When the next ghastly evening came, an unaccountable halt interrupted Verena’s sufferings, Marina being summarily called to the Master’s chambers. He sat in opulence as usual.
“You have done exceedingly well, Marina, from what I have been able to judge from the closed circuit and audio, especially in dealing with 211/S, if a trifle too freely now and then. But I agree the disappointing female requires that sort of tuition and the correction you dutifully administer. But it must stop.”
Marina’s instinct and intelligence told her that something was afoot and felt obliged to justify the punishments. She reminded the Master of the squalid infidelity Verena had made her suffer a year before.
“I’m fully aware of her slovenly behaviour, Marina,” the gaunt figure conceded, “and of your reaction although, as you know we look askance at exclusive sexual relationships between inmates. All the more so between staff and slaves...”
Crestfallen, she tried another approach. “It’s that the bitch requires stern correction, sir. I mean, enlivening, to restore her primal urge.” Her hand strayed instinctively to her service scourge, her sapphire eyes flashing. Smooth liquid oozed down her swollen tunnel on to the thighs. The urge to lash Verena was like a ferret gnawing again.
“That may be so,” the Master’s tone hardened a shade. “However, I have decided to deal with her in a somewhat different manner. Continued flagellation and flesh torture will only lead her into deeper depression.” The voice became more authoritarian. “To revitalize her, I have decided to starve her of any form of sex until her attitude changes.”
Marina almost gasped aloud. Lack of response under the whip! What was the man talking about? Even without the help of Sandra’s tongue, she had had her roaring in fury to be frigged. Surely he had followed the sessions on his screen. Or had he? The very idea that Verena needed stimulating was laughable. There was nothing wrong with the slut that Marina’s whip could not correct. Depression? Ridiculous!
“My decision therefore,” the Master went on, “is to have her reduced to the lowest possible level of slavery, totally deprived of attention and above all starved of sex until she craves relief.” Marina could hardly believe her ears. “You may not, Marina, be used to such treatment but your senior colleagues, who have been here far longer than you, are fully familiar with it. And with the results. We have employed it on several occasions in the past on lethargic or over-flogged brats.”
Again the new overseer stared incredulously at her employer as he elaborated.
“Therefore I have decided with Vasa that the sluggard be relegated to the sculleries and bound naked among the garbage and open drains until she shows readiness to co-operate. Under no circumstances is she to be afforded the least attention or consideration. She will wallow in the filth and her own wastes until she begs to be used again. She’ll be made to wait in abeyance, in total solitude, until her spirit rekindles and begs for the scourge and cock, driven by sexual craving to be used. It’s a way of revivifying a lazy slave by ignoring and distaining her. Moreover, anyone who even attempts to use her in any way, punitively or sexually, will incur punishment to a degree I do not wish to describe. I trust this is as clear to you as it is to your fellow overseers. Vasa will ensure my orders are carried out to the letter. You may leave now, Marina. Amuse yourself with one of the other slaves.”
Baffled, the new overseer bit her lip in frustration. Verena was slipping away from her grasp. Quite apart from the punishment she had delivered recently, Marina believed the bitch needed to be flogged daily. But to be left to marinate in some stinking scullery untouched was completely futile. The lecherous polecat had to pay for her liaison with that cheap English whore, Ashley.
As she left the presence, Marina decided to take matters into her own hands, whatever the risks. Lalaniere would help, of course, after one of those torrid sessions together in his rooms where she offered herself in self-indulgent delight to be whipped and fucked.
Chapter Twenty One
Dragged naked down the narrow stairwells, Verena was slammed against the greasy wall by the two valets on service. Made to kneel, the soles of her feet against the glutinous masonry, she was shackled tight, the arms and neck wrenched back and encircled with iron bands cemented into the stonework, the thighs parted to their extreme reach. Simple oval-headed screws were then tightened sufficiently to hold her. The men prized open the jaws to ram in the funnel-gag whereby she was to be force-fed once daily. The open sewer beneath her would slurry away her wastes.
The sight of Vasa crossing the slithery threshold terrified the slave more than the conditions of her prison. Her fear increased as the svelte figure allowed her service scourge to drift over the huge breasts and the quivering belly. Dismissing the valets with a nod, the overseer checked the manacles and throat hoop.
“You’ve had some of that nauseous excess fat whipped off you since I saw you last, haven’t you, bitch? Well, that’s the last ration of leather you’ll be getting for quite a time.” She began to pace the filthy paving. “You’re going to remain here in your irons in total solitude - except when you have potage forced into you and that will only take a minute and in silence - until you return to your senses. Until you decide to respond eagerly to whatever’s demanded of your body. The longer you refuse to co-operate wholeheartedly with those who desire to flagellate, torture and use your flesh, the longer you will remain here. You will be deprived of sex, the blissful kiss of the whip and any human contact, apart from loads of muck being emptied over your indolent carcass. Get this into your stupid head.”
Nonchalantly the chief overseer lifted the slave’s right breast with her scourge and let it slap back against the heaving ribs.
“I suggested your torpid ringed crotch and the root of these disgusting udders of yours be bound with barbed wire. You’re lucky. They prefer you to suffer stark nude. But if you refuse still to collaborate when you’re questioned every three days, I’ll have your teats and vulva rings weighted with kilos of iron. You’ve got plenty of time, whore, to consider your future - days will become weeks, weeks’ll stretch, like your labia, into months. So, turn it over in your selfish, sluggish brain, if you’ve got one.”
Relishing her role and aware that the hollow gag prevented the slave from uttering a word, Vasa delivered her sharpest javelin.
“In case you’re still not fully aware, your have sold you back to us.” She halted before the superbly built mass of whipping flesh, watching the dark eyes widen in alarm. “And I think you know what Beaucastel does to a listless whore slave. Think it over, slag. Before it’s too late.”
The high heels squelched in the mire, offal and peelings as the bloodcurdling beauty left. Silence descended on the horrendous prison and lasted well into the night when a coarse scullion in clogs and Hessian entered to void a pail of sludge over the victim.
“Give me a hard lashing, Pierre, over all you can reach. I haven’t had my clit whipped for a hell of a time. Then lay into my arse and take me back and front...”
Lying on Lalaniere’s silken sheets, Marina enjoyed these fierce nights with her colleague. Not only did she get the man to tie her legs to the summit of the bedposts but she had him whip her until she came and rode his cock until he pumped her full. Then she told him what she was about to do.
Lalaniere’s fist halted midway up his shaft as he readied it for further service. He sat up abruptly. “Say that again?”
Marina repeated her decision. “I’m going to fetch that whore 106 or whatever her number is now, and drag her up here and flog her senseless for treason...”
“Are you out of your mind? You heard the Master’s orders as clearly as we all did. The stupid bitch is to be left to moulder down there until she pulls herself together. Interfere with her punishment, Marina, and you’re courting disaster. Anyway she’s just a corpse, covered with filth. Forget her, for god’s sakes! You’ve just been promoted, reme
mber? Don’t go and fuck things up! Think of your position.”
“Position! All you lot think about is position - positions in the hierarchy, positions for whipping, positions for fucking... I’m going to fetch her and whip her raw. Anyway, at this time of night the whole place’s deserted. They’re all sleeping off their beatings.” She slipped off the bed, mopped herself clear of sperm and discharge and pulled on her boots. “I’m bringing that load of tripe up her so we can both lay into her for an hour or so. Right here. No one will know. We’ll thrash her till she wishes she’d never been born.”
Her colleague frowned.
“If you want to break house rules, honey, do it in your own kennel. Count me out.”
Marina rolled her eyes upward at the man’s pusillanimity and made for the door, taking one of the candles burning on the table. “O.K. partner, I’ll use my dugout. Thanks for the fuck.”
The descent in darkness, despite the flicker of the candle, proved treacherous and slow but the stale odour of cooking guided her. The corridors, where the occasional video eye had long since been switched off, echoed eerily. Sensing her frantic heartbeat over the clacking of her high heels, she tried to distil the motives of the risk she was running: rage, jealousy, hatred, revenge, the desire to dominate and, above all, the sheer joy of whipping the slut’s fat flesh. Fear of the consequences was the least of her emotions.
Wrenched back by the iron clamps, the slave girl seemed to be praying on her knees, the arms outstretched sideways as if before some altar beyond the masses of filth. She might well pray, Marina murmured to herself.
“On you feet! We’ve got another rendezvous together, sweetheart, and this time I want you wide awake.” She slapped the locked head twice, dislodging crud from the cheeks hollowed under the thrust of the huge feeding gag. “My god, you’re more ugly than ever with that bald head and no eyebrows!” She turned the catches holding the hinged metal braces. “Get that meaty arse moving. We’re going for a little walk.”
The begrimed figure struggled up, numbed by the bondage and loneliness. As if oblivious of her visitor, she stumbled ahead of the overseer, directed by sharp, premonitory taps of the whip - the precious, tightly plaited riding crop with the loose fangs at the tip, already greased.
It took an age to reach the bedroom in the staff wing but once within, the key turned, events moved fast. Marina hauled the besmirched body up by the wrists until the toes were clear of the rich carpet, the shorn skull thrust back behind the shivering biceps. Marina had to admit that the nude, despite the clotted, viscous slime upon her, was superb; yet the prodigious breasts no longer boasted their former compactness and upturned teats, nor had the buttocks their celebrated camber.
“I’m so glad to have you here in my room Verenka dear, I’m going to give you the belting of your life. I’ll whip off all that scum you’ve got on you and get down into the nerves. You thought by hiding away down there in the garbage, you’d escape this. Well, you’re wrong.” She paused a second. “You see, one should never change horses - or mares - in mid-stream. Now, as a favour, I’ll let you tell me when to start. Just chortle up that tube they’ve jammed into you.”
She watched the rib cage sharpen under the vast, bulges of mammary meat, as a weird groan came out of the distended mouth. Marina cursed her in return.
“Fuck you too, slag!” And the crop slashed into the centre of both breasts at once. It was rare, almost unknown, for the crop to be used on a female’s udders at Beaucastel and Marina knew it. As the length of leather flattened the bulges, the victim wrenched her knees up hopelessly and then the body slumped, waiting for the rest.
Marina worked down, as Lalaniere had taught her, after sending the slave’s breasts slapping into the armpits like sandbags. After a dozen murderous cuts, Marina paused between the lashes to let the pain sink in. The concave belly reddened with heavy welts, then the thighs and sex mound crimsoned. After fifty blows from nipples to knees, Marina found it gave her pure delight to watch the welts swelling like poisoned flowers. There was so much of the bitch to whip...Marina poured herself a drink of Rhine wine and rested a moment. Then she lifted the slave’s left buttock; the flesh was flabby.
“As I said, your arse has grown loose and pulpy, hasn’t it? I’d have thought squirming on it in a gorgeous gondola with Ashley’s fingers reaming your anus would have toughened it. But no. It’s like rancid margarine. It needs beating, doesn’t it?”
She drove the crop haft deep into the arsehole and left it there.
The long silence that ensued puzzled Marina until she realized her victim had passed out. Even the jolting of the leather handle further and further up into the rectum had no effect. The scourged body hung heavily from the wrist straps until it revived under the slaps delivered across the befouled face streaked with tears. Marina flung the rest of her wine over the head.
“Oh, no, you don’t, bitch. You’ve got a lot more to come now I’ve given you a rest.”
With that, she depressed the spring-loaded clamps jamming the feeding tube behind the teeth and ripped out the gag. The prolonged distension had locked the jaws open, paralysing the slave’s mouth.
“Don’t gape at me like that, stupid. Don’t you think you merit what I’m giving you?”
“Yes, mistress,” came the groan.
Then the real flagellation began in earnest. The rump was always the main target at Beaucastel and Verena knew it. Marina aimed for the previous welts she had raised days before and put all her force into the strokes. As the vast bulges reddened, the screams from the open mouth grew in intensity to a degree that prompted her to ram the gag back into the throat. Although far distant from the inhabited region of the castle, the yells were dangerous. She redoubled the power behind each lash until the sole area of unmarked skin was that down the anal crease and that too she managed to colour. Around the thirtieth crack of the alligator leather, her victim collapsed again in her last frantic writhings.
Marina wiped her scourge clean it had been the longest and most vicious flagellation she had yet given a naked slave since her promotion. With a pang of regret, she decided to renounce chaining the slut to the summit of the bedposts by the ankle straps to slaughter the crotch; there was little point in proceeding further on a body that no longer responded. There would doubtless be plenty of further occasions, if she played her cards astutely...
The return to the underworld proved more demanding than expected. Marina had to half-drive, half-beat the bitch forward. Several times Verena crumpled up in the gloomy passages, still trying to come to terms with the harvest of lashes she had received. Finally she was safely hasped in the iron brackets and, having been virtually whipped clean of slime, Marina daubed the form with swill and muck to camouflage at least some of the welts. Marina wiped off her gloves on the underside of the girl’s breasts and again cleaned off her crop by running it up between the swollen labia. It came away glittering with curd.
“You’re still as devious as ever, Verenka, aren’t you? Shamming a lack of libido! Why, you’re leaking like a spiked barrel and that great clit’s wagging with want. You fake!”
The pathetic face looked up in tears, swallowing hard behind the iron brace. The look was a mixture of supplication, as if imploring Marina to extricate her from hell, and of fear lest the whippings should start up again.
Reading the entreaty in the tear-red eyes, Marina smiled. “Next time it’s going to be between those hefty legs of yours, you faithless slag.”
The blonde overseer left with a final curse and slipped into her own luxurious bed as swiftly as she could, discounting Lalaniere’s possible continued availability. She had not appreciated the man’s admonitions. She stretched out, gave herself a quick, ecstatic orgasm with the handle of her riding crop and fell asleep. She had eluded risk, if risk there had been and anyway who cared if the dumb slave had a few more welts on her?
Her s
leep was the slumber of the requited.
No one really knew who put the match to the powder keg. The spiteful Sandra? Some valet who had taken swill down to the slave?
Urgently, after Verena’s state had been reported, Vasa consulted with the Master. And then events began to tread on each other’s heel precipitously.
Marina was arrested the following evening. Lalaniere exculpated himself without too much difficulty; true he had fucked her, as usual, but she had left early, seemingly with some plan in mind... what, he did not know, of course. She had just left with a candle...
Marina was put to the rack. Stretched to the limit of her joints, she freely admitted she had “decided to give her former lover a little lesson” but that was all. She had not spoken up as the issue seemed so minor...
“I trusted you, Marina,” came the Master’s voice, seething with fury, terror invading all his staff. “And you have had the effrontery, the audacity, the impudence to disobey me!”
Marina fought resolutely to defend herself, aware that if the confrontation had taken place in his apartments, face to face, she might well have employed her tongue in a more mundane way and got away with it. But the showdown was public, with authority, jurisdiction and loss of face involved. Inevitably Marina lost out.
“Vasa, you will take this slut down to the Black Cellar,” - Marina’s heart froze at the mention of the place - “strip her naked and chain her in the Cage of Retribution to await her punishment. I want her flesh rings reinserted. I want her fully shaved, oiled, gagged and hooded, her sex distended...” The man’s vehemence scared Marina as much as the sentence that was surely going to be handed down. “And put her under sex torture while she waits... nipples and crotch.”
The Pleasure Palace Page 23