The Chronicles Of Power

The first person in line was a woman.

John's gaze traveled slowly over her body. Her skin was black—so dark it almost seemed to gleam. She was of average height, but that was where the ordinary ended. She was powerfully built. Her thighs were, for lack of a better word, like tree trunks. Thick arms. Broad shoulders. She radiated explosive strength.

A thought occurred to him.

“Professional athlete?”

The answer came without hesitation.

“Rugby, Sir. Twenty-year career.”

Her voice was deep and commanding, her accent slightly unusual. Caribbean, perhaps.

He noticed the coarse, closely trimmed hair between her legs. Placing his hand over her vulva, he pressed firmly.

Good Lord, he thought. Even her cunt feels muscular.

Joanna ran a hand over the woman's shaved head before gently tracing her fingers across her lips.

“Name and age?”

The deep voice answered once more.

“Tamara. Thirty-four, Ma'am.”

John took hold of Tamara's shoulders and turned her in a slow circle. Her buttocks were one solid mass of hard muscle. She looked as though she could crack a coconut with them.

They moved on.

The next person was also a woman, but she could not have been more different from the first—as though they belonged to entirely different species.

She was so tall that John had to tilt his head back to meet her eyes. Her jet-black hair was cut into a short, blunt style, with a straight fringe framing her face. Her eyes were gray and watery, magnified by thick glasses that made them appear twice their normal size. She had a pointed nose, protruding teeth, and a receding chin.

She looked deeply nervous. She swallowed several times, yet kept her gaze fixed straight ahead.

John continued his inspection.

Her complexion was pale—so pale it almost had a bluish tint. She was thin, almost gaunt, with bones protruding in places John hadn't even realized there were bones. Her breasts were virtually nonexistent, but nature had compensated by giving her two enormous nipples. They jutted out from her flat chest like half-sized cocktail sausages. Her arms were long. Her legs were long.

She reminded him of a spider.

Dark, bushy hair protruded from beneath her armpits. The same coarse hair spread down from her navel, covered her pubic mound, and extended well down the insides of her thighs. Her cunt looked almost oversized, both her inner and outer labia extending well beyond her body.

What an extraordinary human being, John thought, glancing at his wife.

Joanna looked captivated, studying the woman from head to toe again and again.

“Such a... such a magnificent specimen. So wonderfully different.”

Her voice had taken on a dreamy quality.

“Have you ever seen anything like her?”

She took hold of the woman's hanging labia, gently pulled them downward as far as they would stretch, then released them. They slowly retracted. She repeated the motion several times.

The woman didn't so much as flinch.

John pinched one of her nipples between his fingers. It felt hard and rough beneath his touch. He squeezed and twisted.

The woman's lips pressed tightly together.

“Name? Age?”

She answered immediately, her jaw still clenched.

“Lucy. Forty-three, ma’am”

“Magnificent,” Joanna said once more.

Only then did they release her sensitive flesh and move on.

The next person was a man.

Or perhaps a demigod.

He was tall, lean, and impeccably fit. Not with the bulky physique of a bodybuilder, but with the effortless athleticism of a runway model. John could easily picture him walking a catwalk in Paris or Milan. His hair was blond and shoulder-length, his eyes melancholy, his nose perfectly sculpted, his lips full.

There was something animalistic about him.

A lion, perhaps.

But there was something else as well. John studied him for a moment. His features carried a distinctly Russian quality—the beautiful side of Russia.

He asked for his name and age.

“Ivan. Twenty-five. Sir”

The answer came in a lazy, almost indifferent drawl.

I knew it, John thought. Russian.

John glanced at his wife.

She seemed completely captivated by the large, handsome cock hanging between Ivan's legs. She held it in a firm grip, slowly sliding the foreskin back and forth. John watched Ivan grow harder with every movement.

At last, Joanna let go.

She leaned toward John and whispered something into his ear.

He chuckled.

His wife truly never ran out of ideas.

“You're far too beautiful to be wearing clothes,” he said, passing along Joanna's decision. “You'll remain naked for the entire time you're here.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And those are the last words you'll speak for a year.”

Joanna placed a finger gently against Ivan's lips.

“Statues don't talk.”

Ivan gave a silent nod.

Joanna cast one last lingering glance at his swaying cock before they moved on to the final person.

She was a woman. Or was she more of a girl? She was the shortest person in the room, with light red hair, green eyes, and freckles covering her face, spilling down onto her shoulders and chest. Her gaze darted from John to Joanna, then to the ceiling and the floor. She was terribly nervous, such a contrast to Ivan's proud confidence.

He let his eyes travel over her body: small, lovely breasts, a slight little belly, broad hips, and strong legs. She looked sturdy, like an Irish farm girl.

Joanna poked the girl in the stomach. “Baby fat,” she murmured to herself with a smile.

John wanted to be certain. “You are of legal age, aren't you?”

“Y-yes, Sir. I'm twenty. No, nineteen.” She spoke in nervous bursts.

Joanna laughed. “And your name? Can you manage that?”

“Molly.”

Joanna's expression darkened. “Molly, Ma'am,” the girl corrected herself.

Joanna's anger vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

Something between Molly's legs caught John's attention. He knelt down and gently parted her labia.

“Honey, look what I found.”

Joanna leaned forward curiously.

Between Molly's parted folds protruded the largest clitoris either of them had ever seen. It was as thick as a little finger and stood out bright red, pointing straight forward.

Joanna took it gently between her thumb and forefinger and stroked it up and down. It looked as though she were masturbating a tiny penis.

“Tonight you're shaving. A little treasure like that shouldn't be hidden,” John ordered.

John and Joanna stepped back in front of the line. No one spoke. The four of them waited in silence while the couple let their eyes wander from one to the next. Only after several long seconds did Joanna finally speak.

“Well, now we know each other,” Joanna said warmly. “I suppose there's only one little detail left.”

She took a breath, and when she spoke again, her voice had turned noticeably colder.

“Together. On your knees. Open your mouths.”

They obeyed immediately.

She nodded to him. “John, go ahead.”

John stepped forward. There they were, kneeling with their heads close together, mouths open. Magnificent.

He unfastened his pants and pulled out his cock. A bead of pre-ejaculate glistened on the tip. Perfect.

He smeared the fluid across Tamara's lips, where it caught the last rays of the setting sun. Then he turned toward Lucy. He slowly pressed himself halfway into her mouth. It's probably the closest she's ever been to a cock in her life.

But she surprised him. He felt her tongue circle the head of his cock once, and John raised an eyebrow.

He turned to Ivan.

“Suck.”

The young man closed his lips around him and drew him deep into his mouth, letting him slide back out before taking him in again. Ivan's eyes never left John's.

With a soft pop, John withdrew and turned to Molly.

She looked everywhere except at his cock.

A stab of sympathy touched him.

“A kiss is enough,” he said gently.

She gave him a quick kiss.

“You can do better than that. Use your tongue,” Joanna said.

No sympathy there, John thought, as Molly ran her tongue over the head of his cock.

With that, the first part was finished.

He buttoned his pants, took his wife's hand, and steadied her as she undid one of the straps on her high-heeled shoes and slipped her right foot free. Lifting her dress to mid-thigh, she extended her foot toward the four of them and gave it a playful wiggle.

All four leaned forward to kiss, lick, and suck at her foot and toes. John watched her savor every moment.

Once she had slipped her shoe back on, she said simply, “And now we know where we stand with each other.”

Stephen had appeared out of nowhere once again.

John smiled.

“You must be tired. Stephen will show you to your rooms. Set your alarm for six. Half an hour later you'll receive your schedules. Read them carefully, then the workday begins.”

The four of them curtsied and mumbled their thanks over one another before following the well-dressed man away.

John watched their naked backsides disappear into the distance.

This was going to work.

This was going to be absolutely magnificent.

He was just about to turn to his wife when he heard her call out.

“Stop.”

He looked at her in surprise.

“I don't quite feel finished yet.”

John had no idea what she had in mind, but he knew one thing.

It was about to get very interesting.