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.
‘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
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
‘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
‘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
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
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
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
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?’
‘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
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?’
‘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
‘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
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
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
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…