‘Oh!’ Trina groaned. ‘Oh, yes, I’m coming, oh, yes… Ah! Ahh! Let’s be friends, Beulah…’
‘No, mamselle!’ cried the slave. ‘Don’t speak unreason!’
The door opened quietly and it was a few moments before Trina opened her eyes and, gasping, looked round to inspect the intruder. She cried out when she observed Zealla Pure, dressed in a full corset of shiny black latex that left her teats almost bare and powerfully upthrust, with the nipple-plums starkly outlined beneath the thin latex; the sides of the garment were cut high and thin over the swollen pubic hillock, so that tendrils of pubic forest sprouted, curling around the rubber thong, and so lush as to nearly engulf it. The waist pinched Zealla to eighteen inches at most. She wore black thigh-boots and cradled a cane in her fingers.
‘Do you require assistance, mamselle intendant?’ she said, curtseying. ‘I came to remind you that dinner awaits your presence.’
Moaning, Beulah leaped from the bath in a spray of suds and prostrated herself in a cross shape, arms and legs wide, on the floor at Zealla’s feet. Zealla kicked the fesses, glowing from Trina’s spanks, and Beulah groaned.
‘The thrall was oppressing and importuning you, mamselle intendant,’ she stated coldly.
Trina gasped that everything was under control but Zealla raised her cane, kicking the prone girl’s bare ass twice more with sharp silver toe-points viciously, so that she squealed. Zealla swished her weapon in the air.
‘Do you like my new whipple?’ she said. ‘Very light, but pliant and stingy, of the best Missouri ash. Emily Cawdor made it for me today, the sweet thing. She begged me to test it on her bare. Poor Emily. Always poor…’
She swished the air again, sending a rush of air to ruffle Beulah’s mane.
‘It’s especially good for delicate pointillage,’ she said. ‘I think I shall try her on the juicy buns of this filthy little lesbian slave.’
‘Wait, mamselle!’ Trina said. ‘I’m in authority here.’
‘Not in matters of pertinent discipline, mamselle indendant,’ Zealla drawled. ‘Do you know, I relish my new authority — though lesser than intendant, I am broader in pertinent power. You, mamselle, must rule by the book.’
‘If the girl is guilty of lesbian perversion,’ Trina said icily, ‘then so am I. More so. I seduced the trull.’
‘Impossible, mamselle, because against reason. The intendant, embodying reason, cannot betray it. Beulah, rise and spread thighs in position, touching toes.’
‘No,’ Trina cried, rising from the bathtub. ‘I forbid it.’
‘Mamselle, you may only forbid things after a plenary committee meeting and a debate of the council of reason,’ Zealla said.
Beulah stumbled to her feet and rubbed her bottom, red with spanks and bruised by the blonde girl’s kicks. She bent over and grasped her toes, spreading her thighs wide to show her ass-cleft still dripping come.
‘Beulah knows,’ Zealla said, raising her left arm to full height, with the whipple quivering almost to the ceiling.
Vip!
‘Mmm…’ the girl moaned, a long, despairing wail, as her bare ass clenched, taking the slice of the whipple.
Vip! Vip!
‘Oh, mamselle.’
Vip! Vip! Vip!
‘Ahh!
Beulah’s rump squirmed frantically, the strokes laid on bare forming a neat grid.
Vip! Vip!
‘Ooh! Mamselle, that’s tight.’
The tracery of lines on Beulah’s frantically clenching bottom was deep and red, with the strokes laying a pattern of interlocking squares. Her ass-flesh quivered before and after the slices, and after each impact clenched several times, awaiting the next. As Zealla flogged, her breasts danced in their slender prison, threatening to burst from the confining latex. Her nipples were swollen.
‘Vip! Vip!
‘Oh, please, no…’
‘Mamselle, that’s enough,’ Trina gasped.
Vip! Vip!
‘Aah!’ Beulah screamed, and burst into a frenzied sobbing; yet she did not budge from submissive position, clutching her toes with her mouth a rictus of pain.
Her brow wrinkled and her eyes tightly shut dripped with tears. The tears were mirrored by a steady seep of come exuding from Beulah’s shivering ass-cleft and oiling the tops of her thighs. Zealla breathed deeply and smiled.
Vip! Vip! Vip!
‘Ooh!’ Beulah gurgled, her scarlet bare melons clenching and wriggling; the fabric of the slender cane suddenly shredded at the tip, and beneath glinted metal. Trina sprang forwards and grabbed the cane.
‘That’s not right,’ she exclaimed.
‘The directress of discipline decides what’s right, mamselle intendant,’ Zealla snarled. ‘Do you want me to bind you? That is within my powers.’
She waved at the ceiling, walls and four-poster bed.
‘These quarters were mine until a week ago. I moved out without a murmur when I heard of a new intendant’s arrival and got this post in return. Intendant! A zero, compared to directress of discipline, one too powerful to be removed, mamselle.’
‘Put down that cane,’ cried Trina. ‘It’s weighted — that’s not just.’
Her nostrils flaring, Zealla thrust her face an inch from Trina’s. Her eyes sparkled.
‘But it is reasonable,’ she spat. ‘Slave! Rise and assist me in binding the intendant for her own safety. Her reason has temporarily deserted her.’
The bruises on Beulah’s caned bare bottom now glowed a livid crimson, darkening to purple, the puffy, ridged flesh forming a quilt of squares. The flogged slave jumped to her feet and, before Trina could protest, clapped her hand over her mouth, pinioning her in a choke hold. The struggling Trina was dragged to the X-table and made to lie face down with Beulah’s naked bottom crushing the small of her back, while her ankles and wrists were lashed to the extremities of the cross by coarse hempen ropes.
‘Stop!’ Trina yelled. ‘I’ll call the guard.’
‘I am the guard,’ Zealla hissed. ‘Gag her, slave.’
‘No, please no!’
Trina wriggled and howled as Beulah wadded her mouth with her stinking panty-thong and tied the gag in place with cord.
‘Mmm,’ Trina moaned as she felt the tip of Zealla’s metal-weighted cane trace a delicate path down her bare spine, linger at her spinal nubbin, then descend into the cleft of her ass to prise open Trina’s squirming melons and poke, teasing, at her anal hole and cunt-lips.
Zealla ordered the slave girl to resume position, with her buttocks proximate to Trina’s face. Her back to the door, she resumed the caning on Beulah’s bare, the whipple whistling inches from Trina’s eyes. Vip! Vip! Zealla looked at Trina as she flogged the slavegirl.
Vip!
‘This —’
Vip!
‘— is how we treat —’
Vip!
‘— unreasonable —’
Vip!
‘— trulls!’
Trina smelled the girl’s sweat and the unmistakable odour of come, gushing copiously from her swollen gash-flaps. The girl’s melons wriggled as the strokes lashed her bare nates, their subtle pattern defined by hard, crisp ridges of bruised skin, puffing to purple. At each third stroke she allowed the cane to rest, hot from Beulah’s ass, on the quivering melons of Trina’s own buttocks. Zealla said nothing; she smiled. Trina was mute, trembling and no longer struggling against her bonds. She gazed at the shuddering bare melons of the flogged girl, as her tariff of canestrokes rose: thirty, forty, fifty…
A trickle of come seeped from Trina’s quim and crawled to the edge of her platform, then dripped to the stone floor with a plop as it began to puddle. Zealla laughed. Slowly, she unfastened the buttons at her vulva and opened the flap of rubber to let it dangle loose, exposing her entire cunt and pubic jungle glistening with her sweat and oozing come. She ripped down the flimsy restraint of her breasts, allowing the teat-jellies to spring bare and jut, quivering, as she flogged. Zealla’s free hand alternately
caressed her quim and nips, sliding up her rubbered belly between canestrokes. She fingered her clitty, drawing it from its pouch to display the erect, swollen nubbin amid fleshy red folds of cunt-meat, and slapped her breasts together, clawing at her nipples with sharp nails. Her face flushed and her smile widened as Trina’s eyes darted from Beulah’s flogged bottom to the blatant masturbation of the discipline directress.
‘Yes, I diddle,’ Zealla drawled. ‘Going to snitch? Who’d believe you, without witnesses? A slave cannot witness anything.’
Vip! Vip! Vip! The caning neared seventy strokes and Beulah’s legs jerked rigid at each slice, her naked bottom now ploughed with crusted purple welts. Zealla’s masturbation grew rapid, her breath heavier and her taut, muscled belly heaving as she approached climax. She placed one foot on the side of the bed, spreading her cunt-lips wide to show Trina the glistening pink meat within her pouch. Her quim made gurgling sounds as she swayed her cunt-basin, and squeezed her flaps together to squirt funnels of come over Beulah’s bare back. Trina writhed, rubbing her cunt against the polished wood of her X-frame and pressing her clitty against the wood, slopped in her come. Zealla signalled her climax by deep grunts of satisfaction, and after a valedictory six canestrokes, delivered in a flurry on Beulah’s squirming bare nates, declared the caning terminated. She clawed the welts on the girl’s buttocks, making her squeal and sob, and called them a warning to other lesbian sluts.
Trina sighed and ceased frotting, allowing her cunt to rest in a puddle of come, soaking her thighs and pubis. Beulah rose, grimacing through her tears; curtseying, she thanked Zealla for her chastisement. She kneeled before the directress and fastened her corset over the titties and dripping cunt, while Zealla played her cane up and down Trina’s back, buttocks and thighs. Trina trembled, staring wide at the dominatrix, and beneath her cunt a fresh seep of come shone.
‘You want the same, mamselle intendant?’ Zealla asked.
Trina shook her head violently.
‘I see your come, mamselle. I think you do, and must oblige you.’
‘Mmm! Mmm!’ Trina squealed, as Zealla lifted her cane.
Swish! The cane slashed air; Trina clenched her fesses and shrieked into her gag. The cane did not connect with her skin but passed an inch from her left haunch. Swish! The next stroke skimmed her right haunch without touching: and so on, for twenty-five strokes, each a hair’s breadth from Trina’s bare, but leaving her unwhipped. Her eyes knotted tightly closed and her teeth fastened on her panties gag until it sprang loose, as she had chewed right through it.
‘Please,’ she wailed. ‘Stop this.’
‘Does your croup smart, mamselle intendant?’ Zealla said.
I want it to smart.
Behind her, the slave girl, drooling, gazed at Trina’s quivering bare. Unseen by the directress, she masturbated, with her hand penetrating her wet cunt in deep thrusting punches and her thumb rubbing her swollen clitty. She smiled lustfully at Trina, who wailed.
‘Let me go, I order you, mamselle. I am in charge here. The committee of public safety shall know this disgrace.’
‘Why, of course, mamselle intendant. Your wish, my command.’
I want it so. Thrash me, thrash my bare…
Zealla snapped her fingers and the door opened to admit Sirena, Alice, Heidi and Dorita. They stood laughing at the squirming bare girl, naked and come-slathered on her X-frame, as Zealla flogged her in mime.
‘Enough of this terrible show,’ Trina gasped.
‘At your command, mamselle intendant,’ said Zealla.
Vip!
‘Ahh!’
Her stroke lashed Trina in the spread ass-cleft, slicing fesse-meat, and slamming both her exposed anal bud and the juicing folds of her gash. Trina shuddered, her buttocks clenched, and she moaned as a golden stream of piss spurted from her pussy.
‘No…no…’ she wailed.
Thrash me, thrash me…
‘A mistake, mamselle intendant,’ Zealla cried, ‘and one which demands pertinent chastisement, at once.’
The other committee members clapped. Zealla threw her cane to Beulah and bent over, showing her melons bare, but for the thin rubber thong embedded in her cleft. Beulah lifted the cane and dealt her a single slashing stroke across mid-fesse and cleft, so hard that Zealla’s ass-thong snapped in two. The stroke painted a wide pink stripe on Zealla’s bare. She took it without a sound, without clenching her buttocks or trembling. She rose and smiled, saying she felt much better. Lifting her broken thong, she wondered out loud who was guilty of such wilful destruction of the republic’s property. Taking Beulah by the hair, she forced her to her knees and ground her anus with her toe until she confessed, with a plea for mercy.
‘Excellent,’ Zealla said. ‘A hanging offence, I think.’
‘No, mamselle,’ Beulah wailed.
‘Beulah,’ Trina cried. ‘I promise I’ll help you get out of this, back home to Alabama. Just be brave.’
Beulah stared at her in puzzled distaste.
‘New Arras is my home, mamselle,’ she said.
Zealla raised her cane and lashed Trina on the bare.
Vip!
‘Oh…’
I’m juicing…
‘The heat forces our —’ vip! ‘— intendant —’ vip! ‘— to talk —’ vip! ‘— unreason,’ Zealla said. ‘Are you joining us for dinner, mamselle intendant? We should be honoured.’
Zealla used her cane tip to slice open Trina’s cords and Trina got to her feet. She sobbed, rubbing the fresh weals on her caned ass and turning away from the committee to conceal the smears of come oozing from her gash.
‘Enough misunderstandings. Do you wish to dine nude and in shame, mamselle intendant?’ said Zealla. ‘A curious whim, but one which we all must follow. Or you may choose to be robed. The committee likes and approves you, and feels we shall have a happy friendship. All of us have endured taming to become citizens of the republic.’
‘Yes. I mean, yes, I’ll be robed.’
‘Yes, and?’
Zealla’s cane whistled in the air.
‘Thank you. Thank you,’ Trina said.
From the Journal of Mlle Augustine Flageolet, anno 1760 6 Today, I had Sophie Despreux flogged to one hundred on the bare back, suspended from a newly finished gibbet, a chastisement I felt obliged to administer myself. She wriggled superbly as her back wealed but did not cry out, other than gasps and moans. Her head sank halfway through her stripes, but she did not lose consciousness, thanks to frequent dousings in sea-water, whipping on wet flesh being doubly painful. Her extravagantly large breasts did wobble as she was flogged, the immodesty adding to her shame, as she freely admitted. After my exertions, I felt an agitation of brain and body; a flush and trembling which I assuaged by caressing my bassin intime, in particular my ‘clitoris’, and experienced that sublime sensation, the enjoyment of which is every female’s right and duty, within moderation. I encourage my maids to ‘masturbate’, as the ancients call it, in order to expel irrational humours from the brain, a healthy exercise, but one which must be carried out thoughtfully and even frugally, for its healthful benefits and raptures to be savoured; preferably by groups of girls together, in orderly and rational social fashion. Certain physiocrats argue that judicious female masturbation can cure the female lust for male caresses, whose ruinous social consequences are so often seen amongst our European nobility. Surely, a generous bourgeois husband, who encourages his wife to masturbate and whips her regularly on the bare to subdue her female unreason, is preferable to a debile and nervous aristocrat, addicted to ‘romantic love’ and other perversities?
7
Hot, Clean and Raw
It’s not so bad, really. The committee are nice American girls at heart. Nothing like a good dinner to relax. Hey, they’re genuinely sorry for all the misunderstandings. Alice even said it was best to get them over with the first day. And they seem to know I’m boss. Watch Zealla, though — friend or foe? The others aren’t like her; they know she
has attitude. Some funny ideas, like that zany French republican calendar, retro but cute. Too free with the cane or whip, but there’s time to change things and teach them to be good bag ladies. Hasten slowly. I have time, and power…
The slut parade — Zealla’s term — which the discipline directress ushered into Trina’s chamber next morning, confirmed her power: six maids in frilly French maids’ uniforms, hosed in nylon, with tightly scalloped brassieres thrusting their generous titties high and close, and their long legs teetering on high stilettos, served her breakfast and kneeled to watch her eat. Their teat-flesh thrust upwards to form shiny domes of skin, scarred with tiny geometric patterns of thin pink weals. One maid, Prudence Vile, a coltish blonde from Laurel, Mississippi, with wide lips, big hair and big jutting teats, waggled her bosom and asked half sassily and half incredulously if they were to go uncaned for faults. Trina said she had no intention of caning anyone, upon which she had to sign six releases attesting that their pure bottoms were ‘within reason’. The sluts left with lips sullen.
They want me to cane them! Am I right in refusing? They are victims of the system. Or, of their own perverted lusts?
There was a rap on the door.
‘Come in,’ Trina said, closing her diary, laying down her quill pen and pushing away her breakfast things.
Harriet Stooplaugh entered, wearing her watchmaid’s uniform, freshly laundered and as casually buttoned as on the day before. She carried a folder of documents but wore no hairbrush, cane or whip. She curtsied gravely. Trina was still in her frilly dark blue nightshirt, one of several such garments in her armoire which she had chosen, eschewing those fashioned of string or rubber. She put her elbows on the table and pressed her fingertips together. Harriet placed her documents on the table, stepped back and curtsied again.
‘For you to sign, mamselle,’ she said, with lowered gaze.
‘Copies of my contract of employment to the committee of public safety, the prefect of the watch, Sergeant Makings and Prefect Funger.’
Trina took up her pen, and perused the papers.
‘Lots of ‘‘wheretofores’’ and ‘‘hereinafters’’,’ she said.
Belle Submission Page 11