The Pleasure Palace

by Caroline Swift

  “We’ll see about that, my dear, between the columns next week in Paris.” Claudia dragged with rage on the girl’s clit ring, twisting it cruelly. She was confounded by her slave’s effrontery, moreover in the earshot of other guests. “You despicable whore,” she cried, her adrenaline pumping.

  Marina screamed out again, even louder. “It’s you, the whore! That’s what you were born to be.” She was choking with fury, her breasts rising and falling rapidly, the sweat beginning to run from her armpits. Then the girl heaved herself up higher and spat.

  Slowly the saliva slid, like semen, over Claudia’s downy cheek. The slave had spat at her. At her, Claudia!

  The reaction was as fierce and sudden as it was unpremeditated; it stilled the low hum of conversation among the onlookers and the sound of Marie-Laure dutifully fellating the rampant cock of a male guest spread out over the couch. In the hush, Claudia wrenched one of the tall red candles from its socket, tipped it over Marina’s midriff until the flame licked and guttered and the grease began to splutter and drip ruby globs over the nude.

  As the scalding wax hardened over the breasts, ribs and solar plexus, Marina moaned with pain, her limbs jerking as each fresh, thick dribble of grease cauterised her flesh. Soon her writhing trunk was sheathed in scarlet armour, stiff with coagulated wax. The shrill hisses and moans mounted when the wax seared into the pubis, Claudia ensuring it dripped on to the pouting labia, the denuded clitoris and into the oval of the sex itself. Marina wrenched against her bonds, thrashing her body against the stump beneath her coccyx; she was encased in a vermilion carapace of Claudia’s execration..

  Janet returned in time to witness what Claudia had done to the slave and continued to do until, as if by way of a climax to her fury, she suddenly stabbed the candle between the girl’s legs, ramming it in for the flame to sizzle and extinguish. The slave yelled once then subsided and lay inert.

  “Take the sex-pot and do what you like with her,” Claudia snapped. “I’m pretty well through with her disgusting, nauseating...” she sought a further epithet but could only find hatred in herself. She settled for: “The dirty whore tried to escape.”.

  As the unprogrammed sequence had been monitored in other parts of the castle, Vasa was not slow in coming to investigate. Contrary to what Marina expected as she revived, encased in the scales of cooling wax, Vasa was delighted at the sight, congratulating Claudia on the way the flesh had been so neatly encrusted.

  Then she turned to Janet who was already flexing the evil six-thonged scourge.

  “Flog the grease off the slave until she’s naked again. Then whip and heat up the breasts and cunt for the transpiercing.” She paused. “But first allow my colleagues and the warders to lead in the two other victims.” She clapped her leather-gloved hands twice, this in lieu of the silver bell used above.

  Claudia, panting but assuaged, then received her second shock.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Sumptuously oiled and made up, her hair piled up and secured on her head, the arms tightly bound at the wrists behind her lush buttocks, Verena was led in, totally naked and manifestly scared. The girl was not on her feet but constrained to advance on her knees, her labial rings chained by a brief length of links to the throat strap. The bondage forced the body forward, the head, shoulders and rich breasts lowered to lessen the traction on the delicate flanges of vaginal flesh. Slowly and awkwardly, the beautiful, dark-skinned slave shifted to the place Vasa had reserved for her. It was Gerda who guided the girl by a chain passed backwards up the anal cleft to her hand. Once in place, the slave was released and told to stand erect.

  There she was left, nude.

  Claudia was baffled. Not one but both her slaves were now present in the grim precincts of the Black Dungeon, both naked and bound, clearly ready for whatever Beaucastel in its wisdom had decreed for them. What did this presage? Where on earth was Mikhail? What was afoot? Where was the Master?

  The entry of yet a second naked woman hardly interested her. The prisoner was no youngster but about forty, well preserved and proudly fleshed although it was clear the body had been extravagantly used and whipped over the years. She wore a ball-gag and was blindfolded. Swiftly she was spread-eagled against a colossal iron grating, similar to an outsize harrow, and crucified, face inwards, the waist and thighs, as well as the extremities of the limbs, viciously strapped to the bars to ensure total immobility. Claudia at least grasped one aspect of the bondage: the straps served to elevate and tighten the otherwise sagging buttock meat ready for the branding irons. This was the slave due to be marked with her owner’s initials. Restif, evidently charged with heating the irons, attended to the brazier in the background. The smoke began to irritate Claudia’s eyes.

  At that juncture, the other overseers, led by Lalaniere, entered, accompanied by naked serving girls carrying refreshments and by the heavily chained, ever-present Alana, bearing the irons.

  Then, behind the onlookers, the great door opened to let in the Contessa Marisa, the Conte Franco and their darling Ashley whose eyes instantly sought out Verena.

  At the same time, to Claudia’s delight, Mikhail strode in, kissed her and took his seat at her side. She fumbled for his rock-hard cock while he caressed her raw clitoris amid the seeping discharges.

  Then he told her he had sold Verena.

  Claudia hardly blinked and even before learning the figure paid, she felt obliged to introduce Janet Flixton-Clyde.

  “Janet’s going to flog and pierce Marina, Mishka, instead of the overseers and instead of me. She’s rather a specialist.”

  Mikhail nodded again but nevertheless took note of the woman’s slender hips and the fearful whip she kept running through her fingers.

  “Janet’s someone after my own heart, Mishka. You’ve no objection to her dealing with our slut Marina, have you?”

  “None at all, darling, as long as the authorities agree.” Claudia assured him they did. “Well,” he went on, “I must say, we’re very popular as owners. Two slaves in chains!”

  “But Verenka’s no longer ours, Mishka, if 1 understood you. I’m simply delighted. The sooner the bitch is gone the better. I’d have done the same at that price. I’m sure she’ll enjoy Venice.” There was a minute trace of sour grapes in the voice, notwithstanding. “But why is she standing there, as if about to be slaughtered, she’s so white?”

  Mikhail filled her in on the agreement. “They just want her tested. Hung by the breasts.”

  “My God! They don’t do things by halves.” Claudia was really surprised and yet to see Verenka whipped swinging by those famous mammary treasures excited her.

  Mikhail peered into the gloom. “What’s the merry fireside blaze for over there? Not for ours, I hope. And what in hell has happened to Marina? She’s like a female Redcoat.”

  Claudia explained, adding, “I’m just not attuned to that slut Marina any longer, Mishka. Do you think there’s chance of selling her off like Verenka?”

  “But darling, you’ll have no one left to play with if she goes too! And I’d miss the suction of her anus. And the way she endures the whip and the cane. And her orgasms.”

  “All right, Cossack. We’ll keep her even if her contract looks a pretty phoney now that Verena’s gone...”

  They were interrupted by Vasa’s guttural announcement. “By order of the Master of Beaucastel, the condemned slave 107 will be whipped and needled. Slave 41B, a Beaucastel familiar, will then, by special request of her owner and in accord with the Master, be branded on the buttock meat. Thirdly, by special request and with the Master’s concurrence, Slave 106 will be hung by the breasts and flagellated by her new owner here present. The number of lashes is discretionary.”

  The Contessa inclined her head a fraction where she sat at the rear of the dungeon.

  Claudia listened with burning lust. All three sequences excited her, especiall
y as two of the three bodies ready to be put to sex torture for the delight of their masters or mistresses, were, or had been, her own property. Her mind reeled for a moment when she thought what was about to be done to the submissive flesh stretched before the company of witnesses...

  She leaned over to grasp Mikhail’s pounding erection and stripped down the prepuce to frig the purple head gently by way of welcome. The shaft was ridged with straining veins as she went down on it with her lips, spreading spittle over the starved monster. Then she lifted her head to smile at her lover.

  What she saw also was Verena being prepared for the whip. Then she knew the girl was to be suspended by the breasts and left so while Marina was dealt with.

  A pair of chains were tugged downwards from the barrel-vaulted ceiling, the extremity of each consisting of a long length of narrow thong. These Roscoff and. Gerda, now summoned into service, along with Vasa and Lalaniere, wound tightly round the base of each of Verena’s capacious breasts until the masses were fully throttled; the loose end of the thong was threaded into the bands. The lumps of flesh bulged like bladders, the areoles swollen, the teats enormous. Claudia had often treated her slaves to pleasures of this kind but had never ventured to compress the flesh to this extent.

  Necessarily the constriction and suspension would have to be limited in time, Claudia knew. Yet, as Verena was hauled upwards until her toes cleared the dungeon flagstones and she was swinging free, Claudia also guessed there was ample time for a prolonged flagellation to be carried out on Marina before damage could be incurred by Verena. The timing was precise, for the slaves were in the competent hands of professional torturers. The hoarse groans from Verena’s throat bore ample witness to the pain she was called upon to endure. Her power of resistance was concentrated wholly on fighting the appalling stricture round the roots; her mouth gaped wide, struggling for breath, but the body hung straight and erotic, despite the torture. She could see her bulging tits before her face. She was terrified but determined to exhibit herself bravely; her new owners were watching. And so was Ashley who, doubtless, underwent such things regularly in Venice. Verena was being challenged to equal her lover and this she was resolved to achieve, whatever the cost. One small compensation resided in the fact that Marina was to be whipped first. But the pain was almost insupportable.

  She gritted her teeth and hung.

  The attention of the dungeon then reverted to Marina, encased in her scarlet wax, with Janet standing near, still caressing her fearsome scourge that only Zelda had tasted.

  Vasa nodded to the Englishwoman and withdrew to where Marina’s bald head dangled, waiting. Much of the torture procedures at Beaucastel consisted in waiting.

  Janet raised her leathers, paused and brought them down across the belly with a dull thud. Marina heaved upwards as the whip bit into the wax. Scales of solid grease flew from the body as the thongs fell time after time. Janet worked her way upwards to the breast, still peeling the crusts off the flesh. Some twenty stokes cleared the upper reaches of the slave’s body, leaving reddened areas that received additional colouring from the whip’s kiss. As the thongs flayed the bouncing volumes of breast meat, Marina’s first cries filled the dungeon; they were weird, strangled yells that Claudia recognized only too well. She was pleased to hear her ungagged slave give voice at last. Let the bitch yell her head off. Let her suffer - and be deprived of sex. Let her be flayed, ripped, blooded... The whore.

  The removal of the clinging chain mail of wax from the loins and thighs - Claudia had left plenty there - brought forth even more strident shouts from the thrashing head. Some fifty strokes were needed for Janet to clear the body, after which she descended again from the armpits to the jerking hips, welting the skin. This done, the dominatrix, sweating as copiously as her victim, crawled under the stretched legs and laid her six tongues of tough leather directly over the girl’s sex, dragging them slowly down from the navel to the four glittering rings that quivered in the fully equipped slave labia.

  Marina knew what was coming. Her loins stiffened, the inner thigh muscles tensing into rigid ropes. Mikhail could sense the slave holding her breath. He was enjoying the flagellation, dividing his attention between the flogged body and the slender figure of the flogger. Janet was the quintessence of what, in his view, an s/m flagellator should display; a semi-nude, lithe, muscular and imperious presence dedicated to inflicting pain - and possibly, he trusted, a modicum of pleasure. After all, he mused, Marina possessed the perverse intransigence and courage of a submissive sex slave, capable of holding out until her mental and physical strength was sapped; she knew the thrills of stark naked flagellation, appreciated and even relished a skilful whipping in the same way as she rode a fucking. Above all, he knew the girl associated the whip with orgasm.

  But Marina was far from orgasm. She was suffering grotesquely. The whipping at the hand of the expert Englishwoman was almost worse than the multiple scourging in the Hall of Ceremony.

  Claudia did not count the lashes that fell over the cunt. All she observed in her mounting excitement was the way Janet’s thongs carved into the ringed flesh, splitting the labia, measuring their length along the splayed vulva and smiting the erect clitoris. Each stroke caused the bright rings to leap in the swollen, tumefied lips that fluttered and glittered with discharge. The sex received its ration of thrashing with long, drawn-out moans, not unlike, to Claudia’s ears, the low keening the slave made when approaching her orgasms. But here and now, she hoped the bitch would be denied her climax.

  Without pausing but after cleaning off her whip, Janet returned to the side of the body. And the piercing commenced.

  One by one, the bright needles were brought to the welted breasts. Expertly, the woman distended the nipple by its ring, placed the point of the steel against the taut flesh and thrust it through the skin. The process was performed with unhurried art; the needles remained embedded deep in the gorgeous chunks of mammary meat, Janet dealt with each breast in turn until a dozen spikes had found their way into each of the soft, trembling, organs. She reserved the last two for the teats, transfixing them below the ring perforations. Then she let the mounds subside back on to the chest. A murmur of approbation rose from the onlookers at which Janet smiled. She was accustomed to praise. She knew her prowess.

  The piercing of the cunt lasted longer and was carried out with more dexterity. She inserted at least ten in one manner or the other until the loose flesh was weighted down. Marina drew in her breath at each insertion; the flesh had been so thoroughly whipped that the slave barely sensed the piercing. The mere thought sufficed.

  It was, however, the long, treacherous needle transpiercing the robust clitoris that seemed to transcend the pain Marina had endured thitherto. She hauled her flagellated body off the post beneath her, arching upwards from her four manacles. She screamed once - a long, unearthly shriek that stilled the sounds of fornication and fellatio in the chamber. Then she slumped back and lay quivering, sobbing uncontrollably.

  “Thank you, Madame,” Vasa said. “A proficient performance, I must say.” Her remark harboured a trace of jaundiced envy and, as if to recompense herself, she glued her cunt to Marina’s face. “Suck, slave!” was all she said as she grasped the hanging head. At the same moment, Lalaniere approached the splayed thighs, his cock rampant, almost obscene in its stiffness. Meticulously, the overseer parted two parallel needles to achieve space for entry, and thrust inwards. Marina heaved again as she was violated, the huge shaft stretching the pierced lips aside, the needles rasping the man’s erection. The slave responded unbelievably.

  As if intoxicated by her tortures, Marina tensed, servicing Vasa with all her force, tongue and lips at work on the dripping vulva and sopping hairs. Her loins rose and fell to the extreme extent her bondage allowed, while Janet stood beside the sweating, tortured girl, playing perniciously with the quavering, transpierced breasts.

  Vasa came first, she groaned
and came massively, crushing her cunt into the face. Releasing the head, she slapped the girl’s face; the blow seemed to drive Marina into her own orgasm. She lurched and rose in her chains, her whole body tetanised as the sexual spasm exploded with wild, lascivious cries.

  “Fuck me! Fuck me! Ahh...Ahh... More! Deeper!” The shrieks were poison to Claudia’s ears. What a whore! To come cleanly, totally, carnally after such treatment! Claudia could resist no longer. She mounted across Mikhail’s thighs and fed the great cock into her. She needed cock more than she had ever dreamt of in her lecherous, salacious life. Sex torture of this degree rendered her helpless, lost in the tornado that roared through her loins. Mikhail fucked her gut with all the power that had built up in his balls...

  Comparatively, Lalaniere’s release of boiling sperm into Marina was almost complaisant. The pressure and torsion of the bodkins traversing her cunt had brought his ejaculation on rapidly, too rapidly for his liking. He withdrew reluctantly. He relished the tight cunt grip.

  Inwardly, the overseer knew he was in love with this fabulous slave.

  It was Vasa, after wiping herself clean, who invited the Contessa Marisa to step forward. The pale woman did not require persuading. Throwing off her ermine cloak, and grasping her plaited leather scourge, she approached Verena. By then, the naked slave had hung for an unconscionable time. Her teats protruded to twice their normal size, revealing the slots through which her rings were inserted. The superb body gyrated slowly, the surface of the inner thighs shimmering with discharge. She had been shattered by the treatment reserved for Marina, however little she cared for her, and yet she had been inordinately excited by the flogging off of the wax and the needle torture, quite apart from the fucking her erstwhile lover had enjoyed. Now it was her turn. Although she had been whipped on countless occasions both in Paris and now here at Beaucastel, she apprehended what her new mistress was about to do to her. She was fully aware that her breasts could take little more however sturdy she knew them to be; but the flagellation now being prepared for her would certainly take her breasts into monstrous pain, leave alone the flesh of her hanging body. Yet Ashley, the divine Ashley was there watching.