The Pleasure Palace

by Caroline Swift

  Encouraged by the overseer’s expansiveness, Claudia asked to be told more about Beaucastel, and she obliged, explaining how the throat straps of various colours which the slaves wore denoted their various stages of competence.

  Gerda sipped her drink with relaxed self-composure; she liked briefing visitors on procedures. Claudia was fascinated. She stared at the full, taut breasts, tipped with fine, elongated teats set in smooth areoles like her own, devoid of imperfections. She wondered what the woman was like in bed. Incredibly sensual and voracious, no doubt.

  She smiled and had the naked attendant fill the flutes again before concluding “As you can imagine, we overseers are absolutely not prepared to tongue mere slaves! To spare us that, we organize cunnilingus and fellatio training between the slaves themselves. They graduate upwards highly competent, like your two.”

  Some of the pleasure in listening to Gerda tarnished when the overseer referred directly to Marina.

  “It’s such a shame your beautiful blonde girl, Number 107, who was so promising, had to go and make a fool of herself. But she is extremely gifted. We’ll see how she co-operates during the sequel in the Dungeon later. She’ll probably enjoy it thoroughly. That female has intelligence as well as enormous reserves of lascivious strength. She’ll go a long way along the s/m turnpike.”

  “Tell me about all the cells, Gerda.” Claudia asked to change the subject.

  Gerda uncrossed her muscular thighs. Claudia saw the luscious labia part slightly; like her own, they were humid with a wealth of mucilage as the flesh peeled open, and above stood the rampant clit, throbbing. She would have willingly knelt to take the prong between her lips. She would have given much to sense the overseer orgasm over her face. But, desperate to learn, she checked her desire. Gerda told her that the best way to learn was to attend a few sessions.

  “We have a massively resilient Swedish whore of a slave here just now, Number 102. You should watch her under the whip. Fantastic! Her owners are in China or somewhere, travelling. We whip her to the blood regularly. That is what her proprietors demand. A tough cookie. And she adores it to the full. She’s very proud of her body.”

  “And you beat slaves across the sex?” Claudia wanted the full account.

  “Certainly, just like the males have their cocks whipped. But the best, as far as I’m concerned, is to have a female bound to the breast gallows. The breasts bounce like swollen balloons. We use a riding crop to ensure they are well marked. You should spend a moment, Claudia darling, in Cell VII and observe.”

  Claudia wished for nothing better. She was on the point of orgasm. Then she risked it.

  “Gerda, my dear, would you be offended if I frigged off? I’m thoroughly turned on.”

  “Of course not, Claudia. Go ahead. Would you like me to pitch you off the mountaintop with the handle of my whip? Just say so. I’d like it.”

  Craning back in her chair, Claudia hooked her thighs over the armrests and let her head drop backwards, holding her labia open with her fingers. Gerda smiled, leaning forwards, to help by inserting the leather haft into the glutted oval of flesh that was pulsating strenuously with need. The thick handle reamed into the trench for a moment before rasping the engorged clitoris, dragging it downwards and inwards, grinding the woman with a slow, remorseless friction. Claudia gripped the sides of her chair, moaning helplessly. And suddenly she convulsed and came with a long, piercing shriek of satisfaction that echoed through the Hall. Gerda let the blonde body collapse like a corpse and then revive.

  “Feel better now?” She signalled to the naked serving wench, standing to the side watching the orgasm unfurl.

  “Wipe the lady clean, slut!”

  The girl’s fabulous breasts swung over Claudia’s crotch as the servant mopped up the discharge with a silken, embroidered napkin.

  “God, that was unearthly, Gerda! Unbelievable! Thank you, darling!”

  “Don’t thank me, thank your big clit. It’s very responsive.” Then, as if to revert to the realities of the moment, she pointed her humid whip towards the scullion. “This flesh of ours, by the way, is due to be corded by the breast roots in Passage Seven tomorrow and whipped raw by Vasa before being offered to the warders and valets as compensation for their work tonight. Isn’t that right, Leonora, you drab of a whore?” She smacked the girl’s trim buttocks that had obviously not been scourged for some time.

  The wench bowed obsequiously, clenching the damp rag in her trembling hands. ”Yes, Mistress. Fifty lashes, hung by the breasts, as ordered. It’s my turn.”

  Gerda thrust the girl aside and took up the trend of the conversation again.

  “Talking of sex torture, Claudia - now you feel relieved - I believe you’re having trouble with your girls, as we all have from time to time. Well, I just hope that your slaves escape the black throat strap. We have a special chamber below, not unlike the Black Dungeon you’re about to see, where jaded and what we term ‘trash flesh’ or recalcitrants are reconditioned. We use gorgeous, long needles like the ones your Slave 107 is about to become acquainted with, until the slave is ready to enjoy life and sex again. The girls rather like it.”

  “Oh, Gerda, I’ve always wanted to use needles!”

  “And so you should, Claudia! I’m sure you would become an expert.” She paused, looking at the beautiful dominant blonde before her with an intuitive shrewdness. “You know, there are always openings here for true, dedicated dominants, of a certain class, of course...”

  Claudia listened carefully. The idea of her being part of Beaucastel like this nimble, intelligent woman attracted her; to be given her head with countless naked slaves, male and female, in the entrails of Beaucastel was tempting. But there was Mikhail and her own slaves - something she had yearned for and now had. Yet, her sensual curiosity wondered if she herself could not spend a week or two as a wealthy dominant at Beaucastel. Or else - and here her imagination moved rapidly ahead maybe Gerda and she could form an exquisite team, exchanging roles of top and bottom and sharing the same victims. Claudia imagined the Quai d’Anjou with Gerda present, dressed as she was now, sublime and half-naked, sauntering across the library floor in front of Mishka who would be taken aback at her perfection, his great cock swaying as he observed the tight buttocks shifting above the high boots...

  Yes, the Quai d’Anjou would be ideal, once it was appropriately equipped - and here Gerda could be of immense assistance.

  Claudia described her place to her colleague. The place she had planned.

  The great bookcases could be adapted to swing round, each panel revealing its reverse, hidden half. On one there would be the black, velvet-covered crucifix with its golden chains, chromium manacles and honed barbs to punish the elongated slave body as it slapped against the surface, the sleek leathers slitting the rump...

  Yes, the slave would thrust her fabulous arse outwards, exhausting herself in avoiding the points piercing her arms, belly and thighs.

  Then the real flagellation would commence, Gerda to one side and Claudia on the other, beating the wealth of buttock meat, making the girl count the lashes as the tongues welted the globed masses deserving all the strength the floggers could muster.

  A second bookcase opposite would revolve also, to display the solid phalluses Claudia would have had bolted to the crimson silk facing, so that the victim could be bound tight and penetrated either by the mouth and sex or up the anus before scourging...

  Then there would be the bookcase at the end of the library, which, once reversed, would provide a vertical cartwheel on a central axle... She closed her eyes.

  Reluctantly, Claudia forced herself back to Beaucastel. Gerda had listened with interest to the beautiful, vicious woman’s account or rather what the overseer construed as her imaginings. But certainly the place in Paris had promise. And to Gerda’s mind, Claudia also; she began to admire her determination. And she lik
ed her narrow thighs and neat sex. And the smooth, golden hair down there and along her forearms. Gerda would not have said no to a night with the sparkling blonde. Perhaps roped down and gorgeously crucified on the bed...

  “Maybe you should have a word with the Master, Claudia. He’s very accommodating. You might like to spend a spell here in Beaucastel. You know, we have unbelievable privileges as overseers. And the pay! I’ve almost made enough already after a year to start up my own place somewhere, maybe in Hamburg or Zurich. I’ve learnt all the tricks of the trade and...”

  “Why not in Paris?” Claudia interjected quickly. “Perhaps we could put our ideas together, Gerda dear. As I say, I’ve a huge apartment on the banks of the Seine. Maybe not fully equipped but you could help me to arrange it. Here’s my address card, call me when the iron’s hot and let’s talk.”

  “Tell me more about your set-up.”

  Claudia told her everything, concluding that the beatings would do Marina good.

  “And I hope it hurts,” she added

  “Oh, it’s hurting all right,” Gerda confirmed. “What she got in the Hall, hung like a side of meat, was pretty drastic, even by Beaucastel standards, but what’s to come will really test her guts. As I told you, they’re going to pierce her. But don’t worry, the bodkins heads transpierce easily and almost painlessly - at least after the flesh has been well whipped. And no real harm’s done. You know, Claudia, although it’s psychologically harrowing to be probed, spiked and transfixed, every slave is excited by it. And your 107 is particularly resilient.” Gerda paused as if wondering whether to risk it. “That’s why the Master has his eye on her as a potential employee here.”

  Claudia felt a little shock run like a ferret through her loins. She had to talk to Mikhail. Where the hell was the man, leaving her alone like this?

  Worried and trying to think, Claudia tried politely to ignore her companion’s chat which had reverted to the training cells, the licking up of spilt semen from the flagstones and the accompanying flagellation. Then Gerda let slip the dogs, if not of war, at least of agonizing doubt.

  “You know, Claudia, one should not become too attached to one’s flesh slaves, however servile, responsive and attractive they may seem. If relationships are uneasy,” Gerda went on seriously, “and uncongenial, it’s far best to get rid of your females. Sell them off and get yourself something new, preferably something that has been trained and toughened to take plenty of wholesome sex torture without making a song and dance. Look ahead, Claudia, especially if your Verenka female is bought tonight by the Contessa.”

  “By the Contessa? What on earth do you mean?” Claudia paled and frowned, glancing towards where Verena, stretched back over a dining table, was being sucked voraciously by Ashley, whose lovely nose and chin were lost in the matted hair of the crotch. “Verena being sold? You must be joking, Gerda.”

  “No, it’s true, my sweet darling. At least from what I’ve heard. She’s being sold to the Conte and Contessa Consenzia della Potenza. Apparently they want your girl for their whipping harem at their palazzo in Venice.”

  Suddenly the reason for Mikhail’s being convened to the Master’s presence dawned on Claudia. These Italians were purchasing Verena. Buying her body. Over Claudia’s head.

  Events were taking a course of their own beyond Claudia’s control. She had to react.

  Before she could stand up to leave. Vasa entered, striding across the stage superbly booted and haltered, her breasts freshly powdered and firmly strapped to display their full volume. The customary sjambok, the terror of Beaucastel, swung demoralizingly from her belt.

  A sudden quiet fell upon the Hall, the sweating, coupling groups pausing, rigid penises taken by surprise as Vasa’s usual hoarse voice filled the silence - that voice both slaves and servants present knew too well, when it issued atrocious orders and yelled abuse at copulating or flagellated bodies.

  “Distinguished guests, we cordially invite you to attend the next session of the night. This will take place in the Black Dungeon, which enjoys a certain renown among the more specialized connoisseurs among you. You will be entertained by three stark naked slaves, among them, of course, the guilty blonde whom you have just seen flagellated. All three are condemned to undergo different disciplinings.”

  Claudia frowned again towards Gerda. Three slaves? Who were the two others? Claudia somehow grudged the fact that Marina was not be the sole star. Gerda did not reply as Vasa gave her no chance. The voice grated on

  “If you prefer to retire, please feel free to do so and take with you to your appointed chambers any male or female inmate you fancy. All the Cells below are free and staffed. On the other hand, should any guest wish to indulge in severe flagellation or sex torture in strict privacy, my colleagues will make the arrangements so that you can work undisturbed.”

  Vasa walked slowly along the stage, conscious of the effect she was producing and indicated the six practically naked girls behind her, lined up in the half light.

  “These menials will escort you down to the lower regions.”

  Immediately the female guides stepped down into the Hall, threading their way between the bodies interlocked in sex or relaxing after satiety of both sex and food.

  At a sign from Vasa, Gerda rose and clipped her whip to the belt sloping across her flat belly and hips that Claudia admired so intensely. What a sensuous sight the woman was as she straightened up, adjusting her harness and smoothing the wet pubic triangle, parting the hairs to either side so that the stiff clitoris could protrude in presumptuous vanity.

  “I’ve got to go to work now, Claudia dear. It’s been exciting talking to you. We’ll see each other again before you leave. Enjoy yourself. And above all, don’t worry about your slaves. Everything will work out for the best. Just be adaptable.”

  With that she marched off over to Vasa and reported for duty. Claudia followed the long-limbed, fluid figure with her eyes. Gerda was something else.

  Together the two overseers crossed to where Ashley and Verena were sprawled out, now no longer over the edge of the table but on the rich carpets. Verena was working on the older woman with lascivious lust and energy, her fingers probing, as far she could insert them, into the cunt, her tongue flicking from nipple to lip, from lip to earlobe and thence down to the throb of the clitoris that had thrust back its hood and ring to present itself for the girl’s suction.

  Vasa lashed out twice to uncouple - or, as she expressed it, to ‘deglutinate’ - the viscous crotches that were gaily preparing further orgasms. They were awash with cum.

  Ashley knew better than to protest and let Verena go. Later she would frig herself off briskly and neatly, tugging on the labial rings. She heaved herself to her feet as Verena was handed over to Gerda. Vasa addressed Ashley with a mixture of aggression and deference; she was well aware that the girl’s owners were shareholders in Beaucastel.

  “You go and stand there by the door, Number 90, until your proprietors come for you. As you leave tomorrow, you’ll take orders from them henceforward. And clean yourself up, girl, you look a repulsive sight! Wipe all that saliva and cum off you belly and thighs, shameless whore that you are. And don’t let me catch you frigging that hungry clit of yours while you’re waiting.” Then she turned to Verena and lifted her right breast with the handle of her whip to glance at the indelibly printed number.

  “Right, Slave 106. Special night tonight. Follow the overseer to the Preparation Chamber. Then down to the Black Dungeon with you.”

  Verena’s swarthy complexion, still flushed and humid from the swelter of Ashley’s sex, turned pale like the grey stone of the Hall masonry behind her. Someone had obviously called for her to be taken down to that place of suffering. But who? And why her? And why to the dreaded Black Dungeon? Surely that was Marina’s problem not hers.

  Gerda smartly clipped the haft of her whip to the girl’s cli
t ring, glistening bright with the mingled liquids of both lesbians. Then she tugged once, savagely enough to make Verena gasp; her clit was perilously close to climax and extravagantly sensitive but she managed to control herself. They crossed the Hall, mounted the stage, where Verena for a moment thought and hoped she might be flung across a trestle, roped and whipped. But she was beguiling herself; she knew full well she was doomed to the Dungeon where far worse was in store. And indeed, the couple exited through the same door by which Verena had, without a grain of pity, seen Marina dragged bodily, half conscious, to her fate below. A cold terror invaded Verena’s entrails; yet, at the same time, a strange, inexplicable excitement took hold of her - the wild, delirious, barbaric feeling of being a naked, defenceless and very beautiful sex slave in the hands of torturers determined to flay her, to break her, to reduce her to whimpering flesh... But why her?

  Watching her pathetic girl disappear to be prepared, Claudia became conscious of the lethargic disengagement of the couples around her as they rose to refresh themselves. Some dispersed to the upper chambers and the warm sheets of the beds awaiting them and their slaves; others, including Claudia who would not have missed one second of the hours of voluptuousness offered, strolled towards the studded door that led through the labyrinth of passages and stairways to the Black Dungeon. To converge on the dungeon was to descend into another world like Dante. Unsteadily she followed the naked serving wench guiding her; she trod very carefully down the steep, worn steps, the candlelight wavering and meagre. Suddenly she sensed the heat issuing out of the Dungeon, overwhelming her, promptly bathing the flesh under her cape in sweat, as if informing those who entered that nakedness was more appropriate than apparel. Accordingly, Claudia flung off her cloak.

  Six more paces brought her into the vaulted space of what in fact constituted the principal torture chamber of the Chateau de Beaucastel, reserved for high occasions.