Church of Chains

by Sean O'Kane

  Of course the brothers could take what they wanted at any time, but Paula found the prospect of inviting them to take it, deeply thrilling. Being naked and available was all very well, but to be just clothed enough to have something to reveal made Paula feel very hot and moist.

  Paula could also see similar attitudes developing in her companions. Some of them seemed to positively invite the whip. Hardly a day went by without one or other girl being put in the pillory outside the cells and given a sound thrashing while the others looked on. Inevitably the squirming of the body under punishment inflamed the brother inflicting it and he would have her as soon as the girl was well striped. But Paula noted with growing incredulity that as the days went past the girls’ wrigglings were becoming less those of pain than of pleasure. Instead of backs bowing away from the lash they began to arch so as to offer themselves up more openly. And now the sex of whichever brother took the girl would slide easily into her body when the punishment was complete. Sometimes Paula glanced along the line of watching girls and caught that same look of excitement she had noted that very first night when they had seen the whipping post used. But although girls who were sent to the Punishment Wing often returned dishevelled and marked, yet obviously secretly proud and happy; they all feared the whipping post. Two of them had received thirty lash sentences during the month and the whipping was so heavy that it was clear to all that there could be no pleasure to be had there.

  She was reflecting on this while they were being run one afternoon. They were far out on the estate, the brothers on their horses guiding them through woods and across moorland they had never seen before. She was thinking that the Church was maybe the strict hierarchy she had always wanted. Like the police force it had levels of seniority, it had uniforms and it had rules. She knew exactly where she stood and she liked that. She responded to discipline and order, wasn’t that why she had joined the police in the first place? Although that discipline now seemed a poor thing compared to the ruthless discipline of the Church.

  She thought with some pride of the fact that she had never been put in the pillory outside their cells and had never had to wear the awful training harness after a punishment. In fact she had never been punished. Since the day they had been ringed she had submitted gladly to all the rules and after the whipping Sister Lavinia had administered in the Games Room she had made sure her sex and her mouth were always ready and willing to serve. Paula couldn’t help feeling a little smug about the fact that she seemed to be picked to serve in the Lounge more often than any of the others. And although she couldn’t ask, and he certainly wouldn’t say, she had a feeling that Brother Davis was proud of her. Often when one of the men finished with her and she stood up to wipe herself, she would see him keeping an eye on her from across the room. Once they became novices however, he would no longer be in charge of them. And Paula felt a tingle of excitement at the thought that then he might take her himself a bit more often.

  Her reflections were interrupted by the sound of a horse’s hooves catching her up. She looked around and realised that she had got a long way ahead of the group. Unusually Brother Harris was in charge today instead of Brother Davis. He was a thickset, dark man with a quick temper and a hard whip hand. To her surprise he didn’t keep pace with her but pulled in front and reined in. She stopped and looked up at him.

  “We’re going to see just how fast you can really run Number Three. Hold your hands out.”

  She obeyed automatically but was puzzled by his uncharacteristic good humour. He was grinning as he dismounted and approached her. Using a long rein he tied her wrist restraints together and then tied the other end to the pommel of his saddle. Paula looked on in dismay but didn’t dare say anything.

  He remounted without even looking at her and put his heels to his horse. At first it was just a walk. Then it was a trot and finally it was a canter. Paula ran as she had never run before but the fact that her arms were tied in front of her made it doubly difficult to keep up. Brother Harris looked back and laughed as he pulled his horse away from the route the other girls were taking, the way back to the monastery.

  Through sweat-blurred vision Paula saw that they were going even farther out into the estate than they had been before. Already her breath was rasping in her burning lungs and her legs pumped desperately. And still he pulled her farther away from the monastery.

  At last, inevitably, she couldn’t keep it up and fell headlong with a despairing wail. Her arms were wrenched cruelly as she pitched forward, hit the ground and was dragged along over grass and mud until Brother Harris reined in. She lay still, panting and gasping while he dismounted and came back to her. Her nipples were aching from having been dragged violently across the ground and the whole of her breast flesh felt bruised.

  Suddenly a line of white-hot pain exploded across her shoulders and there was a dry Crack! as if a pistol had been fired. Paula’s body reacted with an involuntary arching of the back and she saw him reeling in the long horsewhip, preparing to lash her again. It was the heaviest whip she had ever experienced, the pain and the weight of the blow had left her breathless. She had become well used to the crop but grimly she realised that she was in for a totally new kind of flogging. She got her arms under her and began to rise but another lash cracked down and this time the whip curled round her ribs and bit into the soft flesh at the side of her breast where it hung beneath her. She cried out and flattened herself against the ground again in an instinctive attempt to shield herself. But the next lash had her desperately rolling away and trying to rise again. Brother Harris had moved round to stand at her head, and it was laid down her back, parallel to the spine and buried itself deep in the crack between her buttocks. The long braided cord snaked into the secret crevices of her body and tore into the soft flesh of her sex lips. It made her shriek and frantically try to get her legs under her. But Harris gave her no chance to rise on her own. He pounced on her and deliberately hooked his fingers into her nipple rings to haul her up. She screamed again as the tender pink nipples were wrenched away from her body and she shot to her feet faster than she believed possible. He kept pulling up though, so that she had to dance up onto tiptoe to try and stop the pain. Only then did he speak.

  “There’s only a few days left Number Three to make quite sure that you know you are nothing except what we allow you to be.”

  “ Master!” Paula cried desperately, “I know I am nothing! Really I do!”

  “Father Burton wants to make absolutely sure.”

  He released his agonising grip on her and returned to his horse, urging it back into a trot. Paula staggered after him, trying hopelessly to galvanise her aching legs into action again.

  The next time she fell, he dragged her for much longer before he stopped. Paula knew what was coming this time but had only got up as far as knees and elbows before he whipped her again. And again he went for her breasts to start with, they swayed invitingly beneath her body, Paula knew, but there was no help for it. She had to get up. But two lashes in quick succession, which made them judder, had her helplessly folding her arms under her to protect them. Too late she realised that this left her haunches raised and once again the whip cracked down between her legs. Instantly her anus and the entrance at her belly were engulfed in fire. She curled herself into a ball and squeezed her thighs tight shut but still the whip found its way between her buttocks and she stretched out in agony. But Harris obviously knew just how much to inflict and coiling the whip he hauled her up by her hair this time. Pain and exhaustion made her slow to focus her eyes on his face. He left her for a few minutes. She was shaking and crying and it took some time before she was ready to face any more. Once she had got her breath back, she tried begging him for mercy, but he just smiled and put his heels to his horse again.

  Father Burton and Brother Davis stood at the window of the Father’s office and looked down into the courtyard. Paula’s group were being herded in at the end of their run. The naked girls either collapsing or standing bent over
with hands on knees while they recovered enough to be led away to the showers.

  Brother Davis’s brow creased. “There’s only nine Father.”

  “I know,” Father Burton replied and then paused for a second. “Brother, you have done your usual fine job with the new intake, but I am concerned about Number Three. I have watched her carefully, and from the very first she has held herself differently from the usual sluts. While the Church has been running this programme I have come to know how sullen and defiant they can be to start with. And how they slouch until they are trained not to. But this one is different.”

  “I know what you mean Father. She has pride.”

  “Exactly. And whoever heard of a street whore with pride? But what’s worse is that she still has it. And as you know, they must be stripped of all traces of their previous selves before the Church can construct their new characters. This is what the Patriarch teaches us.”

  “She is very obedient Father.”

  “Hmm. Have you ever before seen a slut go through her purification without at least one thorough chastisement? Have you ever known one avoid being displayed in the pillory, or never having had to wear the training harness?”

  “I think Father... I think she takes pride in her obedience.”

  “That cannot be tolerated. I have given orders that she will have a special regime between now and the end of the month. She is to be pushed to her limits.”

  “She can take it Father. In her own way she’s as hot a little slut as any of them.”

  “She’ll have to be Brother. I have been told that the Patriarch himself is to visit us soon. And I will have nothing go amiss.”

  “No Father.”

  At that moment Brother

  Harris rode in beneath them. The horse was walking now. At the end of the leading rein Paula was being dragged full length through the dirt. She was streaked with mud and grass stains but even through the dirt the livid welts left by Brother Harris’s whip could clearly be seen.

  Father Burton smiled bleakly, “It has begun.”

  Paula had crawled on hands and knees to the shower and let the water cascade over her. Brother Harris watched her silently and all too soon made her dry herself and go to prayers with the others. For the first time in weeks taking the four strokes of the crop before supper was a major ordeal. The horsewhip had been applied, she realised, with just this in mind. Sister Lavinia made her spread her legs a little wider so that the tender skin on the insides of her buttocks which bore the marks of that earlier beating, could get the full force of the cuts. She yelped and cried at each lash, wriggling so much that Sister threatened her with extra ones if she didn’t keep still.

  She wasn’t exercised with the others. Instead she was put in the pillory and left there until all the others were chained for the night. She just couldn’t understand what she was being punished for. Tears of self-pity stung her eyes as she shifted uncomfortably; the wood clamping her neck and wrists was tight around her collar and restraints. Her striped back and buttocks felt horribly exposed and at least two of the brothers had taken the opportunity to deliver stinging smacks as they passed. If she had broken any rules she would have expected punishment and accepted it as necessary. But she had always tried to be obedient. Her thoughts ran on and on, but got her nowhere.

  At long last she was allowed out. But she was shoved straight into her cell and chained tightly for the night before she had had a chance to answer the call of nature. She tugged hopelessly at her chain but it had been deliberately shortened by over a foot. There was no way she could reach her toilet.

  The result was inevitable and the brother who woke her the next morning made sure everyone knew. Paula wanted to dig herself a hole and pull it in after her as he yelled insults at her and told the whole group what she had done. She was given an extra stroke of the crop before breakfast and could see the smirks on her companions’ faces. It was worse than anything she had ever known. Even the day of Contemplation after they had been ringed hadn’t been so awful. At least all of them had been tortured and humiliated together. Now she was being singled out for no apparent reason and she felt terribly isolated. She was made to scrub the floor of her cell while the others were harnessed for the fields, but Brother Harris left her in no doubt that she would wish she had been able to go with them. She was to have another Contemplation Day, on her own.

  She was marched to the Punishment Wing and waiting for her was Brother Davis. For some reason the most horrible moment of all was when Brother Harris told him how she had wet the floor of her cell in the night. She could feel her face flaming bright red as she looked down at the floor.

  However when he took charge of her he seemed businesslike and not spiteful or gloating. Her heart swelled with gratitude towards him as he led her to where she was to be imprisoned for the day and she tried her hardest to obey his orders instantly. She was taken to a large room this time, in the middle of which two thick wooden posts stood. They were set about four feet apart and to the bases of these her ankles were first attached. After them her wrists were fastened to her ankles so that she was bent over in the classic position for punishment aimed at the buttocks. But Davis was far from finished. He went to where a whole range of chains were hung and picked four fine ones with clips on the ends. Paula couldn’t restrain a groan when he fastened two of them to her labia rings and the other two to her nipple rings.

  “I didn’t tell you to make any comment. I’ll punish you for it in a moment.”

  He yanked down hard on the chains to her breasts and Paula had to bite her lip to prevent any sound escaping. He too was obviously bent on punishing her for whatever reason. The chains were clipped to her ankle restraints at such a tension that her breasts were extended into curiously pointed shapes. Apart from the pain, she was terrified of the metal rings being pulled with agonising slowness through the flesh and tearing free. He did the same with her labia rings, pulling until there was a burning ache deep in her sex.

  “Don’t worry. They won’t tear,” he told her. He went back to where he had got the chains from and returned with a ball gag. It wrenched her mouth wide open and blocked it to the point of making her panic, but she found that if she kept calm she could breathe just freely enough. She knew she was facing a whole day tied in this posture and didn’t think it could get any worse but as a finishing touch Brother Davis passed a steel bar behind her head. It slotted into holes in the posts and passed through the ring at the back of her collar, pulling her head up so that she had to look ahead of her. Then he squatted down in front of her and looked her in the eye.

  “You are nothing. Do you understand that Number Three?”

  She tried to nod.

  “It doesn’t matter in the slightest to me or any of your masters whether we make you scream with pain or pleasure. We will whip you for any reason we like. And we will go on doing it until you learn that in the eyes of the Church of Ultimate Purification you are nothing.”

  She tried again to nod her understanding.

  “Over the next few days we will see. And if we think you haven’t learned that, then you will go back to the beginning and do the whole month again.”

  She tried frantically to shake her head.

  “Oh yes you will,” he said, “and the first thing I will do is flay every square inch of skin off your back.” He stood up and she was left to stare straight ahead of her, aghast at his words. But still he hadn’t finished. He unslung the whip he carried from his belt and showed it to her. It was a simple, single leather lash but the handle was in the shape of a very large phallus.

  “Now I’m going to punish you. And then I’ll leave this for whoever wants to use it on you.”

  He went behind her and gave her six lashes. Her buttocks were already badly marked from Brother Harris’s whipping and Sister Lavinia’s crop, but he didn’t let that bother him. Her eyes bulged and she made hopeless muffled whimpers into her gag as he set to work.

  Her position meant that her buttocks were
drawn very tight and her sex was blatantly exposed. The whip cracked across its lips which were drawn open by the rings and it stung maddeningly at the pink flesh of the inner lips. He didn’t let the lash wrap round her hips but played it full and accurately right on her bottom. Each stroke landed heavily on the already crimson skin where the crop had left its narrow ridges. She would have howled the house down if she could, but even that relief was denied her. And any movement whatever was impossible, she couldn’t even wriggle, she just had to absorb each burst of pain and wait for it to build, lash by lash until her whole body was ablaze. When he had finished he simply shoved the whip handle deep into her vagina and left the lash to trail down between her legs. Then with a final admonition to think about his words he left her.

  The pain of having the phallus rammed violently into her dry channel at first eclipsed the fires raging across her bottom, but as it dulled the pains merged and became indistinguishable. The whole area of her loins throbbed and hurt. And to make it worse she was acutely aware of how lewdly she was exposed to anyone coming into the room. She was bent right over, obviously well whipped and the lash hanging down from her wrenched open sex announced quite plainly that she was there for more if anyone wanted to administer it.

  Time passed with agonising slowness, and in the silence she distracted herself from the discomfort by trying to understand why they were doing this to her. Once again they had humiliated her beyond anything she could have imagined. But why? She had submitted to them, she had been beaten and she had taken it. She had been raped again and again and she had opened herself obediently. There had even been some perverse pleasure in the arrogant way the sexes of her masters had plunged into her wide-open mouth and sex. Once again tears of self-pity sprang into her eyes when she remembered how she had been so proud of her obedience, of taking so many men in her mouth that night in the Lounge. At that she felt the first stirrings of warmth in her belly and the discomfort in her vagina eased as it lubricated around the leather shaft which was stuffing it.