A WEEKEND OF PAIN

by Vashti La Soeur

They came for her at half-past six on Saturday morning.

“Emma?” one of the men asked.

She nodded, still bleary-eyed, not having woken up fully.

The two men pushed past her into her flat. Without any preliminary conversation, one of them went into her bathroom and started to run her bath. The other man grasped her by the shoulders and pushed his finger into her sex, nodding approvingly as it came out clean.

He turned her round, slapped her naked bottom and said,

“Five minutes.”

He then pushed her into the little loo and left her alone. At least, she thought, she had that little courtesy to be grateful for. When she emerged, she was hurried into the now steaming bath and while she soaped herself, both men watched her in silence.

“Would you face the other way?” she asked, but her request was ignored.

Well, she thought, she had replied to the advertisement for a ‘Willing Slave’, so she could not object.

The older man looked at his watch. Then, still silent, he pulled her from the water, dried her with the bath towel making certain her slit had been dried and pushed her into the bedroom. She was surprised to find a short black lace-up corset was lying on the bed. Beside them was a pair of black sheer stockings and a long cape. She noticed some black stiletto-heeled shoes on the floor.

While one man dragged the corset round her waist, the other bent down and fitted her with the stockings and shoes. They worked silently and quickly and she was soon standing before them dressed to their satisfaction.

The corset was very short. Her breasts were pushed up high above the top of the garment, and her lower portion, the vagina and buttocks, were left uncovered.. Expecting to be handed her dress next, instead she was dismayed to find herself being pushed down the stairs with nothing else except the cape around her shoulders, and out on to the pavement into the back of the waiting car. The leather seat was ribbed and cut into her buttocks.

The drive through the sleeping city was quick. Not a word was spoken until they arrived at a house standing in a thick wooded area. The car stopped and the man on her left said,

“This is it. Get out.”

They hustled her inside past a severe-looking woman who had opened the front door. Emma guessed the woman was the housekeeper.

“He’s vaiting,” the woman said.

When she was thrust into the room, it took a few moments for Emma to focus her eyes.

A platform stood at the far end of the room about two feet off the ground. On the platform was an ordinary wooden chair and a sturdy table. In one corner of the room she could see a frame that looked like a large letter X, while in the other corner, hanging on the wall, she could see a collection of canes, whips, riding crops and leather tawses. She shuddered, wondering once again what she had let herself in for.

A door behind the platform opened and she could just make out two half-naked men who were carrying a stretcher between them. The men placed the stretcher on the table and parted, one going to the left of the stage, the other to the opposite side.

For a second or two nothing more happened. Then a highly-pitched voice that was almost a squeak said,

“Come here, Emma. Let me look at you.”

A push from behind made her stagger towards the voice.

“Kneel on the stage, stupid,” came a hiss from behind her

Emma could just see something bulky lying on the stretcher. A hand reached out towards her and beckoned her forward. On her knees, she shuffled towards the hand. As soon as she was within reach, another hand came from the stretcher and pulled the cape off. She was now wearing just the corset which had been cut away at the top and bottom.

“Walk along the stage,” the squeaky voice commanded. “Show yourself.”

Well, if that’s what he wanted ...

She shrugged mentally and swung her hips from side to side as she walked.

Without warning a whip curled round her bum-cheeks, the tip of the lash cutting into her quim.

“You’re a whore.”

The lash bit into her again, drawing a squeal from her.

“No. No, sir. I’m not a whore. Truly I’m not.”

“Well, don’t walk like one.”

Another lash drew another squeal from her.

“Face me.”

She turned towards the stretcher, fearful in case the whip caught her again.

“Come closer.”

She edged forward.

“Bend down. Tell me what you see.”

Her eyes widened. What appeared to be a man’s head and body lay on the stretcher ... but from the thighs down there were no legs. She could see a thick cock rearing up from between the thighs. At the tip of the cock a few drops of a thick mucous glistened.

“Don’t make me wait,” the voice squeaked, “Since my accident I lose patience very quickly.”

She shivered.

“I see a body - a man’s body ... two strong arms ...” she wetted her lips.

“Yes?”

“The body is well-muscled ... and the face ... the face ...”

She stopped.

“What about the face? Come on. Tell me. And don’t lie. I’ll know if you lie.”

She gulped.

“The face has ... a beard ... and ... and dark-brown eyes. There are lines on the forehead and the hair is thick and white ... I think.”

A giggle came from the stretcher. A girlish giggle.

“You think? Don’t you know?”

“Well, perhaps it’s grey. I’m not sure. It’s an old face. Oh, no. I’m mistaken. It’s not. It’s ... well ... I see the face of a young man. A man in his twenties, I’d say. But now ...”

“Yes?”

She said miserably,

“There’s nothing more to say.”

“Inge!”

The sudden shriek made Emma shrink back.

“Take her away and teach her. I don’t like liars.”

Emma felt her shoulder grasped firmly and she was dragged off the platform.

“She will be kept here until further notice,” the squeaky voice continued. “She’s a liar.”

As she was dragged out of the room she heard the voice say,

“She’s got one more chance. If she doesn’t tell me truth after that, you’ll pay for it yourself, Inge.”

Stumbling, pushed, her bottom kicked every few steps, Emma found she had been driven into a damp cellar. Her arms were fastened to manacles hanging high above her head from the wall and a chain was passed round her ankles which were then drawn up towards her wrists. In this position her bare bum protruded without any protection. She was still wearing the half-corset which pushed up her tits, her nipples standing up like pear stalks.

“Tventy strokes of the cane first,” said the housekeeper who had been addressed as Inge. As she spoke, she showed Emma the whippy long cane that she was going to use.

“Ven ve vhip, ve first dip in vinegar,” she explained as she dipped the cane in a bucket. “Makes goot. Plenty scream goot.”

Her accent had become more pronounced as her excitement grew.

She raised the dripping cane high and with a loud grunt, brought it down hard on Emma’s bum. The frightened girl screamed and writhed as the cut burned into her like a hot lance, the vinegar coating intensifying her agony.

“Zo! Scream goot, no?”

The cane came down again, drawing another wild shriek from the chained girl.