by Various
Vip! Vip! Vip! Vip!
‘Ahh …!’
After four strokes to her gash, Susan yelped, and Habren murmured that she must begin her dozen over again. Susan’s punishment was continued three times, while Edwige’s body stiffened and jerked at each whiplash, carrying her well past her hundred. When Susan Race’s bare fesses were two puffy crimson gourds, Habren delivered a final cut to the arse-cleft and vulval lips, and her thumb pressed her own stiff clitoris into her pubic bone.
‘Ah! Ahh …’
Habren sighed in climax as her come flowed down her quivering thighs, puddling the rock beneath her and staining her sandal-leather.
‘Enough,’ she ordered. ‘Cut her down.’
‘Ohh …’
Edwige collapsed, sobbing, on the sand at Habren’s feet; she ripped the honeysuckle garland from her mane and threw it to Habren’s juiced pubis.
‘You bitch!’ she wailed. ‘You fucking bitch! I begged you to stop …! I couldn’t take it!’
‘But you did,’ said Habren, ‘and deserved it, too, you submissive bitch.’
She lifted Edwige on to the chair beside the young male, and began to bathe the wounds of her back with scented salve. Habren stood at the chair back, leaning over, so that her nipples brushed Edwige’s forehead. Her fingers ran up and down the girl’s spine, covering every inch of her flogged skin, then descended into the buttock cleft and massaged Edwige’s anus. Edwige moaned. Habren parted her legs and Edwige lifted her head.
Hesitantly, her tongue slipped out of her slack lips and penetrated the swollen folds of Habren’s gash. As Habren rubbed her anus, twisting to get her fingers in the flogged girl’s quim, Edwige began to press Habren’s erect clitoris with her teeth, then penetrated the slit with her whole tongue, swallowing the juices that seeped from the swollen cunt. The young male watched, face red and crotch bulging, but he did not move. When Edwige’s scarred back was thick with salve, Habren ordered her to kneel while continuing to tongue her mistress’s gash. With the blonde girl kneeling and her mouth slopped in Habren’s come as she nosed and tongued the proffered vulva, the girl masturbated her own clitoris and her come juices joined her mistress’s in an oily pool on the rock. The first whipping-guard lowered his loinstring and stood nude behind Habren’s buttocks.
She lifted her left thigh and, at once, he reached to her vulva to retrieve a palmful of her come oil. With her own fluid, he lubricated her anal pucker and his shaft, putting an index finger in, while oiling the bulb of his own giant cock, before nuzzling her exposed anus with his peehole. A swift jerk of his loins and his massive black tool was halfway embedded; a second and he impaled her anus, right to his balls. The young man in the panama hat gazed, transfixed.
With Edwige still licking her clitoris, Habren began to respond to the black tool’s thrusts as it buggered her vigorously, withdrawing to the crest of the glans before each new penetration and soon slimed with Habren’s arse-grease as well as the come from her slit. The black guard buggered Habren for several minutes before he groaned, and bubbles of sperm frothed at her anal mouth, stretched by the cock to many times its pucker.
His place was at once taken by the second whipper, his cock as massive as the first and his buggery as hard. The guard who had shaded Habren laid down his parasol and grasped Edwige by the belly. He pushed aside her masturbating fingers and took her from behind, thrusting his cock into her wet vulva and tooling her at the crouch, with his belly slapping her squirming buttocks, while she continued to tongue Habren’s clit. Habren’s fresh bugger gasped as he spunked in her anus and his sperm dripped to a creamy pudding on her thighs.
The guard, holding the shackle of the nine caned girls, dropped the chain and removed his own robe. Four guards were now nude; the two already spunked put their cocks turnabout in Habren’s mouth while she tongued the helmets, raising the cocks to new stiffness. Grunting, the male fucking Edwige spermed in her cunt, and at once presented his slimed cock for sucking by his mistress, while she climbed on to the chair, parted her buttocks, and was anally impaled by the first guard who had buggered her, his cock sucked to new hardness. She pushed the chair away, and swayed, her full weight taken by his impaling cock, with her feet cradling her face, and calves squashing her breasts, so that her erect nipples jutted like pears.
The second guard thrust his own erect tool into her soaked gash. Both men fucked her, one anally and the other in the cunt, squeezing her slippery body between them, while Edwige, masturbating her clitty, clawed Habren’s exposed nipples, and Habren’s mouth took the cocks of the other two guards turnabout, sucking them to orgasm, swallowing their spurts and licking her lips clean of their copious creamy spunks. She moaned in constant orgasm, and the dripped come under her loins grew to a pool. When the males were gasping and spunked dry, Habren turned to the rear of the scene where a film camera whirred.
‘Cut and print!’ she cried. ‘I only meant it as a rehearsal, but I think it’s good enough to use.’
The guards released the tethered girls from their fastenings; all, rubbing their caned bums, clustered around Habren.
‘You didn’t have to leave us trussed quite so long, Mistress!’
‘Nor cane us quite so hard!’
‘Verisimilitude, my dears,’ said Habren. ‘I make a film about caned sluts in a Moroccan prison fort, in a Moroccan prison fort.’
‘I begged you to stop!’ Edwige wailed. ‘Shaking my head was a sign! I really meant it, Habren! God, that whipping hurt!’
‘When does acted penance become real penance? You are glad it didn’t stop,’ purred Habren, staring Edwige down.
‘Yes,’ sobbed Edwige. ‘I deserved it. I’ve never hurt so hard, or come so much …’
Habren slapped a square of pink brocade into Edwige’s bum-cleft, and it clung to the bruised skin. Edwige patted her flogged bottom and smiled.
‘Any girl who tires of being paid to do what she likes doing, is free to go back to Marrakesh,’ said Habren.
She turned to the gaping male in the panama hat, his crotch still bulging, as he ogled the nude, fully suntanned girls rubbing their flogged bottoms.
‘Have you no shame?’ Habren snapped. ‘You’re stiff, you dirty little creep. How can a husband watch, drooling like a pervert, as his own wife is abused?’
‘But, darling – you know I am your most devoted fan. That is how we met – oh, the glory that you noticed me! – and … and let me produce your films! I love your acting!’
‘A girl buggered is never acting, dear Joss. As for producing my very money-making films, you still haven’t the nerve to sell them in your beastly supermarkets.’
‘But Abby, you know … the uninformed public might think them lewd,’ he blurted.
‘Miss Habren, to you,’ she drawled. ‘Lewd, eh? Not like the big tits on your checkout girls.’
‘Darling Abby – I mean, Miss Habren –’
‘No, I think, “Mistress” …’
‘Mistress, you know I’ve nothing to do with actual hiring at Gauntco … I merely approve.’
‘And afterwards?’
Joss Gaunt squirmed in his chair.
‘We have already established your regime of correction,’ she said. ‘How lucky you are that I permitted you to marry me, before you wasted all Papa’s money on filthiness.’
‘Am I to be caned, for watching you act?’
‘Why, yes,’ she murmured.
‘How many, Mistress?’
‘A good three dozen. No, four.’
‘On the bare?’
‘Of course.’
‘Oh, Habren … Mistress …’
‘Not yet … you must wait.’
‘Ohh! You are awfully cruel,’ he gasped.
‘Yes,’ said Habren.
WHIP HAND
G. C. Scott
About the Author
G. C. Scott is an acute observer of games of submission and domination, especially those involving restraint, total enclosure, and the kinky feel of rubber and PVC. The first novels
for Nexus featured male submission almost exclusively, but since then they’ve broadened to include more switching, although you’ll still find an imperious female domina master- (or mistress-!) minding the action. In the following extract, Richard, central character of House Rules and Whipping Boy, finds his mother-in-law in rather a compromised situation …
Also by G. C. Scott
THE PASSIVE VOICE
HIS MISTRESS’S VOICE
AGONY AUNT
A MATTER OF POSSESSION
HOUSE RULES
WHIPPING BOY
IT WAS EARLY afternoon when Richard arrived to find Ingrid’s shop closed. Odd, he thought. She normally opened during business hours. Her assistant at least should have been there, but was not. He went around to the back entrance, where deliveries were made in the enclosed yard. The gate was closed, and the door was locked.
He let himself into the rear hallway with the key she had given him. Since the shutters in the shop windows were closed, there was little light in the hallway. He looked around in the dimness at the place where he had taken the first steps towards becoming Pamela Rogers. He had practised walking up and down these stairs in his high-heeled shoes. Ingrid had helped him choose the first dresses and underwear in the darkened shop, and upstairs she had helped him with the details of his transformation.
He recalled his transformation with a thrill of excitement as he climbed the familiar stairs to her flat. The door at the top led to the well-remembered sitting room overlooking the street. It too was dark. There he found Ingrid, but someone else had found her first. Margaret, he guessed.
Ingrid was shackled into a rigid frame that resembled a cross with two short cross bars, one near the top and the other at the bottom. The device forced her to stand upright with her hands held out to each side of her at shoulder height. Her elbows were bent and her wrists were shackled in irons welded to the upper cross bar. Her ankles were shackled to the ends of the lower cross bar. A steel collar encircled her neck. Another went around her waist. Both were welded to the frame, keeping her neck and head and waist back against the steel bar that formed a kind of backbone.
Naked, she stood near the window. She would have been visible to anyone passing by in daylight. The drapes were wide open, left so deliberately, he guessed, by Margaret, the more to humiliate and embarrass Ingrid, who could not move from her strained position. Richard wondered how she had been able to maintain her balance. Then he saw the chain attached to the steel backbone of Ingrid’s frame. It led to a stout hook in the ceiling that had not been there on his last visit. She could not fall no matter how strained or tired she might become.
The strain of standing for long hours showed in her face. The possibility of being seen was also part of the ordeal. Ingrid’s relief when he called her name showed plainly.
‘Oh, Richard, I am so glad it is you who found me. Anyone could have come upon me – and done whatever they wished to me.’ She was shaking with relief and strain.
Richard went to her, intending to free her from her restraints, but she stopped him.
‘Kiss me,’ she said. ‘I have been thinking of you all afternoon. I was hoping you would come. Margaret said that you were coming to her weekend party. I knew you’d come to see me too.’
They kissed lingeringly. Richard embraced Ingrid, his arms around the steel bar that held her rigid from neck to heels. Unable to touch him, Ingrid nevertheless made him welcome with her lips and tongue. She sighed when the kiss ended. When he drew back she almost lost her balance, and would have fallen but for his arm and the chain that held her frame upright.
A close examination of her restraints revealed that they were locked on to her. When he asked about keys, she replied that Margaret had taken them away with her.
‘How long have you been here?’ he asked.
‘Hours and hours,’ she replied.
‘And has anyone …?’
‘If you mean, has anyone come to check on me, the answer is no. If you mean, did anyone see me, I would imagine that several people did. I could not move from this place.’
‘And you mean that no one came to investigate – or called the police or the fire brigade?’
‘Do you think anyone in England would interfere in such a situation?’
‘Probably not. At least not for a long time, anyway. Too embarrassing. And suppose it – you – turned out to be a cardboard cut-out, or merely a photograph stuck to the inside of the window?’
‘Exactly,’ Ingrid replied, ‘although there was one man who looked at me for a long time. I don’t think he believed I was a photograph. I was afraid he’d break in.’
‘But he didn’t, probably because that’s not the sort of thing one does either – at least not in broad daylight.’
‘Still, I am glad that you are here now,’ Ingrid said.
‘Do you need to go to the toilet?’ he asked, looking for a bucket to hold under her while she peed.
‘Margaret took care of that,’ Ingrid replied. ‘Look.’
Richard noticed then that a catheter had been inserted into her urethra and led to plastic bag now nearly full of her urine. ‘What would happen if the bag filled up?’ he asked.
‘Then I would have a very uncomfortable time,’ Ingrid replied matter-of-factly. ‘Nothing can be done until Margaret returns with the keys.’
‘She’s gone too far this time.’
‘Margaret has indeed gone too far this time. She is in Dresden on business, and won’t be back until tomorrow morning. But I am sure that there is someone at the house who has been told to look after me, because …’ She stopped speaking abruptly, and a curious look of distress crossed her face. ‘Oh!’ she said suddenly.
‘What is it?’ he asked sharply.
Ingrid did not reply. Her attention was focused on internal matters. Richard looked at her closely, and noticed again something he had not seen before. Along with the tube of the catheter which disappeared between Ingrid’s thighs, there were wires leading to her cunt and anus. More of Margaret’s subtle torture, he guessed at once. There had to be dildoes inside her, and they were connected to the telephone socket via a black box which had to be the control device. Clever, he thought, simply dial your victim’s number and the control box dispensed judgement for you.
‘Does she shock you with electricity?’ he asked, thinking of Margaret’s fondness for hooking her victims’ genitals up to batteries.
‘What?’ Ingrid asked vaguely. ‘Oh … yes. Sometimes. But there are … other things … she does as well. She makes me want to … come. That is the worst. She always stops me before I can reach a climax. I don’t know how she does it, but that has been happening all afternoon. I sometimes think I will make it this time, and I shudder and cry out – and she stops me again. Now – oh, God – she is doing it again!’ Her voice rose and her body tensed as if she were on the verge of orgasm. ‘I can’t stand it any longer. I have to come! Please!’ she cried desperately to her absent torturess.
She shuddered in her restraints as the signals came down the telephone line and into her body via her two orifices. Richard could see her arousal. Ingrid arched her back; her nipples grew taut and her breath became ragged. She moaned with desire and frustration, twisting as far as she could in her heavy irons. She swayed on her feet, the chain alone holding her up as her knees went weak. Ingrid was trying hard to reach orgasm, her need plain on her face.
Richard could see her taut belly as she clenched her vaginal muscles in anticipation. The cords in her neck stood out with the intensity of her effort. And suddenly the terrible tension left her, and she groaned. ‘Oh, God! I can’t come. She won’t let me! Please help me, Richard. Touch me. Make me come! Please make me come!’
He kneeled in front of the tortured woman and buried his face between her thighs. He kissed her labia as she writhed in her need. Ingrid was warm and wet. He could smell the musk of her arousal. The clean salty taste of her was in his mouth as he teased her clitoris with his tongue and teeth. And he c
ould feel something hard buried inside her – the dildo which had brought her to the brink of orgasm and then stopped her. But there was no stopping Richard. As he kissed Ingrid’s labia and bit her clitoris, she moaned loudly, shuddering as she came once more to the brink of orgasm. He took her over the edge while she cried out with pleasure, jerking in her irons. She had forgotten her exposed position by the window, her restraints, her long afternoon’s sexual frustration.
‘Oh, yes!’ Ingrid cried as the waves of her orgasm swept through her, tautening her belly and making her knees buckle. ‘Oh, yes! Oh, God, yes!’
When he broke off momentarily to ensure that Ingrid would not fall, she became frantic.
‘Oh, God, Richard, please don’t stop now!’
‘Just a moment.’
He looked around for a safer place for Ingrid. He finally decided that the floor would have to do. He unhooked the chain that held her upright from the ceiling and caught her beneath the arms from behind. She cried out in alarm as she felt herself tilting backwards.
‘Shh! I’ve got you. Don’t worry.’ He kissed the back of her neck, just above the steel collar. She stopped fighting as he laid her on the floor on her back. ‘Is that all right?’
Ingrid nodded. Spread open like a starfish in the heavy irons, she looked incredibly desirable. And desirous. ‘Oh, Richard, make me come again! It has been so long.’
He kneeled between her thighs and once again used his lips and tongue and teeth to arouse her. Unable to move in her restraints, Ingrid nevertheless managed to signal her pleasure by a tautening of her muscles and a continuous low moan as she came, the sound rising and falling in time with her orgasms. The muscles in her thighs and stomach stood out in relief as she came. Her hands opened and closed convulsively in the heavy iron bracelets, and her toes curled.
Richard, looking up momentarily from his position between her thighs, saw a sudden flood of urine pass down the tube and into the bag as she came. Ingrid, until then only moaning, screamed in ecstasy at the double release. The bag filled rapidly as she screamed in pleasure.