by Paul Blades
As Diskare stepped back, the girl's face contorted in fear. She continued to beg and plead for mercy, forgiveness, anything she thought might influence this man to refrain from a violent and unprovoked assault. Her voice pierced the stillness of the room. Diskare was handed a long, slender leather switch by one of the red shirted men and stepped back. He examined it thoughtfully, as if debating at how best to apply it to the subject which lay quartered below him. A moment later the switch whistled through the air, landing on the girl's thigh with a loud ‘crack!’ A moment of disbelief and then the blonde screamed in pain. He struck her again and again, each stroke eliciting a screech of pain. Twelve times, the lash whistled through the air and landed on her exposed rear and legs. Several of the blows struck across her sex and her exposed, rear, brown star. Her screaming modulated. As each blow landed it would reach a crescendo, leveling off between blows, but never ceasing, never resting.
Diskare seemed to measure the blows carefully, landing each one apart from the last or other prior blows, striking at a different place or at a different angle each time. Little strings of welts rose on her thighs, with beads of blood oozing here and there, a testimony to the force with which the switch was administered. The room seemed too small to contain the girl's screams.
The effect of this on me and, I am sure, the entire line of women watching was electric. There could be no question but that for the whim of the moment, any one of us could be presently strapped across that very divan, measuring our tolerance for pain against Diskare's ability to inflict it. It was also clear that sooner or later we would be splayed before some master and beaten, tortured, tormented as was this woman before us. The whole line rocked back and forth as the women, including me, unconsciously swayed side to side, back and forth, attempting to contain our fear, tears streaming down our cheeks.
I looked at the woman Carla, as she stared at the display. Her eyes were afire, some secret lying there, achieving satisfaction and comfort in the young blonde's pain. Suddenly her gaze lifted and shot over to me. I knew I had reason to fear her. I would struggle desperately to please her, I knew. And from her look I knew she would take great pleasure in making me beg and plead for mercy beneath her whip.
Finally the blows stopped. Diskare stepped back, a line of perspiration running down the side of his face. The girl's screams subsided into mere cries and then, whimpers. But if she thought her torment was over, she was mistaken. Diskare signaled to one of the red shirted men who, grinning, pulled open his trousers and released his cock. It was hard and thick and, without hesitation, he stepped forward, straddled the divan and pushed it into the blonde's gaping purse.
The cries began again as she pleaded with him to stop. His body slapped against hers, further battering her sliced and tender thighs and rear. He soon finished and was replaced by another and then a third. A fourth pushed himself into her rear, causing renewed screams of pain. All the while Diskare sat in his chair, facing the spectacle, smiling, savoring the girl's fate. The two servant girls knelt to either side of his chair, offering their breasts to him which he absent-mindedly caressed.
The dim lights gave a dream like quality to what was happening before me. The shadows played back and forth as the figures moved around the room, the men standing, waiting their turn, or wandering to the sides, their forces spent. Finally, after the sixth man had spewed his seed into the poor girl's flesh, Diskare rose again. The girl was moaning softly as he approached her. He leaned over her face, his face inches from hers, smiled at her and whispered something that made the girl wince. He then shoved home the gag which he had removed before and then turned back to us.
"A clear enough demonstration, my lovelies? Do you need more?" He approached the line, walking again back and forth like a cat. He stopped before a small, but well endowed, brunette. At the snap of his fingers the poor girl was released from the line. She was pulled forwards by Diskare using the ring on her gag. He pulled the gag upwards, forcing the girl to her toes. It was clear she was terrified as her eyes were as wide as saucers. Diskare caressed one heavy breast and then the other, obviously pleased with her ample proportions. The girl's hand squirmed in the bracelets which bound her hands to her sides, struggling fruitlessly to defend her self. Diskare lowered her down from her toes and looked her in the eyes.
"Well my sweet, what do you think, are you ready for a little dance with me?" The girl practically choked in her effort to plea for mercy from behind her gag. I knew what she was saying, what any one of us would be saying, what we certainly would end up saying, if not now, then later, begging for mercy, offering anything in exchange for the avoidance of pain. It was this girl's turn to beg now, if she got the chance.
Diskare turned magnanimous. Stroking the girl's breasts, pulling at her nipples, pinching them, he murmured "I tell you what slave, I'll give you a choice. You can suck my cock or you can take this slut's place on the divan. Which will it be my pretty?"
The girl frantically nodded, desperate to communicate her choice, blubbering from behind her gag, terror in her eyes. What could possibly have prepared any of us for this development in our lives? Were we expected to stand stoically and take our blows, whatever could be dished out against us, to resist? It was clear to me and I'm sure the other five captives who had witnessed the torment of the blonde girl before us that resistance was futile. If pain could be avoided, searing, burning pain, unnecessary violent pain, what was the real choice? Our bodies were out of our control. These men owned us, controlled us by right of possession and could do with us as they wished. That had just been demonstrated.
Opening our bodies to their fingers, hands, tongues or cocks was not optional. Should we withhold that which could be taken from us at any time? As had been demonstrated to us a moment earlier, the use of our bodies was not something that would depend on our consent or cooperation. What difference then if we could use our bodies to limit pain, avoid it?
Diskare pushed the brunette to her knees and loosened the gag, pulling the cock-like shape from her mouth. He pulled his stiffened manhood from the slit in his pajama like trousers and waved it in the girl's face. Hungrily, the girl pounced on it. She worked heartily, bobbing her head back and forth, kissing the knob, licking around the tip. Her hands were denied her, but she sucked earnestly, her eyes shut, as if to force out the dismal reality of her plight. After all, a cock could be anybody's.
Diskare leaned back slightly as his eyes closed to slits. The room was again quiet except for the sounds of the brunette struggling at her task, small cries and moan slipping out as she pleasured her master. Diskare then grabbed the back of the girl's head and took control. With his fist full of hair, he pulled and pushed her head back and forth, jamming his cock to the back of her throat, pulling it out again to the very edge of her lips. Suddenly, his body jerked, he grunted and pulled violently against the girl's head, forcing all of his flesh deep into her mouth. And then it was over.
The girl was released, crying, gagging, as she slumped to the floor. The men around the room laughed at her distress. Diskare pulled his tool back into his pants and turned to Carla. "Have the rest whipped and then released to the men for some fun. You may take this one with you," indicating me. "I'll take charge of the little one and send her back to you in the morning."
Carla nodded and snapped her fingers to transfer the command to the men who stood about the room. She pointed to the brunette on the floor, "And this one, Mr. Diskare?"
Diskare laughed, "Just give her five strokes on the breasts, she deserves some consideration for her efforts. But tomorrow, send her around and I'll think up something nice."
"As you say, Mr. Diskare," she replied. The small girl at the end of the line, the little 18 year old, was released from her chains and leashed. Diskare pulled her unceremoniously behind him as he left the room. Two of the men had already raised the brunette from the floor and replaced her gag. Her hands were released from her sides, only to be affixed to a chain from the ceiling.
Quickly,
The brunette was released and pulled into the arms of a heavy set, light skinned fellow. As he led her away for use, another girl was released from the line and fastened, hands above her head. This time the blows fell all over her body, her thighs, her stomach, her rear. Each crack of the riding crop brought a moan and cry from behind the gag. Twenty blows in all for her, and then the next girl and then the next. I stood alone watching the last girl but me dance a lively step as the blows fell across her body. I was sweating down my arms and chest, my knees were weak. I felt that I wouldn't be able to stand the blows. But for one time, I had never been struck in anger.
As the brunette was handed off to one of the red shirted men for fucking, the woman, Carla, came up to me. I cringed with fear as she approached me. She took hold of my right nipple and gave it a cruel, hard squeeze. The pain shot into me like a bolt of lightning. I moaned through my gag.
“It’s time for us to go,” she said to me. “We’re going to have some fun of our own.”
She released my left leg from the girl next to me and then freed my gag from the chain that led from my gag to the ceiling. I felt my knees go weak as she led me by the leash affixed to my collar to the door.
To be continued….
Table of Contents
PART ONE: PALIBA
CHAPTER ONE A NECESSARY ATTITUDE ADJUSTMENT
CHAPTER TWODOWN PALIBA WAY
CHAPTER THREESINS OF THE FATHER
CHAPTER FOURA GIRL MEETS HER DESTINY
PART TWOHARRY IN NEW YORK/MARA’S STORY
CHAPTER ONE HARRY LEARNS THE ROPES
CHAPTER TWOMARA’S TALEMARA MEETS NICKY
CHAPTER THREEHARRY GETS AN AU PAIR
CHAPTER FOURMARA GETS IN A LITTLE DEEPER
CHAPTER FIVELOVE CONQUERS ALL
CHAPTER SIXMARA’S SURRENDER
CHAPTER SEVENHARRY’S TALE: DOUGIE’S GIRL
CHAPTER EIGHTMARA IS TAUGHT A THING OR TWO
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