Caged!

by Yolanda Celbridge

  ‘I’ll have nowhere to go,’ Isobel wailed.

  ‘There are possibilities,’ panted Rollo.

  Vip! Vip! Vip!

  ‘Ahh! Ahh! No! Please stop!’

  Isobel’s bare croup was blotched a heavy mottled crimson, with puffy welts and ridges where the crop had bitten twice or three times. The dark glow suffused her entire bare, with Rollo’s crop slicing the whole area of haunches, top buttock and underfesses, as well as the fleshy central melons. Her fesses quivered, clenching like automata, and her choked, sobbing squeals were uncontrolled. Mrs Cragg began to masturbate the girl as she was flogged, and her wrist soon glistened with Isobel’s come. The beaten girl’s screams turned to whimpers.

  At the final stroke of four dozen, she drooled and sobbed, eyes tight shut, and allowed Rollo to release her and drape her over the shoulders of his wife, crouching bare-breasted with her back raised, her stockings filthy from the stable floor and shredded from her own beating. Rollo lowered himself, with his body straight, and supported himself with one hand on his wife’s neck. His massive cock tickled the wet gash between Isobel’s thighs, and she whimpered, gasping over and over, ‘Please fuck me, fuck me, fuck me…’ Rollo slammed his massive tool right to the neck of her womb, as she rode his wife bareback.

  ‘God, she’s wet!’ he cried.

  ‘Whipping is sweeter fucking, Isobel,’ said Gemma Cragg.

  Vip! Vip! Vip!

  As he fucked Isobel’s cunt from the rear, Rollo applied the crop to his wife’s haunches, and she began to masturbate her clitoris and copiously juicing gash.

  ‘Ahhh…yes…Ohh…’ moaned Isobel, her wealed bare bum squirming to clasp and squeeze the monstrous cock that penetrated her. ‘Oh, fuck me, yes, fuck me…oh! oh!’

  Isobel gasped in her onrush of orgasm. Rollo fucked her with ramming thrusts, his belly slapping her bum-weals, for a good half hour, his cock bringing her twice more to climax. Only then did he release his own sperm, which jetted copiously, overflowing Isobel’s cunt, and dripped on his wife’s haunches. Gemma groaned as she wanked off to a shuddering, belly-heaving climax. Isobel was left to slump on to the dunged straw, whimpering, gasping and sobbing, while rubbing her welted arse.

  ‘God!’ she cried. ‘If I have to leave Wearbridge, I shan’t have a chance of…of that filthy thing, ever again! I’ve never had a proper cock inside me before, and now I’ve tasted it…oh, that’s cruel!’

  ‘You have devoted your life to caring and teaching,’ said Mrs Cragg. ‘What better profession than the prison service? HMP Wrigley Scrubs, a specialised female unit in Yorkshire, has vacancies for wardens, and I shall give you a glowing reference.’

  ‘Yorkshire?’ said Isobel.

  ‘It is not the end of the world,’ said Mrs Cragg, ‘and being privatised, Wrigley Scrubs is managed by SPV Security, a firm of which Rollo is a director. You may take a copy of my school history with you,’ said Mrs Cragg. ‘It may be useful for duties in a specialised female unit. Keep your flogging-brocade, too. It is fifteenth century, from my collection. A secret, now you’re going — G.D. is Gemma Dodd, my maiden name…I wrote the history.’

  Isobel pulled the flogging-brocade from her anus and pressed it, smeared with her arse-grease, to her raw weals; then to both her nipples, bruised by the crop.

  ‘There’s one other thing,’ said Mrs Cragg. ‘I should like a wax model of your vulva for my other collection…you can easily bear the pain, if you want that job.’

  ‘What? Oh, God! That’s disgusting…shameful!’

  ‘Like coming after caning, with a big cock fucking your gash. Don’t you want to be shamed, bitch?’

  ‘Ohh…you made me come, and come…’

  Sobbing, Isobel parted her thighs and lay on her back, while hot candle wax dripped into her cunt. She began to groan, then cry, as the melted wax filled her wet pouch.

  ‘Why…?’ Isobel sobbed.

  ‘A Wearbridge tradition. I am sure you have quite the largest cunt in our history. Some of our alumnae pleasure themselves, using toys with historical provenance.’

  Isobel whimpered but kept still until the wax solidified inside her pouch, and Rollo removed the hot dildo.

  ‘Must I go for interview?’ said Isobel. ‘I’ve no training…’

  ‘Oh,’ said Rollo Cragg, ‘you’ve just had your interview, and your training.’

  4

  Whipping Fort

  Whop! Whop! Whop!

  ‘Oh! Ouch!’

  ‘Be quiet, slut,’ snapped Habren Gaunt, turning from her reflection in the mirror. ‘It’s only an afternoon slippering.’

  ‘But, Mistress,’ sobbed Edwige, ‘on top of yesterday’s weals…’

  Whop! Whop! Whop!

  ‘Ahh!’

  ‘Why are you here, then, you dirty submissive?’ Habren spat.

  Habren licked her teeth as she gazed at her nude body in the looking-glass. Behind her was the reflection of the crouching Edwige, head hanging low, with her hands bound to her ankles under her arse-cheeks, held apart by a surgical speculum anchored to the floor. A cord looped two copper rings, pierced through her nipples, to a wooden cunt-hobble, clamping her quim lips shut and disabling her from rising. Edwige wore only a ragged T-shirt, pulled to her neck, leaving the ringed titties stretched to pale bare pouches. Susan Race stood over the orbs of her bum, bared for whopping: herself bare-breasted, in a crumpled cotton slip, and wielding a long Moorish leather slipper, curving at the toe and with copper studs at its tip.

  Whop! Whop! Whop!

  ‘Oof!’

  At each thwack to Edwige’s scarlet bare buttocks, Susan’s bare teats trembled. Her auburn head-fleece was streaked with grime and sweat; the skirtlet danced up as she whopped the crouching girl’s arse, revealing a matted tangle of pubic jungle trailing beneath her cunt lips, which peeped through its mass of curls. Habren stood with her legs planted apart on the flagstones of the vaulted living chamber. Slit windows in the heavy limestone allowed slivers of light to dapple her nude body, and to illumine briefly the squirming figure of the slippered girl; Susan’s breasts bounced in the light, showing nipples fully erect.

  Whop! Whop! Whop!

  ‘Ohh! How much more, Mistress?’ wailed Edwige.

  ‘More than I had intended, for such an impertinent question,’ said Habren. ‘Mmm…’

  As she watched both her own sweat-dewed flesh and the shivering bottom of Edwige, Habren masturbated, slowly and luxuriously, her fingers bathed in the slime dripping from her gash, and her thumb drubbing the stiff pinnacle of her clitoris; her other hand squeezed her breasts together, flicking upwards and pinching the erect nipples. In the shadows of Habren’s penthouse chamber, a camera whirred. Behind it, an impassive black male, in blue loincloth, pointed the camera; out of its range was the seated, white-suited figure of Joss Gaunt, his eyes swivelling from the figure of his masturbating wife to the helpless roped girl crouching on a reed mat.

  ‘Continue to whop the slut, Susan,’ Habren murmured, flicking her engorged clitoris. ‘Mm… this will make an adorable dream sequence.’

  Whop! Whop! Whop!

  ‘Mm…’ Habren gasped, as come flowed from her wanked cunt. ‘Yes…! Redden her arse, Susan. I like the way your boobs wobble as you whop.’

  Whop! Whop! Whop!

  ‘Ahh!’

  Three sharp undercuts in quick succession took Edwige in the parted bum-cleft, slapping her swollen cunt lips and clitoris. Susan turned the slipper face up for the cunt strokes, so that the copper-studded tip sliced Edwige’s nubbin and gash, dripping with her cunt slime.

  Whop! Whop! Whop!

  ‘Oh! Oh! Ohh…!’

  Edwige wailed as three more tip-strokes thrashed her open slit, and a hard jet of piss sprang from the swollen quim lips, its golden fluid shining oily with come. Habren’s masturbation grew more vigorous, and she smiled.

  ‘Yes! You’ll lick up every drop of your piss, of course,’ she purred.

  ‘Oh, Mistress…!’

 
‘…while Aggar buggers you.’

  The cameraman leered from the shadows.

  Whop! Whop! Whop!

  ‘Ah! No! Please!’

  ‘All part of acting, Edwige. And the mat will be your clothing, stinking of your piss. You may walk the camp rolled in it, like an Egyptian priestess. Most cinematic.’

  Edwige’s head sank, her eyes dripping sweat and tears, and her voice a choked sob.

  ‘If it please you, Mistress…’ she stammered.

  Whop! Whop! Whop!

  ‘Ah! Oh! Oh!’

  ‘That’s better. Remember why you came to Gaunt Studios, Edwige? You had bit parts in sword and sorcery epics — when some slave girl had to be whipped, it was your back they striped, because you could take it — wanted to — in real time, without special effects.’

  ‘It was part of realistic acting, Mistress. If I played a girl whipped, then I should genuinely be whipped.’

  ‘And thus discovered your submissive nature! Flagellant realism shall make you a star.’

  Whop! Whop! Whop!

  ‘Ahh! Oh! Thank you, Mistress.’

  ‘Continue to whop the bitch, Susan,’ murmured Habren, her nude body dancing softly; her teats swayed, her quim flowed come, and her belly sucked in, heaving.

  Her climax signalled itself, not by squeals, but by a heavy, almost mannish, grunting. Come flowed over her probing fist, deep in her cunt, while her thumb pummelled the clitoris, bringing her off.

  Whop! Whop! Whop!

  ‘Ahh! Ooh!’

  Susan made her blows harder on the sobbing Edwige’s own juicing cunt, and Edwige’s squeals accompanied Habren’s hoarse rasp as she orgasmed, her eyes fixed on the red whopped meat of the girl’s cunt and the shivering scarlet jellies of her arse. Habren’s cunt juces slimed her quivering thighs and dripped over her calves to her ankles and feet, clutching the floor beneath her twitching gash, mirrored in the flagstones.

  ‘You, Susan, are a different kind of slut. A jailbird, no less. How utterly exotic…’

  ‘Wrigley Scrubs wasn’t exotic, begging your pardon, Mistress,’ Susan panted. ‘It was tough. They aren’t supposed to flog prisoners. Not girl prisoners, anyway.’

  ‘And yet you enjoyed it, for the same reasons the slut Edwige enjoyed her whipping scenes.’

  ‘Can’t say I didn’t, Mistress. Something awoke in me…in all of us. Girls know how to punish girls best, just as they know how to pleasure them. Not that we went without proper fucking at Wrigley Scrubs…but men are brutes.’

  ‘So you are now of my brutish cast…’ purred Habren.

  ‘You enjoy beating Edwige, don’t you?’

  ‘Can’t say I don’t, Mistress.’

  ‘Because you’ll get the reward of a smoke — how quaint and jailbirdish. Or perhaps because she reminds you of me? We are so alike — almost twins.’

  ‘If you say so, Mistress.’

  ‘I do say so. I like watching her, especially, beaten.’

  Having climaxed, Habren did not cease to masturbate; she paid attention to her bulbous hard nipples, while stroking the rim of her cunt and brushing the still-erect clit; her pouch continued to puddle the floor. Shafts of sunlight struck the pool of her come.

  ‘How many whops has Edwige taken, Susan?’ she said.

  ‘I lost count at two hundred, Mistress. Oh! I mean…’

  Susan’s hand flew to her lips.

  ‘You lost count? Luckily, the camera records all. But losing count, Susan…?’

  Habren Gaunt clicked her tongue. Sitting in his canvas chair, her husband, cock bulging, licked his lips. He watched his wife masturbate, his eyes darting to the buttocks of the roped girl and the pendulous bare titties of her chastiser. Habren signalled into the shadows; the camera continued to roll on automatic as Aggar strode forward, unfastening and, in the same practised flourish, dropping his loincloth.

  Below, another camera filmed in the pink afternoon sun. Habren, fingers in her slit, gazed through a window at a prisoner caned on the bare buttocks. The girl wriggled, roped at the ankles and suspended from the flogging frame by a pulley held by six girls strung together at the waist; their victim made no sound, for she hung upside down, her head submerged in a tub of water, from which bubbles emerged. The caning was brief: a dozen, bare-bum, delivered on the half-second, after which the girl was hoisted into the air, sobbing, wheezing and her face as red as her naked croup. Habren gestured from her window, and the black caner tipped his instrument in salute. He nodded to the tethered girls, and they lowered their victim once more into the water. The nude body squirmed, the water threshed, as a dozen strokes lashed the bare buttocks, now a dark crimson in the lowering sun. The pulley raised her and Habren signalled another dozen.

  ‘Ah! No! Oh, God, please no…!’

  At Edwige’s scream behind her, Habren turned her head back to her salon. Nude, the giant Aggar smacked his hips against Edwige’s scarlet buttocks as he squatted behind the roped girl. She wailed and squirmed as his black glans nuzzled her pink arse bud, and then he was inside her to an inch — two, three inches — and his massive cock-shaft slid all the way to the girl’s anal root as he commenced buggering her. Habren clapped her hands, oily with her come, and smeared her cunt slime across her breasts before resuming a vigorous masturbation of both nipples and clitoris. Susan Race lifted her skirt and began to wank off, kneeling behind the black man and getting her tongue half an inch into his anus. She moaned as she wanked off her swollen clitoris, and her tongue penetrated deeper into the black man’s anus.

  ‘Ah…ah…ah…’ groaned Edwige, her buttocks squirming as the tool impaled her bumhole.

  Come dripped from her writhing cunt; the giant cock, slimed with her arse-grease, rammed the blond girl’s anal shaft, its pucker stretched like a pink balloon. Habren rapped an order to the male: he was to bugger Edwige to orgasm, but retain his own spunk for his mistress. For the first time, Habren cast a disdainful eye at her husband.

  ‘You filthy peeper!’ she cried.

  ‘Are you going to cane me, darling?’ blurted Joss Gaunt.

  ‘You have known since yesterday.’

  ‘I couldn’t sleep, for fear,’ he mumbled. ‘And my cock-harness chafes so abominably.’

  ‘I’ll chastise you, but need another man’s spunk in my arse before I can cane yours, worm,’ she drawled.

  ‘Oh, please, darling! You know how it hurts me, to see my own wife…abused…by another man’s cock!’

  ‘Yes,’ said Habren.

  She approached within inches of his face, writhing her hips as she wanked off. His tongue darted to lick come from her inner thigh and the dangling forest of pube-curls, sodden with her exuded cunt slime, but she slapped his head away with a flick of her hips, striking his cheek with her pubic bone.

  ‘Don’t you dare touch me!’ she hissed. ‘Only a real man may do that…’

  She slapped the bulge of his erection, the penis fully equal to Aggar’s, and he yelped, his face glowing. Aggar’s buggery had slowed, and he withdrew his cock to the peehole at each stroke, before plunging it slowly, right to his balls, inside Edwige’s anus. Susan Race used thumb and forefinger to hold his buttocks apart, and had almost the whole length of her tongue embedded in his anus while her free hand wanked her swollen cunt, in rapid, blurred frottage. Come dripped from Susan’s slit onto the floor. Edwige’s breath came in frantic gulps, until her body shuddered and she squealed in climax.

  ‘Ah! Ah! Ah! AHH…’

  Copious come flowed from her cunt as she struggled against her restraining ropes.

  ‘Noisy bitch,’ Habren murmured.

  The black man withdrew from Edwige’s stretched anus, his cock making a plopping sound, leaving Edwige still crouching, sobbing and rubbing her buggered bottom. He reached behind him and grasped Susan by her cropped hair, just above her ear. Susan howled. Aggar drew her upright and slapped her face, twice. She raised her fist to strike, but he clamped his fingers on her wrist, and drew both wrists above her head, lifting
her body to twirl helplessly a few inches from the floor. Her naked teats wobbled violently, as though expressing rage for which her red face, and squeals of protest, were not enough.

  ‘Ohh…stop!’ she wailed.

  Aggar began a rhythmic hard slapping of her bare breasts, using the palm and back of his hand, and striking her erect nipples with the heel of his fist. Susan wept at her breast-spanking; Aggar paused and ripped the skirt from her haunches. Susan swayed helplessly as her bare teats were thrashed, her nude body shuddering. Droplets of come sprayed from Susan’s writhing cunt; smiling, Habren masturbated.

  Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

  ‘Ahh…!’

  Susan’s breasts darkened rapidly, bruised blue by the black man’s hand. At each swivel of her body, the jungle of her pubis, dripping come, brushed the glans of his erect cock, slimed from Edwige’s anus.

  ‘Oh! Please stop…! Please!’

  Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

  ‘Ahh! No…!’

  Habren took a long, coiled rope and began to wind it, beginning at Susan’s feet. At first, the girl resisted, kicking, but Habren’s slicing claws to her clitoris reduced her to moaning submission. Susan’s cunt writhed, dripping come, as Habren’s fingernails bit her nubbin, and she whimpered.

  ‘This was called “playing the lute” at the hareem of Marrakesh,’ Habren said. ‘The trick is to bind two sluts, preferably lesbian lovers, so that if either one jerks or wriggles under punishment, she hurts the other — and, of course, you’ll both jerk and wriggle.’

  ‘We’re not lovers, Mistress!’ Susan shrieked. ‘We wank off, but so do all the girls…!’

  ‘Then you won’t mind.’

  When Susan’s legs were bandaged mummy-tight in the coarse hempen rope, Habren knotted her sheath in place, leaving the cunt and buttocks bare, then took a second coil and began to rope her belly. Soon, Susan Race was swaddled completely, with only her breasts, cunt and buttocks bare, and tiny holes at nose and mouth. Already, the ropes swaddling her upper thighs were wet with seeping come. Her bare arms still dangled from Aggar’s wrist; he parted them, allowing his mistress to fasten each wrist wide apart, to pulleys from the ceiling hooks.