The Mortification of Isabel

by Lindsay Ross

  ***

  That night when we returned to Drydon Hall I waited until my master was asleep before going to Millie seeking consolation. The bites from the callous footmen still hurt me more than I expected and I felt humiliated by being their plaything. Fortunately Mr. Povey had stopped locking the door to his rooms and I was able to crawl out quietly in pursuit of comfort and reassurance in Millie’s arms.

  Out of habit I stayed on hands and knees as I progressed along the passage and that was the position in which John found me when he opened his bedroom door holding a candle. I first saw his hairy legs then realised he was naked.

  “Inside,” he told me.

  It was a few moments before I became aware that there was a woman lying naked on the bed. “You were right John,” she said. “Our little puppy was on the prowl.” It was Margaret.

  The door was locked behind me and I was told to get between the two of them in the bed.

  “What’s this?” Margaret had seen the bite marks. “Has our bitch been in a fight?”

  “Someone at the master’s club, I’d wager,” said John.

  They both began to feel my body and in spite of my pain and weariness I found myself responding particularly to John’s caresses.

  “She’s wet enough,” said Margaret. “Little Miss Prim and Proper is changing rapidly. She’s like a bitch on heat these days. My guess would be she led on whoever it was who bit her.”

  It was strange being forced to listen to them discuss me without being able to join in and stand up for myself. I had to be entirely passive.

  “I think she needs another good fuck, John. Will you give it to her?”

  “Unless you would like to use her first. You could try the new dildo I brought back from London.”

  “Young Girl’s Dream. Is that its name?”

  It was still in its packaging when John retrieved it from under the bed. When he stripped away the cardboard and paper I saw the dildo was fashioned as a thick black cock with a curved shaft and a head of massive dimensions. It was even equipped with shiny smooth balls for the purpose of greater realism.

  “It’s a fine weapon,” Margaret said. “And well named. I’d bet it is this young girl’s dream. Eh, puppy dog? Would you like the big cock in your pussy, juicy Bella?”

  I saw she was tying the straps round her waist and soon the false penis was jutting from her loins looking hugely menacing. It was far bigger than the one Millie had used on me and I was scared that I would not be able to take it. I didn’t need to wait for an order, I simply turned my back on Margaret and offered my fuck-hole like the bitch I was. There was such excitement spreading my legs in this sluttish manner, behaving in such an unladylike way, being totally abandoned and debauched. It was clear just how much I had changed, Margaret was right. All the way from Little Miss Prim and Proper to dog-woman with voracious snatch. Fuck me, I wanted to shout, Give it to me. Now!

  I felt the huge head of the dildo push at my opening and I tensed a little in spite of wanting it but soon found there was sufficient juice there to ease its progress. I thought of battering rams attacking castle doors but none of the language of ancient battles was apposite. No battering ram received lubrication from the enemy. The stout wooden doors of real castles were not complicit in their own defeat. I welcomed my overthrow.

  Yet metaphors of victory and defeat were not appropriate either.

  My passage relaxed completely and moulded itself to the shape of the invading engine. Could an attack that was welcomed result in a victory for one over the other? Were not the two parties equally triumphant?

  Perhaps this is high-flown language to describe what I felt. I felt like a vessel filled to overflowing. I felt replete. Satiated.

  Once again John was required to play second fiddle to a dildo. When I’d been well fucked by Margaret, John took his turn but this time he chose the missionary position and I drew my knees back so he could push his cock up as far as possible. I gripped his muscular buttocks using my nails to scratch the tightened flesh and felt his cheeks rise and fall with the thrusting of his pelvis.

  Then something came over me and I whispered in his ear, “Whip me again.” It was the strong urge to surrender myself to him that overwhelmed me. Spurious notions of equality had appealed when Margaret was using the dildo but with John I realised I wanted to submit, not to be equal. Once more it was a measure of the distance I had travelled since coming to Drydon Hall. I had a sudden image of John wielding the hairbrush and smacking Millie’s bottom and realised I’d felt jealous. This was the man who had treated me cruelly in training me as a puppy but he was also the man who had turned me from a girl into a woman when he deflowered me. I realised how much I craved his attention. I knew instinctively that John preferred to whip a woman than fuck her and I wanted to grant him his wish. I wanted him to favour me over Margaret and Millie or any other woman.

  John could have shared with Margaret what I had whispered in his ear but he didn’t and my words had been too quiet for her to catch. I felt my heart leap with excitement when he told Margaret to go back to her bedroom.

  Looking quite crestfallen, she gathered her night clothes and prepared to pull them on.

  “Go now,” John ordered brusquely. “Dress outside.”

  When Margaret had closed the door, John propped his head up with his elbow and looked at me with a sardonic smile as I lay beneath him.

  “You spoke,” he said.

  “I whispered, master.”

  “I told you that speech was forbidden until I informed you otherwise. Do you think your dog-life is over?”

  “That will be your decision, master,” I said.

  “You may speak to me when we are alone, if you have anything useful to say, that is.” His cock was still hard inside me and we moved slightly at just the same moment and I squirmed with pleasure.

  “I worship you, master,” I said.

  “I demand it.”

  “And of Margaret and Millie?”

  “Of course.”

  “Who is the favourite of your three whores?”

  “Perhaps I don’t have a particular favourite,” he said.

  “I would do anything to be your chosen one.”

  “My little poodle bitch.”

  “Yes, master.”

  “But you belong to Mr. Povey. You are his eyes.”

  “I would rather you owned me, master.”

  “What happened today that you came home with bite marks all over your body?”

  I informed him how the three footmen had used me but in a matter of fact way knowing he would not appreciate any dramatics on my part.

  “You should have told me as soon as it happened.”

  “How could I, sir, when I am not allowed to speak?”

  He moved inside me again, this time thrusting with his cock two or three times. He was just as hard as before.

  “You’re too clever for your own good.”

  “Would you have punished the three footmen, master?”

  “Of course.”

  “Does that mean you care for me?” I was risking a little coquettish behaviour, probably unwisely.

  “I care if anyone takes my…er…our property,” he said. “It’s called theft.”

  All the time we conversed I expected him to jump up from the bed at any moment and carry out my punishment and this Sword of Damocles lent a sense of danger. I dreaded an end to our intimacy but was excited at the thought of a good whipping at his hands, such are the contradictory thoughts we hold in our minds even in the same second.

  “You begged to be whipped, poodle.”

  “Yes, master. I would be honoured.”

  “Here or in the dungeon?”

  “Wherever you decide, master.”

  “Go then, wait for me at the door.”

  He withdrew his cock and even in the pale lamplight I saw the shaft glistened with my juices.

  He came down wearing just his white tunic, legs bare, and turned the key.

  John t
ook me to the pillory that was like built-up stocks so that when I stood at normal height my head and arms rested in the half moons before the top section was lowered into place and the moons were made whole. It meant I was unable to move any part of my upper body and that my back was fully exposed to him.

  In the pause that followed I could not see him but imagined him taking time to make a selection from the variety of whips laid out across the bench, testing the weight of the handles in his palm.

  When he’d chosen he walked round the pillory to let me see the whip and to let me see he’d dispensed with his shirt and his cock was jutting out as proudly as before.

  When the first lash curled across my shoulder blades I cursed myself for my foolishness in inviting a whipping. How could I have been so stupid as to beg for such extreme pain? John came round to look at my contorted features and I saw the sardonic grin had returned to his face. His expression said: You asked for it so how do you like it? I knew from recent experience there was little or no pleasure to be had from the first few strokes of a whipping because the flesh is cold and unprepared. Only when the skin is warm and reddened is it likely one may cross a threshold between pain and pleasure but this is partly dependent on how the emotions are in play as well as purely physical responses. Being whipped by John was a different experience from being scourged by some anonymous flagellant.

  He aimed lower and caught me full across the bottom with his next lash. I liked him to put his mark there and knew I would be aroused more quickly if he concentrated on that part of my body.

  I knew John enjoyed the sight of stripes across my cheeks and I wasn’t surprised when I felt him press up against me, trying to ease his cock between my thighs. Although I widened my legs it was not easy for him to enter me from behind but he succeeded and I felt my juices run like rivulets, so much so that I was sure I was dripping onto the wooden base of the pillory. He must have put his whip down because he used both hands to feel the welt and caress my smarting cheeks as he rogered me, then felt underneath where his cock and my pussy were united.

  He pulled out without coming and picked up his whip again.

  Another lash stung my cheeks and made me cry out.

  Soon the whole area of my bottom would be suffused with pain and I would sink into the sublime state I craved. In this state I was no longer Isabel Dance. I became a nameless thing existing only so that John had a female body to punish. It was the only purpose I served and it was sufficient. I counted myself fortunate that of all the women John could have used he chose my pale flesh on which to practise the potent alchemy of the flagellant’s art.

  Part Four – John

  Chapter Eleven

  I am sold into Slavery and Service Many Mistresses

  When I stood in the slave market there were as many women as men with a serious intention of buying as opposed to being there simply to ogle our bodies

  I am fair-haired and light-skinned and the sun was beating down and burning my shoulders and back. Needless to say we were not allowed any head covering or any protection such as a parasol because nothing was allowed to impede the view of the customers. I was much troubled by flies but because my hands were tied behind my back I could do nothing to prevent them landing anywhere on my face and body and every so often I felt them bite.

  I was sold into slavery because I’d fallen in love with one of the chief’s daughters. We had conducted a long love affair unknown to Jay’s family but when Jay finally asked her father for permission to marry me, he was apoplectic with rage, banishing her from the palace and sentencing me to slavery. Despite the fact that my family had some standing on the island and despite protestations and representations from my father, I found myself the slave of the black woman Bertha Kitts.

  White people are in the minority on the island so when one is put up for sale in the market there is usually a good deal of interest whether the slave is male or female. There are indigenous people on the island who regard owning a white slave as a sign of their superior status. Some consider owning a white boy or girl as a way of redressing the balance because they know who much white people have oppressed other races on other islands and further afield. Stories of the excesses of white slave owners on the plantations in the West Indies and in America were told by seafarers from our own island.

  The bare-breasted female slaves were subjected to more probing and prodding than the men but it was common for potential buyers of both sexes to put their hands under the grass skirts of male slaves to examine their assets. Sometimes a woman would nod enquiringly to the slave owner and if he nodded back she would pull the skirt right down to expose the slave’s genitals.

  I make no boast when I say that nature equipped me with an impressive member and the word seemed to have circulated amongst the throng for many women asked for my skirt to be lowered. After a time, the slave owner took away my skirt and made me stand stark naked, obviously calculating that I would attract more interest and generate more business generally in the nude state.

  Some of the women were as bad as the men when the slave owners back was turned and I had my cock pulled and my balls squeezed as well as having hands run over my buttocks and fingers probing my anus. It was difficult to resist an erection when this happened and more than once my cock stiffened and climbed part way to a full hard on.

  I was in this state when a large black woman came to me and stood with hands on hips looking me over. She was taller than I am with thick muscular arms and large frame; not so much a fat lady as very powerfully built.

  She had a black female servant in tow, carrying a colourful robe, a bright parasol, and a bag containing her mistress’s personal belongings.

  As the lady looked at me her expression changed to disapproval as she surveyed my state of arousal. She went to have a conversation with the slaver and I guessed she had expressed a real interest in buying me because he came back with her to assist in a more thorough inspection. He opened my mouth so that she could examine my teeth. He made me lift each foot in turn so she could look at the state of my heels.

  The lady took hold of the owner’s cane and tapped the underside of my cock for it had straightened and was now at attention.

  “This is not a good sign,” she said in such a loud voice I thought the whole market would hear. “It seems he has only one thing on his mind.”

  “You can soon cure him of that, madam,” the weasel of a slave owner said, fawning shamelessly.

  “It’s disrespectful in front of a lady,” she boomed.

  “Indeed it is, madam.”

  This time instead of a tap with the cane, she struck my cock with force and I recoiled though of course I could not use my hands to protect myself.

  “Get rid of that, boy,” she said. “We don’t want to see it.”

  Of course the more I willed my erection to subside the more it stiffened until it was soon standing firm against my belly.

  “If we can complete our little arrangement,” said the weasel, “you can take him inside the tent and deal with him now, madam.”

  The lady beckoned to her servant who searched in the straw bag and produced her purse. There was some haggling before she reached agreement with the weasel but finally I heard the words, “he’s all yours, madam.”

  My owner took hold of my cock and dragged me unceremoniously into the tent the slave owner had put at her disposal also giving her use of his cane.

  She spoke English well and made herself very clear as she lectured me.

  “Don’t get stiff in front of me,” she said. “It’s an insult to a lady. It’s like you’re an animal with no control of yourself. I have two daughters at home and I don’t want them seeing you in this disgusting state. Keep your mind on the work you’re given, not lusting after women. I’ll punish you if I see you hard and if I catch you playing with yourself your life won’t be worth living. There’s no excuse. You’re not a boy of fourteen.”

  My cock was still stiff but had subsided far enough to be jutting out at a r
ight angle. She cracked her cane down over the shaft and made me squeal; instantly a livid red line appeared. I could not help doing a little dance in the sand such was my agony and she watched me with a scornful expression.

  “Goodness boy, you’re more like a girl jigging about because of a little pain.”

  There was a pouf in the centre of the tent’s interior and my mistress told me to lie over it and raise my buttocks high. Then she applied the cane vigorously to my backside and to the backs of my thighs using the full force of her brawny arms. The young servant, who raised my manacled hands so they did not impede the cane, observed me with a slight smile playing on her full lips and being flogged on my bare bottom by two women caused me great embarrassment. It was also humiliating that I could not stop myself crying out with the pain which my mistress said betrayed me as a milksop.

  ***

  It was soon apparent that living in my mistress’s house was going to present me with many challenges and difficulties. The daughters she had referred to turned out to be very beautiful twins aged about eighteen or nineteen so I now had to walk around naked in front of four women without showing any sign of arousal. My mistress who professed to be so concerned about my getting an erection in front of her daughters did not exercise the simple expedient of making me wear a skirt or other covering. She insisted I remained naked at all times, indeed I did not own any clothes or any other possessions for that matter.

  The extent of the problems facing me became clear one evening when my mistress was visiting a neighbour taking the servant with her.

  The two girls came to sit with me on the cushions, one on each side of me, and began to play with my cock, pulling back my foreskin, and teasing it to tumescence. I was upright in a trice because they were very lovely girls and being touched there was exquisite, complete bliss. They looked approvingly at my full erection and made flattering remarks about my size and virility. One of the girls even bent her head, her hair dropping in a lovely hazel cascade, and kissed the tip and I wondered if she was going to fellate me.