The Mortification of Isabel

by Lindsay Ross

  Then suddenly they heard their mother returning and both leapt up leaving me the only one seated.

  Mistress was greeted by her daughters looking the picture of innocence and her slave looking idle, embarrassed, and caught with a cock as erect as a redcoated Guardsman in a Busby.

  I stood up to bow respectfully but this only made my erection look bigger and more offensive from my mistress’s point of view.

  “My poor angels,” she said. “Run to your room. I am mortified that I left you alone with him but I thought he could control himself by now. I see I was very mistaken.”

  The girls obeyed their mother but I noticed they smiled to each other as soon as they were out of her sight.”

  “Now, you worm,” she addressed me. “What orders did I give you?”

  “Not to get an erection, mistress.”

  “So what is this?” She had picked up her cane and tapped the underside of my cock again.

  “An erection, mistress.”

  “Exactly. Why do you defy me?”

  “I don’t mean to, mistress.”

  “Did my daughters touch you…down there?”

  “No,” I lied, thinking that such an accusation would make things much worse for me.

  “Then you were simply filled with impure thoughts?”

  “Yes, mistress.”

  Suddenly after dismissing the servant girl and hitching up her skirts and petticoats, she told me to lie on my back across the cushions and bolster and she lowered her pussy over my face. At the same time she leaned forward and grasped my cock, pulling it and wrenching it painfully. She had tossed the cane on the floor but now she was able to reach it and use it to whip my belly and my bare legs, even hitting me hard across my balls.

  Her passage seemed cavernous but I did my best to fill the space by fucking her with my rigid tongue while her juice ran over my face.

  I have said truthfully that she was not fat but she was a heavy weight and I felt crushed under her large bottom. She was bearing down on me as if straining on the toilet seat and I tried to cushion her weight a little by grasping the undersides of her mighty thighs. I licked and sucked furiously encouraged by more strokes across my legs and loins for she did not slow their speed or frequency.

  I would be lying if I said I gained no pleasure from the demands she made on me. There was something very arousing in being treated so roughly by a woman, having to surrender to her, be completely submissive. She was strong enough to get the better of me if I tried to fight her off and I was not sure I wanted to despite the pain from her flailing rod.

  However, another part of me rebelled, feeling it was unmanly to be under a woman in this way. It seemed more natural for the man to be on top in the act of love. She was turning me into the she-boy she then despised and ridiculed.

  I was sure she knew my dilemma and was using it as a form of torture. She knew the more I sucked her quim the more aroused I became so my cock grew ever-stiffer rather than becoming flaccid which was what she claimed she wanted. I think in her mind she thought it was an effective way of controlling me.

  My cock remained hard so she had an excuse to go on attacking it with her stick and flogging other tender areas like the insides of my thighs.

  Only after her whole body shook and shuddered as she achieved her orgasm, accompanied by a crescendo of ecstatic exclamations, did she stand up and let me breathe.

  Bertha came up with a plan to recoup the money she had spent on purchasing me from the slave owner. The slave trader was only allowed to keep a small proportion of the price paid by the customer, the rest going to the chief as Slave Tax. It had been in the chief’s mind that selling me into slavery as a punishment also made him money.

  My mistress’s scheme was to hire me out to other women in neighbourhood who didn’t have their own slaves so that I could clean their houses and render any other services they required.

  These women worked me very hard but there was hardly one who didn’t use me for sex as well. They all took pleasure in face sitting, some squatting for long periods while they gossiped or made clothes. Having my tongue up a wet pussy seemed an almost permanent state for me and I suppose I became quite skilled in pleasuring women in that style though I sometimes longed to fuck them in the more conventional way. Increasingly I found myself resenting women for ruling me and forcing me to be submissive. Another common experience when I was hired out was being subjected to severe physical abuse. The women seemed to think a naked slave was there to be whipped or caned and they didn’t want to miss their opportunity. Sometimes a husband would join in and I would receive a sound thrashing from both parties.

  It became obvious to me that Bertha had passed on the message that I should be punished if I had an erection so this gave the women a ready-made reason to chastise me. They all seemed to use the same trick of doing something to arouse me and then punishing me when I showed a response.

  No one whipped me as hard as Bertha, however, because no one had such a strong arm.

  My mistress always asked for a score from the client when I was returned at the end of the day and I was punished if I received anything lower than five out of ten. I suspected that some of the women gave me a low score deliberately so they could watch me being flogged and humiliated by Bertha. A woman who only a short time before had writhed in ecstasy with repeated orgasms as a result of my tongue-work would suddenly decide my performance only merited a score of three or four.

  A favourite method she used was to lie me across the kitchen table and require me to draw my knees back exactly in the position a baby is in when its bottom needs wiping. The client would then hold my legs to keep me in that position while Bertha applied her instrument of punishment to the most sensitive and vulnerable parts of my body. Pain delivered in this manner was far more intense than when I was chastised on my buttocks in the ordinary bending-over position.

  Chapter Twelve

  A Slave Revolt and I Fall into the Hands of a Degenerate Master

  When the women gathered to gossip in the way I have explained those who owned slaves brought them along which meant I met many from all over the island. We usually had a chance to speak to each other at the end of a session just before we dispersed.

  It soon became apparent that the slaves had many grievances and grudges and that a mood of rebellion was in the air. The girls complained about being raped and abused and both sexes had a sense of grievance about the excessive physical punishments and other humiliations meted out to them. Much of this discontent was aimed at the chief who granted slaves no right of appeal and whose despotic authority underpinned the regime of cruelty that pervaded the island. He was the one who cast us into bondage in the first place and he was one the one who kept us in chains.

  Slowly a plan was conceived and I found myself playing a leading role though I had not sought it. By virtue of being hired out all over the island I was in an ideal position to circulate messages and keep slaves in touch with each other.

  A fertility festival was held annually on our island during the spring and our plotting centred on this event since we knew for certain the chief would be present.

  Our leader was actually a magnificent female slave called Moon, striking in appearance and strong in character. Like most of the men around her, I fell under her spell and would have done anything for her or for our cause if she ordered it. We were mesmerised by her beauty and conscious that she was more courageous than many men.

  The origins of the pagan festival were lost in the mists of time long before the shipwreck that had brought white people to the island and it involved human sacrifice.

  The white people, descendents of those who settled on the island after the shipwreck, tended to cling onto Christianity, although there were many who were non believers, and they thoroughly disapproved of the festival because of the orgiastic behaviour of the indigenous people and the human sacrifice that came as the climax.

  The festival was held outdoors on a headland where most adult islande
rs congregated for dancing and singing and story telling as well as feasting and drinking. The activities were shunned by a few dozen of the white settlers (who regarded themselves as devout non-conformists) but practically every other living soul participated.

  As slaves we took part in the wild dancing wearing only masks and brandishing spears in a re-enactment of an invasion by people from a volcanic island a hundred miles from our own. These invaders colonised the island and the population grew enormously.

  Our dance brought us close to where the chief was sitting with his wives and entourage and because we carried spears the event seemed to give us an unequalled opportunity to kill him. The spears were largely ceremonial but we had had them sharpened in secret to make them deadly weapons once again.

  When the moment came for the first slave to hurl his spear it simply grazed the chief’s shoulder and he dropped to the ground so that the other spears either killed his guards or fell harmlessly to earth. Other guards leapt into the arena and rounded up all the slaves who had taken part in the dance.

  In the end, the only point in our favour was that because our faces had been hidden, we threw the masks quickly into the fire when we saw we had failed) no one knew who had thrown the spear that had wounded the chief.

  The chief lost a lot of blood but the cut was not deep and he was up and about breathing vengeance before long.

  We were taken to a stockade where each of us was tied to a post and given nothing but water.

  ***

  It was at this time that I encountered the most depraved man I have ever known. From the moment he stepped into the stockade two days after our unsuccessful attempt to assassinate the chief, he had the most profound influence over my life.

  At that time I was not aware of his name but I soon learned he was Laurence Povey, a man with a worldwide reputation as an explorer and anthropologist.

  It appeared that for some reason we did not understand, this man had been granted authority by the chief to interrogate us after the slave revolt. I was surprising partly because we had never seen this man before and also because we had expected the chief to entrust the task to an indigenous islander.

  Povey turned out to be a sadist who elevated flagellation to the level of an art form, being himself an expert practitioner. By this time I had received many floggings, admittedly most of them administered by females, but I had never seen anyone who came near to matching his skill with whip or with cane. But he was a peculiar man. At one point when he was interrogating us, he spent a long time sketching my cock which I found very unnerving and strange. I had met men before Povey who were attracted to their own sex, especially youthful examples, but never someone who wanted to make such a careful study of my penis. I have said I am well endowed and perhaps he had never seen a cock of such length and circumference. After puzzling over this a great deal, I concluded he was either perverted or it was part of his work as an anthropologist.

  This man had us all at his mercy in the dungeons of the chief’s palace and he indulged his sadistic tendencies to the full. He clamped my cock and balls in a pillory and the pain was almost unbearable to the point where I thought I would faint. Then, when I was held in the cruel contraption, he whipped me unmercifully across my buttocks and his whip curled round to kiss my pinioned genitals so that I shrieked with the pain of it. To my great shame, I betrayed Moon as our leader, knowing I could not take much more of his torture.

  Povey turned his attention to Moon and first he made her ride a wooden horse whilst he whipped her, striving to secure a confession. I was simply amazed by her courage and fortitude under the lash and again felt ashamed of my own cowardice in blurting out Moon’s name.

  Then the poor girl was sexually abused by both Povey and William at the same time. Although I disapproved of their brutal conduct, I found myself aroused by the sight of Moon in this predicament. She is such a majestic woman it was strangely affecting to see her brought low by these foul creatures. I admit watching her being fucked made my cock hard despite myself and again I felt unworthy of her.

  When the flogging on the horse did not yield the results they wanted, they bound Moon to a cross and whipped her lovely breasts, the cane marking her terribly. Povey and his minion strutted about with erections, not that they were particularly well hung, and then made Moon masturbate them until they came.

  The following day they changed their tactics by punishing Rio and me in the hope that Moon would confess in order to bring an end to our suffering. During the course of this degrading episode I was penetrated anally by William. Regrettably, I have to record our tormentors succeeded in their determination to overcome Moon’s resistance, calculating correctly that she was more likely to give them what they wanted to protect others than she was to save herself.

  ***

  The chief give Povey the two of us as slaves to show his gratitude and our master re-named me as John and Moon as Margaret.

  In the months that followed we discovered new aspects of Povey’s cruel nature. He already had a slave named Sheena who was now a half-starved naked creature more animal than human but Margaret had known her as a girl of renowned beauty before Povey owned her. Sheena spent most of the time crawling along the ground and we wondered if she would have the strength to stand even if Povey had allowed it. She followed him like a dog and licked his feet whenever he stopped to talk to anyone, apparently undeterred by the kicks and blows she received. We looked at Sheena with alarm, wondering if she represented what fate had in store for us.

  Povey used us sexually and whipped us for his recreation, sometimes not bothering to allege a misdemeanour. There was no question that he enjoyed flagellation and part of his purpose seemed to be to remain in peak condition with his whipping skills well honed.

  As time passed I formed the opinion that if we did not strike back against our tyrannical master soon we would be so cowed and well trained in subservience that we would lose the will and strength to rebel. When I put this to Margaret she agreed though neither of us knew how we might accomplish what we desired. We pondered whether to include Sheena in our plot uncertain about her loyalty. She seemed incapable of thinking for herself being utterly her master’s creature.

  Margaret and I hatched many elaborate plots but in the end our opportunity was quite fortuitous. Povey was indulging in one of his orgies of flagellation having the three of us suspended in improvised hoists when suddenly my bonds snapped. Our master was so engrossed in whipping Margaret that he did not see or hear what had happened behind him. I reached for one of the burning torches that illuminated the hut and advanced towards him.

  I will never forget his expression moments before I thrust the torch into his face. Whip in hand, he turned towards me and the sight of the flames inches from his face was his last. I did not aim particularly for his eyes but that was where the torch made most contact and I pushed it hard and held it there, all my hatred for the man concentrated in that action. I even screwed the red hot end of the torch into him as he howled and screamed and finally fell over clutching and clawing at his face.

  I used the torch to burn through Margaret’s bonds and did the same for Sheena though it was clear she did not wish to make her escape with us. As soon as she was released, she crawled over to where Povey was writhing in agony and tried to lick him though he pushed her away. His hair was on fire and I just had time to see Sheena throw a pitcher of water over his head to douse the flames. Then I took Margaret’s hand and we fled the scene.

  As runaway slaves I knew our chances of evading re-capture were slim. The island did not afford much cover since vegetation is sparse and the terrain is flat. Although many islanders wear very little clothing only slaves go completely naked so unless we could steal something with which to cover ourselves we were very conspicuous. The island is not densely populated and people tend to know each other even when their dwellings are some distance apart.

  Although Povey’s wounds would be terrible, he would be able to raise the hue and cry and the
chief’s men would be deployed to search for us.

  We decided our best plan was to head for the harbour and try to smuggle ourselves aboard a boat leaving for one of the other islands. At the beach we stole loin cloths from two youngsters who were having fun playing on a raft knowing we didn’t stand a chance if we walked onto the quay naked.

  We approached one of the boats and when the two man crew had their backs to us we made a dash onto the deck and then descended into the dark hold.

  After what seemed an age, the hatch was suddenly opened and from our position hiding behind mounds of fruit we saw men climbing down the ladder. With sinking hearts we realised these were the chief’s men who must have been informed of our whereabouts.

  Laurence Povey could not see his moment of triumph when we were brought before him but he could rejoice and he could take his revenge.

  Margaret and I were never out of irons for a year and in that time we were trained to please our master in every possible way until we were almost as abject as Sheena.

  When the year was over, Povey bade farewell to the chief and set sail taking us with him first to the Jamaica where we were dressed in European clothes and then to England and his ancestral seat of Drydon Hall.

  Perhaps because I had been a slave and had seen so much flagellation I became an enthusiast myself and practised on Margaret and female members of the household. The truth is by this time I was thoroughly corrupted by Povey. In time my master encouraged me in the art and we decided to advertise for a young lady we could use for our purposes though ostensibly she was to take up a position as amanuensis. Our real intention was to train her as a guide dog to give the master his life back.

  Part Five – Matilda

  Chapter Thirteen

  I become Postulant and Penitent and Walk in the Footsteps of Matilda

  After the first outing to the master’s club, we went up to London more frequently and I began to get used to the smell of the place. The club had a distinctive smell as an all male establishment and because I crawled its rooms and corridors on all fours using my sense of smell like a dog I noticed the combination of tobacco smoke and the different polishes applied to the furniture and the brass fittings.