The day after I had got home after the dinner party at my in-laws' house, my phone buzzed. It was a message from my father-in-law. Susanna, his wife, had gone to visit her sister; I was, as a result, to come to their house that evening. All arrangements had been made; I just needed to bring an overnight bag. With Charles still away on business, I hopped in my Range Rover to make the hour’s drive.
Parking in the sweep of gravel outside the front of their house, a second message appeared. The door was unlocked, and I was to go straight up to the usual bedroom, and change into the clothes that had been laid out on the bed.
Having put my stuff away, had a bath, and dried myself carefully, I inspected the outfit Julian had selected for me. Laid out on the bed was a three-piece lingerie set, comprised of an underwired shelf bra, suspender belt, and string. Set next to them was a pair of black satin wrist restraints.
The string was crotchless and decorated with a lace hem. The suspender belt was made of lace, with buckle straps that clipped onto two stretchy little lace garters, complete with small rings, onto which the black satin wrist restraints could be attached.
Having put all of that on, I turned to the bra. The slightly padded open cups lifted my heavy breasts, which were framed by the lace of the bra. With that in place, I fastened the lace choker around my throat with the two small buttons at the back, before attaching the choker securely to the bra with a buckle strap that ran between my boobs.
Completing the look was a pair of very slutty, cage style, multi-strap, black high heels, with a six-inch thin stiletto. With them strapped onto my feet, and tying my blond hair back in a ponytail, I applied the makeup Julian had also placed on the bed: vivid red lipstick, thick black mascara, and smoky blue-grey eyeliner.
My phone buzzed again, with the perfunctory instruction to come to his study. Descending the main stairway, I tottered my way through the empty house. The study door was open, and the room was illuminated by a series of lamps.
Entering, I stood in the middle of the room in silence. Julian, dressed in a silk dressing gown, rose from his chair and moved around the desk. Appraising me, he nodded in satisfaction. “Arabella, you really are a pretty little thing,” he murmured, before gently taking my hands and tying the black satin wrist restraints to the small rings on the lace garters.
With my hands now immobilised, I looked at him submissively, awaiting his instructions. “Kneel down,” he commanded in an even tone, his eyes taking in every inch of my body, which was encased in the lingerie he had carefully selected. Awkwardly, without being able to use my arms for balance, I sank onto my knees and rested my exposed bum on the thin stilettos.
“Now, my dear, I want you to fuck me with your face,” Julian instructed, leaning back against the desk, and loosening his dressing gown.
Strapped into the slutty ensemble he had chosen for me, and with my boobs, bum and mound exposed, humiliation mixed with deep arousal as my husband’s father instructed me to pleasure him in those terms. Both feelings excited me; the combination was exhilarating.
Denied the use of my fingers, I was reliant on my mouth. Keeping my balance by resting my firm buttocks on the stiletto heels, I leant forward. Looking up at his semi-flaccid manhood, and working from the base, I planted light kisses, leaving a series of red lipstick marks along the upper side of his length. As the blood coursed through it, his cock grew rigid in response. Looking up at him, I parted my red-painted lips and took the fat head between them.
Julian moaned softly as I twirled my tongue around his rigid manhood. Still looking up at him, I took the full length deep into my mouth. “Filthy slut,” he muttered, his hands moving to my head, fingers reaching into my hair. Without warning, he pushed me firmly down, until my lips were pressed against his groin, and the tip of his cock touched the back of my throat. My eyes widened, and I gagged involuntarily as he held me there.
Gripping the hair on the back of my head, and steadying himself against the desk, my father-in-law began to use my mouth. The air was rent with “gluck, gluck, gluck, gluck, gluck, gluck,” noises as, my hands tied and his grip firm, I knelt helplessly whilst he repeatedly forced himself deep into my throat.
He continued like this until, gagging and eyes watering, I began to struggle for breath. Pulling me back by my hair, strings of saliva running from my mouth, he released me for just long enough to gasp for air, before plunging me back down onto his shaft.
Eventually, the tone of his breathing changed and I could feel his cock beginning to twitch. Instead of releasing me, Julian pushed down on the back of my head and thrust himself forward, pressing his full length deep into me. Letting out a loud grunt, he came hard, swamping my mouth and throat with his cum, watching me gag and squirm, whilst he held my face tight against his crotch.
Sated, Julian relaxed his grip and sat back on the edge of the desk. He looked down calmly as I rocked back on my heels, breasts heaving, gasping for breath, with his mess drooling from my lips.
From his pocket, he produced a handkerchief, and used it to clean his slowly softening length. Nodding with satisfaction, he stood and neatly re-tied his dressing gown. He waited until I had regained composure, before lifting me from my knees. Reaching onto the desk, he picked up a small, egg-shaped object. “That, my dear, was but the amuse-bouche,” he smiled, watching me gasp as he slipped the little plastic egg into my pussy.
Putting what obviously was some form of remote control into the pocket of his dressing gown, he indicated I should follow him from the room. My stilettos clicking on the wooden floor of the hallway, Julian led me to the dining room. Holding out a chair, he invited me to sit. Untying the satin restraints, he released my hands, before pushing the chair forwards. “You are to keep your hands above the table at all times,” he made clear, whilst pouring glasses of champagne to accompany the smoked salmon salad already in front of us.
Taking his own seat, he placed the remote on the table. After a sip of his champagne, my father-in-law circled on the control, sending a low charge through the vibe he had positioned inside me. Closing my eyes, I sighed as a tingling sensation spread inside me.
Allowing this to continue for several minutes, Julian ate some of his salmon whilst watching me. “Nggghhh,” I gasped, sitting bolt upright and gripping the edge of the table, when Julian suddenly pushed the power to maximum.
Almost as suddenly, he took the power down to zero. My eyes snapped open, and I mewed in frustration at the absence of the stimulus. Observing my reaction, and with a wry smile, he circled his finger backwards and forwards, sending pulses of energy oscillating through my sopping pussy. “Oh, fuck, yes,” I panted, as he took me close to the edge. Playing with me, he eased the power right off. “Please, Julian,” I whispered, wide-eyed and desperate.
Julian considered me, whilst taking another sip of champagne. “You will come, when I decide you will come,” he confirmed, pointedly setting the remote to one side. “Try some of the salad. Susanna made it, although I am not sure she envisaged adding a dressing of that flavour,” he smiled, indicating towards his semen, which was still glistening on my mouth and chin.
I ate the salmon, which was delicious, even with the addition of a salty dressing. And as I did so, I pleaded with Julian to turn the vibe back on. “Such a slut,” he sighed, placing his knife down and pulling the control towards him. Sliding the dial up, he sent a constant low vibration through me. I closed my eyes, and let out a moan as the feeling grew again inside me.
“Is that what you need, you little tart,” Julian murmured, increasing the intensity. Moaning, I nodded feverishly, clutching the table for support. “Play with your tits, and tell me how much you need to come,” he demanded, dialling down the vibe, until he had me stamping my feet with frustration.
Mouth open and eyes glazed, I leant back in the chair and ran my elegant fingers over the full breasts that were framed by the open-cupped bra. My eyes on his, I circled my erect brown nipples. “I have a constant need to be fucked,” I moaned in a husky voice, pushing my boobs together over the buckle strap that ran from the choker down to the shelf bra. “Taken slowly, taken hard, used,” I continued breathlessly, caressing the heavy mounds of soft white flesh, as Julian sent vibrations through me in waves. “And when there isn’t a big hard cock to service me, I use my fingers to make me cum,” I purred, responding to the gentle increase in volume.
“You whore,” Julian muttered, sending the device to full power with a flick of his finger.
“Nnnnggghhh,” I responded to the sudden shock. Leaving the setting at maximum, Julian removed his hand from the control and sat back, watching his eldest son’s wife lose control. “Oh God, I’m coming; Oh God, Oh God, oh…my…fucking…God,” I wailed, head flung back and hands kneading my breasts, as the egg’s intense vibration played on the nerve endings in my labia, and brought me to a shuddering climax.
Instead of turning down the dial, my father-in-law picked up his knife and fork. Whilst I continued to writhe and whimper, he calmly ate the remainder of his salmon, and took sips of the champagne. “Please, Julian,” I implored him, the intensity of the vibrations almost unbearable, “make it stop; I can’t take any more.”
“I thought you had a constant need to be used, Arabella,” Julian replied, raising an eyebrow, and setting his empty plate to one side. Having done so, he sat in silence and watched me sobbing and convulsing helplessly as the vibe brought me to an agonisingly intense forced orgasm.
Then, finally, he relented, and eased the control down until it was turned off. I lay slumped in the chair, shaking and unable to speak. Julian stood, his dressing gown tented. “That was the starter. Now, for the main course,” he said, moving around the table and lifting me gently from the chair.
With an arm around my waist, he guided me, tottering on my slutty heels, through the kitchen and into a corridor that led to some storerooms. At the end of the corridor was a door, which Julian unlocked, turning on a light to illuminate the space beyond. Shutting and locking the door behind us, he led the way down a short flight of stone stairs into a cellar.
“My gun room, where I keep my guns and other precious things under lock and key,” he explained, running a hand over my exposed buttocks.
“Am I one of those precious things you wish to lock up?” I mused, looking at the wooden pillar in the centre of the cellar. It was furnished with two large iron hooks, from which shotgun bags hung.
“I do admire intelligence in a woman,” Julian replied, running the back of his hand lightly down my face. “To the less perceptive,” he continued, removing the gun bags, “this looks entirely innocent. However, it fulfils an alternative and far less innocent function. Are you familiar with a breeding post, Arabella?” he asked, his hand stroking my exposed breast.
“No, but the name is hardly subtle,” I giggled. He nodded, with a wry smile. Then, taking each of my hands in turn, Julian firmly tied them to the hooks, using the black satin wrist restraints.
“I did say I would do the most unspeakable things to you, my dear,” he continued in an even tone, positioning me with my back extended, my pert arse pushed out, and my shapely, stiletto-clad legs spread. From a safe, he removed a set of fur-lined manacles, which he fastened around my ankles. He then ran the chains across the cellar floor, to hooks mounted discreetly at the base of the wall. I was completely at his mercy, held firmly in place by my hands and ankles.
From the same safe, he pulled a horse training whip, with a hard, leather-bound handle and a mass of soft leather straps making up its tail. “I had this made by a man I know in Florence, using the finest leather. It is designed to punish rather than mark,” he explained, almost to himself, examining the beautifully constructed whip.
“Are you going to punish me for being a bad girl, Daddy?” I simpered, looking over my shoulder at him with a pout.
"Oh, I intend to punish you, Arabella,” he confirmed, taking the first swipe at my backside, in response to which I squealed.
“Because you have been,” he paused, lining himself up, and taking a hard stroke of the whip with each word, “a…very…bad…girl.”
“Oh, my fucking God, that hurts,” I yelped, trying in vain to pull away from the stinging leather straps, as they lashed my buttocks.
“It’s meant to,” Julian panted, “you…dirty…little…whore,” he intoned in time with a series of even fiercer thrashings, which left me whimpering with pain.
With a groan of lust, Julian threw away the whip and yanked open his dressing gown, exposing a raging hard-on. Moving close behind me, he took firm hold of the back of the suspender belt with one hand and my ponytail with the other. Leaning forward, he whispered in my ear, “Let me show you why it is called a breeding post.” With that, he plunged himself home, and began to take me.
Held firmly in place by the manacles and the wrist restraints, my head jerked back as he tugged at my ponytail in time with each deep thrust, I was completely his to use. “Oh, fuck, yes, I love it,” I howled, “fuck me like you mean it.”
With that, he lost all control. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” I screamed, in response to Julian pommelling me with an almost animal-like ferocity. Then, with a roar, he pulsed his seed deep inside me.
Breathing heavily, he pulled out and stood back, watching as my whole body shook and my legs trembled with the intensity of his assault. “Promise you will use me like that whenever you get the chance,” I panted, his mess oozing from my swollen pussy.
