“Shall I call you milord, now?” she inquired.
“Call me what you like. But I would not believe you mean it. I’ll be happy to wait until you’re thoroughly proven.”
“Oh, surely, please, sir,” she tried another whine.
“Hush!” he snapped, as his hand went for the straps at her feet and began to loosen them. When her feet were free, he placed his fingers around the edge of the rod and slowly pulled it from her ass.
“Ah, yes,” she breathed relieved as the tension drained from her body.
“I want you to sleep, Jolie. To let your dreams help you repair. I will begin to break you tomorrow.”
I will not broken, she answered him silently—though all he saw was a winsome smile on her tired face.
After he untied her wrists, he moved her to the straw mat, shackled her feet and chained her wrists in manacles to the wall. At least the bed was softer than the table and her ass was relieved of the horrible shaft.
Chapter Eight
Early in the morning, before the sun was fully in the sky, two of Patrick’s female servants came to her, carrying between them a tub for her to wash in. Three other slaves with earthen jugs filled the bath with water and then retreated down the tower stairs. So much effort to ensure her confinement. Wouldn’t it have been easier to bring her down to the main floor where water was more easily accessible? This was, however, not a question that she would ask.
While the two lovely women fiddled with Jolie, the hulking native stood at the door, offering his imposing presence should she even think of escape.
Resigned to this circumstance, Jolie took comfort in Patrick’s lovely servants—Marise and Lilia. Marise was European like herself, with high cheek bones, fair skin, pink lips and a beautiful plait of dark hair. Lilia looked much like Moira, a lovely native woman with bronze skin, raven-colored hair, and a shy smile. There seemed to be a similar quality in all of Patrick’s women, that of resigned subservience. Though each was beautiful, poised and gracious, they shared a sense of peace that Jolie had seen so rarely in her life. Was this a virtue she should share? She liked her fire and wit, the vivacious spirit that made her strong. He said he would not break that spirit, but she wondered. These servants were not meek but their mellow character made her wonder just what kind of servant Patrick Dunleavy would make of her.
The two women removed the shackles from her wrists and ankles, and then the ugly dress. Moving her to the tub of water, they helped her settle into the sensuous warmth. What a fine thing to feel the liquid surge around her loins—inside the cavities and crevices where the aroma of her sex abounded. She would have relished taking her bath in privacy, but the pair was under orders they would not disobey. Her hands were bound together again and fixed above her head to a hook hanging from the rafters. Stretched this way, she was unable to attend to herself, and was forced to rely on the women to wash her body.
Jolie’s mind drifted as they caressed her arms, as they gently squeezed water from a cloth and let it run down her shoulders, along her neck and in rivulets of liquid down her breasts. The air cooled her skin; their hands warmed her. The pair giggled like young schoolgirls as they kissed her cheeks and then her breasts, and moved down to her belly with their lips.
What sensations! What body joy! A woman’s lips had never touched her mouth—but these luscious lips were so tender and so delectable that she was kissing back, opening her mouth to accept their tongues inside and feeling the sensation move from her mouth to the throbbing center of herself.
There were flower petals in the water lending their fragrance to the bath, and others the two beauties pressed into Jolie’s skin to scent her pores with the aroma of exotic blossoms. She breathed deep relaxing into the sensuous play of female forms, loving and kissing her with a tenderness she’d never known. The dark-skinned maid reached between her crossed legs, exploring the nether regions with an aggressive zeal, fingers probing as a mischievous smile appeared on her lips. There was a feral look in the woman’s eyes as she advanced on Jolie’s clitoris. She rubbed it lightly, playing with the sensitive bud until she heard Jolie moan. Then, one finger thrust its way into her cunt, to the sound of the captive’s gasping, “Ahhhhh!”
From behind her, the other maid kissed her hair and the nape her neck. Jolie shuddered with her body starting to quake as both women pressed their advantage.
“Oh, my, no, please!” She began to spasm uncontrollably from the play.
“It’s okay, Miss, you can cum,” Marise whispered. She reached around the dangling woman, clutching her breasts firmly in her palms and massaging them to the sound of Jolie moaning. Then tweaking her pink nipples into purple nubs, she listened for more erotic whimpers, which came freely now. The captive lost herself inside the unexpected pleasure. She was fingered hard and rapidly, kissed with breathy, whispering kisses, and loved with a tenderness she’d never known from any man.
“Oh, yes, yes, touch me harder there,” she murmured as their softer fingers probed the most sensuous recesses of her body. She undulated, swaying in rhythmic fashion, diving back and forth from one women to the other as satisfaction ripened in the pores of her skin and deeper still. Chilled from the water, warmed by their hands, aroused by their fingers and kisses… at her breasts, back, belly and along her under arms—she came at last, sighing and seething, wrists straining against the bonds. If she could only touch them; pleasure these sentient creatures the way they pleasured her. But no!
As soon the last of her spasms died away, they pronounced her clean. Helping her from the bath, they moved the tub to the side of the room and ordered her wet body to the stone floor. Lengthening the rope that tied her wrists, they forced her to bow, head lowered, ass raised.
“And spread your legs, Jolie,” the fair-skinned Marise ordered. She seemed to be in charge, being not as meek as the other woman. “We clean the whole of you,” she said smiling.
To Jolie’s amazement, a bamboo shoot two inches round and over two feet in length was pressed beyond her sphincter into the hole that Patrick stretched so well. Though she widened easily and the edges of the shoot had been filed smooth, there was still a frightening feeling having the thick, unbending limb shoved several inches into her ass. Marise held the shoot. “Don’t move,” she warned.
Jolie felt too vulnerable to budge. Though her knees ached as well as her shoulders, she was afraid of how far the thing would penetrate her ass.
While Marise held the bamboo in place and Jolie cringed in fear, the dark-skinned Lilia filled a pitcher from the soapy bathtub and with a funnel inserted in the end of the hollow tube, she began pouring liquid into the passageway. Warm water gushed through the two foot length and into Jolie’s rear. She shrieked as the fluid traveled deep, and shuddered uncontrollably when it moved deeper still.
“No, more, please!” she wailed. The cramps inside her belly were mean and strong. “Please, I cannot!” she tried again as she strained to remain in control. “I can’t!” she roared when she was sure she’d failed.
“Don’t move!” she heard the sound of Patrick’s voice booming behind her.
Jolie blushed realizing that he was seeing her in this embarrassing position.
“I can’t, sir!” she entreated.
“I’m sure you’re wrong,” he disagreed. “Each one of the women in my fortress has been through this treatment many times. You’ll adjust yourself. Besides, your cries do not become you. One thing I never took you for, Jolie, was frail and ineffectual.”
The scolding did little to prove his point. Jolie was certain that any moment her body would give up the liquid in a powerful gush. “Give her more,” he ordered and she began to cry. “Tears don’t become you either. Straighten up. You think you’re good enough to live outside this tower, you’ve only proven my point today.”
She took his counsel as a challenge, which was exactly what he wanted her to do. And with the cramps backing off and her body easing from that strain, she was able to withstand the pressure and fina
lly relax.
“Enough,” he finally determined. “Bring her upright.”
“Upright now!” she protested silently.
She had no say. Marise and Lilia were lifting her to her feet where she precariously waited for her body to release.
“You will hold on,” Patrick told her to her face, with eyes narrowing in determination. “Lilia, tighten her suspension.”
Again, her bound hands were raised high above her head and pulled so tautly this time that she was almost standing on tiptoe.
“Sir, I don’t think…” she started to protest.
“No!” he snapped. “You don’t think at all. Let me do the thinking for you. I know how long you can last, and I’ll tell you when you’ll release. Until then, the waters will remain inside you, and you will succeed.”
She did not look convinced.
“If you want to live outside this tower,” he went on, “you will submit and you will obey—even in this.”
Giving up was not an option, so she followed the master’s order and focused all her might at the containment. Patrick did not make this easy. Full of his own awesome power to control, he circled her body with a bamboo cane in one hand and a wooden paddle in the other. Alternating between the two implements, he struck her skin at regular intervals, causing her to jolt in an erratic and painful rhythm. This was not a moment to writhe in sexual ecstasy. There were far too many sensations from stomach cramps, to searing heat, to the sting of wood. Her overloaded body could not even grasp at a small ripple of sensuous pleasure. Certainly there could be some enjoyment behind this ordeal, but she would not feel it today.
Jolie did hold on. Even when her master stopped tormenting her, when her ass was a brilliant red, and there were small welts on her thighs front and back, and he began to fondle her, running his hands along the wounds and caressing her to erotic ends, she managed to keep the waters well-contained. At the very least, her body had adjusted to the great fullness in her belly. As Patrick continued his caresses, she felt as though she were swimming in a wondrous pool of erotic joy. Everything around her seemed to brighten, as if she were for just a second seeing heaven. A strange but wondrous orgasm slowly rumbled through her lower regions, and she gasped—more afraid now than ever that she’d flood the floor at her feet.
She still held on.
Then, as the spasms slowly receded, the bonds above her head were loosened so that the arduous stretch eased. What an odd paradox: that she could experience the profound sensation of letting go and at the same time maintain control of her physical body and the undercurrent of agitation rumbling there.
“Give her the chamber pot,” Patrick ordered as Marise and Lilia helped her down. Patrick was already at the door before she was completely aware of what was happening; and disappeared before her conscious mind could decipher the full meaning of the awesome moment.
Releasing her bowels, another rush of exquisite energy burst free… seemed she was reeling downward ever farther into places she’d never known were part of who she was.
Done, she collapsed into the comforting arms of Marise and Lilia, who lifted her to the straw mat and laid her down.
She was manacled at her wrists and ankles before they left her in the tower.
***
Jolie’s days in the tower proceeded in similar fashion as her first trial by water and orgasm. Patrick had her bowels cleansed daily, though he was often not present at the event, and because he didn’t attend the ritual she was not whipped or bound as she had been the first time. He did, however, find ways to exert his influence over her, which kept her focused throughout her day on both pleasure and pain.
Often she was brutally bound, crisscrossed with ropes, her breasts contorted strangely and her loins girded with a similar array of cutting ropes. She was then laid out on the table or forced standing against the tower’s cold walls. In these awkward positions, she’d be left until her body ached to be freed, until her lips were parched from lack of water, and her stomach growled like an angry bear. She fought the bondage in her mind, although her body could do nothing to fend off its brutal effect. Eventually, she would lose herself inside her discomfort, all thinking ceased and she would swim again in an unthinking place of letting go.
“You’re doing well,” Patrick told her several times when he visited the tower.
She didn’t understand what he meant. None of this made sense. She had no choice, however, but to allow these atrocities to be dealt her as if she deserved the treatment. Was she being punished, or prepared for something more? She could not be certain.
It was clear, however, that Patrick Dunleavy had an affinity for anal sexuality. There were few hours in her day when her ass was not impaled with a hefty rod. Was this to widen her further? Or did her captor simply enjoy the idea of the anal bondage and how it sparked the erotic arousal in her behind.
Every two or three days, Patrick would come to the tower and work her ass. He used his cane, leather straps of different sizes and a variety of wooden paddles to further punish her. Though she hated all of these measures to cause her pain, without exception the result of her spankings was always the same. A bright burst of erotic bliss would follow each punishment. The feelings were so absorbing and so genuine that with little effort on Patrick’s part she’d be cumming in wild and wondrous spasms. Her voice of ecstasy would reach high into the rafters of his great fortress and float down like a rain of sensuous flower petals. An easy peace followed. Patrick would leave her satiated, and satisfied himself—even smug, though he was still not the type of man to show his triumph in gloating expressions and mockery.
“For what purpose am I here?” she pleaded one morning as he was about to leave the tower.
He turned back to address her unusual question. Normally, she remained silent during their sessions and he left without her saying a word.
“For whatever purpose I intend for you,” he replied. “I think of things as I go, what I believe you need.”
“And what defines my need?”
“I define your need.”
“So, what end will there be?”
He thought a moment, as if he was deciding if he really wanted to answer her question.
“The end I have always envisioned for you, Jolie: your surrender to me. Complete and without flaw. You have seen my other servants. They trust me, do all that I require of them, and because of that, they enjoy the beauty and the peace of this island paradise and my love for them.”
“But why the pain and the suffering?” she implored him more.
“Because it molds the spirit, sets the body free and mends the mind of its treacherous thoughts. You’ve had a good deal of treachery to overcome, my dear Jolie. At one time, I thought you could sidestep this kind of action; but in my heart I knew the truth of you. I guessed it on the ship, knew it for certain when I had to tie you to the mast. You are as difficult a subject as I could find. Your spirit soars in madness and contempt, while your body blooms to the delights of physical pain. You’ll go far with me.”
That was all he said, then he opened the door and left the room, not letting her have the chance to question him further.
The next day when the sun was setting and the sky was filled with pink, the tower door rattled with Moira and Lilia entering. They came to the captive with affectionate smiles, unlocked the shackles, lifted her to her feet and walked her about the tower so she could regain some sense of balance. Once she was steady on her feet, they clamped her arms behind her and then placed manacles around her ankles, hobbling her with a short chain between them. Then, with gentle arms leading her forward, she was taken from the tower down the stairs. Once reaching the ground level, they turned in a direction opposite the door Jolie had entered weeks before when she was first brought to Patrick Dunleavy’s fortress.
Again, they wound around through a maze of corridors until the three broke out of the crazy labyrinth into a grand hallway of columns and stone footpaths. Plants, waterfalls and the smell of fragrant
flowers mixed with the perfume of cooking food. The melange of color blinded her eyes. If she remembered back to her first experience of the island, she remembered such things. Patrick’s fortress should not appear so odd to her now; but after spending weeks in the tower with little but its grey walls and cold aspects, she was once again stunned by the environment that welcomed her inside.
Moira and Lilia led her across the grand room, into another fortress space where she was amazed to see Marise was hanging naked and bound. Her arms were strung up to the ceiling so that she was lifted off her feet—not even the tips of her toes reached the floor. The muscles in her arms were stretched taut and working hard to hold her hundred pounds. Despite what must have been a tortuous position, she was surprisingly blissful. Patrick had been working her with several implements; evidence of fresh wounds appeared everywhere from her calves to her shoulders in the rear, from her knees to her breasts in front. She was now delirious as the hobbled Jolie entered the room. All was silent. Candles burned and perfumed incense filled the air with a cloud of thick pungent smoke.
“Come hold her,” Patrick motioned to two of the attending servants. Two scrambled forward on their knees and eased the beaten woman’s dangling pose, lifting her legs on either side of her so that Marise could relax the strain on her shoulders. They held her legs rigidly, keeping her ass exposed and clear for punishment, while her writhing pussy lured the eye to the seductive feast of moist curls and vibrating flesh.
“Jolie, on your knees,” Patrick motioned his speechless captive to him.
Moira quickly unlocked the wrist shackles so that Jolie could obey her master. Then, the newest of Patrick’s captives quickly dropped to her knees and crawled forward, hobbles and all. Reaching the floor beneath the master’s feet, she waited humbly for further instruction.
The Saga of a Naughty Lady Page 12