Knowing his final purpose, I hoped it would be simple cuts on my tender flesh. Uncertain if I could stand the lash too, I prayed, as if I believed there was something divine that might intervene on my behalf. I found it odd that I’d offer such prayers, when after all my trials over these months, nothing had intervened before. As usual, my prayers were wasted. The man appeared in front of me with both lash and cane.
When the lash stuck my hips and pubic mound, I realized that I was at the very end of my endurance for my cry was wild. Even as I tried desperately to ignore the flaming insult, I couldn’t detach from my body. Nothing but pain roared through me, and the man didn’t seem to care. I imagine he was as ruthless on my groin as he was on my ass, it felt just as horrid. The only saving grace was that when he dropped the lash, I knew this trial was nearly over. Picking up the baton, he immediately delivered the cuts quickly, marking my thighs, my belly, and to best of his ability from the angle of his stroke, my exposed labia. I wailed, and though the chain through my pussy cut fiercely, I couldn’t stop wiggling. When he finished, I slumped against the bonds and breathed deep.
Looking down, I saw then why Degas had made me shave myself clean earlier that morning. The delicate skin was viciously branded with welts I’d never forget.
It was over.
“Degas will set you free when he returns,” the man said, and he packed up his bag, leaving Delila dangling in her bonds.
***
Degas lay with the sobbing, trembling woman next to him in bed. The rod and bar still dangled from the ceiling, the cuffs still adorned her wrists and ankles, though the chain had been removed from its tight fit between the folds of her cunt. The dark master of her captivity soothed the crying woman with his strong arms wrapped around her, and she cried more with his touch turning bitterness and pain into a bizarre gratitude.
When his generous prick entered her cunt, she gave into the lush feelings, even as every touch and every movement in the bed renewed the pain, some place on her poor skin aggravated by too much sensation.
The exhilaration for them both was beyond their imagination as they copulated for an hour’s time amid the tattered sheets. He flooded her with kisses, as she poured out affections on him she’d given no man, save Armand. She would even wonder long after that day, if she’d given him more of her soul than she’d given the man she loved, if perhaps she didn’t love him too with a greater soul and a wider heart. But how could that be, when he authored so much anguish in her life?
They slept for an hour after their sex, and woke when the sky was darkening again, the day nearly lost to a dreary night.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Delila’s dress covered her marks perfectly and no blemish shone on her, when she walked into the sparkling restaurant at a later dinner hour. There was just the radiance of her wondrous complexion and a peacefulness that her hours before had given her.
“This is as fine as any restaurant in New Victoria,” she remarked.
“Finer,” Degas replied, as they were seated in one corner of the establishment, in a booth that was secluded from view by its seat that rose higher than their heads.
“You’ve mystified me, Degas,” she said, offering him a smile, as she drank her first wine from an amber glass. This didn’t sting, though the aroma and taste were almost too much for her virgin palette.
Degas smiled.
“And you’ll still not tell me what this is about?” she asked.
“Ah, I can tell you now that you’ve been prepared. But don’t shrink away from it. I’m led to believe that there will be many things for you to relish in this assignment of yours.”
“So, tell me.”
Degas pushed away a plate of exotic food, as if he needed more space to deliver his message. He cleared his throat before he spoke and looked her directly in the eye. “I’m selling you tonight to a Baron and his wife. I know nothing of their purposes for you, except that you fit their purpose. You will stay until they have no further use for you, and then you’ll return to me.”
Delila’s eyes dropped to her lap in consideration of his words. He spoke them so plainly, without an ounce of compassion she thought might pass between them, after their afternoon in bed. She was no more than a commodity again, and she had no way to fight against it. Sold. This idea repulsed her, though it intrigued her too. Not some simple trick in Outer Island, his words suggested servitude of a very different nature.
When Delila raised her eyes there was a man standing by their booth. Degas invited him to sit down.
“This is the Baron, Delila.”
“A pleasure, sir,” she tried being polite, because the man looked especially polite. He was dressed in a fancy suit, with a shirt so white it blinded her eyes, and a funny tie at the neck that looked like a collar of sorts. He was impeccable in style, a smooth smile, high cheekbones, a tousle of blonde curls atop his head, and an almost affectionate look in his startling eyes.
“She’s been prepared?” he asked.
“As you required,” Degas said.
“Diva will check her thoroughly; we can’t have a girl that doesn’t easily own up to her licentious character. You can prove this to me?”
“In part, though only she can prove that to you in full,” Degas said. He looked to Delila. “Open the dress,” he instructed.
“In this place?” Delila protested.
“Don’t disgrace yourself with propriety now, my dear. Show the Baron your marks.”
Never, never in New Victoria would this behavior be tolerated. In private, this act had had her arrested, but then, they were not in New Victoria.
Finally consenting, because it was the only choice she had, Delila pulled the sides of the deep draped bodice aside, revealing her breasts to the man’s view. He gazed at her without response.
“And she’s so marked elsewhere?” the Baron asked.
“Drop the top of the dress,” Degas ordered.
In this semi-circle booth with the high back, there was no one to see her, though the idea of baring herself further in a public place was almost nauseating. Still, there was no choice but to comply. Reaching behind her, the small clasp loosened and the dress fell away to the waist. Turning so the man at the other side of the table could see, she displayed the stripes on her back for him.
“Such fine aristocratic bones.”
“She was high born in New Victoria, disgraced her family.”
“But still married?” the Baron clarified.
“Yes. Put your dress up,” Degas ordered her.
The Baron continued to stare at her as she quickly fastened the dress at the neck, the marks of her session that afternoon hidden away. “I’ll have to see them all,” the man said.
“Delila, you’ll have to stand,” Degas said. “I think the slit in your dress will allow you to show our friend here what he needs to see.”
She didn’t have any doubt what was required of her, but she hesitated anyway, thinking that the whole world would see her. How many times before had she been shamelessly exposed? None, however, was as frightening as this moment of impending revelation in the middle of a busy restaurant in this strange city. Rising from her seat at last, she moved as close to the man as she could with her back to him; and parting her dress from behind, revealed her well-marked ass. Then turning about, she continued in the same vein, allowing him to view her naked cunt, the painful impressions on her skin, and the ring that dangled down.
“That’s enough,” the Baron said waving her back to her seat. “She’s slight, but looks hardy enough. Diva will not be easy on her. But you’ve done well, Degas.”
The man reached into the pocket of his jacket and withdrew an envelope, placing it in Degas’s hands.
The Overseer of Outer Island smiled in reply, and then departed without a word to the overwhelmed young woman. Delila watched him leave, wondering if she’d ever see him again. The memory of that odd evening with Lexia and Mira returned to her, when they insisted that she’d triumph over the ma
n’s schemes. She wondered now, if they were right or had Degas given her over to something from which she could never escape and certainly not triumph.
Placing a manacle about her wrist, the Baron fastened the other end to a bracelet on his wrist. Without a word, he led her away from the restaurant into the night, to become a captive in an alien land for an undetermined time.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Bring her here,” Delila heard the sharp voice shout from a room beyond the entry of the grand house.
It was the middle of the night, but a thousand lights were burning within the chaste walls. Chandeliers and oil lamps shone making wild shadows on the smooth plaster. In the high ceilings cherubs floated against pale blue skies, and at the center of the lofty space, the moon was perpetually aglow, surrounded by the evening stars.
“Don’t gape,” the female voice barked, as Delila was led before a woman who sat in an enormous chair upholstered in golden tapestry. She looked like a queen of some grand kingdom dressed in a lacy gown. Above all the lace, a pale, white face peered out, with two small eyes and small red lips. Her hair was tied back in a regal twist with golden cords woven into her locks of brown hair. There was something breathtaking about her, though it wasn’t beauty. Severity was a proper word.
“She’s small,” the woman said.
“But an ample and robust style,” the Baron answered her.
“Hard to tell in that hideous gown,” the woman replied. “Remove it.”
Delila, too stunned to answer the woman’s command, was comforted by the Baron’s hands moving gently along her backside. Seconds later, she stood naked before the woman’s beady eyes—eyes so small that it was difficult to read any expression in them.
“Turn her around,” she ordered.
From front to back to front again, Delila moved in tiny increments so the woman had a full view of her.
“You’ve been convicted of scandalous fornication,” she said.
Delila thought that a statement of fact and did not respond.
“Answer me!” the woman barked.
“Yes … ma’am,” Delila replied.
“Call me Diva,” the woman said.
“Yes, Diva.”
“Polite, I see, that’s good. You were from high breeding, but fell out of grace. So intriguing and so tragic. You’ve left a husband to pine for you.”
The way the woman spoke of her fate it sounded romantic, almost as if she wished herself in Delila’s place. Astounding!
“I’m sure she’ll do, Rodean,” she addressed the Baron. “Now leave us alone while I instruct her about her stay here. But bring me my baton before you go.”
Like a servant to her, the Baron Rodean complied with the woman’s command. Presenting her with a small, shiny black baton, he left with little ceremony.
It was just Delila, Diva and a small back dog that sat on the woman’s lap, staring up at Delila with the same beady eyes as his mistress.
“Kneel next to me, whore,” Diva said, pointing to the rug at her feet.
Delila moved to that place, doing as she was told. For a time, the woman ran her baton about Delila’s torso, drawing tracing the marks left on her flesh that afternoon. Then she tapped implement lightly on her lips and shoulders, and then on a nipple that had tightened into a firm bud.
“You have been a virtuous married woman and you’ve been a whore. Is that so?”
“Yes, Diva.”
“You’ve most recently been compelled to use your body for the pleasure of men in Outer Island, is that so?”
“Yes, Diva.”
“I trust that you find that behavior degrading,” she went on.
Delila hesitated, unsure of the proper response.
“Answer me,” Diva said, laying the baton against her upper arm as a warning.
“I should say so, Diva.”
“But fitting of one who’s committed the egregious crimes you have.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The woman smiled with a cruel twist to her small red lips.
“And thus, who you are becomes most advantageous to me and what I need you for. I have a particular assignment for which you will be well trained for several weeks before it begins. The rigors of the training are hardly rigors at all. I’m sure you’ll have no problem complying.” The woman sat up even higher in her chair and gazed at the naked female at her feet with a look that could almost be called affectionate, even though it was still difficult to know exactly what was behind her strange eyes. “The Baron,” Diva continued her monologue, “will use the scourge on you daily at sunrise to remind you of your transgressions, and then you’ll prepare yourself to take a place in this household, conducting yourself as a woman of your high station and good breeding. Appropriate clothes will be provided for you and you may enjoy the benefits of this time doing small chores assigned to you and otherwise perusing the gardens—the likes of which I’m sure you’ve not seen, even in New Victoria—and perhaps reading or doing handwork. Whatever suits your fancy. You’ll join us for meals, and can feel free to join in conversation. I assure you, no one will ask you questions about the circumstances of your being in this house, or of your past. At night, because I do not believe in self-stimulation of the physical body, your hands and feet will be tied to keep you from temptation. I suggest that you consider this time a break from the rigors of your other life, a time of reflection and meditation, and perhaps renewal. Do you understand?”
“I understand your words, ma’am, but I don’t understand at all what my purpose is here,” Delila replied.
“That well may be, but you understand what is expected of you daily, and that is all that is necessary. You may go now. It’s late in the night and sunrise will be coming soon. Perhaps you’ll desire some sleep.”
Ringing a bell that sat on a table at her side, Diva instructed the arriving Baron to take Delila away.
***
On the third floor of the mansion, there was a small, sparsely furnished room where Delila would sleep. There was a washbasin on a table, a wardrobe, a bed and a chair. Useful for carrying out Diva’s orders, there were slats in the headboard and footboard of the bed to which Delila’s cuffed wrists and ankles were loosely tied, enough so that she couldn’t reach her private parts to stimulate her easily aroused cunt. Laid out on the bed so bound, Delila was expected to pass the night, although her first hours in this odd place were so fitful that she couldn’t sleep. If she could have taken care of the raw sexual need that was begging for release, she might have rested. As it was, all she could think of was the strange woman, the fine looking Baron and her hours with Degas making love. Like some wild musical extravaganza, her head played the pictures in such depth and detail that she could get none of them from her mind.
The dawn was just beginning to break in the sky, the traces of it appearing in the window Delila could glimpse from the bed. She must have dozed, because when she heard the door open, her eyes jerked wide.
“Good morning, Delila,” she heard the Baron’s voice, and next saw his face as he came around the bed and stood next to her with the promised scourge in his hand. “Did you sleep well?” he asked.
“I didn’t sleep at all,” she replied.
“That’s too bad, perhaps tonight,” he said kindly.
Turning toward the end of the bed, Delila watched him with her eyes as she lay on her side, her hands and feet still awkwardly tied, though they were not as uncomfortable as she suspected they might be, and surely loose enough to allow some mobility, so she could turn over.
“You’ll have to lie on your tummy for this,” the Baron said, and he waited impassively as Delila complied.
Once she was positioned appropriately, he took her pillow from the head of the bed and stuffed it under her groin so it raised her hips high, her buttocks protruding, as they should for the punishment. She remembered being like this for Armand. Drawing back her long nightgown, the Baron revealed the once white ass cheeks that now bore the small welts from her rec
ent caning.
“It’s too bad to have to add to your already woeful state,” he said, as he observed what was so obvious on her behind. Unfortunately, he wasn’t compassionate enough to rescind the order for a few days; instead, drawing back the wicked implement he let the half dozen leather lashes fly briskly, delivering a firm impact on Delila’s bottom. The scourge flew again through the air, each time, snapping against her flesh causing her to jerk and issue a passionate whimper. Two dozen lustily applied snaps of the scourge, and the Baron was finished, for the time being hanging the thing on hook against the wall.
“You know I’ll be doing this daily until the final preparations are on us,” he said. Moving to her side again, he untied the knots that held her hands and those at her feet. “Now, you’ll need to prepare yourself for breakfast. I’ll pull out your clothes.”
Desire remained bound up inside her, destined to remain pent-up there until these people allowed her some release. In the cavernous places of her psyche where all the worst of humiliations resided, this state became another form of arousal to taunt her in her miserable state. But taunt her indeed.
***
For over a month, the ritual of Delila’s life remained the same. Scourged in the morning by the Baron’s hand, this treatment only varied when he chose to use a wooden paddle against her bottom, or sometimes applied a thick leather spanker. Each implement was vicious in its own way, each stung, and each left, not marks so much as a constant soreness that was with her every day.
After her chastisement, Delila was dressed for the day in simple and quite demure clothes, unlike anything Delila had ever worn. She wore long skirts that reached mid-calf and blouses and sweaters that buttoned high to her neck, sporting long sleeves, and small black shoes that eased comfortably on her feet.
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