"Swift, Caroline - The Sufferers" - читать интересную книгу автора (Swift Caroline)
Beyond the breathtaking sweep of the hollowed bellies rising to the rib cages, the slaves' breasts rose vertically, the engorged areoles crowned with swollen teats - even Martine's nipples were reacting. The sight made Anthea glance at the crotches, from the blonde one's sex folds the pale tip of what had to be a really stalwart clitoris emerged almost provocatively. But the other slave remained torpid, her sepia labia still glued together. To Anthea's mind the drab needed stimulating - a dozen lashes of the quirt there across the fat vulva; but Simone sought quite the opposite; piercing slave flesh and fitting the rings required docility on the part of the slave. Precisely to that end, the two servants passed broad straps over the chest, belly and thighs of each nude, buckling them tight. If before there had been the risk of a heave or jerk, now the bodies were absolutely rigid.
Simone's depilations of males or females were always flawless, that Anthea knew as she watched the woman working up her lather in the soap mug and daubing the sexes and armpits. Soon each girl's succulent pubic hump bulged enticingly, freed of hair, curving down to the lips of the vulva slit, ready to be perforated, the bodies slick with sweat. Coursel laid the array of open metal circles on each slave's belly for the cunt and nipple rings to be threaded through the flesh and clamped. From the pocket of her greasy leather apron, Simone brought out her saddler's tools, one straight, the other a curved sewing awl which Anthea knew was used for piercing the slippery root of the clitoris.
"Which tits yer want t'do first?" the valet asked, disinfecting the tools and a pair of crimping pliers in his urine. His wife motioned towards Martine. "Better get this drab fixed," she said, "before she 'ollers 'er bloody 'ead off." They used the vernacular together.
"Want me to flog 'er senseless first? Or gag 'er?"
"Won't do no good." The maid turned to Anthea. "That's if Mam'selle don't mind the yells that's comin'."
The onlooker shook her head. "I'm used to it, Simone. Proceed."
Indeed the brawny bitch did howl as Coursel hooked the flat-nosed tongs over the nipple and stretched it. As if jabbing a sow's ear, Simone drove the awl through, widening the aperture with a turn of the wrist. Amid deafening shrieks, the other teat and then the four labia were holed, then he drew out the puny sex button for Simone's curved instrument to perforate what there was of it. She wiped off the beads of blood for her husband to thread the rings through and clamp them solid with the pliers. By the time they had finished with Martine, the girl had passed out, sparing everyone, including Joanne, her demented yelling. Then, with only sharp hisses of pain, Joanna underwent the same ordeal, the torture of her tumescent sexual extremities causing only a litany of sharp cries. Unpredictably, she discovered herself savouring the erotic humiliation that was reducing her to slavery; the weight made her vulva flutter and ooze, as one of her most secret yearnings came true.
Collecting her tools the maid remarked on Joanne's courage. "By all the saints, this one'll make a tidy slave, Coursel. And she's got a great body t' whip and fuck."
Before Coursel had released the bodies, Anthea approached Joanne to finger the sex rings. The cluster gave her, too, an exotic thrill. Burrowing in amid the dangling metal, she thrust her gloved hand up into the vagina; hot, seething with viscid sap, the tube gripped her; feeding her thumb through the clit ring, she felt the metal jerk. It was one of the most extraordinary sensations Anthea had experienced. Circumstances, alas, did not allow her to take matters into her own hands; otherwise she would have whipped the blonde beauty where she lay, straddling the face to be tongued and brought to orgasm. Instead, she walked slowly to the reversed head and made Joanne lick her glistening fingers. But she did not wait to see the shuddering bodies manhandled back to their wall chains to recover from the shock and residual pain throbbing at the seven points. She required relief.
She made for the steps leading down to the lower cellar, feeling her way along the masonry in darkness. After a perilous descent, she entered the dungeon, her crinolines and farthingale hoops rasping against the doorjambs and causing the candles to waver in surprise. But it was Therшse, lounging behind the bars and playing with her sex rings, who received the real surprise. The key grated in the rodded gate and Anthea released the chain from the neck of the startled whore. Her sisters held their breath.
"Out there, scum, and over the torture trestle, arse well up, legs wide!" The voice was strident enough to drain the blood from the cheeks of the perpetually welted brunette, as she scrambled out to obey the summons. Bending over the bar, Therшse watched the slender, evil figure cross to the whip rack and seize a knotted cat-o'-nine-tails; she knew what was coming. In her brief time at Lassignac, she had had it across the thighs, buttocks, belly and once over her breasts - everywhere, from the valet, Elodie and countless guests. But never from the pampered beauty standing there, shaking out the lashes that could either take one to orgasm or reduce one merely to tears. Therшse feared this time it would be a flood of tears. Sex was beyond reach, faced with Anthea.
She spread herself out over the wooden crosspiece, grasping the uprights, her legs parted to their extreme reach with only her toes for purchase. Without a further word, Anthea flogged the rump with a ferocity that cut the victim's breath. Around the tenth lash, Therшse's stamina failed her. Weeping, she begged to be spared. "I've... already had..." Schlack "two flagellations... today, mistress." Schlack "Ahh, God!... And I've... paid for... my faults... too" Schlack! Again, up into the crotch... "out in the... yard. Pleeese!"
"Get that split arse out further, slut! You owe me more than faults. You owe me whatever I want to give you, bitch. It was to be twenty but as you can't hold your tongue until I need it, I'll give you ten extra, you wimp. That's what an arse is for." Schlack!
Anthea took her to well over the usual thirty, desisting only when blood was drawn. Therшse sank to her knees, her breasts sagging, the rump seething. She could not take any more, even if it meant the torture closet...
"Get up, bitch!" came the command, "and on your knees, there." The whip pointed to the terrifying flogging frame, halting the slave's heart. Cumbrously, the flayed nude crawled across the straw-littered flagstones, not daring to touch her bleeding rear, until she was facing the young fury leaning against the frame, her stockinged legs apart, the lace and crinolines lifted in both hands, baring the hot apex of the thighs.
Devoid, as usual, of any trace of knickers (a habit Elodie had tried to correct, along with her depraved lesbian's overindulgence in wearing a 'chastity' belt fitted with an internal dildo and clit rasp), the divinely elegant thighs and auburn-haired crotch stared out at the flagellated slave girl. Therшse knew immediately what the bitch wanted.
"Tongue me, slut. Lick till I come. If you stop, I'll thrash those flabby breasts until you wish you'd never had a pair." The tone had become guttural, hoarse and even more threatening than before. Relieved not to be chained to the frame and breast-whipped, the slave nudged her well-trained tongue into the wet, hirsute slot and flicked hard.
Watched by her nervous companions beyond the bars, she did what she could with the remainder of her energy, straining her head upwards and holding the slim thighs with hands that, strangely, remained free - an unbelievable privilege at Lassignac for a slave in the presence of an owner or a visiting dominant. The tongue lapped, curled and sucked desperately, the girl almost suffocating in the torrid downpour of mucilage.
Anthea's response began as a baying, like that of a dying animal, then mounted into a wild screech that penetrated the far reaches of the dungeon. The watchers behind the grating knew her potency but were surprised. For Therшse's sake they hoped there was not much more in store for their nut-brown teammate.
"Don't stop, you... you whore slag... or I'll..." The breathless, incoherent threat trailed off to join the echoes as the slithering tongue lapped faster, scouring the seething vaginal sheath and clit until the slave could no longer fight the lunges into her face. The convulsing, spasming creature clutched the whore's hair by the handful, almost tearing out tufts as the orgasms exploded, the crotch slamming the face awash with discharge. A volley of three more consecutive gushings submerged Therшse in thick sexual juice that she had barely time to swallow down before she found herself enshrouded within the descent of the perfumed underskirts. Panting and assuaged, Anthea sent the slave sprawling.
"Now, back to your chains, whore." No more than a murmur, the order consoled Therшse; she hoped it was over, for the dreaded whip still dangled dangerously, if irresolutely, from the exquisitely boned hand in the kid glove.
Under the rippling layers of soft silk, the slave girl kissed the embroidered slippers, as a slave had to do, hastening back beyond the bars to clip herself to her slave chain.
The iron gate slammed to, the key rasped and the contented one was gone.
"You must try to contain your lusts a little, darling," Elodie prompted her lover a while later. Her valet reported everything very promptly to his august owner. "But never mind. I want you to stand by in case you're needed to deal with our blonde newcomer, that is it you still have the energy! And this duty is, if I may say, official. You see, I have to allow our dear Dom Anselme have his way once in a while. He insists or trying to get our blonde charmer - the one we've just ringed - to abjure. A noble aspiration. Whether he will succeed is another matter. Anyway, he proposes to do it in the chapel rather than, say in one of the torture closets where he would have more privacy. Now, Anthea, you know," she lowered her voice a shade. "I am not particularly concerned over her religious beliefs but we have to content this sanctimonious chaplain of ours." She paused, hoping Anthea was listening. "I want you, my treasure, to do the honours in the chapel. I'm sure you'll relish it. But just remember, this session is under Anselme's guidance."
"What, pray, am I to do?" Anthea had no affinity with the gaunt Dominican but had to admire his shrewdness. Working with him was no great pleasure although admittedly he flogged and fucked admirably and she had learned much from watching him at work.
"It's very simple," the Marquise went on. "He has chosen to convert the blonde infidel first and then start on the other. Should there be problems - and, Anthea sweet, I'm certain there will be - he intends to flog the girls into the Faith. But he's unwilling to sully his holy hands with whips in chapel. So we've decided that, if necessary, you should do the whipping, prior to vespers, rather than the uncouth Coursel or Simone - although they, as you know, flagellate laudably to the blood when given the chance. So, Coursel will prepare the prie-dieu and the cords and you, with Anselme's concurrence, may choose the whip you think will help the girl to abjure. I have my doubts about the whole affair but it will provide you with useful practice. By the way, I think it would be correct, dearest, not to be too naked. I know you prefer nudity but remember you'll be on holy ground."
Anthea nodded. The prospect delighted her. To whip a slave, whatever her religion, in the chapel of all places, excited her, even if the lugubrious, morbid Dominican was involved. Moreover the duty would excuse her from confession for some weeks and that too pleased her, for a tъte-р-tъte with Dom Anselme was trying; his bony hands fumbling her nipples, the confessional stall rendering lower contact difficult. Moreover, the man's cock, straining under the cassock, hardly attracted her. Even Coursel's was finer.
"Now, angel, run along," her lover concluded, "and try not to masturbate too much, darling. You'll wear yourself out. A clit needs repose, you know." She caressed the girl tenderly, not far from the spot in question, and gave her a kiss, but only on the mouth.
The beautiful youngster could hardly believe her good fortune as she mounted the stairway leading to the bedrooms. She had been chosen to assist in the questioning of a prisoner! Knowing Dom Anselme, she was sure he would order the whip, whatever the outcome of the interview. The only drawback lay in the place. Anthea would have much preferred the cellar or a secluded precinct; the chapel was so funereal and forbidding.
For a moment she stood by the casement, looking out over the still snow-smudged hills of the Cevennes, wondering when she would be needed in the chapel. If she had understood, Elodie was to inspect the newcomers first. Life was becoming exciting.
She strolled over to the rustic sideboard and took out her personal scourge. Slowly and affectionately, she let the six black thongs run over her glove, feeling the tight knots; the weight, balance and texture pleased her and the colour went with the high boots she would wear. Her cheeks flushed, her vagina swelling again. She stripped off, spread out across the bed and, gasping, brought herself off savagely with the phallus-shaped haft of the whip. It was almost as satisfying as flogging a female slave... Almost? Nonsense - there was nothing to equal flagellation. Nothing. As this newcomer, Joanne, would discover.
TWO
The two probationers were left a while, still chained to the slabs, to recover from the piercing and the threading of the metal through the flesh. Although throbbing painfully herself, Joanne found her colleague's whimpering hard to bear. The pause in the operations did not last long before Coursel was clamping the rivets in the ankle and wrist leathers; already in place, the bonds required a final hammering to ensure permanency. Each neck was then encircled with the broad iron throat band, replacing the earlier temporary leather strap; there too the rivets were flattened. Writhing in pain, Joanne guessed each restraint carried the same four rings for chaining and bondage, as on her colleagues in the cellar.
The work was done competently enough. Martine moaned and struggled, only to receive a lash across her vast, freshly ringed breasts. "What are you doing to me?" she shrieked. "Heaven will punish you for this. Take them off! Haven't we suffered enough?"
Surprisingly, Simone answered her. "And how d'yer think we're going to lead you sluts around? And hook your whorish body up for the whip, eh? Keep that mouth shut unless you're wanting a strap round that too." Martine's groans softened but continued.
The piercing and bondage completed, the slaves were driven to the wall for the neck and wrists to be tied to an iron ring. The new fittings proved effective and painful.
Facing each other, neither girl wished or even managed to utter a word; each stared at the other's hardware, stunned rigid. Both had ample pain to contend with in the semi-darkness. After the departure of the servants, the hours passed very slowly.
Unlike her suffering companion, Joanne was not unhappy. Despite the throbbing in her sexual extremities, she felt her nakedness enhanced by the metal, the clit ring already giving her a sensation of strange arousal. In her heart she felt little compassion for the poignant figure opposite her; the youngster was deplorably faint-hearted, devoid of the slightest sense of eroticism and dismally obese. If she were to survive, Joanne thought, the girl would have to bestir herself, accept her predicament and conform. Her pious refusal to yield was not only pointless but dangerous for them both as religious heretics. Unless, of course, Martine was determined to act the martyr. For her part, Joanne was finding a certain sensual pleasure in this sexual slavery and nudity. She pitied Martine's naivety.
The abrupt entry of the Marquise, Anthea, more striking than ever in pale taffeta and azure ribbons, and their staff, startled Joanne as the chamber became suffused with the fragrance of perfumes overriding the stench of sweat. Coursel and Simone were accompanied by two other domestics, if such was their rank, Joanne had not encountered before. The young maid was dark and slender, the man powerfully built.
"So, here they are, our little ducklings, all ringed and ready." Elodie hooked a kid-gloved finger through one of Martine's teat rings and tugged on it playfully, bringing a shrill yelp out of the plump nude. Elodie frowned "Oh, my poor ears, this slut must be cured of shrieking at me, Anthea dear!" As if to hasten that process, Simone raised her service whip and slashed the slave's thigh. "Thank you, Simone. Now, you and Marie-Fщlice," the Marquise went on, calling the sultry domestic forward, "get them checked for size and plugged up behind. I want their rear entries nicely stretched and taught to slacken without having to be told." She smiled at the two men standing apart. "I'm sure you'll both see to that! And prior to our next celebrations. That gives you a clear fortnight, doesn't it?"
Taken aback by the orders, Joanne hoped Martine had not understood what was implied. Indeed, the girl had not; she was too busy sniffling and trying to conceal her sex rings. Then the bewigged Marquise went on: "So, Marie-Fщlice, get to work while that man of yours sizes up our two newcomers. I'd like your views, Bouchard, on my new slaves."
Joanne recalled the information she had gleaned in the slave cellar: the dark-haired female called Marie-Fщlice, prettily dressed in a green robe the colour of sage, had to be a senior servant and wife or mistress or this Bouchard, the Lassignac major-domo, gaoler and slave flogger, who stood beside her. She was quite attractive, despite a slight strabismus that gave her a look of immense cruelty. Her man was handsome, stalwart and terrifying. Marie-Fщlice strode forward and the fittings proceeded forthwith. First, each slave was reversed against the wall by Coursel as the woman opened a cupboard in the far wall to return with two anal stopples, the size of large pine cones with several lengths of chain dangling from the bases. She dealt with Martine first, parting the huge slabs of rump meat to force the bung inwards, disregarding the girl's useless clenchings. The insertion met with hysterical cries as the sphincter was gouged, the tight circle of muscle fighting the dildo. The slender chains were then tightened round the prodigious buttocks, passed under the perineum and clipped to the new sex rings. Martine screamed to high heaven as her rear hole stretched to accommodate the shaft. Then Joanne received the same therapy but without demur. She thrilled as both slaves were told they would wear the thing until further notice when not on call. Marie-Fщlice then tried out several leather hoods on the girls until the correct sizes were found for future use; again Joanne found the objects exciting and frightening as the straps were buckled round her head and throat, blocking the eyes and ears; a wooden gag, well-dented by other teeth, nearly dislocating her jaws. Finally, leather breast cones, armed with internal spikes, and a similar crotch triangle were tried on. The very volume of Martine's mammaries made the test imperative, Marie-Fщlice remarking she had never seen such vast breasts on a serf. "A daily run round the courtyard under the horsewhip would thin her down, your Grace." Elodie told her to hold her tongue, for suddenly the Marquis entered, in from hunting. Silence fell amid genuflections. The fine weather-tanned face gazed at Martine's plugged bottom. "And what do we have here, in the name of all the saints? Just what I needed. Hand me a whip," he ordered curtly.
A frown clouded Elodie's exquisite face. She was piqued by the untimely appearance. It threw her off her balance - and that before the household - but she summoned up a welcoming smile. For who, after all, was the master of Lassignac?
The man stripped off his leather jerkin and the broad-collared silk blouse, throwing the garments to Simone as Coursel handed him a coil of platted horsehair. In a sepulchral silence, the bare-chested Marquis walked over to Martine's wealth of arse flesh shuddering against the masonry and shook out the leather snake. Elodie drew Anthea towards her as if marshalling an ally. "Oh, diantre, the slut's not ready for this," she muttered.
Then the Marquis saw the summit of the dildo protruding from the anal cleft and the tensed chains denting the buttocks. "Ah, I see we're making headway with this lump of suet. So much the better." Simone took a step forward as it to wrench the sceptre out. "No, woman, she'll do as she is. The sooner she's stretched the better."
| © 2025 Библиотека RealLib.org (support [a t] reallib.org) |