Getting off the train hours later, Delila collapsed exhausted into Armand’s arms, feeling the weight of her trial demanding some comfort. The stoic dignity that she often displayed in response to the demands made on her, evaporated as she sobbed in her husband’s embrace. Whether such unabashed need changed his mind about his wife, or a change had already taken place in his heart, he welcomed her. Without one word spoken, something mended between them; and for the first time since the ordeal began, she felt that the relationship between she and Armand was healing.
***
“Will you be working this time?” Delila asked her husband, when he brought her home. The affection he displayed at the station had vanished, likely forgotten when the weight of a thousand stares at them on the public transport made them both anxious and angry.
“No. At least not until tomorrow. I have to go into work for a few hours then.”
She smiled.
“You’re exhausted, aren’t you?” he said.
“I am.”
“Then you should sleep. I’ll be here when you wake.”
Whether she’d wanted to or not, she was put to bed, Armand determined that she rest.
Just as he promised, when Delila woke from her nap, her husband was staring at her from the chair beside her bed. Eyes popping open, she was disoriented momentarily, thinking she was dreaming, seeing the clean, white room and her husband sitting passively at her side.
“What’s on your mind?” she said quietly, seeing no expression on his face.
He didn’t speak for a long time, preferring to inspect her languid body with careful eyes. “I want to know what it’s like,” he finally said.
“What what’s like?”
“Your assignment.”
It was an awful question, one she didn’t want to answer.
“You’re working in a garment factory?” he prompted her.
“Yes, you know that.”
“Do they treat you well?”
“What would that mean to you?”
There was something in his thoughts he wasn’t saying, a question on the tip of his tongue but held back.
“Have you been abused?”
“Not exactly, but the rules are strict,” she said. “I was caned once for not meeting a quota and once because I provoked the Overseer.”
“Have they taken advantage of you? Sexually?”
“Oh, Armand, I couldn’t tell you if they had,” she said, imploring him by her expression not to ask more. She sat up in bed and looked him affectionately.
“I know you have been.” Armand nodded. “I hate that the most.”
“You have to put that out of your mind,” she replied.
“And if I can’t?”
“You must. It’s part of the re-training,” she said. “Who I am is an anomaly, so I’m the target of much attention.”
“Then they taint you more because of your crime?” he asked.
“Let’s just say, I’m less virtuous than I was before I was arrested.”
She couldn’t tell whether it was grief or anger in his eyes. They flashed hotly for a moment, and then settled in with a purposeful stare.
“I’ve been instructed to cane you again,” he said at last. “I want to do it now. I might not have the heart for it later.”
***
The caning was as fierce as the one before, Armand resurrecting his anger the instant he saw Delila’s naked ass in front of his eyes again. All his grievances with her suddenly loomed fresh.
To augment the punishment, he started first with the belt, an inspired idea, mostly because he wanted to see Delila’s rear flaming as it had been when she’d been publicly flogged. He stretched her over the end of the bed this time, bound her wrists to the headboard above her and raised her ass with a pillow placed underneath her groin. Tying her feet apart, he had her poised as he’d been imagining the act for three months since her last visit.
Three months was a long time to plan; and his plans were not wasted. Once he had her bottom crimson and she was sobbing under the pain, he laid the bamboo on her ass with a methodical and easy swish. In eight places this time she was well marked, her anguish heard in the passionate sound of her cries in response to the sharp instants of searing heat. When he finished, he untied her, and left the apartment for several hours.
Returning, Armand was gentle with her, admitting that caning her still satisfied him, and he might well do it another several times. However, he also acknowledged that his fury had a better place to go than into the angry resentment that marred her last visit.
The husband and wife spent their three days sharing their lives awkwardly, what pieces they could share. They spent a good deal of time in bed, continuing to mend their hurts. Armand demanded Delila respond to him as if making love to her vehemently would take away the power other men had over her. He wanted her to remember him above all others for his passion and his mastery, and the way only he could make her body feel.
It was unfortunate that Armand had no inkling of the forceful sexual lechery that played out daily in her life. He would have known then that it was hard to match the incessant sexual acts that she’d learned to relish. Yet, even though their lovemaking was not as bold or scandalous or excessive, there was a quality in their shared passions that surpassed those stranger acts, allowing the two to rise above mere sex into something Delila, in her most optimistic moments, would label love.
***
Delila:Returning to Outer Island this time was bittersweet, the longing for Armand was lingering all through the journey back, and though I didn’t balk at resuming my odd imprisonment, thoughts of Armand were coming to mind more often than I expected.
Chapter Nineteen
Degas called Delila to him after her return. She’d been asleep, exhausted from the trip, and having only five hours of rest, she was bleary eyed when Fier led her into Degas’ tiny office.
“You don’t look as pained as before,” Degas observed.
“Tired perhaps,” she replied.
“But not so agitated as you were after your last visit?”
Delila smiled and sat down in front of him. “I have a little hope now,” she answered him.
“Oh?”
“He started with the caning, do you want to see the stripes?” she asked.
“Not yet,” he replied. “Just go on.”
“He was harsh,” she continued. “But afterward he was much gentler with me, and not so angry.” She smiled, talking to Degas as if he was a friend.
“A reunion of sorts?” Degas queried.
“Perhaps, some admissions that made me think that we can salvage our lives together.”
“How delightful for you,” Degas said.
“It was just a small step, but it’s something to joy in.”
There was a dour expression on Degas’s face. Not one that was unlike him, he was often dour, but often mysterious and incomprehensible as well. Now, however, he was disturbed by something, though it was hard to say what that would be.
“I’m glad you’re so exultant, Delila, but your stay here is hardly over. Where are we now? Not even half way? So much more time to go, a lot can happen. Let’s hope you’ll survive the trials coming to you as well as you’ve survived so far. I’m afraid that you might have been lulled by your imprisonment to this point. A lot more will be expected of you in the next few months.”
Delila said nothing in response to his message, though he was clearly weaving a spell around her that took her mind from Armand and drew her back into the dark territories of the Island. Places she’d not traversed for days, it was awkward returning but that would only be a brief concern. The power of this place was working on her again.
“Have you been breached in the ass?” he asked her.
She hesitated to speak; the look in his eyes was so intense she couldn’t find the words to reply. “No,” she finally admitted.
“Fier!” Degas called to the valet. Appearing in the doorway moments later, the man list
ened intently to the instructions that followed.
“Take Delila to a leather room, she’ll spend the night over a bar.”
“And …?”
“Yes, ass high, well flagellated, her ass probed with dildos until the sphincter gives way for a prick. Let me know so I can breach her first.”
“You?” Fier questioned the suggestion.
“She took my cock in her cunt, the ass is hardly different.”
“But you’ve never …”
“No, I haven’t, but there are first times, and Delila’s begging for a fresh experience with defilement. I don’t think we’ve been hard enough on her.”
There was an angry, horrified look in the dark haired woman’s dark eyes. However, given no opportunity to protest, she was pulled from the chair by Fier’s firm grasp and led away.
***
The leather room was as dark as its name suggested, no blinking lights to blind the eye, just solitude at this hour to mark Delila’s entry into the deepest regions of Outer Island.
Fier, becoming brusquer just entering the room, shoved her to one end of a simple sawhorse with a leather-covered rail. The rail itself was at an angle so that once bowed over the apparatus, her head would be far lower than her ass. Forcing her into position, he then secured her ankles to either end of the wooden rail, and stretched her arms out in front of her.
Thus posed, her ass stood out a ready target for a new order of sexual violation that frightened Delila. Yet even as she trembled wondering how this horror would proceed, her body craved the abuse she would feel, knowing that as with all other acts at Outer Island this would take her into greater bliss if she could get beyond the pain.
The initiation starting, Fier lashed her ass with a leather thong whip until Delila cried out for him to stop. Not stopping, the valet continued the punishment until he saw that her backside was a righteous crimson color, bright enough to suit his fancy. Once the first lashing was complete, Fier swathed a smooth penis shaped dildo with a thick, spicy smelling lubricant, and shoved it against the door to her ass.
Delila: I was tied at four corners, not a state I was unaccustomed to, nor was I unaccustomed to all the focus on my ass. How many times I’d been caned, flogged and thrashed, I wasn’t counting anymore. The lashing, though painful, hardly caused more distress.
The dildo in my ass was another thing.
I tensed when Fier began inserting the piece. Being infinitely patient, my valet pierced that place slowly, until the head of the fake prick cleared the doorway, and the remaining eight inches of inflexible wood was buried inside. Tying it firmly in place with leather straps so I couldn’t expel it, he left me. My eyes were closed so I couldn’t see his face. While my head ached from the blood rushing downward, I know he was scowling happily.
In the hours that followed that first abuse, I was flogged, lashed, paddled and probed by customers who found my cunt more pleasing than ever with the hefty prick lodged next door. After hours of oblivious abuse, it seemed as if my ass wasn’t even connected to me. Though I must admit the sensations were remarkable, and when I did have the advantage of a less severe lover, I was toyed with until I climaxed too, and could benefit from the powerful surge of lust my state of bondage brought me.
***
The leather rooms were not places Delila had been before, though she’d heard stories of the acts committed there. Certain girls seemed prone to submissive behaviors, a few enjoyed playing dominant bitches for cowering submissive customers. Delila didn’t think of herself as either dominant or submissive, though by the nature of her crimes and the re-training she was subject to, being submissive had become second nature. Forced to relent so many times, she’d learned after her second flogging by the State, that it was better to give in to the treatment than fight it. Yielding, she found her satisfaction.
According to Degas commands, Delila remained the willing servant to his customers for three weeks, spending her days in the leather galleries, most commonly poised over the bar, tied securely so her offered ass would be available for whatever unspeakable acts were required of her, all except for the real anal rape. That would be the final initiation, and that was saved for Degas himself.
In addition to being tied over the bar, she spent one long day fixed to crossed bars, her ankles and wrists cuffed and tied to the four corners. Another day, she was laid out face up on a crude table, her cunt splayed wide so that it was the target of a biting small whip and a thin baton. Eager customers made her pussy dance against the flailing implements, as she sought without relief to get away from the stinging sharp cuts and smacks.
In every position, no matter how awkward it might be, dildos invaded her ass, and in tiny increments, the intrusions increased in size as if her captors were preparing her for a major assault, making certain that those dark inner recesses would open as wide as her fate demanded. Such a feeling of fullness became second nature to her, as cocks in her cunt. Because she was required to endure longer and longer sessions in the leather room, Fier began giving her an enema each morning to clear out anything that might cause discomfort. Even the enemas became a ritual to long for, as she plummeted to depths, submerged in sensation that made everything else that followed a wonder to her bewildered psyche.
***
After several days bound to posts, laid back on the wood rack and tied to the cross, Delila was back on the slanted bar, bound as she had been on her first day in the leather room. She waited there for a long time without a single hand laid on her. Was there no one to want her? she mused to herself. When for days there had been a steady stream of men to satisfy, this seemed strange. She could hear voices and feel the movement of bodies around her, but since she was blindfolded, she had no idea what came next, or even who was in the room.
“How beautiful you are in such captivity,” Delila heard Degas voice rise above the murmurs around her. He laid his hand on her just flogged hot ass. As his hand continued to pet her gently, he knelt down beside her so that she could hear him clearly.
“I’m going to fuck your ass, dear one, place my long prick inside that treasure and scour you out as you have never felt before.
“I expect you to scream being penetrated, but you’d do yourself a favor bearing down against it, just as you’ve learned to do with the training rods. You might even find it a pleasure, though few women do on their first violation. Remember, love, you’re made for these things, your whole soul cries out for this kind of travesty. Don’t deny its power to move you.
“After today, your ass will be your ticket to heaven.”
Delila: I heard his words and shuddered, from my fingertips to my toes. The intense feelings moved through me so rapidly, I was stunned when the fake prick in my ass was unceremoniously jerked away.
Degas was behind me, I could feel his muscled thighs against my behind. I felt his prick as well. The immense organ pressing against my sphincter made me tense. He slapped my ass, ordering me to relax, as if the tension was something I could turn on and off that easily. I tried to comply, but hardly given the time to respond, his cock was beginning to enter me, little by little taking up residence in my darkest domain. The first real thrust was not so bad; my well-greased channel let go as he shoved himself to the hilt. However, when he grabbed my ass cheeks in either hand and began to pound himself inside me, I instantly cried, shooting stars of pain and ecstasy making wildly brilliant patterns of light in my mind’s eye. I bore down, and still the pain didn’t go away. All I could hope for was a quick end. I’m not sure whether it was quick or not, for a while it seemed endless. For a while, I thought I passed out. However, when he finally jerked hard and pressed himself ever so forcefully against my interior, and I felt him spasm. I finally gave in, letting the tension go. His invasion didn’t take me to a climax of my own. I was, however, transported into another realm of bliss, where I yearned for a final fondling to give me pleasure.
It wasn’t until I had satisfied two more pricks this way that I finally found a conclusion of
my own, one gentle man attending to my personal pleasure enough to ignite the thundering inferno in my over wrought loins. I realized some peace at last.
***
Delila spent her time pleasuring men in the leather room, bound by restraints and tied to the apparatus, all so her ass could be readily violated. At times, her cunt was given some relief, and often there was a prick planted in her, from which she could take some pleasure. The generous abuse, while at times painful, other times simply annoying, always left her at peace. As long as she had an orgasm of her own, she remained in a state of blissful exhaustion, too spent to do anything but sleep and eat and do her servitude in the leather room.
It was hard to believe that another four months of her life passed this way.
***
On the eve of her third conjugal visit, Delila wasn’t taken to the leather room. Instead, Lexia and Mira came to her, taking her from her room into Lexia’s boudoir.
“Shush!” the voluptuous blonde, Lexia, pressed a finger to her lips. “I paid Fier off to have you before you left.”
“Left? Left where?” the stunned Delila wondered.
“Your next visit with your husband.”
“It’s already time?” she asked.
“Time doesn’t really have any weight here, does it?” Lexia purred in her ear, as she and Mira laid Delila’s naked body against the cool of the bed.
There were no cuffs, no collar, no chains or weights or ropes, just the hands of two women pleasuring her in the most subtle ways. When she might have thought that such tenderness would escape her, being so used to the rough stuff, she was immediately overwhelmed by the feel of softness all around her, aroused again into a lighter, more delicate passion.
“You’re going to do something no woman has yet done,” Mira said with a whisper.
“What’s that?” Delila murmured, not really too concerned about conversation. Lexia was tonguing her nipples, sending the most thrilling sensations throughout her body.
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