The inmates at Beaucastel were equal to its reputation. Although prices were high, the merchandise was of consummate quality and the welcome that owners and buyers received was conducive to rapid transactions. Every slave was admirably trained according to the criteria established by the Master. In addition, specific courses were available at a cost, laying the accent, quite apart from s/m activities, on particular sexual stipulations, such as urine, intimate styles of attire and, naturally, all types of branding. The major success, however, for which Beaucastel was renowned, resided in meeting routine s/m exigencies, such as those defined by Mikhail and Claudia. Beaucastel slaves became expensive on the market but were of reliable, first-class standard.
The week-ends at Beaucastel were renowned for three things: an admirable reception, good food and the finest wines stocked in the cave - one of the few cellars not utilised for whipping and torturing slaves. Secondly, Beaucastel provided exquisite accommodation for visitors, each suite possessing its private bathroom, flagellation posts conveniently erected before the beds, chains and every conceivable appurtenance for slave disciplining.
Finally, the whole geography of cells, cellars and torture chambers was at the guests’ full disposal.
Prior to the exhibition of the slaves, full printed curricula were distributed to guests, depicting the characteristics of those for sale. It was no secret to some that the Master was especially anxious to divest himself of saleable merchandise as soon as possible: the slaves occupied training space of future candidates.
Shocked by Marina’s offence, Claudia for a moment envisaged putting her up for sale there and then and discussed the possibility with Mikhail who had no objection as long as Verena remained with them. The prices for young, blonde slaves such as Marina were attractive but Marina’s contract and the recent scandal were drawbacks. Perhaps later, Mikhail suggested, for during the weekend the guests quickly learned that a slave was to be corrected in full session and that the recalcitrant girl belonged to Claudia and Mikhail. This put a stop to Claudia’s intentions. At least for the time being.
The guests at lunch on the Saturday, when all had arrived, numbered a dozen, Claudia and Mikhail being, thus far, the only owners present. Ashley was about to be returned to her adored Venetian proprietors and Sylvie and Renee also in a few days time to their Countess. Katia was not sure as to her fate and whether her German master would retrieve her but it was common knowledge that her man doted on her, yet kept her in anxiety. En pension, Birgit awaited the call from her Swedish couple, currently travelling in China where a blonde sex slave was hardly the thing to be seen around with. Marie-Laure lived with a married, middle-aged s/m couple near St Tropez and was extremely happy but would be happier when she was out of Beaucastel. Apart from Verena and Marina, the other three slaves out of the eleven - Maria, Krystyna and Nastasia - were for sale. It was a sort of requiem for Nastasia; she had been turned down four times.
Four of the five male slaves were owned by women in various parts of Europe and only one - a handsome, well-membered Romanian youth - was for purchase. And not cheap.
Among the three female slaves on sale, the shaved, pale-skinned Marja found a buyer after an hour or two with an elderly Spaniard in his room; nevertheless, he wanted her to be whipped and used by a male slave in one of the cellars before signing. The performance went off well and the price was reasonable, the Master collecting his percentage.
Nastasia did her utmost to render herself erotic. Ashley had given her hints but the girl presented herself laboriously. An exotic, over made-up Austrian woman took a fancy to her but, after a spell in bed together, finally discarded her in favour of Krystyna whose bald head and shaven vulva gave her more excitement. Thus, only Nastasia aroused no special interest.
The dinner on the Saturday night was a grand affair. All the serving maids were present, stark naked and wearing special makeup, particularly the woman who had brought the girls’ breakfast several days before; she was painted silver from head to foot and wore glittering chains. Beneath the sheen of chrome, the flesh was ridged with fearful welts.
Several guests requested service under the long table during the meal, in reply to which Vasa ordered the male slaves to offer their tongues to the women diners, while designating Marie-Laure, Katia and Sylvie to go to work on the male shafts. Ashley escaped this duty by squatting next to the Master, laying her fabulous breasts on the table next to him and surreptitiously caressing his cock into rigidity. At the same time she could not keep her hazel eyes off Verena, who, even while sucking Mikhail, returned her delicious smile quite openly. Being the most beautiful of the slaves present, Ashley spread a sexual contagion among the guests, some mesmerized by her smile and hoping to benefit from her mouth or sex; but the latter was firmly obstructed with the bunched rings locked together. She seemed a rank above the other slaves who were from various social strata. Her poor French with an upper-class English accent rendered her attractive to all present; but it was also that same load of rings inserted into her labia and clitoris that excited the men. The fact that the rings were padlocked did not seem to deter them from contemplating rape. Yet it was contemplation only, for Ashley’s prestigious owners from Venice were about to arrive to take their ward home; the Master wanted her in pristine condition, unflogged and unused.
Mikhail was delighted to feel Verena’s lips and teeth skinning his cock again, as he had taught her, while Claudia succeeded, with some difficulty and discussion with a smartly half-dressed American woman, to reserve Sylvie’s mouth for herself, the Californian dominant contenting herself with the terrified Renee.
Claudia, on the other hand, was delighted to feel Sylvie’s experienced tongue lapping and slicking over her clit. She orgasmed massively, discharging smoothly over Sylvie’s face the cum that had congested in her entrails for hours. The girl sucked a lot better than either Verena or Marina. That she had to admit.
Encouraged, the American took her own slave in hand, thrusting Renee’s head deeper between her strong, tennis-trained thighs. Renee did what she could but appeared to fall short of what was required of her, to judge from the slaps she received while hard at work. Finally, almost in tears, Renee succeeded...
Several other orgasms accompanied the meal until the Master ordered Gerda to recall and line up the slaves on the stage while the next course was served. The male and female bodies stood motionless; their beauty was extraordinary against the purple curtains while a silence fell over the dinner table as the flesh was exhibited anew.
Then the comments began. One guest complimenting Sylvie’s freckled nudity, another opining that Marie-Laure looked as if she could do with a good flogging at the stake. The Master was able to report that her owners had sanctioned any use of her, up to and including hanging by the legs in Cell III or IV, provided she needed no more than a day’s recuperation. Mikhail looked with curiosity at the Master. He was clad in sable, the heavy cloak enshrouding his slim body; the eyes were masked beneath a strip of mauve organdie. About his neck hung a gold chain and emblem consisting of curiously fashioned intersecting whips - insignia of the old Inquisition. Like Mikhail, the Master was a learned historical student of female - and male - flagellation. Beaucastel was, in many aspects, not unlike the old dungeons of that institution.
The Master made it clear that, apart from the adequately equipped bedrooms, the entire range of cellars below was at the disposal of the guests, together with the assistance, as might be needed, of all four overseers and the valets. However, this would be subsequent to the ceremony involving Slave 107, the exquisite, blonde Marina.
“That whore-flesh of a slave!” Claudia castigated herself. “That bitch!”
She had been aware during the evening of the curious glances she had been receiving from some of the guests: an owner who could not flog her slaves into obedience. Others seemed to sympathize. In any event, her own slave was to be the star in this terrifying night at Beau
castel. Before the major part of the evening commenced, the best Pomerol chateau vintages were decanted by the female maids down below in the cellars where they could hear the hisses and thuds of Restif’s plaited scourge and the stifled groans nearby in a cell as Birgit was dealt with by him and Gabrielle, the nude Swede spread-eagled on a revolving cartwheel, a lesson she had by then learnt by heart.
Above, the ceremonial parading of the slaves continued, and the Master graciously allowed Marie-Laure to frig a youth with a most impressively straining erection. He addressed his overseer in a languorous voice.
“Give that slave’s erection a few lashes to excite it fully and get the slut to frig it.”
“And have it ejaculate over her face,” a bearded guest added.
The overseer seized the red-haired Marie-Laure by a nipple ring to drag her, stumbling in her transparent mules, before the male slave’s erection. She watched him lash the straining cock across its blue-veined length with the quirt he held; she watched the rigid flesh rebound at each blow, the youth standing immobile, thrusting out his hips, as he had been taught, to allow the whip full purchase on his penis. Lalaniere laid on six strokes; the pole seemed to swell up as the head turned deep violet, the steel ring below the glans leaping. The clump of clustered genitals jutted out almost arrogantly as the youth gave himself to the leathers, revelling in the attention he was receiving. He was for sale and he knew it. He was far from cheap being hardened by the whip, being bisexual and equipped with an exceptional cock. In fact the Master had already accepted an offer for him from a Swiss woman.
Lalaniere then sliced his whip savagely into Marie-Laure’s rump. “Get to the thing, bitch 96, and frig it out,” he ordered. “See to it the spunk arches well out... No mouthing, just frig, slave.” He gave her a further tremendous lash across the rotund hunks of buttock meat. Marie-Laure cringed, the breath smitten suddenly out of her lungs. Lalaniere was a clean and accurate flogger, one of the finest in the profession. And Marie-Laure was delicate.
The girl crawled to the cock stem and, as ordered, masturbated with all her force and skill, holding the man’s body with her left arm - a body she had often serviced in Cell V. She knew the penis well and the potency of its ejaculation. The group at table watched with complaisant interest, Claudia studying the girl’s technique that concentrated first on the rim of the globe before attending to the whole length of the shaft. It took only about a couple of dozen long strokes of the hand to release the jets of seething spume across the stage.
The youth grunted and lunged as the clotted load shot from the slit, spasm after spasm, the cream splattering over the flagstones. Claudia found it sensational, but she would rather have had the youth bound to a stake or cross, limbs wrenched backwards to emphasize the hard penis.
“Empty the cock!” the overseer ordered. “And lick it up.”
Marie-Laure squeezed the last glob from the still throbbing spout and instantly went to her hands and knees. In a minute the floor was lapped clean of the discharge.
There was spellbound silence during which the new owner hooked an eager finger into her slave’s prepuce ring and made him kneel before her thighs.
At a nod from the throne, Restif and Gabrielle entered and crossed the spot lit stage to whisper to the Master who again nodded. The couple, dressed in leather and booted, then brought in the scourges and the rods that had been steeping in brine. These they placed carefully on a nearby table, already arrayed with other trouncing whips, hoods, flesh weights of globed iron and a heap of restraining thongs. Torture trestles, already equipped with chains, were hauled into place on either side of the dais; at a further sign from the Master, it was the overseers who drew aside the purple curtains at the rear of the stage. Apart from the whipping stake already revealed, chains were attached to overhead rings, dangling over the empty stage; to the sides of the area, large drums and ratchets were bolted to the wall. The scenario, the threatening objects and the overpowering heat of the Hall combined to increase the slaves’ apprehensions, at the same time stimulating deep in the brain and entrails that sexual thrill all submissives experienced at the prospect of what was about to be enacted. The slaves were whipped again off the stage down into the broad area where the guests now lounged on thrones or couches; side tables bore wines, cognacs and triangles of caviar on rye. The guests needed nourishment - the night would be long.
Mikhail had to admire the scene. Each body slave exhibited his or her superb thorax and ringed nipples as the wrists were detached to allow them to service the company. The male slaves were magnificent when they stepped down towards the waiting visitors; each youth was, apart from the nipples and scrotum, pierced and ringed through the underside of his erect cock, some with their shaft braided with leather thongs, protruding rivets holding the ligatures where they intersected. Mikhail was amazed that girls could make love with youths so encumbered with impedimenta. A pellucid thread of sex liquid trailed to the knees of each male and each female was already wet with anticipation as they immediately went to work on fellating the male guests or titillating the female clits.
Instinctively, Verena stepped towards Mikhail and knelt before him with a smile on her lips. Mikhail rammed into the mouth as it were an orifice in an object while Claudia was serviced by a handsome Norwegian youth with an agile tongue. For a long period the sole sounds in the Hall of Ceremony were those of suction, lapping and groans of pleasure. Several orgasms were brought about fairly rapidly, while other slaves sat upon the guests’ laps for penetration and protracted servicing. Strangely, although someone as ravishing as Ashley was available, it was the slut Alana, still loaded with her chains, who officiated on the Master’s hairless upsurge of tumescence. After some minutes, the man kicked her aside and, facing the gathering, addressed his guests.
“This evening, dear friends of Beaucastel, is somewhat special. Quite apart from the enjoyment you will derive from the slaves, who are at your disposal here and elsewhere afterwards, I have the duty to bring before you a female slave I have condemned, with her owners’ full consent, to exceptional treatment for attempted escape. What is about to be inflicted on the slut is entirely justified by the rules of Beaucastel. After the formal portion of punishment here, the guilty body will be taken to the Black Cellar to continue the ordeal through the night. All who are not otherwise engaged are cordially invited to see what we have in store...”
He turned slowly to Vasa standing, whip in hand, half-naked to the side of the stage.
“Bring in the condemned slave!”
Chapter Twelve
Marina had been prepared with meticulous attention and stood waiting to be led out for punishment. During her sauna where she had sweated out copiously to tone up her body for what was to come, she had a moment of tranquillity in which to reflect. To her knowledge none of her companions had ever repudiated her role of a sex slave; on the contrary, all in their own way seemed to delight in utter subordination. It had become a natural mission, answering a deep instinctive need to be dominated and hurt but not unduly harmed. At the same time Marina wondered what it was like to dominate instead of being humiliated. The bitch Verena who had jilted her so cruelly was the one who needed flogging. In some way or other Marina would make Verena pay for her low perfidiousness. But first there was the suffering to come, something Marina would have gladly accepted as long as Verena remained her lover. Now the foolish attempt at escape had to be requited alone. She would make the girl pay somehow. Somehow...
Gabrielle had prepared her. She had been laid on a grooming slab, her sex and skull shaved, her body perfumed and her entrails sluiced out. The overseer’s strong hands had aroused her and as she had worked she had told Marina what a fool she was to try and deny her slavery. She had talent, she said, she herself wouldn’t mind a night’s flogging and sex with her and Lalaniere himself had expressed an attraction to her. That had startled her, the man had flogged her as hard as any and had never eve
n kissed her before subsequent penetrations.
As a finale, Gabrielle had clipped heavy, spiked steel balls to her seven rings and these now tugged with erotic discomfort at her labia and teats and swung viciously into her flesh at the slightest movement. She had left her standing against the whipping stake and it was here that Marina now stood, trying not to move, pressing her back and rump against the rough wood.
In the dense heat and unnerving silence of the Preparation Chamber, Marina continued to stand obediently and motionless, fighting the loaded weight of the flesh chains, conscious that her superb body was on display on screens far away above, men and women appraising her oiled nudity. While waiting frustrated and nervous, she tried to gather her confused thoughts together.
Already she knew she was to be whipped in public, before a select gathering of s/m devotees like Claudia and Mikhail who would be present. The prospect of being the principal attraction both scared and thrilled her. In the brief time prior to her ludicrous attempt to escape, she had sensed during the routine sessions in the training cells, the presence of shadowy figures, often masked and quaintly dressed; they too, she had deduced, were guests, either prospective buyers or simply onlookers, spending a brief, lascivious stay at the castle. To Marina it was immaterial who wielded the scourge; the pain was what she had to contend with. She had begun to endure these anonymous onslaughts with a resignation where pain and a curiously overpowering pleasure seemed to coalesce. The whippings were totally impersonal; both the flogger and she, the flogged slave, were deprived of personality. Conscious of her beauty, Marina had become impervious to her humiliation; she well knew that her superb body and its physical writhing under the scourge gave untold delight to her flagellator and provided a mysterious surge of sexual pleasure in every fibre of her own being.
The Pleasure Palace Page 13