Mistress Blackheart Read online

  Title Page

  MISTRESS BLACKHEART

  By

  Francine Whittaker

  Publisher Information

  Published in 2011 by

  Cambridge House Publishing LLP

  Digital Edition Converted and Distributed in 2011 by

  Andrews UK Limited

  www.andrewsuk.com

  Copyright 2007

  This edition published2011

  The right of Francine Whittaker to be identified as the author of this book has been asserted in accordance with Section 77 and 78 of the Copyright and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved.

  All characters and events depicted are entirely fictitious; any resemblance to anyone living or dead is entirely coincidental

  THIS IS FICTION. IN REAL LIFE ALWAYS PRACTISE SAFE SEX

  Dedication

  With thanks to Martin for the encouragement, and to everyone else who helped

  Prologue

  Chantel looked down her nose at the naked, quivering wretch kneeling at her feet. Slowly, she swept the back of one white-gloved hand beneath his chin before continuing the movement up the side of his face. Then, adjusting her stance to allow the split in her floor length, white ball gown to fall open, she displayed her smooth, naked leg provocatively, knowing the poor man was slowly being driven mad with desire.

  Meanwhile, standing at the back of the small group of semi-clothed women, Ali looked on in awe. After all this time, she still found it incredible that Chantel’s authority, not to mention her sexuality, pervaded the very atmosphere of the chateau. The woman was magnificent! With her blonde hair and the elbow-length gloves that were her trademark, she possessed the power to make men and women alike worship her.

  The erotic tension in the high-ceilinged room was almost tangible and Ali swallowed hard, fighting to keep the powerful charges that ricocheted through her body in check. Such was her own arousal that she slipped one hand down to rub her clitoris through the gossamer thin panties that barely covered her mound while extracting her breast from the half cup of her black Basque with the other hand. Now, rubbing her clit and tweaking her engorged nipple, she watched as the scene unfolded.

  Chantel raised her foot and with the toe of her white, spiked shoe, lifted the man’s chin. His hands were bound behind his back and his eyes lowered to the floor. In this place he was nothing but a slave, as docile as a lamb and not the overbearing, fat cat company director who’d checked into the chateau less than a month ago.

  When she spoke, Chantel’s accent was as thick as the lust in her flat belly.

  “Ok, Ladies,” she said kicking the powerless man backward so that he fell awkwardly with his legs splayed beneath him, “he’s all yours.”

  The half dozen or so women assembled needed no further encouragement as they surged forward. Some carried canes or whips, while others had nothing but their bare hands with which to exact their particular brand of punishment. They corrected his position, leaning him forward over a tapestry covered footstool.

  Within moments his well-rounded backside bore angry, red stripes that had him snivelling, even as he begged for the onslaught to continue. As his penis metamorphosed from a useless, shrivelled appendage to a thick rod of iron, his tormentors released his hands and made him crawl on all fours. While one girl followed behind, every once in a while tapping his balls with the tip of her cane, Ali sat astride him, urging him ever forward with a curious blend of threats and promises.

  Watching the proceedings from the sidelines, Chantel raised her hand and, catching Ali’s attention at last and beckoned her over.

  Grinning like a kid who’d just won a prize at the fair, Ali wiped the back of her hand over her sweaty forehead as she dismounted. Swaying her hips as she invariably did when wearing high heels, Ali approached the ‘White Goddess’ as Chantel was known to her clients, slaves and even her associates, with due respect.

  To Ali’s surprise, Chantel drew her close and for a moment the two women were locked in a tight embrace. While they’d often shared and figuratively mopped the floor with slaves, and slept together often, this was the first occasion on which Chantel had shown any tenderness towards her.

  The display lasted no more than minutes before Chantel recovered her poise and released her protégé. Leading Ali to a couch, she waited until they were both seated before voicing her thoughts.

  “Are you sure you want to do this, Ali? You know you don’t have to leave. There will always be a place for you here at the chateau...” she lifted Ali’s open hand and held it flat against her own chest, “and here in my heart.”

  “I know,” Ali’s confident tone momentarily wavered, “and I thank you for it. I’ve had some of the best times of my life here with you and love you dearly, but now it’s time to move on and put some of what you’ve taught me into practice. It’s time to start up my own ‘house of correction’. “

  “But why go back to England to do that? What’s so important there that you have to leave all this?” Chantel swept her hand in a gesture that took in the whole room as well as the frenzied group sex that was taking place on the far side. “I’m offering you a partnership in the chateau.”

  “That’s an amazing offer, and if things were different I’d be only too happy to accept. But there’s something I must deal with at home.”

  For a moment, Chantel’s classically beautiful face clouded. Removing Ali’s hand from where she’d held it, she let it drop. “You mean there’s someone you must see.”

  With more conviction than she actually felt, Ali smiled. “Yes, someone.”

  She hadn’t even admitted it to herself until now, but there was an emotional vacuum inside her and probably only one person who could go even half way to filling it. She’d always known it deep down, of course, but it wasn’t the kind of thing you shouted about. How she wished for the gift of clairvoyance, longed to know whether the object of her desire would be receptive or would rebuff her. But it was impossible to gauge and she had no other choice than to find out the hard way.

  “I leave first thing in the morning.”

  “Then at least let me give you a parting gift.”

  Chantel clapped her hands and immediately two leather-clad women emerged from a side door. Walking between them, naked with his hands tied in front of him, was as tasty a blond hulk as Ali had ever seen. Tall and muscular, his torso rippled with every step he took.

  “Take him,” Chantel urged quietly, “and enjoy him - you’ve earned him! If you tire of him or things don’t work out as you plan, then by all means bring him back. But I warn you,” she laid a firm hand on Ali’s knee, “next time you won’t get away so easily.”

  Chapter One

  Ali settled herself in the chair, sinking into the luxury of the oversized seat cushion. At first she’d been concerned that the leopard print covering would appear tacky, but it turned out to be the perfect accessory for the wide, black wooden chair, as was the matching cushion against which she rested her back.

  Resting her elbows over the wooden arms of the chair, she listened to Jurgen moving about in the bedroom. How long did it take him to make the bed, for goodness sake? All he had to do was smooth the sheet, fluff up the duck feather pillows and pull up the bloody quilt. A smile curved her lips and warmth flared in her belly as the memory came unbidden to her mind of the delicious way in which the bed had become so crumpled.

  Last night, she’d allowed Jurgen to sleep with her, allowed him the hitherto unknown freedom to touch her as his own desire dictated. His strong hands had caressed her reverently at first, then more earnestly as his co
nfidence increased. Lapsing into a blissful state and weakened by her own gnawing hunger to feel a cock inside her, she’d done nothing to prevent his throbbing penis from pounding frenziedly inside her, filling her with his scalding seed without as much as a plea for forgiveness.

  Clearly she’d allowed him too much. It must never happen again if she were to retain her position of authority and command his respect.

  Banishing the memory of how nice it had been to the back of her mind, she checked her watch, and was relieved to note that she didn’t have to leave just yet. If her recollections of Leigh McFarlane were correct, she was always late. Ali doubted her friend had changed much over the half dozen years since they’d last met. The poor girl had always been a bit scatty, and had a tendency to be a bit of a stick-in-the-mud if the truth be told. If it hadn’t been for Ali, Leigh would never have got round to doing half the things she’d done - including losing her virginity.

  With a satisfied smile, Ali cast her eye over her new home. The whole place had an air of sophistication, and she knew she’d been lucky to acquire the spacious apartment at such short notice. Taking up the entire seventeenth floor, it was perfect for her current needs - in time she could also acquire the apartment downstairs.

  Situated right in the heart of the Hertfordshire town, where the head offices of a corporate giant had once stood, Riverside Tower looked out over the shopping centre on two of its four sides, with fine views across the river, fields and down to the railway station on the third. On a clear day, you could just catch a glimpse of the canal from the fourth side.

  The midday sun streamed in through the blinds, making the highly polished floorboards positively gleam. Ali allowed herself another smile, knowing that a barrel load of elbow grease had gone into the polishing, just as it had done on the rest of the black wood and smoked glass furniture.

  Resting her feet on the glass topped coffee table, Ali crossed her legs at the ankles while she fiddled with her white, silk blouse. She wanted everything to look just so. Opening the top two buttons, she arranged the collar carefully over the lapels of her black jacket. Handmade by a top London tailor, the trouser suit fitted her perfectly, accentuating her womanly curves and narrow waist. She was a woman with oodles of sex appeal, and she knew it. Men lusted after her and that was just the way she liked it - it was merely a matter of controlling it.

  Leaning back with her fingers linked behind her head, she felt the familiar stirrings in her belly, uncoiling like a spiral of erotic current that needed only a spark to cause an explosion. Damn Jurgen! There wasn’t time to assuage her lust now, but at least she could lessen the desire and hold off the detonation until her return. Then she’d make him pay for his audacity.

  “Jurgen. Stop what you’re doing and come here. Now.”

  Within seconds, the brawny blond was scurrying towards her. Naked as always, his muscles rippled excitingly with controlled energy beneath his tanned skin. His limp phallus, though magnificent when erect, now hung like a deflated balloon between his thick thighs.

  Without moving, she stared at him coolly as he came and stood before her.

  “Yes, Mistress?”

  “Cigar.”

  He had lovely buttocks, she thought as he scuttled away to retrieve one of the finest cigars that Cuba had to offer. She thrilled at how it felt to close her hands over the cheeks, how it felt to dig her fingers deep into the malleable flesh. Ah, when she came home...

  Jurgen selected a cigar from the ebony box, and Ali felt a warm surge of power as she watched him trim the end, then place it between his lips. He was a non-smoker and she was fully aware of how much he hated this particular chore, but she was also aware of how much he feared not to do it. He held the silver lighter to the end, lit the cigar, coughed as he drew on it to make sure it was alight, then came back to her.

  With long, chunky fingers, Jurgen placed the cigar between Ali’s open red lips and she clamped it between her teeth. For the first time she wondered if he suspected the truth, that her distaste was almost as great as his own. But it was good for her image to be seen smoking a cigar, besides adding to her feeling of superiority. And she knew he hated that, the same way he hated the need within him to submit, even as he hungered to be controlled.

  “Well, don’t just stand there,” she said without removing the cigar from the corner of her mouth. “Surely you don’t expect me to go out with dirty shoes!”

  Immediately, he dropped to his knees. He lifted her foot, encased in the black, spike-heeled shoe, as reverently as if it were some religious artefact. Slowly, he bowed his head. After working his lips together to try and increase his salvia, he poked out his long, pink tongue. Then, without a word of dissent, Jurgen proceeded to lick the already shining black shoe.

  ***

  Leigh stole a glance beneath her lashes as she pushed down the waistband of her tight, black skirt, watching as Owen tugged at the knot of his tie. In his forties with swept back dark hair and conservative dress code, he looked every inch the respectable family doctor. So it had come as something of a surprise to his young receptionist that his pursuit of her had been quite so vigorous. But flattering though it was, it had taken away the fun of flashing her legs at an unavailable man.

  “Do you need some help with that?” he asked lecherously as she wriggled the skirt over her hips.

  “No,” her giggle was that of a girl much younger than her twenty-four years, “I can manage, thank you, Doctor.”

  The formal way she addressed him was as mischievous as the way she turned sideways to rest her chin on her shoulder, looking back at him coquettishly from beneath long lashes. There was a mischievous look about her voluminous hair, too, the red-gold tousled curls giving her the sensuous look of someone who’d just stepped out of bed. Of course, the look often took hours to achieve, but the effect was quite devastating.

  Letting her skirt drop to the floor, she stepped out of it as elegantly as she was able before holding it up triumphantly between finger and thumb. “Ta-da!”

  “Yes, very good.” The little cock teaser wasn’t wearing any knickers! Laughing, he shrugged out of his grey suit and crisp, white shirt and watched her slowly unfasten the buttons of her blouse. She was like a teenager flirting with the boys - the little bitch knew it turned him on.

  “You’ll be the death of me, young lady, especially if my wife finds out.”

  “How could she?” Leigh felt the current that always buzzed through her at times like this. She loved to see men want her, eyeing her up and slowly succumbing to her teasing. Sometimes she’d give in to them, sometimes she wouldn’t. She didn’t mean anything by it, it was just a bit of fun. And boy! Was she having fun with the good Doctor Brand.

  Her fingers swirled over the soft, white flesh of her inner thigh, between the top of her black hold-ups and her furry red mound.

  Owen swallowed. “I’m supposed to be meeting her after morning surgery, and the last patient left over fifteen minutes ago.”

  With her fingers fumbling between her shoulder blades, Leigh unhooked her lacy, white bra. “Oh! That reminds me. I’m meeting someone for lunch, too.”

  “Anyone I should know about? A jealous boyfriend, perhaps? Get a move on, Sweetheart. Jump up on the couch or we’ll both be late.”

  “An old school friend,” Leigh swayed her hips provocatively as she crossed the small room, “who’s been living abroad.”

  Standing now with her mons pressed against the edge of the examination couch and her hands resting on top, she presented him with her pert backside as she made a show of hoisting herself up. With her heart racketing madly in her ribcage, she leaned forward with her weight on her hands and lifted her right knee, clambering up like a child climbing onto a forbidden wall. Then, pulling her other leg up, on all fours she turned around so that her head faced the pillow end.

  The couch springs protested loudly
under the added weight of Owen. Also on all fours as he settled himself behind her, he held her trim waist as he positioned himself more comfortably. Then, with his erect cock nestling in the deep crevice between the lovely cheeks of her bottom, he reached forward to take her breasts in his palms.

  “Oh Owen.”

  Her words were little more than a sigh as his hands closed tightly around her firm globes, kneading them gently at first before giving them a squeeze. Then, still holding them tightly, his fingers and thumbs found her nipples. And as he rolled and tweaked them, so they hardened and swelled.

  The throbbing of her nipples sent a warm tingling throughout her insides, finally setting up a mirrored throbbing in her clitoris. And as he moved his penis back and forth along her tight crevice, she wasn’t sure if it was the thrill of the act itself or the thought of getting caught that excited her more.

  Relinquishing his hold on her right breast, his fingers closed around his shaft and he guided it between her open legs. Then, as the purple head of his cock began to nudge at the engorged lips of her labia, she knew - it was the thrill of being caught!

  Using two fingers, he parted her labia like a flower and pushed his way in, past her inner lips into the warm, moist depths of her vagina until his shaft was buried up to the hilt. And then he thrust, and thrust again, building up a rhythm as she ground her buttocks against him.

  Sighing and panting, their groans of pleasure mingled, building up to a crescendo of noise that echoed in the small room. Her muscles contracted tightly around his flesh as he neared his point of no return. And then, with a growl from deep in his throat, he emptied the scalding contents of his balls inside her quivering, convulsing sex as every muscle in her body locked rigid.