just as harshly as his wife would soon do, so I hoped.

Then she slid out of him, her leather gloves soiled.

And allowed that tangled mess of flesh to collapse in shame and pride, a thick, white puddle of cum in front of him.

I switched off the phone. I put my arms around the crying and sobbing man in front of me. I told him that I had given him freedom. Freedom in all the slavery that would follow. He thanked me. After all that, he thanked me.

I felt proud.

It was shaping up to be a good morning.

VIII.

I forced myself out of bed, several weeks later, here and now.

Oh, yes. I had been a good morning, that one. And the one after that, because with each new day, the perversion of Caroline had grown, until she was now with me, changed and transformed, that wonderful wicked thing that she had become.

That I had made.

I pulled at the chain that connected to her collar.

The pain from the spikes digging into her neck and throat made her wake up. She crawled up from her place at the end of the bed, where she had curled up throughout the night and kissed me with a low purr.

"Today is going to be a good day," I told her.

"I am looking forward to it, Mistress."

As did I.

i am a bitch

THE HOUSE OF LESSLIE: CHAPTER TWO