Whipping Girl

by Aishling Morgan

  It took moments. Amicia began to groan. Her grip tightened in the girls’ hair. Her muscles began to twitch. Then she was coming. Fluid sprayed out from Amicia’s quim, catching Sanchia full in the face and shutting both her eyes. Lalage had jerked back an instant before, but was immediately forced back onto the big woman’s sex, to lap up the juice and finish off what she had begun. By the time Lalage was let up, Sanchia was sitting back, wiping her eyes.

  ‘That’s something you’ll learn to get used to,’ Amicia laughed, ‘from me and from the men. They love to do it over a girl’s face, they do, and the prettier she is, the more they like to soil her. That’s another thing about men. They love to spoil beauty. Rub your cunts if you like, or go head to tail.’

  Lalage glanced at Sanchia, who returned an uncertain look, then shrugged. Coming forward, Sanchia took Lalage firmly by the shoulders and pushed her to the floor before climbing aboard. For one moment Sanchia’s muscular black bottom was poised over Lalage’s face, then in it, quim to mouth, anus to nose. Lalage began to lick, at first resentfully, then more eagerly as Sanchia’s tongue worked on her own quim. In no time she was wriggling her nose in Sanchia’s bottom hole and lapping up the rich, girl scented juice. Sanchia’s finger found Lalage’s anus, pushing up, deep inside. Lalage put her hands to Sanchia’s bottom, hauling the cheeks wide. Sanchia began to wiggle her finger in Lalage’s bottom. Lalage returned the favour, sticking one finger into the tight black ring of anal flesh.

  Amicia was watching them, her fat face set in a satisfied smile. For one moment Lalage’s shame came back, only to vanish as Sanchia began to suck on her clitoris. An instant later she was coming, and lapping frantically at Sanchia’s sex and bottom. Sanchia’s anus tightened on Lalage’s finger and they were both in orgasm, coming together on the floor in a welter of juice and saliva, each with her finger well up the other’s behind.

  Shame and resentment returned as Lalage came down from her orgasm. Slowly, she pulled her finger out of Sanchia’s bottom, then stuck it in her mouth, more or less by instinct. Amicia watched her suck for a moment, then reached up for the bell pull, giving it a lazy tug. The black girl appeared as Lalage and Sanchia were still picking themselves up from the floor. As she bent for the tray she threw them a single, amused look.

  ‘These are our two new sluts, Flavia,’ Amicia remarked. ‘The dark is Sanchia, a bold minx who would never learn her lesson. The pale is Lalage, a slut among sluts. This, girls, is Flavia, now three years in my service. Today she is housemaid, because her cunt is too sore to serve after an entire ship’s crew had her by turns last night. Flavia, send up Josepina and Fida.’

  ‘Yes, Ma’am,’ Flavia replied and gave the girls another arch look before turning away.

  ‘One of my best,’ Amicia remarked. ‘Study her and you will learn a great deal, the way she seems to taunt with her bottom as she walks for instance. This is not easy to achieve.’

  Lalage said nothing, but watched the neatly rotating balls of Flavia’s rump until the door closed. Amicia was right, Flavia’s walk was an invitation to rude conduct. Indeed, everything about the girl was, and it was no easier to think of her as a Supplicant than of Elder Sister Amicia.

  She got up, into a kneeling position, then stood. Amicia made no complaint. Wondering how far the big woman’s casual attitude extended, she glanced at the bowl of fruit. There were grapes, oranges, even a peach. Aside from the occasional morsel given by Lucilla, she had tasted nothing of the sort, although it was generally understood that there was lemon juice in the gruel to make it nastier. Sanchia spoke, voicing Lalage’s want.

  ‘Elder Sister…Ma’am…might I take a piece of fruit?’

  ‘Do,’ Amicia offered. ‘One thing we do not stint on here is food. You must be kept svelte, naturally, but men like flesh. Lalage, you in fact, must increase, and will be served double portions until further notice.’

  Sanchia was already reaching for the fruit bowl, but Lalage darted in quickly, to take the peach, only to be struck by sudden guilt. Sinking her teeth into the juicy fruit, she twisted off half and passed it to Sanchia.

  ‘Good,’ Amicia remarked. ‘Here, friendship is important. How else could it be when we eat each other’s cunts so often?’

  She laughed, and broke off a stem of grapes for herself. Lalage concentrated on her peach, savouring the delicious, sweet juice, although it held a trace of rot. A little ran down her chin, to drip onto her breasts, which she quickly scooped up with a finger. Sanchia spoke again as she finished.

  ‘May I ask a question Ma’am?’.

  ‘Do.’

  ‘When we are older…when we are less desirable. What becomes of us? Not all can come to run the houses.’

  ‘Some go out to remote farms, others to mission houses,’ Amicia answered. ‘Why, what did you think? We are not barbaric, Sanchia. We are of the church. There is love for you, always, as Supplicant, as Prioress, as Harlot. However it may seem, our actions are guided by love, and for your own good. Now where are those girls? After fifteen years and ten thousand spankings, Fida is still lazy, and…’

  The door swung open. Two girls came in, one small, blonde and plump, beautiful but faded, her thick make-up failing to conceal the lines on her face. The other stood an inch taller and was dark haired, with the olive skin of the mid-south, also beautiful yet past her first youth.

  ‘There you are,’ Amicia said. ‘Fida, this is Sanchia, who you are to train. Josepina, you will take Lalage in hand. Teach them well…and have Flavia come to me, with another bottle of the Salici red.’

  Both women responded with respectful nods. Josepina reached out for Lalage’s hand. Lalage accepted the gesture, and allowed herself to be led from the room, with Sanchia and Fida following.

  ‘The first thing to know,’ Josepina said, ‘is that if you do not please me I will spank your bottom. If you resist, I will call the Salvatoras and they will do it for me. Just remember that, and we will get on nicely.’

  ‘Yes…Josepina,’ Lalage answered.

  ‘Good, I can see you are a sensible girl, pretty too,’ Josepina said. ‘I might spank you anyway, and have you lick my cunt, but first, the house. This is the third floor, where Ma’am has her suite. We live above…’

  She broke off as she started up the stairs, leaving Lalage faced with a bare bottom framed between a corset panelled in vermilion satin and equally bright stockings as she followed. Fida had led Sanchia to a window, and the two of them were alone as they reached a landing.

  ‘All the girls are downstairs now,’ Josepina explained, pushing open a door to reveal a room decked out in tawdry finery. ‘This is my room. You will share with me for now. Look at this.’

  Lalage noted that there was only one bed and resigned herself to another round of quim licking, having her face sat on and other pleasures girls had taken of her since coming to St Quay. Josepina had gone to the window, and was leaning out. Lalage joined her, finding herself at the opposite side of the house to the room she had first been in, and overlooking a high walled yard far below. Other yards surrounded it, and a smell compounded of rotting vegetables, dung and cooking wafted up to her. Looking to her left she could see a section of the nunnery above the rooftops, with hills beyond.

  ‘Look down, not up,’ Josepina instructed. ‘What do you see?’

  Peering down into the yard below, Lalage made out a jumble of wooden huts, a bowl of water, then the great tawny back of a dog, lying half out of a kennel.

  ‘That is Beast,’ Josepina said. ‘He has two brothers. If you run, they will chase you down and when he catches you he will fuck you. Then the Salvatoras will drag you back and put a cunt chain through your flesh. Do not run.’

  Lalage nodded weakly.

  ‘Good,’ Josepina said, ‘I am glad you’re sensible, because if you did run, they’d be sure to punish me too. So, you are here, and I think you have the sense to make the best of it?’

  Again Lalage nodded. Josepina pulled back from the window and sat down on the
bed. Lalage gave the huge dog one final look and came in as well, to curl herself at Josepina’s feet.

  ‘Again, good,’ Josepina stated, putting her legs up on Lalage’s hip. ‘We will get on well, you and I. Now, there will be little to do until a buyer is found for your virginity…’

  ‘My virginity is to be sold?’ Lalage answered in horror.

  ‘By nature,’ Josepina answered happily. ‘How else would it be? So, you must…’

  ‘You are teasing me, surely?’ Lalage interrupted. ‘How can the Lord’s greatest gift to womankind be sold? This is…this is heresy!’

  ‘This is trade,’ Josepina answered. ‘Now will you listen, or do you want your bottom spanked?’

  Lalage said nothing, speechless at the revelation. Josepina went on, as gay as ever.

  ‘Anyway, silly, how did you think to lose it? Your virgin fuck will bring in as much as I make in a month! It will be to some rich merchant, probably, or a sea captain, an official in the church even. We don’t just give you to anybody!’

  Still Lalage could find nothing to say.

  ‘So, what did you think?’ Josepina asked again in genuine puzzlement.

  ‘I…I do not know,’ Lalage managed. ‘A ritual perhaps, like the Briding?’

  Josepina laughed.

  ‘I hardly think so, not for us! No, Lalage, your pretty little cunt will be pricked not by perverted Briding, but by the cock of some fat old merchant. They are all old and fat, incidentally, those with enough money, save for the occasional high soldier or seaman. So, as I say, you must be pretty for inspection at all times. Presently you look like a drowned rat. So, to work.’

  * * *

  Lalage looked at her reflection in the mirror. It was hard to recognise herself. Her face was pale with powder, her lips brilliant scarlet outlined in a deeper red, her eyes bright with kohl and Honour’s Gold. Her hair had been teased into an extravagant confection of ringlets tied up with golden ribbons and clasps, worn low over her brow and framing her face. A beauty spot in the shape of a stylised quim marked one cheek.

  She felt vulnerable, and slightly foolish, despite the compliments of Josepina and the other girls. Her clothes made the feelings worse, a corset of cloth of gold, pulled tight at her waist but leaving her breasts bare and her bottom showing beneath a mass of tight frills, also bare. At the front, her pubic hair had been partly shaved, into what was called the cunt harp, designed to exaggerate and draw attention to her quim. Golden yellow stockings tied with golden ribbon and block shoes of polished wood and yellow leather completed her clothes. Her nipples and the lips of her quim were dark with rouge. The effect left her feeling naked in a way she had never experienced when going nude at the nunnery.

  Josepina had worked on Lalage for two days, trying different combinations of colour and style, before bringing her to Madam Amicia. All that time, Lalage had know that men were being invited to bid for her precious virginity, and that once enough bids had been taken, she would be paraded for inspection. Josepina and the other girls had tried to stress what an honour this was, and that Lalage should make the best of it. She could see little difference between what was being done to her and taking a goat to market for sale, or for slaughter.

  ‘Beautiful!’ Josepina declared for perhaps the tenth time since completing Lalage’s make-up. ‘Now come, we must not keep our visitors waiting, must we?’

  Lalage gave no reply, but followed Josepina from the room and down the stairs. In Madam Amicia’s main room, a beautiful black girl sat on a stool, her face set in a wary scowl. Her shoes, stockings, corset and gloves were all leaf green satin, a colour set off with black, and which was reflected in her make-up and the glass jewels in her hair. Only when the girl turned Lalage a sulky look did she realise it was Sanchia. Josepina immediately went to talk to Fida, who was standing at the window, eating sugar flowers. Lalage seated herself beside Sanchia and was about to speak when Madam Amicia herself bustled in.

  ‘You are ready? And about time,’ the Madam began, taking in both Lalage and Sanchia with a single glance. ‘Hmm…fair…Fida, perhaps a little less green, or soften the effect with a gold or silver. Josepina, yes, you have her colour. Their cunts are rouged? Their bottoms are powdered?’

  ‘Yes, Ma’am,’ Josepina answered as Fida quickly swallowed a sugar flower.

  Lalage found herself grimacing at the all too recent memory of bending over to have her bottom washed, dried and powdered, then slapped gently to bring colour to her cheeks. Even her anus had been attended to, and it was not difficult to guess why. Amicia continued.

  ‘Come girls, sit up straight, chests out, make the best of your bubbies, and for the Lord’s sake, stop scowling, Sanchia! Lalage, smile, happily. You must project excitement, gratitude, a little apprehension, yes, but not stark terror. Giggle together a little, perhaps, look sidelong from behind your fans. These are men, they must be flattered, cozened…How many times must I repeat this? Where are your fans?’

  ‘Here…Ma’am,’ Sanchia answered, picking a green fan up from beside.

  ‘Her fan!’ Josepina squeaked, and scampered for the door.

  She nearly reached it, only to be caught by the ear and hauled down, squeaking, across Madam Amicia’s raised knee. A dozen firm swats set her fleshy bottom quivering and she was released, to run from the room with one hand on her smacked behind. Amicia turned back to the girls.

  ‘Up, the pair of you! Already a dozen men have gathered, including some of the wealthiest merchants of St Quay, men of the church, a jurist even. Now follow me, and remember, you are honoured by their presence. Show a little defiance, a little pride, perhaps, but only enough to entice their ardour…’

  She continued to talk as they followed her from the room. On the landing Josepina gave Lalage a fan and joined the little troop. On the floor below they passed the room to which the men took the harlots for their pleasure. Lalage found herself blushing at the noises coming from behind the doors, squeals, laughter, grunting, and as she reach the top of the main stair, a scream that made her quim tighten in sympathy.

  Lalage had not seen the main hall of the brothel, and found herself gaping as they trooped down the stairs. Floor, walls, ceiling and furniture were crimson highlighted with gold. Huge mirrors adorned the walls, alongside great canvasses. Each painting depicted an orgy set in the style of a different province, with as many beasts as men among the revellers. These included monkeys, dogs, and in one case two great bears, each with a pale northern girl sucking on a monstrous erection. Lalage found herself blushing hotter still as she caught herself staring.

  Many of the other harlots were in the main room, brilliant in their gaudy finery, and every one bare in front and behind at chest and hips. There were men present too, most in coats of brightly coloured cloth, black breeches and white shirts. Some were in uniform or even the robes of the priesthood. Lalage’s embarrassment gave way to anger at such blatant impiety, only to come back stronger still at the memory of how she and Lucilla had behaved with Baudus.

  Nearly everyone present turned to look as the girls came down the stairs. Lalage hid her face behind her fan in confusion, suddenly no more able to follow Madam Amicia and Josepina’s elaborate instruction than to fly. It seemed to make no difference, several of the men breaking off their attention to other harlots to stare with unconcealed lust at Sanchia and herself, particularly at the tight Vs between their thighs.

  ‘Virgins,’ one man remarked to another as Lalage passed, managing to express the word with a smack of his lips, as if in anticipation of a good steak or a bottle of fine wine.

  ‘They will be paraded in the theatre,’ Madam Amicia informed the men. ‘If you have an interest?’

  One of the men responded with a grunt. The other reached out to pinch Sanchia’s bottom as she passed, then laughed as she jumped and stumbled on the bottom step. Both followed as the girls started across the floor.

  Heavy crimson drapes covered the entrance to an arch. Josepina held them for the others, letting them
into another great, high room, no less garish, and with a curtained stage at one end. Chairs and tables had been set out, with men seated at them, drinking wine. Flavia was moving among them, tight black bottom bare as ever, and set off with a spray of peacock feathers rising from the base of her corset.

  Lalage and the others moved between the tables, Amicia bowing left and right and passing remarks and swapping lewd jokes with the men. Lalage could only stare fixedly ahead, her face hot with her ever-growing embarrassment. They reached the stage, and she was sent up the stairs with a slap to her bottom, drawing laughter from more than one man. When she turned around, she found herself alone with Sanchia, and every eye in the room on her naked body.

  Feeling confused and vulnerable, she could only manage a weak smile, then promptly hid her face behind her fan. Madam Amicia threw her a threatening look. She attempted a curtsey, drawing fresh laughter from the men and leaving her cheeks hotter still. Sanchia leant towards her, using her fan to shield her mouth as she spoke in an urgent whisper.

  ‘I can not do this without you, Lalage!’

  ‘I can not do it at all!’ Lalage whispered back.

  ‘We must!’ Sanchia insisted. ‘If we fail to please, life will be as in Hell! Think of the sump!’

  Lalage grimaced, thinking of the black, stinking pit Josepina had shown her to make sure she behaved. It had worked. Fighting down her embarrassment, she began to dance.

  It was a simple routine, a series of jumps, wriggles and postures, both lewd and ridiculous. From watching Josepina she knew how foolish and undignified it looked, and how it made her expose every rude detail between her legs, yet always as if by accident. As she bounced and jiggled her way through it, her embarrassment grew to a furious head, made all the worse by the men’s laughter and lewd demands, and by the sight of Sanchia performing the same ludicrous postures beside her.