‘For display purposes only,’ Elvis said. ‘They are just a few samples. Springy birches, superior to — oh!’
Zealla kicked his ankle, silencing him.
Donna Spinks approached, bearing her package; she said the hold was full of them. Abby looked inside, paled, then smiled nervously.
‘Beautiful weaponry,’ she said, rubbing her buttocks.
‘That’ll do to hang your ringleader. Or worse, if she’s whipped to the bone with one of those. Such an arm could upset the whole social structure of New Albion, cause a revolution…’
‘I’m no revolutionary, mamselle,’ Elvis drawled. ‘I just deliver things.’
Abby ordered her female captives roped together and paper bags placed over their heads. She lifted her cane and dealt a blow to the bare buttocks of each female. None squealed. Donnette shouldered the oilskin package and Abby took Elvis by the groin.
‘Now, hup ho!’ she cried.
‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Elvis.
Lady Juliet Gorges watched her soldiers frogmarching their captives across her front patio. She slipped a pig’s trotter into her mouth and sucked at the gel, then gulped her Old Aroostook ale. Watching the nude bodies of the captives, pricked on by the whip of Abby Musquonset, she let her fingers brush aside her robe and touch the gaudy rich bush of her quim, then penetrate the pink folds to find the clitoris. She wore a velvet robe of rich purple, pinned only at the waist and its pleats open at the front; no shirt, but a boned corset of purple, laced to eighteen inches and leaving her massive teats bare and bunched. At her waist dangled a four-foot ashplant cane, and her feet rose proudly on black stilettos. She sipped, while playing with herself, fingers brushing both slimy quim and stiff nipples, with her eyes fixed on Trina’s melons, bobbing and jerking as soldiers took turns to lash her with their butt-spikes.
‘So that is our scapegoat, the cause of all our troubles,’ she mused, to her sergeant. ‘Zealla tells me she is resilient under torture. I’m so looking forward to seeing her squirm.’
She contemplated the lanky form of Elvis, contriving to stroll with nonchalant dignity, and rolling his hips under his blue jeans with an unashamed bulge at his crotch, caressed by Abby Musquonset’s fingers; he grinned at the bare spiked bottoms of his captresses, beaded in sweat and bouncing as they trotted. Juliet rubbed her clitty.
‘I do like Duane,’ she said, ‘but it seems they are bringing a replacement.’
Feet clattered up the staircase and Abby led in her captives. Lady Gorges ordered them unbagged, but still roped, with her sergeant, Donnette Spinks and Abby as guards. Halberdier Claudine Butreaux was despatched to organise refreshments. A feast arrived, with pots of ale and tea carried by a naked slave, her ankles in a three-foot hobble bar. Her bare buttocks and breasts bore livid welts, the same colour as Lady Juliet’s corset and robe. There were tears in her eyes as she served the captives, but she did not look up, and neither Harriet nor Trina made a sign of recognition. The slave was Jewel Persimmon. Lady Gorges invited her captives to chow down.
‘An army marches on its stomach,’ she said, ‘and that’s why your French candy-butts are no match for us. I am so glad you have seen reason, Zealla dear. Cold showers, hot canes and a brisk diet makes us the soldiers we are. Have a mutton pie — mashed turnips, awfully good — some Maine chowder?’
The others ate, but Trina had just a cup of hot tea, with milk and sugar. Abby unfolded the oilskin package and Juliet gasped. She extracted a sheaf of gleaming silver birch rods and began to stroke them.
‘I’ve never seen anything like this,’ she whispered. ‘We must keep utmost secrecy, Captain Musquonset. Any tattle-tales shall kiss the gunner’s daughter…’
‘So you are New Albion agents,’ Trina said listlessly to Harriet and Zealla.
‘She is!’ each hissed.
‘What to do with Trina?’ Juliet said. ‘A show trial, of course, during which Harriet and Zealla shall receive the Gorges Medal. After Trina’s torture and exemplary chastisement, I suppose a punishment battalion, or the nylon factory.’
She touched Trina’s bare ass-melons, now goose-bumped and shivery; her naked breasts trembled too, with her nipples erect and downy hairs in her areolae bristling. Juliet put her fingernails in Trina’s tit weals and clawed gently as Trina winced. Then she stroked her ass, letting her fingers rest inside the ridged welts of flogging. She put a hand into the flaps of her own cunt, pinching the skin from the inside, and squirted a plume of come from her gash. She giggled and began to masturbate her clitoris with firm, slow strokes as she touched Trina’s shivering flesh. Her hand went to Trina’s cunt, parted the flaps and delved in the pouch; Juliet brought her fingers out wet, and put them in Trina’s mouth.
‘Such a lovely specimen,’ she murmured, ‘already wet at the thought of naked flogging. A true submissive slut… I shall enjoy watching your naked fesses wriggle, Trina, precious, and the tears in your eyes as my whips flail you — it shall be very painful — and your shame at your golden rain as you piss yourself on my cannon. Beauty unwhipped is not true beauty and whipping, unless of beauty, is not true whipping. As for Elvis —’ she reached out and stroked the bulge at his groin, which swelled to her touch, at the same time parting her robe as she masturbated her naked clit ‘— males are always useful, in their way. Nevertheless, someone must kiss the gunner’s daughter.’
Drip, drip, drip…
‘Ahh…’ Trina sobbed. ‘Please, no…’
There cannot be so much pain in this world…
Drip, drip, drip…
‘Ahh!’
The dungeon echoed to her scream. She could not see through the tears blurring her eyes as she hung, naked and upside down, beneath the cauldron of melted wax, continually replenished by the ring of candles.
‘Save your voice for your birching, mamselle,’ said Zealla.
Nude, but for a seventeen-inch purple corset and high jackboots, she poured the wax into Trina’s exposed holes: anus and quim, pegged open by surgical speculums. Both orifices were half-full of the solidifying wax. Harriet held the cauldron on her shoulders. Lady Juliet Gorges and Abby Musquonset looked on, gashes bare and masturbating each other while their fingers played on the groin of Elvis’s jeans.
‘My ambassador is returning from New Arras via Biloxi,’ said Lady Juliet. ‘He shall join us at any moment.’
‘That varmint!’ hissed Elvis.
Zealla looked at him with an icy stare.
‘I hear Duane is no different from you, sir. A pimp that fucks any woman’s hole. Higher, Harriet. Yes…’
She sluiced wax into Trina’s cunt, ignoring Lady Juliet’s frown.
‘Ah! Ah! For pity’s sake…!’ Trina screamed.
‘Is hot wax awful inside your cunt? Just tell us where the treasure is,’ said Juliet. ‘The treasure of Mamselle Flageolet. That’s what you were sent to Louisiana for, isn’t it? Your birching will go easier, yet not without glory — it will be the first birching on the cannon.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Birch her,’ snapped Lady Juliet.
Harriet tipped the cauldron so that hot wax dripped on to Trina’s quivering bare nipples; the torture continued until Trina’s cunt and anus overflowed with lava-like furls of solidified wax and her breasts quivered under a two-inch crust. The wax dribbled over her titties on to her belly and also down her back, until her whole torso was encased in a waxen sheath with its tendrils grasping her neck and chin. Moaning and crying, she was lowered to the floor, gyved in hobble bars at wrists and ankles and made to stumble, buttock-whipped by the canes of halberdiers Spinks and Butreaux, until she emerged on to the patio.
On the parade ground, the national guard of New Albion stood stiffly at attention, facing the cannon overlooking the sea — the gunner’s daughter. Trina stumbled through the ranks of spiked buttocks, wincing as Donnette’s cane flicked the nubbin of her spine or the edge of her top fesse. She cried out only once, when a soldier suddenly swivelle
d and slapped Trina right across the bare with her full buttockload of quivering spikes, then turned to leer. It was Devora Dykes. Beside her, also smiling, was the nude, spiked Cindi Kock. Pouring with sweat, Trina hobbled up the hillock and, wailing, allowed herself to be divested of her hobbles, then hogtied naked to the gun barrel, her thighs and arms spread so that her wrists and ankles met beneath it, knotted in a single rope. The high noon sun beat on her uncovered head and she wriggled as the heated gunmetal burned her naked titties, squashed against it, and melted her waxen crust. As she squirmed, driblets of wax sprayed from her filled cunt and butthole.
‘Troops,’ announced Lady Juliet, ‘you will see how New Albion punishes malfeasants, and by a device of their own importation. The saboteuse of New Arras thought herself invincible with this new weapon — but it is now ours. Our Maine birches are still standard infantry weapon, of course, but our shock troops shall bear the new springy birch.’
She turned to Zealla, in the cluster of maids overlooking Trina’s bare ass, as well as Elvis and Duane Carvalho, both stripped to the waist and chewing tobacco.
‘You must return and ensure the export of your entire stock, Zealla. You, Harriet, must seize the supply lines, wherever these items come from. The malfeasant, her nom de guerre Trina Guelph, shall receive an unlimited flogging, whipped to the bone, until she reveals the state secret of the Arrasiennes — the location of their purloined treasure, rightfully the property of New Albion. My troops, we shall break the candy-butts.’
‘Hail Gorges!’ roared the soldier girls.
‘I swear, I don’t know what you mean,’ Trina blurted.
‘Let the whipping commence. Whip her hard, hangman.’
Swish!
‘Ahh…’
The birch rods descended full across Trina’s naked buttocks. They clenched frantically, and her legs stiffened as she screamed. Duane Carvalho chewed laconically as he raised his arm for the second stroke.
Swish!
‘Ahh! No…!’
Swish!
A tattoo of livid crimson weals adorned the whole expanse of Trina’s bare buttocks, which writhed and wriggled, slamming her cunt against the gun barrel. The springy birch’s length and its long handle allowed Duane to flog from four feet, thus maximising the impact of his strokes on the unprotected bare flesh.
Swish! Swish!
‘Oh…! Oh!’
Trina gasped, her buttocks and spine flailing on the hot metal as her cunt slammed repeatedly on to the gun, and her cleft deepened in the frantic clenching of her wealed ass-cheeks. The birch crackled. Swish! Swish!
‘Ahh!’
Juliet’s eyes met Zealla’s and turned away; both had their hands at bare quims, and frotted clitty, while Harriet, nose close to Trina’s squirming ass-cleft, joyously masturbated with a full four fingers stroking inside her wet cunt-pouch.
‘All you have to do is tell us where the treasure is,’ Juliet hissed. ‘Then, you may have an endstroke at a hundred. A mere hundred with birch on bare! Mild chastisement, for a vile, submissive slut.’
Swish! Swish! Swish!
‘Ahh!’
Trina’s buttocks squirmed bright red; her cunt hissed and she expelled a powerful jet of golden piss, streaking the shiny gunmetal and splattering Lady Juliet’s toes.
She made a moue of distaste. ‘So that is your answer,’ she spat.
Swish!
‘Uh…uh…’
‘The treasure?’
Swish!
‘Ohh! Lady Juliet, I’d tell you if I knew. Please stop my beating. It smarts worse than anything I’ve known.’
Swish!
‘Ahh!’
Trina’s squirming bare mottled to purple, the birch rods imprinting the bare satin flesh with a lattice of deep weals. Duane continued the beating until Trina’s whole buttock-flesh, and the tops of her thighs, halfway to her knees, were covered in vicious dark welts. Trina gazed at the monstrous bulge in Elvis Lesieur’s jeans and, as the birch strokes rained on her helpless bare ass, a stream of come began to slime the gunmetal beneath her twitching cunt-basin. Zealla, Harriet and Juliet continued to masturbate while the troops stood stock still at attention, their nude, sweating bodies gleaming in the sun and juice seeping from their shaven cunts. At the eightieth stroke Juliet, still fingering her throbbing, extruded clitty, bent to Trina’s ear and asked her real purpose in coming to New Arras, if not to find treasure. Trina did not answer.
Swish!
‘Oh…’
Swish!
‘Ohh…’
‘Tell me, Trina. Fess up, and you could rise above the nylon factory. You could be on my personal staff and wear nylons… many pairs! Why did you come to Arras? We could continue birching your bare back — another first…’
Swish! Swish!’
Trina’s buttocks flamed dark crimson, streaked with rapidly crusting purple ridges; a steady stream of come flowed from beneath her soaked pubic forest. Her hips writhed, in the bath of her cunt-slime.
Swish!
‘Ahh! It hurts… so… much…’
‘Why, Trina?’
Juliet’s fingers twitched her red, throbbing clitty as come poured from her gash; Zealla had her fingers inside Harriet’s cunt as Harriet thumbed Zealla’s extruded clit. Both girls gushed with come.
Swish!
‘Oh!’
‘Why?’
Swish! Swish! Swish!
‘Ohh…!’
A naked birching… If only I could see myself…
Trina’s back arched and her buttocks rose to slam her clitoris against the metal; her throat bubbled in squeals as her belly heaved, fluttered and mashed her dripping cunt and extruded stiff clitty against the gun in a pool of her own flowing come. Drool slimed her lips and she sobbed more and more shrilly; then her sobs rose to piercing cries of orgasm. Duane splattered her asshole and cunt-lips with a jet of tobacco juice that mingled with her come in a brown oily stream.
‘Submissive fuckin’ bitch, huh? Whup her ass, she wets her panties, and comes too! Let’s birch that pretty little girl-ass. Right, Elvis?’
‘Let’s do it, Duane. I’m just the mailman, mind.’ Elvis shrugged, grasping a second birch.
The two males birched Trina’s shuddering bare body, Duane working on the buttocks and thighs, while Elvis took the shoulders and mid-back. Swish! Swish!
‘Ahhh…!’ screamed Trina; then sobbed, ‘Is there no end?’
‘No, bitch,’ spat Juliet. ‘Duane, birch her square on the asshole. She’s had so many cocks in there — Elvis mustn’t look, or he’ll see his second home damaged.’
Swish! Swish! The birch crackled on Trina’s cunt-lips and anal pucker. Trina’s melons clenched violently and she wailed, her wail descending to a choked, whimpering sob as the birch lashed her pucker and gash again.
‘What did you say?’ Zealla hissed, her face pale.
Juliet turned to her with a sneer.
‘Why everybody on the seven seas knows, missy. Your Elvis isn’t exactly yours…’
‘And your Portuguese man o’ war? My asshole could tell his meat in the dark.’
‘You fucking whore,’ cried Juliet, leaping on Zealla and flooring her, with her knee slamming her groin and a flurry of slaps clawing her titties.
Howling and spitting, Zealla head-butted her assailant. Both females struggled, naked, at the base of the cannon, while the troops looked on, lips unsmiling. Swish! Swish! Birch sheaves crackling drily, Elvis and Duane continued to flog Trina’s wriggling bare, but with faces solemnly turned to the catspat. After several minutes of combat, both females were covered in sweat, dirt and bruises. Elvis and Duane exchanged glances. Together, the males pinioned the spatters by their necks, their boots grinding their faces into the dust. Elvis laid down his birch, which Trina’s skin had half denuded of twigs. He picked up Lady Juliet by the hips and slammed her down on the wide gunmetal with her bare ass flailing and raised. Duane lifted Zealla and put her on the gun beside Juliet. Both girls had their wr
ists pinioned by a hobble, locking them together, and the males opened their jeans. Duane wrenched Zealla’s hair and squashed her nose into Trina’s wet cunt-lips.
‘Oh, stop,’ groaned Juliet as Elvis plunged his cock into her anus. ‘It hurts so.’
‘Lick good, bitch lesbian,’ snarled Duane as he began to buttfuck Zealla, his thrusts slamming her face against Trina’s gash.
Trina began to squirm as Zealla’s probing tongue entered her cunt-pouch.
‘Stop, stop,’ Zealla moaned, her lips and tongue slopped in Trina’s gushing cunt-juice.
At a hard thrust from her buttfucker, Zealla bit the swollen gash-flaps; Trina screamed and a golden flood of piss, mixed with oily come, squirted over Zealla’s face. Duane pulled her head back and Elvis thrust Juliet against the piss-soaked cunt.
‘Swallow, whore,’ he murmured.
His loins bucked as his massive cock, slimed with Juliet’s ass-grease, penetrated her anal elastic, withdrawing fully before each penetration and causing her to scream at each new ramming as her mouth drooled with Trina’s come and piss.
‘Oh! Oh! It hurts! Oh, sir, it’s so good.’
‘Oh, yeah,’ whimpered Zealla, her ass writhing under Duane’s buttfucking. ‘Fuck my ass, sir, hard.’
Both females were buttfucked for over twenty minutes, bringing both of them to orgasm, while their alternate tonguings of Trina’s birched cunt brought her off twice more. Duane pulled Zealla’s head away and withdrew his cock from her asshole, then thrust her lips around his engorged glans, pushing until she took his ass-greased cock to the back of her throat. Her head began to bob like a pigeon’s as she sucked his cock; Elvis treated Lady Juliet the same, pushing his peehole into each of her nostrils before ramming his helmet and shaft into her mouth, and getting his glans deep in her throat. Lady Juliet gurgled as her lips, greased by her own slime, fellated the monstrous organ. Crack! Crack! Both asses writhed as the males spurred the fellatrixes with spanks. The males grunted, and copious creamy sperm frothed at the mouths of Juliet and Zealla, their bare buttocks red with livid spankmarks. Harriet leaped on to the crest of the hillock, brandishing a springy birch.
Belle Submission Page 25
