Chapter Fifteen

♠

The Morning After

Natasha sat at the bright red picnic table outside the spade cabin, basking in the morning sunlight alongside Darius. She was clad only in the jet black bikini that matched her sleek hair, giving him a perfect view of all the curves he loved to touch.

Ariana sat across from her in a bikini of the same shape, but hers was hot pink, pairing well with her silvery blonde locks. Her body was so slender and tight that Natasha even felt a bit envious. The sun was high in the clear blue sky and bathed them in a shiny golden glow.

“So, Jamal still hasn’t spoken to Leya,” Ariana said, spilling the tea of the day.

“He really went cold on her, didn’t he?” Natasha breathed, trying not to show it if she really gave a damn.

“Yup,” Ariana confirmed.

“Were they even fucking in the bed last night? I was too tired to notice.” All that fucking was hard work, at the end of the day.

“Nope,” Ariana said with a flourish of her hair. “They slept together, but nothing happened. He didn’t even say a word to her.”

Natasha surprised herself with the great extent that she actually felt bad for her. It seemed their idyllic paradise had been disturbed. She turned to Darius and asked, “You wouldn’t do that to me, right?”

He turned his chocolate gaze back to her and answered, “Of course not.” Relieved, Natasha gave him a broad smile and caressed the rippling muscles of his back.

“All it took was Eleanor’s bull to fuck her, and he’s all upset now,” Ariana recounted. “The way he fucked her in return was kind of ludicrous.”

“I agree,” Darius remarked. “That girl deserves the best.” Natasha flashed him a chiding look, and he laughed a bit before clarifying, “You know it’s true. She ain’t your rival. You’re both champions.”

At that, Natasha’s smile returned. Darius was aggressive and sweet in all the right quantities. Jamal was all aggression.

Then, it occurred to her that a similar thing had happened to Ariana and Jackson–thanks to Natasha’s own voracious actions–but it was patched up within a day’s time. She turned back to Ariana and asked, “Well, how did you do it? You and Jackson, I mean.”

The blonde girl just sat there and wondered about it for a genuine, pensive moment. There was no anger in her eyes, just a hint of wandering wonder–presumably at her own urges.

“I don’t know…” she finally said. “I think it’s just… natural, you know? Submitting to a real man.” She paused a moment when Natasha offered no response, then added, “I don’t blame you at all for what you’ve done.”

Natasha was a lover of the natural, and she understood exactly the rawest of feelings Ariana eluded to. However, the way she saw it, it was all about pleasure–though she could comprehend a sort of primal energy of nature surging up to break the chains of civilized society in all of their escapades. Perhaps that’s what happened to Eleanor when Jamal bent her over, without a care.

“I agree, completely,” Leya said as she approached them from behind Ariana, walking back up the beach from the water. Her bronze skin glistened with water droplets in the hot sunlight, entirely exposed save for her own skimpy black bikini. Her light brown hair was slicked back by the water, hanging behind her back.

She took her towel off the table and set it down to sit beside Ariana. She also snatched her shades from the table and put them on her face.

Ariana greeted her with a slight smile and said, “Leya, we were just talking about you…” without clarifying anything.

“Nothing too bad, I hope,” she said, in jovial spirits in spite of the circumstances she had been enmeshed in.

“No, just you and Jamal…” Ariana replied, drifting off into the tension that had sprouted up there.

“Oh…” Leya said, a frown forming on her face. “He hasn’t said a word to me all day.”

“Don’t worry,” Ariana said, taking Leya’s hands in her own. “Jackson is inside talking to him,” she revealed.

Then, the side-door to the cabin opened and Jackson came out before Leya could respond. Robin followed the tall black man out, in stark contrast to him. At least his maid’s dress was back on–that made him look even more pathetic.

Jackson led him by the little black leash she had found in Eleanor’s luggage all the way over to the table. Natasha flashed them both a devious smile and waved them over. “Get over here, whiteboy,” she ordered.

Jackson exchanged the leash into her extended hand. He proceeded to take a seat in between Ariana and Leya, across from her.

Natasha grabbed Robin’s cheek with her free hand and gently tugged him down upon his knees. She looked down on him now; his sad little blue eyes, his pale skin, his utter weakness. She gave his left cheek a light smack and said, “Did you enjoy yourself all tied up for us last night?”

Without recoiling at the rough touch of her hand, Robin answered, “Yes, Goddess Natasha.” This little bitch was so obedient and unthreatening that she felt she could do anything to him, and he would take it as a gift of sorts.

And so, she took his face in one hand and pulled his wimpy little mouth open. Then, staring into his eyes, she let a string of saved-up saliva fall into his mouth and closed it. Robin swallowed hard with a newfound glimmer in his eye and said, “Thank you, Goddess Natasha,” proving her right.

“You’re welcome,” she replied with a smile.

“Bring the little sissy over here to me,” Leya suddenly called over from the other side of the picnic table. Natasha turned her grin to her fellow goddess and winked.

She whisked back to Robin and said, “You heard her. Crawl over there.”

“Yes, Goddess,” the little maid said before doing just that. Natasha gave his little butt a playful smack as he crawled away from her and around the table with a laugh.

When the slave reached her, she started smacking him in the face with each hand, one at a time. “Leya!” Natasha called to her, not knowing whether to be amused or to reel her in. Then, she stopped. Jackson only snickered from her other side.

“I’m going to be taking out all of my anger on you, little whiteboy,” Leya said with Robin’s frilly white collar wrapped up in one of her fists. He trembled a little, seeming genuinely intimidated, but he didn’t withstand whatsoever.

“If you must, Goddess Leya,” was all he said. Natasha could see that no matter the fluctuations of the relationships between the rest of them, Robin was solely dedicated to his servitude; married to it, he would serve with devotion and faith regardless of the squabbles between his superiors. This struck her as something rare and special, something that could and should be nurtured in others… her own little bitch, Mason, for example.

As her thoughts drifted to the camp and its sure predicaments for her boyfriend and his fellow whiteboys, she heard the side-door of the cabin open up from behind her again. She whirled around to see Eleanor there, Dominik in hand, swiftly approaching the table the rest of them sat at.

Her thick body was wrapped up in her fuzzy black vest and matching leggings in spite of the hot sunlight. There was no smile gracing her face on that day; her usual feline grin had been replaced by a stone-cold glare.

“We’re leaving,” she said, serious as ever. Dominik looked the exact same way.

“What?” Natasha didn’t figure out.

“You can’t leave,” Leya said with vicious fervor.

“We’re leaving,” Eleanor reiterated, “and I don’t know if we’ll be back, or when.”

“Why?” Natasha asked, just before Leya stood up and left Robin kneeling on the grass to face her friend.

Eleanor heaved out a sigh and explained, “The camp called on the house phone. Something happened to Matty. So, we’re leaving.” Natasha couldn’t tell if Eleanor was more disappointed in her cuck, or protective of her. She was some strange mixture of both.

“What happened?” she asked, unaware.

“One of those little perverts harassed her. And no, before you ask, it wasn’t yours,” Eleanor elaborated. “So, we’re going to set things right. That’s all I want to say about it.” That made more sense to Natasha. At least Mason didn’t do anything like that, but she suddenly felt pity for the entire situation Matty was put in.

“Eleanor,” Leya said, getting her attention. She turned to her with batted eyes and a sour shape of her lips. “What am I supposed to do about Jamal? He won’t even speak to me. He won’t even–” Eleanor put a solitary finger up to her friend’s lips, and she ceased to speak another word.

“We’ll figure it out. I have to take care of this, okay?” she said, her sweetness shining through her malcontentment.

“Okay,” Leya said somewhat confusedly as Eleanor’s finger lowered. Eleanor looked her up and down, likely contemplating the state she was leaving her in, then drew her into her arms for an embrace.

They lingered in each other’s warmth for many passing moments before Eleanor let go of her with a wet kiss on her left cheek.

She then turned back to Natasha and said, “You’re in charge when I’m gone.”

“Yo, what about me?” Darius lightheartedly interjected.

“You, too,” Eleanor said, her lips finally coming a shy bit closer to a smile. She turned around for the final time and took Dominik’s hand again on her way around the cabin, leading his ever-dark presence away to save their devoted cuckold. Natasha watched the sexy pair on their exit. It was Eleanor who got into the driver’s seat of their slick little black car.

♠♠♠♠♠

“Evidently, we have erred,” Alexandra said, her arms crossed beneath her heaving tits.

“You can say that again,” Fiona remarked, clicking her tongue against her teeth.

“I just called Eleanor,” Raina announced as she bounced into the dark room. “She’s coming back. In such… strange circumstances, that’s understandable.”

“Did you tell Matty that?” Alexandra asked her, out of both intrigue and concern.

“I haven’t…” Raina admitted, seeming truly regretful. “Maybe the surprise will cheer her up, though. She really loves that girl.”

“I hope so,” Alexandra said. Mason, kneeling on the floor beside Fiona, couldn’t believe how sweet and tender the dommes were acting on that day. They were all cruelty and whiplash before the eventful preceding night.

Alexandra seemed exceptionally uncomfortable, almost to the point of boiling into anger, as did the all the time more aggressive Fiona. He didn’t want to get into trouble with either of them himself, but was almost sure he wouldn’t. He had done a good thing the night past in dealing with Brendan.

“And where is that disgusting little bitch Brendan now?” Fiona asked in her usual vicious vocal fry.

“I locked him away in a back room of the basement dungeon,” Raina revealed, without a hint of her usual mirth at the subject of whiteboys. Speaking of locks, Mason was nevertheless straining against the plastic of his cock cage in the midst of these three big busty beauties. Maybe Brendan got one of those too, after the night before.

“I locked his gross little cock up too, so there’s no chance of anything bad happening again,” the thick black queen confirmed. At least that asshole got to distribute in his suffering.

“I wish I could’ve stopped him from doing anything at all,” Alexandra remarked in her high and misty voice. She was genuinely forlorn and regretful about it all. Mason felt much the same way, even though he was only trying to sleep before it all went down.

“So do I,” Raina said, of course. “But we’ll handle it and get back on course. Eleanor will be a great help to us, I’m sure. She’s by far the best girlfriend we’ve dealt with in ages,” she went on to assure them.

Mason felt only an overwhelming sense that he had been neglected. Fiona had permitted him his frilly little pink skirt and afforded him the gift of her close presence for the day, but none of these three queens were even looking at him, now. Fiona even let his leash dangle absentmindedly without a grip.

They all conversed as if he wasn’t even there on the floor beneath them, even though he was the one who stopped Brendan last night. As far as he was concerned, he deserved a reward for his valiance. If Natasha had known what he’d done, he was sure she would show some rare pride for him. She might even love him again.

“Anyways, I have to go tend to the other betas. They’re all a bit… broken up about what happened,” Raina announced. She gestured one big black hand in his direction, finally, and said, “Keep this one under control. I’ll be back before long.” Then, she turned to leave the three of them lingering in her own private quarters of the camp.

That’s all? Keep me under control? Mason felt himself start to fume, but kept himself under control in an inevitable paradox considering the conditions he was in.

Fiona picked up his leash, at least, as Raina made her way out. She proceeded to bounce her thick body all the way around him and onto the sofa on the edge of the dark room without a care. When her hand tugged his neck toward her, he obliged, crawling to the side of her seat.

This spoiled cunt had better reward me, Mason wondered to himself, hoping she couldn’t somehow hear the words running from his burning heart up to his head.

Outwardly, however, he showed only his newfound submissive posture. “This little bitch did a good job, at least,” Alexandra remarked from behind and above his kneeling form. He then felt her hand rustle through his dark hair.

Even though her words stung him, her touch stilled him. Just a little more would do the trick of fully assuaging his desire, provided it was in all the right places.

“Indeed, he did,” Fiona said, flashing her sapphire eyes into his own. “Let’s see that chastity cage of yours,” she ordered him with all the casual cruelty she possessed so effortlessly.

“Yes, Goddess,” Mason all but seethed before lifting his skirt up by its hems with both hands to reveal his greatest shame. This could be the grand release he had been waiting for for almost a week’s time, so he reasoned that he’d better be obedient.

Nevertheless, they both laughed at the sight of it.

His caged-up little cock only strained even harder at that, for reasons he presumed were preconscious. “Even if we let you out, that little thing could never do the job properly,” Fiona degraded him after her copious and spoiled giggles.

Alexandra took a step forward and proceeded to give his caged up cock a soft nudge with one of her bare feet, laughing all the while. Mason did his best not to groan or complain, or even worse, have an outburst at the two girls who’d been torturing him for nearly a week. If that was the only touch he got, he might just do just that.

“What do you think, Alexandra?” Fiona said as she fondled the key to Mason’s chastity cage that rested in between her copious cleavage. “Should we let the poor little whiteboy out of his lock?” Mason was so on edge, he was afraid he might burst out in the cage and never be released.

“Maybe just for a little bit…” Alexandra answered, truly contemplating whether or not he deserved it. “We wouldn’t want him to start to believe he actually deserves pleasure.” Be that as it may, the amount of pleasure he surrendered to them as an object of derision was immense.

“Please?” Mason started to beg, barely keeping control of himself anymore. “I’ll be a good little whiteboy, I just need to cum so badly…” He couldn’t believe the words that were coming out of his own mouth, but he needed it. He hadn’t even been able to cum from Fiona’s busting of his balls a couple of nights prior.

Both of the thick snow queens only laughed at him harder in response to his pleas for a release. When they finally settled down again, Fiona said, “Alright, relax, you pathetic little boy. We’ll allow you to cum, as a reward for your bravery in defeating the great and terrible Brendan!”

She lifted her arms in a mock-flex and continued to laugh in Mason’s face. “King of the Soyboys!” she added, sending Alexandra into another fit of giggles. Even at the point of his rightful reward, Mason was left feeling small.

Finally, Fiona nudged her heavy self upwards and flourished her dark red hair back to unlatch the little key from her soft, lined neck. Once that was done, she bent down to unlock the cage constraining Mason’s little dick and pulled it off cleanly, all without actually touching his flesh.

She held the little black cage in her hand in front of his face and sensually breathed, “After this, your little shrimp is going right back in. And we’re not gonna help you, either, whiteboy. You’re going to cum for us, all by yourself, pinching that pathetic little pink cock between your two fingers. And you’re going to shoot that little beta load, right here on my feet.” The thick redhead tapped her toes and set the cock cage down on the couch beside her.

Mason got right to work on tugging his compressed little dick back to hardness and life. The damage it had done wasn’t devastating to start with; the cage was about two inches, if he had to guess, and his hard dick only measured up to twice that amount. He did just as Fiona described, holding his shriveled little nub between his thumb and his forefinger and tugging on it.

It wasn’t difficult for it to harden when staring into the full breadth of her cleavage, just barely constricted by her red Queen of Spades bra.

Her titties looked as big and fat as pale globes to him in that moment of freedom. Freedom. He began to contemplate it as he tugged on himself pathetically beneath her.

What imagination he possessed started to run wild as he grew to his full hardness. In his mind’s eye, he had already crawled on top of her; Fiona, the busty redheaded queen who loved to torture him and his compatriots, who cherished ripping them aside and reshaping them in the image of a slave.

For him, then, he was conquering her, for a change. He was thrusting his whole cock deep inside of her–well, as deep as it would go–holding her down and pounding her, making her entire fat body shake and rock beneath his grasp, forming an earthquake beneath them, tearing into her, squeezing on those gigantic pale titties, making her scream, making her–

His imagery was entirely cut off by his spurting little dick between his fingers. The real Fiona extended her left foot towards it, and it accommodated his load–big enough to be impressive for a whiteboy, he suspected. As he fell into dismay, he watched the thick white liquid spurt out of the tip of his pink little dick and onto her pale foot.

He painted it with his cum–at least that was something within reach. With a voracious grunt, he felt his orgasm pass and his cock shrivel up again.

To make matters worse, they were both already laughing at him again. “Already, whiteboy?” Fiona taunted him. “Such a fucking prejac loser.” It was her damn fault for keeping him locked up so long, and for being such a busty fucking bitch, but he said nothing.

“We should give him the Brendan treatment just for lasting such a short while,” Alexandra said with dark mirth that sounded sweet in tone but was nothing but another merciless cutdown of many to Mason. Was there no difference or discernment between them all for them?

Fiona only laughed harder at that opinion. Evidently, there was none, Mason wondered. “Would you like us to piss on your face, whiteboy?” she mock-asked him, elated by the prospect of elevating his shame.

“N-no, Goddess,” he pleaded, hearing how pathetic he himself sounded. Looking down at the skirt around his waist, he realized his fantasy would never come true.

After another showering of giggles from the goddesses, Fiona lifted her cum-covered foot up to his lips. “Lick it all off, whiteboy!” she joyfully commanded him. He obliged her, feeling now that he had no other choice, and bent down ever so slightly just to extend his tongue onto her foot and lick his copious cumshot clean off of it.