Outer Island

by Lizbeth Dusseau

  Each day, before she donned any of these garments, she was laced into a tight fitting corset that cinched her waist, rose to cup her breasts neatly, and flared at the hips with garters attached to her stockings. Some days The Baron would dangle extra weights from her nether ring, a circumstance that insured she’d remember the mark that identified her criminal status and the power that amulet had to arouse her.

  However, as demure and formal as was her attire was on the surface, she was given no underwear to cover her bottom and cunt. Though the purpose for this was never mentioned, she was daily aware of her unclothed private parts and the stunning effect it had on her sexual desire.

  Delila: I was astonished that these people required so little of me. I felt as if I was living inside a book, something I might have read as a child, some fiction that survived the wars where women dressed as I was dressed and lounged about with little more to do than polish silver on Wednesday, dust on Thursday and pick flowers daily for gracious and thankful ladies. I watched how the Baron and Diva conducted their lives as aristocrats, wondering constantly how they could live this way, as if the rest of the world did not exist. It seemed their home was a world away from the Nether Regions, and even far from what was common in New Victoria.

  Why I was chosen to be part of their lives made no sense to me, and though I should have been glad at my good fortune, I found myself anxious, suspecting that this relatively quiet life was only temporary. By their own account there was something more that would develop, and that I feared would stun me, bruise me, and leave me battered beyond anything I’d so far endured since my trial.

  The most excruciating piece of the existence I was forced to endure was the lack of sexual release. The stimulation never seemed to cease. The way they made me dress assured that my mind would never be far from thoughts of what was going on between my legs. For days, I clamored for something to take me to that edge. I tried at night to accomplish an orgasm, but I only frustrated myself with the useless attempt. About two weeks into my stay however, I was delighted one day, when the Baron, finishing my chastisement with the scourge, descended on my backside, and planted his cock into my ass. His playing hands assured me that I’d finally know some release for the pent-up brew inside me, even as he assured himself pleasure from my dark home. Although I didn’t cry for joy, I certainly felt it, as the most wonderful climax burst from me, and in small measure, I could know some serenity thereafter.

  I was glad to find that after the first session, the Baron would take me every few days in the same way. Always in my rear door, never my cunt, and he always stayed with me until he was certain that I’d climax too. I wondered often if the energy of our muted but stormy sessions with the scourge was too much for him to bear, or if his taking me was just part of the design of my training. I couldn’t imagine that Diva didn’t know about this. She controlled everything in this house with a ruthless hand. However, I never asked the Baron, thinking this gift was too much a treasure to jeopardize with my few questions.

  There were even days when after the scourge, and our mutual sexual release, that the Baron would stroke me kindly. His warm hands would nurture my body as nothing had for some time. Usually he simply caressed my backside, occasionally fondling my flesh passionately. One time, after he drew away from my ass and stood half-naked at my side, he leaned down and kissed my lips affectionately, a sweet smile on his lips. He called me beautiful, and I smiled at him in return.

  Although all our affections were unspoken, delivered through our eyes, and he through his hands, there seemed to be something abiding and deep growing between us. I knew it was even more real than my imagination when outside my room, I could still see it in his eyes—at the dinner table, in the garden, and when we chanced to meet in the hallways of the house.

  My greatest joy was realized one afternoon, when I was told that Diva was resting in her room, not to be disturbed. The Baron found me in a back section of the pantry alone. I believe he deliberately sought me out. “My darling, Delila,” he whispered in my ear as his mouth came down to kiss the back of my neck. I leaned back against him and thought I was feeling love.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Delila had been in the Baron’s home for nearly six weeks when the ritual morning treatment with the scourge ended abruptly. With it went the sexual moments with the Baron, and her chance for sexual release. She continued to notice the man’s affection for her, the way he’d glance at her during a meal, the way he sometimes furtively brushed by her when she was working. However, with nothing spoken between them, she was left to wonder what caused the sudden change.

  A week after this unexpected turn, Delila noticed an unusual scurrying and bustling about the large house. Preparations were being made for something important, but she could find out nothing about the purpose, even the normal whispers between servants didn’t reach her ears. By then, the Baron was busy himself with his duties and she saw little of him. When she did, he was distant and more formal, as he had been when she first arrived. Noting the change, Delila could sense something impending for her as well, perhaps the reason these people had brought her into this house.

  ***

  One day, as Delila was picking roses for the dining room table in the small rose garden just outside Diva’s private salon, she heard the woman come to the door. Delila turned to her mistress with a questioning look on her face.

  “Delila,” Diva finally spoke, “please come in.”

  Escorting her graciously into her salon, the woman motioned to a chair across from the one where she would sit. The mistress of the house made herself comfortable tucking her feet up under her like a child would. While Delila had considered the woman ageless, she realized that she was hardly older than she was.

  “You can see that there’s much preparation going on. I thought it prudent to let you know that your assignment will be changing soon. Nothing you cannot handle of course, but I did want to let you know.”

  “How will my assignment change?” Delila asked.

  “That will only be revealed later. However, I assure you, your deportment to date has been exemplary. I’ve been most pleased, and I’m sure that you will not be letting me down in the matters that lie ahead. There will be some very important people coming to my home, some important discussions taking place that will affect the future of this whole region. It’s quite important that everything in the house go smoothly. So whatever you are asked to do, I expect that you’ll do it with the same unquestioning grace that you’ve conducted yourself so far.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Delila replied.

  The woman couldn’t have been vaguer, but that was all the explanation that Delila would have. She was left to ponder her fate with no clue at all how this odd place would continue to affect her life. She knew that so far, very little had been required of her. Certainly, her presence had been of no real value.

  As much as Delila required answers, she was destined to remain as baffled by her circumstances as she was the first day she arrived.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Delila was in her room preparing for sleep, and for the housemaid that often affixed her to the bed. It was rare that she was left alone like this, but she had endured this for so many weeks that the treatment seemed like second nature to her now. She didn’t even think of pleasuring herself in a stolen moment of lust.

  When she heard the lock in the door, however, she was surprised to see the Baron, not the housemaid, entering the room. With his appearance, after so many days of not seeing him at all, she found her heart leaping to its feet, especially seeing the kind expression in his eye—even though it was a kindness that faded quickly.

  “You’re going to tie me tonight?” she asked him.

  “Yes, but no …” he hedged.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Hush. You’ll find out quickly. You know that fancy corset hanging in the closet?” he asked her.

  “The one you never let me wear?” she answered showing a little imper
tinence

  He looked at her sternly as if her flippant response was inappropriate. “That’s the one,” he replied going directly to the wardrobe and pulling out the garment he wanted. Just as he had for many weeks until he stopped coming to her room in the morning, the Baron dressed her in the corset, pulling the laces even tighter than she was accustomed to. “Raise you arms,” he ordered her at one point. Obliging, she drew her hands overhead and turned around as the Baron inspected her. This corset, unlike the simpler ones, was edged in fine lace and revealed even more of her pushed up bosom. Her nipples, not even covered by the tight fabric, stood out on top of the sturdy stays. Delila’s hourglass figure had never been more defined. The sexy undergarment was styled in front and back so that it seemed to point to her pretty pussy and the delicate crack of her derriere.

  In addition to a pair of exquisite silk stockings, the likes of which Delila had never seen, the Baron gave her a pair of tiny spike heeled shoes that accentuated the curves of her long legs.

  It might have been something exciting for which she was being dressed, however the Baron, unlike himself, was exceedingly grim with her, even gruff when she wiggled about or grimaced when he tightened the laces on her corset to an almost unbearable degree.

  When he cuffed her wrists and collared her neck he was done.

  “Could you tell me what this is about? In the middle of the night?” she finally asked, too curious not to question him.

  “Shush!” he insisted. “You’ll know soon enough.”

  Moments later, he led her by the hand from her room, down the hall, and two flights of stairs to the foyer of the mansion. There, in the marble entry, at the very center of the Baron’s vast home, he tied her wrists above her head, attaching them to a large marble column. His task complete, he started to walk away.

  “You’re leaving me here?” Delila whispered into the dark shadows of the night. There was just a little moonlight coming in through the outside windows.

  He turned back to her with a vacant stare. “Yes, I’m leaving you here,” he said. “But you won’t be alone for long. Your usefulness to us begins now. I’m sure you won’t disappoint me.” The Baron said no more, and he retreated to the back of the house.

  Delila: They came to me in the middle of the night, many on tiptoe, stealthy making their way to my side, taking my body in their famished hands. That first night, the corset that the Baron had so painstakingly cinched about me was quickly removed. It was in the way of the man’s hands that were fervently exploring. I was entered in my cunt, the first time in a long while. I couldn’t remember when the last time—then of course I remembered—Degas and my long forgotten husband, Armand.

  One after another, the men came to me and used both my ass and cunt to please themselves. They hung around me like vultures, like beasts having had no sustenance for months, even years, their hunger now built to a feverish peak. I could never be enough to satisfy them, although I was given ample opportunity to try. These lovers thought nothing of mauling my flesh, squeezing my breasts, ass and thighs with such firm grips that I was tempted to squeal. The night hour and their silence made me afraid to be bold with too much sound. I could hear Diva’s voice in the back of my mind, tongue lashing me for disturbing her quiet—such as I’d heard her tongue lash a maid for such a breach of etiquette in this house. I kept my woes and pleasure to myself, needing to be grateful that after a full week of no release at all, at the very least, this orgy brought me some satisfaction. To my disappointment though, the climax that finally flooded through me was brief and swiftly lost when another lover assaulted me with his face biting my ass as he knelt at my feet.

  There must have been a dozen lovers that night, a number I’d certainly taken before at Outer Island; but in this house, where virtue seemed to reign, where the darkest hours were for sleep not fucking, where everything lusty was locked behind closed doors, I seemed to have descended to another level of depravity. All the consideration I thought bestowed on me the weeks before, was simply the devious Diva and the deplorable Baron, mocking me, while they knew how they’d pillory me as a whore and let their dozens of houseguests use me as they would any other household device provided for their comfort.

  ***

  “I thought you had some consideration for me?” Delila said. It was nearly dawn, she could tell by the lighter hues of light coming into the foyer. Her arms ached mightily, her body orifices were sore from use.

  “Perhaps I did, though real affection would be impossible with you, Delila. Now that you finally know your purpose, you can rest your weary head on the pillow and get some sleep. You’ll be awakened at noon, when you’ll be expected to join us for our midday meal.”

  On the way to her room, Delila could think of nothing but sleep and the anger that was festering from another level of injustice thrust her way.

  ***

  Every night thereafter, the Baron led Delila from her room—no longer bothering to dress her in the fancy corset—and tied her to the post. Sometimes she was stretched between two posts, arms wide. At other times, her arms were bound behind her.

  One such night when her wrists were clamped behind her, and her collared neck was attached to the restraining tether, one of her lovers came with a whip in hand and began to flail the thing against her body. Since it was her front side that was exposed, it was her front side that took the pain, and she found it difficult to hold back the cries of agony. When she screamed too loudly, she was surprised to see the Baron return to her, stopping the man who made the assault. She thought he would defend her and insist he stop; but the message he bore to her was for her alone, and would do nothing to change the mood of her lover’s designs.

  He slapped her face. “You’re here to serve in silence, my dear whore. They whip you in this place, you do not scream, you contain it. You understand that?”

  “Please, Baron, no!” she implored him.

  For an instant, she thought he was hearing her distress since he paused for a moment, though his face never ceased to be grim.

  “It’s your assignment, your task, your duty, your job. If you wish to continue enjoying the benefits of luxury you know in this house, keep your wits and tongue about you. Besides, is this not what you truly enjoy?” His expression was so dark and cunning, Delila would have spit in his face if he’d been closer. “You cry out again, you will be punished.” He started to walk away.

  “You think this is not punishment?” she snapped at his retreating form.

  He turned, his scowl malicious, but saying nothing, he disappeared, leaving her with her lovers to take their will with her.

  That morning, when she was lifted from the post, she was taken to the kitchen, and in front of a staff of twelve was tied over the end of the kitchen table and soundly struck with a butter paddle lifted from the wall. Six from the staff administered the blows, six women who she’d thought of as friends, not foes. Perhaps they were under the same commands as she was. They wielded the paddle without restraint, not seeming to mind when she cried out from the pain. Her only respite was when the woman exchanged places and she had a moment to breathe without the stinging sensations that were making her already weakened limbs, even more wobbly. When they finished, she returned to her room as always.

  “There are choices you can make, and others you cannot.” Delila wasn’t certain who’d uttered that refrain to her, even though its message would ring in her heart and mind for hours.

  Later that night, when tied to her post, there were instruments left lying at her side for the houseguests to use. From then on, the abuse to her body increased with the ready tools of punishment so available.

  Many lovers delighted in whipping her soundly before they placed their cocks in her cunt or ass. She came to expect it, and after a time she let go the anger that welled in her and allowed herself to enjoy the sensations as she’d once enjoyed the heightened stimulation at Outer Island.

  After so many weeks of this abuse, night after night of the constant assault, she
began in small degrees to take pride in the service she rendered. She began to respond for herself, and teased her lovers with a body willing to give as well as receive. The look in her eye when the Baron brought her to the foyer each night changed. She held her head proudly and looked with fondness at the implements he laid there, and smiled at him graciously, while he looked at her perplexed.

  She refused from that point on to be victimized by Diva and the Baron.

  And how simple that choice was! Odd that she hadn’t made it before. She knew the depth of physical pleasure and release, accepting it all, becoming aroused by it all, finally realizing that her sexual joy was boundless as long as she freed her mind of all restraint.

  At dawn one morning, when the Baron returned her to her room, she lay down on the sheets to find her captor lying down with her.

  “I’ve missed you, Delila,” he whispered into her ear.

  Her stomach turned with loathing hearing his voice, and feeling his hands, the terms of endearment striking an angry cord in her. The first she’d felt in many days.

  The Baron mauled her body as he’d done many mornings at the waking hour, when she readily accepted his gentleness as a cherished gift. How false! How vile! How contemptible to come to her and take what she was bound to give him, and think she would be glad to have him and his tenderness!

  He entered her in her cunt this time, when all the other times her ass sufficed quite nicely. He kissed her deeply as if he loved her, and poured out his passions as if he truly cared for her. He moved within her with such force and desire that she should swell with sexual joy radiating through her. But she would have none of that. She resisted his attempts to bring her pleasure, she ignored the bodily responses that wanted her own climax, and she allowed him to withdraw from her half-pleased. What the Baron wanted was her orgasm along with his, but he had only his own to take with him.

  “Are you tired, my love?” he asked her. She looked up at him as he finished dressing, straightening the collar at his neck.