Holly-ween Cocktail Party

She leans in as I put the finishing touches on her 'MG' cocktail. "I never thought cowboys were that sexy. Too macho for me," she confides. She makes googly eyes with Mr. Wayne who has also leaned in over her shoulder to join the conspiracy. "But he's just a sweetheart, really. He is so eager to please." She pulls on the chain and forces him closer. Both she and I could kiss the man's lips, but she chooses to extend her tongue and licks him from the base of his neck, up the side of his face and into his ear. It's a slow and wet display of ownership and dominance. "Mmm, yummy," she purrs after she sucks the salt and aftershave off her tongue.

They pick up their custom cocktails and start to walk away but John stops and fights his leash. He slips a hundred dollar bill on the bar. "Thanks," he says then leans in some more and the collar bites into his neck but he doesn't seem to care. "I have another tip for you," he gurgles. "Down the hallway, three doors on the left, you should go see the show. Come see the show," he is almost begging, "I know you will enjoy it." Fake Madonna has had enough and yanks hard. But she catches my eye and blows me a kiss as her boy toy gets back in line. It's as good an invitation as any and after I give them a five-minute head start I beckon Carlos to take over my station and head out for a quick 'coffee break'.

I slip silently into the room. It serves as the Mansion's library and, though one entire wall is lined with books, it's the four large computers and displays in each corner that are the real knowledge repositories. The lights are out, but two of the displays are turned on and fill the room with blue haze. Plus, two tall windows allow the moonlight to flood in. A single body is plainly visible, though cast in dark blue hues and highlighted against soft, flickering light.

John Wayne is in the center of the room. His hands are tied together and raised up over his head. His lasso is as good at securing the limbs of a man as it is tying up a cow. It binds his hands and is slung up over the chandelier. He stands on his tiptoes and his entire body is stretched out like a long strand of saltwater taffy.

He has lost most of his clothes with the exception of a leather vest, leather chaps, and one cowboy boot. As I walk in, his back is to me and I'm impressed with the old man's naked ass. It's firm and round and, surprisingly hairy. I make out a few red bruises in the dim light and I surmise that Madonna has already been training her dog. He awkwardly turns when he hears the padding of my feet. He sees me and smiles. I see him - I see all of him - and I smile back. His dick is standing at attention. I'm not sure if its aroused state is due to natural genetics or the result of my spell, but it is big and thick and purple and very, very happy.

'Thwack,' fills the air and I see John wince.

"Pay attention, Herr Cowboy," I hear the woman say and then see her emerge from behind John's bulk. She is slowly strutting around him in her high heels and his large cowboy hat. She holds a long ruler in her hand which she must have found in one of the workstations and is repurposing it as her instrument of discipline. She blows me another welcoming kiss. I make my way past the two of them and find a comfy stuffed chair to relax in while she torments, I presume, her soon to be vagina licker.

She uses the ruler to guide him so he turns and I see his profile. His cock is out and facing the windows; his stomach heaves in tight, short breaths; his ass sticks up and out toward the entrance. Having only one shoe on makes it hard for him to move and it's even more difficult to stand steady. I watch as he uneasily sways. The joints in his shoulder look like they might pull apart whenever he goes flat footed and I find myself hoping that he is getting tired so I can watch as the skin stretches over his ball joint and his face contorts from the tearing pain.

She walks toward me. She is dressed as a whore - or an entertainer from the 80's. Her corset, stockings, panties, and bra are all black except for shimmering, diamond-like sequins that lay along the hems. She also wears fingerless gloves that run up to her elbow, and of course, she still sports his bolo tie and cowboy hat.

"Perfect timing to help me out," she says in a thick German accent and then turns so her back is to me. She sticks out her ass, waggles it, and looks back. "Do you mind slipping off my panties?"

I don't and I catch John sheepishly staring at us as I hook my thumbs under the sequined waistband. He gulps.

"Why the German accent?" I ask as the sheer material slides down her smooth, black nylon clad thighs. My face is within inches of her ass, and her sex and I can smell her growing passion.

She steps out and turns to me. I hold the now shriveled and damp material in my hand. "Ah, yeah. He's into Marlene Dietrich - some German actress from the olden days," she whispers to me in her natural midwest slur. She takes the panties from me, turns to face John, and resuming her German persona says, "Now it is time for some real discipline!" The ruler slaps loudly in her hand.

Madonna stuffs her black panties in his mouth. He initially chokes but then grows accustomed to the intrusion. Now he takes in a deep breath. He smells her. He can taste her. His eyes close and I see his cock twitch.

Madonna moves to his opposite side so that I have can see all of him as he hangs by his wrists. She lets one hand glide along his erection. It plays with the purple head and the smooth shaft. Her other hand, holding the ruler, caresses his ass. He starts a satisfied groan, a low muffled growling really. Then she swiftly strikes him - hard - with the ruler and chaos overtakes his body. He lunges forward and her hand is thrown away from his member. He temporarily loses balance and his legs slide out from under him. The hard bottom of his cowboy boot clicks against the tile floor as it tries to regain purchase. I watch as his shoulder deliciously stretches from his weight. It causes him to shriek in pain. The chandelier clanks and clangs. His body moans. After a long moment, the chaos fades and he stands again.

Madonna looks in his eyes. "Ein lieber mann, surely you have more control than that," she admonishes him and then swiftly applies the ruler to his backside. The sound is louder. The jolt stronger. But the Duke aims to please and he stays on his feet this time. She approves and moves her hand to his erection.

"See, I knew you could do it," she says sweetly and applies a tender, comforting caress to both his cock and ass. "And you will be rewarded." John closes his eyes and moans quietly as she gives him a slow and deliberate handjob. Given his state I expect him to cream at any minute but she is kind and gentle and patient. Her hand soothes his rigid member from its base to its tip. Her thumb lingers a bit at the end of each stroke on the thick purple head that is overly sensitive. His legs shift and I sense that he is feeling the build-up, the knot is tightening in his balls. She watches his face. He concentrates and his groans emanate from deep in his chest. He bucks forward and she laughs. He keeps his hips thrust outward and his cock is pointing up at a forty-five degree angle.

Now she stops. For a moment he is silent. Then he pops his eyes open and looks for her but she is behind him now. His body goes slack and he exhales several disappointed breaths. He is breathing heavy, gasping for air.

He looks down at his cock. It's as if he is seeing it for the first time. It is an exquisitely odd example of male virility. A thick and veiny eight inch shaft curves upward in a wide arc. An oversized purple head adds another two inches. It is wide and bulbous and once inside a woman surely serves to rub and fill and satisfy. A most unusual feature is a small bump that appears at the top of the cock's base. It's as if his pelvic bone juts out and extra inch or so. My spell has grown a 'clit-tickler' on The Duke. Each time he thrusts into a woman the fleshy bone presses against her sensitive nib.

Large cock, vagina stuffing purple head, and clit-tickler; "Yes, you are certainly a people pleaser," I say. Then I laugh out loud and put a hand to my mouth to silence the guffaw.

He continues to admire his brand new appendage when she slowly walks around him, slapping the ruler lightly in her hand. She exhales a long, satisfied breath. I realize that she has no intention of giving this man, this slave, his release. It is a delightfully ironic waste of a perfect cock.

Madonna continues with an expertise that would make torturers from the Spanish inquisition proud. No body part is immune. The ruler finds any exposed skin. His calf is a surprising vulnerability and he breaks out in a sweat as she assaults and swats the meaty leg muscle. He leans into it, hoping to deaden the force. The ruler smacks against his skin. He bends forward, hops on his foot and cries in agony but he manages to keep from losing his footing. He concentrates intently on keeping his balance but each strike sends him on a delicate tip-toe dance.

John is mastering bodily control. He can't relax. He must remain standing. The shoulder pain is excruciating if he lets himself go. But he has to release the tension and the stress somehow and he begins to scream. The spit drenched panties can no longer muffle his growing cries. I walk to one of the computer monitors. It's streaming Madonna songs and I turn up the volume. It drowns out the happy screams that might attract unwanted attention. Both domme and sub turn toward me and the computer and silently thank me with a head nod - well he offered more of a head roll.

Then I notice that on the floor next to the computer desk are John's abandoned pants and peeking out of a pocket is his cell phone. "What luck," I think to myself and bend down discreetly to retrieve the device. Better still, it does not require a pin. I sit back down and aim the device toward my entertainers. "Ahh, sweet regret," I say to myself as I capture many images of the pair in various states of dominance and submission and upload them to his Instagram account.

She eases up on her assault and she takes two patient laps around her subject. He catches his breath but tries to keep her in his sights without turning his body. She stands in front of him and then turns around. She sticks her ass into his crotch and he is so hard I imagine he penetrates her, but when she doesn't react and simply waggles a bit I'm disappointed that he missed the mark. He is hungry for any sort of contact with his cock and does not share my disappointment. He weakly attempts to hump the ass of his Mistress but it is a feeble attempt and she abandons him. She walks towards me and I expect a request to remove her bra but she keeps walking. She heads to the bookcase behind the chair and in a moment she returns with a long slender volume in her hand.

She allows me to inspect the book; Anthology of Christian Myths and Legends for Children. I smile approvingly. Then Madonna quickly closes the gap between her and the man's ass and swings the book with her full force on his already sensitive flesh. His shriek is powerful and for the first time, he pushes the gag out of his mouth. He momentarily raises his knees up off of the ground, curling into himself, but somehow immediately regains his footing.

"I'm sorry - I'm sorry liebchen," he says in a whiny high pitched voice. "Let me make it up to you. Please, let me-"

But he is not allowed to finish his thought because she spanks him twice more in quick succession with the children's religious book and now he truly does crumble and loses his footing. He swings from the chandelier and his upper body is stretched like a rubber band. He barely makes an attempt to stand.

She takes pity on him and plays with the lasso. The knot is untied and the rope goes slack . He falls to his knees on the floor.

"Oh - my - god," he says as he catches his breath. "You are so good -"

But again he is interrupted. She steps in front of him and slaps his face. His tied hands fall in his lap and the rope slithers like a snake in front of him. She straddles the rope and bends down to pull it up over her back shoulder. It forces his arms, still tethered to the rope, to slide between her legs and get pulled up her back. It forces his face into her crotch. She tightens the rope and now his face gets planted into her pussy.

He is not shy. He begins to devour her and his sudden voracious appetite takes her by surprise. Now it's her turn to moan and feel weak-kneed. She adjusts herself. Her hips are thrust forward. She sits backward on his arms that cradle her ass and that only draws him in closer. He gurgles for breath but is otherwise relentless in licking and slurping and biting at her sex. He moves his head away for a moment and his cheeks are glossy with moisture. He dives in again and she grinds against him. For several minutes he worships at her altar and she tightens her grip. The sway and writhe. Her legs begin to shake. She starts muttering, 'Oh god, oh god, oh my fucking god," and she has abandoned the false accent. "Suck it," she orders. "Suck my goddamn clit," and I see him adjust his position. A pulse of electricity shoots through her and her head rocks back. She is at the edge. She is ready to take that step off and fly. But nothing happens. She stays in that terrifying limbo, unable to leap forward but unwilling to step back. Her mouth hangs open in anticipation and she is barely breathing but it does not come. She does not come. I think she will faint but then she inhales.

"Fuck this," she screams in anger and drops the rope. His body goes slack as she takes one step back and he's confused and disappointed and sorry for being unable to please his goddess.

"I'm not done yet with you cowboy," she says then lifts her leg and presses her heel on his chest. He falls backward and lands with a painful thud, his legs still under him.

"What the fu-," he says but before he can finish she is sitting on his face. He is smothered and panics. She lets up for a moment so he can take in a deep breath but then sits back down. She is riding his tongue. Now she has complete control and I watch as she moves her hips first around in circles, then up and back and then side to side. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," she starts growling. "Suck it, suck it," she whispers. Every once in awhile she sits up for his benefit. He breathes in, then she returns to have him plow his tongue inside her vaginal walls.

I stand up and walk over to the couple writhing on the ground. I walk behind her and I watch as her ass jiggles with each contortion. It's a beautiful ass and a beautiful body. She is in control and I can see the shudders ripple through her back muscles. Her thighs twitch. Electricity is flowing all through this bitch and when she comes I expect it will rock her world.

"Poor John," I think to myself. His cock is pointed straight up but it is being ignored. "He is such a good servant," I consider and decide to help him.

I retrieve an item from the fireplace then squat down next to his thigh. I slip my hand in between the leather chaps and John gets the idea. He spreads his legs and this allows me access. I massage his balls. He groans and his stomach twitches. His body relaxes for a moment and he pauses his feeding at Madonna's altar.

"Don't stop!" she yells. "Don't fucking stop," and I watch as she grinds harder down on his face. He gets the message and she is back to moaning again. She utters breathless, unintelligible words.

He spreads his legs further apart. "Good boy," I whisper. I spit on the wood handle of fireplaces' iron poker. I let it slide between his legs. I search for the hidden spot, the puckered hole. John accommodates and slides one leg out at a 45-degree angle.

"Oh Jesus Christ, I'm cumming," Madonna yells through clenched teeth but the moment doesn't arrive.

I press the poker forward but it doesn't penetrate. I adjust and try again. Then I try a third time and I feel the passage give way and I see John's body momentarily tighten. Now he lets out a loud moan.

"Yeah, baby. You like to suck clit?" the frustrated cowgirl asks and thrusts down on his face. She thinks his excitement is due to her pussy and not the stick up his ass. "Yeah, I love it when you moan baby," she encourages.

Without any hesitation, I plunge the handle in five inches. He bucks against the surprise intrusion and he kicks out his legs. But it also elicits a series of grunts and groans from the sex slave. He releases a prolonged and guttural vibration.

"Oh - my - god," Madonna yells and her butt cheeks begin to quake. Then her thighs.

I get to work sliding and rotating the handle in his ass while he sucks and licks her pussy. His cock is bouncing and throbbing. He continues to moan.

She stiffens and then arches her back. Her head is facing the ceiling, looking for god, looking for the angel that brought her to this edge. I'm tempted to rotate her head 180 degrees ala the exorcist so that she can look at me and pay her respects to the one spirit that cares about her orgasm but I don't like to be that obvious. She pants three long wheezy breaths and then her lungs stop working and her eyes open wide.

I rotate the stick one way and he kicks out and his purple head expands. He moans loudly. I find the spot. I repeat the motion and I begin to tickle and massage that small area inside his intestines, inside his gut, that creates the most powerful of male orgasms. His leg starts twitching as if he is having a seizure.

Her entire body begins to shake and suddenly a low scream of animalistic frustration escapes her chest and echoes in the room. She jolts her body forward but still with her face on his mouth. He's being smothered by her body and drowned by her juices and impaled by a goddamn fireplace poker. He's shaking and rolling and I imagine loving every minute of the near death experience. I snap a picture on his phone with my free hand.

But I was too early. A moment later, and without any assistance from my hands or mouth, semen shoots out of his purple head. It rises eighteen inches in the air before falling on her back and on his rib cage. Another less powerful stream adds to the white juice matting his chest and stomach hair.

I take another picture.

She finally sits back on his chest and allows the Duke to breathe. Her cunt and thighs smear themselves on his cum and she looks back, surprised at the sensation. She sees me and we both laugh. She's exhausted but wiggles her ass on his cum soaked stomach to get as much of it on her as possible. She leans down to her cowboy.

"Such - a - sweet - man," she says between breaths and kisses him on the forehead. She also manages, "You did good."

Then she moves forward again and towers her now sloppy and sticky pussy a few inches over his glistening face. He looks up at her, adoring everything he sees; her deep blue eyes, and red lips; her perfectly shaped breasts and chiseled man abs; rubbery thighs that are slick and glisten in the blue shadows; and of course, her sex, dripping with both of their ejaculates.

"Now mein liebchen, clean me off," she requests sweetly and with her German accent.

He smiles.

"Ahh, but be gentle darling. Your turteltaub is still sensitive," she adds as a reminder.

I remove the poker from his ass and his body shivers. As I leave the room, he is quietly lapping at her thighs, ass and lips. She is stroking his face. In the doorway, I use his phone to post the last couple of pictures and leave the device on the floor.

I walk back to the ballroom and contemplate Halloween. I giggle with joy because I know exactly how we got here. 'IT' was too smart for 'IT's' own good. And when 'IT' is wrong, happiness burns in my soul.