Whipping Girl

by Aishling Morgan

  ‘But I digress, more of that later. Discipline here is maintained, and strictly, yet the state of your body is of importance. On occasion there is call for a public caning, which will be administered for the benefit of an audience as well as that of the girl. When this happens, it will be the least well behaved girl who is beaten, or she who the customer demands, regardless of specific faults. For matters such as indolence, ill temper, being sullen or looking dowdy, we find a few hours chained under the house sump remarkably effective. For one thing alone we reserve a more dramatic punishment, that is attempting to escape. You will not wish to escape. Sister Utha.’

  One of the Salvatoras stepped from behind the girls. Moving to a cabinet, she drew out a length of bright silver chain and held it up. One end was a ball of metal the size of her fist, the other an open ring some two inches across. The chain which joined the two was made of short, heavy links.

  ‘This,’ Elder Sister Amicia announced, taking the chain, ‘is a cunt hobble. If any girl should run, for whatever reason, she will find herself on a bed, strapped firmly in place. There she will be left for general use, with others watching. When fifty, or as it may be, one hundred, men have made full use of her, a select audience will be allowed to watch as an iron pin is driven through the lips of her cunt. This link will then be inserted, and the ends hammered shut. The chain is the same metal of which musket barrels are made, the strongest of all, so I am told, and only plated with silver. Wearing it, as you will for the remainder of your working life, you will find it very hard indeed to run, especially as during sleep it will be fastened to your bed.

  ‘If you are asking yourselves if it will interfere with your work, then the answer is yes. I believe they are extremely inconvenient, while men find it amusing to tug on them, use them to force you into bizarre positions and so forth. I do not know this for certain, as no girl has been stupid enough to run in all the time I have served here. You see, there is nowhere to go. In St Quay itself, our Salvatoras will find you in hours. The girl has yet to be born stupid enough to stow away on a ship, while the rewards offered for those returning escaped girls are sufficient to tempt the most pious. Finally, in the yard of each house are certain hounds, trained to your scent, and also to mount girls. Do not think to run. Oh, and the same penalty is reserved for any revealing that you were once at the nunnery. If asked, say you came in from the country, and, as you may already have noticed, all six of you are from the further provinces. You were chosen carefully, believe me.’

  Elder Sister Amicia chuckled. Lalage swallowed the lump in her throat which had been growing steadily larger as Elder Sister Amicia spoke. Sister Utha took the cunt hobble back, grinning at the girls as she held it out for their inspection. None could bear to touch it, only stare. Lalage found herself wondering how it would feel, on, with the chain quite clearly too short to let the ball rest on the ground with her standing, and worse, being put in. Not even Sanchia spoke as she was shown the awful thing. Indifferent to the girls’ reaction, Elder Sister Amicia turned to address the two other Madams.

  ‘I shall take first choice, by nature,’ she stated, ‘after which you may select two, and I will have whoever remains. There should be no cause for disagreement in any case, as all are admirably suited to their calling.’

  Both the other Madams nodded their agreement and stepped up to consider the girls. Sister Hope approached Lalage, to make a casual inspection, squeezing a breast then stroking one nipple to make it stiffen and swell. Lalage took the interference in silence, even when a fat finger was thrust between her thighs and between the lips of her sex, to touch the skin of her hymen, then rub at her clitoris.

  Sister Hope gave a thoughtful nod and moved on to Sabina, taking a handful of olive skinned buttock and kneading the firm flesh as if making dough. Like Lalage, Sabina took it in silence, as did the other girls, even Sanchia. Each was inspected, breasts and bottoms fondled, quims explored, mouths probed. Ginevra had been made to bend by Sisters Morna and Hope for the inspection of her anus when Elder Sister Amicia finally spoke again.

  ‘Now, let me see,’ she said, lifting Rosabel’s chin beneath one finger. ‘All are pretty, and each appeals in her own way. It is not an easy choice. Still, it must be made. Hmm…Yes, you, Rosabel, are perhaps somewhat fleshy for my house, and would do better down by the docks with Sister Morna. Sailors seem to have a taste for fat girls.’

  ‘I’d be happy to take her, Elder Sister,’ said Sister Morna. ‘As you say, she will be popular, and I often find the stupid ones take to it more easily.’

  ‘Just so, Sister Morna,’ Elder Sister Amicia agreed. ‘Not Rosabel then, but perhaps Sanchia. She has spirit, and plenty of fight, always popular with the merchants of my quarter. Curious, is it not, how the men of peace often enjoy breaking a girl’s spirit, while those of war tend to prefer their mounts placid. Yes, I shall have Sanchia, it will be a pleasure to see her broken.’

  She paused, to prod at one of Sanchia’s buttocks with a finger. The dark brown flesh barely gave. With a satisfied grunt she stood back. Sister Hope gave Ginevra’s bottom a firm slap and spoke.

  ‘I’ll have this one. Apparently she makes a great pretence of modesty, which is a useful trait. So I had better have a true slut for my second. Sabina, I think, unless you are determined on her, Morna?’

  ‘No, have her,’ Morna answered. ‘Ysemay will suit me very well. Being easily sodomised, she should prove popular in my house.’

  Sister Hope laughed in response, then reached out to take a firm pinch of Ginevra’s cheek and pull her up.

  Sister Morna indicated the floor at her feet. Rosabel and Ysemay came to her, to kneel with their heads hung down in submission.

  ‘Not like that,’ Sister Morna sighed. ‘Always this is a problem. They think like nuns. Be languid, girls, be poised, display your bodies. When you come to my feet, or those of a man, sit curled up, to show off your chests and the lips of your cunts. Kneel only if ordered to. You must be open in the lewd display which is your nature, not timid, nor modest as you are now. Still, no doubt you will learn, and innocence fetches its own price.’

  Sister Hope had taken Ginevra to one side, where Sabina joined them, leaving Sanchia and Lalage standing in the middle of the room. Elder Sister Amicia nodded as she considered them, then spoke.

  ‘Yes, I am content with my selection. Now, girls, a few general remarks before you are taken to your new homes. You are now harlots, which means that men pay to slake their lust on your bodies, in case any of you are really so innocent as to be unaware of this. Now, man is created in the image of our Lord, and so has greater purity than woman. So says the good book, which is truth. Despite this, as a harlot you will find that in many ways the behaviour of men is little different from that of beasts, or at least, this has been my experience of those who come here. As you know, it is your own bestial behaviour that has brought you here yourself. As the Salvatora must apply herself to the strength and agility of her body, as the Preceptress must apply herself to the study of order and castigation, so must the harlot apply herself to what is bestial in her nature. This you will learn, under the care of a seasoned harlot.’

  She paused, to take a grape from the fruit bowl and pop it into her mouth, then to pull on a rope of what appeared to be braided human hair. Somewhere in the house a bell rang. She continued.

  ‘You will meet men during your training, including one who will be very special to you. Men are our lifeblood, and you are to treat them with respect. Each is to be looked on as if he represented your ideal in every way. Their appearance, their behaviour, these things are never to be commented on save in terms of praise. Deformities, a club foot or a lost arm, are to be ignored, unless the man himself draws attention to them. In certain cases men hideous by nature, or as the result of the vagaries of war, may take pleasure in your fear and abhorrence. If so, appear fearful and horrified. The fundamental rule remains the same; behave as the man wishes you to behave for his enjoyment of you. This is the essential rule:
the man is everything, you are nothing.

  ‘They will think of you as little more than a pretty body. No man can abide to think of a woman as more intelligent than he, let alone a harlot. Yet you must be no less skilled with your mind than your body. Men need to be flattered, to be cozened into the belief of exceptional virility, and this is also your task. A good harlot will bring the two together, displaying what appears to be an ungovernable, bestial lust for her visitor, however unappealing he may be, yet able to speak flattery even at the very peak of her pleasure. Rather, her supposed pleasure, I should say. Even the most depraved find that their responses dull after a while, and few men indeed will wish to attend to your pleasure as you attend to theirs. Indeed, most would be surprised if told that a difference existed.’

  Both the other Madams laughed. Elder Sister Amicia went on.

  ‘My words will be reinforced over the coming weeks, if necessary by punishment. Learn well, and you will find this is an easy enough life. Learn poorly, and you will be chained under the sump. So, before you return, Sisters, a glass of Cortado, or perhaps bitter red of Salici?’

  ‘Thank you,’ Sister Morna replied. ‘Girls, into the corner.’

  Both Rosabel and Ysemay moved to the corner of the room. Sabina and Ginevra moved to the opposite corner without having to be told, Lalage and Sanchia taking their places between the others. Rosabel had knelt, but changed position as she saw how Ysemay had curled herself on the carpet. The others followed suit.

  ‘They are obedient, at the least,’ Sister Hope commented.

  ‘They have been Supplicants,’ Sister Morna answered as the door opened to admit a girl carrying a tray.

  She was tall, very slender, her skin rich brown, like Sanchia’s, her hair a ball of crinkly black. Heeled shoes of soft yellow leather and stockings banded red, yellow and vivid greed were her only garments. She inclined her head to Elder Sister Amicia, placed the tray on the table and turned to leave, walking with an insolent sway to her hips. All three Madams ignored her.

  Lalage found herself staring, amazed at the black girl’s haughty carriage and open display of her body. There had been no trace of shame, or any ill feeling at all, only a pride that verged on insolence. In the nunnery, such an arrogant display would have been likely to put a girl in the pillories, yet the nuns had not so much as passed a remark or applied a blow to the tightly rounded bottom.

  Elder Sister Amicia took up one of the two bottles on the tray, and a glass, to pour a generous measure of dark red wine. As she took her first sip she gestured to the tray. Sister Morna came forward, to take a glass of the amber coloured Cortado, which she passed to Sister Hope before pouring a second.

  ‘Did you resolve the difficulty at the Five Bells?’ Elder Sister Amicia asked as she settled herself onto a chair.

  ‘Yes,’ Sister Hope answered. ‘It was no great matter. He had been letting the tap girls suck customers’ cocks at a few bice a time. I would not have troubled had it been some back street tavern, and as it was a single visit from the Salvatoras proved enough.’

  ‘No paid men?’

  ‘None. I think it best to keep these things among ourselves if we are able.’

  ‘Exactly so. Still, you always act, if there is pimping involved, or more than one girl is involved, regardless of neighbourhood or how much is charged. Some slut taking a coin for giving her services in a back alley is one thing, but I will not tolerate even the least attempt at organisation. Great things grow from little.’

  ‘You are right, of course, Elder Sister Amicia.’

  ‘Demand is still high,’ Sister Morna commented, ‘and will be even once these six are ready for regular work. Sailors in particular are more often seeking relief in the alleys.’

  ‘As I say,’ Elder Sister Amicia replied, ‘let them, so long as the totality of the organised trade remains with us. What of bids?’

  ‘Fair,’ Sister Morna replied. ‘Now that we know what to offer, doubtless they will get better. Shall we parade the girls all together, or by house?’

  ‘By house,’ Elder Sister Amicia replied. ‘With this Quaestor at the nunnery I wish to keep the girls off the streets as much as is possible. You’ll veil them, by nature, when you take them now, but even veiled a risk of recognition exists, tiny though it may be.’

  ‘What if Quaestor Thane were to visit one of the houses?’ Sister Hope asked.

  ‘A Quaestor, visit a brothel!’ Sister Morna laughed.

  ‘Hope is right,’ Elder Sister Amicia stated firmly. ‘It may be absurd, but it is not impossible. We must keep the new girls from general view until the inspection is complete.’

  ‘And what if the Order is condemned?’

  ‘The Order will not be condemned, criticised, perhaps, for the sake of form, on one or two minor points of theology, but not condemned. Even if Quaestor Thane declares us covetous he will only impose a larger tithe and perhaps have the elders pilloried. By nature we will be the ones to meet the extra tithe, but we will consider that problem should it arise. Personally, I suspect it will not. We have strength, wealth and influence. Is not the Tesserette d’Ortaise herself studying at the nunnery? The Brothers of St Aidan would need irrefutable proof of sacrilege or heresy to condemn us.’

  ‘No doubt you are right. I will sleep more easily when the Quaestor has left St Quay.’

  ‘I also. Meanwhile, we must do nothing to draw his attention to the town. We change nothing.’

  Both other Madams responded with nods of agreement, and the conversation turned to more casual topics, new colours of cloth available in the market but at what they considered exorbitant prices. Lalage stayed still, studying the furnishings of the room and marvelling at the cost. The same was true of the richness of the Madams’ gowns, the glassware on the tray, the wines they were drinking so casually. Even the beautiful harlot who had brought the tray had been wearing leather and silk, of a quality little different to that enjoyed by Lucilla.

  Time passed, marked by the occasional chime of bells from beyond the windows, those of the nunnery among them. At last, Hope and Morna rose to go. Both were drunk; red faced, cheerful and unsteady on their feet. The two massive Salvatoras were not, and put Sabina, Rosabel, Ginevra and Ysemay into veiled robes with brisk efficiency. Both were also hobbled, with light silver chains used to link their ankles, making it impossible to run.

  Lalage watched her friends led away down the stairs with a sinking feeling, more alone than ever. Only Sanchia remained with her, and they reached out to take each other’s hands. Elder Sister Amicia noticed as she turned from kissing the other two Madams goodbye.

  ‘You two are intimate then?’ she demanded. ‘You were lovers in the nunnery perhaps?’

  Sanchia shook her head.

  ‘No,’ Lalage answered.

  ‘You need not hold back such things,’ Elder Sister Amicia answered casually as she poured what remained of the Cortado bottle into her glass. ‘There is no punishment here, for lewd behaviour. You are already found wanting, while you will be made to perform together for men often enough, so why not admit your indulgence?’

  ‘We were not lovers,’ Lalage answered. ‘We did not share a dormitory.’

  ‘We seldom had sex in dormitory,’ Elder Sister Amicia said. ‘My Novice was that vicious old witch Verena.’

  ‘You were a Supplicant?’ Sanchia asked.

  Elder Sister Amicia gave a drunken laugh.

  ‘By nature! How else would I get here? Yes, I was a Supplicant, and a little slut I was too. We used to meet in one of the old towers, in behind the graveyard, my friends and I, three of us, all sluts. Oh, you may feel sorry for yourselves now, my little ones, but harlotry is not the worst of fates. See how I live, as well as any but the Mothers themselves.’

  She made a sweeping gesture around the room, taking in the extravagantly carved furniture, the rich, brilliant hangings, the lurid art. Lalage glanced around once more, wondering at the woman’s happy, drunken corruption.

  ‘This is not the nu
nnery,’ Amicia went on. ‘Here we are friends. True, I may have to discipline you occasionally, but a trip over my knee will do as much to warm your cunts as remind you of your place. Canings happen, sometimes. It’s been a year or more since a girl had to go under the sump. So we shall be friends, shan’t we? Come, who’s going to lick my cunt?’

  She had moved forwards on the chair, to spread her massive thighs apart. As Lalage and Sanchia watched in horror, she hauled up her skirts, revealing a huge froth of petticoat lace, then stockings of bright red silk on massive, tree-trunk legs, and finally a great, red cunt. Lalage swallowed hard and glanced to Sanchia, Sanchia made a face.

  ‘Come, come, don’t be shy,’ Amicia boomed. ‘The pair of you then, and you can do my arsehole too.’

  She pulled up her legs, the hole of her well used vagina coming open, the mouth sticky with white fluid, the huge clitoris glossy and taut. Her anus showed too, brown and hairy between her huge buttocks. Lalage thought of running, and the cunt hobble, of refusing, and the sump under the nunnery sluice room. She had done it before, she could do it now. Going down on her knees, she began to crawl forward. Amicia gave her a welcoming smile.

  Sanchia had gone down on her knees too. Realising that whoever arrived second would end up licking Amicia’s bottom, both girls began to crawl faster, arriving between the big nun’s knee to knock heads in their urgency to get at her quim first. Amicia laughed, and took both by the hair. Relief surged through Lalage as she found herself being pulled up rather than down, and then her face was against the fat, hairy bulge of Amicia’s quim. She stuck out her tongue, licking the big, shiny clitoris even as she watched Sanchia being made to lick bottom.

  The dark girl’s mouth had come open, but her face was screwed up in disgust, which became abruptly stronger as her tongue tip touched the dark knot of Amicia’s anus. The fat nun gave a happy purr and pulled on Sanchia’s hair, forcing her mouth further in. Sanchia began to lick properly, her sharp red tongue flicking over the bumps and creases of Amicia’s obviously much sodomised bottom hole. Lalage also turned her attention to her task, licking as best she could, with the smell of cunt growing ever stronger in her nose.