Chapter Six

The Beginnings Of “Use and Abuse”

That’s why everyone loves Sappho: it’s simply because her humanity shows through and, whereas she’s openly compassionate, she couples it with supreme levels of eroticism!

It turned out that Jackson’s recovery was swift and her intervention had embedded Sappho even more deeply into his psyche and had opened the door to Jackson’s black meat becoming embedded more frequently in her ass. Now he had another avenue into her body Sappho felt his full length coming into her for the rest of the night where he spent the dark hours doing her bum-hole; again and again. That Thursday was the beginning of an ass-fucking spree that marked the transition in their relationship. It was also when Sappho grew totally submissive and began to worship at the root of his black cock.

She became adept at manhandling his phallus and moaning as she tongued his balls, wiping it on her forehead, around her eyes, nose, cheeks and lips, over her tits, under her armpits, past her navel, running it down to her belly and stroking it along her perineum from her asshole to her pussy before clamping it between her thighs and making him cum.

Their lovemaking was increasingly wet with semen, saliva, secretions, sweat, blood and tears lubricating the friction between their bodies because, on more than one occasion, Sappho was flogged.

Jackson’s bedroom was enormous with a super-king-size bed in the centre: so, after they’d exhausted themselves overnight in more conventional sex, one morning saw Jackson take a new initiative when he positioned a footstool in the middle of the bed. Then, in a major change of deference towards Sappho, he asked her to kneel over it, spread her legs, hang her tits over the edge, grip the base and hold herself still.

Sappho knew what was coming but she had no idea of the level of pain that would accompany it. She was raised on a platform about four feet above the floor on which Jackson stood. When the six-foot, 190 pound athlete swung his arm the first lash was excruciating and the second, third, fourth, fifth and all the way up to the twentieth swipe of the crop raised brutal, horizontal, red stripes on her buttocks. Mercifully, Jackson concentrated his aim on her bottom, well above her thighs, but the bruises still left thick, rising wheals where he’d laid the whip.

Sappho, as ever, took the treatment in stillness and in silence and this had the effect of arousing Jackson in two conflicting ways: first, sexually, as his lover, when he saw her prostrate, submissive and open to his access; and then, frustratingly, as his tormentor, when the expectant pleas for mercy never came. These stimulants caused a confusion that could have led to serious harm had Jackson not wrestled to keep control over his emotions.

As it was, their first encounter ended with Sappho going limp over the footstool and distantly recalling Jackson climbing on her back, spreading her buttocks, forcing himself into her slick pussy and coming into her from behind where, after he’d unloaded, he just rolled off, letting the liquid run out of her chasm and drool down the insides of her thighs.

Dismissive? Possibly: but a wind of change had begun to blow through their relationship and Sappho was experiencing the first instalments of a full-blown version of being ‘used and abused’.

Let there be no doubt; Jackson still revered Sappho, his love was transcendent and the level of awe in which he held her remained stratospheric but she had expressed her wish to be ‘used and abused’; she expected it and, in doing so, had given him licence, nay, an explicit order, to ‘go to town’ on her. As a matter of fact, he worried that he’d find himself on the outside looking in if he failed to meet these calls.

After about 30 minutes, Sappho was still lying inert so Jackson went through to the bathroom to run a hot tub with an added tincture of antiseptic. Then he came back, cradled the exhausted woman in his arms, and laid her in the bath. The chemicals stung so, without speaking, he gave her a glass of whisky before joining her in the warm water.

It took another half an hour, or so, before her senses returned and, on opening her eyes, a few faint signs of pleasure cracked across her face; “You scourged me! Thank you, my darling; you’ve made me your chattel and that makes you my new Master!

“I serve you now; you own me: I’m yours to use and abuse.”

It was late afternoon and, when the bath had done its job, he carried her to the bedroom where he laid her, face down, on the sheets and applied some ointment to her wounds. It was the first time Jackson had whipped anything animate and the idea of beating his girlfriend induced in him some revulsion but his consolation came with the self-imposed boundaries.

He’d taken a lot out of Sappho so he spent much of the rest of the day putting a lot back into her by way of massage, tender ministrations, giving her all the signs of his care and attention and, because she couldn’t bear any weight on her backside, he took a spoon and fed her some soup.

The effect on Sappho was reassuring: she was offering herself as a living sacrifice and she felt, whatever the outcome, her destiny was in such good hands she could trust her new Master and have no reservations about where it would lead.

This was just as well because, shortly after midnight, when her mind was still fuzzy, she felt her legs being splayed apart and some lube smeared around her butt-hole; shortly after, this was accompanied by a small but growing pressure on her outer-sphincter muscle. Her ring gave way and the sensations mounted as this cock slipped along her passage, penetrated her inner-sphincter and continued the run inside her large intestine until his balls hit the buffers. Then the movements began; gently at first until large hands took hold of her hips and dragged her into a kneeling position.

Then it was ‘game on’; the sawing started and the cockhead in her ass seemed to be almost coming out before sliding back in but the motion was firm; the intrusion was fat, long and hard and the persistence was relentless. Strangely, she felt something else at her lips and what seemed like another phallus sliding between her teeth and heading for her throat.

As the fog began to clear it dawned on Sappho that it was a different cock to the one roosting in her nest and she was the focus of a spit-roast with another man who had been introduced, unknowingly, into her body. This wasn’t against her will because she had no will; only an hour or so ago she’d forsaken that when she’d pronounced herself a ‘chattel’ to be ‘used and abused’ and referred to Jackson as her ‘Master’; one who owned her and to whom she’d pledged her servitude: so things were moving swiftly.

Oddly, the pain on her backside vanished when Sappho felt blood rushing to her brain and the other sensitive parts of her anatomy; namely her asshole, her mouth, her tits and her pussy; all of which were to be used and abused in the hours to come. Yet, whilst all of this was swilling around in her mind, the ploughing sensations inside her body continued as the men at either end, compressing her between two pistons, were intent on shafting her cavities, filling them with meat and flooding them with semen.

Then it stopped; but only momentarily until the dicks swapped ends and Sappho felt another cock, one of similar size, sliding into her ass and her lips being forced open again. The shafting and the squeezing continued, along with the eruptions, and, when Sappho’s tits weren’t being sucked and man-handled, they were bobbling all over the place at the rockings and the toings-and-froings: but she had no say in matters.

“At last,” she mused, “they’re through; they’ve cum at both ends; it’s over!”

Sadly, that was only partly true because they’d positioned her so they could fuck her ass and her pussy at the same time. Strong arms manipulated Sappho so she was held, kneeling, on top of a man and she remembered his penis sliding into her pussy. This left her ass raised high and exposed to entry and, soon, another intrusion slid into her bum hole. She’d given up trying to identify Jackson’s dick and had abandoned trying to anticipate their next moves so; as lips attached to a mammary and the blood flow rushed into her nipple, she surrendered and submitted herself to their whims.

It was the kiss that betrayed Jackson and, as he rutted away inside her pussy, she blocked-out the action in her ass and, instinctively, cradled his head and revelled at the tenderness of his response. She was loved; this was not revenge; Jackson was not playing out his anger: he was meeting her needs and he’d chosen his accomplice well. He, too, was strong but tender and respectful of her and her person. She was more than a rag doll.

Just as the dawn was breaking the threesome came to an end and Sappho was very nearly at an end. She was dead beat: her energy was gone; her mouth, her belly and her pussy had been filled, refilled and drenched with semen; her body was encrusted, her nipples were stinging, her backside throbbed, her pussy ached, her hair was matted: her ass had been penetrated a dozen, or more, times but her wish had been respected. No semen had gone into her back-passage and the last thing she remembered before falling into a deep sleep was the gentle kiss from Jackson’s co-respondent.

He was a Black man, too; of similar looks, age and build to Jackson: but this was hardly a surprise, because Johnson was Jackson’s twin brother.