Six Masters Island - The Cinderella Syndrome Page 3

  Cynthia was mercilessly cruel to the slaves, because each of them represented the tormenting sisters and their friends of her youth. Just as she patiently coaxed exotic hybrids for her outside garden, Cynthia worked with the girls until she determined they were of sufficient quality to represent the estate. She thought of them as ‘weeds’ when they first arrived, and after carefully deciding by a method only she could decipher, the girls were trained to fully blossomed, unique perfection.

  When infrequent guests visited the estate, the trembling girls called her Mistress. In the privacy of the stone walls, when it was only Cynthia, Alexander, and their four sons, the flowers called her stepmother… a most wicked, wicked stepmother.

  * * * * *

  “I think we have reached your limit, Marigold.” Cynthia stared down into the kneeling girl’s blue eyes and noted the predictable nervous hope. The girl had quickly settled into a complacent attitude of desperately wanting to please. She did not know that what these strange people wanted was a unique blend of arousal and fear. Marigold strived to give stepmother the emotions she thought were required, but she had no individual flair that could set her apart.

  Cynthia had seen this when the girl was brought to the estate, and short of destroying her mind, she had decided that it was better to transform her into a common flower… one that would be easy to grow. The girl had a plain face, and even in pain or arousal her expression barely changed. Straight blonde hair fell to her shoulders, thin and limp with no body and no waves or highlights. Her breasts were small and her nipples unremarkable, as were the thin lips of her pussy. There was little shape to her waist or legs, and her bottom was almost flat. Still, the flower did have an agreeable nature, and she caused no undue stress for the garden.

  “Clean the chamber, and then wait in your cage,” Cynthia ordered.

  “Yes, stepmother.” Marigold did not even balk when she had to wipe her sweat or juices from the strange equipment. Cynthia shook her head sadly when the obedient girl scurried off towards the cabinet, and she reached for the dildo that had been secured in her pussy all night. She closed the chamber door behind her, not bothering to lock it. Marigold would do exactly as she was ordered.

  Cynthia’s blue silk robe shimmered in the ambient light while she climbed the stone staircase. She heard a scream from a room further down the hall, and smiled to herself. Alexander was keeping busy so that he would not have to think about his sons leaving the estate.

  Cynthia barely glanced at Rose who was kneeling at the foot of the main staircase, where she would remain until Cynthia called for her. She made her way to the parlor and sat at her cherry wood desk, lightly tapping her nails on the top in anticipation. This was not a nervous reaction… Cynthia was absolutely never nervous. That emotion was as foreign to the strict woman as the gray that refused to streak through her hair.

  Her green eyes gazed across the reflective, polished surface while she studied her four sons. Sloane, the oldest, with his father’s handsome looks and the same brooding nature; Daryl, much more a strategist like herself; and the twins, Liam and Kyle, identical except for their sadistic desires, with Liam enjoying psychological methods, and Kyle curious and aroused by the sounds and tears of physical pain.

  “Sloane, you go south, Daryl, north, Liam take east, and Kyle, you get the west this time. Two weeks, boys,” she reminded them. Cynthia handed them each an envelope and kissed them on the cheek.

  Sloane walked out without looking back, while Daryl and the twins placed bets and made choices. Cynthia shook her head, smiling. Poor Kyle got stuck finding a redhead again. It was not that the boy was adverse to them, because the usual feisty nature was an interesting assignment. His selection would be fewer, because he would seek out the girls with deeper natural copper coloring and no freckles. Kyle found the errantly placed marks distracting when he was training them, and being the baby of their family, he was constantly fighting an internal battle for his place with his brothers. Liam had been born with their rakish good looks a few minutes earlier than him, and Kyle tried to find something to make himself stand apart.

  Cynthia walked to the window and she looked across the flower garden to the circular gravel driveway. Not surprisingly, Sloane chose his black pickup truck, Daryl his luxury sedan, and the twins spun off in identical sport coupes. She watched Kyle’s car disappear through the trees surrounding the estate, and her eyes returned to her lovely flowers. When she spotted the pansies with their colorful bonnets, her eyes pulsed an excited beat. She inhaled a cleansing deep breath and smoothed her hands down her floor length silk robe. Cynthia loved the feel of the shimmering sapphire material caressing her body, and that, along with the sight of her garden, had her moving back towards the heavy wooden door leading to the basement.

  Her flat slippers did not make a sound as she descended the narrow stone staircase. The old architecture of the estate that had been in Alexander’s family for centuries had remained basically unchanged, except for the upgrades of conveniences such as plumbing and electric wiring. Some relative before him had replaced the original sconces that lined the stairwell and hallways below with amber shaded fixtures that produced almost the same delicious intimidating shadows for the walk to the dungeon that the fires must have emitted. She imagined the terror the young women must have felt when walking down the cold steps while the flames flickered off the rough stone surface of the gray walls.

  At the bottom of the landing, Cynthia listened, and a few moments later she heard a scream and moan from the cell on the end. “Sweet Pansy, again,” she whispered. Alexander seemed to have a special fondness for the girl, though Cynthia could hardly blame him. Her shrieks were crystal in quality, and made even her yearn to hear them again… and then, there were the unusual violet eyes. Sloan always procured the most unique young women, and Cynthia was fairly certain her son would be keeping this flower until another struck his fancy.

  * * * * *

  Pansy reached her hands around the heavy chain and she searched for a release that she knew was not there. Oh god… the concrete was cold and rough under her toes and she tried to push away. The links through the ankle cuffs stopped her, and she looked at the man drawing the whip back again. Pansy bit her lip to keep from pleading, because the Master would add two lashes if she did.

  A drip of sweat trickled from under her arm down her ribs, tickling and itching until it rolled onto one of the welts and stung. Everything… even the natural act of perspiring… brought pain. Always, pain. She could not remember a time when she was free from it. The Master stood in front of her, bare chested and looking as evilly handsome as always. Pansy hated that. She hated that with all of the terrible things that had been done to her, she still found the men in this tormenting family so arousing to look at.

  They enjoyed making her suffer, and then they would smile in superior control when they found her wet and excited. It was something she still could not comprehend, but it seemed as though they expected her reaction of sexual arousal, and they either complimented or rewarded her for responding with heated passion. Lately, she was humiliated with the uncomfortable knowledge that the sons or Master merely needed to enter her cell and her pussy would clench in mock desire. Surely, the tightening wet spasms could not be true need… not when the price was so much pain.

  “Aaaaee…” The whip crossed the tips of her nipples, and she saw the red stripe begin to rise across them. The pain from the welts on her belly and thighs took a back seat to this new agony. More useless tears flowed down her cheeks, causing Alexander to smile. They always stopped short of letting her drift into unconsciousness to get away from the torment.

  Pansy looked up when she heard the heavy door open and she sobbed. The witch had come in… the controlling force behind the men, and the reason for her abduction. It was one of the first lessons she had learned, and Pansy knew without doubt that no matter who was training her, stepmother was in charge of the dungeon garden.

  Cynthia walked through the door of the cem
ent cell and she smiled when her husband turned to the sound of her entering the stone chamber. He was three inches taller than her own impressive stature, with hair as dark as midnight like her own, though his was silvering in dashing sweeps at the temples. “The boys have left,” she informed him.

  “This collection is almost ready.” Alexander’s brow was glistening with sweat and the whip lay along his right leg. The girl hanging from the chains on the wall bore the welts of the excruciating torment of his endeavors.

  “Ppplease, stepmother, may this slave attend you?” the girl quivered. Pansy hated the wicked woman, but after months of training she had been programmed to make the request as soon as the frightening witch made an appearance. Even through the throbbing of the lash welts, she had not missed the reference to the horrible sons being gone, and it offered her a small measure of relief.

  The Master and Mistress were as aggressively cruel in their methods of training… even more so, in ways… but now there were four girls for them to divide their attentions between. With the sons gone, it promised a break to someone constantly calling on her for more agonizing treatment.

  Cynthia ignored the girl’s request, and she said, “I will be bringing Marigold upstairs first, I think.”

  “That’s probably the wisest choice, Cynthia.” Alexander considered the small blonde. She was pretty, in a plain sort of way, and he thought she would make a good house servant. “Do you have a buyer lined up for her?”

  “Shataki mentioned using her for guest services. The Japanese always seem to have an interest in petite blondes, and with her accepting nature and adequate responses, I think it might be the best we can do with her. I have warned Kyle about giving more consideration to his quarry. He has the redhead this time.” Cynthia envisioned Marigold, with her slightly small breasts and slim hips. “It’s unusual that the blonde be the low bid for a group,” she noted.

  Cynthia made her way to Pansy, who was stretched to her toes by the chains secured to her wrist cuffs. She ran a red talon nail down from the side of a meaty breast, over moist ribs that were brought to a painful sweat even in the chill of the dungeon, and she scraped along a welt that wrapped around her waist. Cynthia was rewarded with a shuddering response. “If Sloan does not choose this one… though, I expect he will… I may keep her here and send Rose with the auction.”

  No… please… no. Pansy’s eyes widened at stepmother’s comment. Anything would be preferable to a commitment to Sloan… except the promise of the witch keeping her as her personal slave. Cynthia’s finger traveled lower, and Pansy quivered when she felt two tapered fingers spread her denuded pussy lips and stroke along her moist folds. Stepmother’s green eyes gazed into her frightened lavender stare, and Pansy felt her coaxing more juices with her stroking.

  “You are such a good flower, Pansy,” Cynthia purred. She continued to gaze into the humiliated eyes, knowing the girl would not dare to look away. Even in climax, Cynthia insisted they keep their eyes open and acknowledge it was she who controlled them.

  Pansy… she had had another name once, less than six months ago… but, that name was irrelevant, now. She was another flower in stepmother’s garden, to be tended and weeded to excellent service. Anything before her incarceration at the estate was too depressing and remote. She was the stepmother’s Pansy, and any hope that she had of being sold to a kinder situation had just been dispelled, due to the violet eyes that had always intrigued her former lovers. She had used her lavender eyes to persuade and flirt with Sloan and unknowingly earn her place in the garden.

  Pansy felt her insides begin to spasm while the woman continued to stroke her exposed pink wrinkles. She fought the urge to look up at the Master… she could feel his black eyes burning into her, shifting between the glistening issue from her cunt and the disparaging pain in her eyes.

  Her heart rate quickened and she fought to control the quivering gasps of arousal the hateful woman was insisting upon. The cruel green eyes narrowed, and the slightest edge of amusement crossed her lips while Pansy felt the damned response begin to claim her. “You do not have permission, Pansy.” Cynthia issued the taunting warning in her low seductive voice, and Pansy wanted to scream at the desire she saw building in the woman’s eyes while she tormented her.

  “Yyyes, stepmother.” Pansy’s eyes filled with tears, and she fought her response to the witch’s controlled stroking. As fearful as she was of the woman and the promise of some cruel punishment, both of them knew that Cynthia was an expert at manipulating her arousal, and that she would continue her stepdaughter’s degradation until Pansy’s body betrayed her. It seemed so unfair, as Sloan had already denied her completion earlier.

  Pansy felt the pain of her nipples tightening further, squeezing the welts from the whip that had kissed across the tips only moments ago. Her hips began to rock in an effort to elude the woman’s stroking, but the spasms constricted and the unavoidable release kept building. At some point, she began whimpering. Pansy thought of the numbness of the climax that would offer her a brief respite from the torture she had endured. She knew that the punishment would be severe, and she fought the building heat as long as she could. Pansy felt herself crest, and she gasped in a sob when the pulsing of her pussy gushed cream down her thigh.

  “Oh, dear,” Cynthia purred. “Such a bad, bad girl.” She turned to Alexander while the girl continued to press into her hand. “The cane, I think.” She turned back to Pansy and brushed her wet cheeks with gentle, moist fingers, leaving cream from her orgasm on her face. Cynthia curled a lock of Pansy’s hair behind her ear and stared into her humiliated tears. “Directly on this disrespectful slut’s pussy.”

  “Oh… Oh please, stepmother,” Pansy wailed as the last of her quivering had her pulling against her chains. The cane burned like a knife even on her thighs, and she was terrified of the thought of it on her sensitive lips.

  “Eyes open, girl,” Alexander ordered.

  Pansy opened her eyes so wide that the violet was completely surrounded by white, and tears rolled down her cheeks. The cane slashed up between her legs so quickly that it took a moment for her to register the pain. “Aaayeee… aaayeee,” she screamed. It felt as though she had been split open when her post climatic swollen sex received a direct blow. Another strike lashed up and she screamed again, making incoherent promises to the cruel man. One more, and she most probably would have the relief of unconsciousness… which was the reason that Alexander stopped.

  When Pansy was able to regain her senses and the wails had subdued themselves to sobbing, she looked across the room to the awful wooden table that promised tortures of its own. Through her tears, she saw the witch leaning over the platform with her sapphire robe raised to her hips, while Alexander’s long, slick cock pounded into her. They were completely oblivious to the girl’s torment, with Cynthia gripping the opposite edge of the table and Alexander gripping her hips… watching himself plunge into his wife’s pussy. Their eruptions were simultaneous and accompanied by almost triumphant calls of pleasure. They usually were, after a particularly arousing exercise with one of the stepdaughters.

  Pansy was left hanging in her chains with her pussy tortured and throbbing in agony, while the Mistress and Master righted themselves and their clothes. They left the stone chamber without looking back at her… presumably to visit another flower in this dark dungeon garden. The girl knew that she would be left to suffer her painful torment alone, until one of the servants brought her back to her cage.

  Chapter II

  Sloane traveled down Interstate 4, just south of the conglomerate of central Florida’s wonderland of attractions. With so many visitors, his presence would be unremarkable. There were small towns close by, and he glanced at his map and drove towards one to the south of the city. He found a rooming house where he paid cash for one month’s rent to the widow who owned it. She had two other boarders that were both well into their seventies, but Sloan’s charm won him the room over her garage. She had agreed that the space with
its outside entrance would be perfect, when he explained that he worked at night.

  Sloan kept his things in his opened suitcase by the door, and he studied the newspaper he had purchased. After a few minutes of scanning the crime reports, he had a pretty good indication where the poorer sections of the city just north were located. He would begin at the bars on the fringes of these areas… the purgatory realm where the sluts hoped to meet wealthier men and wealthier men hoped to meet sluts.

  Sloan was into his third night of prowling at another smoky pool hall, sitting alone at a table by the window and sipping his drink. A few girls had brazenly approached him, swaying their tight jeaned hips in an exaggerated drunken roll. He affected an easygoing manner and bought them drinks as he managed to send them away. It was not a slut he was after… just yet.

  It was almost eleven when the door opened and a pretty young blonde walked in. She was dressed in jeans and a casual top, with her hair pulled back into a tail. There was a fresh innocence about her, and that was something Sloan desired in his conquests. Her eyes… Sloan always decided by the eyes… were a deep blue. She walked up to a woman Sloan recognized as one who had approached him earlier in the evening. She was currently wrapped around a middle-aged man who was obviously enjoying her attentions.

  “Mom, I need a ride home,” the girl said.

  “I thought you were staying at Nancy’s tonight.” The woman replied irritably, keeping her eyes focused… as much as she was able to… on the man she had singled out.

  “Brian called, and she decided to go out with him instead.” The girl’s expression let Sloan know that she was well used to her mother’s behavior.

  “Who’s this pretty little thing?” the targeted man slurred.

  Sloan caught the beat of promise in the man’s inebriated eyes, when he considered that perhaps he had walked into an even better opportunity than he had originally thought. Sloan scanned the bar for one of his earlier stalkers, and he caught the eye of a washed out brunette who was sitting by herself and drinking away her misery. He waved her over, and she staggered to his table with her beer.