About Sappho's International Role: The Sappho Trilogy, Book 3

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The Third Novel in the Sappho’s Trilogy. Sappho knew what she was getting into, but never realised how things would turn out when she became embroiled with a Middle Eastern Arms Dealer.

About Sappho's International Role: The Sappho Trilogy, Book 3

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About Sappho’s International Role: The Sappho Trilogy: Book Three by Jonathan Biernot

The Third Novel in the Sappho’s Trilogy. Sappho knew what she was getting into, but never realised how things would turn out when she became embroiled with a Middle Eastern Arms Dealer.

Sappho’s addiction to cock is used to facilitate a series of transactions in Africa, Europe, on an Island in the Indian Ocean and in corporate venues near her North American home. Although she is never out of her depth, or in a situation where she is unable to cope, Sappho soon finds herself embroiled in the ruthless world of exploitation when she discovers how the wheels of international arms trading are lubricated.

Includes Anal, Oral, Black-on-White, M-F-M, Auctioning, M-M-F-M-M, Pregnancy, Scourging, Leather, Group, Deep Throat, Double-penetration, Triple-penetration, Bukaki, Spit-roasting, Depilation, Tattooing, Bondage, Ringing, Collaring.

Additional Information

SKU PF4342
Author Jonathan Biernot
Publish Date 02/17/2017
# of Pages 140
ISBN Number No
Artist Credit Domenica - Shutterstock.com

Sappho told him about her experiences with the four Caribbean boys, her encounter with Baamu and, she explained, the ‘half’ was with JP, the Afro-French Maitre D’, with whom she had experienced her first threesome.

“I see,” said the President, “and would you mind if I were to ask you to tell me if you approved?”

“Oh, yes, Mr. President, you may enquire and, most certainly, if you were to ask, I would reply, most definitely, ‘yes!’”

The President turned to look at the General, knowing he had heard the exchange, and, seeing he did not demur and had not resisted the approach, turned to Sappho and said; “Sappho, my sons and I are very attracted to you and, tonight, we will almost double the number of dark-skinned men who have found pleasure in your delights.”

To which Sappho replied, “Mr. President, it will be an honour for me to serve you and your sons.”

Then she ate sparingly: and it was good that she did.

The first blow was excruciating and it landed immediately after the Presidential Party had settled into their armchairs and begun sipping cognac. They were in a large drawing room with an open fire on one of the long walls and Sappho had been instructed to lean against the mantelpiece with her legs apart, facing away from the men, and silhouetted against the fire.

They’d removed her dress but blindfolded her and had left on her jewellery and high heeled shoes: her hair was still high on her head and, as an erotic spectacle, she was the focus of all attention in the near silence that hung amongst the Black Ties, the cigars and the brandy snifters.

The stripe was delivered by the President’s first son and it left a bright red wheal on her flanks. The second was delivered, in the same way, with the same long, thin instrument, by his second son and it, too, left a sleek, red bruise on her bottom; similarly, the third son impressed his red welt on her ass.

Then they all stood back to admire the new designs they’d added in colours that complemented her tattooed flesh.

Sappho was smarting and her body temperature was soaring from the fire at her front and the fire at her behind but, more so, from the adrenalin that was flooding through her system. Beads of perspiration formed on her brow but, whilst she flinched, she never uttered a sound: she just stood and waited; silently and patiently.

She didn’t have to wait too long before two of the young men hoisted her away from the fire and, with an arm around each of her shoulders, laid her back so that the third son could administer a glass of cognac to her lips; Sappho sipped, delicately, and swallowed before the glass was removed and two hands each cradled a breast before engulfing a ringed-nipple which they sucked in a surprisingly gentle way.

Then she was returned to the fireplace but, this time, they positioned her feet a little further from the mantelpiece and wider apart.

This scourging was known as ‘making their mark’ and, as well as achieving that end, it aroused Sappho as well as those in attendance. Her level of stimulation was apparent when Sappho was laid back because there were definite signs of clear fluid emerging from between her legs and a silver slick had already attached itself to her thigh: thus; so far, so good!

There were rumbles of content after each action and the suspense, as well as the level of arousal in the room, was rising fast. What they all wanted to know was: ‘what was next on the Agenda?’

The President was next: he’d changed into an elaborate, heavy silk, Kimono-type gown, embroidered with gold threads, which opened at the front.

He approached Sappho from behind, opened his robe and wrapped it around her haunches, mostly to preserve his own dignity. Then, without any great ceremony, he reached inside, parted her buttocks with his thumbs, appeared to bend his knees and lubricate his cock by wiping it a few times against the underside of her slimy pussy; then he leant back before plunging forward to go deep into her asshole.

Sappho’s head shot back and almost butted the President but, because she was bent into an L-shape, it was merely a reaction to the stabbing pain that seared from her sphincter: but she held firm to the bar over the fireplace and, although it took a moment or two to regain her composure, soon began to undulate her hips while the President planted his feet securely on either side of her after, and, holding onto her waist, he pressed his black cock deep into her writhing, white, and vulnerably-slim body while she fucked him.

Fresh meat is always a source of great stimulus and, given the force and the intensity of his penetration, it didn’t take long for the President to reach a climax. When it came he just roared; clamped his fingers so hard around her hip bones that he broke the skin and then he reached around, got hold of her pierced tits, and hauled himself onto her back where he just lay, like a dog on a bitch, whilst his semen seeped into her body.

Sappho’s legs could barely take the strain but she remembered her duty and managed to sustain it until the old man slipped off; unplugged himself from her body; wrapped his kimono around himself and waddled back to his armchair where he gulped down his cognac; demanded another and had it refreshed, and refreshed, again, my one of his minions.

Poor Sappho; she was left leaning on the fireplace with a stream of grey fluid leaking down the insides of her legs as great globs of the President’s semen oozed from her gaping asshole.

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