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Lady Nightshade by Francine Whittaker
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Chapter 1
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Spain
The roaring of motorbikes lacerated the lazy serenity of mid morning. There must be about four of them, Jani thought as she sucked in lungfuls of air. She slewed her midnight eyes right and left. The place was crawling with guards. Dressed in their moss green, close fitting uniforms, below her they patrolled the ramparts. Another patrolled the battlements behind her. Hand picked from Europe’s finest by Lady Nightshade herself, every one of the them, known collectively by the wholly male population of slaves as the Hemlock Patrol, was prepared to fight to keep the castle’s secrets should the need ever arise. However, the threat was negligible, owing to the fact that its influential patrons practically guaranteed its security. That being the case, there was very little use for the weapons which were to a greater extent for visual effect, though every last one of the choice band knew exactly how to load and use the AK-47 rifle that she carried proudly.
Despite the motorbikes, even way up in the small courtyard at the top of one of the towers, Jani could hear the agonized cries of the Recreational slaves, men whose only purpose in life was to obey and amuse. Sometimes that meant suffering a ferocious beating, or some alternative kind of punishment, at the hands of one of the castle’s cruel mistresses. At other times still it meant being the humiliated sex toy of a lustful, power-hungry woman, or simply being locked away in one of the dungeons for days at a time for no reason other than Lady Nightshade considered it an amusing idea. Then there were the Domestic slaves, for whom life meant simply performing the menial chores that kept the castle running smoothly.
She had always known that she was destined for greatness, Jani thought as she crossed the courtyard. She stepped over a blindfolded, young slaveboy who was spread-eagled on his back, with an old plank of wood resting on his front from his neck to just below his crotch. The plank was no lightweight piece of lumber from a DIY outlet but rather a solid lump of oak that had at one time been part of the original ceiling of an anti-chamber, salvaged during one of the periods of modernisation some hundred years earlier. Despite its great age, the wood showed no signs of woodworm or rot and though heavily laden with crumbling boulders along its entire length, it was still capable of holding more without buckling or snapping under the weight, a weight which would by now be almost too much for the slaveboy to bear. Jani stopped in her tracks and as she surveyed the slave coolly, she thought how she had never dreamt that she would realise her ambition beyond the shores of her native England.
She summoned the guard.
“Was he beaten before he was tied down?”
“Forty lashes across his shoulders, as you directed, Milady.”
“Then he will be in some discomfort.” She indicated a pile of debris in the corner where the crumbling, ancient masonry awaited restoration and said matter-of-factly, “Add some more rubble… a couple of pieces should do it. If he cries out, add another piece.”
The guard clicked her heels. “Yes, Milady.”
Jani watched as the guard selected two broken pieces of grey stone, each one about the size of a conventional house brick. Then hunkering down, the guard placed them on the wood, one piece on top of those on his chest and the other among those pieces at his crotch. When the slave cried out the guard took delight in selecting a larger piece, which she placed on the pile in the centre of the plank.
“Have him returned to his cell in an hour or two,” Jani told her, then turned to face into the castle’s interior. From her present vantage point she looked down into what was actually the largest of the ancient courtyards, more properly known these days as the Exercise Yard, where there were indeed four motorbikes. And being “exercised” at that moment were two naked men, pursued at speed around the perimeter by three of the resident mistresses astride their powerful machines. The men were kept on the move and ran as if their lives depended upon it; panting and wheezing their way around the yard. It was impossible to escape its confines due to the heavy studded gate, watched over by yet more guards. Nor could the men evade the bikes by making a dash across the expanse, owing to Mistress Foxglove, the fourth mistress who menacingly revved up her bike in the centre. Of course, the men were in no real danger,
for the astronomical fees paid by their owners ensured their safety, though not their well-being or dignity.
Jani focused her gaze on the two guards stationed by the gate. Like the whole company they were quite beautiful, selected as much for their looks as their other considerable abilities. For there was nothing more frustrating for the slaves than a beautiful, unobtainable woman and to be surrounded day and night by beautiful, untouchable guards must be purgatory for the men, Jani thought with a smile.
Despite the heat of the steadily rising sun, their jackets, cut to accentuate their sensuous curves, were fastened right to the top of the stiff, high collars; Lady Nightshade permitted no slovenliness on duty. It was imperative that the guards looked their best at all times. Beneath the regulation black knee-high boots and straight, knee-length skirts they were required to wear stockings and suspenders. Forage caps perched prettily at an angle completed the uniforms and those with long hair were obliged to wear it in a chignon.
Jani’s own hair was scraped back from her small, angular face and piled beneath her hat, made in the traditional Spanish style from felt. She raised her hand to tilt it forward to shield her eyes from the sun. With a shrug, she slipped the short, red silk robe from her shoulders and welcomed the sun on her silky, deeply tanned skin that gave her the look of a local. Like a splash of scarlet blood the robe pooled at her small, stiletto-shod feet as she stood naked.
She looked on as the three bikes cornered one of the men, a pathetic, shivering wreck of manhood. His name was Vernon O’Grady, a corpulent banker from England. He didn’t know it yet but he was destined to become part of that evening’s entertainment, to be held in the Great Hall. But whatever else Vernon was presently feeling, Jani thought with a curling of her top lip, his cock would be throbbing madly and rising to the occasion.
“Men! They just can’t keep their dicks under control,” she said aloud as her small hand strayed to her generous, silken-skinned breast. With a feathery touch her fingers circled at its root as the three bikes cut their engines. At that same moment Mistress Foxglove’s motorbike sped away to hound the second man in order to keep him well away from the action that was about to take place; it would be his turn afterward.
Dressed in their tight fitting, white leather shorts, matching tops and thigh-high white boots, the three young women drove the unfortunate Vernon, or Vermin as Jani re-named him now, into the corner. They cut the engines as they slid from their machines and made him turn round so that he was facing into the corner. While he struggled as ineffectually as an oven-ripe rabbit in a snare, one of the statuesque mistresses made him spread his arms wide and chained his wrists to the two iron rings inserted into the ancient stonework of the two adjacent walls. Then the second woman kicked his legs apart and his ankles were chained to the corresponding rings set into the flagstones. Then both women stepped back to allow the third access. Jani noticed that on that morning it was the beautiful, Oriental, Mistress Sorrel who took up an open-legged stance behind and slightly to the left of the naked captive, his skin glistening with sweat.
Vernon jerked in his chains as Mistress Sorrel cracked her whip across his back. And as she watched, Jani’s other hand began to imitate her first. As Mistress Sorrel’s whip fell a second time, Jani’s circling switched to kneading. The whip fell again and again. Jani’s manipulation became firmer. When the whip slashed across his naked back a fifth time, in unison Jani’s fingers and thumbs reached for her upturned nipples and began tweaking them until they were hard as peach stones. Pressing her lips together and poking the tip of her tongue out between them, she squeezed the erect nubs, the pressure increasing as the whip continued to lash Vernon’s back.
Jani became aware of the change in her breathing as down in the courtyard, Vernon flung back his head and the watching Jani adjusted her grip, digging her scarlet talons into her own skin while pulling her nipples to full stretch. Then, surprised by the intensity of the jolt of arousal that assailed her quim, she forsook her right nipple and instead dipped her finger inside her vagina.
The squelching sounds from her juicy pussy were almost loud enough to alert the guard who had resumed her patrolling, Jani mused. Nevertheless, her finger continued its lustful agitation as down in the Exercise Yard, Mistress Sorrel flailed with her whip, cutting across Vernon’s already glistening, red-striped shoulders. That particular mistress was no reticent beginner, and Jani knew that her victim would be screaming his head off as his body jerked under each strike. But while the action was fast and furious, the whip scything the air and cutting a scarlet ladder-work from his shoulders to his thighs, the soundtrack of braided leather falling and the man’s answering yowls of pain were drowned out by the roar of the remaining bike as it continued its harassment of the second man.
Jani’s left hand dropped away from her breast and alighted on her clitoris while her other finger agitated her dewy pussy. She licked her top lip then bit down in concentration. Even left handed she built up quite a rapid, wonderful friction on her pleasure bud. And as she kept her eyes on the scene below, Sorrel’s victim wilted in his chains and the force of the lashes hammered his body further into the corner. Yet still the mistress showed no mercy; if anything her ferocity increased.
Watching from the tower, Jani’s excitement reached fever pitch. She bit into her lip to stifle her groans of pleasure as she looked forward to her first climax of the day. Her muscles tensed. She closed her eyes and threw back her head. And as her hat fell to the floor, her cry of release was equally as dramatic as the myriad black, corkscrew curls which escaped down her serpentine, slender back.
Regaining her composure, Jani waited a few minutes before slowly making her way over to where the guard marched in a straight line along the battlements, once again stepping over the slaveboy. Jani loved the view from here and as she leaned her elbows against the stone, the guard was forced to walk around her.
Over the centuries there had been many additions, some not entirely sympathetic, to the original castle, and much had inevitably been allowed to fall into disrepair. Some of the more recent changes had seen sections of the interior lavishly furnished so that it presently resembled an English country mansion rather than a mediaeval castle. However, Lady Nightshade had seen to it that much of the interior had remained untouched for atmospheric and aesthetic reasons as much as financial. There were still cold, dank corridors, some in quite a horrendous state where the only lighting was provided by flickering torches placed at intervals in wall sconces. The original dungeons remained and were well-equipped; though through necessity much of the equipment was of a modern design or replicas. However, there were still a few prized, original items which remained and could be found around the place if one looked hard enough.
Even above the noise from the Exercise Yard, Jani heard the pained groan from the slaveboy as he tried to shift position to better bear the heavy weight upon his slim, young body. Jani turned and retraced her steps, her heels click-clicking as she walked. When she stood alongside the slave she gave him a prod in the side with her toe.
“For God’s sake be quiet, boy!” She moved to stand behind his head, positioning her feet on either side. She slipped her hands beneath his head, scooped it up and for a moment cradled it tenderly. Then with one hand she ripped off the blindfold, then snatched her hand from beneath him and dropped his head with a dull thudding sound.
“Ugh!”
“I’ve only just had breakfast and your moaning is quite enough to turn my stomach.” She took up a wide legged stance, affording him a view of her glistening quim, fringed with curly black hair. With her hands on her thighs, she lowered herself slowly until she could feel his breath fanning her delicate, sweet scented, womanly folds. “You’re one of the new intake, aren’t you, boy?”
“Yes, Milady,” he said weakly, his eyes full of wonder as he kept them focussed on the object of his desire.
“How did you get here?”
“My Father sold me into slavery, Milady.”
“Ah yes, that’s right,” Jani nodded as she pretended to recall the details, though in truth they had never slipped her mind. “You’re the little shit who can’t keep his cock in his trousers. If I remember rightly, your father found you fucking the Police Chief’s wife. Another time he discovered you in the cow shed, tied up and naked, being beaten by your brother’s wife. That’s when he decided to advertise you on the Internet, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, Milady.”
“You’re trouble, boy, and no good to a man like your father who has a farm to run. Now remind me why it is that I find you cluttering up my courtyard.”
“It pleased you to have yours guards take me to a cell on my arrival yesterday, Milady, but I’m afraid I soiled it.”
“Ah yes, that’s right.”
Still crouching low over his face, she swayed back and forth, watching as he flicked his tongue over his lips. She could see that he was so worked up that he was trembling with arousal. Deciding to keep him on the boil a little longer, she turned around and manoeuvred herself into position and lowered herself once again. So as not to cause herself any discomfort by scratching her buttocks on the rubble stacked up behind her, she reached round and cleared a space before settling in her final position. Then, as his eyes registered her nakedness, she cupped the soft swell of her breasts in her hands and pointed them down towards him, so close but oh-so-far out of reach. And all the time her pussy fluttered teasingly over his mouth.
“My guards reported that you shot your lot all over your nice cell floor. Not only that, but you refused to lick it up.”
“But it was dirty! There was straw, and sawdust - and it stank of urine.”
“Nevertheless, you’re no good to me if you can’t do as you’re told. I might just as well throw you in the dungeon and forget about you… it would be one less slave mouth to feed.”
It amused her to know that beneath the plank his poor cock would be unbearably crushed, even as it throbbed with desire as it was denied room to grow. With her vulva still hovering tantalisingly above his face, Jani dipped her finger between her folds and began to slowly agitate it once more. When she withdrew it, slick with her sap, with a slow, theatrical gesture designed to make the hapless boy burn with desire she slipped it between her glossed, Scarlet Mayhem lips.
“Mmmmmm, that’s good,” she told him. “Sometimes I let good boys lick me out. But you’ve been so bad…”
It was too much for the youngster who cried out in frustration. “I won’t ever be bad again! Please, Milady.”
She knew she had succeeded; the boy was besotted with her and would do her bidding without question. With that in mind, she reasoned it was time to take what she wanted from him before he became insensible with distress. Straightening her back, she reached out a hand and using finger and thumb, pinched his nose almost closed as she finally ground her pussy over his gasping mouth.
“Then earn your keep. Give me the best orgasm I’ve ever had or I’ll personally flay the skin from your miserable hide.”
At once he began sucking at her glorious cavern, his probing tongue finding its way inside. Tethered, weighted down by wood and masonry, he was barely able to breathe and could do nothing but plunge his tongue deep into her copiously lubricating channel. Wide-eyed he stared up at her, watching as she twirled her nipple. Then all at once, his eyes filled with water and he started to cough and splutter. But Jani wasn’t about to give him relief by moving; instead she gave a little wiggle then ground down even harder.
“What’s the matter? Can’t breathe?” Filled with the most shameful feelings of utter domination that sent pulses of joy thrumming through her veins, she declared mockingly, “I know what the trouble is… you’re choking on a pube. Tough! Just eat my cunt, boy, or I’ll have the guard add another chunk of rubble.” Still the boy coughed, his face turning a deep shade of red. Jani pulled a face, knowing she’d have to relent or he really would choke, damn him! Nevertheless, she found comfort in the thought that she could punish him for his carelessness later. Then, still crouching low, she took a couple of steps backward. At last she let go of his nose and at once he began to inhale deeply. “Stick out your tongue.” The young lad immediately did as he was told. “Further!” His eyes bulged as he stuck his tongue out as far as he was able, all the while gagging hopelessly. “Ah yes,” Jani said, peering down at the black, curly hair that was about to disappear down his throat, “there’s the culprit.” She made to remove it, then with a laugh told him, “no, you keep it… something to remember me by.”
Without another word or thought for his welfare, she rose to her feet.
There was a changing of the guard as Jani took up her former position and leaned over the parapet, ignoring the still-gagging slaveboy. The view from this tower was magnificent and one of her favourites. Smiling, she reflected on how fortunate she was to have inherited such a place, its history and isolation ensuring that she would never have to look far for wealthy patrons to help finance its upkeep and her lavish lifestyle. She switched her gaze towards the tiny cluster of dots in the distance, the buildings which formed the nearest village, from where she had received disturbing reports the day before of a stranger hanging about in the small hotel. If the reports were correct, he was some kind of journalist who was asking awkward questions. On reflection, perhaps she should send someone to investigate. She had invested a lot of time and energy in this project, of which she was justifiably proud, and she didn’t need some idiot man screwing it up. Once again she caught the guard’s attention.
“You! Go and tell Celandine I have a job for her.”
As the guard hurried to do her bidding, dreamily, Jani swept her gaze over the barren landscape. She loved the castle, it was her whole world, a cruel world in which she, as Lady Nightshade, reigned supreme.
***
The small hotel, tucked away in a winding back street of the village, was all but drowning in a sea of mimosa. Nestling in a valley in rural Spain, it was the ideal base for a man like Kenny, who shunned the tourist hotspots wherever possible, preferring to explore the countryside rather than the beaches. Basic and clean with a well-stocked bar, and a patisserie that was simply bursting with home-made delicacies, the hotel lacked nothing in the way of Spanish charm. And here, far from the hustle and bustle of the city, the air was clean, the pace of life slower and the peace absolute.
It was his research from the previous year that had brought Kenny back to the quaint village that he had only briefly passed through on his way North. Then he had been researching his book on the myths and legends of this remote region of Spain and had hoped to discover more about the Lobombre, the Spanish version of the Werewolf. But by chance he had stumbled upon another myth, darker than any of those that had taken up his research, and what’s more there was a modern twist. And it was this that had necessitated his return.
He turned his gaze upward towards the Castle, a sprawling monstrosity that was a cross somewhere between a fourteenth century castle and a much later, grander stately home. With towers and turrets galore, it dominated the skyline for miles around and it was said that a young English woman ruled with all the cruelty of a medieval queen. Last in a long line of female tyrants, it was rumoured that she also ruled the area for miles around. There were whispers from the more superstitious of the villagers that even the wolves did her bidding, though this could be discounted at once, since there hadn’t been an actual wolf sighting in these parts for over a hundred years!
Nevertheless, Kenny had been intrigued enough to make the return journey from London, though so far he had found it impossible to uncover any official word on the subject for the authorities seemed to have a strange lack of information. Even the Spanish tourist board claimed never to have heard of the place, as did the Police and local government offices.
Also strangely lacking was historical documentation, apart from one dog-eared parchment that he had stumbled across while researching something completely different at the British Library. When denied permission to photocopy it due to its fragile condition, he had surreptitiously done so anyway. Now he took a folded piece of paper from the breast pocket of his designer polo shirt and placed it on the table, intending to read it when he had finished his lager, which he did in one gulp.
The tranquillity was shattered by the sound of an approaching motorbike. Suddenly the place was thrown into turmoil. The customers sitting outside the small hotel, mostly locals who had been drinking and relaxing in the late afternoon sunshine, hurried to gather up their belongings and made ready to leave. Somewhere behind the hotel the motorbike killed its engine. Kenny smiled sadly; even a sleepy village in rural Spain had its notorious young tearaway, he thought as the place began to empty.
Realising there must be trouble brewing, the young couple who had been in front of him when he picked up his hire car at the airport also got to their feet and hastily followed the departing locals. That left only Kenny himself, plus the two elderly men whose game of chess had absorbed them for close on an hour. But now their game was momentarily forgotten as they pushed back their chairs to stand stock still, one on either side of their table. They flicked troubled eyes towards Kenny, gesturing that he should stand also, or better still, leave. Flapping his hand to wave away their concerns, he shook his head. He wasn’t afraid of the local riffraff; he could more than take care of himself. He fixed his gaze on the pathway that ran round the side of the hotel and that eventually led to the mountain road. He squared his shoulders. At thirty-five he was healthy, in good shape and ready for any leather jacketed lout who came along.
He was not, however, prepared for the startling young woman, dressed in white, who rounded the corner.
End of Chapter One
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