by Cecelie Hart
A bold boast... and Emma did not doubt it was true. But, she suspected, it was a weapon that could be deployed exactly once. Those same powers would not tolerate Madame Silk if her discretion could not be trusted.
Yes... this was what Edmund had meant by his promise of fire. He would invite his own ruin... knowing that the blaze would consume the House of Silk. And that was what Emma must prevent. Not for her husband, not for Ada, but for her own son. Was Madame Silk so jaded that she could not see that?
Emma let her mouth twitch up in a smile. "Curiosity," she said simply.
Madame Silk inclined her head in question.
"You asked why," Emma told her. "Curiosity. A challenge. I have to know what all the fuss is about." She met the older woman's eyes easily. Her words had the benefit of being true.
A chuckle. "You will be a worthy contestant," Madame Silk purred. "I shall enjoy watching the crowd fuck you bloody."
Emma didn't flinch. That was a cheap shot, not worth a reaction.
"And I shall enjoy watching your parents social calendar suddenly fill up," Madame Silk continued.
Emma blinked. She couldn't help it. What?
"I suspect your sister will receive a good deal more attention," the older woman chortled, her eyes sparkling, her face suddenly ugly. "She is still unmarried, is she not? Even with Edmund's help, your family is still struggling, I believe. How many suitors do you think she will attract in the expectation that she is as depraved as you? How many do think will not wait, but will press advantage and taste her treasure?"
Emma's heart was beating faster. She had not considered this. Visions of her sister passed before her eyes... Anne's back arching as Edmund's ice tortured her womanhood... Anne's pale bottom blossoming to admit Edmund's thick cock... Anne begging him to sodomize her again...
Anne had already succumbed to temptation. But Emma's husband had left her sister a virgin, in the most technical of senses at least. But she doubted the next wanton rake would be so restrained...
Madame Silk chuckled again. She looked smugly satisfied as she stood. "Good evening, my dear," she purred, her confidence complete once more. "I shall leave you to your own devices. But please do not hesitate to ask if you decide you do want Daisy to lick your arse after all."
Emma sat motionless and stone faced as the older woman leered at swept from the room. She had the sudden feeling that Madame Silk had been probing her for weakness and had found everything she needed.
♠
They came for her without warning. While Emma had known the day of her ordeal, she had not known the time. She had sat, tense and apprehensive, in her dull, gilded cage for hours, expecting her summons at any moment. There were no clocks. All she knew was that it was late. Her windows were boarded over and curtained, but the light had ceased its attempts to creep in around the edges.
Thomas and the effeminate footman entered without knocking. They blindfolded Emma with a thick silk cloth and stripped her naked. As she was walked through rooms and down stairs, she heard chuckles and whistles. More than one person pinched her bare arse. But she could not see who was appreciating her shameful nudity, nor could she tell if they were persons of breeding, or if she was being displayed for servants and common muck. Yet it mattered little. She walked proudly, head held high as fitting her station. Her husband's wanton practices had inured her to such humiliations.
She could hear low muffled chatter from ahead of her as they finally stopped. Her wrists were bound together and her arms raised above her head. They were held there by some rope or cord that came from the ceiling. It was not uncomfortable... not yet. She could stand easily and flatfooted, although she did imagine that it stretched her body and emphasized her breasts for display.
The blindfold was removed. She was on a stage, the heavy velvet curtain still down. Beyond she could hear the chatter of a sizable crowd. Around her were tables covered with the tools of Madame Silk's trade. She saw dildos and scarily large plugs, lit candles, wicked whips, vicious riding crops and narrow wooden paddles. A bottle of champagne sat in a bucket of ice. There were strange devices whose purpose she could not imagine... many of which she suspected were there simply there to horrify and intimidate. Behind and beside her were mirrors, curved like those at a country fair, intended to display and magnify each aspect of her naked, helpless body for the audience's pleasure. A rope dangled down her back. As it swung, she could feel it tickle her spine. Its end was metal and bounced gently from her bare buttocks. And on one side of the stage was a large hourglass... or a half hour glass Emma supposed. Once it was turned, she just had to hold until the last grain of sand fell.
"Oh, you are a pretty one!" Madame Silk purred as she strolled out from backstage, the heels of her riding boots clicking against the wood.
To Emma's surprise, her adversary was almost as naked as she was. While Madame Silk was attired, she was most indecently so. Her white lace corset left little to the imagination. Her ample bosom seemed to be straining for freedom. Beneath the lace, her pudenda was exposed for the world to see. The puffy lips of her vulva protruded through her blonde curls. They glistened with what must have been oil. Her long silk stockings cut off at garter belts on her upper thighs
"Anything to say?" the whore asked softly, running her finger up the inside of the bound noblewoman's thigh.
Emma snorted and shook her head derisively.
"Very well," Madame Silk whispered. She slipped around behind Emma and gestured sideways. The curtain began to rise. The effeminate footman darted out from the wings to stand beside the hourglass.
"Gentlemen," Madame Silk called out, her voice suddenly booming. "The House of Silk is proud to present tonight's contestant for the great game. We have a rare morsel indeed for your enjoyment. Lady Emma, wife of Lord Berringham and mother to his heir."
The chatter died down as the curtain finished rising, displaying Emma's nakedness to the entire theater. The stage was lit, but the audience was shadowed. Yet she could certainly sense them. She could hear their breathing and smell the acrid stench of their drunken musk. She couldn't tell how many had gathered and paid to see her shame... a score? A hundred? More? No matter, her husband had prepared her well to endure eyes upon her nudity.
"Such a pretty blossom," Madame Silk continued. "Still fresh and full of youth." Her head curled around Emma's body, cupping a breast briefly then trailing down to her stomach. "Fecund and fertile," she called out, her voice filling the theater. "Her hips wide for birthing and her womb proven true. Imagine what your seed might plant in such rich and worthy soil."
Emma couldn't help but flinch at the murmur of interest from the crowd. There were so many of them... She hadn't expected so many. If she lost, how long would it take to be passed around between them? What would be left of her afterwards?
"So graceful, so sweet," Madame Silk crooned as the footman began to turn the large hourglass upside down. Her other hand slid down to Emma's pert bottom. "Perhaps the prettiest creature to ever dangle..."
Emma gasped as cold, slender metal abruptly slid into her arsehole. She whimpered and squealed as its blunted tip dug into and pulled up on her anal passage.
"... on my hook!" Madame Silk exclaimed jubilantly, raising her arms wide to accept the thunderous applause.
♠
Emma danced on tiptoes, her shuddering and writhing making her firm breasts bounce. The hook was positioned with diabolical precision. If she lifted herself up as far as she could, it didn't pull... but her thighs, calves and feet ached. And as soon as she relaxed, the point of the hook began to dig and tug on the sensitive flesh inside her trembling arse.
Her poor brown flower was already pulsing around the metal as her sphincter convulsed. The mirrors caught the sight and enlarged it for the amusement of the watching crowd. Emma could hear them laugh and growl in arousal. Feet stamped in approval.
"What now?" Madame Silk asked, calling out to the back corners of the theater, playing to the crowd.
"The crop!"
came a yelled reply.
"Candles!" a rejoinder from the other side of the room.
"Clamps," shouted a third.
Madame Silk gestured to shush the crowd. "Gentlemen," she chided as they hushed. "Why not all three?"
♠
Despite herself, Emma couldn't help her gasping shriek as the crop landed on one creamy buttock. The stinging pain was followed by an aching burn. She closed her eyes to resist the urge to glance back into the mirrors. She was sure red welts now crisscrossed her pretty arse.
She didn't understand. This made no sense. The purpose of the game was to bring her pleasure. Madame Silk should be attempting to bring her to brink of ecstasy. Instead the whore was toying with her, inflicting pain and playing with the crowd, cajoling them to suggest new and devilish torments.
Her heaving breasts and trembling stomach were splattered with the wax of the candles. She'd cried out as Madame Silk had flicked it across her, painting chaotic patterns of pain across her flesh. Its hot white seed had burst across her like the tears from a man's cock. Between each scalding ejaculation, the whore had run an ice cube down Emma's spine, or dabbed it against her nipples, or teased the lips of her pussy. Hurtled between hot and cold, Emma's nerves were jangling and torn.
The candle was inside her now, dull end first, a bulge in the stem holding it snug inside her womanhood. Her 'burning shame' Madame Silk had called it. Her thighs were bowed, fighting to keep their distance from the flame flickering from the waxy stub protruding from her pussy. Even on tiptoes, she could no longer keep the hook from pulling at her arse and slowly extending the blossoms of her dark flower.
Crops and clamps had been next. Her nipples were pinched and twisted within diabolical iron devices. But the aching sting in her breasts was nothing compared to the smart from the blows of the riding crop. Each one set her bottom jiggling and her toes dancing, the flame from her pussy burning her thighs. Yet worse still were the delicate strikes from the velvet crop in Madame Silk's other hand. A little flick... that was all... but every time it landed with unerring accuracy on the hooded rosebud above her sweltering pussy. Gentle... soft... yet each one hit like a hammer blow.
Why? Why? Tears filled Emma's eyes. She didn't understand. Half the sand had flowed through the hourglass. Why was Madame Silk wasting her time on pain? Was it just to showboat to the braying, depraved crowd? Was she that confident?
Another blow to her aching clitoris almost cost Emma her balance. She teetered on the edge, on the verge of impaling herself on the vicious hook in her arse. She choked back a sob as she forced herself straight and upright.
But something had changed... the crowd had gone quiet. Emma blinked back her tears as Madame Silk dropped the crops and deftly pulled the candle from the lady's fluttering, sweltering pussy. She blew it out and held it up. The wax shaft was glistening and gleaming from Emma's cunt... her body confused by heat and pain into lubrication.
The clamps went next, tossed aside. Free from their constraints, Emma's breasts seemed to float. She groaned as Madame Silk blew gently across them, shocked as her nipples rose up erect. They tingled and trembled. She felt their throb inside herself... an ache in her loins.
At a gesture from Madame Silk, a young woman as naked as Emma darted from the stage wings and knelt behind her. The crowd shuffled, no doubt leaning forward to peer into the mirrors as the girl's tongue began to delicately tease at Emma's arsehole, squirming around the hook.
Emma gasped. Surely this was cheating... but the crowd seemed to accept the girl—Daisy, no doubt—as just another prop. The lady shivered. Madame Silk had not exaggerated the girl's skills. Her touch was divine, her timing exquisite. She kissed and caressed the raw, sensitive flesh of Emma's anus, inside and out, with angelic finesse... soft pleasure to match and meet the hard pain of the hook. If it took ten thousand hours to truly master a skill, Emma hated to imagine the young woman's upbringing...
She blinked as motion caught her eyes. Madame Silk was vigorously shaking the champagne bottle. Was she thirsty?
Pop! Emma cried out in shocked pleasure as Madame Silk suddenly pulled the cork free. The end of the bottle was inches from her womanhood, directed right at the sore pussy between her slightly parted thighs. She moaned as she was douched by champagne, bubbles bursting gently against her delicate vulva and surging and foaming into her quivering cunt.
Her mind swam. She almost lost control. Before her marriage she certainly would have done. After the assault of pain, her nerves were not ready for such a sparkling, delicate attack. The frothing jet played against her pussy, bathing her aggrieved rosebud in ephemeral bubbles.
And the bottle followed, joined by Madame Silk's skillful fingers. Emma wriggled and writhed, her anus clenching around the hook and Daisy's tongue, her pussy fluttering around the gentle penetration of the glass cock.
For a moment, she dangled on the edge as well as on the hook. Madame Silk's touch was as masterful as it had been in her office, firm yet tender, strong yet soft. With her defenses stripped bare by agony, Emma teetered on the verge of orgasm. The corners of her vision darkened. She could sense the little death rising to embrace her in its wondrous arms... All thoughts of the game were gone. Winning didn't matter. She yearned to fall back into primal joy...
But she couldn't... she couldn't break Edmund's rules. Emma choked down her pleasure and fell to her heels... the hook digging painfully into her anus, the bottle fucking her deeper. Through eyes full of tears and frustration, she stared defiantly at her adversary and shook her head.
But over Madame Silk's shoulder she could see the hour glass. A moment ago the sand had been falling quickly and freely... half empty. Now it was half full and the grains seemed to be tumbling slowly, one by one...
♠
Madame Silk tried with her fingers and tongue... she tried with the champagne bottle and a ridged ivory dildo... she tried with feathers, silk and velvet... But the moment of shock was gone. Emma had survived the sudden switch from pain to pleasure and now she was on firmer footing. Her whole marriage had been training her for this... she'd spent hours holding herself on the edge while Ada conspired to push her over. Madame Silk was better than her daughter... something Emma would not have believed possible until today. At her leisure, she could have eventually overwhelmed the lady's defenses in a hundred ways. But no matter how slow the sand seemed to pour, time was still Emma's ally. A treacherous friend to be sure, but on her side...
The noise from the crowd subtly changed. They still roared at the depravities. They cheered at each new unnatural penetration, at every moan and groan, at every bounce of her breasts as she danced on the hook. But beneath it a murmur was growing. They were beginning to wonder, beginning to believe. They might still have been imagining how Emma's nubile cunt or arse might feel around their cock... about how they might defile her young, beautiful body. But attention was lingering on Madame Silk too. Would this be the night they finally got to gorge on the rich, tantalizing fruit that had been dangled before them so often... fruit so ripe and sweet it was almost rotten...
Something was growing in Madame Silk's eyes too. Not fear or concern... not yet... but a strange mix of frustration and excitement.
"He has trained you well," she whispered in Emma's ear as she drove an entire fist into the lady's noble pussy. "But Edmund is predictable... a creature of habit and dull tastes."
Her cunt so full that she could feel fingers curling around her womb, Emma merely groaned in reply. Her body longed to sing... tension was humming and reverberating along every fiber of her being. But that was familiar agony. She mastered it easily. Each grain might take an age to fall... but they were falling. Far more sand was in the bottom of the hourglass than the top.
"It is so tiresome to sink to his prosaic level," Madame Silk hissed. "But time is short."
Emma blinked the fist abruptly pulled from her cunt. She grunted in strain, her body gaping open... a vacuum at its center. Her breath caught as she saw Madame Silk take a long
, vicious knife from the table of props. She gasped as it was pressed to her throat. She whimpered. This was wrong... Edmund had assured her the rules stipulated no lasting damage. But the blade in her adversary's hand was razor sharp and Madame Silk did not like losing.
She closed her eyes as the whore swung... and cried out in surprise as she suddenly fell to her knees. The ropes above her head fell away, severed by sharp metal. No longer pulled taut, the hook dropped from her sore and distended anal ring. But her wrists were bound and when Madame Silk's foot pressed hard on her back, Emma tumbled face first against the stage.
She trembled as she lay prone on the floor. A hush fell across the theater as Madame Silk selected her instruments from her table. Emma lacked the strength to turn her head to look... and perhaps it was better not to know.
Her bottom squirmed, free at last from the hook. But it was little surprise to feel something press at her raw back door. Whatever it was, it was huge, and round, and firm yet slightly pulpy.
She gasped as Madame Silk rammed the item through her aching ring and drove it deep into her rectum. Her practiced back passage shrank from it, prickling from familiar heat. A ginger root! Emma's eyes widened. But it couldn't be... it was far too large. Threefold thicker at least than any her husband had used to violate her delicate posterior. Yet, she could feel its soft warmth as the gentle glow spice suffused her body. Her limbs twitched. Her pussy fluttered and salivated, well accustomed to what such a penetration would mean. It must be several roots bound together and sculpted into an unnatural phallus. She whimpered at the thought of its contents. There was one truth about being figged... sooner or later everyone clenched. And when her arse clamped down the scalding essence would flood her. She would buck and writhe and moan like a mare in heat... Sweat poured down her brow, stinging her eyes as she fought to relax and delay the inevitable.