Slut Boy Mega Collection Volume 1

Chapter Fourteen-2

She laughs meanly at me, turns and leaves the room.

I don’t believe this. She’s left me here, hanging in agony above her enormous bed. Without the distraction of her cool beauty, hot sexuality, and shall we say compelling presence, I have nothing to divert me from my various agonies. To start with, my arms are being slowly pulled from their sockets. I remember media footage from the first Iraq war, where they showed victims of Saddam who were hung from cranes by their arms bound behind them. Well, I now have an inkling how that felt. But even this pain pales by comparison with my poor stretched back.

My spine is bent practically into a semicircle by the combination of gravity and my bondage, and the pain just gets worse by the minute. I try to relieve it a bit, if only temporarily, by bowing back against it. But my body extension is so extreme that this is utterly impossible. All I can do is hang from my elbows and ankles and suffer – that, and belatedly explore that hot buzzing in my ass.

I can’t deny it: this is weirdly erotic. Despite my many pains my c**k just keeps getting harder and harder. I’ve been moaning and whimpering ever since being strung up like this, but suddenly my moans have a different tenor to them. Good thing, too: with all the pain I’m currently in, I desperately need something to alleviate it. Or balance it out, make it all worth it... Surely not to accentuate, embellish, or deliciously overtop it...

After half an hour or so I’m so mixed up, so agonized and aroused and unsure where one leaves off and the other begins that I greet the opening door and Goddess’ return with unadulterated rapture. But this is immediately tinctured with shock, shame and mad arousal when three more women, all of them equally beautiful and garbed in intimidating fetish wear follow her into the bedroom.

The first girl is big and blonde. In fact, she might be the biggest girl I’ve ever seen. I don’t mean fat now, though she is thick through the middle and everywhere else.

Perhaps she might go doughy with age and abuse, ala Anna Nicole, but for now she’s just excitingly solid: big and strong and yet lush, with huge t**s that perfectly offset her hulking shoulders and bulging biceps. Most impressive of all, she has chosen to accentuate all this by wearing a skimpy top of spiked leather straps and draping chains, along with stiletto heeled boots and – holy s**t – a big flesh-colored strap-on dildo that is cinched about her crotch.

In fact, as they file into the room I see that they’re all wearing dildos. Then again, they’re lesbians, aren’t they? How else to correct biology’s mistakes?

The second girl is black, or as I judge it, of mixed blood. Her skin is a beautifully burnished golden brown, and her hair shoulder-length, beaded and corn-rowed. Yet her features are quintessentially European, with shocking green eyes.

This obvious dominatrix carries a riding crop, and has chosen to dress all in skin-tight black latex. Her four-inch heels are integral to the thigh-high leggings she wears, and these are matched by bicep-high gauntlets. Her big, beautiful breasts (n*****s like ebony arrowheads) are thrust out through and hang enticingly down from a sleeveless, cut-out latex top that leaves not only those champion t**s but also her well-muscled arms and washboard belly open to view. And below this of course, her big black c**k is built right into her painted-on rubber panties.

Oh, my God – excuse me, Goddess – accoutrements aside, she is so f*****g hot! And yet so is the third girl too!

These ladies must be admirably blind when it comes to race. Because this amazing chick is obviously Latina. She has deep dark eyes, long curling shining sable hair, and where her skin is amply revealed by her simple body harness of thin, crisscrossing black vinyl straps it is a delightful light brown. The c**k she wears is a shocking blue, and of course her opulent breasts are f*****g fabulous.

Big incredible t**s must be some kind of requirement for this particular lesbians club. That, and a viciously sadistic dominant streak, judging by the greedy way all three of them eye me hanging there, all bound up gagged and stuffed above that giant bed. Goddess is quick to make gloating introductions.

“Slut-boy, these are the Goddesses Belinda, Natasha and Nina.

“Goddesses, this is this week’s Slut-boy, our latest temporary plaything. Let’s spend this first night, as usual, tormenting the hell out of him by making him hang up there and impotently watch our incredible orgy.”

What! She can’t be serious! I have to hang up here all night? I try to bleat and protest. But of course the hard c**k filling my mouth, and the black leather mask sealing away most of my face, rob me of any intelligibility. I can only watch as Goddess straps on her own big c**k, hands out glasses and opens a bottle of wine, and invites everyone onto her magnificent bed.

My new deities array themselves beautifully beneath me. My primary Goddess pours out, lights up an enormous reefer, and for twenty minutes or so they merely party, flirt, and gossip: ignoring and tormenting me with anticipation. Then at last the torment proper starts. They pair off and begin kissing. Yet kissing is of course just the beginning. Soon they’re madly making out, aggressively caressing, and generally driving me wild with arousal and denial. My c**k is so hard it hurts, and it hurts so much it can’t help but stay hard. My eyes bulge at the incredible action below me.

This seems to escalate forever, along with my frothing lust. But finally Goddess looks up at me from where she’s lying back with Goddess Natasha voraciously sucking on her t**s. She giggles maliciously.

“Viddy well, little brother! Viddy well!”

I recognize this line from the horrifying rape scene in Stanley Kubrick’s classic movie A Clockwork Orange. But those nightmarish images are abruptly banished by incredibly heavenly ones, as each pair of Goddesses takes this as their cue to finally begin f*****g one another.

Goddess Natasha pulls back and rises up. My primary Goddess Jill lifts and spreads her long, slender legs and seconds later that big black prick is plunging in and out of that most holy p***y. Right next to them, hulking Goddess Belinda is likewise nailing her partner to the bed with amazingly powerful thrusts of her own huge, god-like p***s. Meanwhile both prone Goddesses stare not at their divine lovers but up at condemned sinner me. Obviously they are getting off outrageously on the sight of me hanging there suffering from the ceiling. And suffering I certainly am, despite the amazing sights on display. The longer I hang there, the greater the strain on my shoulders and back. Soon my hips are feeling it too, and even my neck begins to get sore from lifting my dangling head to watch the incredible show below. And naturally this first torturous night, and the lesbian strap-on orgy I’m damned and privileged to witness, has barely begun.

After a while the Goddesses switch positions. Then they switch turns, then partners, then positions, turns, partners, positions, again and again and again in endless permutations. They each cry out an impossible number of orgasms, even while being f****d in the ass, which they actually show a perverse affinity for.

As for my own ass, it soon becomes woefully sore from the nonstop buzzing of the vibrator up it. Of course, this adds immensely to my accumulating agonies. Quickly that insectile distraction eradicates whatever enjoyment I initially took from all this.

Fuck me; I’m certainly earning my eventual f*****g! And yet eight hours of impotently watching a divine female orgy, followed by another six of hanging forgotten in extreme excruciation as the four Goddesses below me finally cuddle up and sleep off their amazing exertions are nothing next to what the morrow brings. Saturday starts the true tortures these sadistic Goddesses subject me to.

Not that it’s anything especially onerous right away.

At first the torment is more mental and emotional than anything else. After they rise, the Goddesses ignore me completely, leaving me hanging there in agony as they troop off to the connecting bathroom.

There they leave the door open, subjecting me to the tantalizing sounds of splashing, giggling and moaning as they spend an hour or more lovingly bathing each other. But then they return to the bed, dressed just as the night before right down to their dildos. They enjoy a sumptuous takeout breakfast just below me.

My stomach growls with hunger, and my mouth waters copiously around the plastic c**k filling it. Yet I’m offered nothing, even when they finally see fit to lower me to the bed and release most of my bonds – only to promptly replace them with others.

Leaving my gag locked tightly in place, they all laugh cruelly as I weep in relief as the strain on my shoulders and back is at last eased. Then Goddess shackles my wrists in front of me and my ankles together with manacles that each spare me a bare twelve inches of play in the chains. At last the vibrator is switched off and withdrawn from my by now dead-numb ass, relieving me of at least one source of torturous humiliation. But then the day’s true ordeal begins in earnest.

Goddess Belinda locks my feet into fetish shoes with heels so high I’ll be forced to totter around on the tips of my toes. The clamps and weights are removed from my n*****s and genitals (providing supreme relief for my balls and instant agony in my suddenly reawakened nips and d**k) and a collar is buckled about my neck. Then they minimally cross dress me in a small, ruffled white apron and matching maid’s cap, and use cosmetics to make up my face outrageously. Goddess Natasha takes the lipstick then, and uses it to scrawl the title ‘Slut-boy’ across my forehead. Finally Goddess snaps a leash to my collar, picks up a six-foot whip, and drags me off the bed.

“Come on, Slut-boy. It’s time for my weekly housecleaning. Why should I pay a maid to do it when I can get a slutty little sissy like you up here every weekend? Let’s go! You can start by changing the sheets and making my bed.”

Shit, I can hardly stand, let alone walk or work. But when Goddess punishes my woozy wobbling with an excruciating lash of the whip on my naked ass, I somehow focus in and muster the ability to move. What a nightmare.

I spend the next six hours doing humiliating housework, mincing around in my hobbles and being mercilessly whipped for any imagined failing. Soon my ankles and toes are absolutely killing me, to say nothing of my wickedly welted backside. Still I persevere, even when Goddess takes dozens of photos of me washing dishes, scrubbing floors, and ironing sheets in my ridiculous get-up. But at last she deems the house sufficiently clean. It’s time the weekend’s true tortures get underway!

“Okay, Slut-boy. Good enough. Let’s go down to the dungeon. I need to see you really screaming and sobbing and suffering now to get my juices flowing again. Come with us.”

Like I have a choice. Gagged as I am I can’t even protest as Goddess claims my leash and draws me after her to an as yet unnoticed elevator.

Four gorgeous deities crowd in with me, giggling, pinching and poking me and slapping my striped-up backside as we descend below ground. Then the doors open, and I’m confronted by a sight straight out of a nightmare.

“Welcome to my dungeon, Slut-boy!”

Again there is a plethora of whips and crops and paddles hung and piled around. But in addition to these and tons of more ordinary restraints I see three hulking pieces of equipment straight out of the middle ages.