Butterfly Wings

BUTTERFLY WINGS

By Tcheena3

  CHAPTER FIVE  - A Gale

  Two weeks had passed since I'd left home.

I'd traveled long distances in that time. I still felt mildly nervous, but as each day passed I began to feel more free of the dreadful weight that seemed to oppress me. I still had no reservations about leaving Phil. Despite all our years together, I found I felt nothing for him after what he had done.

I had only briefly been in touch with my niece Libby and my parents - postcards mailed the day I'd left, just saying that I had split up with Phil and needed some time alone and would contact them later. But it was still too soon for further contact. I needed to settle somewhere and work out how I could be in touch without revealing my whereabouts to Vida and her organization.

I returned to the motel in the early evening. I'd been staying there for two days now. It was nice. Homely. I felt safe and I'd started to explore the surrounding area. This had the feel of a place where I could settle down.

As I passed the reception area on the way to my room, the woman in the reception area hailed me. "There's a package been left for you!" she called.

My heart leapt into my mouth. Who could be leaving a package for me? I was using a false name and I had been existing on cash for at least a week now. I relaxed slightly when I saw that it was just addressed to 'The Occupant of Unit 8'. Yes, that was me, but it must be a mistake. It must have been left for the previous occupant.

Nevertheless, I was a bit curious and rather than hand it back, which I knew I should have done, I accepted it and took it to my room. I could always take it back after I'd had a peak to see what sort of things got delivered to 'unit occupants'. I would just claim that it was a mistake and not for me after all!

To this day, I'm still not sure whether I would have been better off ignoring the package.

It was definitely for me! The question is, how would things have panned out if I'd never seen the contents? Once I'd seen them, it was too late. My course of action, and what resulted, was out of my control.

+++

I had a shower and a light supper before settling on my bed, in my dressing gown, to indulge my curiosity over a stranger's 'mail'.

It was actually hardly what you'd call a package. Really more of a large padded envelope. Inside was a DVD, with nothing written on it to indicate its contents, and a smaller, bulky, sealed envelope. I could hardly wait to see what was on the DVD.

Hopefully something saucy!

Despite the horrors of my time with Vida and what had followed Phil's 'episode' (as I called it in my mind), I found myself frequently coming back to the events at Vida's mansion. I had discovered that just thinking about the humiliation I'd endured, even in the absence of the stimulating drugs, would make me wet with arousal. I'd never been aware before that such things turned me on. Now, though, thoughts of being forced to be a plaything to Vida's guests made me immediately wet. Even the savage scenes in her bedroom when she raped me anally, had me hot and flushed. It was hard to remember the pain, not that I wanted to - what I wanted was the feeling of being controlled... helpless... humiliated.

I did consider that my arousal might have been a residual effect of the drugs she'd given me, but really it only happened whenever I actually thought about the things that turned me on. It wasn't just a physical effect that was in my body all the time, so I didn't really think it was the drugs. I had never had a particularly active sexual imagination. Fantasies hadn't featured largely in my life, but in the past couple of weeks I'd found myself fantasizing about humiliating scenarios and masturbating to climax at least two or three times a day. I was rather hoping that the DVD might provide an external source of excitement for one of my daily 'sessions'.

Hah! In my dreams!

I popped the DVD into the player and lay back to watch.

My blood ran cold. The scene opened with a handheld-camera view of my parents opening their front door in response to a knock. Broad smiles of welcome on their faces as Libby came into view and gave them both a warm hug. Then she turned and brought Beatrice into the frame! She introduced Beat and Severus as "my good friends" and moments later a male hand appeared and shook my fathers. Obviously, it was not a handheld camera. Perhaps it was secreted in his clothes because the view from then on moved as he moved and always stayed about chest high.

They all entered the house chatting away cheerfully. It became apparent over the next few minutes that this had been planned and they were all there for afternoon tea at my parents' invitation.

The video lasted about an hour, but there were only 2 minutes of real significance.

Everyone was outside on the back patio having tea. Severus arose and asked for directions to the toilet. He moved back into the house but, instead of turning left to where I knew the toilet was, he turned right into Mum & Dad's living room. He strode swiftly to the entertainment centre, producing a DVD as he walked, and popped the DVD into the player below their large plasma TV.

A moment later a crisp, clear, well-lit scene appeared on the screen. I knew what it would be even before I saw it. It was a video of me at Vida's house on the evening that I'd been used as a fuck-toy in the room off her main living area, during her party. I was centre stage on hands and knees, being fucked front and rear, whilst the red-haired woman brought herself to orgasm sliding up and down on my neck. On the floor behind me, slightly out of focus, lay the plump blond woman who had preceded me. She was sobbing.

Severus kept the camera trained on the TV for about 2 minutes, during which time various scenes taken from the room had been spliced together, all of which showed me in thoroughly degrading positions but obviously enjoying myself.

I started to panic, willing him to turn it off before Mum or Dad showed up. Stupid, I know, since it had obviously been happening some days ago.

Anyway, fortunately for me, he removed the DVD after a couple of minutes and turned everything off. Then he held the DVD itself up in front of the camera. Printed on it's surface were the words: "Copy 7, for ...." with my parents names on it.

The message to me was loud and clear! Vida knew where I was; she knew where my parents lived; she had even somehow engineered it so that Libby was treating Beat and Severus as friends and inviting them to family social events; and she would distribute copies if I didn't comply with her demands. I suppose that I should have realized that with her wealth and power and resources, hiding from her would take more than just withdrawing cash and driving off into the blue. So, what was I to do?

I picked up the smaller sealed envelope and opened it. It contained a handwritten note on a single sheet of paper that was wrapped around a bundle of $100 bills. $5,000 in total.

"You're invited to dinner on Saturday the 30th, 7:30 for 8pm. Important guests, wealthy. Make sure you dress well - appropriate for the occasion! Don't disappoint me.

p.s. hubby has a very big surprise for you! :) "

No signature, of course. It was all very anonymous.

She was so devious. She had just ordered me back at the same time as telling me that having more cash wasn't going to help me escape. And then she'd added a substantial fillip to excite me - effectively saying "Go and buy yourself a new outfit, and spend big on it...".

I should have been devastated. But surprisingly I wasn't.

All I could think of was returning and being taken under her wing. I felt a tremendous sense of relief. I had been running on fear and adrenaline for the past two weeks - my stomach an almost constant knot of tension. Suddenly everything was being taken out of my hands and I could just give in to events. Then I wouldn't really have a problem any more. I'd just do as I was told. No fighting or struggling against circumstances, worrying about what was going to happen. No panic about my family and friends finding out as long as I played along.

If I was really honest, I'd have to admit that I was also suddenly very wet! A big part of my feelings on reading the note were not just relief but a tingling sense of sexual anticipation.

I'm ashamed to say that I immediately re-watched the brief video a few more times and brought myself to two crashing orgasms!

+++

I had over a week to return to the city to prepare for Vida's dinner party. I arrived with a couple of days to spare to shop for my outfit. I booked into a nice hotel because I couldn't face the risk of returning home and bumping in to Phil. Then I spent my last two days of freedom in holiday mode, going from expensive boutique to expensive boutique trying on all manner of outfits.

I couldn't stop imagining myself in numerous compromising positions, with a variety of people, in a variety of costumes at Vida's dinner. Which didn't make it any easier to shop! When you're trying on very expensive skimpy little dresses and almost non-existent lingerie, it doesn't help to be wet and sticky.

Being strapped down to the dining room table and fucked seemed to feature largely in my fantasies. So I found myself drawn to short little numbers that barely covered my buttocks, and would certainly be very revealing if I bent over.

Towards the end of the first day's shopping, I managed to get myself into strife.

I was in small exclusive shop named, of all things, Parisienne Domme. Although I had found some stunning clothes during the first half of the day, none of them were risqué enough for the image I thought Vida expected of me. Which is why I ended up in that particular boutique. The window displays featured garments that would not have been out of place on a high-class call-girl. Lots of black, fine leather accoutrements, outrageous heels, silver jewelry and the like. It sounds a bit trashy stated like that. But not at all. The place exuded class and refinement. 

I was the only customer in there in the middle of the Friday afternoon. The manager, who I assumed was also the owner, was an elegant small dark haired woman of about 45 with a husky voice, a strong French accent and a very haughty demeanour. She was well-dressed and wearing expensive-looking earrings. Despite the fact that I had plenty of money to buy an outfit, I still felt as if I didn't belong in her class. I actually felt mildly intimidated.

She asked curtly what I was after. I said I wasn't sure, but explained about the dinner I was going to the following night and that I might well find myself the centre of attention. She 'tut-tutted' and shook her head disapprovingly. Nevertheless, she selected several dresses with a slightly annoyed air. She would not let me take them into the changing room on my own. Instead, she hung them outside the door and brought one item in at a time.

"I'll help you," she said gruffly in her thick accent.

She hung the new item on the wall inside the cubicle, turned to me and, without so much as a 'by-your-leave', proceeded to lift up the hem of my own dress to draw it up and off over my head. I gasped but she was so matter of fact about it. I was embarrassed and immediately aware of the dampness and stickiness between my legs from my day's fantasies. Even if she couldn't see it, surely she must smell it? As my dress came off, a wave of pungent pussy aroma seemed to waft out.

She knelt in front of me and again matter-of-factly, pulled my panties down to my ankles. She couldn't fail to see the state of me even if she had no sense of smell. Sure enough, she glanced up, sniffed a couple of times and stared directly at my pussy.

"You should be ashamed of yourself!" she said sharply. "Make sure you get nothing on my dresses!"

"Of c-course." I stammered, feeling thoroughly humiliated. And with the humiliation came another flood of wetness!

She helped me on with the cocktail outfit, a short, tight-fitting, black silk dress. As she did so, her hands seemed almost inadvertently to touch various parts of my body - a brief brush of pressure against my left breast, a hand on my inner thigh as she drew the hem downwards, and then a more deliberate smoothing down of the dress against my buttock. None of which helped me in any way to regain my equilibrium.

I should have protested, but I couldn't. She seemed to sense my difficulty, because with each change of outfit her touching became firmer and more overt. Eventually, she was squeezing my breasts, ostensibly on the pretext of getting the material to fall more naturally over my swelling orbs. Then a firm squeeze and parting of my buttocks with her thumbs through the material of the dress, claiming it was to "make sure the dress won't catch in the cleft".

The final dress I tried on was a glorious silvery-grey. Before she helped me on with it, she removed my bra!

"It will look better au naturel," she stated.

I felt powerless to resist her. She just seemed to take liberties as she wanted. Nevertheless, the dress looked absolutely stunning on me. I had never looked sexier in my life. It was as if it was made just for me. I pirouetted slowly in front of the mirror admiring myself. She was right, it looked fabulous with my breasts unfettered. And it draped deliciously over my swelling buttocks, showing off my ass and its deep cleft to best effect.

She must have thought so as well. With no further pretensions of helping with the fit, she stood behind me and cupped my buttocks in her firm hands. Then she slid the material upwards, exposing my bum. She pulled the tiny thong of my panties to one side and slid a finger straight into sopping pussy! I gasped in shock and tried to pull away, but within one step forward I had fetched up against the mirrored wall of the cubicle. She leaned forcefully against my back, crushing me against the mirror. Then she proceeded to vigorously thrust her finger in and out of me, withdrawing it occasionally to wiggle it against my clit. All the fight went out of me and within a couple of minutes I came.

"I knew it the moment you came in..." she hissed. "You're a slut!"

I was so embarrassed that I could feel my cheeks erupt into a boiling flush. In the mirror I could see them bright red. I couldn't believe I had just allowed that to happen! I felt mortified. I had to get out of there quickly.

I ripped off the beautiful dress and dropped it in a heap on the floor. I dressed quickly, snatched up my bag and made ready to leave. She was standing in the doorway, blocking my way.

"Pick up the dress!" she snapped.

I bent to retrieve it and handed it to her. She made no effort to move, merely held the dress and examined it closely, running the hem through her fingers. Suddenly her hand shot out and delivered a stinging slap to my cheek.

"You stupid bitch!" she barked. "Look what you've done! Do you have any idea how much that dress costs?"

She held the dress towards me with a section of hem exposed, revealing a damp patch of my pussy juices staining the silky material. I must have smeared it in my hurry to get out of there.

"Well?!" she continued. "What are you going to do about it?"

I stammered something or other about paying for the dress.

"Of course you're going to pay for it, idiot!" she said. "The question is, what else are you going to do to make up for all my time dealing with your slutty behaviour and the damage to the dress?"

Huh? What was she talking about? It wasn't logical. I was paying for the dress, wasn't I? That would cover her time. And I was buying the damaged goods anyway.

"Give me your credit card!" She snapped her fingers imperiously at me.

I handed it over meekly. She took it and walked back out to the main counter where she put the credit card away in her own purse! She looked up at me.

"Be back here immediately after we close at 6:30 this evening and we'll see!" She waived me away and thrust the dress in a bundle under the counter.

I wasn't sure what to do so I stood there for a few moments, probably looking stupid. She glared at me.

"6:30 sharp! Go!" she snapped. I fled.

+++

I was back at 6:30, knocking tentatively on the now closed door of her boutique to claim my credit card and new dress. She opened the door wide and gestured me in without a word. She wasted no time, clicking her fingers at me to follow and striding towards the back of the shop and into the very changing room we had been in before.

"Clothes off!" she commanded. I undressed reluctantly in front of her. She stared at me without a word as I did so. Her look was predatory. I felt like an insect stuck in a spider's web.

"Panties too!"

I hurried to comply, peeling the thong down to my ankles and stepping out of it.

"Kneel!"

I knelt in front of her.

She hitched her skirt up to her waist, revealing a neatly trimmed thatch of black hair crowning a naked pussy that was thick-lipped, swollen and red, and glistening with moisture. She sat back on a small wall-mounted bench, spread her legs wide and grasped my hair, pulling my face forcefully into her snatch so my nose was buried inside her and my mouth completely covered by her slippery pussy lips. She held tight to my hair and proceeded to hump herself vigorously up and down on my face.

I couldn't breathe! After about 15 or 20 seconds I was starting to feel a bit panicky. I was drowning in her swamp. I started to struggle, clutching at her thighs trying to push myself backwards. She was much stronger than her small stature suggested. She kept a painful, tight-fisted grip on my hair and held me firmly against her as she continued to slide her hot wetness even more vigorously over my face. I still couldn't breath, her syrup filling my nose and pussy lips creating an airtight seal over my mouth. My panicked struggles became more violent and I began to punch out wildly trying to free myself. Somehow she managed to grasp both my flailing wrists in one strong hand whilst her other still held me forcefully against her.

The more I struggled, the tighter she held, but also the more fierce her pussy-pummeling of my face became. I realised that my struggles were turning her on and the more I struggled the more excited she became. In a sudden flash of self-preserving inspiration I understood that if I struggled more, she would come more quickly. I redoubled my efforts, really going for it, hauling my head back against the pressure of her hand, wiggling my ass as I tried to move back. I was dimly aware of my breasts swaying back and forward as I struggled. This was not an act, however. I really was getting desperate as my last reserves of oxygen were being depleted.

Whatever, my movements had the desired effect. Suddenly she let go of my wrists, freeing her hand to join the other. Grabbing me by the hair on both sides of my head she held my face jammed into her and locked her thighs together against her hands, enclosing my whole head as she erupted in a spasm of orgasm. She really did erupt... copious quantities of fluid gushed over my face, up my nose and into my mouth as if she had pissed herself. I didn't know such a thing was possible. I had to endure a further 20 seconds or so of airless agony as her spasms continued until, suddenly, she shoved my face away and leaned back against the wall gasping.

I was also gasping, but for another reason!

As my chest heaved, drawing in large wracking breaths, I gradually came back to my senses. Now that the immediate life-threatening situation had passed I was left with the realisation that I was soaking wet between my thighs! The whole sordid thing had turned me on big time! I was simultaneously disgusted with myself, embarrassed, humiliated at being so pathetic that I couldn't even fight back a woman almost half my size, and desperate to scratch the itch of arousal between my legs. I couldn't help myself... I thrust my hands between my thighs, spreading my pussy lips with one hand and strumming my clit with fingers of the other. My eyes closed as I focused on the intense sensations, bringing myself rapidly towards my own orgasm. My thighs were starting to quiver as I felt the crescendo building...

"Stop!" she spat in her husky French accent. "That was my reward for helping you this afternoon. You have nothing to be rewarded for. You have yet to be punished for your slutty behaviour today. I will not tolerate such filth in my premises!"

The hypocrisy of her words appeared to have escaped her. But I had no time to consider it. Instead, my attention was drawn to the appearance of a black riding crop in her right hand that had lain unobserved on a shelf below the bench seat.

"No, please!" I begged. "No, don't mark me! You mustn't leave any marks..." I knew instinctively that I would pay with far worse from Vida if I arrived with wheals on my flesh, than any pain I would experience right now.

She paused a moment in consideration.

"Very well," she said. "Hands and knees. Forehead on the floor!"

I did as she instructed and could see out of the corner of my eye another implement she retrieved from the same shelf. I hadn't seen one before. It was made of a strip of heavy black leather, about 30 cm long by 4 wide and a few mm thick, embedded in a round wooden handle. The leather was not entirely stiff. It was thin enough to be a bit flexible and looked like it would be extremely painful. I quivered at the prospect of being beaten with it. Nevertheless, I also thought it would do less obvious visible damage than the crop.

I was about to find out!

The French woman, who's name I still did not know, discarded her skirt completely and stood beside me. She began to finger herself with her left hand, holding the leather 'strap' in her right. She was clearly still very aroused and intent on making the most of my punishment.

"Twelve." she said. "Count!"

Immediately, her right arm went back and she swung the implement in a vicious arc towards my backside. My ass exploded in pain and I jerked upright on my knees, with a cry of pain and shock, the breathe sucked right out of me.

She raised her foot and placed it against my neck, pushing down and pinning my forehead once more to the floor. Another stroke whistled down. Another explosion of pain and this time a real scream was wrenched from me. The blow had landed in the exact same spot as the last and the pain was almost unbearable.

I was still pinned down. I could hear the furious squishing movements of her fingers against her pussy as she masturbated, clearly loving my pain and predicament.

"You haven't started counting!" she said.

"TWO!" I gasped through clenched teeth.

"Hah! Don't be stupid," she replied, "You've missed two already. We start from the beginning with the next one. Beg for it!"

A chill went through me. I wanted to run but I couldn't afford to let her get another blow in without counting it out, or the 14 I was already up for would quickly become 15.

"Please..." I breathed. "Give me ONE!"

A third stroke thrashed down, mercifully in a different spot. I gasped but tried not to cry out. Somehow I felt if I cried out it would get worse again. I could still hear her left hand busy between her legs and her breathing was becoming more ragged. Out of the corner of my eye I saw her right arm beginning to lift. Quickly, I cried out, almost shouting "Please! Give me TWO!"

A fourth stroke. "THREE!" and then a fifth. "FOUR!" and the sixth slashed down on me.

By this time there were no more unbeaten areas on my ass, each blow landing where another had already hit. The pain was excruciating. I was screaming, now, with each stroke. And begging... begging for the next one, desperately wanting it over, hating every moment but having to call out the strokes for fear of having the 14 extended further.

After I had begged for the 'sixth", which was actually the eighth, she ordered me to "Play with yourself!". Her voice sounded strangulated and I realised that she was holding back an imminent orgasm. As I reached backwards under me to massage my clit, the eighth stroke crashed down across my buttocks and she let out a weird howl as her orgasm exploded.

As I touched myself, I found I was even wetter than before. I had been too pre-occupied with the intense pain to be aware of anything else. Now I wondered at myself... how could I be so aroused and in excruciating agony at the same time. There was nothing at all pleasurable about the pain. But there was a deep underlying sense of being completely under her control and it was this that had me so thoroughly aroused.

The pain of the final six strokes was almost unbearable. However, accompanied as it was by a furious rubbing of my clit with my right hand, it was somehow transmuted into an exquisite, though agonising, sexual pleasure. I came twice in less than a minute! Dimly, I was aware of her coming as well.

Examining my bottom in the mirror afterwards showed it glowing a vivid red. I was sure bruises would appear but at least there was no sign of the dreaded whip stripes I was trying to avoid. I was drained and exhausted and collapsed on the floor flat out on my back.

'She' wasn't quite finished though. As I lay there, she straddled me and lowered her backside onto my face. For about five minutes she gently rocked herself back and forwards, bringing herself to her fourth orgasm on my face. Then, it seemed, she was spent.

+++

She ordered me to return the next morning to collect my dress. She also promised me she would see to it that I was well prepared for my dinner party.

True to her word, she spent all of the following morning helping me try on various items to go with the dress. She was a different person, treating me with a warmth and gentleness that was at odds with her behaviour the night before. She had arranged for a masseur and hairdresser to be in attendance and for a few hours I was pampered. My whole body below the head was depilated, even my pussy! I was massaged, bathed and had my hair done.

Finally, she ordered a cab to take me and the bags containing my purchases back to the hotel. I spent the rest of the afternoon resting to conserve energy for the night to come.

+++

End of Chapter 5.

To Be Continued...