Whipping Girl

by Aishling Morgan

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why what?’

  ‘Why would every slut in the countryside seek to summon the Beast?’

  ‘For the power, stupid. I know I would.’

  ‘Lucilla!’

  ‘Don’t be pathetic, Lalage. Think about it, power, freedom, wealth…’

  ‘For your soul!’

  Lucilla shrugged, then spoke again.

  ‘So it is a foolish dream. My father says it is all fantasy anyway, concocted simply to maintain good order among the peasantry. But all that to the side, I want to do this.’

  ‘Yes…it is of interest, I can see, Lucilla. But do not the risks far outweigh the gain? Put it from your mind, and lift your pretty bottom for me. I will lick you until I can lick no more. You may even do it in my mouth if it pleases you.’

  ‘You may find yourself doing that anyway, Babbles, but I am determined. Anyway, I want to see Baudus’ cock. I haven’t seen a cock since coming here, not one!’

  ‘So I should think!’

  ‘Don’t be such a prig, Lalage. After all, you used to take the stable boys up your bottom at home.’

  ‘Before I became a Supplicant to the Lord!’

  Lucilla merely laughed and rolled onto her front and put the book down.

  ‘Not today though, it is too windy. We need a hot, still day, to ensure that your cunt scents well. Now do what you promised.’

  Lalage nodded, climbing onto the bed as Lucilla reached back to pull up her skirts. The Tesserette’s rounded, pink bottom came on show, then the rear of her quim and the ring of her anus, already pouting as Lalage knelt down to poke in her tongue.

  * * *

  Lalage spent the next two days in a state of constant apprehension. Never once did she consider reporting Lucilla, the action which would have been expected of her, but which she knew only too well would rebound on her. There was loyalty as well, which she told herself was the true reason for her decision, rather than cowardice. Several times she attempted to dissuade the Tesserette, and on the third occasion earned herself a blistering spanking.

  The third day dawned clear and sultry, the air hot even at dawn. Lalage tried to avoid the subject and suggested that Lucilla might like to spend the day testing new erotic torments on her. Lucilla merely laughed and instructed Lalage to return after the morning lesson. Her apprehension worse than ever, Lalage spent the morning in a daze, ending up first across Sister Tryphena’s knee, then on the bench for a double dose of the strap, beatings which left her quim warm and ready. Lucilla was waiting in her suite.

  ‘You are ready, Lalage?’ she asked.

  ‘One last time…’ Lalage began, only to be abruptly cut off.

  ‘One last time, Lalage, we are going to do it. That, or we will discover what the penalty is for…for peeing in the Prioress’ fish pond. I will do it, too.’

  ‘I know,’ Lalage answered.

  ‘Quite, so do as you are told. Come on, Babbles, I expected more spirit from you. Now bend down, I want to see how wet you are. You’ve been punished, yes?’

  ‘Spanked and strapped,’ Lalage answered with a sigh as she bent to take hold of her ankles.

  Lucilla came close, to slip the top joint of her little finger into the hole in Lalage’s hymen, causing a twinge of pain.

  ‘Be careful, I beg you!’

  ‘Oh do shut up! You are wet, yes, very wet. I can smell you myself. Still…’

  Lucilla dropped abruptly to her knees, and Lalage sighed as her friend’s tongue found the rear of her sex, lapping at her clitoris and in the groove between her lips. A thumbnail found her anus, tickling the little hole and she sighed again, setting her ankles further open to let Lucilla get a better purchase, and in the hope of having her bottom licked. It stopped abruptly.

  ‘Oh, yes, you are ready.’

  Lalage squealed as a firm slap was planted on her already bruised bottom. As she stood to rub herself, Lucilla went to a drawer, extracting a bundled pair of stockings, striped yellow and red.

  ‘I never did like these,’ she stated, ‘they’ll do.’

  ‘Lucilla, I…’ Lalage began. ‘Should we not at least wait until the hour of noon prayer?’

  ‘No. Not another word, Babbles. Come.’

  Lucilla put out her hand. Lalage took it, and allowed herself to be led from the room and down the stairs. Outside, the heat of the day had increased, with the sun blazing down from a sky of rich blue. Lalage was pulled across the chapel close, but attracted little attention, a girl being half dragged by the hand a common enough sight not to cause comment. At the walkway which led between Priory and chapel, Lucilla paused, glancing into the graveyard. It was empty, to Lalage’s disappointment, and she was drawn on, to the edge of the area tended by the nuns, where straggling trees and bushes hung down to the grass, concealing the wood beyond. With a last glance around the graveyard, the two girls ducked under the edge of a thick growth of teatree, entering a cool green space, carpeted with tiny nettles.

  ‘Ow!’ Lalage complained.

  ‘Put your stockings on then, stupid,’ Lucilla replied.

  Trying not to pout too obviously, Lalage took the stockings from Lucilla, pulling on one, then the other, to leave her legs encased in stripy red and yellow wool to the thighs. Two large ribbons of contrasting colours tied them off, and for the first time in months she had clothes on, only to find that the stockings made her feel more vulnerable than when completely nude.

  Lucilla had picked up a stick, and was already slashing her way through the higher nettles, deeper into the little wood. Lalage followed, feeling faintly ridiculous, put-upon, and scared. Lucilla seemed indifferent, talking happily as they went.

  ‘…my feeling is that the entire matter of possession is an invention of the church. Witches, so called, are simply those who have become an inconvenience. Old, widowed women tie down land, and wealth, which the church feels could be put to better use.’

  ‘Witches exist, I assure you,’ Lalage answered, ‘although I admit that what you say may sometimes be true.’

  ‘It is always true,’ Lucilla answered with certainty. ‘When a witch is caught, who does her property go to? The church of course.’

  ‘Land cursed by witchcraft needs to be blessed, to rid it of taint. Only the church can do this, while to return such land to the peasantry would be no kindness.’

  ‘A convenient argument, as those of the church so often are.’

  ‘Perhaps, yet…’

  ‘I am right, Lalage. Do not forget who I am. Many times my uncle has dined with us, and I have listened to them joke over such matters.’

  ‘What kind of a man is he, the Pontiff?’

  ‘Much like my father; stern, unyielding, ingenious certainly, and with a black sense of humour…’

  ‘This is a family trait then?’

  ‘Mind your tongue, Babbles, or I shall roll you in nettles and stake you out for the goat. That would make my father laugh, uncle Deodatus also.’

  ‘Surely not, how could…’

  ‘Do not be naïve, little Babbles. He is a man, like any other. Sometimes you show no more awareness of reality than the Butterball. If you wish to rise high in the church, this is a fault you must cure before all others.’

  ‘Elder Sister Aspasia said something similar, suggesting that the most pious girls, such as Coralie and Grainne, would not achieve high rank.’

  ‘By nature not, both will spend their lives in happy, mindless devotion to the church. You, though, might go far. You have a mind, for all that you have allowed it to be filled with mummery.’

  ‘Elder Sister Aspasia also said I am fit only to be a harlot.’

  Lucilla laughed.

  ‘Naïve indeed! She said this in front of you? What do you expect? This is to make you more diligent. I suppose she held up some other girl as a shining example as well?’

  ‘Yes, Basilie.’

  ‘Yes, and I would wager all my rings that when she has Basilie grovelling at her feet, she tells her she is nothing
but a harlot, and extols your virtues, or those of some other Supplicant.’

  ‘Perhaps, but why a harlot? Why not…a servitor, a kitchen girl or something?’

  ‘Because to be a harlot is the ultimate disgrace. They do not mean you will be a real harlot, Lalage, they use the word only. A girl of St Quay made a harlot, how comic!’

  ‘I see. Thank you, Lucilla, I am grateful for that.’

  ‘You really thought they would turn you out with a harlot’s brand on your backside, didn’t you?’ Lucilla laughed. ‘You have so much to learn, Lalage.’

  Lalage didn’t answer. She was blushing with embarrassment for her own stupidity, and at how easily Elder Sister Aspasia had manipulated her, but also filled with relief.

  ‘Here is the wall,’ Lucilla said a moment later. ‘Where is the door?’

  ‘Turn to the right,’ Lalage instructed. ‘This is the outer wall. The dividing wall is lower, and less ancient. They join at an old watchtower.’

  Lucilla nodded and pushed through a screen of hanging foliage, wild vine mixed with clematis. Beyond, the wood opened out beneath taller trees, showing a wide bed of tall nettles and the dark corner where the two walls met beyond. The door was also visible, brighter light showing in a broken arch.

  ‘This is it,’ Lalage said. ‘What if Baudus has come through into the wood?’

  Lucilla paused, turned and handed Lalage the stick.

  ‘You go first.’

  ‘But the nettles, some reach to my chest!’

  ‘Then cut them down, stupid. I am not risking the goat.’

  ‘What of me!’

  ‘If he rapes you, you can…you may have a place as my Lady in Waiting, I promise it.’

  ‘Lucilla!’

  ‘Oh get on with you! With your constant whining you are more likely to attract him.’

  With her lips pursed in nervous anticipation, Lalage began to move forward, slashing at the nettles, but still getting stung repeatedly on her breasts and belly as pieces of nettle leaf came loose. Soon her body was slick with sweat and bumpy with nettle rash, while her nipples had come out to straining erection.

  ‘You are a true slut, you know that, do you not?’ Lucilla remarked.

  ‘I am beginning to think so,’ Lalage admitted.

  They reached the wall. A track showed among the nettles, leading from the door to the tower steps.

  ‘So Baudus has found himself a house,’ Lucilla remarked, peering into the blackness inside the tower. ‘Go up, to see if he is in there.’

  ‘No! What if he is?’

  ‘Well you must gain his attention then, of course. How are we to complete the trial if he is asleep in there?’

  ‘I would rather not complete the trial at all.’

  ‘Up the steps, Babbles, now!’

  Lucilla had wound a kerchief around a clump of tall nettles, and pulled them loose as Lalage hesitated.

  ‘I am going, do not!’ Lalage squeaked as Lucilla menaced her with the nettles.

  Two swift cuts opened the goat’s path, and Lalage stepped forward cautiously, only to squeal and jump as Lucilla thrust the bunch of nettles onto her bare bottom.

  ‘Ow! Lucilla!’

  ‘You make too fine a target, Lalage. Now up with you, or you get it again.’

  Lalage quickly mounted the steps, climbing to peer into the darkness of the old tower. Lucilla came behind, still holding the nettles. The tower was empty, Lalage’s eyes adapting slowly to the dim light, to make out a tall, cylindrical room, with steps curving around the wall to a hatch set in the ceiling high above, where shafts of light pierced in at broken boards. Pellets of dung littered the floor, and as she stepped cautiously inside, the reek of goat caught her.

  ‘Well, go on,’ Lucilla said, and once more prodded Lalage’s bottom with the nettles.

  ‘Ow! There is no need for that, Lucilla! You’ve made my whole bottom sting! He’s not there, anyway, but he has been, and if he comes…’

  Lucilla nodded her understanding and moved quickly back down the steps. Lalage followed.

  ‘I would not care to be caught in there with an aroused goat, let alone a possessed one,’ Lalage said as they peered through the door in the wall.

  Baudus was not visible, but his tracks showed clearly in the mud. Lalage moved quickly into the little grove, to scramble over the fence with great relief. Lucilla followed, catching her skirts on thorns twice before she got across. Lalage looked out through the foliage, to find Baudus in the paddock, walking towards them. No humans were visible. A sudden twinge to her quim was followed by a wash of shame.

  ‘He is coming,’ she hissed to Lucilla.

  ‘On your knees then, with your behind to the fence, let him scent your cunt.’

  Lalage got down, her face and neck flushing hot with blood as she climbed into the rude, vulnerable position. It was impossible not to think of being mounted as she lifted her bottom and set her knees apart to flaunt her sex. She knew from experience the reaction of men to such a sight, a stiff cock, pushed up her greasy bottom hole, which had always been what she offered. Now she was offering her virgin quim, and not to a man, but a great black goat, knowledge that both terrified and thrilled her, despite the protection of the fence.

  A rustle among the foliage and an inquisitive bleat announced the arrival of Baudus, a moment before she caught his scent. She looked back, her heart jumping as she found him just feet away, peering at her rear view, his big, mild eyes seeming fixed to her open bottom and ready quim. A thick tongue pushed out of his mouth, briefly, for all the world like a man licking his lips in anticipation of a treat.

  ‘He certainly likes you,’ Lucilla remarked.

  Sure enough, Baudus’ cock had begun to grow, the bright red tip emerging slowly from the hairy prepuce as Lalage watched in horror and fascination. The goat moved forward, snuffling. Lucilla’s hand settled on Lalage’s head, taking a firm grip of her hair. Lalage found herself babbling.

  ‘No, Lucilla…please…don’t…don’t put me to him!’

  ‘I’m not going to, stupid,’ Lucilla answered. ‘I’m just holding you still, because I know what a little coward you are. Now come on, waggle your tail, or whatever nanny goats do to turn on the boys.’

  Lalage shut her eyes in agonised shame, but began to wiggle her bottom. Something moist pressed to her flesh. She screamed and lurched forward, only to be dragged back by Lucilla.

  ‘Be quiet, Lalage!’ Lucilla hissed. ‘Do you want to bring the magpies? Now get your bottom up properly. Let him have a little lick if he wants, it won’t hurt!’

  With her emotions a burning jumble of resentment, arousal, shame and more, Lalage stuck out her bottom again. With her head hung down to peer back between her dangling breasts and open thighs, she found the goat right up against the fence, his tongue lolling from his mouth. His cock was fully erect, a great, bloated red thing twice the size of the potboy’s.

  ‘My, he is a big boy,’ Lucilla said, ‘are you sure you don’t?…’

  ‘Yes, I am sure!’ Lalage hissed. ‘Look in his eyes, Lucilla! If he is ever to be possessed, it will be now!’

  Lucilla leant down. Baudus raised his head, and for a moment the two stared eye to eye, before the goat lost interest and pushed out a thick, sticky tongue, to lap firmly between Lalage’s bottom cheeks. Lalage jerked forward at the touch, to sprawl on the dusty ground as Lucilla abruptly let go of her hair.

  ‘Well?’ Lalage demanded, temper finally starting to rise among her other emotions.

  ‘I am not sure,’ Lucilla stated. ‘It is hard to be certain with you wriggling around so.’

  ‘Hard to be certain? You were inches away!’

  ‘I am not entirely sure what I am looking for, in truth.’

  ‘A dancing flame of red or orange, deep in the eye, you said so yourself!’

  ‘Well, yes, and I thought I saw something of the sort, but his behaviour seemed so mild…’

  ‘Just as well, or at this moment I would have that…that thing in
my quim!’

  Lucilla laughed.

  ‘Save your protestations for the nuns, little Babbles! It is what you want, isn’t it?’

  ‘No, it is not!’

  Lucilla just laughed. Lalage felt her anger flare as she climbed to her feet. Her fists tightened, her teeth clamped hard on her lip. For one moment she wondered if she had the strength to drag Lucilla into the paddock and hold her down to be mounted by the goat, only for the shock at her own thoughts to push back her anger. Lucilla had moved back a step, and much of her usual haughtiness was gone.

  ‘That was a jest, Lalage, no more. Why must you be so serious? Anyway, he has rather a handsome cock, you should not be ashamed of your needs.’

  ‘I do not…’ Lalage began, and stopped, thinking of how she had come over the thought of the goat’s erection being plunged into her body. ‘These are terrible things, Lucilla, pagan things, and you the niece of the Pontiff himself. Baudus was not possessed, clearly, or he would have raped me, and probably you also. What you saw was more likely a reflection of sunlight. Now let us leave, please?’

  ‘Oh very well,’ Lucilla snapped, ‘but really, some times you are as little fun as Mouse or the Butterball. Come, let us go back then, but you are to play with me while we talk of big red cocks, and you will tell me how it feels to be licked by a goat, and…’

  She went abruptly quiet, pointing beyond Lalage as she ducked down. Lalage joined her, turning as she crouched down. Two figures had appeared at the far end of the paddock, the Supplicant who had been put on dung duty and Novice Jael. The girl carried a pail, and at the clang of metal, Baudus turned abruptly away, his erect cock still wagging beneath his belly. Lucilla indicated the paddock, beckoning. Lalage nodded.

  They stole back the way they had come, moving slowly, and reaching the door without trouble. Once through, Lucilla pushed at the rotten remains of the door, blocking the arch.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Lalage hissed.

  ‘What does it look like? Help me!’

  Lalage followed the order, more or less by instinct, helping to push more wood into the gap, then a rotting log to hold it in place. It still made a poor barrier. Lucilla, frowning, moved to the side, where a row of ancient gravestones stood propped against the wall. Taking hold of one, she tugged at it, the strain showing in her face before it moved.