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Address List
Chapter 8
The boys put us to bed early that night and went off to a bar in Mexico. Someone remarked that since we were so close to the border they ought to at least see what Mexico was like, so they tied us females to our beds and drove off.
I was awakened from a sound sleep by a male body climbing on top of me and a thick hard cock sliding into my pussy. The room was dark so I couldn't see who it was, but he fucked me well and long and I slipped contentedly back to sleep a few moments after he finished. I woke later when I heard my daughter scream. I listened to the moans and slaps and squeaking bed springs and decided that one of the boys was probably whipping her breasts while fucking her. Between her screams I heard her giggle a few times. I went back to sleep.
The next morning the boys put us in chains and shackles and ordered us not to put on clothes, then left us alone for a few hours while they worked on something in the carpentry shop. We lounged around trying to guess what the boys had in store for us as we listened to the sounds of sawing, drilling and hammering.
After lunch they marched us to the tennis court. Along one end stood four upright boxes that looked like coffins. They walked me to the first box and put me inside. There was a cut out that fit my breasts perfectly. I was pushed forward until my boobs jutted through the cutout, then the door was closed behind me. The box was so tight that I couldn't move. I couldn't even wiggle, and I certainly couldn't pull my breasts back inside. Luckily there was no top on the box, so I could breathe ok. I heard the other slaves being placed in their coffins.
I knew that somehow the boxes meant that we were in for more breast torture, but couldn't guess what form the torture would take, until I heard the sound of a racquet hitting a tennis ball. A split second later something hit my breast hard.
The boys cheered and congratulated Mark on getting a direct hit on his first shot.
That was to be our torture. The boys competed all day hitting our breasts with tennis serves.
Let me tell you, a tennis ball stings like hell on a woman's naked breast. I had an orgasm on about the tenth hit and I could tell when they scored hits on the other slaves. Kathy squealed and Anne yelped and Maria gave a deep satisfied grunt when she was hit. Even through the boxes I could tell they were enjoying themselves. I wriggled my boobs as much as I could as I waited to get hit.
Between rounds the boys picked up the balls, during those interludes the boys would fondle, squeeze and pinch our breasts. I loved that and jiggled my boobs to let them know I appreciated the attention.
Kathy began taunting the boys when they missed. Like a heckler at a baseball game she told them what lousy hitters they were, called their misses ‘air balls', begged them to move closer because she was getting bored waiting for the next hit. She got all of us slaves laughing and we joined in the heckling. The boys began missing more shots, either from frustration at our jibes, or because some were laughing so hard. Anyway, they opened our coffins long enough to gag each one of us, then they went back to the game.
During one of the breaks I heard a deep smack, almost a thud, and heard Maria squeal through her gag. The smack was repeated over and over again.
One of the boys had, simply out of nowhere, hauled off and hit her breast with his tennis racquet. Maria told me that she orgasmed instantly and while her body was shuddering in ecstasy he, or the others, decided to pound her breasts until she fainted. The box was so tight that she was held upright, and the boys didn't realize, or didn't care that she was unconscious. They kept on walloping her breasts.
They also hit my breasts as well as the girls'. The boys got very creative in their torments, and one of them discovered that brushing the web of a tennis racquet over a woman's nipples produces a pain that is unique (and as far as I am concerned, wonderful!).
The boys had put a lot of planning into the game. After a few hours of bombarding our breasts, they opened small triangle shaped doors in front of our pussies. Our pussies became the new targets in the game.
It was hot in the boxes and we were given a few breaks to drink fluids and lie in the shade. We didn't get much rest though, the boys fucked us on the grass each time we were taken out of the boxes.
Hours into our delicious torment I heard my son announce that it was time to switch from tennis to golf.
My belly went cold with fear. Were they really going to hit golf balls at us? I tried to yell through my gag but only managed to mumble. The boys ignored me and made jokes about golf handicaps and so on.
I heard them setting up some tees from the driving range, and listened to them dragging clubs out of golf bags. From the sound I knew they were very close. I was in a panic. I knew they couldn't miss at that distance, and feared the golf balls would be traveling like bullets when they struck. Whimpers and groans from the other boxes told me that the other slaves were frightened too.
Mark said they were ready and for the other boys to step back. I heard the swish of his gold club as he made several practice swings. One of the boys began a patter like an announcer at a golf tournament.
“Albers steps up to the ball,” he said in a hushed tone. “He looks long and carefully down the fairway. This is a par three with a reddish pink nipple to aim for instead of the pin on the green of the first hole.”
“Shouldn't he be aiming at the first hole?” one of the other asked.
‘Yeah,” another said. “I'd be aiming at Mrs. Albers' hole.”
“Can't,” the fake announcer replied. “The first hole is protected by Mrs. Albers legs which are tightly closed.”
“Shhh,” someone said. “He's ready to tee off.”
“Albers addresses the ball,” the announcer said. “Takes a deep breath and , , , here's his back swing!”
I was so frightened that I was trembling. My breasts shook so much that I felt the edge of the opening rubbing my skin raw.
I felt a blow on my right nipple before I heard the sound of Mark's club hitting the ball. I screamed in my gag and peed down my legs. The boys cheered.
I felt a sharp sting from the impact, but it was not the brutal hit that I expected. I heard the ball bouncing on the tennis court. It was not the sharp click of a golf ball on pavement, but rather a softer lighter sound. They were using whiffle balls!
I screamed in outrage in my gag and the boys roared with laughter.
After a moment I calmed down and giggled to myself. The whiffle balls stung but wouldn't cause injuries, and I soon discovered that I could have orgasms from whiffle balls just as delightfully as whips, paddles, and riding crops. I settled back to enjoy myself.
The boys finished their game by taking us out of the boxes and tying us the fence. They tied our hands above our heads, then raised our feet and tied them beside out heads. This exposed our thighs and pussies to bombardment by tennis balls, whiffle golf balls, and cocks. It was wonderful.
On Friday morning, at my invitation, Carol and Elizabeth came to the house. They were brought by one of their grooms because both their masters were away on business. They arrived in a closed van and waited on the drive until we had all gathered on the back lawn. The jingle of their harness bells heralded their arrival as they trotted into view.
The boys' eyes were wide as the two elegant ladies pranced around the corner of the house. They wore silver and black harness, tall black plumes and gray wigs. Their movements were in perfect precision, each knee bent at the same angle, their legs rising exactly to the same height, their breasts even jiggled in unison. The groom jogged beside them carrying a long whip.
They trotted across the lawn then stopped at the crack of the groom's whip. Carol and Elizabeth stopped, held their position for a few seconds, then at a silent count bowed so deeply that their plumes brushed the grass. Everyone applauded.
They slowly straightened from the bow, their heads continued upward past full height until their backs were fully arched and their plumes brushed the ground behind them. Their feet stayed together, their knees never parted. It was a maneuver that a only a contortionist could do easily, and one that a gymnast would find difficult. It was not lost on the boys that these pony girls were in their forties.
They straightened slowly and acknowledged the boys' applause with smiles. The groom snapped his whip and the Gray Mares put on a show. The boys were rapt as they watched Carol and Elizabeth. Their eyes followed every movement, every jiggle and bounce. And soon every boy had a very visible erection, and several were squirming in their chairs by the time the performance was finished.
At the end of their show Elizabeth and Carol came to rigid attention and stood like statues. The boys crowded around them. At first the boys were shy, then one boldly touched Carol's breast. Her expression didn't change but she thrust her chest outward in an obvious invitation. In an instant both women were being pawed by six sets of hands. The pony girls tried to maintain their rigid discipline but in a few minutes they were both giggling. Emboldened, the boys began unbuckling the ladies' harness.
Their groom cleared his throat loudly. The boys stopped in confusion.
“Who is the master here?” the groom asked.
“I am,” Mark answered. The groom just looked at Mark with a faint lift to his eyebrows until Mark remembered his manners.
“Sorry sir,” Mark said. He motioned the groom over to where we females were.
For the occasion the boys had dressed me in green and gold pony harness and Maria in one of her skimpiest maid uniforms. The girls wore a matching set of “Farmer's Daughters” costumes. Ann wore a low cut bodice and micro skirt in sky blue gingham edged in narrow lace, skin tight panties, white bobby socks and white heels. Her collar, wrist and ankle cuffs were dyed the same shade of sky blue as her dress. Kathy wore a matching outfit in yellow. They even had a sprinkling of fake freckles on their cheeks.
The girls had originally made those costumes for a Halloween party but my husband caught them sneaking out, spanked them silly and ordered them never to wear the costumes again. The girls cried and pleaded and he finally relented and permitted them to wear the costumes only to slave functions. He made them promise never to wear them in public.
I had a matching outfit made in pink and we have made quite a hit at mother-daughter spanking parties. We even won a blue ribbon at the South Texas Lesbian Fair.
The groom looked us over, then selected Kathy. Mark handed him her leash and showed him to the barn. The groom tugged Kathy forward and they disappeared inside. Within moments we heard Kathy screaming.
Mark emerged from the barn to find Carol and Elizabeth buried under a pile of boys. Both women's legs were spread wide and a boy was fucking each while the remaining cocks were thrust into their faces. Both ladies were enjoying themselves immensely. Mark saw that there was no room in the pile so he came to me and Maria. He motioned for us to kneel.
I obeyed but Maria looked Mark in the eye and slowly, deliberately shook her head. Mark's jaw dropped in astonishment, then a look of anger crossed his face.
“Kneel!” he hissed at her.
“Make me,” she said softly, mockingly. Mark's hand shot forward like lightning, grasped the back of her neck and hurled her to the ground. Maria made a loud whoof as she landed on her breasts. Mark knelt on her hips and yanked her hands behind her back and locked her wrists. Then he methodically tore her clothes off piece by piece. When she was naked he grasped her hips and yanked her legs apart. He unzipped his jeans and thrust his cock into Maria's rectum. She groaned in pleasure. Mark fucked Maria until he came, then crawled off her. She lay face down in the grass, her breasts crushed against the ground. She glanced at me and winked, then she rolled over, spread her legs wide and looked up at Mark.
“I am ready to be fucked now,” she said to him. The look of rage reappeared on Mark's face and I expected him to hit her, but he controlled his anger and said something that brought tears of pride to my eyes.
“Never strike a slave in anger,” he said, quoting his father.
“Then strike me in love,” Maria said mockingly.
Mark walked into the barn and returned with ropes and a handful of whips. One was El Toro. Maria gasped in delight when she saw that whip.
Marked hoisted Maria to a tree limb. He lifted her off her feet then tied her ankles so far apart that she winced in pain. Mark took off his shirt and began whipping her. All the whips he used that day were bull whips and they ranged in size from fairly small to the monster “Toro”. He whipped Maria all day long, slowly, methodically, powerfully. God only knows how many orgasms she had. She lost count early on.
When the boys cooled off after their first wild rush with Carol and Elizabeth, they settled in to chairs and watched Mark and Maria. Somehow they sensed that something special was happening.
The Gray Mares lay panting on the lawn strewn with clothing, harness and plumes. They purred contentedly, covered with sweat, blades of grass, and cum. Eventually they opened their eyes and looked around. They rose gracefully to sitting positions and watched Maria writhe under the whip. They looked questioningly at me. I rolled my eyes and shook my head to tell them that it was a very serious matter. They walked to where Ann and I were sitting.
“What's going on?” Carol asked softly.
“Maria has decided to force Mark to tame her,” I told them. “She tried to antagonize him.”
“It looks like she succeeded,” Elizabeth observed looking at the pile of whips. “I'd say he means business.”
“Almost,” I said. I told them about how Mark had regained his composure and controlled his anger. I told them what he had said.
“Wow,” Carol whispered. “You must be very proud.”
“Um hmm,” Elizabeth agreed. “He's going to be as great a master as his father.”
I thought my chest would burst with pride.
“Is Mark going to use that giant whip on her?” Ann asked. Carol and Elizabeth gasped when they saw El Toro.
“I hope not,” I answered. “He's promised me that he won't whip a woman with it until he's been properly trained.”
“Thank God!” said Elizabeth in awe. “That thing would kill Maria.”
“Yes, but just think what it would be like.” Carol said, staring at the whip. She moistened her lips. Elizabeth nodded.
Everyone settled in to watch my son tame our housekeeper. I gave Ann a look and she trotted into the house. She emerged a few minutes later with a tray of cold drinks. “Since the maid is busy, I'll be your server today,” she giggled to the boys. They rewarded her with pats and slaps on her bottom.
An hour or so later the groom emerged from the barn. His shirt was off and he was covered with sweat. He was leading Kathy, now naked and covered with fresh welts, by her leash. He dropped into a chair and watched with interest as Mark whipped Maria. Ann brought him a drink and a towel. She also toweled Kathy's face and held a glass of lemonade to her lips. Then Kathy crawled to the groom's feet and rested her head on his thigh. He patted her head and she smiled contentedly.
We spent the entire day watching Maria's torture. Mark whipped her steadily, pacing himself, pausing to rest and giving Maria plenty of fluids to drink. Neither spoke. The boys occasionally amused themselves by making one of us slaves suck a cock or be bent over a table for a spanking or fucking. I watched my daughter crawl between the groom's legs and kiss the crotch of his trousers. He patted her head absently, his eyes on Maria. Kathy nuzzled the groom's crotch insistently until he unzipped his trousers and took out his cock. She took it eagerly in her mouth and sucked with obvious delight. She smiled up at him with soft eyes.
Ann noticed too. “I've never seen Kathy act that way before,” she whispered. “She acts like she's in love.”
I nodded. “Perhaps she's met her master.”
“Wow.”
Hours went by. Maria endured her whipping silently. As Mark moved to the larger whips an occasional gasp would escape her lips, but she never screamed or whimpered, and her eyes never left my son. When mark finally tossed the last whip aside everyone seemed to let out a collective sigh. Maria visibly relaxed in her ropes.
The groom rose and walked to El Toro.
“Are you not using this whip, sir?” he asked Mark in a rich Scottish accent.
Mark shook his head. “No, I haven't been taught to use it yet.”
“Very wise,” the groom said. “May I?”
“Sure.”
The groom picked up the whip and examined it carefully. “Aye, this is very dangerous.” He walked a few yards and swung the whip over his head. The whip made a hissing roar through the air. He grasped it in both hands and swung it faster. The roar increased until every woman was shuddering. Still whirling the whip, the groom walked toward the wreckage of the Gray Mares' harness. A plume lay on the grass. The tip of the whip caught the plume and sent it flying ten feet into the air. As it floated down the whip cut it in two, then cut the halves again. On each pass the whip cut another piece of feather.
My heart was pounding, my mouth was dry put my pussy was very damp. Every woman was staring at the whip. My daughter's eyes we half closed in a trancelike state. Elizabeth and Carol knelt side by side and watched, then in unison they lowered their upper bodies until their breasts touched the ground in homage to the power of El Toro. Ann stared at the whip open mouthed, she trembled so much that her breasts bounced.
The groom changed the whip's direction, Without slowing he moved it from a spinning circle to a back and forth oval. The whip is so heavy that he leaned into it at each turn. It was like watching a bell ringer at an ancient gothic cathedral. It took several deep pulls on the bell ropes just to get them moving, but when they built up momentum, it was impossible to stop them until they had rung out their massive peals. El Toro moved with a momentum of its own.
Then he cracked the whip.
He leaned against the pull of the whip, and jerked it back toward him like reining in a horse. The whip crack was like thunder splitting the air. I felt that hellish sound in my soul, in my heart, and in my pussy. I screamed.
Every slave screamed. Our shrieks mingled and rose to an earsplitting pitch. The groom ignored us. The boys, watching open mouthed, ignored us. The groom cracked El Toro again and again.
Tears were pouring down Maria's cheeks. Her breasts heaved. Her body, bright red from her day long whipping, strained toward the whip.
The groom slowed the whip and let it coast to a stop. He was panting with exertion. Mark walked to him. They spoke quietly for a moment, then the groom handed the whip to Mark and walked away. Mark hefted the whip experimentally, then swung it over his head. Look of surprise came over his face when its weight almost pulled him off balance. He swung it again, getting the feel of it until he had it circling his head. Again we women trembled at its thunder.
Maria spoke to my son. “Please, Mark.”
He glanced at her.
“Please, Senor Mark.”
His eyebrows rose in confusion.
“Please, Padrone,” Maria sobbed. Then he understood. He looked at the whip, then at Maria, then at me. I nodded.
“All right Maria,” he said. “But only one.”
“Many Padrone, please,” she sobbed.
“No, only one for now,” he said firmly. “But you may have more some other day.”
“Yes, Padrone.”
Mark stepped back and began winding the whip up into a spin over his head. When it was up to speed, he ran toward Maria. The whip struck the left side of her body. It struck five feet from the tip. It wrapped around her torso one complete turn and the tip lanced across her breasts like a white hot sword. A razor thin crimson welt appeared instantly across her breasts. It was as if a knife had sliced them. Maria's head arched back, her eyes rolled upward and her body convulsed. She jerked and twitched like a fish on a line. She gasped several deep sobbing breaths, but never screamed.
Mark let the whip uncoil and drop to the grass. Every eye was fixed on Maria's body. I came to my senses as if I'd been hypnotized. I noticed that every woman's mouth was wide open, including my own. Then I realized that we were screaming.
Mark motioned to the ropes holding Maria. Tom cut them and she crumpled to the ground. He loosened the ropes on her wrists and ankles and tried to help her stand, but she shook her head. Her hands and feet were numb from hours of hanging, but somehow she managed to crawl to Mark. She staggered as she crawled and fell on her face several times, but she was determined. When she reached my son, she kissed his feet reverently.
“Thank you Padrone,” she said as tears ran down her face. “I am your slave until the day I die.”
Mark touched her head, then told his brother to take her to the house. Maria still couldn't walk so Tom lifted her into his arms. Maria probably weighed as much as Tom, but her carried her easily and gently.
Mark looked around at the stunned spectators. He clapped his hands and everyone started, as if coming out of a trance.
“Jeez! You all act like you never saw a woman whipped before.” He coiled El Toro. “Any body else want a whipping before I put it away?” he joked. “How about you, Mom?”
“Yes,” I said evenly.
Every mouth dropped open.
“But not today,” I continued.
Mark looked at me questioningly.
“You may whip me with El Toro on your twenty-first birthday,” I told my son. “Twenty-one strokes.”
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