This is the continuing adventures of the Dancer, (preceding chapters are here and HERE) and was written by William Redbud from Erotic Writers. He has laid a mighty challenge at my feet, to respond in kind to this most intense chapter. ~nilla~
It had been two weeks since he had penetrated her. She was kneeling and on display with just a chain over breasts and around her waist. Pearls hung from her distended nipples and a dripping diamond hung from her clit. She was kneeling in her master’s tent and in the company of western visitors.
“I envy your your ways with women,” said one of the businessmen.
She guessed they were from the midwest. She had been flooded by visions of outrage, rescue and liberation. Her heart had raced. But the first westerners to see her since her kidnapping behaved no differently than the desert tribesmen. Now that they were free of western laws and culture, they looked at her like as if she were rightfully where she belonged. The veneer of the west?
They discussed real-estate and minerals. As they spoke, the businessmen would periodically glance at her as if they sipped wine. One had already undone a zipper and casually stroked his cock, making sure that she saw. Finally all of their conversation turned to her master’s property – her.
“I wouldn’t last long,” said the red-haired businessman.
“You’d take her now?” asked her master.
“I would. I’d throw her on her back, or maybe just push her forward on her knees and I’d fuck her. God damn, I’d fuck her till she was screaming for my cum in her twat.”
“You think that would do it?” her master asked.
Why was she on her knees? Displayed? When her master had called her his sweet concubine, when he’d praised her for making herself ready for him, she’d said ‘I’m not.’ It had been under her breath, but he’d heard her. He’d knelt behind her. He’d pressed the head of his cock against her opening, and had not moved. They had stayed like that. Was it an hour? Was it two? By the end of the hour, she had been panting; she had been shaking; she had been wet; and his hands hadn’t moved from her waist.
She could still feel his fingers curled under her belly, his thumbs at her back. He could have easily pulled her to mount; he could have filled her; she had been wet and warm. But he had waited for her; and she refused. ‘You will remain like this,’ he’d finally said, standing. ‘My servants will attend you, provide you oil and unction for your limbs. If there is anything else you require, anything, you need only ask.’ She didn’t want to, but she looked. His hair was matted. His chest and hips glistened. His cock — her breath caught! — thick, red and upright wept a pearlescent drop that hung from a glistening web. ‘But there is one thing you may not have, and you may not ask for, unless you receive it from me.’
She hadn’t known what it was, but now she knew.
“What’s that in her mouth,” asked the blond businessman.
“It is made of bone, is hollow, and shaped like my cock. If I were to ejaculate in its hollowness, my semen would flow into her throat, and she would have no choice but to swallow.”
“What’s in her ass?” asked the red-haired businessman, noticing the elaborate bone handle that protruded from her bowels.
“It is also a bone penis. It is also hollow. I could, at any moment, turn her forward onto her knees, spill my fluids into the phallus, and there is nothing she could do. There is no muscle she could clench, there are no words by which she could plead, but my semen would flow, unimpeded into the depths of her bowels.”
“And that big, solid gold dick,” said the blond businessman, “the one pointing straight up, right under her pussy. The one she’s refusing to sit on.”
“That,” said her master, “is a replica of my penis. The first day, she must only hold herself above it for one turn of the hour glass, which is ten minutes. The next day she must hold herself for two turns of the hour glass. She has only to lower herself on it, to bathe it with her womb, to rise and fall on it, to show me her readiness and that there is nothing she desires more than this, and I will give her what I have denied her these two weeks.”
“She is a dancer. The finest I have ever beheld. Such a feat of stamina is easily within her grasp; but this is not the stamina I test.”
“Doesn’t seem all that fair,” the red-haired businessman smiled.
Then she saw her Master’s lips flicker. Was it a smile? Christ, that smile! It would be so easy to lower herself onto the gold impalement under her pussy! Her legs were shaking with strain. So easy! Here, in front of these banal, simple men from the Midwest, and let them squirm as her master finally fucked her, as he finally took her climax.
“She’s dripping on it,” said the businessman. “Jesus Christ, I’d have fucked her by now. Look at it. It’s like a web straight out of her pussy and all over that cock.”
“It is more fair than you think,” said her Master, his eyes never leaving hers. He was sweating, strained like her. “I too have not climaxed for two weeks. Which of us will break first? How easy it would be for me, as you would like to do, to ‘fuck’ her. What stops me? Yet I will not. Who suffers more? I am completely free, yet I will resist her. She must do nothing other than refuse the golden cock beneath her. This is her only travail; and only for a certain period each day. For me, a man, there are a thousand travails I must withstand: her breasts, her belly button, her lips, her throat, her anus, her cunt, her legs, her voice, her smell, her stench, her beautiful stench so ready for mine. I could claim these at any time. But I must prove I am worthy. Do you not agree? My worthiness will break her.”
“Fuck it,” said the dusty blond, “I’d just fuck her.”
“Is this how you treat your free women in the west?” said her Master, eyes locked on hers, hers on his and his half-concealed, painful erection. He shook his head slowly. The businessmen did not see what she saw, only heard a rebuke they mistook for mild. “You forget, friends, that you are now in the land of a thousand and one nights.”