Part 16 (1/2)

She began working her c.u.n.t muscles, ma.s.saging his c.o.c.k without moving her legs or hips.

He moaned again.

She couldn't tell if he was expressing pleasure or frustration so she kept on working, redoubling her efforts to squeeze him hard.

To her surprise, she was feeling considerable pleasure herself. His c.o.c.k was rubbing her in a place deep inside that no c.o.c.k had ever rubbed this hard before. When she began adding her moans to his, hers were definitely a song of pleasure.

She kept it up for a few minutes, but began growing tired. She could feel the muscles in her c.u.n.t flagging. But Dodge's moans had increased in intensity and sweat was beading on his hairline and flowing from his armpits. It didn't matter that he was exerting little physical effort; his l.u.s.t was in high gear and it was wringing the sweat out of his body.

”To h.e.l.l with this,” Dodge said. He grabbed her arms, threw her off of him, pushed her onto her back, and drove himself deep between her legs. He came after only a handful of hard, fast thrusts.

She came, too. It was not unusual for her to come when Dodge was f.u.c.king her, but she seemed to feel it more deeply this time.

Afterward, she felt like she was floating on the edge of sweet oblivion; like the smallest nudge would send her drifting out of the world on clouds of happiness.

”I don't know what the h.e.l.l you were trying to accomplish, there, but it felt like a waste of time to me,” Dodge said.

Flame didn't reply. Her time hadn't been wasted. She had learned what she needed to know. At the end, his moans had sounded exactly like the moans that men made when she was teasing them with her mouth, keeping them on the edge of ecstasy but not letting them step over into a climax.

She had accomplished the same thing with her c.u.n.t. That was a big step in the right direction. More training, more strength, more control, and she'd be able to carry a man all the way to heaven by c.u.n.t action alone.

And she'd be right there with him, every step of the way.

The next day, she discussed her experience with Barry. ”I'm not there yet, not by a long way, but my exercises are doing some good. I can feel it. I need to find some way to step up the game. What I'm doing now isn't enough to take me all the way. Can't you think of anything that will give me more strength and more control over my c.u.n.t?”

He was desperate to help her because she hadn't sucked him off yet and his wife didn't have nearly the skill that Flame had. If he had to wait until he got home, he'd have a frustrating day followed by a half-hearted b.l.o.w.j.o.b that would leave him feeling empty and listening his wife spitting in the bathroom sink for ten minutes.

”I'll ask around. Someone has to know some trick that they haven't told me yet. I'll find out. I promise.”

”I'm going to hold you to that promise,” Flame said and sunk to her knees in front of him.

”I'll keep it. Don't you worry,” he said as she unzipped him. He meant it.

Her lips wrapped around the head of his c.o.c.k and her tongue began caressing the seam along the bottom.

G.o.d, did he mean it. G.o.d, yes!

Two days later he came through for her. He handed her a wooden box. ”I had a devil of a time finding this. It's a very specialized item.”

When she opened it she found a plastic cone that looked like a small version of her b.u.t.t plug and a collection of different weights with threaded dowels and holes.

”What do I do with this?”

”You insert the plastic cone into your c.u.n.t. The f.l.a.n.g.es on the end keep it from slipping all the way in. With it hanging half-way out, you're going to have to squeeze it pretty hard with your c.u.n.t muscles to keep from dropping it when you're standing. Then you can try walking around with it inserted. When you can do that, you start s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g the weights into the bottom. There's an eighth-ounce, a quarter-ounce, a half-ounce, one ounce, two ounces, and four ounces. The cone weighs an eighth without any weight attached, so, if you screw all the weights together and screw them to the cone, it'll weigh a half-pound. If you can keep that slippery sucker from falling out, then you'll have one scary c.u.n.t. From what I was told, you should probably be aiming for two ounces. Three at the most.”

Flame took the cone and examined it. It seemed light enough without any weights attached. She didn't think that it would be too challenging so she spread her legs and inserted it between her lower lips.

It slipped back out into her hand.

She pushed it back in and squeezed her muscles. This time it stayed inside when she removed her fingers. Retaining it was more difficult than it looked because the f.l.a.n.g.es kept her from inserting it far enough to be secure and the cone didn't offer much for her to grip.

She tried walking a few steps. As long as she kept concentrating on keeping her muscles tight, she could keep it in place. She was keenly aware of her c.u.n.t every second.

Barry smiled. ”That's pretty good. You keep working at that and you'll be the star of every orgy before you know it.”

Was that what she wanted? To be the most popular slave at the orgy?

People always said that you had to be careful what you wished for because wishes come true.

It wasn't long before the cuts healed and the scabs flaked off Flame's a.s.s. It was no longer raw, only criss-crossed with reddish welts.

She could sit and lie on her back comfortably again. Though, in idle moments, of which a slave has many, she would unconsciously run her fingers back and forth across her backside, feeling every ridge and groove that the cane had molded into her flesh, until that unnatural fleshscape was more deeply embedded in her tactile memory than any other part of her body.

She found it interesting that Mr. Dodge hadn't scheduled a single dinner party during her convalescence. She didn't believe that he had inconvenienced himself out of any consideration for her welfare. She could easily have been made to perform. Her act didn't require much sitting. And if she suffered some extra pain during the evening, that wouldn't cause any permanent damage so it would be no problem for Mr. Dodge.

Rather, she believed that Mr. Dodge had wisely paused his entertainments to take the temperature of his insertion into polite society. He'd been inviting a lot of people to his parties and had received few return invitations. That was not a good sign. It was time for him to find out if people appreciated his company or if he were merely being exploited.

He hadn't asked Flame for advice; he made his own decision to wait for return invitations before hosting another round of parties. She applauded him for his keen strategy.

And it worked.

His parties were popular, to no small degree because a slave who had the unique feature of being the former wife of a lord was offered as entertainment. So it was gratifying but not surprising when the knights and baronets who had attended his dinners began extending more frequent reciprocal invitations to him and his wife.

During this brief hiatus, Mrs. Dodge continued to treat Flame with considerable contempt she was never slow to deliver a swift kick but she also asked her advice about fas.h.i.+on and comportment. She never failed to follow Flame's advice to the letter.

After attending a fair number of dinner parties and some other events a couple of b.a.l.l.s, a concert, and a stage play the Dodges resumed hosting dinners for two or three couples at a time.

Flame noted that Drake wasn't completely excluded, but he was on the guest list far less often. Mr. Dodge had begun inviting a better cla.s.s of knights and baronets. He was on one of the lowest rungs of the social ladder, but he was already climbing to the next one.

She was setting the table for Mr. and Mrs. Dodge's dinner one Thursday evening when Mrs. Dodge came into the dining room and said, ”You're going to be loaned out on Sat.u.r.day.”

Flame paused in laying out Mr. Dodge's place setting. Her heart skipped a beat. She had become well enough known for her solo entertainments that wives should have been asking to borrow her for some time. But this was the first time that it had happened. It seemed that the wives of aristocrats weren't eager to be in a commoner's debt.

The fork in her hand hovered over the table as she looked up at her owner's wife. ”Yes, ma'am.”

”I believe you know Lady Hoffman.”

Flame put the fork into place with careful deliberation before speaking. ”Yes, ma'am.”

”Their driver will pick you up at five tomorrow. Be waiting.”

”Yes, ma'am.”

There was no clock in the kennel so she had no way to tell the time. But that was her problem, not Mrs. Dodge's.

To ensure that she wouldn't miss the car, she began waiting at the kennel door early by her estimate, some time between three and four. She was wearing her housedress and carrying a plastic bag with makeup and a set of erotic red underwear.

The household that borrowed a slave was expected to supply the clothing that they wanted the slave to wear for the entertainment, if any were required, but Flame thought that it would be safest to bring a minimal set of her own just in case.