Belle Submission

by Yolanda Celbridge

  ‘It’s a standard personnel transfer contract, mamselle,’ Harriet said. ‘I’ve signed it already. If you’ll just — here, here and here…’

  Trina stopped at a paragraph headed ‘remuneration’. Constable Harriet Stooplaugh was to be paid two hundred and ten fessignats per week, with a further two hundred and ten fessignats to be paid by bank transfer from the intendant’s account to the account of the public watch, in recompense for Constable Stooplaugh’s services. Harriet’s two hundred and ten fessignats were to be delivered from the intendant’s private purse, and Trina asked what that meant exactly. Harriet smiled and tossed back her blonde mane. She fingered the undone top buttons of her uniform shirt, beneath which her taut breasts quivered, braless. She wore a gaudy red carnation of tissue paper in her mane.

  ‘You have to give me the strokes personally, mamselle,’ she said. ‘At the watch, we used a rough exchange rate for one fessignat — it equals one deep whiplash or canestroke, or two slaps with slipper or paddle, or four hardspanks with bare hand, or any combination thereof.’

  ‘I have to cane your bare ass thirty strokes every day?’ Trina said, swallowing as Harriet’s firm rump shifted, under the thin cotton.

  ‘Of course, mamselle,’ said Harriet, ‘but it’s only twenty-one strokes a day. The week has ten days and is called a decade, and there are three decades every month. Mamselle Flageolet adopted the rational calendar, in solidarity with her revolutionary sisters in France. Her friend Mr Franklin wanted to have it adopted on the mainland, but the Pennsylania Germans were against it.’

  ‘So, I have to whip you on the bare twenty-one strokes a day.’

  ‘Or all in one session, or in a combination of spanks and strokes, mamselle, as it pleases you, and you may choose to reward me with a tip of extra strokes.’

  ‘It seems girls here are obsessed by caning,’ she said.

  ‘Beg pardon, mamselle, but people in the Orleans territory are obsessed by money. Lashes are our money.’

  Trina swallowed again and mopped her brow.

  ‘I intend to change New Arras — this brutal code of corporal chastisement in particular. My own bare is still smarting from — well, frankly, the idea of girls beating each other on the bare buttocks is… is…’

  ‘Unacceptable, mamselle?’

  ‘No, that means something you are powerless to change. I’m not powerless. I shall face down the committee, the directorate and the council of reason.’

  ‘They are the same people, mamselle, Zealla and her gang, sitting in different chairs. The citizens may not support you. We like our spanks. You think us quaint?’

  Harriet licked her teeth, smiling.

  ‘Maybe I needn’t proceed too fast. Your stroke stipend is no problem, I guess, if you’re comfortable.’

  ‘If I wanted comfort, I’d have stayed home in Savannah,’ Harriet said.

  Trina eyed the twin melons of Harriet’s ass, wobbling pantiless under her sheer skirtlet.

  ‘Is that why you are wearing no underthings?’

  ‘It is for your convenience, mamselle, as and when I merit correction.’

  She leaned across the table and her eyes met Trina’s; Harriet shook herself so that her blouse fell away from her naked breasts, beaded with sweat, which slapped wetly together. She shook the red paper carnation from her hair so that it fell between her breasts; flexing her pectorals and triceps, she squashed the flower between her bare teats. Trina swallowed, breathing heavily, and said they must go to the intendant’s office, on the first floor, directly beneath them. All round were the sounds of serving maids scurrying in the palace, with an occasional bark from Zealla, giving orders; or the tap of a cane on bare skin and a girl’s moan. Harriet said that if the new intendant desired a tour of the island, she would liaise with the secretariat of ceremonies to arrange it.

  ‘As and when,’ said Trina as Harriet’s ass-peach swayed before her.

  ‘The citizens will be eager to see your face, mamselle.’

  Harriet’s lips creased in a smirk and she licked them, then ran her tongue between her pearly white teeth. Trina drew a deep breath, jogging her robe so that it slipped down her breast, uncovering half her bare jellies.

  ‘You probably wonder why I picked you as my secretary, Harriet,’ she said. ‘It’s because you’re sassy.’

  Harriet leered at Trina’s bared breast, with the nipple edging towards the air and stiffening visibly, clinging to the damp fabric of the robe. Trina shifted in her seat, crossing her legs with a wet slithering sound.

  ‘But I won’t have too sassy,’ she said.

  ‘Anything you say, mamselle intendant,’ Harriet replied, curtseying again.

  ‘People have seen I can endure what they endure. So my reforms aren’t some cissy thing. I won’t be a…a flogger and whipper and torturer. The girls in this place shall have proper instruction and proper employment.’

  ‘Mamselle,’ said Harriet, putting her hands to her lips, ‘please don’t think me forward, but could I have a portion in advance? I owe that trull Cindi Kock some spanks.’

  ‘What, now?’

  ‘Mamselle, I was insolent just now. I should be punished anyway, in a pertinent chastisement creating no currency, and thus outside my appointed stipend. Please give me strokes on account? You don’t want citizens to accuse you of weakness after the other things they say. Look.’

  Harriet stood and unbuttoned the middle buttons of her blouse, allowing her bare breasts to spring up and reveal the paper flower, a mush of sodden sweat.

  ‘Watch property, and I’ve sabotaged it! You’ll have to punish me and write a report.’

  ‘What do they say about me?’

  ‘Why, that you’re a lesbian and a submissive, that you like men to thrash you before they give you a cornholing.’

  Harriet’s face was stony and bland as she delivered the barbed tidings, but her eyes twinkled. Trina sprang to her feet, her face white. She did not bother to replace her robe, which fell to her waist, baring her own quivering breasts. The two girls faced each other down, Harriet pouting and smirking, and Trina with flared nostrils and a frown. Their titties, each with nipples pointed and swollen stiff, came within an inch of touching.

  ‘You fucking trull,’ she spat. ‘Yeah, I’ll thrash you, so that you’ll never ask for your fucking stipend again. Get up on that X-frame. Now, bitch.’

  Silkily, Harriet loosened her skirt and let it drop to the floor. Nude, she padded to the closet, opened it with familiarity and withdrew a whippy little ashplant, like Zealla’s whipple, from the rack of canes that shone within. She swivelled, smiling.

  ‘It’s a nice, all-purpose cane, and good for close work,’ she said. ‘Or would you prefer an imported Scotch tawse, mamselle? There’s a Georgia oak, Tennessee ash, Virginia hazel, Kentucky willow or a two-holed paddle of Carolina hickory. That really hurts.’

  ‘The cane is fine,’ Trina blurted.

  She crossed her thighs as a thin trickle of come stained her robe, just above the dangling tendrils of her cunt-fleece. Harriet handed her the cane and swung on top of the flogging frame, fitting her hands into the straps. She wriggled her bare melons to get them raised for her beating and turned her head, tossing her mane.

  ‘Not too hard, mamselle? Please?’

  ‘You dare ask, after yesterday.’

  ‘I was doing my duty, mamselle.’

  ‘You seemed to relish your duty — and, I gather, whipping poor Cindi’s ass in your spare time.’

  Harriet closed her eyes and breathed a deep lungful through flared nostrils.

  ‘That submissive bitch Cindi deserves it and wants it,’ she said. ‘As for me, peu importe where the cane lands, as long as it whistles and slices skin and leaves its imprint hot, clean and raw. It’s the beauty of the thing that counts. When I lash a girl’s ass raw, I feel part of beauty, like an artist. If it’s my own bare — well, the same, I guess. There’s no beauty like a girl’s bare ass, mamselle, all red and trembling and about to burst
with weals. None at all. Not even… cock in asshole.’

  ‘Mr Elvis Lesieur’s cock,’ Trina spat.

  Harriet shrugged, pouting and with her tongue caressing her lips. Trina raised the cane and swished the air, causing the girl to shudder, close her eyes and clench her ripe, firm buttocks. Harriet’s body perfectly fitted the X-frame and she stiffened rigid as the whipple lashed the air. Trina reached down and let her palm brush the satin surface of the naked buttocks, her fingers stroking an inch inside the ass-cleft. Harriet’s croup wore a pattern of mature bruises in overlapping squares. Trina rubbed the scarred skin, poking into the perineum and the folds of the gash-flaps, allowing her fingers to moisten with the oily come seeping through the hairy forest adorning Harriet’s crimson cunt.

  Her palms cupped the naked ass-globes and squashed them together, while her fingers delved deeper into Harriet’s pliant holes, brushing the wrinkled anus pucker and massaging the outer flaps of the vulva.

  Harriet shifted her cunt-basin, whimpering as Trina’s caress became more insistent. A finger entered the anus and met no resistance: Harriet squirmed to open the channel and permit Trina’s deeper penetration. Breathing heavily and wiping the sweat from her brow to plaster it on her naked breasts in lieu of kerchief, Trina sank her index finger into the elastic passage of the girl’s anus, which suddenly slackened, then gave way, sucking the finger right inside to the anal root. Her mouth slack and drool oiling the left corner of her lips, Trina reamed the ass-channel, her finger caressed by silky smoothness and bathed in viscous ass-grease. A second finger joined the first, easily penetrating the butthole, and then a third: Trina had the three fingers clenched in a spear, massaging, reaming and stabbing at Harriet’s anal root and making the girl wriggle in response to each thrusting caress.

  ‘I’m not the only visitor you’ve had in that asshole,’ she blurted hoarsely.

  ‘No, mamselle.’

  ‘Buttfucked?’

  ‘It’s normal, here in the south, mamselle.’

  ‘Enjoy it?’

  ‘That would be forward, mamselle. I strive to be a belle — we all do.’

  ‘Submissive belle?’

  ‘If you wish, mamselle. Oh! that’s so good. Yeah, fingerfuck me… oh!’

  Come dripped from Harriet’s cunt on to the X-frame and soaked her squirming pubic fleece. Trina put the cane’s handle against her own cunt and shuddered, closing her eyes and sighing. With an abrupt plop, she removed her fingers from Harriet’s anus. Harriet’s cunt-basin and buttocks continued to writhe, blatantly rubbing her clitoris on the flogging frame.

  ‘To business,’ Trina blurted. ‘Bare caning.’

  ‘How many, mamselle?’ Harriet gasped.

  ‘I… how many do you need?’

  ‘Forty-two, mamselle? Only two days’ stipend?’

  ‘No. One day. Twenty-one is enough,’ Trina gasped, her fingers tucking the wet hem of her dress between her gash-flaps.

  ‘Yes, mamselle. May I suggest, if you please, that you stripe me in triangles? It makes such a cute pattern on my skin. Mamselle Pure always whipped me in triangles.’

  Trina raised the cane to full arm’s length and Harriet’s body tensed rigid. The whipple whistled as it slashed the air. Vip! A thin pink worm appeared on Harriet’s mid-fesses.

  ‘Uh,’ she gasped, as her fesses clenched tight, so that the weal appeared jagged on either side of her cleft. ‘You’re mad at me, mamselle.’

  ‘Yeah, I am, some.’

  Vip!

  ‘Ooh! That’s tight,’ Harriet gasped.

  Vip!

  ‘Uh! That’s good, mamselle.’

  Vip!

  ‘Ah! Ooh!’

  ‘You mean my caning, or that I’m mad at you?’

  Vip!

  ‘Uh! Both, mamselle.’

  The come from Harriet’s quivering bare cunt was now a stream; Trina asked her if beating always made her wet.

  ‘Why, yes, mamselle. Doesn’t it you?’

  ‘You fucking slut,’ Trina hissed.

  Vip! Vip!

  ‘Oh, mamselle, my ass is so hot…’

  ‘Cunt.’

  Vip! Vip!

  ‘Oh… please, mamselle…’

  Vip! Vip!

  ‘Ah! That’s savage.’

  Harriet’s bare ass-cheeks squirmed in an uninterrupted clenching. Trina angled the cane so that her weals appeared in two closely interlocking triangles, slightly to the north on the naked buttock skin, and after several strokes had scarred the bottom applied the cane solely to existing weals, which deepened rapidly to puffy crimson trenches. The bare fesses squirmed, wriggling, although Harriet’s wrists and ankles jerked only slightly in her straps, as though the fesses had a life of their own. Harriet’s spine and legs remained rigid, the stiff spine crisscrossed neatly by old whipmarks, purplish in colour, that travelled up to her shoulders and nape. Vip! Vip! Vip!

  ‘Oh! I’m really smarting.’

  Three sharp slices made one triangle luridly brighter than the other.

  ‘Oh, mamselle…’

  Vip! Vip! Vip!

  ‘Ohh!’

  Now both triangles glowed, their sides puffy ridges, with the crisp lines already mottling to a crimson blotch. Harriet was panting deeply, her mane limp and soaked in sweat. At each cut to her bare, she jerked her head up, in time with the clenching of her sweat-slimed buttocks.

  Vip!

  ‘Uh…! You trying to make me piss, mamselle?’

  Vip!

  ‘Uhh.’

  ‘Insolent bitch.’

  ‘That’s twenty-four, mamselle. You giving me two days’ stipend?’

  Vip! Vip! Vip!

  ‘Ooh…’

  Harriet’s puffed red buttocks now squirmed, two carved melons shivering and dancing under Trina’s whipple. Her breasts, bunched under her ribs, were squelched in and out by the maid’s rasping breaths.

  ‘No, bitch! This is pertinent chastisement. You don’t get paid.’

  Vip! Vip! Vip!’

  ‘Oh! For what, mamselle?’

  ‘For juicing, you fucking little lesbian.’

  Vip! Vip! Vip!

  ‘Ahh!’

  The pattern of red all over Harriet’s churning nates overflowed the delicate geometric tracery: her whole buttock-pan was a single mottled mass of red with blackening welts where the cane had touched bare on the tender haunches and far north buttock. To the south of her melons, the underfesses wore vivid stripes which cascaded over on to her rigid, trembling bare thigh-backs, the weals extending four inches down the squirming flesh, shining with the lubrication of Harriet’s gushing cunt-come.

  Trina flogged the bare croup to fifty strokes, with Harriet’s shrieks growing louder and her raucous gasps turning to gurgles in her throat. Her hips slammed the X-frame at each canestroke; jerking in her bonds, she bruised her arms and ankles against her chafing ropes of restraint, and at each impact and each new stripe raised her hips high, with her clenching bare buttocks thrust towards Trina’s face. Panting, Trina laid down her cane at the fifty-first stroke to a whining shriek of protest from Harriet.

  ‘Just… just one more, mamselle,’ she pleaded through clenched teeth. ‘I’m nearly there. Oh… Yes…’

  ‘You fucking slut.’

  Vip! Vip! Vip! Vip!

  ‘Ah! Oh, yes, more, more…’ Harriet gurgled, as come spurted from her writhing cunt lips, and her spine and belly convulsed.

  Trina snarled and bent down, grasping Harriet’s hips. She threw aside her cane and plunged her face into the maid’s ass-cleft, getting her nose into the writhing anal pucker then into the flowing oil of Harriet’s cunt. She hoisted herself on to the X-frame, which creaked under her weight. Her cunt straddling Harriet’s shoulders, she fucked Harriet’s slit with her nose, while her tongue probed and penetrated the anus hole. Harriet groaned, whimpering, and closed her anus on Trina’s tongue, trapping it and sucking it fully up her shaft to brush the writhing plug of her ass-root. Trina’s nose pushed against the girl�
�s throbbing, stiff clitty and her head slammed up and down the wet slit, sliding in the gash-channel between Harriet’s trembling swollen cunt-petals. Her naked breasts danced on the hot, raw weals her cane had drawn on Harriet’s bare nates.

  ‘Uhh… uhh… Yes, yes! Yes!’ Harriet shrilled, as her cunt-basin jammed against Trina’s face, soaking her in come, and the girl wailed long and high in her orgasm.

  Trina’s fingers darted between her own thighs. Eyes closed, she groaned as she found her swollen clitty. With her wrist bathed in her own flowing come, she began to masturbate, thumbing and reaming her erect nubbin until she had to stifle her cries of shivering climax. She leaned, panting, with her hands on Harriet’s ass-melons.

  ‘I never came so hard before, mamselle,’ Harriet whispered. ‘Thank you for picking me to be your slave.’

  ‘I didn’t —’ Trina began, then sighed and inserted her fingers between Harriet’s crushed bare breasts.

  She withdrew the red paper flower, now a sodden mass. Unseen by Harriet, Trina rammed the ball into her cunt and pressed her lips shut, holding them tight; she reattired herself in her robe before releasing Harriet from her bonds. The beaten girl at once kneeled at Trina’s bare feet and began to lick them with a fervent wet tongue. She looked up, with wide puppy’s eyes.

  ‘I’ll be so obedient, mamselle,’ Harriet murmured. ‘I know about obedience. That’s our second currency, after canestrokes. There is so much politics here — the war party, and the peace party, each of them will try to snare you. Beware the security corps — they can punish anyone, including you, as a threat to state security. They go bare-breasted, for their flogging ease, and to show they are not belles and have no shame. I took a scourging last month — they came into the watch barracks and selected a maid at random, and it was me. They ripped off my uniform and flogged me on the bare with my own whip, to fifty strokes, in front of Cindi and Sergeant Makings and all the other maids. They said it was to discourage traitors. The security corps want the glory of going to war with New Albion, see? There was never a peace treaty signed between the two republics in two hundred and fifty years.’

  ‘But why this hostility?’ Trina asked.