A Gentleman's Property

by Toby Abbott

  The high-stepping ponies had not gone far before a naked Amazon corporal came running from the telegraph hut waving a sheet of paper and calling “Milady, Milady!”

  The Baroness pulled sharply on the reins, snapping the heads of Peggy and Purity painfully backwards, and bringing the carriage to an immediate halt.

  “Well, corporal?”

  “A message from Madame Colet, Milady. Just in.”

  “2400 lace slips,” chuckled the Baroness, running quickly through the message, “and 2100 fancy knickers. Business must be good in the undie world. Give this to Lieutenant Hesione, and tell her to join me in the lecture theatre as soon as she has transcribed it.”

  “Yes, Milady,” and the corporal set of for the bungalow at a run.

  The message had evidently increased the Baroness’s good humour, for before proceeding she got down from the carriage and walked round to the heads of her ponies.

  “Why, Mrs Grant,” she said, “how very rude you must think me. I quite failed to recognise you in your new outfit. I hope you are keeping perfectly well?”

  The only answer was a whinny, but it seemed satisfactory. The Baroness produced a lump of sugar and held it out to Peggy, who picked it up delicately with her lips, lodged it in the corner of her mouth, and licked the Baroness’s palm, rounding off the performance with another whinny.

  “Good girl,” said the Baroness, patting Peggy’s offside breast, and setting the bell tinkling. Purity was also treated to a sugar lump, accepted with the same ritual, before the journey was resumed.

  The building outside which the Baroness hitched her ponies was one of the largest in the complex, and differed from all the others in being circular. The unobtrusive door led into a small and featureless lobby, on the other side of which were plain double doors. Those who opened them for the first time experienced a thrilling architectural coup de théâtre, for they found themselves at the top of a steep flight of steps leading down into an ornately panelled lecture theatre of the kind found in old-fashioned anatomy schools. The Baroness had opened the doors many times, had indeed been the first to open them, but it was still a thrill to do so now and see the assembled audience of Sisters and senior Amazon officers jump to their feet, applauding loudly. Distaining to use the handrail, the erect old lady walked confidently down the steps, pausing here and there to exchange kisses with eminent Sisters.

  A Lecture

  “Dear Sisters, and gallant officers of the Amazon Legion,” the Baroness began formally, when silence had fallen, “ ‘Ringing the Belle’ is the somewhat facetious title chosen by my secretary for this demonstration, a title scarcely suitable for a serious contribution to experimental sexology. See me in my room after class, lieutenant!”

  The titters that had been growing in the theatre burst into shrieks of laughter at this sally. “The Baroness is on form today, this should be fun” a buxom colonel whispered to her neighbour, the newly-promoted major of the yachting accident, who was attending her first lecture. The only one who seemed not to appreciate the joke was Lieutenant Chloe, the Baroness’s secretary, who had painful experience of the thin line between her mistress’s jest and earnest. The lieutenant, who had been sent ahead to prepare the lectern, now stood alertly beside it, ready to execute any command, and thus presented an easy target for witticisms. Her black leather uniform consisted of a tight corslet, a short pleated skirt with a hint of ancient Rome about it, and thigh boots. Her nipples had been squeezed through holes in the corslet, and rings attached to prevent them from slipping. From the left ring depended the red ribbon indicating that Chloe had taken part in a combat mission, from the right her green silk badge of office as the Baroness’s secretary. These were objects of great pride, but they did tend to betray a lady’s emotions by dancing and fluttering, as now, when she was agitated.

  The Baroness held up a beautifully manicured hand to recall attention. “But before I proceed with the main business I have an important announcement. A telegram has been received from Madame Colet, which my slim grasp of cryptology suggests is of the first importance to the future of our sisterhood. It is being decoded at this moment. If vital theoretical work of the kind you are about to witness is to be continued, a regular supply of fresh slaves must be secured. Today’s subject is the last of the batch that we owe to the courage and initiative of Major Electra - welcome, major, and congratulations! - and unless decisive action is taken to improve the situation we are in danger of stagnating. Madame Colet’s letter may be the signal for which we have been waiting, so I will ask all Sisters and officers on the Recruitment Committee to attend a special meeting in my office immediately after the demonstration. Major Electra, please attend also.”

  The Baroness waited for the excited whispering of the audience to die away before proceeding.

  “ ‘Ringing the Belle’. then, if it must be so. Lieutenant Chloe’s little joke plays upon the fact that our subject used to be what is sometimes called a Southern Belle, a rich and spoilt young lady from the Deep South of the United States. Mary Ann Simpson is her name. You will have ample opportunity to hear her quaint accent shortly. Miss Simpson was on a visit to her uncle, the American consul, when she was invited to join the ill-fated cruise. The consul very properly insisted that his son and daughter-in-law should go along as chaperones. The son relieved Miss Simpson of her troublesome virginity the first time his wife’s back was turned, a sin for which he is now doing penance at the bottom of the ocean.”

  An explosion of laughter greeted the Baroness‘s cruel jest, as any anti-male sentiment was popular with this audience, witty or not.

  “The daughter-in-law some of you may have met at close quarters, as she has recently been put on the bed slave roster, after completing basic training. I can thoroughly recommend her to those who have not yet had the pleasure - very succulent, a Louisiana watermelon!”

  The Baroness smiled indulgently until a renewed burst of laughter, and some ribald comments from the officers, had died away.

  “Miss Simpson was fast asleep when the yacht was boarded, and was bound and hooded before she was half awake. To this day she has no idea where she is or what has happened to her. Not a virgin, as I say - loss of virginity is what yachts were invented for - but A Virgin to Pain. (That would have been my title, Lieutenant.) Ladies, I give you Miss Mary Ann Simpson of Richmond.”

  Exactly on cue the curtains behind the Baroness slid open and a trolley emerged, pushed by two strapping sergeants. They swung it round to the front of the lectern, where there was ample space before the tiers of seats began. The Baroness threw a switch on the lectern and the spotlight above it went out as another above the trolley came on.

  A thick blanket, secured at the corners, completely covered the trolley, but its rippling showed that some living creature was in constant though limited motion beneath. Convulsive sobs and a stream of incoherent pleas for mercy proved that the creature was a woman, and the few completed phrases she forced through her scream-shredded throat did indeed exhibit the rich Southern accent that defies parody. At a sign from the Baroness the sergeants unfastened the blanket and whipped it off with a theatrical flourish.

  Mary Ann Simpson was still dressed in the garments she was wearing at the time of her capture, a rather demure provincial version of the lacy and beribboned baby doll nightdress with matching knickers. Her ankles and wrists were secured to the corners of the trolley, and a tight strap across her waist further restricted her movements. Padded patches covered her eyes and tasselled plugs sealed her ears. Her vivid red hair cascaded from the back of the trolley almost to the floor.

  “The subject is aware that something is happening to her,” said the Baroness, “because of the movement, the change of temperature, and the removal of the weight of the blanket. Her breathing is also less restricted. But the pads and plugs keep her entirely blind and deaf, so we can safely discuss our plans for her, and prepare the nec
essary tools, without spoiling the surprise. As I have indicated, Miss Simpson’s sexual experience has been of the slightest and, alas, restricted entirely to the primitive heterosexual kind. She is to be pitied, but in a case like this, where stubbornness has prevented enlightenment, cruelty is the purest expression of pity. I read in your report, Major Electra, that you attempted to open Miss Simpson’s eyes to the higher forms of sexuality.”

  “I did, Baroness, on several occasions, but she was besotted with her cousin, and rejected my advances very rudely. Her vocabulary was surprisingly wide and fruity for a well brought-up young lady.”

  “Ah, penis worship,” said the Baroness, shaking her head sadly, “how many sins are committed in your name! Well, our experiment today will begin Miss Simpson’s education in the only true joys of the flesh. But that is not its primary purpose. We all know theoretically the close bond between pain and pleasure, but we tend to experience it at times when cool scientific observation is not possible. Here I hope to demonstrate it clearly and precisely to your eyes and ears, and the filmed record that is being made will enable us to relive the event and extract all its lessons at leisure.”

  “Cool scientific observation?” whispered Major Electra’s neighbour, with a throaty chuckle. “I don’t mind betting your clit is far from cool at the moment. Mine is burning.”

  “My assistants,” the Baroness continued in an aside to Chloe and the two sergeants, “remember the camera positions, and avoid obstructing their access. Now, position the trolley with the subject‘s feet away from the lectern and lock it in position, and we will begin.”

  The Baroness pressed a button and stepped down to stand beside Mary Ann’s writhing body. There was a whirring of gears and two solid poles descended slowly from the roof, a leather cuff at the end of each. They came to rest about four feet apart, one to each side of Mary Ann’s shackled wrists.

  “Release her feet and re-fasten them to the cuffs,” ordered the Baroness.

  Considering how much she must have been cowed and weakened by her ordeal, and how handicapped she was by sensory deprivation, Mary Ann put up an impressively determined struggle. She thrashed and flailed and bucked, screaming and cursing in a voice soaked with tears, and managed to land a solid kick on the pendulous left breast of Sergeant 653 before her ankles were finally secured beside her wrists. The two sergeants snapped back to attention, 653 showing commendable discipline in keeping her hands tight to her sides and leaving her throbbing tit to take care of itself.

  Mary Ann’s body was now folded in half, with her lacy pink knickers providing the only protection for her blatantly presented buttocks and pudenda. The baby doll had become stretched across her high-perched breasts, which were clearly outlined just below her pretty chin. The framing of her breasts and face between her thighs made a charming picture for the intent audience staring downwards from the tiered oval of seats.

  “Knife.” said the Baroness, for all the world like a surgeon, and just like a nurse Lieutenant Chloe instantly produced one and pressed it into her mistress’s hand. It was a mercy that Mary Ann could not hear the word, though of course mercy had nothing to do with her temporary deafness. Being careful not to obstruct the various fixed cameras whirring away from vantage points in the roof, the Baroness leaned between her victim’s straining thighs and, while the two sergeants held the garment taut on either side, sliced the flimsy nightdress from hem to neckline with a single stroke. When she flung the severed folds of material to either side, baring the delicate breasts, the spectators expected to see a line of blood up Mary Ann’s belly and chest, but the Baroness was an expert knifewoman and never made an accidental cut.

  The exposure of her breasts must have had a profound psychological effect on Mary Ann, for the defiant threats and curses of a moment earlier were now replaced by humble pleas for mercy. The passionate attachment she expressed for those lacy knickers was pathetic to hear, though it aroused no pity, but rather lust, in this assembly. Meanwhile the futile efforts that she made to cover her heaving breasts with her knees and elbows almost defied anatomy.

  “I wonder what Miss Simpson has to hide?” said the Baroness, toying with the waistband of the knickers, while Mary Ann wriggled and begged. One curious element in her pleas was that they were all addressed to an imaginary masculine tormentor: “Please leave me my panties, Sir!,” “Please don’t shame me, Sir!,” and so forth. If there had been any need to harden hearts among the Sisters of Sappho nothing could have been better calculated to do it.

  When the Baroness sliced through the knickers at Mary Ann’s hips, and whipped away the material, it was discovered that what she had to hide was a pubic bush of a red almost as flaring and a texture almost as silky as the hair of her head.

  At a command from the Baroness, Chloe produced two ostrich feathers mounted on the ends of poles, and handed them to the sergeants. They were directed to stand out of the way of the cameras on either side of the trolley, and to commence a steady tickling of Mary Ann’s nipples. Chloe was put in charge of the needles and rings. The Baroness naturally took responsibility for the oral stimulation, a field in which her talents were of historic renown. In her youth she had produced anonymously and for private circulation a monograph entitled ‘The Tongue Mightier than the Sword’, a work credited with the invention of several new techniques. With maturity she had also become an accomplished sexual swordswoman, but the Baroness was still frequently heard to boast that given five minutes free access to a cunt she could make any woman her willing slave by the use of nature’s weapons only. Access could never have been more free than in the Casco lecture theatre, though here the Baroness did not scorn some artificial assistance.

  Mary Ann’s nearly virgin cunt presented a tight and compact defence to the world, even in her blatantly stretched position. The outer lips had barely parted. The Baroness was patient, examining the deliciously fresh mount of Venus before her from close quarters, to plot all its weaknesses before commencing her attack. The skin was as soft and fragrant as a ripe peach. Mary Ann screamed in alarm when she felt the hot breath on her secret flesh.

  “My finest paint brush,” said the Baroness, and was immediately served with the weapon by the attentive Chloe. It was an extremely delicate instrument, the tip not much thicker than the lead of a pencil, though composed of a great many soft hairs. The Baroness began to draw it up and down the crack from Mary Ann’s completely hidden clit to her rose-bud arse. The movements of her wrist were slow, gentle, and flowing, as though she were indeed a painter filling in a background. Under this treatment the lips gradually parted a little, allowing the Baroness, though not yet her audience, to catch a glimpse of the treasures within.

  Meanwhile the sergeants were working as tirelessly on Mary Ann’s nipples, which had perked up under this tickling treatment to the point where Chloe, moistening her thumb and first finger, was able to pinch them gently and roll them back and forth like a cook making pellets of dough. They proved to be fine and delicate nipples, though capable of being coaxed out to a good length. Surveying them with a piercer’s eye, Chloe could see that she must make very small holes, but that there was scope to have several if required. Licking her lips, and directing the sergeants to switch their attack to Mary Ann’s flanks and belly, the lieutenant leant over and began to suck the nipples alternately.

  Some of this detailed preparative work was too fine to be appreciated by the live audience (though captured by the cameras), but the Sisters and Amazons were thoroughly entertained by the reaction of the southern belle, who had modulated from screams and pleas, through groans and panting, to her present musical sighs.

  As Mary Ann’s outer lips parted further, giving a glimpse of the clitoral hood, the Baroness varied her regular rhythm by introducing a little shake at the top of each stroke, as though she were thickening the texture of a painted sky. The result was a distinct thickening in the texture of Mary Ann’s sighs, which now res
embled the cooing of a ringdove. The craning audience could begin to distinguish features within the girl’s unfolding petals, and the Baroness caught a first glimpse of the clit itself. It was time to lay down the brush and bring her educated tongue into play.

  It would have been an unusually long and agile tongue for anyone to possess. For a woman of the Baroness’s age it was truly remarkable. She was able to swirl it round and round Mary Ann’s clit with the speed of an electric fan, though the effect was anything but cooling. The young lady had begun to babble now, a stream of ‘oohs’ and ‘ahs’, interspersed with ‘please’ and ‘no’ and, increasingly, ‘yes’.

  Sensing that Mary Ann was close to a climax, the Baroness abandoned the clit, and began a gentle licking of the increasingly unfolded lips, varied with the occasional stab of her tongue into the almost virgin cunt, now wet and open. Not wishing to break off for a second, she established eye contact with Chloe, and warned her with a wink to be ready with the hooked needle and the cork. The lieutenant gave up her sucking, and poised her piercing tools, ready to strike at a second’s notice. While waiting, she used the cork to scratch up and down the side of the engorged right nipple.

  Mary Ann had given up any pretence of reluctance now, and ‘please’ was the watchword of her ceaseless monologue. When the Baroness returned to sucking the clit, ‘please’ changed to a ‘yes’ of such abandon that she drew back immediately and called out an urgent ‘Now!’ to Chloe. She had to be quick to avoid causing damage, for no sooner had she thrust the needle home than Mary Ann exploded into a violent, though contained, thrashing of her bound limbs that set the trolley and the ceiling poles creaking and rattling. Such was the orgasmic abandon of her movements that she kept bouncing her back quite clear of the trolley, giving the audience a glorious display of cunt dancing. Her language, as Major Electra had reported, proved remarkably frank and imaginative for a well brought-up young lady.