by Celia Strapp
Not knowing what he wanted from me, I dumbly nodded.
‘Oh you do? How delightful. Well, would you like me to introduce you to the other guests?’
I stood still and waited, sure that I had no real choice in the matter. The Duke reached over to a thick rope which hung heavy from the ceiling of the dungeon. He tugged hard on the cord, and to my horror and surprise, the women who were suspended from above slowly began to turn; they’d been facing the wall with their arses and pussies on public display, and now, for the first time I could see their fronts. The women were all beautiful, although their contorted poses and sweat-glistening skin gave them a grotesque quality which I found disturbing but deeply erotic. Who was this man, who could persuade beautiful and indeed landed women to take part in these diabolical sexual games? In front of me was the Duchess of Cambridge for goodness’ sake! She was one of the most powerful women in the country. And yet here she was, reduced to a piece of flesh; a pussy and an arsehole and a large, pale pair of tits, quaking for the Duke and waiting desperately for his dick.
‘Guests, this is Anya, my brand new little harlot. Although she does not know it yet, in a few months she will be your primary disciplinarian. She will be trained by my fair sister, Gwendolyn, in the arts of pleasure and pain.’ I could feel my heart rate starting to race faster and faster. So that’s what the Duke had in mind for me! I was to become a partner, a tormentor, a sexual dominator. I felt a fluttering sensation in my body and once again my pussy began to seep and pulse beneath me. I was going to be the one to beat these women, to touch their pussies, to have control of their bodies. Lust began to take over and I felt myself melting in the Duke’s powerful arms.
‘Unfortunately, at the moment, she is still very much in training. And little girls who disobey the rules and come into parts of the house which they shouldn’t come into get punished, don’t they? That’s right Anya, it’s time for you to get what’s coming to you, young lady. Come with me.’
Chapter 14
Right next to the giant furnace, which pumped heat into the deep pit of the dungeon were a set of manacles, firmly chained to the wall. The duke led me straight to the rusty iron chains and made me lean down as he fastened them around my wrists. I kept looking down at his cock, which remained totally erect. I could see the drying sex of the Duchess of Cambridge on his member, and the sight of it sent little bursts of desire around the centre of my body.
‘That’s a good girl, Anya.’ The chains felt heavy and coarse around me. I felt as though I was entirely at the Duke’s mercy now. He could do whatever he wanted to me. ‘I bought you from that filthy woman at the orphanage, I paid good money for you, I took your virginity, I own you. You are mine to do with as I please. I am about to discipline you for your bad behaviour today. I do it not because I hate you, or because I am cruel. I do it so that you may learn. I’m going to give you an incredible life, do you understand?’ I nodded, feeling undeniable passion between my legs, feeling something like shame but so much worse take hold of my body. I felt the eyes of the watching guests on me, felt their pleasure at my discomfort.
‘Now Anya, I am going to strike your behind with the paddled end of a riding crop. Like you’re an animal,’ I felt his thick hands moving the lacy fabric of my brand new night gown up my soft, silky legs. He pushed the fabric all the way up, over my bottom, and then pushed down lightly on my back, so that I leaned over more, presenting my rump to him to beat as he pleased.
I gasped as I felt the lightest little touch of the riding crop on my behind. He took pleasure in stroking the leather slowly up and down my buttocks and then taking time to trace the outline of the inside of my legs with the beastly thing, before lightly tickling my aching pussy with its tip.
‘Let me introduce you to the principle of pleasure and pain, my dear. You can consider this your first lesson, although my sister will be furious at me for starting your studies early. I’ll have to placate her somehow. Whatever will I do,’ he said, producing an evil-sounding chuckle under his breath. ‘Anyway, before I get too sidetracked, I would very much like you to thank me for each strike on your backside, Anya, because the sensation is so pleasant that it is only fair that you express yourself as grateful to me. Do you understand?’
I nodded. The first time I felt the stinging, fire-hot line streak across my rump, I was so taken aback by the pain that my mouth soundlessly opened into an ‘O’ shape and I shuddered with discomfort. It hurt so much! It was truly like a line of fire, like someone had branded my bottom with a red-hot iron, not a simple riding crop.
‘I didn’t hear anything, Anya. Ladies did you hear anything?’ he turned to the watching women, who shook their heads.
‘Thank you, I’m sorry, thank you my Lord,’ I managed, trembling with fear.
‘I’m afraid that such a tardy, heavily-prompted sentiment can hardly be classed as sincere. We’ll have to start again.’ I felt so vulnerable and ashamed in front of the audience in the room. I’d never felt anything like it. I was trembling with anxiety, and the next time he hit me, I said ‘Thank you,’ so fast that I felt like a simpleton. ‘Good girl,’ he said.
I lost count of the amount of times he struck me with the crop. Each time he hit me, I let out a gasp, and then said, as quickly as I could manage, ‘Thank you.’ And each time I said it, he replied, ‘You’re most welcome, my dear.’ Eventually, when I felt as though I could no longer take it, when I felt that the manacles were about to cut into my skin and that I was going to be permanently scarred by the relentless beating of the crop into my tender, red-raw arse, he stopped. I felt the soothing touch of his hand on my buttock, cool and reassuring.
‘Well done, Anya. You took your first lesson extremely well. You were most pliant and respectful. Now,’ he said, ‘the pain should be starting to fade. But the pleasure is just beginning.’ And he was right. The pain of the strikes was fading to a dull ache, but there was a new, complex pleasure starting in my groin. The memory of the beating was sparking something new in my little cunny, and as his hands started to gently stroke the flesh of my inner thighs, I began to feel almost intoxicated by the dark energy pulsing around me.
‘Oh Duke, that feels so good,’ I said, desperate for something, anything to touch my pussy. When it came, I was surprised to note that the object being inserted to me was soft and smooth, as well as hard. My Duke was pushing his cock again into me, exploring once more the dark, hot, wet cave into which it had already pumped its seed. I looked up and saw the other women on the walls, all watching me with envy. They knew the pleasure I was experiencing. He’d done this to them before. This is why they let him truss them up, because the pleasure that went along with the pain he meted out to them was so exquisite, so heavenly, that any treatment was worth it.
As he beat into me over and over again, I began to feel special, so special. I was the one he chose to fuck tonight, even though he’d already fucked me once earlier. I felt his hands, slick with sweat, running over my pussy lips as his manhood surged in between them, and then he rubbed delicately the little mound of joy at the top of my kitty, making my squirm with delight. But I wanted more, I wanted to show him just what a good girl I was.
‘Please, Duke, hit me again, with your hand, I’m thinking such bad thoughts, I need to be disciplined,’ I said, panting as he fucked me.
‘What are you thinking?’ he said, holding my waist with his hands and sliding into my opening with practiced ease.
‘I’m thinking of taking that riding crop and slipping it in between your cheeks, forcing the tip of the handle into your arse, to see how you like a bit of pain.’ Just as I was finishing my sentence, I felt the white-hot sting of his open palm, battering into my buttock.
‘How dare you,’ he said, grunting, and then I felt him start to tremble and surge and then it felt as though his cock was lengthening and pulsing inside me, the same as before, but so much stronger, like he was pumping out even more seed into me. The thought of it was so intense, and the
pain of his hand was so clean and erotic that I lost control, feeling strong pleasure force its way round my body as I screamed out in orgasmic joy.
Later, when he unlocked me, and carried me back up to my room, and whispered secrets into my ear, and told me I was his favourite and the the best I’d ever had, I felt the feelings which had taken root inside me start to blossom. I had never felt this way before.
And that, my dear and loyal reader, is why what happened next in my story was the biggest shock yet.
PART THREE
Chapter 15
Oh, my poor reader. The things I have now told you, have surely given you reason to judge me. Perhaps you think me the poor victim of a terrible fate. That it is the Duke’s own fault for leading me astray, for plucking from my humble but decent position in life, and conveying me into a life of wretched erotic passion, of unquenchable thirst, and lust for human flesh, in all its forms?
But more likely, you blame me, for am I not a living, breathing, thinking person, who could have stopped the terrible wheels that were set in motion for me upon first meeting the Duke of Bedfordshire? Could I not have pursed my lips, shaken my head, kicked and fought and spat in the Duke’s eye, for all I was worth?
You have already seen, oh sad and sorry reader, that this is not the way things took place. That when the Duke demanded my deflowering, I simply parted my legs for him, and let him slip his devilish cock between my virgin thighs. That when he tied me up, I begged for more. I even thanked him when he spanked me!
It is easy to see what kind of girl I have now become. I dread to think what my father would have made of such a girl as me. My mother, too, come to think of it. But the part of the story that I have to tell you now, listener – the third and final part of my tale – is really, I am afraid, quite the most devastating yet.
You will no doubt remember, of course, those terrible words uttered in the Duke’s underground dungeon. (My quill shakes as I write the word dungeon now, but that is really the only word one can use.) The words he spoke to me, which I still hear echoing around my skull late at night, when I lie between the sheets, hot and thirsty and unable to sleep, being: this is Anya, my brand new little harlot. Although she does not know it yet, in a few months she will be your primary disciplinarian. She will be trained by my fair sister, Gwendolyn, in the arts of pleasure and pain.
Oh, how little I knew back then, about how prophetic those words would be! If I could only turn back the clock, inhabit the body of that naively aroused young girl, and let her see just how far things would go… until I reached the point of no return…
But turn back the clock I cannot. All I can do now, dear reader, is recount to you, in the most accurate detail possible, the occurrences of what happened next, and I promise you I shall not be shy, and shall not spare a single sordid detail, for this is my confession, and confess it all I must.
Chapter 16
The morning after I had stumbled upon the dungeon, having heard terrible moaning in the middle of the night, I slept in late, far later than I have ever done before. The sun was high in the sky by the time my eyes finally opened, and at first, I barely recognised my surroundings, in that strange and exotic bed chamber, with a four poster bed and trimmings fit for a queen.
But soon, my senses returned to me, and I remembered with a jolt where I was, and who I had become. I was a harlot. I belonged to the Duke. My fate was sealed.
I yawned languidly, taking my time to let my muscles stretch, noticing with relief that I had not been strapped into my bed during the night, that my limbs were not splayed out on the mattress, that I had, for the time being, full control of myself. I looked down at my naked body for a while, wondering if it looked any different now that it had experienced such things. Did women’s bodies change after being deflowered? Would my rosebud breasts grow any larger now? Would my slit widen, or my belly fill out with the milk of man?
I put my legs over the side of the bed and searched for my shoes, which I could not find, and then I wandered about the room, trying to seek my dress, but of course the Duke had made me remove my clothes in his study, during his inspection, and as yet, I had nothing else to wear.
I heaved open my heavy wooden door with caution, and stepped out lightly into the corridor, nervous to be seen without my clothes, though in fact most people in this household knew me better this way than the other! I crept down the stairs towards the wing of the enormous manor house in which I thought I remembered the Duke’s study being, but I almost bumped into Mary, who was coming the other way, and I giddily stopped and wished her good morning.
‘Goodness, child,’ she said. ‘I didn’t hear you coming. You must have been prowling around like a little cat in search of its milk! I didn’t even hear a peep!’
‘I’m sorry, Ma’am,’ I said, putting my hands to my breast, and then down to my sex, and then, finally, realizing how useless the whole endeavour was, simply returning my hands to my sides and looking up at her. To tell the truth, I do not really know what caused this show of false modesty, for Mary had not only seen me naked, she had strapped me into the leather straps upon my bed, and washed my naked body, scrubbing my delicate little quim with her own bare hands.
I looked up at her pretty red lips, remembering how much I had wanted to kiss her last night. It was strange. Now that I remembered such things, I felt as though I had been under some strange sort of spell in the night, like I was under the influence of some dark opiate, or like it had all been a dream. But a pulsing, hungry little feeling in my quim began to tell me otherwise. I had developed a taste for sex, my cunny had learnt how to experience hunger, and I was far from dreaming at all. This was all very, very real.
‘That reminds me,’ said Mary, looking down at my quivering quim, noticing a thin line of drool that had escaped between my cunny lips, a veritable hint about how hungry I had become. ‘The Master has given me strict instructions regarding your attire. You’re to be dressed in one outfit, and only one outfit, from now on.’ She walked me to the bottom of the stairs, and reached into a drawer at the bottom of a large, mahogany dresser. Then she pulled out a thin, lace bodice, with slits up the sides, and a slit at the cunny, and she told me I must put it on immediately. She then handed me a small, black, feathered shawl, which she told me was to be worn ‘loose and seductive’ about my shoulders, and a pair of black high-heeled shoes, to ‘make my legs look longer’.
I thanked her and took the outfit from her, but she insisted that she help me climb into it, and she grabbed me by the thigh, guiding my leg into the delicate lattice work of this intricate scaffold, pulling the thin straps over my shoulders, smoothing the lace over my breasts, pulling my nipples out between two tiny holes in the fabric, so that the rose-pink bud poked through, on display, shivering in the cool air and puckering outwards, as though begging to be touched.
Then, Mary reached down between my legs and adjusted the straps surrounding my cunny. ‘We need to make sure it’s accessible,’ she said, stroking the fine down on the lips either side of my slit, inviting yet more drool to slide down between my thighs, making me want to beg her to put her fingers inside of me. ‘That’s it,’ she said, looking me up and down, with a satisfied smile. ‘You’re just the way the Duke wants you. A wanton little hussy, and no mistake.’
With that, se turned to go, humming a merry little tune to herself as she headed for the drawing room, leaving me standing in the mansion’s grand entrance hall, trussed up like the little harlot I was.
Chapter 17
The sound of spiked heels on the marble floor behind me caused me to whirl around. I had thought I was alone, and had begun to allow my fingers to wander down towards the nether region that was aching so badly to be touched.
‘Anya,’ said a sharp, cruel voice, that was unmistakably Gwendolyn. I saw her rounding the corner, in a tight, scarlet dress, carrying the riding crop that I had felt her brother use upon my white arse the night previous.
When she saw me standing there in my brand new
attire, she stopped, eyes widening, and then nodded. ‘A little plain, but you’ll do,’ she said, shaking her head, and then she walked towards the front door of the house and whistled. A hunched, male servant, who I had not before seen, came running at the sound of her whistle, and rushed to open the door for her.
‘Ma’am,’ he said, bowing profusely as she barged her way out of the door.
I could not believe that she’d treated the servant in this way, whistling for him as though he were nothing more than a dog! But yet he stood there, bowed and panting like a faithful old labrador, doing exactly as she wanted! It was most remarkable.
‘Follow me, Anya,’ said Gwendolyn, as she stepped outside, and I walked past the servant, who I am quite sure leered at my exquisite outfit, and I felt my cunny drip even for him, the lowliest of dogs, an old hunchback servant. Not wanting to admit to myself just how terrible my problem had become, I hurried outside and followed my new mentor.
