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Do not harass those who happen to have likenesses to any of the characters in this story in real life. Credit to The Smiths/Morrissey for lyrical inspiration.
Prologue
“Mommy’s coming home,” Madeline said into her mirror, though she wasn’t sure if she herself believed it. She trembled nervously before her own reflection before snapping out of it a moment later. “She always does,” she cooed to herself effeminately with a joviality that betrayed her inner sadness.
Madeline threw herself down on the chair at her desk, allowing herself to sink deeply into its comfortable red leather. Books surrounded her on tall shelves at all sides of the room aside from in front of her, where big windows with drawn red curtains ornately patterned with flowers in bloom stood. The study was perhaps her favorite place to retreat in the new house, to get some reading done just like the old days. However, that day she wanted to write something new.
She shuffled some papers around on the desk, expertly carved from dark wood as the rest of the room’s architecture was. It was a variety of random notes that she did not need for the coming project. She then grabbed a set of blank looseleafs and set them in front of her. Her fingers traveled to the side of the desk to grip a black ink fountain pen.
A thud rang out on the ceiling above her–probably just the cat? Madeline looked down at the pen between her fingers and briefly contemplated scratching Eleanor’s name into her arm with it. It was as fleeting a thought as many of hers had been. The moment passed and the pen’s tip hit the white paper instead of her flesh.
Not a word came out, however. Disappointed, she sighed.
The new house was extraordinary, like it materialized from her dreams. She didn’t know why she still harbored this black splotch of terrible sadness within herself. She had finally escaped her hometown and moved on successfully from college alongside the woman of her wildest fantasies. Eleanor was her favorite person in the world. She was lucky enough–submissive enough, really–to follow her along wherever she went. Still, she could not shake the sadness.
They were coming off the heels of Eleanor’s twenty-fifth birthday. Snow had already fallen that late November, but Madeline had wished for a place far away, without snowfall. Shoveling was terrible, but she did it for Eleanor much more eagerly than she ever had for her parents. They had no neighbors, which was something she wished for, as well; still, she heard voices from beyond the trees whenever she went outside, for shoveling or otherwise. There was not a single thing these voices said to her that wasn’t unwelcome and cruel.
It was as if her inner thoughts had been invaded by outsiders and severed before they could ever reach their own completion. “I don’t give a shit,” she heard from a far left corner, half-whispered and distant but still close. The pen in her hand skidded across the paper in a scribble. It was impossible to write anything with the voices of scum in her ears. What worthless dross in this world wouldn’t “give a shit” about what she had to offer, she didn’t want to know.
Her life was a constant tug of war between the beautiful things inside that she loved and the ugly things outside that she hated. The people outside–if they truly existed in spite of her deepest wishes that they would cease to–were probably exactly the kind of walking, talking trash that would condemn her wife for the path she had chosen in life under the mistaken impression that such condemnation would somehow constitute “balance” and “healing.” That would never be true justice–true justice would be the eternal disappearance of those who speak in these voices forever.
No matter where she went, these voices followed. Eleanor was the only person alive who could still them, even for a moment. Almost everyone else’s presence only made it worse. That was why, though unofficially, no one aside from Eleanor’s friends was allowed at their new home. Perhaps she’d never escape them no matter how far she ran. That would mean the only way to stop the mental invasion and emotional torture of the outside world clawing at her insides was death.
On the other hand, she didn’t want to leave all this beauty behind for anything. Even on the off chance that Eleanor didn’t care, she would stay locked in her world for the rest of her life, however long it might last.
As she moved the paper she’d scratched away and gripped the one beneath it, she heard rumblings above her head. It sounded as if the bed was sending creaks into the ceiling of her study–the floor of one of their bedrooms. Maybe Eleanor was home after all, helping herself to an early pleasure. There was no question that she was welcome to it. If it was really her, though Madeline could’ve sworn she had gone away for the day, she’d soon be calling her upstairs to clean up the remains.
Madeline heard her sweet lips emit a massive, unmistakable moan through the Bomonti travesti floor. She was never going to get anything done at this rate. Perhaps Eleanor merely found it a devious bit of fun to disturb her work with her fucking. Still, it was a better sound than the “I don’t give a shit” voices from outside, or wherever they found their source, times a million. So long as Eleanor didn’t take one of her long liaisons away any time soon, Madeline knew she would be safe.
She started to wonder which of her wife’s lovers was upstairs with her this time. Dominik couldn’t have been back; he’d left them long ago, though Madeline was sure Eleanor had loved him. It tugged at her heartstrings and poured invisible sweetness all over her wounds. After college, he went far away–farther away even than they had ended up escaping to. Eleanor, while left distraught for many months, had not wasted any time in finding a replacement.
She found it hard at first, enduring bad dates with several otherwise fine men not willing to accept the life she chose. All the while, she was also hounded by whiteboys who did not match her selective preferences. Eventually, she found a stalwart lover in the form of Andre, a strong black man with dreadlocks and a ten inch cock reminiscent of Dominik of old.
However, her appetite only grew more voracious once they’d settled into the new place. She wouldn’t be happy with only one man for long. Several more came to follow him, one of the more memorable ones being Victor–and victorious he was. Handsome, rugged, and aggressive also described him quite well, Madeline thought, knowing Eleanor agreed.
Through it all, Madeline endured her complaints and her lusts, treated to a full report of every interaction and a front row seat to any action that had happened–well, most of it, at least. She had continued her usual household duties over from their old apartment, and completed all of them each time with the utmost obedience. Her rewards were many but scattered–to clean her after was not a reward, but a necessary duty. Still, she savored every taste of her godly flesh that she received.
Being with her may have been heavenly, but if there was any one of Eleanor’s lovers who was Madeline’s least favorite, it was Damon. His appetite was even more voracious than Eleanor’s. Madeline believed any goddess should be free to pursue as many lovers as she wished, but Damon was out of control and beyond the pale in the way he strayed away from her own. Too often he wasn’t at her beck and call when she craved him. At some point, she might have to step in, but she didn’t know what she could do.
Eleanor’s upstairs moaning slithered in to interrupt Madeline’s thoughts yet again. She supposed she would have to go up and check in on them sooner than later. The tiniest of bulges appeared beneath her own skirt. The straining of her little dicklet against her panties compelled her to stand and make her way to her goddess and him, whichever him he may be.
Eleanor was so devious for starting this without even telling her. She supposed they’d gotten to the point where she didn’t have to. She had always been the queen of her life, so why should she wait? She deserved to take the best in life at her leisure.
Madeline circled around the dark wooden corridor to ascend the stairs, shutting the door to her study on the way. Her eyes blazed past one of the portraits of Eleanor that was placed just outside of her study on the way, an eternal reminder of her dictatorship over Madeline’s life. Eleanor’s voracious moans floated through the air and into her ears from high above her. The short pink pole beneath Madeline’s skirt stiffened as she listened to it. This unremarkable day was about to become something significant.
Those damned voices followed her up the stairwell. “She doesn’t give a shit,” they whispered. “She doesn’t want you,” they screamed. Madeline adjusted the tuning of her ears to focus in on the real Eleanor to the best of her ability, but a frown scarred her face anyway.
She entered the bedroom Eleanor had chosen with a ghostly scowl. The sight laid before her was a holy one in spite of her own face. Eleanor’s whole curvy body glistened with sweat in the pale light of the snowfall beyond the window. No other light was on aside from the one in her own heart, the one that never dimmed out.
It was crystal clear why she was moaning so loudly. The opening of the door didn’t stop it for an instant. Her arms were outstretched behind her to support the rest of her, hovering over him. Otherwise, she sat back and relaxed in her own pleasure.
The natural arch of her back, a trait which Madeline was proud to share with her, was intensified, all of her curved over the strong body of her lover. Even the curvature of her bare back was flawless in Madeline’s eyes. Her thick ass was bare for the peeking, swallowing up every upward stroke he fed her. Her tits sat loose and free upon her broad chest, Bomonti travestiileri but Madeline could only see the left one from the angle she walked in at. She decided to circle around to get a closer look at her goddess in the midst of her dark lust.
The thick black cock inside of her curved in at the center of its width to fit perfectly inside of her pussy as he thrusted powerfully from below her. The whole thing was stretched out to its exact size and dripping, right before Madeline’s eyes. Eleanor’s head bobbed and her big golden hoop earrings bounced at either side of her beautiful, softly angular face as she was fucked from below. Her long brown hair was flawlessly straight as always and tucked behind her broad shoulders. Both of his big black hands were planted firmly on each of her thighs, just beside the delicious thickness of her hips.
Eleanor’s left leg shuddered a bit, and she slowly looked down. Her pretty brown eyes had not even looked in Madeline’s direction yet, though she must have known she had entered. The sheer inaction of being ignored for him only made her stiffen ever harder in her thong. His hands ran up the length of her thick thighs and then back down again as she settled upon his cock and his heavy upward thrusts ceased, and the sweetest of pleasured sighs rang out from her upturned lips.
Another moment lingered and she finally looked up. “You should be on your knees,” she said without another instant passing, looking directly into her eyes. Madeline knelt with an exquisite anxiety that the voices she heard might have been him. She looked from Eleanor’s sharp brown eyes to her lover’s face. It was none other than Malcolm, Eleanor’s latest favorite.
Madeline silently flagellated herself for forgetting him. He wouldn’t have said those awful things to her, not even as a joke. She looked into his dark and handsome face and he turned to her.
“You’re not wearing your maid dress,” he remarked with a bemused smile on his face. Madeline couldn’t help but grin a little in return. She looked down at herself, eyes scanning the blood red flowers sprawled across the chestpiece of her black dress, and the tiny lump protruding from its skirt.
“I’m sorry, my King,” she replied genuinely. “I didn’t know you were coming. I hope this will suffice.” She ran her hands down her skirt and looked back up at him.
He only laughed at her a little as Eleanor sighed with pleasure over him and said, “You should take it off and show us what’s underneath.”
Eager to fulfill this taunting challenge, Madeline lifted her dress up over her head. It hadn’t even hit the floor beside her before the both of them began laughing at her in earnest. Her body was thin, flat, and weak. Her ghastly white skin was kept hairless at both her goddess’s discretion and her own need for comfort. She normally hated being naked and avoided it as much as she could, but the shame of such normalcy being violated for the sake of the two of them was sweet. Even as their eyes and laughter pierced her nakedness, she wanted nothing more than to bury her face into their sex.
“She’s just a little bitchboy,” Eleanor happily degraded her.
“Take your thong off, too,” Malcolm ordered casually.
“Of course,” Madeline said with an effeminate sigh before reaching down to pull it off herself. Her little pink nub of flesh popped out, throbbing with all the hardness it could muster, to the resounding sounds of laughter from her authorities.
“Awh, look at your useless little dick,” Eleanor thoroughly defrocked her, smiling all the while. She looked back to her lover with one hand on his hard chest and said, “Should we let her feed?”
“Hell yeah,” Malcolm said, returning her grin. He lifted her up and off of his cock in both of his strong, black hands. A sweet moan left her lips on the way out, ending on a high note. He placed her in front of him, facing Madeline on the bed. She spread her beautiful legs apart and rubbed two fingers of her left hand up her own pussy lips, gorgeously spread as well.
“Show me how much you love me for cheating on you, sissy,” she ordered in such sweetly mocking tones. She existed as if out of a dream, always with the right words to say.
Madeline, compelled to fall forward right into the haven of her lust, buried her face into her sopping wet pussy–but not before saying, “Yes, Mommy.” Eleanor closed her thick thighs right about her head as she lapped up the wetness her strong black lover had left for her.
“Oh, yes,” she seethed lustily through her shiny white teeth as she was licked. The taste of her on Madeline’s tongue was as sweet as it was musky. Though he hadn’t cum inside of her this time, he’d left his mark. Madeline worshiped at the altar of their strength and beauty, contemplating the sheer, glittering reality of it all. Eleanor just threw back her head and let her lick.
Part I ~ As You Wish
Eleanor awoke to a happy Sunday morning. The travesti Bomonti snowfall from the night before had stilled. The sunlight went pale through her windows and into her vision as she blinked her eyes open.
Malcolm’s strong arms were still wrapped around her naked chest. Her eyes shifted from the window to his face, only to see that he was still fast asleep beside her. She looked into his handsome, round but chiseled features and thought up the best way to wake him.
Moving silently, her hand slid down his hard chest all the way to his shaft. It was already hard to her touch, but with a few gentle strokes beneath the covers, it grew. It was large enough for both of her fists to cover, at least. She moved onward to slink up and over their bedding and turn around. With her bare ass towards the window, she knelt over and took his tip straight into her mouth.
When she felt him throbbing between her lips, she only took him deeper. She let him feel the sensation of her tongue ringing around his thick tip as she met it in a full-lipped kiss and sucked on him. Soon enough, he would wake up to it. He was the real man in her life, and so she treated him like a king, like he deserved… She savored his taste in her mouth and continued sucking.
When she looked up to meet his eyes with her own, he blinked awake. He reached up to rub the side of his right eye with one finger. Eleanor came up for air with a lusty slurp, continuing to stroke his long black cock with her left hand. She smiled bright as the sun at him as he awoke to such luxurious treatment.
“Well, there we go,” he said in a slow and scratchy drawl. She giggled a little. “Keep going,” he said.
She rubbed him up and down once more, then slowly slid her lips back up the length of his shaft. She felt his strong black hand on the back of her ass as she welcomed his dick between her jaws all over again. The further she sucked him, the tighter he squeezed her. Malcolm was her favorite, but she knew she didn’t have to tell him.
No further words were necessary for either of them that morning, only the most pleasurable touching, the language of the flesh. She was so eager to please him that she began to utilize the full breadth of her throat on his cock. It could only fit halfway down its length, but she made up for it in speed of sucking.
As she sucked him, the swiftness of the moment fluttered away from her. His hand came down hard upon her tender flesh, sending a ripple through her body with a smack. She looked up from his dick to see Maddie there, kneeling in the doorway, wearing the same black and red floral dress she had on the night before. Strings of Eleanor’s own spittle painted the space in the air between her lips and Malcolm’s magnificent dick as she recoiled up from it.
“Awake already?” Eleanor tauntingly asked, staring into her little slave’s eyes as she planted a passionate kiss upon the head of Malcolm’s black cock.
“I couldn’t sleep a wink,” Madeline replied from the floor before her, rubbing her right eye as well. Her makeup from the day before had already been smeared, so it didn’t do too much damage to her luster. Still, it was a much too casual response–Eleanor wanted to see her hurt and drink her pain.
Malcolm touched her hair and guided her lightly away from his dick. She laid flat on her back beside him, but his arms soon found their way back around her again. He stroked the breadth of her chest, his black fingers climbing the mountain of her naked white tits. She smiled down at her slave and lightly moaned in the grasp of her man.
“Poor baby,” Eleanor cooed, half-sweet and half-mocking. Madeline just knelt there on the floor, pathetically. “What to be done with her?” she said, looking at her in fascination. How could she hurt her feelings today?
She imagined herself telling Madeline to get out of the room, just to ensure the sting. She contemplated forcing her to strip down again, just to leave her utterly bereft of whatever shred of dignity she had reserved. Then, they could force her to earn the right to clothing with only the most debasing tasks imaginable. Such a humiliating idea would’ve been adjoined by one of her other many lovers, but not Malcolm. He was always reining her in whenever she wanted most to get much too cruel.
Right on cue, he said, “Why don’t you go back downstairs and make us all some coffee, since you’re up so early?” With a sigh, he continued, “I’ll take mine to go. I’ll be out of your hair in the next fifteen minutes.”
Eleanor hit his chest with the back of her hand. “You’re leaving this early?” she struck him incredulously. His scruffy chin moved back into his mouth, much too sheepishly for a man like him, knowing he had disappointed her.
“She wants you here,” Madeline said from the floor of the doorway. Her voice was sweet, not judging or presumptuous at all.
Eleanor’s eyes flickered back and forth between them, slave and lover. “If she can know that, why can’t you?” she asked him as her brown eyes furrowed into the slightest of glares. He could have stayed all weekend; neither of them would’ve minded. She’d just given him his kingly treatment, but he wanted to leave early, regardless. She could just as easily take that right away the next time.
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