“She spoke out of turn twice and was willing to accept a
beating just so long as I fucked her Father.” The brother who had taken her
last spoke again. There was general laughter which even Father Burton joined in
with. He bent down and lifted her chin so that she looked up into his intense
dark eyes. He looked at her for a long time and she felt he was looking right
down into the depths of her soul where he could see how desperately she now
wanted to be nothing.
“I think she understands,” he said finally, letting her
go. “I will stay to see her beaten.”
“We thought the strap would do nicely Father.”
Paula heard Father Burton resume his seat while one of
the brothers went to the cupboard again. She kept her eyes glued to the carpet
until the brother came to stand right in front of her, a three foot, supple-looking leather strap hanging from one hand.
“Kneel up and then put your head down on the floor.” She
did as she was told and knew what a sight she must be presenting to Father
Burton. Her haunches stuck up into the air and between them the lips of her
poor abused sex pouted towards him. He would probably be able to see how they
were still full and open. In fact listening to the men discuss her had set her
off again. And of course she was crusted with sperm from three men. As she
moved she could feel it pulling at her skin, it must be caking her buttocks and
inner thighs very obviously she thought. But then quite calmly she found
herself thinking that they were bound to whip her there so the strap would
probably get rid of it.
She pressed her forehead to the floor in front of the
brother with the strap and folded her arms above her head. But that wasn’t good
enough. He wanted them stretched wide apart. She obeyed and realised that this
was a posture of complete submission in front of a man. And to add to the
arousal which that thought set off, he placed a foot on the back of her neck.
“Give her four Brother,” Father
Burton spoke.
The brother repeated her sentence to her adding, “And
you’ll count them.”
Paula wished she could see herself. From where the
brother was standing over her with the strap how tempting a target she must
make. Her hips swelling out from her waist and the cleft of
her buttocks giving him a perfect line to aim at in order to send the belt
smacking down between her parted legs. She knew the pain would be
excruciating and looked forward to suffering it in front of them to prove her
submission.
She felt the brother’s weight shift on her neck as he
raised the belt.
It made a loud swooshing noise
in the air over her back and exploded all along the crease of her anus and that
of her sex.
“Aagh!” She thought she had been ready but
the weight of the leather and its width caught her totally by surprise. It
didn’t single out any one part like a lash of a whip. It blasted the whole
area. “One!” she managed to shriek.
Smack! “Oh God... Two!” She had to fight against the
desire to shut her legs tight together. The second stroke had even reached
right through and dug into the hair at her pubis.
Smack! “Aaah... Please! Three!”
She didn’t know what she was begging for. Her fingers scrabbled at the carpet
and her hips waggled desperately.
“Oh No!. . . I can’t . . “
Smack! “Aaah!
God! Four! Please no more!” She cried and moaned under the brother’s foot. She
was too tender and sore to repeat the orgasm of earlier, under the whip. But
she balanced perfectly between the pleasure of abasing herself so utterly and
the agony of the whipping. As soon as it stopped she wished it hadn’t.
The brother kept his foot on her neck while she writhed
under it and Father Burton approached.
“I do not approve of profanity during a whipping. Bear
that in mind next time Number Three.”
“I’m sorry Master!” Suddenly she was ashamed of the fuss
she had made. Hadn’t these men taught her only today that this was her destiny,
to be fucked or flogged and it didn’t matter which.
“I... I can take more if you want,” she stammered.
There was silence for a second. The foot came off her
neck and Father Burton squatted down to lift her chin again. He stared intently
at her once more. Paula struggled to blink back tears and meet his eyes.
“Your enthusiasm does you credit. But I think you’ve
taken enough for one day.” He stood up, “However, there will be other days and
perhaps I will take you up on that offer then.”
He turned and swept out.
Paula was hauled to her feet and helped back to her cell.
She fought her way up from sleep which was so deep it was
practically unconsciousness. Her eyes blinked open and slowly she began to
recall the momentous events of the previous day. And as she did so, a comfortable warmth of well-being spread through her whole
body. She knew exactly who and what she was now. And who she had really been
all her life.
‘A hot little slave, ready to serve any man she is told
to.’ That was what they had said she was last night. And how
right they were.
Paula realised that she had kicked off her thin blanket
in the night and now lay with her legs splayed, the cool air playing soothingly
around her inner thighs, her sex and her anus. They still throbbed dully and
she clung to that feeling as a further badge of her slavery. She had been
whipped to an orgasm. She had masturbated openly in front of four of her
masters who had then fucked her almost into oblivion and buggered her the rest of the way. And finally they had whipped her
again while she knelt in complete submission at their feet.
But best of all she was going to become a novice and have
the chance to go on serving the masters.
She stirred and stretched while a delicious tingle ran
through her at these thoughts.
Brother Davis came to unchain her. He said nothing and
she searched his face in vain for any expression. But as she climbed slowly to
her feet and began to try and ease some of her stiffness, he told her that
Father Burton had excused her from her breakfast beating and would allow her to
work at the monastery for the morning. At the door of her cell he turned and
gave her just the slightest of nods before leaving.
Paula’s heart sang. What greater sign of approval could a
slave hope for?
She applied another copious layer of cream to her bottom
and her inner thighs, working it gently into the livid areas where individual weals had crossed each other to produce whole patches of
soreness. Lastly she smoothed it along her labia and felt its healing coolness
on her tender membranes. They would soon be ready for use again.