Thread: Miss Bathory's Latest Model {darkest_fate&DeRe}

Sunlight streamed in through the broad bay windows of an elegant bedroom. The golden rays lay like loving hands across the petite, naked body of Liz Bathory and slowly rose her from a vivid dream-laden slumber. Purring like a cat, she languorously stretched her perfect figure in the mid-morning glow, tracing blood red nails around shapely little breasts. She relished the sensation of her body's warmth, smiling broadly in satisfaction. This was already a delicious day, she reflected and the best part was still some way off. Today she had plucked another rose, from whom she would pull every last petal until nothing remained but a naked bud helpless in her fingers. Moving as ever with the grace and languidity of a woman of pleasure, she rose from bed and admired herself in a crystal full-length mirror. The room was almost completely drowned in toy dolls of all shapes and varieties, some centuries old. Barely enough room was left for the elegant Louis Quatorzian bed and other furnishings that gave the sunlit chamber every appearance of a palace. The dolls were a legacy of Bathory's earlier life the mortal one from nearly a century ago, when she had been poor and paid for her bread by selling lookalike dolls to rich men's daughters - and her body to the rich men. That had been a dozen lifetimes hence, before she met Camilla, before she was initiated into the world of eternal vice she now enjoyed. But the dolls always remained only now she played with and broke ones made of flesh and bone, not porcelain. Ever since then she had never need to trade her body for survival - it was the bodies of others she needed now. This gilded, trivial age of blind ambition and sexual license suited her as well as the gloves she never went without. It had produced a host of shortsighted young women, desperate to rise above the peers and be celebrated for their youth and beauty. Bathory fed on these ingenues like a seagull on a scrapheap, exploiting their vanity to feed her own. Men had long since become nothing to her only women - young, beautiful women - mattered now. Wordlessly and with endlessly rehearsed smoothness, a team of her servants materialized to dress their mistress. For the delights awaiting her today, she chose her preferred business outfit - stockings and garter, a barely-there sheer black dress from Jean-Paul Gaultier, and a leather glove to protect her whip hand. She lay back on her bed, hands locked behind her head, and idly daydreamed about her new find as her maids rolled the black silken stockings onto her incredible dancer's legs, taking care to stroke and kiss their mistresses' thighs as they dressed her. Bathory stood up again as they passed her a pair of transparent black silk panties which she slid on, snapping the strap against her taunt hip, savouring the brush of the material against her sex. She wore no bra, allowing her pert and firm breasts to press aggressively against the sheer cloth of her dress. From her hip swung a set of apparently ornamental handcuffs and a sliver chain - although they were not only for show. A pair of designer heels helped emphasize her already eye-catching legs and world-famous bottom. Finally, she rolled on her trademark, a single long leather glove. Now, she was in costume and ready for her encounter. Bathory had been genuinely stunned when she first saw Sophie. Even now she touched herself slightly in memory at the electric carnal thrill she had felt looking at the young girl's photos. Here was innocence without pretence a sweet elfin smile hiding nothing from the world but a girlish desire to please. This divine creature had the face of angel and a body built for sin - exactly the kind of girl Bathory went weak at the knees for. Clearly she had never known heartbreak or hardship - certainly she had never frozen in a bare Paris garret, forced to spread her legs for a stale crust. Privilege and ambition had swept her onto the mansion's doorway. It was a tale the cynical domme knew well - the only rose in some isolated garden, the delight of her peers now plucked and transplanted to a mess of weeds and thorns, struggling to be seen among far crueler competitors. She had no idea of the horrors the world was going to inflict on her, and Bathory could think of nothing sweeter than the look in those big round eyes when she tore the girl's life to pieces. One of the maids - lithe and dusky with dark Slavic eyes - spoke in a quavering voice. D-does Mistress wish me to pleasure her this morning? Bathory landed a hard, sharp slap with her gloved hand across the girl's face as she yelped in pain. Stupid slut! I am saving myself for our guest. Curling her ruby red lips in disgust, Bathory sneered Holly, you wretched creature, please grow a few brain cells and think before you speak. The sobbing girl had once aspired to Bathory's fashion empire, claiming herself a challenger. That had ended very abruptly with her career's engineered implosion, and now she was nothing more than her erstwhile enemy's plaything. Kicking at her with one of her heels, Bathory said Get out of my sight, go make sure everything is in order. The wretched servant scurried away on all fours, desperate to be free of her sadistic mistress for even just a few hours. For a woman nearly a century old, the morning passed all too slow. She tried to busy herself but the anticipation of Sophie's arrival was utterly distracting. Finally in the early afternoon she arrived - in a taxi, much to Bathory's amusement. From the moment the lovely young beauty arrived at the maison, the older woman played the role of kind and cheerful older sister, even mirroring Sophie's giddy laughter and amazement at this exciting occasion. She towered nearly a foot over Bathory, her perky round bosom nearly in the vamp's face as they stood in front of each other. They walked about the house, chatting airily about fashion and gossip, holding hands like ancient friends. Occasionally Bathory would brush her cheek, or gently stroke her soft auburn hair back behind her ear. She could tell Sophie was too spellbound by wonder to clearly focus on what was going on. And please, call me Mistress, Bathory said casually. The undressing proceeded as smoothly as she hoped. Tanlines were a disappointment to her they were a modern development which she felt ruined the essential purity of a naked body. But finally seeing Sophie's naked form in all its slyph-like wonder allowed her to easily ignore that concern. Bathory gnawed at her lower lip as her attentive girl servants rapidly stripped Sophie, then began dressing her in the lush silken outfit. When at long last, they were alone, as she took Sophie's hand and led her into her parlour, directly adjunct to her bedroom Under the pretense of adjusting the costume Bathory disarmed the nervous model with her sweet, hollow smile and honeyed compliments. Such a pretty girl, you are, Sophie, she cooed as she walked around behind her. Stepping on an ornamental stool in order to be roughly even in height with the lithe, lanky girl, Bathory started tugging and pulling at corners of the elaborate dress. I'm very lucky to have you today. She rested her hands softly on Sophie's slender shoulders, and took a gentle nibble of her earlobe. Such a pretty face, and a lovely little body. Bathory lightly touched the base of Sophie's neck, stroking the soft pale brown hairs that had come loose from her coiffure. She placed a few barely noticeable kisses along the top bumps of the girl's spine. Easing her hands down from Sophie's shoulders, she giggled Oh, your poor boobs look a bit scrunched, let me help you!' and slid her fingers inside the top of the dress. She cupped Sophie's breasts like they were fragile birds, feeling their incredible elastic firmness with a slight squeeze. Here, let's adjust them a bit, she said, gently rolling Sophie's light brown nipples between two of her fingers. I bet you got teased because these were too small, eh? I think they're just right. She traced her lips against Sophie's cheek, relishing the smell of her sweat and the cheap moisturer she washed with. I bet you were just one of the boys back home, until they noticed you. Do you have a boyfriend, Sophie? She gave her tight little boobs a quick squeeze and giggled. Are you a virgin?