Verena found herself in a completely unfamiliar, circular chamber - one of Marina’s own innovations with the Master’s sanction. The dangling chains, flogging racks and rows upon rows of implements numbed her more than anything she had known at Beaucastel.
“Stretch your body over that slab, cunt upwards!” Sandra ordered.
Shackled backwards by wrists and ankles, Verena thought her muscles would snap with the strain. It seemed to take an eternity to relieve her of her long locks; the razor rasped over her skull, then over the bulge of the pubis and down the margins of the sex. The smell of soap in the overpowering heat sickened her. Finally she was totally nude.
“You’re erotic beyond belief!” Sandra gasped, standing back. “God, what a body!”
Although Marina, like her colleagues, varied her victims’ postures when putting them to the whip, she usually commenced with one of the more classic Beaucastel positions: the nude thrown over a trestle and bound back by the four limbs, which, in the case of males, allowed the erect cock to stand stiff and throbbing above the flat belly for punishment. It was customary for the anus to be impaled deep on a rugged iron spigot bolted to the timber at the appropriate angle to ensure a minimum of movement during the torture and whipping. Another approach was for the body to be crucified, spread eagled, to present the full expanse of the flesh for the scourge; or else, swinging by the wrists from the beams above - a normal, routine arrangement, used daily in all cells. But Verena had been designated, at Marina’s request, as a ‘Special’ and thus she was to hang by her ankle shackles, limbs parted almost to the point of luxation, the arms being allowed to dangle loose, unbound, below the obscenely sheared head. The disposition offered Marina the entire area of the bare groin and yawning sex with the stout clitoris delightfully available between the inner thighs; and beyond, the vast expanse of rump flesh that seemed to beg to be welted. Marina’s experience had been enriched by her colleagues in two further respects: although the slave would jerk madly during the initial slices of the scourge into the splayed crotch, making her haul her thorax upwards, clawing desperately with the hands, there was no need to tie the wrists; the slave would yield herself up docilely despite the screaming. With open mouth and glazed eyes, Verena would relinquish all she had to her torturer. Secondly, the reversed position provided a female flogger with interesting interludes: the slave could be forced to perform cunnilingus and, if some measure of clemency prevailed, could herself be sucked and gamahuched into prodigious orgasms, for which the whip never failed to prepare a victim.
Marina had decided to use Sandra for that part of the proceedings. “I wouldn’t allow that cow to touch me even with the tips of her udders, leave alone her pink tongue, chewing the cud she swallowed in Venice.” Marina was pure acid. “After fifty lashes you’ll clasp the body in your pretty arms and have her suck you off. Mash your sweet sex into her face and make her tongue you.”
The serving girl raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Oh, thank you, mistress!”
“And you’ll take her lewd clit in your teeth and give her what she’ll be pining for. She’s like rancid butter when she comes, hardly fit for human consumption but you’ll drink her discharge down, Sandra, and like it. I want you both emptied out. Understand?”
She understood at once. She was just as desperately eager to please her superior as herself. The stage was set. Marina’s svelte vinyl figure sauntered over to the rack of instruments, the hips swaying above the high boots. And further above, her sex was expelling hot excretions along the inner flanks of her thighs braced with the stimulus of what she was about to do to her suspended victim. At last redress was within her grasp.
Marina had never in her life experienced such a deep thrill of ruthlessness.
It was she who had assembled the incredible array of whips, ordering new leathers, replacing others when worn out. She glanced at the collection lined on the wall: everything from paddles, some studded with steel nails; to bull’s hide whips with their dense flanges, spliced at the extremities. Although she knew the feel of each instrument through painful endurances during her own slave days at the castle, she had had months of practice since then in using each on countless defenceless, juddering bodies requiring intensive training to satisfy those who owned them. She was at home.
Then she felt the short haft of her own favourite whip in her hand, the terrible lash that Verena had spied in the induction chamber. What more was needed to commence with?
About to turn, she abruptly caught sight of the alcove, its shelves loaded with other implements. From among the multitude of dildos, rakes, gags, pliers and tongs and she picked up a small object and returned to her victim who by then had been efficiently suspended, sweating, in the centre of the cell. It was a delicious sight.
“Verenka, I want you to enjoy this and what awaits you in the nights to come,” she said smoothly, with the irony she was famous for at the castle. “I’m going to flagellate you.”
“I know, mistress.” The slave’s head rose painfully. She knew it only too well.
“And your body will be tortured - as you tortured my affections, you slut!”
“I suppose I deserve it, mistress.” The remark was almost inaudible.
Marina smiled. In her gloved hand lay a small, circular clamp of stainless steel, complete with screw, to fit over a stimulated nipple. The pair of them Marina had used recently with great effect on the pert, brash Elodie, something the presumptuous slave and her long teats would not forget for a long time. One such band seemed to Marina perfectly appropriate for Verena’s fleshy clit; it would fit easily and snugly round the base.
Sandra was ordered to rekindle the nub into even fuller erection. A moment later, Verena lurched as she felt the cold metal slip over and down the famous stump of erectile flesh. Sandra was ordered to take a pair of chromium pliers and seize the twitching summit of the organ between the rugged, plastic jaws.
“Elongate her,” Marina hissed between her teeth. “Full length.” Sandra pulled on it.
Slowly, Marina screwed in the wing nut, enjoying each turn as it gradually tightened to bury into the precious organ, once so familiar to her lips, fingertips and the jutting point of her pelvis.
Marina continued to turn the screw until it could penetrate no deeper. As Sandra released the pliers, Verena drew in her breath with a hiss of pain; the tip of the clitoris bulged out over the crown of the clamp. Marina nodded with satisfaction; it fitted exquisitely and the slave was suffering.
“There we are, Verenka dear. Isn’t that erotic? You were always the first to be fucked because of that big clit, weren’t you? I’d like to put a couple more on the teats of your great udders but later this week I have other delights for them. A few needles will do you the world of good.”
The thing set Verena’s body thudding as the agony seared through her brain, her mouth peeling back as she clenched her teeth. Like the collar, her eyes screwed up tight, trying to extinguish the streaks of pain; she tried not to shriek and offer her torturer yet another pleasure. And to protest would only invite worse. She gathered all her strength.
The steel clamp weighed down the erection, suddenly stimulating her erotically. If only her tormentors would caress the tip, just a few strokes over it, to relieve the stress!
“I can’t bear it, mistress!” The superb loins shuddered with erotic pain; she hated and loved it. She felt her whole being as a sex slave stimulated once again. “I can’t bear it.”
“And you think I could bear your being sucked off by a Venetian whore?”
The overseer stripped down to boots and gauntlets, determined to enjoy her long awaited retaliation in erotic freedom. Professionally, she allowed the thongs of her justifiably celebrated whip to caress the fork of pure sex flesh displayed before her at last. She smiled as the muscles clutched under the graze of the leathers. Her respiration was as short as her victim’s.
The overseer shook out the leather strands straight, took her stance and flagellated.
The slave let out a wild gasp, heaving her thorax upwards and hollowing her belly as her loins seemed to split in two. Marina allowed the body to regain its breath. Lalaniere had explained to his pupil the need for the strokes to be well-spaced in time to permit the pain to invade and sink into the epidermis, compressing the nerves under the whitened flesh before they expanded again into their previous dimension, flaring into welts, dark with the blood pulsing below the surface. Remembering the delicious pain, before orgasm, she herself had felt during prolonged flagellations, Marina dealt deliberately with her victim. She knew the interval between lashes traumatised a naked slave, awaiting the next onslaught. She concentrated on the inner thighs, taut with muscular resistance, until the fork itself was fully prepared; then the scourge bit into the cleft itself, each lash providing Marina with a thrill she had never experienced in her short existence as a flagellatrice.
The screams were unearthly, obscene, filling the chamber, the sex rings jangling as the leathers flayed the labia, the oval and, at last, the tip of the clitoris. The shriller the cries, the more viciously Marina cut into the cleft, until dull groans followed. The overseer, with her experience at both ends of the whip, knew what was happening; the slut’s orgasm was gathering under the sheets of pain. At the nineteenth lash, Verena came in a cataclysm, shuddering and howling like a beast.
“Right, that will do for now.” Marina panted.
To drive her victim over the brink, Marina crushed the base of her thongs into the apex of Verena’s swollen cunt.
The girl yelled, heaving herself upwards, to come again in a paroxysm of blessed release, the cum jerking out from the vagina to mingle with the sweat on the leather braids grinding into her pulp. The flogging was over.
Verena drifted like flotsam on the wreckage of her body, half-conscious, while Sandra slowly unscrewed the steel clamp off the clitoris.
The girl jerked back into awareness as the circulation lacinated the tortured prong of flesh. Marina noticed the excessive, almost loving, care the sleek serving girl exercised in removing the tiny ring but was delighted to see the erection still distended, galled, purple and pulsating with spasms among the weals over the shaved crotch. It seemed to be calling for more! What a slut the slave was, what a lascivious whore!
Just sex, nothing more.
Marina had to conform to normal Beaucastel practices, once the whipping was done. Now came the double cunnilingus. She left the two females together while she refreshed her dry throat from a beaker of wine. She relaxed for a long moment on a nearby torture slab to mob her brow and freckled cheeks, leisurely wiping off the sweat and cum from her whip. She was recovering from one of the most satisfyingly erotic beatings Beaucastel had given her the chance to perform. Verena’s crotch was the proof. Revenge was sweet.
So sweet that Marina could hardly believe her compensation.
Returning to the scene, and aware of the video eye surveying all, she ordered Sandra to go to work on the body. Pleasure, alas, had to follow pain in Beaucastel. Even here.
“Take her now, girl! Make her lick you off properly or she’ll get another ration, this time with the riding crop.” Then, with a trace of remission, she added: “And suck the cum out of her greedy slit, according to rules - though the brazen bitch doesn’t deserve it. Get moving!”
Verena continued to moan, the echoes of pain still intermingling with the onrush of throbbing pleasure, both sensations radiating from the crotch and the quivering clitoris. The confusion and upheaval in her head, after the whipping, were suddenly resolved into a new excitement by the overseer’s order. It was almost inconceivable! Sandra was being authorized, even ordered, to pleasure her! Beaucastel was still bewilderingly the same: pain, terrible pain, but pleasure too, out of all mortal proportion...
Sandra hurried forward and embraced the inert body: it felt as if it were seething in a glare of red pain but the bloated lips were clearly begging for relief. Sensuously, as she had been taught, the serving girl went down on the splayed pouch, fully swollen from Marina’s vengeance. With a tenderness the girl rarely used on a whipped slave Sandra first licked the surroundings of the engorged nub and then, deflecting the steel ring, took the clitoris into her pursed lips, sensing the ridge left by the clamp. Verena leapt as she felt the length drawn outwards from the root to tip.
Any whipping was worth this... She gave herself completely to the sweet mouth and concentrated on her own servicing of the girl. Now and then, she varied the suction, releasing the little button of hot flesh to flick it with her agile tongue, licking the curd off the labia. Sandra surrendered to the lips, twisting and moaning as Verena’s fingers circled the very centre of her being, malaxing and crushing into the gleaming, haired triangle at the apex. In return, Sandra left the victim’s outsized clit to pulse aloft, while she explored the two orifices, as Verena did the same on her below. The girl thrust one hand deep into the vagina and with the other probed into the anus; as she did so, the sphincter relaxed to let her in. An unaccountable wave of infatuation enveloped her as she felt Verena’s nimble tongue circling her stub. Rapidly the orgasms gathered as Marina watched the two faces running with slippery juices sliding out of the vaginas. Suddenly, the twin bodies tautened, the buttocks clenching as the initial spasms flowered like rose petals around their stamens. It was wonderful, even for Marina, to watch. Verena cried out first, as if emptying her soul - if, after Venice, the bitch had one - and voided her boiling spume into Sandra’s gullet; the cries echoed among the vaults and chains, reminiscent of the wild, obscene yells during flagellation that had delighted Marina. She herself had responded in her time with equal passion when Claudia had masturbated her, and Vasa too, but not with such abandon. The whore had always seemed to despoil herself while she, Marina, had managed to keep her head. Verena’s spending was lethal; she always died la petite most, as the castle saying went. And in turn, Verena swallowed the servant’s cum, excited by the soft labia and diminutive clitoris. But the servant’s orgasm was different: after a harvest of spasms, she culminated in convulsions until a final, ecstatic explosion crippled her, enjoying the mucus stifling and choking in her mouth. Both came time after time, expelling their gorged glut, swamping each other’s face with cream sluicing out in hot streams. Repeatedly, Verena released her own cum that the serving girl lapped up like a bitch at its bowl of feed. Marina felt she must be perverted to enjoy a slave so overtly and that before her august overseer. The girl was evidently unreliable.
For all the world, the couple gave Marina the clear impression of an amorous relationship. Impossible! Particularly as this was their first genital encounter. But the cunnilingus on both sides had been mawkishly sentimental, something strictly proscribed between staff and slave flesh at Beaucastel which advocated, indeed insisted on, erotic lust not love.
Marina, however needed her own catharsis imperatively. She was grossly swollen around the labia, in erection and drenched. Dire need - and Lalaniere - called.
“Unchain the slut,” she murmured to Sandra, wiping off her whip. “And bind her to the flogging wheel for the night.”
Sandra, recovering swiftly from her orgasms, glanced at the wheel standing at the end of the chamber. It reared high - an immense, three-spoked circle.
“Tie her tight on it for the night. Hose her down with cold water and have her medicated. You can give her something to drink all the same, but I don’t think I’ll need you any more for such sessions, Sandra. Tell Hannah to take your place. Understand? You suck too ravenously for your good.”
Sandra did as she was told. In tender gratitude towards
Verena for the orgasms and the spectacular session, she gently massaged the marks and tensed muscles after releasing the slave, daubing salve and arnica over the welts that stood out like purple cords around the sex, over the thighs and across the fabulous rump meat. Then she washed her down gently. Verena yielded to the girl without hesitation and, surrendering to the little hands, something jolted again in her loins under the caresses. She kissed Sandra on the mouth.
But nevertheless the girl was obliged to bind Verena outstretched to the three spokes of the flogging wheel. She was magnificent. Sandra caressed the body without restraint, licking the breasts and belly sensuously. The naked slave adored it but hung in silence until Marina returned the next day, refreshed and vicious. And the tortures recommenced. Worse than before, with the old-timer Hannah, only too anxious to assist with the chains and implements. Another night reduced Verena to prostration, shackled by the four stretched limbs to the wheel, each session visiting atrocious hurt on the curved body but her flesh took it, in a sort of occult defiance of Marina, her orgasms never failing to retaliate.
By the third day, Verena was humiliated beyond all reason. Taken up to Cell II, she was spread and strapped onto an enormous inclined crucifix, her three orifices plugged tight with hard, ridged dildos that almost split her, and this before a group of slaves during one of their routine training sessions. Marina ordered each of the female trainees to straddle the slave and drench her with warm golden showers, the male slaves being made to masturbate over her. Only when Verena was glistening with urine and splattered with lumps of sperm, did Marina proceed with the training course. Verena’s cross was raised to the vertical so that she hung like a side of meat on it, forced to watch the lesson. Almost distractedly, she followed the various beatings, noticing the resilience of the young ash- blonde slave, Elodie, receiving a heavy tawse across her belly and thighs without a murmur. The girl was sturdy and suddenly reminded Verena of Ashley; with a pain level equally and incredibly high; she also was clearly destined for a conspicuous future, like Ashley. Unlike Verena who had no future...She closed her eyes as the tears ran down her sunken cheeks. Oh, Ashley, Ashley!
The Pleasure Palace Page 22
