The Mortification of Isabel

by Lindsay Ross

  However, I decided the fair-haired good-looking young man might be the least resilient under torture so I decided to begin with him.

  I led him to the pillory and adjusting the height of the jaws so they pinched and squeezed his cock and flattened his balls and I bound the cross pieces together so that he was immobilised. If I decided to whip him he would have to take the lash without flinching otherwise he would add greatly to the pain.

  The chief had given me use of his mixed race interpreter who could speak English quite well and was proficient in the other tongues used on the island.

  “I just want you to confirm that the white girl is your leader,” I told the youth, sounding very reasonable.

  When he didn’t reply instantly I dispatched my whip to curl round his buttocks, which meant the end licked his pinioned genitals as well. I watched him try to hold himself stock still for he sensed that any movement on his part would greatly exacerbate the agony.

  “You just need to nod your head. No need to say a single word,” I told him looking to the interpreter to confirm that the gesture meant the same to him. He grinned and nodded at the same time. “I’m waiting,” I said.

  The whip entwined the boy’s slender waist to take on the appearance of a belt and he screamed again. “Aghhhhhh! Owwww!”

  “Spare yourself,” I told him. “Say her name.”

  It sounded like bloom or noon and I looked at the interpreter who nodded again. “She’s called Silver Moon,” he said.

  Before I released him I did another drawing of him in the pillory.

  Chapter Six

  Fate grants me the opportunity to fully indulge my passion as a flagellant far from England’s shores and I am able to secure a Confession

  The interpreter brought Moon to me, wrists secured behind her back and ankles tied in such a way that her bare feet could only shuffle along. This was a moment I had anticipated keenly, having her at my mercy in a place where I had access to the instruments I could use with my customary finesse.

  We bound her to the flogging horse which I had designed in imitation of those in the London whorehouses but without the leather padding. She was tied tightly in place with more of the reeds and grasses, which seemed tough enough for the task. In was an ungainly, humiliating position for her, bottom up-turned, thighs opened so that we could see the brownish pink lips of her pussy, and I came to look at her face squashed against the splintered rough hewn wood the box was made of and put my face alongside hers.

  “Confess,” I said quietly.

  “It seems a shame to mark such fair skin,” I said. I wondered what wiles she had used with her owner to escape punishment for there was scarcely a blemish on her soft flesh. I knew I would enjoy painting my own patterns on this inviting new canvas.

  “Admit your part in this sordid business.”

  Her face was distorted by being pressed against the box so it was difficult to read her expression but her lips didn’t move.

  “You leave me no choice then, Moon. Perhaps when I return I will find you in a different phase. The moon is ever-changing, after all.”

  This time I picked up a rattan cane; the palms that supplied the tough stems being plentiful on the island, and swished it through the air close to Moon’s head. I did not place a gag in her mouth because I wanted to hear her scream knowing how much that would shame her.

  Thwack! The bendy cane shaped itself to her contours and left its bright imprint across both her quivering cheeks. No sound from her. Thwack! I followed up instantly across the fleshiest parts, aiming the cane perfectly so the stripes were exactly parallel. No cry of agony. No pleading for mercy. Crack! A third stroke with all the force I could muster. Smack!

  I aimed for under the overhang of her cheeks with a slightly upward stroke of the cane, striking an area I knew to be soft and tender and saw from the placing of the welt that I had struck her across her vulva. The pain would be terrible but still no cry from her.

  I set down my cane on the table and went to look at her face again. A single tear seeped from her left eye, dropped eventually, and left a dark spot on the wood

  “You have courage,” I conceded, “but it is simply a matter of time. I already know you hatched the plot and it was you the others followed like so many sheep, but I need to hear it from your lips.”

  I whispered to the interpreter and his face lit up at my suggestion. He shed the grass skirt he was wearing and I saw his cock was already erect; he must have been stimulated by watching Moon receive her flogging. He grabbed her hair and crammed his cock into her mouth rocking back on his heels with the pleasure it gave him. I lowered my breeches and entered her from behind so she had to accommodate both of us. I took hold of her slim waist and rogered her vigorously. I would have preferred to continue with her flogging but I wanted to find out if the shame of being sexually abused by two men at the same time would undermine her resistance.

  Not that fucking the girl was an unpleasant experience. Whatever her state of mind, Moon’s sheath was well lubricated and her copious juices bathed my thrusting cock. Her pussy was quite tight when I would have expected her passage to be well used since she was a slave. It was a mystery as to how she had managed to avoid being used to gratify her master sexually, as strange as the fact that she had not been physically abused judging by the lack of scars on her fair skin.

  The interpreter was obviously finding as much satisfaction at the head as I was at the tail; he was emitting little cries of ecstasy, his expression contorted as though he was in pain. It struck me Moon was the sort of woman who might bite him but if she was using her teeth he had not been hurt enough to withdraw.

  We came almost at the same moment.

  I noticed the interpreter held Moon roughly by her hair and pushed hard against her so she had no choice but to swallow his semen.

  When I came to look at her face again, her hair was soaking wet and her red and swollen lips still oozed semen. She looked like a raddled illused tart instead of the beautiful woman she was. I wondered if she would now be more co-operative or whether her determination to defy us might have been strengthened by her ordeal.

  “Confess,” I breathed into her ear.

  There was no answer.

  I ordered the interpreter to help me untie her and we lifted her bodily from the horse whereupon she slipped out of our hands and collapsed on the stone floor; it was clear she was greatly weakened and wracked with pain.

  She was not too proud to swallow a few sips of water when I held a pitcher to her lips.

  We dragged her to the St. Andrew’s cross and rested her against its diagonal beams whilst I tied her wrists and ankles with more of the twine we had made. I still did not detect any fear in her eyes even though she was facing us and must have realised we were about to whip her across her breasts and belly. I had no reason to replace the rattan cane with any other implement since it was proving to be both pliable and strong; there was a chance a bamboo cane might have splintered by now.

  I had not pulled on my breeches and now I doffed my shirt as well and stood naked. The chamber was so hot and airless I was sweating so it was more comfortable to be without clothes. My cock was growing stiff again and I liked my victim to see my erection as I strutted about swishing my cane.

  I looked at her beautiful firm breasts again anticipating the welts that would soon spoil their even whiteness and create hard ridges where the flesh was soft and smooth.

  “She is a fine specimen,” I said to the interpreter. “A woman in her full glory. Would you like to use one of the other canes?

  I delivered the first stroke across the fullest swell of her breasts catching her nipples and this time she gave a suppressed grunt and twisted her face with the pain of it. Her breasts quivered slightly under the force of the blow.

  Then I paused to let my partner strike her from his side and he hit her higher up nearer to her throat. The marks we made were angry crimson lines standing out conspicuously against what had been white unblemished fle
sh.

  I thrashed my cane across her belly just above her navel and she grunted again. “Did you speak?” I asked, knowing she hadn’t. “You can stop this at any moment. Just say the word.”

  Moon shook her head.

  I bade my accomplice strike her again and his cane made contact in line with her hips where her pubic curls began. She shuddered and convulsed for he had assailed another vulnerable and tender area of her body.

  I attacked her breasts again for they made a splendid target and this time I delivered a salvo of rapid cuts so that her breasts bounced and jiggled.

  Then, by angling my cane expertly, I struck each breast separately, moving from one globe to the other, turning each one a deep red then purple colour.

  This activity caused my cock to reach full erection and where it had swung from side to side with each exertion; it now remained rigid even when I applied my full vigour to the stroke.

  The interpreter had not covered himself either and I saw he was stiff.

  I untied Moon’s wrists to release her arms. I beckoned to my companion and we stood facing her standing very close. I placed her left hand around my cock and the interpreter made her grasp his with her right.

  “This way you can pleasure us both,” I said, “unless you have something to say?”

  She tightened her fist round my throbbing member and began to frig me as she did with the interpreter. This action on her part surprised me because her refusal would have brought the same reprisal, more torture of the kind she had withstood for so long. It had been the same when both of us had used her body when she was astride the horse.

  I wasn’t sure whether she thought she would be killed if she did not please us or whether she regarded sex as relatively trivial, even a sort of innocent play. I wondered if there were cultural differences here that I did not fully understand.

  Whatever the reason, Moon seemed content to masturbate us vigorously; perhaps she simply felt it was a welcome respite from her suffering. I greatly enjoyed the way she held my member so tightly and pumped it up and down with both force and speed. Many women have no understanding of the way to manipulate a man’s sexual organ but it was a complaint that could not be levelled fairly at Moon. She brought us both to a speedy climax and our spunk splashed over our legs and feet.

  We completed the day’s work without a confession from Moon and that night, lying in bed, I pondered the problem at length. My mind was constantly distracted by images of her breasts and bottom emblazoned with our stripes but I tried hard to concentrate on how we could make her talk.

  Who knows what strange processes take place in our brains when we are asleep but by the morning I thought I had the answer.

  The interpreter explained the nearest English equivalent to his name was William. He was becoming increasingly friendly because of the licence I granted him to indulge his sexual appetites. I wondered how catholic his tastes were and thought my plan for the day would probably reveal the answer.

  We brought Moon from her cell to the chamber and hoisted her with the pulley I had made. I was pleased to see that the mechanism worked and that the “ropes” could bear the load.

  The many welts criss-crossing her body had cooled a little in their brightness and ferocity but they were still conspicuous. She was obviously still very stiff and sore with reduced powers of mobility and looked like a dead weight hanging there.

  We brought the two boys from their cells and made them kneel on the flagstones with their heads down and bottoms up.

  William and I stripped ourselves naked so that we had no clothing to impede us and to keep us cool in the rather fetid atmosphere: a smell of stale sweat pervaded the chamber and the nearby cells.

  I knew a whip would be more efficacious than a cane in the circumstances.

  I stood with my whip in a position where I had a good view of the two raised bottoms and flicked the lash back ready to strike.

  “You can stop this whenever you like if you confess,” I shouted to Moon.

  As there was still no word from her I cracked the whip harmlessly at first to test my range and then across the two up-turned bottoms with their skin pulled tight. Their backsides were not as voluptuous as Moon’s being slimmer and more muscular but I enjoyed having four cheeks presented to me as I liked the challenge of marking them equally. My first attempt achieved this perfectly. I determined not to question Moon after every stroke and proceeded to give the boys” arses a good flogging. There was a nice contrast in having a white and black arse to aim at and to see how the different skin pigmentations responded to the lash. The white boy’s flesh looked the more ravaged but the black boy screamed as loudly. The chamber echoed to continuous cries of anguish and I was surprised that Moon was not moved to release them from their agony.

  When my arm was tired I asked William if he was partial to boys as well as girls and he confirmed my expectation that both sexes would appeal to him.

  He was down on all fours in a trice beside the pretty white boy but instead of taking him from behind he turned him on his back, raised and opened his legs, climbed on top, and fucked him like a girl. I was surprised how easily he entered him and wondered if this slave had been used anally by his master. William was like a rutting boar the way he grunted over his sow.

  When William was spent, I resumed my flagellation of the two boys and had just established a steady rhythm again when Moon shouted something unintelligible to me which William confirmed was a confession.

  He seemed as triumphant as I was that we had broken her at last and that my plan had succeeded. I had counted on her innate decency and the likelihood that she would be more moved by the suffering of others than her own.

  Part Three – Bella

  Chapter Seven

  In Which I receive unusual Christmas presents and am Trained to be an Obedient Puppy

  “Take a good look at your new home,” said a male voice.

  When I turned and saw the owner of that voice I realised why it had sounded familiar. It was John. I placed my hands over my quim but realised this left my breasts exposed to his gaze.

  “Please don’t frighten me, John. Your humour is too dark for my liking.” Looking behind him and then searching the room with frantic eyes, I realised Margaret had melted away.

  John stepped closer to me. It flashed across my mind again that he was a handsome young man but I was in no mood to dwell upon his looks. I saw he was wearing a loose shirt which was open at the front revealing a muscular chest covered in fair hairs, as well as riding breeches and black boots and, most menacingly, he held a whip in his hand. I am not usually attracted to fair-haired men but John was the exception.

  “I have no time for making jests, slut. We both have work to do.”

  “Why do you use such a word to me? I have never offended you.”

  “Look at yourself, trying pathetically to preserve your modesty. Is it ladylike to be stark naked before someone you believe to be a servant?”

  “But…” I started to protest.

  “Place your hands on your head and let me see your hairy motte,” he ordered and mindful of the whip he carried I obeyed instantly.

  “Keep you hands aloft and turn round.”

  When I did so he remarked that his master had made a good job of caning me. “I understand you snivelled like a baby,” he added.

  “Please be kind to me, John. I cannot understand why you wish to ill treat me.”

  “I’ll show you how we mean to treat you. I’ll give you something to cry about.”

  John went to the wall where he freed chains that lowered a heavy looking wooden beam. He stopped its fall just above my head and, pushing me under it, raised my arms and tied my wrists to rings screwed into the wood. He then raised the beam a little and as I swung there he lifted my legs and parted them wide before looping more hanging ropes round the backs of my knees to hold me in this position. This had the effect of exposing my pudenda in the most humiliating way possible.

  He hoisted me higher
still so that I was suspended at a height convenient for him to whip me; by this time his intentions were only too clear.

  “What we require from you is dog-like devotion and obedience,” he told me. From where I’m standing I can see your scut gaping like a whore’s, so don’t try to be the lady with me.”

  He drew back his fearsome looking whip and when he struck, the lash curled itself round the undersides of my cheeks and my sex itself, the very tenderest places on my body. When I screamed he told me to save my breath because no sound penetrated the house from this subterranean place.

  I remembered Margaret’s words about pain and pleasure being closely allied but I was simply wondering whether I would pass out if I had to endure many more strokes of John’s whip. Survival was my imperative.

  The excruciating pain was accompanied by feelings of utter humiliation. As John had boasted, he could gloat over the sight of my most private parts – not only my pussy but my anus was exhibited – and I felt so embarrassed and powerless. I was hung in a position where I could not see the marks of the whip on my own body and I reflected that this was probably a blessing because seeing my wounds would terrify me still more.

  What was my offence? Why had Margaret betrayed me? Had I been brought to Drydon Hall so that I could be tortured and abused, the role of amanuensis being simply a ruse? Did they have some other purpose for me? Questions flooded my mind as I tensed myself to receive another stroke.

  The pause was occasioned by John peeling off his sweat stained shirt. Although my naked body had felt cold when I first entered the chamber, I too was dripping with sweat and my hair was matted against my brow. Not even Margaret would think I looked beautiful in this state unless she enjoyed seeing girls suffer which now seemed entirely possible.

  Naked to the waist, John came close again and pushed me, then, leaving my body swinging back and forth, he raised his whip to strike me again.

  The lash crashed against the back of my thighs and burned like a brand making me yell and beg for mercy. I heard myself pleading with John without a shred of dignity, “Please spare me and I’ll do anything. Use my body for your pleasure. I’ll be your whore…”