Pandora’s Hideaway by Lizbeth Dusseau
Rules are suspended and the game’s a risky, dangerous one in Pandora’s Hideaway – a South Seas tropical paradise owned and ruled by an anarchist and daunting sexual Dominant, Carlos Sanchez. After being caught having sex with her fiancé’s brother, Jack, Mariel Fitzgerald’s life takes a sudden twist when she begs the black sheep brother to take her with him on assignment to this faraway place with the strange sounding name. Immediately on arrival, she’s shocked to find herself in a world where women accept their roles as slaves to men – there to be silenced, exhibited, used and determinedly forced to surrender. Mariel wages war against her unwavering host – and loses. Even as Jack pushes her into compliance, his own submerged and deviant sexual desires find a perfect playground in this out-of-the-way locale.
Once Mariel relents to the darkness inside her, she gives herself wholly to Carlos, only to find that behind this paradise of sexual gratification is a sinister game designed to make her a perpetual, sexual captive and subject to the whims of her despot lover. Defiance only earns her a trip to Percy’s prison – a sexual concentration camp for the resistant submissive. Rescue is impossible – or so it seems. Gags, bamboo canes, piercing, ropes, bondage, cages, sensory deprivation, whips, anal sexuality, double-penetration, female bisexuality, humiliation, exhibition and strict discipline are graphically portrayed within this intriguing story.
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Pandora’s Hideaway by Lizbeth Dusseau
Cover Art Image sakkemesterke – Shutterstock.com
The three visitors had left the jungle atrium and the bound Mariel, following Carlos through a door on the far side of the room. She could hear the talking, but could not make out their conversation. Then there was quiet—a long, miserable, terrifying quiet; the only sounds in the room were the squawking birds and the broad leaves shaking in the breeze.
After struggling with the bonds that held her to the pillar, Mariel quieted herself, leaning back against the white surface in an attempt to rest. She closed her eyes, letting her mind dwell on better times. Even Albert—a world away in reality and attitude—seemed a bargain in face of what she’d endure here. Yet, the memory of her gentle fiancé was not enough to keep her mind from her impending future. As horrifying as it seemed, her curiosity and sexual excitement had not been abated by disgust or fear. She hated how her body disclosed her secrets, how even now she yearned for the hands of her captor, Carlos, and Kobe’s infamous cock—at least the man was the more genteel of the quartet. There was something moving in his speech, the way he looked at her, his hooded eyes, the half-smirk on his face that wasn’t really a smirk at all. He knew her. They all understood her inner secrets.
Bewildered, bordering on exhaustion, hurting and scared, she tried to clear her mind of everything, to let the chatter cease and let her body feel. Just as she finally gave in, her ears picked up the sound of shuffling feet, the creak of a door, and hot breath on her neck. The dark-skinned, unnamed black man released her from the pillar and pushed her through the room, handling her roughly, making her almost stumble forward to the floor. Beyond the atrium, the adjacent space was neither inside or out. Inside the enclosure—bound on three sides by bamboo walls, on another by a low hedge of flowering vine and open to the sky above—there was a hefty wine barrel on its side, skewered through its ends with a rod at least ten feet long. Each end of he rod was held up at a given height, locked into hefty wooden pedestals with a half dozen heights to choose from. Currently, the barrel was waist high to Mariel and the men inside the room.
Her black companion prodded her forward to the barrel and pushed her over the ancient-looking surface of slats, hoisting her so her feet did not touch the ground. Quickly, expertly, she was stretched out over the circumference, her hands untied from behind her and spread out to the sides. The same was accomplished with her feet, so that she was spread-eagle, vulnerable, her ass poised high, and any significant movement denied her.
Dropping to his knees, Kobe tongued her rear, opened her cleft and ran his tongue from the base of her body—her moist cunt—to the greater object of his affections—her puckering anus, where he seemed to worship the taut rosette, while demanding it open for him. His tongue was not enough, one finger and then another breached the unyielding barrier. She sighed heavily, worriedly, afraid of what was to come.
“Work her, Angelie,” he told the woman who’d joined them in the barrel room. The sensuous, tan-skinned native dropped to her knees and immediately went for Muriel’s open cleft, prying it apart with her hands, her beaded bracelets jangling, diving in with nose and mouth, using her tongue as her master demanded. She seemed ravenous for the dark spaces, expert in opening what was tight and ungiving, enjoying every minute of her lusty probing. She added her fingers as Kobe had done, though she could fit a full four inside Muriel’s expanding behind, widening the entry far beyond what Mariel might have believed possible.
She was beyond her fear now, into the thrill of this dark penetration, enticing the woman to thrust deeper, to lick harder—just by the lewd movements of her ass. Though her bonds prevented an extravagant display, an escalating passion was articulated in Muriel’s subtle, sensuous jerks and grinds. Her body opened like a flower, seeking more, begging in tiny gestures and muted, gag-muffled gasps. The skillful Angelie set her palms on Muriel’s ass, pushing the globes of white apart as she crushed her face, her cheeks, her mouth into the submissive’s bottom, moving her tongue deep into the puckering, pulsing rectum, lubricating the welcoming cavern for the inevitable next invasion. Behind her, Kobe played with Angelie’s arousal, fingering the woman’s juicy portal, finding her climax was just a few playful strokes away from coming. As a brisk orgasm ripped the woman’s body, she worked Mariel with more insistence, bidding her join her pleasure.
Mariel was close to that apex, her body clawing for release, but it wouldn’t give just yet. Beneath her forgetful stupor was such grand anticipation, that only part of her could succumb to the native woman’s ministrations. As much as the deeply probing tongue and the burrowing fingers eased the taut aperture, a river of fear wound anxiously through the uncharted waters of her physical body. Of what proportions was this man that she required this kind of preparation? Or had these measures simply been to scare her?
For several seconds, Muriel’s body was without. Angelie backed off and in the empty in-between she felt a desperate ache, the pain of separation, a frantic longing, and then a psychic insistence that this little drama fulfill its purpose.
Kobe left her waiting only seconds, seconds that seemed like hours. He was at her ass, stroking the globes his slave had mauled, his touch gentler, but his purpose more ruthless. Prying her cheeks open, he probed his target briefly, allowing her to reclaim the sensations of release and relaxation; and then, with no hesitation, he pressed the purple tip of his ebony shaft at the door and shoved the hefty member inside. Slowly, easily, the primed cavity expanded to contain the generous meat. The warning messages had not been wrong.
Mariel cringed realizing the truth, only to have Kobe slap her ass, “Easy, baby,” he purred sweetly, then took another lunge.
“Agur, ga, awk,” a stream of unintelligible sounds issued from her gagged mouth. Her entire body froze and only relaxed when she realized that the whole of Kobe’s enormous prick was lodged inside her. As he began to move, the inner sensation was less painful, her body less afraid and she took the fucking well; as he started slow and then increased his speed; as he held fast to her ass with his fingers digging into her flesh and trying to lift her bound ass from the barrel; as he got lost inside himself, forgot the slave and what this was doing to her.
Mariel yelped on occasion, on others she purred contentedly. As the audience watched the two dance inside their heated tango, they saw a symbiotic sexuality that engaged them all. Jack stroked the front of his shorts, the unnamed black man played openly with his prick—he expected to go next, and Carlos satisfied himself more mutedly, deriving contentment from the act of ordering this anal rape.
Muriel’s body quickened fast as Kobe’s long strokes brought back the intense, climactic urges in her deep insides. While her ass got worked, her clit rubbed against the surface of the barrel sending shivers outward through every nerve of her body. Before her assailant had reached his peak, she was over the edge with hers, clawing at the barrel’s edge with white- knuckled intensity, body quaking, brightening, spasming uncontrollably. As if a big, crass neon sign was flashing through her, the orgasm fired, plateaued for sixty seconds of utter ecstasy and then settled into a shower of after effects spurred on by Kobe’s final efforts.
“Gawwwwwwwwwwww!” the primitive cry roared from his mouth. The barrel shook, the room shook beneath his bare black feet, the air surrounding the room shook, atoms splitting, falling like rain inside the humid air.
Angelie licked her master’s cock as it withdrew from the target, lapping the remains lovingly, like treasure; then the two retreated elsewhere.
“Not bad for a reluctant slave,” Carlos slapped her ass firmly. He exited the room with the unnamed, and dissatisfied black man beside him, leaving Jack and Mariel alone.
Carlos slap hardly stung, but it awakened her from the drowsy lethargy that follows climax. Jack was there, pawing her ass almost as if he was afraid she would break, then more firmly when he realized that she wouldn’t.
She wanted to scream “Fuck me!”, but there was no way to voice her thoughts. Though part of her was satisfied, even satiated, her center self, her cunt, hungered for more. If Jack would only…
“Some things have to be demonstrated,” he said, without sounding haughty.
Obviously, he was right.
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