Belle Submission

by Yolanda Celbridge

  ‘Is it possible the affair could have been regulated by the committee of public safety itself, without reference to the directorate?’ said Cindi.

  ‘They often do that,’ Harriet added, ‘on sub-regulatory business that the directorate hasn’t time for.’

  ‘A revendication is scarcely sub-regulatory business,’ said Merlene, ‘and anyway, we’ve had no orders from the committee, one way or the other.’

  ‘Maybe they are in the stacks,’ said Cindi, pointing to the several piles of paper on the counter and the desks behind.

  ‘Maybe they are indeed,’ said Merlene, ‘in which case, every officer of the public watch shall have copies in triplicate, and we will do our job within reasonable time. Meanwhile, we must consider the new arrival an illegal alien, examine her case, according to the immigration laws, prepare a report for the committee, with copies to the directorate, and await authorisation of further action.’

  ‘Sergeant Makings, may I suggest it would be appropriate to report to the directorate directly, with copies to the committee?’ Cindi said.

  ‘Go over the heads of the committee?’ said the sergeant.

  ‘On such a matter as this,’ said Cindi. ‘It could indeed be a case of espionage.’

  ‘Which would place it under the ultimate jurisdiction of the directorate, but the immediate jurisdiction of the committee,’ said Harriet. ‘Uh, sergeant.’

  Cindi glowered at her. Merlene tossed her flowing auburn mane and smiled, with a little shiver of her tan melons that seemed to jut in competition with Cindi’s, and which peeked under a full four undone buttons, allowing a glimpse of the sergeant’s lacy scalloped white brassiere.

  ‘If we do have a situation here, time is of the essence and the directorate would expect the committee to make an appropriate unilateral response, so the committee must reasonably expect us to make a similar response,’ she said.

  ‘Search her, and write me a priority report, corporal. You may take Constable Stooplaugh to assist. Confiscate and itemise the mamselle’s clothing and belongings, and convey her to the detention centre, in the customary manner, taking reasonable care of her unclad person.’

  ‘Must we give her pertinent chastisement, sergeant?’ asked Harriet, her eyes gleaming.

  ‘Not at this stage,’ replied Merlene, ‘until the full facts are in our possession, at which point, I suspect, the committee may consult with the directorate to obtain a decree of formal judicial chastisement, most likely exemplary correction, the act of illegal immigration being automatic malfeasance, under article eighteen of the reglements. She’s certainly no scholar, as we’d have a memorandum from the academy, and anyway, scholars arrive by appointed transport. Any judicial chastisement might be severe, so I think it wise to refrain from pertinent chastisement, which the detainee might represent in tribunal as prejudicial, therefore voiding a certainly harsher judicial penalty — unless, of course, she is troublesome, in which case you may apply reasonable provisional correction. I don’t think she looks troublesome. You are a reasonable person, aren’t you, mamselle?’

  ‘No, I am not a reasonable person!’ Trina shrieked.

  ‘Stop this fucking charade. If this is one of GG’s jokes, it’s gone on long enough. I’m tired and filthy and I want a shower, and — ugh!’

  Her mouth was clasped by Harriet’s palm, and the two girls frog-marched the struggling Trina past Elvis, lolling with the full-breasted blonde girl in the blue skirt. She was kneeling on a chair opposite the male, gazing up at him, with her skirts parted, seeking fan breeze on her bottom. The ripe pears of her ass rippled as she spoke, and stuck to the wet panties, glistening with sweat. She plucked at her waistband to peel the panty fabric away from the dark ridges on her bottom, where it clung. She grimaced.

  ‘You’re sure you weren’t mad at me, that last time?’ the girl murmured shyly, gazing at Elvis. ‘I mean, it sure felt like you were mad at me. I’ve only four more days of half shame, then I can bowtie my skirt again. It’s full shame that’s the worst of it all, sir, having to go unfastened and unpantied, and showing bare. All those maids, ogling my naked melons! Ooh!’

  ‘I just do my duty, Mamselle Persimmon,’ Elvis replied.

  They watched Trina being led into an adjacent cell, whose door the smirking Harriet propped open; girls clustered to spectate as Trina was shown an oblong wooden table with rubber straps dangling from each corner.

  ‘What the hell do you expect me to do?’ she blurted.

  ‘Why, undress, of course,’ said Corporal Cindi Kock.

  ‘We can’t strip-search you unless you’re bare-ass naked,’ Harriet explained.

  ‘You’re out of your fucking minds,’ Trina retorted.

  Corporal Cindi turned to the onlookers and shrugged.

  ‘An insult to officers of the people?’ she sighed. ‘You leave me no choice but to have you forcibly stripped, and I warn you that further unreason may justify provisional exemplary punishment.’

  ‘Get your hands off me,’ Trina cried, but to no avail; Harriet had her in a half-nelson and forced her face down on to the table.

  Trina shrieked in protest as Cindi carefully pulled her clothing from her body, placing each item in a neat stack. She wailed as her panties came off, exposing the writhing bare moons of her ass. Only her bra was left, squashed under her wriggling titties, and Trina cried out as Harriet ripped it from her breasts.

  ‘Cindi — Corporal Kock — please let me administer punishment,’ Harriet gasped. ‘This is one subversive trull — look, she’s been stropped before, and crudely, too. Those fesses beg for proper lashes.’

  ‘No,’ Trina whimpered. ‘This is grotesque.’

  ‘You heard the constable,’ Cindi said. ‘One last chance. You have been stropped recently and that changes things, not in your favour — such crude stropping looks like New Albion work so, chances are, you’re an ecaped felon. Are you going to behave and submit to reasonable search, or do we have to restrain you in straps, like some malfeasant who can’t take a whip on the bare without wetting herself? It’s your choice — we shall search you either way.’

  Harriet twisted Trina’s arm higher and Trina gave a gasp of pain.

  ‘OK,’ she sobbed, ‘you win. I’ll be quiet. Just don’t tie me up — anything but that.’

  Nude, Trina clutched the table with white fingers as the two watch officers donned rubber gloves, oiled them with water-based jelly and proceeded to inspect her anus and vagina. Trina gasped and swallowed as Harriet got two rubbered fingers, then three, into her anus, tickling the root of her ass for over two minutes. She squirmed and winced as her bare titties and belly slapped the table. Her legs were splayed rigid.

  ‘Isn’t that enough?’ she moaned. ‘It’s agony. I’m not hiding anything.’

  Harriet withdrew from her anus, leaving her cunt-basin free for Cindi to probe her vulva. Trina sobbed, unresisting and helpless; Cindi penetrated her gash with four fingers, then fanned them to stretch the helpless cunt wide open, and used index and forefinger to stab and pinch the walls of Trina’s cavern, right to the wombneck, where Cindi’s fingers remained for over a minute.

  ‘Mmm,’ Trina moaned. ‘Please… it tickles.’

  ‘Your kind gets more than tickling on New Arras, mamselle,’ said Cindi, her voice icy. ‘Our lubricant jelly was superfluous — it seems your cunt interprets our search as lesbian behaviour and is accordingly excited.’

  ‘No! That’s gross.’

  Cindi removed a wet rubber finger from Trina’s cunt.

  ‘Mmm!’ Trina gurgled, as Cindi rammed the finger into her throat.

  ‘Do you deny it?’ she rasped.

  Trina tasted her own come on the invading finger. Gagged by Cindi’s knuckles, she sobbed, and shook, no.

  ‘That shall be entered in our report,’ said Cindi grimly.

  Elvis Lesieur allowed his lips to crease in a sneer.

  ‘Oh, please, sir, tell me about that mamselle,’ said Jewel Persimmon, fanning her wet bare bu
ttocks with her sticky panties, so that Elvis glimpsed flesh.

  ‘Nothing much to tell.’

  ‘Alone on a boat for so long! You are a tease, sir.’

  ‘Not me, mamselle. Coming here with all those crazy ideas in her head, that trull got to be dumber ’n’ a barrel of hair. Of course, I’m only the mailman,’ Elvis said.

  From the Journal of Mlle Augustine Flageolet, anno 1760 3 The female bottom is sculptured for the rod, and application of the cane to bare buttocks is therefore a natural and rational duty. Does it not follow that the crimes meriting corporal chastisement are also part of the natural order? A girl unspanked is untrue to her nature. The physiocrat Dr Quesnay, consultant to Mme de Pompadour, advised me the lady was accustomed to a weekly emetic, after which a scourging of birch rods was applied to her naked buttocks, the effect of which was to produce copious dunging and, she averred, a sensation of physical pleasure. His Majesty Louis XV was kind enough to appreciate her subsequent ardour in the royal bedroom. Up to thirty strokes of a birch sheaf produced a notable discoloration and hardening of her posterior flesh, which she said was pleasant to the touch, after the discipline. Dr Quesnay opined that the female body is like a field. For true fecundity of mind and body, its hindquarters must be ploughed with rods. Not entirely inexperienced, I readily consented to the experiment of birching, and found it rigorous but healthful, although — or perhaps because — my naked buttocks smarted for days after each application. Like Mme de Pompadour, I found the tingling and crusting of the weals agreeable to the fingertips. That encouraged me to found my rationalist school for young ladies at Arras, where industry was not unrewarded by punishment.

  4

  The Public Weal

  Sweat rolled down Trina’s nude body, tickling her between her breasts and dripping through her pubic forest into her bare quim. She clung to the sides of the perching-rail that bit between the flaps of her vulva as the clanking, mule-drawn wagon jolted over the track. Constable Harriet Stooplaugh and Corporal Cindi Cock sat at either end of the rail, squashing Trina between them.

  ‘Please tell me where we’re going?’ moaned Trina, her voice muffled by the holeless paper bag on her head.

  ‘You have no need for fear, detainee,’ barked Cindi, ‘but you are beholden to silence. Consider our favour, transporting you in a closed tumbril, your arms unroped and your legs free of gyves.’

  The cart, a furnace, had canvas walls, hiding Trina’s nudity from the excited onlookers, who announced their presence by a babble of girls’ voices, randomly but briefly silenced by the crack of a whip and a girl’s cry of, ‘Labour, sluts!’

  ‘She is lucky, being bare-ass,’ grumbled Harriet. ‘I wish —’

  ‘Harriet,’ Cindi interrupted, ‘I hope you didn’t plan to speak unreasonably. If the committee wishes us to go bare, then it shall promote us to the security corps. For a watchmaid to think of shaming herself by nudity is — well, I am proud to wear watchmaid’s uniform. Perhaps vicious trulls deserve caning by corpsmaids in the nude, for their shame, but I don’t like girls to cry, even the worst trulls.’

  ‘I do,’ said Harriet.

  The cart lurched with particular violence on the rutted track and the three girls were thrown together. Trina squealed and struggled from their forced embrace.

  ‘No,’ she cried. ‘Enough. Let me go, now.’

  ‘I warned you, mamselle,’ hissed Cindi.

  ‘Shall we do her, corporal?’ said Harriet.

  ‘I must say yes. Rioting merits exemplary punishment.’

  ‘No!’ screamed Trina, wriggling as the two officers pinioned her on the floor of the cart, with Harriet squatting on her thighs and Cindi astride her neck, holding her wrists high behind her back.

  ‘We have time to strop her a hundred before we reach the palace of justice. Fifty each, Constable Stooplaugh.’

  ‘Would not the cane be more reasonable, corporal?’ murmured Harriet.

  ‘It would, but these quarters are cramped and the detainee is sturdy. Remember the sergeant’s warning about prejudicial punishment.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Harriet. ‘Worth waiting to see that juicy lesbian ass officially caned raw. Vertical or horizontal, corporal?’

  ‘Mmm!’ Trina squealed, writhing under the girls’ heavy buttocks, and with her bare titties and cunt squashed to the splintered wooden floor.

  ‘Vertical.’

  ‘Mmm!’

  Trina squirmed, the paper bag rustling noisily on her bagged head.

  ‘Paired or in turn?’

  ‘In turn. I’ll lead. You take the left, constable.’

  Whap!

  ‘Ah!’

  Trina yelped, as the back of Cindi’s dainty enamel hairbrush cracked on the bare meat of her right buttock.

  Whap!

  ‘Ah! Oh!’

  She yelped louder as Harriet’s strop took her right on the same spot. Her ass-cheeks clenched as she wriggled helplessly under the watchmaids’ bodies. Whap! Whap! Whap! Whap! Four more taps with the two hairbrushes landed in the same place, on bare mid-fesse, the impact centre seared hot and stinging on the naked skin.

  ‘Constable!’ snapped Cindi. ‘I said, you take the left buttock.’

  ‘That is the one to my left.’

  ‘But it’s not to my left.’

  ‘Geometrically, corporal —’

  ‘Follow my example. We must start over.’

  ‘No,’ wailed Trina. ‘It hurts like hell. You’ve no idea how much my ass smarts, after… after… I’ll behave, I promise.’

  ‘I imagine you will see reason,’ Cindi remarked, as she lifted her hairbrush over Trina’s quivering bare flans.

  Whap!

  ‘Uh…’

  Whap! The stinger from Harriet’s hairbrush bruised her unmarked left globe.

  ‘Uh…’

  Whap!

  ‘Oh! Please stop, please, please. I can’t take it.’

  ‘Your welts speak otherwise,’ said Cindi, ‘and I see that your breasts were spanked recently. Perhaps we are dealing with a pervert, Harriet.’

  Whap! Whap!

  ‘Oh!’

  Trina’s scarlet buttocks writhed and jerked in a frenzy, but she could not wriggle free from her chastisers’ crushing buttocks. The paper bag heaved in and out as she gasped under each blow from the brushes. Her scarlet bare turned darker, with black, puffy patches ripening around the tender left haunch and top left buttock, where Harriet concentrated her impacts; Cindi was content to beat the fleshy centre of her squirming right flan, also darkening to crimson.

  Whap! Whap!

  ‘Uh! Oh, no…’

  A hissing sound filled the confined space as Trina lost control of herself, and a spray of steaming hot piss puddled the floor, the golden liquid squirting between her quivering thighs and filling the crack of her ass. Cindi Kock wrinkled her nose and asked Harriet how many slaps Trina’s croup had taken, adding that she was a dirty trull, and her pissing would be included in the report.

  ‘I thought you were counting, Cindi.’

  ‘Harriet, you’re the duty constable.’

  Cindi sighed.

  ‘We must start over,’ she said, ‘and count properly, Harriet. I’m so mad at you! You wait till we’re off duty.’

  ‘You going to punish me with the cane, Cindi?’ murmured Harriet. ‘I hate that so much.’

  ‘That’s the idea.’

  ‘I mean, it hurts me to whip your bare ass crimson, the way you like it,’ Harriet hissed, ‘and you weep and squall and everything. It really does. My back aches and my arm gets so tired. You submissive bitches are so demanding.’

  The girls shifted on top of Trina and made the sound of sloppy kisses, with moans from Cindi.

  ‘Mmm…’ Harriet murmured.

  ‘Oh! Don’t stop,’ whispered Cindi.

  ‘You’ve the loveliest tits in New Arras, corporal,’ said Harriet, ‘and the best ass. You know I love to see those melons glow.’

  ‘For sure?’

  �
�Honest.’

  On her bare thighs and neck, imprisoned under the crushing weight of the watchmaids’ cunt-basins, Trina’s skin moistened with hot trickles, as come oozed from the officers’ cunts. And they called me a fucking lesbian…

  ‘Mmm.’

  ‘Yes. Frot me. Oh, yes…’

  Trina listened, helpless, as the maids masturbated each other to orgasms, whose noise rose above the clattering of the cart. No! Her nipples and spine tingled and her clit swelled, with her own cunt helplessly gushing come over the rough wood. She began to writhe, rubbing her stiff clitty against the knotted floor; her belly fluttered, and come gushed from the two tribadists’ cunts over her thighs and shoulders, conjoined by streams of hot come from her own gash. I’m going to get off… yes…

  Whap! Whap!

  ‘Oh!’ Trina screamed as the two watchmaids began to beat her squirming bare buttocks afresh. ‘Oh, yes. Oh…’

  She was sobbing convulsively, her cunt-basin writhing in her spasm of orgasm, as the cart drew to a halt. Her bare buttocks glowed fiery and dark with weals and had taken over a hundred and fifty blows of the hairbrush. Her belly still glowed and fluttered as the watchmaids led her meekly from the tumbril into the palace of justice, past a crowd of jeering girls. Cindi had to unleash her whip and crack it several times on air or on girlflesh, crying, ‘Desist, citizens!’ and then, ‘Get back, you trulls, or I’ll whip you to the bone.’ Laughter followed that, and Trina wailed as a tomato, then an egg, splashed on her glowing red ass.

  ‘Yee-haw!’

  At Harriet’s rebel yell, there were cries of alarm, as the blonde watchmaid charged into the crowd. There were screams, thumps and kicks, then a flurry of cane-strokes on bared flesh and a girl’s screams. Cindi cried to Harriet to desist, but Harriet obeyed only when she had completed her task, leaving one individual sobbing and howling. The crowd was docile.

  ‘That bitch Devora Dykes is the ringleader,’ Harriet said, smacking her hands. ‘I hear the committee is to sentence her to public torture next week on another matter. I’d love to see those big titties stretched.’