Chapter 14

Candle.

When Angique returned, waiters and waitresses were busy removing the remnants of the main course. They replaced them with huge platters piled high with fruit. There were also china dishes filled with delicious cheeses and fresh white bread.

She sat down and took a sip of wine. All her appetite had gone. She noticed that the Comtesse's chair at the other side of the huge table was empty. She also noted that it had been the first thing she had looked for.

Her sadness lingered. But she was swept along by the waves of collective arousal. She sat straight, then slid to the edge of her chair to watch things to come. Her own attitude towards Clarize had shifted after she had handed her rights of possession over to the evening's host. She watched her as if from a bigger distance, a more remote place. Yes, she agreed, Clarize was less of a girl now. She had t turned into a delicious object meant to please them all with its orgasmic climaxes of pain and surrender.

The curly child's sparkling gaze wasn't for Angique anymore. She knew how the power of possession had shifted. Her attention had shifted to Sir Alfred. He rose from his chair, dropped his napkin and waved the blonde girl closer. She almost bounced down the steps to kneel beside the evening's host. She bowed her pretty head. But he cupped her chin and pulled her up until she stood on tiptoes. She listened intently to the words he whispered in her ear.

Her brow frowned. Angique even thought she winced once or twice at the information she got. Then she smiled wide and nodded. She curtsied quickly and ran back to the silver painted victim. Clarize still knelt passively in the limelight.

She not even dared to look up at the black giant and his cock. It hung agonizingly close to her mouth. The little blonde had led the Nubian back onto the stage after the painful interruption. She had sucked the penis back into awesome proportions. Its shadow darkened Clarize's face. It was a sign all watchers now knew to be a cruel omen. It made them wonder what horror lived in the wide blue eyes behind the silver mask.

The child had returned to the tableau vivant. Without hesitation she sank to her knees in front of the Nubian. She wrapped her pretty hands around his blue-black rod. One hand was slowly stroking its shaft. The other circled the exposed head. She turned him towards her, and now her face and his cock were right in front of Clarize's eyes. It hovered only inches away form her gaze. Angique groaned. She admired the delicacy of the torment. The child would suck the Nubian phallus right before Clarize's helpless eyes. To see the child take her place must be sheer hell for her.

In the breathless silence they heard tiny sucking noises. The child sank her pillowy lips over the head. The first inches of the giant's penis slid inside. The contrast was enchanting. The dark, dark jungle creature stood tall and silent. The golden angel bobbed her curls. She took in more and more of the purple flesh. By now she must be gagging on it. Still she went deeper and deeper. Her mouth gaped wide to clear the way down her throat.

All women and even some men in the hall were envying her. But no one watched as intently as the silver girl. She had been so close to heaven. Now she was perfectly unable to reach it. The prize was denied her in the most humiliating way. It was a devastating blow to her slave soul's pride. With heaven so near, yet so distant, her existence turned into a living hell. It left her with nothing but moans and frustration. Her thighs were spread. Her tits stood out in a forced stance. Nothing, nothing was there to satisfy her agony. It poured from her eyes, her mouth and her flaring nostrils.

The child went on. More than half of the throbbing monster had gone into her wide-open mouth. Each time she let it slide out until only the glistening head lay on the tip of her tongue. In an expert rhythm she stroked the base of the stem and the dangling balls. All the while her head moved up and down like a piston. She built an increasing rhythm. By now it had its effect on the stoic African. He placed his enormous hands on the spun gold of her hair. Then he started to pull her closer. And soon it wasn't the girl anymore who sucked his penis. It was the Nubian who fucked her face. He fucked it quicker, harder, deeper.

All around the room the air vibrated with quick and shallow breathing. The sound of rustling clothes was everywhere. Chairs scraped on the floor. People shifted to get into better positions. Snobbish ladies sank to their knees to pull out their partner's cocks. Gentlemen closed their lips and teeth around aching nipples.

Angique sat alone in the dark. She touched no one, no one touched her. She sat cloaked in sadness, but she trembled with arousal. Her eyes were glued to the silver girl in her agony. She tried to catch the masked gaze. Under her breath she whispered words of courage.

The room hummed with sexuality, but all kept watching the incredible couple on the stage. The black rod had by now invaded the girl's throat totally. The balls slapped her chin. Every push made her budding titties bounce. She uttered no sound. She was absolutely unable to produce any around the gagging meat. But Clarize compensated her fully. She moaned and screamed by now. The pain must have been intolerable. Sweat gushed down her shining form. It mingled with tears and saliva. She swayed and shook in her confinement. The inside of her spread thighs caught the full light. The lips of her shaven cunt sparkled with her juices.

"Would she come just by watching all this so close in front of her? Oh please, please my love... don't come now... don't make it worse... be strong my girl... hold onnnnnn."

The Nubian suddenly stopped in the middle of his movements. The cordlike muscles on his thighs stiffened. His ass cheeks seemed to tighten. He threw his head back in a flash of white teeth. Beads of sweat flew from his brow. He growled like a forest animal. Ever so slowly he slid his meat from the girl's mouth. He pulled long silver threads as he left her lips. The stress of holding back must be overwhelming. He seemed to manage.

The blonde girl smiled. She looked up admiringly. Her chest panted. Her lungs took in huge gulps of air. Then she grabbed the cock. She slowly slid the skin forward over the head. A sheen of precum covered her tiny hands. She (oh cruelty) turned towards Clarize, and smeared the slippery film all over her breasts, throat and mouth.

Ah, God, how the poor girl wept. She licked and sucked on the fingers. She ran a greedy tongue over her lips and chin to catch some of the precious juices. She was a traveller lost in a waterless dessert. She was a shipwrecked creature begging for a drink.

But her ordeal wasn't over. It had only just begun.

The little angel/devil turned on her knees. She sank on her hands to present her very tight bum to the African ogre. He placed his huge hands on her milky white behind. He spread the cheeks to find her entrances. He did not stoop or kneel. He pulled her up like a rag doll. Then he pressed his enormous rod on the slit of her girlish pussy. Ever so slowly, he made her sink onto it. The arousal must have made her cunt a soaking little paradise. But it seemed impossible that she would be able to take him in.

Yet she did, with amazing ease.

The giant started pumping. He used the girl's body as he would have used his hands. He jerked himself off with a live puppet. Two fistfuls of juicy meat squeezed his pulsating cock.

Again he suddenly came to a halt. He almost threw the girl away. Then he turned on his heels and spewed incredible cords of come over the masked face and tits of Clarize. He roared like the beast he had become. Three, four emissions splashed on the silver skin and creamy throat. Each seemed enough to fill a cup. She gasped and opened her mouth as wide as she could. She ached to catch some of it, but most of the sperm slid off her face. It leaked down on her tits.

Wherever it touched her a fire seemed to start. She screamed after each volley. It looked as though the contact made her come from a million clits all over her body.

"Oh God, sweet girl, such an ordeal... and so much more in store for you."

All in the room were touched deeply to see her drip with the milky come. Her pale skin rippled like a vole's. Angique stared as hypnotized to the sheen on the lower face and throat of her girl. A sudden dark shadow surprised her. It was the shadow of a man. He was young and strong and dressed in the tight embroidered silks of 18^th century France. She only saw his back. The long hair was bound into a pigtail with a leather strip. A white silk shirt hung loosely around his shoulders. He must have opened it in front. His well-shaped butt was dressed in shiny white tights. Good thighs, strong calves.

Angique snapped out of her stare. She realized that he worked on his fly. It was not visible from where she sat. He took a step forward. Now she could guess his intentions. He must have unwrapped his penis and forced it into Clarize's mouth. His ass started a gyrating movement. The muscles worked under the silk. Then he threw his head back. He groaned loudly. His lower body jerked and spasmed. Angique knew he too came over the face of her girl. After a minute he stepped aside, fumbling at his tights' front. His move allowed Angique a look at the face of Clarize again. More globs and tears of come clung to the skin and mask now. And again her desperate tongue tried to quench her thirst.

Another man left the table. He climbed the steps. His swollen cock already stuck out of his breeches. He was clad in tight black leather. It left his ass cheeks free. His boots made the planking resound as he walked purposefully up to the kneeling woman. He took her head. He growled a command that was quite needless. Her mouth was already wide open to receive the purple flesh. She gobbled it up deep enough to fill her throat. The man in leather started fucking her dripping face with deep, slow strokes. Then he suddenly stopped. He took the cock out and started drowning her yet again.

He carefully avoided her begging mouth.

A pageant of male guests marched past the girl. Their companions' expert mouths had already fluffed their cocks. They only needed a minute to reach their climax. Each one of them ravaged her throat. They covered her face and tits in layers of creamy sperm. But not one drop of it reached her thirsty throat.

Few things destroy human dignity and individuality as efficient as the repetition of humiliation. Clarize became an anonymous wax image. Ten, fifteen man drowned her in gushes of come. Tears and saliva mixed with the loads of sperm. They slowly turned her into a candle. She became a huge and sacred burning candle on an altar of lustful degradation.

Not one drop was given her to swallow. Not one drop was offered to slake her terrible thirst or satisfy her hunger.

The last man stepped back after adding his creamy offering to the exulted goddess of humility. A giant gong made the air vibrate. Its deep, deep voice touched the stretched nerves of the audience.

A bright spotlight swung away from the dripping statue. The attention of all guests travelled with it. Angique was maybe the only one whose eyes stayed with the arched, shining girl as the lights got dimmer. She stayed just long enough to see the golden haired child crawl back to join the Great Dane. He had started to lick my love's face and breasts for the salty semen. Angique's heart thrilled at the deep, growling moan that left Clarize's throat.

Curtains closed. The room sank into darkness. Only the live candles on the table burned. They painted golden highlights on expectant faces.

Then, once again the huge doors opened.

A beautiful sound entered the room. All guests turned their heads towards its source. An Asian girl danced through the wide open door. She tottered on high hooves, but was otherwise totally naked. She played a silver flute. It produced the sweet and melancholy opening tones of Debussy's Après-midi d'un faun. A liquid cascade of notes glided down. It dripped like warm, sweet oil into her audience's ears.

A distant echo of emotion tugged at Angique. A slow tear ran down her cheek as the girl passed by. Then, in a cloud of purple smoke behind her an entirely black figure stepped forth. Her form and movement betrayed she was a woman. Her lovely curves filled out the black leather of a skin-tight suit. The high prance betrayed steel muscles underneath. Her face was masked. Two budding horns adorned her scalp. A sweeping, pointed tail sprouted from here lower back. She also strode on hooves. But she moved so easy and natural that they seemed to have been hers since birth. In leather clad hands she wielded a vicious whip. She made it explode in the air as she passed by and walked up to the stage.

The curtains opened. In the flood of silver lights Clarize hung spread eagled by chains. Her arms were hooked behind a wide metal bar. The blonde and the giant hound had finished cleaning her up. Her body glistened with the wetness of their busy tongues. Her head hung sideways. Her eyes were closed. The sweet treatment must have elevated her to yet another impossible level of frustrated ecstasy. But her moaning and sobbing had stopped.

On soft, plodding feet the curly haired girl left the stage. She took the Great Dane with her. She hugged him and whispered into his pointed ears. He was aroused. His penis hung swollen and throbbing between his legs. When they passed the hoofed she-devil on her way to the stage, the hound growled and stopped. But Angique saw to her amazement how easy the petite blonde won him over. She just whispered in his ear. Then she disappeared with him through the open door.

Angique sucked her breath in sharply. She knew who the woman was. And she knew what she intended to do to her girl. Clarize still dwelled in the doomed, claustrophobic world of denied orgasm. She saw nothing, heard nothing.

A moan of guilt stuck in Angique's throat. Did she regret? She knew she should. Her hand rose in protest. But one flashing stare of the woman robbed her of her energy. It emptied her veins. She sank back into her chair.

The first blow of the black, supple whip hit Clarize's back. She was so far-gone that she not even reacted to it at all. The second and third strike also seemed to pass her by totally. Not even her eyes blinked. But from her seat Angique could see the first ugly wealds forming on her shoulders. She cried for her and impulsively rose from her chair.

The fiery eyes of the she-demon shot from behind her mask. It hit Angique right in her first stride forward. She froze as if she'd hit an invisible wall. She stood helpless. The fourth, fifth and sixth blow landed on her sweet pet's innocent skin.

Clarize woke. A sudden pain washed over her face. A hoarse cry rose from her throat. The she-devil walked a semi circle until she was in front of the girl. Clarize was unable to protect her breasts and thighs from the merciless attacks of the whip. Red and purple flames painted the pale skin. A rain of sweat and juices sprayed into the white light. The whip cruelly kissed her exposed cunt lips.

By now Clarize was screaming. She could not crouch and hide. There was no place to flee to. Angique still stood, nailed down by the gaze of the demon. But she shook her head with all the force she could muster. She strove forward as if she had to fight a mighty blizzard. Step after slow motioned step she fought herself nearer to the stage. The stairs almost seemed mountains. She scaled them and at last reached the white-lit platform. She grabbed the arching whip. She felt it sting the palm of her hand. Then she pulled at it. She made it fly through the air. She did not lose time but ran towards her imprisoned girl. She wrapped her body around her to protect her from further abuse.

A devilish laugh split the air. Oh, she knew that voice. She knew she was lost. She knew this was exactly what the woman had planned for. All of her own futile scheming was swept aside. But she could not have acted otherwise. It was destiny. And when she realizing this, she felt a great and sweet calm enter her body. She held the trembling frame of her child and she knew she had no choice.

The first blows tore through the flimsy leather covering her back. She knew nothing could hurt her or her Clarize.

She came and came again in an endless cascade of ecstasy. Until a sweet and merciful darkness sank over her and the treasure she held.

Touched.

After a week Giselle could stand nor walk anymore. She could not even kneel and straighten her back in the desired position. Her throat was raw, her tongue swollen. Her tits' skin was tainted with cloudy bruises. The nipples bled. The inside walls of her cunt screamed with pain whenever a new cock or dildo was ramming its way into it. An invisible dam blocked her soothing juices. But the number of guests didn't diminish. Nor did the frequency of their visits or the urge of their needs.

The girl kept exposing herself. She was available to anyone who passed the threshold of her cell. She kept spreading her legs She presented her ass and opened her throat to the onslaught. Her red-rimmed eyes filled with tears. But she kept fixing them on the mirrored sky of her tiny, bloodred world. From that sky she knew her sweet Mistress must surely look down on her. And smile.

When the fever came, she was taken from the room. She was tucked between cool, clean sheets. Needles slipped under her tortured skin. A soft woollen blanket of oblivion wrapped itself around her tiny universe.

She slept for two nights and the whole long day between them. When she woke she found herself in a white world of sheets and curtains. The clouds of fever had lifted. They left her aware of a raging hunger. She ate three plates of pasta and drank a gallon of water before mustering the energy to see where she was. Then she started to feel the assorted hurts all over her healing body.

In the afternoon she left her bed on crutches. She walked the corridors of the mansion. The place was totally different from the elegant Villa. It was like a medieval fortress. It looked bare and forbidding. Straight stonewalls loomed everywhere. Unadorned wooden beams and pillars had been placed with utilitarian gracelessness.

Then she at last came to a small room. A nice, crackling fire warmed the air. It shone with a sweet reddish light. She sank down in a leather club chair next to it. She hugged herself inside the wool blanket she found. She tugged her bare legs and feet under her body and stared into the flames.

After a while the door opened. Maria's twin sister brought her a plate of sweets and a steaming pot of tea. Her name was Anna and like Maria she had no English. She could not answer even one of her many questions. But she fed her and took the sweetest care of her ravaged body and soul.

Days went by between this cosy room and the adjoining quarters that had been given her. They contained a small bedroom and a larger bathroom with a regal sized bath.

She felt her strength return. With it grew the urge to know her fate, to see her Mistress. And the need to be with her sweet sister again. But Anna did not even respond to the name of her mistress. She just smiled and urged her to eat her soup.

It took Anna three more days to restore Giselle to perfect health. Most of her bruises had healed. The blush returned to her skin. Her step was as proud and strong as it had been. She even picked up her exercises. She felt her muscles welcome the wonderful afterglow of exertion.

On the morning of the fourth day Anna woke her with tea. Then she pointed out to take a shower and at least two enemas. After that she ought to inspect her body. She must remove every hair or stubble she would find.

Wondering about the reason for these strict instructions she took three enemas. She lathered her entire body with a thick layer of hair remover. There wasn't a crease or dimple that she did not inspect. When she was satisfied at last, she rubbed every square inch of her skin with the softest of ointments.

The treatment had left her hot and excited. Her body stood like a glowing candle at the centre of her room. Anna returned. The old woman ran her wrinkled hand over the young, soft skin. She smiled her satisfaction. Then she closed a metal collar around the girl's throat. She led her out of the room on a leather leash.

They walked the length of a corridor. Giselle's bare feet plodded on the ancient stones. After turning three corners she lost her bearings. But wasn't surprised when a door at last took her back into her red cell with the mirrored ceiling. A sigh of disappointment left her mouth. Anna gave her a warning glance. She blushed with embarrassment.

Spread out on the bed laid pieces of an outfit she did not recognise. They were made of lace and a sheer material. Maybe it was nylon or organza. There also was silk and satin. Most of it was in a lovely, sweet sky-blue colour.

Anna helped her get into the outfit. She moulded the material tightly around her body. The lace bra cupped her tits from below. They only covered her nipples with a flimsy see-through material. The matching thong had strips of lace and satin. Her crotch was covered as transparently as her nipples. Both pieces were extremely well made. They hugged her as if they were part of her body.

Before she put on the thong, though, Anna gave her a garter belt in white lace. She also got lovely sheer white stockings. They were to be attached to it with long lace garters.

Two very elegantly heeled sandals completed the outfit. Then Anna started to do her hair. She pinned it up. Her soft throat and collar were in full sight. Then she held up a mirror and watched how Giselle made up her face. At last she smiled and nodded. She picked up the last item. It was an ankle-length robe of the sheerest sky blue organza. She slid it around the girl's shoulders. Then she smiled once more and left the room.

Giselle stood on her new heels. She looked up into the mirror at the ceiling. Yes, she looked lovely. She was very beautiful indeed. All the pampering and the excited anticipation had aroused her to a state of wetness. Her pink nipples pushed the thin material of her bra. But what was it for? All these days she had been in this room she had been naked and open to be fucked and used. Why was she now clad in this exquisite lingerie? Was she to be collected? A surge of hopeful excitement made her heart race. Maybe Mistress would come and take her back? Oh yes, please. Let it be she.

Of course it was just a new guest. A tall, red haired man in his forties. He grinned and hardly looked at her. His big, bony hands started to tear off her expensive outfit. Soon he rammed his already hard cock down her throat. He spent his sperm inside her bowels after he penetrated her unready sphincter in one excruciating thrust.

In a few hours she got used by at least ten men in all her hardly healed orifices. She felt numb, struck down, abandoned. She had no tears left. She cried a bit, but only between guests. She had to look her best each time the door opened anew.

Two rude teenage fucked her throat and ass in concerted haste.Then they had cast her aside. She had lost her consciousness. She lay stretched on the bed, belly down. Fat teenage sperm seeped from between her cheeks. It also leaked from her crusted lips.

The voice was soft and a bit hoarse. But it filled the whole room. Not as if it came from all around. It sounded right inside her skull. And it woke her.

"Bonjour, mon enfant", it whispered. "Comment vas-tu, ma petite puuuuutain?"

The last word was extended. Its final syllable rose into a soft giggle.

The girl on the bed raised her head and looked around.

"Mistress", she croaked. Her throat was raw. She tried to rise to her knees.

"Stay down, sweet thing", the voice went on. "Rest a while, darling. You have worked so haaaaard." And again the soft giggle crowned the last word.

Giselle now knew her mistress watched her. She wasn't in the room. She must be up there, behind the mirror. At last.

"Mistress", she said again, this time with more force.

There was a silence. It lasted a minute. Giselle had by now found the strength to sit up and look at the ceiling. She tried in vain to see what might lie beyond. The voice was real, or was it? She did not dream it, did she? Her chest tightened as the silence endured.

Then the voice returned in breezy whispers. Giselle let her pent up breath escape.

"Dis-moi, chérie", the voice said. "Are you mad at me? I could understand if you are."

Giselle made her tender ass sink onto her heels. She pondered the question. It had taken her by surprise. Would a blind man understand the concept of colours? Where would she find the words anymore to understand anger, let alone answer the question? She just looked at her own reflection. She swallowed hard.

"I love you, Mistress", she said and sobbed.

"I know, sweet child", the voice said. Another silence followed.

The voice was even softer when it spoke again.

"Anna tells me you have been very good, Giselle."

The girl stared in silence. She understood. Her sweet Mistress had not been here at all to watch over her. All these cruel days and painful nights she had felt the green gaze upon her. But it had been an illusion, a feverish dream. She had been alone all along.

"Thank you, Mistress", she whispered. She pitched forward and broke down in a torrent of tears. Her shoulders shook. From her throat rose a wailing sound. She sank into a bottomless pool of misery, feeling things shift in her mind. Sluices opened, dams broke. A huge tsunami swept away the last remnants of her naïve hope and desperate optimism.

She lost all control over her body. She lay shaking and trembling on the soaked silk of sheets and pillows. Tears ruined her face. Squirts of urine ran down her thighs and into the mattress.

All her strength must have been concentrated in the one presumption that her mistress would have seen her struggle these gruesome nights and days. That she had watched her and would have been pleased. But she had been all-alone all the time. An uncaring, indifferent mistress had abandoned her. This revelation tore the last straw from her clenching fist. She fell into a seething river. She drowned, gasped for air. She thrashed in the water and clawed with desperate hands. But as she looked up, the banks slid away. They disappeared in a curtain of mist.

Soft leather gloved fingers touched her shoulder. Where they touched, sparks of electricity seemed to dance down her chest and spine. She lay silent. She drifted motionless. Before her mind's eye a golden shape stepped from the white swirling clouds. A pale woman walked on the waters. She was naked but clad in a halo of gold. Her face was soft and featureless. She was like the clouds, but her eyes were a sparkling emerald green. They seemed to dash out of the mists and sink into her own receptive eyes.