CHAPTER 1

 

Lord Rotherton was sexually roused and deliriously happy. Never in his long, illustrious and pleasant life could he remember a moment of more joyous, anticipatory excitement. He knew that in the next few seconds that pleasure would become positively explosive.

His wife, Alma, Lady Rotherton was in a similar state of near ecstasy and the echoes in the darkened chamber were magnifying her trills of orgasmic delight.

Both were stark naked and writhing with lust.

Lord Rotherton thrust forward and the sperm shot out of his straining penis. At exactly the same time Lady Rotherton's voice rose to a scream as she felt the spatter of spunk hitting the inner walls of her cervix.

Husband and wife enjoyed that most perfect of rendezvous-a simultaneous orgasm!

 

***

 

There was a long silence as husband and wife savoured the wonderful feeling of sexual release. The musky smell of testosterone dominated the room.

A tall, virtually naked, olive skinned woman who was standing behind Lord Rotherton smiled briefly and stepped forward, gently cupping his slackening testicles. A dribble of sperm exited onto her hand; she regarded the mess benevolently then calmly cleaned the hand on her high, conical breasts before looking benignly at the white body of Lady Rotherton, sprawled naked and somnolent on the floor, the thick black penis still deeply imbedded in her vulva.

She tapped the naked black man on the shoulder and whispered something in his ear, causing him to stir reluctantly and withdraw his member from the soaking, female sex hole. There was a murmur of repressed laughter from the half dozen other men, all black and all naked, who stood around the chamber. Their eyes fixed sardonically on the dangling figure of the husband who had just watched the multiple fucking of his wife.

Lord Rotherton was chained to a rigid metal rectangle, legs and arms spread wide. His spare, naked, sixty eight year old figure looked weak and puny compared to the splendid physique of the young Negroes.

The olive skinned woman strolled to a nearby wooden bench and selected a long black, Turkish cigarette from a gold case that rested on it. She lit the cigarette with gold lighter and inhaled deeply. She was an attractive woman aged somewhere in her mid forties and was clad in nothing but a tiny suspender belt, mesh stockings and high heeled, well polished riding boots. Her black hair was drawn back in a ponytail which accented handsome, if somewhat, severe features.

There was a third woman in the room; a long-haired blonde of above average height, in her early twenties and strikingly lovely. She wore only stiletto-heeled shoes and knelt just behind the hoisted and helpless figure of Lord Rotherton, her white skin seeming luminescent in contrast to the dark skins of the blacks, some of who were eyeing her hungrily. A broad silver band was affixed into the inner lip of her vulva and glinted from the reflected light.

"Did you enjoy it?" The olive skinned woman addressed Lord Rotherton.

"Oh God! Yes. It was marvellous, Zia! Quite marvellous." His voice was hoarse and cracked with emotion.

"And your little bitch of a wife? Do you think our black friends satisfied her at last?"

"Yes-yes. I think so. Ask her?"

"Did you count how many times she was fucked?"

"Eight," his lordship replied eagerly.

"Nine actually," Zia corrected. "I suppose my little slave distracted you. She licks arse rather well don't you think?"

His chest heaved at the memory. The blonde had stimulated him expertly as he had watched his wife ravaged, caressing his nipples and penis with slender, knowing hands; her tongue had searched and moistened his testicles and penetrated unhesitatingly into his anal crevice. She had kept him roused yet had held his orgasm back until that final, perfect moment.

"God, yes. Marvellous!"

"You will remember her. She's very memorable. Her name is Deborah and you may send for her at any time."

Her eyes shifted to the still kneeling blonde. "You'll be honoured, will you not?"

The blonde girl was apparently contemplating the floor and her answer was little more than a murmur.

"Yes, Madame."

The quiet tone of voice did not conceal the cut glass accent.

Zia laughed. "She comes from a noble family. Third daughter of an Earl, I believe. Only a lady is suitable for a Lord. Not that she's much of a lady now."

Very deliberately she bent towards the blonde, took a shapely breast in her hand and stubbed her cigarette out on it. The blonde shrieked in pain and fell over on her side, clasping frantically at her damaged mammary.

Lord Rotherton shivered. It was an act of sheer wanton cruelty. He wondered by what route the blonde girl had travelled to end up here as a slave, but he had no intention of asking. One did not ask too many questions in Khastan.

Khastan was a small state situated on the southern tip of the Arabian Peninsula where slavery was legal and rich and powerful people from all parts of the world came to enjoy their most extreme sexual fantasies. Here, in conditions of great luxury, they could use and abuse slaves without let or hindrance.

Yet there were rules, which all visitors had to abide by.

Guests - as the rich visitors were called - had to accept, unquestioningly, the institution of slavery; moral scruples must be totally subordinated to the pursuit of pleasure and confidentiality and discretion regarding what happened here was an imperative.

 

***

 

Alma, Lady Rotherton, had long ago subordinated any scruples regarding sex. She enjoyed it and she was good at it, far better than most; though even from a short acquaintanceship, she did privately concede that Madame Zia might give her a run for her money. It occurred to her that a copulation competition might be fun, just to find out who had the strongest staying power. Zia, who had once owned a chain of Middle East brothels, would probably start as the favourite, but Alma thought that she herself might prove to be more of a stayer.

The room they were in was large but sparsely furnished and designed for sado-masochistic practises. The leather covered black walls were hung with a variety of whips, dildos, electric prods, enema equipment and other sex aids. The ceiling was completely mirrored and large mirrors also slanted down from the corners of the room so that participants could watch every move. A toilet of transparent plastic was fixed against one wall and next to it was a small washbasin and urinal. The black painted stone floor gently shelved to a small drain in the centre of the room. There was a rough, vinyl covered table with adjustable manacles at each end and two chairs whose seats were covered with small tacks.

Zia rubbed her vulva with slender, long nailed fingers and smiled thinly. "So, dear John. Do we end your fun now-at least for the time being? You've cum and your slutty little wife has been well shagged. What a happy couple you must be."

He nodded weakly. He was easily satiated at his advanced age and the expertise, which had been used to draw his pleasure out, had come close to exhausting him.

"I can imagine. Yes. Yes - it's enough for now. I'm tired and I've got a bloody sore cock."

Alma Rotherton stretched herself like a cat, then rose from her kneeling position and turned towards her husband. Obscenely, she reached down and her fingers scooped up some of the Nubian jism welling from her sex hole. She pouted, and then cupped her full but not particularly firm breasts, teasing the nipples and rubbing the oozing semen into her soft skin.

Despite what had been a hard and unrelenting session, her body tingled pleasurably. Her vulva felt grossly distended and the thick sex lips were a trifle sore from the friction of penises thrusting repeatedly into her willing body. Alma enjoyed the feeling despite the soreness-it made her feel more alive-more deliciously female! Her mouth tasted of spunk. It had become a familiar taste over the years and she boasted -when in suitable company - of being something of a connoisseur. Languorously she decided that black man's spunk was harsher and stronger-tastier perhaps - than that of white men. But it occurred to her that perhaps she might be making a misjudgement. The blacks that had just fucked her had been young and active, whereas most of the white men in her life had been older. 'I need a bigger sample to make a definitive judgement,' she thought-and giggled out loud.

Lord Rotherton and Zia looked at her enquiringly. So too did the group of blacks, still standing around with boastful expressions, obviously proud of the endurance they had shown in ejaculating into the white woman's spread hole and eager mouth so many times.

Alma stood like a statue, excited by the scrutiny, glorying in exhibiting her curvaceous body with the thick white sperm dripping out of her sex lips and the wet residues glinting on her breasts. Small, foamy white dribbles frothed out of the sides of her mouth It was a deliberate and much practiced ploy on her part; after fellating a man she usually kept a large blob of semen in her mouth, then dribbled it out slowly, well mixed with her own spittle to inflate the apparent volume.

Certainly the 'slutty little wife' had no objection to continuing if a fresh consignment of erectile males could be produced. In spite of the mildly aching vulva she was raring for more. It was always the same with her; once sexually roused it took ages for her to turn off.

She posed erotically for the watchers; one knee pushed forward model fashion, her eyes bold and challenging. She smelled of a combination of female lust, expended semen, and perfume and body lotion. It was a heady mixture.

Alma was a good-looking woman, not much over twenty years of age. She was of average height and possessed a fleshy, voluptuous body. Her bust and hips were slightly too large for modern aesthetic tastes; indeed her breasts tended to gyrate wildly at the slightest movement, but it was the very ripeness of her figure that appealed to men. A small waist accentuated the extravagant curves of bust and hip and her arms and thighs were smooth and rounded. Her belly was convex though not excessively so and she had shapely legs. Her pubic hair was trimmed to accommodate a modern swimsuit and shaved back to better display the thick lips of the vulva, but what remained was profuse and curly. She was lightly tanned. It was the sort of body which would run easily to fat if she did not take steps to prevent it but self-denial figured very low in her sense of priorities.

Her dark hair was cut short and straight like a glossy helmet. She possessed 'come hither' cat like eyes that were large, dark brown and sparkled challengingly. They suited her mobile, elfin shaped face and she smiled easily. It was a pretty but not beautiful, though sexually compelling face.

Alma Rotherton had a formidable lust for the good things in life; she, ate, drank and spent money copiously without apparent thought for the morrow and was generous to a fault.

She was also an enthusiastic nymphomaniac and exhibitionist, lucky enough to have a husband who was an avid voyeur and who loved observing and encouraging her often outrageous sexual behaviour.

Alma's history was vastly different from that of her wealthy, blue-blooded husband whose ancestry could be traced back to the Norman Conquest. An American, born to a poor family in Washington DC, she had left home at an early age and made her way to Las Vegas where she had first made a living as small time thief. Already possessed by a driving need for sex, the selling of her body was inevitable as soon as her body matured sufficiently, though she sought to maintain more regular employment. She was too short to become a Vegas Showgirl but as her curves ripened, she graduated to becoming a strip tease dancer and lap dancer. Typically, she remained a part time prostitute because that was merely cashing in on a much-loved hobby. So great was her sex-drive that she needed men as an addict needs drugs.

During her strip tease shows she laughed lasciviously down at the mostly male audiences, obviously enjoying herself, while flaunting her indulgently fleshy body. She always received an especially loud roar of applause.

She had met the then recently widowed Lord Rotherton when he had been on a visit to Las Vegas. It was certainly an unusual pairing, the wealthy Peer and the Vegas whore, but they had married after a remarkably short relationship. Yet no one who saw them together could doubt their affection for one another.

It was a relationship based on both liking and mutual needs. Alma was an exhibitionist who needed lots of sex. Lord Rotherton was a voyeur who particularly enjoyed the bizarre. In short, he liked watching and she liked doing-and being watched.

It was, as a wag had remarked, 'A marriage made in Heaven!'

Now Zia smiled at Alma. She had only met the American girl the previous evening but, as with most people, she immediately liked her.

"I'm sure that John wants a rest. How about you and I having a drink and maybe conjuring him up another scene?"

Alma stretched her hands high above her head then gave a magnificently sensuous wiggle of the hips. It was a performance that could not have been bettered by a trained belly dancer. She did not miss the flash of lust in Zia's eyes.

"Why not," she murmured. "I'll just get a shower first."

"There are better showers upstairs," Zia said meaningfully. "Why not wait until then?"

Alma, still holding her hands over her head, sashayed her hips once more. "Why not?" She repeated.

"God bless you, ladies," John Rotherton said fervently. He was happily satiated and had no idea of the sexual charge flashing between the two women.