Chapter 7

 

 

I can barely bring myself to write all that has happened in the past few days. It started with the longest break that I have had between sessions and this was frustrating in two senses. On the one hand there is the mindless tedium but, on the other, now that I had formulated a new plan of campaign I was eager to put it into practice.

When he finally came for me I noticed his tan and so assumed that he had been away and I found myself feeling oddly jealous, wondering if he had been visiting other members of the “club”. He took me up to the living room and, with a swiftness born of experience, I cast my eyes around for any clues as to what might be in store. There was no one there when we arrived and everything was very still. Shafts of sunlight picked out motes of dust which hovered over the padded bench placed in the centre of the room. I was all too familiar with the bench. Its padded leather surface is just wide enough to accommodate my body and the legs are set with restraints for both my ankles and wrists as necessary. It can also be fitted with upright poles so that my legs can be raised but now there was a new refinement. Towards one end there was something that resembled a medieval pillory. It was made of chromed steel with three holes, presumably to hold my neck and wrists. It was hinged open so that I could see the white padded inserts which would prevent me from doing too much damage to myself.

“Lie down on your stomach.”

Even now I felt a momentary spark of rebellion. He was, undoubtedly, a strong man but I had an age advantage and was sure that, if I were determined enough, I could hurt him if not actually overpower him but there was something else. The term masterful seems cliched but his confidence in his own dominion over me has an almost hypnotic quality. I found myself moving up onto the bench even as my mind sifted thoughts of refusal.

I needed no guidance. I put my wrists and neck onto the padded semicircles and then he closed the yoke. The padding made the closure very snug but my heart lurched as he closed the retaining hasp with a sharp snap. It took just a few seconds for me to realize that I was going to have to keep my head up or else breathing was going to be difficult through my constricted windpipe.

He left me for a while to contemplate my fate but, when he returned, my heart beat faster and I had to fight down a rising sense of panic. Someone had entered the room with him and I caught a musky scent redolent of sandalwood. It could only be the Arab, but then I heard the familiar clack of stiletto heels.

“So it’s true.”

Hearing a woman’s voice after all this time came as more of a shock than I could have imagined. There was the nurse of course but she never uttered a word and I saw her as little more than automaton. My first instinct was to appeal to this stranger, to let her know that I was not a willing victim, but I held myself in check. He came to my side and stroked his hand gently down my spine.

“I have told you, Countess, there must be no secrets between us.”

The woman approached on the opposite side and the first thing that I noticed were her black Prada shoes. Turning my head I could see that she was slim but not tall. She wore blue silk stockings the shade of which were a perfect match for her short skirt and bolero jacket. Something about her told me that the suit was a Gaultier original. It was the design that had been the talk of the Milan show and said a lot about her financial wellbeing.

I wanted to turn my head further but to do so was to chafe my neck. I could just see the swell of her modest breasts beneath the strong lines of the jacket.

“I want you to show me.”

Her English was perfect but slightly accented. I guessed that she was Italian.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Completely.”

He moved away and I heard the familiar, but dreaded, noise of the key being turned in the heavy lock of the equipment cupboard. Only then did it occur to me that she wanted to see me beaten and I could not help myself. I shouted up towards her unseen face.

“Help me for God’s sake!”

She stepped away in startled fashion.

“Can’t you keep her quiet?”

She spoke as if I was a child who had stepped out of line.

He came back with a ball gag and, ignoring my apologies and my entreaties, he fastened it around my head. I tried to calm my breathing even as the first embarrassing string of spittle broke from the side of the gag.

“What is that?”

“It’s a dog whip.”

“Does it hurt?”

“I’ll let you judge for yourself.”

I sensed him stand away and then heard the rustle of his jacket as he raised the whip on high. He did not keep me waiting. The whip whistled down and snapped across my buttocks. I thought that I was getting tougher but he had a way of wielding the whip that no one else could match. I screamed into the gag as the searing pain bit deep. With just my wrists and neck fastened I had room to squirm and I drew my legs into my chest but that only served to make my buttocks a more taut and inviting target. He struck me again, opening up a new line of pain and then he began to circle me, striking as I twisted and turned. He stopped at six but I was already crying. There was a pause and then I felt a finger tracing over my tortured flesh. Her finger.

She walked right around me and then she knelt down close to my face. I was stunned to see just how young she was. He had called her Countess and that probably influenced my thinking but I would guess that she was probably seven or eight years younger than me, possibly as young as twenty. She had a disquietingly beautiful face. Her eyes were almost black and very intense but this was countered by her mouth which was made to look fuller because of her small, perfect, teeth. I suspected that her smile could be warm but, at that moment, it looked nothing but cruel. She touched the back of her finger to a tear that sat plumply on my cheek.

“Does it hurt?”

I wanted to scream at her and ask her what the hell she thought but some feminine instinct wanted to tap into the comfort that she seemed to be offering. She slowly wiped the tear from my cheek and then looked up over my shoulder.

“I want to see some more.”

I yelled into the gag. The bitch was insane! The one saving grace was that he now treated me with a degree of compassion and I hoped that, now that she had had her fun, he would usher her away. He came and took her by the arm and helped her to her feet.

“Perhaps you would like to come and choose.”

I could not believe that he had said it and I yelled again but she had clearly cast some sort of spell over him. It was only in the next few seconds that the more sinister connotations came home to me. Subconsciously, I had registered her age with a sense of relief but now I began to fear the hold that she might have over his affections. Was it possible that they were lovers? That possibility, with all the implications for my new plan of escape, chilled me.

“What about this one?”

I could not see her but her coquettish tone now seemed replete with menace.

“This? It’s a bullwhip. It’s particularly vicious and in the wrong hands it can be dangerous.”

“But you know how to use it?”

“Yes, but she has never displeased me sufficiently to warrant it.”

My sense of relief must have been palpable but I had reckoned without her persistence.

“Do it … for me.”

I went into a frenzy. Others had wanted to use the bullwhip on me but he had always denied them. For me it had become the stuff of nightmares. I could not envisage any pain greater than that to which I had already been subjected but in their unique community the bullwhip seemed to have an almost iconographic significance as the ultimate harbinger of agony.

I will never forget the ululation of the whip as he cast it behind him. It was followed by a heartbeat’s pause and then it cracked down across my buttocks. The combination of the impact and the pain was sufficient to drive all the air from my lungs with such violence that I could not even articulate a scream. Even as I gasped for breath through the gag I felt her fingers moving over my flesh once again.

“You did not break the skin?”

“It is not necessary. The hardest stroke is not always the most painful.”

“But she will bruise?”

“Yes.”

“Do it again.”

“I use the bullwhip for teaching lessons. It should not be taken lightly.”

I heard the sound of a kiss.

“Please …”

He struck me again and this time I did scream. The pain shot to all parts of my body at once and my limbs went rigid as they tried to cope with the crisis. I was only dimly aware of him laughing and I tried desperately to focus on what was being said.

“Is that enough for you my budding little sadist?”

“She looks strong. How many do you think she could take?”

“Perhaps another two.”

“Show me.”

The whip cracked twice more and the strokes fell with deadly precision across my scorched flesh. I know that I screamed but my mind seemed divorced from my body. It was like a betrayal, as though my body was being left to its own fate and I felt a need to reinhabit the tortured shell, even knowing all the agony it would bring. I tried to focus but I was drifting further away until, finally, a welcoming darkness beckoned.

When I returned to reality I found myself alone. I was still fixed in the stocks but now I was lying on my back and every movement reinvoked the pain in my buttocks. I tried to stay still but I was caught in a vicious circle; if I remained motionless the heat in my flesh quickly rose to unbearable levels but if I moved, I was assailed by stabbing pains which were no less vicious. I quickly realized that the agony of the bullwhip would be with me for days to come.

The gag was gone but my breath rasped in my throat which was hoarse from screaming and my eyes were sore from all the tears that I had shed. My hopes had suddenly been dashed but, even now, I was finding justifications. She was just a young chit of a girl whom he was trying to impress. She would not be prepared to lie here and take his punishments as I had done and, in the end, he must see that.

I lay still for a while staring at the ceiling’s ornate plasterwork and listening for any sounds of the outside world but what I eventually heard was the, almost furtive, opening of the door. I was prevented from seeing by the yoke but the sound of stilettos left me in no doubt.

“Martin has gone to take a shower before we go out to dinner.”

Her casual use of his Christian name and the offhand reminder of a more normal life pierced me like a knife. She was looking down at me and, almost absent-mindedly, stroking the stray hairs from my forehead.

“I did not believe him when he told me about you, I did not understand; but now I begin to see what it is to have someone completely under your control.”

She walked around me trailing her hand over my body.

“Martin will be at least half an hour. I like a man who is fastidious in his personal hygiene habits, so how should we pass the time?”

I heard her footsteps receding and then the familiar snap of the dog whip.

“I think that the bullwhip is beyond me …for now …but this …”

I shrieked as she brought it down over the front of my thigh. It was clumsily executed but painful nevertheless.

“One stroke every twenty seconds …ninety strokes by the time he’s ready.”

She struck me again, harder, across the same leg. I screamed louder, maybe in the hope that he would hear me.

“Please make as much noise as you like. Martin tells me that the room is fully soundproofed.”

I was suddenly very afraid. The men who had abused me at least had the benefit of experience, they understood that there had to be limits even if it took Fuller to enforce them, but this girl was flying dangerously high. She brought the lash down for a third time with a sharp slap across my stomach.

“But perhaps there is some other way you could keep me amused?”

She leant over me and smiled looking deep into my eyes.

“I’ve never had a woman bring me off with her mouth before.”

She unfastened her skirt and it seemed to fall to the floor in slow motion. She was not wearing panties and she saw my surprise.

“Watching you being whipped got me very wet. I had to take them off.”

Her sex was covered by an immaculately trimmed Mohican of black hair in the midst of which her labia stood proudly. I closed my mouth firmly and shook my head.

“It’s your choice. You either eat me or I might have to see if I can use the bullwhip after all.”

I knew she wasn’t bluffing and she knew that she was, in reality, offering me no sort of choice. Without another word she raised her leg and straddled my head, facing towards my feet. My vision was suddenly filled by the sight of her curvaceous buttocks and I was assailed by the strong scent of her arousal. At that moment I knew what it felt like to be a victim of rape. I know this must sound odd in the light of all that has happened to me but, because they were men, I was able to keep what they were doing to me from the inner part of me that drew me towards women. Now she was threatening to pull down the walls of this last cherished fortress and I felt totally impotent.

She was in no hurry. She put her fingers to her sex and I heard the rasp of her pubic hair as she began to work them through her opening. After just a few seconds she began to drip moisture onto my lips and I tried to turn my head aside but she simply tightened her grip with her thighs and this, combined with the constriction of the stocks was enough, to keep me in place.

She began to moan and I thought that she was going to be content with climaxing over me but the thought was no sooner formed than she placed both hands on the top of the yoke and then lowered herself. The prospect of bringing her any pleasure at all was hateful and I instinctively kept my mouth closed but she simply settled herself more fully so that my neck was painfully bent. In just a few seconds my nose was buried deeply in the cleft of her buttocks and I had to open my mouth to gasp a breath.

“It’s up to you, either use your tongue or I break your neck.”

I screamed abuse at her but that only made her laugh and then I felt a white flash of pain that jolted me to the core. She had picked up the dog whip and slashed it down between my legs. My mouth opened wide in reflex and was immediately filled by her sex which I frantically started to lick.

“Very good …but take your time,”

She shimmied her body to make herself more comfortable and I licked slowly along the whole length of her labia. My own sex was burning with pain and, at that moment, I was prepared to do anything to avoid a repetition. As I continued to lick at her she started to squirm and, after a few minutes, it grew uncomfortably hot. My face was wet with a mixture of her perspiration and my own and I knew that I had to make her come as quickly as I could. I pressed my tongue more deeply inside of her and was met with a flood of moisture which I tried to swallow. Her taste was strong in keeping with the intensity of the orgasm that she was reaching slowly but surely. Her movements became more frantic as she worked her body with no thought of the possible damage that she might do to me but I knew that there was little point in trying to plead with her. I strained my neck and sought out her clitoris which felt as solid as a glass marble under my tongue

“YESsss!”

It was a triumphant shout accompanied by uncontrolled body spasms as her climax slowly grew. It seemed to take an age for her to finally relent but I kept my tongue working the whole time. Eventually, she lifted herself up a few merciful inches and I gulped for breath. Her sex was still dripping onto my face when she brought her fingers down to part herself.

“Clean me up.”

I licked around the whole of her sex, including the dark nest of hair and, when she was finally satisfied she rose to unsteady legs. She took her time refastening her skirt and then bent over me.

“I love your mouth. I think we are going to be seeing a lot of one another …”

She left the room as casually as she had entered it and I began to cry.

Our next meeting came much sooner than I feared. I awoke to find her standing over me. I had fallen asleep in my cell but now I was in the training room secured, face down, on the same bench that had brought me so much grief the night before. The stocks had been removed but my arms and legs were spread and my wrists and ankles were secured to the legs only inches from the floor. I knew that I had slept an exhausted sleep but I feared that drugs must have been used to bring me to this state without my knowledge.

“Good morning. You should feel honoured. Martin has gone to the Netherlands for three days on business. I was to accompany him but I pleaded an illness. I could not resist the temptation of having you all to myself for seventy-two hours.”

I tried to reason with her. I told her that she could not do anything to me without his knowledge and this seemed to amuse her.

“I think you miss the point. Martin is in love with me. He will let me do anything I choose.”

Those few simple words devastated me. I desperately wanted to disbelieve her, I told myself that it was too soon after Tanya’s death, but, in my heart, I knew that it was true.

That morning was a new low. She was like a child in a toyshop. Every implement was a new experience and a fresh source of excitement to her. I could only guess at the time but I think that she probably kept at it for eight or nine hours without a break. She made me lick her to orgasm three times but the final ignominy came at the end of the session. She used a small leather whip on my buttocks, grunting with effort as she laid it on and then when she had finished ,she set the handle between my cheeks. She leaned her weight onto it and, ignoring my screams, she pushed it home. It must have stood out like some obscene form of tail but I did not fully divine her purpose until she got up onto the bench. She straddled my body, lifted her short skirt and then settled herself onto the exposed end of the whip. I cannot describe the agony as she rode herself to a furious and brutal orgasm.

The following two days were no better. I found a spark of hope in the thought that, if he was genuinely in love with her, then he might no longer have any use for me but, as the agonizing hours slowly passed I began to fear that I might be kept for the amusement of both of them.

On the morning of the fourth day I woke to a new nightmare. At first I thought that I was still asleep but as my scream echoed back at me I knew that it was real. I tried to steady my panicked breathing and probed the total darkness with my hands. I was in a box of some description and the more I felt, the more I was convinced that I was in a coffin. I was very nearly sick as all the nightmare thoughts of being buried alive threatened to overwhelm me.

I screamed myself raw and then a small panel, about eight inches square, opened over my face. The light hurt my eyes but then her hated countenance peered in at me.

“Good morning. I trust you slept well. Martin comes back today and I have to decide what to do with you. I seem to have two options. We could keep you but, much as I would miss your talented little tongue, I am not sure that I can allow Martin to find room in his affections for two women. The alternative is to sell you. It would simply be a matter of administering a little anaesthetic, sealing this lid and then you could be shipped anywhere in the world.”

I begged her. I appealed to her as a woman, as a human being but she seemed to be cast from stone. I was almost at the point of hysteria when I saw a chink of hope. Her face disappeared from the opening but the light was quickly shut out by her buttocks.

“Let’s see if you can make me come like this and then maybe I will reconsider.”

Needless to say I did what I had to do. I sit here now, still unsure of my fate, knowing that, just outside my cell, the packing case still lies ready with the single word “Jeddah” stenciled on the top.