Mistress of the House II

[bcw8]

Young Thomas Brewer was bored.   The novelty of inherited wealth was now commonplace business. Mrs. Billingsly ran the house with clockwork efficiency.  And Camille.... Thomas sighed and pushed away the blonde head as she languidly sucked his cock in the morning sunlight across their bed.

"Ce qui est faux?" she asked.

"Speak English," he answered; and: "You're boring."  Not even her moue of annoyance moved him.  "I'm beginning to wish the Irish bitch had beaten you.

That barb hardened her pink nipples.  "Then bring her back," Camille purred. "I will hurt her again. I will ruin her more for you."  Her head dipped and she renewed her efforts with quite a bit more enthusiasm.  Thomas smirked and plunged two fingers between her thighs.  It would have been quite rough but the French girl's pussy was soaking wet at the memory of the brutal beating she had given Sian to win this place in his bed. 

But no ... new blood was needed to break his ennui, he decided.  He finished, rather abruptly, and departed to visit his good friend Barker.  Camille could only sulk as she wiped her chin. 

*****************

"Her name is Linh. I found her in Hanoi," Lord Barker said.  "There are some quite excellent clubs there, old chap. You should go.  She fought a Chinese beauty in quite a frenzied battle."

Thomas studied the Indochine girl as she bent to light his cigar. Her brown breasts threatened her neckline, the edge of near-black aerolae teased his gaze. He saw her faint scars.

"How is she in bed?" Thomas asked.

"Incredibly spicy," chortled Barker. 

"Would you like a taste?" Linh said. 

Thomas raised an eyebrow.  Barker nodded.

"You speak English," Thomas said to Linh.  "Forgive me, I am in the habit of speaking directly."

"As am I," she purred, as she opened her bodice. 

"And, she feels quite strongly about the French imperialists,"  Barker said. At his words, Linh spat on the floor.  "I despise the French," she hissed.

"Do you now," Thomas murmured.  The cigar was really very good.  He would save the rest of it for later.  He motioned the dark girl to her chair and she came willingly, opening his trousers with practiced ease.

"My Lord has told me you seek a match for your French woman?" Linh's hips moved in exotic waves as she mounted Thomas.  "Is this true?  She will fight me?"

"It is true," Barker answered from his chair in the corner.  Linh dug her nails into Thomas's chest until he gasped.  "And you will not stop me when she is helpless?" she purred as she guided him into her.  Thomas sank his fingers into her marvelous dark breasts, noting she hadn't said if.  "I won't stop either of you," he countered with a grunt as she squeezed him inside her like a satin vise. 

"I will beat your mademoiselle like a dog." Linh said, her eyes alight with the eldritch fire of hate. 

Barker rose from his chair and twisted Linh's head back by her raven hair as her hips worked.   "She nearly killed an Irish lass," he said to her.   "Perhaps you underestimate her?"

Linh shook her head in Barker's grip and reached for him, wrapping her fingers around his cock while Thomas pumped into her like a piston.  She shuddered as Thomas's deep thrust ing climax triggered her own. 

"Si l'on doit mourir, ce ne sera pas moi," she gasped, in the language of the arrogant occupiers of her homeland, and as she stroked him, his Lordship joined the dance, spurting onto the curves of her breasts. 

****************************

Barker grinned at Thomas as she licked her fingers afterwards.  "I reckon four oak posts and a thick hemp rope will make a suitable ring," he said. 

Thomas nodded. 

"Have a shovel to hand," Linh purred.  "If she is stubborn to submit, I will kill her."

Thomas raised an eyebrow.  Barker nodded.  "The Chinese girl I mentioned," he said, and nodded as he drew his thumb across his throat.

****************************

"What??" Camille erupted.  "An Indochine savage?"

"Come now, darling.  No airs.  You come from the gutters of Lyon."

She slapped him. He smiled like a wolf. 

"She welcomed the proposition.  Shall I tell Lord Barker you decline to fight the girl?  He may assume it is out of fear."  This time, he caught her wrist as she lashed out at him.  "Are you, cheri?" he asked in a well-oiled growl.  "Are you afraid to fight her?  She is a lithe and dusky beauty, I admit."  His free hand scooped one of Camille's breasts from her décolletage, his thumb expertly honing her nipple.  "Her breasts are certainly the equal of yours."

"How do you know that?" she snapped, but he heard the hoarseness of lust already creeping into her voice.  He bent his head and sucked her pink flesh past his teeth as she gasped.  "She was more than willing to fuck me, darling," he murmured.  "And she was quite hungry for it. Truth be told, I think Barker prefers to watch."

It was now Camille's turn to push his head away.   "Tell me the proposition," she hissed.  "Tell me how you wish me to fight this whore?"

"Bare knuckles, to a finish," Thomas answered, and she brought his face back, to hers.  Her tongue was like a serpent's darting into his mouth. 

"Her breasts won't equal mine when I am finished with them," she purred. 

"She is a killer," Thomas said. 

"Comme je suis," Camille replied, and pushed him onto the bed.

****************************

For the second time that day, Thomas Brewer enjoyed the hunger of a woman whose deepest passion was ignited.  He was no longer bored.  Such is the power of hate and pride and primal instinct.

****************************

Lord Barker oversaw the construction of the fighting ring. The posts were set solidly in the turf beyond his stables, the single thick rope strung so tightly it vibrated like a violin string. Its height was strategically set at just below the bustline of the two women.  The rope itself was newly-made and creaked as it was stretched, its woven hemp bristling and rough enough to tear flesh. The ring itself was small - no need to give a fighter room to evade the other, after all. 

Thomas chose their wardrobe - that of two fine English horsewomen.  He saw that their hair was plaited and pinned up.  He watched them each dress in soft, tight riding trousers, high-waisted, a second skin that conformed to their legs and asses and even their smooth pussies.  He had their knee-high riding boots polished to a gleaming black.  Their torsos he left bare, of course.  Each woman studied herself in turn at a full-length mirror in the manor house, her shoulders back, her eyes eager.  He admired their tapered backs as they turned and posed, their hard bellies, their full breasts.  Without prompt  each woman promised him in a malevolent purr that she would burst the other's tits with her fists.  How alike they were in their twisted souls.

The day was a hot one, at least for Surrey.  Lord Barker emptied his estate so that they would be alone, sending one and all away on some red herring of an excuse. He took his place in Linh's corner, his noble hands massaging her gleaming brown breasts as she stared across the ring at Camille.  Thomas stood behind his French consort, pressing his erection between her ass cheeks and pinching her pink areolae into engorged rigidity. 

"Right!" Thomas said briskly.  "We won't bother with rounds, or time-keeping, or counting to ten."  He lifted one of Camille's small fists and kissed it.  "We won't bother with any rules, either. It is a fucking fight, after all.  The winner decides when the loser has had enough."

Linh's head bobbed like a cobra's as she spat towards Camille.  "Your blood will soak the dirt, French cxnt."

"Jungle savage," Camille snarled back.  "Your kind needs the whip to civilise you."

Thomas and Barker ducked outside the ring, and the fair girl and the dark surged forward.  Neither hesitated, nor made any attempt at defense. Barker's meadow was filled with their grunts of effort, their explosive gasps of pain, and the brutal sound of bone on meat.

"Blimey," Barker murmured as Linh's fist ripped into Camille's chest, twisting the French girl at the waist, dragging and crushing and contorting her breast.  Camille returned fire, her teeth clenched. Linh staggered a step backwards as an uppercut to her face snapped her chin toward the sun, a step that Camille rushed to close and repay the breast blow, her center knuckle driving dead center into Linh's rigid dark nub. 

Linh countered, ramming her fist deliberately well below the high waist of Camille's riding trousers. The deep cramp in her womb nearly buckled the French girl's knees, and with a gloating sneer, Linh smashed an elbow into her unguarded face.  Camille's cheekbone opened, gashed deep, the cut immediately weeping blood.  Linh gutted her again, and again, forcing her back until she slumped into her corner where Thomas stood.   

But as Linh rushed forward, Camille braced and drove her leather boot up into the oriental girl's belly, then caught her in a clinch and spun her into the corner in her place.  Thomas leaned forward, his ear close to Linh's, and watched, as Camille rocketed blows into her lithe brown torso.  With her back pinned to the oak post, the force of each punch was a shuddering ripple through her, a fusillade capped with a savage shot to her face before Camille's weary arms dropped. 

Linh dropped too, to her knees in the grass, her face now bleeding to match Camille's. Camille hit her again, in the temple, twisting her at the waist, her head blasted sideways to dangle over the taut rope, her hair coming undone from its careful up style. 

"She has beautiful almond eyes," Thomas murmured, and with a snarl Camille pushed Linh's face into the rope and violently dragged it back and forth.  The Indochine girl shrieked as the rough hemp weave tore the tender flesh around her eyes. By her scalp Camille threw her to her belly, outstretched and semi-blinded, then strode forward and stomped her heel on her wrist.   

"Get up, bitch!" Camille hissed.  "Can't you?  Are you like the men of your country, licking French feet?"

Linh stood, and despite the blood, her face was a mask of hate and rage.  Camille swung but Linh lunged inside of the arc of her fist and rammed the heel of her hand up under her jaw.  The blonde girl's head snapped back with violent force, a gagging sob bursting from her lips.  Linh lashed a backhand across her torn cheekbone that spun her away, then rammed a fist into her kidney.  Camille fell forward, the rope catching her at her diaphragm.  Linh flung herself on the French girl's back, dragging her down so the taut rope ripped upward through her breasts. Barker winced. Thomas grinned. 

"My god," Barker said, as the two fighters separated and climbed again to their feet, Camille's breasts now scraped as raw as Linh's face.  "Two hellcats, Thomas! But by Jove, my dark wench will destroy your fair one!"  As if to punctuate this claim, Linh smashed first her left then her right into Camille's chest, crushing each of her breasts in turn, her pale globes grotesquely malformed by the brutal impacts.

Camille's face was white with agony.  She hugged her chest, more from instinct than any conscious defense, and Linh hit her in the mouth with a wild haymaker that spun her around in place and dropped her to her knees with blood spattering from her burst lips.  Linh kicked her in her lower spine then dragged back both her wrists until they met, arching her torso in an exaggerated contortion.  Camille's blonde head was bowed forward, bloody saliva drooling between her breasts and down her stomach, her shoulders quivering at the tearing point. 

"Tell me now about how the whip will tame me, white devil!" Linh snarled.

"Mange...de la merde...." Camille gasped, followed by a strangled scream as her dark opponent pulled her arms even higher.  The French girl's swelling breasts, forced forward on display, were pulled tight, her hot, bruised skin livid.  The sinews of her shoulders were strained and visibly bulging.  Her taut belly pulsed as she fought to breathe against the pressure on her ribcage. 

But shoulders are stubborn things.  Linh could not tear Camille's loose, try as she might. She let her collapse at last, face and tits-first, in the dirt, her shoulders numb with pain but intact.  The failure infuriated Linh.  With two handfuls of golden hair, she dragged Camille to Barker, lifted her, and drove her forehead into the oak post.  The French girl slumped into the corner, her sternum against the wood, her breasts split to either side, her arms over the rope that held her semi-upright. 

Linh turned to meet Thomas's gaze, her dark eyes flashing, then turned back.  She drove her fist into Camille's spine.  The blonde's body shuddered. Her moan was otherworldly.   

"You think that you are better than me," Linh said, through clenched teeth.  Her fist thudded into Camille again.

"You drip with contempt for me because my skin is dark."  Barker flinched as Linh hammered Camille's back again.  Thomas only watched, impassively.

Linh ducked under the rope.  She caressed Camille's hair, fully undoing her knot so that it fell free, then did the same with her own raven hair.  She placed her hand on the rope for balance, looked at Thomas again, hungrily, and then drove her knee into the side of Camille's breast, crushing it against the post.  It was a devastating, cruel, torturous blow.  And Linh repeated it - twice more.  "You are not better than me!" she screamed over Camille's unhinged shrieks.   

Camille forced herself up enough to free herself, and flung herself away, crawling from the corner, sobbing.  Linh ducked back into the ring and caught her, again by her hair.  This time, she dragged her to Thomas's corner.  She lifted her, one arm twisted behind her back, and rested her breasts on the rope, displayed like meat in a butcher's window.  Camille's breast was hideously bruised, visibly swelling, her skin tightening. Linh ran her hand over it. 

"Hot to touch," she purred.  "Feverish."

Camille made a guttural sound of pain.  Linh leaned into her back to press her harder against the taut rope. 

"What do you think of her now?" Linh said to Thomas.  "Your French fuckbitch?  Now that you see me dominate her?"  She took Camille's ear into her mouth and bit into its cartilage as she curled her hand over Camille's breast and pushed it down, folding her over the rope.  Camille screamed.  Linh moaned. "Does her suffering make you hard, Thomas?  Does it make you want to fuck me again?"

Thomas nodded.  The sadistic light in his eyes was dancing hellfire.  Linh ground her pussy against Camille's lower back, the sweat of which mixed with her own juices to stain the crotch of her trousers dark.   

"Do you think he will cum when you die?" she whispered to Camille. "I know I will, white devil."  Her nails pierced pale titflesh as she shifted her arm to press straight down.  Camille screamed as hot bubbling fluid burst from her distended nipple and spattered Thomas's shoes.   

But Linh's lips at Camille's ear told the blonde girl where dark eyes gleamed. Her desperate fingernails found them. Linh jerked away, and now it was she who screamed.  She dropped blindly to her knees and Camille turned, and kicked her in the chest, the steel toe of her riding boot driven deep into the underside of Linh's breast.  "Fucking WHORE!" Camille shrieked, and this time it was the sole of her boot, like a sledgehammer to the side of Linh's head. The dark girl was blasted to the ground, outstretched and dazed.  The blonde fell to her knees beside her, then forward onto her.

"Good girl," Thomas growled as Camille's hand forced its way past the waistband on Linh's trousers and into her silken pussy as her mouth savagely bit deep into the roots of one dark nipple.  The Indochine beauty writhed and screamed and beat at her attacker but the French girl had her pinned. 

She wrought revenge for her breast torture, biting Linh again and again, each time tearing her flesh, chewing on her torn nipple like a bitch-dog with a bit of rawhide.  Linh clawed her face and neck and back but the blonde was beyond being deterred by pain.  Their blood turned the grass slick and the churned dirt to mud.  They rolled and writhed and tore at each other like demons raised from Hell. 

When they rose again they were nearly unrecognizable as human.  They shuffled towards each other and swung dead arms, no longer graceful athletes.  Linh's trousers were pushed low on her hips and Camille attacked her lower belly, chopping her fist into the dark girl's womb and ovaries.  Linh whimpered in pain but held her ground, her fingers sunk deep into the swollen flesh of Camille's dirt- and blood-streaked breasts.  Once again they staggered against the taut rope, rolling along it before falling to earth together. 

Neither had the strength to stand again. They rose to their knees, weaving drunkenly.  They traded fists to each other's face, knuckles landing with grotesque liquid thuds, before clinching, breasts to breasts.   Both sobbed at the burning agony of the pressure but neither relented.  Their breasts ebbed and bulged as they ground together, cheek to cheek, their nipples buried in flesh, hard as stone.  With her left arm wrapped around her dark head, Camille again punched deep into Linh's lower belly.  Linh forced down the waistband of the French girl's trousers and clawed at her pussy as if she were buried alive and scratching her way to sunlight and air again. They turned their faces together as if to kiss and savagely bit each other's lips instead. 

No matter the will to fight, flesh and bone eventually fail.  It was Camille who sobbed from the depth of despair, her arms falling limp. It was Linh's torn and bitten breasts that surged inward, her nipples still hard.  The blonde girl's breasts were shapeless and ruined, destroyed and pulped. 

"Cesser," she sobbed, her voice broken.

Thomas shook his head. "She decides, not you."

"Bạn sẽ chết," Linh moaned.   Thomas looked to Barker, who knew a bit of the Viet language, but no translation was necessary as Linh drove her breasts deeper into Camille's, her brown arms wrapped around the white girl's rib cage.  Camille sobbed again but could afford no more breath.  When she was still, Linh let her drop to the earth.  On all fours, she placed her knee on Camille's throat and gazed up at Thomas through the dark veil of her own hair as she bore down.   

************************************************
"A new mistress?" Mrs. Billingsly clicked her tongue in disapproval as the footman put away the shovel and washed the dirt from his hands. 

He nodded.  "When she heals. Miss Camille bit her face and tits to rags before the bitch finished her, so Lord Barker said."

"That one," Mrs. Billingsly scowled.  "He and Mr. Thomas are right devils, they are."

Upstairs, Thomas Brewer pulled back the head of Irish Sian as he thrust into her.  "Barker's Indochine bitch did what you couldn't," he said to the redhead.  "How does that make you feel?"

He did not intend to be bored again for long.

[Rocko23]

This was wonderful. A superb sequel. Thank you so much- loved the Asian vs blonde contrast.

[Phoenix_Falcone]

A rare sequel from one of the masters.  The first one left a mark (both figuratively in my mind and literally in the story itself) and this one does as well.  Could this be a potential trilogy?  One would hope so! Great work.

[Hyori]

Awesome, brutal and sexy, with a racial grudge
Loved it from tge beginning to the end

[Hyori]