Author Unknown - Glenda gets hers

Thus it was that one fine, clear September evening, Glenda was whisked out of New York City in a silver-gray limousine which sped into the countryside of Connecticut towards the Medieval castle the Baron von Brinkle had had constructed years before.

Glenda was highly excited about the evening. She had received a special, ornate invitation, embossed in flowery gold letters.

It read: Slave Girl Glenda Farrell Is Commanded To Appear At The Von Brinkle Castle On Monday, September 23rd. It was signed with the Baron's flourishing signature.

She was dressed sexily for the occasion. She wore a red tube top – a thin tube of satin which did little other than cup the full, rounded orbs of her knockers. She also wore a white pleated mini-skirt, and her midriff was bared.

Her long, luscious gams were encased in flesh colored stockings, and she wore white shoes with six inch heels. Her flame red mane of hair foamed over her bared, smooth shoulders, framing the delicate oval of her gorgeous face. In short, Glenda Farrell looked fabulous.

The von Brinkle castle loomed like the set from an MGM historical film. It was a gray structure, with a real draw-bridge leading beyond the ten foot walls.

Her chauffeur was a sinister looking individual, and it was he who escorted her to the door of the castle. He was a huge, Neanderthalic person with a beefy, rugged face and small fishy green eyes and a toothy leer.

The door to the castle creaked open and a bizarrely clad, spectacularly beautiful maid stepped aside, ushering Glenda inside. The maid wore an apron and a white maid's cap, net stockings and black high heels, and nothing else. She had huge, swaying knockers, and gold rings went through her fat, pierced nipples.

"Right this way, Miss Farrell," the maid said crisply presenting her naked fanny as she led the way down a long hall lit by flaming torches.

They passed an opened doorway, and Glenda peered inside briefly. A mulatto wench was hanging by her hands from the wall, her wrists clamped together with iron manacles. A burly muscle-bound stud wearing a leather mask was whipping the naked wench with a cat-of-nine-tails, leaving long red welts across her back and buttocks, and eliciting piercing cries from the black girl's full, grimacing lips.

The maid showed Glenda through a door, and before she shut it, said sweetly, "Please wait here, Miss Farrell. And please bathe in the pool while you wait."

Glenda raised her eyebrows in surprise, looking around the room in wonder as the door clicked shut behind her. It was a cavernous room with coarse brick walls. There was a splendid swimming pool in the center of the gigantic room. The pool was shaped like a cock and balls, and the floor of the pool was inlaid with lewd mosaics of women being tortured and raped by men.

"Quaint," Glenda muttered ironically as she disrobed.

There was a table with a goblet full of shimmering, ruby-hued liquid. Glenda picked it up and sipped the mysterious elixir. It tasted delightfully sweet, with a faint, slightly acrid aftertaste. She found herself greedily gulping it down.

And as she stepped into the luke warm waters of the shallow pool, Glenda felt a delicious, dizzying heat start to swim through her veins, making her vision glow and her head shimmer. What the heck was in that drink, anyway?

As she swam through the clear waters, Glenda felt the sensations intensifying. She felt as if she were floating, embryonically, in a cosmic sea of sensual experience.

Her nipples hardened. Her twat contracted. Carnal desire knotted in her loins, and she mewled softly, loving the erotic feel of warm water on her naked flesh.

Dreamily, she waded out of the pool. The huge domed room was lit by a half-ring of torches which adorned one granite wall, casting a rosy, flickering light that made everything look lurid and bright.

She turned to look at the other wall, and a tremulous surge of illicit excitement welled up within her. The wall was dark and ugly and corrugated. It was covered with heavy iron manacles and chains and bizarre wood and steel and rubber and leather contraptions which looked as if they served a sinister purpose.

The door crashed open and Glenda whirled around. A quite bizarre procession entered the room. At its head was none other than Baron von Brinkle himself. He was instantly recognizable, though he wore a black eye mask.

Baron von Brinkle was a huge individual. Six foot five, two hundred and eighty pounds of meaty muscle, in fact. His bullet-shaped head was bald as an egg. He had thick, bushy eyebrows and hot brown eyes.

A moustache and a full beard adorned his lower face, and his mouth was wide and sensual with glittering pearl white teeth. His thick, bull-like neck connected with a pair of incredibly broad shoulders.

His arms were long and powerful, with bulging biceps and ropy bands of quivering sinew. Lats stood away from his chest magnificently, giving his torso the shape of a threatening cobra.

His pecs were beefy hills, covered densely with black, wiry hairs. His furry stomach was washboard rippling, and his thighs were tremendous.

Now, Baron wore a long scarlet cape, fastened at the throat by a gold scarab. He wore thick leather boots which came up to his knees. A novel belt, five inches thick, made of hand-tooled leather, surrounded his narrow waist.

This belt had wide pockets, and various things were stuffed into each of these – sundry items, such as whips, dildos, and the like.

He wore black leather gloves, too. But besides this odd ensemble, the big, muscle-bound guy was naked as the day he was born.

His equine member swung massively over a positively huge set of low-hanging testicles. Yes, Baron Wilhelm von Brinkle was hung like the proverbial stallion!

The Baron was followed by three other persons. First was Ian, the hulking chauffeur. He was buck naked and outrageously well-endowed. His eyes were wild and he looked like a slavering beast without much intellect.

Then, there was the maid, whose name was Maude. Maude still wore that fun little apron and maid's cap and high heels, and her big pointy boobs stood out like torpedoes with red noses.

Finally, there was the enormous, muscle-bound brute with the black leather mask who had been beating the poor chained black woman ten minutes earlier.

Wilhelm clapped his hands thunderously, his eyes flashing majestically behind the slits of his black velvet mask. Immediately, Maude stepped forward, her sharp heels clicking on the cold stone floor.

She spoke in a loud, ringing voice, her almond-shaped blue-green eyes searing into Glenda like lasers. Glenda felt as if she were riveted to the spot hypnotically.

"You filthy, lowly wench, you have come here to see if you deserve to become part of the Baron's harem," Maude said. "Do you accept the challenge, or do you want to go creeping back into your hole like the cringing worm you are? Speak! And be respectful!"

"Yes, I accept the challenge," Glenda said, and her heart thrilled with wanton excitement.

Baron von Brinkle clapped his hands together again sharply, and his rich baritone boomed and echoed through the room.

"Prepare the slut for the ritual!" he roared, his eyes flashing.

Things seemed to grow cloudy and ethereal for Glenda. She was aware of a warm buzzing, of shimmering colors and shapes, of rough hands touching her, pulling her, moving her. And she felt like an innocent babe, her destiny wholly controlled by others, floating in that innocence with sensual grace.

When the clouds lifted, she was crouching on a cold stone bench. Her body leaned forward, and her head passed through a hole in a pair of boards which were clamped and locked together. It was an old-fashioned stocks, and it thoroughly incapacitated the buxom red-head.

Glenda's arms were twisted behind her back. Tight ropes were twisted and tied around her wrists and hands so she could hardly move them at all.