RP 20
	
by Sebastian X

I was surprised to receive an invitation to the new bishop's inaugural garden party. One endorsed, "Be there, Sebastian, or else   " in red ink. An invitation to tea and cucumber sandwiches with the city's genteel elite is not usually accompanied by a threat. Nor are such invitations extended to Organization executives of my humble status. Particularly ones with a criminal record for rape, albeit a record destined to be destroyed on my eighteenth birthday.

Following my recent harrowing experiences at sea, when I had saved a rock-star and his entourage from an assorted bunch of predators, I had acquired a taste for being well thought of. This weakness, a desire to be popular to be seen as a "hero" had already caused me to try and make amends for some past misdeeds, to deal leniently with several women who probably deserved harsher treatment, and to limit my robust sexual activities to Theodora and Charity. My two live-in and thoroughly debauched lovers, who still thrived on a lick or two from my dog whip before submitting. Even with T and C, I had moderated my taste for rough sex by putting away the heavy crop, and hiding the stock-whip Kim had given me as a welcome-home present.

I did not see how news of Sebastian's changed behaviour could have reached the ears of the city's recently appointed bishop (earning me a place at the episcopal bean-feast) and supposed my still-secret help in putting away four Japanese "terrorists" was the reason for the invitation. Unless the request for my presence, was a mistake. 

I phoned the bishop's palace and spoke to a secretary. There had been no mistake. Someone in authority had insisted Sebastian was invited and had, to quote the secretary, "gone to considerable pains to acquire your address." So I accepted, wrote the date in my diary and visited the city library to read up on the background to the new Bishop's appointment.

The scandal had happened while I was sailing the South China Sea. It had involved the old bishop, the choir master, and a handful of boys. The old bishop had been retired, the choir master had fled overseas and the boys had been counselled and compensated from church funds. The affair had blown over with the appointment of a new, heavily married, bishop who, it was reported, was supported by a new dean, also married with a young family.

While I was scanning the old newspapers for a clue as to why my presence at the garden party had been requested, I was stunned to see a photograph of Phoebe Howard, my old English teacher and the first woman I took against her will and Rebecca Isaacs, the fence's daughter whose scheming had brought about my imprisonment over two years before. The picture illustrated an article titled, Teenagers' Sex Toy Tells All . It was a review of Phoebe's first novel, Slave to a Harsh Mistress, and contained the news that the author and her partner would be present at Dimbooks book-shop, to meet the public and sign copies of her book, on the 23rd of the following month   that is the very next day. 

All thoughts of the garden party were driven from my mind. The old, bad, Sebastian stirred. I owed Becky Isaacs and was going to pay her back with interest. I began to get an erection just thinking about what I was going to do to the smart-arsed little bitch and whether I would give Phoebe some of the same.  My good resolutions were shelved. I went home and dug out the heavy crop and the stock-whip Kim had given me.

*          *          * 

I also bought a copy of Phoebe's book and read it. The eponymous "harsh mistress" turned out to be the heroine's obsession with masochism and not the busty and booted, whip-wielding, red-head on the dust-jacket. Nevertheless the book was a good read and it was clear to me the first couple of chapters at least was based on Phoebe's introduction to rough sex at the hands of a lusty young schoolboy, namely, me. In her book she calls him,"Bruce".

It is said all first novels are, in part, autobiographical. I can say that Phoebe's book certainly is. At least up until the time "Bruce" was supplanted by "Rebel", a sadistic young Jewess with a taste for body-piercing. In the story, Rebel nailed Bruce with a wooden stake through his rectum, in reality the sneaky little bitch set me up to be arrested for rape and burglary. Well, burglary. To be fair, I have to admit the rape was not planned by Rebecca.

Slave to a Harsh Mistress begins with an innocent schoolmistress, Penny, being persuaded to help raise funds for a major charity supported by the school by becoming a "hostage". She was nervous when Bruce, one of her favourite students, imprisoned her in the old box room, wrote the ransom demand and - she thought - delivered it. She trusted the young man. He was an intelligent boy, well-read, and ruggedly handsome, Phoebe had written. The description was flattering.

Bruce had supplied Penny with a bottle of wine which she drank in his absence. Later Penny pronounced the wine to be spiked with an aphrodisiac. In real life, the wine was fact, but the drug, fiction.

When Bruce returned, after about an hour, Penny had finished the bottle of wine and was feeling, warm and relaxed. The young man took advantage of her soporific state to tie her wrists together, behind her back. 

"I'm going to strip you naked and fuck your brains out," said Bruce, according to the book. I'm sure I was much more subtle than that. I remembered, with pleasure, how I had reached around the frightened Phoebe and squeezed her breasts, while asking her whether she was a virgin. She was using poetic licence, I expect.

"I shall report you to the Principal! This joke has gone much too far!" Penny replied, fear and lustful anticipation competing within her heaving bosom as the rampant schoolboy began to remove his clothes. His broad bare chest gleamed in the afternoon sunlight. The dusty window of the box-room admitted a solitary beam. Golden highlights glistened on his well-muscled torso as the smooth-skinned Bruce bent to kiss the trembling hostage." Poetic licence for sure. The box-room didn't have a window and I'm sure I didn't kiss her until she was naked and then it was more of a slobber on her tits.

He started to unbutton her blouse... The book describes this button by button. At the time it took about two seconds.

 She begged him to stop. But he did not. Yeah!

Bruce felt the weight of each breast. He stroked each pinky-brown areola and gently pulled at each firm  nipple until they began to grow. Penny begged him to stop. Fear lent eloquence to her pleas but her body betrayed her. Her nipples spiked. Her cheeks flushed and her whole being throbbed with suppressed desire. She wanted him inside her.

I remember when I had reached between Phoebe's legs for the first time. Like Bruce does in the book, I had felt a slickness between the cunt lips through the fabric of her panties. Penny's juices, like Phoebe's, were flowing. 

She fought against her wild desire to surrender to his importunate demands. She resisted his brusque orders to flaunt her proud bosom. She backed, whimpering with terror and hidden longings, into a dusty corner of the room. She crouched doing her utmost to hide, from his wild-eyed stare, the twin globes that fired the young man's intense desire. True, she tried to cover her tits, but it didn't do Phoebe, or her fictional persona, Penny, any good.

"I'm going to fuck you," he said. "If you do as I tell you, you won't get hurt. Now, get on your knees and push your tits out!"

Penny didn't move.

"I want to see your tits at their very best," said Bruce in a quiet voice, but Penny remained hard against the wall. Her lower lip was trembling. She was about to burst into tears.

"Right! You big-titted bitch," Bruce yelled, "You want it rough? I'll give it to you rough!" 
The young man ripped her blouse off and twisted the material into a rough rope. Bruce used the blouse-rope to bind Penny's arms together behind her back so her superb bosom stuck out. He smiled as he smacked each firm breast hard enough to make it quiver. The teacher had never been slapped before, let alone slapped on her breasts. The sensation was unbearably delicious! Penny sobbed, possessed as she was with bottled up yearning for more pain part of her wanted him to ravish her in the most brutal manner   while one corner of her mind screamed "No!"   another wanted to tell her lips to say,"Take me Bruce. Make me you slave  "

 That's not what Phoebe said to me at the time. As I sat on one of the trunks in the box-room to take off my shoes and socks, she begged me to let her go. While I took off my pants, I spun her some malarkey about how she had encouraged me to rape her by her comments on an essay I had submitted on one of the Bard's longer poems. Shakespeare doesn't get a mention in Slave to a Harsh Mistress. My cock, or rather Bruce's cock, does.

I remember that when Phoebe first saw the size of my erection as I peeled off my underpants, she had made an instant, fearful, dash for the door. In the book Penny does the same but only after a page of purple prose, raving on about being, torn between the desire to submit to being savagely impaled on an un-naturally swollen phallus, corded with throbbing veins and topped with a knob the size of a small, purple, fist, and a perfectly understandable fear of being split.

Like Phoebe, Penny never reached the door before Bruce tripped her, stripped her and, after taunting the confused teacher, ripped her hymen to tatters as he buried his monstrous cock deep into her virgin pussy. In the book the ferociousness of the attack and the pain of losing her maidenhead gives Penny an instant and all-consuming orgasm. More poetic licence.

 Phoebe didn't come until later in the afternoon when she had been well and truly fucked. But come she did, and more than once, which is why I couldn't understand why the stupid bitch reported me to the headmaster and got us both thrown out. 

In the book Penny is consumed with guilt for having had a relationship with a pupil. Professional ethics clash (at great length and in excruciating detail) with the woman's desire to be mastered by the well-hung Bruce. She confesses to the headmaster who suggests he punish her for her sins. And punish her he does. A chapter of pure fiction describes Penny's dis-satisfaction with the headmaster's wimpish attempts to excite her before she quits her job and offers herself to a vengeful Bruce.

The chapters dealing with Penny's life as a sex-slave to her teen-age master draws heavily on the fun and games I had enjoyed with Phoebe before Rebecca put in an appearance. Penny's lesbian servitude to Rebel, after Bruce's painful end, probably mirrored Phobe's experience with Rebecca after my imprisonment. In which case I could expect find my first victim's sexual organs adorned with more bars, studs, rings and chains than a fair sized hardware store.
*          *          *
I closed the book. I phoned Kim and arranged to have the use of a couple of her cells. Then, having checked, I drove to the hotel where the author and her partner were staying. Phoebe and Rebecca were happy to jump into the back of my limmo. They thought Phoebe's publisher had sent it to take them to an exclusive pre-book-signing party. Neither of the women recognised me until I stopped the vehicle on the floor of the garage below Kim's warehouse and ushered them both into the elevator.

"Sebastian," cried Phoebe. "It really is you? How wonderful. You've grown. Where have you been?" She was wearing a pale blue woolen dress. It clung to her body, softly outlining her shapely bosom and prominent nipples, and displaying the smooth curve of her hips. She had three diamond studs in each ear and a gold sphere in the side of her nose.

"I enjoyed your book, Phoebe," I said.

"Do you know the publishers?" she asked, clearly under the impression that we were heading for a literary event. She seemed genuinely pleased to see me.

Rebecca did not. She was wearing heavy gold rings where Phoebe had diamonds. "What's going on, Sebastian?" she asked suspiciously, as the elevator rose smoothly up to the secure area where the cell-block was located.

"Revenge," I smiled. 

Rebecca launched a ball-crushing kick at my groin. I side-stepped, caught her heel and lifted. Rebecca crashed to the floor of the elevator. She wasn't wearing pants. Her miniskirt rode up to display a row of golden rings on each of her outer cunt-lips. I shuddered. She was an uncomfortable enough fuck when she only sported one. Before Rebecca could get to her feet the lift stopped and the doors opened to admit the Turk and Kim.

"This the bitch that framed my little buddy?" queried the Turk, insincerely. He grabbed Rebecca in his meaty paws and dragged her out. "She's got an ass like a boy's," he said, and shoved his thumb up her asshole and two fingers between the rows of rings, to get a firm grip. "I'm gonna enjoy splitting your little lezzie ring, sister. C'mon. Cell Three."

As the Turk hustled a foul-mouthed, but helpless, Rebecca towards Cell Three, I introduced Phoebe to Kim. Phoebe was doing an imitation of a goldfish. Kim was politeness personified and beautiful in a simple, but expensive, gold-lam‚ Vietnamese au dai and black silk trousers.

"Shall I help you with that lovely dress, Phoebe, dear?" Kim said as she ushered the new author into Cell Two. My stock-whip and heavy crop had been thoughtfully laid out on the locker by the narrow bed. Kim unzipped Phoebe's pale blue garment and let it slide down my ex-mistress's body like water over smooth rocks.

"She really does have the most magnificent breasts, Sebastian," cooed Kim stroking Phoebe's  marmoreal meat in a proprietorial fashion. "But take your panties off, dear. Give the boy a choice."

Phoebe obeyed Kim's instructions without thinking. While I kicked off my shoes and socks, and pulled off my pants, my former English mistress hooked her thumbs into the waist-band of her black-lace knickers and, as directed by my sister-in-law, slid them down her long, stocking-clad, legs.

As Phoebe bent to remove her panties I saw her full, pendant, breasts were adorned with the antique Victorian nipple-rings Rebecca had given her before sending me on my fateful journey. The tear-drop pearls of the antique jewellery jiggled as her tits swung to and fro.

"Sebastian," she gasped as she eyed my bobbing near-erection with an expression I found hard to interpret. "Why this? What are you doing?" She backed away from me. The back of her legs caught the bed-frame and Phoebe sat down heavily. Her bosom bounced. The three rings and two medallions, hanging on thin chains that graced her smooth and naked cunt, jingled.

"My guess " said Kim, as she peeled off her gold-lam‚ dress, "  is that first he's going to tit-fuck you. Always a favourite activity with Sebastian. And we seldom have the women with just the right equipment for a proper job." Kim again caressed the objects of her admiration.

Phoebe made a little negative sound and shook her head.

"Then I suspect he'll beat the shit out of you for betraying him with that nasty bitch the Turk is sodomising as we speak. After that, if you're conscious, you can show me what you have learned from her in the way of cunnilingus," smiled my sister-in-law sliding out of her black silk trousers and displaying her perfectly smooth, hairless, pudenda.

I nodded. "That's about right, Phoebe," I said climbing onto the bed and giving each of her pearl-tipped tits a firm slap. "Get on your back. You should remember the drill."

Phoebe lay on her back and held her full breasts in her hands. She seemed more puzzled than frightened and tried to speak. I said "Later," and plopped my almost full erection between the fleshy mounds. Without further instructions the erstwhile teacher squeezed my growing cock between her breasts. I started slowly, pushing towards Phoebe's head then sliding back until her hand-pressed tit-meat engulfed my thick-veined penis before sliding forward, yet again. My old mistress dropped her chin and licked her lips in anticipation of the moment when I would be big enough for her to lick the tip of my cock as I pumped between her tightly gripped flesh. Phoebe extended her long, pink, tongue to taste me. She knew that when I came her mouth would be spattered with semen and seemed to be anticipating the event with pleasure.

After about twenty minutes of slowly building tension, I felt Phoebe suddenly stiffen, then moan with unaffected ecstasy. Kim had again joined us on the narrow bed. My partner in crime was  doing something with her hands to Phoebe's pussy and, to my surprise and pleasure, my swollen scrotum. Phoebe pummelled my cock with growing enthusiasm and the tempo quickened. Her nipple-rings got tangled, locking her nipples in a fleshy embrace. She writhed and moaned. "Christ, Sebastian, I've missed your  oh  " Phoebe began but at that moment Kim pressed her button and brought us both to a wild climax.

Kim's participation meant that I shot my load at the same moment that Phoebe's mouth formed a perfect "O"and she bucked and twisted like a hooked game-fish. The result was a messy, but generally pleasurable, end to Phase One. I obliged Phoebe to clean me up with her tongue while she was still twitching, impaled on my sister-in-law's slender wrist. 

"Oh," Phoebe sighed as I rolled off the bed and reached for my heavy crop. "Sebastian, why didn't you reply to my letters? I tried to visit you after you were arrested. Did you really do all those things to, er, what-was-her-name, Joy?" She giggled.

"When did you get out of that Juvenile Detention Establishment? What have you been doing?" She fluttered her eyelashes at Kim who was tugging gently on one of the medallions, attached to Phoebe's clitoris by a slender chain. "And who is your lovely girl-friend?"

Instead of beating Phoebe, hardly a punishment if she was like Penny in the novel really a masochist, we talked. It seemed that Phoebe had tried to contact me after my arrest. Because she had no response, my ex-teacher thought I had rejected her. Rebecca took my place as Phoebe's owner. At the time it seemed the sensible thing to do. They had moved out of the city. Rebecca made jewellery, often reconstructing "hot" items Daddy couldn't otherwise dispose of. Phoebe wrote. Just as I had done, Rebecca kept Phoebe as a sex-slave   naked but only infrequently chained.

It was clear that Rebecca had intercepted the letters and parcels lovingly sent by Phoebe. We made a visit to Cell Three to confirm this belief. The Turk had stripped Rebecca. She was strung up on rubber bungee-cords. The raven-haired lesbian was attached to the floor, walls and ceiling by the elastic cords tied onto the heavy gold rings she wore in her ears, nose, nipples, labia, and the bangles on her wrists. If she stood rock-solid she could endure the pain caused by the Turk's imaginative bonds, but how could she stand still with the Turk flicking her ravaged ass (he had used a Saddam-Hussein Ass Bustah - the mother of all of all anal-penetrators, according to the manufacturer's specifications) with a dog whip?

The fence's daughter (as she had then been) confessed, tearfully, to sending me to burgle a house she knew had been recently equipped with the latest security systems. She had destroyed all letters and parcels sent to Juvenile Offender, Sebastian X, by her new sex-toy, Phoebe Howard. She was sorry. Very, very, sorry and would we please cut her down.

I handed the heavy crop to Phoebe. She smiled and swung it with malice.
