“Of course you can. Why? What is it?” I asked.
“I’m being held captive in the basement, along with some others,” she told me.
“Captive, what the hell do you mean?” I asked.
“I’m a prisoner of Madame de Roch, sir,” she told me.
I said, “You’re a servant, aren’t you?”
“No, no, sir, I’m not a servant. I’m a prisoner of Madame,” she revealed.
“Is this completely true, not some sort of game you two are playing?” I asked, watching the boy-girl’s eyes for signs of a lie.
“Yes, it’s all true, sir,” Angie replied, “Madame’s a very evil woman!”
“She’s the woman I love,” I said. I felt cold, knowing Angie wasn’t lying.
She explained, “Sir, you must know, Madame buys children from orphanages and raises them until they’re old enough then she bullies them into a life of degradation and sex-slavery...”
What she said triggered the memory of Calandra, Lana’s ‘maid’ in Paris and the story I’d been told about her finding the girl in an ‘institution.’ It all rang true, what Angie was telling me. I had a terrible bleak feeling creep over me. Was my beautiful Mistress a monster, a sadistic nymphomaniac with a heart of stone? I had to know.
“You have proof of what you say?” I asked Angie.
“Yes, sir, I do. Late tonight, come down to the basement and see with your own eyes, what’s going on in this wicked house. Please, sir, I beg you.”
“Alright, alright...I will,” I said.
“Are you two coming to play?” Lana’s voice came, happily, from the bathroom.
“Or are you both fucking again?” she asked.
“The little slut is licking my arse,” I lied.
“Well, she can lick mine while you fuck my cunt,” Lana said, crudely. “Now get in here, please. I need some human-wine, I’m very thirsty.”
“Act normally,” I said to Angie and we went to the bathroom to piss on our deviant temptress.
Chapter 4
At two a.m., George Râteau crept down the servants stairs of Lana de Roch’s mansion and made his way, stealthily, to the basement. He had lied and said he felt sick, to avoid having to sleep with Lana after having been told a disturbing story by Angelique, the transvestite concubine who was a resident in the house. The boy-girl had told George that s/he and others were prisoners in the basement. George only half-believed the tale Angie had told him, but was intrigued enough to find out the truth, one way or another. He/r words: “Monsieur, I’m being held captive in the basement, along with others,” echoed in his mind...and worse...“Madame buys children from orphanages then she forces them into a life of debauchery when they are old enough...” That Lana was a sexual-obsessive, George knew; that she was very deviant, most definitely – yes, that was true; but this: this story of sex-slavery and grooming children? His head swam with confusion and he had to admit he felt ashamed that he was now, well...somewhat suspicious of his beloved Lana.
Upon reaching the basement, George trembled as he carefully opened a thick wooden door. It was unlocked and he carefully went in. Gaslight flickered inside. There didn’t seem to be anyone around and he went further into the vast room. With a start, he noticed a line of steel cages, five of them. They were big, the kind he’d seen tigers in at the circus. It was too dark to see clearly if there was anything in the cages and George’s initial reaction was that they were part of a menagerie that Madame kept hidden away down there for reasons best known to herself.
Just then a noise came from across the room. It was a door opening on the other side. George quickly hid in a corner, behind a stack of old furniture. Louis, Madame’s butler, came in. He had a lamp dangling from his hand. “Wake up, you bastards!” he yelled, to someone unseen, and poked a long stick through the bars of one of the steel cages.
“You’re to be whipped,” he said, “Madame’s orders!”
“Why? That’s so bloody unfair!” a feminine voice protested from within the cage.
George recognised the voice right away; it was Angelique, the pretty eighteen year-old transvestite. “Madame beat me earlier,” s/he said. “Look, I still have the red marks on my bottom to prove it.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Louis said, with a shrug. “Come on out and take your punishment like a trooper. You’ll get it much harder if you resist; you know that, you little bitch. So, are you going to comply, or not?”
“I suppose I must,” Angie said, forlornly.
Louis opened the lock on the cage door and she slunk out, naked, a thick leather collar around her slender neck, her wrists chained to a steel loop set in the collar.
“Get over here, you fucking degenerate,” Louis said, and undid the handcuffs: “Right, you, hands over your head, c’mon, girl, or whatever you are.”
Angie got into position and Louis attached her wrists, with thick rope, to a hook and pulley mounted in the stone ceiling. When she was firmly secured, Louis turned a handle a couple of times and Angie was hoisted up. She dangled there, her toes just able to flick against the floor.
“Oh my God, I hate you, you horrible old letch!” she yelled.
“Ha-ha! Carry on, you fucking little queer, it’ll only make hurting you all the more pleasant,” Louis told h/er.
George watched in rapt horror. Everything the young transvestite had said about Lana and her invidious set-up appeared to be true. What was he to do? How could he reconcile this with his feelings for Madame? All these things flashed through his mind as he watched Angie hang there and take a ferocious whipping from the sadistic Louis. He used a long leather bullwhip, with a very long reach. Every time the whip sang, it was followed by a crack as it enfolded the transvestite’s skinny nude body in its agonising wrap. Each stroke produced an anguished howl from Angie, a shriek of agony that terrified George. He saw Angie’s pretty young face turn grotesque and mask-like with painful registration. She sobbed continuously, pitifully, tugging at George’s heart strings.
“There, all done. Fifty lashes,” Louis said, wiping the whip with a cloth before hanging it from a hook on a nearby wall. “Oh, dear, oh, dear, you seem to be bleeding, you poor little bitch,” he observed. “This will disinfect those wounds, my girl, there you go...” and poured some brandy down his victim's struggling body. Angie shrieked again at this latest outrage, he/r entire body tensing and quivering as if s/he was having a heart attack.
“I’d like to kill you, you vicious pig!” George thought.
Gathering some rock salt in his hands, Louis rubbed the many welts with it and Angie screamed and thrashed about again. “Don’t misbehave again, young lady. You must’ve done something really bad to warrant fifty fucking lashes, you little whore.”
Angie sobbed and George could see s/he was trembling with shock. He/r skinny nude body was covered in vivid red and blue marks from the thong and tip of the leather monster that had coiled around he/r, again and again. George could only imagine the excruciating pain the ‘girl’ was going through. He noticed urine was running all down he/r inner thighs from he/r flaccid pink ‘thing,’ making a yellow pool on the stone floor beneath. When Louis let Angie down, s/he collapsed in a self-embracing heap and grasped her many wounds, as if smothering them would somehow take away the pain and blood. “It’s no good you crying, you little cunt,” Louis warned her. “I’m as hard as nails, indifferent to the suffering of others. In fact, I enjoy it.” Angie looked up at him, he/r bottom lip hanging down; a pitiful plea for kindness coming from he/r sweet blue eyes. He laughed at her and slapped he/r face, then kicked her skinny backside, forcing he/r into a steel cage.
He went in after and said: “Madame told me I could fuck you, so I’m going to. Get on your knees, you fucking little slut!”
George crept in closer to get a better view. He could just about see what happened. Louis dropped his trousers and pushed Angie to he/r knees. He forced his prick into Angie’s mouth, making he/r gag and s/he scratched his thighs in protest as he choked her.<
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Louis screamed with pain and smacked Angie’s pretty face, hard: “You fucking little queer, I’m really gonna take you hard for that for doing that.”
True to his word, Louis pushed Angie down on he/r knees and after spitting on her anus, he stuck his fat stubby prick straight up he/r arse, gripping he/r blonde hair in his fist whilst he did it. “Teach a queer bitch like you to scratch me, I will,” he shouted, thrusting in and out, as George had a couple of hours earlier. George felt a little guilty at using the young minx as liberally as he had.
Louis yelled, “It’s a while since I was in a nice tight bum like yours, you fucking whore!” He was, George noticed, seemingly very pleased with himself. Angie cried and howled throughout the violence. “Keep it up!” Louis said. “Your screaming only excites me more, you queer bitch.” He kept banging away, his portly buttocks wobbling as he thrust in and out. George heard him groan and grip Angie’s hair, extra tight, in his fist.
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” he yelled, thrusting faster, faster, faster. ”Ah! Ah! I’ve done it,” he groaned, triumphantly, “I’ve done my seed up your filthy hole, you queer bitch!”
Eventually, Angie collapsed forward with Louis on top of he/r. He was panting like a locomotive coming into a station. With his fat belly and lardy bottom, the scene resembled an elephant coupling with a gazelle. George would have been cynically humorous about it, if he didn’t have a spark of humanity left in him. “You vile animal!” he thought. Louis got up and pulled up his breeches, spat on the sobbing Angie’s face and locked the steel cage door. George waited until he’d exited the room and then, with great trepidation, he went over to the cage. He could see the crying victim lying there, semen oozing from he/r raw and gaping anus.
“Angelique,” he whispered. “It’s me. Monsieur George.”
“Monsieur, is that really you?” Angie asked, gripping the bars. S/he put her lips to his and they kissed for a long while.
“I feared you wouldn’t take me seriously,” she said, drying her eyes on George’s handkerchief.
Suddenly, lights appeared all around him and George, surprised, jumped back against the steel cage. Angie laughed and said, “Ha-ha! How stupid you’ve been, Monsieur!”
In moments, George was bundled to the ground by two burly footmen. Louis, the sadistic valet, strode up and slapped him around the face.
“I’ll kill you for your insolence!” George snarled.
“I don’t think you will, Monsieur Râteau,” another voice boomed out. A grand old man, who George recognised as Lana’s husband, the Baron de Lay, came up to him. He stared at the younger man and said. “You young fool. You were a merely a new toy for my wife. She likes novelties, you know. As you’ve seen, her appetite, sexually, is abnormal and very, very perverted. I encourage her in her deviancy as I too am a pervert. We’re both avid followers of de Sade and I love to hear about her filthy exploits. She confides them all to me when we make love, which is more frequent than you might imagine, young idiot.”
George looked astonished: “So, am I to believe sir, that there’s no buying of children and no grooming them as concubines for your various deviant friends to enjoy?” he asked.
The Baron smiled and smoothed back his long white moustaches before answering. “Oh, yes, that’s all perfectly true. We have a ready supply of foundling’s from Paris and other cities in France. Bitches of all classes get knocked-up with unwanted little ‘gifts’ and then want to get rid of them, discreetly. That’s where we come in.”
“This is monstrous, sir. That girl, Angie, or boy, or whatever it is, told me she was being held captive in this house,” George said. “Explain that, if you will?”
“Angelique is a sweet little liar I’m afraid, M. Râteau,” the Baron replied.
“But I saw her beaten and taken, just now...” George said.
“All an act for your consumption, I’m afraid,” the Baron replied, with a cynical laugh.
“How could it have been an act?” George protested. “Look at her body; it’s covered in whip marks.”
The Baron smiled and then explained: “Oh yes, the pain and the crying were real alright, but Angie enjoys a lot of pain and violent sex.”
“Isn’t that so, my sweet little girl?” he asked.
“Yes, sir, Baron,” Angie agreed. “I love being whipped first and then when I can’t stand any more, being fucked in my tight little back-door ‘vagina.’”
“But you live in filth, in a cage, in a damp basement,” George gasped, unable to comprehend what was going on about him.
“We choose to live like this, monsieur,” Angie said.
“Choose? Are you mad, girl?” George interjected.
Angie giggled. “Far from it, monsieur, Louis is my lover, not my destroyer. I accept all that his perverted mind can imagine and I do whatever he bids me to do, willingly, because it thrills me more than anything else in the world to be mastered by a real man, one who sees beyond the little ‘thing’ between my legs. My master sees the depraved little ‘girl’ I really am inside. I love him beyond words. I love pain too, monsieur, and being degraded fills me with arousal; I love being a farmyard animal, living in filth like the dirty little whore I really am.”
“My God, you’re all insane!” George screamed.
“No, you’re quite wrong, young fool,” the Baron said. “We’re a family, a family of like-minded souls, doing whatever we please, beyond good or evil, out of society’s spotlight.”
“All polite society will hear of this outrage when I get back to Paris,” George blustered. “I’ll make sure of it. You’ll be ruined, sir.”
The Baron regarded him. “I feared you’d take that stupid attitude. My wife always said you were emotionally unstable. Now, monsieur, I’m afraid we can’t allow you to be free to make your allegations. Many powerful people come here to avail themselves of our unique facilities, so, I’m afraid you’ll have to be disposed of.”
George froze, not believing what he was hearing. “Disposed of?” he gasped.
“Yes, I’m afraid so M. Râteau,” the Baron confirmed.
George pleaded. “Look, I won’t say a word if you let me go, sir, not a thing, I swear. I’ll go back to Graz and you’ll never hear from me again. I give you my word!”
The Baron laughed. “Oh, M. Râteau, if only life were that simple. Unfortunately, it’s not. We can’t take any chances with loose cannons like you, sir. Evaluating your character, I would say within weeks the urge to gossip about what you’ve found out here would be eating you up and you’d reveal it. Many fine society people would be ruined by the ensuing scandal...including my beautiful wife and I.”
“So, you see, monsieur, we have no choice but to dispose of you.”
“Kill me, you mean?” George asked, fearing the answer.
“Yes M. Râteau. I’m afraid so,” the Baron confirmed.
George struggled and Louis punched him in the jaw. His head swam for a moment and then he fainted. When he came to, he was horrified to find himself outdoors, naked, chained to a thick wooden post, standing on top of a tall pyre made of faggots of dry twigs, in the vast grounds of the mansion. A number of masked and cloaked people looked up at him. They were talking and laughing as if it were a society ball. Madame de Roch came forward, wearing a long black velvet cloak, her nudity visible through the join in the front of it. She smiled at her former lover and said, “Beautiful. Just like the pyre Joan of Arc was burnt upon.”
“You can’t allow this, Lana,” George pleaded. “For pity’s sake, I love you. Free me, please.”
Madame reached up and grabbed his big hanging penis and said, with a sly laugh: “Such a waste...I should have it cut off and stuffed to be made into a dildo... Now it will soon be ashes, like the rest of you, you stupid boy.”
George screamed, “Oh my God, have pity, woman! You can’t burn me, it’s barbaric.”
“That’s the whole point, darling,” Lana said coldly. “I can practically smell your bacon frying. Ha-ha!”
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“Shoot me then, or strangle me, but please, not burning, please...” George groaned.
“There will be no mercy strangling for you, my dear...You’re a ‘heretic’ to our cause and the fate of heretics is burning...alive. Don’t you remember your book of martyrs, from school?”
“I can’t believe this is happening...” George said, his lips trembling as he said it. “Please, we’ve had wonderful times together, darling.”
Lana smiled and raked her nails down George’s abdomen and he flinched. She said, “Spare me the sentimental evocations...Men are easy to get. They’re ten a penny. They mean about as much to me as my next climax. You amused me for a while, George, and it’s true you're handsome and you do have a very fine penis, but I felt like a schoolteacher with you. You never could possess me, a young idiot like you from the provinces. And, though I warned you to keep your emotions in check, and your nose out of my private business, you couldn’t do it, could you? Now you’re in too deep, you silly boy, you know too much.”
Trained To Submit: First Time BDSM Story Page 23