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The Lesbian MILF Blackmail Gang by Simon Grail

The Lesbian MILF Blackmail Gang 
(Simon Grail)

The Lesbian MILF Blackmail Gang - excerpt

Excerpt from: The Lesbian MILF Blackmail Gang



Joan Everard and Patricia Waverly, two attractive and successful women in their late thirties, thought they had kept their passionate lesbian affair secret.   Then they receive letters containing damming proof of what they have been doing, which direct them to an empty and isolated Victorian house next to an industrial estate.  There they are confronted by two young men who conceal their identities behind “Vendetta”-style masks and call themselves Guy and Fawkes.  But they don’t want money: they want the women as their secret MILF sex slaves. Since they do not want their domestic and professional lives ruined, they have no choice but to obey…


As Joan and Patricia sucked Guy and Fawkes’s penises clean, trying not to choke as the shafts, still large even when semi-hard, filled their mouths and threatened the depths of their gullets, the young men praised them profusely, still speaking with that odd formal politeness which only added to the women’s sense of shame and confusion.

‘You were both fantastic,’ Guy said.  ‘Really passionate…’

‘There’s nothing like screwing mature women with well-used birth canals,’ Fawkes said.  ‘You can take any size of cock up you, can’t you?’

‘Yeah,’ Guy agreed.  ‘And I bet you can take a lot of other things as well.  We’ll see what else we can stuff up inside you later…’

With their cheeks still burning with shame, Joan and Patricia now shuddered in fear of what was to come.  This had just been the start of their ordeal…

When they had cleaned their new master’s cocks to their satisfaction, they pulled them out of their mouths and then they were made to lick each other’s sexes clean.  Dizzy and confused they lapped up their lover’s juices from the hot depth of their pussy mouths, darkly thrilled by the aroma of the intimate exudations which were defiled by the sticky tang of their user’s sperm.

When they were done, Guy and Fawkes untied the ropes that bound the women to the table and took charge of their leashes again.  Ordering them down onto their hands and knees they led them out of the games room across the hall and through the door leading to the rear of the house.  A door opening off a short hallway led to a downstairs toilet.

Within was an old-fashioned WC fitted with a high-level cistern.   Its attendant heavy china washbasin had been fitted with a rubber hose adaptor and nozzle which could be used as a vaginal douche or enema tube.

Joan and Patricia were made to sit on the toilet seat with their legs spread wide while the men flushed their vaginas out with cold water which made them gasp.  Then they were sat in reverse on the seat and the nozzle was pushed up their rectums to wash them out as well.  A large pot of petroleum jelly rested on the shelf above the washbasin and the men used it to thoroughly grease their bottom holes, making Patricia and Joan shiver in dreadful anticipation even as their nipples pricked up.

‘We’re going to be having a lot of fun with your bumholes as well over the next few weeks, ladies,’ Guy said.  ‘So you might as well get used to it.  Unless you want to be fucked dry up there?  You don’t want that do you?’

‘No, Sir,’ they both agreed miserably.

Once they were cleaned up and intimately prepared, they were led like dogs again out of the toilet and across to the rear reception room of the house.  This was a little warmer and brighter than the front rooms because it did not have half-boarded windows.  French Windows at the end of the room opened onto an iron framed conservatory with white peeling paintwork and stained and cracked glass.  Beyond was the house’s long overgrown back garden.  In a patch of lawn being lost to weeds stood a small leaf-filled pool with a raised bird bath in its centre.

‘This is the garden room,’ Guy told them.  ‘I apologise for the state of the grounds…’

But Joan and Patricia’s eyes had fastened on other objects in the room which were far more sinister than a view of weeds and brambles.

Hanging from a row of nails driven into the wall was an array of canes, straps paddles and dildos.  The latter came in several different colours, shapes and sizes: black, pink and translucent; corkscrewed and double-ended; fat and thin, long and stubby.  In front of this was laid an old rug, above which was what once must have been the mount of some heavy ceiling lamp fitting.  A metal rod had been bolted to it, from the ends of which chains hung down to floor level.

Facing all this was a camera mounted on a tripod. 

In a corner of the room a stout wooden post about chest high stood on a flat blockboard base.  It had an old tea tray nailed to its top that seemed to be filled with holly leaves.   Several bungee cords hung from its sides.  A vertical slot had been cut right through the post about two thirds the way up into which had been set a pram wheel with many short lengths of transparent rubber tubing screwed to its rim so that they jutted out at odd angles like stubby fingers.   The base of the post was hung with sets of heavy leather straps, while higher up just under the tray there were four bungee cords hung from eyebolts screwed to its sides.

Adding to its menace was a car battery connected to an electrical transformer with what looked like a salvaged panel of switches and dials mounted on its top, all of which was sat one the side of the post base.  A pair of coiled electric cables with complicated fittings on their ends was plugged into the transformer.

The men led Joan and Patricia over to the rug and the dangling ceiling chains.  Their leashes were unclipped, and the ends of the chains were fastened to their collars and padlocked in place.  The slack in the chains allowed them to move freely about the rug but not reach the door.

‘Stand-up,’ Guy commanded, and they obeyed.  ‘Now you’re going to put on a show and we’re going to record it for the archives,’ he continued.  ‘We want to see you kissing and caning and screwing each other.  You can use everything you see there…’ he indicated the array of punishment pleasure items hung on the wall.

Fawkes added: ‘we want to see you spanking and fucking each other good and hard!’

‘Up every hole you’ve got,’ Guy confirmed.

Joan and Patricia looked at the terrible array of pain and pleasure devices and for a moment felt a sick thrill of wonder and anticipation.  What would that feel like?  Then they looked at each other in horror and shook their heads.

‘No… Sirs… we can’t,’ Patricia choked out. ‘We’ve agreed to you having us, but we won’t hurt each other.’

‘We love each other, Sirs, don’t you see that?’  Joan said. ‘You can’t expect us to go against that, whatever threats you make!’

‘We’re not sadists!’  Patricia said.

‘Think of it as being proactive masochists,’ Guy said.  ‘All you’ll be doing is saving us the effort, so our hands are free to film you.  It’s going to happen anyway so you might as well accept it.’

‘It’s a matter of deciding what is the least hurt you’re going to suffer,’ Fawkes said.  ‘A little bit of mutual spanking and screwing which only lasts a few minutes, or weeks and months of public shame and misery if your affair gets out?’

‘So if you really love each other you will do this,’ Guy told them.

The women bit their lips and looked at each other helplessly.  They simply could not do such a thing.

‘I think they need a little more persuasion,’ Fawkes said.  ‘Maybe we can teach them about the lesser of two evils…’

Leaving the women chained to the ceiling hook they dragged the post on its wooden base across from the corner and onto the rug between the pair of them.  The men took binding strips from their overall pockets, pulled the women’s arms behind their backs and secured their wrists.  Then they pushed them up against the post.  They buckled straps about their ankles and knees and then bound the bungee cords about their upper thighs.

The women squealed as this pressure pressed their pussies against the opposite sides of the pronged-wheel which protruded from the post slot, its tubular fingers slipping up into the slots of their sex mounds.  Even worse their posture now brought their bare trembling breasts close to rims of the holly-filled tray which was set on the post top.  Fearfully they bent back away from it.

‘Oh no,’ Guy said, ‘your pretty titties are meant to sit in the tray.  It is there to teach you about relative pain…’

With one hand holding their collars, the men pushed the women’s heads and shoulders closer together, sliding their breasts over the top of the tray so that the glossy holly spines jabbed into their undersides.  Strangely the leaves did not move as their breasts pressed against them and they now saw they had been glued to the top of the tray.  Then the men stretched up the bungee cords fastened to the tray sides and hooked them to the rings of their collars.

Joan and Patricia sobbed and moaned as the tension of the bungee cords pulled them across the tray towards each other, bending their shoulders over so their breasts were ground into the holly bed, pushing across the spines until then nipples almost touched.  They saw the cruel spines jabbing into both their own breasts and that of their lovers and shuddered, but movement only make it worse of course.  After several seconds they made themselves hold still, enduring the sight of the spines digging into their flesh and the first drops of red appearing.

Guy and Fawkes bent down and took up the electric cables with the odd fittings on their ends.  They were fifteen-centimetre long metal probes with two terminals on each side divided by a rubber strip.  The bases of the probes were fitted with rubber balls and then broad flanges and twist grips.  The men pushed the probes up into the women’s greased rectums, popping the balls at their bases through their sphincters until they were fully embedded and pressed against the flanges.  Then they twisted the handgrips and the balls expanded, swelling up until they were two big to be passed out, squeeze as they might.  Now the electric cables dangled between their legs down to the transformer.

While Fawkes bent over panel, adjusting the dials and switches, Guy went to the camera on its stand and brought it back to focus on the two bound women.

‘No… please don’t do this!’ Patricia begged.

‘I’m sorry Sir, we didn’t mean it… we’ll do what you want!’  Joan sobbed in growing panic.

‘No, Mrs Everard, we’ve got to go through with the lesson,’ Guy said. ‘We can’t have you disobeying us.  After this you’re going to be good obedient MILFS…’

‘How long shall we give them?’  Fawkes wondered.

‘Start with a minute on level five…’ Guy suggested.

Fawkes adjusted the settings and threw a switch.

Joan and Patricia screamed into each other’s faces as they felt terrible stabbing jobs of electricity lancing through their rectums.  Helplessly their leg muscles contracted in sympathy, ramming their hips against the post.  The pronged wheel ground deeper into their pussy slots, dragging and thrusting its intrusive plastic fingers deep into their passages and grating hard against their clitorises, twisting against them as their clefts grasped the wheel between their lips. 

The jolts up their backsides came every second or two, their involuntary reflex jerks setting their breasts jumping and bouncing, dragging and slapping them against the holly tray even as they churned the wheel in their slots.  They screamed and sobbed in each other’s faces, their cries echoing back from the walls.  Tears filled their eyes and dripped off their cheeks onto their breasts as they flopped and rolled about the holly tray, mingling with the gory pinpricks and scratches that were tearing and stabbing at their undersides.  The wheel churning in their slippery wet slots was beginning to froth their juices as they clenched and ground and bucked, twisting it within their wet slots.  It was impossible not to respond to its intimate probing, multiplying their shame and confusion.  Reacting perversely to this stimulation their nipples became swollen and hard and began to catch on the higher holly spines, adding to their suffering.  

And every detail of their desperate struggles and self-inflicted wounds were captured by the cold glass eye of the camera.

Their punishment only lasted for a minute, but it seemed like an hour!

Then the current cut, leaving their rectums twitching and clinching about the probes by reflex.  The women sagged trembling and shivering against the post, trying to lift their breasts out of the holly tray, straining against the tension of the bungee cords.  They were just able to lift their undersides off the bed of holly, revealing they were covered by streaks and drips of red.

‘Shall we leave you there to see how long you can keep that up, ladies?’ Guy asked them.

‘How long before you get tired and you have to let your tits get pulled back down onto the tray again?’  Fawkes wondered.

But there was no need to prolong the lesson.  Joan and Patricia’s brief display of resistance had been crushed.  They would choose the lesser of two evils...

‘No… no please Sir,’ Patricia said, her voice cracking in pain. ‘We’re sorry we disobeyed you.  We’ll do anything you want… just please take us off this thing!’

‘Yes, anything you want,’ Joan screeched.

‘Including caning and screwing each other if we tell you?’

‘Yes, yes!’

‘Then tell each other what you’re going to do,’

With her eyes wide with hopeless despair, Joan looked Patricia in the face and said tremulously, ‘I… I’m going to cane and screw you because they want me to.’

Patricia replied with a shudder: ‘And I’m going to cane and screw you back.’

‘You can say you’re doing it all for love, you know,’ Guy chided.  ‘We don’t mind…’

‘After all, it was love that put you in our power,’ Fawkes chuckled.

Dizzy with pain Joan said: ‘I’m going to cane and screw you… for love:’

Patricia replied: ‘And I’m going to hurt you for love as well…’

For a moment their tear-filled eyes locked in disbelief and helpless longing.  Then they bent forward, ignoring the terrible holly spines stabbing into their breasts once more, and kissed, pouring out all the lust and desire in their hearts.

Guy and Fawkes applauded loudly. ‘Now that’s what we want to see! Plenty of tears and lesbian passion!’

Joan and Patricia pulled apart sharply, flushed by sudden shame and revulsion at how they had been used.  Their very deepest feelings were being bared to their blackmailers as completely as their bodies were.

The young men unstrapped and unplugged them from the terrible holly post and it was pulled aside while they sank trembling to their knees.  Fawkes brought a wet cloth smelling of disinfectant from the toilet and wiped it across their soiled breasts.  They feared they had been badly cut, but now they saw the scratches and pricks were really quite minor.  Their nipples were still swollen, and their sore pussies dripped under the hard nubs of their clitorises.   Lingering pain and perverse arousal clashed within them.   They had both led comfortable, sheltered lives and had never experienced much suffering.  Even giving birth had been carefully pain-managed so they had to endure the minimum of discomfort.   Now Guy and Fawkes had introduced them to a strange new world of sadistic intense and intimate stimulation which was getting confused with the love they felt for each other…

When they had recovered enough to stand unaided their arms were freed and they were stood facing each other once again on the rug.  Fawkes repositioned the camera so that they and the wall of punishment and pleasure implements were once more framed in its field of view.

‘Now I’m going to tell you again,’ Guy said, ‘we want to see you screw and cane each other for our pleasure.’

‘And don’t hold back on the tears,’ Fawkes added.

The women shuddered but said meekly, ‘Whatever you wish, Sir…’

But even if they had the will, how should they do this?

‘We’ll take turns,’ Joan said, ‘six each tits and bum?’

Patricia nodded.  ‘Okay…’

‘Go on then… do me first…’

Patricia selected a cane and swished it through the air a couple of times.  Joan bit her lip and then stood up straight, folding her arms behind her back and pushed out her chest, offering her still tingling and blotched breasts towards her lover.

With a stifled groan, Patricia drew back her arm and swiped the cane square across Joan’s lovely rounded breasts.  Her nipples flattened and her orbs shivered and bounced under the impact of the blow.  Joan yelped and Patricia felt an icy stab in her heart as she saw her lover’s face contorting pain.

‘I can’t do this!’ Patricia choked.

‘Yes, you can!’ Joan gasped.

Patricia delivered the next five blows as fast as she could, trying at least to get it over as quickly as possible.  She made Joan’s breasts shiver and leap and jiggle wildly, adding scarlet stripes to the scratches and pinpricks they already bore, trying to space out the impact points so as not to risk breaking her skin.

And then the six were up and Joan was sobbing freely, tears running down her cheeks onto her abused breasts, crowned by hard, proud defiant nipples.  Then she wiped away her tears and held out her hand for the cane.  Trembling Patricia handed it over and then braced itself as Joan had, feeling her stomach knotting up in anticipation.

Swish, smack!  The cane cracked across her own breasts, making them wobble and heave obscenely.  Patricia shrieked aloud, not holding back.  It was virtually the only freedom left to them: at least that was not pretence.

And yet with every blow that fell she felt her breasts getting hotter, not from the searing stripes of the cane but from the passion surging into them as though they were engorging with pleasure, as they had when she and Joan had coupled in the shower.   The same hot lust filled her nipples and made them stand up hard and bold, so that they suffered even further as the cane cut across them, bending over their hard tips and driving them down into her hot fleshy globes, only for them to pop back up again so begging for more.

And then Joan rested her arm and Patricia sank to her knees hugging her arms across her poor simmering breasts.  But they were only half done.

Joan handed Patricia back the cane and then bravely turned away from her and bent over, spreading her legs and bracing her hands on her knees and sticking out her perfect smooth bottom for six more strokes.  Patricia wiped away her tears, took up position and then sent the cane thwacking across Joan’s bottom cheeks as though she were a naughty schoolgirl and she was giving her richly rewarded punishment.

She felt her own sore nipples throbbing again and her pussy pulsating at this perverted thought.  It was twisted and obscene but was it the only way for them to survive this?  Did Joan feel same way?  She had to find out…

Patricia halted after three strokes and then reached forward and slid her hand up into Joan’s hot pussy cleft.  Joan gasped in surprise and twisted her head about to look up at Patricia.  She saw beyond the tears that sense of wonder in her eyes that said she might be feeling what she was at that moment.  This was how it was going to be…

‘Forget about them,’ Patricia whispered, ‘it’s just about you and me…’

And she drew her arm back and caned her lover’s bottom three more times, making it shiver and Joan gasp and shriek in pain.  And then she kissed Joan passionately and then handed her the cane and bent over herself and yelped and whimpered in turn as Joan slashed the cane across her own naked bottom cheeks, drawing hot searing stripes across them even as she felt that strange excitement coursing through her, filling her loins with lust and making her nipples swell fit to burst.

Guy and Fawkes did not exist.  She and Joan were alone with each other playing a fantasy game that lovers might enjoy. In a way they were being liberated and allowed to let their deepest darkest passions have free run.  Despite the pain and shame that they felt, they could not help getting excited.  Was that a sign of their true feelings or evidence of a darker world they had not imagined they shared?  That they would have to find out in time…

When both of them stood upright once more, trembling and tear streaked with their breasts and bottoms simmering, they looked to the other devices on the wall.  They must let go of all feelings of shame and inhibition.  First the pain and now the pleasure… 

Joan picked out a strap-on dildo of huge proportions and daringly bound it about her hips.  Patricia laid herself down on the rug and spread her legs in invitation.  Joan knelt between them and slid the tip of the dildo into her gaping sex cleft.  Then with a hard thrust she rammed it hard up into her birth canal making her lower belly bulge as it filled her to the hilt.  Then Joan was riding her, grinding her sore breasts against Patricia’s and they were kissing passionately and wildly, rolling over, trailing the ceiling chains after them, the symbols of their captivity which were now simply perverse accessories to their strange love play.

Of course, the pain and shame they were inflicting upon each other was actually a test of their own commitment.  At that moment they must believe that it was not wrong to do this to each other, it was only strengthening the bond between them.

Patricia bucked under Joan, clamping her sheath about the plunging rubber dildo, spraying her juices over it as she came.  It was a wild incredible orgasm, but as she came down from it she saw Joan was still straining to reach a climax.

With unexpected ruthlessness, Patricia rolled Joan over onto her back and pressed her firmly against the floor.  She pulled her sucking pussy mouth off the dildo, wrenched its straps from about Joan’s hips and buckled them about her own.  Reversed, she plunged the shaft, shiny and wet with own juices, into the perfect hot dripping cleft of Joan’s pussy and fell down across her, grinding their hot, sweaty, crimson-streaked breasts across each other as she rammed into her with all her strength until Joan also bucked in delight and for a few orgasmic seconds she found perfect release from all cares and troubles…