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A male prisoner and his Mistress


Submitted:Sep 8, 2010    Reads: 1,232    Comments: 0    Likes: 0   


The Night To Make You Mine. By Emy Naso Evening at Dunes Farm was even more doleful than the days. Alun went to his bedroom early and tried to occupy his mind with reading a magazine on arable farming he'd found in the top of an old wardrobe. It was a useless ruse and the faces of the farm girls in the boring stories became those of Jessica and Serene and his carnal centered thoughts had them cavorting through haystacks, wrestling each other in muddy yards and claiming him as their prize. These sensual reveries brought Alun back to his time in the Colony and confronted him again with the dichotomous nature and reaction to his memories. He'd been in prison for six months and the hard and even cruel existence had toughened his already solid frame. The days were always the same for those who were young and fit. By six o'clock in the morning the outdoor parties had been assembled and were marched out along the paths marked by thousands of previous prisoners' heavy and weary treads to and from their agricultural labors. The Colony was a dour and lonely penal correction center, which housed minor and first time offenders. It was therefore surprising that the regime was so severe and at times bordering on the brutal. Rumors abounded, most of them very fanciful. Some inmates speculated that the harsh treatment was a new and secret government experiment, others said they were being trained for espionage work and would be offered their freedom in return for serving the country. Lewis remained cynical and believed it was the simple product of an austere governor. Whatever the true reason, the atmosphere at the Colony was surly and the warders were guarded in any conversation with the inmates. In his memory, he came back that evening from a straw burning fatigue. When the barley was harvested in early autumn, the stumble was left in the ground after the "combines" had swept across the fields. The quickest way to clear the ground for winter wheat sowing was to set light to the residue in a controlled burn. The work was appalling tough and by the end of the task the prisoners were black with smoke and were lucky if they'd got away without scorched skin. Dinner was no more than chicken bone soup, two chunks of heavy prison baked bread and a drink that defied classification as tea, coffee or the flavor of the iron from the inside of the enormous boiling saucepans. They ate in sullen silence and then sat motionless in the dimly lit canteen, waiting for the warders to brusquely escort them back to their cells. The metal door closed with the finality of a long eternal death and Lewis slumped on the lower bunk. He was going to ask the warder where Jimmy, his cell companion -- not friend -- had got to, but the first six months in the Colony had taught him to ask no questions and seek nothing but your own company. Almost immediately, the lights all along the corridor and in the cells went out, as an unseen hand plunged the inmates into darkened solitude. Alun closed his eyes and hoped that sleep would come and last for a long time. The noise of hard marching boots on solid stone floors started as a rhythmic thud in the distance and slowly grew in intensity until the pounding battered at Lewis' fretful sleep. The door was flung open and against the faint moonlight filtering through metal bars, he saw the outline of three warders towering over his bunk. "Get up, Jones," came the snapped command. His reaction was not quick enough for them and Lewis was hauled to his feet. Jones was an ex-rugby player and had steel muscles and a fearsome reputation on the playing field. That, however, was his past life. Here in the Colony you didn't retaliate against the warders. "The governor wants to see you," came the order and he followed one of the warders as the other two came close behind him. The route took the party through doors, unlocked and then locked again, past the kitchen and came abruptly to a halt at the communal washhouse. "You stink, Jones. Can't have you standing in front of the governor smelling like the sewer rat you are. Get those clothes off and have a shower." Lewis undressed and walked into one of the open cubicles. The water was icy cold as long ago during the day the heating for the, at best, tepid water had been turned off. As he lathered the small piece of soap, he tried to ignore the three warders standing menacingly staring at him. He felt vulnerable and the thought went through his mind that they were going to sexually attack and abuse him. "That's enough, Jones. We want the grime washed away, not your alluring musky odor." There was a crude laugh in the voice. Lewis stepped out of the shower and leaned down for his clothes. A hefty leather boot came down and stood on them. "Not those wretched things, Jones. Here, put on this bathrobe. We want you to be a pretty boy for the governor." A robe was thrown at him and there was more coarse sneering. The procession continued along corridors Jones had never been past before and came to a stop at a brown painted door. He was bundled in to a room, which took him by surprise. It was not the austere prison furnishings he had seen before, but he felt a warm carpet on unclad feet and fierce lights blinding his vision. As his eyes became accustomed to the glare, he saw a figure standing toward the center of the room. If it was the governor, he was a she and was wearing a long red dress. Lewis' lips and throat went dry. He felt the fist of a warder push him in the back. "Say hello to…" he hesitated. "Never mind, Jones, you don't watch television so wouldn't recognize your very famous governor for the evening. Now where's your manners, Jones, this lady has selected you especially from photos and paid a lot for you. The least you can do is show her the money is worth it." "What do…" Lewis stammered. "Stow it, Jones." One of the warders hit him around the neck. "Get that bathrobe off and give your mistress a view of what's on offer. And do it quick unless you want us three to help you." Lewis slipped the bathrobe from his shoulders and immediately it was snatched away. Two of the warders stepped forward and his hands were grabbed tightly. The third warder snapped metal handcuffs on his wrists so he was manacled with his arms behind his back. "That will be all." It was the voice of the female. The warders turned and went to the door. One stopped and said. "You do exactly what the lady commands, Jones. If we hear you were not totally compliant you might get a night of sex from some of the boys!" The door slammed and cut out the raucous laughter. The figure moved to the side of the room and Lewis heard a switch flick, once, then twice. The arc light went off and the room became illuminated by a soft glow. The woman walked back toward Lewis. He had to admit there was a certain sexual excitement in the situation and now the lady came into view he felt the tension in his body stiffen his penis. She smiled as she studied the stirrings of his erection and shook her head in an amused admonition. The warder had been right, he didn't recognize her -- he certainly wouldn't have forgotten the face and the body. The lady was mid to late thirties, although that was impossible to be definite about. If she'd said twenty-eight or forty-two he wouldn't have disagreed. It was difficult to dispute anything standing there naked, bound and with his dick still rising. Her face was immaculately made up with curving eyebrows, deep, glossy pink lipstick and gray pupils exuding wicked hunger. The hair was blonde and tightly pulled back, held with a leather band. It gave the film star face a severe aspect. It was probably the effect the woman wanted to convey. "If I told you my name you would be honored." She smiled with pouted lips. "But for this evening you will call me mistress. Do you understand?" Lewis nodded. Apprehension was mixed with a salacious brainstorm in his head. "Are you an obedient boy?" she said with a sensuous curl of the lip. Lewis' mind went blank. The woman stepped closer and grabbed down and squeezed his testicles hard enough to bring a tear to his eye, soft enough to make him stiffer. "Yes, mistress," he gulped. "Good boy, Lewis, now you understand." She turned and walked away, stretching her hand behind her back to unzip the red dress. She continued to stroll as the dress fell like the first veil from her body. She wore a tiny -- very brief -- thong. The thin strand at the back bisected her perfect ass. Stopping, she turned to display the briefness of the front to the thong and tits that were built on the super-tanker scale. Jutting, thrusting and ready to steam ahead. "Come over here, Lewis," she directed. He walked as far as her gorgeous body, with cock now pointing almost straight out. Mistress kissed him once on his mouth and then slowly sank down, caressing his neck, chest and abdomen. He felt her manicured fingers stroking his cock with an expertise that could keep him the crazy side of ejection for a long, long time. His erection was thrust between her breasts and she gently rubbed up and down, side to side and ended by leaning slightly back as she knelt down and worked the end of his red penis against her nipples. Mistress stood up and kissed Lewis. "This way," she said huskily. Just in time he remembered to answer, "Yes, mistress." His governor for the night slipped her thong down over loins, thighs, calves and then off. Her pubic hair was soft, downy and lightly blonde. She led him to a long couch, stretched out on her back and opened her legs almost demurely. "My clitoris wants your mouth and tongue," the woman purred. As Lewis knelt down he said, "Yes, mistress." Then buried his face in her moist slit. As he licked deeper she groaned and her hands took a grasp of his head and urged him into a more vigorous and intimate exploration of her now weeping pussy. She urgently insisted he continue, and Lewis, although playing the slave, was ecstatic with lust and desire. "Enough," the mistress said. "Come here." She directed him to lie on the couch and she sat beside him. Her hands encircled his shaft and she massaged him to the moaning edge of an eruption. With blood thumping in his veins and especially along the length of his shaft, the blonde mistress swung over him, crouched, then rode his cock hard into her recently tongue-lubricated pussy. For over forty minutes, she alternated between fucking him senseless and then dismounting and working his bulging red tip with her dexterous fingers. "Do you want to come?" she grinned and kissed his pulsating tip. "Yes, mistress," Lewis begged. "Say please." "Please, mistress." "Over here," her voice ordered. Lewis rolled precariously off the couch, hands still shackled, and followed his mistress' beautiful ass that undulated as she sidled across the room. She guided him to a large sofa, directed him to lean back over the arm, feet just touching the ground, back arched and dick standing out like a rosy rigid pole. His mysterious seducer and sexual tormentor standing with legs apart, leaned forward so her immense breasts filled his view. Her left hand gently manipulated his balls and the right hand encircled Lewis' pleading stiffy. With a wild but metrical action, she stroked his dick against the substantial nakedness of her tits. Lewis let himself go and felt the relief pumping from his groin. The mistress watched as her slave's sticky liberation shot out and congealed in pools on her dark pink nipples. "No time to rest," the mistress said in a throaty chuckle, and urged Lewis up. "I am going to undo your manacle… but do not presume to make any move without my orders. If you disobey…" she let the menacing threat hang in the air. His hands were set free and the sight of his cum glistening on the woman's magnificent breasts made Lewis lick his dry lips. "We need to shower," she instructed, and he followed as she went over to a door, opened it and they walked into a bathroom. Inside the shower cubicle his mistress handed him a sponge and said, "Soap and clean my body." Lewis started with her neck, went down her body, over those projecting, mighty breasts and got to her pubic region. As she kept her legs together, he washed her loins, thighs, legs, and ended at her feet. She turned her back to him and he saw this as the signal to sponge up from feet to head. Over that jutting ass he worked the lather, up her back and then waited for her command. His mistress leaned forward to rest her hands on the side of the tiled cubicle, her rising ass protruding provocatively. As she spread her legs, her bulging pudenda displayed its long slit eye. "With your fingers," she said with a deep sigh. "And gently, this is my pleasure not yours." His fingering must have given her satisfaction. Her feline whimpers, became guttural groans and ended with screams and sobs of animal ferocity. After his mistress regained her breath, they finished showering, dried themselves and she told him to stand in front of her as she sat and applied her make-up. Lewis knew he could use his strength to overcome her. He knew he could have denied her requests and not acted as willing slave. Something in him craved her domination. His mistress fixed her hair, took new clothes from a small case and dressed not in the provocative garb she had worn when he arrived, but sensible underclothes, a business suit and court shoes. All the time Lewis stood naked before her. His cock's earlier eagerness began to return and the snake at his loins stiffened and grew independently of his wishes. Mistress tapped his penis once and then snacked it so it oscillated like a sensual metronome. With a fruity laugh she whispered, "Have you no control over that beast." Both Lewis' face and dick were red. "Another time we'll test your stamina," she sniggered rudely, and walked purposely to the door from where Lewis had first entered, banged loudly and waited. Within a few minutes, the three warders came in and whispered with Lewis's mistress for some time. One of them escorted her out and she left without looking or saying anymore. "Put this on, sexy boy," a warder spat at Lewis and threw him his old prison clothes. He was frogmarched back to his cell and thrown in sadistically. As he slept the images of his ordeal chased through his mind. Whatever the orders, whatever his situation, Lewis knew he had enjoyed the game. He wanted his mistress to call for him again. His dreams in prison drifted across the months and when he awoke, Lewis was in Dunes Farm remembering his shame and desires. http://emynasoerotica.blogspot.com/ http://shop.renebooks.com/SearchResults.asp?Cat=118 http://samhainpublishing.com/authors/emy-naso http://twitter.com/EmyNaso




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