Australia was to be a better life, a fresh start. Not… this.
My husband watches on from the gallery as I’m led away. This is what he’s wanted all along, my complete and utter humiliation. He will be the one to carry out the sentence as the party scorned. I have no doubt he’ll take great pleasure in it. I remember his words well.
I’m cast into a waiting cell. Even the stone walls, fresh from the quarry, do little to stop the heat that seems to penetrate everything on this sunburnt land.
Cattle mews outside as it’s led to the slaughter, village boys and men bustling about selling their wares and services. This satellite village is still new, yet to be sculpted into true civility.
I run my hands together, stroking the fingers that brought me here, the fingers of a thief. “An entire colony full of convicts,” that judge had laughed. “I am sure you will feel quite at home.”
I was assigned to a female factory immediately, forced to pick oakum until my fingers bled. I saw him from afar speaking with the boss man. He was well-dressed in finery fresh from London. At first I thought he was the owner of the factory until we were told to line up in a row.
He selected me quickly. His handkerchief fell at my feet and I couldn’t have been happier. Here at last was my chance, a young well-to-doer who would bring me into the upper echelon of society.
He had kind eyes and the sort of high face teenage girls swooned over, as did I.
He extended his gloved. “Henry Abrams.”
“Grace Matheson,” I replied, taking his hand and letting his eyes wander over my chest, moving up my neck to meet at the emerald pools of my eyes.
The wedding was quick. Henry was eager to get into the bedroom, but I soon learnt he had dark, exotic desires.
A sailor in his younger days, my new husband was fond of ropes and knots. At first, I protested, but after a while I came to look forward to his rope play. I would often indulge in unscrupulous behaviour simply to have him bind me – a dropped dish, a burnt dinner there. The punishment was worth it.
One day I came home with a hickey on my neck. Procuring it had been easy down at the alehouse.
Henry was furious. “Down!” he commanded.
I lay flat on my belly with my chest on the cold bricks below. Head down, all I could see were his booted feet as he walked around me.
I gasped when he lifted my skirts and pulled down my underwear. My bare ass was before him.
He started to bind me, the strict rope biting into the flesh of my wrists and ankles as he worked. Secured, heels to ass to wrists, I was at his mercy.
He was a master at stretching out the anticipation, drawing it like a bow before me. Two stinging slaps were applied to my backside and I yelped. My eyes popped open and I squirmed against the ropes.
“You – will – never – disobey – me – again.” Each pause was met with another sharp smack! to my rear. Every time his hands, dense and strong, met with my tender skin they left a burning imprint that spread warmth throughout my body.
After the spanking came the soothing, and perhaps that was my favourite part at all. His hands would run over my ruby buttocks, a lemon and wattle salve settling the welts that had gathered like thin pancakes on the surface of my skin.
*
We lay in bed one humid night. The sheets were twisted around my thighs as his sperm cooled between them.
I looked upon his face and thought that yes, he is handsome. He is mine.
“Tell me your desires, Grace,” he said, smoking a pipe and blowing out thick clouds to billow and float around the ceiling.
“I have no desires, Henry, but to please you.”
He considered this. “I see. You enjoy my spankings?”
“Yes.”
“You would not object to be flogged, or whipped, if I thought it fit?”
“No.”
“What about other men?”
“Other men?”
“Yes, would you allow other men to fuck you if I so approved.
“I only want you, Henry.”
“I would like to see you with other men.”
This I was not expecting. I sat up. “What do you mean?”
His eyes turn to winter in his head. “I want to see you fucked by as many men as possible, one after the other until your cunt can’t take another load. I want to see you whipped and stripped and flogged to within an inch of your life.”
He says this all casually, as if ordering breakfast.
I swallow down a tendril of fear. His cock has risen from its dark nest rigid as I’ve ever seen it.
“I’m sorry, Henry, but I don’t think I’d like that at all.”
He laughs. “And that is the point, my dear, but it will happen. I always get what I want.”
Even with this strange conversation stirring in the air, the flesh tingled between my legs.
He rolled over and slid his cock inside my wetness in one smooth stroke.
Little did I know how soon his desires would be met.
The next day we were shopping when he pulled me between two houses. A dark spot of shadow hid us as he bunched up my skirt with one hand and placed his fingers around my neck with the other.
I met his gaze and spread my legs wider. I wanted his touch. If I was to be a whore, so be it. Better to start with a man such as this than a drunk with his cock still salty from the voyage.
His hand curled around my inner thighs. His fingers walked a steady, silken path towards my sex. His other hand closed tighter around my throat, but my focus was on what his others fingers are doing. I jutted my hips towards his hand as he slid his fingers into the hot clutch of my body. His fingers pushed inwards, curling themselves inside me until my mouth could not help but fall open at his touch. The fingers came against the roof of my womanhood and he laughed, breath hot on my face.
His lips pressed against mine and his tongue slipped between them. I suckled him, fingers moving through the dark tangle of his hair as the opening of my cunt squeezed around his fingers. My flesh gripped him tight as a carriage rushed by and fresh pleasures bloomed.
His thumb protruded, nudging at the top of my cleft and a spot previously unknown now burning.
“Help,” I whisper, lost. “Help me.”
“Oh, I am,” he whispered back. “It’s far better to be prepared for the onslaught I am planning than tight and nervous.”
I shuddered and spread my legs wider. His palm cupped itself around my yearning flesh and I gasped aloud.
What followed was my first climax. I bucked against his hand, my ass cheeks rubbed raw against the sandstone.
*
The following day Henry had business down at the docks, but the feeling he had left lingering between my legs would not dissipate, even by my own hand.
When he arrived at home, undressing as he walked into our bedroom, I cast the blanket off and spread my legs, letting him know clearly my intentions. He pulled up my skirt as our mouths cleaved together and our hands clutched as one. I arched with the pain of it, the need between my legs frightening in its desperation.
He ran his hands slowly over my body, but I required him at quicker pace. I clawed my fingernails down his chest, fishing in his pants for his cock and bringing it to my mouth.
“Ah,” he sighed as I took him, allowing him to drive his cock between my lips.”
He pushed he away, his need to great. He placed himself between my legs, hands fisted in my hair, and drew me into place.
He sucked, bit, licked my nipples into attention before clasping a hand over my mouth and sliding his heat inside me.
He propped himself up and moved in greater strokes, splitting me wide with his cock as I opened my mouth to receive his. I tasted the sweat of his chest, salty on the flat of my tongue, savouring each precious drop.
I came again, flooding, sudden and strong, bending my back and allowing him to pull free of my body and stroke himself as he knelt on the bed between my legs, his seed shooting over my belly and breasts.
Suddenly, he was reaching again for my throat, his fingers working themselves into my body. As he choked me I saw light barrelling towards me, a euphoria greater than I have ever known as his fingers worked inside my cunt and my body opened again for his bunched, fucking fingers.
He fed his half-flaccid cock inside me just before I passed out, continuing to choke me as he flooded my body and I was completely overtaken by the darkness that swirling through my head.
He released his grip and I took in precious air, my next orgasm so violent I forced him completely from my sex.
“That’s my girl,” he said, a thin wisp of smoke from the candle beside us spiralling into the air. “You’re ready.”
*
The next day he lodged his accusation. He had seen me with another man in cuckold, a man whom he had paid well to pad out the story.
No society man would be convicted, but a former convict girl, well, that was a different matter.
I was brought before the courts and sentenced before the day was out.
I could already see the other society girls swarming around him, flirting and fucking him with their cat eyes. The thought of one of them warming his bed tonight is too much to take, so I sit in my cell writing him letters, calling his names and writing lengthy descriptions of how I will punish him should we ever meet again.
Sanity slips in these hardened walls. I question whether the whole marriage was simply a way to build me up and then tear me down in public, all to his pleasure, of course. It was one thing to spank my ass in the bedroom, but lashing me in public…
We’ve watched other women together on the whipping post, breasts splayed as they receive their sentences. Henry makes no attempt to hide his erection as we watch, and it’s only now I realise why he thrust himself upon me so violently when we got home.
I sit uneasily, minutes easing into hours until noon arrives and a key slides itself easily into the cell lock.
With no warning, a guard enters and grabs a handful of my hair and begins to drag me unceremoniously out into the square. The village men have gathered there, ringed around the whipping post hungry with desire.
The gaoler pulls me to my feet and begins to bind my wrists together at the top of the whipping post, a triangular scaffold made of raw timber still reeking of the forest from which it was lumbered. Blood already stains it, spattered around my feet.
The gaoler kicks my feet apart and binds my ankles likewise, spreading my legs wide, my hands high above my head and little movement provided in such restraints.
Bound, the gaoler leaves me and the ring of men closes in ready for the spectacle.
Where are the women? Why are they not here?
The sun is unobstructed above, forcing me to squint and survey the audience though half-eyes.
Henry steps forward from the crowd next to a small table that has been set up behind me.
He does not acknowledge me, even as I beg him, “why? Why are you doing this to me, my love?”
He steps close, voice low. “Because I can.”
I turn my head to my husband remove his shirt. His body is all coiled muscle and hard angles, sweaty from the sun that hammers down overhead. He picks up a birch rod up from the table nearby, stroking the brushy tip.
I gasp when the first blow lands across my clothed ass.
His voice is at my ear. “It will hurt less if you don’t move.”
He strikes my ass again, twice in succession with a ferocity that makes me flinch and struggle futilely in my holds.
“Please!” I get about between gasps. “I did not do anything wrong!”
“We shall be the judge of that,” and the birch comes again hot against my backside.
Even clothed and protected, my ass is on fire, my mind reeling that this is actually taking place, shamed so in front of the entire male population of the village.
The lieutenant places the birch rod down and selects a leather whip from the table, coiling it out onto the dirt around his boots. He tests it in the air where it delivers a resounding crack!.
“It will hurts me just as much as it hurts you, Grace. I want you to know that.”
But I see the smile there, that which lurks below the face he puts on for the public.
“Strip her,” cries the gaoler from the crowd.
Two of the village men rush in and begin to tug at my clothes.
I struggle. “What are you doing? Please!”
They don’t stop, pulling and tearing away at the fine cloth I’m sheathed in until it comes away from my body. When my dress is done they start at my undergarments, shredding them likewise until with a final tug I am left completely bare and exposed to the gathered assembly.
The shame is overwhelming, the sun hot on my body. I try not to meet their eyes. What’s worse is that, legs spread wide on the whipping post, the men may see just how excited I have become by the rope.
The first strike of the whip causes my entire body to fly forward into the limbo between the posts. The mark of the leather where my ass meets my thighs burns like hellfire, a stinging, penetrating pain that causes my body to thrum and tremble.
“One,” counts the gaoler.
The next blow comes harder, lashing across both buttocks with an intensity that brings tears to my eyes and a scream from my lips so primal I question my humanity.
“Two.”
I grunt as another strike connects with my lower back, my body jerking involuntarily and my cunt beginning to throb in time with my quickened pulse.
“Three.”
I try to wriggle away, to put distance between myself and the stinging tongue of leather that licks at my body, but there is no use. There is no place to go.
The crowd starts to count together, hungry for blood.
The next blow is the strongest of them all, reverberating through my frame and causing my knees to collapse so that all that holds me in place is the whiskered rope around my wrists.
I sob there hanging as Henry approaches the post and slides his hand between my legs. I gasp as he pushes two fingers against my opening. The folds of my cunt open easily, my wetness drenching his fingers as my body spreads wide for him, my cunt hole a greedy mouth. It accommodates his fingers easily. I push down against his hand, moaning softly and flinching whenever cooler air strikes the bands of fire that mark my buttocks and thighs.
I fight the ropes that keep me immobilised, caught between the conflict of wanting more and also less, caught in the crux between pleasure and pain that dominates my thoughts these days.
I struggle to steady my breathing as I notice many of the men watching already have their cocks out, stroking and pulling on their members, pink between their greasy fingers.
Henry puts his fingers in my mouth, letting me taste my own excitement as he grinds into the firestorm of my buttocks. His erection is fierce, pressing against my globes, desperate to be free.
He slaps my ass as he walks away and I scream again.
Something firm and hard rises between my legs and presses at my opening.
“No!” I cry, but my new husband is not a man of mercy. The butt of the whip slides into my orifice, leather filling my tight sex.
Henry angles the whip butt into position, rough against the soft interior of my cunt, its rounded head adding pressure to my sensitive roof. He laughs and jams the handle of the whip upwards, implanting the leather-bound handle deep into my cunt.
I cry now, my mouth salty from the tears that flow freely down my face.
It is done. My husband, my tormenter has shamed me in front of every man in the village. There can be no further low, no further debasement but death.
Men jeer around me, faces reddened with excitement and members the same.
The handle slides from my slickened cunt.
“I am sorry, Grace,” whispers Henry at my ear, voice strained with equal parts excitement and exhaustion. “Know that it gives me
such wonderful pleasure to whip you.”
I let my head hang, hiding my shame I feel in the red curtain of my hair as the next lash shakes my body new.
Again and again I am lashed, my skin opening and hot blood seeping down my buttocks and thighs, sticky around my feet as I drift towards unconsciousness.
I do not struggle any more. I let the whip carry me wherever it desires, my body a ship lost to the sea as Henry grunts and lashes my legs, my back, consulting with the village doctor as to where next to concentrate his blows to keep me conscious.
“Thirty one.”
Between my legs blood drips freely onto the ground, pooling and puddling there in the dirt between my feet, running around the hemp that binds my ankles, my wounds slippery in the sun.
I have lost count of how many lashes I have received, but still they come, the tickle of the whip as it finds its way between my legs and kisses the sensitive folds of my cunt.
And then there is silence – beautiful, still silence.
A mass comes against my back and I flinch, pain firing up against the criss-cross of broken flesh there.
I twist sideways and my breasts brush against the virgin wood of the post.
He strokes a hand across my ass, cupping the roundness of it and admiring its firmness beneath his fingers. He lightly pats one cheek and then the other, quietly laughing to himself, smug in his satisfaction. “Yes, this will do nicely.”
“Why Henry?” I question, but it goes unanswered as I hear his belt being unbuckled and his trousers falling to the dirt.
There are more catcalls and jeers from the men assembled. The mob is fast building, a rising tempo of bloodlust and primordial thrill that casts an icy ball into my stomach.
Henry places the head of his cock against my sticky folds and thrusts into my body. The blood mixes with my desire and makes passage easy.
He holds my breasts, his breath heavy on my neck as he fucks me in the square.
The mob is pleased, pressing even closer, the odd man or boy running out to touch my flesh, grab a handful here or there.
“You look so beautiful bloody, my dear. I’m afraid you are going to make me spill my seed far too quickly, but there will be plenty more to follow, mark my words.”
Cruel Devices 2: Taboo Punishment Collection (Extreme Dark Bondage) Page 4