The abrupt entry of the Marquise, Anthea, more striking than ever in pale taffeta and azure ribbons, and their staff, startled Joanne as the chamber became suffused with the fragrance of perfumes overriding the stench of sweat. Coursel and Simone were accompanied by two other domestics, if such was their rank, Joanne had not encountered before. The young maid was dark and slender, the man powerfully built.
"So, here they are, our little ducklings, all ringed and ready." Elodie hooked a kid-gloved finger through one of Martine's teat rings and tugged on it playfully, bringing a shrill yelp out of the plump nude. Elodie frowned "Oh, my poor ears, this slut must be cured of shrieking at me, Anthea dear!" As if to hasten that process, Simone raised her service whip and slashed the slave's thigh. "Thank you, Simone. Now, you and Marie-Félice," the Marquise went on, calling the sultry domestic forward, "get them checked for size and plugged up behind. I want their rear entries nicely stretched and taught to slacken without having to be told." She smiled at the two men standing apart. "I'm sure you'll both see to that! And prior to our next celebrations. That gives you a clear fortnight, doesn't it?"
Taken aback by the orders, Joanne hoped Martine had not understood what was implied. Indeed, the girl had not; she was too busy sniffling and trying to conceal her sex rings. Then the bewigged Marquise went on: "So, Marie-Félice, get to work while that man of yours sizes up our two newcomers. I'd like your views, Bouchard, on my new slaves."
Joanne recalled the information she had gleaned in the slave cellar: the dark-haired female called Marie-Félice, prettily dressed in a green robe the colour of sage, had to be a senior servant and wife or mistress or this Bouchard, the Lassignac major-domo, gaoler and slave flogger, who stood beside her. She was quite attractive, despite a slight strabismus that gave her a look of immense cruelty. Her man was handsome, stalwart and terrifying. Marie-Félice strode forward and the fittings proceeded forthwith. First, each slave was reversed against the wall by Coursel as the woman opened a cupboard in the far wall to return with two anal stopples, the size of large pine cones with several lengths of chain dangling from the bases. She dealt with Martine first, parting the huge slabs of rump meat to force the bung inwards, disregarding the girl's useless clenchings. The insertion met with hysterical cries as the sphincter was gouged, the tight circle of muscle fighting the dildo. The slender chains were then tightened round the prodigious buttocks, passed under the perineum and clipped to the new sex rings. Martine screamed to high heaven as her rear hole stretched to accommodate the shaft. Then Joanne received the same therapy but without demur. She thrilled as both slaves were told they would wear the thing until further notice when not on call. Marie-Félice then tried out several leather hoods on the girls until the correct sizes were found for future use; again Joanne found the objects exciting and frightening as the straps were buckled round her head and throat, blocking the eyes and ears; a wooden gag, well-dented by other teeth, nearly dislocating her jaws. Finally, leather breast cones, armed with internal spikes, and a similar crotch triangle were tried on. The very volume of Martine's mammaries made the test imperative, Marie-Félice remarking she had never seen such vast breasts on a serf. "A daily run round the courtyard under the horsewhip would thin her down, your Grace." Elodie told her to hold her tongue, for suddenly the Marquis entered, in from hunting. Silence fell amid genuflections. The fine weather-tanned face gazed at Martine's plugged bottom. "And what do we have here, in the name of all the saints? Just what I needed. Hand me a whip," he ordered curtly.
A frown clouded Elodie's exquisite face. She was piqued by the untimely appearance. It threw her off her balance - and that before the household - but she summoned up a welcoming smile. For who, after all, was the master of Lassignac?
The man stripped off his leather jerkin and the broad-collared silk blouse, throwing the garments to Simone as Coursel handed him a coil of platted horsehair. In a sepulchral silence, the bare-chested Marquis walked over to Martine's wealth of arse flesh shuddering against the masonry and shook out the leather snake. Elodie drew Anthea towards her as if marshalling an ally. "Oh, diantre, the slut's not ready for this," she muttered.
Then the Marquis saw the summit of the dildo protruding from the anal cleft and the tensed chains denting the buttocks. "Ah, I see we're making headway with this lump of suet. So much the better." Simone took a step forward as it to wrench the sceptre out. "No, woman, she'll do as she is. The sooner she's stretched the better."
The first lash rasped through the already fetid air of the cellar, extending its length across the space separating the man from his victim. The leather ripped across both buttocks with a heavy thud, followed by a sharp hiss as the extremity curled round the slave's haunch to bury itself in the sex rings. Staggering, slamming her belly into the whitewashed wall, Martine's head craned back as the yell tore through the chamber; a pig being slaughtered in the castle farm barely matched the din.
After several more lashes had welted the ponderous lumps of rump steak, the slave crossed her thighs in a futile attempt to protect the splayed sex. But a dozen more had her jerking like a hooked bream. The screams only drove the wench's flogger to whip harder until he felt she was ready. Unbuttoning the lappet of his breeches and gesturing to Simone to reverse the body, the Marquis brought out his huge erection. Breathing heavily, he gazed at the vast breasts rasped scarlet by the stonework and then hauled the thighs up round his hips. The cock yawed a moment before the distended cleft and then drove in with a single thrust, the man still grasping his whip haft. The girl let out a deafening screech as her hymen was ruptured by the monstrous penis... Joanne watched grieving for the poor virgin and yet somehow envying her. Any energy Martine had left in her sobbing, thrashed carcass abandoned her as the Master of Lassignac fucked her. By the time he was ready to empty into her, the head of dark hair had fallen back to thump against the wall. She had passed out.
A moment later, the body was released to slump against the rough wall, the inner fat of the thighs drenched red from the deflowering. Francis-Etienne wiped his cock on the slave's hip. "Well, that's one virgin the less, Elodie dear, for you to play with," he said.
"Indeed," she agreed, again her normal self. "At least you cheated our Dominican out of that! Now, Simone, get them both back to the cellar and medicate them. I don't want any infection blossoming."
As there was still time before the solemn gong would sound for dinner, the Marquise inveigled her Francis to her soft bed upstairs, along with Anthea. Together, the two women writhed like serpents, feeding the man's cock into each other's body in turn, frigging the clitoris as the shaft sank in, emerged and plunged in again. Both were experts at that. After recovering from her orgasm, Elodie managed to put a question.
"But why, beloved, did you use that frigid one? I mean, there was the blonde beauty dazzling us all with her new rings and superb body. Why didn't you take her?"
"Later, Elodie later." He paused, drawing on his silken blouse. "I happened to learn in the stables from a groom that you've decided to consign her - what's her name, yes, Joanne, and what a body indeed - to Anselme for an attempt at conversion in the chapel. I thought that would be ample for her, directly after ringing." Elodie was amazed at how news got around among the servants. "In any event as you saw, the other bitch - the fat whore - seems to lack sexual vigour and needs rigorous whipping if she's to satisfy you."
"Yes, of course." Elodie agreed. "By the way, Francis, I've agreed to lend Anthea to help Anselme with the conversion." Both nobles smiled at the gorgeous minx as she too arranged her dress and peruke. "I'm sure you would have no objection, Francis. Now, let's go down for dinner. I could eat a whole capon after that. You're really a great lover!"
On the way down, the Marquis reverted to the question of Joanne. "I suppose the blonde slave has to be made over to the Dominican." There was reluctance in the voice.
"I'm afraid so precious. We can hardly decline. After all, she i
s a parpaillote. But as the questioning is to take place in the chapel, it ought to be mild enough. And Anthea will be there to see that the man behaves himself. In any event, whether the shapely wench recants or not, I'm going to keep her here for good. She has begun to satisfy me."
"Very well. But the other one isn't worth much, Elodie, as you gathered from her behaviour just now under the whip. Anselme's going to have a stiff task with her, no?"
The Marquise nodded. "It seems so, alas. We'll just have to see. Meanwhile she can be kept in the cellar. But at least you deflowered the slut and that's a step forward. When her turn comes, our dour Dominican will need to use all his persuasive ingenuity."
Her husband took the beautiful arm as they entered the dining hall, receiving the obsequious bows of the half-naked maids. "Do you honestly believe they will abjure, Elodie?" he inquired. He had his doubts. Moreover, the new blonde attracted him.
"That's not our affair, Francis. We need good whipping flesh, such as we have already down in the cellar. Frankly, that's all that concerns me. To hell with that tonsured Anselme and his hopes of Vatican promotion." Her antipathy ran deep. In her mind's eye she still saw the worthless Martine being flayed, the gross legs capering as if treading the grapes of wrath in the wine cellar. The slag, parpaillote or not, required educating.
The meal, as usual, proved delicious and welcome. Elodie felt exhausted, the unavoidable presence of Dom Anselme at the table annoying her, as he tried to ferret out what had been taking place in the chamber below. The carpe à la juive, jugged hare and rognons de veau flambés, lifted her spirits. And, to her delight, Francis-Etienne had Therèse brought up afterwards from the cellar to the great bedroom for her to thrash.
The following day, Dom Anselme took great care to ensure the chapel presented as sacrosanct an atmosphere for enforced conversion as possible. Thick candles, like white, supplicating arms, had been lit and the nave was thick with holy, aromatic incense. He had placed the prie-dieu centrally in the nave before the wrought iron rood screen, hemp cords ready, if necessary to help the parpaillote bitch towards her abjuration; the short, thick flogging whip lay upon the chair before the prie-dieu. The sight of that instrument, Anselme believed, could persuade any heretic to abjure; but should defiance ensue, a mere dozen lashes of the six-knotted thongs were enough to make a heifer bellow and confess.
It had been agreed with the somewhat awkward Marquise that the young Anthea should attend: in the event of obstinacy on the part of the heretic, it had been further conceded that the girl should carry out such flagellation as might prove necessary. Elodie persuaded herself it would give her lesbian odalisque, despite her already vicious talents, valuable practice. But only if absolutely necessary.
Dom Anselme had considered using the vestry for the interrogation and, if called for, the ensuing beating, but the room was exiguous and hardly lent itself to serious questioning and less still to efficient bondage and the swing of a whip. Hence, the nave was preferred, in which case the holy friar had reluctantly declined to perform a flogging in full view of the high altar. Again Elodie had consented, although the endeavour to convert a stark naked female with flagellation in the chapel hardly pleased her; after all, there was a magnificently equipped cellar as well as other precincts below ready for use, where massive stone walls stifled screams. But the Dominican had insisted on the nave.
Furthermore, he required that the interrogation be carried out in bondage, using the flesh rings which, if the subject proved recalcitrant, could serve to hold the body for persuasive beating. The arms and legs, he explained, would be roped to the platform of the prie-dieu, cords cinching the waist, others passed through the nipple and outer labial rings to secure the infidel outstretched while the examination proceeded. Elodie felt obliged to consent; in fact, she felt the bondage would provide the girl with a taste of what awaited her at a later date. She had already acquiesced to the slim blonde being examined first, the other, less attractive and more obstreperous sinner being meanwhile chained with the other seven inmates in the cellar, awaiting her call. There at least the stout whore would have the opportunity of learning from the group of more mature slaves; although by no means protestants, the cohort below knew what discipline implied and, should the novice persist in her wrong-headedness, what a lusty six-thong or a session of teat torture could do to a naked slave. Whether this uncouth newcomer could be brought to a series of hysterical orgasms, leave alone recant, Elodie doubted, even if the iron tongs were used directly on the inexperienced clitoris.
For his part, the chaplain contended that neither girl could long resist his methods of proselytism and subsequent conversion. If they did hold out against him, he had other means by which a heretic could be brought to see reason.
Accordingly, on the day following the painful ringing session in the holding cellar, Joanne found herself in a windowless cell where she was flushed out, anally greased, oiled and her areoles, teats and clit brought to full erection by the quiet, sour-faced Simone. Curiously, the preparation gave her a thrill she had not experienced before. Even more unexpected was the need spreading through her loins to be used as Martine had been; her body began to yearn for sex, even at the cost of a flogging. She was ready for both.
"What am I due for now, pray, Madame?" she inquired nervously, as the expansion plug was being extracted from her anus. She risked the query since both slaves had been informed they were free to speak to servants but never to their owners and their guests without express permission - and even there, she was told, speech was restricted to a plea to be thrashed and abused and to an expression of thanks once the session was over.
"Conversion, whore," came the reply. "In the chapel before our most saintly man."
"But I have no intention of being converted..."
"We'll see, filthy infidel. Aren't thou aware of our sublime and mighty Sovereign's dictates?" she pressed on the girl's back. "Lean further over and grasp them ankles so I can grease thy whorish arsehole..." Simone employed what French she had. Having learnt the terms by heart, she used them with assurance; they gave her stature.
In chains, the wrists crossed and linked to the nape, Joanna was led up by the expressionless Coursel to the musty chapel where she was expected to admit to her religious offence and beg to be allowed to embrace the true faith. Her first embracement, however, was that of the prie-dieu under the sullen eyes of Dom Anselme and stink of incense. He sat apart, flanked by the young woman that Joanne had seen in the cellar during Martine's recent beating. If the priest was in his customary white habit, the girl was very different; resplendent in black leather boots reaching to her lissom thighs, flared gauntlets, and a web of straps imprisoning her flat belly and hoisting aloft a pair of incredibly handsome, hard-nippled breasts. The pubic growth was narrow, crowning the neat slot of the pouting vulva. From her sloping belt hung a horrendous bunch of flogging leathers, each of the six strands, Joanne saw with a jolt of excitement, arrayed with knots. Anthea represented cruelty incarnate and seemed to know it. The novice stared at the slim figure and realised how deeply she feared and hated the spoilt bitch. Instinctively, she guessed that conversion was not the sole aim of the chapel session. If she was about to be put before the option of denying her faith - which she would repulse with all her strength - the whip told her what her refusal would entail. If she was to be flagellated, strangely she would prefer to suffer under the hand of a male. And, if possible, by a male in erection, as when the Marquis had whipped the pathetic Martine; a stiff cock implied erotic lust but also a compliment to her famished body. Joanne desired the whip as much as the orgasms that she knew would follow - but not bestowed by a ruthless, lascivious bitch...
Yet it was the complacent, half-naked beauty who gave orders to the valet.
"Rope the apostate belly down over the prie-dieu, Coursel. Breasts hanging free, arms and legs outstretched." The voice seemed to spiral up out of Hell. "Cord the teat and labial
rings to the uprights and wrench the head back for her questioning."
Smelling of onions and garlic the valet seemed to know what was wanted, for he went to work unhesitatingly. Slamming Joanne down across the prie-dieu, his hands gripped the dangling breasts to tug the slack flesh downwards. Then like bells, the mammaries were left to swing listlessly, awaiting the tethering. Threading a length of cattle rope through each teat ring, he elongated the udders to their maximum reach, securing the cord to the base of the sculpted uprights. He then did likewise with the labia rings. Joanne whimpered as her ringed folds of vulva flesh, still tender from the piercing, were drawn down and outwards and tied to grommets in the platform. Immediately she realised that a sudden jerk of her body could rip the rings out of the flesh. As ordered, the servile brute then yanked back the head by the hair, passed a further cord over the forehead and fastened it to the neck strap. As a final refinement, the legs were splayed for the ankle straps to be tethered to nearby pillars aligning the aisle; the slave thought her hip joints would dislocate. The chill in the bleak edifice froze her sex and buttock meat. If the whip was to come, her entire cleft was bared and available.
"Now, let us commence." The Dominican's rasping voice reached her as if from another world. "You are a sinner, that you know. And a traitor to our Gracious King and to the Church, you devil-infested whore of a parpaillote, persisting in vile heresy. Recant and all will be well. Resist and you will be chastised to submission. Choose. Do you abjure?"
The Sufferers Page 4