Caged!

by Yolanda Celbridge

  ‘You fucking sluts! You’re all sacked!’

  ‘You may reconsider that threat in the cage, Mistress, after your whipping,’ said Edwige. ‘In the absence of your cooperation, Miss Truud is a talented film-maker.’

  From a sack, she took a huge double phallus of sculpted white limestone, put her fingers between Habren’s thighs, and masturbated the squealing woman for two minutes, pausing frequently to oil the dildos. When they were dripping with Habren’s come, she inserted the twin prongs into her anus and cunt, pushed smartly and thrust, until both shafts had disappeared to their sculpted ball-sac. Edwige strapped the device around Habren’s cunt basin with three zipped flanges of rubber. Habren wailed and whimpered, her loins shifting to ease the pain of the massive penetrators, as tears coursed on her cheeks.

  ‘We are going to have a race,’ Edwige said, ‘with only one contestant. Miss Habren is going to pull the cart to the cage, in which she is going to dine this evening. Mr Gaunt, you shall be the driver, with myself and Susan as outriders.’

  She uncoiled a heavy bullwhip and handed it to him.

  ‘I? I can’t — it’s outrageous — I won’t —’

  ‘You shall strip, naked as your wife, and Truud shall stand behind you to urge you on with the cane, while Susan and I run beside Miss Habren with our own canes. You shall whip her back and we her bum and haunches.’

  ‘Truud is going to cane me on the bare?’

  Joss’s eyes sparkled.

  ‘Assuredly. Unless you wish to be whipped in the cage along with your bitch. You have been fucking Truud in the cunt with some frequency, have you not, Mr Gaunt?’

  ‘Why, yes, but —’

  ‘What?’ cried Habren. ‘You disobedient wretch!’

  The cage shimmered, half a mile distant, with its door open and the pulley rope slack, ready to hoist it.

  ‘I see,’ said Joss. ‘Well, then — in that case — it seems —’

  In an instant, Joss was stripped and, towering over the nude, harnessed body of his wife, flourished his whip. Truud, still in her harem pantaloons, climbed behind him and striped his bare arse with a vicious cut.

  Vip!

  ‘Ouch! That hurt!’

  Vip! Vip! Vip! Vip!

  The girls’ canes landed smartly on Habren’s bare arse-central globes.

  ‘AHH…!’

  Thwap!

  Joss laid a broad pink weal across his wife’s bare shoulders.

  ‘Mmm! No, please!’

  Thwap!

  ‘Oh…! Oh…please, darling, no…!’

  Habren’s naked flesh wriggled, her back shuddering, as the hide whip stroked her shoulder-blades. Joss smiled as Truud began to flick her whippy little cane across his own bare arse; his cock swelled. Jan lowered his garment and thrust his stiff cock into Habren’s mouth. Gagging, she began to suck the erect flesh, her tears dripping on the massive stiff stool as it fucked her mouth.

  Thwap!

  ‘Mmm…!’

  ‘You must be whipped at womancart,’ said Jan, ‘but may spare yourself the agony of the cage if you tell us where to find Pollecutt’s box.’

  Habren raised her lips from his cock.

  ‘I swear,’ she wailed, ‘I have no idea, neither where it is nor what it contains!’

  The girls raised their canes and Joss his whip. Jan plunged his cock back into her throat.

  Vip! Vip!

  Thwap!

  ‘Mmm!’

  ‘Then,’ groaned Jan, as his cock began to buck in spurt, ‘it is the cage, you fucking whore!’

  ‘Ohh…’

  Habren whimpered as Jan’s spunk spurted, dribbling from her teeth, and her throat bobbed as she swallowed cream. Jan grinned fiercely, slapping her cheeks hard and his pubic bone slamming her lips, as he spermed into her mouth. He withdrew; Aggar, too, slapped Habren’s spunk-slimed face, before placing a bit in her mouth to gag her.

  Thwap!

  ‘Giddy-up, nag!’ her husband cried.

  ‘MMM…!’ Habren wailed.

  Her bare back and buttocks shivering under a rain of strokes, she strained, with belly knotted and thighs and titties quivering. The womancart began to trundle.

  12

  Vice Versa

  ‘Did you enjoy your tea, Miss Coker?’ said Miss Horsfall, closing her heavy curtains against the snowflakes falling softly against her mullioned windowpane.

  ‘I hadn’t much appetite, mum,’ said Isobel.

  ‘Not after your exertion in whipping the slut Stark? You whipped her rather well, by the way.’

  ‘Please, mum, you told me to come without wearing knickers.’

  ‘And are you?’

  ‘Of course not, mum.’

  ‘That doesn’t explain your loss of appetite.’

  ‘Please don’t toy with me, mum,’ said Isobel. ‘I’ve been a stroke here long enough to know the slags aren’t the only ones who…who have to bare their bottoms. I’m the only stroke who hasn’t herself been a slag. If you intend to thrash me, please get it over with.’

  Miss Horsfall sat at her desk, leather-topped, in her large, thickly carpeted apartment, whose several easy chairs and sofa also shone with leather. Its smell was musty, with a rack of belts, whips and canes hanging in a bookcase beside leather-bound volumes. Isobel glanced at the instruments of discipline, and trembled, fingering the cane and rope at her own belt.

  ‘Did you enjoy whipping Miss Stark?’ said Miss Horsfall suddenly. ‘Amy Patel played a cruel jape on you, but…it was your fluid in the cup, wasn’t it?’

  ‘I…I did my duty, mum.’

  ‘Answer the question.’

  ‘Yes, mum. I…I juiced, seeing her naked body squirm. The girl cheeked me. Called me…a rude word.’

  ‘Specifically?’

  ‘A whore, mum.’

  ‘Which you aren’t…’

  ‘Mum! It was an insult! I got angry. I know I shouldn’t have…and I deserve punishment for losing my temper.’

  Miss Horsfall wrinkled her nose.

  ‘I haven’t asked you how Angarad came to be wearing your uniform on the way to the village. Perhaps you enjoyed beating a girl you felt had betrayed you. Never mind…you hum, rather. A bit sweaty. Take a shower.’

  She gestured to her bathroom.

  ‘You’ll find everything you need.’

  Isobel hesitated, then entered the bathroom, closed the door and stripped, carefully folding her clothes. The bathroom was all in pink: bathtub, shower curtains and fluffy towels, and luxurious with lotions, cream and scent, including several tubes of lubricating jelly. She climbed into the bathtub, closed the curtains and turned on a scalding shower, sighing as the hot water caressed her skin. Miss Horsfall’s voice came from the sitting-room.

  ‘As you know, this is a privatised prison,’ she said, ‘and there has been a change of ownership. There may be some changes here at Wrigley Scrubs soon. I must know which wardens I can trust to remain loyal and obey my orders. I sense you are one of them.’

  ‘Thank you, mum,’ Isobel replied, lathering her belly and breasts with soapsuds. ‘You are going to beat me, I think.’

  ‘A camera crew from the BBC is to visit tomorrow, for the purpose of showing Wrigley Scrubs as the model prison of the future. Of course, we wish to show our best side. The mild deception I plan, of showing trustworthy wardens lightly spanked as slags, is, I think, in the public interest.’

  ‘I hope to be trustworthy, mum,’ said Isobel, with a gulp.

  ‘I’m going to test your obedience, Miss Coker,’ said Miss Horsfall, her voice distant and muffled. ‘When you emerge from the bathroom, you will show your ability to obey my orders to the full, and without question.’

  ‘Yes, mum,’ said Isobel, and continued to sluice herself for minutes, until the lights suddenly went out.

  She groped for a towel and wrapped herself, before searching for her uniform. It was gone. She crept from the bathroom to find the sitting-room in darkness, save for a tiny spotlight played on the back of th
e sofa: on the broad, pear-shaped naked buttocks of a female, squatting on the sofa seat, with her head over its back. The cheeks were fully parted, to show a tangle of cunt-hairs and dripping red labia, with the anal pucker well distended. The arse-globes were already mottled and puffy, as though from a distant beating.

  ‘You will show your ability to obey my orders to the full, and without question,’ said Miss Horsfall, her voice muffled, from the direction of the closed curtains. ‘You see the exposed croup of a slag, who has been exceptionally insolent and requires chastisement more severe than can be publicly administered. I wish to see if you have the will, Isobel, to administer that chastisement.’

  ‘I’ll do my best, mum,’ gulped Isobel.

  ‘From the bookshelf, you will take a rope and bind the miscreant’s ankles securely together, with ropes extending to the sofa legs. You will find two straps hanging from the top of the sofa. Those, you shall buckle over the small of the girl’s back, rendering her helpless.’

  Trembling, Isobel obeyed, roping and buckling the immobile naked girl, until she was helpless. Still, she did not look at the inky depths beneath the sofa, where the girl’s hair fanned out, covering her head pressed to the floor, and her supporting fists.

  ‘Done and dusted, mum,’ she said, after her work.

  ‘From the bookshelf, take the rattan cane, furthest to the left. You will administer one hundred strokes, in sets of four, over a period not to exceed one hour, on the full bare. You will attend to every portion of her croup, extending from top buttock to underfesses, and including a sound marking of the haunches halfway around to the thighs. At no time will you heed any expressions of distress, either verbal or physical. If you observe the girl rubbing her pubis on the sofa in an attempt to masturbate, you will ignore it. If she loses control of her bowels, or makes water, you will ignore it. Replace your towel in the bathroom and return to do your duty in the nude. You will obey.’

  Isobel returned her towel as ordered and, naked, took down the heavy tool of chastisement, a long rattan, half an inch thick. She shuddered.

  ‘A full hundred, mum?’ she gasped.

  ‘You will obey.’

  ‘What if she faints?’

  ‘You will obey.’

  Placing her bare feet firmly apart, in caning stance, Isobel lifted the rattan, then lashed down. It made a cool, swishing sound, as it sliced the air.

  Vap! Vap! Vap! Vap!

  Isobel delivered the first four strokes full on the girl’s centre bare. The girl’s belly jolted against the sofa and her fesses trembled, clenching, but she made no sound other than a soft, purring sigh.

  Vap! Vap! Vap! Vap!

  The rattan raised rapid, cruel weals, already crimson, and instantly puffing the bare arse-globes. The buttocks began to clench rhythmically.

  Vap! Vap! Vap! Vap!

  Isobel dripped with sweat in the room’s closeness.

  Vap! Vap! Vap! Vap!

  After the first dozen, Isobel paused to wipe her brow. The bare bum she had flogged was a patchwork of crimson welts, darkening and puffing to ridges. The girl’s buttocks continued to clench and unclench during the pause and her hips undulated gently, grinding the sofa back with her pubis. Isobel glanced at the curtains, but they were shrouded in the darkness, the pencil light illumining only the whipped bare bum beneath her. She gasped, swallowed and shut her eyes, then, slowly, her fingers crept across her belly, to her jungle of moist pube-hair; into her soft wet slit to brush her swollen clitoris. Isobel stroked herself in the slit for several seconds, masturbating in the trickle of come that seeped faster and faster from her cunt and gazing at the rippling whorled welts she had raised on the ripe naked fesses, helpless before her.

  ‘You will show your ability to obey my orders to the full, and without question,’ came Miss Horsfall’s instruction.

  Vap! Vap! Vap! Vap!

  Isobel delivered four lashes straight to the left haunch, following them at once with a set to the right. The tender haunch skin leapt to bruised darkness and the flogged girl squirmed against her restraining girdle, while her legs threshed in her ropes. There was a thump, as her head banged the padded sofa back.

  ‘Are you masturbating, Miss Coker?’ rasped Miss Horsfall’s voice.

  ‘I…Oh! Mum, I…oh…!’

  ‘Are you masturbating, Miss Coker?’

  ‘Y-yes, mum.’

  ‘It is in order. You will show your ability to obey my orders to the full, and without question.’

  ‘I can’t help…a flogged girl’s bare…oh, my God!’

  ‘It is in order.’

  Vap! Vap! Vap! Vap!

  Isobel masturbated rhythmically as she caned, and the girl’s whinnies turned to a muffled slurp: she was chewing the carpet. Her bare arse jerked and squirmed wildly, yet there was no sound from her, even when Isobel sliced the same welt twice, other than the chewing noise and little gasps and swallows. Suddenly, the whipped girl moaned, pissed all over the sofa, a lake of golden fluid puddling the seat and cascading to the carpet. Isobel paused, at the forty-first stroke, watching the girl’s bum squirming, as the yellow torrent erupted from her swollen gash flaps.

  ‘My God…’ Isobel murmured, yet continued to masturbate, while the puffy welts of the bare flogged bum writhed, as though wringing the pee from the girl’s bowels.

  ‘You will show your ability to obey my orders to the full, and without question,’ Miss Horsfall’s voice intoned.

  Gulping, Isobel raised an unsteady cane, using both her hands, and brought it down on the clenched bum. The last droplets of pee squirted from the squashed cunt and glistening with copious come oil. The girl made slurping noises as she chewed the carpet and rubbed her loins harder against the sofa back. She, too, masturbated, along with her caner. Isobel went back to one-handed caning; her belly rose and fell, as her fingers pounded her swollen clitoris, bringing her closer and closer to climax.

  ‘You will show your ability to obey my orders to the full, and without question.’

  Vap! Vap! Vap! Vap!

  The rattan flew like a feather, in Isobel’s grasp, slapping the naked buttocks with as much force as a quirt, with all its rubber thongs concentrated in the single springy shaft of wood. The weals on the squirming girl’s flogged buttocks were crimson trenches, puffy at the edges, and formed a crisscross pattern, already blurring, with Isobel’s strokes now lashing already open welts.

  Vap! Vap! Vap! Vap!

  ‘Mm…!’ panted Isobel, wanking herself off to climax; pools of girl-pee moistened her bare feet.

  At the eighty-eighth stroke, the flogged girl began to lift her cunt basin from the chair, a few inches, then slam her engorged clitoris and cunt lips on to the leather, sopping wet and streaming with her come. Isobel delivered the final dozen with scarcely a pause between sets of four and, at the ninety-sixth, the girl peed once more, but now with sharp shrill cries of orgasm, subsiding to a whimper, long after Isobel had delivered the hundredth canestroke. Isobel lowered her hot cane, wiping the sweat from her face and the dripping come from her cunt and thighs, smearing the fluid awkwardly on her hair. The beaten girl crooned to herself, as Miss Horsfall’s voice snapped: ‘You may collect your uniform from the armoire, in darkness, Miss Coker, and depart. You have passed your test. Do not attempt to examine your subject’s face. She has received just chastisement but will never thank you for it, as you may not know her name. Her offence was vile: she sought punishment for her pleasure, outside the confines of HMP Wrigley Scrubs, and delivered her back orifice to a brute male, for his pleasure — and hers, too. Your thrashing will teach her a lesson not to seek pleasure in pain — that most obscene perversion! She is already ashamed of her perverted lust, and the fact that you masturbated, gloating over her flogged buttocks, shall add to her shame. I ordered you to report without knickers, knowing you would only wet them. She shall work free from your bonds in appropriate time, knowing that if she is late for lights-out, she shall merit further chastisement.’

  Isobel sc
rabbled in the darkness, found her uniform and dressed hurriedly.

  ‘Please, mum, I’ll find it hard not to look at the slags and guess which one I’ve beaten,’ she said, politely. ‘But I suppose it is for her to know and me to find out.’

  ‘You will show your ability to obey my orders to the full, and without question.’

  ‘Very well, mum. I’m glad I’ve given satisfaction.’

  ‘You will show your ability to obey my orders to the full, and without question.’

  Isobel slipped out of the door, with a last glance at the bare bum she had just caned purple. Miss Horsfall’s voice echoed tinnily after her, as she passed along the corridor.

  ‘You will show your ability to obey my orders to the full, and without question.’

  Click.

  ‘You will show your ability to obey my orders to the full, and without question.’

  Click.

  ‘You will show your ability to obey my orders to the full, and without question…’

  * * *

  The face a golden tan, and her breasts and croup clinging in a business suit of shimmering grey shantung silk, over which her blond mane artlessly cascaded, the tall young woman stepped from the London train. She carried a pigskin briefcase and strode to the car rental office, her gait awkward, and keeping well apart her white-stockinged legs, and feet encased in red patent stilettos. She shifted her croup restlessly as she did the paperwork and took the keys to her vehicle. The clerk accompanied her to the car and opened the door; she grimaced as her buttocks touched the seat.

  ‘Are you all right, Mrs Gaunt?’ he asked. ‘You seem to be in a little discomfort, if you don’t mind my saying so.’

  The woman snapped opened her mouth but twisted her lips in a radiant smile, showing snow-white teeth.

  ‘Why, so would you be, if you had just been driven as a carthorse in the Moroccan desert, whipped in a cage and left caged and shackled through the night, with a bare-bottom caning before breakfast,’ she said.

  ‘I don’t understand, ma’am,’ he stammered.