Robert Vickers - Virgin in bondage

"Good," said Mr. Stanton. "You have done adequately so far. If you continue to please me, perhaps you can win some little favor in my eyes. Perhaps."

Sheryle looked at the black-robed man and wondered if that was even a possibility. He seemed so independent, so self-contained. He was the perfect rock, unshaken by anything going on in the world. She loved his strength while hating it at the same time.

If only he didn't treat her like shit.

"Go and dress. Your clothing awaits you. And remember – pleasure me and you will win favor."

He spun and quickly left the room. Sheryle stood, unsure off what to do. She looked down at Michael, still chained flat on the floor. His prick was limp and a tiny puddle of jism had formed directly under it. She wanted to try and release him but the thought came to her that this wouldn't be the right way to win favor with Mr. Stanton.

If he had wanted Michael turned loose, he would have done it himself.

"Goodbye, Michael. I… I'd better go and dress."

"Wait!" the youth called out. "You can't leave me like this!"

But she did. She was already through the door and heading for the luxurious bedroom where she had originally lost her cherry. She had come to think of it as "hers", although nothing in the house belonged to anyone except Mr. Stanton. He was lord and master and in complete control.

The young girl shivered at the thought of how complete his control actually was. She and Michael had tried to escape. It was as if he had been waiting for them. Perhaps they had given him a moment's enjoyment at their futile efforts. The huge dogs with the big teeth kept her from ever trying to escape again, at least until she thought of a way to bypass the animals. She knew what they could do.

Stanton would let the dogs loose, too. And he would probably get his rocks off watching the dogs rip her throat out.

She shivered even more and went to see what she should wear. There was never any question. Stanton provided all her clothing, but the choice was never left up to her. In the closet hung one simple dress. Nothing else.

This was what she would wear. She never bothered to reason out how the single garment appeared or disappeared. She only accepted it mutely. Stanton controlled everything in this mansion. Sheryle guessed that a lot of the mysterious events were handled automatically, maybe even governed by a computer.

Like the doors. They had slammed shut at precisely the right instant to keep her from leaving the house. And as she roamed, some doors would open and others would be locked, but not always the same ones. Usually the room held some erotic adventure that Stanton wanted to live out.

She slipped into the peasant dress, wondering if she should remove the candle from her ass. She decided against it. Stanton hadn't told her she could take it out. While it made her walk awkwardly, the pain a constant reminder of what she had been put through already, she kept her shoulders back and tried to walk in as dignified a manner as possible. Let the bastard think he wasn't getting to her! She walked down the stairs and into the dining room, the only possible path for her since the other doors along the way were locked.

Sheryle had thought she was immune to shock. She had survived so much at the hands of the evil man that another added bit of pain, another small whipping, one further degradation, wouldn't bother her at all.

What she saw in the room stunned her. The table was set for a full course meal, but the lampshades seemed to be made of human skin. She went to one and looked more carefully. She swallowed hard. The pink dots she thought were buttons were really a woman's nipples. Her tits had been skinned and made into lampshades. She had heard of such things being done during the war by the Nazis, but she had never thought it was possible.

Pleasing Mr. Stanton took on new dimensions now. Whether this was the real thing or not, she wanted to keep her skin both intact and on her bones. When he said he would strip the flesh from her body, he might have meant that literally. She didn't want to find out.

He entered the room and pulled her attention away from the evil lampshades. In spite of the things she had been thinking about the grim man, she found herself admiring him. So powerful in his black garb, he had a multicolored cape swirling around his shoulders. He might have been some king come to dinner. He looked so regal – and commanding.

"Seat me!" he ordered.

She hastened to hold the chair for him as he cast off the brilliantly colored robe and seated himself.

"Feed." And she did. One little morsel at a time, with her fingers. He seemed not to want her to use the gold plated knives, forks and spoons on the table. She put each morsel into his mouth with the tips of her fingers.

Once his hand grabbed her wrist and held the fingers to his mouth. Slowly, carefully, he sucked each and every one of her fingers, licking and stroking them with his tongue.

She felt her desire growing for this odd man, this commanding man who could twist her up inside and give her pleasure and pain in the same motion.

"Is the candle still where I placed it?" he asked suddenly.

Surprised, Sheryle could only nod her head, a cascade of red hair falling into her eyes. She had never thought he would ask such a question. But she was now glad that she hadn't removed it. If she had, she might be severely punished. A quick glance around the room convinced her that she didn't want to anger this man. Not now, not ever.

"Dance for me. Show me the candle while you do so."

Her eyes sparkled. This was more like it. He wanted a sexy, seductive dance from her. She would deliver. And maybe he would grant her just one more time on the end of his prick. How she needed that cock fucking her hungry cunt. The fucking with Michael had been more pain than it had been pleasure. But the fires of her lust had been built. Now was the time to allow them to spring forth and consume her entire body!

She danced away, spinning and whirling. She didn't know exactly how to please the man. About all the dancing she really knew was disco style. She didn't think he would be all that interested in that. Sheryle decided to fake it.

The teenager knew the penalty for failure.

Soft strains of musk seeped into the roam from unseen speakers. She found herself getting caught up in the music, dancing so that her movements were in time. Wiggling sinuously, she began stripping off the simple dress that Stanton had left for her.

She wiggled her shoulders so that they were both bare. Leaning forward, facing the man, she made sure her tits danced around more than the rest of her body. They jiggled like mounds of firm jello on a plate. Another quick motion caused the dress to slip down to her waist, but by this time, she had turned her back to the man. She had no idea how he was reacting, but she knew she was getting hotter all the time. The teenager didn't see how the man could be impassive in the face of her naked body.

Her hips twitching, she pulled the dress lower and lower. He hadn't given her any panties. Nothing but naked assflesh gleamed in the light. She bent forward, her ass aimed directly at the man. Protruding from her ass was the butt end of the candle he had rammed up there an hour earlier.

On impulse, she reached back and pulled it free with a tiny little plop. The relief she felt was almost enough to make her come. She hadn't realized how the lack of pain could be so sexually potent.

Turning back to face the man at the table, she spread her legs wide, her pussy gleaming like copper wire in the light. Slowly, teasingly, she brought the candle up and pressed it firmly into her cuntlips. She began to wiggle, shoving her hips down while the candle remained at the same height above the floor. She was fucking herself on the candle.