"Swift, Caroline - The Sufferers" - читать интересную книгу автора (Swift Caroline)

Thrilled at having been offered the chance to flagellate a fine pair of whore buttocks and breasts (although she would have preferred a better presentation of the latter), Anthea had enjoyed the pious session. Like the gracious Elodie, she felt no dismay over Dom Anselme's failure to convert the heretic; the object was there to be whipped and used. That was what naked slaves were for at Lassignac. To provide pleasure.
Wiping off her faithful six-thong, she summoned Coursel. The valet, nettled to have been, as usual, left out of the session, had contented himself by solemnly frigging off in the nearby transept, leaving the clots to harden on the paving; it was dirty enough already and the chapel was not in his purview of duties; but flogging was. Yet he had to admit that this spoilt lesbian, Anthea, did wield a whip with force and style. She needed no tuition.
"Chain this stubborn pagan trash to the rood screen, man," Anselme ordered, "while I pray for continued spiritual strength to perform my mission. I shall try again with her anon." The priest's eyes glinted as he observed his cum oozing from the slave's anal bud. Converted or not, the newly arrived blonde at least showed promise in one direction: she took whip and penis admirably enough. As he straightened out his garb, he wondered how, should she persist in refusing conversion, the pretty bitch would react to the Marquise's sessions of sex torture, the breast quirt, pincers, prongs, needles and the rest. Although he was never invited to such ceremonies, it was common knowledge that the other slaves currently domiciled at the chтteau responded well, but then they had been toughened and trained through incessant use by their eminent proprietress and guests. This well-built blonde, he thought, might well outstrip them in competence. In any event, whether she abjured, attended Mass and confession or not, Anselme knew she would remain a prisoner and available to the house for routine use. Thus, his work to achieve abjuration could continue. Like the Marquise, the saintly man felt that conversion lay still some way off but he would strive for it. As to the other parpaillote, the plump newcomer with her enormous breasts and broad arse, he felt fairly certain she would not be tempted by abjuration, whatever was done to her at the outset; hence, she could be counted on to provide him, as well as the rest of the household and visitors, with ready flogging flesh until ultimately she weakened and gave in. Once she had been whipped into grovelling submission, conversion would be merely a matter of sequential steps, for had he not when seconded earlier to accompany the dragoons, made scores of scourged women abjure? Fifty lashes had usually sufficed. Thirty, if hung by the legs to be crotch or breast whipped.
As he watched the flogged, groaning slave being detached from the prie-dieu, Dom Anselme smiled to himself as he thought of the cunning Marquise's preoccupation over the possibility that he, her chaplain, would request the release of the girls, if conversion were achieved. Under no circumstances would he suggest such a thing. The slaves would remain slaves, precisely where they were, imprisoned nipple-naked in the dungeon, like the others, for sexual use. Meanwhile, and Anselme smiled again, the parpaillote bitches would hold out to the limit of what they thought their flesh could stand and then abjure on the promise of release, only to find themselves condemned to permanent slavery within the dark womb of Lassignac.
Again observing how the valet handled the blonde beauty, who had collapsed at the man's feet, Anselme knew he could break the bitch sooner or later and trusted the unpredictable Marquise would act in a spirit of cooperation and not commandeer the new whores completely. One never knew with her. Sometimes he suspected that lust took precedence over her wish to bring about conversion.

Having kicked the wilting nude to her feet, Coursel bowed to the Dominican whom he admired for his faith and for the patience he exhibited in dealing with headstrong transgressors. He would give a finger of his hand to fuck with Anthea but that was beyond imagining; he would have to make do as usual with the cellar slaves during their daily whippings - 'to keep them conditioned' was Elodie's phrase - and, alas, with his appallingly unappetising spouse; his Simone required a great deal of cock to keep her quiet.
As she was dragged towards the high rood screen, Joanne also cast a covert look through her tears at the sanctimonious Dominican fingering his rosary beads as if still rolling her clitoris. How she hated him! But even more virulent was her loathing for the young bitch, Anthea - if that was indeed her name. Legs apart, the beauty stood there imperiously, mopping up on her gauntlet the saliva and come beginning to encrust her sex. She was a heinous invention of nature, even if highly responsive to cunnilingus...
The welted slave girl stumbled up the three chancel steps for whatever was to follow, Coursel crossing himself devoutly as he slammed the debilitated, slaked body against the wrought iron. After stretching the arms aloft and splaying the legs the man chained the four limb straps to the screen. Satisfied with the bondage he then crammed the mammaries through the bars, three rods apart, as Dom Anselme had ordained. Entering the sanctuary with renewed genuflections, he joined the nipple rings and went about the throttling of the breast roots with lengths of wet cord he had brought in a pail. Again in line with the holy instructions received and with an unspeakable viciousness Joanne had begun to recognise as the mark of Lassignac, he wrenched the swollen masses together to join them over the bars. The strangled protuberances, still blazing from what Anthea had inflicted and now pulsing with blue veins, bulged from the tight hemp, the areoles and teats turning into dark magenta lumps. Joanne moaned as the mounds were roped together with a further length of damp rope, the flesh beginning to darken under the stricture. But more was to come. Similarly but using a pair of blacksmith's pincers, the valet seized the outer fronds of the vulva by the rings to stretch the flesh through the bars until the labia met round the central rod of iron. Passing a further length of soaked hemp through each ring he knotted it tightly. The slavegirl felt her slippery discharge gluing her to the bar.
Although assuaged by her orgasms, Joanne began to tremble, wondering in dread how long her corded flesh could endure the bondage. Her terror made her risk uttering a pathetic plea as she waited to learn her further fate.
"I beg of you, noble friar, sweet mistress, spare me... please! Have I not had enough to satisfy your needs? My breasts are aching, my lower lips..."
Her implorings were drowned by Anselme's fury. From halfway down the nave, he seemed to address the rood screen rather than the bound slave girl.
"A heathen whore in the process of conversion remains silent, unless it wishes to be hung head down, instead of its present position. It is against this sanctified screen that a flogged infidel must hang until well after Vespers, so that the miserable heretical body can be viewed by the entire company of our virtuous castle. We shall pray for your soul, misguided sister."
Her face crushed against the bars, Joanne suddenly sensed Anthea close behind her, the strands of the whip straying over the welted buttocks that immediately clenched with alarm.
"By Vespers," the hiss was close to her ear, "your cords will have dried and tightened. Then you can scream with some justification to have your evil body freed. It will be for your distinguished owner, the Marquise Elodie alone, to decide whether to release you or to have you further flagellated."
The whip parted the rear cheeks to drift terrifyingly down the anal furrow.
"As a slave you must inure yourself to suffering. After all, slut, we let you enjoy your foul lust, didn't we?"
Joanne attempted a grateful nod, still trembling at the whip's journey over her.
"Unless," Anthea went on, this time startling Joanne rigid, "the Marquise summons you to the great bed chamber, to discharge special duties."
The prospect and the word 'discharge' were enough to bring a frigid sweat out from the prisoner's brow and armpits; she goosefleshed from head to heels. The phrase discharge special duties, she feared, probably inferred a great deal more than a few mind-splitting orgasms; she could almost see a flogging column, probably sheathed in velvet, and the gleaming instruments. And, worse still, her owner disrobing and strapping on a studded dildo to stimulate her body.

It was by sheer chance that Elodie met her chaplain and Anthea in the long, antler-adorned corridor that led from the chapel to the main building and the drawing room.
"Well, what was the result, dear friends?" Elodie asked pleasantly, her hand upon Anthea's bottom. "I trust it was not too tiresome for you."
"Gracious lady." Anselme reported with a shrug. "A lost cause, at least so far. The profligate requires extremely strenuous whipping and, if I may suggest, a modicum of inquisitional torture, of a sexual nature, of course," - he knew his Marquise well - "to convince the slut of her crass stupidity. And at the same time of the dangers she runs, should she continue in heresy. She does not appear to understand her predicament and the distress she is causing us all. Do not hesitate to call on me noble lady, when further convincing is required. I am at your Grace's service at all times. Night and day." He bowed stiffly with grave obeisance. Although he trusted the beautiful woman no further than he could spit, he admired her and had no wish to be assigned elsewhere by the bishop.
The Marquise guessed what had occurred and what had been applied to the newcomer. In her heart, she was delighted the bigot remained stubborn and recalcitrant; it implied that, as an unrepentant infidel, the slave girl could continue to be used without mercy, which was not quite the case of the others sprawling in the dungeon below who had no treason to expiate. And there was darling Anthea, standing there sweating, to consider; at the dawn of this new, propitious eighteenth century under Louis le Grand, such gifted girls needed practice, just as freshly inducted slaves needed tuition.
"Well, I'm sure you did your best," Elodie purred. "Thank you both. Where, by the way, is the attractive creature now?"
Astonished by the adjective, Anthea told her. "Sexually bound with the soaked cords and chained to the rood screen for further beating - if that's what we have in mind."
"We?" Elodie queried. "Beloved, it is I who decide here. And anyway, I'm not so sure how best to proceed with this one. I'm mulling over certain other ideas. But thank you both for your trouble. I trust it was not too tedious."
"Not at all, dearest Elodie," Anthea assured her. "In fact, it was quite interesting. If you're going to torture her, could I participate? I'd hate to miss that, you know."
"Your attendance at such sessions rather depends on Francis, angel. We'll have to consult him. I promise to bear it in mind. Anyway, I'm so pleased you did well in the chapel. You must have looked delightful, arrayed like that. Now go and tell Simone to heat you a nice hot bath. You're covered with sweat and," she glanced down, "something else."
She gave her slender, almost naked bedmate a congenial smile of complicity.
Without acknowledging the couple's bow and curtsy, Elodie sauntered off to see to the arrangements for the ceremonies three weeks ahead, a particularly important occasion since, among others, the Vicomte de Challens and his mistress had accepted the invitation. Both Xavier de Challens and the obese Christine were demanding guests when it came to nocturnal sessions in the cellar or the drawing room. The woman had, in fact, recently written to Elodie and had even had the Vicomte's major-domo deliver the letter. 'I hear you have two new little redbreasts nesting with you,' the quilled scrawl said, 'Keep them fresh for us, dearest Elodie. You know how partial Xavier and I are to enjoying relatively untrained and unsullied flesh.' A trifle vexed at having her little flock of old-timers considered as tainted amateurs, Elodie nevertheless found the missive challenging. Anyway, she was extremely fond of Christine; she was someone who really enjoyed flogging young slaves; in her residence she wore out three or four peasant girls a year.
The question of whether these dear friends would insist on trying out the hysterical parpaillote Martine, quite apart from the blonde, stalwart Joanne, troubled Elodie. She was quite aware that both the Vicomte and Christine relished bulk and well-fleshed breasts that swung well and responded sensually to the leathers and quirts but, should they ask for Martine to be put to the whip, it could well raise problems. What if the slut began to rant, blaspheme and recite Genevan psalms? Elodie decided the plump novice would just have to be gagged; there was nothing more disconcerting and less erotic than a slave cursing when being beaten. Groans and screams and orgasms were acceptable but not curses.
She decided to discuss the matter with Francis-Etienne in bed that very night. After all, it was he who had chosen the slut out there in the woods and had already, if unexpectedly, flogged and used her in the holding cellar, with adverse results. It could then be decided whether to take the risk of offering her to guests. If he agreed to throw her like an early Christian to the lions, all well and good. But it would be wise to reserve one of the private punishment cells for that. There, without risking a disgrace to the house, they could turn the slut into boiled beetroot, as far as Elodie was concerned; she blessed her stars there were the others and this new Joanne. The obese, sluggish heretic simply did not seem to possess, at least so far, the requisite qualities of a satisfactory sex slave and, after all, the Chтteau de Lassignac prided itself on its reputation for providing reliable, highly potent flesh that took the whip and torture devices well, performed fellatio and cunnilingus competently and orgasmed promptly - when given permission. Such were to her mind the intrinsic qualities of a slave. An overt lack of cooperation on the part of inmates could only lead to disappointment among guests who would then tend to seek satisfaction elsewhere. And there were many abodes, even in the Cevennes and the Vivarais, where responsive slaves could be found. Of course, Elodie reminded herself, persistent shortcomings on the part of a slave could result in terrifying penalties, levelled each Monday on condemned culprits hung naked from the correction gallows in the courtyard, and every Lassignac prisoner knew what that entailed. Yet even that might not necessarily prove conclusive in Martine's case. Perhaps her time with her colleagues was warning her of the penalties and probably the over-fleshed bitch had understood; a session with Xavier de Challens and his paramour, if it was something of an honour, could be rigorous. This parpaillote's breasts, flapping around like over-stuffed saddle-bags, might well attract some or the guests. If not, then there was only one solution - to consign the feckless slut to the conveniently nearby Convent of the Annunciation where strict training, for which Elodie had no time, tamed a tongue and reduced any slave to docile meat.
The Marquise reclined in her high-backed chair in the library and thought.
She found the preparations for a guest weekend always worrying and, above all, demanding, from the point of view of introducing enchanting novelties likely to please her guests as well as Francis-Etienne and herself - and, of course, Anthea, who had produced innovations of her own, some of which Elodie had had to veto.
The same old cellar, the same bodies and the same contrivances tended, she had noticed, to bore some of her more aesthetic and demanding guests. Even if Lassignac lay in the heart of the strife-ridden, parpaillote-infested Cevennes, the guests seemed prepared to run the risk of attending her weekend frivolities, and the austere chтteau had to live up to its renown. Elodie had no wish for her home to be considered merely as a whorehouse or, as one rumour had it, a slave farm; it had to provide what the provincial nobility merited, being deprived of the lascivious extravagances of the capital. Her dear friends deserved good food and wine, comfortable beds and, above all, tempting slave flesh (without dark rings of stress under the eyes) to enjoy. If the remote Cevennes could not pretend to match the debauchery of the specialised salons of Paris and, at another level, the splendour of the new Versailles, at least the local nobility could enjoy themselves in much the same way. It was only natural and kept boredom at bay. But this wretched rising among the unruly Protestants was causing trouble. The more men, Elodie maintained, sent to the galleys, the gallows, the wheel, and females to the Tour de Constance, the better - except her two new girls.
Musing in her chair, Elodie recalled one improvement with pleasure. Some months back, Francis had returned from a visit to Claude-Eugшne, their friend and neighbour - although a good half-day's ride away - with an idea gleaned from his whipping rooms (in fact he lodged his slaves, tethered like mares, in his stables for his grooms to use and whip, pending the nude bodies being summoned for use by their owner).
"I noticed, Elodie sweet," her husband reported, "that he has all his females wearing high-heeled mules of sorts. Not slippers but delicately fashioned shoes of white doeskin. They added, I must say, to the length and shape of a leg. Why don't you adopt the same footwear for ours? The girls will still be nude, even it they're shod. But, believe me darling, heels do make a difference. Erotically, I mean."
Elodie knew what he implied. Indeed, on an earlier visit to the Tournelle's castle near Mondragon, where there was a slave for sale, she herself had seen their stark naked serving wenches, all pierced and chained, stepping delicately about on similarly lofty heels. Francis-Etienne's remark encouraged her to adopt the idea and, summoning the same cobbler she had her girls fitted with the same. After riding up from Nюmes and somewhat surprised to be confronted by a bunch of naked females with purple stripes across their bottoms and breasts, the man measured all the girls for the required mules and delivered them promptly enough; he had quite a store of them already in stock, since the style seemed to be all the rage in the more sophisticated, if still parochial, local centres of fashion. Claude-Eugшne claimed that very similar models were to be seen in almost any brothel worth its name in Paris, particularly those establishments where slave flagellation and what was euphemistically called 'erotic torture' were practised. "And Claude-Eugшne should know," Francis had added, having himself, Elodie suspected, participated.
On the two newcomers joining the throng, the shoemaker had again called to fit them out. Although Martine sulked, Joanne was thrilled, having rarely seen, leave alone worn, anything approaching a heeled shoe before; she saw how admirably they enhanced her and her colleagues' allure and added to their height and swagger. The inmates were disappointed when informed the footwear would only be worn during the ceremonial weekends or when summoned to the bedchamber for whipping and sex.
Gazing out at the clouds drifting over the Cevenol woods, Elodie remembered how pleased she had felt to think she was keeping abreast of Paris. Only Laurent, her male slave (reserved mainly for certain women guests), had to content himself with a pair of cross-gartered sandals. As compensation, Elodie had had Simone pierce his foreskin and clamp in a special ring, embedded firmly enough for the aging Comtesse Evelyn de la Burre-sage - another eager visitor invited for the coming weekend - to use as an anchor when a cock chain was hooked through it and tightened to the opposite wall. Being parallel with the cellar floor, it greatly enhanced Evelyn's enjoyment in whipping the youth's superb rod of stiff meat and, thereafter, having herself fucked, time and again, by the purple-veined, ringed phallus - the main object of her visiting Lassignac. The dangling adjunct chafed and delighted the old trout's vagina, numbed from constant use of a ribbed dildo in the lonely bed amid her sumptuous surroundings up there in the chestnut-dense hills.
Nervous at first, Elodie had had Simone try the novelty out right away in the fitting cellar once the ring had been clamped in place. Spread against the masonry by the four limb straps, his loins arching out to have the harnessed erection chained to the opposite wall, just as the de la Burre woman would want it, the youth jerked magnificently against the haul of the ring-and-chain while the sullen maid brought the cane down on the shaft. Elodie saw that her handsome youth of a slave needed no other stimulation than the successive tugs on the ringed prepuce and a dozen cuts of the slender Malacca rod to bring him off. His glutinous sperm had jetted out in thick ropes across the cell. The demonstration had won over Elodie completely. The appurtenance even seemed to intensify the ejaculation which was, in any event, always potent, especially after a whipping.
"Excellent, Simone. Thank you for helping," she remembered saying and asking the breathless, one and only male prisoner: "Are you pleased, slave?"
The peasant lad had given his owner a broad grin of contentment as Simone freed the shrinking shank. Surrounded by so many metal-encumbered females on stilts, the penis ring clearly endowed him with a new and special status. Moreover, the females loved it.
Still sprawled in her library chair. Elodie also recalled warning her servant. "That will do for now, woman. I don't want him spurting more than necessary. Let him recharge his balls until the Comtesse arrives. And see to it with Coursel that the girls don't play around with him in the cellar, and particularly that ravenous Bette. So chain him well away from them, next, say, to our psalm-reciting parpaillote. She won't dare touch him or let herself be touched. If there's any nonsense between them, use the whip. And talking of her, I don't expect the bitch will be with us much longer. I'm thinking of the convent."
Simone had nodded sagely. "Aye, Madame, that would help. She's stone lazy."
Having done her duty, the faithful servant had bowed her owner out of the holding and fitting cellar, admiring the gait, perfume and the rustle of the brocaded silks.

As now there were only three weeks before the next ceremony, Elodie had scores of preparations to attend to: advance orders had to be issued through Anthea to different levels and areas of the sprawling chтteau. As the date approached the guests' quarters needed to be checked, passages swept, the kitchen fare verified ahead of time and the cellars freshly strewn with straw, the paraphernalia and whips greased. The cells would all need to be wiped clean of sweat, sperm and blood, freshly white-washed and perfumed with stimulating aromas. Candles had to be renewed. Pails of water were needed to revive slaves momentarily overwhelmed by the floggings, bouts of flesh torture and orgasms.