Painful Prize

by Stephen Rawlings

  She thumped him on the chest with both balled fists in only half pretended anger.

  "You bastard!" she yelled. "You beast. I haven't even had her myself yet and I've earned her the hard way. I don't expect she cost you more than a few drinks at the bar and you didn't have to lay your tits on the line like I did and get them hacked with a beastly whippy cane. Ugh! They still ache a little, even now."

  He held her hands gently but firmly and she quietened under his touch.

  "Mm, I can see a month may be barely enough," he said. "Still you're ready and you want to go, and Laura and Renee will take no nonsense so you'll do well enough."

  "What do you mean, I want to go? Nobody asked me," she came back indignantly.

  "You mean to say you haven't made it clear to all and sundry that you want to be a true Sexton wife, whatever that might be?" he reproved her. "As to asking, a woman's the last person to give an opinion as to her treatment, and quite rightly so. No, I talked it over with Tom and George and we were all agreed you were ready for it, so off you go."

  Evening found all three of them climbing a mountain pass in the big hired car, nearly two hours out from the airport.

  "Nearly there, darling," Renee told her. "I think it's time you got your kit off. Girls go into the villa as naked as they leave it. Sets the right kind of atmosphere for what we're here for."

  What exactly 'that' was, she had been unable to get from them so far. Renee had pointedly lifted her bum off the seat to show her a set of livid ridges that covered every inch of what was visible, which was considerable, given that her skirt barely reached her thighs when standing and, sitting, left nothing to even the most fevered imagination.

  "Tom promised he'd have my back flogged if this wasn't enough to keep me quiet," she informed her, "and I'm not going to risk that. Bottom beatings are bad enough but at least there's something part way sensual about them that warms a girl's belly, but a bare-back flogging... That does nothing for a girl but hurt her, believe me."

  So Jenny held her peace and did as she was told, pulling her blouse over her head and unclipping her bra to let her breasts fall free. Naked to the waist, she kicked off her shoes, and lifted her modest skirt to unclip a stocking and roll it down an ivory thigh and off her pinkly painted toes. When its fellow had joined it she lifted her bottom off the seat to pull down her panties and add them to the little heap of clothing that Laura was stuffing in a plastic bag she had produced for the occasion. With another wriggle of her svelte hips the skirt joined the rest and she sat on the cool leather of the rear seat as naked as the day she was born.

  "Your rings please," Laura requested, "and I'll have your watch and your handbag as well. Nothing like being stripped of every last thing to put a girl in a receptive mood."

  While she had been stripping, the car had debouched from the tight winding road of the pass onto the level floor of a rock-walled crater several miles across. Smooth green pastures and leafy hedgerows were interrupted here and there by the roofs of several large buildings. Renee guided the car to the gate that guarded one of these and spoke briefly into the intercom. The heavy iron gates slowly opened to let them in and they pulled up on the wide gravel sweep in front of the villa.

  "This is where you leave us for a while," Renee informed her. "Just walk in the front door and you'll be taken care of. When we meet again it will be as your instructors and you will treat us accordingly. Now come here, darling," she turned in her seat and reached for the naked woman in the back and kissed her long and passionately. "That's the last until we're finished. Make the most of it. From now on all you'll get from Laura and me are tears and welts but, always remember, however much we hurt you, we do it for love and to make you one of us."

  The door opened and she was thrust out onto the chill gravel of the driveway, small sharp stones hurt her bare feet as she stumbled across ten yards of it before she could reach the comfort of the steps leading up to the imposing front door. Even then she wasn't quite free of them, a handful of the sharpest and most tenacious digging into her soft feet and clinging on as she ascended the steps. She stopped and sat down to remove them, flinching at the feel of the cold stone on her bare bottom, very conscious of her nudity in a strange place. She was quite alone now for the car had pulled round the corner of the house, presumably towards a stable block or wherever vehicles were kept. Nothing for it, naked and alone she would have to enter this strange house and face whoever or whatever she met inside. She pushed open the heavy oaken leaf and stepped in. Marble slabs felt cold under her feet.

  Helpless and hesitant she stood, having no other instructions and waited for someone to come. After a minute a tall gaunt woman appeared, probably a housekeeper from her dress, and gestured her to follow. Whether the woman was dumb or just did not care to speak Jenny never discovered. She followed the daunting figure down a hallway, into a narrow passage and down even chillier stone steps into what she assumed was a cellar. When the thick wooden door swung open though, she saw it was more of the nature of a dungeon, fitted with rings and frames on its grim stone walls, and a row of small barred cells, little more than cages, along one side. The housekeeper swung open the grille door of the nearest and invited her in. She had to crouch to enter; the roof was so low that there was no possibility of standing. With a clang the door closed behind her and the gaunt servitor turned a massive iron key to secure it before leaving by the iron-studded door by which they had entered, leaving her quite alone, naked and helpless.

  At least there was light enough to see her surroundings. The cell, or rather, cage, was too small to stand up in and she had had to bend double to enter. It was obvious she couldn't remain like that indefinitely and she dropped to her knees while she investigated her new quarters. Along one side planks, raised a few inches off the floor, indicated a sleeping platform while, in the far corner, an ominous bucket with a lid suggested that toilet arrangements might be equally primitive. She squatted on her plank bed, which she decided was marginally preferable to the stone tiles of the floor itself, and awaited developments.

  She was becoming stiff from having to squat, rather than stand, the height of the cage not permitting it, when there were footsteps outside and the door swung open to admit the jailor/housekeeper, bearing a stoneware jug and a wooden board with a hunk of coarse country bread. She pushed them through a small opening at the base of the barred door, and left again, still not having uttered a word. The purpose of her mission was pretty obvious though and she had had nothing to eat or drink since the plane had landed several hours ago. She tried the jug, and finding it contained clean water made a simple supper, breaking the loaf in her hands and drinking from the lip of the jug. Scarcely had she finished when the hidden overhead source of light snapped out and she composed herself as best she could for sleep on the hard planks, without benefit of blanket or pillow. At first she wondered if she would ever get to sleep, given the hardness of her bed, but it had been a long day and fearful but exciting things lay ahead for her. She was young and healthy, the cell, despite its oppressive stone construction, warm and dry, and in ten minutes she was fast asleep.

  Without a watch time meant nothing but when she blinked awake to the returning light, to see the housekeeper at her door, unlocking her cage, it felt like no more than dawn. She crept out on all fours when invited by a gesture to leave her cell and found herself leashed like a bitch going 'walkies', with a wide leather collar around her neck and a long leather lead attached to it, the far end held in the woman's determined grip. Her only other adornment consisted of steel cuffs holding her wrists behind her back. A sharp yank left her with no option but to follow and she found herself out in a chilly dawn-lit yard between high stone walls. Still tethered like a bitch, she was led to a corner where she was invited to squat and make use of a sandbox. Although the woman still had not spoken, there was no mistaking her intention.

  At first she felt like rebelling, unwillin
g to degrade herself in this manner, but checked herself as she recalled why she was here. To be trained in obedience amongst other unspecified things and this was clearly part of the process. She wasn't going to fall at the very first fence. Blushing over every inch of her bare pink body she crouched over the heap of sand and emptied her bursting bladder and straining bowels, under the watchful eye of her silent jailor. Averting her eyes from the shaming steaming evidence of her morning motions, and denied any means of cleansing herself, she scrambled to her feet again in response to a commanding tug on her leash and was led across the yard into a circular stone enclosure, about twenty feet across, with a vertical steel post at its centre. The post carried a coiled rubber hose with a brass nozzle, and a horizontal arm reaching nearly to the perimeter wall.

  Still without speaking the housekeeper uncuffed her wrists and fastened them to the end of the rotating arm at the level of her head. For a few moments she stood there, uncertain what to expect, while the wordless wardress made some sort of adjustment behind her. Suddenly she shrieked in shocked surprise. A jet of ice cold water, like a chilled steel bar, struck her between the shoulders, propelling her forward. Constrained by the rotating arm she began to run round the outer edge of the circular chamber, pursued all the time by the merciless jet. It struck into the divide of her buttocks, attacking her tender anus, it found her vulva through the gap of her thighs and pulverised it, leaving her gasping as it chilled her hot clit. As she twisted away from the force of the watery blast on her back and buttocks, her tormentor directed the pressure hose at her flopping breasts, driving the air from her lungs, then moved down to hit her in her rounded belly, knocking the remaining breath out of her. She doubled up with the blow but her arms, fastened above her head, held her up and the jet switched to her face, driving her head back and bringing her upright again, turning away from the hissing hose to present her backside for more treatment as the irresistible jet drove her round the curving wall, and returned her to her starting point. There was no way she could stand against the force of the freezing water, directed by the experienced hand of the gaunt housekeeper. If she had had time to think about it she would have speculated on how many naked girls had run helplessly round this hideous circle, bruised and battered by the jet. As it was she could spare no thought at all for anything but her own battle for breath and her pleas and prayers for it to stop.

  It was a brutal bathing, five minutes of agony as the powerful jet thrashed her bare flesh, front and back, hurting like a whip and leaving her gasping and shivering when it was finally over, her naked body blotched with the cold and the bruising. If this was to be her morning routine she was in for an even worse time than her fertile imagination had surmised. At last it was over and, her wrists unlocked, she was given a surprisingly luxurious bath towel, warm and fluffy, to dry herself with. The unexpected luxury shocked her almost as much as the freezing jet. Still bemused, and with her hands once more cuffed behind her, she answered another tug on her lead to follow her captor into the house.

  There she found Renee and Laura, seated at breakfast. Each was clad in a 'uniform' of crisp white shirt with collar, straight navy skirt, dark stockings and sensible leather shoes though, a small feminine touch to soften their severity a trifle, they sported medium heels to flatter the calf muscles without interfering with activity. Each had plaited her hair and wore it in a firmly pinned crown above a face decorated with a minimum of make-up. Altogether a demonstration of no-nonsense business-like and purposeful intent, reinforced by the short whip that each wore clipped to her waist like a badge of office.

  "She's been properly purged and cleansed, I hope?" Renee enquired of the silent servitor, who nodded in confirmation.

  "Thank you. You may leave her with us now," Renee went on. "We'll take over from here."

  She was made to kneel, as she had been accustomed to at Henry's side, and was given food from their plates, which she had no doubt would be all the breakfast she could look forward to in her totally subservient condition. She accepted gratefully all she was given. A pounding with an icy jet in the chill of dawn does wonders for a naked girl's appetite.

  While they fed her they told her something of what she might expect during the coming month in Marindorra. She was to be trained to be a perfect sexual companion.

  "Yes, I know darling, you love Henry," Renee conceded, when she protested she already tried to serve him as best she could. "We all love our men and try to be as pleasing for them as we know how but the fact is we know nothing. No one trains girls for their futures. Oh yes, we spend years in college, absorbing knowledge like sponges, learning every skill known to man, everything that is, but the one thing we need for our primary biological purpose, to be satisfactory and satisfied mates."

  "It would be interesting to hear what the Women's Studies Department of our old alma mater would make of that," Laura suggested with a grin.

  "What we need is fewer women's studies courses and more woman study courses," Renee assured her. "Somewhere we can learn to be female, to make love like angels or devils as required, pleasure men in a thousand different ways and keep our bodies in prime working order to bring about the greatest possible happiness in the men we love. Incidentally, and quite by the way of course, we would get the benefit of it ourselves. There's nothing inspires either love or lust quite so much as the reciprocal pleasure of one's partner. Orgasms shared are orgasms doubled."

  "Your training proper will start tomorrow," Renee vouchsafed as she offered the last of her coffee cup to the kneeling postulant. "Today you'll be sent over to the medical clinic attached to the local house of correction for women. Greta's the doctor in charge and don't give her any trouble or you'll regret it."

  "May I speak please?"

  "Fire away."

  "Why do I have to go to a clinic?"

  "To be ringed and rimmed, of course," Renee replied. "To be fitted with these," and she pulled up her skirt to reveal that her uniform did not extend to knickers. Nestling in the dark curls of her abundant bush, was the glint of gold from the rings which Jenny had observed many times before in Sexton, during lazy days at the pool or, more especially, those torrid nights when the girls had shamelessly caressed each other's bodies in sensual embraces.

  "And your pretty teats, too," Laura threw in for good measure.

  "And what about the rimming?"

  "Oh, that," Renee said with a smile. "Don't tell me you haven't noticed how Laura and I are shaped in our bottoms. You've dabbled your greedy fingers in our bumholes often enough to know we're different."

  "I know that, but what's it for, and how's it done?" the kneeling girl wanted to know.

  "Greta will explain it all," Renee assured her, "so no more questions."

  A press on a bell-push brought the silent servant back and Renee handed over her charge.

  "Take her over to the doctor please," she directed. "She is expected."

  Once more she found herself on the end of a leash, walking naked in the open. The path through the pinewoods to the neighbouring property, the dark bulk of the female correctional establishment, was strewn with pebbles of various sizes and sharpness, besides hard twigs and tight fir cones. She stumbled many times as she followed her wardress along more than half a mile of broken ground until they came to the side entrance of a low annex to the frowning pile of the prison. The housekeeper dropped the end of the leash over a hook in the wall, rang the bell and, without waiting for an answer, turned and moved silently away, back to the villa.

  For what seemed like an age she stood obediently at the end of her leash, feeling a light breeze on her skin to remind her of her naked condition as she waited for the bell to be answered. Finally the door opened and a woman, wearing a doctor's white coat, stood looking her up and down. From her appearance she was a Northern European of some kind, stocky, blonde, with a face that was nearly beautiful but carried a hint of hardness around the mo
uth and eyes suggestive of a streak of cruelty that made her remember Renee's warning. This must be Greta.

  "Hmm," the doctor murmured to herself. "You'll do. They weren't exaggerating. You'll wear rings and rims perfectly. You could be made for it. Come on, let's go take a proper look at you," and she tugged on the leash, drawing her 'patient' into the house and to a large, well-appointed treatment room, complete with gynaecological examination table.

  But there were other humiliating preparations to be made before she would mount what she was certain would be her ultimate destination; the gleaming chrome steel and shiny plastic surface of the examination table with its stirrups and restraints for fastening a woman securely open for inspection and treatment of her most intimate parts.

  Without bothering to remove the manacles that secured her 'patient's' wrists behind her, Greta ordered her to her knees and then made her bend forward until her forehead touched the tiled floor. It was a degrading and undignified posture, exposing her vulva and anus between the bent stretched halves of her naked bottom cheeks, a humiliation made a hundred times worse by the touch of a greased nozzle to her shrinking anal rose.

  "This'll flush you out nicely," the blonde doctor informed her. "Nothing like a good hot enema to ease the bowels in the morning."

  "But, please, I've already been," she protested, blushing anew at the recollection of her degrading performance on the sandbox.

  "Another good flush won't do you any harm," Greta assured her, pumping on an inflator bulb to seal the nozzle inescapably in her rectum, "I don't want any accidents when we get to the rimming," and the contents of the bulging enema bag burst into her cringing bowels like an oily Niagara.