The Armoire

MISTRESS MADONNA HAVING FINALLY sunk into a deep, exhausted sleep; it was with the warming rays of the mid-morning sun already streaming into the bedroom that she awoke. The unfamiliarity of her surroundings confused her for a moment until she shook herself into full awareness and the memories of the previous night came flooding into her mind. Remembering the ghastly punishment that she had dealt out to Julian and the awful, contorted and strained position she had left him in, it crossed her mind that he must be in a dreadful state by now and she should do something about it. But then again, why should she? Julian revelled in torture and misery, so he was probably enjoying himself. And if he was not; too bad. He could stay how he was until she got things straight in her mind.

It had been a strange night for her after all. The Colonel's behaviour was incomprehensible and although she knew full well that back in England his cock was not reserved solely for her and was in constant demand by the ladies of the County Set, she still could not believe that over here he had abandoned her to go off fucking and carousing with a bunch of tarts; even if they were the most highly prized and glamorous female flesh in Europe.

Although she had never doubted herself before, she began to wonder if her appeal to him was fading. Was she losing her looks? She did not think so but all the same she wandered over to the full-length-dressing mirror that stood in a corner of the room and inspected herself closely. In that dim location the light was really quite poor and so the mirror being on castors she wheeled it over to where she was able to see more clearly.

Lifting the hair from her forehead she examined it closely for the slightest sign of a wrinkle. Of course there was none. She peered into her dark liquid eyes and found them still bright and sparkling. Pressing hard she dragged her fingertips down from her cheekbones and over her chin, smiling in a sort of grim satisfaction at the firmness of her flesh. Running her palms down the length of her neck and over her breasts and their proud nipples, she satisfied herself that nothing was awry. Twisting this way and that she checked every part of her anatomy for any indication, no matter how slight, for signs of sagging or cellulite. There were none. Her buttocks were still perfectly rounded and solid, her legs long and unblemished and her sex just as it had always been; fully thatched and inviting.

Mistress Madonna’s eyes lingered for a while on her sex before she ran a palm down over her pubic mound and sighing heavily, slipped a forefinger into the crease between her labia. Her sigh was born of the knowledge that the sexual adventures that she had expected to enjoy with The Colonel on this visit were not to be. The fantasies that she had played out in her mind once again filled her thoughts, blotting out what her eyes actually saw in the mirror.

She imagined herself being pleasured by The Colonel in the midst of the dense pines, laid out on one of the fallen standing stones that were strewn everywhere on the forest floor. His beautiful cock plunged into her powerfully muscular vagina, the walls of her love tunnel contracting, squeezing and pulling his mighty weapon deeper into her until his pleasure dome was smashing up against her womb. Again and again he cannoned into her with hugely deep thrusts as he drove her to heights of ecstasy that she had never known before. Her orgasm was the stuff of dreams, hitting her vagina with seemingly endless waves of body-numbing tremors as she gasped and groaned in a paradise of rapture, digging her long black-painted fingernails into his back as her limbs thrashed helplessly under the delicious torment of his onslaught. It was sex at its most thrilling, satisfying, debilitating pinnacle.

Only minutes later, even though she had milked his bollocks dry, surrounded by giant ferns, she bent over with her legs wide and took him into her most private of places, the tight hole into which he so loved to sink his iron rod. The Colonel could go on forever and once more he stoked her into oblivion, both of them jerking frenziedly as their orgasms hit, gasping and screaming in unison with the intensity of their climaxes.

Then kneeling before him, she slipped her impatient lips over his bulbous purple bell-end, licking and sucking before grasping his buttocks and pulling him so close that her nose sank into his pubic hairs and the full length of his mighty weapon buried itself down her throat. The taste of his thick salty sperm delighted her taste buds and in return The Colonel greedily guzzled on her fragrant vagina, drinking every magical drop of her copious juices of love. Gently opening her love petals with his fingers he sank his tongue deep inside her, his nose rubbing and stimulating her clitoris as he treated her to an expert and deeply arousing tongue-fuck. The muscular walls of her vagina clasped his tongue, showering it with oceans of ambrosial nectar and almost drowning him in her secretions as he ceaselessly pleasured her into orgasm. An orgasm so tremendous that it left her whole body drained and weak.

The Colonel deserved something special for that and guiding his cock into the deep valley between her magnificent breasts, she pressed them tightly around the hot throbbing shaft. Encouraging him to thrust as strongly as he could, she gave him the tit-wank of a lifetime and by bending her chin downwards she was able to take his helmet into her mouth on each upward stroke, so taking him to greater levels of gratification, once again tasting his gourmet spunk as it spattered up onto her lips and face.

And her fevered orgasms were not only in her mind. As her imagination had notched into overdrive, driven by her thoughts, her sex became a sopping river of lust and her nipples, swollen terminals of pulsing excitement. As The Colonel fucked her in her daydream, she frantically fucked herself in reality; firstly with just her index and forefingers and then as her need increased and her orgasm neared, with her all her fingers and her thumb crammed into her sucking vagina. With two fingers of her other hand working on the hard nub of her clitoris she drove herself to several very real and electrifying climaxes, timing them to hit at the very moments that The Colonel performed the same feats in her fantasy.

As the tremors within her subsided and her vagina revelled in the warm, satisfied wetness that comes with sexual fulfilment, Mistress Madonna’s thoughts reluctantly returned to Julian. She really ought to check on him, it would not be to her benefit if anything untoward were to have happened to him.

He was just as she had left him, but now visibly wilting in his bondage, the chains supporting his exhausted body. He looked absolutely awful; grimy and sweat-soaked he must have spent the entire night fighting his restraints but his eyes still sparked into worshipful devotion as she stood before him, arms folded and with a look of utter scorn upon her face. After everything that she had put him through he was still overjoyed to see her.

And as usual, so was his cock!

“Still not learnt your lesson, I see. When are you going to learn that good little boys don’t spend their entire lives shagging and playing with themselves?”

She was as cruel as they come. In his desperate predicament Julian of course was completely unable to do anything with his sorely abused but still rock hard weapon. He could not fuck because it was not allowed in any case, but neither could he wank, and with his penis so tautly and excruciatingly erect he was also completely unable to piss. With his shoulder and arm muscles almost wrenched from their sockets, his back breaking, his bladder at bursting point and his foreskin rubbed to an angry reddened, shredded and bloody mess by the iron cock clamp, he was suffering as he had never suffered before.

Which meant that he was having the time of his life.

Mistress Madonna congratulated herself, smiling inwardly. Everything was as it should be; when this little trip was over she would no doubt be collecting a sizeable bonus from her pathetically besotted slave. Outwardly showing no obvious regard for his well being, she checked him over closely, reaching the conclusion that he had come to no harm and she could carry on where she had left off the previous evening.

“I really don’t know how you’ve got the gall to present yourself to me in this despicable condition. You’re filthy, you smell worse than donkey diarrhoea and I don’t know how you did it but you appear to be covered in spunk. You are altogether one revolting little person. Well, Mistress Madonna will soon put that right.”

Although she had not noticed one the previous day, somehow she knew that if she went outside she would find a well close to the lodge. And so it proved. It was very deep too judging by the length of time it took for the pebble she tossed into it to reach the bottom. The water in a well of that depth would be absolutely freezing she concluded, just the thing to get Julian’s day off to a memorable start. Lowering the heavy wooden bucket down into the water she filled it full to brimming, hauled it back up and untied it from the thick rope wound around the winch.

Staggering a little under its unexpected weight, she carefully transported it and its ice-cold contents back into the lodge.

“Right turd. This is what cock-happy vulgar little guttersnipes get when they look as if they’ve spent the night stuck up Mary Poppins’ chimney.”

And that was it. Julian got it. The entire freezing bucketful hit him like a solid sheet of ice as with all the force that she could muster, Mistress Madonna flung the water over his straining form. He shivered uncontrollably as the gelid river plastered his hair, ran down over his face, his arms and legs and dripped from the end of his nose. It did not however drip from his cock. That was still practically on fire and although any drops of water that found their way onto that burning rod of flesh did not actually flash into steam, they all evaporated before they could run down to his bell end. All that dripped from that were droplets of the seminal fluid that constantly leaked from his priapic weapon.

Julian’s jaws had now been prized apart by the ball gag for well over twelve hours and it was time she did something about it if he was not going to finish up with a permanently gaping mouth. As his mistress she could not show any sign that could be interpreted by Julian as tenderness or compassion, not that she felt any, Julian only got exactly what he deserved but she did not want him permanently damaged and so the gag had to be removed. However there was a way that she could do it without seeming to have weakened.

“I’d better take this off, no doubt that nosy bitch of a policewoman will turn up sooner or later wanting it back.”

So off it came.

“Thank you, thank you Mistress.”

In a dry, cracked-mouth rasp his obeisance was nauseating.

“Thank you for what, cretin?”

His reply surprised even her.

“Last night. It was wonderful. It still is wonderful. You’re wonderful.”

Not a word about the gag, which is what she had been expecting. It just went to show that nothing about Julian could be taken for granted.

But it did not really matter, because she was still burning with resentment at her treatment at the hands of The Colonel; she found it impossible to stop thinking about it and Julian was destined to continue suffering until she had worked that resentment out of her system. She had still not broken him. Although she had subjected him to punishments that transcended the awful, he was proving to be incredibly resilient. He was enjoying it altogether too much and that only made her even more determined to smash him into a grovelling, totally insignificant piece of offal.

Staring into her much more elaborate mirror, the Baroness had once again been watching as her guest engaged herself in what was almost a perfect duplication of her own daily ritual; the search for the telltale signs of encroaching age on her flawless body, followed by sexual gratification and the disciplining of her slaves. Mistress Madonna could not know it but the Baroness was becoming more and more certain that the two of them were kindred spirits and alike in more ways than one.

Standing by her side sharing the view, the policewoman remained silent until the Baroness turned aside for moment. Seizing her chance, the policewoman posed a question.

“Mistress, now that you’ve had the opportunity to watch her in action, what do you think? Is she for us?”

There was no doubt on the Baroness’ part.

“Oh yes Anna. She’s perfect. And her slave could prove to be useful too, if he is still a virgin as The Colonel told me he was. And speaking of virgins, it’s time you got down to the creek to check on the last batch that those gypsies and their fishermen friends should be unloading about now. And on your way there call in on Madonna and invite her to the castle this evening. Say that I’m throwing a little dinner party or something like that. Just make sure that we get her up here in time for the Ceremony.”

Having taken a welcome respite and a few refreshing sips of Dom Perignon, Mistress Madonna stood looking around, searching for inspiration as to what punishment Julian could be subjected to next. Suddenly she noticed for the first time that set into the oak beam running across the ceiling above his head was a large iron hook. And hanging from the hook was a pulley. A thick rope, tied off to a hoop in the wall ran over the pulley and attached to it was a T-bar with studded wrist cuffs affixed to each end of the ball-jointed horizontal section. Things just kept on getting better, it could not have been more ideal if she had put it there herself.

As her eyes lingered on the bar, Julian’s own eyes followed her gaze. Instant panic. “No Mistress. Not that. Please. Don’t string me up, I’ve think I’ve had enough now.”

That settled it. Enough was never enough where he was concerned. Pulling over a chair, she climbed onto it and unhooked his neck chain from the bracket that had held the pike. Julian swivelled his head and stretched his neck in instant appreciation of their newfound freedom of movement. Getting down from the chair she next concentrated her attention on his wrist cuffs, releasing them both before doing the same with his ankle cuffs and removing the spreader bar from between his widespread feet.

Now that all his limbs were free, he would be able to stand upright; that is if his strained back would let him. But if he had thought, even for a moment that because she had released his bonds that she was softening, he was in for a rude shock. She addressed him as would a sergeant major admonishing a raw recruit.

“What are you waiting for? Stand up straight, feet together, arms by your side, head up.”

“But Mistress . . .”

“But Mistress what?”

“My cock. It’s still chained and it hurts. And I need a piss. Badly.”

“Of what interest is that to me? I’m glad your cock hurts and your bladder can burst for all I care. Just do as your Mistress tells you. Understood?”

“Yes Mistress.”

His response was a feeble, small-voiced testimony of his acquiescence to her command. Her response to his totally inadequate reaction was a lightning flurry of slaps to his face that left him reeling.

“You can do better than that.”

So he could. This time the answer was loud and clear.

“YES MISTRESS.”

“Right. Let’s get on with it, shall we? Or have you got any more pathetic whinges before we start?”

He had not.

Untying the rope fastening the pulley, Mistress Madonna lowered the T-bar.

“Now. Hands above your head.”

After spinning the bar around to make sure that it moved freely, she fastened Julian’s wrists to the cuffs on the bar and began hauling it back up to the ceiling. Julian was balancing right on the tips of his toes, his arms stretched tautly above him before she was satisfied and finally tied the rope off on the wall hoop. His savagely abused love gun was drawn out to double its normal length and half its circumference by the taut iron chain. He certainly had something to whinge about now.

And he did.

And not quietly either. His screams, pleas and whines would have sent a decibel meter into meltdown, his squeals rising so high in pitch they were reaching the point where they could only be heard by dogs. But then, he was an animal himself Mistress Madonna told him and animals of whatever kind had to be trained to obey their owners, that was the nature of things.

“And Mistress Madonna owns you, doesn’t she? All of you. From your feeble brain to your tiny excuse for a willy. You’re mine, body and soul, and don’t you forget it. But you’re not like other animals, they need discipline just like you but all other wild things from dogs to donkeys can be taught to behave through patience and consideration. But not you. You don’t understand kindness, the only thing you understand is pain. And more pain. So you’re going to get it.”

“But Mistress, please . . . my cock . . .”

“Yes, I’ve seen it and I wouldn’t fuss about it if I were you. Any self respecting man would try to keep a winkle like that out of sight, he wouldn’t go around flashing it to all and sundry like you do.”

“I didn’t flash it. It was you. You put that rotten iron ring on it and it’s killing me. Take the fucking thing off right now or you’ll be sorry.”

“I’ll be WHAT?”

Her voice was steel, her tone measured and her contempt unequivocal. Julian had gone too far and the haunted look that suddenly glazed his eyes showed that he knew it.

“I’m sorry Mistress, I didn’t mean it. I’ll be good, I promise I will.”

“You’re not sorry at all. But you will be; in fact Mistress Madonna is going to make you sorry that you were ever born.”

When she was travelling, Mistress Madonna carried with her in a specially constructed flightcase a veritable armoury of instruments of discipline and it was to this that she was about to turn for inspiration when suddenly her gaze was caught by a huge medieval armoire standing close to one of the walls. Where had that come from? She could not recall seeing it the previous night and it was certainly of a size that commanded attention. Very strange! However she immediately dismissed her doubts, telling herself that she had just been too intent on disciplining Julian to take proper notice of her surroundings.

The flightcase was driven from her thoughts as she was overcome by an incontestable compulsion to explore the interior of the armoire and pulling open its single carved door she was astounded by what she saw. It was unbelievable, an Aladdin’s cave filled with very weird and wonderful ancient devices of correction that presented far more possibilities for inventive fiendish torment than did her own equipment. She knew without question that it was all there for her benefit. And Julian’s, of course. She did not need to be told that someone, the Baroness possibly, had provided her with a storehouse of the most perfect devices of discipline. There was basically nothing there that was not in her own armoury back in England, but it was just all so old and wonderfully crafted.

Whips and canes of all thicknesses and sizes were there in abundance. There were ancient leather-strapped ball gags, with the balls being of solid tooth-shattering iron, much akin to small canon balls. There were iron handcuffs; wrist and elbow clamps of the same metal; spreader bars, thumbscrews, cock and ball clamps, iron-spiked leather paddles and cod-pieces. Multi-thonged martinets, scourges and genuine cat-o-nine tails lined the back and sides of the giant cabinet along with pincers, rasps and sharpened pokers.

Mistress Madonna had suffered enough of Julian’s inane, childish and pathetic behaviour and now was the time for a reckoning. A painful reckoning. And here were the perfect instruments with which to subject him to a lesson he would long remember. It was a great pity that The Colonel would not be present to witness the event; he enjoyed the sight of Julian getting his come-uppance. As that thought flashed into her mind, Mistress Madonna felt a twinge of resentment. The bastard. Why did he mean so much to her? When many much younger suitors constantly assailed her with protestations of love, obedience and offers of untraceable offshore bank accounts.

The answer was easy. It was because he was The Colonel. The man who possessed the biggest, fattest, most satisfying cock in the universe. And he had buggered off and left her to go waltzing with shit. How could he? The wound would never heal, she would never forgive him.

But she had other things to think about besides him. Julian was her bread and butter and she had to concentrate on him. Her attention reverted to the task in hand. She had a job to do, a function to perform. Julian was rich beyond belief, if need be he would throw away his entire fortune on her, she knew that but that was not what she wanted. It was true that she revelled in the lavish lifestyle that his wealth afforded her but she relished even more the power that she wielded over him; the physical pain to which she subjected him and the mental pain she made him suffer. She held complete dominion over him and with the ease that she tore it apart, his heart might just as well have been made of paper.

His heart might have possessed some similarity to paper but his prick most certainly had not. Despite all she knew about Julian and his permanently active dick, she still found herself marvelling at its pulsing, twitching refusal to admit defeat. His iron-hard poker having been tortured beyond belief was mangled, shredded, bloody and without doubt was agonising him as if it had been thrust into the heart of a fiery brazier. But still it was as hard and solidly erect as a column of granite.

Once again she found herself regretting the fact that she could not turn such an impressive and useful appendage to her own advantage. Alright. If she could not benefit from it, then neither would anyone else. Not for the immediate future anyway. A diabolical thought had formed itself in her mind.

He was strung up and primed and so it was unthinkable that she would not take advantage of the opportunities that that offered. But now that she had thought of it, she was anxious to put her new plan into operation and so in the event she treated him to what was for her a somewhat perfunctory thrashing. A particularly whippy cane cut and striped his buttocks. A plaited, knotted whip bit into his thighs and the backs of his calves. Pushing on one of his shoulders, she set him turning slowly on the end of the pulley and lashed his back, his chest, his arms and shoulders as they presented themselves to her in turn. In truth when she threw down the whip, he did somewhat resemble a skinned carcass. He probably felt like one as well, but he showed genuine surprise when she lowered him to the floor, released his wrists and allowed him to stand upright with no restricting shackles of any kind. Even the chain stretching his cock was released.

But like the floor, her heart was made of stone. The iron chain had been unclipped, but the clamp screwed tight around his cock just below his bell end was left in place. The second that the chain had relinquished its restraining influence, his cock had sprung upwards in an attempt to reach for the sky. And so there he stood; naked, feet wide apart, arms by his side, and a jerking rock solid and metal-clamped severely ravaged cock rearing up in front of his belly. He looked down at it with gleaming eyes.

Mistress Madonna looked down at it with malevolent eyes.

Rolling her palms over her magnificent breasts, she smoothed them down her body over her hips and between her legs. Deliberately widening her stance, she slipped a palm over the top of each thigh, and delved the fingers of both hands into her succulent, juicy sex. Julian’s burning cock swelled to even greater proportions, the agony plainly showing on his face.

“Mistress Madonna is going to show you now exactly how caring and kind she can be. She knows that you want to fuck her brains out, but she’s told you time and again that that is never going to happen. But that doesn’t mean that she doesn’t care about her little cuddly-wuddly baby because she does; very much. So she’s going to let you wank yourself off while she watches, she knows you like that, but because your little tiddly-widdly looks so sore she going to give you something to put on your hands while you do it. So you just be a good little boy and wait there while she fetches it.”

Julian perked up considerably at that and looked even happier when she returned from the bedroom with a jar of expensive cooling skin cream. Screwing off the cap, she dipped her fingers into the jar and scooped out a fair sized globule of the thick white cream. Transferring it to both her palms, she massaged it into her breasts and shoulders with rolling circular motions.

“Uhmmm . . that feels really good. Cool and smooth, and look at my skin, not a sign of a wrinkle anywhere. Not like your cock, that’s all horrid and disgusting. In fact now that I think about it, this cream is far too expensive to waste on that stinky thing.”

Julian’s face dropped as she screwed the top back on the jar.

“But never mind, Mistress Madonna knows something else that’s far better than cream anyway.”

This was it, Point Doom for Julian. Something bad was coming his way.

Mistress Madonna dipped again into the mysterious armoire and once more her exact requirements fell immediately to hand: a pair of metal gauntlets of the type that the Knights of old wore as part of their combat armour. Pulling them out, she handed them to Julian.

“Put them on.”

He made no move to obey her, standing turning them over in his hands.”

“Come on, get on with it. What are you waiting for?”

He was hesitant, obviously not wanting to raise her ire any further. He held them out and presented them to her, palms upwards. There was a marked difference between this pair and the ones used for fighting; it was not uncommon for the gauntlets to be spiked, but the spikes were usually on the back of the hand, this pair had the spikes on the palms and underneath the fingers.

“So, what’s the problem?”

“The spikes Mistress, they’ll rip my cock to shreds.”

“Don’t be silly, they’ll just make it feel more wonderful. That’s why I’m letting you wear them, even though you have been bad and don’t really deserve a treat. Now be a good little boy and put the gloves on.”

He still made no move to obey.

“Now look worm, I want to see you wanking yourself good and hard. And I want to see you doing it now! PUT THE GLOVES ON.”

Very, very reluctantly, Julian pulled on the gauntlets.

“Now, get going.”

This really was something new. Forced masturbation. She had never needed to order him to wank before, given the slightest opportunity he could not keep his hands off his cock. And they were not really on it now, his thumbs and fingers were circling his rigid erection very loosely indeed, something that she did not fail to notice.

“Mess me about and you’ll be even sorrier than you’re already going to be. Clench those fingers tight and start tugging.”

Fighting back the tears, Julian did as he was told. One spiked hand gingerly stroked upwards over his tormented babymaker, the spikes digging into his turgid cockflesh and rasping over the iron ring that was still clamped tightly just beneath his bulbous pleasure dome.

“Yeeooooww!”

Julian’s tortured scream was glorious music to Mistress Madonna’s ears. His hand flew away from his dreadfully abused manhood.

“I can’t do it Mistress. Look, it’s leaving bloody great grooves in my dick.”

And so it was.

Good.

“You do want to please your Mistress, don’t you?”

“’Course I do.”

“Well, in that case put your hand back where it was and this time use the other one as well. And put some effort into it, you weren’t trying before.”

And just as they would have done if he really were a naughty schoolboy, the tears rolled down over Julian’s grimacing cheeks as he scraped, pulled and punctured his rigid cock, for despite everything it still reared skywards, straining and granite hard. The pain must have been horrific, Mistress Madonna knew that, his manhood had been well and truly shredded and battered before but now it was rapidly beginning to take on the appearance of something that would usually be thrown into the offal bin in an abattoir. Perfect! He deserved nothing less. And when it was all over, she knew that he would be thanking her for her inventiveness. He liked something new and different every now and again, and for him this was certainly new.

It was also new for her. She had toyed with the idea of palm-studded gloves for some time but had never found any and suddenly there they were. In fact she found it more than puzzling that everything she thought of using seemed to be on hand, whether she had noticed them before or not; the ceiling pulley for instance, and even the armoire full of goodies itself. It was all very odd. Odd but extremely fortuitous, so why worry about it? Taking her own advice, she dismissed any such thoughts from her mind and concentrated on her demented slave.

And demented he most certainly was, growing more so as every second passed and the spikes inflicted ever greater mutilation to his poor, abused cock. It was a masochist’s dream. He was submitting himself to self-torture and enduring unbearable agonies on the orders of his mistress. He was suffering to please her. There was no greater sacrifice that he could make to prove his devotion to her. Mistress Madonna knew that these were the kind of thoughts that would be running through his mind, in fact he probably thought that he was in Heaven.

But it could not last and Mistress Madonna was not at all surprised when suddenly, with an anguished scream he threw his hands from his bleeding, wretched penis.

“I can’t go on. It hurts like hell and I can’t stand it any more. Please Mistress; you’ve got to let me stop.”

She had actually been becoming quite concerned about the damage he was causing to his weapon and so was relieved that he had stopped of his own volition. She could not show it of course.

“Well, things are coming to a pretty pass, aren’t they? You won’t do as your mistress wishes when she’s being kind and generous and wants to watch you wank. You like wanking, she knows that, so what’s the matter? Are being disobedient just for the sake of it?”

“No Mistress. My cock hurts too much. Have mercy, please.”

“Mercy? For a wretch like you? A insubordinate little oik who deserves a good spanking. Well, you’re not going to get away with it, no matter what you might think.”

She had him exactly where she wanted him now. Physically and mentally wrecked. And more was to come.

“Give me the gauntlets.”

Julian tugged off the gloves and handed them to Mistress Madonna, who with a derisory snort threw them contemptuously into the armoire

“Now, arms up above your head.”

“Oh no Mistress, not again. Please.”

“Oh yes. Again. I told you that I wouldn’t let you get away with it. Disobedience has to be punished.”

“But I can’t take any more.”

“So now you’re a wimp as well as everything else, are you?”

“No Mistress.”

“Right. Do as I say and get those arms up.”

Julian had no spirit left in him and very quickly Mistress Madonna had him strung up to the ceiling once more, a thin, whippy cane clasped in her hand.

“OK, let’s get on with it!”

When the Policewoman and her male sidekick arrived at the hunting lodge, Julian was still chained in agony, receiving the thrashing of a lifetime. Mistress Madonna did not pause in her assault for a moment when the heavy knocking came upon the door, merely calling on whomever it was to come in.

“Ah, I thought it might you two. What can I do for you this time?”

But if she did not pause, the policewoman expressing false surprise, did.

“Mon Dieu Madame. You have not been beating him all through the night, have you?”

“No, he’s had a nice long rest and now it’s time for him to receive some more punishment. Naughty boys have to be taught to behave you know. Especially this one, he never learns.”

“Madame, I’m impressed. You have stamina, of that there is no doubt, but him, he is made of tougher material than I would have thought from his pathetic exhibition last evening.”

“Don’t go flattering him. It’ll go to his head and then I’ll be forced to discipline him even more harshly. Anyway, like I said, what can I do for you this morning? And more to the point, when do I get to meet the Baroness?”

“That’s why I’m here now. To deliver an invitation from The Baroness to a little gathering at the castle tonight. She’s really looking forward to meeting you.”

"In that case, perhaps I could wander up there and introduce myself to her this morning.”

“Ah. That won’t be possible I’m afraid. The Baroness is strictly a night person; she keeps to her own rooms during the daylight hours and she only comes alive when the sun goes down. But when it does, the castle comes alive with her and whatever guests and friends are present are guaranteed an extremely enjoyable night in her presence. There’s always plenty of good food and wine but more often than not her guests are only interested in the entertainment she provides and quite often, the partying goes on until dawn. She usually retires herself before the sun comes up, sunlight’s bad for the complexion you know; or it is at least if you have a delicate pale skin like hers. But everyone else is welcome to carry on until they drop, and believe me some of them do.”

Mistress Madonna was intrigued.

“So exactly what kind of entertainment does she put on?”

“The Baroness doesn’t exactly put on anything. She normally starts it off and the guests gradually take over and she lets them get on with it in their own way. Everybody always has a good time and I’m sure that you will too, there’s always a good supply of willing flesh.”

“Hang on a minute. What are we talking about here? Orgies? Is that it?”

“Well, that’s putting it a bit crudely, but yes I suppose you could say that’s what I mean. You’ll love it, I know you will.”

Mistress Madonna was not so sure. Being shagged by The Colonel was one thing but she most definitely was not about to participate in group sex with a bunch of garlic-breathed foreigners she had never met.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not letting all and sundry fuck me. If that’s what I was invited here for, then she can forget it, I’m off back to London.”

The policewoman hurried to re-assure her.

“No, no, you’ve got it all wrong. What we do is much more in your line. People do get fucked, I have to admit that, but only if they want to. Please accept the invitation and come to the castle tonight. You won’t regret it, once you see for yourself you’ll love every minute.”

Despite her reservations, after thinking it over for a few moments Mistress Madonna agreed and told the policewoman to inform the Baroness that she would be only too pleased to attend her soireé.

“Good. Oh and by the way, bring your slave along as well.”

The policewoman flashed an enigmatic smile and with the policeman trotting dutifully behind her, walked off along a path that led though the pine forest and down to the calm waters of the bay.

“A bientôt,” Mistress Madonna murmured as the policewoman was enveloped by the deep shadows of the trees.

There was no doubt in her mind now, she certainly would be seeing the policewoman later. The sudden inclusion of Julian in the invitation had been most unexpected. If she had been intrigued before, now she was doubly so.

“So, it seems that you’ve sparked a little bit of interest somewhere.”

Mistress Madonna’s tone was disparaging as she turned back to Julian, but deep inside she was consumed by the need to have her questions answered. She had already pondered over the reason that she had been asked to come to this strange castle in Brittany, but now it seemed that Julian was also the centre of some attention.

Very strange.

And it was vital that he did not suddenly become filled with ideas of his own self-importance.

“Listen to me, you slug. Nothing’s changed. We may be in exalted company but you’re used to that in any case, so maybe you’ll just get to be thrashed with a somewhat more aristocratic audience than you’re used to. You never know, it could be that the Baroness wants to give it to you herself. Well, if that’s what she wants she’s welcome, I don’t know what the attraction is but to me you’re still the disgusting little shit you’ve always been.”

Mistress Madonna put down the cane and stood thinking for a few moments.

“I’d like to know what those two are up to though. Something doesn’t ring true here, two police agents spending all their time wandering around a derelict castle, it’s very odd. As soon as I can dress myself in something suitable, I’m going to follow their tracks - and you’re coming with me.”