Anonymous: A Man With A Maid II

Evidently no one had ever talked like that to Marion before, for she regarded me with gaping mouth and dilated eyes, while the heaving of her magnificent bosom told me that she was far from being impervious to my gibes. Also, her struggles had rumpled her skirts and petticoats, so that I was able to catch a glimpse of a very well-turned pair of ankles and the most deliciously sleek calves in all the world, calves which could comparably be displayed side by side with those of her delicious sister Alice and not come off second best.

I contemplated her for a few moments, watching her fume and struggle and send murderous looks in my direction. Indeed, if looks had been able to kill, I should not have been able to accomplish my devious purpose with this very tasty and delectable victim. But instead, I nonchalantly strolled over to two of the pillars, and touching the button set in a panel in the wall, lowered a pair of rope-pulleys so that they would be at the proper height when I moved her under them. For I meant to fasten her by the wrists and hoist her and then leisurely proceed at my own discretion and inclination to her disrobing. And it would be even more prolonged and discomfiting to her lofty and indomitable nature than the manner in which I had proceeded with sweet Alice.

I nonchalantly lit a cigar and studied her. With her face colored with anger, her large eyes flashing furious thunderbolts which, alas for her, were powerless to deter my will, clutched by the insidious mechanical arms of this ingenious chair, Marion was really a mouthwatering morsel. I could hardly wait to get her undressed and naked, with her legs hugely straddled to bare the most intimate secrets of her anatomy and then to discover whether, for all her lofty airs and impertinent nastiness, she was really possessed of as ardent a temperament as I secretly divined she was. Because I felt certain that all these hostilities displayed in my direction originally stemmed from Marion’s own sexual frustration and the disappointment she must have incurred at her husband’s infidelity. She was simply trying to take out her own personal deprivations on others usually unfortunate to come in contact with her. But in me, I knew that she had more than met her match!

“Are you feeling more kindly disposed toward me now, and less intent upon doing me bodily harm?” I mockingly asked her as I approached the perfidious chair which clamped her so tightly. I drew in a long savory puff of my cigar, and then breathed it out through my nostrils, till the aromatic heavy smoke reached her and she began to splutter and to choke and cough: “Aaaaah-oh, you wretch, you beast, to treat me like this! I shall go for a constable directly I’m out of this miserable hovel! I shall charge you with assault and bodily harm, sir, and you’ll be taken to the Bow Street prison where you belong! Oh, you’ll pay for this dearly, sir, and my sister will never again make the tragic error of returning into your clutches!”

It took masterful self-control to stand there listening to her tirade while all the time my glittering eyes surveyed her squirming figure and conjecturing what it would be like once the thick outer and inner garments had been removed one by lingering one. I asked myself all sorts of exquisitely salacious questions, such as, would the hair around her cunt be as thick and luxurious and silky as dear Alice’s? How would her nipples react to a good tickling with the feather? Would the lips of her cunt moisten and twitch as quickly and as readily as Alice’s when the feather was brought to bear against them? What would she do when a man’s profaning finger invaded the sacrosanct portals of her body? True, her husband must have had conjugal relations with her, yet in this prudish age in which we lived, my supposition was that he had never attempted anything more than the cohesion between prick and cunt, so therefore Marion must still retain the two entrancing virginities, the dainty little shadowy groove between the cheeks of her voluptuous bottom-would she willingly or unwillingly confess her possession of these treasures?

These and a thousand other stirring queries leaped into my febrile mind at this moment while I enjoyed my cigar and listened to her cries and groans and protests and threats. The more she struggled to be sure, the more she expended her nervous energy and so would become easier prey when the time came to remove her from the chair and to transfer her under the pulleys so that she could be properly fettered, hoisted and stripped.

I had already laid out over an armchair at the other end of the room, a silk dressing gown and slippers. Once I had tied Marion, I should let her wait my pleasure while I calmly proceeded to make myself thoroughly comfortable and at my ease. The thought of having her at my mercy while my naked flesh was covered only by the delightfully soft, titillating silk robe was already an enormous delight to anticipate. Yes, I have often felt pity for the man who, while undoubtedly possessed of as much virility and passion as I myself contain, but lacks the ingenuity and inventive knowledge to draw out his pleasures, to taste every possible subtle nuance of mental and visual stimulus, which is the only sensible way to enjoy the pleasures of Cythera which our goddess Venus has vouchsafed to mankind apt and astute enough to profit from her generosity.

Finally, when I had almost finished my cigar, I asked her, “If I release you from the chair, will you apologize for striking me and for all these insults?”

Her bosom heaving, in a hoarse, shaking voice, she immediately responded, “Never! I would rather die than apologize to a scoundrel like you! Oh, you have not heard the last of this, sir! You coward, to take advantage of me and to trap me, to hold me here against my will, to bruise me with this diabolical chair which is crushing me abominably! I shall bring civil suit against you, once you have spent a suitable time in prison for your nefarious conduct this afternoon!”

I asked myself whether Marion used this high-flown verbiage when she had been in bed with her former husband. Decidedly if she had, I could see one reason the more why he had left her for another woman who talked less and acted more honestly. I even asked myself whether she had ever yielded herself to him completely naked, as Alice had learned to do with me. Or whether, yielding at all, she had achieved pleasure for herself and would be honest enough to admit it Well, all these questions and many more which would arise at the moment and by and from the moment, would be answered by the delicious Marion before she would be allowed to set foot outside the Snuggery. That was my resolve, and the pursuit of my resolve is what I shall now narrate.

I took a last look around the Snuggery, to remind myself once again of all its delightful propensities for subjugating a naughty, rebellious young woman like Marion. Not far from the pillars was an immense divan-couch upholstered in dark leather, standing on eight massive legs (four on each side), behind each of which lay, coiled for use, a strong leather strap which was worked by rollers hidden in the upholstery. Cushions were piled all over it to dissemble its actual role, that of a coercional whipping bench or couch of amorous surrender. Yes, everything was in place, and now the moment had come to transfer Marion from her immobilized pose in the armchair to a standing position from which I could leisurely proceed to caress and undress her to my heart’s content… a euphemistic expression if ever there was one, for actually it would be to my prick’s content!

I took a last puff of my cigar and crushed it out in a copper ashtray on a little tabouret next to the armchair in which the fuming beauty was incarcerated. She gave me a furious look of hatred, glancing at the cigar, which I had purposely not put out, so fumes of smoke still rose towards her.