The Daughter of De Sade

JULIAN WANTED TO KNOW where he was being taken.

But no one in the car would tell him, it was a surprise. Several weeks had passed since his encounter with Mistress Madonna and The Colonel in the cellar of his country house. And following that session she had been quite concerned, because upon examining Julian closely she realised that he really was in a sorry state. So she had cancelled all his appointments with her until such time as his desperately abused body had recovered, and the weals and bruises had faded. That time had now come and because it was also his birthday she had laid on an extra special treat. However if he was not a good boy and did not do exactly as he was told, well then he would have his bottom smacked until he could not sit down. And then he would be sent home to bed and would not be allowed to open his presents or have any birthday cake.

Julian had seen the cake. It was huge and covered in fruit and cream and had a specially modelled figurine of Mistress Madonna standing on the top. And because she had never allowed him to so much as touch her, he saw a way to fulfil his lustful desires in her direction using the confectionery doll. The cochineal tips of her nipples beckoned to his lips and after sucking them dry, he imagined himself licking up the black icing between her legs that represented her pubic bush. He could taste it, musky, as it would be in real life, not sugary sweet as it would be on the doll. So he promised to be good. Very, very good. He crossed his heart and hoped to die, and Mistress Madonna said there was every likelihood that he would do just that if he did not keep his word.

Due to the importance of the occasion and the privacy that needed to be applied to it, The Colonel had dismissed his chauffeur and was driving the Bentley himself. And that was not such a simple task as it might seem because he was sporting an absolutely giant erection, the tip of his penis pushing up through his trousers to almost touch the rim of the steering wheel. Every time he attempted to corner, or deviate from a straight path his throbbing cock got in the way of his hands.

It was pure murder. And the reason for his discomfort was Mistress Madonna. Sat next to him on the front passenger seat she was displaying almost every inch of her immaculately dressed, Venus-proportioned charms, she had allowed her short skirt to ride up her thighs so that her stocking tops were clearly on display. Her legs were parted in such a provocative manner that The Colonel had opted for driving with one hand and he thanked his lucky stars that the car was automatic. That freed his left hand to slip over the creamy flesh of her thighs, follow the suspenders and then dip into the moist heaven of her sex. Two fingers slid up and down the soft fleshy slit of her labia, getting wetter and wetter as her juices flowed, until there was a definite parting between the lips. His fingers found their way into the hole of her vagina, prompting a juddering twitch in his cock and a sigh of appreciation from her that surprised even him. He began to think that maybe they would not make their destination without him having to stop the car and fucking the arse off her.

It was a nice thought. And he would have loved to have done it, except that he had made a solemn promise to Mistress Madonna. A promise to continue assisting her in the disciplining of Julian. And the more he helped her, the more he shagged her. It was as simple as that. So for the moment he concentrated on the task in hand, which was transporting her and her charges to their destination.

Julian was sitting on the rear seat, dressed in his favourite school uniform: a schoolboy's cap, a blazer with his house colours sewn around the edge, a white shirt and school tie, short trousers that finished halfway down his thighs and long woollen knee-length socks. And he was blindfolded. Crushed up on either side of him were two of Mistress Madonna's closest associates. Her sisters. Julian was in for one hell of a birthday treat - and for one monster hole in his bank balance. He had one hand clamped on the naked flesh of each of his companions, just above their stocking tops where the meat of the thighs gets smoother and more prick teasing. But his instructions were firm. That was his limit, no higher. Not one inch. And so his cock throbbed, his fingers itched to slip just that little bit further towards the two juicy cunts that were so tantalisingly close, and his eyes watered in blinkered blindness.

She had done it again.

Mistress Madonna had set up a situation guaranteed to drive Julian to the brink. He hated her for that, although he did love the punishment and the humiliation that were always the focus of her sessions with him. She knew how to punish him and tease him and leave him screaming for a fulfilment he would never get. Not with her anyway.

And so she had arranged something very special for that day.

An outing with her and The Colonel. And two staggeringly Amazonian women whose overwhelming power and stature were later almost to cause him to ejaculate at the mere sight of them. In addition, she had told him that if he was a really exceptionally well-behaved little person, then there was a chance that he might get to do much more than just lust after the two female warriors' vaginas. In so many words she had said that not only might he get to sniff a red-hot cunt, but also he might be allowed to taste it. To lick it. To roll his tongue over a tasty, musky sexhole and sink his teeth into a rock hard bullet of a clitoris. He really wanted to do that. And the thought of it all projected his grown man's penis into an erection that pulsed down along the top of his thigh to poke out below the bottom of the leg of his schoolboy's short trousers.

But there had also been a hint at an even greater possibility. He might actually get to dip his wick. To sink his cock deep into a real female orifice. Not hers of course; not Mistress Madonna's, but one, or maybe even both of the six-foot tall sisters' sexes. He was in no doubt that they were his birthday present. And The Colonel and the three women were in even less doubt that he was mistaken.

The day had started off in a pretty extraordinary fashion, even for Julian.

"Forgive me Mistress for I have sinned."

The words themselves were not too unusual, Julian had begged for mercy many times before. But never quite so ardently. He was on his knees, his hands cuffed behind his back, the handcuffs themselves being tightly chained to the collar looping his neck, pulling his head back and projecting his Adam's Apple into a solid visible lump beneath his chin. Mistress Madonna's scornful eyes surveyed his pathetic figure, knelt as it was in the Augean filth of the cellar. She spent a few moments contemplating the utter squalor of her surroundings. The cellar had not been exactly pristine before, but now after the huge pipes passing through the wall close to the ceiling had burst and spilt their obnoxious contents all over the walls and floors, the atmosphere was positively nauseating. If a man's home is truly his castle, then in Julian's case his castle was now his pigsty. Hercules himself could not have diverted enough rivers to clean up this particular mess.

But Julian would have to. Mistress Madonna had made her mind up on that point. Birthday or not, 'His Naughtiness' would have to make an attempt to restore his realm to some semblance of order. The level of the dirty water, made blacker by all the coal dust it was soaking up, rose to her calves, and with Julian sitting back on his heels his whole bottom half was submerged. His backside, balls and cock were all being lapped by wavelets of effluent as the pipes continued to disgorge their contents. But whereas his other intimate parts were all at or beneath water level, his cock was straining skywards.

It was her again.

Mistress Madonna.

He was immovably bound, up to his arse in filthy water and yet he still sported an erection. And why? Because she stood legs astride with her naked, bushy mons only inches from his salivating mouth. Added to that, his nose was working overtime, the musky aroma of her sex being sniffed into his nostrils with all the vigour he could muster.

Whack! The cane fell across his shoulders, biting and painful.

"Stop that, you dirty little beast."

Julian bit his lip, flinching with the hurt. But he did not stop sniffing. So far, the pleasure being generated by the intimate aromas of her sex as they wafted up his nose was much greater than the pain occasioned by the cane. She widened her stance, ensuring that he got a full view of her long, wavy and slightly parted labia. His prick jerked in response, just as she knew it would. And the cane slashed down once again, just as he knew it would. It was a little game they played: Mistress Madonna provoked him into misbehaving, he responded and she punished him. She controlled him like a puppet and he danced on the end of her string... more than happy to be her undeserving slave.

The end of the cane prodded his throat, prompting his Adam's Apple to bob up and down as he swallowed nervously. She fixed her eyes on his straining cock poking up through the murky water. The cane made little rippling circles as she stirred its tip around his bell-end and Julian tried to look down to see exactly what she was doing. He always got a little nervous when she started to wave the cane in the vicinity of his dick, because more often than not it was the precursor of some exceedingly painful savaging of his private parts. But he could not look anywhere except upwards at the beaver's nest that was now within licking proximity of his mouth, the tight chain binding his neck to his wrists saw to that. He could not help himself. His tongue darted from his mouth, but she was too fast for him, her honeypot moved away from his face and the cane slashed agonisingly on to his twitching purple glans.

"Naughty, naughty Julian. What has Mistress Madonna told you?"

It really did not matter what she had told him, the searing pain in his cock was blanking out any other consideration.

The cane fell once more.

"OOWhoo!"

Julian tried. He really did. But it was impossible for him to formulate any response whatsoever. His poor, abused cock reeled in shock as he tried to soothe the agony by dipping its whole length down into the water. Cutting bites of the cane rained down on his shoulders and his back.

"You horrid, nasty boy. Get your dick out of that dirty water this instant."

"But you hurt it."

Smack!

"Don't answer back."

"But..."

One word was as far as he got. A flurry of vicious strikes from the cane lacerated his arms and abdomen. He was beginning to glow, as he always did after she had got to work on him. Glow on the inside as well as out.

Nothing could rival the thrill of this treatment. He loved her to thrash him and stripe his flesh, and beat him into submission. Often long after she had departed, he would stand naked, admiring his abused body. Every slash of the cane or whip that had bruised, cut or marked him being recalled as he masturbated frantically. Mistress Madonna was right... he was a dirty little pervert. And a guaranteed source of income.

"If you don't stop being naughty and be a good little baby, Mistress Madonna will have to cancel your birthday treat."

"Oh, please don't... What is it anyway?"

That was for her to know and for him to find out, she told him. And he would not find out until he started behaving himself and doing what she ordered.

"I'll do it. Anything, you know I will."

She did. She was just testing him.

"Good. So, get to work. Clean up the cellar."

"What!?"

"You heard, you little shit. Clean up the cellar."

"But I can't. The pipes have burst. It's full of filthy water."

Julian was right of course, but she was not going to stand for her insolent charge answering back.

"Don't be silly, of course you can."

And with that, she pressed one stilettoed heel into his back and tipped him head first into the water. With his hands cuffed behind his back he was unable to push himself up, thrashing around snorting and choking until he managed to turn on to his side, and supported on his shoulder he was able to lift his head clear of the water.

"You fucking rotten tart, you could have drowned me."

"Forgotten ourselves again, haven't we?" She laid the cane along the side of his cheek to emphasise the point. "Now, say sorry to Mistress Madonna."

Julian said nothing. Certainly not that he was sorry. Or if he did it was not quick enough.

Again the stilettoed foot propelled him face down into the dirty water. And once more he splashed around like a drowning cat until he was able to prop himself back on to his shoulder. He screamed and ranted, swore and abused her until his fevered tirade slowed and his words became more faltering. Sanity returned. He had really blotted his copybook now. Mistress Madonna had not said a word, just standing over him throughout his verbal onslaught with the sternest, most disapproving look on her face. He was in for serious trouble now. That was for certain. Probably a prolonged caning. Or a whipping. And it could not come soon enough.

There was an ominous silence. Julian lay in the rippling tide looking up straight at his Mistress' vagina. She widened her legs and slipping a hand over her mons, dipped her fingers into the pink lips of her labia. She spread her fingers, pulling the fronds apart so that he could see a definite hole. Julian's cock juddered and twitched as his erection doubled in intensity, tiny eddies rippling away from his glans as it beat the water like a miniature paddle.

"You pathetic little insect. You've really done it now, haven't you?"

She bent her knees, squatting more closely to Julian's face, her finger-widened hole staring him straight in the eye. Sperm began to leak from his meatus, floating away on the water.

"Mistress Madonna had a really, really special treat for Julian's birthday. But he's not going to get it now is he? He's been too naughty."

"Please, give it me. I will be good, really I will."

"No. It's too late for that. But Mistress Madonna will tell you what it was... She was going to let you fuck her."

Julian's howl of frustration raced from his mouth as at the same moment a fountain of sperm spurted from his cock. Mistress Madonna smiled inwardly. She was well satisfied; Part One of the day's programme had gone off without a hitch. Julian really was so predictable. There was no way she was ever going to let him get his dick inside her, but to make him believe he had thrown away a chance of doing just that would leave him wild with self recrimination. She knew that he would spend hour upon hour cursing himself for being such an idiot. More psychological torture applied in her own expert fashion.

But she had not forgotten his task. Of course there was nothing he could actually do about the condition of the cellar but still she ordered him to try. And what she made him do was drink the water. She said that if he drank enough then he would drink the cellar dry. Perfectly logical to a child and so he knew better than to argue, going ahead drinking and drinking the filthy water until he was sick and vomited it all back out. Mistress Madonna told him what a good little boy he had been to try and do it, and because he had been so good he could have his other treat. But he could not fuck her... he had been far too naughty for that.

***

Stretched out in the huge shell-shaped Jacuzzi, with its ornate gold fittings, Mistress Madonna luxuriated in the revitalising jet streams of hot water as they massaged her body. She rolled her palms over her breasts, pulling and tweaking her solid nipples before suggestively running her hands down over her submerged body to stroke up and down her widespread thighs.

"Mmmmm," she sighed.

"Ooohhh."

She purred with exaggerated satisfaction as her fingers found her vagina. It was nice and juicy, and she was certainly going to enjoy her orgasm when it came, but as always she was enhancing her performance for Julian's benefit. She tried to keep him in a state of everlasting frustration, stoked up with lust for her body. A body that was often so near, but always just out of reach for him. And lusting was what he was doing at that moment. And that was all he could do.

His hands were still cuffed behind his back, but the chain attached to his collar had now been secured on a very short rein to a large gold towel hoop attached to the tiled wall. His eyes were beady and glued fast to Mistress Madonna. He had a gut wrenching erection and he was filthy. She had brought him up from the cellar and taken him straight to the bathroom. But any thoughts he had that she was going to allow him to take a shower and clean off the dirt and scum were soon dashed when she left him as he was and chained him to the wall. So there he stood, stinking and rank, with a throbbing cock that he could do nothing about, watching her pleasure herself in the foaming water.

She reached out and picked up a huge dildo, complete with ridged veins and held it up for his inspection.

"What does this remind you of?"

Julian licked his lips and as he always did when he was sulking, he said nothing.

"Don't you think it's rather like The Colonel's?"

That did it.

"You fucking bitch."

"Now, now. Don't be naughty. If you make Mistress Madonna angry, then she'll have to cancel your other birthday treat."

"I hate you."

Well, if that was really how he felt, she would just leave him there and she and The Colonel would have a party all by themselves.

They would too. And Julian knew it. It was not fair.

"I'm sorry."

"Ah, so we've decided to be good after all, have we?"

She held up the dildo once more. "All right. What does this remind you of?"

Julian knew the answer, but he had to force the words past his lips.

"The Colonel."

"You see, that wasn't hard was it?" And glancing at his private regions. "Not like your cock."

Julian's face went purple as he struggled to keep his thoughts to himself. She was always picking on his cock and it upset him. It was his, and he liked it. It was not a tiny little pinkie like she said... it was a real big boy's weapon. When he had been at public school, he and his dorm mates used to gather in the outside toilets for mutual wanking sessions, and standing in a wide circle each boy would wank the one next to him. And he always had the biggest prick. So there! But he kept his mouth shut and there was a pregnant pause as she waited to see if any further comments were forthcoming. There were not. With a struggle he managed to restrain himself and kept his silence.

Mistress Madonna decided that she had gained all the currency she was going to from that line of harassment and moved on. Making a great show of it she dipped the dildo under the water, eased up her hips and lodged it at the entrance to her vagina.

"Don't you wish this lovely big dildo was your cock?"

"Aaaarghh."

Julian nearly choked himself trying hold back a strangled insult.

"If you'd been good this morning, it could have been. But you weren't, were you?"

She nearly got him that time; he only caught himself from retaliating by a supreme effort.

"Watch now Julian, I'm going to pull my hole wide open and stick it in."

And so she did, whimpering and cooing as it slid further and further up her lubricating hole.

"Oh Julian, you can't imagine how it feels. It's big... and fat... and it could have been you."

Julian's self control burst like a ruptured dam, torrents of abuse flowing from his mouth.

"You rotten, stinking cunt of a fuckface. Why do you keep doing this to me?"

"Because you're naughty. And I think that you're naughty on purpose because you want Mistress Madonna to spank your bottom."

There was certainly truth in that statement. Julian shut up and went back to sulking. He was fed up. He was filthy. And his cock hurt.

For the next ten minutes or so Mistress Madonna concentrated on her own pleasure as Julian shuffled frustratedly in the background. Eyes closed and laid back in the swirling currents, she luxuriated in the massaging jets. With her legs wide open she used one hand to ease the dildo up and down, reaming her vagina as at the same time with the other, she rolled the nub of her hard erect clitoris. Her hips began to rise and fall with the strokes of the dildo as her passion increased, until at the moment of her shuddering orgasm she was bucking upwards with such vigour that her rump rose completely out of the water. Her body continued to shake as the continuing aftershocks rippled through her limbs, until eventually she sank back into the water, thoroughly sated.

Her eyes opened. Julian was staring at her the way a starving fox eyes up a plump chicken. His cock was twitching with every pulse that beat through it. Sperm trickled from its eye.

"You were peeking, weren't you?"

"You wanted me to, you bitch."

"Oh, what a wicked thing to say, Mistress Madonna wanted no such thing. You should have been a good boy and looked the other way."

"I'm not looking anywhere except at your cunt. It's my birthday and you said you were going to let me fuck you. Well I want to. Now!"

"That was before you were a bad, naughty boy and Mistress Madonna has already told you that there is no nookie for naughty boys."

Julian stamped his feet in a fair approximation of a childish tantrum, his erect cock swinging wildly. That was all that he could do to vent his frustration, handcuffed and chained to the wall as he was. Tears trickled from his eyes and an additional flow of pre-ejaculate trickled from his penis.

"Poor little Julian. Shall Mistress Madonna kiss it better for him?"

He never learnt. He fell straight into the trap once again.

"Please. Oh please, do it now. Suck my cock. I'll pay you double."

She raised herself up and stepped out from the Jacuzzi, ensuring that Julian got a full, unobstructed view of her sex. His eyes grew larger and his prick pulsed in even greater jerks. It was still in there. The dildo. With just the knobbed end sticking out, it filled her vagina, her sex lips stretched and clinging to its girth as if seemingly trying to pull it back all the way in. She reached down, pulled it out a few inches and then slid it back up.

"Ooh Julian, it's so nice. You don't really want me to suck your cock, do you? Wouldn't you rather have your wicked little willie stuck up here?"

She worked the dildo in and out once more.

"Don't you want to shove it up and down like this?"

"You know I do, you rotten whore."

Julian screamed out the words, saliva spraying from his mouth. Mistress Madonna moved over the tiled floor towards him in an awkward gait, her legs wide with the dildo still stuffed into her. With goggle eyes and monster cock he watched until just a foot or so away from him she slowly pulled the huge, solid dildo from her sucking sex. She lifted it to his nose allowing him to sniff her intimate aromas and then laid it on his lips. He licked greedily, slurping and tonguing, until suddenly she slammed the dildo down across his already tortured cock.

His scream of agony was accompanied by a jerking spontaneous orgasm, gouts of sperm jetting from his cock, spraying not only the floor but also Mistress Madonna. Her lips tight and her eyes flashing fury, she waited for his screams to die and his cock to stop its maniacal dance. As Julian calmed down and his prick slackened, his senses returned and the full realisation of what he had done hit him. He looked. Saw. And felt ill. Globules of his sperm were dripping from his Mistress' belly, falling on to the tiles to join that which had missed her and spurted straight to the floor. He knew she would make him clean up the floor with his tongue as always, and for one wild moment he fantasised that she would allow him to lick the sperm from her belly. That thought faded almost before it began. Julian knew it would not happen. Exactly what would happen he did not know, but one thing that he knew for certain was that it would be bad. He had been naughty again, he had defiled his Mistress. And not for the last time.

Julian's punishment had been every bit as vicious as he had expected. Mistress Madonna had laid into him. First she had lashed him with the whip until his back, chest and thighs were reddened all over and then she had used the cane. She had laid on stroke after stroke using it to add highlights of agony to the overall background of pain. Then she had clubbed his prick and his balls with the dildo and even dug the steel-tipped heels of her stilettos into his thighs. He was striped, bruised, abused and humiliated. And he was still filthy. And he could stay that way, she told him. If he was going to act like an animal, then he could look like one. And then she had spent a long time in the shower, cleansing herself under the steaming jets and leaving the cubicle door open so that he could see her every action. And of course she had laid it on thick, pushing the showerhead between her thighs and spraying her open slit, all the time watching out for Julian's reaction. And never deviating from the norm, although racked with pain, he was soon sporting another massive erection.

Dripping water everywhere, water that Julian would have to lick up, she stepped out of the shower and began to dry herself with a luxurious, soft bath sheet. Dropping the soaking sheet on to the tiles, she picked a much smaller towel and completed the process, rubbing it over her sex far more times than was necessary in order to stoke up Julian's fervour. When she was dried enough for her satisfaction, the small towel itself was heavy with water and rolling it out in her hands she tied a knot into one end. She walked towards the bathroom door.

"Mistress Madonna is going to get dressed now... But first."

The heavy, waterlogged knot whacked down on to Julian's rigid cock with the force of a hammer. His knees buckled and he slumped forward, held upright only by the chain attached to his collar. As the whimpers of pain began to subside, he started to replace them with forced, babyish choking noises and faked rasping coughs.

"Stop that at once and stand up straight like a good boy. Mistress Madonna is not going to pay any attention to your silly antics."

And with that she left the room, stopping just outside the door where he could not see her, to check that he was actually able to lever himself upright and take the strain from his neck. They both knew full well that he was in no real danger, that it was purely play-acting, but she thought it was as well to make doubly sure. It would not do for her to let him head for the hereafter while she was giving him a session.

With his hands cuffed behind his back, he was not having an easy time of it, but with a giant struggle he eventually straightened himself, having to spend several minutes trying to force air over a throat that had been made desperately sore by his own rasping misuse of it. When Mistress Madonna was quite sure that he was in no danger, she left him screaming out his hoarse, incoherent curses and dressed herself in her street outfit. Of course her idea of street clothes was somewhat different to that of a less enlightened female, even if for nothing more than her incredible four-inch high stiletto heels. Seamed black fishnet stockings disappeared into a pelmet of a black leather skirt, which was split at the back to allow a flash of creamy suspendered thigh to show with every step she took. Her voluptuous breasts were pushed mountain high by a skimpy, underwired black bra and a black spiked collar was fastened tightly around her neck. She wore nothing else. Her arms and torso were naked and only the long ebony tresses that fell down upon them clothed her shoulders.

Mistress Madonna was ready, but Julian was still an exceedingly grubby little urchin. He needed a good scrubbing before he could go anywhere. She went back into the bathroom with the idea of making him presentable enough to take into the outside world.

"You rotten stinking bitch! You don't care about me at all. You left me to choke to death. I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!"

"Now now, you know that's not true. Mistress Madonna would never do anything to hurt her little babykins."

"Well you did, and I don't want to play any more."

"I'm sure you don't really mean that. What about your treat?"

"Is it nice?"

"It's lovely."

"Can I eat it?"

"No."

"Can I fuck it?"

That took some answering. Technically, just like Mistress Madonna, her two vampiric sisters could be fucked, but not by Julian. Still, a little titillation would do no harm.

"Firstly it's not it, it's them. And they fuck like bitches."

Up it came again. His cock. He had no control over it whatsoever. But she had been very careful to say only that whoever, or whatever his treat might be, that they did indeed fuck. As she was to remind him later, she did not say that he was definitely going to get his dick into them, she just let him assume that he might.

Taking great care not to brush against his pulsing erection, Mistress Madonna released the end of the chain anchoring Julian's collared neck to the wall and motioned him forward. But he had angered her now, and for that he would pay. He took a step towards the shower only to be roughly tugged in the opposite direction towards the door.

"But I need a wash. You said so yourself. I can't go out fucking in this state."

"I know that, you peasant. What do you think we are going to do now?"

Julian had no idea. But he did not like the sound of it. And he was right not to.

A short time later Mistress Madonna led Julian into the garage. Not the purpose built construction that housed his collection of vintage sports and racing cars, but the smaller building where his road cars were kept. She had dragged him naked and still handcuffed from the house, and made him walk barefoot over the gravelled path leading to the garage, with him hopping and jumping all the way as the sharp stones cut into the soles of his feet. Bustling him between the Porsche and the Ferrari she pushed him to the back wall of the old brick building that had once been a coach house.

Julian's handyman must have been getting ready to wash the cars because sponges, buckets of water and shampoo bottles were lined up on a bench, and a long hosepipe had been unreeled and lay snakelike on the floor. Mistress Madonna fastened Julian's neck chain to a one of the many old iron hoops fixed into the wall.

"Mistress Madonna is going to take off those nasty handcuffs now."

"About fucking time."

"Behave yourself. And remember what I told you, if you're bad then I'll just cancel the whole of the rest of the day."

"All right, but what are we doing here anyway?"

"We're going to turn a dirty, grubby little horror into a nice, well scrubbed young man."

Unlocking the handcuffs, she allowed him a few moments to rub the circulation back into his grazed wrists.

"Right! Now get to work. All you need is there."

She pointed to the car washing paraphernalia.

"There's a sponge, some shampoo and water. Dip the sponge in the water, pour some shampoo on it and soap yourself. All over."

"I'm not. That's rotten, cheap horrid stuff for the cars. And the water's freezing."

"Do as I say this instant."

In a return to steely authoritarianism she barked out the order. Julian knew better than to defy her when she used that tone of voice and hurried to obey. He was soon covered head to toe in frothy foam and she made him soap his cock again and again, until he sprang a straining erection. Mistress Madonna hitched the tiny pelmet of a skirt even higher. She was not wearing knickers. She hardly ever did. His cock jerked as his eyes locked on to her bushy, forested sex, flicking a globule of foam down to the floor.

"You dirty little swine. You've always got a hard on. Well, Mistress Madonna is going to do something about that."

And picking up the hosepipe, she turned the tap on full and blasted Julian at point blank range with the full force of the stinging jets. The water was ice cold and Julian's howls were loud and anguished as she swept up and down his body, paying particular attention to his cock and balls. He tried to protect them with his hands but the strength of the jets forced them apart, and by the time she turned the water off, his prick had shrivelled to a wrinkled nothing and his bollocks felt like they had been beaten with sledgehammers. She threw the hosepipe to the ground and stood with hips jutting as a shivering Julian continued to wail and curse.

The sound of a car pulling up outside diverted her attention. A door slammed and feet crunched on the gravel.

"In here Colonel."

She knew it was him, only a very large, very expensive car has an engine that ran as silently as that one. The Colonel marched into the garage.

"Reporting for duty ma'am, as ordered."

"And right on time. Colonel, you're a man a woman can depend upon."

"Do my best m'dear. Do my best."

And then casting a disdainful look at Julian: "The blighter been up to his tricks again, has he?"

Mistress Madonna confirmed that Julian had indeed been naughty again, and that she had disciplined him, but not nearly enough she thought. The Colonel pointed to the discarded hosepipe.

"Why don't you thrash the scoundrel with that?"

He was right. She ought to.

Thud. Thwack. The pipe was heavy and not very flexible so she concentrated on thickly fleshed parts of his body, like his buttocks and calves. Julian squealed and wept and cursed the Colonel to eternity.

"Serves you right, you insubordinate bounder. It's nothing more than you deserve."

And of course Julian knew that he was right.

Mistress Madonna finally threw the hose to ground, leaving Julian panting and furiously rubbing his tortured flesh. She turned to The Colonel, but before she could say anything, he pre-empted her.

"I know time's tight m'dear, but I've checked battle orders and we do have a few minutes. Do you think..."

"... there's time for a quickie?" She completed his question.

"Harrumph. Yes, that was going to be my query."

"Well, I don't see why not. I'm sure Julian won't mind."

Julian did mind. Big time.

"You bastards. You set this up. It's my fucking birthday. He's not going to fuck you, I am."

Mistress Madonna told him very forcefully that he was most definitely not going to do any such thing. And because she could not trust him to behave himself she was going to turn the hose on full once again and set it to spray over him all the time she was getting her goodies. And lodging the nozzle into a bracket on the wall she widened the spray and started the water gushing out over him.

"Now then Colonel, we haven't really got too much time, so we'll make this one just for you. How do you want me?"

It only took a moment.

"Over the bonnet m'dear. 'Coolie style' as we used to say in Shanghai."

They chose a Jaguar. More patriotic than the Ferrari or the Porsche The Colonel said. Mistress Madonna did not care either way, she rather liked Ferraris. And Italians. But each to his own, and hitching the skirt right over her hips, she turned around, widened her legs and with her breasts flattened against the metal and her bottom thrust upwards, she bent over the bonnet. The Colonel wasted no time in hauling his cock out of captivity and pushing the cheeks of her buttocks further apart to get a better access, he slapped it up against her labia. He pushed, gaining a minimum entrance, just a part of his glans sinking into her vagina. He pushed again. She was not really ready and so she was tight, tighter than usual.

"Hold fire a moment, will you Colonel? Let me see what I can do."

The Colonel backed off and straightening up Mistress Madonna slipped the fingers of both hands between her legs. With the fingers of one hand she spread her sex lips and dipped the fingers of her other hand into her warm tunnel. Opening her fingers, she widened her hole and then spent a few moments rubbing and stimulating her clitoris. She got the result she wanted. Juices began to flow, and her hole widened further of its own accord.

"All right Colonel, I think we can start again."

Once more she laid herself over the bonnet and as The Colonel advanced on her with a cannon of an erection, she slipped a hand backwards underneath her legs, grasped his throbbing girth and directed it to her now only too ready vagina. His bell-end went straight in. No messing. He pushed again and half his length disappeared up her grasping sex. Once more, and her shovelling vaginal muscles combined with his thrust to propel his cock right up to her cervix. He filled her tight as a cork in a champagne bottle. And just like the best bubbly, his cock was vintage. Premier Cru and equally as intoxicating to a lusting twat.

The Colonel tested his stroke. It was tight in there, but it was well lubricated and slippery. In short it felt absolutely fucking marvellous. For both of them. He pulled right down and then slid back up, slowly increasing the speed of his thrusts. Mistress Madonna had said the shag was just for him, but she soon changed her mind. With his huge cock stimulating her to distraction, she let herself wallow in his expert grinding. He was as good a fuck as she had ever had in her life and as his pistoning weapon reamed her with increasing mercilessness, her vaginal muscles tensed, clamping and unclamping until at the moment of his ejaculation he catapulted her into a shuddering, shaking orgasm. She flopped against the bonnet, her body limp and weak. And that had only been a quickie.

As she pulled herself together, above the sound of the gushing water she became aware once more of Julian's wailing curses and insults. It was time she returned her attention to him; although she was certain her little display had achieved the desired effect. It was his birthday. She had beaten and humiliated him. As far as he was concerned she had refused to let him fuck her only because he had been naughty, and then within minutes of appearing on the scene, The Colonel had fucked her silly. So now, just as she had planned, Julian was beside himself with frustration and jealousy. The Colonel was turning out to be a very useful accomplice.

She turned off the water and stood waiting for Julian's torrent of abuse to abate. Eventually his babbling stopped. He glared at her with accusing eyes, hungrily taking in her sperm soaked pussy and once again sporting his inevitable erection. She shuffled in front of him, making a great show of the spunk that trickled down her thigh and hung from her vagina. She opened the door of the Ferrari next to her and put one foot inside. It was Julian's current favourite. She knew that. And Julian knew that she did.

"No! Don't you dare!"

But she did dare, and sliding into the driver's seat, she flattened her dripping labia against the leather and wiped every last drop of The Colonel's spunk onto it. On the passenger seat was a scarf that Julian wound around his neck when he was driving with the top down, and with it she cleaned out any traces that remained inside her hole. She lifted her bottom to show Julian the wet patches on the seat and with her arm raised she waved the sperm smeared scarf to and fro. He was apoplectic. Speechless with rage... and totally in thrall to Mistress Madonna.

Up in the master bedroom, Mistress Madonna had laid out Julian's school uniform on the bed. She knew it was his favourite and it did no harm to pander to him now and then. But she made him dress himself, although no underpants were allowed, and then wetting a comb she parted his hair down the middle. She stood back, her eyes critically running over him.

"You'll do. Not even I can make a prince out of a donkey's arse. I suppose it's as good as you'll ever look."

Which was a particularly hurtful thing to say because Julian was in fact, very good looking. She turned on her heel and made for the door.

"Come on, don't mess about. We're late."

Julian trotted dutifully behind her, down the staircase to where The Colonel was waiting. Slipping a tiny black leather Bolero jacket over her shoulders, she took The Colonel's arm and ordering Julian to follow close behind, went out to the car.

The Colonel loaded the picnic hamper and the cool boxes stacked with champagne into the boot, while Mistress Madonna knotted a tight blindfold over Julian's eyes. He was not to see where they were going she told him, it was part of the surprise. He was plonked on the back seat, strapped in, and then ignored. Mistress Madonna took her place next to The Colonel, and they were off.

They had been travelling for an hour or so and Julian was getting restless. Making sure that her words carried to the back seat, throughout the journey Mistress Madonna had kept up a non-stop flow of conversation with The Colonel, consisting almost entirely of lewd recollections and anecdotes of a particularly questionable nature. All involving her, of course. And all designed to increase Julian's frustration.

"It's so nice to have a real man around Colonel. A man with a proper cock who knows what to do with it."

Julian snorted derisively.

Mistress Madonna paid no attention.

"You understand that underneath all this, I'm just a normal girl. I like to get fucked and sucked and buggered just like every other woman."

The Colonel said nothing, but thought privately that she was nothing at all like every other woman. And a good thing too. Julian's thoughts were too explosive to keep to himself.

"You fucking bitch. Shut up! I know you're only saying those things to upset me."

"Oh dear, there he goes again. I think we'd better go home, don't you Colonel?"

"What!? And let the filthy little cad spoil our picnic. No. Just wait until we rendezvous, then we can string him up and you can thrash him 'til he bleeds."

"A much better idea Colonel. You've got such a logical mind."

They travelled on, with Mistress Madonna and The Colonel keeping up their banter and Julian cursing away to no purpose. But she was keeping a sharp look out and suddenly she jumped up in her seat and pointed through the windscreen.

"There they are."

A gleaming black Rolls Royce with smoked windows was parked in a lay-by a few hundred yards ahead, and The Colonel slowed his speed and pulled in behind it. Mistress Madonna leapt from the Bentley and ran towards the other car as two sex-laden versions of herself tumbled from its interior. Squealing and hugging each other in the joy of reunion the three women danced around for a few moments. Just like Mistress Madonna the other two women were stunners. And they were all so much alike as to be indistinguishable. They were statuesque, all about the same height and with the same hair and the same eyes. And the same tits. The same fantastic arse as well. The Colonel's prick rapidly did a Julian, tripling its size in an instant. He was definitely going to enjoy this. Pity about the prat.

The prat himself was unable to see what was happening, but he could hear the girlish screams and giggles. He bounced up and down on the back seat as they grew closer.

"What's going on? Who is it?"

"Mistress Madonna and two of the best looking Memsahibs you've ever seen. Bosoms like the Himalayas. Must be your birthday present."

The Colonel eased himself out of the driver's seat, making a futile attempt to hide the fairly spectacular bulge in his trousers as he stood to greet them. All three women fastened their eyes on his cock.

"Colonel, I'd like you to meet my sisters, Mistress Magenta and Mistress Maria."

"Gad, you're three damn fine fillies and that's no lie. Sisters you say?"

"Yes, really. We're triplets, and they've been dying to meet you. I've told them all about your cock and they can't wait." She pointed to his straining weapon: "And it's obvious that it can't wait to meet them."

"What about me?"

Julian's whingeing wail interrupted the introductions.

"Is that the twat?"

That was Mistress Magenta. Or was it Mistress Maria? The Colonel could not tell. Shuffle them around a little bit and he was not certain he would still know which one was Mistress Madonna. By sight anyway. His cock would know though. He was sure of that.

Having instructed their driver to wait for them in the lay-by, the two new Mistresses settled themselves, one on each side of Julian in the back of the Bentley. With their skirts hitched high, Mistress Madonna had placed one of Julian's hands over the suspenders on each of their bare thighs, given him explicit instructions that that was where they must stay, and smiled in satisfaction as his flash erection tunnelled out below his trouser leg. Apart from a tortured cock, by the time they reached their destination he was going to be in possession of a pair of extremely tender bollocks. With all her experience she knew that there is nothing like an extended period of unfulfilled erection to turn two perfectly contented testicles into a pair of untouchably agonised rocks.

When they reached their destination, which was by the side of a lake hidden in the woods on the country estate of one of The Colonel's military connections, Mistress Madonna's expectations were totally confirmed... Julian's balls were like lead weights in his scrotum. Once he was ushered from the car he could hardly walk, whimpering every now and again as they were trapped between his thighs or rubbed against the coarse flannel of his short trousers. Good preparation for what she had in mind. They stopped walking and Julian was ordered to stay where he was while the picnic was laid out.

"I want a piss."

"Have one then. We won't look."

"I can't, can I? Not with this bloody great hard-on."

"Well, that's what you get for being the dirty little beast you are. It's all you ever think about, fucking and wanking. I've told you before, keep on doing it and you'll go blind."

"Sod going blind. I'll go mad if I don't get a piss. I'm bursting."

"Good! Serves you right."

Mistress Madonna knew that it is impossible to urinate whilst sporting a rock hard erection and was even more pleased with herself. Now in addition to a straining cock and a ball-sac full of red-hot coals, Julian also had an overflowing bladder. And there was nothing he could do about it. The pain in his stomach would continue to intensify until he was permitted to ejaculate. Then his cock would slacken and he would be able to pass the water. But of course, she did not intend to allow that to happen. Not soon anyway.

Finally, everything was ready and accompanied by a chorus of 'happy birthday lousy wanker', Julian's blindfold was removed. Great! All he could see as he blinked in the unaccustomed light was a giant tree trunk. He started to turn around.

"Did I say you could move?" Mistress Madonna snapped.

"You didn't say I couldn't," Julian protested.

"Cheeky little brute, isn't he?" Mistress Magenta said.

"I don't know about you three, but I think he deserves a good thrashing," Mistress Maria chipped in.

There was no disagreement and so the picnic was put on hold for the time being. The Colonel had a horsewhip in the car but the Mistresses declined his offer of its use, instead they all produced whips of their own.

"You must have been a Boy Scout Colonel, so you'll remember the motto: Be Prepared, and we always are."

The Colonel had brought along his angling gear just in case he had to find something to pass the time while the Mistresses were occupied with Julian. So as they advanced to their torture, he began to sort out the rods and lines.

"Drop your trousers."

"Shan't."

A hefty slap around the ears that sent Julian's head reeling soon changed his mind. These were strong women, The Triplets of Torture as they sometimes referred to themselves. The trousers fell to the floor and he was ordered to kick them to one side and bend over. His school blazer was very short and so the whole of his backside was exposed.

Slash! The first lash exploded on to one of his buttocks.

Swoosh! The second on his other cheek.

Smack! The third on the back of his thighs...

Julian screamed. And yelped. And hopped up and down in agony as the Mistresses Madonna, Magenta and Maria took it in turn, one slash immediately following another, to whip him into shape. Crimson stripes and ridges covered his haunches and legs, criss-crossing as the strikes were laid over each other. The beating stopped for a moment, but Julian continued to howl like a stricken wolf. He howled even louder when the next strikes landed. The Mistresses had only stopped to alter their stances in order to position the forthcoming whiplashes as accurately as possible.

From the back, swung by the tip, the haft of a whip flashed between his legs and smacked solidly up against his pain-racked balls. Another lash curled around his hips to cut a line over his ballooning bladder and a third caught around the ridge of his bulbous bell-end, only to be wrenched away in a vicious act of unmitigated torture. Julian cried, wailed and pleaded for mercy, all to no avail as the whipping continued unabated. And through it all his pulsing, straining erection grew ever harder, his cock jerking wildly at every crippling bite of the whip. Then suddenly, in a seemingly telepathically ordered action, the tips of all three whips whirled around his weapon, gripped it tight and tugged. Julian was catapulted into a screaming orgasmic climax, jets of sperm spurting into the air as his balls pumped out every last drop of the seed that had been boiling and churning away in there since his adventure began. His prick began to slacken, the whips uncoiled, and he started to piss. He watered the tree, the grass and as the stream faltered, his own shoes and socks. Paradise.

All that, and Julian had not yet even got a glimpse of the two new Mistresses. And when he did!

Hard-on Heaven. A blinder of a stonker even for him. Mistress Madonna was actually quite impressed, but could not say so of course.

"Look at the filthy little blighter, he's at it again."

The Colonel was playing his part well.

"Bromide. That'd do it. You should get the Medical Officer to give you some."

Now that was an idea. Put some in Julian's bottle and Hey Presto, no more erections. She would not do it of course. But what a threat to hang over his head. She would have to thank The Colonel properly for that suggestion. But later, right now she had a naughty boy to deal with.

"Julian, stop that this instant!"

He could not of course. His cock was up and she knew it was going to stay there. And he wanted to use it.

"You said I could fuck the slags. And I want to fuck the rotten fuckers now."

"What did you say?"

That was Mistress Magenta and Mistress Maria in unison.

"She said you were my birthday treat and I could fuck you."

"I said no such thing. And I am not 'she', I am Mistress Madonna and don't you forget it."

All three Mistresses advanced menacingly on Julian.

"You disgusting piece of shit. I wouldn't let you fuck me if you had the last prick on Earth."

Julian shrivelled under Mistress Magenta's words.

"Nor would I."

Mistress Maria's tone left him in no doubt that she meant it.

"And I'm going to make you remember your manners."

He already knew Mistress Madonna always carried out her threats and cringed in the expectation of a forthcoming beating.

Three pairs of hands grabbed him and despite his frantic struggles stripped him of his jacket and shirt. He was now totally naked apart from his shoes and socks. And his school cap. They ripped off the footwear and the socks but left the cap. A nice little touch designed to make him feel ridiculous.

"String him up. There's some rope in the car."

"Good idea Colonel. Will you bring it over for us please?"

After the thick rope had been used to bind Julian's wrists together, the end was thrown over a jutting bough and he was hauled, arms stretched above his head, off his feet. His feet dangled a foot or so from the ground and his arms and shoulders strained to support his weight.

"You bastards. I'm supposed to be enjoying myself. It's my birthday party."

"Oh, you're going to have a party alright. A birching party."

Leaving Julian swaying to and fro under the branch Mistress Madonna led the other two into the woods, all three returning a few minutes later laden with thin branches and twigs. Borrowing a pruning knife from The Colonel, they trimmed the wood into suitable lengths, bound them into bundles and pretty soon had three very professional looking birches. They tested them through the air, sweeping and slashing at imaginary targets. Julian knew those targets would soon become real enough. They would be his flesh.

Moving around him so that without changing their positions they could strike every part of his body, the Magnificent Trio readied themselves. Julian was wild eyed with terror; he did not fancy what was coming at all. But despite everything his cock still stood to attention.

The Colonel's voice called from the lakeside.

"It's called priapism you know. Persistent erection of the penis. The native wallahs all had it. Castration! That's the real cure."

"Shut up! Keep quiet you wrinkled old bastard. Don't give her any more ideas."

"I don't need The Colonel to give me ideas. But that's not a bad one."

Julian opened his mouth to say something more, but widened it immediately into a shrieking scream as the first birch stroke landed on his back. It left a very pronounced, widespread and glowing pattern of weals across the back of his ribs and his shoulder blades. Mistress Madonna spun Julian around so that the other two could see properly the effectiveness of their handmade instruments of correction. They were well satisfied and so the thrashing began in earnest. As before, one straight after the other, they laid mind-destroying strikes of indescribable agony all over their own designated area of Julian's flesh. His arms, legs, feet, chest, back and buttocks all came under attack. He wailed like a banshee, screaming and crying and promising never to be bad again as long as he lived. The Mistresses did not believe him and turned their attention to his cock. And his balls. Smacking downwards they lacerated his shaft, and whipping up between his thighs they smacked and scratched his gonads.

"Enough, I think."

Mistresses Magenta and Maria complied with Mistress Madonna's suggestion and let the birches fall from their hands. Julian was still crying and wailing helplessly, his striped crimson carcass swinging free and in addition to everything else, his shoulders and arms were agonisingly painful under the strain of his weight hanging from the bough. To judge by the state he was in, it was not likely he would be thinking about shagging anything for some considerable time.

"Let's eat."

The three Mistresses turned to rejoin The Colonel.

"Oh, fucking hell. Look at that."

None of them could believe it. Julian's cock was back up.

There was only one thing for it.

"Naughty, naughty, naughty Julian."

Berating him all the time Mistress Madonna thrashed his pulsing prick with all the strength she could muster. He screamed as it twitched and jerked under the lashes. And then he came. Spurt after shooting spurt, so that she was forced to jump out of the way to avoid its spreading spray.

Grimacing in both pain and pleasure, Julian could only gasp out three words.

"Thank you Mistress."

The Colonel had done them proud. A portable folding table had been laid with a crisp white cloth, four places set out with silver cutlery, with wineglasses and champagne flutes for each one. And a small folding picnic chair for each place. He produced the food. A culinary treasure. Smoked salmon and red caviar. Quail's eggs and truffles. Crisp baguettes and thick sliced grainy bread and butter. And much more. Including, right in the centre of the table, Julian's birthday cake with the figurine of Mistress Madonna on the top. Not only that, he produced from the cold boxes several bottles of Dom Perignon, held them up for the Mistresses' delight and then popped two back in. After all they could only drink one at a time. He filled the flutes with sparkling bubbly and they drank a toast to Mistress Madonna before tucking into the food with gusto. It was a feast fit for Kings. But not Julian.

As his strength returned, Julian's wailing voice once more echoed across the clearing. He did not deviate much from his standard pattern.

"What about me? I'm hungry. I want mine."

"Ah, yes. Hang on a second."

The Colonel delved into the picnic hamper, brought out a small Tupperware container and a plastic bottle and handed them to Mistress Madonna.

"For the cretin. Sardine paste sandwiches and ginger pop."

She took the goodies and went over to Julian. She loosened the rope and let him drop to the floor, but she did not untie his wrists. Opening the container she offered the sandwiches to him.

"I'm not having that shit. It's my fucking birthday. I want what The Colonel's got."

"Don't be silly, you'll never have what he's got."

The Colonel was tickled pink.

"Thank you m'dear, very nice of you to say so." Then to Julian: "I don't know what you're making such a fuss about. It's more than you deserve. I would have killed for that when I was stranded in the jungle."

"Well we're not in the jungle, and you're spoiling my party."

Mistress Madonna had heard enough.

"Right. If the naughty boy doesn't want his nice sandwiches, then the swans can have them."

And so saying, she went back to the lakeside and threw all the sandwiches into the water. Before joining the others back at the table, she went over to the car and slipped a CD into the stereo system. She left the car doors open and the words of the song came floating to Julian's ears. It was Bryan Ferry.

"It's my party and I'll cry if I want to, cry if I want to..."

Julian did cry. And then he started hurling abuse. He was now spoiling their party.

The Colonel produced a small lidded box from his angling gear.

"Here, you might find these useful."

Mistress Madonna did indeed. They were his fishing hooks. Although it was sacrilege he allowed her to cut three long sections of line from a reel and fix a hook to the end of each one. She kept one and handed one each to the other two.

"Let's fix the turd once and for all."

The only problem was that none of them would actually deign to touch his revolting body. The Colonel solved the problem. In the car he had a box of doctor's thin rubber surgical gloves, which he handed to Mistress Madonna.

"For emergencies."

She wondered what emergencies they might be; making another note that there was something else she would have to ask him about. Still, they were a perfect solution. All three Mistresses slipped on a pair of the gloves. Julian had not been able to see just what it was they were doing and when the three fishhooks suddenly appeared in front of his eyes his reaction was wild and hysterical. Hauling him back into the air they went to work. Two hooks were inserted into his scrotum, one into the loose flesh encasing each of his balls. His foreskin was squeezed together over his bell-end, and the remaining hook secured it together so that it could not slip back. The lines were then paid out and the Mistresses returned to the table, each with a taut line wound around her hand.

The picnic was resumed. It was truly scrumptious. The Mistresses ate and drank, the champagne glasses were re-filled and The Colonel produced a bottle of extremely rare fifty-year-old vintage port. Absolute nectar.

"Cost as much as all the Dom Perignon put together."

The Mistresses could understand why.

And then it was time for the cake. Mistress Madonna took up the cake slice and handed it to The Colonel, inviting him to cut a large portion for each of them. Except Julian that is. But before he could cut into the cake she rescued the figurine of herself from the top.

"Perhaps you'd like to deal with this first Colonel."

He took it, held it up and licked it.

Julian's protestations would have drowned out Concorde.

The Colonel paid no attention and did exactly what Julian had planned for himself. He sucked the pink nipples and licked the black pussy. Then he ate the whole thing. Julian screamed and wept and was only brought back into line by a flurry of tugs on the fishing hooks.

So a fair old time was had by all. Including Julian. Although in his own way, he was probably enjoying it more than any of them. Mistress Madonna really had excelled herself. She had not made him suffer this much before. Never. He had no doubt that she would probably now increase her already scandalous fee. And he would gladly pay...

But his trials and tortures were not over because once all the food had gone, the Mistresses turned their attention to The Colonel. Sometimes separately and sometimes together, they treated him to an orgy of sexual indulgence that he had not experienced since his times in the brothels of Siam. They sucked his cock, all three at once. Two with lips glued to the stem of his shaft and Mistress Madonna with her mouth plunged over his glans. He really liked that. Julian did not. But his yells of complaint were soon turned into screams of agony and pleas for mercy as the Mistresses tugged on their fishing lines and the hooks tore at his tender privates.

The Colonel fucked them all. He fucked their vaginas, their arses and their mouths. He licked them and sucked them. And drove them all delirious. They were amazed by his vigour and stamina. He never faltered once, going from one to another without a pause. And once, he stacked them, one on top of the other, with their rumps jutting skywards and fucked them from the back, giving each one a few strokes as he travelled up and down their tiered backsides. They had never met anyone like him before. And they told him so. They also told Julian, who cried and sulked and threw one of his more impressive tantrums.

But underneath it all Julian was one happy little boy. He had been treated to a fabulous birthday. One he would not forget. And the three Mistresses would not forget The Colonel. When everything was packed up and Julian had been put, still naked, back into the car, Mistress Magenta pulled something out from one of her stocking tops and handed it to him. It was a card.

"Anytime you want us Colonel, we'll come running. No charge."

The Colonel read the card. And smiled. On a quality weave of the whitest white, were engraved letters of the shiniest, densest black. There were just two lines:

The Daughters of De Sade

Have whips - will travel