by Kim Knight
Joanne gasped behind the already clammy hood as she sank back onto the shaft, her lower belly bulging, as though pregnant, anticipating the effect on her inner dividing membrane when a second shaft, human or not, would ransack the vagina and fight the rear one for leeway. As she reconciled herself to the butt gouging her, she again fretted over - not the whips and appurtenances suspended on the far wall facing her - but Elodie’s current rules governing a slave’s right to orgasm when driven to that point under dire punishment. In any event, the whippings and tortures obviously awaiting her would bring her off, in spite of any dictates; if such entailed additional thrashings, why, she would just have to take them. And spend again.
Finally, Melanie seemed content with what she had taken such pains to prepare, the display presenting precisely what Elodie, and especially Anthea, had ordered - a completely nude and undeniably erotic, shapely body, chained outstretched, ringed, oiled, hooded, and, what was more (although Bouchard, while insisting the breast teats should be fully bloated, had not requested it), the crotch labia distended to their extreme reach. Melanie agreed from her own experience that a slave’s vagina, about to be lashed, should be seen rather than merely presumed to be in full flood, and she said so.
“As this is the most sensitive, secluded and depraved part of a female,” her bunched fingers squelched into the sopping oval, “it should be revealed for punishment - like that.” She gave the clit ring a vicious upward tug that caused the week’s offering to lurch back on the anal rod and expel a further dribble of juice into the void between the thighs.
Quite suddenly, the Marquise entered the sweltering precinct, accompanied by Anthea and the major-domo, all three veiled, the two women summarily cloaked. Freshly powdered with a beauty spot on a cheek, another gracing the curve of the left breast, Elodie seated herself regally in the single high-backed throne, the second chair, usually occupied by her husband, having been removed. The deferential Bouchard was heavily masked, as though in no way wishing to be reminded by the superb, appetizing body chained before the august company, of his part in the June drama; vengeance, in fact, clearly manifested itself in the form of his erection, the stupendous phallus throbbing visibly under the studded straps along its length. Gracefully, he helped the Marquise to divest herself of her velvet mantle; he did likewise for Anthea, who then, apart from her sandals and face veil, stood unclothed behind her aunt. There was nothing that delighted Elodie more than to watch her angelic, if bloodthirsty, niece flogging a stark naked, unusually heavy-breasted slave, both bodies tense, nude and sweating. Ah, that was rapture!
While Bouchard informed his three acolytes of the slave’s sentence decided upon at the dinner table, Joanne regarded through her hood’s meagre eye-slits the two women whom, three months previously, she and Martine had caused to be put to the whip by the château servants. Now that she herself was about to suffer in the same way, and unquestionably far more unpleasantly, she regretted that she had not tried her hand in whipping them, at least this licentious niece with pert, upturned nipples. Closing her eyes, she recalled the thrill of last June when watching the pampered bitch being flagellated...
On her part, the Marquise felt it her legitimate right to proceed with what she and her niece, still beset with festering hatred for the slave, had hastily planned the previous night. Moreover, Elodie had made it clear to the château chaplain, Father Antoine, under the seal of the confessional, what they intended to mete out to ‘the philistine parpaillote whore’ who had so naively returned to Lassignac. Both women had readily received his benediction but thought it best he did not take part in the actual sessions, preferring he sat in, after sanctifying the scourges and implements, to watch and pray.
“So, my delectable infidel,” Elodie purred, after a prolonged silence during which Bouchard and Melanie had the valet grease their whips, “we meet again. I’m sure you recognize this chamber - a place you used to frequent often enough in times past, did you not, whore? The furnishings, as well as some of the devices you see on yonder wall may be new to you, but believe me, you will get to know them soon enough - even though your solitary sojourn here will be brief before I sell you off in Toulon, as still is my intention. I say ‘solitary’ since I would not wish your presence, or what’s left of you, to infect the souls and defile the bodies of my other inmates. I thought of ordering my major-domo, whom I have pardoned for last June, to bring in one or two of your erstwhile sisters, still serving me, to watch you suffer. But I have decided against it, for the very sight of what I am going to have done to you, will scare them into eternal submission and douse the fire in them.” She paused, only to add, despondently, “You have truly grieved me, Joanne, for have I not housed, fed and indulged you in a manner few sluts of your humble origin have ever enjoyed? But now it is our turn to gratify ourselves.”
She turned abruptly to her domestics. “Are the instruments in order and ready for use, you two? I want none of the usual delays in handing them to my niece when she starts work, whether tonight or on subsequent evenings. The needles, for instance, and flesh rakes... the chains and weights for the rings. And I assume you’ve oiled the whips on the panel over there.” The jewelled fingers motioned towards the copious array of flogging leathers and crops dangling from hooks planted in the wallboards. The Sandrine creature halted her friggings a moment to assure her mistress that all was prepared. Indeed, she had spent well over an hour on the items, aware that the slightest dereliction of duty could entail a night, ankle-hung in the courtyard, and a mightily raw crotch after Coursel’s use of the coach whip. Feeling she had satisfied her demanding owner, she reverted, Joanne noticed, to reviving her clit that had shrunk with fright when she was addressed.
Elodie then enquired of Anthea whether she wished to add to the homily, at which the girl shook her head, her veiled eyes fixed upon the implement rack. The Marquise resumed addressing the slave: “You will spend the week down here, harlot, and suffer to a degree few of my flock have known. My major-domo and the dutiful Melanie will first flog you - and to that I shall lend full attention, for I have not forgotten how erotically you respond to the whip. Then my cherished niece here” - her thin, blue-veined hand gently caressed the girl’s thigh - “will have carte blanche to do what she holds will improve your moral fibre.” Again she stopped, drawing a deep breath as though bridling her desire to commence the evening’s orgy, only to say, “Of course, my loyal servants will make unstinted use of that rich calyx you have between the thighs which, I’m pleased to see, has been unfurled.” There Joanne caught sight of Melanie’s smirk, as, whip in hand, she took up her stance behind her. “And by calyx I presume you know to what part of your whorish body I refer,” the Marquise smiled. “But then, if I have understood what the duty guards tell me, that seems to be the principal object of your obscene lascivity, for apparently you abuse it several times a night. So, a good lashing and the visit of a strapped cock will not come amiss. And let me add, slummack, you may spend your vile curd as often and as plenteously as you like.”
The Marquise settled herself more comfortably in her chair, sliding her thighs forward so that she could take her cunt and clit in hand. “Now, the two of you, beat this trollop to the blood! You, Bouchard, deal with the foremeat to start with, and Melanie, my sweet clit-licker, lay into those buttocks - yes, I know she’s spigotted, but flay above and below the rod. Let us enjoy seeing you both turn that wealth of sirloin and belly into rare meat. We’ll persecute the breasts and splayed vulva in sequence on each of the following nights. And I hope, Melodie, you’ve scented her body and orifices with the usual perfumes.”
As the favourite assured her with a nod, the Marchioness’s wigged head motioned to her junior menials to cease masturbating and pay attention to the candelabra, in case wax were needed for the body.
Simultaneously, the two scourges rose high before and to the rear of the column of naked flesh and descended into the loins and buttocks with a force that see
med almost to cut the victim in half. Joanne bore the first dozen lashes valiantly enough, the blows falling alternately, each methodically spaced from the next. In turn, the body was driven back on to the anal shaft and then impelled forwards, the slave’s distended sphincter squelching in and out at each lunge. With sweat brimming inside the tight slave hood, the teeth bared and gritted as the septum ring chimed against them, her heroism, for which she had once been renowned, did not last long. The muffled moans and then the cries she uttered filled the precinct, along with the sound of each successive lash, as tears and blinding flashes of pain deprived the slave of sight through the narrow eye slits. Unaware of how many welts the two floggers were required by Elodie to raise on the rump, belly and thighs, the slave bore what she could in a dark cloud of submission... until suddenly the whipping ceased.
Vaguely, she heard Elodie’s mocking yet quavering voice mingling with her own groans. “Feel the whore’s lair of lechery, Bouchard. Is the sex-stump fully exposed from its sheath and well erect? If so, inform the bitch she can come, if she hasn’t spent already. One can’t tell with all this shrieking.” With one hand clamped between her thighs, the other caressing Anthea’s vulva, the aunt rallied herself. “Now, my loyal ones, prepare her for my patient niece to give that rancid crevice a lesson it will never forget.” As the girl leaned down to kiss her aunt’s cheek, she seemed to hear what she expected from Elodie. “I want the slut truly beaten before turning the body over to you, mon ange. But when the time comes, I expect you to lash hard into that cleft of crud that never seems to cease drooling. But remember, my Slave Master has to have his turn. Then we’ll sling what’s left of the bitch up from the rafter chains and make her truly repent. But now, my luscious Melodie, and you Bouchard, ripen the whore for my niece.”
Hardly able to believe that still further sequences of real torment were to come, Joanne was conscious enough to wonder if indeed she could last out the night, let alone the week. As far as she could gather, this night would not see her suspended head down, with her legs drawn apart by the ankles. And yet the thought of what awaited her later caused her nipples to shrink into the refuge of the areoles, the ringed clitoris withdrawing into its protective sheath. She wondered how long her breasts would remain undamaged; with six further nights ahead under the women’s ferocity, there was scant chance of their remaining unscathed, anymore than they could hope of escaping the effect of Bouchard’s iron pincers.
As a further slew of lashes slammed into the lower front and back regions, the slave strove to control her ascent towards further authorized but inescapable orgasms which were rapidly exhausting her.
Quite unexpectedly, after a murmured exchange between the two noblewomen, the Marquise again halted the ordeal with a curt order.
“The doxy’s udders, Bouchard! They’re slewing too freely for my liking. They need to stand firm and taut if they’re to benefit fully from what my niece intends to enjoy later. Throttle those lolling bags of lymph, fellow! And, Anthea, ma douce, I want them well welted before you start on them. And we have to think of the spiked tongs. As to the needles, you’ll have to wait until tomorrow, chérie. So, Bouchard, go ahead and clamp the slattern.”
“With pleasure, my lady,” the perspiring flogger panted, “but I gathered the tit-tie was foreseen for tomorrow’s session. I mean, for the pincers and bodkins. Have I misunderstood Your Grace’s orders?”
“Do as I say, man. Clamp them tight at the roots. It vexes me to see such bales of suet swinging so insolently. Anyway, they can do with a foretaste of what awaits them anon.” She turned to her Anthea as Sandrine handed the long flesh-crop to the young vixen of a niece. “You’d prefer them trussed up, wouldn’t you, mon trésor?”
Joanne saw Anthea nod, her veiled countenance and graceful neck already flushed with pleasure.
Painstakingly, the major-domo encircled the root of each sagging breast with the horrendous metal brace and screwed the jaws tight, so that the strangled bulges could be worked on at ease. (Joanne recalled from slave gossip in her former time of imprisonment that the irons had been the gift of a Spanish Inquisitor visiting France and advising how best to stamp out heresy.) As the crescents of tines embedded into the soft blubber, the slave let out a gasp of pain; although accustomed to having her overweighted bubs garrotted, never had she been made to experience the penetration of prongs. Striving against the collar flange forcing her head aloft, she could see her breasts pointing and resembling fire-red projectiles from a culverin, except that they had turned purple, the colour of Burgundy. The areoles and teats bulged, engorged, the veins throbbing under the skin like worms trying to escape. Whenever her precious milk churns had been strangled with cord and beaten, it proved almost a pleasure, but the iron semicircles were very different. And her balconies feared the needles; the niece was not going to content herself by merely skewering the tits but would probably thrust the longest bodkins directly into the nipple vents. But what again scared her was the subsequent, agonizing release of the mounds and the circulation taking up again. She only hoped she would be able to reach orgasm under the whips before the clamps were removed.
Elodie’s instructions to her four retainers were, however, far from over. “I trust, good Bouchard, you took careful note of what my niece and I decided at table, regarding what we wish this pig of a parpaillote to undergo, once her outlandishly gross bosoms have been dealt with. It would be fitting to inform your two underlings of our decision so that the punishments proceed without unseemly delay.” Promptly, Deljoux and Sandrine ceased masturbating, as their overseer nodded and addressed them.
“The Marquise desires the slave to be positioned otherwise for the evening’s ensuing sequence. You will release the strumpet’s legs, attach the ankles to those farther chains over there,” - he gestured to lengths of links attached to hooks set in the opposite wall, some way behind him - “and be sure to part the whore’s limbs wide, without - and harken, both of you - dislocating the haunch sockets. Our exalted ladies wish to have full access to the bitch’s crotch, and you know how they like to see the thigh muscles in tension. So make sure both pairs of ringed labia are splayed by the shackling you’ll pass round the hips and join to the dildo in her rectum. Just as we did when stretching out that turbulent, blonde wench we had to deal with a week ago.” Joanne wondered who that victim had been and if she knew her.
The two assistants bowed, clearly delighted to be charged with setting up yet another condemned slave for what they particularly liked to watch, Sandrine having suffered similar but milder treatment in the past: horizontal bondage, crotch flogging and penetration of the gaping vagina, and possibly the anus, if freed from the rear rod. The throat would also be available for use. Assisting with similar torments inflicted a while back, both menials had truly relished each stage of such punishments, watching their Master’s studded, rawhide-braided phallus gouging into a writhing slave - a slattern who had just been whipped with salutary force to curb her overindulgent frigging. The present victim, from what they had gathered from Melodie, was to be flogged far more fiercely, and for reasons other than merely sexual.
Elodie listened attentively to her major-domo repeating her own orders but seemed irritated, once he had finished, when the skimpily-attired Sandrine, always eager for commendation and promotion, had the effrontery to enquire whether the anal rod should be removed, when the body was levelled out.
“Of course not, you dolt,” the Marquise shrilled back. “Deljoux has only to extend the brank further out. And if you don’t watch that wagging tongue of yours, I’ll have the rod rammed into your maw
and lash your fat arse to the quick.”
The thickset cow of a slave handler, to Joanne’s contentment, turned white, apologizing humbly and glancing nervously at the knotted scourges Bouchard and Melanie still had in hand, the leathers dripping with slave sweat. To make amends and beg pardon for her pointless remark, the slut hurried to kneel befor
e her mistress’s parted thighs, only to be kicked aside and ignored.
A moment later, Joanne felt the links holding her arms being extended down and the ankles released. It was Deljoux who then drew the legs forward, clipping the bondage straps to chains extended from the opposite wall. She found her body stretched almost parallel to the floor and held aloft by the anal rod, now at its full length and still firmly rooted in the rectum. Before her head slumped back between the arms, she caught sight of the two seniors conversing with Elodie and Anthea. What was said lay beyond her hearing but it was accompanied by veiled glances towards her and, to the slave’s amazement, by Anthea calmly running a gloved hand up and down Bouchard’s erection, the aunt merely smiling, seeming more interested in the folds of Melanie’s saturated vulva. Plainly, the session so far had been edifying for Elodie. Whatever was now to follow would, Joanne suspected, delight the woman even further - and if the whips buried deep into the crotch, the victim was meant to enjoy it equally.
With her legs wrenched wide and harnessed to the wall cleats, Joanne feared for her joints and, above all, for her open groin. And with reason, for Deljoux was already drawing the labia apart with further chains that encircled the thighs and sank into the welted buttock meat behind; tugging on the ends, he coupled them to the summit of the extended shaft impaling the slave’s rear. The way in which the wet vagina yawned was a clear beckoning to those entrusted by the Marquise with its punishment. Yet Joanne’s head sank down submissively between the arms and, noticing again how near the instruments on the wall seemed to be, the superb length of flesh and muscle resigned itself to fate. Suddenly she tensioned, catching sight of Bouchard standing between her outstretched legs, whip unfurled. Caressing his strapped erection, the man gazed from behind his mask at the leaking cunt and the clitoris skinned of its protective sleeve - which Joanne felt merited something more solid than just a slack whip thong... As to Melanie, she had stationed herself a lash length’s distance from the hollowed sweep of the belly and jutting rib cage, as if eager to show her Mistress again how she too was able to draw blood like Bouchard.
