by Sean O'Kane
“This is where they whip us for pleasure rather than instruction Number Three,” Sister Lavinia said, standing close behind her. Paula turned in surprise at her use of the word ‘us’.
“Oh yes,” Lavinia went on, “we are all women after all, and therefore we all submit to the men in accordance with the teachings of the Patriarch himself. I count myself fortunate to have been given many a good thrashing in here, and been the better for it. In fact I don’t think you’ll find a pleasanter room in which to enjoy one.” She laughed at the astonishment on Paula’s face. “My dear little girl, you’ll understand in time. Now get rid of that apron and then you can undress me.”
With trembling fingers Paula took off the apron and detached the tray. She had been on the end of almost continual flicks from the whip and a few real lashes, and of course there were the regular four strokes at meal times, but so far she had managed to stay clear of serious punishment. And as for undressing another woman!
“Get a move on girl!” Sister Lavinia told her impatiently.
Slowly Paula reached out to undo the top button of her blouse. The low neckline meant that this was where her large breasts pulled most strongly at the material. Paula felt the tension relax as the button came undone. She undid the three others and then pulled the blouse free of the skirt’s waistband. Sister Lavinia took over and shrugged it free of her shoulders. She had superb breasts, Paula had to admit, large, full and firm. Their tips were a dusky pink and the ringed nipples stood out hard and engorged from them.
“Kneel,” she told Paula curtly. Paula knelt and undid the two buttons at the waistband. As the skirt dropped she saw the bush of curly blonde hair at her delta and the gold of the rings through her sex lips. “That’s better,” she said, stepping out of the skirt, “I always work better without clothes to restrict movement. Now let’s get you ready.”
Mesmerised by the swaying of the generous hips and smooth buttocks, Paula followed her over to the enormous marble fireplace. Around the perimeter of the hearth ran a wooden bar at waist height. She was told to bend over and stretch her arms out so that the bar passed under the length of her arms and across the top of her chest. Paula obeyed and her wrists were strapped down, then Sister Lavinia dragged her ankles well apart and using short chains anchored to bolts in the floor fastened her restraints. Paula felt a cool hand pass over her labia and toy with her rings.
“We’ll give those a taste of the whip tonight. If you haven’t learned to enjoy a beating yet, that should ensure you perform well in the Lounge.” Paula shuddered at her words and looking to her left saw the woman open a large cupboard and select a whip. It wasn’t one of the long ones she had seen used at the whipping post, it was like the ones she had seen used on the very first morning, in the Punishment Wing. The lashes were about eighteen inches long and the leather of each was knotted at irregular intervals.
Paula braced herself as Lavinia came to stand behind her. “You have full permission to scream as much as you like,” she said pleasantly, and then struck.
She ignored the taut curves of Paula’s buttocks and went instead for the area where they joined her thighs, and in particular the hollow at the top of the thighs from which Paula’s lips pouted. The pain was exquisite as the lashes followed every contour of her body and the knots bit into the tender flesh of the labia. To Paula it felt as if a bolt of lightning had shot directly up into her belly. Her breath exploded from her lungs, her eyes bulged and she couldn’t even start screaming before the second lash smacked in. Then she screamed. A high keening scream which she hardly recognised as coming from her. Her throat tightened as the pain caught at it. Of their own accord her stomach muscles bunched and spasmed in a desperate attempt to tuck her exposed sex back, away from the next lash. Dimly she heard a hissing in the air and then the third lash smacked home, again the whip curling lovingly into every hollow and over every curve of her body before falling away. The shaft of agony which struck up into her this time left her body only one avenue of escape. Her knees buckled and she fell onto them. This left her kneeling, gasping and shrieking at the bar. Her legs were still splayed open though, thanks to the chains at her ankles. For a moment there was no fourth lash and Paula had just begun to dare hope that three was all she was getting when she heard the whip hiss through the air again.
She would have gladly taken the lashes which followed across her shoulders and back. But Sister Lavinia had no intentions of letting her off that lightly.
She wielded the whip in vicious uppercut strokes from then on. And the lashes cut right along the length of Paula’s labia, seeking their way between them and up into the soft tissue around the clitoris. Starbursts of brilliant agony exploded behind her eyelids as the leather strips slammed into it, licked at it and curled upwards to flick at her belly. She bucked her hips in a silent frenzy of disbelieving pain and wrenched at her wrist restraints when the fourth lash came. At the fifth and sixth lashes she simply put her head back and howled. All sense of herself was obliterated, she was just a blaze of agony from her crotch to her throat and she went on howling even when the whipping stopped.
When her bonds were released she collapsed into a foetal position, clutching her hands around her aching and throbbing sex.
Sister Lavinia gave her only a few seconds and then hauled her up by her hair. Through pain racked eyes Paula stared up at her.
“Now, I’m going to see every man who wants to go into your mouth tonight enjoy a good long suck. And I’m going to see every drop of sperm they empty into you taken down and kept down. Aren’t I?”
Paula could only nod. She knew now what she would get if anyone wasn’t satisfied.
A few minutes later Paula, followed by the now demurely dressed Sister Lavinia went back into the Lounge. Paula had been given time to dry her eyes and recover a little, although she still walked stiffly. Dangling at her side the sister still held the whip and Paula was very well aware of its presence.
There were some amused comments from the brothers about the livid welts around her belly, and she saw one or two of the initiates smiling mockingly at her tear-stained face. But two of the brothers who had so casually condemned her to the whipping, took hold of her and tied her in the middle of the room. She was made to kneel up and short chains, again attached to bolts set in the floor were locked behind her knees which were spread wide apart. Her wrists were raised to shoulder height, stretched out to either side and fastened to chains hanging from the ceiling. It was an identical posture to the one in which she had just been flogged. And as if any further threat were needed, Sister Lavinia and her whip stood in front of her while she was tied.
Brother Gibson was the first to present himself. Paula watched as first the gleaming head and then the thick shaft of his sex came free from his trousers, jutting stiffly towards her mouth. Without a second thought this time Paula opened her mouth and let her lips trail around the head as it pushed in, her tongue rubbing at the slit and feeling for the sensitive place beneath it. A place she had learned to avoid when having reluctantly taken previous boyfriends into her mouth, it usually meant they would come before she could get them out. Now however the prospect of hot sperm splashing against the back of her throat was one to be relished compared with the alternatives.
The brother placed his hands on either side of her head and began to guide her back and forth. When he pushed in deep she concentrated on relaxing her throat and letting him get as far in as he could go. When he withdrew, her tongue pursued him, licking and swirling. The salty male taste didn’t seem so bad now, and when he emerged entirely from her, he didn’t need to tell her to run her lips down the long ridge on the underside of the shaft. And when she had gone as far down as his clothing would let her, she rubbed her cheek against the soft skin stretched over the steel hard shaft. Urgently he pulled her head back and thrust in again, this time he didn’t wait for any subtle caresses but went right for the back of her throat, he pushed hard and Paula tried desperately not to choke but then he withdrew a
little way and she felt his shaft swell and the pulses begin. She braced herself for the next thrust and began to swallow as he rammed in and his fluid splattered deep into her throat.
She heard him give a guttural moan and kept swallowing, amazed that she could ever have found the pungent, animal taste so unappealing. With one or two last shuddering spasms he spent himself and inquisitively Paula let her tongue continue to explore the rapidly shrinking member, lapping at the slit from which the fluid had spurted and cleaning up the last of his emission.
At last he pulled out of her and she heard him laugh huskily, “Amazing what a few touches of the whip can accomplish Brother Davis.”
Her immediate emotion was one of relief. He had enjoyed her and the threat of the whip had receded a little. But also there was some pride. The sight of her helpless body had made him stiffen and the passionate work of her mouth had brought his pleasure to a climax.
She was given no time for thought though. Almost immediately another rigid sex was pushing at her lips and demanding her attention. It was shorter and thicker than Brother Gibson’s, making her stretch her lips to their widest to let the huge head have free access. When this one came there was so much semen, and he stuffed her so full that however fast she swallowed some of it trickled out onto her chin. When he withdrew, Paula panicked for a moment. Would spilling any mean the whip again? She relaxed when he ran his fingers around her mouth to wipe it off and then let her lick them clean.
Time and again the brothers presented themselves to test the quality of her performance and gradually she sank into a kind of trance. Her imprisoned arms ached, her body hurt from the whip and from kneeling up, her knees burned, but she kept licking and sucking and kissing. Her mouth was no longer hers; it was simply another passage into a female body which could serve to give pleasure to men. And she took pride and pleasure herself in the number of times she brought them to a climax, listening for their cries of joy as the thick seed pumped into her willing and open throat.
Eventually she was left alone, the taste and scent of men filling her, and the pain of her bondage tormenting her. She must have passed out because suddenly a hand was tapping her cheek and groggily she opened her eyes. Brother Davis stood over her and the room was empty. He released her arms and she cried out in pain as they were allowed to fall to her sides. He rubbed her shoulders to help the circulation back and when she had flexed them until they stopped hurting he spoke quietly to her.
“Well my little whore. Now you can use your hands as well.”
She needed no further bidding but simply reached forward and felt the long bulge of his erection at his crotch. Slowly she set about freeing it and at last it reared up before her. This time she closed both her hands round the shaft and drew it towards her mouth eagerly, teasing him with her tongue for a long time before letting her lips close softly around him. Her hands reached round his hips and pulled him forward as her mouth ran down and down the length of his shaft and then up again. She explored him with her hands, reaching into his clothes to stroke the tight scrotum and cup it gently when finally she surrendered to his urgent thrusts. She let him move her head to meet them, not caring that he was ramming the back of her throat, just waiting for that precious moment when he would swell even more inside her and then begin his release. He gave a gasp at last and she was rewarded once more by the hot jets flooding into her. He held her head tightly to him for a long time as his hips pumped at her and his sex jerked wildly in her mouth. But at last he was spent and regretfully Paula cleaned him up before he withdrew.
“If you respond to the whip like that,.I’ll have to give you a real thrashing one day,” he said.
Chapter 8
For the next month a relentless routine was established. The day began with their declaration of submission to Sister Lavinia. The four strokes of the crop were followed by breakfast. After breakfast they would be marched into the house itself for prayers. These were conducted by Father Burton in a kind of crypt under the house. The girls would kneel and pray for forgiveness for their sins against those whom God had meant to be their masters. And within a few days Paula had forgotten that she had no sins of that type to confess and did so anyway. After prayers on most days they would be led to the Pen and there they would be harnessed like the girls they had seen on their first morning. Paula soon got used to the cold feel of the chains being fed through her nipple rings and labia rings. She took longer to get accustomed to having her arms tied at full stretch to the metal bar which ran across their shoulders. But she was beginning to get accustomed to having no choice, and once harnessed they were driven naked out to the fields.
The heavy chains that hung from the bar they were tied to were then attached to ploughs and harrows, and the day’s work began.
Paula suspected that there were two aims, the first was to make them fit and to work off the dissolute lifestyles they had led. That was not so much of a problem for her, but some of her companions suffered terribly, ending the day hardly able to stand and the others on the team having to work all the harder. The second aim, she thought, was to keep them so exhausted that they accepted the discipline quietly and any memories of their previous lives faded quickly.
The days in the fields were long and arduous. They staggered through the heavy soil pulling the machinery behind them and all the time the whip played on their shoulders and backs. At night they rubbed on the cream only to present the whip with nearly a blank canvas the next morning. And on that the brothers would once again inscribe their crisscrossing patterns of weals.
On those days they didn’t return till late afternoon. At about midday they were given a brief rest when their driver would feed them with fruit which they ate from his hand standing in their harness. And then they worked on until they were driven back and were allowed a few minutes to shower before prayers again. Then they had the evening meal, preceded by the inevitable beating before being exercised in the courtyard.
On some evenings there were punishments at the T shaped whipping post. They learned that these were punishments that Father Burton wished everyone to witness. There were many others administered in the Punishment Wing, frequently they were led past it and heard the swish and smack of a whip, or the agonised groans of a girl undergoing some painful bondage or suspension.
On days when they weren’t working in the fields they were taken on runs. Paula enjoyed these. The brothers would mount their horses and ride alongside the girls as they ran across country. The monastery estate was vast and they never saw another person, nor did Paula ever get any clue as to where they were. She didn’t really care any more; there was just a residual curiosity.
In that previous life which she now hardly remembered she had run for the police athletics club and she would easily outpace her companions and often she would run almost alone. When she got ahead it was usually Brother Davis who rode up and accompanied her.
She found that she loved the feel of running naked, the cold air on her body, her muscles moving smoothly under skin that glowed with health. And beside her, the steady pounding of the horse’s hooves with Brother Davis spurring her on to greater efforts. He was a superb horseman able to lean easily down out of the saddle to flick his crop at her tight buttocks as they shuddered temptingly with each long stride she took.
Paula came to accept quite calmly that she could run much faster with flashes of pain from a whip striping her bottom to spur her on; and welcomed the aid to her performance.
She became aware as the days passed that pain and pleasure were mingling inextricably for her. The pain of a beating with the crop had come to mean the welcome taste of hot food was not far away, and the pain became an acceptable part of hunger and appetite appeased. The blazing sting of the lashes wasn’t any less; it was just that it didn’t register so much as something unpleasant. Similarly the backbreaking work in the fields was making her tougher and fitter than she had ever been, and it was the whip which drove her to that increased toughness. She was stronger and fas
ter than she had been and it was Brother Davis’s relentless wielding of whip and crop which was achieving that.
In the evenings, in the few minutes they had before they were chained for the night, she would look down at the muscular contours of her body with real pride, the stomach and thighs firm and strong but still sheathed in smooth womanly curves.
Father Burton told them that this first month, the month of purification, was when their slates would be wiped clean. After this they would begin the long climb towards their new status within the Church.
And certainly Paula found that she was changing.
The distinctions between punishment and reward were blurring as well as those between pain and pleasure. She was beginning to react to them as parts of the same thing, different sides of the same coin. And all of them were dispensed by the Masters, acting for the Church of Ultimate Purification which was the creation of the Patriarch.
Chapter 9
The weeks passed until it was only a matter of days before the month of purification would be over and Paula’s group would become novices.
Even though the group was forbidden to talk at any time, except to answer a direct question or at the order of a brother or one of the sisters, Paula could feel their excitement and shared it. They knew that the novices didn’t work in the fields and that they were allowed to wear clothes. It was only a simple shift which would barely cover their modesty but that seemed now like a luxury beyond their wildest dreams. And then at last they would become initiates and be allowed the short white dresses... and shoes! She had seen how at prayers the short skirts could be flicked up when sitting or kneeling to reveal tantalising glimpses of what was on offer for the brothers. She had seen the flirtatious glances directed at the men from under the lashes of respectfully lowered eyes.