Satisfied, Sister Madeleine dangled her quirt before Pauline's face to have the sex sap licked off; the agile tongue swept up and down the length of leather devotedly.
"In future, Pauline, you will ask for permission to make love with your seniors. I trust you understand," the nun remarked sternly. "Now, since you have behaved well, you will hang there until you're ready to come again. We're going to exhaust you."
"My breasts are beginning to hurt, Sister," Pauline groaned. "May they be freed?"
"Certainly not," came the reply. "They're good for a long time yet. Grit yourself."
On her side of the cell Martine had progressed to that danger point she had begun to recognise well from her fledgling experience. Since the sister had ceased beating her victim, Martine left her own desperate clit to throb aimlessly, scared to be caught frigging.
But what she suddenly noticed, to her anguish, was the quiet entry of the ogre, Dom Anselme, into the place of punishment. He was followed by his acolyte, the fair Christophe, whose youthful smile portended the whip and a bout of good, wholesome sex.
Sister Madeleine sketched a bow and began to reclothe her thin body.
"No, dear Sister," the gravely voice of sanctity dissuaded her. "Remain as you are. I wish you to assist us in dealing with that gross infidel over there." Ominously the tonsured crown nodded in the direction of Martine who immediately froze as every head, except Pauline's, turned towards her kneeling body. Even the churning mucilage in her vagina congealed with dread as the group moved slowly across the cellar. Whereas she had been ignored until then, the slavegirl's flesh crawled with terror as the figures approached. She had wanted attention and attention she was clearly about to receive.
The usual questions were posed regarding abjuration but curtly, as if her response was of little account. The continuous grillings had begun to exasperate the parpaillote and she showed it. Whatever threatened her, she was determined not to give in. She merely shook her head wearily when interrogated and left it at that. The inquisitor looked pained and desisted after three half-hearted attempts. The cassock bulged below the white cord.
"Let us see how she is progressing in other ways, Sister," the thwarted proselytiser announced and then added sanctimoniously: "Our most holy Mother Priscilla in her wisdom agrees that the intransigent whore should be conveyed to that delightful place down the passage where she can be trained to submit herself to advanced tutelage under, of course," he added with a meagre smile, "your supervision, dear Sister. I may add, Mother Priscilla wholeheartedly agrees she requires vigorous persuasion. Not only to recant but to serve at the château, once the adequate level of endurance has been achieved. But first let us see how the sinner's sexual gifts are maturing. And how the flesh responds to pain."
The priest drew Madeleine to one side, his hand sliding over the sweat coating her somewhat shrunken buttocks. He lowered his voice and the nun nodded to Véronique to detach Martine. Whatever was afoot, the newcomer felt grossly unprepared,
"On your feet slut!" The neck chain was released as Véronique dragged the novice by a nipple ring towards the whipped Pauline who, despite the agony mounting in her corded breasts, was savouring the aftermath of her quirting and devastating orgasms.
"Kneel before the body, slag," Madeleine directed Martine, "and suck this wayward penitent of ours to orgasm again. She's ready for another climax, aren't you, Pauline?"
The suspended head gave a quick nod as Martine edged forwards on her knees to service the flagellated crotch, the vaginal odour and sweet smell of sweat almost overcoming her reeling senses. Spontaneously, the obese beginner passed her arms round Pauline's buttocks, dug her fingers into the flesh and splayed the anal cleft as if readying it to be sodomised. Hesitantly she kissed the bloated, beaten labia. At the same moment she felt Pauline's shaved head close in on her genital rings, the sharp tongue prying and seeking the puny clitoris that was well and truly erect. Martine lurched violently as she felt her button, along with the ring, suctioned into the well-trained lips. Although she was unaccustomed to deflecting sex rings, Pauline was never at a loss when it came to cunnilingus, a gift Sister Madeleine knew only too well from employing the delicious postulant in bed night after night. Madeleine taught her trainees much more than merely how to take a flogging. Moreover, in bed Pauline sucked voraciously after a stiff beating. Cunnilingus constituted a primary item in the sexual curriculum of the so-called convent.
With no option but to obey, Martine went to work, tonguing Pauline with a lust the young conventual found promising in a raw amateur. Despite her inborn terror and lack of sexual experience, Martine's heart pounded with a totally new excitement; she had, of course, rigorously avoided such things up at Lassignac but now she laboured resolutely on the whip-scalded oval. She felt Pauline in turn gripping her arse cheeks, the tongue tip flicking her clit skilfully. Martine could hardly believe what was happening to her; the heat, taste and smell of the welted pudenda drove her into a frenzy of lapping. However, the hallucinating experience of her first cunnilingus - it was Joanne who had taught her the word up at the château after an ordeal with Anthea - was short-lived.
A blast of crimson-white pain detonated in her hindquarters. The shock administered by Sister Madeleine's scourge, now replacing the quirt, made Martine jerk her head back and yell out her pain. Never had she believed that a sheaf of thongs could cut so deep.
Faintly, she heard the terse order pierce the billows of agony as Madeleine allowed the effect to spread through the flesh and brain. "Keep that mouth of yours glued to the crotch, whore, while you're being thrashed. Abandon it once more and I'll have you nailed by those limb straps over the cartwheel for a hundred lashes. And you, Pauline, wrench that clit ring of hers, even if you're not used to metal in your maw." The whip sliced again into the heretic's buttocks like a plough through virgin land, driving her cunt back into Pauline's face, her mouth on to the scourged labia and pulsing clit, coated with come. Amid the lashes, she felt the welts ripening on the vast expanse of her arse and thighs, sapping her strength. Her cries smothered and frothing in Pauline's slot, Martine did what she could while, eager to have her strangled breasts and darkening teats freed, Pauline lapped and suctioned faster to bring herself and the novice to fruition. She bit into the gristle, sending Martine over the threshold into a devastating orgasm. Mercifully, the suspended body went rigid too and spent, the girl's inexhaustible flow of come joining Martine's tears. A final stroke from Madeleine across the coccyx brought Martine quivering to the floor to have her breasts spattered with the nearby Dominican's thick gouts of spunk he directed at her.
Pauline was lowered, screeching as her tits were released, to languish next to Martine on the flagstones where she lapped up the holy sperm off the huge breasts.
"The whoresome slag of a beginner shows promise, wouldn't you say, Sister?" The Dominican's voice grated hoarsely. "I think she's ready now for sex torture. Have her removed to the Chamber of pleasures to await Mother Priscilla's orders. We have discussed the precise nature of the ordeals she must endure. The heathen slut must learn to suffer fully. Take the slag from my sight. And you, dear Sister, may now enjoy your recompense."
As she was hauled out by Véronique, who had clearly enjoyed watching the session, her fingers busy on her own cunt, Martine glimpsed Madeleine's sparse body leaning back over the table to receive Brother Christophe's cock. Then the door slammed behind Martine as she was led, exhausted, along a dismal corridor by the clit ring, the nun's chain extending the organ perilously with each tug. Véronique's lips wore a truculent smile.
The cell was crepuscular, windowless and strewn with straw; in the centre stood a rectangle of stone, over which the slavegirl was spread-eagled, the tension of the bondage almost dislocating her hip and shoulder joints. The place was colder than the last snows of the Cevennes. The starched coif fluttered above her numbed body. "Now your load of blubber's in for the real thi
ng," the nun smirked. "Erotic torture, we call it. At the bell of Compline, they'll really start on your fat." Smiling again, she departed, locking the door.
Deprived of Pauline, deprived of Joanne, alone and chained stark-naked on the torture slab, Martine mumbled what prayers were left in her. Then she tasted the remains of Pauline's sex juice congealed on her lips. She would almost have abjured to suck that girl again. But no! And anyway the nude goddess was already indentured to a distant but elegant whipping brothel in the St Germain quarter of Paris... Hélas, such was whoredom.
Chapter Five
Events up at Lassignac had taken a strange turn. Although relieved by the departure of Martine, Elodie was doubly disconcerted. Not only had Francis-Etienne expropriated the new slavegirl, Joanne who was showing a certain promise, but without warning had consigned Anthea - of all people - to the armoury. Simone had been ordered by her master to conduct the beauty to the place, which she did with misgivings, aware that trouble lay ahead. And it was Simone who informed the Marquise.
Leaving the Dominican to slaver over Martine's transfer to the convent where he could have easier access to her, Elodie hurried to the armoury to lodge her protest. Vexed over being deprived of Joanne for her own use and that of the occasional visitor she wished to entertain with her new acquisition, she seemed about to be dispossessed of her darling Anthea. After all, she needed the girl in bed where the young tongue performed wonders on her cunt - and to help with the preparations for the approaching weekend.
The sight she encountered beyond the rows of muskets, halberds and hunting guns left her dumbfounded. Anthea's divine body had been stripped naked and bound backwards over the iron bar used for supporting weapons, the ankles wrenched to the rear by chains tightened to wall rings. Bent like one of the nearby archers bows, the slender odalisque of quivering muscle and tendon lay curved completely taut, the gorgeous belly concave below the ribs, the breasts pointing upwards; deprived of its wig, the girl's head swayed between the arms chained to the summit of the posts. Elodie gazed at what she liked best, the auburn swath of sex hair between the parted thighs; it hardly covered the vulva splayed by the tension. Elodie's anger mounted when she saw Francis had removed the jewel, the gift she herself had placed in the navel.
"But Francis," she hissed, "what in the name of sanctity is going on here?"
The Marquis continued to tighten the chains. He knew fully tensed nudity took the whip better and longer than a slack, writhing body.
"You do realise, Francis, don't you, this is my concubine and not a slave? Whatever she may have done to annoy you, I forbid such treatment. Don't we have enough whipping flesh around to satisfy you? First, you selfishly remove that blonde parpaillote from the cellar to some remote room or other and lock her in for your own pleasure. And now it's my lesbian darling, ventre saint-Gris! I really object to this."
Her husband turned to confront the fury. Stripped to his riding breeches and spurred boots, he glared back at Elodie, his stiff cock eying her from the unbuttoned fly.
"This sex-slut of yours requires a lesson. I will not have her taking matters into her own hands here..."
"But what for heaven's sake has she done to deserve being laid out like this? And unclothed too. I agree she's sumptuous when nude but why chain her like that?"
"She has overstepped her prerogatives, Elodie, and must be punished. At long last and most austerely. Something that should have been done long since. Her arrogance tries my patience. As to her being unclothed, as you say, does she not idle away most of her time nude? Between your thighs. So why not now, for my riding crop? She'll probably enjoy it. But whipped she must be. Perhaps you'd prefer Bouchard to flog her, except that he'd rip the nipples off her breasts. Why don't you stay to see whether her undisciplined flesh flares up in the same way as on her victims? Remember the chapel?"
"But, Francis..." Distraught, Elodie failed to find the words. True, undisciplined or not, the girl tended to be a little too free with the whip. Staring at the breathtaking spectacle, she had to admit it was an enticing sight. And Elodie was not one to let a flagellation go by without being present. So, with no alternative, she decided to remain, swallowing her indignation but suspecting the punishment was probably deserved. Her heart pounding, she cleared the armoury table of gun oil and rags for room to perch her arse.
In silence Francis-Etienne, handsome as ever - how Elodie loved that Florentine beard! - ran his riding whip up between the girl's pouting sex lips. To Elodie's relief it came away wet, testifying that Anthea was ready to taste what she had so generously fed to the slaves. Elodie's vagina clutched; she was comforted the girl was not hog-tied as guilty serfs always were, and she hoped the crop would not split those sweet nipples.
The Marquis tapped the sleek belly to ready the nude, raised the weapon high over his shoulder and lashed into the nearest thigh. Waiting for the weal to ripen and the expected cry, he seemed surprised when the girl only groaned. She was not going to gratify him with screams too soon in the game. The other ham received a similar blow. Then, slowly the braided leather mounted to the crotch with its neatly haired mound crowning the slit. The sudden yelp sounded much like that of one of Francis's hunting bitches when whipped back into the pack. With that precision Elodie admired, he laid a series of strokes across the sex delta, the leather loop of the crop slicing into the labia. As he struck the clitoris, Elodie stopped up her ears to avoid her lesbian's screams; yet she saw the pallid stalk had divested itself of its hood to protrude from the crater. At least the brave girl, her darling, was nicely aroused like those experienced slaves down below. Once this stupid session was over Elodie knew she would have to treat her gently and with caution the next time they tangled together in the silk sheets; she would soothe the sex with her come.
The whipping continued, for Francis was far from finished. In fact he had just begun and Elodie was not averse to waiting as he embarked on what she relished watching most - a hearty breast beating. Strangely, she had to remind herself that the shrieking victim was her lover who could bewitch her with just a pout.
The stiff length of horsehide had returned to the deep-navelled belly as if the sound, like that from a dragoon's tensed drum, stirred the man. Then the ribs had their share of purple welts. Suddenly, to Elodie's alarm (and a twitch of lust), the crop buried itself in the taut breasts. Francis-Etienne aimed directly for areole domes and erect teats. Trying to ignore the yells coming from the girl's jolting head, Elodie watched the mammaries her lips knew better than her own, flatten, bulge, flatten again to turn scarlet into mauve. It was then the turn of the sallow undersides to suffer. And suffer they did. The force of the strokes flung the bulges upwards towards the dribbling chin and the mouth shrieking dementedly. Requited, Francis grinned, grasping his cock to smear it for action.
Elodie had to admire her man's talent; maybe he did not whip as flawlessly as Bouchard but it was rigorous all the same. Her hand strayed down to cup her groin through the brocade as she reminded herself of her faithful major-domo's courtyard floggings; he needed only a dozen horizontal lashes to draw blood from a female's nipple, and did so each time she ordered it. But her Francis was no amateur with the crop either, that she admitted, praying he would stop short of blood.
The hoarse howls subsiding, Anthea's head fell back, moaning as she slid into that wind-swept limbo where orgasms begin. The body had become a ladder of scarlet rungs.
"Surely, dear, that ought to suffice, don't you think?" Elodie ventured, scared the girl's teats might suffer damage; in addition, the Marquise's vagina was beginning to create trouble, demanding firmer management than through the embroidered silks. "I beg you to remember, Francis dear, you're not dealing with a slave. Why don't you leave it at that and treat the naughty cherub to a canter on your great cock? She deserves it after that load of lashes, no? Believe me, the darling's ready to spend. I know the signs, Francis. Be generous as well as stern."
"She doesn't merit it." He mopped his brow and slicked back his prepuce. "But I'll give her a fuck all the same. I suppose that beating will teach her not to go whipping slaves without sanction. Especially that new blonde who did so well in bed with us."
Narrowing her eyes, her nostrils flaring, the Marquise recognised the reference to the slut, Joanne. He didn't even recall the bitch's name!
"I'm sure Anthea will behave now, Francis dear," she cajoled. "Give her a nice fuck and let's forget the incident, for goodness sake."
The Marquis in fact truly relished a hot vulva fresh from the whip; long experience at Lassignac and elsewhere had confirmed that a well-beaten female orgasmed more violently than a 'cool cunt', as he expressed it. He bent his monster down and drove into the swollen, purple-blotched fig. The stanchion slid smoothly up into the pith as it took its due. Grabbing the girl's sweating arse cheeks for purchase, he used her with that brutality Elodie adored. Like Joanne, the Marquise often pictured herself, when Francis or even a guest was ramrodding her, as a Christian slave, hung from a ship's boom, being flogged by corsairs on the high seas. Elodie's fantasies were always extreme but then her climaxes were even more extravagant.
Anthea began to lurch in the manner Elodie knew so well. The groans became breathless cries and, after not even a dozen plunges of the cock up into the steaming slush, the whipped nude disintegrated hysterically. The convulsive, white-hot climax surprised even Elodie who thought she knew how the girl crumbled under orgasm... Anthea's muscles seemed to tetanize and lock solid as she spent. Then again. And yet again, the yells echoing into the roof beams like wounded birds, until the gleaming phallus withdrew leaving the cunt spasming and frothing. The Marquis moved slowly round the jolting, flagellated figure to grab the head; that stopped its flailing as he loosened the arms, bent the thorax down and rammed into the throat. Taking his time, he clenched one of the welted breasts and with the other hand clutched the girl's hair to control the rhythm of the fellatio. The girl was almost at the point of suffocation as he pumped his glutinous rope of sperm into the gullet. As Anthea gulped and swallowed, Elodie found herself envying her; in addition, she contended that live sperm was not only a wholesome and nourishing beverage but a tonic for vocal chords strained to the limit by screaming.
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