Morton's Island Ch. 02

A further retreat to the jungle's fringe. Return, carrying in one hand a whip, which the Mistress allowed casually to fall to the sand. In her other hand, she carried two pieces of bamboo strapped together to form a 'T'. This she pushed gently into the small of her Slave's back, so this arched forward and her legs strained against the ankle restraints. Her ribs showed prominently through white skin, to which the moonlight added its sheen.

Her Mistress circled the Slave, adjusted rope and 'T', then circled again, repeating until she was satisfied.

For a moment, the Slave's dark eyes and the man's joined. Two creatures tortured to the limit, both knowing. Cock and cunt, apart, but soon to be joined in excruciating pain.

The Mistress nodded now at the Doms and retrieved her whip. Unlike the first, this had a thick tail, perhaps a quarter of an inch, square in shape, and tapering off to a point.

"Present!"

The Slave's body tensed against its restraints, waiting as the whip swished through thin air before descending with force on the cleft between her cunt lips, driving them apart. Her frail form jolted with the force of the blow, but the restraints left her helpless, delivered to the mercy of the whip. A second blow landed, and a third, each precisely aimed, driving cunt lips apart and thrashing them against the cleft of the Slave's groin. She cried out with each blow, but mercy there was none. The lash cut into cunt lips that had already begun to swell and redden.

Meanwhile, the man's cock, still magnificently erect, was not spared. One Dom held her lash beneath the shaft, the other swung her lash so its tail landed on upperside of his cock. The studs of one lash struck from above, those of the other pressed upwards from beneath. The man gritted his teeth and fought for breath as the cock torture proceeded, growing in intensity as the thrashing of the Slave's cunt became harsher.

With unerring precision, the tail of the whip worked its way from the edge of one cunt lip towards the center, one blow at a time. Then it moved across and repeated the torture on the second lip, from one to the other, then back again.

The pattern was broken occasionally with a blow which landed centrally, the pointed end of the tail circling so it entered the Slave's wide open vagina. Then one further up, tip end landing directly on clit hood. The Slave screamed, her head shook back and forth, but there was no escape. She was utterly at the mercy of the whip. Blows fell, one after the other, in steady succession, puffing out the Slave's cunt lips, until they glowed like magnolias in the bright sun.

The man's cock was now just flame, nurtured with each blow of the lash. It was becoming truly beyond endurance.

A brief respite.

The Mistress rounded her Slave, leaving her gasping for breath, and joined the Doms at the table. Hot peppers ground into cock, but also tortured cunt lips, eliciting a string of screams that broke into gasps for air only when the lash began again to descend.

The Dom's had switched, one lash now held firmly on the upperside of his penis while the other swished harshly through the air before landing on its underside. His cock on fire, the man struggled to maintain composure, grunting through clenched teeth, as the Slave's screams grew louder, then became more muted. Gradually, her body began to sink in its restraints. The pattern of blows had changed now. Every third 'THWACK' landed on a clit hood, out of which protruded now a large pink clit tip. Once exposed, this immediately received the benefit of the whip's tip.

Though the sun was gone, it was still warm. The bodies of the Doms and Mistress were bathed in sweat. They shone in the pale light of the moon that came up and leant the scene on the tropical beach an aura of the surreal.

Though her eyes never left its target and there was no cessation in the steady sequence of blows that rained down on her Slave's cunt, her Mistress listened carefully. Like all her Slaves, this one had her safe word, which she never had yet used. She would not on this occasion either. The art of 'preparation' was to stop just in time. Not a moment too late, nor too soon.

The man had no safe word. He'd refused. As long as his cock was stiff, it was fair game. The Doms knew this man and that it would be a long, long time before his penis gave out on him, and they had never yet broken his will to withstand the pain.

Suddenly, the sound of the lashes ceased. The Slave's body hung as slack as the restraints allowed. Her Mistress looked up. It was enough. She nodded to the Dom's, who likewise ceased thrashing the man's cock. Fresh peppers were ground into cock and cunt lips, eliciting grunts and screams that the sheer exhaustion of endurance muted. The Mistress removed the 'T' and released the rope restraints. The Slave's body fell to the sand, on its back, in the form of a star. It appeared for a moment as though she were comatose, or dead! It was imaginable. That much punishment would surely kill any girl who was not trained.

The man now moved forward on unsteady legs and knelt between spread thighs. The Slave's eyes opened and looked up at him directly as he took his weight on his arms and eased his ravaged cock into the balm of her dripping cunt, right to the hilt. His butt began to move up and down, driving his cock from tip to stem in and out of her liquid cunt.

The Slave cried out, in pain certainly, but her eyes held his firmly. Pain turned rapidly into pleasure, oh such exquisite pleasure that has no equal --- though only those few brave enough to explore their limits know it.

After ten thrusts her body began to shake, her thighs to quiver. She cried out, in agony and ecstasy, grasping with frail arms at the man's upper body, digging her nails into his skin. The man did not stop. Maintaining a steady pace, never altering the force with which his groin drove down on cunt lips and clit ravaged by the sting of the whip. Twenty more thrusts and the slave's second orgasm built up, and broke, with more force even than the first. Her nails clawed the man's back, heels came up and beat on his rump.

Still the man did not stop. This decision was not his, nor was it the Slave's. Her Mistress, alone, would decide when her Slave was slated; when her body was too weak to withstand further orgasm.

It would take a while. A Slave likes to come. And these Slaves were the best. They came in spades, and came again until the flesh defeated the spirit and their frail bodies could respond no more......

Eventually, the Mistress called a halt. The man withdrew and watched as the Slave's spent body was dragged aside, to lie face up in the shape of a star, prone. She may have seemed dead were it not for here her eyes, which opened briefly, and flashed the man a gleam of thanks.

So far so good, Morton thought to himself. One down, three to go.

Chapter 6

Nothing but the best. This had been Morton's motto throughout. Madam Sharapova was stubborn; non-cooperation personified, and in the end Morton had bowed to the inevitable and made the long journey from his Island to Budapest.

They met in the foyer of the International Hotel. As usual, Madam was stiff-lipped, in keeping with the severe high-necked dress. Of course, she failed to recognize in the bronzed flaxen-haired figure who greeted her the pale-faced excuse for a man who that day, long ago, she had greeted as an honored Guest at Club Venus.

"What do you want?" she said. "I'm here only because the Count insisted. He has a certain position at the Club, as you know. I cannot refuse a direct request. Nevertheless, he has committed a grave indiscretion. Persons have been ...."

She caught herself in time. One more word would have been enough.

"Madam Sharapova," Morton began, patiently. "Please believe two things. I know a great deal. A very great deal. What happens to gentlemen who displease the Elders at Club Venus, for example, is very well known to me. But that will not happen to Count Esterhazy. You can trust me on that."

"Why should I trust you, an Anglo-Saxon peasant!" Madam spat out.

"Now if I were that, Madam Sharapova, you would not be here. Think about it. You can indeed trust me on that, as on all things."

Madam Sharapova's mouth crinkled in disapproval. But she said nothing.

"Please believe also in my absolute discretion," Morton continued, maintaining a neutral tone. "I wish no-one harm. I have merely a few trifling requests."

There was a brief pause. Madam Sharapova wilted slightly under Morton's steady gaze. Clearly, this man had something on the Count. And if so, then on who else?

"What requests?" she said, eventually.

Morton enlightened her.

"That's ridiculous," she said, categorically. "What makes you think I could possibly comply with such outrageous demands?"

Morton sighed. Everything, he had to drag out of her.

"Madam," he said, patiently. "You make this more difficult than it need be.

It would be futile to deny that Club Venus caters to many tastes. For example, S&M night, and, in particular, Ladies Night. You know, when young bucks are shipped in under blindfold to be penis whipped, with those who survive auctioned off to the highest bidder. And you yourself, Madam....."

"Stop!"

Morton did. It was enough.

"Of course, Madam Sharapova," Morton continued, in a different tone. "Compensation, considerable compensation would naturally be provided."

He mentioned a sum.

"A down-payment only, of course. If everything proceeds smoothly, a regular stipend will naturally be appropriate."

Madam Sharapova's demeanor changed suddenly. Amazing, isn't it, how these things happen. Slaves were no problem, she thought, but she was extremely reluctant to lose Olga and Nadja. Dominas expert in penis whipping did not exactly grow on trees, not even in Budapest. But, well. No-one was irreplaceable.

And as for the ladies themselves, when informed of the stipend and that the requirement was to train and maintain a single man on a tropical island, there was no holding them back. They were the first to arrive.

Morton greeted them gladly, explaining immediately his rule. Olga shrugged, Nadja shrugged. Their clothes fell off them and were secreted away in their hut, there to remain until they left the island.

"And I hope that will be a very long time," Morton had said, enthusiastically.

Olga looked at Nadja, and Nadja at Olga. They made eyes. At this stipend, would they wish it otherwise?

When apprised of their duties, Olga said immediately, in heavily accented English,

"Is not possible."

"We'll find out, shall we," Morton said, blandly. "It's my goal, and I usually attain whatever goals I set. But I do agree, we need to get there in stages. Now how about four hours or so for the first week?"

Olga looked at Nadja, Nadja at Olga. They made eyes that said, in whatever tongue; 'This guy is nuts, but.....' There was that stipend!

By week's end, though, they learned that Morton was 'different'. His penis stood for four hours, and there was still enough life in it to fuck each of them to very acceptable orgasm. Nadja and Olga were basically lesbian, and they enjoyed each other copiously. But who would turn down a decent fuck from time to time, especially from this extraordinary man, whose cock survived their best efforts to pound it into submission.

"I did do a little preliminary training," Morton admitted to them, not mentioning that this was at the hands of cook, and that her hands were more expert and the implements she employed more varied at administering punishment to a stiff penis than the best efforts of Olga and Nadja. In spite of cook's skepticism, Morton passed the test required of a Cavalier before Olga and Nadja arrived on the island. The scales were tilted to their disadvantage, as it were.

Two weeks later, the first batch slaves arrived with their Mistresses and one other arrival, the most elusive of all, accompanied them. The new 'routine' began.............

Slave four lay still, her body in the form of a star, joining the three already there. Four white bodies stretched on the sand; eight dark brown nipples, still erect, eight translucent thighs, spread wide, eight massively engorged cunt lips, glistening. Morton stood before them, looking down appreciatively. A truly arousing sight.

Dawn was nigh. The session's finale began.

Morton stood before the prone Slaves, his eyes roving to and fro along the line, and steeled himself. Olga and Nadja, approached, one from each side, in their hands the remainder of the bowls of ground peppers, which they massaged mercilessly into Morton's ravaged cock.

That both ladies were highly aroused was more than evident. They heartily wished this finale to their night's work would end differently. How nice, fitting, it would have been to grab this extraordinary man, throw him onto the sand on his back, and, one after the other, fuck his brains out, coming wildly, again and again, until, finally, he submitted. But it was not to be. This, the final 'training' of the night was in preparation for someone entirely different. They sighed, and took out their frustration otherwise. The steady

'Thwack, thwack, thwack...'

of lash on cock punctuated the dawn chorus. If they couldn't fuck Morton to submission, maybe the lash would do it for them. But it never had. Buoyed by the sight of the Slaves prone on the sand, Morton's cock maintained erection, even through this, the most brutal training of the night.

The sun began to peek out over the horizon.

A halt was called. Their Mistresses re-appeared from the jungle fringe and dragged the Slaves to their feet. They stumbled away and disappeared into the jungle. On a part of the beach that was shaded from the morning sun, they splashed thankfully into the shallows, let their bodies fall into the refreshing wavelets. Their Mistresses, arms folded, looked on, watching carefully. Gradually, life emerged. One after the other, the Slaves rose, swam out further, began to splash each other. Girls in play. They had survived yet another night of pain and ecstasy.

The shadow crept along the beach. A barked command sent the Slaves scampering back through the waves along the path that led to their hut, set well back in the jungle, where no rays from the sun could mar the pure white of their skin. They would sleep for a while, probably, if they were not masturbating or playing with each other.

The Mistresses sauntered off to a more distant beach on the other side of the island. Out of sight of the Slaves, their behavior changed. They, too, would splash each other playfully in the shallows, swim out side by side. Cries of pleasure, squeals as one dove down and goosed the other, or appeared suddenly alongside and ducked the other's head beneath the surface. They were young women, too, and free from the confines of their 'Mistress' roles, they tormented, teased, excited each other, prior to a return to the beach to begin the serious business of the morning --- eating each other sequentially to orgasm. They were alone, so no-one was to know how often, or how loudly they came.

Olga and Nadja, likewise, enjoyed a refreshing swim, albeit brief. They were too aroused to dally for longer than it took to wash away the sweat and the sand from their bodies and quickly turned to the next order of business --- feasting on each other's luscious cunts. When the rays of the sun burned into them too powerfully, another quick swim to cool off, then back to their hut in the jungle, where their enjoyment of each other would continue until mutual exhaustion set in.

Morton watched them run along the beach, their breasts bobbing, their lithe limbs, muscles rippling, receding into the distance. Alone, he stood for a moment, his penis on fire, his skin warming under the suns rays. He waded into the shallows, immersed himself, freeing his body of sand. When he emerged, the fire in his penis burned stronger than ever as the salt water added its sting to a wounded shaft. But his penis remained erect. It needed to be. The best was yet to come.

As Morton's shadow appeared in the doorway of their hut, she ceased stroking a cunt drooling in anticipation. Morton had once asserted that the cunt his eye now fixed on was 'almost as good' as Jane's. He'd changed his mind about this. Perhaps he'd forgotten. No matter. This new cunt had evolved in his mind into the most gorgeous he had ever set eyes, lips, tongue and teeth on, or had ever enveloped his aching cock.

She smiled up at him, a wicked look in her eye. Morton flopped down on the bed beside her.

"Hard night?" she said, the double meaning quite deliberate. Morton's cock throbbed against his stomach, rigid still.

"Oh please," he said, urging her on.

She teased him viciously, smiling down wickedly as she straddled him, rubbing the tip of his cock along her slit, forwards and backwards, evading his feeble efforts to thrust up into her. She knew his cock was on fire. It could stay that way while she had some fun. Teasing was such an aphrodisiac.

Eventually, overcome by her own desire she allowed her body to sink, her vagina to open and close over Morton's tortured cock. She began to rock gently, backwards and forwards.......

Of all the girls, Elektra had been the most reluctant to join Morton on his island. This was a direct result of Madam Sharapova disobeying Morton's explicit instruction and telling her the identity of the guy she was, in Madam Sharapova's words, 'assigned to service', reminding her about their initial ignominious encounter in the Scheherazade Suite at Club Venus.

"What? That guy?", Elektra had said. "You must be out of your mind!"

There was, however, the stipend. She'd never need to work again.

Now, Elektra recalled those words. 'Service, indeed!' Hell, she'd stay even if he paid her not a dime. Every possible creature comfort, every day the sun, a cuisine to die for, and a full day's exquisite sex with this weird man, all day, every day, who had transformed himself from goat to the most expert sex partner she'd ever known. By light years!

While she was expert at pleasuring men at Club Venus and therefore very good at simulating enjoyment of the process, Elektra had always enjoyed good sex. She had much experience. But sex like this? Nothing came close. This was as good as it could conceivably get.

She liked to be in control, and nothing pleased Morton more than looking up from the prone position at a torso without peer, flat stomach, wide shoulders, long neck and perfectly formed breasts, which bobbled as her cunt slid back and forth over his groin, and occasionally up and down. Elektra also liked it when Morton, reading her thoughts perfectly, grabbed her and turned her on her back. She squealed out her delight as he fucked her through orgasm after orgasm until it was loudly mutual and they collapsed together on the bed of palm leaves, exhausted.

And when she came to after an orgasm of cataclysmic intensity, his head was invariably between her legs, tongue flicking her cunt lips, her clit hood, then her clit. She would come again, and often again before it was her turn to practice her art and raise his cock in stages with lips, tongue and teeth until the state of grace was again attained.......

By evening, Elektra's vagina vibrated constantly, her entire body was suffused with a sense of well-being she had never before imagined was possible. Cloud nine didn't even begin to describe the feeling.

And as she drifted into sleep, satiated, she knew it was not a dream. Tomorrow would be just as good, and the day after, and the day after that....

Chapter 7

It was, perhaps, a full year after she left Morton's Island when Jane received the call.

"Morton!?"

"Indeed," Morton replied.

Taken aback, Jane thought hard. Of course, when she left the island she'd never wanted to see or hear from him again. Her initial instinct to slam down the receiver, though, was resisted. Curiosity won.