Lena's Fall: Volumes Eight through Fifteen of Lena’s Journey

by Alex Carlsbad

  Whoosh. Crack. Pain! This time the strap lands on the spot she had missed between my butt cheeks. “There — all taken care off. Now you can turn her around and do her front.”

  “Okay,” Isla says and makes to move. This is when I start begging.

  “Please no! No more! I will do anything else you like. I’ll let you all fuck me, you can take my virginity right now, but…please no more!” I wail, moan and whine. And they stay and wait until my words die on my breath.

  “All you need to say is just one little word," Isla whispers her lips gently brushing against my ear. "Honeysuckle…” she whispers.

  “No, no, no…”

  “It's your choice then,” she says and virtually carries me back to the inverted pyramid. I break down in tears and they don't stop until my limbs are fastened to the manacles in the floor again. This time, however, I am tied lying face up words my body arched backwards, with the point of the wooden pyramid pressing against the small of my back.

  Whoosh. Crack! Pain!

  Whoosh. Crack! Pain!

  Slowly, but surely I feel something like mechanical gears actually shift and change in my head. The pain is still there — almost beyond endurance. Yet a new sensation has now joined me. Pleasure! My agony seems to have triggered something in my body and I feel pure pleasure and exhilaration flood my psyche. They meld with the pain and become ecstasy.

  Finally it all stops and all I feel is a warm glow as if my body is on the verge of self combustion. I feel Isla's fingers on the skin of my belly and then gently on my nipples.

  “Good. No permanent damage,” she says matter-of-factly. “I don't think I missed a spot this time.”

  I feel Benjamin stand and come to look. He hefts my breasts looking this way and that. His fingers touch between my legs and I feel him gently tug at my bush there.

  “Good. Bring her over to the table and let's start with the questions.”

  Questions

  For the first time since I was brought to this place, I'm allowed to sit. The chair is straight-backed and wooden. It creaks when I take my seat and I begin to slump forward with exhaustion but Benjamin quickly reaches out and smacks me across the face.

  "No slouching, slave."

  “Sorry, sir,” I say automatically sitting straight back up and looking him in the eye. He has a pen and notepad in front of him.

  “I will ask you a number of questions. The answers to some of them I already know, but I shall ask them regardless. You will answer them all. Truthfully! Do you understand?” His voice is even and almost gentle, but I feel danger lurk beneath it like a hiss of electricity.

  “Yes, sir.”

  "Have you ever had vaginal intercourse?"

  I feel myself blush.

  "No, never, sir."

  “Have you ever touched a penis other than your master’s?”

  My blush deepens.

  “Yes, I have.”

  “Explain, please,” he says and I see him start to write in his notepad. I don't dare look down but center my eyes on a point on the wall behind his head.

  “My boyfriend in high school, sir. I gave him a blowjob.”

  “Did you deepthroat him?”

  “I tried but I gagged and gave up.”

  “Did you swallow his cum?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did you like the taste?”

  “I didn't care for it but it gave me pleasure to see that he enjoyed when I did it.”

  “How many boyfriends have you had other than your master?”

  “Just that one, sir.”

  The questions keep on coming. They are ever more detailed and I answer them all with no hesitation.

  Isla’s Special Gift

  “When a slave surrenders herself to become her master's property, traditionally she is expected to offer him something, a part of her as a sign of her dedication,” Benjamin says.

  I can hear him speak from the dining room as I go about washing the dishes in the kitchen. I am very careful and deliberate as I gently place the rinsed out wine glass on the towels to dry before picking up a plate to wash.

  I am still wearing the black contact lenses in my eyes but I have learned to use my mind's eye in negotiating the contours of the furniture in the kitchen. It is Sunday morning and my last day with my Inquisitor and his wife. My ordeal is almost over. I think I did well.

  I have probably lost ten pounds or more and must look like a skeleton from all the beatings, forced runs, constant workouts and incessant hazing I have endured these last nine days. But I believe I am starting to understand the logic, twisted and dark as it may be, behind the tradition to which my master and his friend Benjamin belong.

  The long Ordeal of Love, the ten days of pure hell a woman is forced to endure if she wants to stay with her master become a legacy that will stay with her for life. No matter what destiny decides to throw at her, a woman that has survived the pure horror that these ten days are is bound to stay committed and strong, building and solidifying her relationship with her man.

  I turn around to face Benjamin.

  “Here, Isla go show her what I'm talking about," he says.

  “Yes, master.” She always addresses him as Master or Sir when it’s just the three of us. I feel her gentle footsteps as she enters the kitchen. Goosebumps blossom across my naked skin at her presence as I feel her come to stand near me.

  “Give me your hand, sweetheart.” Isla says and I do as ordered. Her fingers feel cool and soft.

  I sense her reach up to her face with her free hand and do something there before taking my index finger and bring it up to her lips that she places on its tip in a gentle kiss. I feel my nipples harden as her warm mouth sucks on my finger and takes it in deeper.

  Something however feels unusual, unnatural there. It takes me a moment to realize that where her beautiful white teeth should be, I can only feel her gums!

  “I love blowjobs. I especially love when Isla warships me with her mouth and she knows it. When she read of an old Filipino custom in which a wife would have a dentist artificially extract her teeth so that she can better pleasure her husband, she decided she wanted the same thing done to her. I don't know if words can ever describe the exquisite pleasure of having my cock milked by my wife's toothless and eager hot little mouth. When all is said and done she puts her dental prostheses back in and nobody is the wiser.”

  As he speaks Benjamin has joined us in the kitchen and is now standing close to me and his wife. I hear her giggle playfully and with my newly acquired almost preternatural sense of hearing and feeling I sense her kneel down to the floor and soon I hear the telltale sounds of her oral ministrations.

  “Arrrgh, yes baby,” Benjamin gasps. And I smile feeling happy for them and wondering how long will it be before I can pleasure my master too. But then my thoughts are interrupted when I feel Benjamin's cold fingers on my arm.

  “What you choose to sacrifice for your master is going to be your own personal decision, slave. This dedication to your master is perhaps the last independent decision you will ever make in your life and has to represent your love for him. It has to be special. Something that you not only know, but also feel will make him happy and proud.”

  “Can I offer him my virginity?” I ask suddenly worried that it might not be enough. For a moment Benjamin gasps at the sensations undoubtedly coursing through his body as a result of his wife's efforts.

  “Your virginity is not yours to offer, slave. It has already been claimed by your master. He just hasn't taken it yet. No, you have to think of something else entirely.”

  My shoulders slump and I feel weak with indecision. Benjamin's hand comes to rest on my shoulder and for the first time, I feel genuine sympathy from this otherwise callous and hardhearted man.

  “I am certain you will be able to think of something very unique that is sure to please your master and fill his heart with joy. Listen, sweetheart, I have never seen a better matched couple then you and him in my life. And I have seen
many. You can take my word on that.”

  I hear him as he loses himself to the joy of his wife's mouth as she takes him on her knees. I smile.

  ~

  Lena:

  BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! The alarm’s awful loud and annoying call to start my midnight milking make me jump in bed. I reach out to swat and kill the sound at its origin. By the time I finally succeed I am wide awake and trying to remember where I have placed the pump. Images of the man who fucked me only four hours ago fly through my mind as I attach the suction cups to my tits which – engorged and throbbing are aching to provide for him. As usual my pussy is anxious and I am already wet by the time the quiet hum of the machine kicks in and the vacuum on my nipples pulls them into the plastic eliciting long white streams of liquid to trickle down the tubes into the attached bottle. I lean back in the comfy rocking chair, spread my legs, and cup myself.

  "Ahhh," I moan softly. I don’t want to wake Master who is quietly sleeping in the room next door. My fingers start dancing through my soft wet forest. My eyes flit over to the wall where a picture of Master Branigan hangs. I breathe in, breathe out.

  I start to whisper my mantra, "I am submissive. I live to serve my Master. I love being a submissive. I love to serve my Master. He gives me strength. His word is my gospel today and every day. My body is his to use, now and forever. Amen. I'm a submissive. I live to serve my Master. I love being a submissive. I love to serve my Master…" Half an hour later I am done. I have come twice and make a mental note to remember and change the cover of the seat cushion on my rocking chair in the morning. I pad downstairs to place the two 100 mL bottles in the fridge before tucking myself back in bed.

  In four hours it will be time for milking again, and then my morning routine. One last thing before lying in bed - I wonder whether I should go to the bathroom but decide against it. Milking or nursing my master every four hours seems to have reduced the number of times I have to pee. Oh the small trade-offs… Soon I am fast asleep exhausted as ever. My nipples throb with tired excitement.

  Lena:

  “Lena!” Master's voice comes in loud and clear reverberating through the wide open house. I hurry to comply running as fast as I can from the laundry room to the main entrance. I hold my throbbing breasts in my hands. It hurts when, all engorged and heavy with milk, they flop about uncontained by a bra. But more importantly – it won't do to sprinkle droplets across the floors and furniture I have spent the whole morning cleaning.

  “Lena! Come say hello. This is Mr. Henry." Having turned the corner from the staircase I freeze in my steps. A short stubby-looking man with a big bushy beard stands beaming at me. Instinctively I move to cover myself however useless the effort.

  "She's delicious," the man smiles broadly. His eyes twinkle playfully. “So shy.” He drops a large black duffel bag by his feet and begins shrinking out of his raincoat. Who nowadays still wears raincoats? I catch myself wondering as my blush deepens.

  "Indeed. You would think that by now her timidity might have washed off at least a bit," my master growls. Dr. Branigan looks positively gargantuan where he stands by the other man dwarfing him with his almost seven feet. "Lena, I'm afraid you disappoint me. Hands by your side, and come greet Mr. Henry. He has come all this way from Canada.” I don't know how to respond to that. Am I supposed to be impressed somehow? Yet I step forward and do as told.

  It takes virtually all my willpower to keep my hands by my side. Other than Dr. Branigan, Mr. Henry is only the fourth person to see me naked like that! "H-hello," I squeak and curtsy as I have been taught. Mr. Henry doesn’t acknowledge me but picks up his duffel bag again and looks about the house.

  "You want to point me in the right way, Branigan? I forgot how spacious is your place."

  “Let us have you do it in the living room," Dr. Branigan says and leads the way. "We could use the couch if it makes things easier.”

  “Personally, I prefer something low and stable. A low coffee table perhaps. But the couch will do as well," Mr. Henry replies. I wonder what they are referring to as I meekly follow in their footsteps. I cannot but notice the low throaty chuckle from the short little man that accompanies the bemused look he cast me over his shoulder. "Such a sweetie, so docile and obedient. Just marvelous."

  "Mr. Henry will place you in a chastity belt, angel," Dr. Branigan explains, his back to me as he goes about fixing them a drink. My hands fly to my mouth and I almost faint. Instead I lean against one of the large Ottomans that line the room.

  “No,” I whisper suddenly breathless. “I'm certainly not going to wear any such thing.” My body rapidly grows tight with anxiety. To my increasing consternation my words appear to make Mr. Henry’s smile only blossom larger. This is in direct contrast to the dark frown that suddenly clouds my master’s features.

  "Now, now, sweetheart don't be petulant.” Dr. Branigan hands a glass of whiskey to his visitor and they toast. “It just has to happen," he adds and takes a long sip. His beautiful full lips curl and then relax in pleasure as his tongue washes over them. All of a sudden I cannot take my eyes off him. I am wet! I squirm and press my thighs tightly against each other. Slut! My body is always horny when it is time for a milking which is right about now.

  “But, why?” I gasp in impotent consternation. For more than a month now I have been desperate to be taken and made a woman! How much longer do I need to wait now?

  “Because it is tradition. Because you are a virgin. Because ten days from tonight you and I will be officially joined. The belt is a requirement placed on every future concubine about to be initiated into our society.” His voice is vaguely annoyed like that of a parent explaining something obvious to a child. There is this bullshit about his secret society and its silly old customs again. If there is one thing that I find increasingly tiresome about my sweet master, it is all this nonsense. I find it snobbish and completely unnecessary.

  I cannot contain my frustration any longer. “Your society’s utter and complete bullshit and I’m not wearing this chastity whatever on account of some idiotic custom!” Suddenly the room is absolutely quiet and I can hear the wind wrestling the leaves outside. The silence grows and becomes threatening. I just wish somebody screamed or yelled at me. Yet all that happens is my master’s face – it becomes a mask: dark and immovable.

  “This shall not stand. I fear you will have to be punished. This is simply the only way a girl like you can learn to respect her elders." Tears start rolling down my cheeks. I so don't want to be chastised again! It is only six hours since my morning strapping. I can’t help noticing Mr. Henry who has taken a leisurely seat on the couch and now idly fondles his crotch with his free hand while sipping his drink with the other. He nods sagely as if punishing a young woman is the most natural thing on the planet! By the time my master has closed the distance between us I am already instinctively sucking on my thumb resigned to whatever will happen next.

  "Shush sweetheart," Dr. Branigan says as he gently takes me in his bearish tug and strokes my naked back with his large hand. "I promise you that if you are good and make an effort to stand still for your punishment, I will reward you when it is all done." I look up at him and nod silently trying as best I can to contain my sobs. Pleading has never worked with my master. If anything, recalcitrance often brings only a much despised increase in my retribution. "Good girl."

  Dr. Branigan gently takes me by the shoulders and guides me to sit back at the edge of the deep couch.

  “Lay back." When I hesitate, he gives me a stern look. Immediately, I lay back. Master Branigan takes my ankles and places my feet on the edge of the couch forcing my body to splay itself in two as he opens my legs. “Expose that pretty pussy for me," he says. He guides my hands to hold my ankles for him. “Hold your feet open. I'm going to spank your pretty little virgin pussy now. You will have to learn that disrespecting the Society is quite unacceptable." His voice is much deeper than usual as if overcome by emotions.

  "Oh God! I beg you, please, please, please don'
t do it," I start begging through my sobs. "Please, Master! I promise I will be good please don't do it, please don't spank my… My… Don't spank me there!"

  “Oh, but I have to,” he growls, his face mere inches from my blushing center which even now waters in obscene excitement.

  "Oh, I will be good. I promise. I will respect the society. I swear, please don't…”

  “Hush little one. Be strong. I know it's not your first pussy spanking and something tells me it will not be your last either." He is right of course. But that other time it had hurt so very, very much!

  "I will be –," my sentence suddenly turns into a screeching howl as his large hand makes contact against my soft vulnerable pussy. Oh dear God! How it burns! In spite of my yelps Dr. Branigan continues with his steady stream of slaps, each one more stinging than the last, each one slapping my increasingly sensitive soft lips. Soon my cries become incoherent gasps as I squirm. Through tear-soaked eyes I notice that Mr. Henry has stood and come to leer like a grotesque audience to my execution. My pussy aches and pulses as I softly whimper. "No! No! No! I’m begging you, Master please stop!” I cry.

  “Did my little slave learn her precious lesson?” His hand is resting across my heated snatch.