Chapter 1

The near-naked Queen sighed as she turned her plump thighs voluptuously on the velvet cushions of her soft, heavily-jewelled divan. Her magnificent white breasts with their deep-red erect nipples held out promise of ecstasies to any man who dared to be alone with her. Her exposed vaginal lips peeped naughtily out from the long, curling pubic hairs that shrouded the lower part of her belly, hairs which in their blackness contrasted in colour like the night with the snowy white of the flimsy robe with which she was draped, one end having been flung carelessly across her alabaster casket of unguents.

'Ha-bibi,' she said in her husky, sex-ridden voice, 'Ha-bibi, if I don't put you to the Five Exquisite Tortures, what thrill is left for me to experience?'

The young Englishman blushed, his eyes cast down as he had been meticulously instructed.

'O, Light of the East,' he murmured, 'none can compare with the experiences you yourself have had. Were one to live one thousand years in the Palace of Pleasureful Sin itself, one would never have encountered such rapture as you, O, my Queen, have enjoyed. Tell me,' he went on, 'I beg you, how you came to your present state of ineffable Glory. Only when I know that shall I be fit to undergo the Five Tortures that will fill you with delight to watch. Only then will my pleas for mercy, which will only be granted if your munificent Will so desire, be as a rhapsody of sexual frustration that will bring solace even to such an exalted body as is possessed by your incomparable Magnificence.'

The Queen smiled benevolently at her favourite young slave.

'Ha-bibi,' she said, 'because it is my desire to watch you writhe and hear you moan in your desire for me that I will tell you the story once again for I know it excites you. I love to watch your mula-mula rear and dance until its cream cannot hold back in its excitement. As you know, sexual delight is to be savoured slowly. Its finality is to be delayed even unto madness. Come,' she said, 'lie beside me and let my right hand hold your boyish mula-mula while I speak.'

The young Englishman arranged himself as she ordered, in such way as his lips were touching her diamond-encrusted navel, his fingers toying idly with her greased opening as he inhaled the perfumed sweat of her powerful limbs.

'This is my tale,' she breathed. 'You must understand that I am disguising myself in the telling, for it is a tale of lust and excitement and of wild sexual adventures. You may bring your imagination into play, trying to establish which of those is myself. It is the tale of my life as a Love-Girl.'

***** ***** *****

Stark's narrow pale-blue eyes glittered in the light coming through the kitchen window. Ruth saw him clench his jaw muscles.

'I've got y'r measure, my girl.'

He was her mother's stern cousin, a man known for his addiction to harsh living and ruthless punishment. At the same time, he had taken her mother and herself to his home when her father had died, leaving them both penniless. The two women had been given a small room to share in the cold attic.

'It's the farm ye're after. Stark's Farm - started by me gran'father, built up by me father an' carried on by me. That's it, isn't it?'

Ruth's eyes widened as she shook her head in silence. Fright made her catch her breath. At most she could only mouth the word 'No'.

She gasped as he reached out and clutched her long thick hair, jerking her head back. He glared down at her as the pain made her eyes brim with tears. Then, releasing her hair, Stark's thick fingers began to tap on the brass buckle of his heavy leather belt, intimidating her, menacing her with a threat far more ominous than any verbal warning.

'No,' she managed to beg, 'please don't.'

She watched his pink tongue run over his thin lips. She dare not provoke an outburst of temper. The excruciating pain of her previous thrashing caused by her impetuousness was still fresh in her mind.

The events that led up to that occasion passed quickly through her mind once more.

It had started when Luke had asked her to help him find the cow which had wandered out of its usual field. Luke was the slow-thinking, heavily-built twenty-year old orphan boy who had been employed to help look after Stark's Farm; he ran the messages and generally made himself useful. Luke, as she knew, was a virgin who was troubled by his bursting desires.

Ruth remembered the day well. It had been her nineteenth birthday. That had been the day they had gone looking for the cow, following its tracks down to the river. On the way Luke had stumbled, saying he had twisted his ankle.

As she had helped him up, he had pulled her down towards him, pressing the lower part of his body against her and running a hand along her spine. He had slipped it beneath her dress and fingered her bottom. She had offered no resistance as his fingers felt their way slowly into the cleft.

At first she had thought it was simply a playful, meaningless gesture; the sort of action that until then they had sometimes indulged in without further thought. But this time she found she couldn't break free. Luke's breath had started coming in little gasps, making her realise this time he was serious.

'Luke, what's the matter? Luke!'

He did not reply immediately. His hand began stroking her buttocks, pressing, kneading and squeezing them and running his fingers between the fullness of their twin ripe promises. She could feel his manhood steadily growing inside his tightly fitting trousers.

'Ah!' he gasped. 'Ah! Give bum. Give titty. Must have bum.'

'Luke! You mustn't. It's ... its ... naughty.'

A sense of fear had arisen within her as his fingers had found her tightly-closed ring, the ring that had not yet been penetrated.

Yet, something had made her yearn for him to continue. She felt her love-juices stir and could remember the sensation as he pressed his mouth on hers, all the while his other hand fumbling with the buttons on her blouse. Afraid that he might tear the material, she had refrained from pulling away. She knew now it had been a mistake on her part.

Luke, thinking she was actually giving him her consent, had freed one of her breasts, catching and cupping it in his hand.

He laughed happily as he leaned forwards swiftly and took the rosy nipple, now hardened into a peak, between his teeth. He had begun to chew on it, great shudders running through his flabby white body.

In her rising excitement her eyes closed. A warm thrill passed through her, desire making her shiver. The need to breathe compelled her to open her mouth and draw air into her lungs in deep gulps. Her head began to swim.

'What is it, Luke? Tell me,' she panted, hardly able to speak.

Instead of giving her an answer, he tugged on the nipple gently. She moaned, torn between pain, fear and tremulous pleasure.

'Luke wants ... Luke wants ... ' he mumbled, using the style of baby-talk they were accustomed to adopt with each other when they were sure they were alone. Only at those times was he able to express himself clearly.

Ruth's confidence grew. She knew the part she had to play.

'Baby wants Mummy to comfort him? Baby wants Mummy to hold him?'

Luke released the nipple in his mouth, looked up into her face and nodded weakly, his eyes half-closed.

'Luke-y must lie down like a good boy, then. Mummy'll make him better.'

Obediently he had obeyed, lying on the ground face upwards. His legs spread apart, his eyes now fully closed, his breath coming quickly, a half-smile came to his smooth, fat, pallid face.

She ran her hand over his crotch, first stroking the confined member, then squeezing it through the cloth, all the time moving her fingers over and around his upward-yearning rod. Eager to end the refined torture of suspense, Luke grabbed her hand and tried to make her hold his organ. His hips were rotating uncontrollably.

'NAUGHTY baby,' she scolded, pretending to be angry. She saw a dark damp patch spread over the fly of his trousers. 'Luke-y must be punished for being naughty.' She bent over him and pulled his fly open. He giggled and sighed happily as his sticky, stiff cock reared out from the restriction of his clothing. She grasped the rigid stem, squeezing and releasing it rhythmically. It always fascinated her to see his complete helplessness when he was in that state.

'Mummy's going to cock-whip little Luke-y,' she crooned in a sing-song tone. 'Luke-y's been na-aughty.' She tore at a handful of nettles and swiftly bunched them together. 'Luke-y naughty baby,' she sang gently, her breath coming in short bursts. Then she started to whip his purple-tipped organ. Luke gasped as pain mixed with pleasure.

She bent over him, deliberately letting her hair brush lightly over his skin. Ruth's eyes gleamed as she saw the nettles tear into his tender veined flesh, raising welts and gooseflesh along the member. Creamy sperm oozed slowly from the tip as the hand she was holding it with stopped him from pulling away from the burning slashes.

'Mummy cruel to Luke-y,' he panted. 'Ah! ... Ah! ... Oh! Mummy ... Ah! Don't stop ... Mu-ummy! ...' he gave a little shriek. 'Whip! Whip! Harder.' Groaning and shuddering, he twisted from side to side in spasms of ecstasy.

'Tell Mummy you love her.'

'Lu - key lo ...'

She slashed him fiercely again. 'Go on,' she ordered. 'Louder!'

'Lu ... Lu ... ' He moaned. 'Ah ... Lu ... Luke-y coming again. Ah ... aah ... Please, Mummy, no more. Too ... pain ...'

His juice spurted out in hot, sticky gushes. His organ expanded and contracted with the spasms. That was what she wanted; to have him dependent on her. She had the power to dominate him, to make him grateful for her attentions. She knew she wanted to have a male beg her for mercy. A smile of triumph came to her lips.

It was then that she had heard a sudden shout; a shout that had pierced into their privacy, petrifying them.

'LUKE! LUKE!'

It was Stark's voice. So engrossed had they been in their love-game that his approach through the grass had been without warning. He was now almost on top of them. 'LUKE! Where are you? Answer me, boy.'

Ruth tried to roll away from the helpless youth who was helplessly spending his strength, but Stark had been too quick. 'Ah, THAT's what you're up to, is it?'

As she tried to wriggle out of the man's grasp, she fumbled with her dangling breast, trying to push it back inside her blouse.

'I thowt there were summat funny going on,' Stark roared. 'It's a lesson ye're both needin' an' I'm going to teach it to both of ye.'

He pulled Ruth to her feet without giving her time to put her breast back and to straighten her clothing. Then he dragged her towards the stump of a fallen tree.

'Now, my girl, I'm going to thrash ye in the sight of y'r cock-sucking lover. Then y'r lover-boy'll get his while YOU watch. Filthy little swine, the pair of ye.'

He pulled her over his knees, dragged her skirt up over her head, and ripped her knickers down, exposing her bum-cheeks and imprisoning her feet. He ignored her wild shrieks and her pleas.

Blinded by her skirt, Ruth could only guess what he was doing. She could feel he had removed his leather belt, and sensed he was wrapping it round one hand. To struggle was useless. Her knickers acted as a restraint, preventing her from kicking or jumping up and running away. Stark's left hand was pressing her down to face the ground. She still remembered how the cool afternoon breeze had touched her bare buttocks lightly, running over her naked globes with a series of feather-light caresses, reaching into and ruffling her long pubic hairs that protruded backwards between her legs. She could still recall the shudders of shame and delight that had run through her tautly-drawn flesh. The mixture of degradation and pleasurable desires had been unforgettable. She remembered the hot, tight pressure that had built up between her thighs, forcing her to press herself down the upstanding maleness that Stark was himself exhibiting. Not for the first time did she understand the urgency of a woman's needs.

Mixed with her fear of the treatment she was about to receive had been the thrill of knowing she was helpless. Nothing could prevent her humiliation. The thrill of her shame in the presence of two males tormented her.

'Please, Mr. Stark, don't thrash me. Please ...' she had gasped.

Stark had ignored her.

'Are ye watching, boy? It'll be the worse f'r ye if ye're not.'

'Yes, sir. I'm a-watchin'.'

Luke's terrified reply sounded almost as though he, too, was eager for the thrashing to start.

'Well, count the strokes out loud. Loud so's I'll hear ye. Miss a stroke and we'll start all over again - and you'll get the same number yourself after.'

'Yes, sir.'

Hearing this as she lay across her benefactor's thighs, a red flush of shame spread up Ruth's neck to her face. At last the extent of her humiliation had been borne in on her.

'Not in front of Luke, Mr. Stark,' she panted. Spare her that indignity, she had gone on to beg. Thrash her if he must. She knew she had deserved it, she had said. But not before Luke, a mere boy.

'But lover-boy WANTS to see ye punished, don't ye, lover-boy?' Stark's sneering tone had served to belittle her still further. She felt his hand stroking her naked bottom. She knew then his enjoyment of her shame was sufficient to guarantee that the punishment would not be withheld.

'Lover-boy WANTS to see your bare bum whipped and hear ye yelp, don't ye, slug?'

Luke's frightened agreement came quickly.

THAT had been the time when her lover had surrendered, she knew. Fear had made him agree he wanted to see her being humbled.

A scream tore from her dry throat as the belt snaked its way into her naked flesh.

'ONE!'

She had heard the excitement in Luke's trembling voice as he yelled out the count.

She screamed again.

'TWO!'

Fire had again scorched through her buttocks. How long would this torture last? she sobbed to herself.

'THREE!'

Luke's voice rose still more shrilly in his excitement.

Again and again and still again the strap cut into her soft naked peaches, those same peaches that only a short while before had been so tenderly fondled by the youth now attending her thrashing.

Stark's own desire was pressing upwards on her secret parts as each stroke cut into her bare flesh. Torn between her own wild cravings and her agony. she had sobbed and hiccuped.

It no longer mattered to her that Luke was witnessing her beating. Nothing mattered. Even had it meant being whipped before a group of laughing men in the market place, as Stark had frequently threatened to do, she would have willingly undergone it if it had meant the end of the searing flame that was being slashed on her exposed backside.

At last the whipping was finished.

'Learned y'r lesson, girl?'

Her body shook with sobs. She could barely answer.

'Y ... Yes, sir.'

'Think ye've had enough?'

The pain had blocked her thoughts, making her snatch at any hope of respite.

'Yes, oh yes, sir.'

The belt cut into her twice more, drawing further wild shrieks from her. She knew she had given the wrong reply.

'That's fer bein' cheeky. Shall we try again? Think ye've had enough?'

Stark was still forcing her down on his maleness straining up towards her. A wild thought ran through her. Perhaps ... if she could entice her torturer ... lead him on with promises ... perhaps then the agony would stop? She rubbed her thighs against his rod, hoping to please him.

'Only if you think I've learned my lesson, Mr. Stark,' she yammered. He'd hardly continue to thrash her if he could be persuaded to ...

'What do YOU think, lover-wanker?' Stark was ignoring her movements and had turned his attention back to the miserable Luke.

'I ... I ... '

'Don't know, eh?' Stark sneered. 'Well, maybe she should have a couple more to help you decide. You'll get the same after.'

She shrieked as two more strokes cut into her torn buttocks.

'Please, sir ...' she pleaded.

'Stand up, girl. Look at y'rself in the river. No, don't pull y'r drawers up till I tell ye.'

Forbidden to rise, with tears streaming down her face, her hair hanging loosely over her shoulders, she crawled to the edge of the river. On her hands and knees, she twisted from side to side, trying to obey her orders and catch sight of her reflected bum in the water. All she could make out was a grubby, tearful, straggly-haired girl whose knickers were dragging in the mud.

'Pull y'r dress up high and look at y'r arse,' Stark called with a mocking laugh. 'Quickly now. I want to get on with whipping y'r lover-wanker.'

He pulled the blubbering boy across his knees.

'Ye'll count y'r own strokes, boy,' Stark ordered. 'An' I want to hear every one of 'em.'

He was panting loudly when he had finished with the semi-conscious Luke. The boy's buttocks were a mangled mess of bleeding flesh.

Both Ruth and Luke had then been ordered to kneel before him, kiss the belt and thank him through their tears for his treatment.

Only now, a month afterwards, were the weals on Ruth's backside starting to fade. Her thoughts returned to the present and to her new predicament.

'I should ha' known better than to let your mother live wi' me ten years ago. Sorry for her, I were. Sorry!' Stark's harsh voice cut into Ruth's fears.

He spat into the cold kitchen stove.

'Aye, sorry fer y'r father, too, I were. She'd led him a dance, she had. Now a widow, and with you, her six year-old brat as you were, to bring up. If it weren't fer y'r father's memory, I'd ha' done better to ignore the two of ye an' just taken what I wanted when I wanted it.'

The sight of his fingers grasping the belt buckle brought her back to the present. A shudder ran through her. Did he intend to whip her again?

'Jabez, please!' Ruth's mother broke in. She been standing by weeping silently, trying to think of some way to placate her fierce cousin. 'Please, Jabez. Let her be. She was only trying to help poor Luke.'

The woman's frightened plea seemed to rouse Stark's anger.

'Help him?' he sneered. 'Help herself, more likely. An' who are you, Harriet Comber, to tell me about my hired hand? If the girl listens to you, she'll bed him and force him to marry her - an' all f'r the sake of getting her paws on Stark's Farm.'

'Please, Jabez,' Harriet sounded desperate, 'if you must take it out on somebody, take it out on me. Leave the girl alone. She's got my nature in her. Please, Jabez. Please. Don't thrash her. Thrash me, instead.'

The farmer's hand shot out and gripped Harriet's shoulder hard, drawing a gasp of pain from her as he pushed his face into hers.

'Thrash YOU, eh?' He laughed without mirth. 'I'll think about that. I might like that. Aye, I'll think about it. Meanwhile, Ruth girl, think y'rself lucky I'm in a good mood today. But if I catch you messin' about with Luke again, I'll have you across my knees with y'r drawers down - and it'll be the belt that'll be speakin' to both of ye again. Understand?'

Ruth nodded quickly. Her mouth had gone dry.

'Lost y'r voice?' Jabez taunted her. 'Ha' ye forgotten our last little talk by the river a month ago?'

'N ... No ... Mr. Stark. Sir,' Ruth stammered.

'Aye, ye may well say "sir". I'll treat you like a master should. An' you, too,' he added turning towards the shaking, flabby twenty-year old youth who was watching them, his mouth hanging open. 'Keep y'r dinger where it belongs. Inside y'r trews.'

Luke nodded, his plump white face filled with fear as he stared at his employer.

Stark flung Harriet across the room with a cruel laugh.

'And as fer you ... ' he turned to Harriet as she fell, 'ye're offering to take a thrashing y'rself, are ye? Thrash YOU!' He scoffed. 'I'll think about that. That'd be sport, hey? Oh, aye. I will indeed.'