The Fall of the House of Usher, page 17
The sun must have set because the door opens. The room is nearly dark. The candles that were burning when Gretta brought me in here have burned down, but I am used to darkness.
I do not attempt to look around, for that would place me in a false position.
“Charlotte, you are a disobedient girl.” It is Mistress, her sultry voice, so seductive. “Have you learned nothing?”
“I returned for my clothes,” I say, “for I’ve finished my lessons.”
“Have you now?”
“Indeed. You may free me from my shackles and I shall be on my way, if it please you.”
“Do tell, what have you learned?” Master says this. His tone is cruel, mocking. It is like a switch that cuts to the heart. Even as he speaks, I recall his phallus piercing me ruthlessly, forcing me to admit him for as long as he choose, and my cunny contracts violently at the delicious memory.
Both he and Mistress are domineering in a manner that I enjoy, and yet there is something less than human about them, or perhaps more than human. Whatever, their appeal pales compared to the temptation of Jeremy. For I know that with him it is not so much a question of a few weeks of bondage and discipline, but I suspect the lessons could build forever. The Ushers deliver quantity. Jeremy, I feel certain, would offer quality as well.
“I have learned what this house has to offer,” I admit freely, for I have decided to base my deception on truth. “I have learned that my tongue needs curbing and that my behind is the fastest route to that end.”
I hear a snort, which I know is from Mistress. “Is that so? Well, your tongue sounds honed to me. Pray tell, what else have you learned?”
“That in pleasuring you, I pleasure myself. That I am a vessel that can be filled forever.”
“If this is so, why do I hear such a false tone!” Master demands. “I’ve had enough of lies and deceit!”
I hear the closet door open and know he is choosing an implement with which to mark my hide. I am both eager for this chastisement and terrified, for he is a strong man, and I will surely suffer greatly.
I’ve not long to wait. A heavy strop, like the type used for sharpening a razor, lands full force across my vulnerable ass. The blows come fast and furious, as with all of Master’s whippings. I twist and turn, unable to escape them. Standing erect, ankles joined, leaves my buttocks in a compromised position, for the flesh there is loose and more receptive than when stretched taut.
My cries fill the room and tears gush from my eyes. The strop is unstoppable, as I knew it would be. I suffer a broad- based welting, not sharp but a rough burn, and desperately I wonder if the leather is rawhide, for I must distract myself from the blisters that I feel forming under such heat.
Master straps me fiercely until I am wilted like a flower, the juices sapped from me, my strength ebbing. My behind must glow, although no one could see it in this darkened room. I have been so wretched that I have rubbed my nipples raw against the wall.
My shrieks surely can be heard throughout the house. Into the cellar. Down to the dungeon. Where Jeremy is.
“Enough!” Mistress says sharply.
“Not nearly so,” Master answers. The strop lands on the same spot, again and again, until I feel I will surely lose my mind. The flesh there must have peeled away by now, for there can be nothing left but exposed raw muscle.
Finally Mistress says again, “Enough! I wish to interrogate her further, for this is an unusual occurrence.”
Master halts his labors and through my screams I hear him turn on her. “Unusual, undoubtedly, for you are to blame! I have warned you about the sickness, and now, see what your weakness has created?”
The strap wallops me several more time but I am beyond hope that it will cease. But cease it finally does.
I am left with a blazing behind, the muscles of which twitch and spasm uncontrollably. I wonder if steam is coming from me because the flesh has been cooked so thoroughly.
Suddenly my hair is pulled and my head snapped back sharply. I gurgle because of all the tears and crying. “Shut up!” Mistress demands. I struggle to control myself.
Her breath is hot in my ear, and sends an erotic shudder through me as her voice seems to filter through my brain. “You are far from ready to graduate, Charlotte. Phase two of your training has only just begun.”
She releases my hair and I sob against the wall. My behind garners all my attention. My poor cunny is desperate but there is no hope of a meal for her that I can see, nothing to dull the pain.
“Now!” Mistress continues. “Why did you go with Jeremy?”
This was a question I did not expect. “He released me and forced me to escape with him,” I choke out. A half truth, as I went of my own volition.
“Liar!” Master shouts, and snaps the strop against my behind hard.
“I cannot lie to you!” I scream, a lie in itself. “He made me go with him. And he fucked me in the corridor with his awful prick, and sucked on my titties, and had just entered my behind... Oh! It was dreadful! How I detest him! I beg you, Master, spare me! Give me the strap that I might be cleansed!”
Had my ankles been free, I would have stamped a foot. Asking for more is dangerous, but I have played my hand properly.
“And what’s wrong with having your behind fucked?” Master demands. “Have I not primed you?”
I cannot answer, for I do not know what he means exactly. Soon enough I do, though, as his large phallus plugs my anus then becomes a stopper in my rectum. With my legs together, the fit is tight indeed, and his heavy thrusts would lift me off the floor if I were not restrained.
Now I recognize what he was getting at. “You have primed me well, sir. It is just Jeremy. He is lacking. Not masterful in the manner you are, with your mighty cock that is my pleasure stick.”
My late reply affects nothing. Master’s hairy stomach sands my raw bottom, and the combined stimulation brings me to orgasm in no time. Master, though, is not finished. He fucks me until I am as raw within as without, but withdraws his cock before ejaculation, as though I am undeserving of his seed.
Then I hear something strange behind me. Someone—Who?—is being strapped. Could it be Mistress’ voice? Her cries that are echoing around this dark room? I cannot believe my ears. Would that I could see something, anything, but there is no light here. I can imagine, though.
Master, tall, in shadow as always, applying wide leather to Mistress’ waiting hide in a vigorous manner. From the sound of her voice, she is on hands and knees, her head near the floor, her heinie no doubt poised high in the air for this polishing. I imagine those perfect cheeks tremble.
He gives her as much as he gave me, perhaps more, and then a startling thing occurs—a sound that can only mean he has entered her!
I can hardly imagine them fucking. I am shocked, amazed, astonished, generally speechless. Mistress is crying “Roderick!” and from his grunts and her screams, I deduce that they have both come together. At the last moment I hear him shout gruffly,
“Madeline!”
When they finish they lie together on the floor. I hear whispering and touching. They are like lovers, kissing one another, giggling. Could they really be brother and sister, I wonder? How shameful if they are! And yet, I have seen their faces, at least in part. They are identical twins, two sides of a coin, the male and female half.
More than ever I feel let down by them and long for the intricacies of a real relationship and not the silly antics of an incestuous pair, no matter how much I enjoy submitting to them.
Finally, when they are finished their affections, I hear each stand. Suddenly there are whispers, one at each ear. The questions come rapid-fire, too quickly for me to fabricate as well as I would like.
“What is it like fucking Jeremy?” Mistress asks.
“Boring,” I say.
“And when his cock fills your cunt, is that boring too?” Master demands, slapping the strop against his thigh, sending quivers of terror and anticipation down my spine.
“Compared to your cock, yes sir, it is.”
“And when you suck him into your mouth?” Mistress breaths.
“I feel it is a small creature, mo more than a worm, not worth bothering with.”
“And in your ass?” Master says.
“I can hardly feel him.”
“Then why did you follow him?”
“I did not, sir. He forced me. I was in a weakened position.”
“Why did you return?”
“For my clothes.”
“Is that all?”
I pause. “For a strapping.”
“And are you satisfied you have been strapped sufficiently?” Mistress challenges, that cynical tone to her voice. This is, I know, a trick question, and I must think carefully but quickly.
“I am satisfied when you are, Mistress Usher, and when you are, Master Usher, and not until.”
“And am I satisfied?”
“You will let me know when you are, Mistress, for my behind belongs to you to do with as you will.”
“Your behind only?”
“My entire body and every orifice I possess.”
“And does that mild whipping satisfy me?” Master demands.
I know that whatever I answer, I am doomed to more pain. “I offer my behind for your pleasure, sir. Whip me or not, as you choose, fuck me or not, let me take you in my mouth or not, and you, Mistress, it is the same. I shall serve you both as you see fit individually and together for as long as you choose.”
“Give me the strop,” Mistress says. She takes it to my behind. I flail and scream and the whipping on top of a whipping is severe and hard to bear. I am left panting, my head bobbing back. Were I not chained by the wrists, I would surely have fallen by now.
I am convinced I have no skin on my derriere, but such agony exists that I am all consumed by that area. And when they unchain me and force me to my hands and knees, I go willingly, eagerly, for to bend my bottom may not relieve the pain but it is a minor distraction.
A collar is affixed to my neck. A chain attached to that. I am led out the door sobbing, down the stairs, heeling at Mistress’ command, close to her leg, smelling her thick, dark scent that so stimulate my cunny.
We reach the main floor and I move painfully as I am led through the door that goes down to the dungeon. The door and corridor I was dragged through before I now walk along of my own volition.
The pain turns me into a mutt, one that can do nothing whimper and obey the slightest command, for to displease its Mistress and Master is unthinkable. And when I hear the latches release and smell the copper, I only dimly realize that I have achieved my goal and am now in the room with Jeremy, for I hear him moaning.
Chapter Twenty
I do not know if what I am hearing is occurring or not.
Perhaps this is a dream, all of it, for it now holds the quality of a hazy, larger than life landscape, filled with impenetrable fog which distorts sight and sound alike.
The thing that engulfed me through the day has left me discombobulated. I feel I have altered in some dramatic way, but do not as yet know how. I cannot say that the experience was entirely enjoyable, but it was not unpleasant either. I seem to have entered another realm entirely, one that has left me throbbing and exhausted. One brought about by that wicked flesh that possessed me completely.
The total darkness is suddenly altered. A candle is lit. One, small, simple taper, set before me on the floor. This is like sunlight to me, blinding me, and I squint against the harsh glare. I see the shiny walls dimly. This room is, indeed, copper. Ahead of me is the stock that Charlotte was affixed to. The floor is three feet below me. My limbs are numb and I lift my head to see my arms stretched, the muscles taut and straining, veins prominent. How long I have been in this position, I do not know. Too long, no doubt.
Mistress says in her sarcastic voice, “Tell Jeremy what you think of his ‘skills’.”
Someone stumbles in front of me as though shoved, and at once I recognize the small form and the delicious scent as belonging to Charlotte. In the faint candlelight, her slim waist, round hips, the red triangle of glistening hair—I smell her intoxicating scent and am at once aroused—lift my spirits. Her full breasts tremble, and the nipples look delicious, like juicy berries which my parched mouth desires to taste.
“Tell him!” Master screams.
Charlotte trembles still more. Her eyes are frightened. She glances to one darkened corner, then to the one opposite it. From their voices, I know this is where Master and Mistress Usher are concealed.
“Jeremy,” Charlotte begins, “I...I have found you wanting.”
“What’s this...?” I begin. My throat is raw and my voice barely audible.
“Go on!” Master insists. The loud snap of leather sends a chill through me, and I see Charlotte tremble.
“I...I did not find your fucking fulfilling.”
Well, she could have fooled me! Wasn’t it her cunt that heated to roasting temperature and contracted so sharply around my cock? Despite my utter exhaustion, my blood begins to boil, for I know this is a lie. I’ve an urge to straighten her story out and fantasize about giving her the hiding of her life.
“Your cock is too short. Not manly enough. And your manner too soft by far.”
Her voice trembles. Why is she lying? To what end? Surely they could not have whipped her into falsification! Despite all else about them, Master and Mistress strive for truth.
“You’ve no sense of timing, nor of proper penetration. Your cock won’t respond to my lips, and when you spiked my bottom hole I felt nothing. It was as if a quill tip had been inserted there.”
She goes on and on vindictively, and I listen, my temper subsiding as I realize this is a theatrical presentation being staged for a purpose of which I am still ignorant. I decide to play along, be the wounded lover. I attempt to affect a certain sadness of deportment, a deflation of will, a limpness of limb. My cock, though, will not fall into line for this performance. From the first sight of her he has stood at attention and has yet to be persuaded to move to an at-ease position.
Finally, when the litany of my inadequacies grows monotonous, Master shouts, “Enough! Onto your hands and knees!” Charlotte drops at once.
“Turn,” Mistress says in her callous voice, “or hadn’t it occurred to you to offer your ass to Jeremy’s cock?”
A look of delight begins to shoot across Charlotte’s face and she immediately drops her head. Slowly, very slowly, she turns around. Not fast enough, however, for Master races from the corner. With his back to me, he swings his powerful arm and the strop he is holding and smacks her soundly six or seven times on an ass already dark, even in this dim light. Wind from the strap brushing my cheek. Finally Charlotte is in position and whimpering.
“Back up!” he commands, and she edges back.
Mistress, meanwhile, is lowering my chains. Soon I am on hands and knees myself, and the reconnection to the ground is most welcome.
I flex my arms and legs, but the muscles are dead for the moment. I know, though, that they will revive to aching soon enough.
“Your preference?” Master asks. I do not know to whom he is speaking, but I do not believe it is me.
Mistress says, “Her cunt, of course. Make him burrow in deep, for it will be interesting to watch them rutting.”
Master is now behind me and uses the strop on my bottom. The heavy wide leather smacking my ass inspires me to mount Charlotte from behind. Her cunny is wet and slippery and contracts the moment I am inside. She is amazing, for none of that shows through her breath or movements. In fact, she cries, “Oh, no! Not Jeremy!” as though she detests this.
Once I am in her, I am ordered by Master to “Begin fucking, if you know what’s good for you.”
This is not a command I need to hear twice. I love the feel of her cunt. Apparently the onus is not on me to pretend, only on Charlotte, and I go at her with much enthusiasm.
Her slippery nest makes a nice home for my cock. He rubs her zestfully, stroking in and out. In short order I feel a cock at my anus, still raw from the previous evening. Master enters freely and fully and begins thrusting at a pace I am forced to keep up with. The candle is nearly gone, but I see a shadowy form upon hands and knees backing a bottom up to Charlotte’s face and soon hear slurping along with the wet smacks of piston in hole.
I come readily enough, and Charlotte does as well, although we are not synchronized as yet. Master, though, has a stamina that cannot be matched, for he has not ejaculated into me, as usual. I suspect from what I hear at the other end, Mistress has not capitulated to Charlotte’s dexterous tongue. Of course, I have accepted the fact by now that neither will ever come, except with each other.
Charlotte and I have each climaxed half a dozen times, the last three at the same moment, before the Ushers are through with us. My cock cannot possible rise again. Her cunt is swollen, not so much out of eagerness, but from being rubbed raw. Still, when Master vacates my tender rectum, and Mistress leaves Charlotte’s mouth free, I feel the strop again, cracking hard against my ass. My cheeks quiver and twitch, the pain so endless here. My poor overworked cock is brought back from retirement again and from his limp state he swells to full size within Charlotte’s vault, but most painfully.
The candle has long since burned out leaving us in this coal mine. Eventually, I feel Master and Mistress withdraw from the room, until I believe we are alone.
“Have they gone?” I wonder aloud.
“Shhhh!” Charlotte advises, as though she knows something I do not, and we are being overheard.
I think of asking her if I should vacate her vagina, but decide that the place is too inviting, despite how sore we both are, and I have the impression that I am in some way the proprietor here anyway.
Charlotte moves back against me. Her hand reaches up and she strokes my tear-stained face, then reaches beneath and clutches my balls. Whatever thoughts my cock had of a rest are gone. He is ready for action once again.
