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Tags: North London (N)
SYLVIA: Hello! You must be Kate. Please, sit down. Make yourself comfortable. Can I get you a drink?
KATE: A sherry would be lovely!
SYLVIA: Here. Cigar? Help yourself.
KATE: Thank you!
SYLVIA: Now, down to business. Your membership of our very exclusive club has been approved so I can tell you a little more about our activities. You must be intruiged by what little you have heard of us so far?
KATE: To say the least! I've heard all kinds of rumours, of course. I don't know what is real and what isn't. You certainly have an air of mystery!
SYLVIA: Well, let me try to put you in the picture. Carringtons was set up in the nineteenth century by Lady Angelica Carrington when she inherited her husband's estate; this grand house, the stables and the surrounding grounds. She formed the club from among her society friends who shared common interests with her.
KATE: What kinds of interests?
SYLVIA: The domination of men, my dear! Lady Carrington and her friends were something of pioneers in the sexual arena. They were ahead of their time! Not content to play the traditional role of submissive wives to the lorded gentry, they set up a network of contacts between dominant ladies and gentlemen who wished to be owned, enslaved, disciplined, that sort of thing.
KATE: Goodness!
SYLVIA: I doubt that Lady Carrington could have anticipated the incredible success of her little club. It brought in members from all over the country and was soon a little empire all of its own, with herself as the head. Beneath the veneer of Victorian respectability there were hundreds of men and women who preferred to play games the other way around. Women who wanted to be in control. Men who wanted to BE controlled, humiliated by strong women. Lady Carrington made this possible; she made their dreams come true!
There were parties, of course, or rather, orgies to be more to the point! And much in the way of match-making. But her biggest success was the Hunt.
KATE: The Hunt? I have heard of that, it is legendary!
SYLVIA: Indeed it is! You see, the Lady came from a very traditional English country background and from an early age she was inducted into the fine bloodsport of fox-hunting. However, she detested it! She loved animals and hated her parents for forcing her to participate in such barbaric practices. The poor child! She had a screaming blue fit when her father smeared her young face with the blood of the recently-mangled fox. She swore that, one day, she would make men pay for the terrible cruelty they had inflicted upon the animal kingdom.
KATE: It seems she succeeded!
SYLVIA: She did! As the success of the secret club went from strength to strength, she hit upon a brilliant idea. She had long given up fox-hunting when her father died, but she still had her beloved horses and, of course, her riding outfit. She decided that the hunt could be turned into something much more to her tastes. Instead of tormenting a poor beast, she would hunt men, throughout the vast grounds of her estate. She and her lady friends selected a willing victim, always a strong, athletic young man, divested him completely of his clothing, and gave him an hour to hide himself.
Then, with a loud bugle call, they would release the hounds and the Hunt was on! The poor devil would be found and chased over hills and across fields until he was exhausted and could evade them no longer.
KATE: Pardon me; surely no man can outrun horses and a pack of hounds?
SYLVIA: Indeed. The Hunt Mistress always ensures that the quarry is given a sporting chance. She is in command of the horses and hounds, and she holds them back from overtaking the man until he has reached the limit of his own endurance. Nobody wants the fun to end TOO quickly!
KATE: And you have preserved this tradition all this time?
SYLVIA: Yes, we look forward to Hunt season all year! In the summer we Hunt many fine specimens, men who would pit their physical strength against the elements and provide fine sport for us!
KATE: Tell me more!
SYLVIA: Last weekend was, I think, our best Hunt ever. Our fox was a young man from the village who had been recruited by one of our members, Lady Belsingham. She employed him as a stablehand, but he has many talents. A capable athlete – he is captain of the local rugby team - he had long sought an avenue to express the submissive side of his nature. Lady Belsingham seduced him and learned of his private desires. He was the perfect candidate!
We gathered early that morning. Only I had met Richard before. The other women were all gazing at him in admiration. He is a very fine young man; twenty-three, six foot two with a well-built, muscular physique, ruggedly handsome and – best of all – a flaming red-head!
KATE: How perfect!
SYLVIA: Yes, we had our fox! He was led out into the courtyard as we sipped our early morning drinks and I ordered him to undress. His fine body drew many approving glances from the ladies! I gave him his instructions and slapped him hard on his muscular rump. That was his signal; his hour had begun. He took off across the fields, running for his life! We watched him disappear into the distance, laughing. We knew this would be a good Hunt.
We retired to the dining hall for breakfast and then donned our sporting pink. High black leather riding boots, polished to perfection by Richard the night before. Our tight, figure-hugging breeches and jodhpurs, red jackets, riding helmets. Each of us also carried a riding crop and I, as Hunt Mistress, also carried a bullwhip.
Richard's hour was almost up as we assembled the hounds and mounted our trusty steeds. The hounds were given Richard's scent and were soon baying for his blood! I sounded the bugle call and we were off!
KATE: How exciting!
SYLVIA: It was a fine day, the sun was soon high above us, the air was fresh and crisp. It didn't take long for us to track down our fox. He had covered a lot of ground in his alotted time and had attempted to conceal himself in some bushes. He knew that the hounds were closing in on him, however, and soon broke cover, sprinting out across the fields in the hope of reaching higher ground.
He looked a little worse for wear, having acquired a few scratches from some of the undergrowth, and was a little grubby to say the least. He was in top physical shape though, and had no doubt suffered worse during his rugby matches.
KATE: Not naked, though!
SYLVIA: Quite! We closed the distance, watching him run, his fine form gleaming with sweat. I held the Hunt back a little, so that he was always just ahead of us. He was magnificent, our best fox ever. He led us up and down hills, in and out of woods, across muddy fields for over an hour until his remarkable strength began to give out.
We trapped him at the foot of a steep incline. He started to climb but could not get a firm grip on the terrain and slid back down towards us, with a rain of pebbles, soil and handfuls of grass that he had attempted to grip for purchase in his escape, but to no avail. Exhausted, scratched, muddy and with bleeding feet, he collapsed at the foot of the hill and we surrounded him, the hounds barking madly.
Gathering what little strength remained him, he climbed to his feet and attempted to make a break for it, but Lady Belsigham blocked his escape route with her horse, swiping at him with her riding crop, lashing him across the chest. At that moment I unfurled my bullwhip and let it fly. It coiled around his neck, bringing him to heel. We surrounded his broken form, dismounting.
I said “You are beaten, fox!” and the ladies cheered.
KATE: What happened then?
SYLVIA: He gazed up at us from the ground, his spirit broken. I placed a dog collar around his neck and attached a long leash. We laughed as he made pathetic attempts to pull away, and landed a few blows on his rump to show him who was in charge.
“On your back, animal!” I ordered, and he dutifully rolled over. Despite his exhausted state, he was in a state of some excitement, and once more he drew admiring glances from the ladies. Like all the strong, healthy men of this village, he was a well-endowed, virile young man.
“First blood to the Hunt Mistress!” Lady Belsingham cried, and I stood between his legs and removed my hunting attire. Richard's eyes were on me the whole time, hungry, bestial. We had driven him into an almost feral state; he was more animal than man now.
I replaced my boots, riding hat and red jacket, unbuttoned. Pulling hard on his leash, I stood over him and crouched down, guiding myself onto his eager manhood. He grunted like a beast as my tight, wet slit engulfed him, sinking lower, hungry for the meat of the game.
I had my crop in the other hand and I pushed the end of it up against his throat, forcing his head back. “You are my pet, my tamed beast, now!” I said, “You will perform for me, for my sport, NOW!”
Without a word, he obeyed me, his mighty thighs glistening with sweat and mud as he pistoned his hips upwards, pleasuring me. I held position, making him do all the work, watching him grunt and sweat, giving him a few blows with my riding crop against his side if he slacked. He thrust upward, his long, thick animal meat hard and eager to please, growling with effort. I lifted higher, forcing him to work harder. Gasping for breath, he performed well, pounding upwards, and I savoured his power.
The other ladies were getting undressed and changing like me, with their boots, jackets and hats in place. Lady Belsingham stood astride his face and crouched down, forcing the trapped animal to service her with his mouth. She gripped his head and shoved her dripping cunt into his face, making him use his tongue to satisfy her.
I continued to ride him all the while, until I was riding a mounting wave of pleasure. I came loudly, shrieking with triumph. Richard did not cum, he had been ordered not to and was both obedient and well in control of his own sexual ability. Fully satisfied, I climbed off and let the next lady take my place.
Lucy was next. Her father is the Earl of Wessex. She is a dainty-looking thing, short and blonde with soft, pink skin and bright, baby-blue eyes. It was exciting watching her take my place, lowering her delicate, petite form down towards that dirty mass of muscle. Her pretty, golden fuzz sunk onto that rigid, thick pole. She gave a little cry as she impaled herself, but was determined to show that she was woman enough to take him on. With determination, she sank all the way down, possessing his fat spike with her tight little cunt, mud from his thighs dirtying hers. Then she lifted up halfway and barked orders at him. “Fuck me, animal!” she cried, and he obeyed, bucking upwards, his big, muddied fingers gripping her slim waist. Her pert little breasts jumped up and down as he slammed upwards, rocking her small but strong body with his strength.
She gave out high-pitched squeals of delight as the rough brute hammered into her, riding him like one of those bucking bronco things, her head flung back. She came quickly, her pink little cheeks flushing, her eyes glowing.
Lady Belsingham was also reaching her orgasm in response to the young stud's tongue, and it looked like she was suffocating the poor beast. Lifting herself free, young Philippa took her place, forcing her juicy slit towards his sweating face. He did not fail her, eating her enthusiastically, his tongue darting up inside her.
Lucy got up, looking sorry to have to get off the big cock and give it up, but there were others waiting. Stella was next, our newest member, a very athletic specimen herself. She grabbed his thick, red stalk and yanked down on it, pulling the foreskin back sharply, making him jump. Positioning herself over him, she sat down eagerly on that rigid pipe, devouring him all in one go, her black pubic hair pressing up against his own red thatch.
“Work, animal!” she shouted. “WORK!”
He responded, ramming up into her with great vigour. The man was tireless! She reached for his rough hands and placed them on her amble breasts and he knew what to do, stroking and squeezing her big, soft melons as he fucked her. His strong, dirty fingers played with her big, dark nipples, pleasuring her outside as his brutish sex pleasured her deep inside.
The other ladies were impatient and some had started to touch themselves, unable to wait their turn. Some were touching each other. They all wanted him but they didn't all want him down on the ground in the mud.
Stella was shouting orders at him, forcing him to thrust up into her tight slit harder and faster, hungry for his wild meat, insatiable. As she reached her own point of no return she arched her back, her hands behind her head, her hat falling off and her hair flowing free, Richard's strong hands crushing her breasts, twisting her body as he slammed into her. She cried out, almost screaming.
He was nearing the end of his tether. We left him to it, standing around him in a circle, ordering him to finish himself off. His eyes were glowing as he gazed up at us, his tool in his fist, pumping, his seed shooting out in a geiser, splattering his broken body.
He roared like the wild animal he is. We all cheered.
I dabbed his seed onto the face of Stella and welcomed her to the club.
We got dressed and I handed Richard's leash to Lady Belsingham. She remounted her steed, leading him back to the big house. He had to run fast to prevent from being dragged, and the rest of us took turns aiming blows at his backside with our riding crops.
My whip was more accurate, though. It never misses its target!
He was ours for the rest of the day and all that night; our finest trophy!
Edited Thu 30 Oct 08, 9:43 PM by RopeTopUK
