The Mortification of Isabel

by Lindsay Ross

  Then there came an occasion when we visited the club at night with Mr. Povey looking very smart in top hat and tails.

  I lay at my master’s feet while he dined and then accompanied him to a drawing room where about half a dozen gentlemen were served with Port and cigars. I was startled to see that one of the gentlemen had his own guide dog for I had not noticed it during the meal. It was a well proportioned young man in a collar and harness and otherwise naked.

  We had our harnesses and leads removed and were encouraged to go into the middle of the room to provide entertainment.

  Both the dog, I heard him referred to as Fido, and I realised we had to behave exactly like hounds or face punishment, so we circled round sniffing and nuzzling each other’s rumps, Fido being bolder and giving me a lick or two between my legs.

  Then the gentlemen began to throw pistachio and walnuts to us and, taking our cue, we went to their tables and sat in begging positions until they threw more which we tried to catch in our open mouths.

  I saw the gentlemen begin to unbutton their trousers and draw them down to their ankles with their underwear.

  We were required to go round licking and sucking their cocks as they puffed at their cigars and drank their Port. They appeared to have no particular preference for either of us, happy to be fellated by either sex. They were quite rough with us as we pleasured them, some pulled my hair, and others burned me with their cigars. I noticed Fido had an erection by this time and I confess my juices were flowing despite the degrading way we were being treated.

  After this we returned to the middle of the room and I was required to get under Fido and fellate him to full erection as he was already quite stiff. Then he came behind me and mounted me, and we fucked exactly like dog and bitch much to their amusement. I played my part by barking a few times.

  Fido was very virile and vigorous and it was certainly not unpleasant for me although we were a public spectacle.

  Two tall servants came into the room carrying a whip with many tails on a red cushion and presented it to the gentlemen at the head of the table.

  Then I was hoisted piggy back on one of the servants, while the other picked up Fido. Now we were horsed, the servants carried us round the tables to be whipped across our naked rears, the whip being passed along as required. The whip was short but the tails snaked round our cheeks causing much pain. I heard Fido cry out then remember to turn his shout into a dog-like howl. I whined like a whipped cur which seemed to please our tormentors. Fido was ahead of me and I saw the red marks across his trim white buttocks knowing my bottom would look the same.

  I thought at this point my ordeal might be over but that was not the case. The servants cleared away the glasses, bowls of nuts, and some of the candlesticks and I was lifted up to stand on the lace table cloth.

  The man who appeared to be directing affairs, I heard him referred to as Northam, ordered me to masturbate and despite all that had happened before I blushed with embarrassment. There was something particularly degrading about performing this act surrounded by their leering faces and glinting eyes; pleasuring myself with my fingers was such an intimate act quite different from being used by one of them.

  I knew it would not suffice simply to poke my fingers in and out. I needed to act the part of a woman utterly devoid of inhibitions, totally consumed by the impulse to bring myself sexual pleasure. I needed to contort my face and convulse my whole body as if in a state of ecstasy. I needed to moan and cry out like someone possessed.

  At times I knelt and arched back my upper body, spread my thighs and let them see my fingers forcing my cunny lips wide open. I surmised they would like it if I swallowed up my whole hand so I obliged them, making the crudest of sounds as I did so, not only from my mouth but from the place where all their eyes were drawn, a sucking sound like that made by a plunger in a plug hole for by this time my pussy was overflowing with juice.

  Later I found it difficult to acknowledge to myself that I had acted so crudely but it was for my own protection and preservation knowing what they would do to me if I did not satisfy their lust.

  Then I saw Fido up on the table with his cock in his fist, masturbating vigorously.

  I was told to lie flat on my back on the tablecloth and continue to frig myself and Fido was ordered to squat over me so my face was between his thighs.

  Soon I felt his warm semen splash over my face as he came copiously and, in obedience to their instructions, Rex pointed his cock at me like a hose pipe to make sure his flow was not misdirected. I tasted some of the salty liquid as it fell on my lips, the rest landing on my cheeks, forehead and chin, some falling in my hair.

  Now one of them picked up a candlestick and allowed wax to fall on my nipples while all the time I continued to fuck myself with my fist.

  It was a bitter concoction they forced me to drink. The pain from the wax was excruciating but it was mitigated by the pleasure I was giving myself. It seemed my fate was to have pain and pleasure so mixed that I could scarcely distinguish the flavour of one from the other.

  I could feel the hot wax coagulate around my rigid nipples.

  Their ingenuity as far as inflicting pain and humiliation were concerned seemed boundless and it appeared to be what drew this band of reprobates together.

  One of them cut two pieces of wick from a candle and placed them on the little mounds of wax surrounding my nipples. By pouring more melting wax around the pieces of wick, they made sure they adhered and with a little more work they shaped the wax into little candles sticking up from my breasts. The candles were lit and other lights were doused.

  “Just like a birthday cake,” Northam said.

  General applause greeted the effect created by the two sources of light in the darkened room.

  They seemed fiercely competitive in their desire to think up new ways to hurt me. One suggested another candle was fashioned to stand on my Venus mound just at the top of my slit and I braced myself for even greater pain though my nipples were tender enough.

  Their games continued well into the small hours.

  Mr. Povey allowed Northam to take me to his room when the party broke up making me anticipate more hours of abuse before being allowed to sleep.

  Northam seemed to have all the paraphernalia of the sadist there in his suite.

  First removing the pillows, he made me lie on his bed and he tied my wrists to the bedposts with lengths of rope he produced from his case. He tucked the pillows under my stomach with the obvious desire to raise my bottom for some form of punishment. It seemed superfluous because I had my back to him but he placed a hood over my head which I hated because it made me feel cut off from reality.

  For some reason, I did not dislike Northam as much as I might have expected given his position as a kind of chairman or master of ceremonies orchestrating the indignities heaped upon me in the downstairs room.

  It is always very difficult to account for our why we respond in one way to one man who acts cruelly towards us and in a quite different way to someone else who perpetrates the same outrages.

  He did not remind me of John in terms of his physical appearance but he had the same single-minded approach to the tasks he set himself. His concentration was total and there was no doubting his dedication to the art of flagellation and I felt if he met John they would understand each other instantly. I had no doubt John would enjoy being a member of this strange fraternity but clearly Mr. Povey had not seen fit to include him probably because of his inferior position in society.

  I am not sure I will be understood in trying to convey my thoughts.

  Some would ask how I could admire a person because he liked to humiliate women and bend them to his will, expecting such a trait to be a matter for condemnation instead.

  I have explained how I felt like a cipher when John used me.

  Although that will sound anathema to many people, I experienced a strange sense of freedom and release when I surrendered myself to John’s will, as though all my hopes and fe
ars, all the fretting that mankind is heir to, the burden all men carry, was lifted from my shoulders.

  If I could endure the agony of crossing the threshold of suffering, I might hope to experience a higher plane: a place where thoughts teeming in the mind are stilled and pain is transubstantiated into joy.

  This is what I had learned since coming to Drydon Hall and falling under John’s influence.

  Somehow I sensed that Northam might help me in the same manner.

  It might be thought I am simply saying that I liked men to hurt me but the truth is much less simple.

  The deep satisfaction and spiritual peace that came to me was occasioned by the surrender of my personality, put simply I was able to “stand outside myself.”

  But the threshold as I have named it could be a place of profound suffering, a vale of tears, as I was about to discover again.

  I could not see what had taken place behind my back but it became obvious later that Northam had dressed himself in the scarlet tunic and black trousers and boots of a cavalry officer.

  He climbed on my back and began to strike my flanks with his whip as though riding me into battle at a furious pace. He took hold of my tresses (for my hair had grown back) and used them like reins.

  After a time he released the bonds around my wrists and threw me on the rug beside the bed, forcing me to crawl on all fours. The hood was dispensed with but I felt rather than saw that he was wearing spurs and I could not help uttering a blood-curdling cry as they cut my thighs. I feared I might be seriously wounded by the vicious spikes but thankfully he did not dig them into my flesh as he might have done.

  I caught a glimpse of him in the mirror and had to concede he looked magnificent in his redcoat; he was totally absorbed by the role he was playing; in his mind he was a cavalry officer and I was his steed.

  We returned to Drydon Hall as the sky was streaked with the purple of dawn but I was still wide awake. I never had Mr. Povey’s cock out of my mouth, kneeling between his thighs with my hands cupped round his balls all the way home and by the time we reached our destination my mouth was sore with the continual chaffing of his pego against my lips and knew I would need to rub salve over them if I got the chance.

  I tried to think of John or even Mr. Northam and imagined myself pleasing them in this way to take my mind away from the harsh reality of what was actually happening but these thoughts did not succeed in distracting me completely.

  Lying on the rug at the side of the master’s bed, I felt restless. The events at the club had stirred me and I felt unfulfilled. I waited to hear snores from Mr. Povey then crept along the corridor to John’s room. I knew he would be fast asleep and there was risk in disturbing him but I wanted him desperately. I entered his darkened bedroom and called his name softly then realised he was coupled with Millie with the bedclothes thrown back and I watched the rapid rise and fall of his naked buttocks as he thrust deeply into her.

  Instead of retreating with some dignity intact, I climbed onto the bed and insinuated myself between them and soon I was incorporated into their love making and John entered me without any show of surprise.

  ***

  My master was now much more confident about my ability to guide him and he took me greater distances on country walks and on outings in the carriage. Sometimes he would visit another great house to spend time with a friend and when we arrived at Baildon Abbey one afternoon I imagined that was his purpose.

  I was completely taken aback when we greeted at the door by a monk or at least a man wearing a brown habit.

  Following the monkish figure down passage ways we passed other men wearing the brown habit and nuns wearing white habits, some with towering wimples. The passages were dark with thin shafts of light slanting from the gothic style windows. The building was meant to look like a medieval abbey but it was clearly a more recent replica.

  Almost before I realised what was happening, one of the nuns took hold of my lead and led me off in a different direction from my master.

  The room she took me was unfurnished and bare apart from a large wooden cross bearing the figure of Christ on one wall and a small cupboard with a row of hooks above it on another wall, the hooks holding religious robes of many kinds, surplices and cassocks and habits of different hues. She told me to stand but I protested that my master would never allow it. Very solemnly the nun explained that when I entered Baildon Abbey I had to stand and be proud that I was created in God’s image.

  “But I am my master’s guide dog,” I explained. “He cannot find his way without me.”

  “Everyone will find his way here if he serves our master,” she said and indicated the figure on the cross with a wave of her hand and bowed her head respectfully at the same time.

  She helped me to my feet and supported me as I swayed from side to side being so unused to standing.

  “Mr. Povey will whip me if he sees me like this,” I pleaded.

  “Hush, my child,” the nun said. “Mr. Povey understands what the rule is here.” She looked me up and down. “Poor naked creature,” she said pityingly. “We must find a habit to cover your nakedness so you do not encourage impure thoughts in your brothers and sisters.”

  She reached for a white habit and placed it over my arm. “I am glad to see your private parts are shaved but we will need to remove the hair from your head as well. It will help you rid yourself of vanity and embrace the spiritual life. There is not much hair to remove.”

  The nun lifted her wimple and showed me her head was bare.

  It was at this moment that I thought of Povey’s story about Matilda. I had the strange feeling I was a character in his tale, not for the first time.

  “Before you dress in your habit, I want you to put this on, my child.”

  She showed me a belt made of intertwined sharp thorns and put it round my waist. “Worn under your habit it will act as a perpetual penance. I wear a cilice.” She lifted her habit high and I saw a spiked chain round her upper left thigh bearing cruel looking barbs and below the chain there were thin streaks of newly shed bright red blood on her unnaturally white skin. I had just a glimpse of her pubic region and saw she was shaved clean.

  My thorns were already piercing my flesh and I wondered how long I would be able to bear the pain.

  “I am Sister Agnes,” she said. “I’m told your name is Isabel?”

  “Yes, Sister.”

  “Do you want to be known as Sister Isabel? You can take another name for your vocation.”

  “Sister Matilda,” I said on an impulse. I had thought a great deal about her when reading her story back to Mr. Povey and she was never far from my thoughts. In a strange way I identified with her.

  “Sister Matilda is a suitable name. There is one more thing before you put on your habit.”

  Sister Agnes came close to me and placed her hands flat on my breasts almost as though in blessing.

  “When girls have big chests we bind them flat under the habit. Can you imagine why?”

  “No, Sister.”

  “Because some girls flaunt their breasts which is another sign of vanity and because they can be a distraction to our brothers.”

  “Yes, Sister.”

  “Your breasts are beautifully shaped, Sister Matilda and it not hard to imagine that men will look at you. Far better if they cannot see any womanly curves.” As she said these words she fondled my breasts and her piercing blue eyes held mine. My nipples became erect and there were fluttering feelings in my loins. Then she leaned forward and kissed me on the lips. “A great pity to cover such loveliness,” she breathed.

  She first separated my breasts and flattened them out with her hands before tying bandages tightly around them and finally fastening the binding with pins.

  Sister Agnes then took scissors and cut my hair as short as she could before using clippers to remove the rest. There was a small tap inside the cupboard and she filled a basin and brought it to me with a bar of soap and a razor. I knelt as she soaped my head and drew
the razor back and forth until I was completed shaved. She took the opportunity to shave my mound and pussy as well, pinching my lips together to shave round them. I thought immediately about what John would feel about my new appearance before considering Mr. Povey and the girls.

  When she had put everything away in the cupboard, Sister Agnes told me I still looked very handsome which I thought strange because her remarks fed the vanity she said should be suppressed.

  She helped me into my habit and then we left the little dressing room to go out into the passage again. Agnes gently squeezed my fingers but the gesture of reassurance would have gone unnoticed by any passer by because our hands were concealed under the wide sleeves of our habits. There were others in the corridor, mainly pairs like us walking in the same direction, some dressed in the brown habits of the monks.

  We congregated in a large room with trestle tables on all four sides.

  Resting on the tables were whips with many tails exactly like the ones used in Mr. Povey’s club in London.

  Once we were all assembled a monk cleared his throat to address us, saying he would explain some of the customs at Baildon Abbey.

  “We are great believers in the spiritual benefits of flagellation,” he said and I looked round quickly in search of Mr. Povey. “We practise self-flagellation and we flagellate each other in the spirit of brotherly and sisterly love.” He pulled his habit over his head and stood naked before us, then came into the centre of the room where everyone could see. He held a whip in his hand which he said was called The Discipline (I remembered it from Laurence Povey’s story) and lifted it over his shoulder to strike his back again and again without flinching. Brother Anselm rotated his body so that we could all see the red stripes down his back.

  “So that is one way we can flagellate ourselves, perhaps the most straightforward way,” he said, pausing at last. “But there other ways which I will demonstrate.” He began to scourge his buttocks and his legs using side swipes with his whip until they were marked in the same manner as his back. He used his right hand and left hand alternately so that each buttock received equal treatment. There were some gasps when he deliberately whipped his belly and his genitals with considerable force.