'Perhaps this will do,' said the governor, breaking in on her thoughts and offering up a rather vicious looking riding crop.
Smithers hated Olivia more than ever when that passed before her eyes. One swipe with that and she would be cut to the bone. For the first time in her life she was glad she possessed what everyone else considered to be a 'fat arse'.
'Will this do?' he repeated, tapping the end under her chin. 'After all the effort in keeping you on that stool, I don't want you to feel cheated.'
Smithers uttered an incomprehensible grunt that the governor rightly took as full consent. Without any more ado he was behind her and lashing her bottom without mercy. Yet, as every stroke whistled into her burning halves and at every grunt she uttered, his mind was not on what still lay ahead, but on that tall, raven haired beauty against whose slender flanks he had spurted. She was as innocent as a spring lamb; for no woman, no matter how stupid, would fail to realise what had taken place behind her back. And the way she'd rubbed it into her skin without so much as a hint of delight made her all the more desirous.
One look at Smithers' striped bottom told him what sport could be had with Olivia. How would she react, he wondered, if he took her in the same way as he had taken Smithers, bound and flogged, but without knowing what he fully intended?
Smithers' mind was not on Olivia but on the whipping she was taking. Her bottom was ablaze with a searing pain that covered her whole backside, the tops of her thighs, and her hips. The crop had cut deep into her soft, abundant flesh, particularly near the crease of her thighs where the pain excited her most. Stroke after stroke sliced into her thigh creases and flanks and each blistering welt left her aching for more. If she were not gagged she would have asked for a thrashing between her legs, where the pain would have been greatest. But as it was she had to content herself with being thrashed on her bottom and legs. The governor, aroused with thoughts of buggering the innocent Olivia, tore into Smithers with a vengeance.
It seemed incredible that her bottom could withstand such a flogging, but Smithers was more than equal to the task. The harder he whipped, the greater her need for his manhood, which by now had been released from his trousers and was eagerly awaiting its own immersion into the willing orifice between her cheeks. But there still remained one part of her bottom as yet untouched.
'Your cleft,' he announced. 'I think we'll give that some attention.'
Smithers' heart skipped a beat when the iron cuffs around her wrists fell open. As was customary, she reached behind and, sinking her fingers into her cleft, prised it fully apart. The crop landed with superb accuracy, cutting into the darker regions of her valley where the flesh had not yet been welted. He gave her a dozen strokes, dividing the number in half on either buttock. Her teeth bit hard onto the strap as the heat burned from her welted cheeks into her quivering bottom.
It quivered a great deal more when the crop was cast aside and her hands were taken away and repositioned over her back. The iron cuffs locked her wrists together again, and as a further precaution he tightened the straps around her head by releasing the buckle and then wrenching it harder into her mouth. 'Bite on that for a while,' he instructed.
His own hands took the place where Smithers' had been and, sinking his thumbs into her cleft, he drew the cheeks slowly open.
'Splendid,' he complimented, admiring her puckered bottom hole.
Then with a mighty shove he filled her. Smithers' eyes watered at the thrill of being ridden so hard and being subjected to so much pain. But they might have watered a lot more if she had but known that the governor would from now on turn his attentions elsewhere. As his rod jabbed into the walls of Smithers' bottom he wondered what the dark haired beauty was doing at that moment.
Chapter Four
The dark haired beauty was making her way back to her dormitory, exhausted after sweating over the mangle. Her bottom throbbed from constant lashings delivered by the overseer. That was another lesson Olivia had learned; her bottom was no longer private property, but available to anyone who chose to trespass upon it. It seemed that beatings and punishments were given out on the slightest pretext. No one was safe, and could be tormented at any time of the day from morn to night. She quickly learned the scheme of things; those on the board threatened the overseers, who took it out on the turnkeys, who in their turn bullied and terrified the inmates, whose only relief came at night in each other's arms.
Olivia lay awake listening to the furtive tread of footsteps going from cot to cot, and then, moments later the steady creaking of the palliasse, the pants and moans, the writhing of limbs and sobbing, grateful expulsions of frustrated passion. In the dim light hungry mouths found willing nipples and labia, fingers and tongues searched into hot, juicy recesses; and always the constant changing of partners and silent, frequent trips to the pot.
The dormitory inmates took it in turns to empty it out in the freezing yard; a good excuse to escape the fetid and stale odour laden air that hung like a heavy mist over the cots. They would return refreshed and ready to select another lover, creeping discreetly past the ends of the cots, spying out who was free or otherwise coupled.
Olivia had kept herself awake, lest someone should suddenly worm their wicked way under her blanket. The clock tower struck one, and just as Olivia deemed it safe to close her eyes she felt the blanket slip from her shoulders.
'Leave me alone,' she rasped, clutching the blanket and pulling it back again.
The ghostly figure at the end of the cot floated towards her and seated itself.
'I'll give you one more chance,' it whispered. 'Now make room.'
'Go away,' Olivia returned. 'I want to sleep.'
But the figure wouldn't go away. A hand slithered under the blanket and alighted on her thigh. Before Olivia could grasp it the fingers were between her legs, probing clumsily, leaving her in no doubt as to where they wanted to go. In the next instant a blast of hot air blew across her face.
'Oh, no,' sighed Olivia.
'Oh yes.'
And then she was kissed full on the lips.
'Now make room,' Flora whispered, clambering in beside her.
Olivia shuffled her bottom across the palliasse and turned her head away, staring tearfully at the couple in the opposite bed who were making such a noise that half the dormitory was awake and starting to add to the din.
'Please don't,' Olivia wept, feeling Flora's fingers encircling her labia and her tongue sweeping around her throat.
'Be quiet and open your legs.'
'I'll do no such thing. You can kiss me if you really must, but I won't be touched there.'
Flora paused and then, much to Olivia's profound relief, took away her hand.
'Sniff,' she said, poking her wetted fingertips into Olivia's nostrils.
'I know what I smell like,' she replied, wrinkling her nose, and before she could utter another word Flora slipped them into her mouth.
'Suck them,' she whispered, 'go on, see how you taste.' 'It's like poison,' Olivia gulped.
Someone in a nearby cot heard that remark and burst out laughing. But Flora wasn't laughing.
'Enough of this foolery,' Flora rasped. 'Open your legs and let me lie on top of you.'
'It says in the Bible,' Olivia began, 'that we are not supposed to lie with our own kind...'
Then the whole dormitory erupted. Everyone was listening now, sitting up, looking over each other's shoulders and stopping whatever they had been doing.
'You've done this deliberately!' Flora hissed, aware that everyone was waiting to see what she would do next.
She shouted at the nearest girl to go to the end of the dormitory and fetch the pot. When she came back Olivia was standing at the end of her cot with Flora glaring at her. The laughing had ceased and the inmates were clutching each other fearfully, waiting to see what Flora intended.
'Empty that stinking pot over her bed,' she said to the girl, who gazed back in a disbelieving stupor.
Then she seized it herself
and tossed the entire contents all over Olivia's palliasse. The deathly hush became a knife edge of abject terror, for Flora was a dangerous woman to cross.
'You all saw that!' she snapped. 'This wretch has soiled her bed on purpose!'
Thirty heads nodded in unison. Some had retreated back into the shadows, and some were getting back into bed and covering themselves.
'Out of there!' Flora roared, her deep, sonorous voice booming around the walls, 'and follow me to the mill!'
She grabbed Olivia by the hair and dragged her along behind her. Out across the yard they went, the rest trooping behind, mostly naked. Olivia, through streaming eyes, saw herself being hauled through a doorway and into a building piled high with sacks and barrels. At the far end hung lengths of chains suspended on pulley wheels used to raise and lower loaded sacks from the machinery above.
'Stand up straight and part your legs!' Flora commanded, positioning Olivia in the midst of the chains.
One of the girls, obeying Flora's instructions, picked up the end of a chain and passed it through Olivia's open legs. While she stood holding it an iron band was fetched from a pile of dismembered barrels and fitted around Olivia's waist like a belt. The end of the chain the girl was holding was then passed between the band and Olivia's stomach, and locked in place with a hasp.
'Put your hands out in front of you,' Flora grinned maliciously.
'What are you going to do with me?' Olivia asked, feeling the chain between her legs pulling tighter.
'Flog you of course, and in a way that you'll never forget. When I've finished with you in here you'll be begging me to share your bed.'
'You could share it now,' Olivia replied, wishing she hadn't resisted in the first place.
'Too late for that now.'
A short length was wrapped around her wrists and the links intertwined, thus binding them tightly together.
'Very good,' said Flora, pleased with the result. 'Now raise your hands above your head.'
Olivia did so, and from behind a hand drew her wrists back to the suspended chain that had passed between her legs to the band at the front. A rattling of more chain fastened her already bound wrists to the suspended length.
'Almost there,' said Flora cheerfully, and she reached for a length a chain hanging by Olivia's side.
A sharp tug, a grinding of links through a pulley, and Olivia's feet shot from the floor. Her mouth flew open, gasping for breath. The chain between her legs suddenly sank into her slit as her whole weight bore down upon it. Her arms stretched upwards, sending in their wake a scalding pain through her breasts and sides. A torturer from the Inquisition could not have been more thorough in his methods than Flora. Around Olivia's ankles went yet more chain, which was then hooked to a solid lump of iron used as a counterweight to the sacks going up and down to the loft.
For a moment it seemed to Olivia that time stood still. Her eyes closed, taking in the excruciating pain burning through her vagina and belly. She was sure the chain had sawed her in half. All through her legs, arms and back every muscle spasmed and twitched. Her ankles felt as if they would tear asunder from her aching calves. By now the chain between her legs had embedded deep into her bottom crease, and because of the weight on her ankles was sinking deeper and deeper. Only when the links finally struck the base of her spine did the chain halt its agonizing progress.
'Please! For Christ's sake let me down!' she pleaded, lifting her eyes heavenwards as if he might suddenly appear from the rafters.
'Not until you've been flogged,' Flora said, smiling up at her.
Then she put her hand on the inside of Olivia's thigh and stroked, savouring the smooth expanse of creamy flesh hanging defenceless before her. The hand went upwards until the fingers found the parted and swollen labia.
'Splendid lips,' Flora observed, kneading them as she might a lump of dough. 'I do declare, you make me feel quite envious, eh, girls.'
They came forward as one, crowding around and peering up into Olivia's slit. At Flora's encouragement they all began feeling her legs and bottom; pinching the taut muscles in her calves, taking hold of handfuls of flesh on her thighs and squeezing it deliberately hard, increasing the already unbearable pain. Her bottom was poked and slapped and kissed and finally bitten with teeth as sharp as razors. Olivia shrieked and jolted with such force her feet swung to and fro like a pendulum, the links in her groin rubbed back and forth, spreading open her labia and affording Flora a view of the luscious, pink, inner petals on which she now turned.
Never had Olivia been so humiliated or felt so degraded as when Flora angled her head into her groin and licked the dew from her quivering petals. Burning with shame, she lowered her blushing face, hoping the mass of tumbling hair would offer at least a modicum of privacy from the taunting eyes.
Flora made an exaggerated play, smacking her lips and rolling her tongue either side of the chain, much to the delight of the onlookers who expressed their desire to do like wise. Flora permitted half a dozen of the assembly to feast themselves on Olivia's weeping nectar before she announced the commencement of the flogging, which she assured Olivia, would leave her bottom blazing for some considerable time.
The instrument she chose was a whip used by the mill overseer, which had once been a cart whip and had been reduced in length by cutting it in half, leaving the narrow and supple part for slashing the backsides of the mill workers. But it was still long enough to wrap around the body of its victim at least twice.
Flora took her stance behind Olivia and gathered the whip in her hand. The rest of the assembly shuffled ominously away from Olivia's hanging body and turned their eyes upwards, unable to disguise the joyful twinkle that flashed there.
The first lash struck Olivia across the buttocks as she thought it would, but even well prepared for that eventuality, she was not able to prevent the reaction that followed. Her ankles kicked out, lifting the weight and swaying it back and forth, putting greater strain on her arms and crotch. Olivia wasn't sure where the pain was most acute; on her whipped buttocks or between her legs. Now she understood why Flora had suspended her that way. From now on every lash would have her bucking and jolting. She would swing to and fro and the chains would do their work.
The whip whistled again, its sound magnified in the huge expanse of the tall and empty building. Olivia's screams echoed to the rafters and bounced from wall to wall.
'Excellent!' exclaimed Flora. 'That's what I like to hear. And the more you scream, the harder I shall whip!'
Olivia could hardly credit it; the pain was so severe the only release lay in screaming, so by that token it was clear that the whipping would only stop when her screams ceased after she had fainted.
She braced herself for the next lash, which caught her on the left of her flanks and then again on her right in quick succession. Olivia's body twisted in all directions from hips to shoulders like a stoat caught in a trap. Flora whipped again, and with consummate skill, judged where Olivia's flailing body would contort next, so that each blow sent her back again in the same direction.
Olivia, as a child, had been told about the early Christian martyrs who had been torn to pieces on the rack, and now she was beginning to understand what it must have felt like. Her arms and legs had lost all feeling, except at the wrists and ankles where the persistent pulling of the weight and chain threatened to rip them asunder. Between her legs it was no better, there the links had ground well into her sex and had all but disappeared. It was the same in her bottom-cleft; there the chain had seesawed with each violent jerk of her hips and had left her raw.
As the whip went on lashing her, she saw through tear-filled eyes that she was changing direction. All around her the walls and roof were spinning, churning her stomach, making her feel giddy and sick. That was just what her terrible audience would like. Nothing would give greater satisfaction than to see her throw up and soil her own body. Whatever happened she would cling to her self-respect, she would not, no matter how awful her sufferings, discharg
e her bladder or bowels. But that was much easier thought than done, for the whip now fell across her front and sides as she continued spinning round and round.
To Flora it was the most rewarding punishment she'd carried out in a long while. All she had to do was remain in one spot and send the whip where it would. It cracked into Olivia's soft belly and wrapped around her waist, and when pulled free sent Olivia whirling by the wrists, offering both back and bottom to a renewed attack.
Poor Olivia didn't know where it would fall next. It could land anywhere; her buttocks, back, belly, breasts or hips and flanks.
'Stop it!' she managed to shriek. 'I've taken all I can! You're killing me!'
Her pitiful pleading echoed back, shrieking again and again in her head, but Flora's blood was up. She would leave this insolent bitch who had made a fool of her half dead, and when she came again into the dormitory Olivia would welcome her with open legs.
And it was at these she aimed the whip, catching the straining calves and thighs, whizzing Olivia faster than a whipped top. The weight kept her spinning longer than she would ordinarily have done, and when it had wound to its fullest extremity it spun back the other way. Olivia tried desperately to halt it by twisting her body in the opposite direction, but she was spent. The whip falling across her back and buttocks was now merely going through the motions of welting her. Her piercing screams had given way to choking sobs and snorts. She had not been sick or degraded herself, she just hung there slowly spinning, her head bowed, eyes barely able to focus on the debris that littered the floor.
'Take her down.'
Flora's voice seemed to come from both near and far as the chain creaked through the pulley. The weight fell from her ankles and it seemed as if they were floating. Her toes touched the tiles, putting a stop to her spinning body. The chain creaked again and Olivia felt her legs buckle at the knees. Then they too touched the earth and she sank back on her whipped haunches, spreading her calves and letting her bare, burning bottom find comfort on the cold tiles beneath. A gasp escaped her lips when her wrists fell away from the chain and it was dragged from her crotch.
The Instruction of Olivia Page 5