"You are expected in our midst, child. Our neighbour, the most dutiful Marquise de Vonnange-Lassignac - ably advised by her dedicated chaplain Dom Anselme, may the saints fortify him - has assigned you to our loving care since your conduct has fallen short of expectations. This is grave and we shall strive to help you to change your ways. Evidently you either do not understand or do not wish to conform. This is foolish and headstrong. Therefore we shall be obliged to prevail on you to make you regret your obstinacy. Your presence at her ladyship's château, as you may have gathered, has become something of a burden on her and those noble precincts. Hence your transfer to our humble nunnery where we have means to make you obey."
Drained of spirit, the nude shuddered, not daring to look up.
"I see that already you are no stranger to the whip," the sepulchral voice went on, the narrowed eyes scrutinising the welted flesh extended or the tiles. "However, here, if you persist in your perverse attitude - and indeed, I should mention, your heresy - you will have to contend with certain far more austere methods of persuasion than you have so far encountered. That is our duty here." The waxen face under the wimple turned to the nun. "Take the child to the preparation cell, Sister Véronique, and prepare her. Dom Anselme should be here by Compline, together with his young acolyte, Brother Christophe. They will join you for the initial questioning." As Sister Véronique bowed, ordering the newcomer to rise, the majestic reverend Mother added casually: "Remove those ugly iron bindings she's wearing, Sister. The breasts and groin must be free and fully accessible. So, air the crotch for it must be fetid after the journey down. As I believe she is flesh-ringed, see to it she is liberally oiled, the usual extremities well weighted to stimulate the nerves hidden under so much meat. I believe, in view of her corpulence, at least fifty lashes of welcome should suffice, Sister. As to her heresy, Dom Anselme will deal with that. You may proceed."
The nun genuflected again. Rising with difficulty, shaken by the welcome and the reference to her beliefs, Martine was hurried out along further echoing passages to a large whitewashed chamber where she was thrust unceremoniously against the wall to have her breast cups and chastity belt unbuckled and ripped away. The nude whimpered as the flesh was freed of the minute tines, leaving a rash of red specks and a few trickles of blood. As the huge mammaries swung free, the relief was bliss.
"Part the legs to open the vulva," the nun ordered, releasing the wrists. "Arms above the head. Higher than that! Stretch!" Teetering, Martine reached up to have the rear ring in her throat band attached to the masonry, her wrists to an even loftier hook. The robed figure then clipped weighted chains to the outer labial rings, dragging the cunt flesh downwards, similar loads elongating the nipple piercings into long slots. The slave hissed with pain, staring at the woman who merely nodded.
"So you're not used to flesh chains? They ready and excite you for the whip. And you'll be flagellated regularly until you're ready to graduate to the more sophisticated stages of your training. As you are new here, let me add that, if foolishly you resist in any way, you will be taken down the passage to what is know as the Sanctum of Sex Torture. Would you wish me to describe what that entails, child?" The throat tension denied even a shake of the head. Tears began to flow but Martine's vagina was arid, tense as a fist.
As the woman lit the wick of another candle placed on the nearby table, Martine caught her breath at the array of instruments and scourges upon it. Then the door closed behind Sister Véronique and a further shock lay in store for the prisoner. The glimmer revealed she was not alone in her predicament.
Against the far wall, at first barely distinguishable, a second young female stood shackled in very much the same posture. Also nipple-naked, the body was sleek, sensuous and welted with purple lash marks left by what Martine guessed must have been a very recent and thorough thrashing. The girl's sapphire eyes glinted as they wandered slowly over the other's rich reserves of flogging meat. Martine at once noticed differences: not only was the nude devoid of flesh rings and weights but the pubic hump still retained its golden swathe of fleece, even if the head had been shaven clear. Moreover, the girl was bound to the wall with rope encircling the wrists and ankles - no sign of the leather straps as used at Lassignac. Wide-eyed, Martine returned the gaze of the resplendent prisoner, astonished the girl could marshal a smile.
"I'm glad to have company," the bald one said softly. The accent was not local or even Cevenol; it was almost refined. "It's been lonely here. Where are you from?"
Martine was too cautious to answer, the whipped beauty being possibly a member of the sisterhood, a conventual or a postulant for entry into the convent and in any event a potential enemy - she was certainly not an ordinary sex slave. Yet the languid beauty had been well flagellated and shared her cell.
"I'm a victim of my religion," Martine finally decided to admit. "And the convent's meant to try to convert me, Why are you here?" she returned the question.
"Oh, me - I'm under forced training here to prepare me for sale to some noble house or other as a special type of concubine. You know, the sort that gets whipped and sexually tormented in stately mansions. But the other night I was caught making love with a junior Sister. There are strict rules here and they pretend not to approve of that, you see. And so, I have to pay for it, once again. Sister Madeleine usually gets away with sleeping with trainees like me, when we're meant to rest. So, she has to spend a day scrubbing the cloisters and I'm here for what they call 'disciplining' - that's different from the normal training whippings." She paused, aware of Martine's astonishment. "Of course, you do realise, don't you, this is not a real convent, as you may have been led to believe. It's nothing more than a disguised penitentiary for training females for very precise duties. They pretend to act as nuns but that's just a cover. But they do it well. You'd never know if you were paying a courtesy visit to the place. It has a great success breaking in females like me - and you, I presume - to serve in exclusive residences all over the kingdom. Once you're taught to take the whip, undergo erotic sex torture - that's what they call it here - with a smile and surrender to every sort of depravity you can imagine, you just hope you'll get sent to a nice place and tolerant owners. The training here lasts a month, more or less, depending on your erotic talent. I'm almost ready for sale."
Open-mouthed, Martine stared at her informant. "You mean it's a place just for disciplining sex slaves. Not a convent! But, in heaven's name, you must be mistaken!"
"What's heaven got to do with it, sweetheart? You'd better make the best of it, unless you prefer sweating and screaming in the punishment cells they have here. So, work hard and enjoy it all. Otherwise they could chain you up in the kennels for the mastiffs to lick you. By the way, talking of licking, I hope you like sucking a juicy twat and having your own eaten. That's if we get a chance when they start again on me. And on you probably. Sex must he uphill work with all that fat of yours and those rings they've stuck into you. But they're rather erotic, I must say. I wouldn't mind having a few put into me. Do you like having them wrenched to send you over the top?"
Martine stared blankly at the girl. "I don't do that sort of thing," she gasped.
"Oh, don't be so coy, cherie. Of course you do. We all do it here. And when the two Dominicans are around, you'll find your crotch is in for a lot more!"
Martine tried to change the subject, scared by the very word 'Dominican'. "My," she remarked, "you've been really whipped! How long have you been here?"
"Nearly three weeks. Now, listen. Flagellation forms a great part of your training here and the sooner you learn to enjoy it and orgasm, the better. At first I hated it but now I come under the whip as one should. Thirty swipes from Sister Therèse, Sister Marie or that gorgon Sister Madeleine and I blast off like a charged musket. Madeleine does most of the whipping, breast torture and that sort of stuff. They all wear huge dildos. I simply melt now when I'm called and told to strip..."
&nb
sp; "Strip? But I thought we were always nude as worms. Just as up at the castle."
"I don't know about your castle, whatever that is, but here they give you a sort of coarse cassock to wear when you're not in training. It's just a length of burlap, open down the sides with a hole for your head. You get it in your second week."
"Oh, I see," Martine muttered, adrift. Then, tremulously she reverted to what the girl had said. "So, men officiate here too? I mean..." she hesitated, "men who..."
"Who teach you to fuck, suck and open your arse? Of course! There's our well-hung Dominican and his young acolyte, Brother Christophe - a real treat, you see. Cocks hard as a rock when they flog, torture and use you... But now, tell me your name, treasure."
Martine told her and learnt the noviciate was Pauline, the illegitimate daughter of some ruined noble who had apparently sold her to a Parisian brothel that now wanted her trained up to service special clients - people who flagellated young girls, prior to sex...
Suddenly the cell door screeched open. The Dominican, looming large next to Sister Véronique, was followed in by a young, well-featured monk: just out of the seminary, he was learning the finer points governing the whipping and use of stark-naked females.
"Ah, here she is, our fat goose!" Anselme's grey eyes roamed over Martine's bulk and extremities of distended flesh. Seating himself, he raised his habit to free his stiff cock of foreskin. The other hand held a six-thonged scourge. You may relieve the adipose trollop of her flesh chains and weights, Véronique."
Not too sure as to what adipose meant, the woman hesitated, risking a word. "But Mother Priscilla wants her sexual parts to be stretched and..."
"Take them off, woman. I need this slut's body in more or less its natural state, like the other one over there, whom we shall enjoy later." The nun obeyed, Martine wincing as the nipples and labia retracted. "So, heathen whore of perversity," the guttural voice began, "being finally within these sacred walls, do you abjure? Or must we rephrase the question in terms of leather and blood? Abjure, foul apostate and Satan's concubine!"
"Do what you will with my body," came the reply. "My faith is firm. I refuse."
"Let me put it in another way, slut. If you do not relent, abjure and attend Mass like the others here, then we shall be obliged to consign you to sister Madeleine and her cellar. She has little patience with heretical flesh and deals assiduously with whores of your sort. You will see her strip off her incommodious clothing to allow herself full freedom with the whip and avoid contamination from your heretical flesh. So far, Mother Priscilla is being lenient with you, despite my pleas to have your stubborn carcass thrashed raw."
Martine drew a breath to marshal her tenacity but her face had drained white. "May she be damned, like you, beast of Babylon! You're being watched from on high. Nothing will alter my faith. Nothing May you burn in the brimstone of hell and..."
The Dominican nodded to his young assistant. Brother Christophe drew his white habit over his head and handed it to the nun. In only sandals, the bared body, well-hewn and lily-pale, displayed a flat belly mounting to a broad chest and powerful shoulders. Martine gaped at the sight; it was the first time she had seen an entirely unclothed male and that at close quarters, apart from the young slave, Laurent, at the château. The young friar's blue-veined erection astounded her; the thing pulsed like the bull's pizzle she had glimpsed one day at a local cattle fair. More alarming was what the handsome youth took from Anselme: the scourge consisted of several strands of black hide like baggage straps, gathered to a haft in the shape of a thick penis, corrugated with ridges. Martine realised she was to be thrashed, even if where she stood was termed the preparation cell; if this was preparation, the thought of what might await her along the dank corridors, were she to be handed ever to Madeleine, paralysed her. She wondered how the elegant Pauline could possibly enjoy a whipping. The prisoner blenched as Véronique sought instructions. "Does your Holiness want her erect or stretched supine for the flogging?"
The precise query, in fact, was nothing more than a stock inquiry, for frequently, having had his victim released from the wall hooks, the Dominican ordered the body to be spread out with stretcher bars and secured to the iron floor hasps in the paving, the pelvis curved over a pointed triangle penetrating the anus. Moreover, there were the wrist hooks at the far end of the room and the up-slanting iron phallus, bolted to the wall, ready to impale, back or front, a trainee who merited stiff treatment. But then Véronique recalled the man favoured his victims hung outstretched from chains from the central roof hooks, the legs parted to floor rings; the bitch merited that and Véronique hoped the slut would be left so for her own subsequent beating of the breasts. She enjoyed hefty mammaries.
"No, she will suffer where she is," the man answered finally, the heavy-lidded eyes studying Martine's anatomy. Although any female nude under flagellation invigorated him, he especially relished watching his subordinate lash a succulent, over-fleshed body, such as this parpaillote's as it lurched under the scourge; it was salutary and refreshing, especially when blood was drawn. "I'm sure, Sister," he went on, "in all your time of service here, you've never seen udders such as these! Quite incredible! Now, Brother Christophe, lay into this foul heretic, from neck to knees. The traitorous bitch needs some of that indecent offal taken off her. Flog hard, man, in the name of her redemption!"
"Does your Holiness wish her to be gagged?" Véronique inquired again, helpfully.
"Certainly not," the Dominican retorted. "She must be given the chance to abjure under the lash. You may begin, Christophe. Start on those gross thighs and work up. When you reach her dugs, she will be ready to submit, believe me. Let me bless the whip."
Having received the benediction, the thongs were presented to Martine's lips to be kissed. She spat at the thing, held her breath and screwed up her eyes for the first lash.
The naked flogger brought the leathers hissing down into the beefy thighs. The shlack! reverberated across the cell to Pauline, watching with a licentious look, almost of envy as the newcomer writhed with pain. Lash after lash sliced into the jolting flesh, stippling a fierce ladder of welts up the body, each leather leaving a white streak that promptly darkened into sombre carmine. The blows over the groin and vulva set the sex rings chiming and Martine roaring. Striking the belly, the thongs resounded with hollow thuds, the victim tugging on her neck strap, her yells becoming strangled shrieks. The second dozen strokes worked up the rib cage to reach the prancing jelly of the breasts. There the youth first welted the sloping crests before slashing into the ringed nipples, the whip curling into the sweat of the far armpit. The writhing body blazed under the striations, the screams, interspersed with curses, becoming deafening.
Ten lashes later, intoxicated with the spectacle, Pauline noticed the slavegirl had ceased to yell and struggle. It was only the second time Pauline had seen a comrade-in-chains flagellated; the earlier occasion had involved a young 'Sister', since sold off to a flogging den in Bordeaux. Now, as then, the excitement had her vagina pulsing and running. She watched the dribbles of sweat pouring down the bodies of both the whipper and the whipped, Brother Christophe's oozing phallus swinging and slapping his hip at each stroke. Pauline found herself envying the newcomer but knew her turn would come soon enough.
Dom Anselme finally called a pause to rasp out an order. "Sister, hitch up the slut's colossal breasts. The things stick to the ribs. Free them."
Clearly accustomed to such directives, the elderly Véronique shuffled over to the twitching body, passed a cord through the teat rings to wrench the lush hunks of whipped flesh upwards, stretching the nipples now engorged like ripe damsons; she tethered the twine tightly to the neck band, displaying the pallid, unscathed undersides for punishment. The young enthusiast of a flogger stood back, his free hand rippling up and down his cock. The obese slut of a heretic, he found, flaunted truly tempting substance for the whip. And later, he tr
usted, for his aching cock. But there was more to be done.
"Now use the riding crop on that flesh the wily whore tries to conceal from us," the Dominican instructed his acolyte who took the plaited braid from Véronique and did just that. The clammy slabs of pale flesh became incandescent, bringing fresh wailing out of the stark-naked martyr now well embarked on her long, slave voyage into pain.
After a dozen cuts across the upended bulges, the devoted flogger was directed to employ the crop elsewhere on the sobbing wretch. He well knew what was intended.
"Strike up into the crotch, Christophe, as you did in the cellar the other day to that sinful whore, Bresilla, now departed hence, alas. Enough to prepare her for what must follow. Yes... that's it, my man! Get into the slit! You're improving, Pardieu!"
Martine gave a sharp, desperate yell as her clitoris was ground under the crop.
Sprawling in his chair, the priest masturbated faster, his voice beginning to slur.
"Now ram that cock into her... clog her man! Rape the heathen bitch. Fill her up!"
Again his associate was only too ready to comply. The deferential nun released the slave's ankles for him to heft the haunches round his hips. Parting the sex rings, the cock slid in up to the root. Martine's cries escalated suddenly. Pauline noticed that pain no longer dominated the nude, for she was thrusting out her pelvis to proffer the full depth of what seemed no longer that of a reluctant vagina. Clearly, Martine was wavering on the brim of orgasm, riding the plunges valiantly. Then, almost charitably the youth's thumb crushed the tiny pulsing clit, the middle finger, encircling his cock, entering her anus. The whipped body stiffened, the breath shortening, as the sex muscles released her first authentic orgasm. The paroxysms towered and gutted her, the climax sending her shrieking into outer space, beyond the confines of the cell, the convent, beyond the dripping woods and valleys. Her discharge was not that of a fledgling, it was massive, ungovernable, raking the man's sperm into her innards. Still rigid, yelling her head off, Martine exploded yet again with all the force the whipping had left to her. Then she slumped in her chains, moaning in the wake of her carnal achievement.
The Sufferers Page 10