Church of Chains

by Sean O'Kane

  Even as she gazed up at her wrists and the taut rope which held them, she imagined what it would feel like to have the Patriarch take his pleasure with this body which was being tortured for him. The whip smacking deafeningly across her breasts and wrenching at her nipples before falling away only served to make the juices flood into her yearning vagina more urgently. A further explosion of pain across the fronts of her thighs made her sex ripple with longing for him.

  Back the horses came, and made her twist and swing helplessly, but she tried to press her legs together to feel as much of her pleasure as she could while she cried out and writhed for her master under the repeated blasts of the whips.

  She wasn’t put to the question this time. They made one more pass and inevitably, as she felt her very vulnerability propel her to a shattering climax, she felt the first warm trickles down her flanks. And Paula experienced a breathtaking pride at this proof of how she had suffered for the man who was in all senses her master.

  When they took her down finally and her head cleared, it was Brother Davis’s face she saw looking down at her with disbelief. She realised that she was lying with her legs open and he had seen how her sex lips were open and glistening, full with desire and pleasure. She gave him a secret smile and crawled after him on all fours, her body raging with fires inside and out. Dimly she heard everyone being dismissed and at last she was back in the cool darkness of the Pen. Brother Davis led her to the shower room and allowed her to collapse. She lay in a heap and let the cold water he flung over her sting and soothe her at the same time.

  Eventually she managed to prop herself up into a sitting position and sat gasping, dripping and exhausted on the concrete floor. Brother Davis gave her some time before he and his companion picked her up, their strong hands gripping her under her arms. They dried her with the rough towels, but with a gentleness they had never shown before, and then they half led her, half carried her along the corridors towards the Punishment Wing. Just as they approached the door and Paula was able to stand while Brother Davis fumbled with the lock, she heard footsteps approaching and heard voices.

  And she heard one voice in particular.

  Brother Davis glanced at his companion and then at Paula’s battered body.

  “Better get her in. I don’t think volunteers are ready to see her just yet.”

  Even through her pain, Paula was listening intently to the approaching sounds. The volunteers who Caroline had told her about! And, yes, in amongst the voices, there was one she knew well.

  She was hustled inside before anyone came round the corner, but it didn’t matter. She was smiling as they led her away. Just as the door had closed behind her, she had heard the voice one more time.

  There could be no doubt. Paula knew that her trial was at an end.

  She allowed herself to be taken quietly to her cell and chained by her wrists, sitting against the wall again.

  “Master?” she asked Brother Davis as he was about to leave, “please could you tell His Reverence that I am ready to tell the truth now.”

  He allowed himself one of his quick smiles. “At last,” he said and then left her. Paula stretched herself painfully and then, calm and proud, she let the darkness of exhaustion close over her.

  Chapter 24

  Paula was roused by the sound of her cell door opening and the Patriarch entering. He came to stand over her.

  “Well?” He stared down at her, his dominance radiating from him once more and setting Paula’s pulse racing immediately.

  “Master. I will tell you the truth.”

  She told him the whole story and he stared at her when she finished. She saw fury and disbelief in his face, as she had known she would.

  “You expect me to believe that? That you are here because of a mistake...? An accident?!”

  “No Master. I don’t expect you to take my word alone for it. That’s why I couldn’t tell you before. But now there is someone here who can confirm it. Now there is someone here who really is a spy.”

  “Who?”

  “There is one of the volunteers, a woman who probably calls herself Margaret.”

  He thought for a moment. “There is one by that name, yes.”

  “Her real name and title is Chief Inspector Margaret Barfield. She is my superior officer. She will have come here only to find me, and once she has found me; she will betray you Master.”

  There was silence and then he squatted in front of her and held her face again. “And you would betray your own colleague?”

  “Master I was never a spy and I have become your devoted slave. This is the only way I can prove it to you. And she was no friend of mine.”

  Paula told him about Margaret Barfield’s method of procuring bedmates by blackmail.

  “And if you send Sister Lavinia to question her,” she concluded, “I think you will save time and maybe find you have another good slave. She will thank me for it eventually.”

  “You are either the most devoted servant the Church has ever had, or you are a very dangerous enemy indeed Paula Cheever. Which are you I wonder?” Again that cloud of doubt on his face. She hated to see it, and hated herself for being the cause.

  “Give me any test Master.”

  He gave a short bark of laughter. “I thought I already had. Now I am not so sure. But we will question this woman,” he stood up and made to leave, “and I will keep you very close to me, where I can watch you. Very close indeed.”

  “Yes Master!” Paula smiled delightedly up at him.

  Sister Lavinia looked at the figure before her. The woman was naked and hung from chains connected to her wrist restraints and mounted at the tops of two tall, wooden, whipping posts, set in the floor of a dungeon just a few doors away from where Paula was being kept. The chloroform was beginning to wear off and slowly her legs began to take her weight. She was hooded and gagged, the hood covering eyes, ears and nose, leaving only small holes below the nostrils. The gag was a stout wooden one attached to leather straps, it would give her something to bite on during the torture she was about to undergo for the next two days at least. That was how long Lavinia had been given to get a full confession from her, and she intended to enjoy it.

  The body she was about to work on was a good one, large breasted, good skin and muscle tone, perfect material for what Lavinia had in mind. She experienced a momentary pang of regret that it wasn’t the lovely Paula she was being given a free hand with, but this one would do well enough.

  The victim began to panic as she surfaced to blind darkness and constraint.

  Lavinia moved forward and undid the fasteners over the ear pads.

  “Chief Inspector Barfield?” she whispered.

  The figure went into paroxysms of terrified writhing.

  “Paula’s told us you see. Now all we need is confirmation from yourself. But unfortunately for you, I’m in no hurry. So for the next two days you’ll stay gagged. I don’t want you spoiling things by telling me everything before I’ve had my fun.”

  The figure trembled visibly and tugged at the chains.

  Lavinia stepped back and ran a practised eye over the equipment the brothers had installed. Yes, there was plenty to work with and smiling in anticipation, she began to strip. She preferred working naked, she could move more freely she found. The blouse and long skirt were removed and neatly folded on the top of a whipping trestle, but the thigh-length leather boots remained, Lavinia always felt they terrified the victim more; especially on those occasions when she was given a man to work with.

  She removed Margaret’s hood. The large brown eyes stared about her and a muffled moan came from behind the gag.

  “Well we may as well get started,” Lavinia told her briskly, “and the first thing we’ll do is get your lovely legs open.”

  While Margaret struggled and kicked, Lavinia set about chaining her ankles wide apart, fastening them to the bases of the two posts between which she was mounted. With women she felt it was vital to get their legs spread straight away, it
made them feel so vulnerable, even more so than a man, in her opinion. And ignoring the desperate snortings and muffled cries from Margaret, Lavinia sauntered over to a whip rack and made her selection. It was a particularly flexible crop with a very large flap of leather at the top. Lavinia had no intention of starting with the usual targets of back or buttocks. No, with a spy to work on her first taste of the whip was going to be agony; and from then on it would get worse.

  She explained this to the sweating, spreadeagled prisoner and then began. The crop whistled down across the upper curves of the large breasts. It bit deep into the pillows of fatty flesh, momentarily forcing them down the rib cage, but when it was lifted away they bounced and joggled very prettily as the victim straightened and locked rigid, eyes wide and staring in incredulous agony. The white line of the lash immediately began to darken and fill. A second lash cracked down across the nipples with pinpoint accuracy, the leather flap smacking wickedly into the nipple farthest from Lavinia. Calmly Lavinia walked to Margaret’s other side and repeated the lash so that the other nipple got the same treatment. The victim’s struggles were now so violent that accuracy was difficult so she concentrated on the main meat of the breasts, four more to the upper slopes and then six slicing uppercuts to rip into the soft underflesh. Margaret was rigid on her toes by now, her head back, breath snorting through her nostrils as she breathed between screams, saliva dribbling from around her gag and every tendon strained to snapping point. She held at a peak of agony just long enough for Lavinia to get one more snapping blow in across the nipples. Then she broke and abandoned herself to the agony, a long shudder went through her as her wailing reached a new pitch and urine spurted down her thighs. Lavinia watched in satisfaction.

  She herself had reacted similarly the first time she had undergone breast torture. And she expected a similar reaction to occur several more times before she finished; she picked up a handful of straw and wiped the inner thighs dry. It was time to move on she felt, the breasts were nicely tenderised for the constriction and beating she had in mind for the next day. She replaced the crop and allowed Margaret to slump in her chains and recover herself just a little before she started in with the whip she chose next, it was relatively short but with many lashes, all knotted at their ends.

  She stood directly before Margaret this time and gave her plenty of time to look at the whip and sob with terror before she sliced it up into the wrenched open sex. The knots in the lashes gave them just the right amount of weight to lay themselves along the soft groove of the sex and then wrap up into the buttock crease and slam home on the anus.

  Margaret took two and then passed out. Lavinia waited patiently, moving the breast stocks out into the room so that Margaret could get a good look at them before experiencing them. After a few minutes she came round again and Lavinia continued where she had left off. Her victim’s struggles became a demented frenzy as time after time the lashes snaked up along her sex. Lavinia worked slowly now, letting the searing agony be absorbed from each lash before the next was laid on. She admired the muscles of the thighs as they strained rigid to try and lift the body away from the pain, and after ten lashes she was impressed by the fact that she hadn’t passed out again. Tough, she thought, good material to work with.

  When that bout of torture ceased, Lavinia left her for quite a long time and then went to cradle her head and stroke her hair, congratulating her on her endurance. She felt this was essential, if the victim, especially a woman felt that her suffering was being paid attention to and enjoyed by the woman inflicting it, then a sort of bond, partly exquisite humiliation, partly perverse pleasure would be forged between them and ultimately the submission would be more complete.

  However she got a shock when she moved to attach different chains to Margaret’s ankles and hauled them up behind her until her legs were spread and raised so that her body was spreadeagled parallel to the floor. She ducked under one leg and stood so that she could see the ravaged sex spread out before her at eye level, livid welts crossing and scoring the tender labial flesh, but between them she could plainly see the coral pink gash of her inner flesh and it was gleaming with the secretions of arousal. Incredulously, Lavinia poked two fingers into the horizontal vagina and they slid in easily, delving into a moist channel which contracted eagerly around them. Lavinia laughed and went to stand in front of Margaret, whose head hung down. She grabbed her hair and wrenched it to bring her face up. The woman’s pain glazed eyes blinked and focused groggily.

  “You’re loving every minute of this aren’t you slut?”

  Slowly the head shook.

  “Well in that case you’re really going to hate the next thirty six hours. I’m going to hang you in agony—this is just a taster by the way—I’m going to use the breast stocks and whip your lovely tits when they’re purple and full of blood. You’ll undoubtedly wet yourself again under that torture. I’m going to stretch you on the rack and cane your back until you’re raw. And during all those I’m going to coat the biggest dildo you’ve ever seen with a special ointment I’ve got and plug your arse with it. Believe me you’ll think I’ve put a red-hot poker up there. But of course if I take your gag off and you confess, then you’ll miss out on all that fun.”

  She reached round Margaret’s head and undid the gag, easing it out from between her clenched teeth. It was a risk, she knew, the slut might really confess and then she would have to give her back to the Patriarch... well after another hour or two, and then she herself could confess that she hadn’t handed her back straightaway and she would undoubtedly be condemned to a session down here with one of the brothers. She always enjoyed those, so whichever way things went, she would get something out of it. But she needn’t have worried; Margaret took in several deep gulps of air and then spoke in an agonised whisper.

  “No you bitch. I won’t confess. Not yet. I need it all... everything. Whip me good and hard, I’ve got a lot to confess and you’re going to earn it... every bloody word.”

  Lavinia laughed in delight. “I see we understand each other perfectly. Very well let’s enjoy ourselves.” She let the head drop and took a cane from the rack, showing it to Margaret.

  “Before I leave you to enjoy your suspension for an hour or so, I’ll cane you.”

  Margaret’s head nodded.

  “Very well, and you have my permission to scream, seeing as you’re not going to confess until we’ve both enjoyed this, I’ll leave the gag off.”

  “Do it hard... you bitch. Torture me properly... Aaaaargh!”

  Lavinia swung her whole weight and strength into the stroke which lashed across her buttocks. Even suspended in her chains Margaret managed to writhe under it and the next ten, until finally she slumped into unconsciousness. Lavinia left her for a while; savouring the prospect of how gratefully the slut would kneel before her and thank her for her punishment when it was all over.

  She came back an hour later and took her down, leaving her plenty of time to writhe on the floor and recover before she began the next torment. When her preparations were complete she came to stand over her victim again.

  “Well Chief Inspector. Shall we proceed, or will I have to gag you to stop you confessing?”

  Margaret turned over onto her back and stared up at Lavinia

  “No,” she whispered. “It was good, but not good enough. You’ll have to work harder.”

  Lavinia was delighted and set to work willingly. She hauled Margaret to her feet and supported her as she led her over to a wall. Once there she fastened Margaret’s arms to the stone, down by her sides, she used a collar mounted on the wall to immobilise her head and then spread and chained her legs. Next she clamped pegs onto her already swollen nipples, fetching gasps of pain from her victim. The pegs were attached to thin nylon cords which Lavinia fed through runners at the tops of the whipping posts. Then she attached weights to them until Margaret’s ample breasts were pulled cruelly out into grotesque points and she was whimpering and squirming in her bonds. She left her for th
e rest of the afternoon.

  When she was taken down Lavinia gave her only a few minutes to cradle her ravaged breasts before dragging her to the rack and stretching her out on it face down. Once she was tied down and stretched taut she fulfilled her promise of the caning to her back. Working steadily down from the shoulders Lavinia laid the lashes on very slowly, allowing Margaret every opportunity to savour each explosion of pain and driving her, howling to three of the most shattering orgasms Lavinia had ever seen a woman attain under punishment. At last she put the cane down and leant close to Margaret’s ear to whisper to her what she would face the next day.

  Margaret was covered in sweat, her hair was soaked and matted, her gleaming body heaved with sobs and gasps of agony and the aftershocks of ecstasy, but Lavinia noted the small nod of complete agreement when she laid out her plans for her. Then she slackened off the tension slightly and left her for the night.

  The next morning Lavinia began by coating a huge dildo with a special cream which would irritate and burn the tender membranes of her rectum. She pushed it roughly up into the tight anal entrance, and then shoved again until it was fully embedded in the body. Almost immediately, Margaret began to buck and squeal. Lavinia had quite a struggle to move her back to her chains and tie her so that she could constrict the bases of her breasts with straps. But she had time to recover and watch as Margaret writhed and arched under the twin torments, screaming till she was hoarse. At last the breasts were just in the right state for her to begin, an angry and congested purple colour. She used the crop on them again. And when she had finished she decided that it was time to apply the final touch. Margaret was beyond words now, a limp and savagely marked figure hanging in chains. It would take only Lavinia’s last cruelty to make her feel that she had been well enough punished. Two of the brothers came to help and the three of them mounted Margaret on her back on an X shaped table, whose arms supported her limbs and trunk but left her head hanging down and her sex available between her wide-spread legs. The sight of Margaret’s devastated body and her own panted admission as she was tied down that if she was whipped as hard as she deserved to be this time she would confess, had both men eagerly erect. They positioned themselves one at her head and one at her crotch.