Chapter Twenty-Seven

Delila was in her room preparing for sleep, and for the housemaid that often affixed her to the bed. It was rare that she was left alone like this, but she had endured this for so many weeks that the treatment seemed like second nature to her now. She didn’t even think of pleasuring herself in a stolen moment of lust.

When she heard the lock in the door, however, she was surprised to see the Baron, not the housemaid, entering the room. With his appearance, after so many days of not seeing him at all, she found her heart leaping to its feet, especially seeing the kind expression in his eye—even though it was a kindness that faded quickly.

“You’re going to tie me tonight?” she asked him.

“Yes, but no . . .” he hedged.

“What does that mean?”

“Hush. You’ll find out quickly. You know that fancy corset hanging in the closet?” he asked her.

“The one you never let me wear?” she answered showing a little impertinence

He looked at her sternly as if her flippant response was inappropriate. “That’s the one,” he replied going directly to the wardrobe and pulling out the garment he wanted. Just as he had for many weeks until he stopped coming to her room in the morning, the Baron dressed her in the corset, pulling the laces even tighter than she was accustomed to. “Raise you arms,” he ordered her at one point. Obliging, she drew her hands overhead and turned around as the Baron inspected her. This corset, unlike the simpler ones, was edged in fine lace and revealed even more of her pushed up bosom. Her nipples, not even covered by the tight fabric, stood out on top of the sturdy stays. Delila’s hourglass figure had never been more defined. The sexy undergarment was styled in front and back so that it seemed to point to her pretty pussy and the delicate crack of her derriere.

In addition to a pair of exquisite silk stockings, the likes of which Delila had never seen, the Baron gave her a pair of tiny spike heeled shoes that accentuated the curves of her long legs.

It might have been something exciting for which she was being dressed, however the Baron, unlike himself, was exceedingly grim with her, even gruff when she wiggled about or grimaced when he tightened the laces on her corset to an almost unbearable degree.

When he cuffed her wrists and collared her neck he was done.

“Could you tell me what this is about? In the middle of the night?” she finally asked, too curious not to question him.

“Shush!” he insisted. “You’ll know soon enough.”

Moments later, he led her by the hand from her room, down the hall, and two flights of stairs to the foyer of the mansion. There, in the marble entry, at the very center of the Baron’s vast home, he tied her wrists above her head, attaching them to a large marble column. His task complete, he started to walk away.

“You’re leaving me here?” Delila whispered into the dark shadows of the night. There was just a little moonlight coming in through the outside windows.

He turned back to her with a vacant stare. “Yes, I’m leaving you here,” he said. “But you won’t be alone for long. Your usefulness to us begins now. I’m sure you won’t disappoint me.” The Baron said no more, and he retreated to the back of the house.

Delila: They came to me in the middle of the night, many on tiptoe, stealthy making their way to my side, taking my body in their famished hands. That first night, the corset that the Baron had so painstakingly cinched about me was quickly removed. It was in the way of the man’s hands that were fervently exploring. I was entered in my cunt, the first time in a long while. I couldn’t remember when the last time—then of course I remembered—Degas and my long forgotten husband, Armand.

One after another, the men came to me and used both my ass and cunt to please themselves. They hung around me like vultures, like beasts having had no sustenance for months, even years, their hunger now built to a feverish peak. I could never be enough to satisfy them, although I was given ample opportunity to try. These lovers thought nothing of mauling my flesh, squeezing my breasts, ass and thighs with such firm grips that I was tempted to squeal. The night hour and their silence made me afraid to be bold with too much sound. I could hear Diva’s voice in the back of my mind, tongue lashing me for disturbing her quiet—such as I’d heard her tongue lash a maid for such a breach of etiquette in this house. I kept my woes and pleasure to myself, needing to be grateful that after a full week of no release at all, at the very least, this orgy brought me some satisfaction. To my disappointment though, the climax that finally flooded through me was brief and swiftly lost when another lover assaulted me with his face biting my ass as he knelt at my feet.

There must have been a dozen lovers that night, a number I’d certainly taken before at Outer Island; but in this house, where virtue seemed to reign, where the darkest hours were for sleep not fucking, where everything lusty was locked behind closed doors, I seemed to have descended to another level of depravity. All the consideration I thought bestowed on me the weeks before, was simply the devious Diva and the deplorable Baron, mocking me, while they knew how they’d pillory me as a whore and let their dozens of houseguests use me as they would any other household device provided for their comfort.

***

“I thought you had some consideration for me?” Delila said. It was nearly dawn, she could tell by the lighter hues of light coming into the foyer. Her arms ached mightily, her body orifices were sore from use.

“Perhaps I did, though real affection would be impossible with you, Delila. Now that you finally know your purpose, you can rest your weary head on the pillow and get some sleep. You’ll be awakened at noon, when you’ll be expected to join us for our midday meal.”

On the way to her room, Delila could think of nothing but sleep and the anger that was festering from another level of injustice thrust her way.

***

Every night thereafter, the Baron led Delila from her room—no longer bothering to dress her in the fancy corset—and tied her to the post. Sometimes she was stretched between two posts, arms wide. At other times, her arms were bound behind her.

One such night when her wrists were clamped behind her, and her collared neck was attached to the restraining tether, one of her lovers came with a whip in hand and began to flail the thing against her body. Since it was her front side that was exposed, it was her front side that took the pain, and she found it difficult to hold back the cries of agony. When she screamed too loudly, she was surprised to see the Baron return to her, stopping the man who made the assault. She thought he would defend her and insist he stop; but the message he bore to her was for her alone, and would do nothing to change the mood of her lover’s designs.

He slapped her face. “You’re here to serve in silence, my dear whore. They whip you in this place, you do not scream, you contain it. You understand that?”

“Please, Baron, no!” she implored him.

For an instant, she thought he was hearing her distress since he paused for a moment, though his face never ceased to be grim.

“It’s your assignment, your task, your duty, your job. If you wish to continue enjoying the benefits of luxury you know in this house, keep your wits and tongue about you. Besides, is this not what you truly enjoy?” His expression was so dark and cunning, Delila would have spit in his face if he’d been closer. “You cry out again, you will be punished.” He started to walk away.

“You think this is not punishment?” she snapped at his retreating form.

He turned, his scowl malicious, but saying nothing, he disappeared, leaving her with her lovers to take their will with her.

That morning, when she was lifted from the post, she was taken to the kitchen, and in front of a staff of twelve was tied over the end of the kitchen table and soundly struck with a butter paddle lifted from the wall. Six from the staff administered the blows, six women who she’d thought of as friends, not foes. Perhaps they were under the same commands as she was. They wielded the paddle without restraint, not seeming to mind when she cried out from the pain. Her only respite was when the woman exchanged places and she had a moment to breathe without the stinging sensations that were making her already weakened limbs, even more wobbly. When they finished, she returned to her room as always.

“There are choices you can make, and others you cannot.” Delila wasn’t certain who’d uttered that refrain to her, even though its message would ring in her heart and mind for hours.

Later that night, when tied to her post, there were instruments left lying at her side for the houseguests to use. From then on, the abuse to her body increased with the ready tools of punishment so available.

Many lovers delighted in whipping her soundly before they placed their cocks in her cunt or ass. She came to expect it, and after a time she let go the anger that welled in her and allowed herself to enjoy the sensations as she’d once enjoyed the heightened stimulation at Outer Island.

After so many weeks of this abuse, night after night of the constant assault, she began in small degrees to take pride in the service she rendered. She began to respond for herself, and teased her lovers with a body willing to give as well as receive. The look in her eye when the Baron brought her to the foyer each night changed. She held her head proudly and looked with fondness at the implements he laid there, and smiled at him graciously, while he looked at her perplexed.

She refused from that point on to be victimized by Diva and the Baron.

And how simple that choice was! Odd that she hadn’t made it before. She knew the depth of physical pleasure and release, accepting it all, becoming aroused by it all, finally realizing that her sexual joy was boundless as long as she freed her mind of all restraint.

At dawn one morning, when the Baron returned her to her room, she lay down on the sheets to find her captor lying down with her.

“I’ve missed you, Delila,” he whispered into her ear.

Her stomach turned with loathing hearing his voice, and feeling his hands, the terms of endearment striking an angry cord in her. The first she’d felt in many days.

The Baron mauled her body as he’d done many mornings at the waking hour, when she readily accepted his gentleness as a cherished gift. How false! How vile! How contemptible to come to her and take what she was bound to give him, and think she would be glad to have him and his tenderness!

He entered her in her cunt this time, when all the other times her ass sufficed quite nicely. He kissed her deeply as if he loved her, and poured out his passions as if he truly cared for her. He moved within her with such force and desire that she should swell with sexual joy radiating through her. But she would have none of that. She resisted his attempts to bring her pleasure, she ignored the bodily responses that wanted her own climax, and she allowed him to withdraw from her half-pleased. What the Baron wanted was her orgasm along with his, but he had only his own to take with him.

“Are you tired, my love?” he asked her. She looked up at him as he finished dressing, straightening the collar at his neck.

“Shouldn’t I be tired after a night like the last?” she asked.

“Then I’ll come for you again,” he said smiling.

“Please don’t. I’d rather have a thousand lovers like the men that rape me nightly, than have you again,” she said. “You have no decency in your soul.”

He looked perplexed, his face turning ashen.

“Don’t bother,” she said, when she saw him tempted to speak.

Delila: He was beaten, and I didn’t care. I had no regard for him and his tawdry soul. I knew he had a woe as deeply felt as mine. Who wouldn’t, the courtesan of the grand Diva? Certainly he had his own suffering, but anymore, I simply didn’t care.

The Baron never came to me again.

I was never so grateful to see anyone, as I was to see Degas when he appeared one day in Diva’s private salon. After the houseguests at the Baron’s estate had left, I knew there would be another change in my life. I was glad I’d be returning to New Victoria, to what I considered my real world.

I had much time to think on the long journey home. Typically, Degas said little, and I sat back in the motor cars and train and pondered the nature of my existence, since there was little else to do.

They said the Baron’s house was outside the perimeter of New Victoria, but I disagreed. It was to me all that New Victoria was—exaggerated.

In the Baron’s house, I lived the duality night and day—not month to month. All that was confining and harrowing to my spirit in the daily living of New Victoria, and all that was dark and frightening in the recesses of the underworld of Outer Island were there in the Baron’s house, to slap me in the face and jerk me awake. How I could ever live in both worlds? How could I live in just one? I didn’t know.

For as much as I sought the real world for its abundance and light and what I perceived as love I might know from my husband there, it seemed an impossible society to enjoy for there was no way I could stretch the wide arms of my imagination or the bounds of my desire.

Still, for all the physical pleasures and wanton expression of sexual gratification, Outer Island could be as bleak to an aching heart, as an unfulfilling marriage bed without intimacy of the soul.

I sought more.

Although how silly to even think of the great dichotomy under which I existed! With no control over my fate, how could I contemplate such vast and complex thoughts?

The fact remained that Degas, the dark arm of the State, still reigned over my fortune even as he slept peacefully beside me in the gently rocking train.