Meet Your Destiny

After the last car has deposited the last guest, the tall security gates slide together with a soft mechanical whir. The champagne is chilled, the hors d'oeuvres neatly arranged on silver trays. I always hire a few college kids to serve. They seem to get a kick out of dressing in the skimpy little costumes, and it's an easy couple hundred bucks for a few hours work. The guests know they are hands-off. My girls will provide all the hands-on action they desire. It looks like the party's getting started. I must see to the comfort of my guests. Welcome to my home. I'm your host, Destiny. Of course that's not my real name, but then again, not much is real in this business.

In the living room I pause to straighten a crystal vase of fragrant blossoms and discreetly observe my guests. There's Don Aimes, the city councilman chatting with Jasmine over the chessboard. She is a sharp girl, and can easily beat him in a few minutes. But I know she will let him win, no matter the game they play. Over near the fireplace Chloe is charming a prominent local attorney and a doctor. I envy that girl sometimes. Her silky skin is the lovely color of rich coffee with just a dollop of Irish Cream, and the men can't resist those big hazel eyes framed by all that luxurious dark hair.

I pause for a few moments to exchange pleasantries with Lenny. I remember when he started out as a two-bit thief, boosting cases of cigarettes and running home-repair cons. A few years vacation courtesy of the state penal system taught him the error of his ways, and now he uses his snake-oil charm to sell real estate. But I see that a portion of his profit still goes straight up his nose. The poor man can't stand in one spot without at least rocking back onto his heels as he fidgets with the change in his pocket, his nervous glances constantly scanning the room. I'd bet my new diamond bracelet that he's waiting for Janie. Sure enough, his eyes light up as he spots her descending the wide staircase, her dress shimmering and clinging to her petite figure like liquid silver.

From the dining room I hear the tinkle of Savannah's infectious laughter. She's never been south of the Mason Dixon, but it amuses her to talk in that heavy southern accent. But she obviously knows what she's doing; the men always seem to flock around her. Marko is behind the bar, keeping a close eye on my girls as he serves up cocktails. He has a Masters Degree in something or other, but doesn't mind the extra money he picks up playing bartender/bouncer for me. And he looks great in nothing but those little shorts and a bow tie.

Out on the wide wrap-around porch, nestled in a shadowed corner, is my most surprising patron, the Honorable Reverend Michael Glassmoor. With his rosy cherub's cheeks and his baby-blue eyes, he looks like someone's grandfather. I'm sure no one in his congregation would ever guess the depravity of his carnal desire. I'll have to watch that one later, but for now Denise is safe enough with him. I follow the stone walk that meanders around the large, private yard, pausing to listen as faint rustling and a soft moan catch my attention. It's coming from near the small bench tucked behind one of the flower beds; let's go have a look.

Of course it's Gina, on her knees between Trevor Martin's, her head bobbing up and down in his lap. I find it strangely amusing that the man who owns a chain of quick-lubes likes nothing better than a good lube-job himself. Looks like he's about to blow. Yep, there he goes, his body stiffening as he grasps her short blonde hair, fitting his cock in her throat as she gulps his hot load. Another satisfied customer.

I stroll on to the rose garden, and find another pleasant surprise. Megan Philips, owner of the town's largest grocery chain is gazing thoughtfully at my water-nymph fountain, her eyes following the trickles of water down the gleaming alabaster breasts. I have extended several invitations to her, but until tonight had been politely refused. I wonder what changed her mind. Just as I am thinking of stepping from the shadows to speak with her, I suddenly understand. Monique has just returned from the house bearing two crystal flutes of champagne. I am constantly amazed at the way the little tart uses her high school French to make everyone believe she is a continental delight. Oh well, whatever works, I say.

I travel back through the dining room, the large kitchen with its cozy breakfast nook, and onto the back deck. Already the bubbling hot tub is drawing a small crowd. No wonder; Amy is peeling Erika's top down slowly, revealing her lovely full breasts before latching onto a rosy nipple with her hungry little mouth. Erika tosses her chestnut curls and moans softly as Amy works from one peak to the other, mesmerizing the onlookers. Just as things are starting to heat up, I feel a soft buzz in my pocket. It's the special beeper I carry, letting me know that someone has entered one of the three large bedrooms upstairs. It's a bit early yet, so let's go see who's feeling so frisky this early in the night.

I spent a small fortune remodeling the old rambling Victorian house, but it was worth every penny. From small, hidden passageways in the upstairs, I can observe any of the three rooms without intruding upon the business at hand. Always a good idea to keep a close eye on your investments, I say. I make a quick visual inspection of the downstairs on my way up, then slip unnoticed into the somewhat cramped space between two of the rooms. When I have silently removed the cover from the peep-hole, my gaze is immediately drawn to the large bed.

It's the attorney, Adam Donovan. Celia has bound his arms and legs to the brass bed frame, and is just straddling him to tie a silk scarf over his eyes. Next she'll get the big, fluffy feather out and tickle him until he begs and cums all over himself. He's harmless enough. Likes a little kinky stuff now and then, but not enough to venture below-stairs into my private dungeon. The beeper alerts me that the sensor in a second room has been triggered, so I carefully turn in the tight space and peek into the next room.

Damn, it's the good Reverend, leading Denise into the room with that comforting manner he uses on distressed parishioners. Now I'll either have to neglect the rest of my guests for a bit, or pull one of the other girls away to play watchdog. I think maybe I better stick close for a little while; Denise is not the pain-slut that some of the others are, but then I'm sure that's why he picked her. As they perch on the side of the bed, his big hand progresses up her arm in a gentle caress, until he works aside the thin strap from her shoulder. The silky material falls in fluid waves, revealing the smooth curve of her breast. He speaks in a low murmur until he's practically talked the dress down around her waist. Her dainty nipples pucker as his finger tips graze them slowly, back and forth until her back arches toward his touch.

"You naughty whore," he croons. "Tempting a man of God. I'm afraid you'll have to do penance now." He pulls her onto his lap, dragging the dress down her legs to expose her naked flesh to his lust-glazed eyes. His meaty grip locks onto her jaw, forcing her face around to smash her lips with his wet kiss until she squirms against him. "As a representative of the Holy Church, it's my duty to punish you for your sins, whore. Are you ready to receive your punishment?"

She squeals as he drags her up onto the bed, pulling her arms up to shackle her wrists to what appear to be innocent looking wall sconces. I know they are not. They are specially made restraints that will bear up to 200 pounds of weight, allowing the subject to be restrained in a squatting position against the wall above the bed. He brushes the strawberry-blonde hair away from her face, and then steps back to admire his handy-work.

Denise looks a little frightened, but he likes that, so it may just be part of the act. A drop of saliva glistens at the corner of his lips as his eyes devour her creamy skin. Her nipples are a beautiful rosy pink, stiff with either excitement, perfectly positioned on the pert breasts that rise and fall with each breath. His gaze never strays from her as he slowly removes his clothing, all the while telling her what a dirty whore she is, her soul condemned for eternity but for his saving grace. When he is naked, his flabby body glowing a sickly pallor, he steps into the bathroom to remove his teeth. I'm not sure whether he does it for his own comfort, or to gross-out the girls; probably a little of both.

Returning to the bedroom, he stands at the foot of the bed and glares up at Denise hanging helplessly. "Are you ready for your punishment whore?" His voice is taking on that nasally whine it gets when he begins to get excited, and his stubby cock is filling beneath his paunch. "Please Reverend," Denise begs, her voice quivering just the slightest bit.

"You will call me Father, whore," he growls at her, stalking around to the side of the bed where he can reach her. She whimpers as he reaches up to pinch her nipple and twist it between his thumb and finger. "You like that, don't you whore?" His meaty paw grips her breast in a vise-like grasp, leaving faint red marks when he moves to the other. "Please Father," she whimpers as he kneads her tender flesh.

"Please what, whore?"

"Please don't hurt me Father."

His low chuckle has a menacing quality as he replies. "How else is a dirty whore to repent, except through pain?" He stalks to the armoire and retrieves a leather flogger, pulling his fingers through the knotted strands as he returns to her. Denise's eyes widen in fear as he approaches. "Please Father," she entreats once more.

"Shut your filthy mouth, whore!" he orders as he strokes the leather across her breasts. His lips curl in a satisfied smile as he makes her cry out softly with the flogger, raising thin red welts on her breasts. His litany of filthy names grows as he continues to strike her. Dirty Bitch of Satan and Cum-Dump Slut seem to be his favorites, but he has an imaginative vocabulary full of many more.

It doesn't take long until his cock is bobbing beneath his gut, a drop of moisture glistening on its fat tip. "Repent whore!" he orders. "Repent!"

"I'm sorry Father," she sobs, but there are no tears, so I know that she is alright; so far anyway.

"Tell me your sins, whore. Confess all to me in Gods name."

I can only shake my head in disgust as Denise collects her thoughts for a moment, then begins to rattle off a list of 'sins'. "I'm a whore, Father," she snivels. "I let men use my body for their pleasure."

"Tell me child. Tell me all."

"I let them touch me, and fuck me."

"Details whore! The Devil is in the details!" I have to cover my mouth and choke back the laughter at that one.

"I let them put their cocks in me Father."

"Where slut? Where to you let them put their filthy cocks?"

"Wherever they want Father." He brings the flogger up between her thighs in an angry stroke.

"Tell me!"

"I let them put their cocks in my pussy Father." His hand gropes between her legs until he is twisting her cuntlips between his strong fingers, making her wince in pain.

"Like this slut? Do you let them touch you like this?

"Yes Father." He shoves his fat digits into her, twisting and probing deep until she squirms against the wall.

"Is this where you let them put their cocks? Up your stinking whore's cunt?

"Yes Father!"

"You like that, don't you whore? You like having your little twat crammed full, don't you?"

"Yes Father!"

"Where else? Where else do you let them put their cocks?"

"In my ass Father. I let them put their cocks in my ass." Denise cries out softly as he brutally forces his meaty finger through her sphincter.

"Like this bitch? Is this how you take it up your whore's ass?"

"Yes Father!" She is panting and writhing as he works his fingers deeper into her, then withdraws before jamming them in even harder.

"You are a dirty little whore. You like being fucked in both holes, don't you?"

"Yes Father!" His hand between her legs begins to work faster, harder as his other hand squeezes the flesh of her breasts until it oozes between his fingers. Eyes glazed with lust, the spittle that's been collecting at the corners of his lips sprays her breasts as he continues to rant breathlessly.

"Dirty whore! Bitch of Satan! We will have to work hard to drive the evil from you! It will take much pain to repent of your filthy whore's sins!"

He is pummeling so hard between her legs that her slim body is actually rising up from the bed with each powerful stroke.

"Your pussy is getting awfully wet whore. I don't think you're sorry for your sins at all. I think you enjoy defiling yourself with all those dirty cocks."

"Yes Father," Denise gasps. I don't think it would matter what he said to her at this point. It appears that she is about to have one powerful orgasm, and will say yes to anything to keep his hand moving. Her hips begin to buck as her head tosses back and forth, the little mewling sounds escaping her lips drawing him closer.

"Are you going to cum, whore?" he asks with mock indignation. "Are you going to cum on the hand that serves God?"

"Yes Father!" she manages to groan as wet sucking noises fill the room. He grunts with exertion as he plunges her flowing cunt, the slick cream glistening in wet trails down her thighs until she hangs limply in front of him, exhausted from the force of her orgasm. He pulls his hand away to examine it in the light; it is slick with her juices.

"Just look what you have done you filthy whore!" He holds his wet hand close to her face, grasping her hair to force her gaze upward. "Now clean it up whore!" he orders as he smears her lips with cream. She obediently opens her mouth to lick and suck his fingers.

"I bet you take their cocks there too, don't you whore?"

"Yes Father," she mumbles around the fingers pushing between her lips. A low growl rumbles from his chest, and he pushes his bulk up to stand on the bed, his engorged cock inches from her face. Denise is a smart girl. She knows what's coming, and has obviously caught on to his game.

"Please Father," she whimpers. "Please not that."

"Oh yes, my dirty little whore. It's my duty to show you what a disgusting cum-dump you are." She turns her face away, but he just grabs a handful of strawberry-blonde and forces his cock between her lips. In a few moments he's pounding her mouth so hard that her head is bouncing off the wall, and I fear will crack the expensive Venetian plaster. Oh well, the investment pays off in the end.

He is thankfully short of stamina, and soon she is gagging on thick globs of creamy goo. I wince as he collapses back onto the bed, making the frame groan under his falling weight. His white hair is disorderly, his grandfatherly face flushed crimson as he struggles to draw air through his slack mouth. This is always the scary part for me. What if the old guy has a heart attack? Good thing there's a doctor in the house; I stifle another giggle.

When the good Reverend finally recovers, he seems to suddenly remember Denise, who appears to be growing quite uncomfortable in her bonds. With gentle hands he releases her and lays her on the satin coverlet beside him, drawing her slight form against his bulk with a satisfied rumble. They'll rest for a while, and then go at it again. But I think it's safe to leave now. Denise seems to have him well in hand.

I return to the downstairs in time to watch Amy slurping Erika's juices as she hangs over the hot tub, while Dr. Dan masturbates in the shadows. Some lucky girl will get an extensive gyno exam later. Everyone is beginning to pair off nicely. More satisfied customers.

Back in the house, I am a bit shocked to find Megan Philips drilling Monique with a large strap-on, on my Italian leather sofa. Marko is watching with his usual wry grin as he mixes drinks for Chloe and Celia. I don't see Adam anywhere. He must have had his fun and ran home to the little wife. The beeper goes off again, this time showing the sensor on the basement door as activated.

I debated for a long time before I decided to have the large pit dug out beneath the old house. Another rather expensive investment, but it too seems to be paying off. Having their own private, sound-proof torture chamber is a real turn-on for some of these guys. Through the door at the top of the steps, I carefully descend the winding stone staircase to the second door. No sound escapes the heavy steel portal, but as soon as I crack the door I hear soft whimpers and the deep voice of Councilman Aimes. He has Jasmine shackled to the cold cement wall and is working a plug into her ass. Her long, silky black hair brushes his hand as she turns her dark, almond-shaped eyes to him.

"Master makes his slave feel much pain tonight?" she asked in her lilting Eastern accent. His reply is a stinging slap to her pert asscheek, making her gasp with pleasure. No need to watch these two. Jasmine is an even bigger bitch for pain than I am.

When I return to the upstairs, Megan and Monique have taken their action elsewhere. To the dining room, from the sound of things. I saunter over to Marko and he hands me my favorite cocktail, his dark eyes glowing from beneath thick brows. I can't resist a swift glance down at the obvious outline of his cock in the tight shorts. When my eyes return to his, he raises a brow in query. I let my glossy red nail blaze a slow trail down his muscled chest, across his luscious abs.

"Looks like the Mistress has been left on her own," he tells me in that soft, sexy voice of his. He steps around the bar and comes to stand near, but not touching me. I simply can't resist. I slowly let my body sway toward him until I feel the thick, hard heat pressed against my hip. He whispers something in Italian, I think, the moist heat of his breath grazing the back of my neck. I recall that at least one of the three rooms upstairs is still unoccupied. With a slow thrust of his pelvis, he makes the decision for me. The man is almost half my age, and randy as a bull.

I take his hand that has somehow wandered to my waist and is slowly creeping upward. "Are you prepared to meet your Destiny?" I ask in a near-whisper. His answer is to pull me toward the stairs and -- but that's another story.