Chapter 7
The Leopard Wears New Spots

...Which brings us to Wednesday morning. Sharon got up and saw Nora off to school, then began preparing for her meeting with Armand, basically acting as though she was headed for the electric chair. The last few days had just been too much to take in; she didn't see how she was going to handle it. Nora had spent a lot of time trying first to get herself and Nate out of hot water over viewing the videos (Sharon's own offhand remarks, augmented by some comment from Armand, had given the pair the impetus, apparently, so she let it go), then trying to offer emotional support which didn't really take. Sharon felt that Nora was saying the right things, but didn't feel them, and that just didn't help. Nora hadn't been there, and wouldn't understand until she had, Sharon figured.

Reluctantly, she got in her car and made the trip to Armand's offices in the City. Charlene announced her, but Armand made her wait a half hour, as usual -- all part of the program. Finally, Charlene looked up and nodded, "You can go in now." Sharon braced herself, and opened the door.

"Sharon." Armand nodded at a chair, which Sharon took, gingerly. Watching her, you'd think she was in a snake pit. This was odd; usually, Sharon attempted aplomb on entry, trying to set a tone of equality and maintain her self-respect and some control of the situation. Today... Armand watched her for over a minute, then fired the first salvo: "Well? You look like you're waiting for something."

"I'm... waiting for the change."

"You think it's a Jekyll and Hyde thing, then? Your reaction to me?" Armand steepled his fingers. "I admit it -- the videos of us were a mistake. I rubbed your nose in something that was working for you -- for both of us. And now you're ashamed of yourself."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I -- we -- you...." Sharon took a breath. "I'd been lying to myself; I'd come here, pretending to try to hold my own with you, and you'd shred it and use me -- and I'd conveniently forget the fact that I ENJOYED it... How you must laugh when I leave..."

Armand shook his head. "It's not that simple; nothing ever is. You know why I abuse you; it has everything to do with maintaining my grip on you -- reminding you that I control our relationship. Frequently, your submission to me serves other, more instructional purposes for others. But I value your ability to continue to struggle, with no possibility of escape. Many, many women have come through that door, and you're the only one who has ever been capable of continuing the fight."

"It's all a fake."

Armand smiled. "No, it isn't. Every time you come through that door, the uppermost thought in your mind is an attempt to somehow maintain control of the situation and get back out of here with your dignity intact."

"And every time, you kick my legs out from under me." Sharon grimaced; how long was this going to go on?

Armand tried various connection patterns with his steepled fingers. "It is what I do; you know that. And you are well and truly trapped; you know THAT, too. There are too many threads in the web between us. I rub your nose in this fact, and given the length of your experience, you acquiesce, struggling to hold territory where you can. It's very admirable, really."

"But then you hurt me! And -- God help me -- I enjoy it!" Sharon burst out.

Armand put his palms flat on the desk and locked eyes with her. "This is not an accident. I recognized your capabilities in High School, and I trained you to realize them." He raised a hand and ticked off the fingers, "You enjoy what I do to you for three reasons: One, because you have the capacity. You enjoy sex, in a lot more ways than your upbringing allows you to believe are right. Two, because it helps you to maintain your sanity in the face of my efforts. And, three, because you have no choice -- I allow you none." He sat back.

"Why do I forget the good parts? Surely that's insanity..." Sharon was certain she was insane; people who remember what they want to are delusional, aren't they?

"It is a defense mechanism. If it weren't for me, you would never do these things; your upbringing would have closed you off from them and you would have met a man who only asked of you what you considered to be 'normal'. The way you feel about the 'abnormal' things we do causes a conflict with your basic persona, which doesn't want to admit you're capable of these things, let alone enjoying them. So you forget it happened that way, only remembering the battle of wills that started it and the aftermath. It allows you to live with yourself."

"It did..." Sharon husked dully.

Armand grunted. "Had I realized the effect of the videos, I'd have never given them to you. Now, you will have to adjust; we will have to go forward without that comfort being afforded to you. That being the case, let's talk about it. What bothers you the worst?"

"Well, the forgetting..."

"Do you think you will forget our next encounter? I don't," Armand declared. "It has served its purpose. It allowed you to attempt to meet the standards your parents set for you when outside this room for quite some time. But now that the self-deception has been revealed, you really have no choice other than to deal with your 'failure' to live up to their standards..." Armand crooked his fingers to emphasize the word with a visible representation of quote marks.

"Why did you do that?" Sharon wanted to know. "My parents are good people!"

"Yes, after their fashion," Armand agreed. "But they, also, had a habit of denial -- it is one of the things that caused you to become inextricably embroiled with me in the first place. If they'd been honest with themselves over it, they would have recognized what you were getting into and helped you escape. Instead, they sealed your fate by ignoring the warning signs because they did not fit their neat, tidy, vanilla little universe. They're the kind of fools who allowed Hitler to rise to power in Germany before World War Two -- when they see something that operates outside the bounds of the neat little box they live in, they deny its reality instead of dealing with it. Reality doesn't go away; it may ignore you, or it may not. But if you ignore the juggernaut and it does not turn aside, you will be crushed beneath it." Armand continued, gently, for him, "That box you try to live in does not define you; I know this, because I remove you from it regularly, to play. Now, you have no choice. You know that there is a door, and that it is open. It is time to come out into the real world, where things exist that are shades of grey, not just black and white."

"And the enjoyment? That's really..."

"Embarrassing? Humiliating?" Armand smiled. "I trained you to this; I trained you to enjoy that part of it, too. You, My Dear, are a highly-sexed woman -- one pretending to be Victorian. But Victorian women dealt with their public role by being intensely sexual in private; the disparagement that they passed upon others was always for revealing their appetites in public, not for merely having them. Blind fools copied the public piece exactly without realizing the underlying motivations of the private one, which led to poor, confused souls like you. The night I took your virginity, I recognized that you had deep responses, but were confused over them. I ensured that you enjoyed activities 'outside the box' even in preference to those you considered 'normal'. I added pleasure to pain and pain to pleasure -- and humiliation to both. It didn't take long for everything to be additive; besides, you pigeonholed everything we did under 'those horrible things he does to me', which made the paradox even easier to stomach. Since it was all going away at the end of the episode, there was nothing to stop you from relaxing and enjoying it, during. Do you understand?"

"I think so," Sharon replied. "It was wrong, but I couldn't do anything about it, so..."

"Exactly. And since I didn't allow you to pretend NOT to enjoy it... Part of the joy of some of our activities comes from the knowledge that they're terribly, terribly naughty -- but you're doing them anyway. You can excuse it, because I'm making you do it and you have no choice, but another part of you is enjoying being naughty." Armand again steepled his fingers. "The basic physical nature of our relationship isn't likely to change -- I have a lot of time and energy invested in you. But your perception of the physical acts WILL change; it is in my interest to see to it that when it does so, it is to something you can tolerate." Armand didn't add, 'And that meets my needs,' but the thought was there, and even Sharon read it at some level -- but then, it was always a background consideration with Armand...

This was one of the longest conversations the pair had had in some time; usually, Armand required a report on her efforts, short or long, basically with little in the way of comment, and then dispensed his gifts and punishments. Sharon sensed that the other shoe was about to drop. But it wasn't forthcoming immediately; instead, Armand sat back and announced, "Our daughter's advance into the full flower of her womanhood brings a change in our relationships. I only dimly realized this on Sunday morning, but sober reflection has brought some surprises with it."

"Changes?" Sharon could not imagine how this could be good -- was Armand going to chop back their income? "I don't understand."

"Did you ever wonder why I sent you away, all those years ago? I never did; it was more or less instinctive. Over the last couple of days, however, I have been presented with an opportunity to examine my motives -- and I surprised myself."

"Armand, I don't..." Sharon shook her head; what was he saying? "Ummm, I assumed that it was because you were tired of me..."

"Yet here you sit. See how flawed that assumption is?" Armand chuckled grimly. "No, there were two reasons: You were too much under my influence; it was interfering with your mental health. And the things that I am and do provide a poor environment for raising a little girl."

"Umm." Sharon was more or less floored. "But you still see me..."

Armand nodded. "Every couple of weeks. And we talk on the telephone in between. And there are other things; I know that you are aware that I have you watched -- but I doubt that you are aware of exactly how closely... Why do you think that is?"

"I... don't know." Sharon thought of the thousands of times that she'd wished that she WASN'T garnering any attention from Armand -- but she'd never really wondered why she DID...

"Apparently, it is because the pair of you are important to me," Armand related. "If Nora had grown up under my roof, she'd have been twisted, somewhat, by the experience. So I put you out and saw to it that you were comfortable, but not wealthy, so she would learn the value of money. I put her upbringing in your care, being only active enough for her to realize that reality extended beyond the confines of your household. As long as you had to react to me, Nora got object lessons in the fact that there are realities you cannot ignore. I allowed you to create a box for Nora -- but I held the door open, merely by holding the door to YOURS open, as it were. You nurtured her, but I provided her with reminders that everything is not fair, or sweetness and light -- but from a distance, where the reflections weren't so harsh."

"Now, the process is nearing completion; she's out collecting her own experiences and making her own mistakes -- and she can stand to see the reality that is her father's world. One of the big changes this brings is that I may see her -- or, more properly, she may see me. It is too late for her to be obligated to unconditional love, so she can judge me on my own merits, based upon her limited experience. That is why we will be dining together tomorrow night, for instance. Based upon the results of that meeting, we may develop a closer relationship -- or we may not; that will be up to Nora. But I will become a more prominent force in her life, one way or another, now that she can handle it."

Armand studied Sharon, and Sharon, absorbing his words, stared back. Armand cared? About Nora? About her? "This has all been some grand plan? I'm not buying THAT!"

Armand chuckled. "Well, not EVERYTHING. You worry about your delusions; I recently realized that I've been deluding MYSELF, where you're concerned. The meetings that we have had in this office meet goals in that 'grand plan', but that isn't why we have them. No, the simple answer is that they are to remind you that, wedding band or not, you're MINE, both by positive and negative reinforcement. And they've been effective -- how many boyfriends have you had in the last fifteen years?"

Sharon blinked. "None."

"Coincidence? Think about it," Armand raised an eyebrow, smiling sardonically. "But enough of this; time for some positive and negative reinforcement. Get up and come over here and show me what rag you brought me from your underwear drawer." He grinned, asking rhetorically, "What would you do without me to clean it out for you?"

Sharon sat rooted. "Armand! We were doing so well!"

"Yes, we were discussing why it is that we do what we do -- but no one said that we would STOP! In fact, given your shaky condition, I find it even more imperative... Now get over here!" Secretly, Armand was pleased that Sharon was resisting; it meant that the discovery that she enjoyed the fruits of her acquiescence hadn't interfered with her basic stubbornness about the principle of the thing.

Sharon actually clutched the chair seat. "No! Things are..."

"Substantially unchanged!" Armand interrupted, rising and starting around the desk. Sharon leaped up and turned to retreat, then stopped. Any attempted evacuation in the past had resulted in her standing there tugging on a locked door like a little fool when Armand's hands closed upon her. She turned to look at Armand; the look on his face was all she needed. Armand leaned back against the desk, waiting. Sharon, defiance painting her features, resumed her seat -- and resumed holding herself there with both hands on the chair seat.

This was good. This was very, very good. Armand stepped forward and grasped her skirt, raising it and getting a flash of pink cotton before Sharon instinctively raised her arm to contest the move.

'Big mistake,' Sharon realized as the vise closed on her forearm. In a moment, the grip shifted, and she was in a hammerlock, unable to resist his superior strength.

"Unzip me," Armand directed.

"Armand..." But the pressure went on, and Sharon knew defeat. Soon, she was clumsily working at his trouser fastenings with her left hand. Habit told her what was next; she ensured that his trousers pooled around his ankles, and that he got his feet out, Armand already having kicked out of his loafers.

"Suck," he directed. The pressure on her arm remained; there was no possibility of escape. She leaned forward and took in his glans, a familiar activity, now that she thought about it. He let her work for a bit, then asked conversationally, "Remember Felicia? The redhead?"

"Ummm hmmm," Sharon replied, around her work. If SHE was still around, it was probably a record. By Sharon's reckoning, Felicia was due to be humiliated in front of her as a signal of her fall from grace...

"Through Felicia's efforts, I've discovered that there are actually women to whom chattel slavery represents a pleasant prospect of selfless service. Isn't that amazing?"

"W--," Sharon started, then shut up. 'Really?' just wasn't going to be transmitted properly with her mouth wrapped around Armand's 'thing'. Sharon couldn't visualize voluntarily acceding to Armand's demands; even if she were to appear to do so, the resistance would remain, inside.

Armand took Sharon's meaning, anyway, and continued, "I was surprised, too. It isn't something I value highly, since it leaves out a facet of the relationship that I get some pleasure from, but it can be useful." Leaning back toward the desk, he hit the intercom button. "Send in the Wench."

The Wench had arrived a few minutes after eleven; Jorge had delivered her to the door wearing only a hooded cloak. In fact, it was the announcement of her arrival that triggered Sharon's entrance into Armand's office. The cloak drew a few glances, given the warm, fair weather conditions, and those who cared to observe more closely noted that she was barefoot, which more or less gave the game away, but she was legal, at least. Once in Armand's outer office, she had shed the cloak and awaited her Master nude, under Charlene's watchful eye. Now, at Charlene's wave, she rose and entered Armand's office.

The woman that Armand had once identified as Sharon, his ex-wife, was giving Master head, urged on by the hammerlock Master had her right arm in. The Wench knelt beside her chair in his visual field and announced herself, "Master?"

"Excellent," Armand approved. "Sharon is wearing too much in the way of clothing, for my tastes. Assist her in getting out of them." Sharon let out an emphatic grunt and glared, but Armand merely fine-tuned her compliance by tightening the hammerlock, and she resumed her work. The Wench, unperturbed over the apparently involuntary nature of Sharon's blowjob, rose and began unbuttoning Sharon's blouse from behind. Sharon reached up with her left hand to grab the Wench's wrist, but she couldn't control BOTH her hands; the Wench rapidly proved herself adept at opening buttons with only one hand, so Sharon desisted. The blouse dropped easily off the trapped shoulder; Sharon resisted with her free arm, but the effort was a waste of energy. Ultimately, Armand merely increased the pressure until it became intolerable, and she suffered the removal. The bra quickly followed; soon, both were only present because they were pooled around her right elbow. 'Take charge of this," Armand directed, indicating the trapped wrist, "and remove the items." The Wench followed instructions, trapping Sharon's weakened arm in a workmanlike grip and sliding the clothing off onto her own arm. Sharon's nascent attempt to take advantage of the change was quashed when Armand put his hand behind her head and forced himself in to choking depth while collecting her left breast in his hand and applying enough pressure to remind her that it could be excruciating. "I have her," he announced, nodding, and the Wench let go and set the recovered clothing aside.

Sharon deployed both hands on Armand's thighs, trying to get his cock out of her throat before she vomited. Armand bore down on the breast, squeezing and crushing. "Behave yourself." With an emphatic grunt, Sharon complied, and Armand let her get air. After a moment, he gave it another quick squeeze and directed, "Keep working." Sharon, the fight leached out of her for the moment, resumed bobbing over his erection. Armand glanced up at the Wench, "Remove the skirt, heels, and panties. Leave the stockings and garter belt." He gave the fistful of Sharon's hair he'd collected a good jerk, and said, "YOU will not resist." Sharon looked up, eyes full of fear; this was new! While she had occupied the room with another woman any number of times, Armand had always limited his attention to one victim, while the other watched; never before had the other woman touched her, or vice-versa. What on Earth was going on?

Meanwhile, the Wench unzipped Sharon's skirt; the next step was going to take some maneuvering room... "Remove the chair," Armand directed, while pinning Sharon's head to his crotch. Sharon took the hint, awkwardly rising first to a kind of squat, then to a bent-over position as the Wench wrestled her skirt over her wide hips. Panties came next, Armand distracting her by again forcing her to resume active suction. At this point, further struggle was a waste of time, so Sharon meekly stepped out of the pool of fabric that gathered around her ankles, and the Wench whisked it away. When that was done, Armand issued his next directive: "Spread your legs, bitch. Wench, arrange yourself on the floor on your back, feet toward me."

'Bitch?' Armand hadn't called Sharon that since they were married; with him, it was almost a term of endearment. What did it all mean? And what was the current plan? But a part of her already knew...

"Squat, bitch. Wench, eat her. I want her to orgasm before I do. Rim her, too -- I'm going there next." Sharon froze, as the reality matched vague imaginings. Armand wasn't letting her back off, so she issued a series of urgent grunts. There were limits! She was NOT putting up with THIS!

Armand decreed otherwise. "Wench, a couple of good chops to the back of the knees should do it, then we'll pin her however works."

The Wench nodded, chopping at the backs of Sharon's knees and following through to enforce a collapse. Armand added to it by pressing down on a shoulder, and the Wench's breath tickled Sharon's pubic fur.

Sharon continued to squeal and struggle, trying to get purchase to escape. Armand again tugged at her hair, engaging her eyes. "I will bind you and beat you, and THEN you will STILL get this attention! Take it! Now!" But sometime in the middle of the last sentence, the Wench's tongue slipped between her labia, anyway... Sharon froze solid, eyes distant, as she assessed the attack; Oh, Gawd, the woman knew what she was doing! Sharon knew fear. She was going to cum like this! There was no way she could avoid it, if things continued as they were! What would THAT make her?

Armand could virtually read her mind -- her face showed every thought. Laughing, he chided, "No, this doesn't make you a lesbian. You like men too much. This is merely a new dimension that we're adding to your experience -- against your will, as usual... Keep sucking!"

The Wench got to work on her new playground. Sharon had a weird build, which featured something the Wench had little experience with -- a wide, round ass riding big hips. The Wench's model friends had all been built on a less-robust scale -- even the seldom-encountered full-figured ones. The closest she'd been to an ass this size would have been Charlene, Armand's secretary -- and she wasn't huge by any means, despite being tall. Sharon's breasts were pretty good-sized, too, but they were roundish and didn't sag much; if the Wench was looking for more breast flesh, Sharon made a good case for 'just enough, and not too much'. The ass, however was seriously out of proportion for the rest of Sharon's frame, and led the Wench to wonder what had drawn the Master to her. The pussy revealed was a compact item, thick outer labia holding closed thin inner lips that really only thickened over the clitoral hood, under thin wispy pubes; again, the two women couldn't be more different. Sharon's vagina presented a rich musk, but a clean-smelling one; the Wench worried only momentarily what she was dipping her tongue into. Taste confirmed things; the Wench had been in rank stuff before; once upon a time at an all-girl party where everyone was stoned and one of the girls was on her way out due to drug abuse, she'd discovered a yeast infection the hard way. This was clean. It was already wet, too, and the Wench's tongue easily found an erect clitoris. The Wench wrapped her arms around the wide hips, holding Sharon in place with hands clasped along the saddle of her lower back, and proceeded to work the area with her lips and tongue. After a bit, when Sharon was showing a reaction and she knew that she was going to be able to fulfill Master's requirements, she slid her tongue up along the perineum to Sharon's sphincter, which was also clean. In fact, it was preternaturally clean; the Wench suspected that Sharon had given herself an enema before setting out to come here, which said a couple of interesting things about Sharon. The Wench circled the puckered opening with her tongue, and discovered something else -- there was lubricant there! Not a lot, but some...

Sharon squatted there, waiting for the Wench to give her away. Having suffered Armand's penetration dry, and having been warned on Sunday, Sharon had taken the sensible step of taking an enema, then squirting some K-Y into her anus. Not a lot -- Armand might find it -- just a bit to make things easier when Armand followed through on his threat. THIS, however, she hadn't counted on...

The Wench stopped a moment, thinking, then took a finger and pressed at the pucker. Sharon flat didn't know WHAT to do, but she had little choice, so she allowed the invasion. The Wench's finger made short work of the pre-lubed opening, worming in to the second knuckle. The Wench pulled it back out, recognizing the lubricant, and chuckled throatily, then resumed working on Sharon's pussy, pushing her tongue into the tunnel; Sharon wouldn't need a rim job -- and Master didn't need to know. Sharon, who had been basically holding her breath emotionally, if not physically (she was still somewhat distractedly bobbing over Armand's erection), relaxed, instinctively absorbing Armand's cock even more deeply. The tongue in her tunnel just added to things, relaxing her and bringing pleasure. Damn it! She was slipping over the edge... But there was nowhere to go -- no escape from the tongue that now slipped under the hood of her clitoris, directly attacking the bundle of nerves. Ohhhh, God!

Armand smiled. The door was opening. God knew where it was going, but if he'd pushed Sharon far enough, she'd be able to reject her behavior, later, even if she couldn't forget it. That should be enough, with any luck -- but now, it was time to experience the surrender.

This was why Sharon was still around; this ability to come in fighting and then, at some point, find pleasure, despite his violence -- or maybe because of it. He'd trained her well, but she'd been a gifted student; the dichotomy between her mental hang-ups and physical responsiveness virtually ensured that she would be unable to react any other way. Armand knew, even if Sharon didn't, that if he released her and she went out and found a 'vanilla' relationship, it would be doomed to failure; 'straight' sex would bore her rapidly, no matter how good it was. Now, he watched her eyes glaze as she drifted through the 'neutral zone' where, resistance having proven futile, she did as she was told, toward the area where pleasure took over and her body betrayed her.

The Wench noticed that Sharon had ceased any active struggle and was maintaining a kind of breathless stillness while her tongue wandered here and there looking for sensitive spots. Broad laps up her channel exposing her clit from the underside had Sharon gently pressing back, so the Wench kept at it while re-applying her now lubricated finger to Sharon's ass, slowly working it in deep.

Control fled. Armand watched Sharon's eyes go vacant as she absorbed the Wench's efforts, even as she began unconsciously nodding even more deeply on his buried erection. Her ass began to move, pushing back toward the impaling finger while she emitted soft moans. Sharon was into it now; there was an orgasm coming, and she wasn't going to miss it. Impaled at both ends, she imagined herself spitted, sliding back and forth on a rod run right through her. It didn't matter, though, both ends were experiencing mild pleasure, and the tongue working her clit was maddening, multiplying everything. Sharon started moaning around Armand's erection, something Armand increased the intensity of by the simple expedient of beginning to maul her right nipple with his fingers.

The Wench then upped the ante, sucking Sharon's clitoral hood between her lips and directly battering it with her tongue. Sharon started squealing, pushing her mound against the attacking lips as sensation rolled over her. Suddenly, an orgasm was RIGHT THERE, inescapable -- a BIG one! Sharon's thighs shook as the muscles jumped in them; overloads flew everywhere and she whited out.

Basically, she swallowed Armand's cock, while dropping onto her knees and crushing her mound against the Wench's face, which was suddenly soaked. Her anus pulsed around the Wench's invading finger, something the Wench marveled at while coping with a sudden flash-flood of juices pouring over her face from her vagina. Armand was amazed; Sharon apparently relaxed her throat enough that she even contrived to moan around his buried erection, while not even moving on it for several seconds.

The lights came back on, and Sharon backed off and raised herself to escape the probing tongue while quaking through the aftermath. Armand took the opportunity to extract himself, directing, "Over on your hands, bitch -- it's time for me to get mine!" He circled the pair, settling behind Sharon, and the Wench, divining his intent, extracted her finger from Sharon's winking anus.

Armand forced entry without preamble; Sharon tried lunging away, eyes bulging, emitting a whining grunt of pain, but Armand had her firmly, and she was weak from her orgasm. "Wench, raise your knees!" Armand ordered, and Sharon was further trapped. Without instruction, the Wench again clasped her hands over the saddle of Sharon's lower back, pinning her, and settled back to enjoy her ringside seat to the other woman's sodomization.

Sharon took it. The initial pain rapidly gave way to less intense sensation and she shifted focus, discovering that she had an embarrassingly unprecedented view of the Wench's pubic mound, which was smooth, pinkly open, and a little damply redolent of her arousal. This exposure was orders of magnitude closer than she'd ever been to a pussy, other than Nora's while she was still a child -- and it was quite a bit different than her own, being shaven, with little to speak of in the way of outer lips, but loose, leathery inner ones -- open, at the moment.

Armand leaned back to assess things. Next time (and there would be a next time), he would contrive to put something in place that would allow the Wench comfortable access to Sharon's gash, but for now... "Wench, see what you can do with your fingers, since tongue rides just got tougher." Leaning forward, he braced himself upon the Wench's upright knees, which provided some fine follow-through for the next few strokes. This also gave him a better appreciation of Sharon's predicament, which naturally led to a decision to add to it.

Sharon had her work cut out for her to look away from the Wench's moist gash, given her proximity to it. The Wench was busily working her middle finger into Sharon's vagina while her thumb whirled over her clit -- a situation that was NOT ignorable, and multiplied both her and Armand's pleasure take from the anal penetration. The smell of the Wench's own arousal wafted past her nose, adding to things, making control even more difficult...

The smell hit Armand, hanging above Sharon's shoulders, and he popped up for just a second, removing his right hand from the Wench's knee and placing it firmly in the back of Sharon's neck, effectively forcing her face into the Wench's wet spot. "Eat, bitch, you owe the Wench a cum!" he hissed.

Choice wasn't something Sharon had. The push put her nose basically into the Wench's vaginal canal and crushed her lips to the vicinity of the Wench's clit! She couldn't breathe, and even if she did, she'd be sucking in the other woman's juices! Sharon fought to get her arms under her so she could push back, but Armand saw it coming and wrestled her wrists behind her. Once he had them, it was a matter of merely lifting them and Sharon was again pressing her face into the Wench's crotch in order to escape the pain wracking her shoulders --then he held her there, bracing for his attack on her anus by pressing against her pinned arms. "UUUuuuuuuhhhhh!" she grunted into the other woman's musky crotch, "Aaagggghhh!"

"Do it!" Armand hissed, "Or you'll be in a cast for months!"

"Noooooooooo! Aaaaaaaaahhhhhh!" This was a new level of evil, even for Armand! This was depraved! But the pressure was inexorable; Armand would follow through and her shoulders would be ruined, at the current rate! Carefully, she extended her tongue...

Well, it wasn't THAT bad. The Wench's wrinkled lips were obviously clean; the dew in the pink slit between was already all over her face, so she knew what it smelled like -- taste was actually a bit lighter, perhaps. She took a second swipe, and the Wench emitted a bubbling sigh. Well, she'd done it, now, so she might as well try to do as Armand demanded. What did she like? Oh, yeah! She settled her lips over the bump of the Wench's stiffened clitoris and began sucking it and battering it with her tongue.

"OoooooooouuuuuUUUUUUUHHHHHH!!!!" The Wench, already powerfully stimulated, went straight into orgasm, her feet dancing and twitching. Satisfied, Armand let up the pressure; Sharon was over the brink and into it now -- the need for serious coercion was past. "That's it, eat it!" he hissed, resuming his original grip on the Wench's knees and leaning in beside Sharon's ear, "Eat it good!"

Sharon went straight into submission. The thumb dancing on her clit and two fingers massaging her tunnel blended with the anal pounding Armand was giving her, and seemed to hang on how well she dealt with the task before her. Every probe of her tongue had a mirror action in one or the other of her nether openings. Pleasure began to envelop her.

Armand was taking his pleasure, but he knew that he wouldn't be the only one. The Wench was moaning and intermittently slurping at his balls, which tickled something incredible, and Sharon was generating a constant hum while sucking and mouthing the Wench's clitoris. The Wench started to bounce and jitter, somehow finding the concentration despite her rapid approach to another orgasm to step up her attack on Sharon's clitoris, and suddenly Sharon moaned "AAAAAWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!! UUUUUUUNNNNNGHH!!!" and all of her openings, including her ass, began to pulse.

That did Armand in; the pulsing clutch caught him during a withdrawal and milked him, producing a wave of undeniable pleasure that pulled him over the top. He sank his cock deep into Sharon's rectum and began pulsing out seed while Sharon sucked hard at the Wench's clit, biting down gently.

The Wench threw both arms around Sharon's chunky hips and folded up against her, burying her face in Sharon's still pulsing channel and extending what was for Sharon a wild orgasm. The women clung to one another and shuddered through the aftermath for some moments.

Armand came back to himself rather quickly, as was his wont. Backing off Sharon, he gave her a playful slap on her ass, causing a pleasing shudder of the chubby cheeks, and rumbled, "Now, you two get out of here, I've got work to do!" Collecting his trousers, he sat on a side chair and roared, "Wench! Clean me up!" The Wench managed to roll Sharon off her and knee-walk over to Armand, who presented her with his cock, fresh from Sharon's anus. Sharon's thoughtfulness in preparation, however, made the task of mouthing him clean less than onerous. The effort helped her to recover before Sharon, too; she was up and shaking off post-orgasmic weakness while Sharon was still lying panting on the floor. Armand released her with a wave, pointing at Sharon. "Get her up and dressed; take her out as you both are and clean her up in Charlene's bath. Once she's on her way, have Jorge return you home. Understood?"

"Yes, Master." The Wench went around collecting Sharon's clothing while the older woman slowly sat up and collected her wits. Armand had returned to his desk and was ignoring the pair. The Wench helped Sharon onto her feet, and the pair made for the door, which was unlocked, which made Sharon wonder vaguely whether it had been unlocked the whole time, after all.

At the door, Sharon turned, and looked back. "Armand?"

"Mmmm?" Armand didn't look up.

"Why did you call me 'bitch'?"

Armand glanced up. "Think about it for a while. It will become apparent." He went back to his work. Sharon, knowing dismissal when she saw it, let the Wench lead her out.