Whipping Girl

by Aishling Morgan

  ‘Well, would you be virgin? Do you take me for a fool? Do you think I am unaware of the conduct of men? Well!?’

  ‘No, Sister!?’ Lalage squealed frantically. ‘I lied…I pray forgiveness…I…I abuse myself…I abuse my anus…in the night…alone…’

  She broke off with a fresh scream as the quirt whipped down once more, a single blow, but across her legs, to leave a long, stinging welt and set her gasping with pain.

  ‘I am unconvinced,’ Sister Verena commented, ‘but doubtless we shall learn the truth. Meanwhile, mark her as a sodomite and an onanist, also a liar and arrogant. There is much to be cured here.’

  Lalage was left sobbing as the Sister passed on, to push a finger between the lips of Nest’s sex. The small girl took her inspection in numb silence, even as her whipped bottom was stroked and a fingernail touched to her anus. Finally Sister Verena tired of the exploration to state her findings.

  ‘Virgo intacta, and neatly pursed. She is to be marked as apparently pure, but make a note of her heathen tendencies, such things often go hand in hand with a lascivious nature.’

  ‘Yes, Sister Verena,’ the grey clad nun answered, speaking for the first time.

  Lalage glanced through the curtain of her hair as the Sister moved to Coralie, who was taking the inspection of her sex with the same stoic resignation as Nest.

  ‘Virgo intacta,’ Sister Verena confirmed once more, ‘and also neat, yet fat, the lips of the cunnus unreasonably protuberant. She is to be marked as a glutton. Stand, the four of you! What do you think you are doing, flaunting your dirty bodies?’

  Lalage stood quickly and turned back to the room. Her welts stung, and a tear was threatening to escape one eye, but she managed to adopt the same meek posture as before, waiting.

  ‘So be it,’ Sister Verena continued, ‘all four of you are pure, at least notionally, yet all four clearly require correction in certain unpleasant habits. Seldom, if ever, have I seen such poor Supplicants. Still, we must make do with what we have, miserable though it may be. Doubtless the Lord seeks to test us, and we will not fail, be assured. You are pure then, but a good Supplicant requires more, much more, if she is ever to achieve her goal. Have you been diligent in your studies of the Book? You, girl…Benedicta, what are the seven prime virtues?’

  ‘The seven prime virtues are Humility, Modesty, Temperance, Diligence, Patience, Forgiveness and the Understanding of Self,’ Benedicta recited miserably from her corner.

  The Sister grunted, as if in irritation, but the quirt stayed still in her hand as she turned to Lalage.

  ‘And the practise of virtue, Lalage. How should a Supplicant approach this?’

  ‘We should strive our utmost,’ Lalage replied.

  Instantly the quirt lashed out, coiling around Lalage’s thighs to crack against one already smarting bottom cheek.

  ‘More arrogance!’ the Sister spat. ‘How dare a little brat like you aspire to the seven virtues? You must earn the right to each virtue, as a privilege, consequent upon status. As a Supplicant, you are privileged to the virtue of humility, no other. With Initiation comes the right to modesty, and thus to cover your body from sight. Note my assistant, Novice Corisande, who wears a grey robe to signify her status as an Initiate and to provide the modesty she has earned. As a Sister, I have earned the right to Temperance, to signify my understanding of the needs of body and mind, and my resistance to temptation. Thus, where you eat gruel, I take meat; where you drink water alone, I take wine. This is because for you, such temptations would be too great to bear. Do I make myself clear?’

  ‘Yes, Sister,’ four quiet voices answered.

  ‘Yet make no mistake,’ Sister Verena continued. ‘That you must earn the right to virtue in no way excuses sin, as some wrong-headed individuals have been know to profess. Your conduct must at all times be proper.’

  ‘Yes, Sister.’

  ‘So then. Nest, how would you recognise a Blessed Mother, or the Prioress herself?’

  ‘The robe of a Blessed Mother is white, Sister,’ Nest answered quickly, ‘and hooded in black, that of our Mother Prioress is white entirely.’

  ‘Good. And Coralie, what virtues are associated with these exalted ranks?’

  ‘Sister,’ Coralie answered. ‘To a Blessed Mother comes the understanding of her worth. The Prioress alone may forgive.’

  ‘Precisely,’ Sister Verena answered. ‘You at the least, it seems, have not entirely neglected your education. You others, you must study. Read the Good Book. Learn the Axioms. Tesserette d’Ortaise, perhaps you would be kind enough to inform us how those Sisters responsible for discipline, our Salvatoras, may be recognised. Sister Dorcas, for instance, who takes gate duty today?’

  ‘She is robed in black, her hood included,’ the Tesserette answered.

  ‘So she is,’ Sister Verena answered. ‘I am fortunate to have one of your beauty and wisdom among this group, Tesserette d’Ortaise, fortunate indeed. You stand among the others like a bright jewel among clods of soil, if I may say so, their vulgarity serving only to highlight your radiance…’

  ‘Quite,’ the Tesserette interrupted.

  Sister Verena bowed quickly and spoke to the other girls once more.

  ‘I feel you may then at least commence your supplication. Now, before Novice Corisande takes you to your dormitory, certain matters are to be decided…’

  She stopped as Coralie raised a tentative hand.

  ‘Yes, girl, what is it?’

  ‘Pray pardon, Sister, but what of the rules of the Order? I understand there are many, and I would wish to learn.’

  ‘There is a single rule, as I have already stated,’ the Sister snapped back. ‘Your conduct must at all times be proper. The rules of proper conduct are self-evident. Break them and you will be punished. Do I make myself clear?’

  Coralie immediately hung her head in submission.

  ‘As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted,’ Sister Verena continued. ‘There are certain things to be considered. In moral matters, let the Good Book lead you at all times and you will not err, save by misinterpretation, which is a grievous sin. In matters mundane, Novice Corisande will lead you at all times, so there is no excuse for laxity. Do not expect patience, a virtue suitable only to Elder Sisters and those of yet greater elevation, with whom you will have little contact. Now, as the Book tells us, no sin may go unpunished, yet by nature it is unthinkable that a Lady of the Tesserette’s rank should be subjected to punishment herself. Tesserette d’Ortaise, I would therefore be obliged if you would choose one among these four to be whipped in your place. That is, by nature, in the most unlikely event of an accidental lapse in your conduct, although I am certain it will be immaculate by your very nature…’

  ‘I shall choose presently, if I may,’ the Tesserette broke in. ‘The decision requires thought.’

  The blonde girl turned, her pale eyes flicking along the line of girls as her beautiful mouth turned up into a cruel smile. Sister Verena had begun to speak again.

  ‘To witness the punishment of another in your stead will, by nature, be keener to one of your sensitivity and breeding than the mere application of scourge to skin, something you will by nature understand, yet which girls of a more vulgar nature…’

  ‘Quite,’ the Tesserette interrupted. ‘Am I to share my time with them then?’

  ‘To an extent, yes,’ the Sister answered, ‘in so far as the exigencies of study and worship demand it, yet by nature we have made suitable provisions for your status. A suite has been set aside for you next to the dormitory, that usually reserved for the Novice, Novice Corisande in this case having moved in with the girls. It is small, but has been comfortably furnished, while there is a quite charming view across the harbour and town. You must also choose among the girls for a maid servant, although by nature all will respect your wishes and commands.’

  ‘Good,’ the Tesserette answered. ‘What of my meals? You spoke of gruel?’

  ‘By nature not for you, Tesseret
te, by nature not. It has been decided that you may select from that menu ordinarily reserved for the Blessed Mothers themselves, and should you wish to eat in your suite rather than the communal hall, that also will be quite in order.’

  The blonde girl responded with a complacent nod, then stifled a yawn behind one delicate hand. Sister Verena promptly clapped her hands, then flicked the quirt across Coralie’s plump haunches as the girls failed to respond.

  ‘Come along!’ she snapped. ‘You must learn to be prompt. Follow the Novice…no, no, wait! Have you no sense of place whatever? Allow Tesserette d’Ortaise to precede you, and follow no closer than two paces behind.’

  Lalage held back, waiting as the Tesserette climbed languidly to her feet and made for the arch. The Novice Corisande hurried after and the girls followed, the nun taking the lead in the corridor with an almost inaudible murmur of apology to the indifferent Tesserette.

  The little troupe moved through the building, the four girls red cheeked in their near nudity, hands placed in pathetic attempts at concealment until they were chided for the attempt at modesty by Corisande. In the cloisters, several other people passed, most nuns, who either ignored the girls completely or watched them with haughty amusement, but also a white-robed priest, sending the girls into yet more furious embarrassment.

  Beyond the cloister they ascended a broad staircase to a higher level, then another, narrow and plain where the first had been ornate, and a third, steep and made of wood rather than stone. This last led to a corridor, illuminated by skylights, and Lalage realised they had come to the top of the building. Corisande took them the full length of the corridor, passing doors and arches, to the very end, where a last door gave into a low, attic space, with a single window looking out high over the town.

  The room was almost entirely bare. Six plain iron hooks and a picture of the Lady marked the walls. A single, huge chamberpot and six wooden pallets occupied the floor, five unadorned, the sixth with a chest of drawers and a small altar beside it. Another altar stood against the east wall, the Symbol looking down from eyes half-lidded in the moment of death. Lalage made a hasty genuflection, as did the others, Benedicta’s momentary lateness earning her a slap across one breast from the Novice. Only the Tesserette failed to give obeisance, turning instead to a door beside the one by which they had entered.

  ‘Your suite, Tesserette d’Ortaise,’ Corisande said quickly. ‘This door is for direct communication with the dormitory. There is another in the passage.’

  The Tesserette had opened the door, and Lalage caught a brief glimpse of a rug and drapes, both in rich green patterned with gold before the door shut behind the Novice. The four girls exchanged glances. Benedicta spoke first.

  ‘That I should come to this! My welts, they sting horribly…and to go naked! What a witch that Verena is!’

  Coralie’s hand went to her mouth in shock. Nest blushed. Lalage glanced to the door.

  ‘Be cautious, Benedicta. Who knows what awful punishment there might be for using such a word.’

  Benedicta gave a grimace and reached back to touch a particularly nasty welt on her hip.

  ‘Never speak of your unclean parts,’ Lalage advised, ‘or if you must, use the latinate form.’

  Benedicta nodded and went to the window, to stare out at the red tiled roofs, which stretched away from a few feet below the window to the sea, with few breaks. Lalage came beside her, finding herself suddenly close to tears with homesickness and longing. Silent, they watched a great black and white painted three-master tack around the end of the breakwater, the wind filling her sails as she turned, and spray breaking under her bow as she met the ocean waves. Glancing at Benedicta, Lalage found the girl’s face set in an angry frown.

  ‘You do not wish to be a nun?’ Lalage asked softly.

  ‘Ha! Who would wish to be a nun?’ Benedicta answered. ‘In Eloyes, where I come from, I was the prettiest girl in the village, and the most sought after, since reaching womanhood. And what happens? Father Artus demands that I go into his service as maid, the filthy old lecher! I refused, by nature. His response? Shame, for seeking to molest a young girl? No, indignation! I am supposed to be honoured by having his clammy hands paw me as I go about my work! My family took his side, but gave me one choice, to come here. And you?’

  ‘My family hold the manor at Autuc,’ Lalage answered. ‘As a point of prestige one male child should join the priesthood each generation and one female child become a nun. I am the only girl of five brothers and two cousins.’

  ‘Ill luck,’ Benedicta answered. ‘So, I shall take this pallet, beside the window. I imagine this rag is intended as a blanket. Are there no mattresses?’

  ‘There is true comfort only in the Lord,’ Coralie responded.

  ‘Well, should he choose to join me on this miserable pallet I dare say I’ll do well enough,’ Benedicta laughed. ‘Oh Lord, why, why didn’t I let Abram fuck me?’

  Both small girls went abruptly red.

  ‘Who is Abram?’ Lalage asked.

  ‘My cousin,’ Benedicta answered, ‘who works his apprenticeship with us. He is a goat, forever with a horn, and forever wishing to plunge it into my body. I wish I’d let him!’

  ‘How…how did you resist his advances?’ Nest queried.

  ‘I didn’t,’ Benedicta answered. ‘I used to suck on his cock, or take it between my breasts…’

  She trailed off with a sigh. Nest had gone scarlet. Coralie was frantically making the Symbol across her ample chest, over and over, with her eyes closed in prayer.

  ‘At least act like women, you two,’ Benedicta said. ‘Have you never pleasured a man?’

  ‘No!’ Coralie answered in outrage. ‘I am pure before our Lord, and his alone!’

  Nest had gone a still richer shade of red. Benedicta laughed.

  ‘Well, I may not be so pure, but I am less the harlot than Lalage here, who takes men up her fundament!’

  Lalage felt herself colouring, but said nothing. Voices sounded from the other room, Corisande, then the Tesserette, her words becoming clear as the door swung open.

  ‘…the crests must also be altered. Mine should show a single rose. Two roses would signify my sister. There is also the matter of the porcelain, which is not of the finest quality, and the facilities for ablution. In Ortaise water is piped to each room in which it is required, and in my mother’s room and my own is heated. You must see to this at once.’

  ‘So it shall be, Tesserette d’Ortaise,’ Corisande answered, ‘save only for the matter of ablutions. Here you must send your maid to the pump and have her heat it at the fire when needed.’

  The Tesserette gave a click of her tongue in irritation but made no reply, instead turning her attention to the four girls.

  ‘Yes, my maid. Are any of you four trained to service?’

  Lalage choked down the angry response that rose instinctively to her lips and shook her head. Benedicta gave the same response, both the small girls answering no. The Tesserette sighed.

  ‘I shall have to make do then. You know who I am, I take it? I am the Tesserette Lucilla d’Ortaise St Seraphina. You may address me as Lady…no, Lady Lucilla, to avoid confusion with our patroness.’

  She laughed. Corisande’s face showed anger for a second, then returned to passivity. The Tesserette carried on.

  ‘So I must choose between you four. What do I have? The daughters of farmers and merchants, who have never done a hand’s turn in their lives. Still, as my maid I dare say you will learn soon enough. Tall girl, the naked one, what is your name?’

  ‘Benedicta.’

  ‘A whip, Corisande,’ the Tesserette demanded. ‘Benedicta, turn and take hold of your ankles.’

  ‘I am to be whipped? For what?’ Benedicta demanded.

  ‘Insolence. Failing to address me properly.’

  Corisande had moved quickly to the chest of drawers beside what was evidently her pallet, to take up a thin, straight cane. Benedicta had not moved.

  ‘Bend
down,’ the Tesserette ordered. ‘Or I shall make you.’

  ‘I have already been whipped!’ Benedicta protested. ‘Brutally at that!’

  ‘Obey, immediately!’ Corisande snapped. ‘Or I shall have you taken by the Salvatoras and whipped in the stocks!’

  Benedicta bit her lip, her eyes blazing, but she turned, to bend, her feet set apart, and take hold of her ankles. Lalage moved quickly back as Tesserette Lucilla took the cane. Her heart pounding, Lalage found her eyes fixed to Benedicta’s rear view. Upside down, the girl’s honey coloured curls had fallen into a halo around her head, while her breasts had changed shape oddly. Her quim showed, distinctly moist, with the red halo of her hymen just on show. Lucilla laughed at the lewd display her victim was making and stepped close, tapping the cane against her palm.

  ‘How am I to be addressed, girl?’ she demanded.

  ‘As my Lady Lucilla, Tesserette,’ Benedicta answered, her tone still defiant, yet with more than a touch of consternation.

  ‘Precisely so,’ Lucilla answered, ‘and this, perhaps, will help to remind you of that.’

  As she spoke she lifted the cane, and with her last word it came whistling down, full across Benedicta’s flaunted rear end. The whipped girl cried out in pain even as a thin white line sprang up across her already well whipped buttocks, quickly changing to an angry red bordered by thin lines of blood crimson. Lucilla chuckled and once more lifted the cane, to bring it down harder still. Benedicta cried out again, and stumbled forward, almost falling. Lucilla struck a third time, and a fourth, then began to apply the cane in a steady, merciless rhythm, laughing at her victim’s cries as the thin stick smacked over and over on bare bottom flesh.

  Lalage had lost count of how many strokes had been delivered before Benedicta went silent. Her eyes had closed, and her big breasts were moving softly to her now heavy breathing. Lucilla stopped and gave a laugh, no longer of amusement, but derision. Putting a finger to Benedicta’s swollen sex, she brought it away well coated with white juice.