Eliska

by von Mechtingen

  When Premsyl cried out, she directed the repeated spurts towards her breasts. The sperm arched out and Eliska emptied him, smearing the grey clots over her skin, until her breasts dazzled with the lucent juice. She sucked her fingers, closed her eyes and ran her hand over the lips of her cunt.

  When the session was over, I was inevitably drawn into conversation, this time by Eliska herself.

  “A stimulating session, my lord,” she remarked, flushed and pleased, the discharge now dry over her chest like a diaphanous film, with a translucent drop about to fall from the tip of her left breast. “I find inexpressible pleasure in these duties, not only through the fulfilments they give me but in the thought that I am helping this whore to emerge at last from the curse and hell of illicit prostitution.”

  She drank deeply from her glass.

  “You know, my lord, you should not be surprised if this whore is reluctant to leave us. She is fed, sheltered, cared for, enjoys plentiful sex and later will find friends of her sort here, now that her whippings are coming to an end. She cannot now envisage living without me. She has become a slave. She has become so used to the lash that later I will be able to have her undergo her routine weekly scourging standing without chains. Yes, she has become one of us.”

  Ladislav endorsed his Mistress’s view. “The Margravine is right. The whore will find it an imposition, for instance, to wear clothes again. Rather than wander in rags and clogs or barefoot in that thankless, cruel, harsh and unreal world out there, she will beg to be taken back into our all-embracing care and bridled again as a slave. At the least the Margravine may in her humane benevolence find her a place in one of the brothels.”

  I nodded understandingly and meditated what her soldier, the lansquenet officer, if he still existed, would think of such a prospect were he here in this pernicious cellar of vipers to hear the conversation.

  Although Sebastian had not participated in the whipping as such, he was nevertheless rewarded, as is the custom here. While we had been talking and drinking, he had slung Maryska by the arms and legs like a sack, belly down. As if to affirm her courage and assent, she managed to keep her head high, her ear-rings sparkling between her stretched upper arms. At the further ring of the bell, Sebastian began to load the body with weights, a Morgenstern for each of Maryska’s five body rings. As the flesh jerked downwards with the traction of the irons, the girl drew her breath in with a hiss of pain, fighting tenaciously against the vertical pull on her most tender parts.

  From a nearby bench, the man selected a stout leather-bound stump in the form of a penis, about twice the size of his own throbbing erection. He prised apart the buttocks, still scalding from the double scourging, and screwed the head of the shaft into the narrow entry, lubricating it with his dripping liquids until Maryska was plugged deep and tight. I concluded this impalement was designed to excite the victim rather than to supplement her suffering; Maryska heaved in her chains, gasping as she contended with the sheer size of the thing.

  Arching his loins forward and forcing her head and fettered neck back by holding her by the hair, Sebastian fed his erection into Maryska’s mouth. The regular stabbing plunge of the tumescence made Maryska choke and gag helplessly as the monster reached into the recesses of her throat. Desperately she performed the fellatio as best she could, sucking savagely, compressing the meat with her lips and teeth to enhance the gratification she had, at all costs, to give to her master. Only now and then, when the sex was withdrawn to relish a re-entry, was the girl able to catch her breath and swallow the gathering liquids and saliva; even then her tongue flicked out like a lizard’s to lick the head, once she had gulped in air... Maryska worked on the penis with a sort of ecstatic sexual frenzy - as she had done with her soldier, but then free and unchained. Her body was bathed in sweat as she sucked ravenously, the lapping being the sole sound in the silence of the dungeon.

  Suddenly the man’s buttocks clenched, his head fell back and the pent-up pulsations of sperm surged into the throat. In the fury of the orgasm, the man wrenched Maryska’s head backwards to enjoy the full depth of the gullet; he held her there until he had finished sluicing into the throat and even then remained within her. Maryska fought and choked in her struggle to swallow the sluggish deluge, her cheeks gorged. Sebastian held her as if about to snap the neck. Then he withdrew with a jerk.

  Maryska’s head lunged forward. The choking mouth opened with the release. And the hot sperm, still turbid, thick, opaque, slithered out over her lip and chin to the flagstones, where it splattered in glittering clots.

  An even deeper hush fell over the dungeon, transfixing the audience; even Eliska, I saw, caught her breath. Something had disturbed the ceremony.

  Instantly I realized, recalling an earlier exchange I had had with Milan, the terrible fault, the appalling transgression which the retching, choking Maryska had committed. Failure to swallow down the full load of an ejaculation during a formal session was deemed not only an insult to the male concerned but also a presumptuous affront to the Margravine herself and to the sanctity of the ceremony.

  Dissatisfied rather than shocked, the group began to leave the dungeon, each member bowing courteously to me. As I followed, catching sight of Maryska being unchained and made to lick up the wasted semen, the lord Milan took my arm.

  “An execrable end to a session, sir!” he lamented. “The slovenly whore will have to pay for this. She has insulted her whipmaster’s manhood and will do penance...”

  “In what form, pray?” I asked, about to protest that she was prevented from swallowing by the way he had held her head; I thought better of it and do not want to be accused of commiserating with the girl. “What penance more can she possibly endure?”

  “Oh, but it is his right,” Milan replied. “He will take her to a special cell of his, we call it the Red Cellar, and deal with her. Sebastian himself has fashioned all the contraptions, gear and instruments there. The Margravine does not like us to spend time there, reserving it for herself and special friends. Rather unfair, I consider.”

  He smiled, then Eliska turned round.

  “Graf von Mechtingen, do not listen to this sweet boy! He is never satisfied. And do not worry about the whore. She is in expert hands. And she will orgasm countless times before the night is out, for Sebastian is not as inhuman as he seems.”

  She took Milan’s arm. ‘Come, take me to that bed of feathers and make heavenly love to me.”

  I wandered back to my chamber across the bars of moonlight in the great corridors and soon was between my coarse linen sheets, wondering what was happening to Maryska. Again I felt so out of place here, so ingenuous, rather like a shorn sheep among wolves and, as I fell asleep to the hooting of the owls (and, believe it or not, a nightingale!), I comforted myself by presuming that if God had not wanted them shorn, He would not have created sheep.

  Two items of interest today, as I send off this letter. First, the characters of my hosts seem to fit the four humours well. Secondly, Radka says that she ‘trusts’ me. Why?

  My love to you, my dear student,

  Your uncle Huldrych

  Letter The Eighteenth

  I mentioned the old woman Radka in my last letter. Well, oddly, she has begun to play a strange role in my existence here. I think she confides in me not only because of our ages but because she trusts me. But I do not wish to become too familiar and I am staying aloof (as befits my station); above all I must be careful to avoid her connivances. Despite her humble origins, she is an intelligent if wary woman; she has worked here in the castle all her life and I suspect she has sympathies with the sects, possibly the Taborites since she spoke one day of John Zizka, their leader a century ago, who preached common property, free love and so on. The name still lives on.

  In the course of the next days, between my journeys to towns and villages in the outlying countryside, I saw much of the woman. At one moment
, as I was poring over my revenue figures in my chamber, I saw Radka picking herbs in the terrace garden below. She made a sign to me and I went down, taking the chance to stretch my legs and, to be honest, Nephew, to talk to someone.

  I have found Radka to be a mine of information.

  While she collected fronds of plants for her medical concoctions, she imparted to me some extraordinary things. Obviously she heartily detests the Margravine and the lovers and yearns for the times of the old Margrave. This hatred is shared by several of the overseers and by the scores of servants in the castle - but does not compare with the loathing in the hearts of the serfs in the Zatoransky domains, hence the perpetual rumours of revolt. On the other hand, the Margravine is adored by her all-powerful bailiffs, the Landsknechte and guards who enjoy great privileges, not least among which is ready access to any slave-girl they fancy. As to Sebastian, who is rarely seen, he is feared as Satan is feared.

  The starving peasants and the servile rabble in Zatoransky seethe in the feudal grip of the castle, monasteries and local landowners. The whole situation reminds me vividly of our great uprisings of 1525 at home.

  May God save us from that!

  “Most of the serfs exist on oats and dried beans mixed with winter grass,” Radka told me, picking her camomile and chervil, “while the royal table here is loaded with pork, beef, boar, venison, poultry, duck, goose, quail, chicken, vegetables, fish -”

  Her list petered out at last. I then asked about the destitution I saw around.

  “Conditions have grown worse since the Margravine increased taxes fourfold. The serfs have to pay more or work harder for salt, corn (which they have to grind in the Margravine’s mill against payment), bread (which they are not allowed to bake for themselves), beans, butter, meat (once a month if they are lucky), wood (no felling or gathering without permission from the bailiffs) and all cloth for clothing. Infringements are punished with the utmost severity - males in the town prison, females in the castle, as you know.” She paused and then added: “My lord, the Great Whore of Babylon controls all you see around you. Except your lordship, your man Hans and your horses.”

  “Tell me about the servants,” I said.

  “Servants? They are slaves, sir - orphans, widows, the destitute, young girls. My Ignatius says that girls are hauled up here ‘to be trained for service’, but the phrase must be takencum grano salis . We all know what will happen to them, particularly if they are pretty and well-proportioned. Their fate is almost worse than living in misery in this impoverished province except that they are fed, sheltered and clothed.”

  I recalled Ladislav’s similar words a day or so ago, as Radka added: “Clothed unless they are naked for whipping.”

  Then she stood up and faced me. “My lord, if you will come with me tonight, I shall show you the Great Whore of Babylon, who owns us, at work. I shall knock four times on your door. Go now, dear lord. Do not let her see us too much together. She is a fiend.”

  That evening, after my long ride out to Librec and the surroundings, supper was a gay affair with Ladislav particularly truculent and Eliska in the best of spirits, teasing me with a pleasant humour. When they had retired, I listened to the music played by the two minstrels and drank my wine, before going to my room. The light tapping came soon after.

  I followed Radka silently up the stairs to the long corridor above with curtained rooms leading off. She stopped at one heavily brocaded curtain and signalled to me to peer in.

  In the very centre of the luxurious chamber - evidently Eliska’s own - four naked bodies were engaged in passionate, intense sex. The candlelight identified them clearly: Ladislav lay prostrate on a low table, fully penetrated in Eliska’s vagina as she knelt, clothed only in her riding-boots and spurs, above him. Premsyl, sweating before Eliska’s face, was using her mouth with long, slow strokes in and out of the lips that encircled him. Behind her, the fiery young Milan had grasped her around the hips and was plunging deep between the buttocks. All four seemed to move with a preordained rhythm, well-practised and smooth.

  The scene was enacted in silence except for the panting and groaning and the sound of lapping and suction as the Margravine of Zatoransky enjoyed three men in her at once.

  Beyond, the Margravine’s bed stood in complete disarray and a heap of clothing lay on the carpet, among which I noticed Eliska’s wimple and starched cowl, discarded for the first time. Indeed now I saw her dark hair straggling around her face as she worked on Premsyl’s prick. She looked like an animal, lustful and sleek and beautiful. It was then that Radka whispered in my ear, as she drew me away from the tapestry, “Our Great Whore of Babylon, my lord.”

  Swiftly we descended the stairs, I somehow feeling ill at ease and remorseful at this eavesdropping on people who are after all my hosts and...

  (At this point one or more pages are missing. The text then continues:-)

  ... I entertained Radka with various stories, describing to her the sea which, of course, she has never set eyes upon and which I enjoyed so much during my mission to the Low Countries. I then recounted the recent voyage of discovery to the other side of the world, which she had difficulty in believing. In return she told me about a nearby lake where the carp are as ‘big as dogs’. She also mentioned the moat round Zatoransky castle since we were talking of water; she affirmed that she knew of women being thrown into the slimy depths and sent to their forefathers in this way. No one here knows how to swim. Why people were drowned in this moat, I could not get out of her.

  We also talked of my male hosts and I explained how they could be considered in terms of the four humours. The lord Ladislav, for instance, is sanguine, full-blooded, positive in everything and with a balanced, agreeable nature. His allegiance to his Mistress is typical of this sort of character. Milan, I went on, is of course our choleric, easy to anger, spontaneous and when irate, uncontrollable and even dangerous. He can be capable of cruelty and ruthlessness, I suspect; this Radka confirmed in words I do not wish to repeat here. She particularly loathes this young, vain lecher.

  It was Radka herself, enjoying the game, who depicted the lord Premsyl: a man tending to melancholy, who rarely smiles and keeps much to himself. At the same time, he can be selfish and, under his severe exterior, thoroughly relishes his privileges, his hunting, dining and the sex he has with Eliska; it is he apparently who coldly draws up the terms of punishment to be visited on females who fall into their clutches.

  “And the Margravine?” I asked Radka provocatively. What she said I translate into my own terms which you will understand, Nephew. Thus, Eliska is phlegmatic. Not easily disturbed or ruffled even before severe challenges; determined in her decisions and duties and quite unforgiving, hard and sharp as a steel sword; never satisfied and forever seeking new pleasures in a calculated manner, capable of immense cruelty and terrible revenge and all carried out with cold composure.

  “If you want further evidence of her hypocrisy and deceit,” Radka said as we entered the main door, “let me take you, like the other night, to her chamber again. What you will see there tonight even the Last Judgement is insufficient to condemn. You know, my lord, that a misguided young nun from St. Ursula’s or St. Barbara’s - I do not recall which - has been taken making lesbian love. She will be shaved - that is my task, sir - and ringed and put to the whip in full session thereafter. But meanwhile, sir, she is being used shamelessly. If she is not chained in the vault, she is up in the bedchamber of our Great Whore of Babylon. It is worth your trouble to see it, my lord, for I feel you do not believe me.” She paused. “Like the other night, I shall come for you in your room when the evening meal is over.”

  I went with her again along the dark passages until we were before the weighty tapestry. Long groans of pleasure could be plainly heard beyond and I was sure they came from Eliska. Conscious of my risk, I parted the curtain.

  The first thing I saw in the pale glow of
Eliska’s chamber, lit by a few candles, was a chair with its back towards me. Then I recognized Ladislav, seated and watching the spectacle being enacted before him. Stretched completely naked over the bed, Eliska lay writhing, one arm flung up beyond her tangled hair, her thighs thrown out wide. She trembled as she grasped the edge of the bed; her cries were soft and continuous.

  Between her legs knelt a nude girl, her head shaved, her wrists tied behind her back, licking Eliska’s cunt, spearing deep into the vagina and working her tongue luxuriously and quite unrestrainedly over the clitoris and swollen labia. Now and then the teeth bit the flesh and extended it lasciviously before returning to suck the erect white clitoris.

  I cannot repeat here the expletives that issued out of Eliska’s mouth; they would blunt my quill. As she pressed the girl’s head into her groin, she called for more tongue, more suction, more liquid, ordering her to move here to the inner thigh, there to the buttock-cleft, cursing the young nun for a whore, a bitch at its bowl, a lesbian slut.

  Eliska’s voice was hoarse and unearthly as she rolled on the bed, the girl sucking the sex-hair into peaks wet with saliva and which she held between her teeth, tugging at them to excite the woman to whom she now belonged. She seemed to work on Eliska with that same passion as Maryska used on her flogger - as if to commend herself and curry favour.

  Eliska was like an animal thwarted of food until she began to sense the storm of her orgasm taking form within her; then she gave herself totally to the slobbering lips labouring on her labia. But at the supreme instant, she cried out to Ladislav.

  “The whore’s killing me... Fuck me, fuck me while she sucks me. Quick. I’m coming!”

  Ladislav rose and, thrusting the young girl aside, entered Eliska until the pubic hair of both was one. The girl pressed her face into Eliska’s belly, flicking her tongue anew over the spear of flesh and biting the huge shaft that fucked just below it